#it made me so uncomfortable that I actually HAD to swim through that discomfort some more

[hollybell51]

It's ok - two

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Part one

Adam Warlock x AFAB!Reader

Marvel Cinematic Universe, Guardians of the Galaxy vol. 3 (outside canon)

Word count: 7.5K

Summary: you and Adam deal with the aftermath of the pollen debacle

Content: referenced sex pollen and associated dubcon, SMUT, agan maybe a bit of perviness, Adam being down bad, reader being down bad, blowjobs, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, Adam's not technically a virgin any more but still kinda is, reader definitely isn't, bit of angst, with a happy ending, getting together, fluff, light dirty talk, praise kink, light body worship, subby Adam, again potential ooc

Notes: this is part 2 so you gotta read part 1 for it to make sense. I hope I fixed the numerous moral issues with part 1's ending lmao also before you come at me for the shower stuff; I'm so white I'm practically reflective, so I do apologise to all my textured-hair girlies for my crimes against you with that... I hope praise kink Adam who loves tits makes up for it. enjoy.

Oh yeah, this is also on my AO3

You woke slowly, swimming up against the gravity of sleep as though it were mud. Your whole body was tingling with a pleasant warmth and heaviness, underpinned by something that wasn’t quite unease, or discomfort, but close enough. A shiver ran down your spine, and you pulled the blanket closer around your neck. Hold on. Blanket? 

You shot upright, cursing as the cool air of the ship’s interior hit your bare skin. Of course. You vaguely remembered the sudden flush of heat that had overcome you, your suit constricting like it was being shrink wrapped to your skin, the incessant throbbing low in your stomach and then between your legs. Everything after that was foggy, as though you were watching a film with a hazy filter, shot through a curtain of water. But you could definitely see Adam’s concerned face close to your own, feel the echo of his hand on your back and on your forehead. And, well, everywhere else. 

“Do you want to have sex with me?” he’d asked, as if you hadn’t been dreaming about that for months. Hell, you’d been imagining that exact eventuality as you’d frantically gotten yourself off on the floor of the shower. 

Now, you wondered if he was ever going to look at you the same way. It had been quick, hard and rough and you felt bad now for how little thought you’d spared him. You weren’t even really thinking at all, your mind offered. He seemed ok. He came, didn’t he? You felt your cheeks heat at the memory, fuzzy as it was, of his face buried in the crook of your neck, hips jutting up against yours, strong arms wrapped around your waist and your name on his lips. It was better than anything your imagination had ever cooked up, and you were probably racking up some truly awful karma by stowing it away. 

You sighed, pushing yourself off the bed and running a hand through your (mostly) dry hair, fingers catching in the mess of tangles. You were never going to skim information on anything ever again. Actually, screw that, you were never going to go outside again. At least without a full suit and helmet, oxygen tank and air filter included.

The blanket trailed behind you like a grotesque bridal train as you headed for the bridge, bare feet slapping faintly on the cool floors. It had felt nice earlier, but now you wished you’d kept track of your clothes. You’d left your underwear in the shower, hadn’t you? What had happened to your suit? 

The ship was eerily quiet, the bridge deserted but for a pile you didn’t remember leaving on what had been your seat – still swivelled around to face Adam’s for the sole purpose of being able to watch him read the briefing and notes as you packed. 

The pile, as it turned out, was a fresh suit and your underwear, bearing no traces of the frankly ridiculous amount of wetness that had made the walk back so uncomfortable, or shower water. Had he washed them for you? Then dried them, too? Your heart gave a pathetic little jump and twist at the thought. Adam didn’t deserve something like this. Maybe if it had been anyone else you’d have been able to live it down, laugh it off and thank them for the good times, but him? No way in hell. 

You’d felt something towards the newest citizen of Knowhere almost as soon as you’d started really talking to him. He was funny once you’d gotten him to lighten up, and had practically jumped at the opportunity to help repair the damage to the planetoid, even if he’d been the one who caused a lot of it. There was so much genuine curiosity and wonder in him, the painfully obvious desire to do well – which you supposed came from the High Evolutionary and the whole Perfect Man thing – and the fact that he seemed to hang on your every word like it was the gospel… Well, you hadn’t stood a chance. It had only gone downhill from there, and before long you’d been wondering what it would be like to see what constituted the perfect man up close and personal. What would the hands that destroyed so much of your home, and then rebuilt it beside you, feel like on your bare skin? Would your arms fit around those broad shoulders as perfectly as you imagined? Would his lips be as soft as they looked? 

You supposed you knew some of that now. You fit against him perfectly, like you were made for each other. His hands were painfully gentle, and much softer than you’d thought they’d be. You regretted that you hadn’t kissed him more, and done a better job of it. You cringed at the memory of your teeth clashing against his, not an ounce of coordination or forethought. 

He’d been better at it when he’d kissed over your chest, sucked gently at the skin of your breasts. You could see a few faint marks as you did up your suit, far too ill-defined to be called hickeys. Guiltily, you wished you’d gotten him to leave more. 

You were jerked out of that line of thought by something rustling onto the floor. A note, scrawled hastily. 

“Dear (Y/N),” crossed out, then “To (Y/N),” crossed out again, finally just “(Y/N).”

You smiled stupidly. Who knew indecisiveness could be so endearing? 

“I hope you’re ok.” 

“Yep,” you whispered in return. “All fine here.” 

“Sorry I left. I hope you’re not cold. I didn’t want to wake you up so I didn’t dry your hair.” 

God, this man. 

“I washed your clothes for you, but I incinerated the other suit. Sorry. It had pollen on it. Don’t worry, I made sure it’s all gone.” 

You sighed. “Thank you, Adam.” 

“I’ve gone out, but I��ll be back in no more than three hours.” There was time here, too, underlined and in parenthesis. He had about half an hour left. Shit, had you been out that long? Seriously?

The next line started with “I h” but the rest was so heavily crossed out you couldn’t even begin to guess what it said. It was followed by “I hope you’re ok” again, then another bout of heavy censorship before his name. You wondered how he’d originally signed it, but quickly squashed that. Nope. 

“Alright,” you said to the note. You felt a bit stupid checking your surroundings as you folded it and placed it in your pocket, but hey, it might come in handy. For reports or future references or… something. 

How was he being so goddamn nice? A heavy stone of guilt settled in your stomach, along with the distinct sense that he was doing this because he didn’t know better. He was so eager to please, to do good, that he’d probably just assumed fucking you – letting you fuck him was probably a more apt description, actually – was the natural solution to the pollen problem. And yeah, you’d heard the part about dying if you didn’t (which you thought was ridiculous, frankly, and probably said something about humans and their suitability for anywhere outside Earth) but it still didn’t sit right with you. Not even a little. 

Something beeped on the console, the light for the door flashing cheerfully. “He’s back!” it seemed to be saying. “He’s back, he’s back, he’s back!” 

“Yeah, alright,” you muttered, flicking it off. “Think of the devil.” 

“What devil?” 

You jumped. Actually genuinely jumped before you turned towards the voice. “Figure of speech.” 

“Oh,” said Adam, boots thudding dully on the floor as he crossed the space. “Did you sleep ok?” 

“Yeah. Thanks for… this.” You didn’t know what to do with your hands. Fuck, why were your hands so sweaty? And since when had he looked good good in that damn suit? It was ugly on everyone, no matter how pretty they happened to be without it. 

Oblivious to the mini meltdown in your head, as he should be, Adam pulled off his gloves and set them down on his seat with a soft thwump noise. “That’s ok. Sorry I didn’t stay, I didn’t want to disturb you, and then I figured you’d be out for a while, then I thought maybe I should just get it over with since I can…” A pause, a breath, then, “Go out there.” 

“Yeah,” you smiled, “it’s fine. I’d have done the same.” Should you mention the note? No, you decided. It was staying tucked away in your pocket forever. 

He shrugged, then held up his arms. “I didn’t get any on me, by the way.” 

Right, yeah, the pollen. The pollen that had turned you into a goddamn nymphomaniac. You supposed it was going to come up, and better to just bite the bullet, right? 

“Adam,” you started, stepping around your chair to face him. 

His eyes followed every movement, as if he was memorising the way a person walked. Up close, you could make out a faint bronze tinge to his golden face, most likely from the heat outside. You could have studied it for hours. 

“I’m sorry,” you said softly. It came out quieter than you’d have liked, huskier and less sure of yourself. You forged on. “I didn’t want you to feel like you had to do anything, and I just… I…” Deep breath, look him in the eyes. “Thank you. For helping me. I know it’s how the whole ‘saving people’ gig usually goes but… you did. So, uh, thanks.” 

Maybe it was trite. Maybe it was a poor choice of words, but Adam didn’t seem to think so. Very carefully, as though he were afraid of somehow hurting you, he reached out and took your hand. His skin was warm and smooth to the touch as it had been before (after all, why should it have changed?), and just like it had in the shower, his thumb moved in little circles over the back of your hand. 

“It’s alright,” he said, sincere as anyone and only just tinged with something that might have been regret’s cousin. “You didn’t have much of a choice.” 

“Yeah, I… yeah.” You couldn’t help the little huff of laughter that escaped you. You didn’t have much of a choice? Carefully, you lifted your gaze from the hypnotic movement of his thumb. It was odd how such a tiny gesture, such a light touch, could suffuse your entire being with such warmth. It wasn’t like the heat from earlier, it was gentle and soft and the fact that you clung so desperately to it probably said more about you than him, but still… “I’m glad it was you, Adam.” 

You could have sworn he stood straighter, and that the lines of his shoulders became less harsh. Maybe it was just the smile he was giving you, genuine and sweet, and wow you’d never felt so undeserving of a damn facial expression. 

He nodded. “I didn’t realise it could feel like that.” Then, at your frown, “Sex, I mean. I didn’t understand why people liked it so much, but now I think I do.” 

Oh. Oh. Right. That bit. Of course you were going to have to talk about that bit too. Looking back, you were pretty sure that you’d have thought absolutely anything was top-notch in the state you were in, and from what you remembered, the actual mechanics of it had been very one-sided. You had, if you were honest, simply fucked yourself on top of him. 

But you were not going to say that. Instead, you snorted and let your hand fall from his. “You’ve been having sex with the wrong people, then.” Not that I’m the right one, or anything. But maybe I could have been.

Adam eyed your hand, then shrugged and turned towards the panel. “I hadn’t had sex with anyone before you,” he said as he unclipped his radio and dropped it onto one of the few free spaces. 

Woah. Woah, hold on, rewind. He what? That was the first time for him? That? The guilt-stone had become a bloody guilt-boulder, and were you being dramatic or had the ship just wobbled? 

“What?” 

He turned back towards you, frowning. “I hadn’t done it before. Are you ok?” 

“Oh God.” 

“What? Is something wrong?” He was back in front of you, hands ghosting over your shoulders and arms as your mind raced. You hadn’t even considered that. Well yeah, you had, in various imagined scenarios and fantasies none of which involved the prospect of your death if you did not have sex with him. 

“Yeah, I–” You took a breath, forcing yourself to look at him. How the hell were you going to explain this? Should you? Would it just make it worse? But no, you owed him this at least. “Adam,” you said as gently as you could, “your first time should be with someone you want, because you want to do it with them. It shouldn’t be to save someone’s life, let alone someone who… Fuck, Adam, I’m sorry.” 

He had a firm grip on your shoulders now, and that damned thumb was giving you the comfort treatment there, too. You wondered if he realised he was doing it. “Don’t be,” he said. “I still liked it. And I did want to do it with you. I know it was only me because there’s no one else here, but I still… I still wanted you.” He paused, then, “I just wish it had been you you.” 

Yeah, so did you. But that wasn’t what stuck with you. He’d wanted you. He’d liked it, shit as it had probably been from his end. “You…” You stopped, swallowed. “You wanted me, too?” 

He just nodded, searching your face. The tinge of bronze had deepened to copper. 

“Oh.” 

“I understand if you don’t feel the same way, but I think about you a lot. I wondered– wondered what it would be like to kiss you. Touch you, feel you like… like that.” 

Again, all you could manage was a soft “oh,” acutely aware of his closeness, how he filled your vision, the temperature of the ship (which seemed to have risen), and his hands through your clothes. “And?” 

His breath hitched in his chest, and his voice was low when he answered. “I’d have liked to kiss you, stay with you afterwards. Tell you… Tell you that you’re important to me, and I don’t ever want to see you in pain again.” 

You drew your own breath. How could this be happening? This didn’t exist outside your mind. It really shouldn’t even exist in your mind. But you heard yourself speak all the same. “You could. Kiss me, I mean. If you still want to.”

His thumb stilled. “Are you sure?” 

“Mhm.” You nodded, moving a fraction of a step closer. “I’d like you to.” 

You did not like cliches. You did not like to be trite or banal, but you could have sworn you were living in slow motion as Adam leaned down the few inches between you, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it was almost chaste. 

You tilted your face towards his before he could pull away, parting your lips ever so slightly, leaning into the warmth at your shoulders. He seemed to get the idea, his hands sliding effortlessly up your neck to cradle your face, fingers caressing your jaw and cheeks, your own hands settling on his wrists. Your heart thudded wildly, and you felt for all the world like a schoolgirl playing truth or dare at a sleepover, a teenager spinning the bottle with the boy you liked sitting across from you, a Guardian of the goddamn Galaxy being touched so gently by the guy you’d ridden six ways into next week not three hours ago. 

You pulled back first, but barely. “I didn’t do a very good job of this before, did I?”

“It wasn’t too bad. Not what I expected.” You could feel the words on your skin, your face so close to his that his features were slightly blurred. His breath was warm against your lips. 

“Mm,” you sighed, “that’s not usually how it goes.” 

“Oh. Ok then.” He dipped back down momentarily, pulling away just as fast. “I like this a lot better.” 

“Me too,” you smiled, stretching up to kiss him again. This was firmer, more direct. This time his lips were parted too, and he gave a pleased little hum when you moved against him. You let go of his wrists, mourning the loss of his hands on your face for a moment before you mimicked the position, pulling him closer to you. He was good at this, and you vaguely wondered if it was just the sex part that was new to him. His hands had settled at your waist, holding you steady and he hummed into your mouth, a sound that you could have listened to forever. 

“I wanted this for so long, Adam,” you murmured between kisses. “I thought about you too, you know.” 

“(Y/N)...” Adam paused, raising a hand to press against your forehead. 

You just smiled, pressing into his touch. “It’s all me, don’t worry.” 

He nodded, following your lead as your tongue slipped along his lip, a tiny moan caught between his mouth and yours when you slid it alongside his. He tasted like the falsely sweet nutritious bars you never seemed to run out of, warm and smooth and so soft. How could a person’s mouth be that soft? Now you really felt bad for the borderline assault you’d launched on it earlier. 

You’d ended up with your hands on his shoulders, half bracing yourself and half mapping out the contours of his upper arms, neck, collar and chest. Your fingers slid easily through his hair where it brushed his neck, dipping occasionally under the high collar. You needed to get someone onto redesigning those. 

He was holding you so close you wondered if he was trying to somehow pull you into him, his grip firm and decisive on your hips. Carefully, experimentally, you pushed your pelvis against his, a bolt of heat shooting through you at the hardness already growing there. He cursed, muffled by the fact that his tongue was in your mouth, welcome as anything he was giving you. 

“Is this–?” you started, but he cut you off. 

“Yes,” he breathed, drawing back enough to look at you. He was really flushed now, lips swollen and so, so pretty, eyes bright with want. “Yes, (Y/N).” 

“Are you sure? No lives on the line here.” 

He smiled, stroking your hip gently. “I’m sure.”

“Ok.” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips before taking his hand and leading him towards the bed you’d woken in, your steps sure and determined. He sat, as he had before, watching you expectantly. You considered simply shedding your clothes and letting him take the lead. Maybe you could sit on his lap and jerk him off, show him how to touch you. Maybe. 

“Can I?” you asked as you stood between his legs, fingers toying with the fastenings of his clothes.

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard. “Yes.” 

“Would you like me to?” 

Again, “yes.” 

You smiled, running your hand up to cup his cheek. “You gotta help me out.” 

“Mhm.” He nodded, kissing your palm before reaching up to peel off the suit, rolling the material smoothly down his arms, his chest, letting it bunch at his hips.

This was not the first time you’d seen him without a shirt. There’d been the aftermath of the face-off with the High Evolutionary, for one, and you definitely remembered stripping him before. A few moments where he or you had entered the other’s space as he’d been pulling a shirt on or a suit up, nothing more than a glimpse of midasian shoulders, the ripple of a smooth back, the hint of a belt of muscle. You’d carefully stowed every inch of gleaming gold in the deepest recesses of your mind. 

Now you could touch, too. You bent to kiss him as your fingers curled around the ball of his shoulder, revelling in the little sigh he gave when you dragged your hand down to his sternum. His heart thudded under your palm, and you swore you could feel the warm rush of his blood beneath his skin as you slid your touch sideways, your hand now splayed over his ribs. 

He whispered your name as you moved your kisses to his jaw, still soft, gradually trailing down his neck. Goosebumps prickled under your hand when your tongue brushed his skin, the sharp rush of his breath stirring your hair when you sucked ever so lightly at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Lower, over his heart, tiny bronze marks standing out against the smooth gold. You felt the skin of his stomach twitch as your fingers met the waistband of his underwear, and you paused. 

“Is this alright?” you asked, craning your neck to look at him. 

“Yes.” His eyes were closed, lips parted, cheeks flushed, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen anything so beautiful. 

“This?” You slipped your hand under the material, tracing the deep v of his pelvis.

“(Y/N), please–” 

Oh wow. The too-tight, too-hot feeling was back, only this time its cause wasn’t sprinkled all over you. He was looking at you like you were an oxygen tank and he was drowning, and how could you ever have said no to that? 

“I can’t do it all by myself,” you smiled, pulling at the bunched and folded material circling his waist, “you gonna help out?” 

He assured you he was, lifting his hips and kicking his pants down to his ankles. It was then that you both realised he still had his boots on. He cursed softly, apologised, bent to unlace them before your hands on his stopped him. You knew what you were doing now, and exactly where you were going. 

“Let me?” you said as you knelt between his legs, your fingers already at work. 

“Oh,” he whispered as he watched you. “(Y/N), you don’t have to do that.” 

“I want to,” you replied simply. “I wanna take care of you, Adam. Can I?” 

“Yes.” It was a sigh, and his eyes when you met them were so full of what could only be described as awe that you wondered if he’d actually heard you. You ran your hands up his muscular thighs, wriggling closer to the edge of the bed, forcing his legs further apart. You bent, laying a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses across his stomach, marvelling at the smoothness and warmth of his skin, the faint tang of sweat and something else that was distinctly Adam. 

“You took care of me,” you whispered as you pulled off his underwear. “I wanna return the favour.”

He was hard, you’d felt – and seen – that much already. What you hadn’t seen, and had failed to even consider in any detail, was that his dick would be – that any dick could be – so damn pretty. It was metallic as the rest of him, ample as you’d felt earlier, flushed copper and fuck you wanted to put it in your mouth right now. 

“Is…” He paused, breathing hard. “Is that ok?” 

“Yeah,” you said quickly. “Yeah, Adam, you’re perfect. You’re just… You’re perfect.” 

He sighed again, this time with something close to relief. “Oh. Ok. That’s… That’s good. Thank you.” 

“Can I touch you?” You’d already touched him practically everywhere else, and had done a little earlier, so you didn’t expect that moan that slipped from him. 

“Yes, please,” he breathed. “Please, (Y/N), go ahead.” 

Go ahead, whispered into your neck before you’d sunk down on that dick. So of course, you spat into your hand and wrapped your fingers around him, moving your hand gently to coat the whole thing in moisture. Adam’s thigh tensed under your free hand, his breath catching in his chest. You watched his face carefully as you found a rhythm, mapping every vein and curve, the swell of the head, the wet slit which you slid your thumb over – making his hips jerk ever so slightly into your grip. 

“So beautiful,” you whispered as his hand came to rest on your shoulder. “You’re so perfect, Adam. How’d I get so lucky? What’d I ever do to deserve you?” 

Your name was little more than a sharp intake of breath, and you smiled as you continued your movements. His hand slid up to your hair, around the back of your neck, fingers dipping under the collar of your suit. “Your clothes,” he said softly. 

“Off?” You paused, relishing in the feel of his hand on you. It had been magnified thousand-fold earlier, every brush of his skin lighting you on fire. This was less severe, though not by much. 

“Mhm.” 

“Ok.” You turned your head, kissing his hand before it slipped from you as you stood. You were less graceful than Adam was in undressing, and you knew you were no stripper, but his eyes still followed every movement raptly, as though he were memorising every inch of skin you revealed. You kicked your suit aside, stepping back into place between his legs as you cast off your bra. 

Adam’s hands were quick to settle on your hips, dipping under the waistband of your underwear. “Do you want help with this, too?” 

“Yes,” you smiled as you brought your hands to his hair. You’d vaguely noticed that it was softer than you’d expected, and didn’t catch easily between your fingers, but that he’d seemed to like it when you’d pulled it a little. You could explore that more later, you supposed, too focussed on the way he slid the garment down over your thighs to pool at your feet. He hummed quietly as you continued to card through his hair, fingers stroking his scalp gently. 

You followed his movement as he ducked lower, sucking a harsh breath through your teeth when you felt him kiss your hip bone, his tongue warm and silken. He did again, his moan soft moan when your fingers involuntarily tightened in his hair stifled by your pelvis. He was copying you, you realised, giving you a belt of kisses just like you’d done to him. Except he was moving lower now, becoming sloppier, gently sucking every now and then. 

“What’re you doing?” you asked softly, frowning down at him. 

“I want to taste you,” he murmured, not raising his head. “Want to make you feel good.” 

Oh God. This man, you thought for the second time and certainly not the last. You laughed, the growing heat in your gut throbbing indignantly as you pulled him gently away. He pressed his cheek into your hand again as you let it fall from his hair, his brow pinched in confusion. 

“Next time,” you told him, “ok?” Then, “And you already made me feel good. You fucked me so good it saved my life. Now it’s my turn, hm?” 

He seemed to consider that for a moment, then the confusion cleared and he nodded, turning his head to kiss your wrist. He didn’t break eye contact as you knelt once more, rubbing your hands over his thighs again, up to his hips where you caressed the little belt of copper marks. You matched now. How cute. 

You leaned forwards, kissing the spot where his leg met his body. If you turned your head just an inch, your mouth would be on his cock. It was hot to the touch, still wet with your makeshitft lube, still flushed deep bronze, now beaded with precum at the tip. 

You looked up, meeting his eyes. “You tell me if you wanna stop, ok?” 

“Ok.” 

That was all you needed. You licked up the shaft, ignoring the twitch of his hips and the sharp gasp it conjured. He moaned – really moaned – when your lips closed over the head, then again, louder, as you relaxed your mouth and sank down on him. What didn’t fit in your mouth was taken care of by the hand that wasn’t holding his hips down, not that you’d be able to do much if he decided to face fuck you. 

“(Y/N),” he panted, “oh my– (Y/N).” 

“Good?” you mumbled, though it sounded nothing like the word. He seemed to get the idea. 

“Yes, yes it’s– you’re– Oh!” 

You’d sucked, hard, hollowing your cheeks and sliding your head down as far as you could. You drew back, tongue swirling around the tip of his cock before you did again. And again, and again. 

He groaned your name as you sped up, hand moving in tandem with your mouth, hot and heavy against your tongue. His hand had found its way to your hair, not pushing or pulling, just resting on the back of your head as you practically swallowed his dick. 

You’d never had a problem giving head. Liked it, sure, if the guy was nice, but you hadn’t loved it, and had never understood people who did. Now, as Adam cursed and whispered your name, all of it liberally punctuated by stilted moans and the occasional whine or grunt, you thought you got it. The idea that it was you doing that to him, you and you alone teasing forth those heady noises and making his body twitch and jerk like that… You could happily get on your knees for him every day of the rest of your life if this was what it was like every time. 

You breathed deeply through your nose, the warm, sweet and very Adam smell of him managing somehow to overpower the ever growing mess of spit and a little sweat your hand was sliding through. Maybe with anyone else it would have been gross, but here it only forced your own soft moan before trickling to join the wetness growing between your legs. Earlier, as your mind had cleared, right as Adam had been lifting you off his lap, you’d decided that you never wanted to be aroused ever again. You were very happy that wish hadn’t come true as you squeezed your thighs together, eager for any friction you could get. 

You could taste the saltiness of his precum at the back of your throat, feel the throb of his cock on your tongue as you relaxed even further, taking him deeper than you’d tried before. You prayed you weren’t about to make yourself throw up on him. 

“(Y/N),” he choked, thumb rubbing tiny circles where it rested in your hair. That was going to be a bitch to untangle. 

“Hm?” 

“You’re so–” He broke off as you sucked hard, the muscles of his thighs and stomach tensing. “Ah, you’re so beautiful. So soft, you’re so… Oh, (Y/N)--” 

You’d sped up at the praise, fuelled by the tiny, restrained thrusts into your mouth and the tightening of his hand in your hair. He was close, you could feel it, and you wanted nothing more than to make him cum in your mouth.

“So much,” he groaned. “It’s so… so much, I–” 

You squeezed gently at his thigh, a silent reassurance. He’d cum before – in you, no less – but maybe you should have started with something that you could talk to him through. You could have used your hand and told him that it was ok, that he was doing well, while you kissed him and he made all those beautiful noises against your lips. Hell, you could have gone straight to the ninth yard and let him fill you up again, given him control. 

Too late now, you supposed. His cock twitched, hips stuttering, whole body tensing. You squeezed his thigh again, I’ve got you, it’s alright, as he groaned deeply. His chest heaved, head tipped back as he came down your throat, hot and thick and salty. You didn’t stop your movements, hand and mouth working him through his high until there was no more. You pulled back and, after a moment’s hesitation, gently licked away the mess of your own spit coating him. 

You sat back on your heels, hand still resting on his shaking leg, and took him in. He shone with more than his usual iridescence, a sheen of sweat clinging to his torso, some pieces of hair sticking to his forehead, face and neck flushed so prettily, breath still coming hard and fast. You’d done that. You’d made him look like that. You were responsible for the pure, raw pleasure painted in every line of his being. 

“That was…” He broke off, swallowing hard before opening his eyes. He blinked, looked down at you on the floor, smiled. “That was incredible.” 

You smiled back, taking his hands in both your own. “You taste fucking divine,” you whispered as you kissed his knuckles. “And you did so well.” 

You couldn’t tell past the orgasm-glow, but you thought he might have blushed. “You’re so… so beautiful, (Y/N),” he repeated. “And so warm, and soft, I–” 

Now you were blushing, heat rolling up your neck, over your cheeks. “You’re beautiful,” you said softly as you stood, leaning down to press your lips against his. They immediately parted, tongue sliding beside your own, eager and exploratory. You shivered as his hands came to rest on your hips once more, pulling you closer as he shuffled backwards until your knees hit the edge of the bed. 

“Adam,” you murmured, still bent over him. 

He tried to pull you closer still, gently, but still insistent. “What?” 

You tried not to laugh at the hint of frustration in his voice. “Bed’s in the way. I can’t get any closer.” 

“Yes you can.” He broke away, frowning. “Just sit on me.” 

“Sit on you?” You glanced at his lap, back up again, raising your eyebrows. Did you hear that right? 

“Yes. Sit on me.” He pulled again, and you were struck suddenly by the realisation that he really didn’t have to ask – or tell – you to do anything. If he wanted you on top of him that badly, he could easily pick you up and place you there without breaking a sweat. Hell, he could throw you across the room if he really got the urge. But he wasn’t forcing you. Even the pressure on your hips was gentle enough that you could have pulled away any time you wanted. 

“Ok,” you smiled, steadying yourself on his shoulders as you knelt over his thighs. 

“You can relax,” he urged, his hands running down over your hips to your thighs, back up again and over your waist, around to your back. His arms circled you, head bent as he mouthed at your neck. “Don’t have to hold yourself up.” 

“You sure?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Ok.” You relaxed your legs, sinking down to rest atop his. He hadn’t stopped the attention he was giving to your neck, nosing your hair aside to kiss under your ear, along the hollow of your jaw, over your jugular, right across the tendons at the base of your throat. You tipped your head back for him, sighing in satisfaction as you ran your hand through his hair. His palms were warm where they pressed into your back, his chest and stomach smooth against your own. 

“Closer,” he whispered under your ear, pushing you further up his legs. 

You shifted, your stomach backflipping as your pelvis met his. He hummed into your skin, pressing you harder against himself, his cock hard again and hot where it lay between your bodies. His mouth had moved lower, to your breasts, sucking and licking at the sensitive skin just as gently as he’d done to your neck. 

“You don’t have to be so gentle,” you breathed, rocking your hips. 

“Hm, I don’t want to hurt you.” 

You smiled at that. “You won’t, I promise. I wanna see this tomorrow, and the day after, and the day after that, and maybe even the day after that, too.” 

You felt him nod, and then moaned because yes he was really using his mouth now. His teeth grazed your skin as he sucked a dark mark just below your collar bone, soothing it quickly with his tongue. He looked up at you momentarily for approval, and at your smile, bent again to repeat it. Yep, you were going to be seeing those for a while. 

“Adam,” you gasped as he stooped lower, leaving a trail of wet hickeys down the centre of your chest. 

“Hm?”

“I know I was kind of – oh – in control last time,” you started, biting your lip as he turned his attention to your breast. “Do you want – fuck, yes – to try being in charge?” 

“No,” he said after a pause. He looked up, hand ghosting up your side to stroke a particularly large and dark hickey. “I liked it.” 

That wasn’t what you’d been expecting. He was always so happy to go along with whatever everyone else was doing, which you supposed was another side effect of Sovereign upbringing, you’d assumed he might like to take the lead. He seemed to be having an excellent time exploring your body at his leisure. 

“Ok then,” you smiled as you ground against him. “Do you want me to do it again?” 

“Yes.” His breathing was heavy as he nodded. “Please, (Y/N).” 

“Ok.” You reached down, taking his cock in your hand. “Ready?” 

He broke away from your chest, looking up at you like you’d hung the bloody stars. His hand joined yours as he closed the distance, kissing you softly at first, then with less coordination as you lined him up and sank down, sighing against his lips. His fingers gripped your thigh, tight enough that you wondered if they were leaving marks, a deep groan echoing through the space between you. 

“Alright?” you murmured, your voice not half as steady as you’d have liked. 

“Alright,” he echoed. He stroked up your leg, under the back of your thigh, squeezing gently at the soft flesh of your ass and lifting you. You wondered if he was trying to get you off him for a second, then he was lowering you back onto himself and it clicked. 

“Like this?” you asked, rocking your hips over his. God, he fit so perfectly, it was like he’d been made for you, the way his cock stroked every inch of your insides, sliding smoothly with how wet you were. How had you glossed over that the first time? 

“Yes, yes,” he sighed. “(Y/N), you’re– yes, like that.” 

You wondered if he knew what he was doing to you as you practically whined, steadying yourself against his shoulders just as you had before. His arm was around your waist, holding you close as you lifted and lowered your hips, your chest brushing his with every movement. 

His lips had returned to your neck, warm and soft. “Is this good?” he asked as he sucked at the as yet unmarked skin there. “For you?” 

Wow, you were ruined for anyone else. “So good, Adam,” you whispered, running your hands over his shoulders, the back of his neck. “You feel so fucking good.” 

He groaned deep in his chest, his hips jerking up into yours. And oh if that didn’t turn you on more than you already were. Just your words could have that effect on him. Eight little words and your touch, and he did that. The power was intoxicating. 

“What you do to me,” he was saying, guiding your movements. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” 

“Yeah?” You slid one hand down, trailing over his chest and stomach before finding the mess of heat and slick and sweat where your body met his. Your fingers danced over your clit, a sharp hiss of air between your teeth. 

“No idea,” he repeated, the words gliding over your skin like water. 

“Fuck,” you moaned, “fuck, Adam. You have no idea what you’re doing to me.” 

You felt him smile. “Hm?” 

“You feel fucking amazing,” you hissed past the steady pleasure-ache of his cock hitting that place deep inside you, your fingers on your clit. It was building with every slap of your hips against his, hot and tight. 

“Oh, (Y/N)--” 

“Love feeling you fill me up,” you continued. “Dreamed about what it’d be like.” 

“What is it like?” 

“Like – fuck, Adam – it’s like fucking Heaven, I swear–” 

He groaned your name again, desperate and God, you were so close. 

“You look like Heaven,” you panted, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling his head back. You searched his face past the pleasure-haze already clouding your vision, dipping down to kiss him hard. It was as messy as the first not-quite-kiss had been, all tongue and breath and your whispered “so fucking pretty” as you licked into his mouth. 

“So are you,” he managed, hands kneading at the soft skin of your waist and hips, cheeks flushed and eyes bright. 

“Love hearing you say my name,” you went on, your fingers working harder and faster. “All those sounds you make, so perfect–” 

“(Y/N).” He said it like a prayer, like an incantation, and if that wasn’t the hottest thing you’d ever heard, you didn’t know what was. 

“Gonna make me cum, Adam holy shit–” 

He thrust harder up into you, lips fastened to the hollow under your jaw, moving you hard and fast against himself. “Yes, do it, cum on me,” he babbled. “Let me make you feel good.” 

That did it. The bomb of pleasure inside you exploded, fizzing out though your legs as you spasmed around him, a desperate cry of his name torn from you. You held him tight, fingers twisting in his hair, half conscious of his own litany of curses and praises and your name repeated throughout as he continued to move your boneless body. He spilled hot inside you, and when you finally regained control of your mind, he was breathing hard against your chest and shoulder. 

“Are you alright?” you asked, combing your fingers through his hair. 

“Yes,” he nodded. His grip on you had loosened considerably, his hands roaming soothingly up and down your back. “Are you?” 

You sighed, then laughed as you drew back. His brow furrowed as you held his face between your hands. “Am I alright?” you echoed incredulously. “Adam, you are amazing.” 

The frown deepened. “So… yes?” 

“Yes.” You leaned down, pressing your lips to his. This kiss was gentle, slow and thorough, and he smiled at you when you parted. “Will you stay this time?” you asked.

“Yes.” Then, “Can I clean you up again?” 

“Yes.” You sighed as he effortlessly shifted you off himself, setting you gently on the bed. You could feel his cum leaking slowly out of you, the air cool against your sweat, his spit still on your skin, and the mess of arousal around your crotch. He wasn’t in any better shape, really, but still he moved with ease and grace towards the doorway, returning in record time with a damp cloth. 

Something inside you ached with how gentle he was. Thorough, but he drew away at the slightest hint of discomfort. He’d done this before, you supposed, when you’d been asleep. You remembered him telling you he was going to clean you up, had heard his footsteps retreating, but had dozed off before he’d returned. Still, you’d woken up relatively clean, and there’d been the blanket, too. If it had been anyone else the thought would have made you feel violated, perhaps, but not with him. With him it made your heart melt.

“Let me,” you said softly when he’d finished, taking the cloth and wiping at the mess around his crotch with a clean portion. You tossed the cloth aside when you were done, shuffling backwards, pulling him to lie with you. It took some wriggling, but eventually you settled face to face under the blanket, his arm draped over your ribs, fingers toying with the hair at the back of your head, your own hand splayed over his heart. 

“I meant it,” he said softly. “What I said before.” 

“Hm?” 

“You’re important to me.” Although the bronze had faded from his face, leaving it the shining gold you were used to, his lips were still slightly swollen, his eyes bright. In the dimness of the corner of the room, with the light behind him, he seemed to glow. 

“Oh,” you smiled, then sighed as you shifted barely an inch closer “You’re important to me too, Adam.” 

He leaned forward over the tiny gap, kissing your lips ever so gently. “Can we… do this again? When we’re back?” 

“Yeah. I’d like to.” You paused, taking your turn to kiss him. “I like being with you,” you whispered as you pulled away. 

Adam smiled. His hand flattening against your shoulder blades, he pulled you in against his chest. His skin was so warm, and you could hear his heart beating, feel his breathing. 

“I like being with you, too.” 

Note: I feel like this wasn't quite up to par with what I've written in the past, and I'm genuinely not sure why or how I can fix it. I've re-read both of these like five times now (after finishing them) and have edited them endlessly, but I just can't seem to make them feel right. Anyone else every get that? Either way, hope you guys enjoyed these x

[balkanradfem]

Hello, I have an issue and I don't really have anyone to talk to about that specific thing. I stopped waxing my body hair two years ago when I stumbled across radical feminism on tumblr, and it's been amazing! My confidence is through the roof and I stopped caring about men. Except. For the body hair. I mean, I still don't shave or anything. But I have very thick body hair due to hormonal issues and repeated waxing/shaving since I was 12. Especially on my chin where I have very thick duvet. I caved and allowed my mother to pay for laser hair removal. But it makes me crazy because I want to do it all over now. I used to swim regularly but I lost my only swimsuit where my "luscious" pubic hair was not visible (kind of... it basically goes halfway down my thigh) and they are really rare and expensive, most swimsuits are basically pubic hair out. And even while I had that one, I was very uncomfortable with my armpit hair which is literally longer than my hair. I have my hair until my ears but still, that's really long. Do you have advice, or I don't know really, stuff to make me change my mind about pubic/armpit hair and laser hair removal? I know it's not good for skin, causes skin cancer I think? But I feel so alone and idk, like a hairy beast. It gets lonely.

Ah I can relate to being scrutinized and judged in public for your body hair, even if I don't have the extra hormonal, but I remember struggling to feel normal and always feeling like I'm being watched.

I can only offer a part of what helped me: there's actually no law stating that you have to wear a woman's swimming suit on the beach or anywhere else. I wear swimming trunks and a whole t-shirt when I'm swimming and nobody has said one word to me, and I've felt super comfortable in those! It's not very eye-drawing and it's great for a transition before you are able to feel comfortable - or in some cases, if there's males around, I understand never being able to feel comfortable because they will objectify you, but that has nothing to do with your body hair, that's just the way they are.

But you don't have to wear swimming clothing that's been designed for male fantasies and fetishes, you can absolutely make or get something that makes you comfortable and un-selfconscious.

It does take years and years to become comfortable with body hair, even the normal amount. I remember at one point realizing that what I'm having, the full body hair, is normal, and being completely shaved and bare is weird, mimicking children's immature bodies, and also making your body vulnerable to infections and diseases, as well as causing discomfort. Most of body hair we have is so that our skin wouldn't chafe together, to make our movement more comfortable! So seeing women shaved naked makes me uncomfortable, I know they're undergoing discomfort, itching, bleeding, chafing, prickling and all other stuff that comes with shaving. Seeing a woman with full body hair just makes me relax and I feel so happy that she's comfortable too. Being completely shaved to me is a sign of oppression.

And later when I became even more comfortable, the thought of being a bit more repulsive and unpalatable to males made me happy. It's slightly harder to objectify a woman who is fully comfortable and unwilling to mimic a child's body with her own. So I'm displaying full freedom from their desires in front of them and don't have to care. I am however, still sad for all the women who can't do it, and are undergoing discomfort only to be slightly more palatable to their oppressors.

I don't know if my opinions can help you see it in a different way at all, it was a long journey for me, and the best I can say is, take your time. It's okay if it takes a decade to feel fully comfortable, I believe that you'll get there! There's nothing but comfort and joy waiting for you at the end of it.

[lightvsdark18]

Twst Book 7.9

Translation by Gasumasuku Gamer

"And if you think his screaming was bad, be stuck with him for three hours while he's crying his eyes out."

Riddle changed, his dorm members get along with him now. And Leona will beat your ass.

"Yeah, and it was even rougher in the beginning when we didn't have Ortho's support yet." Smug. "But despite that, I didn't make a single sound unlike you."

"I can guess who the owner is." It has been a week since her trip to the Scalding Sands.

A bit smug, "welcome to the desert, not that different from how I lived."

Disappointed, "Grim, again." Picks him up by the bow.

Takes off gloves to collect the delicious water.

Boy, we're in a desert, your makeup should the least of your concerns.

She's sitting back and enjoying herself. Perks of being a rich boy.

(No, not the crackers)

She gets nervous at hearing Malleus' name because feels like if you call his name, he will show up.

So, Aurora's story does exist here, but they believe the evil witch and Maleficent are two separate people.

"Well, if your only child is going to die because of this certain item, wouldn't you do the same? Though, destroying the spinning wheels even though you're sending her away is kinda dumb, and the curse will only happen on her 16th birthday. So..."

Thinking and listening to the others discuss, focusing on "what is different" when she finally notices. "Wait, where's Jamil?"

Alice is visually uncomfortable. ("A lump of discomfort appeared!" Yuu 😭)

(I realized Alice and Grim technically spent three months with the Scarabia duo during winter break and VDC training camp. So, she's struggling to not cringe at the bubbly Jamil.)

"Kalim! Don't you remember when I comforted you after Jamil threw us across Scarabia! How we had to swim back with Octavinelle's help!"

"Kalim! Jamil used his unique magic to control you! To get rid of you!"

(This whole thing made me feel bad)

(Cool, I get to punch Jamil in the face after what he put me through during winter break)

Hugs him.

Goes and does something else during the video.

Jacket is tied around her waist and sleeves rolled up. "Makes me to visit Scalding Sands again."

"Grim, hush."

Kalim offers the coconut and she blocks it with a hand. "Sorry to say, but I don't like coconut."

Has a bad feeling about this exchange. "Look! Someone stealing that box of fruit!" Grabs Kalim's arm and runs off.

Disbelieve at what she's seeing.

So Jamil made Kalim go bankrupt. Damn, I didn't expect that.

(Yeah, cause he looks down on people)

Oh, so Jamil's dream is him being the rich boy. Makes sense.

"I see the Sorcerer of The Sands instead of the Oasis King."

(I'm cringing, I hate this and so does Alice)

Squishes Grim's face like a mom.

"However, we have to be careful while waking him. We don't want guards or anything stopping us."

Damn.

(I like this scene, cleverly using the carpet and retelling moments in their past while acting like it's a normal conversation, then changing to his clothes to his dorm uniform as the final push. Good job, Kalim)

"Ah shit."

(Kalim, I don't like how you're looking at me. Stop it, get some help)

(I'm beating the fake with my shoe)

(Bad case of PTSD)

"I guess this is if Azul didn't have Floyd's unique magic and actually got controlled."

The other dorm leaders? Really?

Boy, Vil and Malleus would yeet you on the other side of the planet. Don't play.

(Kalim is pissed, and yes, go after Crowley, I approve)

"Oh shit...."

"Didn't expect you two to start fighting, but glad it worked out."

Grabs Kalim by the arm and drags him over to Silver.

(that image of OB being surprised and Jamil being annoyed should used as a reaction pic)

(Nooo, he avoided the bodyslam hug. He learned from last time)

"Welcome back, Jamil." Teasingly, "how's your cheek?"

"I mean, you two went ham on each other."

[taureau-soleil]

Tw: medical trauma? If you don’t like uncomfortable topics pertaining to barbaric and invasive surgeries then steer clear of this post pls

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Someone was telling me about a topic that Joe Rogan discussed on his podcast: lobotomies. It sparked discomfort in me

So naturally I went down a rabbit hole of the history of lobotomies and the usage of lobotomies in America.

Here’s the rundown: lobotomies we’re technically* invented by Portuguese neurologist António Egas Moniz in 1935. He was presented with a Nobel Prize in Physiology or Medicine** in 1949 for his contributions to the medical community. He was inspired by research conducted on chimpanzees that was led by Yale neuroscientist John Fulton.

Moniz’s work inspired Walter Freeman, a neurology professor at George Washington University. Walter Freeman had no credentials that gave him the a-ok to perform surgeries (he was not a trained medical professional…)

Freeman believed that lobotomies performed by his equal, William Beecher Scoville from Yale, were too technical and messy. So after practicing on some ALREADY DEAD bodies, Freeman started to use his own technique on living folks. His technique?

Sticking fucking icepick-like tools up underneath peoples eyelids, breaking through bone, and then wiggling the icepick back and forth until the patient stopped struggling.

Freeman showboated*** his technique at meet-ups for the medical community. He performed several lobotomies for audiences of professionals, who didn’t seem to care that he had no qualifications for this type of work. All they cared about was the fact that his patients came out as zombies. Zombies who no longer had to inhabit the overcrowded asylums in America.

Surprisingly his technique wasn’t 100% doodoo, because some people were able to walk away and live out the rest of their lives as normal. But not everyone who went under the pick came out as the same person. A lot of people he performed lobotomies on had completely different personalities than before. Some lost the ability to speak (shoutout to Rosemary Kennedy). Some only lived a few more days until they violently convulsed and died. No matter, though. The medical community slapped a bandaid on the negativity of this. How?

Before and after pictures of the patients were circulated. The before pictures all being distasteful representations of the person they once were. The after pictures showed the public a dressed up, made up, glassy eyed version of these people. It worked for some, so how could it be something bad right???

More than 3500 lobotomies were performed by Freeman until 1967. This was when antidepressants made their way onto the playing field.

* Moniz’s name for his procedure was leukotomy. The term “lobotomy” was coined by the American medical community. Moniz was also not the first person to perform psychosurgeries. Just the first to perform a lobotomy.

** Despite many concerned families pressing for Moniz to have his Nobel Prize revoked, he’s still a holder because of his scientific contributions…

*** Freeman, at one point, performed two-handed lobotomies. An ice pick in each hand, an ice pick in each eye socket. His story ends with him losing his medical license after a patient of his died in the middle of him performing one of his famous transorbital lobotomies. After that, he hopped in his “lobotomobile” (yes he called it that) and went around the country to re-visit his old patients until he died of cancer in 1972.

Resources:

https://thejns.org/focus/view/journals/neurosurg-focus/43/3/article-pE4.xml

https://lithub.com/a-brief-and-awful-history-of-the-lobotomy/

https://thejns.org/focus/view/journals/neurosurg-focus/43/3/article-pE6.xml

https://www.discovermagazine.com/mind/lobotomys-back

https://www.npr.org/2005/11/16/5014080/my-lobotomy-howard-dullys-journey

https://lisawallerrogers.com/2009/01/16/266/amp/

[singswan-springswan]

HCs for Falcon Torres, since he’s still living in my brain rent-free

First of all him baby

he is precious and soft and must be protected at all costs

I prefer him to be six-limbed rather than have his arms double as his wings because structurally that just makes more sense to me, + aesthetically it looks a lot better. Also like, how is he supposed to dramatically swoop and catch people midair if he’s using his arms to fly like,,, is he supposed to use his legs…? To hold stuff…? this post for visual reference/my personal take

he do got that third eyelid

poor boy can’t find a comfortable position to sleep in for the first few days; the wings are big and bulky and awkward when he’s horizontal. eventually some of the gang got together and made him a lil perch in his room that’s kind of like a bench with a padded cushion mounted in front of it so his legs can just free hang but his butt and chest are supported and there’s plenty of room for the wings

sensory overloads. like, this kid had enhanced eyesight, hearing, and accelerated healing dumped on him all at once. it’s a lot to get used to, and sometimes he needs to take a min sitting in a dark quiet room before the migraine starts to fade. Sam always tries to be there helping him through it because that’s his sidekick gosh darn and tbh who DOESN’T want to give the baby angel gentle hugs and pats on the head and talk to him in a low, soothing voice?

I’m sure the wings are really sensitive too. it’s not that they have a greater capacity for pain; he’s got a great pain tolerance all around, but if you breathe on the wings he’ll feel it. It’s a useful trait when flying comes into play because it’ll allow him to be very keyed in on air currents and how best to maneuver in flight for maximum efficiency so that he’s not spending a ton of energy fighting the wind. bUT it also makes touching the wings sort of a big deal. like poor kid they’re so large and at first these muscles he’s never had before are aching just to hold the wings shut so that they’re not in the way all the time, but there must be moments when in spite of his efforts someone brushes against him or touches without asking and it’s just—it feels like a lot. He probably wouldn’t go out of his way to avoid contact, but he’s not a super cuddly person in the show so I guess his reactions are up to circumstantial interpretation. Like there are probably some people who could touch his wings without him batting an eye: his mom and grandma, or Sam, for starters. but if it’s a stranger that’s got to make him a little uncomfortable.

since it’s a given that everyone loves Torres, I’d like to think he also got a custom birdbath as a gift from someone rich like Pepper. Keeping his feathers clean is a very important part of staying hygienic—which would be difficult enough if he wasn’t following Sam around doing superhero stuff for goofs and giggles. If his wings aren’t carefully preened on a regular basis, it can cause irritation and discomfort, and because he has so many feathers, he needed an efficient way to cleanse the grime in one swoop so he’s not spending hours every day picking through them. He gets the hang of using the giant bath after a few tries (it’s just a fancy swimming pool with stupidly strong jets built in). Luckily, the bath also comes with velocity dryers that blast the wings and catch anything else all his splashing around might have missed. This system works well enough that it doesn’t carve out huge chunks of his time, but he still does need a routine preening every couple of weeks or so. Usually he has to ask someone for help because (shocker) he isn’t as flexible as an actual bird and can’t reach some of the spots on the outsides of his wings. It’s kind of an intimate bonding moment but it needs to be done and baby was a little embarrassed to ask at first but everyone in his immediate vicinity is always ready to help at the drop of a hat (yes, even Bucky) so eventually he just finds someone who he knows won’t be busy for a bit and plops down in front of them with his wings in their lap. There are a handful of combs and brushes that get the job done but it’s always better by hand. I really like the image of Bucky and Sam sitting on the couch watching TV some lazy afternoon each with one wing to work on and Torres is chilling on the floor going through his email or somethin. He let AJ and Cass do it when they visited and they were very very excited and gentle.

after the initial shock of oh no! I’m a bird! and oh no! it’s permanent! Torres gets used to it and just accepts that this is his crazy life now. He’s not particularly vain but he did spend a while staring at himself in the mirror just to watch the light hit his feathers, turning in a circle a few times and generally trying to wrap his brain around having a new set of limbs yay.

of course, one of his first thoughts was “wonder if I can fly” because his bones didn’t totally hollow out from the transformation but his wings are massive and at the very least he could probably glide if he jumped from a high enough place. Bucky catches him experimentally testing different forms and lil flappy flaps in the gym and throws him off a building like the dad that he is. Sam was not happy to hear about that. But as it turns out, Torres CAN fly! so no harm done :)

The feathers are actually very durable. They’re flexible and glossy and don’t get damaged easily from just any rough and tumble. Sam let Torres wear the EXO when he first started to practice flying, and the thruster did singe his long ornamental tail feathers but the damage was surprisingly minimal. Sometimes he shields himself or others from stuff like projectiles or wind or blasts and other potentially harmful forces

He uses his wings for random practical things like shading himself from the sun or being an umbrella or even like a fluffy blanket if he’s cold. It’s super effective!

Torres couldn’t swim super well before he turned into a bird, but the wings just make it that much harder. the only silver lining is that they’re semi-waterproof and shed water considerably well but generally figuring out how to maneuver with them is a pain and usually ends up as a mild drowning scare. as long as he can stand up, he’s good, but any free-stroke or other such coordinated motorized activity is a lost cause. he tries to avoid bodies of water as a general rule when on missions because if he gets stuck then someone has to haul him out and that’s a whole ordeal because of the wings being awkwardly big and also he’s just kinda dead weight.

He had to relearn how to walk pretty much because the wings kept throwing him off balance and every time he stood up or took a step he kept falling on his butt

But like, once he gets the hang of it, he’s OFF he’s got the zoomies and sliding down halls in his fuzzy socks, bouncing off the walls because he can and generally acting like an excited young man with too much energy because of his fast metabolism. And it’s unclear whether the increased speed and agility is also a side-effect of the transformation, but he’s definitely scoring off the charts on those. He learns how to maneuver with the wings to stay aerodynamic or when to flag and redirect his momentum, and it’s not long before he’s flying circles around Sam because he’s fast enough and strong enough to keep pace with the EXO. Obviously he doesn’t have quite as good endurance and can’t stay airborne as long as Sam can, depending on how acrobatic he’s being, but they’re still a very closely even match in that field. Him go nyoom

little kids stare at him and ask if he’s an angel

oh boy when he MOLTS tho. His wings are huge, so he’s got a lot of feathers. and when he molts they go everywhere. He doesn’t have a lot of down because most of his feathers are on his wings but he does have some on his back and shoulders that drift around in the air like pollen spores when he be going thru it LOL he has to keep a shop vac in his room and tries to use it daily because even when he’s not molting he does shed a bit. The gang finds feathers in inconvenient places like coffee mugs in the cabinets or in the bathroom sink. Natasha yells at him every time she plops down on the couch and finds herself stabbed in the butt with one of his pretty lil flight feathers. like darn he’s so cute and his feathers are gorgeous but he’s leaving them EVERYWHERE dear lord. They all give him the side eye when he ruffles his wings and does the lil poof thing that birds do and like five feathers pop out and silently flutter to the ground and he’s SO CUTE KRIFF it’s really hard to be annoyed for long

He became exponentially more carnivorous after turning into Bird Man and is absolutely vicious for steak night/also he just has a dizzyingly fast metabolism almost as fast as Steve and Bucky’s and just shovels food down like a man starved at every meal. He eats most of his meat rare now which might be a side-effect from being mildly vampiric idk. Bruce is completely baffled by these developments because nothing about Torres anatomically or physiologically makes sense it’s almost as if his condition was engineered by some crazy fangirl who put way more emphasis on what looks cool and sounds fun rather than what scientifically tracks but then again this is marvel so when has actual science ever applied haha

The enhanced eyesight and hearing I mentioned earlier and I think is worth detailing a bit more. Because he is literally a Falcon hybrid thing, his eyes are better than yours. About eight times better, according to google. I would also like to give him infrared to small degree despite that being impossible since he’s still warm-blooded but oH WELL we ride, brothers. He likes to be annoying sometimes and read things from very far away just to show off. sometimes it’s helpful on a mission but sometimes he’s only goofing around for the sake of being like twenty years old. And the hearing isn’t really specific to falcon but I think it’s a good addition to his new ability set so make him hear things that no one else can hear except for other enhanced individuals, like heartbeats, and relaxed breathing, and voices in the apartment three floors up, and the family of mice in the walls that he wants to eat, and Alpine sneaking around in the cabinets probably looking for the poptart stash that Thor painstakingly hid last time he was here (which isn’t in the cabinets at all, you fool. it’s sequestered away behind a ceiling panel that Torres found while playing hide ‘n seek with Bucky—which he knows will be the death of him if he keeps dipping into but life is just one big yeehaw until you kick the bucket so tbh go for it man. besides, he can always replenish before Thor comes back). He and Bucky have aggressive hide ‘n seek competitions because both of them can hear each other with their enhanced senses so it’s more like a cat-mouse game than stay put and hunker down, which is just fine with Torres because he’s bulky and doesn’t like cramming himself into small spaces anyway if he can help it. Bucky doesn’t like hiding either. he’s too much of a unit.

If you can’t tell, everyone is still alive living happily ever after and ideally The Tower is still chilling under Tony’s name so all the newest acquisitions to the Found Avengers Family have their own space to be quirky and weird because fight me they deserve to get domestic. Ideally Torres makes quick friends with all the other youngins like Peter and Wanda who also be going thru the wack new powers phase and just want to get up to shenanigans and cause chaos already which annoys all of the veteran Avengers because it makes them feel way more parental and old than they are comfortable with. Clint and Sam get into arguments about who has custody of Torres because they’re both trying to claim him as their bird baby; Sam argues that he is the actual falcon/captain america whatever and Torres is his sidekick but Clint is also a bird and has far more experience being a dad not only to regular gremlins (Cooper and Lila and Nat) but also magic feral gremlins aka the Maximoff twins (Pietro is alive because he can dodge bullets shut up). Bucky thinks this is hilarious.

[seriouslysnape]

Moonlight Dip

Neville Longbottom x Fem! Reader

Warnings: Fluff, Sexual content (super brief).

Word Count: 2,588

“We’re going swimming.”

Hogwarts was always desolate and quiet at this time of night. The only person who was supposed to be stirring was Filch, Mrs. Norris, and possibly Professor Snape keeping an eye out for any students who had grown bold enough to break curfew. Most students didn’t bother trying to sneak around the castle at night. Not because they were afraid of getting caught, but because if they DID get caught, they’d have to deal with Filch’s overly strict behavior. Honestly, that was a punishment in and of itself. 

Which was why Neville just couldn’t seem to figure out why you were leading him through the dark corridors, moving like a woman on a mission. You had crept into his dorm around midnight or so, pouncing on his bed and shaking him from his gentle slumber. You barely waited for him to wake up before you were whisper-shouting at him that you had somewhere for the two of you to go. He never minded a surprise visit from you, but he also wasn’t very keen on attempting to slip out undetected. Still, his curiosity won out.

“Hey, uh, flower?” He whispered, not knowing where Filch might’ve been.

“Yes, Neville?” You whispered back, peering your head around the corner to check for anyone coming. 

“Where are we going exactly? And why are you in your robes?” He questioned, feeling a bubble of nervousness in his chest.

Truth be told, Neville felt a little underdressed. He was clad in his pajamas bottoms and an old t-shirt that he only used to sleep in. You looked back at him with a smile, his heart leaping at how beautiful you looked under the illumination of the Lumos you had uttered from your wand. Neville had learned to be more spontaneous after he had begun dating you. You were as sweet and respectful as anyone, but you definitely had a wild side that sometimes shaved some years off of Neville’s life. He wasn’t sure what to think of it at first, but over time he found that he loved all of your silly shenanigans. Even the ones that had gotten you both in hot water before. 

“I told you, Nev. It’s a surprise!” You answered, squeezing his hand that was interlaced in yours, “It won’t be a surprise anymore if I tell you.”

Neville made a puzzled, yet thoughtful look as he racked his brain of possible ideas. He thought that maybe that you were daring to venture to Hogsmeade for a late night snack. Every now and again, you’d convince Neville to help you with sneaking into Honeydukes after hours to snag a few treats (don’t worry, you always left the right amount of money on the counter to pay for it). 

However, his theory was proven wrong when he realized that you were taking him past the courtyard and in the general direction of the Quidditch field. He was glad that it was well into spring now, and the nights were warm with the days. You didn’t play Quidditch though, and neither did he. So he couldn’t fathom why you were headed that way.

“The Quidditch fields are always dark this time of night. There’s no way we’ll be able to see.” Neville pointed out, mumbling under his breath when he almost tripped on a loose rock. 

You turned to look at him again, another smile plastering on your face. 

“Then it’s a good thing that we aren’t going there.” You replied.

Sure enough, you kept walking towards your desired locating, keeping your antsy boyfriend in tow. About the time that Neville had given up on trying to figure out where you were taking him, his question was answered. The lake was always so pretty at night, and tonight was no exception. The moon was only a phase away from being full, but still offering enough light to where the two of you could somewhat see. The reflection bounced beautifully off of the dark lake, creating glittering ripples in the water when it was agitated from it’s still position.

You let go of Neville’s hand once you were standing on the bank, crouching down to untie your shoelaces. Neville stood still, his arms at his side rather awkwardly. He wasn’t picking up on your plan just yet.

“I didn’t know that you like to fish.” Neville said aloud, not bothering to whisper anymore since there was no chance that anyone would be out here.

“I don’t.” You giggled, removing your shoes and socks.

Neville’s eyebrows raised, still oblivious even as your fingertips worked at untying the cord around your robes. Well, he WAS oblivious, until it was literally right in front of his face.

“Then why are we- oh my God, what are you doing?” He cut himself off when your robes fell to the grass, revealing your bra and knickers underneath.

Neville was glad that it was mainly dark outside, because his sudden deep blush would’ve been painfully obvious otherwise. You smirked at the bashful boy who was frozen in place, unsure of what he was supposed to do.

“We’re going swimming.” You announced, reaching for his hand again. 

Except he didn’t take your hand. He wasn’t on board with this idea at all.

“Oh no. No, no, no. I draw the line at swimming naked!” He rattled off, taking a step away from you.

You weren’t offended in the slightest, and you were even rather amused at his skittish behavior. This was nothing new to you.

“I’m technically not naked.” You reminded him calmly.

“You’re in your knickers!” He hissed back, his eyes widening as he actually took a second to look at the lacy material.

“Exactly. Which equals not naked.” You returned, fighting the urge to burst into laughter.

“Nope!” He protested, sitting down on the grass instead, “I’ve defended us for getting caught sneaking off for Chocolate Frogs and breaking into the library at 3 o’clock in the morning. But I will not try to explain why we were in the lake naked.” 

Neville seemed adamant about staying put where he was. He was tempted to get up and leave, but there was no shot in hell that he was going to leave you out here by yourself. He was perfectly fine with sitting off to the side and observing from a safe distance.

“You see me in my underwear all the time, Nevy,” You said, not really believing that the lack of clothes was what he was timid about, “Is it the ‘nakedness’ or the critters that sometimes live in the lake?”

Neville was frightened of a lot of things, and while he tended to love animals, aquatic animals were an exception. Fish and water-based bugs freaked him out for some reason that even you didn’t quite understand. The only animals that lived in and around water that he liked were frogs and toads. The only aspect of the lake that he might enjoy (aside from seeing you wet and half-naked) were the plants that were undoubtedly growing below the surface.

“Maybe both...” He murmured, resting his forearms on top of his knees that were pulled into his chest, “Regardless, I’m staying right here.”

You shrugged your shoulders, believing your intuition that said that he’d be in the water with you in less than fifteen minutes.

“Suit yourself.” You told him before making a graceful entrance splash into the water.

He watched as you plunged in, your entire frame disappearing under the water that looked black due to the inky color of the sky. Neville felt his nerves get fired up when you went under, a slight anxiety in his gut that you might not come back up. The lake wasn’t super deep by any means, only coming up to just below your hip. Neville knew that it was possible to drown in any depth of water, which was why he became a bit on edge.

Thankfully, though, you emerged from below the water before he could get too worked up. He watched with interest when your hands swept your wet hair backwards, slicking it on your head. 

Neville had always found you pretty. He thought you were the most beautiful girl on the planet. While he always thought that you looked stunning, there were still times where it was much more clear to him. For instance, early in the morning when you’ve just woken up is one of his favorites. Or right before a Gryffindor party on Friday nights when you’ve taken extra time to get spiffied up. Seeing you always made his heart beat with a little more purpose. It reminded him of how much he cared for and loved you. 

And this moment now really had him swooning.

His eyes studied as water droplets dripped from your frame, soaking into your underwear and gliding down your beautiful skin. It created a shiny gleam over you, bringing out all of his favorite parts of you. He must’ve fallen into a lusty daze, because he felt himself snap back into reality when you called to him.

“You sure you don’t want to get in?” You spoke, letting your fingertips trail over the surface of the lake.

Neville shook his head in response. 

“I’m good here, tulip. Promise.” He said, still not sure if this was something he wanted to do. 

You never pressured Neville into doing things he didn’t want to do. You never wanted him to be uncomfortable around you or associate discomfort with spending time with you. However, you knew that Neville was a worrier. He was an avid overthinker and sometimes just let his nerves get the best of him. You encouraged him to live a little more, without thinking about every single possible outcome of a situation. It’s great to be cautious and aware, but life without taking some risks could be...boring. You just didn’t want Neville to grow old with you and wish he hadn’t let his head get the best of him.

You swam out towards the middle of the lake, but not so far that you couldn’t see or hear Neville. You floated on your back and played with things that you found on the mushy, sandy floor of the lake. Neville maintained a conversation with you, but found himself feeling tempted to join you. It was just swimming. It wasn’t like the two of you were trying to blow up the lake or anything. 

“How does...how does it feel?” Neville asked, stifling a giggle at how you were bouncing on your feet with your head lolled to the side to get water out of your ear.

“It’s nice. It’s not warm by any means, but it feels good.” You told him, wringing the excess water from your hair, “Changed your mind?”

Neville chewed the inside of his cheek, but he was warming up to the idea.

“I don’t even have a pair of swim trunks with me.” He argued.

You motioned towards your own body with a look of hilarity.

“Oh, and I’m wearing my swimsuit? It doesn’t matter, love. Just take off what you have on.” You instructed, getting hopeful that he was actually going to do it.

Neville stood from where he sat, stripping down to his boxers at a snail’s pace. He folded his clothes neatly, setting them next to your robes that he had also folded previously. He dipped his foot into the water, expecting it to be much colder than it actually was. It was a lukewarm temperature, something that would be refreshing on a hot summer day, but far too freezing for a frigid winter day. For his moderate spring night, it was perfect.

Neville didn’t love how the bottom of the lake felt on his feet. It was a mix of a squishy, gelatinous feeling. You reached for his hands excitedly, taking them as he waded out to where you were standing.

“So, what do you think?” You wondered, careful not to freak him out too much,

“It feels...nice. I don’t think I’ve ever been in this lake,” He admitted, “How did you even come up with this?”

“Well, you told me once that your Gran used to have a little pond behind her house that you liked to swim in during the summer. You said you enjoyed it and I thought maybe this would be something you’d like too,” You explained to him, suddenly feeling insecure about this whole thing, “I know it’s probably not the same or as fun.”

Now things really started to make sense. Neville felt the cage of butterflies flutter all into his belly whenever you did something sweet for him. Especially when it was something with sentimental value. 

Neville had undeniably fallen in love with you. Not because of your witty personality or the random adventures you liked to take him on. Those things were plenty great, and he cherished those things with everything he had. But that wasn’t what made him decide that you were his future. 

It was the pureness of your heart.

He fell for you more and more each time you did something for him. Whether it was as small as you combing your fingers through his hair when he was asleep on your chest in the common room, or as big as the time you devised a plan to throw a surprise birthday party for him at his Gran’s house. No matter what it was, you never hesitated to spend your energy, time, and love on making him happy.

“I did always like that pond, flower. But...you want to know something?” He said smoothly, with just the faintest hint of shakiness in his tone, “This is a lot better.”

He pulled you in close at the sight of your brightening eyes, bringing you down with him as he sank down to his knees under the top of the water.

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that?” You pressed on.

“Because you’re here.” He mewled, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

His descent of kisses trailed down to your nose, to your cheeks, to your lips. His kisses were never rushed in moments like this. They weren’t ever in a rush to get to the point or so rough that he didn’t have a chance to feel it. He liked to take his time with you. He liked to savor you.

“I love you, Nev. I really do.” You professed once he pulled away from you.

“I love you, petal,” He returned, going to kiss you again, but stopped when he took a big swash of lake water to the face.

He let out a startled gasp at how he was totally soaked now. It dripped from his hair, droplets rolling to the tip of his nose before falling off back into the lake. He caught your mischievous expression, your cheeks puffed out as you fought your laughter.

“Really funny, doll.” He sputtered, nonchalantly reaching around to your back and unclasping your bra with one hand. He managed to whip it off of you with ease, leaving you completely naked on top.

“Neville!” You squealed, “Give it back! That’s my favorite one!” 

Neville teased you as he held your bra high in the air above his head, chuckling as you struggled (and failed) to get it back.

“Don’t worry, love bug. I’ll take good care of it. But if you want it...” Neville paused, shimmying past you and waddling further out into the lake with a sneaky, yet innocent sneer on his face;

“You’ve got to come and get it.”

*****

Tags: @lupinsslut @writingscape @msmimimerton​ @thefilmcity​

[hajimeiwaswife]

GROINS

Word count: 1,3K

Warnings: oral sex (female receiving), fingering (female receiving), incest role play, semi public sex.

Summary: when you're in pain, Toru knows how to make you feel better.

A/N: This piece is for the Bully Girls Club's Summer Euphoria Collab. Here you have the masterlist, where the rest of the amazing authors will be posting their fics during this month! I can't wait to see what they are going to delight us with!

The salty smell of water accompanied the clearness of it; the sound of waves, laughs and swimming wrapped the calm atmosphere at the little paradise you two were admiring. The towel you were laying on was soft and comfortable, ideal for the rough sand that was below it.

The hot summer weather would have been insufferable if it wasn't for the trip to the beach your husband had planned for his day off. Seeing Toru out of a volleyball court was one of the most unusual things to witness, but nonetheless, you were grateful for it.

Some of his team members were there, too, speaking in a fluent Spanish about the nice temperature of the sea. They had carried with them a volleyball to practice ―or, as they said, to play amicably―; you didn't allow Toru to join them, though, wanting to spend some quality time with the man who usually was too busy to pay you some attention.

Toru was laying on the towel on his stomach with you sitting on his butt, spreading sunscreen all over his toned back. Muscles contracting at the contrast of temperature of the hot day and the cold cream. You passed your hands all over it, tasting and enjoying touching his skin, the body of a god brought to Earth. How was it legal for someone to be so handsome, intelligent, nice and have such a beautifully built body?

He sighed in content, happy to have the hands of his lover all to himself, "Can you massage a little... Yeah, there, exactly." he moaned when you put pressure on his shoulders, stretching his back that was full of stress knots. Toru felt like he was already in a paradise reserved for his most longing pleasures, where he had you and the warmth of your body all to his disposal, your delightful compliments directed to him, your love and lust piled up for him to enjoy.

However, as time went by, you started to feel a discomfort in your genital area. It wouldn't have been so bothering if it had been for lusting after your amazing husband, but it was because of the position your bikini bottom was in instead. The seams were embedding on your groins to the point that blood stopped circulating. It was painful, but you decided to bear it to not humiliate yourself in front of a whole volleyball team trying to readjust it.

You were naive to think Toru wouldn't notice, though. He wasn't only perceptive in court, and if it concerned his wife then he had the senses of a feline. Turning around, his muscles contracting at the effort, he locked his eyes with yours. His brown gaze intense, making you feel slightly excited if it weren't for the seams nailing into you more.

"What's the matter, darling?" Oikawa asked, lifting a hand to your cheek.

"It's nothing, why do you ask?"

He hummed at your answer, incorporating himself until he was sitting in front of you. His taller stature made it so even sitting he was towering over you. His chest just centimetres away from your lips, which were ready to kiss him down to his abs, your face wanting nothing more than to be buried between his toned pectorals.

"You seem uncomfortable, though. Care to share why?"

It was impossible to keep something from him. Usually, he didn't insist if he knew you didn't want to talk about something, understanding that everyone needed their own space. But he must had caught onto your body language, moving constantly so you could mitigate the pain in your groins. You sighed, ashamed and looking at the ground while you opened your mouth to speak.

"It's my bikini bottom," you started, whispering and with heat on your face, "it uh... well, it's nailing on my skin and... uff, let's say it's kinda... uncomfortable?" you tried to explain, not wanting to speak very loudly in case any other person could hear you.

"That's it?" Toru asked, chuckling lightly and standing up.

"What? Where are you going?" confused, you looked up at him who was offering you a hand to help to incorporate yourself.

"Come with me."

He didn't say anything else, taking your hand and guiding you through the beach. The wind was warm, matching with the imposing sun that was marching on the west. The sand was unbearably hot, burning your feet while you walked.

You continued passing by the crowded place until you reached a secluded area. That part of the beach was separated from the rest by a group of sea rocks, making it the perfect spot to be alone or with your special someone.

"What are we doing here?" you wondered out loud, hissing when you noticed the bikini bottom coming higher.

"Just wanted to have some alone time with my beautiful wife. Now, be a good girl and lay on the sand."

You frowned at his words, but complied nonetheless. If it had been burning your feet, now it was burning your whole back, and the pain in your groins was still there. Toru laid on top of you, his arms placed at each side of your shoulders and keeping him from crushing you. He licked his lips, smirking at you before smashing them on yours.

The kiss had a slow pace, enough to distract you from what your husband was actually doing. He pulled your bikini bottom down steadily, your tongues on a dance that didn't allow you to realize the lack of pressure on your groins. With a last peck he moved to your neck, nibbling on it and making you sigh, your hands gripping his toned back, the one you had been massaging just five minutes ago.

He went down to your collarbones, leaving purple marks on his way to your chest. Even though he was a boobs man, he didn't really pay attention to them, surprising you. Toru usually spent his sweet time kissing, licking and biting your nipples. However, he was already leaving a path of kisses down to your bare crotch.

You were surprised to see that your bikini bottom had disappeared, but also grateful when you stopped feeling so much pain down there. Your husband started kissing your inner things, going up to your left groin and giving it affection, calming the reddened area.

"Look at this, you were in so much pain, my love." Oikawa whispered, his breath going directly to your pussy lips, what caused you to move your hips by inertia, "Shhh, it's okay, let nii-chan make it better."

There it was, his favourite kink, the most prominent one, the preferable dynamic on your roleplays. He loved to play the character of a big brother taking care of his 'sweet and innocent imouto', and you had to admit that you loved to succumb to it.

Toru licked your slick, humming at the taste of your hole. He then licked slowly his way up to your clit, soaking on it and making you moan out of surprise and pleasure. His invariably cold hands were massaging your groins.

"Nii-san," you whined pathetically when he inserted one of his long and thick fingers on you, curving it so it was touching that spongy spot you loved so much.

He continued pampering your clit with his mouth and tongue and fingering you, adding a second finger as your moans grew on intensity and volume. He was a sucker for seeing you lose your composure and break down because of him, just for him.

"Cum for me, sweetheart, cum for nii-chan."

And you did, pitiful moans and whines of 'nii-chan', 'thank you' and 'I love you' were coming out of your mouth while you rode your orgasm on your husband's face, who was circling your clit with his right thumb and sucking and licking your slick happily.

Out of breath, you came down to reality and looked at your euphoric man's face, admiring proudly his masterpiece. Your groins didn't hurt anymore and you felt so good and relaxed you couldn't move. Toru incorporated so he was topping you again, kissing you making you taste yourself on his lips. When you both separated from it, a thread of saliva connecting you both, he smirked.

"Feeling good yet, love?"

[sneezefiction]

untouchable | vi

Atsumu x Reader

desc: in which an accidental run-in with pro volleyball player, Atsumu Miya, at a 7/11 leads to a strangers-to-lovers situation… but the catch is, you have no idea that he’s famous.

warnings: slight language, anxiety

wc: 6.6k

part 5 ⚬ part 6 ⚬ part 7 

untouchable m.list

—

Recap:

And for the first half of this year you found yourself falling in love. Falling for this second glance of a man.

So finding out that Izumi Kenji had a partner was a punch to the gut. 

Reaching for his hand that summer was a defining moment for you. The way he snatched his hand away from yours would have knocked all the air out of your lungs if you’d had any breath to spare.

—

Laughter echoes off the sides of buildings as you make your way past food stalls and restaurants. It’s warm. A gentle breeze tussles his hair, different strands catching purple and orange light from the store signs.

There are several things that are begging to hold your attention right now. 

A new café to your right is stringing a “Grand Opening” banner across its shop doors. Bike bells ring off in the distance, the wheels gently thrumming against dusty cobblestone. Groups of teenagers snicker as they pass you by, their voices carefree and teasing. Two dogs tread loyally next to their owners on the other side of the street, their claws clicking as their paws hit the pavement. 

But even among all of those distractions and details, all you can see is him. The mop of messy hair atop his head. His umber brown eyes. A curious smile.

Izumi Kenji had stolen your heart slowly and carefully; he did so without a balaclava or a disguise to lure you in. And as you meander the downtown area with him, your fondness for him only grows.

Meeting him at that after-work party may have been the best thing that happened to you this year. You were comfortable - in the middle of a bar, talking to a stranger and laughing with him. And who were you to turn down the one good thing life had sent your way.

Although, with how nonexistent your social life was, you would’ve let almost anyone into your social circle. You just deem yourself lucky that it was Kenji who happened to be in your vicinity.

He’d ended up asking for your number at the end of the night - you rattled off the digits faster than you could blink.

“...if you ever need anything, just send me a text.”

It was an outstretched hand of a sentence. A bone thrown to a starving dog. Finally, there was a person you could rely on.

You took his words to heart.

After that night, it was almost unfair how easily he broke down your barriers. 

It was Kenji who took you sightseeing through all of Osaka in the Winter months, making sure that you’d mapped out the area so that you were more comfortable when you went exploring on your own. Your snow boots and his became well acquainted.

He’d shown you his favorite eateries and shops, rambling quietly about his favorite pastries and old, dusty memories that came from his time spent in the area. 

His jacket made its way to your shoulder when you visibly shuddered from the cold as Winter shifted to Spring. And as Summer approached, you allowed yourself to let your guard down. With distant eyes, you learned about his family and his plans. You wondered if maybe there was a place for you in that future.

Any doubts about this connection you had with him had melted away. 

He was your closest friend by far… and who’s to say he couldn’t be more?

You glance to your left, a small smile working its way onto your lips. Kenji’s eyes wander the street, completely lost in thought. His expression is serene under the violet glow of street lights. 

And his hand… his hand is achingly close to your own.

Its a position you frequently found yourself in: walking side by side, almost touching, but never quite close enough to grasp at his hand. 

You’ve never really seen yourself as someone to make first moves, but this has gone on for too long. And your fingertips are begging you to do something about this distance between you two. 

You swallow hard.

Choking back your hesitation, you brush your hand against his.

He doesn’t pull away, only sending you a quick glance. Kenji’s soft smile doesn’t budge, though he does raise an eyebrow at you.

You assume that this is a good sign. He doesn’t seem uncomfortable, the moment feels natural, and this… this could actually work.

You take one more deep breath and gingerly link your fingers with his-

But before you can even blink, Kenji snaps his hand back to his side. His head whips toward you, feet stopping in their tracks.

“What… what are you doing,” he stammers, eyes widening.

You wince. That wasn’t the reaction you were hoping for. Far from it.

“I think that’s-” You glance down at your rejected hand, eyes wide, “-kind of obvious.”

He stares at you, mouth agape. You take a step back, heart dropping. Why would he pull his hand back? Did I do something wrong-

“I’m seeing someone-” He breathes, “-you knew that.”

Like a tree branch splintering after a lightning strike, you feel as though something inside of you has cracked and split. 

Your body can’t decide if your blood should turn to ice from shock or if it should succumb to the heat of humiliation rising in your chest. How did you not know this?

And why hadn’t you just asked him first? 

That’s what normal people did. If you hadn’t acted based on a silly impulse maybe you would have spoken to him about your relationship with him first… but it’s too late now. And the pressure continues to build up in your stomach until you feel like a balloon on the verge of popping.

“...you knew that… didn’t you?”

Something sharp stabs at your heart.

“I had no idea.” Your reply is flat. Distant.

It twists.

“I- I’m so sorry, I could’ve sworn I’d told you…” He responds softly.

In a tearing motion, it rips back out.

“No. You hadn’t.” You say curtly, eyes glazing over.

You let on to the bitterness welling up in your chest more than you wish you would have… but who could blame you? 

Tucking your hands deep into your pants pockets, you try to hold your composure. 

Your mouth is uncomfortably dry and your hands are suddenly very sweaty. 

What does someone do in a situation like this? 

You’d always assumed that this was the type of thing to happen to somebody else. Thinking that feelings were mutual and then being struck with the fact that your “almost-boyfriend” was actually already deep into a relationship. It sounds like something out of a teenage romance novel... but it’s clear that the shame clouding your mind is not secondhand.

Unintentionally or not, Kenji had led you on… and here you are, feeling like you’ve just been publicly gutted.

He doesn’t owe you anything. No, not at all. 

If anything, you owe him for all of the kindness he’s extended to you. 

But that doesn’t explain everything he’s done for you these past few months. 

Paying for meals even though you’d practically fought him for bills at every restaurant you’d visited together. Spending hours together on weekends when you both had work to complete. Meeting his friends, taking the train together on days when your schedules collided, exploring the city and your past with him…

You’d wondered why he hadn’t asked you out yet.

It didn’t make any sense.

Maybe he was confused too?

A thought crosses your mind that maybe he may have been using you as some sort of support system. Maybe you were just let into his life to comfort him through his own relational instability. Were you just Kenji’s escape? Is he just completely unaware?

But now you’re just jumping to conclusions. It might not be anything of the sort. Trying to piece together a story that doesn’t add up in the first place won’t help you at all - at least, not right after such a blatant rejection.

You take another step back, effectively tuning out anything he has to say. The light on his face no longer reflects something inviting; instead, all you can see is the confusion marring his previously peaceful expression.

He’s trying to talk to you, he’s taking steps toward you, he’s even reaching a hand out… but you just can’t. Not with the discomfort in your chest and a thundercloud of tension rumbling above you.

You can’t remember what shitty excuse you’d made to get out of there, but not even 10 minutes after this awkward, messy, fucked up moment, you’re on a train back home. 

And everything is numb. 

The shuffle and shake of the passenger car is enough to distract you for now.

But the moment you get home - the very second you kick off your shoes - insecurity comes knocking at the door of your mind. 

You lay face down on the couch. The room stirs in darkness, gloom sinking into the cracks of the wall and pooling at the corners of your eyes. Because how was this fair? What had you done to deserve this? Was nothing going to be easy for you?

You let yourself cry.

Questions swim through your mind. Fears too. The pain of, once again, being alone exposes itself through heavy tears and spluttering sobs.

So you attempt to bury it all deep down...

As far from the surface as it can go... 

But as most things do, these questions and insecurities will resurface. 

It’s only a matter of time.

—

You noticed it from the moment you woke up.

The stiffness in your arms and the churning in your stomach were telltale signs… but as the hours rolled on and the sun sunk lower in the sky, it became more obvious. 

Your lungs were fine yesterday, but today they shrink and tighten with every passing minute.

In an attempt to distract yourself, you’ve switched on the TV and turned to Netflix for comfort. It isn’t much, but the modulated noise of a baking show and a warm blanket draped over your lap blocks out some of the dizzying worries in your head.

First date nerves are a thing.

The clammy palms, the jitters, the loss of appetite… you have it all. 

You’re well aware that this is a universal experience, so you try to empathize with yourself. There’s no reason to be embarrassed by it. Shame would only drag you deeper into this muddy pit of nerves that you’re so desperately trying to claw your way out of.

But this technically isn’t even a date. 

And you’re not about to assume that it’s anything like one.

Just to be safe, you’ve decided that this outing would blandly be categorized as a “sporadic meet up with a stranger.” Your words, not Atsumu’s. 

But just because it isn’t technically a date doesn’t mean you can’t be jittery… 

You grip the remote in your hand tighter. It accidentally shuts the TV off, but that’s probably for the better. You haven’t gotten ready yet and it’s getting close to 5 pm. Somehow you’d managed to snuggle the day away in your apartment. Again.

Letting out an anxious yawn, you hop up from your nestled position on the couch.

You step into the hallway and make your way to the bathroom to wash your face. As you patter the length of the hall, you finally allow your mind to roam. It immediately hones in on your anxieties like a dog chasing a delightfully peeved squirrel.

Is it pathetic? To be 20 something years old and petrified by something as simple as a dinner date? 

Your brain says “no,” but a part of you is whispering out a quiet “yes” in response. Most people would be excited to see someone after being lonely for so long. 

So why are you this bothered? What’s with this piercing fragility that makes your hands shake and your skin crawl? 

When did you become so… scared? Like you would crumble just by being in the presence of another person?

And then it hits you. Your head plummets into your hands.

Ever since you’d met Atsumu, you haven’t had the mental stamina to think about Izumi Kenji. 

Or what he’d done to you. Or how he’d metaphorically pushed you when you were already toeing at the precipice of a cliff. You’d been a step away from falling and breaking under the weight of the past few years, and he’d shattered you in a single night.

So, yes, that would explain the current twisting in your chest. It’s also probably why you’re so worried about Atsumu. Or, at least, it’s one big reason as to why, you conclude.

But, even with this epiphany, you find yourself stepping into the bathroom, wrung dry and physically unsteady. Thinking about Kenji doesn’t make you feel any better.

Your fingers grip the rim of the porcelain sink, eyes fixed on the drain in the center. 

You stare at it. 

One reminder of him and you were already weary. 

The glossiness of the bowl reflects a splotchy, humanesque blob back at you. You swivel the faucet handle, letting warm water coast around the bowl and spiral down the drain. It erases that human-like reflection.

If only it could wash away your problems. Now that’d be something to write home about.

The cool of the tile beneath your feet and a splash of warm water on your face is a welcome distraction… but short-lived. The water drips off of your face. You blindly feel around for a fresh towel and, after laying your hands on one, you gently pat your face down.

Blinking your eyes open, you stand up straight.

As you do, you find yourself studying a much clearer reflection than the blurry face in the sink bowl. Sunken features bore into you from the bathroom mirror. You sigh and turn to open up a medicine cabinet to grab a few facial products, applying them one-by-one.

If you do happen to crash and burn tonight, you figure you might as well look damn good in the process. Skincare would help with that.

But before you can further sink into the idea that tonight might turn into another nightmarish scenario, a friendly face, someone sunny and charming, enters your mind. 

The picture Atsumu’s wavy hair and that smug smile of his. While the rest of his face is a little fuzzy in your mind, you vividly remember how his mouth quirk upwards and the electric buzz you felt from the sheer warmth of his eyes.

Atsumu has been on your mind a lot these days. And, as much as it’s been a distraction, it’s also been a welcome mental detour. 

Somehow, the very thought of him coaxes your own lips to relax into a smile. You sigh, tilting your head back in defeat. So this is what 3 years of loneliness can do to a person - how embarrassing.

But you can’t deny that he gives you something to look forward to - an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. You two share a connection; there’s some common ground that hasn’t been dug up just yet. And, for whatever it’s worth, you want to keep digging until you figure it out.

As you smooth a moisturizer over your skin, you decide that you’ll wear something nice tonight. Maybe you’ll pick out an outfit you haven’t worn before and do your best to drown your shaky hands in the fabric of a long-sleeved shirt. If it goes well, maybe you’ll have found someone who actually likes you.

If it doesn’t work out, you can just drive back home and forget he ever existed. Simple as that.

But... 

You’d like to think that Atsumu could be just as sweet as he seems; assuming the worst about him would get you nowhere.

You continue to repeat that to yourself before you leave. That all you can do is hope it goes well. 

Nothing more, nothing less. 

—

You rest your foot firmly on the brake and switch the gearshift so that your car is in park. You rub your eyes and double-check the location on your phone’s GPS. Back at your apartment, it looked like you would be arriving at a café near the park… but you’re not so sure anymore.

Did… did Atsumu really send you here?

You never entertained the idea of him being a prankster… but if this was, perhaps, a practical joke? Well, you’re not above calling him and telling him to “fuck off.” There’s nothing stopping you from driving away and blocking his number right now.

Scrolling through the map application, you notice that you’re relatively close to several restaurants, so there is that. He’d promised you dinner and there’s an abundance of food within walking distance.

But you weren’t expecting to pull up to such a secluded location. You shiver in your seat and grip the steering wheel. Does he realize just how scary it is to meet someone at a random place like this?

Whipping out your phone, you tap a quick message containing something along the lines of “why the hell did you send me to a park.” Your therapist would probably give you a high-five for being so straightforward.

You hit send and sink into your chair. 

A brief glance out your car window helps to settle your frayed nerves just a hair. 

It’s not quite as empty as you thought it was. The area is just… calm. Many couples stroll along the main path, hand-in-hand. Others are sat on picnic blankets, tucking their toes into the cool grass and chattering away. 

And, most comfortingly of all, it’s still bright outside. 

You thank the sun that it still rests above the horizon, drenching the trees tops and green grass with deep-honey hues. People and daylight mean safety. You’ve had to learn that after living alone for so long.

A text notification pings on your phone only seconds after messaging him. 

You’ll give him some credit. Atsumu is a timely texter. You’ve found yourself in more real-time texting conversations with him than almost anyone else you’ve met in Osaka. And it’s been how long since you met him? A few weeks? A month?

Atsumu’s text reassures you that you’re not at the wrong place.

At least the park was intentional, you nod to yourself. You’re doing your best to trust that he wouldn’t take you somewhere that would make you uncomfortable.

Another text informs you that he’s already seated on a bench near where you parked.

Your heart skips a beat and your head jolts upward, scanning the area. A hand also shoots up to clutch at your chest, gripping the fabric of your top. 

Yep. You’re still jumpy.

But this time, the shaky hands and pounding nerves are rooted in restlessness instead of fear… and maybe a little bit of excitement?

Suddenly, the park is far less frightening.

You step out of the car, wallet and keys in one hand, and smooth out your outfit with your free hand. The wind nips at you through the fabric of your clothes, but with the sunshine painting your skin, it isn’t too bad. 

Maybe bringing a coat would’ve been wiser than relying on this sweater to keep you warm… but it’s too late to think about that now.

Your eyes dart around and you trod through the grass and onto a graveled pathway. It crunches satisfyingly underneath your feet, but you can’t enjoy it when you’re so intent on finding him. With a few short strides, you’re quick to spot the back of someone’s head. A familiar head of blonde waves shines golden thanks to the setting sun. 

You’re almost entirely sure it’s Atsumu.

And as if he had sensed your presence, the man in question tilts a glance over his shoulder.

His face is blank until he catches your eye. 

An easy grin, one brighter than the stars, bursts into existence.

For someone so conventionally attractive, he sure looks excited to see little ole you. Raising your hand, you wave and send him a shy smile back.

He’s quick to jump to his feet and as he does, you’re quickly reminded of just how tall he is. Atsumu’s head matches the height of several tree branches. It makes you think that he’s probably walked into a number of things. Door headers, branches, signs that are hung a couple of inches too low… you’re sure he’s learned to duck and dodge over the years.

You wish you could ask him about that.

You blink.

That’s right. You can ask him about that - you’ll do that later, though.

“Hey there.” He chuckles.

His voice… it’s huskier than you’d remembered.

You spoke with him over the phone just yesterday to confirm that tonight was still happening, so why was his voice giving you chills now? It’s deep and smooth and, without the static from the phone audio, it’s actually kind of sexy.

Okay, you’ve got to calm down.

“Hi,” you reply sweetly, tilting your head.

Should you hug him? Just keep standing there? Hopefully, he’s better at filling awkward silence than you are. You’re not bad at handling social situations, but it seems safer to wait for his cues.

Atsumu keeps his hands in his pockets, “Long time, no see.” 

It’s phrased as if you were both old friends reuniting after years of distance. It kind of feels that way too.

“I don’t actually think it’s been that long.” You raise an eyebrow, keeping a straight face.

“It’sa turn of phrase, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart.

That word sounds so easy on his tongue, damn it.

A few beats pass… and both of you break into grins once again.

But before you can respond, and much to your confusion, Atsumu spins on his feels to face the pathway. The pebbles under his feet shift as he takes a few steps forward.

He turns his head to catch your eye, “Well? C’mon then, let’s walk and talk,” and juts an arm out.

You stare at him for a moment, confused. 

“Are ya gonna leave me hangin’? Atsumu tilts his head back, a coy smile on his lips as though whatever he’s trying to do is ridiculously obvious.

After a few moments of deep contemplation, realization dawns over your features. He’s extending his elbow out… for you? To hold onto?

Oh.

With a slight flush, you step forth and link arms with him. He grins down at you, perfectly resembling a fox you saw in a National Geographic magazine last week. This is a lot closer than you’d anticipated on getting with him; not that you’re complaining.

Although, for someone you’ve only met twice, you feel like you’ve known him for years. 

The few phone calls and those text conversations have given you some insight into his life, but they don’t explain why you two click so well in person. He’s illogically familiar.

You decide not to question the closeness and instead choose to spark a conversation. 

That should be easy enough; after all, he’d promised you dinner, and you were given directions to a park - you’re anything but questionless.

You lean into his side slightly and break the silence, “You smell good.” 

Considering he’s crossed that line with you already, you aren’t too worried about saying it back to him. 

“Thanks, I showered.” He smiles and shrugs as if to brush off your compliment, but you swear you see a fleeting blush on his cheeks.

“Thank God.” You sigh in mock relief, relaxing your shoulders.

He squints, clicking his tongue, “Okay, no need to tease. At least get to know a guy first,” but his voice is void of offense.

“So if I tease you, you won’t take me to dinner?” A curious tone rings in your voice.

“Oh, I will even if ya do. Where do ya think we’re walkin’ to?”

You snort, “Hopefully a restaurant?”

“Bull’s eye.” He winks.

Atsumu looks down at you and you can’t help but smile up at him. Your nerves had melted away like a popsicle under a blazing summer sun; all that’s left is a sweet, melty feeling that has you feeling a little too comfortable.

Maybe you shouldn’t be so trusting. Protecting yourself has been your number one goal since Kenji let you down…

But that doesn’t mean you can’t laugh or get to know Atsumu. 

It just means you need to keep your expectations in check. This may seem like a date, but until he says something, you won’t jump to conclusions. In the meantime, you just need to keep talking. Enjoy it while it lasts and laugh a little.

You nudge his side, “By the way…”

“Hm?”

“What’s with bringing me to a park?”

You’ve been dying to hear this explanation since you arrived. Sure, the atmosphere is perfect; fall weather is notorious for pleasant walks and colorful leaves. However, you’d like to hear his reasoning.

“I thought we could get to know each other better before stuffin’ our faces.”

You make a face, “Well, doesn’t that sound lovely. You sure have a way with words.” 

Atsumu is nothing if not blunt.

He pouts, eyes narrowing, “You gonna make fun of the way I talk now? I’ll have you know, I’ve been mocked enough to last me a life time. I ain’t all that sensitive anymore.”

You laugh and subconsciously tighten your hold on his arm. 

“Alright Mr. Not Sensitive, I won’t make fun of you anymore.”

If you were paying attention to his face, you might’ve seen another flush of pink… but your eyes are squinting from the sun and Atsumu is sure to pull himself together before you can notice it.

“But I do have some important questions for you,” You begin.

Those words are sure to spark fear into anybody. This is confirmed when his arm stiffens ever so slightly and your eyes crinkle in mischief.

He swallows, “Yeah, go for it.”

“Favorite color?”

Atsumu’s eyes flick down to yours, squinting. They seem to say, “important, my ass.”

He instantly loosens, “Easy. Red.” Confidence is clear in his tone.

You nod. You don’t have to know him well to know that the answer suits him. Atsumu is fiery and he’s burned bright in your mind since you met him. If anyone should be allowed to like red, it’s him.

“Favorite food?”

“Mmm…” He furrows his brows in deliberation, “ I gotta say fatty tuna. But my brother makes some killer onigiri, though. I think that’s a close second.”

Your brows shoot up, eyes widening. He’d never mentioned anything about his family before this.

“You have a brother?” You press, leaning in to study his face while trying not to trip over your own two feet.

“Technically, a twin. But I’m the older one...” He huffs, “...and the better lookin’ one.”

Your jaw drops. “I can’t believe you hadn’t mentioned him before this!” 

As an only child, you can only imagine what it’d be like to have a sibling, much less a twin. 

“Well,” Atsumu rolls his eyes at you, “He’s alright…”

It looks like he’s about to change the subject, but one glance at your face is all it takes for him to realize that you want to hear more. Your eyes are sparkling. Full of vibrant curiosity… how could he stop now?

You’re actually interested in him.

“We’re really close actually,” Atsumu clears his throat, straightening up a little. “I mean, he isn’t like me at all. He’s real’ calm in comparison. A great cook. Some people say he’s handsome - but he got the looks from me, y’know?”

You roll your eyes, keeping in stride with him. “Yeah, yeah, keep going.”

“He’s good with the ladies, smart, athletic...” He rambles on. “If he’d just slow down a little, he would probably be married by now...”

You just listen, fully invested in his words. 

It’s nice to hear about family - you haven’t seen your’s in a long time. 

The fondness in Atsumu’s expression seeps through his abbreviated words. 

He looks almost pained as he compliments his twin and amusement flickers in your eyes as you watch it all unfold. You hadn’t asked for a dating profile description of his brother, but you’re not about to shut him up.

“I bet you’d like him. Not as much as you’d like me, of course,” he smirks and your chest tightens. 

The butterflies you’d thought you’d left back in highschool seem to have dusted themselves off and started fluttering again.

“But, yeah. He’s a good guy.”

Atsumu’s free hand then runs through his hair, pushing the waves back. You can see a sudden onset of nerves on his face. He’s quick to hide it though.

“And, uh, just so you know… he may or may not own the restaurant I’m taking you to tonight.”

That’s enough for you plant your feet in place. Atsumu stops as well. 

He’s… taking you to his brother’s restaurant.

You gaze up at him, at a loss for words.

Is his brother going to be there? I mean, it is his place. But meeting his family? Out of the blue, like this? It’s all out of order. 

You can’t help but wonder if he’s ever going to give your racing heart a chance to settle.

“Is that too much?” Atsumu is quick to cut in. His voice isn’t gentle… but even with it’s roughness, you can hear something that resembles concern.

“A- ah, no! It’s fine!” You reassure him, “I… I’m happy to go.”

His shoulders drop down again and so do yours.

There’s no point in getting worked up about it. But it’s becoming clear that Atsumu isn’t a very conventional person. Nor is he daunted by sporadic plans. Next time, you’ll ask for a point-by-point itinerary, just to be safe.

Atsumu reveals the name of the restaurant, “Onigiri Miya,” and you find yourself asking more family-related questions as you two dawdle down the pathway…

Which naturally leads to conversations about high-school.

It turns out that he and his twin were on a volleyball team together. Which makes sense. He definitely has the muscle, the height, and the spunk to be an athlete. 

You know shit about the sport, but that doesn’t mean you don’t see the gleam in his eyes when he rattles off a story about one of his old games. It’s been a long time since you last listened to someone speak about something so passionately.

But there’s even more. 

You hear mentions of many boys’ names. 

There’s his brother, Osamu; he mentions their little spats and occasional fist fights. Although he makes sure to clarify that they’re both a lot more level headed nowadays. Next is Atsumu’s upperclassman, Kita; he’s someone Atsumu respects and fears with every inch of his being. Then there’s Suna, Omimi, Aran, and… too many others to count.

Games and nationals and several terms you can’t quite grasp swim through your head as you re-live some of Atsumu’s own memories with him.

His high-school years sound exciting, bright, and funny. Of course, those experiences would create the charming mess that is Atsumu Miya.

After padding under draping treetops, you both finally make it out of the park and onto the sidewalks. 

Restaurants and small shops line the streets and pedestrians cross in groups across the narrow roads. At this point, the sun is loosing its shine, sinking beneath the trees’ branches and ever-darkening buildings. But you, with your phone in your pocket and your arm in his, feel safe. 

Atsumu’s effortlessness and his blunt way of speaking really made for easy conversation. 

But before you can ask him if he still plays volleyball, you find yourself standing in front of a small, bright storefront: “Onigiri Miya.” The words are plastered on a wooden board in white, chalk paint. It’s sleek and cute - if you’d stumbled upon the shop before this, you’d have walked in of your volition.

“I’m thinkin’ I just talked your ear off the whole way here.” Atsumu sighs apologetically.

You shrug, “I guess that just means I’m a good listener.”

In all honestly, you’re glad he rambled. It got rid of your restlessness and calmed your racing thoughts.

He unlinks your arm from his and your side is now exposed to the cold air. It only just hits you how physical that walk had been. Even without a coat, having him at your side had kept you warm and cozy.

How long has it been since you were comfortably side-by-side with someone? It’s been months since you’d been around Kenji… years since you last slept with someone you actually liked… but when was the last time you held a hand or wrapped your arm around someone else’s? 

Atsumu’s words cut into your thoughts, “You’re easy to talk to, but I wanna hear more about you when we get inside.” 

And he’s holding the door open for you, one hand clasped around the handle and the other tucked casually into his pocket. You thank him… he didn’t give you the impression of being “gentlemanly” or whatever that word meant, but you find the gesture to be sweet. 

As you step inside the small restaurant, your senses are overtaken by the smell of freshly cooked rice and an explosion of delicious seasonings. There are bar stools open at the front counter and metal chairs surrounding worn-down wooden tables. The atmosphere is homely and diner-like; as though, no matter how often you actually visited, you would be treated as a regular.

Someone calls out from the back, “C’mon in, I cleared the place out for y’all.”

The voice resembles Atsumu’s style of speech; gruff and straight to the point… but a little smoother. Then you realize what that voice had actually said. There’s nobody else here.

“Alright, we’ll make ourselves at home then. I can take your-”

He scans you for a jacket… that doesn’t exist.

“You didn’t bring a coat.” He says flatly.

You glance down at your outfit, grasping the edge of your sweater and feathering a thumb over its seam.

“I forgot one.” You admit, looking back up to him, “Why? Is that a problem?”

“Nah, I was just gonna offer to take it.”

You hadn’t noticed what he’d been wearing before this, but now that you’re under the soft lighting of the restaurant, you realize he’s dressed up a little. 

Atsumu removes a short, tan coat and places it onto the back of a chair. A black turtleneck sweater is revealed underneath. The fabric outlines his chest and arms in the most unfair way while the dark color pleasantly contrasts his lighter skin tone. 

How hadn’t you noticed how gut-wrenchingly attractive he was before this? 

With how fast things were moving and how comfortable you felt talking to him, you must’ve conveniently glossed over this fact. It’s not like you’d planned on getting to know him.

But now that you do? Well, it doesn’t hurt that he basically has the body of Chris Hemsworth. Atsumu’s definitely not some Walmart version of him though - this boy deserves his own brand of attractiveness.

You swallow hard as your eyes trail his body.

“Like whatcha see?”

You startle, shuffling backward. If you weren’t already out of your element, you sure are now. Caught red-handed (red-eyed?) staring at your not-date. 

“Awh, c’mon I’m joking - take a seat,” Atsumu pulls a chair out for you, cringing when it lets out a shrill squeak on the floor. The sound rings through the air and you find yourself laughing.

In a swift motion, you jump up and onto the chair.

He slides the chair back toward the bar counter, except this time you both expect the screeching of the chair’s legs. It’s worse than nails on a chalkboard, but it’s perfect for loosening up any tightness in the airspace. This time, it’s his turn to chuckle.

He mutters out a quick, “Sorry,” but you just shake your head, amused.

Snagging his own chair, and this time lifting it off of the ground to avoid bursting another eardrum, Atsumu slides up next to you.

You lean on the counter, a hand propping up your cheek. “That was very smooth, Atsumu.”

“Thanks,” he rolls his eyes, “I try.”

“‘Tsumu? Smooth? Yeah, right,” that same voice travels from the kitchen to the front of the store.

Footsteps are soon to follow it and you’re greeted by Chris Hemsworth 2.0. Maybe you should refer to him as Liam Hemsworth? Nope, Osamu, you quickly decide, is also his own genre of attractive.

Although Osamu is dressed in a simple, black “Onigiri Miya” t-shirt and cap, he could probably be a Calvin Klein model. For someone who owns a restaurant, his muscle tone is absolute perfection - these brothers are really something. 

And their resemblance of each other, though twins, is almost uncanny. You thank some unknown force that hair-dye exists, because if you saw them from a distance, you may not be able to tell them apart.

“Ah, shaddup. You’re just sayin’ that cuz you’re jealous,” the blonde snorts.

“Jealous of what? Your shit attempts at flirtin’?”

“That’s below the belt, ‘Samu. Don’t be such an ass.”

‘Tsumu? ‘Samu? That’s cute, you chuckle to yourself. Of course, these guys would have nicknames for each other. It was common sense.

You sit back as they bicker, wondering who must’ve raised these 6-foot chaotic giants. You’d love to meet them just to give them a medal and a bouquet of flowers for putting up with them. They must’ve dealt with so much bullshit.

“I could say the same to you. Ya haven’t properly introduced me yet.” He nods his head toward you, cool-grey eyes warming up when they meet yours.

Your lips quirk into a smile and before you know it, you’ve introduced yourself. 

He copies your smile, though it’s much softer than your own, and begins his own little introduction; although you’re sure that, with all the information Atsumu has already listed off to you, you don’t really need one.

“I’m Miya Osamu, but that’s probably obvious by now,” he adjusts his cap, “Callin’ me Miya would be confusin’ for all of us, so just Osamu’s fine.”

He’s polite and carries himself confidently, but his voice is a little softer than Atsumu’s. Or, it is when he’s speaking to you. There’s a brotherly gentleness to his tone and it relaxes you instantly.

“Please keep in mind that I’m the better twin,” Atsumu adds, shooting daggers at his brother.

Osamu shoots them right back, but you don’t fail to notice the playful fondness behind their eyes. You can almost picture them as kids, with band-aids on their knees and mud on their clothes. They make it seem like being twins meant having a built-in best friend.

Their closeness is overwhelming. 

There’s a warmth in the atmosphere, and you’re positive that it’s not just because something’s cooking in the kitchen. It feels special, just being allowed to sit and watch them banter. 

And the fact that Atsumu is sharing this with you?

Well, you’re counting yourself very lucky to be here right now.

[aminiatureworld]

Melusine

Characters: Albedo, gn!reader

Word Count: 2,221

Warnings: Brief depiction of pseudo-drowning

Premise: In which the reader’s somewhat inexplicable fear of water prompts questioning

Author’s Note: This prompt reminded me of the book (and series) The Tail of Emily Windsnap, which, if you haven’t read at least the first book, you totally should read as it’s just really a wonderful read. The descriptions of the ocean are especially atmospheric. Anyways, as for the prompt, I had a lot of fun. I tried to write a mermaid story in middle school and while it didn’t go that well I have a lot of nostalgia for the mermaid genre. Though this was more about the discovery than actually being a mermaid.

Also the title is a pseudo-historical reference.

Albedo

The first time it had happened Albedo had brushed off the whole incident as completely explainable. After all, it wasn’t as if you hadn’t explained what had happened.

You two had been sitting on one of the craggy hills of the Whispering Woods, you sprawled on the grass, Albedo attempting to paint a landscape of Mondstadt, one of the more ambitious paintings in his current portfolio. Especially since he had traded his more opaque oils for the gentler tones of watercolors. At one point he must have made some sort of noise of frustration, for you lifted yourself out of the shade and made your way over to the canvas.

“That looks absolutely lovely Albedo!” Your smile had always had a calming affect on the alchemist, and this time was no different. Albedo could feel the tension slowly leeching away from his shoulders.

“Do you think so? I’m afraid that I still can’t handle all the odd shadows the buildings cast.”

“The buildings look perfect to me! Though if you feel that way, maybe you could lighten the side facing the sun a little more instead of darkening the area over here? So the shade doesn’t become too muddy.”

“You have a wonderful eye, you know,” Albedo replied, smiling at the way your mind had immediately jumped to the conclusion that he had drawn as well. Reaching for the bowl of water next to him Albedo went to water his brush a little more before trying again.

Unfortunately that’s when things appeared to have taken a turn for the wrong. Instead of reaching over the bowl Albedo’s elbow collided with the glass. Though the grass was soft and close enough to prevent any damage, that didn’t stop all the muddied water from spilling out over the brim and right over you. You let out a sort of squeak, and for a moment Albedo though it was just the initial shock, but then the expression on your face came into view and Albedo could immediately sense you were seconds away from panic.

“Is something wrong?”

“I, I don’t like water very much,” you let out a strained laugh. “I just, I don’t know. I really, really don’t like water.”

“I’m so sorry,” Albedo immediately replied.

Taking off his coat he did his best to dry you off, wiping off your arms and attempting a valiant effort with your now sopping clothes. Though you assured him that it would be alright the alchemist could sense those were only platitudes, and it wasn’t until you seemed significantly calmer that Albedo turned to pick up the bowl and refill it in Cider Lake. And though a part of his mind wished to delve deeper into what had happened he pulled himself back, figuring it wouldn’t help you if he was suddenly enquiring over something you were afraid of.

Now perhaps that should have been the long and the short of it, but the revelation had begun to make Albedo see water everywhere and, more importantly, see how much it appeared to affect you every time you appeared to come in close contact with it.

Thankfully you didn’t seem to have trouble with water in glasses, at least as long as someone was actively drinking it. If not however you would glance at the glass every so often, as if it were your mortal enemy, waiting to catch you off guard to it might tip its contents all over your clothes. Other things, like obsessively drying your wands after washing them and draping layers of towels over your shoulders when you washed your hair, also became apparent. Suddenly Albedo couldn’t stop noticing your discomfort, and the more he noticed the more he wished he could do something about it.

“Exposure therapy?”

“Yes.”

You were sitting on Albedo’s desk, leaning slightly over your partner, a slightly bemused look on your face. It had been about three weeks since the incident, and finally Albedo thought he might have found some sort of solution to your problem. Now he eagerly pressed forward, figuring you’d understand once he’d explained everything fully.

“I know that it might seem counterproductive to subject you to what gets a frightened reaction out of you, but if you subject a person to something they’re afraid of in very small doses over a long period of time, usually they begin to feel a little less afraid of the thing in question. It’s sort of like how you can sometimes make allergies less serious by slowly exposing the patient to more and more of the allergen.”

“I understand where your line of thought is coming from Albedo, but I’m really not sure if this is the best idea for me.”

“I know that it might seem daunting at first. I would not bring up the topic if you didn’t seem so miserable sometimes. I worry that you might become so unhappy by your fear that it will become debilitating eventually. That is why I decided to bring up the option.”

“I really appreciate you going out of your way to think about me Albedo. I really do. I think what you’re trying to do is very kind and noble of you. But in all honesty I don’t think that’s going to work. You see, the way my fear works, I just don’t think that exposure is going to make it go away.”

“Are you sure?” Albedo pressed on, still hoping that you might see the benefit in what he was suggesting. “It won’t start with something drastic I promise. And at the end of the day, I think that it will help a lot.”

“I understand that, I really do, but like I said my fear doesn’t work that way.” You paused, as if sensing the sinking of your partner’s heart, before smiling slightly. “If it makes you feel any better I promise to give it some more thought. Alright?”

“Thank you,” Albedo replied, though in his mind he knew that you thinking about it probably wouldn’t change anything.

Thus the cycle continued, with Albedo growing more and more uneasy. He didn’t bring it up with you again, sensing it would be walking over some invisible line, but still his mind whirled in trying to understand what you meant. If your fear wasn’t simply irrational, then surely something must have happened once. Though the alchemist didn’t pry, surely if you wanted him to know you would tell him in your own time, he had to admit that sometimes his brain went off on various daydreams, as if trying to decide for itself what might have happened.

As it turned out, Albedo didn’t have to speculate for long. Nor did the truth come out the way that he had expected.

You two were on the very small dock at Cider Lake, checking the rafts were tied down properly before the beginning of the stormy season that wreaked havoc through Mondstadt once every year. Though normally you probably would have never done such a thing the Guild was spread thin, preparing for storms, though not nearly as fierce as Dvalin’s winds, that would blow shingles off roofs and destabilize the occasional out of place rock on the wall. As of such the task of shielding the boats used to carry supplies from the City to the larger Mondstadt region had fallen to you. Albedo had tagged along, knowing how uncomfortable the experience might make you feel, and unwilling to leave you alone in a state of anxiety.

“These remaining boats are the ones we need to tie down. They’re too big to be stored in the sheds inside the City.”

“I see,” Albedo replied, already moving to nail the tarp down on one of them as you secured the roping. Already the air seemed alive with the fresh smell of impending rain.

“It’s too bad really, we can’t guarantee these boats’ safety the way we can the others. Thankfully these ones are mostly insured by the Knights. Though really maybe we should build a larger shed,” you mused to yourself, keeping up the tell-tale stream of conversation that Albedo knew you used to distract yourself.

“Perhaps you can make a query via the Guild?”

“Perhaps,” you mused. “Or I might be able to ask Amber.”

Albedo replied that would be a good idea, turning to put another temporary nail onto the top of the longboat. All seemed alright for a moment, then there was a shriek and a terrific splashing sound. Whirling around Albedo had just enough time to find your head in the water before you seemed to seize up and your head dipped below the still crystal-clear waves.

Immediately Albedo stripped himself of his coat and dove in. Though no amazing swimmer himself the alchemist was hardly the worst at staying afloat, and even if he only knew a select few amount of swim strokes that paled in comparison to the idea of you drowning. Making his way over to you he fought the panic rising up inside of him, the part of his brain that said it would be much more difficult to rescue someone terrified of water.

However almost as soon as Albedo approached you he noticed that something was distinctly off. Firstly you didn’t seem like you were drowning, in fact you appeared quite graceful in the water, swishing softly back and forth. Secondly the reason for said grace quickly became apparent to Albedo. For in the spot where your legs should have been, indeed in the spot where your legs had been mere moment ago was something long and slightly shimmery and distinctly fish-like.

Letting his mouth fall open Albedo immediately hoisted himself up above the water, choking on the gasp of breath he had found himself taking. What was that, what in all of Teyvat was that? You were half fish. How were you half fish? Did such a thing even exist, for Albedo had certainly never heard of it! Though the alchemist later admitted that in the moment such fantasy creatures as merfolk had completely fallen out of his head, there was something distinctly different than reading about something in a book and seeing it in real life.

Dragging himself onto the shores of Cider Lake, Albedo waited for you to emerge, still breathing heavily from what had just passed. His brain seemed to shut off them, for he found himself with no questions to ask. You were a mermaid, you were simply a mermaid. There was nothing more to do or say about it.

Eventually you joined him on the beach. Albedo watched in an odd sort of fascination as your legs emerged from the scaley fin which your lower body was now made up of. For a moment individual spots of iridescent seemed to remain, but soon your limbs were back to normal, ignoring the fact that you were soaking wet.

“So now you know why I said exposure therapy wouldn’t work out,” you said, letting a grim sort of laugh escape your lips.

“You… you are a… a…”

“A merfolk, yeah,” you laughed awkwardly. “Not sure why I get stuck with the weird power that is more annoying than good but, you know, oops?”

Albedo could sense your vulnerability, but try as he might he couldn’t get the words to come out of his throat. For a moment he sat there, gasping like a fish, but finally the expression of muted misery on your face wormed its way into his brain and finally Albedo felt as if he had regained some ability to talk.

“I think it’s fascinating.”

“Of course you do.”

“No, really. And not just because this is something I’ve never experienced or seen before. Though it was really surprising, it was also wonderful. As an alchemist you study all the wonders and anomalies of nature, and in doing so you see all these differences aren’t just something to be written down, but they also beautiful. And so I think you’re really beautiful.”

“Thanks,” you replied, though you still seemed uncomfortable. “I just, yeah…”

Reaching over to find your hand in his Albedo squeezed your palm softly. For a moment you did nothing, then, slowly, you leaned your head on Albedo’s shoulder. Letting you stay there Albedo found himself wishing that he could convey all the emotions he felt in that moment to you.

“I know that it can be difficult to talk about things that you’ve kept secret, especially when you feel like they make you stand out in a bad way. But I promise, there is nothing wrong with that. And I hope if I made you feel uncomfortable in any way that I can apologize.”

“Thanks Albedo,” you murmured. “You don’t have to say sorry, but thanks anyways.”

“Always.”

“I love you, you know?”

“I love you too.”

Albedo planted a soft kiss on your forehead. As the boats sat, woefully forgotten, the two of you basked in each other’s presence. For Albedo a mystery had been solved, and explanation given that, while not necessarily scientific, was certainly satisfactory. Yet at that moment he couldn’t care less about it. All he could think about was how lonely it must have been, and how, if he could help it, you would never feel isolated in your discomfort or in your secret ever again.

[lune-hime]

Garden of Tulips (Levi/Reader) Chapter 10

~Click me for more chapters~

“What did it look like?”

“Hmm?” Levi looked up from his place next to your sleeping form. “The titan that tried to snack on my darling granddaughter.” “Ugly as fuck.” “Aren’t they all?”

Levi recounts memories of the reader and their shared life together while she recovers from a serious injury.

!!WARNINGS!! - Violence, gore, smut, wholesome content ;)

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Tulipa alba coreulea oculata ~ A modest tulip of pearl hue that awakens before its sisters in the early spring. When she blooms, the inky beauty of her indigo heart is revealed.

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Colors danced in soft swirls under your closed eyelids. They were so thickly painted that you felt as if one swipe of your hand would intertwine their chromatic trails and mix their hues. You recognized this work of art as your euphoria; the painting of which you dreamed of many moons ago.

The delicate hands of your little muse patted your cheeks in a gentle reminder that you were too close to the surface to drift back into darkness. Here you waited in this limbo with the young girl, watching as the colors spun faster against her obsidian locks. She was the culmination of everything you could have in the future where you recovered.

The colors gained ferocity as the natural lighting from the wide window above your bed assaulted your eyes. It was as if you were an infant gazing upon the unfamiliar world so intensely it was painful. The searing brightness crinkled your brow and pinched uncomfortably at the corners of your eyes.

Sharp pain bombarded you just as the light did. It’s ivory beams peeled the lengthened sleep from your body and left a dull aching in its wake. The discomfort that now hugged your form was worth it, though, for when your vision gradually sifted up from the murky depths of unconsciousness you wanted to cry on spot at the valkyrie before you.

He contrasted so vibrantly against the pearly essence of the wallpaper of your room that you weren’t sure if you were still actually dwelling in your painting. An overwhelming urge to mold into him wracked your sedentary muscles. You were agitated at your weakened body, irritated that it couldn’t give your mind what it desired. The magnetic sensation was so strong that, willing your mind could override your physical short circuitry, it would have ejected itself out of its damaged shell and crashed into his open chest.

“Lee-” You rasped. Your voice was an exclamation within but manifested into a barely audible moan.

The minute noise grasped his attention, though.

Your phantom limbs bounced with touch starved compulsion when his head whipped around. You finally laid actual eyes on your favorite features sculpted by the universe.

“Lee-vi.” You croaked. The excitement of saying his name sapped what little energy you had from you as you fell into the little girl’s awaiting palms once more.

You lingered momentarily on the rickety bridge between consciousness and nothingness, listening to his muffled frantic calls. A warm wind rocked the bridge as his hands against your cheeks hit you like a summer heat wave. His touch endowed you with newfound vigor and your eyes opened once again.

He hovered mere inches from your face. The skin you longed to embrace was carved with petal-soft streams of tears that pooled from his desperate eyes and traversed porcelain slopes to drip down his chin. Your eyes instantly brimmed with salty gratitude upon being able to swim in those stormy seas of silver.

“Levi…” You breathily whimpered, the corners of your mouth quivering upward as what felt like years of being trapped in a bottle. Ten minutes he had grappled for his name on your lips but to you, it had left like a passing fancy.

“It’s me. It’s me-Y/N, it’s me .” He reassured for both himself, and for you. His voice wobbled with the desperate tambour of a colt eager to stand on its own among spring grass. The sheer quaking of his form; from his deeply furrowed brow, to the tears that fell in divine pools, to the frantic hesitation of his touches was in a magnitude that you had never seen in him before.

“Levi.” You sighed again, a weak smile sluggishly tugging at the corners of your lips. Like a chick learning to chirp you repeated his name as a mantra.

And by Ymir every time you chirped he vibrated at a frequency you couldn’t outwardly match.

“I’m here, Y/N.” He cooed as his emptiness finally filled with the colors of your essence. He pressed your foreheads together and basked in the warmth of your skin. “And you’re finally here.”

The simple physical touch satisfied both of your needy minds; Levi to know you were awake and you to feel like you were present. He wanted to say more. Explode with everything he had seen and felt these past few days. To unload what felt like months of unshared memories in your absence. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you any more. So he settled on four words.

“I love you, Y/N.” He uttered. You could hear the incoming flow of tears diluting his tone. Those words had fallen from his lips countless times since your accident, both internally and externally, but now they actually fell upon you. And it felt like nothing else mattered. “I love you, I love you.”

“And I love you.” You cried, fingers ever so tiredly trailing up his arm to weakly touch the softness of his hair. The strands glided between your languid flutters. There you stayed basking in the feeling of home and letting the bulbs of your love bloom between you.

“Wh...where are we? It looks like…” You trailed off as your head lolled onto his shoulder. Your eyes trailed the room, from window to wall and bureau to bedside table.

“We’re at Oma’s.” Levi explained as he smoothed down some hairs tangled in your drool from the corner of your mouth.

“Oma…” Relief was evident in your exhale. There was no other place and no other sheets you would rather be cocooned in than your childhood room after the last image your eyes captured was that carrion swamp of toothy rocks.

“She’s here then?” You asked, blinking to make sure you were actually awake.

“She left a bit ago to run errands with Felicia-”

“Felicia…” Your lips wandered over their names as if you were recalling them from a story read long ago.

“Mhm. She and Oma have been taking care of you.” Levi checked your eyes for any signs of dilation and disorientation as you processed everything. Everything seemed fine until you groaned when a chord of pain shot up your taught muscles.

“My side hurts.” You complained as your body reflexively stretched.

“I know. Don’t try to move too quickly.” Levi instructed gently. He tried to reposition you into a less painful sitting position with as much sweetness as his voice.

“How bad is it?” You bared your teeth as he shifted you. Levi kept his face from cringing at the memory of Oma fabricating a new seam for your flesh. He played with your fingers to keep your attention on staying awake.

“Oma had to stitch almost your entire side. You...had lost a lot of blood already before I found you. But I was able to put enough pressure on it to keep you-” Levi swallowed and finished his sentence with a deep inhale.

The grotesque images of the incident were painted in thick brush strokes along the bow of your brain. To push them down you focused your gaze on Levi’s doting touches and the smoothness of his milky skin.

“Do you remember what happened?” He pressed, gentle and hesitant.

You hummed in affirmation. You were sure not even the void could remove the scars left upon you by death’s cradle; both physically and mentally.

“Connie and I were alone. We were clearing out the titans to the west when Reiner knocked the wind out of me and I fell right into the abnormal…” You felt Levi’s fingers twitch in aggravation. You were too exhausted now to feel that intense hatred that had been palm-up body slammed into you.

“It grazed my side with its teeth...but I managed to take it down.” You drew in a ragged breath, the pseudo-smell of carcasses overpowering the sweet smell of the tea still steeping in the kettle nearby.

“I...I felt like what being chewed alive is like, Levi.”

Your utter outpouring of torture and fearful tears had Levi’s heart shattering all over again as it had the moment he retrieved your limp body from that sticky pool of blood. He caged the animosity that steamed under his skin for Reiner’s negligence, for the titan’s bloodlust, and for the dangerous oath both of you had taken. He had more to be grateful for right now than angry over.

His thumbs pressed feather-light kisses to your water lines, drying the flooded areas. He brought his hands to your cheeks and leaned in close so you were forced to reside within the shining slate mines of his irises.

“You’re alright now. You’re here, I’m here. You made it out, sweetheart, and nothing will be able to bring you back to that moment.” Levi said with a firmness and sincerity that bathed you in immediate serenity.

Levi rarely used pet-names with you. His terms of endearment came in the form of actions and gestures rather than words. Only when he wanted to communicate something deeper, a feeling he would never come close to conveying with his vocabulary, did they break through the surface.

“I’m assuming I fucked him up since I’m still alive.” You tried to joke as dizziness further loosened its constricting grip on your head.

“From what I saw, you absolutely fucked him up.” Levi cracked a smile when you wheezed out a laugh.

“Did Eren-?” You began. Your blackout had left you with many unanswered questions.

“I don’t know. By the time I had seen your flare they had already disappeared.” He answered.

“Don’t even.” He added. He sifted through your disorientation and hurt to find the fledgling tendrils of guilt creeping up your brow.

“None of us expected that attack. We all did what we could and no one can fault us for that.”

You chewed the inner corner of your lip and let his words sink in.

“You fought so well. You protected Connie and killed that abnormal who most likely would have gone on to kill someone else. I’m proud of you.”

Your bottom lip quivered under his earnest praise.

You strained towards him and Levi realized you were attempting to give him a kiss. He hesitated momentarily, afraid of embracing you in a sore spot or accidentally pressing you backwards at an awkward angle. With a delicate crane of his neck he met you more than halfway. His lips fell upon yours with the tenderness of a newborn fawn’s footsteps but the ferocity of lovers parted by a great ocean.

He drew back to see a pout where his lips had just resided.

“What is it?”

“I really have to pee.” You stated.

Levi’s rocking waves of baritone laughter and his steady arms lifted you from your bed.

“I want to try walking.” You proclaimed with determination, gaze focused straight ahead on the ensuite bathroom.

Levi was impressed with how well you tottered across the room, with his structural support of course. He would wince every time you did but you didn’t let the fire in your side impede your locomotion.

“Do you need me to stay?” He asked in genuine concern. He watched you skeptically as you wobbled above the toilet.

“You pervert.” You huffed, grimacing at the tightness in your thighs as you crouched down. “But yes please.”

Once business had been taken care of and you had assured him you felt coordinated enough to slowly walk back to bed yourself, Levi had gone to clean up his fallen tea cup. He had just finished dabbing the bedside rug with a rag when your sniffle dragged him to his feet.

The fabric of your nightgown, despite being silken to the touch, had snagged the rough skin of your stitches like sharp brambles as you bunched it up to your breasts. With your torso fully exposed to your morbidly curious gaze, you had never been more disgusted with yourself.

Your body resembled the two sides of a coin in how starkly different they looked. Supple curves flowed beautifully into strong and nimble legs. Across the way, a crescent moon of scissored flesh dug its hooks into your once smooth skin. Lightning bolts of broken blood vessels and bruising held your thigh to your hips like a haphazardly made corn doll.

“I’ve never looked so weak.” Your disbelief manifested itself in a dark chuckle. The image of your battered body had left you in shock at your forced metamorphosis. Your fingertips barely tapped at your stitches as if they were repulsed to be in the vicinity of your wound.

You couldn’t tear your eyes away from your tears until Levi’s body carefully wrapped around yours from behind. He didn’t dare touch your scarring, but he did intertwine your hands with his and placed his head on your shoulder.

“I don’t think you’ve ever looked so strong.” He whispered with an airy kiss to your neck. You looked up to meet his eyes in the mirror and your chest clenched at his unfiltered adoration.

“You will heal. And to speed that up you need to not push yourself.” Levi gently ushered you away from the mirror and turned you back towards the bed.

As you walked, your gaze fell to the open bedroom door. Your eyes began to water once again, pooling at your bottom lids like the body of water you now cried for. Levi anxiously regarded you and your newest bout of tears.

“Levi...is Puddle?” You coughed. A heavy rock of dread plummeted into your stomach. You couldn’t recall the last time you had seen your other beloved boy. Levi grinned fondly.

“He’s fine. He’s out in the pasture.” He assured you. He felt the breath you had been holding release against his side and you continued your journey back to bed.

Once you had practically deflated back into the blankets, it dawned on Levi that you would need sustenance.

“Are you hungry? Thirsty? Lightheaded?” He mused like a mother hen.

“All of the above but I don’t think I can stomach anything right now.”

“I’ll just get water, then.” He decided and dipped out of the room. The steady tick-tock of the carved clock and the twittering of the birds above you almost lulled you to sleep when Levi re-emerged.

The water was unpleasant; too cool against the dryness of your throat. As you forced yourself to gulp it down, you registered Levi’s outfit. The realization made you lightly gasp.

“What’s wrong?” Levi bristled, fearing one of your organs decided to pop.

“Those clothes…” You whispered as you licked the final droplets of water from your lips.

Shit, were you upset he had borrowed them? Maybe he was encroaching on something precious.

“Y/N I didn’t-”

You shook your head and smiled sweetly.

“They look good on you.” You giggled at the blush that rose on his pale cheeks.

“The pants are a little too long though...shorty.” You winked weakly. Levi was relieved that you felt alright enough to tease him. It was a more than welcome nuisance.

“Not my fault everyone in your family besides Oma seem to be giants.” He countered as he sat down on the empty side of the bed.

“Oh Ymir, I’ve been out for...how long have I been unconscious?”

“Two and a half days.”

“ Shit , that means you’ve been all alone with Oma.” You whined. “I take full responsibility for anything she’s done or said.”

Levi shut you up with another kiss the consistency of butterfly wings. He pulled back and your heart fluttered at the light in his features.

“We get along pretty well.”

“She hasn’t scarred you yet? That’s a first.”

“I didn’t say that.” He replied with impish jest.

“We...understand one another.” Levi stated simply. You beamed at his comment and gave him a once over, noting his seemingly pristine physical condition.

“You’re doing okay? You look fine.”

“My shoulder is bruised and I feel stiff but that’s it.” He reassured with a spirited flex of his shoulder blades.

Your mouth hung open in incoming speech when a crashing at the base of the stairs followed by two sets of groans interrupted you.

“Dammit Felicia just-place them at the bottom of the stairs. No! See I knew this was going to happen, your arms are the consistency of chicken legs. You could have easily made a second trip from the carriage.” Oma scolded her with fiery disappointment obvious in her tone.

You and Levi exchanged amused glances at the antics below the stairs.

“Levi, are you up here?” Oma called as she ascended to the second floor. You bit your lips in anticipation of your reunion with your grandmother.

“I’m in here.” Levi replied with a squeeze of your hand.

“That foolish girl has just spilled half of her suitcase onto the floor.” The old woman complained as she approached your bedroom. A pair of crutches under one arm and a fresh package of bandages entered your room just before she did.

“I mean, really, she has to be aware that she has the strength of a bumbleb-”

“Hi Oma.” You hiccuped. Your cheerful greeting faded into a whimper at the sight of her. She looked as lively and as lovely as you had last seen her. The crutches fell to the floor with a sharp clatter and she turned to you with wide eyes.

“ Oh , my darling.” She croaked, gliding to your side and smothering you with careful kisses on every corner of your face. Levi pulled away to let the weeping woman embrace her kin. You buried your head into her shoulder and sighed into her familiar cradle.

The beautiful, joyously tearful reunion drove that stake of peculiar familial warmth deeper into Levi’s chest as he silently watched on as Oma and you began to catch up.

“Y/N!” Felicia screamed. She stood at the foot of the bed utterly petrified with relieved shock.

“Hi Felicia.” A grin parted the wetness on your face. She was quick to take you into her arms as well, and held you there as she rambled on about how ecstatic she was that you were awake.

“Thank you for taking care of me.” You said as she pulled away. Your eyes crinkled and her’s mirrored yours.

“All of you.” You added, looking to every one of your earthly angels around you. “What time is it?”

“Half past three.” Oma said, squinting at the clock.

“Aw, I missed my morning coffee.”

The once fragile room was filled with hearty laughter and smiles for the rest of that afternoon.

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After spending the next few hours lazing with second swigs of tea and half eaten dinner plates, Levi gave your interlocked palms a squeeze. He broke away and padded out of the room to give you and Oma much needed alone time. The clanking of porcelain against the sink drew his attention to the kitchen archway and he paused momentarily along his descent.

“It sounds like an earthquake is breaking all of your dishes.” Levi commented dryly. Felicia yelped in surprise, generating even more clanking.

“Eek, I apologize if my cleaning has been bothering you! Oh walls, has it been loud enough to disturb Y/N??” She buzzed in anxiety. Levi threw her a half smile.

“I was joking. Clearly you didn’t take it that way...do you need help?” He said and leaned in the archway to the kitchen.

“O-oh...ahahah.” She sputtered and offered a wiggly, but calmer, grin back. “No, I’m all good here despite the noise. So no need to trouble yourself! Although I know you do love cleaning…”

Levi deadpanned into a single nod and continued out to the front porch. Two rocking chairs perched themselves along the ornate railing as they relished in the feature film that was the evening tulips. The fields were dulled by the blue haze of the encroaching moonlight.

He plopped down into the aged wood and took in his new favorite smell; country air. He had absolutely no idea what he had been missing with the must and dust of the underground and the metallic smell of blood against pine needles outside the walls.

He let time take the backseat to his rocking as he mildly entertained himself by finding shapes in the swaying flowers. His hand absentmindedly fiddled with the contents of his pocket. He sighed contently and brought them out of their cotton resting place and into the open. The two little bands of gold were illuminated against the pale floral sea.

A snort jolted the rings back into his pocket and whipped his head to the source. His body stiffened like an agitated teenager harboring stolen alcohol. Oma had appeared with a pony, a creature of small mousey brown and stout stature. It bore a harness with large wicker baskets hanging from either side of its chubby shoulders.

“Wanna help a brittle old woman with some last minute harvesting? I’m extremely behind on today’s work for obvious reasons." Oma invited with spice in her tone. If she had seen the jewelry, she was very convincing at hiding otherwise. Levi indulged in the rocking chair, creaking back and forth a couple times, before heaving himself up silently.

“It will do you good to get those muscles moving.” She said, patting his good shoulder as he neared. Once he was standing next to her she gripped his collar and yanked it downward. Levi faltered at the unexpected grapple and stumbled backwards. She peeped under the cloth, admiring the progress of her handiwork.

“Looks good still.” She affirmed, playfully snapping the band back and she waltzed into the field. “Damn I’m one hell of a seamstress.”

Levi followed the pony’s hoofprints down the main lane until the house was barely in view. They arrived at a patch of tulips the color of midday sunshine and lemon drop candy.

“Alright, look here boy.” She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Levi regarded her as she kneeled down in front of her chosen flowers, one of the wicker baskets loyally resting at her side.

“It’s not as simple as pulling the damned thing up, you might tear the bulb out that way. If you do that you owe me whatever I would have earned from the re-cultivation of that tulip.” She sternly explained, sending him daggers in her eyes he had come to recognize held no malice.

Levi watched carefully as she dug out around the base of the stem, twisted gently with a firm grasp, and lifted, effortlessly releasing the flower from its anchor. He kneeled down in his picking area and mimicked her movements. After a couple broken stems and constructive criticism they had fallen into a steady rhythm.

“So...do you want to show me what’s jangling around in your pocket?” Oma inquired with a sly innocence. Levi eyed her with his grasp mid stem. Her features were smug with knowledge.

“You want to see what is inside my pocket?” Levi quipped back as he yanked the flower from its birthplace.

“Uh-huh.”

“Like...lint?” Levi returned matter-of-factly. He was grateful straight facing was his most coveted skill in interrogations such as these.

Oma cackled and blew the excess dirt from her fingertips.

“I saw the rings, Levi. No use playing dumb with me.” She stopped her harvest and gauged him for a reaction.

Levi cleared his throat and continued working.

“How do you know I wasn’t keeping them safe for Erwin’s wedding to his eyebrows?” Levi replied with an even tone. He cringed at his bullshit.

“Now that’s a wedding I’d like to be invited to.” Oma laughed, and Levi couldn’t help but grin at his absolute shitty cover up.

“It doesn’t- didn’t - really matter that much to me. Getting married.” He began as his hand hovered over the wind kissed petals of his next flower. It took a couple of soft sways for him to decide how to articulate his feelings.

“Why should I let a piece of paper, a circlet of metal, and some holy man manifest a promise that I’ve already committed to her myself?”

Oma hummed along in acknowledgment.

“But...realizing how much marriage meant to her made me place my opinions aside and realize I was being selfish in my reservations.”

A grasshopper popped in and out of the columns of stems.

“She’s never made a big deal out of it, but I’m not blind. I see the way she fawns over wedding dresses and how her eyes light up when she sees families on the street.”

His tone grew somber as thoughts of doubt flooded his mind. When the thought of becoming a husband and even a father crossed his mind he shoved them immediately into the darkest corners of his subconscious. But despite those intimate fears, he would never doubt he wanted to make you happy for the rest of his days.

“I want to give Y/N something that she can cherish for a long time in a world where everything we have seems so temporary. And standing through a ceremony celebrating our commitment...I guess isn’t the worst thing I could think of.”

With a slow exhale, he removed the rings from his pocket and held them up. Oma noted he regarded them with the same tenderness he reserved for you. His self awareness and lack of confidence intertwined with the utter devotion she could see he had for you brewed a hearth in her chest.

“Well, congratulations. They’re lovely. She’s going to absolutely love them.” Pure fondness spread through every crevasse in Oma’s face and overwhelmed Levi with domesticity. He averted her gaze and repocketed his trinkets. He grunted awkwardly with a nod.

“Thank you.” She said and began working again.

“For what?” Levi’s brow furrowed as he too resumed.

“For loving her, and receiving her love in return. It sounds like a lot of fairy-tale bullshit and troll scrotums, but love is quite the powerful ally.”

He rose his head to a crinkled smile and he nodded with a half moon of his own on his lips. His smile, however, did not betray the bleakness in his features.

A comfortable silence fell over the two of them as they continued to pluck the beauties from their earthy homes. They eavesdropped on the occasional yowl from a fox and the croaking of toads.

“Do you know what makes a good, sturdy, lively tulip, shorty?” Oma asked as she strong-armed one from the ground. She examined the flower with eyes that Levi’s own vision would never be able to duplicate.

“Water.” He guessed offhandedly, flicking a worm off of the roots of his own flower.

The older woman scoffed at the blandness of his answer.

“If that’s all it took, I’d be richer and my lower back wouldn’t ache like a bitch.” She cackled. “You’ve got the basic idea. But you haven’t even scratched the most important bits.”

Levi’s verbal silence pressed her to continue as he scooted over to the next patch nearest to him.

“First you need rich soil. If you live where that soil is contaminated-ya know too much clay, too little nutrients. Then you need to physically make the soil capable of growing life.” She began with a bulky wheeze as she lifted her basket to reposition herself over her floral children.

“Here, thankfully the soil is loose, airy, and just a bit sandy. But that wasn’t the case at our old place. A downright hard job it was to get those little bastards to grow. But we did.”

“Once you’ve got your soil sorted out, you need the bulbs. Some of the bulbs won’t make it. That’s just how it is. But the ones that do poke their little heads above the ground and leave their dark incubations.”

“Then comes the water.” She looked at him pointedly and he rolled his eyes. “It’s the one constant thing in a tulip’s life that nurtures it into maturity.”

“How versed are you in tulip anatomy?” Oma asked as she held her latest victim up. Levi blinked at her.

“Expertly.”

His sass made her smirk.

“Well, then you’ll know that petals-arguably the most cherished and viewed piece-are a part of the tulip. So is the stamen, pistil, and pedicel.” She lectured while supporting her points with gestures to the places on the plant she was talking about.

“While they are all interconnected with the flower, they aren’t the whole tulip.” She stated. She threw the saffron colored flower in an underhand swoop to Levi who caught it effortlessly. He twirled the soft skin of the largest petals between his thumb and index finger as she talked before tossing it into his own basket.

“There’s a lot nature can teach us about ourselves. I mean we’re all natural beings, even the titans.” She said with pursed lips and swiftly grabbed at the pony’s halter when she saw him mouthing for the buffet in her basket.

“That’s why I’ve stuck with this job for so long. By looking at them, they remind me that my oddities, mistakes, and what-have-you, may linger with me and be a part of me...but they aren’t all of me. There’s still a bulb down there under the earth waiting to re-blossom.”  

Levi now understood the depth of her analogy. Normally, if someone was beating around the bush to tell him he needs to cheer up he would have either slammed the door in their face, or their face into the door. But this didn’t feel like that. Her words seeped into his heart and rested there in what he could only begin to grasp as...parental warmth.

“That’s what you need to do to help yourself, I’ve learned. To cultivate learning to live with yourself and then in turn others.” She sighed as she pressed the disturbed soil back into place.

When Levi looked down, his hands were suddenly so small and so caked in dirt. But not dirt from the fields. No, it was an oily, slick dirt that tasted like oxidized metal when he ate stale bread from them.

“Tulips don’t live forever even though they blossom every year. Life could not exist without death, and it only hurts yourself to deny mortality in you and in others. It only makes you suffer, not the loved ones that have passed before you or the ones that slipped through your fingers.”

He was shaking like he used to when his malnourished body constantly teetered on the edge of starvation. His bony wrists buckled under the immense weight of the flower and it tumbled to the ground in front of him. He wore a once expensive sleeping gown gifted to his mother by one of her regulars. It was clearly for her, but she had given it to her poor son to provide him with that extra warmth when she was too sick to wrap him in her love herself. It was tattered and stained from years of wear. But it still smelled of her.

“Everyone and everything in this world of ours must die. Life is a precious gift with that knowledge. And a gift so precious can’t be wasted on beating yourself down for existing, for living . Self proclaimed demons and mistakes in all.”  

Levi felt the childish pressure of tears building behind his eyes. He wished to choke out a whine, to let them burst out, to feel the safety of his mother’s chest against his wet cheeks instead of her lifeless embrace. He felt the tantrum of frustration at all of this emotion he kept so expertly under lock and key. His bare toes sank into the flowers behind him as he knelt on the soil just as he did the cramped trailer where he resided when his mother worked in their room.

He finally felt like a child in the presence of a mother’s comfort. Oma’s consolation brought back that gangly, mute, shelled boy. The boy who had to grow up into a man overnight, surrounded by reflections in knives and last words as screams. The boy who never had the chance to cry it out about foolish things like his mother not being able to take him on a walk through the city, like his bloated belly eating itself instead of dinner, like never being able to see the sun. The boy who was always the pillar for others and never had a guardian to stroke his head and tell him that better days are coming.

“I’m rambling like this because I see the intense self loathing in you that I used to feel for myself-” She half chuckled to make light of her weighted words. The dry laugh faded into the air with the rest of her sentence when she gazed upon him. Her smile dropped as bubbling tears cascaded over his dark bottom lashes.

“Oh, my dear.” Oma gasped out a breathy coo. She instantly dropped her basket, not caring if her naughty pony ate some of her crop. She flew to him; her knees before his and her hand pressing his head to her shoulder. Her other arm rubbed ginger ovals into his back that urged him to crumple into her strong embrace.

For a moment, he wondered if this is what his mother would have felt like if she hadn’t been so frail. He could only guess that this is the feeling he had missed. The childhood was never nurtured into him. The childhood he had forsaken for survival. And in a twisted way, he was now more than ever thankful for the horrors of his youth as he nestled into Oma’s loving arms. Because he was beginning to understand that his own life was precious. Not just yours or Oma’s or Felicia’s or Erwin’s or Petra’s or everyone he fought for.

She was right, and Levi was too prideful to tell her how grateful he was for her in this moment.

“I.” He fought to swallow his shame in his childish behavior, but the soft strokes of her fingers through his hair and the solace in his chest at her gentle rocking plunged it down his esophagus.

“I needed to hear that.” His voice quivered into the puffy fabric of her shoulder.

"We all do." Oma hummed and continued her ministrations, allowing him to tearfully bleed a lifetime of juvenile sorrows onto her and out of him.

Maybe he did need to let his withered leaves and wilted colors fall from his body, leaving him with just his skeleton and his heart.

↞↠↞↠↞↠

The creaking of the wood under his boots was the only sound in the dim darkness of the newborn night as he made his way upstairs. He paused at your door, glancing in to see you tucked back under the sheets. A half smile carried him back to his temporary chambers to wash up. He managed to fully wash the silt from under his fingernails and his knuckles while still keeping Oma's comfort there.

When he deemed himself fully cleansed, he slunk through the crack in your doorway without causing the hinges on the old wood to groan. He deftly sat in the chair still positioned next to your form. His eyes softened at the slight twitch of your nose and your steady breaths.

Just as he began admiring the warm glow of life rising back up into your skin, your eyelashes fluttered in greeting.

“Did I wake you?” He whispered, his voice devoid of anything but airy tenderness.

You shook your head, the plushness of your pillow swallowing your face then regurgitating it up.

“No, I was just resting my eyes.” You blatantly lied through a smile that was blinding in comparison to the muted candle light.

“I’ve slept too much these past few days. I don’t want to right now…” You began with the saddest attempt at a pout Levi had ever witnessed. Just speaking that sentence already almost sent you into another deep slumber.

“Then just keep resting your eyes then, instead of sleeping.” Levi whispered as you trailed off in obvious exhaustion. He pressed his hand to your forehead, blissfully cool from the tap water, and moved your hair away. In its place, his lips placed the sweet hum of affectionate proximity on your skin.

You registered the chair rubbing against the floorboards through the incoming sleep.

“Will you stay, Levi?” You asked, doe eyes blinking up through the gray.

You didn’t even have to ask him.

“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

You felt the bed dip to your left. He settled in beside you on his side, his arm a firm resting place for his head as he gazed upon you through the night veil. He didn’t draw you to him as he usually would. It would scar him if he selfishly undid the hard work of Oma and Felicia. For now, just basking in the aura of your wellbeing was enough of a security blanket. You weakly shifted so your head was perched in his direction.

The two of you laid in silent fear of sleep. You didn’t want your beautiful little angel to carry you back into the void. Levi didn’t want his demons to vouch all of this as a practical joke and take you from him when he rose the next morning.

“Levi.”

“Hmm?”

“You called her Oma.” You mumbled, finally relenting into the arms of rest.

“I did.”

[hatterstan-shameblog]

Smut, you say 👀

You're this cute, kinda innocent woman that gets the help of this handsome gigolo to not be as... innocent.

💕 The Professional: Chapter 1 💕

Chapter Two

Rating: PG-13 (for this chapter only)

Pairing: Danma Takeru (Hatter)/Reader (she/her

Tags: flirting, suggestive conversation, alcohol consumption, smoking, kissing

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

Notes: This is a kind-of sort-of AU—in the show, Hatter references his involvement with the host club business, and mentions that he “would do anything” to be the best. Although host clubs do not usually involve sex work (as far as I know), I believe that he would definitely offer that “off the books” in order to win over his clientele.

You’re nervous. Nervous and jittery and—oh, dear, there’s a lot of feelings going on in here, and all of them seem to fall under the umbrella of ‘mild to moderate discomfort.’ Not that feeling uncomfortable is anything new; in fact, there are very few times where you happen to feel truly comfortable outside of, say, the warmth of your bed or the soothing calm of a late-night bath. Places where you feel safe. Places where you can let yourself breathe and be, unhindered by expectation.

The place where you currently find yourself—this strange little pocket of a room in the buzz and bustle of a Friday-night Kabukicho—is full-to-bursting with expectation. From the polished wood floors to the glittering gold chandelier that hangs from the center of the ceiling, there is an inescapable sense of opulent whimsy that is tinged pink with a blush of sensuality. There are even fresh flowers on the table in front of you—a vase of ranunculus, blooming bright and orange like a green-stalked bunch of tiny setting suns.

Something like an itch tickles your sweat-damp palms, making you ball your hands into tight fists around the fabric of your skirt. Oh, you should have worn something different! Something sexier, maybe, with a deeper neckline and a shorter hem, that hugged the shape of your body as opposed to ghosting over it in fluttering chiffon. Not that you actually, you know, owned anything like that, but—

The pop! of a champagne cork makes you jump. Hell, you feel like you’re about to pop, too, from the nervous energy boiling and swelling in your chest. It’s so very difficult not to fidget, to keep your toes from tapping out a frantic little rhythm on the rug.

Looking back, you realize that the paperwork had been the ‘easy’ part. Not that it had been particularly easy—who knew there would be an application process for this kind of thing?—but it was less stressful to fill out a (surprisingly comprehensive) questionnaire in the privacy of your own home as opposed to this agonizing waiting.

And what, exactly, are you waiting for?

Why, you’re waiting for him.

His name is Takeru—or, at least, that’s what he’s asked you to call him. Whether or not it’s a stage name is difficult to tell; but what you do know is that it sounded so very nice in the deep clear of his voice. The only thing that sounded better was your name, which he said in a gently-sultry half-whisper that made you feel…many thing, and not all of them innocent.

In a devastatingly well-tailored suit of lipstick red—a vibrant pop of a color you would so often consider buying at the makeup counter but always put back—it’s nearly impossible to look at anything but him. A small collection of rings glisten from his fingers, most of them delicate little things that wink a tiny gleam when the light hits them just right. The dizzying black-white-gold pattern of his shirt is unbuttoned just a smidge too low, offering you a tantalizing view of his chest.

And although his back is toward you, concocting some kind of magic at the bar cart along the far wall, you can all but feel the warm-dark of his eyes on you. Oh, he has beautiful eyes, dark and warm with the glitter of laughter—or perhaps mischief, if the situation calls for it. A slim nose leads down to a shapely mouth, handsomely framed by a neatly-trimmed beard and mustache.

Also, his hair—oh, that man has a great head of hair.

Aesthetics aside—he has been undeniably lovely. Slipping the coat from your shoulders when you walked into the room, fingertips skimming the slope of your shoulders with only the barest of touches. Offering you a glass of champagne (“Yes, thank you”) as he leads you to sit on the green velvet settee, hand hovering above but never touching the small of your back. A serene smile on his lips as he talks, as he tells you that your dress is lovely (“Blue is definitely your color, darling”) and letting out an airy chuckle when you mention that this was as good occasion as any to dig it out of the back of your closet.

It is impossible to ignore the way he is so very provocative—subtly so, in a way that makes you second-guess whether his flirtations had happened at all. Did his eyes really linger over the shape of your legs, or was he simply taking a moment to admire your (new, very cute) shoes? Did his fingertips slip over the curve of your shoulder as he removed your coat, or were you just imagining it?

His gaze tiptoes over your shape as he sits down beside you, two flutes of pink-tinged something in hands.

“I’ve taken the liberty of making something a little special,” he says, “Hope you don’t mind.”

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say as he hands you one of the glasses, “it…it looks nice.”

“Know what it is?”

“Uh,” you say after a moment of silent deliberation, “Maybe alcohol?”

He huffs a short laugh at your half-joke—a rather polite response, and it manages to soothe the bubble of regret that had risen up your throat the moment you’d said it.

“You’re not wrong. More specifically, though, it’s a Kir Royale—or, my take on one, at the very least,” he watches the bubbles fizzle to the top of the glass, “I find myself more or less incapable of keeping with convention, even when it comes to alcohol.”

“Well, uh,” you say, “it’s pretty. I like the color.”

You taste the drink, bubbles like tiny fireworks tickling over the surface of your tongue. There is a dry bitterness, no doubt from the champagne, but it’s softened by a fruity sweetness. Something familiar, something that reminds you of summer and shaved ice and walks along the river and—

“Cherry,” you say, half-lost in the hazy-warm memory of days gone by—until you remember where you are and snap back to reality, “it’s, uh, it tastes like cherries.”

“Very good. Usually, the drink calls for creme de cassis, but I used Kijafa instead. It’s a dessert wine from Denmark, made from cherries,” his brow raises just a smidge, “I thought it appropriate, given the situation.”

And it takes you a minute to understand what he’s talking about. Cherries. You. Ah. A rather crass comparison, but accurate all the same.

“Oh,” you say, picking a very uninteresting spot on the rug to look at in an attempt to avoid meeting his eyes, “I, uh…”

“It’s nothing to be embarrassed about,” he adds, “In fact, virginity isn’t even a real thing. Completely made up. Means nothing, really.”

There is a kind of lag—he’s speaking, you know he’s speaking, but it takes your brain a few extra seconds to figure out what he’s actually saying. It’s strange, hearing someone talk to you so openly about sex. Not unwelcome, by any means, but you need a moment (or two, or ten) to adjust.

“That being said,” he continues, as if he’s discussing the weather, “just because it doesn’t mean anything in the grand scheme of life doesn’t mean it’s nothing to you.”

He’s fishing. He’s fishing, and you kind of want to take the bait, but…well, you’re finding it difficult to get your thoughts in order. He’s the very picture of calm, all while you’re floundering over a simple conversation.

“Apologies if I’ve overstepped,” he says, taking a slow sip of his drink, “I thought you might prefer to talk it over a bit. ”

“No, uh, you’re fine,” you answer quickly, “I’m just…I thought the paperwork kind of covered all that.”

“More or less,” he answers, “however, I’ve found that the person who fills out the forms and the person who ends up sitting across from me are not always of the same mind.”

He reaches a hand into the inside of his jacket and pulls out a silver-plated cigarette case. Although he is not gentleman enough to ask your permission to smoke, he is gentleman enough to offer you a cigarette before taking one of his own. You decline. He shrugs and quickly snaps the case shut before laying it on the table.

“In fact, it’s not uncommon for my clients to have a complete change of heart the second they walk through the door,” he continues, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “Or, sometimes later on, for that matter. Depends on the person.”

Cigarette held between his teeth, he retrieves a lighter from his right trouser pocket. With a sharp little snick, he ignites it, pulling the little orange flame towards his face and hiding it behind his hand to let it catch.

“Really?”

You watch him intently, the way his eyelids flutter closed at the first inhale. The way his lips pucker around the filter and release, the red-pink sticking slightly as they pull away and let smoky white flow out and fade into the air.

“Really,” he confirms, “once, I had a client step inside, take one look at me, and promptly walk right back out. Never saw them again, which is fine. I’ll never fault someone for doing what’s right for themselves.”

“Are you, uh, trying to talk me out of it?”

“Not at all. Just making you aware of your options,” he says, “Doing anything for the first time is scary. Driving a car, swimming in the ocean, traveling abroad—sex is no different.”

“Yeah, well,” you respond, “you also get to do most of those things with your clothes on, so…”

“Depends on who you’re with.”

You can’t help but laugh a little.

“Well I still want to…you know,” you answer, “uh, do it. The…the sex part.”

“I’m happy to hear it.”

“Yeah, well, you’re supposed to say that.”

“It’s the truth,” he insists, “I can’t imagine anyone being upset at the thought of having a pretty thing like you in their bed.”

“I’m not—“

“Don’t,” he interrupts, taking on a tone that brokers no arguments, “I will suffer many things, but a liar isn’t one of them. You are an attractive woman and I refuse to be told otherwise.”

“Sorry, I,” you say sheepishly, “I guess I just…wasn’t expecting you to…like me?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” He ashes his cigarette and takes another long, slow drag, “You’re very sweet. A bit shy, maybe, but I happen to like the shy ones.”

And there is something about the way he says it, the way his voice wraps around the words—oh, there are implications to those words, and you find yourself growing warm at the thought of what exactly those implications could entail.

You sip your drink. He smokes. The quiet between you is almost comfortable. Maybe it’s the alcohol working it’s bubbly magic, but you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease in this strange little place.

Moreover, you’re starting to feel a bit more at ease with him. The thought of kissing him crosses your mind, then doubles-back and crosses it again. Oh, that sounds nice. He would be good at it, too; starting gently, mouth pressed soft and sure against your own, and then just the tiniest tease of his tongue—

“And there you go, biting your lip again,” he says, snapping you out of your impromptu fantasy, “You have no idea how sexy that is, do you?”

He is sporting a devilish grin—not only is he aware that you had been daydreaming about him, but he’s relishing the fact that he was able to catch you so off-guard.

“Didn’t even realize I was doing it,” you admit with a shrug. But you can’t help but feel a thrill at the thought of being considered ‘sexy’—you never really let yourself feel that way, but now that it’s happening…oh, it’s nice.

“It’s absolutely delicious, darling. Makes me wonder what else you do when you’re turned on…”

And he’s got you—like a knife held under your chin, his sharp gaze pins you in place. He is impossible to avoid. Not that you particularly want to avoid him—there’s something irresistible about this man, something that you can’t quite name but definitely want more of.

It’s scary.

It’s exciting.

“I’m,” you say with a nervous chuckle, “not really sure, myself. Guess we’ll have to, uh, figure it out together.”

His gaze darkens. He takes one last lungful of nicotine before stubbing out his cigarette.

“I suppose we shall.”

And he’s moving now, sliding himself down so that he’s closer to you. He stops when there is barely an inch of space between the outside of his thigh and your own. His right arm has draped itself over the back of the sofa, the fingertips of his hand now skimming the skin of your shoulder in loose, mindless sweeps.

“Well, darling,” he says, voice low and smooth and so much closer than before, “I think it’s high time we got to the heart of the issue. The root of the root and the bud of the bud, as it were.”

“Uh,” you say, unsure of where he’s going with this but very much enjoying his simple touches, “what do you mean?”

“I’m just wondering,” he clarifies, pausing to let out a soft sigh, “when you’re going to give in and kiss me.”

He plucks the champagne flute from your grasp and sets it on the table in front of you.

“I, uh—“

The fingertips on your shoulder continue to make their idle little circles, almost hypnotic in their swirling pattern. His left hand catches your right wrist, his thumb pressing above where your pulse thrums beneath sensitive skin.

“Bit fast,” he observes, pulling your arm closer as if inspecting it, “Could be nerves, but I think it’s more from excitement, don’t you?”

You have no choice but to lean into him as he brings your hand closer. Your shoulder presses against his arm, and you feel the solid shape of him through the smooth of his suit. He’s strong underneath all of those layers—warm, too, judging from the heat that radiates from his person.

“I’m—“

The thumb that had been testing your pulse inches higher, stopping when it’s pressing into the center of your palm. His eyes lock with yours, a heartbeat of a moment, and brings your wrist closer and closer until his lips are ghosting over your flesh. When he finally decides to make contact, you gasp—it’s a delicate sensation, but sends your heart skipping in a shaking staccato.

And, then.

Then he sucks.

The sound you make is halfway between an oh of surprise and a desperate little moan—oh, wow, that’s really weirdly unexpectedly hot—and you don’t even have the presence of mind to feel embarrassed by your own reaction. He’s not even doing much, not really; just a little bit of pressure, lips parted just enough to let his tongue slip out and have a taste of you.

But, oh, it feels…it feels filthy, it feels decadent, it feels like something you should not be doing but very much want to keep doing for the rest of your life. Takeru’s eyes have since fluttered shut, and he hums the tiniest sound of pleasure as he maintains his seductive tease.

“Please,” you manage to sigh, sounding as breathless as you feel, “please, I, I want you to kiss me.”

His lips release from your wrist with a pucker-pop noise—which was no doubt intentional on his part, and does nothing to quell the thrill of desire in your belly.

“Hm. I’ll make you a deal,” he says, shifting a bit to the left so that he can turn to face you better, “I’ll kiss you for the rest of the night, but right now…you kiss me.”

And what a deal that is—you don’t even have to think about it, head bobbing in an affirmative nod as you wet your lips in anticipation. The hand that had so lovingly held yours is now guiding you to rest your palm just above his knee. You reflexively reach your other hand out to steady yourself, and it lands against his chest before you can stop it.

He’s so close now. There’s barely any space between your faces, barely room to breathe—

“Go on, darling,” he whispers, “if you want me, have me.”

And you do.

You kiss him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. The anxiety that has plagued you since the moment you entered the room hasn’t completely dissipated—it would be foolish to think it’d be that easy to banish those feelings completely—but all that is now secondary to the feeling of his mouth on yours.

Kissing Takeru is warm. It’s soft and it’s sure and it’s…comfortable, in a way. Safe, even. He does not press, doesn’t do much of anything except mirror the way your lips slide against his own. A gentle rhythm, a push and pull between the two of you that feels as natural as the moon guiding the tides to shore—yes, kissing him is good and right and something you want to do many times over.

Unfortunately, you have to pull away to breathe. He doesn’t let you go far, though, one hand cupped behind the nape of your neck and the other pressing into the small of your back.

“Oh, you are sweet,” he purrs, his gaze dropping to your freshly-kissed lips, “and, seeing that I’m a man of my word…”

As it turns out, being kissed by Takeru might be better than kissing him, yourself. He is still so very careful when he presses his lips to yours, but this time…this time, there’s fire. He tastes like the best part of a cigarette, like warmth and alcohol and cherries, and it only intensifies as he tests the seam of your lips with his tongue.

Little by little, you begin to test him, too. Hands cradle the curve of his jaw, feeling the way his face shifts as he moves against you. Fingertips run through the soft dark of his hair—oh, he likes that, if the half-sigh that slips from his throat is to be believed. And when you nip at his lower lip with your teeth (he had, after all, very much enjoyed the way you bit your lip earlier), he genuinely moans and pulls you even closer to himself.

It’s when he begins to wander lower, with his mouth skimming the sensitivity of your neck and his hand splayed across your lower back in a way that flirts with the idea of indecency, that you begin to want more. Fear—and maybe that’s not exactly the right word for what you’re feeling, but it’s the only one that comes to mind—begins to creep up the column of your spine.

The “what-if’s” start filling your brain; what if you mess something up? What if you do something he doesn’t like? What if you freeze up later and—

“Alright, darling?”

His voice is a low soothe against your ear; he’s retreated, just a bit, and his hand has wandered to a chaste and respectable area of your mid-back.

“I—“

You want him to take you to bed. You want him to take off your dress and kiss you in all the places you thought weren’t worth kissing, to let his hands trace sparks along the curves of your shape and let him be close to you in a way that no one else has. You want him, despite the uncertain ache that burns between your ribs and bids you to hide yourself away and leave behind the pleasure of his touch.

…But all you can manage is a nervous glance to the bed behind you (the one you had been avoiding thinking about up until this point) and a stammered “Can we, uh…?”

“Ask me,” he says, his index and middle fingers idly skimming the notch in your collarbone, “I’ll give you anything you want, as long as you ask me.”

It’s difficult to make eye contact with him—every time you try, you feel embarrassment swell up beneath your tongue.

But Takeru is, as you have come to learn over the last hour or so, decidedly patient. He shows no sign of relenting, appearing to be perfectly content with giving you an expectant grin and continuing his little touches as you try not to squirm in your seat.

“I,” you gulp, “I want…“

You bite your lip—oh, wait, he likes that too, and he’s staring at you with those sharp and sultry eyes, and it makes something behind your heart squeeze and unsqueeze itself and punches the air from your lungs and—

“Take me to bed,” you manage to spit out, and it all sounds like one word with how quickly you pushed the words into the air. The “uh, please” you tack on at the end is an afterthought, but perhaps it’s polite enough to pass muster.

“Was that so hard,” Takeru asks with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you asked so nicely…”

He takes your hand in his and brings it to his lips for a kiss—and even that, after everything, still has you feeling a flutter of something giddy in your stomach.

“Darling,” he says, “it would be my pleasure.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

…and now, you’ll have to wait until chapter two to get to the “good stuff!”

It’s been a challenge writing this—I’m trying to make the scenario believable while still keeping it vague enough to allow for people to make up their own little details. It’s also been unexpectedly difficult to write him, since he’s kind of being himself while also playing a character who’s trying to mold themself into their client’s fantasy…it’s a lot of layers, but it’s been fun trying to figure things out!

[datawyrms]

Irresistible

For PhicPhight! On Ao3

“Earth to clueless one, walking through walls isn’t something you should be doing right now!” Sam’s hiss made him notice the fact something had grabbed his wrist.

“Right, sorry!” He said it without thinking, eyes flicking to Tucker. His other friend looked just as concerned, great. “I don’t think I got enough sleep.”

“When do you ever, dude? You didn’t even sneak out last night.” Still, his more technically inclined friend released his wrist. “Something your parents working on keeping you up?”

“You know we’re fine if you crash in our rooms.” Sam was a little less gentle. “So do that instead of whatever sleepwalking this is.”

“No! Like, I don’t remember not being able to sleep or anything?��� Not that it helped, he felt like he’d been awake all night thanks to the weird dreams. “I swear I’m not being a tough guy or whatever.” He rubbed at his forehead, privately wishing his fingers could just push away the fog of exhaustion instead of just making him more aware of how sluggish he felt.

“Maybe you should crash with one of us anyway? You don’t look good.” Tucker’s frown only made the half ghost grumble. “‘Course you never look as good as me, but lately? You’re pulling the two thirds ghost look.”

“Harhar.” He shrugged the suggestion off, even if he was pretty tempted. There wasn’t anything weird in the house that he noticed, and his parents weren’t being any more anti-ghost then usual. He probably slept in a weird position or something. “I don’t think weird underwater dreams are a Fentonworks exclusive.”

“Underwater?” Sam just looked puzzled. “From what? I can’t even remember the last time any of us went swimming.”

“How should I know?” He couldn’t even say it was like flying, because it wasn’t like one of those dreams at all. Too sluggish, none of the freedom he normally felt. “I’ll just nap in math class…”

It had been a joke, really. He didn’t actually mean to sleep in math class, but his desk was cool and his head felt so heavy that he couldn’t resist nodding off. He just wished it had helped more, the bell ringing just made him want to sink into the floor and stay there. Which would probably freak everyone out. Not a good idea. At least the stern talking to he earned for ‘being disrespectful’ went right over his head with it so hazy.

“Dude. Just skip if you’re gonna sleep all day.” Tucker was poking him in the face with a fork. Rude.

“I’m not gonna sleep all day. Relax.” The tines were annoying, but doing more than blindly pushing it away from him was beyond him for the moment.

“Spacing out all day isn’t any better.” Sam’s voice wasn’t a surprise, but the fact she wasn't telling Tucker to stop poking him in the face was.

“I’m not.”

“Tucker’s been poking you for five minutes.”

“Oh.” Really? Hadn’t felt like that. Maybe he had like a ghost cold?

“Just go hide out in the attic, you obviously need it.” The poking stopped, Tucker’s voice low as if he’d leaned closer.

“Can’t miss even more stuff guys…you know that.” Even if he really, really wanted to take that offer right now.

“Well here you’ll just get the teachers angry by snoozing through class. We’ll try and see what’s messing with you after school.”

“Nothing’s messing with me! I think.” His objection wasn’t great, but Sam didn’t seem up to argue with him about it anyway.

Tucker adjusted his hat, avoiding his eyes. “Kinda hope something is, you’re kinda freaking us out.”

Well, that didn’t feel good. He scratched at the back of his head, trying to ignore how his friends kept looking at him like some kind of wounded kitten. He was fine, really! “Well uh. See you after school?” He didn’t give them time to answer before stumbling away from the table to find somewhere quiet to vanish from. He sort of hoped being in his ghost form would have shaken some of his muddled need for sleep, but being colder just made the throbbing behind his eyes feel worse. Not enough to keep him from keeping invisible and slipping into Tucker’s attic, but enough that becoming human again actually made him feel a little less ragged.

It shouldn’t be this easy to huddle in the musty old chair and drop off in the middle of the day. The guilt for doing so alone should make him twist and struggle to get comfortable, but sleep welcomed him eagerly. A part of him worried Nocturn was afoot, but it wasn’t enough to keep him awake.

“You think his parents made something that makes ghosts go dormant or something?”

“Or drain all their energy?

He kind of wanted to ignore the voices and keep sleeping, but shook himself awake. He didn’t need this much sleep, he was fine. If they were here he’d been sleeping for hours already!

“Sleeping beauty awakes.”

Danny rolled his eyes at Tucker’s attempt to pretend they hadn’t been talking about him. “You better not have kissed me.”

“If you kept sleeping for another hour he totally would have.” Sam smirk only grew when Tucker let out an offended squawk.

“Under duress!”

“The meat stench on your breath could wake the dead, so it had to be you.”

“Not dead yet, thanks…” Even if he’d been feeling tired enough to be a corpse today. “Anyone notice?”

“Told Lancer you were sick. He bought it.” Tucker shrugged, tossing a thermos between his hands. “You were really out of it huh?”

“Wait, was there an attack?”

“Nothing we couldn’t handle.” Sam snatched the thermos away, glaring at Tucker as she did so. “You stay here, we’ll check out your house.”

He’d just slept through a ghost attacking? Really? “No way, how would you explain why I’m not with you?”

“Easy. We’ll just say you are, they won’t notice.” The goth scoffed, already halfway to getting the attic door open. “If you can hide being a ghost, we can hide you not being there for an afternoon.”

She sort of had a point there. “Fine. You aren’t gonna find anything. If it was some new gadget I’d say so.”

He kind of hoped they’d prove him wrong, but the concerned and frustrated looks on their faces betrayed that there were no new plans or even an idea to what had gotten him ‘out of sorts’. It was probably just a one off thing anyway, he’d be fine. It wasn’t like his parents were bragging about a new discovery or anything. He probably wouldn’t be able to sleep since he spent so much of the day doing so, though he was still tired...he actually looked forward to dinner being over so he could snuggle under his blankets and look at the little glowing stick on stars of his ceiling before drifting off again.

Only the dream came back. A small, pitiful ghost underwater while something kept calling at him. It wasn’t warm or inviting, more like the command from someone respected. The wisp of a creature couldn’t really ignore it either, it was like a pulse that burrowed inside and thrummed until he responded. They weren’t asking for much. Just wanted him to go hunt ghosts. He always did that anyway, that part was easy.

He didn’t like how the commanding one grabbed him under the chin at his return, but couldn’t find it in him to struggle. They were stronger than he was, he was a subordinate not strong enough to challenge them. A pair, stronger and unknowable with how they’d speak in a language he didn’t understand. He could only watch, green eyes wide for any hint of anger, wanting to make himself smaller, but the creature was little more than a shadow to begin with. Hunt, bring them the prey they wanted, and they’d allow him to exist. A fair trade, really. His core trembled at the idea the clawed hands at his face could easily sink into his chest, he couldn’t risk angering them. Their red eyes saw everything, knew everything. He didn’t want to be around them, but that call was too strong. Those eyes lurked on every surface, a burning red that cut through the weight of the water that was everything as if it wasn’t even there. Their commands became a sort of second skin, but didn’t protect him from the beings deciding to come uncomfortably close, or clutch his thin limbs and take something before letting him slip back into undefined chaos again.

He preferred being told to hunt. Leaving other ghosts, the smaller ones, lesser than even the inkblot he was in the universe to be looked over and examined while he remained mostly untouched. Still wispy, mostly undefined outside of his eyes, unlike the remains of those who ‘earned’ the greater ones full attention. No time to rest, just going and going until they claimed he’d done enough.

Being dismissed wasn’t a free pass to do as he pleased though. It was still a command, something he had to obey lest they show him why they were in charge. To go in hiding, be unseen, do nothing until they wanted him to hunt again. That should be easy, simple, but it made his tail ache and his heart lurch. He didn’t only want to hunt, he wanted to do not-ghost things.

Yet the figures didn’t care what a weaker ghost wanted to do. They’d find out. He had to hide.

Danny just felt exhausted. As if the dream had made him as tired as the ghost he was in that nightmare. Which couldn’t be true, he didn’t care about stronger ghosts and what they wanted. He’d fought the king of ghosts! He had a track record of flipping off authority when it suited him better. It didn’t push away the heavy weight in his head that only begged him to go back to sleep. Maybe he really was just sick.

Sick enough to get sent right back to bed by his mom when he slumped down for breakfast, her concern nice, but also discomforting. She held her hand at his forehead for a touch too long, seemed to stare into his eyes enough to make him want to avert them. Her gentle nudging to get some more sleep nearly had him bolting up the stairs. Like he had to go that moment. Rubbing at his temples didn’t dissuade the feeling, but the pressure lifted somewhat when he was back in bed and covered in blankets. Some stupid leftover feeling from that dream or something. He wasn’t hiding.

“Danny? You okay under there?” Jazz’s question just felt like a nail to his skull, and he hoped she could see the displeasure in his eyes as he poked out from under the blankets to glare at her.

“I might be if someone didn’t wake me up.” The sunlight peeking in from the windows only soured his mood, he should have closed the blinds.

“Well, someone’s grumpy.” Either she didn’t see his annoyance, or she was deliberately ignoring it. “Mom said you don’t have a fever, but you run pretty cold...do you want something for it?”

“It’s just a headache.”

“Sure, mister ‘I ignored a bone fracture’ is crippled by a headache. Not buying it.”

“That was meant to be a secret, who snitched?” His frustration just made him feel uncomfortably warm, they knew he hated it when Jazz fussed over that stuff. Maybe he should ignore their calls for a bit.

“No one did, I actually pay attention when you start favouring your left hand.” Her frown just made him want to duck back out of sight. “You sure you don’t need anything? Anything mom and dad wouldn’t think you need?”

For a smart person, Jazz could be incredibly unsubtle. “No. I’m just worn out, or something.” He didn’t feel like coughing or sneezing, or even the gurgling discomfort of an upset stomach. It couldn’t be that serious. “You’ll be late if you keep standing there.”

“Let us know if you think of anything!” She was already halfway down the hall while saying that, not getting to see how her brother rolled his eyes and ducked back under the blankets. Her biggest weakness, other obligations. Not that it would help after school. He’d be fine by then, probably. Just some peace and quiet and he’d be back to normal. Just like he said yesterday. Only for real this time. Positive thinking, or whatever.

He did feel a bit better now that it was quiet. Still tired, but his head wasn’t pounding as much as it was whenever someone insisted on talking to him.

He figured he’d just sleep, maybe play Doomed once he was more awake. Step one, sleeping had been going well, but Mom and Dad had other plans jeopardizing that. Since when did they listen to music while they worked? With enough base that he could feel it rattling his bones no less. Covering his ears couldn’t do much about that. Trying to ignore it, or hope they were just messing with something for a minute and it would stop wasn’t getting anywhere either. So why was he just hesitating up here? They probably didn’t even notice it was so loud, or forgot he was home sick. He shook his legs to try and wake them up after he wobbled with his first steps to the door. Maybe he could- no, there wasn’t any reason to just wait.

When had they gotten so many stairs anyway? Danny found himself gripping the railing as if he was seven again, worried about slipping as if he didn’t run down them two at a time normally. He hesitated at the bottom, eyes scanning the ground floor for a sign of the scientists. The awful noise didn’t seem much louder, but he felt every beat of it as his heart seemed to slip into sync. He didn’t want to risk more stairs, he was imagining things. He opened his mouth to speak, coughing instead over how dry it felt. Sleeping with his mouth open, duh. His second attempt went better, but was not as much of a shout as he planned it to be. “Mom? Dad? Can you turn it down?”

He waited. Nothing. It must be too loud for them to hear him over the din of that deafening pulse. Keeping one ear covered the boy edged to the lab’s staircase, staring down them as if he was looking from a mountaintop, a deadly drop. He so didn’t want to go down there, to go closer to whatever the heck it was. “Dad? Mom?” He called again, trying to ignore how his voice cracked at the question. He wasn’t scared of a staircase! His heart kept pounding in his ears, knuckles going white as he kept his hands in anxious fists. Everything told him to get back, to stay away, but couldn’t stand the noise. Besides, what if it was hurting them? Maybe that’s why they didn’t answer? Worry for them helped push back the seaping cold, heading down to the lab faster than he’d managed to get down from his room.

It was brightly lit, normal but cold. He could see them, hunched over a work desk and unharmed. The glare made his eyes hurt, pausing to rub at them. They seemed blurry, even though he wasn’t that far away. “Uh, Mom, Dad? Can you turn down whatever you’re working on? I can’t sleep.” He asked, unable to convince his legs to step a bit closer, feeling too tired to make any extra effort.

“Turn down what sweetie?” She turned to face him, making his blood try to turn to ice in his veins. She sounded right, said the right thing-but he was already trying to back up the stairs. Was she taller? “Sweetie? You look pale.”

“T-The noise.” The answer sputtered from him unbidden as he tried desperately to figure out what was wrong with-with-his mom? The echoed pounding told him no, it wasn’t, but who else could it be. “I can hear it upstairs.”

She approached with a too long stride, his own legs slipping in his blind step upwards. Pain from his elbow slamming into the edge of the staircase managed to rip through him even while everything else felt slow. She only quickened towards him as he cursed, trying to crabwalk backwards from the mother-that-was-not.

“Danny! Are you okay? Let me help you.” She grabbed him around the shoulders and he froze, a rabbit being watched by a hawk. She was too real, too solid, she could easily rip through him. “Maybe we should get you to the doctor honey, there’s isn’t anything on down here.”

Should he squirm away? She was lying about the sound, it kept pounding against him like a tide and he had no way to ride the wave clutched as he was. “There is, the thing over there-” He didn’t know what it was, but he could feel it, that it was over with the other figure, the one who hadn’t come to snag an intruder.

The hand on his forehead burned, but he couldn’t flinch away. “Sweetie, I think I’d know if your Dad was playing it.” The eyes bore into him, scanning him for any slight movement. “Jack, can you start the RV? I think we should take Danny to emergency.”

The other figure moved, massive, larger than he could imagine. It might hurt him, it might hurt his mom! “S-Stay back!” He yelled, a spark of energy finding its way to him. He couldn’t let his mom get attacked by whatever this was- no wonder she seemed strange, this thing was doing it.

“Well I gotta get up the stairs Danno! You don’t look good, you just wait there.” It was speaking as it came closer, but all it did was make the bile rise in his throat as it pretended to be his father. He squirmed free to stumble forward and block this thing from his mom, eyes burning green as he tried to shove past the exhaustion and fight.

“I said STAY BACK!”

The figure paused at his shriek and wild eyed fury, face unreadable. “Danny?” His voice was low, booming in a way that started to drain all his prior hope to fight the thing off. “Madds? I don’t think emergency can fix what he’s got.”

Claws sunk into his back, his neck aching at the speed used to look back at his mother, too long fingers tight on his shoulders and keeping hims still as he stared up and felt even smaller. “You don’t think he’s possessed?” She wasn’t talking to him, and that was a relief even as his heart tried to run off without him with how fast it wanted to go.

“Y-You did something to my mom.” The accusation made it easier to keep on his feet, but didn’t lessen her grip or stop the giant from approaching. “Take your noisemaker and get out!” If it was gone, it’d be fine, they’d be safe, he was sure of it.

“Danny, that’s your dad sweetie. Not a monster.” The voice was gentle, but he could feel how the arms shook, how she  increased the strength of her grip so he couldn’t pull away again. “You keep doing your best to fight that ghost off Danny, dad will help you.”

The larger figure grabbed the horrible silver device, the red gems adorning the horn’s buttons making him feel empty and helpless. “S-Stop it, you can’t let it use that mom!” He pleaded, but she didn’t release him, just pulled him closer to the smothering warmth. “Please, listen to me!” Of course she didn’t, controlled by that thing, twisted into thinking it was Dad, that it was quiet. Becoming intangible let him slip free, but he only managed two steps before the behemoth blew a long sustained note that made his skin vibrate and eyes swim. He crumpled to the cool floor, staring up at the monster in a silent horror. He couldn’t fight this thing- he’d been a fool to try and the red eyes promised retribution for his behaviour.

“Get out of my son right now, ghost.” It snarled, pointing directly at his crumpled form so he could not pretend to misunderstand. Yet he’d given an order he couldn’t follow. His core screeched in terror as his heart pounded, he couldn’t get out. Yet he had to, or this thing would devour him, shred him to nothing with nothing but sound. He could only try the closest he could get to ‘out’ of his own skin, shuddering as flesh melted to ectoplasm, trying not to scream as suit replaced skin. Not his normal transformation, this one was too slow- too confused by the order he couldn’t follow to make it an instantaneous change. He had to show he wasn’t wearing his human skin, show how completely he changed. Dying slowly, bit by bit  to be someone else. Not ‘his son’. His enemy. Green eyes stared back at the red ones as he panted, unsure if the monster was pleased.

It was furious, stepping forward as he shrank back and pulled his ghostly tail around himself. “I told you to get out.”

“I can’t.” He whimpered, wanting to look away but unable to.

Another voice behind him, the mom that wasn’t spoke. Yet he didn’t understand a word of it, too terrified by the being in front of him to even process it as language.

“Don’t lie to me Phantom. Get out of my son before we tear you out.”

His name made him flinch, gloved hands clutching at his head as the impossibility of that tore at his mind. “I’m not, I swear, I can’t get out of myself!” How could he not be in his son when he was his son? He had to find a way, his slowed but still pounding heart offering some idea.

“Don’t you dare pretend to be my son, ghost.”

He wanted to explain he wasn’t pretending, that he wasn’t disobeying on purpose but the massive thing had him by the collar of his jumpsuit, leaving him busy trying to breathe enough to speak. If he wasn’t a hybrid, then maybe the monster would be satisfied? He didn’t get much time to wonder before getting tossed in a containment cell. “I’m not pretending- the accident…” he mumbled, trying to make himself look smaller as if he could hide from the hateful eyes that way. They stared at him, spoke gibberish to one another as the previous exhaustion came back with a vengeance. Keeping still felt like the best idea. When the bigger one locked eyes with him and ordered that he sleep, he did.

Dreaming and waking became one and the same. He stayed in his cage unless ordered out. They kept asking him the impossible, until he tried to rip out his heart to ‘separate’ through death. They didn’t want their son harmed- didn’t see how separating was harm, but did not destroy him for that blunder. He hunted, brought them what they wanted. They kept watching as if expecting him to disobey, to slip his leash even as he practically groveled when they approached. He hoped Mom was okay, wherever she was. Maybe Jazz could rescue her from the monster with the cornet on spring break. A ghost couldn’t. A ghost simply obeyed.

Prompt: Danny hasn't been feeling himself, blacking out and having strange dreams. Unbeknownst to him, Freakshow's staff was not the only artifact that could control ghosts. Even worse, Jack and Maddie are the ones who get their hands on that object.

[iridescentjin]

At Night, By the Fire

Summary: Camping with your boyfriend Kim Namjoon turns into a very interesting night. knj x reader

Rating: M

Genre: smut, pwp

Warnings: casual marijuana use, vaginal fingering, slight degradation/dirty talk, multiple orgasms, squirting, overstimulation, dom!Namjoon vibes, sub!reader vibes

a/n: Been meaning to write this for a while. I hope you enjoy it.

Spending the night camping near the Great Salt Lake wasn’t how you planned on spending my last night with my boyfriend, who you only get to see once a month at best. But honestly, you’ve spent the night sleeping in a Pathfinder near a water treatment plant on Lake Superior just to spend a little time with him, so this actually seemed pretty luxurious. You have a tent, a cooler, firewood, food, and actual campsite.

It’s hot, and you feel the sweat starting to dot the skin on your back and brow. The two of you had gotten out of the car to do a small hike that ended with a scenic overlook on the lake. The sun beats down on your hair and face, and you feel yourself regretting the walk almost instantly. Midsummer is not the time to go for a hike in the midday sun with no trees around. You follow another trail that leads to a tall rock and a look over the west side of the lake. It’s certainly a less exciting view, but it is still beautiful.

The expanse of the salt lake makes your jaw drop. It’s such a huge body of water. At times while you’re looking at it, you forget that it’s just a big lake. You can’t see the other side of it, just the mountains peaking up like a watercolor image on the other side. Looking out at the water, Namjoon slips his hand around your waist and pulls you close to him. His lips meet the soft, slightly sticky skin on your neck.

You make your way back to the campsite, complaining a little bit about how close to the dumpster you are. You wonder what it would be like to swim in the lake before the sun goes down, but, as you glance at the beach, you see that it’s crowded. You don’t want to deal with other people if you don’t have to, and you are so happy to just be in this place with Namjoon.

You set up the tent more quickly than you had in the past, finally getting used to the set up. You had your tent in your car from a camping trip that you’d taken before you’d driven to the Utah capitol to meet up with the man who you loved. There were limited times and places that you could see one another, and you were happy to meet him somewhere that you could explore together.

When you walk away from the tent, you see Namjoon sitting on the tailgate of the car, drinking  his soda, smiling a goofy smile at you.

“What?” you ask, thinking he’s laughing at the way you set up the tent.

“I just love you so much,” he responds, standing and crossing over to you.

He plants his lips on your forehead, and his smile seems to spread to you. You lean up and press your lips to his.

“How do you feel about dinner?” he asks, gesturing toward the small stockpile of sandwich supplies.

You smile and gallop a little over to the car. He’d been making fun of you since you’d told him that you make the best peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in the world.

“Oh? You looking to get in on my world famous skills?”

You grab the peanut butter, jelly, and bread and make your way toward the picnic table. You open each of the containers, then you look around feeling a little embarrassed.

“I...I don’t have a knife…” you mumble to him just loud enough for him to hear on the other side of the campsite.

He laughs and pulls from his pocket a camping spoon that you must have left sitting in the back of the car with the rest of the camping supplies. You hang your head sarcastically, closing the space between the two of you, grabbing the spoon, kissing his lips, and making your way back to the picnic table.

“Just make a bunch,” he says. “We’ll keep them and eat them whenever we want.”

You happily make the sandwiches while you put on a pithy, indie pop song on your phone. You dance a little as you make them, creating a pile of sandwiches on the table. Your fingers are a little sticky with the residue of peanut butter, and you cheerfully lick them clean. Namjoon sneaks up behind you, and he whispers in your ear.

“You’re so cute shaking your hips like that.”

You giggle and push your ass back against him, wiggling your hips to the beat.

“Oh, are you going to be a naughty little slut?” he asks as you keep gyrating.

You can’t help the giggle from turning into a full-blown laugh. You grab one of the PBJs from the table and hand it to him over your shoulder. You grab one for yourself and happily munch on it as you grind against your boyfriend.

The two of you goof off and laugh and play for the rest of the evening until the sun starts to fade over the west side of the lake. The pastel oranges and pinks paint the sky as you start to build up the base of the fire in the firepit. Namjoon tells you that he wants to help, but he kind of has no idea how to start a campfire, so you take the lead. It’s windy, so the flame doesn’t immediately catch. Eventually, you get the small spark built up into a blaze.

The sun disappears completely toward the ocean, and the temperature immediately drops. You wrap your sweater around your shoulders, even though you are wearing a skirt. Being around Namjoon makes you want to be able to drop your panties at any moment. The skirt made that extremely easy.

You talk, smoke some weed, and sit close to each other as the fire continues to crackle next to you. The insects and the fire combine to make a soundtrack to your perfect night with Namjoon.

You make a cheeky comment to Namjoon about not wearing underwear, and he slips his fingers up under the hem of your skirt. The fingertips skate over your folds, and you shiver slightly. You are always wet around Joon, but you feel yourself growing even wetter.

“Lie down,” he commands in your ear.

You whimper slightly from the back of your throat, and you press your chest against the cold metal of the bench of the picnic table. Namjoon slides his fingers over your folds from behind, and you shudder. You press back against him, and he puts his hand on your shoulder. He presses you down harder into the bench, the pressure hurting slightly.

His fingers slide into your entrance, the wetness making them slide with ease. He curls his fingers, and you feel yourself immediately cumming around them. The pressure within you releases in small moans spilling over your lips. You try to push his fingers further into you, but his other hand holds you still.

As you come down from your orgasm, his hand still presses you into the bench, and his fingers still work inside of you. You feel the pleasure building up inside of you again, nearly overflowing immediately.

“Cum for me,” he goads from behind you in a sultry voice.

The pleasure overcomes you completely, and the moans that escape your mouth are louder this time. He keeps going, and you’re not sure that he ever intends to stop working your sensitive spots, waiting to overwhelm you until you can’t possibly cum anymore.

You weren’t nearly there yet though.

HIs fingers continue to work inside of you, and he slips one finger over your clit. It sends you over the edge again. Your moans start to transform into cries as his fingers curl up.

He laughs to himself. “You want everyone at this campground to know what a filthy little slut you are for me, don’t you?”

You can hardly even process his words as you let out an “mhm” and nod your head. Your face presses into the cold metal. You feel the drool from your open mouth pooling next to your cheek on the bench. You wiggle your hips slightly against your boyfriend’s fingers.

“Can’t get enough, can you, my naughty whore?” Namjoon continues to gently taunt you as he fingers you.

The hand that’s on your shoulder travels up your back and into your hair. He pulls it slightly, so your face is lifted an inch or so off the bench. He pushes his fingers deeper inside you, knowing exactly what to do to drive you wild. A pressure and pleasure that you’ve never felt before starts to build inside of you. It feels like something is going to burst. You can’t control the primal animalistic sounds that are pouring from your mouth.

“You gonna cum for me again, baby?” Namjoon asks in a husky voice.

You nod slightly, and the pressure begins to escape from inside you. Something is bursting, gushing forth. For a second you can’t think, but you are unsure what is happening.

“Oh my nasty little princess. Are you squirting for me?” Namjoon teases as his fingers continue to work inside of you.

You ride his fingers and your orgasm. When you finally come down, the pressure inside of you is overwhelming and uncomfortable. His fingers slow, and you wriggle away as much as you can with his fingers in your hair. He slowly lets your head back down, gently running his fingers over your back. Namjoon takes his fingers from inside you, and you hear him lick them off. With both hands, he grabs your ass, plants a kiss on one cheek, then he pulls your skirt back over your ass.

“My naughty little girl is tired, huh?” he asks as he runs his fingers tenderly through your hair.

You nod your head lazily, starting to become aware of how wet your skirt is. That had never happened to you before, and you felt a little bit confused about what had happened. The wet fabric sits against you, but you can’t bring yourself to do anything about the discomfort you’re feeling.

Namjoon pulls you up gently from the bench and wraps his arms around you. You bury your head in his chest, brain completely fuzzy. Everything seems to have a shiny vignette around it, maybe from nearly hyperventilating, maybe from the pleasure, maybe from being so deeply in love. You can’t be quite sure.

Namjoon plants a kiss upon your forehead, your nose, and each of your cheeks. “I love you silly, baby.”

Your eyes turn up to his face. You feel like your face is going to be permanently stuck in a smile while you look at him.

“I love you too, my love,” you whisper and press your lips against his jawline.

You cuddle with one another near the fire for the rest of the evening, relishing every single moment that you have together. You can’t sleep until the twilight of morning starts to spill over the sandy campground, and you finally fall asleep in his strong arms, sleepy and happy.

[i-love-you-all]

Rough Draft Dump

2021.08.17

I feel like I should be putting more original content on this tumblr... As the title says, these are just bits of writing I thought I’d turn into a story/a scene I wanted to include but just didn’t work. It’s unedited and rough, but hopefully still entertaining...

Info: Breach/Sova, 1.5k words, introspection, Breach’s POV, some explicit language (like one word...)

.

There are days where he can’t stop it. The bubbling heat under his skin, the squeeze of his heart, the sick need to punch something, hit something, feel some kind of pain so that maybe – just maybe – he could go back to being happy. Or if not happy, at peace.

Normally, it was a little easier for him to control it. The jobs he used to take, breaking down doors, cracking safes, bringing in more riches than he could’ve ever dreamed of as a child, while dangerous, they helped him channel his anger into the destruction he left behind. And while those jobs weighed on his heart sometimes in the darkest of nights, right before the sun rose, they made him happy. Or at least they took away the anger and allowed him to feel anything else. He didn’t know if he’d ever felt actual happiness until he met Raze.

She was a ray of light piercing through the storm clouds that fueled his anger. She brought with her laughter, a carefree feeling, and the knowledge that he had someone on his side, no matter what. It was a change that he welcomed slowly. The people he worked with were the opposite, and he knew he had to watch himself. If he got stuck, made a mistake, or in trouble, he was on his own until Raze stopped for him. She came back and kept him moving when she could’ve just as easily left him and moved up in their world by herself.

And yet, none of that even compared to when Sova smiled at him. The ease with which Breach fell into the comfort of sleeping next to another body without worrying about being able to wake up in the morning was frighteningly fast. The soft touches with no expectation behind them lulled him into some version of security that he had never felt in his life until the nights spent side by side with the Russian, praying that death would be staved off for the next days, next missions, for both of them. If Raze was an angel, lifting him up from the crashing waves, Sova was the god, radiating enough warmth and love to push back the crawling tendrils of anger and hate.

So why – why – was he feeling this again?

He didn’t even want to find Sova. Right, because he was pissed off at his love. Just thinking of how it normally was almost made him forget the bitter feelings swirling in his lungs and begging to be screamed out.

Sova had been sent on a mission without Breach which was a normal occurrence. Brim didn’t often feel a need to send them together, but recently, even when he did, he tried not to. This was all Breach’s fault, sure, but it still stung whenever he saw Sova suiting up for yet another mission and he could only wait for his return. It stung more when Sova’s first action after returning wasn’t finding Breach in a room and subtly, or sometimes not so subtly, let him know that he missed him, and that Sova would find him the moment he could. Instead, when Breach walked past the lounge on the way from his room to go and hunt down Cypher and shove the little bug back into the body that placed it, he saw Sova there, sitting quite peacefully with Sage tucked under his arm and drawing little circles on her arm. Sova didn’t even seem uncomfortable, even though it took Breach multiple nights before he was allowed to kiss him.

A knock came at his door, and he was pretty sure he knew who it was. Still, he fought against the urge to jump out of his bed and answer it. Plus, if it was actually Sova, he had his own key to the door.

Sure enough, after a long period silence that almost lulls Breach to sleep, the door creaked open. When Breach woke up, knowing who was now quietly making their way over to his bed, taking a seat right at the edge, there was no more of that anger. Instead, just an empty feeling. It was like he could remember the buzz of the fury in him, could feel where he wasn’t right, but it was gone. Almost like Sova’s very aura could drive that anger away even when it was directed at him.

“I’m sorry for waking you.”

He felt the warm hands wrap around his, and how they slid up his arms to carefully run through his hair. Breach didn’t react though. It took more energy to keep his head on the pillow that it would’ve leaning into the touch.

“I’m not in the mood tonight, Sova,” he said, realizing just how tired he sounded. The hands removed themselves and Sova made a noise in agreement.

“Would you like to come to my room though? We don’t have to do anything. We can just sleep. I missed you.”

Did you really? Not that Breach would actually ask. But if he denied this request, it would be quite obvious that he had some problem with Sova. He silently cursed himself for the one night he poured his thoughts out to Sova who he thought was asleep. One of thoughts was about how he slept better squished into Sova’s bed than he ever did even when he had the best mattress he could afford.

“Tonight’s not a great night for me.”

The glow of the artificial eye was focused on him, and the dim light gave him a view of Sova’s frown as the other man studied him.

“Is it because of Sage at the debriefing today?”

Breach tensed, knowing that was probably enough for Sova to read him. Sova was attentive to everything, his hunts, the activities around him, and of course, Breach. And it didn’t help that even Breach knew that he was acting like some petulant child, trying to give a cold shoulder when all he wanted was attention.

The bed shifted as Sova sat back down next to him. This time, the touches felt scared, as if he thought Breach would retaliate. And even though the thought went through his head earlier in the day, it was gone now. Eventually, with the soft nudging of Sova’s arms and body, Breach found himself on his back, hands on Sova’s thighs as the other man straddled him. There was no heat to the touches though, and if anything, it was comforting. At some point, Sova leaned over him, and Breach could feel his shirt tickling his nose. Just seconds later, he heard a click and the soft light from his desk lamp illuminated the abs hovering over him.

Sova sat back on Breach and gave him a concerned look, brows slightly furrowed, and mouth set in a soft frown. “I’m sorry, Breach.” And really, the sincerity behind the words was enough to make him squirm a little with discomfort. He never did get used to Sova’s genuine nature. He loved the compliments, sure, because they fed his ego, but phrases like this were different. It felt too emotional, too deeply connected, and just too much.

Breach looked away, appreciating that Sova was still with him and dealing with this silent tantrum he was throwing. The little touches to his cheek were more than welcome.

“Give me one night alone, Sova.”

“I will,” Sova nodded, taking one good look at Breach before sliding off. “I just wanted you to look at me when I tell you that I…”

There’s no way. Neither of them has said it yet, and Sova was too romantic to want to say it while Breach was kind of pissed at him.

“I really do care about you. I would do anything for you, and I would do anything you asked me to. If you asked me to jump, I’d ask how high. If you asked me to swim, I’d as how deep. My feelings towards you cannot change so easily.”

And with that, he turned off the lamp and stood to walk out. Breach didn’t even register that he held onto his hand, stopping Sova from walking too far away.

“What is it?” the soft voice whispered in the darkness.

He really has to get in the habit of thinking before doing these things.

“I know you wouldn’t change. Not that fast, and not without reason. I just missed you too.” The words taste dry on the way out, but he really did mean it. Breach just wasn’t used to saying anything this sappy back to Sova. “Plus, you wouldn’t dare move on from me, or should I say my cock.” There it was. The mildly insulting teasing put Breach at ease, and from the soft exhale from Sova, he could assume that the other man was smiling too.

“I’ll take my leave then,” Sova murmured. “Come find me when you’re ready.”

Somewhere inside of him, he knew he had two choices: he could either go with Sova to his room now, or he could wait for a few minutes to stew in the loneliness while replaying Sova’s words over and over again before giving up and going to his room. At least if he went now, he might be able to convince Sova to go a couple rounds with him.

“Give me a second to find clothes for tomorrow.”

[maldito-arbol]

Ok random question buttttt- Coming out story?🥸

Well this is a fun one~ I’m not sure if you’re interested in my sexuality story or my gender story, but I’ll go with sexuality because I actually already have the whole story written out. Back in 2020 I had to write an essay for a class that described an ‘important event/period’ of my life and how it changed me, and of course I chose to go with my coming out story. I’m actually still pretty proud of this essay so I figured why not share it with y’all? Here it is unedited (except for the part where I had to cut out my deadname)

Repulsion is the Opposite of Attraction

September 2020 Word Count: 3789

No one ever really explained to me what love felt like. Sure, some people tried to tell it to me in those strange, widely accepted terms—the butterflies in your stomach, that nervous rush of adrenaline, a burning passion—but nobody ever described those sensations to me in a heavily detailed and comprehensive light as my puzzled, dizzy brain needed. Butterflies in your stomach sound uncomfortable! Has anyone actually swallowed butterflies and felt them live long enough to flutter around in their acid-filled belly? Has anyone ever gotten a ‘rush of adrenaline’ from anything other than a life-threatening scenario? How in the good name of God can you burn with passion without burning yourself? The way people explained love to me left me reeling, and it wasn’t really any surprise that I grew up believing that love couldn’t possibly be anything other than red-hot, suffocating shame.

I’m not quite sure when, where, why, how it all started, as my memory’s been hazy since day one, but I remember the feeling of confusion swirling around my head in thick purple clouds on those stuffy Friday nights in grade school—the nights I’d spend with friends tucked under stifling blankets and swimming through waves of headache throbs. I’ll be the first to admit I wasn’t great at the whole ‘friend’ thing. I cared too much what others thought of me, and I hadn’t the strength nor the self-esteem to be real. So when they’d kick their legs lazily under the sheets, lean forward ever so slightly with chins propped upon their elbows, and say, casually, but with all the excitement of a puppy, “So which boy in our class do you like?”, I simply had to lie. It was a game of kickball, which I just so happened to stink at. Everyone gets a turn at the ball—at the question, and depending on your wits and strength, or you know, your ability to behave like a normal fifth grader, you could either kickass (literally) and run for home, or you could strike out and royally screw up your social standing. And I was not going to be the one who couldn’t kick a stupid rubber ball. They all take turns spitting generic boy names to a chorus of “ooooh!”s or sharp laughter, and then it’s my turn and I spit the name of the last boy to whom I’d said good-bye next to the coatrack just before the loud shriek of the bell. Very quickly, very painlessly, the game is over for the night, and we’ve all scored home-runs in my book. But of course, in love, or in fake, made-up, get-out-of-jail-free-fibbed love, the game is never truly over, is it? How many times did I fail to learn my lesson all those years—sixth, seventh, eighth, ninth grade? If you don’t want trouble, the best answer you could possibly give to the who-do-you-like questionnaire is a coy “It’s a secret!” with batted eyelashes and crossed fingers. Because the second I mentioned a real human person by name, all eyes were no longer just on me, but on him too. Even if he was my friend, even if I got along swell with him, the moment the concept of he and I frothed into existence, every last one of my emotions coagulated into a syrup of utmost displeasure. I didn’t want to talk to him, I didn’t want to see his face, I didn’t want to find myself in his vicinity. Heat, discomfort, repulsion. I embodied it all. And in eighth grade, I mistook it for love.

My second-longest relationship lasted 345 days. No really, I counted them. Not to brag or anything, but it wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for me to get love confessions from the boys in our class. So what was so different about this particular boy that I conceded and dropped myself into a sinkhole of faux romance and the ever closer creeping sense of dread? I couldn’t tell you. Maybe it was that he was the smartest kid in the class, maybe it was that I felt the most pity for him, maybe it was all just an unfortunate coincidence that he happened to cross my path when I was in the most desperate need to impress my friends with a boyfriend. We’d been good friends for a while when that lie had slipped out as per usual at a sleepover or two, and when I started getting that viscous feeling of repulsion again. It had to be that dreamlike sensation of love, I thought, coming to a false epiphany. I mean, crushes start off with one being too nervous to even stand next to their Mr. Right and then blossom into a beautiful fantasy of romance in which all the bad feelings go away, right? That was it! If I started dating him and fell deep enough into this pit, eventually I’d land on a flower bed of joy and love, right? With these thoughts gently blowing away the mist of confusion clogging my ears, I felt suddenly a brief moment of clarity on the glowing, blurry gym floor at the eighth grade dance, twirling around among the balloons and disco lights with the boy I was certain I loved as I suggested hastily that we try this whole ‘dating’ thing. And thus, it began. I swathed a prison cell of shame around my heart, and I bolted it with carbon nails.

In truth, dating him wasn’t so bad. He was sweet, cared a lot about me, and most importantly, he was determined to never do anything to make me uncomfortable. He tried his best, and I sincerely appreciated that. Unfortunately for me, and for him by association, my friends were a bit pushy. I knew before what it was like to have all eyes on you and one boy you only think you love, but I hadn’t paused to consider what it’d be like when the both of us would try hanging around our friends, and they’d insist upon giving us space or tease us incessantly or poke and prod for a mushy demonstration of our love. With every hangout date and every new question they decided to pose, I grew more and more cornered. I knew I had to prove that my feelings were real, that I had to get a jump-start on this plan to fall onto a flower bed, but how could I possibly bring myself to do the things I so desperately ached to avoid?

It was, by some miracle, bible camp that gave me a chance to breathe. One of my friends had suggested to me that if I liked camping so much, why didn’t I come spend two weeks out in the middle of the woods with a bunch of Christian women and zero access to electronics? To a girl searching frantically for a ship to jump on and sail away from any human contact maybe for the rest of her life, that quite literally sounded heavenly! And as the twisted fates may have it, that very religious, estrogen infested forest is exactly where I discovered something crucial about my romantic feelings—or lack thereof. There was a girl in my specific cabin who bunked exactly opposite of my bed. I’d claimed the top bunk just above my friend in the front corner to the right of the door, and she laid in the top bunk in the back of the cabin on the left side, in perfect view of me. I wasn’t sure what it was that compelled me to look at her all the time, but I attributed it to that rather quickly. During our icebreaker sessions and camp games, I came to learn a few things about her. She was foreign—came straight from Romania, actually, because her Romanian-American friend had asked her to come stay at camp in America. She spoke fluent Romanian and English with a thick accent that I found more than just a little pleasant. She was skillfully competitive, deviously intelligent, and best of all, so much fun. On our boat joy rides into the lake, she’d paddle us out of the safely marked boundaries to see the lily pads and soft algae permeating the green water. At night after the first snore broke the air, she’d turn on her flashlight with a giggle and give me a wink from across the cabin. She’d shoot hoops with me in the back of the mess hall on sunny afternoons with no other purpose than to talk and spend quality time. I began to notice more and more the little things about her. The way her laughter was always loud and demanded my own, the bounciness of her dark curls as she raced to each plate of camp’s baseball diamond, and those instances I’d catch her mumbling something under her breath in her native language, too soft for most, and incomprehensible for the rest of us monolinguals. What an incredible friend I’ve found! I thought as I let my wandering eyes settle on her instinctively more often and my legs carry me to her without hesitation. A friend, nothing more, nothing less—until the day we ran out of chairs outside the craft center, and all three of my camp friends had taken up the bench swing outside the tent, gently swishing back and forth in the cool breeze. I was tired from today. The game of flickerball had been a close one, and my calves were tingling all the way down to my numb feet as I stood there, sweaty and crestfallen. Sparing no second thoughts, she patted her lap invitingly, offering me a spot even if it meant she’d have to handle my weight. I didn’t think twice either about sitting there upon her legs, relieved to have some rest and grateful for such a kind friend. But when I did, sinking into that warm embrace, a completely different feeling settled over me, something I’d never paused to think twice about before. It wasn’t...uncomfortable. The nonsense people told me about butterflies in your stomach, which I will continue to curse to this day, was just that. Nonsense. It wasn’t burning hot, it didn’t repulse me, no, instead it made me a simple kind of happy. The happy you get when you return home to your pet or see an old friend, but something a little stronger. It’s a kind of purely genuine affection that takes you by the hand and beckons you closer, welcoming and warm. It’s a sweet, lovely feeling that intensifies to a warmer, but never hot, wave of happy. As I turned my head slightly and both our dark brown eyes met, I could feel that warmth spread to my cheeks and my chest, and all of the sudden this wasn’t so platonic anymore. I stood up immediately with the incoherent babble of, “I’vegottousethebathroomreallyfast k bye!!” and bolted off into the lodge. It wasn’t right. It wasn’t true. I was mistaken this time. All the

other ideas I had about love being disgusting, horrible, and simply not fun I was obviously still right about, but this? Nope.

You’re losing your mind, you dumb, dumb teenager. It happened because you turned 14 and now you’re all confused. I swear on God if you even think those thoughts you’re about to think, I’ll have to throw you off the roof of the mess hall into the steep valley under the main latrine. Fix this immediately. Will it away. You can do that, you’re so good at faking it, aren’t you?

After a lovely pep talk from my own inner psyche, I was psyched up to do exactly as it said. I spent the rest of the time at camp being the very best friend, friend that is a girl, girlfriend but not in that way, to this magnetic person. And at the end of the two weeks, we departed, exchanging heartfelt goodbyes and maybe a few tears, and then I went home to Illinois and she went home to Romania and I never saw her again. You might think it tragic by this point, wondering if I have plans to fly out of my country and spend the rest of my life looking for her, but no such thoughts occurred to me then, and they don’t now. What I wanted more than anything at that point was to disappear and never again be close enough to her that my heart could possibly rip out the bars of her suffocating cage.  Lucky for me, seeing her again is about as likely as a polar bear sitting out for tea in my backyard. Possible, I guess, but stupid. And believe it or not, that wasn’t the first time I’d caught strange feelings for a friend that is a girl during this year, and it most certainly wouldn’t be the last. But I was still dating that one boy, don’t you remember? I did, painfully so.

I spent the next two months after camp forcibly shutting down every instinct that so much as suggested maybe I was shooting myself in the foot by not breaking this off immediately. Camp was the first time I put a name to the feeling I had towards a girl, but I told myself it was going to be the last time I ever felt that. See I grew up in a very Catholic, very homophobic family. Nothing unusual there, I guess, my story’s about the same as thousands of other closeted LGBT+ folk, and of course I couldn’t be the odd one that won that lottery ticket of quick and painless acceptance. I was also very much 14 and very much a new freshman in an all-girls high school, dumped in an ocean of responsibilities and obligations, and the only lifeboat I had was the social one—that if I just kept quiet and agreed with everyone around me, I’d be able to keep my head above water. I did, for a while. I made some friends, started to forget about the camp incident as I so lovingly dubbed it. And you know what? My relationship was fine too. For a while at least. Remember when I said he’d never do anything to make me uncomfortable? Well he was intent on keeping that promise, and so when I very timidly explained to him that physical contact, most importantly romantic contact, frightened me, he was content to just sit close but not too close to me on the couch and occasionally offer his hand as we walked down the street. That made my job of faking it a whole lot easier, sadly, so it continued on that way for all of freshman year until the middle of the last semester, when I was taking a CPR class and a special someone with marvelously soft brown hair struck up a conversation with me on my rough blue seat and once again battered at the heavy bars encasing my heart. That person told me all sorts of wonderful things—like maybe, just maybe, the Bible was wrong about homosexuality, or maybe we got the Bible wrong, and maybe it was okay to like girls. And wouldn’t you know it, I caught feelings again. It wasn’t that deep-rooted shame or that heavy weight on my chest anymore, it was more like a sudden burst of happiness and an overeagerness to get to class every day just so I could see this person again. And again, I must unfortunately remind you, I still had a boyfriend. Worse yet, we were nearing our one year anniversary, and I was getting the sense that he was growing impatient with me.

I’m not sure who suggested we play truth or dare, and I’ll be an old lady before I recall who uttered the dare, but I remember again the stuffiness of that room during that sleepover. It was clouds of confusion and aches of the head as per usual, when one person called my boyfriend by name and shouted, rather pleased with themself, “I dare you to kiss Mal!” Oh, he’d opened his giant stupid mouth, hadn’t he? He’d gone to them for advice, explained that we hadn’t made liplock even once in all our days of dating, and asked for help to make it happen. I cursed them, I cursed them all that day when he faced me, eyes wide and ears red. It was like looking the devil in the face, and I wanted no part of it. But I was stuck, fearful, hot shame coursing through every last nerve in my body, that feeling I’d once mistook for love. Disgusting. He was leaning closer, but maybe it was the fact that it was a stupid dare, or maybe he saw the look of fear in my pupils, because at the last second he diverted and instead pressed a kiss to the top of my forehead, leaning back with a very sad smile. “I won’t until you’re ready,” he whispered, and all at once, relief, shame, horror, gratitude, guilt overwhelmed me. Even as he scolded my friends for trying to push us over a dumb game, even as the excitement died away and we continued our night peacefully and he said goodbye to me and walked out the door at 10 pm sharp, I felt nothing but that knife of guilt wedged firm between my ribs, sharp point dangerously close to piercing my heart and ending it forever. I did this to myself, and now I was going to have to pay the consequences. That morning, after a long night of crying softly under the covers to hide from my horrible horrible friends, I pulled my phone from my pocket hastily and typed the shakiest message I’ve ever written and sent it to him without pausing to think.

Listen. I’m sorry about last night, and I think we have to break up. It’s not you, you’re amazing and I think you deserve someone so much better, but I can’t do the whole physical contact thing. It makes me feel horrible inside, and I don’t want to keep up a relationship in which I can’t give you what you really want. I hope you understand.

I don’t remember anything else about that day except for the tears, all the fat, wet tears that dripped down my eyelids and colored spots of dampness upon my clothes. On Monday morning, when I shuffled numbly to CPR class, the person I liked was the first I told, “I think I might be gay.” And that person was the first person to accept me.

It’s not so hard, you know, feeling better about being a girl who likes girls when you have someone, even if it’s just one person, who loves you and tells you this is a wonderful thing about you and you have no reason to feel ashamed. In a world where I couldn’t even come out to my parents, my sisters, or any of my friends , it was an incredible feeling that a human being I’d just met a month prior was the one to lift me out of my deep depression. That’s all it takes, really. If you’ve got that tiny shred of hope that everything’s going to be okay and that you’re not this gross monster your religion says you are, then you can cling on for dear life, and eventually, you’ll find the compassion to let your heart out of that dingy prison cell and crush the metal of the bars underneath your boots for good measure. For the longest time I’d let myself believe in a false reality, let myself torture my heart for no good reason other than ‘what will my friends think of me?’ Even that sounds absolutely ludicrous to me now, but back then it was all I had. That gelatinous, slimy sensation of shame was never supposed to be ‘love’. The whole reason I even got that idea in my head was the pressure of the people around me to be normal, to be straight, and so I seized the first opportunity to prove to myself that I was. How do you fit in with your peers when it seems that everyone else has got a crush on a boy, but you’ve never quite understood what that feels like? Simple. You take a feeling you know all too well and slap it with a label, an incorrect label, but a label nonetheless that would lure you into a false sense of normalcy. And then you ignore the other feeling, the one that’s supposed to have that label, but of course that’d just be silly, now wouldn’t it? You kid yourself. You beat down that seed of doubt so hard that it springs back up again, twice as strong and powerful enough to break that facade you’ve blanketed yourself in. And sometimes...that’s okay. I of course took some time to overcome some internalized homophobia, to come to terms with the fact that I basically just used all those boys as fake crushes before, to apologize and slowly come out to the friends I knew I could trust and eventually my sisters too. But then, I felt okay. Excited, even. Because now I could have real crushes on girls, bask in that warm sensation of the simple happiness.

Love isn’t supposed to feel bad. The notion that any of those uncomfortable sensations could even begin to compare to what it actually feels like is absurd. Love feels nice. And the fact of the matter is that some gay kids might take far longer to reach that level of understanding if the world continues to claim heterosexuality as its standard and homosexuality as the divergence. I was one of them. I had to teach myself what it meant to love and be happy, and I had to convince myself that being okay with my sexuality was a good thing. Now that I’ve gotten past that stage, I have the strength in my heart to actually take a shot at dating girls. I can safely say that it’s wonderful, and I wish I could’ve known this so much earlier. You can’t go back in time and tweak those elements you don’t like, however, so all I can do now is try to catch up on all the wonderful encounters of love I missed out on before. I’m not going to be ashamed of how I am or the people that I love anymore, and I’m not going to hide it from any of my friends anymore.

Because being gay is okay, and being okay with being gay is super duper okay. You can learn to love yourself a little more if you let yourself love.

[victimeyez]

Quiet Time

Alexander and Luka time

The synopsis for them is very simple: Alexander saw a man and thought “he’s going to be my new plaything,” and he made it so. “Luka” now lives an unfortunate life as Alexander’s torture pet chained up in his basement. 

This is a particularly brutal chapter where Luka really starts to break. Content warnings include: forced starvation/dehydration, sensory deprivation, gagging, shock collars/threat of electrocution, psychological torture via isolation, suspension, stress positions, bondage but not in a kink way just a really crappy way, chaining, handcuffs, blindfolds, gags, stockholm syndrome, duct tape bondage that I also sometimes spell as duck tape, gags and muzzles, beatings, so many blood, behavioral conditioning

Also it’s hella long but I’m not breaking it up so, end joy

Special thanks to @knivestothroats for being my muse for Alexander and helping me on these pieces, you’re an absolute fucking lad, everybody go read their shit 

tagging @whumpupthejam who requested a trope in here!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Wake up.”

Alexander pushes a boot between Luka’s ribs, jostling him in his sleep. He opens his eyes blearily, blinking slowly.

“Good morning.” His voice is raspy with sleep.

“Good morning. Time to get up.”

Luka’s eyes dart nervously to the hook. 

“Do I - do I have to get strung up right away?”

“Why, did you have other plans?”

Luka licks his dry lips.

“Well, I could - I could make you breakfast.”

“You’re not going upstairs, you know you’re not allowed in the kitchen.”

Luka looked pained but nodded and stood shakily from his place on the floor. He had to balance in order to accommodate the short chains between his ankles and wrists while he stood, and almost tipped over when they caught, stumbling towards Alexander for a moment. Xander caught his shoulders, stopping him, and Luka looked up at him with wide eyes.

“I - I’m sorry-“

“Clumsy thing. What did you ever do without me?”

Luka flushed pink with shame, eyes cast down.

“Yes, right...thank you...”

“You’re very welcome.”

Alexander led him with a firm hand between his shoulders over to the hook in the corner. Luka walked as slowly as he could, eyeing the object of his ire with great disdain.

“Could I - could I stretch a bit first? Please?”

Alexander sighed impatiently.

“You’ll be stretched out plenty.”

Luka swallowed his dread but didn’t object. Alexander gestured to the hook, an expectant look on their face. Luka hesitantly raised his hands, laying the length of the chains between his wrists in the bend of the hook. Alexander stepped to the side and pressed a switch on the wall, a grinding sound echoing through the basement as the hook was raised again. It pulled taut, dragging Luka up until he could barely touch the concrete floor with the tips of his toes. He gasped in pain and danced in place, scrambling to get his feet under him enough to relieve the agonizing strain in his shoulders, but he was raised just an inch too high to make it possible.

On a good day, he might be able to balance on the balls of his feet, but Alexander didn’t seem to be in such a generous mood. 

Alexander watched him impassively, but Luka knew the satisfaction he would see in their eyes if he looked too closely.

Luka’s eyes drifted to Alexander’s side, where they recognized the black strap hanging from a loop on their belt. Alexander drew it out slowly, watching his eyes widen, knowing what was coming.

“I’ll- I’ll be quiet, I promise, I promise I don’t need it -“

“Hush.” Xander ordered, stepping behind his victim to slip the black collar around his throat.

“Headache today?” Luka murmured quietly, grimacing as the metal bit of the shock collar dug into his throat.

Alexander didn’t answer, fastening the collar with practiced ease and buckling it tight around his neck. Luka couldn’t help the whine he let out when Alexander finished, stepping back to admire their work. 

Luka was still exhausted, hungry, and in considerable pain from the familiar wrenching on his sore shoulders, and he knew it would only get worse with anything Alexander might have planned for him. Given the collar and the merciless height he was set at, he was guessing it was going to be a very unpleasant day.

Alexander quickly proved him right. 

“Open.”

Luka recognized the mess of straps in his hands and started to sweat. Alexander didn’t often gag him, usually if he really wanted him quiet the collar was decided sufficient enough. 

The bit that actually went into his mouth was metal, and Luka shuddered at the thought of getting shocked with that in. The look Alexander was giving him made it very clear there was no negotiating this, and he cracked his jaw open with chagrin, gagging when the metal bit was shoved into his mouth over his tongue.The muzzle was fastened around his head, and the cold metal made him swallow uncomfortably every few seconds.

He frowned when Alexander returned again with a heavy pair of headphones. As soon as they were secured over his ears, all the normal background sound of the basement was silenced.

Alexander watched Luka’s face closely as he slipped the headphones on him. Luka’s brow pinched in confusion and he made a wordless, questioning noise. Alexander held up a thick black blindfold and Luka started to squirm weakly, turning his head to the side to refuse the blindfold. 

Alex slapped him across the face so hard it knocked the headphones from him and they clattered to the ground. Luka groaned, flexing his already aching jaw, but didn’t try struggling again when the heavy fabric was drawn over his eyes and fastened. He heard some clicking sounds as Alex picked the headphones back up and gave them a glance over. They were slipped back over his head and Alex pinched the cheek he had slapped before his touch disappeared.

Luka was left hanging there blind, deaf, and muted. Alex walked slowly around him in a circle. He snapped his fingers by his ears, but Luka didn’t flinch. Luka flinched at everything

so it definitely confirmed he couldn’t hear. He shone a small penlight around the blindfold, but he still didn’t flinch. Satisfied, he left him there to wait.

It was hard to judge time passing in the basement on a good day, but with all his new accoutrements Luka found it impossible. When he didn’t feel any surprise hits or cuts for a while, he figured Alexander had probably left him there. He tried counting for a while, but he had a hard time remembering which hundred he was on. Without the ability to see or hear, his mind automatically focused on the ache in his jaw, the burn in his shoulders, the discomfort of swallowing around the metal gag. Even with his difficulty, he counted up to ten thousand and still was just left there, hanging untouched. His cheek had started to swell a bit where Alexander had hit him and his face there felt warm. 

He started over counting.

One hundred. Five hundred. A thousand. Two thousand. Five thousand. 9 thousand… ten thousand again. How long was that? If he counted maybe two numbers a second, then ten thousand divided by two is five thousand, divided by sixty was… ugh. He was never good with math. More than an hour though, right? So it’s at least been a few hours.

He let his mind wander a bit. Remember what it felt like to walk barefoot in the cool sand along the shore. He imagined the waves coming in, lapping at his steps and covering his footprints behind him on an unending beach. Trying to remember feelings and sights that were strong enough to recall and try to dwindle on a while. The bitter taste of biting into a coffee bean - bitter, crunchy. Good dipped in chocolate though. The taste of raspberries, tart  and sweet. No, no more foods, it made his stomach start to ache again with hunger. 

Swimming? The smell of chlorine. His highschool pool, which had way too much chlorine in it because that shit could bleach your hair. Standing...standing at the edge of the field behind Pippin’s house. Watching the sun set over the forest. Walking through the sand again, but he’s not to the shore yet, it’s dry and hot, it hurts his feet…

He shifted uncomfortably in his bonds, flexing his numb hands. The pain was getting to him again. Back to counting for a bit, maybe. One thousand...ten thousand. More than an hour, right? One thousand, five thousand, ten thousand… How many times had he counted that already? Most of the day had to have gone by. Eight hours, maybe? Alexander usually didn’t leave him alone much longer than that. 

Picking apples in the orchard on a bad date one fall. They didn’t have the money for the apples, so they’d snuck into an abandoned part of the orchard and stole the apples there. Showing his date how to get the good apples and twist them to break off the stem the right way. His date had driven like an asshole, he didn’t want to see him again after that. 

He’d made his first ever apple pie after that, and it had turned out perfect. He wondered idly if Alexander liked pie. 

Alexander, this morning. He’d been so short with him. Had he done something wrong? Sometimes he would do something that got himself in trouble without realizing it. Sometimes Alexander just felt like punishing for fun. But...he’d never done this level of sensory deprivation before. And usually Alexander let him have a little bit of coffee in the morning, some food if he felt like cooking. But he couldn’t think of anything he had done, and if Alexander just felt like hurting him, he would usually leave his mouth free to beg him not to. 

Even though it was hard to gauge like this, Luka was certain now that time had passed long since when Alexander would usually come see him again. 

Maybe Alexander was just...done with him. Maybe he wasn't interested in keeping him anymore. And it’s not like Alexander would trust him not to go to the police, so he couldn’t just let him go. 

Alexander had just left him here. Unable to see or hear or see or scream for help. If he just left him down here, he would die in silence and dark. Alone. His corpse strung daintily on the hook for whenever Alexander could be bothered to dispose of his body.

You could only survive a few days without water, he could be half dead already. His mouth was dry, when had it gone dry? Was it warm in here? Was Alexander turning up the heat so he’d sweat the last of his life out quicker?

He didn’t realize he was hyperventilating until he was already feeling light headed. Had he felt this weak before? If he died, what were his last words, something he had said to Alexander, about coffee or - no, headaches, but -

He had to get out. He had to get out now.

He scrambled to get his best balance on the tips of his toes and tried to push himself up, tried to pull himself up, if he could get up just a little bit then maybe he could get off the hook - fuck, his shoulders hurt so much, his stomach ached and his legs were so shaky and tired from trying to keep as much of his weight up as he could alleviate from his arms. He barely raised himself more than a couple of inches before his muscles gave out and he dropped back down.

He thrashed madly, grinding his teeth on the metal bit, he needed to see, he needed -

The headphones slipped off and clattered to the ground with a plastic crunch.

Luka froze. No. No, they dropped earlier and they were fine, they’d be fine, right? But they hadn’t sounded like that before. Could they be broken? No, no there’s - no, he needed - 

Whenever Alex came to see him he would see the headphones on the ground and know he had been bad. No, Luka had been very bad. Alexander probably already knew, he was probably watching the cameras, he’d probably be down there to punish him in only moments.

His aching shoulders shook as he sobbed. He could hear now, and he strained his ears to listen for the unmistakable sound of Alexander’s boots on the stairs. He would be in so much trouble, if Alexander wasn’t going to kill him before he would now for sure. Or worse. 

Alexander had an imagination, after all.

He was breathing too fast, panicking now for entirely different reasons. He felt weaker, his hands and his feet were so cold and numb.

For a while Luka wasn’t sure how conscious he was, but some time passed and Alexander didn’t come.

He counted. He remembered. He waited in dread. 

He thought after all this time he’d be ready once he heard Alexander coming down again, but the sound filled his heart with ice. Tears he didn’t know he had welled in his eyes as he heard him reach the bottom of the stairs, heard him draw nearer.

He wished so badly that he could see, see how bad the headphones looked, see the look on Alexander’s face to gauge how bad he would suffer for his indiscretion. Instead he trembled, sniffling pathetically while he waited for Alexander to make a move.

He heard him pick up the headphones, heard a click as he turned it from side to side. Walking away? No. Right back. Right-

He whimpered, urgently trying to explain himself, or apologize or beg for forgiveness, but the only sound he could make was a pathetic whine around his gag.

He flinched hard when he was touched, the cool leather of the headphone pads pressing again to his ears. 

The sound didn’t all go away though, the pads didn’t sit properly again and there was a quiet electronic whine coming from the left pad.

He could still hear the sound, if still muffled, when Alexander ripped a long strip of duck tape open, and wrapped a loop around his head.

The headphones were duck taped securely to his skull, wrapped around over his eyes over the blindfold, over the arch of his nose, over his mouth over the muzzle, again and again until his head was half mummified in tape to keep the headphones on. 

The tape end was ripped off and smoothed over the left of his face. The headphones were now trapped on so tight his head throbbed around the earmuffs. 

There was nothing for a long moment, just his suspense, and the whining sound in the phones. Alex still hadn’t spoken a word.

A fist connected with his stomach and knocked the wind from him. He wheezed for breath between the tape and his gag, but another fist planted squarely in his face, and his nose started to bleed immediately. Then again, and again, and his face felt smashed in. Another fist caught him in the ribs and he twisted in his bindings, desperately trying to wriggle some way out of the line of fire. Another blow in his stomach, two more up his diaphragm, a surprise one back in the face.

Luka wiggled and squirmed, desperate to hide his face in his shoulder, then the other one, trying to pull himself up enough to curl over his stomach. He failed at every turn. A sturdy combat boot came down on his foot, and then again, and Lukas couldn’t feel his toes before they started to tingle and hurt. Anything in his foot left unbroken was quickly righted with another stomp, and then a firm knee to the groin.

Luka couldn’t anticipate the strikes or shield himself as he was beaten without mercy. He couldn’t draw in enough of a breath to scream, which might be fortunate given the sound-activated shock collar still wrapped around his neck. 

His struggles slowed and weakened as the last of his energy was taken from him, wrung from him, driven from him with well-placed strike after strike. Alexander worked him over like a punching bag, so hard Luka idly started to wonder when he would start to tire, too.

Alexander was energized by Luka’s broken cries and pants. They weakened with every blow and his struggles grew weaker in tandem, until he was hanging completely limply from his bindings. He still worked him over, painting him with bruises with a broad brush and an eye for detail. He beat him until he was barely hanging to a shred of consciousness - and then allowed himself to start actually striking in anger. 

When he finally finished, Luka was more meat than man, hanging from the hook without an ounce of strength to lift his own pathetic head. Alexander gripped his chin, raising his blind face to look up at him. Luka was breathing hard, huffing in pained little gasps whatever air he could get through his broken nose. Blood dripped down over the duct tape over his muzzle, soaked into the fabric, which bore too much blood and continued to drip down his neck. 

With his free hand, Alexander grabbed his bloodied nose and set it into place with a wet click.

Luka didn’t have the air to scream, only a weak choked whimper quickly cut off with a new gush of blood.

Luka’s chest was rising and falling shallowly, Alex knew at this point he should be checked for internal bleeding, but he couldn’t care to bother. Maybe in the morning.

He left him strung there, his dead weight burdened across his shoulders and wrists, his broken feet curled unnaturally where they dragged on the ground beneath him. 

Faintly Luka registered that the beating had stopped. His whole body ached and throbbed and burned with agony, and he struggled to sniffle in little gasps of air through his broken nose, his mouth still sealed off.

Sometimes, when Alex left him on the hook overnight, he could start to drift off to a restless doze. He was in so much pain now though, and the taste of blood down his throat made him nauseous.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alexander walked down the stairs, a light buzz of excitement in the back of his head.

Luka was where he left him, hanging from the hook. He’d managed to get one foot under him a bit, but his other foot looked broken and blue. It was hard to see any of his face under the tape and leather, but there was a substantial amount of blood dried down his face from his nose and a few other places where Alex’s hits had split skin. 

He watched him for a moment. He was still breathing, shallowly but consistently. He doubted he was able to sleep like this, and his body was too tense to be resting.

Luka startled when Alexander touched his face, raising his blind head unsteadily. Alexander tugged the end of the duct tape off with a fingernail and pulled it, slowly unraveling it from his head. Blue and purple bruises with angry red edges emerged as he unwrapped him like a gift. At the end of it the headphones fell off and Alexander didn’t move to stop them, they were busted anyways, but Luka flinched hard when they clattered to the ground.

Luka was otherwise keeping very still and waiting patiently without expectation. He was coming along in his training for certain, but he needed occasional reminders of his place, and he had disappointed Alexander with his tantrum. 

He pulled the blindfold off, and Luka’s tired red eyes squinted against the dim basement light from their place deep in two black eyes. 

“Are you going to behave yourself now?”

Luka nodded solemnly, head still hanging low.

“Okay then.”

Alex pressed the latch on the wall and the pulley buzzed to life, lowering Luka to the floor. He crouched awkwardly on bent knees and lowered his arms slower than the hook let them down, holding them up long enough to generate some slack. He closed his eyes tight and lowered his arms stiffly in small segments, easing the tension a little more gradually to spare himself the additional pain. He settled with his hands before him, still resting in the metal hook now laid in his lap, and flexed his numb fingers weakly, empty eyes looking past them to the floor. 

Alexander circled him, stepping behind him to rest a hand on his head. Some of Luka’s hair had been ripped out with the duct tape, all the rest was matted with sweat and blood. Some was caught in the buckles of his muzzle, and Alexander tugged the frizzy locks free as he unlatched them. When they fell free around his face, Luka still didn’t move, even to remove the gag. Alexander nodded to himself and circled back around.

Luka was sitting there with the straps dangling uselessly around the sides of his face, looking ridiculous and pathetic. Alexander stifled a laugh and grabbed it, pulling the muzzle off. Luka released the metal gag with a wet popping sound, to keep from drooling out around it. He looked to tired to be ashamed. Blood caked the lower half of his face like he’d savaged someone with his teeth, the dried rivulets running down to his chest. Alexander sighed, cradling the side of his face in his hand.

“What did we learn from this?”

Luka swallowed dryly and sniffed, eyes casting down.

“I’m helpless without you, and I should be grateful for all you do for me.”

His voice was dry and weak.

“Very good.” Alex patted his cheek.

“And is there anything you want to say to me?”

Luka nodded, eyes still downcast.

“I’m sorry I broke the headphones.”

“Hmm?”

“I’m sorry I - I behaved very badly and wasn’t good for you and my bad actions broke your nice headphones. I shouldn’t have done that and I deserved to be punished and I am sorry.”

Alexander nodded.

“Am I forgiven?” Luka’s low voice dropped to a whisper, but his eyes flashed up to Alex hopefully.

“You think you’re forgiven because you threw a tantrum and broke something? No, no you are not.”

Luka nodded. His face was unreadable and numb.

“Do you think you deserve to be forgiven?”

Alex barely registered he had been pacing, but he stopped now and stood solidly in front of his kneeling captive. Luka seemed to be nervously considering the question.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

“I’d like to be. I’d like to earn it.”

Suddenly Luka lunged forwards, faster than Alexander could react. He drew a fist back to strike him, but before he could he realized Luka was hugging his legs, curling around him and pressing his face into his leg.

“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry, I’ll be better, I swear!” Luka sobbed dryly. 

Alexander paused, unclenching his fist and placing it gently on his head, stroking his hair.

“I know, I know you’ll work hard to be good for me from now on, won’t you?”

Luka nodded fiercely, nuzzling against his leg with his mangled face for another moment before he seemed to realize he was doing it. His arms loosened and then slid back down to the ground.

“S-sorry,” he hiccupped. “I’ll be good, I’ll be - I’m gonna be good, for you.”

“Then you won’t make me punish you, and we won’t have to do this again, hmm?”

Luka looked up at him with wide, doting eyes and nodded.

“Thank you, Alexander.”

“You are very welcome.”