#like… it’s one thing to be like he’s loud and it’s another thing to use it as something inherently negative

[depravitycentral]

Just a few small nsfw thoughts about the yandere haikyuu cast

Tw: stalking, kidnapping, non-consensual photography/involvement in masurbation, foot stuff in Noya's, spitting, overall just real unfortunate habits they have

Thinking about Daichi Sawamura who is the natural option for you to run to when mysterious packages start showing up at your door. It’s all sorts of intimate items – pretty lingerie that somehow fits you perfectly, all in your favorite colors (and his, too, of course). Then it shifts towards just single items, no longer the pretty babydoll sets – silk thongs with an initial stitched in, collars with your name engraved in the metal tag, vibrators that slowly get longer and thicker. It’s only when one comes that’s much too realistic, leaning slightly to the left and with veins lining the top that you finally confide in Daichi. It all comes tumbling out, and it’s only when you show him the handwritten note with the most recent dildo – reading it’s modeled after my own, let me know how it fits - that Daichi softly sighs, throwing you a look and telling you that you know there’s nothing we can do about it. Creeps like that always get away with it, unfortunately. Just ignore the way his uniform pants are straining at seeing you all teary-eyed and dependent on him – cute. Maybe you’d like another gag – he’s noticed you haven’t used the last one yet.

Thinking about Koushi Sugawara who feels bad about installing the bug on your phone, but not bad enough to disconnect it. It’s not visual, is what he tells himself – it’s not creepy if it’s not looking at you, after all. It only picks up on sound when he activates it – which has let him into a whole other side of you. You bring your phone with you everywhere, he’s realized, and he’s always keeping his headphones on at any given time, playing the live feed and letting his cheeks turn red and his pants grow tight at the sound of you. Your voice, your laugh, your humming, your moans and whimpers and hell, even the sound of you peeing is enough to make him feel light-headed, connected to you in a way that gets his heart racing and his cock swelling. Maybe one day he’ll install the visual one, too, but for now the sound is enough – the audio recordings he takes of you is more than enough fodder should he ever need it.

Thinking about Asahi Azumane, whose apartment is basically your second home. You come over and spend the night often – often enough to have your own toothbrush permanently living at his place, set off to the side and out of the mainly used area of the bathroom counter. It’s a common brand, one that Asahi can find at the corner market – which he does, keeping a constant supply around so that he can replace it each time you use it. He keeps them all stacked nicely in a Ziploc bag, dating each in permanent marker so he can recount and remember all the times you’ve slept under the same roof as him, only a room away. And of course, this makes it much easier to slip the it between his lips and against his tongue, teeth grinding down against the bristles and his eyes fluttering closed because it just feels so very intimate. It’s embarrassing and he keeps everything well hidden from you, but the way he stares as he brushes his teeth beside you is a bit of a give-away that there’s something going on.

Thinking about Ryunosuke Tanaka who keeps a running list of the insults you throw at him. They’re never truly mean, always just jokes or digs at some niche thing about him and his Loverboy attitude, but Ryunosuke notices. He’s transcribing them into his Notes app on his phone, and when he gets home each evening he repeats the insult to himself out loud, saying the word over and over in a mimic of your own voice, letting his hands run down the length of his body as he closes his eyes and melts into memories of your expression, your tone, the way you’d been looking at him. He’s got something of a degradation kink, and he’s training himself to become aroused at the mere mention of a derogatory nickname – it's for the future, he’ll tell himself, so that when he’s got you straddling him, tying him up and keeping him pinned underneath you, he can preform exactly how you want him to. He’ll be good for you – just call him a freak again, please.

Thinking about Yuu Nishinoya always making jokes about feet because he knows it makes you squirm in discomfort, but soon it stops being a joke. He’s always tickling your feet, making exaggerating sucking sounds when you slip your shoes off, even snatching your socks and running around with them, the adrenaline of you chasing him and yelling his name and looking at him him him making him giddy. But then he’s managing to keep the sock one day, curiously rubbing a finger over it as he palms himself, running his leaking, bright red tip against the material and cursing. He’ll wind up using it as a sort of cocksleeve, fucking into it and leaving it so riddled with cum that it’s hard, and suddenly the next time he jokes about you letting him give just one suck, c’mon is less teasing and much more serious.

Thinking of Shoyou Hinata who doesn’t understand why you get so angry when he suggests switching underwear. He thinks it’s sweet – a sign of love and comfort with each other, really. He’ll step into the cute, flimsy panties he buys for you, pulling them up and face twisting up slightly as he adjusts himself, trying his best to get the thong to hold as much of his cock and balls as he can. He feels naughty, wearing them under his shorts when he runs to the store to pick up groceries, and with each step he can feel the lacey material – the very material he’d forced you to strip out of that morning, the material still warm. And of course, you were forced into his boxers – the same ones he'd slept in, smelling musky and feeling wet with something you don’t want to name.

Thinking about Tobio Kageyama who has a full body reaction when he hears you say his name. It’s not subtle, either – he’s going stiff as a board, eyes blowing wide and pupils dilating, visible goosebumps erupting all over his skin. His breathing gets a bit heavier, and every muscle in his body is flexed, clenched so tightly that he can hardly move. He’ll stare at you, lips focused entirely on your lips, murmurs leaving his own that sound vaguely like your name, vaguely like fuck. You’ll have to pull him out of the moment yourself, with a touch to his shoulder or waving your hand in front of his face, and it’s only then that he’ll clear his throat, shifting in his pants and realizing much too late that he’s visibly hard, a bit of sweat visibly staining his exercise shirt under the armpits. He’ll make some lame excuse and run away, but as he fists his cock and replays the moment over in his head, he’ll be whining your name and your name only.

Thinking about Kei Tsukishima who feels so, so very stupid but can’t help but bite his lip as he scrolls through Spotify. There’s a separate, private folder of playlists he’s curated, each lasting easily two hours, all with different, single word titles. Doggy, cowgirl, lotus, 69. There’s ten or so, and they get updated at least once a day. It’s music that he can almost too easily imagine touching you to – slowed, passionate, your favorite songs, almost all of them coming from recommendations you yourself gave him. He just can’t help the mental imagery that fills him the moment he hears the chords and the singer’s voice – immediately you’re perched in his lap, tits pressed against his own chest and grinding on him so slowly that he’s near tears, desperation filling him and suddenly his finger’s tapping before he knows it, the little ‘saved to edging’ notification popping up at the bottom of his screen. It’s mortifying, really, but so is the silence only interrupted by the bassy thump thump that would otherwise fill up his bedroom every night.

Thinking about Tadashi Yamaguchi who splurges for his birthday and buys himself a customized life-sized body pillow with you printed on it. He’d been bright red the whole time he’d been ordering, the prized photo of you – scantily clad in your cute, revealing pajamas with your breasts just barely contained by the top – uploaded to the cute little Etsy shop. The package had arrived not soon enough, and he’s both flushed and breathing erratically the moment he rips open the packaging, wide eyes nearly tearing up at the sight of you – well, almost you. He’d paid extra to have the little audio insert sent alongside it, and as he records an audio he’d saved of you teasingly telling him goodnight ‘Dashi, love you, he’s shivering in excitement. It’s a shame that he stains the fabric with cum the first night, but a quick wash leaves it good as new – leaves you good as new.

Thinking about Tooru Oikawa and the pretty dildo he’s got buried away in his closet. It’s smooth, a pale pink color that reminds him of Sakura blossoms – that reminds him of you. He doesn’t use it often; only when he’s been on long, long stints away from home, tournaments and games making his muscles sore, his eyes sag, his heart ache in his chest. But as he sprits your perfume on it and whines your name as he sits down on it, his eyes roll to the back of his head and he remembers how he snatched this from your own closet after having watched you fuck yourself on it through your bedroom window.  

Thinking about Hajime Iwaizumi who absolutely loves the big, pretty mirror you have in your bedroom. It’s the first thing he notices when he walks in for the first time, and it’s also the first thing he looks up when he gets home that night. And when he’s got you spread out on his cock a few months later, the locks on the doors numerous with passcodes he’ll never tell you, he’s sure you’ll be a bit relieved to see something familiar on your new bedroom’s walls. And he’ll tell you as much, gruff voice in your ear as he bounces you in his lap like some kind of toy, telling you to look at the mirror, baby, lookin’ so pretty… And when you cry he’ll wince, but the way his cock throbs inside you is telling.

Thinking about Kotarou Bokuto who calls you when he’s touching himself, narrating to you exactly what he’s doing. Of course, it’s not from his own phone – he likes to think it’s more exciting if it’s an unknown number. Maybe he’s seen too many TikTok thirsts about men in masks and Scream, but he thinks you’ll like the mystery. So when you stop picking up, he’ll just leave voicemails – always groaning and moaning your name, putting the microphone on the phone right up next to his fist, the wet schlock schlock sounds loud and clear. It’s risky and dirty, and when you bring it up the next time he sees you, complaining and confiding in him that some fucking creep is leaving horrible messages for you, he’ll only play along, convinced you’re hiding your true feelings to avoid looking like a pervert. But that’s okay, he likes that you’re a pervert! So pick up next time, yeah?

Thinking about Keiji Akaashi who, when the late hours and pages upon pages of editing the same manga get to him, will switch over to edit the more lewd, more explicit series he’d recently been assigned. Yeah, maybe it’s illegal to be photocopying the pages when there’s particular scenes that appeal to him, and maybe there’s something ever so slightly creepy about printing your photos and cutting out your face, pasting them onto the hentai’s protagonist and doing the same with his own photos, but it’s not a big deal. At least, it’s not a big deal until you find the volumes upon volumes of different almost collaged panels with your photos, all strung together in Keiji’s own personal fantasies of exactly what he wants to do to you, fit with his own handwriting covering the neatly White-outted text bubbles.

Thinking about Tetsurou Kuroo who purposefully gets a desk at work that can be raised to standing height. It’s not often, but when his mind is wandering and he can’t sit still while thoughts of you become unbearable, he’ll bring the desk up slightly. Standing up, he’ll align the wood right below his groin, shuffling forward and gently resting his clothed erection against the surface, sighing and rolling his head back as he lightly thrusts forwards and back. The fantasy of having you bent over the desk is too strong to ignore, and when you – his oh so sexy little assistant – come knocking at his door, he’s thanking anything that’s listening that you can’t see the way wet spreads across the front of his slacks.

Thinking about Kenma Kozume who only plays Sims because he has characters for the two of you. There’s no other avatars, solely and only the two of you. He’s curated your character to have your hair, your eyes, your body proportions, even buying special packages and programming his own mods to make it happen. The house you’re both living in is, he’ll admit, a bit excessive – there’s beds in every room, and the very first thing he’ll do each time he opens the game is immediately press the WooHoo button, zooming in on the monitor to get as close to your pixelated forms as possible. He’ll gulp and palm himself, eyes unblinking and repeating the command until he’s panting and gasping and staring at the sticky mess he’s left behind.

Thinking about Lev Haiba who’s not good at the up-skirt photos he tries to take. He’s not subtle, the camera flash going off and making you stiffen up. It’s easy to brush off with him though, his little laugh and scratching the back of his neck, telling you that he’s just supposed to be taking ‘candid photos of myself, something my new agency’s been wanting! Hey, look at that bird over there, so cute right?’ The flash as you turn around is less noticeable, but the way he audibly groans at the sight of your pretty panties certainly isn’t.

Thinking of Wakatoshi Ushijima who can’t quite understand why you’re uncomfortable when he stands so close to you. He’s always creeping up behind you, unnaturally quiet for someone so large, and suddenly you’ll feel this looming, overwhelming presence behind you, his breath hitting the crown of your head and making your hair tickle your neck and throat. He’s standing nearly flush with you, his cock mere centimeters from your ass, the smell of his cologne invading every one of your senses. He’ll only stare, stonefaced when you yelp and whirl around, only swallowing when you lightly swat his chest, irritation rippling through your tone when you tell him don’t sneak up on me like that! He doesn’t mean to scare you, really, but there’s something about being so close to you that makes his heart race, and he’s heard from all his teammates in the locker rooms about how women ‘love it from behind’, and he can only assume this is what they mean. He doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, but he’s convinced that with enough time, you’ll grow to enjoy him standing behind you like a shadow, breathing down your neck and audibly inhaling at the juncture of your neck – television tells him as much, so why do you always shy away when he tells you that you smell heavenly?

Thinking of Eita Semi who, despite his best efforts, can’t find it in himself to reject a band admirer when she approaches him after a show. It’s not you and he’s not initially interested in her at all, but as she stays persistent and his numerous texts to you remain unanswered, Eita finds himself noticing that you have similar lips, similar hair, similar hips. It’s not actually cheating if he pretends it’s you, right? It feels sacrilegious to touch another woman, sure, but he’s actively moaning out your name, telling her to shut up when she says something he doesn’t think you would. And it starts a troubling pattern – you won’t sleep with him and he doesn’t want to pressure you, but the sexual frustration of desperately wanting to touch you and being unable to makes him crazy, willing to do anything to get even a phantom taste of you. He’ll apologize profusely if you ever find out, getting to his knees and begging you to forgive him, claiming he did it for you, but it’s a temporary solution for now. Just until you give him a taste of what he’s been dreaming of for months.

Thinking of Satori Tendou who picked up photography as a hobby once his feelings for you formed. He’s still a bit unsure about photographing you without your consent, but then you go and do something that makes his throat dry up, his fingers unable to stay still because you’re just so damn cute and he can’t help himself. He keeps all the photos in a special box, placed neatly and gently in the corner of his closet. They’re all labeled on the back with the date, time, and location, even a few jots of what he was thinking at the time of the photo capture. They’re by and large mostly innocent, but there’s a few that he’d been rash with, snapping the photo and feeling guilt away at him. Writing down the fantasies he’d had with each time he uses the photo to masturbate had been embarrassing at first, but each time he rifles through the photos – which are perfectly pristine, not a drop of cum or even spit anywhere to be seen – he’s poring through his notes, biting his lip and curling his toes as he remembers particularly vivid fantasies, all driven forward by your smiling face or your unaware figure. And while he’ll never offer to show them to you, should you ask he’d reluctantly agree, watching with baited breath to see which ones you like – which fantasies you want to try out.

Thinking of Tsutomu Goshiki who still, even as a young adult, finds himself getting flustered when he watches porn. He’s consuming as many videos as he can find, but he often finds himself clicking off of the video almost as soon as the actual sex starts – he’s interested in the lead up, rather than the act itself. He’s diligently studying the scripts, the scenarios placed forward, the way the women seem to go crazy for a few common, simple lines. He’s noting everything down and practicing the lines, looking at himself in the mirror and adding in your name just to get used to saying it without blushing. He’s convinced that because the women in porn would like these lines, so would you – of course, you would not enjoy being told that he’s the delivery pizza guy and that you’ll need to pay with your body, but Tsutomu doesn’t quite understand that. Surely it’s real – it’s porn, and he’s sure that he’ll be able to fuck you just the way he sees on his screen. He’ll make you scream just like all the women do – he promises.

Thinking of Shinsuke Kita who will let you bathe on your own, but never alone. He’s pulling up a stool beside the bathtub before you can protest, those eyes unblinking as he gets nice and settled in. He’s smiling gently at you, asking you if the water is the right temperature, if you’d like to a use a bathbomb, if you want any help shampooing or scrubbing your body. It’s unnerving if only because the nonchalance is infuriating, but his hands stay perfectly still on his lap, palms flat against the material of his trousers. He’s visibly growing hard as you quickly wash your body, still staring, but he makes no move to act on it. It’s only once he’s watched you settle into bed, promising he’ll be up soon, that he makes his move. The water’s cold by now, but he still sinks into the porcelain with a stifled grown, letting the bath water slip past his lips and cover his face, enjoying every bit of residue of you.

Thinking of Atsumu Miya who’s notorious for PDA with you long before you’ve accepted your fate. He’s always inviting you to his games, getting you special seating so that you’re as close to the court as possible, and after each win he’s pulling you into a searing, bruising, loud kiss. It’s dramatic and it’s entirely too much, but the cameras flash and the headlines spur with details of his supposed relationship with you. It’s all for publicity, he’ll tell you, apologizing but telling you that y’understand, right? It’s for his career, he promises, to make himself look better for the media, but the way he’ll slowly pull away and whimper your name so that only you can hear isn’t quite as publicity-driven as he claims. At least, when he groans and lets his eyes flutter closed afterwards, it sure doesn’t feel that way.

Thinking of Osamu Miya who, of course, has a rather nasty habit of infusing his cooking for you with something salty, bitter, and off-white, but he’s got yet another secret hidden up his sleeve. It takes him a while to work up to coming in your food, desperation driving him mad with the urge to somehow stake a claim on you, but letting his lips pucker and spitting into the frying, sizzling meal he’s whipping up for you? Well, that’s much less sinister, isn’t it? It’s less creepy, he thinks, and it’s easier – he can spit once, twice, five times in a single dish, watching with hawk eyes when you groan and praise his cooking after the first bite. It’s a secret, and the only tell he has is that he’ll bite his lips, Adam’s apple harshly bobbing, his fist clenching and his pants getting tight because oh, you think it tastes good?

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | 11.5

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 0.8k

—chapter content/warnings: not much!! something a lil more tame lol, prob one of the 0.5s that takes place right after the chapter beforehand, i promise there is no ill intention behind what's happening here - they're both equally torn about everything as san's good friends/colleagues

namjoon: you got a minute to meet up today? sorry for the last minute request but it's kinda urgent.

jongho: sure. i'm wrapping up. can meet you in the next 15 mins?

namjoon: i'll come to you.

jongho: alright then, boss.

Jongho continues typing away at his desk, responding to all the emails that came in today while he was off doing interviews for the new open faculty role in the electrical engineering department. He makes a mental note to submit his review sheet for the first round of interviewees and to review the applications for the next round tomorrow. He doesn't realize how quick 15 minutes flies by until Namjoon is swinging his door open mid-email. He continues to type away, but his eyes shift to Namjoon's figure as he fixes his blazer and takes a seat with a loud sigh.

"Long day?" Jongho cracks a small smile, typing up the last few details before sending it off and shifting his attention to Namjoon in front of him.

"Kinda." He nods towards his computer. "Sorry, didn't mean to interrupt or delay you from leaving."

"All good. Didn't really have plans, anyway. What's up? You seem a little flustered."

"Well, catching Yunho, Iseul and San arguing in a conference room wasn't exactly on my agenda for today."

"What?" Jongho cocks his head back a bit in disbelief, brows tightly knitted together as he tries to make sense of what he just heard. San had been giving him a bit of the story here and there and knowing Iseul, he wasn't exactly surprised this is how things were playing out.

He's just not sure why Iseul thinks it's her business to air this all out.

"You tell me."

"As much as I would love to help, I honestly have no idea what's going on.”

"Jongho."

"What? You know how Iseul is. She somehow still thinks she has a grip on San even after they've divorced and gone through all of that. Can't stand her, if you ask me."

"You don't have to tell me twice. But, why? Why is this a thing right now?"

"Beats me." Jongho tries to brush it off even though he can see the look on Namjoon's face, his eyes trying to study him like a damn book. He hates being in the middle because as much as he loves and supports his bestfriend, he also has the utmost respect for Namjoon and knows the guy will always be on their side regardless.

"That's the first in a very long time that I've seen San react that way at the happy hour event."

"Okay, to be fair, the guy was getting super disrespectful. I think any of us would've reacted in one way or another."

"Right, I agree. But, I know there's a story behind it. I know his anger was fueled by something else." Jongho sees the way Namjoon is going about this. He's prying for the answers he already knows, but he needs the confirmation and Jongho can give him that. 

It's just a matter of when.

"What if it was just a bad day?"

"Okay, you know what?" Joon leans onto the arm rest of the chair and gives him a look. "I'm just gonna go headfirst with it." Jongho cocks a brow up. "Is there something going on with San and his rotation student? Y/N specifically." He sighs.

"I figured."

"No, you knew." Namjoon chuckles a bit.

"I don't know. I really can't tell you because I don't know anything." Jongho says he knows nothing when he knows everything.

"Jongho." Joon repeats.

"Joon, swear." He says, even though he tries to sit as still as possible. Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

It started gradually before it took off completely. Jongho knows about the last minute meetings San has had to take, Jongho has seen the subtle glances, the subtle actions, the mood changes when you're around. Jongho remembers seeing you slip out of his hotel room very early that morning during the NAS conference. Jongho remembers seeing the polaroid slightly tip out of the wallet case mid-breakfast and seeing a tiny slip of your face in his peripherals. San quickly adjusted the polaroid and continued on like nothing, wishing for the best with that one.

And he doesn't have to be told to know you've been over multiple times. All the calls that have gone curt and short, the distraction easily laced in San's voice on the other line. He remembers the faint trace of your perfume in his home, the little post-it notes you've left on San's office desk.

Good thing Namjoon can't read his mind right now.

Cause, yes.

"I can hear your thoughts."

Well, shit.

"I don't know what to say."

"I need you to tell me yes or no, that's all. I need to make sure I'm going about this correctly even though I heard a lot today alone." Jongho sighs and sees how torn Namjoon is. They both are. They obviously want what's best for San, and they both want him to be happy. He is deserving of good, genuine love. He is deserving of genuine happiness because he always rides for the people he loves, goes the extra mile for them. He acknowledges and learns from his mistakes, he apologizes when he knows he's at fault.

He's deserving of all good.

So, they both hate that it has to come to this because it's not even you that's the problem. It's the situation, and they both don't know how to approach it with enough sensitivity and care.

Even though it's good to San, it doesn't necessarily mean it could be good for San.

"Yes."

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[slaytheday12]

helloooo i have a request for youu

okay so walker scobell x reader where walker and the reader 'dated' when they were kids (like 11ish maybe?) but walker moved away, so they obviously stopped talking. then fast forward to now, he messages her on Instagram and at some point in the convo he says smth like "we never broke up" i hope this makes sense 😭

anyway i love youuu <33

We Never Broke Up

You and Walker had been inseparable as kids. From the moment you met at summer camp, there was an instant connection. At 11 years old, you didn’t know much about love, but whatever you had with Walker felt special. It was the kind of friendship where you’d pass notes, dare each other to do silly things, and sneak away from the group just to hang out under the stars. You’d even playfully called each other boyfriend and girlfriend, giggling at how grown-up it sounded.

But life had a way of pulling people apart. When camp ended, Walker moved across the country. You promised to stay in touch, but as time went on, the phone calls and texts became less frequent, and eventually, they stopped altogether.

Fast forward to now, and you were scrolling through Instagram, mindlessly tapping through stories. That’s when you saw him.

Walker Scobell.

You blinked, unsure if it was the same Walker you’d known all those years ago. But as you clicked on his profile, there was no doubt it was him. Except now, he was famous, starring in movies and making headlines. You hesitated for a moment before hitting the follow button, figuring there was no way he’d even notice.

To your surprise, he did.

The next day, a notification popped up: Walker Scobell has sent you a message.

Your heart raced as you opened it.

Walker: Wait... is this the same Y/N from camp? You: Depends. Are you the same Walker who screamed when we saw that raccoon by the cabins? Walker: 😭 Okay, fair, but yes. It’s me. Hi. You: Hi. Wow, it’s been forever. Walker: Yeah, like, what, 3 years? Maybe more?

The conversation flowed effortlessly. It was like no time had passed at all. You caught up on life how he got into acting, your own adventures, and everything in between. As the chat went on, the nostalgic warmth of your childhood friendship crept back in.

Then, out of nowhere, Walker dropped a bombshell.

Walker: You know... we never actually broke up. You: 😳 Walker: I mean, technically, right? We never said the words.

You laughed out loud, staring at the screen in disbelief.

You: Pretty sure moving across the country counts as a breakup, Walker. Walker: Nope. Doesn’t count unless someone says it. I’m just saying... we’re still technically dating. You: Oh, really? And what does that make us now? Walker: Long-distance couple reunited. 😌

You couldn’t help but smile, your cheeks heating up.

You: You’re ridiculous. Walker: Maybe. But I mean it. You were my first girlfriend, and I’m pretty sure I never stopped liking you.

Your heart skipped a beat. You stared at his message, unsure of what to say. Before you could respond, another message popped up.

Walker: Sorry if that’s too much. I just... I saw your profile and couldn’t stop thinking about you.

You took a deep breath before typing your reply.

You: It’s not too much. Honestly, I’ve thought about you too. A lot.

From there, the conversation shifted into something deeper, filled with confessions and laughter as you both navigated this unexpected reunion. By the end of the night, one thing was clear: whatever spark had existed between you as kids hadn’t faded it had only grown stronger.

Walker wasn’t just someone from your past anymore. He was part of your present, and maybe, just maybe, your future too.

A/N: u know i had to do my queens one first this my o.g girl i love her with my whole heart

Tags: @izzystylinson, @sophand4n4, @kaiwrites092

[deonsx]

hi, hi!! first off, i love your work so much!!

i saw that your requests were open, so i thought i'd shoot my shot.

i'd like to request an interviewer!reader x the blue lock boys. a few specific characters i'd like are: sae, rin, nagi, and kaiser.

but feel free to add or remove characters as you'd like, though! thank you, and take care!

Hiii love!! you said all my favorites so lets do it

Sae Itoshi

Sae Itoshi didn’t care for interviews. They were a chore. Walk in, answer a few dull questions, leave. That was the routine. But today, something was different

When he stepped into the room, his gaze landed on you. You weren’t like the others. No nervous smile, no overly eager expression. You were calm, composed, and confident. Sae found himself watching you longer than he usually would

The questions began, and for the first time in a long while, Sae gave more than his standard short answers. He wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the way you spoke steady and clear. Or maybe it was how you watched him, your expression thoughtful yet impossible to read

When the interview ended, Sae walked out as usual. But this time, your face and voice lingered in his mind. He brushed it off. It was just another interview. Or so he told himself

Sae wasn’t used to this. Faces and voices from interviews blurred together in his memory, but yours stood out. He found himself looking for you at matches, wondering if you’d be the one holding the microphone. He didn’t understand why it mattered, but he didn’t try to stop it either. The next time he saw you, Sae promised himself one thing

“Next time, I won’t let you leave without knowing more about you”

Rin Itoshi

He sat in the chair with his usual blank expression, arms crossed, eyes sharp as he waited for the questions to begin. When you walked in, your calm demeanor was the first thing he noticed. No exaggerated smiles, no forced charm. Just steady professionalism

There was something about your composure that irritated him but not in the way most people did. It was the kind of irritation that demanded his attention, the kind he couldn’t quite shake off

Weeks later, Rin was at a press conference following a heated match. His answers to reporters were as blunt as ever. But then his eyes found you among the crowd, seated quietly, waiting for your turn

For a split second, his focus faltered. It wasn’t like him to be distracted, yet here he was, scanning the room to catch another glimpse of you. When you finally stood to ask your question, Rin’s posture shifted almost imperceptibly.

You asked “Rin-san, your performance today was extraordinary. Do you think your ability to stay calm under pressure gives you an edge over other players?”

“Staying calm isn’t an edge. It’s a necessity. If you can’t handle pressure, you don’t belong on the field.”

Nagi Seishiro

They were a hassle, like most things that required effort. He slouched in his chair, head tilted, clearly uninterested as the team’s PR staff ran through instructions. When you entered the room, clipboard in hand, his gaze flicked to you briefly before returning to the wall

The interview began, and Nagi answered lazily, barely putting thought into his words. But as you continued, something shifted. Your voice wasn’t pushy or overenthusiastic like the others. It was calm, steady, almost soothing. You didn’t prod him to elaborate or react when his answers were short.

Nagi didn’t like putting effort into things or people. Most of the time, he preferred to avoid unnecessary interactions altogether. But with you, it was different. He wasn’t sure why.

Maybe it was how unfazed you were by his detached demeanor. Or the way you never tried to force a reaction out of him. Whatever it was, he found himself searching for you at matches and events, hoping to see you again.

You weren’t loud or demanding like the rest of the world around him. You were quiet, steady just there. And for someone like Nagi, who found most things exhausting, that was more than enough to capture his attention

“If I keep seeing you, maybe it won’t be so bad putting in a little effort”

Kaiser Michael

Michael Kaiser loved interviews or rather, he loved talking about himself. For him, it was just another stage where he could shine. When he entered the room, he was fully prepared to charm his way through. But this time, something unexpected caught his attention

You stood there, calm and composed, with no exaggerated expressions or overeager smiles like the others. Your presence was sharp but unassuming, and Kaiser noticed it immediately

As the questions started, Kaiser responded with his usual flair, confident and theatrical. But your reactions or lack thereof unsettled him. You didn’t laugh at his witty remarks or fawn over his charisma. Instead, you remained focused, observing him as if you were studying his every word

It wasn’t something Kaiser was used to, and it threw him off balance in the slightest, most infuriating way. When the interview ended, he left the room with a lingering thought: Who were you, and why couldn’t he stop thinking about how you looked at him?

Without realizing it, Kaiser found himself looking for you at every event, every match. You became a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and for someone who was used to winning at everything, that was both maddening and thrilling

“If you keep ignoring me, I’ll just have to make sure I’m impossible for you to overlook.”

Enjoy!

[decaffeinatedcandycane]

Continuation.... (stalkers!taskforce 141 x reader)

Incorrect quotes.... Let's goo!!!!

Warning: It does get NSFW

*loud arguing from inside the walls*

Y/N yelling from the couch: Can I get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: Can I please get a waffle?

*silence*

Y/N: That's what I though.... Suckers.

.................

Y/N: Helloooo

Ghost: It's 4am. Shut the fuck up or we are shutting down the WiFi.

*silence*

Ghost: Finally.

*le several minutes later*

Y/N leaning close to Ghost's ear: Herroooo

Ghost falling of the bed: Fucking 'ell!! It's illegal for you to be this QUIET!!!!

Soap rushing in the room: Simon wh- Y/N!!! How did you get in here? This fortress.. is impenetrable?

Y/N: Door was unlocked

Ghost: Son of a bitch

..............

Price: Okay kid.... I'm gonna put this bag over your head, now. Don't struggle.

Y/N: Why?

Price: So you don't see where we are taking you.

Y/N: is it.... somewhere....in my own house?

Price: Well-

Y/N: In the same house I constantly bust you in?

Price:

Y/N: This house?

Price, impatient: Yes, this house. Now, put this on.

Y/N: Can't.

Price, irritated: Why not.

Y/N, quietly: Tied up.

Price: Right.

Y/N: It's not gonna last you know.... It's not that big of a house. I will find you again.

Soap: Shouldn't WE say that.

Gaz: I feel threatened.

Ghost: We made renovations.

Price: Don't tell her that.

Y/N: So you made extra space.

Price: Maybe...

Y/N: ....And didn't fix the leaking roof.

*silence*

Soap chiming in: I dug holes under the house for the water.

Y/N: You did WHAT?!

Price: Shit. Don't trash around... My duck tape!!!

.........

Price fixing the holes from under the house: Kid, listen. I am sorry for my sergent.

Y/N: Man with your cake shouldn't call me "kid".

Price: My what?

Y/N: I have too many spicy thoughts to consider you a father figure.

Price: Not sure I want to understand that.

Y/N: I unfrathered you soon after our first meeting.

Price: Please, stop.

*silence*

*Price reaching toward his shirt*

Y/N: No, keep your shirt off.

Price:

Y/N: Yeah...Flex them muscles.

Price, frantically looking around: What? Where are you?

Y/N: Don't worry about it.

Price spotting a small camera: Did you put surveillance on us.

Y/N: Shhh.... Keep working bby girl. Do your thing.

Price: Don't call me that!

.......

Y/N: It's a crime I am being stalked but nothing more.

*silence*

Y/N: I said-

Ghost: We heard what you said. We can hear everything you are saying.

Y/N: So?

Ghost: What do you want more? Torture?

Y/N, mischievously: I will send you some clips.

Ghost: Our network is secured. You can't just-

*ding*

Ghost: Okay... Not happy about that.

*ding* *ding*

Ghost: I got it.

*ding* *ding* *ding* *ding*

Ghost: Captain!

Price: Yeah. I got it. Opening now.

Price: Oh my-

Ghost: We are NOT doing that!!!

Gaz: This is deranged.

Soap, stripping: Guess I will take one for the team.

Soap, yelling: Hey lass. If I do that, ya need to put on a helmet.

Price: Don't even think about it!

...........

Soap: It's a very quiet evening.

*silence*

Soap: I will fix the roof in the morning.

*silence*

Soap: Will you just talk to me?

*silence*

Soap, activating his puppy eyes: Your silence is killing me.

*silence*

Soap, angrily: Fine. Be like that. I don't care!

*from another room*

Ghost: Should we tell him, he is talking to a decoy doll for the past 20 minutes?

Price: Nah, let him be. Where is Y/N anyway?

Ghost: Shop? I think.

Price: You think?

Ghost: That's what I've heard.

Price, suspicious: Didn't Kyle say he was going shopping?

Ghost: Yeah.

Price:

Ghost:

Price: Fuck.

..........

*Gaz leisurely stretching on the couch*

Y/N: One down! Three more to go!

*on the other side of the house*

Ghost: Captain! The sergent is down.

Price: Shit. Y/N you will pay for this.

*Gaz laughing cause he can hear them through his ear piece*

Soap, stripping: I will avenge you.

Price: Mactavish! I said no!

...........

*in bed*

Y/N: Wasn't that bad, huh.

Price taking a deep drag from his cigar: Never said it was, doll.

Y/N, scrabbling something in a notebook and whispering: One more to go!

Price: Why one more?

Y/N: Mactavish ambushed me as soon as you feel asleep.

Price, laughing: God dammit.

Price wrapping his arms tightly around Y/N: Now we are never gonna leave... You know that, right? *planting a little kiss on Y/N forehead*

Y/N: I am counting on that.

.........

Y/N, dramatically: You are the last one left. Surrender.

Ghost, tryng not to laugh: Never.

Y/N: There is nowhere to go, Simon.

Ghost: You sure about that?

Y/N: Surrender! Or else.

Ghost: Alright. *drops pants*

Y/N: Shit- How? What do you eat?

Ghost, stretching his arms out: Come 'ere sweetheart.

Y/N, walking backwards toward the door: I think I forgot the bathroom oven opened.

Ghost, walking towards her: No, no. Come 'ere and take what you bargained for.

..........

That's it!

[juniperskye]

Pornstar.

Based on the following ask: If you have listened to the song Pornstar by Nessa Barrett awesome if you haven’t please do because I want my ask to make sense. I want a Reader x Aaron Hotchner fic based on that songs specifically because it’s just spicy and smutty honestly. Even the song Do it for me by Rosenfeld works too. They are just good songs, and they are spicy and when I hear them all I see is Aaron Hotchner – Honeyyyy these songs were SPICY! So, I really liked the beat at the beginning of Pornstar – I ran with that, and this takes place at a club.

Aaron Hotchner x Fem Reader

SMUT

Word count: 1456

Not edited - please be kind. Requests are open and feedback is welcome if it's constructive!

Warnings: My blog is 18+, minors DNI, SMUT, Age gap (non-specified), one night stand, sex with a stranger, alcohol consumption, sex while intoxicated (not drunk), explicit language, no use of y/n, Fem reader, reader has no physical description other than female anatomy, use of pet names, fingering, semi-public sex, p in v, unprotected sex (don’t do this), choking, pure filth tbh…let me know if I missed any!

I do not consent to having my work translated or reposted to any other site. That being said I do not own the characters portrayed in this story.

He couldn’t believe he was here right now. The last time he was in a club…for something other than a case, was never. He had never been the clubbing type, but the BAU had been on back-to-back-to-back cases for the last six or so months, so the team decided it was time to let off some steam. With some mandatory days off, the team finally had the time. Thankfully they were all passed the point of judgement with one another, having spent as much time together as they all had over the years.

Tonight had started that way too. A silent agreement amongst everyone that no matter what happened, there’d be no judgement, and it wouldn’t be spoken of ever again.

That’s why he hadn’t hesitated to order a third whiskey and boldly sent a vodka soda to the woman across the club, sitting in a booth with her friends. When she glanced in his direction after the waitress had delivered the drink, she blushed and send him a smile.

He couldn’t exactly remember what happened next, because one moment you’d been sitting with your friends and the next, the two of you were making out in the back hallway.

--

You were nothing but a mess of tangled limbs and clashing mouths as the two of you kissed fervently in the hallway, hoping to move things to a more private space.

He had one hand gripping your hip while the other held your jaw in place as he allowed his tongue to explore your mouth. You’d tasted like the vodka he sent you along with something inherently sweeter, vanilla lip-gloss maybe?

He pulled back to look at you, your lips were kiss bitten and your skin was glowing as the lights in the club flashed red. The bass of the music had been so loud you could feel it in your chests. It just added to the rush you were currently feeling.

He grabbed your hand and dragged you to the bathroom, quickly locking the door behind you, before pressing himself against you. His hands encased your jaw, holding you in place and your back arched against the door. His lips pressed to your for a second before they trailed down, burning into the skin of your neck.

You let one of your hands pull at his hair while the other pressed against his strong back. You needed to feel him, and you felt like you couldn’t get him close enough. You were desperate at this point.

--

He tugged at the strap of your dress, pulling it down enough to reveal the tops of your breasts. He kissed, bit, and sucked at the skin there, easily eliciting whines from your mouth. You moved your hands to begin unbuttoning his shirt, allowing them to roam over his broad chest. His skin was warm, and he was this solid wall of muscle in front of you…you’d never felt luckier than in this moment. To have captured his attention was your greatest accomplishment.

You hadn’t noticed the shift in his hand placement until it had slipped your panties to the side and gently caressed your heat.

“Fuck, you’re so wet.” He groaned.

All you could do was gasp. Your hips bucking forward to press further into his touch. He’d pulled your dress down more, revealing your breasts completely, swiftly attaching his lips to your hardened nipples, alternating from one to the other. He sucked harshly, sure to leave marks…not that you cared one bit.

“You’re so fucking sexy.” He growled in response to your moans.

You reached your hand down to rub at his prominent bulge, trying to signal that you were ready for more. He took the hint. Grabbing you by your hips and spinning you around, his movements were precise and fast…it was almost dizzying. He lifted you up, so you now rested at the edge of the counter, his finger slipping into your heat as he bit onto your collarbone.

Your head fell back in ecstasy. Your hands busy stroking him through his slacks and pulling at his now tousled hair.

“Oh my – Fuck it feels so good.” You cried.

Another finger slid into you as the heal of his palm pressed deliciously into your clit. Your body was moving of its own accord now, grinding into his palm desperate to find your release.

“That’s it baby, use my hand.” He demanded, thrusting his fingers with a newfound speed.

It only took another moment of this before you were screaming out, allowing your climax to take over you.

--

As you calmed your breathing, you pulled at his belt, needing nothing more that to have his cock splitting you open. With his belt undone, you tugged his slacks open and freed his throbbing member.

You couldn’t even be embarrassed at the fact that you were obviously gaping at his impressive size…the man that stood in front of you was gorgeous in every way.

“You’re beautiful.” You whined.

You could see a hint of a blush rush up his neck, but he didn’t let that overtake the dominance he’d been portraying.

“I want to ruin you.” He whispered, nipping at your earlobe.

“Then do it.” You gasped.

--

His cock slammed into you in one swift motion, taking your breath away. The scream that escaped you was animalistic. One that was reserved for pornstars…not everyday people.

Your hands gripped him tightly, nails dragging down his back, causing a hiss to escape him. His hips snapped into you with a ferocity you’d never experienced before. You were loving every fucking moment of it.

“S-so big. You’re so b-big.” You stuttered.

“You’re gripping me so t-tight. Fuck.” He exclaimed.

His hand slid up, fingers digging into the sides of your jaw as he forced your gaze to his own. You had to force your eyes to his…having a difficult time doing anything other than letting them roll to the back of your head.

You brought one hand up to his, shifting it down to your neck. Pairing it with a subtle nod permitting him to make his next move. He allowed his fingers to press ever so slightly into the side of your neck, restricting your airflow the slightest bit.

This new position had your upper back pressed back into the mirror, ass hugging the edge of the counter, while he stood in front of you pistoning his hips into yours over and over again, his hand still wrapped around your throat as the other was bruising your hip.

You were sputtering out gasps with every thrust that met your cervix. His movements refusing to let up. You were filling the bathroom with his grunts, your gasps and the sound of skin slapping skin. The whole experience was euphoric.

--

Things continued this way a bit longer before you felt that all too familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. The coil tightening too much…just waiting to snap.

“Jesus, fuck. Are you gonna cum for me?” He huffed.

“Yes. God yes!” Your eyes finally rolling back.

Your orgasm came crashing over you with a strength you’d never experienced before. Your entire body was trembling against his. He let his hand slip from your throat, wrapping behind you and gripping onto your shoulder, chasing his high.

“That’s it. Fucking fill me up.” You whispered.

“Nghhhh Fuck.”

His hips began to stutter, slowing as he pumped his cum into you, filling you completely. He rested his head against your shoulder and allowed himself a moment to catch his breath.

--

After cleaning yourselves up, readjusting your clothes, and assisting one another to smooth out your hair, you made your way out of the bathroom. Not without noticing the glare you were getting from the blonde, who’d clearly been waiting.

“So, um-”

“Did you-”

“Sorry, you go ahead.” You offered.

“I was just going to ask if perhaps you’d like to continue this evening elsewhere.” He suggested.

“I’d love that.” You smiled. “Let me just go let my friends know I’m leaving.”

“Yeah, I should do the same. Meet back here in a few?”

“Okay!”

The both of you moved back toward your respective groups, your girlfriends cheering for you and giggling at all the marks currently littering your neck and chest. While his colleagues gave him knowing looks and smirks at his uncharacteristic behavior. You blew your friends a kiss while he waved his friends off. Coming face to face with you in the spot you’d just been.

“You ready to go?” He asked.

“Yes! But first…what’s your name?” You blushed.

“Oh shit, it’s Aaron.” He laughed sheepishly. “I guess we never really got around to introductions.”

“It okay!” You giggled. “Nice to meet you Aaron, I’m – ”

Tags: @seraphenaadria @bernelflo @pastelpinkflowerlife @just-moondust

[16wheelerhorse]

Please please do a lando x ex!reader. Angst because hey’d broken up when she fell pregnant but he wasn’t ready. And now seeing her pregnant in the paddock is doing stuff to him. Eventually he can’t take it anymore and he fucks her…hard.

Burning By Design

pairing: Lando Norris x ex girlfriend reader (m/f)

rating: explicit

word count: 4,7 k

tags/warnings: smut, angst with a happy ending (maybe, maybe), toxicity, 3rd trimester pregnancy, unprotected sex (not recommended by author!!), rough sex (p.i.v.), pregnancy fetish (if you squint), 2nd person POV, past tense, no "y/n" or OC names used

a/n (header): title by shame. apologies for the wait. i have study related work. this might be as fast as i get. anyway, i really enjoyed writing this and am hoping for more requests - head to my pinned post :)

At first, he could not believe what he was seeing.

It was almost too stupid to process.

Perhaps, the A plot of a sitcom he had not consented to be part of. Perhaps, a form of divine intervention punishing him for blasphemy and pride, firmly guided by its own self-importance. More likely, a parasitic thought coming up from the basement of his mind to taunt him before the sprint. They like to wake up when there is light upstairs, when he is finally doing well again.

It immediately became clear that it wasn’t a dark daydream playing tricks on him, however. Nightmares are bold and unsparing, certainly not afraid of little Lando Norris. Certainly wouldn’t hide their face at their eyes meeting, wouldn’t try to scurry away.

As much as it irritated him, made him lose track of what he had planned before the race, he couldn’t let you run. Couldn’t let you get away with showing your face around the paddock again, putting yourself at risk of getting caught by the cameras before he could give you a warning. 

Lando didn’t have time to think about the consequences of the gossip that would ensue thanks to your caprice. He almost sprinted to you, capturing your arm in a firm grip.

“Hello?”

It rang loud in the heat of the moment, prompting the closest heads to turn to face the two of you.

“Lando,” you replied, volume low and tone as calm as you could muster, avoiding catching another glimpse in his direction.

You heard him exhale sharply behind you, hand travelling to the back of your neck, pressing on first vertebra he could feel beneath your skin. Continuing to walk, Lando led you to a quiet corner near the public bathrooms. He leaned in, breath ghosting past the shell of your ear. “May I ask exactly what brings you here of all places?”

His bratty tone triggered you even more than you had anticipated. You swallowed, keeping your expression stone cold. “I’m here to watch some racing. You know, one of the most normal things a person could be doing around here.”

He clicked his tongue, and you could sense him examining every detail of your appearance. Your parted lips letting a jagged breath escape. The oversized crewneck attempting to hide your enlarged belly, reminding him of the times when you used to borrow his clothes. Sunglasses to prevent you from being recognized, playing the same role as the unseen tint to your hair, arranged carefully with the intent to cover up the tattoo behind your ear - “I♡”, a Roman numeral. Lando couldn’t decide which detail hurt him the most.

“I see. Right after I lost the championship, which makes it all the more interesting, of course,” His words were laced with passive aggression, hand squeezing the skin around your spine. “So interesting you couldn’t, like, be satisfied with a screen… I mean, are you even allowed to travel, for fucks sake?!” He pressed a finger into the firmness of your belly.

You jerked away, finally turning to glare at him. “Don’t fucking touch me,” you mumbled, pulling down the hem of your sweatshirt. “Yes, I should be able to do so until week thirty-six. I’m healthy.”

Lando gave you a slow nod as he examined you, chewing on his lip. He seemed tense and somewhat worn out, the end of the year fast approaching, but it was the same man you had had on your mind for months. His eyes were soft and lively, with him sporting some light stubble on his face, same as when you had your last proper conversation; thick hair and eyebrows, a wild mess of curls you wished you could grab a handful of, even at that moment.

“Good,” he replied softly. “That’s a relief, then.”

You let out a cold laugh. “As of you give a fuck, suddenly.”

He straightened his back, drawing closer to you again. “It is still my baby,” he retaliated with a muted whine.

“In theory only. Which should be a relief to you. Now you have all the time in the world to be second.”

Disregarding your protest, Lando pulled you against himself, snatching away your sunglasses so that nothing was shielding you from his stare. “You bitch…!” He shook his head, almost as a warning. “Unlike you, I can be proud of myself.”

“Yeah...? Well. I ain't one to be controlling somebody's opinions. Good for you, Lando.”

No matter how well-intended your statement was - or wasn't -, it didn't fly with the boy in question. “I think you’ve said enough for today,” he gripped your arms tighter. His reply was full of contempt, with Lando making it clear his will to listen was much the same as his remaining respect for you. “I know why you’re here. You think you’re about to witness my downfall or something, that I’m getting weak. That you have a chance to embarrass me by any means possible.”

There was growing intensity to his voice, persistence. Lando didn’t process arguments like others would. He liked having an equal opponent to bounce off of, someone who could take his jabs and bite back. All because a part of him loved being bitten, torn down and mocked, so he would have a chance to see the vehemence in your eyes, hear the words picking him apart - so obsessed, so captured by the dance between you. 

And sometimes, it hit just right, the soft spot on his underside that made him lie back and revel in the pain. It was the easiest thing to do. Give up the fight.

This didn’t seem like one of those days, however. Lando really did appear to be standing stronger after Vegas. There were urgent flames starting to appear in his gaze, accented by the orange color of his suit. He was hell bent on proving you wrong. Judging by the way his hands lingered on the sides of your belly, they would have been all over you had you two been in private.

You kept your cool, raising an eyebrow at him. “That sounds like a lot of work. You must be mistaken. I’m minding my own business; you are the one trying to insert yourself back into it.”

“Your business? Like you are going anything except fuck all.”

“Yes, very serious business. I need to find a good man to support me and my baby. There should be plenty around here." Pause. "Still, I can’t be picking just anybody.”

Lando was cut off mid inhale. He looked over you with near disgust, his grip tightening as thoughts of someone else possessing you clouded his mind. It was always too easy to rile him up that way. Make him reveal many of his least sufferable qualities, intensify the competition he was always part of, with both others and himself.

“Ah-hah. Who do you have eyes on, then?” he kept presssing, tongue running over his lips. “Tell me.”

You ran over some names for a second. “Lewis.”

He let out a laugh with a note of played up cruelty in it, flashing his teeth. “Shut up. That’s way out of your league.”

“Okay. Then, hm. Why don’t you tell me who would piss you off the most?” you mocked. “Always beefing with men with way more integrity than you. Like a spoiled little chihuahua.”

You pulled at his waist, which was molded perfectly for your palms, until your stomach was pressed against the solid muscles under his suit. As you looked up, his eyes were already on yours.

What a waste of a pretty face he was.

“Well, who? Oscar? Max?”

His cheeks grew redder at a rapid rate. “Don’t drag them into this. They’re both happily taken.”

“Yeah? And did that stop you from leaving?” You smirked, keeping your ground. “No. As I said, being a real man isn’t for everyone.”

Lando's eyes darkened. “All that talk, it’s funny, you know that. I’m sure you do, yet you’re quite shit at admitting you’ve messed up. Don’t look at me like that…” he snapped at the face you made.

“All this anger can’t be good for your body.” His fingers were back on the side of your belly, stroking gently. “All that… freaking idiocy. You chose to bang a guy at the highest point of his career – so far. A guy who wasn’t even twenty-five then, a guy who’d just won his first race. And for what? For me to leave everyone behind? You had a fucking chance; you had a chance to abort-”

“Maybe if you hadn’t tried to push your money into my face. Crying about how I was trying to trap you? Seriously?”

“Okay, whatever excuse you had,” he scoffs, laying his hand on one of the arms holding his waist. “But don’t come to me pretending like I fucked everything up. When you let yourself get pounded by guy who isn’t even a real man…”

“Lando…”

“And you loved it.” His voice had gotten close to a whisper, gaze softly studying your wide-eyed expression. “You were obsessed… I shouldn’t be surprised you kept the baby, you always wanted a piece of me, right?” 

He smirked. “You still are, are you not? You missed me, it’s why you came. Just say it.”

Your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach. A fuck-up. Even a fool like him could see right through you.

His words were dirty, and they cut you deep. You could never forget those days, the pinnacle of your love him for him. How he had held you as they were snapping him with white light, bleaching the red flags in the distance into a warm pink that took over your eyes.

You had made love that same night, and you had been careless. You had said too much, things too strong to ever take back. He hadn’t understood, but you were sure he could remember everything.

It was all your fault, falling too deep, too soon. 

“No,” you denied his claim, voice cracking.

“Yeeaah. Still obsessed with little old me…” he reached forward to pinch your cheek, grinning as if the battle had already been won. There was hunger in his eyes that made you flinch. “You want me the way I used to be. When nothing mattered as much as you.”

He could read what was on your mind through your eyes. The mirror of the soul.

Stupid fucking idiot. If only he were as dumb as people liked to think. 

“Yes…”

It was almost inaudible. “Say what?”

“Forget it, Lando. Just… forget about me. I’m sorry, I made a m-”

There was the soft pad of his finger pressing on your lips.

“Shhh…”

Lando smiled at you like a wild animal he’s managed to tame, a beauty he could take all to himself now.

You closed your eyes, expecting what was coming.

He replaced his finger with his lips when he was an inch away and pressed hard. His exhale was absorbed by your skin as he pushed you closer to himself with his palm on the back of your neck, not letting you escape. He didn’t hesitate to wet your lips with his tongue, try to part them while you held on, freezing at the sensation of a hand having reached for your breast.

You let out a sob and felt him grinning against you. His teeth nipped at your lip, impatient and commanding, bruising the delicate skin. You refused to open up.

Lando pulled away just far enough to inhale, clawing at the bra under your clothes that was preventing him from feeling your skin.

“What? You literally just showed me that I was right. You pathetic fucking girl.”

This mockery was delivered the form of a quiet purr, teasing but insisting you to stay. At that point, nothing could hide you from Lando’s obvious arousal, the struggle that was your haughty, self-defeating mind making adrenaline flow through his body, much like rivalry between drivers. But you were more gorgeous than any shining trophy or livery, so enticingly vulnerable, a canvas he could see his own work displayed on.

His eyes were impossible to meet. If it were feasible, you would have had him kiss you with them. Burn your skin with the intensity of his gaze, then sooth you with the dreams he held in them, the coolness of light and his beautiful shade of green. Scar you with the batting of his lashes until you lost the ability to bleed for anybody else.

“Lan, we can’t.”

“You’re fucking crying…” he pointed out, his chuckle low and deep, wiping any sincerity from your words. “Yeah, we can. We will.”

You swallowed. You had never felt so feeble yet so willing to be. “Take me somewhere. Touch me, please, I need you--”

A dirty smirk formed on his face, despite which you let him tug you to one of the toilets, refusing to acknowledge the setting and directing all of your attention to his lips. After he locked the door, you were pressed against the wall in an instant, one of his hands moving up to your face and the other struggling to pull up the layers covering your stomach.

Lando’s look was utterly lewd as your swelling lips wrapped around his index and middle finger, sucking all the way up to his metacarpals as you squeezed his wrist with desperation. Your pupils, wide and glimmering in the low light of the room, were firmly focused on the veins on the back of his large hand, with Lando helping you roll up his sleeve to reveal them running further down his forearm. 

You did not have the guts to face his insufferable grin. “Crazy, it’s all yours,” Lando laughed, conceited and mocking, reveling in the shameful thirst in your eyes. He looked down at his fingertips exploring the curve of your exposed belly, following their path with filth written all over his face. It was as if he’d discovered a muse, unexplored fertile land to roam and sow full of sin.

“Fuck,” he cursed, reaching lower to undo your jeans. You let Lando’s soaked fingers slip out of your mouth as your breath hitched, whimpering when his hand pushed aside your panties for a more enticing view. 

He ogled at your clit peeking through an unshaved bush, flushed warm pink and begging for his touch. His finger went to brush past it, making you gasp and bend, and disappeared between the soaked lips of your pussy.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he muttered, glancing up with a bright, teasing flame in his green eyes, a look that understood the obscenity you were about to fall in the arms of. “For me.”

The word was accented in a manner that made your cheeks burn red in shame. You didn’t think you could admit to the disgraceful act of falling for him again, accept the way your body was reacting to his voice, his touch, his presence. He had you in full control, all but on your knees begging to be taken.

“How does that make you feel, huh?” Lando was grinning, his hand leaving your heat to undo his collar and pull down the zipper of his racing suit.

Your teeth were gnawing at your bottom lip unconsciously, heart about to leap out of your chest in a plea it was unable to scream.“Uhm… I-I missed this…”

“Missed what?” Lando asked with feigned innocence. “This?” He guided your arm to the bulge nestled in his uniform, pressing it into your open palm. A laugh escaped him as he batted his eyelashes at you with a pleased smirk plastered all over his face. “To think it made you into this,” he drawled as his other hand trailed from your baby bump up to your chest, cupping one of your tits and squeezing hard. “Am I being stupid or have they gotten bigger?”

“Yes to both,” you sighed as he began removing your top and sweatshirt, sliding them over your head. Your clothes and bra were tossed on the floor without care as Lando’s pupils grew wider at the sight of your enlarged breasts and areolas. There were darker stripes forming on your tummy and visible veins painted your chest, which made you flush under his gaze as you looked down. “You fucking ass.”

Lando did not let that fly. His hand wrapped around your neck, with a finger supporting the chin lifting it up to face him. “Was that one of your wishes right there?”

“No,” you gulped, raging need taking over your brain and making you unable to consider your own words. Your clit was silently throbbing and walls crying out in pain, begging for a hard dick taking you and stretching them out. “P-please… I need it in my pussy, Lando.”

He let out a breathless chuckle, with a low sound resembling a moan escaping his throat. “Ohhh. You’re begging, and I didn’t even have to ask. Fucking begging for my cock…”

Lando said these kinds of things not only to rile you up further, but also to help convince himself that they were somehow – miraculously – real. Earlier that day, he could never have guessed what he, what you would come to – and he would have done anything to make it happen. Your words and the sight of you were raw power, adrenaline flooding his veins, a vain delicacy for his horny and famished body.

His hands were trembling in anticipation as he wrestled out of the top half of his suit, letting it hang limp around his legs, and pushing his bottoms just low enough to free his aching dick. You stared at it with all thoughts but one wiped from your head while he rushed to peel off his skin-tight shirt, letting it fall from his fingers as he looked over you with a smirk.

This was between you, him, and whatever devil had gotten the better of you. It had really come to that. Throwing away everything you had convinced yourself of to feel his flesh against yours, to taste the rush of blood you had been missing for oh so long.

He leaned in to kiss you again, every bit of his body buzzing drunk with lust, his tongue warm and sticky against your lips when he moaned inside your mouth. “I hope he or she is asleep. I wouldn’t want mini me to witness the shit I’m about to do to you.”

Pulling down your undone jeans with your underwear and guiding himself in with the other hand, Lando entered your weeping pussy, curse words and groans erupting from his throat as soon as he’d felt the heat inside you.

“Oh my fucking God,” he exclaimed in a choked cry, “you – oh my dear, my God, you…”

You two were complete and unsalvageable wrecks. The only thing you could do was hold onto your belly for dear life as he began thrusting in and out of your oversensitive cunt, nails digging into one of your ass cheeks and pulling to spread you open wider. In return, your hand flew to squeeze one of his pecs, capturing his nipple between your fingers. 

Lando was unceremoniously loud, with your own moans ringing out almost inaudible among his sounds and the wet noises filling the small space. “Ah, shit. Fuck. You’re, like… hotter inside. So, so fucking tight…”

Your hormones were rushing through your blood in silent triumph as he pounded you, each of his veins and the head of his dick bringing a distinct detail of the sensation. It didn’t take long before you were sore, so incredibly sensitive and weak against his raging body that you were trapped in a tight embrace with. You yelped and clawed as he hit your cervix, causing him to crush your shoulder in a death grip, startled.

“Fuck, are you alright?” Lando blurted out as he stopped, appearing dazed from the lack of air.

“Just spare my uterus, okay? The baby adds pressure from the inside,” you panted, leaning your head against his flushed, sweaty chest. “I feel like you’re crushing him, we’re too close into each other. Is there a…”

“You want me to take you from the back?” Lando breathed, running his fingers down your back with a dirty grin. “Oh, hell yes.”

You were bent over the bathroom sink, your arms folded to prevent you from slipping off the tiny surface, with Lando behind you with your hair wrapped tightly around his right hand as he groped one of your heavy hanging breasts with the other. He was obsessed with the sight, muttering such filth that it made you unable to open your eyes, to face the mirror mere inches ahead of you.

“Look at me.” His tone was derisive as he managed to stammer in between moans, tugging ruthlessly on your hair. You swallowed, turning your head to the side. “In front of you.”

Lando had, quite frankly and unfortunately, never looked as sexy before. His sweat soaked skin glimmered in the low light casting shadows that brought out his defined muscles and the cartilage in his throat accented with each gulp. His mullet had been turned into a wet, untamable mop of curls resting on the top of his head. Slick with tears, the almost girlish lashes framing his eyes appeared longer and thicker, unmistakably enviable.

Best and worst of all, despite of what had happened, despite the time that had passed, he was still yours. He fucked you like it meant something, cried out like it was the only thing that felt right, painted scars and bruises on your back as a reminder of your helplessness for him. One you will never cease to feel.

“Pathetic,” Lando mocked right in your ear, having laid the upper half of his body on top of yours, face buried in a heap of hair. “You’ve always been so fucking miserable for me.”

You responded with the loudest cry you could ever wish to let out, muted by his large hand covering your mouth, so overtaken by him that not a single cell of your body would have fought back. He expressed his approval with a deep thrust, showing you gratitude by moving his fingers to your swollen clit, swiping up and down with tiny, rapid movements.

“I love you. Fuck, I-… I need you so God damn bad. …I’m going to cum, I’m not stopping—"

He parted his fingers, letting you respond with a moan. “Yeah… Please, please just fill me, fill this pregnant fucking pussy…”

Your breath hitched as you cried out obscenities to your man, much like the filth that resulted in him getting you pregnant in Miami some months ago. Filth you could never abstain from, filth you could chant for hours as long as you were with Lando, merging your bodies as you were once again proving nothing on Earth was stronger than the material tying you together. You felt yourself growing weaker, unable to contain the pool of sensitivity having overtaken your intimates.

“I’m coming… Oh, Lando, holy fuck…”

Lando could feel your pulse through your cramping walls as you came, tightening around him again and again, milking his cock right inside you. He unloaded with a deep, tortured groan, whimpering as each wave of his orgasm punched him in the heart. It was everything he could ever have wanted and more. Your pregnant body warm and snug against his, crying out his name in love, so dependent on him it could be broken with one touch.

“Oh, my…. You’re just perfect,” Lando heaved, straightening his back, all shaky and weakened by the amazing finish you had gifted him. You watched his reflection he pulled out, slowly and with care, watching his cum trickle down between your folds all the way to your abused clit. He cleaned his softening cock by wiping the leftover filth off against your bush, praising you with a worshipful caress of your curves as he stuffed himself back inside his suit. 

A yellowish liquid was leaking from the breast he had taken in his hand. Lando stopped you in your tracks, leaning down to bury his face in between your tender boobs, his warm lips and tongue not shying away from making you clean.

You gasped. Lando was purring, holding you tight in his powerful arms. Looking.

He had wrecked and built you back up, all just to blow everything you were into bits again. Made you a mess. A goddess. A hopeless starving animal. All to himself, in his own eyes.

In that moment, he had all of you to worship and adore. And he wanted to believe he wasn't stupid enough to let you slip away anymore.

“You may feel free to call me any names you want for leaving." He began after a long, soothing pause. "I am, admittedly, a huge fucking idiot.”

Still panting , you looked into his eyes in the mirror, your spine crying out in pain as you attempted to stand up straight. His words had you wanting to laugh. “Really, Lando?”

“…Is there a problem?”

Hugging your belly, you suddenly registered feeling cold. He rushed to pick your discarded clothes off the floor, offering them to you. You stared. “I dunno. Isn’t it funny how it took one good fuck for you to want to repent?”

“I-”

“I know you missed me. But I’m more than what I used to be, much more, and I don’t think you’ll be able handle it. It’s as you said.”

Lando gripped your garments in his fist as his jaw muscles tensed. For a moment, he considered saying something he’d regret. “I know. I need some time to think. A lot, maybe."

"But I’ll be keeping you close in the meantime, yeah?”

He stopped you from grabbing your underwear yourself, instead motioning you to stretch out your arms so he could dress his woman with his own hands. This Lando was more gentle than any version of him you could remember. 

His palm was warm and protective against your abdomen, rubbing soothing circles as he helped you pull your pants up again. ““He”, you said?”

How hard he was trying. Not a winner amongst men, but it was him. One you wished you would never have to move on from.

For a vulnerable girl, it was easy to fall again. 

You sighed. “Yes. For the record, I haven’t decided on anything yet.”

Lando’s eyes lit up as he grinned. “I kind of wish he was here already. He would really… love… watching me drive.”

His smile slowly disappeared as panic set in. “Oh god. I’m such an idiot.”

“Oh really? Haven’t we discussed?” you smirked, watching as Lando hurriedly put his racing suit back into shape. “In any case, don’t use this information to rear-end a Williams or a VCARB before the end of the season. This stays between us for now.”

“Okay, damn,” Lando pushed your shoulder playfully, adjusting his collar in the mirror and making sure his mullet wasn’t looking too shabby. You snuck your hand inside his hairdo, messing it up again. You had to. “Fuck you. This is all your fault. That pussy was so good I lost track of time.”

You lifted an eyebrow. “Weak.”

Lando turned to you one last time before unlocking the door, a wicked smirk plastered across his face. You didn’t have to wait for each other to lean in. It felt longer than a lifetime while you were kissing and shorter than a moment after he pulled away, your fingers still lost somewhere between his curls. His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings as he gave a look to the brightest, smallest facet of his family.

“I gotta sprint, dear.” He gave you puppy-dog eyes. “You’re staying, I hope.”

You nodded. Lando reached for the hand in his hair, squeezing it in one of his. “Come watch with my mum! She can't stop asking me questions. Please.”

“But-”

“I want her to know. Don’t hide it. I ought to be a man.” He grinned, lifting your interlocked fingers up to his lips. 

Perhaps a ring was too early. Perhaps it was too late. Perhaps it would never happen.

But in that moment, a kiss was more than enough.

For that weekend, he would stay.

“I’ll do you proud, okay? Let’s go.”

That weekend, you felt like you were doing to be alright.

🧡 a/n (footnote): as you may know, in the sprint following the events of this fic, he returned the favor to oscar by letting him pass, which made many people warm up to him again. he would have made me very proud :) i hope this was at the very least not terrible, as i haven't finished a proper chapter or oneshot in quite a while. i literally never like my own works after finishing, so please let me know what you think! any corrections are welcome! i strive for accuracy and studied lando's speech quite a bit while writing. thank you for reading and have a good one loves!

[fuck-customers]

I’m close friends with 2 of my coworkers, but we have a coworker, I’ll call her J, likes to think she’s “one of us”. We’re obviously grown adults so we try not to let her behavior affect us, but she’s seriously insufferable. She’s not only a lazy and nosy employee, but just hanging out with her is hard. Her body odor is strong and her hair looks like it hasn’t been washed in weeks despite her saying she bathes often, and this makes me uncomfortable because she likes to hug us. Her clothes have a gross smell despite her saying she does laundry weekly. The smell of her clothes sometimes permeates into my clothes when her clothes are near mine and it’s usually a combination of weed, dampness, and sourness. She overshares and is loud so she’ll have a conversation with her boyfriend at her desk that she thinks no one heard and then will tell us about the phone afterwards or will randomly share her sex life with us even though we never asked. And on that topic, she doesn’t understand personal space as she thinks what’s mine is hers. If you left her borrow something even once, she’ll go through your things to get it again because we’re “friends”. It’s exhausting being around her so we all find ways to encourage her to take time off or leave early just so we can spend less time with her. Anything to not have to be around her because it’s so draining. Today my 2 coworkers and I were talking about getting coffee and J (who already has her own cup of coffee) inserts herself and says we should order from ⭐️💲because there’s a drink she likes. We all declined, but I mostly declined because I just knew she’d have one of us order for her since she’s always tight on money but somehow always spending it on something useless. That bothered her so she kept trying to pressure us to order from there as if she wouldn’t be able to order unless we also ordered, and that confirmed my theory. Then she started to get passive aggressive and said to the other 2 that if they weren’t around, she would’ve been able to pressure me into ordering. Aka she would’ve been able to get me to buy her a drink. That pissed me off because I didn’t like how she acted like she knew me. I told her I’ve long since deleted that app and I don’t even remember my password so she’s wrong. This set her off more and she started sulking the whole day. She became more upset when she discovered one of the other 2 coworkers wanted to take the same day off as her. So J reluctantly switched her day off to another day even though no one asked her to and then continued to sulk about it. I don’t understand this behavior and it makes the work environment more toxic than it needs to be. I can’t tell our manager because he’s close with J and defends her all the time. I think it’s because their personalities are similar. In the past, I tried to subtly warn him about J and how she’s skewing his numbers, but he went behind my back and snitched on me. He told her I was backstabbing her but fortunately I was able to convince her that he misunderstood what I was saying and the issue was resolved. However since then I never tell him anything.

Posted by admin Rodney

[cryptid-killjoy]

Willem was always going to be a guy down for a HTH break in. It was just the sort of adventure Wild Will was in toespecially if it ended in chilli dogs.

Willem also wasn't sure he ever thought of himself as a father figure to any of the dolls yet. Caretaker? Yes. Father, somehow, he didn't see himself as that even of his own creations even if that might have been somewhat true. Thoughts for another, perhaps. Emotions that hadn't quite matured or been labeled, perhaps.

"A mother? Hmm. I guess I can see that. I'll think about that."

He left it at that for more pondering later. What he knew for sure and did not have to think any longer on was Figaro looked cool as fucking get out with a firearm like that. It straight up suited them. Willem decided it was hot and gave it a double glance, maybe two.

"You look like a video game... in a cool way."

The compliment felt needed.

But moving along into the Livvy's home. Willem wouldn't know Figaro would have expected, but he knew what to expect with how many times he'd made these excursions to check the dolls. He navigated the home with ease.

Figaro wasn't wrong for thinking it was sad. Willem knew it was. It was why they didn't mind when Figaro first chose to stay at the ball. Sad things like this were often easier done in private. Modesty for humility. Smalls said no judgement and Will felt safe enough he wasn't unaware of how it would come off.

They laughed about the shrine and even turned red to some extent.

"I'm pretty sure she's my number one hater wherever she is now and has a voodoo doll of me and with its nuts in a vice on a Battleship board and keeps tossing it overboard. I have a theory they had something to do with Pan's flood making the blizzard melt day randomly a double hard moment for us because only she would hate me enough right now to want to make every moment of my life as hard as it could possibly be."

Even saying his theory out loud made him laugh.

"I'd have deserved it though. From her mind. We broke up after sailing on a ship across the water. Trying to drown me just makes sense to me. Poetic Justice. Whatever better form of justice is there?"

Despite it being oddly morbid he said it playful with humoral candor.

Then Figaro agreed to head on out and search for Livvy's uncle's closet.

"Okay, that's good. You come find me then."

He was going to go looking for Smalls, but Smalls said they'd come back when they were done, so they changed their mind and would wait for Smalls to come back to them.

When Figaro headed out Willem went along with his routine of tinkering with each shelf. He'd careful take ever figurine and doll off one shelf at a time and neatly lay them on the bed while he dusted the shelf and then cleaned the figures themselves before standing each one back one at a time. As he did this, he'd make sure any soft ones were fluffed and their dresses were tidied, shoelaces or bows flounced, and hats properly straightened. If Livvy had told him anything particular about the doll, he'd go through that memory in his mind to pay it homage to what sentimental value it held in the secrets of their faces. To the one he had no information he sent the same appreciation because there's sentiment in the bond of a knick knack, a memento, a toy, that's far stronger than just a memory.

He once considered memories like pages in a book of who a person is. They can be turned and re-turned again. He could read the same chapter more than once as many times as he liked for fun, but never truly relive it. A souvenir or memento of a memory is simply that, a small token. It could be thrown away or lost, but the memory still exists. The chapter can still be filed through in one's recollection. A doll however, a toy with a face, for some reason feels different to Willem than some token. Even silent it looks back. It gives the feeling it experienced all your eyes saw in that same memory. It experienced what you did. A shared experience becomes a friend not a souvenir. One can look into those non-moving eyes and think they were there. Maybe it was nuts? However, if you were a person who could also take those same dolls and bring them to life if he wanted the idea might not seem so farfetched. Lifeless dolls might seem more important than just some old attachment that needed to be let go of.

To Willem's credit he hadn't gone as far as bringing any of Livvy's dolls to life, but it had entered his mind. He was under no delusion he'd ever see Livvy again and he didn't want his old girlfriend's living dolls being a drain on relationships. He was bright enough to realize that could be a deal breaker moving forward. He just hadn't gotten to the fully moved forward part yet.

Okay, so he'd done a little messing around. Zero existed. Even Piper existed, more new, Nutmeg. These were not people who were ever going to be in Willem's life in a permanent way. They were when the mood hit kind of friends. These were complicated friends, not actual relationships.

All that said, none of it was on its mind now. Just the dolls were. When he finished with the cleaning, he'd pick up that mermaid again and sit down on the bed. It had a tendency to get the most favor and longest time being held. It had the vast majority of memories attached for Will. He laid back with it. He sat it on his chest and admired its face as he relaxed. He'd glance over at the shelf and give it a smile. Then he'd smooth over the mermaid's glossy hair. Motions like had a way triggering other past memories like turning Livvy into a doll at Barbie and Ken's party. He remembered the texture of her hair and the sand. He recalled the paints. He could relive every brush stroke of the artwork like muscle memory as porcelain slid under his his fingertips.

He sang one of the lines to the song he wrote Livvy just above a whisper. "If you don't feel that this is real then I'll just walk away. Way deep down I know I found the that proof that love can save. So take some time to figure out what this thing is all about. I hope some day you feel it too. I promise that I'll try to love the best I can. You make me a better man. Whatever this is leading to. For the first time I'm gonna listen to my heart."

Then he took a big breath and sat up. He kissed the little figurine. "I guess it all led me to you pretty lady. I saved you from the boxes. I can live with that."

Then he shined up her face one more time before placing her back in her proper place knowing full well his heart would always be with the dolls. It would be a big enough win for him.

"Thanks for being a part of that." He added as he tapped one finger tip on the glass after closing the shelving unit back up.

It left a smudge.

"Woops."

So, he went to Windex the last spot before he was completely done with the room. He cleaned it spotless enough for a bird to smash into. He was pleased with his work. He joked to the dolls, "Lucky this thing isn't a patio door."

“Now that would be entertaining to see. Especially if you two do the awkward dance of trying to pass each other but stepping in each other’s way,” Figaro said. Bright sides, sunny sides, you had to have the light to be able to have the dark too. Figaro tried to keep the balance.

Chili Dogs. Now that sounded good. Just the thought of it was enough to get the hunger going, the saliva flowing, despite being in this stink of a place. “Fuck it, we’re sneaking into Halloweentown one of these days. Once you try one of their Chili Cheese Dogs, your life isn’t going to be the same.”

Hansel as a handsome guy though? “It’s weird,” They said. “I feel somewhat … almost maternal over him? Guess I kind of am a parent now.”

What an odd thing to think about. What an odd thing to realize. In Funkytown, the dynamic hadn’t really changed. Figaro was in charge but hardly ever acted on it. It felt - wrong, somehow, to try to take control, having watched Gepetto give them their own autonomy, their own thoughts, their own actions. So Mr Punch kept being uncontrollable. Hansel kept living in the walls and being a bit of a pervert, his human body still having human feelings, thrusting against a wall while watching through a peephole.

“Yup, keeping this on me,” They agreed. It was not a good smell. Eventually all of the flesh and organs would rot away and then it would just be bones, which didn’t have as bad of a smell, but right now, it was pretty rank. The place needed some sort of Fabreeze cleansing. Or maybe Frank and Delta spent so much time up in their castle, they didn’t even know that it smelt so bad down here. They needed some sort of comment box, in Figaro’s opinion.

All of their information about guns came from movies and videogames. They knew at the very least to turn on the safety for now, until they would need it. “All I need are some green plants, and we’ve gone totally Resident Evil in this bitch.”

Great minds think alike. Figaro was also all about upgrading their setup at home. Getting a bigger TV, though the vintage one had been moved into their room, because they weren’t going to get rid of Gepetto’s things, other than giving some to Willem, of course. But it felt like he was one of Gep’s kids too. The stuff was THEIRS. Not just inherited by Fig. Better sound system, more gizmos and gadgets.

Figaro let Willem take the lead since they didn’t know their way around the apartment block. They had the gun in hand, waiting for a chance to use it. To ‘blast them’ as Thomas would say. Their knowledge of annoying curses and animal speak wasn’t the most useful for a zombie situation, except to get birds and other animals to let them know where the zombies themselves were. They had to bring out the big guns.

They didn’t say anything about Willem having the key. It just made sense, given that he came to visit the dolls. Others might have found it a bit romantic, perhaps, that he kept visiting his ex’s apartment, taking care of her things. But Figaro just found it practical.

The two of them went through the building, checking around corners, making sure that there wasn’t something waiting on just the other side. But it looked as if the building had mostly been cleaned out. Any life that was here that would have drew the zombies in, disappeared a long time ago. Still, once inside of the apartment, Figaro turned the lock on the door to feel a touch safer.

Though they were anxious to get at that Hawaiian shirt collection that hopefully had not been eaten away from bugs or faded by light coming in through the windows, they were curious about Livvy’s room, and would follow Willem inside. It wasn’t exactly what they had expected.

The shelves were new, and taken care of, that much was clear. It wasn’t covered in dust and cobwebs like everything else. The dolls seemed to be in a place of prevalence. They stood out, like they were an important item in a video game or something, rendered more predominantly.

“I’m a little surprised,” They admitted, hands on their hips, looking at the girliness of the room, the teal color that was on everything, the bit of a mess of clothes from when Livvy was deciding what to pack all that time ago for the big boat trip. “I was expecting a huge shrine to you,” They said, looking to Willem. “Or did you get embarrassed and take that down?”

They weren’t trying to be funny or teasing, that’s genuinely what Figaro thought that they would walk into when it came to Livvy’s space. A whole wall plastered with pictures of Willem, maybe some with Fig but with Fig’s face cut out or something like that. Pieces of his hair, his toenail clippings, on a shelf. This was a voodoo town after all, it wouldn’t be hard for some white girl to get their hands on some sort of love potion or DIY-Voodoo-Doll set. But it was actually pretty … relaxed in here.

They were watching Willem more than the dolls after that, making sure that he was going to be alright while doing this. But maybe it was something that he just needed to do, the way that some people just needed a big cry. Something about it being cathartic.

‘Miss her if she comes back.’ ‘Don’t get too lonely.’

It was … kind of sad.

“Yes, I’ll leave you guys to talk and gossip and … do whatever it is that y’all do in here, no judgment,” They said, putting their hands up and backed out of the room slowly. “I’ll come find ya once I finish raiding that closet.”

[whitedarkmoonflower]

Blood brother

Pairing: Sihtric x reader (female) Authors note: I kind of hate it. It's so long since I wrote something and it feels like first time again. I have wanted to write it for a while already but never got to it. It's a wonderful idea planted into my head by the lovely @thenameswinter99 in one of our chats but I know I made it different, so I hope you'll not be angry with me. Warnings: actually none. Some description of violence but nothing very graphical Word Count: 8,7 K (sorry 😅) Summary: having lost everything and thinking she's been abandoned by everybody, even her best friend Sihtric, reader on her quest for revenge founds out that life can be full of surprises and that there is always space for hope

Please remember that comments and reblogs are two things that make writers smile and keep us motivated.

The night was dark, the feeble, pale light of the new moon barely illuminating your path through the woods. You shuddered as if trying to shake off the cold, the chill air biting your cheeks and each exhale leaving a shimmering, silvery fog in the air. Yet you didn’t stop, didn’t turn back. Just the opposite. 

Your small feet quickened their pace, finding the path beneath them with the assuredness of a cat on the hunt, and with each step you took your eyes adjusted further to the darkness and to the eerie shadows and flickering shapes the moonlight made dancing around you.  

You should have been scared, a small girl alone in the middle of the forest, the familiar and warm lights of your home far behind. But you weren’t, not anymore. 

You pressed on, ducking under the bony, outstretched arms of thorn bushes and leaping over moss covered, fallen trunks. Yes, there had been fear, but that was before. Before this forest had become your home, your secret ally, the protector of your dreams. Before you had learned to become one with it, to listen to its whispers, to feel its heartbeat in the quiet rustling of the leaves.

Before you had met him. 

—----------------------------------------------------

The sun was slowly dipping behind the horizon, making the shadows grow longer, and a distant crack of a twig sent your heart racing. You had never been so scared before in your whole life. 

You had been picking berries, one step leading to another, each shiny little red perl hidden in the green tapestry of shrubs inviting you further and further from the familiar path until there was no path at all, only an impenetrable thicket of trees and bushes all looking alike.

You clutched the small basket you had been carrying as if it could shield you.

That was when you heard that low, unmistakable growl behind you.

You spun around and froze, your legs refusing to obey your desperate need to run. A wobbly step back sent you tumbling to the ground, a loud shriek escaping your lungs. 

Wolf, as if stepped out of the fairy tales your grandma told you before sleep. You had never seen one before but there was no doubt, your grandma had always been a vivid teller of stories. 

Eyes wide open you stared at the majestic animal before you and waited. Waited for the end to come. 

“Don’t move,” a soft and strangely calm voice reached you as a small silhouette of a boy probably the same age as yourself suddenly stepped between you and the wolf. “It can feel your fear.”

“I’m scared,” you whispered, as tears started to stream down your face.

“I’m not,” he said simply.

The wolf snarled, shifting its weight as though preparing to pounce but the boy didn’t flinch. Instead, he crouched slightly, meeting the animal’s gaze head-on. A strange, low sound rumbled from his throat—a growl, so very similar to the one the wolf had made just a moment ago that you couldn't help but shudder.

The wolf’s ears twitched, and for a while they just stood there staring at each other. A soft whine escaped you from the burning feeling in your lungs as you realised you’d been holding your breath, and you felt wolf's gaze shifting between you and the boy as if considering his chances.

The boy leaned forward slightly, his thin frame taut like a drawn bowstring. The wolf snarled, its hackles raised, but there was a slight uncertainty in its posture now. The boy didn’t waver, his eyes locked with the creature as he bared his teeth.

The wolf hesitated, its tail giving a flick of irritation, and then with a final growl, it broke eye contact, lowered its head and started to step backward. Its movements were slow, reluctant, as if it hated admitting defeat, but after a few steps it turned and with a few leaps disappeared into the shadows.

The boy straightened, his small chest rising and falling as he caught his breath, and for the first time, he turned to you, “It’s gone,” he said simply but you just continued to stare at him, your ability to speak stolen from you both by fear and awe plainly written on your face.

The boy was thin and malnourished, with bruises on his arms and legs, clothes hanging off his bony frame and the dirt smudged on his face, his bare foot rustling against the soft forest ground. 

He looked fragile, even breakable, but it wasn’t his disheveled appearance that struck you most, it was his eyes. One was a piercing blue, while the other earthy brown, shining with an inexplicable mixture of defiance and warmth.

“You shouldn’t wander this far into the woods alone,” he added, tilting his head and observing you with open curiosity, and you noticed how melodic and soft his voice actually was. “It’s not safe.”

It felt like a dream. He extended a hand to help you up, and you took it, your fingers trembling against his. His grip was surprisingly firm, grounding, and you couldn’t help stealing glances at him as he led you back to the path, your hand safely in his.

You both reached the edge of the forest in silence where he released your hand reluctantly, his fingers slipping away so slowly as though they didn’t want to let go. The boy's large, expressive eyes followed you as you stepped into the meadow, and it suddenly struck you that you had not the slightest idea who your mysterious saviour was. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, turning around and finally finding your voice even if it still sounded shaky.

He hesitated, his gaze shifting back toward the trees, as if unsure whether to answer or rather retreat. “Sihtric,” he said at last, his tone strangely wary, eyes darting to the ground. “Sihtric Kjartansson.”

“Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked.

His lips curled into a small, almost shy smile. “Maybe,” he finally said, but the faint glimmer in his mismatched gaze told you he would.

The next day, you returned with fresh bread and a small portion of ham tucked neatly into your linen shoulder bag. You weren’t sure if he would really come, but you hoped, and as you crossed the meadow, your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, leaning casually against the trunk of the great oak.

“I brought you something,” you said as you stretched out your hand to offer the loaf of fresh bread. He hesitated, his gaze flicking between your face and the bread, his beautiful eyes mirroring a quiet surprise. It seemed as if he wasn’t used to kindness.

“You saved my life,” you added. “Please, let me thank you.”

Sihtric’s fingers slightly brushed against yours as he took the bread, and the brief contact sent a surprising rush of warmth to your cheeks, forcing you to look away, as you suddenly became aware of the heat rising in your face.

“Thank you,” he said at last as he held the loaf carefully, almost reverently, as though it was something precious. 

—---------------------------------------------------

You stopped, listening to a call of an owl echoing through the stillness of the night, before resuming your run. It was the signal and you were late.

“And I already thought you’d chickened out and wouldn’t come,” a familiar voice greeted you as you stumbled into the small clearing, a faint taunt lacing the words. 

“Mom stayed up late with her sewing,” you replied, breathless from your relentless sprint through the woods. “I couldn’t sneak out before she went to bed.”

A small figure emerged from the shadows of the nearby trees. Without hesitation you grabbed the hand outstretched towards you and let it guide you to the center of the clearing with a makeshift arch formed by a strip of turf propped up by three spears.

“Sihtric, where did you get these?” you asked, your eyes widening as you admired the haphazard construction.

“Everyone’s busy packing and fussing around,” Sihtric replied almost nonchalantly. “It was easy to grab a few things and sneak away. But I’ve got to bring them back before dawn, or I’ll get the shit beaten out of me.”

You shuddered, turning to look at the boy beside you. Sihtric’s voice was steady, but there was that subtle set of his jaw and the faint quiver in his grip.

“Stay,” you said. You wanted to sound confident, resolute but the way the word trembled on your lips, that sudden crack in your voice, it all betrayed your desperation. “Hide in the woods, and when they’ll be gone, come to my house. My father won’t turn you away if I ask him to take you in.”

But you already knew the answer.

“I can’t,” he said softly, his response almost a whisper. “I can’t leave my mom. She needs me. I have to take care of her.”

You squeezed his hand tighter, wishing there was something else you could do, something else you could say to make him change his mind. You knew there wasn’t. Your small world was falling apart, and there was nothing you could do about it.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” you said, withdrawing your hand and reaching into the small linen bag slung over your shoulder. “I brought fresh bread. Mom baked it just yesterday.”

Sihtric smiled faintly, just a shadow of his usual mischievous grin, but his gaze returned to the arch.

“Let’s do it first, if you are still sure about it,” he tugged you gently toward the arch. 

You nodded, swallowing hard. You wanted to smile, but your lips trembled. “Of course I am. ” 

“Alright.” Sihtric let out a shaky breath, and crouched down to retrieve a small knife he’d hidden in the grass beneath the arch, its blade a bit dull but still usable.

Without any further hesitation he drew the blade lightly across his forearm. The cut was clean and straight, a thin red line beading quickly with blood. He hissed softly at the sting but held steady, extending his arm to you.

“Your turn.”

Your hands trembled slightly as you took the knife, not that you were afraid of the pain. It was the significance of the moment that made your heart hammer in your chest. Sihtric watched you carefully, something like concern flickering across his face.

“You don’t have to do it if you’re scared,” he said quietly.

“I’m not scared,” you scoffed at Sihtric, tightening your grip on the handle and pressing the blade to your forearm, but your hand slipped slightly, and the cut ended up uneven and jagged. You gasped at the sharp pain, your free hand instinctively reaching out to press against the cut.

“You alright?” Sihtric asked, alarm evident in his voice.

“Yeah,” you whispered, blinking back tears. “It’s fine. It’s just... shit, it’s so crooked.”

He gave you a small, encouraging smile. “Doesn’t matter. It still counts.”

Sihtric held out his arm, his bloodied cut facing yours. You looked up, trying to read the expression on his face before pressing your wounds together. Sihtric wrapped a strip of fabric around your joined arms, and you helped him to tie it tighter.

“That’s it,” he said, his voice firmer now. “Now we have to say it.”

You both spoke at the same time, voices barely above whispers but full of determination. 

“Our blood is one,

joined under the moon and stars.

Brother and sister for life and beyond.

Your pain is my pain; your joy – my joy.

Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone.”

The world around suddenly felt still, as though even the forest was holding its breath because you both surely were. 

You looked down at your bound arms, a small but proud smile touching your lips.

“Remember the wolf?” you suddenly asked, breaking the quiet.

Sihtric glanced at you, a small, knowing smile brightening up his eyes. “I wasn’t scared,” he said, his voice teasing.

“Liar,” you said, nudging him with your shoulder. But deep down, you knew it was true.

He reached out to ruffle your hair with his free hand, and you couldn’t help but lough. “Come on, sister,” he said. “Let’s eat that bread before the night gets colder.”

—----------------------------------------------------

The door closed with a quiet thud behind you as you slumped your back against it, fighting to steady your frantic breathing, to silence the voice in your head, screaming that this wasn’t right, that it wasn’t supposed to end like this. 

Raising your trembling hand, you let your fingers hover over your burning lips. Your very first kiss. Light like a feather, hot like a fire. You hadn’t planned this. You didn’t even fully understand how it had happened. 

It was just that strange feeling as Sihtric’s fingers had hesitated to let go of your hand just like that first time you had met, that haunting look of regret and sadness in his beautiful, mismatched eyes and the heaviness in your own chest. It all had been too much to bear for your small, fragile heart, so you just did it. The only thing you could think of. 

You rose onto your tiptoes and pressed your lips to his.

And then you ran. 

You ran as if your life depended on this, as if a hundred wild beasts were chasing you down, the touch of Sihtric’s soft but slightly chapped lips against yours burning in your mind. 

Your very first kiss. A good by. A farewell. A promise. 

You’ll not walk your path alone.

___________________________________________

You shifted carefully, stretching your numb legs one at a time. The night was cool but thanks gods – dry, a welcome change after an endless week of steady mizzling. That annoying faint drizzle was capable of seeping through every seam of your leather armour, soaking through all layers down to your undergarments and drenching it until there was not a single dry thread left. 

The Danish camp lay just beyond the treeline, its fires casting flickering shadows across the ground. You had been following them for weeks – them and other groups travelling from and to Dunholm. 

Your breath was slow and even. This was far from being new to you. Nights spent on the hard earth under the beautiful blanket of stars had long become your way of life. You didn’t complain, you had learned to endure, to let the numbness creep into your body without letting it dull your mind.

You shifted again, crouching closer, trying to get a better view on the fireplaces and to be able to catch glimpses of conversations. The underbrush rustled softly, and you froze, waiting for any sign that you’d been heard. Nothing. The camp remained busy but apparently oblivious of your presence.

Your fingers instinctively checked for the hilt of the dagger at your hip. All you wanted was to sneak through the bushes right into that nest of wasps, taking one life after another, quiet and deadly. But it was not yet the right time for that. 

You had dreamt of it for years. Of being here. Of finding your way into that damned fortress. Of wiping the name of the man that had taken everything from you from this world and any other worlds that possibly existed whether they called them Valhalla or Heaven. 

There hadn't been a single night that you haven’t woken up covered in sweat from the scattered images of the smoldering ruins of your home dancing before your closed eyes as clearly as the stars above you now. It was as if you could still smell the acrid stench of burned wood and flesh. 

Every fiber of your being longed to storm through Dunholm’s gates, to plunge your blade into Kjartan’s heart and to burn it all down to the ground as they had done to you. But you knew too well that this was not possible, that this would only lead to your own doom and not theirs. You had to wait and lurk in the dark, searching for a way that would ensure their ruin. You had waited years for this. You could wait a little longer. 

“Distracted, are we?” a soft voice murmured near your ear, calm and quiet as in the same moment you felt a cold steel pressing against your throat. Your body tensed up and your fingers slowly wrapped around the hilt of the dagger, readying for the strike. 

“Move, and you’ll lose your head,” the voice continued, the blade pressing just a fraction closer and a hand landed on your shoulder, keeping you in place.  

You cursed yourself silently, the threat was as calm as it was deadly.

“Drop your weapon,” he ordered.

You hesitated, your mind weighing the odds.

“Now,” he snapped, his tone sharpening.

“Fine,” you said, slowly pulling out the dagger and then you felt it – a shift in his grip, the tiniest slackening of pressure. It was all you needed.

You twisted sharply, pulling away from the blade while driving your elbow backward into his ribs. His grunt of surprise was satisfying, but you didn’t stop. Spinning on your heel, you unsheathed your dagger completely and brought it up between you.

The two of you stood frozen, knives pointed at each other’s throats. It was too dark to see the man clearly. The firelight from the camp didn’t reach your hideaway, and the moon was new, just a small slice in the dark sky, casting only fleeting, shifting shadows over his face. 

All you could tell was that he was young, well built and lean, unmistakably a Dane and a warrior. You were pretty sure he didn’t belong to the camp you were spying on as you  knew by now all the men there – an observation that did nothing to calm you as he still could be an enemy. 

His grip on his own blade was steady and his breathing even. If he was surprised by your sudden move, he didn’t show it, and there was a sharpness in his gaze that kept you on edge.

“Who are you?” He was the first to break the silence.

You tightened your grip on your dagger: “That depends on what your intentions are.”

“That depends on what you’re doing here,” he shot back, and for a split second you thought there was something strangely familiar in his slightly mocking tone.

You hesitated, your mind racing for some plausible reply as there was no way of revealing your true purpose. “I’m just passing through,” you said finally, knowing that the simple answer will not satisfy, but you needed some time to decide on your next move.

“Passing through?” the young warrior snorted. “Near a Danish camp, armed, and skulking in the shadows? Whom are you trying to fool?”

“And what about you?” you countered, trying to mask your nerves with defiance. “What are you doing here?”

But before you could continue the exciting conversation a distant shout shattered the stillness.

“Someone’s out there!”

Your breath hitched. The sound of boots hurriedly stumping against the ground grew louder, accompanied by the glint of torchlight weaving through the trees. The young Dane glanced toward the noise and then back to you as if weighing his options.

“They’re coming,” he muttered, pulling his blade back. “We can’t be found here.”

You hesitated, your instincts screaming to keep your guard up but the sound of the approaching Danes left little choice, and you carefully lowered your own weapon.

“Fine,” you said through gritted teeth. “But if you try anything—”

“Save the threats,” he snapped, his eyes briefly meeting yours. “Let’s go.”

He grabbed your wrist, and before you could protest, he was leading you through the dense forest. You stumbled after him, the sounds of pursuit growing fainter with every step. He moved like a shadow, his pace quick but deliberate, his grip firm enough to keep you close without hurting you.

When you finally stopped, your chest was heaving, and your lungs burned from the frantic run. It seemed that you had shaken off the pursuers at least for now. 

“Now,” he breathed, trying to catch his breath, “who are you really? And why were you watching the camp?”

He didn’t seem like a raider nor one from Kjartan’s men but he was clearly dangerous, and trusting him was a risk you couldn’t afford to take.

“I’m no one,” you said softly. “Just someone trying to survive. I’m no threat to you. You were not keen to be discovered by the Danes in the camp, nor am I. Let’s just part in peace.”

His lips pressed into a thin line. “Survivors don’t spy on camps full of Danes. And they certainly don’t carry daggers like yours.”

You glared at him, your fingers itching to draw the weapon again. “And what about you? You’re not exactly a farmer out for a midnight stroll.”

The faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Fair enough,” he said, crossing his arms. “Let’s just say I have my reasons.”

“Then maybe we should leave it at that,” you said with a sly smile.

He tilted his head, studying you in the dim light. “For now,” he said slowly. “But don’t think I trust you.”

“Likewise,” you shot back, even as a small part of you couldn’t ignore the strange pull you felt toward him. There was something about the way he carried himself, the quiet intensity in his voice, that spoke to you, that reminded you of something, making shivers run down your spine but before you could give it another thought a distant shout broke the moment.

“We need to keep moving,” he said, his tone all serious again. “They won’t stop searching until they’re sure the woods are clear.”

You nodded reluctantly as the distant shouts grew louder and suddenly the torchlight started weaving through the trees like restless fireflies. Both of you tensed, instinctively drawing your blades and exchanging a sharp glance. An unspoken agreement passed between you: survival first, questions later.

Then the Danes burst through the trees.

“Over here!” one of them roared, his axe glinting in the firelight, and more followed.

The man beside you—lean, quick, and deadly—moved before you could think. His blade flashed in the dim light, cutting down the first attacker. You followed, blocking a strike aimed at your side and countering with a swift slash to your opponent’s arm. The Dane howled in pain, but there was no time to celebrate your small victory as another man charged at you, forcing you to dodge and roll, barely escaping his axe as it came down.

You fought together as if you had had years of practice behind. You couldn’t help but admire the way the young warrior moved, his movements fluid and practiced, filled with wild ferocity. The two of you were a perfect balance as if this were a dance where each movement needs to be attuned to the other, seamlessly covering each other as the Danes closed in.

But there were too many of them.

A sharp blow caught you off guard, knocking the dagger from your hand and making you stumble. You groaned in pain as a Dane’s boot sank into your stomach, sending you sprawling to the ground. Before you could recover a blade was pressed against your neck.

“Drop your weapon!” the man yelled, jerking you to your feet and wrenching your arm behind your back. 

 “Drop your weapon, or she dies,” the Dane repeated, his eyes narrowing at your companion.

You snorted loudly, the sound sharp and defiant, despite the blade pressed against your throat. “You think that’s a threat?” you spat. “He doesn’t even know me.” 

You looked over to the young warrior, frozen for a moment, his knife and axe still in his hands, his chest rising and falling with rapid breaths. Something flickered across his face – annoyance, or was it concern as he turned, his eyes fixed on you for a brief moment before shifting to the man holding you. 

You could clearly see the hesitation in the young warrior, his jaw tightening, his movements deliberately slow as he scanned the Danes around all ready to resume the fight. And then he did something you hadn’t expected. He raised his hands slowly, letting the weapons fall from his fingers.

“I surrender,” he said with a steady voice. “Let her go.”

The words hit you almost like a blow. Why would he do this? He could have fought his way out and fled. You were a complete stranger to him. 

The Danes exchanged glances and one of them stepped forward, pointing his axe at the stranger. “You’ll come with us, both of you.”

Before either of you could respond, rough hands shoved you forward, the blade leaving your neck but replaced by the iron grip of two men dragging you away. Your companion was similarly manhandled and brought to walk next to you.

You risked a hidden glance at the young warrior beside you, as you still couldn’t grasp why he had done this. What was his plan?

“What are you doing?” you hissed under your breath, unable to keep the confusion out of your voice.

“Saving your neck,” he replied quietly, meeting your surprised gaze for a brief moment.

And that was when you saw them – his eyes. The light from the torches caught him just enough for you to see the young man’s face clearly for the very first time of your hectic encounter. But you didn’t pay attention to anything else apart from the eyes. They were of different colour. One blue, one hazel brown. 

Your breath caught in your throat. It wasn’t possible. It simply couldn’t be. 

You turned away as quickly as you could, stumbling over a tree root. The grip on your arm twisted behind your back painfully tightened but you almost didn’t notice it, your mind too busy trying to reconcile the image before you with another one. 

The mismatched gaze of a boy you had trusted, the boy who had stood beside you beneath a makeshift arch, who had held your hand as your blood mingled. The son of the man who had destroyed everything – your life, your family, your dreams. Your entire world, reduced to ash and bitter memories, and he had been part of it, whether by blood or by silence. 

You shook your head in a silent dialogue with yourself, your pulse pounding in your ears. It can’t be him, you told yourself. It isn’t him. But even as you repeated the thought, a part of you still whispered that it might be. And if it was, you didn’t know whether to feel relief, rage, or something else entirely.

—-----------------------------------------------------

The coarse rope bit into your wrists with each futile struggle trying to loosen it. You sat with your back pressed firmly against the rough bark of the tree. The Danes had done a thorough job, binding the two of you on opposite sides of the same tree so tight to make even the smallest movement uncomfortable. 

Your companion on the other side of the tree, if one could call him that, had been absolutely silent all this time. Being a bit uncooperative when it came to letting himself be tied, he had earned several heavy blows to his abdomen and a split lip.

You shifted slightly, testing again the ropes that bound you both, and hissed as the fibers just dug deeper into your skin. It all just made no sense. It just couldn’t be him. The Kjartan’s men, you’d been spying on, were out to kill him and had tied him up without hesitation. They hadn’t recognized him as one of their own, as Kjartan’s blood.

You bit your lip, trying to coax both your body and mind to relax. 

—----------------------------------------------------

Sihtric leaned his head back against the tree. The sharp ache that radiated from his ribs almost made him groan. The blows he’d taken were nothing new; the pain being a constant companion in his life had long ceased to bother him. But this - being tied up, unable to move freel - this clawed at something deep inside him, making his skin crawl.

He clenched his fists against the rope, hoping that the sharp pain in his wrists would stop his mind from wandering back to the dark days under Kjartan’s roof, where being bound wasn’t just punishment but a lesson in submission, a lesson in unworthiness of his life to his own father. 

He had vowed to himself long ago never to let anyone have that power over him again. Yet here he was, beaten and bound like a dog because he had been foolish enough to be distracted.  

He cursed himself for his carelessness. He had seen the torches, heard the shouts, he knew the risk, he should have just left and run, yet he had lingered, drawn to you like a moth to flame. Why on earth had he decided to draw you with him?

There was something about the woman who now sat on the other side of the tree, that tugged at a part of him he didn’t understand. 

Sihtric closed his eyes, trying to force the thought away, but it lingered. With a loud scoff he hit his nape against the bark of the tree in frustration just to wince in the pain.  It had been stupid, yet he knew he would do exactly the same all over again.

He felt you shifting, straining against the ropes, testing their strength over and over again. It must be painful, he thought, yet you didn’t give up, you must have been scared.

“Hey, survivor, are you afraid?” he suddenly found himself asking, somewhat surprised by the hoarse sound of his own voice. “Spare your strength. You’ll need it. You’ll see, I’m getting us out of here.” 

The silence around the both of you stretched, broken only by the distant murmurs of the Danes, sitting at the fire. You just snorted at the stranger's question. 

Afraid? You couldn’t even remember the last time you were afraid. 

People are afraid if they have something to lose, something they care about. You had nothing. The last faint hope had left you as the rumors reached you that your brother Ragnar – the only one from your family who was not there on the night of fire – had suffered a shipwreck at the coasts of Ireland. 

You were alone in this world, you had nobody to care for, nothing to lose. You had nothing to live for apart from revenge and that was not a reason enough to fear death, to fear anything. 

“Why did you do it?” you finally asked after what seemed like an eternity of silence. “Why surrender yourself to spare me? You don’t even know me.”

Sihtric tilted his head, staring at the dark canopy above. Here it was. He had wanted to calm you, to reassure you, to give you something to hold on to and you came back with questions. Questions he had no real answer to. 

“Are you complaining that I saved your life?” he said, his voice almost hollow. 

There was a pause, and he could feel you shift against the ropes again. 

“No,” you whispered back. “I … I just don’t understand.”

Sihtric closed his eyes briefly, a sigh slipping past his lips. “Sometimes it’s just like that. It just… felt like the right thing to do.”

“You risked your life because it felt right?”

He let out a soft, humorless chuckle. “You make it sound foolish.”

“It is foolish,” you exclaimed, unable to hide the bewilderment in your voice.

“Then you owe your life to a fool,” he countered quietly. 

You opened your mouth to reply but found no words and before you could think of something more coherent to reply you were interrupted by the crunch of boots nearing the both of you.

“Get up,” the Dane barked, crouching down to slice through the ropes binding you to the tree. The sudden release sent a jolt through your stiff limbs, but you barely had a moment to process it before his hand clamped around your arm, dragging you to your feet. 

“Hey, where are you taking her?” Sihtric’s voice was sharp and there was an edge of worry beneath his tone, impossible to miss, as he struggled fiercely against his own bindings. His movements were desperate but ultimately futile, the ropes biting into his skin.

“Not your concern,” the Dane snapped, his grip on your arm tightening as he gave you a rough shove forward.

You stumbled, barely catching your balance, his bruising grip forcing you to move forward. The Dane dragged you toward one of the larger tents near the camp’s center, and your heart pounded against your ribs as you sensed your chance of escape nearing. You clenched your fists so tightly that your nails dug into your palms, the sting of it forcing you to regain focus.

Behind you could hear the young warrior’s voice, louder this time, laced with barely restrained fury, but it only made your captor laugh - a low, cruel sound that twisted your stomach in disgust.

—----------------------------------------------------

The Dane’s body hit the fur laden ground with a soft thud. You crouched down as you listened, fingers wrapping tighter around the hilt of the dagger you had snatched from the sheath strapped to his back.

“Men,” you muttered under your breath. “Cocksure arselings.”

You froze ready to leap, the faint rustle of the tent flaps catching your attention as a figure burst into the tent. You were ready to strike just to stop at the last moment as you recognised it. 

“Shit,” you hissed. “I could have killed you.” But the wide-eyed completely dumbfounded expression on the young warrior's face caught you off guard and made you let out a soft laugh. 

You always preferred a fair battle over the stealthy death in the shadows, but this time you had no choice. The majority in the camp were too drunk to notice anything at first and when they did it was already too late. 

You met the young warrior at the fireplace, both slightly panting, the blood covered hands and the eerie silence around you the only signs of what had happened. 

“Are you hurt?” he finally asked, his large eyes flickering with the same resentment that churned in your stomach. 

“I’m fine,” you returned, only now noticing the raw and bloody red lines around his wrists where the ropes had dug into his skin, betraying his earlier struggle.

“You want me to clean them?” you asked, your tone more calm as the adrenaline of the moment ebbed away.

He blinked, seeming surprised by your offer, then nodded slowly. “If you can spare the time,” he murmured, his voice low, almost uncertain.

“Hey, you saved my life. Please, let me thank you,” you murmured, reaching into the pouch at your belt and pulling out a strip of cloth, a small flask of water and a tin of salve, and you didn’t even notice the warrior's eyes widening at your words.

“Sit,” you said, gesturing to clogs at the fireplace. He hesitated before lowering himself, casting a few more surprised glances at your side.

Gently, you poured water over his wrists, watching the dirt and blood wash away. He flinched at the sting, but said nothing, his eyes following your every move.

“You shouldn’t have struggled so hard,” you chided lightly, trying to focus on the task but being constantly distracted by the sight of his muscular arms highlighted by the sleeveless cut of his armour. 

He let out a quiet huff. “Seemed like a good idea at the time. Didn’t expect you to be so quick to deal with him.”

You smirked, dipping your fingers into the small tin of salve and smoothing it gently over the raw, red marks on his wrists. “Guess you’ll think twice next time about underestimating me.”

As you reached to wrap a strip of cloth around his wrist, he pulled his hands back slightly. “It’s enough… thank you,” he murmured, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

You raised an eyebrow, noting the faint flush creeping up his neck. “Are you embarrassed to let me help you?”

“No,” he said quickly, though the way he avoided your eyes and rubbed the back of his neck betrayed him. “I just… it will hamper me if it comes to another fight.”

You took his hands firmly yet gently, pulling them back. “Hey, don’t be foolish. It will not disturb you more than those,” you nodded toward the thick golden arm rings on his upper arms. “But it will definitely hamper you if these get infected and swell. Hold still. ”

He sat stiffly, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, clearly unsure where to look. “I’m not used to—” he started, then cut himself off.

“Not used to what?” you prompted, glancing up as you tied the bandage securely.

“Being… taken care of,” he admitted quietly. 

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” you smirked. “Even warriors need someone to patch them up sometimes.”

“You’re good at this,” he muttered a mixture of gratitude and shyness in his voice, and you smiled, catching the faintest trace of a blush appearing on his cheeks. 

You had no idea why you agreed when he suggested spending the rest of the night in the camp. Every fiber of your being screamed at you to run, to leave it all behind  and never look back, but you just nodded and followed him to the bigger tent in the middle of the camp. 

“I’ll keep watch. Get some sleep, survivor,” he smirked, showing you toward the keep of furs.

A hundred times, you wanted to ask it, to ask for his name, and a hundred times you swallowed back the question burning on the tip of your tongue. You wanted to know and you didn’t. You didn’t know what to do with the truth. You had been angry for so many years, partially blaming Sihtric for what had happened, questioning why he hadn’t warned you, why he hadn’t come for you when everything fell apart. 

You had no idea what you would do if this young, strikingly handsome, strong and deadly warrior was indeed the same wide eyed boy you had kissed on the edge of a meadow, your blood brother, the oath breaker.

You hadn’t realised how tired you were until you settled down into the softness of the furs. You wanted to stay awake, to keep an eye on him but the uneven struggle ended far too quickly and your eyes fell close. 

Sihtric settled himself near the entrance, picking up the only task that made sense - sharpening his blades. Not that they really needed sharpening but he needed something to focus on – the repetitive rhythm of the movement, the sound of stone gliding over the blade, the simple feeling of purpose in what he was doing.

Not that it really helped this time as his attention kept straying, his eyes constantly drawn back to you.

He couldn’t explain it, that strange pull he felt toward you, that familiarity, that sense that he had known you for ages, that thrill and the way his heart had jumped in his chest when your fingers brushed against his skin.

You suddenly moaned in your sleep, your breathing turning shallow and uneven as you twitched and shifted. Sihtric stilled, his brow furrowing as he slowly set the blade aside.

He knew this all too well - the restlessness of the nights, the fear of closing his eyes, the helplessness of being dragged into the realm where will withdrew and dreams took over. And for all your courage, fierceness and confidence in waking life it seemed that in that realm you were hopelessly losing your battle. 

“Hey,” he whispered, slowly crouching closer and placing his hand on your shoulder. You stirred, but didn’t wake up. “You’re alright. It’s just a dream.”

For a moment Sihtric just watched the shadows dancing on your face, hoping that you would calm down, but your breathing grew more ragged and another whimper rolled over your lips. 

He didn’t know whether it was a conscious decision or something else more primal, more instinctive as he carefully laid down next to you and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close against his chest. 

You were ripped from your sleep by the feeling of two strong arms wrapping around you and pulling you into a tight embrace. You instinctively froze, willing your breath to even out and preparing yourself to reach for the blade.

“It’s just a dream,” the soft murmur of his voice caught you by surprise. “You’re safe now.” 

The moments passed on but nothing happened, he held you just like that, his muscular chest pressed against your back, his embrace steady, firm but at the same time so gentle and protective. You couldn’t even remember the last time someone had held you like that. Closing your eyes, you feigned sleep, somewhat ashamed for having expected the worse.

He let out a quiet sigh of relief, feeling your body relax and your breathing calm down, but his hold didn’t loosen.

“You could be her…,” he whispered, his voice almost too faint to hear. “If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you are her.”

You felt his frame tremble slightly and unable to pretend anymore, you shifted in his arms and turned to face him.

“I could be who?” you asked, holding your breath.

“Hey, I didn’t mean any harm,” Sihtric was quick to let you go, embarrassment flickering over his handsome face.

“It’s alright,” you whispered. “Please… just hold me again. Can you?”

“If you want me to…” he murmured and his strong arms wrapped around you once more as you hid your face in his broad chest. 

He nuzzled softly against your hair, his arms tightened slightly around you, as if clinging to some distant memory.

“I was just a boy when I met her,” he continued and you could clearly hear a faint quiver in his voice. “She saved me. She saved me in so many ways, it’s even hard to explain. The only person who looked at me like I was something worthy, who laughed with me, who shared bread with me.” 

Your heart almost stopped beating as you listened, your nose buried in Sihtric’s chest, fighting back tears.

“But I couldn’t save her. I was there but I couldn’t save her. My father found it amusing to let me watch. He probably knew I would try to warn her, so he took me with him just to tie me up and let me watch how he burned down her house.”

“You look so much like her. The way you move, the way you speak…” Sihtric’s voice trailed off but then he suddenly continued: “Tomorrow Dunholm will fall,” he said with such certainty in his voice that you raised your head to look into his mismatched eyes.

“Why are you telling me all this?” 

“I thought you’d want to know. I think you are here for the same purpose I am. The same purpose my lord Uhtred and his brother Ragnar are here for.”

You kept looking at him, unable to avert your gaze. 

“I’m not a complete fool. Even if you might think otherwise. There must be a reason you’ve been watching the Danes come and go around Dunholm. I’m guessing your reason is the same as ours - Kjartan.”

You wanted to speak, to ask more, but the lump in your throat made it impossible. Your whole world had just turned upside down. Uhtred and Ragnar were alive. It was impossible. Sihtric was here, there couldn't be any doubts about that anymore, holding you in his arms. That was even more impossible. 

This must be a dream, you thought, shifting closer to the muscular frame of your long lost friend, and if it was so, you certainly didn’t want to wake up from it, not now at least.

You waited and waited to be awakened from this strange dream, but the longer you waited the more you realized it wasn’t a dream. You felt Sihtric’s breath eventually evening out as his grip on you loosened and sleep finally claimed him, though his arms still rested around you. 

It was when the dawn finally broke that you slipped out of his grasp, careful not to wake him, and left the tent quietly.

Sihtric woke not long after, rubbing the remnants of sleep from his eyes. He had slept surprisingly peacefully but the drowsy smile on his lips faded the moment he realised the space beside him was deserted. He sat up quickly, his eyes scanning the tent for you, but it was empty.

—----------------------------------------------------

You adjusted the helmet you had taken from one of the dead Danes in the camp, your face carefully smeared with mud. Just in case. You didn’t want to be recognised, at least not yet, not before you had found out what was happening, before you knew that Sihtric’s words were not just some cruel game, as you still couldn’t make yourself believe they were true. 

It wasn’t hard to find Ragnar’s forces and slip between the warriors just a few moments before the assault started. 

Eyes wide open you watched the massive frame of your brother, leading the suicide attack on Dunholm’s gates. What was he doing? Had the whole world gone mad? Had the Norns chosen you to entertain themselves, letting you find your brother only to see him heading into certain death?

Your surprise grew even bigger when the impenetrable gates of Dunholm suddenly cracked open, leaving the fortress to the mercy of the attacking Danes. 

From that moment on nothing else existed apart from the deafening roar of war cries, the clang of weapons and the frenzy of battle. You fought like a demon, too immersed in the intoxicating feeling of being invincible, unstoppable, the harbinger of death and justice. You had never felt like this before.

You were reckless, drunk on the bloodlust and adrenaline, and it would have cost you your life if a pair of steady and strong arms hadn’t yanked you aside, burying an axe in the chest of a hulking, red faced Dane.

“Trying to survive, huh? Try harder!” Sihtric shouted, sinking his foot in the gut of another Dane about to swing his blade at you. 

It was all over far too quickly, your head spun and you had to steady yourself against a pillar as you watched Ragnar butchering Kjartan, as you saw Uhtred pulling him away from the mutilated corpse and Thyra emerging from the back of the yard.

And then among all the chaos there was Sihtric, standing in the front line and watching the death of his father, triumph and satisfaction in his face fading into disgust and resentment. 

—----------------------------------------------------

“Here you are,” you exclaimed as you found Sihtric sitting motionless on a hillock outside the fortress. 

He didn’t respond, didn’t turn your way, his eyes fixed somewhere ahead on a small pile of stones.

You hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the right time, maybe he needed space, and yet you couldn’t wait, you couldn’t leave him like this. 

“I was looking for you all over the place,” you said as you reached him, placing your hand on his shoulder.

Sihtric flinched at your touch, a faint shudder coursing through him, but he still didn’t turn to face you.

“You found me,” he said at last.

You lowered yourself beside him, your hand still on his shoulder. “Hey…” you began, but he didn’t let you continue.

“They’re all gone,” he murmured, as if speaking more to himself than to you. “Every single one of them. They’re all dead.” His voice cracked, and his fingers dug into the dirt beside him.

“I’ve had my revenge. And what? It didn’t bring them back. It didn’t make it easier.” He paused, his jaw tightening before he finally turned to face you. “There’s nothing left for me. No family, no purpose, nothing.”

“That’s not true,” you said, your trembling fingers squeezing his shoulder. 

“You don’t understand,” Sihtric interrupted you angrily. “I couldn’t save them. Not her, nor my mom. The only two people to ever care about me, and both ripped from this life by the man whose blood runs in my veins. And nothing I do - nothing - will ever bring them back.” Sihtric’s gaze shifted back to the pile of stones in the distance.

“Sihtric, please listen to me,” your voice quivered as you reached for his hand. He didn’t protest, didn’t pull away. He didn’t even seem to register that you’d called him by his name—something he hadn’t shared with you.

“I … I have to tell you something… I thought I’d lost everything too. My family, my home, even the sense of who I am…,” you swallowed hard, feeling the tears welling in the corners of your eyes but you didn’t fight them back, you let them flow freely, you didn’t even wipe them away. “But I was wrong. There’s always something to hold on to. There’s always someone.”

“Not for me,” Sihtric murmured, pulling his hand from yours.

“Sihtric, you did save her. You saved her so many times and you kept saving her without even knowing it. I let grief cloud my mind, cloud my judgement. I blamed you for what happened, blamed you for being Kjartan’s son, for not coming to warn me, for abandoning me, for breaking your oath. But the truth… The truth is, it was me. I was the oath breaker. In my grief and self righteousness, I never even thought to look for you. I never realised that you might have needed me. I’m sorry, Sihtric. I’m so, so sorry.”

Sihtric turned to you and the confusion and disbelief written plainly across his face made you laugh bitterly.

“By the gods, Sihtric… Do you really not recognise me?” Hot tears pouring down your cheeks, you rolled up your sleeve, stretching your arm toward Sihtric.  

Sihtric’s gaze dropped to your forearm. Carefully his hand reached for your arm and  his fingers brushed over the uneven, jagged scar, running along your skin, tracing it as if trying to prove it was real.

He didn’t say anything, he didn’t even look at you, his gaze fixed on your arm and as the silence stretched fear slowly crept under your skin, fear that he would be angry, that he would hate you for not revealing yourself sooner. 

Sihtric exhaled shakily, lowering his gaze to the ground, and your heart sank into your gut, expecting the worst, but then his fingers intertwined with yours, squeezing them almost painfully.

“Wherever life leads you, 

You will not walk your path alone,” he whispered, raising your palm to his lips. 

You cupped his jaw, letting your thumb hesitantly hover over his lips, and he leaned into your touch, his eyes falling shut, the dampness on his cheeks telling you more than any words ever could.

"I knew it. Deep down I knew it," he whispered.

Sihtric’s arms hesitantly encircled your shoulders, pulling you into a tight embrace and you melted against his muscular torso. You both just sat there for what felt like a lifetime, in silence, savouring the moment and each other's presence. 

You were no kids anymore. Sihtric’s broad chest heaved in the rhythm of his breath and you pressed your ear tighter against him, listening to the beating of his heart.

It was against all odds but you both were alive and here and that was enough. You didn’t even dare to think about something else. You were content in this moment, and you wanted it to last forever.

“Do you remember that last dawn? In the meadow?” Sihtric’s voice brought you back to reality after what felt like a lifetime of silence.

You tilted your head to look up at him, and his mismatched eyes met yours.

“You can’t imagine how often I’ve thought about it,” he said, “wishing I had been braver.”

“Braver?” you whispered, reaching up to touch his face. “You are the bravest man I’ve ever met, Sihtric.”

“But I wasn’t brave enough for this,” he smiled and with a soft exhale, he leaned in.

The kiss was hesitant at first, his lips brushing against yours in silent reverence, almost as if he were afraid you might disappear if he moved too quickly. But it got more demanding with each passing moment, melting away all hesitation, all doubts, all fears and leaving just the two of you, completely lost in each other and in the salty taste of tears on your lips.

[ally1uvsu]

Life was a willow, and it bent right to your wind. / Choi su-bong (Thanos) x Nam-gyu.

⨉⠀⠀─⠀⠀Series .⠀›⠀Trans Namgyu Week 2025⠀‎ꪆৎ day 1; gentle sex/praise

·⠀warnings info⠀· NSFW — . wc; 8.7k (good luck)

summary; Thanos’ life was boring, etiquette, classes, politics, as the heir of the throne his routine was the same for almost twenty one years. Never once had he considered marriage until his father had the idea to set him up with the princess of a nearby kingdom for an alliance. But maybe it wasn’t so bad after all when he got to know her brother, that intrigued him more than anything.

info; Ooc Thanos (DEFO), Alternative Universe - Kingdom, he's slightly more depressed but still a druggie, But tbh I think thats how he acts when sober, Formal language used, But they all (young ones) know how to use improper language, Namgyu is Mi-na's adoptive brother, trans namgyu, Trans Male Character, Love at First Sight, Semi-Public Sex, Mina and Thanos r lowk besties, Eventual Smut, pure filth, Mina is the #1 thagyu shipper, Penis In Vagina Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Dirty Talk, It's sweet tho, Praise, Bottom Namgyu, Top Thanos, Love Bites, Smoking, Mentions of drugs, Sex on a treehouse while it rains, Missionary Position, Cunnilingus, Cum Eating, Creampie, Hair-pulling, Vaginal Fingering, slightly pathetic Thanos, but he's also way more pathetic during sex, Begging because we love pathetic men, Softdom Thanos, Thanos Is Whipped, They're both lowk soft in this, Thanos POV, This is probably more of a sober Thanos char study, But still filthy imo, Thanos has grey-blue eyes ide what y'all say, Gentle Sex, Scars, Unsafe Sex, They're so stupid bro they're going to get pregnant, Sober thagyu!!!

notes; I recommend you all listen to willow (by taylor swift) while reading this ngl, it’s a vibe 🙏🙏 but gen, I hope y’all like this cuz I poured my soul into it 😭😭 also this is a little series I posted on ao3 and decided to post here!! Feel free to check it either here or there, it’s the same nametag<3

Learn about politics, carry on with your duties, listen to your father and mother lecture you, worry about ruling a kingdom, learning proper etiquette.. that was all part of Thanos' day.

To be fair, he didn't care anymore. He was burnt out, practically dragging himself to his duties, the only reason he did so was because he was high most of the time.

It was no wonder the young Prince began acting like such a rebel. His parents were pissed, sure. But did Thanos care? No.

Hell, he became as rebellious as he could. Dying his hair purple, acting all quirky and showing/expressing how he felt out loud, smoking, drinking.. and not even going by su-bong anymore.

His family didn't have a choice, though. Being an only child meant Thanos one way or another would inherit the throne, he would become a king someday and would have to watch over his people.

With a queen. That, speaking of which, his father has been looking for insanely. Thanos didn't get the fuzz of it, he didn't want to get it, no, not at all. It wasn't that Thanos didn't like women, quite frankly, he liked both as long as they fit his standards that weren't that high either.

The poor man just didn't want to be added into another pile of troubles, moreover of marrying a woman he didn't even know for business. But Thanos didn't have a choice, even if he was destined for the throne, his father was still the king and made the choices.

So, his father did the most logical thing ever, arrange a royal dinner for him to meet up with his future wife.

This was boring, he thought as he walked past the numerous doors in the castle. Head casted low and jaw set in slight frustration, it was around afternoon. He had to get ready soon, but God help him, Thanos didn't have the slightest bit of motivation.

But either way, he still went inside his room where the servants waited. They dressed him in one of his finest suits, expensive pieces of clothing that albeit expensive and fancy were nothing short of unnecessary.

They fixed his hair, not in a way Thanos normally wore but in a more neat way, it shouldn't have bothered Thanos as much as it did but hell, he preferred the way he messily adjusted his hair better.

And finally, lastly, he sprayed on some expensive cologne. It was one of the smells he didn't find repugnant, most of the overly priced perfumes the royal palace was packed with gave him a huge headache. This one was his favorite one, neutral and yet perceptible. Not too sweet, not too bland.

The sun casted golden lights throughout the floor of his bedroom, and the servants slowly but surely retreated, Thanos didn't even had to ask twice. Growing up for twenty years in the same room and same place with the same people- well, the ones that didn't get fired, at least. Made most of the servants know Thanos liked to be alone at times like this.

Getting out of the fixation he had with his eyes locked to a point on the wall, Thanos began rummaging through one of his drawers, the drawer of the nightstand that was kept right next to his bed.

Pulling a string at the very bottom of the drawer, he lifted it to find a hidden counterpart where he mostly kept a few drugs he managed to sneak into the castle. But today, since he couldn't really get high, he reached for the cigarette pack instead.

Alongside that, he grabbed a lighter. Feeling the familiar weight of it right on his back pocket, maybe he could take a smoke before dinner, the smell of it would just be masked by the ungodly amount of alcohol they'd be serving for the banquet.

So, instead of staying in the balcony where his father or mother were more prone to find him, Thanos walked out of his room.

Step by step, his chest grew heavier. He didn't want to do this, his parents couldn't care less about how he felt, it had been like this ever since he turned sixteen.

His fingers itched, maybe to cut into the already scarred skin he grew to be familiar with overtime. But instead, he dug his nails into his palms, the familiar stinging sensation bringing a weird sense of comfort to his heart, that felt somewhat lighter.

He snuck through the back door, footsteps as light as he could manage to get them in these shoes. He was greeted by a warm breeze, and the sight of all the trees that were planted in the back of the castle, which led to a small clearing.

He hadn't gone there since.. fuck, since he was eighteen. He remembered exactly all too well how and why he never went there anymore.

-

"Hey! Come on, don't be a slowpoke." A familiar voice rang onto his ears, and then he remembered another girl running towards the same clearing. She was a peasant, daughter of one of the servants in the palace.

His feet were moving as fast as they could manage to, lungs hurting and heart thumping oh so loudly in his ears, Thanos once again felt like he was fifteen and hopelessly in love with the girl.

He giggled, and as they ran through the trees of the clearing behind the castle, they stumbled upon a treehouse. It was a little old, sure, but it could manage.

They made memories in there, year after year, every spring until towards the very end of summer, Thanos and her would be meeting in that same treehouse.

It became his safe space, one he never would expect to become such a hollow place in his heart.

And yet, it did.

One certain morning, Thanos was up and about the castle, looking for her. Nearing the entrance of the palace where she normally stayed to read, he froze as he found her and her mother departing from the palace, bags in hands. She looked over her shoulder, sadness and perhaps even sorrow etched into her features.

Thanos wanted to reach out, to run and grasp her, to make her stay, tell her everything he always wanted to tell her.

But a familiar pair of arms that always made him feel sick to his stomach held him back. 'I don't want a son of mines to be involved with someone out of royalty.' His father said, and ever since then, the little joy Thanos had in his life was just dull. Thanos never went back to that clearing that they claimed as theirs ever again.

Before he even realized, his feet were planted right outside of that same treehouse. Thanos let out a shaky breath, looking down at his feet as if he could still hear and imagine all too well their giggles of joy.

-

Before he could second guess himself, Thanos was climbing up the old ladder carefully. Situating himself nearby the door, leaning against it as he closed his eyes. A long sigh left him as his now half-lidded eyes looked inside the treehouse.

Thanos had no strength whatsoever to look inside, he'd feel more drained than ever if he did. So he decided to just take a smoke before the sun dipped below the horizon, knowing it would be time to leave for that godforsaken banquet when it did.

He reached for a single cigarette, fingers dabbing the edge of the lighter until it turned on, then, he placed the butt of the cigarette against the flame. Watching it catch fire, and then the lighter was back in his pocket.

He brought the cigarette to his mouth, head falling against the edge of the entrance of that treehouse. Taking a long drag, he could feel the smoke everywhere, soothing and relaxing his brain as he closed his eyes.

His fingers then reached for the stick, pulling it out of his lips as he puffed the smoke out.

He wished this was different, he thought. Maybe in another universe he'd be just another peasant, in another universe he wouldn't have to worry about the lives of people in a kingdom, and most importantly- he could love whoever the fuck he wanted.

Again, Thanos was lost in that loophole of thoughts. Only truly snapping out of it when he felt a burn against his skin, earning a hiss from him. He looked at the butt of the cigarette who had accidentally pressed itself against his skin, and then he noticed it left a little mark on his sleeve. Whatever.

He threw the cigarette somewhere inside the treehouse, deciding it was maybe time to go back inside.

He followed the same familiar way, purposely taking longer than he usually did. Basically dragging his feet as he walked towards the dining room.

He dreaded that place, he hated everyone in there. And he hated the girl that was possibly going to be his future wife.

His parents looked frantic as they finally spotted him, Thanos had to hold back a scowl. "— oh Jesus, where were you?! We were so worried you wouldn't show up, what even took you that long?" His mother said as she searched his face, Thanos only forced out a small smile.

"You made the right choice in coming, we all know that." His father said, voice in a low tone and authoritative as always. He looked at Thanos up and down, and then landed on the cigarette burn on his sleeve. His mother did the same, and she gasped.

"Su-bong! Were you smoking again? Aish, you know you have to be perfect! How will the lady take a liking to you like this?!" The woman said as she swatted on his sleeve, attempting to undo the harm caused to the fabric.

"Mom, it'll be fine— I.. I'll make sure to get along with her, okay?" Thanos shook his head, throat forming in a lump as he forced out a smile.

Surprisingly, his mom bought it. And he was met with her proud and bright smile as she beamed, exclaiming praises to him like her words many times were the exact opposite.

Their attention was dragged to the signals of the guards, a sign that the other family of royals had finally arrived. Thanos took a deep breath, controlling the urge to itch and scratch at his skin since he didn't have anything else.

A forced polite smile found its way to his lips as people began to flood inside the palace, face after face that Thanos didn't even bother memorizing, after all he was only here because of the princess he was supposed to marry.

And then, lastly, after so many unimportant people, came the princess and her family. Thanos caught the eye of a young man that intrigued him, wearing a navy suit and rushing past the doors not bothering with formality, maybe he was just forced to be here.

Thanos politely bowed before Mi-na, taking her hand and pressing her knuckles to his lips. She smiled at him, but between them, it all felt too fake. And despite only knowing each other for seconds, she seemed to know it, too.

"It is a pleasure to see you here, my lady." Thanos said as smoothly and gently as he could as he straightened up. "The pleasure is mines." She said with a returned smile, "Well, then shall we?" And with the nod of her head, Thanos took her arm and looped it around his, both of them walking in measured steps in their uncomfortable and unnecessary pieces of clothing towards the huge table where dinner would be served.

It doesn't take them that long to get there, given the sheer distance of the entrance to the dining room, and it leaves him room to fall back into his old habits of doing...well, nothing. He glances at the gardens outside the large windows, the darkness basically coating almost everything. Vividly recalling the smell of lilacs the beautiful royal guard posed. He looks at his feet and notices the lack of noise they make against the carpeted floors. He stares at the walls, taking note of the same patterns he's seen for basically his entire life.

And then, finally, big doors swing open to reveal the dining room. Loud chatter of people talking about politics or completely useful shit reach both of their ears, flowers mixing with each other every ten inches across the table in their assigned pots.

Everything was neatly set down, from plates, to the forks sitting there. This all feels way too overwhelming for Thanos, but he doesn't have the option to back down, not exactly- at least.

And then he hears his name being called, Mi-na's voice snapping him back to reality. Remembering he should be focused on Mi-na, his future wife all the time. "We should sit nearby our parents, shouldn't we?" The sweetness in her voice nearly intoxicated him, and Thanos had to control himself not to gag. "Sure, indeed we should."

And then Thanos was pulling the chair for her, once she was sat down and accommodated, he pushed the chair back against the table, not too far or too close. And finally, he sat down.

"Oh, don't they make a lovely pair?" A voice said before they even could get too awkward, it was Mi-na's mother. "Ah, thank you, your majesty. But I'm afraid nothing can beat how much of a beautiful couple you and your husband make. It is no wonder your daughter is just as beautiful as your union."

Thanos wasn't sure when he began to get polite or poetic, but frankly? He was just going with the flow, doing whatever he needed to be done, done.

"What a lovely young man you have raised, Soo-ah! Oh, I just know they'll get along so well. And not only that, it will be a huge benefit to both kingdoms!" Said Mi-na's mother, their fathers, on the other hand were too focused talking politics.

Dinner was served not too long after, everything looked delicious, many of them were eating as much as they could. Thanos, on the other hand couldn't seem to have an appetite. Every bite felt like a chunk of stale bread going down his throat, but he forced everything down, nobody could and should know.

The air felt far too suffocating, but lucky to him, Mi-na finally spoke up. "Mother, is it okay if me and Su-bong retreat somewhere.. quieter to chat? I'm afraid I can barely hear him."

Mi-na was sly, she knew her mom nor Thanos' mom or anyone really, was paying attention to if they had been talking or not. She was met with a permission to do so and a huge smile of her mother, as she tugged Thanos away by the arm, she could hear her excited but yet still calm and serene squeals of joy.

Stepping outside to the courtyard, both of them felt like they could finally breathe, that was much visible.

Mi-na barely knew the garden of this palace, but she still followed wherever her mind suggested her to go and ended up finding a small bench nearby a fountain, with the view to the window that gave them a look from the inside.

Thanos felt the silence grow awkward and suffocating, despite the new cold breeze hitting his face. Since Thanos didn't look like he was about to speak, Mi-na did first. "You don't look so pleased with this." It was stated almost matter of factly, was he seriously that easy to read?

Thanos only hummed in response, nevertheless. She could take it however she interpreted it. "Look, I'm not the happiest either, even if I look like it." Thanos' head perked up at that, brows furrowing. Normally, most girls would be dying to throw themselves in his arms.

As if sensing his confusion, Mi-na decided to just spill the beans. If she was truly destined to marry this man, the least she could do was tell him something very important about her, right? And if he didn't like it, well.. he'd have to get over it. "I'm a lesbian."

Thanos nearly choked on spit, eyes wide. And Mi-na burst out laughing, was it really THAT unbelievable?

"Wait- wait! You like girls?! Then why are you into the whole arranged marriage thing?" Thanos' mouth gaped open, he looked fucking stupid.

Mi-na, who was still recovering from her laughing fit, wiped invisible tears from the corner of her eyes as she smiled. "Fuck, you should have seen your face!" She said as she laughed just a bit more, recomposing herself. "I didn't have a choice, that's the thing. The economy in our kingdom is shit and we needed to join kingdoms with another to expand territory, which would be a benefit added to your kingdom, and then the economy part is better for us."

Mi-na explained, a mischievous smile finding its way into her lips. "Plus, there's one of the knights back home that I can't lie, she's nothing short of breathtaking." Mi-na had her eyes set on Se-mi, the aloof

Thanos thought he was doomed, but shit, a lesbian? Not that he had anything against them, Thanos himself knew he was bi, despite never trying anything with a dude. He just.. knew.

"And I thought I was the only one uncomfortable." Thanos snorted playfully, finally being able to properly breathe and use humor. "No, I swear to you, I was dreading coming here." Mi-na replied.

"Don't you have anyone, tho? Like, some sort of prohibited romance or anything?" Mi-na asked curiously, and Thanos stayed quiet.

Instead of holding her gaze, his eyes locked towards the window. Watching the blur of colors and people move inside, the chatter was still heard but not as loud. And then, his eyes locked into a young man- the same young man he saw enter the palace before.

For a second, Thanos was starstruck. His lips parted as he observed him up and down, his jaw nearly going slack. He was gorgeous, fuck, yes he was. His hair went down to the back of his skull, pin straight, with bangs tucked neatly behind his ears. His face was.. shit, his face was the most beautiful one Thanos had ever seen.

And when he finally caught a glimpse of his eyes, eyes that made him look almost like a cat, Thanos swore he forgot all about the girl he constantly was sad over.

But, he snapped out of it when Mi-na began snapping her fingers in front of his face. "Hello? Earth to Su-bong? Jeez, you made me talk all by myself, were you even listening?" She said a tad annoyedly.

"Who is he?" Thanos finally managed the words out, his mind snapped the perfect picture of the raven haired man, and he probably wouldn't be able to get it out anytime soon.

Mi-na looked shocked for a second, and then she began laughing ever harder. "You mean my brother? Pfft, do you even have a taste at all? He looks like a fucking wet rat!" Mi-na exclaimed between laughter, and Thanos despite knowing he shouldn't, felt the tip of his ears grow hot.

"Hey! Instead of judging me, can you at least tell me his name?" Thanos huffed, crossing his arms. "It's Nam-gyu, Roh Nam-gyu. The knights found him crying by his parents' body when he was a kid in a battlefield during war years ago, and we took him in. Hell, it's been eighteen excruciating years with him, we developed a sibling bond either way."

Now Thanos felt slightly guilty, he pitied himself sometimes even if it wasn't much- but Nam-gyu had lost his parents. "Oh, damn.." Thanos mumbled, and shook his head, not wanting to dampen the mood.

"You have a thing for him? I can set you guys up!" Mi-na said almost excited, practically formulating plans in her mind already.

"Hell yeah." Thanos blurted our, not expecting her to take it THAT seriously, but it wasn't like Thanos would mind being set up with him. "I'll do it! Don't worry, you're in good hands, oh my god finally that rat will have someone!" Mi-na squealed, clapping her hands excitedly.

And then, the sounds of footsteps faintly away were heard, and both of them were surprisingly quick to recompose themselves. "Your highnesses, my apologies for the interruption. But your parents, both of them, request the two of you inside."

One of the maids said quite gently, a gentle and warm smile gracing her old features as she retreated upon completing her mission, which was to deliver the message.

Thanos eyed Mi-na, who merely nodded as with a heavy and tired sigh, they looped their arms together and got ready to face the reality of the situation. She was a princess, he was a prince. No amount of acceptance over each other would ever change that fact.

They both sat down in their designed spots, Thanos assumed it wasn't that bad since the chatter decreased continuously. "My friends, thank you all for being present here today!.."

Thanos just zoned out, not caring if it was important or not.

He thought life was just boring, wake up, get dressed, eat, etiquette lessons, school lessons, read, read some more, get in dinner attire, eat with family, go to the golden cage that is his bedroom, fall asleep and repeat that again the next day and do that for almost 21 years.

Even if Mi-na got it, again, they'd still have to get married and accept their roles as king and queen of the nation.

With all his thoughts jumbling up into a mess in his head, Thanos focused on a point somewhere in the hallway. It was something out of habit he got whenever his father lectured him when he was too drunk, or when he started speaking crap. The royal family wasn't as kind and merciful as it seemed.

Even if he tuned out the sounds of his father speaking, his ears picked the faintest sounds of rain clattering against the windows, light at first, and then heavy. In his transfixed gaze, he managed to see a familiar silhouette wearing a navy blue suit sneak into the hallway and beginning to fast walk away.

Thanos recognized that as Nam-gyu.

He tapped Mi-na's thigh, and Mi-na got the hint. She pinched his thigh as a sign for him to go, and Thanos excused himself with a saying that it was an urgent matter.

While leaving, he managed to hear his father say that due to the weather conditions that were prone to only worsen, all of the guests would have a room in the palace to rest until it was safe to carry on to a trip back home.

Thanos however, was too focused on quietly trailing after the mysterious raven haired man that moved quietly but quickly through the oh so familiar halls of the castle.

Thanos couldn't exactly explain what attracted him so much to Nam-gyu rather than how fucking handsome he was. Nam-gyu looked rough on the surface, and yet easy to read- to cut through his story like a knife.

And yet, Thanos probably wouldn't know from the look on his face, judging by how stoic Nam-gyu looked albeit often using humor and sarcasm when talking to others.

But then again, Thanos would like to lose himself in that current of mysteries Nam-gyu looked like he was, like a mere cheap and priceless wine. The way Nam-gyu moved, how secretive he was.. it was as if he was begging for someone to follow him.

And Thanos would gladly do so, hell, his normally bland and hollow life was begging for Nam-gyu to take his hand and wreck all of the plans his father ever had planned for him.

After what felt like an eternity walking through the hallways full of paintings of unfamiliar faces and landscapes, he finally reached the back door. It was slightly ajar, did Nam-gyu know he was being followed? The thought made a slight pit of anxiety and excitement begin to grow in his stomach, a question, though, ran through his mind; what was Nam-gyu doing outside in the rain?

Before he could even second guess himself, he was stepping out. Feeling the raindrops fall and clatter against his clothing, wetting the fabric, his hair, his shoes.. basically everything.

And Nam-gyu was standing right in the entrance of the clearing, back to Thanos. How the hell could someone be so fast? Thanos wouldn't pry, his curiosity and desire to know Nam-gyu overpowered any of his side quest questions.

With slow, measured and tentative steps above the soil that slowly began to squelch under his expensive shoes, he finally reached Nam-gyu. Neither of them spoke, and for a second, Thanos began to believe it was a bad idea following after the other.

But Nam-gyu simply chuckled, turning his head to the side to meet Thanos' gaze. "You're not as quiet as you think you are, dude." Nam-gyu said, patting Thanos' gaze. "Aren't you supposed to be with Mi-na? I mean, you're getting married to her."

Thanos just shrugged, and began walking ahead. To his surprise, Nam-gyu followed. "I'm not fond of the idea to marrying her, don't get me wrong, she's cool. But one, she's a lesbian, and two, I don't think I'm ready." Thanos said briefly, following the path to the treehouse where they could privately talk rather than being listened to if they went back inside the palace.

"Oh, she told you? Damn, you must be pretty chill for her to tell you on the first day." Nam-gyu said without really questioning where they were going, he didn't mind how the rain was getting him all wet but he preferred to talk somewhere where they weren't getting soaked.

"Yeah.. she told me she's in love with some knight back to where you both live." Thanos said curtly but not totally humorless, not minding details as he began going up the ladder, and suddenly he was fucking glad that he had the roof and walls padded to keep the place intact ever since his old childhood crush left, they wouldn't get wet.. even if their clothes were nearly soaking due to the heavy rain.

Soon enough, both men were in a comfortable silence, sitting down on the floor of the old but familiar treehouse, at least to Thanos.

And then, he remembered. Reaching for the wood counter the treehouse contained, Thanos pulled out the cigarette pack and lighter he previously had left here before going down to dinner.

But he was no asshole, so of course, he offered one to Nam-gyu. "You want one?" He asked before lighting one stick up and holding it between his lips. "Hell yeah." The reply made Thanos grin, Nam-gyu was far more fun than Thanos called him out for in the beginning.

So, he lit another stick and handed it to Nam-gyu. Sitting next to him with his legs sprawled. The room fell into silence once again, the only sounds were the heavy rain clattering against the hard wood of the treehouse, the squelching of their shoes whenever one of them moved, and the soft puffs of the cigarettes.

"Isn't it too burdening? I mean, being the heir to the throne and all." Nam-gyu finally asked, and Thanos was taken aback. Nobody ever bothered to ask anything about that, not even if Thanos was fine. But he didn't lie, surprisingly he didn't feel the urge to do so. "It is, and honestly, if I could? I would get out of royalty. Be someone normal, I hate this formal shit and etiquette, I wish I could be more free, y'know?"

Thanos said quickly, basically rambling out what had been kept inside his chest for so long. He sighed, slumping his shoulders. Nam-gyu didn't seem to mind, not at all. Instead, the other man only patted his shoulder in an act of comfort.

"I'm sorry, man. It was never your choice, but hey, at least Mi-na isn't that bad despite calling me a wet rat." Nam-gyu let out a laugh that was half humorless half genuine. Matter of fact, he did look like he had a great sibling bond with Mi-na, just like she previously had mentioned.

Thanos looked to the side, meeting Nam-gyu's gaze. And once again, his lips parted upon staring into those eyes shaped almost like a cat's, Nam-gyu had the most beautiful black eyes Thanos ever has seen.

He didn't reply whatsoever, he was transfixed into those warm and dark orbs, and Nam-gyu stared back, right into his own grey eyes. It was involuntary how he looked down at Nam-gyu's lips and back to his eyes, and even more so when Nam-gyu did the same.

Thanos was fed up- deciding screw it, he couldn't be miserable forever, could he?

With the consent that Nam-gyu was on the same page as him, Thanos tilted his head to the side slightly and kissed him. It felt good, the blood rushed from his veins in a rapid pace and making his heart thump in his ears.

He felt teeth sink into his bottom lip, making him moan and open his mouth. Both of their tongues fought for dominance and yet danced in a beautiful symphony, and Thanos felt weirdly alive. His life was nothing but a willow, and it bent right into Nam-gyu's wind.

He felt hands, long fingers, dig into his scalp. His hands instinctively gripped Nam-gyu's hips, leaning forward slightly as they kept up their little make out session.

The cigarettes were long forgotten on the floor, already put out. That fire was out, but another was ignited within them both.

The lack of air made them separate, both chests heaved as their lungs worked to suck in as much as they could. Thanos stared at Nam-gyu, how his lips got all wet and red, and he didn't even give him time to breathe, he leaned in for another kiss. Kind of desperate, sloppy even. But the two of them were too comfortable to care.

Nam-gyu was the one to break the kiss, this time. Looking at Thanos in the eyes. "We shouldn't be doing this, you'll likely be engaged to my sister." Nam-gyu panted, and yet still gave Thanos a chaste kiss. They exchanged kisses between words, their actions in themselves were a whole contradiction. "She's a lesbian, and I want you. We both know this is for the greater good of both kingdoms." Thanos uttered back, and none of them touched the topic again as their lips clashed together, this time in a far more softer and romantic symphony.

Thanos traced his kisses downwards, kissing the corner of Nam-gyu's lips, his jaw, peppering gentle kisses there. And then finally, he connected them to Nam-gyu's neck. Thanos wasn't stupid to leave prominent marks, the marks he sucked on the other's neck was close to the juncture of his shoulders, descending to his collarbones as he unbuttoned his undershirt, all while Nam-gyu let out pants and moans here and there. Thanos found that to be the most beautiful sound ever.

His hands never really stayed still, either. One of them slid under the wet fabric of Nam-gyu's wet vest and undershirt, caressing the skin there gently. He pulled his lips back from Nam-gyu's collarbone to kiss the other again, it was something Thanos began growing fond of. Nam-gyu's lips were warm against his, so full of life and comforting.. it just felt right.

Thanos fingers' nimbly worked on Nam-gyu's vest and white undershirt, exposing inch by inch of wet skin caused by the rain, and yet, on the last button, Nam-gyu held his wrist. "Wait."

So Thanos waited, everything to make this as comfortable as he could for both of them if they really were going to do this. "You should know something, I'm not sure if you're okay with it but it's.. y'know, whatever." Nam-gyu didn't really know a better way to name it, so he just stuck to what he normally would say in awkward topics. Nam-gyu took a deep breath as the other watched, lips pursing and then finally, he let it out. "I don't.. have a thing, y'know? I'm transgender."

Thanos' mind was conflicted for a little, but can you blame him? He only grew up with the basic terms. Lesbian? Sure, two women who like each other, Gay? Two men who like each other. Bi? Liking both genders, but transgender?

Judging by how Nam-gyu said he didn't have a dick, though. Thanos guessed transgender people went by the opposite gender they were born as, and Thanos found that he didn't care. Which in return, made him realize he didn't want only Nam-gyu's body, because he didn't care however he looked. He just wondered how people in his kingdom accepted him, being the prince and all that.. it was likely he was already like this when he was found and nobody knew, but maybe he was open about it.

"Only Mi-na knows, she helps me when it's.. important days, but it's fine if you don't want to keep going, I get it—" Nam-gyu began again, looking a tad nervous to say so at least.

"I still want you." Thanos chimed in before Nam-gyu could get too nervous, and then he was unbuttoning the rest of Nam-gyu's wet undershirt. He swore he saw a huge look of surprise and maybe even joy cross Nam-gyu's face, it made him feel good. But he wouldn't press on it, too focused on the goal.

Nam-gyu was like a painting, the prince thought. Every piece of him was pure art, admiring and stripping him like this felt like observing an exquisite work of art. If Nam-gyu was one in a literal way, Thanos wouldn't mind wasting too much money on him. He would be one of the few far too overpriced stuff he'd buy in the blink of an eye.

Thanos saw scars, that's the first thing he noticed. He guessed these were from when he was younger, from the times in war. And then, he had two scars just below his chest. Thanos guessed he got it removed at some point, Nam-gyu always seemed to find a way to things, and that fascinated Thanos.

"You're so beautiful." Thanos uttered, thumb running over a few of the scars so gently he swore he could see goosebumps rise on Nam-gyu's skin. "Idiot, just get to the point, you're seriously making me throb." Nam-gyu hissed, sounding really more needy than annoyed or pissed.

"Someone's eager." Thanos teased, and yet didn't waste time to slip one of his hands down Nam-gyu's pants without really giving a warning, he chased Nam-gyu's lips, feeling the other being way more than hapy to comply.

His hand however, dipped inside Nam-gyu's boxers, and was surprised to find that Nam-gyu wasn't joking when he meant he needed it. He was practically dripping, hell, ‘I think I love you’ was the first thing passing Thanos' mind.

Two of his fingers found his clit, pressing down on it and rubbing slow, measured circles that were just enough to drag pleasured moans out of Nam-gyu, who was finally getting what he wanted.

The stimulation, albeit not much, was relieving. Considering how much he had been throbbing just from some sweet words.. Nam-gyu was fucking filthy for it but could you blame him? Not really.

"Shit.. yeah— like that." He said in a mix between a moan and a hiss between his gritted teeth, head throwing back in another moan that was muffled by the heavy rain outside when finally, he felt a finger dip inside of him. It took all of his possible willpower to not grind down against it, he never noticed initially how long Thanos' fingers actually were, but feeling it right now? Nam-gyu would think his fingers were enough to get him off perfectly.

Thanos slowly moved that finger in and out, swapping the same finger that had been on Nam-gyu's clit for his thumb, drawing moan per moan from the other. Once he was completely sure he was okay with just one finger, he slid another in. This time, he actually felt Nam-gyu clench around them, not being able to stop the string of moans falling from his lips.

"Shit, you're so wet— are you always this responsive?" Thanos was almost mesmerized by the man below him; and Nam-gyu relished in the attention. Feeling Thanos scissor him open while still genuinely fucking him in his fingers. "Not for many." Nam-gyu replied and Thanos' heart stuttered, a stupid grin finding its way to his lips.

Fueled by those words, he swapped from just prying him open to actually drawing out Nam-gyu's pleasure with his fingers solely. Driving his fingers up fast, and Nam-gyu nearly saw stars when Thanos was quick to find that certain spongy spot inside of him. If the rain wasn't enough to keep him quiet, the way Thanos began kissing him like he was starving for this would be more than enough.

The sounds of squelching every time his fingers move didn't go by unnoticed between their sessions of heated kisses, Thanos groaned against Nam-gyu's lips. Thanos was genuinely surprised on how wet Nam-gyu was and they barely had done anything much.

Thanos genuinely couldn't keep his mouth off of Nam-gyu, as soon as the kiss ended, his mouth was in one of his nipples. Tongue latching on it in a complete different pace from how his fingers moved, he was so transfixed he almost didn't get Nam-gyu's words. He mainly only got it because of how sweetly Nam-gyu moaned his name out, and Thanos swore he could faint. "Su-bong— oh, fuck! G-go faster, ah—"

"You're an angel." Thanos blurted out before he could stop himself, Nam-gyu seemed taken aback, but it didn't last long as Thanos indulged in his request. The pressure on his clit became harsher, constant, too. His fingers were fucking inside of him so well Nam-gyu couldn't stay fucking quiet. His eyes shut tight, thighs squirming and almost nearly clenching as he felt a warm coil in his core, bringing him closer and closer and closer until it snapped.

"Su-bong, oh- shit, oh my god!— I'm.." His words were like his state, messy. Messy as he threw his head back with moans he couldn't hold back, Thanos moaned against Nam-gyu's neck as he kept fucking his fingers into the other while he came, almost desperate to drag out any pleasure he could from him. Only truly slowing down to a stop when Nam-gyu was merely fluttering around his fingers.

Nam-gyu was panting, his stomach was full of butterflies and he felt alive. He whined as he felt Thanos slip his fingers out, he just had one of the best orgasms of his life but Nam-gyu was known for being a greedy man. He needed more. "Su-bong—" "I've got you."

Nam-gyu didn't even have time to express his needs, Thanos was already working on his pants and pulling them down alongside his boxers. The cold air hit his wet skin, but it was surprisingly warm despite the breeze making him slightly cold.

Thanos admired Nam-gyu like a fine piece of art, and Nam-gyu couldn't help but feel his ears flush. He wasn't used to this. "Asshole, stop looking at me with those eyes." But Nam-gyu enjoyed the attention.

"Well, what can I say? It's not everyday someone who looks like an angel is naked on my treehouse." Thanos said teasingly but he meant it. He really did. "Just fuck me." Nam-gyu whined, and if those words don't make Thanos groan, heat pulsating through him, then it's the way Nam-gyu's looking at him that does it. Eyes wet with unshed tears, face flushed and chest heaving, he's a vision, a plea written all over his face, and Thanos would be damned if he didn't indulge in what he wanted.

Thanos worked off his clothing that clung to his skin insistingly, every piece discarded somewhere on the floor, at least they could try to dry. Nam-gyu's lips parted, Thanos wasn't huge but hell, he was big. And he wanted him- no. He needed him, he probably would die (which is just him being dramatic) if he had to wait any longer when he swore he was so horny it was affecting the way he was thinking. "Come on, please."

"You're so impatient." Thanos said, almost amused. A shaky sigh leaving his lips as he stroked himself a few times before kneeling in front of Nam-gyu. His hands gently spread his thighs apart, to which the other complied. Gathering slick and Nam-gyu's release with the tip of his dick, Thanos had to really hold back to not cum just from the sight of Nam-gyu. He looked absolutely blissed out. "Su-bo—" Before Nam-gyu even had time to protest, Thanos slid the tip in, a moan leaving both of them at the sudden but not unwelcome sensation.

Thanos' hands held Nam-gyu's hips, grounding him down as he tried to genuinely have any sort of control over himself. The way Nam-gyu moaned and panted was doing absolutely no good for him, but he kept going nevertheless.

He began moving in slow, gentle thrusts. Not to move but to ease himself in, each inch sunken down to Nam-gyu's cunt just made him feel weirdly stuffed, so full, but full in a good way.

The air was filled with labored breathing and moans from both sides as Thanos kept sliding himself in, and then finally, he bottomed out.

Thanos felt like he could finally breathe, and if he thought he looked bad, hell, Nam-gyu looked completely out of it.

His eyes were screwed shut, his lips swollen from the making out session they had few minutes ago, hickeys bloomed on his neck where it was easy to hide. He was flushed, and he looked so fucking blissed out, genuinely happy, Thanos would say.

"Shit.. Su-bong, you're in so deep." Nam-gyu moaned, he could feel how his body naturally put the effort to accommodate around the other's dick, but either way, he felt stuffed. Not too much, not too little, he felt stuffed to the brim but yet not enough to push him over the breaking point. "I know, just breathe f'me okay? Relax." Thanos murmured, littering kisses over Nam-gyu's face. He felt corny, but honestly? It felt right, and whatever felt right and good, he'd do it.

"Please." Was all Nam-gyu ever needed to say to have Thanos moving.

He set for a slow pace, and yet it was also deep. Each drag of his cock along Nam-gyu's gummy walls felt heavenly, he could do this forever. Have Nam-gyu around him forever, shit, he'd probably go against his father if it meant having Nam-gyu like this, underneath him and blissed out anytime they both wanted.

Nam-gyu's head lolled back against the floor, not having anywhere to grab, he opted for Thanos's shoulders, gripping either sides in a strong grip to have some leverage for himself. "Please- please go faster, I'll lose my fucking mind—"

Nam-gyu was surprised as Thanos complied with his request quickly, maybe far too quickly but he couldn’t care less. He swore he felt his eyes rolling back, endless moans and pleas falling from his lips even if he wasn’t aware of what he was begging for.

“Look at you, taking it so well, hm?” Thanos said with that stupid grin on his face, but in reality, he was really just overwhelmed by the whole situation. In a good way, of course.

“You’re so desperate, how long has it even been for you?” Thanos said as he hooked one arm under Nam-gyu’s knee, throwing it over his shoulder and if Nam-gyu thought he couldn’t go any deeper, with how he was arranged right now Thanos actually managed to push further. Stars burst from behind his eyelids, nails scraping Thanos’ shoulders, “What would they think? The princess’ brother getting his needy pussy filled by the man his sister is supposed to marry, how do you think they’d react?”

Thanos whispered these words onto Nam-gyu’s ear, and he knew he wasn’t going overboard, not with how Nam-gyu clenched around him with every word. “I bet you’d like them to know, wouldn’t you?” Thanos said with a smirk, he wasn’t sure how he was managing to control himself so well, it took all of his willpower, really. The second he was in, he had to hold back to not cum right that instant.

Nam-gyu nodded, hell yes he’d like them to know. “Yes, yes—” He moaned, everything overwhelmed his senses, from how deep Thanos fucked into him, to how he felt close to another orgasm, to Thanos’ words.. it all made a heady cocktail in his brain that was nearly bordering too much.

“It’s okay, though. Because you look handsome during it.” Thanos uttered, leaving kisses all over Nam-gyu’s neck.

Nam-gyu wrapped his leg that wasn’t over Thanos’ shoulder around his hip, pulling him flush against himself. Nam-gyu felt as if he was being pounded into next week, but did he mind that? Not at all. He felt so close, just a little bit more and he’d cum— “Su-bong.. please, I wanna cum, please.” He whined, really the only sentence he managed to properly say since Thanos slid inside.

“Shh, I’ve got you.” Thanos mumbled, one of his hands reaching for Nam-gyu’s clit. Two of his fingers rubbing and circling it in the same pace, or almost the same pace, he fucked himself into Nam-gyu. “I’m close too, just hold on a bit, yeah?”

The air was filled with sounds of skin slapping against skin, it was nothing short of filthy. But nobody needed to know, right? Only the rain would know. “Look at you- shit!” Thanos groaned, Nam-gyu was pulsing constantly around his dick, his insides pulling him in as if his body never wants to let him go. “You look so handsome around my dick.. it’s a million or more worth of wons sight.” Thanos said through gritted teeth.

“Su-bong, fuck.. I’m gonna—” Nam-gyu moaned, barely handling how much he was near the edge, it was a huge overwhelming feeling that he didn’t know whether it was more painful or just pleasurable. “Shit, okay.. fuck, cum on my dick then, shit!”

And that was all Nam-gyu genuinely needed before he began gushing around Thanos, nails scraping hard against his shoulders and his back arching, it was all so good Nam-gyu would guess he was nearly floating. Thanos wasn’t any better, he was basically blabbering as his thrusts grew sloppy, hips stuttering as he fucked Nam-gyu throughout his whole orgasm. “In or out?”

Nam-gyu didn’t have much time to register or think, he just went with what his heart wanted, screw all logic. “In, please, just cum in me.” Nam-gyu said breathless.

Thanos wasn’t sure how he didn’t lose his mind at that plea, but his hands gripped the other’s hip and thigh where he had been steadying him so tight he would think it’d bruise, but none of that mattered.

He pulled back one last time, and then finally, as he buried himself as far as he could go, he came. Panting against Nam-gyu’s shoulder, letting go of his leg and just hugging his waist.

They stayed like that for a while, maybe minutes, maybe hours. It felt like a nice eternity, both of them were blissed out. The soft padding of the rain against the treehouse made the atmosphere feel serene and calm, and once their breaths regulated, Thanos straightened up slightly.

“That might have been the best fuck of my life.” Thanos said with a chuckle after sucking in a long breath, and it drew out a laugh from Nam-gyu along the way. “I can say the same, shit, I don’t think I’ll be walking straight for a few days.” The older man said with a playful scoff.

Thanos simply smiled, in that moment, he actually felt happy. He let out a contented sigh as he began pulling out, wincing and hearing a few gasps from the other beneath him as he did so.

Once he was fully out, Thanos was left to see the aftermath. And Nam-gyu looked gorgeous.

His skin was flushed, his previously neat hair was all mused and sticking to his sweaty forehead. He had marks on him, marks Thanos inflicted and nobody would know. His eyes were teary, his lips were red and wet, his cum dribbled out of him.

Thanos looked at Nam-gyu, who looked back at him, seemingly confused by the look on Thanos’ face, and then the other ducked his head between his legs, making Nam-gyu nearly yelp.

“Son of a bitch, I’m still sensitive-” Nam-gyu complained, and he was tired, too. “I’m just cleaning you up.” Thanos replied innocently, when in truth he just needed a taste of Nam-gyu, even if he’d taste himself in the process.

Without any further complaints, Thanos licked a stripe over Nam-gyu’s slit, feeling one of his hands tangle in his hair.

Thanos wouldn’t tease, and he’d also be as careful as he could to not overwhelm the other so much. Pressing a gentle kiss to his clit, Thanos finally slid his tongue in.

The taste wasn’t so bad, it was neutral. A little tangy, musky, but it wasn’t bad. Dedicating himself to cleaning Nam-gyu up, Thanos alternated between tongue fucking him to catching as much of their releases as he could.

Nam-gyu was moaning and panting above him, thighs tightening around Thanos’ head. Even if the intention was to just clean him up, it was inevitable how sensitive he felt, but it somehow still managed to feel good. It was as if Thanos had a way to make everything feel good.

Thanos on the other hand was just enjoying himself, finding this better than anything he did to relax. Even when he was sure he was done with his work, he latched onto that sensitive bundle of nerves, sucking on it gently and earning a whine from Nam-gyu. “It’s too much..” the other said as his thighs tightened around his head. “You can do one more for me, come on, handsome. I know you can.” Thanos’ words were muffled against Nam-gyu’s cunt but yet still audible.

Thanos didn’t do much, just really alternating between sucking and flattening his tongue against Nam-gyu’s clit, judging by how sensitive he knew he was, it wouldn’t take too long for him to cum.

Thanos rubbed one of Nam-gyu’s thighs gently, feeling them tighten around his head as Nam-gyu’s moans not only grew louder in volume but in pitch, and then he was finally coming again.

Thanos caught every single drop, or whatever he could catch, with his mouth. Busying himself as Nam-gyu tugged at his hair in an almost painful grip that Thanos didn’t mind at all.

Once his third and last orgasm subsided, Thanos leaned his head into one of Nam-gyu’s thigh. Watching how his chest heaved and his eyes struggled to stay open as he attempted to calm the shockwaves running throughout his body, Thanos simply smiled at the sight.

Once their eyes locked after a few seconds, Nam-gyu wasn’t sure whether to be embarrassed or amused by the stupid expression on Thanos’ face. “You look dumb.” He snorted. “Wasn’t what you were saying when I was deep into you few seconds ago.” Thanos retorted, joining in. “..You’re playing dirty.”

Thanos simply laughed it off and straightened up, wiping the remaining glistening juices from his chin with the back of his hand as he lay next to Nam-gyu, one arm draped over his waist as they faced each other.

For a few minutes, they just stared at each other. Eyes filled with a feeling none of them could decipher, love? Longing? Passion? The two of them were too tired to decipher.

As the minutes ticked by, none of them spoke up until Nam-gyu remembered the others would probably be looking for them. “We should go back.” Nam-gyu mumbled. “We can go later, plus, nobody knows of this treehouse. We can just say we hid somewhere when it started raining.” Thanos said as he carded his fingers through Nam-gyu’s short black hair.

Maybe they couldn’t be together, perhaps his father wouldn’t allow it. But one thing was for sure, Nam-gyu was a price Thanos would cheat to win.

[songmingisthighs]

[4.38] mafia!hongjoong × reader

⇀ boisterous and loud is one thing, but a couple who dare fight in public? madness

⇁ honestly i'm so much into this type of hongjoong

wc : 1.3 k

rating : mature; strong language, disruptive behaviour, basic premise of illegal lifestyle

warning : cussing, violence, depiction of criminal life, unsavoury language and actions

discretion : the author does not support any and all depiction of criminal activities in this story, anything and everything written is published for the sake of fantasy. read at your own discretion.

"YOU MISERABLE SON OF A BITCH!"

A whack echoed the pristine corridor of a hotel, accompanying the sound of a woman fighting with her husband in public. "Ow! You-" Hongjoong was about to scream back at you but you swung your purse once again towards him but missed as he ducked just in time. "Come on you big baby, you can get a gun shot or two but God forbid your wife smack some sense into you with a Birkin," you scoffed, dusting imaginary dust off of your custom dyed Birkin bag that became your choice of weapon that night.

Your husband glared at you and huffed, "Do we have to do this right now? You're acting like a crazy bitch when we are in PUBLIC!" He spoke the last part so loudly that people around you jumped in surprise before slowly trying to disperse in fear because they knew who you two were. How could they not? Everyone in the top social class knows all about the suave "businessman" and his wife who controlled not only the commodity trading market but also the government. Some people called Hongjoong a mafia but he called himself an entrepreneur. But at that moment, Kim Hongjoong was just a husband. Well, YOUR husband.

"You call me a crazy bitch one more time Kim Hongjoong and I will give you the beating your mother should've given you all those years ago," you huffed, challenging him. Hongjoong laughed sarcastically as he clapped his hands, "Oh I'm sorry your majesty, what would you prefer? Hot head? Lunatic? Psycho?"

It was a common knowledge around the people around you that you and your husband butt heads A LOT and neither one of you cared where you two were when an argument broke out. While some people were initially concerned, it was later revealed by the two of you that it was through arguing did you two fell in love with each other. So all the cussing and name calling and dragging ancestors and family members only amplified your passion for one another. Which was why Hongjoong felt the need to grab an antique vase from a display and smashed it to the ground.

Almost immediately, a person rushed over with his face all red and breath huffy. "Hey asshole, did you just smash that vase to the ground?" He had the audacity to ask and Hongjoong barely gave him a glance over with an eyebrow raised, "Yeah I did, so?" The answer only made the man frustrated because he suddenly waved over for the security guards stationed nearby to come before he glared at you two with his arms propped on his waist. "Are you fucking kidding me? That was a VERY expensive antique that my dad, the OWNER of this hotel got at an auction in London. Do any of you know what London is? Of course you don't what with your fake Birkin and cheap outfits. Go back to the dingy mannerless hole you're used to, filthy animals,"

The man whom you identified as the son of the hotel owner, which is ironically one of your husband's business partner as he had a share in the property, barely finished his words before he too got a good smack on his shoulder by your Birkin. As he recovered from the impact, he was met with your fiery glare and even with only one step forward, you seem to tower over the taller man in protection of your husband's honour. "Don't you fucking talk to my husband like that. Who the hell do you think you are?" The man glared at you and opened his mouth as he was about to answer, you beat him to it by slapping him across the face, "Think first and think well before you answer me, little boy, or I'll use your nutsack as a pin cushion." Seeing you so mad from seeing your husband being treated so disrespectfully by a Chad wannabe, Hongjoong sighed and tried to step in, "Honey, let's just go have that dinner, okay? He's not worth all the huffing and scolding," He put his hands on your shoulders gently but you turned around and pointed at him, your glare now directed at your husband. "Your nutsack is already mine by law Kim Hongjoong, don't make me exercise my legal rights," you warned.

All of the commotion and audience gathered (rather far away from the three of you because people were scared) managed to catch the attention of the Hotel Manager who jogged over with a smile on his face. "Good evening, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, how are we doing?" it was a stupid question but one portraying his anxiety. You raised an eyebrow at him and nodded to the now silenced asshole, still recovering from being slapped by a stranger, "Do you know this little bitch?" you asked, the vulgarity of your language did not phase the Manager whatsoever.

"Little bitch? Who the fuck are you calling a-" he was about to grab you by the shoulder, taking advantage of your momentary shift of attention like the coward that he is. But before he could reach you, Hongjoong, having been trained in self-defense, easily grabbed the asshole's wrist and twisted it around before pushing him to the ground, causing him to scream in pain from the position. "Ow! What the fuck!? Let me go! Don't you know who my father is!?" the man screamed which only made Hongjoong smirk in something akin to satisfaction.

The manager stepped in close to Hongjoong, almost in a pleading way, "Mr. Kim, please excuse the young Mr. Son here, he doesn't really know any better and I will see to it that he will be educated on our esteemed patrons myself," he pleaded. You scoffed at him incredulously and your eyes rolled with annoyance, "Esteemed patron? My husband invested for the majority of the development project, my husband is not just an esteemed partner, my husband is the only person who can call himself the damn sultan of this place if he wanted to." "R-right, my apologies Mrs. Kim, I will educate myself and young Mr. Son here so would you please let him go so I can escort him out myself, Mr. Kim?" The manager added, reaching to grab the still whimpering man from Hongjoong's grasp.

Luckily, Hongjoong got bored from listening to his pathetic noises so he just let him go and stepped over him to stand next to you, allowing the Manager to immediately get the man up. "Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Kim, I hope you two have a pleasant evening and I will let the kitchen know to prepare you a special dessert. On me," the man said as he hurriedly ushered the now weeping boy off before he could face another round of your wrath.

"You know," Hongjoong smirked as he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, "You look so hot when you're defending your husband, Mrs. Kim," he said before he leaned to peck your cheek. You rolled your eyes in feigned annoyance but the satisfied smirk on your face completely gave your truth away as you wrapped an arm around Hongjoong's waist, "You better not doubt that your dear wife will defend your honour, Mr. Kim," you pointed out, kissing him back on the corner of his mouth.

"So can we do it in the ass?" he added.

Your smile hardened and Hongjoong got his first response when your elbow dug into his stomach, causing him to sputter. "You can take that offer and shove it up your own ass, fucking prick," you spat before you walk away to the restaurant by yourself, swaying your hips intentionally to make a point to your husband.

Though in pain, Hongjoong couldn't help but chuckle as he stared at you, feeling his heart thump when you turned around slightly to give him a once-over. People called him crazy for "letting" his "old lady" "disrespect" him like how "she always does" but what they could never understand was that the "disrespect" was your fire, and your fire was what tied Hongjoong to you. Your fire was what made him so addicted to you. And he had no plans on letting that go anytime soon.

networks :

@sandsofire @kflixnet @pirateeznet

permalist :

@kodzukein @phenomenalgirl9 @skzatzloveismonsterous @memorymonster @surveilenceysystem @dreamlesswonder86 @maddiebabyxoxo @imababywolf @do-you-actually-care @marievllr-abg @ilsedingsx @wasteitonserendipity @bbymatz @noonaishere @honeyhwaaa @ateezourstars @yoongiigolden @camillelafaye @charreddonuts @kpopnightingale @starryunho @atinct @mirror-juliet @hyuckilstan @jayb17 @kpoplover718 @haatohwa @x-bluee @erinaimeexx @blackb3ll @mingiholic @itasluv @vampcharxter @meowmeowminnie @marvelous-llama @kawennote09 @stopeatread

[tinydefector]

Behind the Scenes - DC

Tim Drake x Male Reader Series.

Soo..... I might have decided to dip my toes into writing for DC, I'm still going to be writing Transformers Fics too but I really wanted to make this mainly for myself, it make turn into an x Oc but we will wait and see, the first part is mainly just the Prologue and it's Tim centred without a reader introduced yet.

_____________

Word count: 3.4K

Warnings: nothing.

Masterlist

Next

____________

Tim had been staring at the screen now for hours, fingers dancing across the keyboard as he went, he had fallen down the rabbit hole of another case. Honestly he wouldn't have cursed at himself getting so invested in another Riddler case, but in truth he loved the challenge, cross examining every little detail from the scenes, the Clues. In some ways dealing with Riddler was like a break for him, the Riddler despised him, he figured things out way too quickly for Nigma's liking and ruined His plans half the time, and Timothy revealed it. 

Tim wasn't interested in the riddles, no he was far more interested in the smaller details such as the barrel with a grain meal logo on it. It was so out of place, new compared to most of the other stuff that had been at the scene. It was possible he had somewhat narrowed down where Riddler was, and it was all due to the Rogue not being thorough enough. “Red Robin To Nightwing” he calls into his ear piece after switching channels. 

“Hear you loud and clear RR” Dick had called back. “I believe Riddler is in Blüdhaven, at BGM Grains factory or shipment warehouse from what i've been able to gather, he's starting to get sloppy” Tim remarked while taking a mouthful of his coffee only for his nose to scrunch up slightly at how cold it had gotten. 

“Hmm I'll check it out, Penguin’s also been making his rounds around Haven, I'll drop in and see if I can spot Riddler might finally catch him after the hell he's being causing B” Dick remarks, there's a slight static sound along with the whooshing of wind. “Keep me updated, I'm going to do some more digging, Oracle might even be able to tap me into the camera” he stretches slightly, his joints popping and cracking with a sigh before he focuses back in. 

“you're game, Weren't you meant to be in bed three hours ago, you have an appointment tomorrow at WE with manufacturing and Marketing” Nightwing remarked with a hint of amusement in his voice. Tim rolls his eyes before drinking more of his coffee, at this rate he would just make sure to have two caffeine capsules, some dayquil and most likely coffee before he leaves in the morning if Alfred doesn't insist on him having Tea instead. 

“ Hmmm, says the man who had Chief Delmore Redhorn up his ass, Must be fun having your boss pile you with paperwork and put you on mall duty” Tim retorts effortlessly, he was used to playing this game with Dick, the back and forth jabs over work.

 “Careful RR, B might decide to demote you if you keep showing up to WE looking like a zombie” he teases back which earns a scoff from Tim "that's what make-up is for Big bird, to cover up the baggage and Trauma That this family carries” he snarks with a roll of his eyes. There was next to nothing that Fitcover, some eye drops, caffeine and Cologne couldn't mask.

“Whatever you say T. But I'm serious if you don't log off, I'll be calling Oracle and tell her to disable your connection. It's 3:47am go to bed” Dick says sternly, which earns a huff From Tim. “Ah don't, I'll have Alfred down there to drag you up, it's log off time” Dick continued, and Tim knows he won't win this argument,  he was going on nearly 53 hours with the minimum of an hour nap in random spots. 

“Fine, Fine I'm logging off and heading up. Keep me posted on Riddler!” He huffs as he begins logging out of his account on the main computer. He sits there for a moment in the large seat contemplating moving before finally working up the energy to trudge his way upstairs. 

Tim makes it to his room or at least the one he stayed at when he was at the Manor, it hadn't changed much, just had a few less things in there than it used to. He grabs his antibiotics, promethazine, taking them with a large mouthful of water from the bottle he kept on the bedside table. he Kicks off most of his clothes deciding it was too hard to bother with anything more than his boxers, grabbing his compression gloves and fighting with them for a moment before he lays back in bed, tiredly staring up at the ceiling. It doesn't take long for the promethazine to make him drowsy on top of his fatigue and he is out shortly after. 

The next morning, Tim awoke feeling somewhat refreshed, his mind clearer than it had been the day before, less exhaustion and tension in his frame. The combination of the antibiotics and promethazine had granted him a night free of the usual nightmares and dreams that often plagued his mind.

He rolled out of bed slowly, his muscles protesting slightly from the lingering aches and pains. A hot shower helped to work out the kinks and tension in his body, the steaming water cascading over his scars and battle-worn flesh. He stood there for a long while just letting the heat seep into his skin, eyes closed as he enjoyed the momentary relief the hot water gave. 

As he stepped out of the shower, Tim caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. The dark circles under his eyes were still noticeable, but not as pronounced as they had been the day before. After drying off and getting dressed in his usual white button up and black slacks, He applied a thin layer of concealer under his eyes, carefully blending it into his skin to hide the evidence of his exhaustion.

Next, he smoothed on a foundation, the creamy substance helping to even out his complexion and conceal the faint, silvery scars that lined his cheeks - mementos from Joker. The scars were barely noticeable to most, but to Tim, they stood out more than anything, they had healed well only leaving very thin silvery lines, but they were still a reminder of what happened when he was 13.

Dressed in a crisp button-down shirt and tailored slacks, Tim looked every inch the successful businessman. Only those who knew him well could sense the weariness that still lingered beneath the polished exterior.

Tim entered the dining room, his footsteps soft against the hardwood floors. The smell of freshly brewed tea and toast wafted through the air. Bruce sat at the head of the table, newspaper in one hand, the other loosely holding a cup of tea. His breakfast plate half-empty was pushed slightly to the side. Behind the swinging door to the kitchen, the faint hum of a classical tune played as Alfred moved around, orchestrating the morning like a conductor with his symphony.

Tim offered Bruce a nod as he passed the table. He looked tired despite the dark circles under his eyes being concealed. There's a faint sluggishness in his movements. Without a word, he headed straight for the kitchen, clearly aiming for the coffee pot. As soon as Tim stepped into the kitchen, Alfred's sharp yet warm voice cut through the music.

"Master Timothy, don't even think about it. Coffee is hardly what you need right now. Have you slept at all?" He inquiries not even turning around to look at the younger man

Tim paused mid-reach for the coffee pot, his hand hovering above the handle. He sighed, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Good morning to you too, Alfred."

 Alfred turned, crossing his arms with the kind of disapproving look only he could master, the disappointed grandfather stare. The soft music continued in the background as he gestured toward the kettle. "Tea, Master Tim. Far more civilized and significantly better for someone who looks like they've just returned from the grave."  

Tim hesitated but relented. "Fine. Tea it is." Alfred huffed but began preparing the tea while muttering under his breath about "young men and their lack of proper self-care."

Tim returned to the dining room, plopping into the chair across from Bruce. The latter set down the newspaper, his piercing gaze settling on Tim. "You haven't been sleeping."  

Tim blinked, he was well aware he hadn't been sleeping, he had been doing reserch into the Head of medical manufacturing as this was now the third time this month, that Luicus had brought him to attention over it, and Tim had done his own digging, and noe Marketing and been trying their best to sway Tim into letting them raise the price of certain medical items. And that was excluding everything that had been happening while he moonlights as Red Robin.   

His tone is defensive. "I'm fine. Just had a lot to do." Bruce raised an eyebrow, the kind of look that said he wasn't buying it. He leaned back, resting his hands on the arms of his chair.  "You can't run on fumes, Not in the long run. You know that."  

Tim looked away, running a hand through his hair. Trying not to mess it up after styling it into the business look he normally did for board meeting and anything that involved him having to be at any WE sites. "I will catch up on sleep once everything with patrols, WE settle down. Riddler has been causing issues in Blüdhaven and Luicus and myself are suspicious of the head of drug manufacturing, so I've been doing digging"  

Bruce doesn't say anything but just continues to watch Tim. Before he gets the chance to say anything Alfred appears, setting a cup of tea in front of Tim with a faintly pointed expression.  

"So, about the meeting today. WE Operations and Marketing. What’s the agenda?"  Tim straightened a little, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten as he switched into work mode.  "The marketing team wants to pitch a new campaign to raise prices of medication such as Insulin, amoxycillin, Levothyroxine.” there is a slight sneer to Tim's voice over it. He hated dealing with the pharmaceutical marketing Team, not to mention the head of the manufacturing. They have been trying to sway him for months now over increasing prices for life saving medication. And WE had always prided itself on being affordable for everyone. 

 “ I think we need to replace management and look at other options for that Team, or replacements, they have been the main ones causing so much strife within the company. The Steel operations will be presenting their quarterly report, but from what Lucius told me, there aren't any major surprises. I actually enjoy talking with Mr Brill, his Teams deserve a raise, He ask about you often, wants to know if your coming in for another one of their Forklift workshops " There's a small smirk on Tim's face, he knew all about those workshops Bruce used to attend before he had taken over as CEO. 

Bruce frowned slightly, swirling the tea in his cup, as he takes a sip. "You know I don't involve myself much in the day-to-day anymore."  But there's a small smile on Bruce's face remembering the shock of so many people when he used to show up to those workshops. 

The conversation had shifted to lighter topics, Bruce still nursing his tea while Tim sat back in his chair finishing up his own tea, trying to muster some energy for the day ahead, as he still eyes the kitchen wondering if he could get away with coffee before he left for his meeting, even if he couldn't he would either get one while at WE from the breakroom or afterwards sneak away long enough to get one from the local cafe he frequent.

 Alfred moved about the dining room with his usual quiet grace, clearing away Bruce’s breakfast plate and straightening the table. As Alfred returned from the kitchen, he paused by Tim’s chair, his hands resting lightly on the back of it. His tone was casual, but there was a hint of purpose behind his words. "Master Timothy, if I might trouble you for a moment..."  

Tim glanced up, raising a brow. "Uh-oh. What did I do now?"  

Alfred gave him a long-suffering look before continuing. "Nothing, yet. But I was wondering if you might accompany me later today after your meetings. There’s a small, family-owned nursery I frequent for the plants that brighten up this dreary old Manor. They’ve just started their spring stock, and I’d like to see what they have this year."  

Tim blinked, surprised, it wasn't what he had expected to hear from the old butler. "You’re asking me to go plant shopping with you?" Alfred gave a faint huff, though there was a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Indeed, I am. Surely you can spare a moment from your busy schedule to assist an old man with something as simple as choosing a few ferns and perhaps a philodendron or two?"  

Tim leaned back, fingers linked together as he processed everything, "Couldn’t you just call them? Have them send over a list or something? Sounds like less hassle."  Alfred’s expression turned pointed, though his tone remained polite, he was making it very clear it Wasn't up for debate. 

"Of course I could, Master Timothy. But where is the joy in that? I’d much rather go in person. There’s a charm to it, you see. And, if I may be so bold, I think an outing might do you some good. Perhaps some fresh air and a bit of greenery might help shake off the exhaustion you so stubbornly insist on ignoring."  

Bruce chuckled softly from his seat, glancing between the two. Tim shot Bruce a mock glare before turning back to Alfred, this felt like a trap, a trap to keep him busy and his focus away from work and cases. His lips press into a thin line as he stares down Alfred, the older man fixes him with his own look. 

"Fine, fine. I’ll go. On one condition, we stop at my favourite Cafe and I get my ristretto, or Iced Lungo " He finally relented knowing he wasn't getting out of this, but he sure wasn't going to not put up some resistance over it. 

Alfred gave a small, satisfied smile, as though he’d just won a minor battle. "That can be arranged, Master Tim. Your company will suffice. Though, if I may offer a suggestion, do try not to have too much Caffeine."  

Tim rolled his eyes, though there was a faint grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.  "Yeah, yeah. That's my offer, coffee for company."  Bruce set down his tea, his tone light but teasing. "Don’t let him talk you into carrying all the pots. He’s been known to overdo it."  

Alfred turned to Bruce with a feigned look of innocence. "I assure you, Master Bruce, I wouldn’t dream of it."  Bruce gave him a knowing look, but Tim waved it off, standing up and stretching. glancing at the clock on the wall, his faint grin fading as the reality of his packed schedule loomed over him again. He drained the rest of his tea, setting the cup down with a soft clink against the saucer.  

“Alright,” he said, pushing his chair back and standing with a stretch. “I’ve got to head out. If I get to my office early enough, I might actually have a chance to breathe before the swarm descends.”  he said, pushing the chair back into the table. 

Bruce raised an eyebrow over the rim of his teacup, his expression somewhere between amused and concerned. “You mean you’re running off to hide before they corner you,” Bruce said knowingly.  Tim hummed, grabbing his blazer off the back of the chair. “Something like that. I like to call it ‘strategic retreat.’”  

Alfred gave him a pointed look as he passed by. “Strategic retreat or not, Master Timothy, I do hope you’ll consider pacing yourself today. Another cup of tea wouldn’t go amiss, either.” Tim paused in the doorway, glancing back with a wry grin. “Tea’s nice, Alfred, but I’m going to need something a little stronger if I’m going to survive the marketing team today.”  

Alfred’s brow furrowed as he turned to face him fully, his disapproval evident. “Master Tim, I do hope you’re not referring to–”  “Triple shot espresso,” Tim cut in, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, I’ll make it myself. Wouldn’t want to drag anyone else into my caffeine dependency.”  

Bruce let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. He knew Tim drank an awful amount of coffee but some days it really put others to shame “You’re going to crash hard later if you keep running like this.” Tim shrugged as he slipped his arms into the blazer and adjusted the cuffs.“Yeah, probably. But that’s a problem for later. Right now, I’ve got to deal with pharmaceutical marketing trying to convince me that price-gouging insulin is somehow good for the company.” His voice turned sharp at the end, a flicker of irritation breaking through his usual sarcasm.  

Alfred followed him toward the hallway, speaking as he moved. “If they press you too much, Master Timothy, do remember that you have the authority to shut them down completely.” Tim glanced back over his shoulder, his hand resting on the doorframe. “Oh, don’t worry, Alfred. I’ve been shutting them down for months. They’re just persistent. Like termites with suits.”  

Alfred gave him a small, approving nod. “As long as you don’t let them wear you down. And do keep in mind our little outing to the nursery later. Perhaps a few moments among greenery will help restore your... equilibrium.”  

Tim snorted softly. “Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned and headed down the hallway, his footsteps quick and purposeful on the polished floors. As he passed by the large windows overlooking the grounds, he caught a glimpse of the sunlight streaming through the trees, but he didn’t stop to take it in. His mind was already racing ahead—mentally preparing for the battle waiting for him at Wayne Enterprises.  

By the time he reached the garage, Tim was already planning his first move of the day: getting to his office before anyone else had the chance to ambush him. He climbed into his car, the engine purring to life as he pulled out of the long driveway, the manor shrinking behind him in the rearview mirror.  

The drive gave him a moment of quiet, though his fingers drummed impatiently on the steering wheel as he navigated the early morning traffic. He barely noticed the scenery passing by—his thoughts were too focused on the meetings ahead. The pharmaceutical marketing team, in particular, was already grating on his nerves, and he hadn’t even seen them yet.  

By the time he reached the Wayne Enterprises building, the city was fully awake. Tim parked in his reserved spot, grabbed his bag, and made his way inside, weaving through the bustling crowd of employees already heading to their stations. The elevator ride to his floor was mercifully empty, giving him a rare moment to himself. When the doors slid open, he stepped out into the sleek, modern office space that housed his team.  

Tim moved quickly, nodding at a few early risers but keeping his pace brisk. He wasn’t ready to be stopped yet. His office door clicked shut behind him, and he let out a small sigh of relief. For now, at least, he was safe. Dropping his bag onto the chair, he crossed the room to the small coffee bar tucked into the corner. The espresso machine gleamed under the overhead lights, and Tim wasted no time getting to work.  

“Triple shot,” he muttered to himself as he loaded the machine. The scent of freshly brewed coffee filled the room, and for a brief moment, it was almost enough to make him forget the chaos waiting just outside his door.  

Almost.  

Cup in hand, Tim moved to his desk and took a long sip, the bitter jolt of caffeine already doing its job. He set the cup down and powered on his computer, his inbox lighting up with a flood of unread emails. “Alright,” he muttered, cracking his knuckles, the ache slowly dissipating Into pins and needles. “Let’s see what today’s disaster looks like.”  

The quiet hum of his office was soon accompanied by the rhythmic tapping of his keyboard as Tim dove into his work, bracing himself for the inevitable knock on his door that would signal the start of the day’s battles. For now, though, he savored the calm before the storm, his triple shot espresso keeping him upright as he prepared to face whatever came next.

__________

[hatsbuckets]

To Burn - Price x Reader | Ghost x Reader

Pairings: Price x Reader | Ghost x Reader (no reader pronouns used.) WC: ~2535 Warnings: Canon Typical Violence. Burning, cauterization of wound. Not medically sound. Hurt with v little comfort. The word "fuck" multiple times. (If you can't handle torture in the games then I promise this one's not for you.) Short Vers: Reader gets injured, badly. Price and Ghost are desperate to keep them from bleeding out. The two do the only obvious reasonable thing of course. aka one of the worms got me bad and i let it write.

Sorta, not really, Proof Read.

Fuck.

Fuck. You were not going to win this fight. Close quarters combat was hard enough for you as is, but close quarters against a mercenary wielding a blade? Not a chance.

You held him off as long as you could, Price chattering in your earpiece about how he was almost there. Hang on.

You dodged another of the man's swipe, but your footing didn't hold. You tumbled back.

You barely registered the blade before it struck, the mercenary’s movements too fast. You tried to twist away, but the steel sliced into your thigh, and a searing, white-hot pain exploded up your leg.

You hit the ground hard, the impact jarring your already-shaking frame. Blood soaked into the fabric of your gear, warm and sticky.

“Hang on!” Price’s voice snapped through your earpiece, sharp and urgent. Almost there. He was almost there.

The mercenary didn’t care. He loomed over you, blade raised for another strike, his grin wide and cruel. You scrambled, legs weak, arms barely cooperating.

You didn’t have the strength to block.

A crack split the air, loud and unmistakable. The mercenary froze, shock flashing across his face before a crimson hole bloomed in his chest. The knife slipped from his grasp, clattering to the ground as he fell, lifeless.

Ghost stepped into view; rifle still trained on the body. His dark eyes scanned you, sharp and unrelenting, before he moved in closer.

“Shit,” Price muttered, skidding to his knees beside you. His hands were on your leg in an instant, pressing down hard. It felt like fire, and a broken sound escaped your lips.

“Still with us?” Price demanded, his tone clipped but tight with concern.

You forced a nod, though the world blurred and tilted. The edges of your vision darkened; the copper tang of blood thick in the back of your throat.

“Not good,” Price muttered, cutting away at the fabric of your pant leg. The gash was ugly, jagged, and deep. Too deep. His hands moved quickly, pressing gauze over the wound as blood seeped through.

“No evac,” Ghost said, his voice low and even. “Airspace isn’t clear. Too many hostiles to the North. We’re on our own.”

Price didn’t answer, his focus locked on you as he adjusted the pressure on your thigh. His gloves were slick with blood, and his expression was grim.

“We've got to move,” he said finally, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Ghost.”

Ghost didn’t hesitate. He crouched, one arm sliding under your knees, the other beneath your back. You tried to protest, but the words didn’t come. He lifted you easily, his grip solid and unyielding.

“Hush, gotta move,” he said flatly.

Price took point, rifle raised as they started into the streets, Ghost following close behind. Every step jolted your leg, the pain sharp and relentless, and the sound of your blood dripping onto the gravel road was enough to make your stomach turn.

“Stay awake,” Price called over his shoulder, his voice snapping through the haze. “Keep your eyes on me.”

You blinked, struggling to focus, but the edges of your vision swam. “Bleedin' too much,” you mumbled, the words barely audible.

“Eyes front, stay awake,” Ghost said, his voice steady despite the urgency in his stride.

The edge of the town came, and a dark shape took form—a crumbling, abandoned home. Price moved ahead, clearing the doorway before motioning Ghost inside.

Ghost carried you to a dusty old couch, lowering you carefully. The pain was immediate, sharp enough to wring a whimper from your throat.

Price didn’t waste time, ripping open Ghost’s pack and dumping out its contents onto a battered table. His movements were quick, precise, but his face gave him away. Supplies were low. Too low.

...

Ghost crouched by the fireplace, striking another match. The flame caught on the dry wood he’d scavenged, crackling faintly before spreading. Shadows danced across the crumbling walls, their flickering edges almost alive as the fire grew. The warmth barely reached across the cold, damp room, but it added a sense of fragile life to the silence.

Price worked with grim determination, his hands slick with blood as he pressed another bandage against your leg. The fresh gauze darkened almost immediately, and his jaw clenched tighter with each second. Every press sent sharp, biting pain radiating up your thigh, and despite your best efforts, a soft whimper escaped your lips.

Price paused, his eyes flicking to you, studying your face for the briefest moment. “Hang in there,” he murmured, his voice steady but lined with something quieter, something softer than his usual blunt tone. “You’re alright, dove.”

The words felt distant, swallowed by the agony pounding in your leg and the icy fear creeping up your spine.

“Still bleedin',” Ghost said from across the room, his voice low and even. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the fire as if its growing warmth carried all the answers. But the weight of his tone was impossible to miss, and it settled in the space between the three of you like a lead weight.

Price didn’t respond immediately, his focus still on your wound. His hands moved with efficiency, but you could see it—the tension in his shoulders, the way his lips pressed into a hard line. He didn’t need to say it out loud. The blood wasn’t stopping, and time was running out.

When he finally glanced at you, his expression darkened further. His eyes lingered on your face—on the pallor creeping across your skin, the way your breathing hitched as you tried to push past the pain. You felt the weight of his gaze, but you couldn’t bring yourself to meet it.

The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close. The flickering firelight was too bright, and the scent of burning wood was sharp and overwhelming.

And fuckin hell there was a lot of blood.

Ghost’s shadow shifted as he turned toward you. He didn’t speak right away, his gaze sweeping over you and then locking with Price’s. There was something unspoken in the way they looked at each other, something deliberate.

Price’s hands slowed, his shoulders rising and falling with a deep breath. He sat back on his heels, wiping his bloodied gloves on his thighs as he glanced toward the fire. The movement was subtle, almost imperceptible—a brief flick of his eyes—but Ghost caught it.

The tilt of Ghost’s head was just as subtle, a silent question. Price met his gaze, his jaw tightening as he gave the faintest nod.

“No,” you whispered, your voice cracking as it broke the heavy quiet.

Price’s attention snapped back to you, his brows furrowing slightly. “No what?”

“You’re thinking about…” The words caught in your throat, your heart pounding harder. You forced yourself to meet his eyes, despite the panic clawing at your chest. “You’re not serious.”

Price didn’t answer immediately. His silence was louder than words, his gaze steady and calm but lined with that same grim determination.

“We don’t 'ave a lot of options,” he said finally, his voice low.

“No,” you said again, shaking your head weakly. Your breath hitched, and the room started to spin, the firelight now too warm, too alive. “You can’t.”

Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, hot pain materialized, the smell of burning flesh, the burn scars that littered your torso. No.

“We can't let you bleed out,” Price said bluntly, his tone soft but no less firm. He didn’t flinch as you stared at him, desperation written across your face.

Ghost’s shadow fell over both of you as he stepped closer. He didn’t say anything, but his movements were deliberate, his gloved hand reaching for the fire tools.

Your stomach twisted as you watched him pull a piece of steel from the rack, holding it over the flames. The air around it shimmered with heat, and your chest tightened, panic rising in a wave that felt suffocating. You could hear the memories of harsh words you didn't understand.

“Fuck. Ghost—don’t,” even with your voice barely above a whisper, there was a deathly warning behind it.

He didn’t look at you, his focus on the glowing steel. His silence was unbearable, and it only fed the fear clawing at the edges of your mind.

Your eyes locked with Price’s, but the fear clawing at your chest made it impossible to hear his words of reassurance. The world was spinning too fast, the flickering firelight too bright.

“You’re strong,” he said, his voice quieter now, his hand resting briefly on your shoulder. “I’ll make it quick. You have my word.”

Tears streaked your face as you shook your head violently. “Please… I can't...”

“You can,” Price said firmly, his voice soft but unrelenting. His hand lingered on your arm, as your breathing came in quick, shallow gasps.

When Ghost shifted at the fire, the steel rod glowing with eerie light, panic surged like a tidal wave. You thrashed, your hands pushing hard against Price’s chest.

“Please, no,” you begged, your voice breaking as you shoved at him.

Price stayed firm, his steady presence an unyielding wall as he caught your wrists mid-strike. “Easy,” he said, his tone calm but resolute.

You struggled again, your fear flaring hotter than the pain in your leg. “No. Fuck!" Another desperate shove made Price falter slightly. He leaned back, his hands releasing yours as he exhaled sharply.

"Please, John, please, no," You begged through tears. But you knew the answer before he moved.

For a moment, Price hesitated, but he didn't stop, his eyes flicking to Ghost. He tapped the back of Ghost’s arm—a wordless signal that passed between them like second nature. Ghost didn’t speak, but he moved with the silent precision you’d come to expect, stepping in to take Price’s place.

Fuck this. Fuck.

Before you could react, Ghost sank down on the couch in the space behind you. His gloved hands caught yours as they pushed against him, his grip firm but careful. He brought them to your front, wrapping your hands around yourself before his arms encased you completely.

His presence was unshakable, solid against your trembling frame. He didn’t say a word—no promises, no reassurances. Just the quiet strength of his arms locking you in place.

Fuck this. And fuck him.

Your sobs came fast and hard, spilling out uncontrollably. The room blurred, and for a moment, all you could feel was your fear—your terror of the fire, the steel, the pain that was coming.

But Ghost didn’t let go. His breath was calm against the back of your neck, his hold unyielding.

Eventually, the fight began to leave you, draining into the steady rhythm of his grip. Blood loss or otherwise, you were running on fumes. Your cries softened into quiet, gasping breaths, though tears still streaked your face. Your body slumped against his, reluctant but spent, and his arms adjusted, holding you more securely.

Price knelt in front of you again, his expression softer now but still resolute. He met your tear-filled gaze, waiting for the faintest hint of acknowledgment before he spoke. You gave it in something between a glare and a plea.

“It’s going to hurt,” he said gently. “But I can't let you bleed out."

Fuck.

You nodded weakly, the tears still falling as you leaned back into Ghost’s arms. His silence was its own kind of comfort, and you clung desperately to it as Price reached for the glowing steel rod.

The rod seemed to burn brighter in the dim room, its heat warping the air as Price held it over the fire.

Ghost’s arms tightened around you, pulling you flush against him, his gloved hands a silent, steady restraint over your trembling ones. His grip was firm but not harsh, locking you in place as you shook against him. His breath, slow and even, ghosted against your hair. You could feel his balaclava's fabric against your ear every so often.

Fuck that stupid, fucking mask. More tears feel down your face.

You couldn’t bring yourself to look at the glowing steel rod. The thought of it—the heat, the sound it would make, the smell—was too much. Your gaze instead found Price’s face, and your chest tightened.

Those blue eyes. They never faltered, not even now. Not even when you felt like you were falling apart.

Fuck those stupid, ever-convincing blue eyes.

He crouched before you, calm and steady, the rod glowing in his hand. You couldn’t hear anything over the pounding of your heart and the rasping sobs tearing from your chest, but you saw it in his expression: quiet, resolute certainty.

You bit your lip hard, trying to stifle the sound that slipped past as he shifted forward.

The rod moved toward your leg, and your body reacted before your mind could catch up, thrashing violently against Ghost’s hold. He tightened his grip without a word, his arms locking around your middle, pulling you impossibly closer. Your head turned away, your teeth digging into your lip as a strangled cry slipped out.

The first touch of the steel to your skin was blinding. White-hot, searing into every nerve in your body. You screamed. Raw and guttural. You arched against Ghost as if you could somehow escape it.

He held firm, his silence unyielding as you writhed, strong arms locking you in place.

The sound of the steel burning into flesh was drowned out by your own cries, the acrid smell filling your nose and turning your stomach. For a terrifying moment you were back in enemy hands. You were being tortured all over again. You were fucking dying then and you were fucking dying now. You squeezed your eyes shut, refusing to look, refusing to see,

but your gaze found Price’s again, desperate and tear-filled.

His eyes were still there. Steady. Grounded. Unflinching. Deathly focused on the task at hand. Fuck those damn-

Your nails clawed weakly at Ghost’s gloves, your strength fading as the pain stole the last of your resolve. Price didn’t falter, didn’t hesitate. He moved with precision, faster than you thought possible, his focus never breaking.

And then it was over.

The steel rod clattered to the floor with a dull thud, and Price was already reaching for fresh gauze, his hands working quickly to cover the wound. Your body sagged against Ghost, your head falling forward as quiet, shuddering sobs wracked your frame.

Price secured the bandage in silence, his movements careful but efficient. He glanced up at you, his blue eyes softening just enough.

“Good, for now.”

He didn’t elaborate.

Fuck him. He knew you. He fucking knew what this was.

And you'd let him do it again if it meant you didn't bleed out and die. You'd let them save you.

Fuck.

Ghost eased his grip slightly, his hands shifting just enough to support you without pinning you. You didn’t have the strength to pull away, your trembling body slumping into his hold.

You didn’t look at your leg. You didn’t look at the rod still faintly glowing on the floor. You didn’t look at the bloodstained gauze or the dark patches on Price’s hands.

Instead, you closed your eyes, your tears still falling as exhaustion and pain dragged you under. Ghost's warmth at your back and Price's gentle lips to your forehead were the last solid things you felt.

Thanks for reading.

[mysecertdiaryofableedingheart]

Lil Office Romance P.5

Terry Richmond X Black Fem OC  (Troi)

No warnings: Light heart fluff. A little flirty. CeCe makes a return,

" in the CeCe school of confidence skin is king!" Celeste held up a denim mini skirt to my body. "But if you're showing legs, the tatas need to be put away"

I almost want to open my Notes on the phone. I was always a comfort-over-style person this new education was gonna need some practice. Slipping on the skirt it fit perfectly.

11pm

Meeting Celeste's other friends was nerve-racking at first but they welcomed me into the fold like it was nothing

"It's Mama's first night out and that calls for a round of shots" Moonie who I came to learn just had a baby 3 months ago called out.

"I've never had a shot before" I called out nervously to Celeste

"They easy boo. We'll start off with green tea shots, the graduate up to the big leagues" Celeste handed me a green tinted liquid in a shot glass "Bottoms up babe"

"Oh, I like that. Can I have another?"

Celeste couldn't contain her laughter "Baby Troi is about to get loose"

Terry

1am

"Y'all nigga doing all that talking ready up again? Marcus you betta what you back fo' you have us loosing again" right as the game started my phone began to vibrate in my pocket,

Wifey 🍪💋

"Give me one-second dawg, my baby calling me"

"Baby nigga when you-" Jeremiah's voice was cut off as I pulled my headset off to put the phone to my ear.

"Hey pretty girl, you're up late?" My brows were locked together as I heard Cut Friends by Camflauge ringing out in the background

"Terry ! They're playing your song." Troi giggled "but you're not here to listen" I Could imagine the pout in her voice as she finished her last sentence

"That's okay baby, you having fun with Celeste?" I leaned back on my couch to get comfortable.

"Yeah, but I'd have more fun with you." I glad she couldn't see the look of shock on my face at her flirty tone.

"Troi, you been drinking baby? " a hiccup came through the speaker

"Well I had 4 no 5 green tea shots! And a drink called a ...." Troi hiccup again before dropping into a whisper "a pornstar"

A loud laugh erupted from me "I'm glad you're trying new things Pretty girl. You gone tell me when y'all leaving and when you're at home? "

"I don't wanna go home Terry, I wanna go with you"

I couldn't help my body's reaction at the thought of Troi pleading for me.

"Send me your location baby I'm on my way" slipping on my crocs and grabbing my keys. I was a man on a mission.

Troi

Celeste handed me a plastic cup filled with clear liquid

"CeCe I don't think I can have another drink." I knew I was already tipsy and I didn't want to be sloppy drunk like I saw other people at the club.

"Baby girl I wouldn't let you drink anymore, we can't have you blackout on our first night out" Celeste tilted the cup to my mouth.

The crisp water hitting my throat, caused the rest of my brain to catch up. I almost choked on my water when I realized who I was just on the phone with. "I just called Terry" I was able to choke out "and he's coming to get me"

I pulled my phone out of my purse to see that 7 minutes ago I had shared my location with him and he returned the action

I could see Terry's dot moving closer onto the map to where mine is stationary "What do I do Celeste!!!"

"Girl what you mean? You going home with you boo. I'll walk you out then I'm gonna drive Moonie home to her Baby. Then go see a man about a horse" Celeste grabbed my hand to pull me towards the door.

As soon as we were able to push through the crowd, I was able to spot Terry's truck creeping up the street cautious of the drunken Jaywalkers.

He pulled over to the side once he saw us, using his blinker to signal for people to go around. Terry look comfortable in his shorts and slides walking towards us

"Hey Pretty girl" Terry pulled me into a hug wrapping his arms around my shoulder. "You ready to go? Celeste you and I'm sorry I didn't catch your name?"

"Moonie" she spoke up smiling at me

"Moonie, yall need a ride home?"

Celeste answered this time "nope Terry, take your boo home we're good"

♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️

Terry

After making sure Celeste and Moonie were safely in the car. I helped Troi into my truck and buckled in I couldn't but sneak a kiss to her forehead

"You still wanna come home with me? " I placed my hand on her thigh close to the knee.

With a shaky breathe and almost what sounded like a moan "yes" passed her lips

This girl had no idea what she did to me

The drive to my house was short once we were out of downtown the street was almost empty, and Troi softly sang along to my mix playing on Spotify.

"Terry, I'm sorry I had you out so late. You can take me home if you want I don't wanna take up your weekend I already dragged you out-" I couldn't help but chuckle at her rambling

"Troi, I'll come stop anything for you and you can take up all my weekend baby" I place a kiss on her hand.

2 am

I heard the shower cut off, as I rummaged around the kitchen to find ibuprofen and a glass of water for what probably would be her first hangover.

"I didn't realize how gross I felt until I was clean" Troi entered the kitchen looking fresh-faced and drowning in the T-shirt I gave her for after the shower.

"It was the liquor, it will have you floating with the right mix" I shook out two pills into Troi's hand.

She swallowed them quickly downing the water right after. "My Daddy would always give me something sweet to give me medicine"

I moved so that Troi was trapped between my chest and the counter. "Something sweet huh? Like what" I teased

"Ummm....I can't really... remember "Troi's breath was minty from the mouthwash I left in the bathroom.

"You know my favorites were Hershey's" I pecked Troi face right where her lips met her cheek. To my surprise she turned her face and our lips met.

"Oh my gosh, I'm sorry Terry, I just..."Troi looked up to the ceilings

♥️♣️♥️♣️♥���♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️♥️♣️ Terry

"Baby Shut up" I leaned in to grab the nape of her neck. I crashed my lips back into hers

Resting my lips onto hers felt like heaven on earth, and then I felt her tongue swipe against my bottom lip, as much as I wanted to keep the kiss PG knowing that Troi had been drinking the temptation to have a true taste of her was too much..

Troi sighed softly into my mouth at our tongue softly caressing each other was too much as the blood rush to the bottom half of my body. I disconnected my lips from hers hard as it was and rested our forehead together.

"Troi you know I respect you right?"

"Of course, Terry you're the most respectful man I know" Troi connected eyes with me brushing our noses together.

"Good, cause if we keep kissing like that you might not think so" I groaned leaning away.

I pull away to lead her to my bedroom to tuck her in.

"Terry, can you lay next to me? I always have a hard time falling asleep in a new place" Troi looked adorable with her hair pulled into a high bun, looking way too small for the king size bed.

"Of course Baby I'll be right here till you fall asleep." I climbed under the cover to keep her company.

Taglist:  @blackwomanarebeautiful @dimepiece09 @vinicinha @ovohanna24 @blackpinup22 @disc0fairy@slippinninque

[peanutbutterandbananasandwichs]

have you ever given samjess headcanons before? 🥺👉👈

hiiiii I love making myself sad about Sam and Jess so here we go:

Sam doesn't like to make a big deal out of his birthday and Jess never pushes him to. On Jess' birthday, she never receives one big gift from Sam, its always a gift bag filled with tiny, carefully wrapped presents that Sam bought throughout the year, little things that they passed in a shop window and Jess smiled at, or things that just made him think of her.

If Sam and Jess had got married Sam would have taken her last name. It would have felt like a way to truly leave hunting behind.

Mentioned this in another headcanon ask but Sam and Jess read The Lord of the Rings together, they would alternate reading a chapter each out loud. Jess went full ham with the voices. The other part to that not in that ask is that Jess had a really lovely illustrated complete copy of LoTR that got destroyed in the fire, except a tiny fragment of an illustration of Gadreel, which Sam takes and keeps in his wallet.

This is kinda a bonus Sam/Brady headcanon but it involves Jess so it goes here. Knowing that Brady's body was used to kill Jess and that (knowing demons) he was probably awake when the demon did it haunts Sam. Sometimes he wakes up sobbing in the middle of the night just thinking about how frightened both of them must have been.

Sam romantically loves other people after Jess, he loved Amelia, he loved blurry spouse. But he never stops loving her.

They had talked about having kids, but neither of them were sure they wanted them. They weren't in any rush to decide. Jess does joke that if they did have kids they would be the tallest kids in the world.

They did however want at least two dogs.

Jess was always trying to persuade Sam to let her paint a portrait of him, but he felt too awkward about it. He regrets not saying yes.

Jess was a terrible cook, but a great baker.

This