#on that note sorry I’ve been so inactive this week — I had to do a thing that scared me and it took a lot of energy

[sensitiveheartless]

(Sorry this heads-up is a day late) I posted the second half of the vampire Chuuya fic! This is the comfort part lol

[leclsrc]

has yet to pass ✴︎ cs55

centre image by tony belobrajdic

genre: exes to lovers, slow burn, fluff, humor, slight angst, yearning, some sexual tension

word count: 12.5k

Four years after an angry breakup, the universe is bored enough to nominate Carlos Sainz for GQ Sports’ Man of the Year and assign you to be the writer of his profile.

notes... internet translated spanish lol

auds here... requested, this fic is long! i hope you all like it apologies for the inactivity </3 exes to lovers we have a very love/hate relationship but this was a pleasure to write

You’re half sure your head is about to pop out from how annoyed you are.

At the office, mornings move slowly in the very corporate-desk-job kind of way, but today is notably slower. Your boss had called you in an hour earlier to discuss important matters, and this is your third hour waiting already. Either your boss is a dumbass, or you got the wrong email, which both essentially mean the same thing anyway.

The time on your Panthère tells you you’re curving into the three-and-a-half hour territory, and right as you’re about to get up to get a glass of water, the large wooden door swings open and your name is called through the crack in it. Suddenly the irritation dissipates into nerves, and because Jonathan didn’t specify anything in the email, you realize you could be wading into anything right now. Termination. Promotion. A brick to the head.

“Morning,” you offer once the door’s been shut behind you. 

“Sorry for the wait,” he says politely. “We’ve been in discussions with GQ Sports all day. All night last night, too. It’s all proper boring.”

You nod, remaining fairly quiet and waiting for him to break the news to you. He clears his throat, places his hands on his hips and exhales.

“Right, so this is all related to GQ, actually. They’re doing a Men of Sports segment and they asked us to assign one of our writers to an athlete. You’re our best right now, really—your article turnout last year was absolutely stellar. So, there’s, ah… there’s tennis, yeah, there’s footie, obviously, and—under usual circumstances, you’d get to choose one of either. But we actually really wanted to cover racing this year.”

The cloud above your head carrying the dreams of interviewing Leo Messi or Roger Federer pops dismally.

“Racing.” You repeat curtly.

“It’s gotten proper viral this year!” He smiles, gestures to nothing to prove his point. “Every teenage girl’s got a crush or other on a driver. Anyway, we set you up with the racing category, and the segment comes out in around six months.”

“I’ve got a tiny bit of a qualm about th—”

“So it’s decided. GQ’s going to pick out the driver for you, and you’ll be introduced at a gala next week.”

“Wait—” you laugh uncomfortably. “I’m thankful for the opportunity, and wow, thank you for choosing me, really, but do I not get to pick my own driver?” You clear your throat. “I mean, I’m spinning the story.”

“I know,” he sighs. “But this deal moved pretty quick, so a majority of the leverage goes to them. Don’t worry, though—a lot of the drivers will have great stories, I’m sure. You’ve got Lewis, you’ve got the Verstappen guy, you’ve got the Rosberg fellow…”

“Rosberg retired in 2016.”

“Oh, fuck, seriously? Well. Hit me with a brick then.”

—

The gala is a fundraiser to celebrate the season kicking off, you realize when you step outside the car and read the navy blue banner across the entrance to the carpet. It’s all fancy fonts and table placements, but One look at the watches and earrings in this place will tell you there’s more than enough funds already. You digress, anyway, walking inside to find the only one person you’re familiar with in the world of racing.

“Lewis,” you mutter when you locate him, voice dry with dread (and lack of alcohol), “kill me now.”

“On the off chance you’re serious—I’m actually willing to do so.” You slap his arm and he scowls.

“I’m supposed to meet the driver I’m writing about tonight, but the GQ guy hasn’t texted me. Christ, I hope it’s you. At least I have years’ worth of blackmail on you to really sell the profile.”

He only laughs, guiding the both of you to a champagne tower and offering you one. You down it in seconds, suffocated by nerves and the curiosity blooming inside you. “You don’t think it’s…?”

“I think they keep track of those things,” he replies, but his voice is only half-sure. “Conflict of interest and that. But Jonathan did say it was a quick deal?” You nod. “So it’s not impossible, I suppose.”

Big help, you chirp sarcastically, eyes perusing the large room. There are tables populated by celebrities, by politicians, and of course, by drivers. You keep scanning, squinting to chisel your search further, but it’s cut off by a tap of two fingers on your shoulder. 

“Hi. I’m Nick, the GQ rep, and I believe you and I have a meeting,” says the man behind you with an excited smile. “Why don’t we…?”

He gestures to the expanse of the room and you nod, falling into step beside him. He introduces the article, the concept of shadowing the athlete to achieve a more immersive piece of work as a result, something novel and innovative.

He’s right in the middle of talking about Jonathan when he stops at one of the cocktail tables and stations the two of you there. “Okay. You’re one of the biggest names in sports journalism right now, so it means a lot for you to want to represent racing. Especially because both Neymar Jr. and Nadal expressed bids to get you to write their segments!”

“They wh—”

“Right, here we are. Meet your shadow—or, subject—for the next six-ish months.” He places two hands atop your shoulders and wheels you around, so your eyes meet those of, “…Carlos Sainz Jr.!”

Yeah. This is fucking rich. 

Nick is talking but none of it falls right on your ears. Everywhere in your mind, alarm bells ring at full volume, alerting you to the danger present, almost. You plaster on a fake smile to acknowledge his presence, but his outstretched hand goes unnoticed. Clearly picking up on the tension, Nick gives a sheepish giggle and ducks out of the exchange, leaving the two of you woefully alone.

“Carlos,” you say politely. “What a nice surprise.”

There is a limited amount of phrases that are considered acceptable to say to an estranged ex of four years. There’s oh, what a surprise!, didn’t expect to see you here, you look well. It’s limited because nobody ever thinks to run into their estranged ex of four years, and even then, any sane person would do well to avoid interaction at all costs. So you’re really the luckiest son of a bitch in the world to be situated with a stuffy public interaction, under the guise of professionalism, with your ex-boyfriend.

Your history is heavy in the air. The last time you saw each other, things had been a lot different, but now you’re two professionals. Really. You really are professional.

“I refuse to be within ten metres of the guy,” you say, on your third martini. Lewis faces you with poorly hidden concern, and beside him, roped into your lovelorn matters, so does Sebastian Vettel. “Ten metres. Actually, no. Make it twenty. How can I be arsed to write an all-over-him feature about a guy I absolutely hate and haven’t seen in four years?! I had it all sussed—get assigned to Lewis, write the best feature, then restore his eighth world title.”

“—She’s joking,” coughs Lewis.

“Oh, but now? Now, it’s get assigned to my ex, write like shit, never get recognized for a good piece, and die hungry and alone on the streets of London. You know, I should just call Jonathan and tell him I don’t want this. I’d rather go back to writing normal articles.” You pry your clutch open but a hand stops you before you can.

“Don’t.” Sebastian’s voice is gentle, but firm. “This is a test of character, don’t you think? More than that—it’s a test of how good you are as a writer.”

“True,” interjects Lewis, chewing on a quiche. “If you can write a stellar profile about an ex, I mean—you’re just proper talented. But it’s also about how strong you are now, morally. Emotionally.”

“I’m perfectly fine emotions-wise, thanks,” you retort. Both men shrug, backing off, and you feel like you should be smug about it—but your mind is stuck on the topic even as the night passes.

You end up deciding when you’re kicking your heels off in your flat a few hours later, giving Jonathan a ring despite the late hour. It takes a while for the man to pick up, but he does eventually, with an excited tone colouring his voice—“How’s my star writer? Sainz, huh? Real eye candy.”

“About that…” you start, walking over to your bookshelf and chewing your lip, trying to think of the right way to decline the offer. Your eyes land on one of the several awards you’ve garnered in your profession—in fact, the very first one. Most Promising Journalist, it reads, embedded into the front’s frosty surface. 

Four years ago. And you’ve proven it since, if the crowd of glass around it is anything to go by. Why let a petty ex destroy what could potentially be one of your biggest gigs yet? Your segue outside of sports journalism?

“Earth to—yeah, hello? About what?” Jonathan’s voice breaks you out of your thought train.

“… I just, uh,” you say, nodding, “I wanted to say I’m really excited.”

— 

Carlos Sainz Jr., 27, is on the rise as one of Formula One’s most talented drivers… (add more info…) His smooth driving style and charm has led him to become one of the most popular figures in the sport, both on and off the paddock. He is also a huge, absolutely irritating, cannot for the life of him be humble!!!, SON OF A BITCH, PRICK, ASSHOLE—AND THE BIGGEST WANKER ON PLANET EAR

“The team will be here in just a minute,” says the lady who’d ushered you into this meeting room in Maranello. You half-shut your laptop in fear she’ll catch sight of your brief Word document meltdown, but she doesn’t seem to notice, setting a glass of water beside you and you stare idly at it while waiting for the rest of the room to enter. You’re expecting Nick, Carlos, Mattia—the boss—and Charles, his teammate. Jonathan’s already beside you playing Candy Crush on his phone, as per boomer law.

This meeting is pointless. You’ve already exchanged the bare minimum pleasantries with Carlos, anyway, and you cannot for the life of you decipher why there needs to be a whole new corporate clash just for this. But here you are anyway, awaiting your ex-boyfriend’s arrival into the room and back into your sweet life.

He enters with everybody else, his hair half-damp and his eyes meeting yours almost immediately. You clear your throat and turn away, standing to shake hands with Mattia. He’s pleasant about it, expressing excitement for the final output and commending your earlier work as a writer. You offer the polite small talk back, discussing plans for the article and the release date.

“Over at GQ Sports, we’re really trying to make this concept as immersive as possible. That requires the writer to shadow the athlete at almost all times, maybe taking a couple days off if needed. That might mean she gets a paddock pass, and things like that.”

“That’s no problem,” Mattia says. “Anything for the article.”

You end up being introduced to Charles, too—Charles Leclerc, who wears a contagious smile and won’t stop letting his eyes frolic in between you and Carlos, like he can sense the history. You suspect Carlos brought him up to speed, anyway, but it’s still a bit amusing. While the meeting carries on, Charles chips in with a joke. “Hey, if you find this guy irritating, you and I are going to get along.”

You laugh a bit, but remain mostly quiet for the sake of being professional. You miss the way Carlos’ eyes linger on you a second too long, focusing on the tail-end of the meeting so you can, for lack of better word, get the fuck out of here.

Of course, though, you’re stopped in the middle of the parking lot by Carlos himself, whose apologetic face is the first thing you see when you turn around with a huff. You’d already known it was him—he was calling your name loudly as he jogged over to you—but it’s still a sour surprise.

“What?”

“Let’s”—he pauses to take a breath—“talk. Listen, I know it must be an imposition for you to write about this, about me. Let me make it clear that I’m 100% okay if you choose to switch athletes. And if you needed any background information, I’ll be willing to give you that.”

“I don’t care what you’re okay with,” you say blankly. “And I’ve got Google.”

“Right.” He stares. “Um. Okay, well, let’s—can we agree, then? To be civil, for the period of time this article will be written?”

You consider the truce. As much as you’d like to be snarky with him and make your disdain all the more clear, you’re also not interested in making a scene or causing any type of fuss around his—and your—colleagues. The glass awards on your shelf flash through your mind, and you inhale softly. “Okay.”

He smiles. This seems a bit more difficult than you thought, for reasons you didn’t even consider.

“Forget anything ever happened,” he says when your hands meet. Something jolts through you.

Yeah, you’re fucked.

—

Your introduction to the actual sports part of the profile goes well, with a flurry of chaos in Bahrain.

Despite Jonathan’s texted reminder from Friday morning (Stick to Sainz the whole time), you find yourself staying in your comfort zone, ergo following Lewis around nearly the entire weekend. Granted, you are itnroduced to a few more drivers—Mick, Esteban, Alex—but also Lando, one of Carlos’ closest friends on the paddock, who makes dirty jokes from the get go.

Still, even Lewis has to remind you you have another driver to actually cover, so you reluctantly detach from him on the race day and begin your search for—

“Carlos,” you utter, breathless from exhaustion when you finally locate him inside his room at the motorhome, which you swear you checked twenty minutes ago. Either he’s avoiding you or he’s truly impossible to find. He adjusts his suit and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“Yes?”

“I need a couple of words from you.” You smile politely, taking a seat on the couch armrest. “Like, pre-race nerves, jitters, routine. Anything?”

“I have a playlist,” he says, humming. “I like to call family, have a talk with the engineers.” He says it like en-yi-neers, but you already anticipated it. You’ve known en-yi-neers for years. You know how he talks, pronounces everything. “And I say a prayer, trust the car.”

“Trust the car?” You type the last few words onto your laptop, which you’d been toting around all day. It balances on your lap. “Any follow-ups to that, considering there’s been some chatter around the car this year and its supposed faultiness?”

“I just do what I do best,” he replies, steadfast. “The rest is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

“Perfect.” You finish. “That was a great line. Thanks so much, really.” It’s your reporter voice, the one you use for just about everyone else on the paddock. He nods in response, and the room ebbs into silence again. It’s awkward, when you excuse yourself and exit, already planning exactly how you’re going to tell this to Lewis. Halfway out the door, you purse your lips, turn, and then:

“Good luck, by the way.” Your voice falls soft. 

He looks up, momentarily surprised. “Thank you.”

You nod a little, smiling as you shut the door.

Carlos ends up getting second place—you’re beside a zealous Ferrari engineer when it happens, walking along the pit lane. Compared to your stoic smile, their reaction looks like the pinnacle of human emotion. Your turmoil is all inward, a melting pot of emotion for the driver. Would it be weird, you think, to feel proud? To feel happy? When things have ended?

Much later, when you’re wrestling for comfort in the throng of cheering Ferrari engineers, you squint to find Carlos on the podium.

You’re aware there are photographers everywhere, with high-def cameras that rival your natural eyesight, even, but still you tug your phone out and snap a few shitty zoomed-in pictures of him in second place, smiling and sprayed with champagne. You think of the profile, of the words you’ll use to capture this moment, the season kickoff. But most of all you think of the way his eyes seem to search for something specific in the mass of people, or the way you wished for them to meet yours.

—

Sainz, a self-proclaimed music lover, loads a pre-race playlist that changes every few locations. He names some of his favorite artists and songs as sources of motivation.

You climb into the passenger seat of his Golf when you finally find him, after a half hour of asking around everywhere. First, it was “in the motorhome,” then it was “in a meeting,” then it was “hanging out with Charles”—none of which ended up being true, anyway. He doesn’t question your presence (he hasn’t much, lately), just lets his eyes wander over to you briefly before you begin asking questions.

“Favorite song?” You get straight to it, stressed over the article. Jonathan has been on your ass about missing a deadline and causing the third world war in the process, or something or other. You sigh when you settle into the seat.

“Not even a hello or a buenas noches,” he says as he pulls out of the parking lot to drive the both of you to your hotel. “What’s this for?”

“You already know,” you say, humming as you sift through notes. “Listen. You did an interview before with Toro Rosso, right? Where you said your favorite artists were Muse, Kings of Leon, and The Killers. Right?”

“What the—you are a serious stalker.” He laughs out loud, eyes still on the road ahead.

“It’s kind of my job, Carlos,” you say, smiling and gritting your teeth. “Just answer.”

“Sí, sí. Yeah, I like that genre. I like rock, I guess… rock, indie, 80’s. You’d be surprised how little of an effect music has on my pre-race routine, though, even if I have a playlist.”

“Tell me more,” you muse. Your laziness to retrieve your laptop results in you scribbling soundbites onto your notebook instead. 

“Music is an escape for me, you know? I like it a lot. So as long as something gets me going, I’m good with it. It doesn’t have to be by a favorite artist, or a famous one, or a Spanish one. Though I have been listening to Shakira a lot lately.” Obsessively listens to Shakira, you write. “It’s just release. Lately, I’ve been listening to the same few ones on loop.”

“Care to share?” Music = release. Same songs looped.

He presses something onto the centre console, and music flows throughout the car right after. “This.”

Baby I’m Yours by Arctic Monkeys, you write, and then, all at once, you slowly realize exactly what you’re writing. You stare at the scrawled-on words, the song bleeding into your ears and saturating your brain. You’ve always thought of this song with a weird feeling, one in between nostalgia and hurt, and now it’s on full blast. In Carlos’ Golf, no less, which happened to be the venue for many of your listening parties back then.

Back then—when nobody knew much of this song and it hadn’t yet become an indie anthem. It was just another cover by your favorite band in 2015. It became your song, the song for kitchen dances, the song for long car rides, the song for the red lights, the song for the morning routine.

But now it’s just a song.

“Carlos,” you say. It’s supposed to sound strict, firm, even a little angry. But you’re so affected, it leaves you quietly instead, weakly almost. “Come on.”

“Do you remember when you first showed me this song?” He responds instead, the volume still loud. You allow yourself to smile a little, leaning your head back and watching the cityscape of Bahrain whir past. In a foreign city, you think, you feel more at home than ever.

“Yeah,” you profess. “On my iPhone—what was it then? iPhone 5, or something.” You both laugh a little. The dam has broken, it seems, and topics of your past relationship seem to now be open to discussion. But it doesn’t feel alien, or weird, or uncomfortable. Carlos laughs, makes fun of your old lockscreen, and all is well.

A lot of memories have unwittingly attached themselves to this song. It’s the kind of song where, even in the opening notes, you’re already stunned with the myriad of them. There are the obvious ones: first finding the song, first dancing to it. But it trickles down into the smaller, more niche ones.

The time you got a busker in London to perform it for you both, and danced like idiots at ten-thirty in the evening, while some onlooking geriatric couple watched with mild entertainment. The time you got him a vinyl record of this EP, and left it in the cab before you were supposed to give it to him, leading to you crying on his sofa while he cuddled you and fed reassurance into your ear. The time he attempted to learn the chords to it and broke the string of your decorative guitar.

Like always, Carlos drives one-handed. He’s usually responsible, but if he’s cruising, or driving at a relatively slow pace, he likes to lean back and use his left. His right lays, unmanned, on the centre console of the Golf. You don’t notice it’s there until you finish writing a sample line on your notebook and you lower your left hand absentmindedly, brushing a finger against his in the process.

Your instinct is to jerk away, but Carlos is calm, humming to the song and reading road signs. So you let it rest there, in part to show yourself you’re capable of relaxing, but—and it feels like a heavy thing to admit—also because you like the feeling.

So your hands are there, just shy of each other, barely touching. His pointer finger twitches, almost like he’s trying to hold it back from inviting yours to wrap around it. You let yours brush over them a little bit, pulling away. Then he coughs, and lifts his hand to make a right turn, so you resume writing, eyes downcast. 

—

You’d spent the Saudi weekend less with Lewis (in a bid to follow his advice) and socialized a bit more with Lando and Charles, who both proved to be pleasant company. They played table tennis with you and even shared a good chunk of grid gossip.

“Pierre and Yuki have soooo done it,” whispers Charles, scandalized, sipping a G&T from a decorative polka dot straw.

“Shut up!” You clap a hand over your mouth. “I mean, I had my suspicions. But really? They’ve shagged?”

“Oh.” He pauses dumbly, scratching his head. “I meant they’ve done marijuana.”

“Damn it, Charles,” bemoans Lando. “You’re a sodding buzzkill. We’ve all done weed, this is not news. The gay sex would’ve been.”

The afternoon progresses into night, and you seem to be on a roll with the sports component—Carlos gets to P3 in Saudi Arabia. You travel to his motorhome room after the debrief, where you hope he’ll be, and find him packing shit up inside.

“Good work out there,” you say, and when he looks up he finds himself meeting your eyes in the mirror. He fumbles with the zip of his suit and you walk a little closer.

He huffs out a polite thanks, tugging on the zipper harder. The cloth’s eaten it, a problem that’s been plaguing his race suits as of late—a problem, according to his engineer, easily solvable if he’d just be more patient with tugging it downward to loosen. A problem you’re familiar with as well, from his Toro Rosso days of ranting to you about zippers and sewing.

You lean against the wall and maintain safe distance. “I’m going to ask you about the race later.”

“Alright. What specifically?” He begins the mental Spanish-English translation in advance. 

“Whatever you can give,” you reply, nonchalant. “Maybe more on the feeling while racing. The different perspectives of P3? Sort of like—yeah, you’re on the podium, but it’s not P1.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he laughs a little, a bit embarrassed he hasn’t fully undone the zipper yet. “Um, sure. I’ll meet you outside afterward.”

“Thanks. And—” You stop yourself in your tracks, still facing him in the mirror. His eyes find yours again, eyebrows raised from the unfinished sentence. “—Be patient with the zip.”

He chuckles, memories surfacing like bubbling lava. “Right. Bueno.” He turns and throws his hands up, looks like he’s surrendering almost. “Help me out?”

You’re incredulous—it’s a highly compromising position.

But he’s not really smiling, and he seems to be seriously asking you to please help zip him up, so you nod. Nod once then twice, walking slowly over to him and placing two fingers on the zipper. You don’t notice how shaky your grip is until you see the way your hand trembles.

Slowly, you tug. Upward, then downward, then upward again, to loosen the stubborn thing. Your eyes move until they meet his, and you realize how close together you are. From here you can see the faint pink indents on his face from the balaclava, and you wonder almost how it’d feel to stroke over it with your thumb. It twitches on the zip and you remember to yank it again.

“Just give me a second,” you say, but you’re not even paying attention to the zipper.

Just him. Just the proximity. The thoughts of what if—what if you leaned closer, right now? Closed the gap, shut your eyes, let your finger trace over the shape left behind by his balaclava, zip forgotten?

“Take your time.” His voice is deep, gentle. 

His eyes pierce yours, the tension growing in between you until you can barely breathe.

You pull and finally, it gives, unzipping the whole way. You blink, breaking eye contact and stepping backwards so fast you almost trip. “I’ll be outside.” The door is shut, the noise damning behind you as you finish an entire cup of water in what you genuinely think to be record time. 

—

“Fine. Fifty euros.”

“Fifty?! Cheap trick. Make it two hundred.” 

“If you’re in the hundred territory, might as well make it five hundred. Turn this into a serious thing.” 

“Deal.” The Brit and the Monegasque clap their hands together in a firm handshake. “Let’s talk terms.”

Charles recites his end of the bet, as clearly as he did when this was first wagered just ten minutes ago. “She and Carlos will start dating before the article is even published.”

“They’re exes, innit?” Lando laughs. “You’re wrong, Charl-ito. They will never date, ever again. Exes don’t date.”

“Unless they’re soulmates,” he reasons.

“Psh, what do you know about soulmates?” The younger raises a condescending brow. “You dated a girl and then her best friend.”

“Back off,” insists Charles petulantly, watching Lando messily write down the evidence of their wager on a small slip of paper. For proof, he’d said, before slipping it into the back of his opaque phone case. He waves it around. “We shall see.”

“You will definitely be paying me up,” Charles says proudly. “Just you wait.”

—

“Care to listen to me?” You hoist yourself onto the stool of this hotel bar, ordering yourself a martini.

“Always,” says Lewis, immediately facing you. He’s always been one of the kindest, most genuine people in your life. He’s known you forever, and he’s the only person here who really knows the extent of your history with Carlos, all the layers, all the fights, all of it.

You sigh and lean against the backrest, deflated. “Carlos and I… I don’t know if this is going to work.”

“The article?”

“Being with him.” You pause to reword it. “Around him.”

“I see. Hasn’t it been, what—four years now, though?”

“Yeah, but…” But why does it feel like you both want those four years gone? The car ride with the song, the eye contact, zip situation after Saudi. You lick over your lips and sit a little straighter.

“Lew, it’s just—and you should know this—when you break up with someone, you’re forced to unlearn all the things you knew about them.” You sigh. “All the… just all of it. The habits, the quirks, the favorite words, the way they like their toast and eggs. And if you can’t, then fine, it’s still okay, because why would you ever need it again? But I haven’t forgotten anything, and now he’s back in my life.”

Lewis stares, with eyes that convey solemnity and a little sadness. He seems to understand, watching you intently, the way your eyes are glassy with unshed tears.

“So now I see him, and it feels like he’s like”—you inhale—“this sounds… bad, but like… I’m… like he’s a lover, kind of. In disguise, a little bit. I don’t know. Like, I have to pretend I know nothing about him, like every little fun fact is a new thing for the profile… but I know everything.” And what a heavy burden it is.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. 

“No, don’t be. I’m pretty sure this is all one-sided.” You take a long sip. “That’s the price to pay for ending on bad terms, I suppose.”

“Just think,” he muses out loud. “When this is all over and you’re accepting your Pulitzer, you won’t even be thinking of him one bit.”

“Right,” you say. Carlos, Carlos, Carlos. He’s the only thing on your mind. “Right.”

You find a working title for the article later. Carlos Sainz, it reads on your Word document. On racing, gracious defeat, and life’s driving forces.

—

Like every other sport, Formula One drivers have their share of bad competition days. Sainz recalls a time his car failed and caused him to DNF—racing vernacular for “Did Not Finish,” a damning phrase for any driver on the grid.

A double kill vibrates through Carlos.

It’s a consecutive hit that’s both professional and personal, and greatly affects the momentum of the profile you’re busy writing. In Australia he’d been reserved, eyes stormy, walking alone but not angry. He’d congratulated Charles and everything, even offered a few words for the article. The last you saw of him was with a beer, brows knitted together.

Tonight you’re in Imola. He’d been okay after the race, the usual silence that comes with a bad result.

No hard feelings, he’d said. This is the business. Hugged Danny, excused himself; nobody said anything. It’s a normal response to a shit day. You spend the post-race buzz with Lewis and Sebastian this time, but you manage to congratulate Lando on the podium finish when you catch sight of him.

“Maaate!” He cries gleefully when he sees you. “Where’s the muppet?”

“Mourning,” you drone. “Reasonably so, I guess.”

“Tough crowd,” he says, kissing his teeth. “But, yeah. Hey—shots on me!”

“Tempting offer.” You eye the bunch of tequila on the table. “But I think I’ll retire early. I need to send a draft pretty early tonight.”

“All good. Have fun being a loser,” he says, watching you leave.  

The hotel, it turns out, is not nearly as fun as the party. Which is common sense.

You spend time writing and rewriting a few paragraphs of the article, stuck on the title of it and honestly wishing you were with Cuervo and vodka right now. You suppose you don’t need one just yet—they usually come to you late, anyways. Jonathan sends you three follow-up emails regarding a draft, so you send him the latest version and read over the file, reciting favorite lines under your breath.

In the middle of reading on the Bahrain P2 and a little segment on Sainz’s favorite Ferrari moments, somebody knocks on your door.

It’s a surprise—you don’t spend much time with people on the paddock, and only few of them know your room number, which leads you to narrow down the person on the other side to a select group. There’s Lewis, most likely of them all. Charles, who you’d grown much closer to as of late. Level with him is Lando. Then maybe, just maybe, Sebastian, to offer late night advice.

It could’ve been any of them, but it’s not. It’s somebody else.

“I’m sorry.” His voice threatens to break. “I didn’t know who else I could talk to.”

“Carlos?” You blink. 

You usher him in after, and you hope his mind is anxious enough that it doesn’t pay much attention to your hideous pajama situation (old hoodie, souvenir L.A. pajama pants). You end up on your balcony, both of you facing the frigid nighttime air. It freezes your cheeks, casts your hair backwards. Your eyes slide to his stoic figure, the way even his hair is blown back by the wind.

He’s quiet, but more relaxed, less stiff. “Sorry, again.”

“S’okay.”

You duck back inside and return with two cigarettes and a lighter. “Wanna?”

“Awful habit.” But he accepts it anyway, sticking it in between his lips. It bobs as he speaks, still unlit. “I need this, though.”

“I don’t do it regularly,” you defend, pressing the flame to the cig. He exhales. “Some situations call for them.”

“This definitely does. Bit of a slap to the face, you know?” You nod. “I’m sorry.” The apology carries more weight than it should, and you know why. 

Like it’s the most difficult thing in the world, you breathe a few times before you respond in a hushed tone. With your words comes a huff of smoke. “Don’t beat yourself up over it. You gave it your all, took a risk, it went to shit. But you gave it your all is what matters in the end. You put heart into it, which is something not everyone does in sports these days.”

“I feel… complimented.” You both laugh at the lack of good phrasing, so he rewords it. “I meant, I feel, how you say? Touched. It means a lot to be praised by you.”

“Does it?” Smoke again, another whiff of it.

“They only ever want to praise the podium finish, the P1, the title holder.” He lets the words fizzle. “But here you are praising a driver who finished like shit twice in a row. More people should be like you, paying thanks to the underdogs.”

It’s not the underdogs, you think. It’s just because of you. 

“More like the shit drivers,” you say instead, in a low rumbling voice. He laughs, calls you stupid in Spanish, and it’s a dead issue.

Later, before he leaves, when the room’s much darker and less bathed in moonlight, you whisper goodbye to him through a small crack in the door. He smiles a bit, and you catch it even with the lack of lighting.

“Thank you.” He says. He means it. You catch his perfume when the door swings closed. It smells like wood.

—

Sainz has off-grid hobbies, one of the most notable of which is cooking. He claims to have a good hold over the kitchen, and cooks several of his favorite dishes on the rare weekend off. Blah blaaahhhh, cooks well. Usually wears funky apron. WRITE THIS PROFILE ALREADY STOP EATING PASTA YOU DIPSHIT

Lando had invited you all to an Airbnb owned by a friend in Umbria, a two-ish hour drive from Imola.

With two free days, you’d followed a small group of drivers—Carlos included—to soak in the rest of Tuscany. Charles and Lando, however, left as soon as you arrived, to check out the last few hours of the farmer’s market. Alex had met Lily at the Eurostar station and they’d gone biking together.

This effectively left you and Carlos alone, which was not an unusual occurrence, but still proved to be a bit tense. With the kitchen free and the fridge stocked, Carlos suggested he cook for you both. Despite your best efforts, you ended up at the island writing and taste testing sauce, chicken, anything he slid over to you on a saucer with a tiny fork beside it.

“You’re going to give me cholesterol problems,” you quip. “This pasta is too good.”

“Cacio e pepe.” He twirls some onto a fork, straight off the pan, and shoves it into his mouth, a low mmmm leaving him once he gets to chewing. You laugh, a stifled sound through the noodles in your mouth at the exaggerated show of delicious food.

“Any favourite food you think is notable enough for the profile?” You type again, backspacing your harsh reminder. Makes a mean cacio e pepe (look up translation later). “Like, food you cook yourself, or even other recipes.”

“This,” he says, pointing to the pan. “This is fuel.”

“Amen.” Loves cacio e pepe.

“And it’s good with chicken.” He points to the oven, where he’s been baking chicken for a bit now. The kitchen smells of it, of the rosemary and oregano and pepper. “Oh, and put that I cook with music on. Let me connect my phone.”

Cooks w/ music. “Why do you need to mention that?”

“Ladies love a chef,” he says simply, letting a familiar song thrum into the woody kitchen. “And I love ladies.”

“Okay, slag.”

“Fuck off!” He begins shimmying all across the kitchen island, cranking open the oven mid-dance to check on the chicken, then continuing to clean the counter. Still he dances, and not very well, either—he always claimed singing was a stronger suit of his, so you allow the fool to be a fool.

Back when you two were still together, Carlos already had a preference for 70’s disco in the kitchen, saying it brought out the dancer in him. Nothing seems to have changed in that department, and you smile with mild embarrassment and amusement watching him dance across the kitchen, using the kitchen towel as a prop and swinging it around.

Loves dancing to The Communards while baking rosemary chicken. “Let me taste the chicken, by the way,” you ask when you finish typing, hopping off the stool and walking to the oven. He continues dancing, hips cocking poorly from side to side to the old song. He retrieves a fork and cuts a piece of chicken, reviewing its doneness briefly before turning with a piece of it stabbed into the utensil.

“Open,” he says. “It’s hot.”

It’s too natural, the way he slowly feeds you the piece. You don’t even realize it until you’re chewing, and by then he’s back to dancing to the song that’s now reaching its end. “It, uh,” you stutter, a bit nervous, “it’s really good.”

“Of course, I cooked it,” he says smugly. You grab a lime from the fruit bowl and throw it, hitting him in the back of the head in retaliation. He turns slowly, still dancing, lips stretched into a challenging smile.

Lando and Charles walk in ten minutes later to Carlos and you, yelping and chasing each other around the wide counter, chicken left atop it and forgotten in favor of the tag game. Charles, toting bags of fruit, faces Lando with a victorious expression. Pay up, he mouths, cocky.

—

It’s much too hot in Miami, but you appreciate the heavy beach culture and the even heavier nightlife.

You work on the profile until your fingers hurt from typing, sending Jonathan another draft for approval. Charles joins you on a cocktail taste test at the open bar until your tongue tastes like gin and your head is a bit spinny. Both Ferrari drivers end up having a shitload of pictures of you sleeping on the leather couch, enough that Lewis ends up getting ahold of them, too.

It’s a 2-3, in the end, with P1 going to Max. The latter throws a party at some place along the beach strip, invites you in one of the only conversations you’ve ever shared with the guy so far. He seems a bit unfriendly, but when you walk into the exclusive club later that night, you find him doing a handstand in front of a beer keg, so that’s that.

FUCK YEAH! Max hollers, following it with a howl so happy it reverbrates in your ears. It’s crowded everywhere, and you’re pretty sure Lewis isn’t here, so you spend a few minutes roaming around, getting a good grip on the vibe of the place.

It’s Carlos who finds you in the middle of the dance floor, nursing yet another drink to aid your lack of social skills. His voice is rough in your ear and it smells like a Jägerbomb, a low laugh escaping it right after. “All alone?”

“Unfortunately,” you tease, turning to face him. “Man, I thought guys were confident in Florida.”

“Cuidado,” he warns, smiling. “This dress is pretty difficult to resist.” His tongue’s definitely been loosened by shots, his eyes half-lidded and looking you up and down. You laugh, raising one eyebrow at the sudden flirty tone, but welcoming it nonetheless, depositing your now empty glass on whatever cocktail table is nearest. Who said you were sober? 

“Nobody’s inviting me, so why don’t you and I dance instead?”

He licks over his lips—he never seems to keep his tongue in his mouth—and winks, nodding.

And here in Miami, through the strobing purple lights of this ridiculously expensive club, you wrap your arms around his neck and dance to whatever Calvin Harris song is blaring through the bass.

His hands are all over you, loosening your stiff stature; they wring into the fabric of your obejctively too-short dress, raking it up a bit. You lean back and he leans forward, following you, drawn into you, your noses pressed together and your eyes meeting. Your breath heightens, holds, your fingers moving to his long hair and holding him close to you.

His hand moves over your ass, pulling you in. He smiles, pokes his tongue into his cheek, and you giggle, almost causing your lips to touch. Your mind is haywire from the alcohol, but you can’t really bring yourself to care. The warmth grows between you, closer and closer, the dynamic easy—

And then someone spills their drink on both your feet, causing you two to break apart and laugh off the tension instead. You’d almost fucking kissed. However you’re going to tell this to Lewis, you don’t even know.

And you’re not entirely sure, you think as you rinse whiskey and bile off the tip of your heel in the bathroom, how it sounds like to write Sainz and I almost made out in public on the GQ profile.

—

Nick emails you directly to ask if Carlos can do some test shoots in Miami for the profile cover.

You convince him to agree, even if he thinks he’s no good in front of a camera, and you two show up to a mostly empty warehouse studio. There’s a white backdrop situated toward the back and a tiny-sized crew of people working.

“Hi. Is this for GQ?” You ask the photographer. “Test shots?”

“Oh, hi.” He stands and shakes your hand. “I’m Luke. Big fan of your work, by the way. So the concept today is just plain shirt, long hair, gorgeous face, white background. Good?”

“Bueno,” Carlos says behind you with a smile.

You sit on a chair a few metres behind Luke while he works, watching the shots pop up on his screen every time the shutter clicks. As it turns out, Carlos is a brilliant liar, because every single shot—even one where he was fixing a wrinkle in his tee—looks perfectly usable anyway. Sainz is a natural stunner, you jot down.

It’s a bit awkward to admit you can’t help but stare, but his face is undeniably handsome, especially when he’s in front of the camera. Thankfully for you, and heavily owed to Carlos’ natural skill for modeling, the ordeal’s over in less than thirty minutes, and you begin preparing your stuff to leave.

“Oh, crap. I forgot I had to do a test bridal shoot for R&B’s wedding anniversary in September.” Luke sighs, clicking through the photos rapidly.

“R&B. The… music genre?” You ask, confused and toting your bag on your shoulder.

“Silly! Ryan and Blake. As in, Reynolds and Lively? They plan their photoshoots way in advance, and they always need sample poses to choose from.”

“Oh, I get it.” You smile. “Well, we’re sorry for keeping you.”

“You”—he stops both you and Carlos, pacing in front—“you two wouldn’t… mind, would you?”

“Mind… mind what, now?” Your eyes flit toward Carlos’ and you both laugh nervously.

“Being my mannequins for the bridal shoot!”

Both of you balk, making up all kinds of excuses, but as fate would have it, Luke is very convincing and you’re against the backdrop after five minutes of persuasion. He directs you into different silly, quirky poses—a piggyback ride both ways, smiling goofily, the like. Carlos can’t stop laughing every time the shutter clicks, at how silly the two of you must look. 

Luke plays some music to get you both looser, and directs you into a few mocking dance poses. Then he directs you in a partners-in-crime pose, which you love the outcome of. Okay, last one, newlyweds, he says. Carlos, why don’t you get behind her and wrap your arms around her waist?

You clear your throat, letting him do so anyway, his hands big around your frame. “Careful,” you whisper when he’s right behind you. Luke raises an inquisitive brow behind the camera, watches your chemistry unfold through the viewfinder. Your breath hitches a little, but you swallow the nerves.

Look into his eyes, Luke says. So you do, meet them, force yourself not to look away for once and just stare. It’d been easy to do this, because you could just as easily break the stare, but now it’s different. Your eyes flutter, and his stay unblinking. 

It’s like that for a minute, just staring, like all the things you want to say can communicate themselves through eye contact alone. Another twenty seconds pass before Luke coughs, breaking the moment.

“I said we were good like a minute ago, guys,” he says knowingly, packing up with a smirk.

—

Lewis advises you to avert your pent up “romantic” tension to another boy. It’s difficult, but you challenge yourself to find somebody anyway, maybe outside of racing, to use your extra paddock pass (courtesy of Mattia) on. The guys in your DMs are all skeevy, or you’ve unfortunately ghosted them, so they’re all out.

After some searching, you end up using your extra pass in Spain, and for James, a Sky Sports sound editor for streamed football games. He’s British and a huge Tottenham fan who you met during drinks with a few reporters the month prior. Not bad, but not necessarily your type; at this point, though, you’ll take anybody above the bare minimum. And James is above it—a gentleman, kind, funny in the quaint English way. He could be taller, but you find him charming enough.

Noise flows through the paddock, chatter and cheering and interviews. “This is so cool,” says James animatedly. “I feel like a regular Schumacher.”

You give a phony, flirty laugh and enter the Ferrari hospitality, raking your hair backwards. “I’m going to get something real quick, okay? Stay put…” You point at a lone chair. “Over there.”

“Alright,” he says with a smile. “I can’t roam arou—?”

“No!” You say, a tad too quickly. “I mean, sorry. Don’t. Just. I’ll be back really quickly.” Before you can even retrieve your phone charger from Carlos’ room, the owner himself walks into the area, squirting water into his mouth and furrowing his eyebrows together when he sees you standing beside a stranger.

“Hi,” Carlos says, a bit bluntly. His eyes are darting everywhere but at you, lingering a bit too distastefully on James’ timid figure. “You are?”

“Her date,” James says with a nervous laugh, pointing a thumb towards you. “James. Huge fan of you. Of the team.”

“Sure.” He offers a tight-lipped smile, hand meeting James’ outstretched one to form a polite handshake.

It’s awkward, is what it is—awkward and stuffy and Carlos won’t look at you. He clenches his jaw a little, smiles, looks up and down. “You, uh… how long have you guys been…?” He waves a finger in between the both of you, almost fearfully, like the answer will cast him into ashes.

“Not—not long, really.” James laughs again to relieve the tension that seeps across the room. “A month?”

“A month?” Carlos repeats, arms crossed.

“We haven’t even, like, had se—”

“That’s—” you cut in, sharp and apologetic, “wow, that’s plenty. Thanks, James. Could you get us some drinks? I’ll have a beer.”

“It’s one-thirty,” he says.

“Yeah,” you respond. “A beer.”

He leaves you both alone sheepishly, and you turn to face Carlos’ intense expression.

His arms are crossed and he rakes a hand through his hair—but he doesn’t say anything. Why should he, anyway, he thinks to himself, staring at you. You wore your hair in a ponytail today, so he sees more of your pretty face. Oh and so does James. Pendejo.

“Are you okay?” You ask, even if he knows you know what’s up.

“Totally. Muy bien.” He shrugs, drinking water again. “Should I not be?”

“Never said that,” you say, raising both eyebrows. 

“Okay. Well enjoy the beer.”

So he’s jealous. Fine, sue him. He’s jealous of the British gangly guy you thought was good enough to invite onto the paddock. Barely even made a lasting impression. He gives a small, phony smile and walks back, meeting Charles along the way.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, mate,” says the younger, slinging an arm over his shoulder. “Maybe the ghost of James?” He flicks the guy’s forehead, laughing.

P4, it ends up being. Not nearly good enough. But James is the first to say, “Congratulations, hombre!” in a God awful accent, so it becomes ten times worse, really.

—

“Alright guys, Carlos and I here today with some members of our team, and we’re going to play some fun trivia games.” Charles’ eyes read from the signboard behind the camera, his amusement wholly unscripted as he looks from you to Andrea and back to Carlos.

You honestly don’t know why you agreed to this. It might have been Lewis’ gentle persuasion or your boss’ overenthusiastic persistent voice, or the sleepiness that’s been wearing you down and boggling your mind lately, or—and it’s probably this—the fact that James ghosted you after Spain, because you “clearly have a thing with Sainz, and I don’t wanna be a homewrecker.” Whatever it is, you’re apparently a guest on the C² Challenge segment. 

Today is a trivia game against Charles and Andrea, and you’ve all been given a general guide to what the questions entail—math, music, general knowledge, and one scripted Ferrari question at the end. The structure is fairly basic; each team member gets to answer one at a time, both contributing to overall points—and no coaching allowed, for some odd reason.

Charles is a little shit, so he’s made an off-camera bet: loser should treat winner to a round of shots at the next afterparty/get-together. And—who are you kidding, really—Carlos is also a little shit, so he’s game for the bet and has fired you both up to win, spouting Ferrari trivia in your ear should it come up.

“I got it,” you say snappily when he hasn’t stopped pestering you for five straight minutes. “I got it.”

“Oh, did you got it?” He asks sassily. “Okay. When did Ferra—”

“We’re starting in three,” says the cameraman in Spanish, Italian, then finally English.

He holds three fingers up and you hug your tiny dry erase board closer to your torso, readying your camera smile. The video—and the game—start off well enough, a quickfire competition developing between the two teams that infects you and Andrea quickly. 

“Stay calm and collected,” Carlos proclaims, lips stretched into a proud smile. “Our team motto.” He elbows your side and you roll your eyes with a smile, teasing. 

“I think it’s, ah, always—always cheat, mate,” Charles protests, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“You are soooo—tch, I propose we kick Charles for poor sportsmanship,” retorts your teammate, laughing. The force of his laughter shakes the stool he sits on and you bite back a smile, remaining relatively quiet like you’ve been since the start of the video.

The remainder of the game passes with Carlos and Charles neck and neck, you and Andrea working overtime to make sure your teams don’t lose the bet. Eventually it boils down to one question, which Carlos is in charge of answering. Behind the camera, the producer raises a signboard and reads it out: We all know C². What is eight squared?

What a relief, you think. They’ve basically handed the win to you and Carlos on a silver platter. You wait, bumbling in your seat and raising an L sign toward Charles, who sticks his tongue out in response. Excitedly, you watch Carlos cheer for himself and finish writing, turning the board inch by inch until you all see the answer he has written on it.

Everyone stares. Then: “Team Charles wins!”

“Que?!” Carlos blinks, scandalized and a bit amused. He stares at the question then at his answer then, as if dreading the laser eyes, at you. Your eyes narrow, disappointed.

“Carlos. What is eight squared?”

“Eight squared. Eight, and you take another eight, and—it’s right here.” A tan finger points firmly at the number written messily, square in the middle of the whiteboard.

16

“Eres un tonto,” you quip, remembering bits of teasing you’d used on him years before. “Carlos, it’s 64. Eight times eight, not eight times two.”

“Ay, puta—” He shuts his eyes and laughs. “Lo siento! Sorry, sorry. Sorry! I cost us the win.”

Across you, Charles is coaxing a much more begrudged Andrea into a childish victory dance, pulling his arms up and down to convey the joy of winning. You sigh exasperatedly, but smile . For what it was worth, you had a great game anyway. The noise grows, and you watch the producers pack up, the cameraman parting from the camera for a moment to converse with one of them.

Left alone with you for a bit, Carlos lets his voice slip into a quieter one. “Sorry again. I forgot.”

“Forgot?” Your brows furrow, confused. “What?”

“That, you know”—he points at the lonely 16 on the whiteboard he holds—“it’s supposed to be 64.”

 “Oh.” You laugh, a light sound. “Whaaat?! It’s not that deep, Carlos. Seriously, don’t worry about it. It was all fun.”

“Well, I’m glad you had fun,” he says softly, smiling.

“Yeah, me too,” you say, unable to hide your smile. You stay like that for a bit, something blooming in the pit of your stomach you can’t—and refuse to—name.

—

You get two days off, and Charles had suggested you all go to Paris before you go to Cannes, where the Ferrari team is apparently expected for a meeting before Monaco. You’re the one who’d said yes first, even if Carlos seemed to hesitate; he had asked why, to which you responded you’d never been before.

You’d read about it, watched about it, and like every other human on Earth, seen pictures of it. But you’d never been to Paris; work placed you mostly in London, sometimes South America, other times Italy. But Paris was never a destination. So Carlos allowed the greenlight and you flew, with Lando, Pierre, and Esteban tagging along for shits and giggles.

“I’ve waited my whole life for my Eiffel Tower moment,” you say, not even trying to hide your wonder. Carlos got the best room for himself, but invited you in, for the view. He doesn’t tell you he went through hell and back to get precisely this room, so you could peek inside and see the tower.

“Well, you’re here now.” He wedges the hotel balcony door open and walks toward the railing. You follow suit, arms crossed over your torso, eyes stuck on the view. “How is it?”

“It’s as beautiful as I imagined it to be,” you confess honestly, eyes still stuck on the tower, the way it stands alone and glittering against the black of night. Cliché as it is, you feel like you’ve checked one huge box off your bucket list, staring at the landmark like it’s going to evaporate into thin air. 

Beside you, Carlos hums in agreement, but his gaze is stuck on something else. “I know.”

“Oh, do you?” You laugh. “Are you in the business of admiring beautiful things?” You tease, looking up at the stars.

Sensing his eyes on you, you slowly avert your gaze until your eyes meet. The light reflects in his eyes, and they meet yours blindingly, beautiful, luring you closer. The joking tone of your words is caught in your throat, desert dry, your lips parted to spout words you’ve now forgotten, lost track of.

Your silhouettes dance against the lights of the city below, two figures admiring the other. His eyes flicker down to your lips, linger there a second too long. You stumble closer, your foot touching his.  “…Paris.” The words struggle to leave but they do, quietly, an admission of guilt. “It’s always reminded me of you.”

 “Not Spain?” He asks, leveling your volume. You’re closer, so close you feel his breath fan soft against your own face. His voice is deep, accented so thickly, the way it is when he talks with you because he falls into a familiar rhythm of knowing you’ll decipher whatever he has to say.

You giggle, a low, breathy sound. A barely there shake of your head. “I… love it so much, is why. Always have.”

Had there been a pedestrian across the street who looked just a few floors upward, they would’ve found the both of you there, smiling foolishly, blanketed by the night sparkles of the Eiffel Tower and the rest of the city. They would’ve seen the way Carlos leaned in, his eyes on yours and then on your lips, the way you nodded in silent, warm invitation. Come closer, you seem to say. Don’t stray any further.

A lock of your hair touches his jaw, from how close you two are. So close. Everything smells like him, like the musky woody perfume he wears, the detergent he uses. All of that, and everything underneath. The scent of him. Just him. 

You hold your breath when you both lean in, eyes fluttering shut and waiting, waiting for his lips to meet yours.

The door shakes with several knocks, Lando’s voice seeping from the other side of it. “Mate, we’re gonna be late for dinner!” He says boredly, letting his fist collide with it a few more times for good measure.

Instantly, you and Carlos separate, both of you clearing your throats, rushed flimsy excuses escaping your mouths at the same time. You’re warm all over, the excitement, the nerves, tapering off into nothing as you walk back inside the room, busying yourselves with anything. Oh, I need to check if Jonathan’s emailed me. Oh, let me go answer the door.

Lando is waiting, expectant, on the other side when Carlos pries the door open. “Mate! Dinner! I texted you like twenty minutes ago and y—oh.” He spots you sitting at one of the lounge chairs in the room, and immediately his brows raise. “Hey, dude. You’re here?”

“Yeah, to, uh—to get Carlos to OK some edits,” you say with a smile, hoping your nonchalance isn’t too shaky. “I needed to get a draft in by three hours ago, so.”

“Oh. Right, obviously.” His eyes narrow a little, but he doesn’t relax much, gaze suspicious and a bit beguiled. “Well, if you’re not busy, we’re having dinner?”

“I’m good,” you decline, a touch too quickly. “It’s getting late.”

“Alright, well it was a courtesy invite, you dipshit,” Lando teases, and everything feels a bit more normal. You just flip him off, and Carlos retrieves his coat, eyes still not meeting yours when you all exit at the same time. Lando makes up for the hole in the conversation, droning on and on about the restaurant they’re going to, and how good it seems to be.

The elevator ride is equally charged, and you spend it humming and interjecting Lando’s words to come across as unfazed, even if you’re so totally not. Once you’re alone you finally let big exhales leave you. You don’t know if it’s from the anxiety of almost being caught, or the anxiety from the kiss unfinished.

—

LOVE the latest draft, Nick & I both. Could we get a deeper angle? Something re: regrets? Would really tie it together! Best, J

“Huh. Do you have any regrets?” You ask, tearing your eyes away from the short email. Next to you, Carlos nods his head slowly. You’re on the beach in Cannes, taking time off before the meeting and people-watching. Charles had joined you for a good half hour before leaving to sleep in the hotel instead, leaving you two to bask in the now setting sun.

“Everyone does, no?” He stretches a bit. The topic is tense. “But yes, I have some specific ones.”

“Like?” You ask weakly.

“I was stupid when I was younger. More immature, more forgetful. You grow older and you think of all the things you could’ve done right, years too late. There’s a proverb I heard once that goes—camarón que se duerme se lo lleva la corriente. It means to—to stay alert. Don’t let things pass you by.”

“And do you think you followed that advice?”

His eyes meet yours. “Do you?”

—

It’s quiet when Carlos walks inside your flat, and already his heart begins to drain, filling with guilt.

He steps over the creaky floorboard, notices your car keys on the table, your jacket haphazardly slung over the rack, your Chanel bag half-open on the dinner table beside an empty wine glass and a sweaty bottle of Cheval Blanc. The bedroom door’s half-open, light bleeding into the dark rest-of-the-place, and when he gently pushes the door to get in, the sight he faces is crushing.

“…Estás bien?”

You face the window, your back to him, in a beautiful, beautiful black dress. Your hair had been up, but it’s unpinned now, falling in loose, messy waves. You hiccup, and then tense. Feigning nonchalance, you croak out, “Yeah, yeah.”

“I’m sorry,” he says honestly. “I didn’t know the thing was earlier.” His eyes hover to the glass award on the bed, one you’d hoped he would watch you receive tonight.

“I said I’m fine,” you say. “Just”—you sniffle—“it’s fine, Carlos, just get out.”

You’re standoffish, and cold, but Carlos knows you’re incredibly hurt. In an attempt to try and coerce a conversation, he stays. “Let’s have dinner tomorrow,” he suggests in a low voice. “On me. Right? To celebrate.”

“Leave me alone, Carlos.”

“I wanted to go,” he insists. “I had a meeting that ended late, and—”

“It doesn’t fucking matter,” you assert, turning. You’ve clearly been crying hard, your face flushed and shiny, a few rogue tears still on your chin. “Just go.”

“I know how much this mattered to you.”

“And yet you didn’t go.” You sniff, wiping fruitlessly at your face. “Carlos, just…” Your voice sounds thin, heartbroken, worn with pain and real tiredness. 

“Cut me some slack.” Carlos argues softly.

“No, I just… I don’t even know how things got to this point, Carlos. We used to be so much happier. But now, it’s like I have to demand for your time like everyone else does. Now, I—I cook, I plan dinner, I put my own career on the back burner so I can spend more time with you even if I’ve gotten calls, promotions that you don’t even ever… ever ask about, just everything. I don’t think… I don’t feel you love me that way. Care for me, that way. You’ve never shown it, not lately especially.”

“You should’ve told me,” he says, hurt.

“This kind of thing, it…” you shake your head, wiping your clammy hands on the black silk. “It doesn’t need to be said.”

“Let me make it up to you.” He steps closer but you’re quicker, almost stumbling in your rush to avoid him.

“No,” you protest, “just go, Carlos, just go. Get out and close the door.”

“Cariño—”

“Go,” you say, voice hard with contempt. You refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Go, Carlos.”

So he does.

He passes by, again, your handbag, with the sleek travel-sized bottle of Santal 33 you keep with you always peeking out, and the Cheval Blanc he’d bought you a few months prior, and the jacket you’d bought with his approval almost a year ago. He lingers in his car for a minute, the rain pelting the Golf noisily. 

He drives off, wiping tears from his own face.

And maybe, had he stayed a little longer, he would’ve seen you tearfully emerge from the elevator, into the lobby, then out into the rain, still in your black dress, and let yourself get soaked waiting for him to come back, refusing to believe he’d even let himself leave you so broken.

—

You play Uno to pass the time, your last night in Cannes.

He’s won two games in a row at this point, and you’re almost 100% sure he has a plus four card in his hand, so you play a bit more deliberately, eyeing him with a challenging glint in your eyes. You’re a bit watered down by your earlier conversation, but you feign nonchalance anyway.

Blue 2. Blue 5. Green 5. Then finally, he slaps it onto the deck—a plus four card. “Oh, come on, Carlos,” you say, almost actually irritated.

“I’ll kiss it better,” he says. Suddenly overwhelmed, you push yourself off the counter and storm out.

He follows you, stumbling into the empty balcony and softly shutting the door, voice still colored with laughter. “I’m sorry! I didn’t know you’d be so upset about the—”

You barely hear the rest of his clearly half-hearted, humorous apology. It doesn’t matter to you.

What does matter is everything from the years past crashing on your shoulders like debris, like rain, finally giving under the weight of being so close to him again. Everything. The tangled fog of your relationship, the start, the middle, the terrible end neither of you wanted. You pulsed with want, with yearning, with sadness.

So you ask yourself why? Why? Why? Why couldn’t he have come back? More importantly—why did he let you go so easily?

The truth is, you’ve drowned yourself in work so long you’ve forgotten what it’s like to feel, to be felt. And if Carlos is doing this, all this, all the touching and the tension and the debris and the rain that crash on you like a bruising, torrential storm, for his own pleasure, like this is all a game, then you’ve yearned for nothing.

“This isn’t about the game, Carlos!” It heaves itself out of you in a half-sob, carried by the wind.

He stops—stops walking, stops smiling. Just stops and stares, brows knitted with concern. You refuse to look at him, staring instead at the skyline, arms crossed. The view blurs with tears, lights meshing together prettily.

He stutters your name out in a feeble response. It’s mortifying, the way you start to cry when it leaves his mouth.

You turn then, willing your lips to stop quivering. “Good for you,” you say shakily, “you can—you can fool around, kiss me like it’s nothing, pretend like we never even mattered so you can make jokes about how we’ve ended up here again, back, together.” You inhale, but it’s no use; you’re crying even as you speak. “And I’ll laugh, because it can be funny, you know, fuck it. But… I’m so—”

The wanting shows, in moments like this. Wanting love, wanting comfort, wanting warmth, an escape from work and stress and life. You know how it feels, to be loved. You’d been familiar with it, at some point. You want it again, the ache, the kiss, the pain of it all. More than that, you want him. For just a moment. But all this wanting is so exhausting.

You want this profile to be over. You want to pull him close and tell him how proud you are, but also how hurt you are. You want Spain. You miss Paris. Everything, everything, every memory, every single painful loving thing bursts inside you.

“—tired.” You nod your head, licking tears that have perched on your lip, smiling humorlessly, shrugging. “I’m—I’m tired, and lonely, and being around you makes it worse. Being around you hurts me. It hurts you. This profile was a bad idea, and I should’ve trashed this the moment I learned I’d be covering you. Because I knew then it would’ve turned to shit, and I was right.”

He stares, unmoving. He remembers, too. He’d tell you everything if the words clicked just right. But they never do; they tangle like cotton balls in his throat before he can kneel and name everything he remembers, everything he loved about the two of you. Cariño. Just be mine, tell me everything, tell me you love me.

You wipe a hand over your face. “Let’s just let this go already. You know, we really were good for a while. This… this is maybe just one of those things where we made it in another life, but not this one.”

At his returned silence, you nod, then walk quietly past him and back into the room.

It’s just as empty as you’d left it, dim and lit only by the warm light above the kitchen counter. Your forgotten Uno game lies on the same spot, beside the two empty wine glasses. You stare for a second. Life had been different when he’d lay down his cards just minutes ago.

A coat is tugged from in between couch cushions, your heels from by the door hastily pulled on. Every movement feels heavy, like sandbags are tied to your limbs, your tongue, your eyelids. You turn, one last time, to see the moment suspended in time—and you meet his eyes. Even across the room you feel like you’re drowning in them, dark and solemn. 

“Wait,” he says, and even with just one syllable he’s managed to stop your world from turning again. “You’re right. Everything you said. When I’m around you, I hurt. I’m reminded of how awful I was then. It’s painful to be together.”

Eyes meet, eyes blink, eyes close.

“But you didn’t trash the feature. And I still enjoy your company. You could be covering Rafael Nadal or whoever right now. I could be in a jet to Japan. But you and I are here, are we not?”

Only you. It’s only you.

“I’ve missed you.” It rips through him. “I want to be here with you. I want to make the pain go away, so let me.”

“It’s useless,” you protest, tearily. “This won’t work. I’ll get mad, you’ll get fed up, I’ll get bored, you’ll put work before us.”

“Okay.” He paces toward you, nearer and nearer, closing the distance between you both. “I’ll make it work.”

“Carlos,” you weep, “I don’t know why you don’t get it. Life sucks. And all we get are little moments where things are… are good. So don’t waste the moments like this. Let’s not waste the moments on this.”

“You’re not a waste,” he says—and you crumple into his arms, worn, exhausted.

A knot in your heart is slowly unraveling itself. You’ve waited, yearned for so long, and finally you’re in his arms again, with the kind of quiet resolution only he would understand. You left the lights on for him. You’d do it again, but you don’t have to.

You bury your head in his chest, a chorus of apologies leaving him. I’m sorry, he says. I’m sorry, I love you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Everything.

I love you, you say weakly. I love you, that’s enough. I waited for this to leave, but all it did was hide. The love has yet to pass. It never will.

—

“Yours really is the best selling one!” Nick pulls you in for a hug. “We have Nadal and CR7 on the roster, but Sainz’s is selling like crazy. Your writing is just—” He kisses his fingers. “You are amazing.”

“You flatter me,” you reply gracefully, letting him pull you into another embrace but prying him off a bit faster. You don’t need another Jonathan-esque freakout in the middle of the room.

The GQ party, six months later, almost a mirror of the fundraiser just a few months ago. Only this time, you’re not tacked onto Lewis, and you’re not buzzing with nerves (as much). You had run into Lewis when you entered, and Charles too, and Lando when he spotted you, but none of them are your plus ones to this event.

Your profile is the talk of the journalism scene. Nobody can shut up about it, and it thrills you, excites you, to be witnessing your work be recognized beside Carlos himself. He brings you a glass of champagne and presses a kiss to your cheekbone, smiling against it.

Neither of you notice Lando and Charles behind you, watching like hawks. The elder cackles, presents his hand like a sacrifice and turns to the Brit. “Aha.What did I tell you, chat?”

“Five hundred euros,” moans Lando, slapping a bunch of bills onto it. “You’re an intuitive prick.”

“Those two are soulmates.” They stare at your foolish figures, smiling like idiots, high-fiving even. “The kind that’ll always, always find their way back to each other. Always.”

Lando shrugs. “Hey, honestly, for once, I’m glad I lost a bet.”

“I look great on the cover,” Carlos says, both of you staring at the screen’s display of it. 

“Shut up,” you smile, interlocking your fingers. “Well, my writing looks great inside.”

“Really does,” he says. “I’m so, so proud of you, cariño.”

“Proud of me?” You tease, staring up at him. “You made the last minute title change that caused fans to go crazy.” You both turn to stare at it displayed on the screen, smiling fondly.

Carlos Sainz—on racing, gracious defeat, and refinding love.

[sykeskassie]

Here Comes A Thought; Pt. 3

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader

Word Count: 711

Warnings: ANGST!! But this time, we’re open to a happy ending.

A/N: I wasn’t originally going to go with this song, but pt. 3 was always going to be an SU song. It is one of my favorites though, and I felt like it fit the theme well. Also!! I’m sorry this is getting posted so much later than I meant to, I had family in town 🎉

Pt.1 Pt. 2

Here comes a thought that might alarm you/ Something you did that failed to be charming

Chris,

I got your package. It took me awhile to figure out what I wanted to say to you. You said that you see me, but do you truly? Do you see all the ways that you stopped showing up for us? For me? You want me to come back to you, but what is there to come back to? Waiting weeks in between texts? Waiting for your call just for you to make excuse after excuse as to why you couldn’t be reached? I don’t want to go through that again. I can’t go through that again.

All these little things seem to matter so much/ That I might lose you

Sweetheart,

You’re right. The partner that I had become is not one that you deserve. I see now that my inaction pushed you to a place where I couldn’t reach you. I lost sight of what was most important to me. I became so focused on my career that I didn’t even realize that I was taking your presence in my life for granted. I thought you would always be there, the way I thought I would always be there for you; I’m sorry that it took losing you for me to see that. Please believe me when I say I love you.

Take a moment and ask yourself/ If this is how we fall apart

Chris, 

I know you love me, it never crossed my mind that you didn’t. I used to think that knowing you love me was enough to keep us together. That the distance and the time in between being together, between speaking, wouldn’t come between us. There hasn’t been a single moment since we met where I haven’t loved you. Truthfully, I don’t know that I’ll ever stop loving you. But I can’t be with you knowing that you only remember me when it’s convenient. I just can’t. 

Here comes a thought that might alarm me/ Things that I said are suddenly swarming

Sweetheart,

Everywhere I look, I see you.  I see you in the songs that I write. I have your handwritten notes all around my studio. Your very essence is so tightly woven into the fabric of my being. I know that I’ve broken more promises than I’ve kept, but will you let me promise you one more thing? Will you let me promise you change? Will you allow me the chance to show you that I am committed to showing up for you? You are my everything, and I swear that should you allow it, I won’t forget that again. 

All these little things seem to matter so much/ That they confuse me

Chris,

I truly don’t know what was worse: being together and watching you live without me, or letting you go. How can I trust that this won’t happen again? How can I trust that something else won’t take up all your time and energy and leave nothing left for me? I knew that you wouldn’t always have time for me when you became my partner, but I didn’t realize that would turn into ‘never’. It scares me that I was so easy for you to just forget. In spite of that…I miss you. I miss the kids. I miss my other half. Let me think about it, okay? 

Take a moment, remind yourself/ To take a moment and find yourself

Sweetheart,

Take the time you need. I would wait forever for you. I won’t push you, but please reach out to the kids, regardless of what you decide for us. They miss you just as much as you miss them, and they shouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of the damage I caused. I know that too much space is what lead us to this in the first place, but I don’t want crowd you while you take time to figure out what you want. I’ll be here when you’re ready. I love you, regardless of the outcome. 

Take a moment and ask yourself/ If this is how we fall apart/ But it’s not, but it’s not, but it’s not 

I’ve got nothing, got nothing, got nothing, got nothing to fear/ 

[pxrplebxtterfly]

Only Girl For Me (1/?)

18+

Pairings: Nomad Steve Rogers x fem reader

Warnings: SMUT, kissing, making out, nudity, oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, (d)ubcon kinda?, (s)tepcest

Summary: Your step brother Steve comes home while your parents are out of town and notices the book you're reading. He informs you he's done dating around.

Word count: 4.3k

Notes: Hey guys!!! Sorry for my inactiveness over the summer. I've whipped up a little something for you all and I hope you enjoy it! Happy fall!!!

❀𖤣𖥧𖡼⊱✿⊰𖡼𖥧𖤣❀

It’s a quiet evening in your house. You’re home alone, curled up on the couch with a book. You made a fire earlier and it was still burning bright, illuminating the room along with a dim lamp on the bookcase somewhere behind you. The lighting was cozy and perfect for reading.

Tonight, you picked out a favorite of yours. It’s basically all smut but no one needs to know that except you. It looked like a harmless romance novel when you picked it out at a bookstore. You took it home and began reading. At first, it was nothing special, just the beginning of a story. After the first few chapters, you were shocked to discover that this book contained more than just romance. Needless to say, you’ve read it a few times now.

Things are just getting good, when you hear the front door open.

“Mom?” you call out, “David?”

There is no response; all you hear is heavy, muffled footsteps echoing closer. You turn your head to peek over the couch, wanting to know who it is.

You smile when you see that it’s Steve, walking towards you.

“Hi Steve! Where were you?” you ask, and bring your book to your chest.

He smiles back at you and lets out a deep breath as he makes his way around the couch.

“I was helping Sam install new windows at his house. Trying to get them done before winter. What have you been up to?” he explains while sitting down to the right of you.

“I’ve just been reading. You weren’t here so I had the house to myself, and I figured what better to do than read in front of a fire”

You notice the way Steve has relaxed into the couch. His arm is draped on the back of the couch, fingers close to your left shoulder. His legs spread wide. You think about how inviting the position he’s in is, but internally scold yourself when you remember he’s your step brother.

“That sounds like a nice evening. What are you reading?” Steve asks and reaches across to try and pull the book from your chest.

“Oh, nothing, just some silly romance novel” you laugh nervously and close the book.

“You read this one a lot,” he comments and eyes you like he knows your secret.

That’s because he does. Steve knows all about the things you’ve been reading in that book. One of his ex-girlfriends had the same book that she would constantly gush about.

“Yep, it’s one of my favorites” you nod and blush. “My mom and David went to spend the night in the city so it’s just us” you say trying to change the subject.

“Oh, really?” Steve asks with intrigue, “well in that case I guess I get you all to myself”

He’s looking at you with lust. He’s always been a bit of a flirt and a perv but you didn’t mind that much. You didn’t mind because he was very attractive and you wanted him to like you.

“I guess so,” you whisper and your grip on your book tightens. Your stomach drops in awareness of your current situation. How you aren’t sprinting to your room, putting as much distance between the both of you as you can.

You keep telling yourself in your head to leave. Just get up, tell him you're tired, and go to bed.

Before you’re able to say anything, Steve interrupts you saying, “Anyways, did I tell you that I broke up with Sabrina last week?”

“No, I thought you were still seeing her,” you say, glad he switched up the conversation.

“Yeah, she just wasn’t doing it for me anymore, in fact she never really did,” he says and looks at you to see your response.

“Oh,” you say, curious as to why your step brother said this.

“She’s a great girl, she’s just not for me,” he reassures.

“That’s a shame, I really liked her. On to the next I guess!” you say with a smile and laugh.

Steve dates around a lot. He’s usually only in a relationship for a few months before moving on to the next.

Secretly, he’s trying to distract himself. He’s trying to distract himself from you. He knows it’s wrong to want you as bad as he does; you’re his step sister! But, he just can’t ever get you off his mind.

He knows you’ve caught him staring or flirting with you. He tries to hold himself back, but you exude sexuality even though you’ve only ever had one boyfriend.

There’s just something about you that he can’t shake. He always finds himself coming back to you.

“Actually, I think I’m done with other girls for a while,” he says.

Other? Your brain sparks.

“What do you mean?” you ask, intrigued.

“I mean, the only girl I have room for in my life is you,” he says and you catch each other's eyes.

In this moment of intimacy, you forget that he’s your step brother.

You curse yourself silently, for growing wet, and curse him for being so attractive. Damnit, he is so hot, it’s unfair your mom had married his dad.

No, you tell yourself. No way in hell you would ever let that happen. It just can’t… right? Right.

Steve realizes he’s lost you and reaches for you.

You struggle to listen to yourself when you feel his hand land on your knee. He’s reaching across his body, turning towards you, and looking at you with desire.

“Steve?” You squeak as his big, warm hand rubs back and forth on your leg.

You should jump away and push him when you see out of the corner of your eye, his face coming towards you. He glides his face towards your neck and whispers in a low voice, “You’re the only girl for me,”

All you do is sigh with desperation, because you know what’s about to happen and you know you won’t hate it.

“Steve, what are you doing?” you ask as his hand travels further up your thigh and his nose buries into your neck. His breath on your neck makes you tilt your head giving him more access. Your head is telling you that this is wrong, but the way he’s breathing into your neck and running his hand up your thigh feels so right.

Your skin prickles in anticipation of where his fingers will go.

“I just need you really bad right now baby” he whispers so close to your ear. You swear you can hear a whine behind his words.

His pillowy lips kiss your neck, giving you slow, deep kisses. The way he sucks gently has you feeling lightheaded.

Steve indulges in the way your skin tastes and feels. You’re velvety under his tongue and he sinks into memories that surface as he smells you. He can feel his pants shifting around his hard cock, unable to conceal his excitement.

The soft material of his sweatpants creates minimal friction against the head of his dick, causing him to rut slightly into the fabric, towards your leg. Still kissing your neck, he thinks about what it would feel like to be buried inside you.

His hand squeezes as high on your inner thigh as it can. His fingers then ghost over your pussy. His palm lands on your pelvis and you rock your hips forwards subconsciously. He lowers the tips of his fingers, not creating pressure yet. His fingers slowly start to rub circles around your clit.

The sensation is enough to draw a moany sigh from you. You want more, you crave it. If he could just stop or get this over with, you’d be relieved.

He’s not gonna stop and you know this.

“Step siblings aren’t supposed to touch each other like this”

“C’mon just be a good little sister and let me” he breathes out. He applies more pressure as he circles your clit.

“No Steve, we can’t!” you whine as you feel yourself clench around nothing. You begin to try and get up to escape the sinful actions of your step brother. You barely gain momentum to stand when you are pulled back down to the couch. Your book slips out of your grasp and lands on the floor.

He grabs you from behind, wrapping his arm around your waist with his hand still on your pussy. His hand presses into your stomach, holding you down.

“Don’t do that sweetheart, just stay so I can play with you” he huffs into your neck.

“But it’s wrong” you whimper as he kisses your jaw. His tongue trailing your jaw line.

You can hear him panting hard as he kisses your cheek. He’s worked up and hungry for you, pinning you to the couch. His fingers press into the flesh on your tummy, and it hurts everytime you squirm.

Steve can’t help himself, when you’re sitting here in your slutty little pajamas, basically offering yourself to him. Especially when you’re openly reading such filth, it’s like you have a sign above you, pointing, saying, “whore”. He knows you can’t resist him as much as you try. At the end of the day, your cunt is greedy and desperate to be fucked just like everyone else.

“Just let your big brother take care of you baby, you know I can make you feel good. Maybe we can recreate one of those chapters in that book of yours, huh?” he says as he sticks his thick fingers in the waistband of your shorts and underwear.

You're shocked that he knows what you’re reading, and thoroughly embarrassed by it, but you’re distracted when you feel air rush onto you. He lifts the fabric from your skin and pulls it halfway down your legs.

Exposed now, your senses heighten, waiting for him to touch you.

Then he does. His fingers dive carefully into your entrance and play with the slick you’ve secreted. Running his fingers up and down over your hole, collecting your arousal. He circles your entrance but then moves his fingers up and down your whole pussy. His fingers start from the bottom of your hole and move to the top of your clit. He repeats this motion a couple of times, just teasing you, lathering you up in your own mess.

You moan as he teases you, not sticking his fingers in you or directly stimulating your clit. “Please” you sigh.

“Please what? I want you to use your words,” he asks, still breathing into and kissing your neck. He slows his fingers at your beg.

“Please, do whatever you want to me,” you say, giving in, “but please, just, don’t stop!”

“Fuck, you don’t know how bad I’ve wanted to hear you say that” he mumbles into your neck as his fingers plunge into you.

He knew you would fold. Your libido is just as feverish as his, and he can tell (contrary to your belief).

Steve is well aware of the collection of smutty books, you keep lined up on your bookshelf. He thinks they look like awards for “biggest slutty virgin” . He knows your thoughts are not as pure as one might think.

You moan as his fingers fill you. They press against every puffy wall inside you, the pressure making you squirm.

Your toes curl and you gasp as his fingers start to rake along that sweet spot. He uses the pads of his fingers to massage your inner wall, coaxing you to mumble curses.

“Do you like that?” he asks against your ear.

You don’t manage to say anything, you just tangle your hands into his hair and pull his face towards yours.

Your tongue is immediately wrestling with his and he tastes faintly of mint. His tongue presses against yours, your kisses sloppy, unable to find a rhythm. His fingers continue to flutter inside you, reaching so far deep that you begin to whine.

Steve is obsessive over you and completely turned on by the noises you’re making. “Your baby pussy just needed big brother’s fingers, huh?”

“Yes, yes, yes” you pant into him.

Your eyes are scrunched close and watering from the stimulation of that belly churning spot. In fact, you can’t tell whether your stomach keeps tightening or dropping.

The pleasure he’s giving you is so overwhelming and encompassing, you wrap your arms around his head and cradle it closer so you're mashing mouths.

He kisses you perfectly, somehow knowing exactly what you like and the way you like it done. Meanwhile, you’re hardly able to kiss him back, the stimulation crushing every nerve.

You moan into his mouth, realizing his fingers have already brought you to your climax. Everything disappears and you burst into a million sparks, burning through the air, searing every particle around you. You continue to burn into the couch as he continues to pump his fingers into you.

As he fucks you through your orgasm, you begin to melt. You feel like lava, every part of you flowing from your core, leaving all things underneath you charred.

Coming down from your high, the room starts to form again in your vision. Steve’s presence fades in and you feel his fingers have slowed down and are just barely moving in you. His lips have left yours and he’s looking at you, watching you come back to earth.

“You okay baby?” he asks softly, carefully pulling his fingers out of you.

You nod and smile coyly. You feel a little stunned by the intense orgasm you just experienced and need a moment to catch your breath.

“You did so good, baby but I’m not done with you yet. Help me take my pants off” Steve says.

You immediately tune back into your situation hearing what he’s just ordered you to do. You hesitate, still knowing that what you’re doing is wrong. Your thoughts are interrupted when you hear him say, “now.”

He’s looking, waiting anxiously for you to touch him. Precum has seeped through his sweatpants, where the tip of his cock is.

You don’t want to find out what would happen if you don’t obey him so you slowly reach out to his hips. You gently hook your fingers around the waistband of his sweats and tug. He lifts to help you slide them off.

His cock springs free and you pause, unsure where to go from here. You’ve had sex before, you just didn’t know what exactly Steve had in mind.

You look up at him nervously, not moving.

“You’re not afraid of your big brother’s cock, are ya?” he teases you.

With hesitation you shake your head and stutter, “No, I’m not”

“That’s what I thought,” he soothes, and brushes your hair out of your face, “Now be a good girl and put your mouth on it, you know what to do”

His eyes enchant you and you’ve stopped worrying about how wrong what he’s doing to you is. You decide to get comfy and lay on your stomach.

Once you do this, he wraps your hair into his fist so it’s out of your face. Steve wants to watch you suck him off. He wants to see your pretty eyes look up at him while his cock is in your mouth.

You grab the base of his dick and plant a kiss on the head. His precum is warm against your lips and you stick your tongue out to lick it off.

Slowly, you take him into your mouth and begin to lather his dick in your spit. You start to bob your head, and suck gently.

The tip hits the back of your throat and you hum as you pull him back out, enjoying the feeling of him filling your mouth. You keep at this moderate pace for a few minutes, getting used to him. You pop him out of your mouth to take a breather and look up at him.

He moans quietly as you lick the head of his dick, just teasing him.

A second later, you’re gagging on his cock as he pushes your head down on him. You squeeze his thighs in protest but you secretly enjoy that he’s taking control.

You hear him huffing as he fucks up into your throat, his hair tickling your nose.

“You like the way your big brother’s cock tastes? Huh?” he taunts, ramming his hips into your face.

You’re unable to say anything but Steve doesn’t care. He knows you do.

He pulls you by the back of your hair off his dick and you pant, mouth open and drooling as he decides it’s time to change it up.

You can’t think straight, trying to catch your breath and not slobber everywhere. Suddenly, Steve is standing up and switches to the other side of the couch you were sitting on.

You watch his riveting, huge, muscles move him across the floor. Everything about him is just so strong. He comes up behind you, beside the couch. He grins at you wildly as you smother a, “what are you doing?” smile between your fingers.

He pushes one of his knees in between your knees, spreading your legs for him. His hand strokes his dick as he eyes your pussy and ass.

He bends forwards and takes your ass into his hands, squeezing and playing. His grip on you sends waves of warmth through you. He uses his thumbs to lift up your ass and folds, exposing your pussy.

“Fuck” he breathes out, running his thumb over your pink, aching hole. He barely grazes you before his finger is covered in your arousal. You love his upfront admiration and visible desire.

Steve moves his hands to your hips and tugs you up and backwards. You land face down, but on your knees, butt in the air. Your ass is now exactly where he wants it.

“You want your step brother to fuck you?” he asks as he prods your hole with the head of his thick cock.

“Yes please, step brother” you beg, looking back at him.

“Yeah? Wearing slutty clothes all the time to try and get me to look at you, well now you’ve got my attention”

You need to feel him inside of you. You need him to turn your brain to mush. You need him to fill your throbbing void full of his cock and cum.

He dives in, seething immediately, unprepared for you to feel this good. He knew you were going to be warm and wet, but he could never have imagined that you would make him so close to cumming from a single stroke.

He huffs out, pushing past the feeling that wants to come over him. He pulls out and pushes back in. He begins to fuck you.

There’s not an inch of space where you can’t feel him and you love it. You’re paralyzed by the sheer force and quantity of friction being created between the two of you. You feel like he’s fucking you raw, like his dick is hollowing you out.

All you can do is moan and try to keep from crying. With the speed and strength he’s going, tears begin to flow from your eyes anyways.

Steve watches your face as it is squished down into the couch cushions. He can see your skin glisten with tears from the intensity of his fucking. He loves it.

He loves it so much that he bends forwards to bury himself deeper into you. His thrusts become short and shallow, picking up his speed.

Closer to you now and through ragged breaths, he coos, “Such a good little sister, taking what her step brother gives to her”

You moan at his words and feel your head being lifted off the couch. His fist is in your hair, pulling you up, against him.

Your back arches as you collide with him, one of his hands is immediately around the base of your throat. Not constricting your breathing, just holding you closer to him.

His right hand snakes around your hips, down your pelvis and finds your clit. He begins to rub at it, simultaneously fucking you with everything he’s got.

He’s grunting into your ear and you think you heard him say, “Fuck baby, you like that? Huh? Huh? You like your big brother deep inside of you like this?”

You’re almost completely fucked numb. Your brain and body are so cockdrunk you can hardly see or speak.

You try your best to muster up something other than curses and whine, “Yes, yes, I love it”

“Of course you do baby” he taunts.

You feel yourself reaching the edge of a second orgasm, feeling your stomach tighten.

“Steve, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum,” you tell him, wanting him to keep the pace and position.

His fingers on your clit, vibrating against it with the perfect pressure. His cock is burying into you and his rugged breathing and grunts on your neck culminate to send you into a spiraling orgasm.

“Cum for me, cum all over your big brother’s cock” he says, fucking you through it.

You release around him, letting all your inhibitions go too. You let him continue doing exactly what he’s doing because his sheer talent for making you come is mindblowing.

Your orgasm courses through you and when it’s over, you realize you’re completely slumped back against his burly chest. His dick is still inside you but he’s stilled, and you begin to regain consciousness of your surroundings. You hear his shaky breaths and seething moans. You feel him tremble against you and hold you tighter to him than ever before.

Your brain begins to connect the pieces slower than you would have liked.

Steve slowly lets go of you and you eventually fall forward, and feel him pull out of you.

He curses when he’s no longer inside your warm walls.

You feel something hot begin to seep out of you. You wonder if it’s you, him, or the both of your combined mess.

“Steve, did you?” you ask, nervous and out of breath.

He hesitates and you lift yourself up. You turn around on your knees and face him. His body expands and retracts with his deep breaths. He’s tall above you, and you have to tilt your head up to see his face.

Shame splashes his cheeks.“I’ll run to the store and grab you a Plan B, I’m sorry, I just couldn’t stop myself” he says and pets the side of your head and leans down to kiss your forehead. His beard scratches lightly as he kisses you and you reach your arms up around his neck, pulling him closer to you.

As long as he’s buying you a contraceptive, it truly isn’t that big of a deal.

“We can wait till morning” you whisper into his neck and he pauses.

Steve sits down on the couch, your arms still around him, and pulls you into his lap. His big arms wrapped around your waist. He’s grateful for your sympathy and affection.

“I’m sorry, I’ve wanted you for so long now, I just couldn’t stop myself. I don’t think you realize how sexy you are,” he explains, as you nuzzle into his collarbone.

You giggle at him and kiss his cheek. The feeling of both messes dripping out of you and onto him turns you on a little. You hum as you settle into his body. He puts his hands under your t-shirt, and rubs your lower back.

His skin on your skin stirs something in your heart. The comfort of his heat and body makes you pepper kisses on his shoulder. You show him how much you appreciate him and the attention he gives you.

“If you stay like this long enough, I might have to fuck you again,” he growls low, into your ear.

His filthy thought sends a jolt of adrenaline through you, and you grind into his lap, showing your enthusiasm.

“Don’t tease me,” he says and grits his teeth together when he feels his cock twitch.

You pull back from his shoulder to look him in the eye. Your hands now resting on his neck, you say, “And if I do?”

He narrows his eyes, and flexes his jaw. His eyes are probing yours, trying to find out what your intentions are.

You bite your lip and smile, unable to contain your giddiness.

“Well, we’d have to do something about that, now wouldn’t we?” he smirks.

You realize, for the first time, that you haven’t really kissed. His lips have been on yours but you were unable to kiss him the way you wanted to.

You immediately lean forwards and press your lips to his.

Steve’s a little flabbergasted but happily indulges in the way you taste. He smiles against your lips, glad you are so eager for him.

You kiss him deeper, tenderly poking your tongue out and swiping it across his mouth. He feels you do this and welcomes you in. He moves one hand out from beneath your t-shirt and brings it up to cradle your head.

His tongue swirls against yours making you moan into his mouth. Your heated kissing slowly makes you begin to grind against his lap once more.

You can feel him shift up into your hips, creating more pressure between the two of you.

He sucks and nibbles at your lips and you can’t help but squeak out moans. The sense of comfort and joy is overwhelming and the both of you begin to slow your kisses.

Eventually, you come to a stop and you’re now gazing into his sparkling, blue eyes. The both of you pant and stare at each other with desire. The passion leisurely flowing out of you both and molding together in the atmosphere. An aura almost appears with the foggy, hot-headed, vision you now have.

Once more, you rest your head on his collarbone and squeeze him tight, sending the message of comfort to him.

[velidewrites]

Status update:

Hi everyone! Firstly, massive apologies for this super prolonged period of inactivity — it’s been eating me up and I miss being here so much. Moving continents has been so crazy and mentally draining but now, two weeks in, I feel like I can finally breathe. I haven’t anticipated this long of a hiatus and I’d had my updates scheduled weeks ago, but sometimes you gotta do what’s best to avoid going insane — still, I’m so sorry to those of you who have been waiting! On a more positive note, it’s the long weekend and I’ve just assembled my ikea bed, which means all my google docs are open and ready to be edited. I unfortunately can’t give you an exact posting date but I’m promising to have everything (except for long multi-chapter fics) completed this month.

Thank you so much for being patient with me! Many smooches to you 🦆💕

[azureflame]

To stay or to leave.

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland

Characters: (Y/n) (gender neutral), Crowley, dorm leaders & Leech twins

Word count: 908

Warnings: Slander towards various characters, but mostly Crowley.

Author’s note: I’m so sorry for being inactive for so long. Life’s been hectic & I’ve been suffering from creative block. Anyways, please keep in mind that the opinions (Y/n) expresses about other characters are my own.

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me correctly, Headmaster. I’ve decided to transfer to Royal Sword Academy” (Y/n) replied bluntly.

“But I’ve been kind to you since the beginning! Not only have I given you a home & money for necessities, I’ve been conducting countless research on how you could return to your world. How could you be so cruel” asked Crowley.

“Consider this as karma for all the times you’ve dumped your responsibilities onto me.”

Gasping, Crowley stood up. “I’ve never done such a thing!”

Without skipping a beat, (Y/n) brought up Leona’s unsuccessful sabotaging of the inter-dorm Magshift tournament back in October, Azul’s “assistance” with the final exams, the time they called Crowley during winter break & the multiple instances where they begged for less tasks.

As (Y/n) kept talking, Crowley tried to think of an offer that was too tempting for them to pass up. “If you so wish, I could increase the Madols I give you.”

They shook their head knowing that this paltry raise would be temporary.

“(Y/n), please reconsider. The students would react poorly upon hearing your desire to leave Night Raven College.”

“I know that, but I have to look after myself. Everyone will graduate one day & so will I. Where am I supposed to go afterwards?” (Y/n) adjusted their uniform. “Anyways, I’ve already contacted the school’s headmaster about my situation & he said he’d get in touch with me soon.”

“You’ve talked to Ambrose already?! When did you do that?!”

“During lunchtime.” Just now, (Y/n)’s phone rings. “I think that’s him. Goodbye, Headmaster.”

“Wait!” Crowley watched as (Y/n) left his office. He sat down in his chair, contemplating on his next move.

Time skip to a Thursday evening at the Mostro Lounge…

“Koebi-chan! Help me with the dishes, will ya?”

“Floyd! Stop telling others to do your job” barked Azul.

“Why am I stuck on dish duty? It’s soooo boring!”

“Because you threatened our customers with the prospect of being squeezed! Again!”

“It’s not my fault they didn’t want to tip me! I had to make my time as a waiter worthwhile.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help but chuckle at their banter. While Floyd can be disruptive, he can liven up the place.

“Hey, can I get some service here” asked a student who was with a few classmates.

“Coming” replied (Y/n). Until the day they can officially transfer to Royal Sword Academy arrives, they’ll continue to work at the Mostro Lounge.

At the Mostro Lounge VIP room…

“Here is your paycheck for the week, (Y/n)” said Azul, handing (Y/n) their Madols.

“Thanks, Azul.”

“(Y/n), before you leave, I have something important to discuss with you. Several customers have been complaining about your declining service. Care to explain why?”

Sighing, (Y/n) replied “I haven’t been feeling good lately. Crowley keeps giving me tasks to do & every time I express my concerns, he keeps reminding me of how he’s always been so ‘graciously kind’ to me.”

“Is that so? If you wish, we could have a talk with him” stated Azul in an eerily calm tone, gesturing to the Leech twins who stood behind him.

“There’s no need. I’m-” (Y/n) paused. “I’m gonna be fine. Don’t worry about it.”

“If ya say so, Shrimpy~. We’ll be around if you change your mind.”

“I concur with Floyd. It would upset me greatly if something were to happen to my fellow mushroom enthusiast.”

“As I’ve said, there’s really nothing to worry about” said (Y/n) before quickly leaving the VIP room.

On a Friday afternoon in Ramshackle…

(Y/n), not having anything to do, decides to go to the admissions & records office.

Suddenly, the sky turned dark & it began to rain.

Huh? Where’d this rain come from? Whatever. Grabbing an umbrella & bag, (Y/n) ran to the front door. Upon opening it, they saw all seven dorm leaders who were either upset or worried. “Can I help you all?”

“You can help us by explaining why you’re planning on leaving us, Herbivore”

Since they knew the truth, (Y/n)’s expression became much more serious. “You all know about my issues with Crowley, so I won’t repeat them. What I haven’t mentioned before is that I’ve also taken umbrage with most of the guys here.” Before any of the dorm leaders spoke up, (Y/n) raised their hand for a second. “I know we get along these days, but it wasn’t like that when I met you all. Malleus & Kalim are the only exceptions & even then, I’ve hardly talked to the former.”

All dorm leaders felt various levels of guilt after (Y/n) went over some of the things they’ve done, such as Riddle insulting their education & their parents & the massive disaster that was Malleus’s overblot.

“(Y/n). I can’t speak for everyone when I say this, but I apologize for burdening you. By trying to take away your dorm, I became something worse than those who’ve mocked me in the past. Nothing I will do will truly repair the damage I’ve done to you, but if there’s any way I can gain so much as an iota of your forgiveness, please let me know” said Azul.

The other dorm leaders also apologized for their past actions & begged (Y/n) to stay, saying how much they mean to them.

Not wanting to truly regret their decision, (Y/n) said they’d think about it some more.

[blue-jade]

addicted to you | kim taehyung

➛ pairing(s): club-owner!taehyung x sex-worker!reader

➛ genre(s): smut, non-idol au, sex club au

➛ summary: you were like a drug to him. once he got a taste, he was addicted.

➛ warning(s): swearing, smut, straight up filth, mentions of alcohol and drugs, exhibitionism, voyeurism, bisexual taehyung, male-on-male sexual actions, oral (male receiving), unprotected vaginal sex, rough sex, spanking, creampie, (please let me know if i forgot anything)

➛ word count: 3,450 words

➛ author’s note: sorry that i’ve been semi-inactive lately. right now i’m going through midterms and start of finals so my work might be on the slow pace. anyways, hope you enjoy <3

masterlist

The moment he entered the packed club, everybody around paused and bowed for the man—their boss, the owner the fine establishment, Kim Taehyung.

Taehyung made his way to his personal booth in the center of the club, giving him the perfect view of the stage where he found you—his favorite girl. The sight of you in his favorite lingerie set, dancing so effortlessly sexy made his cock twitch in his pants, one of his hands going down to palm himself through the material.

Taehyung took a quick glance around him, noticing most of the occupants in the club were enjoying your performance as well, judging from the obvious bulges that they had. They all acted on their urges, some jacking themselves off while most received services. Taehyung could feel his cock harden even more in his pants when seeing his employees, both male and female on their knees, servicing the men that requested for them, some even going as far as straddling their laps and riding their cocks.

When returning his attention back to you, Taehyung decided to take matters into his own hands—literally. He unzipped his pants and took his cock out, pumping himself at the sight of your dancing figure, your hips swaying to the slow, sensual music playing and your hands running along your body.

Taehyung was captivated by you, by your body, by your presence, everything about you made his mouth water and cock twitch inside his pants. You don’t even have to be doing anything, you could be just standing there doing nothing and he would still be ready to take you on any surface. The sight of you alone would put him in a trance. Your body, your personality—just you was that powerful.

He continued to watch your performance, increasing the pace of his strokes every now and then, denying any services offered by others, knowing already that they would not be able to satisfy him like you do, not anymore.

That wasn’t the case before.

Back then before you came along, Taehyung would come visit this establishment once a week and choose one of his entertainers that he would spend the night with. They would never fail to satisfy him, either by cumming around his cock or swallowing his load. But that all changed when you showed up and Taehyung got a taste of you. After that, nobody was able to get him off as well as you did.

Since then, Taehyung’s visits once a week soon became three, just so that he could be able to see you.

Taehyung couldn’t help but chuckle at the memory, thinking back to the time where he first met you, where everything changed for you two.

Being the owner of over a dozen establishments, hotels, bars, sex clubs, was exhausting.

The money was worth definitely it, Taehyung could never get tired seeing his bank account grow day by day. What he couldn’t handle was the hassle of checking on each of those different establishments, making sure everything was in check and every one was in employees were happy.

Taehyung used to have people to do that, but when suddenly receiving reports of corruption, inspectors accepting bribes of free hotel rooms and drinks, or even free sex, that is when he had to get involved. Let’s just say he witnessed lots of people crying and begging for their jobs that day—none of them succeeding in doing so.

After that day, Taehyung took the responsibility of doing the inspections himself, not being able to trust anyone else in doing them anymore.

Over time it took a toll on him, having to visit every placed he owned once a week. The only thing he looked forward to was visiting the last place on his list, his favorite establishment—his sex club in Seoul. It was the best way to end the week, he thought, getting to fuck his stress and frustrations out.

And that’s exactly what he was doing.

Taehyung entered the club, the strong scent of drugs, alcohol, and sex immediately hitting him, and the sight of the many occupants bringing a smile on his face.

He made his way to his own personal booth, ordering himself a glass of whiskey and not even a minute later, a very familiar employee came towards him with his glass of alcohol in hand. “Hey there, boss.” Taehyung glanced up and a smirk instantly grew on his face when seeing who it was.

Lee Joo-Won, one of the club’s most popular ‘entertainers’ and Taehyung’s personal favorite. For the past two months, ever since he began doing the inspections himself, Taehyung would find himself spending the nights he visits the club in Seoul with him.

“Hey sweetheart,” Taehyung grins up at him, patting his thigh and the young, twenty-two year old took the hint, taking his seat on his lap. “How has your night been?”

“Better now that you’re here,” after handing Taehyung his drink, Joo-won began to leave kisses along his neck and jawline, while one of his hands slid down his clothes chest until he reached the obvious bulge in his pants, palming him through the material.

Taehyung leaned back against the booth, running his hand along Joo-won’s bare, hairless thigh while taking small sips of his whiskey, head also tilted slightly to the side, giving the young male more access to his neck. Occasionally, in between sips Taehyung would lean in and peck Joo-won’s lips, moving his hand over to his ass, gripping the soft, chubby flesh before raising his hand and bringing it harshly down onto it, forcing a cry out of him and leaving a bright red handprint behind on his pale, smooth skin.

“Do you want your usual, sir?” Joo-won asks against Taehyung’s lips, making the older man pull away and smirk at him.

Taehyung could feel his cock twitch in his pants at the mention of his ‘usual’. He knew exactly what it was.

He would take Joo-won to his private room in the back of the club and have the young male on his knees, sucking his cock. Then, he would fuck him, and fuck him hard, taking all of his pent up stress and frustration on him, leaving him a mess underneath him, crying and moaning for more as he clawed at his back until they both reached their end, Taehyung releasing deep inside him and Joo-won cumming untouched on his chest.

After the very slow, agonizing week Taehyung has had, he definitely needs that—his usual.

Just as Taehyung was about to agree, something, more like someone in the corner of his eyes caught his attention—you.

Taehyung has been coming to the club once a week for the past two months and he has never seen you before, and he definitely would have remembered you if he had. You stood by the bar talking to one of the bartenders, and Taehyung could feel his mouth water at the sight of you wearing nothing but a set of red lingerie, the material so thin and almost transparent enough to where he could see your breasts, your nipples peaking through. And your body, don’t get him started on your body.

You were the embodiment of beauty and sin.

“Joo-won,” Taehyung pulled away from the messy kiss, making the young male entertainer to stare at him confusingly with a pout. “Who is that over there,” he nods over at you.

Joo-won follows his gaze. “Oh, that is ____,” He answers, nibbling on his bottom lip and returning his attention back to Taehyung. “Today is her first day, she just started her shift an hour ago.”

So nobody has had you yet, was Taehyung’s first thought.

“So…,” Joo-won trails his finger along Taehyung’s clothed chest, trying to recapture his attention but failing. “Shall we continue—”

“Sorry, my sweet.” Taehyung cuts him off, eyes never leaving your goddess of a figure. “Gonna have to take a rain check, alright?”

The pout on Joo-won’s face grew even wider. “Okay,” he lowered his head, which briefly made Taehyung glance at him and run his hand soothingly along his leg that was draped over his thighs. “Promise me that I can have you next time, though?”

Taehyung released a deep chuckle, leaning up and pecking Joo-won’s lips before saying, “promise.”

Giving him one last hard smack on his ass, Taehyung ushered Joo-won off his lap before standing up from his booth and making his way towards you. And when he got there, you didn’t notice him until he tapped you on your shoulder and offered you a polite, “hello.”

“Hi there, handsome,” you greeted him back with a small, innocent smile that Taehyung grin. Judging from the calm expression and posture you had, you mostly didn’t know who he was. And he was guessing the bartender knew that as well because after he leaned over and whispered into your ear, Taehyung could see the slight panic on your face before you bowed your head at him. “Please forgive me, Mr. Kim. I-I didn’t realize who you were…”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Taehyung smirked at your flustered expression, your eyes now staring down at the ground and refusing to meet his gaze. He couldn’t believe someone as sexy as you could be so shy. “Today is your first day, right?”

You nodded, and as Taehyung took a step towards you he swore he could hear a small gasp come from you. “May I request your services for the night?”

“S-Sir,” your eyes widened at his words, “wouldn’t you want someone more experienced? Like you said, today is my first day so—”

Taehyung cupped your chin, cutting you off and forcing your head up and your eyes to meet his. “If I wanted someone else I would’ve said so—” he ran his thumb over your bottom lip, and it was almost like you could read his mind because next thing he knew he felt your lips wrap around it, sucking it gently, making his cock stir inside his pants. “—but I want you. So what do you say? Do you want me as much as I want you?”

“Yes sir,” you bowed your head. “I-I want you.”

That was all Taehyung had to hear before wrapping his arm around your waist and guiding you to his private room.

He broke his promise to Joo-won that night.

Because after just having one taste of you sucking his cock and your tight pussy clenching around him—he was addicted.

Soon Taehyung found himself visiting his sex club in Seoul more often than necessary, and it was all because of you.

The second your set ended Taehyung didn’t waste anymore time.

Shoving himself back into his pants, Taehyung approached you and took you to his private room, not bothering to greet you and vice versa, both knowing what was about to happen—it has been happening for a little over a year now.

The moment you two got to his private room, Taehyung had you slammed against the door and crashing his lips down onto yours. You kissed him back without any hesitation, wrapping your arms around his neck while his hands were secured on your waist, having your body pressed against his. “Fuck baby,” he groaned against your lips, hands moving up and running along your body until he reached your breasts, cupping and groping them, “missed you so much.”

That made you chuckle against his mouth, forcing you to pull away briefly and peck his nose. “It’s only been two days.”

“Two days—” taking one of your hands, Taehyung guided it to the obvious bulge he had and made you cup him through his suit pants, “—too long.”

“Well then,” unzipping his pants and taking his cock out again, smirking at him hissing from your touch. “If it has been too long, why don’t I remind you on what you have been missing then?”

Taehyung couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, watching you dropped down onto your knees and run your tongue along his tip and underside of his cock before wrapping your lips fully around him. “Fuck baby,” groaning loudly, Taehyung gripped your hair and forced your head up slightly to meet his gaze, “missed your mouth on my cock.”

You pulled away from his cock, making a ‘pop’ sound and asked him with a smirk on your lips, “just my mouth?”

Taehyung could hear the teasing tone in your voice, making him return the same smirk back at you and running his fingers through your hair. “Missed you.”

After saying that, the grip Taehyung on your hair tightened, his friendly tone suddenly shifting into his more dominant one as he asked, “now baby, are you going to let daddy fuck your face with his big cock?” And when you nodded, Taehyung thrusted his entire cock into your mouth without any warning, groaning at the feeling and from the sound of you choking around his length. “Fucking shit, baby! Your mouth is heaven, made for sucking cock—my cock.”

Taehyung felt you mumble something back, creating vibrations through his cock which only made the sensation he was feeling even greater. The sight below him made his knees tremble, watching his dick slide in and out of your mouth, coated in your saliva and hearing the wet sounds of you sucking his thick cock—he couldn’t stare away. “Fucking gorgeous, you look absolutely ravishing sucking daddy’s dick.”

You moaned in reply, hands gripping his thighs. Taehyung quickened the pace of thrusts, smirking when hearing the volume of your choking increase.

Taehyung could feel himself close to cumming, not wanting to yet, he pulled you off of his cock and chuckled at your out-of-breath state, a string of spit connecting from your mouth to his length. “Was about to cum, darling. Don’t want to until I’ve fucked your sweet pussy—gonna fill you up so much that your stomach will bulge.”

You moaned at the thought.

“Now get up and strip,” Taehyung helped you back onto your feet and smacked your ass hard, “and wait for me on the bed, all spread out.”

You followed his orders with any hesitation, unclasping your bra and letting the material drop to the ground, your panties following right after, exposing your breasts and glistening cunt. “Beautiful as always,” you could hear Taehyung say behind you as you slowly crawled up onto the bed, flashing him your pussy, eager for him before laying down on your back against the silk sheets.

When raising up your head, you couldn’t help yourself from gasping at the sight in front of you—Taehyung standing at the foot of the bed, his clothes completely discarded and showing off his toned body. “Beautiful as always,” you repeated his words with a teasing tone.

Taehyung kneeled down at the edge of the bed, grasping your ankles and pulling you towards him. “Wait,” you called out to him just as he was about to lean down and taste your pussy, making him raise his head and stare at you with a raised brow. “What is it, baby? Don’t you want your reward?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “but I-I want your cock.”

Taehyung smirked at your submissive voice. “Just my cock, babygirl?”

You nodded again, “I-I can’t wait anymore, daddy. I already prepared myself for you since I knew you were coming. Please give me your cock—”

“Okay okay,” Taehyung hushed you by crawling up the bed until his body was hovering over yours and softly pecking your lips, “you’ll get it.” With his cock already slick with your saliva, Taehyung slowly pushed the tip of his cock into you, forcing a moan out of the both of you.

Taehyung kept pushing into you until he was fully sheathed inside you, groaning from the way you clenched around him. “Fuck baby, so tight.”

You moaned at the feeling of yourself being literally split open by his cock, nails digging into his muscular back and eyes clenched shut. “Relax baby,” Taehyung whispered into your ear, running his hands soothingly up and down your waist while peppering your face with kisses. “Take your time, I’m not going anywhere.”

After a few seconds Taehyung felt you squeeze his shoulder, taking that as a signal before pulling himself out until only his tip remained inside you, then thrusting his entire thick length back in. “Fuck, Taehyung!”

“What did you call me,” Taehyung questions, pausing his thrusts which resulted in a whine to come out of you. “Want to try that again, baby?” He asks, raising his hand and bring it down hard on your thigh, the sound his slap and your cry echoing in the room.

“D-Daddy,” you corrected yourself, whining. “Please fuck me—fuck me hard!”

Taehyung smirked, pressing his lips on your neck. “Don’t worry baby, I will.”

“Fuck,” you cried out when suddenly being met with a sharp thrust, making your body shift higher up in the bed and breasts bounce. You could hear Taehyung chuckle above, giving you another slow, deep thrust that made you throw your head back and release a loud moan.

“What is it, baby?” Taehyung placed his lips on your neck, increasing the pace of his thrusts that made you cry and moan underneath him—your heavenly sounds making him pound harder and faster into you while leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses along your skin. “Can’t handle my cock anymore?” He asks and when you didn’t say anything back, only whimpered in reply, Taehyung let out another deep chuckle. “Should I go find someone who can, then?”

That made you instantly shake your head, scratching his back and begging him to continue. “N-No daddy, please! You’re just s-so big…,” you gasped in between your words as he continued to pound into you, each thrust making his cock hit a deeper part inside you that left you throwing your head back moaning and toes curling—the sight was truly stunning in Taehyung’s eyes. “Please, daddy. Don’t find anyone else.”

Taehyung grinned, immediately reassuring you. “Don’t worry, baby—” slowing down his thrusts for a brief moment, he leaned up and pecked your lips, “—there is nobody else.” Once you were calm again, he returned back to his original pace, thrusting into you at a rapid pace that made you claw at his back, leaving bright red scratches on his tan skin.

The room became hot and heavy, the sexual sounds of Taehyung’s skin slapping against yours, his groans and your moans consumed the space.

Taehyung couldn’t get enough of you.

The sounds you were making, the tight feeling of your pussy clenching around his cock, and the marks you were leaving on his skin—everything made him want you even more.

After having you cum around his cock two times, Taehyung could slowly feel himself near his end as well, his thrusts becoming more sloppier and uneven as his hands gripped your hips tightly, sweat glistening off his skin and making his body appear more define.

“Fuck baby,” Taehyung groaned above you, biting down on his bottom lip as he admired the sight of his cock sliding in and out of your abused cunt, glistening with your juices, the squelching sounds of his thrusts and hips slapping against yours making him go even harder. “I’m going to cum—gonna fill you up so much, baby.”

You could only moan in reply, back arching and whimpering out “daddy daddy” as you chased for your release for the third time of the night.

After thrusting a couple more times into you, Taehyung released deep inside you, painting your walls white with his load with you following right after, your juices mixes with his, some of it even leaking out of you and onto the sheets. Taehyung continued thrusting into you, slowly, milking himself dry completely with your abused cunt before pulling out, forcing a moan out of you from the sudden absence.

“So stunning,” you heard Taehyung groan above you, admiring the sight of the your juices and his cum leaking out of your pussy and trailing down your trembling thighs. “So fucking gorgeous, baby girl.”

You couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of your heavy-breathing. You were so exhausted to where you didn’t even notice Taehyung getting up from the bed until you felt a damp rag on your thigh, wiping the excess cum.

He was cleaning you.

“Thank you,” only came out of your mouth as you lazily lifted your head to glance at him, smiling.

Taehyung grinned back at you, pecking your lips. “No problem, baby. It’s the least I can do for the amazing night you gave me.”

After cleaning you up Taehyung joined you in bed, underneath the covers with his arms around your body, holding your naked body close with his bare chest pressed up against your back.

It didn’t take long for you to fall asleep.

While you were passed out, Taehyung was still wide awake, admiring the sight of you sleeping in his arms. To this day, after knowing you and having this arrangement with you for over a year, he still couldn’t believe to have someone like you, someone so beautiful, so perfect in his life.

One day, he will gain enough coverage to ask you out and make you his—officially.

But as of right now, what you two have right now is enough.

permanent taglist: @yeoreos, @articpup​

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Portrait of a Dangerous Man🎨3

Warnings: (series) non-consent sex and rape; slow creep; cucking; (this chapter) sleep paralysis, stress.

This is dark!mob!Clark Kent x reader and explicit. 18+ only.  Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Synopsis: Your dream of having your work hung in an art show comes true but your first buyer is not all he seems to be.

Note: I’m so happy people are liking this story. Thanks so much to everyone reading and sorry if I’m a bit inactive lately, I’ve been exhausted and yesterday didn’t end, I swear.

Thanks to everyone for reading and thanks in advance for all your feedback. :)

I really hope you enjoy. 💋

<3 As usual, I’d appreciate if you let me know what you think with a like or reblog or reply or an ask! Love ya!

On Monday, you yawned over your keyboard as your fingers moved on instinct alone. Your eyes ran along the text but the words were just letters to you. You had a lot to think about, a lot to do. 

You decided you would skip lunch and get through your work day an hour early so you could head to Clark’s right away. He was hard to deny when he asked if you could make it back so soon. You told him you worked everyday from home and you had hours beside that at the gallery three times a week at least. He accepted it with a nod but his silence was telling so you caved and said you could make it but not until the evening.

You texted Marcus as you waited for your Uber. He had a few hours to go still and you left him everything he needed to make supper with instructions; the veggies were cut, the meat thawed, and the pans already arranged on the stove. You had faith he could manage on his own.

The mansion was just as intimidating as the first time you visited. You walked up the drive and to the front steps. It was human nature to be envious of the sprawling yards and lavish estate and yet, it didn’t feel as if someone could truly live here. It would be like staying in a hotel as you were always overly aware of your every move, afraid to break something or make a mess.

You hammered the large knocker when your soft tapping brought no answer. You heard someone on the other side and wiggled your foot nervously. The door opened and square-faced woman greeted you in another language. You couldn’t tell if it was Swedish, German, or some other dialect. You were never a skilled linguist.

“Um, hi, I’m…”

“Ah, you are the lady painter,” she said, “I remember. I am Nina, Mr. Kent’s housekeeper.”

She turned and beckoned you to follow her. You closed the tall door and trailed her across the spacious foyer and behind the stairs into the kitchen. She turned through another room and led you out through the glass doors that opened onto the pool.

“Miss, would you like a drink? Tea? Coffee?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” you said as the water moved and your eyes were drawn to the figure moving beneath the surface.

“Miss,” Nina nodded and left you.

You stood, awkward and listless, and glanced around at the loungers and the umbrella over the round table. You weren’t entirely sure what to do. Had he forgotten about you?

“Hey,” your gaze was drawn back to the pool. Clark waded to the edge, his broad shoulders and chiseled chest visible as he made his way to the shallow end, “sorry. Lost track of time.”

He grabbed the metal railing and climbed up the stairs. The water slaked off his tight trunks and down his thick thighs. He appeared even larger with less clothes. You looked away before your thoughts lingered too long.

“It’s fine, I should have texted I was on my way,” you said, “I can go wait for you--”

“No worries,” he took his towel and rubbed dry his dark hair. The scruff along his chin was thicker than before, almost a full blown beard, “you’re not in a hurry, are you?”

“No, not really, can’t really rush… painting,” you shrugged, “I just… I didn’t mean to catch you off-guard.”

“Pfft, I’m ready for anything,” he grinned, “but I should also listen to the artist. I’ll go get changed and you can get settled in the studio.” He directed you ahead of him as he approached the sliding doors, “you just finished work? You should take a few minutes to unwind.”

“Uh, yeah, but it’s just, um, typing, not exactly hard labour,” you said as he followed you inside.

“Work is work,” he said, “I will never fault anyone who works hard, regardless of what they do.”

“Yeah, I suppose,” you stifled a yawn behind your hand.

He let out a breath as you came out into the foyer, “I’m sorry, you could’ve… you’re tired. We could have rescheduled. I’m sorry if I came across… pushy yesterday. I don’t mean to take advantage of you.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” you assured him, “I’m fine.”

“Alright,” he said doubtfully, “but you let me know if you need a break.”

“Will do,” you murmured as you neared the stairs.

🎨

You weren’t even close to done just the background of the portrait. Clark really didn’t even need to be there as you shadowed the folds of the curtains around his figure and the marble bust. Your arm hurt from reaching across and up the gigantic canvas and your eyes burned from squinting at your work.

You backed off the ladder carefully with your paintbrush and palette balanced in one hand. The paint was drying and you needed to mix more. You set down your armful and wiped your hands on the rag. He was watching you, he was always watching you. Well, no, he was just looking in your direction; it was all for the portrait.

You hit the button on the side of your phone and gasped. It was midnight. You had several messages from Marcus and you blanched as you unlocked the cell and quickly texted back. You rubbed your eye as you hit send and turned to Clark.

“I didn’t realise it was so late,” you said, “I gotta go.”

“What time is it?” he asked and looked at his watch, “oh.”

He pushed himself to his feet with a grunt and stretched out his arms as he neared. You took your brush and rinsed it in the tinted water in the jar.

“I’ll just clean up as I wait for an Uber,” you said as you let the brush rest in the jar and lifted your phone again.

“I’ll drive you,” he said as he grabbed a rag, “it’s a long way. I’ll hire a driver for you from here on out. It’ll be easier and cheaper.”

“You don’t have to--”

You flinched as he wiped your cheek with the rag. He smiled and showed you the paint on the white cloth.

“I wouldn’t offer it if it was too much trouble,” he tossed the rag down, “and I did have something to talk to you about. The drive will be more than enough to get it sorted.”

“Oh, okay,” you eked nervously. Had you done something wrong? Were you not painting fast enough?

“I’ll meet you downstairs,” he touched your arm gently.

He left you and you finished scraping off the palette and cleaning your brushes. You dumped the jar in the sink just inside the nearest bathroom and rinsed the porcelain back to white. You left everything arranged neatly on the table and descended to the first floor.

Clark stood by the door in a different jacket, his tie gone and the top button undone. He held the door for you and showed you to the garage. There were at least a half-dozen cars inside and he took you to the same silver one he drove the night of the show. You settled in and groaned as the tension left your shoulders.

He started the car as the doors rose behind him and he backed out smoothly. He turned down the long drive and onto the desolate roads of the wealthy countryside. He kept one hand on the wheel and dropped his other to his thigh casually.

“So, your job, you like it?”

“It’s work,” you said, “I get paid to sit at home and type. Half the time, I’m just waiting for an assignment.”

“I asked if you liked it,” he said more pointedly.

“Oh, well, not… really?” you answered, unsure. 

He could be so pleasant and then so blunt. He made you nervous and the more you thought of it, the more you realised you knew almost nothing about this man besides his name. You didn’t know how he made his money or what exactly he did outside of his extravagant mansion.

“If I doubled your fee, would you quit?” he asked without hesitation.

“Quit? This… the painting won’t take forever,” you said, “I can’t really just drop everything--”

“This is an opportunity,” he said, “you could spend your days doing what you love. And who’s to say it’s just one painting? I already have something in mind for the dining room and I have friends asking about you.”

“Friends? Who--”

“One thing at a time,” he said curtly, “I’ll introduce you to them in time. Is it a deal?”

“I… it’s all very sudden, can I think about it?”

He looked at you in the rearview and you caught his eye. For a moment, you were afraid. There was something in his expression that left you breathless. He lifted his hand and stretched his arm between the seats, his fingers gripped the leather just above your shoulder.

“Sure, I’ll give you a couple days,” he said at last.

“I--I’m sorry…” you didn’t know why you were apologizing but it felt appropriate, “I just, I’m tired.”

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he assured and the epithet hung in the air.

“I have to go to the gallery tomorrow, I’ll get back to you on Wednesday,” you said as you rubbed your chin nervously. Your lips was quivering. He was smiling but you felt his impatience in the small space of the car, “if I… if I say yes, I have to talk to my boss and that might get messy.”

“No problem,” his voice softened, “you take some time and figure it out.” His thumb rubbed the leather seat and he pulled his arm away to grasp the steering wheel, “why don’t you close your eyes. We got some time left.”

You peeked over at him and nodded. 

“Okay,” you murmured and hugged your bag against you as you tried to relax against the leather. You turned your head and looked out the window up at the starry sky. You closed your eyes as the fatigue settled over you but you could only fake dozing as your nerves stormed inside of you.

He was right, it was a great opportunity, but you just couldn’t believe it would last. Was it your own doubt getting to you? Or should you be weary of this fairytale buyer? It was late and you couldn’t think. All those worries could wait until tomorrow.

🎨

You crept into the dark apartment. It was after one and you foresaw a long day ahead of you. You’d get maybe four hours in before it all started again. You put your purse down and went into the bedroom, undressing in the shadows and crawling into bed next to Marcus as the colours of the tv moved around him. The playlist he was casting kept on even as he slept.

He grunted as you laid on your back and he turned to graze your arm with his fingertips. 

“You’re home,” he grumbled and kissed your cheek, “I was worried.”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, “I… it’s so far out there and it’s a lot of work. The canvas is like nine feet-- I’m sorry, I’ll let you sleep.”

“No, no, it’s okay,” his voice was gristly as he propped himself up on his elbow, “you’re gonna finish the job right?”

“I don’t know,” you said, “I don’t know if I can.”

“Of course you can,” Marcus insisted, “I mean, at that price, you can do anything.”

“It’s not about the money, Marcus,” you huffed, “I don’t know if it’s worth all this. Going back and forth…” you ran your hands over your face, “he wants me to quit my job and just paint for him.”

“You should,” Marcus said blithely, “why not? He’s paying you well enough.”

“And what about when I’m done,” you whined.

“You’ll find more work. Vanessa even offered to take on more of your work in her shows, so what’s the problem? Isn’t this what you want?”

“Y-yeah, it is but… I don’t know, it just seems too good to be true.”

“You do this and we might even have enough for a down payment,” he said, “something had to give after all these years. Why can’t it be this?”

You looked at him and tried to smile, “you’re only saying that because he has a pool.”

“Maybe,” he kidded, “but I also want it for you. You spend all your free time painting anyhow so why not get paid for it?”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled, “yeah, I just don’t know why I feel so… I don’t know. It just all seems off.”

“Sleep on it, you’ll feel better,” he leaned over and kissed your lips that time, “love you.”

“Love you,” you echoed as he grabbed the remote and shut off the tv.

You closed your eyes as the darkness shrouded you and despite your anxiety, you fell into a deep sleep. You didn’t even roll onto your side before you sank into your REM but found yourself caught in limbo. The abstract and intense sensation of paralysis overtook your body and your eyelids flicked open.

It was an awful feeling you knew too well. You knew you were dreaming, you knew it was all in your mind, but your body was filled with sand and your subconscious conjured visions of doom. The tall man stood by the door as he always did and just stared. He got closer, just a little at a time, and you fought to move just a finger and free yourself from the trance.

You felt like you were drowning as your body remained heavy and unmoving. He was getting closer and closer. As he did, his figure changed and his shoulders got wider as his features came clear in the slat of the streetlight that leaked between the curtains. It was Clark staring down at you, his blue eyes sinister and sparkling. 

He reached for you and you woke with a start as your name rose from his lips. You inhaled sharply and looked over at Marcus as he snored. It was only the two of you. You reached for your phone, it was just after three. You turned onto your side but your heart still raced. It always happened when you were stressed, the dreams felt so real that you never really came back down after.

You stared at the wall and curled up under the blanket. You didn’t expect to get much sleep anyway, not with the question on your mind. Should you quit and live your dream or should you kill all hope before life did it for you?

[acespec-ed]

The survey results!

I finished compiling all the results to that survey I made and here’s the link to the spreadsheet that has all the responses, sorted into categories, with charts at the bottom. (A few of the charts have words like “sex” and “masturbation” in size 20 font so you might wanna wait on clicking that until you’re in an environment where it wouldn’t be awkward.)

Now, to address a couple things before I get started.

I would first off, like to thank the person who pointed out the fact that I was technically asking minors sexually-explicit questions. By the time I saw their concern, I was up to 60+ answers and it was too late to start it over, so I had to quickly jump in and edit in a note telling minors not to answer certain questions. (I swear, that was an accident! I was debating on whether to include them and then decided on including them, then immediately forgot I made them a demographic as I went on to making the other questions.)

I am also sorry that I didn’t include options under certain demographic questions. I wanted to keep things simple. And to be honest? If I were to redo this, I’d put in a “write in” for gender, a “write in” for orientation. And then, have a required question asking if you were on the ace spectrum, not on the ace spectrum, or questioning. And a similar one for aro. Because that would have made my life 10x easier and you would’ve gotten these results half a week ago oh my god.

Additionally, I don’t want to see any nitpicking on what responses I put where. I’ve had to redo/recount categories several times because I realized I had somehow missed a huge chunk of people who fall under that category. And there’s been responses that I sat on forever trying to figure out where to sort them and in the end, just... gave up. This project has taken up a majority of my free time for the past week and I just want to move on with my life.

Now onto the results, under the “read more.”

There were a total of 745 respondents! (though like six of them showed up blank?) I put their results into categories that you can see on the spreadsheet. Aces, not aces, aros, not aros, alloallos, aroaces, alloaces, aroallos, strictly asexual, strictly aromantic, strictly aroace, gray area aces, gray area aros, demisexuals, demiromantics, graysexuals, grayromantics, aegosexuals, aegoromantics, and questioning. 

I do not have the mental energy to go through every questions with every group, so go check out the spreadsheet itself. I’m just going to go over what I found interesting, and explain why I asked some of what I did.

For specific aspec labels, I only made categories for demis, grays, and aegos. Because they were, unsurprisingly, the most common identities (aside from asexual and aromantic). You can see the numbers below.

I’m surprised at the amount of aroflux people though. And aceflux too. The Tumblr tags for them are mostly inactive which made me think they were more on the rare side.

People assume aces are sex repulsed or averse. And they make up the majority of aces. But 9.8% of aces are sex-favorable towards doing the deed, and 15.7% of them are sex-favorable towards sexual content. People assume allosexuals are usually into sex. But 1.8% of allos are sex-repulsed by doing the deed, and .9% of nonaces are sex-repulsed towards sexual content. What about aros? 22.9% of aros are romance-favorable in terms of themselves, and 2% of nonaros were romance-averse. 29.7% of aros were romance-favorable in regards to romantic content, which turns out is the majority opinion among aros!  While .7% of nonaros were romance-repulsed towards romantic content.

I asked questions about the environments people grew up in. To see if I could debunk any myths about aces being from sex-negative households. It turns out, there were more aces who grew up in a sex positive household (26.7%) than a sex negative (20.7%) one. It was most common for them to be mixed though (33.2%). Interestingly enough, in the not-ace category, 23.7% grew up in a sex negative household while 22.8% grew up sex positive. It’s a close enough difference to chalk up to coincidence though. 41.6% were mixed. It turns out more demisexuals grew up in a sex negative household. 26.5% vs 25.5%. That’s only one percentage off, which meant the tie break came down to one or two people. Overall, since the majority of everyone answered “mixed,” and the sex negative/positive responses were so closely tied, I think it’s safe to say that in most cases, the views one grew up hearing doesn’t mean much in terms of if someone is ace or not. But it is interesting to note that those who are “strictly” ace, have 28.7% in sex positive households and 17.2% in sex negative. So that’s something.

Aros, it seems, grew up with a lot of pressure to be in a romantic relationship. 33% had that pressure, whereas only 19.4% grew up where being single was seen as an okay thing. 37.8% had a mixture of both. Those who aren’t aro, 24.8%  had that pressure and 24.8% grew up in a “being single is okay” environment. No, I did not make a typo. The numbers really are identical. 37.8% were mixed. As for alloallos- 31.9% grew up where being single was okay, vs 21.2% being pressured. Aroaces- 32.3% were pressured, 18.7% were not. Alloaces- 26.1% pressured, 21.1% okay. Aroallos- 39.4% pressured, 19.7% okay. Very interesting stats here. Looks like aspecs, arospecs in particular, are more likely to grow up feeling pressure to be in a relationship. (Then again, kinda makes sense.)

Time to bring up masturbation. The majority of nonaces do it several times a week at 38.4%. The majority of aces also do it several times a week! (But our percentage is 25.5%.) Aces and nonaces don’t have any particular preference when it comes to what they do it to. Most of both categories had that as the majority. However, reading materials come in second for aces whereas nonaces prefer visuals. I was mostly curious about aegosexuals though. 45.7% of them go at it several times a week. 35.8% vary in what they use, but 28.4% go to reading materials, 17.9% use their imagination, and 11.9% go for visuals.

As for libido? The majority of both aces and nonaces are on the weaker side. Not a single person, out of 745, answered any higher than “slightly strong.” More aces have it weak than nonaces, but the fact still remains just as many nonaces have it weak too. Only 10.8% of nonaces answered “slightly strong,” though only 5.1% of aces have it “slightly strong.” 40% of those who are strictly ace have it weak, 38.3% very weak. So aces are unsurprisingly more likely to have a lower libido. But, 2.9% of them have it slightly strong.

Do my alloaces want some depressing news? 20.7% of alloallos see sex as “very important” in a romantic relationship. 20.7% of alloallos see sex as “slightly important.” They are tied for the majority of alloallos. But do not despair, for 13.4% of them say they can go without. So alloallos willing to forego sex do exist, at least. It is a shame though, given 70.5% of aces can go without.

In terms of needing to be in a romantic relationship, 42.8% of aros can go without whereas 3.5% of them find it important. Meanwhile, it is very important to 15.2% of nonaros. Only 4.4% of nonaros can go without a romantic relationship.

Now, for questions that mattered most to me....

I had a theory that, acepecs who feel sexual attraction rarely are more likely to feel it stronger than allos, since allos feel it often enough to sort of “be used to it.” (I sure feel it comically strong and refuse to believe allos live life like that frequently!) Was my theory correct?

Not really. It turns out, allos are more likely to feel it strongly! Only 3.2% of aces feel it “strong” vs 15.0% for nonaces. To be fair, one of the definitions of falling into the ace spectrum is, feeling sexual attraction weakly. Which means we’ve got weak statistics on our end. 4.4% of demisexuals feel it strongly though- the highest of our groups. However, only 1.9% of nonaces feel it “very strong” vs 3.2% of graysexuals.(Of course, the graysexual category is vastly smaller than the nonace category, but that’s worth a mention.) So, there might still be some truth to my theory.

What about with arospecs and romantic attraction? 2.4% of aros feel that attraction “very strong” vs 9.0% of nonaros. However, 4.5% of demiros feel it “very strong” and 1.5% of grayros. What about just “strong”? 13.8% of grayros, 17% of demiros, 9.6% of aros,  21.5% of nonaros, 23.4% of alloaces, and 23.2% of alloallos.

Ever since I first discovered the ace spectrum, I wondered how many people allos are sexually attracted to. And alloros romantically attracted to. Is there a certain limit of people an aspec is allowed to be attracted to, until they get their ace/aro card taken away?

Nope! 1.5% of aces have it happen regularly, and 1.7% have had it towards 17+ people! Of course, 63% have never been sexually attracted to anyone, and 30.3% have been sexually attracted to 1-5 people. 3.2% felt it for 6-10. So, people of varying levels of sexual attraction have identified as ace. Nonaces, however, 32.4% experience sexual attraction regularly. Upon questioned “how regularly?” I got varying answers, ranging between a few times a year to a few times a month to a few times a week to even daily! And someone even implied that it was weird to keep count of such a thing! (Which was more validating for me than any validation post I’ve ever read, so thank you to the person who wrote that.)

Aros for people they’re romantically attracted to? Only 1.4% have it happen regularly, and 1.4% felt it towards 11-16 people. 4.5% felt it towards 6-10 people and 42% felt it towards 1-5 people. 50.5% never felt it. So, similar enough numbers to aces. As for nonaros? Only 6.3% have it happen regularly! (When questioned how often, many wrote multiple times a month or multiple times a year.) The vast majority of nonaros, 54%, answered 1-5 people. It looks like romantic attraction is a rare thing for everyone in comparison to sexual!

Maybe that’s why limerence is uncommon! 53.4% of all respondents have never felt limerence before. (Limerence here being boiled down to an obsession with someone, often to an unhealthy extent.) 17.3% felt it. 12.2% felt it, but wouldn’t call it “unhealthy.” And 17.1% are unsure. I asked this because, as someone who went through a bad case of it last year, I was curious to see how  many other people shared my plight. I actually threw the question in at the very last minute as an afterthought and, had I known how many people would take this, I would’ve asked for more details from respondents. I was also wondering if any aros have experienced it. And it turns out, 8.5% of those who are strictly aro have been through limerence, proving that it isn’t just an alloromantic thing, although 23.1% of nonaros have felt it.

There were two other questions I asked that I ended up too burnt out to even do anything with. The first was, “how often do you go out in public aside from school/work?” I asked this to see if there’s a correlation between the amount of people one is sexually/romantically attracted to with how often they leave the house. But it turns out, we are 2 years into a pandemic, so obviously, not many people are leaving the house. So that question ended up being useless. The other question was “how often do you seek out new visual media.” I asked that for a similar reason: People who seek out a lot of visual media, like tv shows, are going to see more people than someone who doesn’t. And seeing more people = more targets for sexual/romantic attraction. I can’t answer that one, because, too burnt out. But there’s numbers on the spreadsheet if you’re willing to sort through that mess to find out.

Last, but certainly not least, I asked if there was too much focus on sex in society. And if there was too much focus on romance in society. I wondered if allos felt the same way as most aces and aros in regards to the prominence of sex and romance. And it turns out they do! 37.2% of nonaces answered yes to “too much focus on sex.” 51.7% of nonaros answered yes to “too much focus on romance.” All across the board of all categories, the majority voted “yes.” 46% of alloallos answered “yes” on romance and 36.6% answered “yes” on sex. Of course, aces and aros had much higher percentages on the yeses, but that’s no surprise.

Looking at all of this, how some allos also have low libidos, how some allos can forego sex in a relationship, how some allos don’t have interest in being in a romantic relationship, how some allos also rarely experience attraction, that some of these allos could actually qualify as ace/arospec, right? That is why I ended the survey asking why they don’t consider themselves ace/arospec. One of the most common reasons seems to be, they don’t like using labels, or the label doesn’t fit them because they do feel attraction. A few mentioned they did when they were younger but stopped because it didn’t apply anymore. Meanwhile aspecs identify as such because, they feel at home in their label. It just fits right. 

So I guess, whether you are ace/arospec or allo, comes down to if you’re comfortable with that label. If you’re happy with it. If it brings you a sense of relief. If it describes you perfectly. Or if it’s simply closest thing that fits. There is no, one way to be aspec. There’s no strict, set of rules or criteria you must meet. It all comes down to how that label makes you feel. 

So there’s the results. Thank you to everyone who participated! 

[gyugiggles]

Hate Everything (A/F)

Genre- Angst/Fluff

Summary- After seeing you so happy with another guy, Vernon finally regrets his decision of leaving. 

Side Note- Hey y’all sorry for being so inactive!!! :(

That night you had fun, Seonghwa was a nice company. You didn't want to accept it but you had a blast. But you were still not over the man you truly loved, Vernon and you didn't have any clue that he saw you with someone else. Vernon on the other hand was broken, he was not ready to see you move on, not this fast, not when he was madly in love with you still.

Two months have passed by to yours and Vernon's breakup. As days passed by, you have gotten closer to Seonghwa. He was this amazing guy who couldn't fail to make you laugh and provided with everything once Vernon provided you with, yet still you couldn't get yourself to see Seonghwa like you saw Vernon. Your heart was with him, all the time and even though it seemed like you have moved on and with Seonghwa, it really wasn't true and he knew but he cherished your friendship with him and you were now an important friend of his.

One day you and Seonghwa were hanging out at his place where you were admiring all his trophies from all the music shows, he had received. "I have met him, recently." he said grabbing your attention to him. "Him who?" you asked knowing the answer. "Vernon." he replied more to himself. "Oh. He is doing well I heard from Seungkwan. I am happy that he is happy." you said with a smile, hurt visible in your eyes still. "I choose to think otherwise."  Seonghwa denied. "What do you mean?" you asked confused. "He looks so...Quiet." he said. "He was always the quiet one." you let out a little laugh. "No, it is visible he isn't doing well, and to me, he appeared a bit hostile as if he knew I knew you." he frowned. "Well he does I guess, I told Seungkwan about you so maybe he passed on the information?" you shrug.

Few weeks later, you decided to meet Seonghwa at the cafe you guys regularly hung out at. To your surprise you saw a familiar face and your heart swell at the sight of him. His eyes met yours as you froze in your place, "Hi!" he came forward and smiled. "Hey!" you smiled back, swallowing the lump that was beginning to form in your throat. "How have you been?" he asked. "I've been better, how about you?" you asked back knowing clearly he was nowhere near fine. "I am great." he lied and you could tell. "Really? You look like you have given up eating or something!" you joked, trying to lighten up the atmosphere. "Well..." he ran his hands through his hair. "I saw your comeback, you were great as always!" you smiled which made him smile. Hearing compliments from you was that one thing he missed, he missed how supportive you were all the time. "Hey you!!!" Seonghwa came in swinging an arm around your shoulder as a frown formed on Vernon's forehead. "Hey!! You are late!" you grinned at Seonghwa and it broke Vernon's heart to see you smile at him like that. He really thought Seungkwan's words were coming true. "Hi!" Seonghwa greeted Vernon with a warm smile while there was a hint of jealousy and hostility towards Seonghwa from Vernon, even though he tried to be as polite as he could. "I'll see you around I guess." you smiled at Vernon walking away with Seonghwa to continue your plans.

Vernon explained everything to his members after he came back to his dorms and with that came tears, rolling down from his cheeks, one after another. "So why exactly did you break up Vernon?" S.coups shook his head. "You might not know but the fans are also questioning these days. They see how sullen you have gotten, it's quite visible." Mingyu pointed. "Vernon-ah, you said you broke up with her because you were distracted...Are you sure you aren't distracted now?" Wonwoo raised an eyebrow. "I feel you are distracted now more than ever, I saw you practice the other day and it was just not you...You made so many mistakes not only that, you even got injured." Minghao frowned. "Now you better move on or you go talk to her hyung!" Dino said, rather firmly. "He is right Vernon because this isn't how anything would work in your life." Seungkwan explained. "Fine, I'll meet her and talk to her. If not taking me back, I can atleast apologise for being such a jerk to her." Vernon nodded, tears still rolling down his cheeks.

It was a weekend and you were lazing around in your house, thoughts filled with only one guy, someone you never seemed to get it out of your head. As you lay on your couch, head half hanging and eyes drooping partially with sleep, your bell rang. "Ah food is here!" your eyes lit up, as a smile was plastered on your face. The smile faded as soon as you opened the door. "Vernon! Oh my god!" you gasped as an embarrassing blush crept up your cheeks. "You could have given me a heads up, so that I could've at least dressed up nice!" you frown letting him in the house. "It is alright, I have seen you like this a lot of time, and without these too!" he laughed as you threw a pillow on his face. "What brings you here though?" you asked. "I...I wanted to see you and talk to you about stuff..." he said as the bell rang again. "You hungry? I ordered some pizza, wanna share?" you asked as he nodded lightly. You set the pizza on the table, pouring the cola in two glasses. It was quiet for a while, all you could hear was the fizz of the drink you had just poured in. You cleared your throat, "You were saying something?" you took a pizza slice and faced Vernon. "I...I haven't been doing good-" he started. "Oh tell me about it, I can see that clear on your face, even Carats noticed it." you shook your head frowning.

"No Y/N! Today I talk, would just listen? And maybe then decide on what you'd wanna do?" he asked with puppy eyes which you could never resist so you nodded in agreement and sat silent. "Y/N, you are the most amazing human on this planet that I have ever came across, when I met you, I knew I couldn't find a better soul than you to spend the rest of my life with. And when I left, I knew I could never find someone like you ever in my life. You were there, always, always supporting me, cheering me on, being the one who took all my stress away, being a positive light on my dark rainy days, you were there always. I always knew you deserved someone better than me. Someone who could give all his time and attention to you, I could never provide you with that and I do know you never complained which made it more clear that you deserved better. So I left, for your good, for my own too. I was guilty for not providing you with everything you deserve, I was guilty so I left. But then I saw you that day, in that restaurant with Seonghwa, laughing. My heart broke at that sight Y/N, I could not describe the piercing pain I felt. I thought I had lose you forever, but here I am to shoot my shot at you again. Here I am to ask for your forgiveness and if possible to take me, a stupid jerk back!" he sighed, his voice breaking at the end.

Tears rolled down from your cheeks, now both of you sat silent again, sobbing. You wiped his tears and looked in his eyes. "Chwe Hansol, I never for once thought you loved me less or made me less happy or-or you ever gave me less time. With you I was always on cloud nine and I bragged to my friends that I have scored such a loving and caring boyfriend not to forget a handsome one too. Every relationship has its ups and downs, Vernon but you talk it out and move forward. Yes you are jerk for making me cry so much but I never stopped thinking about you for once because somewhere I knew it was as hard for you as it was for me, and I am glad Seonghwa's presence brought you back like this-" you laughed, "-But I am here, for you, with you, always. I forgive you and also take you back, because all this time when Seonghwa tried to make me laugh and give me everything you once did, I still couldn't get you out of my head. I knew I loved you way before all this and I know you are the only I have in my heart." you smiled at him as you placed your hand on his cheek, gently wiping his tear away as he rested his face in your hand. "I am so sorry Y/N, I love you!" he said caressing your hand. "I love you too!" you smiled...

[genshin-obsessed]

See You Tomorrow | Xingqiu x Reader

Hello! Sorry for being inactive, I was a little busy! However, I did manage to get this fic out! I was really excited for it, which is why I partially edited it. Enjoy~

Word count: 1.1k

Side note: 😬 be wary <3

“Hyah!” Xingqiu cried out as his blade sliced through the last of the slimes. A smile formed on his lips as he took deep breaths when he heard clapping behind him.

“That was amazing Xingqiu!” You cheered, waving at him from your spot on the nearby rock. He returned the gesture as he approached you, his sword disappearing and reappearing behind him.

“Thank you, thank you. I’m available all week folks.” He joked, allowing him to hear his favorite sound in the world: your laughter. You hopped up and ran to meet him halfway.

“You’re so talented, Xingqiu! I’m jealous!”

“What for? You're stronger than me,” he commented as you hugged his arm, both of you walking towards Liyue, “you certainly don’t need my protection.”

“Hmm true,” you admitted, “but you’re such a good boyfriend! Finishing up my commissions.”

“Ah, I know. You’ve got me completely wrapped around your finger.” Xingqiu feigned exasperation as he spoke. “Probably this little one.” He said taking your hand and grabbing your pinky.

“Well, whatever shall I do with such a perfect boyfriend?” Xingqiu stopped and gazed into your eyes, signaling an incoming kiss. Both of you leaned it, however he pulled away before your lips could touch.

“Maybe you could appreciate me more.” He teased, making you scoff and smack his arm.

“I do!! I appreciate you more than anyone in this whole world!” His laughter melded with yours so well. Your sounds of happiness echoed in the nearby forest and they were enough to make anyone jealous. You two were so young and in love.

After a few moments of random conversation, Xingqiu looked at you excitedly.

“Are you ready for our date? I hope you haven’t forgotten!”

“How can I? You’ve been talking about it for the last week. It’s my special day and you’re the one who’s so energetic.” You huffed with a little pout.

“Well that’s why I’m so energetic. It’s… your day.” He commented, his golden eyes meeting yours. You smiled softly before leaning in to kiss his cheek. Xingqiu was so thoughtful and caring, you always wondered how you managed to get so lucky. Little did you know, Xingqiu thought and felt the exact same.

***

“Hey, Xingqiu! Heading out already?” Chongyun asked, as he came across his friend. Xingqiu was headed towards your meeting location with two things in his hands. He had a basket of food and drinks in one hand and a bouquet of flowers in the other. Chongyun recognized them as your favorites.

“Yep, don’t want it to get too late. Or keep (y/n) waiting.” Chongyun nodded with a smile, patting his shoulder. Your love really did make everyone jealous. You two were just so perfect for each other.

“Of course! Enjoy yourselves. And don’t stay out too late again.” Xingqiu nodded and quickly went on his way, while Chongyun waved at him. The exorcist watched his friend disappear before ultimately turning around and heading further into the city.

***

“Finally! All done!” Xingqiu exclaimed with a bright smile as he looked down at his work. Right at the edge of the cliff, where you could sit and watch the sunset, he was able to lay down his picnic. He’d set the food up nicely, along with two bottles of your favorite drink. Everything looked perfect and while he was inspecting his handy work, he failed to hear you calling to him.

Xingqiu did eventually catch your fingers in the corner of his eyes, making him gasp. He quickly picked up the bouquet and hid it behind him.

Cheerful as ever, you skipped over to him before hopping up and sitting on a piece of stone. Xingqiu quickly walked up to you, trying his best to contain his excitement- and nerves.

“My sweet, (y/n), I have a present for you! Guess what it is!” You pretended to think before meeting his eyes, as if you’d just figured it out.

“Flowers?”

“Wow! Right on the nose! What kind of flowers?”

“Hmm… they must be (fav flower)! Right?” He nodded again, with a laugh.

“You’re on a roll!” Something crossed Xingqiu’s eyes as he slowly got down on one knee.

Your bright smile melted into a soft one, as you met his gaze. Xingqiu took a deep breath before speaking. His voice wavered as his eyes pooled with tears.

“You know… we’ve been together for a long time. And I never thought this day would come. Honestly, I never thought I would fall in love. Life just seemed to take me somewhere far away from it, yet you found me there anyway. You’re amazing, (y/n). You make the difficult days easy to get through, you make the painful memories easier to handle, and you make the happy days the best I’ve ever experienced. Every time I look into your eyes, I fall in love all over again. It’s the best feeling and I wouldn’t give it up for anything. So… (y/f/n)… will you marry me?” A soft laugh escaped your lips as the words settled in his mind. You took a deep breath to ease your own emotions, not wanting to become a mess in front of him- especially at this very moment.

“Of course I will. I couldn’t imagine my life with anyone but you.” Xingqiu chuckled and sniffled as the tears spilled down his cheeks.

“Too slow.” He commented with a wink as he moved the bouquet towards you. However, instead of handing it to you, he placed it on the stone you sat on.

Here lies (y/f/n), beloved child and partner. One of the best adventures to ever walk Teyvat.

Xingqiu’s shaky hands touched the cold headstone, his fingers brushing against the letters. Why? Why did you have to leave him? How long could he continue like this?

“Don’t cry, Xingqiu.” You mumbled as he shook his head.

“Sometimes I wonder…”

“What?”

“If this is what you looked like.” Your eyes met once more and you could only offer a sympathetic smile.

That’s right, today was the anniversary of your death. Six years ago, you’d left this world. Although Xingqiu had picked up a nasty habit of imagining you, none of his friends had the heart to force him to break it.

After all, this image of you that he had created kept him going. It made it easier to wake up and face the day, it kept him from breaking down every few minutes, and it gave his life purpose. So they went along with it.

Maybe one day, Xingqiu could finally let go of you. But that wasn’t today nor would it be tomorrow.

“See you tomorrow, (n/n).”

“See you tomorrow, Xingqiu.” You smiled and waved as he walked away. He’d left the food and drinks that he’d laid out untouched, just like he did every year prior.

[paimon-rambles]

hellooo, is the request still open? If it yes, can I request fics for xiao x doctor/healer female reader? reader is a normal human who is working at BuBu Pharmacy and accidentally meet xiao & traveler when they are injured.

tysm (｡･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

Sorry for being a bit inactive, I've been being feeling meh🤧. I feel like I dragged this a bit- I'm sorry.

Remedies

Characters: Xiao

Summary: It was a day like any other working at the BuBu Pharmancy-that was until an Adeptus and Outlander barge in

Icon credit: Leheia

-

You have heard many tales of the Adeptus growing up, many stories and myths behind them, of their culture and their play in the archon war. However, you never had the fancy of coming face to face to one- well that was until today.

You lived a pretty normal life in Liyue. Working at BuBu Pharmacy along with Qiqi, your work was simple and it gave a good paycheck. You're a healer, mending wounds from battle-scarred warriors, or helping heal an infection. However, you were commonly found handing out medicine at the front desk more than anything.

You often see familiar faces of previous customers that stopped by to receive their meditation. Occasionally you have met some more interesting clients however they were never too enticing. And you thought that was how your work life was going to carry on. A bag of medication here, a customer other there, repeat till next paycheck.

You were thankful to have Qiqi by your side most of the time although she wasn't much of the conversationalist it was better than having no one to talk to, even if you were doing most of the talking.

" Goodbye, thank you for stopping by. I hope the headaches stop." You said handing the customer a small bag of medication. You waved them a quick goodbye as they disappeared from your line of vision.

Unlike most days, it was only you behind the desk. Qiqi was busy with other responsibilities and you were placed in charge of handing the listed medicine to clients. Scribbling off a name on a clipboard, you leaned against the desk waiting for the next customer to arrive.

Earlier in the day, you overheard a few of the Liyue guards stationed near the Pharmacy buzz about a battle that broke near Mt. Hula. They didn't share too many details on the source of the outbreak as they were called over to focus on another anomaly, but you manage to piece together that it had something to do with a sigil of permission. Note to self: Don't piss off the Adepti.

A few minutes pass and you were still meet with the eerily silence of the Pharmacy with the slight sound of the breeze. You caught a glimpse of a few civilians but they showed no interest in buying herbs or requiring medical attention. For the most part, the city seemed rather deserted. Sighing you turned on your heel to go to the back room.

However before a second could pass, you nearly jumped as three figures dashed into the Pharmacy. One of the two strangers was a young boy who had golden hair tied back into a braid, his clothes were particular as well. Cleary this boy wasn't from any of the seven nations. An Outlander. Beside the boy was a pixie-like figure, she had white hair and carried a celestial-like cape. The pair seemed rather familiar, well at least from what you heard from Qiqi. A few weeks prior Baizhou enlightened you on a pair of outlanders that tried to buy some medicine without making an appointment. By the description he provided it matched the blonde.

The third figure intrigued you the furthest. He looked around the same age as the outlander and yourself. He carried some intriguing items on his person. He had short raven hair accompanied by green undertones, his eyes are painted amber, vicious yet mysterious. His clothing was also rather unusual. He dressed in a sleeveless white shirt, dark pants, and leather gloves. What was peculiar most was the tattoo located on his arm. It had a slight teal glow to it and the pattern seemed complex. It finally clicked to you. It's an Adeptus.

Before you made more inferences and observations, it finally hit you that two strangers just ran into the Pharmacy with no warning. Both men's skin were littered with gashes. Small crimson cuts can be found in the areas where skin is shown, the gashes didn't seem to be severe but still would require some treatment. The blonde's eyes darted to you in a panic. " May we stay here for a while? (Omg he talks)."

It took you a second to register what they inquired of but you nodded your head. " sure." That was all you manage to muster. The trio went to sit down, sheathing their weapons away. " We won't be staying long." The raven-haired boy said, his tone cold. The mysterious aura that radiated off him, intrigued you.

You were once again submerged in uncomfortable silence. Your mind was trying to piece together a question to ask both men but no idea came to thought. You could already tell that the Adeptus was judging you his amber eyes burned into your head. Avoiding eye contact you instead focused your gaze on the pixie. Her crown thing was pretty interesting.

Finally, the blonde broke the silence that threatens to consume you whole. " Uh thank you again for allowing us to stay here, we'll be out of here soon." He flashed you an innocent smile which soothed your worries but only by a bit. " You guys can stay as long as you want. I'll get some bandages for your injuries." You finally croaked out, turning to grab said items.

You returned with the material handing out a handful of the clothed bandages to each of them. You watched as the blonde slowly placed the fabric on the cuts that threatened to worsen. The Adeptus on the other hand stared at the bandages you handed to him. He eyed the items as if they were a foreign object, but his eyes didn't sparkle in curiosity- they were just dull. Does this guy ever smile?

" These can help with the smaller cuts. The gush wounds, however, will require something different but not to worry you came in at the right time, I can use my elemental healing to mend those injuries before they get infected." The raven hair boy broke out of his dull stare from the items in his gloved hands, his eyes now glued to you. His gaze felt like it was pricing through your soul, intimidated would be an understatement. The blonde on the other hand was more grateful at your suggestion, the pixie fairy, who you learned is "Paimon" even chirped her own thanks.

Your eyes glimpsed at the raven-haired boy, his injuries looked more severe compared to the blonde who you soon learned was " Aether" as Paimon called him. " I'll tend to your wounds first," you murmured to the boy. He looked at you coldly, his posture shifted as more tension built. " Your injuries are more severe... I.... I just want to help," you mumbled. The boy turned away in thought, his eyes squinting at whatever was running through his head. " Listen it's either your injuries become infected, which will be a pain to resolve later or you let me help-which will be painless and you'll be leaving with no infections." You added, you didn't mean to make your voice sound harsh but now wasn't time to argue. The Adepti seemed taken back by this, his brows furrowing at your bold statement.

" Fine." So he does talk, you chuckled to yourself silently. Slowly you approached the boy, trying to not come off as a threat. You gently hovered the palm on your hand over one of the gashes that decorated his skin, the boy tensed at the touch but quickly relaxed. Silently you called for your vision, feeling your respective element pulsing to your fingertips as you mended the wound. A few seconds passed and after removing your hand, a smile crept to your lips satisfy to see the gash no longer littered on the boy's skin. You repeated this action a few times, mending the rest of the gashes. The boy on the other hand finally started to place the bandages on the smaller cuts. His shoulder drooped becoming more welcomed to yout touch.

Curious of the events that brought the trio here you asked, " may I ask what happened?" The raven-haired boy made no indication that he was going to respond but Paimon gladly answered. " There was a fight at Mt. Hula. Something really riled up the guards."

Oh, so this is what the guards were gossiping about. " I once again want to apologize for storming in- from what I heard BuBu Pharmacy was the best place to go for medicine and such in Liyue. And as you see from our current state..." Aether paused glancing down to his injured body. " Xiao and I will pay you for the trouble." Xiao, so that's his name. " We wouldn't even be in this mess if you haven't been sticking your nose into places it shouldn't be." Xiao retort sharply. Aether paid no mind to what he said. Man, is this guy is a cryo user- he's colder than Chongyun.

" Alright, I've finished mending your injuries, if you feel any discomfort let me know and I can get some painkillers." Xiao's head slightly perked up at the mention of 'painkillers' but said nothing about it. Instead, his attention went to look at the areas where crimson-colored injuries use to be before being cleansed by you.

You turned your attention to the outlander, reaching out to start cleaning his wounds. Before you could start however a voice pulled you back. " What's your name?" Xiao had his back to you but the tone of his voice wasn't so cold, it was warmer and that brought a smile to your lips. " I'm y/n." You replied turning to glance at him. ( While Aether waited patiently to be healed)

Xiao glanced over his shoulder, his gaze meeting yours.

" Thank you Y/n."

[thewalkingdead-imagines]

TWD - Negan Imagine ~ “Here’s Negan”

Imagine for the 22nd episode of season 10 

Summary: Until they can find their way back to one another, both Negan and the Reader have to deal with the ghosts of their pasts and overcome present threats that try to rob them of their future in Alexandria 

Leaves rustled underneath Negan’s feet as he moved through the thick undergrowth of the forest, only stopping as he watched Carol kneel down for a second to pull a dead rabbit out of its trap, the first success of this little hunting trip. “Hey, I just wanted to thank you for getting me the hell out of there for a bit. I mean you may have noticed things with Maggie and I are a little bit tense”, he spoke up, clearing his throat as he thought back to yet another encounter with her earlier today during his reconstruction shift by the woodhouses. She hadn’t said anything, as usual, but if looks could kill, fuck, he’d be as dead as mutton right now.  Carol only nodded as she got back on her feet, without looking just once at him as she kept on strolling. ”I don’t mind being lay little Negan for a bit but hell, there’s only so far I can go to get out of her way”, Negan started back up, adjusting the bag on his shoulder as they moved out of the darkness of the forest onto more open woodland that was covered with with a couple scattered bushes. He was trying to lead this conversation into a direction without directly going at it like a bull at the gate, hoping that this would give him better chances but Carol either didn’t want or didn’t get the clues he’d been throwing into their rather one-sided conversations since they’d stepped out of the gates of Alexandria.  They still had a deal, and she still hadn’t done her part. A thick sigh left his lips as he looked over at her, before he started back up, for yet another, but more offensive try. “You know I was thinking maybe you put in a word for me”, he said, careful not to trip as he moved over the grassy, overgrow ground,”Let’s move things over at least kinda get the ball rolling. Given our recent history, I kinda figured you owe me that much, right?” Nothing. She didn’t say anything, not even the slightest peep and instead moved straight towards a shabby looking cabin at the end of the clearing, leaving him startled for a moment as he stared in between her and the small house. "You know this place?”, he called out as she kept walking, not turning back to look at him and instead just hummed in agreement.  A small but frustrated groan fell from his lips as he sped up his steps to catch up with her, trying to figure out what she was up to and what that cabin had to do with it until she stopped right on its porch and let the door swing open for him to look inside.  He should’ve known. Fuck he should’ve known that she hadn’t taken him on this trip here because of the goodness of her heart, she had a plan all along and that plan was to get him out of Alexandria. For good. “I see you went ahead and moved me in”, it left his lips with a scoff as he stepped inside the cabin and looked at the boxes that stood in the middle of the room, filled with his belongings while his leather jacket was thrown over a rocking chair right next to them.  This was like a bad dream, a fucking bad dream that he just wanted to wake up from.  ”I’m sorry. The council voted to banish you”, Carol’s voice ripped his eyes from the boxes and darted them at her as she shrugged her shoulders slightly She wasn’t sorry. Nor did the council vote to banish him. This was bullshit. He’d been right there when Gabey had told his wife about the council’s inactivity during his trip with Aaron, he’d been right there when he’d assured the both of them that no decisions would be made about him as long as they were gone.  She was trying to feed him steaming hot bullshit. “What you want just isn’t gonna happen, it’s not possible”, Carol said, the tone in her voice pretty much the same as the one a nanny would use with a clueless, dumb kid,”I know it’s not what I promised but given our less recent history? It’s better than you deserve.” The corner of her lips quirked up as she looked at him, while a part of him was still not fully getting that this here was happening right now. For nearly two weeks he’d been living and working in Alexandria like anybody else, doing his part to build it back up without any problems. And now this shit was happening out of the blue, trying to tear the life with his wife from him that he’d just reached. Looking at the woman in front of him he furrowed his brows, trying to test the waters first and see what she’d do if he’d start to debunk these lies of hers. “Did the council really banish me or is this more of a Carol seizing the reigns kind of situation?”, he started, but instead of an answer, Carol merely started to smile, a condescending and nearly wicked look in her eyes as she tilted her head a little and looked at him before she strutted past him and pushed the dead animal into his hands. “It’s rabbits for you.” “You really didn’t think this through”, Negan called out as she moved to the door, louder now as he could feel the anger starting to boil slowly but surely up in him. This whole shit wasn’t just about his own ass, Carol was pulling his wife into this bullshit too and this was where he drew the line. She’d been happy during these last two weeks, so damn happy to finally gain a bit of the life she’d always dreamed of having with him and he wasn’t gonna let Carol ruin that happiness of hers merely because she thought it was her place to decide over his fate. “My wife’s part of the council”, he said, a humorless chuckle leaving his lips as he could see her stopping in her tracks,”If any decision like that would’ve been made, I wouldn’t be here right now. I’d see her raise hell in that little makeshift church right now.” With that he could see her turning around to him, just enough to look at him, not more. “Oh and-”, he called out, snipping fingers in an overdramatic fashion,”When Gabey left with Aaron, he made sure to tell her the council’s inactive for the time being. There was no fucking vote.” She’d been busted, clearly and he could tell that she didn’t plan for him to pull out arguments like these, but much to his annoyance, it didn’t seem to bother her. The look on her face was the same, nearly indifferent, as if she didn’t care about it. “So if I’m supposed to stay here, what’s gonna happen with her?”, Negan called out as he stepped onto the porch, closing the distance as she shrugged her shoulders. “She’s gonna have to decide.” “She’s one of the only doctors left in Alexandria”, it left his lips with a scoff, the anger now starting to let his body tingle as the indifference in Carol’s voice nearly drove him wild,”She’s gonna choose me. You really wanna risk losing another doc just so you can pull your little solo act here?” “I know what I’m doing”, she just said instead of giving him a true answer, before she turned around to strut towards the edge of the clearing ,”She’s gonna find out. Then we’ll see.” “Carol”, it rumbled through Negan’s trembling chest, up his throat that started to tighten the more anger and desperation boiled up in him as he stepped down the porch. Trying to follow her, he took long steps over the overgrown ground, his heart hammering in his chest before Carol’s hand suddenly fell onto the hunting knife on her belt. “Goodbye Negan”, she called out as her hand wrapped around the knife’s handle to send him a clear warning sign,”Do not try something dumb and do not follow me back.” And with that, she vanished in the thicket of the forest, leaving him to stand there like an abandoned dog while his mind was torn on what to do now.

“How’s the book going?”, you heard Steve’s voice sound through to you as he moved back into the infirmary’s main room, merely some new towels in his hands as he strolled closer. “Pretty good actually”, you said as you nodded down to Negan’s anniversary gift and looked over the dried burdock leaf that he’d glued onto one side and your notes about the medical herb that were already starting to cover the page beside it, “Really starting to look like a handbook.” “Good, I can really use that. Your handwriting is much easier to read than those notes of Siddiq, the info is gold but wow, I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a messier handwriting”, Steve said with a soft chuckle, though you could clearly still hear the same sadness sound through it you felt anytime you realized that your friend was gone. A bittersweet look fell between your notebook and  Siddiq’s notes that laid right next to it, that had helped you on every step of the way to fill this book up.  Slowly you started to nod, about to reply to Steve before a mixture of loud voices made your glance shoot up. “We got an emergency”, you could hear a voice call out, stressed and full of panic before you saw the reason for this turmoil that made your mood switch up from one moment to another. Hanging in between a group of four people that carried him as well as they could hung Carter, barely conscious while a large piece of metal protruded his leg that was covered in dark red blood. “He fell from a ladder on one of the broken pipes”, you could hear one of them say entirely out of breath as they pushed inside and the first thick splatters of blood fell onto the floor in the very moment you rushed towards them. “We need help, now.” Negan’s fingertips were digging into the worn down wood of the windowsill, his eyes staring out at the forest while his mind was running wild.  What the fuck was he supposed to do now?  He didn’t wanna head back, run into Carol and find himself with a knife sticking into his damn back. Fuck knew what she’d actually do but he sure as shit wouldn’t risk it, not after the way she’d betrayed his ass just now.  Sighing he started to walk through the shabby cabin, trying to find just anything to do with himself. There was no way his wife would be here anytime soon, even if she’d hear about Carol’s new plan as soon as she’d arrive back at Alexandria, and he highly doubted that. This place was still far out and he was stuck here now. “Fuck this”, he growled, kicking against the rocking chair that was still filled with his belongings even though he felt like a tantrum throwing toddler the moment his foot met the wood. He was fucking stuck here. Gulping thickly he moved in to take his leather jacket into his hands, run his fingers over the smooth leather as he stared down at it, gulping thickly as his eyes found the marks Lucille’s wire had left here years ago.  Looking at them still gave him a bitter feeling. To this day he still didn’t know where she was, no idea what had happed to her after Rick had taken her from his patient’s room in the infirmary. He had no clue if she was somewhere locked away in Alexandria as his wife still hypothesized or if she’d really fallen off that wagon during a weapon transport as Michonne had tried to sell him once...he didn’t know.  Gulping thickly he ran his fingers over the marks, thinking back to the last time he’d held her on that goddamn hill that had decided over his fate and merely the memory of it kicked off another range of thoughts. Could they have brought her back there? Was that a possibility? He’d made up his theories over the year in lonely moments down in that cell, without taking any of them all to serious to not let them fuck with his head but the more he thought about it now, the more it seemed like an actual possibility. Rick had always been a nostalgic fucker, he could see him going back there and placing his Lucille at the place he’d slashed his throat and ended the war only to tie up loose ends, only to put some kind of symbolic end to it and give himself another piece of peace after Carl’s death. He could give it a try, right? Just to keep his mind occupied and pass the time until he could make any other decisions for his future. If his wife would even arrive here today, she wouldn’t do so soon, so even if it would just keep him busy instead of actually bring his bat back, this was worth a try, right? 

Blood, so much blood. For way too long if felt like you only saw red everywhere you looked. Carter’s leg, the bandages, the cot and the floor until you finally saw Steve’s blood covered hands handing you the last bit of tape to secure the edge of the thick bandage that was wrapped around the leg, marking the end of this ordeal. it took yet another while until you were sure that Carter was stable and the next shift started that finally displace you before you could wash the blood off your hands and stumble outside, plummet down onto the bench that leaned against the wall.  Sighing thickly propped your elbows onto your knees, trying to get yourself to realize that you were done for today and were allowed to relax now before you saw Steve moving outside, two glasses of water in his hands.  “Thought we could use a bit of a refreshment”, he said, a tired tone in his voice as he stretched one of the glasses towards you. “Thank you”, you mumbled with an exhausted smile, taking the glass from his hand before he let himself fall next to you and sighed deeply. “God I’m glad our shift is over now”, he said, relief swinging through his voice as you took a sip of your water and leaned back against the cushion of the bench,”Can’t wait to go home, eat some dinner with Daniel and then take a big nap.” “Mhmm...sounds like a good plan”, you said, taking another gulp of the water before a small chuckle fell from your lips,”Negan and I found have that DVD collection in our house and honestly, I just wanna out whatever in that console, plunge down on the couch and just shut my brain out.” A sigh left your lips, exhausted but content as you already looked forward to the moment you’d be able to cuddle up against him and switch this bench for the comfy couch. ”Just relax and watch some kinda show, even though I’ll probably fall asleep while I’m at it tho”, you mumbled, a soft yawn leaving your lips as you heard Steve humming in agreement. ”I like that plan too”, he said as you glimpsed over at him and saw him throwing you an exhausted but cheerful look,”Think I’m gonna have to lend one or two DVDs of yours some time, we’ve been rewatching the same stuff for way too long now.” ”Well you’re always welcome to stop by and take a peek at ‘em”, you chuckled, moving in to take your last sip while a small laugh fell from Steve’s lips. “You bet!” With his hands tightly wrapped around the handle of the shovel he’d luckily found in the back of that cabin, Negan found himself standing on the side of the hill, digging into the soil over and over again. There were already holes scattered all around him, with none if them leading to Lucille, nor any clue about her.  A thick sigh fell from his lips as he turned his head towards the sound of a walker groan in the distance, faint and barely audible but he could see that dirty fucker shuffling at the foot of the hill, awfully slow and thankfully lonely. That asshole wouldn’t be a problem for him for a while. Turning back around he squinted his eyes slightly, keeping them from being dazzled by sinking sun that started to vanish behind the hill’s top, before his eyes fell on the glimmering glass window that was still hung up on the tree, just as it had years ago, still missing the same shard of colorful glass that Rick had used to slash his jugular with.  With a thick gulp Negan looked back down, not all too excited about the memories that started to flood his mind all over again, so instead of spending another moment thinking about the events that had happened here, he dug his shovel back into the soil, hoisting a large piece out of it before a disappointed sound fell from his lips. Again, nothing. “Fuck this”, he growled to himself, staring angrily at the ground below him. Why the fuck was he even so upset? Chances were low that she was actually here, he knew that and still he found himself frustrated.  Clearing his throat he strolled along the hill’s side, a little further upward as he gave himself three more chances and then he’d head back to the cabin. Chance 1? Nothing, he just split a poor damn rainworm in half.  Chance 2? Nothing again, hole was as empty as a dumb fuck’s head. Chance 3?...still, nothing.  “Fuck”, Negan spat out, his hand tightening around the handle, a frustrated groan falling from his lips as he angrily slammed the shovel’s edge into the soil. But instead of the usual shuffling sound, a dull one echoed through the air, letting him flinch and shoot his glance down into the grass as his hands went back to work lickety split. This could be anything, fucking anything but this could also be...it was her.  It was really her.  The barbed wire peaked out of the grass, slightly detached from the wood that was laying there in the ground, just enough dug out for him to clearly see the bat “Holy fuck”, Negan chocked out as he started to carefully rise her out of the soil, his eyes turning wide as he let the shovel fall and leaned down to carefully pick her up.  “Ricky you nostalgic fucker”, Negan mumbled, though his throat was already tightening as he glimpsed down at the bat that had once brought him through this world. He couldn’t believe his eyes for another moment while his thumb ran along the worn down wood that had once been smooth and shiny. He could feel his nose tingling slightly as some tears blurred his view, the mere feeling of holding the bat and the view of her in his hands enough to overwhelm him for a moment.  “Oh my-”, it left his lips as he gulped the thick lump in his throat down, turning the bat softly in his hands to get a good look of her. Nature had taken its toll on her, but the bat was still the same, it still gave him the very same warm and safe feeling after all this time. It was still her. A small sniffle let his lips as he stared down at it and felt the heaviness of the emotions she carried wash over him, nearly putting him into a bubble of memories before the groaning of the walker that had shuffled at the hill’s foot earlier got louder.  Turning around he saw the dead asshole stumbling closer up the hill while a small grin grew on his face as he rocked Lucille in his hands and held her up like he’d done it thousands of times before.  “C’mere fucker”, Negan mumbled, adjusting his posture a little before the walker reached him and he swung Lucille up before rushing her down in a smooth but harsh motion, right against the walker’s skull. A groan fell from his lips as he could see the walker starting to sink to his feet, just as he lunged out one more time and bashed Lucille into the rotting skull, but instead of the squelching sound of flesh, a dull one drowned it that made his heart sink from one moment to another.  “No...no”, he gasped, staring down at his broken bat....at his broken Lucille. She hadn’t only lost her top part, she was split down her length, only held together by the rusted barbed wire at this point and his hands that started to tremble more the longer he looked at her broken parts. One moment ago he’d been basking in the joy of finally finding her again and now, now he could feel the lump in his throat growing again as he stared down at the broken bat.  From joy to grief in one moment, from relief to regret in the other.  “Fuck”, it left his lips with a defeated sound, his eyes welling over with tears as he could feel a dull, pressuring pain spreading over his body, tightening its grasp on him as he fell to his knees and felt the first tear rolling down his cheek as he weighed the broken Lucille in his hands. Could this day become any worse?

The sun was already starting to vanish behind the skyline of the trees as you finally found yourself heading towards Negan’s workplace by the walls, ready to pick him up and just get yourselves home.  ”Hey”, you called out with a tired smile as you finally reached the woodhouses and could see Barbara and Daniel still working outside, though you couldn’t spot Negan yet. ”Hey, is Carter doing fine?”, Daniel asked as he stepped from the porch of the house, leaning himself against the wall as you gave him a quick nod. ”Yeah, took a bit but we’ve got him wrapped up now. He just needs to rest”, you said as you moved closer over the grassy ground and nodded towards the cabin’s door. ”Negan’s inside?” ”Nah”, Daniel said, shaking his head as you glanced confused at him,”Went out with Carol a couple hours ago to hunt. Saw her back around here earlier though, he’s probably already at your home.” ”Ah okay. Thank you”, you started to nod again before you made your way back to the road, not questioning that hunting trip all too much though it surprised you a bit that Carol had decided to take him along with her, mostly because she’d been avoiding the both of you during the last while. Instead of waisting your thoughts any longer on the trip you hurried down the street, just eager to  get home, relax and hear Negan talk a bout his day.  Finally, you moved up the porch stairs of your home, already trying to peek inside and see if Negan was standing by the stove and cooking something but as you stepped inside, you found the living room and kitchen empty. ”Negan? I’m home”, you called out, moving towards the hallway as your only remaining guess was that he had simply just showered and didn’t hear you yet up in your bathroom or was so exhausted that he’d laid down for a quick nap. Moving up the stairs who tried to hear if you could hear him moving around, but instead of footsteps or a rustling sounds you heard nothing but complete silence. “Negan?”, you quietly asked as you opened the door of your bedroom, a part of you nearly waiting to see him sprawled out and snoozing on the bed but as you moved inside, your confusion got doubled. The bed was completely empty, the same way you’d left it this morning but your closet stood open, the bunch of shirts and pants that usually laid stocked up next to your clothes gone. ”What the-”, it fell from your lips, cut off by your confusion as you moved towards the closet and looked at his Negan’s nearly empty spot. Not all was gone, a bit of his clothes way left, some boxer shorts, a couple white shits and some sweatpants but that was it. More confusion flooded your head with every second you stared longer at the opened door, trying to piece the parts of this puzzle together even though you didn’t even have merely enough of them to make sense of this.  Negan wouldn’t leave, that was an option that you could exclude from the very first moment on but you still didn’t know what to think and what Negan’s absence and his missing clothes meant, before it slowly started to trickle down on you and a bitter suspicion washed over you.  If anyone had to know something about this, it had to be the last person he’d been seen with. Feeling your heart starting to hammer in your chest you rushed down the stairs, nearly tripping over your own feet as you moved down the hallway and back into your living room. Your eyes were roaming over the room as you hurried through it, as if they were trying to pick more pieces to this puzzle on your way out and from one moment to another, they did.  Next to the vase of flowers on your dinner table laid a folded up piece of paper that you hadn’t even noticed when you’d first stepped back into your home, a piece of paper that looked like a map as soon as you got closer.  Still filled with confusion and tension you grabbed it, unfolding it with quick movements only to feel a wave of nausea wash over you as soon as you saw the cross that marked a spot on the paper and the note underneath it that confirmed your suspicion. “Negan has been banished from Alexandria. Marked spot shows the cabin’s he’s residing at from now on.”

Nausea, anger, fear and desperation turned into a toxic cocktail within your body as you found yourself rushing down the street, clasping tightly onto the map while your eyes were fixated at the brownstones in front of you, blending out anything and anyone else on the road. Your breath was heavy, your body trembling and nearly cramped up with suspense while the growing anger made your body heat up to the point that made it feel like it was on fire while you stormed into the first brownstone’s hallway, heading up the flight of stairs with heavy, fast steps towards Carol’s apartment.  She’d done it again. A fucking solo act. You just knew it. And this time she’d gone way too far and she’d pay for that. Banging against the door of her apartment you could feel the side of your hand starting to heat up as it met the wood over and over again until you finally heard footsteps inside that finally stopped right in front of you and the squeaking of the opening door echoed through the staircase.  “What is this?!”, you snapped the moment you saw her face, holding up the map in your hand as you glared at her,”What the fuck did you do?” “I did what I had to do”, she said, the tone in her voice indifferent but firm, not at all bothered by your reaction as if she’d already known that you’d come to her place earlier or later. “Are you kidding me?!”, you called out, feeling your voice starting to tremble as the anger within you started to become more and more the longer you had to look at her. “This wasn’t a situation that could stay the same any longer”, she merely said, in the very same tone as before ,”i did what was necessary to not let it escalate.” With that, she tried to close the door on you only for your flat hand to push harshly against the wood, letting it flip open again as you could feel it boiling within you. First she pulled this shit, then acted as if what she was in the right and now she tried to fob you off.  “No, no you didn’t”, you snapped, moving forward to push into her apartment so she couldn’t even try to close the door again ,”Your job was to hold up to your end of the bargain. You told me you’d do it.” “Things don’t always work out the way we want them to”, she said, a lecturing tone in her voice, almost as if she was talking to a child instead of an adult,”You should know that by now.” Staring at her you could feel your whole body tense up, could feel an anger seeping into your body that you hadn’t felt before, an anger that got you worked up, an anger that was fueled by the frustration of unfairness over the years, an anger that was emotionally loaded with your urge to protect your husband and the life you’d just gained. The life that was threatened by the reckless act of the woman in front of you that looked at you with an indifference that drove you wild. “You fucking bitch”, you spat out, your self control starting to leave your body as you closed the distance between the both of you and could hear your trembling voice starting to become louder. “You’ve had Negan do your goddamn dirty work, risk his damn life and kill that skinfreak and instead of doing the goddamn bare minimum of laying in a good fucking word for him you had the goddamn audacity to go into our home, go through his stuff and lead him outside under a goddamn pretext”, you yelled out, heavy breaths shaking through your chest as you glared down at her,”You took the fucking easy way out! Like always.” “I did him a favor”, she dared to say, so firm and cold that you could feel the suspense in your body starting to skyrocket,”Maggie would have killed him at some point if I wouldn’t have brought him outside.” “Stop with that fucking bullshit!”, you snapped, stepping closer towards her as she still didn’t even flinch once,”You did yourself a favor. Maggie won’t do shit to him, not on my watch, nor if you would’ve done your part of the deal. You just did this shit so you don’t have to show some responsibility for your actions for fucking once.” “I stand with my decision”, she said the moment your voice hushed, a condescending smile starting to spread over her lips as she tilted her head and looked at you,”And I will not change it. We all have to deal with our own shit and so do you.” There’s this certain moment when anger gets so intense it puts a person into a trance, the type of anger that swallows someone up, puts a bubble around them and turns them from a seething volcano into one that is seconds away from erupting.  And right now, that was happening to you.  You couldn’t see clear anymore, your view a blur, the map fallen from your hands that were balled so tightly your knuckles turned white while your head was clouded with rage that just needed one little more push to kick you off the eruption. And Carol gave that kick to you, with one small sentence. ”And considering what he’s done in the past he got better than he deserved.” A dull but loud sound echoed through the air as your fist meet her jaw, fast and hard enough to make her stumble back for a moment while your hands were already wrapping around her throat, not tight enough to choke her but tight enough to get a hold on her to push her into the nearest wall. “Considering what he’s done?!”, you screamed, your hands still wrapped around her throat as you glared wide eyes down at her,“What he’s fucking done?!” For the first time she didn’t say anything, her eyes were staring into the emptiness, unwilling to meet yours at first before your grasp tightened just enough to finally make her look into your face. “He saved our fucking asses. He did the shit you couldn’t get done!”, you yelled, your voice still trembling, near before breaking and only held up by the anger that had finally found its valve,”All you’ve done lately is get people killed!” For the first time since you’d stepped into this apartment you saw a stirring in her eyes while your own started to fill with tears, blurring your glance as your voice kept screaming at her. “Stop with the fucking solo acts! Fucking stop ruining the lives of everyone around you!” Just then you slowly started to come back as the anger started to become replaced with the fear and sadness that simmered underneath the rage. Your hands fell of her throat as you stepped back, staring at your shaking right hand whose knuckles were flushed in a bright red from the lunge you’d taken at her. Sniffles started to fall from your lips as the first tears rolled down your cheeks, your emotions still so strong that they were keeping your whole body under control. “I’m sick of this”, you felt it rolling quietly from your trembling lips as more tears fell from your eyes and the build up frustration got the best of you. For a moment there, you were almost scared of yourself, of how much that anger had taken hold of you, of how it had pushed through your usual levelheadedness, something that hadn’t happened quite like this before but you’ve just had enough, of the constant fears, of the constant playing with Negan’s life and the hypocrisy that you had to face from the same people over and over again. You weren’t sorry for what you did. You were actually glad you’d finally put her in her place. Sniffing you looked back up, gulping thickly as you saw her leaning against the wall, staring at you at you, an odd mix of coldness and shock in her eyes as you reached for the map on the ground and glared one last time over at her. “I will come back with my husband and you’ll hold up to the end of the deal or I swear to god I’ll raise hell.” Fire was burning in the small fireplace of the cabin, lightening up the room that was becoming darker and darker with every passing moment. The flames ate away at the chops of wood, its warm light illuminating up the glass in his hands that was filled up with some whiskey he’d found tucked away in one of the counters. Shuffling over the small stool by the fire he tried to get as comfortable as he could, huffing to himself as his eyes swayed from Lucille that laid propped up against the wall next to the fireplace over into the flames.  How the fuck did he get to this point?  Where exactly did he go wrong to end up sitting here on that fucking hard stool that made his ass hurt, staring into the flames while the only thing that was there to keep him company him in these moments was that damn whiskey in his glass? 

The sun was already gone and the dusk was starting to flow into the night when you found yourself walking away from Alexandria, a small backpack buckled around your shoulders and a hunting knife in one hand, the map in your other.  Going out now was dangerous and you knew it but you couldn’t care less, nor did you have much of a choice. Staying was no option, you had to find Negan, better earlier than later and make sure to reverse whatever Carol had brought about. Fuck knows what else she’d told him that she might have withheld from you. You were still on edge, still completely filled up with tension that kept a tight hold on your body while you did your very best to stay focused and not run into a group of dead fucks.  A shivering breath fell from your lips, turning into a cloud of steam the moment you breathed it out as you could feel the cold of the approaching night starting to sneak up on you, slipping underneath your jacket while your cold hands were clasping onto your knife. Moving up you flipped on the small pocket flashlight that was dangling on one of the belts of your backpack and moved the map to make sure that you were still following the right route.  Squinting your eyes your glance roamed over the paper, trying to get a grip of it before you folded it back up, switched the flashlight off and slowly moved down the blacktop to follow a narrow, nearly overgrown path into the forest, hoping that the moonlight would be enough to guide you. Step by step you found yourself halting and looking at the map, catching your thoughts and worries feeding away at your concentration that in turn fueled the frustration that was still reigning within you.  By now, you should have already reached the stream that ran closeby the marked spot on the map, but neither did you hear flowing water anywhere near you, nor did you know exactly anymore if you were on the right track. “Shit”, you grumbled to yourself as you stared at the map, half mad at the whole situation, half mad at yourself for not getting your shit together before the sudden sound of groans made your glance shoot up. In a knee-jerk reaction you shut the small light back off and reached for a tighter grasp on your knife, looking around yourself before you caught a group of six or seven walkers wandering through the woods.  Squeezing your mouth shut you tried to stay quiet, avoid attracting the dead as you slowly stepped back, trying to let the shadow of the trees shield you from being spotted before you heard a loud crack as a dried branch broke beneath your shoe. “Damnit”, you whispered to yourself, gulping thickly as you watched the walkers turn their head towards you, snarling as they spotted your figure and started to stumble into your direction. There was no way you could take them on now without putting yourself too much at risk, in the middle of the night, with your head filled up with emotions that worked against your concentration and an exhausted mind that was trying to press in on you whenever it possibly could. This was not a fight you should take on, not now. Turning around you started to move further into the dark, trying to put distance between yourself and the dead to hide out behind a tree and wait for them to pass. The thick undergrowth made it hard for you to move quick and made you more careful to not trip and get yourself into even bigger problems. With every step it felt like you could hear the groans continuously echoing through the dark while your heart started to speed up again and pumped against your chest, so loud you could nearly hear it pounding in your ears. Glimpsing behind yourself you couldn’t see them anymore, enough for you to figure that they wouldn’t be able to see you either and with a bunch of more steps you moved to your left and rounded the nearest, thickest tree to brace yourself tightly against its stem to be out of view for the dead. Gulping thickly you tried to keep your fastening breath under control as your eyes kept on roaming over the dim lit forest, your position not allowing you to see any of the walkers but instead only hear them as they started to come closer. The groans got louder and louder, mixing with the sound of their shuffling steps as you kept your body tightly pressed against the tree and tried to calm your heavy breathing down, telling yourself that this was all you had to do until you could go back to searching for that damn cabin. For a moment, you could feel yourself tense up again as you heard them starting to pass you, merely a bunch of meters past your spot before their groans slowly started to become quieter, and were only a quiet sound in the distance a small while later.  Finally, you allowed yourself to let out a thick sigh and close your eyes for a moment, trying to get your concentration back on and continue your search for the cabin. Pushing yourself away from the stem you moved forwards, trying to figure out how far you’d moved from your original spot as you walked as quietly as you could back into your old direction, still holding tightly onto the map and your knife before a gasp left your lips as you felt a cold hand grabbing your ankle and a low, nearly inaudible groan echoed through the air. The sudden grasp was harsh and strong enough to make you lose your balance and fall to the hard ground, a painfilled groan falling through your lips as the fall made a stinging pain rush up from your rump up your back. Panicking you glanced up, watching as a severely decayed walker tried to peel itself from the spot by the tree it had grown attached to, its nearly entirely destroyed jaw hanging from its skull along with its rotting tongue that kept it from making sounds any louder than a hum.  “Shit”, you growled, kicking towards the dead to make it lose its grasp on your ankle while it suddenly lunged towards you as it detached itself with one last push from the moss overgrown tree. Gasping you could feel it landing above you, its dead hands grasping you as it tried to snap forward, its disgusting stench rising up your nose as you could feel your survival instincts kicking in and mixing with the built up frustration, as well as with the anger and the distress Carol had brought over you earlier.  Glaring into the dead eyes of the walker you rushed your knife up, aiming for its head as you’d done it with thousands of walkers before, but instead of seeing the blade dig into its skull, the walker’s arm reached up in the very same moment and made the blade sink into its flesh while it kept on snapping at you. From one second to another the frustration filled your whole head again, fueling the rage that had never truly calmed down within you as you let out a frustrated groan and pushed the dead with all your strength off of your body. “Fuck you, you fucking asshole”, you growled out, ripping the blade out of the dead’s arm as you kept it caged beneath you, hearing its snapping sounds in the very moment you let the blade rush down with all of your strength into the rotting skull. But instead of stopping there you could feel the tension and all those pent up emotions taking you over, clasping onto you as as they filled your head and made the knife stab over and over again into the walker’s head while emotion fueled memories rushed through your head. The constant fear to lose Negan while he was gone, the happiness you’d felt to finally get a life with him you’d always wished for and now, having it nearly torn away from you again just because one fucking person would rather go on and try to fuck up your lives all over again instead of doing the bare goddamn minimum she’d promised to do. And now, instead of being cuddled up on the couch with Negan in your home, you were in the middle of the dark fucking woods, trying to smooth out the fucking disaster Carol had kicked off again, with no fucking clue where you actually were, hanging over a fucking walker that had nearly tried to kill your ass. Over and over again your knife rushed down into the skull, your mind anywhere but actually here, as pants erupted your whole body and made you shake while your heart pumped up your throat. And just then as you pulled your knife once more out of the destroyed skull you realized that you were crying again, sobbing actually as you fell back off the dead onto the ground and stared at what you’d just done.  ”Fuck”, it left your trembling lips as you could feel your heartbeat pounding in your ears while more hot tears streamed down your face and blurred your vision. Sniffling you looked up at the stars to calm yourself down and avoid looking at the defaced corpse beside you, letting your glance move from one star to another as your heart and your breath finally started to slow down again.  And just then, just as you couldn’t hear your heartbeat in your ears anymore, you could suddenly hear the soft rushing of flowing water nearby that made you prick up your ears. Scrambling to your feet you moved up and followed the sound, hoping that this wasn’t a sick game your mind was playing with you. Brushing your tears off your face you moved closer, step by step and careful to not get yourself into any other tricky situation until a burden seemed to fall right off your shoulders as you peeked through the trees and finally saw the flowing water glistening in the dim moon light. You’d found it, you’d fucking found it.  And now, you just needed to find Negan. Time passed and he still didn’t have an answer to his questions and he knew deep down he’d never truly get them.  A shivering breath fell from his lips as he stared into his emptying whiskey glass, closing his eyes for a moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose and gulped thickly.  Maybe his wife wouldn’t even show up today here anymore, maybe something happened that made her stay longer at the infirmary and she didn’t even know yet about this whole thing. Regardless of what had truly went down she wasn’t here, and it was starting to eat away at him, just the bare thought of what she must feel as soon as she’d find out. She deserved that life they’d been living lately, that life that could come as close to that apple pie life as a life in the damn apocalypse could. She deserved every single part of it, regardless of it was merely being able to wake up in a warm, cozy bed in the morning or to lay outside in the garden to watch the sunset turn the sky into a ray of pretty colors without a worry in the world.  But maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was on his way to pull the woman he loved once more into his misery.  Shivering and clasping onto his glass he found himself glimpsing at Lucille, at the barbed wire and the broken wood that broke his heart all over again. He hadn’t been able to give her the life she deserved to live, and now the same thing was about to happen with (Y/N) too, all over again. Maybe he just didn’t deserve to have his happy end. He’d been such a fucking asshole, such a goddamn fucking asshole that never deserved for Lucille to put up with him the way she did after everything that had happened after he lost his job.  He could still way too vividly remember the anger he’d felt after that asshole had gotten him fired, that goddamn asshole from that bar that had provoked him, snarled at Lucille and then came at him so he’d simply lost it and beat him into the ground. He could blame that fucker all he wanted for provoking him, for coming at him, for making him lose his job at the school, for suing him and making his Lucille pay for the fucking hospital bills because he couldn’t anymore, but he couldn’t blame him for the decisions he’d made after.  Losing his job and being put on prohibition for this bullshit had made him fall into a deep hole, one that he hadn’t been able to crawl out from, one that had turned him into a fucking undeserving bastard. A bastard that hadn’t known how to get back on his feet. A bastard that had gone as far to cheat on his wife with her goddamn friend just to make himself feel appreciated in some sick way. A bastard that hadn’t gone to pick her up from her MRI because he was busy fucking said friend.  A bastard that needed to see her throw the chemo brochures right onto the table in front of him and tell him she had cancer to finally turn his life around. He was still ashamed of himself, so fucking ashamed of the things he’d done back then and nothing, nothing that he’d done after had made him feel like he’d been able to make up for the shit he’d done before. Sniffling, Negan found himself shifting over the stool, his eyes filled with tears as he stared at the bat and felt his trembling fingers fumble on the glass in his hands, trying to distract himself from the memories that started to flood his head and torture him. He’d fought like hell to make up for the shit he’d done, he’d fought like hell to keep her going as this hell of a world had broken loose in the midst of her treatment, finding bag after bag for her chemo and teach himself how to administer it. He’d tried to keep her spirits high and brought her this bunch of wigs he’d found on a run in an abandoned shop, he tried his best to keep their generator going and free of the dead so they could watch movies even if killing walkers freaked the shit out of him back then, he’d tried to sing their song to her and hold her in the freezing nights that made her nausea usually worse. He’d tried to be a good husband. He’d tried to be the man she deserved and not give up even when things had taken their turn for the worse and that fucking generator had shut down in the middle of the night and made them lose the last bags of useable chemo supplies. He could still remember their last conversation that day, how she’d told him that she’d known about his affair all along, how she’d known that he’d stopped and never talked to her again after her diagnosis, how she wanted him to know that he’d made up for it and that he could stop pushing himself now.  He could remember how she’d asked him to stay, how she asked him to give up searching for new chemo supplies and just be with her when she went. He could remember how she told him that it was time for him to move on without her and instead, do her fighting for her. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t bear the thought of losing her and he couldn’t bear letting her go. So he went out again.  It took weeks of searching until he found the medical RV of Laura and her father, and it took yet another run in with a fucking gang of biker pigs until he could finally drive home with the chemo bags and bring them too her only to find out that after everything, he’d been too late.  She was already gone.  ODed, with a bag over her head, a belt around her neck that tied her to the bed so she couldn’t lunge at him and “Please don’t leave me like this” written over the door.  She’d killed herself while he was gone, while he was gone out there searching for supplies when he should’ve just listened to her.  She shouldn’t have died there with that fucking plastic bag over her head, she should’ve been able to fall peacefully asleep in his arms and drift off into an eternal sleep.  And after everything, he couldn’t even go through with taking her down, he just couldn’t bring himself to dive a knife into her and instead he ended up trying to stun his grief with alcohol until he took the last resort and set his home on fire, hoping it would take her down and fulfill her last wish. He’d always wanted to make things better with (Y/N). From the moment on he found himself falling for her he wanted to make sure that he’d make things right this time and again, he’d failed. He didn’t get to give her the life she deserved, instead, she was stuck with him for years in that cell, giving him more than he could ever give her back and each time he thought about it, it felt like god played a sick game with him. Here you go have a second chance at love, but beware, you won’t be able to do things right now either. This fucking cabin, this fucking situation was the living proof of it and he didn’t know how to cope with it, how to cope with the fucking possibility that he was part of the reason their life would be destroyed again after it seemed like they‘d finally been able to settle down into a more peaceful life.  Wincing Negan could feel himself erupting in more tears as he felt the empty glass fall with a dull thud from his hands onto the wooden floor, echoing through his head as a whimper fell from his trembling lips as his mind drifted to something that had whirled through it far more than once during the last weeks. Something (Y/N) had said to him after he’d melted down and asked her how she’d been able to fall in love with him back at the start, something Lucille had said to him when he’d asked her in tears how why she’d put up with him even after everything he’d done. “I already saw the man in you that you are right now”, were (Y/N)’s words, so hauntingly similar to the words Lucille had told him this one night that it made a shudder run down his back any time he thought of it. How in hell did he deserve for two women to fall in love with him and see something in him that he’d never been able to grasp? How did he deserve for those two women to love him so deeply they’d stick with him through anything and never lose their faith in him? How the fuck did he deserve that? Sniffling, Negan looked into the flames, the fire only a blur of red and orange before he reached up to brush the tears off his cheeks and run his hand down his face to keep himself from losing it entirely. Trembling he dried his tears with the sleeve of his shirt, sighing deeply as he glimpsed back at the fireplace only to flinch up in the very same moment as he heard the squeaking wood door open behind him and heard the voice he’d been dying to hear for hours. “Negan?” Your voice was faint and careful as you said his name and stepped into the cabin, watching as Negan turned around from his spot by the fireplace with a relieved but still startled look on his face. “Hey”, you could hear him say, his voice strained and thick with emotion as he stumbled towards you and just then gave you a chance to see his slightly reddened eyes, the exhausted look on his face and the slight wetness that was still daubing his cheeks. But before you could say anything he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you tightly into his embrace, cradling you against his chest while his trembling body pressed up against yours.  You only hugged him back without saying anything yet, cuddling into him to finally feeling his warmth enclosing you after the turmoil that you’d been through until you’d finally found this place. And then slowly, very slowly Negan started to loosen his grasp on you, before he backed just enough away to look down at you and run his glance over your face, as if he was trying to check if you were fine. “Are you okay?”, it instead fell from your lips as you reached up to softly stroke over his wet cheek, a worried look pressing in over your face as he slowly started to nod. “I’m much better now that you’re here”, he mumbled, leaning in to press a soft, nearly delicate kiss over your lips before a small sniffle left his lips and you glimpsed for the first time away from him and through the room that was only enlightened by the small fire.  Carol had truly given her all, putting two full baskets of Negan’s belongings into this cabin, along with his leather jacket that hung over a rocking chair by the windows and something else that suddenly caught your eye, something that leaned against the wall by the fireplace and nearly made you believe your mind was playing tricks on you. “What-”, it left your lips as you stared at the bat, furrowing your brows in utter surprise as your glance stayed stuck on it,”Is that Lucille?” A soft sigh fell from Negan’s lips as grasped your jaw gently, just enough so he’d get you to look at him before he gulped thickly and nodded towards the spot by the fireplace. “Let’s just sit down for a moment, okay?” Mere minutes later you found yourself sitting on a small stool next to Negan by the fire, listening to him as he talked about how this day had played out for him. How Carol had lead him into the woods, how he had gone back to the hill of the war to see if he could find Lucille and how she broke just mere moments after he found her. From moment to moment you could find your eyes hooked on the broken bat, still not quite believing that she’d been there all this time while you’d searched all of Alexandria for her, so confident in the thought that they’d actually hid her somewhere around town. “When did you find out?”, you heard Negan say, ripping your glance from Lucille and back at him. “Around sunset? I was longer than planned at the infirmary”, you said, gulping thickly as you shuffled a little over the stool below you,”Carter fell on a broken pipe and we just...we just took some time until we had him all fixed up and then when I wanted to go pick you up from the woodhouses...Daniel told me that you’d gone out with Carol to hunt earlier but that he’d seen her around again.” A thick sigh fell from your lips as you glanced down for a moment, shrugging your shoulders softly before your eyes met his again. “So I guessed you’d already be back home and when I got there I just found our closet open, with some of your stuff gone and that damn map on the dinner table”, you mumbled, nodding towards the map that laid along with the backpack next to your stool. “I didn’t take off right away”, you added, letting out a huff as the mere thought of it put some new tension right back onto you,”Paid Carol a visit before and I just-...I lost it.” With that, Negan’s brows perked up, half curious, half worried as you sighed quietly and shrugged softly. “I may or may not have punched her and pushed her into a wall...by her throat.” “You did what?”, you heard Negan say, something that could even come close to a chuckle fell from his lips as he still looked with perked brows at you, clearly waiting for you to go on. “Wouldn’t say I’m proud of it... can’t remember the last time I blew a fuse like that-”, you said, stopping yourself as you could feel yourself getting worked up again though you surely didn’t want that to happen now all over again,”But the things she said-...how she said them. She smiled into my damn face while she said it, so fucking demeaning and full of ignorance...I just-” “Yeah, can imagine that”, Negan said as soon as your voice broke off, nodding as he clenched his jaw slightly ,”Pulled the same attitude here.” “And then she said on top of it all that you got better than you deserve with this cabin here and it just clicked”, you said with another sigh, before a thick gulp travelled down your throat as Negan reached out for your hand to take it into his, squeezing it softly as you could feel your emotions starting to well up again. “After everything, you deserve so, so much more”, you said, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand while you could see Negan’s eyes softening,”You deserve the damn world.” With that, his reddened eyes started to fill back up with tears and a thick gulp travelled down his throat as his hand grasped yours tighter and a small sniffle fell from his lips. “You do, Baby...you do”, he choked out, trying to keep his voice up by all means as his glance feel in between the bat and you, his eyes blurred with tears as you shuffled closer towards him,”You do. Lucille did. And I-...I don’t know how I got so lucky to hit the jackpot twice.” It didn’t take more than that for your emotions to get the best of you again and fill your eyes with tears as well and boil all those feelings that had whirled through you back up, while Negan shook his head as the first tears fell from his eyes. “I just-...you put all these years up with me being in that damn cell, you went through so much pain because of me and for all these fucking years I couldn’t give you the life you deserved till those last two weeks happened and now whatever we just got is gone again and I-”, he sniffled, his voice thick with emotion as he shook his head and glanced at the bat, “I couldn’t give Lucille the life she deserved, I couldn’t even keep the world and that fucking cancer from hurting her and then-” Tears kept falling down his face as his eyes were hooked on your intertwined hands, sniffles falling from his lips as his grasp on your hand  got a little tighter. “And then when I fell in love with you I just-”, he winced, a shaking breath falling from his lips as he gulped thickly,”I vowed to myself to protect you and take care of you no matter the fucking cost. I just wanted to finally make things right and instead I fucked everything up all over again.” You only shook your head, unable to say something as a thick lump started to grow in your throat again and you could feel yourself hurting just listening to him. You’ve had these type of conversations before but this time, with these circumstances it just hurt so much more to see him beating himself up. “All I want is give you that damn apple pie life. In that house, with movies every damn night, with dinners together, and someday with kids that can run through that house and play in that backyard and drive us crazy...and it fucking destroys me that I can’t..that I’m the fucking reason you can’t have that.” “That’s not true”, you shook your head as you felt the first tears roll down your cheeks, “We can have that and we will, also because you ripped your ass off for it. You’ve always bent over backwards to make me happy.” A shivering breath fell from your lips as you moved in closer, trying to ensure that he was looking at you as you reached out for him and cupped his face softly with your free hand. “Just because things didn’t always work out the way we wanted them to doesn’t mean that you made me any less happy and I don’t ever want you to think again that you failed at that...You’ve been the best husband I could ever wish for. I need you to finally believe me when I say that”, you choked out, sniffling as you gave his hand a soft squeeze,”Just as much as I need you to finally believe the things Lucille said to you. She told you you made up, you made sure to make her last months as peaceful and happy as you could within this hell of a world...so you don’t deserve to keep on beating yourself up about it.” Negan choked up as you referred back to the things he’d once told you, still holding on to you as you looked with tearful eyes at him. “I just need you to realize that as long as I got you I’m happy, no matter where we are, no fucking matter if it’s in a cell or a nice home.” You made sure to keep his glance, trying to make sure that your message reached him before your thumb swiped softly over his skin while you tried to swallow down the bigger lump that was growing in your throat again. “I’m so proud of you...I’m so damn proud of the man you’ve been for me for all these years”, you said, smiling through the tears at him as another sniffle fell from your lips and your eyes glimpsed at the bat for a short moment,”And I know she’d be too.” Tears glistened in Negan’s eyes as a shivering hum rumbled up his chest and he grasped your hand tighter, just as you kept on fighting against that lump in your throat to bring out the last thing you needed him to hear. “So we will take your things first thing in the morning and walk back to Alexandria and settle back down into that home where we two belong”, you said your trembling voice almost breaking off as you leaned in closer to him,”No one is going to take that away from us again. Not Carol, not Maggie, not anybody.” Slowly, Negan started to nod, reaching up to take your hand from his cheek to press a kiss over its back while your eyes fell on the bat that still leaned against the wall. “We can take her with us, y’know? Find a nice place in the house”, you said with a sniffle, only to slowly see Negan starting to shake his head. “I think...I think I need to say goodbye”, he mumbled, gulping thickly as his eyes roamed over the broken bat before they fell back on you,”She wanted me to move on without her and do her fighting for her...so I’m finally gonna do that...I’m gonna burn her and then..fuck then we’ll walk home and I’ll keep on fighting for our future. I think she’d want that too.” Slowly, you started to nod and felt Negan press another kiss over the back of your hand, still holding onto you, still shivering as he stared at the bat while it started to dim on you that this was something he had to do alone. He had to say goodbye on his own. So slowly, you moved up from your spot on the stool, loosened your grasp on his hand and instead leaned down to press a kiss onto his forehead while our hand caressed softly over the side of his face. “Just call for me when you need me back in here”, you mumbled as Negan visibly got tense  before he started to nod, but still kept a hold on you for another moment, as if he needed your closeness a little longer to prepare himself.  As soon as his grasp loosened and you knew he was ready you quietly moved out of the house and let yourself fall onto the porch’s stairs, where you soon heard Negan’s voice rumble through the air, still filled heavily with emotions but firm enough to not break as he spoke up. “I’m sorry that I left you...I was a coward. I couldn’t face the pain of losing you so I ran away...and then I made myself not feel anything because I didn’t want to feel the shame...I’m sorry that you went out like that, I should have been there. I’m sorry that I named a stupid baseball bat after you...and I’m sorry for the all pain I put you through...I still miss you”, you heard his voice say, so clear that you could hear him forcing himself to keep going even though he could barely hold himself back, so filled with emotion and pain that it broke your heart all over again. “I promise, I’m gonna do your fighting for you”, you heard him say,  breaking at the end before the sound of rustling wood could be heard and you knew that he’d laid her into the flames. Only seconds passed until you heard him calling your name, the same shivering tone stuck in it  as you hurried back into the cabin and watched him standing by the fireplace, with tears in his eyes while Lucille laid within the flames that slowly ate away at her wood.  He was gulping heavily, new tears already falling from his eyes as you moved in to hug him tightly and felt him wrapping his arms back around you within mere milliseconds. “I love you, so much”, he mumbled into your hair, cradling you against his body while sniffles fell from his lips and trembles still shook through him.  “I love you too”, you mumbled back, cuddling against him as he held tightly onto you and didn’t dare to loosen his embrace just once before another sniffling sigh fell from his lips. “I hope Lucille’s up there in heaven and has found someone who makes her just as happy as you make me”, Negan mumbled shakily into your hair, cradling you closer as you nodded softly against him, so touched all over again that you felt new tears welling up into your eyes. “I’m sure she has”, you mumbled, only able to bring these few words out before your throat tightened and made you voice break off again while Negan rocked you gently in his arms, keeping you safely locked in his embrace until the world finally started to feel at peace around you.  Tomorrow would be a new day. Tomorrow would be the start of a new life as soon as you’d walk through Alexandria’s gates, defying any of Carol’s plans, defying anyone that still doubted you, defying your past to pave your way to the future that you both wanted. You would keep on fighting for it, side by side like it you’d always done, and how it would always be.  You and him, an unbeatable team.

[jkstompers]

don’t go | jjk

pairing: jeon jungkook x female reader

summary: you and jungkook were simply roommates, nothing more than that. no matter how much you wanted to get to know him, jungkook always left before you were able to get any deeper than two weeks into his past. 

word count: 3.3K 

genre: roommates, established friendship, hidden feelings, angst, slight fluff

warnings: none! :) (except maybe some typos...ignore that...haha...)

author’s note: yes hi hello! i’m so sorry i haven’t posted in so long AND I WAS SUPPOSED TO POST THIS FIC THE DAY AFTER VALENTINES UGH!! I’M SLACKING, I’M SORRY!! i’ve been writing but i don’t have the motivation to finish and ugh it’s a mess in my brain right now. this fic i was able to finish though! hopefully u enjoy it ♡(ŐωŐ人) please let me know what u think! sorry again for being so inactive T口T. 

side note: this is how i imagined jungkook in this fic! his pink sweater and long hair (╯°▽°)╯ ┻━┻ .crying. 

also banner picture cred: here <3

“welcome home roomie! how was your month long vacation from me this time?” you greet jungkook when he walks into the kitchen for breakfast. he just came back last night from one of his month long rendezvous that occur way too often in your opinion. jungkook would disappear and reappear every other week or so. he never told you where he went and you never really found yourself dedicated enough to find out. 

“fun,” he answers flatly, “and to be specific, it was only two weeks.” he clarifies the time he spent away, sitting down at the island and surveying the food you laid out. you outdid yourself this morning, an array of different breakfast foods. “you made all of this?” 

you nod, “they were about to go bad, so you better finish all of it.” 

he sends you a half smile, teetering on a smirk as he takes the plate you hand him. “you doing anything today?” he asks. his fork stabs through two pancakes and moves them to his plate, shoveling bacon and eggs onto there as well. 

“on this fine sunday? sadly, no, just some homework i need to finish.” you sigh, taking a sip from your glass of water. your seat is to the right of jungkook, at the head of the island. it’s now that you really take your time to look at him. his morning look in all it’s glory. a face swollen and hair messy in the cutest way. it wasn’t fair that he was attractive during times when you’re supposed to look unattractive. his hair has grown a little longer since you last saw him, the ends of his hair touching the apples of his cheeks now. speaking of his cheeks, he stuffs them full of food and chews, his eyes wandering around the apartment until he makes contact with yours. catching you staring. 

he swallows, bringing his glass of water to his lips before speaking again, “my face that interesting to you?” the question comes with a piece of pancake on his fork, offering it to you.  

like a reflex, you open your mouth to accept the pancake. but you scrunch your nose at the remark he made, “you look different.” 

the statement is meant to be innocent, speaking of the way his hair is a little longer and how you notice a new tattoo gracing his arm. but jungkook seems to take it a little deeper, your words ringing in his head. different? does that mean you look at him different? is he prettier now? uglier? what do you mean by that? 

“do you want to go grocery shopping later?” he asks. hoping you didn’t notice the long pause he took to overthink. 

“sure,” you shrugged. a small bubble of excitement forming in your stomach. “we’re out of ice cream anyway.” you try to carry a nonchalant reaction when nods. 

when the two of you finished filling your bellies, jungkook helped you wash the dishes and clean everything up. the feeling of having him around makes you feel at ease. you wish it was like this more often. for the past two years jungkook had been your roommate, he paid his dues, cleaned his messes, and kept you company from time to time. when he wasn’t there (which was ⅔ of the time) it didn’t feel right. it would feel colder in the apartment, even if the heater was turned up. just...empty. sometimes you wished his socks or hoodies were left lying around the apartment for you to pick up and bicker with him about. rather, he cleaned every spot, no laundry to pick up, no spills to wipe, nothing. leaving no signs that he lived here at all. 

“nap for a little bit and then we’ll go?” jungkook asks, snapping you out of your thoughts. you nod, telling him to wake you up when it was time to go. 

you felt a warm hand on your shoulder, gently shaking you awake. your eyes open to see jungkook in front of you, pink sweater and black hair, contrasting perfectly in the sun that’s shining through your window. “let’s go now,” he says. 

you nod, getting up from your bed and stretching as you walk over to your closet, grabbing a sweater to wear. jungkook offers to drive, you sit in the passenger seat, mind focused on what you had to buy for the house. you make it to the store and grab a cart, jungkook following behind you, “do you need anything?” you ask. 

“some shampoo and conditioner,” he answers. you nod, moving to the bath section and waiting as jungkook chooses his items. the rest of the trip consists of you and jungkook asking each other if you needed said thing for the apartment. “we have to get more blankets,” he declares as you pass the home goods section, grabbing a fluffy blanket.

you scold him, “we have too many blankets, put it back.” he presses his lips into a tight line, showing his dissatisfaction. you both continue to walk around a little longer, moving to the food section. “see, this is what we need!” you pull out the cookie dough tub. 

“dough?” he snorts, taking a look at the bucket as you hold it. 

“it’s ready to eat cookie dough! no salmonella for us!” you smile, dropping it into your cart. jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, you knew he wanted the cookie dough too, you were just taking one for the team. 

walking a little further into the food section, jungkook taps your shoulder, pointing to the other side of the freezers. “ice cream?” 

“oh, yeah,” you nod, pushing the cart that way. you pull the vanilla ice cream out and place it in the cart, jungkook furrows his eyebrows. 

“vanilla? out of all the flavors here? really?” he stares at you, a serious look on his face. you can’t help but start laughing, his face breaks, a small smile appearing on his face but he tries to get back to a serious expression. 

“it’s good! and you can eat it with the cookie dough,” you reason. jungkook rolls his eyes, you always seem to find a way to stump him, he can never argue with you for too long, you’re just too good of a talker. he takes out a mint chocolate tub from the freezer. you don’t say anything but your face scrunches, visibly disapproving.

“don’t start, i will argue for mint chocolate until the store closes.” he warns. you decide to stay quiet, a smile cemented on your face as you make it to check out. the rest of the trip goes smoothly from there, picking up some food on the way home and then making it back to the apartment. 

the two of you decide to do some things on your own when you got home. jungkook had to clean his room and do some laundry while you had to finish your homework. a period of comfortable silence fills the apartment, unlike the cold silence that you were terribly used to. you couldn’t have felt any more content than how you feel now. 

a few hours pass before jungkook finishes his chores, you were finished with your work and were now scheduling your next week. he peeks his head into your room, coughing to get your attention. your head turns at the sound, “movie?” he suggests. 

you smile, standing from your desk. the two of you travel to the couch and plop down on the seats, your hand reaching out to the coffee table for the remote. “which one?” you ask, turning the tv on and clicking random buttons that bring you to netflix. 

“that blue one, with the blonde.” he points as you scroll through the selections. 

“mamma mia?” you snort. 

“looks interesting,” he shrugs. unfolding the blanket and splaying it over the both of you. the first fifteen minutes of the movie plays before both you and jungkook start getting hungry. a rock, paper, scissors game ensues to figure out who’s gonna get up to get the snacks. you lose, 2 to 1. 

you grumble, pulling the warm blanket off of you and moving to the kitchen. taking a bag of chips out, some candy that you had in the pantry, and then the tub of ready to eat cookie dough out of the fridge. the weight of it proving you to be one of the weakest human beings. the tub practically slams onto the counter. the lid once again proving that your strength was not that of thor’s. “jungkook!” you shout from the kitchen. 

“what?” he yells back. 

you try once more to pry the lid open, but to no avail. so you shout once again, “help me open the cookie dough!” 

you hear jungkook groan, but nevertheless he comes into the kitchen, his face silently asking what you need him to do. you show him that the lid is basically stuck and he takes it from you, trying to take the top off but he seems to struggle as well. “here, you hold and i pull,” he suggests, holding onto the lid as you hold onto the bucket part. something told you this wasn’t going to work, maybe you should have left it out to thaw first before you tried to open it. 

if someone were to walk in, the two of you would look ridiculous, but the cookie dough gives after a minute or so of pulling. the effort makes both you and jungkook stumble onto the kitchen floor. both of your laughs overlapping each other. you hold the cookie dough, “let’s stay here first, i’m tired.” your breathing is exaggerated to add effect. 

he grins, moving to grab two spoons before sitting down next to you, against the cabinets on the floor. he sticks the two spoons into the cookie dough, the two of you start digging in. “you know what would be perfect with this right now?” jungkook sits up, standing again and moving to the freezer. you raise an eyebrow, wondering what he’s got in mind. “your vanilla ice cream,” he pulls the tub out. 

“and to think you were making fun of me in the store for it,” you narrow your eyes, taking the ice cream from him. jungkook stands above you, smiling at the way you remain on the ground instead of going back to the couch in the living room. nevertheless, he joins you with his spoon in hand. 

he watches as you scoop from the container, over exaggerating a shiver when you put it in your mouth. “cold?” he asks, but you shake your head. he looks over to your arm, your goosebumps raising. “liar,” he snorts, taking off his hoodie and handing it to you. 

you give him a puzzled look, “i can just get my own—” 

“just take it,” he cuts you off, throwing the jacket into your arms. secretly, you smile to yourself, throwing the hoodie over your head and sliding it on. it smells just like him, an overbearing scent that you’ve found comforting these days. a sudden warmth rushes over you. 

the sound of the tv is in the background of your conversation, but you only pay attention to jungkook, the man who’s digging into your vanilla ice cream and feeding it to you. “you like feeding your roommates or something?” you mumble as you eat the cold cream. 

he shakes his head, a smile on his face. “you’re the first roommate i’ve had.” 

you raise your eyebrows, “like ever?” he nods. “makes sense, you don’t know proper roommate etiquette, because you’re never here,” you snort. it was a joke, but it was true. you were projecting your upset through the statement. he is never here, and you just wanted to know why. did he not like being around you? is he just using this place to shower and store his things? was that it? 

jungkook doesn’t reply to your remark. completely disregarding it when he speaks again, “yeah, i’ve lived on my own before i moved in here, i moved around a lot.” 

“why?” you ask. jungkook never answered ‘why’ questions. always said that it was never your business, that you were always so nosy. 

but this time he sighs, “not really sure.” his spoon stabbing into the cookie dough, scraping the sides for the softer dough. “never really had a reason to stay.” 

that was the most you’ve ever heard from him. no matter how much you wanted to ask why he stayed here, why he stayed with you. you knew that maybe it was pushing a little too far. one question at a time, baby steps, you tell yourself. 

but you couldn’t help but think— wish that you could be a reason to make him stay. 

“must be tiring,” you comment, taking a scoop of dough for yourself. he doesn’t reply after that, instead just smearing some of the dough on your cheek and nose. a gasp leaves your throat, wiping the stickiness from your face and transferring it to his. “you’re gonna give me acne,” you groan. 

“oh relax, i’ll help you wash it off.” he smiles as he stands up, holding his hand out for you to take. he sets the ice cream on the counter, you copy with the cookie dough. both of you travelling to the sink to wash your hands and your faces. jungkook dries his face off and stands by, watching as you splash water on your face. you miss a spot on your cheek, which he helps you wipe off. his thumb coming up and swiping against the dough. his hand is warm, if it were there any longer, you would have leaned into his touch. 

after you both dried your faces off, you both agreed that you’ve consumed enough cookie dough and ice cream for the night. after returning them to the fridge, you make your way back to the couch. the movie almost over, nearing the ending scenes when you sit down. jungkook chooses another movie, legally blonde. “lots of blonde today, thinking of bleaching your hair?” you joke, throwing a blanket on the both of you. 

“you read my mind.” he gasps sarcastically. 

another comfortable silence falls in between you both, the sound of elle woods speaking replaces your conversation with each other. you turn and watch as jungkook’s focus remains solely on the tv. you lean back into the couch, smiling to yourself. there was a bittersweet feeling to this moment. you were happy that jungkook was here, but something felt off. you felt yourself getting lonely. you feel this way every time jungkook is about to leave, it’s like you have a warning signal. like that one time last year where jungkook left for two months, december and january, the two most festive months of the year. you were out buying christmas decorations when you felt something inside of you grow cold. it’s when you got in your car that you saw his text. 

[7:58 pm] jungkook: *jeon jungkook has sent you $1,000* 

[7:58 pm] jungkook: ^^ for rent

[8:21 pm] you: leaving again? 

[8:23 pm] jungkook: yeah

[8:24 pm] you: when r u coming back 

[8:24 pm] you: i just bought christmas decor :( 

[8:25 pm] jungkook: :( sorry 

[8:26 pm] jungkook: also not sure

[8:26 pm] jungkook: i’ll be back to see them though! promise. i’ll help you take them down too 

with that, you went home and decorated the apartment with a christmas tree, a snowman, and stockings with yours and jungkook’s initials hanging below the tv on the wall. waiting patiently all december and the first two weeks of january to see if jungkook would ever come back to see how cute you made the apartment. 

he never did. 

rather, he came back the end of january, when all the festivities were done and the decorations were down. 

“where are the decorations?” he asks, shrugging off his jacket and walking into the kitchen. 

you rolled your eyes, picking up your mug of hot tea. “took them down myself, didn’t think you were coming back.” after that you moved into your room, watching tv and sulking to yourself. sure, you were upset but you shouldn’t have expected anything more from him. it’s become one of the only personality traits that you see in him: ghosting you and coming back like nothing happened. plus, it’s not like he owed you an explanation. you and jungkook were simply roommates, nothing more than that. no matter how much you wanted to get to know him, jungkook always left before you were able to get any deeper than two weeks into his past. 

you close your eyes and shake off the memory. breaking the silence when you speak, “you’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” 

his gaze moves away from the tv. his eyes meeting yours, “why do you say that?” 

you break eye contact before you shrug, “i can always feel it.” 

he doesn’t say anything after, letting you wallow in the feeling washing over you once again. jungkook was leaving again and he knew you knew. there was nothing he could say, because what did you want to hear? that he’ll stay? maybe it was because it’s only been a day, and he’s already leaving. the whole thing makes your head ache. the both of you continue to watch the movie until the end, the clock striking four in the morning. jungkook turns the tv off when you yawn. 

“tired?” he asks. you nod, standing from the couch and turning off the lights. he follows suit, stretching and trailing you down the hall. you walk into your room and lay on your bed, jungkook stays at your door, turning your light off before softly saying, “goodnight.” and then closing your door. 

sometime in the morning, around seven or eight, you feel your bed dip beside you. it’s jungkook, you can tell by the smell of his body wash. a strong fruit smell that always feels like it burns your nose. you’re barely awake, your head still lightly aching. your droopy eyelids beckon you to sleep. jungkook doesn’t say anything, instead just sitting there. 

in his head he’s saying something, apologizing to you for all the times he left you alone in this big apartment. you must have felt so alone, probably scared too. he’s too much of a coward to say it out loud. so for now, in his head, he repeats the apologies over and over again. 

“sweet dreams,” jungkook says. rising from your bed. you can feel it, the comforting weight next to you as you fall back asleep disappears. 

you blame your drowsiness for the way you reach out for his arm, gently holding his hand. he stutters in his step, looking back to you and your connected hands. “don’t go,” you mumble, eyes still closed. 

and for once. jungkook hesitates. for a split second, he wonders how it’ll feel to stay with you. 

but he doesn’t know. and he’ll never know. because in the next minute, he’s slipping his hand away from yours and grabbing his bag. walking out the door. again. 

in the morning you wake to an empty apartment. jungkook’s door is closed and it’s just you again. your feet pad against the cold floor into the kitchen, a paper on the island catching your attention. 

jungkook’s handwriting is specific, you could tell the marks apart from someone else’s. a smile spreads across your face when you read the note. terribly, your heart pounds and your cheeks flush. 

be back in two weeks. 

was supposed to be gone the entire month, but i wanted to stop by and see you. 

sorry i only stayed for a day. 

didn’t say it yesterday, but happy valentine’s day. there’s something in the fridge for you. 

take care. 

Xx, J. 

[haloshornsinkstains]

Mine [Tomura Shigaraki]

This is a bit different from most of my other writing I think? Read the content warnings. It’s not as fluffy as a lot of my other writing. It was just an idea that wouldn’t go away and I finally got it all written out.

Sorry I haven’t updated much this week, first week back at work has been rough. Always open for requests though, especially headcanons or thirsts/drabbles atm.

CW: Omegaverse (Alpha!Shigaraki, Omega!Reader), female reader, NSFW, dubcon , blood, violence, kidnapping

Distressed omegas were meant to be a cowering, whimpering mess. They were meant to be easy to control, to comply subserviently with an Alpha, or even a Beta, in order to remedy whatever situation had them in such a state. Distressed omegas were most certainly not meant to be snarling, snapping and occasionally sending ripples of electricity and broken earth out at their captors. Which is exactly what you were doing.

 It was supposed to be an easy job, scope the place out, report back on your findings. The place was not, according to all the previous intel, supposed to be a hideout for one of the most notorious villain groups in all Japan. But just your luck, that was exactly what it was. You’d expected to die, honestly, when the small blonde had appeared out of nowhere. Maybe dying would have been the better option, rather than being tied up and surrounded by the League. You weren’t even entirely sure why you weren’t dead, she’d mumbled something about your scent and in a blurry series of events you’d found yourself here, growling at their leader as he crouched before you, easily recognisable with the hand obscuring his face.

 “Can someone tell me why we have a distressed omega in the middle of our floor?” He rasped, taking his eyes away from you for a moment to scan the group. “We caught her sneaking around!” Toga grinned, bouncing on the balls of her feet.  “Right. So why is she here and not, say, dead?” Shigaraki growled, before whipping his head back to you, nose wrinkled. “And will you stop that? You smell terrible.” You merely snarled in response. You knew your distress tinged your natural scent with a sour note that wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t as if you could control the feeling given your current predicament. “Um, boss, we do have her tied up. It’s probably not entirely her fault.” “Spinny is right. She smelled so good before~” Toga beamed. You snorted. “She’s bleeding, of course you thought she smelled good.” “Not like that! The blood smelled good, but she smelled right before she started bleeding. Then she smelled better~”  Tomura sighed, shifting forwards towards you to try and see what the beta girl meant. You shuffled backwards, baring your teeth at him in a snarl, sparks skittering off your skin towards him. Tomura snarled back, sharp canines glinting from between chapped lips in a clear threat. “Stop it! I could just kill you you know?” He glanced over his shoulder, missing the way your body drooped in poorly hidden hurt at his next words. “You just had to bring a broken omega didn’t you brat?”  Broken. You’d heard that before. No one wanted an omega who snarled and snapped back, instead of submitting at the drop of a hat. Omegas were supposed to be subservient. Motherly. They were supposed to have supportive roles. You were none of those, topped with an offensive type quirk, you weren’t what anyone would look for in an omega mate. You were broken, by their standards. “Stop. Calm down.” You reacted immediately to the new Alpha voice, your body relaxing against your own will, every fibre of your being racing to obey the alpha’s command. You turned your head to scowl at the man who’d pulled such a dirty trick, stupid Alpha’s and their stupid ability to make Omega’s obey. A scarred face grinned back at you, Dabi you realised, another strong Alpha - had to be to make you submit like that when you were so riled up. “You could’ve done that too you know creep, threatening her wasn’t going to make her any less distressed.” He huffed. “You’re the worst Alpha I’ve ever met.” Tomura scowled, scratching at his neck. “You must not spend much time with yourself.” Dabi huffed a laugh, leaning against the wall behind you. You could feel his eyes burning into the back of your neck, clearly watching for you to make some move to attack as Tomura shifted closer. His scent was getting stronger, too much so to just account for his proximity. He was trying to calm you, you realised belatedly, a hand twitching near his neck as if he didn’t dare scratch at the damaged glands further. It took a moment for the scent to really hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked as your body reacted, the urge to fling yourself towards him and flee warring between each other and leaving your frozen in place. You shook your head as a needy whine bubbled from your throat unbidden. Tomura fell backwards, brows pinched together in what you thought was a similar kind of distress. In a panic you tried to focus on a different scent, anything to push the scent of dusty rooms and decaying leaves and belonging from your nose. Your head whipped to Dabi behind you, breathing deeply through your nose. He was another Alpha, surely his scent should do something to mask Tomura’s, but the smoke and spice was far too faint to cover whatever the other Alpha had pumped through the room. Noticing your gaze Dabi just offered a lazy shrug, tilting his head slightly with a smug smirk. The burn scars that covered his neck must have messed with his scent glands, which also explained the tang of burnt flesh you got from him. The Betas weren’t doing much either, and everyone smelled faintly of blood, including you. With another needy whine you gave up and focused hard on the floor, trying not to breathe more than strictly necessary. The world around you blurred and faded as you fought every instinct in you screaming to reach out to the Alpha and bare your neck to his teeth. 'Stupid body, stop it. I'm better than this, I've met plenty of strong Alphas before.' 'But none of them smelled like that. Good enough to make you react like this' your traitorous mind whispered back. 'Screw that. I am not my secondary gender. I'm a hero. I don't roll over for anyone, and certainly not an infamous villain. No matter how good he smells…' 'Smells like mate. Your Alpha.' '...mate. No!'. You snarled into the floor, not quite sure when you’d shifted position like this. You vaguely registered the shuffle of feet, Tomura had stood and moved away at some point, and the low rasp of orders. "Spinner, go put her somewhere." "Okay? Uh, where?" "Anywhere but here." A door slammed and you felt yourself being lifted, heated over a shoulder. Spinner you guessed, he smelled weird, even under the blood and soft scent that marks him as part of the pack. His smell was dry, like sand and tanned leather and something reptilliant you couldn't place. He jostled you slightly as he moved down some stairs, making you hiss at him in irritation. He growled back, finally dumping you in a small cellar, your hands still tied.

“What was that all about?” Toga asked, spinning a knife in her hands.  “You can’t guess?” Dabi sighed. “Do you know anything?” Toga just shrugged, humming to herself. “I know how to stab people.” “From the omega’s reaction I’d say she smelled a mate.” Compress sighed. “I’m sure you can piece together who from the reaction.” “Oh. Oh. Maybe that’s why she smelled so nice before.” Dabi shrugged. “What did she smell like before? I only got the sour distressed smell, and… well.” Toga winced, the sour smell had been unpleasant sure, but the strange musk after it hadn’t been so bad. It reminded her of how things smelled after she got to play with blood. “She smelled good, like thunderstorms and old things. A bit like the bar when we first got here, except with more lightning.” “That explains it. Creepy hands McGee is going to be a child about it though.” Dabi hummed.  “You should have more faith in our leader.” Dabi shot Compress a disbelieving look and shook his head. “This is going to be a pain.”

You weren’t sure how long you’d been trapped in their cellar. Two days maybe, if they were bringing you three meals a day, longer if not and well… three meals a day seemed a little too generous for the group of villains. Yet no one had come to find you, probably assumed you were dead you reasoned, but the abandonment stung somewhere deep in your chest. You’d smelled your mate several times since you’d been captured too, lurking outside the door but never coming any further. Each time the battle with your instincts got harder, the omega inside you begging to call out, to crawl to the door and beg for him to come in. Occasionally small whimpers would slip past your lips, ones that you would scold yourself for, but worse was the answering growl that sometimes came from the other side of the door. Low and possessive and filled with a promise of something both dangerous and so, so tempting. Those times it was even harder to stay back, your body trembling from the effort of staying still. You didn’t want him, not logically, he was dangerous and cruel and evil. Everything opposed to what you worked for in life. But your traitorous body smelled a mate, the first one you’d met since high school, and it wanted him so badly it ached. 

Meanwhile Dabi was getting more and more frustrated, nothing was happening with the League while their boss was fixated on their captive, and while he didn’t really care about the League’s goals where they diverged from his own, the inactivity was boring the others and their restlessness was driving him insane. That and the constant growling of the other Alpha made his hackles rise, part of him he thought he’d buried long ago wanting to fight over the omega. It was stupid and he hated it, so it needed to be solved, and he knew just the thing to kick Shigaraki into action.

 You snapped awake from a fitful sleep as you heard the door to the cellar opening. A traitorous part of your mind hoping it would be your mate. Instead the faint smell of burning caught you nose and you huffed, turning away from the other Alpha. You heard a growl from behind you but ignored it, pulling the blanket around you protectively. “Go away.”  There was a rough laugh. “I don’t think so little Omega. All this pining is getting annoying.” You huffed. “There is no pining. But if you’re here to kill me just get it over with, this cellar smells terrible.” “Tempting but no” he grabbed your shoulders, flipping you onto your back in one swift motion “I’ve got a much better plan.” Your body tensed up, preparing to fight whatever this asshole planned to do to you, despite the power-dampening bands they’d locked onto your wrists. You pulled your legs up, closing them tightly, ready to kick him away. But Dabi was deceptively strong, pinning your legs down with one arm as his other grabbed something from his coat pocket, binding it over your nose and mouth. A gag, you thought at first, ready to scream for help that probably wouldn’t come as soon. But then the smell hit you, your eyes going wide and panicked. It was his smell, dusty and decaying and enough to set all of your nerves on fire. You thrashed on the bed, tossing your head around and trying to get it off, get away from the intoxicating scent, but Dabi had a hand pressed hard against your throat. “Behave.” You froze with a whimper that you hated yourself for. “Good Omega. Now, we just need to wait until your heat kicks in and this’ll all be over.” You struggled weakly again, your heat hadn’t been very far off when you first broke in here anyway, the overwhelming scent of Alpha, of Mate, would only bring it on faster. And with Dabi pressing down on your neck you felt you might pass out before you could get the clothing off you. Everything was hazy and the blood was pounding in your ears as the edges of your vision darkened.

 Dabi sighed, climbing off you and sniffing the air. Beneath the sour sting of distress he could smell the sweetness and thick musk that signalled an impending heat. A couple hours and you’d be in full heat he figured, plenty of time to convince the creep to get down here and trap him in here with you. Dabi figured he’d either kill you, fuck you and then kill you or (and it was probably the least likely) actually claim you as a mate and stop this ridiculous moping. Maybe having an omega around the place would be useful, you were supposed to be good at looking after people and all that shit and god knows these idiots need it. Now he just had to convince the creep to actually enter the cellar.

 In the end it was easier than he thought. All he had to do was suggest you were in some kind of danger and some long dormant Alpha instincts seemed to kick in, sending Shigaraki darting into the cellar before his brain could catch up with what he was doing. With a satisfied bark of laughter Dabi slammed the door shut again, banking on the boss’ instincts kicking in before he could think of disintegrate the door with his quirk. Sliding the lock shut he turned to address the door, raising his voice so he could be heard inside. “We’re all sick of your nonsense, so either fuck or kill each other. I don’t care.” You were staring wide eyed at Shigaraki from your makeshift blanket nest, a sheen of sweat making your skin almost glow in the dim light. The room stank with the scent of your heat, sickly sweet and tinged with ozone. For his part Shiagraki had pressed himself back against the door, staring at you as if you were about to pounce on him and eat him alive. Though, in his defence, your instincts were screaming at you to do exactly that. In a way it was almost funny, that something so simple could reduce someone so powerful to panic like this, but you knew how dangerous that could be at the same time, how easily he could kill you. You tried to growl at him, but it came out more like a needy whimper, a ripple of pain running through your body. You knew it was only a matter of time before he lost control, maybe it was better to just get it over with… the way your body was screaming at you was getting harder to ignore too. Before you realised what was happening you had started to crawl towards him, his snarl the only thing that snapped you out of the heat daze and made you stop. “Stay back.” You froze, studying him carefully. He was trembling, a thin sheen of sweat covering his face, his hands frozen into claws on the floor, pinkies raised. So it was getting to him faster than you bargained for. Great.  “I’m trying!” You hissed. “Try harder!” You narrowed your eyes, a snarl escaping your lips. “Screw you.” He answered with a growl, deep and low in his throat, the sound making you whine and press yourself to the floor on instinct, hips raised in the air. In the few seconds it took you to realise what you were doing something in Tomura snapped, the scent of your heat and the submissive mating position sparking every instinct in his body. In a flash you’re trapped beneath him, feeling the solid press of his length against your ass. He’s trembling, barely restrained as he ruts against your clothing. It’s sweet, in a twisted way, that he’s this far gone but still trying to hold on to a thread of control, to wait for your consent. And with him pressed so close, his intoxicating scent filling your nostrils, you know you can’t hold off much longer. Each time you try to say no it comes out as whine, your heat growing stronger with each passing heartbeat. “Please.” It comes out as a whine, but your hips rocking back against his is more than enough to tell him what you want.

 His fingers scrabbled at your pants, careful to keep his pinkie away from the clothes even in this state.  You heard the groan as he saw the mess of slick sticking to your underwear, you could feel it starting to run down your legs, the smell almost overwhelming. You heard more fabric rustle before you felt him pressing against you, felt the quiver in his body as he stilled with his head just pressing at your entrance. You whined, low and needy, bucking your hips back against him again, knees pressed together by your hastily tugged down clothes and chest cold against the floor. Behind you he growls, hips bucking forwards with enough force to almost push you over. His body folded over yours, hands pressed against the floor, away from you. A small thing, but it speaks volumes about his unwillingness to hurt you, that the bond of knowing you’re mates has stuck with him too. It’s the last coherent thought you have before your brain is completely overcome with a haze of lust, devoid of any thoughts except how good his cock feels inside you, hard and heavy rubbing along your inner walls. Your hands scrabble against the floor as he bucks up into you, pressing against a spot on your insides with every thrust that makes you see stars, his breath a series of harsh pants in your ears. There’s no dirty talk, no indication how much he’s enjoying this aside from the occasional ‘fuck’ or low moan. You could feel his knot pressing against your entrance, stretching you a little more with each thrust, brushing against your clit and pushing you closer and closer to your release. You knew anyone who passed would be able to hear your wanton moans and whimpers through the door, too lost in pleasure to control your volume. “Please. Please knot me Alpha, mate.” You whined, rocking back against him. “Need you.” There was a low chuckle from above you, dark and twisted. “Lost all your fight little omega? How pitiful.” You whined, clenching down around him. It was all it took for him to thrust hard once more, his knot pushing past your outer ring and locking itself inside you. The sudden pressure tipped you over the edge, spasming around his dick, barely aware as he made a final few shallow thrusts before groaning and tipping over the edge himself, filling you with his warm come. The pain of his teeth latching onto your neck, the sharpened canines piercing through the bond mark, was enough to bring you out of your daze. “Mine.”  Locked together you could feel his tongue lapping at the wound, cleaning the blood and soothing the sting of the bite. You tried not to struggle, worried the movement would anger him, even as you could hear the mutterings of ‘mine, my omega’ against your skin. With the worst of your heat sated right now you could almost think clearly again, despite the stretch of his knot inside you firing all kinds of signals inside your body. You’d allowed yourself to be claimed by one of the biggest villains in Japan, in a dingy basement against a cold stone floor. He’d bitten you and marked you as his. There was no way they were going to let you out of there now, no matter how much you begged or used your ‘omega charms’ on them. You were trapped. At least the claim would offer you some protection from the others, or so you hoped.

What on earth had you gotten yourself into?

[jigscw]

so the deal is this and i’m sorry it’s not going to be super sparkly to read:  i’m overwhelmed and this blog is difficult sometimes to keep up with for a variety of reasons. but i’m also not ready to give it up. if anyone’s followed me here for awhile you might have noticed that my activity fluctuates and tends to taper off into periods of long inactivity for one reason or another. i’m not going anywhere, but the important things to note are bulleted below:

i’ve always had this blog listed as “selective” but i suck at being selective because i’m always scared of offending people, but i’m going to get more selective in terms of prioritizing following of people who i can actually see myself writing with on here. so if i have no idea what kind of stuff we could write, i might not follow back right away. it’s not because i hate you / your muse / don’t want to write with you. my muse is a fickle bitch.

threads are dropped + i’m starting fresh,  i’m overwhelmed, i wish i could fully express how overwhelmed i am without being annoying and sounding like a whiny bitch. so i’m just going to start fresh. so all threads right now are dropped.

verses are not dropped, if we have a verse / plot line going, i’m probably going to just write and queue you a starter for it over the next couple of weeks. --- i’m not dropping partners / interactions / verses / people / dynamics / etc, i just need to start fresh with threads. 

i got sorta lax on this one but  in terms of “romantic” ships,  i’m going to go back to being a little more selective. i don’t see bill as a very shippy guy in general, and though i adore the “he’s awful to everyone but her” ship vibe, a lot of times it feels like that’s all anyone wants and that kills my muse super quickly, so any / all romantic ships moving forward are going to be left up to chemistry and an insane amount of development. --- if we have a shippy ship now, nothing’s changing, this is just moving forward. 

activity level  is still going to remain pretty heckin low, unsurprisingly. i have a lot on my plate. some days i’m handling it pretty well, other days i feel like i’m sitting on a razor’s edge of keeping myself together. and even on good days, this blog isn’t always my first priority.

as a final note / statement, i really hate this. i don’t ever want to be this person. there’s absolutely nothing worse than the sinking feeling of being on the receiving end of this shit, and as much as i love you all and love writing on here, i just can’t cut it right now the way that i have been and i need to do Something before i just abandon completely, change my name, and move to antarctica to become a penguin. in 1000% seriousness, i started crying while writing this. i’m sorry. if i knew how to give you all what you wanted all the time, i would do it in a heartbeat but when i tell you i am stretched thin i mean that if you turned me sideways, i would literally be a sliver. 

much love, lia.