#put me out of my misery man I can’t stand it

[elysianightsss]

I BURN FOR YOU | PART THREE

He snaps his head up, eyes locking with yours with an intensity you’ve never seen before. “When the next two months are over, you’re going to stay with me and it’s going to be your choice this time.” Simon takes a hold of your hand, kissing the top of it before holding it in between the both of his.

“I will make every effort to make it so darling.”

Your sharp gasp is a most enjoyable sound for Simon that he certainly plans on hearing again. You pull your hand from his and start to make your way out of the room.

“Darling?” Simon stands and begins after you. You whip around quickly catching him off guard.

“You’re rude and mean and cold for weeks! I shout at you once and you’re suddenly the perfect gentleman?” Your eyes narrow into slits, “I don’t buy it.”

“I can only apologise for my previous irresponsible behaviour.” Simon sounds genuine but you don’t want to believe it.

“Irresponsible?” You question his choice of words.

“It’s irresponsible if I have ruined any chance of getting you to stay at the end of these two months.” His voice holds a tone you’re unfamiliar with, not just from Simon but from any man you’ve ever encountered. It sounds like begging. The way his brow furrows deep, his eyes aren’t cold but are warm and welcoming, he looks just about ready to fall to his knees but you highly doubt that.

Everything that was once cold and harsh now screams to you to come closer, bellows to you to fall into his arms, like a siren he becomes your walking dream. You have to take a sharp breath in, you have to steel yourself. He had been cold and rude to you for almost a whole month now, you were not going to give into his new facade so easily.

“I don’t believe whatever this is,” you gesture to all of him, “no one can change over night.”

But he had. When you yelled in his face that this wasn’t your choice either, a realisation had struck him that he feels an simpleton he didn’t think about it before, you didn’t choose this just as he hadn’t chosen it. He had been giving you the cold shoulder with the prejudice that you had chosen this and agreed to marry him. That you had brought this misery upon him.

But to realise you had been forced into this with no way out, only then did he understand how much of a cunt he’d been to you. You, a sweet gorgeous woman who had been forced to put up with his shit from the day you said I do, suffering in silence until yesterday.

“Let me prove it to you.” Simon takes hold of your hand, speaking soft and calm. His eyes hold so much emotion you almost can’t seem look into them without giving into him. He sees you’re still uncertain and rightfully so, “I will try my utmost to show you I am no longer cold, and that I wish for you to stay with me.”

You simply frown and pull your hand away. Simon can see it though, the acceptance glistening in those pretty eyes of yours. You’re not going to say it aloud, definitely not, but he has a chance and he’s not going to fuck it up.

The difference is outstanding, extraordinary almost. It’s like he’s an entirely different man from the one you had been dealing with for a month. He waits for you during meals times, waits for you to fuss with your dress and hair, waits for you to sip your wine, waits for you to pick up your knife and fork before even thinking about picking up his.

He makes conversation during these times too, asks about your day at dinner or what you had planned at breakfast. He smiles as he listens to you talk about a new book you read in the library, tells you about the time his mother used to read to him when he’d wake up from nightmares as a child.

Simon actively seeks you out throughout the day, whether it’s with a rose in hand he’d picked specially for you or to ask if you’d join him for tea or a walk in the gardens perhaps. He finds ways to make you smile or laugh, and though you curse yourself for it, it’s so nice to laugh. Sometimes by the end of dinner you’re laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

You can’t help but think about the sheer contrast from your first meal together, Simon with a frown permanently etched on his perfectly structured face. You not even wanting to speak to him and battling your internal thoughts of never having happiness. To this, laughter and a happiness you hadn’t felt before.

Simon also starts to walk you to your room at the end of the evening and bid you goodnight. Tonight as you walk side by side, after one too many glasses of wine you’re unable to stop yourself from your words. “Sometimes you are entirely confusing,” your words sound a little slurred, it’s makes Simon hum interested in what you have to say though.

He’s figured out that you forget yourself after a few drinks, you spill your soul to him in a way he’s been internally begging for. You always apologise for your actions at breakfast the next morning when your head is aching. But he brushes you off, saying he loves to hear what you have to say. He enjoys you being so open with him.

Your heels clip and clop against the black and white marble flooring as you continue, “I thought you said you wouldn’t be walking me to my room.” You raise a brow, glancing at him next to you. So tall.

Simon smiles down at you softly, you looked especially beautiful tonight. The light purple glittering dress you’d chosen to wear suits you impeccably. Your hair is a sweet updo with a small section of your hair remaining out of the bun and curled in the London fashion. Your cheeks are flushed from the alcohol and your smile is a little lopsided. You looked ethereal. Like a deity. An unobtainable being and yet you’re his to have and hold, to love and to cherish.

He’d done a shit job thus far, not anymore.

“I believe your mistaken my lady,” Simon’s playful tone brings a giggle bubbling up your throat, “that was said by another man. And awful, rude-“

“-cock of a man.” You freeze, eyes widening at your loose lips. Hesitantly you glance up at your husband to your right, he’s staring down at you, lips parted in shock, eyes widened in surprise. It’s so quiet in the hallway as you’ve both stopped walking you think you’d be able to hear your hairpin drop.

Then suddenly Simon laughs, it’s a bellowing full belly laugh. It brightens your mood and calms you all at once. The sound makes you start to laugh too, until you’re both stood in an empty hallway laughing uncontrollably.

“Oh darling, you truly amuse and amaze me. You’re truly unlike any woman I’ve ever met.” The Duke tells you earnestly, sighing after catching his breath. You feel a warm arm wrap around your waist just as you start to sway.

You both start to walk again, it’s in a sweet silence. A peaceful serenity that you both bathe in until you’re finally in front of your room. A frown begins to grow on his face, he wishes he could demand you move your things into his room just so you could both continue to be together peacefully like this.

“Thankyou,” you bring his undivided attention back to you, “for walking me to my room. I bid you goodnight your grace.” You smile up at him.

Simon smiles back, maybe he’s had one too many glasses of wine too, he thinks, as he finds himself leaning closer to you. No it’s not the wine, it’s just you. You’re simply enchanting to him, like a witch has put a spell on him, he’s in a trance leaning forward and pressing his lips to the corner of your mouth.

One could argue it was your cheek but it was far too close to your lips for there to be any sound evidence for that. And there it was again, that sharp gasp Simon has been dreaming about ever since he first heard it. The way your chest jolts with it, God you drive him insane.

“That scent,” he inhales lips suddenly at the shell of your ear, nostrils flaring as he takes a breath in deep. He feels dizzy at the scent, “roses.” He whispers, groaning slightly, feeling on a high from being so close to you.

Feeling the cold wall against your back and the warmth of his body pressing to yours makes you light headed. Weak at the knees, they buckle slightly but you’re not afraid to fall when your husband is holding you up so diligently.

“Simon.” You breathe out, his face is the closest it’s ever been. You can feel his hot breath, it’s strong of wine and those delectable chocolates you had for dessert. It’s dizzying. Simon moves his face in front of you, eyes locking with yours. You feel it again, the electricity around you both, crackling and popping in the air. Sparks flying.

“You’re beautiful, wife.” He whispers full of conviction. His irises blown wide, covering the brown in his gorgeous eyes. Simon rests his forehead on yours. You find yourself inching forward.

You want him to kiss you, want him to hold you, you simply want him. Simon is internally battling if it’s acceptable to kiss you. You are his wife, but he’s just started laying the ground work and building a friendship with you. He’s doesn’t want you to think he’s doing it to just to sleep with you. He doesn’t want your mind to jump to you being used in any way shape or form.

So he kisses your cheek once more, soft, plump lips pressing against the skin. Stubble pressing into your cheek in a way that actually does make your knees buckle, but Simon’s got you. He tells you so.

“Goodnight darling.” Disappointingly, your husband pulls away and bows to you before leaving swiftly down the hall. You watch him the whole way until he disappears round the corner, it’s only then that you enter your bedroom and flop onto your bed.

Your three maids are waiting for you, all of them smiling at you. The whole household is happy the Duke and Duchess are finally getting along and even a romantic bond is building there. They help undress you and dress you for bed all while you compliment Simon with slurred words and a lopsided grin on your face.

The same lopsided grin Simon wears after hearing exactly what you said about him last night.

You start to sit with him when he works, reading your books. He makes the effort to ask what you’re reading and your favourite chapter so far, but, you’ve noticed he’s not actually listening as he stares at the difficult account ledgers in front of him. However the effort to ask makes you smile nonetheless.

He seems overly stressed today when you enter the east wing study, your smile instantly dropping at the sight. “Simon?” You don’t have to ask if he’s okay, your concern is not only present in your tone but it’s clear as day on your face as well.

“We need to attend the Price ball tonight.” He says nothing more, wiping his hands down his face. He looks exhausted. You step further into the room coming to a stop in front of his desk.

“Of course. It’s only fair as we missed the last one, and the Viscountess would not stop making me feel guilty about it at the ladies luncheon last week.” You agree with a smile that makes Simon soften.

“Thank you.” He says quietly reaching for your hand and giving it a small squeeze.

“Well I suppose I must get ready then.”

Simon thinks this is the longest he’s ever waited, not just for you, but for any woman ever to get ready for a ball.

But when you descend the grand stair case, he does not care. His breath is caught in his throat at the sight of you. You’re not in the usual London fashion and he’s loving it, soaking it up like fine expensive liquor.

You’re in a dark red dress that’s a tad big tighter than London dresses are, it shapes you and accentuates your figure perfectly. Your hair is pinned up in a plaited bun with small red roses accessorising it. You’ve got a soft glow to your face too, reddened cheeks from the rouge that your maid had put there and a red lip to match the rest of you.

Simon doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more exquisite in all his years.

“You’re staring.” You smirk at him feeling jittery at the look in his eyes.

“You’re stunning.” He quips back unable to look anywhere but you. Even as Johnny clears his throat and informs you both that the carriage is ready. Even as he is passed his gloves, scarf and cloak. Even as you cover up the dress with a cloak of your own to fight off the winter chill. Even during the bumpy carriage ride to the Viscount’s estate. Simon doesn’t look away once, something you feel yourself heating up at.

To have his eyes on you, not just your face but your body too. It sends a wave of something you’ve never felt before through your lower abdomen, you just know it feels good. You’re disappointed when he looks away to get out of the carriage but you suppose it’s better than him face planting into the gravel.

The Viscount’s estate is large, smaller than Simon’s but still large nonetheless. Mayfair Hall, Simon told you it was called. It was all lit up and sounded loud inside, busy and bustling with the life and soul of London’s ton.

You take off your cloak, smoothing your dress down and making sure your hair is still in place despite the freezing breeze. “Stop fussing, you look better than anyone here.” You scoff at your husband’s words.

“You haven’t even seen anyone inside there yet.” Simon licks his lips, wetting them to keep them from drying out in the cold while you roll your eyes.

“I don’t need to see inside to know you’re easily more beautiful than anyone here darling.” The Duke smoothly replies ignoring the way the footmen glance at him surprised.

“Well aren’t you quite the charmer!” Before you can say anything you’re both taken off guard by the hostess herself coming out of the estate to greet you both. She’s absolutely stunning in a dark green dress, “You’ll have to teach John.” She jokes to Simon before turning to you and greeting you with a hug.

She may have made you feel guilty at the ladies luncheon but she was easily the nicest person there, “I’m so happy you came tonight!” She squeals linking arms with you, leading you inside.

The night goes by swiftly, Simon goes off with John somewhere together after about three dances with you. It leaves you at the mercy of the ton and gossip. So far you’d managed to avoid anyone who wasn’t your husband, the Viscount and Viscountess. But as both men are off discussing the issue Simon is having with his ledgers and the Viscountess is busy hosting you’re no longer provided such protection, which the vultures seem to notice.

Two vultures in particular, Lady Germain and Lady Trowridge make their way over to you, curtsying respectfully before attacking.

“How are things with the Duke?” Lady Germain asks.

“I hear it was an arranged marriage, you must not be very happy.” Lady Trowridge says like she’s answering for you.

“Oh, you must not be making any heirs then.” Lady Germain looks you up and down with a slight disgust.

“That all depends on how respectful the Duke is, though he is still a man after all.” Lady Trowridge once again speaks as though the question is not aimed at you.

This goes on for what feels like a lifetime, they go back and forth, one pointing questions your way while the other answers for you in an abstract way. Neither one letting you speak as they belittle you, Simon, your relationship with your husband, the fact that you’re not pregnant yet and more. It’s makes you want the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

“Do either of you ever stop talking?” You ask genuinely, a little too loud drawing attention, after basically downing your fourth glass of champagne. Both ladies blink at you in shock, “How do you not get tired of listening to your own voices?” You shake your head astonished before walking away.

You had been excited for this ball, happy to be out and with Simon. But now it felt like a big mistake, that Simon should have scheduled a different time with John to talk about the books so you could stay in your secluded home with your walls up and where these ghastly vultures couldn’t reach you.

You begin to leave, asking for your cloak from the boy you’d given it to at the start of the evening when you weren’t feeling the gut wrenching pain you are now. Being not only belittled by them, but for them to talk so openly about the fact that Simon probably hadn’t bedded you yet. Wouldn’t want to touch you and that you’d most definitely never have children with him.

Your heart ached at the thought. Even with your slowly building relationship, you hadn’t given things like marital relations between the two of you that much thought. Maybe because you didn’t see it happening yourself, that bothered you but not as much as never being able to mother your own child did.

That was something that was still raw, something that you were still mourning the loss of, something you don’t think you’ll ever have. For them to rip open the stitches you’d tried so hard to keep tight for the wound to heal, it was truly devastating.

You wanted to leave and never return to society.

The boy handed you your cloak just as Simon rounded the corner, eyes a little frantic until they landed on you and softened into concern. Coming over to you he instantly noticed something wrong and asked you what it was.

But you refused to tell him, muttering out a nothing, that’d you’d simply had enough and wanted to leave. Simon didn’t press the matter further, he wasn’t one for society so he was more than happy to go.

After a quick goodbye to the host and hostess, the carriage is summoned and you’re back on that bumpy ride. Except this time, the carriage isn’t full of lust and happiness, it’s full of a harsh atmosphere. You’re miserable, biting back the tears refusing to let them fall in front of Simon just like you’re refusing to look at him. You know if you do you’ll break down in his arms and tell him everything those awful women said.

You don’t want anything to ruin what you have, things have changed for the better. You don’t want to put him off now.

Simon can tell there’s something you’re hiding from him, but he’s happy to be patient with you and won’t push unless it’s absolutely necessary. Though he does try to ask you once more when you arrive home, but you simply say it’s nothing and scramble away to your room, he watches you go.

It brings him back to the first few weeks of your marriage, the feeling it brings him is sickening. He doesn’t want your walls to go back up, he wants you to unfold yourself to him. Confide in him, let him comfort you. But it looks like you’re not there yet.

You slam the door in your maids faces, sliding down the white painted wood as you finally let the tears fall. You cry hard, pulling a pillow from your bed to shove your face into. It’s a loud scream that escapes your throat, muffled by the cushion, but loud nonetheless. You screamed out every feeling that had built up with each word out of their disgusting mouths.

Pouring your despair into the pillow was the only thing you wanted to do. So caught up in the pain and the insults swirling in your head, you don’t hear the door opening or the rushed food steps, the knees dropping to the floor beside you. Or maybe you do and you simply choose to ignore them as you continue to sob until warm, thick arms envelop you in a protective hold.

“Oh my darling.” His words are soft and dripping with sympathy, you can’t hear. It’s like your ears are stuffed with cotton balls, your eyes sting and your mouth feels dry but you can’t stop crying. Simon wasn’t going to make the same mistake as he made last time when he just listened to you cry.

No, not this time. He was going to hold close you until the last tear, and be ready with an open mind to listen to exactly what brought on this onslaught of sadness.

Then he was going rain hellfire on whoever caused it.

To be continued…

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[dancndiva83-blog]

Oh, this needs to happen with Cash in front of Blitzø. Something like this:

*Standing in the living room of Blitzø and Stolas apartment, fighting.*

C: (Says line from previous post.) “And another thing-”

S: (In a rage.) SHUT THE FUCK UP! (Both Cash and Blitzø stare at him.) How dare you, Sir. How DARE YOU come into YOUR SON’S HOME and think you have ANY RIGHT to criticize him. HE is a fine, honorable man who was there for me at my lowest and continues to put up with me when I’m being moody, depressed or just a down right privileged fuckhead. HE is the only proof that there is some goodness in this infernal realm, and that clearly came from his mother as you, Asshole, are the most repugnant, deluded, conceited, toxic piece of filth to have every crawled it’s way out of the pits of Tarturus.

C: (mildly confused) Uh…where?

S: (starts using his impressive height to back walk Cash towards the door.) Now I suggest that if you ever wish to have anything to do with your son, you learn to show him the respect he deserves. He has been through heartache after heartache after pain after misery all because his shithead father chose to use him instead of being a decent role model and abandon him when he needed you the most. You have used and hurt my Blitzy for the past fucking time. (When Cash is pressed up against the door, he places both hand on it and lowers himself within an inch of Cash’s face. Speaks in a low threatening tone) And if you ever make the man I love cry again, I will end you.

C: (fearful) Y-you can’t. You don’t have your p-p-powers.

S: Oh, I don’t need my powers to take care of trash like you. Blitzø has been teaching me how to use kitchen knifes to cook and I can easily filet you without breaking a sweat. (Brings a claw up under his chin and pokes it into the skin enough to draw blood) And he bought me a new skillet I’ve been itching to try.

*Cash, pale, runs out of the apartment. Stolas closes it and locks the door. Then he takes a breath and turns around to see a very stunned Blitzø staring at him, mouth slightly open.*

S: (slightly nervous) I-I’m sorry if that was too harsh…and for calling you ‘Blitzy’ since you don’t like it. I know he’s your father but he-”

B: Bend over…right now.

I am still really hoping that at some point during season 3 Stolas and Blitz get to talk a bit about this day they spent together as kids, like the question of 'Did Stolas eventually realize/come to the conclusion at some point that Paimon quite literally purchased Blitz to be his friend for a day?' still plays on my mind every now and then and I do hope we'll get an definitive answer to that sometime next season, idk man I just really want them to discuss that day again at some point

[daincrediblegg]

Truly devastating to want to jump into an AU for your canon x oc/si ship when you haven’t even scratched the surface of your main fic for them yet 😪

[mini-ism]

#— HOLIDAY LIGHTS.

pairings: lighter x afab!gn!reader [MDNI]

words: 3,300

synopsis: he hated the way those cheery holiday lights made him feel so small the night you rejected him. yet, he still answers every time you call. that shred of hope will never die, especially not as it gets cold.

warnings: p in v, biting, kissing/making out, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, friends with benefits type relationship (can be read as reader and lighter get together after the fic), lethal amounts of pining, rejection, grinding/dry humping, nipple sucking/licking, unprotected intercourse, afab reader (gender neutral, no pronouns/feminine terms). 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

notes: crossposted to AO3. merry pissmas losers. ily!!

it was a force of habit, always a call away.

ever since his boxing days, he was a call away.

“hello?” his husky voice could be heard on your end. it was getting cold out, the season lonelier when alone.

“lighter!” you spoke happily, almost relieved he’d answered. when didn’t he answer your call? even when he was busy at the time, he managed to return the call, managed to ask you “what’s up?”

in a heartbeat, you could hear his smile through his words and tone, he filled in the blank. “you want me to come over? you know, it’s the holiday season, can’t leave you feeling lonely.”

you laughed, an involuntary, fond, and soft noise. “yeah, could you do that? it’s been a while since i’ve seen you. …maybe you could be my gift?”

he chuckled on the other end, letting a bit of a snort through, “you bet. i’ll be there soon.”

you could only manage to tidy your bedroom before he was knocking at your door, the knocks gentle but persistent. you opened the door for him, standing in his usual attire. he waved hi, making haste to immediately settle in like it was his home too. “you missed me already?”

lighter’s words carried a teasing lilt to them, “well of course i did.” you answered him honestly, perhaps even a bit shyly. he smirked, the expression not entirely smug, carrying a layer of humility.

“well, i missed you too,” he turned to you after hanging his jacket on the back of the nearest chair, outstretching his arms, “come here.”

you obliged, scoffing at his endearment, letting his arms wrap tightly around you. his hug was secure, full of warmth and strength, a level of love underneath the surface of it all. you and him were quite familiar, your bond deep and connection deeper. he had met you when he was still fighting in the ember arena, misery behind his swollen eyes and bruises littering his battered body. yet, you never took him for what he seemed to be — a ruthless man with nothing but his life to put on the line.

hadn’t it been around this time he first kissed you? when he gave you his breathless confession? he tore off his boxing gloves, nose trickling with blood as his diaphragm stuttered with each breath. lighter had taken a particularly ugly punch to the gut, every last bit of oxygen in his lungs getting beat out of him. it still hurt to breathe, and that punch was sure to leave a hideous bruise on his … washboard abs.

as the champagne-golden and multicolored christmas lights illuminated the streets above and around the city, he huffed out an honest admission. a declaration of deep love, a sparkle igniting behind his dark and tired eyes.

you could only tell him that now wasn’t right. that, as much as you loved him back, he needed to get out of here most, that there was still so much interpersonal work to be done for yourselves. his ego was terribly hurt, the beating he took insurmountable to the pain of a slight rejection. but still, you called.

the attraction was palpable, undeniable, tangible. his name was spoken on your lips like a prayer, reverent and begging for his mercy. you begged him like he wholly owned you. the ache in his ego was replaced with a strange swell of pride, the look in your gaze unmistakable as he approached you. you stared at him with those pretty, twinkling eyes, that look beckoning him for his mercy and cruelty, to treat you as his for another night.

lighter would always oblige you. sure, that pain that shattered his fragile ego mended, and yeah, the way you practically worshipped him inflated it further. he was convinced that not even time could rip you away from him, that as he became a different man with new goals and a better set of priorities, you remained in his life. he turned down everyone, a silent part of his heart naively hoping that eventually you’d throw yourself onto him like a damsel in distress. you’d profess your equally passionate love for him, and that you were ready to be his only. he’d always pick up your call.

lighter loosened his grip slightly, bringing you back to reality as a small bit of chill crept in, “it’s always nice to see you.”

you smiled, the affection in his voice oozing with sincerity. you could feel him beginning to shuffle towards your room, holding you tight as you began to backpedal. he released an arm around you to gingerly shut the door behind him, the limb stretching somewhat awkwardly as he smothered you in himself. you couldn’t complain, the man smelled incredible and he was warm as a radiator.

his hands were immediately on you again, moving upwards to cup your face. he couldn’t stop himself from smooshing your cheeks together, stifling a laugh. lighter dove in to peck your lips, mimicking them with a puckered look of his own, the sight was thoroughly amusing.

he couldn’t stop himself after one kiss, the kisses becoming progressively less silly. his hands lessened the puckered tension of your lips and cheeks. he gently caressed your face with his thumbs as his lips deepened the kiss. his lips grazed yours, every second of contact drove him further into a frenzied need. your lips on his always felt so right, so soft and gentle. the way you tasted left him craving something that was so uniquely you, that couldn’t be emulated or sought anywhere else. his tongue was granted entrance, mingling with yours in a familiar way.

lighter softly groaned, the sound coming from deep within his chest. he never got tired of feeling your tongue on his. whatever taste your lips had, your tongue was better, it was stronger. his kiss was heated and passionate, seeking that comfort that you brought his soul, your presence a healing balm. he could bask in it for as long as he lives, until his existence is a fading shred fighting the winds of time. his hands came to your waist, fiddling with the hem of your shirt, breaking the kiss to lift your shirt over your head. lighter’s breathing was ragged, eyes carrying the recognizable spark of need behind the darkly tinted lenses.

you stood in front of him, chest bare, your nipples hardening. he could never get tired of those tits, eyes immediately flicking down to look at them. his face was dusted with a soft pink color, peeling off his right glove to get a bare feel. his calloused fingers immediately came up to pinch the nipple softly, rolling it under his thumb and on the side of his index finger. the pressure was enough to make you wince in a delightful pain, drawing your lip between your teeth. his bare hand palmed the swell of your chest, groping as much boob as he could in his large hand. the sensation of your soft skin against his rough palm got him harder than he wanted to admit, you still had that effect on him after years. “…fuuuuck.”

lighter’s curse came out as more of a hiss, a quiet admission of arousal. he quickly pulled off his other glove, letting it carelessly land on your floor next to your shirt. his hands immediately roving back onto your chest, squeezing and kneading as much as he could.

your eyes were lidded, vision growing hazy and careless. you could feel him lift you up, hoisting you high enough to latch his mouth onto one of your tits. his arms were strong and tight around your body, carefully bringing you over to your bed. his mouth was unfocused and lazy, tongue lapping at the bud to stiffen it every time he felt it soften. lighter guided you down onto your sheets, laying himself above you.

lighter’s lips immediately lavished attention onto the other nipple, taking it between his teeth and sucking it with a pop. you could feel his cock hardening in his pants as he laid on you, hips rocking every few seconds. “you have no idea how much i love doing this…” he muttered between breaths.

lighter trailed kisses from your sternum to your clavicle and up your neck. you could feel his breath tickle your ear and his lips drag along your pulse point. his hands travelled down your abdomen, to your lower waist, trailing his tongue down your carotid slowly. lighter savored the whimper you let out for him. “that’s right, baby, let me hear you.”

lighter pressed a sloppy kiss to the junction of your collarbone and neck, tongue licking along the light bite marks he left on your skin to tease you. his fingers pressed into your sides harder, grinding his hips and cock against the flesh of your thigh beneath him.

his fingers hooked into the waistband of your pants, pulling them off with your underwear. lighter parted your thighs with a particularly large and muscular thigh of his own. you carded your fingers through his hair with a sigh, giving him a gentle look. lighter returned it with a smile, letting his lips kiss their way down your body. he replaced his thigh with his face, nuzzling the inside of your thigh as he laid prone on your bed. he pressed his erection into the sheets, grunting as the friction provided him with growing arousal disguised as relief. lighter nipped the inside of your thigh playfully, giving the quivering skin a kiss as a mock apology.

as he dove in, tongue first, he held eye contact with you. he allowed you to remove the sunglasses covering his eyes, the sight of you bearable to the rest of the world. his tongue flicked at your clit, sucking and kissing the sensitive slit between your legs. your fingers worked in his hair, his arms snaking around your thighs to press you closer to his mouth. he shut his eyes, rolling his hips against the soft sheets beneath him.

you had always been more than bearable in his heart, in his eyes. you were probably the only person rooting for him in an arena full of people cheering on his downfall. it had all become too much, the sights, the sounds, the smells. the sunglasses became his weird coping mechanism, serving more than their original purpose. he could only handle parting with them when he was with you, you were the only person that didn’t look at him harshly. you didn’t tell him to fight for you, you’d be the only person to clean his wounds and wash all the dreaded blood out of his hair.

that kiss he gave you during his confession was the only gift he could give you during the season. he was still flat broke, struggling to keep it together. he wasn’t living his life, he was watching it through those pretty green eyes of his. you were the only one to cut through the zombie-like haze of his mundane life. he had nothing material to provide you with, though his soul screamed at him to fight more matches, scrape up enough money doing odd jobs. yet, the way you looked at him had him feeling like all you wanted was him. although you kissed him back that night, he still couldn’t shake the looming doubt clouding his judgement. those holiday lights were hurting his eyes.

it had him filled with a strange sense of jealousy, envy. they were bright and admired, even through all the years of wear and harsh weather. people loved those lights, they would go out just to see them. they would seek them out, they were the substance of holiday nostalgia, something to decorate with and gawk at. he felt small and incomparable to the barrage of festive lights and cheer that night. it was stupid, he knew, but it was real.

a sharp tug on his hair pulled him out of his thoughts. you were breathing heavily, body shaking with pleasure as he mindlessly ate you out. his tongue was coated with a thick sheen of your cum, pussy quivering as you trembled. he didn’t need to use his fingers to get you to come this time, you must have really missed him. he gave your cunt another thorough lick, a long stripe to collect as much cum as he could on his tongue. it left you in agonizing pleasure, the sensation causing you to buck your hips and sob.

he loved the way you tasted. your skin, your lips, your tongue, even your pussy. he could eat it for days, he would if you’d let him. “can’t get enough.” he swallowed down the rest of your cum on his taste buds, the tangy taste lingering.

he had neglected his own body, too. he could feel the sticky pre-cum pooling in his boxers, cock twitching. his dick was begging him for attention, to at least grind on something, to let him bury himself inside you without a thought. his eyes were glassy, his stare magnetic and alluring. lighter’s hair was tousled and messy, his green eyes shining with arousal. it had you wishing he didn’t hide those pretty eyes away from the world, remembering that you’re lucky he still has them, even after all those black eyes and that horrible injury he sustained years ago.

he rose, settling himself differently between your thighs. your body was trembling, but your eyes conveyed full trust in him. you watched as he lifted off his own skin-tight undershirt, the scars along his body speckling his skin. the texture was different from his much softer skin, each with its own unique story. had he listened to you, maybe he wouldn’t have half of them. you still diligently kissed each one when you could, caressing his chest lovingly. his scars were never something he was ashamed of, just a reminder of reality, a reminder that the world isn't what it seems. you say they make him look sexy, so that isn’t half bad either.

the dog-tags around his neck jingled as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it aside with the rest of the clothes on the floor. he couldn’t be reminded to care, palming the prominent bulge in his pants instead. his face was red with lust, sweat dripping from his chest and beading around his hairline, soaking into his soft locks. lighter deftly unzipped his fly, reaching down into his boxers with a sultry drag of his fingers. he traced them down his lower abs, lower, lower…

you could see the outline of his hand stroking his cock through the fabric of his boxers, eventually freeing his dick from its confines. his size never failed to take your breath away, lighter still had to break you in each time. years of fucking, yet you could never get fully used to his cock. he stroked it a few times with a heavy sigh, a noise he reserved for his time with you. “nobody one could get me hard like you,” he mused, “i don’t think i can get hard thinking about anyone that isn’t you at this point. you have no idea what you’ve done to me.”

fuck, if that didn’t turn you on… you moaned, squirming and writhing in arousal, just from his honest thoughts. “lighter, take me. i don’t want anyone else’s dick, just yours.” your voice was strained, laden with burning hot need. you could feel the coil in your gut tighten with every one of his grunts. his voice was so sexy and deep, so smooth and soothing, soft when he wanted it to be.

“i thought you’d never ask,” lighter teased, collecting your wetness at the head of his cock, pushing in slightly with just the tip. you let out a whine, the sound throaty. you looked to him, who was already looking down at you with a loving smile. he pulled back out, the tip of his cock barely slid inside you. lighter’s hand came up to stabilize your leg at the hamstrings, the other aiding his cock inside with practiced ease. he winced in deep pleasure as your pussy graciously accepted his length, you were much wetter than usual too.

he couldn’t help but throw his head back after your cunt took the fattest part of his cock, burying himself to the base, his shaft coated in your wetness. “fuck, you want all of this?”

you gasped as he rocked his hips further into yours, the head of his cock hitting your cervix. you grit your teeth, jaw held tight as he pulled out slowly, dragging his hips out, before slamming back in. he took note of the lewd expression you made, jaw loosening as he fucked back into you, each thrust faster than the last, the pause in between shortening. you looked so hot like that, taking his dick just as you should. it’s got him realizing his love for you has grown even more over the years. it felt less like a trauma bond, blossoming into a deep and profound appreciation, an attraction that his brain can’t handle processing without short-circuiting a little bit. lighter’s expression mirrored yours, his face flushed, hair sticking to his face as he drew his bottom lip between his teeth and held it.

he had gradually increased his pace, the sound of skin against skin gradually getting louder. your bed started to rock against the wall, his hands grabbing the undersides of your thighs tightly. he didn’t dare to look away from you, from your eyes. your pussy was already an eyeful, getting all wet and tight like that, but fuck, the faces you made as you got close made him even harder. hard enough to dick you down into your mattress.

lighter hadn’t silenced you at all, matching your moans with fervor. his hips slammed against yours, groaning and huffing louder. his muscles were wound with the same tightness and tension as yours, your pussy getting unbearably tight with every shaky exhale. “come on, that’s it, lemme hear you. let me feel you come on me, i want you to cum on my dick. can you do that? fuck, fuck…”

his brows furrowed in concentration, his rhythmically rocking into you with a brutal force. the bed frame was squeaking and moving underneath you both, masked by the shared sounds of pleasure and sex. the intense pressure in your gut was rearing its head, coming to a climax, little babbles falling from your lips. “lighter, gonna— i’ll, fuck, ohh… fuck, fuck, lighter! lighter!”

your hips frantically pushed against his, beckoning him deeper, harder. with a particularly loud mewl, your back arched off the bed, wailing in pleasure as your climax washed over every tense muscle in your body. lighter didn’t stop, the pace maintained and ruthless as he chased his own orgasm. “yeah? yeah, just like that, you feel too fuckin’ good. think i’m gonna cum too.” a faint jingle could be heard in the heat of passion, the silver colored dog-tags dangling off his neck with each thrust. “take care of this pussy every time you want me, oh, fuck—”

his final words were strained with pleasure, his own body twitching as his balls drew up tight. he rutted his hips a few times in and out, fucking his cum into you with uncharacteristically deep and desperate moans. his hands shook, palms clammy and body quivering with the after effects of sex.

lighter leaned down to give you a tentative kiss, one akin to the first gift he ever gave you. it was slow, explorative, devoted. he leaned into your neck, nibbling on your ear affectionately, “how is that for a gift?”

“…good enough for me to reconsider our relationship.”

[milkloafy]

TOO LATE TO BE YOUR FIRST LOVE, BUT I’LL ALWAYS BE YOUR FAVORITE — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

⋆｡˚ ❀ summary: megumi has known you since childhood as his sister’s annoying friend. now, years later, he sees you at a nice restaurant and wonders why you’re all alone. ⋆｡˚ ❀ contents: fem!reader, fluff, aged up au, gojo is…here xD, bsf brother / sister’s bsf au, reader wears a dress, megumi checks reader out, reader gets stood up by her ex womp womp… ⋆｡˚ ❀ wc: 1.9k+ ⋆｡˚ ❀ a/n: first jjk fic and i’m starting it off with a banger cliche ! i can’t help it okay megumi’s sister is soooo pretty pls by my bsf in another life :3 also ik this title is so long i literally could not think of anything so i was like okay yeah sure let’s listen to miss sabrina carpenter and then bam! here we go i guess! 

“Be good to my kouhai, okay Megumi-chan?”

Those were the words that rung through his head as he saw you sitting at a table for two, alone and dolled up in a nice dress with pearls around your neck. 

Megumi didn’t claim to be an expert in your life or personal preferences, but from what he did know of you, you weren’t exactly the type to take yourself out on a date all alone. It drew too much unwanted attention towards you that you likely did not want to deal with.

That was something he certainly resonated with.

After watching you pick up your glass of water and put it down five times all in the span of one minute, he almost felt bad enough for you to head over there and take you out of your misery. Unfortunately, an aggravating voice beside him reminded Megumi why he was in this fancy restaurant in the first place.

“Isn’t that right, Megumi-kun?” 

“Huh?” he asked, turning his attention back to his own table. 

Gojo was leaning forward on the table with a smug look on his face, a look that Megumi learned was never good. Although Gojo had shades on blocking his gaze, Megumi sensed Gojo was looking directly at you.

“I said she’s pretty, isn’t she?” 

Megumi glared at the white-haired pervert with an irritated look on his face. “She’s not for you, old man.” 

Gojo laughed as he held his arms up innocently. “I meant for you. You’ve been staring at her for a while now. It’s kinda creepy, actually.” 

“That’s Tsumiki’s friend,” said Megumi, choosing to ignore Gojo’s comment. “One of her closest. Not sure why she’s here by herself. I just want to make sure she’s not in any kind of trouble.” 

“Well, let’s examine the evidence,” Gojo declared, clearing his throat before counting his fingers on one hand. “One, her hair and makeup are done real nice. Two, she’s in a fancy dress. Three, she’s been giving that glass of water a death glare for the past few minutes.”

Megumi raised his brow, unamused. “Okay. And?”

“Your sister's friend over there has just been stood up,” concluded Gojo, leaning against the back of his chair in satisfaction. “Now, if you’re going to do something about it, I suggest you do it before Yuuji and Nobara get here.” 

“Why?”

“Do you have to ask? The moment they arrive they’ll follow along behind you and see what you’re doing,” cautioned Gojo, as if he wouldn’t join them in an instant. 

Megumi made a face at the thought, but he knew Gojo was right. Itadori and Kugisaki would stick their noses into any and everything that involved him and would somehow find a way to embarrass him yet again. 

Standing up, Megumi sighed. “How long do I have?”

“I told them the reservation was for ten minutes ago. So you should have at least twenty minutes now.” 

“Thanks,” Megumi grumbled, heading over to your table with an awkward expression on his face. He hoped this wouldn’t embarrass you further, but he could deal with your potential attitude as long as it brought you some comfort. 

Though you may be annoying at times with how often you teased him and called him girly nicknames he hated, you were still his sister’s best friend. Helping you save face seemed like the good thing to his sister would want him to do. 

“Hey.” 

Startled, you looked up from your phone and saw Megumi standing next to your table, his arms folded across his chest. 

The moment you met his gaze, your eyes brightened and you waved at him.

“Gumi-chan!” you sang as a greeting, voice too loud for the formal ambiance of the restaurant.

“Shh! Are you crazy?” hissed Megumi, looking around frantically to make sure Gojo did not overhear you calling him that. However, judging by the shit-eating grin on Gojo’s face, Megumi knew Gojo heard and would never let Megumi live this down. 

You giggled at his embarrassment.

Megumi huffed. Shouldn’t you be the embarrassed one here? 

“Long time no see,” you said, motioning for him to sit across from you in the opposite seat. “What’s little Megumi doing at a fancy place like this?” You paused, gasping in surprise from a story you totally just made up about his situation, he assumed. “Don’t tell me you’re here on a date! I have to text Tsumiki! They grow up so fast…”

“I’m the same age as you,” he mumbled. 

You reached over and pinched his cheek. Megumi swatted your hand away. “You sure act younger, though!”

“Shut up.”

Megumi sighed, wondering why he wanted to comfort you in the first place. You seemed just fine to him. 

“I’m not here on a date,” he finally replied, hoping you hadn’t yet sent his sister any incriminating texts about his non-existent date. “Gojo-sensei is treating some of his students out for a graduation dinner.” 

“Aww! Graduation, already?” you cooed, as if you didn’t also just graduate university this year. “They really do grow up so fast!”

“You can stop talking now.” 

You laughed, knowing better than to take his grumpy words too seriously. Megumi was glad he didn’t have to explain that side of himself to you.

“What about you?”

“Me?” you parroted.

“Are you here on a date?”

You slowly brought up your glass of water to you and nodded. “Supposed to be…”

“You’re dating someone new already?” asked Megumi, thinking about the annoying ex-boyfriend of yours you finally broke up with a few months ago. 

Hesitantly, you shook your head, toying with the pearl beads on your necklace. “Not exactly…”

He raised a brow, waiting for you to stop being so vague. 

“He’s not someone new,” you mumbled, your voice clouded with embarrassment. 

“He’s not new?”

“Oh, Gumi! Are you really going to make me say it?” you cried, puffing your cheeks in indignation. “My ex, alright? I was supposed to be on a date with my ex right now. And he stood me up!”

Megumi blinked, his mind jumping through hoops to piece together what you were implying. “Let me get this straight.”

You made a defeated noise of agreement. 

“You broke up with your ex, he groveled and begged for your forgiveness, you agreed to go on a date with him for god knows why, and he still stood you up. And now you’re here, sad and alone.” 

You groaned, covering your own ears. “It sounds even more pathetic when you say it out loud. God. I’m so pathetic, Gumi.”

“Hey,” said Megumi gruffly. “What would Tsumiki do if she heard you say that just now? You’re not pathetic. Your ex is the pathetic one.” 

“You’re right,” you sniffled, nodding at his word. “But I still can’t help but feel that way, though.”

For the first time tonight, he saw a dejected expression cross your face. It always unsettled him to see you unhappy.

“He’s dumb for standing you up.” Megumi rubbed the back of his neck, looking away uncomfortably. “Listen, you deserve someone better than him, okay?”

“Someone like you?” you teased with the start of a grin forming on your face.

Megumi rolled his eyes in annoyance, but deep down, he was glad to see your smile return. 

“Eh? Who said you would deserve someone like me?” he retorted.

You giggled, putting your hand over your heart dramatically. “Ouch! You wound me, Gumi.”

He shrugged. 

“And here I thought you would feel bad enough for me to finally give me a chance,” you proclaimed with an exaggerated sigh.

“Shut up.”

His short words didn’t disguise the heat from spreading across his cheeks to the tips of his ears. You always toyed with him like that… There was no way you actually meant it, he told himself.

“Hey,” he said, about to suggest something he might later regret. “Instead of sitting here alone, do you want to join me?”

Your eyes widened at his invitation and his ears turned an even darker shade of pink.

“Not alone! There’ll be others there,” he said hastily. “For the graduation dinner, remember? But they won’t mind.”

You tapped your index finger to your chin a few times, as if thinking hard, before agreeing easily. “Sure! Beats being alone. And, just for the record, I would have said yes even if it was just us two.”

Megumi scowled. His poor face wasn’t able to catch a break from all the annoying heat rushing to it. “Let’s go, then.”

As you stood, you smoothed your dress down and adjusted the length so you wouldn’t accidentally flash your ass to those seated behind you. Immediately, Megumi found his gaze wandering to where the hem of your dress hugged your soft thighs. His throat grew dry. 

When he managed to tear his gaze away from your body and back to your face, he noticed you looking at him always expectantly, as if waiting for him to explain why the hell he was checking you out for so long.

Megumi cleared his throat, hoping his voice wouldn’t sound too strained. “It’s a good thing you were stood up, you know?”

“Huh?” you asked in confusion.

“Your ex doesn’t deserve to see how you look in that dress anyway.”

“Oh,” you managed to say, averting your gaze as a bashful look took over your face. This was the first time in ages that Megumi has seen you look like this.

He smiled to himself, savoring the sweet look of shyness on your face. Typically, you were the one teasing him, much to his annoyance. It was nice to get some payback sometimes.

“Thank you, Gumi,” you murmured, fingers toying with the hem on your dress, only making it rise up higher on your thighs. 

“Just the truth,” he said with forced nonchalance.

As the two of you approached the table, the contentment Megumi felt was instantly doused when he saw Gojo, Itadori, and Kugisaki all ogling at you with their mouths wide open.

“Oh ho ho! Is this a friend of yours, Megumi-kun?”

“Hey, I’m Itadori!” 

“Run while you can! You’re too pretty for him, got it?” 

You waved at the table, somehow not scared away by their obnoxiousness. “Hi! And yes, his sister tells me that all the time!” You looked over at Megumi and winked. “But I think he’s just as pretty.”

Megumi groaned as he sat down in an empty seat, putting his head in his hands in exasperation as he heard everyone laughing together. He was already regretting introducing you to his idiot friends. 

But as you took a seat next to him, he peered at you through a crack between his fingers, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased at the joyful expression on your face. If it was up to him, that’s the only way you would look.

Along with your shy expression, of course. Megumi would pay to see that again as well. 

You met his eyes through the sliver of space between his fingers and grinned at him. His found his worries fading away. 

Megumi sighed to himself. Maybe he should thank your scumbag ex for standing you up, after all. Turns out he quite liked your company. Maybe even as more than just his sister’s annoying friend.

As if you were able to read his mind, you blew him a kiss from the seat beside him and his face reddened once more.

Gojo whooped and hollered at the interaction and Megumi felt himself sinking further and further into his seat.

Never mind, he told himself. You were still the pain in his ass that would never go away.

But maybe Megumi didn't want it to.

[cinnamonest]

Uhtceare

Yandere Ayato x Reader - "Failed escape attempt" series

(I still cannot publish posts that have people tagged. I don't know why, it just gives me an error popup saying it couldn't be processed. Apologies to those in my taglist.)

Warning: DARK CONTENT, noncon/dubcon, implications of forced/coerced marriage, masturbation voyeurism that’s also kinda forced, manipulative use of mental health and problematic way of addressing it, gaslighting and psychological manipulation, implied future forced drugging, there’s just a lot of my man being awful here

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

“Ah, there you are.”

Of course. He would be right there at the entrance waiting, wouldn’t he.

You were hoping to get a few more seconds to put off the inevitable, but the reality of your situation was not so kind as to grant you that. It was all far too fast — the full events of the night before, the journey of being dragged back here — flanked on all sides by doushin all the while — all went by in a blur, leading up to this very dreaded moment.

You kept your gaze turned to the ground, unable to bring yourself to make eye contact. Your fingers curled, digging into the fabric around your thighs.

Nonetheless, without even hesitating nor willing it, you found your feet moving on their own. Perhaps it was instinct, to get away from the unfamiliar men that made you so uncomfortable and uneasy, and into the arms that, despite everything, were at least familiar, and thereby a comfort at the end of your long trial of distress and misery. Maybe you knew it was expected, and feared some consequence for not acting as you knew you should. Or maybe some of both.

Regardless, your feet shuffled forward, any thoughts muted in favor of instinct as you bounded over towards your husband — as much as you hated to acknowledge it, your one source of comfort. As you grew close, he reached an arm out, hand firmly planting itself on your back and pulling you in. Perhaps out of that same sense of fear at the thought of disobeying expectations, perhaps out of pure exhaustion, you allowed it without struggle coming to stand directly by his side, grasping at his clothes, burying your head against him and squeezing your eyes shut as if it would obscure the others’ view of you.

“I can’t thank you enough. You have no idea how worried I was about her,” he spoke to the arrangement of men now standing a ways away, moving his hand on to rest atop your head. “I apologize for the inconvenience. The poor thing gets a bit irrational from time to time. You know how it is.”

The other men only gave a brief, curt sound of acknowledgement. One, the own standing closest to the two of you based on how close the voice sounded, seemed to deem it appropriate to give at least some response. “Of course, sir.”

Not that that actually made any sense, that such a bizarre thing to say could ever warrant an ‘of course’ as a reply. But they weren’t there to be sensible, to assess the situation and act according to any supposed principles. To help. They were there only to follow through with an assigned task, one that they had not even tried to conceal in their expressions and tones towards you was an unwanted inconvenience, and to turn a blind eye to any conclusions they might draw.

Maybe that too was intentional — the estate lord could have easily sent his private forces to be the ones to escort you back to the estate, yet he chose to allow the public law enforcement to return you. Perhaps he knew you’d grown to resent the family’s private forces, and thereby had no issue inconveniencing them, whereas he knew you’d feel more embarrassment and guilt having strangers be forced to bring you all the way back… yes, the more you thought about it, that certainly seemed like that was his intent.

“I hope she didn’t give you too much trouble?”

“Not at all, sir.”

“Ah, I see, that’s good to hear.”

Your hands balled into fists.

The whole show made of it all was utterly humiliating — that too no doubt the intention — but you had no choice but to stand there. Doing something rash like running off to hide yourself from the embarrassment would only meet a worse consequence later.

The burning, bitter anger only made said embarrassment that much worse. It was consuming, maddening. Everything — this place, these people, their words and their attitudes, their dismissal of you as if you were a child or an animal — it made you so damn mad, and yet, you could do nothing but endure.

Your eyes burned. You blinked a few times in rapid succession. You couldn’t forgive yourself if you actually cried in front of these strangers. The back-and-forth between the two parties continued, but you did your best to tune out the words, knowing that listening would only hurt you further.

It wasn’t until there was movement that you returned your attention to them, pulling your head away from him to look — now they were turning, walking away.

Leaving you alone with him.

You then dared not avert your eyes from the ground, watching the men from your peripheral vision as they made their way down the path, growing smaller and smaller and they moved further away, until their footsteps were no longer audible.

All that remained was a heavy, palpable tension.

Avoidance was the easiest path — a foolish choice, of course, which you knew full well. It wasn't as if you could avoid the present reality forever, but nonetheless, you found yourself clinging to each precious second that ticked by, body growing stiffer as you braced yourself for the inevitable. Perhaps you could trick yourself into believing that if you just kept your gaze turned to the ground, nothing would happen.

But sure enough, you clenched your jaw as his hand moved upwards, and came to rest on your shoulder.

“Come on now. You're certainly tired. Let’s get you to rest for a while.”

His voice only made your stomach twist further. It was calm and gentle, not explosive or infuriated. It would have felt more assuring that way, if your fear could just be easily confirmed, rather than a calculated calm that felt far more dreadful and foreboding than any rage.

His hand moved from your shoulder, coming down to grasp your wrist. It wasn’t a sudden, harsh motion, nor was the grip itself strong enough as to be painful — but it was noticeably firm.

And then, he pulled. A soft tug, pulling you in the direction of the doors.

Your resistance was not a conscious choice, not something you thought about nor had any time to do so; it was only a reflex. Instinctively, your body stiffened, your feet dug into the ground, and thus his pull was met not with the meek obedience that was expected of you, with footsteps that followed where you were guided, but instead a firm resistance.

Your own realization of that resistance, what you’d just done, sent a sharp rush of fear through your veins.

And thus, for the first time since arriving, your gaze tilted upward, and your wide, frightened eyes met his.

His expression shifted. The amiable, pleasant smile half-faded, still present, but only barely.

“…Don't be difficult. Come on.”

Likewise, his voice dropped far lower, a dark and foreboding tone far removed from the one he’d spoken with just moments ago to the other men.

Your mouth opened, instinctively wanting to reply, but you couldn't summon a coherent thought. You were afraid, you were angry, you were so, so embittered and ashamed and wanted nothing more than to run to your room, close your eyes and burrow into the bed.

And for a moment, you considered the compliant option. If you just lowered your head and followed along, apologized and insisted you were just being petty or immature or whatever he would call it this time, and took whatever consequence was handed out, then you could do just that, confine yourself to your bed and try to forget it all.

But the shame only fueled the fury, like gasoline to a fire. It was his fault. As scared of punishment as you were, your pride could not stand for simply bowing your head, and as your mind raced, the sheer fury you’d been stewing in all throughout the night before, all the angry words you’d monologued in your head and vowed to spew at him when you saw him again, all came rushing back.

You swallowed, fingers curling even harder around the fabric around your thighs. Now that it was just the two of you, although you still fought it as best as you could, you couldn’t help that your eyes watered, burning as your vision blurred out of pure frustration and misery.

“I… I know you did all of this on purpose! I only got all the way out there because you let me, a-and…”

The words came out in a trembling, wavering voice, far weaker than intended.

He exhaled a heavy sigh, closing his eyes in frustration. His voice was still characteristically gentle, but you could hear his patience waning. “We can discuss this inside.”

“But I—”

“Inside.”

You stiffened, freezing in place. That was not a tone you heard often in your married life, more firm than normal.

You swallowed, gaze darting to the ground again, unable to summon a reply and not wanting to make eye contact again. With another heavy exhale, he pulled at your arm with a gentle tug, and this time, you followed, feet quickly shuffling behind his.

You didn’t say a word, though, through the full minute or so of walking across the courtyard, through the front doors, down the hall, only dimly lit today due to curtains hanging over the windows lining the walls. It occurred to you with a sinking feeling in your stomach that you were headed straight for your shared bedroom, rather than one of the estate’s many drawing rooms and lounges, which meant the anticipated conversation to come would be one you’d both want kept in privacy. Your stomach felt as if it were turning in knots, your chest compressed by an unseen force, each breath feeling strenuous and weighted.

And then, finally, you both came to a halt as you reached the last room at the end of the hall. You felt helpless, unable to do anything as you watched the handle of the door turn, stumbling in as you were guided forward by the hand that came to gently press on your lower back.

Likewise, equally pitifully, you could do nothing but stand there and wait as you listened for the door to close behind you, clenching your jaw at the trepidation in your chest from the footsteps on the floor behind you, but made sure to not let your fear swallow your fury.

“Now,” he began slowly as he moved around you to the other side of the room, voice now back to its usual tone, but still firm nonetheless, “I can tell you have a great deal you want to get off your chest, but you’ll have to forgive me for a moment… your well-being is my primary concern.” He looked you up and down, and his voice took on a note of concern that admittedly sounded sincere. “You aren’t hurt in any way, are you, dear?”

You bit your lip at the affectionate term, and more importantly, at how unbothered he came across. Granted, you now knew just how much of the past twelve hours or so had been entirely within his control, so it made sense that he was never genuinely distressed, but admittedly, it was also disappointing. Part of you wanted him to have been panicked and worried, to get the satisfaction of knowing you’d successfully gotten under his skin.

Still, you shook your head, keeping your gaze to the ground as you gave a curt, frustrated reply. “No.”

“Good,” his eyes closed for a moment, taking a heavy breath of pause. “Well, in that case…” He leaned back against the wall, folding his arms. “I believe this would be the best time to give you a moment to explain yourself.”

You couldn’t miss the obvious foreboding in his voice, nor the way it made your body stiffen.

But you had already prepared for that — you knew it would be intimidating, that it would be awkward and shameful, but you had spent the previous few hours trying to preemptively harden your resolve against that. Besides, after it was interrupted earlier, you now had the chance to get back to what was essentially the pre-written script you’d memorized in your head of exactly every little thing you wanted to say to him.

Unfortunately, as it turned out, the you that was standing there in front of him was significantly less brave than the ‘you’ in the scenes you’d played out in your head on the journey home.

Still, you clenched your hands into fists, thinking you had to at least force him to acknowledge the one point you’d deemed most important.

“You let me leave.”

In your mind, you’d spoken with a bold voice and looked him directly in the eye… and while the same words came out of your mouth, they were instead said with a weak, shrill attempt at an accusatory tone, pathetically looking to the wall as you found yourself unable to summon the gall to look up, once more lacking the firm accusation and self-assuredness your imaginative self had had.

He tilted his head. “That’s not a very accurate way to put it. I never granted you any such permission… I was simply aware of your intent to run off, and didn’t stop you.”

For a moment, you contemplated asking how he knew — but you had a feeling the answer would only make you more upset. His voice was laden with a faux sincerity, a sort of disingenuousness that made your blood boil, enough to embolden you further as you continued.

“And you… you had people following me the whole time, I know you did!” Your voice began to get louder as you grew bolder, bitter anger strengthening you against any trepidation. “They didn't even do a good job! I started noticing them towards the end of it!”

"Well, that would be because they were specifically told that concealment was not necessary.” He kept up the dry manner of speech, seemingly unbothered by your fury. “They deserve a break from high effort jobs every now and then, surely you understand. Besides, they didn’t directly interfere with your little outing, yes?”

He was so calm in contrast to your visible irritation, no doubt at least in part deliberate. It only served to make you even more mad.

“They told the local doushin to — no, you told them to tell them! There’s no other way that could have happened! I-I, I got," in sheer frustration, you jerked your fists in a sharp downward motion, "arrested!"

“I’m very well aware.”

“They put me in jail!”

“I do believe that is the standard process for an arrest, yes.”

“I was all by myself for hours!”

“Naturally. I couldn’t allow you to be placed with any dangerous persons, that’s why you were put in a solitary space.”

You clenched your fists so hard they trembled. “You, y-you let me get that far in the first place, and, and…” A lump formed in your throat again, which you did your best to suppress. “…Just to make me go through all that… I was there for hours before they came for me…” Your face scrunched up as you fought the urge to cry.

You hung your head, shoulders falling as you let your body relax, the fuse of anger burning out as it turned to a quiet bitterness swelling in your stomach. What was even the point? You knew better than to think your emotions would be given any weight, treated as anything beyond trivial.

A few moments of quiet passed, perhaps to see if you would say anything more, or perhaps just to force you to wait in uncomfortable uncertainty. After a moment, he shifted his posture slightly before unfolding one arm, holding out his hand in a standard gesture of speech.

“And what have we learned?”

You never would have thought one question could send such a spark of fury through your body in a single moment. Everything, from the wording to the timing to his tone, felt utterly mocking, infantilizing in a way that made you seethe.

You swallowed, practically trembling. “That you’ll go to any lengths to humiliate me?”

He returned the extended arm to its former position, exhaling heavily, straightening his stance. “It's rather unfair to assume I had such malicious intent. Stopping you early on in the past has clearly not worked in the long term, so further measures were necessary.” He tilted his head to meet your averted gaze, reflexively turning your attention back to him, eyes connecting with yours. “My only intention was that you would have some time to reflect on your series of decisions… and hopefully return with a change of heart. These episodes of yours are worrisome.” He gave a brief pause before finishing, “claiming I had cruel intent when you know in your heart that I only arranged this because I care for you… that's rather harsh, isn't it?”

You clenched your jaw, refusing to acknowledge the notion that the words were genuine. Admittedly having fallen for the words die a moment, you mentally shook off the momentary feeling of guilt.

These situations always went the same way, you'd be driven to apologize and feel bad about your choices. You had never met anyone else in your life with such a mastery of speech-craft as to be able to control your emotions and actions with words as easily as if it were pushing buttons on a machine. The first few times, you'd actually fallen for it, found yourself completely malleable, psyche bending and shifting to another's whims. At least with time, you'd become more resilient, had learned to notice and recognize the attempts… so you believed.

You opted to avoid answering the quesiton. Instead of acknowledging his own words, you turned to another matter that had come to mind during your escapade.

“Aren’t you abusing your authority? How are you even allowed to do this to begin with?!”

He took another deep breath, as if it were a trivial matter, or one that shouldn’t necessitate explanation.

“It’s… complicated, but the law does fully permit estates to employ local forces to locate any missing property belonging to the estate… people employed or bound to it are a sort of grey area in that regard.” After a moment of pause, he added, “besides, I also made it very clear that you were not in your right mind at the time, so your wellbeing was of immediate concern, and they were happy to help.”

“What?” The anger in your tone only rose. “I was perfectly in my right mind, you, you… a-and I’m not…”

A few moments passed as you trailed off, having to pause to collect yourself, blink away frustrated tears.

He opened his mouth as if to respond, but seemed to decide against whatever he'd considered saying, closing his eyes and taking a breath before finally replying in a more exasperated tone.

“You're making yourself upset needlessly. I can only do so much… in the end, I only wanted to keep you safe. You have to be the one to accept the grace you're given. Wouldn't that be easier for you?”

There was still unease to his tone, but the way he said it was nonetheless indicative of a sort of tiredness, as if not wanting to carry on about the matter anymore. It almost sounded like he was saying that you “accepting” his “grace” was all that was required to bury the matter entirely.

You spoke slowly, cautiously.

“You’re not… mad?”

“…I never said that.” He shifted away from leaning against the wall, standing upright. ”Of course, I can’t allow this to go entirely unacknowledged.”

He took a few steps towards you, and you fought the urge to step back, keeping your arms rigidly straight at your side as he continued.

“Normally, a proper form of consequence would be in order… however, after consideration, I realized that this was in large part my own fault, and I owe it to you to take responsibility for that.”

The words took you by surprise. The idea that he was in any way acknowledging that he had any responsibility for what you did was baffling, all things considered. He had never once even acknowledged that refusing to let you leave the estate was essentially holding you prisoner, and usually insisted that everything he did was what was best for you, even if, as he seemed to believe was the case, you did not understand that.

You hesitated before replying. “What… what do you mean?”

He flashed you an amiable smile. “A lesser person would only act on their momentary frustrations, but I’m not the sort of person who acts without understanding the situation. Luckily, I do understand you.” He looked off to the side, holding a hand up to his chin in a pensive pose, before adding in a quieter voice, “I made the mistake of getting too caught up in my work recently. Acting out over feelings of neglect is entirely different from misbehavior out of sheer petulance.”

He turned his head back towards you again before finishing,

“It would be cruel to respond to a cry for attention as if it were ordinary disobedience.”

The words took you aback, and you hesitated in your response, but as it fully registered in your mind, the momentary surprise was replaced with shameful fury. You held your arms firmly at your side, hands balled into fists as you replied.

“What?! I didn't— I didn’t do it for attention!”

You felt foolish for thinking for even a second that he might actually empathize with you, might finally come to enough humility to realize that much of your perceived disobedience was due to the sheer degree of meticulous, total control he held over everything you did. But no, instead, your attempt to run away was being treated as attention-seeking. It felt belittling, degrading.

He took a short breath, as if about to say something, but as his gaze fell upon you again, he simply exhaled, an amused smile forming on his face, replacing the former exasperation — and only infuriating you further, realizing even your anger wouldn't be taken seriously.

“Yes, yes, of course.” He made no effort to hide the dismissive amusement in his voice, either, but cleared his throat before returning to a more neutral tone before you could give any retort. “Regardless, you've been through a lot already. If you can be mature and calm down, make some acknowledgement of the trouble you’ve caused and show some remorse, then, I'm willing to somewhat overlook this.” Making direct contact between your eyes and his, he finished, “Won’t that be easier on us both?”

The obvious dismissal of your statement and implications of what he thought made your face feel hot. The embarrassment that had already been weighing down on you now became suffocating, and the utter arrogance of the presumption of your willingness to comply made you so upset it felt nauseating.

“What does ‘somewhat’ mean?” You tried to suppress the irritation in your voice.

He gave another heavy sigh. “Should you really be asking for specifics? It’s your best course of action regardless.”

You opened your mouth and inhaled as if to speak, holding your closed fists up to your chest, ready to spew every ounce of vitriol you’d been building up, and then, you fell silent as your eyes met.

His expression grew dark, eyes half-lidded and features blank — not contorted with anger nor curiosity, but merely waiting, watching, warning. Anticipating your defiance, prepared to react accordingly.

You looked down, hesitating.

Was it really worth it…? A few moments of lashing out, at what cost? ‘Consequences’ hurt, in one sense or another, they always did, no matter what form that word took.

You swallowed. He was right — one path before you was wiser.

You hung your head.

“…I’m sorry…”

Even with your gaze turned downward, you could see his eyes widen just a bit in your peripheral vision, not having expected such quick compliance — understandably so, based on your past incidents. But after a moment, his expression softened. He took another step, closing the gap between you, cupping your face in his hands and forcing you to lift your head back up.

“Mm. I’m glad you understand. You know, you've matured quite a bit recently.”

You almost, almost found yourself feeling happy at the praise, but then pushed that feeling away. It was part of the way he did things, part of the process, so you'd slowly come to recognize, putting the pieces together over and over until you became aware of how he managed to bring you down to submission each time. You refused to be swayed by that. You were only giving it up and apologizing because it was the was the easier, less painful choice… so you reminded yourself. Now, at least, you'd be done with this, could move on and quietly begin plotting again.

But then, as you felt his hand move down to your shoulder, then to your waist, you remembered the ‘somewhat.’

Yes, of course it couldn’t be left at that, wouldn’t be so simple as forcing you into humility just once.

You knew that full well. These checks of obedience after an act of disobedience never came solitary, and the desire for that subservience to be affirmed was not easily satiated. It would only grow deeper, an increasing hunger for your subservience. Pushing your pride further and further down, carving into your personhood and whittling away anything deemed unfitting. It would only go further, debasing you in increasingly violating ways.

You felt a gnawing in your stomach. You hadn’t thought of that part, in the moment, but the realization now made your heartrate begin to accelerate once more.

His eyes drifted downward.

“…Ah, right. The clothes you’re wearing, we need to have a servant wash them for you. Just set them by the door for now.”

You looked down. You hadn’t even bothered to think about it until now, having been so preoccupied with other thoughts, but indeed, the oh-so-nice and expensive clothing you’d been so lovingly lavished with, was now fully coated in grime and dirt.

At the same time, your immediate instinct was to protest the idea, knowing the intent. He wasn’t going to get you a replacement — which he himself would need to do, seeing as all of your clothing was, no doubt deliberately, kept outside the bedroom itself, and it had been established early on that you were to rely on him or servants to fetch whatever he would have you wear that day for you. Was the command too, then, intentional?

The very moment you even asked yourself the question, though, came the immediate answer, making you feel foolish for even questioning it. Of course it was intentional, planned — what wasn’t, anymore, in your life? You remembered looking back, on the day you were brought here, thinking over the past with borderline horror at the realization of how intricately detailed and precise every detail had been in his effort — what you now were certain was a premeditated plan — to get your family to call off the years-long betrothal you’d already been in, and marry you off to him instead. That realization of it all had kept you rightfully afraid of him, knowing he was always one step ahead of whatever you might attempt.

The corners of your mouth pulled taut with embarrassment, and you pulled your hands in towards your chest again, elbows pressed firmly to your sides. “That’s…”

He caught a glimpse of your face, and in turn smiled, an amused sort of expression. “Come on now,” he took a step towards you, reaching out and grasping at your hands, pulling them out of their defensive position, “even now, you’re still so shy over this?”

“I— no, I’m not—” you cut off, teeth clacking together as you snapped your mouth shut when his hands released yours, instead moving around to the binding ties of your outfit, pulling the knot apart.

You held your hands up to the level of your shoulders, bent at the elbow, fingers curled as if preparing to reach forward, to grasp at his hands, to do something.

But you didn’t.

The exchange was itself a means of conversation, communicating something not fully articulable by word alone. Violating your comfort and dignity, baring you to him, those things themselves were an assertion, a statement. To interrupt would be to challenge that assertion, to deny him. And perhaps it was, in part, also a test, a question of whether or not you would dare to deny the unspoken statement.

As the silk strands came undone, the first layer gave way to the second, and pulling apart that knot caused the fabric bound by it to slide apart, exposing your bare skin to the cool air.

An unspoken reminder that your body was not your own, that any right to autonomy and privacy you might have beyond this room, no longer existed within it. Access to you was not a privilege granted by your permission, but an inherent right, provided by the very contract that legally bound you to him.

The casual, unhesitating manner with which you were stripped down only emphasized that that very reality itself was not something to be regarded as of any great significance, but a fact accepted as readily as any other. Exposing you, touching you, exercising that unconditional access to your body was given no greater thought than utilizing any of one’s possessions.

There was nothing he could ever say to you, nor adequate words to even exist, to fully encapsulate the degree to which you were owned — but with that gesture, you understood all the same.

And even though the humiliation of the reminder made your eyes burn, made you bite your lip, you lowered your hands to your side. An admission of defeat, surrender.

It did not go unnoticed. He smiled.

“Very good. You’re behaving much better today than I anticipated.”

Another moment of praise. He was genuinely pleased. You could see it and hear it through his face and voice.

Were it on any other matter, you might have felt proud to be praised in such a sweet, charming voice. If the praise were on something you actually wanted to achieve.

And then, his eyes trailed downward, running over your body, taking in each detail. His eyebrows furrowed as his gaze settled on one particular spot.

“You really shouldn't lie to me,” he spoke in a quiet, low voice.

At first, you felt a momentary panic, not quite sure what he even meant, thinking you had somehow made a unintentional transgression. It wasn't until you looked down that you saw the scrape just below your collarbones from your, admittedly unsightly, vigorous resistance upon initial confrontation with the doushin the night prior, having essentially had to have been wrestled down to the concrete street. In hindsight, you were even surprised with yourself for putting up such a fight, but at the time it had just been the instinctive reflex, fueled by desperation.

It all felt distant now, as if further back in time than it was, the memory all blurring together. It was only a very small mark, and had now scabbed up as part of the natural healing process, but as his fingers brushed over the spot, you still tensed at the slight lingering sting.

“It doesn't really hurt,” you replied nonetheless. “It's fine…”

He only straightened back upright, closing his eyes momentarily.

“I suppose I shouldn't have expected common doushin to be able to follow instructions… just so you know, I did specifically say to ensure you weren't hurt in any way.” He turned his gaze downward, hand held to his chin as he added in a low mutter, “I'll be sure to only use private hands in the future, should I need something like this again.”

You shrugged, turning your eyes downward to the floor once more. Really, you wanted to not have to think about the incident any further, the mere memory stirring up embarrassment, which did not combine well with your already vulnerable state. “It's fine. It's not a big deal,” you grumbled. After a moment of hesitation, feeling another urge of spite, you added, “it wouldn't have happened if you didn't… do all that.”

He huffed in exasperation, but was quiet for the moment, seemingly composing his thoughts before replying.

“Don’t be disagreeable. We've discussed this. I care for you dearly, but that does not mean that you are exempt from expectations to behave.”

He always gave you that line — that a behavioral matter of yours had been previously ‘discussed,’ which merely meant he'd told you not to do something, or behave a certain way. That was the end-all-be-all — whatever you were told was set in stone the moment it left his mouth, and transgressing against the standard that was set was often treated as if you’d forgotten, as if it slipped your mind, the idea of intentional and deliberate disobedience being something unthinkable to such a degree that simply having done so by accident were more believable to him — and perhaps you ought be grateful for that.

You clamped your jaw shut, turning your head downward.

His gaze turned back to your body.

“…Your nerves are unsettled.” His hand slid it's way down your side, the feeling of touch lingering in a trail behind as his palm brushed over the curvature of your waist. “See, that's what causes these irrational episodes of yours. Stress, overexcitement. It just… builds naturally for you, over time.” After a moment, taking in your expression, he added, “it's nothing to feel bad about, dear. I don't mind helping you with it at all… I'm glad I can do so, really. I worry about how you'd manage without having me to help.”

You hesitated before giving a response. “What… what do you mean? I'm not… irrational…”

It was as if your words went in one ear and out the other, continuing on without responding to your objection. “But again, I failed to keep it in check this time, so this was ultimately my own fault… I'll have to make a note to be more thorough.”

His hand grasped at your waist, pulling you close. His other hand reached up, cupping your breast. He looked over towards your shared bed.

“Come on. Let's get you in bed.”

“Huh? But—”

His grip tightened. “Don't be difficult.”

Your stomach began to churn. You were still angry. The last thing you wanted was to go through what was essentially a humiliation ritual. There was something about the act itself — at least, between the two of you — that made you feel embarrassed and ashamed. The inherent vulnerability, for one, but moreover, because you knew the intent, you knew the way he viewed it in his mind, could practically feel the sentiment. An act of claiming, an exchange of power in which your loss of dignity became his gain of pride and control. Carving into your very personhood, marking you as something belonging to him.

Your opened your mouth, but whatever you intended to say was cut off by your small noise of surprise as you were pulled forward, in a manner that was somehow so gentle in touch, yet forceful enough to move your whole body towards his. His arm wrapped around your frame, the other positioning itself underneath your thighs before lifting you up and moving down to sit.

You fidgeted, tried to pull away — but his grip tightened, as much to secure you as it was a warning, telling you to hold still.

“It's for your sake. This will help you… you may not realize that yet, but you’ll thank me, I promise.”

His hands moved to your hips and turned you so that your back rested against his chest.

“As I was saying, you simply… build stress and neurosis, naturally. It's not your fault, really. You're just sensitive to changes, stressors... Every individual has at least some… defects in their nature.”

His hands retracted, and there was a brief rustling sound before they returned to your skin, now ungloved, flesh on flesh. The contact sent sparks through your nerves.

“That's why people pair with those they are compatible with. They fill each other's needs, compliment each other’s natures… I’m obligated to take those defects and resolve them.”

He gave you a smile — you couldn't see it, but could feel it as his lips pressed softly against your neck. Warm, full of sincerity and adoration.

“I wouldn’t do that if it weren’t out of care… and you in turn provide me with something that needs care and guidance. I enjoy having that.”

For all his attempts at soothing words and the gentleness of the touch, you knew in your heart that there was no doubt that that was part of the intent — to humble you, to tame you and make you docile, to make you submit. Forcing you to such a vulnerable state and inflicting reactions of pleasure was itself an act of exerting power and control.

It was, in a way, remarkable, that the human spirit could not only be broken by both brutal cruelty, but equally — or, perhaps even more effectively — eroded away with a gentle voice and touch, humiliation so deeply intertwined with affection that they became impossible to distinguish from each other, forming a unique sentiment that was both one and the other.

You were endearing to him, but that affection for you was like a venom that ran through your veins — an affection that diminished you, reduced you to some inhuman possession, a toy to be manipulated in any way he desired.

It made you feel sick. It made you feel angry, it tormented your psyche—

Your thoughts were turned to a haze as his fingers rolled your nipple between them. You inhaled a sharp gasp, back arching forward.

Processing your own reaction, embarrassment took place of the momentary pleasure, and your face felt hot. You reached an arm up instinctively to cover your breasts, pulling away from the touch.

“…We've had this conversation before, haven't we?” He reached up, grasping your jaw with a grip just firm enough to communicate a warning.

You swallowed and, albeit not without just a moment of hesitation, lowered your arm. You looked down, breasts now exposed fully. “I'm… sorry…”

He gave you a hum of approval, returning to the former fondling, fingers playing with the sensitive flesh. You bit your lip, breathing growing labored.

After a few minutes, his hands wandered downward, slowly, softly, down to your thighs, then back up over your hips, where they finally settled.

“Touch yourself.”

The command caught you off-guard. Your eyes widened. “…What?”

“Before I help you,” he murmured, “I want to see what you will do for me. That's only fair, don't you think?” He squeezed at your waist.

“Prove to me…” he leaned forward, breath hot against your ear, “that you know your place. Do as I say.”

You swallowed.

It was in your best interest to obey.

You reached down slowly, shivering as your fingers brushed over your clit. You pressed down, beginning to rub your outstretched fingers back and forth. With your other hand, you reached up, tweaking your nipple just enough to send pleasure through your nerves.

“There you go.” He pulled you a bit closer to him, so your bodies were firmly pressed together. He craned his neck, no doubt catching your abashed, embarrassed expression.

Not that he would give you any words of comfort on that matter, tell you not to feel embarrassed. He only smiled, grasping your hair and forcing your head to turn, pressing your mouth to his. It was only a short contact, parting with the softest of sounds.

His grip on your hip tightened, and you realized why he’d pulled back when he spoke.

“Don’t stop.”

You hadn’t realized you had, too focused on the slight surprise to being kissed. You took a shuddering breath, and resumed the motion. Your eyes closed, heightening your senses — the sensation of each touch and the shockwaves it sent through your core to every nerve in your body.

Your breathing quickly became labored. Even if you were inducing the sensation itself, it was good. You bit your lip as a soft, weak little sound came out of your throat, unable to refrain from vocalizing at the intensity of the feeling.

“Not just like that.” One of his hands reached down to your thigh, hand wrapping around the underside of it and pulling it to the side, spreading you open further. “Go on.”

“Mm…” You couldn’t summon any particular words, overwhelmed by the conflicting sensations — the heat to your face and knot in your stomach at the shameless way your body was so exposed, at the feeling of being watched as if the act were a performance, and the haze of arousal that rapidly began to cloud your judgement, obscuring the feeling of discomfiture, drowning your inhibition.

Even without the pleasure compromising your hesitation, you didn’t want to think about the alternatives if you refused to obey — this was thus far, comparatively, far from the worst consequences you’d ever received for acting out.

You reached down further, pushing two of your fingers past the slick coating your flesh and inside your body, curling them into the spot that made you tense, made your muscles spasm, over and over, each movement sparking a rush that surged throughout your body.

Each breath was a deep gasp. Your toes curled, your muscles went taut and your insides clenched around your own fingers.

But something was missing.

It was pleasurable, but there just wasn’t enough to push you over the edge. The sensations were too weak.

Your body had been conditioned something more, and this was not comparable.

Sweat began to accumulate on your skin as you kept curling your fingers, desperately chasing a high. His arm moved from your hip to wrap around your waist, pressing another kiss to your neck.

You tried. Frustration began to build. Your eyes watered as you curled your fingers as hard as you could, pressed as far in as they would go, down to the knuckle.

It wasn’t deep enough.

It wasn't what you were used to. Your fingers were too short, just short of reaching that one perfect spot that made you lose yourself in pleasure, melting to a mewling mess.

You shuddered. You couldn’t reach a climax, no matter how hard you tried to focus. Even without orgasm, though, your exertion reached a peak you couldn’t carry on further from, and your fingers stopped moving as you went limp, trying to catch your breath, frustration and desperation nearly enough to make you cry. Your head fell back, eyes closed as you panted.

You could feel the corners of his mouth upturn against the flesh of your neck.

“…Is something wrong?”

Your jaw clenched, and you swallowed the lump in your throat.

That was the other goal of it, besides proving yourself to him — it was also to prove something to you. Something you didn’t want to admit out loud, something that made your chest swell with bitterness just to admit to yourself, much more so to do so aloud.

“I can’t… I can't do it.”

“Mm.” He pulled you further back against him. “Then, what do you need?”

The tingling sensation, the desperate need, the remnant frustration of lost pleasure, was too much to bear. You swallowed your pride, closing your eyes as you forced the words out.

“…I need you to do it…”

You were expecting him to say something in return, but for a moment, he was only quiet. He began to drum his fingers back and forth against your waist.

“Is that so?”

You nodded again, which seemed to be to his displeasure—

“Use your words.”

“Yes…” You swallowed.

You waited, but no touch came.

“Hm. How odd.” His voice was low and quiet, but unmistakably derisive. “You seemed to think you were perfectly capable of caring for yourself, running off like you did.”

Your eyes welled with tears. You shook your head back and forth, unable to bring yourself to speak.

“No?” His hand trailed downward until it ghosted over your sex, the lightest of touches, borderline torment. “Then, you can't do this for yourself?”

“…No…”

He moved his face even closer, speaking directly into your ear.

“Then what do you say? Tell me exactly what you need. Show me.”

You swallowed. The burning of humiliation in your chest was almost too much to bear. Had your insides not still been alight with the wavering, tight feeling of need, your pride would have outweighed your desire. But in that moment, it did not.

You spread your still-quivering legs wide apart.

“…Please touch me.”

“Mm. And what do you want from that? For how long?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

“I want to cum.”

Finally — finally — his fingers pressed down against your clit, enough pressure to send waves of pleasure up your spine.

“There, see…” He pressed another kiss to your face. “Aren't things so much easier when you just choose to be honest?”

You nodded. “Yes. I… I’m sorry…”

He gave a low hum of acknowledgement. “This stubbornness is just your nature.” His fingers slid back and forth, gracing the bundle of nerves with friction. “But that can be fixed.”

You bit your lip. “I… I’m not— ah—”

One motion of his hand was particularly firm, the sensation it sent through your nerves so intense it was almost painful. Your hands shot forward, grasping at his wrist.

It was only when the motion stopped that you realized you’d erred — it was a habit of reflexively grabbing at his hands when a sensation was too intense, trying to pry them off — something he very much did not like you doing.

Sure enough, he sighed, frustration blatantly evident. You jerked your hands away, but it was already too late to take back the first offense.

“…Now,” he started, “Can you refrain from doing that again, or do I need to bind them?”

“I…” you paused, realizing you genuinely needed to think it through. You weren’t certain if you could abstain.

You felt him shift back, leaning away from your body.

“Well, that’s enough of an answer itself.”

You heard the rustling of clothes, felt movement behind you, and you turned your head over your shoulder just in time to see as he pulled off first the top layer, then the undershirt over his head and off his body. You made a soft sound as he then pushed down on your back with a firm touch, forcing you to lean forward, grasping at your hands and pulling them behind your back — firmly, enough to be a clear message to not try to dissuade him, but your pride, weak as it was, still couldn't let it happen with no objection at all.

“Wait, wait, I can do it, I don't need—”

“This is for your sake. Hold still.”

“But I—”

“Be still.” He spoke firmly, but softened his voice as he continued, “It’s not your fault for having that reflex… but you have to train yourself against it. You want to be good, don't you?”

You shut your mouth, nodding as you sounded an answer. “Mm-hm…”

Cloth wrapped tightly around your wrists, using one sleeve to bind them together. Not enough of a bind that you couldn’t break out with some effort, but just enough to keep you from reflexively trying to interfere.

“Now where were we…”

You were pulled back once more, perhaps even closer. You could feel the rise and fall of his chest against your back.

And his hand quickly moved back down, and the bliss of shockwaves of pleasures overcame you once more. You whimpered, biting your lip.

His fingers pressed more firmly, rubbing circles into the nub, and for a moment, your wrists jerked against the bind as the reflex kicked in. It was too much at once, but now, you were prevented from doing anything about it. As he began to rub in circular motions, your body shuddered, and an involuntary moan came out of your throat — a wanton, shameful sound, laced with pleasure and lust.

“There you go.” You could feel him speak, shuddering at the vibration of his chest against your back and the warm breath against your ear. His other hand rolled your nipple between a finger and thumb. “Give into it.”

Your body trembled against his touch, and jolted as his own fingers pressed inside of you. His were longer, and the touches firmer, and the result was a degree of pleasure you were simply incapable of replicating on your own.

As much as you hated it — hated to think it, hated to acknowledge it, hated to try and not acknowledge it as the reality prodded at the back of your mind — he made you feel better than anything you had ever experienced, better than anything you could ever make yourself feel.

You whimpered, toes and fingers curling. Your hips moved, a rolling motion to meet each pressing movement.

A singular motion, and singular sound, both of which you near-immediately caught yourself doing, having been too lost in the feeling to think clearly. You cut off your voice and went still, but it didn’t go unnoticed.

“Don’t.” He didn’t stop moving his fingers as he spoke, instead pressing down with harsh force, essentially pulling you back closer to him with the hand partially inside you. “Holding yourself back like that is another form of dishonesty.”

You bit your lip, squeezing your eyes shut, but unable to form a response before he continued.

“And you wouldn’t want,” the fingers that had been gently tweaking at your breast pinched down hard, a momentary spark of pain and the lowering of his voice making you go tense, “to make this unpleasant because you couldn’t be good for me, would you?”

You shook your head back and forth with vigor. There were many punishments in your domestic repertoire that were unpleasant, and the thought of any of them made your heart skip a beat. “No, no, I don’t… want that…”

“Then you’re going to be honest, aren’t you?”

“Yes! Yes, I promise…”

“Mm.”

He kept rubbing his thumb against your clit, even in perfectly synched timing to each motion his fingers curled inward inside of you.

It was so pleasurable, so intense, it made you angry. Mad that he was capable of it, mad that his control over your body was greater than your own, and most of all, mad that he did it with such ease, effortless, that making you come undone entirely was something he mastered without ever being taught.

That pleasure began to build and build. You squirmed and whimpered, muscles throughout your body tensing and relaxing over and over. Your hips rolled into his hand. Each movement built the pressure in your body higher and higher, rapidly reaching a peak.

The edge that climax made you quiver, body and legs trembling.

“There it is…” his voice was so soft and gentle, soothing in a way it had no right to be.

The noise that came out of your mouth was nearly animal-like, a whimpering cry as you threw your head back, quivering and spasming. The waves of sensation pulsated throughout your body, reaching a peak and then beginning to ebb away.

You went limp, bodyweight falling back against his chest, heaving with heavy breaths. Your head felt as if it were spinning, and you stared forward in a dull stupor, body trembling with aftershock.

You twitched at the feeling of his fingers sliding out of you, with a wet squelching sound that made you shiver.

“Look at that…”

He spread his fingers apart, clear fluid forming a trail between them. You bit your lip, tilting your head downward in a futile attempt of avoidance of what you knew well came next — but that effort was quickly negated as he grabbed your jaw, turning your head back up and squeezing your face.

“Open.”

The force of the grip as he squeezed down more or less forced your jaw apart anyway. You didn't even get to take a breath before he pushed his fingers into your mouth, salty taste spreading over your tongue.

“Clean them off.”

Maybe it was a way of forcing you to acknowledge your own bodily reaction, even if you tried to deny it to yourself. Maybe it was much simpler than that — just another way to degrade you, or something simply arousing for him because it just was.

You complied nonetheless. Your tongue swirled around each finger, sucking and swallowing the taste of yourself. Even as he pulled his fingers back out, a string of saliva connected them to your tongue.

And then, after wiping his fingers off on the fabric around his thigh, he returned the arm to your waist, pulling you close, resting his chin on your shoulder.

“See… so much more at ease now, aren't you?”

That was one way to put it. You couldn't even bring words to your mind. Even processing what he said felt like a significant effort. Everything felt far away, your mind like a blank slate, numb and empty. Your body was even more exhausted, totally lax aside from involuntary twitches.

You made a soft sound as he turned your body to the side, just enough to look you face-to-face. Looking down at your watery eyes as they met his, the stupor in your expression, even as your brain began to clear, as if a machine turning back on after a few moments of darkness.

And he smiled. It was soft, full of endearment. And belittling. It was not made any better by the small chuckle he gave, patting the top of your head.

It burned in your chest, down into your stomach.

Your eyebrows furrowed and your lower lip quivered, an admittedly petulant pout. Shame formed a knot in your stomach. Disappointment in yourself, ending up like this again after swearing so many times over that this one would be the last, the last time you'd come apart so easily, the last time you'd find yourself spent and susceptible to the touch that seemed as if it were designed for your body.

And he laughed. An amused chuckle, patting your head.

“Mm. I had a feeling that wouldn't be quite enough.”

He leaned in, firmly grasping at your arms as you tried to squirm, bringing his mouth so close to yours, forehead resting against yours.

“But, that does admittedly work out for my sake.”

You grunted in surprise as he hooked his arm under your legs again, this time only lifting you just enough to set you down onto the padding of your bed, gently pushing on your shoulders until you were flat on your back, arched over your hands bound behind you.

“A-ah, I…” You swallowed, grasping at the sheets to the best of your ability. It was nothing you weren't anticipating, but the vulnerability made you tense.

It didn't help that he paused any motion, eyes trailing over your body, before reaching down and running his hands over your flesh, one moving to grip at your waist, the other your opposite hip. You couldn’t reach to cover yourself, forced to lay bare and vulnerable. Instinctively, you pressed your thighs together, but firm hands grabbed at the undersides, pushing them apart and positioning himself between them so you couldn’t close them again.

The former act was not enough. Putting you through the ordeal of being made to wait in jail like a child in time-out was not enough, exposing your body was not enough, toying with your body and forcing an acknowledgement of his own control was not enough.

Your lip trembled.

But anger still pervaded through your negative emotions. It compelled your courage, you felt defiance surging up. You had to look him in the eye, tell him exactly what you felt, tell him you knew what he was doing and push him off, then, maybe then you'd have the satisfaction of some sense of control.

You could do it. You had to.

“You… you're just doing the same thing as before!” Your eyebrows furrowed. “You’re trying to, to—”

“Again with this?” He tilted his head. “I really wish you wouldn’t assume such ill intent. This is how people love each other… you know that.”

You bit your lip. You almost, for just a second, fell for it, almost felt guilty. You shook your head forcefully, clearing your mind of the thought.

“No, I won't let you—”

And with that, there was a rapid shift in expression. His eyes narrowed in a piercing, foreboding look. You went silent.

Your shoulders stiffened. The words came out on impulse, resolve of defiance broken as quickly as it had formed. “I'm— I'm sorry—”

Dammit.

For once, the dark expression did not shift back to pleasant as soon as you apologized — an indicator of having gone too far. His hand slowly reached up, this time not in a loving caress or gentle-but-firm grip, but outright harsh grip on your jaw.

“You…”

He tilted his head forward to more directly look you in the eye. His voice was low and cold, making your heart race further.

“Do not ‘let’ anyone do anything.”

His fingertips pressed into your flesh, squeezing your face between them.

“I know you understand your place. Don’t behave as if you don’t.” Finally, his voice softened as he finished, “I can’t help you if you keep fighting me every step of the way. So… you’ll control yourself, won’t you?”

You swallowed, nodding your head, twitching as the motion made his fingernails dig into your cheeks.

“You know I don’t like being so harsh with you, don’t you?”

You nodded again.

“Good.” He leaned down and pressed his mouth to yours. Only for a short, chaste moment, but a slow, sensual motion nonetheless. You closed your eyes, tuning out the rustling clothes, heavily breathing with anticipation.

“You’ll have to forgive me for this. This whole ordeal has been stressful for me as well.”

You didn’t get time to ask what he meant — he rammed himself into you all at once, completely stuffing your body in one rough, forceful motion.

You cried out, back arching and body stiffening. You felt your insides clamp down, pulsating against the intrusion.

His hands tightened their grip on your waist, holding you still as the momentary sting ebbed away.

“There you go… calm down.”

You felt him slide out, then push back in, the latter movement sending sparks of sensation running up your spine, causing you to go tense all over again.

Your breathing became ragged, legs twitching and spasming at the sensation. You tried, without thinking, to snap them shut, but it only resulted in effectively squeezing his waist with you thighs.

The intensity of the sensation naturally induced a reflex of strain and exertion to your muscles, a need to channel the feeling through your body, causing your toes to curl, your thighs clamping down harder, quivering at the bare touch of flesh to flesh. You closed your eyes, but couldn't drown out the sound of skin making contact to yours, the sound itself increasingly accompanied by a wet squelching as skin met fluid with each passing second, leaking out of your body.

“You're so much more honest like this.” You could hear just the slightest strain in his voice, otherwise so very composed to perfection. “So meek… it's lovely. Once that resistance in you is fixed… you'll be perfect.”

You could see the corners of his mouth upturn into a look of amusement.

“You should see yourself.”

Your body stiffened, but all you could do was whimper. The words felt like a cold knife to the stomach — and you knew he knew that. Knew that that moment was you at your must vulnerable, the peak of awareness of your own helplessness, the moment you felt the most degraded, and yet, it still wasn't enough.

He leaned in close, speaking directly into your ear, so close you could feel the warmth as he spoke, never ceasing to move all the while.

“Whimpering and drooling like that,” he murmured. “You're trembling… and that expression on your face is so adorable. Like you can't even think straight.” He leaned back up, enough to look you in the eye — now welling with tears.

And again, he only smiled.

“How precious.”

His hands ran down your body, grabbed at your hips, and began to pull you, jerking your body back and forth to meet his own movements.

It was too much. Even with the knot of emotion in your stomach, you felt a hot, tingling pressure build in your body. Your legs quivered, the wanton little sounds from your throat higher and higher.

You didn't want that. It was the final part of this ritual that so demeaned you, one more confirmation of his control of you. You pressed your hands into the mat, trying to push yourself back — but it was only met with a harsh pull, forcing your body back until you practically slammed against his hips.

“Don't fight.”

It was the last thing you heard. You threw your head back as the sensation became overwhelming, back arching and eyes rolling back as the feeling reached a peak. You could only faintly register the high-pitched sound that sounded as if it couldn't be you, a voice you didn't recognize.

And then it began to ebb away. A hazy stupor filled the void as the pleasure dissipated, a feeling of exhaustion. Your weight went limp.

You made a soft sound as he grasped your jaw again, turning your head just enough to place another kiss to your lips.

“There you go. Look at you now… all that stress and in you, totally gone. You can see it in your eyes, even.”

He paused before adding,

“Well, gone for now. I'll have to start monitoring for it more closely.”

You shuddered at the sensation as he slid out of you, fluid spilling out onto the sheets.

You felt him reach behind you, untying your wrists — you brought your arms to the front of your body, but the forearms only laid useless, having fallen asleep from your weight.

He came to rest beside you, upper body slightly propped up on his elbow, head resting in his hand, looking down at you with adoration and endearment.

And you were so, so weak. So much weaker than you wished you were, body, mind and spirit alike. So weak that, in the rush of emotions that followed, you found yourself slowly crawling forward, burying your face against his chest with a pathetic little noise.

“Poor thing. Maybe that was a bit too much for you…”

His arm reached behind your back and pulled you close, and the comfort you felt seemed to melt your mind into nothingness.

“You should rest for a while,” he continued, “then we'll get you cleaned off. We have a few hours before you'll need to be ready.”

After a moment to process the words, you tilted your head up with the softest of inquisitive noises. The cold, creeping dread began to spread through your stomach once more.

He seemed to realize, then, that you didn’t understand.

“Ah, right, you wouldn't have known.” He reached out with the hand he wasn’t leaning on, brushing his fingers over your scalp. “While you were gone, I sent someone to arrange a house visit with a psychiatrist… a private one that works for families such as ours.”

His words certainly didn’t help soothe your nerves. Your mouth felt dry. Your voice came out weak, hesitant, part of you not wanting to ask, lest you learn an unpleasant answer.

“…Why?”

He tilted his head in just the slightest, loose strands of hair shifting and waving with the motion. “Well, keeping your needs in check does help with your condition, but I’ve realized it would do you good to have a secondary means to treat your hysteric tendencies as well.”

“My…” You swallowed. “My what?” The words slowly pieced together in your mind, hitting you with a sense of dread and confusion. You squirmed backwards, shifting just a bit away from him. “There's… nothing wrong with me…”

“Of course, of course, there’s nothing wrong, that’s…” He spoke in a reassuring sort of tone, as if to comfort you. “…A harsh choice of phrasing. You just need some help, is all.” After a moment of pause, he added, “don't worry, it's perfectly normal that you aren't self-aware of it. That's usually how these illnesses work.”

His arm reached out further, pulling you back towards him, pressing your bodies together before he continued.

“He’s just required to see you in-person for a little while before giving you anything. Regulations and all. We’re just going to get you something to make you a little more… docile.”

His arm wrapped around your body, and he pulled his head back just a bit to look you in the eye, smiling with endearment.

“Ah, I can tell by your face that you’re nervous. Don’t worry, I'll be there throughout the whole thing… I'll answer any questions, you just sit there quietly, alright?” He pulled you a bit closer, planting an affectionate, short kiss to the top of your head. “I know that sort of thing is a lot on your nerves.”

If your trembling could be felt, he didn’t say anything about it, only carrying on with his gently-spoken words.

“We won’t have to worry about you having these… irrational escapades anymore. And you’ll be so much happier, too.”

You felt his hand on your back, firmly in place — you were pressed so close together that there was no need to pull you any closer, but perhaps he wanted to be sure you couldn’t pull away.

“So… rest for now, alright?”

Mind and heart alike racing, in your stupor, you let the pause linger for too long. The hand on your back began to close in on itself, fingernails brushing against your skin just enough to send the faintest of pains up your spine.

You had no strength left in you to give anything other than the correct answer.

“Okay...”

He only gave you a hum of acknowledgement, and began to stroke your back up and down, a pattern that should have been comforting and soothing, yet was anything but. Exhaustion wore on your body, but even as you forced yourself to close your eyes, true rest was nowhere to be found.

[forsworned]

Breach of privacy ft. Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

Author's note: Kyle stumbles upon your journal and he can't keep his prying fingers off, but what happens when you catch him?

Tags: Sexual Content ish?, Your teammate that you have the hots for is reading your private, sexual thoughts about him

He didn’t mean to do it, really. The journal was just lying open with your fluffy pompom pink pen stuck between the pages. His fingers graze the rosy pages as his eyes skim over your handwriting.

March 30

Sometimes I really can’t help but get lost in his honey eyes when he talks. Everything else fades to white noise when he looks at me. I can’t get enough.

He chuckles softly. He supposes you could be talking about anyone like that. His fingers trace the edge of the page, contemplating whether to turn it.

Of course, Kyle isn’t an idiot—well, maybe a little bit. He has enough sense to know he really shouldn’t pry into your private thoughts. It’s wrong, but he can’t help himself.

He tentatively bites his lip, glancing at your door, which is slightly ajar, and then back at the journal. Curiosity gets the better of him, and he turns the page.

He notices a few torn pages and skips to something more recent:

July 29

The dream I had last night was way too vivid for my liking. I stashed my cake in the farthest part of the fridge, and Johnny still ate it!—

Kyle snorts softly. It’s not completely unrealistic for the Scotsman to eat their food, even if it’s labeled.

—Apparently, I was so upset that I ended up crying, but Kyle told me he had a remedy for my post-eaten cake blues and took me to his room.—

Kyle hesitates, his breath catching as he reads the last line. The word “throbbing” pulses in his mind, teasing him with the possibility of what might follow. He half-expects the entry to turn explicit, making him regret invading your privacy even more.

But as he reads on, he realizes it’s not what he thought:

—He sits me down and eases me into his bed, insisting that the only cure for my misery is the warmth of a freshly baked brownie. I’m skeptical, of course, but when he hands me the plate, my resolve melts away. The chocolate is still warm, soft, and gooey, and as I take the first bite, the flavor spreads through me like a comforting hug. The throbbing in my head from crying so much begins to fade.—

Kyle lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. That’s all it was—a headache. He chuckles, shaking his head at his own overactive imagination.

Just as he’s about to close the journal, something at the bottom of the page catches his eye. The next sentence appears hastily scrawled, the handwriting slanting with urgency:

—But then he leans closer, and his hand rests on my thigh. His touch is gentle at first, but soon enough, the warmth from his hand begins to spread, and it’s not just my headache that’s throbbing anymore…

Kyle’s eyes widen, his heart pounding for an entirely different reason. He quickly flips the page, but before he can read more, the sound of footsteps approaching makes him snap the journal shut, his face flushing with guilt and something else he doesn’t want to name.

Your body goes rigid when you notice the fine-ass man of your dreams (literally) standing in your room, holding your journal. Horrified doesn’t even begin to cover it.

He’s slow to realize the journal is still in his possession, and when it hits him, he scrambles to put it back on your worktable. “Oh, I wasn’t—” He stammers, but before he can finish, it slips from his grip and falls to the ground, spilling its contents. The horrified expression on your face only deepens.

You rush over to gather everything, and he crouches to help, but your voice is irate. “J-just stop!” You exclaim. He pauses, glancing up at you with a remorseful expression, but you don’t care—not when the spilled items include detailed sketches of Kyle and, well…

“Whoa,” he murmurs, taking in the intricate ink drawing of you and Kyle in a rather compromising position. It’s enough to make his cock strain against his compression shorts.

Your face burns as you snatch the illustration from his fingers and stuff it back into your diary. He slowly stands, feeling a flush creeping up his cheeks. He had no idea you saw him like that.

He watches as your lip quivers with the journal tucked under your arm.

“[Name], I…” He steps forward, but you shake your head and step back.

“Just get out,” you say softly. He can tell you’re deeply upset—probably more than he’s ever seen you before. His heart sinks when you turn away, folding your arms as a tear slips down your cheek.

Ah, fuck. He’s really done it now.

“And you just kept reading?” His Captain’s incredulous tone feels like a stab to his chest.

“Well—”

“No, ‘well,’ ‘ifs,’ or ‘buts.’ You invaded the lass’s privacy. Have you no shame, Kyle?” Price continues to scold him. Kyle shakes his head, almost understanding, but not quite.

“It’s just that I saw these drawings and—”

“—Don’t tell me.” Price cuts him off, rubbing his eyes in frustration. “Jesus, Kyle. Are you serious right now?”

“I…”

Price points a finger at him with a threatening tone. “Not another word. Go now.”

The temptation to read someone’s private thoughts is childish, but he can’t ignore it. He runs a hand over his stress-stricken face and lets out a heavy sigh.

“Go apologize,” Price chides, gesturing to your room, which you’ve locked yourself in. Kyle opens his mouth to protest, but John doesn’t want to hear it. “Now. Before I kick your arse myself. That’s an order, Sergeant.” He turns away, taking a long swig of his ale.

Exasperated and dejected, Kyle scoots off the barstool and heads to your door. He lifts his knuckle to knock but hesitates, glancing back at his Captain, who glares at him intently.

Yeesh.

He softly knocks on the door, but there’s no reply. “Hey, [Name]. It’s me, Kyle. Can I come in?”

“Why? So you can read more of my journal?” You call out from behind the door, and he feels a dull ache in his chest. He leans his ear against the door and closes his eyes,

“To apologize, lass.”

There is an uncomfortable silence before he hears you padding toward the door, and shifts his weight so he’s no longer supported by the barrier. You only crack the door open. Your eyes are sunken in, cheeks are tear stained and flushed, and he feels his heart sink even further.

“Please.” He pleads with you, and you can tell he’s being sincere. Begrudgingly, you open the door and he steps in as you shut it behind you. 

“Can I sit?”He points to your bed, and there’s a flash of your dream that plays behind your eyes as it dips beneath his weight.

“Well, you’re already sitting.” You mutter, crossing your arms at him. He gives you a sheepish smile before apologizing and he leans forward, weaving his fingers together. He glances up at you with an earnest look in his amber eyes. A look that makes your heart melt no matter how angry and humiliated you may feel because of him.

“I’m sorry, [name], really. I was wrong.” 

You lean against the corner of your desk, crossing your legs in front of you. “Are you sorry because the Cap said you ought to be?”

He glances away and shuts his eyes, “[name]...”

Vexation shocks at your system. “No, don’t you [name] me. You had the fuckin’ audacity to read my thoughts, in my journal in my room.” You scoff at his impudence. “Unbelievable.”

His shoulders slump, “Look, I understand. I really do. I never meant to make you uncomfortable. I just got curious…and also—”

“Also what?” You challenge, quirking a brow at him.

“I just never realized how talented you were. I mean really, for a second there I thought I was reading a romance novel not a diary that doubles as a personal art gallery.”

You can help but snort at his cutesy attempt of trying to dig his way out of the hole he just created for himself. He swallows thickly realizing his charm is working on you, “and…”

“And?” you press inquisitively.

He sighs and gives you an earnest look. “I really am sorry.”

You tilt your head to the side. You almost feel bad for the sorry state he’s in. It’s easy to tell when Kyle feels guilty of something, when he’s being honest and genuine, when he’s annoyed and fed up—when he’s genuinely happy and you see that glimmer of softness in his pretty eyes…

“But I can’t help but feel like I’m the main love interest.” He teases, trying to lighten the mood and that causes your disappointment and anger to crack. 

You roll your eyes, failing to suppress your laughter.“Yeah, well, the main love interest has a lot to answer for.”

He smiles and stands up, stepping closer to you. You allow him to close the space a little, glancing up at his towering form and feeling the warmth radiating off his body. “Okay, I’ll be honest. I have no clue how to fix this, but let me make it up to you?”

The smell of his aftershave is dizzying. “How?”

“Well, for starters,” He takes another step and you’re raising your brow at his boldness. “I’ll stop snooping where I don’t belong.”

You fold your arms across your chest. “Uh huh,” Your heart thrums loudly against your chest. 

“And I can take you out to lunch? That cafe you really love that’s all the way in the city, the one with the cute pastries you love.” He tempts, and of course, you can’t help but to cave in. It’s annoying and slightly distressing how you allow it. You don’t want to, but you’re crashing quickly at the look in his eyes as he licks his plump lips, grinning down at you. 

“Fine. Only because I adore that place.” You point your finger at him. “And”

He raises his brows waiting for your next condition. “There’s no price limit on what I want.”

You knew he would do that anyway, but you wanted to make it crystal clear. He pokes his tongue in his cheek and chuckles. “Boy, you really know how to seal a deal, eh?”

“Idea,” You smirk.  “maybe you should try not poking your nose into places it doesn't belong then.” You sarcastically remark, and he playfully scoffs at you. He enjoys the banter, and well, you.

“Touche.” 

You sigh as you card your fingers through your hair. “Fine, but you’re still not off the hook.”

His eyes darken with something unspoken. “Good, I don’t wanna be.”

For a moment you feel the intensity cracking down on you as you search his eyes, and you’re melting under his gaze. But there’s a rapping at your door that tears your gazes from one another. 

“All good?” Price’s leans against the doorway, trying not to pry. His expression is unreadable and you can’t help but to feel some relief. 

“Yeah, Cap, we’re good.” 

He nods, eyeing Kyle for a bit longer. There’s still a hint of disappointment in his eyes, but he can’t say that he’s not consoled by you two making up. He thinks that maybe Kyle’s lesson isn’t quite up yet.

“C’mon Kyle, got somethin’ for ya to do.” He gestures for him to come with him. A smug look on his face as he winks over at you. Kyle groans.

“Oh, no.” Kyle pouts as he’s being dragged away by Price and you’re giggling at his objection to obey his Captain’s orders. He reaches out to you as you grin. “Save me!”

You shake your head as you close your door, “Not a chance, Garrick.”

[physalian]

Character Types: Self-Destructive Paragon

I just came up with that term right now to describe characters whose philosophy is: I will be good and kind even if it kills me.

If you have a more apropos one, I’d love to hear it.

But I think being a “self-destructive paragon” with emphasis on the self-destruction is to be good out of spite, to be cynically optimistic, to do the right thing because fuck, no one else is going to, the world is shit, people can be shit, but I will not be people.

Similar to the Fixer but more self-aware and less of a doormat, the SDP is a character I think the world needs more of to stand against toxic positivity and exhausting silver linings.

Instead of “the world is good and I’m going to prove it :D” in the face of daunting misery and suffering, it’s “the world is messy and complicated and we are all suffering, but I have the means to do good, and nothing will stand in my way”.

Painfully naïve characters are not compelling (to me). They’re preachy, they always need rescuing, they strawman cynics and pessimists, and when they do face a situation they cannot put a positive spin on, they still hold the moral high ground with little room for nuance, and they tend to get into situations that no other character would be stupid and/or gullible enough to fall into.

It would be like if Katara was actually the Ember Island Players’ version of her for the entire show. Or, Aang’s caricature.

But she’s not. She’s suffered and been burned and humbled and isn’t at all afraid to get her hands dirty and risk her life doing what she thinks is right, like in "The Painted Lady". But she’s also messy and complicated, nearly killing a man in her revenge quest in "The Southern Raiders".

Katara will be good and kind and just and fair and noble, putting her life on the line again and again to prove it, but she's not as angsty (and not self-destructive) as the two examples I have in mind.

SDPs also tend to be written in bad faith, or as a bastion of virtue against other characters written in bad faith, depending on where you fall on the “hope is vital/hope is for children” spectrum for the message of your book.

Usually, other characters’ criticisms of the painfully naïve are that they have not suffered and their virtue signaling is tone deaf to their audience of people who cannot afford the luxury of looking on the bright side.

So, enter the self-destructive paragon.

This is a character who probably suffered deeply, for a long time, and who was painfully naïve until they had their wakeup call. But instead of devolving into a selfish cynic, they decided to not only be better, but to put their money where their mouth is and do better.

This is a character who was probably mocked and dragged down again and again by cynics who want to make them as miserable as the rest of the world, and gosh darn it, they just won’t break.

They might risk their lives, their health, their stability, or their reputation trying to save someone who doesn’t want to be saved, determined to help someone they’re convinced just can’t see that they need help yet. Or, they might be a Robin Hood figure, blithely shuffling resources around with some worldly calluses on their soul.

Or, they might have faith in the world, but have zero faith in themselves, making themselves the exception for every grace they extend to other people.

Even if their “self-destruction” is a permanent rage against the system and the cynicism, giving themselves fully to their cause and losing their sense of “self” in the process, this is a character compelled to go beyond their means, no matter the cost. These characters tend to not even think of themselves as "heroes" to be praised, they're just doing what they think is right and might suffer a bit of imposter syndrome when the laurels come their way.

I like these characters because of their fierce honesty, and the knife’s edge upon which they walk. You understand their morality and their integrity explicitly, and the lengths they will go to stand up for what they believe in can have horrible unintended consequences.

And who’s a better self-destructive, angsty do-gooder than the Dark Knight himself? Specifically the iterations where he isn't going around branding and murdering people. BTAS-era. Bats doesn’t give himself a break and he’s my favorite DC hero in large part because he has a villain’s backstory straight-up, and chooses to be good.

Spoiled little rich kid watches his parents get murdered and inherits impossible wealth and could very easily use all that money, power, and influence to become a supervillain in adulthood. He has the costume, the aesthetic, the brutality, the motive, and the means.

But Batman is a hero, and he will do good and be good, even if it kills him. He spits in the face of every real-world billionaire who rests on their winnings, every person in power who so superficially laments the plight of the poor. Is he perfect? Nope, but that’s more of the limitations set by the people who write him and not his character itself. He might not be a complete cynic about the state of the world, but he sure is a cynic about himself or as the Nolan Bats said: “I’m whatever Gotham needs me to be.” Even if that makes him a pariah to preserve the reputation of a better man (in his mind) so that Gotham can have their faith rewarded.

Raven of DC’s Teen Titans is also a self-destructive paragon, another character with the motive and the means to easily become a villain and be the worst thing to happen to the world, but chooses not to. Specifically the 2003 cartoon version. She’s been fated to bring about the end of the world, daughter of a ruthless villain whose sole purpose for existing is to be his portal. Her whole life she’s kept people at a distance, refusing to let people in to get her hopes up and have good things so she doesn’t have to lose and hurt them.

But she is a hero. Per Robin, “the most hopeful person I know”. And she will be good, even if it kills her.

—

I know "hero born from villainy whose personality is Angst" (Gaara fits well) is the bread and butter of shonen edgy bad boys but the difference I'm trying to highlight is how quickly these characters will throw themselves on their own swords, with crippling self-worth issues.

So of course I wrote them. Thrice.

One in Eternal Night of the Northern Sky on Amazon

And two in Little Red Dot up on Ao3

[libraryofloveletters]

Bound By Fate

Jenson Button x Fem!Teammate Reader

series summery: the strings of life connect two people; teammates, friends, perhaps lovers. Even when you think you’ve gotten rid of him, the strings of life pull you back in. some things are just meant to be. 

author's note: this was prompted by god knows what but this is my new passion project. jenson girlies, this one is for you. shoutout to @mev33 for losing her mind over this with me <333

bound by fate taglist!

chapter one: united front

attached at the hip, jenson button and y/n l/n are the unstoppable duo. the same soul in two bodies. all but 4 points separating them. // “where you go, I go. What you see, I see. I know I’d never be me without the security of your loving arms, keeping me from harm. Put your hand in my hand and we’ll stand.” - Skyfall by Adele

chapter two: time cast a spell on you

spending nine months with someone is a long time, especially when you’re forced to be with them. feelings grow, both good and bad.  - “Time cast a spell on you but you won’t forget me. I know I could have I loved you but you would not let me. I’ll follow you down ‘till the sound of my voice can haunt you. Oh give it just a chance. You’ll never get away from the sound of a woman that loves you.” - Silver Springs by Fleetwood Mac  

chapter three: the blame is on you

two mclarens spin out, drivers at each other’s throat but only one’s to blame. what’s said on track doesn’t always stay there. - “It’s my own design, it’s my own remorse. Help me to decide, help me make the most of freedom and of pleasure, nothing ever lasts forever. Everybody wants to rule the world.” - Everybody Wants To Rule The World by Tear For Fear 

chapter four: no grace

jenson can’t take it anymore; the back stabbing, the betrayal. he did what he thought was best and left. on what was supposed to be the happiest night of y/n’s life, she’s heartbroken and upset. — “I didn’t have it in myself to go with grace, so the battleships will sink beneath the waves. You had to kill me, but it kills you just the same. Cursing my name, wishing I stayed. You turned into your worst fears and you’re tossing out blame, drunk on this pain. Crossing out the good years and you’re cursing my name, wishing I stayed.” -  My Tears Ricochet by Taylor Swift 

chapter five: the final tango

y/n and jenson find themselves front and centre, smiling for the cameras in their sunday bests, yet their hearts are in different places. - “it hurts to be something, it’s worse to be nothing with you. I’ve done the math, there’s no solution. We’ll never last. Why can’t I let go of this?” -  Promise by Laufey 

chapter six: secrets of us

when all is said and done, it’s never really over, is it? jenson spills far too much in a tell-all interview that back fires on both he and y/n. - “And you don’t seem to understand, a shame you seemed an honest man. And the fears you hold so dear will turn to whisper in your ear. And you know what they say might hurt you and you know that it means so much, and you don’t even feel a thing.” -  Duvet by Bôa

chapter seven: a chapter of me

four long years have passed, both y/n and jenson are in different places of life but they find themselves at Silverstone, together once again. jenson’s a commentator and y/n’s still a racer. seems the dust has settled. - “Just wanna let this story die, and i’ll be alright. We can’t be friends, but I’d like to just pretend. You cling to your papers and pens, wait until you like me again.” -  We Can’t Be Friends by Ariana Grande 

chapter eight: a glimpse into the past

people come and go, life moves on; that has always been your view. you can’t move on when your past comes back to haunt you. -  “So I ask myself, do I let you go or do I keep you in the frame of my mind? Now I’m growing wise to your sugar coated lies, nothing’s sweet about my misery. Yeah, I finally found what went wrong, i finally found the wrong in you.” - On My Mind by Jorja Smith

chapter nine: twelve steps forward, one step back

the final race of your life, mixed emotions truly. your career was one out of a movie, you’re waiting for the final shoe to drop and when it does, it hits you hard. - “Isn’t it strange? I am still me, you are still you, in the same place. Isn’t it strange how people can change from strangers to friends, friends into lovers, and strangers again?” - Strange by Celeste

epilogue - chapter ten: the last bow

life post retirement is a funny thing, you thought you’d be having fun but you’re bored out of your mind. a solo trip results in seeing a ghost from your past.  -  “I'm sure we're taller in other dimension, you say we’re small and not worth a mention. You’re tired of movin’, your body’s achin’. We could vacay, there’s places to go. Clearly this isn’t all that there is, can’t take what’s been given. But we’re so okay here, we’re doing fine.” - White Ferrari by Frank Ocean 

[ladypoison]

Kiss me.

Pairing: college!tyler x f!reader Summary: You meet Tyler at a college party he's hosting, you can't help but feel drawn to each other immediately- or maybe that's the drink talking. Warnings: Drinking, smoking, illegal substances, smut (18+ MDNI), P in V, Intoxicated consent. WC: 2.9k A/N: This is like practically my first written smut, plus I'm a rusty writer so go easy on me.

To say it was hot would be an understatement. Sweat glistened off your body, people colliding next to you in melodic movements only radiated that. You’d been in there for a total of 5 minutes and already felt like you were on the verge of a heatstroke.

The air around you smelt strongly of body odor and the alcohol that radiated on people’s breaths. So strongly you craved a drink as well, but your chatter-box of a friend wouldn’t let you leave her side as she spoke to a person you hadn’t come to know the name of. He was tall, with striking facial features you’d never see on anyone else, arms full with ink as well. Weirdly you wondered how it would feel to stick your finger in his gauged earlobe, maybe that was the current boredom speaking.

Your friend was speaking, but you had it tuned out until your name was mentioned, your head quickly turned to the conversation beside you. Your friend was now towards you “Drinks?” she asked, that one word putting you out of your misery finally. “Please” is all you said in return.

Her older friend signaled you both to follow, you awkwardly shuffled behind them both trying your hardest not to get shoved into. College parties were definitely a little rough, it wasn’t your first but you were definitely more fond of the bigger, less crowded ones. As you walked you took in the house, it wasn’t very big, enough to host this party anyway, but the rooms were still full of people, so I guess it worked out.

When you entered the kitchen, your friend was already leaping towards the mess of random bottles and drinks everywhere, and the gauged guy had already begun pouring drinks for the three of you. When the red solo cup finally was handed to your reach, you pressed it to your lips, gulping down the liquid inside. It wasn’t gross but it hurt to swallow. You squinted your eyes at the taste and he let out a slight chuckle “Good right?” he spoke, sarcastically it seemed, all you could do is give a pressed-lip smile and an awkward raise of your brows.

“So who’s house is this anyway?” your friend ended up asking the guy as she too took a swig from her cup. “A buddy of mine, he should be around here somewhere” he said, shrugging, and as if on cue another man appeared, pushing his way through the crowded kitchen entrance. He was tall, and boyishly cute with a litter of tattoos on his arms as well.

Sporting a pair of black, street-stylish kind of joggers and a gray crewneck that matched the beanie sitting atop his head. You couldn’t help but think he looked familiar, you probably shared a class with the guy. “Josh!” he called, now labeling the man you’ve been standing around for the entire time you’ve been here.

“Tyler, where’ve you been?” Josh asked him, leaning in for one of those weird manly hugs that guys do “Your own party and you can’t even show up on time huh?” He continued, smiling. Tyler looked you and your friend up and down for a short moment, making eye contact with you in the process before replying to his friend “Just a bit of pre-game before I got down here” you could tell he meant smoking beforehand, his eyes were glossy, you studied them for a moment before he spoke again “And who are these ladies?” He asked Josh, smiling at you both.

After Josh’s very quick introduction of you guys you’d gathered the two were very close, and- very cute as their personalities clashed playfully. Tyler- the man now awkwardly standing in front of you as Josh and your friend chatted, seemed sweet. “So, this is your place?” you spoke, breaking the silence between you two, his eyes caught in yours when you asked “Uhh- yeah, well my parent’s really but they’re on a long vacation right now.” He replied, you followed his lips as he spoke, already feeling a bit fuzzy with a refill now in your cup.

“Mmm that’s nice, so you host parties here when they’re away” you said, gazing over his reflective eyes, he reached up to scratch his neck slightly, he was kind-of awkward in a way that peaked your interest “Yeah I mean, it’s definitely one way to make yourself known around here, parties” He replied, shrugging “And That’s what you want? To be ‘known around here’?” you asked, smirking, using your free hand to push a fallen strand of hair out of your face. He chuckled slightly at your words “Doesn’t everyone?” he said, you slightly tilted your head, shrugging at his question.

You both stared at each other, and your surroundings for a few minutes, basking in the music, conversation, and the heated feeling coursing through your body. Your cheeks felt flushed, you even lifted a hand up to feel your skin, it was hot to the touch and he noticed that. “Do you wanna head somewhere else? It’s better upstairs probably- colder I mean” Tyler asked, you hesitated for a moment before replying with a simple “Yeah” and downing the rest of your drink, it stung you for a moment before settling.

He spoke quickly to Josh, a farewell for you both before taking your arm and leading you through the crowd of bodies, not without a few pushes. Heading up the stairs was sorta difficult but his hand kept a steady lead on you as you pushed yourself upwards, feet heavy beneath you.

The hallways were still littered with a few bodies, you even managed to see a sloppy make out session between- not two but three people at the end of the hall, you mumbled a quiet “weird” mindlessly. You weren’t really paying attention to much until he pushed open, what you assumed to be his bedroom door.

The room wasn’t much, at least nothing you could specifically notice in your fuzzy mental state besides the dark gray walls that seemed to match him, you pondered if he was as intoxicated as you were. I guess your thoughts were answered when he slowly sat himself on the ground instead of the bed, or a chair. His eyes weren’t focused on anything in specific but the red tint in them was obvious, especially when he met yours.

You smiled to yourself, settling down on the carpet crisscrossed next to him. “Do you want to uhh- smoke?” He asked, smiling, reaching in his pocket for what seemed to be a cart. “Sure..” you replied. He reached out his arm, handing it to you, and you slowly put it to your lips. You held the smoke in your cheeks for a moment, before inhaling, it scratched at your throat before being let out.

Instantly, you coughed a few times, not the prettiest site that’s for sure. It was a moment before the slight feeling had settled in your mind. His eyes lingered on you before you handed it back, he lifted it to his own lips and you stared blankly at him as he repeated the same process. Watching the smoke slide out from his lips effortlessly ignited a feeling in your chest, it was probably the alcohol making you feel more flustered.

“You come here with anyone besides your friend?” He asked, obviously wanting to ask if you came here with a partner or something, ‘smooth’ you thought sarcastically. “Nope, just us” You smiled “She seems to be very interested in your friend, that Josh guy.” You spoke mindlessly. He nodded, grinning. Paying attention, you noticed his crooked smile for the first time, and lingered on the feeling his features left in your stomach. “Yeah I’ve certainly heard a lot about her from him” you both let out small giggles in the realization both your friends definitely were into each other.

The music boomed from downstairs, reaching the bedroom walls with its volume. It was silent between you two as you relaxed. The pair of you ended up deciding it would be comfier to lay down on the carpet side-by-side as you chatted with one another, staring up at the dimly lit ceiling of his room.

The walls were painted blue after he turned on a small colored light off in the corner of his room, it was less harsh then the original big light’s grasp over the room. You felt like you were someplace else now, more free then the messy crowd of your thoughts usually left you in. You both spoke mindlessly, on random topics that didn’t get you anywhere in the knowing-each-other-very-well department and yet you still felt closer to him at the moment than anyone else in the house.

“How come we’ve never talked to each other before?” he asked, pausing for a moment before continuing “I’ve definitely seen you around” his head was turned towards you, as was yours to him as your bodies sprawled out on the floor. You simply shrugged, glossing your eyes over the position in which you both laid. He hummed slightly in recognition of your response, tracing his fingers on the pocket outline of his joggers.

You bit your lip, chewing on it slightly as your mind was blank besides the occasional thought about the boy next to you. Your head turned towards him, carefully studying the way his chest rose and fell, the slight sigh that exited his lips every few minutes made its way into your ears. You lifted yourself slightly off the floor, enough to scoot yourself slightly over him, now with only your head hovering slightly over his.

His attention was now off the soulless wall and onto you “Hmm?” He hummed, half lidded eyes with tiredness looking up to you. You spoke softly then “Can i?” It was obvious what you were asking, though you had no idea where the burst of boldness came from. It was the moment, peaceful and drunk on the silence between the two of you that caused the tension to rise. He only stared at you for a moment, slightly taken aback before he replied “Yeah”.

It was a ‘why not?’ moment, at least that's what you thought, and assumed he shared that idea. You hovered over him for a moment before leaning forward and placing your lips onto his. It was a chapped kiss, but you could hardly care, with the dryness of your throat it felt good to indulge in someone else’s. The position was awkward, with you slightly on your side and him laying flat down, so you scooted closer, lifting your leg and straddling him on the floor.

The kiss was hardly broken before you dove back into it, clashing your lips with his before the wetness of your tongues got involved. It was teethy just a bit, in a momentarily relaxed humorous way, you couldn’t help but smile into the heated kiss, and his hands snakes their way around your waist. Your shirt was slightly slid up at the moment with you on top of him, and his fingers found their way inside, heating your bare skin with his calloused fingers, you wondered if he’s ever played an instrument with the way his hands ignited your skin as they explored.

You felt it against you now as you slightly grinded on his body, he groaned and bit your lip accidentally “shit- sorry” Is all he mumbled before gliding his tongue over the wound. All you could do is moan in response to his quick actions, it was fast and yet felt so slow. He broke the kiss for a moment, panting as were you. His hands pulled your top slightly before his eyes met yours, as if asking ‘could I?’ with no words at all, you simply guided his hands further to take your top off and discard behind you.

It was clear you both weren’t in the best mind-space to do what you were doing. It was fast, random, and possibly a stupid idea, yet you couldn’t stop and neither could he. It was hot, the air around you, even after going top-less. The clothes-discarding was messy for both of you, sliding his ridiculous beanie off his head and looking up to you for assistance gliding his sweater over his head. He was slightly sitting up at this point, running his hands down your back to unclasp the one item between him and your tits.

He was eager, you could feel it underneath you, even being this close to him sent waves of pleasure down your spine, your heart tingled with that familiar feeling of warmth, lust mistaken for love. When you reached down to pull down your bottoms he paused “Are you sure- you want to?” he asked, in a breathy voice that made you even more flustered “I’m sure” you replied in a softer voice before sliding your bottoms down your legs awkwardly. In this mist of that he began doing the same.

He leaned upwards again, pressing his nose into your neck “Do you wanna move to the bed?” He spoke slowly, you gave him a quick “Mhm..” before you both stood up, dizzy with arousal and your medicated state of mind. You both stepped on your own discarded clothes before falling onto the bed, your lips entwined as you did so. He was on top of you now, both of you left in nothing but the lower part of your underwear.

He pressed sloppy kisses to your chin, leading down into your neck and you moaned “Tyler..” saying his name felt so dirty, he was after all practically a stranger you’d just met, you felt dirty, but in a way you liked how the spur of the moment made you feel. It was erotic how he pressed his lips to your chest, cupping one of your breasts with his hand while the other one made its way down to the band of your underwear slightly tugging on it before sliding it down your bare legs.

You panted underneath him, blinking slowly, batting your eyelashes at him as he tugged his own boxers down his legs, tossing them off the bed. You guided your eyes down his length before kissing him tightly again. His rough fingers found their way to your folds gliding them in place, you moaned a breathy moan, mouth gaped open. “s-shit” he said, noticing how your arousal was already wet to the touch.

He stopped his fingers for a moment, lowering himself down your body slightly. You watched through half-lidded eyes as he stroked his dick a few times before positioning it between your folds. He kissed you, hard and slid into the warmth of your cunt, losing his breath in the process. “Fuck” he groaned into your mouth, you could only whine into his, sliding your fingers up his neck to tussle his hair between them. It took him a moment to fully insert himself into you, but once he did he slowly started rocking himself against you.

Your bodies grinded into one mess, his cock pumping in and out of you, you swore if you put a hand to your stomach you might be able to feel him inside of you. The feeling of arousal not only flooded your mind but you could feel it coating his dick as he pushed in and out of you. Your eyes were shut, basking in the lustful emotions that coursed throughout your body. Your skin was sweaty to the touch, and so was his.

You followed the tattoos on his arm up to his bicep, grabbing it when he picked up the pace. The erotic noises that left your mouth would put sober you to shame but right now you could give less of a shit. The music was loud, you hoped it was loud enough to drown out the slapping of skin between you both. As he pumped himself in and out of you, you reached a hand down to rub your clit softly, only increasing the pleasure.

He leaned into your neck again, breath hot against you, you shivered. Whining and moaning as he sucked on your supple skin, leaving marks that you were sure you’d need a shit ton of color corrector and concealer for in the morning. You felt you were coming to an end, the heat in your stomach beginning to come loose. A wave of heat coursed through you before you came crashing down with a loud moan, white poured out of your cunt and onto his dick “Fuuuck me, you’re so perfect” He spoke up finally, still thrusting he rode out your high, reaching his own in the process.

His features squinted, eyebrows raised in ecstasy. He pulled out of you quickly before he gave out, giving his own dick a few strokes before spurting his seed onto your stomach. The air was heavy with panting between the both of you, and he flopped over to the other side of the bed. At this point you barely felt the drunk of alcohol anymore, just exhausted and still high, wiping beads of sweat off your forehead.

“We should do this- again sometime” he said, chuckling softly, all you could do is snort at his boldness, leaning over to kiss him again. “Mind if I stay the night?” you asked, he only smiled at you before pulling the covers over you both, which smelt strongly of you both now.

[blue-slxt]

Common Ground

*Request: I seen that you were asking for a request! Imagine lo'ak and ao'nung who can hardly stand each other are forced to hunt together by their parents, and they find reader who's in heat deep in the forest. Maybe reader is a shared friend or she doesn't like either of them, but she's so needy because of her heat! Maybe a bit of tail play and marking, if that's something you're up for!*

I loved this one. I got worked up just writing this. Y’all are hitting all the right spots with these requests. I’m still getting used to writing Ao’nung so this was a nice challenge. Hope you like how this turned out! 🤗 All characters are aged up.

🔞Minors Do Not Interact🔞

Smut under the cut.

“I can’t believe you got us into this mess.” Ao’nung grumbles beside Lo’ak.

His face whips to look at him, “Me? You’re the one that was talking shit about my family!” he retorts.

Lo’ak and Ao’nung didn’t really like each other at the best of times. And at the worst of times, they were at each other’s throats. Jake and Tonowari had decided that enough was enough after the two of them had gotten into another fist fight earlier today. They had come to the decision that they would send the two on a trip together into the forest and Tonowari ordered them to not come back out until they had found some kind of common ground.

Now, here they were an hour deep into the forest and still ready to tear each other to shreds.

“It is not my fault that you are freaks with your five fingers.” Ao’nung spits at him.

Lo’ak gets in his face, “Yeah? Want these five fingers to deck you in the fucking mouth again?” Ao’nung pushes him and just as Lo’ak is about to launch himself at him, they both hear a sound.

“Shit!”

Both of their ears turn in the direction of the voice recognizing it immediately. They both forget their anger for long enough to slowly move towards the sound. The closer they get, the more they hear. Mumbled curses and obscene moans reach their ears and their tails sway in curiosity.

Neither of them are quite prepared for the sight they’re met with. You’re in the middle of nowhere, skin glistening from sweat, and your chest was heaving with every breath. Your face was turned away from them and they got a full view of your bare cunt grinding helplessly against your fingers, your arousal dripping down your knuckles.

“Fuck.” Lo’ak quietly mumbles feeling himself instantly get hard. Even though he said it so quietly, all of your senses are turned up to the max right now and you still hear him.

“Who’s there?” you call out removing your fingers from your core and sitting up to look around. It wasn’t like there was much you could really do in your currently dazed state though.

Ao’nung and Lo’ak emerge from the bushes and you let out a loud groan, “Not you two.”

You didn’t particularly have a real problem with either of them, but you definitely found them annoying with their constant bickering. It was immature so you kept both of them at arm’s length.

“Geez nice to see you too” Ao’nung shoots at you sarcastically.

“Look, I am not in the mood to deal with the two of you right now, okay? I’m dealing with a lot so could you please leave?”

Lo’ak is about to say something, but gets cut off. “Suit yourself, but I’m not the one who was humping their hand like a desperate animal.” Ao’nung throws his hands up in surrender.

Your face burns in humiliation knowing that they both saw you, but your body is on fire needed something – anything to fill you and finally put an end to your misery. Your thighs squeeze together trying to sooth the ache between them. Ao’nung notices and gives you a devilish smirk.

“Of course, you know we could always help you out.”

Lo’ak’s eyes go wide listening to him talk. You feel yourself clamp down around nothing wanting to take him up on his offer.

“Hold on just a second” Lo’ak says to you before walking Ao’nung over to the side. “What the fuck man?” his voice is a hushed growl.

“Oh come one, you’re telling me you don’t wanna hit that?”

“Fine.” You pipe up finally not being able to take the wait any more.

Both of their heads snap to you and your pupils are blown all the way leaving barely any color to be seen.

“Are you sure?” Lo’ak tries to ask you, but you’re already stripping off your top. “Just hurry up and help me before I change my mind.” You were bluffing. You knew you were too far gone to change your mind even if you tried.

“You heard the lady.” Ao’nung nudged Lo’ak’s shoulder as he circled around to rest behind you. He wastes no time in letting his hands roam up and down your torso while he breathes in your scent. His lips ghost the skin on your neck and makes your hair stand on end. Your skin is hot to the touch, but it does nothing to deter Ao’nung from squeezing one of your breasts and playing with you nipple. It makes your body jolt with each new sensation. You look up at Lo’ak who can’t stop watching you.

You reach out your hand to him with pleading eyes, “Please Lo’ak”. He caves. He falls to his knees in front of you and crashes his lips to yours. You eagerly open your lips and pull his tongue into your mouth so you can taste him. His hands trail up and down your thighs and they spread wanting some kind of touch. He drags one finger between your drenched folds and you both groan at the feeling. Your body trembles in Ao’nung’s grasp and one of his hands sneaks down your back to stroke the base of your tail. Your head falls back against his shoulder while soft pants leave your lips. He smirks seeing your lustful drunken face. He pushes you forward so that you’re on all fours in front of him while he unties his loincloth. He revels in the sight of your juices steadily streaming down your thighs. In this position, you were now eye level with Lo’ak’s bulge. It’s like you can literally hear it calling your name. You can’t even wait for him to untie the knot around his waist before you’re pulling the fabric to the side and freeing his thick cock.

Your mouth immediately fills with saliva taking in his size. You had to have it. You sink him all the way into the back of your throat and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Behind you, Ao’nung coats his dick in your slick and easily plunges into your greedy cunt. You want to moan from being filled at last, but you can only manage to hum around Lo’ak’s tip still buried in your mouth. The vibration makes him throw his head back. “Shit.”

Ao’nung thrusts into you watching how your hole just swallows his cock happily. Every thrust from behind pushes you forward onto Lo’ak even more if that were possible. Drool and tears run down your face and spill over onto the forest floor.

You push his tip into your throat and swallow. Lo’ak brushes your hair out of your face, “Oh, fuck, just like that pretty girl.” His words tingle in your head and make your pussy clench without your permission.

“Shit, I’m gonna cum inside you if you keep doing that” Ao’nung breathes out while smacking his hips into you. Your eyes roll feeling your orgasm hurling towards you like a boulder. “Is that what you want sevin? You want us to cum inside of you?” Ao’nung wraps your tail around his forearm and tugs it back towards him. You try to yelp, but Lo’ak is keeping his cock buried in your mouth chasing his impending high. “Mhm” is all you can manage to hum out as a response.

This sends Lo’ak over the edge and he bucks his hips up into your throat and spills his cum straight into your throat. You are more than happy to swallow all of it down. You keep sucking on his tip while he cums hoping to get every single last drop he has to offer. You finally pop off of him when his legs start to shake. You gasp for air now that your throat is free, but it doesn’t last long as Lo’ak grabs your face and kisses you deeply again. His tongue dances with yours tasting himself in your mouth and swallowing all of your moans.

“Fuck! I’m gonna cum!” you get out between kisses.

Ao’nung drills into your cervix repeatedly inching you closer to your release. His thrusts start to get sloppy and his hips stutter as he finally shoots ropes of thick cum inside of you. The heat spreads through your body and crashes you into your own orgasm finally. Your mouth is stuck in a silent scream while your arms and legs shake.

Ao’nung finally pulls out of you and you fall forward into Lo’ak’s arms. He strokes your hair and whispers small praises into your ear.

Your mind and body start to feel like they’re returning to normal as you come out of your haze. “Thank you, guys. You know, you make a good team when you’re not at each other’s throats.”

Lo’ak and Ao’nung look at each other and offer one another a silent nod of understanding. Guess they found their common ground.

[avengersfantasies]

Anymore - Chapter 3

Summary: Steve confronts Bucky about his offer.

taglist: @kandis-mom @missvelvetsstuff @mavrellover91 @natashasilverfox @vicmc624 @blackhawkfanatic @haruvalentine4321 @felicitylemon

What to expect: angst

✩ Read the series here ✩

“That wasn’t what I said,” Steve argued with you as you sat in your office.

You refused to look at the soldier – gently spinning back and forth in your chair with your arms crossed. “You’re right,” you agreed. “You didn’t say anything…It should’ve been an obvious answer.”

“How was I supposed to automatically know if I wanted to be in their life or not?”

“Because it’s your baby!” you yelled – getting out of your chair and walking up to him. “How the fuck could you not want to be there?” Steve put his hands out to stop you from coming any closer, but that didn’t stop you. You pushed his hands away and got closer. “A real man would’ve immediately stepped up,” you hissed through your clenched teeth. “Like Bucky offered.”

“H-He what?”

You chuckled incredulously. “Yeah,” you confirmed. “He offered to do what you’re scared of.” Steve was growing angrier by the second. “And of course, I, stupidly, insisted on giving you an opportunity to come around.” Without responding, Steve stormed out of the office – slamming the door behind him and causing the oak door to crack. You jumped at the action. You knew he could be a dick, but you never expected him to act out in any way towards you. “Shit,” you whispered to yourself – grabbing your phone and calling up Bucky. You paced as the line trilled, and after what felt like an eternity, Bucky picked up.

            “Yes, doll?”

“Buck, he’s pissed,” you blurted out. “He’s coming to find you.”

“Let him.”

            You paced in your office as you waited for some word from at least one of the two men. You knew they were both pissed at each other, that they could both beat the life out of the other, but they could also both defend themselves. You didn’t want them hurt. You didn’t want to see Bucky hurt because of you and the baby, and you didn’t want to see Steve hurt because Bucky felt like he needed to stand up for you. Things were definitely over between you and Steve, but you couldn’t deny that there was still a part of you, no matter how small, that cared about him. You loved your baby, obviously, and he was the one who made it with you – even if it wasn’t planned.

            Steve burst into Bucky’s training session – immediately connecting a right hook to his jaw.

            “Think you’re just gonna swoop in and take my job?” Steve yelled at his fellow soldier. “Seriously? What the hell’s wrong with you?”

            Bucky stood still and remained stoic as he spoke. “What’s wrong with me?” he scoffed. “Have you looked at yourself lately?” Steve stayed silent and paced back and forth. “Do you have any idea how much you hurt her? I don’t even know who you are anymore.”

“I fucked up, alright?” Steve admitted. “I’ll own up to that. I know I fucked up, but can’t you see that I’m trying to fix it?”

Bucky chuckled incredulously. “Would you be trying to fix it if a child wasn’t involved? You seemed pretty snuggly with whatever her name is.”

“I don’t know, Buck,” Steve groaned. “This is the situation though, and I’m trying to do what I can to make it better.”

“Maybe you leaving them alone is what will make it better,” Bucky shot back.

“How could you even think I’d do that?”

Bucky scoffed. “You didn’t seem to eager to be a dad in the first place,” he reminded the Captain. “If you’re going to be miserable, then stay away…don’t bring your misery to them.”

Steve looked down and shook his head. “You know how much I want to be a dad, Buck.”

“Which is why I was surprised you didn’t start begging for forgiveness and crawling on your hands and knees back to her.”

Without another word, Bucky walked away from the other soldier – slamming his shoulder into his chest as he passed by – causing Steve to stumble to the side. When Bucky left the training room, Steve walked over to the wall and slid to the floor – leaning his head against the wall. He closed his eyes, and tears finally fell from his eyes.

“What did I do?” he quietly asked himself. “What in the hell have I do—”

            “Baby?” Steve’s girlfriend called out – walking in to find him sitting on the floor. “Baby, what’s wrong?”

Steve didn’t look at her – instead, he kept his focus on the ceiling. “You should go,” he suggested flatly.

“What?” she scoffed. “Not happening.”

“That wasn’t a request,” Steve said in the same tone.

“So, what?” she questioned. “We’re over?”

Steve finally looked over at her with the tears in his eyes. “You know…I’m really sick of people putting words into my mouth,” he tsked. “Go home. I’ll come over later and we’ll talk.”

She finally agreed and walked out of the room – making sure he knew her attitude was something he’d have to deal with later.

            “I think he’s starting to use his brain,” Bucky announced as he came back into your office and grabbed some ice from the freezer. Bucky sat down in the chair across from your desk and iced his jaw.

            “What’d he say?”

“He’s acting like he wants to be involved,” Bucky scoffed. “Says he knows he fucked up.”

You nodded. “Well, I won’t keep him from our baby,” you said – helping to make an ice pack for him. “If he wants to be there, then he can be.”

“I think he thinks he wants to be there,” Bucky argued.

You handed him the ice pack. “Maybe a part of me wants to give him that chance.”

“And if he bails?”

“Then I know how he feels,” you shrugged.

“You should know if he’s gonna stick around or not,” Bucky’s words made sense, but you couldn’t fathom how a man wouldn’t want to be in his baby’s life. “I know it’s not something you want to consider, but there’s always a chance he could decide to leave.”

You nodded – knowing that the super soldier was right. Based on Steve’s initial reaction, you knew you had every reason to be afraid of him leaving. “I’ll just make it real simple for him,” you suggested. “He’s either in the baby’s life or not…there’s no going in and out, but as far as he and I go…that relationship is dead.”

“You sure about that?” Bucky asked sympathetically.

You nodded. “Yeah,” you exhaled, “I just want to move on from him. If he wants to be in our baby’s life, then that’s fine, but I want to move on.”

Bucky put the ice pack down and came over to your side of the desk – sitting on the edge and smiling softly down at you. “Do you?”

“I’d like to try to.”

Bucky smiled. “Would you let me take you out to dinner tonight?”

[hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog]

maybe like a

daryl x reader but he finds her really drunk in (alexrandia)

or finding reader in the woods (meeting her for the first time) and she’s really hurt and he practically saves her

Happy Monday Everyone! Sorry I am taking so long to get to these writing prompts that I ask you all to send my way. I am so appreciated of each and ever one of them, that I want to give each one time to create something special, or at least passable.

I hope @dreamtofus I did you justice in your ask, I really had a lot of fun writing a Daryl x Reader, it was my first, but hopefully not my last. I know I still need to work on getting the 'voice' of Daryl down, but for a first attempt, I don't think it's too bad.

Please let me know what you think, reblog, likes are always welcome. This story is my own, so please don't steal it. All mistakes, typo are mine, I do apologize. I do a few rounds of edits, but things just slip through, so be kind when passing judgement.

Details:

Daryl x Reader, told mainly from the reader POV, but we do get a small POV of Daryl. A flashback is had, some pop culture references, not sent in an particular timeline of the show. Seeing how the reader meets Daryl for the first time, how he saves her not once but twice, and the reader letting her guard down around Daryl.

Ment to be a one shot, but if you all like it enough, I could be persawded to write more, with these two.

Triger warnings: nothing really, its sweet, angst.

Word count: 2,000+

You knew never to go out this late in the day for anything, even a ‘simple’ supply run would never be done this late; you should have just waited until tomorrow. But No, you have to prove something to yourself? No, you knew you had survived this long, almost two years now, in this fire burning world. Your smarts, being a country/farm kid growing up, and your love of reading anything you could get your hands on help you survive this long. 

So, you need to prove something to the members of this group that found you a few weeks ago and brought you into their community? Maybe, you're sure they are still assessing you, and seeing if you're worth the trouble of being another mouth to feed and another body to protect. 

The leader, Rick, seems nice, standoffish, but also a protector that if you do get to stay with them, would be loyal and a big brother figure for you. Maggie, is also in that camp of big sister energy that would kick anyone’s ass for you. 

No, if you were to put money on who in the group is still questioning if they should take you in or not, that would be the redneck hunter Daryl. 

Daryl was the one that came across you while you were scavenging an abandoned drug store just a few miles south from where the group’s camp was. He was the one that held a crossbow aimed at your back, telling you to drop the antibiotics that there was a baby in his camp that needed it more than you. 

Flashback

“Don’t make me say it again, drop the drugs.” A gruff, gravelly voice, from behind you, fills the silence of the space, and makes you freeze like a deer in headlights.

Getting up from your crouch position, you slowly turn, with the bottle of pills in your hand. Sweat from the fever you're currently trying to shake and not the Georgia heat drips down your face. If you hadn’t already heard him speak, you would have thought you were seeing things. There standing in front of you is a man, dressed all in black, his dark brown hair long and slightly covering one side of his face, while the other side is slightly covered by the crossbow that is currently aimed at you. His lean but muscular frame in a stance that screams hunter, his tone arms never wavering, so you know that he will wait you out, he has the discipline to do so.

“Fuck…I can’t…” you reply desperation, and exhaustion taking over. You know that you should be scare, you should be worried that he’s going to let go of the trigger, and put you out of your misery, but, you can’t give a fuck at this point. 

“Will you at least aim for the head, if you're going to kill me.” You quip leaning on the shelving next to you, feeling yourself get weaker.

This seems to throw off the mystery man, as he hesitates for a second, “what?” he questions, not lowering his bow, but moving his finger from the trigger.

Grabbing something from your back pocket, a purple bandana, you wipe the sweat from your forehead. “Look, I can’t come back as one of the dead.” your voice ragged. “You could give me at least that courtesy. Because otherwise, I will find you, and eat you.” You joke, giving your best Lim Nelson voice at the end. 

The mystery man doesn't seem to get the reference to that line, as he gives no reaction to the idea that you, as a walker, could somehow find him on purpose and eat him. 

“It's a joke…it's from…never mind.” You toss the bottle of pills towards him, and slide down to the floor and wait for either the exhaustion, fever, or this mystery man to take you.

Your mind is fuzzy, and either this guy will leave you alone or not. With your eyes closed, you can hear the rustle of him putting the bottle in his bag, and then the sound of him coming over the counter and towards you. His footsteps stop and you can feel him staring down at you. “What?” Uou question, keeping your eyes closed. 

“Whatcha doing?” he questions. “you bit?”

“Waiting for a bus, what does it look like? I am sick you ass, and I am exhausted.” Your frustration taking over. You open your eyes to find him crouching down and bringing a hand up to your forehead, “What the hell, dude!” You slap his hand from you and push yourself up and back from him, scattering bottles around you. “Just leave, you got what you wanted.”

“You didn’t answer me, are you bit?” He grumbles back, harsher this time, with authority. Annoyance is now apparent, and his blue eyes that are staring at you seem to bore into your soul.

“No, I am not bit, just sick. With the quick change in weather we had, my body...why am I explaining this to you….” you start and stop yourself from going into detail about how back when the world was somewhat ‘normal’ any drastic change in the weather always sent you into a quick cold for a few days.

Ringing out your bandana, you run it over your face and down your neck. What you wouldn’t give for some cold water, a nice cool lake to dive into. Your mind drifting to the fantasy of cooling waters is cut short when your bandana is taken from you and quickly replaced with a cool wet red one.

“What the…'' you're about to protest, when the feeling of the cool water hitting your skin shuts you up. You see him, pouring a bit more water on the rag and running it down your bare arms.

He doesn’t say anything, after wiping both your arms, he gets the rag wet again with cold water and hands it to you, “take it.”

You do, and wipe your face and then cover your forehead with it. You close your eyes and let the cool water seep through your pores, it's something, it won’t cure you, but it's something for now.

“Here.” His voice brings you back, and you open your eyes to see him holding out some of the pills and his water jug. 

Your hestent, wondering why he’s being so nice now? He keeps his hand out for you to take the items, and after another second of thinking you finally do. Swallowing the pills and taking the smallest of drinks, no need to piss him off by downing his water, you hand back the jug. “Thanks.” You mumble. 

He nods, and is about to speak when another voice from the other side of the counter breaks the slice, “Daryl, you in here?” 

Present 

You would soon come to find out and meet Rick Grimes, the man attached to that voice, and after seeing you in the state you were in that day, and asking himself if you were bit. Would then ask if you wanted to come with them and join their group.

Now here you were, somehow stuck back in that same drug store just a few miles from camp. Nighttime has settled in, and you can’t leave, with the horde of walkers outside, too many to kill on your own. Even if you could somehow make a path through, you know yourself, and your fighting abilities, you were good, but not that good.

Luckily the doors were still in good shape, and the horde didn’t know you were in the store, so they were just passing by. This has been going on for 20 minutes, and it didn’t look like they were going away anytime soon.

You had checked the backdoor, but it must be barcade on the outside, so here you sit, with your back against the wall, behind that same counter, waiting for the time pass, and hoping no one from the group notices that you're gone and starts to worry.

Running through your interactions with everyone earlier, you don’t think anyone would have seen you slip out, and you never told anyone of your plan, so you should be good, you try and reassure yourself. Stacking up the discarded bottles again in a precarious tower, what else is there to do?

“What are you doing?” a voice, gruff, deep, deadpan startles you and the tower tumbles down.

“Shit!” you yell, looking up you see Daryl leaning over the counter looking down at you. “How did you….” you start to question. Wondering how he found you? Why was he here? and how did he get in?

He strums his fingers on the counter, as if he can read your thoughts, “I saw you slip out from the gates after dinner. Waited for a bit, but when it was getting dusk and you weren’t back, figure I go out and find you.”

“So you tracked me like what...a dear?” You question, not sure if you should be flattered or creeped out by it.

“No…a dear would have been a bit more of a challenge, you were easy to find.” He jokes, and gives you a quick smile, to your glare and giving him the finger.

“Ha,ha,” you quip. getting up, you walk over to the counter, “how did you get in? sounds like that horde of walkers are still out there?” You question, looking over his shoulder, you can just barely make out the crowd still moving.

He looks towards the doors and then back to you. “AC unit on the roof, the air return drops down in the office on the other side of the store.”

“Well aren’t you just the MacGyver of the post-apocalyptic world?” You tease. He cocks his head, giving you a questionable look at your reference. Letting a sigh, “Sersious, dude, what did you watch as a kid? or did you not have a tv?”

“Come on.” He brushes off your comments, and motions for you to follow him. “What were you thinking of doing a run this late?” He questions, waiting for you to grab your gear and walk over to him.

Shit, you were hoping not to have to tell anyone why you went on this run. There was a reason you went on your own, and Daryl, especially telling Daryl was not on your list of something you wanted to do. “Umm…it's nothing….stupid really…” you start and stop yourself, wishing he would take pity on you and drop it.

Daryl wasn’t going to let you off with that answer. After all he did come and risk his ass in saving you. Even though it wasn’t a big risk for him, he knew he could find you, and get you back to camp in one piece, but still, he wants an explanation. Leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, he is not moving until you start talking. “Come on, out with it.”

You let out a sigh, “Fine” you say, and start digging in your bag, “this.” You state and pull out your purple bandana. 

Daryl knew that was yours the moment he saw you pull it out of the bag. He remembered it, taking a corner of it in his hands, the fabric ruff from the dried water/sweat. “You came back for this?” He questions, wondering why risking your neck for a piece of fabric was so important.

Slightly embarrassed, taking Daryl’s tone as stupidity or bewilderment, you pull back the bandana from his fingers and stuff it back in the bag. “Look, I said it was stupid, okay, lets just drop this and go.” You quip, feeling your cheeks start to go red of embarrassment. You start to head towards the office.

The feel of Daryl’s hand on your wrist, stops you from taking any more steps from him. “Don’t walk away from me.” His voice is commanding, but not in a harsh mean way.

The feel of his callus hands in your slightly worked but not as worked as his send a shiver up your spine. You’ve only known him for a few weeks now, and most of that time you were coming down from a cold. So why was the feel of his skin next to yours, him coming to find you, and the thoughts of him judging you make your head spin and your heart slightly race. “You're going to think it's stupid” you mumble, keeping your eyes and body away from him.

“Try me.” He replies, letting you keep your eyes off him, but still holding you in place.

You let out a breath, “it was my dad’s, or at least one of them. He was a mechanic before the world fell, and he always had a bandana in his back pocket. This was my favorite color.” Your voice slightly cracks at the end. thinking about your dad, your family, life before the world was on fire, it hurts too much. You feel the tears start to slightly fall. “He was gone before…”

Pulling you back and into his arms, laying your head on his chest, Daryl says nothing. He wraps his arms around you, surrounding you in a cocoon of him. The feel of him, his strength around allows you to let go. Sobbing, cries that you have been holding in for so long let go, and pour out of you and into his chest. He’s silent, running a hand up and down your back in comfort.

You're not sure how long, but when you feel there is nothing left you pull back to see the tear stain circles on his black shirt. “I am sorry.” Your voice shakes, bringing a hand up to wipe your face. 

Daryl takes his red bandana out from his back pocket, and wipes your cheeks. “Nothing to be sorry about.” He replies. Gentle wipe away the last tear from your jaw. He knows what it's like to lose your family, to be on your own. He wants to tell her he understands that she shouldn't be embarrassed by wanting to hold onto a piece of her past. He gets it, in more ways then she will ever know.

But now is not the time. Whatever he’s feeling for her, whatever he thinks could happen between them, the reality is, that it won’t. This pull that she has on him, it will pass, it has too. Stuffing the red bandana back into his pocket, and his feelings aside. He lets go of his hold on her and starts walking towards the office.

[mangooes]

Chapter 1 - fish out of water

Chapter list!

Prolouge : A silent promise

Chapter 2 : A fish emergency

The sun shines in linkon city, greeting a warm welcome to a new day ahead. Hearing the birds chrip and the sound of crowded people walking around doing their own thing, (name) shots awake with a yawn and a strech. ‘I can’t believe I have to work again today..’ the young woman sighs as she stands up and walks towards the bathroom to get her day started. 

The girl is (name) your typical normal young lady, in her early 20s, working as a corporate slave in the jail she calls office. ‘I can’t believe I have meetings with everyone today, this is going to be a long day…’ The girl sighs in defeat as she prepares her meals for breakfast and lunch. Tucking her hair in a loose strand bun, she puts on her usual employee uniform that consists of a vest and black skirt. Taking one last look in the mirror she sets up a confident smile and walks taking an exit from her apartment door, locking it before starting her journey towards the office. 

Walking along towards the company building, she drops a neatly wrapped box in the post office, with the intention of sending it towards a certain miss hunter. Before continuing her walk. Upon arriving at the office, she sits at her desk and starts doing her work, preparing for a meeting with another client after this. “Miss (name) the client is here…” Jack, an acquaintance of (name) called as he leans on the door way. “Right..Let’s hope for the best then!” As she walks towards the door, opening it to reveal her client for the day.

“Um hello, are you sir Rafayel..?” The girl asked with her eyes meeting his, as time seems to stop for a second.

—————————————————————————————————

“Pfft! Looks like the fishermen caught a big fish, say… you look like you could use some help, need a hand? ..” A girl asked as her tail fins moved swaying in amusement holding her laughter.

“Can’t you see? Or are you blind?” The boy, known as the god of the sea, ruler of lemurians answered in annoyance, as the vines of seaweeds trapped him in an awkward position.

The girl blinks as she holds a laughter in a manner that would have insulted the god, if it weren’t for the position he is in right now, hands dangling over the vines of large seaweed wrapping around him.

”A,a,a! What’s the magic word??” The girl teases, as she swam towards the prey slowly.

The boy sighed, forcing his voice as he turned to look away in shame. “I- ugh fine…..please just help me get out of this mess..”

The girl laughs as she pulls the god out from the cage like seaweed, freeing him from his misery.

That was the fateful meeting between the god of the sea and the little mermaid, as a single encounter folded into thousands of memories.

Lemurian Archive - The Tale of the Little Mermaid, page 180

——————————————————————————————————

The man, dressed in his usual white fancy shirt and black pants looks up towards the source of a voice he knows all too well. A familiar sound, like the soothing waves in a bright sunny day, the scent of the salty breeze deep under the waters, and most of all the longing he holds so dearly towards her, the girl standing infront of him. He recognizes her so much, the stare, the expression, even the looks. The mark in his heart glows faintly responding to his turmoil of emotions and the presence infront of him. 

‘You haven’t changed at all, (name)…even after thousands of years, it's still you..’ 

An awkward silence filled the room, as the girl clears her throat, “Ehm, hello sir..?” She waves his hand in front of him, as she lets out a soft gasp when the man holds her hand ruptly gripping her wrist firmly, and gently.  

“Hello my bride, we meet again…” the purpled haired man says with eyes that conceals secrets, pure adoration, amusement, 

“Huh, excuse me your what..?” The girl gapes looking at the man in front of her, ‘Is he delusional…?? Should I call the cops??? Last time I checked I'm still as single as ever!!’

The man seemed to realize once his gaze met his beloved’s, as he reluctantly let go.. “Ah sorry, you remind me of someone I long for so much, may I have your name Miss..?” 

The girl laughs it off as she shakes her head, an expression to dismiss the awkward atmosphere earlier “It’s alright sir, i get it… I’m (Name), it’s a pleasure to meet you Sir Rafayel, let’s start the discussion shall we?”

——————————————————————————————————

Word count : 785

GUYSS KASJDNAKJ MY FIRST CHAPTER FOR THIS SERIES KADNAK, i'll continue this.... if i have inspiration.. anyways THE NEWMAIN BRANCH STORY LINE I LOVE THIS RAFAYEL (i'ma sylus girlie btw)

[lorifragolina]

Bad Luck Groom

This is my contribution to the Harringrove Relay Race!

@harringrove-relay-race

Summary: Can coming back to Hawkins to marry ruin everything for Steve Harrington? The wedding is in less than 24 hours...

Rating: G

TW: marriage

WC 2872

Ao3

“It’s me, or is it incredibly hot here?” panted Steve, widening the collar of the shirt.

The fitter grunted and adjusted the tie again.

“It’s you,” said Robin, smoothing his black and white suit with bow tie. 

“I think I’m gonna puke,” continued Steve.

“Not here,” barked the fitter, adjusting the waist of the trousers. 

Steve was sweating profusely, and the man wasn’t happy he was doing it in the wedding suit. 

“It’s… so tight…” whined Steve.

“It fits perfectly,” replied Robin, taking off her jacket and changing herself behind the screen. Steve tried to look at himself in the mirror: he was on the stand, slouching, uncombed and pale. He tried to straighten himself out, fixing up his hair and imagining himself walking down the aisle in the suit. He couldn’t. 

He dropped the jacket two times trying to take it off, and the tailor rolled his eyes. The shirt was wet from sweat and thank God it was only a sample. 

“What is going on?” Asked Robin when they left the shop with the suits in their bags. “Second thoughts?”

Steve sighing loudly, passing a hand on his eyes. “I… I don’t know. I… what if it’s all wrong?”

“What is wrong, Steve? I’m your best man and I’m here to help, come on… do you want to call the thing off?” 

Steve sat in the car. “No! No, of course, I’m just thinking… what if… what if everything changes from now on? What if…”

“What could change, Steve? You are together for years, now, you know each other… and as long as I know, you proposed”.

Steve pursed his lips and nodded. “I know… but if it is not what we wanted? Maybe we shouldn’t do it here…”

“Oh I understand, the problem is Hawkins? I thought you decided to come back to marry here, in the garden and so on, you know, your parents, bla bla bla…”

“Yes, maybe we should have done it privately… get wed in Vegas, you know… avoiding… avoiding people here…”

“Steve, the wedding is tomorrow… it’s normal to be scared… so they say, I don’t know it…” Robin giggled but her jokes didn’t relieve Steve at the moment. “Steve, I can manage if you want to…”

“No, I don’t want to cancel… I think I don’t want it… but… what if I feel like running away tomorrow? What if… it is all a big mistake?”

“It isn’t a mistake. You two love each other. You two love each other, right?” Robin's voice trembled a little. Of course Steve was scared, but why now out of nowhere he thought it could be a mistake? He always wanted a wedding and a family, she knew. It was the natural avancement she expected in his friend’s life, but… now she wasn’t sure returning to Hawkins had been a good thing for him.

And the wedding was in twenty-three hours.

-------

“I think I’m gonna throw up, Max”.

Max hid her face behind her hands and tried to breathe. She wanted to scream. 

“Just go and see him, for Christ sake!” 

“I can’t!” whined Billy, walking in a circle in the room. “I can’t ruin everything for him… you know…”

“But if you feel so bad…”

“I can’t!”

Max looked at the window not far away and considered that if put an end to her misery, but the room was only on the first floor, it wouldn’t work. 

She tried to breathe again, rubbing her eyes. Both she and her brother were really quick tempered, but it wasn’t the moment to start a fight, although she really, really wanted to yell at him and maybe get some steam off from each other. But in that case it could have a terrible flood effect. All she had to do was keep Billy out of trouble for a day more. Hopefully she could put him to sleep early and have some hours of relaxation. 

“So what do you want to do?” she asked carefully, hoping not to unleash another nervous breakdown. It worked only partially.

“I don’t know!” whimpered Billy, squatting on the floor with his face in his hands. “I’m… I’m such a mess, Max! Look at me!” 

Max didn’t see anything wrong in Billy’s aspect. He was in his sweatpants, his hair messy as usual, that studied messy that made him appear really hot, and a pink crop top he wore a lot in the Indiana summer. It was quite old, but the matching tan mark made her believe he used it in California too. 

“You look fine, if only you stop agitating and try…”

“No, I’m not in the mood… I’ll ruin it. I’ll ruin everything, Max!”

God in heavens. She needed to get her hair done and go picking the dress, but she couldn’t leave Billy in the throes of anxiety. Or could she?

“Why don’t you go and see him, if it could help you to…”

Billy whined. “No… I promised to behave… I can’t ruin everything… It's just one day before the wedding!”

“But you can…”

“Why did he have to return here for the wedding!”

“But I thought…”

“And if I run in the wedding tomorrow screaming like crazy and run away with him and ruin everything? Oh God!” Billy curled on the floor, keeping whining and babbling. “Enough, Billy,” Max sighed, trying to be firm, for a change. “You know what? Now you take a shower, put some decent pants on and we’ll go together to the hairdresser, ok? We’ll do our hair, our nails and you try to relax, ok? Then we’ll come home, order chinese and watch the Disney movie you want, ok?”

Billy stood from the floor, smiling lightly. “Could it be sushi? Chinese makes me bloated”.

Max grinned and nodded. Twenty-one hours to the wedding, girl, you can make it. 

She gulped a shot of tequila while Billy was in the shower.

----------

Robin managed to make Steve take a nap, while she went to the beauty parlor. In the parking lot, when she was leaving, she saw Billy and Max at the other side parking and entered the same saloon, and she sighed. Billy seemed as messy as Steve earlier, and she clenched her teeth. Twenty hours. She returned to Steve’s house, woke him up and they had a light dinner, that Steve should skip to pass directly to the shots, but Robin was trying to avoid a hangover groom the next morning. 

“Ehi Robin, why don’t we have my bachelor party now?”

“We had your bachelor party three weeks ago, remember? Vegas? Dolly Parton’s show?”

She bit her lips. She shouldn’t name Vegas, Steve was babbling they should run there to get married alone, and his eyes became a little glossy.

“Ok, my bad… well I don’t think a couple drinks are a bad thing. But only a couple! Promise!”

Steve smiled lightly. “Pinky promise. I won’t get drunk and I won’t get in trouble”.

---------

“See? I said that having your hair and beard done will calm you down”, said nervously Max at home, while Billy kept turning his head right and left examining every millimeter of his face. 

“It’s acceptable,” he grunted, but he was visibly satisfied. He was pretty and hot and he knew. 

They had the sushi but he didn’t feel like watching The Little Mermaid once again. 

“Why don’t we go for a stroll instead? To the club, maybe?”

“I don’t think you should get drunk, Billy, honestly”.

Billy joined his hands.

“I won’t drink, I promise. Just a Coke, I swear. I need something fresh”.

“We have Coke at home,” she teased, feeling she needed two days of sleep after going through Billy all day.

“I need fresh air,” insisted Billy.

“Why are you punishing me, God,” she muttered while taking her jacket. 

Fortunately it was early and the club wasn’t crowded or loud. Billy grinned ordering a Diet Coke and she sighed and nodded. They sipped their drinks in silence, Billy appeared calmer than in the afternoon, and Max thought he had accepted the idea, and the worst was over. Hopefully next morning he wouldn’t have those negative thoughts anymore. 

She excused herself and went to the bathroom. She spent a little time looking at her freshly styled hair, and when she returned to the bar, Billy’s stoll was empty.

---------

Steve ordered a margarita, then he wanted another one but Robin forced him to take a skinny one. Steve sighed and obeyed. He drank obediently, finally relaxed in some way, talking about the charcuterie aisle and the catering for the party. Then Robin's mobile rang. 

“Shit, it’s the wedding planner. I have to take it”, she got on her feet to leave the club. “You’ll be ok for a couple of minutes?”

Steve smiled. “Of course, I’m not a baby,” he answered, grumbling a little. 

Robin went out, and, after sorting a minor problem with the boutonniere that apparently couldn’t wait for the next morning, rentuned to an empty table.

------

Steve felt bored by the soft drink and shifted his gaze in the room. It was almost empty when they came, but now after more than a hour, it was more crowded. He lazily looked at the bar and jumped on his seat.

“Shit”.

“Shit,” whispered Billy, seeing out of the blue Steve seated on the table at the farest side of the club. 

He didn’t imagine they could bump into each other in that way, but Hawkins was a hole, a cursed one, but still a tiny hole and they couldn’t avoid each other for long, not now that their guard dogs let their guard down.

Steve took a big breath and stood up, waving at him. Billy looked around and left the stall at the bar, joining Harrington. They were seated a little agitated in a dark corner. 

“So,” started Steve with a trembling voice. “You here, too”.

“Yes… so…” Billy smiled slyly. “I heard you’re getting married tomorrow…”

Steve looked him in the eyes, directly. “Yes… and I’m alone, I don’t supposed to see the bride until the wedding, tomorrow”, he whispered.

“Too bad,” Billy got nearer, staring at Steve’s lips. “Why not?”

“Oh, it’s bad luck, you know. It’s tradition…” he was breathing heavily, following the freshly trimmed profile of Billy’s beard, feeling all the nerves of that afternoon sliding away from him. 

Billy slipped a hand on his thigh. “It has to be difficult… I mean… separated from the love of your life… so hard…”

Steve grinned, but after a moment flinched a little and lowered his eyes. He felt Billy’s hand, heavy, on his leg.

“You aren't supposed to be there… You aren't supposed to do this…” he whispered.

“I know,” Billy bent over him and kissed him. Steve loosened himself up and closed his eyes, melting in the kiss.

Both their hearts were beating like drums. Billy separated and looked Steve in the eyes, and Steve nodded; they took each other's hands and ran into the gentlemen's bathroom, crashing together against the wall.

-------

“What the heck, where were you!” hissed Max when Billy emerged from the bathroom, looking furtively behind him and nodding, and returned to the bar. 

He cleared his throat. She noticed that his lips were a little more swollen and red than before, but she wasn’t sure. She also noticed, just in the instant Billy took his jacket and put it on, that he had his shirt badly buttoned and he had a dark pink circle on his collarbone.

“I had to go to the bathroom,” he shrugged, turning his back to her to hide the clues. “You know, the sushi and all…”

“Gross!” she shouted, and she took her purse to go away.

Steve nodded in return when Billy left the bathroom. He waited a couple of minutes and left it too, trying to act nonchalantly.

Robin was at the table with his drink completely melted, and luckily she couldn’t see Max and Billy leaving. He raised his eyes and lightly nodded at Billy’s wink.

He tried to smile at Robin, but she immediately noticed his polo upside down and widened her eyes. 

Steve blushed entirely and his upper lips trembled.

“Robin. I messed up”.

Robin sighed, covering her face with her hands. Sixteen hours to the wedding.

-------

“I’ll have to go, Billy, you sure you’ll be ok?” Max yelled to him from downstairs. She hoped she wouldn't have to go upstairs, because Billy was blasting his metal as usual.

Billy looked at himself in the mirror, adjusting a lock on his forehead. He put some of his great occasion colony on his wrists and inside his pants too, then lit a cig blowing the smoke to the mirror, winking to himself. 

He smiled looking at the perfect fit of his pants, then sent a little kiss to himself again. 

He turned off the stereo and went to the bedroom’s door.

“Ok!” he yelled in return, listening to Sinclair and Max voices and then their car leaving.

“Showtime,” he whispered to himself fifteen minutes later, clinking his keys and starting the Camaro.

---------

Robin was shifting her weight from foot to floor at Steve’s side, really nervous. She felt really comfortable in her smoking, and Steve was absolutely stunning in his dark gray suit with the blue tie, that matched the color of the ocean blue decorations. Max and Jane wore the same blue and they’re glowing with happiness. 

Everything seemed perfect under the canopy in Steve’s back garden, his parents were perfect too, Hopper, Joyce and the party sat on the white chairs in the grass and the sky was perfectly clear.

But she was nervous. She wasn’t sure that a disaster wasn’t on its way, and she was trying to spot it as soon as possible.

“Calm down,” whispered Steve, bothered by her wiggling. “I should be nervous, not you”.

“You tortured me all day yesterday, and now I’m annoying you?” she hissed, a little drop of sweat running on her forehead. 

The noise of the Camaro got louder and louder and finally the car stopped at the end of the driveway, just near the last line of seats. 

All the guests rumbled, looking at each other and standing all together.

Robin breathed loudly. “About time,” feeling Steve gasping and stiffening and she drew herself up at his side. They turned, facing the car.

Billy came out of the car, in a white suit with a blue tie bow on a black shirt. He adjusted it and took a big breath walking down the path until the canopy, tilting his head and smiling at the guests on his way. He sometimes looked furtively at Steve and hoped not to blush too much.

Billy winked to Max, who had been tense until that moment; she knew he wanted to do his great entrance alone, but she offered earlier that morning to go together. 

“No, go with Sinclair. I will not flee”.

Steve was breathing faster. and smiling like an idiot. “You see”, he whispered to Robin. 

“I can walk you if you want”.

“No, nobody will give me away, I’ll give away myself alone,” he winked one last time.

When Billy reached them, Robin went to hug and kiss him on both cheeks.

“Finally you make it”, she rambled in a whisper.

“You got the rings?” giggled Billy.

“Of course. And what about not seeing each other the day before?”

“I don’t think it was bad luck, I had a good one”.

Robin blushed and pinched him on his arm, then pulled him gently to Steve.

“You came”, said Steve, blissed, looking at his soon-to-be-husband.

“I came last night too,” Billy answered in a sough, kissing him on the cheek.

“You are impossible,” Steve cocked his head. 

They took each other's hand, their handcuffs shined at the afternoon sun; baseball bats, for Billy, orcas for Steve.

They turned to the celebrant while the guest sat down again. They thought that maybe it had been better to get married in California, where they lived, or secretly in Vegas, but it was just the nerves of the day before. They were exactly where they needed to be.

Robin blinked furiously the tears away when she passed the rings to them. 

“I do”, said Steve putting on the wedding ring at Billy’s finger.

“I do,” Billy did the same.

“You can kiss your husband”.

Robin clapped and cried, Max hugged Jane and Lucas. 

Billy grabbed his husband’s hand and kissed the shiny new ring on it. 

“So, bad luck, husband?”

“I don’t know what I was thinking about. I’ll never pass another day far from you”.

“I hope so,” smiled Billy. “I hope so”.

Thank for having me here and thanks to @dragonflylady77 for preceding me!

I had that stupid silly idea in mind for a long time and I hope you enjoy it!

I am so proud to introduce the amazing Suo @camaro-and-smokes and I'm really looking forwards for all the works in this event!

[bow-of-aros]

Then Beg

Summary:

“Please, Owen,” Curt gathered his partner’s hands in his own hopefully, “Please, I’m begging you.” Something in the air shifted and Owen slowly withdrew his hands from Curt’s. “Are you?” He cocked his head, “In my opinion, if you were begging, you’d be on your knees.”

Hi folks! I'm swamped with assignments and trying to beat writer's block off with a stick, so this is just something small to keep the creative juices flowing. It's yet another fix-it fic because apparently I can't write anything else for these two and also Owen deserves a hug. If it's bad, no it's not I just refuse to edit it. Hope that y'all enjoy!! <33

Special Agent Curt Mega let his gun clatter to the ground. It went against all his training, against every instinct screaming at him to pull the trigger and finish the job. He was never going to be able though, was he? No matter how many times he told himself that this wasn’t Owen, that the Owen he’d known had died due to his arrogance four years ago, Curt couldn’t bring himself to separate the man he used to be from the man standing in front of him.

For his part, Owen watched the gun fall with mild curiosity, either completely unsurprised or doing an excellent job of hiding it. For all Curt knew, this could’ve been one of the many outcomes Owen had expected and planned for, and he was simply waiting to see how it turned out.

“I won’t.” Curt’s voice echoed through the room, “I won’t do it.”

A small sigh escaped Owen’s lips, the small noise carrying impossible weight, “Won’t do what, Curt? What sort of holier-than-thou bullshit are you going to pull this time?”

And God. In that moment he sounded so much like the Owen that Curt had once known, the Owen that Curt had fallen in love with and grieved all those years ago, that it hurt. Flashes of missions sounded in that question, the fond exasperation now replaced with a weariness that Curt ached to hear.

Now that he’d noticed it, Curt couldn’t help but recognize the other ways in which his partner had changed. His already perfect posture had taken on a forced quality, like the gentleman charm that had used to come so effortlessly to him was now being dredged up by force. Like with every breath that Owen took, he had to remind himself to stand tall, to not show weakness.

That’s what happens when you have to put your body back together after falling several stories and then being exploded by a bomb detonated too early. Not to mention everything he probably went through afterward, waiting for you to come save him while you were too busy drinking and feeling sorry for yourself.

The thought came unbidden, and Curt let it twist the knife already buried hilt-deep in his chest. He’d done this to Owen, he deserved the pain that came with that knowledge.

There are other things. Smaller things. Like a few extra wrinkles around his eyes, scars that weren’t from their missions together, a slower drawl to his voice alongside just the slightest softening of the accent that Curt had loved.

All things that Curt hadn’t been there to see.

“I’m not going to kill you, Owen. I can’t.” Curt sucked in a shuddering breath, “I won’t.”

And Owen laughed at him. It was jarring because that, at least, hadn’t changed. He’d always laughed with his whole body, as though the mirth simply couldn’t be contained in him. Currently, he was folded over at the waist, wiping away tears from where they’d gathered as his laughter took on a manic tinge.

Curt hesitantly leaned in, “Uh, Owen? What—”

“Why the fuck not?” Owen was looking back down at him, a wild gleam in his eyes, “You’ve already done it once! It didn’t seem too difficult from where I was standing. Or, well, falling. Why don’t you just do us both a favour and put me out of my misery?”

All energy had seeped out of him by the end of his plea, and Owen was leaning on the railing, gazing down with what almost seemed like longing.

Curt had never been more terrified than he was at that moment.

Curt took a step forward, empty hands held out in front of him. “Owen, no. Just come back with me, we can figure things out! It’ll be just like old times, alright?”

That snapped Owen out of whatever was going on and he straightened back up, glaring down at Curt as though he hadn’t just asked him to kill him.

“Curt, I am never going back with you, okay? You left me. You watched me fall because of something you did and you didn’t even try to come back for me.” Owen dragged a hand across his face in a desperate attempt to reign himself back in, “You don’t get to say that things can ever be the same because they can’t. Not after what you did.”

And he’s right. Curt could never really make up for what he did, but he could damn well try.

Owen was tired, that much was obvious. He was worn down to the bone and barely had enough to keep on going. It was as though all that anger that had kept him going had just gone up in smoke and he was left with a few smouldering coals.

He stepped forward again, now just one step below Owen, and he noticed one final thing.

The spark in his eyes was gone, and that hurt more than anything else.

“Please, Owen,” Curt gathered his partner’s hands in his own hopefully, “Please, I’m begging you.”

Something in the air shifted and Owen slowly withdrew his hands from Curt’s.

“Are you?” He cocked his head, “In my opinion, if you were begging, you’d be on your knees.”

Well, that wasn’t a no, and Curt Mega had lost the last of his dignity in the weeks following the death of the only person he’d ever loved.

So he sunk down to his knees.

The cold metal stairs bit into his legs and something pressed into a bruise that hurt like a bitch, but Curt never looked away from Owen’s face. His mouth had fallen slightly open, the first sign of shock finally making itself known.

Of course, Owen hadn’t expected Curt Mega to debase himself like this, to physically lower himself to Owen’s feet.

Owen should know that he’s not the only one who’s changed. Curt spent every waking, and most sleeping, moment wishing for just one more chance. He vowed that he would do anything for Owen, would march right into Hell if it would give him even the smallest opportunity to fix what he’d broken.

He was going to do everything he hadn’t on that staircase four years ago.

“Owen,” Curt began, “I’m on my knees, I am begging you to come back with me. I fucked up. I made mistakes on mistakes and you took the fall for it.”

Literally, a voice whispers. Curt decides not to say that out loud.

“I spent four years grieving you, all I wanted was to go back and change everything, to just listen to you for once in my goddamn life. I know I can’t even begin to make it up to you but I’m sure as hell going to try.”

Owen still hadn’t moved, looking down at him with an indistinguishable expression. He didn’t try to say anything which worked just fine for Curt because he wasn’t finished.

“I’m listening to you now, Owe,” A hitch to his breath, a glimmer in his eye, “I heard everything you said about acting. About falling so deep into a role that it consumes you. And this?” Curt gestured around them, “This isn’t you!”

A huff, “It’s been a long time, Curt. I’m not the man you thought you knew.”

He looked almost sad as he said it, and that’s when Curt knew that he couldn’t give up. He couldn’t run away again.

“Maybe not, but I still know you. I know how you wrap yourself up so tightly in someone else’s skin because it’s safer. I know.” Alright, this position is really starting to hurt, time to wrap this up, “You don’t have to be him anymore. The Deadliest Man or whatever you called yourself isn’t going to protect you anymore. You are Owen Carvour. You’re brave and intelligent and you chose this life so that you could protect others. You don’t kill for the sake of it, certainly not 1147 people.”

“Oh please, Curt,” Owen’s voice cut through his speech, “You should know by now that that’s a fabrication. What use would killing young women serve me? It simply solidified my status as someone to be feared, someone who’d left his heart behind long ago.”

He reached down a hand to Curt, a tentative step in the next direction.

Curt took it.

“Exactly!” Curt moved so that he was standing on the same step as Owen, close enough that he could feel the stuttering puffs of air against his face, “You don’t have to be him anymore! I know that I fucked up. I know that you might never trust me again. But I am begging you to at least let me try.”

Silence rang. Curt was studying Owen’s face so intensely that he could see when something shifted. When the mask finally dropped.

The Deadliest Man no longer stood in front of him. There was no more rage, or cruelty, or fight, really. All that was left was a man with a broken heart and a broken body who’d spent the last four years doing anything he had to in order to survive.

Tears filled Owen’s eyes, and he let them fall as he gave a small nod.

Curt pulled him in without hesitation, cradling him to his chest despite the height difference. He rubbed a hand soothingly down his back as he cried, wincing when he could feel the knobs of his spine, the way his ribs jutted out just slightly.

“I’m—I’m just,” Owen’s voice cracked and Curt held him tighter, “I’m just so tired, Curt. I can’t bloody do this anymore.”

Gently, carefully, Curt pressed a kiss to Owen’s forehead, trying to pour all the love and relief he felt into that single action. Everything was worth it when Owen sunk into his arms just a little more.

“You don’t have to, okay? I’ve got you now. I’m never going to leave you behind again, I promise.”

And there, on a staircase not dissimilar to the one from four years ago, Curt vowed that he’d never let Owen fall again. He would always be there to catch him.