#so of course he ran away from there right away bc it would be dangerous to stay

[solifelessblog]

I only discovered your Wanted AU today, and it already has me in a chokehold. If I may ask, how did Belos capture Darius?

asdfghjkl u flatter me! thank u for liking my au 🥺💜 and this drawing go to u bc it was the perfect opportunity for this prompt!!!

I can imagine that, by that point, Belos was already tired of "entertaining" Hunter and his attempted "rebellion" and organized a mission with the intention of separating them and capturing him

Instead of capturing Hunter he ended up capturing Darius, what a surprise, one of his coven heads is a traitor

[radio-writes]

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears. 

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg. 

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck. 

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid? 

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that. 

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face. 

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh. 

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek. 

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber. 

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed. 

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you. 

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured. 

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special." 

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze. 

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script. 

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention. 

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull. 

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did. 

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery. 

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to." 

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry. 

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him. 

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt. 

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now." 

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

[victorbutnotreally]

hellow..wanted to request hyunjin x mreader smut. but can you make it like smut at the end but just not the whole thing, cuz i just get so bored reading the full smut? idk if that makes sense, so you don't have to do it if you don't get it. that's alr. basically it's sweet and romantic cuz they've been real busy and shit. also, reader in a three-piece suit pretty please.

MISSED YOU - HWANG HYUNJIN X MALE READER

A/N: wrote this listening to 'Still With You' on loop. I recommend listening to it while reading this. also, three piece suit??? you have my heart, lovely anon.

warnings: unprotected sex, reader in a three piece suit bc yes, fluffy smut, swearing, praise

It's been far too long since he's seen you. Just when he thinks he'll spend time with you, something pops up. And the days where he'd get home early, you would be late. Hyunjin was laying in bed, wearing one of your sweaters as he gazes outside. The rain pattered softly on the roof, but now it seems to have gotten heavier. Your scent surrounded him as he buries his face in your pillow, wrapping his arms around it. He heard the door click open and his face lit up like a Christmas tree as he ran out of bed, excited to see you. He hugs you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck as he pressed a loving kiss to your damp skin that was wet from the rain.

"Hi, baby.." his voice sounded relieved almost, as if you came home from danger.

"Hey, sweetheart," your voice was laced with a smile and lots of love. You kissed his hair and shut the door behind you, getting in. His fingers carded through your damp hair, coming down to pinch your cheek. "Hey!" Your lighthearted protest was cut off by a kiss to your lips, his arms snaking around your waist. You kissed back, of course, trailing your fingers down his spine, making him shiver.

He seemed to remember that you were wet when his fingers found your hair again. "Come on, let me dry you off," he said, pulling you to the bedroom and making you sit on the bed while he grabbed your towel. He sat next to you and began drying your hair with the towel. Meanwhile, you were lost in your own world staring at Hyunjin. He looked so pretty in your sweater. You've always had a thing for him wearing your clothes. "I missed you." He smiled sweetly, leaning in to kiss your nose. "I missed you too, my love." You tossed the towel onto a nearby chair before taking off your suit jacket, leaving you in your olive coloured vest and white shirt. Hyunjin climbed onto your lap. "You sexy bastard," he mumbled, making you chuckle.

"Look who's talking." He pulled you in for a kiss, his sweater paws cupping your face. The kiss was full of love and longing, the first proper one in weeks. Your tongue soon slipped past his parted lips, your hands resting on his thighs. He pulled away for air, looking into your eyes with a needy gaze, hands already working on your vest. "I need you…I want you so bad, please," he spoke against your skin, leaving kisses on your neck. You tossed your vest somewhere carelessly, breath catching in your throat when he sucks a hickey onto your neck. You turn around, laying him down on the plush mattress beneath you. He pulled you in by your tie, catching your lips in another desperate kiss. You put you hand on the bed and kissed him back while his hands worked on unbuttoning your shirt.

"It takes so long to take your suits off," he whined. You chuckled, bumping your noses together. You liked many layers on Hyunjin, so you could undress him, piece by piece, and turn him into a mess before you even do anything.

"But you love it, Jinnie."

"Damn right I do."

Once he threw off your shirt, you kissed him yet again, running your hand up his your sweater. You broke the kiss to take it off, a smile forming at your lips once you see his torso.

"I missed you so much, darling," you say, kissing his jaw, your lips slowly moving down. You took off his shorts and he unbuckled your belt, the sound a sharp contrast to the soft patter of the rain outside. You slid off your pants and boxers in one go before spreading Hyunjin's legs. You leaned down, pressing feather light kisses to the soft skin of his inner thigh. You loved leaving hickeys there, where no one could see it. His thighs were a place where you could leave hickeys no matter what. His thighs wrapping around you snapped you out of your trance as you looked up at him.

"Squirming already, princess?"

"Need you so bad…please.."

"Shh..you don't have to beg."

You reach for the second drawer of your nightstand and take out a bottle of lube which you squirt onto your hand. You were about to finger him open when he stopped you. "I prepped already…please..just..fuck me."

You chuckle, cooing at his neediness. You press a kiss to his navel before positioning yourself between Hyunjin's spread thighs, the tip of your dick teasing at Hyunjin's entrance. You slide in slowly, bottoming out quite quickly before beginning to move. Your pace quickened, fueled by Hyunjin's beautiful sounds. You lean down and capture his lips again in a passionate kiss, your hips thrusting at a pace slower than you both are used to. You'll be rough on the next round..for now, you just wanted to enjoy your pretty boy.

[itsjustrosee]

hii. i was wondering if you’d be okay with posting boyfriend headcanons? for minho mostly. if not it’s totally fine!!

have a nice day!

yes, I've actually been meaning to write some so yes definitely!

Minho headcanons

Warnings: Sexual inferences and stuff like that ig

(this is for fem!reader btw)

-At first, Alby tried to stop you from dating his best runner. He thought it would distract him, and even though Minho did drift off while on the job thinking of you, you made him even more productive. You made him even more determined to find a way out of the glade for you and for everyone else.

-Alby forbade you and Minho from dating, but of course, you both did it anyway in secret. But straight away, Minho's drastic increase in mood was visible and the runners couldn't help but notice it. After days of prodding and poking Minho, trying to figure out what it was that had him being so nice and lenient, he finally caved and told them how he was dating you. Obviously, the other runners were supportive of it if it meant that Minho was in a good mood all the time, so they all ran to Alby and BEGGED him to let you and Minho date so you no longer had to do it in secret. Alby eventually gave in and allowed it and hasn't had too much of a reason to regret it since.

-Minho was quite the protective man. He cared about you more than life itself and it pained him every day to run into the maze and not be able to look after you in the glade. He always trusted you and never thought you would do anything with anyone else, but he was scared about how some of the other boys in the glade would treat you. That's why he made sure that he got as many of his friends in the glade to look after you until he got back.

-He would always be sure to spend the most time with you as possible as he could when he got back out from the maze. That included him eating dinner with you, showering with you, literally doing anything with you.

-Even though no gladers other than him and Alby are allowed in the maze room he would let you in anyways. You had no idea about how to help him figure out how to solve the maze, but you'd always be there to calm him down once he got frustrated.

-You guys share a hammock with each other because you both always fall asleep quicker when you're next to each other. It also means that whenever either one of you wakes up suddenly bc of a nightmare, the other person is there to calm them down.

-Minho tries his best to not wake you in the mornings when he gets up early to go into the maze and to yk do his job, but since you're such a light sleeper you always end up waking up. You'll end up walking to the maze doors to wave and kiss him goodbye, then head back to bed for a couple hours until you have to go to work.

-Whenever Minho takes a break in the maze with the other runners, while he eats food or drinks water, he always mentions you in conversations. He'll say things like "I wonder what (Y/N)'s up to", and "Do you think she's eating lunch right now too?" Because he's constantly thinking about you and he can't help but ask.

-After the first few times of Minho saying stuff like this, the other runners thought that it was cute that he liked you so much, but now, they just roll their eyes whenever he brings you up and they'll say, "Okay Minho we get it" because after the number of times he talks about you on a day to day basis, yes, they definitely do get it.

-After a certain amount of time in the glade, you've memorized when the maze doors close and open without needing a watch. Because of this, you always head to the maze doors a couple minutes before they're supposed to close to greet Minho right when he steps back into the glade. Whenever he comes back you greet him with the tightest hug known to man because the maze is incredibly dangerous, you know that any day Minho could die in there, which is why it's such a relieving feeling when you see him again.

-Sometimes you guys will go out later at night and just lay on the grass together and talk for however long you both feel like. Minho always makes sure he spends time with you whenever he can, and you both appreciate having these long conversations with each other. Even though sometimes you both just lay on the ground and stay silent, it never feels awkward. Being in each other's presence is enough, and the silence between you can actually feel quite comforting.

-Whenever a new greenie pops up from the box and there's a bonfire, you and Minho make sure to spend all the possible quality time with each other. Sometimes you'll sit on his lap (which never fails to get him a bit flustered), or you'll sit right next to him while his arm is around your shoulder. You've never really been one to drink so you'll often fall asleep on Minho before the night is over, and he'll always leave a little early to carry you back to your hammock.

-You and Minho have come to realize that using each other in certain ways really helps relieve stress. Whether that is by talking and venting to the other person or through being more intimate with each other.

-Minho likes bringing you into the maze room and doing it there because he knows that only he and Alby are allowed in there so he doesn't have to worry about people walking in on you both. He also likes doing it in the showers because being the only girl means that you're the only one allowed to shower during a certain time, and Alby made sure that there would be consequences to whoever tried to intrude on you showering. But that also just happened to make it the perfect time for you and Minho to be in there alone.

-Minho has two different sides to him when you and he are both doing it, which depends on his mood. He's either gentle and kind, or dominant and controlling. Both of them are a total turn-on for you regardless, you're happy to help him in any way you can.

-You love to tease him, and he loves to put you in your place. He always makes sure your needs are met. Even though he loves to please you, you love pleasing him even more, so eventually he gives in and lets you make him feel good. While you're doing it, he always wants to make sure that you know that he loves you, and he loves to praise you.

-Even if he gets more dominant with you, he always makes sure he's never too harsh, and he makes sure that he's never crossing any boundaries. Afterwards, he'll make it clear that he loves you and he'll thank you for letting him take out some of his stress and frustrations with you. He also heavily believes in aftercare so he'll always bring you back to your hammock and because whenever you do it, it's at night, so he'll cuddle you to sleep while you wear his shirt.

Alrighty yallllllllllllllllllll heres another Minho related post. I'm on such a roll omg. By the way I see your guys requests and I'm working on them I promise!! I just have an insane amount of school work I need to do but trust I will get to everything.

anyways, this was so fun to write, thank you for the request!! I hope you liked it

[starheirxero]

[rez]

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Anyway

Hope Castor can help Lunar.

Or atleast point him in the right direction.

I think Lunar is finally facing himself really.

And I understand wanting him out of the house but like- why are they surprised he ran away?

Thats like what Lunar does? He ran for months after he died, him running away is par for the course. And he was gone for three days because he was in jail? They didn't even accept that, they just got mad at him for running. As if Monty hadn't actually decided he was gonna kill Lulu.

Like Lunar would probably be dead if he'd stayed, or atleast injured.

'We do still love you and youre still our little brother'

-They say as they irepibly damage any and all trust Lunar had in them at the moment and in the future.

Moon I understand you want him to actually face consequences but there's no going back from this!

Lunar will never trust you, or anyone else in this family, again.

Castor pleasepleaseplease be the one who finds him.

Ohhh how I want to see more Pollux and Castor interactions bc as I said in another ask that idk if you received Cas almost seems to be avoiding talking to her specifically about Lulu.

That or Lunar gets kidnapped again.

More specifically by the creator so gem (or even just Cas) have to save him

But with Gemini separate there's also the possibility rez or someone else targets one of the twins while the other is away so thatd be neat.

ALL OF THIS NODNODNOD!!!!!!

I think Castor choosing to help Lunar while Pollux doesn't would be really interesting from a Gemini perspective. They're the twins, they make up one astral, one constellation together. If they truly become divided over this, I would be deeply fascinated to see where it goes from there since we got so used to seeing them as Gemini—a collective entity—rather than themselves.

And YEAH LIKE. Listen. I know that to the family, because they don't actually have the full picture, it looks like Lunar is just a loose canon that attacked Earth in a fit and then dipped. But also LUNAR TRIED TO EXPLAIN THAT THEY WERE IN LITERALLY INCAPABLE OF RETURNING SOONER BC THEY WERE JAILED AND THEN REZ PUT THEM ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE GLOBE. AND MOON JUST WENT "I DON'T CARE." LIKE CMON 😭 "why were you gone for 3 days" "i was jailed and then left in russia" "whatever i dont care" MOON WHEN I GET YOU.......

THE "I LOVE YOUS" BETWEEN IT ALL YEAH.

I'm sorry but no amount of "you are family and we love you" is going to lessen the blow of "you have basically been squatting in my house (that i invited you into and you've been paying rent for) and you're a danger to this entire family so I want you to never speak or get near any of us until you sort yourself out." ESPECIALLY WHEN MOON SAID "YOU'RE LUCKY I EVEN STILL CONSIDER YOU FAMILY" LIKE I'M SORRY BUT THAT'S WILD. Again, I understand Moon in this situation. That does not mean I don't think he wasn't insanely rude LMAO 😭

Exactly like you said, Moon cannot undo this. Lunar has always looked up to old Moon and so I cannot imagine how much more it hurts coming from him. I honestly can't imagine a clear future where Lunar is going to feel safe amongst their own family again, knowing that they all viewed them as dangerous enough to be kicked out. Honestly, I'm half expecting this to end up as "Lunar lives independently and then realizes they actually feel better not living around their family and that they were kinda awful for them on accident" HDKSHDJS

YEA MORE CASTOR N POLLUX INTERACTIONS WOULD BE GREAT...... Yesyes I have received ur other ask and I'm actually gunna answer it after this one but GHOD yeah. Seeing them disagree abt smth is so interesting and I need more of it....... If one twin is hurt tho,,,,,,, ouhg. The Angst........

[velvetydream]

꒰ :🥀 [ Take the risk - Welcome to Aurora ] ”♡ᵎ꒱ˀˀ ↷ ⋯

Part 2 - Take the risk

Summary : A sudden twist of events makes you do a rather reckless decision, but will it be for the better? One thing is clear, it will change your life forever.

Pairing : Pirate! Hongjoong x Fem! Reader

Word count : 1957 Words

Genre : Fluff, Romance, Slow Burn

Warnings ➵ None

a/n : Next part! I'm still a bit insecure about posting this fic bcs it's quit old and I feel like my old writing isn't up to my current standards..

《 Masterlist 》

┌───────────────────────── ·  ·  ·  · ♡

Arriving back at the castle with your guard, your mother immediately comes rushing in your direction, taking your hand and dragging you into the dining hall.

"Mother, what's going on?" A panicking tone was heard in your voice, getting even more anxious when your mother didn't answer your question but pulled you into the dining hall.

And now you saw it.

At the table sat the blonde prince, Chris, beside him his younger brother Felix and standing behind him was one of his guards, who's name is Hyunjin.

"Ah daughter! Splendid that you finally arrived! Isn't it a wonderful surprise! Your fiance came earlier!" Your father announced full of joy, but you felt the complete opposite. Your future husband sat there, at the table in all his glory, but in that moment you found all of them ugly and displeasing.

"I though it's two more days." Your father sighs at your reaction, you're visible not happy with the early arrival of the prince in your kingdom.

"He was able to come one day earlier, which is great! We'll be able to plan the wedding for tomorrow already!" Your father announced, drenching all color from your face.

A dramatic no was the last thing heard from you, before you ran to you chambers, locking the door behind you and falling down onto your bed, not being able to hold back your tears anymore, letting them flow and hit the silky material of your pillow.

Banging on your door could be heard through the hallways as your father screamed how you embarrassed him, but you didn't care anymore and of course you didn't open your door till your father stormed away.

After around an hour of crying you sit up, trying to think of something that you could do, to keep your freedom and not be sold of like some kind of jewellery.

"We'll still be here for two days, find us if you need anything princess."

Hongjoongs words echoed in your head and now you knew what you had to do or at least try, there was still a high chance he would throw you out again and leave you to your downfall, but you had to try.

Getting a small bag, you put all your jewellery into it, if you try, then the right way. You only keept one necklace and put it around your neck, the necklaces Jae, your brother, got you for your 18th birthday last year.

Changing into a less expensive dress, so no one would suspect you, you opened the door of your chamber and closed it behind you quietly. Making your way to the kitchen now, knowing it's the only way out, without getting caught by any guards. On your way there, you had to hide a few times, but you made it and as soon as you made it through the gates, you sprinted towards the docks. They should still be there, he said two more days, they wanted to set sail tomorrow.

As you arrived at the docks, you could heat quiet chatter among the ship, your were introduced to just yesterday.

"What brings a princess here by night all by herself? It's dangerous you know?" Looking up, you saw Wooyoung sitting on the railing facing you, a jar of rum in his hands, you were never more happy to see a man than right now.

"Wooyoung!" Exclaiming quietly, you smile up at said man, making him mention for you to come on board. You did excactly that, quickly moving over to Wooyoung.

"So what brings the princess here? Ran away?" He jokingly asked, smirking at you, which immediately fell when he saw your face. "Were you crying? Your eyes are all red." Laying a hand on your cheek softly, Wooyoung rubbed away the already dried tears, you noticed how soft his hands were, surprising you slightly. "My fiance arrived earlier than expected, I don't want to marry him, I didn't know what to do, so I came here.." Trying to explain your situation to Wooyoung, he nodded softly, standing up from his seat on the railing, his jar or rum long forgotten.

He's now guiding you to a small group, you immediately notice Seonghwa, but the other two man are not familiar to you yet.

"Seonghwa, we need help real quick." Said man looks up, meeting your form and immediately standing up, worry written on his face. "What are you doing here? It's the middle of the night, you shouldn't be here!" He tells you, worry even in the tone of his voice.

"She needs our help! They want to force her into marriage! We have to take her with us!" A scoff was heard from Seonghwa, after Wooyoung spoke out those words. "You heard Hongjoong, beside they will hang us if they ever caught us. You are aware of that, right?" Wooyoung starts nodding, being aware of the consequences this action would have.

"Fine, I'm on your side, but I won't interfere with Hongjoongs decisions, if he says no as a final, it's that." Now moving in the direction of a door, you and Wooyoung follow, it the same room Hongjoong went in earlier that day.

"Hongjoong, Wooyoung has a request." Hearing a come in, Seonghwa opens the door, going in first, followed by you and Wooyoung. This was definitely the captains room, it was quit luxurious, the room was made of the colors red, a royal blue and gold, the floor was still the same wooden flooring of the deck, just not as used as the other one. In the middle of the room stood the large desk, which Hongjoong was sitting on, his coat and hat discarded somewhere else. On the table before him were layed out multiple maps of the sea, it's lands and islands, you could even make out your own kingdom on one of them. Now looking up, Hongjoong immediately took in your form in his room. "What is she doing here? Didn't I already say she wasn't allowed on here?" Hongjoong asks, visivly irritated by his crew memebers.

"She needs our help! Please Hongjoong! They want to sell her of to some other kingdom and force her into marriage!" Wooyoung starts to explain, making the other man run the bridge of his nose with thumb and index finger. Seonghwa stood far to the side, watching the scene unfold before him. Now you walked up next to Wooyoung and put the bag, carefull of the maps, on Hongjoongs desk, making said arch his left brow. "Please help me, take this, sell it or what ever but please let me stay." You plead to Hongjoong, even falling down onto your knees, desperately looking at the man, that had the decision of your future in his hands at this excact moment.

The captain eyed the bag, looking into it, before casting his eyes onto Wooyoung. "And where should she stay? With all the other man?" Hongjoong now spoke up again, waking the hope in you, that he was agreeing right now. "She can sleep in my room for now." Seonghwa spoke up now, sending a smile your and Wooyoungs way, who now stood beside each other again, a big smile plastered on each other's face, after Seonghwas words both of you hugged each other jumping in a excited circles. "That's enough, get out now." Hongjoong sighs, making Wooyoung pull you outside.

The captain eyes his second in command, yet another sigh escaping the younger ones lips. "You really just gave up your room, I can't believe this. She will have to go through training and find her a fitting job, she has to do chores if she wants to stay." Hongjoong tells Seonghwa who just smiles at his captain, who by now leaned back in his chair. "And stop looking at me like that." He grumbles, turning his head away from the second in command. "You decided really well today." Seonghwa grins, immediately leaving the room as Hongjoong got ready to throw the globe at him, that was sitting on his desk. Setting the globe down again, the young captain asked himselfnif this really was the right decision.

Wooyoung immediately pulled you to the two men Seonghwa was sitting with before. Both have brownish hair, one darker hair the other lighter. "You didn't meet Yunho and Yeosang by now, so let me introduce your new crew mates to you!" Pulling you down beside himself, Wooyoung and you now sat opposite to the man. "New crew memebers? So Hongjoong said yes?" The one with darker hair asked, making Wooyoung nod. He real quick explained to you who of the two was who, so you now know, that Yunho spoke up.

"So fast we see the princess again." Clicking against the wooden floor got closer and now sat beside you was San, giving you a smile. "And she is a part of the crew now! We should celebrate!" Wooyoung cheers, making Yeosang eye him, San explained to you that Yeosang was in charge of the kitchen, food supplies and much more in that category, making you understand his disapproving face he gave Wooyoung, as said wanted to get more alcohol.

"I think partying can wait for another day, the princess over here should try and get some sleep for now." Seonghwas voice was heard behind you, as you felt a hand on your shoulder. "And you guys should sleep too, we will be setting sail tomorrow already quit early, so no one can get the princess." He now has his hand on your lower back again, giving off a comfortable warmth, guiding you to a door beside Hongjoongs.

The inside didn't look quit as luxurious as Hongjoongs, but still really comfortable. Instead of red and royal blue, Seonghwas room held a lot of emerald tones, mixed with a bit of gold.

"This should fit you for now, I'll steal some clothes from Hongjoong for you tomorrow and at the next stop we'll get you a few clothes. Now try to sleep, your day was probably really stressful." Sending you one last warm smile, Seonghwa leaves the room and closes the door.

Afte the door closed, you look at the big dress shirt in your hands, probably Seonghwas. You take off your dress and put on the shirt, buttoning it up and folding your dress neatly, before laying down in the bed. It wasn't as soft as yours at the castle, but it definitely brought comfort and warmth to you, or maybe it was Seonghwa shirt that made you feel warm.

Not having the energy to think about this more, your eyes close and you fall into a deep sleep.

You were woken up by a soft shake of your shoulder the next morning, Seonghwa looking down at you an placing a staple of clothes at the end of the bed. "I hope you had a good sleep, these should fit you, please put them on and come out after." He instructed you, leaving the room and closing the door again.

Following his request, you get dressed and fold the dress shirt again, placing it onto the bed neatly.

Now leaving the room, you noticed that you were already far into the sea by now, your kingdom only a little speck in the horizon.

"Good morning princess!" Wooyoung greets from above you, from the quarter deck. "Morning!" You greet him back, noticing Seonghwa again who motions you to follow him, which you immediately do. "You will be getting training, we don't want you to get yourself killed right?" He send you a grin, but his words sending a shiver down your back.

You turn around after hearing a voice, looking up to the steering wheel Hongjoong send you a glance and a small grin, which quickly disappear again.

"Welcome on Aurora, newby."

Meanwhile chaos broke out in your old home . . .

[floreatetona]

Have a Pirate Fairy fanfic bc I can't be fucked to clean my room. James x Zarina, suggestive.

James had always been a little too good at pretending he was happy. Par for the course, considering his history. Even now, as he ran a brush through his captain's hair, he was surely faking that same, happy grin on his face. The smile curled up so naturally, his big eyes gazed so softly, and his brow knitted, tenderly, just enough to show his... care... for his dear captain, Zarina. And it was care, technically. Although, perhaps, it is a word to be used delicately. The word felt dangerous, like a silk ribbon uncomfortably tight around his throat. No, while he admitted she was at least enchanting and beautiful, in truth, James found that he nearly hated her. This care was less a care of love and friendship, but more akin to the care of a hunter. The cautious tracing of fingers over the dirt tracks of prey, as his own fingers traced her freckles. The precise timing of breathing as to listen for movement, as he himself tried to still his own fluttering heart. The hungry, unblinking watching and waiting to strike, as he himself pondered his options. And, of course, that final pounce, that fatal sinking of teeth, the care of one eating and spilling as little as possible, as James himself finally hinted at his own hungry, deadly devotion.

"Captain? May I say... if it's not too bold..." he paused as he set down his brush, carefully forming his thoughts as he began braiding her almond hair. Zarina, frankly lost in the relaxing grooming, finally opened her eyes with a hum.

"What is it?" She yawned. Her hazel eyes fluttered as her brain shifted its focus. It proved difficult: this body ached, and his touch felt so safe and soothing and easy. As easy as drawing a blanket up to your chin in the cold. As easy as being at home. But when it did refocus, she noticed his face, his smile, had finally come back. That same sweet smile he always wore, but it carried something different lately. No doubt that was her fault; the past few days had been a lot to take in. Her discovery of the wishing dust, her sudden growth and humanity, the setbacks in the search for blue dust; this was the first real moment alone they'd had in almost a week. Only days ago, everything had been normal. She was still tiny, and they still talked every night... and she was still confused as to why he wouldn't just sleep here in the cabin as he always had before. He looked so shocked, almost angry that day. He hadn't acted sad or disappointed, but everything had been so tense. Perhaps tonight was a good time to ask... Him first, for now.

"James?" She cooed, catching herself fearing his unusual silence.

How just like her, how haughty a yawn, with that honey drowned voice she put on whenever she spoke to him in private. She treated him with such matter of fact tenderness, such infuriating distance most of the time. How he hated that. But he swallowed that hate, chasing it with a little of his pride and an actual nervous gulp, because he needed tonight to go smoothly. His plan had been the same from the beginning, ever since this prissy little pixie demanded that she be the captain of these hopeless sods. Gain her trust, let her do all the work and magic and research while he acted as the real voice of command, plant the seeds of mutiny, wait, tear her down the moment the blue dust works, and plunder the world below in an uncatchable ship. But after this week? No, after this long, long year? ....how dare she be anything but an obstacle in his way. How dare this little cunt worm her way into his head. ...Into is chest...

His brown eyes faked shyness and flicked away from hers. Only his fingers, hurrying to clasp off the braid, gave away a clue of his real agitation. Tonight, he needed to know how exactly he could alter his plans. Was all still as it was, or was it now smarter to remain at the right hand? Would the mutiny still hold water, and if not, how then would he get rid of her? He looked up again to speak, but Zarina, infuriatingly, cut him off.

"Really quick though, you're sleeping in here again tonight, right?"

"I-.... pardon?"

"You've been sleeping in a broom closet for like three days. That can't be comfortable! You always sleep in here."

No... no fucking way that she was actually asking such a thing. And so casually!

"W-well this new... body is ...much to adjust to. I'd imagine. I ... took the initiative and assessed that perhaps you needed to um..." The unseen silk ribbon tightened. "Take some time to get in touch with this... new you!" His smile grew crooked and embarrassed as his eyes lowered in secondhand shame. She always made him feel like a fool, but THIS was a new emotion altogether. Not knowing what to do with his hands, or any of himself, he clasped the back of her chair to lean slightly. A poor attempt at seeming nonchalant while panic bit him every time his knuckles brushed her speckled skin.

"You dont know the half of it. I was prepared for the crazy scale change but the dizziness? I don't think it's even really gone, haha." Zarina let herself relax again, not at all aware of the tension in the room. She picked up her cigar from the vanity and took a long drag, but her eyes caught him in the mirror. He allowed his face to rest into a more honest expression. Drops of fear, anguish, uncertainty, and irritated confusion bled from his thinned lips like an overfull bowl. What's his deal, she thought, her own fear rearing its head, does he ...does he not like that I'm human now? But Zarina was too comfortable to spiral in negative thoughts. And she trusted that, as always, hed be honest with her.

"But I can't help but notice that you act... different now. No sugar coating it, you hate this new size, dont you?" With a smile, she lifted the cigar as an offering. James blinked at it, nearly caught off guard before quietly taking the roll in his fingers. He could only stare at the lipstick stain rung around it for a moment, trying his best to ignore his tumultuous brain growling like a mad, starving stomach. Then, a sharp breath, like a tiger hearing a snap of twigs and hooves; a gnawing growing violent in his chest, an idea that had electrocuted his mind the moment he caught his fingers tracing the freckles of her shoulders. Tonight, perchance, he very well could taste the meal for which he starved. He finally let his smile fall.

"That couldn't be farther from the truth, captain." He took a drag of the Jamaican roll, lips pressed exactly along where shed left her lipstick like a first drink of precious water. Then he sighed, presenting it back to her with the respect of a waiter bringing out the wine. She took it back and gaffawed.

"Yeah? You're all depressed because you just adore the new look? Right. That makes sense." She took another drag through mocking teeth and turned around in her chair, watching him walk over to the window side of the bed. She had no idea that he'd mentally called her a bitch at the comment. She probably had no idea that his hands had started shaking.

"No it is the truth, captain." He sat down and shifted as to rest an elbow on a propped up knee. At once he played up his saccharine meekness, that gentlemanly bashfulness that would surely draw his hunt closer.

"I want things to be as they were... and I adore our friendship. But...." a nervous glance, a deep breath. "But it was easy to merely play my part when you were a fairy. I never had a chance to be yours, merely your lowly cabin boy. Even if I had a chance to be... to call you mine... our sheer difference would never had let things work." A heavy silence fell over the cabin, and he locked eyes with his now startled captain.

" But now... now there is no such difference. And what's worse, you... " he couldn't bear to look at her for such an embarrassing confession. James turned almost his whole body to the windows. "I'm only a man." He pleaded. "And you are more beautiful to me now than you ever were." He'd been taught by the best; a woman can be tricked into anything, with the trap of one's own vulnerability. But all the same, a terror gripped him. Bastard opportunist though he was, deep down, he really was quite shy. That's why he nearly jumped when he felt the mattress shift.

"Mine? Your- hum. So that's what this is all about." She'd put out the cigar and slid from the chair to the edge of the four posted queen. She nervously fiddled with the new braid in her hair and crossed her legs under her cotton shift. For a moment, the tension returned in full force before finally, the spell was broken.

"James-"

"I know, I know. I forget myself." He stood from the bed and began his duty straightening up the room. "But I can keep no secrets from my captain now, can I?" Whether this was part of his game or whether he had talked himself out of the idea was totally unclear even to him. Hungry as he was, he couldn't afford to drop his act, and he only now considered the possibility of rejection, a possibility that repulsed him.

"James -"

"As for um.. well if you want me to sleep in here I can, perhaps if I may have a pillow-"

"JAMES." A firm hand pounced and locked onto his arm, startling him more than her sudden bark. The pair locked eyes, hers fierce, his scared and hungry, and she forcefully pulled him closer. She was only as tall as his chest, and as she sat on the bed she was even shorter to him still. But in spirit, in authority, she towered over him. His anger flared again, but not as boldly or as bright as his anxiety...or his excitement. Her hand released his arm, only to slowly draw down and clasp his strong, trembling hand. No act could hide his hitching breath.

"James?"

"...y-Yes? ..Captain?"

"Why do you think of all the things I could have wished for..." her face shifted from sternness to a smug, sly smile. "I choose to wish for this?"

"...............................ah"

The statement peirced his brain like an arrow of lightning, or like a dinner bell. For a moment, he was too shocked to even act, but then, oh then, he was almost too ravenous to think. Almost. James closed his eyes and let out a deep and shaky sigh before falling gracefully to a kneel, so dizzy from her revaluation that he dared to rest his forehead on her knees. He couldn't stop the chuckles that bubbed up from within him. She wanted this (wanted HIM!!!) and he had her right where he fucking wanted her; the table was set for a feast. He hadn't let go of her hand, clasping it with both of his as to uphold what little of his coy act that he could in this state. And after he'd wrestled back control of himself, he finally looked up and swallowed, smiling ear to ear.

"Well, well..." his breath fell heavily like a lion dragging off its kill. "I suppose you don't have any... new orders for me?"

"Orders? No." Zarina smugly leaned back, a king on a throne, amused at the dinner layed before her, and those big brown eyes just begging for a taste. She giggled wryly and spread her legs apart. "But I do have a few ideas..."

And then they fuck. The end. Goodnight.

[larkspyrr]

chapter viii — deeper than the truth (wc. 4.1k)

prev — masterlist / ao3 — next

reblogs are appreciated!

NOTE: i made some changes to the last chapter bc im fickle and didn't like it lmfao. you can either reread for the new context or check the tldr i posted on ao3

You had been right about one thing — Wriothesley was not a stupid man.

He was not unaware of himself. It was this self-awareness that had been key to Wriothesley's ascent from the very bottom to the slightly-less-so — to making the most of his station, regardless of whatever Celestia-forsaken obstacles had been thrown into his path. That, and his dogged determination to get there, at any cost, even if he had to fight tooth and nail.

And, by the Archons, he was going to fight now.

He understood precisely what it was that propelled him forward as he rose to the overworld the morning after you left, fast enough that one might think the Abyss itself nipped at his ankles like an angry hound, snarling, snapping. He’d known for a while the name of the beast that curled around his ribs and squeezed , even if he hadn’t been brave enough to yet speak it aloud. He was afraid that to utter it would be to invite it in closer, ever closer, leaving no room in his chest even for breath, for the frantic thundering of his heart. No room for the inevitable break once your arrangement came to its conclusion and you went on toward your future and Wriothesley stayed exactly where he had been all along, fractured but trying to mend.

Maybe he should have named it. Maybe then you wouldn’t have walked away.

He’d known there was nothing more for him to do when you left; that to follow you out would only push you away further. So he had stayed, and plotted out the next course of action he would take, so long as he was able to bide his time until the morning—if what he'd gathered from vague correspondences in Paquette's office was correct.

Paquette was clever, that much could be said. He'd covered his tracks with an almost masterful finesse and it had been a challenge to glean so much as a date from what seemed like mostly mundane communications with Thibeault.

He was good, sure. But Wriothesley was better.

After you’d left, Wriothesley had waited, sleepless, and then allowed himself no more than the time required to dress and make the Fortress’ arrangements for the day before he fled his quarters, not even sparing the bronze doors to his office a passing thought as he blew by.

Wriothesley had never been one to stand down from a challenge, not even those who crash-landed into his life bedecked in pearls and lace and more spirit than he knew what to do with; witty, and kind, and dutiful to a fault; a fallen meteorite from somewhere else, somewhere more.

And Wriothesley would sooner dive into the Primordial Sea and become no more than a ripple in cold waters than let you march to your death. Before he allowed you to throw away your life for the sake of the people you cared about.

Before he let you go.

So he ran, and the hounds howled in his wake.

When he arrived at the stables, half-wild, muscles screaming, his heart nearly stopped its thrumming at the same moment his purposeful strides came to a halt. The sun hadn't even fully risen.

Lucy’s stall was already empty, neither the mare nor her rider anywhere to be seen.

“So she’s accepted the job?” asked Thibeault, bony fingers curling delicately around the handle of the fine china teacup he held — an imported piece from Liyue, hand-painted, and worth more than most of the working class in the Court of Fontaine would see in a year. Thibeault’s mouth was as straight a line as it ever was, but his eyes glittered with something that looked dangerously akin to delight.

As close to delight as a miserable bastard like Thibeault could achieve, as it were.

Paquette, by contrast, smiled; a luxury he didn’t often allow himself, as frugal and dignified a man as he was, but he postulated he could spare himself a moment of frivolity on the eve of his triumph without too great an impact on the perception of his unblemished decorum. A smile would not be remiss, not amidst the host of more secular pleasures he wreathed his lifestyle in; though if you asked Paquette, and you should, they were simply par for the course for a man of his rank, so long as his taste remained staunchly on the side of ‘classy’ and gave a wide berth to the realm of ‘gaudy’, a feat he was loathe to say still escaped some of the peerage—present company very much withstanding, he noted, observing the garish hue of magenta in the tie his companion donned, not an ounce of shame in sight.

Dreadful.

Paquette tutted quietly, sipping his own tea. A custom blend, catered to his very specific needs and preferences. He swallowed thickly. He’d send this one back, as he had the others.

They still hadn’t gotten it right. Clearly, they hadn’t heeded his generous advice that the best mint was grown on Kannazuka Island.

“But of course she did,” Paquette said, placing his cup down on the tea table between the gentlemen. “As I told you she would, my friend.”

Paquette fought back a sneer at the word on his mouth; a cheap lie, but one he had to maintain if he wanted to remain on good terms with the sniveling man across him. They didn’t need to like each other, per se, in order to work together toward a common goal, but he supposed their machinations were easier to architect if there was some degree of civility between them. It would make it much easier to coexist while they awaited their vision coming to fruition.

A vision so very in reach now. Paquette looked quite forward to the privilege of dispensing with the pleasantries and he imagined Thibeault felt much the same.

While Paquette had certainly become adept at maneuvering around the other members of the court over the decades, he certainly hadn’t grown to like it any more than he had at the start. Especially that old bat Vellerot, a man (loosely called) made of little more than wealth and rot.

All in good time.

Thibeault leaned back in his chair, folding two withered hands in front of his stomach, a self-satisfied gesture that might have been reminiscent of a well-fed house cat if he weren’t so serpentine. His lips curled, teeth bared, and Paquette started; it was a gesture far too vicious to ever be considered a proper smile, though it was an effort nonetheless, even if it was as tasteless as the rest of him. “Once she’s little more than a smear in the woods, the rest will become much simpler,” he mused, drumming his fingers against his abdomen, a rhythmic tap-tap-tap that made Paquette wonder if it was an unconscious gesture. An appalling lack of composure. “The old man hasn’t paid attention to the world beyond his cups in nigh on a decade, and the two younger ones haven’t got the intelligence nor the fortitude to accomplish anything at all. She would be the problem. One terrible accident and she’s gone. Then the old man drowns in his cups from ‘grief', at least as far as anyone is concerned.”

Paquette hummed. “It also takes that delinquent whelp out of the equation, what with all the sniffing around he’s been doing. He will be utterly shattered at the loss of his love, I’m sure. Might do something reckless.”

“I still can’t believe our luck on that front,” said Thibeault. “Two birds, one stone, as the commoners are known to say.”

“Tale as old as time,” agreed Paquette.

Thibeault grimaced again in that way which was so unlike a smile. Paquette fought against his every instinct telling him to pull back from the frankly upsetting expression.

“The Viscountcy has been wasted on him for far too long,” said Thibeault, and he sipped his tea.

Neuvillette stood at the edge of the bridge, his hands folded primly behind his back, chin tilted towards the rolling sea.

Wriothesley heaved a breath as he approached and the man turned his face towards him.

“Neuvillette.”

“Wriothesley,” said the other man, eyebrows rising ever-so-faintly in surprise and interest. “I wasn’t expecting you. You look flushed.”

“Went for a run,” Wriothesley panted. “Can I have a word?”

Something flickered in his eyes, but Neuvillette merely gestured his chin towards the Opera without a moment’s hesitation and made his way towards the structure. Wriothesley fell into step behind him easily, fighting every cell of his being that was telling him to rush the other man, to urge him to walk faster, Archons damn it all.

He bit his tongue, yet it seemed Neuvillette sensed Wriothesley’s urgency and picked up his pace nonetheless.

Finally, after an eternity and then some, they settled into Neuvillette’s office at the Epiclese; a smaller rendition of his office at the Palais, though no less elegant and organized. It was a bright space, walled in books and ornate masonry, bathed in the light that sparkled off the water just beyond the stained glass windows. It smelled like the sea and romaritimes; a light fragrance that Wriothesley had come to associate with the Iudex over many years of knowing him.

Neuvillette looked over at him from behind his desk, his face kind but eerily calm, a direct juxtaposition to Wriothesley’s own storming, blazing heart.

Wriothesley inhaled. Exhaled. “I’m sorry to impose but this is an emergency.”

“It’s no imposition,” Neuvillette said. “I am at your disposal.”

Wriothesley held the other man’s gaze. “Which Melusine Marechaussee Phantoms are off-duty today?”

You clicked your tongue and pulled, bringing Lucy to a halt just before the clearing Paquette had described came into view. You dismounted her, quickly hitching her to a nearby tree, tucked safely behind a dense thicket. She looked at you, ears pitched forward, eyes restless. You moved to pat her gently on the nose, but she tossed her head away from your touch. You frowned, letting your hand drop back to your side.

The last time she had rebuffed you like that, there had been a hilichurl hiding in a nearby tree.

You would be on your guard. This time, you had the element of surprise on your side.

You tried again, satisfied when Lucy allowed your pat this time, and moved onward alone. The sun was high in the sky, casting the upcoming smattering of tents a warm golden hue as they slowly came into view, a collection of brightly-colored headstones in an otherwise silent graveyard.

Immediately, you missed the rhythmic beat of Lucy’s hooves on the dirt as you entered the soundless clearing. Even the wind, forever a comfort at your back, seemed to hold its breath.

It was empty.

You surveyed the camp with careful eyes. Five tents, hastily constructed, flaps lowered to conceal the interiors of all but one — large, royal purple, dead-center. A table sat in view from within. A fire pit, lush with kindling and several freshly cut logs, though it appeared to never have been lit. A hitching post, though there wasn't a horse in sight. A weapons rack, battered but vacant.

You continued to inspect the area with growing unease.

But then, you saw it. In the purple tent, on the wide table. A folder.

The documents.

Emboldened by the silence of the deserted camp, you moved in.

You did not make it far.

You heard a twig snap from somewhere to your right, and you whirled, your heart leaping into your throat. Leaves rustled from all around, every corner of the clearing, and you heard the sharp crack of a slap, followed by hooves — Lucy’s hooves — barreling away into the wilderness, away and away, until you couldn’t hear her at all anymore.

Slowly, one by one, as though they were visions from a nightmare, men emerged from within the dense brush, cloaked in shadow, smiles jagged and cutting on the faces whose mouths weren’t clothed.

Your thoughts came to you rapid-fire, like bullets firing from a pistol.

An ambush.

They had known you were coming.

This was a trap.

Wriothesley had been right.

Your limbs shook. Your mind went foggy. Your fear was streaked with shafts of other emotions—regret, shame, resentment. Longing.

You shook your head to clear the haze, clenching your jaw, flexing your fists.

You didn’t have time to regret; you didn’t have time to wish.

You would get out of here. You had no other choice.

You had to get back to him.

But you were alone. They had known you were coming. Lucy had been scared off. No one was coming.

You were alone.

They began advancing.

Blades with wicked edges glinted in the afternoon sun as they emerged from the shade of the trees. You clutched at the hilt of your sword, savoring the tiny fraction of power you reclaimed at the feeling of the warm leather against your shaking fingers. Fingers that you found were getting increasingly difficult to control.

You fought to master your breath.

One man stepped ahead of the others, brandishing a razor-sharp rapier in your direction, your eyes following the way it swayed in his loose, unworried grip, light and free as wild barley. His eyes gleamed with profane delight from over the cloth secured around the lower half of his face. You didn’t need to see his mouth to know he was smiling.

“Right on time, my lady,” he sneered, voice reedy and meandering. You had never hated the honorific more. Several of the others snickered. “We’ve been expecting you.”

You met his gaze, willing yourself to maintain your composure as you assessed the situation—two, three, four Treasure Hoarders stood in the clearing with you. They didn’t appear to have any horses themselves; at least, not any that were nearby, so hijacking one to make a swift escape was not an option. It seemed all four men carried various swords; not a bow nor arrow in sight, but that could only help you, as you wouldn’t need to concern yourself with avoiding or deflecting ranged attacks while focusing on the close-quarters combat. On defending yourself from their blows. Looking for an opening to make an exit.

You unsheathed your sword, the metal hissing against the scabbard. You widened your stance, rolling your shoulders, willing your breathing to a slow, controlled pace.

Dozens of lessons swam through your mind and you fought to sort through your learning.

So many lessons. So little to show for it.

Wriothesley’s voice floated to the forefront, a memory as sharp and piercing as ice.

Don’t overthink it, he’d told you, over and over, lesson after lesson.

Muscle memory and instinct are your greatest ally.

Trust yourself.

You tensed, ready to trust yourself, to trust him , even if it was too late, to at least try —

Something slammed into your arm and side and you gasped, your sword clattering away across the rocks and into the thicket. Gone.

“Ah, ah, ah. I don’t think so,” sing-songed a new voice.

A low, feminine laugh warbled from over your shoulder and the four men echoed, reveled in the cruel mockery of it. You felt as though all the blood drained from your body. The edges of your vision darkened in panic, further blurring the tangle where your sword now lay, hidden. Out of reach.

Five. There had been five tents.

The woman slowly made her way around you, inching into your line of sight excruciatingly slowly, playfully, circling around you like a vulture circles its prey before it dives. Her eyes glittered, impish and hostile. She held an enormous claymore in her hands.

She opened her mouth to speak.

Don’t overthink. Trust yourself.

You lunged before she could utter a word.

Wriothesley hurried, urging the mare forward, faster, faster.

The Melusine in front of him froze, going stock still in her place on the saddle. Her shaggy, dusty rose hair whipped in the wind and she placed a tiny hand on Wriothesley’s wrist, drawing his attention to her.

There was another horse barreling through the woods, not far ahead. Chestnut, with an auburn coat. A familiar leather saddle.

A saddle which was empty.

Wriothesley wasn’t sure he remembered how to breathe. He pressed into the stirrups, signaling his mare to stop.

Lucy, in the distance, slowed her gallop, noticing the new arrivals; darted directly to them.

Trow frowned as the chestnut mare came to a sliding stop a mere few feet away, tossing her head and stomping, hoof to hoof, more agitated than Wriothesley had ever seen her. He hopped off the mare and went to her, checking her over for injuries or any sign of her rider. She seemed fine, if stressed. Nothing on her to indicate what might have happened to cause her separation from you.

“Your Grace,” Trow said abruptly, blue nose wrinkling. Her eyes flicked away from Lucy and towards the denser forest ahead, narrowing in concentration. “I smell something… just over there. Sweet, but bad. Like gasoline.”

Wriothesley’s stomach flipped. He looked ahead at the thicket, but beyond it was utterly silent. Unmoving. He could vaguely make out the trampled shrubbery from where Lucy had emerged. His hand felt heavier than stone against the side of Lucy’s quivering neck.

He flexed his fingers against her, scratching lightly. For her, for him.

“Wanna help me save our friend, Luce?” he asked softly.

Lucy, of course, said not a word; but whether or not she understood what Wriothesley was asking, her gentle brown eyes seemed to agree with the sentiment.

Wriothesley turned his gaze back to Trow.

“Can you ride?” he asked.

She hesitated before nodding shallowly. “I can get by, sir.”

“Go back,” Wriothesley said. “Notify Neuvillette of what’s happened and where we are. I will take it from here.”

Trow's look was long and searching and for a moment Wriothesley wondered whether she would protest his order. But then her worried lilac eyes softened and she nodded once more. Her tail flicked behind her. “Be safe, Your Grace.”

Wriothesley took the reins in-hand and quickly mounted Lucy. He gave the Melusine a small smile. “Thank you. You too.”

He didn't even have to signal for Lucy to go before she was off, hurtling back towards the trees.

Back to you.

Falling back on your months of training in the Pankration Ring was easier than breathing; particularly at the moment, when it seemed breathing had suddenly become very difficult.

You acted without thinking.

You shot forward, swiftly sweeping a leg out from beneath the prowling woman, sending her hurtling onto her ass before she could register you had even moved. She made an undignified squawk, throwing her arms out to try and save her fall, the claymore slamming into the ground, fanning dirt out around it.

The others burst into action, trying to ascertain the best way to subdue you, kill you, you didn’t know, it didn’t matter — you didn’t allow them even a second. You dove for the woman’s claymore, unclaimed at her side, your fingers closing soundly around the hilt before spinning to face your attackers, the new weight unfamiliar and unwieldy in your palm. You would adjust. You had no other choice.

The woman had clambered back to her feet, yanking a dagger from her boot with a vicious snarl that raised the hair on the back of your neck. A lock of dark hair had shaken loose from beneath her hood. Her eyes no longer held any trace of the violent glee they’d had a moment ago; searing rage was all that was reflected in them now.

The masked man dove, rapier swinging in a wide arc towards your side; you deflected it with ease, the clang of metal on metal ringing in your ears as the heft of the claymore easily intercepted the strike.

You adjusted your grip, the shift in weight causing your fingers to slide on the hilt.

Another lunged, sword pointed for your gut. You narrowly avoided impact, sidestepping on already unsteady feet and directly into the range of the woman, who was ready to pounce on your moment of imbalance.

Clearly, subduing you wasn’t part of their plans. And you were sorely outmatched.

You weren’t quick enough.

Swift as a viper, she lashed out, bronze dagger flashing in the sun the only warning you received before you felt its bite. She nicked your dominant wrist, loosening your grip on her claymore—your only weapon—

You dropped it, your hand disobeying your order to hold on as blood dripped down your trembling fingers from the wound on your wrist.

You wouldn’t walk away from this, you realized then, as the claymore fell. No level of skill would allow you to overcome this.

Fool. You were a fool. And you were about to die for it.

You scrambled for the claymore once more—

One of the men sent his boot hurtling into your side, throwing you off course and forcing all the air from your body.

You slammed down onto the rocks and curled in on yourself instinctively, defensively, tucking your legs into your chest before pushing yourself away, away from them; from the threat. You fought to catch your breath, but your lungs and throat burned like ice.

Your back hit the base of a wide tree and you could go no farther.

The woman gestured angrily at one of the men, who then yanked the claymore off the ground. She stalked over to your hunched form, eyebrows lowered.

She flipped the dagger in her hand and squatted before you.

“That’s enough,” she cooed, flicking the tip of the blade across the curve of your neck, softer than a kiss. You felt a sting followed by the feeling of—something warm collecting at the base of your throat. “This is pathetic. It's getting hard to watch.”

She swung her unarmed fist then, and the resulting impact on your head set your ears ringing and your vision blurry. You vaguely made out the sensation of...of being tied, restrained, bound at your wrists and ankles.

You thrashed, but you were too late. You could barely move. Your wrists burned as you pulled. Your head pounded. Your legs would not—could not—obey.

“Get the canister,” one of the men ordered, the words hitting your ears as though delayed—you felt like you couldn't keep up with the pounding in your skull. Another man disappeared into one of the tents, reemerging after a moment with an opaque container in hand.

Your nostrils flared at the familiar smell.

Gasoline.

The woman clicked her tongue, looking down on you. She wiped her dagger on a pant leg, smearing your blood onto the fabric. “Disposing of evidence. Those pesky Melusines. You understand.” Her voice was as casual as if she were discussing the weather or the latest play at the Epiclese. “You know, I had planned on killing you first ,” she explained evenly as the man sloshed the liquid from within the dark canister onto you. You gasped and recoiled, the liquid colder than you would have anticipated, overwhelming your senses as it sank into your clothing, onto your skin. The woman leaned forward, gently taking your chin in her hand, forcing you to meet her gaze. She stared at you hard for a few long seconds. “But then you went ahead and pissed me off ,” she hissed, pushing your face away roughly and stepping back, out of the spreading pool of accelerant.

You couldn't suppress the coughs that wracked your body as you continued to inhale the fumes, as you continued to fight. One of the men approached you slowly as all the others retreated, a torch lit and flickering in his hands. The sun was still high in the sky; this flame was not meant to offer warmth or illumination.

It was meant to ignite.

Something in you cracked and fell away as you realized... this was it.

There truly was no way out. There had never been a way out.

You couldn't do any more against them now than when you were a child, quivering and confused and helpless. The faces before you were different, yet you had not changed at all.

Powerless.

You had failed. You’d failed your family. You’d failed yourself. And there would be nothing left to show for all your efforts, for everything that you were or could have been but ash and regret.

You wished you had been able to protect them.

You wished you'd been braver when it truly mattered.

You wished you'd been a little more selfish.

You wished… You wished—

Everything went white and chills wracked your body at the sudden onslaught of freezing air against your wet clothes.

The world erupted into chaos—hail and snow and shards of savage, unforgiving ice. Shouting rose from somewhere in the camp, but you couldn't make out who they had belonged to or what was said.

The blizzard glittered beneath the morning sun. You fought not to squint, to try keep your eyes open in the face of the storm to see—to see—

There he was. Wreathed in the torrent of rime and burning frost.

And finally, you breathed.

a/n: title from 'war of hearts' by ruelle

it goes without saying that the ‘updates on saturday’ plan is no longer going to happen lol. im a STEM girlie and my job is very mentally taxing so i don’t always have the energy leftover to write, no matter how much i want to. and tbh then i end up rushing to get something out on time that i’m just not happy with lol

on that note: like i mentioned above, i was still not satisfied with the last chapter so i made some changes and it shifts the context quite a bit

essentially i had 2 paths in my mind for how this could go angst-wise, chose one, heard a loud WRONG buzzer, and then changed it so it is instead the other lmao

aaanyways my b one of these days i will actually have a work finished before i start publishing it (no i will not)

hope you enjoyed xo

[alien-magnolia]

Omg thank you for the emojis bc that’s how I communicate AHHHH

🌙(🦎) x 🍄fem reader

🍂🧚🌻(degrading, praise at the end)✨🌼🤍(kink)

Plot: bratty reader edges him for a week, talks back, taunts him for not “pleasing her right” how she can do it herself etc just to rile him up bc she missed him being that way

Thanks so much for sending in a request, babes. 🖤🖤This turned out to be more than a short blurb, but it came out well me thinks :)

Poison

Fic description: Hyperfeminine reader subby! + dom!jake sully. Reader is bit of a bimbo! Teases him a bit until he snaps. Corruption / innocence kink!, Pregnancy!kink, bj, overstim, bratting, praise/degradation!kink

“Babygirl. Come on…,” Jake sighs, as he chases you through the forest, unaware of where you were headed. To be honest, he was tired. Tired of your shenanigans. You’d been slowly, ever so slowly, tearing him apart all week.

~ Twelve days ago ~ Eclipse

He was exhausted, all day under the scalding Pandoran sun. He had hoped that you had not gotten yourself into trouble while he was gone. You were his world, the love of his life, yet you could be so, so, goddamn stupid, as he likes to put it.

You were naive at times, almost borderline childish. You loved to stop and look at all the pretty flowers, constantly confused with directions for the forest, unaware of what to wear and what not to wear, You had such a bubbly, sickeningly sweet personality. You had Jake poisoned with you, in the best way possible.

You loved to be his good girl. Loved it. Sometimes, you felt that he was too gentle with you. Ever since the two of you have mated, he’s just gotten soft. In your opinion. Now — you did love it when he praised you, attacked your face with kisses, and more! Jake, of course, would love to hear those little giggles that came out of your mouth when he did that.

This week, you’ve gotten bored. You wanted more. More — that you thought he couldn’t give you. He used to give you more. You remember all those times he bent you over like a cow, and rutted into you until you cried, until your body hurt.

That is how you did not hear him come home, at this very minute. You were busy. Very busy. All day, you spent time on the floor of your hut, top of the trees where no other Na’vi can see you, pumping your tiny fingers into yourself. You were doing it at the moment, completely oblivious that Jake had just arrived back, tired from a hunt.

You were teetering over the edge, perhaps you were so needy this week because your heat may have been approaching. Either way, the sound of his voice shocked you back into reality.

“Babygirl,” his tone deep, voice slow. He stands before you, a new scar on his big, heaving chest. “What do you think you’re doing, huh, kid?,” he asks, stepping closer to you slowly. You knew his rule. You broke it.

“What’s daddy’s rule, huh? Repeat it to me,” he says, as his hand grabs your chin, tilting it to look up at him. “No touching myself without daddy,” you slowly say to him, your voice all breathy and high pitched. You were slipping already.

“And what did you just do, huh, sweetheart? Guess you’re getting too goddamn stupid to understand and even remember the rules now. Fuck. On your knees,” he commands, tail erratic, ears bent back.

You were completely still, frozen. “Now!,” he hissed at you. “No,” you tell him. “Can’t please me anymore, Daddy,” you defiantly tell him. He is still, completely.You think. You run. Run, at the fastest pace possible, far away. He could not punish you if you ran.

Back at the hut, Jake growled as he watched you disappear into the jungle. You were going to get maimed in there. He hated your brat-like behavior at the moment, but he had to find you to make sure you were safe.

He set off on his ikran. It did not take long for him to find you from his view in the sky. You were hiding in the swamps, possibly where dangerous animals could be.

~ Present ~

This was your tenth time running away from him, into the jungle. You’d resist his punishments, talk back to him, and touch yourself without permission. He had enough.

“Babygirl,” he calls out, angry with your demeanor this week. “Come on out. M’gonna find you eventually.”

He smirks as he sees you behind a tree. Completely clueless, as expected. He sneaks up behind you, grabbing you by the waist, pinning you against a nearby tree.

“You’ve been bad this week, hun. Gonna teach you now, maybe you won’t disobey daddy’s rules next time,” he tuts at you.

“On your knees. Now. Don’t make me tell you twice.” You nod, as you get on your knees, the cold grass making you shiver. Jake chuckles at your sudden obidence. God — he was threatening. The next second, without a warning, his big, blue fingers find their way to your mouth. He props your mouth open.

“Tongue out. C’mon,” he commands, as he lightly taps your cheek. You do as told. “Damn — look at you, little slut waiting for me with her mouth open. Don’t choke,” he warns.

His pelvis finds your face, as his cock slides into your mouth. In, out, his heavy balls periodically hitting your nose. All the while he fucks your mouth, laughing down at you.

“My little bunny. Such a slut, taking daddy’s cock in your mouth like that,” he tuts at you, before large blue hands flip you over onto your stomach. His angry, leaking cockhead slides into you, thick and wide, bullying your pussy like never before.

“Fuck. My babygirl’s tight, huh? Just lay there and take it,” he patronizes, with a smile on his face. You feel his fangs pierce your shoulders, his moans turn into growls as he possessively stuffs your body full of cock. Cock, cock, and more cock. All you needed. “Just want to be full of daddy like this, huh?,” he asks as you nod, barely coherent at this point.

You get stuffed full of his cock, his cum spills into you, probably twice or more, it was hard for you to keep track. Your back was bruised, your neck and shoulders covering in bite marks from your mate’s sharp fangs.

“Ya with me, baby girl?,” he asks. You nod, smiling at him. “Don’t brat out on me now. Want you to be daddy’s good girl. Think it will be better for you,” he says as he moves your head to lay on his chest, petting it. “Okay, ma Jake. I’ll be good for you,” you contently sigh, so happy to be his good girl again.

“Only good girls get daddy’s cock over and over, got it?” You nod. He continues. “If you’re good enough, I’ll claim you as my good girl for everyone to see. Knock you up, pump you full of babies,” he fantasizes, looking over at you to see your reaction.

You were entranced. You were his poison, one that he was willing to taste over and over again.

Taglist: @aerangi @jake-sullys-whore @drinking-tea-and-be-obsessed @23victoria @brioffthegrid

[confused-alienated]

Pinky promise

Summary: Spooky has something to show Tyler.

Tw: GRAPHIC SELF HARM (Take care of yourself)

Notes: I wrote this a couple of days ago whilst half asleep. This is a vent fic tbh and it's rlly weird. I hope this does better on here bcs it got buried on Ao3. Enjoy!

Word count: 1,407

Link to the og fic here.

---

Josh and Tyler were having a sleepover. It had been a really nice night, in Tyler's opinion. Tyler knew that Josh would agree.

The two had ordered takeaway before settling onto Tyler's sofa and watching a film, Fight club. Josh had chosen since he had paid.

Although it was his favourite, Josh had quickly fallen asleep. They were barely halfway through the film when rimmed-red, too-large brown eyes blinked open.

"Josh?"

"Not Josh!" Spooky Jim grinned then nuzzled Tyler. Tyler would never get over how cuddly Spooky was.

"Hey, Spooks," Tyler pulled Spooky into his side. Spooky hummed happily. "We're watching fight club."

"Yay!" Spooky smiled, "I love this movie!"

"I know you do, Spooky."

The two had settled back down, Spooky Jim cuddled up to Tyler.

As the film ended, Tyler could feel himself drifting off. His eyes involuntary closed and he leaned into Spooky.

"Tyyyyler," Spooky drew out and shook Tyler awake.

"Yeah?" Tyler replied, grogily.

"I wanna-" Spooky giggled to himself softly. "I wanna show you something!"

Tyler ruffled Spooky's hair, "Uh-huh, let's see then."

"You can't- can't tell Josh though. Promise, otherwise I can't show you," Spooky shakily held out his pinky, "Pinky promise me, Tyty."

Tyler huffed, 'Tyty', that was new.

It was an odd request but Tyler figured that there were loads of things that Blurryface didn't want him to know. This couldn't be that different. Tyler decided that if it was dangerous then he'd tell Josh. Tyler locked his pinky with Spooky's, "Pinky promise, I won't tell Josh."

Spooky smiled wider than Tyler had ever seen. Tyler swore that if Josh smiled like that he'd tear the corners of his mouth. It looked painful. Tyler jumped when Spooky began shaking his hand, still holing onto his pinky finger. Spooky frantically bobbed their hands up and down with such force Tyler thought Spooky could've pulled his hand clean off.

Tyler placed his hand over Spooky's, "Alright, alright. Let's see what you have then."

Spooky beamed again. He shifted away from Tyler and fumbled with the button of Josh's trousers.

Okay..? That was a bit odd. Tyler ignored how Spooky angrily muttered about hating Josh's clothes and Josh in general.

Maybe Josh just got a new tattoo, or Spooky did, Tyler tried to rationalise.

It wasn't a tattoo.

Spooky's thighs were covered in scars. Tyler's stomach dropped and his blood ran cold. He placed a hand over his mouth to stop himself from throwing up.

"Aren't they nice!" Again with that smile.

Had Spooky done this or did Josh?

As if Spooky could read Tyler's mind he answered, "I usually get Joshie to do this. He doesn't love it as much as I do but I can forgive him!" Spooky chirped.

Tyler shuddered as Spooky ignored his stunned silence. Spooky pointed at a particularly thick scar. He thinks it's called a keloid, raised and pinky-brown against Spooky's pale thigh. It's surrounded by many others, varying in length and thickness. Tyler thinks it might be the longest.

"I did this one!" Spooky traced it up and down, "You should have seen Josh afterwards!" Spooky spoke quickly, he kept interrupting himself with his own laughter. "He was- was sobbing like crazy! He kept begging me to make it stop and of-of course I handed him a blade and control. You should have seen the blood, Tyty. It was so pretty."

Tyler could barely register what was happening around him. He was in shock. Spooky was sat right next to him, describing how he tortured Josh like it was his favourite thing in the world. Maybe it was.

The world felt fuzzy around him, Spooky's happy chirping being drowned out by the ringing in his ears. Tyler stared at Spooky's thighs in horror.

The scars. Spooky's thighs were covered, they criss-crossed over each other. There were faded, white lines, raised pink bumps, small scabs that had obviously been picked at, fresh, red lines and gashes and blood. Dried blood drowned Spooky's thighs. It flaked off as Spooky's fingers danced around his thigh.

Tyler barely came back to himself as Spooky removed Josh's phone case. Spooky fiddled around for a second before pulling out a small, silver blade.

Tyler's blood somehow grew colder, maybe he'd freeze from the inside out. That's how he was now, frozen.

"Watch this," Spooky mock-whispered, a hand cupped around his mouth. Tyler could only watch in horror as Spooky dragged the blade down his thigh. He traced over scars with the blade, cutting deeper and deeper and-

Tyler's body reacted faster than his brain could process. He gripped Spooky's hands, forcing them away from his leg, Josh's leg.

"Stop!" Tyler said too loud. He snatched the blade from Spooky.

Spooky frowned, "Why? Do you want a turn? It's okay you can use my blade, Tyty!"

Tyler's stomach flipped, "N-no. I'm alright, thank you."

"Oh," Spooky said darkly, "are you... Jealous?"

"What!?"

"You're jealous of me," Spooky declared, "Don't worry though, I can help you!"

Tyler gasped and swiftly pocketed the blade, "Oh- Oh my-!" He turned and leaned over the edge of the sofa, vomiting onto the floor.

Tyler coughed a few times and wiped his mouth, he was vaugly aware of how Spooky was staring at him. His too-large eyes burned holes into Tyler's back.

"Can I have my blade back?" Spooky asked plainly, "Unless you want to use it?"

Tyler answered by throwing up again.

"Alright," Spooky muttered. Tyler shakily turned around to face him. He stared at Spooky's leg. Blood was steadily dripping down it, Tyler could only watch as the blood binded with the fabric of his sofa.

Spooky studied Tyler's shaking form. Tyler was hugging himself with one arm, his other hand was firmly over the pocket that held Spooky's blade. He was panting, maybe he would be sick again? As he thought, Spooky traced the blood around on his thigh.

A look of realisation passed on Spooky's face, "Oh, I get it," Spooky said in a sickly sweet tone, "You don't like blood. I'm sorry, Tyty. Blurry was exactly the same when I showed him." Spooky looked disappointed, Tyler thought he was going to throw up again.

"Yeah," Tyler struggled out, "Yeah, I don't like blood."

"Awwh," Spooky frowned, "I'm sorry, Tyty. I'll just show the scars next time." Spooky placed a bloody hand on Tyler's upper arm. He ignored how Tyler shivered under his touch.

Tyler's ability to speak had abandoned him again but Spooky didn't seem to mind. He happily yapped about blood and Josh and Blurry.

Blurryface.

Spooky said that Blurryface didn't like this either. Tyler knew that lately Blurryface had lost his lust for Tyler's blood. He reflected on how Blurryface had stopped telling Tyler to hurt himself. Recently, they had been cooking and Tyler had sliced his finger open on one of the knives. Blurryface had disinfected and wrapped the wound with confidence. He had tended to wounds before... Spooky's wounds.

Spooky was slowing down, leaning heavily into Tyler. Tyler became painfully aware of just how late it was.

"Come on," Tyler shakily spoke, "Let's clean you up, yeah?"

Spooky nodded, "Okay! Usually Blur does this for me but I guess he's asleep right now, isn't he?"

Tyler nodded, not trusting his voice, and pulled Spooky to his feet. He led him to his bedroom and pulled out his make-shift 'self-harm kit'. He hadn't had to use it in so long, the majority of the plasters were expired.

The clean up was quick, Tyler tried and failed to not pay too much attention to the way the congealed blood felt under the wipe as it clung to Spooky's leg hairs. The fresher blood felt smoother, slick, as the wipe absorbed it. Tyler pulled out a disinfectant wipe.

"This is gonna sting," he weakly warned.

Spooky hummed then hissed when the wipe made contact with the wound.

"You're not as gentle as Blurry," Spooky whined.

"I know, I'm sorry. I don't usually do this," Tyler finished up then gently tapped Spooky's leg, "all done."

"Thanks!" Spooky pulled Tyler into a bone-crushing hug.

Tyler was firmly pressed against Spooky's chest. No- not Spooky's, Josh's. Tyler's cheeks burnt red. Tyler decided that he would deal with his feelings later. He wrestled Spooky into a more comfortable position, letting Spooky get comfortable in his side.

Spooky's breathing evened put a few minutes later. Tyler breathed a sigh of relief.

Tyler didn't sleep that night.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Small request, you know how in tfa the jettwins( jetfire and jetstorm) are a product of a unethical experiment of starscream's cna, what if they were in tfp, like, hidden away from both decepticons and autobots bc starscream doesn't want them to be hurt for their power like he was bc they get discovered, what would both factions reaction be?

Papa Screamer coming right up! I always like having an excuse to write my dearest Starscream as anything other than an insufferable coward.

Double Trouble

Jetfire and Jetstorm were not exactly planned by any means, but the moment Starscream found them in one of the old council laboratories and saw that they were technically his, he took to them immediately. But not wanting them to be involved in the war, Starscream raised them in secret until they were old enough to not be in immediate peril of death and quietly put them into stasis pods. He kept them hidden within his personal quarters for centuries, carrying them in their pods when required to every new base of operations. The only bots who knew about the two sparklings were of course, his trine, and quite likely Soundwave (although there was no indication that the spymaster knew, Starscream was not one to put it past him).

Starscream originally intended to release Jetfire and Jetstorm from their stasis locked state once things settled down enough for them to grow up normally. But as his trine were killed and his only other true Vosian allies met similar fates, Starscream grew afraid. He knew that his sparklings had unique gifts and as time passed and Megatron grew more violent, he knew the warlord would make his little ones soldiers. And so to spare them that fate in light of rising suspicion, he bit back his own burning tears and loneliness and sent his sparklings away, sending their pods to a small inconspicuous planet called Earth. All reports indicated the world was organic and nothing there could really harm his sparklings, especially with how strong their stasis pods were. Not only that but no Cybertronian had paid the planet any heed since the golden age. It was a perfect place for him to hide his sparklings until the war was over.

He spent another few centuries enduring bitter loneliness without his sparklings near him. Even when stasis locked they still brought him joy, reminding him of why he was fighting. But without Jetfire and Jetstorm he grew more and more erratic, angry, and desperate. Megatron had to die if he was to be able to raise his sparklings safely, and he would stop at nothing to protect them. However he did not expect Megatron to take the nemesis to Earth after the fall of Cybertron. He could hardly control his excitement at the prospect of being able to collect his sparklings. He knew that he would be unable to keep his claws off their pods for long when he arrived, but he was also well aware of the danger that Megatron still posed.

As such he stayed his hand for months until Megatron took his leave and departed, returning to Cybertron for whatever purpose and leaving Starscream in charge. And without Megatron looming over his shoulder, Starscream hurriedly activated the locator beacons on his sparklings pods and woke them as soon as he found them.

In hindsight he should have made actual plans. He couldn't just bring them to the nemesis as it would surely lead them to be made into soldiers whenever Megatron decided to turn back up. But he couldn't exactly leave them out alone on some random spot on Earth. While old enough to walk, talk, and generally be a pain, both Jetfire and Jetstorm were by no means mature enough to not get caught by humans or other unsavory individuals. And with their powers brought into the mix... Starscream was stuck with only one real solution, that being to "kill" a Vehicon and task the poor bot with sparklingsitting while Starscream ran the Decepticons on Earth.

His method worked for the entirety of Megatron's absence. Jetfire and Jetstorm were located in an obscure and uninhabited part of the planet where they could go wild with their abilities. J02H the Vehicon took care of the sparklings when Starscream was busy, ensuring they didn't hurt themselves or get caught. And every day Starscream would go for a "flight" and bring energon to his little ones and the attendant Vehicon. Of course he would usually end up spending several hours playing with and teaching his sons until he was required back on the Nemesis. But everything worked well, even when a few more Vehicons had to "die" and be brought in as additional handlers for Jetfire and Jetstorm. It wasn't perfect by any means, but Starscream's unusual parenting kept his sparklings out of the war and that was all that mattered.

However after Megatron's return, things became far more difficult. The warlord was acutely aware of rations disappearing, and while he did not care at first for what Starscream did, his frequent "flights" and the consistent loss of energon started to draw Megatron's ire. The Autobots also started to catch onto Starscream's odd behavior as they began noticing his frequent visits to one rather uninhabited area of north America. Still he got away with it due to the stress of the war taking up most of everyone's time... until Starscream's exile. With no way to provide for himself, much less his two sons and their six Vehicon attendants, Starscream was forced to turn to the only bots he was certain would at least spare sparklings.

He called on the Autobots, throwing away his pride in favor of presenting the true love and desperation of a father, pleading with the Autobots for energon. They were reluctant, but after Optimus saw Starscream's young sons, he did not hesitate to offer his assistance. Starscream had the Autobots vow to secrecy regarding his sons, and this in turn led to an odd alliance, with the Autobots kind of taking care of Jetfire and Jetstorm alongside the Vehicons. Of course the sparklings were never brought into the Autobots base and were labeled neutrals to keep them free from any faction, but for reasons Starscream couldn't bother to fathom, there was always some Autobots hanging around whenever he came by to see his sons.

Some days it was Ratchet who would give the sparklings checkups, and when no one was looking, give them treats. The medic had no anger toward Jetfire and Jetstorm and even took time out of his day when off duty to try and teach them to control their abilities. He simply couldn't get enough of seeing innocent and completely unmolested sparklings and so came pretty regularly to visit even if Starscream wasn't all that fond of it. Bulkhead and Wheeljack made visits as well, usually to play with the two rambunctious sparklings and almost never ending well for Starscream or his Vehicons. More than once he had to replace a broken wall, soothe his crying sons after a particularly rough game, or frantically grab one of them before they could do something foolish. Bulkhead and Wheeljack ended up eventually getting banned from seeing the sparklings without Starscream present.

Arcee only dropped by twice, once during the Autobot's first visit to bring energon to Starscream and his little family and once more to bring the sparklings some toys that looked handmade. While it is unknown how she feels about Jetfire and Jetstorm, most can assume that she cares about them to a degree if the handmade toys are any indicator. The sudden appearance of school datapads for young Cybertronians and several piles of soft blankets also point to her having at least a little bit but no bot can confirm or deny this. Bumblebee on the other hand is very clearly obesessed with the sparklings, especially loving their powers and bringing all sorts of random things for Jetfire to light up and for Jetstorm to blow away. He thinks they are the greatest thing since purified energon and not even Starscream has the spark to try and drag Bumblebee away from his sons when the scout clearly doesn't have a bad circuit in his frame.

As for Optimus? Starscream wanted to ban him but can't bring himself to due to how kind, loving, and alive Optimus looks when handling his sons. His rational mind tells him he allows Optimus to bond with his sons because it will at least guarantee their safety should something ever happen to him. But deep down Starscream knows but will never admit that he allows Optimus to be with his sons because of how much happier the Prime looks when he tells Jetfire and Jetstorm stories. He is father, he can see just how much Optimus loves being able to be near sparkling after so long being at war and only ever knowing pain. And while technically still enemies, he is not one to deny a fellow parent the comforts that come from the innocence of sparklings.

And so for months, even after Starscream was allowed on the nemesis again, the Autobots kept their end of the deal and his sons were kept secret and safe. However word eventually reached Megatron after Soundwave was sent after Starscream during one of his visits. The spymaster watched as Starscream played with his sons, recording it all, even capturing an Autobot in a few of his recordings before reporting back. The whole nemesis was then thrown into uproar.

Megatron was angry more than anything else, hating that his second kept things from him for any reason at all and caring little for the fact that Starscream's sons were barely a vorn old. Soundwave did not have any visible reaction, but his quiet assistance by cutting surveillance data when Starscream moved his sons and their handlers to the Autobot base spoke for itself. Knockout was surprised but ultimately did not really flinch at the revelation. He knew Starscream did things secretly but honestly thought he was meeting an Autobot lover or something of the like. Learning that the seeker had sparklings was a welcome surprise and he quietly assisted Starscream's efforts to keep his sons safe when the opportunity presented itself. Breakdown was in a similar situation and only cared about ensuring that the little ones were kept away from Megatron. Even he could see what hell the sparkling would endure if they were brought onto the nemesis.

Shockwave did not care at all for the most part, only taking an interest in the sparklings abilities once he heard of them. He requested they be brought to him for "inspection" should they be captured but otherwise did not act. Arachnid could have cared less about the sparklings and kept her distance so as to not draw the ire of Autobots, Starscream, and his six Vehicons. The Vehicons on the nemesis however had wildly differing reactions. They all wanted to get in on the babysitting and tried desperately pleading with their previously considered dead brethren for the chance. They were denied as none of Starscream's Vehicons had any desire to possibly see the sparklings they had come to see as younger siblings come to harm.

As for Starscream himself? After the revelation of his sparklings, he fled the nemesis permanently, terrified that his sons might be harmed and throwing away all thoughts of conquest. While it was hard to adapt to the Autobots at first, living at their base with his sparklings proved to be a good choice as soon as MECH made their interest clear.

[mi-rae07]

this was just a random idea for a fic where like pirate seonghwa’s s/o got kidnapped because she ran away after their argument so the s/o was expecting for seonghwa to woo her after being rescued but instead accidentally called her a burden or smth until she finally asks to break up bcs she was sick of it which brought back seonghwa’s consciousness abt the situation 😩🧎🏻‍♀️

Park Seonghwa : Shatter Me

Pairing : Park Seonghwa (Ateez) and named character (Yoon Serena)

_____________

A/n : This request was so much fun, really.

______________

Seonghwa : do you have fun causing trouble for me every fucking day of the week, princess?

Serena sat against the chair with a nonchalant look, not bothering to even look at seonghwa who was fuming in anger at what she had done.

Seonghwa : serena. I've told you, a million fucking times, that I need you to go our way. You cannot keep doing things as you like, this isn't your palace!

Serena : so what, you want me to turn into some sort of a pirate with you guys? Looting innocent people-

Seonghwa : they're rich people.

Serena : fine! Rich, innocent people.

Seonghwa : you think any rich merchant here is innocent? Money comes at a price, and that money these "innocent people" of yours have, they've looted poor peasants for it. Taxes, rents, feudal charges, you name it.

Serena : seonghwa-

Seonghwa : but of course! You wouldn't know any of what the normal people go through, would you? You were born into a royal family, lived in that palace for years surrounded by everything that you wanted and needed. Your entire life's been bubble-wrapped for you.

Serena stood up from her chair, walking closer to seonghwa as she said

Serena : yeah, because that's totally why I left all of those for you, my title, my riches, my entire life! I left everything for you, park seonghwa.

Seonghwa : and? Are you saying you're not having a comfortable life here in this ship, then? While my entire crew goes out and fights battles, looting money for so much as being able to afford simple food, you sit here idle, trying on your new dresses and playing princess with it. And even worse, you steal the money left on this ship to go buy your new dresses in order to feed that same dumb, stupid fantasy of yours!

Serena : is that your problem? Money?

Seonghwa : oh darling, I have so much more problems, but this is one of the many other problems that you cause me to worry about.

Serena stared at seonghwa before stepping away from him, leaning down and taking her shoes off of her feet, the one she usually never took off. She threw them at seonghwa, making it hit his chest before falling on the wooden floor with a thud.

Serena : sell these and you'll get half of your money back. And as for the other half, I'll manage.

Serena was about to move past seonghwa when he held her arm, looking straight into her eyes as he asked

Seonghwa : manage how?

Serena : you do not need to know. You said money was the problem, and I said I'll get it for you.

Serena pulled her arm away from his grip, looking away from seonghwa as she whispered

Serena : you're a pirate, aren't you. Isn't this how you do a proper trade?

___________________________

Serena had decided to sleep in a room separate from seonghwa today. The reason partly being her argument with seonghwa, and partly because she needed to do what she said she would. Find money.

And so when serena was sure everyone on the ship had slept, she got out from her bed and walked to the cupboard in her room, pulling out a cloak with a hoodie on it. She soon slipped out of her room, walking up to the end of the ship while looking around to make sure no one was around. And she was right, no one really was around. Serena put her hoodie on before jumping out of the ship and onto land, her bare feet coming in contact with the watery sand of the beach seonghwa's ship had been anchored on. It was a beach that had been abandoned because of how dangerous the tides were, hence it was the perfect spot for seonghwa and his crew to rest and reload their ship before beginning a new voyage.

Serena knew this place, because it was her place, her kingdom. It was why she had gone out in the morning while seonghwa and his crew had gone out to loot a house, because she had wanted to see her kingdom one last time before leaving. And then she had seen a good pair of shoes that reminded her of the ones her mother had once bought for her when she was a child, and so serena bought it. Which was what led to the fight with seonghwa in the first place. But he was right, she was in the wrong. And she knew just how to fix it.

Serena finally reached the night market, keeping her head down while walking to a stall she knew very well. It gave money for selling jewellery, which was exactly what serena had needed right now.

And once she was finally there, she pulled out the bracelet from her pocket, banging it on the table. The shopkeeper looked at her, his eyes widening at the sight of the bracelet

??? : you wish to sell, this?

Serena : yes. And I expect a 20,000 for it.

??? : you want it right now, then?

Serena : yes.

The shopkeeper nodded and walked further inside the shop, making serena sigh as she looked back at the bracelet on the table next to her. This was one of the only things serena had taken with her when she left the palace, her royal bracelet. But now she had to sell it, and she blamed herself for it.

Serena yelped as she felt someone cover her mouth from behind, making her eyes widen. Oh no, seonghwa was going to kill her for this. Serena tried biting onto the hand, but realized that it was gloved. There was no way out for her now.

And soon enough serena felt herself start to lose consciousness from the medicine that was most definitely poured into the gloves, the world growing dark behind her eyes as she finally shut them.

____________________________

San : captain! Seonghwa, wake up!

Seonghwa groaned, opening his eyes as it landed on a panting san who seemed to be covered in sweat. Seonghwa sat up, looking at san with confused sleepy eyes.

Seonghwa : what is it, san-ah?

San : serena! She's gone.

That was all it had taken for seonghwa to rush out of his room, running into serena's room that seemed to be filled with his other crew members. Seonghwa looked around as he asked

Seonghwa : when did you find her gone?

Yeosang : when I woke up, which was 15 minutes ago.

Hongjoong : do you have any idea where she went, hwa?

"As for the other half of the money, I'll manage"

Seonghwa quickly walked up to serena's cupboard, throwing it open as he scanned inside. He let out a scoff as he realized that her bracelet was gone.

Seonghwa : I think I do.

___________________________

Wooyoung : are you worried about her?

Seonghwa : no, she's always been a brat.

Yes, because she was the love of his life. He didn't know how to live without her, and he couldn't even imagine losing her. Seonghwa was scared to the core, because if serena had actually sold that bracelet of hers and got the money, she would've returned to the ship by now. But she hadn't. which only meant one thing, she was kidnapped. And that worried seonghwa. But he was also furious, both towards serena and to the people who had kidnapped her. He was going to kill the latter half, actually murder.

Mingi : well I am.

Seonghwa's eyes landed on a store that read "Exchange stall", knowing this was it. Serena had told seonghwa about this place before, about how this was the one store where she would do all the illegal things, even when she was a princess. This would definitely be where serena had gone.

Seonghwa walked up to the store, wooyoung and mingi by his side.

Seonghwa : are you the shopkeeper?

??? : as you can see. What do you have for exchange?

Seonghwa eyed around the store, knowing there was something uncanny about this place straight away. He needed to push further.

Seonghwa : I do have something, but I would rather we discussed this inside the store. It's quite personal.

The shopkeeper nodded. Wooyoung leaned towards mingi with a smile as he whispered

Wooyoung : how stupid can one be?

Mingi : tell me about it.

Soon seonghwa, wooyoung and mingi were all inside the store with the shopkeeper, who was motioning them to sit on a sofa that was laid out. Seonghwa looked around the room with careful eyes, looking out for the bracelet. It was nowhere to be found, of course.

And so seonghwa sat down on the sofa, looking straight at the shopkeeper as he pulled out a stash of gold coins from his pocket, putting it right on the table in front of him. The shopkeeper looked at it with large eyes, shocked.

Seonghwa : we wish to do something different. Money, for the royal bracelet.

The shopkeeper quickly looked up at seonghwa at the mention of the bracelet before saying

Shopkeeper : who said I have the princess' royal bracelet.

He had just dug his own grave.

Seonghwa : I hear no denial.

Wooyoung stepped forward and caught the shopkeeper by his hand, mingi holding onto the other as the shopkeeper screamed. But seonghwa quickly kept his hand against the shopkeeper's mouth, leaning down before putting his hand into the shopkeeper's pocket. The shopkeeper squirmed, trying to get out of there. But wooyoung's and mingi's grip were strong on him, there was no way out anymore.

Seonghwa pulled out the bracelet from the pocket as he stared at it, fury rising in him as seonghwa glared at the man in front of him.

Seonghwa : where is she?

Shopkeeper : I do not know.

Seonghwa punched the man right in the face, making him cough up blood as he groaned in pain.

Seonghwa : I will not ask again, you bastard. Where, is my princess?

_____________________

Serena : are you seriously going to hold me ransom?

??? : you're crown princess, I'm sure your parents will pay quite the big price for you.

Serena : are you stupid? I left my parents, and the court. My brother, is crown prince now. No one's going to give anything for me after I disgraced my entire family.

??? : really. Wanna test that out, my lady?

Serena sighed and sat back against the chair, the ropes around her already starting to cut through her skin. She had no idea where she was, she's been in this room since forever and the only person she's seen is this man in front of her, who was also the one who kidnapped her that night in the market.

At least she was fed regularly.

Serena : please. If it's money you want-

??? : you can give it to me?

Serena : just let me go.

??? : or what? You'll kill me.

Serena : no. but someone else will and that is not going to be pretty at all.

??? : who, park seonghwa?

Serena paused, confusion filling her as she asked

??? : you know him?

The man chuckled, leaning back against his chair as he said

??? : you think I kidnapped you only because you're a princess, then? I know you're his, and I know the things he could do to save you.

Serena : really. So if my parents disagree to give you the ransom, you're just going to blackmail seonghwa instead?

??? : you're quite smart for a lady.

Serena : don't sputter bullshit, sir. I've met many ladies who have much more thinking capabilities than you do and ever will.

The man stood up, walking up to serena before grabbing her by the hair as he said

??? : one more word, and they'll have to pay ransom for your dead body.

Serena : try me.

??? : are you threatening me?

Serena : aren't you going to kill me anyway?

??? : such a mouth for some princess. If anything, I expected you to already have started crying by now.

Except serena knew seonghwa would find her, it was only a matter of time. And she needed to stall this man, crying wasn't going to help her in there.

??? : well-

The man cut himself off as a scream was heard from outside, followed by footsteps. Serena smiled, looking up at the man as she whispered

Serena : oops.

The door to the room was kicked open, the door breaking apart as it fell on the ground with a thud. Seonghwa entered the room, the severed head of the shopkeeper held by his hair in seonghwa's hand. Seonghwa lifted the head up to his face with raised eyebrows, looking at the man next to serena as he said

Seonghwa : guess whose head is also going to be added to my treasury.

________________________

Serena : is this how you treat your wounded lady, hwa?

Seonghwa didn’t seem to be playing along with serena's jokes. He was just dragging her further into his ship, a cold look on his face. The fight had been quite brutal, serena had seen it for herself. She had a few wounds herself, but seonghwa's and his crew's were worse. And it was all because of her. The man was right, seonghwa could do anything for her.

Serena : has it been more than a day since I…left?

Seonghwa : it's been four.

Serena's eyes widened at that, not having realized it. She had been asleep for a long time, she supposed.

Serena : were you worried for me?

Seonghwa pushed her into their room in the ship, shutting the door behind him as he said

Seonghwa : no. I was not.

Serena's lips turned into a small pout, trying to come closer to seonghwa as she said

Serena : but you came to save me.

Serena was about to touch seonghwa's hair when he pushed her away, confusing serena. Why wasn't he happy to see her?

Seonghwa : are you kidding me, serena? If you wanted to make money by selling yourself, you should've just told me. I could've sold you to someone myself.

Serena : seonghwa.

Seonghwa : what? What is it? What more do you want from me, serena!

Serena looked away, muttering under her breath

Serena : you're angry with me.

Seonghwa : do you know what you've done? Do you have any idea, the troubles you've caused?

Serena opened her mouth to say something but was cut off by seonghwa tearing his shirt apart, his wounds coming to her sight. Serena gasped, her eyes running along the bandages that were wrapped around a few day-old wounds and fresh ones left open all over his upper body.

Serena : no. you're hurt.

Serena was about to come closer to seonghwa when he said

Seonghwa : DO NOT COME CLOSER TO ME!

Serena flinched at that, stepping back in part fear. Seonghwa let out a breath, looking away as he said

Seonghwa : do you know the amount of wounds that you have caused to my other crew, serena? Within the span of 4 fucking days, we have had to run around this entire kingdom of yours, threatening and begging people to tell us where you might have been.

Serena : I'm sorry.

Seonghwa : NO YOUR SORRY DOESN'T FUCKING CUT IT! Because if it weren't for you, if I hadn't fucking taken you in, none of this would've been required.

Serena stared at seonghwa with teary eyes as he scoffed and said

Seonghwa : I've wasted so much on you. So much time, money, love. You've just become a burden to my crew and I now, serena.

Serena looked away from seonghwa, tears falling down her eyes as she whispered

Serena : a burden.

Seonghwa looked up at that, his eyes softening at the sight of her tears.

Serena : then let me go.

Seonghwa : what?

Seonghwa blinked his eyes as serena walked past him towards the door, throwing it open as she stepped out of the room. Seonghwa quickly followed her as he asked

Seonghwa : what the hell are you doing?

Serena : leaving. Letting you go of your burdens.

Seonghwa stepped forward, holding serena's arm as he said

Seonghwa : serena what the fuck? You can't just step out like that.

Serena : why! If I want to leave then just let me go!

Seonghwa : and? Where the hell are you going to go, huh?

Serena : to…to the palace.

Seonghwa : so you can get yourself executed? Serena, you aren't crown princess anymore. You ran away from that palace, you think they will accept you back with open arms now?

Serena : THEN JUST LET ME GET EXECUTED!

Serena shook seonghwa's hand off her, moving past him in order to step towards the exit. But seonghwa stepped in front of her again, shaking his head.

Seonghwa : after all that I had to do to get you back? You're just going to put yourself in danger again?

Serena : well you don’t have to save me this time, seonghwa. This isn't on you, it's on me.

Seonghwa : EXCEPT IT ISN'T! EVERYTHING ABOUT YOU IS ON ME BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE YOU!

Serena froze, staring at seonghwa as he let out an exasperated breath, cupping serena's cheek in his hand.

Seonghwa : what is wrong with you! Do you not understand? Yes, you are a burden. Yes, you bring me and my crew trouble but you also…you also give us happiness. You give us all a meaning, you give me a life, serena.

Serena : I-

Seonghwa : no! you cannot leave now. It will shatter me, princess. Please, don't leave me.

Serena stared at seonghwa who was now breathing heavily, tears in his eyes. Seonghwa connected his forehead with hers, closing his eyes as he whispered

Seonghwa : I'm yours, my life, my money, my everything…it's all yours. If you die, I die with you.

Serena sniffled, holding seonghwa's arm as she whispered

Serena : I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, hwa.

Seonghwa shook his head.

Seonghwa : I don't care anymore, please just don't leave me. You can have all the money that you want-

Serena : no, no no. I don't…I don't care about any of that, seonghwa. I just, I want to be able to make you happy. And I've been taught that if…if I wear pretty dresses and shoes, and make myself beautiful, that would be the only way to make a man happy. So I thought-

Seonghwa : no. no princess, you're beautiful even if you're wearing a farmer's dress. I don't care if you're covered in mud, or drenched in water, or…or whatever. You're beautiful however you are, I love you. You do not have to be doing anything else except being healthy and happy for me.

Serena smiled, opening her eyes as she looked at the wounds on seonghwa's chest

Serena : can I touch you?

Seonghwa : god, you don't even have to ask, princess. You can do whatever you want to me.

Serena chuckled, running her hand along his wounds lightly as she whispered

Serena : does it hurt a lot?

Seonghwa : I've had worse.

Serena : and…the rest of the crew?

Seonghwa : they'll be fine too, as long as you stay.

Serena : I'll stay. I'll stay as long as you like because you mean the world to me too, hwa. I love you more than you could imagine.

Seonghwa pulled back, taking the bracelet out of his pocket as serena gasped

Serena : you took it back.

Seonghwa : it's yours, as it always will be.

Seonghwa took serena's hand and put the bracelet around it before kissing her hand.

Serena : thank you.

Seonghwa smiled, leaning forward and capturing her lips in his. Serena's arms wrapped itself around his neck, pulling him closer to her as she smiled into the kiss.

Seonghwa : my princess.

Serena : all yours.

Jongho : YAH! CAN YOU JUST NOT DO THAT IN FRONT OF OUR EYES, GOD!

Serena pulled back with a laugh, making seonghwa smile. Serena looked up at the floor just above them, the entire crew watching seonghwa and serena with a smile.

Serena : have you been watching us the entire time?

Yunho : we need our drama too.

Serena smiled, motioning them to come down. And they all did, a smile on their faces as they crushed seonghwa and serena into a hug.

Seonghwa : oh god, ya'all need to bath sometime.

Hongjoong : shut the fuck up, captain, we're having a moment.

Seonghwa smiled as he patted their heads, feeling complete. This was all he had ever wanted, and now he had it. His family.

Serena : thank you, for having rescued me with all that trouble.

Wooyoung : what thank you. We would've done that any day, any time.

San : you're our captain's entire world, and a part of our family, we can't let that fall away. And! You make nice apple pies.

Yeosang : aish! What's wrong with this kid.

San : kid?! I'm 23 years old!

Serena smiled at all of them, feeling much happier than she ever did in any palace of hers.

Serena : I'll make all the apple pies in the world for all of you.

___________________________

[justareallyverychillperson]

Rocket Raccoon-Autism and Immaturity

One way that autism can present in a person, is behaviour and speech patterns commonly associated with those younger than the autistic individual themselves. Here are a few examples of this appearing in GotG, related to Rocket.

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SPOILERS FOR VOLUME THREE!!!

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Vol.3 (Counter-Earth flashbacks)

Rocket as 89P13 plays with his friends much like a child would all the way until he becomes an adolescent. This is partially justified by their collective enhancements and their ignorance of social norms pertaining to the outside world. Regardless, the way he does not influence any of the admittedly adorable aspects of their childish games points to a mindset that rather chooses to embrace it fully.

He has learned to speak and enough equations to fly a spaceship, but forgets a phrase that has two many consonants (the enzyme thing that gets suppressed to make "angry turtles") Here the maturity of his vocabulary varies greatly. He also says thems and cants instead of them and cant. Of course he is still just a child but is nonetheless a gifted one with the theoretical potential of sounding much older than he indeed does in the scene.

vol.1

While we do not know how old Rocket is supposed to be, his criminal record implies he's very much an adult. And yet, here are some things he says before his arrest.

(to Groot) Learn genders man!

(gets bitten by Gamora) Biting? That's not fair [we later learn of his alleged history of this]

I live for the simple things. Like how much this is gonna hurt--- yeah, writhe, little man!

The schadenfreude mixed with slur "humie" which no one else says but him, makes him seem like the youth he was when he ran. Naturally, since no one was around to tell him to grow up in one way or another. Likely, his brain misremembered the word human and no one ever bothered to correct him, as it was after he escaped the High Evolutionary.

Vocabulistics is a rare example of advanced language similar to technobabble- half the words stored in his cybernetics are engineering related.

In the prison he is unarmed and does not hesitate to seek out security in his new humie pal, pawing at him several times to beg him away from the danger. His hunched-over stance adds to the meek display.

Another bonus is when he misses Gamora's sarcasm, before barking at Quill and whining about the plan going awry. Every parent has seen their child pull at their face like he does.

On Knowhere, his main objection to the way the rest of the team treats him is when Gamora, a woman, calls him a rodent. That's the last straw for the poor guy...not a pest, not a thing, just a smaller animal ^^

He mocks the Collector's mannerisms and goes straight to raising his voice when their dawdling customer stalls further by asking about type of currency. Yes, he is scared. Also, he is having a bit of a tantrum as opposed to speaking up about his anxiety. Not just trust issues...

"you got issues Quill"- sounds like someone skipped out on giving a raccoon sex education

Furthermore, his jokes about prostethics. That's it. His issues translate to innocent mischief. Why? Bc psychology.

Honorable mention goes to a touch-starved fella letting a complete stranger pet him due to Tree Death.

Lastly, his inability to grasp right and wrong. You apparently can't fit moral code and piloting next to each other.

Vol 2.

The winking. In the words of James Gunn "Cybernetics glitch sometimes" Tic disorder, anyone?

Again, the sarcasm. He even goes so far as to request Peter spell it out for him.

The desire to threaten with bodily wastes. Someone else's to boot.

He thinks objects getting larger as they get closer is a groundbreaking observation.

He doesn't know what suspicious behaviour looks like but is very tuned in to his general feelings towards people.

His blunt warning to Quill about his dad gets misconstrued as an insult. Not his fault his own 'dad' made him a bit cynical towards parents.

He chooses to use his captivity to laugh at the name Taserface and gets hung up on the reason Groot doesn't like hats. Confusion about other people's behaviour? Busted. (sidenote: he doesn't mind being called a rat as opposed to a rodent. Interesting standards)

His cybernetics glitch again when attempting to show scepticism towards Yondu's excuse for keeping Quill around. Can't express what you don't know.

He dubs the button not to press the Death Button. Dramatic much?

The irony of a guy who says frickin' at every opportunity teaching his plant baby brother not to swear xD

vol 3. Present day

He jumps into the arms of both Quill and Groot upon waking up. Reflex.

He listens to music even when Quill isn't there to hear it. It's only ever been a stim to him. Peter gets credit for reminding him, though.

[gently-decaying-flowers]

HEY THIS IS THE FIRST CHAPTER OF MY WIP “The Fall of the Raven”

TW: mental health fuckery, su1c1d3 mentions (please read safely i promise it gets less sad later on)

tagging @niallermybabe bc ik you were interested :]

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The Beginning

For once, or the hundredth time, it was in fact a dark and stormy night. The thunder rolled and rumbled in the dark sky, lighting illuminating the Earth for a second before vanishing. Revon listened to the hard pattering of the rain on the roof. Staring out into the night they wondered what they were doing here. A voice called after them but they didn’t hear what it said.

The pain will end. The pain will end. The pain will end. The voice echoed around the walls of their mind. A firm hand gripped their wrist, forcing them to face the figure.

“Excuse me Mx, it’s just- it looks like you’re about to jump. I wanted to make sure everything’s alright.” It was dark enough that Revon felt no need to study the figures' features. The grip on their wrist loosened and they were gently pulled from the ledge. The top level of the parking garage was high enough, they figured.

“Everything’s dandy.” They snapped, tearing their arm back. The figure calmly stepped back.

“Do you have a ride home? Or someone to call? It’s not smart to drive in your condition.” Revon gritted their teeth at the condescending tone. Instinctively their hand flew to their knife, and their knife at the figure’s chest.

“Mind your own damn business and we won’t have any more issues.” They growled. Surprisingly calm, the figure lowered Revon’s knife and cleared their throat.

“Seriously Rey, not your best move.” Upon hearing their nickname the voice of the figure was familiar. Revon groaned.

“Jesus Christ, Lukas. Why are you here?” They put their knife away. Lukas chuckled.

“Well, I’ve been coming here every night. For my own reasons of course but also because this is your fourth suicide attempt in the last month and someone needs to care about you.” He said, smugly. Revon’s jaw clenched up again but they knew better than to draw their knife on Lukas purposefully.

“I don’t need to be cared about. I can handle myself just fine.”

“Not if you’re lying dead in front of the parking garage. Don’t argue with me Rey you’ll never win. Let’s go.” They silently obliged, fists clenched at their sides as they followed Lukas to his car.

“What about my car?” Revon asked, hoping Lukas would realize they drove themself here and let them go. Another tension filled car ride with Lukas was the last thing they needed right now.

“I’ll drop you back here tomorrow morning. You’re coming back with me. Now get in the car.” He passive aggressively opened the passenger door and they angrily plopped down. Lukas started up the car and the vibrations rumbled in Revon’s core. The drive to Lukas’ was familiar, even while the city was blanketed in the dark of night. It didn’t take long to get there but time passed slower in the car.

“Home sweet home!” Lukas sang as they pulled into his driveway. Revon rolled their eyes and slithered to the guest room, slamming the door. Crawling onto the bed, shoes still on, they fell asleep.

A knock came at the door causing Revon to jolt awake. Danger. The person behind the door is dangerous Revon. Grab your weapons. They reached for their knife. Slowly slinking toward the door they assumed their position. The door swung open and Revon thrust the knife at the person behind it. Lukas ducked down and dropped the mug in his hand.

“Good morning to you too, Revon.” He groaned. Revon put their knife back away and stepped back.

“Yeah yeah, just take me back to my car.” They ordered, stepping around him and the mess on the floor.

“Chill dude, now I need to clean up the coffee I so graciously made for you.” Lukas grabbed paper towels and the broom, slowly cleaning up the spill. Revon anxiously tapped their foot, itching to get out and back home. When Lukas finally finished Revon nearly ran to his car.

“What’s the rush hm?” He asked smugly. Revon angrily cracked their neck, trying to avoid another fight with him. It never ended well.

“I just want to get back to my goddamned car okay?” They practically growled.

“Alright whatever dude. Don’t pop that vein in your forehead.” He laughed which made Revon more pissed off. Lukas took everything too seriously but covered it up with a laugh and a joke. The air in the car was thick with anxious anticipation. Lukas slowly circled all the way to the top of the parking garage, parking next to Revon’s car. They leaped out, slamming the door without another word.

Revon drove off, Lukas didn’t follow. They clenched their hands around the steering wheel. It’s a good thing he didn’t try to follow them. Despite his stupid sarcasm and shit attitude Lukas cared a lot about Revon. They knew he really had gone up there every night. He knew them well, and he was genuinely scared for them. It’s not like it’s the first time Revon had gone through a spell like this, it happens a lot actually.

Revon and Lukas met at camp. It was a summer camp for troubled kids. Revon was forced to go by the state after they had been arrested at fourteen. Revon had beat up a kid at school, and ended up breaking their ribs. It punctured the kid's lungs and he died, they didn’t necessarily mean to kill him. Lukas was there for petty theft, going to camp was an alternative to community service once school started. Revon isolated themself and Lukas was appointed by the counselors to talk to them. They hated each other at first but one day Lukas found Revon by the lake, they made a truce after he offered them a cigarette. They never really split up after that.

Before they knew it, Revon was home. Their hands ached from gripping the steering wheel so tight and they cracked their knuckles. Calmly, they walked into the building. Susan, who works the front desk, looked up over her glasses.

“You didn’t come back last night dear, you know I have to alert parole correct?” Revon just grunted in response and stomped up the stairs to their apartment. Their neighbor, Lindsay, was smoking outside in the hall.

“Good going, your officer is already here.” She warned, pointing toward Revon’s door.

“It wasn’t a choice, I was taken.” Revon stated blankly. Lindsay’s eyes went wide.

“Really? What-”

“My… acquaintance. He uh- found me last night and insisted I went with him.” They corrected, not sure why they wanted her to worry.

“Oh, well, don’t get yourself hurt, Revon.” She put her cigarette out on the wall and went back into her apartment. Revon tried to shake the conversation away and unlocked their door. Their parole officer was lounging at their kitchen table.

“Hello there Revon, take a seat and tell me where you were last night.” Revon complied, of all of the parole officers they had, they liked Officer Santez the most. She was scary, took no shit and striked a compelling fear in them.

“I went to the parking garage.” They replied. Santez immediately rubbed her temples in frustration.

“Been taking your meds? I know for a fact you haven’t missed counseling because I take you there myself.”

“Yeah I’ve been taking my meds. Sometimes, the voices win Santez.” They spat. Santez glared at them and they cowered, lowering slightly in their seat. “Lukas found me again, he just didn’t want me driving this time. I was at his place, you can call and ask if you feel so compelled.” Revon said, softly.

“Well, I believe you. Lukas is a good friend, I hope you know how lucky you are to have him.” Officer Santez loosened up, she always likes when Lukas comes up. It’s the one thing Revon hates about her.

“He’s not my friend.”

“Remind me again, how long you’ve known him?”

“Uhm…” Revon counted on their fingers. “Eight years.” They muttered.

“And how many times has he found and saved your life?” Officer Santez asked, rhetorically.

“Every time.” Revon slumped lower in their seat.

“Sounds an awful lot like friendship.”

“I don’t make friends.” Revon rolled their eyes. Friendships meant caring about other people. They lost that ability at a young age.

“What about that poor girl Lindsay next door? Every time I get here she’s anxiously smoking and always asks me if you’re okay.” Santez smirked. Revon stopped, their blood running cold. What? It had to be a lie, no one cares about Revon just like Revon doesn’t care about anyone.

“You’re lying. No one gives a shit.”

“Well this is running in circles and I don’t have time for this shit. You didn’t die or break any laws so my work here is done. Take care of yourself Revon, soon you may not have anyone who will do that for you.” With that, Officer Santez left. Revon heaved a sigh of relief. Things always got all mushy gushy and they weren’t in the mood for that today.

Their day was as usual, they sat around until dinner time, ate a half assed meal, showered and went to bed. Laying in the dark of their bedroom Revon’s mind wouldn’t quiet down.

All of what Officer Santez said this morning is true Revon. Lukas and Lindsay both care for you. What would they do if you killed yourself? Lukas wouldn’t be able to live with himself, Lindsay would probably start drinking and ruin her sobriety streak. It would be all your fault. You’re so selfish.

Unable to fall asleep with the never ending guilt trip in their head, Revon stepped onto their balcony. Next door, Lindsay was smoking.

“Evening.” She muttered to them.

“Why do you smoke?” They asked bluntly. Lindsay exhaled a puff of smoke out of her mouth slowly.

“It’s a good stress reliever. Want one?” She reached over the balcony, Revon took it and lit it with the lighter they left next to the door.

“Officer Santez was all mushy again today.” Revon sighed. Lindsay chuckled.

“What now?” She was used to Revon’s late night shenanigans by this point, they’ve been neighbors for four years. Revon hesitated, not sure how much of the conversation to share. They realized they don’t actually care.

“Oh the usual, how lucky I am to have Lukas as a friend. She did have more to say though. I tried to convince her I don’t have friends but she told me I do. Not only Lukas who has been there to save my life every time for eight years but also…you.” At that, Lindsay raised her eyebrow and lit another cigarette.

“Why does she say that?” Her hand seemed to be a bit shaky but Revon didn’t care to question it.

“Apparently every morning she’s had to check in, you’re out in the hall, stress smoking and asks where I am and if I’m okay.” Revon looked over and Lindsay let out an exasperated puff of smoke.

“Well yeah Revon, suicides are hella common here and I never know if you’ve actually done it. I know you like to think you’re this stone cold bitch. Don’t get me wrong, you totally are but that doesn’t take away the imprint you leave on other people. I’ve been here, talking to you for four fucking years. I can’t imagine how horrible it is for Lukas either, he’s known you longer. Despite how much you hate it, people care about you, Revon.” Silence followed. Lindsay catching her breath and Revon processing what they just heard.

“No. No one can care about me. I don’t care about anyone else, that means no one can care back. Why care about someone who doesn’t care about you?” Revon said finally. Lindsay scoffed.

“Sometimes our brains are fucked up. Love isn’t conditional.” With that Lindsay left. She never leaves first. No one’s ever told Revon they loved them. Lindsay didn’t either, she really just made a statement poorly timed for the context of the conversation. Revon looked down at their phone, shaking slightly in their hand. They made a decision.

[oceaneyesinla]

oops i did it again i ran out of tags pls read those then read this! (this might end up longer than the last one i apologise in advance)💖

the DING of the BELL reminds her of him 🥺 i love them 🥺

'you'd be lying if you said you haven't enjoyed seeing the world in technicolour again' BANGER after BANGER after BANGER line! i know i said it before but you're getting her feelings across SO WELL

yes girl go treat yourself you deserve it

there is something special about existing in a city, even when you know it's a little rough around the edges (okay my city is NOT THIS BAD but it has a bit of a reputation ya know but i love it anyway)

i love the way you write about the city and how they feel about it - she knows its dangerous and it's shit but there's some kind of deep seated attachment nevertheless, even if it's to nothing more than the memories of what was

MITSURI MY SWEET ANGEL BABY GIRL

her voice is scratchy from lack of use 🥺 oh sweet girl

she does still have a sense of humour about the situation though, good for you girlie

oh i know who this BITCH IS STAY AWAY FROM HER BITCH BOY

run girl run he's a bitch and he sucks

omg did i SAY you could touch her bitch boy?!?!??! girl you are right to run and evade and dodge he is bad news

not wanting to cut ties completely with her parents just so SOMEONE confirms she's alive 😭

oh this girl is going THROUGH it rn

yes sanemi please acknowledge that your brother figured this out before you, he's a good boy and not a dummy like u

'given your responses to his bullshit in the past, assault and battery are very real possibilities' I LOVE THEM honestly boy she deserves to hit you with a book just a little .... gently .... as a treat

oh sanemi she won't leave you any more than you could leave her

OH NO sanemi bby he assumes the worst but her phone is just in her couch bc of him

HE WOULD TEAR THE CITY APART FOR HER!!!!! oh i feel awful for him bc he's so scared for her but also protective devoted sanemi do be looking good 👀

HIS YOU?!?!??!?! screaming, actually screaming i've read this twice now and this line IS STILL GETTING ME

he hasn't seen her in over a week (since he did a fuck and run!!!) and this is how he greets her

also i love that she's just following him around smacking him while he checks the place out they're both such idiots i adore them

this whole mini argument is so funny she just calls him a stupid 😂 the drama of them honestly

he nearly breaks down her door, takes her keys and LEAVES boy you are a chaotic mess you didn't even EXPLAIN anything indignant spluttering is the LEAST you deserve

he went to buy snacks and period stuff for her 🥺 oh he is down so bad at this point she could ask him to bark and he would 100% he would be sassy about it but he would do it

he accurately predicted shit being thrown at him 😂 he knows her so well - the visual image of this scene is SO FUNNY

i said it before and i'll say it again - being a shit is one of his love languages!

i adore this scene so much - it fits their dynamic SO MUCH - there's so many feelings at play but underneath it all they just want each other - it's absolutely MASTERFUL

the KEY oh he loves her so much THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH

he sees her for everything she is and LOVES HER ANYWAY HE CAME BACK

closing his hand around the key - 'i'm yours' !!!!!!! 😭

'it was inevitable' YES THEY ARE DESTINED TO BE TOGETHER

and of course they're right back to sassing each other

'you can't help but nuzzle into his palm' i will cry i stg 😭

cocky confident sanemi my beloved 🫶🏻

i would also be worrying about the oven, what if the pizza burns????

he was willing to let the oven set itself on fire but not willing to let her go hungry ?????? 🥺 HE LOVES HER

the CUDDLING, the AFFECTION .... YOUR sanemi !!!!!!

'you're his woman now, after all; that means it's on him to take care of business' OH MY GOD I THINK I JUST PASSED OUT hdjowodfjejjd

oh fuck the hand over the mouth, the confidence !!!!!!!

uM making her hold her shirt between her teeth?!?!?!?!?!??!?!?

he's SO FOCUSED on making sure she's comfortable 🥺

'you're drawing him in like a magnet, your body his North Star' something something magnetic north, something something COMPASS oh god the symbolism i'm in LOVE

'it's you. it has always been you' my HEART

'you ain't gotta do a thing but take it' 😳 i would say something but it is not appropriate for polite company AT ALL just know i will be thinking about this for WEEKS

the praise THE PRAISE the possessiveness i might pass out

i adore that he blurts out everything when he's balls deep does her 😺 produce truth serum or does his brain just short out ???

he's so GENTLE with her like yeah he's fucking her hard and fast but he's so focused on her and her pleasure and her comfort truly she is the centre of his universe they've always been orbiting each other they were destined to crash together like this

the WAY he talks her through it

the brand - he likes her touching it because he can pretend just for a moment that he can escape, that the only brand he has is the one she's leaving with her touch - that the only brand that matters is the one she's left on his heart

their banter is everything to me (and also sanemi being a freaky lil horndog)

'under the beast's mask lies the endless beauty that makes up Sanemi Shinazugawa' this line is beautiful and this metaphor is incredible and *incoherent squeaking*

their intimacy is everything - their love is so earnest and genuine, they're just two people and they've got so many hang ups and issues and traumas and problems but they love each other BECAUSE of all that

oh her not knowing if anyone would notice if she disappeared i have some experience with this and you have got it across SO WELL you have absolutely nailed it in every imaginable way

'home is wherever you are' i have arbitrarily decided that Where I Want To Be is compass sanemi's song in my head

oh boy here it is! i'm pretty sure this is longer than the last one and about as coherent (i.e not at all)

this chapter was INCREDIBLE and i am so excited to see what comes next for them! this world you're building is so rich and intriguing and i am so proud and happy and grateful that i get to call someone so talented my friend!

COMPASS / CHAPTER 3

bad boy! Sanemi x Reader ✦ gang AU

A/N: eat up, loves. Enjoy the filth and domestic bliss of this chapter now, because we’re right back to the seedy violence of the Corps in Chapter 4.

CW: explicit sexual content • MDNI • period sex • grinding • lots of tit play • brief cervix fucking • creampie • Sanemi is a certified yapper in bed • light angst • humor • two idiots helplessly in love • mentions of a gun • mentions of gang violence • bookshop AU • gang AU

MASTERLIST HERE

COMPASS – CHAPTER 3 

It’s hard to notice the way time stops when you aren’t paying attention to it; when you have no reason to bother. 

Life hasn’t always been this way – lonely. In fact, your upbringing had been on the cushier side of comfortable, and you’d thought you’d been surrounded by love, from both family and friends alike. High school hadn’t been any different, You’d had a social circle, you’d been involved in extracurriculars, and you had a good relationship with your parents and siblings. 

Or, so you’d believed. Because then you graduated and everyone moved on while you were left  behind. 

That was when time stopped. 

Not literally, of course. Birthdays came and went, as did Christmas. Your hair changed, and so did your living arrangements. Six weeks after you graduated, you moved out of your parents’ place into your current apartment, and enrolled in the local university. Your siblings continued growing up and apart, each making their way through school and setting out on their own. At the time, it felt natural. They each had their own lives, as you did, so you hadn’t paid it much mind. 

That’s the tricky thing about it; it wasn’t something that happened all at once. It was slow, a trickle of sand in an hourglass you didn’t know had been turned. Only when the last grain fell did you realize the clock had been running at all, and by that point, it was too late. 

It started as an exodus of sorts from the city, right after graduation. Leaving home behind in search of greener pasteurs elsewhere wasn’t uncommon, so it hadn’t seemed all that surprising that communications with those you’d once called your friends, dwindled. But then, those who left never came back, even to visit, and the few who did never lingered for long. 

Had there been signs that the cancer was spreading? It’s hard to remember. Violence and crime has always been a party of life in the City, just as it is in any metropolitan area. The adults in your life always claimed such things were contained, an epidemic confined to the Silo and its poverty. As though the destitution of the neighborhood was somehow justified, a punishment befitting of those who had the misfortune of being born on the wrong side of a junkyard. 

Growing up, you’d eavesdropped on more than your fair share of adult conversations. At least, enough so to know that income lines did not curb misdeeds; it only changed them, gave them modifiers like white collar and organized, as though somehow that softened the brutal reality. As though the covert whispers behind the hands of adults at school functions or neighborhood gatherings whenever a family came into a sudden abundance of wealth or someone sported an injury they couldn’t explain, changed anything at all. 

If the crime in the Silo was the pot, then the crime bubbling under the sruface of neat shrubs and cobbled streets in your area of town had been the kettle. And the Corps had its hand in both. 

In hindsight, you often find yourself wondering whether your former friends had simply been lucky to get out before the empire began to crumble, or whether they’d simply seen writing on a wall you hadn’t known to read. Because once the turf wars between rival gangs began to escalate and spill over from their confinement in the Silo, those visits from friends fizzled out all together, and you never heard another word. Not from any of them. 

Your family, apparently, also had sensed whatever metamorphosis lingered on the City’s horizon, even if they hadn’t bothered to warn you, too. Once your youngest sister set off for university in a distant town – the very one who’d brought Sanemi to your family’s stoop that day, years ago – your parents swiftly packed up the townhouse you’d grown up in and put it on the market. 

They only told you they were moving after the place sold. 

They didn’t offer to take you with them, and you didn’t bother to ask. You didn’t even have their mailing address until that Christmas, when a festive little card arrived in the mail, bearing only Season’s Greetings from Mom and Dad.

Sure, maybe you’d realized a hair too late that you were only a transient presence in the lives of those you’d once considered friends, but the relegation to the background of your own family’s portrait had stung. Not important enough to be remembered, but too significant to forget. 

You tried, for a while, but it hurt even more that they never bothered to check in. After the second birthday without so much as a card or a phonecall, you stopped altogether. 

Alone, with nothing but a semi-failing bookstore to keep you busy, you quickly faded into the skyline of the city you’d once loved. And even it couldn’t keep itself from rotting. You tried not to resent it; decay, at least, still meant change. You just remained stuck. Frozen. 

When monotony is your only companion, it doesn’t take long to lose the senses that risk breaking it up. After a while, your eyes learned to stop seeing. Sounds folded together and became muffled, fading to little more than a single, dull buzz humming in ears that forgot how to pick out the chirping of morning birds or the incessant honking accompanying morning rush hour. 

Some days, you wondered whether you might be a ghost; others, you had to convince yourself you weren’t. 

And then he came along. 

———

“Come again!” 

Your farewell falls well short of the customer already halfway down the street, instead smacking right into the wood of the door as it slams shut behind him.

Sighing, you slouch against the top of your counter, your fist propped underneath your cheek. Great. Of course the first customer finally to grace your store after a whole day’s worth of nothing ended up being as dull as the hours you’ve spent bored behind the cash register. From the moment he’d stepped inside, he’d barely acknowledged your existence. Your helpful inquiries into whether he was looking for anything in particular, or how his day was going as you rang him up when unanswered, save an odd chuff.

And so, out the door goes your first brush with human contact in several days. Pathetic, but even more so when you consider how long it might be until you saw another person again. The hours spent laboring at the store didn’t offer much in the way of free time, and you don’t really have a social life capable of filling in the gaps, anyways.

Well, maybe you did. You had, up until a few days ago, at least. Whether that is still true now, however, isn’t something you’re particularly interested in unpacking. 

Thus, you’re left alone. Again.

Disheartened, your head slumps against your arm. You could always go back to your novel. It’s a crime fantasy; a latest release from an author you’d gotten into a few weeks earlier, the first book snagged off the shelf right before you closed up for the night. Rolling your head to the side, you eye the book, face down on the other end of the counter.

You scrunch your nose before rolling your head back the other direction, ignoring the book. Reading is the last thing you feel like doing right now, considering it’s all you’ve been doing. Once, you would’ve been thrilled at the prospect of having an entire day to spend behind the counter, flipping through a novel or two, completely undisturbed by the ringing of the store’s bell. But that was before you’d grown accustomed to a certain impish, foul-mouthed gang member who enjoyed hanging around the bookstore almost as much as he relished being a pain in your ass.

What you wouldn’t give to hear a snarky comment or scoff from him, now. 

Without Sanemi loitering around, a disquieting stillness has settled around the store. The distant howl of police sirens almost feels welcome, if nothing more than for how it breaks up the nearly suffocating silence of the store. 

Maybe it’s time to harass your boss about store advertising again. If you have to endure another week of silence this loud, you might just shove your head through the wall.

Realistically, you only have to tough out the summer slump for another month or so. Foot-traffic tended to pick up in the last weeks of August, when grouchy parents dragged in their children to buy the listed assigned reading books conveniently forgotten until the dwindling days leading into a new school year. And even once the back to school rush finally subsisted, you only had a few weeks to catch up on all the cataloging and ordering you’d missed fielding pissy parents before the holiday season began. As though the sudden shortage of certain titles was your fault, and not the consequence of their snot-nosed kids’ procrastination. 

But August is still weeks away. June has barely settled, the summer heat only just beginning to ramp up. The days have already become unbearably warm, the only relief coming at night, but even that would soon come to an end. Before long, everything would be intolerable — the weather, the silence, the lack of anything and everything that had made life for the last year enjoyable.

You crane your neck around to squint at the old-fashioned clock hanging beside the front door. It’s only half-past four, and the store doesn’t close until eight. 

Groaning, you thud your head against the counter. Three and a half more hours to go. 

You could scroll endlessly on your phone, but that would require looking at it, and that would be pointless. You know there are no missed calls; no texts, no pictures of a recent read with a scarred hand giving a thumbs-up or thumbs-down. If you look at it, you know you’ll see nothing and you will still be disappointed. Might as well save yourself the trouble, even if you can no longer avoid acknowledging the root cause of your terrible mood.

What a stupid asshole he is. What a stupid, idiotic, moronic asshole. 

When Sanemi Shinazugawa first exploded into your store last summer, you’d known you’d have to contend with a number of possible consequences as a result of getting involved. There’d been the obvious: the potential for arrest as his co-conspirator, for example, despite having not seen him in the three years following high school graduation. You’d devoted plenty of hours at the store reading crime novels, enough to know the police weren’t particularly careful about who got caught in their crosshairs. It would be almost too easy to deem you guilty by mere proximity to the scowling criminal you’d stuffed under your counter, even if the only association you’d ever had with him had been a decade earlier, when he’d been playing hero. 

Of course, that outcome hadn’t been the only slot on your bingo card, and once you’d pulled off your little stunt of hiding him away, you’d been forced to consider other options. Perhaps he would demand free pick of your store’s inventory with the same casual arrogance he’d had striding out that day, book in his hand and not a damn dollar paid for it. Maybe he’d want your shabby bookstore to become a front for whatever nefarious dealings he did on behalf of the Corps. 

As time went on, the fallout options from your budding friendship with Sanemi began to evolve. The closer you grew to him, the more dismal the potential ending: maybe you’d end up seeing something you shouldn’t, and he’d have to cut you out to prevent any further harm. Hell, you’d even grappled with the very real possibility of getting tangled up in something you shouldn’t, only to disappear without a trace, right alongside him. 

Years spent in relative isolation meant you had an imagination that could outpace most others, so really, there was no shortage of possibilities that getting involved with Sanemi Shinazugawa might entail. It was pragmatic, on your end. Know what to expect and that way, you wouldn’t be caught off guard in the event whatever you had with him ended in a blaze of glory. Or gunfire. 

As wild as your imagination could get, not one damn time had it accounted for you falling in love with the stupid asshole. And yet, here you are, just as much an idiot as he is, but with nothing to show for it. 

Not entirely true, you think with a small snort as you start up the store’s computer, clicking through a catalogue of upcoming releases eligible for the next shipment. He’d left you that morning with a dozen knots in your hair and a soreness between your legs that lingered for a few days afterward, even when he didn’t. Now, here you are, six days out from Sanemi taking your virginity, and you haven’t heard a god damn word from him. 

Not that you’re bitter about it. 

As you scroll through the website of the store’s main distributor, one title manages to catch your eye. It’s newer, but it’s only you’d already stocked a few days earlier, having reserved a handful of copies the moment the publisher opened up preorders to smaller retailers. 

You’d created an alert on your phone for that very reason, one set to go off the second the order window opened, so you could be sure the early releases arrived as quickly as possible. All because of a certain, low-life felon and his fat mouth. 

Whaddya mean I gotta wait another four months ‘til the next one? Sanemi had whined, tossing his book onto your counter. It was the third installment in a fantasy series you’d turned him onto, and he’d rapidly devoured it with the same veracity as he’d had the other two. That’s bullshit.

That’s publishing, you’d snipped back, shoving his arms off the freshly wiped-down surface of the store counter. 

Undeterred by your roughness, Sanemi only winked and re-settled himself, a preening smirk tugging at his lips as he plopped his elbow right back where you didn’t want it. Guess you’ll have to think of somethin’ else to occupy me with, Princess. 

Oh? You leveled that insufferable smugness with a sly grin of your own. What do you suggest? 

You got brains that match all that beauty. ‘M sure you’ll come up with something. He’d replied, tapping your nose with your finger, and snorting when you jerked away. 

In retrospect, the blatant flirting made you want to crawl under your counter and never emerge again. He’d been so damn obvious, and you’d eaten every bit of it up. Perhaps that’d been his plan all along, and you’d fallen for it, hook, line and sinker. 

It’s hard not to let insecurity gnaw at you but you’re only human, and your edges are becoming more jagged. 

You exit out of the web browser, unenthused. Nothing had particularly caught your eye, but then again, not much was capable of holding your attention, lately. Nothing, save the constant replay of that night and the next morning, and you’d picked that particular bone clean. There was nothing left to dissect, not even the marrow, but that didn’t stop you from returning to it, again and again. 

You roll your shoulders. The best thing you can do for yourself is to find a distraction. 

The back stock room sits full of new releases, and it’s been a few weeks since you updated the store’s colorful display of fresh titles. A bonus of having nearly total control over the bookstore is that you get to decide how displays are arranged, and it’s something you’ve grown to take pride in. With a sigh, you grab the circlet of keys from its peg beneath the store counter and head for store room. Might as well speed along the last two hours of the store’s operation, and give yourself something else to do that isn’t this – feeling hopelessly, pathetically sorry for yourself. 

Two trips between the back room and the store’s merry front later, and you set to work. At first, the chaos in your head is smoothed blissfully over as you focus on clearing the shelf of its its previous New Releases, stacking the books up in neat piles to be shelved in their proper sections later. But your concentration is weak, at best, and a task as tedious as this makes your mind go blank, leaves behind a clean slate upon which it can map out all your insecurities. 

Logically, it isn’t hard to imagine why Sanemi’s giving you the cold shoulder.  He made it obvious that night, when he tried putting on the airs of a big, scary monster he imagined himself to be, though you’d long since learned how to see right through the facade. Even if he’d made good on his empty threat to handle you roughly, he would’ve regretted it — so much so, you doubt he would’ve been able to keep the charade up through the end. Sanemi didn’t seem like the type who got off roughing up his partners.

Given how gentle he’d been in the hours that followed, it seemed you’d been proven right. If only he could realize it, too. Maybe then, he’d figure out how to get his head out of his ass. 

Sighing, you toss the last of the previous display’s books aside, and set to work on dusting down the shelves. The venom in your thoughts has less to do with your scar-speckled best friend and more to do with the bruise to your ego you’ve spent the last five days nursing. For all the ways Sanemi’s experience between the sheets greatly outpaces yours, it’s also limited. Affection wasn’t something he’d been known to give. In fact, you’d spent a fair deal of time wracking your brain, trying to remember whether you’d ever heard of him being in a relationship – as teens or otherwise – only to come up empty-handed. 

In this respect, at least, he’s no smarter than you are. Actually, he’s probably more of an idiot for it, given how he seems to lack the tact to send a basic courtesy text. A casual, hey, talk soon. 

Casual, you snort, as you begin restocking the New Arrivals section. Sanemi Shinazugawa might be better known for his casual dalliances, but nothing about what transpired between you had been casual. Not even fucking close. 

An hour passes, and you almost feel at ease, finally left alone by the constant whizz and whir of intrusive thoughts you know better than to indulge. You’re nearly finished with a row of new romance titles, when the title of one in particular snags your attention. 

Only Casual. A resounding fuck you from the universe if you’ve ever known one. You wouldn’t have been more surprised if the letters leapt off the book’s glossy front cover to smack you square in the nose. 

The longer you stare down at the title, the more doubt threatens to creep back in, lapping at the shore of your mind with its seductive hiss. Maybe you haven’t heard from him because you never will again. Maybe it was only casual. Because that’s Sanemi’s nature, and you’d given it up for someone who would never be capable of anything more than that. 

“Stop it,” you chide yourself, taken aback by your own venomous thoughts. That’s not him; at least, you’re almost certain it isn’t. Sanemi’s no-strings attached reputation had been well-known, and that has to mean he was transparent with his past partners about his intentions. If you truly were another notch in his belt, he would’ve said something, and he’d never struck you as the dishonest type. But Sanem’s persistent silence has bred a foreign sort of doubt in you that you haven’t quite figured out how to shake. “Where’s spiraling going to get you, stupid?” 

Casual wouldn’t have been Sanemi trying desperately to scare you away when you’d asked the most of him. It wouldn’t have made him insist – quietly, resignedly – that you deserved someone better than him. And somehow, you don’t think it was very casual for him to fuck you without protection or sleep naked with you in your bed. 

I love you, Sanemi. 

That certainly hadn’t been very casual, either, nor was the torturous look in his eyes that followed. The pain could very well have been born from a place of rejection, sure. Another punch to an already throbbing bruise because you were again crossing a line you’d already asked him to blur. That, despite the sheer possession embedded in every movement of his body and lips, he could not and would not love you back.

Books fully stocked, you turn your attention to the pile of titles that need to be assigned to their proper sections. Your eyes flick to the clock on the backwall, and with joy, you see that it’s already five-past closing. Satisfied, you flip the Open sign in the front window to Closed and turn the top lock on the door. The pile will have to wait until tomorrow morning. It’s time for you to get the hell out of this asylum. 

Closing time at the bookstore is a monotony you never mind, because it always means you’re leaving. You complete your tasks with ease, cashing out the register and taking the funds to the safe in the storeroom, to be picked up by the owner at the end of the week. 

As you gather your water bottle and bag, you chew absently on your thumbnail, mind still working through the mess your isolation has created. 

It’s only been five days. In the grand scheme of your friendship, that was nothing. Sanemi said you’d hear from him, and he’d never given you a reason to doubt him. 

So, you’ll continue doing the only thing you know how to do, where he’s concerned.

You will wait. 

———

Waiting, as it turns out, is far easier said than done. Or, maybe, Sanemi is just more of an idiot than you gave him credit for. 

Either way, your phone is still silent and you are still alone. 

Perhaps your self-assurance that you need only wait for Sanemi to come slinking back had been too optimistic. Because as five days become six, seven, eight, that certainty becomes tainted by doubt. Admittedly, it’s only a little, but it’s still substantial enough to form a pit in your stomach. One that gnaws at your edges just enough to irritate you, an itch you can’t quite scratch.

At first, it’s easy to ignore; after all, gaps in Sanemi’s communication aren’t uncommon. In fact, you’re fairly used to going days or sometimes even more than a week without hearing from him. Usually, he broke his silence with some dumb meme or an abrupt you eat yet? that let you know he wasn’t dead in some ditch. 

But the more days that pass leaving you with nothing but your thoughts for company, that sourness festers. Because, beneath your irritation lingers the faintest trace of insecurity. 

Is it irrational? Maybe. And you’re not so stupid that you can’t draw the very obvious connection between his silence and your anxiety. No, you’re painfully aware that your insecurity has everything to do with how the two of you left things after that night. 

You don’t bother wondering whether you might feel differently had you not blurted out those three words that meant nothing between you would ever be the same. That particular ship sailed the moment you fell back against your sheets, naked, and begged him to make you his. The moment he agreed.

The constant reminders of him aren’t helpful, either. Every ding! of the store bell sends your heart pounding only for the bitter taste of disappointment to fill your mouth when you realize the newest patron is without the mop of silvery white hair or priggish smirk you so desperately long to see.

Does your ridiculous pining inspire you to reach for your phone? Of course not. Sanemi’s the one who owes you that; it’s his rules that have dictated whatever it is that’s blossomed between you in the last year. You can’t make his choice for him, not when he won’t so much as clue you in on the options. The why.

But god, do you wish you knew. 

—

The ninth morning arrives just like the previous eight: hot, humid, and without a goddamn word from Sanemi. 

The day passes like all the others. You rise at six, dress, and try to pretend there isn’t a headache blooming behind your right eye. You make it to the store by seven, and do your opening duties, make shitty coffee in the store’s shittier coffee pot, and settle in behind the counter. Customers trickle in throughout the day and you greet them with the same, plastered smile, carefully perfected over the two years you’ve spent shackled here.

The hours whiz by, and every tick of the clock hand becomes duller. Even the sirens that set off every so often in various directions around the store seem muted, despite their persistent wailing. The faces of shoppers blur together, and by midday, you’ve forgotten how to see them at all.  

You wonder whether you’re falling right back into that frozen stasis in which you’d lived before Sanemi exploded into your store, dragging in with him a string of felonies, his foul mouth, and the sun. It’s a frightening thought, but not frightening enough, it seems, to keep the color from leeching out of the world around you.

You shake your head. No, you won’t do that again. Whatever you’d been doing before Sanemi hadn’t been living; it was barely more than existing. As bright as your world had been since he’d become a part of it, you can’t chalk your happiness up to him. It isn’t a burden he asked for, and it would be unfair for you to dump it on him. After all, he must’ve been just as lonely, if he’d sought a friend in you.

You’ll survive without him; you know you will. After all, you’ve managed just fine, these last few years. 

But you’d be lying if you said you haven’t enjoyed seeing the world in technicolor again. And that is enough to make you hope (desperately) that Sanemi might think of his world as a little brighter with you in it, too. 

—

By the time you close up for the night, your dull headache has blossomed into a raging migraine that threatens to split your skull in two. A perfect shit cherry to top off this wonderfully shit day. 

Of course, your headache could have everything to do with the fact you’ve gone the entire day without a meal, but it’s easier to blame Sanemi and his silence, so you do. Still, the thought of cereal yet again churns your stomach. 

Twilight has settled over the city skyline when you leave the store, dark and locked up tightly.  The neon lights of the city have already switched on, bathing the sidewalks in their artificial glow. The air has thankfully cooled, but it’s still sticky, and sweat beads around your temple before you’ve made it down the block. 

There are few things in this city that make life enjoyable. The closet you loosely call home is egregiously overpriced and in the summer, damn near uninhabitable. The bookstore pays far too little to justify the amount of work you do. And, it’s not like you have ties to anything or anyone here, save a criminal who can’t be bothered to shoot you a goddamn text. 

But the diner on Twelfth Street? That dingy hole in the wall with the best breakfast menu in town is almost enough to make up for all of the City’s shortcomings. 

The promise of buttery pancakes and salty bacon makes your mouth water, and that alone is enough for you to change course. Home can wait; you deserve to treat yourself, for once.  

You make the turn down Market, treading the familiar path toward the diner. Sanemi once told you that the safest times to walk these streets was dawn and dusk — the transitional periods of the day, when regular nine-to-fivers went about their daily commutes. For one, blissful hour at sunrise and sunset, the City returned to the bustling metropolis of your memory. Office workers crowded the streets, stopped in at shops lining the sidewalks for last minute errands or quick dinners, as they pretended to not hear the distant sirens over the honking of impatient cars and beeps from the crosswalks. 

Though, you think as you eye a group of young adults crowded around a table outside one of restaurants, perhaps none of them are pretending. Maybe they’re painfully aware that they’re stranded on a sinking ship. Maybe they’ve decided to just enjoy what few precious moments they have, before it all goes down for good. 

Or, maybe they haven’t noticed there’s any water rising, at all. 

In fairness, it’s not like you’re any better than they are. Here you are, playing at a cozy (albeit, boring) life, working at a bookstore that has no connection to either the Corps or its rivals. No protection. 

Arguably, that means you’re worse; you know all too well of the danger life here poses, but here you are, clinging to the fraying vestiges of normalcy like it might be worth salvaging. 

Oh well. If the merry twenty-somethings gathered outside and toasting to overpriced wine haven’t caught on by now, they never will. Not until their favorite restaurant goes up in flames, or the sharp crack of gunfire shatters their pretty stemmed glasses. 

Just as it happened in the other boroughs of the City, like the Western Wing. The Kizuki, you recalled Sanemi saying, spitting the name like a curse. Don’t fuckin’ go near the Western Wing, you hear me? Off limits. Silo, too.

If he eventually came back, how long before he’d be warning you about your own small corner of the world? Where else could you go, once the bones of the City finally went up in flames?

The place Sanemi would: its ashes.

—-

The diner is teeming with rush hour patrons, and you have to force your way through a gaggle of teens to reach the pickup counter. Despite how cramped the inside is, one of the waitresses manages to spot you, calling out your name in greeting. A few seconds later; and she appears just behind the counter in a whirl of pink and green, and hands off your to-go order with a beaming smile. You pass her your money, and waive her off when she tries to give you change.

She could use it; you’re all too familiar with the strain of meager wages.

You make to depart the diner with a cheerful “thank you!” called back to your waitress, though you can’t tell whether she heard you. Your voice is hoarse, your throat, scratchy from days of non-use, and your farewell barely rises above the hum of the other patrons. The lump of self-pity sitting that’s been sitting in your gut hardens. You’d anticipated the mental toll from your utter lack of human connection, but you hadn’t expected any physical effects from it. If nothing else, let Sanemi’s absence be your very obvious sign from the universe that you need to find yourself a friend. Preferably, one who isn’t habitually involved in illegal activity that may or may not land you in jail as his unwitting accomplice. 

Takeout secured, you work to squeeze through the thick clusters of dine-in patrons, eyes fixed on the exit as you dodge an odd elbow here and there. Right as you reach for the metal bar on the door, your foot stubs into something hard. It’s enough to nearly send you flailing, your hands crinkling the brown paper bag containing your dinner before it can spill all over the sticky tile.   

You barely have time to finish sputtering your curse when a hand grabs your forearm, steadying you. The thing responsible for your collison is a man, one apparently trying to decide whether he wanted to order or chance somewhere else, given how he lingers in the doorway.

Inwardly, you know he’s in the wrong because he’s blocking the exit, but that doesn’t stop you from rushing to apologize, anyway. To his credit, he waves you off. Eager to make your escape, you ready some nicety that will allow you to slip out the front door.

The moment he meets your eyes, any platitudes you might have offered dry right up on your tongue. 

Here, in a city surrounded by skyscrapers and streets lined with buildings jam-packed together like sardines, there’s little room for space, and it’s not something you’ve ever particularly missed. But as you stare into his eyes — black and cold — you finally realize what it means for something to be empty; how it feels, to look into an abyss.

Perhaps it’s because this man has within him, a void, that his eyes reflect the neon signage cluttering the diner’s walls. That’s the only explanation you can ration, given the way they seem to blend and swirl together in those depthless pools, creating an odd blend of colors. Unnatural and unnerving. He grins and it’s sharp, wicked thing. His mouth is too wide for his face, hungry and full of teeth that gleam far too bright. A wolf ready to rip into its prey.

Some deep, primal part of you waits for him to do just that, to sink those too-sharp teeth into your skin and shred you apart. Instead, he only inclines his head toward you, a mocking sketch of civility. 

“Ladies first.” 

You fumble around your words, searching for something — anything — to say, but there is only cotton in your mouth. Worse, the longer your paralysis persists, the more you’re forced to study him, even though everything about him — from his pale hair to his unusual eyes — sets your teeth on edge. 

A too-red tongue flicks out to wet his lips, and the sweat gathering at your temple freezes. Maybe it’s a trick of the light, or maybe your nerves have you searching for shadows that may or may not exist, but you swear there’s something on his tongue. A tattoo of sorts, perhaps. 

Whatever it is – light tricks or you own over-imaginative mind – it’s nothing you need to look harder into. If anything, your friendship with Sanemi has taught you there’s no safety measure more important than minding your business. And, it’s getting late. You need to get home, before it gets dark.

Sanemi hates when you walk alone in the dark. 

“Sorry again,” you manage with a squeak. You try and push by him once more, doing everything in your power not to brush up against him, when a hand grabs at your forearm.

If your heart could somehow unstick itself from your throat, you might have been brave enough to demand to know what his problem is; but it won’t, so you aren’t.  

All you can do is stare into those soulless eyes.

“Pretty girls shouldn’t rush,” he chastises with a saccharine smile, and his fingers squeeze your arms. His skin is cold and clammy.  

At last, you find your voice and you imbue it with all the steel you can muster. “My boyfriend is waiting.”  

The lie rolls easily off your tongue and gives you enough courage to wrench your arm free. The man lets you go, easily, that too-sweet smile never once faltering as you hastily push through the diner’s exit.

The air outside opens up, yet still, you find it difficult to breathe. Every one of your senses is on high-alert, trained toward the door at your back and the unshakeable feeling of eyes watching you as you hurriedly cross the street. 

You don’t dare look back.

Iron pumps hot in your legs as you half-walk, half-jog toward home. You still feel him watching you even as you reach your street, and you won’t dare to let him see where you live in the event your paranoia proves correct. 

You walk around the block — twice — and feint down a side alley, not caring for the food steadily growing colder in your bag. Only when you confirm the man is no where in sight, only when you’re certain you can’t feel eyes bearing into your back any longer do you finally loop back around to your building.

The deadbolt on your door is a comfort you’d never thought to appreciate until now, and you hurry to slide it into place the moment you step inside your apartment. Door locked, you slump back against the lacquered wood and sink to the ground, your heart thumping uncomfortably in your chest as you work to steady your ragged breath. 

For once, Sanemi’s paranoia doesn’t feel like a burden.

—

All your life, you’ve known that anxiety is an ailment best cured by food. Twenty minutes later, you sit at your kitchen table and eat your takeout in silence, save the odd squeak of your fork scraping against the plastic bottom of the container, the encounter at the diner, forgotten.

Instead, you’re left to chew on bits of scrambled egg and your own loneliness. You’ve never had a roommate — never wanted one, for that matter. Your apartment has always been your space, a place where you could go and just be, without a thought or care in the world. Your perfect sanctuary where you could fill the emptiness of your life with books, the lovely stories so delicately crafted by those perhaps as lonely as you. 

Overpriced and temperamental as your apartment could be, it’s still home. 

And yet, somehow, home feels emptier than you remember, despite the fact you’ve always lived here alone. 

Normally, you’d turn on the TV or listen to something in order to distract from the utter stillness in your apartment, but tonight, you can’t even bring yourself to do that. Not when the repetitive cycle of commercials and the same four reruns airing seemed only to amplify the monotony of your solitude.

So, you continue to eat in silence.

Later, after you’ve shoved your empty takeout containers to the side, you sit at your kitchen table and fiddle with your phone. 

It’s been a few days since you’ve bothered to look at it. It has remained on Do Not Disturb, shoved to the bottom of your bag, with you too unwilling to look at the hateful little reminder that without Sanemi to talk to, you are utterly and completely alone. 

You have few contacts saved, so finding Sanemi’s name takes little time – but not before you scroll past the entry marked simply, “Mom.”

You don’t even want to know how long it’s been since you last talked to her – or your dad, for that matter. Somehow, you doubt your phone has kept any record of those few and far between calls. They barely ever lasted long enough to make a dent on your phone bill, anyway. 

Oh, Mama, you think bitterly. What would you make of me, now? 

Knowing her daughter had fallen helplessly in love with a season criminal might very well do her in. She’d have a conniption, at the very least, especially if she learned of Sanemi’s reputation among women. There’d be no chance to deny what you’d let him do – what you’d asked him for, and it wouldn’t matter that you loved him any more than it would that he’d rescued her other child, once upon a time. 

Though, you suppose you’re getting ahead of yourself. All of your spite rests on the presumption that she remembered to care.

She doesn’t, so it doesn’t really matter. 

You snort. Maybe you should mention it to your parents somehow, even if through a lie. Perhaps in your next Christmas card; a cheerful, Merry Christmas! I’m dating a known gang-banger – talk next year!

God, their faces when they realized you were nothing more than some felon’s whore. You’d be written off faster than the ink on the card could dry. That alone might be worth it, if only to not have to continue playing this tedious game of pretend.

But, if Sanemi never speaks to you again, you’d rather not have all your bridges burned. At least the annual check-in with them confirmed you were alive – if those ended, you’d truly have no one. 

So, you scroll on, finding the object of all your ire – and heartache – and tap on its entry.

Your thumbs hover over the keyboard as the cursor in the blank text box blinks at you, Sanemi’s name just above it. 

Hey. You type before deleting it with a wince. 

That book you’ve been waiting on just arrived. I’ll leave it on the restock shelf for you. 

No, no, that won’t work either. You don’t want him to think you plan on ignoring what happened, and neither do you want to give him the out. You two will have to talk about it eventually, even if it’s to establish it can never happen again. 

The thought of losing him makes your heart crack, the fissure spreading across your chest until you’re not sure whether you can keep yourself together. 

If you’re cutting this off, I at least deserve to know. 

Your thumb hovers over the arrow to send, your cursor blinking expectantly at you. 

You don’t want to be hateful any more than you want to appear insecure. After all, Sanemi said you’d hear from him, and it’s only been a week. He’d promised you would hear from him. 

 He’d promised. 

With a frustrated grunt, you hurl your phone at your couch, anger melting into numbness as you watch it slide between the cushions and out of sight. You do not retrieve it; instead you throw your takeout into the garbage with more force than necessary and strip yourself down to your underwear. 

Summer has arrived fast and hot, and you know that the ancient air conditioning unit groaning and guttering in your window is due to short out on you any day now, as it does every year. Already the air in your apartment had become sticky and warm; it’s only a matter of time before sleeping became downright unbearable. 

Though no one is around to hear, you snort. Figures that Sanemi’s sudden disappearance from your life coincides with your yearly descent into renter’s hell. If the universe has decided to you need to be dragged through shit, it’s doing a thorough job of it.

As if on cue, a familiar pang of pain shoots through your lower stomach. You glance at the date on your phone, and groan. Great. The last row of this month’s birth control card should’ve been your warning. Your  already shitty mood is about to get even worse. 

Your new prescription is already in your drawer, and you half-contemplate skipping the half-row of sugar pills, but you hold off. You’d already suffered a stern lecture from your doctor for doing that in the past, and you know it’s not good for you. No matter how great the temptation to spare yourself from debilitating cramps, you’ll just have to suffer through it. 

Besides, this period probably isn’t the one to try and skip, anyways. Not after the events of that night. You’re better off making sure you’re getting your money’s worth out of birth control that, admittedly, costs more than you reasonably can afford. If nothing else, it’s worth it to avoid having to eat crow and admit you should’ve taken Sanemi up on his offer to get you the morning-after pill.

You tie your hair back as best you can, grateful to get it off your sweat-dampened neck and glance toward your couch. Perhaps you’ll muster up the courage to text him tomorrow, but for tonight, you’ll remain a coward. So, you leave your phone there, straddled somewhere between the cushions, and switch off your kitchen light before burying yourself in bed, the ache blooming in your lower belly matching the one in your heart.

—--

The first ray of morning light streaking through the cracks in the cardboard stuffed in his window is nearly blinding, but Sanemi is already awake. He has been for a few hours now, unable to find much peace in a night filled with distant sirens and plagued by thoughts of you. 

God, he feels like shit. It’d been after midnight by the time he’d cruised back through city limits, and it was nearly two before he returned to his apartment, Sanemi having gone out of the way to drop off Rengoku’s car so he wouldn’t have to deal with it come sunrise. 

Despite the emotional taxation of his visit with Genya, however, Sanemi had been hard-pressed to find sleep. Now that the sun’s up, though, he can’t avoid facing it any longer. His phone has been blissfully quiet all morning, and he has to take advantage of that silence while he can.

Today is the day, he decides between splashes of tepid tap water against his face once he forces himself out of bed and into his bathroom to wash up. 

Today is the day he muscles up the courage to talk to you. 

Not like he’s really got much of an excuse to put this off longer than he already has. Genya had told him as much. 

The bristles of his toothbrush flatten against his teeth under the force of Sanemi’s brushing, toothpaste foaming in the corners of his mouth. Embarrassing. So fucking embarrassing. His teenage shithead of a brother — who couldn’t even talk to girls, let alone date one — had been able to see the obvious answer to the very predicament Sanemi had spent the better part of a week running around like a headless chicken.

Then again, nothing in Sanemi’s life has even been simple, so it figures he’d try and complicate something as straightforward as this. You.

A hearty spit into the sink later and Sanemi wipes his mouth clean with the back of his hand. 

He supposes it was inevitable; he can’t avoid you forever, and he owes you some sort of explanation, an in-person one, at that. No matter how new this is to him, he at least knows you deserve more than a measly text or phone call. 

The bones of the Silo give way to the rusted shipyard marking its outer limits, the landscape whizzing by in a blur of rust and decay as Sanemi speeds past. Though the wind tears and whips at his cheeks, it hardly offers much in the way of relief from the heat of the sun bearing down on him from high above. 

Sweat rolls down his back as Sanemi guns through the city’s East Wing, opting to zip down back roads instead of dealing with the traffic on the main streets. It feels strange, to be speeding towards a decision that will fundamentally alter everything in his life, when everything right now feels the same as it did a year ago. Here he is, gunning down the same path to the bookstore he’d taken then — down an alley, out of sight from laying eyes. Summer in the City carries the same, weighted heat from year to year, and this one is no exception: oppressively hot, the air soupy and thick with humidity. 

And Sanemi is still as hopelessly shackled to the Corps as he was then – as he’s always been.

The brand between his shoulders itches.

Still, he supposes he can count his lucky stars that he’s not on the run from the cops as he’d been last summer – at least, not currently. And he takes comfort in knowing that he won’t find himself being pushed and shoved under your store counter, your lip curling in disdain even as you made good on a decade-old favor.

At least, he hopes that’s the case.

In all honesty, Sanemi knows he may very well find himself on the receiving end of that cold, unforgiving stare just as he had last summer. Only this time, the daggers you shoot his way might actually shred his heart to bits.

You have to be pissed at him. You’d be stupid not to be, and while your unfathomable affection for him suggests otherwise, you are smarter than he is – infinitely so. He’s ghosted you for more than a week, and you can’t possibly think you have to accept that kind of idiocy on his part, no matter his excuses. That means this talk has to be about damage control – however much of it you’ll allow. 

He should start with an apology, that much is obvious. And he’ll follow it up with something he never deigned to give anyone who didn’t have the name of the Corps’ boss family attached to them: an explanation.

Though, he notes with a grimace, an explanation supposed you’d give him long enough to make it through his apology without lobbing a well-aimed book at his head. Given your responses to his bullshit in the past, assault and battery are very real possibilities.

The closer he draws to your bookstore, and the gnawing pit in his stomach grows wider. If you’re angry, then he’ll let you be. You can curse him all you want, throw as many book-bound projectiles at his head as you’d like, as long as you’ll hear him out.

There is another possibility, however. One that he can only label as a worst-case scenario, one that he hasn’t dared let himself consider even though he knows it’s a very real — and very understandable — outcome. The one where you have no reaction at all, only utter indifference to him and his absence. After all, you’d only asked one thing from him, and he gave it to you. Even if you’d told him you loved him, you hadn’t asked him to love you back. 

Maybe you’d said it knowing he was a lost cause, and now that you’ve gotten what you wanted — the loss of your virginity and the weight of your confession off your shoulders — you could move on from him, even if that meant taking the misshapen lump of his heart with you as you left him behind.

Deep down, as devastating as that outcome would be for him, indifference is the best option for you. You’re better off without him; he knows this. So, he’ll pick up the pieces of himself and he’ll figure out how to glue them back together on his own.

Mind spiraling, Sanemi turns onto the street leading to you, a nauseous mixture of dread and anxiety churning in his gut. 

About two doors down from the bookstore sits a coin laundromat and a repair shop. It’s here that Sanemi’s bike gutters to a stop, his eyes sweeping the streets for any out-of-place faces, anyone who might seem too interested in his movements.

All is quiet.

He stashes his bike in the gap between the two buildings. Normally, he’d pull into the alley behind the bookstore and come in through the back exit, but he doubts you’ve left the door unlocked for him. Not when he’s dropping by unannounced. He can’t imagine you’d take kindly to him pounding on the emergency exit, and the fewer opportunities he has to piss you off, the better. He’ll have to use the front door.

Kickstand in place and key tucked safely in his pocket, Sanemi shuffles along the sidewalk. Anxiety twists his stomach into knots, and it takes effort to force himself to breathe normally. But when he reaches the shop’s entryway, Sanemi stops cold. 

The store is dark; there are no lights on inside, and even the way the door sits shut seems uncharacteristically cold.

He frowns. Perhaps you’re in the back, dealing with some delivery issue. Sanemi reaches for the door’s knob, ready to call out your name —

It’s locked.

Sanemi’s heart begins thudding uncomfortably in chest. The store is never closed. In the year he has known you, you are at the bookstore seven days a week, except for Christmas. But it’s midsummer; the store should not be closed. The lights shouldn’t be off, it shouldn’t be empty.

You should not be missing from behind the clerk’s counter.

Some semblance of sanity remains and encourages him to hurry around to the back alley, where he knows you accept deliveries. But the alley is as dark and as barren as the inside of your store, and the emergency exit is locked tight.

No store. No you. No sign indicating that you might have stepped away for a moment, or detailing some issue with the store and apologizing for any inconveniences to your customers. No explanation. 

Sanemi’s hands are dialing your number before his mind can fully process the action.

“Answer your fucking phone.” His voice trembles as the phone rings and rings. “Now.”

It goes to voicemail.

He tries again. Voicemail.

Again.

Voicemail.

Voicemail.

Voicemail.

His body breaks into a run even before his mind can fully piece together the action, his bike forgotten. Riding it would require a coordination Sanemi doesn’t have anyway, not while his thumb is busy jamming repeatedly at the call function on his phone, as Sanemi sprints for your studio. 

The line rings and rings but his desperation goes unanswered. And each time he hears the automated machine instruct him to leave a message, Sanemi grows more frantic. The burn in his legs barely registers; he is consumed only by the need to move faster, to close the distance between him and your apartment as quickly as possible.

Answer your phone. He wills you, pressing the green phone icon yet another time, and then another. Answer your phone. Answer your goddamn phone.

You never do.

He makes it to your place in record time, his fist hammering on your door. His panicked call of your name echoes around the empty halls outside your apartment.

You don’t answer.

Sanemi does not relent; one hand finds your name on his phone while the other continues pounding away at your door. He brings his phone to his ear and listens for the sound of your voice.

It does not come — but your ringtone does. Faint; muffled from its place inside your apartment, but unmistakable.

The sweat on the back of his neck turns to ice.

Sanemi’s breath comes hard out of his mouth in short, panicked gasps. Of all your eccentricities, Sanemi knows there are exactly two things you’re never without: lip balm and your phone.

His chest constricts. Your phone ringing inside means only one of two possibilities. Either you are in your apartment, hurt or captive, or you’ve been taken.

Swearing viciously, he jerks against the locked knob of your apartment door, a frustrated growl tearing deep from his throat. He spins away, a frantic hand raking through his hair, before he turns back.

Eyes wild, he considers your door.

It really is a flimsy piece of wood. Even if your deadbolt was somehow latched, Sanemi wagers he could kick it in fairly easily.

Whatever has happened to you, it’s his fault. Whether someone had figured out who and what you were to him, or whether it was because you simply lived in a shitty part of town and he hadn’t taken enough steps to ensure your safety, your blood is on his hands. That means it’s his responsibility to fix it — even if he has to tear this rotting city apart, brick by crumbling brick.

He backs away with a crazed expression. Fuck what your neighbors might think. Fuck what you might think, he thinks, getting into the stance he needs to rip your doors from its hinges. He’ll fix your door after he finds you and makes sure you’re safe. After he takes care of whoever dared to lay a hand on you, his you —

Just as Sanemi is readying his leg, he hears the distinct rattle of a chain unlatching, and then the door swings open.

Shocked eyes, blissfully familiar, blink at him, standing posed to kick in your door just as he stares back.

Sanemi doesn’t think; his hand seizes tightly around your wrist and he yanks you into the hallway, slamming your door shut with the other hand.

“What the fu —?” You start but you’re cut off with a muted oomph! as Sanemi whirls you behind him. An indignant half screech squeaks out of you as Sanemi kicks your door open, one arm keeping you at his back.

His other hand has his gun drawn and cocked.

Your eyes bulge. “Sanemi, what —?”

“Who else is here?” His voice has a deadly sort of authority you’ve never heard, and it makes a lump of cold fear lodge in your throat. “How many?”

He flashes a quick look at you over his shoulder. “Are you hurt?”

“What are you talking about?” you snap, following closely behind and pounding at his back as Sanemi systematically makes his way through your apartment, gun pointed and ready. But your flailing fists do little to stop him. “What are you doing, you psychopath?”

He doesn’t answer; not until he clears your kitchen, that deadly hunk of metal still braced before him.

“The store was closed.” He says shortly, eyes scanning the shadows. “You weren’t answering your phone. I called and called and you didn’t answer —“

“I’m on my period!” You burst, hands dragging down your heated cheeks. “I’ve been here dying from cramps, you idiot!”

The hand holding the gun drops limply to his side, as Sanemi turns to blink dumbly at you.

“I told you, you imbecile, that my periods suck!” Your face feels hot and your voice has taken on a distinct squeakiness in the wake of your mortification. “I have pain meds to manage my symptoms, so I’ve been in and out of sleep all fucking day! I wasn’t answering my phone because I didn’t feel well enough to answer it, you — you —“ Your eyes screw up as you wrack your brain for something that can express the depths of his idiocy. “You — stupid!”

Your lackluster insult is enough to break Sanemi’s blank stupefaction. “I didn’t know.” He finally offers after a long moment, a hint of pink rising in his cheeks.

“So, your first instinct was to do what — act like a goddamned maniac?” You demand as Sanemi hastily puts the safety back on his gun and tucks it into the waistband of his pants. “You don’t speak to me for more than a week, but you think it’s a good idea to come beat my door down? Because I don’t answer a few texts?”

“Not a few texts,” Sanemi spits back. “I called and messaged over and over -- I was worried —“

“You were about to kick my door in!”

He squares his shoulders at that. “Yes,” he says hotly. “Yes, I was. Because I was fuckin’ terrified for a moment that something had happened to you. Because of me. Do you know what went through my mind when I heard your phone ringing, after I’ve spent the last half hour trying to get a hold of you? What the fuck else was I supposed to think?”

“That you would decide I was sick or busy or maybe dealing with something and couldn’t respond, like a normal fucking person –”

“You say we’re friends and you still haven’t figured out that there ain’t nothin’ normal about this? About me?”

Something flashes across your face, your eyes tightening at the word friends, but it’s gone before he can blink. Sanemi doesn’t let himself linger on what it means. Nor does he listen to that small voice in his head that coolly whispers that he knows damn well you two are more than friends, no matter how deeply he tries to bury his head in the sand.

You open your mouth, ready to unleash of slew of insults or perhaps give him the good verbal lashing he knows he deserves, when you double over with a wince.

“Oh, fuck me.” You groan, pressing a hand to your abdomen. You wave him off, dismissive. “I’m going back to bed. You know I’m not dead, so do whatever you want. You know where the door is.”

With that, you shuffle miserably back to your bed, hunched over in on yourself, your arms wrapped firmly around you middle. Sanemi watches, bemused, as you crumple into your mattress in a resigned heap, your knees drawn nearly to your chest.

He stares hard at your bed, nostrils flaring as he works to calm his breathing. Safe. You’re safe, nothing is wrong, you’re okay. He repeats this, again and again, a mantra that slowly eases the tension in his shoulders, soothes the violent fury in his veins. 

A groan of frustration sounds from beneath your blankets and pillows, slightly muffled. “Well? What do you want?” 

He considers you for another moment before he rocks back on his heels, clicking his tongue.

Fuck it. Fuck the Corps, fuck the rules, fuck it all.

“Where’re your keys?”

“Huh?” You lift your head just in time to see him start rooting through your bag where you’d left it looped it over the back of your kitchen chair.

Sanemi pulls out the woven keychain you used to attach a cluster of mismatched keys – ones to the store, the register, and most importantly, your front door. He tosses them in the air, triumphant, before snatching them up tight, pocketing them without so much as a look back at you.

“Later.”

Silence, and then, “you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me —“

He’s out the door before you finish your indignant sputtering.

—-

If any doubts lingered as to what exactly Sanemi’s decision was when it came to you, he’s fairly sure they’re resolved here, in the pharmacy’s period care aisle. Because, really, what else can he call this – him, standing before shelves lined with an array of boxes and tampons and pads, trying to figure out what the fuck he’s supposed to get – if not a commitment to you? 

A clear choice as any, he supposes. It’s you, or it’s nothing – no one – else. Whatever it is the two of you are though, is another matter. 

Rule Three: don’t get attached. 

Admittedly, that rule went right out the fucking window the moment he decided to pursue some sort of friendship with you, all those months ago. Even if it somehow survived the fall, he’d funcationally ran it over, again and again until nothing remained, the second he put his dick in you. 

Whatever the label, he supposes he at least has to pretend to give some semblance of a shit about Corps’ rules, if nothing more than because of his title within it. Plus, that caution probably serves to protect you as much as it does the Corps. And that means he can’t outwardly call you his girlfriend anymore than he can openly date you. 

He grimaces at the thought as he peruses the snack aisle, tossing a random assortment of your favorites into his basket alongside the variety box of tampons he’d settled on. Leave it to him to mull over shit like what to call you, now, when he’s got far bigger fish to fry. Never mind that for all the ways he’s decided he wants you to be his, he doesn’t yet know whether you want him. 

He did ditch you for over a week. Eleven days, to be exact. 

Oh, well. If somehow you don’t throw him out on his ass, then it doesn’t really matter what he calls you. It’s not like he’s particularly attached to labels, anyway. Not when girlfriend is far too casual a way to describe what Sanemi feels for you. 

He tries ignoring the pang of want in his heart as the word boyfriend flits through his mind. While he can’t call you his girlfriend to anyone within city limits, you don’t wear the same shackles that he does. You’re not bound by the same code. And damn, what he wouldn’t do to have you call him your boyfriend; to finally belong to something – someone – other than the Corps. It’s the sort of brand he’s gone his entire life craving even if he didn’t quite know it. One he’d wear proudly on his heart, even if no one else would ever see it. 

Finally, he reaches the front of the checkout line and tosses the contents of his basket onto the counter. Though, if you do decide you want his sorry ass, you’ll have to be careful enough to not link boyfriend to his name. While Sanemi may not give a shit about his own safety, yours is his priority. He won’t let you put his target on your back. 

Whatever labels do or do not await him, nothing changes the fact he cannot be a normal – whatever – to you. The only way you stay safe is if Sanemi lets his paranoia dictate the lines of your relationship, and even then, he can’t guarantee it’ll ever be enough. 

He pays for your stuff, gathering the bags in one hand while he rummages his pockets with the other until he finds your keys. So many uncertainties remain, far more than what makes him comfortable. Yet, in spite of it all, the bubbling, hot panic he’d felt sprinting to your apartment has given way to an unfamiliar lightness. One that makes him feel like he’s floating even as he stops at a small kiosk near the pharmacy’s exit and feeds your apartment key into the machine. 

Yeah, he’s fucking attached to you even though he knows better. But if you accept the metal the kiosk spits back out after a moment of whirring, it’ll be worth it. 

—-

Less than an hour after his dramatic exit, Sanemi slips back into your apartment. The plastic handles of his shopping bags looped unceremoniously around his wrists dig uncomfortably into his skin, and he dumps his bounty on the floor just inside your entryway. 

A soft thump against the wall to his right snaps his head up. 

Years of training to dodge fists, projectiles, bullets, enable Sanemi to duck right before one of your ridiculous little throw pillows smacks into his head.

Across the floor of your small apartment, Sanemi spies you sitting perched at the end of your bed, eyes wild and hair a mess, another pillow cocked in your hand, ready to be launched his way. 

Bewildered, Sanemi demands, “The fuck is your problem?” 

“You!” The fluffy cushion sails through the air, but Sanemi knocks it easily aside. His casual avoidance of your targeted rage only serves to infuriate you more, and he watches, with some amusement, as you whip your head from side to side, searching for something else to chuck at him. 

Finding nothing, you jab a finger toward the door. “Get out!” 

“Nah,” he folds his arms across his chest and levels your fury with a cool stare of his own. “Don’t feel like it, and I know you don’t want me to go, either.”

Your right eye twitches and Sanemi smirks. If you really wanted him gone, you would’ve fought harder when he took your keys. Probably would’ve chased him out the door, hurling all kinds of venom his way. If nothing else, you would’ve blown his phone up, calling him every name in the book, leveling every threat you could concoct.

You’ve forgotten, it seems, that he’s spent the past year learning you; being your friend. He’s far too used to your stubbornness; he knows when you’re full of shit. 

“You’re impossible.” And with a huff, you turn your back to him and throw yourself back down on your mattress, yanking your blankets up to your chin. 

He stomps over to your side of the bed and glowers down at your back, put stubbornly to him. 

Fine. You wanna play this way? Sanemi can deal in pettiness, too.

An edge of your blanket peeks out near your feet, a small sliver you hadn’t managed to tuck into place. A mistake, on your end, given that it only takes Sanemi hooking his fingers under it to rip the blanket clean off you.

He tries not to linger on the whiff of your scent that slaps him in his face. An intoxicating mixture of your perfume and shampoo that socks him in the gut. 

While the loss of the blanket’s security forces you to curl in tighter on yourself, you offer no reaction. Not even a spiteful little glare over your shoulder, or some half-hearted insult, and for some reason, that pisses him off even more.

“You’re not ignorin’ me,” he growls, balling the quilt in his hands.  “I can be a bigger pain in the ass than this.”

Still nothing. 

After a moment, Sanemi’s irritation finally boils over. “Can I just fuckin’ hold you, please?” 

You flip over to gape up at him, returning his pinched glare with outrage of your own. If Sanemi’s silence since that night was a bruise to your ego, the earnestness belying the arrogant annoyance in his eyes is a finger jabbing mercilessly at it. 

Because he actually means it.

Part of you wants to laugh at the absurdity of his request, and another part wants to launch every obscenity you can dream of right at his stupidly handsome face. 

You go for the in-between. “No!” Your voice is shrill. “No, you can’t hold me. You ghost me for almost two weeks, nearly break my door in half, steal my keys and fuck off for over an hour, and you think you get to hold me?” You throw your hands up over your head in exasperation before dragging them down your face, exasperated. “Are you stupid?”

Never mind that’s exactly what you want to happen — it’s all you’ve wanted, actually. But Sanemi’s idiocy has to cost him something, and despite the way your stomach dipped in excitement when you heard him sliding your keys into the door’s lock, he owes you an explanation. And until you get one, he can keep on sitting at the very top of your shit list, all by his lonesome.

Some of the hardness in his eyes softens as your words hit their mark. In its place emerged a shadow of disappointment, one that has you reconsidering your previous stance, your hands itching to reach for him.

Gently, Sanemi tosses your bunched up blanket to the foot of your bed. “Fine.” He gestures vaguely behind him. “But I’m still gonna put all this shit away, and then you and me are gonna talk.” 

That makes you sit up. “What shit?” 

Sanemi doesn’t bother dignifying you with an answer; doesn’t so much as spare you a glance as he stalks back toward your door. He totes the plastic shopping bags to your shabby kitchen table as you trail behind him, your curiosity outweighing your desire to remain rotting in bed. 

“Wait,” you frown, reaching for his arm. You try and still him as he unloads aspirin followed by a fresh box of tampons. “Sanemi —“

“Just shut up and let me take care of you.” He pulls a frozen pizza out of the shopping bag and glances at you. “Did you eat?”

You hesitate but then you slowly shake your head.

He snorts, depositing the box on your counter. Figures.

Bemused, you watch as he lugs the rest of his bounty into your kitchen and sets to work organizing his purchases. It’s a strange sight. Sanemi bustles around as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He navigates your cabinets with a confidence that only comes from familiarity, his movements more akin to something like muscle memory. 

His comfortability makes sense, given how much time he’s spent here over the last year. Still, you never imagined a hardened criminal could look so…domestic.

What doesn’t make sense, however, is why. From the moment he’d thundered into your apartment in a murderous rage to his abrupt exit with your keys and sudden reappearance with groceries, Sanemi’s erratic actions have you in a tailspin you can’t begin to find your way out of. Because none of it makes sense.

Too much; this is all too much. 

“Stop, stop, stop!” Your hand snatches around his forearm, stilling him. Annoyed, Sanemi huffs down at you only to be met with your own frosty glare. 

You cut your eyes to the spread of snacks and period products atop your kitchen counter. “What is all this, Sanemi? I mean,” you gesture helplessly between him and the bags. “What are you doing?” 

Sanemi grabs the frozen pizza box and turns it over, eyes skimming the instructions. “Taking care of you.” He monotones, like it’s supposed to be obvious. Like him sifting through a bag full of snacks — all your favorites, you note — was normal, part of some unspoken ritual.

You know better; because the sidelong look he casts you is one of remorse; guilt. 

He’s stalling. And it’s precisely because of his own hesitancy that you can’t be the first one to give in; to open the very obvious can of worms that sits between you. 

You will not make his decisions for him; you won’t shoulder the burden of any blame should this go tits up.

“Why are you here, Sanemi?” 

He busies himself with your oven’s settings, fiddling with the knobs until it clicks on, preheating. Wordlessly, Sanemi slides the pizza into the oven and sets the timer.

“Sanemi.” You press.

Instantly, the rest of his arrogance deflates. He turns back to you, shoulders heavy, slumped forward with something like shame. 

“‘M sorry, I just…” he trails off with a helpless shrug. He drops his head, staring hard at the cracked linoleum of your floor.

You shift, settling in against the empty doorway to your kitchen, arms folded across your chest. After another moment, he raises his head, and takes a tentative step forward.

“For months, I haven’t been able to think about a damn thing but you.” Sanemi begins, his expression uncharacteristically grave. “Can’t sleep, can’t eat, can barely fuckin’ breathe without thinking about you. Without thinking of how fucking badly I want you.”

A tired hand runs through his hair. “Haven’t even been with anyone else in months. Not when all I can think about  is you.” He snorts, though it’s without humor. “Started picturin’ you when I was with the others and everything. Nearly called out your name with one of ‘em one night, and knew I couldn’t do it anymore.”

That little revelation nearly knocks the wind right out of you. Since your friendship with him began, you’ve kept your ears steadily tuned toward any mention of Sanemi’s name. Part of you rationalized it was out of concern for his wellbeing, but in truth, you’d been nosy.

Not once had there been a whisper of the infamous Sanemi Shinazugawa settling down, of him slowing his antics. 

Then again, the moment you’d begun catching the details of his wild reputation among the women of the Silo, you’d tuned out all the noise, too embarrassed to admit your own interest.

“I was selfish, kissin’ you.” Sanemi’s hoarse voice calls you back. “Swore it was only gonna happen once, and couldn’t even keep that promise. And then, what we did that night — that only made it worse. D’you know why?” 

He chances another step toward you and the air between you thickens. Suddenly, there’s little space left between your bodies, and you’re all too aware of the heat rolling off his body, drawing you in, a moth to a flame. 

A hand reaches for you, his fingers nearly grazing your hair, but his arm drops back limply to his side. “‘Cuz I shouldn’t have been able to have you. Not like that. But I did, and —“ he swallows, hard. “I knew I wanted more before I slept with you. Knew that if I ever crossed that line, I wasn’t coming back from it. Couldn’t.”

Your lips part. “Sanemi —“

“I can’t be your friend, Y/N.” Sanemi says heavily. “I just can’t. I knew that way back when I first started comin’ around, but I wanted to try. But I sure as hell can’t be your friend, now."

A crack splinters across your chest, and by the way Sanemi’s eyes tighten, you wonder if he heard it; the sound of your heart breaking.

It was only ever going to end this way. You should’ve known — a part of you did know. But that hadn’t stopped you from trying, from loving him, anyways. 

You open your mouth, ready to voice your resigned acceptance; to cut him loose, save yourself the devastation of any further explanation, when Sanemi shifts. 

With a gulp, he shoves a hand into his pocket, rummaging. Whatever it is he searches for, he finds and holds out his closed fist before letting it drop.

A glint of light bounces off the object dangling from his fingers and from your periphery, you can tell it’s metal. Frowning, you tilt your head, inspecting.

Your heart gutters to a halt as its shape takes form.

A key. A single silver key, plain and unassuming, yet somehow, the entirety of your future rests somewhere between the neat little grooves you know perfectly match the hardware of the lock on your door.  

“I had it made while I was out.” Sanemi’s confession is breathless, and he swallows hard before adding, “If you don’t want me to have it, then take it. It’s yours.”

For a long moment, you say nothing; you only stare at the key hanging in the air. Half a heartbeat ago, you’d believed this — whatever it was — with Sanemi was over. That whatever brightness he’d brought to your dreary little life had faded, and he’d leave you behind, just like everyone else you’d dared to love. 

“If I tell you to keep it,” you start carefully, gaze trained so pointedly on the key dangling from his fingers that you don’t notice the way his eyes round. “Then what does that mean for us?” 

He needs to say it. After a week of nothing from him, he at least owes you this. A label. 

His throat bobs. A beat passes, and then, “It means I’m all yours. Only yours.” 

Not good enough. “My what?” 

Sanemi’s fingers tense in faint agitation and your eyes cut to his. 

“Yours,” he insists again, more hotly. “Your boyfriend, your partner, your whatever-the-fuck-it-is that you call someone who’s all in and wants to be with you, and only you.”

Air hardens in your throat, forms a lump you don’t know how to swallow around. 

He says it so simply, as though it’s obvious; like he hadn’t avoided you without a damn word for more than a week, leaving you to fight against insecurity you hadn’t known to have, before him. 

I love you, Sanemi.

He hadn’t said it back, then. Initially, you thought it was because he didn’t feel the same. Sure, he cared for you, that much was obvious, but perhaps that consideration didn’t rise to the level of devotion you held for him. You were okay with that; you hadn’t said it out of expectation, anyways. You’d only wanted him to know your heart, to know that as long as it was beating, it would be his. 

Now, this key is his answer to your admission that night. And while it may not be the three words part of you longs to hear, it’s just as much as a confession on his part. 

You could kick him out; tell him no, tell him that he, under no uncertain terms, could fuck right off after leaving you on silent for more than a week. You could. 

You don’t. 

Because, he came back. Maybe in a whirlwind of murderous, seething violence, but Sanemi came back. No ulterior motives, no conditions; he came back for you and you alone. 

He saw you and all your monotony, all your inexperience, and he came back anyway.

He was the only one who ever had. 

Quietly trembling fingers latch around his wrist and for a moment, Sanemi thinks you’re going to take it from him. All at once, the earth crumbles and faces beneath him, plummeting him right into the hell he knew he was venturing into the moment you looked him in the eyes and asked him to do the impossible. 

A buzz settles in his ears and Sanemi braces for the rejection he should’ve known was to come. He’d screamed it at himself that night, his head warning his stupid heart that this was precisely the only way this could go. You’d gotten your fill of him, loved him even, but this — he — is too much. He should’ve known better, he did know —

Your fingers close his fist around the key and squeeze it tight. Wide-eyed and breathless, Sanemi finds that for once, he does not resent the way the metal presses into his skin. 

“Keep it.” Your hands are warm where they embrace his. “I’m yours.”

It takes him a moment to remember how to speak; to realize the static in his head has quieted. His world comes back together just as quickly as it fell apart, its pieces realigning with you at its center.

Relief, he thinks, has never felt so fucking sweet. “Thank fuck.” 

The key clatters to the floor but no one pays it any mind; Sanemi is too busy surging forward, his hands planted firmly on your cheeks as his mouth crashes eagerly — desperately — into yours. 

The kiss is little more than a frantic clash of lips and teeth, but everything about it is so fucking right that neither of you can be bothered to care. 

You fling an arm around his neck, anchoring yourself to him as Sanemi’s enthusiasm threatens to send you stumbling back. Some small, distant voice hisses that you should’ve made him work for it a little longer, should’ve made him grovel for forgiveness. But then his hands are dragging down your front, and he’s pulling you into him by your hips with a possessive grunt and suddenly, you can’t remember why any of it matters.

Neither of you are aware that you’re moving, not until your back bumps up against the entryway of your kitchen. Even then, your small gasp of surprise serves as nothing more than the chance for Sanemi’s tongue to sweep into your mouth, branding you with his claim. 

It was always going to end this way — him, pressing you into your kitchen doorframe, his hands shoved under your t-shirt to rest on your bare waist while you pull him closer, your fingers twisting in his hair. Sanemi is a weak man; no matter how his better judgment snipped and snapped at him, all roads led right back here. It was inevitable.

Even if he hadn’t chosen your bookstore to hide in that day, somehow, the universe would’ve found another way to throw him into your life.

Sanemi breaks away with a pant. “Fuck, Y/N,” he moans against your lips. “You don’t know what the fuck you do to me.” 

“Took you long enough,” you chastise between quick pecks. “I was beginning to think your head was perma-lodged up your ass.”

A sound of exasperation accompanies the nip of his teeth at your lip. “God forbid the Princess has to wait on anything.”

You hum into his mouth. “Not anything,” you correct, breaking away from his lips in favor of brushing your nose against his. “You, asshole.”

This time, it’s Sanemi who moans. “Bullyin’ only turns me on, sweetheart. Thought you knew that already.”

“And deflecting doesn’t help your cause. You still have some making up to do.” You scoff, lowering yourself back down to your normal height. Sanemi’s hands linger, cradling your face, and you can’t help but nuzzle into his palm.

“Yeah, well,” Sanemi murmurs, his thumb stroking your cheek. “‘M here now, and I want you. And I’m a fuckin’ idiot for thinking this is a good idea, and so are you for wantin’ me, but that’s where we are. Can’t go back.”

The corner of your mouth twitches up. “You mean, you can’t unfuck me.”

“Nah,” he agrees, though his eyes darken. He takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting your head toward his. “Wouldn’t wanna take that back, anyways. Not in a million years.”

Not when you’re his. 

This time, when Sanemi recaptures your lips with his, it is slower; more sensual. His tongue slides seamlessly into your mouth, languidly stroking yours.

Raw desire, sharp and electric, shoots between your thighs when Sanemi moans again. Despite the neediness of his lips, his touch, Sanemi quickly recovers some of his self-confidence, the excitement of his kiss giving way into something more measured, more fervent that already has you panting for more. 

Oh, he’s far too good at making you melt. 

Large, warm hands skirt down the back of your thighs, gripping you under your legs. You gasp when the floor disappears from beneath you as Sanemi easily carries you deeper into the kitchen.

The pizza baking in the oven goes forgotten as Sanemi sets you on the ledge of your counter, his hands sliding up your sides, bunching the fabric of your shirt between his fingers.

The warmth of his hands makes you gasp and arch into him, and he huffs a quiet laugh against your lips.

“Yeah? You want me to touch you?” He teases, pausing only to trace the tip of your nose with his, before he leans back in. “Tell me where.”

You’d love to, except the greedy asshole’s greedier lips are right back on yours, and you don’t have the willpower to argue. You sigh into him, and Sanemi’s tongue sweeps easily into your mouth, flicking against yours. 

Those damn hands of his manage to sneak beneath your t-shirt again. “Mmm. Here?” He teases when you arch, his thumbs brushing along a sensitive part of your waist that makes you squirm.

He kneads against your ribs. “How ‘bout here?”

Your nails scratch the nape of his neck in warning. “Sanemi —“

Those devilish fingers of his inch higher beneath your shirt until he’s cupping your bare breasts. 

“My bad. Here, right?” He smirks, catching your lower lip between his teeth. 

He palms at your chest until you’re whimpering into his mouth. The tender, swollen ache of your breasts is soothed by Sanemi’s clever touch as he teases you with alternating flicks and pinches. He breaks your kiss to whisper your name, each syllable dripping with a reverence that makes you feel damn near sacred. He murmurs it again and again as his lips trail down your cheek, your jaw, his hands pushing your t-shirt higher and higher —

The oven timer buzzes. 

Your head snaps toward the sound, hands fluttering against his chest in a reluctant effort to push him away, but he pays you no mind. Sanemi’s lips are still teasing under your jaw as he grips your chin between his thumb and forefinger and turns your head back toward him. 

He silences your building protest with another kiss. “Let it burn,” his teeth nip at your bottom lip. “We’re busy.”

You give into the persuasion of his lips for a moment, too greedy for his kiss. But the beep of the timer seems to grow louder by the second, and you find yourself too distracted by its noise to continue ignoring. 

“‘Nemi,” you murmur between heated kisses. There’s a low vibration in the back of Sanemi’s throat in response, something akin to a growl of approval at the way you shorten his name. His hold on your waist tightens as he pulls you harder into him. “The oven —“

His tongue licks at the roof of your mouth before his lips break away from yours. “Fuck the oven,” he moans before he claims your lips again, his kiss every bit as needy and possessive as touch. 

He can’t fathom stopping now — not when you feel so damn good in his hands, not when he’s so giddy that he gets to keep you all to himself, selfishly.

He feels like a teenager again, feels that same excited flutter in his stomach he used to get from sneaking off with girls between classes to make out, to let hands explore under shirts in the dark corners of abandoned classrooms or under the bleachers, more thrilled by the prospect of being caught than of actually succeeding in getting into one another’s pants. Only now, Sanemi’s got the girl of his dreams moaning with a few clever movements of his fingers as he explores your mouth with his tongue, your hands just as greedy as they roam the planes of his chest and tug at his hair.

He’s about to suggest moving to your bed, eager to continue because he can, you’re actually his --

A loud rumble from deep within your stomach slices between you like a knife. Sanemi’s hands freeze, right atop your bare breasts. 

A beat passes, and then he murmurs against your lips, “when did you last eat?”

Before you can feed him your bullshit, he adds, “a real meal.”

You fiddle with the ends of his hair, wincing. “…Last night?” 

Even if you could protest, could claim that you weren’t all that hungry, your traitorous stomach roars again. You snatch your hands away from him, pressing them to your middle as though you can silence the way your belly gurgles with hunger.

Busted.

“Sorry,” you mutter, too mortified to meet his eyes. “Ignore that, we can keep going –”

“I’m not competing with your stomach. If I’m gonna have you moaning, I want to hear you.” Sanemi kisses the tip of your nose and untangles himself from you, dragging his fingers teasingly along the bare skin of your thighs before he steps back entirely. “’Sides, you need to eat.” 

You rub a hand over your grumbling belly. “It’s not that bad –” 

“You’re an ass when you’re hungry.”

You can’t fight him on that, no matter how your cheeks warm. Sanemi has experienced your hungered wrath far too many times. Still part of you itches to wipe that triumphant smugness right off his face as he dons one of your frilly, thrifted oven mitts and fishes the pizza out of the oven.

—

Once he’s ensured you’ve eaten enough and washed your dishes, Sanemi sets to work on your bed, righting the mess he’d made of your covers. The moment everything is back in its place, even the obnoxious throw pillows you’d hurled at his head, he turns to you, expectant. 

“Well?” He pats your newly remade bed. “Come on. You said you don’t feel well, so get over here and rest.” 

For once, you don’t fight him, nor do you so much as attempt to snark back at him for trying to boss you around. You simply slink back to your bed and flop down without a shred of grace or care. 

Sighing, Sanemi kicks off his shoes and slides in behind you. Admittedly, when he’d played out the number of ways tonight could go in his head, he hadn’t envisioned nursing you against the debilitating side effects of your period as one of those possibilities. 

Still, Sanemi can’t imagine any place he’d rather be. 

His body fits against yours with ease, and the way his arm winds around your waist feels natural; automatic. For so long, he’d been navigating the world, unaware that something was missing; that he was incomplete. Sure, maybe he’d felt off to some extent — like there was a gap somewhere among his parts, one that he never knew quite how to fill. 

But here, in your bed, his body half-draped over yours, his face, tucked into the crook of your neck, Sanemi finally knows what it means to feel whole. It fills him with such giddiness, such joy, he almost can’t quite figure out what to do with it. There’s a lightness in his chest he’s never felt before, a weightlessness to his limbs. He is floating, and there is nothing to bring him back down to earth; no chain, no binds, no obligations. There is only his desire to be here, with you, however you want him. 

Your hands reach back and latch around his wrist, tugging his arm over you. You then slide his hand beneath your shirt, pressing it flat to your lower belly.

Sanemi smiles against the nape of your neck as you sigh in relief. “What’s that about?”

“You’re warm,” you groan, snuggling back against him. “Heat helps cramps.”

He squeezes you close and presses a kiss against your ear. “Use me as much as you need, then.”

Your soft laugh is intoxicating. Finally, some of the tension in your limbs eases and you relax into him, seemingly having found the right position to quell the throbbing ache in your stomach.  Happiness. This must be happiness. Because here, he finally gets to just be Sanemi. Your Sanemi.

——

For a long while, you lay together in comfortable silence. The fading light streaming through the great, arched windows over your heads is his only measure of time, and soon, the lighting of your apartment dims. Now, there is only the soft, yellow glow of your various lamps and strings of fairy lights that coat your studio, creating a cozy cave he never wants to leave. 

Curled behind you as he is, Sanemi can’t quite tell whether you’ve finally succumbed to sleep. Your breathing is slow, and while you haven’t spoken in a while, you could just as easily be basking in the relaxed comfort of his arms, lingering somewhere in between sleep and consciousness.

It’s how he wishes he could be; at ease, half-heartedly fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. But no; Sanemi is wide the fuck awake, his body stiffer than a board.

Despite your tentative relaxedness, you still squirm every so often, 

struggling to find a position that will allow you the most relief from the throbbing ache in your lower stomach.

He doesn’t think you’re doing it intentionally — in fact, he’s almost certain you aren’t. But if you don’t stop grinding your ass against him, Sanemi might just snap.

He’d already had to quietly fight off the pain in his groin after getting hot and heavy with you in the kitchen, before he’d realized he needed to take care of your grumbling stomach at the expense of his blue balls. But here you are now, rotating your perfect ass right into his crotch as he grows harder than a fucking diamond, with no relief from the onslaught of your wiggling in sight.

It just feels cruel.

“Knock it off,” Sanemi finally grumbles into your ear, arms squeezing once around your waist in warning. “You tryin’ to make me cream my pants?”

“It’s not my fault,” you groan miserably. “I can’t get comfortable.”

“Don’t you take meds?”

Another groan. “Already did.”

Sanemi fights the swear building on his tongue. He’s acutely aware that you’re not at fault for the way his traitorous body reacts to your movements, but he finds himself wavering dangerously close to losing mind. Each twisting movement of your ass is barely more than a whisper of the contact he craves and yet somehow, it’s just enough to make his cock throb for more.

It takes a great deal of self-restraint for Sanemi not to grab your hips and grind you back against him properly. But he manages to cling to that fraying thread, almost proud of his astounding commitment to his self-control, when you swivel your ass right against the crotch of his pants, groaning in frustration.

That’s when Sanemi snaps. 

With a disapproving click of his tongue, he flips you to your back and under him. You’re his woman now, after all; that means it’s on him to take care of business. 

“You still got cramps?” He hovers close over you, nose nearly bumping yours.

Wide-eyed and blushing at his proximity, you nod.

“You took your meds already?”

Another nod.

“And they ain’t helping?”

This time, you slowly shake your head.

A smile, a wickedly devious smile, spreads across his lips. “I know what will.”

Sanemi sits back on his knees and grabs a fistful of his shirt. In a single, smooth movement, he yanks it clean over his head. 

“What are you --?” You sit up on your elbows, cheeks heating as your eyes roam the rocky planes of his chest and abdomen. Your mouth waters. “What are you doing?”

Sanemi crawls back over you, shutting you up with another kiss. Before you can break away to repeat yourself, he presses his hips to yours and grinds. 

He’s harder than stone.

Silky lips dance down your chin before sliding to explore your jaw. “Isn’t it obvious?”

“I told you, I’m — oh — on my period!”

“So?”

“So, it’s — it’s — messy!” You stammer, your cheeks turning crimson as Sanemi’s lips continue their heated path down your neck.

He snorts against your collar bone. “You got towels, don’t you?”

The cockiness of his tone stuns you silent. Sanemi huffs in triumph and busies himself with sucking a bruise into your skin, right over your throat.

“Sanemi,” you squirm under his mouth, hands tugging at his hair, though even you don’t know whether you’re trying to command his attention or push him back.

With an annoyed grunt, Sanemi tears his mouth away from your skin to glare at you. “If you want to say no because you’re uncomfortable with it, then we can stop.” And, despite the faint, irritated twist of his mouth, his eyes are sincere. “But if you’re only complaining because you think I’ll mind —“

“I’m not uncomfortable,” you murmur, shyly looking away. “But, Sanemi —“

Your protest is smothered by a warm, firm hand closing over your mouth. Sanemi leans down until his forehead nearly touches yours. “Do you want me to stop?”

You blink up at him. After a moment of hesitation, you slowly shake your head, eyes wide.

“Then shut up.”

His hand slides away from your mouth and skirts down the length of your arm. His fingers close around your wrist and he wraps your arm around his shoulders. 

He leans in to resume attacking your neck with his mouth, descending down your body with heavy, open mouthed kisses. When he reaches your navel, he shifts his hold to your waist and in a single, swift movement, he flips you atop him. 

You gasp into his mouth as you settle against him, his hardening bulge pressing into the apex of your thighs. A deep, gravelly moan vibrates in Sanemi’s throat when you begin pushing your hips down to meet the hardness protruding into you, your movements out of your control. 

For a moment, you remain like that, your body pressed flush to his as you gasp and grind against each other, your kisses little more than a desperate clash of lips and teeth and tongue. Sanemi is the first to break away, his mouth trailing hotly down the column of your throat. 

One arm stretches up the length of your back, his broad hand curling around your shoulder as the arm locked around your waist tightens. His hold on you sufficiently sturdy, Sanemi forces you to grind harder against him, his teeth nipping across your collarbone as you whimper above him. 

The ache between your legs is sharper, more intense than usual; closer to a burning throb than a mere flicker of desire. 

The hand he’d kept on your shoulder slides down your back, his fingers dragging teasingly along your spine until he reaches the waistband of your shorts. He snaps it once, twice, savoring your little jolts each time the elastic bites at your skin, before he pushes below it to grip your bare ass.

Your fingers fly to his hair as he fondles the plush curve of you in his hand, alternating between gentle massages and rough squeezes. Each pleading little mewl that slips past your lips only drives him wilder with need, his cock throbbing where it strains against the seat of his pants. 

He sucks a bruise into the juncture between your neck and shoulder. He will not give in; not yet, not before you beg him for what he’s been itching to give you for the last week. 

With a fierce whine, you circle your own hips, unsuccessfully trying to maneuver his hand away. Your own hand drops from his hair to cup his jaw as you pant against his ear.

He hides his smirk against your collar bone. “You got somewhere you want me to be, Y/N?” He croons, bucking harshly into your clothed center. His fingers dip to the crease between your ass and the top of your thigh, playing dangerously close to where he knows you need him most.

He can feel the heat radiating from you, beckoning him to closer, a beacon meant only for him. “You just gotta ask, Princess. I’m right here, waitin’.” 

“S-Sanemi —“

Without warning, Sanemi sits up, forcing you to scramble to lock your legs around him for support. He scoots to the edge of your bed, his grip on you firm, until his legs drape over its side. With you in his lap, he throws a steadying arm behind him as you sit perched atop his thigh.

“There. Wanted to see you properly.”

He traces the tip of his finger around the tightened bud of your right breast, just over your shirt, eyes bright and crinkled in amusement as you squirm.

It’s not enough; not nearly so.

With a wicked grin, he leans in, resuming his torturously slow exploration of your neck. Your reaction to him is instant, as you grind and squirm atop him, your fingers fisting at his hair. 

But, even he grows tired of this constant teasing. Impatient, he plants one hand at the base of your spine, pressing your body flush against his, while the other slides down your front, his fingers playing with the hem of your top. 

Right now, there’s only one thing – well, two things – he wants, and your damn shirt is getting in his way. 

The moment you shudder against him as his fingers brush the skin below your nazel is the moment he yanks your t-shirt up, revealing your peaked, aching breasts right to his hungry gaze.

He presses its hem to your lips. “Hold this.” 

Your pupils blow wide at the cockiness of his demand. Slowly, you part your lips and allow Sanemi to latch the bottom of your shirt between your teeth.

He gives you only a warning look, a stern narrowing of his eyes that says, don’t even think about dropping it, before he turns his attention back to your chest, pausing to whistle appreciatively at the sight of you, bare before him. 

In addition to being stuck with murderous cramps, one of the other terrible side effects of your period is how damn sore your breasts get. Often, you can hardly stand to wear a bra, the burning ache in your chest damn near unbearable. 

And there his mouth is, so close yet so far. The memory of just how expertly he’d navigated you the last time with his mouth makes your nipples stiffen, adds gasoline to the fire burning hotly in your lower belly. 

With a whimper, you thrust your chest toward him. 

“Oh?” Sanemi raises an eyebrow in mock surprise. Idly, his index finger traces a circle around your right nipple, followed by another. “Sensitive are we?” He smirks. “Looks like you’re achin’ for some attention, sweetheart.” 

His breath fans hotly across one of your stiff nipples, and you swear it throbs as Sanemi exhales against your skin again, teasing.

You could cry. Aching, indeed.

He smirks against your breast. “I can help with that.”

His lips part and Sanemi sucks your breast right into his mouth, groaning between sloppy, wet smacks of his mouth. The ache between your legs intensifies with every suck, every graze of his teeth and flick of his tongue.

“Pretty,” he hums against your nipple, and the vibrations from his mouth make your thighs clench together. He takes the breast not occupied by his mouth into his hand, lavishing it with the same worship as he gives the other, squeezing and rolling it until you’re whimpering over the mouthful of your shirt.

He pulls back, a thin strand of saliva connecting his lips with your nipple that breaks when he speaks. “Prettiest I’ve ever fuckin’ seen, just like the rest of you.”

Sanemi’s mouth is wet and hot as it trails across your sternum, taking your other soft mound into mouth while his hand migrates to the other, his fingers swirling the saliva he’d left behind into your flesh. He pinches your nipple in time with the graze of his teeth over the one sucked between his lips.

It’s too much; the pulsing ache between your legs has grown too riotous, too incessant, and you’re desperate for relief. The muscles of his thigh notched between your legs flex like he knows; baiting you.

You fall for it, hook, line and sinker, just as he wanted, your hips beginning a tentative grind against his leg.

Drool leaks from the corner of your mouth as you find a steady pace, rocking and grinding against him. It soaks the fabric of your shirt as you fight to keep from loosening your jaw. Everything Sanemi is doing feels so fucking good, and you’ll be damned to mess that up for yourself.

There it is again — that familiar knot in your stomach, one that rapidly pulls tighter and tighter the more you circle and grind against his thigh. Through your lashes, you can see Sanemi’s gaze locked heatedly on your face, a ravenous hunger in his eyes.

“You gonna cum just from this, sweetheart?” Despite his attempt at derision, his voice is rougher than gravel. His hands latch around your hips, shifting you until you’re perched right over the rock-hard bulge that has formed beneath the seat of his pants. 

In answer, you grind even harder against him, riding him with abandon as your nails dig into his shoulders. Moaning, Sanemi wraps his lips back around your tender nipple, and soon, he’s bucking up into you with equal fervor, the two of you gasping into one another. 

The hand pressed to your ass squeezes, Sanemi pushing you harder into him. You might just come like this, grinding against his bulge, Sanemi, mouthing hotly at your swollen breasts, tugging and nipping at your skin with his teeth. Everything feels heightened, your senses overwhelmed by him and his mouth until you buzz with the need for more. The knot in your stomach tightens, tightens — 

The stiffened seam of his pants catches your clit at precisely the right angle, and you fall apart. The whine that vibrates in your throat is nothing short of pathetic; a keening little plea as you fist at his hair, pressing his face into your chest while you grind desperately into him.  Your orgasm sweeps over you, both a relief and a taunt; a hollow echo of the release you crave, the high he’d given you that night that you’d pathetically chased since without success.

Sanemi only sucks at you harder. He finally releases you when the last feeble wave washes through, when he feels the tension in your limbs, settle.

“God damn,” he says roughly, imparting a final few flicks of his tongue across your nipple. “That was fuckin’ beautiful.”

With a last, harsh suck, Sanemi’s mouth leaves your sore chest with a soft pop. You barely have time to push the dampened hemp of your shirt from your mouth before the muscles of his arms ripple and flex around you. In an instant, you’re back under him, caged against your mattress by his hulking mass.

It’s thrilling, how easily he manhandles you, his touch firm and assured. Yet, no matter how capable he is of throwing you around — no matter how easily he can overpower those ever bigger and meaner than you  — his gentleness with you never wavers.

Sanemi wastes no time guiding your shirt over your head, throwing it somewhere over his shoulder. His mouth trails after his hands, and faster than you can blink, he rips your shorts down your legs, tossing them carelessly off the side of the bed. 

His fingers slide over the front of your underwear, circling. “There,” he marvels with a satisfied click of his tongue. “You’re fuckin’ soaked.” 

You don’t bother to tell him the wetness he feels might very well be from your period – after all, you’re wearing your speciality underwear, the kind that doesnt’ require you to wear tampons or pads. But you also don’t think Sanemi would care much either way, given how he continues circling your clit, savoring the way your legs spasm and jerk beneath him. 

Moaning, your thighs widen for him and Sanemi continues the languid turn of his fingers. You think he means to make you come again, and it’s embarrassing how quickly your body commits to that effort, but he pulls his hand away. 

Your whine needles some remorse out of him. He ducks to press a sweet kiss against your knee. “Be right back.” 

His weight on your bed lifts, and Sanemi quickly vanishes around the corner of the wall that blocks your bed from the view of the small hallway containing your bathroom, one cabined by your laughably tiny linen closet.

He reappears a few seconds later, one of your towels in hand.

“Hips up,” he orders, motioning for you to lift yourself from the mattress. Wide-eyed, you obey, your heart fluttering in your throat.

“For the record, I don’t care if we use a towel,” Sanemi tells you as he spreads it beneath you, creating a barrier between your body and your blankets. “I’d wash the sheets for ya once we finished. But if you prefer to use it, that’s fine by me.”

His hands guides you back down against the bed and linger once you settle, his fingers teasing along the jut of your hip. “But a period ain’t gonna stop me from helping my girl feel good.” He bends down to seal his promise with his lips against your thigh.

Off the side of your bed, Sanemi straightens, his movements easy and self-assured in every way you aren’t. Keeping his eyes locked with yours, he unbuckles his belt, the click of metal sending an electric current right between your legs. Wordlessly, he shucks his pants and briefs down his legs.

Your mouth runs dry; his cock looks somehow bigger, more imposing than it had that first night. Ramrod straight and leaking, the thick head of him smacking up against his abdomen. 

He pauses in front of you, close enough that you can feel the heat rolling off his body, and yet he maintains the smallest distance between you, holding back just enough to drive you mad.

You want to snap at him; to demand he ease the fire he’d ignited in your blood, to touch you in that way only he knew. But your desire for him makes your mind blank, and though you know your vocabulary is better than most, you can’t remember the words necessary to form your demand.

For Sanemi’s part, his eyes are locked heatedly on your face, alight with the hint of a challenge; baiting you to see how long it will take before you crack. 

His voice is as coarse as gravel. “Come here.”

Normally, you’d balk at his attempts to order you around, and instead offer him some snappy retort or a petulant roll of your eyes. Here, however, Sanemi has the upper hand, and your need is too great to try and wrestle it back from him. 

Careful not to disturb the towel spread so carefully atop your mattress, you rise. Sanemi watches your every movement with a hunger he doubts can ever be fully sated. His fingers find yours, and slowly, he pulls you into him, your chest squishing lightly against his abdomen. 

You gaze up at him through heavy-lidded eyes as his hands slide over your hips, marveling at the silkiness of your skin. With a teasing languidness, he loops his fingers under the band of your underwear, one at a time. Slowly, he drags them down the length of your legs, lowering himself to his knees  as he slides it over your feet. All the while, his gaze remains locked with yours, pressing his lips reverently to the fleshy part above your knee while his hands run up and down your calves. 

Your scent makes his mouth water: a sweet musk, tinged with the faintest trace of iron, and utterly intoxicating. The temptation to lean in and taste the paradise between your thighs is strong, but Sanemi resists. Instead, he rises back to his full height with the same slowness as before, his nose nearly touching yours.  

His eyes drop to your mouth right as your tongue flicks out to wet your lips, and Sanemi descends upon you like a tidal wave.

“Fuck.” He growls, hand closing around the back of your neck as he jerks you forward and crashes his mouth down against yours.

Whatever remained of your self-doubt and uncertainty fizzles under the weight of his intensity.  All at once, you feel like the most alluring creature ever to grace the planet, a temptress worthy of the great epics gathering dust at the store. Sanemi’s kiss is feverish and urgent and all-consuming; he kisses you like a man parched, your lips his only salvation.

Eager hands wrap under your thighs and haul you up, up, up. Your gasp of surprise at your sudden weightlessness is swallowed up by Sanemi’s tongue sweeping into your mouth.  

Down the two of you fall, a breathless heap of tangled limbs and shared moans landing on your bed. This time, your legs part for him without his guidance, and Sanemi settles easily into the cradle of your thighs. 

Only your second time and already, your bodies are moving together like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You’re drawing him in like a magnet, your body his North Star. 

What a fucking idiot he was, to not have realized it sooner.

Your kisses turn sloppy and he feels you draw your legs up, your knees braced against his sides. He hisses as his bare length grazes your wet center, the head radiating from you making him throb.  

He rubs his cock against your damp heat again and again, his nails biting into your sheets as he resists the urge to thrust forward before he’s properly lubricated for you. 

Beneath him, you tense. “N-now?” You squeak, your nails digging into his shoulders as he rubs himself against the slick heat of you.

He almost groans. “Yeah, now.” If he has to wait any longer, he might go insane.

“But — but — don’t you want a condom —?”

Sanemi scowls as he drags his tip up and down your slit before pressing against your entrance. Fuck no, he doesn’t.

“Shhh. What’d I say?” He quells your worrying with a mighty thrust of his hips. The coppery slickness of you mixed with your arousal means there’s no resistance, and so, Sanemi sheathes himself to the hilt inside you in a single, fluid movement. “Shut up and let me take care of you, yeah?”

You answer him with a high-pitched cry, one that almost borders a small scream, and he’s hard-pressed to restrain himself from joining you.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Sanemi grinds out. “Holy shit, sweetheart.”

He thought he’d been close to losing his mind that first time, but the feeling of you now, tighter and hotter than before, and so fucking wet, threatens to untether him from reality all together.

In fact, he realizes as his hips begin moving on their own, he’s likely already lost control. He begins with slow, shallow thrusts, but his movements quickly melt into hard, deep rolls of his hips that are little more than base instinct. He is driven only by the need for more, to push himself as deep as he can possibly go until the two of you fuse together as one.

You’re writhing beneath him, toes curling against your mattress, too overwhelmed by the feeling of him being buried inside you. Not that Sanemi is faring much better. It’s taking him a surprising amount of self-restraint to keep himself from coming right then, too lost in the heaven of your body. 

Amazed that he’s still able to form a coherent thought, he manages to ask, “You still on that pill?”

He has no intentions of using condoms ever again, not after experiencing the euphoria that is your bare pussy. But your answer will determine where he comes.

He feels you nod as your teeth catch his bottom lip, beseeching him for a kiss he’s only happy to oblige. He grunts into you, a needy, guttural sound as he works to set his pace. “You want me to pull out?”

You pause for a moment and then with wide eyes, you slowly shake your head.

Sanemi smiles against your mouth. “Good. Me neither.”

Sure, his rule against having children while still entrenched within the Corps’ operations threatens to go up in smoke, but you’re on birth control. And, as he’s learned, he can’t follow rules for shit when it comes to you.

He nudges your head to the side, burying his face against the exposed length of your neck.

“Jesus Christ,” he inhales deeply, mouth pressed to your skin. “I fuckin’ missed you.”

For the past week, his body has been rebelling against him, too restless to sleep, to think, to do anything but roar its discontent with him. But here, buried to the hilt inside you as he is, a calmness trickles through his veins, steadying him, bringing him back into himself.

He should’ve known, he thinks as he rolls his hips with yours, working to set his pace. It’s you. It has always been you.

Beneath him, you fare no better, just as overwhelmed by your reunion with his body as he is with yours. That burning stretch is still there, just as it had been that first night, but it’s nowhere near as sharp as it had been then. Still, it takes a moment to adjust to his intrusion, despite how ready you’d been to receive him. After all, Sanemi is on the larger end of the scale; not that you have anything in particular to compare him to. But his cock is a little longer than the length of your hand, and thick. 

And god, does he know how to use it. No wonder he’s so insufferably smug all the time. He’d earned his bragging rights a hundred times over.

You’re both panting, his forehead pressed to yours as your noses bump together. Your fingers twist in his hair, desperate to find an anchor the more Sanemi threatens to to send you over the edge of your sanity.

You try, bless you, to meet his movements, your hips tentatively jerking to meet his thrusts, to help him plunge deeper.

Your effort makes him melt. “Just let me do all the work, sweetheart.” He coos, pressing you firmly into your bed, limiting your movements with his weight. “You ain’t gotta do a thing but take it.”

Truth be told, Sanemi is dreaming of the day you’ll ride him. In addition to reminiscing how fucking good your pussy tastes, Sanemi also hasn’t been able to stop thinking about how you will look perched atop him, your hips rolling and dropping frantically against his, tits bouncing. But right now, you’re the one who needs to be taken care of, and he’s more than happy (if not downright insistent) that he’s the man for the job.

You give into him easily, sinking into the mattress and letting your legs spread wider, relaxed. Sanemi smothers his throaty hum of approval into your neck, sucking and biting his claim into your skin.

The air between you grows thick with the scent of iron and sex, clouding his head and further loosening whatever hold he pretends to have over the monstrous, feral thing inside him. The one that only wants to pin you down and take you harder, rougher, until you can’t fathom being anything else but his.

He’s only able to cling onto that last bit of self-control because he’s so focused on you, all too aware of your limits. Those big, watery eyes of yours are pools he can drown in, and the wobble in your lower lip as he hits deeper nearly drives him insane. God, he can’t believe he denied himself of this for so long – of you, of the privilege of taking care of you, of making you cry out his name and beg for more.  

“God, you’re perfect.” He moans out in praise. “You’re fuckin’ perfect.” 

Though it’s only your second time, your bodies slide together like it’s the most natural thing in the world; easier than breathing. You are an extension of him as much as he is of you, and he can’t even chalk it up to his eye for detail. The observations he’d made of you last time had nothing to do with survival. It was instinctual. Sanemi hadn’t needed to work to memorize you; he’d known you the second your skin met his. 

It’s this familiarity that guides him now, Sanemi’s lips and teeth and hands finding every spot that makes you moan, gasp, bite your lip until it nearly bleeds while you scratch at him and urge him closer. 

Though he’s admittedly half-fucked out of his mind with euphoria as you clench and pulse around him, Sanemi does note that some of your uncertainty toward your own body has returned. Your hands drift from his hair to his face before dropping to clutch at his shoulders. As Sanemi’s movements gain momentum, making you bounce against the mattress, your nails lightly – hesitantly – crest into his skin.

He chuckles against the shell of your ear. “You can cling to me as much as you want, darlin’. I don’t mind.” He rolls his hips more purposefully this time, the arm around your waist tightening, forcing you to arch harder into him. “I’ll take good care of my girl.”

His knees shift forward and Sanemi pulls back to study you. It’s hard to know where to rest his eyes; you look fucking incredible under him like this, hair fanned out, framing your head like a halo; your breasts, peaked and mouthwateringly full, bouncing perfectly in time with his movements.

But it’s your face that catches his attention; the way you tug your bottom lip between your teeth, coupled with how your inner walls flex around him, as though in answer, your pupils blown wide with desire.

His free arm pushes under your knee and your pretty mouth falls open at deepening the reach of his cock. “You like it when I call you that, huh? My girl.”

Tears cling to your eyelashes. You manage only a hurried, jerky nod of your head, incapable of making any sound more intelligent than a few whimpers.

“Yeah?” And he pins you down harder into the mattress with a snarl, his arm pressing your leg nearly to your shoulders. “Good, ‘cause you are.” 

The lewd squelching of Sanemi’s cock bullying relentlessly against your swollen, aching walls grows louder. He untangles his arm from under your leg to move above your head, bracing his weight on his fist where it’s balled into the mattress. He uses his new position to increase the force of his thrusts, his legs straightening out behind him, his feet digging into the bed as he draws his cock nearly all the way out of your heat, before plunging right back in.

“And this is all mine, too, isn’t it?” A free hand wedges between your bodies, Sanemi slapping lightly at your clit. You cry out as he repeats the action again, but when he presses down at the next contact of his fingers and circles them, a howl of his name rips free.

He tucks his dark chuckle into your throat, his teeth nipping just above where your pulse flutters. “Yeah, it is. ‘Cuz you’re my girl. My good fuckin’ girl.”

Your cunt clenches around him in steady pulses, every fleck of your slick warmth fogging his brain. It’s unreal, the way you respond to the filth pouring from his mouth. It nearly drives him insane; here he is, someone who has only ever known hell, yet he’s managed to steal away his own piece of heaven. 

Rough fingers tighten around your hip, pulling you harder to meet him. Sheer desire may have clouded his head in those first moments, his delight in getting to have you making him over-eager to get you naked, but the fog is rapidly dissipating. Instead, as he moves, Sanemi’s dizzying pleasure becomes edged by solemnity. 

Sure, sex has always been an easier way to work through emotions he wasn’t allowed to feel, but that sort of self-distraction can’t fly anymore. Not with you; not when you mean everything.

He was your first and he wants to be your last. Your only.

None of this is temporary; he hadn’t told you he was all in until he got bored, or until one of the thousand reasons couples break up came along to give him the first pass to skip town. He didn’t attach any strings to that key. You need to know. You need to know how fucking serious he is about this. You. 

But in case any ambiguities remain, let him clear them up now.

“Can’t believe I wasted all that fuckin time on the others when I could’ve had you. You used to smile at me, you remember that?” Sanemi draws his hips back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside before slamming back into you. “When we were in school. Used to make me go dumb in the head when ya did.”

The wet, sticky squelching where your bodies connect only grows louder as Sanemi increases his pace. “And then I’d see you smile at others and it drove me nuts. But then I realized you were smilin’ special for me — and not just because you were bein’ polite. You meant it.”

He tucks his head into the crook of your neck, his mouth sucking a harsh bruise into your skin that he soothes with his tongue. “Should’ve made you mine back then.” He growls, and below him, you tense. “Should’ve made you my girl and taken you far away from here. Might’ve even become a better man, if I had. I would’ve, if I’d known. That you were fuckin’ made for me — fuck!” Sanemi throws his head back as you squeeze tighter around him.

He drops his gaze back down to your face. Though your eyes are glassy with pleasure, there’s recognition there, an understanding that parts your lips as the weight of his words settles.

I would’ve wanted you, then. 

Judging by the dent that appears between your eyebrows, he knows his silent confession isn’t lost on you, even as a sharp cry tears from your throat. 

Sanemi leans down and kisses you, roughly, in confirmation. “And I don’t just mean your body,” he breaks away from your lips with a pant. “You were fuckin’ made for me. Wish I’d known it back then.”

He gives a sharp twist of his hips on his next plunge in, making you bow away from the bed and into him with a cracked moan. But Sanemi lets his weight press you right back down, your bodies rolling together as one.

There’s a limberness to your body that hadn’t been there that first time; a relaxedness in your limbs now that you know what to expect, one that has you opening your thighs a little wider, an invitation for him to hit deeper that he’s only too happy to accept. 

“Oh fuck — that’s it, baby. Yes.” He can’t be bothered to feel embarrassed by the way his voice strains as he shouts, “Fuck!”

As tight as you’d been when he’d first entered you, nothing compares to the way you’re squeezing his cock, now. You’ve sharpened the arch in your spine, smushing your breasts into his chest as you offer him to take more and more. So firm is the hold of your body over his, that Sanemi finds it increasingly difficult to thrust, and he resigns himself instead to holding hard by the hips and grinding. 

A too familiar tingle at the base of his spine prickles. He going to come and soon, and that’s unacceptable. His entire sexual history has been predicated on two rules: no unprotected encounters and no cumming before his partner.

He’d thrown the first rule to the wind with enthusiastic ease; but he’ll be damned if he starts reneging on the second. Not when he’s promised to take care of you.

Sanemi’s hand unlatches from its place above your hip to push between your bodies. Your eyes roll back into your head and your jaw goes slack when his thumb finds your aching clit and swirls, coaxing you to relax into the bed and ease some of your iron-tight grip.

“S — San —“ you try, but whatever thought you’re trying to string together dies in your throat under a keening wine as Sanemi shallowly thrusts into you.

He grits his teeth. Not enough; he’s still too damn close. His balls have become painfully tight, and the electric prickle he feels has bled into his stomach, forming a know that’s becoming tauter by the second.

He won’t be able to hold off for much longer.

“C’mere, baby.” He manages with a croak. “Need ya to cum for me.” And with some remorse, he withdraws his hand. It joins the other in smoothing down the sides of your thighs, bending each leg at your knee. “Keep ‘em up. I’m gonna get real deep, okay?” 

He anchors himself against your sheets and settles. The adjustment pushes him deeper inside your warmth and a small moan escapes your mouth. Sanemi begins rocking into you, gentle at first, but gradually faster. “Might feel a bit strange, but I need ya to trust me. I’ll take care of you.” 

Knees nearly to your chest, you nod. Tentative whimpers soon melt into steady cries that pace with his movements. Before long, your hips are rolling up and away from the bed with his, your toes curling in the air.

The hand he has braced next to your head fists at your sheets. This new position means you’re even tighter than before, and the extra slickness from your period has him bumping up against all the right places in record time. 

Below, you squirm and claw at him, but your moans only grow louder as Sanemi continues to reach deeper within your swollen, tender walls, searching for the spot he knows will have you unraveling.

“S-Sanemi,” you whine, your nails digging into the corded muscles of his back

“I know you’re feelin’ sensitive, baby, but you’ll feel better if you cum. Can you do that for me?”

Eager to ease you into agreement, he rewards you with a trail of slow, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. The knot in his stomach tightens, but Sanemi resists; his self-control used to be a source of pride, and he’s determined to cling onto whatever thread of it remains.

Thankfully, you flutter and clench around him, a broken moan lilting out of you in answer.

Relief courses through him. “Yes, baby — that’s it. Shit.” His eyes squeeze shut and he focuses on the sharp sting of your nails raking down his back, willing the pain to ground him as he fights off his own orgasm. “You’re close, aren’t you? I can feel it.”

He hasn’t dared forget how it feels when you’re at your breaking point; sweet, slick walls pulsing and clenching wildly around him, every muscle in your body strung tight as you wait for that coil in your gut to spring.

It’s all he’s thought about for the last eleven days.

And when you confirm with a jerky, frantic nod, Sanemi leans in and presses his lips to your forehead. “Let’s make it a big one, yeah?”

Without waiting for a response, Sanemi drops his head to the pillow below. Slowly, he allows his weight to sink into you, pushing him further into your warmth. You cry out when his tip kisses a spot deep within you, a slight tinge of pain sparking through your lower abdomen that intensifies when he hits it again and again. Your nails rake down his back and tears well hot and fast in your eyes as Sanemi begins rutting hard and fast into you, no sound leaving your mouth but a series of strangled, choked gasps.

It hurts, the way he hammers away at that spot. You can’t deny it. But it also feels so fucking incredible that you can’t fathom him stopping now. Ever.

He churns harshly with every brutal snap of his hips, the coarse, rough hairs of his base scraping right against your clit, until that coil behind your navel cinches impossibly tight.

“Sanemi —“ you squeak, but nothing else follows, save a single, choked gasp.

It’s over and he knows it.

“Go on, sweetheart.” His voice husky and warm, murmuring in your ear. “Show me who you belong to.”

That’s all it takes; with a guttural gasp, you seize around him like a vice. Your limbs tense even as a warmth bursts deep from within your stomach. 

Your first orgasm with him had been powerful; this one is a cataclysm.

Climax rips through you like a hurricane; an explosion of pleasure that fractures you apart, shatters you into hundreds of fractals that all sing one name until your throat burns. 

Sanemi only fucks you harder.

Everything falls away; the industrial iron piping on your ceiling, the faint golden glow of the fairy lights woven around your headboard, even the rough fabric of the towel spread beneath you. All of it fades to white as you freefall into an endless ocean that’s precisely the color of the eyes you love most. 

Thick fingers close around your jaw, urging your face towards his. Far away, in the deep throes of your own ecstasy, you hear his soft whisper of your name, a string tugging you through the waves. You follow it all the way back to where you lie, sandwiched between your bed and his body. Through pleasure-bleary eyes, you find him watching you with a hunger that only intensifies the harder you come around him.

Somehow, despite the fact he has now seen every inch of your undressed body, the way his eyes hold yours has you feeling stripped to the bone. Beneath his ravenous, dark gaze, you are flayed open, no part of you left hidden. Truly naked. 

He has to see it, you think even as you continue to wail his praise. He has to, spread beneath him as you are. He has to know every corner of you bears his name. 

A brutal snap of his hips sends Sanemi’s cock right into that wonderfully painful place, your back arching hard off the bed as another great wave picks you up and slams you against the shore that is him. Tears leak from the corners of your eyes as you continue to sob from the force of your orgasm until finally, the tide recedes, sending you plummeting back to the mess of blankets below.

Sanemi’s arms catch you before you land. 

He lets your legs drop from his shoulders and replaces them with your arms. Though limp, you manage to summon your residual strength to tighten your hold around his neck, clinging to him.

Satisfied, no longer does Sanemi try and hold back his ragged moans and grunts as he chases his release. Not that he’d given much of a shit about it before, but Sanemi finds that he really can’t muster one now.

His hands curl around the edge of your mattress above your head, Sanemi using his grip for leverage, deepening the reach of his cock until he can’t tell where you end and he begins.

“Oh fuck — oh fuck —“ Sanemi can’t stop the filth pouring from his mouth as the familiar prickle at the base of his spine grows hotter, more electric. 

He’s going hard; the entire bed creaks and rocks with the force of his movements, the bedposts rhythmically knocking up against your wall with pronounced thumps.  “Fuck, I’m gonna come — baby, I’m gonna come —“

Beneath him, your moans have resumed though they now carry the faint cadence of a whimper. Somewhere, in the back of his pleasure-addled mind, Sanemi knows you’re probably overstimulated, but his pace only increases. He can’t stop, doesn’t want to stop, not when he’s so fucking close, not when it’s been so fucking long —

Unintentionally, you graze the raised skin of his brand, and Sanemi tosses his head back, hissing in approval. More, he wills, fucking into you harder. Do it more, carve your own claim into him. The Corp’s mark doesn’t mean shit to him, now.

Whether you understand the bruising demands of his hips or whether you’re simply reacting to their quick, hard snaps, you comply, your hands raking down his spine, Another powerful thrust throws your arm up his back, and you fumbles for purchase right in the dip between his shoulders.  

Gasping, you sink your nails right into his mark, and Sanemi loses control. 

With one last mighty push of his hips, Sanemi comes undone with a roar, his balls flush against your ass as his climax slams into him.

A strangled cry of your name is all he can manage before stars explode behind his eyelids. His jaw slackens, and his lower body moves on its own, his hips canting as his release barrels through him and into you, hot and thick. He’d sworn the first time he finished in you had been the hardest he’d ever came in his life. But then, your legs jerk around his waist, your shins locking together at the base of his spine as your thighs squeeze his hips, and his vision goes white.  

For someone who has spent most of his sexually active years doggedly refusing to consider the idea of barebacking any of his former partners, Sanemi has a bitch of a time trying to remember why that is. Because nothing, not a goddamn thing at all, will ever compare to this. 

Below him, you begin to mewl and whine, your hands clawing lightly at his chest in an effort to push him away. A voice blooms in the back of his head, a faint reminder that you’re likely overstimulated to the point of discomfort.

But it just feels too fucking good.

“Sorry, sweetheart, I’m still —“ Sanemi struggles against the deep groan vibrating in his throat as he continues to fuck you through his release. “Not — ngh — not done yet —“

He shifts, allowing his full weight to sink into you and still your squirming. He pushes your arms away from him, his hands wrapping around your biceps, pinning you down in place.

If you truly wanted him off, Sanemi would have obeyed, regardless of how badly he wanted to finish coming inside you. But though he has you held down, you still manage to rock your hips with his, your walls pulsing around him as his cum continues to fill you.

His cock twitches one last time, leaving Sanemi lightheaded and trembling as he finally finishes spending himself in you. “Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he drops his forehad against yours, panting. “You got me fuckin’ shaking.” 

He unlatches his grip from your biceps in favor of bracing his forearms against your mattress, mindful to ease his full weight off you. Your fingers sweep through his hair, your other hand resting against the side of his neck, scratching at him until his eyes flutter open to reveal you craning your head up, a silent request for his kiss.

Sanemi obliges, and once he starts, he can’t stop. He doesn’t break the connection of your lips even as he pulls out, soothing your responding wince with a flick of his tongue. He stretches out on his side next to you, no room between your bodies as his arm nestles in the valley between your breasts, his hand cupping your cheek, kissing you all the while.

He lays with you like that for several moments until wetness graces his cheeks. Sanemi pulls back to see tears sliding down your face, more clinging to your eyelashes like tiny, glittering jewels. 

Worry, hot and frantic, surges in his gut. “Hey, hey,” he kisses away the tracks staining your cheeks. “Was that okay? Was I too rough?”

You shake your head, turning it away from him to face your ceiling, your hand wiping tiredly at your eyes. “Not at all. I feel better – so much better. Less achy.” You roll your head back toward him, your eyes still watery but bright. “It’s just that – that was so fucking good. I didn’t expect it.”

That does little to assuage some of his concern. “What, it wasn’t good last time?”

You roll your eyes. “Not what I’m saying. I mean, I know I’m more sensitive than usual on my period. I’ve used toys before to help, but nothing has ever reduced me to tears from how good it felt.”

Instantly, his anxiety is washed away with a surge of pride that wells in his chest; a smugness that comes from the knowledge he’d fucked you so well you cried, but he keeps his boasts to himself.

Instead, Sanemi snorts. “Told ya I’d take care of you.”

You click your tongue, fidgeting as another gush of his cum leaks out of you. “Feels like you needed to be taken care of, too.”

“Haven’t jacked off in almost a week. Too much shit goin’ on.” He frowns before adding, “Plus, you’re all I wanted. My hand couldn’t compare to you.”

You roll your head back to face your ceiling, your eyes sliding closed and a blissful smile spreading across your lips. A smile that makes Sanemi’s own mouth part, his eyes growing wide, his cheeks, warm.

He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to your beauty.

Sanemi settles back down next to you, his body slightly lower on the bed than yours. He remains on his side, eyes tracing every detail of your serene expression as he presses kisses along your bare shoulder.

Moments pass, or maybe hours, and still, Sanemi does not tear his eyes away from you. Eventually, your breathing slows under his adoring gaze, and Sanemi knows you’re moments away from sleep.

He whispers your name and you crack an eye open. “You feel up for a shower?”

Sleepily, you nod, but you make no effort to rise from the plush comfort of your bed.

Sanemi sighs through his nose. “Need some help?”

“My legs don’t work anymore.” You can’t hold back your giggle as you roll to watch Sanemi shake his head at you before rising, his hand rumpling his hair. The blankets fall away from his lower hips, giving you a premium view of the world-class ass of Sanemi Shinazugawa, and you can’t help but smirk at the faint, red crescent marks dotting his skin, left behind by your nails. But the remnants of your post-sex haze dissipate the moment Sanemi and turns back to you, revealing the extent of the mess you’d left behind.

You blanch; his groin and cock are both covered in a sticky redness, a residue of your period blood mixed with both your cum and his.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Your hands flail as you try and wipe away all traces of blood from his groin and his softening cock, desperate to erase the evidence before he can see, before he can be disgusted by it, by you —

“Hey, hey — watch it —“ he growls as you brush your hand against his overly-sensitive cock. Sanemi’s hand snatches your wrist away from him, halting you mid-air. “Cut it out.”

Your cheeks burn with shame. “But —“

“Will ya stop worrying about it?” His fingers loosen around your wrist, and you retract your arm. “Look — see —“

Sanemi swipes his own hand through the mess you’d left behind and holds it up, your blood smeared on his fingers. “I don’t give a fuck. Kinda hot, actually.”

There is a mess of pink between your thighs, a combination of crimson mixed with his white that leaks out of you, staining your skin and the towel beneath you. He knows he’s wanton because he can’t stop thinking about how fucking pretty your pussy is. 

Especially when it’s covered with him.

His tongue flicks out to wet his lips. “Definitely hot. And you’re gonna let me have a taste next time.”

Your thighs press together at the very obvious hunger in his stare. “Sorry my period interfered with your oral fixation.”

“Didn’t interfere with shit. When I say ‘next time’ I mean, next time you’re on it.”

You gape at him. “You’re not serious –”

“Very.”

Heat creeps up your neck. “Sanemi, it’ll be bloody –”

“I told you, I don’t give a shit. Only reason I didn’t do it tonight was ‘cuz I was worried you might stroke out.” He shoots you a naughty wink. “I’m still breakin’ you in, after all.”  

The smugness in his tone ignites a fire in your cheeks, but before you can respond, the bed and blankets disappear from beneath you.

“C‘mon,” Sanemi grunts as he gathers you up in his arms. “Let’s get cleaned up.”

—

There is a stark contrast between sleeping with Sanemi Shinazugawa and showering with him. 

Moments before, he’d been committed to fucking you senseless, seemingly not satisfied until you were reduced to a soggy, pleasure-drunk mess, only capable of gasping his name in stilted syllables. 

None of that ferocity is present here, under the warm spray of the shower. Instead, Sanemi’s touch is soft, almost hesitant, as his arms encircle you, locking you in against his chest. His hand finds your face, and then his lips, and you melt into him. His kiss is not the passionate, possessive clash of tongue and teeth that it had been only moments before; this time, it is gentle. Chaste.

Any doubts which might have lingered in you as to the status of your relationship with him are quickly washed away, sliding down your legs with the water before mixing with the bubbles that slip down the drain. This is not a speck of softness marooned among an oasis of lust; this is not a temporary moment of affection between two people desperate to know it. 

This is intimacy.

It is tenderness which warms Sanemi’s eyes as his mouth breaks from yours, that turns them into twin pools of amethyst as he brushes a wet strand of your hair away from your face. It’s adoration; a vulnerability he’d never dare show to just a hookup. This — he — is meant for you and you alone. And it is that silent understanding which passes between you that your hand moves to lay against his cheek, parrroting his gentle touch. And it is what makes you surge up boldly on your toes, your mouth slanting over his once more.

—-

By the time Sanemi wrenches your bathroom door open sometime later, allowing the steam from the shower to billow out into the open area of your studio, both of your fingers have turned wrinkly. He wagers you would’ve stayed in there longer, had your hot water supply not run out, your shower head dousing you both with water he reckons was dangerously close to freezing. 

He’s the first to step out, though only because your bathroom is laughably small. He’s lucky the two of you managed to stand comfortably in your tub, but he doesn’t think that good fortune extends to you both drying off in the narrow space between your toilet, counter, and tub. Better he peel away now, and avoid starting a fight because you can’t mind your elbows.

Sanemi pads back to the bathroom, towel looped around his waist. “Took care of the towel on the bed. Threw it in the wash.” On cue, you hear the familiar click of your washing machine as it settles into its cycle. “Nothin’ got on your sheets, but I know some people can be picky. You okay sleeping on ‘em?”

“It’s fine,” you call from the bathroom. “Can you do me a favor? Top drawer of my dresser — there’s a row of black underwear. Throw me a pair?”

He returns a moment later, smirking as you hover in your bathtub, wrapped in an overlarge towel, waiting for him to bring you your panties. Like some internal code of decency prevents you from traipsing around your apartment in your towel like he does, even though he’s seen every inch of your body.

You emerge from the bathroom a moment later, still wrapped in your towel, right as Sanemi fishes something dark from its place on your floor.

He tosses his shirt to you. “You can wear that to bed, if you want. Not that you’ll hear me complain if you decide to sleep naked.” He shoots you a wink as he towels his hair. Pride wells in his chest at the sight of you slipping his tee over your head, and it soothes that hot, possessive streak within him. “Hope you don’t mind if I do, though. I’m not big on puttin’ dirty clothes back on after I’ve showered.” 

“You’re —?” The surprise in your tone stills his hands, and he lifts his head. “Are you staying?” 

Sanemi quirks an eyebrow at you. He’d thought it obvious he was, given the shower and how you’re now wearing his shirt. He studies you for a moment, notes how your hands twist together and the anxious shift of your weight from foot to foot.

A sudden sobriety settles over him. Of course; you’ve said you’d never been in a relationship before, which means all of this — having him over, showering with you, and sleeping in your bed — is brand new. As ready and committed as he is to you, perhaps this is all too much, too fast. It’s only natural for you to want to hit the brakes; to feel out this unfamiliar road. 

“I don’t have to.” Embarrassment creeps up his neck. “We can slow this down, if that’s what you want. I’m not in any rush.”

Dumbass, he chides at himself. Granted, this is new territory for him as well. He at least thought his years of rotating partners in and out of his bed would’ve meant he had some tact, but here he is, jumping the gun. 

Your eyes widen in alarm. “N-no! That’s not what I meant. I want you to stay -- I do. I just didn’t want you to think you had to.” 

He can see how your cheeks darken as he draws near, can see the bob of your throat as you keep your eyes firmly glued to his, a concerted effort to keep from looking down, as though you haven’t seen, touched, felt every inch of his nudity. 

A small smirk settles at the corner of his mouth. 

Silently, Sanemi takes your chin between his thumb and index finger, keeping your face tilted up towards his. He leans in and feels your eyelashes flutter against his nose in anticipation of his kiss. 

Only millimeters separate your lips when he pauses. “Who else is gonna slobber all over me ‘til I fall asleep?”

Your eyes fly open. “Y-you—! I —!” 

He silences your indignant sputtering with a quick peck to your lips. “Yeah, I’m stayin’. That key wasn’t just some empty gesture, idiot.”

You smack his chest half-heartedly, but laugh as you kiss him again. “Just get back in bed. I’ll make tea.” 

Sanemi steps back with a cheeky smirk and lets his towel drop to the floor. “Yes ma’am.”

He must know your eyes are glued to his ass as he walks away, for he offers you a little wiggle as he retreats back to your bed.

“Don’t forget to pick your jaw up off the ground, sweetheart.” He calls smoothly over his shoulder, focused on meticulously peeling back the covers of your bed, layer by layer. “Can’t make tea if you’re drooling everywhere.”

Rolling your eyes, you disappear behind the half wall of your kitchenette. Maybe you should kick him out, naked ass and all. 

Out in the main area, Sanemi has settled back into bed, his arms folded behind his head.

“There’s another reason it took me so long to see you, you know,” Sanemi stares up at the black pipes striped across the high ceilings of your apartment as you busy yourself with the kettle in the kitchen. “I went to see my brother.”

“Genya?” You poke your head out from the doorway. You disappear only when the kettle beeps, mugs clinking together as you pull them from one of your cabinets.

“Yeah.”

You reemerge a moment later, two steaming cups of tea clutched delicately in each hand. “He doesn’t live with you, right? He’s someplace far from here?”

Carefully, you set the mugs on your small bedside table. You crawl back into bed beside him, Sanemi’s arms opening to allow you to settle in against him, your head coming to rest against his pectoral.

“He’s enrolled in a boys’ boarding school.” He puffs his chest out in pride. “A damn good one, too.”

Boarding school. You’d known that Genya attended school in another city, and spent most of his time there at Sanemi’s insistence, but you’d assumed he’d had his brother stay with a friend or a local family.

Now, you think of Sanemi, with his patched-up leather jacket and worn boots; of the apartment you know he keeps in the Silo that he never lets you visit, and try and square that with the Sanemi who pays for his brother’s private education. “Do I want to know how you manage to afford boarding school tuition?”

“He’s on scholarship — wasn’t hard to get, considering our family’s finances. Found the proof easily enough.” Sanemi stares off into the empty space of your apartment with a shrug. “But I also started saving as soon I started makin’ money. The minute I had enough put aside, I sent Genya away. Paid for his uniforms and school stuff. I send him cash every month now so he can do extracurriculars and shit. I want ‘im socializing. The more friends he makes, the more connections he’s got.”

Sanemi’s voice then softens. “The more chance that he’ll stay far away from here, y’know?”

You trace your index finger along one of the jagged, silvery scars that cuts across his chest. “Was this before or after your father died?”

“Tch. After.” Sanemi snorts. “The old man’s death was never reported to the cops, so there ain’t a death certificate for him. I forged his signature on the transfer paperwork.” He thinks before adding, “had someone I know get me the paperwork to become Genya’s legal guardian, once I hit eighteen. Not like it changed all that much. It’s always been me ‘n him, even before our old man bit it.”

A year ago, you hadn’t imagined Sanemi Shinazugawa was capable of anything other than brash self-service. He’d been so good at pretending to care about nothing, acting as if the only thing keeping him tethered to this world was a heart that refused to quit beating.

Time and again, Sanemi has proven that his actions are far louder than even his most obnoxious words. While he shrouds himself in arrogance, it’s a cloak that’s flimsy, at best. Once again, all it takes is a little effort, a little more initiative, to see what lies beneath it. 

Under the beast’s mask lies the endless beauty that makes up Sanemi Shinazugawa: all his selflessness, all his fierce love and devotion. So gentle, so pure, and so worthy of the love he won’t let himself believe he deserves.

Emotion prickles behind your eyes. As if anyone on earth could be more worthy than him. 

“‘Sides, I like havin’ someone to fuss after. Reminds me that some part of me is still human.” He continues, oblivious to the way your throat works to swallow around the lump lodged in your airways. “Now, I’ve got two people I get to care about.”

His hand holds up yours and he turns it over in his palm, admiring the shape of your fingers; the softness of your skin. He smiles and it’s the most devastatingly beautiful thing you’ve ever seen. “I’m pretty fuckin’ lucky, if you ask me. All things considered.”

Your silence shakes him out of his indulgent appreciation of your hand. But when his eyes find yours again, it’s his turn to be stunned silent. 

You’re doing it again — looking at him as though he is the sun; such adoration feels nearly impossible to accept, especially by someone like him.

And yet, he wants to try; for you, he’d try anything.

For a long moment, the two of you hold each other’s gaze, neither daring to break the bubble that’s formed over your heads. What passes between you has a name, and both of you know it. It’s what slipped off your tongue that first night together, the confession whose weight you could no longer bear. 

It remains unspoken, for now, but it’s there. Both of you know it; both of you feel it.

“I think the tea has cooled.” You murmur shyly. But you make no effort to reach for it, so neither does he. Instead, Sanemi leans forward and presses his lips softly against yours.

He can’t get enough of kissing you. This small act of intimacy was one he’d always left confined to the bedroom. Something he only ever did in the heat of the moment, when clothes were being shed, or when his hand was wound in someone’s hair, wrenching their head back to tease their lips with his as he pounded into them from behind.

Not since he was a teenager has he kissed anyone for kissing’s sake.

And he’d certainly never had anyone of his own to kiss whenever he wanted; with whom he could give into his desire for physical affection. But now that he’s tasted your lips, Sanemi finds he cannot get enough.

Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Time doesn’t seem to matter here, wrapped up in each other, kissing and talking and being together. As tired as you are, you can’t fathom falling asleep now. 

Chin propped on his upper abdomen, you reach for him. Your fingers brush through his bangs, and Sanemi’s head bows into your touch. His hand smooths up and down your spine, charting your skin. 

Your head suddenly lifts up, a playful smile on your pretty lips. “What do I call you now, anyways? You never answered.”

Sanemi’s fingers pause their lazy exploration of your back. “What do you mean?” 

“I mean this. Us.”

A dent appears between his brows. “I’m your fuckin’ boyfriend. What else?”

That smirk widens into a full, teasing grin. The mirth in your eyes is beautiful, but Sanemi can’t help but feel like you’re making a joke he’s not in on. “What?”

“Nothing, it’s just — you don’t seem like the type to care about labels, that’s all. In fact, I thought you’d be against them.” 

Sanemi’s tone turns indignant. “Why the fuck wouldn’t I want a label?” 

“I don’t know.” You reply drily. “Maybe I assumed you didn’t want your bad boy image to take a hit.”

“What fuckin’ bad boy image —?”

You settle your head back down against him, your lashes tickling above his abdomen. That faint smile lingers for a second longer, but it disappears when you twist to press a kiss against his skin.  

Instantly, Sanemi’s griping quiets and his knuckle ghosts over the curve of your cheek. For a moment, he studies you. He traces over every detail of your face, as though you’re nothing more than a fleeting indulgence. Like he needs to savor you, before someone comes and plucks you away. 

“It’s weird, y’know?” His fingers play absently with the damp ends of your hair. “‘M not used to going to sleep with anyone. My bed’s always cold.”

You snort against his chest. “That’s not what the rumors said.”

“I didn’t let them spend the night,” you can hear the faint defensiveness in his tone. “Didn’t even cuddle with ‘em, either.”

“Yes, I heard you were quite the gentleman,” you reply airily. “Gave them just enough time to get dressed before you pushed them out the door.”

He chuffs. “You’re makin’ me sound like some sorta player.” 

“Name one person you’ve slept with besides me.” 

He taps his finger to the tip of your nose. “A gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.” He tucks a stray lock of your hair behind your ear. “And besides, there’s only one who matters.” 

This time, it’s you who flushes, heat pooling in your cheeks. “You don’t have to seduce me. You’ve already talked your way into bed with me.”

“You’re the one who cornered me, Princess.” Sanemi counters. “In fact, you were pretty damn insistent about it. You haven’t seen all the ways I know how to seduce a woman — not yet, anyway.”

“Oh?” Your hand teases down the length of his torso, your fingers pausing just at the edge of the blanket, where it’s pulled over his lower half. Lightly, you drag your nail over his skin, and Sanemi bites his tongue to keep his hips from twitching under your touch. “Care to share with the class?”

“I might.” And he snatches your hand by the wrist, stilling you before you can sneak below the blanket and start something he knows you can’t finish. “But I think you’d prefer it if I showed you.”

Your giggles are intoxicating as he flips you back under him, his lips peppering your skin with kisses everywhere he can reach. 

It’s incredible; he’s never felt so at ease with another. But the weight of his choice soon settles over him once more, and his face turns serious.

“I can’t be here every night,” and there’s something like regret in his eyes as they search yours, and the thumb stroking your cheek feels repentant. “My…job won’t let me be, as much as I might want to.”

His expression darkens. “And I don’t want to risk anyone following me. No —“

“No patterns,” you finish with a small, understanding smile. “I didn’t think that part would change, even if you decided to come back.”

“It’s not fair to you,” Sanemi admits, his mouth thinning into a hard line. “Nothin’ about this is fair to you. I can’t take you out on dates. We can’t move in  together. I can’t even see you everyday. I—.”

He cuts himself off with a sign, and the hand that was playing with your hair falls to your back and stills. “I don’t blame you if you decide it’s too much. I told you, you deserve better —“

A press of your finger against his lips stifles his self-loathing. “And I told you, I don’t want anyone else.”

Sanemi’s hand closes around your wrist and he presses your hand more fully to his mouth, but he does not speak.

“I told you how I felt about you, and I meant it.” And then, you add more quietly, “I know what I signed up for.”

He winces at that. “No,” he reaches to stroke your cheek with his knuckle. 

“No, you don’t. I know you think you do — and I’m gonna do my damnedest to keep you far away from my shit — but there are risks to bein’ with me, Y/N.”

Risks he never should’ve brought to your door to begin with.

“Like what, to my safety?” The bluntness of your words is softened by the inquisitive tilt of your head. “I don’t know if that’s as bad as you might think.”

“But —“

“Do you think I was somehow safer when I was all alone? Do you think anyone would have noticed if I’d just disappeared one day?”

Your fingers trace circles in the dip between his pecs, toying with the faint smattering of pale hair that lies there. “My siblings don’t call. I haven’t seen my parents in over two years.” You give him a wan smile. “At least now if something happens to me, there’s someone in this damn city who would give a shit.“

The thought makes his gut turn, and yet, the nausea he feels at the prospect of anything happening to you pales against the sorrow he feels that you’ve been left alone for so long.

It made sense, he thought, for someone like him to have no one. Until you, he’d been a staunch observer of the Corp’s creed; he’d sent his little brother as far away as he could, and resigned himself to an existence of self-imposed isolation. He’d known his future – how little of it likely existed – would be too hostile to forge any bonds, the soil of his life too acidic, too toxic for anything real to take root. The idea that he could have anyone to love and to keep had never been his to claim and so, he’d not known to mourn its loss.

But you hadn’t been raised the same way he had. By his own observations, you’d grown up safe and warm and loved in a nice house that sat situated on a row of other nice homes. Ones built with brick and mortar; where you never had to worry about the lights shutting off or whether you would be warm come winter.

And your parents seemed like they’d given a damn. He’d never forgotten the relief on their faces that day, when he’d returned your little sister to them; how they’d clung to her, tears of relief and gratitude shining in their eyes. That was something else Sanemi hadn’t known: the love of a parent. Not apart from his mother, but she’d died not long after Genya was born, leaving her two boys saddled with a man who couldn’t spell the word father, let alone understand the duties of one.

You’d been given everything he hadn’t, and yet, you’d ended up exactly like him: alone. 

Worse, Sanemi realizes, he’d secured more than you had in his adulthood. He’d grown a network. His position in the Corps meant he had comrades who would at least know if he turned up dead. Who might even secure justice down the business end of a steel bat or the barrel of a stolen gun.

You didn’t even have that.

You shrug. “I don’t know. I think you knowing and caring I exist makes me a little safer.”

How could he not? You’re the axis upon which his world now turns, the only stabilizing force in his life.

A lump builds thickly in his throat. His arms form a protective cage around you, tightening until you lay your head back down against his chest.

His hand cups the back of your skull. “Alright,” he says hoarsely after a moment. “As long as you’re fine with someone like me, I won’t push it.” His fingers comb gently through your hair.

“Mmm. I’m pretty content with my choices.” You hum sleepily against his skin. Sanemi glances down to see your eyes fighting a losing battle against sleep. “’Specially when you do that.”

A ghost of a smile forms on Sanemi’s lips. “You can go to sleep, y’know.”

You nestle into his chest. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Yeah. I promise. The felonies can wait.”  He settles in deeper against your pillows, his fingers still stroking along your scalp. “‘Sides, I wouldn’t leave my girl before kissin’ her goodbye.”

You snuggle happily into his skin, and before long, your breathing slows and you grow still, your fingers curled limply on his chest. He didn’t think it would take you all that long to fall asleep, and here you are, safe and sound and his. 

“Sleep, baby,” he murmurs quietly against your hairline, though he knows you can’t hear him. “I ain’t lettin’ you go, now.”

For a long while, he holds you, his fingers continuing to drag up and down your spine. It’s strange to be touched with such affection; such reverence. He hadn’t the words to quite sum up how he’d felt that night, but now, Sanemi realizes just how starved for intimacy he’d been. 

He hadn’t let himself do this with the others – quietly lay in bed, letting hands roam for something other than lust as he breathed them in. Relax. This is a side of him for your eyes only; a byproduct of him now being yours. 

Besides, why shouldn’t he relax? He’s home. Because home, as he’s come to realize, is not some dingy box in the SIlo or even some place far, far away from the Corps and everyone in it. 

Home is a woman he’d known for most of his life, yet not at all, not until the universe forced him back into your orbit. Home is your fingers twitching against his chest, still guided by the compulsion to touch him with the same gentleness he shares with you; the warmth of your body curled around his. 

Home is wherever you are. 

REBLOGS, COMMENTS, AND LIKES APPRECIATED!

[alloftimeandspacetosee]

The Chasm

So this is the rewritten roleplay that arcs around the Adventures in Space and Time because of course I did this part too I guess

also, needless dramatics bc roleplay shenanigans, why not

~

 They stopped briefly at the top of the path leading down into the Chasm. Arlette stared down at it, her expression cold and distant.

 “Come on,” Aurora whispered. “Best get it over with, right?”

 “What was that?” Zlata asked, drawing nearer.

 Arlette shrugged and started on the path. “Nothing important.”

 Zlata frowned, stroking Hohenheim’s head. “This place is where Kyurem is supposed to live, isn’t it? The ice dragon?”

 “Yep.” Aurora nodded, shoving her hands in her pockets. “Matt dared us to come out here once, when we were staying in Humilau. It’s actually fairly pretty in summer.” She glanced down at the valley before them. “Maybe not so much now.”

 The majority of the trees were evergreens, tall pines that didn’t quite reach the top of the cliffs. The group descended the path, Corvus soaring overhead.

 “I see. It seems like it would be pretty, but now–” Zlata shivered, holding one hand against Hohenheim. “It might still be beautiful, just in a different way. Cold, though.” She glanced back at Nyx, who was talking quietly with Warren at the back of the group. “If something is wrong, you should tell us.”

 “Kyurem seems like he would be dangerous,” Ryun said. “Hopefully we won’t see him.”

 “The legends say he used to terrorise the region,” Arlette said. “Lacunosa has weird laws in place because of him.”

 “It’s the cold, isn’t it?” Aurora dropped back to walk by Nyx. “Been fine everywhere else, but these trees are practically crystallising.” She stamped on the ground. “Not quite frozen.”

 “Yet.”

 “Yeah…” Nyx puffed out a steaming breath. “I… it’s cold…”

 Warren yanked his foot away from the ground as ice spread across it, freezing everything and working up the trees. “What’s going on?”

 Corvus cawed, wheeling above the group as mist engulfs the area.

 “We need to leave.” Nyx grabbed Aurora’s arm. “This isn’t good…”

 “What… what is going on?” Zlata stepped away from the ice.

 Hohenheim stepped forward, breathing fire to melt the ice in front of them.

 “We’d better go. Hohenheim can keep the ice away, but not for long. Arlette, Ryun, can you release your fire types and help him?”

 Ryun released Dante, and the houndour ran to Hohenheim’s side to help.

 Arlette started to laugh, hysterical. “We weren’t serious! It was just a joke!”

 Aurora cursed and flared faint wings, raising her hands to rip open a portal. “This’ll be qui–”

 She fell back onto the ground as a huge white shape thumped onto the ground before them, fire barely visible through the mist. On the path behind them a black shape lands, effectively cutting off their escape route.

 Nyx shrieked and turned away, but a fierce and chilly wind blasts in her face, forcing her back towards the group.

 “Do not attempt to run.” A huge grey head swung into view, glaring at Dante from burning yellow eyes. “Stop… or we shall make you stop.”

 Nyx backed into Warren, and he wrapped his arms around her. “There’s… no way out.”

 Dante yelped and ran back to Ryun, who hugged her and stared up. Hohenheim stepped towards the head, flaring his feathers, challenging them.

 The one in front of them rumbled, spewing a gout of flames. “You might not have, little fledgling, but it is not you we have come for.”

 Arlette helped Aurora up, staring at the dragon. “So who have you come for?”

 Aurora raised her hands again, meaning to open a portal. The dragon snapped flames that flickered inches from her hands, and Aurora jerked back into her sister, looking up.

 “You, little thieves.”

 “We have done nothing to you,” Nyx said, her voice wavering. “Please… just let us go.”

 The grey one in front of her took a step forward, revealing the misshapen form of Kyurem. Cryogonal spiral above them, keeping ice walls in place.

 “You, the three dragon blessed,” the legendary snarled. “Or so you seem… you believe you are worthy of such gifts?”

 “They never asked for their gifts,” Zlata said, dragging Hohenheim away from Reshiram. “They just received them. It is not up to them whether they have them or not.”

 “Well,” Arlette said slowly, “No one’s ever had a problem with them before.”

 “There are few enough others that can contest your worth.” Reshiram hissed, looming over them. “And I will not have your truth sully anything.”

 “That’s… that’s the thing about truth.” Arlette frowned. “It just is. Not much can change it.”

 “How about an ideal, then, where you have nothing that you shouldn’t have?”

 Aurora turned to look up at Zekrom. “Nothing’ll change for an ideal. We were born with these, and I think we’re supposed to keep them.

 “You may have been born with it, but that does not make you worthy!” Kyurem roared, shaking the trees around the group. “Changing One, you keep silence… you are wise.”

 Nyx turned away from Kyurem, clenching her fists. “Please… just let us go, we have no choice in our gifts–”

 “Silence!” Kyurem screeched. “You will be tested, to see… if you are worthy.” He looked down, considering the group – considering the twins and Nyx. “And if you pass, you shall be rewarded…”

 “No… no tests.” Nyx shuddered.

 “Humans like trinkets and treasure,” Kyurem grumbled, looking at the other dragons. “More so than dragons themselves… you’ll be happy for your rewards, should you receive them…”

 “With all due respect, who are you to decide whether they are worthy of their gifts or not?” Zlata looked up. “And what about us?” She pointed to herself, Warren, and Ryun. “Are we supposed to just stand by while you test our friends?”

 “You are not suited to their tests, little one,” Reshiram said, snaking his head closer to Zlata. “I would advise standing out of them, unless you care to get damaged.”

 “Indeed.” Kyurem looked down at Zlata. “These are tests by dragons for dragons, and your interference would only make it worse.”

 “Stop that,” Arlette snapped. “Just stop it.”

 “Oh?” Reshiram turned to look at her. “You dare defy us?”

 “Of course I do.”

 “You will not get out of here easily.”

 “So what are these tests?”

 “Arl–”

 Arlette cut off her sister, holding up a hand.

 “Let the time dragon be tested first,” Kyurem said.

 “Very well.” Reshiram looked down at Arlette. “Your task is to prove you can truly control time. Go back and make a mark for us to know.”

 “What are you talking about… a mark?” Nyx shivered.

 “I don’t care what the mark is, so long as we know it is yours.”

 “And why should I?”

 “Because we require proof!” Zekrom roared. “No human should be graced with the power of the legendaries as you have been.”

 “The dragons that gave us these powers… I think their authority runs above yours.”

 “Test her! I wish to see if they are worthy at all of having dragon in their blood.”

 “Nothing will change,” Arlette said. “You can’t make us do anything.”

 “It’s not in our blood!” Nyx shouted at Kyurem. “It’s not who we are, you–”

 “Ah, she speaks!” Kyurem whipped his head back to Nyx, eyes glowing. “We have both your sisters.”

 Ice froze Nyx to the ground, and the cryogonal surrounded her, chaining her in place. Her knees buckled, sending her to the floor. Zekrom reached out and cuffed Aurora towards himself, tumbling her over to between his legs.

 Arlette moved, staff in her hands cracking out to attack Zekrom. “Let them go!”

 Warren was stopped by ice before he could even attempt to help Nyx. Hohenheim wriggled free of Zlata and attacked the ice around Nyx.

 Zlata yelled and tugged him back by the tail. “Do it,” she said to Arlette. “There’s no other way out of this. I believe in you.”

 Ryun reached for his sword, a faint golden glow around him.

 “We can’t fight them.” Zlata shook her head.

 “But they’re our friends… we can’t leave them in danger.”

 “We have no choice.”

 Arlette growled and dropped her staff and bag to the ground, sorting through it. She stood up, a pokéball and a bottle of green liquid in her hands. “Look after my stuff.” She took Xenos from her shoulder, passing him to Soise.

 The ralts whistled, but didn’t protest.

 “You shouldn’t have to do this.” Aurora glared up at the dragon that’s holding her down with one foot.

 “Got to,” Arlette replied.

 “If you are in great danger, I will come for you.” A feather fluttered free from Reshiram’s wing. “I will not let you die there.”

 Arlette caught the feather and shuddered as blue scale armour rippled into place across, melding with white feathers along her arms. “I’m fine,” she said, examining an arm. “I’m fine.” She raised her hands, now gloved in silver with a fine ruff of feathers around the wrists, above her head. “Any particular time I should go?”

 “Wherever you can manage.”

 “I’ll come with you.” Aurora struggled under Zekrom’s foot. “You can’t go on your own.”

 Arlette stiffened her shoulders. “I have to.”

 “Please.”

 Arlette brought her hands down in front of her, opening a rip. “I’ll come back. Before you know it.”

 “Good! The games have begun.” Kyurem cackled, placing a foot beside Nyx, ignoring her attempts to distort. “Are you ready to play?”

 She nodded, teeth chattering. The ice melted away and the chains loosened, as Zekrom let Aurora free.

 “A… Arl… Arl…” Nyx reached out to her.

 Arlette stepped through the rip and was gone, and the rip closed behind her before Aurora could get to it.

 “Game? This is a game to you?” Zlata stared up at the ice dragon, shaking her head.

 Hohenheim pressed himself against Nyx, fluffing himself up.

 “Of sorts. There are prizes, and no lasting danger,” Zekrom said.

 “I’ll give you lasting damage, you overgrown splitskin,” Aurora snarled, grabbing Arlette’s staff.

 Soise tugged her back as a rip opened in front of her, allowing two pokémon and then a humanoid figure to fall through. They hit the ground with a thud and it closes in a flicker.

 “Arl?” Arlette gripped the staff, staring at the figure.

 It wasn’t Arlette as she had left them. This one was in blue and white scaled armour, white feathered wings protruding from her back, a helmet covering her face and a bloodied spear grasped in her hands.

 “’Rora?” The figure dropped the spear, pushing herself to her feet.

 Aurora lunged forward, staff hitting the ground, to help her sister as she stumbled, the armour and wings disappearing to reveal a different set of scaled armour – blue washed red – on top of a worn shirt and brown skirt. The two pokémon – a typhlosion and a scaled stunfisk, with a black band around the base of its tail – keep to Arlette’s sides, growling softly at the people and dragons.

 “Arlette, you’re back!” Nyx curled herself around Hohenheim. “Where did you go?”

 Zlata stepped forward cautiously. “What happened to you? Where did the armour come from?”

 “Ah, you have returned so soon?” Reshiram looked around. “I see no difference.”

 “I see nothing either… I hope your trip wasn’t all a waste.”

 “How about you just wait?” Aurora snapped, pulling the helmet from her sister’s head. “You ok?”

 Arlette stared at her sister, stroking her face, her hair. “It’s you. It’s really you.”

 Aurora blinked and hugged her sister. “Course it is. Who else would it be?”

 Soise turned the helmet over in her paws. “More like when did you go?”

 “It’s ok, you’re back.” Nyx walked over, Hohenheim rushing at her side. “None of us are going anywhere.”

 Arlette nodded and shuddered a sigh, pushing herself free of her sister. “Abela. Break it.”

 The stunfisk shivered, and the ground started to tremble as the chasm wall shook in its foundations, resettling. Something cracked within it, and green fire licked out and up the stone face, making distinct words – ‘No more, fuckers’.

 Aurora laughed. “Nice.”

 Kyurem grumbled. “Well, that is the first task clear.” The dragon looked to Zekrom, then Aurora. “Challenge her next then, see if she shares her sister’s strength.”

 “Hang on! You can’t push us around,” Nyx said to Kyurem as the legendary moved towards Aurora.

 “I think you’ll find we can.” Ice formed around her feet. “Now, I’ll ask you to be silent. You’ll need your energy…”

 Hohenheim tugged on Arlette’s sleeve, trying to get her to sit down. She growled, shaking the bird free and picking up her spear – blood crusting on its blade – to stand between her sisters and the dragons.

 “What’s my task?” Aurora put a hand on her shoulder, holding her back.

 “Don’t let them take us apart,” Arlette snarled.

 “I won’t. They can’t.”

 “There is a meteor heading for the planet.” Zekrom looked skywards, as if she could see it. “If it is not stopped, it will crash into Nimbasa and kill thousands.”

 “And you… want me to stop it?”

 “If you can.”

 Kyurem’s eyes glittered as the legendary let out a tremendous roar. The dragon was laughing. “Wonderful! This is quite a hefty task for her… you think she can succeed?”

 “A… a meteor?” Nyx shivered, looking up. “You can’t be serious.”

 “You doubt us?” Kyurem glared at her. “I think we have proven to you we are quite serious.”

 “Maybe you should not involve the lives of innocent people in your games so easily.” Zlata frowned. “How is she supposed to reach it without suffocating, or being exposed to radiation?”

 “Space dragon,” Aurora said. “I’m betting she won’t be too happy if I cop it ‘cause of them.”

 “Would you rather we ignored it and left them to die? I do not control the meteors.” Zekrom reached out a claw to push Aurora forward. “Time is ticking, little one. Go now, and quickly.”

 “I’ll be back.” She glanced at her sister. “As quick as I can.”

 Arlette nodded, jaw stiff. “I’ll be counting.”

 Aurora looked up, closed her eyes, and raised her hands to open a rip. “Let’s go catch a comet,” she murmured, stepping through as pink marbled black armour swirled into place across her body.

 “She won’t be long Arlette, you’ll see.” Nyx stepped towards Arlette.

 “I can’t feel her,” Arlette said quietly. “I thought, when I returned… it’s been too long.”

 The typhlosion grunted and shoved his head under her elbow.

 “You are both strong,” Nyx sighed. “She’ll be fine.”

 “You should relax,” Zlata said quietly, approaching them.

 “Not until she’s safe.” Arlette refastened her hand on the spear, looking between the dragons. “Not until everyone’s safe.”

 “How long was it?” Soise pushed her to sit.

 “Weeks. And I – I don’t know. I lost count.” Arlette frowned and changed tack.

  “Your challenge is complete, you’ve done what you could.” Zlata frowned, but didn’t press. “You’ve been through a lot.”

 Arlette nodded, shifting her hands on the spear haft, flicking glances between the three dragons.

 “You really think this was their choice?” Zlata looked up at Kyurem. “If something greater than you made a decision, you should not question it. Chances are there is a good reason.”

 “You will be silent, you have no reason to speak. This is a matter for dragons.” Kyurem’s eyes glowed as ice started to form around Zlata’s legs.

 Hohenheim hissed at the ice dragon, melting the ice around Zlata’s legs.

 “I do, because you are playing around with the lives of my friends. Your ice does not scare me.”

 Kyurem growled, glaring at Zlata as ice formed on her skin, pressing deeper. “I said… be silent.”

 Zlata winced, huddling closer to Hohenheim. Hohenheim melted the ice, hissing at the dragon. Kyurem roared in return, sending a bitter chill whipping around Hohenheim. The Ho-oh screeched in return, steam rising in the air around him.

 A rayquaza-esque dragon – mostly black scaled, with patterns of pink – ripped through the sky with a screeched. It threw a rock – the meteorite – to land with a thump at Zekrom’s feet and hovered before the dragon, glaring at her.

 “I have done my task,” Aurora snarled. “Splitskin.”

 “’Rora?” Arlette pushed herself to her feet, spear ready in her hands.

 “I’m here,” Aurora replied, shedding scales and size and residual crystal wings to crouch before her. “I came back.”

 “Again, success... perhaps these tasks are too easy for them.” Kyurem examines Aurora.

 “Perhaps we underestimated the humans,” Zekrom agrees, examining the meteorite.

 “It is your turn.” Reshiram turned to Kyurem. “Test the last one.”

 “I… I don’t want to be tested,” Nyx said. “If you want me to distort for you, it’s not going to happen.”

 Kyurem chuckled, an odd sound, and looked down at her. “Not even for the one you love?”

 Nyx whipped around. “What have you done with him?”

 The ice dragon stepped to the side, revealing Warren. He was flanked by clefairy with their eyes glowing, asleep.

 Nyx took a step forward, but chains of ice held her back. “Let him go! Warren!”

 “Patience,” Kyurem grumbled. “Now, you must use your skills–”

 “No! I won’t!”

 “Use your skills, distort into any form you please… and save your love.” Kyurem slammed a foot into the ground and unleashed pink-purple energy that looped around Warren.

 Ryun’s eyes widened and he rushed forward, his form glowing with gold.

 “Stop!” Zlata grabbed him. “You can’t do anything. This is Nyx’s challenge, and the dragons will stop you.”

 He glanced between her and Warren, and relaxed. The golden glow disappeared. “You’re right. But… I want to help him. He’s my friend.”

 “I know.” Zlata blinked and shook her head.

 Kyurem smiled as the energy whirled around Warren, becoming darker, taking a shape. A much bigger shape than Warren’s usual dream form. Wings open up, stretching into the sky, and a deep rumbling growl comes from it.

 “It is so lucky that he is dark blessed, it makes this that much easier.” Kyurem laughed.

 “Warren…” Nyx stumbled, falling as the chains released her.

  “His mind is tainted with dragon energy. If you can remove it, then he might just return to normal.”

 The dragon – the hydreigon – twisted to look at Nyx. His sleeping form, his blessing, had mixed with the dragon energy that Kyurem had poured into him. The hydreigon was much bigger than a usual hydreigon, and it started towards Nyx.

 “Warren!” Nyx shrieked, running towards him.

 The hydreigon shrieked in reply and spun, slamming its tail into Nyx and sending her flying.

 “How dare you!” Ryun drew his sword and his eyes flashed blue for a moment, heading towards Kyurem.

 As Zlata stopped him, trying to reason with him, Soise leapt past with an awful roar.

 “Don’t you dare hurt her!” She slammed into the hydreigon, claws digging into its skin.

 Aurora flinched, black and pink armour swirling in an automatic defence. Arlette gritted her teeth and spun the spear in her hands.

 “Arl–” Aurora stood with her, grabbing the staff.

 “This isn’t right.”

 Zlata hurried to help Nyx stand.

 “I can’t hurt him… I can’t hurt Warren, even if he’s… that.”

 The hydreigon squealed and reached up a snapping, jaw-like hand to grab Soise and throw her to the ground. It wrenched free of the chains and flapped its wings, staring towards Nyx.

 “You better start running,” Kyurem crooned. “Or are you going to stay and fight?”

 As the hydreigon’s mouth began to glow, Nyx changed into a wolf and ran.

 Hohenheim ran to help Soise, who accepted the help and dusted herself off.

 “What do you think you prove by doing this?” Arlette asked Kyurem. “Do you not think it would be easier to take it up with the three that marked us than playing with us like this?” She levelled her spear at him, looking more like an ancient warrior, a soldier, than herself. “Do you not think there’ll be worse consequences for doing what you have?”

 “They will not interfere,” Reshiram said. “You are ours just as much as theirs.”

 Arlette snarled and rolled her shoulders as the white wings appeared, lifting her up to glare down at Reshiram. “We are no one’s.”

 “Proving that you are worthy of your dragon gifts,” Kyurem growled, watching the hydreigon thrash in the air. “I must say, she is having less luck than either of you… Giratina did not choose wisely at all.”

 Arlette turned to see the hydreigon dive into the trees.

 “Arlette, Aurora, I’m not sure what you can do to them.” Zlata stood an arm’s length from Aurora, but ready to help. “You can fight, but who knows how it will affect Nyx? Let’s just have faith in her… and Warren.”

 “You should be thankful he did not, otherwise you would be having far worse problems,” Aurora said, gripping the staff tightly.

 “If he had chosen me, for instance…” Arlette smiled cruelly.

 “It is a shame to see dragon power gifted so poorly,” Kyurem grumbled, looking up. “He is returning… with her. I believe she has passed.”

 The hydreigon came back, Nyx on its back. As it landed behind the group, it allowed her to step down.

 Nyx reached out a hand and placed it against the hydreigon’s head. “He could’ve killed me… what would you have done if he had killed me?”

 Kyurem’s head tilted. “You would have failed.”

 “You would’ve made him kill me!” Nyx shouted. “Do you even know what that would do to him?”

 “Silence! You may have proved your worth, but you cannot speak to me like that!” Ice began to creep around Nyx’s feet again. “I am still more than–”

 A blast of dragon energy slammed into Kyurem’s chest, blowing the legendary backwards. The hydreigon closed its mouth, light still glowing through its teeth.

 Ryun approached the hydreigon warily. “Warren… you’re back with us?”

 The hydreigon didn’t seem to notice Ryun, growling threateningly at the other dragons instead.

 Nyx shook her head. “It’s not Warren, not yet.”

 “Just to change him back, now.”

 “If you can manage it, of course.”

 “I’ll turn him back because I care about him. Not for your stupid games, or to win your prizes.”

 Kyurem snarled, stepping forward. “They were a test! And you have not yet passed. Turn him back!”

 Nyx stumbled back and the hydreigon shrieked, targeting each of the legendaries with a blast from one of its mouths.

 “Maybe I should let him make his point before turning him back,” Nyx snarled, black scales flickering up her arms.

 The hydreigon launched into the air, blasting Kyurem with another pulse, making the ice dragon roar in agony.

 “These are legends.” Zlata turned to Nyx, horrified. “We should not anger them too much. And once this is over, we can all leave.” She looked back up at the dragons, and she started to frown. “… Don’t get too carried away.”

 Arlette dropped the spear to the ground as she spread out the wings, letting them get bigger. “Mind if we join in?”

 “You will not! The game must be completed!” Reshiram snarled.

 Fire swirled towards the ground and Aurora roared, changing to her long, snake-like dragon form in seconds to shield the group from the fire. “Don’t you dare,” she hissed. “After we’ve already put up with this.”

 Arlette laughed as the dragons were hit again, her armour shimmering into white and blue and thickening out her whole body. “Not so fun when you’re involved, is it?” She thumped onto all fours and flicked a tail out, fully dragon.

 “Warren, be careful!”

 Kyurem lunged a claw towards the hydreigon, but Nyx was there – a giant snake, shadow wings stretching from her arms – to slam him into the trees.

 Arlette slammed her bulk into Zekrom, stopping the legendary from flying after Zlata and Ryun as they made their escape. “You have no need of them.”

 Aurora dived at Reshiram, slamming into his throat to stop the fire, and coiling her length around him. “Cease your foolishness.”

 Reshiram screeched and pushed free, taking to the air. “It is you that is being foolish, attacking us here!”

 The hydreigon whined and pushed Nyx aside as an icicle spear whistled passed them. He shrieked and dived down for another attack.

 Nyx breathed a jet of glistening black ice at Kyurem and circled to join Arlette and Aurora. “I think we should stop,” she snarled.

 “He is still dragon!” Kyurem roared. “But I think I could consider your task complete.”

 “Oh really? How nice of you.”

 “He cannot remain like that, though.” Around Kyurem, ice spears were created and launched.

 They smacked into the hydreigon with a dull thud and he sank like a stone, crashing into the trees with the spears imbedded in its back.

 “Warren!” Nyx screeched, flying at Kyurem with talons outstretched. “What did he ever do to you?” She coiled herself around him, coating him in black ice.

 “Nyx!” Aurora called, whipping away from Reshiram. “Tend to Warren. We will deal with these upstarts.”

 Arlette threw her head back in a roar. “Now you will know.” She lifted Zekrom into the sky. “Now you will know what you slept through.”

 “We know,” Zekrom hissed, twisting in her grasp. “We saw the first war. We saw enough.”

 “Then why did you not wake to stop the second?” Fire ignited, simmering in Arlette’s throat, making her teeth glow.

 “Because we were not called. Because we were tired of fighting.”

 Arlette slammed Zekrom into the ground and landed heavily in front of Reshiram, pulling her head back to stare him in the eye. “And what is your excuse? You knew I was there.”

 “It was not our war.”

 Aurora lifted away from the white dragon, keeping a careful eye on the others from the sky.

 “And you didn’t think to interfere? Your kind are so very good at that.”

 Kyurem roared and blasted both Arlette and Aurora with a dragon pulse. “Stop this now! The time of war has passed, you should not be so concerned with it.”

 “It hasn’t passed far enough!” Arlette roared, slamming into the ground on one wing.

 Aurora whipped out of the way and crashed into Zekrom as the black dragon got up. At once she fell, mottled black scales turning lighter and silver. She flared out crystalline wings as she lost most of her length and size, becoming bipedal once more.

 “Return our power,” Zekrom snarled, a foot slamming Aurora into the ground.

 Arlette glanced to her sister and bowed her head, glaring at Reshiram. “Take it and be done,” she snarled, lashing her tail.

 Kyurem sent a blast into the sky and it returned with a barrage of glowing meteors that slammed into Arlette and Aurora. “Your sister has given up the fight. You should do the same.”

 Nyx soared across to them, roaring. “Please! Let’s stop before this gets out of control!”

 Aurora shrieked as the meteors hit, shattering her wings. She rolled, hiding beneath Zekrom’s bulk.

 Arlette shook her head and roared, struggling to her feet and lunging at Kyurem, keeping her wings tight to her side. Fire burnt between her teeth as she snapped for the ice dragon’s throat.

 Reshiram caught her tail in his teeth, pulling her back and slamming her into the ground. Her wings disappeared, as did most of her size and white colouring, leaving her a still a quadruped but only blue and silver.

 “It was out of control when it started,” she spat out, getting to her feet and shaking the scales from her body. She stumbled and Harpy caught her, snarling quietly at the dragons.

 “You can keep your rewards,” Aurora said, crawling across to her sister’s side. “We don’t want ‘em.”

 “Well now it is over. You will be calm,” Kyurem snarled down at them. “You are wiser than I thought.” The dragon watched as Nyx glided to land.

 She placed her coils between the twins and the dragons. “We’re going to leave, now,” she snarled. “Keep out of our heads from now on.”

 “Fine.” Kyurem lifted a foot up, revealing a plant. “Your reward.”

 “I don’t care.” Nyx shook her head.

 Zlata rushed over to Arlette and Aurora, kneeling on the churned up ground to check them. “Can you stand? We can carry you if you’re exhausted or injured.” She glared up at the dragons. “Was it worth it? Your little game? I have a feeling that nobody here wants your rewards.”

 Aurora pushed herself to her feet, wavering slightly. “I should be fine for it.”

 Arlette leant on Harpy and gestured for her spear. Soise passed it to her along with her staff, which she passed to Aurora. The zoroark shouldered her bag as Abela crept to her side.

 Zekrom dropped the meteorite in front of Aurora with a thud. “This is yours. Take it.”

 “Of course it’s mine. I caught it.”

 Nyx started to slough her form, shrinking back into her human form. Kyurem continued to talk to her, but she wasn’t buying it as Warren appeared and ran to her.

 “Abela, Harpy.” Arlette gestured for her pokémon to follow as she turned away. “Come on.”

 “Wait, Guardian.”

 “What?” she snapped, turning back to Reshiram. “We told you, we don’t want–” she cut off, seeing the small necklace Reshiram had dropped to the ground.

  “Do not judge by appearances. All ideas come from somewhere.”

 Arlette snorted and beckoned for Harpy to pick up the necklace.

 “At least you’re getting something out of it,” Zlata said, shaking her head. “But let’s go.”

 They left, and Nyx caught up with them moments later in her wolf form, Warren at her side. She rubbed her head against Aurora, and they ignored the sound of the dragons laughing behind them.

 “Let’s go.”

 Warren nodded, raising a hand to signal for Corvus. The honchkrow landed beside him as Zlata released Yangtze.

 Zlata hoisted Hohenheim onto the dragonite’s back before climbing on herself. “Arlette, Aurora, Ryun? You need a lift away from here?”

 Ryun climbed up behind Zlata, sitting as far from her on the dragon’s back as he can manage.

 “He can carry one more, two at a pinch, if Corvus can’t carry three people.”

 “I don’t think I can manage flying,” Arlette says. “Probably just fall off.” She continued to walk, jaw set.

 Aurora glanced at the armour she was still wearing. “That stuff’ll be weighing you down as well.”

 “I can get changed in Lacunosa. Abela?”

 The stunfisk moved to Arlette’s side, crackling.

 “Stay close.”

 “There’s a shorter route up this way,” Soise said, slipping in front of them. “But you should probably fly with them.”

 Warren climbed up onto Corvus, who was keeping a wary eye on the dragons as they vanished.

 Nyx shook out her fur, growing in size until she was big enough to ride. She padded closer to Arlette and nudged her gently. “Get on, I’ll take you out of here… I want to leave fast, anyway.”

 Corvus screeched and took off, whirling about above them.

 Aurora glanced up at her, frowned, and scrambled onto Yangtze’s back between Zlata and Ryun.

 Arlette smiled and swung her leg over Nyx’s back. “This can feel weird later. Maybe.”

 Soise placed Arlette’s helmet back on her head and picked up the stunfisk. “I’ll carry Abela.” She examined the pokémon’s pebbled scales, claws catching on the black band around its tail.

 “She’s kinda old. Ish.” Arlette shook her head, burying her free hand in Nyx’s fur to hold on. “Harpy, good to run?”

 The typhlosion nodded, waiting for them to move.

 “Hold on then,” Zlata murmured, and Yangtze took off.

 Aurora lurched and gripped her sister’s staff, watching the ground fall away beneath them.

 The flight was a short one, just to the ridge at the top of the Chasm. They slid from Yangtze’s back to wait for the others, and were greeted by the side of Arlette raising her spear up, balanced on Nyx’s back and looking as if they’d run off the pages of a novel about beast riders.

 Aurora slid from Yangtze’s back and balanced herself with Arlette’s staff, glancing at the meteorite in her other hand.

 “Is everything alright?” Zlata asked, slipping down beside her. “You can sit down if you like, though we won’t be here long.” She looked at the meteorite as well. “It doesn’t look like much… you wouldn’t think it was going to eliminate Nimbasa.”

 “Just a bit tired.” Aurora shook her head, turning the meteor over. “Maybe it’d’ve hit something big. I don’t know.”

 “At least you stopped it, and completed those challenges. Even if the dragons forced you, you did some good.”

 “I think you got the best gift, Aurora… I’m not even sure what my flower does, or if it does anything at all,” Nyx said, stopping beside them.

 Arlette planted the butt of her spear on the ground and slid from Nyx’s back, turning to wait for Soise and Harpy.

 “No idea what to do with it, though.”

 “Could sell it, could extract whatever minerals it has in it, use it for jewellery, anything. A meteorite is quite valuable.” Zlata leant over to look at the plant as Arlette held it carefully for Nyx as she shifted back into her human form. “What do you think that does?”

 Nyx lifted off the top of the pot and touched one of the petals. The whole plant glowed pink, seeming to give off energy.

 “It’s the energy that they used on Warren.”

 “It is? Then… maybe it can transform something, or somebody like it did him?” Ryun joined the group, reaching out to touch the plant. “I shouldn’t, I’m sorry.”

 “Not until we know what it does.”

 “Maybe… maybe you can try it out on me?” Ryun suggests.

 “And if it does something bad?” Zlata turned to look at him. “You could get hurt, or turned into something like Warren did. What will we do then?”

 Arlette pulled off her helmet and passed it to Aurora as Soise placed Abela down on the ground before her. She pulled an ultra ball from her bag and rolled it towards the stunfisk, capturing her easily.

 “Don’t, I don’t want you to get hurt.” Warren stepped in front of Ryun, stopping him getting closer.

 Nyx shook her head. “Warren, I’m not sure if it’ll harm him. Whatever they did to you was directed at you, this just seems to be… natural.”

 Warren nodded slowly and stepped out of the way.

 Ryun touched the flower and flinched as the pink energy sank into his hand.

 “What is it doing?” Warren asked, narrowing his eyes.

 “I don’t know.” Nyx frowned.

 The energy morphed into the small shape of a dewott, swimming in front of Ryun.

 “A dewott?”

 “What does a dewott have to do with me?” Ryun took his hand from the flower and reached out to the pink dewott.

 “Maybe… do you know your avatar?” Zlata watched it.

 “No, I never found out.” His eyes widened. “You think that is my avatar?”

 “What else could it be?” Zlata smiled. “I doubt it’s just a random pokémon.”

 “Maybe someone else should try.” Aurora smirked and nudged Nyx to offer the pot to Zlata.

 “If you’re a dewott, it explains why Sammy likes you so much.” Zlata gently touched the plant.

 “It suits you.” Nyx smiled at the dewott.

 The plant glowed again, and more pink energy flowed out of it to Zlata, and then into the air as a gardevior. As the gardevoir appeared, the dewott spiralled to join it. The gardevoir raised its arms and they started to move together, almost as if they were dancing.

 Nyx covered her mouth with a hand and pulled the pot back out of reach. “That’s… pretty. But… perhaps I should take it back, I don’t want it to wither…”

 Ryun looked away from the avatars, flushing slightly. “Yes… maybe.”

 Zlata looked away from them as well, smiling at Nyx. “It’s an interesting gift. Might be useful – and certainly an easier way to find out your avatar than the ceremony in Johto.”

 “So mine is currently the worst gift.” Arlette snorted. “Knew it.”

 Aurora laughed quietly. “Shall we find somewhere to rest up? Change of clothes?” She glanced at her sister.

 “Where’s the nearest place?” Warren asked.

 “Lacunosa?” Nyx asked, putting the lid back on the pot. “It’s close, and they all think Kyurem’s a douche.”

 The avatars joined into one pink orb and flushed back into the plant, leaving the flowers white once more.

 “That would be a good place to start.” Zlata nodded and looked back around. “We can think it through once we’ve all had a rest. Especially you three.”

 “Sounds like a plan.”

 “Let’s go, then.” Arlette took her helmet back from Harpy and strode off.