#well that's a lie. we do have one left. but it is the Extra Sticky one bc that was all they had that day at the store

[nexus-nebulae]

officially declaring my current war on lint. its everywhere. make it stop

[biteofcherry]

to find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel​’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; power imbalance; forced relationship; D/s undertones; public humiliation; groping; dirty talk

I did warn you this Steve is dark 😜

word count: 4k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

5. Breaking ice 

~ * ~ 

You’ve never been more annoyed with a sunny day and warm lightness filling your bones than you felt the day after the apothecary incident. Extra bounce to your step as the sun stroked your face and corners of your lips threatening to curl up irked you immensely. 

Every other minute you tried to force yourself into a stormy mood.

Into an expected reaction to what has happened.

You faced direct danger, witnessed people being killed in cold blood, you were trapped in a relationship with a fucking mobster, who - on top of it all - screwed your body and mind in a most wicked, deranged way.

You shouldn’t be feeling cheery. That reaction was inadequate to the situation and to the moral norms you thought you possessed. 

Either Rogers had that strong of an impact that you quickly bent to his dark whims, or the spine you thought you had always been a noodle not a steel rod. 

How otherwise explain the fact repulsion at his manhandling transformed into thrill and arousal? 

Last night, when you finally went to bed after taking a thorough scrubbing shower (and crunching a few cranberry pills to pray the UTI away), the images of being fucked with a gun resurfaced in a colorful burst. 

The crystalline blue frozen in ice of Steve’s irises, the soft pink of his lips inches away from yours, the black of the gun against your floral dress. 

It made you sticky instead of sick. 

You had some knowledge of the psychological aspects to rough sex fantasies, or bdsm preferences, even consensual non-consent role play; but they all were considered normal when consented and previously explored. 

You did not give Steve your verbal consent. Yet you didn’t exactly fight him. Convincing yourself it was because he had a gun and could kill you with it fell poorly since your pussy clenched at the memory of the barrel against your skin. 

What has your life become - cranberry pills and getting wet from being violated.

You were angry, yes, but not at what you should be. Your annoyance with Rogers was peaking, but the true resentment wasn’t only toward his actions. It was directed at yourself for not being outraged by what happened. 

When the next day at work Natalie asked you about the meeting, you gave her the short version - a trap being set up and Rogers coming to save you. The part about coming all over his gun was left unspoken.

You told yourself it’s to spare yourself further humiliation, but a part of you simply feared you’d get turned on thinking about it again. 

Really, that should be a topic to pick at a therapy session, but you couldn’t do that either. You had enough common sense to know going to a psychotherapist was out of the question, not with the man who was about to become your husband. You couldn’t tell all the truth in a session (to not risk a therapist’s life) and going there only to lie and omit had no sense. 

So you decided to channel everything onto the job. 

Focusing on work meant not allowing your thoughts to roam around Steve fucking Rogers, as well not giving your body reasons to stir with arousal. 

You caught up on paperwork, made a few phone calls - including those less important, just to occupy yourself; you visited the new speech therapist in their office. Being busy enhanced the sense of lightness, which you preferred to read as having no space to overthink and stress, instead of wondering if getting debauched was the sole cause of your serenity. 

However, the lull of denial burst the moment Natalie came into your office with lunch.

Lunch you didn’t order, and a couple trailing behind her with creepily bright smiles on their faces. 

“Miss Leigh Parrish and Mister Elias Asher are here for you.” Natalie informed you, professional as always, though you noticed the barely constrained eye roll. “And they brought you lunch, apparently.”

“What?” You looked at the set of neat three boxes with delicious looking food then at Natalie and at the pair behind her. 

The two walked in with confidence, as if they were about to take over your office. The woman, Leigh, had a pad in her hand and a huge binder under her other arm. The man held some small kind of measure tape and a little blue notebook. 

If they were some new donors, or a company who wanted to start a program with your health center, they sure were the very first to start negotiations this way. Usually you were invited to lunch, not have it brought. People meeting you were also more reserved and polite, instead of barging in with some wacky energy. 

“Lunch is from Mister Rogers, we’re just delivering since we were going to be here anyway,” said Leigh, her toothpaste-commercial grin not changing for a second.

Instantly your mood dropped, your eyebrows creasing into a hostile frown. 

“And why are you here?” Your tone remained calm, but you made sure displeasure in it was audible. 

Steve randomly buying you lunch was a worrying problem you stored to resolve later; though you had a feeling he wouldn’t care that these nice gestures annoyed you, as they clashed with the picture of a ruthless mobster you were adamant on hating forever. 

The two cheery people coming in unannounced - at the direction of Steve, undoubtedly - became the aim of your irritation and distrust. 

“To help you plan your wedding, of course.” They both beamed in unison and you almost groaned at how overtly sweet the woman’s tone has become. 

“Mr Rogers mentioned you’re fighting nerves, which is absolutely understandable,” Leigh cooed and your fingers twitched, ready to reach for something to throw it at her. “Planning a wedding can be stressful, especially an impromptu one. But that’s why I’m here! I’m the best wedding planner in the city and I’ll make sure it surpasses all your dreams.”

Your reluctance toward the wedding wasn’t something you hid from Rogers. Quite the opposite, you announced it any chance you had; within limits of reason, to avoid being disposed of.

Him sending in an actual wedding planner was a move you did not expect. At all. 

You’d sooner anticipate him dragging you in your pajamas in front of a forced registrar to get it over with. 

Ah, but that would be too easy. Not enough torment for you. Not enough room for you to show how obedient of a wife you’d be. 

We both know you will be a good girl for me, Princess, his voice resounded in your head, a decadent richness that softened your limbs for a split of a second before your resistance kicked in. 

Having you organize the wedding, or at least actively participate in it, was a lesson - that you would follow his orders even if you hated them.  

“The best wedding planner in the city has a free slot to organize a wedding in a month?” You arched a single eyebrow, studying the woman. “What skeletons are in your closet that my fiance managed to blackmail you?”

You didn’t doubt she was one of the best, but those had their schedules booked for three years in advance. To have her clear it for you meant there was more than just money at stake for Miss Leigh Parrish. 

Her smile faltered for a second, but she regained her composure fast. She ignored your question, walking instead toward your desk and placing her huge binder on it. 

“Since we have the venue covered, with Mr Rogers estate being more than enough to host the event,” she went on, “there are only details to talk over. Let’s start with the wedding rings, so that Elias can begin working on them right away.”

Her companion stepped forward. The tiny measuring tape in his hand now made sense, as it apparently was to measure the circumference of your finger to match a ring size.

“Let’s start-” you interrupted, pushing your chair back- “with you leaving my office.”

Interesting how you managed to maintain your poised self, professionally cool as you delivered the polite fuck you, while that composure quickly dissolved around Rogers. 

You kinda stepped on eggshells around him at first (and still, sensing when the crossing line was too near), but then his demands lit your fuse. Somehow you dared to stomp your foot, be loud in your outbursts and acts of rebellion. And it wasn’t because Steve provided safe space, oh no. He was far from safe. 

“What?” The man blinked, confused, while his friend blanched.

“We have to get it done. As soon as possible.” Still trying to sound sweet and soft, Leigh made the mistake of allowing a tremble to shake her voice. 

“Then get it done, I don’t really care.” You shrugged.

It was the truth. You didn’t care for the ceremony at all. 

You had a brief thought about hating it, if it was some overused boho or retro theme in a barn, but then again you would hate it anyway, since you didn’t want to marry Steve. Besides, it could be funny to see his face if someone told him to wear suspenders and a flat cap for aesthetics.

“You, um, you don’t want to participate in preparations for your own wedding?” Leigh frowned, utterly surprised. “Not even pick a dress?” 

“I can wear a t-shirt and flip-flops for all I care.” You probably wouldn’t go that far, but you really didn’t care. 

If Rogers didn’t order you to wear a wedding dress, you’d do it anyway just to please your parents who were going to be completely oblivious to the truth behind your speedy wedding. You preferred to keep it that way, playing someone so dumbly in love she was ready to marry a few weeks after meeting the guy. You didn’t want to worry your parents.  

Natalie snorted at your words, for the very first time so openly showing amusement. She even grinned when you glared at her, then turned on her heel and walked outside.

“The, um, the wedding rings?” Elias cleared his throat.

“Barbed wire would be fitting,” you snorted under your breath, but he didn’t seem to hear it. You suspected he might’ve fainted if he did. 

“Whatever Mister Rogers wishes,” you shrugged. “As a matter of fact, why don't you go and consult with him?” 

To underline that you were done with this whole shit-show, you opened one of the lunchboxes and dug a fork into it. You didn’t lift up your eyes from the delicious food until you heard the door closing.   

You ate your lunch while idly browsing the internet, just to get your thoughts off the wedding completely. It was approaching with each passing day and you preferred not to accept the fact. 

Though you weren’t sure denial would work once there was an actual ring on your finger. 

It seemed it wouldn’t work even before that, because not a half hour after you dismissed the wedding planner the door to your office opened with impetus.

Steve strode inside, a force of a thousand storms contained in a man’s body. 

His heavy boots and the hem of his tight jeans seemed to be freshly stained with something wet and dark. The rest of him was perfectly clean, not a smudge of dirt on his hands. You tried not to think of blood splashing on his shoes and legs as a lifeless victim fell at Steve's feet.

You definitely tried to ignore a wave of heat that washed over you at the thought. 

You forced your eyes to stay on the devil’s angelic face, drowning in the hues of blue, so that your gaze wouldn’t slide across Steve’s body in search of a gun holster. 

“Princess.” Steve sighed, but there was an undertone of amusement in his voice. 

He walked toward you with purposeful steps; his mass seemingly changing the gravity inside your office, so that all light fractured to disappear in his approaching darkness. 

Or maybe it was your attention discarding anything in your peripheral to focus on him, as if he was the center of your world. 

You abruptly stood up and shuffled back instinctively, bumping into a bureau. Steve caged you against it, blocking any route of escape with his arms on both sides of you. It was only then that you tilted your chin up, tapping into the remnants of your steel defiance.

“Why am I hearing that you’re scaring off the wedding team?” Steve tilted his head to the side and chuckled. “They’re here to take the planning burden off your shoulders, so that you can focus on your work. And your future role…”

You swore that if he said anything about wifely duties, you’d kick him.

“I told them they can plan whatever they want. As long as they do it far away from me,” your mocking sweet smile combined with your sneer. 

Perhaps your tone provoked it, or maybe a challenging fire in your eyes, but Steve’s lips curved into a wolfish grin. 

“Oh, Princess,” he cooed, brushing a thumb over your bottom lip, “look at your cute yip, yet there’s no real bite to it.” 

It was very dangerous to do anything to antagonize Rogers, especially when he was this close and could snap your neck with his bare hands, but you acted before a reasonable thought settled in.

You opened your mouth and caught his thumb between your teeth, clenching your jaw enough to cause pain, but not drawing blood.

Steve’s eyes hardened, the blue of his irises darkening. Time froze for a split second; you could almost hear the ice cracking beneath your feet and the murky depths awaiting to swallow your dead body. 

Suddenly your eyes widened, when instead of backhanding you, Steve pushed his thumb further between your lips.

Your teeth released their grip, his digit easing into your mouth and pressing against your tongue. Saliva pooled around it and you instinctively hollowed your cheeks. 

Twisted satisfaction igniting in his eyes and the subtle thrust of his thumb along your tongue stirred you from stupor. Scorching shame filled you to the roots, though you hoped it didn’t show. 

You pulled back, turning your face away from Steve as you swallowed remnants of his taste. He tilted your chin with his wet thumb, forcing you to look him in the eye again. What the fuck was with this man and maintaining eye contact? 

“Let’s get it over with, shall we?” He smoothed a hand down your arm and wrapped his fingers around your wrists. 

Next thing you knew Steve was calling for Elias Asher, as he stretched your arm out; thumb pressing into your palm to make your fingers stretch. 

Elias stumbled inside and almost tripped over his own feet at the sight the two of you displayed - you pressed against the bureau with Rogers’ intimidating size looming over you, your hand offered on a silver platter. 

“You mentioned you need measurements for the ring size,” Steve intoned conversationally, “do what you must.”

You glared daggers at Steve, which he accepted unbothered. The jeweler’s fingers didn’t shake as he wrapped a small measuring tape around your finger and wrote down the result in his notebook. However, all the while he was staring either at your finger or his notes, never up at either of you.

That way it was easier to pretend the scene before him wasn’t close to intimate, or that he didn’t suspect you were being forced into marriage.

“What type of metal?” His voice wavered slightly. 

“White gold,” came Steve’s decided reply. 

Something told you that while he was giving you free will to organize the wedding however you liked, Steve had already chosen how your permanent shackle looks like. 

You peeked at his hand, gaze sliding across the rings adorning his thick fingers. You noticed there was none on the finger on which a wedding band is worn. He was going to make sure that your rings matched the set he was already wearing.   

“Pure and fierce, like my fiancée.” Steve added, with a mocking tilt. 

“And the cut?” Elias scribbled down, not lifting his eyes at either of you even once.

Steve’s eyes sparked mischievously. His right hand moved up your thigh, squeezing your thick flesh through the fabric of your skirt.

“Cushion?” Steve mused aloud.

Then his touch moved upwards, along your ribcage and ghosting over the swell of your breast. 

“Round?” He cupped your tit indecently, causing you to gasp in outrage that he dared to do it in front of someone. 

That he dared to do it at all!

“No. We know which suits you best, right?” Steve’s hand ventured north, brushing your collarbone before his fingers curled around the front of your neck. 

“A princess cut.” 

Ringed fingers wrapped around your throat loosely, but it was a firm enough gesture to boil your blood and weaken your knees. 

You couldn’t blame it on the fear of being strangled, because not a single thought about it entered your mind when Steve did that. Neither when he did it the first time, in his kitchen, nor now. 

What you thought about was the power he spread over you and how it melted your resolve into an obedient puddle. Against all reason. 

Unable to look away from Steve, you didn’t notice the jeweler leaving your office in a hurry, undoubtedly ready to drink away what he tried not to witness. You didn’t even hear the door close, your ears were filled with the sound of your own heart pounding in a quickened rhythm as Steve’s hold on you continued. 

Slowly (it seemed reluctant, too), Steve loosened his grip. He didn’t move it away, though, shifting it only slightly, so his hand splayed like a necklace above your sternum. 

You took a shaky breath in, cogs in your brain starting to turn anew. 

“Why can’t we just sign the papers without this wedding party fuss?” You asked quietly, gaze shifting from Steve’s hold on your hand to his face. 

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before he let go of it and took a step away from you. He swiped a hand over his mouth then gave you a blank, almost condescending look.

“Because I need everyone convinced I’m here after your cute ass, Princess. Blind with love or lust, or whatever people want to believe in,” he winked at you, as if you were supposed to agree with his cynical assessment.

You thought quite the opposite. That no one sane would believe Steve Fucking Rogers was interested in you. 

“Who would even believe that?” You snorted, frowning.

It wasn’t about insecurities of any kind; you were mildly confident both in your looks and your worth. However, men like Rogers didn’t even circle around women of your kind. 

Men of power; men who rode the thin line of morality, mostly treading through the dark side; they went for women who craved such things. Women who suited that lifestyle. Women rotten at the core, or greedy (whether for wealth, or for power and influence). Or at least for women who looked really fucking good on their arms, like models and escorts. 

No one, none of Steve’s rivals surely, would believe that he was simply courting you. You beside him made zero sense.

Steve laughed. Actually laughed. A warm, sparkling burst of amusement that made his handsome face gain impossible boyish charm. 

“That a man got addicted to a sweet pussy?” He looked down at you, still grinning. But that grin transformed into a sly curve. 

“Everyone, Princess.” He leaned closer, again; voice nearly purring as his lips brushed your cheek. “I can assure you that even at this moment they’re thinking I’m balls deep inside you.”

You couldn’t help the shiver that rocked your body. Judging by the way Steve’s eyes dragged down and up your frame, he noticed your reaction. 

“I’m kinda thinking about it, too.” He licked his lips, drawing your hungry attention to them.

But the ire at his crude words snapped you out of daze. Your fingers curled in a fist and you pounded it against Steve’s chest when he pressed his weight into you.

“In your dreams!” You hissed.

Your small fist made no real impact against Steve’s hard chest. It didn’t deter him and it seemed he didn’t even feel any pain from the hit. 

His hands returned to your body, boldly gripping your hips and holding you in place as he licked along your jaw. He flicked your earlobe with his tongue - a lewd tease that should disgust you, but instead made your pussy tingle.  

“I’m dreaming of our wedding night.” Steve whispered before pulling away with a low chuckle at your wheeze.

“There will be no wedding night!” You pounded two of your fists against his chest. Futilely.

Steve regarded you with a look one may give to a small kitten trying to appear intimidating toward a wolf fifty times its size.

“I’ll make you a deal, Princess,” he tucked both thumbs beneath the hem of your blouse, his touch nearly scorching against your skin. 

“On our wedding night, if I touch your sweet pussy and it’s dry, I’ll let you pick a bedroom for your own. So you can live in solitude, unbothered by my presence.” He sounded sincere, like it was a business deal he was really willing to propose.

Then his hips were pressing against yours, bulge in his pants prominent as he rocked it into you. Steve’s eyes flashed a dark gleam; his sensual lips parting enough to reveal a row of sharp teeth ready to take a hefty bite.

“But if I find your cunt leaking, as I know it is now-” his deep growl resonated straight to your clit.

“I’ll take a pound of flesh. And I’ll be taking you over and over and over again, until you lose your voice from screaming my name.” 

You clutched at his shirt where your hands rested on his chest. You wanted to be able to shove him away, to punch away the beam of smug victory off Steve’s face. Reasonably, you knew you couldn’t do that without serious repercussions happening. 

You were also too busy with the inner battle, fighting some fucked up, primal need to have Steve do to you exactly what he threatened. 

The bastard was unfortunately right, you were soaked. Something you’d never admit to him.

Even if he pushed his big hand up your skirt and dipped his fingers straight into your dripping cunt, you’d deny it to his face. You’d deny it to yourself. Forever. 

Thankfully, Rogers didn’t push further. He seemed satisfied with his stupid bet and that you didn’t fight back (even if you kept your mouth closed in fear of releasing a whimper). Steve let go of you, only lifting one hand to cup your chin.

“Now be good, Princess,” he commanded. “I don’t have time to deal with hysterical wedding planners.”

You grimaced - eyebrows drawing in a frown, nose scrunching up. You weren’t interested in dealing with wedding planning either, but you were aware Steve considered the topic closed. If you reopened it, he might do more than just bend you into obedience in front of a stranger.

“Then why did you come here?” You asked instead.

“I came for my distressed fiancée,” Steve’s grin was cheeky as he used his grip on your chin to slightly shake your head.

He squeezed a tad tighter and when your lips puckered he pecked them. 

“You’ll get a big girl kiss when you start acting like one,” he added at your indignant glare. 

Then released you and simply turned around to leave. You cursed him and called him names in your head. You prayed that one day you’ll get reckless enough to throw something at him, consequences be damned. For now, you still liked to be alive. 

[idcbabyialreadylostmymind]

I’m nothing more than a fruit for Ronal she literally AGGGGGG I AM IN LOVE. AND NEYTIRI UGGGGGG I AM IN LVOE WITH HER AREGGHH okay no but hear me out for three seceons….. just three. A threeway with them. Of course fem!reader because I am The Gays™️ but like 😭 sandwich potential with a reader that is shorter than both of them 🫣😩

OMG YALL ARE FREAKY (just like me frfr)

Between

Pairing- Ronal x reader x Neytiri

Summary- Your mates like to tease you, but teasing does always end somewhere else.

Warnings- threesome, fingering, clit slapping, teasing, praise kink, degradation kink, lmk if I missed anything

Tìyawn- love

Neytiri and Ronal sit next to you side by side in your shared pod, Ronal's hand sits gently on your thigh it inches higher and higher by the second. Neytiri cuts a little bit of wood for tomorrow but you know she can see. The two had been teasing you all day, bending over extra slowly when in front of you, lingering touches, kisses to the neck when no one was watching, and one time Ronal put her hand right under your loincloth just to pull away. It was simply unfair!

Neytiri gets up and was the first on the large cot. Ronal got up as well lying down next to her lover, you turn around were they going to sleep leaving you all needy. You got up and crawled between the two sitting on your knees a pout on your face. "What is wrong tìlor?" Ronal teases smirk plastered on her face. You roll your eyes gaining the attention of the Omaticaya woman next to you.

"You know what is wrong?" You say refusing to give them the satisfaction of telling them how needy you currently are. Biting the inside of your cheek averting their eyes now piercing into you. Neytiri plays with one of your stray hairs, "I do not believe we do Ma Ronal do we know what is wrong with our Tìyawn." She says looking at the teal woman next to her. "I do not maybe if she tells us we can help." She says rubbing her hand on your knee and sliding it upward your thigh.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to get a sort of friction to your untouched cunt. There eyes follow down your body watching you clench your thighs smiling to themselves.

"I think I know what is going on." Neytiri spoke as if she didn't know, "Our Y/N is just needy and is to prideful to say it." She teases. "Well if she is to prideful to tell us she really doesn't need us then does she." Ronal says making your eyes go wide and you shake your head no instantly.

"No no, I want you please." You whine out tears prickling at your eyes . Ronal sat up and and caressed your face, "That was all you needed to say." Was what she said before she guides you to lie down between them. Confused you look at Neytiri, "It is okay we will make you feel better." Was all she said before you felt your loincloth being untied and pulled off of you.

Gasping from the pool of cool air that hit your cunt, they chuckled. And before you knew it Ronal's index finger slide between you folds wet and sticky with your own arousal, giving the puffy bud a few gentle circles made your legs open up wider. She added her middle finger making the circular motion harder and rougher.

Neytiri slide her cool hands over your thigh and dove into you pulsating hole. Giving you a few experimental thrust, and then she added a second finger watching the way you reacted, the way you bit your lip so hard it almost bled, and the way a few tears fell from your eyes.

And now you were just there, there for the woman who were finger fucking you disposal and you wouldn't have it any other way.

They both left wet kisses on each side of your face, Neytiri whispered sweet nothings in your ear as she curled and stretched her fingers inside of you, along with "You are doing so good Ma Y/N" every now and then, along with "Good girl, My pretty girl."

As for Ronal she whispered degrading words and names into your ear, "Needy slut." As she tugged at you clit. "Couldn't go a day without having this pussy touched." She would say. "Our little fucktoy." Was her favorite to whisper loving the way your hips would buckle. It was the perfect mixture of praise and degradation.

Feeling your orgasm coming closer you tried closing your thighs before feeling a slap on your clit and the movement inside of you coming to a halt. "Keep them open or we will stop and you won't cum for a week." Ronal threatened knowing she wasn't lying, learned that the hard way, you opened your legs for them again and they continued to fuck your pulsing pussy.

"Your doing so good come on cum on our fingers I know you want to." Neytiri whispered to you curling her slender fingers upward hitting your cervix as she had been doing for a while. Ronal gave you one last tug at your clit along with a hard thrust from Neytiri was what pushed you over the edge, vision going blank, legs beginning to shake, nothing but them on your mind, arching your back almost subconsciously, moaning throughout your orgasm.

Ronal pulled from your clit motioning to your mouth, opening you liked them clean turning your head to Neytiri as she pulled her fingers from you. After Ronal you took her fingers swirling every last drop of cum off of them.

You got up and reached for your loincloth before being pulled down by Neytiri pinned to the bed. "Where do you think your going we're no where done with you." She said mischievous grin on her face.

Safe to say you definitely weren't needy by the end of the night.

[bluebeetle]

You’re flesh and blood, but what’s underneath?

AO3 Link

15k words.

Summary:

Three years in the life of one Tyki Mikk, from his brother’s Noah awakening to his own.

-- “Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked.

Tyki paused, hand lingering over the glass he had been about to clean. “No,” he said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps once he had, but that hatred had cooled after the years to indifference--even if a part of him still wanted to paint the walls with that man's blood.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their father wasn’t special.

Warning for animal death, blood, gore, abusive themes.

It was uncharastically cold that winter.

Living by the Mediterranean usually guaranteed a warm December, with the weather rarely even approaching freezing.  His mother had told him that a cold winter was an ill omen, as frost swept across the country during the worst nights, bringing only death. 

Tyki hadn’t thought much of it--his mother was a superstitious woman most of the time. But as he traveled out into the city, bundled up like never before, he sure wasn’t grateful for the chill. At least the snow had held off--unlike some of the inland towns, according to the gossip he overheard from shivering lips.

Cold as it was, while they had been burning more wood and oil than usual, they were doing fine; he didn’t know why his mother worried so much. It was long past harvest time, with Christmas fast approaching. 

Which brought him to the market--sheltered in an old church for the winter, where it was just a little warmer than the streets. He frowned at the list, written out in his mother’s too-fancy writing. Why did she have to make it so hard for him to read? But he wouldn’t remember it anyways, and his mother was always scared he’d forget how to read, or something. Better than nothing. 

“Tyki! I was worried when I didn’t see you yesterday,” Isabel greeted, as Tyki approached her stand. There wasn’t much available this time of the year--mostly things that kept well, like dried meats, jarred vegetables, and handmade goods. He had already stopped at the general store, but his mother had asked for a few extra things, and with Christmas coming up…

“Something came up with the Kamelots, so we had to deal with it,” Tyki said, watching as she packaged the dried meats for him carefully; she knew his order by heart. 

“I see, you’ve become such a busy young man,” Isabel continued, her hand out for Tyki’s money. He gave her the few escudo coins he had left. Money was always tight, but his mother was good at budgeting. They managed. Isabel handed him the meat, a soft smile on her face.

“Um… this is too much,” he said, blinking. He turned the package around in his hands, the paper crinkling as he inspected it. 

“Consider it a present,” Isabel replied. “For Christmas, and your birthday.”

Tyki blinked. “Thanks,” he said, giving a casual wave goodbye.

“And tell your mother I said Merry Christmas!” 

   The Kamelot manor was quiet when Tyki returned. He squeezed past the gates, heading through the dying gardens towards the servants entrance by the kitchen. After dropping off a few things, he headed to the room he shared with his mother, stashing the rest of their shopping away from sticky hands.

He sighed, sitting down for a moment on his bed, staring at his mother’s neatly made one across the room. It wasn’t much of a room, sparsely decorated and much too small now for the two of them, but it was what they had. It was all Tyki had ever known.

But his break was short, as he pulled himself up and out the door. He was sure his mother was busy with her usual housekeeping duties, so he wouldn’t bother her, instead heading to the kitchen once more to clean up, mostly biding his time for the day. 

“Tyki,” a scullery maid said--he thought her name was Aurora, maybe--”Can you bring this tray to the sitting room? The Master has some guests over, and I’ve got to get working on helping with dinner.”

Tyki glanced up from the dishes he had been slowly working on, trying to hide his distaste. He hated dealing with the Kamelots; his mother was well aware of his distaste, often sending him off on errands off manor grounds or finding ways for him to avoid being in their presence. It was just for the best, for everyone involved.

But he couldn’t avoid them forever, he knew. And Aurora had probably been told to get him specifically; Lord Kamelot liked to remind Tyki of just where he belonged whenever he could.

“Alright,” he said, giving her a sliver of a smile. It wasn’t her fault.

 He dried his hands, movements slow out of pure spite, before he took the tray gently in his hands. The tray was ornate, silver plated, the type of thing Tyki could never afford in his life, even though he was the one who kept it from being tarnished.

He moved through the winding halls of the manor with practiced ease, the building burned into his memory. 

Tyki stopped in his tracks at the door to his destination. He could hear voices, light laughter--a mingling of voices familiar and not. 

He didn’t want to go in. 

It wasn’t fear that kept his feet rooted in place. It was hatred, spite. He gritted his teeth. He didn’t want to see that man. 

He didn’t want to see his father.

Tyki sucked in a deep breath, cooling his nerves. This was a show of power, Tyki knew, or intended to be a way to get a message across to him, though he wasn’t sure what for. He hadn’t done anything to get his father’s ire recently, as far as he was aware; he had long learned to stay out from under the man’s feet and off his toes, as much as he wished to make the old koot suffer. 

Tyki entered the sitting room, as silent as a ghost. 

Lord Kamelot was in his usual ornate chair, chatting with his wife. He said nothing as Tyki sat the tray down on the table they were gathered around; normally gatherings like this would have been on the terrace, but the cold weather brought everyone huddling inside by the fire. 

His father glanced at him, an uncaring look in his eyes as he met Tyki’s. Tyki returned it with a disinterested glance. He wouldn’t be riled up, he wouldn’t give the man an excuse to get rid of him and his mother. 

There was a family Tyki was sure he had seen before opposite Lord Kamelot. The blond woman with them, small and pale looking, seemed familiar, but Tyki didn’t bother with remembering who was who in the world of nobility and socialites. It didn't matter to him.

Tyki turned to leave, his job done, and whatever message his father had been trying to send him ignored.

“Ah, before you leave, stoke the fire, well you?” 

Tyki stopped, blowing a curl out of his eyes. His expression stayed flat, despite the frown trying to tug its way onto his lips.  “Of course,” he said, curt, turning to face the speaker.

Of course it was Sheril . His brother. His half brother. A blood bond neither was all that happy about. Sheril was as bad as nobility got; egotistical, entitled, and easily enraged. Tyki hated the man more than anything, and he knew it was mutual.

It didn’t matter to Sheril that Tyki was a child, being 7 years his junior, nor did it matter that they shared a father--if anything, that made his ire towards Tyki stronger. Sheril did not get along with most of the servants of the Kamelot household, but he had a special hatred for Tyki, like he had any control over the circumstances of his own birth. It wasn’t his fault Sheril’s father had more than a passing interest in some common maid, all while still married to Sheril’s mother.

Lord Kamelot’s infidelity was an open secret. Tyki was sure there was not one person in the household who didn’t know. The obvious nature of Tyki as a bastard was one thing--his mother still unmarried at her age, too focused on her work and raising her son. That was impossible to hide. 

Perhaps, in some alternate world, they would have been able to dance around the topic of who Tyki’s father was, but as it stood it was nearly impossible to--not with how much Tyki was cursed to resemble his father, to resemble Sheril, with the same cool eyes, the same curly dark hair, and the same sun-kissed skin.  

Everyone knew. Though his mother rarely spoke of his father in anything but the most professional tones, even Tyki had known from a young age. Sheril hadn’t let him live without that knowledge, had made it clear why he hated Tyki so much from the beginning. 

Realistically, Tyki knew it was Sheril’s own faults showing through; misplaced anger about his father’s actions, fear about Tyki somehow swooping in and stealing his inheritance (which Tyki knew that would never happen).

He turned towards the fire, the flames hot against his skin as he grabbed the poker, stoking them higher. He glanced towards Sheril, noting the closeness the man had to the daughter of the family visiting. Ah.

“He seems rather young,” the woman said, voice soft. 

Tyki busied himself with cleaning up the ashes, but his ears were always open, prying for information around the home.

“He’s about 16, that’s a perfectly fine working age,” Sheril replied. He was wrong; Tyki was pretty sure he was about 14, almost 15, but Sheril got it wrong so often that Tyki was sure he was doing it on purpose. Or maybe he just cared that little, that such a small detail wasn’t worth even trying to remember.

 “He’s the son of one of the unmarried maids; father was kind enough to let them stay here. ” Kind? He was the one who caused the “problem” of her having to deal with a young child by herself. Tyki wasn’t even sure if his mother had been seduced or coerced, considering the power his father had over her as her employer. 

“Oh, that’s good,” she said softly. 

“Yes. You’ll be seeing him around a lot shortly,” Sheril replied. “He’s our errand boy most of the time.” 

Ah. This was a courtship. Was this Sheril’s plan, then? To what, remind Tyki he was the bastard son, and Sheril was the heir apparent? He already knew that, but Sheril probably got some sort of joy from rubbing it in his face. 

Perhaps, too, it was to make sure his future wife would remember Tyki as a servant first, not Sheril’s brother. He wondered if she’d even notice the resemblance; it was hard to miss.

But Tyki didn’t bother with the Kamelot's mind games and petty drama. He had long since learned to not rise to the bait, even the subtlest of it, if he could.

So he finished tending the fire in silence, before leaving as silently he came, even with Sheril’s glare burning into his back.

   People had asked him, before, if he hated having his birthday on Christmas, but to be honest, Tyki preferred it that way. It was less strain on his mother, since she felt the need for things like gifts, even if Tyki didn’t really see the point. 

Christmas morning was always a quiet affair. Focus first was on making sure things were ready for the Kamelot family the night before and in the early hours of the morning. However, by noon, the servants were left alone, allowed to celebrate in their quarters with each other. The cooks, despite the work they had put in and would put in for Christmas dinner, would usually help the scullery maids whip up a smaller, less decadent meal for everyone.

It was the same every year; they’d attend midnight Mass, prepare for the coming morning, and then rest in the afternoon. 

Tyki stretched out onto his bed like a cat, giving a sigh of content. With the Kamelot's busy for the day, it was nice to just be able to rest.

“Good afternoon, Tyki,” his mother, Dionísia, said. She was pale, her brown hair tied up tight, only the darkness under her eyes betraying the long hours she worked the day before. She headed towards her bed, just across their shared room, and dug around in her chest. “I have a gift for you.”

She looked like she hadn’t slept in days, but that was normal for her these days. Her movements were slow, wracked with coughs as her frail form was. She had been sick for years by that point, probably around three or four. It was tuberculosis; the white plague was a “good death” they said, but it didn’t feel that way to Tyki, watching her slowly wither away. 

Despite her illness, she was still expected to work if both her and Tyki were to stay fed and housed. It made Tyki’s blood boil, but at the very least she was often given work where she could be isolated and keep from spreading the disease, as much as one could anyways.

Supposedly some American had found out it wasn’t genetic and could be prevented with good hygiene. So, Tyki often had to wash his hands due to his close proximity to her, to reduce the risk of getting others in the manor ill. She would always remind him to clean under his nails--always worried about him getting sick.

Tyki sat up, bare feet ghosting the cold wood of the floor. His mother turned back around, revealing a glinting object between her hands. 

“A pocket watch?” he said, gingerly picking it up. It was rather plain, so unlike the intricate metal work on the ones he saw his father with. 

“Yes. I got a good deal on it. It’s made of brass, and the gears are all nice and cleaned up,” she explained.

He opened it up, greeted with a simple, plain clock face. It ticked away, already wound up by his mother. 

“I thought it would be useful; I know you don’t like extravagant gifts,” she said softly. “I was saving up for it all year.”

Tyki nodded, closing it gently. He sat it aside onto his bed, pulling his mother into a hug. She felt cold. He knew, he knew that she had a feeling this could be their last Christmas together. She had been sick for so long, getting so weak… He hadn’t cried in years, but in that moment, he felt like he could sob.

“Thank you.”

    “Where’d you get that?” 

Tyki sighed, snapping his watch closed. He really did not want to have to deal with Sheril. “Gift. For Christmas.” It was still cold outside, so he had been hoping Sheril wouldn’t come out of the manor. He was wrong, as always.

Sheril quirked an eyebrow at him, looking at his distorted reflection on the watch’s metal. “Did you now?“

“Yes,” Tyki replied, annoyed. “It’s also my birthday, so my mother got me something nice.” 

Sheril merely scoffed in disagreement. Whatever. Tyki found Sheril’s watch rather gaudy anyways, with a confusing pattern and an inlaid stone. Ugh. 

“She’s probably going to die soon, you know,” Sheril said offhandedly. He wasn’t looking at Tyki.

Tyki gritted his teeth. “I know,” he said. Stay calm, he thought. Don’t rise to the bait.

“Which will be a good thing. I don’t know why we kept her around when she’s coughing blood everywhere,” Sheril continued. Tyki bit back a comment about how Lord Kamelot clearly only did it out of guilt for siring her son and nothing more. “We could all get sick from that filth, and from you too, I bet; Probably got Tricia sick as well.”

“Huh?” Tyki said, glancing over. “Who?” It was a better topic than his mother’s death, even if he really didn’t care. Sheril liked the sound of his own voice. Tyki merely had to play along. 

“Tricia. My wife-to-be. Or she was, until he called the whole thing off because she’s apparently seriously ill now,” Sheril hissed, pacing now. Great. Tyki hated it when Sheril decided to rant to him; he had to pretend to care, and it was annoying.

But Sheril was clearly upset, so he had to try. “...I’m sorry. About Tricia,” he ground out.

“Sorry?” Sheril snapped. “It was probably you who got her sick, with your… everything!” he threw his hands up in the air. Sheril was such a child, despite being so much older than Tyki. “And then they called it all off! I couldn’t care less if she dies, that wedding--the power her family has here, all politicians… All of that, lost because she’s a little ill!” Ah. Of course. Why would Tyki expect Sheril to care about anyone but himself? 

A sharp sting snapped Tyki out of his thoughts.

“Huh?” he said, rubbing his cheek. Sheril had slapped him. Sheril had slapped him? 

“Don’t give me that look,” Sheril hissed, grabbing Tyki’s wrist like he was worried Tyki was going to run. “Like you think I’m nothing.” “I wasn’t--”

“This is all your fault!” Sheril snapped, claw-like nails digging into his skin. Tyki hissed, trying to draw away. Blood pooled where they were connected. 

Sheril took in a deep breath, cooling his anger. “I don’t have time for filth like you,” he said, pushing Tyki’s arm away. Like he wasn’t the one who had initiated the contact. Then, he left, back to the relative warmth of inside. 

Tyki was alone in the gardens. He was the only one out, with even the gardener and groundskeeper preferring the indoors over the evening chill. He sat on the dying grass, knees to his chest as he glared at the decaying opulence; the wilted rose, the browned hedges, the fountains on the edge of freezing.

He hated this place. He hated everything about it. He leaned back, the buildings stucco rough against his back.

Small squeaking reached his ears, and to his surprise he noticed some brown rats to his left, sniffing at damage to the building.

I should kill them, Tyki thought. Part of it was because he knew how Lord Kamelot would react if he knew there may be rats in his home. But there was another part of Tyki, a darker part, that felt visceral glee at the very idea of it--of adding to the death around him.

He stood slowly, not wanting to spook them. They didn’t seem to notice him before it was too late, his hands scooping up the biggest one. Its brethren ran away, disappearing from his sight, as his prisoner struggled against him, worm-like tail whipping around, its overly long teeth trying to dig into his skin. Sheril’s nails had felt worse.

It would be so easy to break its bones , he thought, to snap its neck and take the thing apart--

His mother didn’t question the blood he washed off his hands when he came back into the kitchen. She merely reminded him to clean under his nails.

Perhaps he could ask the cook about getting live traps in the future.

That would be fun.

  The rest of the week passed without any affair. Snow fell, glistening in the low light spilling out from the manor windows. Tyki scrubbed at the porcelain dish in his hand, staring off into the window. How dull , he thought.

He heard Sheril and Aurora just outside the kitchen, visible in the corner of his eye. Sheril was holding his weight on the wall, talking with Aurora in harsh, quiet tones. Tyki couldn’t pick up his words, so moved his attention back to the window.

A mistake, really.

“Master Sheril!” Aurora cried, the man’s stance faltering as he stumbled. His hand caught the kitchen door frame, knuckles white, shaking. Her hands hovered over him, unsure of what to do.

Tyki glanced up from his work, a frown on his face. Was the idiot drunk?  

Sheril growled, face flushed red. “I’m fine, I’m fine, let go of me--” he hissed, reaching up to wipe sweat off his brow. 

His hand came away red with blood.

“Wh-what?” he gasped, staring at his trembling fingers in horror. Sheril put his full weight on the wall, his breathing ragged with fear and fever. 

“I--Tyki, go to town, get a doctor, I’ll get Master Sheril to his room, and tell Dionísia to go get Lord Kamelot and inform him that his son has fallen in,” Aurora said, finally taking charge as she ushered Sheril to his room. 

He must be in a lot of shock , Tyki thought, to allow himself to be manhandled by a lowly scullery maid so easily.

Tyki ran out the door. Distaste for his half-brother aside, if he didn’t do anything, god knows how his father would react. It was better to bow for them, as much as it killed Tyki to do so, than get him and his mother thrown out onto the streets.

He really hoped the doctor could help.

    Sheril seemed so different in his sleep, his face flush with fever, and twisted slightly in pain as opposed to disgust. Staring down at him, Tyki could see himself in the man more than ever.  He didn’t like it.

He didn’t want Sheril to die.

It was an odd thought for him to have. Had someone asked him before, perhaps he would have said he’d celebrate if the man died. 

But now…? He supposed mostly it was selfishness that made him worry. If Sheril died, their father would probably send Tyki out on the streets out of grief--his face a living reminder of the child lost. Plus, it would keep Tyki from even thinking he was privy to any of the Kamelot fortune.

And it’d be trouble, too, if Sheril died, dealing with the funeral and everyone else’s grief despite how terrible the man was. Ugh. He’d rather die himself than have to praise Sheril, even in death. ‘ He was such a kind master ’--bullshit, he was a bully and a coward through and through.

Then there was always the worry of more things going wrong; death was always a bad omen, and it seemed to only bring more with it whenever it happened. 

Or so his mother always said.

He just hoped he wouldn’t get sick with whatever it was Sheril had caught. Was it some sort of plague? God, that would just be what they needed.  The fever looked bad enough, leaving his brother twisting and turning in his sleep… But when Sheril did wake, he complained of the pain, of the aches in his body, of the unclosing wounds on his head.

The wounds themselves made Tyki feel sick. He wasn’t sure why-- blood wasn’t new to him. But the shape of the broken skin was odd, too uniform. He had heard someone call them stigmata--but that was stupid. Sure, his mother dragged him to church every Sunday, but he had never considered himself that strong of a believer. 

He doubted this was anything to do with God--nor the devil.

He worked slowly, changing Sheril’s bandages, careful of his brother's sweat slicked and overly sensitive skin. Tyki laid a cool cloth down, watching as it soaked up the bright red blood, before removing it and applying new bandages. Sheril sucked in a sharp breath as he worked, feeling the sting from the water and alcohol, but his eyes stayed closed, even with the rapid movement behind them.

Tyki wondered if his mother would outlive his brother.

      Someone was touching him.

He didn’t remember falling asleep. His back ached, unhappy with the position he had been in, curled up uncomfortably on the chair as he was. He had been having a nice dream, of warmer weather in big open wheatfields and being far, far from the Kamelot Manor.

He cracked open his eyes, blinking sleep out of them as his gaze met with Sherils. His brother's hand was on his shoulder as if to shake him awake.

“...Sheril?” he murmured, mouth dry. 

The man seemed better; no longer flushed with his fever seemingly down, and his bandages were browned with old blood as opposed to red with fresh--like it had been despite everything they had tried.  He was on his feet, even, without assistance (something Tyki was sure hurt his pride in ways he would never recover from). 

Tyki thought that he’d be happy Sheril had recovered, or at least feel relief that he wouldn’t have to deal with the aftermath of his death. Instead, ice settled in his stomach as he continued to lock eyes with his brother. 

Sheril was different.

He looked the same, sure, but there was something about his expression, his eyes--like he had a divine experience. Like his life was forever changed.

Tyki felt shivers down his spine. Something was wrong.

“Sheril?” Tyki repeated. 

Sheril’s hand cupped Tyki’s cheek, thumb stroking where his mole was. “You helped watch me?” Sheril said. 

Tyki felt like he had made a grave error. 

Why had he offered to help Sheril out? At the time it had seeed pragmatic; a way to get into the good graces for his father and to make sure Sheril didn’t die lest all of Tyki’s worries about his own fate come to pass.

“...yes,” Tyki replied, glancing at the door. He moved to stand, but found himself rooted in place. “Should I go get Lord Ka--”

“No, no, no, it’s alright. I’m alright. They already know, the doctor and some visitors were already here. I thought it was best if you keep sleeping.” Sheril’s voice was sickeningly sweet; just like it always was before he was about to hurt Tyki.

Tyki stiffened in the chair, frozen. Sheril’s hand on him felt like it was burning. “...I should go--” he started, trying to move away. 

He didn’t get far. Sheril’s hand moved, grabbing at his curls. Sheril smiled and Tyki felt like a fly caught in a web, with Sheril as the starving spider. Sheril tugged, uncaring about--or perhaps even reveling in--Tyki’s pain. “Were you planning something?” he asked. “I bet you’d just love to have me gone, wouldn’t you?”

Tyki glared up at him. “I didn’t do anything to you--” he said, wincing as Sheril tugged harder. “I didn’t! I don’t--I didn’t want you to die!” it felt odd to say that outloud, especially with Sheril smiling at him like that. It only reminded him more of why he avoided the man.

Sheril scoffed at Tyki. His free hand cupped Tyki’s face once more, in that faux caring way that made Tyki’s skin crawl.”Oh, Tyki… I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised with how spineless you are.” He clicked his tongue. “Yet you seem to struggle to understand your place, even now, tsk tsk.”

 Tyki frowned. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Do you think you’re better than me?”

“No,” Tyki lied. He kept staring at the door.

Sheril ‘s hand slipped to his chin, using both his hands to force Tyki to meet his eyes. “Oh, Tyki… It occurred to me, how worthless of a person you are,” he said, humming as his hand slipped to Tyki’s throat, but his grip stayed light. Tyki swallowed, his heart hammering in his throat. No one was around, from what he could tell, and if Sheril did try anything, who would believe Tyki over him? 

“But,” Sheril continued. “Perhaps I am being too harsh. After all, it’s only natural to worry about your older brother, hrmmm?”  Sheril was toying with him, or something--but Tyki didn’t know why.

“...yeah, I guess,” he breathed, voice small. 

Sheril let go of him, pulling away. “Don’t come in my room ever again, you understand? I don’t want you around here, or going anywhere that isn’t for the servants without permission.”

“But they said I could--”

“I don’t care about that, you listen to me , alright?” Sheril said, smiling once more, gripping Tyki’s shoulder tight enough to bruise.. “Because of all the people here, I am the only one worth listening to.” 

Tyki’s brow furrowed, but he nodded. Sheril squeezed down, his nails digging into Tyki’s skin through his shirt. “Well… I better go, we have an Earl visiting now that I’m better,” Sheril announced, standing up with a flourish as he removed his bandages. 

Tyki stayed where he was, unsure of what had just happened. He moved cautiously slow, leaving the room. He could hear voices from the atrium, mostly unfamiliar; the Kamelots and the guests Sheril had mentioned, he supposed. It really did seem like he had slept through Sheril’s awakening.

Odd… he was a light sleeper by nature.

It didn’t matter. He rubbed at his neck, heading towards his room. It didn’t matter, because Sheril saw him as nothing but trash. He was a fool to think anything else.

    Sheril’s odd mood continued into the spring. Tyki wished he knew what had changed Sheril--if only to make him stop the cruel streak he had developed, far worse than before.

Or even to make him stop being so cryptic.

“Do you hate our father, Tyki?” Sheril asked. 

Tyki paused, hand lingering over the glass he had been about to clean. “No,” he said, and he found it wasn’t a lie. Perhaps once he had, but that hatred had cooled after the years to indifference--even if a part of him still wanted to paint the walls with that man's blood.

But he felt that way about a lot of people, Sheril included, so their fathee wasn’t special.

Tyki was sure his mother would have hated him, if she knew about the thoughts he had. Tyki didn’t mind, however. It was almost fun, in a way, having his own little secrets and fantasies no one else was privy to. He was so used to so much of his life being out in the open, spoken in hush tones around the manor,  that it was freeing to keep things to himself. It was a fun--a game.

“No?” Sheril repeated.

“Why are you so surprised? I’m not going to bad mouth the man who keeps me fed,” Tyki said, clicking his tongue. He knew he was pushing it with Sheril, but his patience had begun to wear thin since the day his brother had woken up. Sheril hummed. “I see, I suppose that isn’t that odd for a parasite like you,” he replied. Tyki’s grip tightened on the glass, and for a moment he feared it would shatter in his hand. Maybe he could use the shards to slice open Sheril’s neck then--

“I was just curious, I suppose,” Sheril continued.  “Seeing as how I fear he may not be in this world for much longer, with his age… I just thought it’d be awfully sad if he were to go with you hating him so.”

Tyki sat the glass down to dry, moving onto his next one. He was silent, just letting Sheril speak as the man cleaned his monocle. He wasn’t sure what Sheril meant; as far as everyone was aware, Lord Kamelot was fit as a fiddle, and the man was only 50. Certainly not young, but ancient either. 

“But it’s good to hear that isn’t the case,” Sheril finished, his smile twitching. Had Tyki said something wrong? Probably, considering Sheril always seemed to find some fault with him. 

Tyki watched Sheril leave out of the corner of his eye. Odd. 

    He supposed it shouldn’t’ve been a shock, then, when Lord Kamelot died not half a year later. His wife had grieved heavily, and after the funeral, seemed to go into a near catatonic state, locking herself in her room, and going off on walks late at night. Often, Sheril had Tyki bring her meals--which was stupid, she hated Tyki as much as Sheril did--but he was turned away more than he was not. She wasn’t hungry, she said. Not yet. Her actions seemed so stiff, her voice without emotion. Broken, Sheril lamented, by the tragic death of his father. 

But with Lord Kamelot gone, Sheril rose to the role of head of the family, and inherited all the wealth and power that came with the title. His mother was mostly left forgotten in a wing of the house, but she always seemed to be there when every Sheril called for her, listening with a patience to him Tyki had never seen from her before.

Tyki felt nothing. Not even a tear at the man’s death. He knew that Sheril likely had done something, power hungry man as he was, but Tyki could not will himself to care.

Tricia and Sheril began to court each other again not long after. Apparently her illness was no longer of any worry--it seemed perhaps only Lord Kamelot had really cared about it, as it apparently left her infertile. Or so Tyki had heard. But his father had worried often about the prospect of grandchildren and future heirs--from Sheril only, of course.

Now he’d never see any, being six feet under.

       “Tyki?”

“What?” he asked, gritting his teeth. It was Sheril, it was always Sheril. When before the man had often avoided him, now it seemed more than ever he sought Tyki out. Ever since the sickness…

“Is that any way to address the Lord of the Manor?” Sheril asked, hands resting on Tyki’s shoulders. He jumped, unsure when Sheril had gotten so close. 

“...sorry, sir, ” Tyki replied. “What is it, sir ?” He felt sick, but he’d tamper down his pride for the time being. 

“I was hoping you could help me with something,” Sheril said, letting go to grab Tyki’s wrist. 

Tyki winced, but allowed himself to be pulled along.

“...what’s with that grimace? Not very professional,” Sheril said.

“...Just bruised.” From the last time you dragged me around , he thought. “I’ll be fine.” It was a lie. It was always a lie now, around Sheril, who seemed to be delighted with each and every injury he could inflict on Tyki. It was always small; too small to make anyone else worry too much, but Tyki feared it’s escalation now that their father was dead.

No one would save him, he knew. Everyone bowed for Sheril, especially the newer maids. Sheril liked that, loved the control and made sure to see just how far it went. He was the type of man who hated things not going his way to the letter, and he micromanaged Tyki and his mother in a way Lord Kamelot never had.

Tyki’s mother never once complained. She worked diligently as usual, following every order to the end. Tyki tried his best as well, yet Sheril always seemed to find some fatal flaw, something to berate or slap him for.

The bruise still healing on his cheek stung in reminder.

But no one could do anything. Or, rather, no one dared.

“...sorry,” he said softly. “Sir.”

“Do better,” Sheril said, with a cheshire smile that told Tyki he was the source of all the boy’s problems. He probably was, honestly.  “Now help me with the new dog.”

A dog?

 …ugh, as if Sheril needed something louder than himself around.

      “He’s sooooooo cute,” Sheril cooed. “Purebred, of course, the most adorable little--”

“Uh huh,” Tyki replied, wishing he was deaf.

        Tyki sighed as he entered the manor, shaking himself off. It was hot and dry, and his trip to the city had been extra dusty. It’d probably be bearable with a horse or carriage, but he was usually left to his own devices on foot. He sighed, checking his pocketwatch. He was on time, if nothing else. Whatever. He had gotten what he was told to get, even if he wasn’t sure why. Sheril definitely had something planned, but Tyki hadn’t cared enough to pry. So long as it didn’t involve tormenting him, that idiot could do whatever he wanted. 

He wiped sweat from his brow, stopping in his tracks as he entered the kitchen.

There was a girl by the counter.

A little girl. In a dress probably worth more than what Tyki made in a year. And she was getting into the fresh bread made for whatever Sheril had been cooking up.

Tyki’s eye twitched. He was going to get blamed for this, he just knew it. Who even was she? Did Sheril have guests over, ones who apparently could not keep an eye on their child? 

The girl turned to him, her hair trimmed oddly short. “Hello,” she smiled, looking him over, before recognition showed on her face. 

Right. Tyki supposed he looked more like his brother than ever, now that he had lost what little baby fat he had been holding onto as a teenager. 

The girl smiled. Familiarity tugged at his heart. He ignored it. “Who are you?”  she asked, voice saccharine.

“...Tyki. I work here,” he said curtly. He didn’t want to make her cry, or anything. That’d be a pain to deal with. 

“Ah~ I see,” she said, climbing up to sit on the counter. Tyki felt his eye twitch again. He sat down what he had bought on another counter, careful of the eggs precariously perched at the top. 

“I’m Road,” the girl replied, kicking her legs as she stared him down.

For what it was worth, Tyki did have a soft spot for children. He was only human. So he bit back a sigh, turning back to his groceries to unpack, letting her stay and bother him. “Nice to meet you, then, Road,” he said. 

“Have you worked here long?” she asked, looking at him like she was trying to peer into his soul. “How old are you?”

“My whole life, basically,” he said. “About 15. 16.” 

“15? I see,” she said, sounding oddly distant for a moment. “Do you like it here?”

Tyki hesitated. “I guess. It’s home,” he said idly. 

“Hmm… well it seems nice,” Road continued. “I think I’ll like it here.”

“...huh?” Tyki turned, blinking at her. Road grinned, looking coy and innocent all at once. It was scary. “Sheril’s getting married, you know! This is the engagement party, and after that I get to live here.” 

“...Are you Tricia’s kid?” He didn’t know she had a daughter. Actually--no that didn’t make sense, Sheril would never marry a woman who had a child out of wedlock. He was an asshole like that.

Road took joy in his confusion. “No, but I will be soon. Officially, anyways, if not by blood.” 

“...oh,” Tyki murmured, fighting to keep the bitterness out of his voice. Of course. Of course Sheril would adopt some poor little girl to seem all special and kind, so giving, while letting his own half-brother suffer as his servant. He was going to get out of here. One day. One day he’d put this whole damn place and everyone in it behind him for good. 

“Well, anyways, he was showing me the new tutors I was gonna get and--” 

From there, their conversation hit a lull, Tyki was content to let the girl tell him about the things she was excited for or had seen that day. Honestly, despite the biting jealousy in his heart, he found himself enjoying listening to her. She was surprisingly insightful, and had a good sense of humor--enough to get a laugh or two from Tyki as he worked on cooking lunch for himself and some of the other servants. It felt easy to talk to her--like they had been friends for years.

“You’re kidding, you actually said that to his face?” Tyki was saying, snorting as he flipped his eggs. 

“Of course! You should have seen his face, and then he--” Road continued, words broken up with giggles.

He found himself not minding the idea of her being around. Maybe Road would be the one shining star in the blackness of his life at Kamelot manor.

Of course, Sheril had to ruin things. He was especially talented at it.

“Tyki,” Sheril began, voice curt. He paused, noticing Road still perched on the counter. “Ah, Road! There you are, what are you doing here? You’re going to get your adorable dress all dirty.”

Like a completely different person at the drop of a hat , Tyki thought. He occupied himself with his lunch again, staring hard at the sizzling oil. He hoped Sheril would forget about him; he was tired of dealing with his brother’s constant abuse. 

It was hard not to let his mind wander about all the terrible things Sheril had done to him. Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice the man coming up behind him. “Did I tell you to talk to Road?” he hissed, suddenly in Tyki’s ear. Tyki jumped, flushing red in embarrassment for not even noticing him. “I--” What was he supposed to do? Ignore her? Leave? He knew not to say anything--this was the type of situation where nothing he could do or say was the right option. 

Sheril grabbed his wrist, squeezing hard. Tyki tried to pull away, but all that got him was Sheril twisting it in such a way that hot oil spilled from his pan, burning his skin. It hurt, the pain seering and constant. “Fuck--” A smile played on Sheril’s lips. Tyki let go of his pan and spatula, finally pulling his hand away. 

“You really need to be more careful, Tyki,” Sheril said, mocking worry laced into his words.

“Go to hell,” Tyki hissed, cradling his burned arm to his chest. 

“Tyki, why are you being so harsh?” Sheril chided, shaking his head. “I know it hurts, but there’s no need to take it out on others.”

Road said nothing, watching them like a statue. Her eyes glinted with curiosity--not horror. Tyki couldn't help but feel a little betrayed.

Tyki gritted his teeth. Fuck this, he was done. He turned on his heel, storming out of the room and up the servant's stairs. Belatedly, he knew he should have gotten water--but whatever, the wonders of indoor plumbing meant he could cool off his wound upstairs. 

Anger and frustration clouded his vision. It blocked out the pain from his burn, leaving him with nothing but an empty feeling of bloodlust.

The dog that Sheril had adopted--he couldn’t remember its name--stood in front of him, sniffing around for food. Clearly it had been forgotten about since Sheril had gotten a new thing to adore. Tyki’s hands twitched.

   He made sure to clean under his nails, just like his mom always said to.

     “Soooo, what’s with you and Tyki?” Road started, twirling around in the garden. It was lush and green; a sharp contrast from the wasteland it had become during the winter months. Even as Akuma, the gardeners tended to it diligently.

“What do you mean?” he asked, adjusting his monocle. It wasn’t too warm, yet, with summer still rolling in. Just the right type of weather to enjoy a short walk under the sun.

Road hummed, shaking her head. “Come on now, I can tell you don’t like him but you keep him around anyways. You really seem to like to torment him.” Her face broke into a grin, all teeth and cruelty. 

Sheril shrugged, saying “Maybe I do, why does that matter?” 

“It’s personal, isn’t it?” she asked, turning to face him. She kept on walking, not careful of where she was going. Sheril found himself fussing over her safety internally--sure, she was older than him, but she was so adorable that he found himself slotting into the overprotective father role easily. 

With a sigh, Sheril replied, “...he’s my bastard half-brother.” And that was all there was to it, really. He had no attachment to the boy other than a frustrating blood tie.

“Ahhh, I suppose he does look a little like you,” she said, sounding distant. With a shrug, she turned back around. “He reminds me of someone I used to know.” Her hands folded behind her back, her face wistful as she glanced at the clouds sheepishly passing by in the sky.

“Does he now?” Sheril asked, eyebrow raised.

“Hmmm,” Road hummed, eyes slipping closed for a moment, voice almost somber. “But they died a long time ago, it’s nothing important.” 

Silence floated over them. They reached the edge of the manor grounds, surrounded by treeline and old fences. 

“Sooo,” Road began, speaking very much unlike a girl would to her father. “You have an inferiority complex when it comes to your brother, then? Or is it jealousy?”

Sheril squawked. “I do not! It’s nothing like that,” he said, hands moving wildly as he denied it. 

“Really?” Road asked, grinning at him as she tapped her face. “Because it seems his existence has struck some sort of chord in you, for you to hate him so much for it,” she laughed.

“You’re too cute to be saying such mean things,” Sheril muttered, deflating.

Road just shrugged, skipping along. “Well, we’ll see how long he lasts around us and the new servants, I…” 

Sheril hummed, but he stopped walking as Road’s voice tapered off.  She had stopped in her tracks, staring off at something in the distance, among the trees. “Road?” he asked, following her line of sight. 

It was a gruesome view--the viscera strewn around the body, half charred, leaving him unable to identify what it was--at first. Then his eyes fell upon a familiar collar.

He couldn’t bring himself to be angry; shocked, more than anything.

“Would an Akuma do that?” he asked Road, noticing her lips twitch into a concerned scowl.

“...maybe a higher level one, I guess, but they usually don’t care about animals and this is… very theatrical. Whoever did this was clearly emotional,” she said. “Do you think maybe your brother…?” 

“He’s not my brother,” Sheril cut in, anger flaring up finally. “And no. Never. He’s a coward. He has no backbone, he’d never do a thing. It was probably someone from off the grounds. The dog liked to escape.”

“If you say so,” Road replied, voice light like she was laughing at him.

“I’ll get Dionísia to clean it up,” Sheril said, anger bubbling inside him.

        Poetically, it rained the day his mother died.

It had been raining heavily for awhile, though, so it wasn’t a surprise.

He stood there, in front of her grave, staring with dead eyes. It was a humble stone, but more than he could afford. It was the only thing Lord Kamelot had ever really given her, aside from a son and working herself into her own grave.

“Are you going to come back?” 

Tyki turned, his face neutral as he locked eyes with Sheril. The man was dressed in black, but he looked more like he was going to a gala than a funeral. 

“Does it matter?” Tyki asked, turning back to her grave. 

“It does. I need to know if I need to fill two positions, or just one,” Sheril replied, clicking his tongue.

Tyki balled his hands up into fists. He wanted to punch Sheril, wanting to make him suffer and bleed. “I didn’t think you’d want me around.”

“Hrm. I like having you where I can keep an eye on my beloved baby brother, I suppose,” Sheril said, voice dripping with fake saccharine. 

Tyki gritted his teeth, his mind supplying gorey images of what he could do with Sheril, if he could get away with it. “....I’ll be back later today,” he said finally, glaring hard at the mud at his feet. His hands gripped his pocket watch until his knuckled turned white. It wasn’t like he had anywhere else to go, and the manor was better than the streets. For now, anyways; Tyki didn’t intend on staying there forever. He’d look for work elsewhere, a new place to live even, and then he was gone--never to see that smug face again.

He was sure Sheril was smiling at him, that cruel, cold smile he had come to hate. He didn’t dare look back at the man, lest his anger get the best of him. He had been working on cooling his temper over the years, but it had come back red hot in the wake of his loss. 

“That’s good to hear. It must be sad to lose her so close to your birthday. What are you now, 18?” 

 “16, almost,” Tyki replied. “Probably.” Sheril just hummed.

Thunder rolled, distant, as the sound of the rain filled in the silence. 

“Do you hate Him for it?” Sheril asked, closer to Tyki than before. He nearly jumped. Nearly--Tyki had adjusted to Sheril’s sneaking, his need to be too close. 

“Huh?” Tyki replied. Sheril titled his umbrella, keeping Tyki out of the rain, as futile as it was by this point. Still, even while already soaked with rain, the gesture made Tyki feel weird. But for once, not a bad weird. 

“God,” Sheril clarified. “Do you hate God for taking her from you? Do you think you’d bring her back if you could?” He spoke with a soft tone, one that could be mistaken for caring. But Tyki knew Sheril, knew him well enough to catch an edge to it that sent chills down his spine. 

Despite that, Tyki didn’t answer right away. He kept silent, thinking Sheril’s words over carefully. “No,” he answered. “I don’t. It’s hard to hate someone who was never there for me anyways. It’s why I don’t hate our father. They’re both nothing to me.” He paused. “No, I wouldn’t bring her back. She’d… she’d probably just work herself to death again.” 

Sheril blinked, surprised, before he burst into laughter. “I see, I see… Perhaps we’ll talk again soon, then,” he said, moving away to leave Tyki to the elements once more. “If you’re still around.”

Tyki frowned at the crypticness of Sheril, turning to watch the man slink away back to his carriage. 

      “Aurora?” Tyki said, knocking on her door. She was staring at her hand mirror, eyes glazed over. It was a gift from her fiance, she had told him.

Aurora didn’t answer, still staring. Tyki moved slowly, sitting down beside her on her bed. “You doing okay? I know you were excited for the wedding, but then… with my mothers death and now this…”

“I’ll be fine,” Aurora replied, voice monotone. “Thank you, Tyki.”

Tyki frowned, wringing his hands. “I’m sorry about Ramiro, for what it’s worth.” 

Aurora gave a stiff nod. “I…” she reached out, hand hovering over his arm. She closed her mouth, grinding her teeth. Tyki felt something odd in the pit of his stomach, but the feeling soon passed as she placed her hand back on her mirror. “I think I should be alone.”

Tyki nodded, standing up. “Okay. I am always around, if you want.”

“Thank you, Tyki.”

    Aurora barely talked to him after that. Actually, now that he thought of it--none of the staff really did. Most of them were new; Sheril had fired so many at the drop of the hat. Brought in new ones. Aurora had been the last light in Tyki’s life after his mother died, but she, too, grew distant. Sad. Monotonous.

Without her or his mother, Tyki felt so very alone in the manor’s walls. Faces blurred together, names barely sticking in his mind as he lived one day at a time. Work bored him, cleaning the same things again and again and again; listening to each of Sheril’s barked orders with a clenched jaw and tension headache.

He was isolated; no one to talk to during meals, no one to joke along with while he scrubbed the floors. No songs, no stories by the candlelight. No talk about ill omens and the weather. No reminders to clean under his nails.

Nothing.

His heart ached in a way he wasn’t used to. He missed his mother. He hated the manor more than anything. He hated Sheril and his family; everytime their laughter carried through the halls it was like a ghost, haunting Tyki’s mind. Reminding him of how pathetic his life had become.

He was going to leave by the age of 18, he decided one sullen grey day. He stared at his reflection in the windows, cleaned by his calloused hands. He had never been planning on staying, of course, but the idea of leaving had always been a far off fantasy; an idea without a when or how. But now he had a when. As for the how…

Tyki walked through the streets of the town. It was summer now, the sun burning bright. With the warm weather came more people--seasonal workers and rich tourists. The city was bustling, but Tyki moved through the crowds with ease, as though he was just passing through the compact bodies.

He had gotten very good at avoiding being touched. It was useful for his continued survival in the Kamelot home. Still, he could never truly get away from Sheril’s malice when the man had his full attention on him. It was like being held by strings, controlled by a cruel puppeteer. 

Tyki was only human--and under the blistering heat, he found himself sweating. A drink, then…. He stopped by a small cafe, fishing out some change. 

“Sir… you wouldn’t have any to spare?” came a small voice. Tyki glanced down, seeing a small child, face dirty with grime. “Please, I--” the child continued, but without a word Tyki handed him a few coins. It wasn’t much, but Tyki’s meager pay didn’t leave him with much in the way of savings. He had enough for what he needed, and that was enough. After all, he was always weak to children. 

The child ran off, thanking him profusely. Beside him, some men sitting in rickety chairs laughed. “You got any to spare for us,” they asked, looking just as worn and filthy as the child.

“You’re adults, don’t you have a job?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Yeah, but the mines don’t pay much! Come on,” the man continued, before getting an elbow to his ribs from a friend.

“Sorry ‘bout him, he’s just tryin’ to get more to lose to us in poker, s’all,” the second man said, shaking his head.

Tyki blinked, now noticing the cards splayed on their table. It made sense, he supposed; something to keep them occupied on their break.

“Am not!” the first man snapped. This broke the group into another bout of laughter. “S’just that I ain’t got that much, s’why I took this job even though it’s so far from where I usually am!”

“Ain’t our fault you got piss poor luck, Bruno.”

“Shut up, Mauricio!”

Tyki turned away, getting his drink. He thought for a moment, wondering if maybe that was his way out. Seasonal work in the mines wasn’t the best--it was a lot of physical labour, dangerous conditions, going where the work was and hoping for the best. But it was a guaranteed way out of Kamelot manor, out of the city. Maybe even out of Portugal. 

Tyki’s eyes sparkled, plans forming in his head. He turned back to the men, eyeing them up and down. He wasn’t built that different from them, other than being taller. 

“...there wouldn’t happen to be any extra work at the mines that needs doing, would there?” Tyki asked, leaning towards the men playing poker.

With a blink, the second one who had spoken glanced up at him. “Hrm… I dunno, but I could always see if there’s anything to be done, kid,” Mauricio said, voice surprisingly gentle. He seemed to understand, at least, the desperation for work that laid underneath Tyki’s curious gaze. 

“Thank you,” Tyki replied, and he found himself meaning it for once.

“Don’t go thankin’ me yet, boy, but you can find us here most days around lunch,” the man continued, waving him off. “Now go on, I gotta game to play.” 

Tyki returned to the crowds feeling lighter than he had in months. People weren’t so bad, he supposed. When those dark, awful feelings weren’t settling inside him, he found himself enjoying the company of other people, of gentle words under the sun. 

He missed his mother.

       “You asked the Akuma to leave Tyki alone, hrm?” Road asked, kicking her legs as she idly flipped through a book. Diagrams of flowers and insects filled the pages, colourful and detailed. 

“Maybe.” Sheril’s tone was curt, his focus on the documents in front of him. With a flourish, he signed his signature, moving onto the next with robotic movements. 

“Why?  You seemed almost excited at the possibility of him becoming one after his mother died, but then that never happened.” She pushed herself up into a sitting position, gaze burning into the back at Sheril’s head.

Sheril twitched. “No, which surprised me, is all,” he replied, voice clipped. “But it’s good to have some humans still around, for appearances sake, especially since some of the Akuma aren’t the best at playing along with their disguise.” He gave a huff of annoyance at that. There had been an… incident, not long ago, but that faulty akuma had been dealt with swiftly. 

Sheril blamed the dog’s death on it, but Road still disagreed. It felt too… human.

“Hmmm, you just like tormenting him. How cruel,” she laughed, closing her book.

“Does it matter? He’s just some lowly human,” Sheril said, turning slightly to stare her down. 

“Who shares your blood, though,” Road pointed out.

“Doesn’t matter to me; you and the Earl are all the family I need,” Sheril replied, the cold, serious look on his face melting away to a smile. 

“It seems like it does matter, though,” Road pressed.

Sheril sighed, abandoning his work for a moment. “It’s about control. I just want to keep control of this manor, of this family, eventually of the country. And Tyki… he has always been hard to keep in line. It’s about making a point, is all. He’s really not that important, just a toy to play with. Nothing more.”

Road hummed, seemingly content with that answer.

For now.

      Running errands was always thankless work. The foreman at the mine always seemed to need something done, as fast as possible, but never once did any thank you slip from his lips.

So. No different from work at the manor.

Whatever ; the miners were kinder, when he did interact with them. It was hot, the sun blistering, but it kept him busy. Sheril seemed to have lost interest in him--occupied with running the manor more efficiently than his father ever did, and often Tyki fell to the wayside. 

Having money that Sheril didn’t know about was only a bonus. If he got enough, then maybe-- maybe --he’d finally be able to leave that horrid house.

It wasn’t home. Not anymore.

“Hey! Tyki, kid!” one of the miners, Mauricio, called. 

“..Yeah?” Tyki murmured, moving towards them.

“Yer workin’ yer ass off! Come, sit, have a break,” Mauricio said, tapping the wooden table he sat at with a deck of cards.

“I--”

“Come on, everyone gets at least a lunch break,” Mauricio continued, as Tyki slowly sat down. “Anyways, you know how to play poker, kid?” 

“Not at all, no,” he said.

“Then allow us to teach you,” Maurico replied, shuffling the cards with a flourish.

“Cigarette?” Bruno asked, offering him one already rolled from a worn-looking tin.

“Thanks,” Tyki said as he took it, using a match to light it. He wasn’t really allowed to smoke at the manor, but no one was here to stop him. It burned his lungs, but he managed to not cough all over Bruno.

“Well then, poker. This is a game of chance, but also skill--the skill of lying,” Mauricio continued, still shuffling the cards. “First, there’s one dealer and at least two players, who are after specific winning hands--some worth more than others--and then--”

        Tyki’s first few games were terrible.

They didn’t have chips like in casinos, only a few belongings and spare coins between them for betting.

Tyki had lost every bet he had made.

“C’mon, Mauricio, go easy on the kid,” Bruno said, kicking the other man under the table. Mauricio yelped like a cat, causing the other players (Tyki had neglected to learn their names-- oh well .) to burst into laughter.

“Fine, fine…” Mauricio sighed as he dusted himself off. He leaned in, close to Tyki’s ear, hand blocking his words from the others.  “I’ll let you in on a few, ah, beginners tricks then,” Mauricio whispered, flicking his wrist to reveal cards stowed away under his sleeve.

Tyki stared, suddenly realizing why he was struggling.

They were all cheating.

A grin crept up onto his face. “Yeah, I’d like that,” he said.

Maybe this could be fun after all--especially if he got better at his bluffs.

        He ended up staying after the work day ended, playing with the other men even as the sun sunk lower in the sky. It was easy, talking to them--no walking on eggshells, no balancing act of trying to figure out the right thing to say. He could be his lighter self, his human self--all that darkness that seemed to swirl inside him dissipating, even if only temporarily. 

It didn’t last.

“So this is where you’ve been running off too?” Sheril’s shrill voice cut in. The laughter died off.

Tyki frowned, hand gripping the bottle of alcohol he had won the last hand--opened to taste his sweet, sweet victory, his cheeks dusted pink and warm. “What are you doing here?” he hissed, turning around to glare at his brother. For once, it was Sheril who looked out of place--all prim and proper, tight seams and wealth--not a hair out of place--contrasted with the rough looking miners dusted with coal.

“What am I doing here?” Sheril asked, grabbing Tyki’s bicep and yanking him onto his feet.  “What are you doing here, in an awful place like this?” 

“We got a problem here, mate?” Bruno asked, glaring up at Sheril from his hand of cards.

“No, we don’t,” Sheril spat. “I’m going to be taking this idiot now.” He tugged Tyki towards the door, clearly not caring about letting Tyki even put one foot in front of the other before moving. 

Tyki staggered after him, swears spilling from his lips. “I see you’ve spent far too long talking to them,” Sheril hissed. “Why the new friends? Where did you even get the money to gamble? Did you steal it--?”

“Shut up!” Tyki snapped, forcing Sheril’s hand away. “Leave me alone, you creep! I made the money on my own, with my own fuckin’ job that is waiting on you hand and foot!” 

“What do you want money for?” Sheril asked. “Are you trying to leave me?”

“Of course I am! You want nothing to fuckin’ do with me, so why the hell would I continue to put up with that shithole and all your little games when I don’t have my mother keeping me there anymore?” Tyki yelled, glaring daggers into Sheril’s skull

“I own you ,” Sheril hissed, grabbing a fistful of Tyki’s curls. “Know your place--and it’s one you cannot leave.”

“Fuck you! I’m not your anything-- not your brother, and not your fuckin’ thing-- ” He ripped his head away from Sheril, not caring about the stinging from the scalp, the blood wetting his roots--and pushed Sheril back with his all his strength.

Sheril hit a wall with a look of shock painted on his features. Tyki took his momentary surprise to run- -run , run away from all of this, away from Sheril.

“Follow him,” he heard Sheril say--but to whom Tyki didn’t bother to look back and see.

He heard no footsteps behind him.

       No place, it seemed, was safe from his brother. At least no place that didn’t cost money to get to. Tyki wasn’t sure how long he had run, how far--just until his lungs burned worse than from smoking, just until his legs could barely hold his own weight. 

He heaved over, panting, hands on his knees as sweat ran down his face. That rat bastard. Tyki screamed in frustration, his throat hoarse. He punched a wall, not caring about the skin on his knuckles splitting at the seam, blood beading. 

Everything hurt. His head, his body, his heart. 

“Are… are you okay, sir?” a voice came--a man, around his age, eyes wide and bright. He was well dressed--not as well as Sheril, but clearly better off than Tyki was.

It wasn’t fair.

Tyki turned to him, bloodied hand twitching. “I will be,” Tyki replied, voice dark as he rounded on the other man. The stranger backed up, fear sparking in his eyes--but even then, he was too slow to react as Tyki’s hands clamped around his throat. 

Tyki couldn’t make out the strangers words--focused solely on the whimpers he made, on the rush of the blood in his veins, thumbing with his heart beat--his pulse jumping against Tyki’s fingers, following the rhythm of blood that dripped as he dig his nails into the skin. 

“Help---!”

       He was going to have to replace his boots.

After he cleaned his hands, of course.

Tykis breaths came heavy, laboured, as he scrubbed at the blood on his skin like it was acid. It didn’t do much good, though, stained as it was on his clothes. He knew hew must look like a mess--like a murderer --but it was late in the manor. He only had his own oil lamp to light his way, everyone else long asleep as he cleaned under his nails, just like his mother said to. 

His heart thrummed with adrenaline still, the high from what he had done lingering still. If anything, the idea of going back to work the next day--like nothing had happened, pretending along with everyone else, comforting others--was exciting in its own way too. It kept things interesting, to lead these two paths. 

He had come back to the manor.

Tyki wasn’t sure why he had. But even as he had hidden the body--dragged it to the closest body of water he could think of--he had felt like someone was watching him. Like Sheril would know if he had tried to leave town.

So. He had gone home, the response almost automatic as he entered through the kitchen door, and began to scrub his skin raw in the sink, illuminated by only the moon and a single lamp. 

Tyki paused in his cleaning, the wood creaking somewhere in the manor. It was probably nothing; maybe Road or someone unable to sleep, or needing the bathroom. Hopefully no one would question the running water--

“Tyki?” 

Tyki jumped. He stared at the doorway, a deer in the headlights, wide eyes meeting Sheril’s.

“Yeah?” Tyki said, with a casualness that didn’t quite fit the situation. 

Sheril’s lips fell into a frown as his eyes looked Tyki up and down, taking in the obvious blood splatter on his white shirt, the red dripping down his arms into the drain of the sink.

“I cut myself. By mistake,” Tyki said, stare still unbroken. “After I got back here.”

“...you… cut yourself?” Sheril repeated, looking at Tyki’s hands--then to the splatter on his clothing. “On what?”

“Yes,” Tyki replied. He didn’t dare look away yet, like a dog unyielding to submission.

“I see. You… cut yourself,” Sheril said, nodding a little. “...right.”

“Yes.”

They stared at each other in silence.

“...perhaps avoid cutting things at night, then,” Sheril said, leaving then. “Or. Whatever you did on your way back.”

“Okay.” Tyki blinked, finally, but his eyes never left the spot where Sheril had been standing.

How… had that been one of their most civil conversations?

Tyki turned the water off, and stripped off his shirt. At least he had others, but a pity it was to have ruined it. He dried his hands on it, worrying his lip. Was Sheril going to go to the police? He didn’t have much in the way of proof sure but people would take his word over Tyki’s, he knew, with the type of political power and money Sheril possessed.

He headed back to his room, laying down on his bed, even though he had no intention to sleep. His veins buzzed too much to allow it, a mix of excitement and anxiety swirling within him.

 At least rewinding his watch gave him something to ease his mind with, for a few moments.

      Sheril had slept uneasy that night himself, to his own surprise. He was not easily bothered by blood--quite the contrary in fact. But he hadn’t expected to find Tyki covered in it--he had been expecting to find Road stealing snacks from the kitchens, not his spineless bastard brother covered in what was obviously not his own blood. 

There was too much for it to have been a simple injury, either. The answer was obvious: Tyki had killed someone. Probably. Maybe Sheril was too morbid, jumping to that conclusion, but it had looked like a lot of blood, and if it had been a simple injury from someone else, why lie? 

A murder… Who, Sheril didn’t really care that much, since everyone in the manor was accounted for. Honestly, it didn’t affect him at all. Most of the servants were Akuma anyways.

He couldn’t even be mad that Tyki ran off--he had come home like a loyal dog, after all. 

Which brought him to his actual concern. Was it accidental? Self defense? Or... “The Earl wouldn’t have happened to have turned Tyki into an Akuma without telling me, would he?” Sheril asked, glancing over at Road.

She looked up from the book she was likely only pretending to read. “Hrmmm? No, he wouldn’t. Plus, didn’t Tyki’s mother die a while ago now? Did someone else die?”

“No… well…” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. Why had he decided to keep that kid around? Tyki was such a headache. Sure, the sadistic part of Sheril loved having Tyki around to torment, but now things were getting tiring.

“Well? Why do you ask, anyways?” Road said, flipping down in her chair. 

“He killed someone last night.”

“He did?” Road replied, blinking, surprise on her face. “Did you see it happen?” 

“No, but I saw the aftermath of him trying to get the blood off him. Too much for just cutting his hand, like he told me,” Sheril said.

“Hrmm… interesting. He didn’t strike me as the type. Maybe he accidentally killed one of the miner friends he has?” 

“No… I don’t think so. There was this look in his eyes, under the surprise. It was bloodlust. I think he murdered them.” Sheril sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Hopefully it’ll be nothing of any worry. We can kill him if you think it’ll be an issue.” Sheril paused. "You knew about him sneaking off and didn't tell me?" 

Road gave a grin. “I don’t think it will; I think it just makes things more interesting.” She hummed. “Plus, it confirms what I thought about the dog. And yeah, I thought it was more fun not to share."

“The dog--?”  Sheril started, before realising. His lips twitched. “It seems so. I suppose people don’t always start with other humans. He has more of a spine than I thought.”

A knock at the door. “What is it?” Sheril asked, frowning as he glared over the back of his seat.

An akuma poked her head in--Aurora, he thought the maid’s name had been, before her death. “Lord Sheril, sir,” she said, dipping her head in a curtsey. “I followed the boy like you asked, last night. He killed someone and returned home after running towards the merchant district.”

“Old news. Is that all?” Sheril asked.

“No. He hid the body on the Kamelot estate. I can take you to it,” she said, raising her eyes to meet Sheril’s. 

     Road whistled as the akuma lifted the corpse from the estate’s pond. “He really did a number on him, huh? Looks like he was attacked by a dog,” she said. “So much for him being your ‘meek little brother’. I'd be glad it wasn’t you.”

“Yes,” Sheril agreed, voice uneasy.

      Tyki was on edge. 

He hadn’t seen Sheril since the night before. As he robotically went through his day--running errands for the manor, odd jobs around the mine and town--he had a feeling of dread settle in his stomach, ice cold contrast to the excitement of the night before.

But nothing came. No police, nothing.

He frowned. Sheril had to have something planned. He wasn’t that stupid (or so Tyki hoped) to have believed the lie had given without thinking, nor did he think Sheril would just leave it be. Something was up.

He sighed, leaning against a wall, taking a drag from a cigarette. A cheap brand, but it was good enough for him. His mother had never been a fan, but she wasn’t around to curb the habit any longer--the other night had reminded him of that.

It did help him relax a little, as he brushed his curls out of his eyes. He needed a haircut.

It was a warm winter, so very different from the previous. Even warmer than usual, but it was a welcome change of pace. Still, Tyki could feel himself sweating already, outside under the bright sun. He groaned, moving to wipe sweat from his brow--only to hiss, his head suddenly pounding. Must be the sun , he thought, as he put out his cigarette. He almost wished for snow to lay face down in.

He found himself wandering back to the same pub he had been with before, with Bruno and Mauricio.

They were still there--enjoying their single day off, laughing with each other. Bruno spotted him, waving him over. “Tyki! There ya are, I was worried about you. Who was that bastard, anyways?”

“....someone I really hate,” Tyki said, not wanting any association with Sheril. Brother wasn’t the right word, not anymore. “It’s fine now.”

“Right,” Bruno replied, but his poker face was never very good--and it showed now, too, his expression unsure and worried.

“You okay there, kid?” Mauricio asked, frowning. “You look awfully pale--” he reached forward, fingers brushing Tyki’s sweat-slicked skin before he could pull away. “Yer burnin’ up.”

“M’fine, just overworked myself,” he lied. His head felt like a nest of angry wasps. “How about another hand? Never got to finish the last one.”

“Only if you’re prepared to lose, kid.”

      His migraine persisted throughout the night, and the next day. He did his best to ignore it, at first.

But on the third day, it was hard to not to notice--not with the blood seeping down his face. Tyki stared at the mirror in horror, open wounds so much like Sheril’s all those years ago adorning his forehead, blood flowing freely in red rivets along his features.

It hurt; it hurt like hell, but not in the way he felt such open cuts should. His hands shook as he washed himself of the blood. It wasn’t like Sheril had died from his illness, but if it went the same way… Tyki knew this was only the beginning of the pain, that fever and shakes and awful, awful aches would follow. 

Maybe he wouldn’t make it. 

After all, people could survive TB, but his mother didn’t. 

Blood continued to fall into his vision, no matter how much he wiped away.

He stumbled back into his room, breathing heavily--from fear or fever he did not know. He gripped the side of his bed, trying to will himself to stay calm; the Doctors never found out what had made Sheril sick. Was it familial? A horrible sickness inherited from their shared blood, their shared father? 

Tyki swallowed back acidic bile. 

Would Sheril even care, get a doctor like Tyki had gotten for him, or just let him suffer? Who was he kidding ; Sheril would probably delight in watching Tyki waste away, suffering in pain until he died.

So.

This was alright.

No one had to know. He’d deal with it on his own, and go to the doctor on his own if he had to.

He stood up straight, his movements wooden, as he scrubbed at his face once more, bandaging the wounds and brushing his bangs to cover them. The blood seeped in, warm and sticky against his skin.

No one has to know , he thought, staring at his flushed face in the mirror. He’d be sick for a while, maybe, but it wasn’t like anyone would notice; he did less and less around the manor these days, and even Sheril had seemed to become bored with harassing him after their conversation in the kitchen that night. His eyes had been watchful, but not omnipresent.

No one had to know, he thought as he washed the blood out from under his nails.

       Doctor’s visits cost money, and Tyki hadn’t budgeted for one. He couldn’t miss work, not yet. 

For what it was worth, Tyki had managed pretty well that day with his usual work. He had gone slow, trying to not exert himself, and luckily none of the errands he had seemed that urgent. Returning to the Kamelot estate, he was bone tired--but not collapsing.  A win in his books.

Of course, while Sheril hadn’t noticed his sorry state (thank God), Road had.

“You look sick,” she said, lips twitching.

“I’m fine,” Tyki replied, downing water from the tap.

“You don’t look fine,” she said, looking him up and down. He was sure he looked like shit; he sure felt it. 

“I’m fine,” Tyki hissed, bracing himself on the counter. “You shouldn’t be in the kitchens anyways.” He did not want to deal with Sheril’s incessant worrying over Road’s safety. His migraine already felt like he was being stabbed with hundreds of nails.

Road gave him a doubtful look, opening her mouth. She paused, her face scrunching up into a frown. “Is that blood?” she asked.

Tyki blinked, before he noticed it; the feeling of something warm dripping down his face. He swore--his bandages must have become too saturated, even though he had changed them--

He heard his glass shatter on the ground before he realised he had dropped it.  His world spun, and it took him far too long to realise he was on the ground too, his mind hazy with fever and pain.

“Tyki,” Road said, surprisingly calm for such a young girl watching a man dying of illness right before her eyes. She knelt down, reaching for him, brushing his sweat drenched curls away. He heard her gasp--the sound small, but yet hard to miss in his muddled mind--and he didn’t blame her. It probably looked demonic, the markings on his forehead. He remembered all the murmurs of demons and the devil when Sheril had fallen ill.

Maybe there had been more to it at the time they had thought. He supposed, if any people in the manor were to be cursed by Satan, it would be the two of them; they were both fucked up enough for it, and Tyki knew it.

In reality, as much as he liked to pretend it wasn’t true, he and Sheril did have things in common about their personalities.

Road called for someone, he wasn’t sure who--the name sounded like nothing but noise to his ears, as the pain consumed his thoughts and his world went black.

 “I didn’t think--”

 “Not common, for siblings who aren’t twins--”

      His sleep was restless. He dreamed, dreamed of things he could not quite remember in the morning, of a world destroyed, of a pillar that gave him fear he had never experienced before, all swirling around in his head in a sea of overstimulation--pain, heat, voices and sounds, images he couldn’t understand--all mixing together into white noise.

He dreamed of golden fields of wheat, of old trees with beautiful names, of a mother who was still alive and a brother who loved him.

He wasn’t sure if he slept through the night, or had woken up intermittently. Perhaps he had. Maybe even talked, but the words said were lost to his mind.

    Tyki opened his eyes. 

The world was blurry, unfocused as he looked around. It was a room in the manor, but not his room--far too opulent to be. One of the guest rooms, maybe? Perhaps Sheril had thought it was a better place to die.

No. That didn’t make sense. He wouldn’t want Tyki’s blood getting on the sheets. Why was he here?

“Tyki,” a voice said, close to his face. He groaned, managing to look over, meeting eyes with his half brother. “Good morning,” he replied, a genuine smile on his face.

Ah.

Tyki had died in his sleep, and this was his hell: Sheril. 

Tyki groaned, laying his head back down on his pillow as he closed his eyes. “Let me suffer in silence,” he said, his throat parched, his voice like sand.

“Here,” Sheril said, pouring Tyki some water. He still sounded far too kind. 

But, Tyki himself had been worried, genuinely worried, when Sheril was sick despite everything, so perhaps it was like that. Didn’t make it any better, though. Tyki still despised that man.

Though his body felt stiff and unnatural, he reached over to take the glass. He downed it easily, not caring at the cool water that split and dripped down his face. 

Sheril took the glass back without hesitation, and settled back into his chair, gaze still locked on Tyki.

There was a lack of malice in his brother’s eyes.

Tyki stared back.

“How are you feeling?” Sheril asked, titling his head. Sheril’s hair was messy. Odd. He was so used to it being perfectly kept--Sheril hated being seen disheveled. Violently so. 

Tyki kept staring.

“Tyki?” Sheril repeated, looking concerned. Real concern, not the fake act he usually had put on when he wanted something from Tyki, or was mocking him.

“....what the fuck is wrong with you?” Tyki replied. “You’re acting all weird and creepy.”

Sheril blinked at him, before he smiled. “I’d say you’re feeling better then,” he said, clapping his hands together with a tilted head. "Oh! And I had Aurora clean up and fix your watch, the one you always have," he added, presenting it to him. It looked as nice as the day his mother had given it to him, three years ago.

Tyki glared at him. Oooookay. Something was very, very wrong here. Sheril just kept smiling back.

“Sheeeeeeril~” Road sang, coming into the  oom with a flourish. “I think you’re scaring him.” 

“What’s going on?” Tyki demanded.

“Just a friendly welcome!” came a third voice--jovial, light, belonging to a scruffing looking man Tyki had a vague recollection of. He came over often, to see Sheril. Maybe. Tyki had long since given up paying attention to the faces in the hallways.

“Don’t worry, the Millennium Earl’s here to help!” Road cheered, putting out her arms as to present the weird man to him.

“....the who?” Tyki asked, eyebrows raised. He glanced at Sheril--still smiling--and decided that yeah, he was dead. Definitely dead and in hell.

Road laughed, walking over and pinching his cheek. “Oh c’mon now! Don’t play stupid, you know who Adam and I are,” she said, pouting.

“No. No I really do not know, and I have no idea what is going on with all of you suddenly acting like you, y’know, like me? ” Tyki retorted, feeling like he was going insane. What was going on? He tugged at his hair, wondering what he had done to deserve such a hellish punishment. Damn you, God.

Road blinked, her eyes wide as she took a step back, looking him up and down. Her eyes scrutinized him, as though she was trying to see into his very soul to decipher what he meant. Then, her expression turned serious, dark--far too mature for someone her age.

“...is he just joking with us?” the ‘Earl’--Adam, was it?--stage whispered to Sheril, who’s smile had dropped for a confused frown. 

“No,” Road cut in. “No, he really doesn’t remember. In his dreams… I saw very little but... I… I think… with the 13th--I think he might not be able to access his Noah Memory. Not anymore.”

Tyki blinked, feeling like he was missing even more than before. “My what?”

         Turns out, he actually did like the Earl--and Road--a lot, once he got to know them, and their weird plans, and everything else. 

Sure, it had taken a bit for it to sink it--for him to really accept this was all real. But it felt real, and his skin sure was grey now, and his eyes sure were gold. 

Plus--ever since he became a Noah, things had been better. As annoying as Sheril was--he, and the others, all started treating him like an equal. He supposed maybe he ought to have a little more resentment, but… it was hard to stay mad at the Earl and Road!

Sheril, on the other hand…

Well. At least watching the world be destroyed would be fun enough to put up with him. And he got to relive the thrill of killing that stranger, again and again, all while balancing his normal life, his life with the miners--his humanity and his noah side, intertwined, light and dark.

He could get used to this life.

       “Let go of me,” Tyki ground out.

“No! You’re my cute little brother.”

“I think I miss it when you hated me.” Tyki struggled to get away, fighting against Sheril’s arms. He felt his world shift, and soon as he could blink he found himself on the ground. 

Sheril stared at him, his hands still positioned in a pantomime of his suffocating hug. 

Tyki stared back. He had… gone through Sheril’s arms? He had just thought about not wanting to be touched by Sheril and then…Tyki climbed to his feet, making a run for it--right through the wall.

Oh.

He could get so used to this.

[sukirichi]

not shy

megumi was not shy around his crush — and that’s a fucking lie.

request: shy megumi who is really flustered around his crush + his friends and gojo-sensei helping him confess

note: this is fluff and a semi crack fic too LOL i hope you guys enjoy this, i had a lot of fun with this one! unedited too, as usual!

word count: 4.5k

masterlist !

playlist made by the lovely @savantsoulfinder​ thank you so much! 

“Yo, Megumi-kun, can you take—” Satoru halted in his steps, following the trail of sight that his dark-haired student seemed to be so enamoured in to not even notice his teacher walk his way. “What are you staring at?” when his gaze landed on you, head thrown back in laughter and slapping Panda’s arm over Yuuji’s joke, Satoru’s eyes beamed even under the blindfold. “Oh? You like Y/N?”

Upon hearing your name, Megumi immediately snapped back to life. He scoffed and turned away from you, scowling to himself with his arms crossed against his chest. “No, I don’t. I don’t like anyone.” So defensive.

“Is that so?” Satoru teased while biting back his laughter, “Guess you won’t mind if I call her then. Hey, Y/N!”

“Gojo-sensei, what’re you doing?!” Megumi grabbed his teacher’s sleeve, whisper-hissing and cursing under his breath when Satoru caught your attention. You waved at them both, skipping until you were getting impossibly closer and closer and closer.

“Well, I don’t want you to carry these all alone. You’re gonna need some help.”

“I’m perfectly fine – h-hi.”

Shit, you were now here. You smiled up at him, hands folded below your bottom before tipping your head to the side, looking under Megumi’s ducked head to see his face. “Hey there, Megumi! Looking cute today,” you winked, causing the poor boy to blush madly. You never noticed, though, your attention now taken by your teacher turning red as he stopped his laughter. “Gojo-sensei! You called me?”

“Oh yeah, you’re just right on time. I was going to ask Megumi here to bring these books all back to my office but it’s probably too heavy for him so I asked—”

“It’s not heavy,” Megumi took the books that Satoru placed in your welcoming arms, the slightest touch sending jolts of electricity down his spine. He pulled away and clutched the books closer to himself at the sudden buzz, narrowing his eyes at his teacher who obviously couldn’t mind his own business. “I can carry it by myself.”

“I still wanna help, and I really don’t mind. Plus, I haven’t talked to you in a long time. I actually kind of feel like you’re avoiding me,” you pouted, and that simple gesture had Megumi feeling like he was sinking deeper into the ground.

He was ready for the whole world to swallow him up.

Satoru took pleasure in Megumi’s reddish ears and clenched jaw, cupping his own jaw with his hands as if to mock. “Aw, Megumi, why would you avoid precious Y/N? Did she do something wrong to you?”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Well, if there’s nothing wrong, you two better scoot before you get late to your other class!”

“Alright, see you around, Gojo-sensei!” Shit, why were you such a good girl? Now he was stuck with you, and Megumi huffed while hesitantly sharing the books with him. You walked close enough to him that he caught a slight whiff of your shampoo, the scent clouding over his usually sharp mind. Now, though, Megumi could barely recognize the hallways he walked on, relying only on you to lead the way. “So...how’ve you been?”

“Fine.”

“How about your studies? We have an exam next week – maybe you want to study together? Inumaki-senpai and I were supposed to have a study group with the others but everyone just wants to study by themselves,” you turned to him with a small smile, “I do better when I’m with someone though.”

Megumi managed to give you a split second glance before he darted his eyes back in front of him again, swallowing audibly because he couldn’t understand why you had to look so pretty smiling like that.

His palms grew sweaty with each passing second, and he grimaced at the uncomfortably feeling of his collar getting sticky. “Uh, wh-where would we study? We don’t have a library or anything.”

“The training grounds is refreshing, but I’d like it to do it better in my room.”

“Do what?” Megumi halted in his steps, his eyes blown wide at your words.

“Study, of course. What else?”

He wasn’t sure whether to laugh or be worried that you frowned in confusion, almost as if you didn’t understand the weight of your words. But then again, you’d always been so damn oblivious that it made sense. Megumi shook his head, continuing on to the teacher’s office before remembering he still lost his sense of direction, so he bit his lip, obediently following you around like a puppy.

“You shouldn’t just invite anyone to your room, you know.”

Once you both made it to the empty room, you carefully placed the books down on Satoru’s desk. He raised a brow at the extra detail you put into, tongue peeking out from the edges of your lips as you made sure all of them were placed together neatly.

Satisfied with your work, you clapped your hands and turned to him.

“I’m not. You’re not just anyone to me, Megumi,” Suddenly, you leaned over him, his mind screaming at him when your lips lowered down to his neck. Megumi’s spine stiffened so quick he might as well be a flat board, his chin pressed to his neck when he felt your teeth graze his exposed skin for a moment. “There’s a loose thread,” you showed him a small thread with a small smile, which fell as fast when you saw Megumi standing uncomfortably straight. “Oh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to invade your personal space like that!” “I’m a little weird, aren’t I? That would explain why you’ve been avoiding me. Do I make you feel uncomfortable?”

“No, it’s not that...it’s just...”

“Just what?”

His mind blanked. Ask him anything about curses or their history and pretty much anything – he’d be able to answer – but not this. They didn’t teach this in the books and out of frantic nervousness, Megumi ended up spewing the first thing he could think of, his brows drawn together that only added to his intimidating look.

“I’m just annoyed that you scored higher than me on the previous exam.”

“Oh,” you fell for it, snapping your fingers together as you laughed. Somehow, the sound of your melodious laughter had his shoulders easing from the tension, the smallest of smiles hinting at the edge of his lips. Gosh, he was so whipped for you. “Was that really it? I thought you were avoiding me for something serious! Well, how about this, let’s study together and let’s see who’s the smarter one. The loser will get tickled to death!”

“I haven’t even agreed to that condition yet.”

“Okay, what do you want if you win?”

Megumi blushed as he blurted out, “You.”

Before he could regret what he just said, you scrunched your nose and pointed to yourself. “Me what? You want me to do something? You want me to buy you ice cream or—”

“Never mind,” he mumbled behind his palm that was now covering his mouth, refusing to show you that he actually wanted to laugh at how naive you could be. Not that he was complaining; it saved him great pain that you could never know his feelings for you. “I’ll ask for it when I’m sure I’ll win.”

“Ah, not a man of uncalculated risks, I see,” you ruffled his hair, the poor boy stiffening up again under your touch. “This is why I like you so much. You’re so thoughtful.”

“Please don’t touch my hair.”

Megumi was complaining, his shoulders raised beside his ears while he scowled at you, but the way a small, almost inaudible purr left his lips said otherwise. He didn’t want you touching his hair – only because he was shy and it would be the death of him if you saw how easily flustered he was around you.

Thankfully, you showered mercy upon him, raising your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright, we should go back to class now.”

Megumi sighed in relief, content for now to walk you all the way back to class as you talked about your day. He wasn’t actually listening, but a stupid smile was there on his face, anyway. He likened the sound of your voice to those of birds chirping and sunshine waking – and he felt like he was the fresh earth you always kissed.

“You’re going to burn a hole in her if you keep staring at her like that.”

“Shut up,” Megumi averted his eyes away from you, stabbing his yogurt with his plastic fork. A part of him felt annoyed that you just had to look so pretty today, your bright voice filling in the cafeteria that put his constant sour mood to shame. The stark difference between you two made Megumi sigh in his seat, abandoning his fork as he leaned back. There was no way you’d like him back. “I wasn’t looking at anyone.”

“Ugh, why are boys so creepy? Staring at Y/N like that, ew.”

Yuuji ignored Nobara’s comment, and for once, Megumi let it slide when Nobara stealed his untouched yogurt. “Why don’t you just tell her you like her? She’s literally the sweetest person ever – the chances of her turning you down are low!”

Nobara snorted, “Yeah, but if the sweetest girl in school rejects you, that’s really humiliating. That would mean she likes everyone but you.”

Satoru popped out of nowhere – that stupid blindfolded bastard who started all this – his arms looped around Yuuji’s neck whose entire face illuminated at having his favourite teacher around. “I think the scary-looking Megumi-chan is actually just too shy to be confess,” he wiggled his eyebrows, pointing a finger fun to Megumi’s deadly narrowed gaze. “Can you believe it? My dark, brooding student is hopelessly in love with the cute, sunshine girl next door that he’s so scared around her? Isn’t that so adorable—”

“Everyone shut up!” he hissed through gritted teeth, “I’m not scared of anyone or anything.”

“Then tell her you like her.”

“Fine, I will.”

“I bet you ten dollars he won’t do it,” Satoru whispered, the two students who shared one brain cell beside him nodding eagerly.

“I said I will!”

“Good morning, Megumi! Come in, come in,” you ushered him in once he stood frozen at your door, his hands now awkwardly clutching his own notes. “You can take a seat on the bed.”

Megumi wasn’t nervous of the fact this was his first time visiting a girl’s room, but rather because it was yours, and each part of your room resembled you greatly. From the organized and clean space, but the noticeable adorable little trinkets and polaroids of you with everyone sticking on the wall, he could feel your entire soul living in that room. When his eyes landed on an old photo of you holding up the peace sign and noticed for the first time he was standing in the background, unaware he was captured in the frame, Megumi inhaled sharply.

Had you pretended to take a selfie just to see him there?

No, he shook his head, there was just no way. He really couldn’t ponder about it long enough because you’d dragged him by the sleeve until he was sitting right next to you, the fresh scent of your body wash making him feel stunningly warm inside his clothes even when the windows were open.

The whole time, Megumi couldn’t absorb a single thing you were saying.

He was just too distracted by everything about you – the way your lips moved when you spoke, how you’d tuck back a stray hair behind your ear, even to the way your mouth would form an ‘o’ shape as you learned something new. No, he couldn’t focus at all.

Megumi has lost count of the times he’d wiped his shaky, sweaty palms on the pads of his sweatpants, hitching his breath every time you leaned close to him to glance at his notes.

At this rate, he’d be the loser in your little competition. It was just impossible for him to focus on anything else.

“Megumi?” you waved your hands in front of him. When it wasn’t enough to get his attention, you resorted to flicking his forehead and he yelped, rubbing at the sore spot. He faced you, a complaint ready to be spoken when his eyes widened at the sudden lack of proximity, your nose booping against his. “Hello, Megumi? I’ve asked you the same question twice now and you haven’t answered yet.”

As nicely as he could, he pushed your face away, his heart thumping loudly when you laughed as you went back to your own space. “Sorry, could you repeat that? I wasn’t really listening.”

“Yeah, I can tell, you were just staring at me the whole time,” you held your phone up in front of your face, checking your reflection on the screen on different angles. He watched, enchanted by how gorgeous you looked no matter what side. “Is there something on my face...? I’ve been checking non-stop and I don’t see anything weird.”

Megumi swallowed nervously, “There’s nothing wrong with your face. I just can’t focus. You’re too close and I-I can smell you.”

“Do I smell bad?!”

“No, you don’t! You smell really sweet!”

“Aw, thanks! You smell sexy too,” you winked at him, wiggling your shoulders as if to share your scent with him. Megumi’s eyes widened when your shoulder rubbed against his, and he recoiled, arm placed over his nose to hide his emotions that were a train wreck right now.

“Sexy?” he spluttered, “Why would you say – me – sexy? You’re so weird, Y/N. You shouldn’t say stuff like that.”

You patted his thigh in a manner that should be comforting, but the teasing smile on your face only had him wanting to jump out the window even more. Then, you stood up and stretched the material of your shirt riding up until he caught sight of your navel. Megumi turned away and closed his eyes, cheeks trapped between his teeth. “We should take a break. Treat’s on me – where do you want to go?”

“Err,” he scratched the back of his head.

“Oh, don’t look too worried, it’s a weekend. Plus, Gojo-Sensei isn’t around to bother us or something.”

“You...you want to go out...” he drawled out slowly, tentatively, surely – just to make sure that he was hearing it right. “...with me?”

“Yeah, I did just ask where you want to go.”

“Oh,” Megumi nodded with a blank face. Then, your words sank in, and he folded his knees to his chest to hide his face and his sickly sweet smile, the butterflies in his stomach progressing into a fucking zoo. “Oh.”

“Are you sick? You’re so red,” your palm connected with his heated forehead, “Megumi, you’re burning! Should I take you to Ieri-san?”

“No, no, I’m fine,” he pushed your hand away, still repudiating to look you in the eye. He just couldn’t, not when you were too inquisitive and he could easily give a dead clue before he got the chance to properly confess. “I mean, I don’t really have a certain place in mind. I’ll go wherever you want to go.”

He should’ve noticed it then – the mischievous glint in your eye that told him you weren’t up to no good. But because his knees always weakened around you, Megumi agreed way too eagerly than he’d like. “Just make sure you don’t regret it, okay? There’s something I’ve always been wanting to try but I never got the chance to and no one wanted to go with me, so you’ll be my willing victim!” And so, half an hour later, Megumi’s jaw dropped as the chill of the arena nipped at his skin. You didn’t even tell him to bring a jacket. “Ta-da!”

“Ice skating?”

You nodded happily, dragging him all the way to the shoe fittings. “It’s going to be fun, come on!”

“But I don’t know how to.”

“Neither do I!” Megumi wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t know how to. No matter how much he tried so hard to learn, he just couldn’t balance himself. The sound of your laughter that let him know you enjoyed this way too much reached his ears as he glared at the ice, his ears red either from the cold or the humiliation of being an utter failure in front of you, of all people! “Need some help there, buddy?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking. And no, I can do this by myself.”

You masked your chuckle with a snicker, squatting to watch as he struggled to heave himself up back to his feet. “Really? You’ve fallen like, a hundred times now.”

“Shut up. Humans aren’t naturally supposed to do this anyway. We don’t have a human instinct to be upright – whoa!” Megumi slipped again from the ice, this time knocking you down with him. Instead of it being romantic where you two ended up gazing at each other with love in your eyes, your eyes widened into saucers as his elbow landed into your belly, crushing the wind out of your body.

“Ow!”

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to – ugh, this is why I said it was a bad idea!”

All the way back home, Megumi was still entirely convinced it was a bad idea. You were limping beside him, having to use his bicep as a crutch with your head resting on his shoulder. You and your stupid ideas, really, now you were injured and sprained your ankle from the fall. Instead of worrying about your own safety, you only slapped your knee in laughter as the medics fixed you up, still in disbelief that Megumi had fallen a lot of times yet came out unscathed.

“Megumi~ are you still mad at me? Why won’t you talk to me?” you pouted, squeezing his bicep to get his attention.

“It’s because I told you it was dangerous. Look at you – your knees are all scraped and your legs are all wobbly. We’ve still got a long way back home.”

“Maybe you should carry me then.”

“C-carry you?”

“Yeah, so I don’t fall,” you snorted, pointing to your shoeless ankle covered in bandages. “I mean, it was your fault I’m injured. If you hadn’t fallen for me, then this wouldn’t have happened.”

Fallen for you? Did you know that he – ? Megumi’s head snapped to yours so hard he nearly had whiplash, but the only thing he could focus on was the pounding of drums within his chest. “F-fall? How did you know?”

“Megumi, you literally fell on top of me. Don’t think I’ve forgotten already.”

That had him blinking back, his face flattening into a blank expression. Then, he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he stopped in his tracks. “Sometimes I forget you’re terribly naive.”

“What was that?”

“Nothing. Now get on,” With burning cheeks and a heart that fluttered way too much than what was considered healthy, Megumi squatted down to the ground, patting his back with a groan. You less than jumped into his arms, a little too excited to get a piggyback ride and Megumi expressed his faux distress with a groan. You only pinched his ear and told him to pay you back for your injuries, which made him complain again.

In the end, he was just happy you couldn’t see how much he struggled to hide his smile then, for if you saw it, you’d surely believe he was crazy.

Or so he thought. By the time you’d gotten back to the dorms, you were long passed out on his back. There was a small patch of drool on the back of his shirt and he shuddered, then wiped it away by whispering to himself, it’s okay – as long as it’s you.

Padding back to the dorms wasn’t as difficult as he thought it would be, considering everyone was almost asleep or out to the city as well.

Megumi gently laid you down on the bed, wrapping the blanket around you and making sure your head was comfortable on the pillow. He stayed there for a solid minute, just staring and memorizing your pretty features until he felt confident he could draw it upon memory. Not wanting to be creepy though, he cleared his throat, about to leave the room when your fingers tugged at his wrist.

“Megumi,” you moaned sleepily, “Don’t go. It’s too cold.”

“I’ll get you another blanket.”

“No, stay,” you whined, patting the space next to you. “Please?”

“To sleep here with you?” he asked, baffled and at the same time elated. The last thing he wanted to be was a pervert and he’d never outright admit that his thoughts of you hadn’t always been giggles and rainbows, but he pushed those down, reminding himself that this is you – he respected you above all else. His self restraint slowly thinned though, whatnot with you pouting up at him like that.

Megumi groaned and took off his shoes anyway, planting himself beside you. “This is insane. I think I’m losing my mind,” he muttered to himself. “Move over and make space for me,” you obediently followed his command, using his bicep as a pillow while your cheek squished against his chest. He wondered how you weren’t bothered by his heart’s beating, or maybe it soothed you to sleep because you were falling deeper and deeper asleep, burying yourself in his arms. “God, this is so uncomfortable. I feel like I’m crushing you—”

“So warm,” you cut him off, his mind turning completely mental as he felt your lips pad over his chin. “Goodnight, Megumi.”

How did you expect him to sleep now?

But as soon as you’d settled and only your stabled breathing could be heard from the room, Megumi’s eyes began to droop as well, and it didn’t take long before his arms relaxed around you, lazily pulling the covers up to cover the both of you.

He’ll tell you another time.

“MEGUMI!” you pushed through everyone and showed him your paper, the bold red mark of 100 glaring back at him. Before he could respond, you stole his test paper from him, laughing at the sad 98 that showed. “Ah, I won!” In the blink of an eye, you’d tackled him to the ground, your knees keeping his legs locked underneath you, test papers flying around the field. Your hands were relentless and brutal as it ran and poked up his sides, eliciting squeaky little gasps from him.

“Stop, stop!” Megumi doubled over in laughter, keeping his feet flat on the ground to prevent himself from accidentally kneeing you. He’d hurt you enough during the ice skating dilemma – he didn’t want to cause you anymore injuries. “No, stop!”

“I won, Megumi, I won! Face the tickle monster!”

“I said stop or else!” he warned, completely aware that he wasn’t as threatening or serious as he wanted to be when tears leaked from his eyes, his laughter embarrassingly giggly and high pitched.

“Or what, loser?”

“I’ll kiss you until you shut up!”

“That’s adorable, but let’s see you try!” you kept tickling his sides, the both of you completely oblivious that the rest of your classmates – your teacher who was more than supportive of this pairing included – were hiding behind a bush, their phones whipped out to capture each second of this moment. “Loser!”

As you mocked him one more time that you wouldn’t stop tickling “losers,” Megumi had to draw the line. Using all his strength, he flipped you over until you were underneath him, the sheer force of the impact keeping you nestled between his arms.

Both of you were panting, but this time his breath was taken away from how beautiful you looked under him like that. Such innocent eyes staring back up at him, but don’t think for a moment he didn’t notice how your eyes trailed over his lips. He knew – because he was doing the same, his grip subconsciously gripping harder at your wrists. If he leaned down...

“This is taking too long!” someone whined from behind the bushes, tips of white hair peaking from the plant. “Just kiss her already!”

Both of you turned at the source of the voice, simultaneously shouting, “Gojo-sensei?!”

“Don’t be shy, Megumi-kun! Just tell her already or I’ll tell her myself.”

“Tell me what?”

Now that your face was peering up at him, he knew he was trapped. Cornered. Megumi closed his eyes, hands trembling and losing their grip around you as he was confronted by the situation. “I’m sorry I didn’t say it sooner,” he fumbled over his words, “But I...I actually—”

“Boring! What kind of confession is this? Say it louder and clearer or she won’t be impressed! Is that how a man does it, Megumi-kun? You can do better—”

“All of you, shut the fuck up!” he roared to his peers who only cackled around the bushes, Yuuji and Gojo-sensei doubling over in laughter while Toge bit his collar to stop the gleeful sounds leaving his mouth. Irritation and humiliation bubbling up in his chest, Megumi finally found the courage to confess. “I like you, okay? I’ve always had a crush—”

You sat up to wrap your arms around his neck, silencing him with a sloppy kiss. At first, your lips kissed the edges of his mouth before Megumi groaned, his large hand clasping the back of your neck to guide you to where he wanted you to be. Smiling through the kiss, you pulled away, rubbing your nose on him affectionately. “Me too, Megumi,” you giggled, “I like you too. Actually, no, I fell in love the moment you almost broke your nose on the ice—” he cut you off by kissing you again, his grip on your waist threatening, “Hey, no fair, I was still confessing!”

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I’ll kiss you to make you shut up,” his confidence had now risen up, all traces of the shy Megumi now gone. “Now tell me that again. Tell me you like me.”

“Okay, but can I get another kiss?”

“You’ll be spoiled rotten.”

“I think I deserve it, don’t you think? I’m pretty cute – you’re lucky you get to kiss—” Megumi tugged you by your collar to slam your lips on his, his teeth nibbling at your lower lip. You tugged at his hair playfully and laughed, slapping his shoulder gently to tap out. “Fine, fine. I like you too!”

“Say it again. Please.”

“Not so shy now, eh, Megumi?” Satoru teased for the final time, and Megumi was so close to bursting a vein in his neck when his teacher showed up from the bushes, sexily posing on the grass as he winked at the both of you.

“SHUT UP!”

[ppersonna]

keep me warm - jhs | m

cause you keep me and nice and you keep me warm. wanna feel you on me, can't wait to get back there again - texas sun,  khruangbin

✹ summary- camping is always a great time when you’re with your friends, but even better with your boyfriend, hoseok.

✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw

✹ pairing- jung hoseok x reader

✹ word count- 3.9k - she’s a short lil quick dip ;)

✹ genre- smut. lol thats it. cant say there is much plot here besties!!! but there is big brother namjoon, brothers best friend hoseok, established relationship!!!

✹ warnings- explicit smut, cockwarming, dirty talk, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (be smart pls!), sex in a tent, a little exhibitionism???, fingering, finger sucking, creampie, lil bit of cum play but not really, hoseok is a dirty dirty boy and i love that about him tbh

✹ a/n- helloooo. i’ve been sitting on this and finally finished it!! thank you to @kimtaehyunq​ for the sexy banner and beta reading and general support. i was inspired to write this fic when i went camping but pls be warned that sex in a tent is not as sexy as this fic makes it seem 🤕 ILY BESTIES!!! lemme know your thots!!!

The annual Kim Family camp out is an event you haven’t missed since your seventh birthday when you had chicken pox. It’s an outing that has gained notoriety among your friends, a monumental yearly occasion that takes months of prep in advance. What started as a simple camp out with your parents and your older brother Namjoon has become an event with extended friends and family members and significant others involved. Your parents handed down the event to you and your brother, claiming their older age keeps them from being able to keep up with “the youth” for an entire weekend, instead preferring to join for a big cookout dinner, then head back to the comfort of their tempurpedic mattress and functional plumbing back at home.

Not that you minded.

This year was different. Your cousins, Taehyung and Seokjin, would join with Tae’s girlfriend Maggie. Your childhood best friend Jimin would attend as well, bringing along his lover of the month, a tall and leggy brunette. Namjoon invited his best friend Yoongi, who brought along your mutual friend Jungkook. 

And most importantly, 

Jung Hoseok would be there. Your boyfriend.

Hoseok is no stranger to the Kim Family camp out. He’s been attending since he was sixteen after meeting Namjoon in high school jazz band and instantly becoming friends. You can vividly remember the older high school boy making sure you never felt left out in a group of gangly teenagers—bringing you along on hikes, and fishing, and general mischief.

It’s where you first fell for him.

Every year after that, you pined for Hoseok from afar at every outing. You’d lie awake at night in your shared tent with Jimin, desperately wishing the body next to you was Hoseok, wrapping his arms around you to keep you warm in the forest's chill.

Your relationship with Hoseok flourished after high school, when he was unknowingly in your chemistry class in college. Hours were spent pouring over textbooks together, cramming for exams and practice labs with a familiar friend.

Then came the coffee dates, the movie nights, the dinners. Hoseok went from an occasional study buddy to someone you talked to hourly.

The day he kissed you is a day you’ll never forget. 

Soft lips pressing onto yours over a bubbling beaker of magnesium, his hands cupping your cheeks as he drew you in so close, as if he couldn’t get enough of you.

“Be mine,” he whispered. “Please, be mine.”

And you’ve been his ever since.

“Aish! Don’t burn my marshmallow, ___!” Namjoon scolds you, jerking your long stick away from the fire as he sits next to you. “I hate burned marshmallows.”

Annoyance bubbles up in your throat as you roll your eyes at your brother.

“I wouldn’t have to do this for you if you knew how to roast a marshmallow without starting a wildfire.”

Namjoon, ever the strong-headed big brother, glares at you. “That was an accident and you know it.”

Hoseok chuckles beside you, resting a hand on your leg as you murmur expletives about Namjoon and a certain stick under your breath.

“I’ll eat your burned one, babe,” he says with a smile. “I love your burned mallows.”

Hoseok’s charm is a balm to all your wounds. He easily melts the ice around your heart and soothes your frayed nerves with a simple look.

“Thanks, Hobi,” you reply. 

“Please, no talk of my sister’s mallows,” Namjoon winces. “It’s bad enough you’re dating in front of me. In front of my salad.”

Namjoon doesn’t mean it. He knows how deeply you love him, and he trusts Hoseok not to hurt his one and only sibling. But it doesn’t mean he’s not above rubbing it in your face that he was Hoseok’s friend first.

Jungkook laughs from where he’s sitting, roasting a hotdog over the crackling flame on Jimin’s lap (“There weren’t any seats left!”). 

“At least he’s not tossing her salad in front of you.”

Yoongi slaps the younger man’s hotdog out of his hand and into the fire, making Jungkook whine and pout petulantly.

“Don’t be gross,” Yoongi scolds and Namjoon nods at his friend in solidarity.

Hoseok smirks and licks his fingers clean of the sticky marshmallow. “Besides, we didn’t bring nearly enough lube for any anal play tonight.”

“Hoseok!” Namjoon screeches and you bashfully bury yourself into your sweater. The rest of the group explodes in laughter while your brother holds his head in his hands, lamenting the day you two met.

Hoseok pulls you into his lap, grinning as he kisses at your ear while maintaining firm eye contact with your brother, eager to make him as uncomfortable as possible.

While you’re relaxing into the warmth of your boyfriend’s body and enjoying the laughter of all your closest friends, Hoseok nips at your ear and whispers gently.

“I love you.”

“I’m so cold.” A shiver wracks through you as you burrow down deeper into your sleeping bag. The night air becomes increasingly frosty and you can easily see your breath in the dim light from the moon. “It wasn’t supposed to be this cold.”

Hoseok scoots his bag closer to yours, rubbing over the meshy material in an attempt to warm you.

“I thought about bringing another blanket before we left…,” he sighs. “But Namjoon told me I was being ‘a boy scout’.”

You bark out a frigid laugh, teeth chattering as you try to snuggle into the warmth of Hoseok’s hand.

Pleadingly, you ask. “Can we share? Maybe if we zip the sleeping bags together we can make one big extra-large sleeping bag?”

Hoseok nods. “Good idea.”

He quickly gets to work as soon as you unzip your sleeping bag and move off of it, allowing him to take it and zip the two bags together. He spreads it back out over the soft padded bed once it’s completed and he slips into his end before beckoning you over.

“Come to me, my little popsicle.”

The fabric swishes and slides as you move into the combined bag, wrapping your cold limbs around the warmth of your boyfriend’s body.

“Holy shit, you really are cold,” he exclaims with a grunt when your ice-cold hands seek the toasty expanse of his toned belly. “Fuck.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is anything but apologetic as the high temperature of Hoseok’s body quickly oozes into you. “You feel so good.”

A moan slips out of your lips, pleased at the warmth that your boyfriend radiates as you seek every spot on his body that radiates heat. 

“Hold on,” he whispers. 

Quickly, he rids himself of his shirt and tugs at the hem of your own.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” You gasp as the icy air billows under your shirt. “Why would I get naked right now?”

He huffs. “Trust me?”

He kisses the pout on your lips, then pulls away with your shirt in his hands.

“Skin-to-skin contact is the easiest way to warm someone up. Body heat, you know. Textbook boy scout stuff.”

He twists your body around to spoon into him, back pressed against his ultra-warm chest, making you gasp once you feel the radiating heat spreading across you.

“Oh…” you sigh as you sink into his embrace. “You were right.”

Hoseok smirks as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in the nape of your neck—lips pressing gentle, warm kisses to the column below your ear.

“Told you so.”

Your body instinctively presses further into his body, desperate for the warmth that the human-heater seems to emit. His breath hitches as he feels your ass press hard against his lap, cock stirring at the proximity.

Hoseok’s hands run up and down your arms, warming each inch of your skin with his palms. He spreads heat wherever he touches, and your eyes flutter closed as he works his gentle, warming massage into your frozen skin. He is the epitome of sunshine, both in body and demeanor, always able to brighten the coldest chills with one look, one touch. 

When he’s satisfied that you’re thoroughly warmed where he’s worked, his hands move from your arms and shoulders around to your belly and up to your chest. You feel like mush under his grazing touch, gasping and biting your lip as he tugs gently at your perky nipple. It’s a live wire to his cock. 

“Fuck,” he groans as he feels himself harden. He kisses at your shoulder as he continues to palm at your chest, taking the fullness of your breasts into his whole hand and massaging it gently.

“Hobi…” you warn, feeling the desire between your thighs build. “Don’t start what you can’t finish.”

He chuckles against your skin, breathing hot air over your neck and shoulder, tightening his grip on your nipple for a quick pinch that makes you squeak.

“Who says we can’t finish?”

His voice is low—that deep, sensual tone that sets your tummy aflame with desire. His dick is pressed against your ass, twitching with need as it thickens in his pants.

His hand moves from your chest, rubbing soft, sweet circles on your stomach as he warms the cool flesh around your belly button, before traveling down to where your sleeping pants sit low on your hips.

“We c-can’t,” you meekly attempt to fight back, remain strong, but the warmth of his body and the need growing within you is quickly winning your internal battle of morality. “My cousin is next to us.”

Hoseok smirks as he slips underneath your pants, hand diving in between your thighs to rub at your soft mound. He’s close, so close to slipping inside of you, and you squeeze your eyes tight at the overwhelming urgency you’re feeling for his fingers inside you.

“You think Tae and Maggie are fast asleep right now?” He asks. 

As if on cue, you hear soft giggles coming from the next tent over, giggles that sound suspiciously like Taehyung’s girlfriend.

“Tae is really not that funny,” Hoseok says as he nibbles at your ear. “Let me warm you, baby.”

He seeks your consent, desperate to make you feel good but not willing to further his actions. 

“Mmm, maybe just a little more.”

His fingers seek purchase further, finally diving into your folds. He gasps into your ear as he feels how wet you’ve become from his ministrations, stroking gently up and down your slick slit and circling over your clit.

“Fuck, look at you,” he nearly whines into your ear. “So wet for me.”

“Please, Hobi,” you whimper. You’re not sure what you’re begging for, what you need, but all you want is for him to not stop, never stop. 

“You want me to keep going, don’t you?” He asks, teasingly circling the pad of his finger on your swollen clit. 

Unable to use your words, you nod. The light pressure on your clit has your thighs trembling and Hoseok thrills at the palpable desperation you’re feeling.

“Are you going to be quiet for me?” He asks, slowly moving his finger down before breaching into your channel. “Can’t be waking up the entire camp.”

Using your hand, you clamp over your mouth as your boyfriend's finger fucks into your hole, slowly and achingly gentle but with purpose. A shiver runs down his spine as he watches you try to hold yourself back. You’re not normally quiet—he makes it his mission to get you to whine and cry and yell his name as loud as he can when you’re at home. But the thrill of keeping you quiet while he sinks himself into you makes his body hum with want.

“Good girl,” he cooes as he introduces another finger inside you, scissoring you open with his lengthy digits. “Better stay quiet for me or I won’t let you cum.”

He quickly removes his fingers from your channel, making you whine behind your hand, which he silences with a soft tut.

“No complaining. Be good.”

He continues his journey to disrobe you, sliding off your pants and panties. He throws them to the other side of the tent where your luggage lies, no care about you wearing them the rest of the night. He follows suit with his own pants, swiftly pulling the material off his legs and allowing his throbbing cock to spring free. You desperately want to touch it, feel it in your hands and in your mouth, but he keeps you facing away from him, cock fully out of your reach.

“Such a perfect little ass,” he murmurs to himself as he admires your backside before sliding back into the big spoon position. The feeling of his hot, hard length against your bare ass makes you mewl with desire, teasingly rubbing against it.

“Fuck, Hobi,” you gasp as he slips his hands back to the apex of your thighs, scissoring into you again and warming his icy fingers in the heat of your cunt. 

“Shhh,” he reminds. “Let me give your mouth something to do, yeah?”

He pulls his dripping fingers from within your walls and brings them to your mouth. You eagerly open wide, obedient and desperate for something to take your mind off the growing neediness your body is throbbing with.

Watching you suck your own wet slick off his fingers makes Hoseok’s cock ache with need. The tip is weeping with pre-cum, as if crying out to bury itself within your walls and never retreat. It twitches as your tongue swirls over his digits, teasing him and reminding him how well you can suck his cock.

“Shit, baby,” he gasps. “I’m going to bust right now if you’re not careful.”

He pulls his fingers from your mouth and uses the spit-slick hand to lift your leg enough for him to line his cock up at your hole.

“You want to warm my cock for me, baby?” He nips at your shoulder as he rubs the bulbous head along your slit. “God, I want to be in this pretty little cunt all night. Can you keep me warm tonight?”

“P-please, baby,” you gasp as the tip prods at your entrance, threatening to breach. He preemptively moves his free hand back to your mouth, covering it gently to help keep your noisy mouth muffled. 

“Such a polite girl.” Hoseok’s lips skim over your neck and ear, nibbling at your lobe as he finally, blessedly, spears himself into you. 

“Fuuuck,” he whines as he drops his forehead against your soft hair, shuddering as he buries himself to the hilt. “You’re so fucking tight.”

Nothing compares to the feeling of Hoseok sinking himself into you. It’s like the first time, every time. He clings to you desperately, as if he wants to bury his entire self in between your thighs and never retreat. Being connected to your boyfriend like this, not knowing where he ends and you begin, is the most dazzling aspect of sex. Your heart beats in overtime, breath short and heavy, as he holds you like you’re his only worthy possession in life.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t withdraw his cock and plunge back into you like his body is begging him to. He wants nothing more than to roll you onto your stomach and fuck you until you’re screaming his name for the entire national forest to hear, but he doesn’t. 

“Mmm, Hobi, please,” you whine against his palm, kitten licking the flesh there to encourage him to move. It almost works, almost spurs him into action, but he remains flush against you and unmoving.

“Just trying to keep you warm, baby,” he teases. “Skin-to-skin contact.”

He can feel your body tense and shake around him, core tightening as you’re desperate to feel the friction you desire. It makes Hoseok nearly growl into your ear, clutching you tighter in his grasp.

“Now you want to fuck me?” He teases into your ear. “I thought you were tired?”

A pathetic whimper is the only response you can muster. You’re desperate for more, aching for his thick cock to thrust in and out of you. His hand slips down your body, caressing each inch of your skin before landing on your clit, circling the nub teasingly.

“I bet you could cum like this,” he breathes as he slowly swirls his finger. “With my cock stuffed inside you.”

He’s right—your body is already reacting to the stimulation and you can feel your body clenching around his unmoving length deep inside you. It’s prodding you in just the right spot that makes you keen, core desperate for some movement. His added touch makes you whine into his palm still covering your mouth.

“That’s right, baby,” he praises as he bites at your earlobe. “Such a needy little pussy, so desperate for me you could cum just from feeling me inside you.”

The pressure rises, stomach tightening as you feel your body near the edge of bliss. You can feel your thighs trembling as Hoseok whispers and nibbles at your ear, fingers working your clit with just the right rhythm to make you see stars.

His finger swirls with delicate speed, playing you like the nimble musician he is.

“Look at you, I’ve only started using my fingers and you’re already about to cum for me.”

Holding back your desperate moans, your eyes nearly roll back in their sockets as you feel your body build closer and closer to the blissful end that it craves. Having him buried deep inside you with none of the delicious friction is driving you crazy, and the speed of his fingers on your clit makes you keen for anything he can give you. You’re so close, so *fucking close* to your climax that your vision blurs.

Suddenly, the telltale sound of another tent zipper opening rips through the relative silence of the campground and Hoseok stills his finger on you.

“Shhh,” he warns, lifting his head to listen carefully. 

The sound comes from your left, Jungkook’s tent, and you squeeze your eyes tight and whimper into Hoseok’s palm at the ache in your belly. Jungkook stumbles around the campground before he makes his way out, and Hoseok smirks as the footsteps get quieter.

“That was close, baby,” he says as his finger teases over your throbbing clit. “We don’t want Jungkookie to find his friend like this, don’t we?”

You shake your head, body trembling as his finger provides not-enough stimulation on your tortured clit.

He keeps quiet and continues his feather-light touch, pleased at the unexpected orgasm denial and the way it makes your cunt clench around his cock as if coaxing it to give you what you need most.

“You better not be loud,” he warns. “You don’t want to ruin our fun, right?”

Agonizing moments later, Jungkook’s footsteps return and he zips himself back into his tent and quickly heads back to sleep. He remains stilled inside you, listening intently for any sounds of the others awakening.

After minutes of desperate silence and your needy cunt aching for your boyfriend to move, he rolls you onto your stomach with him on top, cock still buried deep within you.

“You’ve done so well,” he praises as he leans down and licks a fat stripe on the back of your neck, making you shiver. “Take your reward like a good girl.”

Without warning, Hoseok grips at your hips and starts a brutal pace, fucking you fast and hard while staying quiet. It feels so good, better than the feeling of him being still inside you. Nothing can compare to his thickness spearing into you, stretching you wide. The ridges of his cock feel like heaven from the position he has you in, and you can feel the stimulation building upon your ruined, curtailed orgasm from earlier.

He quickly rams a piece of the sleeping bag into your mouth, forcing you to be quiet as he nearly impales you open, burying himself as deep into your womb as he can before retreating and thrusting in for more. You can tell he’s close by the way his movements lose finesse, the way his hands grip your thick hips as if he’s grasping a lifeline. 

“Gonna fill you up,” Hoseok whispers harshly, his voice taking on the rough edge that makes your body react. “You want my cum, baby?”

Your mouth is full, but your head nods quickly and you arch your back to let him reach even deeper inside of you, desperate to get yourself and him off simultaneously.

“Shit,” he groans as he feels your body accept him even further at this new angle, your ass high in the air. He grips it, enjoys the way the flesh jiggles in his grip and with each thrust. “Cum on my cock, baby, please.”

Hoseok doesn’t beg, hardly ever, so when he’s desperate for your release, you’re equally desperate to give it to him. As he pounds into you, taking full advantage of your prone body and lifted hips, the dam holding back your climax finally erupts, making your walls quiver and squeeze around his cock and forcing you to bury your face as far as you can into your sleeping bag to muffle your whines.

He wishes he could hear your screams, wants to hear the way you cry his name out as your cunt milks him, begs him for his own end. Another round of thrusts and he feels it all snap, cock pulsing out hot spurts of cum into your eager and waiting channel.

He pulls out of you, loving the way his cum follows him out, dribbling out of your spent pussy weakly. He lifts a finger and scoops it up, pushing it back into your juicy walls and nearly whining as he feels it wet and sopping with his release. You’re pulling the sleeping bag from your mouth, panting hard from your own release and turning around to look at your boyfriend, hips wiggling.

Hoseok smiles fondly at you, removing his finger from your walls and rubbing the smooth skin of your ass.

“Are you warm?” He asks with a smirk, knowing by the sheen of sweat on both of your bodies that you’ve successfully warmed up in the bite of the chilly night.

He flops down beside you and pulls you in close, snuggling into the sleeping bag while kissing your face gently.

Hoseok’s cock is still hard, still aching even after a release and you’re quick to grasp it in your hands, finally getting a grip on it for the first time tonight.

“Better keep you warm all night like I promised, huh?” You smile sleepily as you lift your leg to allow him entrance to your center yet again. “Keep me full all night please, baby?”

He is loath to deny you, and the wet heat of your used pussy feels like heaven. He holds you closer, pulls you in tight as he buries his cock as far as he can go, before kissing you sweetly once more.

He knows he’ll wake up in a few hours, dick throbbing with a need to take you for yet another round, but for now, he revels in the warmth and love and safety he feels when he’s connected to you in nearly every way.

“By the way, I love you too, Hoseok,” you whisper to him after a few moments of silence, recalling to the sweet whispered words around the campfire.

Hoseok smiles as he closes his eyes, body and soul in pure bliss.

And when Namjoon complains in the morning that he could hear the sounds of his little sister getting railed, Hoseok will let him know he ensured you didn’t suffer from hypothermia—that it’s his job as boyfriend to ensure you’re kept safe,

and always kept warm.

[blackwidow-bby]

Positions - Marvel Ladies x Fem!Sub!Reader

Summary: You're a sex worker and you've been hired by a new client for a "group activity".

genre: smut(18+)

pairings: Maria Hill x fem!reader, Wanda Maximoff x fem!reader, Natasha Romanoff x fem!reader, Carol Danvers x fem!reader, Yelena Belova x fem!reader

warnings: D/S dynamics, face slapping, spanking, strap on use, degradation, orgy, big ole lesbian train, oral, throat f*cking, name calling, degradation, thigh riding, fingering

AN: I am...well not a pro at writing dirty things especially not with multiple people but I hope you all enjoy regardless!

I don't own any marvel characters!!

Your assistant had just called you into her room. Your week had been slow but fruitful. Normally, it would be a regular client for the month, nothing to sweat over. Your thoughts started to run over who it could be. Maybe Mr. Dean, he usually calls on a Friday but you could've sworn you saw him two weeks ago. That didn't leave a lot of your regulars left to be requesting you as you knew their schedules like the back of your hand.

As if she could read your mind upon entering her space, she spoke, "Y/N, you have a call for a new client. Something about a friend requesting your services? The only thing is..." She hesitated almost thinking if she should tell you the rest of the details before she proceeded. "Well, it's for a group. You don't have to take up the offer if you're uncomfortable with that. I can call her back and let her know you declined."

To tell the truth, the thought of it being a group of strangers did make you uncomfortable, but your assistant wouldn't put you into a situation without going through the proper protocols first. She knew a head count of how many, roughly where they all worked, and several phone numbers. It always helped to be extra safe in these situations where you could be overpowered.

"Who inquired?" you asked interestedly. "She goes by N.R., gave me a headcount of all of her friends that would be attending. There's not going to be any men there, but I guess 'more power in numbers' is still 'more power in numbers'." In all honesty, women gave you way less shit about certain things than men did. Hopefully they'd be way more understanding if you didn't want to do specific activities.

"Call her back and tell her I'll take the offer. Do you know how much she's paying?" Your assistant slid a little sticky note over to you as she dialed the number of one 'N.R.'. You swear you almost choked when you saw how much she offered for you. That was a lot of zeros compared to usual. You walked away to get a water from the mini-fridge while you vaguely listened in to your assistant's phone conversation.

Good.

Perfect.

Okay, I'll tell her to meet you there at 6:30.

Extra clothes, yes ma'am. Have a nice day.

"Hey Y/N, I've written down the address, floor, and room number. It's uh...a really high end hotel in New York City. She also said to bring an extra change of--" you interrupted her, "Extra clothes? I overheard." you started wondering what for? Dinner? Go out? "Uhm, yes, she said extra comfy clothes." Comfy? Was she expecting you to spend the night? You looked down at your watch to see how much time you had to get ready. 2 hours. It wasn't enough but you could make it work. "Alright then, I should go freshen up."

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An hour and a half later had found you briskly walking toward the extremely tall and very expensive looking hotel in the Upper East Side. You lived in Queens and while the distance wasn't very far, paired with the traffic, the feeling of unsettlement about being late to such a client was enough to make you almost hurl.

You made your way inside the lobby, barely looking at your surroundings. You wanted to get up to the room as quickly as possible without being noticed. "Excuse me," Could you ever be so lucky? "Are you here for Ms. Romanoff?" Who? That must be your clients last name. "She said she was expecting a guest soon." The lady was being extra kind to you, she had an inviting smile. You almost wanted to never lie to her. "Yes, I'm here to see Ms. Romanoff." you replied quietly. It felt like your voice would echo too hard around the warmly lit lobby. You thought it would break you to hear your own voice shrill around such a pristine room.

"Very well, I'll show you to her room." Your nerves began to spike more the higher up you went. It was as if every floor number on the elevator was the level of anxiety you started to feel. Your palms were sweating and you could've sworn your back was too. The lady just kept her eyes forward with a meek little smile. It took every fiber of your body to not explode your feelings all over that elevator.

Ding

The elevator stopped, of course she was in a penthouse suite. You rolled your eyes as how predictable this situation was playing out. The kind lady, who's name you definitely forgot to get, remained in the elevator as you walked out. "There's a number for room service if you ladies need anything." She sung out. "Thank you."

The walk to her door seemed to never end. Your feet were dragging like gravity was doing everything in its power to keep them on the ground. The air was getting hotter as time slowed in the short distance it took to reach her door. You rang the little buzzer and a melodic voice called beyond the frame.

"Coming!"

You could hear the light patter of a single set of feet. The knob then turned and revealed a stunning short redhead with bright eyes. You were certainly gawking at the sight of her but there was nothing you could do to pull your own attention away. She had a smirk on her face when she saw you staring but not saying anything. "You must be Y/N, it's very nice to meet you. Come in and lets get you introduced to everyone."

She reached out her hand to you and you took it gently. her palms were much colder than yours and her fingers were long and slender. her hair was shoulder length and fire-y. The room was massive, and clean. She had all of the blinds closed to keep any natural light and eyes from entering the den. Scanning the room some more you noticed a couple items around the room. Non-traditional furniture. It was going to be one of those events. There were also four other heads aside from the host's. She turned around once reaching the main room and faced you. "My name is Natasha, over there is Wanda," another read-head standing behind everyone else with a glass of wine in her hands, she lightly nodded, "...that is Carol in the middle," a blonde woman with a bright and bubbly smile. She seemed taller than the rest but she was also sitting down on a piece of equipment that will no doubt be used in a different way by you. Natasha gestured to a brunette, "...this is Maria," another tall and slender woman, didn't offer a smile but a simple wave to your direction. You were scared of her the most. "...and this is Yelena." A second blonde who's face was much more stoic than Maria's. You take it back, she scared you the most.

Natasha's hand unhooked from yours and made its way up your back to settle on the back of your neck. The pads of her fingers added slight pressure to the muscles there as if she could feel all of your tension in waves. You felt her lean in closer, her hot breath fanning your ear. "There's a bathroom in the hall to the right. I got a cute little outfit waiting for you." You could feel her soft lips smiling against the curve of your ear. the feeling made you shiver. You managed to follow her eyes and swiftly walk to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.

You looked around and found the outfit in question. It was sleek all black leather body suit with a halter neck. You lifted it up in your hands and rubbed the material under your fingers. Next to it sat a bottle of lubricant no doubt to get the body suit on. You got to work shedding the current clothes you had on and began to slide on the little leather number. It wasn't too tight but certainly snug against your frame. The only thing out of the ordinary besides the material was, you noticed, a tiny little zipper in between your legs. If unzipped would reveal your very private essence. The thought made you blush a little to yourself. After cleaning up, you made your way back to the room where the women had sat prior.

Since you calmed down a little, you took the opportunity to fully take in your surroundings. The hall was adorned in art more than likely as expensive as this room. Everything seemed darker than when you arrived. To your surprise when you entered the living room area, the room lighting was red as opposed to the normal LED lighting.

Natasha held her hand out to you again for you to take. You obliged her and she pulled you close into her side. Natasha's deft fingers traveled up and down your ribs before finding purchase on your backside. "You look like the most delicious treat. None of us can wait to eat you. Would you like a drink before we start?"

The other women started moving closer almost circling you like sharks. "Yes please." Natasha poured you a glass as she went on, "We should go over some rules before we start. If at any point you feel overwhelmed, anxious, or hurt, the safe word is 'Heart'. We all stop what we're doing and will help you. If at any point you are gagged, two taps to the closest person will get all of us to cease as well. Because of those rules you will not be bound and gagged simultaneously...at least not this session." She ends her rules with a wink toward you. All of these women truly were stunning and it piqued your interest to know what they could possibly be capable of.

Wanda came closest to you first, she pulled the wine glass away from your lips and replaced it with her own lips. Holding your hand with the glass close to her chest and cupping your cheek with the other. Her lips were sinfully soft as was her kiss. She felt delicate and gentle against you, she almost seemed to not match any of this situation. Natasha took your wine glass away while you continued to make out with Wanda, who let her hands roam lower down your body. Your own hands moved behind her neck. Another set of arms wrapped around you from behind. "You're such a pretty kitten." They nibbled on your ear making you separate from Wanda to see who it was. Carol smiled down at you and found the very lips that left Wanda. You moaned into her mouth at feeling how she controlled and dominated the kiss, very different from Wanda's passion. Wanda moved down to kissing your neck and shoulder.

You could hear other giggles in the back. Natasha kept her eyes trained on you as Yelena and Maria began to touch each other in the mean time waiting for you. After a few minutes of watching her friends have all of the fun, Natasha made her way over to you, Carol, and Wanda. She pulled the other red-head back by her locks and pressed her lips to hers in a searing kiss. You heard Wanda moan out into the other woman's mouth next to you causing you to release your own into Carol. This made the blonde swiftly lift you up and wrap your legs around her waist. She brought you over to a nearby bench and kissed you harder. All of the sounds you were making began to rile her up.

"I'm not sure which one of us is more excited to have you here, pretty girl. All I know is I can't wait to ruin that pretty pussy of yours." You moaned at her words and yanked her back down into another kiss. Her words went straight to your core igniting a fire that had been waiting to burn. You made a mental note to find whoever recommended you to these ladies and thank them heavenly. Carol sunk her hips between your legs and began grinding against you seeking the friction she wanted so badly.

Even though the leather was a new material to you, you could still feel the faux member that rested in her pants; Carol was packing. This caused you to move your hands down to her pants to tear the buttons away. The tall blonde grabbed your hands and smirked, "Allow me." She stood to her full height and slowly removed the black jeans she was wearing and revealed her long, girthy strap she had been hiding. Your eyes widened which made Carol giggle. She sunk to her knees where she seductively pulled the zipper on your suit down. She held your eye contact until you saw them shift to behind you. Natasha and Wanda had pulled away long enough to see what Carol was doing and decided to join again. The two red-heads began to undress themselves where Natasha also sported a rather large strap but not Wanda.

In your distraction upon noticing the other women join in, Carol took to opportunity to shove he face into your pussy. You moaned out loud at the contact. Her tongue quickly lapping at your clit and sinking lower to curl inside you. Her ministrations were making you squirm on the bench. She reached up to hold your hips down. "Stay still kitten. Gotta get you ready for our cocks." Eating you out was an art to her. Every move she made, made you more and more wet. Natasha slid her fingers into your open mouth. You sucked on them harshly slipping your own tongue in-between her fingers and coating them in your saliva. Nat removed her fingers and started to rub them between Wanda's folds.

"Eat her out for me, malysh." Natasha requested. You looked up at Wanda as she slowly lowered herself over your wanting mouth. Your head went fuzzy upon seeing all of the quiet red-head's intimacy. Your tongue immediately poked out to welcome her to you. She let out a soft moan and slowly began to grind herself against your mouth. Carol was growing impatient watching you eat out the other woman and feeling you grow more aroused in her mouth. The blonde stood to position the tip at your entrance rubbing the head up and down your slit before she slammed her length in all at once. You yelped against Wanda's soaked cunt sending vibrations straight to her clit.

The whole scene was turning Natasha on more and more so she began stroking her own member, hoping to find some friction. The other two women walked over to join the rest of the group partially feeling left out. Carol continued to slam into you at a rather fast and rough pace. The tip of her strap hitting that blissful spot inside of you with every thrust. All of your moans and whines brought Wanda closer to her orgasm. She came hard in your mouth before she got up and was replaced by Natasha's own cock.

"Suck kotenok. Mommy's getting restless." Carol did not stop chasing not only her own high but yours. You could hear her grunting from below you. All of this attention was turning you on more than you think you've ever been in your life. Even though one hand wrapped around Natasha's strap and the other gripped Carol's wrist on your hips, you were finding it hard to keep blowing Nat. Carol moved her other hand down to your clit. "You better cum for me you little slut."

And you did; hard.

Carol continued her pace and upon watching you come undone, did so herself. Three quick thrusts and she was spent. She released the most guttural moan before her body was replaced by another blonde. Yelena had this look in her eyes like she wanted to make you pay for every wrong you never committed. She removed her clothing and sat right on your bent leg. At this point Natasha was fucking your mouth deeper and deeper. Needing to ground yourself you wrapped your hands around her thighs. Yelena began to rub herself against your thigh. You could feel how wet and warm she was, her hand sliding up and down your slit collecting your cum to rub your clit in tight circles. Your whines didn't stop especially when you were already beginning to feel another orgasm approaching. Yelena slipped her fingers inside you, finding your g-spot with accuracy. With every thrust of her fingers she hit that same spot over and over. tears started to run down your face with the feeling of Natasha in your mouth and Yelena in your core. Natasha gave one last thrust before she pulled out.

Maria shoved three of her fingers to the back of your throat. She giggled when you gagged around them. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head at being finger fucked by the two women. "You're not allowed to cum before I do, else Natty here give you a nice punishment while I ride your face." Yelena only made the threat to turn you on more, but part of you was hoping it was true. It was hard, Yelena knew exactly what she was doing with her fingers but you could feel her slick slide down the sides of your thigh. God you hope she was close because you certainly were. Maria replaced her fingers with her lips and she kissed you hard sliding her tongue along yours. The brunette smiled against your lips when she felt your whimpers in her mouth. Yelena just kept slamming her fingers harder inside of you and rubbing herself quicker. Her breaths got faster and more shallow and as she came, a couple seconds later so did you. Your body shook with the most intense tremors, but Yelena couldn't fault you. She did cum before you, and something about it being in close tandem with hers turned her on a lot more than she would admit. You let out a soft whine when the coolness of the air hit your soaked thigh.

Maria left your mouth and moved between your legs. She put one leg over your left and the other under your right and brought your centers together. "You're a pretty little slut. I want to ruin you so bad." Maria started out ruthless. Her grinding was fast and hard as if she had been waiting to cum for weeks. You felt her in her entirety sliding against your own. The feeling started to overwhelm you. Carol took your face in her hand and rubbed her thumb along your bottom lip. "Open up you little slut."

You obeyed her and opened your mouth sticking your tongue out. At this point you were a blubbering mess and all the ladies were loving it. Carol spit into your mouth before shoving her cock in. "I saw you taking Nat like a pro, so I know you can take me." At least her pace wasn't rough but it certainly was quick. Your gags around Carol was making Maria closer to her release. She leaned forward to angle herself differently against you and put her hand around her throat. She could practically feel Carol's cock fucking your face. Sweat was running down your forehead and your hair clung to every part of your body it could touch. You were close to being spent and you never looked more beautiful this way. Maria's hand tightened, her grunts were heavy. "Such a good little fuck toy. I'm so close baby." You didn't think it was possible for Maria to go any harder but she did. She came with a loud cry and slowed her hips down to ride out her orgasm. You felt her wetness mix with yours. Maria's hand stayed for a couple more minutes, entranced by feeling Carol deep in your throat. The tall blonde slapped your face a couple times before she pulled out. You were too busy catching your breath, you didn't see Natasha move by your feet. She lifted you up and turned you over on your stomach with your legs and arms hanging off the bench. Just when you were hoping it was over, you forgot that Natasha never officially had her turn with you. She rested her strap on your lower back as she ran her cool hands in an attempt to soothe your burning skin. Almost mocking you for being the one to give you the final blow. Wanda walked up to you again. She ran her soft fingers in your hair and moved the stuck strands out of your face. Your breathing was heavy and your body was trembling. Wanda's fingers moved down to cup your jaw and she lifted your head. Tapping the side with her pointer finger, you got the silent request to open your mouth for her. In unison, as Wanda brought her cunt to your mouth, Natasha slid her strap inside you completely bottoming out. Nothing but incoherent noises left your mouth at being filled so sinfully. Wanda gripped your jaw harder as she rubbed her intimacy against your mouth for a second time. You lazily kept your tongue out to try your best to accommodate Wanda's wanting. Natasha on the other hand, had been waiting very patiently for her time and now that she got it she was going to make the best of it. She grabbed your hands in her own and pulled them behind your back to make it easier for her to pound deep into your cunt. When you felt her hit somehow deeper your eyes rolled back. Wanda picked up her pace just as Natasha did, both red-heads moving in perfect synch at opposite ends of your being. A jolt of paint hit your right asscheek igniting a new spark and effectively waking you up even if only for a minute. With every thrust administered, Natasha rained a hand alternating each side of your ass. All of this was sending more and more feelings to your core. You will not be lasting long if these two kept going the way they were. You could feel Wanda fumbling, she was about to come for the second time tonight. Natasha continued to get more rough inside of you until you felt the knot inside of you burst. You came hard around Natasha groaning against Wanda's own cunt. The sight caused Wanda herself to not be able to keep her composure and she came with a scream against your tongue. You felt her pussy pulsing with her orgasm on your mouth. As soon as Wanda backed away from your face, Nat yanked your arms back harder to push herself deeper than you thought was possible. You were screaming, a sweaty broken mess, absolutely spent in this five star hotel. Every thrust pushed harder against that spongey spot inside you. You could feel another earth shattering orgasm approach hoping it would be the last. Natasha's thrusting didn't let up, she was desperate to cum. She was moaning over you with every hit. You yelled her name as you came harder than you had before that whole session. Watching you absolutely spent around her

member, Natasha came just as hard with her final thrust. She stayed inside you to ride out the rest of her high before she carefully pulled out. Looking down she could see wetness all over the bench and her legs. Nat smiled to herself at being the one to make you squirt everywhere like a silent victory. Allowing you to lay and collect your bearings, the red-head began to clean up the room.

There wasn't much you could make out in your state, but you could partially hear Natasha thanking all of the women for coming over before hearing the door open and close through the ringing in your ears. Your were shaking, your whole body felt blissfully weak. The red-head padded over softly to your spent and soaked body and picked you up carefully to place you in her arms bridal style. Your mind was in a war with yourself between wanting just a little bit more or to just go to sleep. You couldn't even open your eyes at this point.

Natasha had brought you to the bathroom to help you clean up and as she moved about, she kept you in her arms. She made sure to hold you as she turned on the faucet and sit on the edge of the tub. As the water filled the tub, Nat moved between rubbing your back and gently caressing your cheek. Once the tub was filled up enough for the both of you, she picked you up again and cautiously lowered the both of you into the hot relaxing water. You couldn't do anything but mumble and cursed yourself for the state you were in even though it wasn't your fault. You desperately wanted to think your gracious host for a life changing night but nothing could come out. Natasha shushed you sweetly. Her time wasn't done until you were well taken care of in her company.

You don't know how long you were in the bathroom, hell you don't even know when you fell asleep as Natasha washed the night away from both of your bodies. Clearly still in no position to be able to make it back to your home, the red-head dried both of you off and brought you to the large bedroom. You had come back into partial consciousness long enough to feel the soft sheets and the plush comforter of this heavenly bed you were being gifted to rest on.

Natasha lowered you down and climbed on the other side before pulling you into her. She lifted your head to lay on her chest so she could easily hold you and play with your hair. She stayed awake until she heard your breathing even out again, signaling that you had fallen asleep again since the bath. She placed a soft kiss to your hairline before succumbing to sleep herself with a blissed smile on her face.

She'd definitely be requesting you again.

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AN: Not sure how I feel about this but yeah this is my wack attempt at something extra dirty.

[luxaofhesperides]

stealing clothes

college au ft. domestic joongdok. i am so predictable.

also on ao3.

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Kim Dokja is extremely lucky to have Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate. Not just because Yoo Joonghyuk is the campus heartthrob and Kim Dokja is the one who gets to see him everyday, and not because Yoo Joonghyuk is the perfect house husband, cleaning and cooking because he banned Kim Dokja from doing both. 

While both those things are nice, the best part about having Yoo Joonghyuk as his roommate is stealing his shirts. 

Not to do anything weird! They’re just… comfortable.

He even got permission! For the first few, at least. 

It all starts because Yoo Joonghyuk was going to throw out perfectly good shirts that have been worn and washed enough to become soft, the type of softness that even the most high quality shirts can’t capture. They weren’t dirty, or torn, just old. So Kim Dokja protests this and tries to get Yoo Joonghyuk to keep them, only for him to scowl and throw the shirts at him.

“You keep them then,” he said, then left. And Kim Dokja did. 

He’s well aware that wearing his hot roommate’s shirts might be (is) weird, so he only wears them on long nights when he needs some extra comfort to get him through his last assignments, or when Yoo Joonghyuk isn’t home. He never wears them when Yoo Joonghyuk might see. He’d rather die. 

And because his wonderful roommate is out for the night, no doubt at a party celebrating his latest gaming tournament win, Kim Dokja is settled in for a long night of reading, curled up on the couch in one of Yoo Joonghyuk’s old shirts. It’s long enough to reach down past his thighs, so he doesn’t bother wearing pants, and a blanket over his shoulders helps with the chill his exposed collarbones bring. 

The apartment is quiet, most people out or sleeping, and the latest update of his favorite web novel is a long one. And should he get hungry, there’s dinner in the fridge, courtesy of Yoo Joonghyuk who is very determined to get Kim Dokja eating more regularly. 

It’s been too long since he was able to be so relaxed and comfortable. No urgent deadlines, no projects to stress about, no tests in the near future hanging over his head like a guillotine. 

He’s so comfortable that halfway through the chapter he’s reading, Kim Dokja begins nodding off. The living room is gradually getting darker as the sun begins to set, and he sees no reason why he shouldn’t take a nap; his sleep schedule is fucked anyways, a little rest won’t hurt him at all.

The sound of the door opening rouses him. 

Distantly, Kim Dokja hears a lock click and a heavy sigh, but half-awake, he can’t be sure if it’s real or part of a dream. 

He opens sleep-heavy eyes to a dark living room; he must have been sleeping for a few hours, long enough for the sun to fully set and the moon to shine brightly. His entire body feels heavy and slow. 

Slowly, Kim Dokja sits up, the blanket falling off his shoulders to pool around his hips. He stretches his arms up above his head, arching his spine a bit, drawing out the stretch as he shakes off the last of his nap. 

Behind him, someone chokes. 

Startled, Kim Dokja drops his arms and turns to see Yoo Joonghyuk standing in front of the hallway, staring at him with wide eyes. He’s… shirtless. Kim Dokja quickly looks away. 

“When did you get back?” he asks, trying to break the strange tension that suddenly fills the apartment.

Yoo Joonghyuk is silent for a few moments before Kim Dokja hears him step closer. “Just a few minutes ago. I thought you were asleep.”

“I was. Is it late?”

The light turns on suddenly and Kim Dokja winces, blinking to clear the spots from his vision. 

“It’s only nine.” 

Huh. He wasn’t asleep for too long then. He feels the couch dip and looks up to see Yoo Joonghyuk sitting right next to him instead of anywhere else on their rather large couch. He’s staring at Kim Dokja’s chest, which makes him shift uncomfortably. 

He glances down to see what has Yoo Joonghyuk’s attention. There’s no stains or anything…

Then his heart stops for a solid minute. He’s wearing Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirt. And Yoo Joonghyuk knows it’s his old shirt because it’s way too big for Kim Dokja! 

Please don’t bring it up, Kim Dokja mentally begs, trying to send the plea into Yoo Joonghyuk’s head. 

“Isn’t that one of my old shirts?” he asks. Telepathy has failed. Kim Dokja changes to Plan B which is Fake His Death And Start A New Life. 

“Uh. Yeah. You gave it to me,” Kim Dokja answers, hoping Yoo Joonghyuk won’t think he’s weird and kick him out. He’s not willing to give up the best roommate he’s ever had! He just can’t go back to living with the worst people in existence, who treat him horribly and steal his things. He just can’t. 

“I’ve never seen you wear them,” Yoo Joonghyuk says instead of demanding that Kim Dokja move out. 

“I don’t wear them often.”

Yoo Joonghyuk’s eyes dart farther down. “You’re also not wearing pants.”

Kim Dokja pulls the blanket over his legs and tries to pretend Yoo Joonghyuk didn’t just say that. “Well, you’re not wearing a shirt! You’re only wearing…” he trails off, finally letting himself look at Yoo Joonghyuk. Those sweatpants look familiar. They look just like the ones he thought he lost months ago. “...Isn’t that mine?”

“...Our laundry must have gotten mixed up.”

That’s a lie. Yoo Joonghyuk is not one to mix up their laundry. They’ve never accidentally taken each other’s clothes. 

Kim Dokja smiles and Yoo Joonghyuk looks away, his ears turning red. “Joonghyuk-ah,” he says sweetly in a way that Yoo Joonghyuk knows is a threat.

“I don’t see why I can’t have some of your clothes if you have mine.”

“My clothes don’t fit you! And besides, isn’t it strange for us to be sharing clothes?”

“No. You should wear my clothes more often. You look good in them.”

Kim Dokja has no response to that. He freezes, then ducks his head, trying to hide his quickly warming cheeks. 

Yoo Joonghyuk, the bastard that he is, doesn’t let Kim Dokja hide. He wraps an arm around Kim Dokja’s waist and pulls him closer, hard enough to send him falling against his side. “Stop being so shy and wear my shirts while I’m around.”

“Shut up. Aren’t you supposed to be at a party?”

“I got bored and left early. I prefer being here with you.”

“Don’t think sweet talking is going to make me forget about you stealing my sweatpants.”

“Oh?” Yoo Joonghyuk runs a large hand down Kim Dokja’s spine, making him shiver. “What should I do then?”

“Nothing!” Kim Dokja hits his chest, but makes no moves to put any space between them. He is not going to be thinking about why. “Anyways, aren’t you tired? You should go to sleep since you spent hours at that tournament. Congratulations on another win, by the way.”

Smiling, Yoo Joonghyuk leans closer, forcing Kim Dokja to bend back a bit, putting more of his weight on Yoo Joonghyuk’s arm. “You were watching?”

“I always watch when you compete. What’s the point of having a popular gamer for a roommate if I can’t brag about him?”

Without another word, Yoo Joonghyuk collapses on top of him, crushing him against the couch.

“Hey!” Kim Dokja flails, then smacks Yoo Joonghyuk’s shoulder. “What’s that for!”

“You’re right, I am tired.”

“Then go to bed!” 

Yoo Joonghyuk tightens his grip on Kim Dokja’s waist, then nuzzles into his neck. The feeling of his hair brushing against his neck makes Kim Dokja shiver, not quite tickling him but just enough to have the sensation send sparks down his spine. 

He sighs softly, and feeling it against his skin brings a deep blush to Kim Dokja’s cheeks. “I’d prefer to stay here for the night,” Yoo Joonghyuk says. Kim Dokja grumbles about being squished beneath the heavy weight of his body, but ultimately decides to indulge himself and stay. 

They stay like that, sleeping on the couch, all through the night. They both wake with stiff necks in the morning, but Kim Dokja doesn’t mind at all when it lets him stay in Yoo Joonghyuk’s embrace a little longer.

Things change after that. 

Kim Dokja wouldn’t call them friends, per se. Not before That Night. Roommates, yes. Acquaintances who get along well, yes. Friends? No. 

But now, he’s not too sure what to call their relationship. They live together so they have to spend some time together, but school keeps them both busy and Kim Dokja often spends his time at the library with Han Sooyoung and Yoo Sangah while Yoo Joonghyuk streams and goes to tournaments. 

It’s more accurate to say they exist in the same space, than to say that they spend time together. 

They get along well enough, which is why they’ve renewed their lease together for another year, but somehow, after That Night Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly… sticky.

He’s constantly making food for them. More so than before. He asks for Kim Dokja’s preferences instead of just silently handing him a plate?

Kim Dokja stares at the box of pasta in his hands. He doesn’t understand why he’s grocery shopping with Yoo Joonghyuk, but he’s gone with it for too long and can’t ask any questions now.

“Did you want pasta?” Yoo Joonghyuk asks, appearing behind him without warning. Kim Dokja jumps a little, then glares at him, annoyed by how amused he looks.

“I don’t know. Maybe. I can just buy instant noodles.”

Scowling, Yoo Joonghyuk grabs the box of pasta from his hands and adds it to the cart. “Absolutely not. I’ll make noodles for you later.”

“You can make noodles from scratch?”

“It’s not hard.”

Kim Dokja would marry Yoo Joonghyuk right that very second if asked. He also doesn’t understand why Yoo Joonghyuk is suddenly spoiling him, but he’s not going to question a good thing. He’s going to get as much as he can out of this, because who knows when it will end?

So he bumps his hip against Yoo Joonghyuk’s with a smile as they walk down the aisle, and asks, “Can we get ice cream?”

Yoo Joonghyuk does not answer for a long minute, then glances at Kim Dokja’s hopeful expression and sighs. “Fine.”

He really is getting spoiled.

Kim Dokja fully intends to use this knowledge for evil.

Another thing that’s changed: clothes. 

Since Kim Dokja didn’t complain enough about his sweatpants being stolen before he fell asleep, Yoo Joonghyuk decided he could just take Kim Dokja’s most comfortable sweatpants and wear them whenever he wants. So what if he looks really good! They’re still Kim Dokja’s and he will hold this grudge for as long as he needs to. 

He intends to steal more of Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts as revenge, except he doesn’t need to steal anything. Because Yoo Joonghyuk just leaves his shirts in Kim Dokja’s room. So he wears them and tries not to get flustered when Yoo Joonghyuk stares at him each time he walks out of his room wearing something Yoo Joonghyuk left him. 

It’s a losing battle.

On the bright side, he no longer has to hide it. It’s still embarrassing, but he’s getting more and more used to lounging in the living room in Yoo Joonghyuk’s shirts. 

The hungry look Yoo Joonghyuk gives him is also nice to see. 

Kim Dokja may be the king of denial, but even he can’t lie to himself with how obvious Yoo Joonghyuk is being. Nor can he pretend that he isn’t doing this for that exact reason, or spending more time at the apartment to be with him. 

They’re both pushing in little ways, but it’s not enough for him to be willing to push their relationship out of the cloud of ambiguity its currently in. 

Before he knows it, half his closet is Yoo Joonghyuk’s clothes, and he has to go to Yoo Joonghyuk’s room to grab a pair of sweatpants to study in because all of them got stolen. The rude bastard really has no shame. 

“Why don’t we just keep our clothes in the same room?” Yoo Joonghyuk suggests after Kim Dokja complains to him about this. 

“Whose room?”

“Mine. Just take all your things into my room. I’ll make space for you.”

And so Kim Dokja suddenly finds himself sharing a room with Yoo Joonghyuk. And then sharing a bed. And then waking up with him to his absurdly early alarm. 

They’re not dating, and he says as much to Han Sooyoung when talking about this; she just rolls her eyes and calls him and idiot for not realizing what’s going on. 

She has absolutely no room to talk, being in a friends-with-benefits relationship with Yoo Sangah instead of just asking her out on a date like normal people would. 

They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja leans into him when they watch a movie together after rejecting a party invite. They’re not dating, but Yoo Joonghyuk kisses his cheek each morning before he gets up to make breakfast. They’re not dating, but Kim Dokja will settle into Yoo Joonghyuk’s lap while wearing nothing but one of his shirts to finish a reading for one of his classes. 

They’re not dating, but he certainly wants to. 

However, Kim Dokja would sooner pass away then actually talk about his feelings, so he bottles it up, greedily hoards all the affection he gets from Yoo Joonghyuk, and hopes he makes his move soon because Kim Dokja is starting to get impatient.

In the meantime, he’ll steal another shirt and pretend he didn’t do it on purpose just to get Yoo Joonghyuk to look at him. 

[vvienne]

RANWAN FIC RECS

Absolute Zero by jitterati

Pathologically solitary academic Chu Wanning left behind a life of research to enlist with the Pan-Pacific Defense Corps Jaeger team when giant monsters began to emerge from the Pacific ocean, eager to leave his personal entanglements behind him and join humanity's collective battle against the threat of extinction.

His goal is to build an artificial intelligence that will allow a pilot to operate a Jaeger mech solo - eliminating the need for pilot compatibility and the mortifying ordeal of being totally known by another person, a "neurological handshake" known colloquially as the drift.

He didn't expect his former students to follow him all the way to front line of the war against the kaiju.

Featuring lots of side character interaction, pining, yearning, questions on the nature of personhood, friendship between jerks, people coping badly with loss, snarky AI, and giant robots. Illustrations by Saika & Daru

Husky and his White Kitten Disciple by JustAMoon123

Within a lonely heart, the seeds of hatred start to grow.

-A 2ha Age and Role-Reversal AU.-

NOTE: This Story is Now E Rated!

[Before meeting Chu Wanning, Mo Ran had drawn his power exclusively from the Wood side of his dual Spiritual Root, and his Qi had always glowed green.

Now, only when in battle did it do so, with Bugui’s blade encased in a tyrannical green light.

Outside of battle, like when he set barriers of warmth; or made Crystal Butterflies to tease golden flowers; or cast a small array to keep a box of food warm, his Qi manifested with a gentle red glow.

Mo Ran’s Wood was destructive, while his Fire was protective.

Ah, Mo Weiyu, Mo Weiyu. Even your power betrays you.]

Burn, Pine, and Perish by moonqueenmaia

It’s been two days since Taxian-Jun’s last visit, and Mo Ran hasn’t touched Chu Wanning at all, beyond gentle and fleeting caresses. Chu Wanning decides to take matters into his own hands by surprising Mo Ran when he comes back to their home after a trip down the mountain.

it's no coincidence (it's a kitty-incidence) by lanzhan (gothguk)

There’s a white cat lounging in the middle of Mo Ran's bed.

to touch you with bare hands (even if it burns) by moonqueenmaia

Chu Wanning is a renowned professor of mechanical engineering at Sisheng Peak University. Beautiful, lonely, and talented beyond belief, he has spent his 32 years mostly by himself, silently and secretly yearning for affection and companionship. Yet Chu Wanning has resolved to himself that he will spend the rest of his life alone, no matter his hidden fantasies.

Enter Taxian-jun, an unruly, arrogant, and struggling student, fiery and domineering, who comes in and shatters the calm of Chu Wanning's life. They enter into an agreement, both burying their feelings underneath a storm of lust and lies. Yet amidst it all, something deeper may be helplessly and slowly blooming.

It is up to them to cultivate it, or destroy it for good.

cursed by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning and his disciples are sent to investigate an abandoned village, and Chu Wanning is hit with a curse.

Mo Ran was determined to treat his shizun respectfully in this life, but what choice does he have?

liar liar cock on fire by lofikv

I (32M) walked in on my roommate (23M) masturbating in our living room. Ever since then I couldn't erase the image of his penis in my mind but I found a sex toy online that is almost as big as him, so I bought it and tried it on myself so that I can imagine how he would feel inside me. I have also been romantically attracted to him ever since we started living together. How can I cope with this?

UPDATE: He caught me in the middle of an emergency.

(Absolute) Unit 311 by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning doesn't have a soulmark.

Neither does Mo Ran.

ducks entering highway by Sectionladvivi

Mo Ran finds out his well-respected, MILF-coded, tears-of-angels-tight-ass robotics professor moonlights as an erotic novelist. He immediately leverages this knowledge for an opportunity to play tonsil hockey.

to yearn by devilsoupe

Chu Wanning starts to cough up flowers. Taxian-Jun is angry. Chu Wanning is not allowed to die pining for someone else.

When it starts happening again in his second life, Mo Ran knows enough to worry.

from blossom to blossom to impossible blossom by Wildehack (tyleet)

Taxian Jun is the victim of a flower curse.

sticky fingers by fakeplasticlily

The man tosses the towel unceremoniously back at Mo Ran’s chest, like he’s personally offended by it. And the fact that his hands had just been all over said chest barely minutes earlier, maybe. “Please pack a box of egg tarts with extra custard filling, a box of red bean paste buns with extra syrup, a rice pudding with extra candied fruit garnish, and a box of osmanthus cakes with extra sweet pear jam.” Mo Ran’s eyes grow progressively wider as he lists the items. It’s him. Not the suburban mother of four, not the elderly guy dealing with a midlife crisis, but quite possibly the hottest guy he’s ever seen. Who also happens to have the highest sugar tolerance Mo Ran has seen in a human being in his two years of running this bakery. 

Hard to Love The Lonely Night by bloodsongs

Chu Wanning glares up at him, adjusting his women’s robes. “Still, why couldn’t you have been the wife instead?”

Coughing politely, Mo Ran looks to the side, avoiding his gaze. “Shizun’s skills with the illusion barrier far surpass this humble disciple’s, and, well…”

He doesn’t need to complete his sentence—it’s infuriating, but Mo Ran is now taller than him, broader than him, larger than him. Very much so. The young sapling he raised in Sisheng Peak is now a full-fledged tree, a man built like the mountains Chu Wanning has seen in his travels.

Chu Wanning and Mo Ran pretend to be a married couple visiting a small mountain town to investigate some suspicious disappearances. Mini Canon AU casefic. Contains spoilers up to Chapter 130 or so of the novel.

Purple Ink by jeejaschocolate

Chu Wanning is a robotics engineer who lives a life of isolation and loneliness, only partially due to his chronic illness. Eventually he gets so sick that he requires the help of a full-time medical assistant.

Of course, these days, all those jobs are given to CyberLife androids.

Chu Wanning resents the android they give him. From his fiery eyes to his long black hair, to his incomparable tenderness and consideration for Wanning’s feelings.

He resents him. All the way until he falls in love with him.

Fallen Flowers in Swallows' Nests by bloodsongs

You deserve better—I refuse to disrespect you ever again. I want to be better. I must be better.

But I don’t know how. I don’t know what to do.

I don’t know where Taxian-Jun ends and Mo-Zongshi begins.

I only know now that I cannot lie to myself: I want you so fiercely that I burn with it, I am consumed with the desire to make you mine and mine alone. To become one with you, feeling your fire twine with mine.

Or, Chu Wanning finds letters from Mo-Zongshi that were never shared with him.

These hitherto undiscovered letters cover a range of emotions that weren't present in the book he gifted his Shizun: contrition, yearning, and desire.

Counterpoint by senchafloat

Five years ago, Mo Ran was just a boy who loved playing piano—there were many things he didn't know. He didn't know how capricious and unforgiving the world of classical music could be. He didn't know just how lucky he was to have Chu Wanning as his teacher.

Five years later, Chu Wanning is now a renowned concert pianist, and Mo Ran is an upstart conducting student. When Chu Wanning shows up unannounced at his alma mater, Mo Ran has plenty of questions, along with a desire to prove his worth to his old teacher. But as it turns out, Chu Wanning isn't as invincible as he once seemed. As old secrets come up to the surface, the two of them are forced to reinvent the ways they'll make music together.

impatient to adore you by riverdanceeee

At some heartbreaking point in his life, Mo Ran accepted that Chu Wanning would never reciprocate his feelings, so he dealt with it as any other person would. He'd rid himself of his affection, respect their friendship, and learn to move on. But Mo Ran's affection runs too deep, and when any opportunity to spend time with Chu Wanning knocks on his door, he goes running to answer and accept. Even if it means he has to break up a potentially dangerous dog fighting ring.

To Bow Before A Willow Vine by bloodsongs

“I…” Mo Ran hadn’t thought that far. He shakes his head, lowering his head in deference, resting his forehead against Chu Wanning’s knuckles. "I'll do anything you want of me."

The silence stretches on for a beat too long.

"Anything?" Chu Wanning says eventually, tilting his head.

Written for 2Ha Week, Day 4: Reverse AU for the 0.5 timeline. When Chu Wanning storms Sisheng Peak and crowns himself the cultivation world's new emperor, Mo Ran trades his life for Xue Meng's. Contains spoilers for up to the end of the novel.

Call me by my name by rinsled05

When the man called Taxian-Jun arrives, years later, it’s the coming of a storm.

He sweeps into a dinner appointment between Chu Wanning and a client, clad in black, a smirk tugging at his mouth. Over the spark of irritation, Chu Wanning can’t help but admire his lean frame, the way his hair, cut rebelliously short, falls over smoldering, dark eyes. The way he towers over him, even when Chu Wanning rises to full height.

Chu Wanning’s heart races as Taxian-Jun leans in close, ignoring the shouts and gasps around them.

“Sakaki of Ran,” he purrs in their native tongue. “You’re mine.”

Chu Wanning lifts his chin. “I don’t know you.”

“You will,” Taxian-Jun says, and leaves.

In which Chu Wanning is a courtesan serving Chinese merchants in Nagasaki, Japan, and Taxian-Jun decides to make him his.

荷官牌型 ♠️ The Croupier's Hand by bloodsongs

In deep financial straits after losing his job as a teacher, a desperate Chu Wanning becomes a croupier at Sisheng's new casino.

The once sleepy town of Sisheng Peak grows busier by the day as the casino draws more and more tourists to their mountains. Consumed by his lingering regrets over the worst mistake of his life that destroyed his teaching career, Chu Wanning is too distracted to worry about anything else but his next shift, his next paycheck.

Except that's when Mo Ran, the reason Chu Wanning lost everything, returns to Sisheng Peak.

As the heir to the casino.

White Rabbit Club by minkit

Desperate to rid himself of a few pesky things called virginity and desire, Chu Wanning waltzes into a world he knows little about and right into the embrace of a mysterious stranger who reminds him of the student he's been dreaming about all year. The lust fueled dreams his student stars in are the very reason Chu Wanning applied to the sex club in the first place, and now he's desperate to get rid of these filthy impulses once and for all.

Congratulations, Chu Wanning, on your acceptance into the White Rabbit Club. We hope you enjoy your stay.

Risk and Restraint by purloinedinpetrograd

There is nobody Mo Ran works with who does not love him. He’s worked hard to cultivate this image while he climbs the corporate ladder at Sisheng, and it’s paid off in dividends. He’s in every WeChat group. He can call in favors with any division of any department. He can make even the tightest of deadlines relax their stranglehold on his team.

That is, there is nobody except, of course, Chu Wanning.

A Lingering Sweetness by theherocomplex

Chu Wanning is now all too aware of what he looks like: a dry stick of a man, never handsome, angular and cold and pale. A drab, short-tempered creature, as appealing as a splinter in one's foot. But Mo Ran looks at him as if he will never get his fill, and part of Chu Wanning thinks, What if —?

At the end of the line by PearlAquaBlue 

“So … I reckon someone thought you needed to loosen up a little bit. Now that you’re here, want to try it?”

Chu Wanning hangs up. Throws her phone on her pillow with a disgusted glare after it. Stands up and paces to the kitchen in long, angry strides. Her cheeks are burning. With trembling fingers, she grabs a glass and pours herself some water, gulping it down in one go. It doesn’t help much. She grips the kitchen counter tightly, then marches back into the bedroom to glare at the phone again. Her fingertips itch, and it’s as if some kind of magnetic force draws her closer and closer to her bed until her fingertips are but an inch away from that tempting black mirror. Before she knows it, she’s unlocked it unsteadily and pressed “repeat” on the last call.

“Welcome to Sisheng Peak – ”

“And what would that entail?” she asks, a little too breathless.

Let's Fall in Love for the Night by purloinedinpetrograd

Chu Wanning could only stare in horror as a large cloud of sickeningly yellow pollen rose from the field, blanketing the place where Mo Ran stood in a heavy fog. “Um,” he said lamely.

“Fuck,” Mo Ran cursed, and Chu Wanning didn’t even have the heart to chastise him for his coarse language, because he was too preoccupied wrestling the surge of fear at seeing his disciple disappear behind the haze of that indeterminately threatening dust.

A million terrible possibilities raced through his mind, each one more dramatic and gruesome than the last. His heart hammered against his ribcage, threatening to crack the bones. “Mo Ran,” he said slowly, “I think you should tell me what that does, now.”

Xue Zhengyong sends Chu Wanning and Mo Ran on a mission to find a specific ingredient for some concoction of his wife’s. Chu Wanning is torn between rejoicing at the chance to spend time alone with Mo Ran... and grieving over the very same thing.

But, well, it’s just flowers. What could go wrong, right? (Spoiler alert: it’s sex pollen.)

the day dawns in your hues by localshabba

2ha Week 2020 Day 1 prompt - Haitang

---

Schoolteacher Mo Ran is having an ordinary day until he has an awkward encounter with the notoriously rigid school librarian, which leads to the start of something new.

Also features: flowers, dinosaurs and lots of tenderness and pining.

helping hands by verity

When Mo Ran was but a young, innocent, virtuous grad student—well, one of those things—she built that couch from a flatpack box with her own two hands. Over the years, the smell of polyester and cheap foam padding has given way to an equally aromatic blend of Chu Wanning's haitang blossom perfume, spilled coffee, and white lithium grease. Chu Wanning herself is always perfectly dressed without a stain in sight. Even right now, her head tucked onto one folded arm, the other loosely gripping her tablet, she looks so formal.

Mo Ran gently rests a hand on Chu Wanning's socked ankle where it peeks out of those tailored white trousers. She really should behave herself.

She really should... behave herself...

in plain sight by localshabba

Written for a prompt fill in the 2ha Kink Meme.

---

"I have a surprise," Mo Ran breathed, coming to stand so close behind him that his breath landed on Chu Wanning's nape. Not touching Chu Wanning any other way, because he likes to make Chu Wanning lean back just a little bit, to seek out that contact himself.

"I think Chu-laoshi will enjoy it."

Chu Wanning is sure he agreed to the whole idea; he's just unclear on when. Things got hazy around the point when Mo Ran turned him around by the shoulders, got down on his knees and...well. Apparently he'd skipped breakfast that morning.

When he returned to his senses, his clothes were all neatly tucked into place, not a stain on them, and a charmingly pink sexual aid was nestled comfortably up his--ahem, inside him.

---

Now available in Spanish!

casually acquainted by tagteamme

Chu Wanning knows what he is and what he isn’t. And where he lacks in pleasantries and outward appeal, he makes up for in untouchable grace and dignity.

It threatens to unravel once he meets a familiar face in an unfamiliar city.

“So quick to run away from me, Chu-laoshi,” Mo Ran says, voice gently teasing as Chu Wanning refuses to make eye contact with him. “After you came all the way from…”

He trails off, waiting for Chu Wanning to let him know, but he sees the map open on Chu Wanning’s phone and grins wider. “You want directions?”

Chu Wanning clears his throat, and shakes his head. He should say something— instead, he stays silent as he looks down at his phone and punches in the hotel name again.

Happily, his phone tells him to try again when he has signal.

The Right Hand of Light by gedsparrowhawk (FaceChanger)

Chu Wanning is asleep on the bed, clutching his hands tightly to his chest and curled in on himself. He’s still wearing the same robes he was in in the water prison. On the writing desk, a bowl of water and clean linen for bandages sit untouched, and a tub of bathwater has cooled without being used. Mo Ran sighs to himself. Wanning is truly hopeless.

He sits on the side of the bed and touches Chu Wanning’s shoulder. “Wanning,” he says. “Wanning, wake up.”

---

Rare 0.5 tenderness, after the water prison.

nothing can consume you by tagteamme

Mo Ran’s violent history has never had to catch up to him.

It’s already embedded itself into him as scars on his body, as a tattoo on his forearm, as the lingering taste of blood in his sleep and finally, as the searing brand pressed against his chest before he’s thrown into the sea as punishment. He knows that this is where all his chances come to an end.

But as the deep fathom of the water swallows him up, something else saves him and pulls him to a tiny cove tucked away off the coast of an overlooked port town. When he wakes up under the care of a mythical creature wearing a familiar face, an even older and more distant past finally finds him.

[shotosprincess]

♡ dating the bnha boys — hcs

｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆ ｡･:*:･-: ✧ :,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

➪ shoto todoroki

pls you’ve prolly been terrified of him for a while prior bc of how ?? talented ?? the mf is ??

but mans prolly saved you at some point and there was this lingering stare you two shared before he left you at recovery girls’ office; were you reading too far into things ?

spoiler alert: you weren’t.

anYWAYS-

he’s the kind of boyfriend to tenderly brush your hair for you and attempt to learn how to tie and braid your hair up in cute ,, simple designs !!

he’d always be ready with little things you’re constantly forgetting; extra snacks,, water,, a fully charged portable charger ,, trust me when i say that man is pREPARED- after all ,, he needs to be ready with everything to take care of his little sweetheart ,, does he not ?

ONLY TWO POINTS IN AND IM ALREADY CRYING BC I LOVE HIM SM BYE BYE BYE

at some point he’d find you sitting on the roof by yourself late at night,, only to stay with you and let you fall asleep on his chest as he drapes a blanket over you and heats it up a lil with his quirk

OKAY YOU CANNOT TELL ME THAT THAT MAN WOULDNT HOLD THE DOOR OPEN FOR YOU AT ALL TIMES AND WOULD SOMETIMES EVEN GET LOWKEYHIGHKEY KINDA SAD WHEN YOU DONT LET HIM

prolly bc he just wants to prove to you that he can be useful

pls just let the man know he’s useful and important he never shows it directly but he needs the reassurance—

he’d give you a warm massage w his quirk whenever you’re in pain :”)

HIDES AND PROTECTS YOU FROM MINETA BC HE KNOWS DAMN WELL WHAT THAT LITTLE SHIT FANTASIZES ABOUT

loves heating//cooling things for you ,, like instant noodles or ice packs !!

surprises you w jewelry that have his initials on them !!

GIVES THE BEST CUDDLES I SWEAR

would hold an umbrella for u while you loop your arm into his as the two of you walk home through the light rain :”)

cries into your chest sometimes after youve fallen asleep bc it’s late nights like these when he reflects on just how lucky of a guy he is to have you— it’s hard for him to articulate it directly ,, but when he does fully open up to you ab it ,, you end up crying too .

WOULD 110% MAKE THE TWO OF YOU YOUR OWN PERSONAL LIL ICE RINK AND TEACH YOU HOW TO SKATE // DO FUN FIGURE SKATING DUOS WITH YOU

➪ katsuki bakugou

prolly got with you initially bc of a dare ( and he nEVER passes up a dare ) ,, but eventually those feelings started to become real and honestly ? it kinda scared the shit outta him . he didn’t know why ,, but for some reason he didnt actually want to leave .

OKAY LARA JEAN AND PETER MF KAVINSKY TYPE BEAT ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎ HIT US WITH THE FAKE RELATIONSHIP TO REAL RELATIONSHIP TROPE YESYESYES

teasingly-mean nicknames = his love language . enough said .

AGGRESSIVE !! KISSES !! ALL !! THE DAMN !! TIME !!

makes you wear his hoodie whenever you show even the sLIGHTEST hint at being cold

he just rly wants to see you in his clothes

he’s so clueless on how to do this whole boyfriend thing ,, but he’s definitely trying bc it’s for you :”)

watches and tries so desperately to copy all the cute couples in the movies you guys watch together

“ roses...do you want roses ? “ “ what ? “ “ the guy in the movie gave her roses...do you want roses too ? “

but at the end of the day you just appreciate him for who he is and that’s more than enough for you :”)

PLS DENKI AND KIRI ARE CONSTANTLY SHOCKED AT HOW MUCH HE’S TRYING FOR YOU

will take any and every opportunity to show off his strength and quirk to you <3

now we all know this man gets jealous hella easily ,, and its no different w relationships :”) he’d constantly make it a point to hold you extra close to him in public ,, show you off on social media and call you by a nickname//petname whenever possible just to reiterate to ppl the fact that you’re his and he’s yours

WOULD LET YOU SIT ON HIS LAP AND DO HIS EYELINER AT 2AM PURELY BC YOU GOT BORED

pls i could rly see myself doing that i wont lie

honestly sometimes he forgets himself and his temper gets a little out of hand ,, but the second he sees his feral reflection in your fearful eyes,, he pulls you to his chest and apologizes profusely :”))

➪ denki kaminari

MF PROLLY GOT WITH YOU BC OF A RIGGED GAME OF SPIN THE BOTTLE AT MINA’S PLACE I CANNOT SEE ANYTH HAPPENING OTHERWISE

one tiny kiss turned into two ,, which turned into three ,, and before you knew it ,, the both of you were spilling out the pent up feelings you had for one another all this time—

mina never shuts up ab it ,, she’s so proud of her matchmaking skills

when the power goes out during a storm ,, he holds onto you tight and plays w your hair as he uses his quirk to turn things back on ,,, “ shhh it’s ok,, i’m here “

will do anything and everything to make you smile <3

he has a lil album in his camera roll with all his favourite pictures of you ,, which is practically just all of them tbh ♡´･ᴗ･`♡

HE LOVES SHOWING YOU OFF IN THE MOST WHOLESOME WAY POSSIBLE !!

super energetic n bubbly but at the end of your dates he passes out right away in your arms

you make sure to wrap him up in blankets and give him an overload of kisses after he’s rly asleep though

will work embarrassingly hard to win you stuffed animals at the fair !! it doesn’t always work ,, but it’s cute nontheless <3

some of the staff and children at the fairs get pissed off but oh well ,,, what you do for love

pls he prolly makes you lil bento boxes for lunch every now and then ( ESPECIALLY DURING EXAM WEEK ) w tiny notes and designs taped on them

constantly calls you “ shawty “ lowkey un ironically and dice rolls in ur direction whenever he sees you ,,, you just end up laughing and playfully punching him

I JUST KNOW HE DOES THE F BOY LIP BITE FACE CONSTANTLY

ITS AN ADDICTION FOR HIM I SWEAR

SUPER CLINGY BUT IN THE CUTEST WAY AAAA

LIL STICKY NOTE LOVE LETTERS FROM HIM IN YOUR LOCKER EVERY !! MF !! DAY !!!

you both agreed that at home cozy netflix dates w microwave popcorn and fuzzy blankets >>> movie theatre dates

110% made a playlist for you at some point when he crushed on you from afar and shared it w you after you started dating

he made a collaborative playlist for yall AND multiple playlists of songs that remind him of you afterwards

pls i just kNOW this man’s love language is making playlists

theyre prolly all categorized by mood or smth too w the cutest covers ever pls

➪ ejirou kirishima

you initially met him bc he was hella upset and alone this one time and you were the only one to notice and be there for him bc he ran away from everyone else to hide the “ uNmanLy “ tears :”))

takes you w him on his lil gym visits ,, hypes you up with every little thing u accomplish !!

constantly teasing bakugou with how he’s able to pull you and how lucky he is to have you

bakugou gets hella annoyed most of the time and just blasts him away-

idk bro i just feel like kiri prolly calls you “ adorable “ alot i wont lie-

LOVES HAND HOLDING,, takes any opportunity to hold ur hand and trace lil casual patterns across your knuckles w his thumb

sometimes he’ll even draw lil hearts on your hand

play fighting but sometimes the two of you get too carried away and he actually loses half of the time-

LATE NIGHT GAME NIGHTS WITH HIM AND THE BAKUSQUAD,, he loves being on the team against you so he can get all competitive

OK HEAR ME OUT;;;; DANCE BATTLES W HIM AS YOUR PARTNER AGAINST RANDOM PPL AT PARTIES

mans gets hella insecure ab himself sometimes ,, so he loves doing lil things for you !! opening a can ,, pulling the blanket over you ,, zipping up your jacket <33

STOP WAIT THATS SO CUTE BYE I WANT THAT

lets you dye his hair—THATS HOW MUCH HE TRUSTS YOU BYE

pls yall prolly aggressively play wii sports and just dance against one another on a regular basis;; it’s literally your thing and you cannot tell me otherwise ahjdjfj

pls i just KNOW this man’s an overly passionate wii player

will wrap his arms around your waist and hug u from behind as you make breakfast

WOULD WEAR MATCHING EARRINGS W YOU IF ITS FOR YOU

slow dances in the living room at midnight w you !!

eventually as you spent more time together ,,, you were able to change his idea of “ manliness “ ,, and he was able to realize that manliness is not equivalent to stoicism and that expressing ur feelings is still totally manly and totally valid !! <33

[gureishi]

gold rush

✧ — Summary: A chance encounter at the bar where you work. But is anything ever really a coincidence?

✧ — Pairing: Saeyoung x Reader

✧ — Rating: T (light cursing, bar setting)

✧ — A/N: This is probably as close as I’ll get to writing an AU. The way the characters are meeting is a little bit different, but we all know where they’re going to end up. This fic is set two weeks before the start of Deep Story.

chapter one

It was the beginning of a summer sunset—all reds and pinks and white hot light streaming through the windows and making you dizzy—when you saw him.

You didn’t believe in love at first sight or even fortuitous encounters. You thought coincidences were nothing more than accidents and miracles were just funny little bursts of brain chemicals.

And you weren’t interested in meeting anyone new. Your feet ached and your eyes felt heavy; you wanted an ice cold beer or a hot shower or maybe just a nap. But time twisted that day: worlds collided and the sun shone extra bright and your weary mind lit up in a way you’d never be able to explain.

You were standing by the bar when it happened. You had a faded blue rag in your hand, with which you were halfheartedly polishing a wine glass. The bartender (a friend, sort of) was telling you a story and you were gazing longingly at the door. A few more hours, you thought, until you’d leave—till you’d walk down the street with its overflowing trash cans and broken sidewalk, around the corner with its group of old men blaring music through their speakers, and home.

And as you stared at the door, it swung open—almost as if you’d compelled it with your yearning. You sighed and looked down at the wine glass in your hand, because it was slow today and on slow days, customers always wanted to talk.

You didn’t want to talk to anyone. You had no patience for conversation about the heat or somebody’s kids or their upcoming vacation. You wanted to lie on the floor of your bedroom in your underwear and stare at the ceiling fan till you stopped thinking about anything at all.

“Hey,” the bartender said (and her voice was a little too loud, like always, but you put on your best listening face for her). “Look at him.”

You didn’t roll your eyes, though you wanted to. She was younger than you and still found everything interesting—and ultimately you appreciated that about her. Instead, you tilted your head and peered through your lashes at the man by the door.

Ah, you thought (wildly, without knowing why). There he is.

He looked like the sort of person who never quite belonged.

He stood a little bit stiffly, his hands in his pockets—and then he waved at one of your coworkers and smiled, and all at once he seemed to fit in, after all. You didn’t know what to make of it.

“Cute,” the bartender whispered (standing on tiptoe to lean over the bar). “Don’t you think?”

“Oh,” you said, keeping your voice level. “Is he?”

You were a terrible liar. Your skin was screaming and your heart was racing; you felt as though you’d had the wind knocked out of you. The man strode casually across the bar and slid into a chair at one of the high-top tables, and you studied him. The bartender had called him cute, and your unsteady heart seemed to agree—but you weren’t even sure if it was true.

He wasn’t necessarily traditionally attractive. He was neither tall nor well-dressed: he wore jeans and a t-shirt that were both several sizes too big for him, and he had oversized headphones dangling around his neck. 

But his hair was a striking shade of red that you’d never seen before—it made you think fleetingly of childhood days playing under a sizzling sun and the sweet taste of lemonade. He wore glasses that suited his soft features, and behind them his eyes were startlingly gold. He looked up and your thoughts scrambled; you felt, for a moment, like you were swimming through thick liquid.

The bartender sighed, stirring your strange vortex of feelings.

“He sat at a table,” she said. “So he’s yours, not mine.”

Yours, huh? You felt vaguely nauseous.

Without a word, you grabbed a big bottle of water from the bin by the bar. Something seemed to have shifted inside you: it was the feeling of seeing the bus pull up when you’ve waited forever—the feeling of an eternity of biding your time coming to an end.

You had no idea why you felt that way.

You paused to check on a couple sitting in a booth as you made your way across the bar, but they didn’t spare you so much as a glance; they were staring silently into each other’s eyes, hands clasped on top of the table. And the man in the corner wasn’t looking at you—he was typing something on his phone, fingers moving so fast you swore they were blurry.

“Hey,” you said when you reached him. His fingers didn’t stop moving when he looked up at you—but your eyes met, and he smiled.

“Hi,” he replied (still typing). His voice was not at all what you’d expected: much brighter and more musical. He cocked his head to the side as though he were drinking you in, and you had the eerie sensation that he was reading your mind.

“Been here before?” you asked (knowing he hadn’t). He set his phone down and drummed his fingers against the table like he couldn’t quite sit still.

“Yeah,” he said. “You don’t remember me?” 

Liar, you thought. You took in his earnest expression: trust me eyes and a proud sort of smile. He wanted you to play along.

“Right,” you said, hands on your hips. “Didn’t I kick you out of here before?”

His eyes widened: a remarkable imitation of innocence.

“Me?” he trilled, sounding only mildly curious. “Impossible.” 

A lock of his hair fell over his forehead and you felt a fleeting urge to brush it away.

“I could do it again,” you said instead, raising your eyebrows. He looked you up and down (the back of your neck burned), and then he grinned.

“You win!” he exclaimed, bouncing in his seat. It was weird, you thought, that he was so excited not to have fooled you—but there was something about his almost childlike exuberance that made you feel pleasantly squirmy.

“Obviously,” you said. “I wouldn’t have forgotten you.”

You hadn’t meant to be so honest, but the words slipped out on their own—and you watched, horrified and delighted, as he flushed a funny shade of fuchsia.

“Really?” he asked, giggling (actually giggling). “Me, specifically?”

It would have been easy to say something biting, but you found that you didn’t want to.

“You, specifically,” you said.

And for an instant, his boldness seemed to slip away: his eyes softened and his hands stilled, and you saw another person entirely. It was someone somber and small—someone who’d been waiting to be told you, specifically for a very long time.

Your heart contracted.

Oh, you thought. Me too.

But the moment had already passed. He was grinning again, his eyes glittering. He winked roguishly, leaning forward.

“Whatever you say, babe.”

Oh, what was happening to you?

You glanced around the room: two other tables seemed to have materialized while you were talking to him. In a voice you hoped was level, you asked him what he wanted (just a soda), and then you slipped away to greet the new groups of people. In your peripheral vision, you saw him pulling a laptop out of his bag.

The sun had mostly set by the time you made it back to the bar. You could hear him in the corner, typing away.

The bartender caught your eye and beamed.

“What was that?”

You tried to avoid her gaze. 

“What was what?” You put the drinks on a tray.

She rolled her eyes dramatically as though she thought you were being incredibly difficult (and perhaps you were).

“You,” she said, laughing away your attempted ignorance. “Leaning all over the table and making puppy dog eyes.”

“I didn’t do that.” Did you?

“I felt like a real voyeur, watching you just now,” she said. She tossed her hair and you knew that she was teasing, but you still felt a little bit anxious. There was clearly something wrong with you.

“I hope you enjoyed it,” you told her drily. She waved you away; the ice was already melting in the drinks—and her laughter mingled with the sound of muted pop music drumming over the speakers as you strode back into the bustle of the bar.

You dropped drinks at your new tables first, and then you checked in on the couple in the booth (they were making out now, her legs in his lap). You knew that you were stalling.

But you didn’t trust yourself to go back to his table: you didn’t know what you’d do or say. It had been a long, hot summer—a long, dreary year. These days, nothing made you nervous—but the redhead typing furiously in the corner knocked you off balance.

When there was truly nothing left to do but return to him, you made your way across the room (too fast; too slow). You arrived at his side and your heart fluttered. His eyes were trained on his screen.

“I’m back,” you said, and your voice came out perky and loud. He looked up, then, his eyes taking a moment to refocus. Whatever he was doing, it seemed to require a lot of concentration.

Curious, you tried to peek at his screen, but he’d angled it so you couldn’t see. You wondered if he’d done that on purpose.

“Thank god,” he said, grinning crookedly. “I was lost without you.”

You set the glass, which was wet with condensation, on the slightly sticky wooden table. You should’ve brought a napkin or something.

“Are you sure you don’t want something stronger?” you asked, arching your eyebrows. You didn’t say the next part—why come to a bar just to drink Dr. Pepper?—but his smile widened, and for the second time you got the sense that he knew just what you were thinking.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” he said, flicking the wrapper off the straw and taking a sip. He drank soda, you thought, the way college kids drank liquor: hungrily. “You wanna know why I’m here,” he added. His eyes were piercing.

You gestured at his laptop (wondering what sort of program he could possibly be running to make it hum like that).

“I could take a wild guess and say that you’re working.”

He laughed.

“You get me.”

“What are you working on?” Again, you tried to peek at his computer; this time he shut it with a firm snap. Then he leaned in conspiratorially, his eyes twinkling.

“If I told you,” he whispered in a voice that dripped with provocation, “then I’d have to kill you.”

God. You should have expected no less. You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms; the Bond act did nothing for you.

“Sure,” you muttered. “That’s what they all say.” 

He paused, taking in your defensive posture—and then he burst out laughing. You'd gone from charmed to annoyed in a heartbeat—and now the ringing sound of his laugher was melting the tension from your shoulders. You weren’t sure what to make of it.

“Do you, uh…” he stammered breathlessly, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “Do you get that a lot?”

“It’s a vibe,” you told him. “Guys who think they’re cooler and more interesting than they really are.” Oh, you didn’t mean to antagonize him—but something about the way he was looking at you egged you on. He rested his chin on his hand and you couldn’t help noticing the thin white scars that dappled his fingers. Huh.

“So you think I think I think I’m interesting?” He was looking in your eyes again. Your knees felt weak.

“I think I…have other tables,” you said. And it was true: it was fully dark out now, and people were trickling in, looking around expectantly for someone to pay attention to them. You needed a break from him or you’d drown (oh, but there was a part of you that wanted to pull up a chair and stare at him till he looked away).

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said. You couldn’t put your finger on why, but it sounded like a challenge.

You smiled because you didn’t know what to say. Talking to him was like skating on the surface of a pond that had just iced over: thrilling and precarious. You darted away (and by the time you’d made it to the other side of the bar, his eyes were back on his screen). It was louder in here now; you couldn’t hear him typing anymore.

You quickly checked on the couple in the corner (still ignoring you) and then greeted two large groups of people around your own age. One was friendly and probably already drunk (they ordered a round of shots); the other was stiff and rude. You suppressed a sigh as all eight of them ordered drinks that weren’t on the menu; as soon as they’d sent you away, they called you back to make several changes (because people like that always did).

Martini with a twist, not a gin fizz, you chanted in your mind as you shimmied through the crowd of people who’d gathered around the bar. Your mind was tired and hazy (and the man in the corner wasn’t helping; all your nerves seemed to be firing randomly, making your skin feel too tight).

You typed the order into the POS, trying to ignore the redhead in your peripheral vision; his table was just an arm’s length away. The bar was getting noisier now, and the familiar cacophony of music and voices soothed you and made you sleepy.

And then, in the midst of the sea of sounds: “Hey.”

You felt his eyes on you at the same time you heard his voice. You turned to see him watching you, your heart doing a little dance behind your ribs.

“What’s up?”

He smiled lazily and rested his chin on his hands.

“Don’t forget the martini,” he said.

For a moment, you stared at him—and then it dawned on you. Martini with a twist, not a gin fizz. You’d definitely just put the order in wrong.

“How’d you know that?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously. His face gave nothing away.

“How’d I know the order, or how’d I know you’d forget it?”

“Either,” you said (giving in, leaning on his table). “Both.”

“I’m a good listener.” His grin was too big (almost wicked): he was enjoying this. “I’m a good watcher, too.”

And that did seem to be the case. His penetrating eyes seemed to take in everything: a whisper of someone’s hair against their skin; a brush of fingertips beneath a table. You wondered what exactly he saw when he looked at you; you wondered what he’d say if you asked.

“Thanks,” you said. “Can you just hang out here all night and do my thinking for me?”

“I wish,” he muttered, sounding a little bit awkward. You got the sense that he meant it. You were starting to form a response when the bartender caught your eye—and you sighed, remembering that you needed to intercept her before she made the wrong drink.

“I’ve gotta—”

“Go,” he said.

You slipped from his side back into the crowd, but your thoughts seemed to have gotten stuck. You heard his voice in your mind as you spoke to the bartender; you imagined he was watching you as you ran some drinks (but you checked, and his eyes were glued to his screen).

The friendly drunk girls called you over and convinced you to do a shot with them (which wasn’t really allowed, but nobody followed that particular rule). The rude table complained that the music was too loud and the AC was too high. The couple in the booth finally asked for their bill.

Time—too much time—passed before you found yourself free again. You paid out the clingy couple and turned to face the dimly lit room, and your heart skipped a beat.

Your redhead was standing, tapping his fingers idly against the table.

“You’re leaving?” You darted to his side, relieved you’d caught him—anxious that he’d almost left without saying goodbye. “You gonna disappear into the night and never return or something?”

He grinned, but his cheeks were pink. He picked up on your sincerity whether you wanted him to or not.

“I’m going to the other side of the universe,” he said. He was slinging his bag over his shoulder, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He’d left a wad of cash on the table (it looked like way too much). “If I don’t get lost in space, I’ll be back for you.”

The bottoms of your feet tingled. It felt strangely intimate to be standing face-to-face like this.

“What’s your name?” you asked. “So I don’t forget you this time.” You winked, because you wanted him to think you meant it lightly—but something dark passed across his expression anyway. That scared him, you thought. He’s afraid of being—

But he was already smiling wider; the moment of solemnity was gone before you could acknowledge it.

“If I told you,” he said, “I’d have to—”

“I’m leaving!” you declared, turning away from him with as much flair as you could muster. He cackled, and then his hand shot out and closed around your wrist.

Time had been moving in strange swirls and eddies all night; now, it stopped altogether.

“Oh,” he said. “Uh.”

His hand fell as you turned to face him. He hadn’t meant to touch you, you thought: he’d done it impulsively, instinctively—and something had snapped. A line had been crossed. His face was very red.

“Seven,” he said, his voice sounding hoarse and weak, like he’d just been burned. “You can call me Seven.”

“Like the number?”

“Yeah,” he muttered. “That way every time you count you’ll remember who I am.”

You would’ve rolled your eyes if anyone else had said something like that to you—but he stood so awkwardly and spoke so earnestly that you thought he might actually have meant it.

“I count a lot,” you told him. “I hope you’re prepared to be on my mind at least once an hour.”

He smiled and leaned forward and for a single, wild moment you thought he was going to kiss you.

Instead, he whispered in your ear. His breath gave you goosebumps.

“You’re the one who should be prepared,” he said. “Once I’m in your mind, you won’t be able to get rid of me.”

Before you could respond, he’d pulled back; he was retreating, lifting a hand and giving you an energetic wave.

“Bye, then,” he trilled. And then he said your name.

You were quite sure you’d never mentioned it.

“Oh—” you started to say—but the door chimed, and he was gone. 

It was over.

Rocking back on your heels, you looked wearily around the bar. Everything was normal: the chattering of people and the beat of a song that had already played three times that night. It was almost as if nothing had happened.

But you couldn’t forget.

You went through the motions, because you had to: you spoke to people and brought drinks and cleared tables and thought about bright golden eyes. More people gathered around the bar, but the tables cleared out quickly—and you dutifully wiped them down and blew out all the little candles and imagined you were anywhere but there. You counted money with stiff fingers and collected your cash tips and bid goodbye to the bartender and wondered if it was still hot out.

It turned out that it was.

You nudged open the door with your hip and the heat hit you like the big, dangerous ocean waves you’d only ever seen in pictures. It was late (early, even) and the street was nearly empty; another bar across the street buzzed vaguely and the air shimmered with late night summer wetness. Wishing you were already home, you ran a sticky hand through your hair and turned the corner onto a street that you knew was always empty.

Except it wasn’t. 

Someone was there.

Oh, you thought (frantically, irrationally). It’s him. 

You could barely make out the figure in the darkness, but he was the same general shape as your mysterious redhead. He was the right height, and his hair was wild, and—

Your heart raced. Had he waited for you after all?

But then the figure stepped forward and the streetlight shone in his eyes. They were the color of a clear sea after a storm.

You cursed yourself for hoping; you felt as though you’d been sucked dry. The stranger looked just enough like your redhead, but also altogether different: his hair was bright white and he stood perfectly still, like a predator lurking in the shadows.

And for no good reason, you had the sense that you were meant to be the prey.

The man smiled—almost a smile, one corner of his lips quirking upward. You wanted to say something (what?), but he was already turning away. He walked slowly, like he wasn’t in any hurry—but two steps were enough: he disappeared into the darkness on the other side of the streetlamp.

You were left alone with the tingling in your toes and the feeling that you had been caught.

A coincidence, you told yourself firmly (but you retraced your steps, deciding it would be safest to take another route home). Or maybe just my imagination.

You turned onto your block and unlocked the front door to your building and squinted against the fluorescent lighting. The people around you, you thought, believed in fate and miracles because these things made them feel better about their otherwise ordinary lives. But you didn’t agree: time marched endlessly forward, and there was nothing to be done about it.

Oh, and yet—

You pushed open the door to your apartment (dark and hot as always), kicking off your shoes and fumbling for the light. You knew better than to believe in the things that made your friends pretend that life was softer and sparklier than it really was. You did.

But the air tasted different now. You knew it—irrevocably, inexplicably—whether you wanted to believe it or not. 

Tonight, around sunset, everything had changed.

[violetnotez]

Haaaaiiii! I don't know if you've done this before, but can you do a headcanon with Midoriya, Bakugou, Todoroki, and Kaminari (separately) dating a slim thicc reader who's waaaaay to kind to everyone for her own good? Sorry if that was specific lol. It just suits my life.

HC: Slim Thicc + Overly Nice Reader | BNHA

Music Genre: Pop | BNHA

Characters: Midoriya, Bakugo, Todoroki

Warnings: cursing, suggestive content

Music Collection | Tip Jar | Requests!

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ:

Shop Owner Note: The fuq how did you describe me in four words lmaoooo-I really liked this idea alot!!!!! Also I only did Bakugo, Izuku and Shoto caus emy brain got fried, so hope thats okay!

Midoriya

THIS GIF ISNT APART OF THE HC AT ALL I JUST FOUND IT AND NOW IM FEELING SOME TYPE OF WAYYYY😳😳

Midoriya most definitely drink his respect women juice

He was raised by his mother after all

BUT

doesnt mean the boy cant be a little perverted-

He just loves your body!!!!!

How can he NOT love everything about it, from the way your school tights slightly squeeze your thighs to the point where he feel like he cant breath

Or when you wear his shirts and its tighter around the chest and flowy around you waist

Mmmmmm lets not forget your hero suit- this man would probably kiss the shoes of the person who made your suit

Cause DAMN they really made it as tight as possible and he just loves it sm

Lets be real this dude has probably popped a boner by accident just thinking about your hero suit 😶

ANYWAYS 💀💀💀💀

He is very much respectful about you and keeps his raging hormones horniness to himself

He is ALWAYS making sure you feel comfortable in your relationship, whether its from holding hands to cuddling, he will always make sure you give your consent

Now, when it comes to your kindness, this is something Midoriya probably loves the most about you

But he does find it really concerning when he notices you say “yes” to everything somebody asks you to do for them

And running yourself down, not looking as energetic as yourself

He is very observant, so he notices little things that signal you are little overwhelmed 

Like your clothes arent as perfectly ironed as they used to be, you seem to be forgetting your own things while remembering to bring everybody else’s, your smile seems strained, and you just look stressed

He is so incredibly empathetic- it pains him to his s/o look so distraught 

It does anger him a bit that these people can so easily take advantage of you, and not even care that you arent feeling your best because of what they asked of you

But he swallows down the anger, offering to help you with whatever you need at your dorm room

He tries to make it as stress free as he possibly can, bringing your favorite snacks and playlist of music to calm your mind

But at some point hed give you a very gentle talk,,,,

He knows you havent been feeling too great, whether you deny it or not, and he wants you to know that its perfectly okay to not say “yes” to every person

He knows you mean well and you want to help everyone out of the generosity of your heart, and he loves that about you

But you as a person are important, and you come first over anyone

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

Bakugo

Like Midoriya, just LOVES your body

Like cmon, how can he NOT

Dude is a ass+boob man change ma mind 

At first he deifnitely denies it-

Him??? Stare at your ass??? Pshh he was looking at the oven baka, if anything your ass was blocking his view-

You would know you caught him red handed cause he face would get redder than Momo’s hero suit and he would actually stutter—-

Which would make him extrmeely annoyed and he’d be cussing a storm+be in a grumpy mood for an hour or two

But once you two get more comfortable in your relationship-

NO HOLDING BACK

He will have use every opportunity to just be meannnn

And by mean

I mean turn slapping your ass into some sick game

Like if you dont yelp and cuss him out whats the point?

Once he slapped you so hard he legit left his big ass hand print on your butt cheek and you were about to slap his smug ass back....

But off a 50ft building  🙃

Also a big softie too

Like when you to cuddle he loves cuddling into your chest 🥺🥺

To him it’s just so comfyyyyyyyyyy

Honestly, Bakugo can’t understand at all how you can be so nice to people

It confuses him???? But he finds it really....nice???

Like half the stuff you do for people Bakugo wouldn’t ever dream of doing

He knows he’d either give that person an intimidating, dirty look or just laugh at them, cause yeah right he’d waste his time with their stupid problems

Ouchhhhhhhh

But you are totally different than him-you had a lot more patience and sympathy than he had, always coming to everyone’s rescue it seemed like

He finds it attractive and to him, it confuses the hell out of him how he does

But what bothers him is how much time you spend away from him

He won’t ever admit it, but he feels lonely when you’re not around

And what’s even worse-is by the time you do hang out with him, your too tired to even properly pay attention to him after running around and doing everything for everyone else

Bakugo the Attention Whore

One day this dude would have enough, as he’s been getting the bad end of the stick for a good couple of weeks——

He just barges into were ever your at, and doesn’t give to shits what so everrrrr

Bakugo has one mission in mind: getting his s/o back

Wouldn’t acknowledge anyone but you, grabbing your wrist and yanking you out of the room even if your protesting with him

“The hell are you doing Bakugo, let go-“

“No 😠”

“Pleaseeeeeee I was in the middle of working on something-“

“I said NO 😠😠😠”

Angry Pomeranian Activated

Once stop dragging you until he locks you in his room, forcing you to hear him out

He HATES being emotional or open, but at that, he starts spilling his guts through gritted teeth and choppy sentences,,

Saying that you waste too much time in thise “extras”, that they don’t deserve as much time as you give them, and that you have more “important” things than do all their work for them

*cough cough him being the more important thing

But hoenstly, you feel a little bad for him,,,,,

So you compromise with him and promise you’ll spend more time on him

He’s pretty happy with that,

but now he takes it one step further to make sure you deifnitely have enough time to hang out with him

If he’s around when someone asks you for help, he’ll cut them off and lie straight theough his teeth, saying you two have a “date” and squeezing you close to him with an iron grip

“Wait-Bakugo-we didnt have a date planned-“

“Tsch, now we do-“

Shoto Todoroki

I have said this timeeee and timeeee againnnn

But Shoto really is the definition of innocence

So really, it wouldn’t ever dawn on him on how killer his s/o’s body is

He’s just kinda like....yeah I know they have a butt and chest? Doesn’t everyone?😶

This poor Boi someone help him

It only really sets it after a few months of being together that he’s actually really, really in love with your body

Like how did he never notice how good you look in leggings?

Or how soft and comfortable your chest is?

And why does he want you to squeeze him with your thighs? 😳

Hormones are ragingggggg

And also veryyyyyyyy protective over you

Shoto is very observant and quiet in social situations, usually opting to check out his surroundings instead of trying to be sociable

So he’ll catch from time to time classmates commenting on you and your figure, and it never sits very well with him

At first when these incidences happened he was very conflicted, not understanding this intense jealousy and need to protect you

But after a while of contemplating his feelings, he understood it was because he was protective of you

And ohohoohohoh

This man is PROTECTIVE

He does little things you would never reallly notice until you actually do

Like when he takes you home after hanging out or a date, he lingers a little longer outside your door to make sure you’re inside safely

Or when you’re walking together he will make sure your walking inside the street and away from the cars

Also has a tendency to grab your waist or your hand when a group of men come your way

He just gets paranoid okay 🥺🥺🥺

And because he’s so protective, he doesn’t practically like that you’re being taken advantage of sometimes because of your kindness

Especially when it comes to other men

On a few occasions Shoto has spotted you in a sticky situation with a guy who was being a little too close for comfort

It would make you uncomfortable of course, you had a boyfriend you already loved a lot-

but you felt kind of bad just being a total bitch to this guy who desperately wanted a chance

So you’d just awkwardly laugh and smile with their stupid pick up lines, trying your best to be polite but also show you weren’t interested

But Shoto at this point has radar for when your in trouble, and just pops out of nowhere 💀

He’s not the type to flaunt his relationship by impulsively kissing you or anything like that, but he’ll show it in subtle ways

Like calling you “dear” or wrapping his arm around your waist

Honestly, the look of pure relief and comfort in your face shows more than Shoto could have ever done,,,

And that Shoto was deifnitely someone that was more than just a “guy fiend” and soemthing like that

Also Shoto would give them a look that could kill and that instantly scares the shit out anyone lmao

These dudes faces would deflate like balloons real quick, cause at this point everyone knows who Shoto Todoroki is

And how the hell can they compete with that

Instant “oh shit my bad” type energy

After those incidents, Shoto locks down way harder

He practically has you glued to his side, and he doesn’t let go

Like at all

Get used to it cause for the rest of the day Shoto is gonna be following you around like some body guard 💀

© Violetnote 2020

None of these characters or shows are my own, only the storylines and narratives I create are mine. Copying, stealing, plagiarizing, rewording, or using my storylines in other media, claiming to be your own, or reposting without my consent is not allowed.

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Subtitles: Episode 4, We Interrupt This Program

Subtitles Masterlist

Summary: [Y/N] is still recovering from one of the worst migraines they’ve ever had and they have the scars to prove it… Wait. Those scars weren’t there before and they certainly weren’t from passing out on the sidewalk a few days prior!

Word count: 9,361

Warnings: Mentions of (not super graphic) death and mental illness. Also Reader being just a little horny on main, but what’s new; almost 9.5k words and they’re simping for most of them. Lots of dorky fluff and also talking about insecurities.

Tag list: @madamevirgo​ @ravennight41​ @multifandomgirl16 @cyanide-mustard​ @badasspolygenderfriend​

~~~

    In the black void of otherwise dreamless sleep, voices were conversing.

    “[Y/N] [L/N]…” one started.

    [Y/N] [L/N]. Age twenty-five. Born to Killian and Alice [L/N] in [city, state] but Dad wasn’t in the picture. No siblings, no living relatives. They wanted to go to school for botany but Mom was diagnosed with early-onset dementia while they were still in high school, so they changed their career path to neurology in hopes of finding a way to help her. She still lives in their hometown.

    “Oh, wait,” another voice chimed in, almost indistinguishable from the first, “I know this one. Oh, God.”

    [Y/N] was an Honors student, at the top of all their classes. A degree in neurology with phytotoxicology on the side. They took an internship in Europe one year and somehow found themselves in Sokovia. HYDRA was still laying low at the time, caught wind of them.

    “Wait,” a third voice, this one easier to differentiate from the other two. “They’re HYDRA?”

    The second voice responded, “Former.”

    [Y/N] had no idea what they were getting into. HYDRA, always good at hiding in the shadows; they brought [Y/N] in under the guise of an assistant job studying new forms of neural regeneration. A job that paid well enough to live comfortably and even send a little extra home, while developing something that just might solve all their mother’s problems? It was a dream come true. 

Fortunately for HYDRA but unfortunately for [Y/N], they were very good at their job too. They helped HYDRA develop all kinds of nasty stuff. Nanobots that changed brain chemistry, near foolproof brainwashing tech— They even helped develop special toxins, one of the world’s deadliest poisons. All the while, thinking they were doing something good.

“How is that possible?” the original voice asked. “How could they have been so oblivious?”

“One-track mind?” the second voice offered, “Plus misinformation on HYDRA’s part and ‘routine health checks’ with something a little extra mixed in.”

“They were tested on?”

“A victim of almost everything they’d helped create, except the fatal stuff and anything that would disrupt business as usual. IVs and shots full of toxins, nanobots being released into their room while they slept.”

The third asked, “What changed?”

“Wanda.”

[Y/N] stumbled upon Wanda and her brother by pure accident. They’d been late that day and in their hurry, ran through a wrong door to where HYDRA was keeping Sokovian volunteers for testing. The twins were the youngest in their group, [Y/N] was only a couple of years older and the youngest in their division. It was a match made in heaven, really.

“Try hell,” the first voice suggested with a scoff.

The other voices offered their murmured agreements.

“So they knew each other,” the third voice said, “Before.”

That’s when [Y/N] started pulling at threads and HYDRA’s costume began to unravel; their one-track mind had switched gears. There was something too weird about the whole thing, these Sokovian civilians had stories that didn’t line up with [Y/N]’s own. 

“And they believed them?”

They believed Wanda. She and her brother were just two more Sokovian citizens suffering at the hands of war and wanting to help their people. They had no reason to lie. They had more reason to be honest to [Y/N] than HYDRA ever did, actually. It was just a bonus that for Wanda and [Y/N], being around each other was like being a moth drawn to a flame.

[Y/N] may have been naive but they were far from stupid. When they figured out what was going on, they wriggled their way deeper into HYDRA’s ranks under their own disguise of loyalty. They became a full-fledged HYDRA agent, tasked with assisting in neural and poisonous weaponry. They weren’t able to protect Pietro and Wanda from testing, obviously—not that Wanda would have let them; she and her brother still believed they were being tested on for the greater good—but they did their best to stay nearby and keep the Maximoffs’ sanity intact for as long as they could. They even managed to save a couple of the other test victims by injecting them with temporary poisons that lowered their heart rate to the point of appearing dead. When the bodies were dropped off, the poison wore off not long after and some of the victims were able to escape. No side effects to be seen.

“I have a question,” Original voice said abruptly. “Why do we know this much information on one person? Like, this is some in-depth, intimate stuff. Why do we know that [Y/N] and Wanda had the hots for each other since day one?”

Second voice answered, “We’ve done extensive research on [Y/N]. The result of an investigation on the person who caused the apprehension of an entire faction of HYDRA after successfully poisoning them.”

The tests that were done on [Y/N] were not without their outcomes. They gained the ability to transform almost any matter into almost any other form.

“Huh,” Third voice hummed, “That reminds me of a series of disappearances a few years back. One house was replaced by rose bushes and another—get this—burned down because the roof had been turned to lava. Whoever it was, they either stopped on their own or died. What were they called?”

“The Alchemist,” Second stated simply, much to Third’s dismay. “And those were incognito HYDRA agents.”

After Pietro died and Wanda disappeared—not really disappeared, just left with the Avengers—[Y/N] had a choice to make. They were far too deep into HYDRA’s work now, the awful things that they had done were beginning to weigh on them, as Wanda and her brother had been just as grounding for [Y/N] as [Y/N] had been for her. After she was gone, they had a hard time dealing with the horrible business going on around them. So they did what they knew how to do; they mixed up a combination of poison and nanobots.

[Y/N] had fully committed to perishing with the rest of their coworkers but apparently, the poison hadn’t been quite strong enough. They’d made a miscalculation in a time of poor mental state and woke up the next day to hear that not all of the HYDRA agents had died either. At least the survivors had been taken in for the time being but that just wasn’t enough for them; they’d had a right to be concerned too because HYDRA had a habit of getting themselves out of sticky situations. This case was no different. 

[Y/N] most likely felt responsible for having a hand in HYDRA’s dirty work, for not doing more, and they must have felt even more responsible when they learned that HYDRA was a much bigger problem than they could have ever imagined.

First blurted, “Well, what happened next?”

Second answered, “They went after agents until they got caught, the only way they knew how.”

The second miscalculation that they’d ever made got them caught. The agent put a gun to [Y/N]’s head and pulled the trigger.

“So are they dead too?” First asked. The voice seemed to quiver.

The third voice hemmed and hawed a bit before saying, “They must have, with the way all this weirdness had been going. Oh my god, poor Wanda, not one dead partner but two—”

Second spoke over the other two voices’ rambling, forcing them to calm down and listen. “They didn’t die, though, they—”

The voices started cutting out like the dream was a TV program being interfered by a poor connection and static.

“—Found by—Barely alive—Hospital—Braindead—Westview—Find a doct—”

Suddenly gunshots sounded, one followed by several more, and the darkness cracked and shattered, revealing blinding light behind it. A silhouette walked silently through the wall of light; it was Geraldine—no, Monica—poised with a gun in the outfit she helped deliver Maximoff twins in. As she walked forward, crossing from a plane of burning white to one of void black, the image of her warped and distorted until it changed. Monica, looking much more modern, in a uniform that included a bulletproof vest and a lanyard with S.W.O.R.D. printed at the top, moving carefully towards a broken and bleeding body on the ground with another in a heap behind her. The image distorted and changed again, and the first body was sitting on their knees and looking up defiant defeat. The person they were looking at was no longer Monica but a bulky figure in a dark outfit with straps in the form of an H across their chest, the body that had been laying in a battered pile behind Monica just a moment earlier. The H-adorned assailant held a still-raised gun to the kneeling person’s forehead.

[Y/N] could only spit at their feet before another gunshot sounded and the image disappeared to black.

You woke up sweating and choking on your breath. Your brain, throbbing with a pain that shot through it like a bullet, didn’t register fast enough that you were standing instead of laying down so when you flailed, you threw yourself off balance and fell forward. Catching a quick glimpse of your surroundings on your way down told you that you were somewhere outside and that it was the dead of night. You tried last minute to brace yourself for a concrete-laden impact.

    You were instead greeted with soft fabric and arms wrapping tightly around you.

    “Goodness, [Y/N], are you quite alright?”

    You squinted at the striped sleepwear for a moment before looking up where Vision’s worried gaze and whirling irises were waiting for you; it took your eyes a moment to fully focus as the pain in your head faded but left a faint ringing behind. Then you looked around at your surroundings; not only were you outside but you were standing in Vision and Wanda’s driveway. Your gaze settled on a particular section of the house’s exterior where you vividly remembered a vaguely human shape exploding out of its walls. 

    You were standing in the exact same place you had been when it happened.

    “[Y/N]?” Vision said again, drawing your attention back to him.

    “Oh, cosmo, I’m sorry,” you said but your throat was too dry and you had to stop and clear your throat halfway through. Being in Vision’s arms, you were keenly aware of the fact that you were both in your bedwear and that yours had been sweated through. You slumped against him, partially to hide your embarrassed face but also because you felt like you hadn’t slept at all.

    “Vis?”

    “Yes, my favorite teacup?”

    You snorted softly at that. “You don’t even drink tea.”

    “Oh, I know,” Vision lilted back. Then he nuzzled his face into your hair. “I do like the patterns and the daintiness of them though.”

    That time you laughed a bit. Feeling his warm breath against your scalp and his strong arms holding you safely in place against him, you almost instantly melted into the embrace. You wrapped your own arms around him and pressed your face into his chest. “What are we doing outside?”

    “Ah, yes, about that. You appeared to be sleepwalking again.”

    You groaned. “Again? This is a nightmare.”

    One of Vision’s hands moved to run itself through your hair and down your neck. “That accident you had the other day certainly did a number on you.”

    The accident. In other words, that time where you walked off in the middle of a conversation with Vision, Agnes, and Herb to mumble at a wall and then faceplant onto the sidewalk. Not only was your nose still recovering but your mind and dignity as well.

    “The only time I’ve slept well since is when I fell asleep on your couch,” you whined. Then you lowered your voice and grumbled into Vision’s chest.

    Vision chuckled. “What was that?”

    You looked up at him and scowled. “The four of you are over here in your stupid, big, warm, cozy house. Meanwhile, I’m across the way, alone and uncomfortable, with only Bernard to keep me company. Bernard’s terrible company.”

    “Truly,” Vision agreed, grinning slightly. He loved your strange, cute, not at all challenging struggles.

    The both of you turned to give the lawn ornament in question a pointed look. Bernard seemed to glower back.

    “Well,” Vision said as he pulled away from you a bit, “why don’t you come inside then? Wanda’s up with the babies anyway. You might as well join us, especially if it means you’ll be able to sleep better.” Not taking no for an answer, the synthezoid was already tugging you towards the lit-up porch.

    You were too tired to argue and, quite frankly, you didn’t want to, so you allowed yourself to be pulled along as you admired the soft cotton of Vision’s matching pajama set.

    “Oh, my.”

    “What?” You looked at Vision’s face again only to catch him staring at a spot above your eyes. The porch light glinted off the gem embedded in his own. “What, do I have something on my face?”

    “No,” Vision responded slowly, “but you must have done something to it. You have quite the scar.”

    Your eyebrows raised. You moved away from him to look at your reflection in one of the windows and surely enough, you had a raised scar on your forehead, near your hairline. You gingerly pressed your fingers against it; it certainly wasn’t new.

    A seemingly random thought popped into your head. Is that… a scar from a bullet?

    “What on earth did you do to yourself?” Vision asked. Him walking up to stand directly behind you and press his hands to your neck, under the collar of your shirt no less, was more than a little distracting. “You’ve got one back here too.”

    You reached back to where Vision was touching and when he removed his fingers, you could feel a similar scar at the base of your neck.

    You thought again, Bullet… exit wound…? 

    Something about the dream you were having earlier called out to you but you couldn’t remember anything about it. When you tried to think about it further, the excruciating pain came back in waves and you had to steady yourself on the windowsill to prevent yourself from collapsing.

    “Huh,” you said instead, “I have no idea.”

    “They don’t hurt?” Vision questioned. “They’re not just… odd raised bruises perhaps? Welts maybe?”

    “No, I don’t think so. They don’t hurt at all, though.” To make a point, you pressed down hard on the raised scar on your forehead, watched the skin turn a few shades lighter before releasing the pressure and dropping your hand again. Under the thick, stiff tissue, you barely felt the pressure at all.

    Vision thoughtfully hummed, placing his hands back on the curves of your neck; you prayed to whatever deities existed that you didn’t make any sounds you’d regret.

    “Well,” your partner said, “I suppose that’s better than nothing.”

    A pause. Your eyes stayed trained on the window’s reflection, specifically where you could see Vision’s fingers gently cupping your neck.

    Then he abruptly leaned down and pressed a kiss on the scar tissue, missing a pulse point by a hair. “We should head inside then.”

    You had to take a solid minute to recover from the shockwave of tingles that briefly made your veins turn into lightning. Then you shuffled after Vision into the ever so inviting house.

    Stepping out of chilly darkness and into a home of cozy furniture and warm light that turned the entire place a golden brown felt like walking into another world. An extra added layer of comfort to the usually perfect home was the slight disarray of baby equipment almost everywhere that wasn’t the floor itself, most of which you had gone out and bought during the babies’ day of birth and all of which Vision and Wanda appreciated; somehow, you had prepared for the babies’ accelerated growing on a panicked whim better than the Maximoffs. Tiny baby blankets and stuffed animals were strewn about and each visible part of the house—the living room, the dining area, and the kitchen, although the kitchen was partially blocked off by a drying rack of baby clothes and swaddles of various patterns and sizes—had a designated Baby Tray. These trays, perched on whatever flat surface had been previously free of decor or clutter, held bottles, nonperishable treats, diaper-changing equipment, teething toys, a mini first aid kit for each, and other useful trinkets; the new parents had apparently completely forgotten that almost all their house’s rooms were openly attached to each other and that, if one singular Baby Tray was designated to the dining area, it would take the same amount of about five steps to get to it from either the living area or the kitchen. It was almost comedic, the number of baby care items that were laying anywhere but the floor or in proper storage because, according to Vision, god forbid something gets a speck of dust on it and have to be washed or, according to Wanda, one of the babies be without their favorite toys easily accessible at every given moment. The only thing allowed to touch the ground, aside from feet, was a playpen that now replaced the usual coffee table in the living room area and a play mat in the babies’ room with its attached toys for the twins to play with. A final touch to the hominess was the soft light that you could see streaming out of the baby room’s open door, and the gentle voice of Wanda, singing a Sokovian lullaby, fluttering out of it. 

    It felt like coming home.

    Vision stepped away from your side to clean up somewhat, picking up a few toys and folding baby blankets and onesies to move them aside in case you wanted to make yourself comfortable on the couch. Standing inside now, you could much better make out Vision’s dark blue terry robe over a pair of bright yellow pajama pants that no doubt had a shirt to match hidden beneath dark blue fabric. The yellow of his pants matched the yellow gem that was embedded in his forehead, glittering with an unused power that you had yet to experience and that felt warm whenever you went to place a kiss on it. Poking out from the hems of his robe and pants were perfectly human hands and feet, despite their deep red color that matched the rest of his body; you found the continued presence of fingernails when not in his human disguise—absolutely unnecessary to his design, he’d pointed out when you initially asked about them—weirdly cute and continuously felt the urge to grab nail polish and paint them to match either the color of the gem or the same silver as the plating that started at his scalp and trailed down beneath the collar of his shirt. You briefly wondered how far that plating traveled across his body before mentally kicking yourself.

    The greatest thing about this still-fresh reveal of Vision’s inhuman identity—aside from the fact that he was no longer hiding something important from you, obviously—was that you now knew that he wasn’t just difficult to make blush but rather he quite literally couldn’t blush. You wondered what else he could and couldn’t do, only to mentally kick yourself again. 

    I can’t tell if I’ve gotten worse or better since I’ve started dating them, you thought.

    Oh, your brain responded on its own accord, so much worse. 

    Shhh!

    Vision was still puttering why while you stared and inwardly argued with yourself. At this point, he’d cleaned up most of the chaos and moved the stuffed animals and now-folded blankies to sit neatly on the dining area table.

    “Vis,” you said.

    Before you could continue, the man perked up and looked in your direction. “Yes, duck?”

    You blinked. “You make my heart go rainbow-colored. Anyway—” You broke off into a laugh when Vision went flustered, his hands flapping about while he sucked his bottom lip between his teeth. “Did I win this round?”

    Sometimes Vision got into the habit of ending all of his sentences around you and Wanda with a pet name. When you had first noticed this feat, you’d decided to start doing the same, just to see what would happen. He noticed and began purposely doing it back, where he had previously done it unintentionally, and now doing the occasional back-and-forth conversation that ended in pet names more than punctuation was somewhat of a competition between you two. 

    Vision scoffed at you, picked up a plushie, and tossed it at you. “Not fair!”

    Being in the house that was beginning to feel more like home than your own, around your partners and their sweet baby boys, seemed to shield and reenergize you from the exhaustion you felt after first waking up that night. You caught the stuffed animal, a plushie of a wizard, grinned and tossed it back at him. 

    “Oh,” Vision chirped, catching the plush wizard again, “I see how it is.” He puffed out his chest and gave you a warning, albeit amused, glare, then picked up a couple more plushes. In a lower, sort of growling voice that made your heart leap out of your chest and into your stomach, he continued, “If it’s a war you want, it’s a war you shall get.”

    You yelped as he started in your direction and dived across the front of the couch to get some stuffed animal ammo of your own. He nailed you in the foot with a cream-colored bunny and you returned the favor with a plushie of a witch in a red dress after taking cover behind the playpen. Now each of you was standing where the other had previously been, with you poking your head over the playpen’s sheer wall and Vision slowly pacing around the back of the couch for his second lap. You pulled the playpen with you with one hand as you moved away from him and the two of you began circling each other. 

    Oh, if Wanda could see her partners now.

    “Oh, Wanda—” you started to stand, only to get smacked in the face with a blue teddy bear; luckily, it was of the very soft variety. You stared at Vision in disbelief.

    Vision stared back, eyes bulging, unsure of whether he should apologize or prepare for an attack. He was too torn to do either, though, and had to scramble back to avoid an onslaught of stuffed bullets flying his way.

    Still aware that it was very late at night, your war-cry was softened, “Revenge!”

    Then your attack quickly diminished, partially because you were running out of ammo and Vision wasn’t throwing anything back and partially because Vision was now floating off the ground and heading towards you, arms full of said ammo.

    Wow, didn’t know it did that, you thought randomly, eyes fixed Vision floating in general, before specifically fixating on the devilish grin he wore while doing so. He looked like a very handsome, well, vision.

    A handsome Vision, if you will, your brain offered. You almost snorted before remembering you had not yet moved to avoid Vision’s floating plushie attack. You stumbled backward and scrambled out of the living room just as Vision started throwing.

    “No no no no no nonononono—” You were choking between laughter and squawking as you got up and began running down the hallway to save yourself. “Not fair, not fair not fair, not fair—!”

    You ran past the baby room and caught Wanda mid-turnaround, saying, “What on earth is going on out there?” You reeled back to pause in the doorway, caught a glimpse of the babies in their one large crib, smiled, went to pant out an answer—

    Only to feel arms wrap around you and drag you back down the hallway. You started to shriek, then forced it into a startled laugh as to not disturb the babies, and flailed around in Vision’s arms as he lifted you off the ground. It was brief, though, because then your struggling caught Vision off balance and the two you tumbled to the ground. There, you both harmlessly pummeled each other until you both were out of breath and snickering, and you somehow ended up with his top half under you but his legs pinning down your own.

    “You can fly?” you bubbled. You grabbed his face and squished his cheeks in your hands. “What the hell?”

    He laughed and nodded, and one of his hands caught your own. He glanced up at you as he kissed your palm and replied, “Yes, just a little.”

    “Just a little—”

    “And his wife can move things with her mind, like the crib she just finished rocking to put the boys back to sleep, and if she has to do it again because of her partners’ roughhousing…”

    You and Vision quickly disentangled yourselves from each other and looked up at Wanda, whose face said serious but whose eyes twinkled with amusement and who looked no less terrifying in a pale pink, puff-sleeved nightgown.

    You got up and straightened your clothes, with Vision following closely behind. “I will very happily take over the next shift because I started it and I’m very sorry.” 

    “What? Nonsense, [Y/N], I threw the first stuffed animal.”

    “I threw it back,” you pointed out.

    “Neither of you better have thrown and hit something,” Wanda warned.

    You glanced at Vision for confirmation; you didn’t exactly see much when you were chucking plushies aplenty and then running from your flying boyfriend.

    Vision nodded. “Nothing at all, although I did make the evaluation that we do have a plethora of plushies and baby blankets.”

    “I thought I was the one who pointed that out when you first gave me the shopping list, but okay,” you huffed under your breath, then grinned with Vision lightly bumped you with his hip. “So, the babies having a bad night?”

    “Actually, they were apparently worried about you,” Wanda said.

    That made your head do a confused tilt. “Me?”

    “Ah, yes,” Vision nodded, “We fell asleep with them in the living room and Billy started crying. We woke up to figure out what was wrong and Wanda saw you standing outside.”

    Wanda added, “Tommy started crying shortly after I walked to the door with him like he wanted to make sure you were okay.”

    “Aww,” you cooed, peering over Wanda’s shoulder to see the babies. She stepped to the side so you could walk in and shuffle over to the crib, and she and Vision stood nearby as you crouched down to brush a hand over their little sleeping heads. You continued, much softer this time, “Were the boys trying to make sure I was safe? Are they my little protectors? My little superheroes?”

    Tommy gurgled happily in his sleep. Billy remained quiet but his head leaned into your hand.

    You looked up at their parents with big, awestruck eyes to see them leaning comfortably into each other, watching you with the same level of affection you felt for them and their babies.

    “Heroes indeed,” Vision said. He walked over as you stood up again and lightly rocked the crib; Wanda strolled over to join the group. He continued to the twins in baby-talk, “But no hero-ing until after college, my little honeydews. For now, leave the protecting to your parents.” 

    “Especially this one,” Wanda chirped, making her way over to your side and slipping her arm around your back. “They’re a handful.”

    You faked a gasp, “I’m a treasure.”

    “You’re a putz,” Wanda said simply, with a smirk and a light pinch to your hip.

    You gasped harder and stared at her with utter betrayal.

    “A goof,” Vision chimed in. He slipped his own arm around you, the final piece of your three-person puzzle.

    You gasped harder still— and almost choked on air. Then you looked to the babies. “Bullies! Bullies, both of them! Billy, Tommy, you must protect me!”

    Very enthusiastically, neither baby did anything. 

    “I’ve been betrayed yet again,” you cried, not too loudly, though. You slumped against Vision and Wanda’s waiting arms. “Betrayed by my own brood!”

    “Your brood?” Wanda questioned, quirking a brow. Vision was giggling softly at your other side.

    “Yes,” you whispered, looking at her with wide, distraught eyes, “My brood. My pack. My murder.”

    “Your what?” Vision said.

    “It’s a group of crows,” you explained under your breath, before slumping down farther and continuing your distraught monologue. “I’m all alone! Oh, the horror—”

    “Well,” Wanda said, “We’re supporting you very well a family that has completely abandoned you.”

    You flopped your head back in her direction. You were so far to the ground now that you were practically on your knees, only your arms and shoulders being held by Wanda and Vision. You traced fingers lamely across each of their arms. “So strong, those who once held me…”

    The married couple exchanged an amused but mysterious look.

    “Wanda, darling,” Vision said, “They seem to have gone delusional.”

    Wanda nodded sagely in response. “Clearly lost their mind.”

    You squinted, glancing between them. What were they up to?

    “To the ward with you,” Wanda suddenly announced.

    Then you caught a red glow by your feet, but not fast enough before you were swept up into the air on a cloud of red mist. You burst into startled laughter but quickly slapped a hand over your mouth so you didn’t wake up the children. Once you relaxed—enough to stop laughing anyway, not enough to not be freaking out about being magically escorted out of the nursery—you waved your hands through the red; it felt like waving your hands through the open air. The only thing actually felt was the pressure on the back of your body that was holding you afloat and carrying you out of the room, but when you tried to balance on it and move to a different position, all you did was squirm and twist awkwardly in the air before flopping back down. You craned your neck, mostly to make sure Tommy and Billy hadn’t woken up from your outburst, but you only caught Wanda, hands glowing red, following you out of the room and Vision trailing after wishing his babies a goodnight.

    You looked back at the ceiling for a moment. After you heard the nursery door shut, you asked at a normal volume, “I’m not gonna fall, right?”

    “Not unless I let you,” Wanda reassured you. You couldn’t see her but the teasing tone of her voice made you imagine her with a smirk. A smirk, narrowed eyes, her pretty nightgown floating around her, magical powers that she could definitely use to crush you if she wanted to and you’d probably thank her if she did.

    Wow, okay, I either need to confess my sins or go to sleep.

    “Why?” Wanda asked suddenly.

    “Why what?” you choked back, heat rushing to your face. Surely, she couldn’t read your thoughts…

    “Why ask if you would fall?”

    Oh.

    “Oh.” You started flopping around in the cloud of magic, testing the proverbial waters; you were being taken to the living area now. You heard both Wanda and her husband laughing from beneath and behind you when you settled again. 

    Vision asked through chuckling, “What could you possibly be doing?”   

    You suddenly flung yourself to one of the magic surrounding you, thinking maybe you would fall through, but the magic held. You huffed and laid back again but not before you caught a glimpse of the couch that you now hovered over. You grasped at the magic again, watching it wisp through your fingers but feeling nothing at all. “This is so cool.”

    Wanda’s voice was softer when she spoke this time. “You think?”

    You couldn’t hold back the disbelieving laughter that bubbled up. Suddenly breathless out of sheer excitement of learning more about the people you cared for most, you sighed, “Wanda, baby, you must know that you’re amazing.”

    Then you squawked as the magic suddenly disappeared around you, but instead of falling straight to the couch below, Vision flew up to catch you. He held you bridal style as he gently dropped back to his feet next to the couch, grinning—he very rarely just smiled, it was always a big, happy grin when it was directed at you or Wanda or the babies—and giving you a peck on the forehead when you stared up at him, doe-eyed.

    “Got my own Superman, too,” you said, “Damn.”

    Vision plopped you down on the couch. “Who?”

    “Comic book character,” you responded with a wave of your hand, “Doesn’t matter. You’re far better looking than him anyway.”

You shifted a bit to get more comfortable and watched as glowing red magic started swirling all around you. The magic was misty, red around the edges and glowing orange-white in the center, picking up the scattered toys from your and Vision’s scuffle and tossing them into the playpen, pulling said playpen out of the way and sliding the original coffee table back from its place against the wall, picking up any other stray blankets or baby items and placing them neatly out of the way; it also straightened out Vision’s robe and ruffled your hair. Part of the magic moved out of your line of vision, so you twisted to follow it and saw it taking the baby clothes off the drying rack to fold and put on the counter next to it, then continued watching as it folded the rack itself and moved it out of the way. 

Wanda was now in your sight again too; she was standing still, palms up with magic flowing outward from the red clouds around them, and looking around to see if there was anything else she needed to put away. She was also blushing, from you calling her baby or saying she’s amazing, you couldn’t tell. After staring for probably way too long, probably looking at her with the same starry-eyed, dopey look that a teenager had at their first concert or after a first kiss, her gaze flitted to yours and made a nose-scrunching face at you before finishing her magical cleanup and making her way over to the couch as well.

You slumped back in the pile of throw pillows behind you, covered your face with your hands, and flutter-kicked your feet few times. “This is so cool!”

    You felt a nudge at your feet and you raised your legs so he could sit, then did the same with your head when you felt Wanda’s hand brush across your forehead. When they were both seated, you laid your legs and head on their respective laps and the three of you settled into the comfortable position that had been adopted long after your relationship had started. 

    That is until you quickly sat up again. “Is that how you unpacked your house so quickly?”

    Wanda smiled and nodded. She rested a cheek in the palm of her hand, endeared by your wonderment towards her powers.

    “Is that you unpacked my house?”

    Another nod. 

    “And the magic show was real— Wait.” You scowled. “But all the pulleys and stuff.”

    “That was, ah, my bad,” Vision offered with a raised hand. 

    “Covering for him actually using his powers,” Wanda explained.

    “I knew the mirrors didn’t make sense with you putting your hat through your body!” you exclaimed. “So flight, super strong, and… not sure what to call that last one. What was with you that day, by the way? You acted drunk, but you can’t get drunk!”

    “I swallowed some gum,” Vision muttered, glancing away and rubbing the side of his neck. His other hand waved towards his torso as he continued, “It got all… stuck. Gummed up my gears, if you will.”

    Wanda rolled her eyes at the pun. You snickered at it.

    “I had to magic it out of him,” she added.

    Your gaze flitted back and forth between your two superhuman partners multiple times as you took in the information. Because you were sitting between the two, this involved the turning of your head various times, which made your head swim a bit. You almost wished that they were both sitting to one side of you.

    Instead of suggesting this, you settled your gaze to stare aimlessly ahead and said simply, “I’m dating two of the weirdest, coolest, most stellar people in the world. How the hell did I manage that?”

    “Charisma,” Vision offered, even though you and him both knew at this point how you’d weirdly creeped on him at the office the first day the two of you met.

    “Sheer force of will,” Wanda suggested, but you guaranteed she was remembering how, for the few dates you went on with them, you’d had to be reminded that you were actually on dates and that they weren’t just casual friendly hangouts. 

    You looked between them once more and then you wished you had suggested they sit to one side of you. Despite their steady, comfortable voices, Wanda was in the process of hiding her flustered face behind the curtain of her hair and Vision was chewing on his lip and couldn’t seem to keep his hands and feet from tapping away.

    “Okay,” you said after a moment, patting your thighs to do something with your hands. “I’m grasping that you guys don’t agree with me here. Wanda, go sit by him so I don’t get whiplash from trying to look at you both.”

    You and Wanda quickly switched places. You sat cross-legged on the couch to face them and Wanda and Vision shifted around to sit in a way that allowed them to face you without one blocking the other. After a moment, you waved your hands at them; the cheery air has since faded into something more somber. “What is it? Tell me why you get all quiet like that when I tell you, with evidence, why you’re the actual grooviest people I’ve ever met.”

    There were a few more moments of silence before Vision went to speak first, which surprised Wanda. She looked at him, eyebrows raised high on her forehead, and lightly grasped his wrist.

    “Vis?” she murmured.

    He sighed softly and placed his other hand over hers. “Oh, it’s really nothing dear, I promise. It’s just… Well, you’ve heard how the people of the cul-de-sac talk about us sometimes.”

    “Mean girls,” you grumbled under your breath with a nod, “the lot of them sometimes.”

    Wanda seemed to suddenly sag with sadness and both you and Vision reached over quickly to hold her.

    “Oh, darling,” Vision said, “It’s not your fault—”

    “That’s not true,” Wanda whispered.

    “It is true,” Vision said, and this time he said it with a fierceness that was familiar to you, whenever Wanda was being treated poorly by people like the Queen of the Cul-de-Sac, Dotty, or when Wanda decided to get down on herself. He grasped her shoulders tightly, squeezed them until she looked up at him. “Wanda, darling, love, I didn’t exist before I meant you. I mean, I did, of course, I did, but I was just this strange, non-human, non-machine thing that was just… kind of… there. It was you that gave me an existence, Wanda. You made me human.”

    Both you and Wanda stared at him, surprised. Wanda stared because she obviously didn’t fully agree with his opinion of her. You stared because of course, you were dating two of the weirdest, coolest, most stellar, and most romantic people ever. 

    Get yourself a man like that, you thought. Then after a moment, Wait, that is in fact also my man. 

    “And you—” Vision said, turning his head in your direction.

    “Oh, I’m next?” you stammered. “I thought it was Wanda’s turn.”

    Vision still held Wanda but also reached over to tightly grasp your hand and bring it to his mouth. “I just wished we could have confessed to you sooner. I just hate, hate, hated lying to you and now you’re involved with all this too—”

    The synthezoid with the English accent looked up at you with eyes begging forgiveness as if he’d committed one of the worst sins imaginable. You let out a hoarse laugh and ran your thumb across the side of his hand.

    “I’m sorry,” you said, still chuckling as you wriggled closer to your couple, “but as much as you might like to think you’ve subjected me to something I didn’t sign up for, I’d like to point out that I’ve been about a month ahead of you. I was here before you.” You felt a nagging urge to look at Wanda and repeat the last sentence, and there was something extra special about saying it that second time like there was a double and then a triple meaning behind it, but the way you both furrowed your brows afterward made it clear that neither of you really knew what those meanings were.

    Not yet, anyway.

    You cleared your throat and removed your hand from Vision’s grasp to place it on the back of the couch. “I moved into this town with no husband or wife, no family, nothing but a pile of letters and a new deed to a new house that happened to be the smallest in the neighborhood. My first week here I told one man in front of the entire night watch that I thought the joke he made about his wife was distasteful, and then the week after I tripped and spilled wine all over his wife. Agnes brought because she thought I’d be a form of entertainment and we somehow ended up becoming friends over a flask that she hid in a pocket sewed into the inside of her skirt.” You offered a look to Wanda again while you mentioned that Agnes never thought your “for the children” jokes were all that funny, though. “I’ve dealt with the comments and the rumors and the ‘what’s wrong with them, they don’t have no kids!’ People are weird and they’re mean and they’re fun and they suck. You want human, dude? You got it. If I was still bothered by comments that are nothing but a bummer, I think I’d be trying a little bit more than wearing clothes that I enjoy over the clothes that are expected of me, telling Dotty she needs to stop being awful before she gets frown lines, or, you know, pining over two people—a married couple nonetheless—until I somehow seduced them with my staring at them from around corners and just generally horrible, awful attempts at eye contact.”

    The married couple in question chortled at that.

    You used your hand on the back of the couch to hoist yourself up on your knees so you towered over Vision just slightly.

    “Here’s the thing, sunshine,” you continued, “I’m not in your boat on this one, you dorks, you’re in mine. I was here first and I don’t give a fuck.”

    Wanda gave a sudden laugh. “What language.”

    “Has he not told you about the time I said ‘Fuck you’ to a plastic bird in my garden?” you asked. “Multiple times? His name is Bernard and he’s plotting to kill me, I swear.”

    Wanda’s troubled expression was split by a wobbly smile.

    You threw up your arms in the dramatic fashion that you knew the two people in front of you loved and hollered—then quickly quieted back down to not disturb Billy and Tommy in the other room—“All this for my rambling putz ass to say, who cares about what’s outside this house! You two, and your kids, and I are the only people that matter here. Here being the house, Westview, whatever! Everyone else? Nonexistent.

    “Also, just to clarify,” you paused to wave your arms around, gesturing at the entire house, “Love it here. Love this shit.”

    You suddenly caught Vision’s slacked jaw in your hand and gave him a peck on the cheek. “This face? Love it.” You moved to peck a spot of silver on his skull. “Love this too.” You pecked the gem on his forehead and swore it glowed brighter in response. “Love this.” You pecked one of his ear plates. “Love these goofy things.” You pecked the tip of his nose. “Love this and the fact that you have it even though you don’t technically even need to breathe. Oh, speaking of which!” 

You lifted one of his hands with one of your own and tapped on his red fingernails with your other. You caught a glimpse of his face now that yours wasn’t directly in front of it and noticed him trying to hold back a giddy smile—and failing—while he watched you from underneath red lashes; your whole body would have tried to twist itself in knots under that look if you weren’t too busy swearing to kiss those eyelids and lashes too, at another time. Instead, you pecked each fingertip of the hand you were holding. “Love these ‘useless to my design’ things too. You know what, just speaking of hands—” You dropped Vision’s hand, which made itself to your waist as you went to grab Wanda’s; you were vaguely aware that you were practically leaning into their laps at that point but that could be dealt with when you weren’t trying to make a point.

When you went to touch her, she let you hold her wrist but quickly squeezed her hand into firsts before you could hold it like you had with Vision’s. She was looking away.

    You pressed a kiss to her whitening knuckles. “Wanda.”

    She looked at you, her perfect face distorted by a deep sadness that almost shattered your heart on the spot. She tightened her first further. The deep emotion appeared to make her slip back into her natural Sokovian accent when she spoke again. “You don’t know the pain it’s caused.”

    “I’ve done my fair share,” you affirmed even though you weren’t quite sure why. Then you kissed her knuckles again. “And maybe I don’t, but I know what good it’s caused, that you have.”

    Her face twisted into an ugly grimace. She asked hoarsely, “Like what?”

    “The first time I saw your face, I wanted to go to space, grab the moon, shrink it down—so it looked like one of those cool little lava rocks, you know? But prettier—and get it put on a ring,” you offered, then kissed the back of her hand and whispered, “and that’s after I found out you were married to a very attractive man too…”

    Vision snorted. Wanda cracked the smallest of smiles.

    You whispered lower, “And I may or may not have even been interested in marriage before that…”

    That time Wanda rolled her eyes; you smiled and grabbed her other clenched hand to share the attention with. You continued, “You’re also so nice, like so nice. You are so kind and care about what people think so much, it’s almost buggy—and bordering on self-destructive but that’s not what we’re talking about— And I sort of get it now, you know, but wow, making your magic show worse for the sake of people’s sanity? Wouldn’t even be on my radar.”

    Another little smile.

    “I’d be like, ‘Who wants to see me turn this entire table into a rosebush! Dotty’s rosebush specifically; Dotty, I stole your rosebush.’ I actually did steal a rose from her bush that day.”

    Wanda blinked and you noticed the lines of her expression weren’t as deeply etched into her face anymore.

    “That was Dotty’s?”

    You grinned and nodded, then kissed both of her hands. “Also, I love your hair and the way it perfectly frames your perfect face, and I love your little nose scrunches, and I love your eyelashes and the way you look at me from under them sometimes, and I’d kiss all those things but I’m not going to because I gotta get these stubborn, always-working, never-wanna-take-a-break, always-somehow-perfect-nails-having hands to relax before they hurt themselves even though it’s very clearly hard enough to make who woman who owns them do the same. Oh, I did I mention that smile—hoo, Wanda, that foxy smile…”

    Wanda was blushing now and bringing up her smile made it happen again, just slightly. You took advantage of the moment anyway and flung yourself back onto the couch with a hand over your heart. “Be still, my pounding heart!”

    Vision, who was watching by your and Wanda’s sides, laughed a bit. Wanda herself rolled her eyes again; the smile didn’t disappear afterward.

    You sat up again and pointed at Vision, now that he’d brought attention to himself again. “And I don’t know whether you heard any of the stuff this guy said! You made him exist? You made him human? What? You two also do this thing where you just look at each other and have a whole conversation, I don’t know if you guys know you do that or not. You do, though, and I don’t know if either or both of you are psychic but if you are and still love me? With my unhinged brain? Migraines and all? I wouldn’t understand, even if you explained it to me.”

    Vision offered, “Neither of us is psychic but anyway, please continue.”

    “Have anything to add?”

    “You’re doing wonderfully.”

    “Thank you.” You looked back and Wanda, noting that her face had almost completely softened now, as she was too busy being flustered to be sad at this point. You quickly scooped her hands before they could curl into fists again placed kissed on each of the crescent moon-shaped marks now dug into their palms. “Your magic rocked your babies to sleep. Your magic cleaned up all their and put it all in one nice, neat place. You floated me around the house with your magic and even protected me from falling when I was wriggling around up there; bet that was fun for both of you to watch. Vision said earlier that that was your job, to protect me, and while I don’t fully agree because I consider it the other way around, is that not what you did?”

    “I thought it was cute,” Wanda replied softly to the second to last sentence you said. She watched as you gave her hands a few more pecks.

    “So, you agree then,” you said, “that your magic protected me and also made me cuter?”

    She laughed and the sound made your heart soared, performing an aerial performance in your chest. She tried to wriggle her hands free from you but then you scowled and tucked them protectively under your chin.

    “Gotta say it. Gotta say your magic made me cute.”

    “I’m not saying that.”

    You shrugged and got comfy, laying your head in her lap with her hands still hidden. “Have to. Otherwise, no hands for you. Oh, did I not mention how good you are to your kids yet? You’re so good—”

    “Okay, okay, okay,” Wanda forfeited through a wet laugh. Hearing said laugh, your head shot up in concern, but the woman was smiling as she snagged your hands back; what she chose to do with them next was grab your face and place a kiss directly on your mouth.

    It was quick and soft and sweet and absolutely none of that prevented the fireworks that went off in your skull and your chest and your stomach and your veins that made tingles shoot all the way down to your toes. She pulled away as quickly as she had moved in and you blinked; your brain was still short-circuiting, like a robot—like a Vision with his gears all gummed up, and your dazed brain thought that was a very funny connection, so it repeated the joke verbally.

    Luckily, Vision was close enough to the level of dork that you were and he laughed at it with you.

    It took a deep breath and a head shake to de-gum your brain—if only Wanda could magic that—but after the excitement wore off, you felt sleepiness start creeping in and decided to make your final push. You curled a hand around both of your partners’ necks and brought their faces closer to nuzzle your noses together; they responded by each of them wrapping an arm around your waist and returning the affectionate action.

    “So, in conclusion,” you stated, which caused Vision to laugh lightly and Wanda to grin just slightly, “I love both of these perfect faces.” You kissed each of their noses. “And these funky, magical brains.” You kissed Wanda at the base of her hairline, then Vision just below his forehead gem. “And these equally funky, magical hands.” You grabbed the hands not looped around your waist and kissed the back of them. “And both of those babies, and this house, and y—”

    You sucked in a sudden breath to stop yourself so hard that you almost choked and you reeled back to the other side of the couch only to drag Vision and Wanda with you. The three of you tumbled into a flustered heap on the couch and over their shoulders, you could see early morning light filtering through the windows. This barely registered, though, as you were too busy focusing on the fact that you almost L-worded them on a silly, tired whim. 

    Despite the awkwardness of the moment and the unspoken words, no one made a move to remove themselves from the warm, cozy entanglement. One of both Wanda and Vision’s arms was pinned under your back, keeping them solid in place against you while simultaneously and successfully enveloping you in between them; your own arms, which had instinctively wrapped protectively around their shoulders in the tumble, kept them in a similar state. Wanda’s hair fanned found and covered the three of you like a blanket, and you were keenly aware of her breath softly wafting over the exposed skin of your neck from where her head now rested on your shoulder. Vision’s rested slightly lower, on your chest, and you felt a quickened pulse where his gem pressed into your neck, but you couldn’t be sure whether it was yours or his. 

    You stared past their shoulders and watched as sunlight shone through the curtains and dappled the ceiling. You tried to figure out whether you were stupider for stopping yourself from finishing that sentence or for not saying it at all.

    Then you felt a kiss being pressed to your clothed shoulder.

    “You’ve said so many things that you’ve loved tonight [Y/N],” Wanda murmured, her hot breath causing goosebumps to rise on your skin. “What’s two more?”

    “I—” you started, then bit your tongue again. There was something about saying that phrase that made you worried; you felt like if you said it now, the happy little world you lived in would begin to crumble, like it would all end far too soon. You sighed softly and said instead, “I don’t know how I would live without you.”

    There were a few moments of silence where you watched more sunlight filter in and wished you could take it back because what a way to talk a big game and then not follow through—

    Then Vision’s head appeared above you and he pressed a dizziness-inducing kiss to your lips. When he pulled away, he nuzzled your nose with his own as he murmured, “I love you too.”

    In almost the same moment, Wanda was mumbling the same phrase against your jawline. 

    Sleepy and hazy-brained you couldn’t do much else but stare at Vision like a lovesick puppy that struggled to say that L-word, then snuggle back down with both him and Wanda when they relaxed against you again. That seemed to be the last of what needed to be said, though, because everything was cozy and warm and golden brown in your home again and, one by one, the three of you fell into a deep, comfortable sleep.

    In the black void of otherwise dreamless sleep, you heard the vaguely familiar First Voice finish chewing something and then go, “Aww…”

[miraculousluvbug]

WINGLESS | Ch. 5

***New to Wingless? Start at Chapter 1!

CH. SUMMARY: Plagg panics because Lila's the devil incarnate and Lila learns that Gabriel Agreste is far stupider than he seems.

Adrien fondly flicked through the pages of The Pun-thagorean Theorem (Making Math Funny!) textbook. Plumes of dust wafted up his nostrils, causing his eyes to squint and his mouth to contort into the longest face known to man to avoid a hacking fit, but he smiled afterward nonetheless. The book was withered beyond measure, sure, but within its decaying jacket, it held the fleeting whispers of a previous life. A life before his mother went missing. When she enjoyed teaching him math with puns and pieces of candy while his father clung to the confines of closed doors. When her jokes graced the halls and her smiles left behind a fog of golden joy in her wake.

Adrien’s heart thudded with longing.

But he was determined to push back the feelings he had kept buried deep, deep, deep within his heart. So deep that he often forgot they were even there until they reared their ugly heads like a Hydra from the deepest recesses of the sea. Every time he thought he dealt with it, thought he had cut off its head and could breathe for just a second, two heads sprouted in its stead, determined to grip him by the ankles with their jagged teeth and force him to drown in his debilitating lack of self-worth.

He shook his head violently, as if that could shed him of his intrusive thoughts.

Hopefully, this book would help Lila. And then she’d leave. And then he could skip the anime and just take a fat nap. Keeping the Hydra at bay was exhausting.

Correcting his posture, Adrien approached his classmate, noticing straight away she had moved to his desk chair. Odd. But he was willing to roll with it.

Ha. Get it? Desk chair. Roll with it.

He pursed his lips, trying to hold back his laughter at himself.

Kagami had called him a clown, but Ladybug, as it turned out, appreciated his sense of humor. And if Lady-friggin’-bug--Commander of Wit and Creative Mastermind--thought he was funny, he must have been a damn comedic prodigy.

Plagg recognized that love-struck look on Adrien’s face and had to physically restrain himself from making barf noises.

“Are you ready to start, Lila?” Adrien said. Oblivious to Adrien’s whereabouts, Lila started and spun to greet him. (Was he always that quiet on his feet?)

“Adrien! You found the book.”

“Yep! Why don’t you take a look at it before we start?” Adrien smiled as he passed the book to her.

Lila returned the smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Adrien idly wondered if she had ever meant a smile in her life. She pinched the book between her thumb and forefinger as if it were a moldy sock. “Wow, Adrien, this book is so . . .”

A silence lingered as Lila racked her vocabulary for a word less insulting than crusty.

“Old?” Adrien offered, tilting his head.

Lila tittered unenthusiastically. “Yes, old.” She draped the book onto Adrien’s desk and poked at it. “How long have you, um, had it?”

“It’s been in the family a while.” Adrien hesitated. He didn’t really want to mention his mother to Lila. Lila was poisonous. She spun every piece of information she caught into a sticky web of lies like it was second nature. He didn’t know if he could stomach hearing lies about his mother.

So he bit down on the story of his mom before it could tumble from his lips. Even though he so badly wanted to tell anyone who would listen. His father never afforded him the opportunity to speak about her. His friends at school avoided the topic like the plague.

Come to think of it, Marinette was the only one of his friends who tried to help him see her movie that fateful day the press tried to pass her as his girlfriend. (Which he wouldn’t have minded, honestly, but she always seemed hellbent on them being just friends, so he accepted it.)

Ladybug, the other important person in his life, saw his mother on his desktop during that one akuma attack and commented on her smile. Those two girls (er--women? Which term was more respectful?) were the only people he truly felt safe around. Safe enough to turn his back on the Hydra he always kept a watchful, tired eye on and just enjoy the breeze of the ocean as it caressed his cheeks and messed up his perfect hair.

No, the subject of his mother wouldn’t scare them away. They could handle it.

But Lila was no Ladybug, and she definitely was no Marinette.

Behind them, Plagg was practically pulling his antennae out. It had been at least eight, maybe ten minutes since the akuma alert and his kid was none the wiser. And it really didn’t help that he just saw Ladybug and Rena Rouge pass by Adrien’s gigantic glass wall in a blur of red and orange.

But it was hopeless! He couldn’t get the message to Adrien without being seen!

Or . . .

Or could he?

“‘What’s Pythagoras’ favorite instrument?’” Lila read aloud. Her eyes darted over to the blonde leaning against the desk beside her. He bit his lip and his eyes were doing something weird. She had never seen that emotion on him.

“Go on,” Adrien pushed, his eyes practically sparkling. Huh. Was that emotion . . . eagerness?

She cleared her throat and turned the book upside down to read the answer awaiting her at the bottom of the page.

“‘A triangle.’”

Adrien giggled. What he wanted to do was slap his knee and let the whole world know he found it funny with a booming laughter that rivaled Tom Dupain-Cheng’s, but he knew that was un-gentlemanly.

Lila quirked an eyebrow.

Adrien sobered immediately. “You know,” he tried. “Since a triangle is an instrument and the theorem is about right triangles.”

Lila’s stare was unrelenting.

Adrien coughed. “So the triangle is his . . . favorite instrument.”

Lila stared for a bit longer than necessary before letting out a glaringly obvious fake laugh. Adrien was more offended that she thought that laugh was believable than that she didn’t find the pun funny at all. “Ha. That’s, like, so funny, Adrien. I can tell already that this book is going to be a big help.”

Adrien’s shoulders drooped a little. He hadn’t expected her to fall to the ground in ceaseless mirth, but he hadn’t thought her to be such a brick wall either. “Right. Well, why don’t we start with number one? Do you have your notebook or do you need a spare piece of pap--?”

The sound of the television coming to life cut Adrien’s question short. Lila’s eyes bulged out of her head and the sight would have been comical had it not also meant that Plagg was being a nuisance. Again.

But honestly, when was he not?

Lila burst from her seat and sprinted to the television. “Were you standing on the remote or something?” Lila queried, her voice high-pitched and grating to Adrien’s ears.

Adrien scratched the back of his neck. Think, think, think . . .

“Um, my room is haunted?”

Lila gawked at him wordlessly, gripping the back of his sofa. “You posted something about that on Instagram, but I thought you were, I don’t know? Making it up?”

Because you would be an expert on that, right, Lila?

Adrien plucked the remote from the coffee table and pointed it at the television, his thumb barely brushing the power button when the words from the newscaster reached his ears and sent chills down his spine.

“New akuma . . .”

“Ladybug and Rena Rouge on the scene . . .”

“Chat Noir yet to be spotted . . .”

Adrien’s heart skipped a beat. Furrowing his brow, he ran to his phone and ogled its empty notification list. Why hadn’t he received an akuma alert? Was the Ladyblog acting buggy?

Adrien had to come up with an alibi and fast. Lie like the wind, Bullseye.

He scooped up his cherished pun textbook and shepherded Lila to his bedroom door despite her protests. “I’m so sorry, Lila! I, uh, just remembered I have to practice piano for an extra hour today.” The television droned on about the deadly, unstoppable, mind-controlling, threateningly large, new akuma behind him. The hair on Adrien’s neck stood up with every added adjective.

“You’re not seriously sending me out into the city where the akuma is?” Lila exclaimed.

Oh. The thought hadn’t occurred to him.

“Um, sorry, Lila, but I’m sure you’ll be fine! You’re Ladybug’s best friend, right? She’d never let anything happen to you.” Adrien smirked inwardly at that. Lila was failing miserably at hiding her disgust for his spotted partner when he shut the door--politely--in her face.

Quickly, he propped up his phone on the piano and navigated to his voice memo app.

“I deserve extra cheese,” Plagg drawled, hovering to the side of Adrien.

“For nearly exposing yourself to Lila?” Adrien remarked bitterly.

Plagg narrowed his eyes. “No, for figuring out how to get your attention when Lila was clearly undermining you!”

Adrien stopped dead in his tracks. His finger hovered above his latest piano recording while his mind raced. “What do you mean, Plagg? I didn’t get an akuma alert. That’s not her fault.”

Plagg scoffed. “Uh, you did get an akuma alert. That--that menace got rid of it!” Plagg folded his arms across his chest, clearly much angrier than he would ever admit. “She got rid of the notification so you wouldn’t see. Even when she doesn’t know she’s doing it, she’s sabotaging Ladybug! You can’t let her in your room anymore, Adrien.”

Adrien stiffened. So Lila was far worse than he gave her credit for. He wouldn’t underestimate her again. Harmless snooping, he could live with. Interfering with him protecting his lady? Unforgivable. She did that when he was Chat Noir and he thought he had learned his lesson.

Apparently not.

“We’ll talk about this more later, Plagg,” Adrien finally decided. A moment later, the soft melody of a piano piece danced around the room. His eyes wandered to the whiteboard on his wall that had twelve tally marks souring its otherwise pristine surface. Plagg followed his gaze and looked back at his kid with a frown and drooping brows, tail and antennae betraying his melancholy.

Adrien pointedly ignored Plagg’s Pity™ look. “Ladybug’s already cleansed an akuma twelve times without needing my help. Let’s not let there be a thirteenth. Claws out!”

Meanwhile, from the other side of Adrien’s door, Lila simmered, jaw clenched, mouth dry. She didn’t have an inkling why Adrien had concocted such a ridiculous excuse, but she was ninety percent sure it had something to do with Ladybug.

It always came back to that impudent roach.

Lila dragged her feet all the way to the main staircase with every intention to vacate the Agreste premises, but a quick sweep of the mainroom revealed the bodyguard was nowhere to be seen. And interestingly enough, neither was that dreadfully stoic assistant Adrien was so fond of. Come to think of it, she hadn’t seen her when she first entered.

Empty. The room was deliciously empty.

And Lila had never seen the inside of Gabriel’s office.

Smirking, she decided she would have to correct that.

Just in case she got caught, Lila inconspicuously flitted around the room in an attempt to appear like she wasn’t on a mission. She fawned over trinkets and leisurely “admired” the boring paintings accosting the walls before her twitching fingers rested on the door handle.

She waited with an ear pressed against the wood. Silence had never tasted sweeter.

The room was . . . well, it left something to be desired.

Wasn’t Gabriel supposed to be a fashion icon?

His interior design made her want to gouge out her eyes with a plastic spork.

Lila gingerly let the door fall into place behind her, the hinges creaking only slightly (a billionaire or whatever he was could afford to professionally oil his door, she assumed) before her feet carried her to a mustard yellow tapestry. The woman adorning it she recognized was Adrien’s mother. The photos of Adrien to her right were all edited from photoshoots. Perfect. Unblemished.

Lila supposed she could overlook Adrien’s pitiful sense of humor. Adrien was still great eye candy, and his reputation made him an even tastier prize.

The scent of cologne and disinfectant mingled, battling each other for dominance and the result was only a bit nauseating. Orange light seeped in from the windows, the tendrils of luminance touching everything in the room but the wall with the tapestry. It was golden hour apparently.

Unable to help herself, Lila brushed her fingers along the edges of Gabriel’s touchscreen, searching, searching. Ah. There. A ridge. A power button, perhaps? With the tip of her fingernail, she pressed it and . . .

Of course, the thing would be password protected.

Maybe Adrien’s birthday?

Wait. Did she even know Adrien’s birthday?

Lila shrugged and turned on her heel. She was curious, but odds were she would never be able to guess Monsieur Agreste’s password. Unless . . .

Slowly pivoting to face the screen again, she tried typing something crazy and, albeit, a little stupid.

There was just no way. It was a waste of time to even try.

She tapped a green enter button.

The waiting screen consisted of the outline of a butterfly slowly being filled in and then repeating. Interesting. She wouldn’t have pegged Gabriel to be a butterfly guy. But if she thought about it really, reeeeally hard, she could just barely recall a few designs Adrien had modeled that sported a butterfly-like logo.

But whatever. This butterfly waiting screen meant nothing. There was still no way.

There was absolutely no way the password to the great fashion mogul Gabriel Agreste’s personal computer was “password.”

Was there?

She idly tapped her nails on the screen, the clack-clack-clack echoing around her in the frustratingly barren room. The anticipation ate away at her until . . .

Bingo. The screen unlocked, and the light shining on Lila transitioned from the black of the waiting screen to the blue of a schematic.

Lila snorted. “Seriously? I’m no Max but even I know that’s the most brainless password known to man.”

Closer inspection led to a fascinating revelation. The schematic wasn’t actually for a building or even a design. There were photos of her classmates and their . . .

Their hero personas? Interesting. Could he have been planning a Superhero line? How did he even find out their identities?

Wow, there was Nino as Carapace and that one girl Kagami as Ryuko. Max as some horse-looking hero she honestly had never seen in her life. Kim as a monkey. Unsurprising. Some guy with blue highlights who she’d only seen around Marinette. And Alya . . . as Rena Rouge.

Lila clenched her fists. Her nails left indentations in her palms.

She didn’t have time to stew over this infuriating morsel of information, however, before the floor beneath her began to tremble. Wasting no time, she sprinted to the middle of the room and was surprised to find the floor now still. Had she imagined the earth quaking?

What sounded like mechanical whirring had her spinning on her heel to face the painting. Her jaw dropped to the floor at the sight of a hole in the previously-unmarred tile. From the dark pit rose one bonafide, Barney-colored supervillain, his back facing her.

“Nooroo, dark wings fall.”

Instantly, a waterfall of purple and white glitter illuminated the room. The light was so intense, Lila had to lift her arms and shield her retinas. Her heart thudded wildly against her ribcage.

Any sane person would have run away at the sight of a supervillain in their classmate’s mansion.

But not Lila.

Lila quite liked Hawk Moth. She more than shared his distaste for the superhero duo and was overjoyed whenever he graced her with the opportunity to fight them as an akuma.

She was even more overjoyed to find out her boss and Hawk Moth were not just cut from the same cloth . . .

They were the same cloth.

The man otherwise known as Gabriel Agreste stood before her, hands clenched into tight fists at his sides.

His shoulders were hunched up to his ears as he grumbled, “Blasted children. I’ll get your Miraculous one of these days--”

“Um, Master?” a tiny voice interrupted.

Lila had never seen such a thing. Was that a bug? A fairy?

“What is it, Nooroo?”

Upon Nooroo’s silence, Gabriel turned around and was incapable of hiding the shock on his face when he found Lila Rossi trespassing in his office.

“How much did you see?” he demanded, scowling.

Lila tittered behind her hand. “Even if I hadn’t seen everything, Hawk Moth, I’d still be asking you what on Earth that thing is.” She jabbed a manicured finger at Nooroo.

Upon seeing his computer on and unlocked, Gabriel lifted his chin and sneered at the fifteen year old girl who had evidently outsmarted him.

Understanding, Lila shook her head. “You really are a boomer,” she mused. “‘Password’ is the least intelligent password you could have picked.”

“I thought it was clever, Master,” Nooroo meekly added.

Desperate to get control of the situation, Gabriel folded his hands behind his back and stood until he was at his full height. “So now you know.” He dared not move from higher ground. “I can’t imagine you thought it’d be smart to confront an adult man who’s shown he has nothing to lose.”

Lila raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you have, like, a son?”

Gabriel’s gaze was unrelenting.

Lila almost pitied the oblivious blonde boy. “Whatever. I just wanted to snoop around your office. I couldn’t have possibly dreamed a juicier secret. Paris’s beloved and esteemed fashion designer doubling as its masked terrorist?”

Gabriel bristled.

Feigning nonchalance, Lila perched upon one of Gabriel’s long purple benches and crossed one leg over the other before leaning an elbow on her knee and resting her cheek in her palm. Mischief twinkled in her eyes. “Scandalous.”

“I could make your life a living hell, young lady,” Gabriel began, but Lila held up a hand, halting him in his tracks.

“No need to get defensive, Monsieur. You have nothing to fear from me.” Lila stood then and crossed the room to stand on equal footing with Gabriel. While the top of her head was far beneath the man she addressed, her confidence made her a formidable contender. She leaned forward and peered up at him. “In fact, I want to help.”

Gabriel’s fingers twitched. He knew she liked getting akumatized, but this was unexpected. His initial reaction was to shut it down. This should have never happened. He had to ensure her silence but keep her far from involved.

His curiosity, however, got the better of him. He was a businessman at heart, after all.

“Help how?” he pressed.

Lila smiled crookedly.

Hook.

“You’ve akumatized me before and we’ve caused great chaos together.” Lila fiddled with one of her foxtails as she circled Gabriel. “Can you imagine if we actually strategized an akuma?”

“Are you implying my previous akuma were unplanned?”

Line.

“Not at all!” Lila mended, already sensing that Gabriel’s pride was a sore spot. “But you catch your victims when they’re unhinged, laden with their own emotions. How many times has an akuma put their own needs before yours?”

Lila turned her back on Gabriel then and moseyed toward the benches once more. She let her hand trail along the fabric of the cushions, waiting for him to take the bait . . .

“I’m listening.”

Sinker.

“What if your akuma’s goals were aligned with yours? Everything would be calculated. Predisposed. And--” Lila couldn’t prevent the smile from bleeding into her voice “--I’ve never had a sentimonster assist me before.” Lila stopped moving but remained facing the window. The sun was nearly set now.

Heels clacked against the tile. Approaching. Lila steeled herself.

“I don’t suppose you’ll join my assistant and I out in the gardens, Mademoiselle Rossi?”

Lila grinned from ear to ear. Oh, she could just imagine the taste of Ladybug’s fear when she loomed over her, fingers pinching her earrings and just ripping them from her lobes. Would the joy blooming in her heart be overwhelming, like a banana overpowering the flavors in a smoothie? Or would it slide down her throat like her mother’s hot chocolate? Rich, creamy, satisfying, and scalding all at the same time . . . but faintly nipping at her vocal cords from the traces of cinnamon?

Was it unbecoming to hope Ladybug’s ears would bleed?

“I would love to.”

Unbecoming or not, it was her greatest desire, from both the deepest and shallowest crevices of her soul.

-----

I just released Chapter 7 over on AO3, so if you're itching for more, go check it out here and leave me some love in the comments. Comments are jet fuel for my creativity 🥰 Follow me for updates and check out my Instagram where I post art!

(5/?) Previous | Next

[oingo233]

Rapture is a Boy (5)

Summary: Remus and you have always had a playful, loving relationship but his behavior around the full moon leads you to assume the worst. A huge fight ends with the two of you heartbroken. Will Remus reveal the truth behind his behavior?  And will you still love him afterwards or has he truly lost you forever?

Young Remus Lupin x Reader (Neutral)

Warning: angst, cuss words, self-doubt and self-hate, mention of cheating, lotsss of angst in this one, maybe even more than before. 

Authors Note: Now, this chapter is a bit on the longer side but it is my favorite one so far.  We get POV’s from Remus, you, and Sirius(excuse how much there is of Sirius, it’s not entirely intentional he just owns my heart), each filled with ANGST.  And the lack of communication and the full throttle of angst is almost painful, but oh so juicy.  I hope you all enjoy it, only a couple parts left, or one, until the end yall!  I love you so much!  Sirius POV in italics. 

Word Count: 3k

Part One - Part Two - Part Three - Part Four - Part Five - Part Six - Part Seven - Part Eight

                                                  Part Five

                                        ****Letters To My Love****

Remus POV

Breakfast was over by the time Remus made it back to his dorm, but he didn’t leave to go to 1st period.  Because on the endless and lonely walk back, his mind began to spin.  He knew he wasn’t a cheat, but he was a liar.  He lied to you about his being a werewolf for years because he was petrified of what you’d think of him when you found out.  That you’d stop seeing his scars as beautiful stories but rather the makings of a monster. 

 He was more of a beast than he was a man, and for one night each month, a beast was all he became.  How could you love him knowing that? Remus had yet to stop pacing the length of the boys dorm, ignoring the way little sticky notes on the walls with prank ideas came twirling down with every gust of wind Remus’s sharp turns created. He was a storm.

He repeated this thought for the better part of 1st period.  How could you love him?  You won’t love him, he tells himself, you never will, Lucy said it herself, he was just a disturbing truth. The thoughts made his stomach lurch.  You will never love him again.  These horrible, tantalizing thoughts were accompanied by beautiful moving pictures on his wall, which his eyes darted to every second despite how miserable they made him.  

One picture was a large polaroid of the two of you laying on the common room floor, while your friends are all laughing around you, your arm was wrapped securely around his shoulders and he is laying his head on your chest.  He was fast asleep, but a ghost of a smile was painted on his lips, your head was leaned back in laughter.  While the picture moves, you only seem to laugh harder and Remus shook, his smile growing ever larger as he awoke to the sound of pure joy.

You will never love him again. With that heavy thought, and another glance at the picture he rushes to the bathroom, just in time to find the toilet, as he vomits into it.  Utterly sick and riddled with anxiety and self-hate, but so much anger filled him.  Why did Lucy have to ruin everything?  Why did you have to leave him?  Why did he have to be such a fucking monster? Why’d he have such god awful luck!

Sirius finds him in the bathroom, sobbing for not the first time that morning nor the last. Sirius rushed over to him, patting his back as he choked up extra pieces of last nights dinner. Sirius forgetting to retrieve his class book he forgot this morning, and was excused from class to quickly get.  Herbology can wait, Sirius wasn’t going to spend his future with plants anyway.

“Remus, what’s wrong?  What can I do?” Sirius knew it was about you, but why was he so sick?  Little did Sirius know, that love and heartbreak is both the enlighting of the heart, and the sickness that plagues so many.  

Remus was not immune to such poison, his strength lies elsewhere, it lies in the mornings after full moons and the steadiness of his hands before.  It lies in his courage, in his determination and empathy.  It lies in his silver tongue, but his strength does not belong to his heart because he gave his heart to you so long ago.  And perhaps you gave him the greatest strength of all, love. Love, love, love, you gave it all to him and more.  Now he was left empty and he felt it now in his stomach as much as he did in his heart.

“I am alone Sirius.  I was alone in the room, then I saw our picture, (y/n) was laughing.” His voice cracked, fighting a sob. “They are the most lovely thing I’ve ever seen Pads...Pads do you think I told em’ that enough?  That I love them?” Remus then turned to Sirius with the most gut dropping look of remorse, with a breath to match.  Sirius nodded fervently, not sure how else to comfort a person in such a state. He rubbed circles on his back and reached for a tissue. 

“Yes Moony, we all heard you say it a million times.  But...Moony it isn’t over.  Lucy lied to them, if you are honest -and I mean fully honest about everything- you two will be one again. Practically married again.  So, gather yourself Moony.  I will wait with you till the bell rings, yeah?” Sirius hands Remus the tissue and smiles down at him, trying his best to be encouraging Remus knew, it was the same smile Sirius gives him after hard full moons and the whole lot of them want to stay in bed.  

But it did not work, Remus’s whole body sank into the floor as he wiped at his mouth.  Sighing at the mess he was, flushing the toilet he stands.  

“No. I can’t tell them-”

“Remus-”

“No!  Leave it alone Sirius, you don’t understand.  (y/n) deserves better than...than this this thing that I am, and will always be.  This monster.” Remus throws the tissue down and storms out of the bathroom, back into the expanse of their room and now flouncing his arms around as he speaks.  Voice thick with emotions.  “Do you think they’ll still love me after they know the truth?” He sneers, almost laughing humorlessly to himself.  Sirius stared at him in horror, still in the doorway of the bathroom.

“They’ll leave me Sirius, I would lose them twice.  Twice!  No,” Remus shakes his head, “Better I let them go now, I’d rather not go through this whole ordeal twice.” He motions to his vomit lined collar and messy locks.  “Better (y/n) hates me for a lie, than the truth.”  And that was the end of it.  Remus turned his back on Sirius and began to pull clothes from his drawers, deciding that it would be best to go to second period.  If he was to get over you, he must start soon.

Sirius was left speechless.  Remus was angry, that was clear to see but he was often the only one who could get himself out of these ruts of self-hate.  Him and you of course.  So Sirius got his almost twice forgotten book and left.  Before he left the room completely he turned in the doorway to say something to Remus, but he only watched as Remus softly tore the photos of you off of his wall, Sirius shut his mouth and left.

Your POV

The bell to second period rang through loud and clear, yet it wasn’t until the movements of the students around me, rushing to be free from History of Magic, that I began to move myself.  Even then my movements were slow, sluggish and reflected the droopy feeling of my heart hanging loose in my chest.  Like a portrait hanging sideways on one of the hallways, knocked loose by a groping couple, but my heart was knocked loose my the image of Lucy and Remus I’ve spun up in my head.  Oh, I can just picture them together, so clearly.  

His large hands roaming the plains of her back after making love, tracing words mindlessly as he has once done to me.  His lips glued sleepily into the crook of her neck, as they cuddled after a long school day...just as he once did to me.  It’s only been a day but my fingers are twitching to cling onto his and never let go.  To hug and grip him, and my lips...well they tingle at just the thought of his kiss.  My whole body abuzz with the idea of Remus, it has not yet caught up with my head, it does not yet seem to realize that Remus is no longer ours to hold and feel.  He is no longer mine.

I finish packing all of my belongings into my satchel and hug it to myself instead of around my shoulder and waist like I usually have it. I thought this class would be much harder than it was, considering it is the only one I have with Remus today, but he never even showed.  Coward, the bitter side of me thought, fucking coward.  But I nonetheless picked out double the pages of parchment, and never once raised my head from the block of wood that is my desk.  I was too focused on taking double the notes, both just copies of one another.

Now, as I walk out the door, not missing the way our professor seemed to pity the sullen look on my usual bright face, my only thought is on finding Sirius.  Things have been tense between me and all The Marauders, but I like to think Sirius and I, though on very tense terms since our fight, are more amiable than James or Peter and I.  

I was knocked off focus, and quite literally, by a blushing first year girl. “M’ sorry,” She mumbles, looking up at me like a scared mouse.  I quickly glance up just in time to catch the retreating figure of a running Lucy, knocking even more people along the way. 

 “S’ alright, wasn’t you,” I smile sweetly at her and that seems to calm her nerves, she walks off with a little smile.  But I was left with a rather large frown, was Lucy off to see her boyfriend, Remus? Is that what they are now?  The thought made me sick, and the words made me even sicker.  But there was little time to dwell when in the dwindling crowd I caught sight of a tall man with the messiest bun I have ever seen.  Yet, Sirius pulled it off, I almost wanted to roll my eyes, he can pull many hairstyles off (many of which, I myself can not).

“Sirius!”  I call, flapping a stack of paper in the air while trying to make my way through the crowd and towards him.  He tells some friends of his from 1st period to go ahead, and waits for me with a tight smile.

“(y/n),” He greets, rather stiff.  As if this whole thing was my fault, and we didn’t just have our whole friendship break through last night.

Sirius was staring down at you, soaking in the sadness of your eyes and the exhaustion shown through crinkles on your forehead.  He took quick notice of the wrinkles in your outfit, and the totally clashing colors of the clothes underneath your robes.  He wanted to frown, usually your outfits are well put together.  But then again, Remus stormed off in his pajamas this morning, guess heartbreak makes you do even crazier things than love itself. But either way, Sirius felt awful after your argument last night and was having a rather difficult time expressing his emotions, so instead of apologizing like he knew he should, your presence just made him feel uncomfortable.  A reminder of how he failed both his mates when it came to this whole breaking up thing.  He regard the stack of papers with a raised brow.

I shove the papers into his chest, he cups them stiffly with one hand, peering down at them quickly and titling his head down at me in a frown.

“(y/n)...” He starts, but I cut him off.

“Before you start Sirius, you should know that Remus missed a very important class this morning,” I say, rocking on my heels and oddly nervous.  A person can only take so much rejection and emotion in one day.

“But...why?  If you think he cheated on you, I mean,” Sirius uncomfortably held the papers, waiting for me to respond.  But I drew up blanks, why did I write him notes?  Why did I go through the trouble of writing till my hand ached and protested?  Was it because I still loved him? Yes, but also it was the way I dreamt last night of our first kiss and then the way he stumbled up the stairs with James, crying.  It was guilt.  But then I was angry, fuck this, I think, he doesn’t deserve to pass History, prat should re-take the whole boring class ten-fold!

“Nevermind Pads, just give them back,” I growl, tearing the papers from his hands and nearly ripping them.  But then the wind seemed to remind me of how it is the season of the N.E.W.T.S and Remus so long ago said that maybe History of Magic will aide him in his test.  I growl again and shove the papers back into a surprised, and quite frankly annoyed Sirius.  His chest was really starting to hurt.

“No, you must take them.  Give them to him...” I can’t bring myself to look at Sirius, oh what he must think of me.  Such a silly girl to tend to Remus after all that he has done to me.

Sirius glanced down at the papers, your handwriting clear as day and neat.  You clearly tried to make it easy to read, and the notes were well taken, informative.  He looked between you and the papers and fought a smile.  Even a blind fool could see how much you still adored Remus, but then he thought back to the conversation he had with Remus this morning. His heart overcame with something that felt all too much like real, physical pain.  Sirius hands began to shake, how could Remus let you go. You’re one of the best things that happened him. Then another thought occurred to him, how was Remus to get out of the dorm again, or even smile again after reading your notes?  It would break his heart all over again.

Sirius shook his head at me, placing the papers into my hand and ignoring the dumbfounded look on my face. “Merlin (y/n), are you trying to bloody kill him?” He says, addressing my notes and the sweetness behind the gesture.  Perhaps it was too soon.  But I was prepared.

“Oh, shove off it Sirius.  My name isn’t even on the parchment, he won’t know it’s from me.  Just say ya got a friend to take ‘em for him, yeah?” Sirius still looked uncomfortable by the matter.  I cut him off before he even began, I could see him thinking.  “Don’t want him failing N.E.W.T.S do ya?”  Sirius takes a deep breath and tucks his lips in a disapproving frown wordlessly taking the papers and stuffing them in his bag.

“ave’ a good one!”  He calls over his shoulder, almost wincing as he spoke, it was second nature to call such a thing in parting with a friend, but he was unsure of your friendship at the moment, and it was quite clear you weren’t going to have a good day.  He turned to you with a tight smile, and loosened up at your own large smile.  You finding the situation with an almost bitter sense of humor but humor nonetheless, he thinks to himself “good lad.”

The both of you part ways, reminiscing on easier times and missing them dearly.

Remus POV

Remus sat in his bed to study, which none of the boys do because they’ll fall asleep, and they usually did it together on the floor in a heap of papers, books, and spilled ink.  But tonight Remus grew rather somber as Sirius handed him a collection of notes from 1st period.  “aye, a friend wrote em’ for you.  N.E.W.T.S comin’ up n all.” Sirius muttered, slowly placing them atop Remus’s chest, not looking him in the eye. Remus sat up in his bed to examine the papers, his hands shaking and crinkly the edge.  He knew.

He quickly grabbed his parchment, and book, quill and ink before closing his bed curtains.  He then proceeded to cuss and scream(more of a groan) under his breath.  Of course he knew the notes were from you, it was silly of you to assume he wouldn’t.  He long ago memorized every curve and line in your handwriting.  Why did you have to care about him still? Why did you have to be so sweet and perfect?  His heart wanted to run away to you, but he tried to focus on other things.  But his mind went back to you once again, like a broken record.  He remembers all the letters you’d write him, all the things you’d say.

He first memorized your handwriting over the summer after first year.  He got several letters from James and Sirius, one or two from Peter, and one every 2 weeks from you.  You adored hand written letters, and so he came to love them too.  Then again 2nd year, then 3rd and 4th your owl came to his window time and time again, always sent off with a letter of his own writing.  But 5th year, the year you two started dating, your friendly letters changed to love letters and it was those ones he clipped to his wall or kept in a special drawer, never throwing out one.

On particularly difficult nights, like ones before and after a full moon, when his body was drained and he was desperate for the warmth of friends and the dull ache to leave his body, he would pull out the letters his friends wrote him and read them.  Then he’d pull out every love later you sent him and read it.  He’d walk over to his bed and re-read them a million times, relaxing into his comforter and sighing with the memories of you that overcame him with each word like tidal waves. He’d hug them to his chest, then pull the next one out to read, all with the softest smile.

His pain long forgotten, he’d fall into a peaceful slumber with parchment and letter sprawled all around him.  All greeted with...

My love,

And all signed with...

All my love to you,

(y/n)

Remus traced over your handwriting and hugged the notes under his chin and deep into his chest.  As if they would become apart of him, and in that way you will always be with him.  But you were, you were everything to him. I won’t part from my love, he thinks, my love is apart of me. 

He decided then, that he would do anything in this world to win your affection back.  He would bare his soul naked to you, just for the word “love” to slip from your lips and into his being.  He was no longer afraid of your rejection, he just craved the chance to see what you would do, of what good could come from his truth unfolding itself before you. He craved your acceptance of all that he was, and above all he craved for you to love him once again.

Taglist:

@crazylokonugget     @beyondprincess     @1975weasley    @nicodoesntexist  @goto-hi-this-is-my-brain    @yoyoitsbella    @ftwert   @sognatrice-as-a-hobby   @dontjudgemyobsessionpls   @blackpinkdolan​    @holdenviolet​  @katie-lupin05

[blackcherrykiss]

BLOOD BOUNDARIES - Enhypen OT7 Fanfic (ch.9)

[CH.1] [CH.2] [CH.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7][CH.8] previous chapters

[CH.10] next chapter (unavailable on tumblr but avaliable on wattpad!)

You wait outside the nurse's office beside Jay in complete silence. You were both waiting for someone to burst out the door in front of you to rest assure Jungwon's condition.

"You can go to class, I'll stay and wait for Jungwon." Jay broke the noiseless lounge as his eyes laid flat on the grim grey floor. You were willing to stick around but realized  it would be better if you were to just leave. Jungwon probably wouldn't want to see you after the minor argument. You simply nodded your head and left without another word.

When you had arrived in your astronomy class you carefully explained yourself, explaining Jay would be gone for most of the afternoon. Your teacher listened intently and understood every word well. Sitting in your usual spot, a wave of frustration washes over you once you remember Sunghoon had stolen your book for the class. You could only hope the new interesting concept of the class would jog your mind off of things to which it did. However, as the class came to a close you couldn't help birdwatch Jay's desk. Jay's absence for the entire class continued to make you worry about Jungwon and his condition.

Sending yourself out of the class in a daze, you began to join the trail of the halls. You met Nana and Dahee walking out of their class at the same time to your surprise, "Oh! Y/N!" With an abrupt slide to slow down you let the two girls catch up to you, "Sorry we couldn't eat lunch with you and Hyesun, we went to track tryouts." Nana gleefully explained.

"It's fine, I had detention for half of lunch and then got caught up in something..." Your head going straight back to Jungwon, "We should all be apologizing to Hyesun right now..." Immediately you got reminded about what Hyesun had mentioned to you earlier, "Hey, Dahee... I actually really need to speak to you about something in private." You asked shamelessly.

Nana looked at you both suspiciously but ultimately respected the privacy you desired, "I'll get going to my last class then, girls." She tapped both of your shoulders before joining the flowing current of the hallway.

You went with Dahee to a more private space, under one of the stairwells of the school. "Dahee, Hyesun told me about you and Sunghoon..." You trailed off, hoping you didn't have to say much more as to what you were about to say.

"So you do like him?" Dahee gasped happily to your surprise, "Don't worry I'm not that into him yet... But you should've told us a long time ago!" She nudged you gently in the elbow.

"Yeah! Sorry about that..." You lied with deep despise. You now had to act like you liked Sunghoon and that was the worst feeling ever, "I'll tell you about it later then, you should get going!" You cut the conversation very short so Dahee could both get to her class in time.

"I will! See you!" She waved in a much brighter mood now that you told her you supposedly liked someone for the first time forever.

"Dear Lord, what am I getting myself into?" You muttered furiously. Were you really going the extra mile to protect your friends over some gut feelings? You were literally praying to God that you would receive some sort of reserved spot in heaven for the shadow work you were doing. That is until you were interrupted by a somberly slow clap and a couple of shoes that clacked against the stairs above you.

"Wasn't expecting such a plot twist..." Sunoo came into clear view after reaching the final step at the bottom of the staircase. This was now the second time you were caught being heard by people separate from your plan. "So you didn't like Jungwon, but Sunghoon?!" He giggled in interest and cheap pity. He seemed rather thrilled to overhear your bullshit.

"I..." You could not come up with a reply in fear of both outcomes. By telling the truth or carrying out the lie to people, you were putting yourself in a very sticky situation.

"Dahee and Sunghoon were hitting it off so well the other day, it's a shame you're in the way..." Sunoo made an overly exaggerated glum face to piss you off, "You don't actually like him now, do you?" Sunoo caught on to your intentions, circling around you, "You're just doing it to save her, yes?"

You remained silent, causing Sunoo to stop right behind you where you felt the heat of his body getting closer.

"You're a lot smarter than some girls... It's enticing really... Perhaps that's why the boys are so fond of you?" Sunoo snaked around his arm to have the dull edge of his nail touch the flesh of between your jaw and neck. Slowly he etched a line down until it was right against your throbbing pulse.

You pulled away in shock as to how scandalous the act was, "I need to go... I'm supposed to check on Jungwon." You stepped away to face Sunoo in an abrupt manner.

"I heard about Jungwon's situation from Jay," He held the sharpest part of his chin between his index and middle finger, "Jungwon will just continue to get sick. He's so malnourished."

"Malnourished?" You echoed Sunoo.

"He chose to end up like that." Sunoo walked toward you again but this time passing you, with his shoulder slightly bumping yours, "Don't pity him, darling."

You shuddered. Sunoo was the most mysterious with his hints. He was the hardest to read between the lines with. For some reason, only he out of the boys influenced your thinking pattern.

...

After school and a mediocre meal at dinner, you regretted not at least peeping your head by the nurse's office just once that afternoon. Jungwon had probably been released from health watch but you thought you could've come to terms with him that evening. It was unsatisfying as you didn't feel any closure between the war of words you had with him. What wasn't helping was the stress you also had from Sunghoon.

The daylight vanished rather quick in the colder season of the year and dusk approached rather faster than a candle blowout. Since Sunghoon didn't set a specific time, you just headed out with not a glance at the clock. Your guess was to sneak out as soon as the sun came falling down. Due to the hallway monitors of your school during the late evening, it suddenly became an obstacle you had not planned for. You were confused yourself as to how Sunghoon could sneak out at this time of day, surely sneaking out super late at night was possible but not in the evening. Eventually, you took a trip out of a window on the bottom floor of the dormitory to bypass one of the school monitors.

You were well aware of how idiotic you looked running down the concrete steps and toward the very back of your school where the shadows of the forest shined brightly. You didn't see Sunghoon at all insight which was making your heart thump in fear and anger. There was no way this guy was going to set you up like this? You bit around random parts on the inside parts of your mouth as the sky grew darker every few seconds. With no one around and nothing around to do as you waited for Sunghoon, you approached the line between the woods and open grass field. You began to get deja vu of Jungwon which made you nervous as you felt the same wispy grass tickle at your calves.

"You actually came?" Sunghoon's voice rang in the open air from behind you,  scaring the literal hell out of you.

"Y-yes I did." You sighed as to how close you were to exploring that forest, "Let's just get to the point." You turned your head back just for him to be in your personal space, you almost lost your balance trying to add some room.  

"Walk with me." He ignored your jump into things while crossing the boundary between the skylight of dusk and the darkness of the woods.  With hesitation and no clue as to what was about to go down, you followed him. "What did you want to hear from me again?" He asked carelessly with hands in his pockets as he guided you over a pile of soil and dead leaves.

"Kyungeun." You answered bluntly. "Why is she tied down to you?"

"That son of a bitch. She told you, huh?" He rolled his eyes in dear annoyance, "I guess you could say I have some information about her that would totally diminish her image." He kicked and crunched around a couple of leaves as he dragged his feet. You remembered Jaeyun had told you Kyungeun had secrets, perhaps that was it? Were you allowed to ask him about it?

Making a mental note to ask Kyungeun about it later you brisked forward to the next question, "Okay? But you said she'd be of no use to you when you get your hands on Dahee... What exactly did you mean?" Your heart thumped in loud eagerness as you move behind Sunghoon.

"She doesn't taste as good." Sunghoon paused to have you hear him clearly, "Her blood."

Your face heated up, a vibrant blush sparkling your face before the sickening realization hit you, "D-don't tell me..." The horror spreading like wildfire in your body from your head downwards. You were frozen to the very core as all the puzzle pieces came together. All the times including the gash on Kyungeun's neck, the warnings Sunoo gave, and Heeseung licking your hand... It wasn't just Sunghoon who was a vampire, it was all of the boys...

What Sunghoon faced you with a gentle eyes he withdrew the small book from inside his blazer, making your ankles shake. "I suppose you'll know why I took this now." He shook the book before throwing it in front of you with pity. You simply watched the book plop on the bed of dead leaves before your shoes in no ability to process or produce words. You didn't even feel like picking up the book as you were afraid of reading it's horrific contents.

"W-well you won't be getting your hands on Dahee any time soon." You tremble with a paralyzing fear as you tried to speak. You were regretting the bold comment, for fuck sakes the boy standing before you could kill you right then and there.

He stepped closer and closer to which you stepped further and further. "Well, then I guess I'll keep Kyungeun under my power until the day she dies." His scornful laugh made you shudder painfully. In full defeat, you were sincerely helpless. You felt you couldn't run nor report the boys, who would ever believe you? You began questioning how you even got in this position.

"Wh-why does it have to be them? Can't you just live without blood?!" You cried pathetically as you backed into a hard tree.

"And end up like Jungwon?" Delight crept onto Sunghoon's white face as yours grew in confusion, "He hasn't drunk blood in months, he's so weak to the point where he can't even stand sometimes..." Sunghoon went on to speak his mind, "Heeseung and I were convinced he was messing around you for your blood."

Your eyes shot wide open in disbelief, "Well he's clearly not like you if he's abstaining from blood."

"It's true... Something changed in him recently after he started talking to you. Perhaps he has fallen for a mortal?"

"Go to fucking hell." You muttered at a volume that wasn't loud enough for Sunghoon to hear.

"As soon as I sensed your presence that day in the library, I knew you would fall down this rabbit hole." He hummed while bending to have your eyes both at the same level. "Curiosity killed the cat."

You held your tongue with no desire to respond to Sunghoon as the closeness was now more than dangerous. But your muted self only gave Sunghoon the opportunity to proceeded to taunt you. He began caging you against the tree, causing you to press up against the rough wood where you couple feel every detail of the bark on your back.

"I remember Heeseung telling Jaeyun and I about just how good the blood from finger tasted... How about a deal?" He caught your attention as you met eyes with him. A full set of upper teeth being exposed between his rosy lips. If there was one thing you had been taught by the caregivers of your school, it was to never make deals with the devil. You knew exactly what kind of bargin Sunghoon had in store for you "I'll leave your friends in peace if you promise me this," He said with a small lean forward so that his chin rested on your collarbone earning a gasp from you,

"You'll give me your blood in exchange for theirs."