#which could only be viewed by him as a way of the voice sort of making it up to him for the loss of his wife and daughter

[the-silver-chronicles]

Thinking of an AU where Adam sold Silva off to Joseph and Eden’s Gate (in some delusional sense that she would destroy it because honestly that’s the only reason he’d ever give her to the Project) as a child and the Voice convinces Joseph to take her up as a protege. Maybe Paul plays a part into this AU, maybe he doesn’t. Not sure with him yet, since this would be the first time they wouldn’t meet under regular circumstances (the “save the child from drowning and visit her occasionally and eventually gain her trust and adopt her then and there” kind of circumstance).

Anyway, it made me realise that “holy shit, the idea of an Eden’s Gate/Seed-aligned Silva is an utterly terrifying concept” regardless how it happens… because this is a version of Silva who is willing to look past child sacrifices, mass murder and oppression (depending on whether or not these had happened to her in this timeline/s). This is a version of Silva who is more than willing to forgo morality to do as she pleases. A more selfish and malicious Silva.

Could be even worse than the Seeds combined because she’s also better than them too. Opens up a horrific can of worms. The amount of potential this has.

God the Resistance and whichever deputy unlucky enough to face her would be so super fucked. Doesn’t matter if she has learned something (bad) from her experiences with Adam and Paul (probably Apostle-aligned), or if she took an interest in some of the things they taught her but through the Seeds this time around, Hope County would be dealing with a Silva who can physically, psychologically and emotionally outwit, overpower, and destroy them… at any time if she wanted. A very dangerous opponent with a strategic prowess matching up to Jacob and Alexander (probably because they helped perfect her capabilities).

I don’t think most of Eden’s Gate’ members would be safe, as she’s likely prioritising the Seed Family and the select few people she likes.

(More possible ideas! Maybe she managed to convince a GFH/Resistance member to join Eden’s Gate in this timeline? Maybe she has a greater popularity and influence over the Eden’s Gate community than Joseph does? Maybe this was the Voice’s plan? Maybe it needed Joseph to raise the perfect Prophet for it? Endless ideas! I must write it down!)

[peachpitfics]

Guilty as Sin

Fandom: Bridgerton

Summary: Benedict Bridgerton asks you to accompany him to his private studio, to show you some of the art he's been working on. You find a little more than you were expecting.

Length: 3k

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Content Warnings: Oral sex (female receiving), Penetrative sex, Unprotected sex.

a/n: find pt 2 here!

Bridgerton master list

"Good evening, y/n," A proud voice echoed behind you, discovering your hiding spot in the darkest corner, admiring Lady Danbury's art to appear busy. You didn't bother to turn and greet him, he always seemed to find you at these social events, even if you weren't outwardly interested in him, he persisted. Benedict Bridgerton slid into the space next to you as if it were designed for him, cheekily scanning you face for a reaction.

You met at Lady Danbury's ball 3 seasons previous. Your brother was holding out hope for a match this season, ignoring your contentedness for your own company. Benedict had never shown any interest in any young lady - he did, however, find amusement in torturing you this way.

"Bridgerton," You barely mumbled a response, hoping he would find another to bother this evening. Yet there he remained, exchanging his attention for the painting you were looking at.

"There are far better paintings in this ballroom" He remarked, a little scoff sounding off.

"Yes, I am sure there are. However, this one is positioned perfectly" Still, you avoided eye contact and angled your body away from him. He was definitely not the same as the other Bridgerton men. Benedict was frivolous and artistic, lost in his own hedonistic world of luxury and pleasure. Perhaps it was jealousy that ruled your opinion of Benedict.

"Ah, yes. I truly have never seen a damp, dark corner without you in it, you know?" He chuckled, "Why do you pretend to be interested in art, when you could be watching whatever is unfolding behind you? I'm sure the numerous scandals and embarrassing events you would witness would be far more interesting" He asked, there was even a hint of genuine curiosity in his words.

You paused for a moment, contemplating even continuing this conversation or leaving to find your brother or mother.

"Actually, I rather enjoy art. I am more interested in sculpture or ceramics, but I will endure whatever I have to to get through this evening and every other evening like it this season" You spilled. Benedict was stunned, his eyebrows raised and his blinks steady in shock.

"I didn't know you had a like for such things" Benedict said serenely.

"Of course not, I am certain you thought my only interests were embroidery or pianoforte, like every other simpering mess in this ballroom" You thought your snarky remark was under your breath, but Benedict did manage to hear. He breathed a heady laugh through his nose and took a sip of his lemonade.

"Would you be interested in viewing some of my works?" Benedict pondered aloud, finally dragging your eyes to meet his. It seemed sincere - which was not something you often saw from him. Whilst he was a shameless flirt, you never indulged him like some of the other young ladies. It was obvious that he viewed you as some sort of challenge, but you would never give in.

"Is that a serious invitation?" You asked, taken aback.

"Yes, absolutely. Art is potentially the only thing I do take seriously. I would love to show you, if you would like to see it" He almost bowed, as if the pursuit of his art was the most noble thing about him. This shift in his personality made him less repulsive, it intrigued you. Turning to face him, for the first time in so many months, throwing off his balance slightly, you held your hand out for him to take.

"You would like to see it now?" His brow furrowed, eyes asking permission to take your hand and lead you out to the carriages.

"Why not? We've been to this ball numerous times before, it will not be getting any more interesting" With the softest of smiles decorating your normally sour face, Benedict took your hand and began walking outside with you, watching nervously as people ignored your presence.

"Will this not be damning to your marriage prospects?" Benedict leaned over to whisper in your ear, an element of concern riding along his words.

You gave him a pitiful smile, "What prospects?". Not a single soul noticed the two of you leaving the ball. Benedict held the carriage door open for you and held your hand as you stepped up into it.

"I've never slipped out of an event quite like that" He remarked, closing the door, sitting opposite you.

"Well, in truth, I thought perhaps someone might have stopped us, just because of you… But, I suppose, my power of invisibility is shared with the person I am escaping with" Your eyebrows flicked up. Benedict could not discern whether you were happy or not to fly out of the view of the ton. While it was a blessing most days, you were afforded your privacy and peace. Perfect silence. There were many other days filled with loneliness, the madness of having to hear your own voice in your head just to fill the quiet.

The carriage ride was slightly uncomfortable, the two of you had never had to be alone like this. You were delivered to Benedict's college where he had been studying art and he led you towards his private studio. Benedict's hand reached out for the door handle, stopping short, and spinning to look at you, back pressed against the door.

"I presume you understand I don't bring people here," He paused, his demeanour was soft and vulnerable, "Be gentle with me". He waited for acknowledgment on what he was saying, and with a nod of promise from you, he opened the door. You both walked inside in sweet silence as you took in the most beautiful sight. The room was littered with parchment, sketches, canvases. Drabs of colour, charcoal and lead lit only by low candlelight as Benedict struck the match. This was the most personal gesture of friendship you had ever experienced, it was like peering through window into Benedict Bridgerton's mind - a place he only has the keys to. Several desks were patterned around the room, a small platform in the centre of the room, drying racks on the far left. You were surprised by this unapologetically intimate space, and even more impressed by the immense talent you were witnessing.

"What are you working on currently?" You did not mean for the excitement of the room to fill you up so keenly. Benedict had such a hard time trying to read your reaction, your manner and tone were thrilling to him.

"Oh, please" He gestured towards a far table, where an easel stood facing the window, "I am learning about portraiture this semester. This is something I am doing for my youngest brother, Gregory, for his birthday" His hand sailed past your lower back, shuffling you both around. A deliciously electric pulse passed over your body, goose bumps erupting in a rolling wave quickly trailing behind.

"Benedict, this is incredible" You gasped, your hands covering your mouth with astonishment.

Oddly, he stepped back from you and placed his hand on his heart.

"What did I say?" You smiled uncomfortably.

His face softened, his eyes fluttering peacefully, "My name. That is the first time, you have ever said my name" A flash of teeth in his grin made your heart jump its next beat. There was a flush of embarrassment in your cheeks, your eyes flicked between Benedict's and the floor.

"I apologise" Admittedly, you had never given him a chance to show how utterly human he was. When he had asked you to come to the studio, you wondered whether the room would be filled to the brim of paintings of naked women. How wrong you were - finding yourself surrounded by paintings and scrawling's of every member of his family. You dug around, flicking through sketchbooks, diaries.

"Have you found a favourite?" He meandered around the room after you, hands tucked behind his back like a gentleman, observing.

"This one, is my favourite" You held up a side profile of Violet Bridgerton, done entirely in variants and shades of their family colours.

"I am yet to show her that one, do you think I should?" He asked, and you sensed he truly valued your opinion here.

"Yes! If I had half your talent, I would have filled my family's home with my work" You chuckled, laying the canvas down on the current desk you were visiting.

You moved around the other side of the room, noticing a section of the room more damp, and darkly lit, compared to the rest of the studio. There stood an easel with a large drape thrown over it, and several canvases stacked betwixt it and the wall. This struck a chord of curiosity in you that could not be contained, you almost dashed forward to pull the drape down.

"No! Wait, not those!" Benedict rasped, darting forward to try and stop you. It was too late, the cream-coloured drape had coiled to the floor and revealed what Benedict did not want you to see.

Brow furrowing, you stood back, taking in what you were seeing for the first time. Here, on the easel, an unfinished portrait, of you.

"That's -- That's private" Benedict cleared his throat uncomfortably.

"Is this… me?" You didn't know whether to be flattered, impressed, or worried. Had he done this from memory? That was when it occurred to you to look down. Picking up, and flicking through the canvases, they were all you. There were maybe six or seven of them, all in different poses, of differing angles. Had he taken such notice of you to be able to do this from memory? The detail in your face, your hair and even dresses you had worn in past seasons.

"This is…" You shook your head, placing the canvases back. Benedict stood behind you, leaving a distance so as not to make this more uncomfortable than it already was. His hands were pressed together at his lips as if he were praying, wearily hanging on for your next words.

"No one has ever seen me like this, or rather, at all" You sighed.

"I see you as you are" Benedict replied too quickly.

"And how is that?"

There was a long pause, an internal struggle between what he wanted to say and what he should.

"I see… the raw soulfulness of your gaze. The divine sway in your walk. The sensual ruthlessness of your words. The confidence of your acceptance. I have watched, and waited, and wallowed in avaricious longing" Benedict heaved in a deep breath, "Every line, every curve, every shade I fear is a figment of my imagination until I see you again, just so that I might commit a little more to memory".

Benedict's eye cast low, his discomposure becoming more and more apparent. You were not to know that the one person you had been avoiding for the past several seasons had been perceiving you exactly as you had always dreamed. Perhaps it was not Benedict's personality that made you keep him at arm’s length, but rather your own.

You bound forward, slightly tripping on your gown, throwing yourself in the second Bridgerton brother's arms. In the instant he caught you, you planted the shyest of kisses on his unsuspecting lips. Benedict chuckled sweetly, lifting you to stand on your own two feet again, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into to a longer, more fervent kiss. His lips were much softer than you were anticipating, gentle and cool against your own. Benedict's tongue dipped into yours, his kiss still passionately intoxicating. You parted for a moment, both of you breathing a little heavier now. Benedict took a step back, straightening his dress clothes and composing himself.

"I apologise, miss y/n"

"Why do you apologise? I am the one who owes you" You stammered.

"I am just glad that no one saw us, I will not have you ruined. I will not be the one that ruins you" Benedict stumbled over his words, words filled with such consideration and respect for you and your standing in society.

Panting still, bosom heaving over the corset, you thought about what he was saying. You thought about your "prospects".

Taking one large step forward, pressing your body against his, you leaned up as if to kiss Mr Bridgerton's cheek goodbye.

"Ruin me" You breathed, begged, into his ear, hands wrapping around his neck, your breath hitching in your throat as Benedict swooped you into his arms, carrying you to the nearest desk. He placed your behind on the edge of the desk, moving to sweep every piece of art clattering to the floor before turning his attention back to you. Your legs wrapped around his thighs, his lips crashing into you, his tongue fiercely caressing yours. Much to Benedict's surprise, you slipped your arms out of your dress, pushing the fabric down around your hips.

Stunned and dramatic shock shot across his face as he looked upon your upper body in your corset. Benedict blinked furiously, as if trying to regain control of his sense.

"May I?" He took hold of the fabric around your waist, pulling it out from under you as you lifted yourself slightly, signalling a loud yes. Sitting in your undergarments, Benedict wrapped his arms around your body, expertly fiddling with the laces as you nodded fervently into his delectable kisses. You grinned into his mouth, feeling the corset loosen quickly – he had done this before. Your fingers fumbled along the seam of his pants, unfurling the tucked fabric of his dress shirt, fiddling with the buttons of his overcoat.

Benedict stopped, throwing his coat across the room and removing his dress shirt as frantically as possible. It took only seconds for his eyes to widen at your naked body, sitting on the desk before him.

"Holy God" He exhaled, lunging forward, thrusting his hand into your hair, pulling you into a devilish kiss. His hands curved under your behind, lifting you forward to the very edge of the table before falling to his knees before you as if you were divine, and he, a devout worshipper at the altar. Littering kisses down your inner thigh, his nose nestling into the soft nest of hair at your mound, he breathed heavily, groaning with pleasure. Benedict's tongue slipped between your folds, circling the most sensitive spot on your body, your hands sliding into his hair, pulling gently as his pace quickened and steadied in a repetitive manner. Never had you felt so safe and yet so powerful, holding Benedict's head in place between your thighs. Letting out soft, melodic moans, tangling your fingers amongst his hair, finding your hips having a mind of their own as they ground against him. The sheer coarseness of Benedict's dawning facial hair and the soft, warmth of his darting tongue were plenty enough to push your mind to the edge of the human experience. Your head turned dreamy, light, whilst your body convulsed and squeezed Benedict's head between your thighs.

Panting softly, Benedict remained, placing delicate kisses where his tongue had just performed. As your body relaxed into him again, Benedict appeared from the floor, kissing you again, to lay you backward on the table, your own sweetness on your tongue now. He stood before you, bare torso, undoing his dress pants. Excitement pulsed through you, propping yourself onto your elbows to watch. You had heard other ladies discuss this in the depths of their personal conversations but had never really learned anything from them. It was a topic of great interest.

Freeing himself before you, your enlarging eyes took in his length as he held himself in his hand. "Allow me?" Benedict looked down at you, sordid passion aflame in his eyes. You gave a clear, concise nod. Benedict moved closer between your thighs, adjusting your legs, and placing himself at your entrance. With both hands sprawled over the space between your belly and your hips, Benedict slowly pushed forward, eliciting guttural moans from your lips. But he never looked away from you, he never closed his eyes for more than a half-second. His desire burned out of him, his eyes searing down on you and in helplessness, you exuded wanton need in return.

You wished this act were eternal, completely unending. Every thrust an indiscreet attempt at conveying his affections for you. His hand found its way to caressing your cheek, his teeth nipping at your neck as you moaned his name.

“Benedict” You sighed without inhibition. The sound of your voice sent Benedict into a frenzy, his thrusts harder now and full-fledged. His sinful grunts, echoing across the studio, came to a hot, explicit apex as he buried himself as deeply as possible inside of you.

He looked down at you dreamily, his eyes heavy with pleasure, running his thumb over your bottom lip. Benedict stepped away, reaching for his dress pants, and sitting on to the ground in front of you – you moved to sit next to him, surrounded by the tables previous contents.

“You are wonderful. I could never capture such an essence, in any art form. You are transcendent” Benedict’s words were slow, the ruse of his silly exterior worn away.

“I much prefer this version of you” You gave a smug smile, both of you avoiding eye contact.

“As I do you” He retorted, chortling alongside you. The long, comfortable tired silence between you was broken only when Benedict cleared his throat.

“Y/n,” Benedict spoke up, “I think—No, I am quite certain, I love you” He admitted, holding his hand out, bridging the space between your mostly naked bodies, waiting for you to take it.

“I do believe I too am guilty of loving you” You responded, laying your hand gently in his. Leaning to meet in the middle, sharing a sentimental, sweet kiss and smiling into each other. Benedict jumped up, pants still undone around his waist, he pulled you to your feet.

“Come, I should like to draw you” He posed you naturally on the platform in the centre of the room. You watched him scramble about the room, looking for his implements.

“Like this!?” You gestured to yourself, completely nude on the dais.

“Yes, precisely like this” Benedict growled ardently, putting his pencil to his parchment.

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

If you would like to be tagged in any upcoming Bridgerton fanfictions written by me, please let me know and I will add you to a taglist!

[radawaycunt]

Imperator

Also on AO3

Pairing: Lucius Verus Aurelius x Fem!Reader

WC: 6.7k words

Summary: Once, you only had the memory of the curious barbarian poet, entertaining guests at a party with both violence and verse. But it's not until you see him again, now as emperor, that you get to know the man underneath the titles.

Warnings: Minors DNI this fic is 18+, power imbalance (emperor/servant to freedwoman), mutual pining, slow-ish burn, sort of forbidden love?, lots and lots of fluff good lord, some jealousy, some angst, lovey dovey smut, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), maybe some historical inaccuracies lol (I care a lot okay), and iii think that's it but lmk if anything else!

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

"Love will enter cloaked in friendship's name."

– Ovid.

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

“The gates of hell are open night and day. Smooth the descent, and easy is the way. But to return, and view the cheerful skies, In this the task and mighty labor lies.”

That was the first time you had ever heard him speak, the deep timbre of his voice riddled with contempt. Moments before, he had killed another gladiator, his blood spattered on him like a gruesome adornment. But there was no savagery in his fierce eyes, no mere bloodthirst in the sneer directed at Emperor Geta, your Dominus. His glare was even, like a cold, blue flame that promised not just violence, but retribution as well.

You’d recognized the poem immediately, just as taken aback as everyone else. Nobody moved, the room’s collective breath held in anticipation of the inevitable repercussions of such an offense. Emperor Geta made the slightest move to raise his sword and you gripped the decanter of wine tighter, but your face remained impassive.

“Virgil,” supplied Macrinus, trying to placate him with a broad smile. “He was taught poetry just to amuse you, Imperators.”

There was another momentary pause in which neither twin was sure if they should believe him. But then, Caracalla snorted, standing up to clap the taller man’s shoulder.

“A poet,” He said, laughing. “That’s genius, Macrinus.”

“Yes, certainly very amusing,” Geta said begrudgingly, his jaw clenched. 

He and the gladiator had not stopped staring at each other for one moment, like two vipers poised to strike. 

“Good, I thought you’d like that,” Macrinus said, approaching his fighter to grasp his shoulder, perhaps in warning. “We live to serve you both.”

“Well, I look forward to seeing your poet at the upcoming games in the Colosseum,” he spits out, throwing the sword aside with a loud clatter. “Let’s see how his verses work for him then.”

Macrinus nodded at his steward to take the gladiator away. He was smiling, seemingly amused, as the steward approached him. As he was being shoved back to the atrium, his eyes took one last baleful look around the room. For the briefest second, you thought his eyes met yours, striking you like a piercing arrow, but then he was gone. 

You had no time to dwell on it though, as Emperor Geta returned to his seat and raised his glass to be refilled. But that didn’t mean you would forget so easily, even if your paths might never cross again. All you could do was offer a prayer to the Gods for him. 

—--------------------------

The next time you saw him, he was no longer a barbarian gladiator hailed from a distant land, but the new – and rightful – Emperor of Rome. His name was not Hanno, but Lucius Verus Aurelius, and he was the son of the recently passed Queen Lucilla, whom Rome still mourned. 

He was not cruel like the twins had been, rarely raising his voice, much less his hand. His demeanor was usually calm, but sometimes he stalked the halls restlessly, as if unsure what he should be doing. He still rose with the sun and trained for a couple of hours in the morning, already used to the routine he’d had as a gladiator, but after that, it was all politics. Endless scrolls of parchment to pore over, meetings to hold with the senate, and lending a patient ear to the populace’s needs. The weight of an empire was on his shoulders, and yet he didn’t bow under it. 

During the day, you served his wine and silently hovered around for anything else he might need. At night, you drew his baths, kept his torches lit, and prepared his bed. You would have helped him disrobe too, already used to it from your days of serving Geta, but he chose to do so himself. He was not quite used to his every need being attended to, self-sufficiency deeply ingrained in his being. Mostly, he waved away other servants, leaving you instead to care for him personally. 

There were times when you caught him looking at you as if you seemed vaguely familiar, a furrow in his brow when he couldn’t place you. You couldn’t fault him for not remembering you from Senator Thraex’s party, but there was a certain thrill at having piqued his curiosity regardless. Still, you kept your head down and offered no hints, as was your place. 

Until one night, while he watched you add aromatic oils and test the bath’s temperature, he finally asked the question that had been on his mind for days.

“What is your name?”

You were startled at first, not having expected him to address you at all. You told him your given Roman name, Domicia, and bowed your head respectfully. He pushed himself off the doorway and stepped into the bathroom, humming thoughtfully.

“Of the home,” he said, referring to the name’s meaning. “Are you Roman? Is that your real name?”

You shook your head in answer to both questions. “I have been in Rome for many years now, though.”

“I have not,” he said, a note of melancholy in his voice. “Yet I grew up here, in these very halls…”

He trailed off, looking around absently, lost in his memories. You could not begin to imagine what he had been through, what he had seen. You had heard of his being sent away as a child, with absolutely no choice in the matter, and could empathize with him. 

All you had ever known was a humble life in your native country, until you were stripped of your freedom and brought to the capital of Rome. Neither place felt like home, just the past and the present, and perhaps he was viewing things the same way. You could imagine, even understand, the bittersweetness of returning to a place one thought they might never see again. 

“We are honored and grateful to have you back, Dominus,” you said. “I hope things have been to your satisfaction.”

“I have no complaints,” he said, yet he sighed. “Though becoming accustomed to being here, in my current position, is going to take some more time.”

“If there is anything I can do to make it easier for you, please let me know.”

He inclined his head gratefully, your eyes meeting for a moment. “Thank you, Domicia.”

He had the barest of smiles on his handsome face, but you could tell it was genuine. You felt one corner of your lips tugging upwards, but you looked away out of propriety. Even if you were in the same room, you were leagues apart, and it would do you no good to try to imagine otherwise.

You stood up, grabbing the decanter from a nearby table to have it refilled. “Your bath is ready now. Would you like refreshments other than wine?”

He nodded and you bowed, making your way out. By the time you returned with more wine and a platter of olives, bread, and cheese, he was already in the bathtub, leaning back with his eyes closed. Your feet padded softly on the mosaic floor to avoid  disturbing him, and you left his refreshments on the table near the tub.

You settled at one side of the room just in case he might need anything, staring off into the middle distance and letting your mind drift. He glanced at you sidelong, his curiosity having only grown after your brief conversation. He still had that nagging feeling that he had seen you somewhere before, but he didn’t want to ask outright.

You felt his gaze on you but pretended not to, keeping your eyes averted. You thought again of the poem he’d recited, how different his demeanor had been then. You wondered what other verses he’d been taught, and if you might ever hear him recite anything again. He had a voice for poetry, somehow turning the words into a sort of enchantment, keeping one entranced.

“Doesn’t it feel… strange sometimes?” he said suddenly, staring up at the ceiling. “When things settle and you realize how far you have come? How much you’ve had to sacrifice for it?”

You hummed in agreement, waiting for him to say more. 

“Sometimes, I even wonder if it was all worth it.”

Still lost in a haze of verses, you spoke before you could even think it through.

“Fortunate is he whose mind has the power to probe the causes of things and trample underfoot all terrors and inexorable fate.”

He sat up, surprised. “You know Virgil.” Recognition finally dawned on him. “You were at that party, weren’t you?”

You nodded. “Your words then were just as sharp as your blade.”

He huffed, leaning against the edge of the tub as he remembered his barely contained hatred. “Were you taught poetry to amuse, as well?”

“No, I used to read it with my mother when I was younger.”

“Who else have you read?”

“Ovid, Sappho, Horace…” You became a little flustered as he raised his eyebrows. “My mother was a bit of a romantic.”

“And you?”

It was your turn to huff with amusement, looking down at your hands. “I don’t believe I inherited that trait, no.”

The truth was that in a place such as Rome, love was quite hard to come by. You didn’t actively search for it, its ephemeral nature making you less inclined to, but you were no complete stranger to it. You’d never let it take root, though, for it was not something you could afford to have. 

“What about you, Dominus?”

“Me?” he said. “I suppose… I’m not entirely sure anymore. I used to be, at one point.”

His haunted expression told you not to press him for details, so you just nodded sympathetically. The two of you lapsed into silence, the weight of tragedy hanging between you. You’d had a lot more time to become numb to your circumstances, but it was clear the pain he was experiencing was still fresh. 

“I will be forced to remarry eventually.” He sighed heavily. “Produce heirs to carry out the lineage, show Rome a unified front.”

“Well, whoever you marry shall be the most fortunate woman in the empire.”

He couldn’t help but chuckle, looking over at you. “You really believe so? You’re not just flattering me?”

“Of course,” you said, giving him a cryptic smile that made him laugh again. “I’m perfectly serious.”

“Oh, I am sure you are.”

After some time, he rose with a small splash, prompting you to immediately approach with an outstretched towel. His nudity barely registered in your mind, having already glimpsed him a few times. You wouldn’t dare to look at him directly, even if you were more than a little curious. You tensed as his fingers barely brushed yours in the exchange, but you quickly stepped back to give him more room.

He wrapped the towel around his waist, water dripping down his sculpted arms and chest. You went to start tidying up, studiously keeping your eyes on your task. He watched as you picked up the refreshments to take to the main chamber, a part of him wishing you would look at him instead. 

“One more thing,” he said and you immediately turned around. “Please, I want you to call me Lucius.”

Your face heated up at the mere thought of it. “I could never be so bold…”

“I insist,” he said, holding up a hand as you began to stammer again. “Perhaps only when it is just the two of us, if you’d prefer.”

“I will certainly try my best,” you said with an awkward grin, trying to keep your composure.

He chuckled. “Good enough for me.”

—-----------------

Weeks passed, and while Lucius still hadn’t managed to get you to call him by name, he had certainly gotten you to open up more. In the evenings, the two of you swapped more poetry, often sharing your own interpretations of the verses. At some point, he even had scrolls fetched from the library for you to read to him. He enjoyed the mellifluous sound of your voice, so at odds with your serious expression when you were concentrating. To have him as your sole audience was already titillating,  but the fact that he paid close attention was even more of a rush.

During the day, you anxiously looked forward to those handful of hours in which everything else disappeared. No speak of Rome, politics, or bitter memories, content with being each other’s brief escape. You still held yourself at a certain distance, though, always aware of the chasm between you. Yet he never made you feel inferior, often encouraging you to share your thoughts and opinions with him despite your reticence. You would even dare to say he cared, or at least that’s what you wanted to believe.

You wouldn’t necessarily say you were getting attached, for that would be too unrealistic of a fantasy, but you could not deny the butterflies in your stomach that often appeared while around him. His easy, handsome smile, the kindness in his eyes, his patient indulgence when listening to you, and the effort he put into making you laugh…

But the spell was abruptly broken the day he received a visit from his friend Ravi, who had brought someone for him to meet – a respectable Roman lady. A widow, as it happened, just like Lucius. Her hair was perfectly styled, falling in ringlets that framed her lovely face. She wore a lavender-colored dress with a matching veil, much fancier than anything you’d ever owned, and was adorned with golden jewelry. More importantly, she was freeborn, and thus a perfectly good candidate for marriage.

You swallowed hard, otherwise keeping your expression neutral. You hadn’t thought he would start meeting potential brides so soon, and you certainly hadn’t expected how it would make you feel. At least, Lucius also seemed surprised, not expecting his friend to try to set him up without consulting him first. Still, he assumed the role of gracious host and welcomed them warmly, leading them out to the gardens. He glanced over his shoulder at you as you silently trailed behind them, but you didn’t meet his gaze.

The three of them reclined on the couches of the outdoor dining area, shaded by a wooden pergola. It was a beautiful sunny day, the birds singing accompanied by the gurgle of the large fountain at the center of the garden. A gentle breeze stirred the foliage, carrying the faint, sweet smell of a dozen different flowers. 

You served them wine and hovered close by as another servant brought them food to snack on. Lucius had deliberately sat across from where you stood just so he could keep an eye on you. You’d withdrawn into yourself, trying your hardest to remain indifferent instead of worrying about whether the meeting went well or not. If it did, then you had to be happy for him, but if it didn’t… Well, at least that would buy you a little more time, if nothing else.

“Such a lovely garden,” the lady, Ilaria, said as she looked around. “One could never tire of such a view.”

Lucius nodded absently but said nothing, as if he hadn’t heard her.

“I could see you fitting in perfectly with all the other flowers here,” Ravi cut in, smiling with as much charm as he could muster to make up for it.

Ilaria inclined her head, modestly waving off the compliment. “Oh, you flatter me, Ravi.”

He gave Lucius a subtle, pointed look to encourage him to follow his lead. Lucius sat up and cleared his throat, only just focusing on the conversation. He had been trying to get your attention as subtly as possible, but he hadn’t been successful. 

“Er, yes, it’s always a treat to spend time out here. Certainly helps to clear the mind.”

Ravi shook his head a little and tried not to snort with amusement, thinking he was a lost case. Ilaria smiled, unbothered, taking a handful of grapes from a platter and popping one into her mouth. 

“I’d wager there is much on your plate, Imperator,” she said. “And having to manage the household staff on top of everything else… Must be a little overwhelming for you, no?”

“Well, I am a very busy man, yes, but it hasn’t been all that bad,” Lucius said. “I’ve certainly had a great deal of support to see me through.”

His words managed to reach you, softening you up infinitesimally. This time, when he glanced at you, you finally looked back. The ghost of a smile was on your face, but you quickly looked away before it could actually manifest.

“I see. Well, I’m very glad to hear that,” Ilaria said, sharing a curious glance with Ravi, who looked slightly apologetic. “Though perhaps you have considered that having someone run the house for you would take a big burden off your shoulders. I would be more than happy to lend a hand if you’d consider it.”

His eyebrows raised slightly at her boldness, not missing the eagerness in her gaze, poorly concealed behind her innocently helpful demeanor. He certainly did not want to get her hopes up, but he smiled graciously to soften the blow.

“Ah, perhaps in the future, when I have more time to worry about such things,” he said, politely noncommittal. “But I appreciate the offer.”

Her smile wavered and then froze, not wanting to seem too disappointed. “Of course, Imperator.”

For the remainder of their visit, Lucius let them do most of the talking, any remarks he made were studiously polite and yet still a little aloof. Finally, after a few hours, he excused himself, needing to return to his duties. Ravi seemed hesitant, like he wanted to stay behind and speak to him privately, but he would have to wait for another day. He escorted them both out, thanking them for visiting, but he did not exactly invite Ilaria to return to the palace. Her disappointment was more palpable then, but she hid it with as much grace as she could muster.

When they were gone, he turned to you with a shake of his head and a sigh, grinning with bewilderment.

“I do not enjoy being ambushed,” he said as if he felt the need to explain himself. “Decent enough as she seemed.”

You bowed your head in agreement, more relieved than you would like to admit. You had no real reason to have been upset earlier, given that there was nothing between you except for a certain kinship. Even so, it was clear he had not wanted you to be hurt, and you were very thankful for that. You offered him a small smile and some tension seemed to leave his shoulders.

He inclined his head towards the eastern hallway leading to his study. “Come, I would like you to read some documents to me. I can get work done faster that way.”

The tablinum was spacious but cozy, with a door to one side that led to a smaller patio. Before, the twin emperors had never used the room, but now it seemed well lived in. There was a mess of scrolls and wax tablets all over his desk that he still hadn’t let you organize. On the wall behind, there was a recently completed fresco of a gladiator riding a chariot pulled by two horses. For another wall, he had commissioned a portrait of Vesta, goddess of the home and the hearth, but it was still a work in progress. He was particularly proud of that one, an unspoken gift for you, his muse.

You lit the oil lamps in their alcoves, bathing the room in warm light. Lucius sat at his desk with a heavy exhale and scanned his notes to remember where he had left off the previous day. You sat on a stool beside him, unfurling the scroll he handed you and resting it on your knees. The texts you read didn’t always make sense to you, but you understood their importance. The fact that he was entrusting you with such work was an honor you did not take for granted.

“Start in that middle section. There is some stuff I would like to revisit,” he said, taking up his stylus. 

You nodded, finding what he was referring to and starting right away. You read to him for the next couple of hours, only stopping if he needed you to repeat something or in case he needed more time to make his notes. A few times during the latter, you glanced up to take in the focused furrow of his brow, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he pondered. You wondered what he might be thinking about, wishing he would impart some more knowledge on you. 

Outside, the sun was beginning to set, shadows deepening in the corners of the room. Another servant brought him dinner, but he didn’t seem too hungry yet. He handed you his cup of water when he heard you clear your throat a few times, insisting when you were reluctant to take it. 

When he was done for the day, he stretched his arms over his head with a groan and slumped in his seat. You neatly rolled the parchment back up and stood so you could stretch your legs. 

“I hope I haven’t tired you too much,” he said, folding his hands behind his head and leaning back. “You can take the rest of the evening off from reading if you’d like, but I would still appreciate some company.”

“Well, I still need to draw your bath and…”

“Somebody else can take care of it,” he cut in with a shrug, not preoccupied.

You hesitated. “What would you have me do instead, then?”

“Just sit back down, relax for a moment,” he said, getting up. “Here, you can have my chair. Much more comfortable.”

You were about to protest, but he gave you a look that said it was not up for discussion. You pursed your lips, uncomfortable at the idea of being idle, especially while taking up his seat. Still, you obeyed and sat down, hands folded on your lap. Feeling a little bold, you looked at him as if to say ‘satisfied?’ and he huffed in amusement.

“Wait, stay still,” he murmured suddenly, leaning down.

You froze as his face hovered mere inches away from yours, his breath fanning over your cupid’s bow. Delicately, he removed a stray eyelash that had been resting on your cheekbone, and he pulled back a little so you could see it on the pad of his finger.

“Make a wish,” he said.

All you could do was stare at him for another breathless moment that seemed to stretch on infinitely. You licked your lips nervously, drawing his eyes there before they returned to hold your gaze. Your heart was like a nervous bird fluttering wildly in your ribcage. Your mind was mostly blank, but the one thought that popped up was ‘I wish he would close the distance right now.’

You gently blew the eyelash away, your wish scattering into the air alongside it. The Gods must have decided to grant it immediately, for he did not pull away, instead slowly leaning in. His lips brushed yours tentatively and you closed your eyes, rejoicing for the barest second before you forced your face to turn away.

“We shouldn’t…” you murmured, the words hard to utter when a desperate want clung to your throat like honey.

“Why not?” He whispered.

“It’s not– I’m not…” You vaguely gestured towards yourself, unsure of what the right words were. 

He pulled back to look at you better. “Was I too presumptuous?”

You shook your head. “Not at all.”

“Then what is it?” He pressed.

“Dominus, please.”

“Lucius,” he pleaded, loathing the title. “Say it, please.”

“Lucius,” you said finally, though your eyes still spelled defiance when you glanced at him. “Is it not obvious? We both know it’s impossible.” Your lower lip trembled slightly. “I have a heart, too, you know? I don’t want it to be broken.”

“I know that, of course I know that!” He said, placing his hands on your shoulders and crouching in front of you. “I have no intention of breaking your heart.”

“Surely you understand where I am coming from, though.” You sniffed, keeping tears at bay. “I am not wife material, like the lady Ilaria. I have nothing to offer, no dowry, no family name, or even an inkling of Patrician blood. ”

“I do not care for such things. I would never demand them of you. Even if we cannot marry, I will not marry anyone else that isn’t you,” he said with a firm, determined shake of his head. “But I can still give you my name, along with your freedom. That’s all that matters to me.”

You gasped, the shock of his words akin to a bucket of ice water being dumped over you. Now you let the tears spill over, like a dam had finally burst. He kissed them away, his hands cupping your face gently.

“I have been thinking of nothing else since I met you. I’ve already made the arrangements… I suppose I just didn’t want to ruin the surprise.”

“You honor me,” you said, smiling despite the tears. “You always have.”

“Why shouldn’t I?” He asked. “You have given me more than you think. You brought me the peace I have been so desperately seeking for a long time.”

“I-I don’t even know how to thank you.” You placed a hand over his. “If you desire to give me your name, then I shall give you mine in return.”

You told him your name, the real one, which you had been hiding ever since your Roman name was given to you. He had never asked you for it, knowing that one’s name was the only thing one could truly own in this world. And now for you to give it freely… He repeated it, testing its shape on his tongue, and smiled radiantly.

“Pairs rather well with Lucia Veria, if I do say so myself,” he said with a proud chuckle, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “If you’ll have it, that is.”

You knew by the disarming earnestness in his eyes he wasn’t just offering the name, but himself, as well. His whole heart in the palm of your hand, should you choose to care for it. You felt as if you had already made that choice a while ago, when you first recited Virgil back to him.

“I will,” you said with an elated chuckle. “Of course I will.”

He took your hands in his, kissing both of them. “Then first thing tomorrow, we will make it official.”

More tears flowed as a result of an overwhelming rush of both gratitude and love. You had tried to ignore your feelings, not uprooting them but instead silently letting them grow unacknowledged. For once, it had seemed worth the risk of heartbreak. After all, the love hadn’t stemmed from something as fleeting as lust, but a mutual understanding and respect. It was more than you could ever ask for, and yet everything you desired.

You leaned your forehead against his, your noses brushing as he tilted his head back. This time, it was you who brought your lips to his with a tentative sort of tenderness, propriety still at the back of your mind. He responded in kind, letting you set the pace so as not to scare you off. If you weren’t shaking so much, you might have noticed he was shaking, too. 

In that kiss, there was the promise of mutual devotion, sweet and sincere. You were still holding each other’s hands, as if afraid you might drift apart if you let go. You understood then why odes were written about this feeling, as all-consuming as the churning waves of the sea. All those verses had never resonated with you more. 

Perhaps you had inherited the romanticism, after all. 

—------------------

The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine, the fresh sweetness of it bringing you a sense of tranquility. You leaned against the windowsill, looking up at the stars and trying to piece together constellations. The world seemed drastically different now that you had your freedom, so vivid, so open, so alive. You even noticed it in your posture and the lightness with which you walked, as if you were floating. Lucius had said you were radiant with it.

He’d insisted on taking care of you the same way you’d cared for him, eager to show you his gratitude. You had been hesitant at first, but at his unwavering conviction, you relented, curious how it might feel to be spoiled. All that day, he had served you reverently, taking time off from his duties to focus solely on you.

You couldn’t help getting flustered at all the attention, his ardent gaze like a caress every time it met yours. His touch had so far been entirely chaste, but even the smallest, most innocuous contact was heightened with anticipation. The brush of his fingers over yours when he handed you something, a guiding hand on your lower back, even a touch on your shoulder to make you aware of his presence.

There were a few sneaked kisses in both the garden and the tablinum, each one of them leaving an undercurrent of warmth under your skin that promised more. It was like a slow, drawn-out game of chase, neither of you in a rush to reach its conclusion. If anything, it only made you want each other more. 

After the sun had set, when the two of you drifted along as if in a drunken stupor, Lucius went to prepare a bath for you in his chambers. You were nervous and exhilarated, every moment spent waiting for him to be done an exquisite agony. Until finally, he poked his head around the bathroom door.

“It’s ready now,” he said, beckoning you with a smile.

You followed him into the bathroom, hands wringing anxiously. Flower petals were scattered on the mosaic floor, leading towards the steaming tub. Flickering candles bathed the room in a warm glow, making your shadows dance on the wall. You looked at each other, both knowing what the next step was but hesitant to initiate it. He averted his gaze first, gesturing towards the door.

“Would you like me to give you some privacy?”

You shook your head, desire making you a little more brave. “I… I would love some help undressing, though.”

His spine straightened, Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “With pleasure.”

He crouched to slowly pull the hem of your long tunic upwards, rising with it. You lifted your arms so he could get it over your head, the fabric falling to the floor unceremoniously. Your eyes were fixed on his face, drinking in his expression as he took a step back to get a better look at you. The bare expanse of your skin robbed him of breath, his eyes roaming over every curve and plane of your figure. He wanted to sink to his knees again and lay his forehead at your feet in worship, but he stood still, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“The evening star is the most beautiful of all stars,”  he said in a low voice, quoting Sappho.

Warmth spread from your chest to your face, and you smiled coyly as another verse came to mind. “Come to me once more, and abate my torment…”

You offered him your hand, which he took, and he led you to the tub. You daintily stepped in, sighing contentedly as you sank into the water’s enveloping warmth. He knelt next to the tub, leaning against it with one arm propped on the edge. 

“Have I told you enough times that you are beautiful?” He said. “I don’t think it has been enough.”

You huffed with amusement, looking down as you fought a geeky grin. “Well, about a hundred times with just your eyes. A few times out loud, though.”

He chuckled. “I suppose I’ll have to show you in other ways, too… If I may.”

You nodded, silently granting him permission. He leaned forward and planted a soft kiss on your lips before standing up. He took it upon himself to bathe you, starting out by scrubbing your scalp. You leaned into his touch, eyes closing in bliss. He smiled at your soft, pleasured hum, and vowed to elicit as many more as he could. 

Things took on an almost ritualistic quality, with him focused entirely on his task. You were loose limbed, letting him move you about as he used a cloth to scrub your skin. He didn’t try anything that might be deemed unsavory, though you let his tender, reverential touch reach places no one had touched in a very, very long time. But he didn’t linger, to your slight frustration, not wanting to jump into things too quickly. The flames of your desire were stoked slowly, warmth running through you like sweet wine. 

When he was done, he helped you step out of the tub and immediately got to drying you off with a towel. You caught his eye for a moment, his pupils blown wide with equally fervent desire. You stopped yourself from clutching his arm, wanting to anchor yourself to him, but he could still tell you were growing restless. He kissed your shoulder, tapping the tip of your nose playfully with his finger.

“Not done quite yet,” he murmured, not missing the way you involuntarily pressed your thighs together. “You’ve always been very patient.”

“For the first time, I fear it might be running thin…” you said, to which he smiled. 

He grabbed a small glass bottle of rose oil and lathered some in his hands. He anointed your body with it, the heady scent of one of Venus’s favorite flowers permeating the air. As he reached your chest, you took hold of his wrist and brought his palm to rest over your heart. He felt it beating rapidly, your chest rising and falling with each panting breath.

His eyes fell to your lips, slightly parted with want. He grasped your chin with his free hand, his thumb brushing over your bottom lip.

“I have been thinking about this for a long time,” he said, leaning in to brush his nose against yours. “But I hadn’t wanted to touch you until now, when you actually felt like you had a choice in the matter.”

You clutched his wrist tighter, his thoughtfulness only making you want him more. All those hours he must have spent yearning, unaware that you were stuck thinking of him too. As emperor, he had the right to take whatever he wanted, but having previously been a gladiator, he understood the monumental importance of bodily autonomy. Very few people in Rome had such a privilege and he couldn’t bear the thought of being the one to rob you of it. 

You kissed him in response, much fiercer, hungrier, than all the other kisses you had shared so far. A desperate sound escaped his throat and he clasped you against him tightly. Swiftly, he scooped you up into his strong arms and carried you out to the bedchamber as he would a bride.

Gently, he set you down on the bed and pulled away to remove his tunic. This time, you were not meek about his nakedness. You brazenly stared at him, eyes mapping out the lines of his muscles, the pink, raised skin of his scars, and the soft trail of hair on his abdomen that seemed to suggestively point downwards. 

His shoulders were squared with pride at your ogling, a sly smile on his face. He’d had an inkling before of your attraction, but to see it on full display was narcotic, and he felt himself pulse with an aching need.

“Come closer,” you said softly.

He did, climbing over you, his warmth immediately enveloping you. You hid your face on the junction between his neck and shoulder, embarrassed at all the thoughts rushing through your mind.

“What is it?” He asked, raising an eyebrow with amusement.

“Nothing,” you said, voice muffled against his skin. “I just… I do not think you realize how badly I wanted this, too. I-I don’t want to ever stop.”

He chuckled indulgently, nudging your head so you’d look at him. “Neither do I.”

He kissed you again, and again, and again. You were so close to him that the lines of your bodies became indivisible, but it still didn’t seem like enough. Your knees hiked up to his hips in a silent plea, but he did not give in quite yet, wanting to prolong things for as long as he could.

Still, unable to resist a little bit of mutual torment, he slid upwards until his hips were aligned with yours. You gasped as you felt the velvety underside of his erection against your slick folds, each small movement making you tremble. Your brows furrowed and your lips parted in a wanton expression, your eyes shiny and half lidded as you looked at him.

“Lucius,” you whimpered. 

“I know,” he murmured soothingly, kissing your neck. “I know.”

Neither of you were willing to break apart from your embrace, so there wasn’t actually much of a preamble. Feverish, he sank into you slowly, your nails digging into his biceps as he stretched you open. That first round was frantic, almost animalistic, all the pent up longing finally being released. His body rolled over yours with the power of the sea’s waves, leaving you awash in ecstasy.

Neither of you lasted very long, but it didn’t matter, as you were nowhere near spent. Lucius, still in the afterglow of his orgasm, lazily began to kiss you all over, wanting to discover every mole and freckle, every tender spot that made you squirm, and every other little detail that made you you. 

He settled between your thighs, his hot breath fanning over your sensitive bundle of nerves. You tried to prop yourself up on your elbows to look at him, but he wrapped his arms around your thighs and pulled you closer. 

“What are you– Oh,” you gasped at the first flick of his tongue, the entirely new sensation disarming you. 

He tasted his essence mixed with yours, a groan rumbling in his chest. You tightly grasped the sheets under you, arching against his face. You bit your lip to stop yourself from making the most undignified sounds, but it was hard to focus, especially as his fingers were added into the mix. Your body burned brighter than any brazier, his arms pinning you down as he conquered you with his mouth. You shattered once more, crying out as he helped you ride it all the way through. 

After, you lied side by side, facing each other. You’d still not had your fill of him, but you needed to gather your strength for the long night ahead. You shared a breathy chuckle, as if still in disbelief it had finally happened, and he kissed your sweat-slick forehead.

“Now that was poetry,” you said jokingly, making him laugh again. 

“You put every verse to shame, my love,” he said, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

You kissed his palm, adoring, and tangled your legs with his. A swell of emotion unlike anything you had ever felt rose within you. It was as if he had awakened a new part of you that you hadn’t known was dormant, bringing you back from an existence that consisted solely of drifting through days that blended into one another.

He was just as grateful to have found you, his peace, his solace, the woman who would always guard his heart. He murmured your name reverently, a reminder that you were his, and he was yours. You drew closer to him, like a moth to flame, and pushed him onto his back, straddling him. His hands came to rest on your hips and your eyes were full of mirth as you held his gaze.

“As it happens, I find myself compelled to compose some more with you.” You grinned playfully, hands sliding up his chest. 

He mirrored your grin, not minding the idea one bit. “Relentless, just like the great muse Calliope.”

“Well, when inspiration strikes… It can’t be helped, can it?”

“No,” he said. “Not when it comes to you.”

------

[clockwayswrites]

5 Times the JL Learned Batman was Married and the 1 Time They Met the Spouse.

One. Two. Three. Four. Five. + 1

“What is going on?” Batman asked the group as he swept into the room.

John stayed focused on the circle, not wanting to mess up now. It would be a lot of faff for nothing if he did.

“Constantine believes he has a contact to help us with our current issue,” Superman explained. “He is working on the summoning circle now.”

“Is that safe to do on the Watchtower?” Batman asked, as cautious as ever.

“Yeah, mate,” John answered for himself. “This one is a good one. Haven’t met them myself, but real helpful sort of fellow from everything I’ve heard. Or at least real helpful for the things that they can help with.”

Careful not to smudge any lines, John moved backwards out of the circle and gave it a good look over. The rest of the lot were talking about something, but if Batman hadn’t stopped him yet, John figured he was good and intended to keep working. A little slice to his finger, a few drops of blood, the right words, and it was done.

The white markings of the circle seemed to shudder and warp, like the lines on a desert street. Then they snapped a bright green and the inner lines seemed to fall away into an endless void. The void rippled and suddenly a hand reached out of it. The claws made the worst sound as they gripped into the metal floor.

Another hand joined it.

And then the being pulled themselves out of the summoning circle.

John knew better than to try and comprehend what he was seeing. It was all shadow and green flames and fear anyways.

“Who dares to call upon the Ghost King?” the being asked. The voice echoed through the room, through John’s head, through his soul. It sounded like a thousand screaming voices of the dead speaking all at once.

Toxic green eyes in the black mass swept over the group. It was like they were being seen; their souls, their very beings, every aspect of them flayed open and on display for this other worldly entity. John swallowed reflexively when the eyes paused on him for a moment. He wasn’t scared, but there was still a primal part of his brain that said he should run.

Then the gaze landed on Batman and stayed there. Superman stepped forward, slightly, as if to shield Batman from the being’s view.

The being didn’t seem to care and leaned forward up to the edge of the circle. “B?”

Batman inclined his head slightly, “Phantom.”

“Shit. This Justice League approved, huh? Sorry about the dramatics. Usually I only get summoned by cultists who want Pariah Dark, the old king, to give them power or cleanse the world of life or blah blah blah. Best to show up and put the fear of me into them,” the being said, motioning to themselves and all their horror. The reverb of their voice had settled some, now only like a few voices overlapping.

“Understandable,” Batman agreed, seemingly unaffected by it all.

John could only shrug incredulously at Superman’s questioning gaze. Fuck if he knew. Sure, Bats was unflappable, but everyone knew he avoided the supernatural stuff if he could.

The being pulled the last of itself out of the portal which sealed with a sickening squelch. “You could have just called though. Like, I get summoning is a quick way to travel, but it's a little painful."

“Painful?” Batman asked, turning to stare at John, who swallowed nervously at the cold tone.

“Yeah. This was a pretty clean circle though, props to the maker—”

“Thanks, I think?” John mumbled at he watched the being start to shift. It was like watching a black hole collapse in on itself.

“—so it's not that bad, but still it feels like ripping some duct tape off my skin or something,” the being continued. They were much more human shaped now, though they still smiled with an alarming number of very white teeth.

“We'll keep that in mind in the future. I was unaware of who, exactly, they were summoning.”

The rest of the roiling darkness settled on their shoulders like a half cape— one that seemed to hold the infinity of the night sky inside it. The vortex of flames settled into a crown of fire that floated above a head of stark white hair. They flexed their claws and the limbs settled into normal hands that they tucked into pockets of their three piece black suit with its sharp white accents. Then they stepped over the live of what was supposed to be an unbreakable summoning circle.

Like it was just waking through a door.

Like it was nothing.

John took a reflexive step back. This kind of rule breaking shit was exactly why he liked to avoid the Infinite Realms when he could; they were too chaotic to easily manage.

“All good,” they said with a shrug and a fanged smile. “So, what did you need the Ghost King for?”

-

Bruce watched Phantom scan the meeting room as they entered. Their eyes caught, just for a moment, and a million thoughts ran through Bruce’s head. Did he want to do this? Was it time? He trusted the Justice League. They had issues and conflicts, like any group, but they were heroes through and through.

Revealing this also did not mean revealing either of their civilian identities.

The nod was barely any movement at all, but Bruce knew that Phantom had caught it and understood. After so many years together, they hardly needed words, which Bruce often appreciated. Words had never been easy for Bruce. He worked on it for his family. He had to after…

Bruce forced himself not to think about that. Danny had saved Jason, even if the resulting years without Danny there were some of the hardest for the family. They were together again and better for it. Bruce let out a careful breath and took his normal seat.

“Thank you for your assistance, King Phantom,” Wonder Woman started. Phantom held up a hand.

“I didn’t say I could assist. I’ll listen and help if I can and see fit, but there are a great many things that are not mine to aid in,” Phantom said sternly, though his voice was carefully kind. “My influence is only over those closely tied to death and of the Infinite Realms. The living are outside of my jurisdiction.”

“Of course,” Superman said quickly as he could without rushing the words. “Listening is a great start. If you’ll take a seat.”

Phantom nodded and strode right past the indicated seat. With a casual ease that Bruce had always envied, Phantom sat on the arm of Bruce’s chair.

“Um, King Phantom, your majesty?” Flash started nervously. “Batman doesn’t really like to be touched?”

“Really?” Phantom asked innocently. Bruce couldn’t see it, but knew exactly the smirk Phantom had as he leaned back to lounge against Bruce’s shoulder. (Bruce loved that smile.)

Bruce schooled his expression as he watched Flash and Hal exchange looks and frantic hand signs to each other.

J’onn tilted his head curiously as he took his own seat. Bruce could see J’onn come to an understanding as his eyes flickered down the the black metal brand around Phantom’s ring finger in the shape of a flying bat.

“Ah,” J’onn said softly.

“Ah? Ah what?” Flash asked, his words almost a whine. “What do you know?”

Bruce rested his hand lightly on Phantom’s hip, well aware that the motion was in sight of both Superman and Wonder Woman.

“Ah,” Wonder Woman said with a little smile. “J’onn knows something we all know, though not in this context. It is good to meet you, Phantom.”

“Good to meet you also, Wonder Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you,” Phantom said as she sat down next to them.

“I wish I could say the same,” she said with a teasing smile directed Bruce’s way.

“Hn.”

Phantom just laughed, the sound echoing like a ringing bell. “It’s okay, I know what B is like. Trust me, that you know anything at all is a big deal. He’s just bad at doing things the normal way.”

Bruce held back a sigh and just pinched Phantom’s side again, making the other squeak and backhand Bruce in the chest.

“Holy shit!” Hal jutted a finger at Phantom. “You’re Batman’s husband!”

“Guilty as charged,” Phantom said.

“Wait, no, you’re what?” Flash asked and zipped closer to the table. “Huh. You are so not what I expected. I mean, I guess ghost plus Spooky works but you’re so… lively! Wait— is that like, offensive to call the dead lively?”

Phantom laughed again and shook his head. “No, but not everyone in the realms will take it as a compliment. I don’t mind and besides, I’m only half-dead.”

“Half-dead?” Superman asked with his brow furrowed worriedly.

Phantom just waved the concern away. “It’s complicated. Mostly it just means that I still get to live out my human life as simply a human. Ghosts move slower, having eternity and all, so there’s not too much for me to do as the king other than attend to summons and make slow changes.”

“So,” Hal started, ignoring Bruce’s glare and sliding into a seat finally. “You’re married to Batman in your civilian form as well?”

“Of course, it would be silly otherwise,” Phantom said and then added, “and no, I won’t tell you who B is. That’s for him to choose.”

“Okay, but like, we can talk to you, right?” Flash asked, eager as ever.

“Well, I’m here, aren’t I? But work first. What do you think I can help you all with?”

Bruce moved his hand to rest on the small of Phantom’s back and watched his husband command the room like the king he was.

--- AN: and here's the last part! The JL finally meet Batman's husband, or at least once side of him!

[rafesnerd]

　　　　　　⋆˙⟡♡　　 HEAD　　SCRATCHES.　

summary: rafe is stressed, and keeps staring at his girlfriend with the cutest puppy eyes. so what's the worst that could happen if she gave him a little love and attention just like she would to a puppy?

pairing: rafe cameron x reader

warning: stressed rafe, swearing, rafe is actually a softy for his girl, sort of suggestive? dumbification if you squint, rafe calls reader mama once, rafe loves his girls tits, not proofread.

wc: 363

“FUCK.” was the only thing heard through the vast halls and spaces of tannyhill, that and the door slamming, which y/n swore she felt shake the entire house. Padding down the spiralling staircases cautiously she sought out her boyfriend.

Finding him outside sat by the pool with his head in his hands, mumbling incoherent curses and phrases to no one in particular, she could tell he was angry, that was plain to see.

“Rafey..?” she speaks softly, crouching down next to her boyfriend, a perfectly manicured hand gently moving to his half covered bicep, the shirt hugging his muscles perfectly.

“Mmm.. hiya babygirl..” Rafe mutters, looking at y/n with puppy eyes, the same eyes he had been giving her every day for the last week when he thought she wasn’t looking.

“Hiya rafey.. You’re givin’ me puppy eyes again.. Y’know like i mentioned that y’do last night..?” she giggles, tilting her head to the side to get a better view of the boy in front of her.

“Told ya princess, i don’ give ya fuckin’ puppy dog eye- ohh.. Mhh,” Rafe’s sentence was quickly cut off as y/n’s hand found purchase in the long messy strands of his hair.

Scratching in a claw motion as she watched her once scary boyfriend push up into her hand like he was chasing the feeling. 

“Ffuck.. Mama- can’ d’tha.. T’ me gon’ make me all dumb.. Shhit- stop i-it..” Rafe stutters out nervously, yet the way his body reacts when y/n starts to pet him exactly like a puppy tells her that he doesn’t really want this to stop.

“Oh? Stop, hm? Cmon rafey.. Just enjoy it.. Let mama take care of her boy..” She giggles again, this time softly, her voice low with care and intent.

“Your.. boy?” Rafe flushes as he tries his damndest to process that nickname, and he likes it, he likes it a little too much, he thinks. When you pull him into your tits however? His face is buried in there until the sun starts to set and you’ve had to crack your knuckles multiple times from the cramps of petting the boy atop of you.

　　　　　　　　written　　by　　nottsnerd

[osarina]

ᡣ𐭩 TO THINK THAT WE COULD STAY THE SAME

FEATURING: osamu dazai

SUMMARY: after your night out goes terribly wrong in every possible way, you find yourself at a strange house. you don't know if this is real or some elaborate trick of an ability—worse, you don't know which will hurt you more in the long run. you don't know how you're supposed to survive this. if you can survive this.

AUTHOR'S NOTES: YAYAAYAYAAAAYYYYYY PART TWO GUYS I HOPE U ENJOY <3333. reblogs appreciated!

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, beast!dazai, tragedy, angst, canon compliant.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: lots of whiplash and confusion & lots of frustration. unprotected sex. oral (m->f).

SEE: TWO SLOW DANCERS SERIES MASTERLIST

You expect to wake up in a damp basement tied to a chair, cramped and uncomfortable. You hardly remember what happened last night—you remember drinking in Chuuya’s penthouse, the two of you sprawled out on top of each other in his bed after cracking open his nicest wine, and you remember Albatross’s incessant texts beckoning you guys to the bar. You vaguely remember getting to the bar and an argument breaking out between you and Iceman, but you can’t really remember what was said—maybe that’s for the best. 

And you remember the man that attacked you outside of the bar—not his face, but the panic that spread through your chest, the sharp scent of the rag placed over your mouth, the way your vision went dark.

Shit, you think, slowly coming to. You instinctively lift your hand to your head and then frown when you realize you can lift your hand. You’re not tied up… more than that, you’re not in pain. If anything, you’re comfortable. Your lashes flutter open, squinting at the early morning sun that’s rising directly in your eyes—you’re not underground either, clearly. You seem to be lying on some sort of couch—what is going on?

You’re careful not to make any noise as you slowly regain your bearings. You’re in a small room—a living room or something—you see a fireplace directly across from where you’re lying, a coffee table in front of you, your head is resting on a pillow that someone must have laid beneath you, and there’s a soft blanket pulled over you. You exhale softly, riddled with confusion as you try to figure out what’s going on. You wonder maybe if Chuuya or one of the Flags had figured out what was going on and intercepted the kidnapping before they could get you somewhere, or maybe Itou and Klaus were able to track you down, but this place doesn’t look reminiscent to any of the safehouses you guys use.

You’re uncertain as you sit up, looking around hesitantly as you try to pinpoint where you might be. You see a window to your left and make note of it if you need to escape, but you’re more curious about the view outside of it. You’re on the coastline? Your lips part, looking around the small area for any hints to where you may be, but the place is extraordinarily plain. There are no trinkets on the coffee table, no pictures on the walls—it looks like a freshly bought house, but you can see dust on the far cabinet, signaling that nobody has been here for a long time. If it were freshly bought, the real estate agents would’ve been sure to make sure it was spotless.

You turn your head to the left and find your breath catching at the sight of someone sitting at the kitchen table. Someone almost familiar, but your brain refuses to accept who it is that’s sitting there with your back to you. He’s hunched over the table, furiously writing away at something—it’s Dazai. Though you could only see the back of his head, you could recognize him anywhere. The dark hair, the bandages peeking out from under it, but he’s not wearing his black jacket. He’s dressed in a cozy gray sweatshirt and sweatpants—the sight is so disconcerting, so strange, that you almost think you might be hallucinating, you might be being affected by some sort of ability.

“Dazai?” you whisper softly, voice raspy. 

His head snaps to the side at the sound of your voice, and his dark eye is unusually warm as it focuses on you. He folds the paper he was writing on and puts it in his pocket, rising to his feet. His lips curl up into a soft smile, and you struggle to breathe. You’re confused, too hopeful for your liking, and still mostly convinced that this is some figment of your imagination.

“You’re awake,” he says quietly. “Hi.”

“Hi,” you reply, unsure. “What… is this? What is going on? The man who kidnapped me… You intercepted?”

Dazai’s cheeks suddenly go pink, gaze falling to the ground, and you’re baffled by it. You haven’t seen him so red in the face since you were eighteen and teasing him while the two of you were curled up in bed. You feel sick—if this is a joke, a trick, an ability, then there’s none as cruel as this, showing you the boy you loved, everything you’ve ever wanted. The number of times you’ve imagined escaping the Port Mafia with him, living a quiet life in the countryside; how many times have you wondered what life would’ve been like if you’d gotten to Mori’s office in time, if he never took over as boss, if he never became what he has. 

It’s too cruel—crueler than any words Dazai has ever spoken to you, crueler than what your life has become over the past four years.

“Uh, no,” Dazai says awkwardly. “That was me.”

“What?”

“I sent him.”

“What?”

“Are you feeling okay?” he suddenly asks, clearly trying to evade the subject. 

Your expression twists in frustration but instantly smooths when he takes a few steps closer to you. He presses the back of his hand against your forehead before letting his hand drop to your cheek. He caresses your cheek gently, thumb running along your cheekbone. 

You stare up at him, lips parted in shock. You’re not imagining the love in his gaze, not this time—it’s so plain that it has your chest painfully tight, it has your breath shaky, it has your eyes welling with tears that you’re not sure you’ll be able to hold back. You can’t help the way you lean into his touch, and that only makes his expression soften impossibly more. You don’t understand what’s going on, you don’t understand what’s caused this change, you don’t understand any of this.

You don’t realize that the tears have spilled over until you feel him wiping them away.

“I don’t understand,” you say, voice cracking as you take in a wet breath. “I don’t—is this real? I don't understand—”

“It’s real,” he tells you quietly, fingers gliding gently over your cheeks to wipe your tears before he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. “It’s real.”

You know that’s something your mind would say to soothe your doubts, but his touch is so real. His fingers are warm, they’re callused from his gun, they’re so achingly familiar that you can hardly breathe—you want to believe that this is real, you so badly want to believe that this is real, but how could it be?

“I don’t understand, Dazai,” you whisper, shaking your head and pulling your face away from him. He doesn’t let you, his hand sliding to the back of your head to hold you in place. You can’t think straight with his hands on you, you’ve never been able to, but especially not like this, not when they’re so gentle, not when they’re everything you’ve ever wanted. Your voice comes out too much like a plea when you say his name, “Dazai, stop please—I don’t—what is this? Why are you…?”

Why are you dressed like this?

Why are you acting like this?

Why are you treating me like this?

What is going on?

You don’t even know what you want to ask, and you don’t know if you want to know the answer. A part of you just wants to bask in this—whether it’s a trick of your mind or an ability, you should take it as a blessing. You should bask in the time you have with your Dazai before you’re tossed back into your cruel reality, but the bigger part of you needs to know. If this is a trick or an ability, you don’t think you’ll survive being taunted with this only to have it ripped away.

Dazai’s expression twists, uncertainty in his eye as he looks down at you, like he doesn’t know what to say or how to explain it. His lips part to speak, but no words leave them. He lets out a shaky breath and then lets his gaze drop to your body. You realize you’re still wearing the dress from yesterday, albeit dirty and wrinkled now; his hand drops your face and you feel too cold without his touch, but you can at least think a bit more clearly now.

“What is going on?” you ask, voice steadier. “Where am I? Why are you here? Where are your guards? Is this place secure?”

Dazai looks at the ground, a resigned expression on his face. He doesn’t answer any of your questions, which has frustration bubbling in your chest along with a little mania, you have no idea what’s going on, you have no idea where you and Dazai are, you have no idea if this place is safe, you don’t see any of his guards standing watch, you don’t have your phone with you to call Chuuya or the Flags, you–

“You should get changed,” Dazai says quietly, much to your exasperation.

Your expression twists. “Dazai—”

“If it’s alright,” Dazai interrupts, voice unsteady, gaze still trained on the floor, “while we’re here, can you call me Osamu?”

Your mouth dries at the request, studying Dazai’s face as best as you can, but you come up infuriatingly blank as you try to figure out what might be going through his head right now. He almost looks like a kid again, back when you first met, sixteen and fumbling, unsure how to act around you but wanting desperately to be in your presence. He would force himself into your space and try to initiate conversation but would visibly get anxious as soon as he did, second-guessing his every word.

“Osamu,” you correct, and you don’t like how unfamiliar his given name is now on your tongue. It used to roll off easily, like it belonged there. Dazai’s shoulders slump in relief, gaze flickering up to meet yours. His eye looks like a pool of honey under the early morning sun, nothing like the black pit you’re used to. “Will you tell me what’s going on? At least if we’re safe here.”

“We’re safe here,” he confirms, swallowing thickly, and then repeats, “You should… get changed.”

You sigh as you look over to the bedroom he keeps glancing over at and then say, “Fine, but then you’re explaining.”

“Okay,” he agrees, voice unnervingly wobbly, but you only give him one last long, semi-suspicious look before making your way over to the bedroom. 

You don’t realize how much his presence has fogged your mind until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut behind you. You can suddenly breathe, you can suddenly see—you press your hands to your face as you sit on the edge of the bed and try to get ahold of yourself. You’re still not entirely sure that this is real; it could easily be a figment of your imagination, it could be a dream, it could be an ability. 

You exhale shakily—first and foremost, you need to figure out if this is real.

Your gaze lifts to the window in the bedroom. If this is an ability and you’re being taunted with your deepest desires, then you likely won’t be able to feel the fresh air. You’d be held in an enclosed area that’s masquerading as this beach house, there would be no wind or breeze when you try to step outside because you’re not actually outside. Holding your breath, you take a step forward—the window gets stuck a little as you try to push it up, but once you get it up, you’re immediately met with a fresh breeze from the bay. You can smell the faint scent of saltwater in the air, you can feel the warmth of the rising sun—it’s too real to be an ability.

Shit, you think, even more confused. Your gaze snaps up to the clock on the wall, watching the second-hand tick—you can read it just fine. Not a dream. What is going on?

You shake your head as you make your way over to the closet, sliding open the door to figure out what exactly Dazai wants you to change into. You pause when you see two outfits hanging up—one is casual loungewear, a matching set to what he’s wearing, and the other is one of your suits.

It’s a choice, you realize, throat tight as you take in a shuddered breath. He’s letting you choose whether you’re going to stay with him or if you’re going to go to the meeting with the Red Chamber.

Fuck, you think, rubbing your face hard, staring hard at the two outfits. You still don’t understand what’s going on, and you want to stay with Dazai. You really do, more than anything. You want answers, and you want to indulge, but you’re scared. You know that if you stay with him, indulge in whatever this is… you know it won’t last, and when you inevitably have to go back to reality, it’ll just make things hurt so much worse.

Your fingers graze the familiar fabric of your suit jacket, and for a second, you imagine going out there in it. You imagine the way Dazai’s expression will fall when he realizes you didn’t choose him. You imagine the way his throat will spasm as he nods in resignation and calls for a car so the two of you can leave. You imagine the hurt in his eyes, and it’s almost enough for you to choose to leave. The vindictiveness is tempting, the prospect of hurting him even a fraction as much as he’s hurt you the past four years is too enticing, but more than revenge, you want answers. You want to know what spurred this because you have a bad feeling in your gut about it. 

After a moment’s hesitation, you yank the loungewear off the hanger, slipping out of the dress you’ve been wearing for far too long to slide the thin sweatshirt over your head and pull on the shorts. They’re comfortable, the cotton is soft against your skin, and for some reason, it causes a heavy feeling to settle on your chest. You shake your head and leave the room before you can second-guess yourself.

Dazai is sitting on the couch, shoulders hunched over, back to you, head tilted toward the ground. He doesn’t hear you when you exit the bedroom; he doesn’t even look up until you clear your throat. When you do, his head snaps around instantly. There’s an uncertain expression on his face that quickly fades into relief when he realizes what you’re wearing.

“No,” you say immediately, glad that your voice comes out harsh instead of wavering. “You don’t get to look relieved. I want answers. What is this?” 

Dazai rises to his feet. His lips part, like he wants to say something but isn’t sure what. His brows furrow, and he looks down at the ground as he says, “I don’t know how to explain it.”

Frustrated, you snap, “Well, figure it out, Dazai.” Dazai has the audacity to withdraw, and you let out an exasperated sigh before correcting quietly, “Osamu.”

“I can’t—”

“You have to,” you say, raising your voice and taking a step forward. Dazai takes a step backward, expression falling. “I’ve dreamt of this, Osamu. Of waking up one day and things were suddenly the same again, like they were. I thought I would be happy, but I am so fucking angry. You don’t get to do this after everything you’ve put me through, not without an explanation.”

“I can’t,” he repeats, voice pitched, rising in distress. “I can’t. I can’t. I don’t—this was a mistake, I can’t—”

Dazai suddenly looks like he’s about to cry, and you hate how all of the anger immediately drains from you. He looks so much younger dressed like this in a sweatshirt too big for his thin shoulders, without his jacket acting like a shield from the rest of the world, without Mori’s scarf hanging around his shoulders, a reminder of all that he’s done. He looks like he’s sixteen again, startled awake from a nightmare, too lost and too alone, and just like back then, your instinct is to try to calm him down. 

“I don’t understand,” you say helplessly.

“You can’t understand,” he replies shrilly. “I shouldn't be here, you shouldn’t be here. I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

He cuts himself off suddenly, and you watch as his expression hardens in an instant. His voice goes cold, and he says, “Forget it. We should go. I’m going to—”

“No,” you say harshly, reaching out to grab his wrist to stop him from walking past you. You shove your forearm against his chest to push back against the wall. He doesn’t fight back. When his back hits the wall, he only stares down at you, his visible eye wide and swirling with too many emotions. “You’re going to explain what’s happening. Please, Osamu.”

“I can’t,” he whispers. “We shouldn’t be here, I never meant—I just wanted—”

You sigh as you step away from him, looking away. You’re getting nowhere—you need to take a different route, you’re not going to get any answers from him this way. After a few moments, you ask, “What happened with the meeting with the Red Chamber? Who is going? What happened to the plan to assassinate Baoyu Jia?”

This is obviously the wrong question because Dazai looks embarrassed again as he looks away. “Lippmann is handling the meeting,” he says after a moment. 

“Lippmann doesn’t do assassinations,” you reply.

His gaze lowers. “He’s not killing him.”

You let your eyes slide shut, trying to calm yourself down. “You never planned to have me kill him,” you realize.

“No.”

“You lied to me.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Dazai doesn’t meet your gaze as he stares to the side. “I planned to have you kidnapped on the way to the meeting. I figured it would be easier if you were thrown off and focused on an unusual mission. I only ended up doing it last night because…”

Because of how things went down yesterday, you finish for him silently. 

You rub your face as you step away. “Why did you kidnap me?” you ask flatly.

Dazai looks as if he doesn’t want to answer. His throat spasms and he almost looks like he wants to run away, but he knows you’ll be quick to stop him. As he realizes that fleeing is not an option, he starts to get visibly upset again.

“I just wanted one day—” he begins, his voice pitched again. Wobbly. He rubs at his face harshly, first his cheeks and then over his eyes. He lets out a shaky breath, and his body tenses like he’s going to bolt. You brace yourself to stop him, but his shoulders slump suddenly, and his head hangs forward. He says softly, “I’m so tired. I just wanted one day where things could be normal again.”

You swallow as you stare at Dazai. He looks… incredibly fragile right now, more so than you’ve ever seen him before. Even those nights when you woke to him screaming and sobbing, the night you raced to the rooftop to stop him from jumping—none of it compares to right now. His eye looks like glass, ready to shatter at a moment’s notice, and his lips are trembling; it’s only a thread that’s holding him together right now, and you could so easily pull it apart. 

All it would take is a single word.

It’s on the tip of your tongue, a bullet loaded in the chamber and ready to let fly. You could do it, and a part of you wants to. You want to hurt him—the vindictiveness you felt in the bedroom returns with a vengeance. You want to rip that thread away and watch him fall apart, you want him to shatter, you want him to hurt. 

“I—” You start to say, but the words die on your tongue when his gaze lifts to meet yours. The expression on his face is resigned, defeated, like he already knows what you’re going to say, like he knows that one day of normalcy could never be an option. And you can’t bring yourself to do it, can’t bring yourself to hurt him the same way he’s hurt you so much over the last four years. “You didn’t have to kidnap me, Osamu. You could’ve just asked me to come. I would have.”

You’re weak, you think bitterly. Dazai deserves your anger. He deserves your cruelty. He deserves your hatred. He’s treated you horribly over the last four years, and the moment he puts on a sad face, you fold for him. You should walk away, leave him here to break down on his own. You don’t give a fuck if he’s tired, you’re tired. You’re tired of the four years of hell your life has been, you’re tired of clinging to the past, you’re tired of Dazai. 

Your life would be so much easier if you could just hate him and move on, but you’ll never move on from Dazai Osamu. Your souls have been inexplicably entwined since the day the two of you met six years ago, so entangled that you no longer know where yours ends and his begins; there’s no world for you without him, and if that means letting him drag you through hell, if it means letting him ruin you, ruin everything you had with him, then you would let him. 

“Would you have really come?” he asks solemnly, like maybe he knows what you’re thinking.

You look away and answer, maybe a bit too bitterly, “I always come, don’t I?” 

“It doesn’t matter. It had to be this way,” Dazai responds after a moment.

“It had to be a kidnapping?” you ask dryly.

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“... You wouldn’t understand.”

You let out yet another exasperated sigh, head falling back as you will yourself the patience because, of course, it’s back to this.

“Then help me understand,” you say tightly. “Osamu, would you please stop being difficult?”

“I can’t,” he repeats, much to your frustration. “I just—I can’t.”

You don’t respond this time, shaking your head and looking away. You don’t know if you’ll be able to indulge him the way he wants without an explanation. You want to know what’s going on—you need to know what’s going on. You have to understand what triggered this, you have to understand what has him so wound up. Just as you’re about to ask, he asks softly:

“Can we go to the cliffside?” 

You let out a heavy sigh. “Is this place even secure? I know you want one day to be normal, but you’re still you. You have billions of yen on your head, we can’t—”

“It’s secure,” he interrupts, looking uncomfortable by the reminder. Your gaze softens. You thought maybe you would be relieved with solid proof that the boy who loved you was still here, but it only makes you feel strange now. Bitter, maybe, hurt—if he’s still here, why has he hurt you so much in the past four years? A part of you wonders if maybe it would’ve been better if Chuuya was right; if Dazai was better off dead. “Please, let’s go out there.”

“Okay,” you agree, shoving your hands in your pockets and making your way over to the slippers Dazai left out for you before walking over to the back door. 

He trails after you slowly, remaining a pace behind you as you walk up the dirt path leading to the clifftop. The early morning sea breeze is cool against your skin, and the rising sun casts a pretty glow over the bay. Your hands are stuffed in your pockets as you drag your feet against the dirt—you don’t dare look back at Dazai.

You try to piece together all that you know. Something has Dazai highly distressed and emotionally unstable, you aren’t sure what. This place, for some reason, is special to him—he can’t seem to handle any form of coldness or cruelty from you while here. He can’t explain to you what’s going on, and he can’t explain why he can’t explain to you. This was evidently a whole plot he’d been planning for a while now, what with using the meeting with the Red Chamber and already having the house and property around it secured. It’s all too confusing, and you have a feeling you’re going to come out of this more hurt than you were to begin with.

You come to a stop at the cliff’s edge, but you don’t sit down. Dazai comes to stand next to you, shoulder brushing yours as the two of you look over the bay. 

“It’s my birthday today.”

Your head snaps to the side as you look up at him, eyes wide, “What?” 

“You know, in another universe, you found the files when you and Chuuya went looking for them,” Dazai says with a wry smile. 

Your lips part when he looks down at you—he looks stunning under the early morning sun, he looks alive, and you don’t think you’ve seen him look so at ease in four years. There are still bags visible under his eye, but his expression is smooth otherwise, his lips are curled up softly, and his dark eye looks golden under the rays of the sun. 

“You knew about that?” you ask quietly, voice coming out a bit more breathless than you mean for it to.

“… I know a lot of things,” he answers cryptically. “I made sure you couldn’t get your hands on them this time, though.”

In another universe, this time—his words finally start to register, and you frown, trying to piece together what he means. 

“Why?” you ask carefully.

There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he gazes out to the bay, like he’s looking at something that’s not really there. “I fell in love with you many times, but that night was always the night I fell the hardest. I was scared.” 

You let out a shaky breath as you stare up at him. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you don’t know what he means, but he’s saying what you’ve only dreamed of hearing from him, and it leaves you at a loss. You can only see the side of his face, but the corner of his lip is twitching down again, his brown eye soft beneath the sunlight. 

“Scared?”

“Scared,” he confirms quietly. “I wasn’t sure if I’d be able to follow through with what needed to be done… I… I wasn’t supposed to get close to you at all. I knew it would make things more difficult.”

What needed to be done—did he mean killing Mori? Did he have that planned for that long? How hadn’t you known?

You don’t know what to say—not because you’re at a loss for words now, but because you’re scared that if you ask the wrong thing, he’ll clam up again. You don’t know what he means, talking about another universe and ‘this time’ and how he wasn’t supposed ‘to get close to you’—he’s talking like he knows everything that was supposed to happen, everything that has happened in another life. It’s too strange, you don’t know if Dazai has genuinely gone off the deep end or if he’s been hiding something from you since the moment you met him. Both explanations are disconcerting.

“Then why?” you finally settle on. “Why did you get close to me? Why did you—”

Why did you fall in love with me?

Why did you make me fall in love with you?

If you knew how things were going to turn out, why would you put me through this?

Dazai looks down now, gaze trained on the rocks below as the water crashes against them. He looks sad. Your hand twitches to reach out for his, but you refrain, if only barely. 

“What if I told you it was to use you?” he asks quietly. “To make you love me so that you could make the power transition easier because I knew people wouldn’t question me if I had Mori’s daughter’s support.”

“I would call you a liar,” you reply. “Tell me why.”

“Because I love you,” he whispers, lips trembling, throat spasming. “I love you so much that I can barely breathe when you’re in the room. That I can’t think straight when you’re around, even when you’re not around. I become stupid, reckless—I don’t think at all. You’re everything I’ve ever wanted, and I tried so hard to stay away to protect you. I told myself it over and over again leading up to the day we met, but then I saw you, and I just—I couldn’t do it… I couldn’t do it.”

Dazai’s eye is glassy as he stares down at the water, and his fingers tremble in front of his body. He twists them awkwardly like he doesn’t know what to do with himself—the same way he did when he fumbled over words when you guys were seventeen and he was trying to ask you out on a date. 

This time, you do reach out. You brush your fingers against his, at first hesitantly, and then when he doesn’t immediately pull away, you slide your hands into his, entwining your fingers together. His grip on your hand is tight, like he’s afraid to let go in fear that you might disappear. Like he’s afraid this moment might slip through his fingers. 

“I don’t understand, Osamu,” you say quietly, grip tightening on his hand in case he decides to bolt once he hears your question. “Then why did you push me away so much? Why were you so…”

Cruel.

He grimaces like you spoke the word, incapable of looking you in the eye. He indeed tenses like he’s going to run, but then his shoulders slump. “Because I—I wasn’t supposed to—you’re not supposed to—you don’t understand, I can’t—”

“Help me understand,” you insist, frustration starting to pull at you again. “Osamu, please, I—”

“You were never supposed to be the price of this world,” Dazai finally blurts out, voice shrill again. He tries to pull away, but you don’t let him; he takes in a ragged breath, and your lips part in shock when you realize that the tears that had been welling in his visible eye have started to spill over. Again, he tries to yank his hand away and nearly sends himself careening off the side of the cliff, it’s only your quick reaction to tug him hard toward you that prevents him from tumbling back. The two of you crash backward onto the ground. “I’ve ruined everything, I’ve ruined you, I ruin everything I touch. Everything was supposed to work out perfectly for everyone, but I ruined it. I was supposed to stay away from you; I was supposed to let you live without me, but I couldn’t stay away. I was selfish, I’ve always been selfish, and it’s always at your expense. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I—”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders, and Dazai buries his face into the crook of your neck. He’s shaking terribly, and he feels so small wrapped up in your arms like this. He’s too thin, his shoulders feel frail—Dazai has never been good at taking care of himself, but you can’t help but wonder when the last time he’s eaten, if he’s eaten, with no one looking after him anymore. Your hand slides up to cradle the back of his head, and Dazai sobs, his whole body shudders, you can feel him clinging to the back of your sweatshirt desperately.

And you don’t know what to say to calm him down. You don’t know what he’s talking about, you can’t understand any of this. You don’t know if he’s gone crazy, and you don’t know what to do if he has because people are already starting to question his decisions. There are rumors spreading that something’s not right with Dazai—ever since all of this unnecessary tension with the Armed Detective Agency began a few weeks ago, there have been whispers, even among your closest confidants, that maybe Dazai’s reign as boss has come to an end, that maybe it’s time for a new regime to take his place. 

The Flags are eager, Itou and Klaus are ready for it, and Chuuya is resigned. He’s waiting for you to give up on Dazai so he can finally put his old partner out of his misery—or that’s what he’s telling himself, anyway.

But a small part of you wonders if there’s any truth to what he’s saying. 

Dazai has always been smart, but there were times when you questioned whether his intelligence was the product of his own natural instincts and skill or if maybe there was something else going on because sometimes he predicted things that he shouldn’t have possibly been able to predict. 

He knew about an assassination attempt on your life before anyone in the Port Mafia caught wind of it—not any of Verlaine’s girls, none of your contacts, none of Mori or Kouyou’s contacts, but somehow he knew. He knew that there was a trap laid out in Kyoto for you and Itou, and that’s why he was so insistent on being the one to go in your stead. Not only that, but he knew things about you before you ever told him—your interests, your fears, your desires. Sometimes, he would let you tell him them, but you could tell that you were only confirming what he already knew.

It never made any sense to you, but if he somehow knew what happened in other worlds and used that knowledge here… that would explain a lot, wouldn’t it?

But how? 

How would he have had that knowledge?

And why didn’t he tell you? Chuuya? Anyone?

He’s still talking, but you can’t make out any of the words he’s saying anymore. His voice is muffled against your skin, and he’s heaving over sobs. You wonder when the last time Dazai let himself cry like this—if he ever has.

“This was a mistake.” You finally make out the ragged words as he presses his face harder into your neck, like he’s trying to crawl inside your skin. “You shouldn’t be here. You’re not supposed to be here. I’m going to ruin everything, I don’t know what I was thinking, I—”

“It’s already ruined,” you say suddenly, feeling Dazai still in your arms as soon as your words register. “It’s ruined, I’m here. There’s no taking that back. So, why don’t we just enjoy your birthday, and we can figure everything else out tomorrow, okay?”

Dazai pulls back so he can look at you. His eye is still wet, and his cheek is smeared with tears, but they’re no longer steadily rolling over it. You lift your hand to caress his cheek, using your thumb to wipe his cheek gently. His lashes flutter shut as he instinctively leans into your touch, turning his face a little to the side so he can kiss your palm. When his eye reopens, the adoration swimming within it takes your breath away.

He hasn’t looked at you like this in years, and it makes your chest feel like it’s going to cave in—you’re not doing this to indulge, you tell yourself. Sure, you’re not going to complain about it; you’ve dreamt about this before, but it’s more important that you figure out what exactly is going on with him. You still don’t know what he means and haven’t managed to get a single answer out of Dazai. If anything, you have more questions. Your head has gone dizzy with all the possible explanations swimming around in your mind. The first thing you need to do is get Dazai to calm down, you’re not going to get anything out of him in this state, and then, you can try to figure out the best plan of attack for getting some answers.

“It’ll make everything worse,” he replies softly. “This was a mistake, I shouldn’t have—it’s just going to make everything worse, and—”

“Can it really get worse, Osamu?” you ask with a wry smile.

Dazai’s gaze lowers to the ground, the expression on his face is resigned, so you know that you’ve won, but his words still unsettle you deeply:

“Yeah,” he says. “It can.”

———

You thought maybe that once Dazai calmed down, you’d be able to get answers from him. That was a mistake, of course, because once Dazai calmed down, he became even more careful with his words. A part of you knows that you should’ve expected this—it’s Dazai, for fuck’s sake—but you can’t blame yourself for not thinking straight, all thing’s considered. Every time you tried to broach the topic, he expertly evaded with a soft smile and a change of subject; you were starting to get frustrated, but you were doing your best at not letting it show on your face.

The two of you are sitting on the beach now, shoulders brushing as you look out at the bay. The sand is soft between your fingers, the bay water cool against your toes as you bask in each other’s presence—you almost feel at peace. You want to feel at peace, but you can’t with the nagging fear that something is seriously wrong. You can’t with Dazai sitting next to you and not explaining why he treated you so cruelly for four years. Having to stay away isn’t an explanation, not enough for you to be at ease.

You need to understand. You need the truth.

Instead of going about it in a convoluted, sneaky manner, you decide to be upfront this time and quietly say, “I need to know why, Osamu.”

Dazai doesn’t respond to you, and when you glance at him, you find him looking down at his lap, a resigned expression on his face. His jaw tenses like he’s going to reply, but then his lashes flutter as he turns his face away—you’re so close, you can tell he’s on the brink of giving in. He wants to tell you, but something is stopping him, and you just have to get him to that point where the desire to explain overwhelms all of his common sense. 

You can do that.

“You hurt me,” you tell him. Your voice cracks, you don’t need to fake the pain that he’s made you feel over the last four years. You can only see the corners of his eye and his lips, but you can see the way they tighten at your words. “Do you even know how bad you hurt me, Osamu?”

“I do,” he whispers, his voice just as weak as yours is. “I—”

“You don’t,” you interrupt. “You don’t know because if you did, you wouldn’t be able to sit here with me and not give me an explanation.” 

Dazai doesn’t respond now, so you take the opportunity to continue.

“At first, I convinced myself it was because you loved me,” you say quietly, staring down at your lap. “You didn’t want people to think I conspired against Mori in case the coup went poorly. You didn’t want to put me in the middle and force me to choose. You were cruel because you were putting on a show for the rest of the Port Mafia because you loved me and didn’t want your actions to come crashing down on me if things took a turn for the worse.”

You still don’t look at Dazai; you can't bear to; you don’t want to know what he’s thinking. It’s taking all of your energy to keep yourself together as you speak all of this out loud for the first time. You think you’ll break if you look at him.

“We didn’t see each other for days because you were busy consolidating power, and I was busy in Tokyo with our allies. I made so many excuses for what you’d done during that time separated that I drowned myself in them; I couldn’t speak to Chuuya or Itou or the Flags without getting into an argument with them because I defended you after you murdered the closest thing I had to a father and taunted me about it.” 

The first time you and Chuuya got into a screaming match over Dazai was in the immediate aftermath of the coup. Chuuya had been just as blindsided as you, and he had been with you when you got up to Mori’s office and saw Dazai sitting at his desk. He heard what he said to you, how he treated you, and would’ve killed him on the spot if you hadn't been there to see it happen if he did. 

You were both drunk a few days after everything happened. It was a long day of talks with Mishima Yukio, and you guys were trying to relax, but the topic of Dazai came up, and everything went to shit. You couldn’t handle what Chuuya was implying when he was venting about Dazai going behind your backs for the coup, and you started voicing all of the excuses you’d been gathering in the back of your head, and things escalated until they blew up, as it always did whenever Dazai was brought up the past four years. 

“I defended you so much that I really believed it, Osamu,” you tell him, voice cracking again. You take in a wet breath, desperately trying to calm yourself down. You rub your face harshly, but it only bothers you more because the sand grates your skin. “When I came back to Yokohama after things settled with Mishima, I thought maybe I would get an explanation now that things had calmed down. After everything you did, I thought maybe there was still a chance that things could go back to normal. I thought there could still be a normal.”

You were ashamed of it. You can’t stop the sob that tumbles from your lips now, so you press your hand to your mouth to try to muffle it. Chuuya had never looked down on you the way he did when he realized what you were hoping for; it was the only time he didn’t get angry when Dazai was brought up after the coup. He walked away from you, and that was somehow worse.

Itou and the Flags—they never voiced their disapproval, but you knew they lost respect for you when they realized you were still clinging to Dazai after what he’d done. And it hurt, but it didn’t hurt quite as much as the thought of losing Dazai entirely, so you pushed through it and clung to your hope even if it was killing you.

“And then you called me to your office for the first time.”

You hear Dazai take in a sharp, shaky breath; he lets out a noise as he exhales—a whimper or the beginnings of a sob, you can’t tell. You think he wants to tell you to stop, but he knows he doesn’t have the right to.

“I think I understand now—you were angry at yourself, weren’t you? You were trying to push me away, but you couldn’t, so you were hoping that I wouldn’t come when you called, and when I did, you were angry. At yourself, at me, at the situation,” you continue, finally turning your head to the side so you can look at him. He’s buried his face in his hands like a coward, so you shake your head and look ahead again. “But I didn’t understand back then, Osamu.”

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out so quietly that you barely hear him. 

“I don’t know what I was expecting,” you whisper, helplessly looking up at the sky. “I really don’t, but it wasn’t that. Of everyone, I really thought you would be the last to use me like that, but even then, I thought that if this was the only way I could have you now, then I would be okay with it. I would let you ruin me. Ruin us.”

You don’t even know where you’re going with this anymore. You forgot how this started, forgot what you were getting at, but you think there’s something relieving getting all of this off your chest to the person who caused all of your distress.

“And then you fucking sent me away,” you spit, angry suddenly as you turn to look at him again. “You sent me away, Osamu. Not even twenty-four hours after you fucked me over Mori’s desk after you killed him. You had the audacity to send me abroad for a year.”

“I had to—”

“No, you didn’t,” you reply, raising your voice. “What did you think would change? Did you think that after a year away, when I came back, I wouldn’t come when you called for me? I always come when you call. Always. It was just more fucking humiliating crawling back to you like a dog after you sent me away.”

“It wasn’t like that—” Dazai tries to protest, voice cracking. “It wasn’t—”

“How am I supposed to know what it was like? You never explain anything, all I knew was that you sent me away with no explanation after you fucked me in the most degrading way possible, and the moment I came back to Yokohama, you had me bent over that desk again,” you snap. “Do you even know what people say about me? Do you even care?”

“How could you even ask that?” Dazai demands, voice ragged as he finally turns to face you. His dark eye is glassy with tears that roll over his cheek steadily—you can’t even find pleasure in it. “How could you—”

“How could I?” you repeat loudly, so frustrated that you almost want to grab him and shake him, hit him, anything. “How could I, Osamu? Because you treated me exactly the way they said. Like a fucking whore.”

“Please—”

“The shit you said to me, the way you mocked me because you were too fucking weak to let me go, so you wanted to force me into being the one to cut you off,” you interrupt him, pulling your knees to your chest as you take in another sharp breath. “You knew I would never, you had to have known.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs again, ashamed, regretful, but is it enough?

“If you’re sorry, then explain,” you insist, looking up at him again, but he’s turned his head away. “Look me in the eye and tell me after all of that you still can’t explain, Osamu.”

After what feels like an eternity, he drags his gaze to yours, and with tears rolling over his cheek, regret and sorrow swimming in his dark eye, he shakes his head and whispers, “I can’t.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle the sob you don’t want to let out; you feel sick to your stomach, nauseous, but there’s nothing in you to throw up. Your hands are shaking—you think your whole body may be shaking—you feel defeated, resigned to the fact that you’ll never get a clear answer from Dazai as to why he did this to you.

“At least tell me if it’s worth it.” You hate that you’re begging him even now, but you need to know. “Even if it’s a lie, just tell me it’s worth it. Whatever you’re trying to do that cost us everything we had, tell me it’s worth it.”

You don’t look at him when he says shakily, “It is,” you don’t want to know if he's lying.

After a few moments of silence, he speaks again, voice just as resigned as you feel. “If you only stayed to get answers, you can still leave.”

Please, leave—you can see the desperation plain on his face when you look at him. 

Leave this time, he pleads, don’t stay. Let me go.

But what’s the point of leaving now? The damage has been done—there’s no coming back from this, there’s no shielding yourself from getting hurt any more than you already have. No matter what happens after this conversation, when things inevitably go back to how they were before he brought you here, it will destroy you. He will destroy you.

So, instead of leaving, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Dazai doesn’t waste a second. 

For the first time in four years, his lips touch yours—you can taste the saltiness of his tears, the familiar mixture of tobacco and whiskey, the hint of iron. They quiver against yours terribly, his fingers tremble in his lap until he lifts them to cradle your face gently. Dazai kisses you like he’s afraid that you’ll disappear, like he’s trying to memorize the taste of you before it’s too late. It’s desperate, reverent. An apology. 

His breath catches as he pulls you closer, and you decide that just for today, you’ll let yourself pretend that this is enough. That his hands caressing your body and the way he kisses you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters is enough to rewrite four years of heartache, enough to undo all of the pain he’s caused that led you here. 

Just for today, it will be enough.

———

Dazai is in the shower. 

He’s been oddly antsy since dusk has fallen, and you’re not sure why. Maybe it’s because he’s realizing the day is ending and that when the sun rises tomorrow, things are going to have to go back to how they were. It certainly has you antsy—each passing second is a reminder that your time with him is limited, that this was never meant to last.

He’s also been oddly… distant. Maybe not emotionally, but physically—a total 180 from the past four years when you could only be close to him physically. Besides the kisses on the beach, Dazai has hardly touched you. When you made lunch, he hovered just close enough that you could almost imagine that his skin was brushing yours; when the two of you were lounging on the couch after a few hours in the sun, he subtly shifted away whenever your thighs touched. 

It’s strange, you think that maybe it has to do with your words from earlier: every time he touches you, he cringes away in a reminder of how he treated you the past four years. When his fingers brush your wrist, he’s reminded of the way your arms must’ve ached when he pinned your wrists to the small of your back after bending you over his desk; when his thigh touched yours, he glances down and sees fading purplish hue on your thighs from where the edge of his desk had dug a bit too deep into your skin with each thrust.

You want to remind him that you knew what you were getting into when you chose to go up to his office, you knew his touches weren’t going to be gentle, and you knew his words wouldn’t be kind. You went because you wanted him in any way you could have him, but you don’t think that will make him feel any better. You don’t know if you want him to feel better. A part of you is relishing in the agony he feels over how he’s treated you the past few years.

You’re snooping now. This is a different bedroom from the one you changed in; it’s not quite as empty as the rest of the house. There are little trinkets scattered on top of the dressers, and the dressers are actually full. Most of the clothes in them seem to just be more casual loungewear for Dazai. You thought that this place was unused at first glance, but now you can’t help but wonder how often he comes here. He used to disappear for days at a time before he took over as boss, and no matter how much you and Chuuya looked for him in his usual spots, you couldn’t find him.

Was he coming here?

You slide open another drawer and pause when you see clothes that are decidedly not loungewear and decidedly not Dazai’s. You tilt your head to the side as you skim your fingers against the silk lingerie—they’re soft under your touch, the tags still clipped on, your size. Your throat swells with something indecipherable. Fondness, maybe? Sadness? Both? Neither? You’re not sure. 

How long has he been planning to bring you here?

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you ask lightly, “How many women have you brought here, hm? Am I one of many?”

You hear Dazai let out a huff of laughter, and you turn to face him, lips parting instinctively at the sight of him. He’s mostly rewound his bandages around his body—legs, arms, and torso all covered by the gauze—and his towel hangs low on his hips, but he hasn’t rewrapped his bandages around the left side of his face yet.

For the first time since you’ve known him when your gaze tracks up to his face, your eyes meet both of his. His gaze is soft as he looks over you, a longing expression on his face. Dazai is usually quick to school his expression around you, but he’s been disconcertingly open with you since you woke up here. Obviously, he’s still keeping things from you because he’s not explaining everything, but he’s not hiding anything. He’s not masking his emotions, he’s not hitting you with flimsy excuses to dodge the conversation. He’s been open—more open than Dazai Osamu has ever been with anyone. 

“Oh yes,” he drawls, giving you a languid smile before reaching over to grab a sweatshirt and pants. “Many women.”

You side-eye him. “Don’t even joke about that.”

He raises his eyebrows, looking unbearably amused, and then he murmurs, “You know you’re the only woman for me.”

You let out a pleased huff and raise your chin, giving him a simpering smile before he steps back into the bathroom to get his clothes on. As soon as he does, you’re looking back down at the lingerie, and with only enough time for a split second to make a decision, you glance back at the closed bathroom door, yank the set out of the drawer, and change into it as quickly as you can.

You’d like to see him keep his hands off of you while you’re dressed in this. 

You toss yourself on the bed, humming to yourself as you stretch, making sure the lingerie is fitted properly while you wait for him to get out of the bathroom. You don’t actually know if this is a good idea—the conversations you’ve had with him, the emotional intimacy, it’s a lot for one day, and a part of you is worried that he’s been avoiding physical intimacy because it would just be too much. How are either of you supposed to go back to how things were once you’ve fully indulged in what could be?

That’s also part of the reason why you need to seduce him. You need to show him that he doesn’t have to go back to how things were, that this could be the new norm if he just allowed it. You’re already not sure if you’ll be able to handle going back to how things used to be tomorrow, but you’re in too deep already that you may as well fully indulge. You may as well use this time to try to make him really understand what he could have if he just allowed it.

When you hear the bathroom door creak open, you don’t lift your head to look at him. You know the exact moment he notices you because he’s mid, “Do you want—” when his voice abruptly cuts off.

You hold your breath when you don’t immediately hear him walk in your direction, uncertainty rising in your chest when he also doesn’t speak. It’s an agonizing few seconds as you wait for him to do something. Eventually, you hear his feet padding against the ground as he makes his way over to you.

You don’t know if he’s approaching from behind your head or from your side, and you don’t want to crane your neck around to look. It’s only when you see movement from the corner of your eye as he reaches out to trace his finger up your body, starting from the valley between your breasts up to the middle of your throat. His touch burns, and you can’t think as he drags his finger against your skin. When he finally gets to your throat, he rests it there, and it feels like a brand, searing and heavy as if he’s pressing his claim into your skin with just the pads of his fingers. The air feels thick, suffocating, and you realize you’ve stopped breathing entirely. His pupils are blown wide as he stares down at you silently, gaze running up and down your body intensely, but his fingertips linger on that one spot at the center of your throat—unmoving, heavy, possessive.

You’ve succeeded, but at what cost?

“Tease,” he finally breathes out. The word is shaky, and his finger tenses on your neck before he drags it up to your cheek so he can caress your face. “You’re beautiful.”

You press your face into his hand, looking up at him through your lashes as you say softly, “I’m yours.”

He draws his hand back like he’s been burned, but he doesn’t move away, staring down at you with an expression that you just can’t place. After a few long moments, he whispers, “Don’t say that.”

“It’s true,” you repeat, pushing yourself up and shifting on your knees so you can look at him, sitting back on your heels. His throat spasms as he swallows, hardly able to keep his gaze on your face. “I’m yours. I always have been, always will be, you must know that by now.”

“You need to move on,” he tells you, voice wavering. His hand twitches like he wants to reach out again, but he stops himself. “You need to let me go. Please.”

Your lips curve up into a smile that you know doesn’t reach your eyes. “That’s not an option, Osamu.”

Silence stretches between the two of you, thick and suffocating. His jaw clenches, and his eyes are dark with something unreadable. He exhales sharply before looking away, shaking his head like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t. Instead, his hands curl into fists against his thighs, his breath shuddering as if he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, almost too quietly, he says, “You have no idea what you do to me. You don’t understand.”

His voice is hoarse; this time, he doesn’t stop himself from reaching out. His fingers tremble as they brush against your cheek. You swallow thickly and then give him a teasing smile to try to lighten the mood, winking as you say, “I can imagine.”

“You can't,” he replies, throat bobbing terribly as he looks at you with the same expression you imagine a condemned man wears to the gallows. “You can’t. I don’t even understand it. It’s… unfathomable—it consumes me, corrodes me from the inside out. What I feel for you, I feel it in my bones, in my blood. It’s unbearable. I tried to rid myself of it; I tried to rid myself of you to make things easier on both of us, but I couldn't.”

“Osamu—”

“I tried to make sense of it. I thought maybe understanding what I feel for you would help me learn how to be apart from you,” he interrupts, voice taking on a more manic tone. His eyes are glassy now as his gaze flits away for a moment, like he’s trying to regain some semblance of control over himself but fails. “I tried so hard, but it was impossible. You twist me up inside, whether you’re around or not. You—you haunted me. Haunt me. You’re alive—whether it’s a city away, ten floors down, or across the sea—but you haunt me. You’re in my every thought, seared behind my eyelids, a ghost in the mirror behind me. I can’t escape you, and I don’t want to escape you—you’re here when I close my eyes, and when I open them, I search for you without meaning to. I knew I would ruin you, I knew how things were going to end from the beginning, but being apart from you was… it was agonizing.”

You don’t know what to say as you stare up at him. His eyes—wild, dark, desperate—search yours as if looking for something that might make this easier, that might make it make sense. He wants you to understand, you realize, but how could you understand what he doesn’t even understand himself?

“I’ve known so much pain,” he continues quietly. His voice shakes, raw with something too heavy to name. His thumb brushes over your cheek. His hand is trembling, his touch adoring and aching, like he’s memorizing the feeling of your skin against his, like he’s afraid that you’re a mirage that will disappear if he presses down too hard. “More than you could ever know. So many lifetimes of it, I saw them all—lives of other mes and other yous. I’ve seen you die over and over again, I’ve felt death myself more times than I can count. None of that pain compared to the prospect of a single life without you in it.”

He swallows hard, and for a second, it looks like he might say more. Instead, he lets out a breathless laugh, humorless and tired. “You don’t understand,” he repeats, softer now, almost to himself, as he caresses your cheek. “You can’t… Maybe it’s for the best.”

“I want to understand,” you insist. When he tries to pull his hand away, you lift yours to grab it, entwining your fingers with his and holding it close. “Help me understand. Please.”

He looks down, and you think he’s about to say no. You see the conflicted expression on his face, the reluctance, but just as you’re going to sigh and look away, something changes. He looks up at you again, searching your eyes for some sort of answer, and whatever it is, he finds it. Your mouth dries when you see the small smile that curves to the corner of his lips, when you see the way his gaze softens. The mattress shifts as he comes to kneel next to you, and when he lifts his hand to cradle your face again, there’s no hesitation in his touch.

“In another life, you were my wife,” he breathes out softly, thumb running along your cheekbone as he commits your face to his memory. “In every other life, you were my wife. I wish it could’ve been this one, too.”

Your breath catches, heart stuttering in your chest as you stare up at him. You search his face for a lie, for madness, for anything to cling to that’s not hope, but all you find is truth. You don’t understand it. Dazai’s not explaining, but he fully believes in what he’s saying, and you want to, as well. You want to believe that there are lives out there where the two of you had been able to live happily and in love, but that would mean accepting that it was possible in this one, but Dazai didn’t allow it, and he won’t tell you why. 

Like he can see thoughts running through your head, his expression becomes a bit more solemn, the smile on his lips fading as he looks down. “I know I have no right to ask you this, but please, for the rest of the night, can we pretend?”

You should say no. You should demand more of an explanation. How can he say this—how can he call you his wife, how can he tell you all of this and not explain how he knows? How can he not explain why it couldn’t be this life, too? How can he not help you understand? But Dazai is begging you with the same expression he wore before—that of a condemned man, like he knows a dark fate is awaiting him and wants one last mercy from the woman he loves.

So again, you ask quietly, “Will you kiss me?”

Unlike on the beach, Dazai doesn’t kiss you immediately. His dark gaze remains trained on your face, and his expression is almost sad as his thumb gently caresses your skin. He looks at you and touches you like you’re something fragile, something precious, something he knows he shouldn’t be indulging in but can’t bring himself to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You’re frustrated because you still don’t know what he’s apologizing for. You don’t know why he’s so against being with you; you don’t know what he knows from these other lives he’s supposedly witnessed, and you don’t know how it affects the two of you. He doesn’t give you the chance to ask, though. All of your frustration and confusion wash away as soon as his lips touch yours.

He kisses you as gently as he cradles your face; it’s not nearly as intense as the kiss you shared on the beach. His lips move slowly against yours, savoring the moment, memorizing the shape of your mouth, the way you taste, the way you breathe against him. There’s no sense of urgency, no desperation—just quiet devotion, worship, a type of tenderness that makes your chest ache. His fingers cradle the back of your head, his thumb brushing soothing circles against your cheek as he deepens the kiss slightly.

It’s another apology.

“I don’t understand,” you gasp again as his lips glide to the corner of yours, down to your jaw, down to your neck. You can hardly breathe, and your hands are trembling as you lift them. You rest one on his shoulder and slide the other to the back of his head, fingers carding through his dark hair. “Osamu, I don’t understand.”

“I know,” he says softly. Your lashes flutter shut as he kisses the underside of your jaw again and then your pulse point. “I know, I’m sorry. You were never meant to understand, I’m scared now that you will.”

“Osamu—” you try again, voice pleading, but his name cuts off into a shaky moan when his hands slide down your body. Your breath wavers as he kisses down to your collarbone, teeth grazing your skin. You think he’ll maybe unhook the top piece of the lingerie, but he only pulls back so he can look at it more carefully, eyes dark and breath unsteady before he continues kissing down your chest. “I—”

His hands settle on your hips as his lips trail down to your navel, each kiss lingering, and your head feels foggy. Your fingers dig into the sheets, back arching as Dazai’s lips brush right above the red silk of your panties. He pulls back just a few centimeters, warm breath fanning across your skin. 

“You’ll never forgive me,” he whispers. “I know that, but I’m so selfish to want you to.”

You want to ask him to explain again, but he doesn’t give you the chance. Your breath catches when his hands slide from your hips to your thighs. You expect him to pull them off of you, but he only hooks a finger beneath them to pull them to the side. You try to say his name again, but it dies on your tongue when you see the intense expression on his face as he stares down at you.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs. His eyes slide shut as he kisses your inner thigh. Each kiss is reverent, like he’s trying to convey to you through actions, everything he can’t possibly articulate in words. “You’ve always deserved better than me. I’ve never understood…”

“You’re all I want,” you tell him shakily, brushing your fingers against his cheek. 

He looks up at you, and his lips curl up into a solemn smile. He says regretfully, “I know. I wish I weren’t.”

Your lips part to question him, but Dazai seems to sense the question on your lips because he finally stops teasing. A gasp tears from your lips as Dazai’s tongue dips into your cunt; he drags a long line between your folds before sucking gently on your clit.

“Oh god,” you breathe out, thighs trembling as Dazai’s tongue moves slowly, tracing patterns against your cunt—letters, maybe? You can’t tell. His hands are warm and steady as he keeps you open for him, lapping at you gently.

He hums against you, the vibration making you shudder. Each flick of his tongue has your body hot and fuzzy—just enough to keep you at the edge but never quite enough to push you over it. His mouth works over you like he’s savoring every reaction, relishing in every twitch of your hips as he holds you in place.

“You’re a drug,” he whispers, more to himself than to you. You forcibly lift your head so that you can look at him; he’s already looking up at you, his eyes dark and full of something you can’t place. “I can never get enough of you. Can never stay away. I tried so hard.”

His lashes flutter shut again as he returns to devote his attention to your pleasure. A needy moan spills from your lips when he seals his lips around your clit again, this time letting his teeth graze it before he sucks hard. His hands shoot from your thighs to your hips to hold you down when you try to grind your hips against his face.

Dazai hasn’t gone down on you at all in the last four years, and you’ve almost forgotten how good he is with his tongue. He knows your body like the back of his hand—he always has, but there’s something now that’s different. He’s just as skilled as you remember, but it’s not just that practiced expertise now—it’s desperation, hunger, a type of need that makes your whole body tremble. His fingers dig into your hips to keep you still, but there’s a tremor to them, like he’s physically having to hold himself back.

You won’t survive tonight, you think, head fuzzy as Dazai’s tongue swirls around you faster.

“Osamu,” you gasp, fingers tightening in his hair. He moans against you, lashes fluttering as he sucks hard, pulling a sharp cry from your lips. Your thighs quiver around his head, but he only hums in warning, the vibration sending you closer to that edge.

You expect a teasing remark or a smug comment, but Dazai is completely focused on making you come undone on his tongue—you can only hear the sound of your breathy moans and the lewd slide of his mouth against your cunt. The heat in your abdomen becomes unbearable, almost painful, and when he slides two fingers inside of you, curling them just right as he rolls your clit between his teeth, your whole body tenses.

“That’s it,” he breathes against you, voice pitched with need. “Let go for me, baby.”

And you do. You shatter as he holds you in his arms, coming apart on his tongue and fingers. Your eyes knock back as you take in a choked breath that shifts into a cry of his name, and when your back arches off the bed, Dazai’s free hand slides up and down your side soothingly. He rides out your high, fingers slowly pumping in and out of your cunt, before he pulls them out to replace it with his tongue, lapping up your cum with the eagerness of a man starved. He lets out a low groan, and your body spasms as pleasure shifts into overstimulation.

“Osamu,” you choke out again, trying to push at his head when he doesn’t relent. Your gaze is still blurry and dancing with spots when you try to look down at him again, but it’s like he doesn’t hear or feel you. His hips grind against the bed as he hikes your legs over his shoulders, dragging you closer so he can devour you. Your body is hot, too hot, and twitches uncontrollably as he fucks his tongue deep into your sensitive cunt. “I ca—haaah, fuck, ‘samu, please—”

“S’okay, baby,” he gasps, voice ragged. “I know your limits, you can give me another.”

You almost sob when you say, “I can’t,” but even as you say it, your head is lolling back, vision darkening as your hips jerk against his face. You think he lets out an obscenely lewd moan when he feels your walls tighten around his tongue, but your ears are ringing, your body on fire as you finish a second time within a matter of moments. 

You don’t know how long it takes you to settle down, you think you might’ve blacked out for a few seconds because you only really start to register what’s happening when you feel Dazai kissing back up your body. Your hand is trembling as you reach up to rest it on his shoulder; your breath shudders when he kisses your neck, deceptively gentle.

“Osamu,” you whisper weakly when he lifts his head to look at you. His dark eyes have a hazy look to them, and his lips curl up into a sweet smile as he reaches up to wipe away the drool pooling at the corner of your lips. 

“Lookit you,” he coos, but his voice is rough with need as he kisses your cheek. “So fucked out, and we’ve barely even done anything yet.”

I love you, you want to say, lifting a trembling hand to brush your fingers against his cheekbone. His lashes flutter shut as he leans into your touch. This is all you’ve ever wanted, you think—your eyes blur again, but this time, instead of from pleasure, it’s with tears. You realize you were wrong before, you hadn’t been in too deep at the beach or even after the conversation when he got out of the shower, but now… this… 

Your heart clenches as you stare up at him, throat tightening over a sob—you know this isn’t going to last. You should’ve left when you had the chance to survive this.

“Don’t cry,” he murmurs, wiping away your tears. “I’m sorry, I know this was a lot for one day. We can stop.”

“No,” you say immediately, reaching up to hold his hand to your cheek. “Please.”

He searches your face like he doesn’t trust what he’s hearing. His fingers twitch against your skin, expression flickering between hesitation and something more vulnerable.

“You’re sure?” he asks, voice quiet as he cradles your cheek gently. 

You nod, throat spasming as you swallow. “I’m sure.”

Dazai exhales slowly, thumb stroking your cheekbone, tracing the damp trail your tears left behind. His gaze softens, and then he leans down, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead before trailing his lips down over the bridge of your nose, brushing against the corner of your mouth. He pauses there, waiting, giving you one last chance to change your mind.

But you don’t. You tilt your head up to close the distance between the two of you, and when your lips meet his, he melts into you with a soft sigh. You taste yourself on his lips; he kisses you slowly and threads his fingers through yours, holding your hand against his chest, right over the frantic beat of his heart, like he’s offering you a piece of himself that he’s never been able to before.

“At first, I wanted to run away,” he admits, voice shaking. You don’t know what he’s referring to, but you find yourself lost in his words anyway. “I was fifteen, and it was so much—too much—I just couldn’t handle it. I wanted to run, I bought this place because I was scared. It was the only place I could go where I felt like everything was… bearable. I felt less lonely here.”

His breath fans against your lips as he speaks. His expression is so frail—on the verge of breaking—that you can hardly bear to look at him. He seems to have more to say, so you stay quiet as you wait for him to speak.

“I bought it for us,” he whispers, throat bobbing as his eyes slide shut and he rests his forehead against yours. “I wanted to run away here with you.”

Your breath catches.

“We still can,” you say weakly, lifting your hands to cup his cheeks. His eyes slide back open so he can look at you—they’re warm, familiar, sad. You know his answer before he speaks it, but you try anyway. “We still can, Osamu. We don’t have to go back.”

“You still don’t understand,” he breathes out, lifting his hand to cradle the back of yours, holding it against his face. “I hope you never do.”

A heavy silence lingers between the two of you, thick with everything he refuses to tell you. His skin is warm, thumb stroking the back of your hand idly. Your fingers slip from his cheek, trailing down the sharp edge of his jaw, brushing along the column of his throat. His pulse thrums beneath your touch, quick and unsteady, and his eyes are dark and intense, and something about it—about the way he watches you, like he’s still holding himself back—makes that heat return low in your stomach.

“I love you,” you tell him, one last desperate plea for him to change his mind. “I’ve always loved you. I’ll never not love you, Osamu.”

“I know,” he murmurs, brown eyes glassy and expression distraught as he looks to the side. “I know, I’m so sorry. It was never supposed to be this way.”

Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle a sob, your chest tightening with the weight of his unspoken answer—your love for him isn’t enough. It never was and never will be. He says nothing, but you feel him brush your hair behind your ear, caressing your skin. His touch lingers, warm and gentle, and then a soft, wet drop lands against your skin. Then another.

Dazai is crying.

“Kiss me,” you say again.

Dazai inhales sharply, fingers stilling against your cheek. His breath is warm and uneven against your lips, but he doesn’t move. Your chest aches. You’ve never seen him like this—so unsure, so vulnerable. His walls have always been impossibly high, even before he took over as boss, but now they’re crumbling right in front of you.

“Please,” you whisper, tilting your head up, your lips barely brushing his. “Just kiss me.”

A shudder runs through his body, and then, his lips crash into yours. There’s nothing slow or unhurried about this kiss—it’s desperate, frantic, like he’s trying to consume you. His hands are everywhere, gripping your waist, sliding up your back, tangling into your hair—you can hardly breathe, slipping your own hands beneath his sweatshirt to slide against the bandages wrapped around his torso.

“Please,” you beg again, unsure of what exactly you’re begging for this time. His teeth graze your lower lip, and a soft whimper spills from your lips, swallowed immediately by his mouth. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he promises, but you can still taste the saltiness of your combined tears on your lips. “I’ve got you, baby. Tell me what you want.”

“You,” you tell him, voice shaky as your grip on his waist tightens. You want him—it’s always been him, only been him. From the day you met him, he was all you ever wanted. “I want you.”

“You have me,” he says, voice low and rough. He presses his forehead to yours again, the weight of his touch grounding you. “You’ve always had me. I’ve always been yours. Heart, body, and soul—I’m yours.”

“But it’s not enough,” you gasp. “It’s not enough, is it?” 

Dazai swallows as he shakes his head. “It’s not enough.”

You don’t ask him this time when you lean up to kiss him again, desperate to muffle the sob that threatens to spill from your lips. You make your intentions quite clear when you slide your leg up his body to hook it around his waist—you need to pretend just for tonight that you’re enough.

“Please,” you murmur against his lips, letting out a breathy moan when he kisses the underside of your jaw, hand dropping down to your thigh. “Please.”

“I’ve got you,” he repeats, even though you know it’s only for tonight. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” 

The word hitches into a quiet whine when he rocks his hips against yours, biting down over your pulse point just hard enough to draw a gasp from your lips. The sharp sting melts into pleasure when his tongue soothes over his mark, breath hot against your skin. His grip on your hip tightens, the hand on your thigh sliding up and down soothingly.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he groans against your throat, voice low and wrecked. “Fuck.”

He grinds his clothed cock against you again, slower this time. He kisses up and down your neck as his hand drops from your hip down to the waistband of his pants. He lets out a grunt as he yanks them down, and you lift one hand to his head so you can pull his face up to yours, pressing your lips to his right as he rolls his hips, cock sliding between your folds. 

“I’ve always been so selfish when it comes to you,” he gasps. You’re barely able to hold your eyes open as your body trembles in anticipation for the familiar feeling of his cock stretching you out—his tip presses against your entrance, but he doesn’t push in yet. His forehead presses against yours, breath hot and heavy. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you tell him. Your voice is shaky, barely more than a breath as your hand slides from the back of his head to his cheek again. “It’s okay, you can be selfish. Please, be selfish.”

Another groan rips from his throat; this one is more ragged, like your words break something inside of him. His eyes are glassy with tears again—the hand on your thigh is tight, but the one cradling your face is gentle.

“It was never supposed to be like this,” he whispers. “You were never supposed to be the price.”

“I don’t know what you mean, Osamu,” you tell him again, voice breaking.

“I know,” he breathes out. “I hope you never do.”

He doesn’t give you the chance to reply as he finally sinks into you. Your breath catches, head falling back against the pillows, eyes half-rolled back at the familiar stretch of him. A broken moan escapes your lips, fingers trembling against his waist and shoulders, digging into the bandages covering his skin to try to pull him impossibly closer. His breath is hot against your throat, ragged and uneven, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he gasps, voice strained as he buries himself to the hilt. He drags his lips from your neck up to your cheek, panting as he tries to maintain some semblance of control. “You feel—you’re perfect. You’re perfect. I’m sorry.”

Your hand slides back into his hair, fingers tangling in the soft, dark strands as you force him to look at you. His pupils are blown wide, his expression torn with regret and need. You tilt your hips up slightly, urging him to move, and he inhales sharply, lips brushing yours as his eyes slide shut.

“Please,” you breathe for the last time, and his restraint finally snaps.

He pulls back only to thrust forward again. He’s barely moved at all, and you’re already desperately trying to keep control of yourself. You’re drunk off the feeling of him inside of you again, the feeling of being whole is intoxicating. You tilt your head up to brush your lips against his jaw, and he instantly turns his face down to you, pressing his lips sloppily against yours to muffle the pitched moan that almost escapes him as he rocks his hips into you again.

His pace is nothing like you’re used to—he fucks you slow, each thrust deep and steady. Like he wants you to feel every inch of him. Like he’s trying to mold himself inside of you, dragging it out until you’re gasping, whining his name, writhing against him. It’s overwhelming—the way he holds you, the way his breath hitches with each roll of his hips, the way his fingers tighten on your skin like he’s afraid to let go.

His forehead stays pressed against yours, his lips brushing over yours in fleeting, teasing kisses. “I’m scared,” he confesses, hips stilling, voice trembling. “I’m so scared of what comes next. I don’t know if I’m doing the right thing. I act like I do, but I don’t, and I’m scared I’ve done everything wrong, and this was all for nothing.”

You cradle his cheek again, lifting his face so that he’s looking at you. “You’re Dazai Osamu—you’re the smartest and most infuriating man I’ve ever met,” you say, a small, shaky smile tugging at your lips when you see the pain and fear in his eyes. “I trust you, and I don’t know what your plan is, but I know you, and I know things always work out the way you want them to.”

“Not always,” he whispers. “You have too much faith in me.”

“You don’t have enough faith in yourself,” you counter, carding your fingers gently through his hair. “I love you.”

A strangled sound escapes him, something caught between a sigh and a sob, and then his lips crash to yours again. 

“I love you,” he gasps against your lips, picking up the pace of his hips. He lets out another moan into your mouth, lashes fluttering, dark eyes glazed over, hardly able to keep them open as he fucks you harder, pace quickening as he desperately chases his release. “I love you. I love you. I’m sorry.”

You can’t even say it back now, head falling back against the pillow, lips parted in a noiseless moan. Each thrust jolts your body further up the bed, the tip of his cock bullies so deep inside of you that it has you half-convinced that you can feel him up in your stomach. Your head spins, drowning in the obscene sound of Dazai’s cock driving in and out of you and the lewd slapping of skin-on-skin, lost in the incoherent babbles of I love yous, and I’m sorrys that keep spilling from his lips. Even before he took over as boss, Dazai had never been particularly loud when he fucks you, but he is now as he moans your name alongside the jumbled words, gasping and panting and cursing each time he feels your walls convulse around him.

“I—” 

You start to speak, but you don’t even know what you’re trying to say. Were you warning him that you were about to cum? Were you trying to say I love you too? Were you just speaking to speak? Your cheeks are wet, breath ragged, vision dancing with too many spots. Every time you try to breathe, you choke over another moan—he doesn’t even have his hand around your throat, and you just can’t get any air to your lungs.

One last thrust pushes you over the edge for a third time. When you cum on his cock, gasping over what you think is his name, there’s no question about whether you blacked out because, this time, you feel the sudden numbness that spreads through your body as your head lolls back. Dazai’s still fucking you through your orgasm by the time you come back to, lashes fluttering and gaze unfocused on the ceiling—you can feel his grip tight on your thigh, keeping it snug around his waist as he snaps his hips into yours even when you can’t hold it up yourself anymore, and his lips on your neck, breath warm as he pants against your skin, murmuring something you can’t quite grasp as he chases the last of his pleasure.

“Kiss me,” you try to say, unsure if the words are even comprehensible. Even if they aren’t, Dazai seems to get the gist of what you’re saying because he pulls his face from your neck. Even through your blurry, unfocused vision, Dazai is beautiful—his dark hair is matted to his forehead, his lips swollen and wet, cheeks flushed pink, eyes glazed over, and half rolled back—he’s so lost in the haze of pleasure that he seems to forget what you said almost immediately, so you take what you want instead.

Your hand trembles as you lift it to cup his cheek, dragging his face down so you can press your lips against his. As soon as you do, Dazai is wrecked, moaning into your mouth, hips stuttering against yours as he cums deep inside of you—you think you might’ve finished again, too, because your body spasms beneath his, hips jerking and eyes knocking back for a split second when you feel his cum filling you up, warm, thick, sticky. Dazai whimpers into your mouth when he feels your walls tightening around his sensitive cock, rolling his hips against yours slowly as he fucks his cum deep inside of you.

The grip on your thigh loosens until he’s sliding his hand up and down it soothingly; his free hand comes up to cup your cheek as he slants his lips against yours to deepen the kiss, mapping out the inside of your mouth with his tongue. You’re not sure how long you lay there with him; your hands eventually drop back down to his waist, settling on his bandaged hips as he kisses you. 

After what feels like an eternity, he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breath warm and uneven against your lips. His thumb strokes your cheekbone as he gazes at you, dark eyes swimming with too many emotions for you to name.

“I love you,” he says softly, voice aching as he traces your face with his fingers longingly. “More than you can ever imagine.”

Your chest tightens at the words you’ve been dying to hear for four years, but you find no relief in them. You only find resignation because you know his love for you doesn’t change reality.

“But it’s not enough.” Your voice is weak, cracking over the words as you look up at him, searching his face desperately for a different answer but not finding one. “It’s not enough, is it?” 

Dazai’s throat spasms as he swallows, lashes fluttering shut momentarily.

“No,” he breathes. “It’s not enough.”

[ink-stainedkiss]

What about Saiki meeting a Reader who has pretty appearance like Teruhashi Kokomi, but has the average mindset and personality like Satou Hiroshi?

You’re Nothing Special (AKA: Perfect)

- Kusuo Saiki

Synopsis: The new student is more than Saiki expected. You are completely ordinary. Nothing about you is different or odd and Saiki loves it. He has decided he must become your closest friend, all throughout a 3-step plan.

Guys I have noticed the favoritism towards this little psychic, which I completely understand. I guess I just thought people would like my Jjk works better, but I’ve been having so much fun with your request. Anyways, this is the first “series” of Saiki I’ve made and I hope you guys enjoy it! Part 2 is in the works as I type ;)

“Regular speaking.”

Regular thinking.

Saiki Thinking.

‘Saiki Speaking.’

Your texts

Saiki’s text

Warnings: None. Although Saiki does act tad bit obsessed about you.

Word Count: 1.8k

Pt.1 ᯓ★ Pt.2

The school was buzzing with anticipation. Whispers flooded the hall of the new girl in school. They wondered if she would be popular or just another extra wandering the halls.

“I hope she’s hot.”

“I’m betting she’ll be a nerd.”

“She won’t be as pretty as me.”

“Maybe she’ll join the math club?”

“Shut up geek.”

Yes, the campus was very excited to see their new classmate. Except for a certain psychic. I really couldn’t care any less. And Saiki meant it. A new student meant another headache Saiki had to endure and it was wishful thinking to hope they didn’t create any sort of problem. As Saiki’s luck would have it, the new girl was moving into his own class.

“Buddy!” An overly loud voice shouted, making Saiki let out an audible sigh,”Have you heard about the new girl?” The big oaf, Nendo, slid his way to Saiki’s desk, carrying along Saiki’s other pain,”I heard that she’s quiet and shy, so I bet you when she gets a look at The Jet Black Wings, she’ll fall into my arms.” Or she’ll run and find the nearest psychologist.

Saiki was so tired of these two, but they clung to him even if he wasn't particularly kind to them. Although, they were both extremely out of the ordinary and they could make perfect distraction. It was as if a lightbulb had flicked on his head, ‘You should go for it.’ Kaidou and Nendo whipped their heads around, astonished by Saiki’s proposition.

“Woah, are you being serious?” Kaidou questioned,”I thought you would call me an idiot or something.” Nendo scratched his neck, a bit freaked out by his buddies' words,”I mean, if Saiki is saying that, then I would listen to him.” Like a flipped switch, Kaidous' unsureness washed away and he was standing confidently with his chest puffed out,”Yeah, I will. Thank you for your wise words, my closest friend.” Good grief. Now you’re just making it weird.

Kaidou marched back to his seat, leaving only Nendo to watch the blue-haired boy pridefully. He looked down, tossing a large thumbs up at the psychic,”You’re a great friend Saiki, I’m so proud.” A tear slipped from Nendo’s eye and Saiki truly couldn’t believe Nendo was a human who walked earth. As he walked to his seat, he slapped his hand on Saiki’s back, and while he could just teleport to the side to avoid his hand, the class was too crowded, so he miserably had to accept the pat.

Eventually the class settled down, everyone in their respective seats. As soon as the bell rang, the teacher clapped grabbing everyone’s attention,”I’m sure you have all heard of the new student,” this caused a small chatter to start, but the teacher continued anyways,”Well, lucky for you guys, she is moving into our class,” Moving towards the door, Saiki’s teacher motioned to it,”Come on in!”

A deafening silence fell over each student, everyone holding their breath as the girl began to walk in. Saiki couldn’t deny his own anticipation, but he was much more toned down. When you finally came into view, Saiki wanted to disappear, teleport out of the school, because there was no way you were going to bring anything good. You stood before the class and Saiki was the only one who could see the tiny golden ring of light embracing you. It wasn’t as blinding as his, or Teruhashi’s, but it was still there.

Those around him let out gasps, because, even if Saiki didn’t want to admit it, you were beautiful. Great. She’ll most likely join Teruhasi’s group or become her enemy. Either way, I want nothing to do with it. His classmates' thoughts made it worse, each of them annoying the psychic more and more.

She’s so hot, but not as much as my goddess.

I can already tell she’s going to love her knight, Jet Black Wings.

What time is lunch again?

“Why don’t you introduce yourself to everyone?” The teacher suggested. You nodded, stating your name,” Um, I hope we all get along,” This intrigued Saiki, just a bit, but his interest was caught nonetheless. The teacher let out an awkward laugh at your bland answer,”Why don’t you tell the class about why you moved here?”

You shrugged,”It’s nothing special, they just moved here because of my moms job and this school was a good option.” The teacher was obviously trying to get more information out of you,”Right and any fun facts about yourself?”

Taking your time, you conjured a few,”I have a pet cat at home and I like to bake.” The teacher's jaw dropped, how can she be so ordinary? They thought,”Do you have a favorite class? At least?” You nodded shortly,”Science is pretty fun.”

The class was so confused. You were so pretty, but so boring. On the other hand, Saiki was having a very good epiphany. There’s nothing weird about you. No odd fascination or addiction. You hadn’t moved to a different school for being a bad student. You don’t play make believe and you don’t seem dumb.

The teacher had dismissed you to your seat and it was then that Saiki realized what you were. You’re not anything special, you’re ordinary. Perfect. A while ago, Saiki had found someone like you, but sadly for him, Hiroshi thought Saiki was too odd to be friends. But you were going to be his redemption. Maybe today the universe was on his side, because you strolled up and sat right next to him. Maybe Saiki was going to enjoy school from now on.

���

The psychic had curated a three day plan on how to become your friend and at the most, your closest friend. Because of your normal introduction, no one spoke about you. The excitement from a few hours ago was gone. Whenever someone asked who hadn’t seen you yet, they waved them off, saying something like,”Don’t even worry about her, she’s like the boringest person here.”

And Saiki adored it. The more people ignored you, the more valuable you became. The word some would describe Saiki as at this time, is obsessed, but how could he not be? Everyday he wished for someone to come along that had no interesting traits about them and you were that person. So the next day, he began the first step to his plan. 1. Prove that Saiki can be kind.

Kind was a bit of a stretch, but he couldn’t be mean to you, even if he tried. He was going to have to play it friendly. The downside to you being normal, meant that nothing problematic happened in your life. So as Saiki sat next to you, waiting for a chance to show you his kindness, no opportunity came forward. You were just taking notes like a normal human. Which Saiki would usually gush over, but he had more important plans. He glanced at your desk, noticing the extra highlighter resting near your notebook. He knew you weren’t going to accidentally hit it, so he took matters into his own hands. Someone has to do it.

Saiki focused on your highlighter, using his telekinesis to pull it closer and closer to the edge of your desk, until it fell onto the floor. People turned their heads, but when they saw you, they didn’t seem to care and turned back. The psychic saw you turn and before you could reach down and pick it up, Saiki was already lifting it from the ground, handing it to you,”Oh, thank you.”

Your short and simple response almost made Saiki forget to answer you, ‘It’s not a problem.’ And that was it, you turned back to your work and left Saiki alone. Little did you know, you were putting that boy in a trance. You barely interacted with him and Saiki was starting to smile.

There was a tiny setback in Saiki’s plan, but he didn’t seem to notice. His first course of action was to prove he was a nice person, but he only spoke to you once, so you didn’t have a great impression of him, just that he had manners. Still, Saiki couldn’t see a problem and left you alone the rest of the day. Well, he searched for you in the halls and the cafeteria, but he would never mention that.

—

The next step was to grow in proximity together. Only sitting with you in one class wasn’t enough time to create a good friendship, so he had to use the resources around him. Like the new duo project assigned by the teacher.

“And Saiki you will be paired with the new girl.” The teacher called out, lifting the two slips of paper they had pulled out of a bowl. Okay, so Saiki may have used his hypnosis ability to make your name appear on the slip, but it’s all in good nature. How else am I supposed to get closer if you’re stuck with some idiot?

After hearing this, you turned to the boy next to you,”I guess we’re stuck together, huh, Saiki?” The psychic couldn’t believe it. You knew his name. You were speaking to him, making jokes, maybe he actually had a chance this time. He gave a soft smile, nodding, ‘I don’t mind it.’

The teacher kept going on about the partner and you turned to him, pulling out your phone,”Here, we can swap contacts to plan a get together.” It was music to Saiki’s ears and he happily accepted your suggestion. Once he put his name into the contact, the bell rang out, making the students around you two stand and exit the class. He passed you back your device, watching as you stood,”Well, see you later, Saiki.”

You gave him a small wave and faded into the crowd of students. My plan is going better than expected.

—

Saiki sat in the lunchroom, surrounded by his group of annoyances, but rather than spending his time listening to the exasperating conversations between Nendo and Kaidou, or over hearing the drooling thoughts of Teruhashi’s goons, his attention turned to his phone buzzing on the table. When he flipped it over, he was surprised to see your name in the notification. It was you. His food was abandoned quickly and he typed back.

Hey, do you have anything going on this weekend?

No I do not, would you like to study together at that time?

It’s like you read my mind lol

Saiki gave half of a smile. If only you knew.

Anyways, yeah that sounds good, does Saturday work for you

Any day works for me, so yes.

Okie dokie my mom already suggested for you to come to my house, so if it’s fine with you, I wouldn’t mind us working there.

Saiki’s smile grew bigger, this had to be a dream. You were inviting him over to your house.

It sounds perfect.

Great! I’ll see you tomorrow :)

Great indeed. It was a good thing Saiki had an extreme amount of patience, or else he might’ve asked to see you after school, but no. Good things come to those who wait. And this reward was most definitely going to be worth the wait. It might even be on the same level as coffee jelly.

Until Saturday…

[motherearthlovesus]

your boss aaron hotchner uses you like a stressball

warnings: 18+, wrists bound, mouth gagged w clothing, unprotected v/p penetration, locked door, morally grey power dynamics

summary: 900 words, you & a stressed hotch are staying late at work trying to get through a stack of papers, when suddenly, hotch asks you to lock the door

it's another late night sorting through bureaucratic paperwork with your boss, aaron hotchner. as you're standing on the other side of his desk arranging papers, you can't keep your eyes from flickering to his large, veiny hands gripping the table in frustration. your eyes wander up his arms, past his biceps, and into his eyes - which you had not realised - were already locked onto yours. you looked away quickly, obviously flustered. "i- i was just-". you began, but he cut you off. "go and lock the door" he said not looking up from the stacks of paper work. you walked over and slowly locked the door, giving yourself a second to regain some composure. behind you, the sound of a squeaking leather chair sent your heart racing. you turned around to see aaron sitting down, his eyes grazing up and down your body.

"you’ve been distracted all night,” aaron said in a low voice, his tone calm but undeniably intense. “is something on your mind?” you swallowed, trying to steady your breath as you took a cautious step toward him. “i was just…” you trailed off, unsure of how to finish the sentence as you his eyes bore through you. he leant back in his chair, crossing his arms. “just what?” he pressed, his voice a controlled mix of authority and quiet challenge. "i didn't mean to stare, i-" but before you can continue, aaron interrupted you with a sharp command. "hands here" he demanded, tapping the desk next to him. you froze for a moment, the command hanging in the air.

your now shaky legs seemed to move on their own, carrying you forward. now standing before him, your turned around to place your hands on the desk. "good," he said quietly. behind you, aaron's chair groaned with his movement and you heard the unmistakable sound of a buckle being undone and a leather belt being slid out. you felt one of his large, rough hands wrap around both of your wrists. "tell me if it's too tight," aaron whispered into your neck, his lips grazing your ear as he pulled the belt tight. "work has been so stressful, and my god-the way you were looking at me...." aaron's hands moved from your bound wrists, up your arms and down the sides of your body ".... i’ve been trying to hold myself back all night," he murmured as he gently pushed you down over his desk. the desire to give in, to let him use you now taking over you. aaron took a step back, admiring the view. “i’ve been meaning to talk to you about these dresses you wear to work,” he says, his voice low and tinged with possessiveness. he tutted at you. “it’s not appropriate. far too tight. it’s distracting honestly" his fingers found the edge of your dress, lifting it slowly over your ass.

his fingers traced the fabric of your underwear, pushing it aside with such a casual precision that it sent a wave of wetness flooding down to your core. his hands gripped your ass firmly, parting your cheeks as he let out a low groan "such a pretty pussy". he stroked your clit with his calloused thumb, the scratching feeling only adding to the pleasure. you noticed your wetness running down your thighs, and so did aaron as he groaned at the pooling between your legs. he could barely get his pants off fast enough, his cock already throbbing with excitement. in one breath, aaron grabbed your hips hard, and slammed his cock into you. you had assumed your boss had an above-average-sized dick, but you didn't this it was going to be this big. your moans mingled with the sound of aaron thighs slapping against your ass, filled the small office. "don't be too loud now, we wouldn’t want any unexpected interruptions." but you must not have heard him over how good he felt as your moans morphed into cries of pleasure. he pressed your bound wrists firmly against your back, his rhythm never faltering as he thrust deeper, each movement pushing into your cervix. without breaking his pace, he tugged off his tie and shoved it into your mouth, muffling your moans. with your face still half pressed against the desk, you looked up at him with your big doe eyes, still moaning into the tie. he looked down into your eyes, watching you bounce up and down. "such a pretty girl" he whispered, brushing strands of hair out of your face. aaron's praise almost sent you over the edge. when your body started to tremble, he noticed immediately. "cum for me, pretty girl" he said as he kept ploughing into you. your moans continued to get louder and louder as aaron fucked you harder and faster. your orgasm triggered his and your moans danced together in harmony, as he slowed down and gently pulled out. he pulled his tie out of your mouth, untied your wrists and pulled your dress back down.

you sat up on the edge of the desk and aaron stood over you, looking down. he wiped some mascara off your face that had gotten smudged. "what now?" you ask sheepishly. "now, you go home and get your rest. i'll pack up." he said turning back to shuffle his papers. "oh, okay" you got up off the desk and made for the door, feeling a bit rejected. aaron stopped you, grabbing your wrist. you winced softly at the friction marks. "i'll call a car for you" aaron said bending down to kiss your cheek. you shut your eyes and stood in the moment before wriggling out of his grasp and turning back to unlock the door. “you’ll stay late tomorrow night, too. we’re not finished.” your heart skips a beat "whatever you need, sir" you replied, stepping into the dimly lit hallway, your legs shaking—for entirely different reasons now.

hehehehehe 🫣 well this is a bit different - obviously this isn't meant for my main audience but i hope it finds the right people <3 feedback & reblogs are super appreciated !!!!

[star-sim]

hello kitty meets batman (real not clickbait!) ☆ jake sim

☆ youtuber! super down bad! bf! jake x youtuber! fem! reader ☆summary: jake sim was youtube's cut-throat, horror creator, known for his dark video style. meanwhile, you were the cutesy beauty vlogger, lighting up every algorithmically generated home page you touched. no one would have expected you two vastly different people to know each other, let alone be in a long-term relationship. ☆ genre: fluff, youtuber! au, secret dating! au, established relationship, suggestive, im sorry im never letting the ytber au go, cutesy!reader, jake is SO down bad its kinda painful #patheticmen ☆warning(s): no, just fluffy, also reader is really feminine and girly in this ☆ word count: 13.4k words ☆ wrote half of this in spanish class so im sorry if there are mistakes, first time writing established relationship in full, kinda nervy

Jake Sim was many things.

One of the most popular and well-respected content creators on Youtube was one of them.

As Jake's nimble fingers darted across his keyboard, his other hand rested firmly on his mouth, he thought that the blue light emitting from his computer screen should burn his eyes. Except, it didn't. Despite what most people thought, 90% of being Youtuber was just simply staring at a computer screen, rather than being in front of a camera lens. The man felt his nose prickle before he let out a soundless, but satisfying, yawn. He leaned back against his office chair, stretching his neck and arms before he rubbed his eyes.

There was a reason that he was an extremely respected creator on Youtube.

For one, the production quality of his videos were high. Down to the Closed Captions or his camera's grain, Jake's attention to detail was immaculate. Not to mention, the content itself was magnificent. 

Whenever people asked Jake what he did for work, it was hard for him to answer.

He'd said that he made horror content, but he'd only earned incredulous looks, like he was a madman. Even then, "horror" content wasn't the correct description.

In short, Jake liked to make videos about obscure things. Which just so happened to be a little spooky. Sketchy true crime cases, searches for lost media, strange Internet phenomena, government cover-ups— Name anything a little bit eerie and Jake probably already covered something of that sort on his channel. Given the nature of his content, Jake almost always maintained a serious tone, but when the opportunity came to offer his opinion, he liked to relay it in a straightforward way. 

Another reason why he was so regarded was because of his content style. He preferred using darker colors, having a crisp microphone that picked up every rasp of his deeper voice. When he had camera shots, Jake liked to be in a dimly lit room. Unfortunately, his room was dark, too. 

This all combined together to create a singular image for Jake: the cool, high-quality, but a little bit scary, guy that likes to make videos about scary topics.

Now cracking his knuckles, Jake sucked in a sharp breath. Although he could easily export his upcoming video now and upload it, garnering millions of views, he refused to. There was something missing from it; it needed a little umph, a little embellishment to really pull things together. If there was one thing about Jake, it was that he'd put quality over quantity any day.

Jake is torn out of his thoughts when his phone, long forgotten next to his mouse, lit up. Usually, when he worked long afternoons like this, he silenced his phones in order to maintain focus.

However, there was always one exception.

You.

pretty girl: hi babe, do you think you can help me take promo pictures later?

The moment that Jake saw your contact show up, he picked up his phone immediately. His fingers tapped his screen, quickly responding to you.

me: yeah i can do it rn if you want

pretty girl: if youre busy, it doesn't need to be today, it can be tomorrow or something

pretty girl: oh

pretty girl: are you sure?

Of course he was.

Jake was already shutting off his monitor, grabbing his keys and shoving his feet into his shoes at your first message.

me: yeah i'll come over right now

You were Jake Sim's girlfriend. But other than the people in your personal life, no one else knew that.

Not that either of you minded.

Like Jake, you were a Youtuber. Except, your community was the complete opposite from his.

Your niche was cute makeup and lifestyle. Your videos had cute, blushy sets, characterized by cute plushies in the background and pretty, pink decorations. When you weren't making makeup tutorials or "get ready with me's," you were giving your viewers small sneak-peeks into your life. Whether it be your rosy morning skincare, or your sunny afternoon cooking attempts, or your illuminated late night thoughts, your content was light-hearted, soft, and personable. 

And if you weren't doing any of those things, you were modeling.

You were a beauty influencer, so you had sponsors from different makeup companies and such. What was most distinguishable from your personal brand was that you were one of Sanrio's biggest ambassadors. If there was someone that was the living embodiment of Hello Kitty, it was you.

Your personability, and your ability to feel authentic to your viewers, was a key factor in your large viewerbase. And what contributed to that the most was the fact that you had no idea how to use a camera. One would think that a content creator would know how to use a camera, but you were somehow the exception.

Not a problem!

Because you had your boyfriend, Jake!

Who was basically the master of content creation and film, in your opinion.

"Jakey!" you pounced on your boyfriend the moment he appeared at your apartment doorway. You threw your arms around his neck, immediately peppering his neck and cheeks with kisses. You heard him let out a few chuckles, feeling the rumble of his strong chest as he did. 

"Geez, babe, let me take my shoes off first," Jake teased you, taking in your sweet strawberry perfume. You immediately peeled yourself off of him, your lips forming a cute frown. 

"Shut up," you murmured, punching him on the arm while you jutted your bottom lip out. The lip tint and gloss on them shined, which made Jake grin. And when you noticed that he was staring at your lips, you gave him a gentle shove before saying again, “Shut up, Jakey.”

There it was, his favorite thing about you.

You were so, very, really, undeniably, mean to him.

Okay, that sounded weird.

But it was the truth.

Your relationship could be summed up in a few words—

You were just the cutest, and could barely contain your feelings for Jake, so you'd get all cuddly and affectionate with him. He'd tease you about it, so you'd get all shy and flustered, and you would begin to be mean to him. You'd call him stupid or annoying, and you'd tell him to go away but make no effort to resist his arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you against his chest. And then he would get to tease you more, until you were so embarrassed that you relented and let him kiss you.

How could he not resist teasing you?

You were always so pretty, with makeup or not, and it was easy to tease you since you got embarrassed so easily.

Even if he was holding his most expensive camera in his hands, he'd still let you pounce on him, if it meant that he got one extra kiss from you.

You led him to your bedroom. It had the same sweet, strawberry scent as you. Your room was pink, and along the walls were shelves, all filled with the many, many plushies that Jake bought you. Plopping onto your bed, Jake watched as you dug around your filming desk.

"Sooo," he started, "You're gonna do a promotional post on Instagram?"

You hummed. Sanrio recently launched a new line of lip tints, and they sent you their newest ones to review and promote. 

"I already made a review, and it's going to go up later," you said, digging through your drawers. "I want to make a promo post, too, y'know?"

You let out an 'a-ha!' as you found what you were looking for. It was a tube of lip-tint, the newest one from the collection. You then touched up your makeup a little more. 

Jake watched you in awe. The way you applied lip gloss and brushed setting powder (or was it blush? he didn't know anything about makeup) onto your cheeks was so mesmerizing, as you weren't already so captivating to him.

Finally, you stood up, straightening out your outfit. You puckered your lips, and when you noticed Jake staring at you, you gave him a little twirl.

"How do I look?" you asked. 

Jake, with his camera in hand, pointed the lens at you. He looked through the viewfinder.

"Beautiful." 

As always.

The shoot went smoothly. As you always did when Jake was your photographer, the two of you drove to the film studio, renting out a room for a good hour. Jake was a pro with the camera and you were an even bigger pro at modeling. Other than a few compositional edits or changes in exposure, you and Jake were done as soon as you started. The two of you decided that you’d go back to your place, cook dinner together, and maybe watch a movie.

Except that got delayed.

“Y-You’re so annoying, Jake,” you struggled out. You were in the back seat of your car, legs thrown over your boyfriend’s hips, his soft lips connected to your neck. Your fingers gently tugged on his hair, you yourself pressing soft pecks against his forehead and temples. It started because you gave Jake a kiss on the cheek as a ‘thank you,’ which spiraled into a makeout session in your car.

“What,” he breathed against your skin, dark eyes flickering up to yours. “You said you’d do anything to express your thanks for me.”

Jake kissed your neck again, before trailing up your throat to your jaw. Your fingers raked through his soft hair, pushing his dark locks out of his face so that you could see his face clearly. Jake reached up, took your hand out of his hair, and instead held your palm against his cheek, nuzzling into your warm hand. The way your eyes widened into saucers, lips parting, in response made the man’s lips curve upward.

“W-Well I thought you’d ask me to hug you… or something,” you said sheepishly, your voice soft as your boyfriend’s actions flustered you.

Jake grinned to himself internally before pulling away from you altogether. 

“Then do you want to stop?” Your eyes widened a fraction. “Then, let’s go hom—“

“No!” you cut him off, your hands squeezing his shoulders. “Let’s not!”

You stared at him, brows furrowed, for a few moments, before you noticed the growing grin on your boyfriend’s face. That look you knew too well, the one that said that he was going to tease the everlasting fuck out of you.

Jake pulled you in by the waist, close enough so that your chests touched, noses almost brushing against each other. He could feel the heat radiating off your face, and you could hear the smile in his voice.

“You sure you don’t wanna stop?” His voice was teasing, but you knew better. The earnest look in his eyes, you stared into yours, was filled with sincerity. He gave your waist a squeeze, almost as if to ask, “Do you actually want this?”

“Yes, Jakey,” you breathed against his lips, matter-of-factly. “I don’t wanna stop.”

The corner of his lips begin to lift.

“So you better kiss me,” you quipped, gripping his shoulders.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he rasped back, before attacking your lips.

(Later, when you were done, you two went home and went about your plan for the night. Except, you had to yell at Jake to go wash his face, because the sight of your lipstick at the corner of his lips was too much for you to take.)

"Hi, everyone!" you greeted the camera, folding your hands in your lap. With your thick, pink, knit sweater's sleeves falling over your wrists, you shot the lens a pretty smile. It was another normal day on the job of making content.

"As you guys know, VidCon is coming up soon." You pulled your makeup pouch toward your chest, leaning against the edge of your filming desk. "So, let's pack with me!"

Vidcon was an event for people to meet all of their favorite Youtubers. This year, you were invited to be one of the featured creators, given your popularity. As you filmed your "Pack with Me!" vlog, surrounded by ring lights aided by your windows cracked open, you recalled the email you had sent earlier, squeezing your eyes shut.

You see, Jake and you were both invited to VidCon. Since no one else, not even Youtube the corporation or your fellow Youtubers, knew that you guys were dating, Jake and you were given vastly different things. Youtube booked an entire hotel complex for all of its creators, and unfortunately, your room was located 10 floors below Jake's room. And worse, your booths and events were so far apart from each other that you probably wouldn't even see your boyfriend even if he decided to traverse the Convention. 

That's what you got for being vastly different content creators.

This year would be the first year that you and Jake got invited to VidCon, and you two wanted to share this experience with each other as much as possible.

Which is why you just shot Youtube one of the most embarrassing emails of your life.

"Hi, Youtube. The hotel complex you booked has a bar, and it is much closer to the top than the bottom. I really want to visit that bar. Can I request a room change so that my room is maybe on the 15th or 16th floors?" except add more formalities and much more discreet language, and that was the email you sent to your employers. You knew that it wouldn't be hard, and that the Youtube PR manager wouldn't reject your request. After all, you were the Sanrio beauty girl. Regardless, you'd gotten a response about an hour ago, and your request was approved, luckily. 

As you continued talking to your camera, folding your clothes neatly while chatting to your viewers about updates in your life, you thought about what you and Jake should do at VidCon. It was in the LA area, but you definitely wanted to visit other places in Southern California. 

It was no surprise that you and Jake had been more than touchy and close to each other. You were dating. Still, butterflies formed in your stomach as you thought about what you would do with him. Your face heated up at the thought of you and him spending time together in the hotel's rooftop hot-tub. The idea of him sneaking in your room at night, warming you up and pepperinging your cheeks with kisses, made your heart rate speed up, and you could only relish in the thought of exploring LA, Irvine, or wherever Jake wanted to take you with him.

You were a grown woman with a job and responsibilities, but the mere thought of your boyfriend being within the same vicinity as you made you nervous.

Just as you finished folding your clothes, you heard your front door crack open.

"Babe?" you hear Jake's voice call out your name. You turn off your camera to greet him, swearing to forget all of the thoughts you just had. Except, the moment that you locked eyes with him, all determination to not be teased left your body. Your lips wobbled, trying to bite back that stupid, bashful, and lovesick smile that made its way onto your face when you thought about Jake, but your eyes gave it all away. Instead of throwing yourself at him like you usually did, you only reached for the hem of his black T-shirt, playing with it sheepishly. 

You mumbled a small, "Hi."

You could feel Jake staring at you, and you could hear the way his lips curve into a smug, shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," you told him, your eyebrows crashing together.

"Baby, I didn't even say anything," Jake said, his hands finding their place on your lower back.

You felt shy and exposed before him. "Well, I know you're going to say something."

Jake grasped your chin, gently making you look at him. You tried to avoid his eyes, but it was impossible to avoid those dreamy, caramel eyes. Then, he took your face with both his hands, leaning in.

Was he going to kiss you? Oh my god, he was! Quick! What do you do? You felt like you were going to melt.

Instinctively, your hands tightened on the hem of his shirt, the black fabric scrunching in your fists. You closed your eyes, your lips softly puckering. You could feel him coming closer and closer, until his breath fanned your cheek.

As if he hadn't kissed you a million times before, your heart felt like it was going to fall out of your chest. 

Jake ghosted his lips over yours, inching just close enough that he could brush his lip against yours. 

And then, he pulled away from you. He took off his shoes, placed down his keys, and made his way into your bedroom, leaving you there standing alone.

Heat spread across your face and neck and ears as you realized your boyfriend had just teased you once again. You hid your face in your palms, letting out a small whine of embarrassment, before recollecting yourself and joining your boyfriend.

"Woah, what's going on here, babe?" Jake asked, standing at your bedroom doorway. 

"Oh." There was clothes and film equipment sprawled across your floor and bed. "I was filming a video."

You saw Jake's expression twitch, before he took your hands in his.

"My bad, was I interrupting something?" He was sincere in how his face showed a small drop of guilt for disrupting your filming. How could someone be such a tease one moment yet be so genuine the next?

"No, it's okay, Jakey," you said. "I mean, I need to finish my video, but I don't mind if you're around."

And that's how you found yourself trying not to burst out laughing as you filmed your video. Jake kept making funny faces at you, that goofy grin growing on his face as he wiggled his eyebrows at you.

"Jake, stop making faces!" you laughed, throwing a shirt at him.

He dodged it, throwing his head back into one of the plushies that he bought you. "I'm not doing anything!"

You threw another shirt at him, this time hitting him square in the face. Instead of admitting defeat, Jake only grabbed your shirt, pulling the fabric to his nose and taking a long, dramatic, sniff. 

"You smell sooooo good, babe," he said, ignoring your contorted expression, "I think I'm gonna keep this. You won't mind, right?"

"Ugh, Jaaaaakee!"

You plopped on top of him in bed. You felt his chest rumble as chuckles left his lips, rolling your eyes at him. You gave his chest a smack, a pout forming on your lips.

"You're so annoying," you mumbled as his hands slithered up to your hips. He gave your ass a pat, gesturing you to adjust your position. You did, sitting up so that you straddled your boyfriend's hips.

"And you're so pretty," he said, squeezing your hipbone.

"Let go of me," you poked him in the chest, but made no attempt to get off of him. 

"No."

"I need to finish my video," you pouted, still not moving to get off of him. 

"I don't care." Jake instead sat up on his elbows, his hands sliding down to your lower back, his face getting suspiciously close to your boobs. "Just lay with me."

Your fingers ran through his dark locks, before giving them a tug towards your chest. Jake laid his cheek against your boobs like they were pillows, arms wrapped around your waist. You could feel his hot breath against your skin and neck. The next thing you knew, he was pressing sticky kisses against your chest and neck, soft gasps escaping your lips.

"Sorry, babe," he muttered against the shell of your ear, "I just can't resist you."

You let out a soft "ahhh!" when he bit down on your skin, his teeth brushing against the nape of your neck. Jake briefly pulled away, a smirk making its way onto his face as he admired the red-purple mark on your neck. 

"You're just too addicting."

Long story short, your video was still finished and uploaded. As Jake edited his video, he let yours play in the background, your bright voice illuminating his dark room. Somehow, your voice was the only thing that made him focus. 

However, when he heard a familiar laugh— his laugh— in your video, Jake stopped in his tracks.

His mind flashed back to what happened the other day in your apartment, when he interrupted you during your filming.

"I don't know if I turned off my camera, Jake," you had purred as Jake's tongue dipped into your collarbone. At that point, both you and him were shirtless, hair disheveled and pupils blown out with desire. Jake remembered the electricity that ran through him as those words left your lips.

"Am I supposed to care?" he had muttered, trailing kisses down your chest. "If they hear us, that's not my problem."

It was almost like you, who edited your video, added that clip to tease him. 

Immediately, his cheeks began turning the brightest shade of red possible. If you were here, he would have only coughed and looked away shyly, but since he was alone, his embarrassment spread across his face like a wildfire. Jake almost never showed it when he was flustered, at least when he was around you. 

He hid his face in his palms, sucking in a sharp breath. He squeezed his eyes shut, warmth prickling his skin. You were going to be the death of him. He let out a small, lovesick giggle, one that his friends would flame him for. He couldn't help it, not if it was you. 

When he read the comments, still flustered out of his mind, he felt a twinge of disappointment when no one seemed to notice him. 

For some reason, Jake couldn’t help but want people to know that you were his. He knew that you and him kept your relationship private to preserve it, but he still wanted to show you off.

Except, one comment caught his eye.

“Wait, does [Name] have a boyfriend? Who laughed at 6:34?” it read. Jake’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. The warmth that spread across his chest as his lips pulled upwards. He almost wanted to jump on his bed and roll around while giggling like a schoolgirl, but he contained himself.

At the corner of his eye, Jake spotted a certain plushie. 

As you were a partner of Sanrio, for a time there was a Limited Edition [Name] plushie, clad in pink with a cute, ruffle-lace bow to top it all off. Of course he bought one the moment it launched. Jake preferred his room to be completely dark and black, but he liked to keep that plushie on his bed, and although he’d never admit it, he hugged it when he slept if you weren’t with him.

Would it be wrong of him to tease you back? After all, Jake still had to film the brand deal for his new video. 

Would it hurt to position the plushie just enough so that it was in frame? 

So that maybe someone would see it.

Vidcon came crashing on you and Jake like a meteor, and before the two of you knew it, you were in the venue, wringing your fingers as the event commenced.

Sometimes, it was difficult for you to comprehend the level of your popularity. Sure, the numbers that Youtube loved to display for you told you that you had millions watching you, but mere numerical figures were simply not enough for you to wrap your mind around.

Your schedule that day was simple: you were going to have a booth that you'd tend to for an hour or two, where your fans could take pictures with you and take a few freebies with them. Then, you'd go to your main event, which was in a smaller venue.

At your booth, where you sat currently, your personal table was set up in a very special way: your table was pink, and covered in a lacy, white tablecloth. Even the wall behind you was specifically painted pink and decorated with various Sanrio-esque decorations. You had stickers that you'd give out, as well as a Limited Edition Vidcon Sanrio plushie of you that people could buy. The pink polaroid decorated with Hello Kitty stickers hung around your neck with a pink lanyard. You genuinely looked like Sanrio and Hello Kitty vomited all over you, but you didn't mind. And plus, that didn't matter, because you were cute either way.

You were hit with pure surprise as multiple groups of fans came your way. The amount of people that came to you, rambling nervously about how much they loved you, how much they looked up to you, how much you inspired them and made their days better, made you feel light-headed. And very warm inside.

Jake was the one that did the talking for you (thank goodness!), but for some reason, you pushed through your usual shyness, instead wanting for people to come up to you and talk.

Your face lit up as one of your fans, a girl that looked around your age, maybe only a few years younger than you, approached you. You could tell by the Sanrio sticker of you on her phone case that she was most definitely here for you.

"Oh my gosh, hi [Name]!" She gazed at you with wide, glimmering eyes. 

Your initial reaction was surprise, but then you broke out into a smile. You cocked your head, fingers gripping the hem of your dress, both nervous and excited. "Hi, there."

You fan took one look at your face, and squealed. The way that she giggled, bouncing on her feet as she fangirled over you made warmth spread across your cheeks, getting shy and looking down briefly.

"I'm sorry, [Name]!" Your fan couldn't stop giggling, which you thought was very cute. It was now that you noticed the camera in your hand. "I just really love your content, and I'm just so excited to meet you in real life!"

You blinked at her a few times, before you smile only widened. 

"Don't worry about it!" you said, taking her free hand in yours. Your shyness melted away as your fan squealed again. "It really means a lot to me that you came out here to personally see me."

Your eyes flickered over to her camera, squeezing her hand and motioning to it with your other. "Can I...?"

She nodded enthusiastically, so you took her camera. Turn on the 'photo' setting, you posed for the camera, taking multiple pictures of yourself for her. You hoped that that would make up for your shyness. The two of you hugged, and you took many polaroids for her.

Almost immediately, after she left, you were tagged in a Twitter thread. It was that fan, reporting her experience with you.

"She was so much prettier in real life, I thought I was in heaven," her tweets detailed, "And [Name] was so sweet! It felt like I was meeting the real life Hello Kitty."

She posted the pictures you took on her camera, and then the videos. You couldn't help but grin like an idiot, especially at the comments (and the rapidly-accumulating likes and retweets).

"The way [Name] gets so shy is so cute!"

"I don't really watch beauty content but I love [Name] so much."

"She's like an actual Disney Princess."

You loved your fans, you really did. You were grateful for them, and you thought they were very cute. 

You were excited to see how Vidcon would treat you.

Jake was fighting.

He was fighting demons, wars, the little voices in his head.

Did you have to look so pretty today?

Jake's own event was an entire venue away from yours. He had a few events, so after his first one, he took a small break, where he looked through his notifications. 

Of course, the first thing he looked at was your texts. They were from a while ago, during his show when he didn't have his phone on him, so he responded to them now. He smiled at your cute texts, expressing how excited and happy you were. His heart jumped out of his chest when he saw the selfie you sent him: there you were, in all your cutesy Sanrio glory, smiling so prettily for him. Jake had to clasp his face to hide the stupid, love-struck grin that bled onto his face. 

"Oi, what're you giggling about?" Jake was interrupted by Jay, another one of his fellow horror Youtubers.

Jake immediately wiped his expression clean. "Nothing."

When he glanced back at his phone, that dumb grin began to form again.

Jay groaned. "This is so weird. It's like watching Batman smile."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jake scoffed.

"I'm sayin' that you're basically Youtube's Batman," Jay scrunched his nose, "And it's weird seein' you all... smiley and stuff."

"I literally smiled earlier!"

"Not in the way that you did just now. I have a bad feeling about it."

"Shut up!"

Jake really tried his best to swallow back his pure admiration for you as he opened his phone screen again, but he failed miserably.

He wished he could see you right now. He loved to see his fans, he loved to talk to them about their shared interest: all things horror and obscure.

But Jake missed you right now.

His heart plummeted to his stomach, however, when he logged onto Twitter, and saw the worst hashtag he could ever think of: #[Name]isSoCute.

He agreed with it. No, he embraced that sentiment with every molecule in his being.

Just... he wished that he could see you right now. When he checked the tag and saw all the cute pictures that people took of you and the sweet experiences they had with you, he frowned— That should be him!

However, Jake actually saw the worst thing to ever materialize when he saw the top video under the tag.

It was a shaky video, starting off with a teenage boy walking up to you. In the background, he could hear your pretty voice in the background, exchanging small greetings and words with the poster. Jake was almost lost in his sheer love for you when his eyes narrowed. The boy in the video let out a little chuckle, before dropping a cheesy pick-up line on you.

"[Name], if you were a vegetable, you'd be a cute-cumber." What made it worse was that you only giggled, leading the boy to drop a few other dumb pick-up lines. The camera panned up to you, showing you all smiley and bashful. Then, you and the boy hugged, before taking a few polaroids together.

Jake almost snapped his phone in half.

He understood better than anyone that you were a content creator just like him. It was part of the job to interact with fans, and given your character, of course you were sweet to them. He could tell that you were perfectly comfortable in the video, and that the kid probably was just joking around with his favorite Youtuber.

But did that stop Jake from mentally lambasting every single aspect of the video? Absolutely not.

Shaky camera, probably filmed on a phone, Jake's hands balled into fists, Fucked up aperture, exposure to low, bad mic.

Was he being a little immature? Yes, and Jake knew that. 

Though, Jake would admit that he agreed with a lot of comments and retweets under that post, hearting many of them in agreement.

"[Name] is such a cutie!" one read.

Absolutely.

"I love her so much," another read.

Me too, Jake thought.

"I want her so bad."

Just as Jake's finger hovered over the 'heart' button, he let out a small hmph. Did it annoy him that other people wanted you? Yes. But did he disagree with the comment? Nope. He pressed the "like" button.

He wanted to see you so bad. As Jake was queued up on stage, ready for his second event, he hoped that he could see you soon.

And his wish came true a few hours later.

It was now past noon, and Vidcon was in its (unofficial) intermission period, where a lot of the creators were now taking breaks. As Jake traversed the convention, he texted you trying to find a spot where the two of you could meet.

He passed the many booths and venues of his fellow Youtubers. The layout was unique in the way that Youtubers of similar genres were placed in similar areas. So when he started seeing Youtubers with bright makeup and problematic pasts, Jake knew that he was near you.

And lo and behold, soon he found you. Under the fluorescent light, you still glowed. There was some kind of halo around you as you turned over your shoulder, your face instantly brightening up as you spotted your boyfriend. You had a few fans that you were talking to at the moment, so you tended to them first, while Jake made his way over to you.

You and Jake agreed that you wouldn't make your relationship too obvious at Vidcon, but all of that was left forgotten the moment that Jake saw you. 

However, as you ran up to him, people couldn't help but stop and stare.

Why wouldn't they? You were the living embodiment of Sanrio, that one Hello Kitty girl, whereas Jake was that one guy that made scary content and was often shrouded in darkness, dubbed as Youtube's personal Batman. Absolutely no one would have expected to see the two of you interacting with one another, let alone be within the same vicinity.

"Hi, Jakey," you smiled up at him, and Jake thought that he could die right there. With the amount of people staring, Jake had to restrain himself from throwing his arms around you and hugging you.

"Hey, baby," he grinned. 

Before either of you could do anything, you and Jake were interrupted by a shrill squeal. You whipped your heads around to see a young girl and her older brother, who still looked relatively young. They explained nervously that the girl liked your content, while the brother liked Jake's content. They were expecting to scour in order for each of them to meet either of you, but were surprised to see you and Jake in one place.

You and Jake took a few pictures with them, both individually. Though, the two of them requested a picture with both you and Jake in the same frame, which you happily did.

When they left, you and Jake shared a look, before going off together.

Vidcon Day 1: Over.

Jake returned to his hotel room, too tired to do anything other than wash up and order room service. 

As Jake laid in his half-hard hotel mattress, he scrolled through his phone. He was tagged in a lot of pictures and tweets, and he found himself grinning at a lot of the sweet words his fans left. Although he was tired, he could definitely do this a few more times, feeling invigorated by his fans.

As he scrolled, the trending Twitter hashtag caught his eye.

#HelloKittyMeetsBatman.

Interesting name, he thought as he clicked on it.

Jake's heart skipped a beat as he saw what came up.

Apparently, people were extremely surprised to see you and Jake so close to each other. 

There were so many pictures of you and him taken together from afar just from that one instance earlier, from multiple different angles and distances. Jake would admit, the way he was dressed in all black while you were dressed in cute pinks and whites was almost laughable.

What truly caught his attention were the captions of all these pictures.

"Craziest crossover of 2024."

"I'm crying they legitimately look like Hello Kitty and Batman."

"Jake Sim and [Name] interacting was not on my Vidcon 2024 bingo card."

"This is like seeing two worlds collide, absolutely wild but I'm pleasantly surprised."

For the most part, it seemed like everyone just thought that you and Jake were friends, but it was still a little funny how taken aback the entire internet was.

Then, he saw the picture of you, him, and those two kids together. 

"They look like a family," was one of the most popular retweets under that post. 

Family.

That word rang through Jake's head, before he buried his face in one of the pillows, giggling to himself. He felt a little ridiculous getting so excited over such a small comment, but he couldn't help it. He felt so giddy inside at the thought of having a family with you, and felt even giddier knowing that people could see it, too.

Suddenly, his phone rang. Jake wasn't going to answer it, too caught up in his flustered-ness, but when he realized that it was you, he quickly cleared his throat, instinctively straightening out his hair (because what if he accidentally turns on his camera?-- he needed to look good for you!).

"Baby," he greeted suavely, as if he wasn't just giggling like a schoolgirl seconds ago.

Maybe it was the fact that it was already getting late, or the fact that Jake barely saw you today, or the fact that you were just so goddamn perfect, but your voice sounded so attractive in that moment.

"Jakeyyy," you whined. "Come over."

His chest was already throbbing but Jake played it cool.

He chuckled. "What for?"

"I miss you," he could hear the pout in your voice. "And I want your attention."

It was rare for you to be so direct with him, and while Jake wanted to melt on the spot, he wanted to tease you a bit longer.

"What's wrong with just being on the phone with me?" Jake's lips pulled into a smirk. "You can just talk to me like this."

"Noooo," you said. "I want— I want you."

Jake tried his best to not crumble then and there, but it was too hard.

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath. "Okay then, baby. I'll come over right now."

He didn't miss the cute little "yay!" you let out before you hung up.

You were going to be the death of him.

"Eep! Jake, what are you doing here—?!”

You’re cut off when you realized that you were, in fact, backstage of one of your events. Today was the second day of Vidcon, and you had just finished up your first event. As you went backstage, carrying the little bags of gifts that your fans got you, you didn’t expect your own boyfriend to be waiting back there for you.

“Hey there, Princess,” he said cheekily, sprawled across the backstage couch. "Miss me?"

He opened his arms up, and you instinctively crawled into them, sitting on his lap and sliding your arms around his neck. 

As you did, you eyed him up and down.

Clad in black as always, he wore a black button-up, paired with black slacks, a black belt, and a loose, black tie. That's right: today, Jake was going to have a panel with a whole bunch of other horror creators, ones that transcended the internet— authors, authors that Jake spent his whole life reading and looking up to, which explained why he was dressed significantly more proper today than yesterday.

The way his shirt fit his chest and hugged his shoulders made it hard for you to not stare, and the way that it wasn't buttoned at the top, revealing his honey-tan collarbones, mixed with the scent of his rich cologne, made you feel dizzy.

"Ay, are you checkin' me out?"

On any other day, you'd be embarrassed, maybe even pushing him away, but today, you only nodded your head, humming mindlessly in agreement.

Jake blinked at you, before he pulled you in by the waist so that you were flushed against his chest completely.

"Kiss me," you mumbled, pushing his dark bangs away from his face.

Jake chuckled, rubbing your cheek with his knuckles. "What's with you these days? Getting so bold."

You only leaned into his touch. Maybe it was sometime in the LA air, or maybe it was the vigor that your fans gave you earlier, but all you could do was look at your boyfriend with glossy, wide eyes innocently, watching the way that his resolve trembled.

"Shit," Jake cursed under his breath. "Hold on—"

He grabbed your hips, then tilted your chin so that he could have a better angle. Your lips crashed into one another. Not in the way that a meteor would crash into Earth's delicate atmosphere, but in the way that gentle sea waves crashed onto themselves, dark folds of blue creasing over each other, only to brush up against the foamy seashore, none the wiser. 

Jake liked the taste of your lip gloss; it tasted sweet, but not nearly as sweet as you, hungrily squeezing your hips in his hands. He swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, earning a squeal from you, who tugged on his hair. 

When you pulled away from each other, you were breathless, chests heaving not for air, but for each other. You stared at each other for a few moments, losing time in each other's eyes, when your eyes trailed down.

God, the button-up and tie were going to drive you crazy.

Without thought, your fingers twirled around his tie, slinking up his chest before you yanked him harshly, jerking Jake toward you abruptly. 

In a moment of pure, unadulterated boldness, you attacked his neck, laying sticky kisses all across his skin. One hand laced itself in Jake's hair, keeping a firm hold of his tilted head, while your other hand crept around the buttons of his shirt. 

Each soft sigh that Jake let out made you only press more kisses on him. When he let out one particularly loud whine, his arm jerking up to grab at the couch's armrest, you knew that you found the sensitive spot on his neck. You pressed another kiss on that spot, this time sinking your teeth into his skin. The hickey was dark and purple, and when you ran your tongue over it, Jake's hands shot to your hips again.

"Shit, [Name], wait a sec—"

Skillfully, your fingers began to slowly unbutton Jake's shirt, just enough that you could see more of his chest. 

Your head was feeling fuzzy now, drunk off your desire for him. The way he threw his head back, his Adam's apple bobbing with each gulp of air he took in, curses falling from his lips, sent electricity coursing through your body.

When you unbuttoned the last button, you noticed the way Jake's eyes were squeezed shut, his other arm resting over them, hands balled into fists as his desperation for you increased.

"Jakey," you said. Jake was going to go mad, the way your voice was so soft and innocent as it said his name, all the while you were kissing and touching him in ways that made him go light-headed. He squeezed his eyes shut, another whimper escaping his lips. If he looked you in the eye right now, he was sure that he'd burst. "I want you to look at me."

He couldn't refuse you. Immediately, he opened his eyes, the arm strewn over his face dropping back to its position on your hips.

If he didn't die by combustion, Jake was certain that he'd die now— Your pupils were blown out, eyes lidded and staring at him like he was your prey to be slaughtered. He'd seen you wrought with desire so many times before, but the way you gazed at him like he was a piece of meat, like you were going to absolutely ruin him, made him feel weak.

"Watch me, Jakey," your voice sounded so sweet, but your actions said otherwise. You abruptly got up from your seat on his lap, Jake frowning at the loss of your touch. You dug through your purse thrown across the room, returning with a tube of lipstick.

You plopped back onto Jake's lap, making sure that he was watching as you applied it to your pretty, swollen lips. 

Then, you discarded it, throwing your lipstick to the side as you snatched his tie again. You brought the black fabric to your lips, staring your boyfriend down as you pressed kisses on his tie. You kissed it a few times, making sure that the color of your lipstick, as well as the shape of your lips, was well-imprinted on it.

Then, you yanked his shirt's collar toward you, pressing a harsh kiss on the fabric, making sure that the shape of your lips was once again imprinted on the fabric.

You looked back up at his face, unable to hide your smugness as his entire expression was painted with red.

"You're so hot—" Jake attempted to force out of his throat, but you only cut him off with a rough kiss to his lips. Without a word, you covered his face, from his forehead to his jaw, with kisses.

You pulled back to admire your work, before you pulled away from him.

"I have to be on stage in a few minutes," you said quietly, your back turned to him as you straightened out your skirt. Dumbfounded, Jake could only stare at you, but when you turned over your shoulder, flashing him a bright, but terribly cheeky, grin, Jake's heart fell out of chest. "I can't be late, right?"

With that, you left your boyfriend, all hot and bothered, on the couch, running off to prepare for your next event.

Almost immediately, Jake melted. He threw an arm over his eyes as he leaned back, letting out a groan.

Was this how you felt when he teased you?

Was he now sexually frustrated? Absolutely. But now he wanted you even more.

After mulling over it for a few minutes, Jake began to go back to his venue. But, as he passed the backstage vanity, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.

Some of it was obvious to him already: disheveled hair, messed up shirt. But what made Jake want to evaporate was the sight of his entire face and neck covered in lipstick marks. The corner of his lip had a big lipstick smudge, the hickey that you gave him earlier was so dark now, and he couldn't even dare to forget your lip imprints on his shirt and tie.

You little tease.

Jake's last straw was.... right now.

After the backstage fiasco, he didn't get to see you all day. That night, you had a PR event to attend with your fellow beauty creators, so he didn't get to see you at night either.

Which was why Jake was practically glowing with a dark and negative storm cloud as he pranced around the third day of Vidcon. It didn't help that he saw so many pictures of you and fans all across platforms. Poor guy almost lost it when one of your fans' vlogs blew up, the most replayed part being when you let out the most angelic and sweet laughs he'd ever heard in his life.

That should be him!

Meanwhile, Jake sat in the convention room at a panel. Lined up along the table were other horror creators, from authors to Youtubers to filmmakers, similar to yesterday. The way that this specific event operated was simple: fans got to ask anyone on the panel questions and they'd answer, which the entire room got to hear, and later there would be one-on-ones along the panel.

Jake was pulled out of his thoughts when one of the fans said that they had a question for him.

"Jake, your videos take a long time to make, how do you balance work and your personal life?"

Good question. He had a simple principle when it came to how to balance everything. Jake thought about it for a moment, before reaching for his microphone.

"I don't have any outright method," he began. Jake's mind flashed with your image: all the cute messages you'd send him throughout the day, all the times where after hours of rotting in front of his computer screen he could always count on your loving embrace to give him life, all times that he'd tune into your Spotify playlist so that he could be listening to what you were listening. It was easy to balance work and life, if it was you. "But I always put my life before the screen."

The room was quiet, intently listening to what Jake had to say. After all, he was renowned all across the Internet.

The room was quiet, intently listening to what Jake had to say. After all, he was renowned all across the Internet.

"To be clear, I understand the privilege of getting to work in a profession like mine," Jake continued. "I don't expect everyone to be able to follow my advice exactly, but the more I live, the more I realize that what happens before my very eyes will endlessly matter so much more than what happens in my own little Youtube bubble."

Jake's mouth jumped to you faster than his mind could stop him.

"My beautiful girlfriend is everything to me," he unconsciously began to grin stupidly to himself, "I'd put her above work any day if I had to."

The moment that those words left his lips, the room erupted with gasps and whispers.

"Wait, you have a girlfriend?!" one of Jake's Youtuber friends asked, leading the room to laugh.

Oh.

Shit.

Jake's eyes visibly widened. He clutched his microphone, bringing it up to his mouth, but no words came out.

There was no way in hell that he'd outright deny you, not even in a million years.

"I.... Well..." Jake stammered, trying his best to generate any words at all. He sucked in a sharp breath, a bashful expression making its way onto his face. "That's..."

The room filled with more laughter, alongside the teasing grins and pats on the back that Jake got from his colleagues.

"Oh, so that's what you were giggling about yesterday, lover boy..." Jay, also on the panel, quipped, his brows raised so high on his forehead that it could have touched his hairline.

"Sh-Shut up, Jay!"

Jake's chest felt fizzy. In a weird way.

A part of him felt on-edge. You and him always wanted to keep your relationship secret, for the sake of preserving it. He'd seen what the Internet did to relationships: it tore them apart. It wasn't like he name-dropped you, but he felt so... exposed, so vulnerable.

But at the same time, Jake felt his chest also swell with pride. That's right. He had a girlfriend (a hot girlfriend at that), a girlfriend that he was nefariously down bad for. He hoped everyone knew that, that he was taken and that if there was anyone that he'd spend the rest of his life with, it would be you.

Jake huffed. "Yeah, I have a girlfriend. What about it?"

No one questioned him further. Probably out of fear.

You were in the middle of trying your best to get through a conversation with some beauty guru that you knew one thing about: their personal makeup line launch failed horribly and they gave everyone hairy lipsticks. It was difficult, to say the least.

Exchanging your final regards, you quickly rushed back to your booth.

The first thing you saw when you checked your phone was a viral video, in which Jake admitted that he had a girlfriend. Your heart plummeted to your stomach when you initially read the caption, but when you watched the video, you had a difficult time processing your feelings.

Did you hate that Jake admitted that he had a girlfriend? … No, you didn’t. You didn’t at all. At a certain point, seeing the way that your boyfriend smiled so earnestly made your heart jump out of your chest. The way he was so giddy and smiley (of course, only you could tell that that was how he was feeling— to everyone else it probably looked like he was brooding) made your neck and cheeks warm up.

But, the way that the room erupted with voices and laughter, combined with the quirked brows of everyone on the panel, made you quiver.

You weren’t prepared for it, for how vulnerable you felt as a chorus of “ooh’s” filled the room.

Frankly, there were too many things that you had to focus on at the moment. You'd rather enjoy Vidcon now, and address it later, when things settle down. 

Pushing it to the back of your mind, you tucked your phone away, greeting another wave of fans. Though, not without taking an extra second to "heart" the post, adding it to your favorites folder, and rewatching the video one more time, feeling warmth and giddiness filling your chest.

As the cool night air kissed your cheeks, you fought the shy smile that seeped onto your face. It was late now, late enough that you could see all the city lights gleaming, lighting up the dark sky with blotches of all different colors.

There was a Vidcon party for creators, to celebrate the end of the event. Everyone was going. Although it was meant for any creator, there was a very exclusive VIP section; only those of high prestige could get in. Both you and Jake were invited, but upon realizing that nearly the entire hotel complex would be empty due to the popularity of the party, the two of you ditched it.

You'd been wanting to go to the rooftop hottub for a while now, but you never went because you wanted to go with Jake, and it was always too crowded for the two of you to go there comfortably. But now that everyone was gone, it was the perfect time.

Your boyfriend was already waiting for you up there, towel thrown over his shoulder with a shirt and swim trunks. His face lit up the moment he saw yours emerging from the elevator doors, rushing over to you to take your hands.

He paused for a moment. His dark eyes peered at yours, licking his lips before sucking in a sharp breath. Jake gave your forehead a peck, before saying a small "C'mon" and pulling you over to the hottub.

Jake took your towel for you, folding it next to his and perching it on a sunchair.

"They're gonna get off fireworks soon— Oh, damn," he cut himself off as you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing a bikini top. Your face scrunched up, squirming under his gaze. It's not like Jake has never seen you like this (in fact, he'd seen you in much more compromising positions), and it wasn't like he never complimented you, but as the hottub bubbled, the rosy scent of the water filling the air, you felt shy.

Jake slinked toward you, taking his own shirt off. 

"Hey there, Gorgeous," he said, his fingers playing with the hem of your shorts that had yet to be taken off. Your heart pounded in your chest, fighting the urge to squeeze your eyes shut and groan in embarrassment. You kept your eyes glued to the ground. Jake chuckled softly, before clutching your chin gently, making you look up at him.

"Don't get shy on me now, babe," Jake grinned when your lips pressed into an unconscious pout. He squished your cheek, relishing in the look of confusion painted across your face. Then, his hands fell to your hips, pulling them toward his. "You look so beautiful."

Jake's fingers hooked onto the hem of your shorts, meeting your eyes for permission before pulling them down himself, revealing your bikini bottoms.

Jake's eyes glazed over your figure, taking his bottom lip in between his teeth.

"Jaaakee," you whined, squeezing his hands.

"Sorry," Jake's eyes flickered up to your face. "I can't help it. You're just so hot, baby."

You rolled your eyes, biting back shyness, before you pulled him toward the hottub.

You rolled your eyes, biting back shyness, before you pulled him toward the hottub. 

The two of you got into the tub, sinking into the warm water, you felt your limbs relax. 

Vidcon was very fun, some of the most fun you've had in a while. But, it was very tiring, having to be around so many people at a time. And plus, it was hard not seeing your boyfriend whenever you wanted.

You pulled your knees to your chest. You could hear the loud techno music a few blocks away, probably coming from the club nearby. The bright night lights of LA was something that you could only imagine sleeping under.

Other than the sound of the city bustles, the hot tub’s jet system, and the occasional ripple of water, the night was silent.

“How was your day?” Jake broke the calm silence. The way the blueish water reflected off his skin made you dizzy.

“Good,” You cursed your voice for being so small. You swallowed the lump in your throat. You didn’t know why you felt so nervous. It was your boyfriend, for goodness’s sake!

Jake loved it when you were shy, but sometimes he was genuinely worried about you. Part of why he loved you was the game that was trying to figure out what was going on in that pretty head of yours.

He reached out for you, clutching your knee. "Baby, what's wrong?"

Your stomach churned. For a second, you thought about that video of him admitting that he had a girlfriend. It made your skin crawl, but when your boyfriend squeezed your knee, it all stopped.

"Nothing," you said simply.

There's a few pulses of silence, before Jake clicked his tongue.

"H-Hey—!"

Jake got up from the water, wrapping his hands around your waist, and hoisted you up so that your legs were thrown on either side of the body, before sitting back down so that you were perched right on top of his lap.

Your chest, nearly bare, pressed against his own bare chest in a way that made your heart race. The warmth of his skin as it contacted yours was an addicting feeling, enhanced only by the warm water surrounding you. Either it was the steam from the tub, or the heat collecting between the two of your bodies, that rose to your cheeks.

You rested your hands on his chest, your fingertips barely reaching his broad shoulders, while Jake’s hands stayed in their spot around your waist.

"C'mon," you could feel Jake's warm, strong chest rumble beneath you. "Tell me what's wrong."

Under the sky, his eyes gleamed, like two gems. For the flirt that he was, Jake was too genuine and pure of a person. The sincere worry in his eyes made you feel warm, even warmer than you felt right now. And sometimes that was enough for you.

You leaned into him, your hands coming up to cup his face. You rubbed your thumbs against his cheeks, to which he let his eyelids fall shut, relishing in the comfort that was your presence. Every time your thumb pressed against his lips, he kissed them, unable to hide the smile growing on his lips when you giggled softly.

At the corner of your eye, you spotted the purple hickey you left on him the other day. That combined with his wet hair, the water droplets temptingly running down his chest, and the fact that you were right on top of him made you feel light-headed.

Your hands left his face, and Jake opened his mouth to whine about it, but was shut up when your fingers tangled in his damp hair, pulling him in for a kiss.

It was a soft, innocent kiss, the type you gave when you just wanted to be close to him. Jake hummed against your lips, squeezing your thighs. You pulled away first, but Jake gently guided the back of your head back to his, pecking your lips.

"I just missed you," you said. You kissed his cheek. "I really missed you."

"It's only been a day," Jake teased you, but he knew better than anyone that he had absolutely no right to say that to you: he was practically dying each moment he couldn't see you.

The two of you sat in silence for a moment, staring into each other's eyes. You held onto his strong shoulders, eyes glued to his lips. You were feeling needy, needy in the way that you simply wanted to be close to Jake. You were already close to him, but you wanted to be even closer. Your heart thirsted for it.

Then, you heard a rustle, whipping your head around toward the sound.

"Nuh-uh," Jake whispered in your ear, gently holding your face and guiding it to look at him. "I want you to look at me."

It wasn't until a few seconds later that you understood why Jake's tone sounded so teasing: he was referencing you and him the other day backstage. 

"Stoppp," you whined, pushing your face into his neck. "You're so annoying."

Jake laughed, his chest rumbling. He stopped to admire the way you were all pressed up against him. He could feel every curve of your body, and he could feel the way your cheeks puffed with air, your lips forming a pout. He poked your cheek.

"You're so cute, baby."

"I know."

"What's with you getting so bold?"

"You're annoying me."

"Awww, you love me so—"

Fireworks fired off in the distance, painting the gray-blue sky with bright colors. 

You stayed in your position, only your eyes moving upward to admire the show. However, Jake stayed staring straight at you, practically ignoring the fiery flowers forming in the sky. He gazed into your eyes, watching the reflection in them.

"It's so pretty," you murmur.

"Yeah," Jake felt like he was falling into your eyes, "So pretty."

Just as another round of fireworks shot up into the sky, Jake grabbed your face, crashing his lips onto yours. Your lips fit into each other well, like puzzle pieces, in a way that was so satisfying, almost like you were made for kissing Jake. But for all of the desire and roughness that the kiss was filled with, it was a soft one. 

Jake swiped his tongue over your bottom lip, making you squeal and giving him the opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth. His hands kneaded your body, roaming all over you with no intention of leaving a single part of your skin untouched. Likewise, you gripped his biceps, digging your nails into his skin to keep yourself grounded.

"Fuck—" Jake mumbled against your lips, only to get cut off by your lips attacking his— "Wait—"

Jake tasted sweet, like candy. He tasted like home, like love, like everything was going to be okay no matter what. How could you pull away now? 

"B-Baby, wait—"

"Stop talking, Jakey," you pulled away briefly, only to bite his lip, pulling on the pink flesh with your teeth. You let your tongue roam his mouth, feeling the warmth as your own hands began to wander his toned chest. 

"Just kiss me," you breathed.

You kept Jake like this for a few more minutes, trapping him in the heaven that was your lips. But when your bikini top began to untie at the back, something that Jake noticed immediately, he ripped away from you.

Something in his eyes had changed.

Quietly, he tied your bikini top back for you, ignoring your confused (and very breathless) gaze.

"If you keep doing what you do to me," he began into your ear, "I don't know if I'll be able to control myself."

With that, Jake threw you over his shoulder as he hoisted himself up to his feet. He grabbed everything that you brought to the rooftop, throwing your towel over you and ignoring you fussing.

"W-Where are we goin—?!"

"Back to my room."

You were in for a night.

You and Jake were going to stay in LA for a little while longer after Vidcon, so you extended your stay in the same hotel rooms.

After last night, Jake and you fell asleep in his bed. 

It was going to be the best, Jake thought. Neither of you had anywhere to be, anyone to put on a show for. The two of you could sleep in for as long as you'd like. It didn't really matter to him, as long as he could wake up with you in his arms, he'd be all right.

Which is why Jake's heart dropped to his stomach when he woke up to you already dressed, pacing around the room nervously.

"Baby?" Jake was alarmed, even as he rubbed his sleepy eyes. "Baby, what happened?"

You whipped your head over to him, your expression pinch and painted with anxiety. 

"Check your phone," you muttered as you chewed your lip.

Jake did as you said. The moment he opened up his phone, his screen was filled with text messages from everyone: his colleagues, his friends, heck even his own mother. He was tagged in about a thousand posts all across his social media accounts, and his Youtube home page was plastered with his face. But not only his face. Your face too.

What caught his eye was an article from a major Internet news source that made its round across every platform.

Its headline?

Jake Sim and [Name] [Last Name] are reported to be dating.

The worst part was the cover page.

It was a photo of you and Jake, together in the hottub last night, with your arms thrown around his neck with your lips connected. When he read more into it, the photo evidence got more and more specific. Close-up pictures of Jake's neck to reveal a hickey and lipstick mark on his shirt, your smudged lipstick, a screenshot of the Sanrio plush in one of his videos, even that clip of his laugh in the background of one of your videos. Of course, the most crucial one was that clip of Jake admitting that he had a girlfriend.

This was what he wanted, wasn't it? For everyone to know about you, to be able to show you off.

Objectively, this was bound to happen.

But as Jake watched you pace around, your hands shaking as you looked like you were about to cry, he didn't feel the pride that he thought he would feel if everyone knew. He didn't feel happy, he didn't feel excited that he got to show you off. All he felt was a mix of guilt and anger.

And before he could reach out to hold your hand and pull you close, you quietly said that you were going to go on a walk, and left the hotel room.

The quiet that filled the hotel room was piercing. Jake stilled in his spot, still groggy and disheveled.

Had he always been like this?

He swore that at the beginning of your relationship, he took every measure to keep it private. Because you asked him to. Because he respected you.

Why did he throw it all away? 

He agreed to keep things private. 

But now he put you in an uncomfortable position and an even more vulnerable position than you'd ever been in before. 

Was he a bad boyfriend? Were you going to break up with him? Would your relationship with him ever be the same? That made Jake's heart palpitate. He couldn't lose you. No, he'd die. But then again, he fucked up, he knew that.

Jake ran a hand through his hair. This was an asshole move.

But he couldn't help feeling his fingers twitch for his phone when it ding'd.

The first thing he saw when he opened up Twitter were tweets at him.

And they were surprisingly... supportive?

"Emo boyfriend, cute girlfriend, the best combo!"

"Sending love to both of you. Hope you're doing well. We support you."

"I'm very pleasantly surprised."

"This is literally like Hello Kitty and Batman meeting this is crazy"

But as he scrolled deeper, he found more obscure comments.

"Feel so bad for [Name]. Her boyfriend is a freak."

"He doesn't deserve her."

And the nail in the coffin:

"No wonder they kept it a secret. I'd hide it too if someone like that was my boyfriend."

Why did you keep your relationship with him secret? Jake knew the answer to that: you just wanted to keep your personal life private.

But as Jake plunged himself deeper and deeper into the hole that was the media, he could only imagine alternative answers, and one stuck out.

Were you ashamed of him? 

Of course you would be.

You were beautiful in every capacity and just the most perfect person in the world. And Jake was just himself. You were always cute, and sometimes, Jake felt like he couldn't keep up with you. You were far out of his league. His content was considered "niche" and "obscure," of course people, maybe even you, considered him a freak.

He was a bastard, and you were a princess. He didn't blame you for being embarrassed about him.

That's why you were so anxious and against your relationship being exposed, right?

No, no, no!

Shut up, shut up, shut up, Jake thought, his hands balling into fists. You wouldn't. He knew you better than anyone, and he knew that you would never be embarrassed about him. You weren't like that, and he was a fool for even thinking of you in that way. He was being insecure and stupid.

But even so, as Jake let all the guilt, shame, anger, and anxiety settle in while he thought of an apology to you, he couldn't help but feel his insecurity seeping in.

You knew that you were overreacting. You shouldn't have left Jake in there all alone, you should have sat down and talked to him about it.

But there was something scary about having everybody's eyes on you at once, scorning you. You were a Youtuber, of course you knew what it felt like to be watched, but to have the entire internet so hellbent about your personal life made you jump into your own skin.

You just took a walk along the early city streets, you reflected upon yourself.

Why did you keep your relationship with Jake secret? 

Part of it was privacy. You didn't want the internet to interfere with your personal life, of course. 

But it wasn't like you wanted to hide your love for your boyfriend forever. It wasn't like you wanted to stow him away somewhere no one could find him. You were both adults, and you had to start living at some point.

You'd be lying if you said that you never thought about making a cute video with him, if you said you never wanted to post a cheesy anniversary picture on Instagram with a long caption just for him, if you said you never wanted the world to know that Jake Sim was yours.

You remembered the first time you and Jake talked about keeping it private. He was unsure, but because he cared so much about you, he agreed. Had you ever stopped to think about how he felt? You may have wanted to keep your relationship quiet, but did he? To a degree, there was something selfish about you, both now and in the past. You wanted to preserve yourself and your feelings, but you never even considered how Jake felt.

You were afraid, you felt vulnerable and too exposed to the world. But you cared far more about Jake than those fleeting emotions. Desire outweighed fear, you had to see him now.

But as you marched back to your hotel, your mind racing as you came up with paragraphs of words that you'd spill to Jake, you began to notice your worst nightmare.

A group of men, each with massive cameras that had even bigger microphones. 

They called themselves the paparazzi, but they were really only middle-aged men that made money off of being invasive towards people half their age.

Maybe you should have worn a hat, or something, as you were in a camera-infested area that was even more infested with celebrities and influencers. As they approached you, you quickened your steps, trying to get as far as you could from them. You tried your best not to make eye-contact, but alas, they got to you before you could escape.

"[Name]?" one of them called out your name, practically running to you.

Oh my god, you thought, ignoring them as you sped up. Please not right now.

"[Name], are you dating Jake Sim?" The sound of your boyfriend's name out of their mouths made your stomach churn. You kept walking, but you could feel them pointing their massive cameras at you, taking any measure to make a buck off of you.

You had a few choices.

You could make a run for it. Though, you had about six men double your age who would probably chase you down.

You could also give in to them, and give very vague answers. That would require a lot of patience, and simply, you wanted to go kiss your boyfriend, not talk to these so-called paparazzis.

Your last option was the one that seemed the most appealing, but could stir the pot of the media even more and it would give the tabloids what they wanted: you could tell them off and shut them down completely. The only issue was that you were the cutesy, sweet, Sanrio Hello Kitty girl. You've talked about adult topics before, but for you to be hostile and mean to another person? That was completely unheard of to anyone on the Internet. It would also be very reactive, and the media could twist that into something more.

But you wanted to get out of there.

You wanted to go see Jake. If you had to throw a few curse words at people if it meant that you could go home to Jake, then you'd use every curse under the sun.

"[Name], everyone is saying that your relationship with Jake Sim is real and not a publicity stunt. Any comment on that-?"

You were getting irritated.

You stopped in your tracks, turning over your shoulder.

"Will you fuck off?" Your gaze hardened on the group of men shoving cameras in your faces. You didn't even bother looking into the lens. "It's 10 in the morning, I don't have time for this."

"We didn't mean to offend you, [Name], we just wanted to know your relationship with Jake Si—"

You huffed to yourself, rolling your eyes. They loved acting polite only to violate your privacy. 

"Cut the bullshit, okay?" you narrowed your eyes. You were only a few meters from the hotel entrance, and they were still stalking you with their massive cameras. How shameless. 

Your anger was bubbling up inside you. It was rising, rising so much that you could feel it attempting to spill out of your mouth.

"You want to make a quick buck off of me so bad?" You stepped through the hotel doorway.

If the media was so curious about your life, and if they wanted to go so far as to try to disrupt your relationship, you wouldn't give them that satisfaction.

Everyone loved seeing what you were doing, everyone loved to watch you. It was your job to put on a show, to give people what they wanted. If you wanted to live, then you'd have to accept that.

You were an influencer, a micro-celebrity. You could make tides move if you wanted to. Why be so fearful of the eyes of so many?

But more than anything, you were a performer. And if that's what they wanted from you, that's what they'll get.

"Fine," you huffed. "I'll give you a story: me and Jake have been together for six years. In fact, we met each other in high school when he was my Physics lab partner. Go investigate that, won't you?"

With that, you slammed the hotel entrance door in their faces.

Jake swore he heard the trumpets of heaven when the hotel room door cracked open, revealing you.

He'd been waiting in front of it for a while now, and he jerked up immediately as he saw your face. He jumped right to his feet, ready to spill every word he thought of on you. You deserved an explanation.

But all you did was raise your hand, silencing him instantly. Instead, you took off your shoes, took his arm, and pulled him with you to the bed. You motioned for him to lay down, and did so yourself.

Jake stared at you like you were insane. Were you not going to yell at him? Why weren't you hitting him or telling him that you wanted to break up with him? Should he be on his knees begging you to stay at this point? But he complied (because of course he did, it was you).

You laid on his chest in silence, pressing your cheek up against him. 

That made his mind wander.

Maybe you were trying to ease him into a hard conversation. Maybe you were going to forget this until later.

He didn't want that. No, you deserved to hear what he had to say. If you were going to leave him, Jake wanted to say everything that he wanted to.

"I'm sorry," Jake blurted. The silence was deafening, before you took a deep breath, turning over onto your stomach so that your chin laid on his chest.

"What for?"

The gentle look in your eye as you looked at him made Jake choke up himself. He had to hold back or he'd start sobbing.

"For going against your wishes a-and..." Jake searched through his mind for all the words he practiced, but nothing came to mind. Not with you looking at him like you still loved him. "And for telling people about our relationship. I—I shouldn't have done that and I'm sorry for disrespecting the promise w-we made.... And... And—"

Jake sucked in a loud, sharp breath. His eyes were getting watery. He took your hands in his, squeezing them. 

"And I know that you're ash—ashamed of me, and I know that y-you won't— you won't want to be with me anymore, but—"

"Wait what?" you interrupted him, squeezing hands back. "I'm not ashamed of you, Jakey."

Jake stared at you.

Jakey.

"I'm not breaking up with you either. What makes you think that?"

The gate that was holding back Jake's emotions broke.

Jake let the tears that he tried so hard to hold back roll down his face. He let out a sob before he clamped a hand over his mouth.

You didn't hate him? You still wanted to be with him?

You instantly threw your leg over his hips, straddling him as you pulled his head to your chest. He melted into your touch, his wet face hiding in the crook of your neck. You pet his hair, pressing kisses to the crown of his head.

"Baby," you whispered into his ear gently. "Why are you crying?"

Jake's crying only got louder, and you couldn't help but giggle. He was a total softie. The way his hold around you tightened told you enough.

Jake sniffled through his words, cutting himself off every now and then with a hiccup and more sobs. "Th-Thought you were gonna l-leave me."

Your fingers stopped in his hair. "Leave you? Why would I?"

Jake pushed his face back into your shoulder, shaking his head.

You let him cry like that for a little while longer, whispering sweet reassurances in his ear as you patted his back. 

And when he was ready, the two of you talked it out, because that's what people did when they loved each other. You exchanged apologies, explained to each other your thought processes, and created an agreement: start anew, and you both didn’t mind that your relationship was now public, and if either of you disagreed, you had to voice it immediately. You ended it with a kiss.

You clicked the camera on, checking in the viewfinder that you were in-frame. You were back at home, the pink Hello Kitty decorations in your room, as well as the scent of strawberries, surrounding you. 

“Hi, everyone!” you smiled brightly, clasping your hands together. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you all. How are you?”

You chatted about a few updates since Vidcon, telling about your wonderful experience there and how you were so happy to meet all your fans.

“Now, onto the video!”

You peered to the side, where you spotted Jake sitting at the edge of your bed, waiting intently for your cue.

“Oh, Jakey!” you said in a sing-songy voice. “Come out now!”

With that, Jake popped into frame, dorkily saying a quick hi before plopping down onto the chair beside you.

“Today, I will be doing my boyfriend’s makeup!” you chirped happily. “Are you ready, boyfriend?”

The two of you shared a grin.

“Of course, girlfriend.”

[stemmmm]

Billford fic recs!

I was asked a while ago (i believe by @kerink ?) when I shared a list of the currently active fics I was reading if I could do a broader rec list as well, so here it is! not a ton of oneshots since I didn't try to keep good track of fics until very recently. will likely update this over time!

there is ONE non-triangle bill in here, but what he is in that one is vague so maybe he could still be the triangle. schrodingers triangle.

Collections:

Valentines 3K challenge (all explicit)

you know it. you love it. if you haven't read all of them though, you're missing the fuck out

Stan Bros Coffee (G and explicit)

the espresso-Bill AU! there's a bunch of little fics about it and they're all in here!

Oneshots: (most oneshot recs are in the collections)

Eternal Devotion - Illusions of the Heart (explicit)

have you ever read a horror story posing as a love story? are you interested in the most unhinged yet cohesive internal monologue ever crafted? do you wonder why keyhole suddenly became so prominent in the fandom out of nowhere? all of these and more await you in here. click the link-- i am a normal fanfic

touch and go (teen)

it's portal ford, baby! great exploration of what prolonged isolation does to people and has excellent bill being sweeties

Haha He Fucked That...Spider? (explicit)

again, portal ford! he's the master of getting himself in stupid situations, and bill is the master of getting him out of them in the ways ford appreciates the least

Longfics:

Theseus' Guide To Ruining A Perfectly Good Boat (mature) (complete in my heart bc i know what happens)

why are you still following me if you haven't read this yet. y'all know what this is

Then it becomes, it becomes, it becomes a problem (mature) (complete)

how bad do things have to get before bill finally chooses to cut his shit out? the answer may surprise you! during-betrayal fic where bill makes the ingenious decision to bring a third party into the mix as if that would solve anything. breathtaking prose, magnificent character work, and the best fucking bill cipher writing and analysis there is! SO funny, SO raw and emotional. Jan deserves to ascend to godhood at the cost of all of her family and friends. as a treat.

Property of Bill Cipher (explicit) (good as complete)

pre-portal character exploration. the only fic i think ive ever seen that dares to say bill was doing extremely fucked up shit with ford the entire time before things went bad between them, it's just that after the betrayal, ford viewed it all in a different light. handles bill's obsession with the guy so nicely, does not shy away from the scary and unnerving in just the way i love it! it's incomplete, but the story is really just a series of vignettes leading up to and a little after the betrayal, so we all know how this is all going to end anyways. this one is formative billford for me

Creative Solution (unrated, but i'd call it mature) (complete)

what if bill erased ford's memories of the betrayal and weirdmageddon happened? touches on what it's like to be in a relationship where you're both deeply mentally ill and insecure in a way that really, truly hits me. absolute masterwork of digging through bill's fucked up psyche and the ways in which he Can and Will spiral forever

Multiversal Manhunt Moved to Your Backyard (explicit, but only the final chapter) (complete)

set during weirdmageddon, bill and ford make a deal to play a game of sexy scary hide and seek. it's so fun to root for the villain. this author has an amazing grasp on the character voices and tone, this is SUCH a delightful read and despite knowing exactly how it's gonna end, the tension still keeps you at the edge of your seat!

On the Level (mature) (incomplete)

marine biology AU where ford is a researcher on a deep sea base and bill is some sort of eldritch horror at the bottom of the sea. writing is lovely and it's really got the slow, ominous horror vibe down pat. it's tagged for Alien(1979) references so i'm personally waiting for bill to violently murder all of these people <3 also this is the non-triangle fic i was referring to

Take A Chance (explicit) (incomplete)

handyman bill thats very focused on how poorly bill and ford are able to communicate with each other, and boy, theyre bad at it. lots of cute family shenanigans and overall a very lighthearted read!

Impossible Geometries and Biologies (explicit) (incomplete)

the only pregnant bill fic i'll ever read because its carried by so much fun speculative biology. really has you nodding along like okay, okay even if i might not agree, i can see what you're cooking. my continued interest hinges heavily on whether or not they choose to kill bill off but i imagine we won't know if that happens for at least 2 more chapters

[uvobreakmylegs]

As Fate Would Have it

red thread of fate soulmate! AU with Razor x reader

this fic now has a Part 2 written by @hypnoswrites! please read Man-Made Destiny once you've read this part!

Warnings: kidnapping, mentions of death

Word Count: 12.2k words

He hadn't said anything to you.

After returning to your hotel room only to immediately be jumped by the man who had clearly been laying in wait for you, he had yet to utter a single word, instead staying quiet through the process of grabbing and restraining you. Even when you had tried to kick and scream when you realized that you were being attacked, he didn't explain anything or mutter out any curses when you were successful in hitting him a few times. Not even to mock you when it was clear that you were lacking the strength needed to do any sort of damage to him.

It was only for a short period of time that your limbs were free, and now you were laying on the hotel bed, your wrists bound behind your back, your ankles tied together and a washcloth from the bathroom having been forced into your mouth in order to keep you quiet.

Earlier you were crying and screaming into the material of the makeshift gag, the terror of the situation overtaking you. But when nothing further happened, you managed to calm down enough to keep quiet, and now you were waiting for what he intended to do from here. With how tightly he had bound you, there was no scenario where you got out of your constraints on your own. Which meant there were only two possibilities: a third party would find and untie you, or he would untie you himself.

The first possibility seemed incredibly unlikely.

That second possibility seemed like it would only happen if he viewed you in a positive light.

So you stayed quiet, hoping that your silence would be interpreted as submission.

Currently the man was across from where you lay on the bed, sitting forward in the chair that had been placed in front of the window. In the initial attack, all you had truly registered was how much taller and stronger he was in the way he had picked you up and threw you onto the bed without any effort. Now that things had calmed down and you were trying to be smart about the moves you made, you were able to take in the details you hadn't noticed before. Like his short, spiky purple hair and his prominent cheekbones.

The way the light from the nearby lamp hit him somehow made him feel even more intimidating than he already was, the shadows almost creating an ominous aura about him. As if you weren't scared enough of him already.

At least he wasn't touching you anymore. After he'd gagged you, his hands stayed on you while you continued to struggle. And even after your struggles had died down completely, they stayed there, occasionally to gliding up and down your body while he stared at you.

What exactly those dark eyes were seeing when he stared at you in that way that felt so intense, you couldn't begin to imagine.

It was a relatively recent development that he'd had enough of it and moved away from the bed, shifting the blinds of the window slightly to peek out before sitting down across from you, watching you with a pensive look on his face.

Being that you were now in a calmer state, you wished you could ask him why he was doing this. What he wanted and what he planned to do with you.

…. It wasn't completely true that you wanted to know the answer to the last one; you were too scared that he would tell you that he planned on ending your life. Or maybe he was planning on selling you. Both of those things happening was also a possibility.

How much time had passed since you had first entered your room was unclear – you kept your gaze on him, waiting to see if and when he would act.

When that time finally came and he did speak, it surprised you.

“This must be terrible for you.”

You blinked when you heard his voice for the first time, but continued to keep quiet, waiting for him to continue.

“I kept thinking of what I should say,” he told you, “what I could say to make this easier on you, so you could understand what's going on. And while I don't think that I'm terrible when it comes to words, I've never found myself more stumped than I am right now.”

He sighed as he added “if only you could see it, or if I didn't have to get back so quick, it wouldn't be this way. I wouldn't have needed to do this to you.”

'Do this'?

Tears began to fill your eyes again, and despite how you had told yourself to keep quiet, you tried to speak. Desperation drove you to beg for your life, something that could've been a horrible decision if he was easily angered, but his eyebrows raised slightly while he hummed.

“You want to say something?” he asked.

You nodded eagerly.

He considered you a moment before he got to his feet, returning to sit on the edge of the bed and placing one hand firmly on your shoulder.

“I'll take this out,” he began, motioning to the washcloth before adding “but make sure you don't scream. It'll only end badly for you.”

You nodded again, this time in a much more steady manner as you were desperate to show that you were calm and wanted to cooperate.

The man was satisfied with that, and he pulled the washcloth out of your mouth, freeing your tongue from the taste and texture of the heavy fabric that had grown wet from your saliva. You couldn't help but cough for a moment, relieved to get that out of your mouth. All the while he kept that hand on your shoulder while also being prepared to gag you again if you got too loud.

But you followed his instruction, and he seemed to relax some when moments passed and you didn't start screaming.

Then you spoke to him.

“Sir,” you began, “please don't kill me.”

At that, he smiled.

“Ah, that was what you were worried about, was it?”

He squeezed your shoulder reassuringly as he said “don't worry. You aren't going to die.”

“R-really?”

“Really.”

He pulled you up into a sitting position and moved your legs so they were placed over his lap. With how your wrists and ankles were still bound, it felt awkward, but you didn't dare make any move to try and free yourself. Not right now.

“It would be terrible for me if you died,” he said, “so believe me when I say that's the last thing I could ever want.”

You didn't understand how exactly that could be bad for him, but you nodded as if you did.

“Um, so,” you began, “can I ask what exactly it is that you do want?”

“For you to come with me.”

“Come with you? Wh-where?”

“An island.”

“… An island?”

He saw the way your eyebrows furrowed and patted you on the cheek as he said “I feel all of this is something that will make more sense if you see it rather than have me explain it to you. So while it might be confusing for now, I promise it will become clear in time.”

“For now,” he continued, “I need your full cooperation.”

“….. So you can take me to an island?”

“Yes.”

You wanted to ask what happened after that, but he spoke again before you were able to.

“You can't use nen, so we'll need to go the long way to get there,” he said, “we'll be leaving tomorrow.”

What the fuck is nen?

That thought flashed through your head before you focused on the second part of his sentence: leaving tomorrow?

“I-I'm supposed to head back home tomorrow,” you told him, “people will notice when I don't come back.”

“Then we'll have to get going early.”

He smiled as he said that, speaking as though this was a last-minute trip that you were a willing participant in and brushing off what you said completely. Like the fact that there were people who would notice once you were gone wasn't a concern to him. He didn't care that he was taking you away from them. He didn't care that you didn't want to go with him.

And there was nothing you could do about that. After all, the first thing this man had done was prove to you that you couldn't fight him off.

As much as you wanted to scream and yell at him to let you go or cry out for help in the hopes your neighbors would hear you and call for help on your behalf, at best all that would do was get that washcloth stuffed inside your mouth again, and that was at best. If you wanted any chance of getting away from this man, you needed to get him to trust you enough so his guard relaxed.

It was the only way.

“With that said, we should get some sleep,” he told you, patting you on the cheek again while he added “we have a long drive ahead of us, and once we start, I want to make as few stops as possible.”

He gently pushed you back onto the mattress before moving your legs off of his lap and standing back up.

You were compelled to speak again when he began to walk away.

“Can I ask one last question?”

He paused, turning to look at you as he said “of course.”

“Who….. Who are you?”

He smiled at you and answered with his name.

“Razor.”

There was little sleep to be had that night. While the bed in the hotel room was incredibly soft and comfortable, it was hard to sleep when you had a kidnapper nearly twice your size laying next to you. The feeling was made worse during the times of the night when he put a hand on you again, running up and down your side with experimental touches. He knew you were awake during those times as well, as more often than not you weren't able to keep in the scared noises that came from your mouth whenever his hand brushed near your neck or went lower than your stomach, still fearful of his intentions. He didn't reprimand you, likely because you were doing your best to be quiet. But he didn't stop either, not seeming to care at all how much this was distressing you. To top it off, your arms remained bound, forcing you to try and rest in an uncomfortable position that guaranteed you would lose sleep no matter how soft the mattress was.

Dawn had barely cracked when Razor got up, shaking you awake when it felt like you had just barely gotten to sleep. Your tiredness was definitely showing even with how hard you tried to be alert, because he chuckled at you.

“Don't worry,” he told you, “you can sleep in the car if you need to.”

However, the moment you were placed in the passenger's seat, you were wide awake again. And as Razor drove you away from your hotel and down the highway in the opposite direction of the airport, despair settled in the pit of your stomach. You were being kidnapped, and you were doing nothing to stop it because there simply wasn't anything you could do.

So you sat there silently with your hands bound again as he took you, and the only saving grace of the situation was the fact that he'd tied them in front so you were a bit more comfortable this time.

Razor stayed silent as well while he kept his focus on the road.

An entire day passed with barely anything being said. You didn't say anything unless he spoke up first, and when you did speak, it was just to let out a “yes” or an “okay” to whatever he told you to do. Like when he tossed you a protein bar and told you to eat, or when he told you to keep your hands on your lap so no one passing by might catch sight of your bound wrists.

Cooperate fully. Make him think you were too scared to go against him. Wait for him to let his guard down.

The worst moment was when he stopped the car to fill up the gas tank, and he allowed your wrists to be free once more as he let you out to use the nearby restroom. Before letting you go, he whispered a warning as he told you not to get any stupid ideas. You didn't need any clarification: there was only one person at the station that you could see, standing away from the pumps so they could smoke their cigarette in peace. With only them seeming to be present, trying to get help here was a stupid idea, and one you would only do if you had no care for the innocent bystander who would undoubtedly suffer because of it.

It was when you were leaving the bathroom and heading back to the car that you felt heavy. Razor's eyes were fixed on you when you stepped out, and the sight had you frozen for a moment.

You didn't want to go to him. Every instinct in you was telling you to run, run as fast as you can and don't look back until you find somewhere safe.

But he was expecting that.

Despite the laid back body language he displayed, a gut feeling told you that he'd be on you the instant you tried getting away from him. That same gut feeling told you that it was better not to anger him. Even if he said that he didn't want you dead, how the hell could you trust a man who had kidnapped you?

You walked back to the car, albeit slowly. If your pace was enough to annoy him, he chose not to comment on it, though the instant you were both back in the car he restrained your wrists again.

Razor drove well into the night, not stopping to rest even when you felt it was too hard to keep your eyes open. You fell asleep like that, and when you woke up early the next morning with an ache in your neck, he was still driving, and you wondered if he had slept at all that night.

After another breakfast of an energy bar and bottled water, you got up the courage to ask him a question.

“How far will we be driving?” you asked.

“Until we reach the coast.”

“Ah.”

That would take a while, then. You weren't that close to any oceans. So it would be a long time spent being around him in the small space of the car.

At least he couldn't do anything to you while he was focused on the road, right?

Turning your attention to the window, you saw that the highway you were on was now slowly filling up with traffic. It was still early morning, thus the morning traffic was merging on the road. Much to Razor's displeasure, as you heard him make an annoyed grunt when he was forced to slow down the speed of the car.

It was disheartening to know that the trip would last that much longer.

You expected that today would be a repeat of the previous: he would say very little aside from ordering you now and then, and you would keep quiet and do as he said. The less you needed to speak with this man, the better.

But then he spoke up.

“You seem tired; are you sure you don't want to sleep more?” he asked.

It took you a few moments to reply, and during that time he glanced over to you. That was what spurred you to respond.

“I don't think I can,” you answered.

“If the front seat is too uncomfortable for you, I can pull over and you can move to the back.”

“I'm okay.”

“… I see.”

You kept your eyes averted from him, not sure what all of this was about but not wanting to poke the bear to find out. Why was he pretending to look out for your well-being? God, all you wanted was to be away from him.

But now with the traffic forcing him to drive far beneath the speed limit and the already long road you had ahead of you, getting away from him wouldn't come any time soon. And now it seemed that your previous question had encouraged him to talk to you, as Razor broke the silence once again.

“You're free to talk, if you'd like.”

“…. I'm okay.”

You didn't say anything after that, and once a few moments had passed, you sensed his gaze on you again when he looked over to you.

“You're getting bored of doing nothing but sitting, aren't you? Why don't you tell me about yourself?” he asked.

The fuck did that mean?

You shook your head, and you felt his confusion grow as he continued to watch you.

“You seemed more eager to speak the other night,” he commented.

Probably because I was panicked from getting jumped in my hotel room, you thought to yourself. Now you didn't want to say anything, or even know anything about what would happen to you. The previous day you had spent in silent dread only built up your paranoia and your fear and you didn't want to hear some story from him that was undoubtedly untrue all to keep you calm for the journey.

You didn't need to know the details of what would happen, the scenarios in your mind that slowly began running wild being all that you needed to guess as to what your fate would be at the end of all this. You were definitely going to die; the fact that he didn't care about you seeing his face seemed like proof of that.

So why give him the satisfaction of feeding you false hope that things wouldn't be as bad as you thought they would be?

Although…..

You had to admit that the island story felt like a weird lie to feed you. Surely he could've come up with something better, some reason that wasn't quite so mysterious. Then again, you couldn't think of any good lie to feed to someone who was being kidnapped.

But again, why in the world would he say that?

The traffic around you was starting to get better when you voiced that thought.

“Why do I need to go to the island?” you asked.

“Because I need you,” he answered.

“For what?”

He didn't answer, and you glanced back over to find that Razor's smile had fallen as he kept his gaze on the road. It didn't seem like he intended on answering you. If that was the case, then you should leave it be. No sense in angering him unnecessarily. He was the one in control, not you.

But he eventually surprised you when he chose to speak again.

“Unfortunately,” he began, “that's one thing I can only explain once we get there.”

“Oh.”

That again.

“Is there a reason why you can't explain now?” you asked.

“Because it may be a bit too difficult to believe simply hearing it.”

“So leaving me without answers for however long you lug me around is the better option?”

Your regretted saying that as soon as the words left your lips. It had been too forceful, too angry and not in line at all with the role of captive you were meant to play. Him not doing much to you had you growing too comfortable, too bold, and Razor obviously noticed it too as he looked over to you with one of his eyebrows raised.

One look from him was all it took for every fear to return, and you went back to cowering in your seat, mumbling a soft “sorry.”

He hummed but said nothing further.

An uncomfortable silence was now in the air, interrupted only by the way Razor tapped his finger against the steering wheel.

You noticed something then: a piece of teal colored string that was wrapped around his pinky. One with some sort of design printed all over it, though it was too small and too far away from you to make out any details.

Your eyebrows furrowed. With the way he'd been touching you that first night, shouldn't you have noticed that before? Then again, how could anyone be paying attention to such fine details after what you'd been going through in that moment?

Ultimately, you took your attention off of that; whatever that was, it couldn't have mattered.

“Have you ever seen my face before today?” he asked.

It was late in the afternoon when he asked that, the third day since he had kidnapped you playing out without much talk aside from the orders he would give you whenever he stopped to refill the car's tank. Despite the talk you had the previous day, he didn't push further to make you speak to him. Maybe the last conversation felt just as strange for him as it had for you.

Evidently he was moving past that now as this new question hung in the air.

Your eyebrows furrowed, but instead of asking him why he was asking, you looked at him and tried to recall if there was any spot in your memory where you had seen his face before all of this. There was a reason he had asked, right? He wouldn't just ask such a thing randomly, right?

Maybe he'd been stalking you for a long time.

As hard as you tried, however, you came up blank in terms of any previous memories that involved your kidnapper, and after a few moments you slowly shook your head “no” in response.

For some reason, Razor actually seemed relieved at that, smiling as he said “that's good.”

“…. Why is that good?” you asked against your better judgment.

With that smile still on his face, Razor shook his head as he replied “I'd rather not go into it. I don't want your opinion of me to go any lower.”

…. What?

“Why would my opinion of you matter?” you asked.

Now Razor seemed confused, glancing over to you while asking “why wouldn't it matter?”

Why wouldn't it matter?

Was he fucking serious?

“Because I've been kidnapped?” you responded, “because I have no say in any of this? Because you were waiting in my hotel room for me, and then you tied me up on the bed? Because it's pretty amazing that I haven't died yet, and there's still a good chance that everything you've been saying to me is a lie so you can keep me calm before you gut me like a pig and dump me in a ditch somewhere.”

He wasn't smiling anymore, his expression now turned serious. You should've been worried about how it didn't seem like he was paying attention to the road.

You should also stop talking. The way you were going right now, you were liable to say something bad that would upset him.

But did it matter if you upset him if you really believed he was going to kill you?

“After you did all of that, why the fuck does my opinion of you matter?” you asked, “why do you care about how your kidnapping victim feels? If you weren't such an awful person, you wouldn't have kidnapped me in the first place. How the fuck can you sit there and be worried about if I like you or not?”

Razor pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Fuck

You averted your eyes as you started to shake.

He'll do it here. Shoot or strangle you and then dump you in the back. Take whatever it was he wanted from you and then throw you away like garbage. That would be the way your life would end, and you were powerless to stop it.

There was no chance of survival, and there was nothing you could do but prepare yourself for the inevitable.

He's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me he's gonna kill me

Razor placed his hand on top of yours.

Your heart leapt into your throat and you jerked your body away. The furthest you could go was the door, slamming your hands on the window as you ended up against it, pressing yourself against it as far as you could while tears began to fall. This was it. You shut your eyes, waiting for something bad to happen. Either metal being placed against your flesh or his hands wrapping around your neck. Maybe even a plastic bag placed over your head.

Why did he need to pick you?

Why couldn't he have left you alone?

You flinched again when you felt his hand on your shoulder. As this time there was nowhere else for you to go, his hand stayed.

Nothing more than that.

It took you a while to realize that he wasn't doing anything else. With however many minutes had passed with you hyperventilating and crying, he hadn't moved forward with any action other than the hand that he had placed on your shoulder.

After realizing that you were still alive when everything was telling you that you should be dead by now, you came to another realization: the way his hand was placed on your shoulder was almost as if he had done it as a way to comfort you.

His hand was warm where he touched you. Were it not for the horrible situation, it just might have made you feel a bit better.

By that point your cries had quieted down, and he took that as an opportunity to softly speak your name.

You glanced over at him through blurry vision.

He was frowning and his eyebrows were furrowed, but he didn't seem angry.

Razor actually looked sad.

“Are you really that scared of me?” he asked.

Tears continued to roll down your cheeks as you nodded, and that only seemed to discourage him even more.

“Even after I told you that I'm not going to hurt you?”

“How can you expect me to trust anything you say?” was your response.

Razor stared at you, his hand still on you. His lips began to part as if to speak, but then he turned his head away from you, looking out through the windshield and at the highway before him.

“Can't argue with that,” you heard him mumble.

Then he removed his hand and returned his attention to driving the car, pulling back out onto the road and continuing on.

Neither of you said anything for the rest of the drive.

It was late when Razor decided to stop for a bit, pulling off of the highway and renting a room from a small and rather seedy-looking motel. He'd left you in the car while he went to get a room, and while he still warned you not to try anything, his tone wasn't quite as harsh as it had been those times earlier. It was as though he was trying to be more gentle with you.

You didn't respond except to nod silently.

Now it felt like you were repeating the situation from that first night: the both of you on the bed with you feeling incredibly unsafe while trying and failing to get any sleep. The biggest difference this time was that the mattress of the motel was uncomfortable as shit, and you shifted every few minutes as you tried to find a spot that felt nicer.

At least you weren't sleeping in the car again, you told yourself.

He was still awake. Although you tried not to pay attention to him, it was hard to keep your eyes averted whenever you turned to face his direction. More than once the two of you made eye contact, and immediately after you would turn away. You would have stayed facing away from him if only the goddamn mattress wasn't so awful. And shouldn't he be asleep by now?

The fact that Razor was still awake and alert after three days of what appeared to be constant driving wasn't normal; who the hell could go that long without rest? How had the two of you not yet died in a car crash?

Maybe kidnappers were built different, you dryly thought to yourself.

“…. Do you want to watch anything?”

Razor's voice interrupted that thought train, and you noted that his tone was soft again when he asked, but you shook your head as you stared straight ahead at the wall next to you.

He hummed, and it sounded like he was disappointed.

But for some reason that wasn't the end of it.

“What can I do to make you trust me?”

….. He had some nerve to ask that, after everything. Was he aware of that? Probably. Despite that odd thing regarding your opinion of him, he was pretty self-aware on how wrong all of this was. You'd be justified in ignoring him, though. Razor would probably recognize and understand that, as well.

…..

Even if you were justified, what good would that do you?

After a moment, you remained where you were but pulled your arms upward, holding your bound wrists in the air for him to see.

A few seconds passed and nothing happened.

You figured that his lack of action meant “no”, and with a sigh, you began to pull them back down.

Razor grabbed them.

For a second, all you felt was panic at his sudden touch. You were reminded of that first night and how powerless you were.

It only lasted a moment, however, as Razor grabbed at the zip-tie and, with a slight tug, snapped the plastic off of you. Within a moment, your wrists were free.

… Were they supposed to break that easily?

“Is that better?” Razor asked.

“…. Yeah.”

He pulled away, his eyes remaining on you after. And now that he had done as you wanted, there was a certain level of expectation in the air, such as you would look at him and have a conversation. A proper one.

Continuing to ignore him now seemed like it would be a bad idea.

So you sat up, turning around on the bed so you were facing him. He seemed pleased by that, so that wasn't bad.

But fuck he was intimidating.

Surely after the past few days your fear of just looking at and speaking to him should have gone down somewhat, but no. Looking at him head on while he had his full attention on you had your palms beginning to sweat.

You grabbed the pillow you'd been resting on and wrapped your arms around it as you held it close. Maybe that was pathetic but it made you feel better.

“Ready to talk?” Razor asked.

“Depends on what you have to say,” you answered, “if you're going to tell me that you'll be knocking out my teeth before you feed me to pigs then I'd rather you not say anything.”

He let out an exasperated sigh.

“I told you that you're not going to die.”

The firmness was back in his tone, and you sensed that he was getting to the point of being aggravated.

You looked away as you held the pillow tighter.

“Okay,” you breathed out, “I'll believe you. But then….”

You inhaled before you spoke.

“I want to know why you're taking me. And I don't want an excuse about needing to wait until we get to wherever. I want answers now.”

“I've been pretty cooperative, so I at least deserve that much,” you added.

You glanced over and then away again, still nervous about his potential reaction. While he didn't seem to have anger issues, he more than likely had limits when he was pushed too far. If he wasn't going to kill you, he could keep you alive to experience worse.

A second quick glance revealed that he was staring at that string around his finger.

Then he made eye contact again as he asked “do you think you could listen to what I have to say with an open mind?”

“Uh, sure?”

Razor didn't seem as pleased about the uncertainty that made it's way into your voice, but after a moment's hesitation, he seemed to resolve himself as he spoke again.

“Do you believe in soulmates?”

You blinked.

“….. What do you mean?” you asked.

“That there are people in this world who are connected and are meant to be together?” he explained.

“Connected how?”

“By a force that's invisible to most,” said Razor, “like a red thread that you can only see if you have the ability to look.”

What

You blinked again, not sure of what to say.

“I… I guess I've never thought about it,” you began, “if I'm being honest, I'm really not sure.”

“I see.”

Again, there was disappointment in his tone.

Despite being worried to question him, you hesitantly asked “is…. Is there a reason why you asked?”

You had a bad idea as to why he'd mention such a thing. But you held onto hope that this tangent about soulmates was just his way of trying to make a joke so you felt better. Or maybe he was bringing up something this random just to fuck with you. Even that wouldn't be too bad.

He answered your question with a question of his own.

“What would you do if I said we were soulmates?” he asked.

“….”

…. Oh god.

This entire time you'd been convinced that Razor was going to kill you, no matter how much he said otherwise. And if not that, maybe that he would sell you off to someone. Now you were learning that all of this was happening because he was crazy. He'd seen you and was pushing some sort of fantasy onto you while justifying it with the notion of 'soulmates'. That had been all he needed to feel no guilt over tying you up and kidnapping you – because in his mind, what he was doing was right.

Of all the combinations he needed to be, why did he need to be both mentally unstable and unreasonably strong?

That was the other important thing: regardless of his sanity, he still posed an incredibly dangerous threat physically. As he continued to watch you while he waited for you to say something, you were aware that it would be a bad idea to flat-out say 'no'. Better to play along at least somewhat.

“…. I don't know,” you eventually told him.

Razor let out a soft sigh as he said “you think I'm insane, don't you?”

“N-no. Nothing like that,” you replied.

He hummed, and the way he hummed sounded as though he didn't believe you. Then he reached over and began to caress your cheek, making you cringe internally. While you wished you could get his hand off of you, you told yourself to deal with it for now.

“I wish I could show you proof – I really do,” Razor said, “but I'll get into some serious trouble if I use nen while I'm out here.”

That word…. He'd mentioned it before, though you still had no idea what it meant.

“So it needs to wait for the island?” you asked.

“Exactly.”

“…. Okay.”

Better to not make a fuss, you told yourself. Act like you're potentially open to the delusions he's spewing out. Delusional people prefer it when others agree with them, right?

Still, to find out that he had taken you because of such a reason….

The worst case scenario now was that you wouldn't get away and you'd be stuck playing out Razor's romance fantasy with him. At least you wouldn't be dead, right?

…..

It might be a good idea to get off of the soulmate subject, at least for now. And since he was mostly willing to be open and honest with you, now might not be a bad time to question something else he had said.

“Can I ask something else?”

The fact that you were changing subjects was obvious, but he seemed to accept it as he pulled his hand away as he answered “go ahead.”

“Why did you ask if I had seen you before?”

For some reason, that question was the one that had him frowning, and he tore his gaze away from you as he sighed.

“I don't know that you want to hear that answer,” he told you.

“Why?”

“It's not pleasant.”

“So?”

“… I'd rather we wait a while before we get to that discussion,” Razor said.

“I don't want to do that,” you replied.

He grimaced at your response, but oddly enough he didn't seem to be getting upset as he had been when you made that comment about him killing you. Maybe that was why you were spurred to push for him to speak.

“You said you want me to trust you, right? Why not answer?”

“Because you won't be happy with what I tell you.”

“Can it really be worse than what you've done to me so far?” you asked.

“If you can imagine the sort of crimes that get someone sent to death row, then yes.”

“…. Oh.”

Razor turned his head towards you, and you got a certain sense of “I told you so” when he looked over.

What he did couldn't have been any small crime – given how easy it had been to imagine him killing you, murder was the first thing you thought of. But even then, convicted killers didn't always get sentenced to death. There was that guy from Zaban who had literally torn his victims to pieces and while he had gotten over 900 years in prison, the fact that he hadn't been put to death was mind boggling to many.

So just what had Razor done to get himself on death row?

And why was literally everything about this only managing to become worse and worse?

“Why were you sent to death row?” you whispered after a few moments.

It wasn't much of a surprise when he took a bit to answer, frowning again as he stared off at the space in front of him. He didn't want you to know anything about this for some reason.

But eventually, he answered.

“I killed some people,” he said.

“How many?”

“You don't need to know.”

“Why did you kill them?”

“Because I could.”

“That's it?”

“That's it.”

That's horrible, you wanted to say. But you refrained. Not only because it would be pointing out the obvious, but it probably wouldn't do any good saying that to a man who admitted to something as awful as murder.

Because I could

The words echoed in your head, and you couldn't help but note how there had been a distinct lack of remorse in his tone. Almost as if he didn't care about the lives he had snuffed out for no reason.

A weight settled in your chest at that thought. Why it did remained unclear, but you found yourself wanting to make this better somehow.

“Do you feel bad about it?” you asked.

“What?”

His confusion was evident.

“Do you feel bad for killing those people?” you clarified, “if you could do it all over again, would you leave them alone?”

Why you now wanted so badly for him to agree with what you said was also unclear. Razor was a kidnapper and an admitted murderer – one who was bad enough that he earned himself a spot on death row. Why did it matter to you whether he was sorry for what he'd done?

But regardless, it seemed that was what your heart wanted.

Razor hadn't answered you, and in fact, he was looking at you as though you had grown three heads.

… That wasn't a good sign.

After a few moments where it seemed he was trying to pick his words carefully, he spoke up.

“I don't see much value in thinking about things I could've done differently in the past,” Razor answered.

Then he reached over to you.

While this time you didn't flinch or jerk away, you stiffened immediately, the pillow you held becoming squished between against you as you anticipated him putting his hands on you again.

Surprisingly, Razor paused when he saw your reaction, seeming thoughtful as he watched the way you sat, virtually petrified on the bed with a terrified look on your face.

Could he really blame you? He just told you a lot that warranted being worried about him. Even moreso than before.

Evidently he didn't, as he pulled his hand back and smiling at you again as he said “the important thing is what's happening now, and what our lives will be like from this point onward.”

“So let's not focus anymore on that,” he added.

Stop talking about it, was what he meant.

“Okay,” you whispered, nodding in agreement.

Razor seemed pleased with that.

Not long after he told you to rest up, and within a few minutes the lights were off. Once more you needed to try and get some sleep while you lay next to your kidnapper, and the only saving grace was the fact that he was keeping his hands off of you this time. But while you tried to get some meager amount of sleep, you weren't able to focus much on his semblance of respecting your personal space. Instead, there was only one thought going through your head in that moment:

He wasn't sorry

Your wrists weren't tied up when you left the motel the next morning.

That was nice.

And while Razor wouldn't let you out of the car, he did stop at a restaurant to get you a to-go order of pancakes when you asked him to. Eating them in the moving car was awkward but you appreciated that he humored your request.

That was also nice, even if it had the potential of being your last meal before Razor took you to that island.

The knowledge soured the meal somewhat, but as much as you hated to admit it, you weren't so sure now that you would be escaping him. Razor hadn't given you any opportunity to take advantage of, and even with him giving you a bit more freedom of movement, he made a point to lock you inside the car during the time he was gone.

That made sense. After everything, you couldn't see him being foolish enough to leave you alone without having taken some step to secure you beforehand. It was actually pretty surprising that he was giving you the freedom he was after what he'd told you in that motel room.

Though maybe it wasn't too surprising when you considered the fact that he wanted you to like him. While the soulmate thing was complete bullshit, that was what Razor believed. So it made sense that he would want you to feel good about him since he planned on keeping you with him from now on.

That last part had never been said, but you got the sense that would be what happened if Razor got his way.

The rest of your life being spent playing into this man's delusions….

You would have shuddered at the thought if not for your fear that Razor would notice it.

“We'll be driving through the rest of the night,” he told you some time later, “and by tomorrow morning we'll have made it to our boat. From there it won't be too long of a journey to the island.”

You nodded along, though hearing what he said caused a pit to form in your stomach.

Once you were on that boat, the chances of escape were next to zero. It would be better to throw away any thoughts of escape if you were to reach that point.

To try and get away while on the water would be suicide.

He asked you questions every now and then, and though it wasn't as strong as it had been the previous night, you felt that pressure like you needed to answer him in exchange for the kindnesses he had shown you.

So you did what he wanted, and every time you glanced to him after, you saw a pleased look on his face.

You should've felt bad for him. Razor was the one who clearly had a lot of issues – things that, if he was a bit more mentally well, he probably wouldn't have done. Maybe. But then again, you were the one being dragged along with him against your will, so your sympathy could only go so far.

The sun was setting when Razor pulled over to another gas station to refill the tank. This was probably the last stop like this that you'd be making, if what Razor said earlier was correct.

The hand drier in the bathroom was still roaring when you left, only to be muted once the door shut behind you. As you had done a lot over the past few days, you immediately headed back towards the car as you knew your kidnapper wanted you to.

Only this time he wasn't watching you like a hawk.

Razor was by the car as the tank continued to fill, leaning against it as he stared out into the distance. Your gaze followed his, and you found that he seemed to be staring at a factory that sat in the distance, if the long, rectangular building accompanied by several smokestacks were any indication. Or perhaps he was looking beyond that, at the city that which was several miles away but still visible from where you stood. Or maybe it was just the sunset. It was at the time of day where the sky was at its prettiest.

Instead of entering the car once you returned, you went to his side and stood next to him, copying the way he leaned on it. He glanced at you, but said nothing about what you were doing. He only returned his gaze to the sight in front of him.

And then an odd expression morphed onto his face.

One that was almost wistful.

“Are you okay?” you asked cautiously.

Razor seemed surprised, looking back at you as he asked “why?”

“You look a little sad, I guess.”

“Do I?”

He looked back in the direction of the factory and the city that sat far off in the distance, and that wistful expression returned. As much as you wanted to ask him what he was thinking about, that question felt like it might be too intrusive and could potentially cause a bad reaction from him, particularly if it involved his past. He really didn't want you to know much in regard to that.

He let out a sigh.

“I guess I am, a little bit,” Razor said, “this is the last time I get to be out and about in the world like this. Once we get back to the island, I know I'll never leave again.”

“Never?” you repeated.

“Never,” he said, “the purpose of leaving the island every so often was to find you, and now that I have, there's no reason for me to come out here like this.”

He leaned his head back, now looking at the darkening sky above him as he added “I knew it was coming, but I didn't think it would bother me, knowing that this is the last time I can walk around like I'm free.”

“… Are you not?”

“Not really.”

“Why?”

“Death row convict.”

“Ah. Right.”

You went over the new information in your head.

“So you can't leave the island once you go back?” you asked, “is it a prison?”

He let out a short laugh.

“It's a prison for some of us, but even then it's nicer than any traditional prison you'll find,” he said.

“Us? There are others like you?”

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but don't worry, you won't need to interact with them.”

You nodded, though your eyebrows furrowed as you thought on it a bit more.

“Will I be able to leave at all?” you asked.

“No.”

You sighed.

“Figures.”

Kicking at a bit of rubble by your foot, you said “so, the plan from here is to go to an island where we'll never leave, and then just….. Hang out there forever?”

“There's a bit more to it than that.”

“Hm.”

When Razor reached for you that time, you didn't flinch or shy away. And when his hand settled on your shoulder, you didn't give much reaction other than to look at him.

“It won't be that bad. The places you'll be able to go to are the nice ones,” he said.

“…. It's still really depressing that I can't ever leave once I get there.”

Razor smiled at you, and this time the sadness he felt was even more obvious.

“I know.”

Then he stood up straight, announcing “we should get going.”

You nodded, and you wordlessly walked around the car to get to the front passenger's seat.

When you were both in the car and after you'd buckled up, something else strange happened.

Razor reached out and pulled you towards him, your head resting on his chest while he kept you in something that resembled a hug.

“I do regret that you've gotten dragged into this,” he whispered against your hair, “I really mean that. While I can't do anything to stop it, I'll do my best to make it easier for you. I promise.”

In that moment, you had no insights as to what Razor was truly thinking or feeling, no clue that everything he'd just said was a genuine promise from him that he intended to keep. So you had no idea how his heart skipped a beat when he felt your hands reach up and hold onto his jacket. You had no idea of the relief that filled him when you moved in closer and reciprocated his hug.

“I trust you, Razor.”

As those words were whispered from your lips, you had no idea that, in that moment, Razor truly believed that he had your acceptance.

There was no one else on the docks when you got there in the morning, arriving early enough that the morning mist was still present as Razor navigated the car through various warehouses and massive walls of shipping containers. Was it unusual for such a place to be completely empty at this time of day? You weren't sure; you didn't know enough about this kind of place to be able to tell what was normal or not.

All the sight did was guarantee that no one other than Razor would witness the last moments you had on the mainland.

Eventually the car came to a stop not far from the edge. Just as he had said, there was a boat sitting in the water. It wasn't anything new as it looked quite battered, but presumably it would make the journey that Razor wanted it to.

Though it would be morbidly funny if, after all of his efforts, it were to sink in the middle of the trip.

“Let's go,” Razor told you.

He stepped out of the car, and after a few moments, you copied the action.

The smell of the ocean air hit you after you got out. You stood there, your hand gripping at the top of the door to keep yourself steady as you looked out at the water before you, and then the boat.

One last leg of the journey, and then you'd be stuck with Razor for good.

…..

No one would ever find you, probably. Your disappearance had more than likely been reported by now, but all efforts to find you would be focused on that hotel you'd been staying at and the surrounding area; who would ever think to look for you on the water? Even if someone remembered seeing your face and informed the authorities, how would they reach anything other than a dead end once they got to the shoreline? You didn't have the time to leave some sign of you behind, nor could you with Razor undoubtedly watching you as close as he had been. You couldn't do anything.

Once you stepped on that boat, you weren't getting away from him. To try and do so would be suicide, you reminded yourself.

Your grip on the door became harder and breathing became more difficult the longer you stared at the boat.

I don't want to go I don't want to go I don't want to go

And again you asked why he needed to pick you.

Razor's voice saying your name forced you away from your thoughts, and you turned your head to see that he had your luggage slung over his shoulder and a concerned look on his face as he watched you. Your internal freak out wasn't as internal as you thought it was, then.

Swallowing a few times, you eventually asked “can I just….. Can I have a minute?”

“…. Alright.”

Then, to your utter surprise, Razor turned and began walking towards the boat.

Leaving you behind.

……

Was this some kind of test? Or maybe…. Did he think that since you were now at this point, he could relax a bit in watching you? Was he that confident you weren't going anywhere?

Razor continued making his way to the boat without a single glance back at you.

Your heart began to beat hard against your chest as you realized: you could run.

If you waited until he reached the boat and then made a break for it, you might just have a decent head start. If not to escape the area completely, then to find someplace to hide. Maybe find a phone and call for help. If it was a landline phone, they should be able to figure out your location without you needing to try and figure out where you were exactly.

If he caught you, it'd be bad for you, sure. But….

As he went further and further away, you were acutely aware that this was the first chance you had gotten to make an escape. The only chance you had. Were you really going to waste it by being too afraid of him?

….. No.

For once, you were going to take control of the situation.

And you were leaving.

You kept watch as Razor stepped off the dock and onto the boat, your things still in hand as he made his way to the cabin. Your hand was still gripping the door, your knuckles becoming pale from how hard you held onto it.

When he went inside. That was when you would run.

Once he stepped through the low doorway of the cabin, you did just that.

You pushed off from the door and you ran.

All you heard was your shoes on the dock and your own heartbeat in your ears as you propelled yourself forward. That felt a bit odd; you would have expected to hear him call out in anger on seeing you running. But at you reached the end and turned a corner past a line of containers, you didn't hear anything from him. There was no indication he even noticed that you had fled.

That was even better. While he would notice soon enough, every second you got with him being unaware would help in aiding your escape. You could do this. With every step forward you took with no sign of Razor coming after you, your confidence grew.

And then, after exiting the row of containers and reaching a warehouse, you saw a godsend:

A man.

He stood at the end of the structure, standing with his hands in his pockets and his eyes on you once you rounded the corner. With black hair sticking out of a odd blue cap and the rest of his blue and white clothing looking slightly worn, he looked raised an eyebrow as he took in your disheveled state.

You, on the other hand, felt relief upon seeing him. This was someone who could help. If you could explain what was happening, he could get you away and call the police. Then all of your problems would be over.

You could go home.

So you ran towards him, calling out “sir! Please, help me!”

He said nothing, but when you stumbled as you reached him, he took his hands out of his pockets so as to steady you, keeping his hands on your arms while you grabbed at the long blue scarf that hung from his neck.

“Please,” you said again, gulping as you did your best to maintain your composure, “I've been kidnapped. We need to get out of here and call the police.”

“Kidnapped? Who would kidnap you?” the man asked.

“He-he said that he's a death row convict,” you began, “he was waiting for me in my hotel room, and he tied me up and took me with him. Now he's trying to take me to some island and he says I can't ever come back.”

When the man didn't immediately respond, you got a bit more frantic as you cried “I swear, I'm not making this up! I've really been kidnapped, and I need the police before he tries to get me again! All of this is true!”

The logical part of your brain knew that getting hysterical wouldn't help you. But you weren't able to be completely logical in that moment. Now that you were so close to escape, you couldn't control yourself. You needed him to listen to what you were saying.

Finally, the man nodded.

“I believe you,” he said.

Relief rushed through you as you smiled, and you held onto his scarf tighter, unwilling to let go of this lifeline.

You spoke to the man again, asking if he had a phone, or better yet, if he had a car, and if he knew how far away the nearest police station was. He didn't really answer, though perhaps he couldn't with the way you were rambling in that moment. But you noticed when he looked past you and down the path that you'd just come from.

Your eyes followed his gaze and just like that your words died in your throat as your grip on the man's scarf became tighter, this time from fear.

Razor was there. Staring at you.

And for the first time, you saw true anger in him. Those dark eyes glared at you across the distance as he saw you in this unknown man's arms.

He's going to kill me

You looked back to the man, ready to beg for him to help again, for him to get you out of here before Razor murdered both you.

The man spoke before you could.

“Is this them, Razor?” he asked.

…. Huh?

He knew Razor's name?

How? You hadn't told this man what your kidnapper's name was. You were certain that you hadn't.

“Yeah,” your kidnapper answered.

Razor was talking to him? Not flying into a murderous rage and killing you both? The nonchalance of his reply was also a shock.

“Huh. I'm a little surprised,” the man said as he looked back to you.

“Surprised at what?” Razor asked. He started to walk forward at a moderate pace, taking his time while he kept his eyes fixed on you.

“That they got away from you,” the man answered.

You tried pulling away from him then. But the grip he had on your arms was ironclad, and no amount of wriggling would free you.

This man was far, far stronger than he looked.

“That was an error in judgment on my part,” Razor answered, coming to a stop as he had now reached the two of you by the warehouse.

“I'm sorry to have made you step in, Ging,” Razor added.

Ging?

The man who held you laughed.

“I don't mind,” Ging answered, “saves you the hassle of catching them again, right?”

“Right…..”

Razor's voice trailed off as he stared at you again, and with him being so much closer this time, you felt your entire body shudder while your heart beat pounded in your chest again, now being caused by pure, unadulterated fear.

He was so, so mad.

Ging then smiled at your kidnapper.

“Well, aside from this little mishap, everything else work out well?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Razor answered. His attention finally went back to Ging, and you felt like you could breathe again.

“Glad to hear it.”

Ging was saying something else to him but you couldn't completely hear it. You still tried to slip your way out of Ging's fingers, but it was no use; he wasn't letting go unless he wanted to. Tears were welling up as you continued the futile effort. And somehow, the fact that he wasn't even acknowledging your attempt to get away only made it worse.

Why? Why did Ging need to be here to catch you? Why did you need to have such awful luck?

What was going to happen to you now?

You didn't want to find out, and so despite knowing that there was no hope of getting away now, you still tried.

If there was such a thing as divine intervention, you wanted it right now.

“Ah, Right. Before you go, I need to see that you haven't used your nen,” said Ging.

Instead of answering, Razor held up his hand, showing the teal bit of string that was still wrapped around his pinky.

“Just needed to check,” Ging told him, “we'd both be in trouble if that was broken.”

“I know.”

“Well, now that we've gotten that out of the way-”

Finally removing his hand from where he'd been gripping you, Ging unexpectedly turned you around and pushed you, causing you to stumble forward.

Right into Razor.

He wrapped his arms around you instantly, and his hold on you was immediate and unforgiving, gripping you to the point that it hurt. Like with Ging, you wanted to struggle. You wanted to try and do everything in your power to break free of him.

But unlike with Ging, there was an air around Razor now that felt dangerous.

No, worse than that.

It truly felt like he was ready to kill someone.

And with that aura that surrounded you to the point that you felt like it might actually smother you to death, you couldn't bring yourself to fight against him. It was all you could do to keep your feet planted firmly on the ground.

Meanwhile, Ging and Razor were continuing their conversation.

“Think your replacement will be happy to see you back?” Ging asked.

“They'll probably just be relieved that they'll be done overseeing my duties,” Razor answered, “it usually takes them a few days after before they're at one hundred percent power again.”

“Well of course. The emission system was designed with specifically you in mind. There's no way anyone can run it as smoothly as you do.”

“Yeah.”

Despite his short answer, there was a hint of pride within Razor's voice, and the heavy air around you lifted somewhat.

Ging then looked back to you, smiling as he said “and now we've got this one, it'll be even better than before.”

And just like that, the air was suffocating again. It was like Razor had briefly forgotten the way he had been upset with you only to be shortly reminded of it.

Did Ging know that would happen?

…. Did he do it on purpose?

“Well, I'll let you get going then,” Ging then said, “I'm sure there's a lot you need to talk to them about.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and you're free to use your hatsu now if you need to.”

Razor nodded as he said “see you, Ging.”

Ging waved in response before he turned away.

Razor did the same, one hand remaining on your arm as he began to drag you behind him.

Except your legs didn't want to work, still feeling weak and like they would bend beneath you at any moment. You stumbled along for only a few steps before he bent down to pick you up and throw you over his shoulder.

He handled you roughly as he did so, the breath in your lungs pushing out with a sharp gasp before he continued along. Again he was holding you tightly after, as if with the intent to bruise, like he wanted to leave marks on your skin beneath your clothing. You frequently felt the way his fingers twitched, like he was fighting the urge to do something violent. You were crying now, but your throat was too clogged up to make any noise.

The position you were now in allowed you to watch Ging as he walked away from the two of you. His hands were in his pockets again and he walked at a relaxed pace.

If you weren't so terrified of Razor you might have screamed at the man who gave you back to your kidnapper. Maybe wish torture and death upon him.

But you didn't dare let any noise escape you now.

Why did this need to happen to you?

That thought repeated itself through the entire walk back to the boat while you quietly cried atop Razor's shoulder. Like that very first night, he had yet to say anything. And once you reached the small flight of stairs that led down inside the boat, he moved you off his shoulder.

He pushed you down the stairs just as quickly and you tumbled down into the darkness.

Despite the short fall, it still hurt when you landed, your arms taking the brunt of it. However, you barely let out a pained groan afterwards, instead quietly sitting upright before you curled in on yourself, nursing your bruised arms. It still felt like a bad idea to say anything. Even though Razor hadn't come down, you still felt that air around you. Something bad was going to happen shortly.

The sound of an engine coming to life and reverberating through the small vessel caught your attention, as did the way the boat began to move away from the docks and out onto the water.

Perhaps that meant he wouldn't come down. If he was too busy driving the boat, then you would probably be left here until he reached his destination. That wasn't bad. If he took some time away from you, then maybe he wouldn't be as upset when he saw you again.

Deciding on that being what was most likely to happen, you settled down on the floor, anticipating a long, lonely journey.

Someone's hand grabbed at you in the darkness.

Now you screamed.

On instinct, you tried to pull your arm away. Your attempt was unsuccessful, and the hand hauled you up to your feet.

Another hand grabbed at you, this time clamping down onto your leg. No matter how hard you tried to kick them away, you couldn't escape their grip.

Someone else grabbed your legs, wrapping their arms around one of your knees so you were unable to move. At that same time, someone else grabbed your free hand, and both of your arms were stretched out away from your body, making it even harder to struggle.

You still tried, though. Even when a body came up from behind you and hooked their elbows beneath your armpits, you did everything in your power to wiggle out of those hands that held onto you.

If only that had been enough.

Within moments you were completely immobilized, your body held down by the multitude of hands that had come from the darkness. The only thing you could do was scream, and the ability to do even that was taken away when a large palm slapped over your mouth. Tears continued to stream down your face.

The lights were suddenly turned on, forcing you to close your eyes while you heard Razor descend the small flight of stairs. It took a few moments of blearily opening your eyes before they adjusted to the light, but when they did, you found Razor standing in front of you.

But you weren't able to keep your focus on him for long, not when you saw who was holding you. Several men dressed in white and blue, their blue caps covering their eyes.

….. No, not men.

Things.

They weren't human. They couldn't be. Despite their humanoid shapes, the wide smiles that were filled with the dangerously sharp teeth wasn't something any human you knew of possessed. The pure white skin was also a sign that these weren't human. Not just from the sight alone, but from how that skin felt against your own. It felt artificial, and their touch was completely cold. And while you weren't able to see any of their eyes due to the blue caps adorned with numbers, every single one of them was looking right at you, smiling at you while they held you down.

Your breathing became harsher as you began to truly panic, your sobs muffled by the hand that kept you silent. You were quickly becoming lightheaded.

Somehow, the one that was covering your mouth realized this as they pulled their hand away, and you took in a few desperate gulps of air before you focused on Razor again.

His expression was just as grim as it had been when he was outside.

“Trust is an awful thing to break,” he said.

He stepped forward, and your body tensed as you tried to back away from him. Unsurprisingly, the grip those creatures had on you remained strong.

“It can take a long time to build up even in the best of circumstances, and then it can shatter completely with a single lie,” he continued.

“Or a single act.”

Razor stood before you now, towering over you with a dark look in his eyes.

“I thought we had an understanding,” he said to you, “after what we talked about, after what you said to me yesterday, I really thought that we had gotten somewhere. That even if you didn't entirely understand it, the soulmate connection was enough to keep you from running,” he continued.

“But you were lying through your teeth about everything, weren't you?”

His expression when he said that was too scary and you looked down, focusing instead on the creature that had wrapped it's arms around your knee.

You weren't allowed to look away for long as Razor grabbed you by your face and forced you to look up at him, being forced to maintain the uncomfortable eye contact.

Unable to keep yourself calm, your breathing came in harsh as you stared back at him.

And for some reason that seemed to have an effect, as the look on his face softened ever so slightly.

Razor sighed.

“Maybe…. Maybe this hurts a bit more than I expected because we're soulmates,” he thought aloud, “maybe I thought, even without the nen, that you would understand faster because the connection should have been enough.”

“I-I'm – I'm not-” you began.

He moved his hand up so it covered your mouth, cutting you off from whatever excuse he felt would fall from your mouth. Now that you were again unable to speak, you sniffled against his hand while the tears that ran down your cheek met with his fingers.

The boat was still moving, and had seemingly picked up a bit more speed as it continued forward through the water. It was going further and further away from the land, further and further out to the open ocean. You remembered what you had told yourself before:

You weren't getting away now.

Resigning yourself to your fate, you slumped over in the grip of those monsters, your body going limp. Continuing to resist now was thoroughly meaningless.

And some part of you said that it always had been.

It was still quiet; Razor said nothing more, you only continued to quietly cry and those creatures hadn't uttered a single word the entire time. The only things that kept it from being completely silent were the hum of the engine and the sound of the waves that hit the hull of the boat.

When he pulled his hand off of your mouth, you said nothing, continuing to stare up at him as you bit your lip.

Then Razor smiled.

“Ah well. Us being soulmates doesn't mean that we won't make some mistakes now and then, right?”

Despite the pleasant expression on his face, the mood in the room was anything but. Even when he used his thumb to wipe the tears from your face, the action lacked any sort of kindness. There was still a smothering aura that surrounded both him and you, though now it had significantly lessened.

But that didn't make him feel any less dangerous.

“We have several hours before we get to Greed Island – that's plenty of time for us to become acquainted properly. And I'm sure that by the end of it, we'll have both learned some things about each other.”

The smile on Razor's face had never looked more menacing.

“After all, if there's anyone who can forgive me about what I'm about to do, it'll be my soulmate, right?”

[the-californicationist]

Please! I need the part 2 of “Captain Price opens a package, thinking it’s intel, but it’s a sex pollen.“ I'm on my kneesss pleaseee it was so good! 😭♥️

Anyways, I'm your new follower 😍, and some of the stories you write is just so damn good😍 (Sorry for bad grammar's, English isn't really my first language, uwu)

im sorry but idk what a part two even looks like. i know a lot of people have asked for it but its... just some couch sex?? idk i'll try.

Laswell clicked the door shut behind her, and part of you wished she had locked it. Gaz was sure to tell the rest of the team, but you could do without an audience. What would they even see if they barged in here?

The captain had let his cock loose from the confines of his pants, and they were sliding down his thick, muscular ass with every selfish thrust. He was rubbing himself like a naughty dog against your clothed pussy, begging for entrance with every forward movement. Your shirt was pulled down, revealing your breasts, and now they were covered in pink marks from the roughness of his beard as he moved his mouth across you.

Feeling him take each nipple and suck it so gently into his mouth, pulling it in like delicious nectar through a straw, drinking you although you were dry, tasting you even though you had no flavor. It was too much, but he couldn't stop.

You felt a little wrong to be enjoying your commanding officer so much. His humping was making your body respond even as it waited for your guilty conscience to catch up.

"Cap... oh, my fucking God... No, Captain. We shouldn't..." you tried to protest on his behalf, knowing he was being controlled by the powder.

"Corporal," he spoke with his mouth full of your flesh, "I can stop... now. It'll give you... enough time... to run..."

His bright pink eyes flashed up at you in warning and he used both his arms to pin you on either side of your head, forcing you to look at him, the intensity of which went right to your rapidly-melting core.

Suddenly, in a moment of lucidity, he looked you right in your eyes and finished his sentence,

"But that will not be bloody true for long."

As if warning you, he rubbed his hardness up and over your belly, letting it ruck up your shirt, and you felt its incredible heat. It was like a long, steel brand. His skin was smooth, but it was scalding and swollen with his blood. The huge tip left a wet trail of desire wherever it went.

"It's okay, Captain. You can have me if you --"

There mere suggestion of your consent was all he needed to let the dam burst and the river run free. His need crashed from him with an explosive force. He all but ripped your clothes from you, nearly hurting you in the process, making your ankles ache from the sudden pressure as he shucked your pants and boots away in one go.

Your panties were torn from you, sturdy though they were. The fabric made a whining, popping noise as the elastic split. Air rushed across uncovered skin, and your body doubled down on its plans to produce as much natural lubrication as possible. It seemed to know you'd need it.

He didn't touch you. Not with his hands. There was no preparation of any kind. Price fed himself into you like a hand into a glove, a body part in need of sudden and immediate warmth. He took control of your head again, pinning you in that same furious way, and you had a singular view of his face, twisted in a sort of sublime agony as he sank himself into you for the first time.

The pressure was almost unimaginable. Your body was making a lurid, wet, slicking noise as his cock forced you in half. You tried to allow him in, tried to relax, but there was little you could do. He was immense and heavy. It felt like a fist on a strong arm, like a forge hammer, hot and searing. The only thing more tormenting was his voice purring darkly in your ear.

"Fuck, you're warm..."

He pulled himself out of you inch by inch, leaving a terrible hollow where you were once whole.

"Wet for me. So wet. How?"

Back in. And in. And in. It seemed to go forever in and it made you wonder how deep you were.

"It feels so good to have you 'round me, love..."

When the rosy head of him found the end of your wet hole, it sort of... settled there. Locked in, like a key into a tumbler, and each fold of you a lifted pin, fitting him as if you were crafted for it.

"Thought 'bout how you'd feel. Sometimes... dreamt it."

You felt your body give away your surprise. He was too gone to notice it, but not you. You would have been able to feel the planets shift an inch to the left if they dared. You could feel everything. Each and every pore and hair and breath was awake and alive and living in the rawest possible way. Could he have really been thinking of you like you were thinking of him?

"Bloody fuckin' hell. So tight. Too tight."

He was right. It was too tight. He was squeezing himself in with each of these aching, crazed thrusts, shoving himself inside of you hungrily, all the way up to your pounding heart, it seemed. You felt yourself slipping around him like hot oil, running down his shaft and matting the coarse, dark hair that cradled his root.

"John..."

You used his name in place of his title, and he noticed. Noticed it like a hawk notices a hare. Right in your ear, up against your cheek, he responded, too quickly, too much teeth,

"Yes, love. Yes. Yes? Tell me."

He was grunting now, clearly on the edge of his pleasure. You aimed to take him over it, to plunge him into blinding darkness. You whispered, and each word hit its mark like the straight shaft of an arrow, striking into the target one after the other, tearing through the bullseyes like they were nothing but air.

"You're gonna make me come, John."

Again, that unearthly snarl came from his chest, the one you'd never heard before come from the mouth of a man. It was a cry and a scream and a prayer and a plea and had he not been pinning you down prone with his own prostrated body, he would have been growling it from his knees. He commanded you as he worshiped you,

"Give it to me. Give it to me. Give. It. To. Me."

Your body listened before you could even register his words.

From the bones in your hips, you felt your muscles tighten along his iron rod like a fist, closing in on him knuckle by knuckle, and each closure brought you closer to that brink where the darkness turned to blinding white light. You could feel the sparkle of it, that peppery gunpowder flash and then...

"Holy fuck, love..." He stared at you as if you were the sun lighting up his whole life. Like he'd seen you before, all sherbet pink and blazing orange, in the dawn, in the mornings, cutting over the horizon.

Price had come in you. You felt it. It slid along the cleft of your ass and soaked into the fabric of the couch. He didn't mind it. You couldn't. His body was still thrusting as hard and as heavy as before, fucking up into you as if he hadn't just filled you with his thick, hot cream.

"I can't... " he gasped, wrenching his eyes shut, "I can't stop..."

"It's okay, John..."

"I can't bloody stop, love. I'm... fuck, I'm sorry..."

"I'm okay. It's okay," you whispered to him, trying to soothe him.

You pet the hair back over his brow and he leaned into your touch like a cat, purring for more of it. You laced your fingers through his hair and held him tight at his scalp, turning his head so that you could talk to him right into his ear,

"Fuck me how you need to, Captain."

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[awniie]

AT LEAST LOOK AT ME WHEN YOU LIE

ᣞ ⊹ ݁ summary: your boyfriend suguru finds the best way to punish you !!

꒰ content: mean!sugu, fem!reader, pussyslapping, praise/degradiation, cum denial, feel like this whole thing is kinda a niche kink

ㅤㅤㅤ⭑ notes: my ‘mean suguru’ drabble was based on this so if some stuff sounds familiar it’s cus i took this n drabble-fied it; also this is for the anon who asked for it <33 ALSO @d0nk3y-k0ng my new-found geto fixation is your fault <33

“Suguru, can you help me?…this thing is too heavy!” you called out, voice straining as you struggled to bring the giant cardboard box through the door. It was way too heavy for you, and of course the delivery people had quickly set it outside the door, escaping the potential work of having to bring it inside. Your boyfriend quickly rushed to your aid, grabbing the opposite side of the box. “I got it baby, where did you wanna put it again?” Suguru asked, setting the box against the wall and looking at you.

“I wanted to put it in the living room. That way it’ll be the most accessible.” You told him. You two hand just moved into your new place and decorating was the sole thing on your mind. You spent hours on pinterest, trying to find the perfect aesthetic for your new home. You valued your home,so much so that you started repeating all those cringey aphorisms whenever you were questioned about your new-found obsession.

“Home is where the heart is, sugu.” You told him. He scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Okay, but what does that anything to do with spending $100 on a house plant?” You let out a sheepish laugh. “Well…I can take care of the plant. Which takes heart…?” You murmured. It was an inane suggestion, which was appropriate for the circumstance of spending $100 on a plant. “Sounds a bunch of bullshit to me.” Your boyfriend told you. He was necessarily happy with all the money being spent on what seemed like superficial things, he seemed to be happy with the results of your decorating.

It took about 30 minutes to situate this new mirror, but for good reasons. It was big, like really big. Leaning, it was taller than you and almost as tall as your 6’3 boyfriend. It was wide as well, providing a perfect view of anyone who looked into it. It was a gorgeous peice of furniture. The frame was a creamy white, with ornate molding. There were carefully crafted swirls and curves on it, with tiny clay embellishment. It had looked like something out of a fairytale, like a mirror that could reveal the deepest desires of whoever dared look inside. It was perfect for your new house, the only thing that wasn’t so perfect was the extravagant price. Your jaw almost dropped when you saw the cost. No way in hell would Suguru let you buy it, no matter how much you beg or how many tears you spill.

So you searched for alternatives. Any sort of duplicate or listing on another site would be scouted out and search throughly before you succumb your wallet to $2,500. You must’ve been god-kissed that day, as the only cheaper listing was $1,700. Still, it wasn’t something you felt 100% sure about buying, but what other options were there? Suguru would be proud of you for finding a cheaper offering and thinking about a budget. So, you went ahead and bought it, feeling pretty proud of yourself for doing so. Did you tell Suguru about the purchase? no way. You’d only tell him if he asked, and you prayed with all your heart that he wouldn’t.

“Sooo…do you like it?” you asked him hopefully. Maybe he would say yes and then move on to something else, and not ask that dreadful question. Maybe, when you told him about the bargain you made, he’d be proud of you for your efforts. “Mhmmm, t’s real pretty.” He put his hand on his chin, as if thinking. “How much did we pay for this again?” Suguru asks, stepping back and giving it an appraisal.

Shit. It was silent for a good 10 seconds. You could feel the way your words dried up on your tongue and died, as if they were too scared to come up. He raised an eyebrow and asks again, looking at you through the reflection of the mirror. “How much did we pay for this thing?” Stil not answer. He came up behind you, snaking one arm around your waist, while his open hand went to your chin. “Baby, you gon’ answer me?” His ghostly purple eyes searing yours through that cursed mirror.

…

“I-I just forgot to tell you-…!” you whined, legs buckling as you felt another sharp stinging sensation land on puffy clit.

“Oh, you did?” Suguru asked facetiously. You nod and cry as you feel another slap land on your clit. He then grabs your face with his hands, holding your cheeks between his slick-coated fingers. “At least look at me when you lie, baby.” He said as he guided your face in the mirror.

This was humiliating. He had you spread out on the floor, pussy glistening and your back pressed up against his chest. He had took upon himself to punish you, which subsequently turned into something lewd and twisted. Hence the being sprawled out, leggings and panties long discarded and receiving countless slaps on your cunt. It was painfully obvious that he was hard, feeling his length that was being squashed up against your ass. Your hair was messy and out of place, your skin sticky while drool and tears coated your chin. The worst part? He was doing this right infront of the new mirror and he wouldn’t even let you look away, so you were forced to fully embrace your current state.

“Please sugu. I didn’t mean too…just lemme cum please? You begged, your voice shaky and full of hiccups.

“Noo, only good girls get to cum .” He cooed, his finger playing with your little bundle of nerves. You’d been at this for about an hour now. He’d start to finger your cunt, and then he’d hit it as punishment. The closest you’ve been to finishing was the half-broken orgasm you’d stolen from his fingering, which in return you got another slap.

“Could’ve been done a long time ago. You’re making this so difficult for me baby.” He whispered in your ear, as if this hurt him more than it did you. “So now, are you gonna tell me the truth, or are you gonna keep lying to me? Cus’ trust me, I won’t hesitate to hit this pussy again” He threatened, the hand on your sticky clit moving even more slowly as an incentive.

You meant to shake your head, but when he swiftly plunged his fingers into your weeping cunt, the sloppy sounds of your slick, must’ve drowned out whatever of your senses was left. “y-yes…!”

You saw the gleam of that dangerous smile in the mirrors reflection. “I knew you would. Such a smart girl, yeah?”

Then your boyfriend laughed, a soft and smooth laugh that should not have gone down to your lower stomach with molten delicious heat. Could you blame yourself though? His fingers were pumping in-and-out of you with tantalizing proficiency, making your insides do somersaults. The way that syrupy-sweet praises dripped off his tongue alongside bitter jeers. Your brain was too far fucked out for so many conflicting emotions. “Go on now..say what you needa say to me.”

“m’ sorry for spending your money sugu! I shouldn’t have bought it, should’ve a-asked!” You confessed, buckling you hips in tandem with his fingers. “Ah ah…no moving.” He reprimanded, taking those fingers out and slapping your hole again. Your body jolted at the sudden sting and then slumped back against his chest.

“Look at you, all teary eyed and wet-pussied. You like this shit, don’t yeah?” He catchesized, with that stupid-stupid smirk on his face. “I bet you’re not sorry at all.”

“No-yes-no m’ sorry..! M’ really really sorry! ” You could barely understand what he was saying. Your pleasure was the only thing that mattered right now, all other senses finger-fucking out of you a long time ago. Geto loved you like this though. Fucked dumb and too far down the abyss of your own pleasure to think properly, all inhibitions lost. It was the easiest way to get an answer out of you.

“I think you bought this mirror just for yourself. Just so you could watch yourself get fucked? He guessed, dragging his hands across your quivering thighs. You hated how soft his voice sounded, especially when accusing you. whimpered as he did, wishing he’d just hurry and put you out of your misery. “N-no”

he frowned, stopping his hand in its tracks. He brought his lips close to shell of you ear, sending shivers down your spine and more wetness to your cunt. “Look at me, and don’t lie.”

You looked at him, straight through the mirror. “I promise, i didn't sugu. I just wanted our home to look nice!” you confessed, sniffling and squeezing your thighs together to create some sort of friction for your achey pussy.

Suguru felt his heart melt a little. You were so pitiful with your shaky mewls and whines . He couldn't help but feel a little bad for being so mean to his precious girl. He shouldn't punish you too hard, obviously you didn't know much better. “Aww..look at that face. How could I be so mean?” He told you, trailing that finger up on down your slit. He smiled at how you hips yet again bucked at his wandering digits. “So needy. Poor baby, drooling n’ crying just like this pussy. Guess I should give you what you want, yeah?”

“Mh! Yes sugu, please lemme cum now! I’m so sorry, won’t do this ever again.” You begged. At this point you were full on crying, all other senses overrides by your need to cum. His thick fingertip teased your sopping entrance, re-coating the fingers in cum.

He simply laughed, diving those fingers back into your pulsing heat. “Oh, I know baby. I know. Now watch me as I give this pussy just what she needs.”

[elssero]

project partner

k.bakugo

-in which you and bakugo get paired to work on a school project together ,sfw. angst!!!!! tw no happy endings ..

maybe you should’ve been paying more attention but your hero analytics class was so boring you genuinely couldn’t stop yourself from getting distracted.

it’s not like the view outside the window is any more interesting- at this point your just looking at anything in an attempt to drown out your teachers voice.

you catch a pair of birds on a tree outside- watching as they shuffle around each other awkwardly. god you wish you were one of those birds right now. you really hate this class.

“and yn, you’ll be partnered with uh- bakugo.”

wait what?

oh you’ve got to be kidding me.

you don’t even know what you’ve been partnered to work with him on? some sort of fake hero interview? god could your day get any worse.

you did not like bakugo. not one bit.

you didn’t like his ‘better than everyone’ attitude. you didn’t like the constant stupid scowl on his face. but most of all you didn’t like the way he spoke to your friends.

at the beginning of the year you’d made a conscious effort to befriend most of your classmates. never shying away from a conversation and offering your assistance whenever needed.

you knew what it was like to be strong, you’d always been a step ahead, seemingly excelling in everything you did. you guessed you had that in common with him.

however, what you didn’t have in common with him was his treatment of your classmates. you had never once wanted anyone too feel inferior to you, even if they were.

sure you were teasing- often joking around with many of your classmates but it was all in good faith. nothing like the actual insults bakugo often hurled at them.

you didn’t like him. not at all.

staring at aizawa with wide eyes he only gives you a shrug. you have absolutely no idea why he thought it would be a good idea to pair you and bakugo together- you’d never even spoken a word to each other in this class.

after reading out the rest of the pairings he dismisses the class, encouraging you all too make plans with your partners about scheduling time to work on the project he’d just given you, explaining you had a week to hand in two fully fledged professional looking interviews, one of your partner and of yourself with the other playing the interviewer.

you weren’t worried about your performance at something like this, being friendly and talking to people had never been a problem for you- at least not until it came to the blonde who was now making his way towards you. his signature frown on his face.

he huffs as he attempts to make himself comfortable in the seat next to you, still somehow looking incredibly uncomfortable.

you glance around at the other pairs in the room. brewing with jealousy as you see everyone already getting along- seemingly paired with someone their known to be friends with.

the boy beside you attempts to speak before you cut him off-

“okay look- i don’t want to be here any longer than i need too and i’m sure you don’t either.” you would normally grimace at the harsh tone of your voice- except it’s bakugo, so instead you continue on.

“i’ll spend tonight watching recent hero interviews too see what types of questions are currently trending, i’ll put us both together a series of questions we can ask each other.”

it’s better you do all the work, it means he can’t surprise you with some stupidly rude question. you don’t have to get along with him. you just have to do the project- get a good grade and go back to ignoring him.

“send me a copy of your schedule so i can work out a time that suits us both to film the interviews- they shouldn’t take too long, most interviews only last a little under an hour now a days.”

you don’t look at him as you speak to him, instead opting to drawing little cats in the corner of your page as you explain your plan to him.

“oh um- okay.” he pauses slightly before continuing speaking. “yeah- um i’ll send you my schedule.”

that was oddly easy? of course your glad he didn’t fight you on this, but to say you weren’t expecting at least a little challenge would be a lie.

deciding not to dwell on his weird behaviour you take this as a win- you get to dictate your entire project which is obviously what you’d rather. when the bell rings to signify the end of the day your beyond thankful to it for getting you away from the increasingly awkward silence your having with bakugo at the moment. getting up you don’t even bid him goodbye as you meet up with your friends while leaving the class to make your way to the dorms.

it’s jirou and mina you meet at the doorway- immediately accepting their invitation to join them on their walk home.

the walk isn’t long- you listen as your friends catch you up on the work they’d done with their partners during class- expressing their excitement to work on something more media based.

“so uh- how’s having bakugo as a partner?” you roll your eyes at your pink friend. it’s no secret that your not a fan of bakugo. infact you go out of way to make it very clear to your friends your feelings about the boy.

“it’s weird. he’s totally letting me do all the work- of course i’m not complaining but i thought he’d try to argue with me with at least once.” explaining how he’d acted to your friends you feel just as confused as you did in class.

“wait- you mean he didn’t argue with you once? not even a single time?” confirming minas question you keep walking. it is weird. you don’t think bakugo has ever done a paired project without being utterly horrible to whatever pour soul had been paired up with him.

“i mean are we really surprised? i can’t think of a single time he’s ever actually insulted you.” you look at your purple haired friend as she talks. she’s right.

you don’t know why, but since the beginning of first year bakugo had never once said anything mean to you. not since you’d kept up with him on the quick assessment on your first day.

it’s weird. god it’s so weird and your grateful someone else has noticed it. he’s always so mean. never thinking twice before hurling abuse at the rest of your class while he seemingly never even thinks of throwing some at you.

you rather it that way. it gives you the perfect excuse to never have to speak to him.

“wait your right…” mina currently looks deep in thought before a sly smile erupts on her face. “maybe he’s got a crush!”

you can’t help the laugh that bubbles in your chest. bakugo?? a crush?? even the idea sounds crazy. not once in your three years of being at UA had you ever heard of bakugo even being remotely interested in anything like that with anyone.

“bakugo definitely does not have a crush on me- are we sure he even has a romantic bone in his body?” jirou beside you laughs at that, a small chuckle escaping her. “it’s not the craziest explanation- maybe he’s got a soft spot.” you shoot her a kidding glare.

“don’t be silly guys. i’m sure there’s an actual reason- maybe he just can’t think of anything bad to say about me.” your thankful when the girls next to you both burst into giggles- giving you and opening to change the subject.

the idea scratches the back of your head the whole walk. you can’t stop thinking about it as you make your way into your own dorm, showering and changing before beginning to work on your project- your thirty minutes into the most recent mirko interview when you decide you need a break.

dinner. that will definitely solve your problems. your just hungry.

making your way into the kitchen your hopes of getting your mind off bakugo are immediately shut down as you see his figure behind the open fridge door.

for fucks sake.

it’s too late to turn around now. sucking it up you made your way over to one of the cupboards before taking out some bread- you’ll just make a sandwich. something quick to get you the fuck out of this kitchen.

you nearly make it out- your so close.

“so uh- how’s the project going?” your being punished. your now completely certain someone out there has something out for you.

“um yeah it’s going fine- i have your questions all written out i’m just getting started on mine.” you forced to look at him quickly when you place the bread back into the cupboard. it’s clear he’s just back from a very intense work out. the sweat in his hair makes that evident. he looks good.

what the fuck? you turn away quickly before he notices your quick stare as you pack up your food ready to take into your room.

“you did my questions first?” there’s a slight surprise in his voice as he questions you.

“uh yeah it was easier. there’s a lot more male heros so it was easier to find interview questions compared to females.” it’s a logical explanation- you miss the way his expression drops slightly when he listens to your reasoning.

“is that all your having to eat?” this is weird. is he making fun of you? no that’s not it. there’s not a mean tone in his voice- instead it’s something like concern.

“i’m not really hungry. just wanted a quick snack-“

“you should eat more.”

you need to get out of this kitchen. why is he being so nice to you? okay maybe he’s right. a sandwich is definitely not a hero course student meal but your currently far to confused and far too tired too care.

“goodnight bakugo.”

you don’t wait for his reply as you quickly make your way to the door, desperate to get away from whatever the fuck is going on right now. you debate making your way to minas room to debrief what just happened but decide against it. she’ll probably attempt to try and convince you about her stupid crush theory again and there’s absolutely no way that’s true.

the after effect of your late night hits you like a truck in the morning, after groggily getting up and forcing yourself to get ready you rush to class- nearly missing the bell while you step in only a few seconds before your teacher.

you spend the entire period in complete silence- focusing mainly on keeping yourself awake long enough to get home and go straight to sleep. your keeping your face up with your hand while it threatened to fall when you receive a note from your left.

you okay? you look like your seconds away from biting your desk. -k.b.

why on earth did he sign his initials on this stupid note as if you didn’t just watch him place it on your desk. you decide to take a minute to calm yourself so you don’t end up writing him back a mess of profanities.

you don’t even reply at all, deciding instead to crumple the note up extremely loudly before placing it in your pocket. you miss the dejected look on his face but you do hear the scoff. that bitch.

you can’t wait for the end of this stupid project, hoping that by the end of it you and bakugo will be able to go back to how you were before. he can go back to terrorising the rest of the class while you go back to ignoring him.

it’s beyond weird that he’s starting to talk to you. you assume he feels obligated because he’s your partner but you’d rather he just ignored you outwith strickly work related conversations.

your packing up for class when he nexts approaches you- placing a piece of paper in your hand as he walks by your desk.

“it’s uh- it’s my schedule.” right. you did ask him for that didn’t you? did he put this together last night? it’s extremely detailed- compiling exactly what he does everyday seven days a week, even having slots for studying and meal times.

scanning it over quickly you realise the only free time you share is saturday afternoon- tomorrow.

that works. if you get your interviews completely done during the weekend it means that this weird situation you’ve found yourself in with bakugo will be over by monday- it’s perfect infact.

“i’m free tomorrow afternoon too- i’ll meet you in the common room at 1 and we can spend a couple hours on it. hopefully we can have it done before dinner.”

“yeah um- that’s fine i’ll meet you at 1.” okay great. you take note of the fact this is the second plan you’ve made without bakugo arguing with you.

you leave the class in speed after that- wishing your friends a goodbye as you let them know you won’t be walking with them today, wishing to run straight to bed as your far too tired to spend time with them right now.

it’s hours later when you finally wake up- 7pm your clock reads. you’d really hoped that you would just have been able to sleep though the whole night- it seems the universe has other plans for you as you hear your stomach grumble. great.

your making your way down to the common room when you hear a mixture of voices from behind the wall.

“yeah it’s great- but bakugos the luckiest for sure. he’s working with yn on this and she always does well on this shit. maybe it’ll bring your hero media grade up.” it’s kaminari you hear first. your ears perk up when you listen to a mention of your name.

“yeah bakugo how is it? it’s gotta be great working with her. i’m totally jealous.” you manoeuvre quickly to hide yourself fully behind the wall now. they’ve not realised your here yet. you intend to listen fully to what they have to say about you.

“it’s alright- i guess.” you wish you could say you were surprised but alright? if he calls doing all the work for alright then you’ll never do anything for him ever again.

“come on bakugo there’s got to be more to it than that? you finally get her to talk to you yet-?” huh? what does he mean by that? finally getting you to talk to him?

“shut up shitty hair- it’s- no i haven’t!” he’s getting increasingly more frustrated as he continues.

“every time i attempt to make conversation she shuts me out completely. i- i don’t even know what im doing wrong.” his voice sounds rejected as he finishes his sentence. he’s been.. trying to talk to you?

why? it’s the first thing that crosses your mind. why after years of being in the same class- years of mutually ignoring each other why would he now make the decision he’s interested in talking to you?

you can’t listen to any more of this. forgetting all about your hunger you hastily make your way back to your dorm- attempting not to draw notice to yourself.

somehow finding yourself more tired than you were when you first made your way downstairs you flop yourself onto your bed with a confused sigh.

you just don’t get it. trying to wrack your brain for reasons why bakugo would all of a sudden decide he’s interested in you- you fail to find a logical reason.

maybe you should just sleep it off- after your interviews are done tomorrow you won’t have to speak to him ever again if your luckily. you can spend your days avoiding him during classes and in the corridors. it shouldn’t be that hard.

his friends words repeat in your mind. finally get you to talk to him? had he been interested in you for awhile? and for what?

maybe he had been looking for something to make fun of you for- it’s the only explanation you can come up with.

forging yourself to stop dreading over it you take that as your answer. bakugo katsuki is attempting to get close to you so he can find something to poke fun at you for.

you know in your mind that’s not it. even in your tired state you realise that the excuse your giving yourself isn’t the truth. however your far to exhausted- and apparently still hungry to let yourself stress over it any longer as you fall back into sleep.

your alarm wakes you up at a sharp 10am. it’s your emergency alarm for when you accidentally sleep in. fuck.

you have three hours before your supposed to meet bakugo and your already riddled with anxiety over it. waking up late forces you to miss your work out for the third day in a row- maybe you’ll be able to get one in later tonight.

opting to just start getting ready your able to take your time- an outfit choice isn’t needed, you’ll need to wear your hero costume if your doing “hero work.”

it’s 12 when you begin to start thinking about getting something to eat- your ready to leave now, your aswell heading down to the kitchen early.

your heading to your door when you get a knock, opening it expecting it to be one of your friends your shocked when you see- bakugo?

in his hand is a brown bag- the little logo of a local bakery is crumpled but you can still make it out, in the other is a coffee of some sort.

“you didn’t eat last night. picked you up something after my run.” of course he’d went on an early morning run- your almost jealous of his work ethic.

he got you breakfast? it smells good. you can’t remember the last time you went to that little bakery, you’d forgotten how much you missed it.

“how’d you know how i take my coffee?” his eyes shift to the floor at your question- nervousness clearly evident in his voice.

“i uh- i asked raccoon eyes. she said that’s always what you get.” of course he went to mina- it’s not wonder she keeps making crazy assumptions about the two of you.

you offer his a small smile when you answer him- maybe the first you’ve ever given him. “thank you bakugo.”

his eyes go wide at that- “um yeah it’s no big deal- i was getting something anyway.” did he eat it already? your foods still warm- it feels as though he ran straight here after getting it.

“you ready to go?” your snapped out of your trance when you tell him yes- picking up your bag you make your way to the training room that had been set up specifically for this project.

it looks like a real interview set- in the middle of the room is a long table with two chairs- both situated with microphones with a camera catching them both in shot.

you begin to set up straight away- bakugo insists on working on your interview first as a thanks for doing the rest of the work and you take him up on the offer, settling yourself into the seat of the interviewee as he situates himself beside you.

he looks slightly different from how he normally does- less angry, you think. he’s really gotten himself into character- dressing himself a smart-ish shirt, he’s put on his reading glasses, he looks kinda cute.

the lighting of the set is definitely doing wonders for him- you just hope it’s doing you the same justice. he coughs slightly next to you- seemingly to get your attention.

“you ready to go?” he’s looking at you patiently- urging you to take your time.

“i’m good to go- just try stay on script yeah?” your joking with him- similarly to how you would your other classmates. maybe this project isn’t so bad.

he does infact follow the script perfectly in the beginning- opening up your interview- introducing you to the “audience” as he begins the questions.

it’s the usual stuff- questions you’d answered a million times. who inspires you? why did you decide to be a hero? what type of hero do you wish to be? blah blah blah.

“if we asked your friends to describe what it’s like to be your friend- how would they describe it?” you love questions like these- you feel it gives fans a real feel for not only you as a hero- but you as a person.

“i’m hilarious- obviously. but if we’re being completely serious i’d probably describe myself as helpful? i always find joy in being able to help my friends with things their struggling with- it helps i get too tease them about it too.” you flash the “interviewer” a smile to only be met with a deadpan expression.

did you say something wrong? you thought that was a perfect answer- it paints you as a kind but funny person. what’s his problem?

“why do you do that?” his interviewer tone is gone now- seemingly given up on his part.

“do what?” your voice is laced in confusion but in reality your angry. it had been going so well up until now- no arguments, no insults- just getting the project done and now your going to have to start the whole interview all over again.

“your nothing like that- at least not to me.” he’s grumbling as he says it- looking directly at you with that same frustrated expression.

“what are you talking about.” your firm when you say it- edging him to just get to the point of whatever tangent he’s about to go on so you can get back to work.

“you-? it’s just you! your fuckin’ friends with everyone- it pisses me off.” your mouth is slightly agape- what does who your friends with have anything to do with him? you don’t reply.

“it’s just- everyone fuckin’ loves you- apparently your so fuckin’ great to everyone but i can never get that out of you-“ anger is rising in his voice as he continues- getting more and more frustrated as he keep struggling to explain how he feels.

“your always such a fuckin’ bitch to me- always ignoring me- never giving me the time of day and everything thinks m’ fuckin’ crazy because your just soo good.” your anger is suddenly matching his- your such a bitch to him?? does he have any idea about the way he treats people?

“oh that’s fucking rich coming from you- your maybe the biggest asshole i’ve ever met. no wonder i don’t wanna speak to you.” your furious- who does he think he is?? that he thinks he can dictate how you act towards people.

“what?” the tone is his voice is changed now- the anger that was there a second ago seems to have vanished- now replaced with sadness.

“and you ignore me too!- don’t act like our lack of communication is all my fault.” now it’s his turn to be in shock- he doesn’t think he’s ever seen you act like this before.

“your right bakugo- i am a bitch. i’m a bitch to you because i can’t stand you. i don’t like you, not one bit. your a horrible classmate- i can only imagine an even more horrible person just going by the way i hear you speak to people.”

you take a deep breath before you continue- finally allowing yourself to actually look at him- your vision a little blurry from anger, but you can see it clear as day- the complete expression of hurt written all over his face.

you wish you cared- you wished you maybe felt a little empathy for the boy but you don’t- you can’t. you’ve listened to the way he’s treated people for years and now that you’ve started you can’t stop.

“you don’t do it to me- i don’t know why and quite frankly i don’t care. but i hear it, i’ve heard it for years and i wont shy away from it anymore- i believe you to be a bad person bakugo, you’ll make a great hero- maybe. but that won’t change the fact i truly believe you to be a bad person.”

he still doesn’t say anything- the hurt in his face somehow even more evident as the tears threaten to spill from his eyes.

“right.”

he gets up without saying anymore more- grabbing his coat as he makes a b-line for the door- leaving you alone in this stupid interview set.

he’s such an idiot- and too think he really had a chance- of course you would see him for as he was.

he loved you- he had for years.

and you completely hated him.

[elleetlalune]

๑bound to be | lhs

⤷genre: smut, strangers to lovers.

⤷sypnosis: In which, an insomniac college student meets who she thinks is the most beautiful man alive, she doesn't pay much attention to him at first, until one not so beautful night.

⤷warnings: smut, protected sex (be like them yall), oral (f receiving), tiny tiny angst, fluff, fingering, f.cum eating, inlove heeseung (we love it), Softdom!hee, subv!reader.

2.5k words

You had tried everything.

From white noise to sleeping pills, yet it seemed like you were cursed. You simply couldn't sleep.Ever. Every night, you'd find yourslef rolling in your bed, hugging your pillow for some sort of comfort or scrolling endlessly on your phone just to make time go by faster.

And tonight was one of those nights.

It's 3AM, and you're laying on your back, mindlessly tracing imaginery patterns on your ceiling, your roommate was gone which only made you feel even more..alone.

It was raining heavily outside, you looked out your window, almost as if you were pulled out of your bed, you got up, put on a coat and took your umbrella leaving your dorm.

Outside, the streets were ghost-empty, as if everyone had fled from the city, you were alone walking down the Han river, who didn't seem as peaceful as usual.

You leaned into the railings, watching the once still river, now alive with small waves from the strong wind that had seemed to scare everything away.

Lost in thought, you didn't notice a young man standing not so far away from you.

Himself drowing in his own discarded thoughts.

But him, he did notice you, he just decided not to act upon it.

The streets lights were flickering and the trees swaying to the rythm of the wind.

You looked at your left and that's when you saw him.

He looked way more peaceful than you, but then if he was he wouldn't be standing here, drenched in rain despite his umbrella, alone, and for a split second your gaze met his, unable to hold it anymore you quickly looked away, your gaze falling once back on the agitated river.

This little routine of yours continued for the next few days, meeting that same guy, yet you never found the courage to go talk to him.

Well atleast until today.

You had just left your late night class, dressed in an oversized sweater and jeans, it was cold and well..night, so you were in a way or another dressed like a polar bear.

You sat at the bench, watching the moon and the very few stars that you were lucky enough to catch in your sight, your headphones playing we fell inlove in october, your hair slightly disheveled from the wind.

Then it happened.

The mysterious guy sat next to you.

He sat next to you.

He didn't pay much attention to you, apart from having increased the speed of your heartbeat. He was simply looking, just like you.

You tried acting nonchalant, because anything else would be beyond embarassing, not for him..for you.

"What are you listening to?" He gently spoke up, awakening you from your trance, you looked at him for what seemed like a while, you had never seen him upclose before and saying he was handsome would be an insult.

He was nearly perfect, his nose a perfectly tilted bridge, his doe-like eyes that seemed like they could alone make you fall inlove, his plump pink lips that.., he was mesmerising, he was an angel.

"we fell inlove in october, by girl in red" you answered, your voice a little too shaky for someone that was faking confidence.

His perfect lips curled into a small smile, before looking back at the view. "You like girl in red?" His head tilting ever so slightly.

You simply nodded your head, not trusting your voice enough to let out another word.

"I like her too, her songs are good." He says, almost talking to himself due to your lack of response, not because you're uninterested, but because you're drowning in your own lake of fluttering feelings.

"I'm Heeseung, by the way" You looked at him, finally putting a name over the face you'd seen so many times, you smiled softly before answering.

"I'm yn" He nodded, taking in your features, who were quite hidden due to the many many layers you had on, but still he had managed to memorise your delicate face, an almost invisible smile spreading across his features, a smile you totally missed.

"yn, you come here often, don't you?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing a little, he had noticed you every.single.time you had set foot in here.

"Yeah, I come here everytime I can't sleep." You don't even notice the words you had just blurted out, before he chuckles, a chuckle that does something to you.

"Well you can't sleep every day?" he asks, his voice laced with amusement but also a hint of curiousity.

"You could say that.." You mutter, your hands fiddling with the silver rings on your fingers.

To your disappointment, he stands up, smiling down at you, his hands deep in his pockets.

"It's getting late, you should go home, yn." You nodded, knowing going home wasn't going to do you any well.

"Goodnight." His voice gentle, just as gentle as a mother's caress, you looked up before saying back. "Goodnight, Heeseung."

It had been a week.

A week since your little talk with your shaped-by-the-gods acquaintance.

But since then, he just well..disappeared?

You came to your usual spot every day, at the very same hour, Heeseung just wasn't there.

Now?

You were sitting on that bench, as per usual, but something was different.

You were clad in a pretty pink mini-dress, your hair styled perfectly, but the difference was..you were crying.

Not sobbing, more like bawling your eyes out. The reason? Your date left you hanging like a fucking piece of shit.

You had dressed up, all dolled up, he had asked you out two days prior, you were unbelievably excited, but then as hours went by your date was nowhere to be seen.

So now you were back to where you belong, on a dirty bench by the stupid han river, alone.

Your body was tired, standing up was a burden, but your mind? Oh it was wide awake.

You felt stupid, for believing that for once someone actually liked you, wanted you, saw you.

Silent sobs left your glossy lips, on which you had spent hours looking for the perfect lip-combo, for nothing after all.

Then you saw him.

Looking at you leaning on the railing.

He slowly approached you, kneeling down infront of your sitting form, his doe-eyes softly looking at you, worry laced on his gaze, flashing with something nearly unrecgonisable. His hand landed on yours, softly stroking them.

He doesn't say a word, neither do you, he just silently comforts you.

"What's wrong?" Heeseung finally speaks up, and that's when you break.

Tears aren't stopping, if anything they're just increasing.

Heeseung stands up, before softly wrapping his arms around your smaller frame.

Is this a dream?

You stiffened at first before letting yourself go and hold back onto him, your tears wetting his shirt, but he couldn't care less.

"I-..My date didn't show up." You confessed looking away, embarassed, pulling away from his warm embrace.

"Well he's a bastard that doesn't have the balls to go out with a pretty girl like you." He says, tucking a stray hair strand behind your ear, his voice soft yet stern.

You don't answer, a slight blush creeps up to your cheeks, he notices it, of course but doesn't say anything.

"Let me take you out on a date, let me show you what a real man is." He says taking your hands in his, his eyes refusing to look anywhere but at your soft features, a face he couldn't ever get out of his mind, a face he had been thinking about a little to much.

His words hit right at your heart, as if cupid had shot his arrow right in your heart.

"You don't have to.."You say, a smile saddened heart adorning your face.

"But I want to, plus it would be stupid to waste such a beautiful outfit on a bad day,right?" He finally smiles at you, his perfect lips stretching into a grin.

You honestly don't know how it all happened.

From crying all tears in your body, to going on a date with Lee Heeseung.

He had brought you to his favourite restaurant, it was fancy.

A bowl of chicken alfredo pasta infront of you and lasagna infront of him. He was eating, but you?

You were looking at him.

"Do you like it?" He asked his voice gentle, as he wiped his mouth with the tissue paper. If you liked it? Oh, you loved it. He was out here treating you like an absolute queen, he was looking at you like you were the only one in his eyes.

"It's really good, thank you Hee." You said the nickname slipping from your lips, a small smile adorning his god-sculpted features.

"No need to thank me, like I said earlier, I wanted to do this," He said, his bigger hand landing softly on your smaller one, softly stroking it.

"I want you, yn" He continued as he noticed the rather..shocked face you had. "More than you can imagine, and I know it may seem stupid cause we practically don't know anything about eachother, but I mean it, I really do." He looked at you a soft small on his face. "Please give me a chance,yn. Let me prove to you that I'm the man you deserve."

Oh.My.God.

Those were the only words that spun around your head.

"I..I like you too, Heeseung." You didn't believe your own words, you had confessed your everlasting love for him without a stutter, an agressive blush crept up your cheeks.

Everything led to another and now you're in his...apartment?

Slamming the door close, he pushed you against it and kissed you ever so passionatly.

His lips molding perfectly on-top of yours, he tasted so sweet, like a forbidden fruit, his plump lips that were begging to be kissed seemed like they were made for yours.

He easily lifted you off the ground, a gasp escaping your mouth, your legs wrapping around his waist.

Your tongue brushed against his, making him let out a small groan.

You felt a pool of arousal in between your legs,a wave of embarrasemnt washed over you as he grinded your nearly soaked panties on his bulge.

His lips teased your neck, he bit,licked to sooth, everything all at once, leaving purple-ish marks all over your collarbone and neck.

Pushing you on the bed, he stroked your hot core with a finger, a sly smirk appearing on his face.

"Already this wet, darling?" His question making you squirm, "Stop teasing.." You mumbled, your body nearly begging for him.

"I need to hear you say it, baby" He tugged his finger at the waistband of your panties.

"I need you, hee."

"So bad.." As if your words had activated something in him, you watched whatever was left of fear or confusion disolve into absolute lust and hunger.

He pulled the baby pink lacy panties down and stooped his head down to your pulsing core, his nose hitting your oversensitive clit, his tongue lapping at your wet folds like a hungry man.

"Fuck, you taste so sweet" His voice vibrating against your pussy, he was eating you out like he hadn't eaten anything in years.

"T-this is..so good.." You managed to whimper out, soft moans leaving your mouth as you bit onto it.

You felt the knot in your stomach loosen, getting closer to your climax, he had gotten you so worked up in moments.

"Hee,I'm..I'm cumming" you let out, his tongue moving skillfully at your now puffy folds, while his fingers moved in and out of your pulsing hole.

"Shit, cum in my mouth, I wanna taste every drop of you, baby" He groaned, a sultry moan escaping your mouth before your milky release came straight on his tongue.

He was licking every spot clean, nothing could go to waste. It wasn't his fault you just tasted so sweet.

He looked at you, the lower part of his face glistening with your..magic?

He unzipped your dress, taking it off swiftly, leaving you in your bra, which followed right after.

Your own hands messily unbuttoning his pants unable to contain your dripping need for him, as you pulled them down, revealing his throbing cock, boxers doing nothing to hide it.

His shirt going over his head, before his pulled his boxers, freeing his growing erection.

You hadn't seen much dicks in your life, but you could tell, He was big, a challenge (That you were more than willing to take).

His cock slapped against his lower abdomen, it was leaking pre-cum, a slight praise that you weren't the only one on cloud 9.

A teasing smirked was on his face. "Like what you see?" You looked at him, eyes drooping. Like was an understatement.

"Hee, please... fuck me."You whined, pulling him closer by his neck, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Taking a condom from your bedstand, he rolled it down his lenght, before slamming onto you.

You both moaned in unison, the sound of skin clapping and wet squelching gradually filled the bedroom.

"Fuck, you're so tight"He groaned , his hands resting on your hips.

You swore you could feel him in your stomach (even though impossible), tears of pleasure filled your eyes, as cries and moans fell from your lips.

"Hee! Oh my..You're.." you couldn't even form correct sentences as he strocked your gummy walls with his cock.

"I know, baby, I know" With each thrust , he filled you completly, leaving no room for doubt, his tip hitting your cervix deliously.

A wave of pleasure surfaced, you were shaking, biting your lips to stop yourself from screaming out his name.

"I-..I'm cumming" You let out as a moan

"Yeah,baby? Cum on my fucking cock, wanna feel you" He thrusted deeply inside of you, feeling your pussy tighten.

As the knot finally unclasped in your tummy, covering his cock with your release.

"Just like that." He moaned, before chasing his own high, his cock twitched in you, while his face contorted in pleasure, as he threw his head back.

"Fuck.." and just like that, his hot release shot in the condom, leaving him lazily thrusting in and out of you before falling on top of you, trying not to hurt you.

"That was amazing, you're amazing" He whispered in your ear,placing a small kiss on your neck.

After getting cleaned up, you sighed looking at him. "I honestly don't know how it all happened." He smiled, that same smile that made you fall for him and chase another man thinking you could never have Heeseung.

"Me neither, but maybe it's just that we're bound to be." He looked at the ceiling, your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "You mean bound to be together,right?" To which he chuckled, "Whatever helps you sleep at night.

And that night was the first one in years in which you slept like when you used to be a carefree kid.

Maybe he's right.

Maybe you are bound to be.

[into-deepspace]

𓆰 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐟𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬

sylus & (luke & kieran) • accidental baby menace acquisition • reluctant caretaker • comfort no hurt • ao3 link • part 1

reblogs and comments are what keeps your writers alive! requests are open

Summary:

Trouble has found Sylus in the form of two little boys desperately needing a warm shower and some new clothes. Reluctantly, Sylus lets trouble in.

It's a bit of a logistical struggle to get the two boys back to Sylus's main residence. Sylus will usually disappear into his signature red mist, or gun it on his motorcycle, but neither of those things prove viable options when toting along two young children. So, he does what one may expect of a criminal overlord and hot-wires a car.

Perhaps it isn't the best example to be setting to the incredibly impressionable children who watch him do that, but Sylus isn't a parent, or a babysitter. Hell, this could very well be a valuable skill for their future. He's basically doing them a favor, giving them a nice, early head start into the world of automobile theft.

"So cool…" the seemingly more talkative little boy whispers as Sylus gets the car running, the other twin nodding along. Sylus hums and gives a slight, satisfied smile. The kids aren't half bad, he supposes. Not that he's planning on keeping them around, obviously, but he does hope they do well for themselves once he tells them to scram. Which will be soon.

He opens the doors to the car, ushering the two into the back seat. They scramble in, practically climbing to get their little bodies into the car. It's amusing, the way they move. They're so small, navigating a world where nothing was truly made for them, and doing so admirably.

"Buckle up," Sylus tells them. He's no parent or anything, but stars above, even he's not so heartless as to let these kids jostle around in the back of the car while he drives. He watches in the rear view mirror as they pull the seat belts over their laps, clicking them into place. Satisfied, Sylus tells them to hold on tight, and then steps on the gas.

Judging by the giggles and the shouts and squeals behind him, the boys seem to think Sylus's slightly reckless, much too fast driving is purely delightful. Sharp turns and swerving acceleration only pull laughter from the kids. Sylus is starting to think, somewhat ridiculously, that these two aren't scared of anything at all.

It's not long before Sylus is parking in front of his main residence, the tall, huge manor sprawling before them. Sylus leans over to pick up his suit jacket from the passenger's seat. One of the boys (he's not sure which one, their voices are rather identical) asks, "Is this your castle?"

Sylus scoffs. "It's a manor."

"What's the difference?" Now that bit of bravado comes from the mouthier twin.

"That's not important right now," Sylus replies. "Come on. Out." The boys scramble to follow instructions as he steps smoothly from the car, nearly tumbling out of the car as they open the door and hop out.

Sylus makes a beckoning motion as he walks, not bothering to turn. He doesn't have to, really. The children are rather loud as they run after him, little legs working hard to keep up with his long strides. He can hear them just fine, then feel them as the grab onto him, one taking his hand while the other clutches at the fabric of his pants. Sylus watches his step, just to make sure he doesn't accidentally knock one of them over as he walks.

The door swings open as soon as Sylus touches it, reading his biometric information with technology of his own design. He pauses in the foyer, looking over the two boys. They stare up at him, two pairs of big, dark eyes waiting for his next move.

"You two need showers," he decides. The boys say nothing in response. Inwardly, Sylus cringes. Is he going to have to do this, too? Have these two ever seen soap in their lives? Ugh, he really isn't cut out for this sort of thing. "Do you two know how to wash?" he asks, eyes narrowing as he looks over their greasy hair and their dirty clothes.

"We're big boys," the quieter one asserts. The other chimes in.

"Yeah! We know how to take a bath!"

Sylus hums, doubtful. Still though, he's not exactly jumping at the opportunity to wash two street kids himself, so he figures he'll let them work it out. At this point, even getting some soap on their bodies, no matter how clumsily, will be an improvement for them.

"All right," Sylus sighs. "Let's go." He turns on his heel once more, waving over his shoulder for the twins to follow him. The pitter-patter of little feet follows him, and Sylus makes a mental note to have the floors in this hallway washed (and get the boys new shoes that aren't so filthy).

He leads them upstairs to one of the many suites that the manor contains, complete with a fully stocked bathroom. Taking a knee by the tub, he turns on the water, letting it run for a few moments and get to a pleasant, warm temperature before he lowers the stopper and lets the tub fill.

""I'm going to leave the room while you two wash up," Sylus says as he begins to pull soaps and washcloths from higher shelves, where the boys would never have a hope of reaching them. "This is for washing your body," he says, holding up a bottle of fragrant body wash, "and this is for your hair," he finishes, gesturing to the shampoo on the tub's edge. He pulls two plush towels from drawers, setting them on the countertop where they boys can reach.

"Shout for me when you are both finished."

Without awaiting a response, Sylus walks out of the bathroom, leaving the two to their own devices. The grout is waterproof and of good quality. His bathroom should be fine.

The two boys begin to chatter amongst themselves, a sound that grows fainter and fainter as Sylus walks down the hallway. He makes his way to the kitchen, pouting himself a glass of whiskey without any real second thought. With a heavy sigh, he makes his way int the nearby sitting room, easing onto one of the several couches there. One arm is slung over the back of the sofa, while the other swirls his whiskey for a moment before he takes a long sip.

And now, without any distracting factors and a glass of alcohol in his hand, Sylus can properly wonder what the fuck he's been thinking this entire time.

An entirely too short amount of time later (though maybe Sylus is being dramatic - he'd had time to make his leisurely way through three glasses of whiskey), the boys begin shouting for him.

"Mister!" comes the yell from the bathroom, decidedly too loud of a noise to be coming from such a small person. "Mister, we're done!" Sylus sighs, groaning quietly as he rises. He sets the wide glass down onto the dark coffee table and begins walking, stopping first at the door where he'd ordered a selection of children's clothes to be delivered, then heading back up the stairs to the bathroom he'd left the two in.

He finds the two wrapped in the towels he'd left, sitting on the edge of the bathtub and giggling amongst themselves as they wait for him. Sylus raises an eyebrow.

"Get dried," he says, turning to the counter and placing the bag of clothes there. He begins to unpack it, pulling out two shirts, two pairs of soft pants, socks and underwear, everything the two might need. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the twins start to shuffle around, wiggling like little bugs as they dry themselves off. He tosses the two stacks of clothes down on the rug they stand on for them to put on when they're dry.

As he flips through his phone, notifying his chef that breakfast the next day will be for three rather than just one, the boys pull on their pants. Sylus sighs to himself, shutting off his phone once the message has been sent off and turning to lean back against the counter with his arms folded.

The boys' hair is still dripping wet. Sylus sighs. Fine.

Sylus stands up straight and takes the two long strides needed to cross the bathroom. He sinks down onto one knee, picking up one of the discarded towels and motioning for one of the twins to come closer. The boy steps up, and Sylus drops the towel on his head.

"It's not good to sleep with such wet hair," Sylus mutters as he towels off the boy's head efficiently, making the kid giggle with the rapid back and forth motion. Once the first kid is relatively dry, Sylus motions for the second, repeating the process.

With tousled hair, the boys go back to dressing, arguing briefly over who gets which piece from each set. Sylus watches for a moment with a raised eyebrow before standing back up and taking his place beside the wall again. He flips through his phone, reading messages from potential and existing dealers, going over invitations to auctions he's been sent. He manages to get engrossed enough in his work that it's almost a surprise when one of the boys speaks up

"Help?" a small voice asks. Sylus stands from where he'd leaned against the wall, peering over the top of his phone with a raised eyebrow. The quieter of the two twins has managed to tangle himself in the pajama shirt, one arm sticking up in the air and the other stuck against his shoulder. Sylus lets out a sharp breath through his nose, amused.

"How did you manage this?" he asks as he kneels, pulling the shirt into place with a firm tug. The boy shrugs in lieu of a proper answer, plopping down on the floor beside his brother to pull on a pair of socks.

It's at this moment that Sylus realizes he doesn't know the boys' names. He blinks silently to himself for a moment. Sylus always makes it his business to know everything about the people around him. How is it that he let this slide?

He crouches, lowering himself closer to the boys' level. Two little heads turn towards him, two pairs of dark eyes blinking in unison.

"What are your names?" Sylus asks without preamble. "I neglected to ask earlier." The louder twin gives a toothy grin.

"I'm Luke!" he says.

"Luke," Sylus repeats. The boy nods, tugging at the collar of his shirt to fidget with it. Sylus's brow furrows. "Don't do that," he scolds. "You'll stretch out the fabric." Then, right after the words leave him, he curses himself inwardly. Dammit, he's starting to sound like some tender little mother. He's really got to stop doing this sort of thing, considering the boys will be long gone from his life very soon.

"And you?" he asks instead of dwelling on his thoughts, turning to the quieter boy.

"Kieran," comes the soft reply. Sylus nods.

"Kieran," he says, repeating this name as well, committing it to memory. The boy - who Sylus now knows as Kieran - gives a clumsy nod, the kind that small children put their entire torso into. Sylus finds the corner of his mouth twitching upwards.

Eagerly, Luke scoots closer.

"What's your name, Mister?" he asks, looking up at the man with wide, curious eyes. Sylus furrows his brow. Right. They don't know his name either. Sylus frowns with a bit of a realization.

These kids have no clue who he is. They just… went with him. Hell, he basically just kidnapped them and they came right along without a care in the world. Does he give the "stranger danger" lesson now or save it for later?

Stop. No. Sylus isn't these kids' caretaker, for heaven's sake. What the hell is he thinking, teaching them life lessons? No, he'll just introduce himself. Courteous and not completely uncaring (they're kids, after all), but still maintaining his distance.

Yes.

He debates for a brief moment, wondering if he should give them a false name. Should he introduce himself as "Onychinus," the feared and almost mythical crime lord? It would be prudent, considering his established interest in keeping his identity secret.

Sylus sighs. Still, these are children, he supposes. They don't even know who he is, past the fact that he's a stranger both rich and kind (or stupid, maybe) enough to help them out.

"I'm Sylus," he says flatly. Then, after a moment, calling on the little knowledge he has about children this young, "And you two need to go to bed. It's late. Children are supposed to sleep a lot." The boys pout immediately, and Luke even groans out loud.

"We're not tired!" he asserts, and Kieran nods, backing up his brother. "Let's look around! This place is so cool, pleeeeease can we look around, pleeeeease?" Luke bounces as he speaks, full of the untamable energy children always seem to have. Sylus frowns.

"No," he says, remaining steadfast. "It's late. You two are going to bed." The twins make their displeasure known again, though a bit more softly this time. Sylus sighs. Maybe offering them at least some sort of choice will make them a bit more amenable.

"You have a choice," he tells them, "between a room with one or two beds."

"Two!" the boys immediately decide, apparently eager to have their own, separate beds. Sylus nods, turning towards the bathroom door and motioning over his shoulder for them to follow.

He walks down the hallway once again, with the two following him loudly. He makes a mental note to make sure that bathroom is cleaned and that the clothes in the bag are moved to the closet of their temporary room. Once he reaches an appropriate room (both close enough to his own that he can easily keep an eye on them, and far enough that they won't disturb him), he opens the door, swinging it open and holding out a hand.

With quiet exclamations, the boys scramble in, claiming the two beds on opposite sides of the room. They look remarkably small, almost comically so, as they scurry under the covers of the two queen-sized beds, both seemingly very pleased with the blankets and pillows.

Sylus watches them for a moment, debating. Then, in the interest of keeping both the kids and his residence relatively unharmed, he whistles sharply. Luke and Kieran watch in awe as Mephisto comes soaring into the room, landing neatly on Sylus's shoulder.

"If you need anything," Sylus says, "just tell Mephisto." The mechanical bird flaps, taking off from Sylus's shoulder and landing on the nightstand between the two beds. Immediately, Kieran silently reaches out, little hand petting Mephisto's head. The crow turns to look at Sylus, a remarkably displeased look in his red eyes for something that's nothing but metal and lines of code. What have you gotten me into? he seems to ask, as he's gently pet.

Sylus raises his eyebrows, letting his bird know that yes, in fact this is his new duty for the night. Mephisto lets out a dejected caw, prompting a giggle from the boys.

"He talks!" Luke says, grinning. Sylus hums.

"Indeed he does."

With the boys apparently engrossed in Sylus's crow, the man decides that it's time for him to make his exit. They'll be safe, and Mephisto is sturdy, for all that he complains. With all parties distracted, Sylus leaves the room, closing the door smoothly behind him.

Once he's out in the quiet solitude of the hallway, he sighs heavily, one hand coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

What the hell has he gotten himself into?

Well, Sylus supposes, he'll figure that out in the morning.