#which probably is a lie. it's not logical. but man i do. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

judasgot-it · 3 months ago

Note

lol, Hello!

You’re writing is truly one of a kind. I rarely make requests but I couldn’t help.

Can I request-

Hunting dog s/o who hides stuff between her breast? Like literally “oh is there a flash card needs to be in safe place until we reach the headquarters? Okay. *puts it between her boobs like it’s nothing*

Tecchou, Jouno, Tachihara plz?

I love you and your brilliant mind. Also, I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to give reader rather massive honkers.

Scenario: Hiding things in your honka-donka's (Tecchou, Jouno, Tachihara)

Tecchou

The mission had been more casual, just an investigative part of what your daily job was.

These were more fun, at least for you - you had freedom to do whatever you want to people. Within legal reason, obviously.

Tecchou was not always the biggest fan. But it was either you go alone with Jouno, who you would not stop from torturing innocent people, or you go alone with Teruko, who you also would not stop from torturing people.

In fact, you only instigated them. Tecchou didn't say much, but his side eyes were enough for you to know his disproval.

Today though, you could see his joy. A near bounce in his step. After all, there was no torturing innocent people with him around. Maybe you would annoy them with your ability, but that was it.

So it left only the both of you together. Finding one man in a fancy suits and instruments. Because with your luck, they worked on the day of an Orchestra.

It left the both of you waiting just on the edge of the curtains, waiting for the end of the performance. After all, if this man saw that he was getting interrogated in the middle of his show then he would either run or mess up.

Tecchou would hate that. Appearntly he's a patron of the arts. How nice.

"Do you have his photo? I want to double check his identity,"

"Sure, it's here somewhere,"

Feeling in the space between your bra and boob, you pulled out a folded paper - so small it fit just between your finger tips like a cigarette.

It was a little warm, soft in the way paper gets on a humid day. You waved it to him, not thinking twice about it.

His hand didn't seem to move. You looked at it, where it was frozen in place by his side. Taking initiative, you picked up his hand, placing the now unfolded photo inside of it, giving him plenty of time to see it how he would like.

So slowly. Like he had lost frames in the movie he was animated in, he slowly brought the paper closer toward himself. His fingers barely touched it, still cupping it as if it were a small kitten of sorts.

"Are you...okay?"

Tecchou didn't seem that different, but his face was non committal. For once, you could tell he was thinking.

Strange. Maybe he knew this man.

It left the both of you in relative silence. A social kind, one that was broken only by the beautiful score played by the musicians around you. One that happened to be related to a terrorist - strange world.

"Do you keep things in your bra often?"

"Yea? It's free storage, dipshit. No one is gonna steal my wallet if it's in my tits,"

The logic was pretty simple. It's as if he had never experienced fighting a robber. Although he probably didn't, given he was the type to wear his uniform 24/7.

"Do all women do this?"

"...is this your first time seeing this?"

"I don't have boobs."

"That's a lie. You have a huge rack,"

His face flushed at that. It was small but noticeable - he always had a funny reaction to your jabs. You said he looked edible and he nearly giggled, which just wasn't a thing Tecchou did. It was kind of cute.

"Thank you." He said this with the stupid smile he had, one that was so small you could lie to yourself that it was even possible.

"Also to answer. No. I'm just blessed,"

"Blessed with what?"

His voice was laced with actual curiosity, but his face still stayed directly at your target. He was Lazer focused, and it gave you the chance to look at his ridiculous eyelashes. His jawline was a sin - he was so beautiful but instead joined the military.

"Huge honkers,"

"What?"

"Titties. Boobs,"

It was at this point he stopped acknowledging you. He was either done with your game or embarrassed that you were talking about your boobs so much. Probably the latter - you weren't teamed up often for a reason.

Then there was applause.

Tecchou moved ahead of you, not even waiting for the man to finish receiving what he had earned. You followed dumbly, since you unfortunately found that teasing Tecchou was more important than your job today. Oops.

Jouno

"Can you walk quieter?"

"What do you mean by that?"

"Your chest is so loud. Hold it or something, it's so loud."

He looked peeved, as if your mere existence annoyed the hell out of him. Knowing Jouno, it most likely did. He was annoyed by the air molecules moving, typically. God forbid you breathe either.

"Why don't you hold them? Since it bothers you so much?"

The face he pulled made your day so much brighter. The joy you felt was only comparable to when you first received a black belt. His nose scrunched up, with his cheeks red in embarrassment.

Jouno was embarrassed. Like a man in a lingerie store.

Adorable.

"Pervert."

"You like it."

"Gross."

He walked ahead of you, shouldering the corner of the wall as he struggled to have his thoughts in order.

Just to be a little bit of a cunt, you strutted forward, making sure you had maximum bounce as you walked.

You could hear Jouno's footsteps fall back, just close enough for him to be considered part of the pair you both were. It wasn't as if his uniform didn't make it obvious, but the two of you were walking through closed hallways - he needed the key in order to enter them.

Not unless he pulled out his ability. He could, but he always saved his stupid "oh wow you can't cut through me at all" trick for the last minute.

"We're nearly there. You should get ready."

He jogged a few steps to catch up with you. He hit the back of your shoulder with his palm, looking away as if it were the wind.

"I am ready, asshole. I was born ready!"

"I don't think you are. You're walking like a stripper."

This was in the list of things Jouno says and you are left to question everything. The uptight and 'best hunting dog' Jouno.

He was a grown man but a lame one, there was no way he actually knew.

"...how the hell do you know that?"

His face was unchanging as you asked this. If he opened his eyelids you were sure that he would roll his eyes at you.

"I can tell by the way you walk. It's the same."

"Do you go to strip clubs often?"

A person passed by you. They didn't look like your guy, given this man was balding in his 40s and had a hunched-over shrimp-like back. But he gave you a look, the kind of judgment that came with bringing these topics out loud in public.

You smiled and waved back at him; as if you never said anything.

"That is not the topic of this conversation. Also, not your business."

"No I just have questions. Like, how the hell are you going to enjoy that? Can you hear my bra too?"

Another one you wanted to ask was when and where he even went to a strip club, but that sounded like you were too invested in his life. You're only coworkers anyway.

"I'm not telling you that,"

You grabbed his belt, keeping him walking right next to you. His body helped warm your fingers, starting to freeze from the strong AC in the building.

"I regret taking this mission now. I hope you get shot,"

His footsteps were longer than yours. Not by much, but you had to force yourself to walk just a little faster so you could keep your hold on him.

"Give me the key."

His hand was grabby, not even bothering to look back at you as he stared uselessly at the keypad and lock.

"I can just do it for you." Jouno turned back and gave you a look. His shoulders were rolled back, making him appear taller as he looked down at you. Fucker.

"No. You should stand back, you suck at blocking bullets."

"Nuh-uh."

"Just give me the key."

Sighing, you pulled back your shirt and searched inside of your bra. You knew exactly where it was, hiding underneath one of your tits and squeezing the little plastic corners into your skin. But there was the natural sweat that built up from having something so large on your chest, making you have to move your hands around your chest slower than it really should be.

You handed the card to him, feeling how his fingers were rather cool in comparison to the card.

Jouno didn't even acknowledge it. His face had scrunched a little, breaking the shield he kept up there for so long.

It didn't matter anymore though. He was close to opening the door, and you only had to step back and give support. You could harass Jouno later.

Tachihara

"Y/n. I need you to put this in a safe place,"

You hadn't worked one-on-one with Tachihara in forever. You missed him a lot - in the time he had been on a secret mission to infiltrate a child trafficking group, you had learned that his presence meant more to you than you had initially thought.

"I know this is weird to ask, but I trust you."

He put a Solid State drive into your hands - it had a sticker on it, only stating a date from a few months ago. When he originally entered the gang, you assume.

"Can I ask what it is?"

"It's from my mission. I found a lot more than we anticipated."

What the hell can he find more when it comes to child traffickers? They were basically doing the worst a person could do.

It made you a little terrified of the contents, honestly.

"So after this do you want to give it to Fukuchi or.."

"Yeah. Or we can all look over it together. It's awful stuff, so I need to make sure that it gets back to HQ safely."

Great way to make you even more terrified of what was inside.

"Why didn't you bring it back when you left?"

Seriously. This was unnecessarily complicated. Tachihara was the type of man to take precautions but this was kinda annoying.

"I hid it behind a baseboard here. They have an ability user who basically has x-ray vision. So I didn't want to take any chances until he was gone."

"Is that the guy Teruko is fighting?"

You both could hear her laughing somewhere in the building. There were also screams of pain and thudding sounds with no real pattern. She definitely got him subdued, you were sure.

"Yeah. Just put it somewhere it won't fall out. Or would be hard to reach. I trust you more than myself."

"You'll be fine."

Rolling your eyes, you unbuttoned the top of your shirt, just until you could see your bra. You made sure to put it as close to your body as possible, so it wouldn't fall out or be destroyed. Hiding it underneath your boobs added extra protection anyway - if you got punched in the chest. it would still be safe.

"What are you doing."

"Isn't it obvious? I'm putting it in my bra."

It felt a little uncomfortable having it on your skin, and it kept trying stab you by making the wire in your bra scratch your ribs. You regret wearing this one, because now you kept trying to adjust everything so you didn't have to feel that annoyance.

"...I can almost see your nipple."

"You shower naked with the rest of the guys. Is one nipslip going to kill you?"

You started to button your shirt back up, deciding that you had done good enough of a job. You would just have to ignore it.

"That's different! We don't even look at each other."

His face was red, hiding behind his fingers as he tried to look anywhere else but you.

"Then look away."

With that, you patted his chest, heading back to your mission. Whatever was on the drive could be shown to you later, but right now, you needed stab some people with the sword that kept slapping against your thigh.

Sorry for this both being late and for it rather being short. I'm trying to write more, so hopefully I'll be posting more. The end image is relevant I promise.

#bsd x reader #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #tecchou x reader #jouno x reader #tetcho x reader #tecchou x you #tachihara x reader #tachihara michizou x reader #tachihara x you #tachihara x y/n #jouno x you #jouno x y/n

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darlingdaisyfarm · 4 months ago

Text

what once was | Stanford Pines x reader

tags: sfw, memory loss, established relationship

a/n: this one was hard to write, not gonna lie. i even cried. thank u anon for this wonderful idea! Ford has always been such a complex character to write, but I tried to show his love, pain and his determination.

thank you for reading, i hope this breaks you as much as it broke me to write :,,,,,)

Stanley version

you wake up to the familiar weight of his hand resting gently on your arm, it’s warm and it brings a sense of. . . some kind of safety. as if you’ve felt it before, but. . . at the same time no. no, you don’t know why it’s so comforting.

you blink, trying to focus, but your head hurts like you’ve been hit by a truck. you rub your temples, wondering why it feels like your brain’s been shredded into pieces that won’t stick together.

your vision is blurry at first, but your gaze shifts to the man beside you. dark circles under his worried eyes that still got some hope in them.

Ford hasn’t gotten more than an hour of sleep in weeks.

“hey. hey, sweetheart. you’re okay.”

you analyse his face, feeling a slight sense of panic inside. “wait, who— who are you?”

Ford’s face drops, not in shock, but in something far more painful. you’ve asked him this question before. you’ve asked it every single morning since the accident. and every morning, the answer is the same.

“it’s. . . it’s me, darling. Ford. your husband.”

your husband, he names himself. . . you wish you could make sense of the emotions in your chest right now, but you can’t, because you don’t understand, you can’t remember, nothing’s connecting. nothing makes sense and everything feels so wrong.

Ford cant stand the silence. “y-you don’t remember, do you?” please just tell him you do—

“no. . .”

his lips press together and he looks down, but he’s not mad, not angry. no, Ford’s never angry, not at you.

“i— i’m sorry,” you mumble with guilt in ur voice. “i really don’t remember, i’m sorry.”

Ford shakes his head, running a hand through his hair, trying to control the storm of emotions inside of him. he’s trying so damn hard to stay calm and not burst into tears right in front of you. “don’t— don’t apologize, it’s not your fault. none of this is your fault.”

you continue to look around, trying to find at least one thing in the room which could be familiar to you.

“w-we’ve been through this a thousand times, love,” Ford explains and looks away, focusing on the empty space in front of him. "i know this isn’t easy for you. for us. but i’m not going anywhere, we’ll figure this out. i’ll— i’ll fix it. i’ll find a way to bring your memories back. i promise."

“how long?” you ask. “how long have we been. . . married?” it’s so weird to even pronounce the last word.

“seven years, my love.”

***

Ford holds it together for you. he always does.

every morning, he wakes up before you. sits at the edge of the bed, rubs the sleep from his eyes and prepares to tell you who he is.

who you are.

he’s a scientist, logic is his shield and his weapon. he throws himself into his work, searching for something that could help.

he’s got sketches pinned to the walls, equations scattered across the desk. an entire board dedicated to explore how human’s psyche and mind works.

he's been up countless nights, fiddling with wires and strange gadgets, all while researching any possible way to bring you back to him. every book, every article, every experiment. even though he’s exhausted, theres still light in his eyes that never fades, a fire in him too. a stubborn determination to make things right, no matter what.

you catch him once, sitting at that desk with head in his hands, probably tired as fuck.

“hey. . .” you forgot his name again, damn.

Ford’s head snaps up immediately when he hears you because he hopes you came to tell him “honey, i remembered! i remembered we are married!”. you see the redness in his eyes, from tears or lack of sleep, youre not sure. he scrubs a hand across his face, trying to pull himself together.

Ford looks at you, waiting you to continue, waiting to hear these cherished magical words. but you stand here all silent and confused.

“you should be asleep, honey,” he finally tells you, realising you won’t continue.

“so should you,” you say softly, stepping closer.

when you reach out to touch his arm, he shudders.

“i can’t, i can’t lose you. not like this. i need to work.”

***

but there’s always another plan. the one he doesn’t tell you about.

Bill.

and Ford is not proud of it.

he knows it’s a dangerous path, one that’s led him to dark places he never wanted to go. but the temptation is too strong. the idea of reaching out, of making that deal to bring your memories back. . . if only for a moment, if only for a chance to see you smile at him like you once did. Ford has considered it, weighed the consequences, overthought it.

but each time, he’s pulled himself back. he can’t go down that road again. he won’t.

still, this idea stays in his mind. because every hour of research, every failed experiment, every sleepless night feeds that urge, a feeling that maybe the price will be worth it. just shake his hand and—

but he’s trying so hard to fight it because he can’t bring himself to make that choice, no matter how broken he feels inside. he won’t drag himself into that nightmare again, no matter how much his soul hurts, no matter how badly he wants to see you smile at him.

right now, he just wants to hold you, to keep you close. to be the one you turn to. he doesn’t need a deal with Bill. he needs you. he needs you to remember him the way he remembers you.

***

another morning.

you’re lying there, your head pressed softly against the pillow, still struggling to make sense of everything, who you are, who he is, what this is, you feel a mix of confusion and fear.

his hand is resting gently on yours, as always, his fingers caressing your skin with a tenderness that feels. . . familiar again, but so far away. he’s looking at you, waiting. just waiting. sitting beside you, thinking, trying to come up with more ideas.

you flip through a page of his journal and one of his drawings seems funny to you, you smile as you point at it, asking, “hey, Ford, so what is that thing?”

Ford.

he looks at you in shock. he doesn’t move, doesn’t speak as if the wrong word might shatter this fragile moment he’s been waiting so long to happen.

his heart pounds in his chest.

“Ford. . .?” you ask again, worried why he got so silent. unsure if you should’ve said anything at all.

again, you say it, his fucking name, and it shatters him. because it’s not just the name. it’s that you remembered it. that piece of him, the one he’s been clinging to with everything he’s got, has finally stuck in your mind.

his eyes shimmer for the first time in all these months. his gaze falls to your lips, memorising the shape of the sound you just made.

“did— did you— did you just say my name?”

you nod slowly, unsure if you’ve done something wrong.

but you did exactly what he’s been waiting for, praying for.

his hands grip at his face, trying to control the flood of tears that he can’t hold back any longer

“you— say it again. please. say it again.”

you’re confused at the urgency in his voice, but still do as he asks you. “Ford. your name is Ford.”

his name. his name. from your lips, it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever heard.

Ford’s hand comes up, trembling, to cup your cheek. he touches you like you’re something so delicate and the sight of him hurts. hurts because you don’t remember what it feels like to be in his arms, what it felt like when he used to kiss your forehead goodnight, when he used to make you laugh until you couldn’t breathe.

“oh god, my love—” he cant continue because he simply starts crying. Ford presses a hand over his mouth, as if he could stop it, but he can’t. he can’t. “you— you remembered. oh, darling, you—” he just shakes his head, unable to speak as he gasps for air between sobs.

you stare at him, all lost. “Ford, are you— are you okay?” no, he’s not, he’s damn not, because he spent every waking moment trying to fix what’s been broken, for you.

Ford smiles through his tears, not even bothering to wipe them away. “no— yes. i-i’m fine, i just—” another sob cuts him off and he laughs bitterly through it. “god, you don’t. . . you don’t know what this means. you don’t—”

it’s not the anger, not the frustration that has been building up for weeks. it’s relief. it’s all the grief he’s been carrying.

Ford leans forward, reaching out for your hands, but he hesitates, because he’s scared you might pull away. because too much emotions which Ford used to hide. but you don’t and he grips them tightly, clutching them, wide smile never leaving his face.

“it’s you,” he whispers. “it’s you. you’re still in there. i knew it. i knew it.”

his forehead drops to your knuckles, his glasses slipping, tears falling down. “i was so scared, my love,” he admits through sobs. “so scared i’d lost you forever. that i’d never hear you say my name again. that—”

he can’t finish the thought, can’t even say it aloud. it’s too much, too cruel.

“Ford, i—“

he looks up at you and his cheeks are streaked with tears, eyes red, swollen and wide with disbelief and love. so much love it hurts.

“you d-don’t have to remember everything,” he whispers, his voice trembling but so, so tender and soft. “you don’t. i’ll wait. i’ll wait as long as it takes. but this. . . this is enough for me. hearing you say my name, it’s enough, darling.”

you don’t know why, but his words make you want to cry, too.

you can’t find the words to comfort him. how do you comfort him when he’s the one who’s been holding it all together, for you, all this time?

“it’s okay. it’s okay, Ford.”

the words feel too small, but they’re all you can offer, as your hand brushes against his cheek.

and Ford, your lovely Ford, your husband, he melts into your touch, like an affectionate puppy. he doesn’t try to hide it. he doesn’t try to be strong.

“i’ve been trying so hard. . .” Ford remembers every sleepless night, every failure, every moment when he thought he might lose you forever.

he pulls you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck, holding you. you hold him back, just as tight.

“thank you,” Ford whispers into your skin. “thank you for remembering me, darling, for remembering us.”

you don’t know how much you’ve given him, not yet. but you will understand it later, much later. when you’ll remember him again, completely, soon.

but for now, you just hug him back, feeling how his body shakes, how he clings to you and you promise him you’ll remember.

“I love you so much,” he murmurs, “i’ve always loved you, sweetheart. i just— just needed you to remember that.”

he’s not asking you to remember everything, to recall every detail, every moment. no. he just needs to know that you still remember him.

and you do.

you do.

#gravity falls x reader #gravity falls #x reader #gravity falls x you #ford pines x reader #stanford pines #ford pines x you #stanford pines x you #stanford pines x reader #grunkle ford #ford pines smut #gravity falls headcanons

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kazefiend · 20 days ago

Text

Tags: NSFW 18+, p in v, post op trans man, fucked up dynamics, murder, blood, death, spoilers for Ronin's killer chat route, pov, second person, be nice to me I haven't written in this perspective before, female reader, afab anatomy on reader.

Synopsis: After he returns from his murder his favourite thing to do is you

Word Count: 1731

He told you not to wait up for him, but you did - because what type of girlfriend wouldn't, right?

You'd written a few thousand words today, cleaned the apartment, made dinner, and fixed him a plate that now waited in the fridge for when he got home. Now you lay in bed, watching true crime YouTube videos about your boyfriend and your other friends from the server.

A blonde woman with a cat on her lap spoke about The Butcher like she had it all figured out. Her details were wrong, of course. She guessed he was in his forties and "got no bitches." You couldn't help but laugh - he was much younger and absolutely did get bitches. You being the bitches... the bitch? Whatever. You squinted in thought, wondering how Ronin had never left any DNA behind. Maybe you'd ask about his process to put in your next book.

You yawned as the hours rolled by without texts or calls. You reassured yourself that it hadn't been long enough to feel anxious yet. He was fine, just busy. The various 'what ifs' started to play in your head like a river of woe threatening to drown you. Your logical brain kicked in to stop you from having a heart attack. He'd probably told you not to wait up because he planned to be very late. Everything was going according to plan.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly exhaled, grounding yourself. You closed your eyes and let yourself drift off, feeling peace and safety in the bed of a man who tried his best to embody the Antichrist. You'd packed all your belongings up a few months ago, and he had absorbed you into his space. You were obsessed with this man, ever since he'd fucked your brains out in Purgatory.

No, that was a lie - it was months before that.

You dreamed of when you first saw his Cheshire grin on your computer screen. You found yourself struck by how gorgeous he was, laughed at how funny he was, and became enamoured with his hidden depths. Cupid had loosed an arrow into your chest, the bleeding wound being filled by Ronin's prying fingers. He wished to remake you in his corrupt image. That's what was best for you. He knew best.

The door slamming shut startled you awake. His shadow approaching from the hallway put you at ease. Through the darkness, you called out, "Baby!"

You couldn't see his face, but you knew there was a smile on it. "Did a pretty little thing wait up for me?" You heard him take off his backpack, dropping it with a heavy thud - his crowbar adding the extra weight. The weight of his crowbar-laden backpack held secrets better left in shadow. But you'd drink in every detail, store them away to feed your own growing appetite for chaos. You were no longer just witness to his madness - you were its willing apprentice.

"How was work?" you asked, having not seen him all day.

"Which work, darlin'? Be specific for me." Oh, he was in a mood. You knew what he wanted you to ask.

"Breaking people," you responded. "Fixing cars was probably less interesting."

The duality of Ronin: breaking people and fixing cars.

He tossed his clothes in a pile, save for his shirt and boxers. "I got a few people to open up to me today, really got inside their heads. You know me, baby - I'm a people person."

You giggled and snorted at the stupid puns. "The devil has jokes."

"Life's a joke, sweetheart. Ya just gotta be the one laughing." He was at your side of the bed now, his imposing height would be intimidating if you weren't used to his scary bullshit by now.

Crawling onto the bed, he loomed over you, hands planted on either side of your head. Finally, you got a good look at him in the darkness. Blood splattered across his face, dry and cracking in spots, sticking bits of his hair together. His eyes looked wild, adrenaline still beating hot through his veins. The absolute thrill of murder firing through his synapses. He was crazy, he was beautiful, he was yours.

He was heroin, alcohol, everything bad for you that you couldn't live without. You didn't plan to live without him - your life had been nothing until he drew you in. Empty. Devoid of kin. Without a home.

You'd found your missing piece in a man who collected souls like others collected coins. His corruption completed you, his chaos called you home.

You were hopelessly in love, and he loved you too. You could tell by the way his dark eyes lingered on your body in his moment of need. The magnetic pull between you transcended physical attraction. It was a recognition of kindred broken pieces, jagged edges that fit together in a mosaic of beautiful destruction. His violence called to something primal in you, while your devotion fed his need to possess, to corrupt, to transform.

He needed you like he needed air right now.

You reached out, locking your arms around his neck, pulling him down onto you to kiss his lips. You tasted iron initially, but it faded as you swallowed the blood you licked off his skin. He shuddered at the action, biting down on your bottom lip and tugging. He was all teeth, biting and nipping at your lips. You moaned against his smile, and he caught your tongue first with his teeth before letting go. You felt his tongue in your mouth, metal piercing dragging across your tongue, sometimes hitting your teeth with a clack. He was going to break your fucking teeth one day.

Your hands threaded through his bloody hair, grabbing a handful and pulling. He groaned so lovely into your mouth. You wished you could suck the air from his lungs to sustain yourself forever. He responded by grabbing a handful of your ass and squeezing hard.

Ronin sat up, eyes half-lidded, watching the rise and fall of your chest as you caught your breath. "Legs up, darlin'," his voice low and dark as he commanded, and you obliged. Your legs now up on his shoulders, he bit your calf before pulling your underwear off your body and tossing them into the dark void of the bedroom floor.

His fingers glided through your soaked folds, catching your clit between two fingers, rolling it back and forth. "You're fuckin' drenched, babe," a vulgar observation but a true one. "All ready for the butcher to fuck you."

"All for youuu~" you cooed, being enticingly adorable with your legs in the air. He laughed darkly in response.

"Gimme a minute to get all ready for ya." He prepared himself as fast as he could manage, pulling down his boxers to free his now hard cock.

"Is that for me?" you echoed his earlier comment with your own. You tried to mimic his cadence but couldn't talk that deep.

He didn't answer, just grinned back at you. Leaning down, basically folding you in half - there was no goddamn way you could keep your legs on his shoulders comfortably. You lowered them to rest at his hips instead.

He teased you, nibbling at your neck and sucking deep bruises into your skin. Purple and red flowers bloomed beneath his lips. A garden of his affection. Every bite mark was a promise, every scar a love letter. You wore his brand of ownership like crown jewels, proud to be the monster's chosen consort. There would be no fairytale ending, no redemption arc, no return to the light. You'd rather reign beside him in hell than serve alone in heaven.

He lines the tip up with your sodden entrance, pushing forward only for it to slip and drag on your clit once more. He tries again using his hand to guide him and you feel him sink into you. It feels incredible, he slowly hilts and you take a satisfied breath.

He starts to pound you with hard deep thrusts. The kind that jostles your body each time his hips slap against your ass. The softer parts of you jiggle from the impact. One hand holds a handful of hair and the other bunches the fabric of his shirt in a fist.

He breathes hard against your neck, “s’ hot an’ tight fuck babe” he whines as he rolls his hips. You can't help but squeeze him to coax out more delicious sounds “pussy’s gonna kill me darlin’” he chokes out.

You moan his name like a prayer, each time his hips connect you lose yourself. He's pulling a fistful of your hair and biting your throat, feeling your heartbeat hammer through your arteries. You beg for him to crush you in his jaws, tear out your throat and fuck you until you bleed out. The pace is knocking the air from your lungs, cock carving his way through your guts. It would be beautiful romance if he fucked you to death, tore through your body and ate your heart.

You pull his head off your neck and kiss his lips as you experience your little death. Ronin swallows your moans and keeps you grounded on earth as you shake and squeeze around him. You're never going to see the light of heaven and you're fine with that.

The blood of his victims mix with his sweat and drip onto you, you're a gore stained mess; rotted and beautiful just as he made you.

His thrusts become sloppy, uncoordinated and animalistic. He dies for you, his beautiful rot goddess. Spilling his decay within you.

He hungrily caught his breath, head buried in the junction of your neck and shoulder. His grin returned and his grip on your hair loosened into a gentle caress. His weight on top of you felt comfortable; you never wanted him to leave you, and if you had any say in it, he wouldn't.

Your love was a murder ballad written in bruises and blood, a symphony of savagery and sweetness

There was no escaping this gravity well of mutual destruction. You'd tied your fates together with crimson ribbons, knowing the path led straight to hell. But heaven was never your destination anyway. This was your choice - to love the devil, to become his equal in darkness, to find salvation in damnation.

Till death do you part.

#ronin beaufort #killer chat ronin #killer chat #ronin x reader #ronin smut #ronin x you #killer chat smut

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co-mixed · 1 month ago

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Why I hate Reed

Fantastic Four has a long history of disaster after disaster. Most of the disasters in question were caused by Reed. Bet you didn’t expect me to jump right into it.

Okay, fine, let’s do an introduction first.

Fantastic Four has been a Reed-centric story since the day he broke ground on Marvel-1 (known at the time as just a rocket) and took his bff, girlfriend, and her tag-along brother on a ride, to the day his arch-enemy took over the world (that was last week). It’s all about Reed and everyone else just happened to get stuck with him.

I hate Reed. Maybe not as much as Doom does, but it’s close.

I have my reasons.

If you know Reed well, chances are, you also hate him. If you don’t know him, you’re lucky. If you don’t hate him… keep reading.

Reed has always been always the intended protagonist of the Fantastic Four. They might have called it a family book but really, you tuned in every month to find out who is bugging Reed and whether he manages to fix everything this time. That’s who he is, he fixes everything. Mostly through the power of science, occasionally by stretching in the most ridiculous way.

Reed is recognized by CB writers as a hero, not just a hero in a cape and mask sense (he doesn’t even wear those) but the cool-headed, smart guy, the focal point of the team and the narrative. You are supposed to see yourself in him and imitate his approach.

Everybody cares about him, everybody talks about him, and in those rare moments when he’s presumed dead, everybody mourns him.

But Reed just isn’t a good person. There are things about him that don’t just fail to align with heroism, they’re plain vile.

He’s a liar

Reed is a liar. It’s not just that he omits relevant details like, say, forgetting to inform the whole team that they are slowly dying, or warning them that he’s keeping a dangerous gate in the basement. This is absolutely a pattern with Reed and instead of getting mad at him, people just accept it as a part of his character. Even if they do get pissed off, they eventually forgive him. Then all of that repeats. To be fair, I probably should be more mad at the dysfunctional family that enables his behavior.

But it’s still him. The logical path he loves so much to take inevitably leads him to the conclusion that it’s time for yet another lie. He’s not above covering one lie with another, and it comes off almost childish (not in the adorable sense). What I mean is, he is afraid of being judged because he knows what he’s doing is wrong but he simultaneously believes that he is right because he knows better. Again, this comes down to him claiming to be the smartest man on Earth. Which is ridiculous. The smartest man in physics is still the stupidest when it comes to art or magic. And he admits both things himself yet refuses to accept the fact that he knows almost nothing.

Besides, both his daughter and Lunella are easily smarter than he is.

He’s a hypocrite

Reed is a terrible hypocrite. We don’t talk about that often, because the stories that allow you to notice that lie far apart. During the Civil War, he was all happy to serve the government. It is a big part of his life, he’s always been ‘public’ and ‘legitimate’. In the eyes of the law anyway. So when the question of whether or not to register appeared, he made a call for everyone. Happily so, and he went along with punishing everyone who opposed it. Except for his family, of course. It smells awfully similar to the way dictators operate so I guess we should be thankful Reed doesn’t have those ambitions.

But when the tables turn and Reed has to answer for all he’s done, he believes that he is judged harshly. Of course, it turns out to be a villain’s plot but he never really stops to think how his actions were questionable at best. And he isn’t prepared to take responsibility the same way he expected others to. He thinks it’s unfair.

He’s a garbage person

Essentially, the problem is Reed not knowing when to stop. Reed is stubborn, we already know that. He is convinced that he knows what is best for everyone. He believes that his view of the world and how things should be is the correct one. The mathematically correct one, I mean, he did write all those equations on all those walls. This is what eventually led to the Civil War, and this is what eventually led to the Secret Wars. The two most notable events on 616. Reed’s math allegedly allowed him to predict the future, and in that future, he saw Doom. JK but he did see that superheroes will destroy the world if they keep on unchecked. And he did see the possibility of incursions. So he built 42 and threw his friends there. He experimented on Speedball to the point of torture because the government said it was ok. He got together with the Illuminati pre-Secret Wars convinced that they could definitely stop the incursions and they failed. They would’ve gotten everyone killed and, big shocker, the only ones he ended up saving were himself and his family (although Justice finally said “Hell no!’ and his family perished.)

But Reed sure knew what was right.

With that same attitude of knowing what’s best, he stomps around Latveria, trying to liberate it. He returns there every time and every time acts surprised when he discovers that Latverian people don’t want his liberty. They don’t want him, they like Doom.

I feel like deep down Reed believes that his unique intellect allows him to see things more clearly than any of us mortals. And because of that, everyone should sleep well, putting their trust in him. Whether he invents another doomsday device (and promises not to use it), keeps Ultimate Nullifier in his nightstand, or stores a gate to anywhere in his basement. Everyone is supposed to trust him until turns out that his 3-year-old accidentally opened it. That’s happened a few times and if anything, we should know by now that Reed is anything but trustworthy.

He never stops to think “Should I?” Because the answer is pretty much always “No.”

He’s an awful husband

Back in the day, Sue often ended up on the other side of Reed’s outbursts. His smug attitude toward her was always uncomfortable, to say the least. He diminished her and everything she did because he deemed it irrelevant. It barely changed until the writers elevated her almost to his level by making her a doctor of Archaeology. While I appreciate them giving her some interests other than making sandwiches for everyone who resides in the BB, does it mean that they agree with Reed? That everything she did, whether she wanted to be an actress, ran their company, charities, or simply stayed at home with the kids, is not good enough? It makes sense in terms of their shared interests, but the only thing it gives me is doubts about him even loving Sue. Unfortunately, it seems like he sees her as a trophy wife he never could’ve gotten. When he talks about Sue, he often says that he studied her, like she’s an object that fascinates him. This kind of explains why he can’t relate to her, refuses to trust her, and doesn’t always care how his actions would affect her.

When Sue was Malice, everything she told him was pretty genuine. There is a trope where heroes say the worst things under the influence, yet these things are rooted in reality. And that’s what happened here.

There was another piece of truth Reed got when Johnny had a fight with Sue (about keeping from him the fact that the whole team’s powers were deteriorating, and their bodies too), he told her “You’re treating me like he treats you!” Reed didn’t react and that was never addressed again. Too bad, we all know that’s true. Reed has no respect for Sue. Even Reed knows that, I just don’t think he gets it.

Let’s not forget that Sue served him divorce papers. What a time that was.

He’s a terrible father

He starts out as an oblivious parent who doesn’t really care. As long as the kid can’t speak it’s not his problem, right? Hence multiple babysitters and Franklin spending half of his childhood with Agatha, in Attilan, and at Alicia’s place. Franklin is a creator, not a scientific one either and that’s something Reed can’t understand. That’s why he’s been having a hard time even connecting to his son. Okay, he might not be the easiest kid to connect to but with the constant neglect he’s experienced, no wonder he feels like a disappointment to everyone.

Val has a good father, Doom. He’s actually more of a parent to her than Reed, even if she’s the child Reed actually likes. Unless that’s just him being possessive. Just like with Sue (whenever she had her Namor eras) Reed is jealous of Val’s bond with Doom and as soon as he feels like he’s losing her, he gets mildly irritated. That’s exactly it, he’s not even properly furious – he just gets upset and focuses on work.

Even all the family adventures they went on, or that time after Secret Wars when Reed decided that Ben and Johnny should believe their family is dead (including the kids), couldn’t make up for that. After all, Reed probably spent more time in his mobile lab than with kids. And when he got bored he happily ditched everyone except Frank and Val. So much for calling them all “their kids”. They are better off anyway because Reed doesn’t consider their feelings. At least he treats them like adults, since he doesn’t consider them either.

He’s unkind and a trash friend

There is no genuine kindness in Reed. It’s almost like he pretends to be a loving husband, parent, and friend.

Reed has no respect for his family or friends. If he had, he would’ve considered them whenever he made a decision. Again, it comes back to him believing he can’t make a mistake (check how long he’d been agonizing over the first space mission). Yet the vast majority of Reed’s actions vary from mean to straight-up creepy.

Even the seemingly selfless gesture of turning his team into celebrities was his pathetic plea out of guilt. He never asked any of them whether they even wanted to be famous or heroes. He felt guilty (that’s something, I guess) for turning Ben into The Thing, and complicating things for Sue and Johnny (although, they probably would’ve been fine).

But that’s a pattern that follows Reed everywhere and everybody ends up getting hurt.

Despite claiming to love his wife and kids, care about his friend, and tolerate Johnny, he is unkind to them. He views and moves them as pawns to where he wants them to be, all the while faking the perfect family man and good friend facade. And that’s the new Reed, the old one barely pretended.

Let’s face it, Reed and Ben don’t have much in common except the collective trauma of getting powers and fighting Doom. The funny part is, Reed wants to be friends with Doom but Doom sees through his BS (okay, I might be giving props to the dictator here but ain’t he right?)

He’s way too full of himself

The self-proclaimed smartest man on Earth, Reed lives in the world of science. He is obsessed with math and he believes that math will solve everything. Spoiler: it won’t. He knows that, too. When Doom kidnaps his family and locks baby Franklin in Hell, Reed wastes so much time arguing with Strange over his aptitude for magic, that the kid ends up traumatized. For a while Franklin couldn’t tell the difference between Hell and Reality, all because his father couldn’t accept that he doesn’t know everything.

This is absolutely a pattern with Reed — he doesn’t believe in ghosts, vampires, probably even werewolves. Meanwhile, he knows actual gods and had a witch for a nanny. If anything, this is a sign of stubbornness and that’s one of the worst barriers for wisdom. So good at math he might be, a genius — I don’t think so. That’s not all there is to it, because there are absolutely people smarter than Reed with a more flexible mind. I have to give points to him for recognizing that eventually and forming Future Foundation but he still has ways to go. So far, math has been a source of trouble more often than not. His inventions and his equations that predict the end of everything force him to take the most ridiculous approach in trying to solve problems before they arrive. And if that’s how we see Reed, imagine how irritating it is to Doom.

And while we’re at it, they might have changed the origin so that Reed’s original calculations weren’t incorrect but that was wrong. The poetic justice of math, the only thing he truly trusted, betraying him, that was beautiful. If only Reed could understand art.

He’s dull

Let’s face it, they can rewrite Reed’s history, they can try to make him fun, they can even hire a really good actor to play him, but Reed is incredibly dull. He’s boring and even his family doesn’t pretend he isn’t. He is not charming, has zero charisma, not funny, and really he’s extremely lucky he managed to get Sue to marry him (because with his other bad qualities and lack of charm idk what that was, unfortunate chemistry?) He’s even more lucky Ben was out of other options friend-wise, and Johnny was just around. Otherwise, Reed would’ve died alone which is frankly, what he very much deserves.

That’s not even half of his misdeeds, just the ones that were on the top of my mind. But trust me, if you spend almost a year reading about this guy, you will likely hate him just as much.

#marvel #marvel comics #comics #comic books #marvel universe #long reads #fantastic four #reed richards #susan storm #johnny storm #ben grimm #valeria richards #franklin richards #victor von doom

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unclewaynemunson · 2 years ago

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'We need to tell them, Stevie, we can't keep going on like this.'

I know. You're right. We should. But the words stay stuck in Steve's throat, so instead, he buries his head in the crook of Eddie's neck, resting against his warm shoulder, curls tickling against his cheek and his nose.

He can feel by the way Eddie pulls him close and wraps him all up in the safety of his arms, that he doesn't need to explain to him what he's thinking right now.

'We can't let them find out like this, that wouldn't be fair,' Eddie murmurs against Steve's hair.

And Steve remembers the way Dustin squinted at them when he saw how flushed and disheveled they were looking the other day; he remembers how Lucas frowned when he asked Steve why he hadn't been on a date in weeks; he remembers Max's teasing remarks when she noticed the presence of Steve's car at the trailer park yet another morning.

Eddie is right: they can't keep this up. Those kids are geniuses, they'll probably piece together what's going on in less than a week if they don't tell them.

And it's not like Steve wants to hide it. It's not like he's unsure, or ashamed, but... He is afraid. He wishes he would have more time. More time in which the kids see him exactly like they see him now. More time in which he's just Steve, their friend, instead of Steve, their queer friend. More time in which he won't give them a reason to reject him, to hate him, to look at him all differently.

He knows, logically, that nothing like that will happen. The kids love him, they love Eddie. Will has been called much worse things than queer and that never stopped them from being friends with him.

But he can't shut off that gnawing what if in the back of his mind. What if this will change everything? What if –

No. He can't let his mind go there.

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the sensation of Eddie's fingers combing through his hair, on the rhythm of Eddie's heartbeat right next to his ear.

'I don't wanna make you do this if you're not ready yet,' Eddie says softly. 'I'd wait for you, no problem, I swear. But they're gonna find out sooner rather than later. They're too fucking smart, man.'

Steve hums and lifts his head to let his lips find Eddie's. He moves slowly, taking his time, barely more than a brush against Eddie's mouth.

Then, he directs his attention to Eddie's hand, laces their fingers together, squeezes gently.

'I'm not gonna lie, I don't think I'm entirely ready just yet,' he finally says. 'But I do wanna do it on my terms – on our terms. We should tell them.'

Eddie squeezes back and lifts his other hand to trace one finger over Steve's jaw, a light touch that conveys so much gentleness that it sends a shiver down Steve's spine, makes him want to pull Eddie impossibly close in his arms again.

Eddie's eyes pierce into his soul, holding Steve frozen in his place, unable to speak.

'Together,' Eddie whispers against his skin.

And that single word is enough to ease Steve's nerves, even if it's just a little bit. Whatever happens, they'll get through it together.

XXX

It's pizza night but Steve can barely get even one bite through his throat; his stomach is twisting violently and no matter what he does, that hollow feeling just won't go away. He keeps seeking out Eddie's gaze, trying to find some comfort in those deep brown eyes, but he can't reach out and touch him – not yet. He desperately wishes he could.

When he gets to the fridge to grab some more drinks for everyone, Eddie appears behind him, moving close into his space like he always does.

'You don't exactly look like you're having a grand time tonight, Stevie,' he murmurs under his breath.

'I'm fucking nervous, man.'

Eddie chuckles, reaches out to squeeze his shoulder – just an innocent touch but enough to set Steve a little bit more at ease.

'Yeah, I can see that, big boy.'

'Aren't you?'

'Nah, not really,' Eddie immediately says. 'Whatever happens, happens, right?'

And Steve is, yet another time, struck by how different the two of them are. He will probably never understand some parts of Eddie's brain; like how little he worries about what people might think of him. He can only wish he could find a little bit more of that in himself.

'Hey,' Eddie whispers. 'I can't promise you it's all gonna be alright, because I don't know that for sure, but I strongly suspect that they'll all be amazing about it. Okay?'

Steve nods.

'You wanna wait a little longer or just get it over with?'

'Let's get it over with.'

'Alright, little shrimps, listen up!' Eddie immediately raises his voice and stomps his feet on the ground, startling everyone at the table and making them whip their heads towards where Steve and Eddie are standing with curious eyes.

'Steve and I have an announcement to make,' Eddie says, in a mockingly solemn voice while making jazz-hands for additional dramatic effect.

Lucas gasps. 'Are you gonna –'

Max hisses at him and moves slightly in her seat; when Lucas lets out a yelp before he can finish his sentence, Steve can fill in the blanks of what happened underneath the tabletop.

Eddie turns his head to look at Steve. His gaze is softer than ever.

'Do you wanna tell 'em or should I?'

Maybe they should've prepared this, Steve thinks. He swallows, doesn't think he'll be able to get more than a couple words out of his mouth with the way he's feeling like a whole goddamn army of Demobats has made themselves at home inside of him. But it would feel weak, to let Eddie do the talking. He's known those kids the longest; he owes it to them to be honest. They deserve to hear it from him.

He breathes in. Breathes out. Looks at Eddie. Looks at the group in front of him. And says the words that might change everything.

'Eddieandmearedating.'

A second passes. Two, three.

'Steve, are you, um – are you okay?' Dustin asks, his face all scrunched up in... something. Disgust? Shock? Worry?

Steve tries to smile, but his face doesn't feel right at all. He feels Eddie’s arm moving behind his back, his hand gently squeezing his shoulder, the warmth of his body now pressed against his side.

'Kinda depends on what you're about to say,' he weakly admits.

'Depends on what we're – Steve! We love you, what the hell? Did you think that we – that we –'

Lost for words, Dustin shoots a helpless look at his friends.

'I don't know, okay, I –' But before Steve can finish his sentence, Dustin launches himself out of his chair to crash into Steve and Eddie like a cannonball, wrapping both of them in a tight embrace, soon joined by El and Max and Lucas, and then by Will and Mike, until both of them are buried in a slightly suffocating group hug of smelly teenagers.

'We already knew, man,' Dustin says, sounding muffled because of the way his head is buried against Steve's chest.

'You – what?!'

'We've known for weeks,' Max admits with a slightly malicious grin. 'You weren't exactly subtle about it.'

'So why didn't you say anything?! Aren't you mad that we kept a secret from you?'

'Mike was,' Lucas says.

'What the hell, Lucas!' Mike yells back at him.

'We were talking about it at Mike's, and Nancy kinda overheard us,' Will explains with a somewhat apologetic look on his face. 'And she explained why we should wait for you to be ready.'

A warm rush of gratefulness for Nancy washes over Steve.

'She also told us that we should say thank you for trusting us or whatever,' Mike adds with a look on his face like he just swallowed a whole lemon and an awkward shrug of his shoulders. 'So, thanks, I guess.'

'We love you, man,' Lucas says, and it sounds so sincere that it almost makes Steve tear up. 'We're happy for you.'

#am i projecting my own complicated feelings about big coming out moments onto steve?#nooooo not at all #don't mind me rambling about stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #fruity ficlet

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nor-4 · 1 year ago

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Daemon and Reader as Catherine punishing Peter scene.

"Ah, I wanted to talk to you.." Daemon startledly said as you burst the door open as you walk nearly run infront of him with anger, "I want you to meet the pups I stole" He happily said pointing at the dogs that he recently stole from somewhere in the street.

He opened his mouth to talk again but was cut off by you slapping him enough to make his head move, "This is my court and my rules." You said loud enough for the words to echo around the room.

"I-"

"You fucking killed my guard again didn't you?" You accused him looking at him with fierce he have seen for many times but it still makes him shaken for some reason and horny. "I did. And felt bad about it." Daemon gulped as if he really meant what he said.

"This random violence is not the way of my court." You lowered your voice a bit into normal but the anger didn't leave your tone, "He called me dickhead."

"That is your answer?" You asked him thinking about how stupid it does sound, sometimes you will laugh at his jokes and actions like this. But the fun is dead when he is about to get exiled again if you didn't do a good convincing with viserys for him to stay and give another chance. "I killed a man because he called me dickhead?" You mocked his words into his face.

"Do you hear how that sounds?" You asked once again but it seems like he is not paying attention nor care for the consequences of his actions, "Sounds perfectly logical." He answered which angers you more than you will ever be.

"Violence is not the answer to everything."

"It is a language that everyone understands. You will not get far if you do not come to terms with that." Daemon tried to reason what he did which is your last straw, "Fine. Guards." You called turning your back at daemon just to face the door as you saw ser harwin and ser criston enter the door.

"Beat the fuck out of him." You ordered after facing daemon again, "Funny. You're a witty creature. At times. The point is so slight, one almost does not." Daemon tried joking as the guards starting to walk near him as he turn at the guards stopping from his yapping, "What the fuck are you two doing?"

That's the last words he said before a punch was deliver direct to his stomach, he is near to be called kinslayer but let's not lie he still can't take punches. He only wins a fight when he punch the living demon out of a person without even them getting to touch him.

He was thrown at the floor as the guards starting to stomp him same reasons for aemond and Aegon who are also in the room to stand up but helaena who are in the same room as them just stayed on her seat and drink her tea in silence, she does know how woman's anger can be and truly understands yours. They do hate daemon with the every hair in their skin but that doesn't mean they wouldn't care for him who just got beat up over a petty fight.

"Hey!" Aegon tried to intervene just to get shut down, "Help and you will be shocked. My husband and I are busy discussing an issue." You explained before turning your back at them as they just sat down learning not to also face your anger.

You decide it's probably the time to stop this as you walked near him and bow down just for him to hear your point, "Can you hear me now?" You mocked him.

"Fucking hell." Aegon said in shock with mouth agape, he is a bit thankful that he is betrothed with helaena even though he have fantasies you many times. "Enough." You said after hearing a husky grunts from him, the guards immediately stopped and walked behind you leaving daemon who just curled up.

"All of you, out!" You said as they hurriedly left the room, "What the fuck?" Daemon said standing up to his feet. "Yeah if that had actually hurt. I'd be quite angry right now." He said with wide eyes trying to catch his breath from earlier.

"Is that how you wish me to make my point?" You asked him again discussing your point since he never learn from a simple word, "I said I wasn't proud of it. Clearly it would be better I had not." he reasons once again.

"For you I will try to be better next time. Now I would like to go truffle hunting with my new dog." he said pointing at the dogs again as if he is not beaten, "No." You disagree on him.

"Do not be a bitch. You kicked me and made your point. I've taken it graciously. The difference between lovers." he joked as if anything would be better, "We are not lovers. We will never be lovers. You are bloodthirsty thug, and I wish I had killed you when I had the chance." You spight at him. Daemon already knows that feeding your anger will be worse, he hates how lower you can get when he says something. It can be a joke or not but he knows that everything you say when you are angry is not something serious because arguing with each other is your hobby, for some reason.

"Guards. Grab his dogs." You walked away from him as the guards hurriedly get the dog before daemon do. "Lock him in." You ordered as all of you raced to leave the room as ser criston was the one to leave to fastly shut the door at demon's face.

#daemon targaryen x reader #daemon x reader #daemon targaryen #hotd #house of the dragon

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gorbo-longstocking · 1 month ago

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Do Not Blame the Sea - Chapter 8

Pairing: Emperor Geta/Reader, Emperor Caracalla/Reader

Summary: Caracalla drags you to the imperial baths with nefarious intentions and under the assumption you have the body typical of the men he’s lain with. In return, you insist on bathing in your boxers. Neither of you are happy with this compromise.

Tags: Mentions of period-typical slavery, discussions of past abuse both physical (Geta and Caracalla) and emotional/neglect (MC), probably inaccurate Roman bath situation mixed with historically accurate Roman sexual beliefs, Caracalla bulldozing through boundaries with the grace of a bull, implications of past underage sex, this is the most explicitly transmasculine that the mc has been, Mulan ass situation, open mocking of mcs virginity, ‘I can fix him disease’ this time from Caracalla, Geta throws a strigil at you, discussion of naked bodies, love bites. I can’t think of anymore.

Word Count: 7.9k Words

Read on AO3

Masterlist.

Caracalla’s arm was wrapped tight around your shoulders with you practically smushed against his side. It was both a good and bad action. Good, because your trembling legs could barely hold you up, and bad, because even if you were able to run, he’d never loosen his grip enough for you to try. He seemed to notice your increasing anxiety the closer the two of you got to the baths. It only served to make him pick up the pace. As your own terror tasted sour in the back of your throat, causing your already weak knees to lock, Caracalla was practically vibrating with barely contained excitement. His fingers were buried into the soft flesh of your upper arm, massaging and squeezing to the beat of your heart.

“I wish to bathe alone, Caesar,” You tried again. Your mouth tasted like sand.

Caracalla laughed, fond for once, though his humor always tended to be at your expense. Even in these days, when his cruelty held an air of affection akin to a schoolboy pulling on the hair of his crush. “And you will be alone, melimelum. Once your bath is run, I have ordered the slaves to leave you alone to preserve your—” He looked at you out of the corner of his eye, the once over he gave you mocking in its indulgence. “—precious modesty.”

A grumble of protest built in the back of your throat. Still, you had your own limbs draped around Caracalla’s neck, his other hand clasped with yours. No matter how badly you wished to shrivel up and die, you also knew that once he made up his mind, there was no changing it. You would be taking a bath with him, there was no doubt in your mind that was how your night would go. How it would end, now that was still up in the air. If you got caught in your lie — though, technically, it wasn’t a lie considering that, for all intents and purposes, you were a man — you didn’t know how Caracalla would take it. A bit of a grimace pinched your features, and it thankfully went unnoticed by your guide. He was far too fixated on ‘soothing your aches’ to pay much attention.

Was it really a lie when it was merely an assumption you went along with? It wasn’t your fault that you were assumed to be a cisgender man, even if it was the most logical conclusion. You didn’t look like a woman anymore, hormone replacement therapy had made sure of that, and you got top surgery as soon as you could. The only other assumption that could have been made was that you were some sort of androgynous being of no discernable gender, which almost would have been worse. At the end of the day, you were a man, and that was a fact you really did not want to have to debate. You glanced over at Caracalla, your expression sour. Especially not to a Roman who wouldn’t understand the intricacies of what you were trying to explain.

You tried not to shudder at the prospect that you would be considered a woman when all was said and done. That was not a fate you would abide by. The first decade and a half of your life was spent in abject misery as you were forced to live a lie out of fear of your parent’s reactions. In the end, they didn’t accept you, but you realized that didn’t matter. It was the one aspect of your identity that didn’t rely solely on seeking their approval. Once you told them they had a son or nothing at all, they seemed to understand a bit better.

A bit.

The large doors leading to the emperor’s personal washrooms, each ranging in different temperatures, loomed over you. While you had taken your parents' inability to understand in stride — for once in your life — you didn’t know if you would be able to handle Caracalla’s. Simply the thought of him calling you a woman, or insisting that you were his woman, made nausea roll in your gut. It was strange to think about. Being his, in general, while frightening in its newness, didn’t make you feel like that. A flush heated your cheeks as Caracalla began to tap a happy rhythm against the fabric of your tunic. You tried not to think about how much you enjoyed the idea of being his man. That was too much to consider right now, not when it could all come crashing down within seconds.

“We are here, melimelum.” Caracalla nudged your temple with the side of his head. All of his affectionate touches reminded you of a cat, and that traitorous spark of affection burst into a flame. “Are you excited?”

“Caesar, again, I wish to bathe alone.” You widened your eyes, imploring him to understand. “Without you, as well.”

Caracalla let out a scoff as he pushed open the doors. Steam billowed around your body, rising from the large, rectangular basin carved into the floor. As promised, there was no one else in the room, only you and Caracalla, who began to rip off his clothes with wild abandon. Carelessly, he tossed the expensive fabric, along with the gold and jewelry that adorned him, into a pile. He hadn’t even waited for the doors to be shut. You turned away from him to close them, a haphazard plan forming in the back of your mind.

“Alga, it’s an honor to bathe with an emperor. You shouldn’t let your shyness keep you from experiencing the great pleasures in life.” As he spoke, you refused to look at him. By now, he was sure to be naked, and you pressed your forehead against the doors, your gaze fixated on your feet.

You felt his fingers wrap around the collar of your tunic, giving it a slight tug. A flustered, squeaking noise tumbled from your lips as you continued to avert your gaze. No matter which direction you turned, Caracalla would try to slip into your field of vision. “I suppose it was too much to ask for you to respect my boundaries, Caesar.”

After a handful of spins in place, your back was flat against the door. Your chin was lowered, almost pressed against your chest in an attempt to not see what he so desperately wanted you to. Caracalla’s calves were in view, furrier than Geta’s, though the hair was still light and fine. That sharp laugh bounced off the walls. He gripped your lower face in his hand, his fingers digging into your cheeks as he forced you to meet his eyes. The entire way up, your gaze dragged from his calves, to his plush thighs, along his cock — that you fought to make zero observations about — and up his chest, that was just as hairy as his legs. There were a few stretch marks stretching along the length of his stomach and a hint of acne dotting his shoulders. When you finally landed on his face, his expression was sweetly mischievous.

“Why would I when they only mean you will lead a boring life with little fun to be found?” He released you and trailed the tips of his fingers down the side of your neck, then down your sternum, to remove the belt cinching your waist. It fell to the ground with a clatter. Caracalla’s eyes drank in your bewildered expression with a deep intensity. “I love when you make that face, melimelum. Come now, my medicus, show me. I cannot wait much longer.”

A sharp intake of breath whistled from you as you sidled away from him. Though disappointment that cut across his face made your anxiety stir, no anger followed, only mild frustration. It made you feel more comfortable in your plan— and your decision to go through with it. You didn’t quite put it past Caracalla to rip your clothes from your body, and maybe you were foolish to trust he wouldn’t. It was a lot to bestow upon such an emotionally volatile man, another thing you were willing to both risk and offer.

“I will leave on my underwear,” You finally said. Whether it was the steam that made your body flush or another, entirely different, reason, you weren’t sure. Your eyes lingered on Caracalla’s body, the love handles at his hips and the freckles that dotted his skin, hidden almost entirely by the red hair that seemed to grow wild across him.

Caracalla huffed out a sigh and pressed the heel of his palm between his eyebrows. “You must be joking, medicus! How will you get properly cleaned if you are not naked?”

“If I was alone, I would be properly cleaned,” You stressed, your lips thin. “You are the one who insisted on joining me. These are my stipulations.”

Childishly, he clenched his fists at his sides, his mouth moving as he fought for what to say. He seemed to give up — for once — letting out a breath before he dragged his feet into the bath, grumbling all the way, “You must be a virgin, I am certain of it now. Only a virgin would be this prudish and stubborn.”

You watched him sink into the water. It was milky from all the additives, thankfully hiding Caracalla’s genitals from view. Now that there was less of a temptation to look, and less incentive for him to show off, you pulled your tunic over your head. Folding it into a neat pile, you left on your boxers to keep the parts you wanted to hidden out of sight. You could feel Caracalla staring at you, the hungry way his gaze raked over your bare torso. When you turned to face him again, he was biting his bottom lip. It was hard not to roll your eyes, even despite the fluttering feeling that came with being desired.

You squashed that bug quickly and with little mercy. There was no guarantee Caracalla would still want you if he knew what you hid under your flimsy shorts. Blinking, you caught yourself, and a bit of shame made your chest feel heavy. It didn’t matter if Caracalla wanted you or not, what he felt was lust, maybe a hint of affection, nothing more.

That wasn’t what you wanted.

“I’m right, aren’t I,” Caracalla asked as he reclined, letting himself sink up to his neck.

Stiffly, you climbed into the bath and sat as far away from Caracalla as you could. It was a large basin, almost the size of a small pool, though you knew the distance wouldn’t last. As he had promised, the heat from the water helped your muscles loosen and ease the soreness from earlier. You couldn’t help but let out a small moan. Caracalla’s grin widened at the sound.

“Right about what?”

“You are a virgin.” Just as you expected, he waded over to you, and with his back against the tile, he nestled his shoulder against you. He hummed, relishing in his bare skin against yours. “I thought that maybe it was the fact that you have never been fucked before, but now I’m sure you have not been doing the fucking either, medicus.”

There was no denying that it was pleasant to feel him against you like this; him, naked, and you, nearly. You pushed that thought to the back of your mind as Caracalla nuzzled his head against yours. Instinctively, you reciprocated the action, earning a happy rumble that was almost reminiscent of a purr.

“I might be,” You said. “So what if I am?”

Caracalla cracked open one of his eyes. Water sloshed as he draped his arm around you, his thigh against yours. “Well, it’s pathetic to be your age and have never fucked before. I don’t think I can name one man other than yourself to be so untouched this far into adulthood. Did your parents not hire you a whore when you put on your toga virilis?”

“No!” You squawked, scandalized by the sheer concept of your parents having any part in your sex life. “Don’t be gross, Caesar. I don’t want to think about my parents and sex in the same sentence.”

“How else would they have you if they hadn’t given into pleasure? I would be without my medicus then.”

Wrinkling your nose at the horrible images that Caracalla besieged you with, you looked off into the distance. The steam rising from the bath made it hard to see any of the murals lining the walls. “My parents would have been unspeakably angry if I was alone with another man, or a woman. They thought romance would distract me from my studies.”

His hand slipped along your ribcage to toy with the waistband of your underwear. “Your parents have denied you a great many things, melimelum. It has left you stunted. You cannot even disrobe in front of me.” He pressed his lips against your jaw. His breath somehow scalded you more than the water. “Let me help you.”

“Caesar, th— that is not necessary.” You gently floated away from him, and to your surprise, he allowed it.

Caracalla watched you inch back, his expression unreadable. “I want to bathe you.”

“Huh?”

Slowly, and not the stalking, predatory slowness he usually entailed, but an even sort, he approached you again. “I want to bathe you. I want to smooth your skin with my creams and lotions, I want to dress your hair with my lavender oil. If you will not give me your body, you will let me have this.”

You opened your mouth to respond, only to be interrupted by the opening of the door. In a fine robe, Geta stepped inside, and without a second thought —- perhaps he thought he was alone — he dropped his clothing, revealing his naked body. With a blazing flush, you turned your attention back to Caracalla, who was glaring at him behind you.

“Brother, me and Alga are bathing. We were meant to be alone.”

Geta let out a frustrated sigh. Even without looking, you could sense him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Why is Alga in our bath?”

“Because I wanted him to be,” Caracalla answered, his jaw clenched stubbornly.

Geta must have been entirely unbothered by your presence because you saw the water ripple as he entered the bath. “Well, whatever you had planned must be put on hold. I have no interest in hearing either of you mongrels fucking while I am trying to relax.”

“We were not going to have sex!” You cried before you could stop yourself.

Caracalla stood and stretched. Even then, the water was well past his hips. With a bemoaning sigh, he said, “You were right, brother, my medicus is a virgin.”

“Why were you two discussing my sexual history?” Unlike Caracalla, you remained sunken, your arms crossed over your chest out of habit. While you no longer had breasts to hide, your surgical scars were still visible. It was an irrational fear, neither emperor would be able to recognize what they meant from a glance.

Geta lowered himself into the water with an exhale. “You are all my brother talks about anymore. With his rotten mind, it’s certain to come up more than once.” Then, with a single eyebrow raised, he regarded you with an air of superiority. “I was right, wasn’t I? You have never been fucked before. I suppose that’s a trait to be admired.”

“Nor has he ever fucked,” Caracalla snickered. On the edge of the bath were various bottles, likely containing the oils and creams that he had mentioned earlier. He sniffed one and pushed it off to the side before moving to the next.

His comment got Geta’s attention, which had quickly switched to judgement. “At your age? That’s… pathetic, Alga. I was having whores throw their cunts at me even before I came of age.”

“Wonderful for you, Caesar,” You said through grit teeth.

Distracted by his search, Caracalla chimed in again, with far too much information than you appreciated, “It’s not his fault, brother, it was his parents. They had a hand in maintaining his purity like he was some sort of Vestal.”

“Why would they do that? It is almost as if they were raising a woman rather than a man,” Geta mused.

You blanched. He was getting a little too close to hitting the nail on the head.

Caracalla spoke once more — how you wished he would shut up — before Geta could ponder that thought too much, “Alga told me his parents don’t like or want him. Why else would they have him so stunted and prude?”

“Your parents don’t like you?” Geta stared at you in a strange way that made your skin crawl.

“T— They love me, I am almost positive of that. Like is a different concept entirely, and I know they do not like me,” You stammered.

While Geta, at least, had the grace to recognize this was a conversation that neither of you wanted to have, it was far too intimate, Caracalla did not.

He ceased his search and turned to you, his gaze hard. “Why?”

“I— Well, they informed me of it.” Caracalla’s eyes narrowed further, and to add a bit of humor to the situation, you deepened your voice to imitate your father. “‘We do not have to like you to love you, and we haven’t liked you since you were young.’”

The familiar words tasted bitter on your tongue. It wasn’t the first time either parent had told you that, though, no matter how many times they said those words, it didn’t make it hurt less. You wanted them to like you, you craved it, even. Everything you did, you did for them, yet it wasn’t enough. It was never enough. Sometimes, you found yourself resentful. How much of yourself would you have to cut away until they were with you? Whenever you thought too long about it, you realized the answer. Everything.

Every aspect of your personhood was something your parents despised, there was no changing that. It didn’t matter how perfect your grades were, or how successful you were, so long as you were you, they would never be happy.

It made you hate them.

“I understand, I suppose. I don’t like them either, but I love them. They created me, it is only natural to want them to be proud of me, even if it’s impossible. I—” You cut yourself off, realizing you were rambling now. Both emperors stared at you, Geta with furrowed brows and Caracalla bristling with barely concealed anger.

“Your parents sound stupid, Alga. If they ever set foot on Roman soil, I’ll have them thrown into the colosseum. I’ll have them beg at your feet for mercy, and you won’t give it to them.”

You blinked. That was a bit intense, even if the sentiment was sweet. You couldn’t remember the last time someone took your side over your parents. Gratitude mingled with that fondness until it became a blaze. “Um, thank you, Caesar.”

Caracalla softened and made his way over to you. With a tenderness you didn’t expect from him, he cozied himself against you, holding you close. “Never worry again, melimelum, I will fix you.”

By now, Caracalla snuggling against you wasn’t an odd occurrence. More often than not, he was touching you, almost like he couldn’t get enough of the contact. Except now, he was naked as the day he was born. Bare skin against bare skin felt different than the soft fabric of his tunics and togas, it was almost if you squeezed him hard enough, you could meld your body with his. It was embarrassing in a new way that left you reeling, this sense of affectionate weakness that seemed to color every interaction you had with Caracalla. Butterfly wings tickled against your ribcage, and despite yourself, you leaned into the embrace. He let out a giggle, his fingers flexing between your shoulder blades.

“Can you feel my heart beat for you, melimelum?” With both arms around you, he squeezed you closer until you were chest to chest under the water. “Perhaps you need to be closer.”

A small wheeze escaped you as he tightened his embrace even more, nearly strangling you. Nevermind a cat, he was more of a boa constrictor. “Sweet words do not work on me, Caesar, I am a man of logic, not emotion.”

You refused to be wooed by a few gentle touches and kind words. It was only when you began to pull away did Caracalla release you, his lips pursed. His eyes flickered across the length of your face. “You are a test of my patience, medicus.”

With that, he drifted back to the edge of the bath to continue sniffing the bottles and vials laid out. You simply sat in the middle of the pool to wait for his return. If having him bathe you was the compromise for him not trying to seduce you, that was something you could deal with. Honestly, you couldn’t remember the last time someone had bathed you. Not even your parents when you were young. The most they did was instruct from afar to make sure you didn’t drown. With the sheer amount of affection and attention you got from Caracalla, it was all entirely foreign, making your skin crawl unpleasantly. Even if you could feel something new growing in the pit of your gut, you didn’t want to acknowledge it. You hoped you wouldn't get used to it. All it would be was another thing to miss when Caracalla turned his attention elsewhere.

That hurt, you realized. Even thinking about it made your chest ache, and in order to keep from rolling it around in your mind anymore, you turned your focus to Geta. He has gotten out of the bath, completely nude as he dragged a metal scraper across the length of his body. You really shouldn’t look, what you needed to do was try to figure out what the murals on the walls were.

Unlike Caracalla, Geta’s body was nearly hairless save for his legs and a smattering of still-growing hair beneath his bellybutton. His arms were thin, though his thighs still held a bit of softness, as did his middle. You tried to focus on taking in his appearance from a medical standpoint rather than a personal one, your eyes dragging from his nipples to the rosy flush on his chest. Against your better judgement, your gaze trailed downwards and your jaw nearly dropped. Maybe it shouldn’t have been so surprising. Despite your inexperience, you had always heard it was the tall, skinny guys to beware of, and Geta fit that bill. All the way from his thin shoulders to his long limbs, it really shouldn’t have been a shock to discover he was hung.

When you glanced back up at Geta, he was glaring at you. To hide your humiliation at being caught, you sunk deeper into the water until only the top half of your face was visible above the surface.

“Do you have something to say, medicus?” Geta snapped, more embarrassed than you had expected. If you had a monster like that at your disposal, you would probably have an ego the size of a small country.

The water swished around you as you shook your head, only coming up enough to take a breath. That made matters worse, and you watched as Geta’s hackles raised.

“No, speak! I want to hear what you have to say.”

A few bubbles burbled on the surface of the water as you blew out a breath. You raised yourself enough to speak, the surface lapping at your chin. “I apologize, I didn’t mean to stare. You’re… Uh, bigger than I expected.”

Behind you, Caracalla snickered. “It would do you well to watch your words, melimelum, my brother is particularly sensitive about his cock.”

Before you could ask any further, Geta was yelling loud enough for his voice to crack. “Do you believe yourself better than me, Alga?! I am not some barbarian weighed down by lustful urges! Priapus be damned!”

By the time he was done, his chest was heaving, the metal scraper clenched tight in his fist. When you opened your mouth to speak, perhaps to question the severity of his reaction, he drew back his arm and threw the scraper in your direction. It hit the edge of the bath and sunk into the water, leaving you flinching, your arms drawn up to cover your face.

“Keep your criticisms to yourself, Alga,” Geta snarled.

“I was not going to criticize you!”

Beside you, Caracalla reached over to pry the wince from your posture. With jerky motions, he revealed your face from your arms and studied you to see if Geta’s aim landed true. When he discovered it didn’t, laughter snorted from between his teeth. “You should have seen your sweet expression.”

“Quiet!” Both you and Geta said at once, his with a growl, yours a desperate plea. Caracalla blinked slowly before deciding this wasn’t worth his time and moving to retrieve the scraper from under the water.

“Isn’t having a big… sexual organ good?” You asked, voice high.

Geta let out a huff and entered the bath, clearly done with whatever he was doing. He rested his elbows on the edge and settled himself on the underwater shelf to lounge in true Roman fashion. “Sexual organ? You sound ridiculous. Say cock or nothing at all.”

His eyes were closed, so you took your chance to glare, if only for a moment, before lightening your tone in order to not set him off again. “In my country, it is considered a good trait.”

“It is not in Rome,” Caracalla said from behind you. He hooked his arm with yours and led you out of the basin to stand on the tile. In his other hand was the metal scraper, held loosely between two fingers. Droplets fell from your bodies, smattering into the floor. “Small cocks are preferred, it shows true intelligence and virility. I don’t bother myself with people’s perception of me, but my brother does.” With a small tug, he got your attention, a smirk worming its way onto his face. “Tell me, melimelum, what do you think of mine? It is thick enough to stretch you out. I think about it often.”

“I’m not looking, Caesar,” You muttered, staunchly focused ahead.

Caracalla snorted. “Are you afraid you might like what you see?”

“I simply do not find looking at private places to be a fun activity.” Once you were standing, assumedly, where he wanted you to be, he began to manhandle your body so that you were standing a shoulder width apart, your arms held from your sides. You didn’t get any warning when he began to smear oil on your body. It was cold, a sharp contrast to the water earlier. You couldn’t help but shiver. “What are you doing?”

“If only you would let me, I am sure I could change your mind, melimelum,” Caracalla sighed as if your skittishness were truly testing him. Without warning, his hands began to glide up your legs and along your thighs, past the hem of your boxers.

You jumped away. “Caesar!”

“You tempt me too much, dulcissimus,” He said with a laugh before opening his arms and gesturing for you to return. “Let me wash you as I promised.”

Carefully, as the oil mixed with the water had made the floor slippery, you approached him with one eyebrow raised. You were growing a little too used to Caracalla’s wandering hands. “Wash me how?”

“Is it not already obvious?” Without warning, Caracalla began to remove the oil on your skin with the scraper, letting it splatter onto the ground. “I will use the strigil.”

To his credit, Caracalla was meticulous, though not gentle in his motions. He pressed a little too hard with the scra— with the strigil. “This is different from how we bathed in my country.”

From the bath, Geta spoke up again, his face twisted in disgust. “Have you not been using a strigil since you got here? You must be filthy.”

“I washed with soap, water, and a rag!”

“As a barbarian would,” Geta scoffed before relaxing back in the water once more.

Caracalla’s hand on your waist had you turning your scowl on him, only for you to realize, for once, he wasn’t paying attention to you. His brows were knit as he removed the oil from your skin, fixated entirely on the task at hand. His grip was absent minded, there for balance rather than flirtation. You felt your expression soften as you relaxed against his ministrations. When you inhaled, the scent of lavender was almost overwhelming.

“Is this what you use to clean yourself?”

Caracalla glanced up at you as he ran the strigil along your side. “Do you like it? Mater believed it would help calm me as a child. I liked it enough to keep using it.”

“I assume you were a rowdy child.”

“One that grew into a rowdy man,” He said, though his voice sounded distant. You felt his touch just under your pectorals, pads of his fingers tracing your scars. Caracalla brought his face close to your chest as he studied them, and when he looked up at you, there was rage in his blue eyes. It was only then did you realize he was shaking. “Who gave you these scars?”

Anxiety welled in your chest. “Caesar, it’s not a problem, they are from—”

He cut you off with a sharp bark, “Was it your parents? I’ll have them crucified! I will send fleet after fleet across the sea until I find them, I swear it!” You weren’t able to respond, Caracalla was pushing you to the edge of the bath where Geta waited, his brown eyes hard. “Look, brother! Look what was done to my medicus! He was cut!”

Caracalla was red in the face now, his breathing coming in rapid pants. He tugged at his wet hair, knuckles white from how hard he was gripping the fiery strands. Geta, while deceptively calm, stared at your scars with a look that betrayed a hint of protective anger.

“No one did this to me, it was my choice,” You managed to say before either man got even more irate.

Below you, you saw Geta’s shoulders slacken as he looked away, though Caracalla didn’t seem convinced. His eyes were still blazing, jaw clenched tight. “You wanted to be cut? I thought you had never been fucked before.”

“No, no, no, not like that!” Flustered at the masochistic implication, your voice cracked as you waved your hands in front of yourself. “It was a surgery. These are surgical scars.”

“Were you sick?” Came Geta’s question. Unlike his brother, who had begun to pace, running his hand through over his head every few seconds, he was calm as he leaned against the edge of the bath.

Nervous, you played with your fingers. This would be hard to explain, both vaguely, and in a way Geta would understand. “It was cosmetic. The… The gods cursed me at birth and in order for my body to be as intended, I needed surgery.”

“Was it truly so terrible that you had to risk dying under another medicus’ knife?” Caracalla bit out. He was pulling on his tunic, each movement exaggerated in his frustration as he wrestled with the fabric.

“Was it?” Geta echoed the question.

You nodded, both firm and solemn. “I would rather have died than live in that cursed body again.”

Caracalla made a noise, somewhere between pain and a furious growl. “I am done bathing with the likes of you!”

Still wet, he threw open the door and stormed out of the room, tracking puddles down the hall. A bit of fear caused your heart to lurch. Did he find out your secret? You had been so vague, you were sure no one could have figured it out.

Geta pulled you from your thoughts. “Ignore my brother, he has always been emotional.”

“No.” You scrubbed your face with the heel of your palm. “I shouldn’t have… I don’t know.”

He studied you for a moment, pupils flickering over your frame, still half covered in oil. “Rinse off and go to bed, medicus.” Before you were able to do just that, he spoke again, softer this time. “Caracalla is very attached to you. Even the thought of harm befalling you can send him into a frenzy. Take care of yourself, if not for your sake, then his.”

With an awkward nod, and a bit of disbelief staining your heart that you could matter so much to another person, you obeyed.

Neither you or Geta talked for the rest of the night. It was easier to think that way.

It was hard to imagine that was only an hour ago. In your sleep clothes, which consisted of a pair of dry boxers and one of your t-shirts from home — the last pieces of the future that you had — you snuggled under the linen sheets. At the foot of the bed was a woolen blanket, likely for the winter. Even now, with the warm spring breeze wafting through your open window, you craved its comfort. You wanted to wrap yourself in its heaviness, to pretend its weight was something else entirely. Swallowing hard, you curled further in on yourself, your fingers smoothing over the fabric.

All you could think about was Caracalla. No matter how hard you tried to sleep, the moon high in the sky, you couldn’t get his reaction to your scars out of your head. Why was he so angry? At first, you understood his assumption that they were caused by an act of abuse, that would make anyone angry. After, however, that was what confused you. He had stormed out, and when you passed his room, you heard him throwing things around, one even hitting the door with a loud thud.

While you felt guilty for upsetting him so much, you couldn’t help the exasperation that accompanied it. There was nothing great about you, save for your intelligence. If it wasn’t for your mind, you would be a dime a dozen. Caracalla’s… infatuation with you wouldn’t last, this was how he was with everyone who caught his attention, wasn’t it? You didn’t want to be discarded like you were nothing, you didn’t want to grow used to this sweetness in your chest only for it to disappear without warning. Because, in the end, it would. Caracalla would realize how worthless you were and grow tired of you. That was how he was, right? That was how everyone was. You thought about the surprise of the slaves when you managed to calm him, you thought about the shock that accompanied having Caracalla as your shadow, and how you were told only you and Geta had ever managed to control him during his outbursts.

With your fingers clutched at the fabric of your shirt over your chest, you felt a heaviness that made it hard to breathe. There was no way someone like you, a child not even their parents could accept, would find what you had been so desperately grasping for in Caracalla. Childish, self-centered, cruel Caracalla. It couldn’t end well. It wouldn’t end well, you knew it. You had to remind yourself of it every second he clung to you. A groan rumbled in your throat.

When all was said and done, you truly hoped he was going to be alright. Maybe you could talk to him more tomorrow, you told yourself, knowing damn well you wouldn't. Caracalla would likely be grumpier, but he wouldn’t mention it again, not unless you brought it up. That would only serve to set him off again. You didn’t fear for your safety around him anymore, it was the fact that you knew he would simply exhaust himself in the middle of the day. It was easier to pretend that nothing had happened in the first place. Avoidance came easier than you would have liked.

Your door rattled, drawing you from your thoughts. The knob turned, but no matter how hard the person in the hall pushed, they would not open. Right across from the hinges was a deadbolt that you locked every night, if only for some semblance of privacy.

If you didn’t already have an idea of who it was at this hour, Caracalla’s watery voice gave him away. “Alga. Let me in.”

You were moving before you realized it. Normally, when Caracalla pestered you at night, you ignored him. As far as he was aware, you were a heavy sleeper. What drew you to obey now was the thickness in his throat, drawn tight from fighting back tears. There was no way you could abandon him, not when he was asking for you so miserably.

“Alga, wake up. I want you to wake up,” Caracalla continued as he tried the knob again. There was a thick sniff and a whimper. “I want to see you. Let me see you.” Quieter now, only audible because you were reaching to unlock the deadbolt, “I need you.”

Once the door was opened, you barely had time to take in his weeping face, cheeks blotchy and eyes red, before he was upon you. His hands cradled the back of your neck as he buried his face into your shoulder. On instinct, you returned the embrace with a startled hum. Caracalla’s chest rattled when he inhaled.

“I couldn’t stand to be without you for a second more,” He muttered. When he pulled back, his eyes searched yours, a bit of hurt in them. “Why did you not come to me? I needed you, and you left me alone.”

Gently, and still holding him close, you led him deeper into your room, closing the door behind you with your foot. A bit of guilt made your skin prickle. “You were angry with me, Caesar, I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought I would only make it worse.”

“You never make it worse,” Caracalla choked out. “You always make me better. Always.”

For a minute, you simply rocked him back and forth and let him cry into your collarbone. Like before, you played with his hair. It helped calm him.

“I apologize,” Both earnest and soft, your voice broke the silence once you were sure he was calm enough. “I am sorry for upsetting you in the first place, and I am sorry for not being there for you, Caesar.”

“Caracalla,” He said. “I want to hear you say my name. It brings me comfort.” With his jaw set and his eyes narrowed, he continued, “I will only forgive you if you call me by my name.”

Your fond sigh puffed across his face, causing his nose to wrinkle. “Only when we are alone, Caracalla, people will believe me to be disrespectful.”

Better now, he pressed his face against the exposed skin of your neck and took a deep inhale. The scent of the lavender oil that he had slathered you with — it was almost impossible to wash off with water, and you didn’t quite know how to use a strigil with the same grace Caracalla did — seemed to quiet his raging thoughts.

“You are disrespectful, melimelum.” Where you thought he would follow up with a flirtatious remark about punishment, he merely let out another small whine. “Let me lay with you tonight.”

It would be easy to deny him, you told him no more times than you said yes, but hearing him like this, so small and weak, you knew it was over. You hoped Caracalla never realized what a sucker for the kicked puppy look you were.

“Tonight, only.” You couldn’t help but laugh when he made a sound of protest, only quieting when he was settled on the bed. Caracalla peeled himself away from you, then settled under the sheets, his arm raised for you to tuck yourself against him. For once, you let yourself, and tried not to think about how happy it made you to have him so close. It was only when you were tangled chest to chest, his forehead against yours, did you concede, “I— And, if you ever find yourself unable to be alone. Those nights, too.”

Caracalla stared at you and raised his palm to your cheek to cradle it. Affectionately, he rubbed his nose against yours, gaze not wavering from your own for even a second. “I need you every night. Nightmares plague me whenever I sleep, but tonight—“ His voice broke under the strain of his sorrow “— I would not have been able to bear them.”

You let out a breathy whisper, “Why not?”

Caracalla’s face pinched, his eyes growing glassy again. “I cannot stop thinking about it and I know it will come to me in my dreams tonight. These visions, I fear they will ruin me.”

Despite your curiosity, you soothed him with your fingers in his hair.

“We don’t have to talk about it anymore,” You told him.

“Promise me that you were telling me the truth. Tell me that your parents never laid a hand on you.”

You paused, dumbfounded by his concern, before you found your voice again. His worry was touching and you felt so much affection in the wake of it that you felt like you were going to be sick. “My parents never hit me. They were not kind, but they never hurt me in that way.”

“Alga,” His voice cracked as he tightened his grip on you. “The thought of you being hurt like I was, I cannot stand it.” It was silent, and you felt his fingers against your chest where your scars were. His touch was tentative, hands shaking. “Would you really rather be dead if you hadn’t had your body fixed?”

“Yes.”

Caracalla squeezed his eyes shut as if he had been struck. “I don’t want you to die. I want you to be with me forever.”

The confession left you reeling. Forever? So bright and so fragile, hope at the possibility of… you didn’t know, you hardly wanted to think of it. Terror that such a feeling would turn to ash in your hands kept you from giving in. You were being stubborn, you were well aware of that. Maybe it was his immaturity that made Caracalla so aware of what he wanted and so blunt when he voiced it. You could never be that way. Was it strange to envy him?

“I— I’m not going anywhere. Even if I wanted to, there is nowhere I could go. Caes… Caracalla, you are stuck with me. I am only…” The words got caught in your throat. They choked you like burrs, and it took a few thick swallows to force them up. “… Grateful that you want me to be.” When he felt you tense, he pressed his forehead tighter against yours, his eyes boring into you. Unable to stop them, your lips moved. “Do you really want me forever?”

“I do.”

His conviction made your heart lurch. Strange and wanting, you tried to get him to say otherwise; to tell you what you were so certain of. “Even if I was different from any other man? Even if I wasn’t what you thought?”

Caracalla’s pupils darted to your lips, though his eyes were still rimmed red. “Kiss me and you will see how badly I want you.”

“I need to hear it.”

The first kiss was pressed against your Adam’s apple. You felt a bit of pressure on your windpipe, though not unpleasant. There was another on the underside of your chin, then another on your jaw. You tried to tell him to stop, but your tongue was twisted in a knot. “I don’t…”

Caracalla continued to pepper you with kisses, both tender and heated. You felt your protests die in your throat. He smiled against your neck before biting at the sensitive flesh with his teeth. A yelp ripped from you, and you tried to jerk away, only for him to hold you firmly in place. “You are so shy, it is both frustrating and so sweet. I want you to grow used to my touch, to crave it as much as I crave yours. Every second you are not against me, I feel a part of myself withering.”

Another nip made you gasp, and the foreign feeling of heat in your gut made you want to curl into a ball. This was too strange, it was too much to handle, not after what he had confessed to you. Caracalla wanted you forever, and maybe that was how he felt now, maybe it would change, but, deep down, you were desperate for it. No one had truly loved you, not once in your whole life. It was terrifying to think that the man kissing you like you were the last person on earth could give you that.

“Caracalla, not yet.”

He paused, and when you believed he would decide to pay your pleas no mind, he pulled away. Mouth pursed into a pout, he leaned over you. “Why not? I could make you feel good and you could bring me great comfort. It would be fun.”

“I— I don’t want fun.”

Looking down at you as if you said the strangest thing, his teeth peeked through his parted lips. “What does my strange medicus want, then?”

Flustered humiliation made you flush darker than you already were. “To be wooed.”

“To be wooed,” Caracalla repeated.

“Yes,” You tried to put as much confidence in your voice as you could.

A playful smile spread across Caracalla’s face as he flopped next to you with a giggle. Pulling you close, he nuzzled his cheek against you, a bit of stubble making it rougher than usual. “You want me to court you. My foreign medicus wants to be courted by an emperor like a maiden.”

Shame made you try to pull away, only for him to hold you tighter. “Don’t make fun of me. Not now.”

“I’m not,” He insisted despite the teasing glint in his eyes. “I’ve never courted anyone before, Alga. Whoever I want falls into my bed, and that is all I have ever needed.”

“You don’t have to then. Let us act as if I never said anything.”

“Until you,” He said. Now you felt hot for another reason. Caracalla stared at you with so much barely contained adoration, it nearly suffocated you.

“Then take me on a— a—” To your dismay, and Caracalla’s growing amusement, you couldn’t think of the Latin word for ‘date’ “— A romantic outing with only the two of us. Whatever you want it to be, I do not care, I only wish for it to be a surprise.”

“Anything I want.” Caracalla’s irises shone with mischief in the wavering moonlight. “Perhaps I will have a holiday named in your honor, Alga.”

“You better not.”

His response came in a snort. “I only want the best for you, melimelum. All of Rome needs to know how wonderful you are.”

“I am not so great…” You muttered.

“I will make you understand.” He let out a pleased exhale as he nestled himself against you, his ear against your chest and his leg thrown over your waist. “Now, sleep and chase away my nightmares, medicus. That is an order from your Caracalla.”

A small smile made your lips twitch. While you knew you would never see whatever Caracalla saw when he looked at you, at the very least, you could hold him through the night. That alone made you feel half as wonderful as he seemed to think you were.

A/N: Long authors note, I’m not sorry, I’m going full freak. Okay, so, for all intents and purposes, Alga and Caracalla are ‘dating’ now. Or, courting. For the record, I’ve said this before on an ask, but I’ll say it here in the main body of the fic. Geta and Caracalla will not react negatively or violently to Alga being transgender, so there’s no need to worry there. While there might be some transphobia, the worst it’ll be from Geta and Caracalla are them not quite understanding the depth of the trans experience. It’s all from a place of Ancient cis man thinking it’s sick as hell and also trying.

Also, I am very aware the bath scene is not super accurate. From what I remember from my Latin class in highschool, they had like three separate baths. I think one of them was a sauna situation where you’d get all sweaty and then you’d oil up before scraping with a strigil. There was also a cold bath to close up your pores, or whatever. However, as much as I like being as historically accurate as possible, I also like having fun, and setting the chapter up like this was more fun. And, worked better in my opinion from a sauna. Okay, now that I think about it, sauna could have worked. Whatever, moving on.

Now onto the real meat and potatoes! Roman sexuality! Okay so, there were no terms for straight, gay, bi, any of that. There was only the one penetrating and the one getting penetrated. Masculinity was a HUGE deal in Rome, and sex was associated heavily with said masculinity. Men were supposed to be this dominating, conquering force and this shows in how they viewed sex. Gay sex was not uncommon and very normalized, under one condition. You did not bottom. For a man to be penetrated sexually by another man, it was like… very boo hiss. If I recall correctly, it was a big deal for two male citizens to have sex, because one had to bottom, and the one who bottomed would get clowned on HARD. Maybe even lose his citizenship. I’m not super sure on that one. Anyway, that is why Geta and Caracalla react to Alga’s virginity like that. It’s really, really cringe and pathetic for them to have not fucked either a man or a woman as an adult considering teenage boys were generally encouraged to go hogwild. It’s also why Geta says it’s admirable for them to have not been fucked before, though that won’t last long.

In a similar vein, as far as I am aware, Romans tended to be very crude and open about sex. Cock, cunt, fuck, that was generally how people would speak. At least according to graffiti, maybe people of higher social status talked more clean, but that’s not as funny. The modern and Christian-centric concept of purity and modesty would be seen as sort of weird (sort of, looks at the vestal virgins) Both Geta and Caracalla only know a little bit about how their parents treated them — which definitely qualifies as abuse / neglect in my opinion — though the fact they have been ‘stunted sexually’ is particularly egregious. Both because of Roman views and also because it effects them personally.

Another very, very funny aspect about Roman’s views on sex I wanted to add was the fact that, back then, small penises were the ideal. Having a big penis was mostly seen in a comedic or disgusting sense, like with lecherous old men. Small penises were associated with intelligence and not allowing yourself to succumb to lust. Priapus is a Roman deity who is known for his massive nd constantly erect schlong. While Geta’s third leg would be something he would be ANNOYINGLY proud of in modern times, as a Roman, it’s a great source of shame for him.

Also, I would like to make sure it’s very clear why Caracalla was upset about Alga undergoing surgery. It isn’t because they changed their body, but because surgery was VERY deadly back then. The very idea of them dying before he could meet them terrifies him. It’s why he so frequently brings up that, if a certain thing didn’t happen, he would be without them. I dunno if anyone’s noticed how often he comments on that.

Finally, as promised last chapter!!! I will tell you how Geta and Caracalla use ‘Alga’ differently from each other. Geta mainly uses it as an insult, either when he’s mocking them or angry with them. As it means ‘something of little worth’ along with ‘seaweed,’ he just throws it at them like a grenade. When he’s calm, or enjoying their company, he usually calls them ‘medicus.’ While Caracalla used ‘Alga’ as their name, and usually when he’s feeling affectionate. They’re his seaweed. Also, he likes ‘melimelum’ so much as a petname because of the ‘spoonful of honey makes the medicine go down.’ Alga is his honey. The good thing that makes his days worth it now. Gay ass.

Man, and thank you for reading this fanfiction! Along with this author’s note, if you read all the way. It’s just, like, this is probably the most fun I’ve had writing a fic in a while. I got out of a pretty severe depressive episode mid-January where I hadn’t written anything in two months. DNBTS and the reaction it’s gotten has been genuinely so… [Explodes!] Writing is a passion of mine, but sharing this story is one of the things I look forward to. Thank you so much for reading, sticking around, and interacting. Sorry to get so real with you there for a second. [Casts spell of joy and whimsy!!!!]

Taglist: @snazzynacho @t6gse370 @cherrysweets-world @justlibra @001mon

#emperor caracalla x you #emperor caracalla x reader #emperor geta x reader #emperor geta x you #fred hechinger #joseph quinn #gladiator ii x reader #gladiator 2 fanfiction #gladiator ii fanfiction

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persnicketypomelo · 2 months ago

Note

wanted to know if I could maybe request some yandere Kazuhira miller hcs?

obsession, major spoilers for MGS5, kidnap, trauma

Yandere!Kazuhira Miller Headcanons

His personality is different in the different games depending on his age, and what he's been through at that point

For this one, I'll base it off of MGS V

At this point, Miller's no longer so carefree and lighthearted as he once was

He's lost everything, including his own arm

Kaz holds a world of anger, sorrow, and regret

But underneath all of that, he's just a troubled man who wants belonging and a home

A home which he begins to associate, not with a place, but with a person--you

There's potential for him to meet you as either part of the Diamond Dogs or as an extract from one of Venom's missions

Perhaps a rescued hostage with valuable information?

He's not really in much of a physical condition to be actively in missions like Venom anymore, so he focuses his energies on maintaining and the base

For this reason, I think it would be more likely that he has a role in dealing with you, whether it be an interview or interrogation

This would also be where his interest in you starts

As a trained military officer, he's not someone so fickle as to be easily influenced by emotions

He wouldn't be swayed to act by sentiments like love or passion

But the mind is a funny thing, and its working aren't exactly based in logic

After enduring pain and torture, his world is in turmoil, and the only thing he knows to do is cling to that pain

Yet, you stir something different--restlessness in a way that isn't entirely unpleasant

Maybe he finds your presence to be soothing, like a salve that can--even if just for a moment--soothe his inner storm

That's a calm that a troubled man such as himself doesn't experience often

And, well, can you blame him for wanting more?

Any affection at this point would probably be subtle, and mostly would play out through talking with you and enjoying your company

He's capable of charm and flirtation, but he's not used to being the one falling for someone

Not to mention that he is so irreversibly pained that he would be a far-cry of the womanizer he was in the past

You might not even notice that he's taken interest in you

Well, apart from the numerous visits he makes to talk with, even thou you're sure you've exhausted any use you could've had by now

The catalyst of his spiral would probably be finding out everything he's worked for, this whole time, was a lie

I could see this going two ways from there

Firstly, it could go as usual, with him waiting things out and then later changing career paths and allegiances once more

All the while, he tries to keep you close and as safe as possible

If you can have a role in their operations that doesn't involve direct combat, he would try to direct you into these kind of activities

When the time is right to leave, he would bring him with you--willing or not

He's tired of betrayal, and both out of his own single-mindedness and a genuine concern for your safety, he would take you with him

Clinging to some type of normalcy and stability he would want to settle down with you

If you, understandably, don't feel the same, well, who says there has to be any official matrimony or recorded union between you two?

As long as you're by his side, then it's okay if your relationship isn't...traditional

In the case that he abandons the base, I think his mental condition would be way worse

He would take you with him all the same, the difference being the far-gone look in his eyes and the frightening desperation that seeps into his face and voice

Maybe in this state, betrayed and irreparably scarred, he will confine you

He needs you, you can't betray him, you can't leave him...not at his lowest...not when you're the only thing he has tethering him to this world anymore

Miller would come to emotionally depend on you

You can fix him, right? You can make him whole again

The outcome--your kidnap--might technically be the same, either way, but there may be some differences

Although he would still be kidnapping you, if he followed the first path, he would be primarily concerned with your wellbeing, and would act on the belief that he is providing and caring for you

The second path, in which he is a broken man, he locks you up selfishly, clinging to you since you're the only one he can trust anymore

Like hell, would he ever give you a chance to betray him like everyone else he's ever trusted

Neither path is a happy ending, but at least in one, you can pretend that this is normal, that your relationship is consensual

Otherwise you'll have to deal with the crumbling pieces of a man along with the deterioration of your life and freedom

#reader insert #x reader #obsessive #mgsv #yandere mgs #metal gear #kazuhira miller #mgs

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mae-gi-writes · 5 months ago

Text

sweet like nectar | hyunjae . theboyz | (1)

"Run, run, baby, where I go? Closer and closer to you I'm addicted, I'm addicted to you" - NECTAR, THE BOYZ

In which you and Hyunjae only have 24 hours to enjoy life before it's time to grow up and go your separate ways.

Genre: fluff, a bit of angst, slowburn! teasing!Hyunjae. friend!Hyunjae, friends-to-lovers, idiots-to-lovers au. ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

------- part one | part two -------

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Anything you wanna say?"

You were tired. Every muscle in your system was screaming at you to lie down and get some rest. But the doe-eyed boy before you, it seemed, had other ideas. He gazed down at you unblinkingly, that same teasing smile playing across his lips as he sat, cross-legged, in your room waiting for you to give him an answer that would satisfy him.

It was the last day of university -- your very last lecture had concluded an hour ago -- and you had already packed your bags to head back home. London was beautiful and mesmerizing, but with that beauty came the struggle to get a job, meaning that you had no other choice but to return back to your homeland while your visa would hopefully renew itself. That, or a company would sponsor you.

The latter seemed probably impossible. Not when there were so many other willing candidates with so much better grades than you did.

Which was why your friend Hyunjae was taking it upon himself to act as your makeshift guardian as of right now, having helped you pack your bags for the last two days and ensuring that the rest of your things would be delivered at his flat. He'd keep them for now, was what he'd stated when you protested you'd just be cluttering up his space.

"It's fine," he'd waved away your worries, "as long as I can sell them, right?" and had winked at you, causing you to roll your eyes and huff at the stupidity.

Hyunjae had been friends with you since the start of your freshman year, courtesy of his dorm room being right next to yours. And so due to the fact that your roomate back then had been an unlivable nightmare -- always eating junk food and tossing its wrappers and cardboard takeaways on your side of the room, never doing her laundry and staying up so late you barely managed to sleep -- you'd automatically sought out Hyunjae's room, considering that his roommate was never there. It was the only saving grace from first year, the blessing in disguise that had brought you a friend so special you wouldn't have known how to navigate university if not for him.

And now, in less than twenty-four hours, you were parting ways. Maybe for a week. A month. For good?

You really didn't hope so.

"Do we really have to do this?" you whined as you allowed your spine to rest against the corner of your bed, legs splaying out before you as you watched the sunlight stream through your windows and flicker along Hyunjae's hair.

It cast him in a golden glow, almost making him look ethereal.

Life was unfair. Why was he this pretty? You'd never understand that logic.

"Yes we do," he said firmly, "now come on. You have one chance to let it all out--" he threw his arms out by his sides dramatically, "--before you close this chapter of your university life--OOF!"

His words were interrupted by a pillow -- namely your pillow -- hitting him straight int he face. Hyunjae choked on his breath, falling to the floor and wailing as dramatically as a newborn baby, "man down!" he yelled, "man down! I'm hurt! I'm injured--"

"Shut up Hyun," you rolled your eyes, "stop being so dramatic. Is the driver here yet?"

At your words, Hyunjae stilled beneath the gigantic pillow and mumbled through it, "you're no fun, Y/N. I'm just trying to make your last days as memorable as possible and here you are--rainining on my parade."

"You have no parade going on, hotshot."

Hyunjae growled at you, "and you're no fun."

Giggling and reaching over to pry the pillow from his face, you were greeted with the sight of him, all disheveled and grinning up at you as he pushed himself upright, "so, it's your last day here. What shall we do?"

"Don't you have things to do? I thought you had a shift today."

"I did," Hyunjae held up his phone in triumph, "not anymore. I switched with Kevin."

"I could've accompanied you to your shift."

"And do what? Stare at me serve tables?" then, his lips pulled into a smirk, "actually, I think that's a great idea, you staring me down and appreciatng my--"

You slapped his shoulder and the young man whined in pain, "stop it, you're so not funny. And I was saying that to be nice. You were the one who said that you needed all the money you could get."

"Y/N, one day won't kill me you know," his smirk softened into a grin, "and once I get rid of your sorry ass, I'll be as free as a bird."

You scowled, "you think you can choke on this pillow if I shove it up your mouth?"

"I wouldn't recommend it," a notification pinged and your friend dug for his phone, swiping it open as you laid back against the bed and closed your eyes. Some peace at last. Maybe if you didn't talk, Hyunjae would forget about making the most out of today--

"Right," you heard his phone lock up and forced your eyelids open, "let's go. I know exactly where to bring you."

"I thought you were going to answer that," you motioned for his phone.

Call it imagination, but you swore you spotted something that looked like annoyance flicker through Hyunjae's eyes for a millisecond, before his grin was back on. He was a master at hiding what he truly felt, after all. You'd learnt it the hard way, always having to dig in deep to understand what really went on behind those toffee-coloured eyes that haunted your nights too many times for you to count.

Hyunjae's words brought you back into the moment, "i'll answer it later. Come on," he made a grab for your hand, pulling you along with him towards the door, "we don't have all the time in the world."

This was going to be a long day.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"Oh my gosh Y/N, you should see your face!"

"Shut up!" You wiped at the water droplets coating your skin, trying your best to get as much of it off with the back of your hand and your t-shirt sleeves. Hyunjae could only laugh, his boyish giggles exploding through the otherwise silent room as weird, curious glances were directed your way.

"This is your fault," you were red in the face by the time you managed to wipe all the water off, your scowl so deep that it would've sent anyone running. Hyunjae merely whistled in that cheerful way of his, bumping his shoulders with you before linking with your arm and tugging you towards another aquarium pod, "I think you just got on that sting ray's bad side."

His brilliant idea was to spend some time at the London aquarium, which -- granted -- you hadn't visited despite the four years of living in this place. So far, you were amiably surprised by the variety of animals and species on display and if it weren't for that sudden splashing incident with that sting ray, you would've been quite a happy girl.

"I think you were the one that annoyed it so much, so it decided to take it out on me," you snarled back as you approached the octopus section.

"Nonsense, I'm too cute to be annoyed with," Hyunjae gave you a pout that caused your arm to whack his shoulder in retaliation. He whined in pain, holding onto his shoulder blade and muttering how violent you could be whenever things didn't go your way.

"You're the one being dramatic," you scolded and folded your arms across your chest, your eyes finally diverting towards what you were supposed to be focusing on from the start. The octopus gazed back at you, its tentacles moving in unison like a mermaid under water.

You weren't a fan of anything with tentacles, but even you had to admit that the octopus was beautiful, mesmerizing even. So much research had been conducted on these animals that it was hard not to sympathize with them, with the fact that they were currently holed up in tiny spaces that didn't allow them to grow and flourish as they should've.

"It's really pretty," you murmured out mostly to yourself, though Hyunjae was close enough to hear.

"Yeah," he mumbled back, nose practically pressed against the glass. From this angle, the blue light reflected off the planes of his face and softened his features like a child. Hyunjae looked almost -- almost being the keyword -- angelic, "do you think they know people stare at them all day long?"

"Well I suppose they have eyes for that."

"Yeah but maybe they just like minding their own business."

"I think if you stare at them like you're staring at them, they're definitely going to notice."

"He's so cute," Hyunjae reaches up with a finger, brushing it over the glass pane that separates him and the octopus, "d'you think we can bring him home?"

"I don't have a home anymore, Hyunjae."

His eyes narrowed up at you in a pout, "I meant my home. Why are you being so mean to me?"

"The same reason you're mean to me," you shrugged with a grin, "because it's fun."

You moved on to the deep sea section after having managed to pull Hyunjae off the octopus' aquarium, sending an apologetic smile to a bunch of schoolkids that had been waiting for their turn since the moment he'd decided to stick his nose to the glass wall. The deep sea was scarier, with types of fish that you weren't used to seeing. Together, you and Hyunjae observed the various species, crying out in delight when you managed to match the pictures to the actual creatures swimming in the tank.

After that you moved on to the sharks, where your friend decided that mimicking them was the best sort of entertainment. You couldn't help but laugh as you snapped pictures of him making the same ugly, open-mouthed face as the creatures of the deep end, while Hyunjae urged you to strike a pose so that he could capture memories of you instead.

"Wait wait, don't move--" Hyunjae tipped his head to the side, away from his phone to look at you in annoyance, "Y/N, can you please just smile?"

"Well you're the one taking ages to take one single picture," you'd replied through gritted teeth, a smile plastered on your face with such force you felt your jaw ache with effort.

"I'm just trying to get the best shot of you--"

"Just take the damn picture!"

"Wait--" before you knew it, he'd closed the gap between you, one hand reaching up to brush a few of your hairs back and curling it behind your ear.

The action was so sudden it took you by surprise, causing a small breath to escape your lips. You looked up at him, only now noting the closeness of his body to yours, and Hyunjae did the mistake of glancing down at you only for your eyes to lock.

"There," his voice was loaded with something you couldn't quite explain as he kept on pushing your hair over the curve of your ears. His eyes softened as they met yours once more, the glimmer of a smile playing across his lips, "that looks better."

Your lips parted, "I--"

"Now smile!"

With that, he jumped back and did a pose so comical you couldn't help but chuckle. You held up your hands in a peace sign, grinning at the lens as you heard the shots being taken.

It was just for a brief moment. So brief you swore your imagination was playing tricks on you, getting you to memorize the warmth of Hyunjae's body and the closeness of his face to yours, the gentle brush of his hand. You shoved down all thoughts and feelings that seemed to want to fester, quickly putting it out with logic and rational thought.

Today was just about having fun with your friend, and you were not going to let anything else ruin it for you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"How long do you think they had to stay like that?"

"It depends," you cocked your head to the side in contemplation, "do you think they'd need the toilet, standing like that for so long?"

"Oh definitely. I don't know about girls. But guys?" Hyunjae scoffed beside you, "there's no way they'd go a whole six hours without peeing. Trust me, I have my sources."

You couldn't help pulling a face at him, "you're disgusting, you know that?"

"Only for you, princess," he winked.

Hyunjae's next stop was the Portrait Museum, which according to you was a complete scam. The Palace was beautiful enough; with curved marble arches, beautiful marble flooring to match and lovely gold-ornated surfaces. The ceilings were adorned with paintings of all kinds of scenes; from jesus's uprising to the european war raging from one end of the corridor to the other. There was nothing to say about the architecture; it was a stunning piece of the work.

The portraits found in it though? You weren't quite so sure.

You walked past one of them now, a gnarly-looking man sitting atop a velvet couch, with his wife behind him looking as dutiful as anyone would in that time period, her hand placed strategically on his shoulder as a way to demonstrate his power, her allegiance to him.

You snorted. This didn't interest you in the least, and you turned to tell that to your friend--

--Only to find him measuring someone's willy with his fingers.

"What the fu--Hyunjae!" you stormed over with barely concealed rage, grabbed a hold of his hoodie before tugging him off it. Your cheeks blazed red as your eyes darted around, glad for once that the place seemed void of people as you shoved Hyunjae forward.

"What in the world were you doing?!" you hissed with narrowed eyes.

He shrugged, "I was just curious! You know, apparently greek gods loved small willy's. It was a sign of--"

You clapped your hands to your ears, "I don't want to know what sign it was," scowling at him, "just don't do that kind of stuff when you're with me."

"Stop being a prude Y/N," he waved you away with a smile, "I'm sure you'd want to know--"

"I do not!"

"Okay okay," he laughed, the sound bouncing against the corridors of the museum and echoing through the room. He clasped your forearm before he pulled you along with him, his hands hot on your skin and sending goosebumps skittering along its surface, "I'll try to be on my best behavior. But! -- No promises."

"Yeah," you tried not to focus on the lingering touches of his hands along your skin, "you--you do that."

You stumbled yet another corridor filled with portrait paintings, this time seemingly of royal families that had taken over the English Court over the decades. Poring over the same boring hairstyles, the same accessories, similar dresses the women donned, your nose couldn't help but crinkle up in distaste as you thought of how uncomfortable the material must've felt. Forget running around in a playground, how were you even supposed to sit in this thing? It looked like it would choke you from the inside out!

Hyunjae found great joy in coming up with all sorts of stories for these paintings. According to him, the picture of a soldier and his wife was that they weren't in love, merely wed by duty, and that the man was actually relived to be heading off to leave his wife alone, knowing that there would be heaps of whores in the vicinity of the battlefield to keep his bed warm.

Another portrait of a woman with her two children had Hyunjae believe they were actually escaping London and that the artist had captured them in mid-action. Their wide, horrified eyes could tell of the fearful stories encapsulated in the aggressive brushstrokes rending the image into reality.

"Aren't you the storyteller," was what you mused, grinning playfully at your friend who seemed all too intent on creating stories out of his head. He was having way too much fun for someone who claimed to find paintings "boring."

"I gotta keep myself entertained somehow," he pulled out his tongue at you childishly before he beckoned you over. This time, it was a landscape filled with lush fields of green. A maiden, seemingly your age, basked in the shadows of an apple tree, her face tilted up towards the sun as she sat underneath by its roots, looking serene and beautiful.

"What's her story?" you nudged Hyunjae's arm.

He hummed under his breath and you took that time to admire him. Sure, Hyunjae was probably one of the most handsome men you'd ever met, there was no denying that. From, the soft bristles of his hair falling into his eyes and the small pucker of his lips to the permanent gleam in his eyes that told secrets held only just for you. He was the perfect package.

How you guys turned out to be friends, you'd never know.

"I think that--" but no sooner had he spoken that his phone chimed. Hyunjae grumbled, reaching for the device from his pocket while you watched his expression contort slightly into one of sheer annoyance.

It was impulse that made you ask, "is everything okay?"

Hyunjae bit the inside of his cheek. His gaze never leaving his phone, you watched his fingers fly over his keyboard.

"Hyunjae?" you prompted in the silence.

"Huh," Hyunjae's eyes flickered back up to your face, "yeah. Yeah everything's fine."

"Are you sure?" you probed as he dropped his phone back into his back pocket with a decisive finality that had you wonder what more he was hiding. His face seemed neutral enough, but you knew him a little more than that, to know whenever something was bothering him.

"Yeah, it's--" he ruffled his hair, a habit of his whenever he was nervous as his eyes quickly flickered between you and the window at the end of the hall, "--it's Jinhee. She's not too happy."

"About us hanging out?" Guilt instantly filled you, mixed in with the pain of knowing that you had to share him. Yes, you forgot for a while; that Hyunjae had never been yours to begin with.

"Yeah, she's...well, we were supposed to go on a date today. You know how tricky it is for her to get days off," he grabbed onto your forearm as he spoke before ushering you out of the museum. It seemed as though your visit had been cut short.

There was urgency in his movements now, a sort of fleeting panic that hadn't been there this morning.

"Maybe you should go back to her," you said as you exited the building. The sun beat down upon your, its midday shine causing sweat to build along your temple, "I don't mind. You've spent enough of your time on me."

"Hardly," he bit back without looking at you, "and we barely have time to hang out. This is your last day here. I can go on a date with her anytime--"

"Hyunjae," you pull at him, making his feet halt along the pavement. Tugging at his t-shirt so that he had no other choice than to face you, you forced your lips into a small, hopefully understanding smile, "it's okay, really. I'd rather you go make it up to her rather than her misunderstanding that--"

"There's nothing to misunderstand. I've already told her countless times that today wasn't going to be possible."

"Then why is she still mad?"

"She's not--It's--" Hyunjae huffed, let out a breath before his hands landed on his hips in exasperation, "it's complicated."

"You're making it complicated--"

"I just want to spend time with you," he cut you off then, eyes boring down into yours with such intensity you felt like you had to make yourself small underneath his gaze, "is that so much to ask? Why are you being like this?"

"I'm not--" you swallowed, "I'm not being like anything. I just don't want you to have a hard time after--"

"I'll deal with the consequences afterwards," and with that, he made another grab for your forearm before tugging you along, resuming your walk down the street, "there are still many things on the agenda, so stop moping and walk with me."

Maybe it was hateful of you to feel a bit of relief, to know that Hyunjae had inevitably chosen you instead of his girlfriend for once. God knew how long they'd been together, having been joined at the hip since their last year of high school, you'd gotten to know Junhee just as much as Hyunjae, though never really managed to get close due to her constant need to steal all of Hyunjae's attention.

Not that you minded. She was, after all, the most important person in Hyunjae's life. There would be no one else that could take that spot apart from their future child.

And yet, part of you was happy that he'd chosen you over her.

Yes, it felt like a cheap shot. You felt like a cheap shot. But it was uncontrollable, the sudden rush of giddiness at the thought that he was yours alone. At least for these few hours stolen under the midnight sky.

For now, that will do.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"This is the best pizza I've eaten in my life."

"No kidding. I still think that the campus pizza was the best one we had."

"That's just because it was one pound fifty a piece."

You and Hyunjae bickered back and forth over which pizza was the best while sharing the ginormous slices offered by the current food stand standing just a few meters away. George's Pizza was what it was named as, its fluorescent green and red letters not providing any comfort whatsoever in its advertising. Nevertheless, after some wheedling and whining, Hyunjae had managed to drag you over before buying two slices under your nose.

The food market was always a busy place, bustling with people, buyers, sellers, the scent of food wafting through the air like a permanent beacon pulling you in all--too--many directions. But that was what you loved about it. There was a certain sense of community, a sense of no judgement, where people loved and just appreciated what others did without hate or complaint. The food market was a happy place indeed.

Currently seated on one of the bar stools paired with a few makeshift wooden tables that seemed to have been made out of crate boxes, you shifted and crossed your legs over the over. Night had fallen and the sky was currently oozing in shades of orange, pink and blues. It extended over your heads, a beautiful midnight sky in the distance bleeding into the evening like watercolors, and the cold air soon seeped into your skin with the night that came with it.

"How much do you think he makes?" you asked Hyunjae as you motioned towards the said pizza guy from George's Pizza. He was red in the face, currently juggling orders like his life was on the line. Sympathy filled your chest at the sight.

"Dunno," Hyunjae's nose scrunched up in that adorable way of his every time he was thinking, "maybe thirty pounds, give or take, every day?"

"Is that a lot?"

"Depends on what you define by rich,” Hyunjae shrugged, “but I suppose he’s happy doing that. He’s doing his thing and it’s—well, it’s working right?”

You let out a soft breath, “yeah, he’s definitely better off than I am. I don’t even know what I’m going to do after this.”

“You’re fine Y/N,” Hyunjae said firmly, “you’re still young. Stop talking like you’re forty-five and past your prime.”

“Easy to say when you’re the one with the job lined up after graduation.”

“Hwy hey, no one told you to go into Engineering when Accounting was a safe bet okay?”

You tsked under your breath, “nerd.”

“Hey watch it,” Hyunjae scowled, “that nerd is going places.”

“Yes, in a ginormous corporation where you’re gonna spend all your youth trying to climb the corporate ladder, only to blink when you’re thirty with no kids, no woman—“

Your friend huffed in protest, “You underestimate me."

Chuckling, you just throw a chunk of tomato you’d picked out from your pizza and he yelped, ducking as the food flew right over his head.

“You’re disgusting.” Hyunjae said.

“Do you really think that you'll be happy being an accountant till the day you die?"

"Yeah," he said it without missing a beat, "why not? You know, jobs aren't like--something that needs to fulfill you. Jobs are just--jobs. They're part of life, and they're tiring. And yes, you'll hate it at some point."

"Yeah but I just want to hate it less."

"Tough luck with that, my friend," polishing off the rest of his slice, Hyunjae wiped at his mouth with a napkin just as you shoved your last bite into yours. He chuckled at the sauce smeared at the corner of your lips and his arm reached out as if on autopilot, brushing at your lips with the said napkin.

The action caused you to jump slightly, having not foreseen such tenderness from the young man. Hyunjae, frowning, was fully focused on wiping away the sauce, "jeez Y/N, you eat like a pig."

Noticing that you weren't saying anything, he made the mistake of glancing up, only to see you already gaping at him like he'd grown an extra pair of eyes.

His hand dropped like he'd burnt it. Looked away.

You cleared your throat, "well, what's next on the list then?"

"Uhm--well--good thing you said that because--" he fumbled a bit with his words, as though this small interaction with you had caused his brain to short-circuit. It was cute, though you knew it's effect wasn't the same kind that you went through with every touch of his searing across your skin.

"We are going to ...drumroll please?" you proceeded to stomp along the table with your hands. Hyunjae joined in with a cackle and burst out, "--we are going to! The! Amusement! Park!"

"What?"

"What do you mean, what? Amusement parks are fun! You said you've always wanted to ride on rollercoasters!"

"That was before I went through that whole Halloween escapade thing where my seatbelt wasn't tight enough and I had to hang onto the rail for dear life," crossing your arms over your chest in refusal, you shook your head at his puppy-dog eyes that seemed to have increased tenfold as soon as the word 'no' came out of your mouth.

"Come on," Hyunjae pleaded, clasped his hands together and looked like he was about to cry, "come on? Pleasepleaseplease. For me? It's our last day? Do you really wanna just--go back to the flat and just--that's it?"

"Hyunjae, it's anything but Amusement Parks," you whirled your hands around to prove your point, "what about cat cafes? Why can't we go there?! Or dog cafes, even better!"

"You know I'm allergic to cats."

"You have medicine for that, stop being a wuss."

"Y/N come oooon!" he grabbed your arm and howled so dramatically a few heads turned your way. Your face flamed with embarrassment. This boy was going to be the death of you. Either that or you'd murder him, "I already bought tickets too! Do you know how expensive they are for foreign students?!"

"No."

"Please."

"No. It's a definite no. Don't you listen to me when I talk? I'm traumatized by--"

"I'll keep you safe from the zombies, I promise!"

"No is a no, Hyunjae!"

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

In the end, you'd had no choice.

Hyunjae was definitely a force of nature, one that collided with every single being and environment and unleashed his magical powers in order to control what and who was around him. He was magnetic, with features so doll-like and beautiful that it was impossible to ignore him across the street. That, paired with that amazingly suave personality, garnered him so much attention back when you two were freshmen that you'd steered clear away from him.

You weren't the type to spend your nights drinking away, unlike most of your dorm mates. Which was probably the main reason why they thought you were weird in the first place. Who went to university and got to bed at nine-thirty in the evening?

No one. No one but you.

So when Hyunjae had accidentally gotten himself partnered up with you for a project in your marketing class -- the only class you had together -- you'd given him a total of ten minutes before he'd start to insult you in that passive agressive way young adults liked to sneer and sneak in comments nowadays.

But Hyunjae wasn't like that.

He wasn't like that at all.

Respectful, friendly and just taking his time to listen to what you had to say, he was the one that prodded you with questions so that you had to answer in order for him to leave you alone. He'd find you in the hallways in-between classes, talking so animatedly about his day sometimes you thought he was just trying to render himself interesting to you, the way baby horses had to make a point about being good stallions. But contrary to what you'd thought, Hyunjae had kept in contact with you even after the project, and when people started snubbing him because he was hanging out with a 'weirdo' and a 'loner', he'd just flick them off with his magical finger, wiggling it in the air for all to see.

You still were curious to know why Hyunjae had been so adamant on being friends with you back then. Of course, growing through university had changed you both. You managed to make some friends with like-minded people you enjoyed hanging out with, and Hyunjae was just the same dazzling young man everyone fawned over. And yet, time had gone by so fast that you were now full adults, already graduated and ready to embark on your new adventure.

Maybe that was the reason you always managed to lose in arguments with him. Maybe that was the reason he was able to push you to do things out of your comfort zone. And you let him. Because at the end of the day, Hyunjae had been there through the darkest nights, where the storm had hit you and broken down every single inch of your confidence.

Maybe that was why you were tolerating him, right here. Right now.

"Come on Y/N! I really wanna get that plushie!"

"You have tons of them already," you wrinkled your nose in distaste at the flurry of bright, neon colored plushies lining the inside of the claw machine that Hyunjae was currently 'oohing' and 'aahing' over. A bunch of primary school kids were just in vicinity, throwing him concerned looks flickering with fear.

You grabbed his shoulder, hauled him away from the claw machine and a five-year-old girl that looked like she was about to cry at the sight of him, "you're terrorizing the children," you muttered under your breath, loud enough for him to hear.

"Nonsense. Everyone likes playing that game," he wriggled out of your grip then, pressing his nose right against the window pane. The small girl had already inserted her coin and was now playing to catch a large pikachu, practically half your size, "you're doing it wrong, girlie. You gotta move towards the left."

The girl looked stricken, blinking up at Hyunjae in fear. Her lower lip trembled, hand shaking on the console.

You slapped Hyunjae across the head, "OW!"

"Shut up Hyunjae, nobody asked for your opinion," you leaned over and pushed him out of the way in the process, "don't listen to him, sweetie. You're doing great. Just make sure to press on that green button."

In the end, she didn't win.

"Right," Hyunjae was first in line to grab the console, "thank fucking god, it took her five entire minutes to press on the button can you believe--"

You swatted him once more and he cried out in pain, "OW Y/N WILL YOU STOP?!"

"You stop, you big oaf. Stop bullying these little kids."

He pouted, "but I just wanted to win a present for you, is that so bad?"

"You could just buy me one and I'd happily--"

"That's not the same thing," his pout deepening, Hyunjae wasted no time inserting a coin. His tongue stuck out unconsciously as he moved the console with practiced ease, eyebrows furrowed in concentration as you watched by his side while trying not to mind the growing queue behind the pair of you.

God, just give him a plushie so we can move on, you begged at whoever was listening out there. You really couldn't stand in the cold any longer than you needed to be. And plus, your stomach was getting antsy without food.

"Alright," Hyunjae rubbed his hands together. He blew on them for good luck and straightened so that he could catch your eye, "this one's for you, Y/N."

And then he winked.

Your heart swelled.

Butterflies erupted through your stomach. You dropped your gaze, cheeks flushing with heat as your friend smacked his index on the button.

What was that? Your brain was rambling, running, scrambling together bits and pieces of thoughts at the wink that was just directed at you.

It meant nothing. No.

It meant everything.

It meant nothing.

It couldn't mean anything.

He was with someone, dammnit.

Get a grip Y/N.

A fucking grip--

"YES!"

Hyunjae's holler burst your thought bubble and before you knew it, a large pikachu was thrust into your arms and you were swung into the air, half-panicked as laughter erupted from the young man holding you up by the waist.

"Wha--Wha--What are you doing?!" your cries were barely heard over the way your friend was twirling you around as bubbles of laughter kept escaping his lips, "Hyunjae!"

"I'm celebrating! Can't you tell?!" he whooped and looked up at you. And you swore that in his eyes you saw stars that made your chest quiver and your heart ache in more ways than one.

He must've noticed your sudden change in demeanor, for his face fell. Setting you down on your feet gently, he blinked as you stumbled back from his hold. You held onto the plushie with both arms as your stomach filled with a tightness that made you want to vomit everything you'd just eaten.

The way he was looking at you wasn't helping. As if there was something more he'd like to say. As if being here with you was something he enjoyed a little too much.

"What's wrong?" Hyunjae asked.

You shook your head, tried hard to keep your lower lip from trembling. When you answered, your voice was a strained murmur, "nothing. I just--I think we should go back."

"Are you okay?" he took a step towards you. You stepped back. Hurt flashed across his face, "Y/N?"

"I'm fine," you replied a little too quickly, "just--it's getting late and my flight's early tomorrow morning."

"What? No no--wait, we agreed that we'd spent the entire night together," Hyunjae was rushing to catch up with you as you started walking back towards the entrance as you felt your heart swell int he back of your throat. It was getting hard to breathe, too hard. So hard that you had to fight against the sudden invisible hand pressing down onto your chest.

"Y/N, just tell me what's wrong. Are you feeling sick? Is that it--"

"No!" you whirled around. The emotions were getting too hard to bear. Hyunjae's face came into view and that hurt even more, to see the sympathy on his face, the echo of worry and concern etched into his features. As if he cared enough. As if.

Chest heaving, you continued, "No Hyunjae. I just want to go back home and sleep until my flight. I--I'm sick of hanging out."

It felt like a slap to him. You could see it in the pain that flickered in his eyes. He took a step towards you uncertainly. He mumbled a few incomprehensible words, before finally asking, "did I do something wrong?"

"No you did nothing wrong," tears suddenly filled your eyes. You turned your head away, "you never do anything wrong."

"Stop--why do you keep doing that?"

"Doing what?" you sniffed.

"You're lying to me," Hyunjae took a step towards you, causing you to stumble back, "you're always lying to me and I can't figure it out."

"I'm not lying to you."

"Stop that. You're not doing yourself a favor," his hand grasped your wrist, his thumb finding a soothing spot that he kept brushing over as he tugged you a little closer to his chest. His eyes flickered with emotion, dark and molten like lava, and suddenly you felt like you were a little too close for comfort.

Not that Hyunaje seemed to notice. His other hand reached out to wipe at your cheek and it was only then that you noticed you were crying.

"Why Y/N?" Hyunjae tipped his head to the side so that he could get a look at you, so that your eyes had nowhere else to stray, "why are you crying? Did I say something that upset you?" his nose wrinkled then, "wait--it's not the plushie is it? I mean, you could've just told me you wanted another one--"

"No," you blubbered, laughing despite it all. That was so typical of him you couldn't help but grin, "no it's nothing to do with the plushie."

"Then?"

"I--" you swallowed, bowed your head to the ground, "I don't wanna leave."

It took a moment for Hyunjae to register your words. The silence weighed heavy on your shoulders amidst the screams and excited cries from the amusement park.

When he spoke next, his voice had softened to a murmur, void of any of comedy, "I don't want you to leave either."

You looked up. At him, at the way his eyes shone in the dim light of the park. It was dark now, practically impossible to make out his angular features.

"Look I know it's not that simple to just brush it off. You're leaving after all," Hyunjae brushed away the rest of your tears as they now fell shamelessly, trickling down your cheeks and creating paths of glistening wet crystals as his hand unconsciously wound around your elbow to pull you closer, "but no one said it's the end of the world. You can always come back, apply for a permit. Heck, you can apply to other countries and travel all over the world. You life isn't over yet Y/N. It's starting. Just starting, okay?"

You didn't answer, favoring silence as you allowed yourself to be selfish only for this night. Wordlessly, you wrapped your arms around his waist before you buried your head into his chest. Hyunjae froze for a second. His body tensed up, before he melted and hugged you close to him. His chin came to rest at the top of your head as he rocked you back and forth, ignoring the weird looks and curious glances cast his way. He'd rather allow you to have this moment to yourself, this moment of peace and quiet despite the bustling environment.

It was late by the time you two made it back to the dormitory. The streets teeming with people going out to clubs or parties. You lost count of the number of girls in miniskirts and already-drunk guys that passed you by as you walked side by side in silence, taking in the beauty of London for what it was. Hyunjae was surprisingly just as quiet as you were, as if your tears had subdued him, and impulsively your arms tightened around your plushie at the thought that maybe you had made it weird by hugging him. Friends hugged too right? It wasn't that surprising, right?

You were almost at Hyunjae's flat when his phone rang once more. Spotting the way his face darkened slightly, you didn't protest when the said young man tossed you his flat keys and mumbled something about coming up soon. Something told you that it was probably Jinhee, mad and annoyed that Hyunjae had ditched her, and so quickly trudged up the stairs to avoid overhearing any unwanted conversation.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

"I told you I was going to be busy today."

"We've barely had any date nights since the start of semester!" Jinhee's voice boomed from the device and Hyunjae flinched back, pulling his phone away slightly with a scowl. He could still hear Jinhee screeching on the other side, "and--what? you decide it's better for you to hangout with Y/N than your own girlfriend? Don't you think there's something wrong here?"

"Jinhee like I said, it's her last day. Can you cut me some slack?" his jaw tensed.

"As if! She's coming back in a few months. Why are you babying her so much?"

"I'm not babying her," anger rumbled through Hyunjae's chest. He loathed it when Jinhee turned into this crazy girlfriend that obsessed over his every move. That wasn't what had made him decide to date her, and this possessive attitude was starting to piss him off, "she might not get her visa to come back. Who knows what method this stupid UK government is gonna use to kick her out of the country for good?"

"I don't care," Jinhee spat, "this day was supposed to be ours. Why are you--" she choked up in a sob and unease shifted in Hyunjae's chest, 'why are you being like this?"

"Let's talk later," Hyunjae glanced back at his living room where you were currently swathed in a sea of blankets. Yes, it was unfair, that his girlfriend was currently all alone and crying over the fact that her boyfriend was ignoring her existence. But it wasn't like he was ignoring her. He'd asked her to come over so that he could spend time with them both--and yet she had flat out refused, been offended even.

"I can't really have this conversation right now," he continued on through her blubbering protests, "I'll call you tomorrow morning okay?"

"I hate you," he heard Jinhee's blubber. His heart tightened, but he pressed his lips together and said his goodbyes.

The line went dead.

Hyunjae sighed, leaning back against the outer corridor in hopes that you hadn't heard anything. That was the least of your worries right now. You were upset too, for unknown reasons that escaped his notice, but your lips were sealed and he didn't want to give you any more reasons to feel bad.

His fingers flew over his keyboard as he texted Jinhee a small "I'm sorry" before walking back through the flat, closing the door behind him with a gentle push as he went.

The TV in the living room was still playing, its volume turned down low as he entered only to spot you -- or rather, your head -- swathed in a blanket fort.

You glanced up as he approached, and something in his heart squeezed tight. He couldn't help but grin; you looked like a child wearing adult clothes, all bundled up and cozy.

Adorable.

“Everything okay?” Of course you were checking on him. You always did.

“Yeah yeah, it’s… fine.”

“Define fine,” you frowned.

"Honestly, I really don’t feel like talking about it,” he slid onto the couch next to you, careful to keep his distance lest he did something he might regret.

After the small incident at the park, he wasn't going to take any chances.

There had been tension, the kind of tension that Hyunjae had wanted to ignore blissfully, a wound that he'd tried to ignore by slapping a cheap band aid in hopes that he'd forget about it.

There was always going to be that 'what if' popping at the back of Hyunjae's mind now and again. It wasn't like he was blind. You were a girl, he was a boy, and you two had the kind of chemistry that everyone envied. You hated his guts most of the time and he loved nothing more than to harass you till you stormed off, all angry and throwing him the middle finger.

Everyone loved to ask whether you guys were dating. Multiple times during your friendship had others questioning whether the line wasn’t being crossed in more ways than one. Multiple times he’s had to rebute that in fact whatever you two were having was just platonic, and that people should be minding their own business.

But that didn’t exclude his own feelings, or the way his heart felt whenever you looked at him for too long.

It was a curse, was what he thought. A curse that he’d be haunted with for the rest of his life.

He even moved on and got himself a girlfriend. Jinhee was nice and kind, quiet in ways that you were brash, cute in ways where you weren’t. And she never gave him trouble. So sweet, so docile, everything that Hyunjae had been looking for in a woman.

But his mind would always come back to you, no matter what. His heart would always tug in your direction, if given the choice.

And he hated that.

The movie ended at quarter past one and you had succumbed to the call of dreamland at that point, casually drooling onto one of his pillows as he rearranged them all to make it more comfortable. He pulled up the comforter to your chin, gently brushing away a few strands of hair from your face as he let out a soft sigh.

You looked so angelic. Like a dove. Like a kid, someone that he’d never be able to hurt.

And Hyunjae would live with the regret that he hadn’t held on to you hard enough. Because you were surely going to find your own piece of happiness. Out there, without him.

Your plane was at seven in the morning, so when your alarm blared at fifteen-past four, you were more than surprised to find that you had dozed off on Hyunjae’s couch.

“Shit,” you muttered, quickly brushing your hands through your thick locks as you heard footsteps pad into the living room.

“All awake your highness?” It was Hyunjae, freshly washed from his shower and looking like a glistening morning angel even in the dim light of the room, “I think it’s time we get a move on, or we’ll miss your plane.”

“When did I fall asleep?” You tried not to yawn as you joined him in the kitchen. He bustled about, popping two pieces of bread into the toaster and placing the butter on the countertop.

“Don’t know,” he cocked his head as you hopped onto a nearby stool, “maybe around one? You were sleeping like the dead.”

“Sorry. But to be fair, you woke me up early this morning.”

“So that you could enjoy your last day,” Hyunjae replied with a pointed look. The toaster pinged and he took the bread out, sliding it onto a plate before setting it down before you, “so don’t blame me. Anyway, you can sleep all you want on the plane back.”

“You’re right.” Just the mention of the plane had your shoulders deflate.

To think that you’d be back on the motherland after god knew how long. And without Hyunjae. That was weird.

You weren’t sure whether you’d spent an entire day without him, the moment you stepped onto campus. He was probably your strongest pillar in this whole world, and yet you were parting ways with him, with no guarantee of ever seeing him again.

“What’s that face for?”

“What?” You blinked in surprise, only to see a cup of coffee in front of you, from yours truly, “what face?”

“That face,” he squinted down at you, “when something’s not good. Like there’s something bothering you.”

“If I can just remind you, I’m going to be leaving soon?”

“Nothing’s stopping you from coming back though, right?” Hyunjae slid into the seat opposite as you both dug into your breakfast, “just apply as an international working visa the moment you land.”

“It’s such a hassle,” you mumbled through a mouthful of food, “I’m not really sure I wanna go through that.”

“That’s up to you to decide, isn’t it?”

You decided to change the subject when you felt the familiar sting of tears in your eyes, “how’s Jinhee?”

Hyunjae visible stiffened. He looked away, “still upset, it seems.”

“Do you want me to apologize on your behalf?”

“That will just make her even more upset.”

“I’m sorry, Hyun.”

“You don’t have to say sorry,” his face was an impassive mask, and yet you saw through the cracks. The way his mouth tensed just at the thought.

You quickly helped him wash the dishes before bundling up and setting out to the airport. Hyunjae ordered an Uber that drove you straight to the first terminal and you were glad for the lack of people there, for who wanted a crowd to see you breakdown for the nth time that day?

He helped you check in, your heart constricting as you allowed him to move your bags onto the rolling mat while you presented your passport to the desk worker. She babbled on about what you shouldn’t have inside your luggage and which gate you would be posted at, all necessary information that flew right past your ears because you were too busy trying not to let your feelings get the better of you.

Your chest felt tight. Like someone was squeezing you out like a wet towel. It took every ounce of your self control to keep yourself from launching into Hyunjae's arms.

Your thoughts flew back to last night when he'd held you close. He smelled good, had a kind of strength about him that made you feel safe. You'd wanted to burrow closer, to stop time just so that you could bask in it.

"All good?" he asked when you got your printed ticket and exited the queue. The place was still void of activity, the only sounds coming from the comforting thrum of the aircon above.

"Yeah, all good--" you were struggling to shove your passport into your bag and Hyunjae tutted, swooping it out of your hold so that you could unzip it properly, "thanks."

"I don't know about you but I really need a coffee," Hyunjae slid the passport in, carefully closing the said bag as you walked over to the food area. He nodded towards a nearby Costa, "wanna keep me company? You have a bit of time before check-in."

"Sure." as if that would make a difference when your heart was already breaking.

The worker who took your order was clearly smitten with Hyunjae's looks, the way she kept on sneaking glances at your table long after you'd gotten your cappuccino and his double-shot of espresso. Hyunjae seemed to have gotten used to whatever attention he brought with him. You? Not so much.

"Do you have to be this pretty?" you meant it as a mutter but his ears were better than you'd thought, for he perked up and asked, "what?"

You sighed in defeat, "do you have to be this pretty?"

"Are you calling me pretty?" Hyunjae snorted.

"Yes. Is that a problem?"

"Can't you just say I'm handsome?"

"Isn't that the same thing?" you sipped your coffee and the taste exploded along your tongue.

"No, no it's not. Being pretty is for girls. I'm not a girl--or haven't you noticed?" he flicked his imaginary hair over his shoulder and you couldn't help the chuckle bursting from your mouth, "you're ridiculous, do you know that?"

"Yes I know. But thank you, I'll take it as a compliment," he took a long swig of his drink and leaned back into his chair, "so what are you going to miss the most about here, d'you reckon?"

You pressed your lips together, "I don't know. I think the food. Maybe the lifestyle. I really like living in London. Everything's just so...lively."

That was when your eyes fluttered up, only to lock on his and realize that he'd been gazing at you over the rim of his cup this entire time. You dropped your gaze like he'd burnt you, holding your drink with two hands and allowing its physicality of it to calm the sudden hammering in your heart, "and--well, I--I think I'll miss you a little."

You said the last few words so softly that it probably came out as a hushed whisper. But it seemed like Hyunjae heard you all the same, for something in his eyes softened.

"I guess I'll miss you too Y/N," he murmured, "who am I going to bother now that my favourite teasing toy's gone?"

"Hey," you narrowed your eyes at him as he chuckled, "I'm more than just your teasing toy."

"You're right," Hyunjae grinned and without warning, reached out to ruffle your hair, "you're much more than just that, aren't you?"

Too soon, it was time for you to enter through the gates. Hyunjae walked with you all the way to the separation panel, shoulders brushing with yours and your bag slung around his other shoulder as you chatted about nonsensical stuff. Anything to try to get away from the reality of it all. It was coming too soon, too fast, and already you felt like you were about to lose a part of your heart.

"Well," Hyunjae stopped a few paces before the security guards before he turned to you, his face unreadable, "I guess that's a goodbye for now."

He had on an easy smile that didn't reach his eyes, and that made your chest squeeze with emotion, your throat tightening as you grabbed your bag from his hold and murmured your thanks.

"You'll come back as soon as possible, right?" he asked, lips quirking up at the corner. Yet, you thought you'd caught a glimpse of restrained emotion in his eyes.

"I'll try," you mumbled out. You couldn't look at him, for fear that you'd burst out crying.

Instead, you found a random spot on his shirt, right along his chest, that suddenly became of extreme interest as Hyunjae continued, "don't forget to text me when you land."

"I will."

"And eat a little, will you?" he nudged your forehead with a finger, causing you to yelp, "otherwise I'll have to fly over and cook for you myself."

You'd want that. You'd want that so much that it made your heart hurt. Swallowing thickly and trying hard to keep the tears at bay, you managed to croak out, "I hope that everything will be okay with Jinhee."

"Oh it'll be fine," something in his jaw twitched, "nothing that can't be fixed. And I'll see her soon. Whereas you..." he trailed off, his words echoing around you with a hollowness that had you suck in a breath.

As if on cue, the call for your flight sounded from the speakers, making you suck in a breath and doing the mistake of looking up at your friend. His delicate features, those eyes that made you feel all warm inside...all these things that you would miss terribly now that you were going to be separated by hours and flights.

You felt like crying.

Was this what heartbreak felt like?

"Alright then," your voice was heavy, muffled with a thickness that couldn't hide the tears glistening at the corners of your eyes, "I guess that's my cue to get going."

Hyunjae nodded. He pressed his lips together and patted your shoulder, "safe flight, Y/N."

"Yeah," you nodded back, threw him one last look to etch his face into your memory, before you turned towards the gates.

You took a step forward. And another, and another.

Your stomach was in knots. You felt sick, your throat burning with effort to keep it all inside.

And then, Hyunjae's voice like a soft melody.

"Y/N."

You couldn't stop yourself.

You swiveled around and threw yourself headfirst into his arms.

It was his scent that hit you at first. Musky with a hint of mint and something else, something that you couldn't quite place as the warmth of his arms enveloped you like a cocoon. You all but buried your nose into his chest as your own arms laced around his back and clung on for dear life. You could probably count the amount of times you'd hugged Hyunjae from the moment you'd first met, and this was probably the first time you had allowed yourself to bask in his presence for so long, letting that selfish part of you -- the part that didn't want to let him go -- take over for just that small moment.

Everything felt right when you were in Hyunjae's arms. As if all the evil in the world was replaced by none other than him, his heartbeat beating against the shell of your ear. The soft breaths tingling along the side of your forehead as he pressed his cheek to your temple.

"I--" you tried to stop the trembling in your voice but it was impossible, "I--I'm really going to miss you."

"Me too Y/N," his voice was a caress against the back of your head. He tightened his grip ever so slightly and your ryes fluttered shut.

You didn't want this to end.

You wanted to stay here until the end of time.

Because this felt like home. This was home.

Hyunjae had become the pillar in your life that you made your way back to no matter what. And now, he was being wrenched away from your hold.

Another announcement about your flight made you pull back ever so slightly, looking up as he did the same. You lost breath at the proximity of your faces, your heart stuttering when his nose brushed yours ever so slightly.

You gazed at him with a question. He gazed back, a swirling mass of emotions on display, tenderness and warmth that made you weak in the knees.

He was so close that you could see all the freckles dotting his chees, the mole along the side of his eyes, the way his lips were parted.

If you were to lean in. Just a little, you could even--

NO.

Your arms took a life of their own, propelling you back before you made a mistake.

Your chest heaved. A sour taste filled your mouth at the realization of what you -- almost -- did.

You couldn't. You can't. This was your friend, and he had someone else.

He loved someone else.

A burst of pain echoed through your heart at that. Something snapped inside your heartstrings and you let out a soft, quiet gasp as you stumbled back a few steps.

"Y/N," Hyunjae was reaching for you but you quickly ducked out of the way as you breathed, "I--I'm sorry Hyun. I--I need to go. I--" you turned, already starting to walk away in hopes that it would calm the mass of feelings roaring through your body like a tidal wave. But the current was so strong it made you short of breath. You were halfway already through the door before you looked back over your shoulder, a lone tear streaming down your face.

Hyunjae was still there, looking like someone had punched him in the gut. It made you want to sob, and you clamped your lips together as you spotted a faint smile, a wobbly one at that, pull at his lips.

"Goodbye Hyunjae," you mouthed.

He raised a hand in goodbye and turning so quick so that you wouldn't feel the guilt of leaving him behind, you walked past the gates without a backward glance.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

part two >>

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