summary: in which jungkook gets his motorcycle license and you don’t believe in fate.

idol!jungkook x reader, est. relationship / fluff, a dash of angst / word count: 5.5k

content/warnings: protective!bf jungkook 🫡 / jk gives oc h*ckeys / jk is sad and scared bc many couples r breaking up :( then he gets h*rny and i can’t blame him bc oc is hot / oc loves short skirts n jk is stressed / oc gets an anxiety attack !! bc they thought jk got into an accident / bam cameo <3

> in which masterlist!

note: ART REPORTING FOR DUTY 🫡 it’s been a while so i feel quite rusty and my brain is fried pls bear with me </3 i’m excited to post regularly again and get back into the flow hehe. as always feedback and reblogs are appreciated! 🥺

—

it is a rather calm afternoon in your shared apartment. you and jungkook may be together in the living room, but you’re each spending your alone time.

you’re sitting on the couch with bam’s head on your lap, your not-so-little baby sleeping soundly. you indulge yourself in a fashion magazine, occasionally lifting your head when you sense your boyfriend staring at you longingly from the desk. he would quickly avert his eyes to feign obliviousness, switching between the laptop or his phone to busy himself.

“babe, spit it out.” you giggle, lowering down the magazine from your face. “is there something wrong…? what do you want?”

“no, it’s nothing. just ignore me.”

“then you’re going to be upset with me when i actually do it?”

“yah! that’s not true!” he looks at you wide-eyed, chest puffing up in defense. “it’s really nothing, okay? you can go back to reading.”

“mkay, whatever you say… i’m not reading, though.”you mumble the last sentence, burying your nose in the magazine again.

with a glittery golden-inked pen, you draw a star beside a bag from the spring/summer collection that you fell in love with at first sight. you hear the clacking of the keyboard pause and resume, pause and resume, but you ignore your boyfriend’s beseeching glances like he asked you to.

minutes pass by on the clock as you flip the pages with twinkling eyes and silent squeals, but they feel like hours to jungkook.

he blinks at the laptop screen as he sinks his teeth on his bottom lip.

he just needs to do it— get it over with. whatever it is, he’s certain that the two of you could reach some sort of compromise… right?

he puts on a face of determination before wheeling the gaming chair towards where you are. and with no one to blame but himself, he releases a disgruntled noise when he collides with the leather couch. the impact sends him a couple of feet away from his destination, but his hands find purchase on your exposed thighs and he brings himself back to you.

his clinginess never fails to fill your stomach with butterflies.

you smile in secret, silent as he hooks his arms underneath your knees and lies his head beside bam’s. he kisses bam’s forehead, and in a somewhat twisted way, you are grateful for all the times the universe tugged at the string of joy and made you chase after it, because it led you here.

he has folded himself in a position that looks wildly uncomfortable, but jungkook likes to torture his senses for some reason, so you let him be. you pretend that no one has invaded your space, attached theirself to you so close that you’re carrying a quarter of their weight; feeling tickled by their exhales against your skin.

you planned to mix yourself a cocktail halfway through your magazine, but that is pushed to the bottom of things you can do now that your boyfriend is displeased with the lack of attention from his lover.

“this won’t do!”

his impatience forces him out of the chair and onto the couch, where he sneaks his strong arms around your waist. the movements shakes bam awake from his slumber. the doberman sits up, tiredly blinks at his father as if he is so done, and leaps off the couch to strut to his house.

jungkook scratches his head guiltily. “bam! dad is sorry that he disturbed your sleep!”

to no one’s surprise, he doesn’t receive a reply.

“oh, bam, are you mad at me…? you can’t be, right? you must understand… we both really love ____, don’t we?”

but he does receive one from you— a fond gaze that thinks of him bizarre.

“he’s not mad!” he defends himself.

“he should be. we were having a peaceful time together.”

“yah, that’s so mean. i’m part of this family too!” he complains with a scowl. “i want to cuddle.”

“no one’s stopping you, babe.”

this time, he hides his face in the crook of your neck.

he breathes you in, and his mind becomes clouded with the natural scent of you, so uniquely you, sweet and fresh like the clouds on a spring day, mixed with a hint of strawberries. humans smell fragrant flowers and break off their stems. jungkook smells you and he bites, sinks his teeth on your skin, sucks, again and again, and then soothes the ache with a slow and gentle slide of his tongue, but it doesn’t erase the marks that blossom into a hue of a bruise.

he licks his lips, wet with saliva, feeling cocky with the memory of your sharp inhales— cockier when he lifts his head and sees the dilation of your pupils behind a curtain of haze.

however, they’re still trained towards the fashion items printed on paper that you so desperately wish would materialize into thin air.

he groans.

“baaaaby,”

“mhmmm?” you mimic the tone of his whine, resting your head on his shoulder— just to be closer, let him know you’re here and you’re listening.

he clears his throat, prepares for the worst.

“these days, there’s something i’ve been thinking of a lot… i’ve been researching here and there, too…”

“about?”

“motorcycles…”

“okay,”

“okay?”

bewildered by your nonchalant response, he pulls away to squint at you in suspicion.

“…i’m planning to buy one and get a license? like, maybe next week?”

“okay,” you repeat yourself.

hit with a twinge of confusion, you briefly tear your eyes away from the beautiful gowns worn by beautiful models.

“are you telling me or are you asking me?”

“uh- uhm,” he stutters. “i’m telling you.”

“alright then,”

his chest puffs up as he inhales sharply. “that’s it?!”

“what do you want me to say?” you flip a page, a flicker of amusement flashing across your face. “you’re not allowed to…? i mean- sure, i can do that, too.”

“no, no, no, no, no-” he kisses your cheek— nearly, barely, he’s smiling too big to do it properly. “no, really! are you serious?”

“why won’t you believe me?” the magazine lands on your lap as you cross your arms in annoyance. “what do you think of me?”

“i heard couples really fight about this in particular, though?” he chuckles, and it’s your pouted lips’ turn to be granted a kiss. “sorry, i assumed you won’t approve of this one. you’re so strict with me about driving safely.”

“it’s no problem because i know you’re responsible. i just get worried sometimes,” you mumble. “when you’re tired from work.”

“i know,”

“good,” you sigh, leaning into him to steal a kiss yourself. “can i just ask you for one thing then?”

“yes,” he nods eagerly. “anything.”

“if i find out that you didn’t wear a helmet one time…” you tuck your bottom lip in between your teeth, unsure what type of reaction you will elicit. “you’re getting rid of it.”

“three times-”

“oh my god, absolutely not!”

the sheer horror painted on your face further fuels his mischief.

“twice?”

“you said anyth-”

“please?”

“no! then i’m getting rid of it myself!”

you shove his shoulder, and he allows himself to fall flat on the couch before bouncing back with the mission to ease your mind.

“i’m just joking, baby!��� his giggles fill the entire apartment.

he cages your face in his hands but you stubbornly resist.

“i’m joking- i’m joking. i’m sorry. come here, give me a kiss.”

he makes a smooching sound with his puckered lips and you send an unimpressed glare in return.

“promise me first,” your fingers wrap around his wrist to deny his affectionate advances. “one time!”

“i promise!”

“and you won’t get angry at me?”

and with that, his heart begins to ache in his chest. the shift in your voice, the nervousness blanketed by softness… fuck.

“how hard can that possibly be?”

he just remembered how upset you were when he got himself infected after visiting a tattoo shop in america. you told him it would probably be best to do more research on the place, but he isn’t jungkook if he isn’t stubborn. it was hell, to say the least. being in pain and fighting with you for days. you would tend to him and the silence would rub salt on the wound.

today, however, he was more than prepared to defend his case in the event that he faces rejection.

he doesn’t.

on the contrary, he is a given a gift.

“i hate you,” you whimper, but your words contradict the way you respond to his kisses— the sharpness of them has been dulled by his tongue. he tastes like the green apple lollipop that you completely forgot you left on the desk four days ago.

he draws back with a playful grin.

thief… your kisses and your candy and your body and your heart. all his.

“huh, you don’t mean that.”

“i do!”

“i love you,” he utters tenderly. “i trust you to set me straight when i need to get my shit together.”

“then you understand that i just don’t want it to become a habit, right…?”

what does he think of you? a person who treats him with utmost gentleness, supports his happiness, and worries about his safety— a person more important to him than himself.

“and even if it’s only one time… we never know what’s going to happen. i wouldn’t be able to bear seeing you outside the celebrity segment of the news. jungkook, i swear.” you pray that he doesn’t hear the crack in your voice, disguising it with a layer of humor. “i will lose my mind.”

“of course i understand! that won’t ever happen, baby! i want to tell you not to worry too much, but… but to be honest… i think i will be more upset if you don’t lecture me about this kind of thing at all.”

“really?”

“yes. because then doesn’t that mean you no longer care about me?”

this whole time, you’ve been saying i don’t want you to get hurt i love you i love you i love you i love you i love you, and he hears you clearly— like how one recognizes their favorite song playing in public even from far away.

you smile sheepishly. “show me the motorcycle you want.”

your outspoken interest makes jungkook’s face light up like a christmas tree.

“there’s actually a few that i’m looking at…” he trails off, running back to the desk to grab his laptop.

“i’ll help you choose!” you clap your hands excitedly. “is there a pink one?”

“pink?!” he exclaims, which is then followed by endeared laughter. “you want it?”

you assume that he is going to ignore the silly idea, that is until he returns to his seat beside you.

“sure, there should be one somewhere.” he whispers, more to himself, typing away on the keyboard to feed your curiosity.

“really? really?” you babble, clinging to his arm to take a peek at the screen.

“hmmm,” he hums. “get a license too and i’ll buy it for you.”

a sound of disapproval bubbles in your throat. “eh, not for me. i want you to use it.”

jungkook dramatically pauses. he stares at you, doe eyes infront of blazing headlights.

he releases a burdened sigh.

“why me?!”

—

“bend over,” jungkook commands sternly, standing arms crossed infront of the bedroom door to deny your exit. “right now.”

“eh?” you gape at him. “but aren’t we goi-”

“i said turn around, baby.”

you’re left with no choice when his patience runs thin and he captures your hand— it comes so naturally when you twirl on your toes as if you’re waltzing to a slow love song. he pushes you forward gently, and you carry your innate grace all the way to the arch of your back.

jungkook swallows down a moan elicited by the tantalizing view, clearing his throat. he masks the sound by unceremoniously spanking your ass, the skin-to-skin contact also causing a sharp sting to spread across his palm.

“shit- i knew it, it’s too short.” he tugs your skirt down, a useless attempt at concealing your white lace underwear. he harshly breathes out in exasperation. “baby, i can see everything! you can’t ride a motorcycle wearing this!“

“what? motorcycle?! i can finally ride it?!”

you only heard one word come out of your boyfriend’s mouth, it seems.

you flip in excitement, facing him again with a smile as bright as the sunny sky outside. “you got your license? why didn’t you tell me?!”

“i was going to surprise you but-”

he still looks stressed out, eyes trained to your skirt- well, your legs. the skirt is barely there.

“going back here from the parking lot to change would be-”

“but it’s miu miu,” you quietly remark, looking down at the article of clothing with a frown. “it’s not that short…”

“look at the mirror,” he points to your left with his eyes, but then he is already carrying you by the curves of your waist so that your back is facing it.

you bend down on your own, and jungkook clicks his tongue when you only giggle heartily upon seeing your own reflection.

“it’s fiiine! you’re there to protect me. i just won’t bend down.”

“but won’t you get cold?”

“nope!” you reply without a second to spare. “for fashion, i never get cold.”

it’s been more than five years since he met you; jungkook knows damn well that is very far from the truth. not a single autumn and winter have passed that he didn’t lend you his jacket, his warmth, and then some more, simply because you refuse to stop wearing skirts until you’re at the verge of freezing to death.

alright, maybe he’s being dramatic, and you’re stubborn as hell.

“and i’m wearing my tall boots,” you raise your leg in a straight line to show off the leather brown boots that stop below your knees. “look, look… don’t i look cute?”

cute? such a word won’t do you justice. you’re acting like he’s not also looking at your panties.

“of course,” a soft smile replaces his hardened features. “you look so beautiful, baby.”

“hm, thought so,” you scrunch your nose, and his heart skips a beat.

damn, but that- there’s definitely no other word to describe it but the word cute.

“but how about, let’s say, wearing a coat over it?”

“jungkook! no!” you grunt, punching his arm- but then a lightbulb illuminates your brain.

“or shorts under it-”

“oh my god, i think you have one that matches. i remember i saw it the other day-”

“no, wait, wait, wait- shorts are safer! ____!”

you sprint back to the walk-in closet, leaving jungkook alone in the bedroom.

“come back here!”

he jerks his head in distress, rubbing his eyes harshly with his tattooed knuckles.

“ah, ____!”

“what?!” you yell, voice bouncing off the walls of your apartment. “i found it!”

—

“is it too tight?” jungkook inquires, looking up to you from the floor.

you bend your knees to assess the tightness of knee pads. “nope, it’s good.”

he proceeds to grab the elbows pads he hung over the handle of the motorcycle.

“hmmm, next… you wear these instead.”

you pout, recalling that he forgot his riding jacket at work yesterday. “but what about you?”

“i only have one pair.” he says. “it’s fine, it’s just for now. let’s pick up my jacket at the company before going to the museum.”

“how about let’s wear one each?”

upon processing the mechanics of your suggestion, his tall and broad frame shakes with mirth.

you obviously grew up with little siblings. they were so lucky to have you.

“hey! what are you laughing at?”

“nothing, you’re just cute.” he chuckles, wrapping the other protective pad around your left elbow. “just wear them both. i’m confident with my driving but… i still need you as safe as possible, baby.”

“but jungkook! what if y-” you whine out a protest, which he instantly silences by slipping your helmet over your head. “ugh, you’re so rude!”

he beams with pride as he clips its straps beneath your chin. “wow, it fits so perfectly? i only guessed… ah, as expected of jeon jungkook.”

his hand freezes on the visor when you strike him with the beady eyes, pouting your lips to request for a kiss, which he grants— more than willingly. gladly. happily. with pleasure.

cruising through the city on a motorbike with the love of his life; going on dates; putting on your helmet for you and learning how to angle his face for when he steals a kiss— he used to only witness this in romance films.

at the end of the day he’s just a simple man, jungkook admits.

what a dream come true.

—

it definitely becomes clearer to jungkook today— why you did not oppose the idea of him getting a motorcycle license on such short notice.

“this is so cool!” you squeal behind him, subconsciously raising the pitch of your voice to contest with the wind and the roaring engines.

“____, be careful,” he chides you. “or else i’ll slow down!”

a sense of relief washes over him as you readjust your arms around his waist, your weight resting on him ironically making his chest feel lighter.

if only jungkook could protect you by keeping you bubblewrapped at all times, he would.

“you’re enjoying this more than i expected.”

the two of you idle before a red light. he balances the two-wheeled vehicle with his left foot planted on the ground.

“is it fun?”

“so much fun!” you gush, enthusiasm overflowing past the seams of your lips. “you already drive like a pro!”

“of course! i studied hard! i don’t plan on putting you in danger with my stupidity!”

“still-” you interject. “you’re just good at everything.”

while he is aware that he is gifted in many ways, technically speaking, jungkook knows he can’t possibly be good at everything. but hearing it come from the person he love and adore most in the world? he can’t help but to allow it to inflate his ego a little bit.

ten seconds before the traffic light turns green.

his smirk is hidden inside his helmet, but you can masterfully envision it in your head just from the transparent smugness in his voice.

“time to hold on again, baby.”

“i think you just like me feeling you up.” you muse.

you teasingly slip one hand underneath his shirt to caress his toned stomach, and he hisses out a curse. with how strict you are about road safety, one would assume that you would restrain on being frisky while riding a vehicle thirty times more dangerous than a car. you either have too much in trust your boyfriend or you underestimate your effect on him.

in his case, double the thirty.

the engine roars to life and the wheels screech against the concrete road. your gentle touch turns into a bruising grip on his waist.

jungkook thinks that you might be right. he would never miss an opportunity to feel your skin on his skin. he selfishly decides then and there— he now prefers motorycle rides with you.

—

it doesn’t take you long to catch up to that fact. when he tells you wear something comfortable, you also know not to spend too much time doing something cute with your hair because the helmet will just turn it into a tousled mess. for the past two months, he has been calling you every night to ask whether you want to be picked up from work with the bike or the car, because as much as you both relish in the thrill and the wind and the intimacy, sometimes you fall asleep on the way home from exhaustion and he doesn’t want you… quite literally falling on the streets of seoul.

but today is your day-off, and with your head hanging from the edge of the bed, you tear your attention away from your phone to find jungkook is upside down. he stands outside the bedroom door hugging your rainbow hello kitty plushie to his chest, frowning woefully with a cause you are clueless about.

the contrast of his black t-shirt with the rainbow makes you crack a smile, reminiscent of the countless memes you’ve seen on the internet. you find it funny, but mostly endearing. because you’re the one who loves colors but dreams of nightmares, while he loves dark colors but dreams of stars, fairies, and soaring through skies and different dimensions. you don’t believe in fate. however, jungkook believes that it was fate that brought him to you, and that you are the person he is destined with. you don’t believe in fate, but you wholeheartedly, unequivocally believe in him.

“i was watching the news-” he huffs, seemingly perplexed. “why is everyone breaking up all of a sudden?”

“who broke up?”

he freezes, attempting to recall the names that flashed across the television screen only minutes ago. “i honestly don’t know them, but still!”

“then why are you pouting?”

he doesn’t answer. instead, he carelessly tosses the plushie on the bed before climbing on it, sneaking his arms between your torso and the mattress to engulf you in a bone-crushing embrace. your phone slips away from your grip, buried somewhere in the sheets, but when big bundle of love and warmth is over you, it’s impossible to be consumed by anything else.

you weave your fingers through his hair, whispering teasingly. “scared of being in the headlines too?”

“scared…” he agrees, then he doesn’t. “of losing you.”

he scoots closer to nuzzle his face against your neck, his warm breath fanning your skin.

“i-it’s just,” he pauses. “ah, i don’t know! nevermind, forget it.”

“no, tell me. it’s okay.” your hands cup his cheeks, coaxing him to look at you. “tell me what’s bothering you. whatever it is. i’ll listen.”

there’s a glint of melancholy on his glassy eyes, and you desperately want to know what brought forth this pain so you can take it all away. your heart shatters when his nose scrunches into a sniffle, skin becoming more flushed, a shade of red that dusts his skin only when he cries.

“when couples break up after a long time… many of them say…” he trails off, held back by uncertainty.

“they say?” you urge him to continue, pretending to be absorbed in fixing his hair— running your fingers through the soft locks, rearranging his bangs, trying to see if they’re long enough to be tucked behind his ears— all in an indulgent effort to show him that this type of conversation doesn’t need to be awkward or intense.

“they say that… that they just woke up one day and- and realized they were no longer-” his lips curve into a frown, deeper than before, and you mirror him without knowing. “happy, or in love.”

he breathes shakily, avoiding your eyes to gather himself together.

fuck, jeon jungkook. man up! are you seriously going to cry right now? like this?

“and we’ve been together for five years.”

“almost five,” you correct him with a sweet smile, poking his soft cheek right where one of his dimples would be. “our anniversary is right around the corner.”

the unadulterated joy you radiated as you spoke those words makes the trepidation in his brain glitch.

“sorry, i couldn’t help myself. please continue.”

he licks his lips, and then opens his mouth but- “i’ve lost my train of thought.”

“oh my god, i’m sorry.”

“for what?”

“you were talking about something serious.” you wince guiltily.

“our anniversary is something serious too!” he points out, pouting cutely.

“yes, but… it’s a different story, breakups are- jungkook! why are you suddenly laughing?!” you sputter, shoving him away in annoyance when you hear a snort in the midst of his uncontrollable giggles. “what’s so funny…? you were just so close to crying!”

he shakes his head profusely, collapsing over you, but he ends up rolling over to the side so he can lie on his back and clutch at his aching belly.

“ah, ____! my heart fluttered when you mentioned our anniversary. i totally forgot what i was talking about!”

if it fluttered earlier, now it goes absolutely wild in his ribcage.

your positions are switched before he can comprehend it— you’re now on all fours on top of him. his head is trapped in between your arms and your gold necklace is dangling over his face and you’re straddling his lap and now it’s getting harder to breathe and not picture obscene images that involve you worshipping his body.

he probably likes this way too much than he cares to admit.

“do you see it now?”

he purses his lips, obviously distracted, controlled by his desire for you as he finds the curves of your waist to caress. “see what?”

“that you don’t need to be anxious about us not being happy in the future, because we’re happy right now.”

he cannot detect an ounce of hesitation even if he tried. you are steady. you are sure. something intangible and inexplicable floods your souls when your eyes meet, but the two of you know that it exists and it is real.

“fuck… i love you. i fucking love you so much.” his voice borders on a growl, and a whimper escapes your lips just before they crash against his for a kiss so full of passion that it completely catches you offguard. he pulled you down so swiftly that your hands anchored on the bed scrambled for his forearms to break your fall, nails digging into his skin as you balance yourself.

jungkook isn’t much for words, but something in him always wants more. he likes to speak with his tongue in a way so sweet that it compels you to abandon your vocabularies in the farthest back of your mind.

you sit down on his lap breathless after making out. your boyfriend watches you wipe your mouth with the back of your hand, slipping his hands underneath his head as he cockily grins in satisfaction.

you roll your eyes at the sight of his biceps being shamelessly flexed. “bastard,”

“bastard you’re crazy about,”

“unfortunately,” you sigh with faux disappointment, hugging the hello kitty plushie you picked up from the floor.

“want to go for a ride?”

“to where?”

“anywhere,” he shrugs. “it’s already late so there shouldn’t be traffic anymore.”

you jump off the bed without another word, returning a minute later clad in a black harley davidson jacket. you look so fucking chic and attractive in it, he always pats himself on the back for buying it for you.

jungkook would go against all laws of the universe if it meant spending a hundred more almost five years with you, until the hello kitty plushie you’re still hugging becomes gray and unrecognizable.

“babe, why are you still staring at me like that? i’m ready!”

—

from the entrance, jungkook discerns your familiar figure pacing back and forth across your designated parking spaces. you appear to be engrossed in your phone as you nibble on your thumb, which he knows to be a tell-tale sign of your anxiety. you just got your nails done, and for the first three days, you’re usually very conscious of messing them up.

you fail to notice the loud presence of his motorcycle, not until he has successfully parked and pushed down its side stand on the ground.

“baby! what are you doing out here?”

he lifts off the helmet, ruffling his hair to tame it. and as he brushes his stubborn bangs away from his eyes, that’s when he sees his lover overcome with distraught.

his heart drops to his stomach.

your eyes are filled with unshed tears, chin trembling with the struggle of holding them back.

“jungkook!” you wail out his name, and you haven’t cried this loud since you were sixteen.

an unnamed neighbor walks by the scene and says to theirself, somebody must’ve died.

“yah- why? why, why, why?” he stumbles over his own words in panic, carelessly hanging the helmet on one of the handles of the motorcycle as he gets off. “what’s wrong? baby? what happened?”

you hide your face in the palms of your cold yet clammy hands, ashamed by the surge of your emotions flooding the parking lot as acid rain, but a sense of safety blankets you when jungkook gingerly tugs you towards him.

“i thought something bad happened to you! a car hit a motorcycle nearby- and i thou- i really thought-”

“oh, that’s right! how did you know?” he gasps. “i passed by them earlier. there were so many people and police officers.”

“jungkook!” you snap, hitting his chest in frustration.

“sorry- i’m sorry! okay, that was insensitive of me- fuck.” he rambles, and you visibly cringe when his glove-clad hands touch your face.

the texture, and only god knows all the places it’s been…

“there’s no need to cry, baby! i’m already here, aren’t i? i’m so healthy. there’s not a single scratch on me.”

he hastily takes off his jacket to reveal himself in a white sleeveless shirt. spotless that it looks brand-new.

“see? all good!“

you fall silent. your eyes frantically scan his body, but your brain doesn’t really register anything that you perceive.

“aigoo, why are you shaking so much?”

he can’t bear to watch you in this state. he feels nauseous, almost, like his gut is being twisted and wrung in different ways.

“my baby must’ve been so worried about me, is that right? come here.”

in the solace of jungkook’s embrace, wrapped in his strong arms that are, praise heavens, not broken, the pounding of your heart gradually returns to normal.

his, however, becomes louder. and these days he likes to believe that he is no longer the crybaby he once was, but his skin feels flushed as tears fills his eyes, because damn, what a blessing it is to be loved by you.

he leans on the motorcycle, lovingly rocking you back and forth with shushes and soft hums.

time flies by when you are floating, but jungkook is patient as he waits for you to land and come home to him, even when his feet have fallen asleep.

“you haven’t forgotten your promise?” you whisper.

“never not wear a helmet,” he coos, pressing his lips to your temple. “of course i haven’t forgotten.”

“good,” you mumble, drawing back. “go home and shower. you’re all so sweaty.”

“i will. i feel so sticky.” he chortles. “this is so annoying. i hate summer!”

—

you continue to cling to jungkook all the way to the apartment unit, arms circled around his torso and soft cheek smushed against his back. snuggling him from behind like a koala does a tree is a newly-discovered joy. and if you were single you would be rolling your eyes at a person for saying this, but it is quite wonderful to have a boyfriend for a pillow that is also a blanket. has anyone invented that?

“you know, i regret not getting a motorcycle earlier.”

“why?”

the door opens with a short jovial jingle as a signal.

“i saw someone with a puppy in a basket this morning. it was even wearing goggles! it was really cute!” he laments, dragging you along with him into the living room. “ah, i’m an idiot. why didn’t i think of that? we could’ve done that with bam!”

you form the mental image of tiny baby bam wearing tiny goggles and a tiny leather jacket, and then another, but with the current bam.

“but bam is already as big as the bike!” you dissolve into laughter.

jungkook grunts, and you can’t tell whether he’s genuinely feeling this regretful or he’s just trying to distract you after you broke down with the mind-numbing anxiety of losing him forever.

“exactly!”

you sink into the couch, instinctively reaching for the hello kitty plushie to hug. meanwhile, he begins stripping off his shirt.

“it’s not even possible at all now!”

“but i do want to see him wear goggles…” you say in jest, fishing out your phone from the pocket of your shorts. “should i look for one?”

wait, what do you even type for it? dog goggles?

“i found them. there are helmets, too.” you gasp, covering your mouth as an epiphany hits you. “the puppy wasn’t wearing a helmet?”

driven by curiosity, jungkook sits next to you as you search for the item online. he is practically naked, left wearing only his black calvin klein boxers.

“oh,” he pauses. “now that you mention it, the puppy wasn’t wearing one.”

“how are you still sweaty?” with your thumb, you wipe the bead of sweat threatening to enter his eye. “go shower first.”

he manages to sneak a chaste kiss to your wrist before it becomes out of reach.

“before that, i need to tell you something.”

you bob your head, encouraging him to speak out, but the longer you maintain eye-contact with him, the faster his impulsive courage melts into a puddle of nervousness.

marry me.

marry me.

“baby…”

“yes?” you half-smile. “what is it? you’re starting to scare me.”

marry me.

when i see the future, i only see you.

“i love you.”

—

taglist in the reblogs! send an ask/dm if you want to be added (or removed) :D

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I Will Always Love You

Summary: You have known each other for years and practically watched the other grow up thanks to living right next door. Nobody knows how you both truly feel except for yourselves. Now that you're in your mid twenties, you felt the need to put all that childish acts aside and finally acknowledge that feeling you've both kept in your hearts for years

Theme: neighbours au, friends to sort of enemies to lovers

Genre: slowburn, smidge of angst, romance, fluff

Warnings: mentions of alcohol, drunk, slight tension, snowed in briefly, slight anxiety, mild language

W/C: 10k

Pairing: Lee Minho x Fem!Reader

a/n: Happy New Year everyone! 🎉 May 2024 bring peace, health, happiness and success to you all 🩵 Thank you to those who follow my account and for liking my writings that I've posted thus far! To many more writings and ideas this year 💃🏽

You and Minho go way back. You practically grew up with him since he was indeed your neighbour. It’s impossible to split you up with him back in kindergarten and the first few years of primary school. Both of you were like two peas in a pod, even your close friends and classmates knew about your very close friendship with him. Despite his odd personality that just screams Scorpio and his peculiar love for dark humour, you seem to adapt to him really well that not many people can do. Unfortunately, halfway through primary school, his friends started to separate you from Minho.

They would hang out with him before you could find him after school, they would call you multiple different names saying you’re clingy, they would embarrass you by saying you only stick under Minho’s arms like a leech wherever he went. And the worse part is, Minho did nothing to defend you. He did nothing to stop his own friends from bullying you like that.

That was the reason why you slowly distanced yourself from him since his friends would literally shoo you away like you were a peasant.

Eventually, you grew a dislike of him for what he did, even up till this day where you were both turning 25 in September and October. The thing is, you both still lived with your parents which means you still see him everyday just that he lives a completely separate life from you. Your sister however has moved out long ago since she got married.

No doubt, you miss being close to him.

Those times where you would laugh and play catch with him in his backyard. When you’d cry in his arms when someone in kindergarten steals your crayons. Where you would stay up with him past bedtime, writing whatever you wanted to say to each other on drawing blocks and showing it to the other at your bedroom windows that were facing each other. How he would walk with you to and from school, wanting to act like the bigger one since he’s a boy when in reality, he’s 27 days younger than you. Minho was your best friend but that’s just it, isn’t it?

He was your best friend… Not anymore…

Both of you grew up really well thanks to puberty and deep down, Minho couldn’t lie that you still look the same except you’ve gotten prettier. Your fashion sense is still somewhat boyish but not as bad as when you were younger, where you just wore big shirts and ¾ trousers. Now, you’ve worn dresses and skirts a few times for special occasions but you always wore jeans.

Sometimes you go for a feminine outfit with skinny jeans and crop tops while on some days you go for oversized shirts or hoodies with baggy cargo pants or jeans. And you are never a heels girl, only for special occasions. Most of the time, you are seen in sneakers and it suits you a lot. He’d be damned but he agrees that you look the best in sneakers.

You look a lot more confident in sneakers compared to heels. The only thing is, he’s been hiding a big secret from everyone including his parents that he doesn’t plan on revealing it to anyone anytime soon. Minho can lie to everyone but he cannot lie to himself. Seeing you grow up before his eyes, watching all the good and bad times you go through, seeing how puberty did its magic on you and witnessing how different of a person you are now in terms of personality, Minho couldn’t help but fall in love with you.

Unfortunately, his ego is too high for him to easily admit that so he chose to keep that a secret from everyone and act as if he still doesn’t like you.

It is a rainy Saturday evening and your friends Changbin and Chan came over earlier to study and do your assignments together with you. Changbin drove here while Chan rode his motorbike and since the weather wasn’t that great, your mother insists for them to stay for dinner or at least until the rain stops. You were in the kitchen, helping your mother prepare the food and plates on the dining table when they both offered to help. Your dad was out working overtime so it’s just you and your mother at home with your two friends.

She then asked you to text your dad saying there’s food at home and he doesn’t have to buy it after work. You remembered your phone was in your room so you rushed up the stairs to find it. A few minutes passed and you still haven’t come downstairs. Mothers being mothers, she gave the boys a sympathetic smile before she asked either one of them to go check on you.

Changbin nodded and left as Chan stayed behind to help scoop out the beef stew into the bowl. Meanwhile, Changbin softly approaches your room to see where you are. When he saw you by your vanity table where your phone is charging, he tiptoed over to you who was standing with your back facing him.

You were busy texting your best friend Lily when suddenly, a strong muscular pair of arms wrapped around your waist to surprise you. You gasped softly from surprise, glancing to your right to find Changbin’s grinning face just staring back at you.

“What’s taking you so long, dummy?” He asked, earning a laugh from you.

“I was texting Lily. Why? Missed me already?” You teased him knowing there was no effect on him because he is already happily in love with his best friend and boyfriend, Felix.

“Of course, I always miss you.” Changbin said, nudging your cheek with his nose playfully.

He finally lets go of you and leaves the room with you hand in hand. Both of you completely missed the way someone witnessed all this from across your bedroom window in the dark. You came back downstairs to have dinner with everyone, only for your dad to come home when you were halfway done with your meal. Hours passed and you were in your bedroom with your friends when Chan stood by your window to look at the night sky. Suddenly, his words caught your attention.

“Hey Y/N, is that your neighbour you told us about?” Chan asked while staring at something downstairs. You got out of bed and walked towards him only to follow his trail of sight. Sure enough, you saw Minho playing catch with his cats. If you remember correctly, they were Soonie, Doongie and Dori. You naturally smiled at the sight of him playing with his cats.

“Yeah…” You simply said before Changbin frowned at you with a question in mind.

“Wasn’t he like your best friend at one point?” He asked, making you sigh and walked back into your room to sit on your bed.

“He was…”

“Then what happened?” Chan asked as he now sat on your study chair, curiously waiting for your reply.

“We… grew apart.”

“There must be a reason why you grew apart, no? I mean, if you two were really close friends, you wouldn’t wanna grow apart from each other… Unless something happened that made you choose that path.” Changbin said and you immediately felt upset.

“We used to be inseparable. He never told me he wanted me to give him space or anything and he simply stayed close to me too wherever we went. Until our third year in primary school, his friends started calling me names and said I was always clinging onto him like a leech. He never said anything to defend me or stop his friends. Ever since then, I slowly distanced myself from him because of his friends and he never apologised so I just decided to forget about it.” You finally explained to them the full story.

“I’m so sorry…” Chan said, making you smile despite the tears threatening to fall.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” You said as they both looked at each other and Changbin decided to drop the bomb on you.

“Hey, do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Sure. What is it?” You asked as you waited for his reply.

“Do you miss him?”

You fell silent for a while, not knowing how to respond. Your mind screams no but your heart screams yes. It’s difficult to choose one answer but you knew deep down, which is the right answer you’ve been holding onto all these years.

“I do…”

They chose to drop the topic and talked about the plan next weekend to hangout at the club. They soon left to head home after saying and hugging you goodbye at your doorstep since it was no longer raining. That night, before you went to sleep, you walked over to close your window and turn on your air conditioner when you saw Minho cradling Soonie in his arms as he entered his bedroom. You quickly closed the window and drew the translucent curtain over to cover your window while you peeked to see him.

Minho kissed Soonie’s nose as he nuzzled his face into her body. She licked his nose a few times before he placed her down on his bed and soon walked over to his window. You quickly hid behind the wall, afraid he might see you. If only you knew the reason why he actually went to his window, you wouldn’t have moved away that quickly.

A week later, you were just getting ready to head out with Chan and Changbin while your parents were out for their anniversary dinner. You wore a pretty lavender body fitting dress that stops about two inches above your knees. Changbin texted you saying he was already on his way to your house in a cab, together with Chan. Knowing they would reach in just 5 minutes, you decided to head downstairs and waited there instead. You had just locked your front door when the sound of a door closing followed by keys jingling made you turn to your right.

There, you saw Minho leaving his house as well. He was wearing a black silk dress shirt with the first few buttons undone, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up to his elbows, tucked into his light washed denim skinny jeans and a pair of mens boots. His hair was styled up to show his forehead and bangs to fall and frame his face.

He looked sickeningly handsome. You’re almost jealous of it.

“Does mommy know you’re sneaking out of the house?” Minho asked as he came next to you who was just leaning on the short brick wall that separates your house yard from his.

“I don’t need to sneak out because they know where I’m going.” You said with a soft scoff.

“Mmm, so they’re aware that you’re going out wearing something like this? Naughty girl…” Minho teased you with that charming smirk on his face.

“I’m 25, Minho. I can wear whatever I want.”

“Technically, you’re still 24.” He’s right. You still have four months till your birthday but who cares.

“You’re so annoying.” You whispered to yourself as you saw a taxi gradually slowing down towards you. When the vehicle finally comes to a stop in front of you, the two heads that popped out from the windows made you relax. It was Chan, Changbin and Felix. You entered the cab without saying anything else to Minho, ignoring the way he was keeping his eye on you even after the cab had driven off. One thing he completely forgot to do was to compliment you on how pretty you looked tonight.

Half an hour later, you arrived at the club and soon got out of the vehicle with your friends. You managed to enter the club since the queue wasn’t that long and made your way to the bar to get your drinks. You stayed by Chan the entire time since Felix was with Changbin. That night, you had no idea why but you just felt like letting loose and drinking however much booze your body can take.

Minutes ticked by and you were now on your 7th shot of tequila. You were clearly drunk but not enough to drop dead unconscious. Chan was talking to you about this girl he met on this dating app and was just listing out all the things he liked about her when you suddenly dragged him to the dancefloor. He danced with you with no sense of awareness of your surroundings. Everyone else was just as drunk as you, dancing their hearts out letting their limbs move to the beat.

You were too busy swaying your hips to the song when someone slips in front of you and takes your hands in his gently. Your vision was hazy as you found it difficult to keep your eyes open. The person danced with you, bringing your hands up over his shoulders and dropping them there while his hands rested on your lower back comfortably. For some reason, you felt like the touch was very familiar.

The music was drowning you, wanting to just focus your vision on the person you’re dancing with. Just then, he leaned down to say something in your ear, loud enough to hear over the booming music.

“You’re very drunk.” He said, your mind was running amuck.

“I know.” You giggled but he kept his lips by your ears, not wanting to pull back and let you see his face.

“I should take you home.”

“N-No… Take me to your home.” You giggled as you tangled your fingers in his hair softly to play with it.

“I don’t think you will like that, Y/N.”

Oh, he knows your name. This must be Chan… right?

He then guides you towards the entrance, only for you to panic saying you need to tell your friends that you’re going home and all that so they wouldn’t get worried. But instead, he told you to do that in the cab to avoid you from falling down. Not long after, the cab came and you entered the vehicle with him. During the car ride, you ended up falling over with your head in his lap. You fell asleep with your left arm stretched over the seat while your right hand gently held onto his thigh for support.

The next thing you knew, you woke up the next morning in your bed with a really bad hangover. And yet, the memories from yesterday still lingers in the back of your mind and the mysterious guy remains unknown. Later in the afternoon, you went to make a group call with Chan and Changbin and they picked up your call with ease.

“Hello?” You asked into the line and they both replied at the same time.

“Hey. What’s up?”

“Were any of you guys with me last night at the dancefloor?” You said and you could hear both of them humm in thought.

“I was with you briefly when you dragged me to the centre but I don’t really remember anything after. I was really drunk.” Chan laughed.

“I was with Lix the entire time. So I’m clearly out of the picture.” Changbin giggled as you heard a shuffle from his end but then it stopped.

“Because I was dancing with someone and he sent me home last night. I thought it was one of you guys.”

“Definitely not me then.” Changbin said and so did Chan.

“I don’t think I was sober enough to even send myself home…” Chan said lightly but then he paused. The line fell silent and he spoke up again, “But if neither of us sent you home, who did? And how would they know where you live?”

He does have a great point.

“That’s what I’m confused about. How would a stranger know where I lived? Unless it’s one of you guys?” You asked as your brain began to search for ideas on who it could be. All but one was suddenly missing from your list by accident.

“Maybe it’s your sister!” Changbin said only for you to scoff in disbelief.

“It was a guy! And why would my married sister be at a club when she has a pair of twins to take care of?” You asked, only for Chan to laugh out loud and tease the other male in the call.

“Maybe it’s your cousin?” Chan asked but you knew it wasn’t a relative. Just then, Changbin mentions someone you completely forgot about.

“What if it’s him?”

“Him… who?” You asked in a slow pace, hoping he wasn’t talking about who you’re thinking.

“Your hot but ex-best friend neighbour?” You can’t believe he said it.

“No… No, it can’t be. How would he know I was there? That’s impossible.”

“Probably he just happened to be at that same club. That is the only club in this area anyway…” Chan suggested, making you frown. What if it’s true? That’s the only logical explanation as to how the person knew where you lived and knew your name. If it wasn’t any of your friends, it couldn’t have been a total stranger. But why? Why would he do that when he clearly didn’t have to?

This isn’t making any sense…

Nevertheless, you made an excuse saying you needed to help your mom run some errands so you ended the call. That night, you were just sitting by your window staring at the beautiful starry night sky when you saw Minho enter his room. He paced around his room with a deep frown on his face. Just then, he took you by surprise as he grabbed the hem of his hoodie and pulled it over his head, leaving him shirtless for you. A soft gasp left your lips as you quickly closed your window before he saw you.

Little did you know, right after he took off his hoodie, he heard the sound of your windows being closed so his gaze naturally flew across the room just in time to see you lock your last window and disappeared into your room. Minho chuckled quietly to himself as he went to take a quick shower. After he was done, he laid in bed staring into his ceiling with the same scene just repeating over and over again in his head.

The way you danced with him last night, the way your fingers tangled into his hair, the way you fell into his lap, the way you slept the entire car ride back home, the way he carried you into your home and all the way to your bedroom, the way you unconsciously whined when he pulled away from you, the way he took the chance to gently caress your cheek while whispering the words he never dared to say to you in person now, the way your lips looked so soft and kissable but he had to restrain himself from doing something while knowing you were drunk.

Minho pushed all those thoughts to the back of his mind, hoping he’ll forget all about it as the days go by. Wanting none of that to bother him because if it does, he would probably come knocking at your doorstep and tell you how he truly feels about you. Clearly his ego would be crushed by that so he chooses not to.

Months had passed and it was your birthday today. Your parents invited your sister’s family, your friends Chan, Changbin, Lily and also Minho’s family over to the house for your birthday celebration. It was just going to be a private birthday party for you. You wore a pretty blue semi flowy dress to match the theme of the decorations. Your mother knew you loved blue so that’s why the decorations were all blue in colour. With the right amount of food and desserts she ordered, you can’t wait to have a good time. The only thing is, you were kind of hoping Minho would come.

You missed him a lot but you weren’t sure if he feels the same towards you. Nonetheless, those thoughts were thrown out of the bus the minute your friends arrived. The party started after 3pm and your friends came just one minute after 3 so you got distracted really fast. As the hour went by, your sister, your brother in law and your twin nephew and niece finally came. You greeted them warmly while your brother in law handed you a gift bag.

“Happy birthday Y/N! Your sister and I picked this out for you so we hope you like it.” He said, making you laugh.

“Thank you! I just hope it’s not something weird.” You joked and they laughed. Your niece and nephew hugged you to say hello and wish you a happy birthday before they went to greet your parents. A few minutes later, your doorbell rang again so you went to see who it was. Surprised to see Mr and Mrs Lee standing there with a gift bag and a box filled with home baked cookies.

“Happy birthday dear. Here’s your birthday present and the cookies you loved to eat when you were younger.” Mrs Lee said, making you giggle.

“Aww Mrs Lee, you shouldn’t have…”

“It’s okay my dear. Today is your day.” Mr Lee said as you welcomed them in. Though you did feel a little sad that Minho wasn’t here with them, maybe he really doesn't care about you anymore. You joined your friends in your living room as they played with the twins. Just then, Changbin spoke up from beside you.

“He didn’t come?”

“No…” You said but somehow, he could tell your tone was off.

“Were you hoping he’d come?” He asked softly, not wanting to upset you in any way possible. Your silence was enough for him to apologise even though he knew it wasn’t his fault. Changbin rested his hand over your knee and gently caressed it to comfort you and it partially worked. Hours passed and you were just playing with your niece when the doorbell rang.

“Y/N sweetie, can you go and see who that is?” Your mom called from the dining table where the adults were eating and chatting. With that being said, you nodded and got up to see who it was. Maybe your mom ordered something she forgot about. As soon as you pulled the door open, you froze at the sight of someone too familiar standing at your doorstep. Minho glanced down at your attire before meeting your eyes and he gave you a little smirk.

“W-What are you doing here?” You asked rather softly, unable to calm your nerves.

“What does it look like? I came to celebrate your birthday… And also have free food.” Minho said as he took a step forward while you took a step back. Minho smirked at you cheekily before he tapped the tip of your nose with his finger and whispered, “It’s good to see you again.”

The minute he walked in, your parents greeted him with so much love. Your mom hugged him tightly and he embraced her as though she was his mother. Your mother asked him to make himself at home and just take whatever food he wants, only for him to thank her. Meanwhile, you glanced over to your friends and both Changbin and Chan looked at you with shocked eyes.

The twins greeted Minho warmly as he lifted your niece on his waist while your nephew ran to take his favourite stuffed animal and bring it to Minho.

You’ve never seen him mingle around with kids before, not really knowing what to expect considering he’s an only child. So to see him being greeted warmly by kids who basically met him for the first time, it’s making your heart tingle. To avoid looking obvious, you quickly went to sit next to Changbin while Lily and Chan were talking about school. Your friend looks at you worriedly but all you did was smile.

“Are you okay?” He asked, making you nod.

“Are you sure?” He asked again, knowing you damn well that you’re not anywhere near okay.

“Yeah! I’m okay.” You smiled as you watched Minho get dragged by the kids to play with them together with Chan and Lily who were seated by the toys. Every now and then, Minho would glance at you and you’ll look away as though you didn’t mean to look at him.

Minho’s lips would unconsciously curl upwards slightly without making it obvious that he’s smiling at you. The sun was starting to set and your mother was preparing the candles for your cake. You were just in your room, charging your phone and also wanting to get away from the whole awkward situation downstairs for a bit when a familiar voice speaks up from your bedroom doorstep.

“I thought the birthday girl should be downstairs mingling with her guests?” He asked as you turned around to find Minho leaning against your doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest. Why does he look so fucking handsome tonight in just a plain black shirt and jeans?

“I was just about to head back down.” You said, avoiding his gaze as you turned your back to him once more. Minho carefully walked over to you while keeping the conversation alive.

“Really? You don’t seem like you are going to move any time soon though.”

“I-I have to send an email for my school work.”

“For 10 minutes? Yeah right.” He said as his voice sounded a lot closer now. You turned around to say something to him but instead, you flinched back when your arms accidentally crashed into his chest. A soft gasp left your lips when he smirked down at you charmingly.

“U-Um… We should go downstairs.” You said as you slipped past him to head towards the door but Minho caught your wrist and tugs you back slightly to stop you from walking.

“Hey… I just-” Minho’s words get stopped when your sister’s voice echoes down the hallway.

“Y/N? Minho? Come on! It’s time to cut the cake!” She suddenly appears by your door only for Minho to let go of your wrist gently so she wouldn’t question anything. Soon, all three of you went downstairs but while you were about to head to the dining table where the cake was lit, Minho spoke up, earning a frown from you.

“I have to go. I just remembered I need to submit my essay tonight and I still haven’t finished it yet.” Minho said as he bowed to your parents and was about to walk out of the house when you reached for his hand in yours and tugged him back gently.

“N-No, please… Don’t go?” You whispered with a shaky breath. Minho could’ve sworn he saw tears, his heart broke seeing you tear up but he couldn’t just hug and kiss you right there even if that’s all he could think of. So instead, he reached up to hold your face with his right hand and gently caressed your cheek with his thumb to comfort you.

“Happy birthday Y/N.” He whispered softly as he turned and left without looking back. You stood by the door as Chan came over to take you in. Not before he rested a gentle hand on your lower back and comforted you as best as he could.

“Come on… He’ll come around soon. You know he will.” He said, only for you to sigh. Throughout the night, you weren’t as happy as you were a few hours ago. From time to time, you kept glancing over to the house next to yours. Your friends could tell that your mind was somewhere else so they decided not to stay long. But before they left, they made sure to hug you tightly and Lily didn’t forget to say something sweet to you.

“If he’s meant for you, he will come back. Only idiots would be dumb enough to not choose you as a partner.” Lily said, making you giggle lightly. That night, you couldn’t help but feel sad thinking about how Minho slipped away from you yet again. You were just curled up in bed when there was a soft knock on your bedroom door.

“Baby? Are you still awake?” Your mother asked as she opened your door. You hummed to respond, hearing her walk closer until she was right behind you.

“Oh, my sweet baby. Come here.” She said while climbing into bed, only for you to immediately throw yourself in her arms and cry. She held you in her arms securely while you cried your heart out.

“I’m so sorry, sweetheart.”

“I-I never said this to anyone before… b-but I-I miss him…”

“I know, baby. I’m sure he misses you too… Just… Give him some time to figure things out. I’m sure he’ll come around.” She said, hoping you’ll feel better. Thankfully, you calmed down with her words so you stopped crying and she kissed your forehead before tucking you into bed.

It’s been 2 and a half months now since your birthday party. You didn’t celebrate Minho’s birthday simply because his parents told you he was out of the country with his friends for his birthday. A part of you knows he was just trying to avoid you and so his parents couldn’t throw a party for him only to invite you. Just last week, your parents told you about their plan on going for a staycay with the Lee’s family for the holidays. Apparently they’ve already booked the accommodation which is a beautiful wooden lodge up in the snowy mountains.

It was only after they told you that you remembered it was your friend’s wedding on the day they planned to leave for the mountains. Unfortunately for you, it seems like you have no other choice but to go the next day instead. How you would make your way to the mountain, that’s your task to do some planning at least you can join them on the trip anyway. Your sister and her family would be going too but they’re all leaving on the first day morning but you had to stay behind.

Today was the day where your family and his, had already left to go to the lodge up the mountains while you’re here preparing for your friend’s wedding. Hours prior to leaving the house, you made sure to pack all the clothes you need for your trip so that you wouldn’t be rushing tomorrow or tonight knowing you’ll be back way past 7pm despite the wedding reception starting at 1pm. It was one of your old friend’s wedding from college. Her name is Roseanne and she is considered one of your close friends.

You wore a pretty turquoise boat neck dress that stops a few inches below your knees, pairing that with a simple pair of black open toe heels. Your hair cascades down your shoulder and back in soft straight waves.

When you arrived at the wedding venue, it was very beautiful. The colour scheme for the wedding decorations and the altar is just spectacular. Since you were there alone, you didn’t really know anyone there except for Roseanne’s sister and parents. Time passes by so fast, you don’t even realise it was almost 10 o’clock now. You knew you needed to head home and get your rest since you planned to leave early in the morning tomorrow.

With that being said, you bid her family goodbye and made sure to meet Roseanne and her newlywed husband to say your final congrats before leaving the venue. You called a cab and it came as soon as you called. The drive back home seemed shorter than the drive to the venue earlier, maybe due to less traffic at night.

Nevertheless, you paid the cab fare and got out of the vehicle after saying thank you. The cab driver soon drives off while you went inside your house and locked it.

You let out a tired sigh as you dragged yourself up the stairs to your bedroom. You turned on the lights and walked over to your vanity table beside your bedroom window. Taking a quick glance, you saw that his bedroom was dark. You wondered what he could be doing there at the lodge with your family.

With a soft sigh, you combed your fingers through your hair and brought it up to hold it in place with your claw clip. You began to remove your makeup with your makeup wipes while blasting your favourite tunes. Luckily you already packed your clothes and necessities. A few minutes later, you just left the bathroom down the hall when your phone started ringing. You glanced down to see your mother’s caller ID on your lock screen so you answered it.

“Hello?” You said into the line.

“Hi sweetie. Have you packed your bags?”

“Yeah. I’m just bringing my luggage and my sling bag.”

“Great! Anyway, there seems to be a change of plans. Minho is actually home right now and he planned to drive up the mountains tonight so he would reach here tomorrow morning. Since you’re both at home, why don’t you go with him tonight? He just got off the phone with his mother and he said he’s okay with driving here with you.”

Minho’s not with them?

“Oh… Uh… Sure, I guess.” You said, sounding a little unconvincing to her and she laughed.

“Alright dear, just be downstairs before midnight, okay? I love you baby.”

“Okay mom. I love you too.” You said before ending the call.

Great… What better way to have a reunion by spending a 6 hour drive with him. This is gonna be awkward…

Nonetheless, you did what was necessary before midnight rolled around. It was finally midnight in a blink of an eye and you were just locking your front door when you heard his voice speak up from behind you.

“Didn’t think you’d be left behind as well.”

You turned around to find him strolling towards you in his sweatpants, hoodie with his oversized shirt peeking underneath it and a long windbreaker jacket over it. His hair was damp and fluffy so you’re assuming he just got out of the shower and yet, he still looks good.

“Wedding bells were calling me. What about you? Why aren’t you there with them already?” You asked as he took your luggage from you and placed it in his car boot and proceeded to close the door. Once you were both inside his jeep, he started the car and drove off smoothly not forgetting to answer you.

“I had to retake my exam today. I suck. I know, okay? Don’t judge.” He said, making you raise your hands in a surrender position. Minho’s lips curled up into a cute smile that made you look out the window to avoid his gaze.

For the rest of the drive, both of you got quiet. He focused on driving while you were dozing off after a tiring day. Minho never held a grudge against you for sleeping while he had to sacrifice his sleep and stay awake to drive. Although, he does tend to glance over to his right to check on you but it leaves his heart fluttering every time he does that. It’s been nearly 4 hours since the drive and as he got higher up the mountains, the snow was beginning to get heavier.

Cool air seeps through the car gaps, causing you to stir awake from the sudden drop in car temperature despite the heater already turned on. You glanced up to see the car completely covered in snow while a thick windbreaker was placed over your curled up body in the passenger seat.

“How much longer till we reach the lodge?” You asked tiredly as you peeked the time on your phone screen.

“Another 2 hours, give or take.” He said while keeping his eyes on the slippery road. There’s no way you can make it to the lodge in this weather. With how heavy the snow was falling, it could be a snowstorm coming your way pretty soon. So to avoid any unfortunate events, you knew it would be the best decision to stop somewhere and wait till the morning to continue your journey. Upon having this thought, you noticed there was a hotel lodge just a few metres ahead.

“Stop there. We can’t go any further in this kind of weather.” You said as Minho drove to the open parking lot at slow speed due to the piled up snow covering his tires and almost 6 inch tall snow that was covering the ground. Once you were parked, both of you felt a little worried considering it’s now or never.

“Leave our luggages here. We’re just here to let the night pass anyway.” He said, making you frown even though you knew he had a point.

With that being said, both of you struggled to get out of the car but you still made it to the lodge safely as he clicked the lock button on his key. You entered the lodge first with him following behind you and there were quite a number of families there too and it looks like they’re snowed in as well. Minho approached the counter where a man was seen a little overwhelmed by the new guests who showed up.

“Hi, can I know why are all these people gathered here?” Minho asked, only for the man to politely smile and answer professionally.

“They’re just here for shelter since the weather forecast for tonight isn’t that great. There is a high chance that we will be stuck here tonight. Really sorry for the unfortunate situation.”

“It’s fine but uh… do you guys happen to have a spare room for us to rest in for the night?” Minho asked as you simply watched quietly beside him. You’d usually butt in and argue back with whatever decisions he’s making but tonight, you’re too tired to function.

“We do have a small room but there’s only one bed and our heaters are not that strong due to the horrible weather. We can’t fix it until tomorrow when the mechanics are open. Will that be okay?” The man said, giving Minho the chance to look at you to see how you feel about the suggestion.

“Why are you looking at me?”

“Didn’t you hear what he just said? There’s just one bed and the heater isn’t working well. Do you still want the room or not?” He asked.

“At this point, I don’t even care.” You sighed tiredly only for Minho to give the man a shrug of his shoulders.

“Fine. We’ll take it.” Minho said as he then made the payment for the room. A few minutes later, you were both sent to your room on the third level. You thanked the worker as you entered the room after Minho who was now holding the door for you. As expected, the room was just barely warm with the cold air still surrounding the room completely. You were in three layers of clothing and yet you’re still shivering. The first thing you did after taking off your shoes was to climb into bed and bury yourself under the thick covers.

You were just curled up on one side of the bed when you felt the mattress dip with his weight. Minho pulled the cover up so he could also bury himself in it. He laid on his back while you laid on your side with your back facing him. The room was silent as nobody said anything but with the subtle shifts and movements, you knew that he wasn’t asleep.

“Should’ve asked for an extra blanket. It’s still so cold…” He whispered as he shifted a little closer to you when he felt the nice warmth radiating off you.

“I just hope the weather gets better later. But right now, all I need is sleep.” You said as you buried your arms closer to your chest to keep yourself warm. Silence fills the room again but you were still shivering and Minho could feel the bed vibrating softly from it.

“You know what? Fuck it. I can’t sleep like this.” Minho said as you wondered what he was going to do next.

Just then, you didn’t expect him to shuffle towards you until you felt his chest pressing against your back while his left arm slid over your waist and reached for your arm. He slips his hand into your right hand, lacing his fingers perfectly with yours before tangling his legs with yours underneath the covers. Your heart was racing rapidly in your chest now, afraid to make the slightest of sound and movement. But Minho calms you down by caressing your hand with his thumb, feeling his soft lips press on your neck.

“Are you still cold?” He whispered quietly against your neck, making you let out a very soft whimper before saying no.

“Good.” He replied to you, holding you closer right after. This kept you warm and you both eventually managed to fall asleep.

A few hours later, you woke up feeling comfortably warm and fuzzy. You let out a soft moan as you stirred awake, feeling something soft brush against your forehead. When you manage to open your eyes, that’s where you realise the sleeping position you were in. Minho was laying on his back with you resting your head on his chest.

Your left hand was tucked between your bodies while your right hand was lacing fingers with his that was hanging past your shoulder. Minho stirred awake when he felt you let go of his hand only to slide up his chest and stopped on the side of his neck. You stayed like that even when you felt his hand glide up and down your right forearm softly.

“This feels nice…” He said quietly, not really expecting a reply from you. Your heart swelled knowing he was talking about being this close and comfortable to you once again after years.

“We can stay like this for a while more…” Your voice was almost a whisper but thankfully he heard you. Because the minute those words left your lips, you felt him press the sweetest soft kiss to your forehead. Minho couldn’t stop himself from cracking a smile against your skin, knowing you probably felt it.

“I wouldn’t wanna let go anyway.” He said ever so softly, making you blush. With that being said, you snuggled deeper into his chest. Trying to ignore the urge to kiss him right there. About two hours later, you finally got out of bed and headed back down to resume your journey to the family lodge. Neither of you mentioned the cute little cuddle session simply because you were too shy to address it in the car and even when you arrived at the lodge a few minutes past noon.

Everyone asked you and Minho about what happened last night and where you’ve been, so you told them everything. All until the cuddling part. They were just glad that you both made it to the lodge safely so you could finally enjoy the holidays in the snowy mountains.

Throughout the next two days, you were enjoying yourself a lot on the trip. From the activities to sightseeing to homemade food and to family bonding. This has probably been the only time you saw just how fun Minho truly is and how loving he was towards your sister’s children. The twins are already 9 years old and yet, Minho seems to win both their hearts. Maybe including yours too.

It was the last night of the family trip, all of you were gathered around the christmas tree when your parents began to give out gifts to their kids and grandkids. Followed by Minho’s parents giving him his presents. You got a few pretty tops from your parents while your sister got you a beautiful necklace with a simple heart charm. Just then, Minho’s mother held out a wrapped present to you with a bright smile on her face.

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart. This is a gift from us that Minho helped to choose. We hope you like it.” She said, making you thank her while taking the gift from her. All eyes were now on you as the kids wanted to help you unwrap so you let them do that. Once the present was revealed, a soft gasp left your lips when you saw the brand of the box. It was a shoe, not just any shoe though… It was your favourite shoe brand.

You carefully pulled the cover open and peeled the paper back only to gasp out loud this time. It was the exact shoe that you wanted to buy for yourself the other day but was prioritizing your expenses to only buy what you need.

“I love it… I wanted to buy this a few weeks ago but I didn’t…” Your voice grew softer with every word until you were now looking at Minho.

“I noticed you like shoes. So I just gambled and picked the one with a baby blue accent. Didn’t know you wanted this exact one though.” He said, making you giggle.

“Well, thank you for the gift then.” You said with a smile, earning a laugh from him.

An hour later, everyone was starting to disperse to head to bed but you weren’t sleepy yet. You bid everyone goodnight but you stayed seated against the couch facing the fireplace. You were just admiring the shoe when a familiar voice caught your attention.

“Be careful not to burn the shoe.” Minho said as he approached you with a teasing smirk.

“Of course I won’t. I’m not that clumsy.” You replied to him while putting the shoe back in the box and pushing it under the tree, away from the fireplace. Minho took a seat on the couch as you got up and plopped down beside him.

“But really though… Thank you for the gift.” You said, earning a soft smile from him. Both of you fell silent, blankly staring at the fireplace instead of each other. You were so close to removing yourself from the room, thinking he probably feels awkward with you here now that you’re alone again but he spoke up before you could run away.

“I’m sorry…” He said very quietly while staring into the fire.

“What are you sorry for?” You asked over a whisper, finally turning to look at him. Minho kept his gaze ahead but you saw the sadness lingering in his facial expression.

“For everything? I’ve hurt you a lot and only now do I have the balls to apologise.” He chuckled but it wasn’t a happy one.

“It’s okay. I forgive you.” You said with a smile on your face, ignoring the tears that were threatening to fall. After what felt like hours, Minho finally turns to you with the deepest frown you’ve seen on him. He took his time boring his eyes into yours in search of something unknown to you.

“Why?” He asked and you were confused.

“Why not? That’s what friends do, no? They forgive each other…” You said easily only to go speechless when his eyes grew wide at the word ‘friends’. This was already pretty obvious where he got caught up and it doesn’t make sense to you. Sure you haven’t really been doing friend stuff with him for years but you still consider him your friend, even though deep down you want him to be something more.

“Friends?” He whispered out as a question so you couldn’t help but giggle lightly to brighten up the mood slightly.

“Yeah? Okay fine, technically we’re neighbours. Does that sound right to you?” You asked, only for him to finally crack a smile. This simple sight has undoubtedly awoken the butterflies in your stomach.

Both of you fell silent briefly, not really sure how to continue the conversation. You stared at your hands in your lap, picking on your cuticles out of anxiety and he noticed.

Minho could never stand seeing you having anxiety. The cuticle picking, shaking legs, fidgeting limbs and all he wants to do is to hold you close and tell you that he’s there with you. He takes this opportunity to calm you down and by that, he reaches one hand up to hold the side of your face and turn it towards him. Once you were facing him, you felt him caress your cheek with his thumb as he slowly leaned in. Partially scared that you might just pull away from him and embarrass him.

Your heart was palpitating rapidly in your chest, not really sure where this is going. Just when you feel his nose brush against the side of your nose, a familiar voice calls out to you very softly from behind Minho.

“Auntie Y/N? Can I sleep with you?” Your niece asked as Minho pulled away from you just in time for your niece to settle herself in your lap.

“Of course, baby. Come on, let’s get you to bed.” You said, turning her around to carry her in your waist while you stood up. Minho stood right after you but before you walked off, you cupped his face with your right hand and placed a gentle kiss on his cheek. Minho froze seeing you smile up at him only to then carry your niece to your room. That night, he slept with a smile on his face even though it was just a kiss to his cheek.

The next day, it was time to go back home. Since Minho drove there, he and his parents took his car while you followed your family car together with your sister’s family. Both of you never spoke about last night to anyone, not even to each other. The drive back home was filled with sleep and occasional laughter. When you arrived back home after sending your sister to her house, you made your way to your room to unpack and shower since it was already 8pm.

You had just finished showering and entered your room when you saw Minho shuffling around his room shirtless with damp hair falling down his head. Of course he looked handsome as ever but at least now you don’t have to quickly hide yourself from him to avoid him seeing you.

So instead of doing that, you continued doing what you planned on doing and that was to wear your clothes and unpack.

Minho stole a few glances into your room through his window as well but you didn’t seem to look over so he never waited for you anyway. He’s just happy that you’re no longer mad at him. That’s already a great start for him to redeem himself and maybe redo his friendship with you.

Besides, that’s all you both wanted with each other… To finally be friends again and possibly more.

It's been a few days now since the trip, yet neither you nor him have spoken to each other. Today is new years eve and you didn’t really have plans for midnight. Changbin was going to celebrate new years with Felix, Lily has a party to go to that was hosted by her friends in high school while Chan is out on a date with the girl he’s been talking about lately. It’s 2 hours to midnight and you were just lounging in bed, scrolling through your twitter when your mom came to your room with a bright smile on her face.

“Hi darling. You’re not going out with your friends tonight? It’s New Year's eve…” She laughed softly but you shrugged your shoulders as a response.

“Nope. All my friends already have their own plans. And besides, it’s just new year’s.” You said proudly, earning a smile from her.

“Well, in that case, why don’t you get ready. Someone’s here to take you out to see the fireworks.” She said, making you frown.

“Who?”

“Get ready and you’ll know.” She said before kissing your forehead and left the room. With that being said, you quickly changed into a thin sweater, a hoodie over it, ripped jeans and pinned your hair up in a claw clip. You opted to just fill your brows, put on chapstick and wear your contact lens on to avoid wasting time. Once you were sort of presentable, you took your phone and left your bedroom but you definitely weren’t prepared for when you arrived downstairs. There by your couch, was Minho leaning against the back of it with his arms crossed over his chest.

He was chatting with your dad and he looked so fucking handsome as always. Minho was wearing a simple white long sleeve with black and light grey flannel, a hooded leather jacket, skinny black jeans with his hair down completely not styled and yet he still looks good. When you finally reached the base of the stairs, both of them glanced over to you and you felt shy under his gaze.

“H-Hey…” You started and Minho couldn’t help but chuckled softly at your reaction. You dad smiled at you two, telling Minho to drive safe as he gave the boy a hug. You went over to hug your parents and soon left the house with Minho. The minute your front door closes, you spoke up to him in urgency.

“You didn’t tell me you were going to drag me out tonight?” You asked, earning a laugh from him.

“It was meant to be a surprise. I guess I’m just lucky that you’re home tonight.” He said casually.

He soon started the car and drove off into the night. You have completely no idea where he was taking you but after a while, you sort of have a clue since the drive was leading you to the highest point of town where the famous lookout point was. The drive to the location was filled with singing and laughing, not really having a proper conversation. When you arrived at the lookout point, you had about an hour left till midnight. Minho parked his car to the side of the road a few metres next to the railing.

“Do you wanna stay in the car or sit outside?”

“Let’s sit outside. The night sky looks really pretty tonight.” You smiled and he nodded to your suggestion. He locked his car and you both walked over to climb over the railing and sit on it facing the lookout point.

“Wow… I’ve never been here before.” You said as you took your time to admire the view. The starry night sky, the city lights, the wonderful view of the city at this time of night.

“I always come here if I need time alone. It calms me, weirdly enough.” Minho said, earning a nod from you.

“I can totally understand why. It’s beautiful up here.” You said while looking out into the city before you. At that moment, there’s nothing more beautiful to him than the sight of you here with him after years of missing you. Both of you chatted with each other and catched up with a lot of things you missed in one another’s life. When Minho realised it was almost midnight, he got up and told you he wanted to take something from the car. You let him be as you continued to stare into the night sky.

A few minutes later, you realised you had a minute left until midnight. You were just staring blankly at the city lights when Minho’s voice caught your attention.

“Hey, let’s stand. My ass hurts from sitting there too long.” He said, making you laugh. You did as he said only to join him behind the railing. Without any thoughts in mind, you stood facing the lookout point, only to hear everyone else around that area do a countdown. Naturally, you smiled as you hugged yourself.

10…

9…

8…

7…

6…

5…

4…

“3.” He said.

“2.” You said.

“1…” You both said at the same time as everyone else yelled into the night, “Happy New Year!” At that exact moment, fireworks were brought to life as they exploded into the night sky in colourful arrays of sparks. You gasped at how pretty they looked, not regretting leaving the comforts of your bed for this. Just then you thought the night couldn’t get any better, a warm hand slips around your waist as you get turned around.

When you finally turned to the side, Minho slid his left hand onto your face and without any words exchanged, he locked lips with you. His heart was beating so fast as his hands shook from both the cold and his nerves. You smiled against his lips as you slid your hands up his chest and wrapped them around his shoulders. Minho was so scared that you would shove him away or slap him for being bold but he never thought you would kiss him back. You allowed him to pull you closer against his front, snaking both arms around your waist to secure his hold on you.

His lips were too addictive, you had to force yourself to pull away to breathe. Keeping your face close to him, you tangled your fingers into his soft hair while you held his face with your other hand and caressed his cheek with your thumb softly. Minho’s heavy breaths mixed with yours as he squeezed your waist a little before he spoke up very quietly despite the loud explosion behind you.

“I’ve missed you so much… I regret letting you slip away due to my ego. But I will never regret loving you from the day we met.” He paused as you stared into his eyes lovingly and you could tell that he was nothing but genuine.

“Y/N… I love you… I will always love you.” Minho whispered against your lips and that was all it takes for you to break into tears. You couldn’t help but bury your face in his shoulder, feeling him hug you tighter while caressing your back. He let you cry into his shoulder, never once letting you go or loosening his hold around you. Eventually, he guided you towards the car until he could sit on the hood with you in between his legs.

Once you’ve calmed down, you pull away from him to wipe your tears on the sleeves of your hoodie. Minho laughed at you but he too helped with wiping your tears away using his thumbs. When you’ve stopped crying, he holds your face in both hands and gently tilts them up to meet his eyes. As soon as you finally locked eyes with him, Minho gave you the sweetest smile you’ve ever seen before he kissed you once more.

You melted against him, resting your hands on the nape of his neck as he pulled back to gently say, “I mean what I said just now.”

Minho isn’t the kind to easily convey his feelings let alone show it to anyone. So for him to confess to you right now is a big step he took and he wasn’t going to regret it no matter what your answer is. You wanted him to know how you feel so by pulling him in for another longing kiss, Minho smiled knowing your answer was already pretty obvious.

“I love you too, Minho.” You whispered against his lips, earning a chuckle from him.

“Good because I would dig myself a hole if you didn’t.” He joked, making you giggle. That night, you stayed out with him for a few hours before he sent you home. You ended up cuddling in the back seat of his car, talking about anything and everything you could think of. You came back home feeling so happy and full. Who knew this day would come. You’re just glad you never fully gave up on him.

random ducktales headcanons in whatever order I think of them

Louie likes math. He acts like he doesn’t because he thinks it’s dumb and nerdy, but he likes math.

In a human AU, Huey would wear cargo pants, track pants, or jeans on occasions. Dewey is a jeans every day type-of-guy, he doesn’t own any pants besides jeans. Louie always wears sweatpants or track pants.

Researching Scrooge really got Webby into American history. She loves learning about Scrooge when he was in America. Some of her favorite periods to learn about; The Gold Rush, the Roaring Twenties, the Great Depression, primarily the early Gilded Age.

As Dewey gets older, he gets a passion for writing. His overactive imagination is a tool for this. He also uses inspiration from his childhood fantasies and incorporates them into his stories. For example, he makes references only he would get about Dewey High in his writing. He does primarily action/adventure and realistic fiction.

Louie gets easily embarrassed about his hobbies. He starts by doing them nonchalantly, but when he realizes people are noticing, he starts doing them in secret.

Huey does not get art, primarily poetry, plays, or anything written. It just goes right over his head. He hates English class and Shakespeare.

When Lena likes something, she draws it a lot. Whether it be her magic, people, friendship bracelets, or even just a little trinket she found, she’ll draw it. These drawings go into her most beloved sketchbooks. But she also has the Sketchbook of No Return, in which she draws things she hates as a way of getting her emotions out. Sometimes she even blacks out the page after drawing it.

Violet introduces Webby to Ancient Civilizations. They study early history together, from Mesopotamia to India to Greece.

Huey and Violet get competitive when they do Junior Woodchuck things, but they get along really well otherwise. They both have passions for science and nature.

Boyd and Huey are best friends, and hang out all the time. Despite being a robot, like all Gearloose’s inventions Boyd feels human emotions. Huey finds this extremely fascinating. Louie likes to tease Huey about being friends with a robot, but Louie doesn’t really have many friends himself so he can’t say much.

Gosalyn feels awkward at the huge sleepovers the Duck and Vanderquack family are always hosting. Her only friend at them is Dewey, while everyone else knows each other. Even Boyd knows Lena and Violet. Plus, Gosalyn doesn’t even know the rest of the Duck boys. But, eventually she warms up to everyone after being super competitive in games and sort of cold as a defense mechanism.

Lena and Violet dye their hair together sometimes.

Panchito and José eventually become known as Uncle Panchito and Uncle José.

Huey, being terrified of Dewey’s carelessness, finds Louie to be his Comfort Sibling™

Louie is kind-of into knitting???

Fethry, Gladstone, Donald, and Della always came to Scrooges for the Holidays. Every Holiday. Winter and Spring break too. They all got pretty close. Plus, adventuring was not Donald and Della exclusive.

Donald is the only one who can tell the triplets apart when they do their hair the same way and wear the same clothes.

One time Louie stole Webby's skirt because he wanted to know what it was like to wear one. He's also done this with Scrooge's clothes.

Dewey cannot cook for the life of him, but Huey is a master chef. Huey also makes the best soup-and-salad combos. Louie is in the middle ground, but for some reason finds baking much easier.

One time Della, Donald, Fethry and Gladstone played War together, but on teams. Donald and Gladstone wanted to see whose luck would outweigh the others, so they teamed up. The game was cut short because the table got knocked over and the cards fell through the floorboards. They looked for the cards but couldn’t find them.

May loves drawing and June loves reading, and they like to write books together. Daisy gives May fashion tips for her characters, and reads the books June recommends.

Webby likes to photobomb Dewey's selfies.

Gosalyn and Louie scam people together.

Webby and Lena have a playlist of both their favorite songs. They sing to all of them at their one-on-one sleepovers.

Lena and Violet both like heavy metal.

Gosalyn was extremely girly as a child.

Lena reminds Scrooge of Donald when he was younger.

Drake adopted Gosalyn (obviously).

Lena and Huey lowkey have beef.

Dewey was actually laid first.

One time Dewey accidentally called Storkules his Uncle Storkules. The man was never happier.

Panchito became a sky pirate once but Don Karnage booted him.

Boyd really likes listening to Huey talk about his passions, which is good since Huey goes on and on about them. Donald thinks it's so sweet that Huey has such a good friend. Boyd is Donald's favorite of all of the boys' friends.

Louie's khopesh is his favorite treasure ever.

Della was Donald's best man at his and Daisy's wedding. It didn't matter that she wasn't a man.

Launchpad and Drake nerd out together for at least three hours a week.

Drake cannot handle affection. He gets all awkward when someone tells him they love him or when someone hugs him.

When Louie isn't around, Boyd is the number two comfort buddy for Huey.

Violet and Boyd get along really well, and Huey gets jealous of Violet. But they primarily hang out in JW meetings so it isn't crazy.

It is extremely difficult to design modern outfits for Alfonse though idk what it is. Sharena will look good in anything from flannel docs lesbian outfit to cute overalls to something sporty to high femme dresses (tbh I still wanna draw her in one of my fave old dresses ..) but Alfonse. There are def a few routes you can take keeping his character/personality in mind and I think they look good/are super cute and make sense but like... esp for me personally, thinking of the v specific way I draw/stylize him...

AH. MAYBE. MAYBE I FIGURED IT OUT BC I HAVE NO PROBLEM DESIGNING OUTFITS FOR HIM IN FEH CONTEXT...... it's cause that bitch is always wearing tights and long shirts that (esp depending on how you draw it) border on being dress-like to straight up robes/skirt-like garments WHICH makes sense for him in universe bc that's p standard wear for men in Askr, in the Order of Heroes specifically. Like

Seliph's resplendent stands out to me as a huge example of this, and you can kinda see it in Corrin's too! Though I do think resplendents often take a lot from the chara's base outfit (both standard and resplendent Seliph having tunics, both Corrins having leggings ect). But speaking of Corrin, espp the lengthening of that bit of fabric at Corrin's hip, looks a lot like Gustav's garments!

Who may be a better measure for men's dress in Askr (normal attire, for a king anyway, and a cultural festival outfit). But I do also think you can glean some details off of resplendent designs too!

Also actually.

This Day of the Life comic that acknowledged Sharena's absence from the DoD banner (BITE BITE KILL KILL SO MUCH HATRED IN THE WORLD‼️‼️‼️) implies that their outfits may have been identical, just in their respective signature colors (blue and pink). And even looking at Alfonse and Sharena's base art, they have a lot in common!

And looking at Seliph and Corrin again, the puffy sleeves seen on Sharena and Henriette aren't necessarily gendered traits. ACTUALLY.... GUSTAV HAS THEM TOO! Alfonse's outfit is an outlier sleeve design wise!

Which is to say, there aren't actually a lot of strict gender differences in attire here. A lot of the clothing looks/feels androgynous esp when viewed through a modern lense (like I'm sure there's a lot of real-world historical inspo that goes into the designs, I just know fuck all about that LMFAO 😅). And esppp the way I've come to draw Alfonse a lot, I do emphasize what reads as femme -- giving him longer shirts, simplifying the strappy armor on his thighs into. Over the knee socks. Over the leggings/tights. 🫣 And that's not even getting into the knee high boots and heels!!!!

WHICH IS. Actually SO FUCKING DIFFICULT. To translate into modern fashion esp typical standard men's fashion, in a way that still feels true to him as well... bc I do believe in femme/androgynous Alfonse supremacy 😤 But he is ALSO. SO IMPORTANTLY. He is VERY MUCH just some guy who is heavily defined by the role he's been put in. Which is also kind of difficult to sort out, what Would he wear, if the standards were completely different and also if he was choosing for himself?

SINCE. I'M CERTAIN idk if I wanna dig for it but -- I'm CERTAIN all his outfits have been picked For him to some degree. The Order of Heroes outfit is a uniform, the bunny outfit is implied/stated to be picked by Sharena. The yukatas in their duo are 1) Hoshidan and 2) I think Anna was the one who picked them? Might be wrong on that, but I do feel like there's a castle dialogue about it. And of course, the DoD outfits are implied to be cultural Askran wear, and going back to that comic -- it seems neither Alfonse OR Sharena have much of a say in what it looks like (her being uncomfortable "showing that much leg" -- that, if given a choice, she may have wanted something more modest).

So like. There is. So much going on here actually.

just wanted to say i LOVE all the freckles you put on miles’s face + the simple shine you put on that big jacket he’s wearing <3 can i ask about the long skirt you always put him in? does it have some sort of significance or do you do it just because?

Usually I would say I just do it for fun but I actually see miles a lot like me or a project onto miles and his fashion sense also Thankyou!!! Giggles but his fashion sense is very important to me because it reflects me and how I want to dress or how I express myself when I dress so yes it’s for the fun of it but also because miles is a lot like me and I like to portray that in my miles design!!

My miles is very much based on these old deer designs and I just think it’s silly cause the way I draw miles is how I see miles in my head a lot of the time

THE GREATEST MOVIE QUOTES OF ALL TIME

That's my secret, [name]. I'm always angry. (Curufin/Everybody)

THE GREATEST MOVIE QUOTES OF ALL TIME

Curufinwë Atarinkë squints when, as he walks around the private gardens by the King's Palace in Nargothrond, he finds the said King's silk slippers abandoned on the grass, by the roots of an apple tree thereat. He lifts his silver eyes and this is what he finds: a pretty foot dangling, decorated by two platinum anklets, one in bangle-style and unadorned, the other wrought with fine chains from which small cut sapphires hung at every five-link intervals. The pretty foot makes way for a strong and shapely leg, then the fabric of a Telerin-style skirt -- and Curufin finds himself looking up at his cousin, Finrod Felagund, sitting by a branch of an apple tree.

"What are you doing?" Curufin demands. "Are you not supposed to be cooped up with your lords for the morning, in council?" But Finrod laughs away the query and shakes his dangling foot. "Why do you not join me up here, Curufinwë?" He asks. He plucks a ripe apple, so easily within reach, and bites into it.

Curufin scowls. He looks around, finds nobody else in that part of the gardens, and so he climbs up the apple tree as well and sits beside Finrod. He makes himself comfortable. His cousin beams at him, happy at being so indulged, and plucks a fresh apple to offer him. Curufin accepts the fruit.

"You have not answered my question. Why are you here instead of council?" Curufin asks. "You are sounding like Orodreth, ai!" Finrod lets out a bright peal of laughter. "I, Curufinwë, am avoiding my responsibilities on this fine day -- and so here I am, eating an apple, enjoying my apple tree, and sitting with you."

Now that makes Curufin stare. Was Ingoldo being serious? Were they actually having this conversation? What sort of King--?

But then Orodreth draws nigh, calling for FInrod: "Uncle? Uncle! Where are you, Uncle?!"

With a giggle, Finrod immediately climbs higher up by the apple tree, very clearly hiding. Curufin scowls as Orodreth draws near the apple tree, having found Finrod's abandoned slippers.

"Uncle? Uncle!"

He scowls. Angrod's son this elf might be but something about how Orodreth always looks like a wounded animal irks Curufin to no end. Also how soft-spoken he is-- like a mere rustling sound would be enough to startle him and send him running. Edhellos, may the Light rest her, had definitely spoiled her son. Hmph.

"Have your eyes gone to the dogs?" Curufin snaps from his perch. "I am not Ingoldo. He is not here. Now leave me to my peace and silence. Begone!"

Orodreth squints and scowls up at him. He picks up Finrod's slippers, and wordlessly continues searching. Finrod, of course, had muttered a quick enchantment that camouflaged him against the apple tree's leaves and so he remained undetected even by Orodreth's elven gaze.

When his nephew's voice has faded back to the direction of the palace, Finrod carefully descends back down and resumes his seat beside Curufin. Dressed in the Telerin fashion, of course he is wearing a skirt only and some necklaces and three earrings on each earlobe. And he had two rings on each finger and five bangles on each wrist. Curufin eyes him askance.

Finrod now looks at him. For a moment they regard each other: both certainly still worn and gaunt from the troubles of the all-too-recent Dagor Bragollach, and to Curufin's gaze, Finrod certainly lost weight and had gotten thinner. A touch of grief lingered still, all too poignant, in those summer blue eyes.

"You always fend people off this way, Curufinwë?" Finrod asks, smiling. "With anger? With a scowl and a snarl? Mmmm?"

"That's my secret, Finrod. I'm always angry," Curufin replies with a snort.

"That is too bad," Finrod chirps. "You're a lovely elf, you should smile more." This followed by a kiss to the cheek that almost sends Curufin's fëa flying out of his hröa. The dark-haired elf is too stunned to react, and before he knows it, Finrod has jumped from their perch in a jingle of jewelry, and lands effortlessly on his feet on the grass below.

In a swish of cloth, Finrod flounces away, taking his radiant self, and Curufin is left still sitting by the apple tree's branch, mind too scrambled for proper functionality.

@antares0606

Indulgence: Ezra x f!reader

A/N: initially written for @littleferal's writer's iron chef. I had to polish it up and expand it a little because I can't help myself. The prompt was "taking a bath together." I didn't quite have time to work the second prompt in, and I don't really know if it was something Artichoke would say. Also Cee is not really in this one. She is away at school in the Ephrate. Takes place after Fancy but before Christmas In The Ephrate. May run concurrent with parts of Seasonal. But it can stand alone.

Warnings: None. Really this is soft soft soft.

          Ezra is up early and moving around. This is nothing new. He's always been an earlier riser, awake and chipper no matter what local dawn is doing. Sounds and voices come through the bedroom wall. Nothing new, Ezra is friendly with the neighbors, someone comes along the road, gravel and rutted, and he'll call them over for coffee and a bit of gab. There are some other sounds that threaten to wake you further, thumps and bumps and the whine of some sort of power tool, but you find yourself slipping back under, the lure of more sleep stronger than your curiosity. Ez is probably puttering around, modifying the dropper.

          The house is slowly becoming a proper home. The three of you agreed on a standard colony dropper kit. Nothing too fancy. This is what we make of it, Ezra had said, it'll be hard work, but we're no strangers to that. No return boosters, just enough fuel in the tanks to guide the drop, to park her on your property. The dropper is built to be converted into a shelter. Empty fuel tanks converted become cisterns, cooling system pumps now draw water from the river. The RTG provides power to supplement the solar kit, and also warmth, heating for the winter, hot water in a near endless supply, it'll still be pissing out power when our grandkids are old and grey, said Ez.

         A prickly kiss to your temple wakes you. You stretch and slit your eyes open.

         "Hi," you say, a yawn drawing out the word.          "Hi yourself," says Ezra.          "Is it still morning?" You ask. Ezra smiles. You blink at the light coming through the window. It's taken some getting used to, the weather, the light, passage of time measured by the rising and setting of the local Sun and Moons,Greater and Lesser.          "Close to local noon," says Ezra, "You would sleep all day like a cat in a sunbeam if I let you."          "Hmph. It's not like we've got anywhere to be."          "No, but there is only so long I can be without your company," says Ezra, and taps the tip of your nose with his finger, knowing it will make you scrunch your face in frustration.          "Selfish."          "Perhaps," He takes your hand in his and gives you a little shake.          "Up you get, Prickle, I've got a surprise for you. Close your eyes." You reluctantly leave your blanket nest and let him lead you, his hand warm against the small of your back. You hear the creak of hinges, and then a warm wall of steam hits you, welcome on your chilled skin. Farhaven is colder than you're used to. Colder than the benches. But there is rain and snow and seasons, things you were starved for without even knowing.          "Open up those pretty peepers, Artichoke," he murmurs, nuzzled into your neck, his  lips brushing the tender skin below your ear.          "What the--I thought you sold the engine skirts for scrap!"          "An omission on my part," says Ezra, eyes crinkled and dancing with mirth. "The water's nice and hot. Hop in."

         A proper bathtub, fashioned from the cargo dropper's engine skirts, ugly welds but it holds water and you slip in with a groan that makes Ezra grin and close your eyes. Such indulgence was unimaginable on your home world and on the stations you've frequented. But here? There's a river outside your front door. Water clean and cool and good to drink. Your family back on Falnost would lose their collective minds at such waste.          "You like it?"          "Are you insane? You can practically swim in this fucking thing. I don't even wanna know what you traded for this."          "Jamie's oldest is apprenticed to a smith in town," says Ezra.          "We help with the Jessonroot harvest?"          "We help with the Jessonroot harvest."          "Worth it," you say and open your eyes, "You gonna get in or what?"          "Thought you'd never ask."

does a gay little salute that pisses you off

Man Born in 17th Century Has His Bean Freaked by a Knee Length Dress | Emperor Belos x Reader Smut, Part 2

MINORS DNI

Word count: 18k

You have always been one of his vices.

PART ONE

CW: Abuse. Belos is isolating the reader, but it’s only alluded to.

((finally finished!! tags below the cut))

dirty talk, older man/younger woman, daddy kink but NO age play, reader is a brat/tease but it's all in good fun, belos has a primal kink but we're not talking about it, Reader is a tease, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Forced Orgasm, Overstimulation, Consensual Non-Consent, Established Relationship, Cunnilingus, Spanking, Vaginal Fingering, Penis In Vagina Sex, Rough Sex, Bondage, Creampie, inappropriate use of magic, Biting, Praise Kink, abuse if you squint, Belos is isolating the reader so she doesn’t learn about how awful he is but it’s only alluded to, belos is possessive and jealous, touch starved belos, Domestic Fluff, (reader says no and stop but she likes what is happening), Kink Negotiated Off Screen, Belos has sharp teeth/a long tongue as a side effect of the curse

He is, in fact, quite late to his meeting.

The scouts manning the entrance jump when they see him, trembling as they open the doors into a room so quiet you would think it was a sepulchre. Kiki starts as he sweeps in, fumbling for etiquette in the absence of the typical announcement she generally makes before his entrance. His eleven o’clock is the board of the Crowline Company, an Empire owned corporation employed to handle some of the logistics for the more sensitive outposts that dot the Isle.

The CEO, a reedy man named Angard Constant, is visibly sweating, a once starched handkerchief gone soft and vaguely grey in his clenched hand. Belos says nothing as he enters, unable to help the smile slowly stretching his lips. Kiki goes to speak, but Angard beats her to it, standing so quickly that he knocks his knee into the table.

“E-” The man's voice cracks, and even the clearing of his throat has a stutter to it. “Emperor Belos, th-thank you so much for having us here today. It’s an honor to serve you, your Grace.” 

The faces surrounding the long boardroom table are variously wan. One woman, dressed in a severely tailored black skirt suit that he thinks you would quite like, is staring unblinkingly at Angard, with jaw set and nostrils flared. He catches it, does double take with only his eyes, taking on a sickly color as he realizes that he’s spoken out of turn. Kiki, in an attempt to regain some sort of control, clears her throat loudly, setting off a cacophony as everyone quite literally leaps to their feet.

Belos raises his hand magnanimously as he rounds the table to take his place at the head. “I apologize for my lateness; I had an urgent matter to tend to.” He knows being referred to as ‘an urgent matter’ would make you laugh. He draws his chair back with magic, and settles into it quite comfortably. “Now,” he says, perfectly cheery, before anyone else can speak, and with another gesture, the other occupants of the table sit in an almost perfect tandem, “let’s start with the efficacy of the new supply chain routes.” 

“Of course, your Majesty,” says Angard, looking to the woman in black. “Agnes?” She clears her throat, and takes up a remote from the table. With a click of a button, the room dims and a projector snaps on overhead. Belos takes a moment to soak in the disquieted atmosphere of the room, pleased, despite his, ah, current discomfort.

Fashionably late. Yes. Nothing quite like making an entrance, is there?

Kikimora quietly takes her place at his right, beginning to take down the minutes. However, in his periphery, he notices her glance falling to his gauntlets, eyes widening minutely, then flicker to his mask, before she quickly returns to her transcribing. He follows her gaze. 

There, in an unmistakable ring of dark lipstick, is the impression of a mouth around his thumb. The back of his neck burns as he closes his fist. He glances at the clock. Today is going to be very, very long.

And it was.

His shoulders are stiff as he stalks towards the entrance to the elevator that will bring him to his apartments, ignoring the crisp salutes of the guards on duty. The meeting had gone surprisingly well, despite the late start, showing the increase in efficiency and decrease in supply breakage due to his personal restructuring of the old routes, which also meant that the new infrastructure he had ordered to be built was already returning its value.

The little encounter in the closet hadn’t truly upset his day, but it had made an absolute fucking slog of it.

He clicks the button, and the doors open. Hm. You must’ve sent it down after you came up. The lift is mirrored, perfectly polished. Belos can see his reflection in the doors, stretching out around him into infinity. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. The sconces hum with their artificial light, the only sound other than the mechanics that slowly bring him downwards. So slowly. He can feel the humming of the bulbs buzz at the base of his skull. He shifts his weight back to his other foot. Why did he put his rooms deep in the belly of his castle?

You’re already waiting for him, that’s certain. He thinks of you, leaning against the door, thighs spread, brown curls spilling from the edges of those panties. He groans. Oh, but he’d missed you today. After he’d left that closet, it had been meeting after meeting until the afternoon, and then after that it had been holding court in the throne room. Quietly, he’d been longing for three o’clock - the time that you usually came by to give him a report of the research you had been doing. 

Now that was a perfect opportunity to beat you at your own game. Belos always cleared the throne room of the scouts when you entered. The official reason is that the results you hand delivered were too sensitive to be heard by anyone other than him. More selfishly, Belos simply liked having a break to see you privately, from anywhere between five minutes to half an hour depending on how busy he was that day. The time had come, and he’d waited anxiously to see you walk through the doors in that tight dress, a half formed plan to turn the tables spinning up in his mind, when a nervous scout had approached the dais with a message. From you. That, regretfully, the model you’d been running hadn’t produced any notable results, and you’d rather not take up his time with information that wasn’t useful. 

To say he’d been annoyed was an understatement. 

When he’d messaged you on his scroll to ask exactly what you’d been thinking, you’d sent him a picture of yourself, taken from an angle that highlighted the lusciousness of your body, of your ass in those panties. He’d nearly crushed the device in his hand. Absently, his fingers brush over the pocket where he keeps it. You’d taken it leaning your hips against your desk to support the licentious arch of your back, like you were offering yourself up to be fucked from behind. Belos exhales through his mouth in a gale of air.  

If Kikimora hadn’t overheard the message from the scout and immediately had the next petitioner sent in, he would’ve stalked to your office and bent you over, your little game be damned. 

Belos wonders what your plan of attack is. He knows that you know that you’d royally pissed him off, and he’d meant it when he’d told you that he’d make you cry, and that was before you ran from him... You’re familiar enough with him to understand that, unless you did something to mitigate his ire, you were in very serious danger of being unable to walk tomorrow. However, it certainly seemed like you were in one of your... puckish moods. He thinks about how you’d laughed yourself down the hall. He frowns. You were mercurial, though, and there was a good chance that you would decide to show your belly - in much the same way a cat does, he notes, wry - in a bid to smooth his ruffled feathers. And, again, he couldn't emphasize this enough: if you did not make nice, you were not going to walk. At all. 

The thought of you bedbound, though... Very tempting.

Things come to a rest around him with a little jolt. The doors part. He’s taut with anticipation. Belos glances at the floor in front of him. Empty, save for the carpet. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Did he really expect you to be kneeling in your lingerie, waiting for him expectantly? Belos prowls forward through the foyer, scanning the living room - you’re not here, either - turning the corner so sharply that he catches the stand for his mask that he keeps on the entry table with his cloak, leaving it to hit the golden wood with a thunk!

A left through the dining room, and another into the kitchen. He can’t quite smell through the mask, but the scent of cooking is apparent, despite the clean counters and stove top. The dishwasher churns, the only sound to accompany his boots ringing against the tile as he takes another left into the hallway that branches off into two different directions. Not in the living room, not in the kitchen... There were only so many places you could be, despite the palatial nature of his quarters. He runs through the list in his mind, the little alcoves you could tuck yourself in becoming more obscure and impossible as he reaches the end of it. 

“Oh, she had better not...” he murmurs. It would not be unlike you to make him play a round of hide and seek to find you. He stops in his tracks, remembering the time you had tucked yourself under the kitchen sink to grab his ankles when he passed by, and had almost gotten yourself incinerated for your little prank. The magic had been at the very tips of his fingers, and if he- 

Well. His stomach churns unpleasantly.

You’d been fine, of course, other than the little bump you’d given yourself from falling out onto the floor in a fit of laughter. He wonders if you even knew how close you’d been to being a little pile of ash on the tile. 

Belos strides down the hallway, bursting into the library. You look up from your book with a start, a half eaten chocolate between your fingers, curled up in the chair that was the current battleground of a war of attrition, primarily regarding which of the two of you got to sit in it in the evenings. 

You take an account of him as you finish chewing. 

“Long day?” you ask, as though butter wouldn’t melt in your mouth.

“Up.” It is all he says. Looking just as amused as trepidatious, you set your chocolate back into the box, and slide your bookmark into place. You stand, regarding him with sparkling eyes. Behind the mask, he works his jaw. He is unsurprised that you would choose this particular moment to follow his commands with the air of the most perfect little pet. And therein lies the trick of it. But he knows better. “Bedroom.” 

With a pleasant inclination of your head, you smooth your skirt and start to walk that way. Your pace is leisurely as you squeeze past him, unbothered by the way the blank face of the mask tracks you despite the rest of him remaining unmoving. Left, down the hall and then up the stairs. His eyes are glued to the sway of your hips ahead of him. The tightness of your dress shows the press of the garter strap into your ass and thigh with each upwards step you take. His hands curl into fists. How many had taken the stairs behind you today? Had known what you were wearing under your dress?

Belos quickens his pace, herding you the rest of the way up the stairs, and then straight through the open door of your room - well, his, technically, as you have your own room downstairs, but he prefers that you sleep with him, and as such, he tends to think of it as the space that the two of you share - down the short hall that leads into the area that has the entrances for the two bathrooms and four closets, the three biggest ones stuffed full of your clothing, and into the innermost chamber, the bedroom proper, that houses the massive, intricately carved four poster, the headboard flush with the right wall, the foot of it pointed towards the fireplace. You come to stand by the bed, politely glancing over your shoulder as you wait for further instruction. Belos grits his teeth, pulse picking up. Oh, you were in for it.

He flips your dress up over your ass and hooks his fingers into the sides of the panties that he’s been unable to stop thinking about all day, yanking them down to your knees.

“Bend over,” he commands, pressing one hand between your shoulder blades. You fall forward face first with a squeak. His body starts to tingle as he takes in the arch of your back and that look on your face. There is something about giving you exactly what you want that gives him a sense of fulfilment that he’s been unable to find anywhere else. 

“Hey!” you protest, glancing over your shoulder to pout at him. 

“Face forward.” He follows it up with a firm slap, leather ringing against flesh, right where the meat of your ass meets your thigh. You yelp, and then gasp, looking back at him again, eyes wide and scandalized, shocked that he would spank you that hard so soon, and while wearing his gauntlet. You do not get a second warning. This time, he strikes in the same spot on the opposite cheek, setting the supple fat to jiggling in a way he finds quite vindicating.

“Ow!” you cry out, snapping your head to look straight.

“There we go. That wasn’t so hard, now was it?” The tips of your toes wriggle into the carpet as you settle into your position bent over the edge of the bed, propped up on your elbows. The combination of its height and your shortness means you can’t get quite comfortable. “You have been a terrible brat today. Teasing me with this cunt,” his voice is dark as he slips his hand between your legs to cup your vulva, and you start at the cold metal, “in that little dress was bad enough, but getting me hard and then running from me? Especially when I couldn’t chase you? Do you know how badly I’ve wanted you? I haven’t been able to get a single thing done today.”

You make a soft noise in your throat, a barely there sound of pleasure. He exhales through his nose, eyes narrowed, heat blooming in his skin. “Do you like that? Knowing exactly what you do to me?”

“Yes, sir,” you say. Belos resists the sudden urge to swat you again. While the title is - and here’s the word that he always finds particularly frustrating in your mouth - technically respectful, you don’t mean it. His eyes catch the motion of your panties falling to your calves as you fidget.

“These must also stay in place,” he tells you, slipping them back up just above your knees, and then urges you to spread your legs apart so that there’s enough tension in the fabric to keep them where he wants them. He leans back to survey your pose with a critical eye. The straps of the garter dig in slightly, framing your hot little cunt with thin black silk, silver clasps holding your stockings in place as you balance on the tips of your toes.

“Comfortable?” he asks, lips twitching at the corners as he gazes at the stretch of your short, curvy legs. There’s a beat while you formulate your response. 

“...no.”

“No?” he repeats, like he’s shocked by the rudeness of your reply. “Just, ‘no’? My, my, that’s not very conversational, is it? And you were so talkative earlier today...” He sees your lungs expand to their capacity, and eagerly anticipates the churlish sigh. To his dismay, you think better of it.

“No, sir, I’m not comfortable,” you reply, reluctant, but mindful of your manners.

“I know,” he purrs, drawing a finger from the back of your knee to your bottom. You shiver with a little gasp, and he grins. Belos can’t resist the urge to get a handful and squeeze, giving your cheek a shake to watch it bounce. You look delicious like this, ass up, legs spread, pussy getting wetter by the second. Behaving. For the moment, he thinks. “You’re going to stay just like this until I’m finished with my shower. Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir," you reply. He chuckles pleasantly. Oh, he hates it when you call him that, and you know it. Belos drapes himself over you, bedspread whispering as he plants his elbows on either side of your body, pressing his hardening cock against you as he cups your throat and brings his masked mouth to your ear.

“Oh, my darling one. My precious one.” He lets that linger, considering. “I’m a very, very patient man. You know that. However, you have made today very. Trying.” He punctuates this by grinding his cock against your luscious ass, which is bliss of the utmost, and the little noise you let out makes him feel intoxicatingly powerful. Belos has to take a deep breath to keep his voice even. “And even so, I’m more than willing to play nicely if you are.” That’s a lie. “Let’s try that again, shall we? You’re going to stay just like this for me, won’t you?” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, meeting his through the mask.

“Yes, sir,” you breathe. He nods.

“Okay,” he says, trying to sound regretful as he pulls away from you with a sense of finality, “I’ll be right back.” And with that, he turns towards the door, exits-

“Oh, by the way, I have makeup remover under the counter. It’s in the orange bottle, with the pump. So you can get my lipstick off?” you call, in that cyanide syrup voice that makes his hands tingle with the need to put you in your place. 

He stops. He looks over his shoulder, your pinkening bottom so perfectly poised-

No. He refuses to give you the satisfaction. And with that, he exits, going straight to the one of the two master bathrooms with the shower. 

The moment he is alone, he reaches through his clothing to his trousers, plucking the open the laces that hold the placket shut. He hisses through his teeth. Relief, so sweet, as the pressure is lessened. Belos unlatches his mask from his cowl. Refusing to give in to you was the right call. Belos sets it on the counter with a click. The bottom half of his face is stained red, and he has a stray mark in the perfect shape of your plush lips directly in the middle of his forehead. 

When? Had you done that? He shakes his head, removing his cowl, outer cloak, and robes, draping them over the hamper, and then he rummages through his robes to pull out his staff and set it on the counter. Belos strips his shirt off, pausing to admire the fading bite mark bruise in the distinct shape of your teeth on his shoulder, a souvenir from a particularly vigorous bout of love-making less than a week ago, before he stuffs it into the hamper. Trousers last, which he gladly shoves down his legs and off. He finally gets a good look at his cock. 

It’s flushed to an angry red color, bordering on purple, and nearly rock hard in its firmness, the tip poking past his foreskin and slowly drooling precome. He twitches, wincing as his erection jerks. His hand hovers over the shaft thoughtlessly. With a soft exhale, he takes himself in hand, giving his cock a few gentle strokes. Oh, fuck, that feels so good... He thinks about your thighs in those silk stockings, plump and soft. His breath picks up. 

“Fuck,” he breathes, pulling himself away with great effort. His cock throbs, bobbing towards his belly. No. Not yet. He wanted to share his pleasure with you, show you exactly how you’ve gotten under his skin. Instead, he opens the cabinet under the sink. 

He knows exactly where you keep your skincare, and which bottle contains the oil you use to remove your makeup, thank you very much, and he puts his hair up with one of the many, many hair bands that are littered around his quarters before he pumps some of the product into his palm, rubbing it into his face to finally break down the remnants of your kisses, and then hops into the shower to rinse it off. It is perfunctory, mostly a way to pass the time while you wait with your pussy pointed towards the open door-

His cock jumps. He adjusts the water so it’s a little cooler.

-all alone, allowing your imagination to run wild. He sighs, turning his face to the stream of the showerhead. The water is just the right side of warm. It is so nice to wash the day off, he thinks, rubbing his hands against his face, emulsifying the oil into something milky, taking extra care to make sure the pits in his skin were clean of it. Belos takes up the fresh rag he’d plucked from the bin under the sink, and generously pumps his soap - a cedery fougère scent that invariably lures you in to snuffle your nose against him like an adorable little piglet searching for truffles - into it, assisting the slide against his skin as it lathers. It’s quick, but he feels a little more put together as he rinses, and a little more in control as he steps out and he towels himself dry. He takes his hair down, a little damp around his hairline, tossing the elastic back into the drawer where it’s supposed to go before he runs his fingers through it. Belos catches himself in the mirror. He frowns, resting his hand against the counter as he leans closer.

He. Isn’t a young man anymore, that’s certain. Belos draws his left hand over his mouth, fingers spanning to his cheek, cursed flesh sliding unpleasantly against cursed flesh, close enough that the eerie glow of his eyes reflect even with the bright light shining from the fixture above the mirror. Sometimes he wonders what you see when you look at him. He drags his hand down his chin to his throat, over the hair of his chest interspersed and interrupted by the gnarled green skin that wraps around his body like vines lashing him together, keeping from falling apart, down the midline of his body, to the top of his pubis. At least some of him remains untouched, is his wry observation, as he looks down his slightly softened, but otherwise typical, length. 

Belos shakes his head. He mustn't keep his pretty thing waiting. Rolling his shoulders, he retrieves his staff, and then flips off the light and leaves the bathroom.

He’d left the door open on purpose. 

The tension is visible throughout your body, your anticipation palpable. Unashamed of his nakedness, he steps through the threshold, whisper quiet, coming close enough to touch you, silently setting his collapsed staff on his night stand. He smiles as he runs his eyes over you, amused to find your panties still suspended between your knees. 

“You know-” You jump. “Ha! Nervous, aren’t we? A guilty conscience, perhaps?” He slips his hand between your thighs, pressing his finger between your labia. Wet. The feeling that comes over him is electric.

“Mm!” You tip your hips up, giving him more access. Belos teases your hole, smearing the gloss leaking from it over your outer lips to make them shine.

“Well, well, well, would you look at that? Did you like being bent over with a bare cunt, my love? I had hoped that you would take the time to think about what you’d done. No matter. I think that you’ll be penitent enough after I’m done with you.” He chuckles. “Maybe even before.” He inspects his glistening finger, and, bringing it to his nose, inhales deeply. He loves the smell of your cunt. Then, Belos takes his own finger down to where it joins his hand, laving his tongue against it as he slowly pulls it past his lips. 

Almost as much as he loves the taste. 

He plucks your glasses from your face, teleporting them to your vanity. You make a disgruntled noise, turning to look on reflex. Belos grins. 

“Ow!” You squeak at the sting of his hand. “That’s- you didn’t even say anything when you took them!” 

“Up.” You lower your heels to the ground gingerly, obviously sore from standing on the balls of your feet for so long. Impatient, he pulls you up by your shoulders and runs his hands down to your hips. “Arms above your head,” he tells you, as he slips them past the hiked hem of your dress and back up to shuck it off, careful of the turtleneck and your hair. He tosses it in the general direction of the door.

It always feels like the first time to him. The thrill of baring your body is just as delicious in its familiarity as it was when he had first taken off your clothes to reveal and revel in your nakedness. Leaning down, he presses his nose to the nape of your neck, inhaling deeply. The scent of your skin hits his lungs like opium - warm vanilla, leather from sitting in his chair, a hint of his own cologne, and, beneath what you wear, the incomparable creamy-salty-sweet musk that’s uniquely, mouth wateringly, all your own. 

His exhale scrapes through his throat in a growl. He nuzzles you, rolling his face against you from one cheek to the other, parting his lips and drawing them over the back of your neck and your shoulders. You gasp, rubbing your thighs together while he savors you.

“Fuck,” he manages, head swimming, “fuck. Do you know how hard it is to even think with you around?” The laugh you give him is breathless as you rise up onto your tiptoes to press your ass against his erection. The noise it forces from him is filthy.

“Yeah, I guess it does feel pretty hard,” you tell him, all cheek. He grits his teeth, peeling himself away from you feeling like peeling away his own skin. His hands shake with his restraint as he goes to let your hair down. 

The french twist you’d styled, already a little insecure with the soft way you’d pinned it, is barely holding itself together and he eagerly buries his fingers into your inky hair to sus out the bobby pins, expertly freeing them without tugging. You sigh, goosebumps overtaking your skin.

“Thank you, my-only-mine,” you murmur, extending your hand, palm up, for him to drop the pins into, so he can support the bulk of your hair with his other hand. Belos blinks, shaking his head. 

“How is it that you can be the most tenacious little hellion in one moment, and then be the perfect embodiment of sweetness in the next?” he asks, leaning forward to meet your eyes.

“I like keeping you on your toes,” you reply. “And I get bored really easily.” 

“Really? I hadn’t noticed.” His dry sarcasm makes you snicker.

With the last pin removed, he releases your hair, watching with rapt fascination as the length of it unfurls and swishes softly to end at the middle of your hips. Belos is gentle as he finger-combs it. He uses the tips of his fingers to massage your scalp, undoubtedly tender. 

“That feels so good,” you sigh.

“Savor it,” he says, slowly tightening his grip as close to the root as possible, craning your head back against his chest. “Because you’re about to go over my knee.” You laugh in your throat.

“Are you sure you want to spank me?” you ask, with an expression so lovely as to be angelic. “Don’t you just want to see how pretty I look in the lingerie I wore for you, and to kiss me, and to lay me down in our bed with our silk sheets and make love to me? You already work hard enough without worrying about punishing me, don’t you think?” His heart skips a beat, even as he chuckles. 

“And you’re going to be sweet for me?” he asks, bringing his face closer to yours. “Behave for me? Let me make love to you, without being a little brat?” 

“Yes...” You manage, even as the ‘s’ goes sibilant with mirthful deceit.

“Is that a fact?” With a click of his fingers, he teleports the pins into the cut crystal jar on your vanity. 

His eyes travel from yours to your mouth, and he brings his other hand up to brush your lower lip with his thumb. You melt against him, lids fluttering, as he traces his palm down to cup each of your breasts in turn, down, to feel the delicate chiffon of your garter, down, to grope your soft stomach, down, to scrape his nails through the wild curls that decorate your mons, and down, of course, to squeeze your thighs.   

“So beautiful,” he breathes, more to himself than you. He releases your hair and glides his hands up your back to unhook your bra, pressing himself fully against you as he draws your arms from the straps one at a time. Your breasts lay heavy on your chest, nipples hard. He inhales softly, greedily caressing your plush belly before he draws his hands up to cup your tits. You sigh as he rolls their weight in his palms, and he’s entranced by the way his big fingers make the flesh bulge and give, before he takes your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, slowly increasing the pressure until you whine, and then pinches a little harder for good measure.

“Ow!” 

“Does that hurt?” 

“Yes!” you pout. 

“Good.” He drops the touch, a simple gesture enough to surround you in his magic and paralyze you where you stand. Belos steps around you to sit on the bed, and he laughs, triumphant, at the wide-eyed shock frozen on your face. He quickly undoes your garter, and then rolls the thigh highs down your legs and off, unable to resist the urge to kiss your skin as he slips your feet out, one at a time. Satisfied, he tosses them to the side. He takes his time getting comfortable against the many pillows at the headboard, rearranging them so he can sit perfectly upright. Finally, he looks to you and pats his thigh. A beat. 

You remain transfixed. 

Belos inhales like he’d forgotten something. “It seems like you can’t move. Oh no. Who could’ve seen this coming?” 

Belos is certain that the look on his face is absolutely fucking insufferable. He revels in the feeling of getting one over on you, content to admire your naked, vulnerable body, just to let you stew for a moment longer. 

Finally, he’s had enough. He traces the air, guiding you up with the utmost care and skill, rotating you so that you’re face down as he positions you so that you’ll fall perfectly across his thighs. He cancels the spell, and you gasp like you’d been dunked in glacial water, torso and knees bouncing against the mattress as you shake off the uncanny feeling of being levitated through the air. You get your bearings remarkably quickly, and turn your head to sink your teeth into his bicep. Belos is quicker, snaking an arm around your waist to pull you fully into his lap as he snatches your hair with his other hand, just barely avoiding another bruise. He pulls your head around so you will look him right in the eyes.

“We. Don’t. Bite," he grinds out, laying down three brutal spanks. The first one makes you gasp. The second makes you shriek, before you can clamp down on it. The third makes you scream, as the smack! of his skin impacting yours quickly fades from the room.

“Oh-ho-oh, I sure as fuck do,” you snap, in spite of the way you drum your feet against the bed to shake off the rest of the pain. Keeping ahold of your hair, he takes a deep breath, quickly accounting the damage. Your ass is flushing, the pink bordering too close to red for his tastes, and instead of giving you another one for your mouth, he gently runs the flat of his hand over you while you squirm. Titan, the way you look like this, the way you feel... he forgets, for a moment, that he’s supposed to be annoyed with you. You’re just so warm, the weight of your body pressing down on him in a way that makes his muscles unwind, and so soft, the voluptuousness of your flesh making him twitch with the urge to touch and squeeze and kiss. 

His cock is pointed straight up, trapped between his stomach and your hip, the press of your skin the best sort of torture, and he luxuriates in the tease of it.

The life of the Emperor is a hard one, yes. Belos had made the choice to take his power in full knowledge of what it would cost, but it was desperately lonely. After so many years, you were his one indulgence. He can scarcely believe his cosmic luck - after all, the odds of the two of you ever even meeting were beyond astronomically low. Impossible. And yet, here you are. His. All his. 

You have the most petulant look on your face, and it makes him laugh on an exhale. “It seems as though you’ve forgotten how exactly you wound up here, my sweet girl.” You somehow manage to look down your nose at him, haughtily turning your gaze forward. He releases your hair, laying it over your right shoulder as you finally still. “Right. Shall we see if we can recall?” he asks, massaging you more firmly. “I seem to remember you waylaying me right before my very important meeting with the Crowline company, making me late-" one quick skimming lick, across your left cheek.

“Ow!” He immediately soothes the spot he hit.

“-only to be a little cocktease and get me hard-" another, on the right. 

You jerk, noiselessly. 

“-without getting me off." Left again, with a little more force. “And then, you got nigh un-re-movable lipstick-” He raises his hand. You tense. He caresses you gently, and you jump with a little frightened noise that tips the corners of his lips in a mean little smirk. “-all over my face, that I was only able to clean off about, mm.” He glances at the clock on his bedside table. "Ten minutes ago.” Now he spanks your right cheek.

“Ah!” You kick your legs against the bed. 

“That dress was more than enough to keep you on my mind all day, but you decided to- What was the word? Flash this wet little cunt,” he reaches between your thighs to grope your pussy, “in those barely there panties at me. And to top it all off, you ran from me. Do you know how long I thought about chasing you for? Could you imagine the scandal? The Emperor of the Boiling Isles fucking and breeding his Lady in the middle of the halls in broad daylight?” 

You moan, dropping your head to the blanket, as he starts to really give it to you. No counting, no teasing, just blow after blow that makes your whole body bounce with the sheer impact. This is where you start to break down, the third unrelenting strike shaking loose the start of a sob from your throat as you reach back to helplessly wrap your little fingers around the forearm braced across your waist. 

He slows down, rubbing the sting out of your ass, for just a moment.

“And then I had to wait.” You sniffle, rigid body going limp when he finally stops. “All day.” Belos starts back up again, mean with it, and doesn’t pause until he’s finished speaking, loud enough to be heard over your cries. “Sitting through meeting after meeting where all I could think about was what it would be like to eat you through that hole in the gusset. Presiding over court, trying to imagine anything other than what it would’ve sounded like to make you moan in that closet, make you cry to be fucked on my cock. Waiting for your afternoon report, only to find out that you sent a scout." He waits a beat, letting the indignity of it sink in. “To announce your absence. All the while I was wondering what you were doing that was more important than coming to see me.

“And then that picture," he says, the gravel of his voice coming in in full force. He aims lower, focusing on the upper part of your thighs, where you sit. “Do you know how uncomfortable it is to be fully erect in the middle of the throne room?” Your bottom is fully flushed, hot under his palm. Belos raises his hand above his shoulder.

It’s cruel. 

Echoes overlap with the sound of his palm against your skin as he paints your ass and thighs red.

You gasp once. It wavers. Twice and a third time, melting together as he doesn’t let up. Your glassy eyes overfill, the tears leaking down your face as you take in a tremulous inhale and you start to weep.

“Yes,” he hisses, delighted and desirous, so very pleased to have you just as he had pictured when he made the promise in the closet.

“I’m sorry,” you sob, broken. “Please, I’m so- Ow! Ah, please-” 

“Are you? You don’t sound very sorry.” 

“Daddy!” you whimper, drawing out the ‘y’ in your misery. “I’m suh-suh-sorry,” you hiccup. Belos inhales, sharply. He stops, firmly squeezing the fat of your ass to soothe you.

“There we go,” he simpers. “That wasn’t as hard as you made it, was it?” Now, this is his favorite part. The moment where he shatters that bratty little facade, tearing away the armor of your quick wit and playful defiance, leaving behind his sweet, devastated little girl, who only wants to be petted and kissed and coddled.

“No, daddy,” you gasp around your tears. You reach back to protectively cover your cherry red bottom.

“And you’re so very sorry?” he asks, with that light, superior tone to his voice.

“Yes, daddy,” you sniffle, raising yourself up on your elbows to seek out some comfort. He meets you more than halfway, laying a kiss on your forehead. 

“Then there’s nothing to forgive,” he tells you, big hand drifting away from your ass to slip between your thighs to finger at the seam of your cunt. You look at him quickly, wounded and suspicious. He laughs in his throat. Smart, smart girl. You moan softly as the cursed flesh of his middle finger makes contact with your tender inner skin, deflating against the mattress like a sad little balloon. “Wet?” He tuts. “That was supposed to be a punishment.” He finds your hole, sinking himself into you. “Oh, not just wet, but soaked. It seems like you enjoyed yourself quite a bit. You know,” he adds, contemplative, “that leads me to believe that you aren’t feeling very sorry at all...” Belos starts to gently stroke the walls of your cunt. “I wonder what would make you feel sorry...”

“No,” you whimper, instantly catching on to your real punishment, “no, no, please, I really am-”

Belos chuckles. With a twitch of his hand, a wet, eerie sound fills the room as fleshy, rust colored tendrils appear around your wrists and draw your forearms together behind your back, opposite hands at opposite elbows, forcing your tits out and your back to curve. He grips your right hip to tip you towards him, leaving just enough space to slip his left hand down your belly to rest his fingers along your vulva.

“Ah!” you moan. Your clit is hard under the pad of his left middle finger, and he swallows thickly, compelled to crane his head to the right to see the way it looks as he teases the engorged swell of it. Titan, you are just tiny all over - it makes his heart squeeze. Tiny clit, tiny fluttering hole, labia all plump and plush with blood. Delicious, delicious, delicious. He conjures another tentacle, this one glistening with its own wetness, then allows it to make its way between your bodies. 

It writhes with purpose, seeking out your clit. It catches it easily, and then starts to rub you in slow circles. The noise you make gives him pleasant shivers. He lets you back down to creep his right hand between your spread thighs. You know better than to try to keep them closed. 

“I think you can take two, can’t you, my darling?” he murmurs, sliding his middle and ring fingers into you. You whimper, pussy fluttering with the stimulation. The tentacle picks up.

“Fuck,” you gasp. He chuckles, content to savor the way you start to leak around him. 

Gradually, he builds the pace, fingering you steadily, pressing up against the bottom wall of your pussy to give you that feeling of being stretched. You moan, rubbing your cheek against the blanket, hips twitching in little quarter thrusts as you try to keep yourself still on his lap. He exhales, amused, when he realizes that you’re trying to fend off the pleasure.

“Is everything alright, my love? You seem a little strained,” he says. He can feel the movement of the tendril against his thigh as it speeds up, your cunt clenching on his fingers. 

“It feels good,” you whine, rocking yourself against him with just a bit more force. Belos smiles a warm smile.

“Does it? You don’t seem to be enjoying it very much. Do I need to touch you differently?” he asks, flipping his forearm to rub his fingers along the front wall of your cunt. Less than the length of his finger, the hard ridge of your pubic bone gives way to the perfect silk of your snatch, and if he crooks his fingers just so-

You give him a choked little scream, pressing your face into the covers, squirming in his lap.

“Oh, now, that won’t do,” he chides. A new tentacle gently brushes your hair over your shoulder, tenderly gathering it at the back of your skull to wind itself tightly around the bundle and pull your head up. “Again,” he says, starting up an undulating motion with his fingers as he fucks you. 

“Oh, yes-” you manage as the pleasure hits, and then, “Oh, no," distressed, struggling against your bonds. 

“Yes? No?” he repeats. “Oh, pet, you sound so confused...” he trails off, almost managing to sound like he isn’t gently mocking you. “Alright,” he says decisively. “Allow me to try something else...” He gives you a third finger, spreading them apart inside you. 

You make a strangled noise, and then, “Ah, ah! Ah!”

“There we go,” he coos, pleased, when you scream a moan into the open air. “You must’ve been really worked up, darling. Can you hear how wet you are?” He works his wrist to make you squelch around him. “Isn’t that filthy?" he purrs, even as he brings his thumb up to your asshole, gently pressing against it.

You, admittedly, aren’t particularly keen on being played with here, but he’s been dying to take this hole, too, so he contents himself with carefully stroking the sweet little pucker of it to the sound of your moans. You tense and whimper as he drops his mouth to your pink cheeks, dropping messy kisses, mostly tongue, over the hot flesh. He breathes a laugh across your skin, glancing up your back. 

“Shall I lick you here, darling?” he teases. The grip on your hair means you can’t fully turn to look at him, but you can turn enough to pin him with a look that could double as a rapier. He snorts, gently biting down to feel you buck your hips into his face, and Belos groans, nuzzling into your softness, almost forgetting to keep up the pace. Turning his head, he rests his cheek against yours, watching his fingers work in and out of you, and, oh, would you look at that? 

“You should see how greedy your cunt is for my fingers, my lovely one,” he says. You shudder against him, giving him a good squeeze with your walls.

“You feel so good, so big in me,” you sigh. He pulses at the praise, making a pleased noise that rumbles in his chest, which you answer with a little keen in the back of your throat. You start to circle your hips to meet him. His lips twitch up in a smirk.

This close up, he can see the way you grip him on his outward thrusts, the wetness of your cunt oozing steadily into his palm. It’s beautiful, stirring up the lust in his belly like embers struck with a fire poker. And, Titan, the scent of you, so close as to make the drool pool in his mouth. He swallows it on reflex, feeling the unnatural length of his tongue lie heavy in his jaw, itching to unfurl and lap at where the two of you are joined. He can’t, knows he can’t, even as he licks his lips - the second the flavor of your cunt hits his mouth, he won’t be able to think straight. Instead, he allows it to hang past his teeth, flicking down against the inside of your thigh, and drawing it upwards, over the globe of your ass.

You’re both slick with sweat where your skin presses together, and now you’re hot enough that it’s breaking out along his chest and your back. He eyes the shine of it, giving in to the temptation to taste as he draws his open mouth, tongue fully extended and trailing to tickle the top of your thigh, up to lick at the dimples mirrored on either side of the base of your spine, to kiss the flat moles that contrast so starkly against your skin, to draw his lips over your shoulder, your neck, your ear. He brings his left hand up to cup your throat, sighing in contentment as he sinks more deeply into the pillows, drawing you with him, as he uses a finger at your jaw to turn your head to catch your mouth. 

It’s so funny, how differently you taste depending on how close you are to coming. There’s just something- he can’t explain it, a richness, perhaps, to you, as he licks into you, drawing his tongue against yours, lazily, savoring. You’re desperate against him, making short little mewls in the back of your throat, overwhelmed into taking it exactly how he wants to give it.

He can feel the clenching of your cunt pick up in tempo. Whining, you break the kiss, trying to catch your breath as your neck stays stretched at that uncomfortable angle. “No, no, no,” you beg, digging your toes into the mattress as your cunt starts to pulse more strongly. “Please, no, please-”

“Sh, sh, sh, none of that,” he says, not letting up for a moment. He can feel that you’re right on the edge, the rhythm around his fingers picking up and then... 

You come. 

Fuck, it feels like you could break his fingers, he thinks, marveling at what your body can do. The animal noises in the back of your throat are so beautiful, it makes his heart swell and his stomach flip as he gazes at you in hungry adoration. He doesn’t stop, of course, no. No, he keeps going. He draws out every sweet second of your orgasm. And then, he keeps going. And going, and going. He goes harder, actually, the tentacle and his fingers working in a frenzied tandem to draw your pleasure against you, sharp and biting, and you sob at the overstimulation you’d been dreading since he’d first touched you.

“Isn’t this what you wanted?” he taunts. “Isn’t this what you got wet for?” You can’t speak, whimpering and struggling in his lap, trying to twist away from the too muchness of it all. He laughs, low and mean and pleased.

“No! Stop, please! Daddy, please,” you beg. Belos licks at the flush of your throat, loving the way you struggle, so small and soft and powerless against him.

“Just a little more, precious thing, you can take it for me,” he says softly, lips brushing the words into your wild pulse. You whine, frustrated. He slows down gradually, leaving his hand and the tentacle in place, both as a threat and to feel the way your walls grip and ungrip him. “That was beautiful, darling. I love the noises you make.” The praise makes you squeeze, and you whimper. “So cute,” he says. “How did that feel?”

“Good,” is all you can manage, but the pout shadows the edge of your breathless voice. 

“Oh, just good?” he asks, flexing his fingers, the tentacle giving a sympathetic rub. You jolt.

“Very good, very very good,” you add quickly, trying to get your breathing under control. He laughs.

When he pulls his fingers out, your come connects him to your pussy in a long, thick strand. His mouth waters as it stretches, stretches, stretches, and breaks. He watches the way it webs between the elegant length of his fingers, sticking stubbornly as he moves them this way and that. Purring in anticipation, he brings them to his lips, greedily laving his tongue across them - and Titan, the way you taste... Tangy, musky, sharp, perfect. He is, to put it plainly, addicted to your cunt - before sucking each clean in turn, moaning shamelessly in his throat. 

You’re still panting when he can’t take it anymore. The taste of your come on his tongue just sharpens his hunger into an ache that pains him, and he flips you onto your back - you squeak adorably at the sudden change in your perspective - drawing his legs out from under you as he does so, and then he manhandles you to lie against the pillows at the head of the bed, using two to prop your hips up. The look on your face - he can tell that you're weighing your words. You thoughtlessly catch the inside of your lower lip between your teeth, before you let it slide out. 

“I promise that I’m really sorry, daddy,” you tell him, a hedged tremble to your voice. 

“Are you?” he asks, forcing himself to pause, hands gliding to your knees. 

“I am," you reply, with feeling.

“Apologies are specific, my love.” He rubs little circles into your skin with his thumbs. “Tell me, what exactly are you sorry for?”

“I-I’m sorry for making you late, I’m sorry for being a tease, I’m sorry for flashing you and then running, I’m sorry for sending you that picture, a-and I’m sorry for not already being up here when you came home,” you say, wracking your memory for every transgression you could come up with. He tries his best not to look amused.

“That was very specific, I’m impressed.” He leans up to kiss your forehead. “Now, I suppose it’s up to me to decide whether or not I’ll accept it.”

“Won’t you?” you ask, eyes big.

“...perhaps.” He kisses your nose. “I might.”

“Please?” you ask, with that mien that melts his heart. He groans, kissing your cheek, and then your neck.

“Aren’t you the most darling thing?” He kisses your chin, and then steals one from your mouth. You hum in pleasure, a grin tugging at your lips, clearly assuming you’ve been forgiven.

“Can I be untied, now? I want to touch you,” you breathe as he makes his way down your chest. He eyes your beautiful breasts. “Ah!”  

He hums in the negative, mouth full of nipple. He breaks off with a pop. “Not yet. I want to taste you while you’re helpless,” he says, looking you straight in the eye. You make a pleased noise at that, trepidation melting away as he trails kisses down your belly. Your legs fall apart to make room for his shoulders. Belos hisses as his stiff cock makes contact with the sheets.

You are a work of art. Eager as he is, he still pauses to admire your flushed, swollen cunt as he slips between your thighs. Your curls are soaked, plastered to your skin, and your labia are shining, begging to be sucked, crowning your pulsing hole, clit hard and needy as it juts out from under its hood. 

“Do you know how pretty you are, precious thing?” he asks, dropping a kiss to your knee as he drapes your legs over his shoulders. Belos can’t wait. He’s already slavering, ready to kiss you here until he’s done - which, coincidentally, tends to be long after you are done. He comes in close, wrapping your hips in his arms, nosing his way through the slip of your orgasm, following with his tongue- 

“Belos!” you cry, as he buries it deeply into your hole. Yes. Yes, yes, yes , this is exactly where he’s wanted to be all day. He groans in relief, the bass of it thrumming through his throat to vibrate against you. The sheer heat of your cunt nearly scalds him. You’re wet and writhing against his face, clenching around him as he reacquaints himself with the familiar texture of your walls. His tongue is long and flexible as a side effect of his curse, and he gives you every inch, fervently offering you what no other person can, tasting you more profoundly than any other lover you’ve ever had.   

He forces himself to be gentle as he probes around your cervix, stroking himself firmly along your anterior wall. You yip at the sudden stretch, rolling against his face. 

You’re eager now that you think the worst of it is over. “Oh, daddy,” you sigh, head sinking into the pillow as you let him ravish you. Belos doubles his tongue back on itself, testing the elasticity of your cunt as the tip of it slips back out to caress your clit. You gasp, rocking your hips to meet him. “That’s so good- Oh, yes!”  

The way you whine when he draws his tongue out of you is cut harshly into a moan as he drags the root of it up to your clit and stuffs you with two fingers. Belos teases you just a bit, rubbing his tongue up and down you before he swallows it and brushes his bottom lip against your clit, hard enough to cast a relief of its shape in his flesh as he slowly tips his head from side to side, entranced by the wet slide of it on one of the most sensitive parts of his body. He could do this for hours, he decides, something about the feeling of it scratching an itch in his brain just right.

Your whimper of anticipation shakes him from his reverie of sensation, and he looks up your body to find you gazing at him with an expression of such lust - mouth parted, eyes bright, skin glowing - that he growls, all the more determined to shatter you. He takes you into his mouth, bobbing his head lightly as he starts to suck. You groan, guttural, back arching, breasts bouncing at your sudden, violent movement. 

Once you settle, hissing, he reaches up with his other hand to grab your tit, moaning at the softness of it against his fingers and the tight bud against his palm. He brings them in, circling your areola and then pinching your nipple between his pointer and thumb. 

“Daddy!” you call when he brings on the pressure, rolling it back and forth between the pads of his fingers. He hums against you, grinding against the mattress, and he can feel the sticky way the head of his cock rubs against the sheets, wet with his precome. And the sounds you make. He could come like this, thrusting against the bed while he makes you moan and scream and cry. Oh, how he loves your filthy, worrisome little mouth. “Close, baby, I’m close.” 

He works his tongue against you as he sucks, just the way you like it. You’re so sweet like this - he loves it when you tell him no, but he craves your enthusiasm just as much. He gives you a third finger. His hands are so much bigger than your own, and you make a guttural sound as he fills you. It feels like his head is stuffed full of cotton, thoughts going soft and fuzzy while he’s immersed in your scent and cradled by the heat coming off of your body. He rocks his throbbing cock into the blanket, thoughtlessly chasing the friction as he eats you. 

“Oh, you’re gonna make me come, you’re going to make me come so hard-” You sound so happy, voice full of erotic affection, like it’s not just the orgasm, but the fact that he’s the one giving it to you. It sends a thrill straight from his heart to his dick, and he has to be careful not to lose his rhythm in his excitement. Your thighs close around his head, and he locks them in so you can’t move an inch, an arm around one, a tendril wetly summoned and lashing itself between your knees, unyielding, keeping you from spreading them in either direction.

“Coming!” It’s strained, but you manage to get it out before you lose control of your voice. “Yes,” you chant, soaking his face with your come. Belos groans in appreciation, maintaining his suction throughout your orgasm as you grind your hips in time with him, helping him draw out your pleasure. “Ah! You’re so good," you cry, muscles trying to relax as you finish. He matches you noise for noise, keening with his mouth full, needing you to know just how good it feels to get you off. You tolerate the sensation for a little longer before you say, “Too much.”

“Daddy, too much,” you repeat, a little louder, a little worried. Belos is so pleased. He can’t laugh - if he laughs or smiles, he’s going to lose the vacuum he has around you, and he can’t have that. “Oh, goddamnit," you swear, trying to pull your legs apart. “Fuck, fuck.” You realize that he’s not letting go, and he’s not stopping, and hey, wouldn’t you know it? He starts sucking you harder, his fingers keeping pace. “N- Ah! No, no, please stop, please stop-” 

He does not stop. 

Three. Three, three, he wants three, you can be a good girl and give him three, and then he’ll fuck you on his cock, and you’ll give him four, but right now you just need to give him three. He suckles at your clit, slipping in his pinky.

“Fuck, fuck, I can’t,” you beg, giving up and going limp. He growls in disagreement. Yes, you can. And you will. He doesn’t give you any time to cool down, intent on blending your second orgasm with your third. It shouldn’t take much longer, if the way you’re pumping around him is any indication. And if it did take some time... Well. He doesn’t have anywhere else to be, and you’re a little tied up at the moment.

Faster, stronger, pussy leaking so steadily that he’s wet up to his wrist, he feels the first tremors of it through your body, like an earthquake at a distance. Belos is disciplined and relentless, keeping the tempo exactly where you need it.

“Too much, too much, too-” Suddenly, your torso curls up violently, breasts brushing against the back of his head as you strain, choking around the breath caught in your throat. Long seconds pass as he refuses to let up, strong arms keeping you locked into place against his mouth, blood pounding in his ears. You make wet little clicking noises, and he wishes more than anything that he could see your face in this moment - you’re rigid against him like a corpse, and he can only imagine the absolute, consuming agony your expression must be stretched in. You jerk, once, twice, then, all of a sudden, you come.

You suck in air so hard and fast he can hear it rubbing your throat raw. Your body simply gives up as you contort with such a violence that you would’ve wrenched yourself from the grip of any other man, sobbing. You try to kick your legs out, muscles straining against the tentacle at your knees, caught, before you sob, your thighs snapping shut around his skull with so much force that it rattles his brain.

Belos sucks harder.

You scream like you’re dying, loud enough that he can hear it through your muscle and bone, the noise suddenly coming in sharply as you drop the hold as much as you can and plant your feet on the bed, trying to buck him off. Belos can feel how slick his face is as he stays pressed to your clit, carefully spacing out the time between sucks. He can feel your heartbeat against his tongue, throbbing in tandem with your cunt.

The sound his mouth makes as he lets you slip from between his lips is loud and wet. Panting, he cancels the spell keeping your knees together so he has enough room to look at your sex. Your legs fall apart, frogging out on either side of your body. The sight makes his breath catch in his throat - you’re bright red and well and truly soaked, your come trailing down your ass to pool on the pillowcase. He exhales softly, glancing at your face. You’re making little noises, chest heaving, but you’re not any more distressed than he wants you to be, and that’s the most important bit.

Carefully, he draws his tongue through your folds, licking away your orgasm. The taste of it makes him moan loudly, losing some of his finesse as he cleans you. He doesn’t bother to be gentle as he slips into you again, hungry for every last drop you can give him. Belos is barely satisfied as he digs his fingers into your flesh, parting your cheeks as he withdraws from you, cock pulsing as he dips the tip of his tongue lower, eager for the taste of the come that had dripped to your other hole.

You’re too out of it to do anything other than fuss at him, so he’s very polite, resisting the temptation to slip his tongue into your ass as he devours all evidence of your pleasure. 

When he eventually backs off, it’s to the sound of your little cooing cries as you continue to shake. Your body glistens in the warm light of the room, soaked in sweat. He leans up to look at your face. Your gaze is far away, eyes steadily leaking tears across your bright red cheeks to trickle down your neck as you sniffle. Belos reaches over to his bedside table, plucking a handful of tissues from the box, gently patting your face dry. 

“Blow,” he instructs, holding them up to your nose. It takes you a second to process the command, but you follow it beautifully once you wrap your darling little head around it. “There’s a good girl,” he murmurs, tossing the wad into the nearby waste bin. Belos leans down to kiss you, licking the taste of your come into your mouth. You moan softly, shoulders working against the magic binding you. He gives your bottom lip a parting suck as he pulls back, settling on his haunches to slide his hands down your thighs and behind your knees, pulling them up to frame your chest. As he trails his fingers down your calves, his magic comes to life, reaching out and binding your shins to your thighs. 

You whine at being folded into a new position, and Belos chuckles softly, fluffing the pillows under your hips to give him the height he needs to tip your pelvis to the right angle to leave you spread obscenely underneath him. He wraps his hands around the base of his cock, giving himself a few good strokes, hissing through his teeth at how sensitive he is, before he carefully lines himself up.

“Let me hold you,” you whisper, giving him those big, sad eyes. Oh, he melts. 

“You poor thing,” he murmurs, eagerly taking in the look on your face. “Do you need me?” he asks, bringing his hand up to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger, thrilled with the vacant look in your eyes. 

“Yes, daddy.” He clicks his tongue regretfully, tilting his head.

“That’s too bad.” He gives your face a little shake. “No, I think that you’re going to lie there and take it,” he tells you, voice sliding from patronizing to dark. The noise you let out is sharp as he drags the head of his cock through your ruined cunt, catching and circling your clit just for the joy of hearing you whimper in pleasure-pain. 

You are so sweet like this, floating in subspace, drifting between cockdumb and reproachful. He hisses as he guides himself to nudge your hole. Fuck, you’re blazing here, positively molten, making his blood swollen length feel frigid in comparison. 

“Ah! Fuck,” he grinds out as he slowly presses the tip in. “Yes,” he hisses, fighting the urge to close his eyes against the pleasure of your tight, wet walls. The way your muscles move around him - it’s like you’re sucking him into you, the thought making him twitch as he grips your thigh. “Beautiful,” he whispers, gaze bouncing between all of the wonderful sights you have to show him - your drawn brows and parted mouth, the way your belly quivers, your little feet rolling on your ankles as your black painted toes curl. “Look at me,” he entreats. It’s embarrassingly close to begging. The thought of it has him reeling as he shakes above you, desperate. Not since the Titan has there been power like that which he wields, and, as your eyes meet his, the realization of how little it means to him is terrifying. Deep, deep down he knows that he would throw it all away if you only asked him to. 

His heart is painfully full as he eases in, staring into your eyes that shine, far away and right here in the moment with a mindless mindfulness that only he could give you. You both shudder as his pubic bone kisses your raw little clit.

“Oh!” he sighs. It’s bliss beyond reason, this closeness, this connection with the woman he loves. He’s burning up with it, pleasure licking like fire at the base of his spine. “You were made for me, darling,” he whispers, staring straight into you. For good measure, he brings his full weight against you to make sure you can really feel him. 

“Belos,” you choke out. He growls, pressing his lips to yours, rough with it. He can’t explain the mad feeling that overcomes him when he looks at you, thinks about you, consumed with an adoration so absolute that it makes his teeth ache with the urge to bite  and rip and tear . He nips your lip, then kisses down the side of your face, nuzzling his way to your throat. He teases you, giving you the flat of his teeth before he opens his mouth wide and digs them into where your neck meets your shoulder. You bear down on him, hard.

“Ow,” you whine, as he circles his hips against you. His teeth are just as unnatural as the rest of him, canines pointed, the indentation of them a little deeper than he’d intended as he licks away the pain. And he is a hypocrite to boot. If anyone laid a hand on you like this- the mere idea of it has him curling his lip into a snarl as he rocks into you. He’d kill them. He’d kill them for thinking about it.

“Is it too much?” he asks, trying to keep the pleasure out of his voice as he starts to pull out further before he thrusts back in, deep.

You nod, tits bouncing, face scrunched in ecstatic misery. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that.” He loves this. You gasp as he impacts you. “Try again, using your words.”

“Yes, it’s too much,” you say, unable to keep your hips from rolling to meet him. “You’re so thick."

He laughs, ego thoroughly stroked, leaning up to hook his hands behind your knees. “I know.” Belos uses his grip to pull you to him as he thrusts forward, pounding you with a look of haughty amusement on his face. You make a short exclamation every time he hits your clit. He’s precise with this new angle, greedily watching you flush as he strokes just the right spot. “Your face- you look so miserable. Do you think this is bad?” You sniffle, nod. He chuckles. “It’s going to get worse,” he assures you. “I’m going to break you.” Your face twists and your back arches. Belos inhales sharply, glancing down to where he’s in you in delighted disbelief.

“Oh, oh! What the fuck-” you strain. You look surprised as you come on his cock, losing control of your body as you fuck him back. “Daddy!” Your cunt is like a vice, pulsing around him with such a force that it starts to push him out. Grinning madly, he goes balls deep, rutting into you without pulling out an inch so he can rub your clit with his groin. 

“Did that make you come? Hearing that I’m going to fuck you broken?” You whine wordlessly. “This is why I can’t take it seriously when you tell me no.” He presses his forehead to yours, chest to chest. “You don’t even understand what you want,” he tells you, gently shaking his head. “I do,” he nods. “I know what you need, and I’ll give it to you, always.” His voice goes slightly breathless as he returns to fucking you hard and fast. “You’re just a silly little girl, you can’t even begin to understand what you’re playing at, who you’re playing with. Do you know who I am? What I’ve done?”

Belos is slipping, and he knows it. Simply being this close to you turns him inside out, has him saying too much.

“I don’t care- I just love you,” you breathe. His hips stutter. The surprise flits across his face. How can you undo him so completely with a few simple words? You tip your head, stealing a kiss. He moans, eyes fluttering shut as he cages you in with his forearms, spreading his weight evenly between them and his knees, one hand at your neck, fucking you like a brute. You pull off of his mouth to gasp at he strokes you just right. “Deep,” you groan, “so deep in me, oh, you’re so good.” 

No, no, no- he forces himself to slow down, biting the inside of his lip hard enough to draw blood. If he’s not careful, you’re going to have him spilling early. “How did you do this to me?” he snarls between clenched teeth. “How?” He shifts so he can wrap his hand all the way around your throat. It’s possessive, a desperate bid to reign himself in, and it backfires hard - Fuck, the look you give him. “Do you think that you can tease me, have your fun and leave me starving for you? This is what you get- fucked crying. Be a good girl and take it for me. Take it. Take it-"

“Yes! Yes! God, fuck-” your knees press against his waist, “Your cock is so good, love the way you fuck me- Ah!” He can feel the strength of your pussy as it pulses around him and you begin to shake. This one is going to be magnificent, he just knows it.

“Do you know what you do to me?” he growls, the clap of your bodies impacting satisfyingly vulgar. “Do you know? You drive me to madness, that’s what you do, drive me mad, with this perfect cunt, and this perfect body.” 

“Oh, god, oh my god-” you start to babble as you get closer, the irresistible squeeze of your cunt dragging him to his own end. 

“Fuck-” he feels his orgasm coming up on him, hard and fast. “I’m going to come- where do you want it?” You give him a narrow look, and he can’t help it- he laughs. He may be the one that tosses scouts into the Conformatorium for the crime of looking at you, but you can be very possessive yourself. 

“In me,” you say, doing everything you can to fuck him back.

“On your stomach? Your tits?” He’s needling you on purpose. Finishing inside you was a foregone conclusion the moment he saw you in the hallway today, but he craves the indignant way you demand that he fills you.

“No!” you snap. “In me, in my pussy.” 

“Do you think you deserve it?” he asks, drinking in the bratty twist of your lip. This is where you would bite him if you could, sinking your teeth into whatever was soft and close to make him snap and gruntfuck you like an animal. He’s tempted to lean into you, to give you the opening, but he stays just out of reach.

“Deserve?” you sneer instead, derisive despite the way you’re clearly struggling to even think. “You’re mine. You come in me.” The fierce way you say it makes his cock jerk inside you, and he can feel the pressure and the heat in his body hit the point of no return. 

“Yes, I’m yours, all yours-” he agrees fervently, slipping his hand from your throat and between your bodies to jam his thumb right up against your clit and rub. “Going to fill you up, have you leaking- Ngh, fuck- Mark you from the inside, all mine, all mine-”

“Oh!” you gasp.

“Say it, say it to me.” He is begging now, needing to know that he possesses you the way you possess him. “Tell me you’re mine-”

“All yours,” you agree. “Only yours-”

“Yes,” he hisses, dropping his mouth to your ear, the scent of your sweat filling his nose and bringing his hindbrain to the forefront. “Good girl. Come for me. My good girl, come for daddy.” That’s all it takes. Your mouth opens soundlessly, choked by the ferocity of your pleasure, and you go completely still for one long second as your cunt gets so tight that he has to strain to keep fucking it. And then you jerk, throwing your head back as you teeter, the tendons in your neck standing out starkly as you make a beautiful, wounded sound, right there, so close-

The friction pushes him over the edge, his testes drawing up as he comes. And he comes hard, and he comes deep, flooding your cunt with it. You scream when you feel the first hot pulse of his orgasm against your walls, the sensation of being filled tipping you right over, too, and you fall with him, coming so powerfully that he feels you soak his balls. He grits his teeth and snarls, control over the curse slipping just enough to be evident in his voice, as he pumps you full with each vicious thrust of his hips, driven by instinct to wring every last drop of his orgasm out and into you. As your cunt spasms around him, Belos is consumed, melting away into the moment, mind going completely, euphorically silent. 

He doesn’t stop fucking you, grunting like a mindless beast as overstimulation grates his nerves, the discomfort a small price to pay to render you completely, utterly brainless. Belos only stops when you go limp under him and he can’t hold himself up anymore, his unsteady arms giving way as he sags on top of you, burying his face into your neck. 

The two of you lay like that for some time as he gradually regains his senses. Blinking blearily, he finds himself with a face full of your hair, and the realization that he came so hard that he lost use of his vision hits him. Titan, now that he can think- He can’t feel his toes? He tries to flex them, but it takes a moment for his brain to catch up with the command. He laughs shakily, feeling the pounding of your heart under his own.

Shit, he must be crushing you. Slowly, he takes some of his weight off of your body. You actually whine at him, surely upset at what you must perceive as him trying to pull out. He shushes you, simply shifting to his knees despite the way he’s slowly softening inside you, occasionally jostled by the sporadic aftershocks of your orgasm. He needs to get a good look at your face, to gauge where you’re at in subspace. 

Oh, you’re gone.

You are totally, utterly, and irrevocably fucked up beyond belief. You are not here right now. The lights are off, and you are lost in your own little world. It’s adorable. You don’t look like you’re in a bad way - far from it. In fact, the look of peace on your face would almost be enviable if he weren’t too busy feeling incredibly smug right now.

He did this to you. He did. He took his fiery, brilliant, mouthy girl, who is constantly on, always lying in wait with a clever quip or a joke to get under his skin, and undid her so completely that all she is able to do is lie quietly, shaking like a leaf and leaking his come. The rush of joy and accomplishment fills him like a dam bursting, and he can’t keep the silly grin off of his face. He feels so thankful for you, hardly able to believe that, not only are you real, but you let him use you the way he does, and you like it.  

He leans forward to kiss your forehead, and you hum, pleased. “That was amazing,” he murmurs. Still grinning, he takes your face in his hands and takes his time to gently peck his way down the bridge of your nose. “You were amazing.” He presses one against each eyelid, your cheeks, your chin, the line of your jaw, and, finally, on your mouth. “I love you,” he whispers against your lips. 

Belos has a hard time with those words. He has been hurt badly before, and saying them aloud feels like he’s tempting fate. He half expects the castle to start falling down around the two of you as he shapes the last syllables. It doesn’t, of course. Or, at least, it doesn’t for now, so he carefully takes the joy he feels in this moment and tucks it deeply into his heart.

You make a quiet, happy noise. “Love you,” you murmur, with barely enough breath to give sound to the words. 

“There you are, my precious one,” he murmurs, stroking your hair behind your ear. When he finally has the strength to do so, he sits up. You feel him moving and fuss wordlessly. If you had your way (as you admittedly did more often than not) he would stay inside you, unmoving, for another half an hour. 

If he hadn’t bound you, he would gladly suffer the wet spot on the duvet and cuddle you until you were satisfied- the duvet! Shit- he glances down, already calculating the damage. Under his knees, however, is not the duvet. Instead, it’s one of the thick blankets the two of you tend to lay out exactly for this purpose. He... had not noticed. At all. He had been so consumed by desire that he didn’t even think before he marched you upstairs. Fondness comes over him as he realizes that you had been anticipating him just as much as he had been anticipating you, and had made sure things were in place before he had come home.  

“I know,” he soothes you, careful to keep a gentle hand on your skin at all times while he slowly pulls out. “We’ve got to get you cleaned up, my poor pretty girl.” He licks his lips as he feels his soft cock slip from you with the flood of your mixed orgasms. Belos can’t help himself - he scoots back to get a good look. He inhales sharply. “Look at you,” he breathes, hungrily taking in your ruined cunt. 

Your hole gapes, fucked wide open and overflowing with his come. He feels a stirring of desire, but resists. Your arms had been restrained for long enough, pushing up against the upper limits of the time he feels comfortable with leaving you tied in this position. He brings your knees together, softly rolling you onto your side so that he can draw his finger across the tentacles around your forearms and dispel the magic holding them together. He slowly palpates one arm, checking for warmth and watching your reaction. “Can you flex your fingers for me?”

You’re still in too deep to speak, but after about five seconds you spread and curl your fingers. “Good girl,” he says. He draws your arm over your torso and maneuvers you to free the other one as well before he settles you on your back, making sure that you’re not laying on your hair. He has you repeat the motion with the other arm. Satisfied that you aren’t injured, he frees your legs one at a time, giving them a quick check as well, before he draws them straight along the mattress. It won’t be long before the euphoria hits you, and you go a little punch drunk from the potent mix of endorphins and hormones. He takes your hand and brushes the back of it with his thumb.

“I’m going to go get something to wipe you down with, alright?” You make a noise indicating that, no, it’s not alright. “I’ll be right back,” he tells you with the waver of a laugh in his voice. With a parting kiss to your knuckles, Belos rises from the bed, despite your pout, feeling light. He swiftly makes his way to the bathroom, tidying himself up quickly before he cleans his hands and dampens a rag with warm water. 

You’re still in the same place when he comes back, legs spread, and he makes sure his steps are audible as he approaches. “I told you that I’d be quick,” he says, by way of greeting. You hum in disagreement, simply to be contrarian. He comes to sit on your side of the bed, tenderly wiping away the mess between your legs, even as you grumble at the discomfort of the cloth against your sore vulva. “See? That wasn’t so bad,” he tells you as he finishes, using magic to send it to the laundry. “I’m going to move you.” He uses a light touch to pull the pillows out from under your hips one at a time, and then settles in beside you, pulling you to lay on his chest.

He sighs, pulling the dry half of the blanket over the two of you, and closes his eyes. He dozes, listening to the sound of your breathing, occasionally rubbing your back as you stop shivering. The two of you lay like that for some time, enjoying the intimate press of bare skin against bare skin.

Eventually, he lifts his head, glancing to your nightstand. As much as he would love to fall asleep right now, you still have needs to be tended to. Right now, he’s in a marvelous headspace, and having you crash and burn would send him to a dark place. There, just in arms reach in the usual spot are two little meal bars. You don’t like having sex on a full stomach, so you tend to need something to eat after he’s had his wicked way with you. Belos grabs one and opens it. You crack open an eye at the rustle of the packaging, and then close it, snuggling into his chest.

He raises a brow. 

“Come, now, darling,” he says, giving your shoulder a squeeze. You’re awake enough now to speak.

“Mmno,” you mumble. 

“Just a bite,” he tells you, fully intending to make you have two. “There’s a pet,” he coos encouragingly. You make another noise in the negatory, turning your head into his chest. The back of his neck prickles, and he does feel a bite coming on, just not exactly how he’d intended. He says your name, very mildly. You jump lightly, eyes meeting his warning gaze with a mischievous sparkle as you snicker, lips stretching into a grin right above his nipple. 

You give him a gentle kiss, looking anything but innocent. 

“I’m nice,” you tell him. He hums dubiously. 

“Prove it,” he says, bringing the bar to your face. You wrinkle your nose. 

“I’m nice, not good,” you say, turning your chin. 

"You brought these up here,” he chides gently, glancing to see what kind it is. Poisonberry. “Oh,” he says, confused, as he meets your eyes. “You hate these.”

“They’re your favorite,” you tell him.

“They are,” he agrees, “but why would you put it on the nightstand?”

“Did you have dinner?” you ask, like you already know the answer. He opens his mouth, and then closes it. Whoops. You giggle at him, pressing a kiss- No, wait, those are your teeth- 

He grunts at the dull pain around his nipple, shivering a little as you soothe it with a suck. You don’t break eye contact, looking quite like you have canary feathers caught in your back teeth as you actually kiss him.

“That spanking did not last,” he remarks. You snort. 

“No, no, it did not.” 

“Have one bite,” he tries again. 

“Okay,” you agree, lowering your mouth-

"Not  of me,” he interjects.

“You should be more specific,” you tell him, like you’re giving him advice, but you raise your head and part your lips anyways. 

“Clearly-”

“Ah,” you say, soft and insistent, when he doesn’t move it to your mouth as quickly as you’d like him to.

“You be patient,” he scolds lightly. Its impact, however, might be dulled by the way he gives in to you instantly. You take a tiny nibble and chew with a sour look on your face. He can’t help the quiet way he snorts at you.

“It tastes like medicine,” you complain.

“One more,” he encourages. You huff, but do it anyway. “You must have delicious medicine in the human realm,” he replies. He takes a much bigger bite himself, and hums, content. It’s only as the food touches his tongue that feels the gnawing hunger in his stomach. 

“I just think that you don’t know what food should taste like.”

“Are you questioning my taste?” he asks, lazily raising a brow.

“Oh, I don’t think it’s much of a question,” you drawl. “Of course, you are occasionally quite the visionary,” you add, gesturing to yourself. He gives you a dry look. “I’m talking about me. I’m fantastic, but, you know, stopped clocks, and all that.” you expand, with an impressive amount of coy smugness, as though his silence was an indication of confusion about your meaning. He allows a beat to pass as he chews and swallows another mouthful. He glances at the clock.

“You know what? I think we have time for a second round,” he says, ever so pleasant, and then downs what little is left of the bar. Your eyes go a little wide as you giggle, catching your lip between your teeth.

“I think we need to have dinner, actually,” you say, shaking your head. He lingers on that roguish lopsided grin, giving in as he brings his thumb up to follow the curve of it. 

“Do we? You seem full of energy.” 

“Yeah. I made stew and soda bread-” He lights up. He loves your cooking. Your food has a distinctly human flair to it that reminds him of home. 

“That’s all you had to say.” Belos kisses your forehead, and you accept it with a happy noise. “Is it ready, or does it need a few finishing touches?” 

“Mmhm. It’s been in the oven since about...” You stretch at length, writhing against him. He watches you with a soft smile playing at his lips. “Two thirty-ish?,” you sigh. “I par-cooked the vegetables that are actually supposed to go in and set them aside so they didn’t get mushy, and all they need is to be mixed in, and the stewing ones fished out.”

“Alright, that sounds simple enough.” He wraps his arms around you, giving you a big squeeze, sighing contentedly as he gives you another parting kiss and a little stroke down your back. You brush your mouth over his chest before you roll off of him so that he can sit up. He stretches as well, before he swings his legs over the side of the bed, padding to the bathroom to give himself a more thorough wash and to put his hair up.

It’s as he opens the door that he hears a wavering, tremulous sigh of, "Ohjesusfuck," from the bedroom. Panic zips up his spine, and it takes him two steps to reach the threshold as he’s just in time to watch you sink to the floor behind the bed.

“Darling?” he calls, concerned, as he makes his hasty way to your side, where you lay, looking quite amused, in a little heap. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” you say, choking back laughter as you raise your arms for him. “My legs- I guess you did me too good.” He scoops you up easily, feeling a strong sense of pride at having fucked you so thoroughly that can’t walk. “Do you think you could carry me to the bathroom?” 

“Gladly.”

“Thank you, baby. I can handle myself if you can just put me in there.”

“Are you sure? You did just collapse.” It wouldn’t be the first time that he had assisted you in that particular area after making love. He relishes the chance to dote on you in such an intimate way. And secretly, while you may have been with others, he was one of two people you had ever allowed the level of access to your body that was needed to tend to you in that manner, and that satisfied the more depraved depths of his possessiveness.

“As long as I don’t actually have to walk, I’ll be good.” He chuckles as he brings you in, allowing you to get your feet in front of the sink with the greatest care. You wobble, but keep them. 

“And you’re certain that you don’t need help?” he asks, keeping his hands on your biceps as he takes a step back.

“I’ll be okay,” you tell him, giving him a pat on the chest. Shaking his head, he takes your wrist, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand. 

“I’ll be just outside - call if you have need of me.” 

“Oh, I always have need of you,” you flirt, and he feels warm. Before he can banter back, you’re shooing him away. “Now get outta here, I’ve gotta pee so bad.” 

He laughs as he leaves you to your business, shutting the door behind him. He takes the minutes you’re in there to strip the blanket from the bed and toss it in the hamper, as well as setting the pillows he’d put under your hips beside it. He knows for a fact that those will need to be washed. 

He also double checks that the duvet proper is clean with a sweep of his hand - perfectly dry, thanks to your foresight. 

Belos is making loose plans to get one of those wedge pillows made specifically for sex - and wondering how he doesn’t already have at least one - when he hears the sound of the bidet, signaling that you’re finishing up. He takes a moment to put on his robe, slipping his staff into the pocket, and gets the fuzzy blanket from the couch in front of the fireplace, meeting you in the closet room as you open the door, rubbing the lotion you use after you wash your hands into your skin. 

“Hi, Bibi,” you chirrup, coming right up to him. He smiles at the private, silly nickname. 

“Hello, my love,” he replies, wrapping you in the blanket and pulling your hair out from under it.

“Oh, thank you. Can I have my hair clip?” you ask. He hums, feeling a flutter of satisfaction as he eyes the sex tousled mess of your unbound hair.

“Why don’t you leave it down for a little longer? It’s very comely.” You snort.

“I look like I got fucked by a tornado.”

“Ha!” he laughs shortly, thinking of some of the weather aspects he’s met on the Isles. “No, just me.” You start to giggle, but you cut yourself off, stuttering.

“Wait, can you get fucked by a tornado here? Is the weather here sexy?”

“Not quite so literally, no,” he replies, but there’s a bit of a secret smile playing at his mouth that he knows you won’t miss. “Occasionally, forces of nature on the Isles of great power can take on a shape and personality of their own.”

“What? That’s wild. How does that even happen- Ope!” you exclaim as he sweeps you into his arms, carrying you bridal style out of your room and down the stairs. You rest your head against his shoulder. Now that his mask is off - and he isn’t so... preoccupied - the scent of rich meat and bread is distinct. 

“Mm,” he hums as he walks through the living room. 

“Right? I’m dying.”

“What did you have before I came up?” he asks, ignoring the formal dining table to bring you to the one in the kitchen. He catches the leg of your chair with his foot, pulling it out smoothly. 

“Just some of those weird little fruits and some crackers.” He chuckles as he helps to seat you. 

“Do you mean burn berries?” 

“Yeah, those fuckin’ things- how y’all have managed to keep yourselves fed as a society, I’ll never know.”

“Actually, the ones we have in the castle have been cultivated to be much more mild,” he remarks as he crosses to the oven.

"Those are mild?" you ask in disbelief. You shake your head, saying, “wait, wait, I want to hear more about the living storms. God, jesus, almost two years in, and I still need a fuckin’ notebook every time we talk.” He smiles.

“That’s part of the beauty of the Isles. There’s always something new to discover here.” His tone is a little wistful. “Anyways,” he continues, retrieving the towels draped over the handle of the oven, “the phenomenon is so rare and its creations so powerful that it’s dangerous to study in depth, so our current knowledge is rather limited.” He opens the oven, humming as the steam carries the mouthwateringly savory scent up from the partially covered pot that rests on the rack. “My best guess is that there’s some sort of interaction between the massive storm cells that form over the Boiling Sea,” carefully, he puts the lid on all the way, and grasps the handles of the pot with the towels, “and the magic of the Isles when they make landfall, and any storm of sufficient size and cohesiveness that comes close enough has a chance of becoming anthropomorphized.” He sets it all on the stovetop, then moves the lid to the side.

“However, most storms that gain that sort of momentum over open waters tend to break apart as they get closer to our archipelago, and the ones that manage to stay together don’t tend to last very long, nor do their aspects.” Setting the towels down, he fishes a pair of tongs from the utensil crock on the right hand side of the oven, and starts to pick out the overcooked vegetables, summoning a bowl to set them aside in. He sneaks a nearly disintegrated scarerrot, brows raising at the flavor of the gravy. This is going to be delicious.  

“Oh, wow. Is that what it’s called when a storm comes to life? An aspect?” He hums, chewing and swallowing. 

“Yes, quite right.” 

“And they’re sentient?”

“Very much so. I’ve only ever met a handful myself, and they were creatures that existed only from moment to moment - no concept of a past, nor a future. Very direct, but their meaning could be obfuscated by their plainness of language.” You tip your head to the side. He continues, “the first time I met one, I asked what their purpose was. They couldn’t understand the question.” Belos remembers it clearly. He had been a much younger man then, in awe of a being he saw as God-like. Which, he supposes, was the beginning of the miscommunication. 

“That makes sense. A storm doesn’t really do anything, it just sort of is."

“Exactly,” he says, pleased with your intuitive grasp of something that he had failed to understand at the time. “That’s more or less what they tried to communicate. They kept saying, ‘I am rain,’ or ‘I am wind,’ and they would repeat it no matter how I tried to clarify or explain what I was trying to ask. It was, considering the nature of my conversational partner, a nonsensical question, but my thinking was constrained by some... preconceived notions.” It’s funny to think back on now, the Puritan fissure in his thought process so painfully obvious in retrospect. 

“Yeah?”

“Mm. I thought that that sort of power had to be made by something even bigger for a reason. Imagine my shock when I learned that the world was never in so neat an order.” Not the whole truth, but close enough to it. “It was a very formative experience.” Once he’s satisfied that he’s removed everything that needs to come out, he taps the tongs firmly against the rim of the pot twice, and sets them against the spoon rest. “And the sex was fan-tastic,” he adds, like an afterthought.

You break into loud laughter - he’s unable to keep the grin off of his own face, pleased that his delivery had landed so well - and just as suddenly you wrinkle your nose around your smile. “Oh- fuck- Don’t make me laugh,” you beg. He snorts, understanding instantly.

“Do you need a tissue?”

“Yes, please.” You press your thighs together tightly while he moves to retrieve one for you. “Thank you,” you say, tucking it between your legs. “Slut,” you add, after a beat. That gets him, and he has to swallow his snort. 

“I’m sorry, have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?” he asks, his fearsome presence diminished somewhat, he’s certain, by being clothed in his only sort-of belted dressing gown as he crosses barefoot to the fridge. The silver bowl on the second shelf is placed prominently, full of browned mushrooms and root vegetables. 

“My apologies, Emperor Slut,” you amend with a cheeky salute. Belos chuckles, bringing the bowl back over to the stove, tipping its contents in with the gravy and meat. He catches you shivering again out of the corner of his eye. He’s quite pleased, watching you squirm with his come inside of you. Shaking the thought off, he gives the stew another stir to bring everything up to temperature. 

“What is this, anyways?” he asks, eyeing a thick cut chunk of beautifully browned meat.

“Screambeast. I think it tastes most like beef from my world.” Belos has never thought about that, but, by God, you’re right. When was the last time he had eaten beef? He rolls his eyes. Probably about three-hundred and ninety years ago, when he had gone for that ill fated swim. 

“Hm, that’s interesting,” he says, when he realizes that he’s been quiet for a beat too long. “I’m surprised that there are any flavors here that are similar to those found in the human realm.” With a gesture, the dishware and cutlery he needs floats from the drawers and cabinets, the porcelain bowls drifting over to the stew pot to be filled by the enspelled ladle, while the bread plates zip to the island, where a knife cuts into the beautifully browned loaf set on a cutting board.  

“Yeah! I mean, I’m very thankful, but this place is just so alien that it’s wild that some things can be so close. Like, you guys have sweet, savory, spicy, y’know, and even use them in the same ways we do back home.” You laugh. “Do you remember when you told me that you guys have chocolate here, too?” He laughs as well, short and loud. 

“Yes. I didn’t know what to do with myself when you started to cry,” he says, directing the bowls to rest on the table. 

“God-” you laugh, still a little sheepish at the memory. “Oh, thank you!” you say, stirring your food with your spoon, but leaving it otherwise. You sigh, “I was so stressed out. I mean, you know-” he nods, getting a pat of butter from the crock to smear on your bread. “And hearing that there was something familiar here? On the Isles? I still remember how that first bite tasted. I don’t think I’ve ever had better chocolate.” 

“‘It’s the same’,” he repeats, a small smile tugging at his lips as he recalls the watery words you’d said before you burst into tears and flung yourself into him. 

“Sto-o-o-p,” you complain, tossing your head back as your laugh draws the word out into three descending syllables. He laughs with you as he slides your plate with your bread over to you before he generously butters his own slice.

“It was terribly endearing,” he admits, feeling soft, and then he takes a bite of the stew. His eyes fall closed for a moment. It’s amazing, rich and savory, and he quickly takes another. You watch his reaction with the smile you get when you’re pleased with yourself. It’s like the corners of your lips manage to curl up perfectly upwards.

“Good?” you ask, looking up at him from under your eyelashes as you take a mouthful yourself.

“It’s alright,” he says dismissively to get a rise out of you. You wrinkle your nose at him and scoff in the back of your throat, swinging a leg out to brush your foot against his shin in a facsimile of a kick. He makes a noise like you’d hurt him, and your face drops for a split second in worry. 

“I’m sorr- Oh, you dick,” you laugh when you catch on. 

“It’s delicious,” he tells you, effusive. 

“Thank you! The recipe is from back home. It took a bit to find ingredients that were similar, but like, at the macro gastronomic level, a fermented fish sauce is a fermented fish sauce, and gelatin is gelatin, so I think it turned out really well.”

“It has fish sauce and gelatin in it?” he asks, fascinated. He’s not much of a cook himself, and hearing how you managed to put together so delicious a meal is of much interest to him.

“Yeah! It has Shin anchovies, too- I was afraid it would taste too fishy, so I kinda held back on the sauce, but honestly I think it could use a little more. It’s supposed to add a depth of flavor to the gravy, and then the gelatin makes it thick without adding that flour-y-ness you get sometimes with beef stew. Screambeast stew,” you correct with a shrug. You pause to eat some of your bread. “Mm!” you hum, wiggling rhythmically as you do when you eat something particularly tasty. Your easy, unrestrained joy at something so small fills him with his own resounding happiness, and he can feel the sappy, lovestruck expression on his face. Ugh, isn’t it all so terribly embarrassing? he thinks warmly, unable to look away from you. Over four-hundred years old and he’s entirely besotted. 

Isn’t it, too, the best thing that’s ever happened to him?

It is.

The two of you fall into a companionable rhythm, chatting and enjoying your meal together. He presses you about your stew simply so he can hear you gush about cooking and baking, and you listen with rapt attention to him speak about his meetings, slipping in your jokes and astute questions like a fencer.

Much later, after the two of you had taken care of the dishes and showered together, he drifts with you fast asleep in his arms, vaguely recalling his day, what he managed to get done, what he still needs to do, and something less than a thought occurs to him. It’s more of an image, really. Him, waking in his empty bed, alone. It disturbs him enough that he opens his eyes to the dark of the room, holding you tighter, but he can’t stop the stream of it.

What would he do without you? He can see it all so clearly, the day blending together as all of the other days before you had, routine and lonely. So achingly lonely. Getting up from his cold bed to dress, and, with no pretty clothes to pick over and lay out, he heads straight to his workshop to tinker before meeting up with Kikimora to go over his schedule, no chance encounters in the hall. He imagines his pristine, empty rooms, quiet and smelling of whatever the housekeeper uses to clean instead of the scent of a warm, home cooked meal tucked in the oven. He would’ve worked much, much later and gone to bed having forgotten to eat, or, worse yet, scarfed down something long gone cold, alone at the table, across from what should be your seat. He thinks of the sweet picture you’d made, warm in your blanket, hair mussed and skin glowing, bantering with him between bites.   

To be without you... He buries his nose into your hair. There is a strange stinging in his eyes. In this moment the revelation is clear as crystal. He needs you. He’s annoyed that the knowledge shocks him. How did he let this happen? He didn’t, it had- it had snuck up on him. There was a point where he thought that he could love you without needing you, but he’d failed without realizing it, and it’s only now that it’s much too late- He gives his head a subtle shake.

He’s not going back. He’s never going back to how it was before. 

He’s painfully aware of just how miserable he was, how sad. It grates against him. Belos was not supposed to need anybody. Belos was a powerful witch, who was respected and feared like a terrible God. He had no weakness, and he ruled his Empire with a singular, unbending will. And yet, here, confronted with the thought of you never having come here, or, worse yet, leaving... 

That’s not happening. Never. Never, never, never. The ritual is impossible to reverse, despite what he’s led you to believe, and, more than that, you’re happier here than you ever were in the human realm. You don’t even want to leave if it means leaving him, no matter how longingly you speak of your home and your family. In any case, the Day of Unity will work, eventually, and one day your worlds will be joined, so you can wait patiently, the way he has. Furthermore, you live in the safest place in all of the Isles, with every luxury at your fingertips. There are so few who even know about you, and he’ll keep it that way. You don’t need anyone else, the same way he doesn’t need anyone other than you. The chances of someone getting close enough to harm you or- Well, you said it yourself. Who else would you want? The scouts would only bore you, and you’d never wander.

Would losing you or letting you go hurt him terribly? Unspeakably so. But that doesn’t matter. You make him strong more than you make him weak, and that’s- that’s useful to him. Useful, yes. He clings to the word. A utilitarian choice, strategic. Loving you is fully rational, and thusly so is what would happen if you left. It’s not weak, it’s logical. You keep him sharp, you keep him happy and productive, and, so what if it is weak? The distinction is irrelevant anyways. He is the highest power in the realm. It doesn’t matter if he’s compromised or consistent. 

It doesn’t matter. You’re his, and you will always be his, and he will always be yours. He loves you. That’s all that matters. 

With a soft exhale, he holds you closer still, listening to your even breathing, feeling your steady heartbeat. He closes his eyes, firmly redirecting his whirling thoughts. You are right here, in his arms. You are happy. You are warm, and you are safe, and you love him. It is to this mantra that he finally succumbs to sleep.

One Day I’ll Go Back

Requested (on wattpad): Ohhh alright then :) so maybe a Brian May imagine? And it's basically a imagine about Y/n finding out her real parents and Finding out Brian likes them? Could be interesting I think :)

Warning(s): none!

masterlist

Today, my parents had summoned me all the way to Birmingham to sort through boxes of old stuff I had left there when I moved to London.

"You did not wear this." Brian said, holding up an embarrassingly frilly blue dress.

"Oh. My. God." I gasped, "That still exists?"

"You're telling me that you actually wore this? It looks like cotton candy."

"Every single day. I used to love this thing." I laughed, "As you can see, my fashion sense has gotten better since I was 8."

Brian smiled his adorable little smile and set the dress aside. I turned back to the box I was inspecting. Definitely one of the more boring ones, it was filled with old papers, drawings and a dusty folder bound in leather. That intrigued me more than my rather unprofessional drawings of Kermit and Elmo. I carefully opened it, inside were official looking documents, yellowed with age but still perfectly intact. One in particular caught my eye.

BIRTH CERTIFICATE

I always wondered at exactly what time I was born. With a small smile I studied the paper, the print still dark against the white background. Before I could find the 'time of birth' category, something else distracted me.

MOTHERS NAME: Alicia Ferry

Alicia Ferry? That can't be right. Susanna White was my mom's name. Then I looked at the supposed name of my father, Victor Ferry. My dad's name was Jackson White. There must've been a printing mishap, or the certificates got swapped accidentally. But my name fit.

"Everything alright there, love?" Brian asked, seeing my expression as I read those words over and over again.

I could feel my lungs closing up and my vision tunneled. This couldn't be true. No. No no no no no. I started flipping through the other papers in the folder. Finally I found it. The thing that was both the answer to my questions, and the confirmation that my whole life had been a lie.

ADOPTION CERTIFICATE

Adopted. The two people who have raised me weren't my parents. The woman who had fed me, bathed me, and eventually taught me to walk in heels wasn't my mother. The man who read me bedtime stories, taught me to play the piano and scolded me for my short skirts wasn't my father. These...These... strangers were my parents. Could I call them strangers? They knew me almost better than I knew myself and it felt wrong to dismiss them as strangers, even though that was essentially what they were.

I jumped when I felt a hand on my shoulder, "Geez, Brian, you scared me."

"(y/n)? Are you feeling okay? You look a little pale."

"I...umm..." I couldn't find the words to explain exactly what was going around in my head, so I handed him the documents, "Here."

His concerned gaze lingered on me for a moment longer before turning to the papers.

"Adopted?" he asked incredulously.

I nodded.

"When did you find out?"

"About two minutes before you did." I sighed and ran a hand through my hair,

"Are you alright love?"

"How could they have hidden this from me?"

"(y/n)-"

I didn't wait for him to finish before heading for the door.

"Where are you going?" Brian called after me.

"I need to ask them why the hell they hid this from me." And with that, I disappeared through the attic trapdoor.

"(y/n)-"

I ran down the stairs, almost tripping and breaking my neck on the last few steps. My parents were sitting in the living room, my father reading the evening paper and my mom reading one of those cheesy romance novels that teenagers and people in a midlife crisis enjoy so much.

"Mom, Dad?"

"Yes darling?" my dad said, looking up from his paper.

I handed them the birth certificate, "I just found this."

"I knew this day would come," my mother sighed.

"(y/n)-" my dad began.

"Why didn't you tell me?" I yelled.

"It was never the right time..." my father trailed off.

I didn't speak the entire way home. Brian didn't try to force a conversation, which I was unspeakably grateful for. I didn't even know what to think. What on earth was I supposed to say, anyway?

"(y/n), are you okay?" Brian asked again when we were about to go to bed.

"This is like the thousandth time you've asked me this today darling." I laughed.

"Sorry, love." Brian said, "I promise not to ask again."

He turned off the light and pulled me close.

"Goodnight, (y/n)." he whispered and pecked my cheek.

I was so lost in my thoughts, that I completely missed what said next.

"Hmm?"

"I know them." Brian repeated.

"You what?"

"I know them. Mr. and Mrs. Ferry. They lived down the road from my parents."

"What were they like?" I asked quietly.

"Your parents?" Brian asked.

"Yeah"

Brian pondered for a moment, "They were nice people. Mrs. Ferry used to make cookies every weekend and give them to the neighborhood kids."

"Do they still live there?"

"I'm not sure," he said, "I could ask my mum and dad, if you want?"

Now it was my turn to stop and think. Did I really want to see these people again? They were the ones who gave me up for adoption when I was just a kid. Did I really want to know these people?

"Yeah," I finally said, "Could you do that for me?"

***

"You don't have to do this now, love." Brian said as my hand hovered above the doorbell.

"No, no. I'm fine." I said, but my voice shook, "I need to do this now, or I'll never do it. And I want to meet them. I think."

And finally I rang. It took a few moments, but then a woman in her late forties opened the door. She seemed to. recognize Brian.

"Brian? Is that you?"

"Mrs. Ferry. How have you been?"

"I've been well, darling. Last time I saw you, you were still in college."

"And who are you?" she asked me. She didn't seem unfriendly, just curious.

"I'm (y/n) White. Your daughter."

The woman froze. That clearly had not been answer she had been expecting.

"I... umm, found the birth certificate a few weeks ago." I began, "And I wanted to meet you."

"Come...come in, darlings."

I tried to recognize myself in her, but it wasn't easy. We had the same eyes, maybe, but that's where the similarities ended. Mrs. Ferry... mom, no that sounded wrong. Mrs. Ferry led us through the long hallway into a parlor. An old fashioned parlor. With crisp white couches and a low coffee table and fireplace covered with photos.

She asked us to sit, and then left the room, returning shortly with a tea tray in her hands. A man timidly followed her, carrying an assortment of sweets. After introductions had been made and cups of tea had been poured, we finally got down to business.

"We were young when we had you. Victor and I, we were barely 17. There was no other options that made sense." Mrs. Ferry began.

Mr. Ferry... my father... the man whose genes I had, continued, "We wanted to meet you, but we signed some papers that forbid us contact with you until you were 18."

Mrs. Ferry continued, "And by then you were in college, and we didn't want to reveal any information that might throw you off course. Your parents told me about what a bright future you had. We could never have offered you what they could. It was the best for all of us."

All those things I had been feeling. Then sadness, the betrayal, the strange sense of relief that made no sense whatsoever, all blended into one. Anger. I had never felt more angry at two people in my entire life.

"That's what everyone keeps telling me." I snarled, "That it was 'the best decision for everyone.' But was it really such a good decision to separate a child from her rightful family? Was it really such a good decision to keep it hidden from said child, only for her to find out twenty five years later when she's cleaning up the attic?"

They were silent.

"Look, I understand that you two couldn't raise a kid at 17, and I even understand why you didn't want to contact me when I was in school, but why didn't you do anything when I graduated?"

"(y/n)-"

"You know what? I need to leave." I picked up my coat and stormed out.

I heard Brian apologizing or something, but I didn't care. I ran out of the house, to our car and dug through my bag for the keys. Naturally, Brian had them. I was forced to stand in the cold air until he came out. Neither of us spoke on the way home, but unlike last time, it felt uncomfortable. I knew I had messed up, I knew I shouldn't have shouted, I knew I probably shouldn't have screamed. It was too confusing, much too confusing.

"They're good people, you know." Brian said, briefly taking his eyes off the road.

"Yeah, I know. I think I let out all my anger on them. It wasn't fair."

Brian nodded in agreement.

"I think," I started, "I think that one day, I don't know when, but one day I'm going to go back there."

Mr.Natsuo being your teacher and you purposely flirt with other boys as wear really short skirts in his class to make him ✨jealous ✨and horny , he asks to see you after class and you get fucked on his table 🥺🥺 Sorry I’m on my period and I’m going feral 😃

No, no- never apologize for this! It makes me feral too ♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡ Natsuo Sensei, please come get this pussy ♡

tags/warnings: teacher/student relationship, teacher kink, rough sex, unprotected sex, manipulation, improvised gags

A/N: I wrote Natsuo a bit more rough than I normally do, but I think it turned out okay;;; I also abused the words professor, doctor, sensei, and teacher;;;;

But. Ya know.

Enjoy! ♡

You were fucked the moment you walked into his classroom. Introduction to Human Anatomy and Physiology. 2:30 pm, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Led by Doctor Natsuo Todoroki. An insert into your schedule that seemed harmless enough. Interesting, surely. Something you were a little worried about- what if you turned out squeamish despite your love for all things horror and gore?- and something that would just fill your first semester of college. Harmless. Routine for your major. Nothing to give you any sort of fuss or throw you into a flustered little mess. Or, so you thought. Honestly, you hadn’t given much thought to what your professor might be like. You were more worried over having to share a dorm room with a stranger, if you could handle your class load, how hard it might be to adjust being away from home and all you’ve ever known. You suppose your mind’s eye might have conjured a vague image of a wrinkled and wizened old man with a stern gaze and whitened hair. You suppose you might have faintly imagined Doctor Todoroki to be a tired geezer in a lab coat and faded sweater vest. You suppose you might have had the predetermined, unconscious notion that your professor would be intelligent, elderly, stern and, well, someone who you would only think about in terms of being someone to give you tests and homework and lectures. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to find a smiling, young man with a handsome face and thick thighs, big arms. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to lock eyes with your professor and immediately go weak in the knees under a stormy gaze and a sunshine smile. You didn’t think that you would walk into the room to only have your breath snatched away, your cheeks flared with a flush, your heart forced into a thundering staccato.  You didn’t think that Doctor Todoroki would be hot. But, oh god- oh god- he’s gorgeous. Doctor Todoroki- well, Doctor Natsuo or even professor; he seems to prefer those much more than his family name- is, honestly, a living, breathing wet dream. He’s hot. He’s kind. He’s friendly. He’s funny. He’s perfect. The class that you thought would be only mildly interesting turns out to be your favorite. How could it not be when you’re blessed with a full hour of delicious eye candy, a teacher that’s so generous with his praise and has your spine tingling whenever he says your name? He’s so friendly and he’s so polite, too. The way he calls you Miss is a little old fashioned, sure, but it sends your mind reeling and your cheeks flushing- quick fantasies zipping through your thoughts as your thighs involuntarily push together. Your crush springs up from the moment you see him and it only gets stronger with each passing day. Little accidental brushes against you, the smiles he sends your way, the scent of his cologne whenever he leans over your table to correct an answer, the way his praise rings in your ears late at night- it all sends you spiraling. You’ve never had a crush quite like this before. Certainly not on a teacher. You want him, though. Oh, god, do you want him. Your roommate is the unfortunate one that has to hear you whine and moan over him- you’re much too embarrassed to admit your crush to your friends back home or any of your family; they’d be sure to scold you, to call you foolish and chide that you’re a silly little girl. She understands it, at least. That helps, keeps you from being too ashamed. “I mean, it’s no surprise you’ve got a thing for him,” she muses. “He’s young. He’s hot. Anyone would get a little crush.” You don’t like that thought, really. You don’t want to think about others lusting after your sensei. “Why not try shooting your shot?” At your scandalized look, she huffs and shrugs, rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on,” she scoffs. “No need to be such a good girl. Professors hook up with their students all the time. You just gotta be discreet.” “I can’t,” you protest- shaking your head and pulling your knees up to your chest. “And it’s not like he- he doesn’t see me in that kind of way.” “You don’t know that,” she counters with a click of her tongue. Another huff leaves her and it’s easy to see that her patience with the situation is waning. “Either feel it out or get over it or find someone else to moon over. There’s no point in moping and stewing.” You’re not moping. You’re just- you’re just- Okay, you’re mooning over him like she said. But you’re not moping. It’s just- it’s such a new situation for you. You’ve always had crushes on your peers- never anyone older than you by more than a year or two, never anyone in a position of authority over you. A taboo situation like this has never been your cup of tea- you’ve always been a good, sensible girl. Crushes on teachers have never been something you thought to entertain. But now? Well, now... You bite your lip and eye your reflection, nervously touch up your makeup in the bathroom mirror. It’s light and simple but pretty and sweet. Stalking Professor Natsuo’s social medias helped you gain the insight that he seems to prefer his women more natural and cute, innocent looking- all glossy lips and doe eyed, fluttering lashes with just the barest hint of mascara and blush. The false lashes might be a bit too much, but they make you look even more doll like and, that too, is something he seems to like. Pretty. Simple. Doll like. Sweet. Young. You think you’ve managed to put that look together rather nicely. The pleated skirt- just shy of rising above your knees- and the soft cardigan help, too, and, really, you don’t think you’ve ever looked quite so innocent before- even when you were a wide eyed, straight A, pure and untouched student back in high school. ...god, what are you doing? A groan leaves you and you nearly scrub the makeup from your face, nearly rip off the skirt and switch it out for the leggings you have stuffed inside your backpack. Nearly. You don’t think that this is really going to work. You don’t think that this is really going to draw any sort of reaction from him. And, well, maybe that’s what you need? Maybe you need to truly see that it’s a fruitless desire- maybe then it’ll shrivel up and away and you’ll be free from your sinful fantasies, free from the desire that has your head spinning. And, well, it’s been a while since you’ve dressed up a little, too- the rigors of college have had you leaning more toward comfort than style, have kept you too tired and busy to give time to makeup and skirts and a polished appearance. It feels kind of nice being all cute and attractive instead of frumpy and disheveled. ...you’re not going to change. You deserve to feel nice and you’re dying- desperate- to see how your professor will react to you looking nicer than the tired lump you usually display. Just act normal, you tell yourself as you head toward the class- clutching your textbooks tight to your chest. Don’t be too hopeful. Don’t be too excited. Don’t get disappointed. Just- just think of it as an experiment. That’s all it is, right? Just an experiment! You’re just putting a hypothesis to a test! (What a load of crap. It does help to calm your fluttering, nervous heart, though) You swallow as you approach the room and take a deep breath to steady yourself, bite your lip as you eye the open door. You can hear him rustling around and you know that the others will be around soon- you can’t just keep standing there like a dumbstruck, coltish fool. Another swallow, another deep breath. You walk into the room and fix a nervous smile on your face, chirp out a nearly stuttered “Good afternoon, Professor.” He’s faced away from you- broad back greeting your vision as he scrawls something across the blackboard. His head turns, though, and you get to hear an absent “good afternoon” replied back, you get to watch his gaze fall on you. His hand pauses. His snowy lashes blink once, twice, three times. Surprise flickers over his face- evident enough that you can catch it without doubt. His eyes flick down and back up so quickly that you almost miss it, dart away whenever your smile shrugs off its nervousness and grows ever so sweetly. You sit yourself down front and center- right in front of your sensei’s desk. He doesn’t look back at you as you organize your books and gear. He doesn’t look back at you as you primly cross your ankles and rest them to the side, drag a curious, studious gaze along his back. You had hoped for a response, but you hadn’t really expected it- Professor Natsuo has been kinder and more friendly and open than your other teachers, yes, but he’s still been professional. He’s never crossed any boundaries and you’ve never see him give another student the once over. This is...promising. Your cheeks stay flushed as the other students file in, but your anxiousness is gone away. Sure, that little look doesn’t really mean anything but now you’re...well. Now you’re curious. Desperate and needy for some validation of your silly little fantasies, but curious too. Could you...would he...? You wet your lips, unthinking, and keep your eyes on Doctor Natsuo throughout the class- analyzing his behavior, absorbing his words, taking in how his gaze finds you a bit more often than it usually does. Interesting. Encouraging. The next day you wear a skirt that’s a little bit shorter, don sweet mary janes and ankle socks decorated in lacy frills. Steel grey eyes dart to your legs more than once during the class and you even catch your professor tracing his eyes over your hips when he thinks you’re not looking- his reflection in the shining convex mirror hanging above your dissection table showing guilt, an almost nervous tilt to his lips. Oh, you’ve got him. But how do you proceed...? Your worries and frets and protests over taboo desires are long gone- they got dashed away with the first blink of his long lashes, with the first glance over he had given you. Really, you should feel ashamed over discarding your morals so easily, but it’s an exciting situation, isn’t it? It’s nothing you would ever think to find yourself in. But college is all about new, exciting situations, right? It’s about taking chances. God, you hope this is really a chance for you- you’ve never had the opportunity to play a coy game like this before. It’s...fun. High school would have been a lot more interesting if you had known this kind of thrill. You come home smiling ear to ear after a successful attempt at making Doctor Natsuo blush. (A sway of your hips, a flit of your slowly shortening skirts, a coo of his name as you thanked him for such an interesting lesson, a sweet smile and your fingers daring to skim ever so lightly and quickly over his wrist as you walked out of the classroom) The smile on your face has your roommate’s brow quirking, but one look at your outfit has her lips pulling into a smirk- something near gloating on her face. “You shooting your shot?” she asks, already knowing the answer. “Something like that.” You plop down on your bed, smile waning but still present- content as you let yourself get comfortable. She doesn’t offer any more conversation and you’re okay with that- mind fixating instead on how you could possibly further things with your sought after teacher. Things are good, for now- much better than you had ever thought they would be. The little forays into flirtation have been fun, exciting and they’ve even helped boost your confidence- something you hadn’t realized was sorely needed. It’s been fun. And it stays fun- the short skirts, the girly lilt you find yourself injecting into your voice, the soft makeup and sweet perfume, the way you always leave the class with wet panties and a vibrating exciting buzzing through you, the way your teacher’s eyes can’t help but dart over you, the way he breathes in just a bit deep when you get a little too close, the way he swallows whenever you so lightly purr his name- it all stays fun. Fun, but...frustrating. After a while it gets frustrating. Because he doesn’t do anything, not really. He stays a proper, good teacher- something you give props to him for- and he never returns your gentle flirtations, the subtle and silent invitations you push his way. He’s so...professional. It’s kind of a turn on- kind of. It’s mostly just...frustrating. You find your lips dipping into a pout more and more, find yourself sulky and downtrodden. Sure, this has been fun and interesting but you...you want more. You want him. You need him. You’ve needed him for so long it seems. You find your muffled ministrations in the shower getting more and more frantic- your fingers pumping into your cunt relentlessly but giving you none of the relief you seek. When you are able to cum, it’s always with a whimper of sensei or doctor or professor- sometimes even a daring Natsuo. You get restless and impatient, desperate and a little hopeless. If your teacher senses or sees that, he doesn’t say anything- in fact, his gaze seems to avert from the feverish look in your eyes, he seems to pull away from your bold, reckless attempts to get closer to him.  That hurts. That makes you angry. That makes you feel stupid. But he still wants you- or, at least, he still finds you tempting. You know he does- he can’t hide the way his eyes fall on you whenever you walk into the room, he can’t hide the quick glances he lays over you when he thinks no one else can see. You see his hesitance and want. You see it. ...if he’s not going to act on his desires, if he’s going to resist, then you’re going to kick things up a notch- someone has to; you can’t live with this stalemate any longer. It’s not a punishment, not really- it’s just throwing in his face what he’s missing out on. (My, whenever did you become so reckless and cruel? When did you become so desperate?) The ratio of boys to girls in the class is quite staggering- something one would think the university wouldn’t allow for fear of lawsuits. There are three boys for each girl- ambitious, studious, virginal, frantically horny things with expectations piled high on their shoulders and stress wracking their every thoughts. (It wouldn’t be unfair to say they you’re just like them- just sans the virginal part, double the stressed and horny part to make up for it) They’re good boys, for the most part- friendly and tired, nice but none of them quite to your taste or striking enough to jar your fixation from your sensei. Some of them are even handsome- which makes this a lot easier. “Oh, you brought me coffee? Thank you so much, Dai-chan! You’re so sweet!” The kiss you lay upon your classmate’s cheek makes him blush and fluster. It also makes your dear teacher stare- eyes wide and brow furrowed when you flick your gaze his way, his lips twitching as if he’s not sure if he wants to frown or not. The soft giggle you let out does bring a frown- something that deepens whenever one of the other boys comes over to grab your attention, try his hand. You should have thought of using them earlier on- they’ve been eager enough to try to flirt this whole time. Doctor Natsuo, for his part, doesn’t say or do anything- of course he doesn’t. But his usually happy temperament turns a bit tense, a little sour. He doesn’t lash out, not really, but you can see the way his teeth grit and his brow puckers whenever one of the boys dares to lay their hand on your arm, the small of your back. Good, you think- vicious and bitter, sour yourself. Get jealous. “What the fuck is up with Todoroki lately?” “Dude, did you hear how he snapped at Araka?” “Do you think something happened? He seems...stressed.” Your classmates trade hushed whispers as they flee the room, but you don’t think to join them- you stay quiet and soak in their quiet gossip, smile sharply without a look back to your grimacing, frustrated sensei. Just a little more. At this point, you’re not even sure what you want from him- an admittance of his own desires, him hurting and annoyed? You don’t know. You just want something to happen- you need something to break this little silent game apart. You think and think and think over what could raise the situation to the breaking point and, finally, you settle on something simple. The night before your Thursday class, you invite over one of your classmates- Eita; one of the more attractive ones, one of the less nervous ones. Your roommate is gracious enough to stay away (thanks to your offer of money for booze and weed and help with her homework) and you have the room all to yourself. Three beers and some easy flirtations, just a few small touches- that’s all it takes to get what you’re after. You don’t let him fuck you- he’s not worth it, nowhere near what you want- but you let him fumble his hands over you, are kind enough to wrap your hand around his cock while his lips frantically roam and suck over your neck. You don’t let him come until you’re absolutely sure that you have what you want. It reduces him to a whining mess- which, hey, is honestly kind of cute. You rebuff his sweet offers to “return the favor” and send him off with a kiss to the cheek, spend the rest of your night nursing a glass of wine and silently brooding- mind tired and body exhausted, your desires so restless. The next day you dress in a pleated, short skirt that just barely skims the middle of your thighs and fix your hair into a cute little updo, don your now signature mary janes and pull on a brand new pair of knee high socks. The sly comments you get throughout the day are annoying, but easily ignored. You’re impatient through the morning and it only gets worse as Doctor Natsuo’s class creeps closer. You spend the day jittering your leg and biting your lip, checking your phone every few moments and huffing to yourself, clutching at your arms and trying not to pace up and down the school’s halls. Finally- finally- it’s time for your favorite class. You have to force yourself to walk slowly toward it. You have to breathe in deep to quiet your pounding heart, to still your trembling hands. This has to spur something on. You walk into the classroom- skirt swaying, lips hiding your anticipation behind a smile. You ignore Professor Natsuo and make your way to Eita’s desk, plant your elbows on it and rest your chin in your hand, arch your hips up so your teacher can be teased by the sight of your soft thighs and curves, taunted by how just an inch or two of fabric prevents your panties from being flashed. (Is he looking? He has to be looking. He better be looking.) “Eita-kun,” you coo, sweet and loud enough for others to hear, “I had such a good time last night. We should do it again.” Eita’s eyes widen and his cheeks flush. You might enjoy it if you weren’t so distracted by the noise of a coffee cup slamming down and clattering on the desk behind you, if your breathing didn’t hitch so sharply at the fault in your sensei’s composure. Slowly, you straighten yourself to standing and turn around. Professor Natsuo’s face is red and flustered- jealous- when you look and his eyes are narrowed at you, his coffee spilled on the desk. You offer him a sweet blink and a sweeter smile, tilt your head so he can see the blossomed bruise tinting your throat pewter and mauve, a stormy and swirling blue. His eyes widen, his gaze darts behind you. Your smile grows. How do you like that, sensei? Your hands tremble just a little- from nerves, from excitement, from aching anticipation- and you clasp them behind your back to hide them from his gaze, lean forward and peer over his desk. “Are you okay, sir?” you ask him- chirping and so very sweet. “Do you need help cleaning that up?” He stares at you- disbelieving and still so evident in his shock, his envy. Some strangled noise chokes its way up and out of his throat whenever you flutter your lashes his way and smug amusement gathers in you as you watch his jaw tighten, his teeth grit as he tries to gather his composure once more. “No. Sit.” Oh. You’ve never heard him sound like that before. So authoritative, so stern. So hot. It’s your turn to let out a noise- something soft and almost curious, accompanied by flushed cheeks. You obey your teacher and sit down without a fuss- thighs pressing together and already growing damp, lip bitten and eyes half-shut as you watch him silently clean up the coffee. He doesn’t look at you throughout the whole lesson. He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t call on you. He doesn’t smile or laugh or joke around. He’s...cold throughout the class- words iced over and posture rigid, his face holding no warmth at all. You gulp as you listen to him lecture and squirm in your seat- nerves starting to gather and grow despite the way you’re still so very wet between your thighs. You had wanted something to happen. You were determined to force anything to happen. But maybe- maybe you miscalculated. Maybe you fucked up. It’s something of a relief when the class ends. Usually, you like to linger for a few moments, like to stay just a bit longer than necessary so you can grab your teacher’s attention with a question or some sort of compliment over the lesson. Today, though? Today you shoot up from your seat without delay, begin to gather all your supplies as quickly as you can. At least...at least until he says your name. It’s firm, just a little icy. You stiffen at the sound and gulp, look back at him with wide eyes and a nervous smile. Before hearing your name part from your teacher’s lips would send you flying high, but right now...right now your skin is tingling with a giddy apprehension, your fingertips are trembling as you search his face for any hint of what’s to come. “I need to have a word with you,” Doctor Natsuo tells you- eyes boring into yours and keeping you frozen where you stand. “I, um,” you try to weakly protest, “I have to get to my next class...” “It won’t take long.” If he catches your wince, he doesn’t react to it. Professor Natsuo simply leans against his desk as the rest of the students file out- arms folded over his chest, sleeves rolled up to display thick forearms. And you? You stay rooted to the spot- heart pounding and eyes still wide, cheeks flushed and thighs damp. When the last student leaves, Professor Natsuo walks over to the door and closes it shut. Click. W-Wait- did he just- “D-Doctor Natsuo?” you squeak out. “What are you- what are you doing?” “I think I should be asking that question.” Oh, shit. Your teacher turns around slowly and the look he gives you takes your breath away. He looks angry and frustrated. He looks pissed. Pissed, but there’s- there’s something more- there’s- “What-” He takes a step toward you, you take a step back. “- do you think you’re doing, young lady?” The whimper that leaves you is equal parts anxious and needy- soft and unwanted. You probably shouldn’t find the growl in his words so hot. Your knees probably shouldn’t knock together and your pussy shouldn’t throb at the snap of young lady. But it’s- you didn’t expect him to be like this. But you- it’s- A tremble wracks through you and Professor Natsuo takes another step toward you. You bump against his desk whenever you stumble back and flinch at the wood that slams into your lower back, gasp and whimper once more when big hands fall to the table on both your sides, when your teacher brackets your trembling form and keeps you enclosed and captive. His eyes are narrowed. His cheeks are flushed. His cologne smells so nice up close, his height has your lashes fluttering and your breathing shuddering as you’re forced to tilt your head back to look up at him with wide eyes. “S- Sir?” “Don’t sir me,” he snaps, crowding closer to you. “I’ve lost my patience with you playing coy.” He’s lost his patience? Your mouth opens to shoot off something probably very stupid, but the words die as a big, cool hand finds your throat and forces your head to a tilt. The touch is beyond expected, has you crying out softly and gripping onto his shirt, almost hyperventilating. The pin prick retraction of your pupils is dramatic and so is your whimpering exhales but, god, this is not what you had expected. “You’ve been toying with me for weeks now,” Doctor Natsuo growls out, his fingers digging into the hickey on your neck. “All your short skirts and little touches, your shameless flirtations- you’ve been trying to drive me mad, haven’t you?” “Pr- Professor,” you whimper out, thighs rubbing together and a moan threatening to sound. “I just- I just wanted-” “You just wanted some attention,” he huffs out- his other hand gripping at your waist and his knee knocking your legs apart. “You wanted to see what would break me, right? That’s why you came in flaunting this today.” Your teacher’s thigh slots between yours and his fingers push deeper into your bruised flesh, his stormy eyes narrow and take in the way you shudder, how your cheeks flush even darker and your eyes start to turn just a bit glossy. A mewl leaves you- embarrassing and so needy, so helpless- and you whine softly after, try to turn your head away so he can’t see the way all your bravado and confidence is melting away into your selfish, needy, hopeless desires. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he demands- forcing your face back to him. He doesn’t look angry now- just frustrated- and your stuttered little gasp only makes his teeth grit, the way your thighs squeeze his makes his breath in sharp and deep. “Go on- tell me.” You- you can’t. You can’t deny him, can’t lie. Not now that things have finally boiled over, not now that he’s finally confronting you. Not now that you’re about to come just from the feeling of his thigh pressing against your soaked cunt. Not now that you’re so close to moaning and falling into a pleading, begging thing. “I- I had to,” you whine. “You weren’t- you wouldn’t-” “Tch.” The grip on your neck tightens and leaves you whimpering, leaves your fingers curling even tighter into your teacher’s shirt. “I was trying to be a good teacher,” Professor Natsuo grits out. “I was trying to keep from taking advantage of you.” Take advantage of you? You would laugh if it weren’t for your wettening lashes, the way your hips are aching and tightening from trying not to grind over your sensei’s thigh. “Sensei-” “Did you fuck him?” he interrupts- fingers dragging over your hickey and hand gripping your hip tighter, pulling you closer and making you whimper, tremble as your cunt is made to glide over his leg. “Don’t tell me after all this time you settled for a boy like that?” You shake your head the best you can- almost frantic with it, flushed and vaguely angry he would even insinuate that you would hook up with someone after you’ve put in so much effort toward him. “N- No! I wanted- I didn’t want- didn’t want him,” you whine, hips jerking despite yourself, a mewl leaving you whenever your teacher’s breath catches. “Sensei, please-” “Fuck.” The groan that leaves him has your lashes fluttering, your lips parting with a soft whine. The hand on your neck moves to your scalp and buries thick fingers in your hair, messes up your updo and sends your hairtie flying. He ignores the protesting noise that leaves you and looks down at you instead- eyes dark with a need that mirrors your own, nostrils flaring as his breathing turns heavy. “You are so naughty,” Doctor Natsuo growls- one hand curling his fingers into your hair, the other smoothing down your waist and to your spread legs. “Filthy little thing.” Filthy? You’re not- you’re not- The hand at your waist moves to loosen his tie and you whimper when he pops open his top button, when he shifts his hips forward and you feel his cock hard on your thigh. “Pl- please, sensei,” you breathe out in a beg- unplanned and so thoughtless, even overwhelmed. “I- I’ll be good! I won’t tell! I just want- I need-” You cut yourself off with a whine and rock against his thigh, look up at him with your wet lashes and flushed cheeks. He groans whenever you whimper and you clutch at him tighter, try to press against him. “I need you, sensei,” you plead- so soft and so desperate. “I need you. I- I promise I’ll be good. I just- I just-” You whimper once more and he groans, grips your waist and sits you on the table rough enough to make all his pens rattle and shake. He slots himself between your spread legs and buries his fingers back into your hair, presses his mouth against yours so fast and hard that it makes your whole world screech to a screaming halt. Your eyes widen and then slam shut, your body goes limp as you whimper and tremble from the way his tongue traces over your bottom lip. You allow your mouth to open and your teacher groans over it, slips his tongue inside and forces you to bend back as he presses closer toward you. Whenever he pulls his head back from yours, there’s a glistening of spit on his lips, a flush to his cheeks. You squirm under his gaze- suddenly so shy, suddenly so flustered- and whine as he stares down at you, arch your back and gasp whenever he forces your head to the side once more and presses his lips to your throat. It hurts when his teeth dig into the already tender, bruised flesh but it sends your mind reeling, has you mewling and reaching to scratch at his back. “Y- Yes! Please! Cover it! Make that mark yours!” The words fly out fast and without any thought, the begging comes from a place you didn’t realize existed within you. You don’t even realize that you mewled such a thing out until your teacher is groaning against your neck, until he’s muttering a, “Fuck- that’s a good girl” right against your throat. If you weren’t so swept up in the situation, you might feel embarrassed. But, you’re not- you’re just gasping and flushed and made even more needy from the praise, from the way your sensei’s hands drag down your sides to grip your waist. Tears blur your vision and a stuttered breath has you shaking, your nails digging deep into soft fabric and clawing over a broad back. “Doctor Natsuo please!” Another groan from your teacher and his hand slips under your skirt, his fingers push your soaked panties to the side and dip into your sopping cunt. “Fuck, you’re wet,” he growls, curling two thick digits and making you cry out. “Hey- shh, shh. Be good. You promised you were going to be good.” Be good? Oh, fuck, you wanna be good. You bite your lip as your teacher fucks his fingers deep inside you and try so, so, so hard to stay nice and quiet and good. He watches you as you try to muffle your whimper behind your hand and you shake from the way he licks his lips, from the way his lashes lower and his gaze turns approving. “That’s it, baby,” he mumbles. “Good girl. Fuck- turn over.” Professor Natsuo backs away and you can’t quite bite back your whine whenever his fingers leave, can’t quite inject any gracefulness in the way you scramble to comply. He yanks you back whenever you’re on your stomach- has your knees knocking against his desk and your hips arching up. There’s no warning when he grabs the plush flesh of your ass and spreads your cheeks wide. Your face flushes and a soft noise leaves you, your thighs press together as you squirm and whimper. “Cute,” he murmurs, squeezing your butt roughly.  “Even better than I imagined.” Imagined? Oh- oh. He- he thought of you. He fantasized about you. Sensei- sensei got off to you. Your cunny clenches and your teacher groans- low and deep and accompanied by the sound of a zipper being pulled down. When you look back over your shoulder at him, his fingers are undoing his tie and you’re left blinking in confusion as he wraps each end around his palms. “Professor...?” “Open your mouth.” You do so without hesitation- lips falling open and fingers curling against the wood of the desk. Professor Natsuo slips his tie between your lips and you whine as it digs into your cheeks, shudder whenever he gives it a tight tug. “Now be a good student for your sensei,” he instructs, gathering the tie in one hand and pulling out his cock with the other. “Quiet and good.” You nod the best you can, but it’s a promise you can’t quite keep whenever his cock nestles between your cunt’s lips, whenever the tip eases into your hole and then slams fully in. You cry out- spit wetting your teacher’s silk tie and his hand laying heavy across your ass, your head getting yanked back whenever he jerks on the tie. “What did I say?” He said- he said to be quiet and good. You have to be quiet and good. A muffled whimper leaves you and you rock your hips back, squeeze around your sensei’s cock with the softest little whine. He groans and his hips pap against you, his dick drives in deep enough to have your toes curling and your lashes fluttering. He’s- he’s big. Bigger than you thought he’d be. Bigger than you dared to imagine. The stretch is- it’s so much. But you’re so wet. You’re so needy. Tiny, strangled whimpers leave you as your professor falls into a rhythm and you shudder, do your best to fuck your hips back against him. That stops whenever he grips your waist with a grunt and you whine softly, still and let your teacher fuck you how he pleases. You take it and you love it, get pushed close to orgasm faster than ever before. You almost collapse when you come on his cock and you hiccup out a whine of pleasure, a muffled mewl of his name. Doctor Natsuo groans as your gummy insides spasm around him and his grip becomes bruising, his rocks get faster- harder. Feels so good! Feels so good! Sensei’s dick feels so good! “Shen- shensay!” “Oh, fuck- god- you’re so tight, baby. Good girl- you like sensei’s cock deep inside you? Is this what you wanted?” You whimper and nod- cheek scrubbing against the desk, cunt gripping his cock like a vice. He grunts and grabs onto your hips, forces your head up and back as the tie drags you and forces your back to arch in a tight, painful angle. Still feels good, though. Still feels like everything you wanted. You want- need- so much more. “Shoulda done this sooner,” your teacher groans out. “Shoulda- fuck!” He slams in you deep enough to have your eyes rolling back, hard enough to have your whole body shaking and your nails clawing across his desk. “C’mon, c’mon- take it- take it! Sensei is- Sensei is gonna fill you up- gonna give that needy cunt what it needs!” He’s gonna- he’s gonna- oh, god! Doctor Natsuo fucks into you faster and faster- the movements jarring you against the desk and making it rock, the jab of his cock rushing you to the height of pleasure again. You cry out as he slams into you- the tie falling from your lips as he drops it and forces you back onto the desk, slides his arms under you and grips your shoulders, fucks into you rough and deep and so, so perfectly. Warmth floods inside your pussy and you whimper as you’re filled with your sensei’s seed, twitch and come on his cock again- lashes fluttering and teeth digging into your lip to muffle your whine, honeyed insides milking his dick as if you need more. You do need more- you do. How could you have ever imagined one time would be enough to satisfy your fantasies? Your teacher pants and grinds into you- hot breath fanning over your cheek and his cock sliding out with a wet pop whenever he draws his hips back. You whimper at the loss but mewl when his fingers draw up your slit, slide back and down onto your knees as exhaustion slips over you. Fuck...fuck, did that just happen? A touch to your cheek has you looking up and you blink hazily at your sensei’s flushed cheeks, the shining and wet cock that he stuffs inside his trousers. “Satisfied?” he asks, slightly breathless and a groan hiding in his voice. “Going to be a good girl now? No more teasing sensei?” You nod, not quite thinking over the action or processing the words, only close your eyes when the slightest smile flits across his lips, when his fingers brush over your cheek and his gaze goes heavy lidded. “Sensei...” His fingers glance over your jawline and down low, stroke over your new hickey and bring a mewl. With your eyes closed, you can’t see the way his expression ripples with something hesitant and something curious, something...greedy. Strong hands help you up from the floor and you shudder as your legs tremble, press against his chest and look up at him with heavy eyes, a yearning that you can’t quite hide. He strokes your hair and it’s...nice. Unexpected from the way he reacted before, so very welcome. “...I was harsh with you.” The apologetic tone is also unexpected. Your professor seems to almost fluster, hesitates as he strokes your hair again and allows his grey gaze to look over your flushed cheeks and parted lips, the desire that you can’t quite hide. “...you were a good girl,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your forehead and making you flush even more. “...you gonna keep being good? Not tell?” Of course you’re not going to tell. Of course you’re not going to risk this. You nod without any hesitation and you’re graced with a smile, another kiss that has you wanting to melt against him. “Then in that case...” You blink and watch as he breathes in deep, tilt your head as your heart begins to flutter in your chest. “Come over tonight. I can give you what you want properly.” He wants...he wants you to come over? He wants to fuck you again? You could swear it’s almost a smirk that forms on his face whenever your eyes widen and your breath catches. “I- I...yes, please.” He hums and he steps away- leaving you to stumble slightly and look at him in wonder, an unending adoration that you had pretended wasn’t underneath all your lust for him. “Good. But for now...” Sensei takes a deep breath and then he smiles at you- this time a bit wry, a little amused. “You’re going to be late for your next class.” Next class? Oh- oh shit! A squeak escapes you and you hurry to gather up all your stuff, shove your books in your arms and race toward the door. “Hey.” You freeze as you grab onto the doorknob and nearly tumble into it, look back toward your sensei. “I want you to call me Natsuo when we’re alone.” He- he what? Oh. Oh. You open your mouth, but the trilling of the bell cuts you off and you’re left only with the time to nod and flush, mumble out a soft, “Yes, sir” before you have to rush out the room. You head toward your next class with weak legs and cheeks red from where your sensei’s tie pulled deep into your skin, hair a mess and your teacher’s- Natsuo’s- cum dripping down your thighs. You smile as you rush off to your next class- happy and fucked, eager to see what Natsuo has in store for you later that night.

My-Crack-ulous: Aku-Maid

In which I am a horrible person...

No seriously. Don’t read this.

For @mermain123, for bringing up the cursed image that started this mess in the first place.

Mermain: i said i was suffering

Mermain: i didn't want you to make the internet suffer

Me: That sounds like the internet’s problem.

Also for @bloody-writes. You know why...   ; )

_________________________

Hawk Moth was a supervillain who had been terrorizing Paris for the better part of two years.

But no one could really argue that not all of his ideas have been good. Or well thought out. Or in any way sensible even.

Like the time he akumatized a baby.

Or the time he akumatized a girl to transform people into exact replicas of herself.

Or the fact he keeps akumatizing Mr. Ramier for going on 29 times at this point…

Or the other time he akumatized a baby…

Times that he destroyed Paris. Times that he nearly destroyed the world. Times that he gave people powers that were completely contradictory to the goals of getting the Miraculous he was after by erasing the heroes from existence or transforming them in ways that made the Miraculous inaccessible.

But none of his akumatizations had ever gotten him as much hate, caused as much misery, were were ultimately as pointless as this most recent incident.

Aku-maid.

It was known the instant she was akumatized. As soon as she was transformed, a wave of power enveloped the city. And within that wave, half of the people of Paris were transformed as well. 

…the male half.

Her power was to transform all the men of Paris. She didn’t even have a weapon or attack that did it, it just happened almost instantaneously. All men suddenly found themselves changed.

Or rather, their outfits…

“Ah!”

“What the hell—!?”

“I can’t get it off!”

One by one, every male in Paris suddenly found themselves in a much different state of attire. What had just been a normal day full of various styles and appearances had all suddenly become very…frilly.

“WHY AM I A MAID?!”

Much as implied her namesake, the akuma’s power involved transforming whatever any man was wearing into some variation of a maid outfit.

Every man.

All over Paris.

From Andre Bourgeois, who has refused to leave his office to make an official statement…

“ANDRE!” Audrey shouted, banging on the door. “Get out here this instant!”

“But, honey, I can’t be seen like this!”

To Roger Raincomprix, who has tried to continue his normal duties despite the…change of uniform…

“Stop in the name of the law!” Roger shouted, reaching into his pockets in an automatic reaction to try to get his handcuffs. While the dress he was wearing did still have pockets, the only item they procured was a cleaning rag, which was notably less threatening as the suspect in question stared for a moment before deciding to take off.

“HEY!”

And yes, even to…

“I’m a Macrophage!” Adrien gushed happily as he lifted his lengthy skirt to give a twirl.

…even to Adrien Agreste, who was apparently the only one to find anything pleasant about the current crisis.

Nino stared.

“Dude. Seriously?”

“I’ve always wanted to cosplay!”

Nino, having been long-since exposed to his friend’s deep love for anime in its many forms, at least knew what a Macrophage was. But even so, he couldn’t help but feel there was something odd about the way Adrien took to the long pale dress and cap.

Kim rested a hand on Nino’s shoulder. “Just let the guy enjoy this.”

“At least somebody is.” Nathaniel muttered bitterly as he tried to hide as behind his sketchbook. It was a futile attempt, of course, as he at most only covered his face, leaving the red dress, white apron with pockets, and knee-high boots on full display.

“I don’t understand how he can.” Max complained. He tugged at his own skirt in vain, looking at Adrien’s ankle-length ensemble enviously. The skirt was much shorter than he would have liked—reaching a couple inches above his thigh and almost seemed to be defying gravity to stay that way despite his attempts to get it to either flatten or otherwise lower. “I question the design choices.”

“But you look just like Misaki from Maid Sama! And Nathaniel looks like Lizbeth!” Adrien insisted. “It’s totally a cosplay!”

Max just stared incredulously. He was wearing a black dress with puffy sleeves that tapered off just shy of his elbow, white apron, a cap, and thigh-high black stockings and knee-high boots, it seemed Adrien did have a point.

Max, in all fairness, didn’t particularly care in favor of the problems that came with suddenly finding himself in a short dress, heels, and a corset.

“I just can’t peg where Kim or Nino’s outfits are from.” He continued, studying the outfits in question contemplatively. “But give me a little time! It’ll come to me!”

The boys had been having an afternoon hangout session in the park. No girls. No teachers. No Gabriel Agreste or bodyguards to whisk certain teen models away. It was supposed to be a normal non-drama-filled day.

…which was naturally when it became something less than normal and certainly more than drama-filled.

“I think I get why girls complain about this sort of thing now.” Kim said, looking at his shoes. “These heels are kind of uncomfortable…”

“Are you sure it’s the heels and not the flippers?” Nino asked, annoyed.

Sure enough, Kim was wearing flipper-heels. They were black and also had black ankle straps with a little bow on each. This strange footwear did seem to go with Kim’s talent in swimming, which was also emphasized by the ruffle maid swimsuit they matched with.

“Nah, it’s definitely the heels.” Kim insisted.

So this was what their all-boys’ afternoon had come to.

Kim was wobbling on unsteady heels.

Nathaniel groaned and kept his ever reddening face covered.

Max was questioning where they could procure jackets. Long jackets.

Adrien was giggling to himself and asking if they could do a full Cells at Work group cosplay.

And Nino paled, suddenly realizing something.

"Guys. Guys, we have to hide!"

"Why?" Kim asked. "It's annoying, but this akuma doesn't seem really dangerous."

"No, you don't get it!" Nino hissed. "If Alya catches us, we will NEVER live this down!"

Nathaniel looked over the edge of his sketchbook. “Alya wouldn’t actually post pictures of us to the Ladyblog, would she?”

A long pause followed.

The boys paled.

Except for Adrien, who turned to them with a gasp of excitement. “Do you think she would? We could do a group picture!”

All the other boys paled even more, looking downright ill.

And immediately took off running.

Or at least as well as they could with heels. None of them made it very far without tripping, stumbling, or simply struggling to stay upright as they still tried to move away from the area as quickly as the heels would allow.

“But what’s wrong with—?”

“JUST RUN, ADRIEN!”

“Who thought maid outfits with high heels was a good idea?! How can anyone be expected to clean in these things?

“I will never draw high heels on a super heroine again.”

“I can’t breathe! Who created corsets?! What objective does this achieve besides crushing one’s lungs?”

Nino groaned, still running. “I hope Hawk Moth is suffering as much as we are!”

_____________________

If Nino Lahiffe had the ability to break the fourth wall and peer into the events happening outside of his immediate vicinity, he would be happy to find this was actually the case.

And he would laugh.

Oh, how he would laugh.

“Sir…?”

“Don’t.” Came the dark growl from a very unhappy supervillain. “Don’t say anything, Nathalie..."

This was an akuma that impacted every male in Paris. Every male.

…even to Hawk Moth, himself.

“Why did this happen?”

It would appear that even Hawk Moth was not immune to Aku-Maid’s power as he had been similarly transformed. And unfortunately, due to the change, he could no longer access his Miraculous. The Butterfly broach had disappeared, having been transformed along with his outfit.

And his outfit had…actually left much to be desired.

Which was truthfully just a nice way of saying it was ugly.

Really, really ugly.

Normally the picture of stoicism, Nathalie had to pretend to cough to avoid reacting.

“Can’t you order the akuma to undo it?” She eventually was able to ask.

He lowered his head and closed his eyes in concentration. “No. It’s no good. I’ve lost the link!”

His eyes widened and he clutched his chest in a panic.

“Where is the Miraculous?!” Hawk Moth demanded, trying—and failing to pull at the tasteless dress. But as others across the city had already discovered, the clothes were magic and would not be removed or displaced. Not even the frock or the cap he now wore.

“Sir, you were transformed when you changed. It looks like the Butterfly Miraculous was transformed along with you.”

He froze, eyes widening in horror. “But that’s—”

He grasped at the empty place on his chest. Where once had been his lapel and pin now only had ruffles and a leathery texture. His mask remained in place, though it was now fully black except for the openings around his eyes and mouth, which were bordered with a lighter grey color. The material and outfit overall had a shine to it that could be found on any wetsuit.

To put it nicely: he looked atrocious.

To put it bluntly: he looked like some sort of BDSM role-player with a maid kink.

So it was fortunate, perhaps, that no one else in Paris would have to be subject to the sight.

Except Nathalie. Who was probably going to have nightmares.

Or a coronary from the laughter she was trying to hold back.

It was admittedly a bit hard to tell.

But it seemed she was handling the situation a bit better than Hawk Moth, despite the fact that the man was currently unable to see himself or the full extent of the monstrosity he now wore.

…this was probably for the best. Given the man’s fashion sense, there was really no telling whether he would be horrified or inspired, and nobody would want to find out.

“I can’t contact the akuma! And I can’t call it back!”

He moaned, covering his…already covered face with his hands. “I’ll never be taken seriously again!”

Nathalie resolutely held back from pointing out he was barely being taken seriously now.

“It’s…not that bad?” She tried. Not very well, but she tried.

Hawk Moth clutched his head in horror. “Unless Ladybug and Chat Noir can stop this akuma, we’re doomed!”

“Sir, it’s just an akuma that puts men in maid outfits. It’s really not that bad.”

“DOOOOOOMED!!!”

__________________________

The akuma, for her part, was unaware of her benefactor’s misery, too busy enjoying the abject misery of everyone else around her.

Nobody knew just what had set the girl off to get her akumatized in the first place. Her comments about men being “the eye-candy now” suggested an argument. The maid outfits involved suggested what the topic of the argument had been regarding.

To be honest, nobody had actually realized she was the akuma responsible. She did appear fairly normal by akuma terms, dressed in a seemingly authentic Victorian era dress more befitting as an authentic Lady’s Maid compared the frillier, lacier varieties that the men around her had suddenly found themselves in. What would normally have gotten her a few odds looks was mostly ignored in the face of the sudden change. Few even took notice of her dark purple skin or black hair. Or the fan in her hand.

“THAT’S RIGHT! SEE HOW YOU LIKE BEING OBJECTIFIED!”

The yelling…was a bit harder to miss.

It was the first thing that drew the attention of the three girls settled at the cafe.

The second thing was the various cries of horror as several of the men around them suddenly discovered their state of dress transformed into…well…dresses. Of a variety that made the little cafe appear more like a maid cafe than anything.

The third thing was the appearance of a familiar face running down the road, holding up his long white dress to make running easier as he looked for a place to hide.

Marinette stared.

“ADRIEN?!”

Adrien Agreste was running around in a long white and pale cream Victorian-era dress and cap, looking like Cinderella running from the ball. Except a maid.

A quick glance to her companions showed that both Alya and Kagami were similarly staring in befuddlement, so this was neither her imagination or a fever dream.

“Adrien? What’s going on?” Alya asked for everyone.

“It’s an akuma!” He replied, quickly. “She’s putting everybody into cosplay!”

“…cosplay?”

“Yeah!”

“…everybody?”

He paused, glancing around. “Well…all the guys, I think?”

Marinette stared.

“…Just that?” Alya asked, thankfully taking over while Marinette’s brain started to become aware that this WAS Adrien she was talking to. “She’s not doing anything else besides putting guys into…‘cosplays’?”

He blinked in confusion. “I…think so?”

“She isn’t…I don’t know…commanding you or anything?”

“Well, she hasn’t yet. Which, really, isn’t so bad for an akuma if you think about it.” He said with a frown before he noticed the strange look on Kagami’s face. “Kagami, are you okay?”

Kagami made a strangled sound.

“Marinette?”

Marinette pretended to choke on a drink from an empty glass to avoid speaking.

“Can I add to your order?” The waiter came by, seeming unconcerned by the ruckus or the act that he was now wearing a rather cutesy maid outfit the likes of which would be seen in a maid cafe in Japan.

“You don’t seem put off by this.” Alya pointed out, noting his relatively unfazed attitude compared to the panicking of the other men around them…or the gushing from Adrien.

The waiter took it in stride.

“It’s okay.” He replied blankly. “I’m already dead inside.”

“Oh.”

He turned to Kagami. “Do you need anything else, Miss?”

Kagami was still staring at Adrien, blushing furiously.

“I think I have a problem.”

“You mean a kink?”

“A. Problem.” She spoke through gritted teeth.

“Story of my life.” The waiter replied as he refilled her glass of water, either unaware or uncaring of the specific nature of her trouble.

Alya gasped in sudden realization. “Wait! If this is happening here then…” She turned to Adrien. “Where were Nino and the boys?” He blinked, curious. “Oh, they decided to head home. Why?”

An almost sinister smirk formed on Alya’s face. One that would have anyone it was directed at cowering in fear. And strong enough to be felt from several blocks away.

Unbeknownst to them, Nino felt that smirk like a trail of cold fingers down his back, and promptly threw himself into his room and slammed the door shut behind him.

As if she sensed this, Alya slammed several bills on the table and dashed out the door.

“GOTTA GO!”

Realizing an akuma was about, Marinette was right on her heels. She found a nearby alleyway and immediately prepared to transform and face this latest threat.

“Oh my god. OH MY GOD.” She broke down, letting out the laughter she’d been trying so hard to hold in. “He’s a dork! The boy I’m crushing on is a complete DORK who is in to cosplaying! He thinks maid outfits are COSPLAY!”

…or she would be.

“And here I’ve been driving myself nuts with anxiety over just asking him out and he doesn’t even—”

Any minute now…

“Marinette!” Tikki hissed. “You need to stop the akuma!”

“Can’t I just take a picture first?”

“MARINETTE!”

“Oh fine…”

_____________________

Luka didn’t realize anything had happened. He felt a bit off balanced for a moment, and a bit colder, but attributed that to being on the Liberty. So he simply shifted his stance to be a bit more steady and continued playing. It wasn’t until the drum stopped that he realized something was actually wrong.

The look of shock from Mylene and the following shriek from Ivan cemented it.

He spun around, not sure what could have elicited such a cry from his fellow bandmate. And at first, he couldn’t really tell what had happened. Ivan was crouched behind the drum set, covering his face with his hands and trembling in what appeared to be mortification.

Then he noticed the mobcap on Ivan’s head, which he was pretty sure hadn’t been there before. And Ivan’s shirt seemed distinctly…fluffier and frillier than he remembered seeing a few minutes ago. He tried to move closer to offer help, only for his own balance to be off. And when he looked down…

Oh.

The dress was new.

As were the stockings.

And the notably thinner and sleeker heels on his boots.

He hummed to himself, considering the change.

“Akuma?” Juleka asked him.

“Most likely.” He replied.

Mylene had rushed up to their practice stage and to Ivan’s side, even as he moaned for her to not look at him. The poor guy was completely red in embarrassment. Seeing how upset he was, the other three had backed away, leaving Mylene to try to help her boyfriend.

“Luka, are you okay?” Rose asked worriedly, trying to respect Ivan’s need for space while also checking in on their other effected bandmate.

“I’m fine. It was just a surprise at first.” He replied.

It wasn’t every day that you suddenly found yourself in a maid outfit, after all. It was a simple outfit. White off the shoulder puffy sleeves with black frills. A black tube skirt. White apron. And…he reached to his neck where a weight was, feeling a choker.

Huh…

“Yeah, I’m fine.”

Honestly, he could be in worse.

Rose seemed surprised at that. “Really? Even with those shoes?”

He looked down at the shoes in question. The boots were his style—surprisingly, given it was an akuma. The higher heels were definitely different from his norm, and clearly what Rose was referring to. In any other circumstances, she would be right.

But...

Luka smiled, shifting his stance and resting a hand on his hip. “Well, someone had to teach Jules to walk in heels. And I couldn’t show her if I didn’t know how myself.

Juleka huffed. “Don’t say that like you didn’t enjoy playing dress up.”

Luka merely curtsied, not only showing off more of his slightly ripped and punk-looking fishnet stockings, but almost proudly displaying his ability to move fluently in heels.

Rose appropriately “oo-ed” and “aah-ed” at his display. Juleka merely shook her head and smiled. Ivan was still recovering from his panic attack and had resolutely refused to come out from behind the drums, despite Mylene’s reassurances.

“So it has to be an akuma, right?” Rose asked.

“If it is, I want a picture or two, at least.” Juleka muttered as she admired Luka’s outfit, mumbling about commissioning Marinette to recreate it in her size. She hadn’t known maids could come in this style.

Mylene nodded from her place at Ivan’s side. “Though it seems rather fortunate if this is all the akuma is doing.”

“We don’t know if that is it, though.” Luka warned. “For all we know, there could be some other ability she has if she catches us. It would probably be safer if we hid out inside until this is over.”

The others agreed. And Anarka, bless her soul, actually came up with a large blanket for Ivan to wrap himself in to preserve his dignity. Then she and Mylene helped the taller teen to safely relocate to inside. Much like Luka, Ivan’s shoes had changed, but he was substantially less able to maneuver in them. And no amount of effort or force on his part could seem to separate the heels from his feet.

Once he and the others were inside, Luka moved to follow. He hesitated, however, at the sound of something landing behind him.

“Viperion? We’ll need your help.”

He turned to see Ladybug standing tall. And was that perhaps a hint of blush on her face?

Oh. 

A shame.

It looked like Juleka wouldn’t be getting her pictures, after all...

_____________________

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

He shuddered, backing away from the door as far as possible.

“Ninoooooo…”

It was a fight for survival.

“C’mon, Nino. Just open the door.”

The survival of his dignity, but still!

He’d lost track of the others and immediately rushed home and to the safety of his room. His room, which he could lock and hide away in until this all blew over.

“I have a key!” Came Chris’s voice. “Somewhere…”

“Give it and I won’t take any pictures of you.”

“Deal!”

His room, which his traitorous little brother was willing to allow the enemy entry into.

Under any normal circumstances, he wouldn’t be this desperate. But if Alya caught him like this…

Black dress. Puffy at the shoulder, sleeves that extended to his wrists and were bound by white cuffs. A white smock tied back with a white ribbon. White bow at the neck and white frills along the bottom of the dress?

Oh yeah…Alya would never let this go…

He knew he shouldn’t have gotten into all those anime Adrien pushed him into! So what if the maids were cute? And sure, he’d admit he's had a thought or two of Alya in such attire...

But how was he supposed to know Alya had such thoughts as well? And in the complete opposite direction! Clearly this was the akuma’s magic punishing him!

Nino looked to his window.

It would be a long fall, but it was his only escape.

But would the broken legs be worth it when Alya would soon figure out what he did and be able to catch up to him easily?

Maybe he could try to climb up instead…but in these heels? It was suicide!

“Fufufu!”

…screw it. 

He opened up his window, only to meet a new pair of eyes.

Ladybug stared in surprise from her place at his windowsill, a certain box in hand.

“…hi?”

“Oh thank god!” He exclaimed. He took her by her shoulders, half leaning out and half pulling her in. “Alya’s insisting on taking pictures! Please tell me you have my Miraculous with you!”

“Actually, about that—”

“I don’t care! I’ll do anything! Just please—SAVE ME!”

Ladybug looked back behind her to a distant rooftop and the other allies she’d left behind.

The sound of a key jingling could be heard and Nino stared up at her, pleadingly.

Well, she could never resist the eyes…

By the time they’d gotten the door open, the room was empty.

Nino was gone.

_____________________

Six heroes stood assembled.

Ladybug.

Chat Noir.

Carapace.

Viperion.

King Monkey.

Pegasus.

Six heroes.

Five of whom were male.

And…still wearing some semblance of feminine maid-like outfits.

Ladybug wasn’t sure if she should be impressed or worried.

“What the hell?! I thought the Miraculous were supposed to change us into our hero suits?” Nino groused.

Contrary to his hopes and expectations, using the Miraculous had not transformed him into his normal Carapace look, but had rather simply given him a different outfit. The dress itself was green and had a turtle shell pattern, while the apron and waist belts were a brown color. The bowknot around his neck was a dark green and a brown to match the apron. He wore stockings. And to his very limited relief, his shoes were flats instead of heels.

“Well, at least this skirt is longer.” Pegasus said, now wearing a dark brown blouse and bicycle skirt. The skirt went to just above his ankles, for which he was grateful. But this seemed to be countered by the increase of height to his heels.

Plus no corset. The outfit was still fit tightly and not very comfortable, but at least he could breathe now.

“Though I believe we’re getting away from maid-wear now.” Chat said, conversationally.

Pegasus gave him a flat look. “I’m not complaining.”

If Chat had witnessed his earlier ensemble, surely he would understand.

King Monkey, for his part, seemed somewhat appeased with his Miraculous suit. It was a notably more Eastern style of dress, appearing more like robes worn by palace servants. He wore a light brown waistcoat with wide sleeves over a blouse and a wrap-around skirt. It looked heavy, but Kim seemed to have no trouble with it. Maybe it was made of a lighter material…?

And Viperion’s dress was different in style as well. Whereas his maid outfit as Luka had been more punk, this was more sleek. Wearing a green sleeveless dress and white smock, as well as what appeared to be a green corset. The dress had a slit at the sides, giving more maneuverability for his legs…as well as more show, given the appearance of a garter belt and stockings. His shoes were high heeled but including a beautiful snake design that wrapped around his ankles. To finish it off, rather than remain bare, his arms were covered in what appeared to be loose green sleeves that started at his elbows and extended to his wrists.

…maybe a picture or two wouldn’t hurt? Or three? Because the amount of details on these outfits were amazing and she was just brimming with ideas now…

Ladybug broke out of her musings when someone tugged on her shoulder to get her attention.

It was Chat. Chat who, much like the other heroes, as dressed in a fantastical outfit. Though a maid outfit, it was definitely more cat-themed with a giant paw-like gloves covering his hands, a paw print on his apron, and bow and bell on his tail which rang as he shifted.

What material was that made of, anyway? She kind of wanted to give it a feel and see if she could find something to compare it to. Maybe a quick sketch?

Oh. Right.

Akuma.

Maybe if she was lucky, they could finish this quickly so she could rush back home and take notes while she still had the ideas bouncing in her brain.

…maybe someone would have gotten pictures by then…?

“Ladybug?” Chat whispered, snapping her back to reality.

“Yes?”

Chat frowned in concern. “Is the Guardian okay with this?”

Ladybug froze.

“PSST! Ladybug!” Came a voice from a nearby rooftop, drawing her attention.

“Master Fu?”

“Ladybug! Here’s the Miracle Box. Take as many allies as you can and resolve this as soon as possible!”

“Master? Are…you hiding in a box?”

“No questions! Just go!”

“…he’s fine.”

Chat seemed uncertain, but decided not to pry.

“Let’s just split up and find the akuma.” Ladybug said. “But don’t engage until we’re all together!”

With that, the six split into three groups, with Chat and Carapace going one way and King Monkey and Pegasus going another, leaving Ladybug and Viperion searching together with the former trying not to get caught stealing peeks at the latter.

“Is something wrong?” He asked with a smile.

…trying. The key word was trying not to get caught.

“No! Nothing!” She replied quickly. “I’m just…surprised that you can still move so quickly in those heels.”

“I’ve had practice.” He explained, still smiling. He even lifted one leg behind him, managing to stand perfectly balanced even on one leg in heels.

“I…see.”

Part of her wanted very much to laugh. It was the same part that had found this entire day ridiculous. The other part of her was her inner artist at work and really wanted to make a few sketches inspired from the presented outfits. Like Viperion’s sleeves…and those shoes with a snake coil wrapping around the ankle…

“Ladybug!”

Gaah! Focus!

She turned towards the shout to find King Monkey and Pegasus stumbling towards her.

Her fingers twitched. She ignored it.

“We found the akuma.” King Monkey reported. “She doesn’t seem to be doing anything. Just…kind or roaming around.”

“And laughing.” Pegasus added bitterly. “She appears to be doing a lot of that.”

“How’s THAT for ‘doll them up’?” Came a shout from street level. “HOW DO YOU LIKE THAT, HUH?!”

As if on cue…

Ladybug and the others peeked over the edge of the roof.

“Has she displayed any other powers?” She asked.

“No.” Pegasus replied. “From what we could see, her power has already been activated to…obvious effect.” He hesitated, resolutely avoiding mentioning his new outfit or the indignity he’d already suffered. “She has only been laughing. And tripping the occasional person while searching for someone in particular—possibly the one responsible for her ire.”

Ladybug nodded. “At least she’s distracted and doesn’t know we’re here. We just need a plan of attack before we try to fight her.”

“No problem!” King Monkey said with a grin as he reached for his weapon. “We can just do a head on attack with our weapons and—”

They stared.

In place of his staff was a broom. A normal cleaning broom.

They sent cautious glances to each other before they checked their own inventory.

Said inventory consisted of a broom, a bucket, and a feather duster.

“I believe that constitutes as a problem.” Pegasus stated worriedly.

“That’s no fair!” King Monkey exclaimed. “Adrien was able to summon a machete!”

Ladybug blanched at that. “A what?!”

Pegasus pushed up his glasses. “I believe it’s a component of his…‘cosplay’?”

“Pfft!” Ladybug covered her mouth with her hand.

“Ladybug?”

“I-it’s nothing!” She replied hurriedly.

Viperion raised his eyebrow at her but didn’t comment.

King Monkey at least seemed to take it in stride.

“Now we just need a plan for attack!”

“With what?!” Pegasus questioned, waving the feather duster in frustration. “Our weapons don’t work!”

“More like our weapons aren’t actually weapons.” Viperion said, considering his bucket.

“I could smack her.” King Monkey offered, holding up his broom. “Maybe your feather duster has dust on it and could make her sneeze?”

Pegasus gave him a flat look.

“I think the broom is the best weapon we have right now.”

“Don’t knock a bucket!” King Monkey commanded, resolutely. “I got one stick on my head one time and it took hours to get it off! Buckets are evil, man!”

Pegasus sighed and rubbed his head. “It concerns me that you’re the second person I know whom that has happened to.”

Ladybug coughed, discretely trying to draw attention off that particular subject lest identities be at risk. “Anyway, I think I have a plan...”

______________________

To be honest, it wasn’t that difficult of an akuma. Especially not with six of them teaming up against it.

Akumaid truly see to have no ability other than the initial one of transforming what any male in Paris was wearing into something embarrassing...unless you were Adrien, apparently. Aside from that, she showed no other power—neither over the clothes themselves or the people wearing them. Well, she wasn’t controlling any of the victims or shrinking the clothing to choke them at any rate...which if you think about it, was rather lame for an akuma in the power department.

The only real disadvantage in battle came in the difficulty the boys had moving freely in their current outfits. And the afore noted lack of proper weaponry.

Their advantage of surprising was ruined by Chat’s bell ringing before they could ambush her, and both Carapace and Pegasus losing balance with their heels and falling over. King Monkey’s outfit, while longer, also meant more fabric to flap about and resist his movements regardless of how light it may have been, so he wasn’t able to get a hit in fast enough before the akuma turned on him and knocked him away.

Chat was able to get a hit in though.

With his…Kitty Wand…

“THIS IS MAGICAL PUNISHMENT!” He shouted as he smacked the akuma over the head.

“Chat. Chat no. Chat why?”

And Ladybug had hopelessly lost her composure by this point and was laughing. Just laughing. Laughing so hard she was crying actual tears as she smacked her own thigh in her struggle to breathe. Viperion was trying to help her stay standing, keeping an arm around her to support her as she half leaned and half chuckled tears into his chest.

“What’s going on? Does the akuma have some power over Ladybug, too?” King Monkey asked.

…

Viperion sighed.

“Sure. Something to that effect.”

Ladybug wheezed.

“LADYBUG!”

“Lu-haha-lucky haha-charm!”

It said something when her own Lucky Charm magicked up a paper bag. With Ladybug still victim to her fit of giggles, Viperion simply put the bag over her face and had her try to breathe.

“A paper bag doesn’t help with out of control laughing.” Pegasus noted as he forced himself to his feet.

“Do you want to try to figure out the Lucky Charm?” Viperion bit out in annoyance, Ladybug still shaking in his arms.

Pegasus coughed and backed away. “No, thank you.”

Ladybug let out another giggle.

“All right, enough! I’ll stop her!” Carapace shouted, reaching for his back. “With my…serving plate.”

His shield.

His precious shield was gone.

“…Carapace?” Ladybug asked.

The newly rendered Turtle Maid sighed and simply threw the plate as he had his shield, not expecting much.

…the plate slice flew through the air at a surprising speed, but missed the akuma entirely. Instead, it sailed past her, hitting a light post.

Ladybug had expected it to bounce, but instead there was a sound of shredding metal as the serving plate actually tore through the lamp post and into the concrete itself.

The lamp post, now detached, tilted and fell over—conveniently on top of the akuma before she had the time to realize what was happening and move out of the way.

SLAM!

It fell on top of her and she hit the ground.

“Huzzah?” Kim asked.

“Well…that’s one way to defeat an akuma.” Pegasus marveled.

“Great. Now can we fix this already?” Carapace asked impatiently. If they took too much longer, someone was bound to catch them.

That someone would probably be Alya.

And that was the last thing he wanted at this point.

“But I kind of wanted to make a sketch at least…” Ladybug muttered to herself, holding the paper bag Charm to her chest.

“LADYBUG!”

She waved her hands insistently. “I’m on it!”

But she could dream…

“MIRACULOUS LADYBUG!”

It was with some disappointment that the Miraculous Cure wiped away the outfits of the other heroes, returning them to their original costumes.

“OH THANK GOD!”

“That was…horrible…”

“Corsets were invented as a torture method, I swear…”

“Shieldy!” Carapace exclaimed, hugging the shield in relief. “Never leave me again!”

“You okay now, Ladybug?” Chat asked her in worry.

“I’m fine.” She said, even though she wasn’t really. She felt like she’d missed a chance, even if it was for the greater good. But it would have been an abuse of her power to be taking pictures of the guys in that state and she already felt bad enough for breaking down laughing in the middle of the fight.

In that moment, however, the loveliness of ladybugs that made up the Cure returned from their task of restoring Paris to flow over Ladybug herself before vanishing, leaving her holding an envelope in their wake. Curious, she opened the envelope…

She gasped.

Inside were a multitude of photos of the other heroes. From different angles. In different positions. All of them in their new outfits.

Ladybug bit the inside of her cheek to keep from responding and drawing attention to herself.

…Thank you, Tikki.

Best. Kwami. Ever. “Ladybug…” Carapace said in growing wariness. “What is that?”

“Nothing!”

“Ladybug. That better not be what I think it is…”

She shoved the photos back in the envelope.

“It’s nothing at all!”

“Why don’t I believe you?”

Noticing the stand off, the others approached as well.

“It was just something I was missing, yeah.”

“Then let us see it.”

“Can’t.” She replied, clutching the envelope to her chest. “It’s…Ladybug stuff.”

“Hand it over. Right now!”

"NOOO! THESE ARE FOR THE FUTURE OF FASHIOOOON!”

“GIVE US THE PHOTOS!”

“Wait—did she get any of all of us in a group cosplay pic?”

“NOT NOW, CHAT!”

Unfortunately, that small distraction was all she needed to get away.

Viperion, the only one having been pretty nonchalant this whole time, simply watched her leave and the others shout after her.

“…isn’t she going to take our Miraculous back?”

_________________________

Angela sighed, already dreading what was to come.

It was a humiliating end to an already humiliating week as the former akuma victim had been forced to return to her job to go over the updates for the new Ladybug game with the rest of her team.

Said updates were apparently to include maid outfits for the female heroes thanks to one particular coworker who had decided to work on maid outfits for the female heroes instead of the level he was assigned. It had been part of the reason she had been angry enough to be akumatized.

The fact that he was insistent on shoving his maid fetish into the game for no good reason other than having them be eye candy was the other part.

The images in question that he insisted on bringing featured the three female super heroes of the city: Ladybug, Rena Rouge, and Queen Bee.

But not as anyone had ever seen them.

Instead of their usual hero suits, the three girls were portrayed in sultry, even provocative poses. And most notably, all three were wearing some mockery of a French Maid outfit…as what would be believed by Americans, no less.

They might as well have been the initial sketches of pinup posters.

“You can’t still be serious!”

“Hey, I’m not the one who got akumatized just because I was jealous that someone else had a good idea.” He said bitingly and giving her a pointed look, perhaps still a bit bitter of the aforementioned experience that her akumatization had caused.

“It’s not a good idea, John.” Angela countered. “There was no reason to have the girls be running in maid outfits.”

He shrugged. “We could just say an akuma did it. After all, we did just get an akuma who did exactly that.” He said, giving her another look.

She clenched her fists and was about to retort when their team lead entered the room.

The meeting commenced and she’d been forced to bite her tongue. Each of the team members went over their progress and updates for their contribution to the game. Level design. Enemies. Testing.

And then came his grand achievement. Instead of the level he was assigned, he gave scantily clad designs for three of the eight known heroes.

What effort.

“I was thinking we really need to include something to make our game stand out, so I made some extra skins for the heroes.” He bragged, sending her a smug look. “The appeal would sell plenty of copies.”

“Or the controversy.” Angela muttered back before turning to the team lead and hoping that the man leading their group had more empathy…or sense.

The team lead looked over the designs with an analyzing gaze. Tiffeny, despite the initial impression his name would give, was a rather buff man who took no shit. But was also a guy. Who liked guy things. But did those things include young women in maid costumes?

After a moment, Tiffeny dropped the pictures on the table and looked at John incredulously. “You know, if you were going to base skins off recent events, you could at least have been authentic.”

John stared. “What?”

“It was the guys who were affected by Akumaid. Not the girls. If we’re going to do maids, we need to keep it true to life, just like the rest of the designs we’ve included. We talked about this when we started this project.”

“But it’s what the audience wants!” John argued.

“Do you know who comprises the majority of our audience?” Tiffeny asked. “Girls. Girls, gay guys, and those who are exploring their interests. Guys in the outfits would sell leagues more than the girls.” He started ticking his fingers “It’s different. It’s original. And it’s based in actual events. People would love it.”

“But…they’ll love this!”

“Man, if people wanted to see sexy girls in skimpy clothing, they’d play literally any other game! Or watch porn.” Tiffeny explained. “But what game do you know of has had guys in maid outfits?”

“Well...”

“Exactly. We want to stand out. And we even have recent events as justification. So if you’re going to be wasting time you should be spending on level-making to put people in maid skins, then get those male heroes some maid costumes.”

“But that’s not fair!” John exclaimed.

Tiffeny paused at that. “Hmm…you’re right.”

With that, he turned to her. “You’re good at designing. Make some butler outfits for the girls. Something dashing to serve as a counter for the guys.”

Angela blinked in surprise for a moment before smiling.

“Sure thing!”

“You know…” one of the other workers noted. “While we’re on the subject, I WAS thinking of some medieval armor designs for the girls and princess dresses for the guys.”

“Hey yeah! Like a light green for Viperion!”

“Maybe teal might be better?”

“Ooo! How about…”

Soon enough, everyone seemed to be invested in the new plan.

Everyone that is, except John.

“Lovely!” Tiffeny said cheerfully. “Plan it out and bring the concepts to me later.”

With a new task in hand and John’s pouting to forever be a memory to hold onto, it seemed her day was looking up…

_________________________

“That was some akuma battle.” Marinette said as she slid into her seat next to Alya.

The reporter, however, only looked annoyed. “Ladybug had apparently called all the male heroes and I completely missed it!” She groaned and leaned back in her seat, bemoaning the lost opportunity.

If she’d hadn’t been so focused on tracking Nino for the purpose of collecting blackmail ensuring his safety, she would have been able to catch all of the male heroes in their maid outfits.

Marinette smiled. “You know…I may have a connection…”

Alya gasped.

“No.”

Marinette giggled and slid over her phone with a picture showing.

“NO WAY!” She cried out before staring up at Marinette in shock. “Girl, you have to send me these!”

“Wait—you have what now?” Nino had arrived, initially hopeful that he had avoided the worst of that day only to have those hopes immediately dashed upon arriving to see the two girls sharing what could only have been one thing…

“I have pictures of the heroes in their new outfits.” Marinette replied cheerfully as she swiped through her phone. “Oh look, Nino! You’re in here, too!”

“WHAT?! NO!” He shouted, rushing forward.

Marinette quickly grabbed back her phone and hid it in her pocket with an overly sweet and not at all innocent grin.

“Mari, come on, no! Don’t do this to me!” He begged.

“Don’t do this to ME!” Alya cut in. “You can’t just show me that and take it away! That’s just not fair!”

“Don’t worry.” Marinette assured them. “It’s going where all my blackmail material goes.”

“Wait what?”

“Since when do you have blackmail material?”

“Since somebody started a game of ‘let’s take pictures of Marinette while she’s asleep and post them online’.” Marinette replied dryly.

Nino groaned. “Come on! I said I was sorry!”

“And now I can be just as sorry.” She replied blithely.

Which was to say: not sorry at all.

“Come on! Alya made me do it!”

“It was just in fun! Marinette! Please!”

“Do you want me to beg? Cry? I’ll cry.”

“I’ll pay you! Pretty please! At least the heroes if nothing else!”

“Oh no you don’t!”

“My blog NEEDS this!”

Marinette smiled at the minor chaos she had caused as the normally happy couple bickered with each other.

Sweet sweet music.

“Hey, Marinette!”

And speaking of sweet…

She turned to look up at a certain blond-haired model as he arrived at his own desk. Though he seemed to be a bit distracted by the arguing couple.

“Hey, Adrien!” She greeted, for once with no stutter to speak of.

“Hey, um…are they okay?” He asked, gesturing to the two.

“Oh, they’re fine.” She said, waving them off. “Just…a bit excited over the recent akuma.”

At that, Adrien brightened. “Wasn’t it awesome?”

She nodded, trying to keep her laughter inside.

“You…ah…enjoyed yourself then?”

Adrien shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Well, it’s not often I get to dress up in a way that’s ‘silly’. Or in anything that isn’t promoting Father’s brand. And I’ve never gotten to cosplay. So it was…really fun.”

Oh. Ouch. Okay, that one kind of hurt. The poor Sunshine Child…

“You know…” Marinette said, leaning over her desk and smiling at him. “I’ve seen a bit of that one anime you mentioned.”

“Cells at Work?” He asked, brightening up.

She nodded. “Mmhmm. I could make you a jacket based off the lead Red Blood Cell. And if you like, I can keep it so you can wear it whenever we hang out.”

He gasped. “Really?”

“Sure! Maybe you can come over sometime so we can try a fitting. We could even play Mecha Strike.”

Adrien beamed. “That sounds great! Thanks, Marinette!”

She waved him off and went back to full sitting in her seat.

Alya and Nino both became distracted from their arguing by the miracle they had just witnessed.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng had just spoken to Adrien Agreste…and not a stutter to be heard!

“What the heck, girl?” Alya whispered, sliding into her seat beside her friend. “Since when could you do THAT and why haven’t you done it sooner? I could swear I saw hearts in his eyes!”

Marinette shrugged, grinning sheepishly. “After seeing Adrien Agreste in a maid dress, I kind of wondered why I was so scared of talking to him to begin with.”

Alya laughed. “Well, at least something good came out of this, then.”

“You know...more good WOULD come out of this if I had pics of those heroes..." 

“Really, Alya?”

“You’re pretty much the only one who managed to get any shots of the male heroes!” Alya exclaimed. “Seriously, how?!”

Marinette giggled.

“Just lucky, I guess.”

________________________

OMAKE 1:

Knock! Knock!

“Felix?” His mother called on the other side of the locked and barricaded door. “Will you be coming out?”

“That depends. Do you have a camera?”

A pause. Which was all the answer he needed.

“Then no.”

OMAKE 2:

Fortunately, in the midst of their searching, the team had managed to find the akuma and her primary target, getting between the two.

“So what happened?” Ladybug asked him.

John gripped his skirt, nervously. “She’s my coworker in developing a new video game and she didn’t like my input.”

“What set her off?”

The guy rolled his eyes. “She’s one of those types who wants to take the fun out of video games.”

“What?” Ladybug blinked.

“Okay, so I wanted to put some maid costumes in the game! It was just for fun! Besides, it would have added a bit of pizazz! Something for the players to enjoy!”

“You could just try making a good game.” Pegasus pointed out. “If you have to rely on a cheap gimmick to get buyers, it may not be a good product.”

"I'm sorry, really! I mean, sure, I'm still going to put it in the game, because who wouldn't want hot maids, but still! That doesn't mean I deserve this!"

The akuma raised her fist and shouted at him. “THEY ARE HEROES, DAMMIT! THEY DESERVE BETTER THAN MAID SKINS JUST BECAUSE THEY’RE GIRLS!”

Ladybug blanched. “Wait…is the game about me?”

Pegasus coughed and looked away. “There have been…rumors, yes.”

Viperion tilted his head. “That seems like a double standard though…since we’re the ones in maid outfits...”

“Not the point, Viperion!”

Ladybug frowned.

“I don’t think I want to help now.”

“Ladybug!”

Who needs lights?

Pairing: Durzub (Goth Male Orc) x Gender Neutral Reader

Warning: Suggestive Themes

This wonderful piece is based off a very lovely OC by @of-devils-and-drawings. Durzub belongs to her and I adored him too much not to make this for him. I’m a sucker for anything scary and/or orc.... and/or metal....and/or goth. 

---

You’d always found a little bit of comfort being in the alternative scene, even when others stared and watched in the street as you went past, going about your business, bundled in black layers or flares and platforms. It was something unique and different and it was very much a part of your life. The bars were always better places too. You laughed at the bar at your friend as the bar tender tied his platinum, lilac streaked hair back and started to mix the cocktail for the jug. It was easier to order in large pitchers and watch the band playing from the platform the bar was on. You watched the alcohol mix as the Fae grinned at you, revealing incredibly dangerous, sharp teeth and placed two straws into the jug before sliding it closer to the two of you.

You paid for it before laughing and turning a straw to the Faun, “To our health! Well, and my new job!” You cheered.

“Oh, for sure, finally you’re not broke and can pay for drinks!” She jeered as she pursed her lips and leaned down to take a few long sips, “Jesus Christ, Flix!” She coughed, “You trying to get us drunk and make us easy, or something?”

Flix rolled his eyes as he flipped a cocktail shaker over and caught it, “You wish Pip. You two haven’t ever been my type.” He snorted as his lilac, gossamer wings fluttered behind his back in irritation. He laid his burning black eyes on a group in the corner, “Though, I like the look of those troublemakers.” A claw raised to point at the group of Orcs who were gathered in the corner.

 Pip’s brown ears flicked before her hooves clicked against the black floor, the sparkly tiles reflecting the strobes from the stage. She grinned and flicked at the ring in her nose, her shaggy black hair flopping back over her dark eyes, “Oh,” She purred, “I didn’t know you were into the rowdy muscle-head sort.”

Flix flipped the cocktail again before giving her the middle finger and moving to serve the cocktail to a woman who had just come out of the crowd watching the band.

“Who are they?” You asked after taking a long drink of the cocktail, “I haven’t seen them here before?” You looked over at the group again before realising how perfectly they fit in here in the bar. All were dressed in a variety of fashion, from heavy leather, to chains, to netting. Others donned fancier items with flowing sleeves and long, tailored skirts and trousers. The majority were green in skin tone, but you looked at a few lighter coloured, grey toned orcs with interest as they were from the mountainous regions of the old country.

Pip clicked her tongue, “Muscle heads and trouble, the lot of them.” She took another few drinks before hopping back onto her bar stool and adjusting her net top over her ripped shirt. Around her waist was a thick leather belt, the studs dripping with thin metal chains that hung around her furry hips, “They come to shows like this and usually start fights.” She commented off-handedly.

 With a frown, you looked from her, to the group again, “They just seem to be drinking and watching?” You commented.

Pip snorted a short bleat again, “Yeah, wait until this gig really kicks off, then you’ll see what I mean. Last time I was here with them one of them decided it would be a great idea to upturn tables, and by that, I mean, upturn my drinks over my new dress.” She hissed venomously, “They’re assholes, the lot of them.”

“They don’t look like it…” You uttered as one of the Orcs stood from the group and dragged his friend up with him to get drinks. The rest of them hollered their orders before some of the group split off to join the crowd watching the band.

“Oh great. Here they come!” Pip cheered before moving two seats down and dragging you along with her.

“Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Pip.” Flix commented with a hiss and flutter of his wings, “They’re all lookers, I don’t see why you can’t look past that.” He shrugged his shoulders before smiling at the two male orcs at the bar, “What can I do for you two handsome fellas?” His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings at them and you snickered at the scent of lilac flowers that drifted from him like a thick perfume.

 “Come on, Flix. Lay off it for one night will ya!” One of the orcs laughed before he elbowed his friend, “This guy’s new here. Don’t go scaring him off already. You lot need our custom.” The orc leaned back and scrubbed at his mohawk, adjusting his heavy cargo trousers. Fabric belts hung between the legs and down them and he wore a heavy half tartan kilt over the top. His face was littered with piercings and you could see why he looked like the sort to be causing problems.

“You know I love you all equally, Xurek.” Flix laughed, “But I was more excited for your lady friend over there. She’s new too huh?”

“Jesus, you never give up! Anyway,” Xurek took the other orc around the neck, “This is Durzub. He’s new in town. Just moved in from out from the sticks. He might look like a foul piece of work, but you’ve met Rakuh, so he’s not as scary.” Xurek laughed before he let the darker skinned orc go. The other male reached up to brush his black hair from his eyes. Most of his long black hair was braided in tight long threads, the braids sequenced with small beads along them with the rest straight and hanging over his shoulder beneath the wide brim of a black hat, emblazoned with a silver trim around the base. He turned, dressed in a black long shirt and coat, the end trailing behind him as he ducked out of Xurek’s grasp, brown eyes angry.

 Durzub snorted and tossed his head, the braids sliding back out of his way over his shoulder before he reached up to move his tangled chains from the ends of his hair, the necklaces hanging with silver teeth, “Will you stop dragging me around like a child, Xurek!” He snorted as he dragged his arm out of Xurek’s grasp and adjusted his hat again before sighing and taking it off, “Any way I could get you to store this behind the bar for me? Its new and these lot have a habit of throwing beer the later it gets.”

Flix fluttered his eyelashes again, “Sure thing, sweetheart.” He took the hat and turned around to hang it near the aprons, “Just grab me before closing and I’ll get it you.”

“Thank you.” Durzub rumbled before pulling his hair back again, tucking the straight length on his left side behind his ear, revealing rings of silver and studs of obsidian, which matched the rings, linked by a chain, on each of his short tusks.

“Don’t be nice to him, Durzub, he’ll eat you alive given the opportunity.” Xurek snickered behind his hand as he flapped his band shirt, trying to cool himself down, “His family ate children back in the day.”

“That was five hundred years ago!” Flix scoffed as he slammed two, pint glasses down on the bar, “So, was it two ales or two lagers?”

“We were thinking mead actually.” Xurek stuck his pierced tongue out before he played with the bar, “And not that piss water Weldrick buys for the goblins!” Flix ignored him and turned for the taps down the other end of the bar.

 Pip scoffed at the exchange, but you found your mouth opening at the sight of the long-haired orc and his scowl. He watched Flix’s wings before he turned away from Xurek’s chattering and pushed his hand over his mouth. You watched the exchange as Xurek stuck his tongue between the other’s fingers and couldn’t help but laugh loudly as Durzub cringed and recoiled.

“You’re fuckin’ disgusting.” Durzub rolled his eye and took a napkin from the holder to wipe the spit from his fingers and the skull rings which sat above his knuckles.

“Mmm, you taste like fresh meat.” Xurek hissed like a comically bad vampire, and you laughed again, but this time louder. It was loud enough that the two orcs looked down the bar to where you and Pip were sat with your cocktail jug.

“Well done! Now we have their attention.” Pip hissed in your ear before she kicked at your chair with one shoed hoof, clanking the metal with a vicious bang.

Xurek’s smile made you regret everything, as you watched his gaze shift from your face to the larger orc stood next to him, “Looks like we have an audience, Durzub.”

 The other male turned slightly on one heel, looking at you both with a raised eyebrow, looking over the two of you perched at the end of the bar, “Don’t mind this freak. He’s got a way of making everyone hate him.”

“Oh, that’s fuckin’ cold!” Xurek hissed at him, “After I introduce you to those bands too!”

Durzub rolled his eyes again as Xurek slinked around him to laze across the bar on one arm, his head propped up on his fist, “Bands which have given me nothing but persistent headaches.”

“Headaches but three magazine features!” Xurek wound his middle finger up before he smiled at the two of you again, “Ignore him. He was castrated at birth.” The statement earned him another gruff noise from Durzub.

“We don’t want your attention, Xurek.” Pip gave him a sardonic smirk, “Not unless you’re replacing those drinks from last time.” She leaned on her own open palm and bared her teeth at him, her hoof clicking against the bar stool.

“You’re a cold bitch, Pip. You know that was an accident.” Xurek whined, “Highlander honour.” He crossed his heart, “Anyway, why don’t I introduce you to my new friend here?” He wrapped his arm around Durzub, making the other spill mead down his fingers as he dragged him over to the two of you, “This is Durzub. He’s a music producer, and part time good looker.”

 “You’re a music producer?” You asked in awe before you turned and looked at the stage, “Are you here for these guys?” You pointed at the industrial band on stage as the lights went low and they started the intro for their next song. At the back here it wasn’t as loud, and you could readily hear the two orcs.

“Yeah. They’re a new signing.” Durzub rolled his shoulders in a shrug, “I never really sign their sort, but it seems like they have a decent following.”

“Come on, mate, we’re here to chill out, not to talk work.” Xurek groaned and laid against the sticky bar top before recoiling in disgust.

“I know, you great oaf.” Durzub placed Xurek’s drink next to him, “Are you both here to see the show?” He asked, his voice slipping from ‘totally pissed off’ into something that was ‘gruff but polite’. Either way, his soft country accent made you smile before you took a few mouthfuls of cocktail for courage.

Pip answered before you could swallow, “We come on a Friday to wind down. The gigs are always just a bonus.”

 She shot a look at you with her dark, goat eyes, warning you from speaking as she steered the conversation, “What about you guys? You here to bother people on their nights off?”

“Well, we know where we ain’t wanted.” Xurek shrugged his shoulders at Pip’s rudeness, “Sorry to harass you, but you don’t have to be a salty asshole about spilt drinks, you know.” He watched Pip’s temper flare and you ducked back as she slammed her hand against the bar top.

“You listen here you little asshole!”

“Little?” Xurek scoffed, “I tower over you, babe.”

Pip gave a bleat of anger before she swept her leg around you and cracked Xurek in the shin, “It was my new dress you ass for brains!” She hissed at him before she stood up to walk around you and face the orc head on.

“What do you want me to say, huh?!” Xurek goaded, “Oh I’m so sorry that my accident ruined something I couldn’t stop. Get over yourself thinking I did it on purpose!” He fumed with anger.

You leaned back before hopping out of your chair, taking the jug of cocktail in one hand and a tall glass in the other before you turned to Durzub, “Hey come on. They’re going to be screeching for a while. Want to go and sit on the balcony and watch?”

 Durzub seemed a little taken back by the offer, “Oh, sure.” He uttered as he pulled Xurek’s drink away from him and then took his own in hand and following you towards the stairs, leading to the viewing area above the pit. You found two stools and a table and happily placed your drinks on it before leaning on the railing to look down at the band as they headbanged together on stage.

Durzub sat awkwardly for a moment before he coughed behind his head, “So, what is it that you do?” He asked as he leaned over the table, eyeing the mixture of liquor and fruit juice in your jug.

You turned from the show and smiled, “Oh nothing as interesting as music production. I just got hired at a new modelling agency.”

“Do you model then?” He asked with wide eyes, “Because you’re certainly…”

“Oh, God no. Nothing like that. I work with brands and secure deals and shoots. I work with Skull Crusher and Tombstone mostly.” You smiled and sipped cocktail through your straw.

Durzub tucked his hair back again with a sweep of his hand, “That explains the look then.” He smiled softly, “Do you get some sweet discounts?” He asked.

“Like you wouldn’t believe. It’s never been cheaper to be a goth!” You cheered as you looked down at the rowdy beginnings of a mosh pit, then back to the bar.

 You gave a great laugh, “Well, looks like their argument is sorted.” You pointed at Xurek with his bruised cheek. He slammed back his drink before storming away into the pit, rushing through a mosh pit before his eyes caught sight of a human among the others. You grinned at his expression. Dumb struck.

“Jesus. I hope they’re ready to be pestered.” Durzub chugged a few mouthfuls of mead before he scoffed, “Whenever he gets that look, he ends up heartbroken a week later.”

“Well, it might be different this time, you know?” You smiled back at Durzub, “Maybe this is the one!” You cooed.

“You’ve got fairy tales in your head and cotton candy to go with it. He’s going to have a one-night stand then not shut up about her for the next three weeks.” Durzub held up three fingers as he drank some more, “Or he’ll relay every little detail to us on our next outing. He has zero filter.”  

“I can tell that much.” You laughed as you shuffled back in your seat, “What about you then, have you met your one?”

“My one?” Durzub scoffed, “Hardly. How old do you think I am?” He leaned on his fist and pointed back at himself, giving you a curious look.

 You felt like this was a trap, “Are you doing this so you can get mad when I guess wrong?” You asked as you pushed the ice around in the glass.

“Hardly. I’m not sensitive.” He grumbled as his painted fingers tapped against the side of the pint glass.

“Hmm, if you say so.” You leaned over the table to squint at his face. You’d worked with a few orcs before, but most were young models, sharp featured and tall, broad in the shoulders. Durzub was the same, though his face had wrinkles in places which would suggest he was far over twenty years old, “Thirty-six.” You decided with a smile.

Durzub let out a low laugh, “Not far off actually. I’m thirty-eight.” He pointed to the stage, “And I used to do that. Played in a band until about five years ago. Started as a producer then. Never looked back.”

“Oh wow. Who did you used to play with?” You asked in awe.

“A gothic rock sort of deal.” He replied before he looked into your pleading eyes, and relented, “Zi Gijak.”

“No way.” You rushed to stand from your seat as you recognised the Orcish name, “Black Blood!?”

 Durzub ducked his head, reaching for where his hat had sat before he realised, he wasn’t wearing it, “Keep your voice down, please.” He begged quietly, “I don’t need people in this place to recognise me.”

“How could they recognise you now? You look nothing like you did back in the day.” You stated before realising what you said sounded rude, “Not that you look bad now it’s just…”

He laughed at your awkwardness, “I know. I ditched the netting and bones a while ago.”

“You didn’t look half bad in it though, even five years ago.” You winked at him with a sudden rush of confidence, “Though I think this outfit suits you just as much.”

Suddenly, it was as though the intimidating exterior melted, and you watched Durzub’s face go flushed with embarrassment, “Thanks. It has been a change.”

Without making him any more embarrassed you changed the subject a little, “So what bands do you produce for now?” You asked.

“Quite a few. I used to work with SIREN before they got huge, but that sort of metal was never something I could do rather well, I thought.” He shrugged, “They’re with a more focused label now.”

“No way…This keeps getting better and better!” You uttered again.

 “Better and better for you. They were a headache and a half for me!” Durzub chuntered into his drink before he swallowed the last bits of it, “I’m glad they’ve moved up. They were good for business.” He smirked over the edge of the pint glass.

“Only thinking of the money.” You tutted playfully, “That’s no way to treat your bands.” You joked.

“Oh no, but that makes me feel better knowing my weekly migraines are worth the agony.” Durzub chuckled as he watched the band on stage, “These guys ain’t half bad for a show though. I think I picked the best from the bucket.”

“They have an interesting ensemble.” You smirked at the leather clad demoness as she slinked along the stage before she growled from her stomach, a crop landing against the hand of a handsy looking fan in the front.

“Interesting but it’s the sort of thing that gets you recognised.” Durzub noted as he watched, “This place is a refuge for all kinds of people. I’m glad Cal has got this place running with Weldrick.”

 “Who’s Cal? I’ve met Weldrick. Giant bright white minotaur, right? Build like a brick shit house with all the piercings?” You recalled.

Durzub nodded, “That’s him. He’s about eight foot tall too. Scariest mother fucker I ever did meet.” He shifted in his seat, “Cal is the co-owner, but he’s not around that often. He’s a vampire, but he’s not people fond.” The orc shrugged before offering you half a smile, “We all used to work together, believe it or not.”

“Wait…” Your mouth dropped open, “I’m actually stupid.”

“Cal was the singer of Black Blood. Weldrick ran our security back in the day.” He laughed at your open mouth before he leaned over to close your mouth with two large fingers. He brushed his fingers over your chin before leaning back and pointing to your drink, “Do you want anything else?”

“I’m okay thanks. I’ll keep your seat warm.” You joked as he stood up with a nod and grumbled about having something better than ‘shitty mead’.

 “I’ve never seen Durzub ever sit and talk with someone in a bar.” A deep, gravelly voice rang out from behind you. You turned around in your chair to see a tall, human looking male watching you, his sunglasses perched on the end of his nose as he regarded you with a mild amount of curiosity from over the lenses. He reached out a hand awkwardly, “Cal.”

“As in…” You took his hand, and flinched at the stone coldness of his grip, “Co-owner of the bar, Cal?”

“The very same.” He shook your hand lightly before his hand disappeared quickly back into his pocket, “I just came to say hello. I was curious. He hates attention in these kinds of places…”

“Just like you then, apparently.” You observed as you turned on your seat to face him. He was a giant man, but stony cold, and overly pale, looking almost grey around his reflective, steel-coloured eyes. They shone red as he turned, the bouncing curls of black hair spilling over his shoulders before he reached for a cigarette packet and cursed, seeing it was empty with only his lighter inside.

 “Cal?” Durzub returned with a large looking ale in his hand, “Weird time to show yourself. Unless you were planning to steal this one for a snack, hmm? As usual.” He scoffed.

“You know I’ve been off the blood for years…” Cal whispered as he rummaged in his other back pocket, before finding a small, slim packet of chewing gum, “I don’t…”

“Yeah. Save it. That’s what you said last time, Clarence.” Durzub huffed into his drink.

Cal’s back went ridged before he stooped over and unfolded the wrapper of his gum, “You don’t get to call me that.” He whispered again, his gravelly tone rumbling in the back of his throat before he slunk away, back into the shadows, and disappeared in a shadowy wave of his black hair.

“Sorry you had to see that.” Durzub rumbled from across the table, “Its…complicated.”

You span back around and smiled, “Don’t worry about it. I think Pip had more of a fight with Xurek.” You snickered as you turned to spy her sat at the bar, batting her eyelashes at Flix as he served, “Though I think she’s okay now. She’s turned her eyes on a certain someone.”

Durzub looked down at the bar and laughed as well, “Well I guess you know her type now.” He joked as he sipped at his ale.

“Yep. Scary pretty boys, who aren’t part of your friends.” You snickered as you sipped at the last of your cocktail and refreshed the glass.

 The band on the stage purred their final song as you took another drink, and you looked at your phone with wide eyes at the time.

“I have to get up tomorrow for errands.” You lamented, looking at the clock. It was almost midnight, and you knew Pip would be here for hours if you left her to her own devices.

“So, this is where the night ends.” Durzub laughed before he finished the last of his own drink, “Here.” He tugged out his phone, “Let me give you my number?”

You nodded and took your phone out to exchange numbers before checking it was working and showing him the message came through okay.

“Thank you for tonight.” You smiled at him, “We should do this again.” You leaned over and carefully placed a kiss on his flushed cheek, “For an grumpy music producer, you’re funny to be around.” You took your bag and looked at Xurek, who was busy pressing a human against the far wall, “And look after Xurek, huh? Looks like he might just get himself into trouble again.” You descended the stairs just as the orcs started cheering for the male and shook your head.

 After speaking to Pip, and confirming she had a taxi to get home, you exited the bar and shivered in the cold, before you felt a warm presence behind you, and a hand catch your own.

“Hey!” Durzub grunted as he caught your hand, “Let me walk you home?” He asked, “No way in hell I’m staying to watch those lot gawk at Xurek strip a human down.” He sneered. His sneer softened as you interlinked your fingers together and squeezed his hand before looping an arm through his own, leaning into his body heat.

“Sure. You can walk me home.” You leaned into his arm again and smiled, “I live three blocks away, so it’s a bit of a short walk.”

“Better to spend time with you.” Durzub whispered before he looked at the night sky, “I’m still sorry about what happened with Cal…”

“Honestly, it never happened, okay?” You patted the orc’s large arm, “We all have our differences and reasons.”

“Still. I was rude.” He huffed before he reached for his hat and tugged at the brim, “I’m glad I got to meet you at least tonight.” You tried to ignore the way he tugged at his bottom lip before he adjusted the decorative chain over his lip and smiled, still a little awkward.

“Me too.” You purred back at him.

 The messages started off polite between the two of you, but it was quickly a regular thing for you both to message back within a minute or two depending on if Durzub was working in the studio or you were in meetings. You were both enamoured. It didn’t take long for you both to meet again, eating together in a restaurant which was a little bit too expensive for you. It was high end, and suited Durzub as he sat there eating, looking intimidating as he ate couscous and chopped vegetables before smiling and blushing with embarrassment as you complimented him and his outfit. For such a giant orc, with a bigger scowl, he was softened whenever you said something nice. Several nights together on dates lead to this one, finally going to his studio to see what he did, and to listen to something he had been working on. Excitement churned in your gut as you looked at the choker around your neck and touched the spikes around its surface before flicking the dog tag and grinning at yourself before you rushed for the door to meet Durzub.

 “Hey!” You shouted at the orc. He was stood out on the pavement, dressed in an old print of a Black Blood shirt with a screaming orc and vampire on the front, blood dripping from both of their mouths. He was dressed in dark jeans, littered with pocket chains and a heavy leather duster to combat the cool breeze. He looked up from beneath his broad rim hat. Instantly, Durzub’s perpetual scowl turned into a small smile, and you took hold of his hand before leaning up to kiss his cheek before placing a soft kiss against his bottom lip. He was always a little slow to catch up, but he returned the kiss with a gentle rub of his tusks to your chin.

“Hey stranger.” He rumbled before he gestured to the building, “My studio is on the sixth floor.”

“This doesn’t look much like a record label building to me.” You hummed as Durzub led you into the reception. A naga waved him on up with you, looking back at her work with a hiss and a grumpy frown.

“Not yet it doesn’t. Wait until we get into the actual building. This is just the polite front for greeting people.” The elevator dinged as he pressed the button and the two of you climbed inside. He pushed the button for the sixth floor and you jittered with anxiety as it moved upwards slowly.

“I’m excited and nervous.” You whispered as the doors opened on floor two and let some more people in.

“Don’t be, baby. You’ll be fine.” Durzub soothed as you continued up.

 The sixth floor was littered with records on the walls, gold, red, black and mixed dyes. You looked along the walls before Durzub tugged you down the carpeted hall. You followed a step or so behind, trying to read the framed records as you toddled behind him, little out of your depth. Durzub’s coat trailed behind him and you moved to not step on it as he stopped at his door. He unlocked it with a click of an electronic card and you watched the black door swing open to reveal the sound room.

“Wow.�� You stepped inside in front of him and looked at the expensive sound equipment, keeping your hands to yourself to avoid being told off or ruining anything, “This is some expensive gear.” You grinned at him, “And pretty.” You peered past the soundproof glass to see the guitars and drum kit in the recording box and smiled at the pointed-v design one, knowing it was from when he played with Black Blood.

“I knew you’d spot that one.” Durzub said mildly before he threw his coat over a speaker and collapsed into his large office chair, the leather making him shiver with the cold against his arms, “This is where I spend most of my life, making kids realise that riffs are stupid in the wrong places.” He scoffed before tugging you a chair from the other soundboard and patting it, “Come sit. I have some things to show you.”

 Carefully, you placed your coat on top of Durzub’s before joining him by the large computers, eyeing the two screens as he logged in, squinting at the screen.

“Fuck. Glasses.” He reached into his desk drawer and pulled free a set of circle frame glasses, putting them on before cringing and looking back at you, “Not as young as I used to be…”

“You look cute in them.” You gushed as you scooted the roller chair forwards and made sure to sit as close to him as possible, “Being able to see is important, even if you don’t look as scary with glasses on.” You teased.

“Yeah…” He let the words drop off as he found what he was looking for and pulled free two sets of expensive headphones. Durzub leaned over and gently tucked them over your ears, holding them and holding up an ‘okay’ sign before he donned his own and pressed play. He leaned back in his chair and you sat impatiently before the noise of a gentle synth graced your ears, opening with a gentle melody before a guitar followed the same rhythm before chugging to life with slow riffs. It was gentle somehow still as the guitar started on a slowly moving rhythm along into the beginnings of a verse, sung by a vocalist you recognised as Durzub. The lyrics lilted about roses on a hill, growing in a graveyard around a forgotten tombstone before you grinned at the references to old vampire movies that the two of you enjoyed. The chorus was met with a litany of soft guitar and synth before a drum solo full of soft cymbal carried on. It was something made for the two of you, and you wondered just how long Durzub had spent making this song. Looking at the poorly hidden bags under his eyes, you figured it had been most nights after work.

 In the closing synth of the son, you laid your head against Durzub’s arm, against the tattoo of the roses around the gravestone. You pressed your lips to his skin gently before smiling and tugging the headphones down to around your neck, smiling up at the orc. Durzub copied the motion with another small smile, reaching to stroke at the top of your head

“That was beautiful. It’s hard to believe you made that just for me.” You whispered against his warm skin as the orc flushed with embarrassment, “Did you mean the part about making love on graves?” You teased gently before you slipped from your own chair, and into his lap, your fingers sliding up over the tattoos on his arms, tracing the thorns of the roses down before you traced the edge of the stem curling over his collar bone.

“Maybe not. Stone gives you a bad back.” He rumbled as his pupils went wide, watching your fingers as they slipped under the collar of his t-shirt, “But I would worship you just the same.” His hands moved from the computer to your hips, his fingers pressing into the meat of your backside before he leaned forwards to kiss you. You gladly accepted the advance, kissing the orc back, your tongue licking at his lips before you traced the rings around his tusks and wrapped your arms tighter around his neck.

 A soft moan escaped Durzub’s mouth as you pulled away. His lips were puffy and you leaned forwards to bite his lip, enjoying the second croak that escaped him as you leaned back on his thighs.

“What about this desk?” You asked under your breath.

Durzub grumbled, “There’s a lot of…” Your hand meeting his crotch shorted his brain for a moment, “I can make room.” He grumbled before he pushed the keyboard and monitor aside, leaving the desk free for you both. You laid back over the wood and grinned as you tugged on one of his tusks, forcing his face down so you could lay another kiss on his lips. Durzub moaned again as you reached up into his dark hair, tugging the braids at his scalp.

“Maybe you should make good on your song lyrics.” You purred as you kissed his cheeks and then bit at his neck before sucking a mark under his ear.

“Fuck.” Durzub hissed before he leaned over you, his fingers tugging at your clothes before he admired the collar around your neck and gave it a tug, “I hope you didn’t have any other plans.”

 Neither of you saw the audio recording button flashing red.

 ‘Everything was recorded. I’m keeping it. See you at the bar. x’

now accepting boyfriend applications: literature

synopsis: phone dead, laptop gone, guess it’s an old fashioned having to sit down and talk to the boys who apparently are interested in the position of being your boyfriend. first; you just have to make it to your literature class. 

series: now accepting boyfriend applications

previous: now accepting boyfriend applications

next up: intro to business 

series taglist: @kyomihann @chesley-cant-deal @bluearmufs @your-consulting-fangirl @itsmeaudrieee @winunk @aegiseterna @katelyns-stuff @mochipk @3rachachoo @kyuudere

*bold means I wasn’t able to tag you*

general taglist: @graykageyama @tsumue @thesorebae @micasaessakusa @alouphen @waitforitillwritemywayout

Your phone was still charging, it’s in your bag plugged into a power bank and you’re hoping it’ll charge enough soon. You’ve made it to campus with five minutes to spare, you can already see Akaashi through the windows of the class. He’s absolutely cute and you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t thought about what it would be like to date him, but you were so blissfully in love with your ex that you never took the chance to fully indulge yourself to fantasize.

And while he’s in class looking like he just walked right out of a manga in a university setting; you look exactly as it would sound like, as if you just woke up and ran to campus. Your hair is a mess, you tried running through campus attempting to put it up in a bun, it’s lopsided and you’re using the hood of your sweatshirt to try and cover up the mess of a mop it is. It doesn’t help that the only reason you’re wearing a sweatshirt is because you didn’t have time to put on a bra so yeah, you’re walking around campus with no bra on and the ugly sweatpants with wine stains on it doesn’t do you justice either. You’re even decked out with a pair of sandals.

Honestly, how were you going to walk into class, look at Akaashi in the face, and just act as if he didn’t send you a boyfriend application. When he sees you, he’ll definitely retract his resume.

There’s two minutes left and you’re awkwardly poking your head in. No one is giving you the time of day but it feels like all eyes are on you when you step in. Perhaps you shouldn’t be too ashamed of your looks as you’re nearing the end of the semester and most girls have switched out their cute skirts for tracksuit pants.

You’re slowly going towards your seat, Akaashi diligently writing in his notebook and he finally looks up. Through his glasses, he meets your gaze, his lips slowly part and he’s blinking as if wondering if you were really you. As you pull into your seat, he stares down at his notebook, he’s stopped writing and everything in you is just screaming at you to not scream out loud because there was no going back on this weird friendship type relationship that you two have developed.

Akaashi shuffles in his seat, his body is turned to face you and he’s so close to opening his mouth when the teacher’s voice makes his thoughts stop. He turns back to face the front, no words exchanged as you pull out your notebook, pencil, and charging cell phone that’s just reached fifteen percent. For the first time since the beginning of the semester, you’re going to take notes and listen intently to this hour and fifteen-minute long lecture.

Only ten minutes have passed and your professor has done nothing but decided to review on what the difference between a primary article and a secondary article is because some people just don’t understand why Wikipedia is not an official source. You peek a look over at Akaashi. He, too, seems incredibly bored but his hardworking nature has him at least trying to focus on the professor despite the pen in his hand drawing circles on his notepad.

When he looks over at you, a small smile on his lips, you’re quick to turn away with a blush on your cheeks.

At thirty minutes, your phone is dancing on the edge of thirty percent. It’s enough to get you to start looking through your phone and you find yourself once again clicking on Akaashi’s email. You lean your arm onto the desk, tilting your body just enough that you think he wouldn’t be able to see that you’re looking at his boyfriend application.

You’re skipping passed official details, instead ceasing the scrolling when you reach his skillset. It’s all very professional sounding despite him referring to relationship and dating. It makes you crack a smile, you want to laugh out loud and not because it’s funny but because it’s actually really cute.

One of my skillsets is my height, considering your shorter height, I will be able to provide assistance whenever needed. While I may once in a while enjoy your smaller stature, I will try not to bring it up repeatedly to spare you of your feelings.

You bite down on your lower lip, suppressing the immense grin that wants to grow on your face. Through the strands of your hair, you peek another glance at him. This time he’s removed his glasses, rubbing his eyes slowly, a small yawn falling through his lips.

My biggest weakness is my busy schedule. I spend most of my days working part-time at the campus library and studying. As a literature major, I have multiple readings, essays, and assignments which may hinder my time to have a steady relationship but I believe that this weakness will later play a role as a strength in how devoted I am to what I love.

Well, that just made your heart skip ten beats.

My future goals include working as an editor, but right now my shorter-term goal would be to graduate with my literature degree on time. Another short-term goal I had developed over the semester was to ask you out on a date.

Your stomach spirals, you’re internally groaning at how cute this actually was.

“There’s twenty minutes left of class, during this time I’d like you to discuss with your revision partner about your last draft.”

Shit. You’re screaming in your head because this was not happening. Now you had to talk to Akaashi. The voices of students have now taken over the classroom, when you turn to look at Akaashi, a meek smile on you as he’s staring with his head tilted.

“Are you alright?” He’s asking so nicely, his voice soft and genuine. It feels like forever since someone has been so sweet to you.

Your hand reaches to scratch the back of your neck, a weak curve on your lips, “It’s been a pretty hectic twenty-four hours.”

Akaashi leans on his desk, cheek pressed against his palm and he’s asking, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Your lips fall into a small pout because he’s just so sincere. He’s always been. Maybe that was why you had just the teeniest of crush on him earlier in the semester because he remembered the small details. When he noticed you switched from coffee to tea, you ranted to him for five minutes about how your boyfriend was adamant on you changing your lifestyle by switching to healthier options. The next class time you had together, Akaashi brought you coffee because as long as your boyfriend didn’t know then it was alright.

“Are you sure you want to listen to me?” You quirk a brow at him, “Because I’ll talk for the rest of the time.”

Akaashi sits up straight, flipping his notebook, pen ready in hand, “I must have forgotten to list listening as one of my strengths.” Your face burns all of a sudden, he has the smallest smirk on his face when he turns back to you, “I’ll take notes, tell me what’s wrong.”

You’re not used to someone listening to you, you’re used to someone interrupting you. It felt awkward at first, just letting everything roll off your tongue, and your eyes keep darting to the way his pen moves against his notebook. Was he actually taking notes of your rant? When you finish, he’s smiling, there’s a warmth to his grin that has you internally groaning.

“What did you write down?” You’re leaning over now, trying to get a good look at his notebook and you don’t even notice that the embarrassment in you has lifted. You’re no longer plagued with awkwardness like you were an hour ago.

Akaashi tilts his notebook for you to clearly see his handwriting. A wide smile taking over your expression. She’s cute when she’s talking. He was indeed more straightforward than you had imagined, you pictured him as shy and cute, while he was definitely the latter, he came off boldly.

“If I have to be honest.” He states suddenly, “My friend threw together that application and then sent it to you and then messaged you.” Your expression falters but he’s adverting his eyes just slightly, “I was too shy to try and message to ask if you were alright and well, my friend tends to get a little out of hand.” He’s grinning once more, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess it sort of worked out in the end.”

The professor’s voice draws your attention, “Once you’re done discussing with your partner, you’re free to leave.”

You look at the time, sparing a glance to Akaashi, “I’m sorry, I have to get to my next class.” You’re shoving your stuff into your backpack and he also quickly packs up.

“I’ll walk you.” He’s so eager that he almost knocks over his coffee cup, “I mean if it’s alright with you?”

“Sure, my next class is.”

Akaashi interjects, “Intro to Business, across campus.”

You’re surprised he remembers, a little impressed that it feels like he’s leading the way to your next class. For a moment it’s silent, you can tell he’s a little nervous but heck you’re also very nervous.

“You said two other guys sent you an application?”

Slowly you nod, “I mean one’s definitely a no, he’s just so cocky, definitely not my type. The other?” You think for a moment, “He’s really nice, funny, and we’ve kind of built up a friendship over the semester.” You notice how silent Akaashi has suddenly fallen.

“So.” Akaashi is quiet, “Then you would say that I’m up against him?” The two of you have stopped in front of your class, Akaashi staring down at you; the look in his eyes suddenly changes. He was getting competitive, “I’ll make sure to win you over.”

Your cheeks dust with a blush. He’s suddenly digging in his bag; he pulls out a baseball style cap. His hand tugging back your hood, undoing your sloppy bun to let your hair fall down. Your heart races at the way he sneaks in a stroke through your hair before fitting the cap onto your head. It’s loosely hanging until he leans into you, he smells of a deep forest and you’re tempted to just wrap your fingers on his t-shirt and pull him in a little bit more.

“You’ll probably be more comfortable with a hat than a hood.” He pulls away once he’s fixed the strap but his scent lingers momentarily, “You should get to class.” He states sweetly, taking in the cute way you’re trying to hide your face with his hat.

“I’ll message you.” You say as you slowly hang around the doorway to your class, “To return the hat.” And possibly more. You think.

The moment you turn away, a blushing grin on you with your heart beating rapidly; everything stops when you come face to face with Kuroo Tetsuro. He’s got a cheeky look on him, slightly eyeing the man still lingering outside of the classroom. The two men meet gazes and there’s a sharp sting between the two; an acknowledgement of an opponent.

okay last one- may not get around to drawing this one for a While and i know i haven’t been on the origins server in ages but- outfits for osmp cobalt, osmp ro and if you’re up for it osmp grape? the iconic trio (i’ll send it to them if you want)

OOOOOOO YES YES YES

I Adore them yes yes yes

alright, here we go!!!! SO

I would like to preface this by saying, don't feel obligated to draw anything, it's not expected but it is always fun when it happens! plus I already love coming up with outfits, as an absolute nerd for the aesthetics of fashion. also feel free to send these to Grape if you wanna! I really don't mind either way!

OKAY OKAY SO SO SO I think we will go in order, so that means we start with o!Cobalt! I feel like he'd wear like hmmm something comfy but easy to move around in. so he's lumberjack, which means probably doing something that allows for the motions needed to do wood chopping! nothing too restricted I imagine, especially since the outfit you gave him is pretty loose and a bit ragged, which gives a nod to what choices o!Cobalt may make. okay okay so I think he would wear a sort of poncho garments, with holes for the arms. this is to keep the cloak look, and to allow for better mobility! maybe a kinda tight collar that's just a bit looser than hugging the neck, so that leaves and twigs and stuff don't fall into his shirt as easy. Maybe it's made of leather, something that'll last well and is protective enough against stuff like weather and mobs! I think there would be slits in the back, from the hem and up just above the wings. actually hmmm maybe ditch the arm holes and maybe there's 4 slits, two on front and two on back. Think fringe, if fringe were the entire garment and only had 4 segments. Maybe we make it not leather, maybe something similar to what raincoats are made of, or like those clear umbrellas. I think he'd wear comfy pants, like cargo pants or something. he doesn't seem the type to wear shorts. what if he wears booty shorts over leggings or something /j (or worse, over jeans)

I think he's wear like comfy pants, yeah! also hmmm maybe layer shirts. the only question is if he does it backwards or not. button up over t-shirt, or t-shirt over button up? hmmmmmmmmmm okay okay so I definitely wanna keep cape stuff, because what if that helps him feel more secure? gotta consider that type or stuff

I think he gets comfortable jeans OR OR ZIPPER PANTS OR SECRET PANTS secret pants. it's basically super baggy pants that flow like a skirt, they have good air circulation, AND THEY'RE PANTS NO ONE EXPECTS THE PANTS!! Anyway maybe hmmm okay you know those pants that are like kinda baggy and then sinch at the hem? those. baggy pants that sinch at the hems just above the ankles. I think he gets boots! like heavy duty work boots, wouldn't want a branch or block of deepslate breaking his foot. okay I think. hmmmm. thick socks. don't want blisters! (also big chunky boots make for a good shape in silhouette that I like. in this instance, the boots definitely aren't inspired by how I only ever saw you as walking boots due to Invisible and me toggling off all armour except others' shoes. definitely not.)

OSMP COBALT

- gloves. gloves for sure.

- I definitely get the impression he'd wanna cover up, so maybe like loose long sleeve shirt BUT IT HAS STRIPES tasteful stripes like Frisk and Chara from undertale! I feel like a dark blue loose shirt with thick tan stripes and smaller lighter blue stripes that border the tan ones. So a sweater, like a crewneck one!

- heavy duty boots, kinda a light brown! dark laces I'd think. oh yeah look, he has shoes now!! also thick socks like nice wooly ones

- okay so. I know I was all over the place with the pants, but. high waisted pants that go over the boots. like open leg ones, think bell bottom pants but Much Less Bell. like it's loose enough to fall over the boots and they end at about the ankle, but tight enough so fabric isn't flailing everywhere and bothering movement.

- and his outerwear. I'm- cloaks are difficult in this moment because you need to allow for movement n stuff so!! I think it's be lots longer in the back, and it's a sort of 3/4 circle thing. so it falls over the wings, still with slits in the back to allow for movement, and there's arm holes positioned so that the whole forearm is sticking out at a time, ish. Feel free to ask for a diagram or drawing if you are confused on this part, because it is Complicated in my mind. it also clasps at one of the front shoulders!

- and let's not forget! his necklace :D

Okay so I know I said we're going in order but I have IDEAS for o!Grape

so so I watched this video today of an athletics coach + fashion designer talking about a work out skort they made and let me tell you I was thinking about that as soon as I was writing because I feel like it'd fit o!Grape so well since Grape themselves has said that they were going kinda for like a sexy fairy or something, I kinda forget

so!! I think workout skort, which is basically what you're thinking; it's a skirt and shorts all in one. an athletic one is made of a more stretchy material to allow for better movement, and IT TWIRLS because it's a SKIRT TOO!!! so I think o!Grape would have that, in a sort of lavender colour and then I think for a shirt like a tight sort of cropped tank top with criss cross straps around the shoulders. so the straps go in Xs!! ooooh and maybe a sheer material for sleeves!! like a nice flowy material, something light in colour. actually hmm I feel like that shirt in green, and then puff the sleeves!! like gather them at the ends and then bam! puffy sleeves!!! a sheer airy material, maybe with small polka dots that are a similar colour, but aren't like "hey look at me specifically!!" and the polka dots are on the sleeves and around the collar as a small detail specifically for the sheer material. and maybe, maybe Grape is the one with botty shorts and leggings. or maybe shorts and sort of biking shorts! I feel like green shirt kinda dark dull purple shorts would work well, and the shorts would match their wings. I feel like hmmmm sandals that wind up the leg would look cool. like silver sandal looking shoes that sort of go up to just below the knee, kinda looking like vines. I definitely like that idea for the shoes, I'm just a bit unsure for the rest of the outfit

I definitely like the green puff sleeves midcut shirt, and then maybe we go back to the workout skort idea

OSMP GRAPE

- so!! that green shirt we were just talking about, yes. I think the sleeves are sheer, then you have the main section of fabric and I think the back is open if their wings are attached to them (like a loser, imagine your wings not being magic and going through fabric /j) but if they're like Ro's then fill the back and on the front and back is the sheer fabeic, which link up to a fabric collar around the neck. Then there's open patches at the shoulder (good ol cold shoulder neckline!! I love them) and then the raw edges and sealed with fabric. and let's not forget the texturing on the sheer fabric, the only kinda visible polka dots! the gathered sleeves go to the wrists, where they end in purple flowers to help accent the wings

- green workout skort!! convenient for spinning and jumping and flying and everything else in between. I also think a nice blue layer, so it's a double layered workout skort, and it'd help tie into OSMP Grape's eyes without detracting from them

- silver sandals that are like vines, with purple flowers growing along them! I wanted to keep all the purple around the hands and feet that Grape's skin has because I think the purple accents are so cute and work really well

Alright. Okay. Time for my girl!! En's not really a girl, in fact ein doesn't even really have a gender unless en stole one recently. OKAY OKAY SO

I think hmmm. Well en's an explorer, and needs eir spyglass! so en definitely keeps that on the leather strap and wears it across eir shoulders. honestly it may be cute to give them little sunglasses, like big rose coloured round ones! (that definitely doesn't allude to potential lore wink wonk)

So they have the bright electric blue eyes that are meant to seem like they glow even if they don't, and they cannot wear silver or iron because it Hurts and gives them a bad headache if they're around it long enough. like if they have a piece of iron near their face long enough, I imagine it'd be really irritating because it'd give them a pounding enough headache to floor them. anyway I think they'd keep the golden accessories and knick knacks stuff, like their cloak clasp

I feel like maybe bandaged hands and then overtop, thick fabric gloves. This is so they can actually craft iron things without getting burned! I think they'd be the type to wear skirts. maybe they have a really long cloak/shawl/poncho that goes below their knees, and then they have a short skirt to run around in. or maybe they're the one with the shorts and leggings. okay maybe poncho cape shawl thing goes to right about their knees and then they have shorts underneath. and maybe we ditch the goggles for this look, if they have the glasses? hmmmm

OSMP RO

- so, shorts and really fucking long socks that can be rolled up to go under the shorts hems!! the socks would probably be a bit thick, so they can walk around with okay cushioning considering the "I don't have shoes" situation

- I think they do have pink glasses, just tucked away in a pocket somewhere. it's like a momento of the past. and spyglass!! it's under the cape cloak thing, in case en ever needs to take off the layer. it's more convenient. I also think beridding the goggles would give more focus to their eyes

- the cloak still has the gold clasp, and it's less worn from use. It's a different cloak. I think this one would be brown!

- I think their long socks are black to match their hair. when the cloak is entirely blocking their torso, they're a sandwich of black-brown-black!

- I think they'd have blue shorts. I dunno why, but if we were using modern clothes I think they would have like light blue denim shorts.

- bandages on eir hands! it leaves the fingers free but does cover most of the forearm and wrists. then they carry better gloves, full ones, to put on when they're handling iron!

- I think they still have a sweater, and maybe it's a dark blue this time. kinda like one of the lighter shades of the cloak on my actual skin!

Title: Awaited Reunions.

Commissioned by the lovely @99shadowcat99.

Word Count: 1.6k.

Pairing: Yandere!Dabi/Hawks.

Synopsis: Keigo’s never been the paranoid type, but when he’s ingrained with the League of Villains, acting as a double-spy too distant from both fronts to count on either’s supports, it’s difficult not to imagine all the grisly ends he could meet, if he’s ever found out. But, when it finally comes time to bite the bullet, Keigo finds out there are things much worse than death.

TW: Alternative Timeline, Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Smoking, Possessive Mindsets, Non-Consensual Touching, and Explicit Language. 

**Disclaimer: I don’t read the manga, so if some minor details are incorrect or misinterpreted, I apologize in advance. This piece deviates from the canon early enough for Keigo not to have completely earned the League’s trust, yet, but late enough for much of his behavior to be considered incriminating to the general public.

Keigo couldn’t remember the last time his wings felt heavy.

Or, this heavy, at least. He could always feel them, he was always aware of the breeze on his feathers, the pull on his shoulder blades, the way his spine began to ache whenever he’d overworked himself, but that was different, it was presence, tense and rigid and stiff but alive, nonetheless. This was different. It was dead, alien, wrong, as if someone had taken two metal rods and driven them into his back where his wings were supposed to be. As if he was being dragged down, and there was nothing he could do but fall.

Weakly, he tried to unfold his wings. He couldn’t remember the last time he had to think about something so simple, the last time he had to genuinely try, but he still did, he still put every ounce of concentration into one motion, one twitch, one sign that there was still something attached to him, something he could use. He tried, and he tried, and he tried, and...

And, nothing happened. Keigo slumped against the bare wall in defeat, letting his hand curl around the collar resting around the base of his neck, the metallic source of his current problem.

A quirk-cancelling collar. It was almost ironic, in a way.

There was a chain connected to it, the links bulky, leading back to a radiator that, thankfully, didn’t work. There were shackles on his wrists, too, and his ankles, but he’d already given up on prying them off. It was a futile effort, anyway. It was an old-fashioned method, but an effective one, too tight and too straight-forward not to be effective. Clunky, but not clumsy. Ugly, but purposefully so.

Then again, he wasn’t sure what else he could expect from Dabi. Bruised, battered Dabi. Simpering, smirking Dabi.

Dabi, who hadn’t said a damn word since Keigo woke up on the floor of this shitty, empty basement, the back of his head throbbing and his wings frozen to his back, despite his best efforts to thaw them out.

For the first time in the handful of hours he’s been conscious, Keigo let his attention drift to his silent companion. He’d changed since the last time Keigo saw him, put on a thinner coat, one without the fine layer of ash that turned a pitch-black to a muddy, distorted grey. He hadn’t combed his hair, but Keigo might’ve been more surprised if he had. The same went for the cigarette caught between his pointer and middle fingers, a new facet, but one that felt right, one that filled the air with a cloudy, darkened smoke that made Keigo squint and frown, despite knowing he should be doing his best to stay neutral in every capacity, right now, expressions included. If Dabi noticed the slip, though, he didn’t bother with a verbal critic. His eyes were the only thing that moved, flickering in Keigo’s direction from where he leaned against the furthest wall.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, waiting for the other to cave under the pressure. Keigo was the first to relent. He could take the hit to his pride, as long as it meant finding out what was going on. “Those things can kill you, y’know.”

Another drag, slow and careless. When he exhaled, the smoke was black, sooty. As if Dabi’s lungs were just as burnt as his skin. “If they want to get the job done, they’ll have to work a little faster,” He muttered, his voice so low, Keigo wasn’t sure whether or not he was supposed to overhear. “It’s a steep competition. I’ve got other ‘suitors to entertain’, and all that bullshit. But you know all about that, don’t you?”

“If you want me to know about anything, you’re gonna have to stop talking in fucking riddles,” Keigo groaned, letting his head fall back against the bare wall. There was a jolt of pain through his skull, the ghost of something hot and thick dripping down the back of his neck, but Keigo elected to ignore the bolts of reflexive panic that shot up, in response. “This is a joke, right? The last thing I remember is you storming into the bar, hitting me over the head with a pint I wasn’t finished with, and the next thing I know, I’m tied up in some dark basement, listening to you rant about ‘suitors’ and ‘competition’. If either of us should be asking questions, it’s me.”

Now, that got Dabi to laugh, a deep chuckle that, for whatever reason, did little to ease Keigo’s nerves. He almost regretted trying to keep the tone so light. “That’s cute,” He said, letting his heel knock against the skirting as he pushed himself away from the wall. “I thought spies were supposed to be good at sweet-talkin’.”

Keigo felt his heart drop.

It wasn’t an unfamiliar sort of dread, all hollow fear and sore tightness, the same thing he felt every time someone mentioned lying, or how close he seemed with the Heroes he supposedly hated, or stared too long or failed to smile or made a comment that just wasn’t trusting enough, for Keigo’s sense of skepticism. If he’d been able to use his wings, he might’ve taken his chances, running Dabi through like an especially hostile pin-cushion or going on the defensive and hoping most of him wasn’t burnt away in the process, but he didn’t. He couldn’t. He couldn’t do anything, and fuck, he was starting to get sick of it.

He couldn’t do anything, so he didn’t try to. For a long, calculated second, he held Dabi’s gaze, his expression shocked and confused, and then, he cracked a smile, bowed his head, and forced himself to laugh.

“You’re fucking with me.” Blatant, simple, vulgar. He spoke Dabi’s language, spoke like his friend. Like he was one of them, really one of them, rather than a poorly-crafted imitation. “You have to be fucking with me. A spy? Really? If you wanted to scare me, you could’ve just--”

“The League already knows,” Dabi cut in, not bothering to indulge Keigo’s attempts to backtrack. “Took a while, but no one was that surprised to find out the hero might not be on our side. Funny how quickly all that hard work goes to waste, right?” The cigarette fell from his hand, soon caught under the toe of Dabi’s boot. “Don’t worry about the Hero Commission comin’ for their golden boy, either, I’ll make sure no one puts you over daddy’s knee. The news about our dissatisfied, glory-speaking hero should start spreading in three... four hours? Just the part about you working with us, obviously. If the rest of your valiant friends want to save face in front of their adoring fans, they’ll drop the case quickly.”

In his defense, Keigo didn’t break down. He didn’t scream, he didn’t cry, he didn’t do much of anything, not as Dabi laughed, not as he stretched, and not as slow, careless footsteps made their way across the otherwise empty room, only stopping once he reached Keigo’s kneeling form. Keigo didn’t look up. He kept his eyes fixed on the floor, concentrated on one particular crack in the concrete as Dabi lowered himself to one knee, taking his time to settle into the position. He didn’t want to look up, but he didn’t have a choice, not after Dabi’s hand clamped around his jaw, his thumb just digging into Keigo’s cheek and forcing his head back. Forcing him to take in the glint of silver staples, those hooded eyes. That smile, crooked and sharpened and so, so satisfied.

Keio felt sick.

“The guys wanted your head on a platter for it, but let that scare ya’. Took a while to calm ‘em down, but your new jewelry helped, and no one hated the idea of seeing you placed in my loving care.” There was a slight squeeze, a sudden jerk that left Keigo scrambling to catch himself and Dabi releasing an amused huff, one seemingly unaffected by his hostage’s silence. “Think of this as a favor. A gift from an old friend, an act of mercy from the only person who’s ever going to care about you, going forward.”

It was an instinctive reaction, one Keigo didn’t have to think about. Not anymore. “You’re not my friend.”

“This again,” Dabi sighed, his tone anything but sympathetic. “Need another hint, Takami?”

Keigo opened his mouth, but he didn’t get the chance to answer. Dabi was already wrenching him forward, chapped lips soon pressed against his own. The kiss was harsh, sudden and forceful enough to be bruising and thankfully, thankfully cut short as Keigo shoved at Dabi’s chest, forcing him to draw back with a throaty laugh. It only lasted a second, less than that, but it lasted long enough for Keigo to remember the last time someone kissed him like that, long enough to remember his training, the cramped rooms and thin mattresses and the tiny cots that only seemed smaller when another warm body found its way onto his. To remember a boy with white hair and smoke on his breath, a boy who died, a boy who was still dead. A boy who Keigo had to tell himself time and time again couldn’t be in front of him, couldn’t be alive, couldn’t be Dabi.

A boy with a cracked smile, one that never seemed genuine, whose touch was too harsh and whose kiss was too hard and who thought he loved Keigo, who thought he could love Keigo.

Who thought Keigo could love him back, if he didn’t have another option.

“Touya.”

Dabi only let go of his jaw, taking Keigo by his collar, instead. Keigo didn’t look at him. He couldn’t look at Dabi, but he didn’t have to. He could feel the tug forward, the smile as a soft, chaste kiss was pressed into the top of his head. “I thought you’d never come around,” Dabi, no, Touya whispered, his teeth ghosting over Keigo’s skin.

“Miss me, sweetheart?”