fists exhale

Ardor – two.

❝  After your art professor notices your ardor towards nudeness in arts, he sends you to apprentice under his old friend, the Korean painter Byun Baekhyun who’s infamous for his erotic pieces and cocky demeanor. Rumors surrounded Baekhyun at any second and women who had been with him described him as “an unforgiving lover of bodies”. What happens when you find him taking a liking to you–and your body? ❞

Reader x Painter!Baekhyun

!Smut in next chapter; mentions of nude bodies and sexuality.

one. three.

She was beautiful. Outstanding.

Completely naked, standing on top of a wooden chair, the late day sun shining through the thin curtains and the small gaps between the heavy ones, illuminating her curvy body. Albeit it looked a little unsafe for her to be standing on top of such a small chair, she wasn’t moving a single muscle, so she wasn’t falling down. You were gaping, gazing down her voluptuous body, admiring the image Baekhyun had already made with her body. Oh, how exciting to witness something that would soon be signed with the infamous painter’s name. 

The model was locked in the position Baekhyun had guided her in; her back slightly bent forward, her hands planted on her hips and her hair falling in front of her face. She acted completely oblivious when you walked into the studio with all your tools stuffed into two large bags in each hand. You clumsily bumped into a few pieces that littered the floor while walking inside, about to set up your things.

Two days ago, you had left this studio with hot eyes upon your back. He’d been so close, you’d been so hot, his breath fire as it was breathed down the skin of your face and neck. His voice and the beautiful, alluring images were possibly the only things you could recall of the incident. The question: “What had you just gotten yourself into?” It still stood, unanswered, and that had made you hesitant to return.

Nonetheless, you were back and ready to take on the challenge, unaware of what this man really had in store for you.

Baekhyun wasn’t there when you came, but a canvas empty of anything except for a few week pencil lines was placed before the woman. You didn’t say anything to the woman as you placed your bags in the furthermost corner of the room. Scratching your head, trying to hide the giddiness as well as the nervosity to see Baekhyun again, you almost didn’t notice the painter return.

“Keep still.” He commanded, tone colder than you had heard before. You froze upon his command, heart stuck in your throat and your eyes not daring to look away from the random lewd image you’d watched before he came. Then, you heard a hum. A female hum.

“He’s not talking about you, sweet cheeks.”

You weren’t sure if you were blushing or not– your cheeks were burning as you turned around. Baekhyun was staring at you, his eyes hard, a harsh 180 from his behavior two days ago, and the woman was peeking at you through her hair, taking the unawareness of Baekhyun to slip out of her pose. She was smirking.

You nodded your head in their direction, trying to play cool but failing miserably. “Hello, sorry I was just about to set up my things.”

Baekhyun was clad in a structured black blazer, only his tan collarbones underneath, loose jeans and a sleek, onyx pair of oxfords. His hair was tousled as if he had just woken up, making him look so effortlessly gorgeous. He made a noise similar to a scoff. “There’s no need. You’re taking over here.”

“I-I am?”

The woman sighed. Baekhyun frowned. “Yes, you are. Paint her. I have errands I need to run.”

You nodded, embarrassed. “A-alright.” 

“I’ll see how you do.” He mumbled before he made his way out of the studio, his footsteps echoing down the dim hallway before the outdoor was opened and then slammed shut again. You exhaled a breath of air you weren’t even aware you were holding before turning to the empty canvas and the woman. You cleared your throat, picking up the nearest pencil. The woman stretched out her back, wincing at the painful position she’d been in for several minutes now.

“You don’t have to stand in that position,” You assured her, humming. Searching the room, you found the dim light, the small sweeps of light in the room too scant; not enough. You hurried over to the large windows, taking hold of the many different cloths covering the windows. The heavy carpets, curtains; the many different patterns fell to the wooden floor with a loud ‘bump’. The sun streamed out into the whole room, giving prominence to the layer of dust in the air.

Running over to your bags in the corner, you fished out a small piece of chalk, walking back to the model, directing her into a seating position on the floor close to the windows. You mark her spot with a white ‘x’, smiling down at her, receiving an odd look in response.

“You’re different,” She hums. “Baekhyun doesn’t like a lot of light. If you’re trying to woo him, you’re going in the wrong direction.”

You cock an eyebrow, moving back behind the weasel to sketch the outline of the woman as she sat on the floor, planting her palms on the floor and leaning back on her arms. You gestured for her to lie her head back, and act as if she’s enjoying the warm light. “Woo him?” You mutter, eyes fixing between the canvas, the tip of your pencil and her. 

“Don’t act stupid, sweetcheeks. Seduce him, bed him, fuck him–”

The rage bubbled inside you so quickly, you weren’t fast enough to stop yourself;

“Hey,” You snap, gaining the woman’s full attention. “I’m not the one completely naked in his house. I’m not here to seduce him, I’m simply his apprentice. I’m here to learn.”

The woman smirked. “Fine, fine. You’ll probably end up underneath him either way, that’s just the way he is. A player. A cold player.”

You couldn’t say anything else. You wouldn’t know; it wasn’t anything new, the rumors about him originated back to his very first piece that got any attention from the community, but you didn’t know him personally yet. This woman, however, seemed to have some knowledge about him. And suddenly, the thought of this woman underneath Baekhyun stung inside your chest. With a jolt, you tried to swallow the sting you could only identify as ‘jealousy’. You couldn’t go around and get attached. 

“He’s got this obsession over bodies, too. But by the looks of it,” She chuckled. “you do too.”

You shook your head, cheeks flushing. “It’s just a preference.” You weakly argued. “An interest. Just like some people prefer painting landscapes and portraits, I like… nude bodies.”

“Hm, whatever you say, sweet cheeks.”

It must’ve been hours later; the sun was gone and the air of the old house was getting chiller and chiller. It was the woman’s irritated voice that finally pulled you out of your concentrated daze. Her skin was covered by goosebumps and only then did you realize really how cold it really had become.

“That’s enough for today,” She grumbled, helping herself off the floor and reaching for her clothes. You panicked, the image in your head fading quickly. “Please, not so fast! I’ll pay you to stay longer.”

The woman frowned, sighing tiredly, before finally giving you a small smile. “It’s late. I get that you’re into it right now, but the light’s all gone anyway.”

“I have it in my mind, I remember the colors and everything.” You argued but the woman just shook her head, put on her clothing and walked out of the studio, leaving you alone. Glancing around you, you found the thousands of eyes, directed at you, the naked bodies eerie for the first time and hurried to grab your things and go. A quick check on your wrist, you were shocked to realize that it was almost eleven pm– you should have been home five hours ago. 

You hummed in understanding. No wonder the model was annoyed.

With a sigh yourself, you picked up both bags and hurried out of the dark, empty studio. What normally brought you joy, inspiration, and desire; the beauty of the naked body, was ghostly and made you uncomfortable. You tried to swallow down the disappointment of not spending time with Baekhyun– you’d been too caught up with the piece to really spend even a second thinking about him and what he had said;

“The sun is hitting your back so delicately, it adorns your body. An angel. That’s what you look like.”

“Are you nervous? Hm, the light here enhances your curves, I bet you know how amazing that look, don’t you?”

But now, you were free, and your mind unoccupied. Unoccupied to be occupied.

Although the rumors were the most obvious warning sign, you couldn’t help but fall for his mysterious aura. His alluring, cold eyes. “Stupid,” You light slapped your own head. “you’ve met the man twice and you’re already thinking about him like tha…”

The words died on your tongue when you looked up from the old dark wooden planks, up into the dark wooden eyes of Baekhyun. There was a clump in your throat and your heart raced with panic; he had heard you, hadn’t he? Judging from the wide, bewitching smirk adorning his face – he most definitely had. 

A single second of silence passed; a single second for you to drop your bags to the floor and him to fill the distance between the two of you. He grabbed your chin with his hand, the other sneaking around your waist to hug you close to his muscular chest before he locked his lips with yours - hard

You moaned out loud, only for your sounds to be swallowed by his eager lips. His hands were tight, passionate around your body, holding you tightly against him. You were getting lightheaded with the lack of air, still, you never wanted this to end. 

Your heart was beating high in your chest, your cheeks blazing, your hands were fisting his blazer. Exhales, moans, and whimpers escaped your lips, seemingly adding energy to Baekhyun’s touches. He had you moving backward, and you were pinned to the wall when a loud knock sounded on the door. Baekhyun didn’t stop kissing you, his lips left yours and followed the skin down over your jaw to your neck. He ran his tongue over the sensitive skin there, triggering small gasps from your mouth. 

Another loud knock forcefully dragged you out of your little bubble, and you tugged at his blazer, trying to pull him off your neck. “Baekhyun,” You gasped. “Mr. Byun, there’s someone - ah - at the door.”

Baekhyun placed one, two more kisses at your jaw before slowly moving off your body, leaving you panting against the wall, abdomen tingling with lust. He paraded across the floor, grabbed the handle of the door before swinging it open. The person on the other side was another beautiful woman; hair gracing her bare shoulders and slender body adorned in a little, tight black dress. She was wearing a pair of high heels and she had diamonds hanging in her ears. The cold wind from outside swept over the three of you, and suddenly you felt completely abandoned.

Baekhyun turned slowly to you. “It’s late, you should leave. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He hurriedly dismissed you; his cold words even more numbing than the fall breeze. You wanted to cry of disappointment, his kisses were still wet on your skin, your lips, but you bit your tongue, throwing your eyes to the floor. The woman had an unreadable expression, you didn’t know if she was smug or annoyed. Sighing, you nodded and picked your bags back up. You passed the mysterious woman by the threshold and flinched when the door was slammed shut behind you. 

The woman was gone inside, and so was Baekhyun. You felt used, then thrown away; his kisses flew off your skin with the bitter gust and you scolded yourself for giving into your desires. It had only made you more dissatisfied. You knew you’d end up like another one night stand, you knew you’d never mean more to him. 

Still, something deep inside you continued to convince yourself otherwise.


( insert longest eh here). im asking myself when im gonna live my life right, but girls just wanna have fun right

i should stop while i’m behind. i’m just gonna walk over here and drown myself in spaghetti until i immerse into a pasta induced comma. (ノ◕ヮ◕)ノ*:・゚✧

ivar x blind!reader.

warnings: a little wrestling, fluff. help.

“Ivar,” You called out patiently, a sweet tilt to your voice.

Silence, darkness. Your head twitched to the side. “Ivar … “ You stressed, your teeth clicking together a few times as you waited, patience thinning. You finger tapping your clothed thigh.

Ivar!” You snapped, finally seeming to catch his attention as you heard a loud grunt.

“What? What do you want woman!? I am right here!” His voice was tight, and something harshly meeting the forest floor hit your ear. Probably the boys fist, no doubt.

Exhaling deeply, your head cocked and your foot shuffled off to the right. “You did not answer me.” You stated, only to be met with more silence, and it was times like these where you wondered why you stuck around with him so often – or why he kept you around actually. “I did not realize being crippled also meant you could not hear as well!”

“How did you even know I was still here, hmm? I could have left. I could have crawled away and left you all alone in the middle of the forest.” He told you, a tilt to his voice that caused you grave headaches, like you had just given him a very good idea to make someone’s live more miserable than his own.

A chill ran through your veins, and the muscle under your eye twitched. It would not surprise you if Ivar were to do something that – he did have quite a cruel streak in him, and he had no obligation to you, nor you to him. You were not his slave, nor were you his wife, and he not your husband. But after years of an agreement between you both, you had come to trust the youngest prince with your life. Your first mistake, his brothers always told you, and sometimes you wondered if they were right. His mother, no doubt, was just happy he had found a friend and seemed to trust you with his life for some odd reason, not that you could properly protect him in anyway. There was also the fact you two seemed to argue more often than you didn’t, but you were stubborn aside from not being able to see anything, and you wondered if that’s why the prince kept you.

You were marked as completely helpless by the people of Kattegat who knew you, and even if you shouted in the wrong direction or at the wrong person, there was not a moment where you did not stand up for yourself. Of course, people laughed and taunted you, but you took it in stride – if a crippled could be the most feared and respected man, why could you not be successful in your dreams?

“I am blind, not deaf you bastard! Besides, I could not miss the sound of your portly ass dragging across the forest floor!” You retorted, bending your knee to kick out your foot in the direction of his voice, but a vice grip wrapped around your bare ankle and the world was no longer steady.

With the air knocked out of you, your back was flat against the hard ground and a hand pressed to your forehead, pushing on it to keep you down. His breath fanning across your nose, and you could hear the grinding of his teeth. “You are also a stupid child.”

Gripping onto Ivar’s wrist, your curled your fingers, your uneven nails digging into his bracers and you wished at that moment it was his skin. “I am older than you.”

Yet you were under his wing.

Only physically,” He punctuated, pressing with head to the ground harder with each word before his weight lifted from you completely, but your grip on him held and you came flying forward with him, sitting beside him now instead of standing like moments ago.

You knew you would have a bruise in a few hours from the poor treatment to your forehead, and you could only imagine how sore your back will be in the morn. Reaching out slowly, your finger-tips found his bicep, and he sat only breathing as he allowed your hand to crawl up until it found the feathery hair on the nape of his neck. You twirled the short strands between two fingers. The two of you began to laugh, a weight now on your clothed thigh, his thumb seeming to idly pet you. “I hate you, Ivar.”

He was never a man of emotions besides anger, and that was one you knew well, as did everyone around him. He was so cold and distant, and there were times you could feel the expressions painting his face during certain moments. While you did not know what Ivar looked like, you thought his smile was incredibly beautiful, whether it was brought on by happiness by something innocent, or by the way he had made someone miserable and ruined them. You could just feel it. “I hate you, too,” There was a lightness in his voice that you did not hear very often, and you felt the corners of your mouth twitch upwards until a peaceful expression lasted on your face.

He was your strength more than you would ever know, nor were you bold enough to admit. In a sense, he gave you hope for yourself and your future, even if it wasn’t right beside him.  

A blind and a cripple; he was your eyes, and you were his legs.

Owned - pt 9

Originally posted by hopeatuuli

The doctor wanted to see you both today, as soon as possible. Both of you, confused and silent on the way there.

You almost fell asleep once again in his arms until the driver announced that you were five minutes away.

“Good morning Doctor Lu, is everything okay?” Namjoon asked her.

“We hope so. I just got the test results back.” She flipped through some papers and circled a few words. “You’re not pregnant Mrs. Kim but these tests show signs of a serious issue.”

“How serious?” Namjoon questioned.

Keep reading

Tom Holland Imagine - I Have Questions (Part 2)

request: a tom imagine where you tell him you are pregnant after you both broke up

a/n: i haven’t written in soooo long but i just needed to distract myself from everything that’s going on right now. the response from part one was so amazing and i know a lot of people wanted part two, and i also incorporated another request i had. i hope this is okay, and i really am sorry for not writing anything for the past two months, im not sure if im going to write regularly again.

word count: 923

masterlist: (x)

part 1 (x)

part 3 (x)

Originally posted by petesparkes

If you could have, you would have gone the rest of your life without seeing him. You’d trusted him with your entire life, and he had broken that trust, shattering your heart in the process. Of course, life was never that simple and you knew you had to tell him sooner or later, before he found out from someone else. He deserved to know.

“Hi,” your voice was hoarse. “Can I come in?” Tom looked different, older somehow, yet it had only been five weeks since you last saw him. He was pale, his chin patterned with the coarse hairs of his stubble. His eyes were bloodshot, and the bags beneath them were darker than you’d ever seen them before, even darker than when he was shooting fifteen hour days on set. Tom cleared his throat, his eyes softened slightly at the sight of you before him.

“What, uhm, what are you doing here?”

“Please, Tom. I don’t want to speak to you at the front door of your rental.”

He stepped aside, allowing you to enter his temporary home. You noticed a pair of Converse by the front door that seemed much smaller than his usual size, but decided to give him the benefit of the doubt; perhaps his mum was visiting him.

“I know we agreed it was better for us to cut each other completely out of our lives – believe me, it’s what I wanted after the shit you pulled,” your words were bitter, Tom looked hurt, but you weren’t here to argue with him any longer about your situation. “But this can’t wait.”

You followed him as he headed down the hallway to the kitchen. As you passed the door to his bedroom, you snuck a glance through the open door and stopped in your tracks when you noticed the matching set of red laced lingerie discarded across his bedroom floor amongst the clutter on his carpet.

“Is someone else here?”

Tom’s shoulders tensed, his hands balled into fists as he exhaled. He turned to face you, the guilt already plastered on his face.

“Y/n, you don’t understand, I-“

“Wow, Tom. You know for someone who was so desperate to fix whatever this mess is between us, you sure do move on fast.”

His mouth opened, but no words came out.

“Is she here? Oh God, Tom. Is it her?” Your voice was raised. Tom nodded.

“She’s in the shower,” he whispered. There was a silence. “You said you didn’t want to see me ever again, I… I… I didn’t realise that meant I couldn’t live a normal single life.” He was louder now, defensive, and slightly agitated.

“You know I almost believed you when you said you were sorry. Jesus! I nearly fucking believed you were sorry!” You shouted at him, your emotions running high.

“I was sorry!” He came closer to you, your noses almost touching. “I am sorry,” his voice was quieter. “You made the decision to remove me from your life,” he spat in a hushed tone.  “You wanted us to be apart. I wanted to make it work. I was willing to make it work. But you said no. I’m single, y/n, so why can’t I act like I am?”

“Because it’s her. That woman ruined my fucking life, Tom. How can you possibly say you’re sorry when the minute I tell you we’re done you run straight back to her?”

Tom sighed. He rubbed at his eyes, something he always did in frustration.

“Why are you here, y/n?” He looked angry. “You said you didn’t want to see me ever again. You say all this stuff about how it’s easier for us to act like we don’t know each other after I beg for you to stay in my life, and then you show up here!” He was shouting again. “And on top of that, you think you can decide who I can or can’t da-“

“Because I’m pregnant, Tom!” You blurted loudly, cutting him off. He stumbled back slightly, clearly unable to process the news you had been hiding for the past month. “I’m pregnant,” you whispered.

After a lengthy silence, Tom finally spoke up. “How long have you known?”

“A few weeks,” you admitted.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

“I didn’t know how.” You had imagined how this conversation would play out a million times before in your head, but you hadn’t once dreamed it up like this. “I wasn’t going to at first. But it’s your baby, Tom. You should know. You don’t have to be involved, if you don’t want. I get it, but at least you know.”

“I wanna be involved. Of course, I do. Oh my God, y/n, this is everything we ever wanted, everything I ever wanted with you.” He leant against the wall behind him, letting his head fall back to touch the exposed brick. “And I fucked it all up.”
“Tom, I don’t want to hear another apology. I’m just here to tell you. Did I think that maybe I’d tell you and I’d want to try and make this work? Admittedly so. But, after this,” you motioned towards his bedroom, “I’m going to stick to my decision of not being with you. But for the baby’s sake, we, erm, we could try being civil with each other. Maybe we could even be friends.” Tom’s head snapped up. “Maybe.”

He exhaled, pushing himself off the wall and towards you. His fingers touched the bare skin of your arms gently as he nodded. “Maybe.”

anonymous asked:

"Why are you in my bed?" Barry/Len

Barry doesn’t slip into consciousness so much as consciousness hits him like a semi truck. His first inhale is a gasp and his fist exhale a pained, strangled groan.

“You’re alive,” drawls a voice to Barry’s left. “Mick owes me money.”

Barry’s vision is blurred, but there’s no mistaking the figure in bed beside him as anyone other than Leonard Snart. Barry watches with a deep furrow in his brow as Snart grabs a small piece of cord from the nightstand nearby and wedges it between the pages of his thick, well-worn paperback to mark his place.

“Snart, why are you in my bed?” Barry asks. He means for it to come out harsher, more like a threat, but his voice is too hoarse to have the desired effect. Barry’s whole throat feels like it’s on fire, and he swallows thickly in an attempt to extinguish it.

“Actually, Barry, you’re in mine,” Snart replies. He reaches up and removes his reading glasses, round, clear frames that Barry does not – does not – find adorable on the older man.

Snart sets his glasses and his forgotten book on the nightstand and grabs a glass of water instead, passing it over to Barry as Barry slides into a sitting position. Tentatively, Barry takes the offered glass. The water is room temperature and soothes the ache without any of the sharp sting cold water would cause.

“That’s not any less concerning,” Barry says once he’s greedily sucked down half the glass. His voice sounds more even for his trouble.

Snart chuckles. The curve of his lips, one pulled higher the other in more of a smirk than a smile, sets a kaleidoscope of butterflies loose in Barry’s chest. “If you wanted to get into my bed so badly, Barry,” Snart drawls. “All you had to do was ask. That whole passing out thing you did was a lot less fun.”

A flush spreads across Barry’s cheeks and up into his hairline. He remembers now, going up against the Rogues after three days with no sleep, the world turning dark around the edges, his breath shallow and laboured, as his body gave up its fight to keep him awake.

Barry flicks his gaze to Snart from the corners of his eyes, opens his mouth to get defensive and make excuses, but stops short when he notices the way Snart’s brow pinches ever so slightly against the canvas of his otherwise impassive face.

“Were you worried about me?” Barry asks before he can think better of it.

Snart tenses, draws his shoulders back and sits up higher, straighter. “I’m not racing to catch heat for killing The Flash, if that’s what you’re asking,” he says.

Glancing over his shoulder, Barry notices a matching nightstand on his end of the bed and twists around to set down his glass. He turns to face Snart again and offers him a sheepish smile.

“I was just tired,” Barry explains. As if on cue, a yawn forces his mouth open wide. He covers it with his hand, but it leaves him off balance, leaning into Snart’s space.

“Sorry,” Barry murmurs once the yawn’s passed, but he doesn’t draw back. Snart watches him with careful, scrutinizing eyes, and Barry lets him, a thrill of something running up his spine.

After what feels like an eternity, Snart finally moves. He raises one of his hands until it hovers just over Barry’s face, then, with his thumb, Snart traces the puffy bags under Barry’s right eye.

“You should take better care of yourself, Scarlet,” Snart whispers, his fingers still brushing Barry’s skin, and the sound feels so much louder than it actually is. “Can’t have my nemesis collapsing on me when I can beat him fair and square.”

Barry laughs, bright and bemused, and tilts his face into Snart’s hand. “I didn’t think the word fair was in your vocabulary.”

Snart shrugs. “It usually isn’t.”

Barry chuckles again, then pulls away from Snart’s fingers in favor of laying down beside him. He burrows into the cocoon of pillows and blankets and oversized sweats that surround him as Snart watches with sharp, guarded eyes.

Barry tugs pointedly at the sleeves of the sweater he’s wearing as he glances up at Snart, his eyelids already heavy with sleep. “Pretty sure I was wearing a supersuit when I passed out,” he mumbles.

“Which was no doubt embedded with a tracker,” Snart replies, no remorse in his tone. “It’s in a warehouse on the other side of town, relatively unharmed. Assuming Mick didn’t get trigger happy with his Heat Gun.”

Barry winces at the mental image of his suit up in flames. Cisco would throw a fit.

“Don’t worry,” Snart adds, catching the wrinkle in Barry’s nose. “I was the perfect gentleman. Plus, briefs under the tripolymer? Looks like Lisa owes me money, too.”

“It’s comfy,” Barry says. Whether he’s talking about not going commando in the suit or the layer of fleece lining the inside of Snart’s sweater, he isn’t sure. Snart doesn’t seem sure either, if the uncertain gaze he sends Barry’s way is any indication.

Barry’s brain is already half asleep, which is probably why he shuffles forward and press his face against Snart’s side, an arm looping around his waist for good measure, like it’s a good idea. Snart stiffens, but Barry doesn’t let up.

“What are you doing?” Snart asks.

Barry shrugs. “You’re the one who doesn’t wanna catch heat for killing the Flash,” he says.

Snart relaxes, if only a little. “And you’ll die if Captain Cold doesn’t cuddle you?” he quips.

Barry yawns again, pressing his face more firmly into the soft cushion of Snart’s stomach. “You said it, not me.”

The last thing Barry registers before dropping off again is the way Snart’s arm curls around his shoulders, and the gentle feeling of fingers running through his hair.

Originally posted by infp-soup

Requested by anon <3
Prompt:  Draco x reader where the reader is dating Cedric and he cheats on the reader with cho so you go running to Draco where he comforts you


You felt your throat swell, eyes watering with tears as you hold on your books became just a bit too tight. Slowly backing away, you spun on your heel and bolted down the corridor before anyone saw you – or more importantly, anyone noticed you seeing them kiss.

Weren’t Hufflepuffs supposed to be loyal? Weren’t slytherin’s the rotten ones?…

You yanked open the first door you saw through your blurry vision, a whimper escaping your parted lips as you got lost in the dark room, the door falling shut. Throwing your books on the floor you nearly crumbled, the heartache becoming so great for a second you really thought you were going to die.

Inhaling sharply, you tried to hold in the sobs in case someone heard you – you, a proud pure blood Slytherwin bawling her eyes out for some Cedric Huffledork Diggory. He was supposed to be crying for you! Not the other way around!

Clenching your fists, you exhaled a ragged breath, trying to calm down, though when the tears and panic stopped anger flared up making the idea to crucio Cho Chang sound all too appealing.

To your dread, the door of the unidentified classroom pried open, slowly, a blond head poking out to inspect what was going on. Surprise washed over you like a wave – Draco Malfoy, your best friend, was the last person you expected to see, now of all times. Upon noticing in what a pathetic state you were, he quickly got into the room, forgetting to close the door and nearly tripping over your scattered books.

You had to gulp down the fireworks when you saw the look of genuine concern shine on his face, your heart clenching painfully. His hand landed on your upper arm, gently, as if afraid to scare you away, as his eyes urged you to speak, though you couldn’t open your mouth – it felt like it was clogged, your breathing becoming heavy and difficult. In a second, your arms drew him into a tight embrace, your face getting lost in his chest as the tears broke out yet again.

Draco Malfoy hugged right back, rubbing reassuring circles on your back.

“Whoever made you cry…Will pay.” You heard him mumble, though so quietly that you weren’t sure he said anything at all.

 Requests are opened!

Putting Money Where Your Mouth Is

Summary: Even in a healthy threesome, fights still happen.  Keith pushes too hard and words get said during training.  Good for him he knows all the best ways to apologize.

This takes place a little after “More than a Chemical Attraction” so if you want to see how these three get together, I highly recommend that fic first.  But I was really surprised by the great response to the last fic and thought everyone deserved a little NSFW encore.  Besides Keith deserves his ‘alone’ time with Lance too right? Oh and speaking of encores, there might be more in future with these three.  :)  Enjoy!

“Hit it from the top guys, one more time.” Shiro’s voice rings out from the side.

It’s been a long morning and Keith can’t take it anymore. Not when Lance keeps making the same mistakes over and over and over. There goes a foot out of place. Leaving an opening to his right and his combat stance is wrong again.

“Why can’t you take this more seriously?” Keith shouts as his sword clashes against Lance’s shield. “Shiro’s told you to keep your guard up for the millionth time!”

Lance braces, wishes Keith would just chill and gosh that sword is sharp. “Dude don’t you think I get the point? I mean I’m here training longer than Pidge and Hunk.” He clenches his teeth.

“That’s because they don’t need it.” Hunk is a tank and Pidge is so quick in a fight that an enemy would be lucky to hit her. Lance’s shield disintegrates with one more freaking blow and Keith reaches to grab Lance’s armored collar. He yanks Lance close and growls. Why can’t he get it? Does Keith have to shake bloody common sense into him? Definitely.

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The Art of Remembering (5/?)

Summary: Killian hasn’t seen Emma in months, not since she ran off in the middle of the night. But when he receives a call from the hospital informing him that she’s been in an accident he rushes to be by her side. Nervous and anxious to see her again he’s not sure what to expect—but he definitely doesn’t anticipate that upon waking she would have no idea who he is. Modern au

Word Count: ~4,000

Rating: T

Also on:, ao3

Catch up: one, two, three, four

a/n: Thank you so much for all the love I’ve gotten for this fic. I really love this chapter and I’m really excited to share it, so I hope you all enjoy it too! 

It’s been over an hour since their disaster of a morning and Killian left Emma alone. He’s strategically been keeping himself as busy and as far away from the living room as possible. Taking turns wandering between his room and his office, and resisting every desperate urge inside him to check on her.

She’d said she’d needed space and he’s respecting that—no matter how hard that may be, and no matter how badly he aches to be there beside her to comfort her. Because he knows she’s hurting in ways that go beyond just the physical, and it’s like a sharp knife in his heart knowing that she’s suffering just a few rooms away from him.

Especially since he’s sitting in front of his computer and doing absolutely nothing to alleviate that pain.

With a long sigh he pushes himself away from his desk and stands. Reaching up, he runs his fingers through his already disheveled hair for what probably makes the thousandth time that day, and contemplates what to do.

He’s given her over an hour—that’s enough time to breathe and collect oneself isn’t it? And all he wants to do is check on her. Make sure everything’s alright, even if it’s just for a moment. He’ll go under the guise of needing a glass of water from the kitchen or something, just enough of a reason to go in and see what she’s doing and see if she needs anything.

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You’ve Been Starring In My Dreams by summerwine

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson

Words count: 3133

Harry ran a dry fingertip against the rosy skin and shifted his sight to catch Louis’ reaction. His eyes were screwed shut and his lips were parted on an exhale. His fist was digging into his papers and his hips were grinding into the mattress.

He was desperate for it and his poorly concealed whimpers made it that much more obvious.

Palms are Sweaty, Knees Weak, Arms are Heavy | A Kacchako Drabble

I started thinking about how Bakugou’s quirk is tied to his sweaty hands, and then this happened. Let me know what you think!

Summary: A classroom science project flirts with disaster when Bakugou can’t stop sweating.

For what felt like the twelfth time, Bakugou discreetly rubbed his palms on the fabric of his pants. But when he replaced them back on his desk, they were still as sopping wet as before.

Fuck, he thought. Bakugou glanced at Uraraka through his periphery, and the heat beneath the skin of his palms blazed anew. Grunting, he wiped them on his pants again. What the hell is wrong with me?

Bakugou was a guy who sweat a lot. Call it an occupational hazard–with a quirk like his, sweating bullets kept him ready for combat at all times. It was just common sense. Yeah it got a little gross, especially in the summer, but that was what deodorant was for. As far as quirk drawbacks go, it was no big deal.  

“Maybe we should make a pyramid,” Uraraka said. “If the egg is nestled in the middle, it probably won’t break. Can you hand me the masking tape?”

He didn’t “hand” her a damn thing. Instead, he balanced the masking tape on its side and rolled it across the desk in her direction. Uraraka, unrelentingly bubbly, caught it with a smile and ripped off a small piece before putting it back. Growing quiet and focused, she stuck her tongue out the corner of her mouth and fastened two plastic straws together.

Bakugou didn’t bother to suppress as scowl as he wiped his hands again, a little more roughly this time.

The egg drop assignment was simple. After being randomly paired up, the students had to use plastic straws, masking tape, and paper towels to construct a device that would protect an egg from a steep fall. Once their structure was complete, the teams would literally drop their creations off the roof, one by one, to see if the egg would shatter.

While this was a pretty standard school assignment, it still had a U.A. “plus ultra” spin. Since heroes had use creative problem solving in the field, they were allowed to use their quirks in class. Obviously, this meant some people had an immediate edge. Sero could produce infinite tape from his goddamn elbows, and Yaoyoruzu was able to create straws made from reinforced plastic from her own body.

But the student with the greatest advantage was definitely Uraraka, who would just erase the egg’s gravity and slowly lower it to the ground. When Bakugou was paired with her, he thought the project would be a cake walk. There was literally no way he could fail.

This was before his own body turned traitor.

He clenched his fists, and exhaled. If he was get this egg drop bullshit over with, he had to stop acting like Uraraka was radioactive or something, clammy hands be damned. Just grab the roll of tape, stick some straws together, repeat.

Bakugou held the masking tape between his fingers and ripped of a piece with a swift motion. Like flint striking steel, a lick of heat burst from his hands, fueled by the enormous pool of sweat on his palm. A small explosion rippled across his skin, and he clamped his hands tightly together to keep it from escaping. The class heard only a muffled boom and a clap.

Certain that he had snuffed it out, Bakugou opened his hands. The tape he was handling was reduced to a sticky, melted brown mess.

Tiny beads of sweat began collecting at his hairline and the nape of his neck. Even the soles of his feet felt hot. What the fuck. This sort of flare up hadn’t happened to him since he was a kid. What is going on? Why am I like this?

That last question was a dangerous line of thought, one he gladly left the fuck alone.

“That’s a good idea,” Uraraka said, looking at the plasticy puddle in his hand. “We can just melt the straws together into a parachute for the egg.”

Bakugou nodded and mumbled that he was working on exactly that. Better to let her believe what had happened was one hundred percent calculated.

In the end, Uraraka only erased the gravity of the basket, not the egg. Since gravity still acted upon the egg, the entire thing steadily descended to the ground. The parachute of melted multicolor plastic added wind resistance to slow the egg’s fall, and the basket cushioned the impact once it landed.

When they returned to the ground floor to inspect their work, Uraraka pumped both fists in the air.

“We did it!” Uraraka exclaimed. Their egg was one of the only ones to have made it safely back to earth. “High five!”

The image of his quirk activating the moment his slick palm touched hers, blowing Uraraka away in an instant, came unbidden to Bakugou.

“I’ve got plastic shit all over them still,” he replied. A half truth.

Of course, this didn’t disappoint Uraraka in the slightest. “Aw, don’t sweat it! Thanks for everything!”

When class concluded, he waited until she was out of sight before he rubbed his palms on his pants again. 

anonymous asked:

hmmm 43 with Sam/reader?

“I feel like I can’t breathe.”

“Something is wrong.” You gasped, one hand thrown against the wall while your nails clawed at the bricks.

“Whoa, [Y/N], what is it?” Sam was right behind you, a hand on your back holding you steady.

“I - I can’t - too much…” You choked out, arms flying around your ribcage.

“Too much what, [Y/N]?” Sam stepped in front of you then and held your face between his hands.

“Too much death, Sam. We just came from burying Uncle Bobby!” You wailed, voice cracking at your now dead uncle’s name as you collapsed into Sam’s arms and cried into his suit jacket.

“I know, I know. I’ve got you.” One of his hands held your head against his chest, while the other ran along your spine, calming your nerves.

“I feel like I can’t breathe.” You cried, arms wrapping around his waist and pulling him impossibly closer to you.

Before long, you were spitting and sputtering, inhaling sharply and feeling completely unable to exhale. Fisting your hands in his jacket, you held on for dear life. Sam looked down at you and saw the panic in your eyes.

“It’s okay. Deep breath. Come on, you got it. Like this…” He held up his hand and flicked out a finger for each passing second. 

One, two, three, four, five.

Then he closed his fist and started again, signaling for you to exhale for the same count. 

One, two, three, four, five.

“Sam…” You sighed. “Thank you.”

“I remember you teaching me the five trick when we were little and I had nightmares one night. Your mom left you with Bobby for a week, not even so much as a call. That was the time dad dropped us there for almost two months.” He shook his head at the memory.

“I heard you yelling in your sleep so I came to make sure you were okay. When I got there you were awake and having an asthma attack.” You smiled slightly.

“So you handed me my inhaler and taught me the five trick.” He smiled down at you and pressed his lips to your forehead.

“Yeah, yeah, and the rest is history. Let’s go, lovebirds.” Dean smacked Sam on the shoulder and gave him a quick wink.

Sam ducked down and pecked your lips before wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you to his side, holding you close and very quietly counting with every five steps the two of you took together.

Drabble Challenge!

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Double-Header (Harry Wells x Reader x H.R. Wells)

Rating: M (smut)

Summary: Since Harry and H.R. have done such a good job at refraining from fighting with each other, it’s about time you give them a little something nice for being so well behaved…

A/N: This is a collaboration/extension which follows @letyourimaginationrun’s Cornered. I was truly honoured to be asked to write this smutty extension. I hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

Previously on letyourimaginationrun’s Polyamorous Harry Wells x Reader x H.R. Wells Series:



And now…

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Forget Yourself

Pairing: Harry X Reader

Prompt: Short drabble regarding the events right before the Battle of the Seven Potters.

Warnings: None

A/N: Apologies if this is short and subpar, but I promise I have lots of fun stuff planned for the holiday season! Ready 2 get spoopy!!

Originally posted by heartsnmagic

When you thought about your seventh year at Hogwarts, you always imagined ruling the school. Not in a tyrannical or royal way, more like being able to finally be carefree and be respected among all the younger students. All of Hogwarts would be your oyster, and it was yours for the taking.

Reality sort of got in the way of that.

No. Instead of younger kids looking up to you and thinking it was so cool that you were in your final year, you were the one worrying about their well-being. The past three years alone had been nothing but making sure the younger kids were safe and not turned into victims of the dark arts.

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We Don’t Talk Anymore

Summary: It’s been almost two years since you and Peter Parker parted ways, and you never understood why. Unfortunately, he didn’t either. 

Warnings: Cursing

Word Count: 5,215

Your nails tapped against the fake wood desk, occasionally snagging on the scratched surface as your chemistry teacher droned on about the elements, hardly looking back at the ocean of inattentive students. If Mr. McKinley wasn’t the oldest and strictest teacher at Midtown, you’d be checking your Instagram feed unabashedly, scrolling through the pictures of yesterday’s party you decided to skip out on.

Your eyes flicked back to the clock, which had moved about a fucking millimeter since the last time you’d checked it. You held back a groan, knowing that somehow McKinley would pick you personally out of the crowd. It was like the old man had a vendetta against you, dubious of your ability to pass his class and maintain a popular social life.

He set his marker down, pristine oxfords clicking against the tile floors as he shuffled back to his desk. He ignored the cacophony of students settling in place, appearing as though they’d been enthralled at his lesson. You gave the man no such grace as you sighed, inspecting your green painted nails once more as the grey-haired man cleared his throat.

“That’s the end of the atoms and elements lecture. You have an assignment, as written in your beginning of the year syllabus, and it’s worth twenty percent of your grade this quarter,” he boomed, making the entire class sag their shoulders at once.

“You will have assigned partners, and I expect a certain degree of work from all of you. You will both do fair amounts of work, and if I hear otherwise both of your grades will be dropped, is that clear?” The class slumped even lower, some students slipping out of their chairs dramatically. You snickered at the classes antics, until you heard your name being called.

“…And Peter Parker,” Mr. McKinley gave you a side glance, milky green eyes watching for any signs of objection, but you gave none.

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11, 12, 17 (Count From 30)

Summary:  4/27/11: Jason Todd gets ice cream with his father and brother.

4/27/12: Jason Todd lies on the floor of a warehouse, listening to the ticking countdown of a bomb.

4/27/17: Jason Todd’s plans to lay alone and depressed in his apartment are rudely interrupted.

Word Count: 2600

A/N: Slightly late fic for the anniversary of Jason’s death. Enjoy!

AO3 Link

April 27th, 2011

“No! No! Go away! Get away from me!” Jason screeched, skidding down the hallway. He was almost to the door. He’d be safe in just a few more—

Oomph. His ankle, his ankle was being grabbed, but the door was almost—

He fell to the ground, his pursuer collapsing on top of him.

“No!” he shrieked.

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My YOI Mafia AU

Link to Ch. 2

I’ve always LOVED Mafia au’s, and really want to attempt to write my own!
I really want to try and make a couple chapters out of this…we shall see! I’ll be posting this on my ao3 account as well!~


How long had it been? Ten, maybe fifteen minutes? Yuuri took a long draw on his Cuban cigar, let it settle on his tongue, then exhaled.
The thunking sound of flesh hitting flesh filled the spacious office.
A scream, a plead, and then more flesh being beaten in. Yuuri took another inhale of smoke.
He really didn’t like to go about things this way, in fact he hated it.
It was troublesome and tiring.
Just kill them and be done with it, it would save so much time.
But his right hand man Viktor was so damn extravagant. He absolutely loved to show off his physical skills.
Yuuri watched the silver haired man laying into the accused; jab, upper cut, a kick in the ribs, a step on the knee. Another long, loud scream.
Yuuri sighed.
“Enough.” Viktor was still going, though. Did he not hear his boss?
“I said enough.” It was very dangerous for Yuuri to have to repeat himself. If you lived to hear the repetition, you were very lucky indeed.
But of course, Viktor Nikiforov was no ordinary man to Yuuri. Not at all.

Viktor immediately stopped and grabbed a prepared towel off the desk, calmly wiping the blood off his hands.
“Damn it, this is a new suit, too! It was so expensive.” He whined, trying to wipe the blood off his cuff links.
“But, it was worth it. I’ve wanted to beat the shit out of Mr. Jacques for quite some time.” He winked at Yuuri, who was snuffing out his cigar.
“Jean, I don’t have much more patience. And I’m only going to ask this once. Where is my money?
Yuuri cocked his head to the side, surveying the extensive damage Viktor had done.
The man laid sprawled out on the floor, but slowly managed to sit up on his elbows. His face was a bloodied mess, quickly purpling all over.
Jean Jacques, otherwise known as JJ. Twenty six years old, ran the largest gang in Canada. He co-owned a surplus of prostitution rings with the Swedish black market overseer, Christophe Giacometti.
These clubs were spread out over his native country, Sweden and America, too. He named his strip clubs “JJ Girls”. Befitting of the man’s cockiness. He was very loud and obnoxious, boisterous, and tended to overstep his boundaries. But, atleast twenty percent of the clubs he owned himself were funded by a loan from Yuuri. And unfortunately for JJ, he had overstepped.
“Fucking bitch…” JJ spat out blood on the floor. Viktor went striding back over.
The beaten man threw his hands up. “Don’t worry. I have your fucking money.” He tried to stand, favoring his left leg. “You really had to go all out, eh?”
“I’ll transfer the money over today. As soon as I get out of here.”
“And who says we’re going to let you out of here?” Viktor asked nonchalantly.
“Enough.” Yuuri tapped his index finger on the desk. Viktor knew he used up his last time to speak out of turn.
“You will be accompanied by one of my men to your bank of choice, just to make sure everything goes as planned. Please be on time with your payments in the future. The next missed payment will have a very heavy late fee. You are dismissed.” Yuuri relit his cigar, leaning back into his large leather chair. He really had to stop smoking those things.
JJ smirked and began walking towards the door. “I definitely don’t want to pay that kind of a late fee. See ya.” He waved, as he was escorted out of the room.
Yuuri sighed heavily. “The other organizations are getting way too comfortable, these days.”
There was no response from Viktor, who stood on his right, with his arms crossed.
Yuuri sent the remaining guards out of the room.
“How many times do I have to tell you not to over talk me, Viktor? It’s getting annoying.” Yuuri, again, put out his cigar.
Viktor shrugged and turned to him, leaning on Yuuri’s desk.
“Sorry, moya lyubov. I can’t help it. I get overly excited sometimes, you know that.” Viktor caressed Yuuri’s lips with his thumb,
Yuuri smacked his hand away.
“Please don’t think too much of yourself Viktor. I am leader the Russian Mafia.” Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s tie, pulling him down for a deep, tongue-filled kiss.
“Make sure you don’t forget that.”
Viktor got on one knee, and grabbed Yuuri’s right hand. He kissed the matching gold ring that glinted in the window light. “Yes, sir.” Viktor interlaced Yuuri’s fingers with his.
As Viktor and Yuuri were getting prepared to take a long break, there was a knock on the door. Shortly followed by loud cursing and the door being swung open.
Yuuri groaned.
The slender, blonde young man came stomping in, his face flushed in anger.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt!” He threw a stack of papers on the desk.
“Is this a fucking joke?”
Yuri Plisetsky. 23. Known as the “Russian Ice Tiger”. He was a ferocious little beast, with a temper that even exceeded that. The mafia’s top ranking assassin; he could shoot a target dead from eight hundred feet with his eyes closed. Sounds exaggerated, but Yuuri’s seen him do it. He also was only second to Viktor in hand to hand combat. And he was the third closest person to Yuuri.
“Plisetsky. I am really not in the mood.” Yuuri began to rub his temples. What he had been in the mood for was some personal time with his lover, and of course the kid had to come in and ruin it.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, sir. Please forgive me for wanting to know why the fuck you decided to have me work on the mission with that pussy?”
He was referring to Minami Kenjirou. Who was a senior to Yuri by two years. Minami was a go-between, a person who sealed deals with opposing gangs. He was energetic and jovial, a rarity in the business they are were in, also looked at as weak. But he actually doubled as an interrogator for the mafia, a secret of which only Yuuri knew. Those who were questioned by Minami did not keep a tight lip for long. He was overly skilled in torture; Yuuri had sat in to oversee one of his interrogations, and Yuuri decided that was the last time he would ever attend one again. The longest record of anyone that lasted was five minutes, and Minami had interrogated a countless number of people.
“I can do this fucking mission alone, goddamnit! I’m not bringing that little annoying shit with me-”
“Plisetsky. I’m tired.
Silence. Yuri grit his teeth, but knew better than to continue his rant.
“Minami is going with you because of that terrible mouth you have. He’s a good talker, and knows how to persuade people. Talk to people. Qualities that you severely lack. The both of you together will make a good team. I need you to get that informant as soon as possible.
Please don’t disappoint me.”
Yuri was already stomping out of the room, hands balled in fists.
Yuuri exhaled, he really hoped Plisetsky wouldn’t do anything irrational. He was prone to doing terrible things when he was in one of his rages.
“Okay. Lock that damn door, Vitya. I don’t want anyone else coming in here.”
Viktor chuckled. “You got it, boss.”

Yuuri had his head nestled in Viktor’s neck, inhaling deeply. When he was with Viktor, all other intrusive thoughts failed to plague him. It was just the two of them in the entire universe; nothing else mattered.
He remembered when he first met Viktor. Yuuri had been recruited by the Mafia and became a drug runner. He was initiated in to the gang with a severe beating; he was sure it was so bad because he was a foreigner. Not too many of the members agreed with his joining, but Yakov had quickly silenced the doubters.
After he had been beaten almost half to death, Viktor came and helped him. He patched his wounds, with gentle yet strong hands. Yuuri thought that was probably the moment he had fallen for him.
“They went too far, those bastards. I hate to see such a pretty face ruined like this.” He ran the back of his finger down Yuuri’s cheek.
“I’m Viktor Nikiforov. The successor to the Russian Mafia.”
Yes, the successor. How Yuuri became the leader of the Mafia, is a story to tell some other time.
Viktor held out the hand that had touched Yuuri’s face, Yuuri shook it. He was extremely surprised Viktor was speaking to him, had actually cared for his wounds like that. He heard stories surrounding the man, he was known as “Faceless”. They would say he always wore a smile on his face, and no one could ever tell when he was angry. Until it was too late, of course.
“…K-Katsuki Yuuri. It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
Viktor’s smile widened. “Oh, what beautiful manners! I like you already.” He winked. Viktor grabbed one of Yuuri’s arms, and shouldered his weight to stand.
“Let’s get you something to eat.”

Yuuri was taken out of his reverie by Viktor brushing his hair to the back of his ear.
“How much longer do we have to play mobster, Yuuri?” Viktor pouted, pulling him in closer into his embrace.
They had this conversation at least twice a day, and it seemed to be increasing. “Vitya…can we just be quiet and hold each other for awhile? I don’t feel like arguing.”
Viktor huffed “But I’m getting bored of all this. Why can’t we go hide out on an island, forever? Just you and me and palm trees? I know all of this is taking a toll on you-”
“Viktor, please.”
The man continued. “I know you’re getting tired of this, too. Let’s leave this all behind.” Viktor put his forehead to Yuuri’s. There still were no words from the dark haired man. Viktor pulled back.
“Are you really going to choose this life over everything that we have? Over real love and happiness? Over me?” Yuuri did not respond, which made Viktor grab his chin and turn up his face, forcing Yuuri to look at him.
“Yuuri?” The hurt and anger was beginning to creep into Viktor’s eyes. This was a question Yuuri had been waiting to come up.
Though, he wished it never would.
Yuuri had joined the Mafia to make some quick cash, originally.
His family lived in a one bedroom apartment back in Japan. So when Yuuri got scouted by the Mafia, he was offered what they presented all newbies. Money, protection, power. Three things Yuuri craved, though at that time money was all he truly wanted.
With the pay he’d get, he would be able to support his family. Move them out of the Hasetsu slums, give his mother and father the Onsen they’d been dreaming of owning ever since he could remember. Maybe he and his sister Mari could attend college. He had planned on getting rich quick, and then finding a way to escape the organization.
But one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew, he was addicted. Every day he fell deeper and deeper into the darkness. Each day a piece of his old self, the little chubby boy that ran around alleyways playing tag with his best friends Yuuko and Nishigori, disappeared. Once he was able to provide for his family, money became an after thought.
He wanted power. He wanted underlings. He wanted his reach to spread across every damn country on the earth. It consumed him.
By the time his relationship with Viktor had really began to flourish, it was already too late. Yuuri had long since succumbed to the allure of the dark path. The only small decimal of light that he allowed within himself was his family, and the man he was lying next to.
Viktor took Yuuri’s unresponsiveness as his answer. He unwrapped his arms from around him, and got off the couch. He began putting back on his suit, which was now wrinkled from being strewn across the floor.
“Vitya…I’m sorry.”
Viktor turned around, adjusting his button down, tucking it into his pants.
He smiled. This wasn’t Viktor anymore, it was Faceless.
“I understand.”
Yuuri grabbed Viktor’s wrist, but it was jerked out of his grip.
“Is there anything else you require of me, Mr. Katsuki?”
It was a cold question, one that pulled at Yuuri’s chest. When Viktor became like this, Yuuri had long ago realized it was best to leave him alone for a little while. There was no breaching the wall that Viktor built when he did not want any interaction.
“No. You may leave.”
With that, Viktor pulled on his blazer and stalked out of the room.

One day, if this darkness ever releases me, and if we’re both still alive;
I would love to run away with you.