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goldfades · 3 months ago

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PLAYING WITH FIRE──FATHER CHARLIE

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─ summary | a preacher's daughter becomes involved in a secret and passionate affair with a priest, challenging her strict upbringing and the expectations of her family and faith.

─ pairing | father charlie mayhew x preacher's daughter!reader

─ warnings | NSFW (with plot) under the cut. fingering, heavy make-out sessions, praise/degradation?

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Your father always said the church was supposed to be your sanctuary.

From the time you were old enough to sit still on a pew, the towering stained glass windows and the echo of hymns in the vaulted ceiling had been your world. Every sermon, every candlelit service, every whispered prayer had woven itself into the fabric of your life, wrapping you in a cloak of devotion that felt as natural as breathing.

Now, standing in the shadow of the altar, that cloak felt a little too tight.

The evening light filtered through the stained glass, casting a kaleidoscope of colors across the stone floors. Blues and golds stretched in long, quiet beams, like the church itself was holding its breath. Outside, the world was settling into the calm of twilight, but inside, the silence felt heavier than usual. It pressed down on your shoulders, thick and stifling.

You stood there, fingertips grazing the smooth surface of the wooden pew in front of you. The familiar scent of incense and old books filled your lungs as you breathed in deeply, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been crawling under your skin for weeks now. Something was different, though you couldn’t quite place it. The church, once a place of comfort, now felt... constricting. Maybe it was the weight of expectation—or maybe it was something else entirely, something you didn’t dare to name yet.

Your gaze drifted to the large crucifix at the front of the room, eyes tracing the well-worn details of it, the soft glow of candlelight flickering at its base. You were supposed to feel something here. Reverence. Peace. But instead, a knot twisted in your chest, a tangle of emotions you couldn’t unravel.

Footsteps echoed behind you, soft but deliberate, the sound pulling you back to the present. You didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. You could feel his presence like the air had shifted, like the temperature in the room dropped just a fraction of a degree.

“Evening service is in an hour.”

Father Charlie’s voice, smooth and low, cut through the silence, brushing against the nape of your neck like a whisper. You swallowed, your pulse quickening, though you weren’t entirely sure why. He always had that effect on you, though you told yourself it was nothing. Just nerves. Just... respect. Nothing more.

You turned to face him, forcing a smile as you nodded. “I know. I just... wanted a moment before the crowd comes in.”

His eyes lingered on you for a beat longer than necessary, and something in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. It wasn’t just the way he looked at you—it was the way you felt when he did, like you were being seen for the first time, like every carefully crafted piece of who you were might unravel if you weren’t careful.

“Of course,” he replied, his voice still soft, but there was an edge to it now, something unspoken that hung in the air between you.

You looked away quickly, your fingers curling tighter around the pew. Your father’s words echoed in your mind, reminding you of your duty, of your place. You were the preacher’s daughter, after all. Everything about your life was tied to this church, to your father’s legacy, to the faith you were supposed to uphold with unwavering loyalty.

But then why did it feel like everything was starting to crack?

You forced yourself to stand taller, clearing your throat as you spoke again, your voice quieter this time. “I should probably go help with preparations.”

“Right,” Charlie said, though he didn’t move, didn’t take his eyes off you.

The silence stretched between you once more, and you could feel the weight of it, heavy and unspoken. Something was shifting, whether you wanted to admit it or not.

───

College had opened a thousand new doors for you, each one leading you further away from the world you had known for so long. The freedom was intoxicating—more than you could have imagined. Late nights spent in libraries, impromptu road trips with friends, a city that felt alive beneath your feet, humming with possibilities you had never considered. For the first time in your life, you weren’t tethered to the expectations of your family, the expectations of the church.

But even as you explored new ideas, met people who challenged the beliefs you had grown up with, and carved out space for yourself in a world much bigger than the small town you’d left behind, something kept pulling you back. A tug, a whisper, a lingering sense of obligation that gnawed at you when the campus quieted down in the early hours of the morning.

It wasn’t just the faith you were raised in that haunted you; it was the weight of your father’s voice echoing in your head, the way he spoke about duty, commitment, and sacrifice. His sermons had always been about more than just scripture—they were about life, about how the world tested you, how sin was a slippery slope. How it could seduce you without you even realizing it.

You thought you could ignore it for a while, push the thoughts aside as you embraced everything new. But when the holidays came and you found yourself back home, the old routines settled over you like a heavy coat. The Sunday services, the church events, the constant watchful eyes of the congregation. You could feel them all waiting, wondering if the preacher’s daughter had come back changed, if the world had gotten to you.

And then, there was Father Charlie.

You hadn’t expected to see him again—not like this, not after everything had shifted inside of you. College had given you new perspectives, yes, but it hadn’t prepared you for the way your pulse raced the moment you saw him standing in the front of the church, speaking with your father as if everything was still the same.

But it wasn’t.

Charlie looked different. Or maybe you did. He was older now, though not by much, and there was a certain weight in his eyes that you hadn’t noticed before. It wasn’t just his sermons or the way he carried himself with that steady, unshakable calm; it was the way his gaze lingered on you, the way it seemed like he could see through the mask you were trying so hard to keep up.

You’d always known him as the priest who helped your father, the man who had been an almost constant presence in your home, at dinners, at family gatherings. He was someone you trusted, someone you never questioned. Until now.

There was something about him now, something that made the air feel too thick when you were in the same room. Maybe it was because you had changed, maybe it was because you had seen more of the world and realized how small the one you left behind had been. Or maybe it was because for the first time, you were looking at him not through the lens of innocence and trust, but through something darker. Something you weren’t ready to name.

It started innocently enough—helping your father prepare for services, catching up with old friends from the congregation, falling back into the role of the dutiful daughter. You had perfected that role long ago, and slipping back into it felt almost too easy, like muscle memory. But every time you caught a glimpse of Charlie, that mask cracked just a little more.

You told yourself it was nothing, that it was just the stress of being home again, of reconciling who you were now with who you had been before. But it wasn’t long before you found yourself lingering after church events, staying late to help clean up, just to see if he’d still be there. Just to see if his eyes would meet yours again, if that strange, unspoken tension between you would return.

And it always did.

It was subtle at first, the way he looked at you from across the room, the way his gaze lingered just a little too long before he turned away. You tried to convince yourself you were imagining it, that it was just your mind playing tricks on you. But then there were the conversations, those moments when the two of you were alone in the church hall, the only sound the distant hum of people outside. The way his voice softened when he spoke to you, the way he leaned in just a fraction too close, the way his hand brushed yours when you passed him something.

It was nothing. Or at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

But one evening, after a particularly long meeting at the church, when everyone else had left and you were gathering your things, you turned around to find him standing in the doorway, watching you.

Your breath caught in your throat, your heart skipping a beat. The look in his eyes was different this time—darker, more intense. There was something there that you hadn’t seen before, or maybe something you had been too afraid to acknowledge.

“I didn’t expect you to come back,” he said, his voice quiet but steady. His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second.

You swallowed hard, your pulse quickening as you tried to gather your thoughts. “It’s home,” you replied, though even you could hear the uncertainty in your own voice.

He stepped into the room, closing the door softly behind him. The sound of it clicking shut seemed to echo in the silence, making the space between you feel even smaller. He didn’t say anything at first, just looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to find something, some answer to a question he hadn’t asked yet.

You should have felt uncomfortable. You should have made some excuse to leave, to get out of there before whatever this was could unfold. But instead, you stayed rooted to the spot, your breath shallow, your heart racing in your chest.

“I’ve been thinking about you,” he admitted, his voice lower now, almost a whisper.

Your heart skipped another beat, a wave of heat washing over you at his words. You didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to say to the man standing in front of you—the man who had always been so steady, so composed, and now looked like he was standing on the edge of something dangerous.

“Charlie, I—”

“I know,” he interrupted, taking another step closer, his eyes still locked on yours. “I know this is... complicated.”

Complicated didn’t even begin to cover it. He was a priest. You were the preacher’s daughter. There were rules, lines that couldn’t be crossed, things that couldn’t be said.

But here you were, standing in the quiet of the church, and those lines had never felt more blurred.

It was wrong. Everything about this was wrong. You knew it deep down, felt it in the pit of your stomach. He was a man of God, your father’s closest confidant, the last person you should have these thoughts about. And yet, here he was—standing before you, watching you with an intensity that made your breath hitch, like you were the only person in the world at that moment.

He was too close now. You could smell the faint scent of incense still clinging to his clothes, could see the slight furrow in his brow as he struggled to keep his composure. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The only sound was the soft hum of the fluorescent lights overhead and the muted shuffle of footsteps outside the room.

You should leave. You needed to. But instead, you found yourself taking a slow, steady breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of your heart.

“I don’t know what’s happening here,” you finally whispered, your voice barely audible.

Charlie exhaled softly, his eyes never leaving yours. “Neither do I,” he admitted, his voice low, almost broken. “But I can’t stop thinking about you.”

The confession hung in the air between you, heavy and dangerous. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He was supposed to be a man above these temptations, above human desires. And you were supposed to be someone who understood that, who respected the boundaries that came with it. But somehow, those boundaries had started to blur long before either of you realized.

His hand twitched at his side, like he was fighting the urge to reach out and touch you, to close the distance between you. For a moment, you thought he might actually do it. That he might cross that final line. But he hesitated, clenching his fist as if to hold himself back.

“I shouldn’t have said that,” he muttered under his breath, taking a small step backward, as if the space would help clear the growing storm between you.

You bit your lip, trying to find the right words, the right way to make sense of the tangled mess of emotions inside you. “Charlie...”

“Don’t,” he cut you off softly, shaking his head. “You don’t understand how wrong this is.”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water, but they didn’t stop the way your heart fluttered in your chest, or the way your stomach twisted with something dangerous. You knew he was right. This was wrong, on every level. And yet, the way he looked at you, the way his voice dropped when he said your name—it sent a shiver down your spine that you couldn’t ignore.

“Then why do you keep looking at me like that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

For a moment, he didn’t respond. He just stared at you, his expression a mixture of frustration and something darker—something you didn’t dare name out loud.

“Because,” he finally murmured, his voice thick with restrained emotion, “I can’t help it.”

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of those words settle over you. It wasn’t the confession you had expected, and it wasn’t one that made things any easier. If anything, it only made the situation even more complicated.

“I should go,” you whispered, your voice shaky as you tried to take a step back, to create some distance between you and the storm brewing in the space you shared.

That was all you said before turning around, and leaving the room.

───

You weren't sure how this had happened, but sure as hell did. Charlie's lips were on yours, pushing you into the door with force. You hummed into his lips, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

All you remember was his hands gripping your waist, pulling you closer, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go. The world outside that door no longer existed, fading into a blur as Charlie’s lips moved against yours with a fervor that felt like it had been building for far too long.

All you remembered was the sound of your own heartbeat, pounding so loudly in your ears that it drowned out everything else—the quiet of the church hall, the soft creak of the door behind you, the whisper of your name on Charlie’s lips before everything had spiraled out of control.

You had always imagined this would be different, more hesitant, slower, maybe even sweet. But this? This was something else entirely. It was rushed, desperate, like both of you had been holding back for so long that the dam had finally broken, flooding every bit of restraint.

Your hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him to close the gap between you entirely. His fingers dug into your hips, holding you in place as if he was afraid you’d slip away if he didn’t. His lips were warm, insistent, and you couldn’t help but melt into him, surrendering to the pull you had resisted for so long.

The weight of what you were doing hit you in flashes—between the soft gasp that escaped your throat and the way Charlie’s breath hitched when you responded with equal need. You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be doing this. But nothing had ever felt so... inevitable.

The taste of his kiss lingered on your lips, sending sparks through your body that only grew more intense the longer it went on. You could feel the tension radiating off of him, the battle he was fighting between what he knew was wrong and what he wanted more than anything at that moment.

It was a battle you were losing, too.

You broke away for a second, gasping for air as his forehead pressed against yours, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes—dark, conflicted, and filled with something so raw—locked onto yours. For a moment, the weight of what you’d just done hung between you.

But then, before either of you could think too much, his lips were back on yours, silencing any doubts. This time, softer.

This time, his kiss was slower, more deliberate, like he was trying to memorize the feel of you. The urgency had dimmed just enough to let the moment stretch out, to let the reality of what was happening sink in. His hands traced a path from your hips to your waist, pulling you even closer, while his lips moved tenderly against yours, tasting you in a way that made your knees weak.

Your mind was a blur of sensations—the warmth of his breath, the soft friction of his body pressing into yours, the quiet hum of the world outside this stolen moment. Every touch, every kiss, felt like it was lighting a fire inside you that you couldn't put out, even if you tried.

But then, as his lips left yours to trail softly down your jawline, the weight of it all crashed down on you. What had you done? What were you doing?

“Charlie,” you whispered, your voice trembling as reality clawed its way back in. His name fell from your lips like a plea, though you weren’t sure if you were asking him to stop or to keep going.

He froze, his breath hot against your neck. For a long moment, he didn’t move, his hands still gripping your waist as if he couldn’t bear to let go. Then, with a shuddering breath, he pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression filled with a storm of emotions—regret, desire, conflict, everything.

“I... I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice hoarse and broken. His eyes searched yours, as though he was looking for some kind of answer, some justification for the lines he had just crossed. “I shouldn’t have...”

You shook your head, still catching your breath, your hands sliding down from his shoulders. “No,” you whispered, feeling the heat in your cheeks. “Don’t apologize. I wanted this, too.”

Charlie swallowed hard, his gaze flickering between your lips and your eyes, torn between the undeniable truth of your words and the overwhelming guilt gnawing at him. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step back, running a hand through his hair as if to ground himself, to keep himself from falling further.

“We can’t do this,” he muttered, almost to himself, though the words were meant for both of you. “This... it’s wrong. It goes against everything.”

“Charlie,” you scoffed as you straightened up. “So what? So what if this is wrong, who said we can't have fun every once in a while?”

Charlie’s eyes darkened at your words, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his features. You watched as he clenched his jaw, wrestling with the temptation that you had just fanned back into life with that careless, reckless comment.

“Fun?” he repeated, his voice low and strained, almost like he couldn’t believe you had said it. “You think this is just fun?”

You tilted your head, shrugging, though you could feel your heart pounding in your chest. “Why not? Why does it have to be this heavy, guilt-ridden thing? It’s only wrong if we make it wrong.” Your voice was bold, but there was a trembling edge beneath it, one you hoped he wouldn’t notice.

Charlie’s hand ran through his hair in frustration as he stared at you, his chest rising and falling unevenly. “You don’t get it,” he muttered, taking a step closer, and for a moment, you saw the fire in his eyes again—the same fire that had pulled you both into this moment in the first place. “This isn’t just some game. You have no idea what you’re risking.”

You stepped forward, closing the distance again, the tension between you crackling like electricity. “I know exactly what I’m risking, Charlie. And I don’t care. Don’t you get that by now? I want this.”

For a split second, you saw the conflict in his eyes again, the internal war he was waging, but then his hand reached out, gripping your arm, pulling you closer. His breath was ragged as his forehead pressed against yours, his fingers tightening around you like he was holding on for dear life.

“You’re driving me insane,” he murmured, his voice thick with desperation. “This isn’t something we can just... play with. It’s wrong, and I—”

“Do you want me to stop?” you cut him off, your voice soft but firm, your lips inches from his.

Charlie’s breath hitched as his grip on you tightened even more. His eyes searched yours, the weight of the decision heavy between you both. For a moment, neither of you moved, the air thick with anticipation, with the unspoken truth neither of you could deny anymore.

“I don’t want you to stop,” he admitted, his voice a hoarse whisper, filled with all the tension and desire he had been trying so hard to suppress. “But I should. We should.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, and without thinking, you leaned in, your lips brushing against his ear as you whispered, “Then don’t.”

That was all it took.

In an instant, his resolve crumbled, and Charlie’s lips crashed into yours with a force that sent a shiver down your spine. All the restraint, all the guilt, evaporated in that single moment as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough.

That was how this little affair had began. What started as a reckless act of rebellion, something thrilling and dangerous, had spiraled into something much bigger, something neither of you could have anticipated.

For Charlie, everything began to shift. At first, it was just the stolen kisses and the hurried, whispered moments behind locked doors. But then, gradually, you noticed the change in him—subtle at first, but undeniable as time went on. He wasn’t the same devout, principled man he’d been before. The conviction that once held him together was starting to unravel, and it wasn’t just about you anymore.

His sermons, once delivered with unshakable passion, began to falter. He spoke the words, but there was a hollowness to them now, a lack of fire that hadn’t been there before. The weight of his role as a priest no longer seemed to sit so heavily on his shoulders. It was as though he was slipping further away from the man he had been, day by day, like he had loosened his grip on the faith that had once defined him.

It wasn’t just in the church either. You saw it in his eyes, the way they lit up when he saw you, no longer clouded with guilt or hesitation. The same man who had once knelt in prayer for hours, seeking forgiveness for even the smallest of sins, now seemed to be the furthest thing from repentant. There was a spark in him that had nothing to do with religion—a hunger for something more, something that you had awakened in him.

You had become his escape, his release from the rigid life he had once lived. And it was clear that, for the first time in a long while, he was having fun. Real fun. The kind that made his eyes light up with a mischievous glint, the kind that left him grinning after each secret encounter. He was no longer the solemn, restrained Father Charlie that everyone in the church knew. Around you, he laughed more, joked more, and seemed more alive than he ever had before.

There was a recklessness to him now, a side of Charlie that had been hidden beneath layers of duty and piety. When you were together, it was as though none of the rules applied. His hands roamed freely, his lips found yours without hesitation, and the weight of his priesthood—the guilt that had once threatened to crush him—seemed to melt away with each touch, each kiss, each stolen moment.

He wasn’t praying for forgiveness anymore. He wasn’t praying for anything at all.

And maybe that was the most dangerous part of all. Charlie was slipping further and further away from the man he had been, from the role he had devoted his life to. But even as you saw him change, a part of you knew—you liked this version of him better. The one who wasn’t weighed down by morality, the one who let himself live, who let himself enjoy this, enjoy you.

Because, in truth, he had never seemed happier.

Then, your family's Christmas Eve dinner came and of course, Charlie would be invited. Your mother and father were practically buzzing with excitement—this was their biggest event of the year.

It would be in your home, just as it always was, with the dining room decked out in festive decorations. The smell of cinnamon, cloves, and roasting meat filled the air, and the flicker of candlelight danced along the walls. Your mother had spent days planning every detail, from the table settings to the perfect holiday playlist softly playing in the background. This was the night your family pulled out all the stops, and the guest of honor, of course, was none other than Father Charlie.

As you descended the stairs, dressed in a modest yet elegant outfit your mother had insisted upon, your stomach churned. The thought of Charlie sitting across from you, pretending nothing was happening between the two of you, made your skin prickle with a strange mix of anticipation and dread. You could already picture him, composed and serene, his priestly demeanor fully intact. But you knew better. Beneath the calm exterior, beneath the collar, there was a man who had unraveled, one you had helped tear apart.

The dining room was a scene of festive cheer by the time you arrived, your parents bustling about, greeting guests and making sure everything was perfect. You could hear your father laughing loudly from the other room, his booming voice full of pride as he told someone about how Father Charlie had become such an important part of the church community. How proud they were to have him there.

And then you saw him.

Charlie stood near the fireplace, talking to a few of the older parishioners who had arrived early, his usual composed expression firmly in place. He looked every bit the part—his black priest’s garb impeccable, his hands clasped in front of him in that familiar posture of calm authority. But when his eyes flicked over to you, for the briefest of moments, something shifted. His gaze lingered, and you saw the hint of heat behind them, a flash of memory that you were certain only the two of you understood. His lips quirked up in a small smile, seemingly innocent and kind. But you knew better.

Your heart skipped a beat as your mother’s voice pulled you back into the moment. “Sweetheart, come say hello to Father Charlie!” she called, her voice brimming with affection.

You swallowed hard, forcing a smile onto your face as you made your way toward him. Your mother was already gushing about how wonderful it was to have him here, how much your family appreciated him spending Christmas Eve with them. You barely heard her, your mind racing as Charlie’s eyes met yours, steady but unreadable.

“Good evening,” he said softly, his voice smooth as ever, though there was an edge to it that only you could catch. The soft smile that graced his features had turned into a small smirk as he took in your shy expression.

He extended his hand, and for a split second, as your fingers brushed his, a jolt of electricity surged through you. It was barely noticeable—a moment so fleeting your mother wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But for you, it was enough to send your mind spiraling back to all the times his hands had been on you in a much different way.

“Good evening, Father,” you replied, your voice steady, though your pulse was racing beneath the surface.

“Such a lovely home, as always,” Charlie said, turning his attention to your mother with a charming smile, ever the perfect guest. But as he spoke, you caught the way his fingers flexed slightly, like he was trying to hold back something deeper.

As the evening unfolded, you found yourself painfully aware of Charlie's presence, of the way he seemed just a little too comfortable, a little too close. He wasn’t careless enough to raise suspicion, not with your family and half the parish sitting around the table, but there were moments—subtle, fleeting moments—that made your heart race.

It started with the way he looked at you. His eyes would linger a beat too long whenever you caught each other’s gaze across the table. He spoke politely to your parents, laughed at the right moments, even indulged your father’s long-winded stories about the church’s history. But every time he glanced your way, there was something beneath the surface. A smoldering awareness.

Then, there were his hands. When he passed you the breadbasket, his fingers brushed against yours. Not an accident, not something your parents would ever notice, but it was enough. The touch sent a shiver down your spine, and the heat in his gaze told you he knew exactly what he was doing. His thumb grazed your wrist in a way that made your breath hitch, and when you glanced up, he was already looking away, like it never happened. But you knew.

Charlie was being reckless, though not in an obvious way. His behavior was just subtle enough to keep from drawing attention, but to you, it was impossible to miss. His foot nudged yours beneath the table during dinner, a simple tap, but the look he gave you when your knees touched—it was almost too much. You could barely keep yourself composed, your mind spinning with the memory of him pushing you up against the door, his lips on yours.

"Father, would you like more wine?" your mother asked, completely oblivious to the tension simmering between you two.

Charlie smiled, nodding graciously as he held out his glass. "Just a little more, thank you."

As your mother poured, his eyes found yours again. This time, he didn’t look away, not immediately. The corner of his mouth quirked up, just enough to send your thoughts into overdrive. It was like a private joke, one that only the two of you understood. A secret dance of hidden touches, stolen glances, and unspoken words.

You tried to focus on your plate, on the conversation happening around you, but it was impossible. Every move he made felt like it was meant for you, no matter how small. When he reached for his napkin, his hand grazed your thigh under the table, just for a second, but it was enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You glanced at him in shock, and he gave you a sideways smile, the kind that spoke volumes without a single word.

He was playing with fire, and so were you.

Dinner stretched on, with your father telling more stories and your mother doting on everyone, but all you could think about was Charlie. The way he leaned back in his chair, his gaze sweeping the room, but always coming back to you. It was reckless, the way he was letting his guard down, letting you see the cracks in his calm facade.

“Are you alright, sweetheart?” your father asked, drawing you out of your thoughts. His concerned gaze made your stomach tighten.

You forced a smile, nodding quickly. “Yes, just tired, I think. It’s been a long day.”

Your father patted your shoulder, satisfied with your answer, but when you glanced at Charlie, you saw the flicker of something dangerous in his eyes—something that told you he wasn’t tired at all. He was far from it.

As dessert was served, the tension between you two only grew. He was no longer pretending to keep his distance, not really. His foot stayed lightly pressed against yours under the table, and when your fingers brushed again as you passed him a dish, he let them linger, his thumb trailing over your knuckles for just a second too long.

The worst part? No one else noticed a thing.

Charlie was playing this game with expert precision—just enough to make your pulse quicken, but not enough to get caught.

As dessert came to an end, Charlie's eyes flickered towards you with an intensity that made your skin prickle. He had barely spoken directly to you the entire night, but now, it was like he couldn’t wait any longer. You were both playing this game, pushing the boundaries of how far you could go without crossing an invisible line—at least in front of everyone else.

"Could you show me where the coffee cups are?" Charlie asked, leaning back casually in his chair. His voice was calm, maybe even a little too casual, but you caught the subtle undercurrent of something more.

Your mother’s head turned slightly, her brow furrowing in mild confusion. "Father, you’ve been here enough times to know where they are, haven’t you?"

You held your breath, your pulse quickening at the way your mother’s question hung in the air. Charlie smiled smoothly, shaking his head.

"Ah, but every time I’m here, something’s moved around. You know how it is in a busy house," he said, chuckling lightly, the picture of a gracious guest. But his eyes were on you again, and you knew this wasn’t about coffee cups. Not even close.

"Of course," your mother laughed, brushing it off with a wave. "Go ahead, sweetheart, show Father Charlie where everything is."

Your heart was pounding as you rose from your seat, barely able to look at your parents. The room felt too small, too hot, like every eye was on you as you and Charlie stood up from the table. But when you glanced back, your father was already engrossed in another conversation, and your mother was busy with the dishes.

Charlie followed you into the hallway, his footsteps too close behind you. Your breath hitched as you led him toward the kitchen, trying to act natural, but the tension between you two was suffocating. You could feel his presence like a shadow, his gaze boring into the back of your neck as you rounded the corner.

The second you stepped out of view, his hand caught your wrist, pulling you to a stop. You spun to face him, heart racing, and before you could say a word, his body was pressing you back against the kitchen counter.

"Charlie—" you whispered, but he silenced you with a look, his breath coming fast and shallow.

"I couldn’t stand it any longer," he muttered, his voice low and thick with something dark. His hands came to rest on either side of you, trapping you against the counter, and you could feel the heat radiating from him. "I need you, baby..."

Your breath hitched as his fingers brushed the side of your face, and you felt your resolve start to crumble. You knew this was wrong—knew it with every fiber of your being—but Charlie’s lips were dangerously close to yours, his breath warm on your skin.

"You’ve been driving me insane," he whispered, his voice ragged, filled with a hunger he hadn’t bothered to hide anymore.

You swallowed hard, feeling the weight of the moment crushing down on you. There was still time to stop this, to step away, but you knew neither of you would. You had pushed each other too far, and now, there was no turning back.

"I know," you breathed, barely able to get the words out. "I’ve been waiting for you to crack."

A low groan escaped him, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, hot and demanding. His hands slid down to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the heat between you was overwhelming. It was reckless, dangerous, but it was also everything you had been waiting for.

The tension that had simmered all night finally broke, and you melted into him, your hands tangling in his hair as you kissed him back with the same desperation. His fingers dug into your hips, pulling you impossibly closer, and you couldn’t help but moan into his mouth.

Charlie pulled away just enough to press his forehead against yours, his breath ragged as he looked into your eyes. "Your parents are in the other room," he murmured with a small smirk, though the way he held you betrayed any thought of stopping.

You smiled up at him, your heart racing. "Then why can’t you stop?"

His jaw clenched, and without another word, he pulled you into another kiss, deeper this time, his hands exploring your body with a reckless abandon that sent a shiver down your spine. The world outside the kitchen, the family dinner, the church—it all melted away as you gave in to the dangerous pull between you.

Charlie pulled away for a second, his hand reaching up to grip your face harshly. "Dirty girl, aren't you?"

You couldn't help but laugh, your eyes never leaving his. "You started this, Charlie."

Charlie's grip tightened, and you felt the heat of his gaze searing into you, both intoxicating and possessive. He kissed you again, his mouth fierce, almost punishing, as if he couldn’t stand the space between you. Your back hit the counter, but the discomfort barely registered—he pressed his body into yours, and you gasped against his lips, a mixture of pleasure and anticipation flooding your senses.

His hands roamed, fingers tracing the curve of your waist before sliding beneath your shirt, the roughness of his palms igniting your skin. You felt him pause, as if savoring the feeling of you under his hands, and when he finally pulled back, it was only to whisper against your ear, his voice low and thick with desire. "You like this, don't you? Knowing we could get caught..."

You could barely think, your body burning with need. You bit your lip, your chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. "Isn’t that what you want?" you whispered back, your own hands sliding under his shirt, feeling the heat of his skin.

Charlie groaned, his grip on you tightening. His fingers found the hem of your jeans, teasing, as he trailed hot kisses down the side of your neck. "Always so defiant," he muttered, his breath warm against your skin. "But I’ll break you yet."

The intensity of his words sent a thrill through you, and you tilted your head back, giving him access to more of your neck as he kissed you, nipping at your skin, leaving a trail of marks behind. His hands, strong and demanding, finally dipped lower, and you gasped as his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of your lower abdomen.

"Charlie," you whispered, your voice barely above a breath as your hands clutched at his shoulders, needing him closer, needing more.

Charlie’s breath was hot against your neck as his hands traveled lower, teasing the edge of your jeans. His fingers dipped just beneath the fabric, tracing your skin with maddening slowness. "Say my name again," he demanded, his voice husky and filled with dark need.

Your lips parted, a soft gasp escaping as his fingers toyed with you, just enough to make you squirm but not enough to satisfy the aching desire that built inside you. "Charlie," you breathed, your voice trembling, desperate.

His hand tightened around your waist, pulling you harder against him. "Louder," he growled, his lips brushing your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. He was taunting you, daring you to give in completely, and you could feel the power shift between you. You were no longer in control—he was, and the knowledge only heightened the tension.

You clenched your fingers into the fabric of his shirt, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn’t making it easy. His other hand slid to your throat, not choking but holding you in place, his grip firm as he pressed his lips against yours again, more demanding than before.

"You think you can push me, don’t you?" he muttered against your lips. "Make me lose control." His fingers slipped lower, brushing the spot that made your knees weak, and you gasped, unable to stop the flood of heat that rushed through you. He smiled, wicked and knowing, as if he could sense your surrender.

Your head fell back against the cabinet, your breathing ragged, your body burning under his touch. He tilted your chin up, forcing you to meet his gaze again, his eyes dark with lust and dominance. "But you're mine," he murmured, his voice a promise and a warning all at once. "And you’ll break before I do."

Your heart pounded in your chest as Charlie's words sank in, his hand at your throat tightening ever so slightly, just enough to remind you of his control. The intensity of his stare sent a shiver of anticipation through you, and you found yourself caught between the desire to challenge him and the undeniable pull of surrender.

"Are you sure about that?" you whispered, your voice soft but laced with defiance, the words barely slipping past your lips as you fought to maintain some control.

A dangerous smile tugged at the corner of Charlie’s mouth, his gaze flickering with something dark and unrelenting. "Oh, I’m sure," he said, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His fingers danced over the waistband of your skirt before slipping inside, his touch both teasing and commanding, and the heat pooling in your lower abdomen intensified, your breath hitching in response.

His fingers played with your panties, that were already soaked before slipping in a finger. You let out a soft hum, your head falling back on to the counter as your eyes squeezed shut. You tried to steady yourself, your grip tightening on his shoulders as you fought to stay grounded, but Charlie’s presence overwhelmed you.

His lips found the hollow of your throat, and he kissed his way down, each press of his mouth against your skin sending shockwaves through your body. When his finger moved deeper, the other brushing against your clit, your body betrayed you with a soft, needy whimper.

"That’s it," he murmured against your neck, his voice a low growl, filled with satisfaction at the sound. "Let me hear you."

The tension inside you built, every stroke of his finger pushing you closer to the edge, and you were losing the battle of resistance. Charlie’s hand tightened around your throat, not enough to hurt but enough to keep you locked in place, at his mercy. His breath was hot against your ear, his fingers moving in a rhythm that had you trembling.

"Tell me what you want," he demanded, his voice rough with desire.

Your mind was clouded, your body aching for release, but you bit your lip, fighting the words he wanted from you. The defiance only seemed to amuse him further, his grip tightening slightly. "Still holding out?" he asked, a dark chuckle escaping his lips. "You think you can win this game?"

Your heart raced, your body betraying you as you squirmed under his touch, and you knew you were close to breaking. His fingers moved with more purpose now, pushing you closer to the brink, and a gasp escaped you as your resolve began to crumble.

"I—" You could barely form the words, your body arching into him, desperate for more.

"Say it," he commanded, his voice a rough whisper. His fingers curled, hitting just the right spot, and the pleasure coursing through you was too much to bear.

"Charlie—please," you finally gasped, your voice breaking as you surrendered to him completely. "Make me cum."

A satisfied grin spread across his face, and he pressed his lips to yours in a bruising kiss, his hand finally giving you what you needed as his finger moved deeper and quicker. "Good girl," he whispered against your mouth, his voice dripping with possessive pride. "Cum for me."

That was all you needed to let out a shuddering moan, your knees falling weak as the knot in your lower stomach snapped. Charlie's hand covered your mouth quickly, the sound muffled by his large hand. After you rode out your high, Charlie's hand slipped out of your skirt as you caught your breath.

As if on cue, your mother came in with some dishes in her hand. There wasn't even a trace of suspicion in her expression, she was too busy with the dinner to even question why you two were taking so long and why you two were standing so close.

"Did you guys find the cups?" She asked with a sigh, loading the dishwasher with the dishes.

Charlie casually wiped his hand on his pants, his movements slow and deliberate, as if he hadn’t just had you unraveling under his touch moments before. His lips curved into a smirk, eyes glinting with amusement as he shot you a sideways glance. The contrast between your rapid breathing and his calm demeanor was infuriating. He knew exactly what he’d done to you—and he was reveling in it.

"Yeah," he said smoothly, his voice steady as ever. "We were just…looking for them."

You tried to compose yourself, struggling to regulate your breaths without drawing attention. Your legs still felt shaky, and the warmth of his body so close to yours lingered like a sinful reminder of what had just happened. You forced a smile, hoping your mother wouldn’t notice the flushed look on your face.

Your mother barely glanced at you two as she continued with the dishes, completely oblivious to the tension hanging thick in the air. "Great, we're just about to leave for service," she said with a tired sigh. "I’ll need your help with cleaning the table soon."

"Of course," Charlie responded, his voice filled with an edge of playful charm, though only you could hear the smug satisfaction underneath it all. He took a step closer to you, almost brushing his arm against yours as he reached up to grab the cups from the shelf. The proximity sent another wave of heat through you, and it took everything in you not to react visibly.

Your mother turned her back again, preoccupied with the dishwasher, and Charlie seized the opportunity. He leaned in ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he whispered, "You’re going to have to work on that poker face, baby."

You shot him a sharp look, your body still buzzing from the intensity of earlier, and now his teasing only made it worse. The urge to wipe that smug look off his face was almost overwhelming, but you had no choice but to keep it together, your mother only a few feet away.

As he moved past you, you caught the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes. He knew how much power he held over you in that moment, and he wasn’t going to let you forget it anytime soon.

Your mother finally turned back to face you. "You okay, honey?" she asked, her brow furrowing slightly as she noticed you standing still by the counter. "You look a bit flushed."

You swallowed hard, fighting to find your voice. "Yeah, I'm fine, just a little warm in here," you lied, managing to give her a weak smile. "I'll help with the table."

Charlie glanced back at you, his smirk still firmly in place as he picked up the cups. His voice was smooth and casual, betraying nothing of the wickedness lurking beneath the surface. "I’ll take care of the rest," he said, shooting you a look that made your pulse quicken. "You just… relax."

Your mother nodded, oblivious. "Thanks, Charlie."

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

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vi-tamine · 2 months ago

Note

Heyyyyy!!!

If you are up for it, I'd love to see you write a Silco x Reader Story🙏🏻

Reader was like an older Sibling to Powder, Vi, Mylo and Clagger, making sure the kids were always okay. So that day, when almost everyone died and Silco took in Powder/Jinx, Reader went with them to keep an eye on Jinx. They turn more into a Parental Figure over time for her. Reader and Silco hated each other at first but tried to remain civil for Jinx. Over time feelings developed and both are in denial. So basically Enemies to Lovers.

Also Reader takes care of like the Bar, since they have already worked there when Vander was still alive. [Either behind the counter as a Bartender or as like Security]

Idc if its Fluffy or Angsty or smutty or smth!

I just need more Silco x Reader🙏🏻😭

at home (silco x reader)

words: 1517

genre(s): fluff, angst (i think..)

warnings: none

n/a: im sooo happy!!! thank u so much for requesting me!! this is my first request and i'm kinda nervous about it! i hope you like it and enjoy it a little!! i did my best!! want to remember that english isn't my first language, so im sorry if there are spelling or grammar mistakes, but this also helps me to improve :]

You were twenty years old when it all happened. When Mylo and Claggor died and Vi ran away after all the tragedy trying to rescue Vander from Silco's hands. You were the oldest of the three sisters, always under your care, even though you allowed them some freedom for their “missions” you always kept an eye on your sisters, in case it was necessary to get them out of some trouble.

That day, you went to help your brothers get Vander back, making Powder promise not to move from the basement. When the whole mess happened, you were barely aware of whatever was going on. One of your arms had been trapped under the rubble and you heard Powder's distant cries for Vi to come back for her. As best you could, you pulled yourself together, pushed away the debris over your arm and made your way to find the youngest of your sisters, the one that sounded closest. The crying seemed to be weaker, and when you looked up Silco had his arms around her as she hugged him, right next to Vander's lifeless body. You approached cautiously, brow furrowed at the whole unfamiliar situation.

“Stay away from her” you addressed Silco with a firm voice and furrowed brows. He did so without complaint, looking at you, keeping his composure and probably waiting for a move on your part that never came. Powder turned to look at you, her blue eyes brimming with tears. She hugged your legs, and before you knew it, you were both leaving with Silco and his people.

Seven years later you decided to take Vander's place in “The Last Drop”. Silco “signed it over” to you while he took one of the rooms to be his office. You were a little grateful that he would let you carry on the legacy of the one he once considered his brother.

You poured one last drink before Jinx sat down on one of the stools and rolled your eyes as you watched her turn in on herself. “Get your feet off the stool if you're going to be sitting here” you scolded her as you cleaned one of the glasses and poured her the juice she always asked for. “Thank you~” she thanked taking a sip from the straw. “I've been working on one of those grenades I showed you, and even though it explodes poorly, it's getting more and more powerful!” she explained somewhat excitedly as she looked at you with a slight smile. During all these years your sister had grown more than you would have liked. Sometimes nostalgia hit you, and all you could think about was how much older she had gotten and how rebellious and uncontrollable she had become.

Mylo and Claggor's death and Vi's abandonment left some aftereffects on your sister. Jinx was the name she had decided to adopt after Vi called her that name before abandoning her to her fate without even knowing if you were alive. Together with Silco you had raised her, and although you always tried to take her on a healthy and untroubled path, she ended up paying more attention to Silco than to you.

During all these years your vision of Silco was changing, and all the resentment and anger you had towards him, had been loosening when you saw the love and effort he put in wanting to take care of your sister. Your attitude towards him became more passive, and his attitude towards you became sweeter and more protective. You both had your sister, Jinx, as your priority.

“Be careful with those gadgets or someday your finger will explode.” you joked with your sister as you leaned your elbows on the bar to look at her. “I do know how to build inventions, sis, not like you” she joked with you before getting a tap on her shoulder from you. You rolled your eyes letting out a light chuckle. “By the way, Silco wants to see you” he spoke as he rubbed his shoulder with a pout. You frowned and sighed. “You take care of the drinks for a while then” you stepped out from behind the bar, you watched out of the corner of your eye as Jinx hopped over the bar to tend to the customers and scolded her for it before walking up to Silco's office.

You felt your heart beating stronger and stronger as you got closer to Silco's office. Since a few days ago your vision of the man who had given (somehow) shelter to you and your sister, apart from starting to respect him, perhaps your feelings towards him had taken a different direction, a more romantic one. Every night you told yourself that it was wrong, if you thought about it, it was against your morals and principles to like Silco, so you tried to hold back that feeling as much as you could.

You knocked on the door, and after hearing a low “Come in”, you entered the room, allowing you to see Silco in his chair as usual and Sevika next to him. They both looked at you, and with a slight gesture, Silco had Sevika leave the room, closing the door behind her. You sat down in the chair in front of the table, sighing and making yourself comfortable as you noticed how her gaze was fixed on you.

“What is it this time, what has Jinx done to what-” you couldn't finish formulating the sentence Silco cut you off. “Your sister is out of jail” your back and your whole body started to bristle. “With the help of a Piltover enforcer.” You discovered that Vi had been arrested and sent to Stillwater. Seven years later she seemed to have gotten out. A confused feeling invaded your body. You were happy, your sister had been released. And at the same time you were filled with rage, she had abandoned you and your sister. Then came the feeling of guilt, you were the oldest, much older than them, and you had let your sister be arrested, you had not fought for her. You swallowed and immediately got up from the couch. “Don't let Jinx know. Not yet, at least.” you left the room without even looking or listening to what Silco would have to tell you.

. . . . . .

Later that night, having just closed the bar and with only the music to keep you company, you finished putting the last chairs back on the tables and mopping the floor. Before you even went to sleep you decided to pour yourself a shot of whiskey. You sat on the freshly cleaned bar and, with your mother's favorite song playing in the background, you thought about everything. Your parents, your sisters, brothers, Vander, Silco, everything. The alcohol scratched your throat as you thought about how you were going to confront Vi at some point, what you would say to her, how she would be, how she would react to seeing who you were with. Maybe she would understand you if she realized you were doing it all for Jinx. Maybe she would martyr you if she knew about your feelings for Silco.

“May I have some?” a voice from behind you shuddered. Turning slightly to grab a glass, you saw Silco planted behind you. You nodded wordlessly, pouring for him as well and watching as he took a long sip. He looked back at you. “Why the long face?” he asked. You laughed wryly. “As if you didn't know” you replied clicking your tongue. You didn't want to talk down to him, but your feelings at that moment were what they were. He seemed to understand, he didn't add a word.

He set the glass down on the bar and one of your hands rested on your shoulder, lightly trailing down your arm. “She's going to understand.” he simply said. You shook your head, also dropping the glass and looking sideways at him. “She's not going to understand. She can't. I don't blame her. I'm a horrible sister.” you sighed. You felt like your eyes were going to release tears at any moment. You noticed Silco's rough hand touch yours, embrace yours with his fingers and with his thumb caress the back of your hand. You let yourself be touched. “We should have left, Silco. We don't belong here. It's not our place. I should have taken Pow-” you couldn't finish your sentence Silco had crashed his lips to yours. You couldn't even react when he broke away. You looked at him still dumbfounded.

“If she doesn't understand, we're going to make her understand. But don't you ever, ever, ever say again that you don't belong here. You do. You belong by my side,” and when he finished speaking you couldn't help but kiss his lips back. Your heart had just exploded like a bomb, and Silco had detonated it. There were probably going to be repercussions, surely none of this was going to go well, but for the first time, when you were dancing in his arms, you felt at home again.

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traveler-at-heart · 3 days ago

Text

Hot and Cold

Summary: Natasha's playing with fire when a new resident joins the Compound.

A/N: Queen of Angst @esposadejoyhuerta asked for the fluffiest, sweetest, tooth rotting story ever and I was happy to deliver, even after they changed their request to inclue jealousy BECAUSE no one can stop me. Love ya, baby!

Another day, another mission. Since last week’s mess, it seems like Fury’s been finding ways to torture the team.

Yes, at the end they were able to retrieve the drive with the data of over twenty enhanced individuals. But so did HYDRA. And now the Avengers are on a race against time to locate them before the Russians do.

Natasha walks to Fury’s office, not excited at the prospect of risking her life to recruit people who didn’t really want to be found.

“Yes?” she says as soon as Fury turns around. He hands over a very heavy binder. “Is this their criminal record?”

Great, a weirdo with a troubled past. Natasha might not make it out alive.

“No, that’s their academic stuff. She’s a scientist. Crazy smart” Fury explains. “Have you heard of Bio-Thermokinesis?”

“No, not really”

“The ability to manipulate the body temperature of oneself and/or others” he recites, having learned the concept just now.

“That doesn’t sound so bad” Natasha says, closing the folder. It’s certainly better than the last few people she had to chase down.

“Yeah, until she induces a heat stroke or hypothermia” Fury scoffs. “We’ve been failing at recruiting these people. It would be nice to have a win. Plus, she could work in the lab with Banner and Stark”

“I don’t think Nerd Club is worth one’s freedom” Natasha mutters, skimming through the file.

“Well, either way, this mission doesn’t requires strenght. It requires charm. You up for it or should I send Hill?”

As Natasha gets to the picture of the target, she looks up.

“I’ll handle it”

—

As usual, you’re carrying more than you can possibly handle. Books, your laptop, a sandwich from the cafeteria, and correspondence from the main office.

By the time you manage to open the door to your office, half of the things in your arms are dangerously close to scattering across the hardwood floor.

“Oh, shit” you mutter when your keys drop.

“Need a hand?” a voice says and you jump back, the rest of your stuff flying across the room.

“Uh… can I help you?” you say, because the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen is perched up on your desk, legs crossed and a playful smirk across her striking features.

“Are you Doctor Y/L/N?”

“Yes. How did you…? I’m pretty sure the door was locked”

Is she a thief? You have absolutely nothing of value, at least not for a conventional burglar. You run every possibility in your mind and then you land on your second least favorite one.

Natasha notices the room getting warmer, probably because of how flustered you got. The file seems accurate regarding your power.

“AC broke down?” she asks innocently, undoing the top button of her shirt.

“Uh… I… I’ll open the window” you say, pushing it and leaning against the window pain. You consider jumping down to escape, but it’s a considerable height. You take a breath, deciding to face the matter head on. “So, which agency sent you?”

“Ever heard of S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“Yes, that was my first guess” you admit with a sad smile. “What can I do for you, Agent…?”

“Call me Natasha” she says, hopping off the desk. “I’m afraid I am the bearer of bad news… and a generous offer”

“Mmm” you nod, fixing your glasses.

“A tactical team was sent to stop the purchase of confidential information for 30 enhanced individuals. We were able to obtain it… and so did HYDRA”

“Listen” you raise your hand, taking off your glasses and pinching the bridge of your nose. “I get it. HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D. know about me. The thing is, my power isn’t something you can leverage in a fight. I doubt they’ll be very interested in me”

“I think you’re wrong. And it’s not just your ability. Your expertise in science and your genetic makeup can be used to experiment”

“So, is that what S.H.I.E.L.D. wants to do with me?” you sigh, looking out the window. You’re enjoying the view, vaguely aware that life as you know it is over.

“We want to offer you shelter at the Avengers Compound. 24 hour security, top facilities and technology. You can continue your research” Natasha says, trying to make it sound like a great deal.

It brings her back to that time Fury told her it was either work for the US government or end up in the Raft.

Your offer is slightly better, but a golden prison is still a prison.

“Are there any questions I can answer before you make a decision?” she offers with a kinder tone.

“Yeah. Do I even have a choice?”

—

Academic life is all you’ve ever known. Grants were the perfect way to do your research without having to look for a benefactor and expose yourself. You could learn things about your DNA, your abilities, while doing other stuff without anyone noticing.

Now, you wake up and there’s nothing that drives you. You live with people who have exceptional skills, physical prowess, and military training. Their world is avenging, your world is scientific papers and books.

Sure, their lab is nice, but most of the times you end up leaving early, completely unmotivated and feeling empty.

Natasha watches from afar, and although this isn’t her doing, she feels responsible. She tries to include you in activities she understands, like training, but you’re very obviously not the athletic kind.

Banner is, as usual, isolating himself and Tony speaks nerd, but is barely around unless a mission requires his presence.

It isn’t until one day that Peter shows up to the Compound that Natasha gets an idea.

“Hi, Miss Romanoff. Is Mister Stark around?” he asks in that shy tone he always uses when he’s around Natasha.

“Nope, not to my knowledge. Do you need anything?”

“FRIDAY told me to meet him here. He must have forgotten. I guess I better get back to my Biochem project”

Wait a minute.

He’s a nerd.

“Stay” she says, looking him up and down. Peter reminds her of a puppy when he stops completely, as if he learned a new command. “Wait for Tony at the lab. I’ll try to find him”

“You’re sure? I’m not allowed inside by myself” he hesitates, following Natasha.

“Yeah, it’s fine” she types in the access code, and of course, there you are, spinning in your chair.

As soon as you hear the door opening, you stop your movements, almost falling off.

Natasha finds your blush adorable.

“Hey, Y/N. This is Peter. He’ll be around waiting for Tony”

“Oh, hey. Ok, I was just leaving. I’m kinda stuck either way”

“Ordinary Differential Equations?” Peter says as soon as he gets his eyes on your board.

“Yes. Very impressive” you nod. “This is focused on genetic network. I’m trying to determine inborn errors of metabolism”

“Oh, you know? There’s a brilliant Doctor who’s working on that, maybe her paper would be great for you. She’s Y/N Y/L/N”

“Yeah, that’s me” you say, tapping your chin and examining the board. “What is your ability? If you have any? Maybe I can use a different set of data”

“Yes! I would love to, what do you need from me?” Peter says, a little starstruck at finding out you’re one of the most prestigious researchers in the world.

“For now, a blood sample” you wink at him, adjusting your glasses.

Natasha sits in the back of the lab as you and Peter work together, and you explain every concept to him. This is the first time since you arrived that you don’t look so miserable.

The Russian takes it as a small win when you join her in the common area for dinner.

Since Peter found out about your abilities and your permanent stay at the Compound, you’ve been advising him on his project and college applications. Which is a really nice distraction, but it also makes you miss your own college days.

So, even if you’re in a better mood, it’s still hard to socialize with the team.

One day, you enter the lab to find Rogers, Wilson and Barnes looking at a screen, while Natasha types.

“Whoever encrypted this is slightly smarter than me. Only slightly”

They look away as you drag a chair to focus on your own stuff, a cup of coffee in your hand and a cookie in your mouth.

“Hi…” you wave at them, feeling intimidated as usual.

“Hey, weather girl” Sam winks at you.

Natasha rolls her eyes and elbows him.

“Ignore him, Y/N”

You can tell she’s getting frustrated, so you inch closer, looking at the code over her shoulder. Placing your hand on her elbow, you silently ask for permission to take over.

The redhead eyes you curiously, but stops typing and moves the keyboard your way. It takes you twenty seconds to hack into the files.

“How…?”

“I used to hack into databases to make sure my name wasn’t on any watchlist” you explain casually. Natasha laughs at that. “Anyway, there you go”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re my hero” Natasha says, smiling up at you. Her tone makes you blush and you nod, going back to your desk.

“Nice work. We could use your help if you’re free some other time” Steve says as they leave the lab.

“Of course, Capitan”

—

An intruder changes your mind about training. The threat is handled swiftly and you don’t even have time to hide before F.R.I.D.A.Y. confirms the suspect has been taken into custody

But you don’t even know how to begin to defend yourself, so you come back to Natasha, asking if her offer still stands.

Needless to say, the spy is more than happy to train you. Not just because it means you’re comfortable asking for things, but because Natasha can teach you something that will help you protect yourself.

You start with two sessions per week, which later turns to four, until you’re comfortable with training almost daily.

The rest of the team joins from time to time, giving you advice and helping you when Natasha’s away on missions.

After a few weeks, Natasha notices how your resistance is better and you’re building some muscle.

Only as a professional observation. It’s not like she finds you attractive, with that nerdy charm and toned arms.

One day, as you’re leaving the gym, she checks her bag, cursing when she notices she forgot a change of clothes.

“Wanna borrow one of my hoodies?” you offer, handing over your NYU sweatshirt.

“You sure?” Natasha hesitates.

“Yeah, I got tons of these. From all the places I’ve done work or research”

“I’ll give it back” she promises, taking it.

That turns out to be a lie.

A few days later, when you’re folding your laundry, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests that you join Tony and Banner in the lab. Leaving the basket in the living room, you think nothing of it, nor do you notice that a couple of your sweatshirts are gone.

It all comes to light a week later, when Natasha comes back from a grueling mission. The only thing that will make her feel better is staying in her room while wearing your UCLA hoodie.

She totally forgets about her attire when she answers the door.

“Huh, so that’s where it was” you tilt your head, smiling.

“I…”

“I’m watching a movie, care to join me? It’s one of your favorites”

“Ok” she nods, surprised that you’re not mad about the stolen sweatshirt.

Natasha enters your room, appreciating the combination of books, notes and the board with equations. After you apologize for the mess, you offer a place to sit in your bed.

“It looks good on you” you compliment the redhead. Natasha smiles, trying to be nonchalant about it.

“Thank you”

It becomes a habit, to steal your hoodies.

“Objectively speaking, you don’t actually need them as you can regulate your temperature” Natasha comments one day, digging through your closet. To her shock, she finds a sweatshirt with a sorority logo on it.

“Not mine. A girl I hooked up with in college” you explain.

Natasha rolls her eyes, throwing the garment as far away as possible while pulling a face. You laugh at her reaction.

“Don’t be jealous, Natty. You’re my favorite” you promise, unaware of the effect your words had on her.

“And yet you never let me wear the Harvard one”

“That was my first” you shrug your shoulders.

“First college or first hook up?” Natasha taunts and you laugh.

“A nerd never kisses and tell. Actually, a nerd rarely kisses anyone to being with” you try to joke, pulling out the Harvard sweatshirt from your closet to put it on.

Natasha eyes it, and you catch her intentions a little too late. She inches forward and you stretch your arm back, trying to place the hoodie out of reach.

“Nu-uh” you shake your head, laughing as she keeps trying to steal it. “Natasha, there are like ten other hoodies you could take!”

“I want this one!” she insists, jumping. Her body crashes against yours, and you both stumble, falling in your bed. Limbs are tangled and her laugh tickles your ear as she struggles to lift herself up. After a moment, Natasha smiles, looking at your lips. “Gotcha”

You don’t even know what to say, her intense stare making you feel warm -both literally and figuratively - and your heart beats faster when it seems like she’ll lean forward and kiss you.

“Agent Romanoff, there’s an urgent call for you” FRIDAY interrupts the moment.

Natasha sighs, standing up and looking at you.

“Catch you later?”

“Yeah” you nod, trying to hide your disappointment.

—

Natasha was gone for a week, and returned with a very bad injury. You heard the news as Steve and Tony were arguing in the kitchen, blaming each other as usual.

“Where…? Is she ok…?” you try to interrupt them, but they’re in the middle of a screaming match.

“Come with me” Maria says, taking you to a whole different wing of the Compound. Since you’ve never been on missions, you didn’t know about the Medbay.

Natasha’s lying in a hospital bed, asleep.

“She’s ok. A guy threw a knife at her, but it was only a superficial stab wound. Doctor said she’ll be discharged tomorrow” Maria eases your nerves.

Of course, for her it’s easy to say it’s no big deal. Agents are shot, blown up, killed in the field. A little scratch is nothing, especially for Natasha. But you take a deep breath, leaving the Medbay in a rush.

As you lock yourself in the Avenger’s Lab, you make F.R.I.D.A.Y. a simple request.

“Show me the mission’s footage”

—

Natasha’s had worst, truly. But still, her head is throbbing when she wakes up. The doctor discharges her with the instruction to rest for a week. No training either.

The Russian notices a bag with clothes on the chair next to her bed. She finds your Harvard sweatshirt, which puts a tiny smile on her face.

You are nowhere to be found in the Compound when she returns, so she goes to her room to take another nap, the painkillers making her sleepy.

By the time Natasha wakes up to get something to eat, F.R.I.D.A.Y. requests her presence in the lab.

“What is it?” she says, surprised to find you working on a tablet. It looks like you haven’t slept in the last 24 hours, five or six cups of coffee around the various tables in the lab.

“I created a new technology for your suit” you jump right to it. “It has motion sensors that are triggered by incoming threats. That way, if someone tries to sneak up on you, you can either get an alert or program a defense mechanism that can be shot from any part of the suit”

Natasha takes the tablet, running the simulation. She’s impressed with the level of detail you’ve placed on this and on such short time. She’s about to thank you, but you’re already asleep in the couch of the lab, clearly exhausted from all the work you’ve done.

The sight of your sleeping form makes Natasha’s heart flutter.

—

Movie night is the one tradition you’ve always been on board with. Coincidentally, it’s Natasha’s least favorite. Depending on her mood, she’ll join everyone on the living room, or talk you into watching something else in your room or hers.

Tonight, she stops by once the movie has already started. As usual, you’re on the couch in the far back of the room, your glasses reflecting the screen as you eat some popcorn.

“Hey” Natasha leans over the back of the couch and whispers against your ear, making you jump. Your eyes follow her as she jumps over to plop down next to you.

“You’re not supposed to be doing that with a hole on your side, Natasha” you reprimand.

“It’s fine” she lies, grabbing some popcorn.

As the movie keeps going, the woman inches closer to you. At first you think she’s settling in her seat, but then her hand spreads on the back of the couch, dangerously close to your neck.

It’s fine. You can handle it.

Nope, you absolutely can’t. Not when you feel Natasha’s nimble fingers playing with the hairs on the back of your neck, her digits alternating between caressing the skin and scratching your scalp.

“You’re hot” she whispers at some point and you turn to look at her, dazed.

“Huh?”

“You feel hot” she clarifies a second later, her eyes looking at your lips. “Is everything ok? Those powers of yours are acting up”

“I’m fine” you nod, looking back at the screen. Aware that you are in fact increasing the temperature in the room, you take a breath and close your eyes, before anyone else notices.

You’re almost back to normal when Natasha stretches and lies across your lap, her left hand squeezing your thigh as the other one begins to trace patterns in your skin.

All while she's wearing your Harvard sweatshirt.

Your only thought is to take it off, along with the rest of her clothes and kiss every inch of her body.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y., is the thermostat broken…?” Tony finally snaps, annoyed at the sudden changes in temperature. “Never mind”

Everyone follows his eyes as he looks to the back of the room, where Natasha is playing dumb while riling you up.

“Can you two find a room to turn into a sauna and spare the rest of us?” Tony says, which makes your eyes widen, and the room practically turns into a freezer. “Great, now we’re all turning into popsicles. Cap, you’re familiar with the feeling, right?”

“Don’t be so dramatic, Tony” Natasha finally stands up, showing you some mercy. “Come on, detka”

“Uh, ok” you say, your voice barely a whisper as you allow the woman to drag you back to her room.

As soon as the door is shut, she pushes you against it.

“So, tell me” she says with a playful smile. “How hot do you think it will get here?”

You can only shake your head, speechless. Natasha smiles, kissing you softly. All thoughts leave your head, opening your mouth to give her access. You’ll do anything she asks, anything at all.

“I see” she smiles when the room gets hot. “Good thing we won’t have our clothes on”

It’s the best sex of your life.

So much so, the fire alarm goes off in the entire Compound.

“Fucking worth it” you sigh as you’re both naked in bed, the water from the sprinklers evaporating from all the heat in the room.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n

501 notes · View notes

xomakara · 3 months ago

Text

Tension and Desires

SUMMARY | You and Yunho are friends who are oblivious to each other's feelings. Despite the playful animosity between you two, a strong sexual tension simmers beneath the surface. After a night of flirting and drinking, you finally give in to your desires…

PAIRINGS | Yunho x Reader

RATING | Mature, NSFW, EXPLICIT, MDNI, 18+

GENRE | obliviousfriend!Yunho, obliviousfriend!Reader, smut, oblivious friends to lovers, non-idol au, jealousy, boneheads/idiots in love

CONTENT/WARNINGS | profanity/strong language, filthy dirty thoughts, protected and unprotected sex (wrap it up ya’ll!), marking (hickies), shower sex, fingering, oral sex (f. receiving/m. giving), dirty talk, praise kink, creampies

LENGTH | 8,466 words

TAGLIST | —

NETWORKS | @illusionnet @atzhouse @cromernet @wonderlandnet @k-vanity @othersideoutlawsnetwork @ksmutsociety

AUTHOR’S NOTE | I originally had a different title for this one but I changed it since it didn't really make sense for this fic LOL. Thank you @kpop---scenarios and @anyamaris for beta reading this! I'm so glad you both like it! I hope everyone else likes it haha. Show support by liking, commenting and reblogging. Love you all 💚

You knew Yunho was trouble the second you met him. That cocky grin, the way he always seemed to be one step ahead of you, and the undeniable spark in his eyes whenever you were near. You couldn't deny the way your heart fluttered whenever he was around, but you also couldn't stand his arrogance. It was a constant push and pull, a battle of wits and wills, a dance of attraction and repulsion. You were enemies, yes, but there was an unspoken tension between you, a simmering heat that threatened to consume you both.

The neon lights blurred as you stepped into the bustling club, a wave of laughter and music washing over you. Your friends all decided it would be a good idea to celebrate your last day of freedom before you started the full-time job of keeping up with law school and you were too drunk on the possibilities for tonight to question it. As long as you played it safe, you were going to have a great last night as a college girl.

Shimmies and shapes began to appear as the music buzzed, your friends pulling you and waving for attention from across the room. Mingi's arm slung casually over your shoulder, a playful grin on his face as he led you through the crowd. Wooyoung was already on the dance floor, a whirlwind of energy, while San and Yeosang held court at a table, drinks in hand and smiles on their faces. The night was young, and the possibilities were endless.

The party was in full swing, bodies swaying to the pulsing music, laughter echoing through the room. You felt a tap on your shoulder and turned to see Hongjoong, a sly grin on his face.

"Here," he said, extending a glass filled with a shimmering amber liquid. "This'll get you in the mood."

You hesitated, eyeing the drink suspiciously.

"What is it?" you asked, raising an eyebrow. Hongjoong chuckled, his eyes twinkling.

"Just a little something to loosen you up," he replied, giving you a wink before walking away to join Yeosang and San at the table.

Yunho's eyes sparkled with mischief as he walked up to you. "Looks like Hongjoong was trying to get you plastered."

You snorted, rolling your eyes. "I'm just trying to figure out what the fuck this is."

"Do you want to find out?" He leaned closer, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils and sending goosebumps prickling down your spine. "Don't be shy. I know you."

You glanced down at the drink and back at him, fighting the urge to smile.

"I might be curious. But what's in it for you?" you asked. Yunho smirked, taking a step closer so that his chest was mere inches away. You could feel the heat radiating off his body, feel his gaze traveling over your face. His eyes lingered on your lips and he smiled again, looking like he was enjoying himself.

"Maybe I just like making trouble," he whispered. He plucked the glass from your hand, bringing it to his lips and downing the drink in one smooth movement. His tongue darted out to lick the residual amber from his lips before he placed the empty glass down on the counter behind him. He leaned closer to you, his voice dropping an octave as he spoke. "I could tell you but then I'd have to kiss you. And you wouldn't want that, would you?"

"Can you two stop flirting and get your asses over here?!" Wooyung called out as he joined the rest of the gang at the table. The lights pulsed to the rhythmic beat of the music and the temperature of the room seemed to rise several degrees.

"I, for one, have no problem with you making out," Seonghwa teased, causing Hongjoong and Jongho to laugh. "As a matter of fact, I think you two should just go ahead and kiss."

"You must be fucking crazy if you think I'm going to kiss him," you retorted with a huff. Hongjoong rolled his eyes and looked away as Jongho smothered a grin with his hand. Yeosang and San were thoroughly amused, chuckling and throwing a wink here or there.

"If you're too chicken to make a move, maybe he should just find someone else who will kiss him," Mingi shrugged, his gaze drifting to the crowd dancing and all the pretty girls that were bouncing and shaking.

"Oh? Do you have someone in mind, Mingi?" Wooyung jokes, looking past him to the other side of the bar. A sly smile slipped across Mingi's lips as he pointed at someone a few tables away from their own. "Assuming she says yes."

"Any girl that turns down Yunho is insane," Mingi huffed, giving you a pointed look.

"And I should care why?" You snorted as you looked from Yunho's handsome smirk to the girl Mingi had chosen. She was certainly pretty, wearing a flowy white blouse and tight black jeans, her red lipstick the perfect complement to her striking features. You watched as she glanced over at Yunho, giggling behind her hand. “I don’t care if he flirts with other girls.”

“Uh huh,” Jongho raised an eyebrow. “That’s what you say.”

"Have fun watching the show then," Yunho grinned, standing up and dusting imaginary lint from his jacket.

"You'll definitely know where I am," you retorted, not caring at all if he was only flirting for the hell of it. "Maybe I'll meet someone cute enough that I'll forget all about you and kiss them instead."

"Like who? Our friends?" he quipped, an eyebrow arching high on his forehead. "We all know you only have eyes for me."

"Ugh!" You rolled your eyes and downed another drink. "Fuck off!"

As you watched Yunho saunter across the club towards the pretty girl Mingi had singled out, something within you twisted sharply. It took everything inside you not to storm across the floor and yank her away from him. But you didn't even want Yunho... did you? The alcohol you'd consumed must have been having more of an effect on you than usual.

"He won't do it," Hongjoong laughed, slamming his empty glass down onto the table. Jongho sat beside him, an amused smirk dancing on his lips.

"He's only ever had eyes for you, Y/N," Yeosang chimed in with a drunken grin. "Never any other girl but you."

"You all need to get your eyes checked," you hissed. But the sinking sensation in your gut said something entirely different.

The pair leaned together, whispering back and forth, flirting and giggling, their eyes never straying far from each other. Jealousy and curiosity surged through you as you watched. Your pulse raced with an irrational need to reach out and pull him back, to declare you were his and not allow the unknown girl to lay a single finger on him.

You needed another drink.

Slipping away from your friends and their silly assumptions, you slid between dancing patrons and dodged drunken strangers until you made it to the bar. An attractive bartender in a form fitting uniform stepped up and you placed an order. He looked you over, nodding and winking appreciatively before stepping away to make your order. A familiar presence pressed against your side. Turning, you spotted San and smiled, greeting him. His arm encircled your waist as he pulled you to him, to talk in your ear over the loud thump of the bass.

"You okay?" He asked, his gaze following yours to watch Yunho as he flirted with the pretty girl. "He won't kiss her."

"Why would I care?" You blurted, refusing to look back at Yunho's tempting smirk as it bloomed on the girl's flushed cheeks. "I don't care about him, not at all."

"You can pretend all you want," he smiled at you foundly. "But Yunho is different when he's with you. He doesn't look at anyone like he looks at you."

The bartender returned, shooting you another flirty grin, before placing a row of shots lined up on the table before you. Plucking a bill from your back pocket, you paid the handsome guy and looked back over at Yunho. You hated to admit it but San was right. The second he glanced back at you, the girl and the whole damn bar seemed to disappear. Only you were in his line of vision.

Grabbing a shot, you slammed it back, enjoying the warmth as it coated your throat. And then another. And another, until every nerve in your body burned deliciously. A thrill rippled through you. Shooting Yunho a challenge, you watched as his brow furrowed slightly, as though contemplating a challenge. Then his smile turned devious and he motioned to the girl to come closer.

Fuck. You grabbed one more shot, not caring that the music had changed to a more energetic song. Slamming the glass onto the table, you marched towards the pair, who had taken residence on the couch against the wall, tucked into the far back corner of the place.

The crowd moved with the beat and bodies shook and ground into each other as you pressed through, your only goal being Yunho and what you might do. Punch him in the face, maybe. Or kiss that obnoxious grin right off his full mouth. Maybe a mix of both, since you weren't sure which emotion was stronger - hatred or desire.

His hands caressed the girl's neck, cradling her face. He whispered something into her ear and she let out a loud laugh. Nausea and desire struck you hard. Without slowing down or stopping to think, you latched onto his arm, yanking him up, and glaring hard into his pretty face.

"I'm sorry but I'm stealing my friend back," you stated. The girl glared at you, about to speak, but you yanked again. This time, he came willingly, stumbling alongside as he was pulled through the throng of bodies.

"Not enjoying the view anymore?" Yunho mused. When you didn't respond he yanked, grabbing you around the waist. You lost balance, letting out a surprised squeak, but he caught you, spinning and pushing your back to the wall. His arms trapped you, pressing along your sides as he caged you in. Leaning down, he whispered into your ear, his breath hot. "Or did you think it was going somewhere?"

You couldn't suppress the shudder that rolled down your spine as his low, suggestive tone caressed you, lighting every nerve ending aflame. His hand cupped the side of your cheek, his touch warm and demanding.

"Why?" you gasped out, swallowing the fear and frustration that crawled up your throat. "Why does she get all that and not me?"

"You want me too?" he quipped, his gaze dragging over your face and settling on your eyes. "Are you sure, Y/N, or are you drunk?"

You had never felt more sure of anything in your entire life. Staring deeply into his eyes, your hands fisted the fabric of his jacket, and you lifted yourself up onto your tiptoes, drawing your face closer to him, pausing an inch away from his mouth, waiting.

"Stop me now if I'm making a huge mistake," you whispered, hoping his mouth would connect to yours.

A grin, a flash of pearly whites, and the lightest of laughs were the only things you got in response. No warning and no stopping, you found your lips smashed against his, warm and full. His tongue ran over the seam of your mouth, teasing a moan. Your eyes slid shut as your senses were overpowered, hands desperately grabbing whatever you could.

Your head was swimming with thoughts of Yunho and only Yunho, as his fingers ran through your hair and pulled your body close. Yunho made sure that there wasn't a centimeter between you both, kissing and touching and nibbling and grinding his body against yours, and your arms curled around him like you never wanted him to move away. And in some way you really didn't—you never wanted this moment to end.

As if hearing this thought, Yunho pulled back, keeping your hips pressed together with one hand but putting distance between the rest of your bodies, keeping his hands away from your waist even though it had just been groping at you moments before. You were panting hard and your cheeks were flushed red, and you felt like your body was burning up with arousal and embarrassment and guilt and desire. Yunho was staring down at you, face as bright red as yours probably was, panting and out of breath and so sexy. Your eyes darted down, to the clear bulge in his slacks, then darted back up again, not knowing how Yunho would take you just blatantly staring. Yunho leaned in close so his forehead was against yours, bringing up his hands to cradle your face in them gently.

"Get a fucking room," you heard one of your friends say from somewhere behind you, but you didn't care because right now it was just you and Yunho, so close and yet still too far. He looked down at your mouth, his cheeks blushing brighter pink, and you pucker your lips a little just because you were a tease, and he ran his thumb over your lower lip.

Okay you were drunk. Very drunk.

"Sooo..." you breathed out, trying to stand tall and look Yunho in the eyes. He smiled that dumb toothy grin, which caused the wrinkles that you found so cute and sexy to show, and tilted his head slightly.

"Sooo..." He responded, his voice deeper than usual. There was a long pause where you both just looked at each other, lost in your thoughts and his gaze.

"Yunho, just take Y/N home, will ya?" Hongjoong said, groaning while passing by and clapping him on the shoulder. "Fuck the alcohol out of your system or something. You both have been looking at each other the whole evening! We get it, you want to go fuck! Go!"

With his final word, Hongjoong gave Yunho a little shove in your direction, and as if in slow motion your gazes met and it was like time had stopped for you. Before you knew it, his hand was pressed against your back, the other taking a hold of your hand, and he was leading you off and out the bar and into the backseat of a taxi.

When the car pulled away from the curb, you had to snap back to reality to tell the driver your address, and then Yunho grabbed you by the chin to tilt your head back toward him. When you saw the lust in his eyes, you gasped softly, your stomach immediately erupting into butterflies and a wet feeling appearing down below.

"Yunho..." you breathed out shakily, a hint of a whine in your tone, and your lips parted, showing that pretty tongue to him once more. Yunho smirked a bit, but then moved forward and bit on your tongue softly. His lips were soft, but demanding, and he guided you so he could restrain your wrists to your lap, so when he kissed you it was hot and full of heat. You pressed up close into his chest, and Yunho slowly released his grip to hold onto your jaw, the kiss starting to move slower and more sensually. You slid a hand up his chest, pressing under his jacket to feel him. Yunho is muscular and lean; tall with broad shoulders and a muscular back. His ass is to die for, and his thighs and calves are so deliciously thick, and all you want to do is rub your hands over him and suck on his skin.

Finally the taxi slowed to a stop, pulling up to your apartment. You both stumbled out of the car, you paying the man while Yunho held the car door open for you. Then you were stumbling up the steps and into the lobby of the building. You didn't let Yunho go and Yunho didn't let you go, and then finally, finally, finally the apartment door closed behind the both of you and Yunho pinned you to the back of the door, grabbing your thighs and pressing between them.

The kisses were hard and fast, his tongue in your mouth exploring and licking at your teeth, tongue and lips. You grabbed the lapel of his jacket with one hand, the other diving into his hair and massaging his scalp, while walking backwards towards your bedroom. As you entered through the door you shoved Yunho's jacket off his broad, smooth shoulders, feeling up the lean muscle.

You found yourself falling backwards onto your bed, but that was okay because that was exactly where you wanted to be right then. You slid back onto your elbows while Yunho crawled up the length of your legs, his body a delicious line of lean muscle that you wanted to have all to yourself.

"God, I could fuck you so good..." Yunho mumbled as he leaned forward, capturing your lips in another kiss and you mewled needily into his mouth, grinding your hips up into his. "Gonna fuck you so good until the only name you can remember is mine."

"Fuck," you whined, head tossed to the side to bare your throat to him.

Yunho's hand trailed up your bare thigh, pushing your skirt up to pool at your hips. He stopped to look down at you, your hands pushing his shirt up and running over his torso. "No panties and your pussy shaven?" he said slowly with a soft moan of your name. "Fuck...you are going to ruin me tonight, aren't you baby?"

"Just get naked, Jeong," you groaned, your legs parting of their own accord. He chuckled in return and sat back on his heels to strip out of his clothes.

You know that tomorrow things would be back to the way they were—you and Yunho sniping at each other whenever given the opportunity, making mean and bitchy comments to each other when in front of everyone, all the while with an intense sexual attraction and deep feelings. But tonight...tonight was a free-for-all, where the air between you both is charged with drunken passion and sexual frustration. You always secretly wanted to fuck each others brains out but would never admit it to anybody (no matter how obvious it was to your friends). Tonight, you wouldn't regret anything. Tonight, it was just you and Yunho, and his perfect mouth on your thighs.

"Fuck," you moaned as his teeth sank into your thigh, giving a harsh suck so that his mark was left. "Guess I won't be wearing skirts and shorts anytime soon..." You didn't really mean that because god did you want everyone to see the marks he left on you.

"Guess not," Yunho growled back as he left a few more hickeys along the inside of your thighs, enjoying how you squirmed under him and moaned his name. His hands trailed up your body under your top, his long fingers touching everywhere and finding your breasts. "No bra either? God Y/N, you planned on this happening."

"Maybe I did," you murmured back, opening your eyes to look down at your body and lock gazes with him. "Maybe I wanted you. Maybe I always have."

"Fuck," came the breathy whine before he was attacking your lips, and your shirt was being pulled over your head. With your clothes practically discarded in an instant, Yunho attacked your bare torso, kissing and licking and sucking his way down. He lavished your breasts with attention, swirling the pert nub of your nipples between his lips and letting it go with a small pop, moving to the other when he deemed it had enough attention. When he let this nipple free, a long stream of spit connected his tongue to the sensitive nub, and you watched the drool fall onto your skin with an aroused shiver.

"I thought you hated me," Yunho began in between licks along your lower stomach. "That I hated you."

"Never," you moaned in response, curling one hand into his hair. "You're just so damn infuriating sometimes."

"So are you," was all Yunho mumbled before he attached his mouth to your cunt. His tongue swiped across your outer folds first, flattening out against the length, then ran his tongue up and down the slit, dipping just barely past the entrance to your core. The little jolts and tremors coursing through your body, combined with your choked moans and high pitched whines were absolute perfection to his ears, and Yunho buried his face as deep as he could. It was intoxicating, the taste of your pussy, sweet and slick with your arousal, and he practically salivated into it like a starving man. Your whole body was flush and warm against his mouth, and he savored the taste of you on his tongue as he ate you like a fucking buffet.

And honestly Yunho was eating you better than anybody had ever before. His tongue was flicking against you, nose pressing right into the spot that made you absolutely go fucking crazy. You squirmed and mewled loudly, fingers tangled in his soft fluffy hair, and you let your legs curl up and around his wide and firm shoulders, bucking your hips up against his face.

"God, please," you whined, voice tapering off into a soft moan at the end as Yunho ate your sopping pussy like there's no tomorrow. You had forgotten what pleasure even felt like until then. His long fingers circled your wet pussy hole, pushing their way past your folds to massage against the taut muscle with every dip of his mouth. Your legs curled tightly around his neck, not choking, but trapping Yunho right where he was in place.

"Yes! God, Yunho, yes!" Your back arched, eyes closed and a low whine in your throat, your body quickly coming to the point of no return. You ground your hips forward, rutting against his mouth with fervent enthusiasm, but you were pulled from that moment of pure bliss when he slipped a long finger into you and pumped the digit back and forth. Yunho let his gaze travel over your body, over your soft form and watch the way the curves moved when he shifted or pressed in certain spots.

His name slipped through your lips in a whisper, his fingers pausing mid thrust. Your hand gripped his forearm as your whole body tightened, your pussy quivering around his finger. A little trickle of liquid seeped past his finger and onto the sheets under you, your insides trembling as you came from Yunho's fingers and mouth. The man kept moving his hand through the aftershocks, allowing the moment of bliss to be drawn out as long as possible, watching how you continued to gasp and whimper as you came.

"There you go," he whispered encouragingly, his eyes still roaming up and down the length of your naked figure. "Mm, such a beautiful thing, cumming just from the press of my lips and tongue." He smiled and leaned back down to pepper your belly with small kisses, his free hand roaming over the tops of your thighs to cup your bottom in a small squeeze.

"Yunho, I need you, please," you whined, batting your eyes as you looked down your naked chest to where the tall man was laid in the vee of your thighs. "Please?"

Yunho hesitated, still for a moment before looking up from between your thighs to where you laid propped up on your elbows. "Do you have any condoms?" he asked, his thumb running gently back and forth over the delicate skin of your lower tummy.

Your stomach flipped slightly from the intimate contact, a smile crossing over your face at his care. You turned, fumbled for the nightstand and pulled it out, dropping a wrapped package right next to him, earning a little smile from Yunho. The latex was pulled over Yunho's considerable girth, the latex slipping easily down his long shaft, and he spread his body between your open thighs once the little package had been tossed away.

"God, we should have done this earlier," Yunho whispered against the juncture between your neck and shoulder, giving the area a gentle nibble, then pressed his tip to your wet slit.

Your whole body tensed, nerves beginning to tighten again at the feeling of his dick near your sopping pussy. And when Yunho was finally settled in the hilt, filling you to the brim, you let out a squeak at how absolutely large he was, the stretch and burn from the stretch making you even more drenched than before.

And when he pulled out, you felt so empty, before Yunho was pushing right back into you, filling you all over again, his breath hitching just the slightest bit at the way you sucked him in.

Your mouth opened wide in a soundless gasp, as your heart pounded loudly and wildly, a whine escaping when Yunho grinded his hips down and slowly, rubbed up and against all of your walls and nerve endings and you knew he felt good, so good.

"C'mon pretty girl," Yunho cooed as your breaths and moans started to pick up, speeding up the pace, moving from a gentle slow drag of the hips to deep, quick pounding thrusts.

"More," you breathed, reaching out to grab his hand. You needed something to cling to; something to focus on and feel, so your hand would lock onto Yunho's forearm as his cock fucked you deeper, faster. "D-don't stop," you pleaded in a low whimper. "Don't stop fucking me...please."

The pace became even more erratic and punishing, as the both of you got closer and closer to release. His large hand slipped down to palm your breast, a jolt going through your body as his thick fingers kneaded into the sensitive flesh. Every press was followed with his hips pumping harder, working against each of your muscles as his length slid in and out. His hand trailed down further to rub at the bundle of nerves at the apex of your thighs, his hand slipping with how soaked you were.

"So close…” you moaned.

Yunho picked up his pace again, slapping his balls against your plump ass everytime he sank inside of you. Your cries got higher in pitch and your back arched upwards, fingers gripping his forearms again.

"C'mon Y/N," Yunho encouraged again, panting from above you. His length pounded in and out, pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Cum. Fucking cum."

You squeezed around him tightly, his pace and force not ceasing in any manner, and your hips twitched a bit, getting closer and closer. You practically sobbed as your climax grew closer and closer, almost painful and too sensitive.

And finally, finally the release. Your eyes shut tightly and your hips stuttered. Your back arched, almost lifting you completely off the bed, and your cries were muffled by Yunho's tongue forcing its way into your mouth. And you gushed all over Yunho, pussy pulsing rapidly as you felt Yunho fill the condom at the same time.

Your chest is heaving and sweat is dripping down your forehead and into your eyes. Your eyes are lidded as Yunho pants quietly over you, leaning up onto his palms above your naked body. Your muscles throb and pulse from the orgasm you and him just shared, and your hands rest on Yunho's firm sides, letting him bask in his moment of pride and post orgasmic bliss.

Finally he slipped out and fell to the bed beside you, pulling the used and tied condom off, tossing it into the wastebasket, then rolled over towards you and kissed your bare shoulder gently. "Best sex I've ever had," he admits honestly.

"Same," you breathed out in agreement, snuggling into his body. You close your eyes for a moment and bask in his warmth, letting yourself have this moment of complete and utter domestic bliss with Yunho.

When tomorrow comes, and hopefully you were not suffering from a hangover, you and Yunho would talk about what this meant between the both of you. Until then, however, sleep was what you needed most and so you allowed yourself to relax. Yunho's arm wrapped itself around you to pull your body into the line of his own, your back pressed flush against his warm chest, and you and him drifted off, clinging close together.

You blinked as the blinding sun spilled through the gaps in your blinds, the warmth waking you up slowly. It had been awhile since you woke up this slowly and naturally, not because of a loud alarm. What made it better was the strong arm curled around you, and the hard abs pressed into your side.

Oh yes, Yunho had definitely fallen into bed with you last night, after that sexy taxi ride, and hot steamy sex. You never had a night so good as the night you had with Yunho. In a matter of seconds it was like a rush of memories and your face grew red at the mere thought of them. You tried shifting your hips, to no avail. Well you guess last night's activities did a number on you. Yunho probably too, and sure enough you heard a slight groan behind you.

Your stomach flipped with excitement as he started stirring from his sleep, and it was at this moment you realized that you probably looked like an utter mess. Yet, your thoughts stopped as soon as he nuzzled your neck gently and held you a little bit tighter, keeping you firmly in place. You really wanted to turn and look, to stare into his beautiful face, and soak in his handsome looks but it seemed he wasn't ready to give up on cuddles quite yet, and who were you to refuse this man some cuddling?

It was rather comforting to hear Yunho's breathing pick up to show that he was awake. "Did last night really happen?"

Yunho's morning voice was like sex, something you didn't think you'd get so aroused by but damn did it affect you. You could listen to him talk like that forever and it would never get old.

"It did." You had no idea why, but your fingers were instantly drifting over his arm, rubbing gently against the firm muscles. His hold around you was soft but firm and strong, like you would stay with him all morning. Maybe you should have gotten up, maybe you should have suggested breakfast or something but honestly the thought of moving from the bed and losing this intimate contact sounded painful.

"We can talk later," he whispered against your skin, his morning stubble scratchy against your neck. Your back was pressed against his toned torso, your bare skin so warm and supple. "I just wanna stay here for a bit."

"Me too," you admit to him softly, shifting slightly closer as if that was even possible. His soft hair tickled your shoulder, and the little puffs of air brushing over your skin gave a soft chill of pleasure.

This felt right, all of this. As scary as that felt to admit and even consider. But for the time being, you really couldn't complain at all. You just wanted a lazy morning cuddling with a hot man that gave you the greatest night of your life last night, and would be more than happy to give you that again anytime. You would be crazy not to want to cuddle with this man in bed right now.

For now, you and Yunho could sleepily cuddle in bed, without thinking of what this meant for the two of you, because this could end so easily or maybe it will finally end up becoming something.

However, while both your brains would love to let you enjoy this quiet peaceful bliss, you heard the front door slammed shut and heard Wooyoung's voice in the hall. "YUNHO GET YOUR DICK OUT OF Y/N SO YOU BOTH CAN EAT BRUNCH AT THE DINER. IT IS HALF PAST NOON! SO SAY GOODBYE TO Y/N'S PUSSY AND HURRY UP, JEONG! TIME IS OF THE ESSENCE! OUR TAB IS ALREADY OPEN!"

"GOD, SHUT THE FUCK UP WOOYOUNG," both you and Yunho yell, turning beet red.

You are not looking forward to a full day of teasing from everyone. You turn to Yunho, who was already getting out of your bed. "Can we talk before we head out to meet up with everyone?"

"Yeah, just a little bit, before Wooyoung makes another one of those sex jokes about my dick that are terrible and not funny," Yunho grabs his boxers and slides them on. You stare at him in amusement, seeing he didn't mind being naked, like at all. It was refreshing.

"Look, about last nightㅡ"

Yunho smiles softly at you and he sits back down on the edge of your bed. "Don't worry, it doesn't have to be anything big or anything if you don't want it to, you know. We can still be friends or enemies or whatever and still have sex if that's what you want."

"Yeah?" you ask as he puts a strand of hair behind your ear, your face burning red and your heart fluttering.

"Well, I mean, I enjoyed the fuck out of last night and I would be really happy if it wasn't a one time deal," Yunho smiles when you scoot closer and turn on your side to be able to lay on his leg and wrap your arms around his waist. He even kisses your forehead.

"Me too. Let's just see what happens, no pressure or commitment, okay? If either of," you gesture with your finger between your bodies, "are feeling weird, just say something and we’ll talk, okay?"

"Yeah, sure thing," Yunho answers you, his voice almost tender, something you hadn't heard before last night. It was different. He gives you another little squeeze, letting you nestle into his warm lap.

The moment was over a little sooner than you expected.

"YUNHO! Y/N! FOR THE LAST TIME IF YOU DON'T HURRY UP I WILL COME INTO THE ROOM AND DRAG YOU OUT. I DON'T CARE IF YOU'RE NAKED. GET THE FUCK OUT OF THAT ROOM."

Yunho gets off the bed and puts on his t-shirt, groaning. "We're coming. God, could you just shut the fuck up?"

He shakes his head and holds out his hand to you, helping you out of the bed. His gaze flickers downwards as your legs stretch and show off the marks that he placed all along the tops of your thighs; what were supposed to be easy hickeys turned into harsh bites and small bruises that stood out against your delicate skin.

"What are you staring at, Jeong?"

"Just your pretty legs and beautiful hickeys all over them," he grins and allows you to grab some clothes.

"Shut up," you blush, knowing that not even last night and your hot makeout session would prepare you for what would come ahead now.

So much for the enemy line you and Yunho created between the two of you.

You met up with the rest of your friends at the usual diner that you and your friends always went to. It had been a good twenty minutes and no one said a word to you or Yunho. However, San looked way too satisfied and Seonghwa just kept a smug and knowing look the entire time you all had brunch.

"Sooooooo..." Mingi finally decided to talk, everyone going silent when he leaned in. "Had fun last night, Yunho?"

"They most likely did," Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows and stuffed a hashbrown in his mouth. "They were still in the bedroom when I barged into the apartment this morning."

"I'm going to change the code to my door so you can't get in, fucker," you stuck your tongue out and went back to your food. "Okay, look. I didn't mean to go home with Yunho last night. It just happened!"

Hongjoong laughed. "Uh huh, of course. It 'just happened.'"

Yunho shot you a teasing look, but then cleared his throat, grabbing all the attention. "Well, you guys wanna know what else just happened last night?"

You winced. "Yunho, don’t!"

"Y/N was definitely expecting something last night." Yunho continues anyways. "No panties and bra—"

You clasped a hand over his mouth, cheeks flushing red. "No one needs to know!"

Jongho raised his eyebrows. "Well damn. But really it's no surprise you got dicked down by Yunho."

San shook his head. "Man, now I need to find someone to hook up with. This is not fair."

Seonghwa chuckled. "Same. Yunho can't be the only one getting pussy."

"You got any female friends, Y/N?" Wooyoung wiggled his eyebrows as you picked a strawberry off of his pancake and ate it. "Got any friends looking for a dick appointment? I am single."

You groaned as your other friends started looking around their table for the single friends you might have. "Ugh, okay. Can we please, PLEASE just shut up about everything that happened last night and forget about it? Okay. Whatever happened, happened. It's over."

Everyone stared at Yunho curiously when he said, "Oh no. It definitely did not happen."

Your cheeks burned. "Don't be such a dick. God."

You felt a hand rub over the marks left from his mouth against your inner thighs, a gentle smile appearing on his face. Thank god that you weren't wearing anything short because everyone would certainly catch a glance of his claim all over your soft and plush legs.

"He's your dick, huh?" Yeosang's coy voice picked up in the conversation.

"Lucky, lucky," Mingi wiggled his eyebrows.

Seonghwa started cracking up. "To think only a few hours ago you were fucking a guy you pretended to hate."

"He's growing on her," Hongjoong raised his eyebrows and met your eyes, a little mischievous smile on his face. "Admit it Y/N, you like the shit he pulls on you."

You didn't answer, opting for another strawberry to distract your mouth and brain. Yunho didn't help your case when the hand that was on your thigh, a reminder of exactly what he was capable of doing with his fingers, gripped at your soft flesh possessively.

"GOD. JUST MARRY ALREADY." Jongho groans loudly, hearing you squeak quietly.

"Have kids or something." San chortled.

The others, sans Yunho of course, start agreeing as they watch you and Yunho trade looks, catching you smile just the slightest and him gazing intently at your pretty lips. Wooyoung, tired of everyone in his immediate proximity, groaned at the ceiling.

"JUST ADMIT YOU BOTH LIKE EACH OTHER OR FOR THE LOVE OF ALL THAT IS GOOD, PUT A RING ON THAT BITCH, YUNHO," Wooyoung stares at Yunho in disbelief, feeling a need to laugh hysterically. "We're all sick of watching the love-hate thing between you two."

Everyone burst into agreement.

Yunho shrugs casually. "Alright, we have our first date and we plan to get married. That satisfies you? Everyone is sick and tired of the back and forth fighting right?"

You rolled your eyes at him, reaching across the table to pat his arm softly and soothingly. "Thanks, honey. They definitely bought that."

He grinned. "I'll buy your love."

Hongjoong scoffed as everyone looked like they were gearing up to slap the two of you. "We see right through that crap. We might be crazy, but we ain't that fucked up in the head not to recognize bullshit. Now go away, you two."

All seven of them shoved the two of you together, out the door of the diner, with smiles on their faces and shouting some explicit words.

You stood with Yunho beside your car. "They're batshit insane."

"Isn't that why we love them?" He raised an eyebrow as you pretended to think about it. He laughs. "You're a pain in my ass sometimes."

"You're a pain in my ass too."

"Ha...Yunho," you mumbled his name, grasping his wet back as he held you against the tiles, mouth attaching to the marks on your neck as the steaming shower cascaded down on both of you. The tiles were icy against your back, water pelting down on you, steam heavy in the room. Yunho couldn't stop for more than a second, couldn't breathe. Everything that came out of his mouth was praise to how much you fit him so perfectly; you squeezed him like no one else could ever have, and the way he touched you made you lightheaded, unable to think of anyone else, ever. "Oh god..."

Your legs were wrapped around his hips, your toes flexing as the shower water rained down over him, his hands holding your thighs, fingertips sinking in your plush, plump skin. It has been months now, close to two or three, since Yunho and you have been sleeping together. To be completely honest, it wasn't that simple either; when it happened between the both of you it was never 'sleeping together' and everything about it was very complicated.

Sometimes, it was fucking, sometimes it was love making. Sometimes it was slow and sensual while other times were hard, fast and rough. Sometimes it was just sex where you leave each other afterwards. Other times it was staying together and sleeping curled into the sheets. Everything that had to do with what you had going on with Yunho was complicated and difficult.

"Oh my God..." His cock kept diving into you, meeting your desperate whines as your hands tightened around his strong biceps, listening to the short stuttered breath as your thighs quivered, tightening around him. Yunho swore and dropped his face into your throat, a moan pressing to your collarbone when he took another thrust. You writhed on the spot as his hand tightened at your thigh and around the curve of your back. "Yunho."

"Fuck Y/N..." Yunho moaned against your neck. “Say my name again, like that. Goddamn you look so fucking pretty with my dick inside of you. Always looks so pretty on my cock. Made for my dick." His forehead dragged against yours, nipping at your bottom lip. "Love you like this. Begging, aching, beautiful...so perfect for me..." His voice came out, strangled and raw, leaving you trembling and moaning as the sounds he pushed out of your throat, swallowing them with sloppy and heavy kisses.

The warm shower water still beat against you, trickling around your bodies and spilling over to the bathroom floor, the stall all humid. His large and massive body hovered over you, hands braced over your back and leg, fingers leaving searing patterns against you. The touches, kisses, sounds, the heat in the humid bathroom. It had you gasping his name, higher, deeper and louder.

God. How fucking had you never let this happen before? Let him bring you apart piece by piece in every way, watch him work you for hours like a canvas to his finger tips, show him every part of you that no one else has been allowed to see?

Now you had him all to yourself. Every ounce. Every inch.

And boy, were you insatiable.

"Do you hear how gorgeous you sound?" he praised hoarsely. Yunho groaned at the filthy sound of his wet, throbbing and long cock pushing its way in your pussy.

"Yes, Yunho," the look of pure satisfaction and power spread on his handsome face as you answered him with breathlessness and surrender had you clawing at his back. You squeezed his shoulders and ground your teeth. "Oh fuck, Yunho...I can't...I don't thinkㅡ"

He bucked his hips into your clenching hole harder.

"Damn Y/N," His breath brushed the shell of your ear. His lips kissed you hungrily, passionately, moving as roughly as his thrusts, slick with water. "I won't ever get tired of this, ever."

"Me neither," you mewled against his swollen lips, face flushing red as he ground into you, throwing his hips faster, harder, leaving you crying out as you clutched around him, arching into him. "Yes, oh fuck! Yes!"

The constant drag and pull on his dick sent your body and mind soaring to the heavens, making you mewl and call his name in a needy voice. It was more than a simple tug and release, more than fucking on occasion, a certain intimacy you only shared. "Y/N. I want this everyday. Just you, right here, getting fucked on my dick, falling apart on me. Over and over again."

"Me...too. Oh my god," Your lips parted with another loud, lustful cry of his name, pleasure swelling throughout your entire body. Yunho moaned a stream of explicit words, his brow furrowed and his hands shaking a little bit against your skin. The roll of his hips lost some of its rhythm, coming faster, the slap of wet skin against your thighs even louder as his heavy and thick cock abused your entrance. "More. Oh. OH, FUCK YES!"

His eyes closed as his dick pushed its way deeper into you with every shove. "So fucking close," Yunho grunts, your back and hips slapping against the wall behind you as his body pushed you against it, pinning you on his hard length. "Let go, baby, cum all over my dick."

"Yunho, fuck! Don't stop, Yunho, ohㅡ" You whine, tightening and tensing under him, "Don't stop. Fuck, I'm going toㅡ"

"Cum for me baby, that's it, cum for me," the guttural noises rolling off his tongue only spur you on further, nails digging into his back and your thighs trembling.

It takes a few more long and powerful thrusts before you find yourself yelling his name, coming on his dick hard. His rough growls of curses and your name turn breathless, hips twitching as his cock buried deep inside of you, cum shooting into you. Yunho's head drops into the curve of your shoulder.

You slump a little, finding no energy to keep your limbs taut anymore as he slips from your pussy, slowly lowering you back onto the shower floor. As Yunho catches his breath and releases the leg you were hanging onto him by, your heart still pounds so rapidly that it leaves you struggling to stand up right, slumping against his shoulder.

"Are you alright?" Yunho rasped, smoothing some wet hair from the front of your flushed, warm face and pecking a gentle kiss against the corner of your mouth. You grin a little and lean into him, hands sliding against his broad and soaked chest, slick with water. "Take your time. Just try not to pass out. Not that I won't catch you, but we will probably both slip and hit our heads. Then, we both will be in the hospital."

You laugh as he turns off the water to the shower, stretching to reach over you for two towels he put on the shelf to hang, handing one to you. After wrapping the fluffy cloth around your cold, drenched body, you step closer to him, allowing him to press a kiss to your forehead. "Well, I better be careful then."

He lets out a laugh as he picks you up in his arms and wanders into his bedroom. The afternoon sunlight pours through the partially drawn curtains, washing over the bed. Yunho dumps you unceremoniously into the thick, fluffy comforter. You smile teasingly and fall onto the mess of pillows and blankets, damp towels dropping carelessly aside as you relax back into his sheets. He crawls towards you, smiling the slightest as he kisses your wet, tangled hair. "That was good, though, huh? Not gonna deny that it wasn't?"

"I don't remember. Was someone pounding me against the shower tiles like the fucking world was ending? Did I enjoy it at the very least?" You snuggled against his naked chest as he chuckled and settled into the blanket beside you. "Not gonna lie, but a girl could really get used to being taken care of by a man who fucks like he means it."

"Someone who also can't get enough of your delicious ass pussy, huh?" He grinned, sliding an arm around your waist and shifting to rest his cheek against the top of your hair, rubbing at your wet strands. You giggle and swat at his side, drawing him closer against you, tangling your bare legs. "You'll just have to take what's yours. So a daily request for your favorite big dick is not that bad."

"Daily, huh? I'm lucky," you glance at him curiously as he rubs a thumb against the smoothness of your soft skin. "But seriously, you'd actually want this to be a permanent thing between us?"

Yunho stared intently. "Do you just want it to be sex or something more? I mean, what are we even, at the moment? We do more than fuck and leave, right?"

Your hand rubbed at his skin absent minded, thumb circling a light mark left behind from you earlier. "We do more than fuck and leave, yeah… What should we call what's going on between us, really?" You pondered for a bit, sitting up a little more.

"How does..." Yunho begins, sighing softly, a small and sweet smile pulling on his face. "Getting married and having kids like the guys suggested sound?"

You grinned as his deep voice purred against you. "Nah, not ready for that step yet."

"Wanna move in?" He asked, sounding surprisingly sincere. "Become my live-in girlfriend?"

There's the briefest pause, but Yunho's gaze never falters. He watches the emotions that flicker across your face, the excitement, surprise, happiness and affection all cross your features. "Yeah? Really? Girlfriend?"

"Of course," he nods slowly, not needing a single second to think about his decision. Yunho squeezes you a little tighter, resting his chin against the top of your head and kissing it lightly. "I'm not in it for just the sex. I genuinely...I really, like you."

"Yeah...I like you too." You pushed against his bare chest. He laughed, burying his face in the crook of your throat. "Only a little bit."

"A little bit," Yunho said, his hot breath ghosting along your collarbone, pushing your head back to place kisses along your neck. "Just a little bit? What about… a lot bit, maybe?"

His large palm stroked down your shoulder, over your arm, grabbing your hand and moving it between his legs. A guttural moan leaving you both as his fingers dance around your wet slit.

"Always fucking ready, babygirl?" Yunho smirked, watching your teeth graze against your bottom lip, before sliding his length through your slick.

"Ready whenever you are."

#illusionnet #atzhouse #cromernet #wonderlandnet #kvanity #other side outlaws network #ksmutsociety #ateez #ateez scenarios #ateez imagines #ateez fanfic #ateez smut #ateez stories #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #yunho smut #yunho x reader

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lionneee · 1 month ago

Text

His, forever

English is not my first language, please be kind

Masterlist

Taglist

•Warnings: dirty talk, sex, anal fingering, stalking, kissing, perverts, piv, masturbation, talking of sex.•

Ex!Boyfriend!Aemond x Ex!Girlfriend!Reader

He didn’t even like her at the start. She was sassy, she was noisy and sarcastic

That was at the start. She made her way in his group of friends thanks to Floris, she was a friend of hers.

When he started to know her, he saw why everyone loved her so much.

She was pure fire.

She was energetic, sweet, a cold glass of water on a hot day.

Their relationship was pure lust, passion, love.

It was the most powerful and intense relationship he ever had. They fucked like rabbits, they kissed as if there was no tomorrow.

They also fought.

It was fire against fire, it was stubbornness against stubbornness, it was freedom against possession.

Aemond loved her, loved to be around her, loved the way she made him feel.

He didn’t want anyone else to feel what he felt when he was with her.

That was their downfall.

She pushed him away, always more, until it broke into a big argument and she broke up with him.

He hated it.

He hated life without her fire to warm him.

He needed her, but despite how much he called her, how much he texted her, she refused to come back to him.

So he decided to go to her.

It started randomly, Floris posted a story with her, writing the position and he went there.

She was at a pub, chatting and laughing with her friends, enjoying her evening.

He just sat at the counter and had a few drinks as he listened to her voice.

It was smooth, soft, sweet and soothing.

He loved it, and he missed it.

It soothed him enough to go through two more days.

Then he felt the need to see her again.

Then it happened again.

And again.

He found himself following her the moment he walked out of his office, following her if she walked out, and spying on her from outside.

She always loved big windows, for the light to come in her room.

He surely didn’t mind it, it only helped him more to get a clear view of her wrapped in a towel as she put the lotion on her body.

“God, baby —“ He panted as he kept pumping his cock in his hand as he stared at her through the window. “You were always such a tease, uh?” He groaned as he felt himself reaching his orgasm.

God he missed her.

“You have no idea of what I’m going to do to you ass soon as I’ll touch you again -“ He moaned as he saw her drop the towel, her naked body in full display as he shot his load on the ground.

He sighed and tucked himself back in his pants.

He wasn’t proud of it.

He didn’t like how he found himself jerking off as he spied on her like some random perv.

He wasn’t a perv. He just missed her.

Badly.

He wished she would have let him explain himself, he wished he could have touched her one last time.

He wished she would stay tied up to his bed and be fine with it.

He was frustrated. All the time.

He was frustrated when he was at work because he wanted to see her.

He was frustrated when he saw her, because he wanted to touch her.

He was frustrated after he saw her, because despite everything, he still found disgusting what he was doing.

But he couldn’t stop.

“I love you.” She smiled as they laid on their sides, facing each other. She raised a hand to move a strand of his hair out of his face. He smiled and closed his eye, relishing in her touch.

“I love you too. More than anything.” He said softly.

“I love you -“ He panted as he kept jerking himself off ferociously, holding her picture in his hand. “So much baby -“

He moaned as he looked at her eyes, her lips, her face as he kept moving his hand on his cock, fast. “I’ll love you forever —“ He managed to say the last words before coming with a strangled groan. “Always mine.” He rested his head back against the headrest.

He took a deep breath and got up to clean himself off before returning to bed.

“See you tomorrow, baby.” He said before falling asleep.

He kept staring at her. She was in the car right in front of him.

Sucking someone else's cock.

He could see the man throwing his head back, her head raising slightly enough to get in his field of view.

He felt something inside him break.

She was his.

His.

Whoever this fucker was, he was not going to last long.

He’ll make sure of that.

“I’m serious Floris, I haven’t heard of him since yesterday.” She sighed as she paced in her apartment.

“I’m sorry sweetie, it’s shitty when a guy uses you for sex.” She said at the other end of the line, holding her phone against her cheek.

“I don’t think that was it!” She groaned.

“Baby, you don’t have a stalker, come on. You’re just stressed, and-“

“No, Floris! No. I know someone was following me the other day. It scared the fuck out of me I just started running home.” She sighed. “I knew I shouldn’t have started dating again, not when I thought I have a fucking stalker.”

“What? No! So what if a fucker is following you? We’ll call the police, but you won't stop living!” Floris argued. She sighed and rubbed her forehead in frustration as Floris kept talking. “Listen, you lock yourself inside tonight, and tomorrow we’ll go to the police, okay?”

“Okay.” She sighed. “Yeah, okay. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight love, see you tomorrow.” She hummed and ended the phone call.

She carefully closed all her windows and doors, before going upstairs to take a shower.

It had been weeks since she started to feel uneasy, feeling someone always walking behind her, watching her every time she went out.

She shivered at the thought.

She did hope it was all her imagination.

She walked in her room and put the lotion on her body. She put on her pajamas, then she moved to close the windows.

She froze.

There was someone out.

He was staring at her.

She immediately closed the window, pulling the curtain and stepped back.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Imagination? It was fucking real.

She immediately ran to the front door to check it was safely locked, but someone knocked.

She gasped and stepped back, staring at the door.

He knocked again.

She bit her lip, her hands trembling as she felt on the verge of tears.

“W-who is it?” She asked with a trembling voice.

“Hey, it’s Aemond.” She let out a breath in relief and she immediately opened the door and threw herself in his arms, sobbing.

“Hey, hey, what is it, mh?” He asked as he immediately wrapped his arms around her, coddling her in his chest as she tucked her head under his chin.

“I-I thought—“ She sobbed. “S-someone-“

“Hey, shh, take deep breaths.” He held her closer, rubbing her back, his other hand in her hair. He slowly stepped on her apartment and closed the door with a kick. “I’m here, baby, I got you.” He whispered softly. “You’re safe.”

He didn’t rush her, he let her cry out all her fears, her agitation and stress. He didn’t care if she was setting his hoodie, he only cared about having her back in his arms.

Even if he was the reason why she was so scared.

But she didn’t have to know that.

He only pulled back when he was sure she had calmed down.

“Better?” He asked as he caressed her cheek, holding them both in his hands.

She slowly nodded.

“Listen, I…” Aemond sighed. “I’m sorry about how I acted.” He looked at her in her eyes. “I never meant to hurt you. I still love you.”

She looked at him, her eyes widening slightly at his last words.

“A-Aemond… I…” She sighed. “Thank you.” She bit her lip. “But… you got me into a bad moment, I don’t know if I can right now.” She looked away, embarrassed.

Aemond smiled slightly.

“It’s okay. You seem tense.” He massaged her shoulders.

“Maybe I can help you loosen up?”

Despite the situation, she actually chuckled. Aemond smiled at her smile, proud of making her laugh.

“Come on, baby. We never had sex after we broke up.” He walked closer to her, placing his hands on her cheeks again.

“Because it’s a must?” She looked up at him with an amused smile.

“Kind of.” He smiled.

She took a deep breath and looked at him. She placed her hands on his cheeks. She took her time to look at him, to study his face after so many weeks.

She felt strangely comfortable around him, despite how things ended between us, and how long it has passed since they last saw each other, she felt like she could trust him.

“Sex. One more time.” She chuckled.

She felt safe.

Maybe she really hallucinated, maybe there wasn’t no one outside.

Aemond smiled and crushed his lips against hers.

She moaned and let him pick her up, and bring her back to her bedroom.

She was naive.

A fool.

But he didn’t mind. Not when it was him who had to get her.

He pushed her back on her bed and immediately moved over her.

He was going to keep her. Forever.

And he’ll make her believe it’ll be her choice.

“I have condoms in my drawer-“ She mumbled as he pulled her shirt over her head.

“I have it.” He grabbed her wrist and moved to kiss her chest, nuzzling his face between them, covering with kisses every inch of skin his lips found.

He turned her around and pressed her face down on the mattress, pulling her hips up.

“God, you have no idea how much I want to fuck you —“ He was already panting, the sight of her plump ass in display for him was something beautiful. He quickly pulled her pants and panties down, then he unbuckled his belt, dropping it on the bed, then he stepped out of his pants.

He pulled off his shirt and slapped her ass as he let down his hand. He saw her wince at the spank, and smirked at her.

He looked down at his cock, and reached for his pants to grab the condom.

He opened it with his teeth and maneuvered the condom to let her believe he was putting it on.

He was not going to put it on.

Put on a barrier when he could finally have her again?

Madness.

He massaged his cock to use the lubricant of the condom on his skin, then he started rubbing the tip against her folds, slipping her open slightly, only to move out again and rub her clit.

“Oh — God, Aemond -“ She moaned as she arched her back, trying to rub back or make him slip his cock inside her.

“Slow, baby. You haven’t taken me for a long time, I don’t want to break you.” He leaned over her, placing his hands on the mattress, his arms brushing her waist. “Yet.”

He slowly started to push inside her, splitting her open around his cock.

She moaned loudly as she threw her head back, resting it against his shoulder.

“Yes — God you’re so tight, baby.” He moaned as he pushed back for a moment, only to slip back in, a bit deeper.

“Oh my God -“ She panted. “God you’re so big — “

“Yes, baby.” He growled as he straightened back up. “I’m big. Bigger than all the guys you could ever have —“ He pushed a bit more deeper. “I’m the perfect size for you-“ He pushed back. “Am I not?” He thrusted all the way back in, gripping her hips tightly so she couldn’t pull away.

He heard her loud cry, her whines and her moans.

He needed more.

“Come on, baby — You can take me.” He started to thrust inside her with abandon, he could feel her walls trying to push him out, squeezing him, massaging his cock in a way he dreamed over and over in the past weeks.

“Oh - God — Aemond!” She moaned louder, panting and arching her back. “I-it feels so good —“ She let her arms bent and hid her face in her sheets.

He put his thumb in his mouth and covered it with saliva.

“I’ll make you come so hard —“ He rubbed her butthole with his thumb, smirking.

“I remember you liking this.” He chuckled as he pushed his finger inside her asshole and started rubbing it downwards.

He could feel with the tip of his thumb his cock moving inside her, he could feel her body, her cunt, her walls move as he thrusted his cock inside her.

Her moans kept growing louder, her cries higher.

He pulled his thumb out only to suck his pointer and middle fingers.

“Aemond — “ She moaned. “Harder — I need it harder —“

“Always wanting more, uh? I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll give you everything I have.” He slipped his two fingers inside her asshole again.

She gasped loudly and leaned forward, moving slightly away.

“Come back here-“ He used his hand, still on her hips, to pull her back to him. “Let me make you feel good.”

He started thrusting harder, just as she asked, and moving simultaneously his fingers inside her ass, pressing them downwards to make her walls rub harder against his cock.

“Oh fuck —” She cried out. “I’m gonna come - Aem!” She whined loudly.

“Yes, yes baby. Come for me.” He growled. “I want to feel your ass squeeze my fingers — You cunt squeeze my cock -“

His words were too much for her, she felt the tension in her tummy snap, and waves of pleasure crashing down her body in strong, intense waves.

Aemond moaned loudly as he felt her walls massage his cock deliciously, his fingers unable to move any longer with how much her ass tightened.

“A-Aemond!” She moaned loudly as she fell on her bed.

Aemond couldn’t stop now, he followed her down, he slipped his fingers out her ass and laid on top of her, his hips moving on their own accord, trying to find the release he wanted inside her.

“Yeah, baby — So tight -“ He moaned as he kept feeling her cunt clenching around him.

She gripped the sheets tightly in her hands as she cried out for the overstimulation.

“Fuck yes!” He let out a strangled moan as he finally stilled, spilling his load deep inside her and falling on top of her.

His, forever.

Taglist: @ka1afbr @cynic-spirit @ladythornofrivia @zenka69 @queenofthekeep @adorewhatever @diannnnsss @kotadislikesthissite @iloveallmyboys @valyrianflower @dixie-elocin @gelacat0413 @quinquinquincy @mamawiggers1980 @darylandbethfanforever9 @rhaethoughts @believeinthefireflies95 @urfavnoirette @summerposie @sk1mah1 @queenofshinigamis @anukulee @chlmtfilms @m-riaa @p45510n4f4shi0n @malfoycassimalfoy @agoldenwoe @sapphirevhagar

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aventurineswife · 2 months ago

Note

Can I request Ratio, Moze, Aventurine, Sunday, Dan heng, Argenti and Jing Yuan involving their s/o or spouse in their exercise? Ill leave it up to creative freedom fr u but like the kisses when doing push ups or somehow practicing their attacks on their s/o in wholesome ways (just an idea but Churin doing the coin drop attack while his partner holds an umbrella above their head or something more wholesome)

-🍮♠

Love Is The Most Dangerous Strategy Of All

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Moze x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Argenti x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Fluff, Romantic Moments, Established Relationship, Playful Banter, Combat Training, Sweet Gestures, Slow Dancing, Quiet Moments.

Warnings: Mild Violence (in sparring and training sequences), Themes of Emotional Vulnerability(?), Light Suggestive Content (kisses and teasing moments), Mentions of Intense Training Practices.

Ratio sat at his desk, papers scattered around him in an organized chaos. His long hours of intellectual pursuit often left him longing for an outlet, and today, he had come up with an idea. He glanced toward you, lounging on the couch, your eyes glimmering with curiosity.

"Would you like to join me in a mental exercise?" Ratio asked, the usual sarcasm in his tone replaced by something more playful.

You raised an eyebrow. "Mental exercise? What kind of game are we playing?"

Ratio’s eyes twinkled behind his glasses. He stood, stepping to a corner of the room, and retrieved a sleek board game filled with complex patterns and symbols, designed to challenge even the sharpest minds. "A game of logic and strategy. You will need to anticipate my every move—much like our relationship."

You laughed. "That sounds... dangerous."

"Only for those unprepared." Ratio smiled, his usual arrogance softened by the lightheartedness of the moment.

The game began, and Ratio’s mind whirred at full speed, trying to anticipate your every move. You were quick to catch on, forcing Ratio to keep up. At one point, after a particularly sharp maneuver, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, catching him off guard.

"Consider that a victory." you teased.

Ratio smirked, adjusting his glasses. "Such tactics will not deter me. But... they may motivate me to work even harder."

The night was quiet, save for the soft hum of distant winds. Moze stood in the middle of a training ground, his blade drawn, eyes focused. You watched from the sidelines, arms crossed, concerned but intrigued.

"You’re being too hard on yourself." you called out softly.

Moze’s eyes flickered briefly, but his expression remained cold, impassive. He was practicing his shadow strikes—silent, swift, and deadly. You stepped forward, offering a gentle suggestion. "What if you let me help?"

Without a word, Moze nodded, moving toward you with eerie grace. He signaled for you to stand in the middle of the training area. “I won’t hurt you.” he said, though it sounded more like a command than a reassurance.

The training began. Moze’s strikes were fast, but he purposefully slowed them down, practicing his precision. You stood still and calm, evading each strike with fluid motion, barely moving a muscle.

After several attempts, Moze finally approached, his blade hovering near your neck. Instead of striking, he lowered his weapon, looking into your eyes.

"Perfect. You’re becoming as swift as shadows themselves."

He didn’t need to say more. You smiled, taking a brief pause to kiss him gently on the lips before stepping back. "And you’re finally letting go of the shadows, aren’t you?"

Aventurine grinned mischievously, twirling a coin between his fingers. You stood beneath a large, intricately designed umbrella, a slight frown tugging at the corner of your lips.

"Are you certain this is safe?" you asked, shifting your weight to one side as you adjusted the umbrella.

"Of course!" Aventurine said with a wink. "It’s all about the thrill of the game."

He took a deep breath and dropped the coin. With a fluid motion, he twirled his body, hands outstretched. The coin landed perfectly in his palm as he spun, effortlessly dodging the shower of raindrops that fell on you both.

You laughed, but it was a laugh filled with admiration, your gaze following his every move.

"Impressive," you said, watching him strike a dramatic pose with the umbrella still held above you. "Maybe I should take a gamble with you sometime."

Aventurine, ever the charmer, closed the distance between you and kissed you gently on the lips. "The best bet I’ve ever made is the one on you."

Sunday stood in a garden bathed in the soft glow of twilight, his coat flowing behind him like a royal cape. You stood nearby, watching him with admiration. Today, Sunday had chosen a more gentle form of exercise—a slow dance, a symbolic gesture for peace, a reflection of his own philosophy.

"Shall we begin?" he asked, extending his hand.

You smiled, taking it without hesitation, your fingers intertwining. As the music started, you moved in tandem, each step purposeful and elegant. Sunday’s eyes met yours with a quiet intensity, his every movement controlled, graceful.

"Feel the rhythm," Sunday whispered, spinning you under his arm. "Life, like dance, is about harmony."

The dance flowed seamlessly, your movements as one, until Sunday pulled you close, his lips brushing against your ear. "You are the perfect partner, in every way."

You smiled, your heart full, and kissed him back tenderly. "And you are the dream I never want to wake from."

Dan Heng stood at the training grounds, the spear in his hands. He was practicing a series of swift thrusts and spins, each movement calculated, precise. You stood by, leaning casually against a tree, watching with a mix of admiration and concern.

"Don’t overdo it!" you called out after a particularly powerful strike that sent a gust of wind rippling through the air.

Dan Heng paused, his stoic expression unchanged. He glanced at you, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I’m fine." he replied softly.

However, it wasn’t long before he offered to let you join in. "Would you like to try?"

You raised an eyebrow, surprised. "With the spear?"

Dan Heng nodded. "It’s about control, not strength. Let me guide you."

With a gentle hand on your waist, Dan Heng showed you the proper stance, your bodies aligning in perfect symmetry. As you practiced together, Dan Heng’s stoic demeanor softened, the quiet moments filled with shared trust. After a few successful strikes, you smiled up at him.

"Not bad for someone who’s all about silence," you teased.

Dan Heng chuckled, albeit quietly. "It’s not about what’s said. It’s about what’s felt."

He kissed you lightly on the forehead, grateful for the peace you brought to his turbulent heart.

Argenti stood, his sword gleaming in the sunlight, the red fabric of his attire flowing in the breeze. You sat nearby, watching him intently. His expression was one of perfect concentration as he practiced his swings, each movement a deliberate attempt to maintain his sense of purity.

He turned to face you, his expression noble yet inviting. "Would you honor me by joining my exercises today? A bout of sparring, if it pleases you?"

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure you want to fight me?"

Argenti's lips curved into a resolute smile, his eyes gleaming with unyielding determination. "Fear not, for I seek not to harm you, but to temper my resolve. It is the sanctity of honorable combat that stirs my soul."

With a gentle nod, you agreed, standing and grabbing a sparring sword. The match began, and Argenti’s movements were swift and graceful, the perfect blend of honor and beauty. Despite the intensity of the fight, he ensured every blow was controlled, never too harsh.

As you crossed blades, you suddenly spun and caught him off guard, knocking the sword from his hand. You stepped close, your breath mingling, before pressing a quick, teasing kiss to his lips.

"Seems like you need more practice," you teased.

Argenti inclined his head, his voice brimming with pride and humility. "I shall redouble my efforts and train with greater fervor to earn my place in our next match."

Jing Yuan stood in the training hall, his hands poised on the reins of his strategy. You stood before him, the subject of his training today.

"Shall we begin?" Jing Yuan asked with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

You nodded, gripping the training blade he’d given you. As Jing Yuan moved through the motions, his calm demeanor was evident, but there was a playful undertone to his every move. His strikes were light but precise, testing your reflexes and balance.

At one point, as he parried an attack, Jing Yuan swept you into a spin and caught you in a gentle embrace, pulling you close.

"You are growing stronger," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "But I still hold the advantage in speed."

You grinned, your arms winding around him as you kissed him back. "We’ll see about that."

Jing Yuan’s laugh rumbled softly in his chest as he kissed you again, the warmth of the moment eclipsing the training. "I always look forward to our challenges."

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fourmoony · 8 months ago

Note

GOING TO SLEEP WITH A MARAUDER AND YOU'RE IN BED, HES SHIRTLESS AND READER AND HIM JUST TALK AND KISS AND ALL THAT FLUFFY STUFF THANKS LOVELY

this went a little angsty! thanks for requesting :)

cw: mentions of chronic pain, painkiller use, mentions of car crash, brief mention of post-car-crash-trauma, scars

remus lupin x f!reader, 1.5k

Remus is propped against your pillows, the room glowing with the light of the television, when you exit the bathroom. He turns the volume down when he hears the door click shut, turns his head until he’s looking at you with a tired smile. He looks so soft, buried in your nice, clean bed sheets; hair a mop of curls that’s starting to rest on his forehead the longer he avoids going to the hairdresser’s. His eyes bleed with exhaustion from a busy day.

You’d spent the morning in a cafe with Sirius, the afternoon at the park with Harry, and the evening having dinner with Hope and Lyall. It’d been nice, both in company and in weather, but the excessive walking and being on the go has taken it out of Remus. That much is obvious by the way he has a throw cushion tucked under his knee, poking out from under the blanket. He tries to throw the blanket over his leg, tries to hide the obvious admittance of pain.

You slide into bed next to him, a frown on your lips. “You’re in pain?” You ask, pulling the shoddy attempt at a cover up job back until his elevated leg is on full display.

Remus jolts with the blast of cold air, his stomach muscles flexing. The skin of his torso is on full display, the moonlight coming from the window showcasing his skin in a silvery light. There hasn’t been a day since you met Remus where you haven’t found his beauty astonishing. He is truly the most stunning person you’ve ever come across, even if he refuses to believe you when you tell him. The scar on his hip bone juts out from the band of his boxers, followed all the way up by a collection of raised scars that litter his skin like constellations.

Your fingers brush the particularly jagged scar across his rib cage as you lean in to look at Remus’ swollen knee. He huffs, clearly irritated that his plan of hiding the pain has been foiled. His knee is warm to the touch, the skin around it swollen. “I’m always in pain, dove.” Remus replies, flatly.

You hate that it’s true. Your boyfriend has good days and he most certainly has bad days, but he never has days where he’s not in some sort of pain. Remus’ illness has taken a lot from him; his childhood, at times, his social life, his freedom. You think maybe Remus thinks if he lets you know how bad it can truly be, it’ll cost him you, as well. It doesn’t seem to matter how many times you remind your boyfriend that it won’t scare you away, it never seems to stick.

“Okay, tough guy,” You scoff, finding that Remus often responds better to sarcasm and tough love than being babied or fussed over, especially when it gets bad, “fancy getting up to get me a glass of water?”

“Get it yourself, lazy girl.”

You can’t help the startled laugh that falls from your lips, eyes wide as you catch the sly grin on your boyfriend’s face. Remus laughs soon after, leans forward to press a loving kiss to the crown of your head. His own way of saying you know I’m kidding. You do know he’s kidding, so you kiss the underside of his jaw in return.

“Take some pain killers, baby. You know they’ll help, even if only enough to help you fall asleep.”

“Already have.” Remus chirps, pulls you by the shoulders until you’re resting across his chest.

Your boyfriend runs like a furnace at all times, the familiar feeling of warmth mixed with the signature scent of his shower gel has your muscles uncoiling as you relax into him. You’re cautious of putting all of your weight onto him until he shifts, further into the pillow mountain he’s created and pulls you along with him. He breathes deep at the relief he must feel from the new angle, reaches onto his bedside table for the television remote.

“Any requests?” He asks, words mumbled into your hair.

His arms are tight around you, thumbs brushing where they meet in the middle of their waist. You settle in, hook your leg over his good leg. One of his hands slips to the curve of your bum at the opportunity you’ve presented him, a gentle, nonsexual touch, but intimate nonetheless. “Not really. Just whatever you like.” You hum quietly.

He turns the volume back up a smidge on the sitcom you both like. His touch is soft and feather like, a comfort that pulls you fast stead towards sleep. The slow rise and fall of your boyfriend’s chest has your own breaths syncing up, lips turning every now and then to press kisses over his heart.

“Do you ever think about the crash?” You ask, eyes focussed on his raised knee.

Remus doesn’t startle. He might have, at the beginning of your relationship. He’d only told you in bits in pieces, back then, that he’d been in a terrible crash as a boy; the reason for his terrible joint and muscle pain.

You feel him shake his head, lips still firm against your hair. He presses a kiss there, then dips his head until he’s closer to your ear. His voice is quiet, tired, perhaps a little sad when he speaks; “Not as often, now. When I was a teenager, when I was in constant pain because I was growing all the time - yes. I thought about it every day and I thought about how unfair the world was, how unfair my life was.”

“What changed?” You ask, quietly.

He’s silent for a moment, only the sounds of his breathing and the quiet drone of the television can be heard. You can tell he’s thinking it over, a sense of unpleasant nostalgia somewhere in the way he audibly swallows and the slight twitch of his fingers against your skin. Eventually, he sighs, “A lot of things, really.”

"I changed doctors, for a start. They're much more understanding of my condition at the one down the road, much more patient and less skeptical of whether I'm faking it for the free codeine."

You laugh a little at the idea. Half the time, Remus refuses to take pain killers at all. "I like Doctor Frank, he's nice." You tell your boyfriend, who hums in agreement.

"He is," Remus agrees, "And then there was becoming an adult. Hard enough without carrying around so much anger. I was sort of forced to just let it go. Accept that this was my life and I was still capable of so much despite my illness."

You can't help but smile at that. Remus is the gentlest person you know. He's rough around the edges, a sarcastic, smart ass and a mean flirt, but he's gentle, all soft beige cardigans and old library books, gentle touches and even gentler kisses. Your boyfriend has never once dared to raise his voice at you, even in his moments of utter agony. He's kind and has a big heart and you can't imagine fifteen year old Remus, angry and hateful and mad at the world. It wouldn't have suited him.

So, you're proud of how far he's come. Even if he still deals with the trauma of the crash, the hatred he has for the scars it left him with and the pain he lives in. It's less. It's dialled down to one, maybe a two on his bad days. Your Remus looks at the world like a challenge, now. A challenge to overcome, to be the best he can be, to keep fighting. You love him so, so much, and you place a kiss to his heart as the feeling washes over you. Bright and light and floaty.

"And you, dove."

Your lips curl upward at his words, spoken so soft you're not really sure if you were supposed to hear them. Remus pulls you impossibly closer, holds you tighter as he ducks down to your ear, breath fanning across the skin and leaving goosebumps in its wake.

"If there was ever something to live for, something to not be angry about. It's you. The way you love me, your patience, your laugh, your smile. I think you were the universe's apology for that crash." Remus presses a kiss to the side of your neck when he's done and it sends a shiver through you.

There's tears in your eyes. Blinding you until your boyfriend becomes a blurred cheeky grin amidst the blue light of the television. But you're happy. So happy and so in love.

But you can't fight the urge to tell Remus, "Your consolation prize."

His startled laugh is music to your ears, a softness breaking through the storm clouds of your heavy conversation. He tuts a moment later, kisses you for the millionth time, "I prefer God given solace."

You roll your eyes. The man doesn't believe in God, but you'll take the compliment, you decide, as you curl back into him.

"Thanks for opening up. I know it's hard."

You feel his shrug, "Anything for you, dovey."

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thedarkestrivernymph · 4 days ago

Text

A Heart Of Gold

Platonic! Y! Royal Child x Cruel/Uncaring! Royal! Mother! Reader x Y! Mistress! of cheating husband x Y! Brother in Law

word count: 11,5k (probably one of the lengthiest fics I have ever written haha)

warnings: mention of abuse (both verbal and physical), neglect, infidelity, unhealthy relationship dynamics, murderous thoughts, morally gray! reader, paranoia, harassment, unconsenual acts, kissing, mentions of death(s), killing, breakdowns/meltdowns, generational trauma, unhealthy mother/child dynamics, obsessive behaviour, classism, misogynistic views, homophobia, not completely accurate historical depictions!

Author's note: Boy this got lengthy, still I hope you enjoy it! :) So let's dive into it, shall we?

“A heart of glass shatters, but a heart of gold melts into something newer and sturdier. Into something dangerous and menacing. It molds to a new life of cruelty, while the heart of glass is swept away, its pieces discarded and forgotten. I don't want to travel with the wind, fleet in one blink, I want to be reborn, experience freedom for the first time in my life. I want to have a heart of gold.”

Do you know the feeling of an itch that no matter how much you scratch, how incessant you drag your nails over that patch of skin, you can just never get rid of? That was motherhood, but worse.

For you, at least.

The life of a commoner was jarring, a constant battle for life, that most, no matter how hard they tried to intimidate, would never succeed in defeating. Most died young, early thirties or fourties, with nasty diseases of all kinds being the reason—and yet they always seemed so lively compared to nobility. The nobility with all of their masquerades and dramatics. They never were allowed to let the intricately crafted mask crack, even for a second, if they valued their life that is.

Perhaps that's why you had envied those mindless pigs most of your life—working away until their bones cracked and fell into themselves. That mindless devotion and that foul language they could use whenever they pleased, the sheer stupidity in believing in something higher and more valuable than the crown, was so vastly different to your own complex persona. Your life was quiet, filled with studying, tea-parties that never reached deeper than surface level of conversation and endless long nights where you would raise your gaze to the heavens above and just stare at the stars, as if the answers you desperately longed for were written in them.

You were like a man deprived of water, thirsting for something to quench your endless need for freedom. Any kind you could get your hands on, you clutched on—wether it was the question of if you maids were to dress you in blue or white or rather in violet and yellow, or something simple if you wanted to wander around in the gardens that day; you loved all these small luxuries. Even the pearls of your mother's, now hanging from your neck like heavy cobblestones on a string, felt nothing compared to the little escapades you were allowed. And the needle you were embroidering with in this old moaning manor pricking you gave you some semblance of joy, that at least in some shape or form there was something under your control.

Until even that had lost its taste—like your once most favoured dish that had reminded you of childhood in your youth, the fields, the servant's children that you would play with after repetitive lessons and so much more, one day none could comfort you anymore. As many others, you grew out of your juvenile thinking much too soon and in a way that was far too shattering of an experience.

Sweet seventeen and the marriage with the crown prince was held. You had known before, it was to be expected, you had anticipated the dreadful day when you would have to give up your freedom in exchange of legacy and reputation, yet actively knowing and actively being were two vastly different states one could experience. So as the princess you had been, you had bowed down to everyone in power; to your mother with her stern gaze and even harsher words, to your father with his cane as sharp as his gaze was, to the king of a different nation, you had only visited once in childhood who was nothing more than a distant memory at this point in time and lastly to your future husband, who would not reign, but still hold enough power to crush a small country with just his fist.

So you bore the stranger a child, one not out of love, but out of duty to the crown, to your family—to everyone who had invested in you as a powerful tool as the key to peace between two neighbouring kingdoms. “He’s pretty. His eyes are like mine,” were his first words upon seeing the crying infant still caked in blood with you drenched in your own sweat. The world had crumpled in that moment, only to rebuild itself a second time in your life as you remembered that nothing ever was out of love. Everything was done out of ego. At least concerning nobility and royalty. And you were royalty.

That’s when the curse had started—the deep loathing for something that didn’t deserve it.

“Mother!” you frowned, determined to keep your gaze on the embroidery in your hands.

“Mother!” another high-pitched cry and you swore a vein on your forehead was about to just pop open and deflate like a par of lungs you wanted to slice through with a scarpel.

You glanced at the door, counting the steps and sure enough it took the little demon thirty-two before bursting right in as always. “Mother! There you are— look, look mother! Misses has just taught me how to..” you tuned out after the second word, already feeling another headache bloom between your brows, subtly ushering your maid closer so that she could take care of the chaos. Ignoring the way the boy protested and cried as he was led out with the excuse that his dear mommy was tired and in need of rest.

That had been ten years ago—in fact you were just melodramatic and liked to revisit your past, thinking about how foolish you had been to ever belief love was more than a myth. Sighing you took another bite from your steak.

“Mother, have you heard? I won this year's tournament again.” the deep voice startled you.

“Oh, you have?” another bite and it would be over soon, another bite and you wouldn't have to talk any more than necessary.

“Yes mother, has father not informed you?” no, don't let your thoughts get bad, he didn't mean to mention his father.

“Mother, you and father haven't been talking much, have you now? How utterly disappointing. I had assumed that he at the very least would share my achievements with you, mother dear.” you were losing it again, because you could swear he was doing it on purpose, he was rubbing salt in your wound knowingly. No, no he wasn’t, you were just paranoid, instead why not focus on the flower motive on the egde of your plate or the rich red swirling in your cup or—

“Mother? You seem rather pale. Would you like me to call your maid?”

He isn’t doing it on purpose.

Breathe in, breathe out.

He didn't ask to be born, he was just here because he had to—as you were, as the worker ants and the pigs were, as the common folk were.

Just breathe.

“Mother—” no you couldn't just breathe.

Your fists slammed against the dinning table, causing silverwear to clink against porcelain and wine to spill. It dripped to the floor and with it your last nerve.

“Don’t you dare, Nicholas! You and I, as well as any other resident in the palace, are very much aware of your father's open infidelity—and to incessantly remind me of it, is just unacceptable! When will you grow out of your boyish theatrics and take life seriously? You should concern yourself more with your studies and yourself than my matters!” you were standing, you didn't even know when you had stood up, but now you were face to face with your son for the first time in the duration of the entire dinner—and you tasted bile. Luscious chestnut coloured hair, forest green eyes and fair skin with an oval face; he was the copy of his father, quite literally and everything in you felt deeply disturbed by it. Or perhaps it was because of the way he would stare at you, even as a baby, with this sort of hunger, this all-consuming need to take and take, without giving back, like a parasite in your guts, feeding off whatever you consumed.

“Mother, you wound me." he had the audacity to jest, smiling that bone-chilling smile. Sometimes you wondered if that really was your son and not just a demon that had slipped into his skin at birth. “I am your son, mother. I worry for you. You’ve had such a weak constitution since my childhood, I cannot help myself.” devil. You shuddered.

Beyond yourself and all responsibilities that came with being bound to the crown, you stormed off. Your maids rushed behind you but you swat them away, yelling at them to leave you be, that you just needed fresh air and throwing what other excuses you managed to come up with at them. And they were quick to listen—even though with great reluctance scattering like baby ducklings would, while the guards stationed in front of the dinning hall were watching you silently. Everyone was, constantly.

You huffed, hands gripping your gown like the talons of a bird clung to a mouse and you ran—perhaps if your mother could see you now, she would claw her way out of her grave to berate and scold you like the child you were behaving as, but you couldn’t stop your legs from moving forward, even as your feet started to ache and you felt something warm run down your shoe.

“Your Majesty?” you halted.

“What is the matter? You seem upset?” Charles. Your gaze softened, something that happened far too little. Soft brown curls with a matching chocolate brown gaze all dressed up in a relaxing blue. He was like a gift wrapped in a blue bow.

“I was just walking by. All council members were called.” he was blunt and clipped as always—comfortingly so, gazing at you in thinly veiled concern.

Before you could spout whatever irresponsible nonesense that your mind could conjure up, he had clasped a hand around your wrist, quick to check for curious eyes that would misinterpernt the rather narrow distance between you two, before pulling you both aside into an empty chamber nearby—the room not much bigger than a closet, obviously something forgotten.

You opened your mouth ready to speak but he beat you to it.

“Is it your husband again? He’s a fool. To think he can feel free of guilt when his lovely wife has to suffer because of his childishness.” you felt his hand cup your cheek and you melted, the darkness and slight chill of the room suddenly secondary, as warmth from your very insides bloomed.

“I don't know anymore, Charles,” you sighed, head against his chest. You found a steady rhythm there, something unlike your life.

“He brought her here. Here! Into the castle. He wants to make her his second queen, his second queen! That's unheard of but he's so stubborn and he won't listen. Not to me, not to his advisors—he just doesn’t listen.” there was some relief in sharing your pain, some relief that at least someone would listen to what you felt and thought.

“It's a scandal.” he admitted in a whisper, now rubbing your back in gentle circles. “To have a mistress for all the world to see and to want to elavate her status to yours. He’s crazy. You deserve better, much better.” he consoled you and reassured you, making you feel more at ease with your teenage-like outburst. You ought to pull yourself togehter, (y/n). Be quiet and strong. Don’t cause a fuss, men don’t like that. Yeah, mother, you did everything right, but father still had three bastards he brought home.

Exhausted you groaned, embracing the very chest that Charles has been offering you since the first day at the palace. Sometimes you would wonder what would’ve been if you had married Charles instead of your husband, but you never thought too long or too hard about it, because to be tuthful the prospect that you could’ve lead a happier life depressed you.

Something wet rolled down your cheek.

You pulled away.

“Thank you, Charles. You’ve always been very understanding. But I should return to my chambers. It’s late. Where were you headed to again? You should make haste.” you were quick to dismiss as usual. It was unheard of that in-laws were so close with eachother, especially when the gown you were wearing once had been your husbands gift. It was like his cruel paw extended time and place to even shackle you in place here in the furthest corners of the palace, alone with the man that you had— in your younger years at least— occasionaly thought about at night, when your husband would be working or have his occasional trysts with some courtesan.

He was quiet for a second or two, letting you spiral furhter into the dark place that had a permenant residence inside of your mind, only to startle you with a squeeze to your shoulders. “Are you certain? You still appear unwell and I would feel like a terrible brother-in-law if I just—” you didn’t let him finish.

“No, no need. I am absoloutely capable of returning by myself. Just you go.” and with that escaped before you could cry your eyes out in front his brother, even when he was the only human in the family of festering little demons, you would rather not let him catch you off guard. He was the apple Eve was tempted with only to fail the test, but you were better than that, you were a noble, not just any you were a royal, you wouldn’t fall for fate’s cruel tricks.

You rushed through the halls, your heels clicking with each step, as the night only turned darker and your thoughts only more frenzied. Finally you reached your chambers, your skittish maids, breathing out in relief, rushing towards you to check in on you and your trembling state. You waved them off, barking again to be left alone, only this time they wouldn’t. Suspiciously so.

“Why won’t you let me enter? Speak.”

“My queen, we would never think about witholding you from returning to your own chambers, but there is an issue of sorts, you see..” the oldest of the bunch spoke up, the same age as your mother would be if she was still alive and well.

With slits for eyes you glowered, now more persistent in your demand, even if it was one of your most loyal of maids, you wouldn’t be leniet enough to let them off the hook so easily. “Speak.”

“My queen it is that—”

Oh.

Staring at you so incredibly smugly, as if you couldn’t wipe the floor with her visage if you wanted to, was the twenty something mistress of your husband, of the the king, Maria.

How ironic of a name.

“Oh? If that isn’t the first queen. How delighted I am, to meet the woman the king adores as much as he adores me. And how beautiful of a woman you are! So graceful, even at your age, with a child that’s nearly old enough to build his own family! You must be proud! Certainly, you’re so lovely.” you felt your eye twitch. She was utterly shameless standing in the doorway to your chambers while dressed in nothing but a chiffony nightgown and black hair like the streaks of tint on paper. How utterly depraved and sick.

As she smiled too, you probably turned red in the face.

“I am so happy to finally meet you! I heard a lot about you—all he does is talk about you. I am glad you’re my opponent I can vie for the king’s affection with. Anyone else would’ve been bland in comparison to you.” her fingers brushed away a strand of hair in your face and it probably took all of your self-restraint not to snap and bury your fingers in her scalp to pluck away some of that inky black. “I am truly grateful.” her blue eyes were worse, piercing and clear like the streams of fresh waters—truly a horrible colour to be gifted to such snake, undeserving of such beauty.

“Why are you here? This isn’t the king’s bedroom, girl.” you were cold, slapping away her hand and trying to undermine her presence with the fact that you were older and more experienced, yet she just giggled. Was it wrong that she reminded you of your son? The both of them certainly were the same level of vile, making you feel uncomfortably unauthorative in their presence.

“Oh it isn’t? My mistake, your Majesty. But you can just call me Maria, no need to be so distant. Or you could get used to calling me Queen Maria. Pardon—is it a sensitive topic? You’re glaring at me so intensely, I am uncertain if I should fear for my life.” on second thought maybe being thrown into prison for bashing in the king’s mistress’ head against a wall didn’t sound so appaling. No, pull yourself together.

“I ask of you to move. These are my chambers. So move, now.” one more minute of this and you were sure you would end up growling like an animal, but thankfully she finally took the hint and brushed past you but not without a flying kiss your way. “See you soon, your majesty.”

At the end your maids held you back from tearing her apart like a rabid dog the moment she turned to walk away. Thankfully, they were also able to pull you into your chambers before fleeting before your outburst. Vases were flying—clothes ripped apart and you burned the single strands of black you found, above your lamp’s little flame. All while you stared up at the night sky, like you used to, asking the heavens why they had cursed you. Why a god couldn’t have let you be born as an empty-headed piglet, why you had to be able to understand language, why you just couldn’t rip anyone’s head off that treaded too close to you.

At the end of your breakdown you found your mother’s pearls scattered on the checkered tiles like the stars that mocked you from above. You pursued your lips into a smile. It was somewhat symbolic.

Mother was dead. Father too.

But you weren’t, not yet at least. So why waste it with stupid things such as deceny? You had desired for more than superficial workship of your body—you wanted real love, something to take your mind off your duties. And if the king was allowed such a thing, then you would just aquire one too.

Charles had always been friendly to you. Why not pay the favour back? After all, he was such a good brother-in-law.

The imaginary gods truly scorned you, didn't they? Because why else would you be dining with your husband, his mistress and your son. Were you truly nothing but the butt of the joke? Your presence meant nothing—all the years of hard-work, serving the crown and greater good, for what?

For Maria to wink at you and mock you in broad daylight, with even your son doing nothing but quietly watch. Father like son. How true that statement was.

Were you disappointed though? No, you didn't expect much of demons festering off others.

The eggs were cooked into gooey soft richness, just as you liked it, giving you some semblance of comfort. Today you were dressed in rich velvet purple; truly a gown for special occasions and this particular day probably was the most special out of all. It was the day you had anticipated all these upcoming weeks with nothing but an ache deep in your chest whenever you thought of it.

Today he would announce when the law would be finalized—and with its finalization the death of your dignity.

Maria would officially be the king’s second queen, not consort, not mistress—not even the occasional courtesan he liked to fuck, no, she would be of your status, when she was nothing but a count’s daughter. It was laughable really, you stabbed at the beacon on your plate as if it had committed a crime against you.

From childhood until your marriage to him, you as a royal princess had been kept endlessly busy with tutoring of all kinds; writing and reading first and foremost then state affairs, french, latin, philosophy, politics, how to properly sit and talk, embroidery and so much more that at eight you had started wishing to be born a pig, kept fed until slaughter.

“As you all know,” all heads drifted in his direction, sitting proud at the head of the mahogany table, “The law will be legalized by the end of the month and to celebrate this joyous occasion. I ask my first wife, to prepare a banquet for my love.” he probably didn't even see you as a human, only as a political ally.

“Of course, your Majesty. I would love to.” nevertheless you replied as if you had a choice in the matter anyways, flinching as soft hands snaked up your arms. “You will? That's wonderful news! I cannot share just how honoured I am that you will be planning this! Anything you make must be nothing short of astounding beauty!” was she trying to gain even more of the king’s favour? It certainly seemed to work on your lovesick husband, who only leaned back in his seat, the cushions were red—a colour worthy of a king and let his lips curl up into a tender smile, with moss greens that seemed to scarily soften up.

Had your husband ever been capable of such a look?

You couldn't remember him ever staring at you so lovingly. It was chilling to say the least. Perhaps even repulsing.

You were quick to look down at your plate again—wishing for nothing more but to peel her fingers off of you, hopefully with so much force that one of her fingers would clean-cut break into two. It wasn't a question of love nor jealousy after all; but a matter of respect, and she was downright waddling her tail in front of you in victory. As if she deserved your just title as much, if not more than you. Slut.

“Mother,” this time it was the voice of your son calling out to you, “it seems you will be occupied for the time being with the courtesan's banquet,” he sighed, “and I here I was anticipating to spend some time with you after my exams.”

Had he just—

Silence.

Even the servants could do nothing but stare at the prince wearing such a proud expression, as if what he did was the right course of action. As if he just didn't insult his father's current obsession with the occupation she had before he brought her into the castle.

Everyone knew not to mention it, not even in the passing. Just hinting at it could cost you lots yet here was the crown prince doing what he knew not to do.

Oddly enough, while electricity zapped through the air, something destructive brewing beneath the king’s icy cold gaze—you could nothing but gape in fascination at your spawn. Were you imagining it, or was he protesting against his father? If you didn't know it sny better, you would've thought he did it to defend your honour. But that was laughable.

It seemed the young prince had grown up, when you had no clue, but sometime ago probably, with the way he held his chin up high, no fear visible in his gaze all while holding his father's glare.

You would be lying if you said you weren't weirded out. Hopefully him acting out wouldn't put you in bigger trouble than you already were in. He could at least grant you such a favour.

“What—what did just leave your mouth?” the king practically spat, your husband rising a hand decked out with hefty golden rings.

“I said, father,” you internally groaned, this child was just determined to cause you misery, “Courtesan. Because that is exactly what she is. Isn't that right, Maria? Before father married you, you were nothing but a whore with your legs wide spread open to please—”

Thwack. The king loomed over his own son, like God, – if he existed – probably had over Lucifer to berate him one last time before he would've earned his fall from grace.

“Enough! One more word and I will forget myself entirely!” the threat rung through the entire dining hall, it rung so deep it seeped into your bones.

Nicholas’ cheek was left marked with imprints of fat rings that managed to slice through skin and leave one side of his face a swirl of red and slowly forming purple. He hadn't just hit his son, but he had done so, with such force that his head was moved out of your sight.

Yet he still talked; spat out words like they burned his tongue.

“What, father? Can't handle the truth—”

“Edwin! Oh dear!” Maria’s fingers only now left your arm. She was rushing to the man that was supposedly your husband, to stop him from actually killing the boy he had wanted so badly. Immediately she latched onto him, practically throwing herself at him, dotting on him, doing her best to calm his wrath and somehow it worked. While all you could do was watch in stunned silence.

Your cousin, what was her name again— ah, yes, Lilian— would’ve surely snorted out a laugh at the scene. She found everything dark and morbid to be fascinating, perhaps that's why she had married a duke that would occasionally beat her into a bloody pulp?

Getting sidetracked again, weren't you? Point is you could accept much, but this, this was crossing a thin line that needed to be kept up for the balance of all things holy to the crown. If a mistress managed to throw everything out of order, then you truly had failed all your marital duty as a partner and as a queen.

Perhaps mother had been right? But then again, father had never been the big romantic, you were sure the man had been incapable of falling in love—obviously different to the Edwin you thought you had known all those years. He seemed enamored and it was truly terrifying.

The meal ended shortly after with the King storming off and his mistress right with him. Now, you never enjoyed being affectionate with Nicholas, however even you had to admit that you should probably offer the boy some words of wisdom.

Even if you liked to think of him as a little gremlin with a copy of his father for a face, you knew he wasn't exactly the same as him. Sometimes, it was hard to admit, your son did manage to spark some motherly affection in you, as scary as it was. So sighing, you rounded the table and your gaze landed on the brunette boy.

“Come, let's get you cleaned up.” was the most affectionate mumbling you forced out from between your lips. Only to turn around almost immediately, not waiting for him to collect himself as you wandered out and away from the dining hall. There was a short burst of laughter—probably, you weren't sure, you hoped it wasn't crying. You hated seeing him cry. He was an ugly crier. Then you heard footsteps behind you and soon passing by a few of your family portraits, the irony not lost on you—your life in contrast to the perfectly crafted deception painted onto these canvases—you found yourself in your study.

“Sit.” your words were always clipped when you talked to him, weren't they? It was hard to remember.

Nevertheless you rummaged through your drawers, the subtle scent of wood mixing with the incense that you were quick to ignite.

Funny, so that's what your study looked like? It was organised and thoroughly dusted, with each book and document in different neatly arranged piles. He remembered never been allowed in here as a boy, only able to take sneak peaks at you at your desk while the door closed in behind his nanny's somber face. Now it made sense, you feared a child would ruin your precision and need for perfection. Oh, mother, is that the reason you shun me so?

You felt that unexplainable chill again, which would always travel down your spine, leaving goosebumps in its wake. See that look in his eyes? Those soulless green orbs you swore would burn a hole into your face from how intensely he was staring at you as you sat down in front of him. That's exactly why you didn't want anything to do with him, he was just—so peculiar.

“Close your eyes.” was your next command, not being able to stand the abyss you found in your own son’s gaze. You waited while you prepared the cotton through soaking it in alcohol.

And thankfully he listened. His eyes fluttered shut.

“Mother” he spoke. “Mhm,” you hummed.

“Mother, aren't you mad at father?” you paused, inhaled, already unnerved before continuing to pat his cheek gently.

“It's not in my place to question what the king does, neither is it yours Nicholas.” a soft sigh escaped you, “You ought to behave yourself. The little stunt you pulled at dinner tonight was dangerous. He may be your father, but before all else he is the king. And you should respect him until the crown is yours. Or do you wish to ruin your future just because?”

“It wasn't just because—” you chuckled, letting your hand fall away from his cheek as he forced the words from between his teeth.

“Oh?” you used the same look your mother always gave you—a scoff and a frown combined to make the one on the recieving end feel disgustingly guilty. You shook your head at him, youth.

“The reason isn't of any importance, what is of importance however is you ascending to the throne. And you cannot do so if your father hates you so. You may be older and of pure blood, but if the new woman at his side falls pregnant with a boy and you continue to be foolish, then you can just stand and watch everything being ripped away from you.” were you getting emotional, describing your future too while trying to warn him? Maybe. You didn't realise it until your son threw himself at you, alright, maybe not literally but he embraced you, as if you were the child and he the parent.

You stilled.

When had been the last time you hugged your son? You couldn't remember. The moment was peaceful, oddly so and just for a split second you forgot of your revulsion towards that child and let him clutch onto you.

“Mother,” he breathed against your shoulder, startling you, “Mother he’s openly betraying you. While the whole nation watches. You don't deserve this mother, you deserve a better man. If I had been my father I wouldn't have—” you immediately pushed him away.

Did you mishear?

“Don't—don’t ever talk like that again!” you declared, instead of questioning it further, immediately assuming that the fault lied in your twisted mind. You must've misunderstood you must've—

Something was brewing beneath his exterior, you could tell. Something dangerous flicked in his gaze, something that you knew justified your fear towards your own spawn. Now, any minute, you swore he would burst and unleash his inner demons.

“Mother,”

“I apologise.” he smiled. You felt yourself release a breath, one you weren't aware you had been holding.

“I didn't think about my words, I am truly sorry.”

You quickly wrapped things up after that and it was not long before you send him off on his merry way. If he continued to talk about his father as if he wished for him to be only a memory and his skeleton six feet under the earth, then he would only spiral into a world of trouble and take you with him.

Besides—since when was he this rebellious? You sighed, feeling pain bloom between your brows.

Was this some sort of mockery?

To shame you continuously?

Or why for god's sake was this bitch in your chambers again?

“Your Majesty!” she chirped and you wished you could claw your eyes out and stuff them into her mouth so she would finally shut up.

“Child…”

“Maria, it's Maria, your majesty!” she huffed, then pouted, again clad in nothing but her nightgown, underwear really; silk that fell over her shoulders and reached down to her ankles.

“Besides—,” she pouted and you started to question the sanity of this woman, “You're not much older than me, your Majesty. Mhm, like an elder sister! How about I call you queen sister? Since we both will be queens!” she giggled.

Had she been dropped on her head at birth? You couldn't help but stare wordlessly, as she interlinked her arm with yours.

“Again. This is not the king’s chambers.”

“But queen sister—”

“Don't call me that.”

“But—”

“I said don't call me that!” you screamed.

Great. Now you were causing a scene in the hallway, with your maids and the guards watching. Great.

However you hadn't been prepared yet for the grand finale—suddenly she bursted into tears. Graciously of course, she was a lady, a lady with many tricks up her sleeve that is. She was crying, seemingly an endless stream, sobbing and quivering, staring up at you with big puppy-dog eyes.

If there was a god in heaven, you were certain that he hated you.

“My queen” she was still sobbing, now leaning forward so her cold lips could brush against your ear.

“You scream at me again and I’ll tell the king that you insulted me to my face.”

You gasped, this cocky little—

Yet what could you do? You knew one of her words amounted to a bar of gold to him; something to be treasured, possibly sacred. But you, he never had viewed you as such, you were the mother of his child and the queen yes—but your presence, —you knew as much as that— never has been valuable besides those two strong points. He saw you as an ally, a friend of sorts, a political fawn; someone with an intellect, but nothing more.

You didn't want to imagine his anger at even just daring to belittle what was rightfully his, that you, the queen in his little game of chess, would've mustered up courage that bordered on dangerously life-threatening.

So you sighed, with liquid anger pumping through your veins and your face flushing from the pressure of it. Your temples hurt again. Your head hurt again

You didn't register her leaving with a shit—eating grin on her face, nor the fact that one of your maid, Leslie, was half-carrying you inside your chamber, having to sit you down on your bed before feeding you your medicine in form of a brew.

It was funny, like your memory was wiped clean—as if your mind was a clean slate similar to how it had been when you were a drooling infant. Everything around you eased, the tension, the worries—what even was there to worry? You hummed, even purred in satisfaction as you drifted off into a dreamless slumber.

You hated waking up. Peace never existed beyond a deep slumber void of dreams. You hated dreams, you hated being dragged up and dressed like a doll and hated the sky. Especially the sky with its sparkling stars all mocking you, calling you as you were; defeated.

Utterly so.

Your reminisced about your beloved husband calling you to discuss something urgent with him. What could've been this urgent matter, one may ponder? Well, it was Maria.

“Have you started your preparations for the ball, yet?” his tone was colder than usual.

“No, but I am very much in—”

“Then haste. It will be held soon enough.”

You nodded politely, not wanting to aggregate his nerves further. So he waved you off and dismissed you, until he abruptly spoke up.

“And make sure that boy learns some manners.” his glare was so sharp it cut into your nape.

“Will do, husband.” you fled the room after that.

Perhaps you did not actually flee, but you certainly felt inclined to do so. Sometimes you did fantasize about escaping to a lone island, one that would resemble the paradise your nanny had always spoken so fondly of. What was her name again? You didn't remember, you couldn't, no matter how hard you tried because all you called her was Mommy—obviously only behind closed doors, away from any eyes or ears that could rat her out to your real hag of a mother.

She had been the only thing close to a mother's loving embrace which you so frequently would read about in books; fairytales and romances. An angel with crooked teeth and a hunchback, but an angel no less, with a softness to her that you never were able to replicate no matter how hard you tried. She was simply of different blood that wasn't blue nor red but gold; she wasn't like the rest of them. But you were like them, hiding behind a mask, no matter how terrible life whipped at you to reveal the truth—you wouldn't, you were trained to not give in after all, drilled from a young age.

And she had been so adamant to free you, telling you stories about juicy fruits with tastes rivalling that of honey, a sky that never darkened and greenery that never faded—if you narrowed your eyes to slits, you could imagine the royal garden spread out in front of you to be the paradise she so often spoke about.

You sighed again. Those were just childish fantasies. Something she had made up to bring you happiness, even if your shared wonder only lasted two years before she was caught being too affectionate with you and discarded.

As a chubby five-year old you had been devastated and confused, wondering why she had left you behind to fend for yourself, alone with the wolves. But as you matured, as your own son's nannies came and disappeared, you realized it had never been her fault in the first place. They had been at fault.

“Your majesty!”

Some of your days were good, tranquil even, but some—some were either destructively evil or somberly empty.

“Your majesty—” and today you wanted to be somber, away from everything. But fate didn't want this. Of course it didn't, fate despised you as you did your mother. So even if you had promised to betray fate instead and experience an adventurous tryst with the man in front of you just out of spite, you felt no desire to speak with him or anyone else, after the short but life-threatening conversation you had had with his majesty.

“Has he upset you again?”, Charles sighed, his initial enthusiasm fading, “It seems every time we converse you're miserable.”

Now that he mentioned it—he wasn't wrong. He was like some sort of saviour, someone that reminded you of your nanny so long ago and your hardened heart softened again. You didn't want to push him away, not Charles, not the man with soft-features, a tender look in his eyes, with his dashing looks and personality—not when he was only a few years younger than you. So little in fact, it wouldn't matter at your age anymore.

“Seems so.” you muttered and you couldn't hold your hand back from outstretching to pull him down besides you on your little white-painted bench placed in the shades, with another piece of embroidery in your lap. For a moment he was silent, stunned by your fingers wrapped around his wrist for all eyes to feast on—and continuing to hold it even as he sat.

“It seems you're always there for me, Charles.” was this a fever dream? Or why else would you, the queen, tempt him so, seductive as always, yet bolder than ever, calling him so intimately out here—hopefully out of the ear of onlookers to the spectacle; your maid and a few guards scattered around.

And then you even fluttered your lashes at him, so blindingly beautiful that it hurt. Tantalizing with your lips that he was certain were sweeter than sugar, and the new heart-robbing smile on those soft pillars of warmth. The slope of your nose, the apple of your cheek, everything about you was sin incarnate and he was just helpless to the devil’s calls. Just what if he leaned down and—

“I thank you.” god you teased him.

“It's my pleasure. As a devotee to the crown.” he managed to finesse and gloss over his little stammer with a bright smile and you, thankfully, let it slip.

Or at least he assumed so.

Actually you were giggling in your head like one of those young village girls, when a boy would ask for a dance—you had watched that spectacle occur one time out on the countryside for some respite after mother's passing.

What a time it had been, so beautifully peaceful with only the birds to yap away— similar to now, the only difference was that now you were holding his hand, and nothing, not even the king could prevent you from enjoying this moment to the fullest.

“Charles. How long have we known eachother?”

“Fourteen years and counting, your Majesty.” he answered, with warmth in his eyes. The day was warm—the sun blazing and at its peak, with the garden neatly trimmed, sitting beneath the proud tall that was probably older than both of you combined, the shade provided you would with protection from her rays.

“Thank you, Charles, for always consoling me in times of need.” your fingers slithered between his own, entangling your hands under lingering eyes, yet in that little moment you found yourself not caring. Life was short, so why shouldn't you be able to enjoy life to the fullest as his majesty. If it came and he would hear of this, you would accept whatever punishment, because you were sick of not being free.

Then again you felt freedom spread her wings above you with Charles by your side.

You smiled, softly, gently, tenderly even. A smile not even your son had ever earned from you—something he probably never would, no matter what he tried, because he was still that man’s son with motives behind his façade that you could never figure out. He was still the baby that terrified you with the ravenous hunger in his soul reflected in his gaze.

And that very son, was plastered against one of the castle windows, his glare bearing down on you both, if possible, it would have burned a hole through your face from the sheer intensity of it. You had always viewed your child as creepy—unsettling to be around for too long. But you had never possessed any evidence for it—you knew not to blame a seedling, something that had sprung from you, but you just couldn't stop yourself from feeling dread when meeting his eyes.

Unbeknownst to you, this silent horror was not completely irrational.

Actually it was simple survival instinct.

Especially when the heir to the kingdom craved nothing more but your motherly love and seeing you give affection to his uncle, of all people – his enemy — he couldn't help but trash your favourite vase. Actually he wasn't that different to you in that sense—he needed chaos and destruction to satisfy the inner barbarian in him.

“Mother,” he slammed his fists onto your desk. He had been snooping around your study—his favourite past time activity since he had managed to steal the second pair of keys to the room you viewed as sacred and safe. If you just knew, Mother.

“You give, Mother. To everyone but me.”

he was trying to maintain his composure, to not burst into a jealous rage from seeing you intertwined hands, the close proximity you shared—the smile plastered onto your face much more similar to that of a young maiden experiencing her first love than the queen with a heart of ice.

The moment his uncle dared to lean forward to brazenly press a kiss to your knuckles, was the moment he snapped. Destruction reigned over your study, his desire for carnage so raw, he treated craftsmanship like flesh and blood, strangling them as if they owed him an apology.

Then finally it was over.

As it was, peace settled over his silhouette, drenched in his own sweat in the stifling hot room, panting like a rabid dog.

“Mother,” you both were gone now from his view, he should haste, he knew, but he couldn't leave without these last words.

“If you won't give me your love willingly, as a mother should. Then I will take what is mine to own. I will overthrow father, be the king. You won't be able to escape, me, your son. You won't shun me no longer, mother. I won't allow it.”

Mother I will own your leash.

When you finally parted—you felt light and airy. Freedom was on the tip on your tongue, and butterflies danced around your hollowed out chest. Summer lingered on your skin, warm and sandy, reminding you of beaches you had never visited and tropical fruits that run over the back of your hand when you squeezed tad too tightly.

You hadn't felt so giddy in a while, nothing could ruin your good mood, not your husband, nor his mistress and neither your son. Cotton clouds were wrapping around you and you would be damned if you wasted time to not mock the stars back, staring up at the bright sky with a sneer. See, Mother? I will have my freedom too. I won't end like you, heartbroken by a man that never learned to love.

How foolish you were. Unassuming even. Years of living on this earth, shackled by fate and you still dared to dream.

So when the door to your study gave in and you entered to discover—

nothing amiss.

You sighed, you were being paranoid again, weren't you? How silly of you. Why would anything be out of order—children and most servants were forbid from entering. You handled delicate matters, events even; such as banquets and balls, carefully writing out invitations to selected guests, curating the invitations. Also you were responsible for all of your servants and the choices they made.

Before the old king’s unfortunate death you had been responsible with his care. He had deteriorated into a bad mental state in the last two years of his life; so much so that he couldn't recognise his son anymore. You had shared your husband's pain then, younger and naïve, a decade ago.

But you didn't, not anymore, not after so much you suffered through and with him only for him to sought out a courtesan and bend the entire law for her, risking even a coop!

You approached your sleeping quarters as always, while thinking about Maria, which granted you with a pulsing headache—in the literal sense. You should ask one of your maids, maybe Leslie, to brew you, your medicine once again.

“Maria." you greeted her dryly, the routine familiar now.

“Your Majesty!” she chirped as always and you had to control the twitch of your eye—or the twitch in your hand to slap her.

You opted to just silently stare at her, agitated by having to encounter her each night in your chambers, dressed in a nightgown you didn't want to imagine the king peeling off of her skin. She was trying to shame you, in front of your closest servants and in front of the guilt-stricken guard—that couldn't deny her request because in fear of attracting the king's anger.

“Your Majesty! I have waited and waited, just where have you been?” she was active as a child—but her eyes mirrored that of a snake, just searching for one of your weak points, so that she could torment you further until she managed to properly get rid of you.

“Maria please move. I would like to rest.”

“Then let's rest together! I am terribly tired—you know how tiring the king can be! So ravenous.” she snickered, much to the horror of your servants around you, “Oh..my apologies. Am I hurting your Majesty’s feelings?” her slanted gaze drooped, pity and amusement lingering in their depths.

Oh.

She did not—

That bitch!

“Leave!” you roared. Not towards her but to everyone around you, needing to feel her scalp beneath your fingers. You knew what you would be doing now was going to wind up ruining your just newly acquired saccharine taste of freedom, and probably destroy your life—but your anger gripped your by your shoulders and slapped you on your back as you roughly shoved her inside of your chambers.

Darkness shrouded the room in thrilling mystery of what to come—at least you thought Maria found it to be thrilling judging by her giddy following, excited to play a sick and twisted game of cat and mouse in the privacy of your chambers.

Your burst came all too soon and familiar—stripping you of any royalty, drowning out all the voices in your head trying to shackle the beast you would become when allowed. Usually you were only to do so in private, behind your doors—with only your servants to be subjected to your other face, but this time you wanted to indulge Maria. Show her heavenly grace and what it meant to be of royal descent.

You strangled her.

Everything unfolded in the blink of an eye, you couldn't stop or control yourself before tackling her causing her to stumble over your carpet in shock, crashing with into your nightshade, lamp shattering the moment it embraced the marbled floors while she embraced you as you both tumbled into your bed.

“Have the king! Have him all you want—like all the other men that you had between your legs. Warm him at cold nights! I urge you, please do.” hissing you leaned down to continue. “But know that you will never be able to be loved as much by the court, by the people, by everyone else. You won't survive this for too long. Even if I am beheaded after this.” you snarled while noting that she was indeed oddly calm beneath your palms. You were uncertain. Maybe it was the sheer shock? Perhaps she was weaker than you had assumed?

Or, she had died.

Panic surged through you. You weren't ready to be her murderer just yet! The thought alone made you flinch as if it branded your forehead in big bold letters in crimson. As if everyone could already bear witness to your crimes.

And suddenly you stood in front of the court.

Fingers pointed at you, screeching out blurts of sentences you couldn't make out, while you were dragged away by your own son, his grip on your hair so tight that you swore your scalp would peel off any minute now.

Kicked to kneel in front of the king, you begged and pleaded but mercy was foreign to the man that robbed you of your youth, and that you robbed of love and his sword swung high and far before—

You convulsed, gagging only at the thought, letting loose of her neck instantly, falling off of her onto the silken covers.

“I am sorry—” you mumbled, scrambling away from her, stubbornly looking away from the assumed corpse.

You were about to flee, kicking away the covers, dazed by the turn of events, trying to claw yourself back to your feet.

Run, Run, Run. It chanted inside of your head, and you surely would’ve managed to do so, if Maria’s fingers didn't clasp around your arm like a python’s jaw.

“Where are you going, your Majesty? We just started didn't we.” you shrieked, her hoarse voice genuinely startling.

Slowly you turned around to face the woman, with wide-eyed panic still clear on your face. “Let go of me!”

“Why? So you can take flight? Escape? Your majesty, even if you run, Edwin’s underlings will still catch you.” she was grinning, a feverish rush on her cheeks, mania clear and deep in her icy blue stare. “There's no one to run to, your Majesty. No where to hide. Embrace it. You're a monster. Old and greedy, craving things that no longer are yours.”

Was the bed coming closer? Or were you being pushed down? Because soon enough you laid on your bed, another headache, so potent it nearly blinded you with its pain—left you at the mercy of her cruel words.

“The king doesn't love you. He never has. Never will.” she muttered, with purple blooming on her throat like blossoming tulips, “You suffer for naught, your Majesty. Why do you worry for someone with such little regard of your person?” it was a bitter pill to swallow the truth in her words—and even if you wished to protest, you couldn't.

You were tongue-tied from the agony, with suddenly lead instead of bones, only further sinking into the open arms of your bedding.

“You're a fool, your Majesty.” a laugh ripped free from her throat. “For ever agreeing to be alone with me, don't you fear what I could be? Don't you fear my hands on your cheeks? Don't you fear the lust for blood in my gaze?” her voice like a melody, like a drug to aid to your wounds—it worked better than the mix of herbs you usually downed to find relief.

“Will you kill me?” you asked, only to earn another boisterous laugh that felt like a whip on your soul accompanied with slanted eyes that slithered over your form.

“No, far worse,” she paused, gaze smoldering.

“I will love you and you will love me.”

Pause.

You gawked. What was she saying?

“What?” you spat, puzzled.

She was completely deprived of sisterly love, or so it seemed. This was bizarre, downright weird—had she gone mad? Now you feared whatever her sick mind conjured next.

Something morphed and shifted until a smile so daunting, that if it weren't for the pulsing agony between your brows, you would've slapped it off her face and gladly so, while simultaneously increasingly feeling as if you were trapped in the coils of a snake.

“Edwin doesn't see you, as I do, your Majesty. He cannot see the madness in you, as I can. The insanity in your eyes, the very same one I crave to have. He doesn't love you, he doesn't. Not like I do.” your brows scrunched up, puzzled, she truly spoke like a madwoman.

Maria only chuckled. Her gaze narrowed in on your lips, in a way that twisted your stomach in discomfort; the way a man leers at a woman he desires. What foolishness! She couldn't possibly mean such an atrocity! It was never heard of a woman with a woman—

And as if to prove you wrong, tear your worldview apart, she leaned down with heavy paws pressing onto your shoulders. Your corset seemed tighter. The air or the lack of it was stifling. She wouldn't, right?

Fate truly had never been kind to you—and now it proved itself to be only more cruel as her lips crashed onto yours.

She was feverish with soft lips and scraping teeth, her tongue poked and prodded as if she tried to hollow out the warm cavern of your mouth. Her scent lingered in your nose so strongly it made your eyes water—lavender mixed with something you failed to recognise as she smashed her mouth against yours over and over again, until you were convinced that she was trying to strangle you with the wet muscle in her mouth instead of her hands.

The moment she let go off your figure, as stiff as a board , she was smirking deviously, as if she won a prize in a competition. As if the prize was you.

“I promise—” she leaned down, languidly slow, as if she had all the time in the world with no concern for the ravenous chaos she had just unleashed inside of you, “that even after Edwin’s reign, you will stay queen by my side.”

A bone-chilling cold kiss pressed to your damp temple.

“Goodnight, my queen.”

Sleep was not kind enough to visit you that night or the night after even though Maria had abruptly stopped with her nightly visits after that faithful encounter—still, your head was a buzzing beehive of thoughts. You were overwhelmed and at a loss for words at the strangeness of it all. For her to kiss you and demand—No, you refused to ponder about it further.

Nevertheless as if fate wished to humiliate you further —the stars in the sky hiding behind the light of the sun at daytime mocking you — your son was glued to you for the past half an hour or so, even had send all your servants away and no matter how much you tried to pry him off he would have an excuse prepared smoothly evading all your accusations. It was creepy. Has he sensed something? He never was so persistent.

Nevertheless you still couldn't fathom why she had did, what she had done.

Even days later, it just didn't make sense. What benefit could she reap from forcing her mouth onto yours and behaving like a man? You shuddered just at the thought, everything about this situation was odd, vile, repulsing and something else. Something you wished to keep buried deep in you and left unexplored.

“Mother, look! It's a swan with ducklings.” he pointed out the window, at this very moment behaving much more closer in age to a child than to a man. “Yes, Nicholas. How grand.” you muttered dryly, eyes kept steady on the embroidery in your lamp while indulging him slightly, after countless failed attempts and of hushing him away, you had tired and the pounding headache that wouldn't relent didn't make you any more awake.

“Swans mate for life. Do you believe this one is mated?” your brow twitched in frustration, eyes kept steadily on your needle, going in-and-out of the tight fabric.

“I do not concern myself with such matters, perhaps you also shouldn't.” you muttered abrasively, watching the motive of a purple tulip come to life, something about it eerily similar.

“I believe that it was mated. Then rid itself of its mate. It knows it doesn't need one. Just look mother— all the cygnets that follow without her mate in sight. They all seem so happy. Especially the mother swan, the way she—” red obscured your vision.

Something warm and human dripped down your hand. You didn't move, didn't even breathe, all you did was stare at the needle sticking out of your hand.

“Mother?—” a gasp, “Mother!” his footsteps were overwhelmingly loud, even louder than his ramblings that were grating on your nerves.

“Oh Mother.” the condescending attribute of his tone was sharp and rung in your ears. “What have you done? Your beautiful skin,” he was mumbling again. God, when would this child stop mumbling beneath his breath! And his eyes full of fake pity concealing something much darker made you just want to pluck the needle from your hand and ram it into your throat, perhaps then the scornful look on your mother's face would finally stop haunting you every living moment.

“Mother, you're upset again, aren't you? You're always upset.” Nicholas face fell as if genuinely distraught, taking your wounded hand in his, prodding at the damage you caused. “Father doesn't know how to care for you, he is mean and brutish. To scold you for informing him that you can't possibly prepare the banquet because you're unwell and getting mad at you. He’s audacious, a fool. He doesn't deserve you—no one deserves you Mother. No one but me.”

You yelped as he pressed down onto the needle, causing further damage to your hand—the pain unbearably uncomfortable. For days your head was a dizzy spur of thoughts, paranoid and refusing to meet Charles and now, you couldn't even be properly be enraged about your son's foolishness. At least the mind-numbing headache of yours lessened thanks to the one in your hand.

Suddenly he was much closer, eyes a combination of bright and hopeful and sick. There was something manic about his gaze too, something that made you swallow thickly, alarm you once more to jot stare at the demon dressed in your son's human’s shell.

“Mother, I will be a fair king. I will be good. And I will take care of you in a way, no man or husband can. So just endure it for a while longer, I know you carry all this pain with you—and all of it is the reason why you can't love me fully. But if father, his whore and everyone else that upsets you dies—then you will be free. Then you will be free to love me how much you want. We can finally be happy mother.”

You were about to puke. Was this what you had allowed to grow? Over all the years, no matter how much you detested spending time with the little copy of Edwin, you had made sure he only had the best nannies, a great governess and tutors at hand. All for him to spew out such nonsense.

But you had known. Known since the day he was born, that Nicholas was not sane. And right now it both angered and chilled you to see your worst fears manifest in flesh and blood.

“Get lost. Out of my eyes.” you hissed, bathed in cold sweat. You had to get up and out. Needed to flee before you were given the moment to acknowledge that you were raising such cruelness beneath the facade of a noble. Perhaps what amplified your dread was that he—the look of insanity in his eyes, the hatred, yet longing mixing into a destructive love— and you weren't so different after all.

That you both craved motherly affection so intensely you both had spiralled, into different lows, but spiralled nonetheless.

“Mother—you don't mean that.” he smiled. Yet not calm anymore. He wouldn't hide it no longer. You deserved to know that he forgave you, that he saw your pain and ache and that he would ease it for you. Just let him destroy the world only to rebuild it in your name, so that you could finally love him.

“No.” you breathed. He didn't relent, clutching your hand as if it was sacred.

“No! Let go!” you shoved him away this time, crying out in pain, as the needle’s head now pierced through your palm. You were trembling. The creatures lurking in the shadows would now find you. Freedom was a dream, happiness equally but at least you used to have peace, at least you used to have Charles, but this new reality of yours, with your son as the same maniac you were in your youth, would destroy it all. He will take from you, as he always had.

Your anger boiled over.

It was a mistake—he was the heir for god's sake, no matter how foul his mouth had gotten!

Nothing changed the fact that it was done though.

You slapped him right across the face, as his father had done, startling him into a stunned moment of silence. He was as if frozen, shocked that the verbal abuse you inflicted on him would actually one day turn physical. For a moment everything halted, the particles of dust in the air, the chirping of the birds, the soft footsteps echoing around the castle and only shock remained.

Then he smiled.

“Mother—”

And you fled.

You scrambled to your feet, rushing out of the room in such a hurry, you still held your embroidery in your hand while out in the hallway, running pathetically slowly. This wasn't your son. Even after years you still refused the truth, you didn't ask for this! Fate was cruel, but it couldn't be this—not this! You were a queen now, your mother would've been proud, the same mother you had thrown off the balcony.

Tears streamed down your cheeks, sick to the stomach. No, not now! You couldn't cry now, not when duty and responsibility always came before being and feeling and living and— Before you even realized you plucked the needle from the back of your hand, throwing the embroidery against one of the oil paintings hanging nearby, hoping your blood could lay curses and if it actually could,

You hoped to curse this entire castle.

Everything should’ve changed after her death! You should've been free, should’ve lived a better life than her—but you were following into her footsteps, the same miserable marriage only used as a pawn, with the same excuse for a husband caring even little for his heir. You hated it, hated it so much you could burst!

“Your Majesty?”

“Charles,” you muttered, lip between your teeth. You groaned, stumbling forward, dressed in red—the colour which had adored your mother as she had laid lifelessly on the ground. Life was funny indeed wasn't it?

The man has been your angel for so many years, once more spread his wings embracing you in all his glory, letting your red taint him with the evil your mother, you and your son bore. It was in your blood, in your very DNA, you were bred to be a demon—perhaps that's why your son's eyes had always send a chill down your spine, not because he possessed the same potent green of his father, but he held the same wickedness in it. The one you recognised.

“By god!—”

And speak of the devil and he rushed towards you, immediately growling at his uncle that held you in his clutches. Yet before he could step further forward, the doors to his father's study opened, the room one of the largest and proudest and with its opening the king stepped out with Maria as always glued to his side.

All of them and the servants—all were staring at you, while you couldn't help but let your tears flow; your pounding headache, the blinding lights and the blurry edges in your vision everything you could focus on, all were maddening.

You were dying weren't you? This was probably the divine judgment for all your sins. Perhaps the stars were right to scorn and mock you; you were indeed pitiful, a creature born out of neglect and the same abuse you instilled on others now.

“What’s the meaning of this?” the king demanded as proud as ever, before the world was replaced by a void and swallowed you whole and the chaotic cries around you dimmed, until your own stopped.

Until you were no more.

Hopefully this time you would be reborn as a bird with fully fleshed-out wings.

#yandere #yandere story #yandere oc #yandere ocs #yandere royalty #male yandere x reader #female yandere #platonic yandere #yandere stories #yandere x reader #yandere x you #cw: abuse #yandere scenarios #long fic #yandere male

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nyxs2 · 26 days ago

Text

Ma Meilleure Ennemie (pt 6/?)

Choosing your poison is easy; it's living with the consequences that truly haunts you. Silco's venom is intoxicating, and deep down, you know it will be the death of you, yet you find yourself craving every drop.

Silco x fem!Reader

Rating: Explicit (18+, MDNI)

Word Count: 7,6K

Warnings: smut, resolved sexual tension, light bondage, unprotected sex, creampie, praise kink, biting, possessive behavior, you are a prostitute, slight hints of reader's past, sex and restrained freedom being terms of a agreement, Silco (and Sevika) POV

Set before the events of Act 2 of the first season of Arcane.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

━━ Sevika's Pov ━━

Sevika had two absolute certainties in life. The first was never to hesitate, because in the undercity, one second too long could cost you your life. The second, even more important, was never to meddle in Silco's personal affairs unless he directly ordered it. These seemingly simple rules had ensured her survival and her position alongside the most powerful man in Zaun. So why, in the name of everything sacred—or profane, in this case—was she standing there, hand halfway to the door of his office, reconsidering what seemed to be a trivial task?

The noise on the other side made her hesitate. Wood creaking, muffled but rhythmic. It didn't take a genius to figure out what was going on in there. Sevika raised an eyebrow, already feeling a mix of embarrassment and exasperation bubbling up. Seriously, boss?

She huffed as she debated internally whether it was worth interrupting or if it would be better to just come back later. She opted for the latter. It was safer—for both of them.

Turning back down the hallway, she spotted two guards posted near the stairs. "Hey!" she called, her deep voice cutting through the silence. "Don't let anyone upstairs, especially that blue-haired brat."

The two nodded without question, though one of them looked briefly confused before returning to his watch. Sevika didn't explain. It wasn't necessary, and she didn't have the patience to deal with stupid questions.

Back at the bar, she plopped herself down on one of the stools, resting her right forearm on the counter as she observed the nearly empty room. The night was already wearing thin, with only a few stubborn, lonely drunks still clinging to their bottles and cigarettes. She allowed a tired smile to slip, one that quickly turned into a low, ironic laugh.

If someone had told me Silco would ditch his paperwork to fuck, I'd have laughed in their face.

It was surreal. The man was the very definition of a workaholic, always with his head buried in conspiracies and strategies to keep Zaun under control. But two months ago, everything changed. Out of nowhere, Silco approached her asking about a decent brothel in the city. She didn't question it, because, after all, who was she to judge? Everyone needs a little relief now and then.

But things had taken an unexpected turn. She knew the girl—maybe too well. Those big, deceptively innocent eyes always hiding something. Sevika had always known there was more behind that angelic façade. Maybe that's exactly what had drawn Silco in. And, frankly, she even agreed: good taste couldn't be denied.

The sound of a glass sliding across the counter pulled her from her thoughts. The bartender was looking at her, wearing the expression of someone who already knew what she wanted. Sevika grabbed the glass and downed the amber liquid in one go.

"Another." she ordered curtly, pushing the glass back toward him.

As she waited, Sevika let her eyes wander around the room, though her mind was still stuck on the scene. Silco, so methodical, so controlled... and now? Succumbing to his own desires. He wasn't even completely sure that it was the same woman from years ago, and yet he orchestrated all of this to have her around. She wasn't sure whether to find it amusing or concerning.

Whatever he's scheming, it better be worth the effort.

When the next glass arrived, she held it between her fingers, swirling the liquid before taking another long sip. At least tonight, she'd allow herself a few moments of peace.

"Tough night?" the bartender asked, his tone casual, as if he already knew the answer.

Sevika grunted, not even bothering to look up. Small talk was far from her priority. She emptied the glass in one gulp, feeling the warmth of the whiskey burn its way down her throat, momentarily easing the irritation brewing inside her.

"Is it true Silco's keeping a girl up there?" the bartender let slip, leaning over the counter with barely concealed curiosity. His voice was low, but the words carried too much weight for Sevika's liking.

She paused, spinning the empty glass between her fingers before glaring at him over the rim with evident impatience.

"Who told you that?"

"One of the morning shift guards." the man shrugged like it was no big deal. "Said they were ordered to let a woman in but not out. Thought kidnapped folks stayed at the warehouse, not here."

Sevika scoffed, rolling her eyes as she poured herself another drink. It was always the same with people like that: gossips who didn't know when to keep their mouths shut.

"She's different."

The bartender simply nodded, wiping the counter with a rag that, to Sevika, seemed more dirty than useful. Finally, silence returned, and she silently thanked the universe for the reprieve. Or at least for a few seconds. Because, of course, he couldn't keep his mouth shut for long.

"Wait! That woman, is she THAT... prostitute?" he asked, his voice laden with a curiosity that bordered on offensive.

Before Sevika could deliver a cutting response, a high-pitched voice sliced through the room like a knife.

"What's a prostitute?"

Sevika turned her head toward the voice, as did the bartender, and both found Jinx standing at the damned bar counter, hands on her hips and her eyes sparkling with curiosity, as if she were genuinely interested in the answer.

"How the hell did you get here at this hour?" Sevika asked, slamming her glass onto the table with force. Her patience, already worn thin, was nearly gone. "Shouldn't you be in your room or, I don't know, in your cage?"

Jinx made a face, an attempt at intimidation that wouldn't have scared a mouse.

"I don't live in a cage, you one-armed brute."

Sevika rolled her eyes. "Great. Just what I needed." without another word, she slid off the stool, grabbed the girl without any care, and slung her over her shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Hey! Put me down, you savage!" Jinx started thrashing, kicking the air and grumbling like a feral cat.

Sevika kept walking, unbothered. She was used to the brat's dramatics, but her patience wasn't infinite, especially after the night she'd already endured.

"Keep squirming like that, and I'll let you fall flat on your face." Sevika muttered, an empty threat she'd never dare follow through on, considering how much Silco doted on the girl. "You're not going upstairs."

Sevika thought about how the situation had spiraled into something even more ridiculous than she'd anticipated. Not that she really cared about Jinx—"Babysitter? Not a chance in hell."—but the last thing she wanted was to deal with the trauma of a kid discovering what her "dad" did behind closed doors. Even Zaun had its limits to chaos.

Jinx ignored the threat entirely, her fists pounding against Sevika's back with as much force as her skinny arms could muster. "Why not? Is it because of that prostitute? I don't even know what that is!"

"If you stop squirming, I'll tell you on the way."

To Sevika's surprise, Jinx actually went quiet.

Silco's Pov ━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

Silco looked at her body, her hair spread over the table as he thrust into her from behind. He loved how her skin felt against his, and the way she moaned softly whenever he touched her. Her body was so soft and warm, and he couldn't get enough of it. He held her wrists tightly behind her back as he pounded into her, his hips slapping against her ass with each thrust. Silco could feel his own pleasure building up inside him, but he held back, wanting to make this last as long as possible. He wanted to savor every moment of having she beneath him, submitting to his every desire.

Silco's thoughts were a jumbled mess of lust and desire. He loved how responsive she was to his touch, how she seemed to melt under him as he claimed her body. He knew he was being rough with her, but he couldn't help himself. The rough, animalistic nature of their coupling was a stark contrast to the refined elegance of his office, and he reveled in the delicious contradiction.

As he fucked her harder and faster, Silco leaned down and bit her shoulder, leaving a mark on her skin, which made her whine even more. He loved the idea of claiming her, of making sure everyone knew that she belonged to him now. She was his, and his alone, and he would make sure she never forgot it.

"My lovely dove." he growled into her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "All mine."

Silco felt her body trembling beneath him as he continued to thrust into her, his grip on her wrists loosening slightly. He could feel her pushing back against him, her hips meeting his with each stroke. He released her wrists completely and pulled her back against his chest, wrapping one arm around her waist and the other snaking up to grip her throat lightly. He didn't squeeze, just held her in place as he slowed his pace, savoring the feel of her tight heat surrounding him.

Silco's mind drifted to thoughts of the future, he would keep her by his side for a long time, that was for sure. He had no intention of losing her and even though his thoughts darkened, imagining every single thing he would do to her, Silco found himself becoming increasingly tender with her. He wanted to worship her body, to show her the depths of his desire even though she was angry with him and technically just doing her part of the deal. But for now, he contented himself with the feel of her in his arms, her body pressed against his as he continued to thrust into her.

"That's it..." his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered to her. "You're doing so well for me."

He wondered if she knew what she was getting herself into, if she understood the depths of having made that deal. She herself had said that accepting something from him was not so different from agreeing with the devil, which ironically she had done. But then again, he didn't really care. All that mattered was that she was his now. The thought sent a shiver of excitement down his spine, and he thrust harder, deeper, claiming her body as his own.

Silco's hand slid down from her hip to between her legs, his fingers finding her clit. He rubbed slow, firm circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. He could feel her tensing beneath him, her breath coming faster and harder. He knew she was close.

He leaned down and nuzzled her neck, his lips brushing against her skin as he whispered to her. "You're so beautiful like this." he murmured, his voice low and husky with desire. "It's okay... Let go. I've got you."

Silco continued to rub her clit, his fingers slick with her arousal. He could feel her tensing beneath him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. And then, with a final thrust of his hips, he felt her coming undone. Her walls clenched around him, her body shaking with the force of her orgasm. He held her close, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist as he continued to thrust, drawing out her pleasure for as long as possible.

Only then, when he knew she had finished, did he allow himself to let go. With a harsh groan, he buried himself deep inside her, his own release pulsing through him. He collapsed against her back, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

Silco pulled out of her slowly, savoring the feeling of her walls fluttering around him as he withdrew. He stood for a moment, watching as she collapsed onto the table, her body spent and limp. He couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction, of pride, at having brought her to such heights of pleasure.

He moved to his chair and sat down, his gauze never leaving her as he fixed his pants. She looked so small, so fragile like this. It was a stark contrast to the strong, defiant woman he knew

He leaned forward and grabbed her by the waist, pulling her off the table and onto his lap. He didn't care about the mess, about the fluids smearing across his pants. All he cared about was having her close, feeling her warmth against his skin.He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight against his chest. He could feel her heartbeat, slow and steady, matching his own. He knew he should let her go, let her clean up and rest. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. He wanted to keep her here, in his arms, for as long as possible.

Even though the weight of exhaustion clawed at his every muscle, Silco refused to relinquish her. His arms remained locked around her, firm yet careful, as if afraid she might slip away the moment he loosened his grip. The embrace was neither casual nor fleeting—it lingered, speaking volumes in the silence. It was an act that could mean many things: dominance, possession, a fleeting moment of vulnerability. But most disturbingly, in a way so distorted it almost felt like sin—affection.

Her head rested against his shoulder, her breathing still uneven, the faint tremor in her body betraying just how far she'd been pushed. He rested his chin on top of her head, breathing in the scent of her hair.

She was undone. Raw. Stripped of the mask she so often wore—the provocative, infuriating facade that seemed designed solely to challenge him at every turn. Here, in his arms, she was something closer to her truest self, a woman laid bare by the weight of her own humanity.

And God help him, he enjoyed both versions.

The stubborn, sharp-tongued temptress who dared to stand toe-to-toe with him, who infuriated and intrigued him in equal measure—that version of her was a spark, a fire he couldn't help but want to stoke. But this? This quieter, unguarded moment? This was something else entirely. A glimpse of the woman beneath the armor.

His hand moved almost unconsciously, fingers brushing against the damp strands of her hair before trailing down to rest at the nape of her neck. His touch was uncharacteristically gentle, a rare softness that would have shocked anyone who knew him. And though he told himself it was a fleeting act of charity, of magnanimity, the truth was far more selfish. He simply liked holding her this way.

"You'll ruin me."

Her voice was barely a whisper, so faint it might have been lost in the stillness of the room if not for the fact that Silco was holding her so close. It was raw, unguarded, and it hung in the air between them like the blade of a guillotine, poised to fall.

He didn't respond. He didn't need to. Her words weren't a question, nor did they require an answer. They were a truth, a bitter acknowledgment of the tangled web they'd both willingly stepped into. And it wasn't as if he could deny it, anyway. Ruin was inevitable, and it was something she had said herself during their earlier clash. This was simply the echo of her own warning, now laden with the weight of their proximity.

Silco tightened his grip around her in lieu of words, pulling her just a fraction closer, as if to say, Yes, I will. And you'll let me.

"Rest." he commanded, his voice softer now, though still tinged with that unyielding authority that brooked no argument. His hand splayed firmly across her back, anchoring her against him. "For once, don't argue. Just rest."

Without resistance, she surrendered to sleep in his arms, her breathing evening out as her body grew heavy with exhaustion. Silco stayed there, unmoving, his eyes half-lidded as he stared out into the dim haze of Zaun's morning light filtering faintly through the industrial gloom. The sounds of the city, muted and distant, echoed faintly through the room: the hiss of steam pipes, the clatter of machinery, and the occasional murmur of voices far below. It was a sound he'd grown so accustomed to that it often faded into the background, yet in this moment, it seemed louder, more insistent.

His eyes drifted to the ceiling, tracing the familiar cracks and shadows that had once provided solace in the solitude of his nights. But this morning, they seemed to mock him. Unbidden, the memory crept in — that bridge, the suffocating smoke, the acrid sting of betrayal. He could almost hear the anguished screams and the crackle of fire, smell the blood and oil mingling in the air. That day had been a reckoning, one where every choice he made seemed to collapse beneath the weight of inevitability.

The bridge where Felicia died.

The bridge where Vander betrayed him.

Silco's jaw tightened, and he exhaled sharply through his nose, as if expelling the memory itself. He would not dwell on it. What was done could not be undone, and revisiting the past served no purpose. Regret was for the weak, and Silco had no patience for weakness — not in others, and certainly not in himself.

Still, the ghost of that day lingered at the edges of his mind, a specter of all that had gone wrong. Choices that had seemed so clear, so righteous at the time, had led only to ruin. The kind of ruin that left scars too deep to heal, both on the body and on the soul.

His fingers twitched slightly, tightening their hold on her for just a moment before loosening again. She stirred faintly in her sleep but didn't wake, her face soft and unguarded in a way that tugged at something deep within him.

Ruins were where he had been forged. And if ruin was where he would return, he would do so on his own terms.

━━━━━━━༺༻━━━━━━━

You felt your body sinking. The underwater currents were relentless, tossing you back and forth like a lifeless ragdoll as the darkness closed in around you. You realized the faint shimmer of the surface was growing farther and farther away. But, strangely, there was no panic. There was no desperation to fight, no frantic hands trying to reach for that light. Something inside you decided that here, in the depths, would be your final resting place.

The silence of the water, the relentless cold, the sense of abandonment. It all made a morbid kind of sense. You let your arms float beside you, surrendering to the darkness that clouded your vision.

But then, something changed.

You felt a tug at the collar of your shirt—rough and unexpected. There was no gentleness in the motion, only urgency. You tried to open your eyes, but the water burned your retinas, leaving everything blurred. Still, you could tell you were rising—fast. The muffled sound of the water became a chaotic mix of bubbles and currents. Something—or someone—was determined to save you.

"Stay with me, little one. Hold on."

Then you finally managed to open your eyes. The cracked ceiling, marked by softly dancing shadows, was the first thing you saw as you returned to reality. There was no longer the sensation of being submerged, nor the voice that had seemed so close just moments before. Vander's voice had felt so real, but now it was just a distant echo, as unreachable as the rest of your memories. A deep emptiness settled over you. It had been so long since you'd felt something like this. Maybe since... Well, better not to think about it.

Sitting up slowly, you took a better look at the room around you. It was comfortable, simple, functional. It had everything a room needed but lacked any personal touch, giving it a cold, almost impersonal feel. The lighting was far too dim for your taste, with shadows pooling in the corners.

That's when you noticed: your clothes were arranged neatly, as was your lower body, with no trace of what you had done hours earlier on that damned table. Silco had likely cleaned and adjusted everything. He'd even ensured you rested without wrecking your back, unlike before on the couch—ironic, coming from someone like him. On the nightstand, a pitcher of water and a glass waited for you, without notes, without explanations.

You poured yourself a glass, feeling the cool liquid soothe the dryness in your throat as you leaned back against the headboard. The weight of the situation finally hit you. You were screwed, weren't you?

For someone who prided themselves on being immune to Silco's games, who claimed—proudly—that they'd never be manipulated, here you were: completely caught in his web. And worse, you were here willingly.

But it had to be worth it. It had to be.

Your mind spun, piecing together the fragments of information you had gathered so far. Silco and his supposed "daughter." Jinx. It was impossible to ignore the gaping hole this story left in your reasoning. Silco had no wife, and absolutely nothing about the man suggested he could have maintained a relationship close enough to father a child. In fact, you might be the closest thing to that.

So why had Finn hinted that Jinx was a scandal?

You pieced the fragments together hesitantly, almost afraid of what it might mean. What if Jinx was... Powder?

The thought was absurd. Or, perhaps, not so much. After the night of the massacre, the only bodies reportedly found were those of Vander, Mylo, and Claggor. There was no trace of Violet or Powder. It was unlikely that both had survived, but unlikely didn't mean impossible.

What if Powder was alive? What if Silco had found her in the chaos and taken her in? The idea was horrifying, yet it made a disturbing amount of sense. Could that be the origin of the scandal? That Silco had taken Powder, turning her into the weapon he now called Jinx?

You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to organize your thoughts. It was all speculation. You had no proof, just disconnected hints. But it didn't matter. You would find out who Jinx was, no matter the cost. And if there was even the slightest chance of finding Violet or Powder, you wouldn't waste it. You had made a promise to Vander on his deathbed. You would find and protect his daughters, and Silco might just be the key to achieving that.

If the hunt for Jinx led nowhere, you could still use Silco's resources covertly to track down anything about them. Even if it was just their bones so you could finally have some closure.

You didn't know how long you sat there lost in thought until your own body protested from staying in the same position for too long.

Rising from the bed with your resolve renewed, you stretched slightly, your muscles still complaining from the strain. You crossed the room toward the door, but before you could touch it, it was abruptly opened. Standing before you was that same tattooed man from the previous morning, his face carrying the same expression of near-permanent indifference. He tilted his chin up in a simple gesture before saying:

"Silco wants to see you."

Without even waiting for your response, he turned and began walking down the corridor. You hesitated for a moment but eventually followed. As you walked, you noticed how the Last Drop was surprisingly busy for that time of morning. Men and women were engaged in various tasks, carrying crates, adjusting equipment, and speaking in hushed tones. It was a completely different scene from the almost ghostly atmosphere of the day before when you had arrived.

Not that you were surprised by this change, not after everything Silco had been pulling.

You arrived at the infamous door to Silco's office. The tattooed man knocked twice, firmly, before announcing: "Sir, I've brought her."

The response came almost instantly, and the door opened, revealing a familiar figure.

Ah, yes. Her.

The woman was there, her imposing presence intact, though her eyes carried a weary air, as if she hadn't slept in weeks. There was something both unsettling and captivating about her posture—her shoulders squared, her chin slightly tilted upward, as if daring the world to knock her down. For a brief moment, your eyes met. You held her gaze, tilting your head slightly, until a memory flashed in your mind like lightning.

Oh...

Now you remembered where you knew her from.

She seemed to notice your realization, but said nothing. She simply stepped aside, creating space for you to enter the office.

You crossed the room with the confidence of someone who felt at home—even if you weren't. Your steps echoed lightly in the space as you stopped in front of Silco's desk. He held some papers in his hands, apparently reports, his eyes scanning the text with calm precision. He didn't bother to look at you, as if your presence was expected but not significant enough to interrupt his focus.

You stopped in front of him, crossing your arms and shifting your weight slightly to one side. "Should I assume I've been summoned for something important, or did you just want my company this morning?"

He merely gestured with his hand, dismissing the two people still in the office. Yet, even as the door closed, he remained in that position for a few more seconds, calmly finishing whatever was written on the papers before setting them aside. Only then did he lean back in his chair.

"Well, keeping me company is part of your new job, isn't it?" His voice was low and velvety, carrying a familiarity that bothered you as much as it intrigued you. With a lazy gesture, he indicated the chair in front of him. "Sit. We have matters to discuss."

Without wasting time, you settled into the chair, crossing your legs in a deliberate motion, assuming the posture of someone ready to play at the same level. If Silco wanted to turn this into a performance of business negotiations, you wouldn't fall behind.

"I've been thinking." his voice smooth as silk. "Perhaps our agreement needs a few... adjustments. Some additional clauses, so to speak."

Silco leaned back slightly, his fingers interlaced beneath his chin, the posture of someone entirely in control of the situation. "But before we get to that, I think it's wise to review the main terms of our current arrangement. Just to ensure we're aligned."

You shrugged with feigned indifference, though irritation pulsed beneath the surface. Of course, you knew every line of that damned agreement. How could you forget something that had been presented more as an ultimatum than a real negotiation? When Silco proposed the deal, you barely had a chance to voice your opinion. Not that your opinion would have mattered much—the power in that room belonged exclusively to him.

If he wanted to, he could have simply imprisoned you, tied you to a bed, keeping you captive by force. In fact, considering Silco's style, perhaps he still might—but in a twisted way, involving power games and sex.

When he presented the contract the night before, the scene was almost comical. You weren't even remotely surprised to see that he already had the document prepared, flawlessly drafted, waiting only for you to sign your name. However, what truly surprised you was that he agreed to some of your conditions, though they were few.

"Go ahead."

Silco then pulled the paper from the drawer, placing the document on the table with the two signature spaces clearly visible: one with his name, marked by that precise and meticulous handwriting, and the other with your name, marked by the nervous haste of your rushed signature.

"You agreed to spend three weeks of each month at my service." he began to read, his voice low and laden with an authority that sent shivers down your spine. "You will serve me in whatever way I deem necessary. This includes physically, of course. In return, I will provide you with everything you need, as well as ensuring your safety and comfort."

He paused, his eyes following the text with the precision of someone who had recited these words countless times. His expression was one of absolute delight behind the indifferent façade; you could tell he was savoring every syllable he uttered. Every detail seemed carefully crafted to trap you.

"And during the fourth and final week of that same month, you will have your freedom. I will not touch you, nor demand anything from you. You will be free to do as you please, within reasonable limits."

Silco pushed the folder toward you, the gesture as casual as it was threatening. "Naturally, you will have an escort at all times. To ensure your safety and to prevent you from deciding to run. After all, I wouldn't want to lose my new toy so soon."

You took the contract, your eyes scanning the words you already knew. But before you could even pretend to conduct a detailed review, Silco's voice cut through the air again, laced with something almost playful.

"Now, dove." his soft tone masked the venom behind his words. "Please, say out loud what the consequences are for breaking your part of the agreement."

Your gaze shot up from the paper to him. Your superficial reading stopped at that sentence, your fingers clutching the document tightly enough to crease it slightly. Of course, he was going to demand this. It was Silco's arrogance at its peak, forcing you to admit the terms you despised aloud. His smile widened as he noticed your hesitation. He was savoring the moment—every second of your reluctance was a small victory for him.

"If I break the agreement, all the freedom granted to me will be revoked. I will be under your constant supervision, without any autonomy." you wanted to kick him under the table, but you forced yourself to continue without resorting to violence. "And I will be subject to whatever punishments you deem appropriate, with no right to question or refuse them."

You hated the way he looked at you in that moment. That intense, cruel gaze that made every hair on your body stand on end. It wasn't just the intensity—it was what lay beneath it. There was something deeply wrong about the satisfaction Silco displayed, the twisted pleasure in reminding you, silently, of the reach of his power in Zaun—and now, over every aspect of your life.

He tilted his head slightly, the treacherous smile playing on his lips. "And?" he pressed, his voice low, its softness nothing more than a façade. "Don't keep me waiting. Say the rest."

You swallowed hard, choking down the rising urge to unleash a string of curses at him. Instead, you responded with a coldness you didn't truly feel.

"You would burn the brothel."

The words were difficult to say, but you forced them out, trying to mask the vulnerability they carried. In Zaun, few things could really hurt you. With no family and no significant ties left, you believed you were beyond the reach of emotional threats. But then, there was the brothel. And Silco knew it.

Not that you particularly liked the work of being a prostitute. As you had told Silco the day you first met, it wasn't as though you had much of a choice. It was a job that didn't attract attention, and that was exactly what you needed.

But the brothel wasn't just a workplace. The people there, even if they weren't your closest friends, were something you could call your community. Co-workers, confidants on hard nights, people who had shared the same roof with you since Babette took you in. She gave you a chance when no one else would—a place to stay, a job to support yourself, a sense of stability in a world that seemed to crumble around you. And now, because of you, the brothel was in danger. Just like Kate had been... and you knew how that ended.

He leaned back in his chair with the confidence of a king on his throne, intertwining his fingers beneath his chin. "Ah, yes. The brothel. Such a charming establishment, isn't it? It would be such a shame if something were to happen to it."

"Just say what you want to add, Silco."

The words came out steady, but you knew they weren't enough to fool him. Silco always caught the nuances—the smallest cracks in your façade, the ones you tried so hard to hide. And there he was, with that almost imperceptible smile, carved perfectly to provoke you. It was the kind of expression that made you feel as though, somehow, he was always in control.

"Always so direct." he murmured in that slow, deliberate voice, reaching for a cigar from the drawer. The way he handled it was almost theatrical, every movement carefully calculated to stretch out your anxiety. "Well, the proposal is more of a suggestion. I believe it would be far more convenient if you moved into one of the rooms at the Last Drop. During the weeks you're serving me, you would stay there."

You blinked. Once, twice. His words echoed in your head as you tried to absorb the weight of what he was saying. When you agreed to the arrangement, there had at least been one small consolation: the idea that, at the end of each day, you could return to the place you called home. Your little space. Your bubble of freedom. A place where you could continue your investigation far from Silco's watchful eyes and maybe remind yourself that you were still a person, not just his "property."

But now, even that illusion was being taken from you.

"This is your way of keeping me under custody?"

Silco laughed. A low, rough, and dangerously amused sound that sent a shiver down your spine. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk as he watched you with an unwavering gaze. The intensity of his orange irises, like burning embers, held you captive even when you wanted to look away.

"Keeping you under my custody?" he repeated, with a mock indignation so convincing it was infuriating. "Dove, you've wounded me deeply with such a heinous accusation. I thought we had something special here."

He lit the cigar with a silver lighter, the metallic click echoing in the heavy silence of the room. The scent of tobacco began to fill the air, mingling with the almost tangible tension. Silco took a deep drag, exhaling the smoke with a sigh that seemed laden with satisfaction.

"But, if you insist on putting it that way..." he let the sentence linger, releasing another slow puff of smoke before continuing, as though savoring the moment for as long as he could. Dragging it out too much for your taste. "Yes, I suppose that's exactly what I'm doing."

You couldn't stop yourself from rolling your eyes—a gesture meant to be full of disdain but softening into an ironic smile you couldn't quite suppress. There was something about Silco—that poisonous mix of brutal honesty and blatant manipulation—that left you unsure whether you should hate him or just play the game alongside him.

Somehow, his cruel transparency made it impossible to be as angry as you should have been. Deep down, what you really wanted was to cross the desk and punch him, but instead, you just raised an eyebrow, defiant.

"You're unbelievable, you know that?"

You stood up from the chair calmly, your eyes locked onto Silco's as you made your way around the desk. He, of course, followed every step with that sharp, almost predatory gaze. As you rounded the desk, you noticed the subtle way he adjusted in his chair, shifting slightly to track your movements as though he anticipated exactly what was coming next.

Without hesitation, you climbed onto his lap, sitting as if it were the most natural, casual thing in the world. Ironically, it was. Silco had, in an unexpected way, become your favorite "seat" and you were sure he was well aware of it.

"So." your tone deliberately provocative as your hands came to rest on his shoulders, "I don't think I have any other choice but to accept this clause. Although, I do have a few conditions."

Interest flickered in his eyes, but it was in the blue one that you noticed something new. His pupil dilated slightly—a reaction you'd never observed before. A small detail, but one that, in that moment, felt like a silent triumph. Silco leaned back in the chair, his body relaxing as though he'd already won the argument. He brought the cigar to his lips, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke to the side, away from you. It was an unexpectedly considerate gesture—almost... sweet, if you had the nerve to admit it out loud.

His free hand, however, didn't waste any time. His fingers began to wander over your body, gliding along the curve of your waist, lingering at the line of your hip, before settling firmly on your thigh. The touch was possessive, demanding, as if he wanted to remind both you—and himself—that, in this moment, you were his.

"And what might these conditions be?"

You didn't answer immediately. Instead, you reached out and, without a hint of shame or hesitation, took the cigar from his hand. Silco's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't protest. You brought the cigar to your lips, inhaling with the ease of someone who had done it a hundred times before—even though it was your first.

The bitter taste filled your mouth, and the smoke wrapped around your senses. You exhaled slowly, letting the smoke escape deliberately as you kept your gaze fixed on his. There was something intensely intimate in the exchange, a sexual charge you hadn't planned but now felt inevitable.

"I want permission to roam freely around here." you said at last, your voice calm but carrying an undeniable tone of firmness. "After all, when you don't need me, I'll need some way to entertain myself, don't you think?"

You smiled—that mischievous smile that had gotten you into trouble more times than you could count. It was the same smile that, in a way, had landed you in this situation with Silco in the first place. "A fair request, in my opinion."

Silco remained silent for a moment, his eyes locked on yours. He seemed to be considering your words, but you could tell it was more than that. He was savoring the scene—every detail about you. The way you held the cigar, your posture on his lap, the interplay of smoke curling around your face... He seemed entranced.

"Permission to wander freely, hm?" Silco finally broke the silence, his voice heavy with provocation as his fingers on your thigh tightened their grip slightly. "I suppose that's reasonable, but don't think for a second that I won't be watching you."

You maintained your composure, letting the cigar's smoke fill your lungs before leaning slightly closer to him. As you exhaled, you released the smoke near his lips, watching as his blue eye darted momentarily to your mouth while the orange one stayed fixed on you. It carried a silent threat, a void of unspoken challenge that seemed to dare you to keep testing his limits.

"That's more than enough for me."

Boldly, you let your lips brush against his in a touch so fleeting it was almost ghostly, before pressing a gentle kiss—light, without any intent to deepen it. But as you began to pull away, you didn't get far. Almost instantly, Silco's hand gripped a fistful of your hair, firm but not harsh, pulling you back to him.

And it was he who deepened the kiss.

Silco's lips crashed against yours with a demanding, possessive force. There was nothing gentle or hesitant about it; he was taking what he wanted, and you knew in that moment, it was you. His tongue invaded your mouth with unrelenting confidence, exploring and claiming every inch. The taste of smoke lingered on his tongue, the bitterness of tobacco blending with an unexpected hint of sweetness—a contrast as singular as Silco himself.

There was something more in that kiss, something that sent shivers racing through your body as he held you captive within it. The last time the two of you had kissed, it had been different: rage had clouded your mind, turning the contact into a fierce clash. But now... now it was something else entirely. There was still roughness—Silco wasn't a man who did anything softly—but the hatred, the defiance, was absent.

If someone asked why you had kissed him, you could lie. You could claim it was a calculated move to ensure he wouldn't rescind his agreement to your request. A strategic play, nothing more. But deep down, you knew that would only be half the truth. The reality was, something within you had driven you to do it, to seek out that connection again, even if you didn't want to admit it.

You provoked him because you knew Silco would take the lead. It had always been that way. No matter how much you wanted to, it was never going to be you who initiated. Not with him. The power always had to appear to be on his side, even when you managed to twist it to your advantage.

The cigar slipped from your fingers, hitting the ground with a muffled thud. You registered the faint sound, your mind distantly aware of the minimal chance the ember might start a fire. Yet you didn't move to pick it up. Instead, your hands rested against Silco's chest, attempting to support your weight and keep your body from fully collapsing against his. Though, by the way he pulled you closer, it was clear that idea didn't bother him in the slightest.

A rough sound escaped Silco's lips—a low, restrained groan that you almost thought you'd imagined. Almost. His grip on your hair tightened, angling your head perfectly so he could deepen the kiss even further. His other hand wasn't idle; it moved slowly along the length of your thigh, his fingers pressing into your flesh with enough force to leave a mark.

When Silco finally broke the kiss, his lips began to trace a path along your jaw to your neck, his breath hot against your skin. You couldn't stop yourself—your body arched toward his, as if responding to an unspoken command.

"Don't provoke me, dove," he growled against your skin. "You know very well what happens when you do."

You laughed, but the sound came out short, almost breathless. It was hard to concentrate when Silco kept trailing kisses down your neck, occasionally interrupted by sharp nips that left your skin throbbing with sensitivity. One particular bite was harder, enough to draw a small gasp from you. Your body reacted instinctively, jolting slightly in his lap—and that was enough to elicit a sharp intake of breath from Silco.

From the way his eyes glinted and his grip on your thigh tightened, you knew he was just as affected as you were.

"Why not?" you murmured, a mischievous smile playing on your lips as you tried to catch your breath. "We're already in position, after all."

Silco pulled back slightly, just enough for you to see his expression. The gleam in his eyes, especially the blue one, was a dangerous mix of amusement and something darker, more intense. It was as if your words had sparked a new idea in his mind, one he was clearly considering with.

"Why not, indeed?" his hands slid to your hips, gripping them firmly as he pulled you even closer, as if it were possible to get any nearer. "Especially when you seem to enjoy this position so much."

Your fingers traced the contours of his face, exploring the unique texture of the scarred skin. When you reached the rougher, uneven area, you noticed something you hadn't before: a slight layer of powder there, likely applied to soften the appearance of the scar. You frowned slightly, intrigued. A question hovered on the tip of your tongue, but you decided to save it for another moment. After all, provoking Silco was always more interesting.

The prolonged touch seemed to captivate him, his gaze locked on yours as you explored his face with your fingertips. A charged tension lingered between you, and you realized that, in that moment, he was completely at your mercy—even if he hadn't noticed it himself.

"Well..." your voice carrying a faintly teasing tone, "You're the one above everyone in Zaun, so it's only fair someone gets to be above you, isn't it?"

With a mischievous smile, you shifted your hips slightly, emphasizing your words with the movement. The effect was immediate. Silco drew in a sharp breath, his own hips moving almost instinctively to match your motion.

"Someone has to keep things balanced around here." your tone suggesting the idea amused you. "Besides, you don't seem the least bit bothered by it."

His hands gripped your hips more tightly, his fingers digging into your flesh in a possessive gesture that nearly knocked the air out of your lungs. He stared at you now with an intensity that made your heart race. There was nothing innocent about that look. On the contrary, the gleam in his eyes seemed almost profane, as if he were contemplating something both sinful and indulgent.

He leaned forward, his lips brushing against your ear. The closeness sent a shiver through your skin, and his voice, low and gravelly, seemed designed to ignite something inside you.

"Bothered?" he murmured, each word weighted with a gravity that made your stomach flip. "Not in the slightest, dove. In fact, I'd say I'm enjoying the view from here. The way you look at me from above, with those eyes..." he paused, his warm breath fanning over your skin. "It's enough to bring a man to his knees."

You couldn't help the smile that curved your lips, a hint of amusement and even satisfaction at having him in this position. But the smile lasted only a second. Before you could even respond, you felt his fingers gripping your chin, firm, almost possessive, tilting your face so he could look directly at you.

The tone of his voice shifted. The soft murmur now carried a raw authority, irresistible, as though he'd decided exactly what would happen next.

"But I prefer you in this position."

The intensity of his words made something in your chest tighten—not with fear, but with anticipation. In that moment, you knew exactly where this was going. He tilted his head slightly, as if savoring your expression before continuing.

"Now, be a good girl and get on your knees."

Part 7

AUTHOR'S NOTES: Please read. I said I'd be back and I'm going to give you a spoiler: the next chapter it will be completely in Silco's POV and with a dose more smut than it normally would have. So suggest kinks that you'd like to see written in this series (I already have what I want to write in mind, but if I see an interesting idea that fits I'll add it, remember I can always use your idea in another chapter) And yes, in this story we fuck with Sevika! Remember when Babette tells VI that she's a regular customer at the brothel? I took this canon very seriously, but don't worry, there won't be a love triangle. Btw did you like Jinx's quick appearance in the chapter? (and yes, technically she would know what a prostitute is, but in my canon I can imagine VI punching Mylo at the exact moment he opens his mouth to explain. Our VI would protect our little and innocent Powder) I'll probably be back next year so HAPPY NEW YEAR! See you again in 2025.

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@celi-xxmoon

@starryhiraeth

@spntiel

@vxllys

@hotchners-wifey

@unadulteratedcoffeetastemaker

@ultrahoney

@mysteriouszer0

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@coffeesefied

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@fandomsinthegalaxies

@mikuley

@anthy-j-ander

@angelsdemonsmonsters

@buggnuggies

@fudosl

#silco x you #silco x reader #smut #reader insert #no beta we die like silco #arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane silco #minors dni

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skyrigel · 5 months ago

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Grim Reaper! Simon x f!reader | tw: death

Grim Reaper! Simon who's supposed to take you away, between life and death, after and before, here and gone.

Grim Reaper! Simon who watched you all day, couldn't help the cold dread that clouded him because you were so full of life, despite the mess, you woke up and made your coffee. Choosing your clothes and saving that very expensive dress for some other time, some special day — not knowing this is the last, your most special. Instead picking on that shirt you loved for it's colour, not knowing it would end up only red.

Grim Reaper! Simon who stood helplessly when life was squashed out of you. One moment of extreme pain and then nothing at all. People screaming and pitying and murmuring, while you clutched your chest and raised above, looking around — blinking and confused, until you looked down and your pupils widened. Oh..gone.

Grim Reaper! Simon who clasped your hand as you cried and lamented, a life you hated so much and yet you loved it just the same. Glancing back at the flesh, hands outstretched as if begging you to not leave, same eyes, same face, same fucking everything — just lifeless.

Grim Reaper! Simon who held your soul as you wept and sobbed, it wasn't your fault...you were just trying to save the puppy, it wasn't — but now you were dead. No prayer would count. And these people around you, they're just watching your lifeless frame while you cry and cry.

Grim Reaper! Simon who knew how it went, one snap and you were truly gone to the other side. “T-this it it ? Is this the end ?” you sobbed more, remembering your goodbyes, did you tell you mum that you loved her, or did you tell dad his burnt toast were your favourite, did your friend knew they were so amazing and you loved them ?

Grim Reaper! Simon who could read your mind, “No. Come now.” he echoed, lifting you away from your dead body, just flesh that resembled you, all those things that made you a real person crumbled under those rubber tyre, now nothing but memories.

Grim Reaper! Simon who shaked his skeleton of a head, covered with his ghostly black hood, swaying like cloak behind him. You wouldn't stop crying, he couldn't bear that. “No, sweetheart.” He traced your jaw, letting those tears vapour in a whoosh,“Not yet. Not so soon. Not for you.”

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you back to your apartment, letting you take it all, your fingertips against smiling people trapped behind glasses, your cat purring in her cushion, notes sticked around, empty checkboxes that would never get ticked.

Grim Reaper! Simon who held above the dress you'd saved. “You would look so lovely.” he kept, ‘You always do.’ to himself, he sat as you licked the last bit of Nutella and patted your cat, oblivious to so many things.

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you to the beach because you never got time to go one, never had anyone to go with you. Now was the time and company.

Grim Reaper! Simon who sat beside you watching the last bits of rays disappearing into nothingness, letting sky turn darker and stars twinkle in it's wake.

Grim Reaper! Simon who might be smiling just a bit when you want to go for a night walk, with no fear and no worries. He's swaying behind you, while you are almost flying with new freedom, a new sense of living or dead taking over you. There was a before that you loved but there's also an after that awaits. It's okay, Simon had said. It's going to be okay.

Grim Reaper! Simon who took you on rooftop because you wanted to see the city, the whole fucking city. “How you wanted to go ?” He found himself speaking, he never did that, it's a simple affair — guide them to the other side, that's it. You rewarded him with a smile, “Like this.” You whispered, he would hear it anyway, “I wanted to be gone like this...on my own will, L-like —” You choked on your own words, “— to jump from a very tall somthing.” and that's the irony, your life was squashed out of you, no fall and no wind smashing your face and nothing like you thought.

Grim Reaper! Simon who would grant all your wishes, “Come” he said, the second time. First, he said it when he was pulling you back while your eyes were struck on those that belonged to you, the very same but truly empty — gone before it's time.

Grim Reaper! Simon who wanted you to be happy, forever if he could help it. He took your hand in his and floated to the edge, across the horizon. There's sun rising from new beginnings, “I can't die a second time.” you laughed, a soft choke in your throat. Your stomach twisted in your guts and it's shouldn't be like this. You should feel empty and whatever void meant to be, but this knot wouldn't let go.

Grim Reaper! Simon who shook his ghost of head, tilting his head affectionately to you, “No. but you can live.”

Grim Reaper! Simon who took the fall with you, in the dress you always wanted to wear, smelling like all the things you loved, your city and salt and your favourite perfume. A smile that was forever young and true. There with him, between life and death.

Please always take care. Someone somewhere loves you so much and you mean the world to them. Please remember, please know you're loved and blessed and mean so much more than you think. Xoxo.

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chvoswxtch · 5 months ago

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i love you

pairing: frank castle x fem!reader

summary: everything has led to this.

warnings: swearing, mentions of violence, blood, & weapons, all the angst in the world (like all of it)

word count: 6.6k

a/n: i think this is the longest chapter to date, & definitely the most jam packed. grab a snack, a blanket, some tissues, & settle in. i can't accept your therapy invoices, but i will be here to provide comfort after. :) as always, feedback is welcomed/appreciated!

[previous chapter] | [next chapter] | [series masterlist]

As dozens of Billy’s men filled the expansive underground space you were in, your ears picked up on several different sounds. The click of clips being loaded into guns, the rip of velcro straps on kevlar being pried open, the hiss of steel being sharpened to a fatal point. However your brain could barely focus on any of those sounds because the only ones that registered were the murmurs of casual conversations and the easy laughter that followed crude jokes.

These men might as well have been lingering around at a bar with a drink in their hand, not gearing up to go up against one of their own. Whether they were doing it out of loyalty to Billy, or just for the impressive paycheck waiting for them, you knew some of these egotistical fucks were doing it so they could be the one to say they did the impossible; to be able to say they brought down the Punisher.

Some of their faces you recognized from working with Frank when he was your bodyguard, trading off shifts with him, and providing extra detail when needed. It was a nauseating feeling realizing the entire time you thought you were being protected from the Defenders of Freedom, you were in the presence of an even greater threat and didn’t know it. How many of these guys wouldn’t have even hesitated to flip on you for the right price and take you out themselves?

These men knew where you lived, where you worked, who you knew, where you got your fucking coffee every morning, everything about you and your routine. They were prepping to go up against Frank, but you knew not a single one of them would bat an eye if Billy gave the order to kill you once he got what he wanted. Your eyes flickered over to his tall form standing across the room, watching him bark out orders to a group of men that looked like they were buzzing with anticipation for all hell to break loose. Every single person in this room wanted Frank dead.

And it made you sick.

Your mind was still reeling from learning the truth about him, about his past and who he really was. It was like you couldn’t process it. All the pieces were there, connected into place, but your brain refused to see the picture on top. How could they be the same man?

Frank. Stubborn Frank that put up with your short fuse and shot back at your smartass remarks with his own. Thoughtful Frank that remembered your coffee order, that remembered every little thing you told him no matter how big or small, that neatly packed a bag for you full of your go to essentials and clothes when he brought you to Curtis. Sweet Frank that immediately apologized if he raised his voice too loud, that was going to sleep on the floor of a motel just to make sure you didn’t feel uncomfortable, that touched you like you were delicate glass he didn’t want to break.

Frank that had saved your life more times than you could count, and that had been by your side and protected you from everything he could for the last nine months.

That Frank, your Frank, was the same man that had been painted as a psychopath in the media for murdering thirty-seven people in cold blood.

“You still not talkin’ to me?”

Billy’s boots appeared in your line of sight, but you didn’t look up at him. After he’d forced you to put it all together, you’d completely shut down and gone silent. You weren’t even sure how long you’d been sitting in that chair still as a statue and mute while Billy and his men prepared for Frank’s arrival. While you were struggling to process the bombshell he’d dropped, one question kept popping into your head.

“Why did you give me that file?”

“Thought you’d wanna know. Seein’ as how you were such a big fan and all, writin’ all those articles praisin’ him-”

“I didn’t praise him.”

Billy seemed pleased with himself that he’d finally gotten you to look at him and speak to him. The cocky smirk that fleeted across his lips reignited a flame of resentment within you.

“You sure as hell didn’t condemn him neither.”

Clenching your jaw and setting your lips in a firm line, you looked away from Billy, glaring straight ahead. Your lack of response and attention made his smirk slip, and he let out an exhale of irritation through his nose while looking down at you.

“You know, I really thought you understood.”

Rolling your eyes in exasperation, you looked up at Billy in pinched cynicism and snapped at him.

“Understood what?”

“That things ain’t always black and white. That most things happen in that little gray area, where it gets a little messy. It ain’t always-”

“Oh shut the fuck up, William. Don’t try to preach at me to make yourself feel better about whatever shitty thing you did. I don’t wanna hear it.”

Billy’s eyes darkened at your sharp verbal lashing. He stood up a little straighter and squared his shoulders, his lips pressed together in a bitter line. He watched you turn your head and glower down at the floor as if it had personally wronged you, and he noticed how your bound hands slightly trembled from how pissed off you were. It was a complete 180 from your catatonic state five minutes earlier. He would’ve found it amusing if he wasn’t so annoyed.

Suddenly the lights went out, and the underground space went pitch black. The darkness was so opaque, you couldn’t even see your own hands when you looked down in their general direction. A murmur of confusion and irritation spread throughout Billy’s men, and the sound of guns being cocked and knives being unsheathed seemed to echo in the stillness.

Not even a minute later, there was a loud click as the emergency lights from the backup generator switched on. It took your eyes a moment to adjust to the dull light coming from the intermittently spaced fixtures. All of Billy’s men were looking between each other and the various exit points in the underground basement that were shrouded in ominous shadows. Billy shifted quickly into a more guarded stance, his eyes hard and jaw taut while turning his attention to the man standing closest to his left.

“Carson, take your men and check the breakers. Power station’s on the south side.”

“Yes sir.”

As the team of six disappeared down the hallway on the far right, Billy turned to face the remaining group of his men with a stern expression.

“Alpha team, you’re on the North exits. Bravo, you’re on the South. When Carson gets me an update on those breakers, Echo I want a rooftop visual. You know who’s coming. You know your orders.”

“Kill Castle.”

A blonde man you didn’t recognize had a cocky grin on his thin chapped lips, emphasizing his point by cocking his gun.

“He ain’t gonna hesitate to kill you.”

Some of the men exchanged glances at that statement before looking at Billy with a nod of affirmation. His dark brown eyes flickered over each of them, looking for any sign of fear or weakness.

“He does not leave here alive. You do whatever you gotta do to bring him down. Watch your six. Remember, there’s half a million waitin’ for whoever brings me the body.”

Frantically glancing between Billy and his men as they fully geared up, you gripped the arms of the chair while looking up at Billy in a mixture of incredulity and confusion. You thought Billy had brought his men in for defense. It was evident none of them had a problem killing Frank, but you assumed the whole point of their presence was to protect Billy, and to force Frank to surrender by outnumbering him so that Billy could trade for the intel. If they killed him on sight, Billy wouldn’t have any way to get what Frank found.

“I thought you said this was a trade.”

Turning his head to look down in your direction, Billy could see the clear panic on your face. There was a wicked gleam in Billy’s eyes as a sardonic smirk slowly tugged at the edge of his lips.

“Nah, sweetheart. It’s a trap.”

An icy trickle of dread cascaded down your spine rapidly and your breath hitched in your throat. Billy didn’t give a shit about what Frank had on him. He hadn’t brought him here to bargain. He’d lured him into an execution, using you as bait.

A cacophony of rapid gunfire and shouting unexpectedly echoed from the hallway on the far right that Carson’s team had disappeared down, and everyone’s heads immediately snapped in that direction. Billy’s smirk swiftly dropped from his mouth, and he quickly went rigid. But before anyone could even react, the resonation of bullets ricocheting and panicked yells abruptly stopped, and it went dead silent.

The previous arrogant attitude the remaining men had up until that moment seemed to rapidly evaporate, and their heavy breathing and wide eyed gazes betrayed their true apprehension as the reality of the situation sobered up their egos. They knew what that sound meant. They knew who it meant.

And so did Billy.

“Get to your positions.”

Billy’s dark eyes flickered over his men with a hardened glare when they didn’t move quickly enough, and his voice reverberated off the walls when he yelled.

“Now!”

Immediately, they started to disperse like scurrying ants, and the sound of their boots hitting the concrete floor in every direction echoed like claps of thunder. When you looked up at Billy again, you saw something in him you’d never seen before, something you didn’t even think he was capable of.

Fear.

At first the sound was so soft and quiet that when Billy looked down at you and saw your head tilted downwards and your shoulders faintly shaking, he thought you were crying. But when it grew louder in volume, Billy’s short lived concern turned into pure irritation as it became clear that you weren’t crying.

You were laughing.

The edge of his lips curled into a faint snarl as he lunged at you, slipping his hand into your hair to roughly yank your head backwards which earned a grunt of pain from you. Billy’s nose was barely half an inch from yours as he bent down and glared at you.

“What the hell is so funny?”

Staring him down with equal animosity, your lips slowly spread into a wide and wicked grin. Leaning in even closer to get in his face as much as he was in yours, you spoke in a harsh taunting tone laced with venom.

“You are so fucked.”

Billy stared into your eyes, seeing nothing in them but pure stubborn rage. His own lips spread into a dark smirk, and he let go of your hair to wrap his hand around your throat instead, making a point to apply just enough pressure to make you inhale sharply. He could feel the thrum of your rapid pulse against his fingers, and his breath was warm against your lips when he leaned in closer.

“Nah, that’s where you’re wrong darlin’. I got you.”

The sound of a knife being unsheathed was sharp in your ears, and the glint of a blade reflected in your eyes as Billy held the serrated steel in front of your face. Cocking his head to the side menacingly, he dragged the flat side of it down your slightly heaving chest slowly. He kept his eyes locked on yours, and you refused to look away. A crisp rip suddenly sounded, and the pressure on your wrists was gone as he cut your restraints.

“As long as I got you, I’m gettin’ outta here.”

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at Billy as he bent down to cut the restraints around your legs. When he rose to his full height, he slipped the knife back into the sheath on his hip and reached out to grab your arm tightly, tugging you up to your feet roughly.

“C’mon, you’re with me.”

When he took a step forward, you yanked your arm out of his grasp, glowering up at him as you raised your chin defiantly and spoke through your teeth.

“Pussy.”

Billy’s eyes flickered with both annoyance and amusement. He slipped his gun out of his holster and held it at his side, gesturing in your direction with his chin.

“Think I liked you better all tied up.”

“Yeah I'm sure you did.”

Ignoring your challenging stare, Billy grabbed your arm harshly again and started pushing you towards one of the exits that led down a long tunnel like hallway. The emergency backup lights lit up the path enough to navigate, but there were gaps of shadowed darkness in between them. You still had no idea exactly where you were, but it looked like some kind of abandoned warehouse or factory.

You struggled to keep up with the large stride of Billy’s long legs as he practically dragged you along with him. His eyes were focused straight ahead, his hand gripped tightly around the handle of the gun in his other hand, his index finger resting on the trigger.

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“Be quiet.”

Your eyes flickered down to the knife in the sheath on Billy’s hip. As your gaze darted quickly between the knife and Billy’s focused face, you took advantage of his diverted attention and impulsively reached for the handle to yank it out. The force of the movement caught Billy off guard and made his grip on your arm falter for a second. Ripping your arm away from his grip, you quickly took a few steps backwards and pointed the sharp tip of the knife in his direction.

A crease formed between Billy’s dark brows as he glanced between the knife in your hand and the empty sheath on his hip before an expression of annoyed realization dawned on his sharp features. Letting out a deep exhale of irritation through his nose, Billy lifted his head and looked at you in pure vexation, clearly not feeling threatened by you in the slightest.

“Why are you so goddamn difficult? Gimme that.”

Billy held out his hand expectantly. Looking down at his outstretched palm, you lifted your gaze and glared up at him as you tightened your grip on the handle and grit through your teeth.

“No.”

Clenching his jaw in frustration, Billy took a step closer and cocked the hammer on his gun.

“Sweetheart, now ain’t the time-”

“You need me. You’re not gonna shoot me-”

Billy took another step forward and aimed his gun at your thigh, glowering down at you with a hardened look in his eyes.

“Not in the head, but if you don’t give me that goddamn knife back and stop bein’ so fuckin’ difficult, you’re gonna be crawlin’ outta here.”

Staring up into his darkened eyes, your heart was pounding in your chest. You knew Billy was serious, and it made the adrenaline induced confidence in you falter. He could see that he’d unnerved you with his threat. He took another predatory step forward and held out his hand expectantly once again.

“Now, we’re gonna do this nice and-”

“Russo!”

Both of you instantly snapped your heads towards the other side of the dark hallway shrouded in unfiltered blackness as a familiar deep voice boomed from the end of it. The volume and intensity behind the war cry seemed to rattle your bones and left you frozen in place. Billy expertly swiped the knife from your grasp in a flash, pressing the serrated blade against your throat before you could even blink. He pointed his gun towards the end of the darkened hallway, his stance rigid.

“That you, Frankie?”

The sound of heavy boots against the concrete slowly started to grow louder as they traveled down the hall in your direction. You knew who they belonged to. You’d recognize those footsteps anywhere. Your heart seemed to pound just as loudly in your ears as they got closer and closer. Swallowing thickly, the movement made the blade just barely cut into your skin, but you couldn’t even feel it from the adrenaline coursing through you. All at once, a sharp gasp escaped your lips and your eyes went wide.

A white skull spontaneously appeared in the darkness, floating through it like an apparition. As it came closer, you could see that it was worn and faded, darkened with dirt and grime, coated in several deep red streaks and splatters of fresh blood with various bullets lodged into it. A merciless and unforgiving symbol of wrath and vengeance the worst of the worst in New York had learned to fear.

Time seemed to stand still when he stepped out of the shadows, and your blood ran cold when you were face to face with the Punisher for the first time.

Frank.

His large hands were covered in blood, and his knuckles were split and bruised. Deep shades of violet were blooming on his left cheek and around a fresh cut that was bleeding on his right cheekbone. There was a small split on the bridge of his large nose, and one on the left side of his top lip. The dim light above cast menacing shadows on his bruised and bloodied face, emphasizing the storm of rage brewing in his eyes.

Frank stopped directly under the light, just a few feet away. You thought you’d seen Frank pissed before, but the way he was staring at Billy made you shudder. He was furious. The anger radiating off of him in waves was palpable.

“It didn't have to be like this, Frankie.”

Frank’s index and middle finger on his right hand twitched twice as he spoke in his gruff voice.

“It wouldn’t be if Madani hadn’t been right.”

“Surprised she trusted you at all. You were there in Kandahar, Frank. Hell, you’re the one that pulled the fuckin’ trigger on her partner. She know that?”

“I was followin’ orders. You were workin’ with Rawlins and Schoonover, sellin’ out your honor. For what, Bill? Money?”

Hearing the blatant disgust in Frank’s voice, Billy tightened his grip around the handle of the gun and the handle of the blade simultaneously.

“You shoulda just left it alone, Frankie. But you chose that bitch Madani over me.”

Frank tilted his head to the side slightly, his dark brows and face scrunched in a concoction of disappointment and anguish as he looked at Billy.

“You think I wanted to believe her, Bill? You think I wasn’t lookin’ for somethin’ to prove her wrong, huh? You think I wasn’t hopin’ to God I’d find nothin’?”

The despair laced within Frank’s rough voice killed you.

“You shoulda come to me. I was your brother, Frankie. All of this, it was unavoidable.”

Billy gestured between you and Frank with his gun before aiming it at Frank again. Frank hadn’t looked at you once. His attention was solely focused on Billy. The second those words left Billy’s mouth, you saw the way Frank’s face slowly morphed into a forlorn portrait streaked in betrayal.

“Was killin’ my family unavoidable?”

Frank’s grief stricken question felt like an electric shock. Snapping your head to look up at Billy, you watched as he visibly stiffened, his grip on both weapons faltering as his face fell slightly.

“You do it, Bill?”

Billy wouldn’t meet Frank’s eye, or yours. He dropped his gaze downwards, and what appalled you was his lack of a reaction. He didn’t look guilty. He didn’t try to deter Frank’s accusation or defend himself at all, didn’t offer any kind of correction or explanation. He was standing there quietly like Frank hadn’t just dropped a grenade of trauma between them.

“Look at me. Look at me!”

Frank’s loud voice booming once again made you flinch, and Billy finally lifted his head to look at him. Standing up straighter, Billy looked at Frank with unnerving calmness.

“I didn’t pull the trigger-”

“But you knew about it.”

Frank’s voice had been reduced to a wavering whisper. The dim light above highlighted the way his brown eyes had glossed over with treachery that threatened to spill at any second. The pain in his gaze and in his voice brought tears to your own eyes as you looked at him. Billy plastered an impassive look on his sharp features, giving a faint nod of his head and speaking with as much nonchalance as if he was discussing the weather.

“Yeah, I knew.”

Frank closed his eyes solemnly, a stray tear slipping down each of his cheeks, the clear droplets turning pastel pink as they mixed with the deep crimson stains of blood lingering on his face. Inhaling sharply, when Frank opened his eyes again, he looked away for a moment, his eyes darting back and forth rapidly as a muscle feathered in his jaw. His nostrils flared and his lips twitched as he faintly shook his head in denial and disbelief.

“She loved you. My kids loved you.”

“It was just business-”

“It wasn’t business when my kids were callin’ you ‘Uncle Billy’. It wasn’t business when Maria was makin’ sure you had somewhere to spend the holidays. It wasn’t business when I heard my family screamin’ for me. When I saw my wife and my boy…layin’ dead in the grass. When I held my baby girl in my arms, seein’ blood and meat pourin’ out of where her face should be.”

Billy’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he appeared to swallow down even the slightest flicker of remorse. Frank’s bloodied and beaten face was stoic, but his eyes gave away how distraught he was knowing that Billy had been involved in orchestrating the massacre of his family. It hadn’t been an inopportune tragedy getting caught in the middle of a shootout. It had been a premeditated execution. The bullet in Frank’s head was meant to be a killshot.

When Frank lifted his gaze and looked at Billy again, there was nothing but pure hatred left.

“No. It wasn’t just business then, Bill, and it sure as hell ain’t just business now. It’s pretty goddamn personal.”

“I never wanted this-”

“Yeah, well you got it.”

Frank’s bereavement had evaporated from the blaze of retribution that was now burning in his eyes. Billy watched as Frank physically morphed from a brokenhearted man in mourning into a vengeful memento mori right before his eyes. The reality of what Billy had done was so much worse than your wildest imagination could’ve ever conjured. It burned through the short fuse of your temper, and as a surge of adrenaline shot through your nervous system, you shoved the knife away from your throat while Billy was distracted. As soon as he turned his head in your direction, you struck your fist across his face, not even feeling the sharp pain that pierced your knuckles.

“You fucking coward.”

The unexpected impact made Billy stumble a half step backwards, dropping the knife that was in his other hand as it came up to clutch his jaw. He swiftly recovered from the hit and turned the gun on you.

“Whoa whoa whoa, easy there, killer. Let’s calm that little temper down. I’d hate to ruin that pretty face-”

Taking a step closer towards the gun aimed at your chest, you stared him down and bared your teeth in a faint snarl.

“Go ahead. It’ll be nothing compared to what he’s gonna do to yours.”

Billy visibly stiffened at your razor sharp taunt, and his eyes darkened as he stared down at you. Cocking his head to the side slightly, there was a flicker of amusement in his eyes as he suddenly chuckled darkly at your fearless rage.

“Goddamn, Frankie. She this feisty in bed?”

“The hell are you doin’?”

At first you didn’t realize that Frank was talking to you. In the midst of your unfiltered anger, you were still glaring up at Billy. It wasn’t until Frank called your name in a harsh reprimand that you turned to look at him and saw that he was finally looking at you. A flash of confusion interrupted your adrenaline induced wrath noticing that his anger seemed to now be directed at you instead of Billy.

“What?”

“I said what the hell are you doin’? He’s got a goddamn gun, Y/N-”

“Yeah I can see that, it’s pointed at my fucking face.”

Frank clenched his jaw when you snapped at him with equal frustration. He let out a puff of air through his lips and shook his head as he glanced around in pure irritation.

“For Christ’s sake, you never fuckin’ listen, do ya? You’re always runnin’ your goddamn mouth instead of doin’ what you’re told. What’d I say, huh?”

A look of raw hurt and puzzled betrayal crossed your face when Frank yelled at you. You were taken aback by the hostility in his gaze and in his voice. He was staring you down in a way that almost made you shudder.

“I told you keep your distance, yeah? I said stay offline. But you just push, you can’t ever let go of that need for control, can you? And now look at you, underneath all this shit, got your panties all in a fuckin’ twist. You never hesitate, do ya? Just like that day in the cabin.”

Frank’s angry tirade sent such an unexpected shock through you, it took you a moment to register what he was actually saying, but the mention of the cabin abruptly made it click and a light bulb seemed to go off when you realized what Frank was doing.

Distance. Offline. Push. Control. Underneath. Twist. Never hesitate.

“You always aim for my goddamn nerves.”

Frank roughly smacked his palm against his own shoulder in what looked like a display of frustration, but you understood what it really meant.

“Just do what I said. You got that?”

He stared at you with a look in his eyes only you could decipher, a silent communication passing between the two of you, and you steeled your expression as you swallowed thickly and gave him a subtle but imperceptible nod.

“Yeah. I got it.”

“Show me.”

Billy had been looking between you and Frank, amused by your little lover's quarrel. Frank’s final words made his dark brows furrow in curiosity, and when he turned his head to look at him, you quickly surged forward and gripped the barrel of the gun in your left hand, pushing it away from you and slipping your right hand under Billy’s wrist. Twisting the barrel forcefully to the right, Billy grunted as his wrist unexpectedly twisted with it forcing his grip to loosen. The second you pulled it away from his grasp and stepped back, he lunged forward, and you fired a shot right at his shoulder.

“Fuck!”

Billy’s back collided with the wall behind him when the bullet ripped through his right shoulder, his hand immediately coming up to apply pressure. Before the shock of what you’d just done could even register, Frank rushed forward and nearly tackled you as he wrapped his arms around your frame and forced you forward into a sprint. He dragged you down another hallway, and by the time you finally stopped running, your lungs were burning and your hands were trembling.

Frank grabbed you by your shoulders, ducking his head to capture your frantic gaze.

“Listen to me, I need you to run.”

Staring up at him wide eyed, a crease of confusion nestled between your brows.

“What?”

“Madani’s waitin’ outside, Homeland’s got the place surrounded. Take this hallway all the way down. You run, and you don’t look back for nothin’, you got that?”

Your eyes darted back and forth between Frank’s rapidly. Your brain was still trying to process everything that had just happened, but the thought of leaving Frank seemed to snap you out of your shock. A stubborn look of refusal contorted your features as you looked up at him.

“Wha-no. No, I’m not leaving you-”

Frank cupped your face in his large hands and stared down into your eyes with a pleading expression.

“Hey…hey, listen to me sweetheart, listen. I gotta finish this. I can’t…I can’t let it go.”

Frank paused as he swallowed thickly and looked down at you, a sheen of remorse shining in his apologetic expression. His next words felt like a shot to the chest.

“And you can’t stay. You gotta go, you gotta walk away.”

The second those words left his lips, it felt like the breath had been knocked out of your lungs. You immediately started to shake your head in refusal.

“Frank-”

“Go, now.”

“Frank, don’t do this-”

Frank leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your lips, and you hated how much it felt like a goodbye. When he pulled back, he looked down at you with a tender expression and somber swirls in his warm brown eyes. His voice was the softest you’d ever heard it when he traced his thumb over your cheekbone gently.

“I love you, you got that? I love you, but you gotta walk away.”

Tears immediately sprang in your eyes as you slowly shook your head and begged him in a desperate whisper.

“Frank please-”

“Hey, shh shh shh.”

He leaned in and pressed his lips against your forehead in a delicate show of affection, allowing them to linger for a moment before he let go and took a step backwards.

“You gotta do this for me, baby. Please. Please, just this once, do what I ask.”

As soon as he stepped backwards, you stepped forwards and instinctively reached for his hand, gripping onto it tightly. Tears slipped past your bottom lash line while you looked up at him with raw emotion in your eyes, silently begging him not to go.

“Go.”

Frank spoke in a gentle voice, giving your hand a faint squeeze before pulling his away, the blood that had been on his hand now staining yours. Without another word or glance, he turned to walk away, determined to find Billy and finish this. All you could do was watch him disappear, standing right where he left you, feeling like you’d just been shattered into a thousand helpless pieces.

With tears streaming down your face, you could feel panic start to rise in your chest. Turning to look down at the other end of the hallway, your fight or flight seemed to kick in and you started to run frantically. Just as you rounded one of the corners, one of Billy’s men popped out, drawing his rifle on you. Quickly you aimed the gun in your hand back at him, but before either of you could shoot, something suddenly flew out of nowhere and knocked the guy out.

He dropped to the ground with a thud, and you whirled around to aim the gun in your hands towards the shadow it had come from. Your breathing was ragged, and your hands were shaking as you gripped the handle until your knuckles turned stark white. A deep voice suddenly sounded from the darkness.

“Easy, I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Soft footsteps approached, and out of the dark shadows, a pair of dark red horns glinted under the light.

Daredevil.

Your eyes widened as he came into the light, his gloved hands help up in a show of surrender. You were completely stunned as he took cautious steps forward until he was in front of you, reaching out with one hand to gently place it on top of the barrel of the gun, slowly lowering it down.

“Go all the way towards the end of the hall. There’s an exit on your right.”

A look of confusion crossed your features as you glanced down the darkened hallway before looking back up at him. He’d come from an entirely different direction.

“How do you-”

“Just trust me.”

Staring up into the dark lenses of his cowl, you turned your head to look back in the direction of where you’d just run from, where Frank had disappeared. All at once, the gravity of the situation felt too heavy, and you almost buckled under it.

“I…I can’t. I can’t.”

“You need to leave-”

“I can’t leave him.”

Hearing how panicked your breathing was starting to become, he stepped forward, gently grabbing your shoulders to get your attention, and you looked up at him in blurry hopelessness.

“Listen to me, I'm not gonna let anything happen to him, alright? I promise.”

You couldn’t move. The daunting possibility of losing Frank was overwhelming. This whole thing felt like a devastating nightmare you desperately wanted to wake up from. Feeling your hesitation, Daredevil gently squeezed your shoulders again and spoke in an even softer voice.

“Y/N, Frank asked me to help keep you safe. Please let me do that.”

The way he said your name ignited a spark of recognition in your head, and it had a calming effect. You knew that voice. You’d heard it before. Something about him seemed…familiar, and not just because you’d covered articles about the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Something about the way he said Frank’s name sounded familiar too. Letting your eyes wander over his figure in the red and black suit, the gears started turning in your head as you studied the bottom half of his face that wasn’t covered.

“Say his name again.”

“What?”

“Just say it.”

Even with half of his face covered, you could tell that he was clearly puzzled by your request.

“Frank.”

Immediately, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Your eyes widened as you stared up at him in shock, a breathless whisper of his name leaving your lips in disbelief.

“Matt?”

His plump lips parted, and he pulled back as he stood up straight, tilting his head to the side slightly. Before he could stammer out a response, he abruptly turned his to the left, and he dropped his hands from your shoulders.

“There's seven heavily armed men coming this way.”

Turning your head, you stared down the darkened hallway he was looking at in puzzlement. You couldn’t see or hear anything. Looking back up at him, you blinked a few times before tilting your head to the side and staring up at him in complete bewilderment.

“What? How the fuck do you-”

“It’s complicated.”

“Like being a blind lawyer but also Daredevil.”

Matt pursed his lips at your dry tone and sass. He took a step away from you and bent down to pick up the baton up off the floor next to the unconscious man.

“Down the hall. Exit on the right. Go.”

Watching him pull out another baton, you threw your hands up in exasperation, still gripping onto the gun in your hand.

“And what the hell are you gonna do? You said there’s heavily armed men coming and you’re gonna, what? Throw your sticks at them?”

Matt cocked his head to the side as he glanced in your direction, slightly amused by your irritated skepticism.

“They’re batons.”

“Oh, excuse me. Batons. You’re gonna throw your batons at the group of ex-special forces coming this way with automatic weapons.”

A cocky smirk stretched across his lips at your dry sarcasm, and he started to walk backwards.

“Have a little faith, sweetheart.”

When he took off running down the hall, you ran your hand stressfully through your hair, glancing around in complete disbelief. Your boyfriend was the Punisher. Your lawyer was Daredevil. And you were at your wit’s fucking end.

“What the fuck is going on.”

The second you pushed the door open to the exit that led outside, a blinding flash of light had you bringing your hands up to your face, including the one still holding the gun. A swarm of agents wearing protective gear and aiming guns in your direction swiftly rushed towards you, yelling out orders that had you freezing.

“Drop the weapon! Drop it now!”

In a panic, you quickly dropped the gun and held your hands up in surrender. There were police cars, S.W.A.T. trucks, helicopters floating above, and dozens upon dozens of various officers and agents surrounding the area. They were yelling at you to get down on the ground, and you were glancing between all of them anxiously, feeling like you were about to start hyperventilating as you tried to stutter out an explanation.

Before you could get your limbs to work again and comply, a familiar voice carried over the aggressive demands.

“Stand down, now!”

Madani forcefully broke through the line of agents that had you surrounded, shoving her gun into the holster on her hip as she all but ran over towards you. Her brown eyes scanned over you intensely, quickly assessing for any sign of damage or injury.

“What happened? Is Billy still in there? Where’s Frank?”

“I…I shot him.”

A crease of perplexity formed between Madani’s dark brows hearing your shaky response.

“What? You shot who?”

“Billy.”

Madani arched one of her dark brows in surprise, and what looked like a hint of pride. She took a step closer, lowering her voice.

“Is he dead?”

The anxiety coursing through your system was cresting, threatening to crash over you and trap you beneath the tide. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, and you were shaking uncontrollably.

“I don’t…I don’t know.”

Madani reached out to grab your arms, giving them a reassuring squeeze as she attempted to keep you calm while she looked at you.

“Y/N, where’s Frank?”

“He-”

All at once you froze. Madani felt you freeze up, and her brown eyes were darting back and forth between your own rapidly for an answer when she saw your eyes go wide with recognition and shock. She called your name again, but it was muffled in your ears and distant, like your head was underwater. A shaky whisper slipped past your lips as they parted.

“I didn't say it back.”

Madani was watching you intently, trying desperately to figure out what was going on and what had happened.

“Didn’t say what back? What are you talking about?”

In an instant, your eyes welled up with thick tears that turned Madani into a blurry silhouette, and you gripped onto her as though someone had punched a hole through your chest and ripped your heart right out. A choked sob caught in your throat when the gravity of what you had missed hit you with enough force to send a crack through your soul.

“I didn’t say it back, Dinah.”

Turning your head to look back at the abandoned factory behind you, the burden of your mistake fractured your rib cage, and a tide of agony and regret burst through the broken pieces like a wrathful flood. Madani caught you in her arms as you collapsed against her, pulling you into her chest when you succumbed to the grief and completely broke down in tears, letting out a wail of his name that tore through your throat and left it raw.

Frank had told you he loved you, and you didn’t say it back.

You didn’t know if you’d ever get the chance to.

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lalunanymph · 5 months ago

Text

𝐄𝐏𝐈𝐒𝐎𝐃𝐄 𝟑: 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐒

after a scandal that rocks the entire nation, itadori 'ryomen' sukuna is forced to marry a girl chosen by his brother in order to straighten him out. but, what jin doesn't expect is how much he's willing to destroy everything he knows just to get his freedom back—even at the expense of breaking his wife's soul.

warnings: mean!sukuna, unrequited love, explicit smut (sukuna x este), gojoyn besties, forced proximity, overhearing trope, misunderstandings, tension, mentions of alcohol, mentions of drugs, MDNI !!

masterlist | playlist

Itadori Jin is used to cleaning up his brother’s messes.

Whenever Sukuna got himself involved in something he couldn’t handle, Jin would be there in the wings, roped into unwillingly helping him or else his brother would find himself in deeper shit than he could fathom. That has always been the nature of their relationship, and this time, it’s no different.

I want to push the wedding back by a month, his brother’s voice slurs in his memories.

Tch, Jin internally moans. He’s just offended one of their biggest, potential investors and now, Jin has to scramble to solve the issue before your father decides that this match was not worth pursuing.

Standing right in front of your father’s study, he raises a fist and knocks three times to get Jiro’s attention.

The door opens, and your father finds Jin sheepishly smiling at him, hands politely clasped behind his back.

Snapping the book in his grasp shut, the patriarch of the L/N family gestures for him to come into his study with a smile. Jin takes it as a win that he’s not frowning or angry—it means he can still salvage this deal.

“How can I help you, Itadori-san?”

Bowing to the older man, the Itadori Chairman humbly takes a seat before him, hands folded primly on his lap as he shoots your father a tentative smile. “I wanted to talk to you about something important—a wedding date for Sukuna and your daughter.”

“Oh.” Fully turning his attention to the younger man, your father earnestly searches Jin’s gaze, waiting for him to continue.

“I know my brother has unfairly pushed back the wedding date for a month without consulting me, and so to make amends, I want us to discuss a timing that would suit your family.”

Jiro strokes his chin. He’s dressed in a casual, blue button down and charcoal slacks, looking like a man waiting for a meeting to start rather than a relaxed father on holiday. In a way, both men were similar—Jin, too, was always alert and available to talk business despite how drained he was from the burdens of running such a big company all on his own.

“Your consideration is admirable, Itadori-san,” your father praises, a twinkle in his eye. “I think we can put it for the middle of next month when autumn begins so it’ll be a fruitful union, don’t you think?”

“An autumn wedding,” Jin hums. “It would be lovely.”

“So that by spring, my daughter might bear both our families the fruits of her labor,” he chuckles, and Jin joins him, a little perplexed at how openly he’s speaking about your future pregnancy.

“It is my sincere hope she and my brother finds happiness together,” Jin remains polite, though he’s wondering how Sukuna would come to terms with this new arrangement.

Jiro stands and heads to his liquor cart, pouring out a measure of whiskey in two custom made glasses. “I think we should toast to this, Itadori-san.”

Never one to miss out on a good celebration, Jin’s chuckle is considerably warmer, and he accepts the whiskey with a nod of thanks.

The older man settles onto the high back chair, and lifts up his glass.

“To both our families—may we be united as one very soon.”

Relief courses through Jin at how easily Jiro accepts the apology and suggestion, knowing that he’s overcome the hardest part. Now, it was up to Sukuna to keep their deal alive.

“To our families,” Jin touches the rim of his glass to Jiro’s. “May we be united very soon.”

Sukuna almost misses home.

It’s not as if he’s not enjoying his time in Hokkaido. He’s trying (keyword: trying) to play it cool with you so that Jin doesn’t get on his case and constantly harps on him to treat you better.

But, it’s so hard to keep up this facade when another woman is lingering in the back of his mind.

Este is always in the periphery whenever he’s trying to have a conversation with you, playing cards or having a meal together. He can’t fight the feeling of how her eyes seem to burn into him, and it’s made even worse when he remembers that her room is just a few doors down from his own.

In all honesty, Sukuna would’ve made do with his own company and a glass of whiskey for tonight, when a familiar scent wafts into the room and a dark beauty wearing a seductive smile catches his eye.

“Oi, you can’t come in here,” Sukuna scolds without looking at her. Your things are still on his side of the bed. You’re god knows where in this fucking colossal lodge, but you could return anytime to find your fiance entangled with a woman who you thought, for all intents and purposes, was his closest friend.

“Come on, Sukuna,” she coos, and he stifles the urge to roll his eyes, knowing it would just egg her on.

The tattooed man is about to call her out for her fuckery and ask her to leave when he hears the unmistakable snap of a zip lock bag opening.

He stiffens, the sound he loathes yet loves the most Pavloving him into utter stillness.

Este’s triumph melts on his tongue, but he’s immune to its taste when he slowly comes face to face with her, pupils in pinpricks and mouth slightly ajar.

She breezes past the threshold with a coy smile, and in her hands is his salvation—his one true love he’s been missing since their excursion to the mountains.

“I couldn’t sleep, Ryo,” she purrs, and slides onto his bed, crossing her legs. It takes everything in Sukuna not to jump her and grab the small packet grasped in between her purple acrylics, its contents shaken teasingly as she drags her gaze up and down his fit build. “So, I thought, why don’t I come here with our favorite lullaby?”

That deranged pit inside of him twists and turns, clawing out for relief. He swallows hard, and she doesn’t miss how his eyes never leave the white powder in her hands.

She knows it’s been days since his last hit; in fact, she was there when they were both high out of their fucking minds.

Este is treading dangerous waters, especially when she senses the tension emanating off him in waves. The tightening cord of the muscles in his jaw, the hitched breath.

There is no way you’re going to do this, the last shred of sanity inside of him screams. This is yours and Y/N’s bedroom! It’s sacrilegious to even bring another person here.

But, like every warning in his life, he ignores it, dragging his feet towards her. An unwilling slave to this prison that she’s erected with her own two hands—playing on his ruin with a smile on her rose blush lips and a twinkle in her deep brown eyes.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he mumbles hoarsely. Sukuna unwillingly lays it on thick, the desperation making him say things he doesn’t mean. “I need you.”

“You do?” She loves to tease him, draw out his relief. “If you did, then why are you getting closer and closer to her, hmm?”

Oh. Sukuna’s brow knits together. She’s talking about you.

“What the fuck do you mean?” He fights back the urge to snarl, needing to play nice with her so he can feel the hit in his veins; the adrenaline spiking and taking him down those blessed roads of blissful numbness.

A pout worms its way on her full lips, and Sukuna feels his cock twitch in his sleep pants.

“Y/N,” she drags your name like it’s a curse, eyes flashing darkly. “I hate it that she’s here. That I have to see you two together.”

Sukuna rolls his eyes, planting his hands on either side of her thighs. This close, he can see the sheen of some expensive serum or another glazing her skin, taste her minty breath.

He drags his nose up her neck, feeling her pulse quicken underneath the thin skin. Skin which blooms easily with marks, he thinks, as he places his lips on where her blood hums the wildest, sucking and tasting her till she tenses and her thighs squeeze.

Gotcha. Sukuna hears her breathing deepen, and he senses her crumbling walls; the flimsy self-control she barely has disintegrating to dust right at his feet.

He grabs the packet from her hands, continuing to kiss and lick down her neck, leaving his marks between her breasts and around them—careful not to mark her neck in case the other families notice.

She preens and whines under his attention, her legs instinctively hooking around his midsection. He chuckles, a low, baritone sound which makes her shakily whimper out his name.

The straps of her nightgown slip off her shoulders while he’s busy tasting her skin, and Sukuna eggs them on; removing the scanty piece of clothing and leaving her bare, firm body open to his scrutiny.

As thanks for her kindness in sharing such a gift with him, Sukuna rips open the package and tips it over her chest, leaving a well-practiced white line in between her tits.

Este giggles when she feels his hair tickling her neck, and Sukuna inhales the coke with a flourish, letting the drugs coat his neurotransmitters, bringing a zing of happiness all the way up into his brain. He kisses her, well and deep with tongue, and Este reciprocates, running her hands up and down his back; squeezing his biceps and grabbing his shoulders.

Blood rushes down his body, straight to his cock, and he can’t hold back any longer; he needs to reward her for her kindness.

“Keep your legs spread,” he commands, pushing the band of his sweatpants down to free his stiff cock. Those glassy vermillion eyes focus on her lips, using them as an anchor when he leans forward and kisses her; a distraction for when he pushes past her tight pussy.

“Ssh,” he mumbles, slapping a huge hand over her mouth. Sukuna would personally kill himself if any of the other upper echelon families found out about his affair with Este. “Shut up. No one can know you’re here.”

She nods behind his palm, and he keeps it there in case she can’t control her reactions. Moving inside of her, Sukuna feels her body rhythmically pulsing along with his, a dance the two of them were familiar with.

The coke messes with his mind, and his resolve weakens considerably, especially when he removes his palm and kisses her right on her parted mouth.

“I love you,” she whines past his lips, where he tastes her desperation and the truth he can’t spit out of his mouth. His bloodshot eyes devour her expressions, wondering how many times he’s put her in this position and he comes to terms with the fact that he’s lost count.

Sukuna doesn’t reply to her inebriated declaration, choosing instead to kiss her hard when she shatters around his cock with a soft cry of his name.

Throughout the entire trip, you’ve never exactly hung out with Sukuna one-on-one.

It was always chaperoned by your mother or an activity attended by the other important families so you two would never fully be alone. Since the Gojos sent their only son as a representative, you would hang out with Satoru on afternoons when your artistic inspiration was at its lowest.

Despite having every right to be reserved with you as your family was not on the level of vieux riche as theirs were, Satoru was easy company to keep throughout the day. Whenever you painted, he would hang around you, throwing jokes and chortles which distracted you from your rampant art block and eased your discomfort till you were comfortable enough to rib him back.

“Oi, Y/N, get your eyes off the canvas and let’s go for a soak,” Satoru whines, and you narrowly dodge a cushion he throws at you.

Scoffing indignantly, you pick the throw up and lob it back to him, catching him square in the face. “This is just an excuse for you to see me in a towel, Satoru.”

If your mother were here, she would chastise your blatant words, citing them as a flirtation tactic which would jeopardize your deal with the Itadoris. But, thankfully, she was having tea with the other mamas, and wasn’t around to hear you and giggling at Satoru’s betrayed expression.

“Then bring your damn fiance along and let’s get this show on the road,” he groans, tossing his head back and letting it thump against the sofa back. “I’m so bored out of my wits. The mountains have nothing. No clubs, no hot girls. I’m famished.”

“What if we went skiing?” you suggested. Not one for pursuing the slopes, this was a new adventure zone for you, but Satoru didn’t have to know about your discomfort. He perks up, grinning. You think that in another life, you and Gojo could’ve been the best of siblings.

“I think that’s great,” he claps his hands, looking like an overgrown 6’3 toddler with twinkling blue eyes. “We can take the pro slope! And then once we’re done, let’s go for some ochazuke—”

“What’s happening?”

Instantly, the air in the room nosedives to Hyperborean levels. Sukuna and Este stand by the second living room door, and you miss how Satoru’s bright blue gaze darts from between them, his mouth twisting at the corners.

You don’t sense his unease, back going ramrod straight as you shoot your fiance a smile. “Hey, Itadori-san. Satoru was just thinking we should go skiing. I’ve never done it before, so maybe you can show me?”

What was an innocent question was met with a smirk from him and a giggle from Este.

“Sukuna loves skiing,” she says, and you’re confused why they’re both sharing a look of knowing contempt.

“Oh,” you mutter. “If that’s the case then it’ll be great if you can join, too, Este-san.”

While you weren’t exactly comfortable with spending having Este onboard, it would be rude to not try and include her. Maybe you both would finally break the ice, figuratively and literally, and get to know each other better.

Sukuna opens his mouth, and you think he’s about to reject your offer, when Este butts in with a saccharine sweet, “I would love that! Wouldn’t you, ‘Kuna?”

If either men were thrown off by the sudden flirtatious note in her tone, they didn’t bring it up to you. Satoru looks away, coughing awkwardly, while Sukuna glares, his displeasure hewed out of stone cold annoyance.

Backed into a corner by his oldest friend and with nowhere to go, Sukuna raises his hands in defeat, tossing you a careless smirk which makes you catch your breath.

“I guess I have no choice. We should all go, then, Y/N. Does 3PM sound good?”

This time, it’s you who opens your mouth but is interrupted by Satoru who barks out a laugh.

“3PM is perfect.”

Sukuna levels him a look which Satoru doesn’t back down from. As one of the most important heirs in the country’s economic wheel, the white-haired man is a key player in any future biddings of mergers; Sukuna knows not to overstep in case he misses out on a pot of gold.

Flashing the other man a brief grin, Sukuna nods. “Fine. 3PM, then.”

As he disappears out of the room, Este trails behind him, looking like a lost puppy following after her owner’s heels.

The sight doesn’t give you any malicious afterthought, until it’s Satoru who clears his throat and you look up to find him frowning.

“Don’t you think it’s strange,” he starts, and confusion settles in for you when he nervously darts his gaze away.

“What’s strange?”

Instead of answering you, the Gojo heir lobs you a look of pure disbelief. “Um, hello? Don’t we both have eyes? I’m sure yours is still working, Y/N-kun.”

Your brows knit together, and you mumble a quick, “Huh?”

Satoru heaves in a dramatic sigh, as if he can’t believe he has to do this. “Oh my god, don’t make me spell it out for you—Este and Sukuna.”

You’re genuinely confused now, setting your palette and brush down. “What about the both of them?”

For the first time since you’ve met him, you’re confronted with Gojo’s annoyed stare. Shrinking back, you wait for his anger to overflow, as it tends to do with people in these circles who have little patience for you. And it does—just, surprisingly, not directed at you.

“They think they’re so slick being all cuddly and lovey-dovey right in front of us like we wouldn’t talk,” he hisses. “I’m sure the maids are already gossiping amongst themselves. Sukuna is shameless to act this way—especially to you of all people considering you’re gonna be his future wife.”

You’re struck mute by his observation and without warning, a dull ache pierces your chest. You wince, and look away from those glacial blue eyes, needing some time to compose yourself before you speak cautiously, as if every word you put forward has the potential to trap you under a crushing weight.

“Sukuna and Este have been close friends since they were in university together, Satoru. I trust my fiance and know he wouldn’t hurt me like this,” you pause, biting your lower lip. “Especially when he himself knows what’s at stake if he doesn’t marry me.”

Satoru wrinkles his nose. “Accepting it and actually having to live through it are two different things, Y/N. Imagine if you married him and it’s not the life you want? Would you still be this nonchalant about your fate?”

His intentions come from a good place, but you couldn’t help feeling like a little girl getting a thorough scolding.

Removing your paint-splattered overalls, you drape it over the chair, sighing. “It’s not like I had hopes we would be in love or even happy together, Satoru. As long as Itadori-san respects me, I’m willing to see this marriage through—for the sake of my family.”

The note of finality you elucidate is enough for Satoru to take heed and pause.

You can tell he’s still disgruntled on your behalf, but doesn’t say a word, shrugging his broad shoulders. “You know what, you’re stronger than most of us, Y/N. Anyway, just please be careful and—”

He surprises you by reaching out to grab your wrist, holding you in place. Those icy blue eyes of his melt, transforming into two pools of worry.

“—if you ever need someone to talk to, you can always reach out to me.” He lets go of your wrist, and in a show of kindness you don’t deserve, says:

“I’m here for you as a friend. You’re going to need someone soon enough, Y/N.”

Satoru’s words linger long in your mind as you gaze out of the sedan’s tinted window, dressed in your skiing gear.

The Gojo heir had an emergency meeting to handle and couldn’t follow you to the slopes, so it’s just you, Sukuna and Este.

Butterflies pool in your stomach, their wings collectively beating a disconcerting tune that threatens to spill out of your ribcage. You feel slightly dizzy when the car comes to a stop, right at the lobby of a nearby resort.

Disembarking, you accept your butler’s help to carry your gear, the rumbling of another pair of wheels catching your attention.

Sukuna steps out of the Jeep, Este right behind him as they’re laughter rings through your buzzing ears, dying down once they notice you at the entrance.

His grin takes you off guard, and he sweeps past her, surprising you both by wrapping an arm around your shoulders. Glancing up at him, it’s easy to be blinded by his effortless charisma, the indents of dimples on his cheeks whenever his smile grows too wide.

“Thanks for waiting for us, Y/N. Come on—you’re gonna enjoy this ride.”

You let him steer you towards the practice slopes, and he even bends down to snap on your gear for you, making sure to adjust your helmet and goggles. All three layers of your clothes and windbreaker makes you feel like a bobbing snowman, your grumbles making him snicker.

“At least when you fall on your ass, it’ll be well-padded.”

“What do you mean?” It’s easy to mishear his words as a provocation, especially when he couples them with that devilish smile you’re still getting used to.

Sukuna snorts, handing you the poles an instructor passes to him. “Come on, or we’ll miss the ski lift.”

In your periphery, another instructor helps Este with her boots, and you try not to pay too much attention to how even in multiple layers, she manages to look so effortlessly chic. Her sleek black gear strikes a contrast with the white powdery snow, and compared to your girlish pink jacket and board you borrowed from your mother, it’s clear who’s the seasoned pro.

“I’ll catch you both down the slope, okay?” She chimes as she passes by the two of you. Luckily, your back faces Sukuna, or else you would’ve noticed the slight frown he wore.

“Be careful,” he warns, and she waves him off.

“I know what I’m doing.” Tossing you a smirk, she adds, “Whatever you do, don’t fall flat on your face, Y/N—it won’t be pretty.”

Before you could retort, she’s gliding away towards the ski lift, and you’re left in an awkward state together with your fiance.

“Well, come on,” he mutters gruffly, dropping all pretext now that nobody’s here to see him pretend. “Your mother told us to get back in time for dinner. Let’s move now.”

You follow behind him, trudging in your too big boots and using your ski poles as support. The wind bites through the scarf pulled up high over your cheeks, and you swear your fingers are frozen around the pole. But, you don’t pay any of it too much attention, focusing on following Sukuna right to the ski lift.

He’s a natural with his movements, fluid and sure, and you follow his instructions to lift off the second your board touches the ground. For a split second, you’re cruising down the slope when you’re gaining too much momentum, and speed past him. A scream rips from your throat and you try to slow down, digging in your heels…

Only to fall flat right on your ass, like he predicted.

Soreness radiates from where you’re planted on the ground, and you wince, trying to stand.

Sukuna skids to a stop right in front of you, and instead of helping you up, he’s trying his hardest not to laugh.

“It’s not funny,” you whine, and try to stand. Unfortunately, your core muscles aren’t strong enough, and you flop right back down to the ground. He doesn’t assist you, arching a brow and waiting for you to stand.

“Come on. Just tuck in your tailbone and try to stand.”

“I can’t!” you shoot back, giving him a murderous glare. “Help me, damn it.”

Sukuna snorts, and you’re sure he would at least extend a hand, not shrug and kick up snow once he pivots away, joining the black dot in the distance that you recognize as Este.

Humiliation creeps up to you in burning waves, making your face all hot and splotchy.

The snow is starting to make your ski pants wet, and you’re close enough to disregard your dignity and flop onto your belly just for a chance to try and shuffle onto your hands and knees, when a tall figure blocks out the sunlight, casting you in his shadow.

“Damn, already kissing the ground, loser?”

You don’t expect to see Satoru right in front of you, bearing a smirk and an outstretched hand.

“Wait, why’re you here—?”

“Meeting ended early, so I came to watch you embarrass yourself,” he replies and giggles as if it was the funniest joke in the world.

Tossing him a glare, you don’t refute his help, especially when it comes after Sukuna’s rejection. He effortlessly tugs you up, scrutinizing you from head to toe for any injuries. Satisfied at finding none, he turns his attention to another pressing matter.

“They didn’t wait for you?” Satoru questions once you’re stable on your feet. Fighting back shivers from the frigid cold, you shake your head.

He doesn’t say another word, though you can tell the wheels in his head are turning. But, he chooses to shrug it off, gesturing down the peaks, looking tall and sturdy in his professional gray gear and UV protection goggles.

“Race you down to the bottom—loser has to buy the other one a beer!”

“Hey—”

For the second time today, you’re left tasting snow in your mouth when Satoru shoots past you, straight to the end goal. Without any time to waste, you push yourself downwards, maneuvering with the ski poles, hellbent on beating that lanky asshole and showing Sukuna that you could handle yourself.

You’re going faster than before, everything becomes white in your periphery; focusing on passing the break of fir trees faster than Satoru could. Someone calls for you to stop, and you bend your knees, snow flying everywhere, breathing hard when you realize you’re almost at the lip of another cabin.

Huffing, Satoru comes behind you, narrowing his eyes with his cheeks red and puffy.

“Oi, you could’ve collided into a wall with that speed,” he grumbles, but you don’t hear him.

“Did I win?” You look around expectantly, and notice Sukuna trudging towards you both.

“Satoru,” he doesn't sound the least amicable when regarding the other man; in fact, he sounds sort of disappointed. “Why’re you here?”

“I came to see if Y/N could beat your ass,” he smoothly changes his motive, and you gape, wondering if you should call him out in front of your fiance.

“Everything was fine,” he says and jerks his head towards you. “She didn’t die.”

“I wasn’t here for her,” Satoru snorts, and if you weren’t buzzing from the adrenaline, you would’ve noticed Sukuna glaring at him like a cat who’s had its prey snapped up from its jaw by another feline.

Their bickering is interrupted by Este sliding to a stop next to Sukuna, her pale cheeks glowing from the cold. You subconsciously touch your beanie, hoping it's not askew and your hair is not in a mess.

“Stop fighting,” she snorts, the winter breeze playing with the ends of her brown locks. Landing her gaze on you, you’re surprised to find a fond smile etched on her lips, as if you two were close friends rather than awkward acquaintances—another ruse meant to confuse you and Satoru.

“All that matters is Y/N has won and that’s it. I think we should rent a cabin and celebrate.”

Shockingly, it’s Satoru who’s all for it. “Yeah, sounds like a plan,” he enthuses, and you wonder what he has up his sleeve. “I’ll make a call. Excuse me.”

Within seconds when Gojo leaves and you’re left standing, dumbstruck with a frowning Sukuna and an aloof Este, you wonder what you had done in your past life to deserve such excruciating awkwardness. The Nara heiress is scrolling through her phone and Sukuna stifles a yawn, both of them looking like they would be anywhere else in the world rather than here.

“—thank you!”

Everyone perks up when Satoru ambles back to the group, a big grin in place. “Found a spot. Cabin 12. Come on. The owner says they’re usually booked but it’s a rare gem for vacant spots.”

Begrudgingly, you follow Satoru, Este and Sukuna, feeling out of place when the three of them strike up conversations about business and properties, your own knowledge of your father’s company being shoddy at best. All of them come from old money and have seen how their grandfathers ran these companies since they could walk while you, on the other hand, barely visited your father’s office if you could help it.

To say you were a fish out of the water was an understatement.

“... $5 million in notes, they should be launching an IPO anytime soon.”

“Nice,” Sukuna nods appreciatively, sparing Este a sly smile. “40,000 shares would suffice, don’t you think?”

She scoffs, and you wonder why out of everyone else’s word, hers is taken into more consideration than Satoru’s who is the literal heir to the great Gojo Corp.

“Make that 50,000. Projections on profits are at 13% come next quarter. You should bank then buck when January rolls around or else you’re going to suffer.”

Satoru hums, and turns back to look at you, the glint in his ice-blue eyes cajoling you to join in the conversation and not linger behind the group like a silent shadow.

“Dreaming of opening any big businesses, Y/N?”

Uncomfortable with the sudden attention on you, your eyes fall to the snow-packed ground, buying yourself time to reply. “Um… I told Itadori-san before that I wanted to open an art gallery—”

“Why?” Before you could even finish your thought, Este interrupts you with a scoff. She looks at you like you’ve failed a simple comprehension test, her mauve lips tautly pulled into a pout. “Art galleries are money drainers, Y/N. Even a child knows that.”

She scrutinizes you from head to toe, and you can’t help the shiver tearing through you which has nothing to do with the sub zero mountain temperature.

“Galleries are for bored wives of rich men who have nothing to do and nothing to show for.” She waves a hand towards Sukuna’s direction. “But, I suppose that’s all your life will be once you marry Sukuna, isn’t that right?”

You don’t know how to answer her, and you’re spared from this cringeworthy situation when Satoru exclaims, “We’re here!”

Saved by the bell, you hasten your steps, catching up to Gojo and leaving both Sukuna and Este behind.

Satoru leans close, and to anyone else it looks like he’s trying to tell you a joke, but the reality could not be any different.

“Don’t let her get to you, okay?” He advises, an easygoing smile on his lips though you can detect an undercurrent of tension from his words. “It isn’t worth it to get worked up over people like her.”

You want to ask him what he means by people like her when you catch your tongue, coming to the slow realization.

Both Sukuna and Este were two sides of the same coin, equally vicious and mean-spirited towards you when you meant no harm. Does Satoru know about how treats me behind doors and makes me sleep on the floor when we’re supposed to share a bed together? You debate telling him about it, wondering how he would react; if he would recoil in disgust or shrug as if such a thing were normal.

There isn’t any time to reconsider when he opens the door, leading everyone into a simple yet clean looking living room space with wide windows and a tiny fireplace belching out heat.

“Let’s rest here and reconvene later to go back up to our base,” Gojo suggests. No one refutes him, too tired to make the long trek back to the hotel lobby and wait for their Range Rovers to arrive. “Y/N,” he looks at you, “Do you want to help me in the kitchen?”

Satoru cooks? You wonder what else the Gojo heir can surprise you with. As you tag along and follow the white-haired man into the kitchen, you feel someone’s gaze on you.

Turning back, you see Sukuna’s sharp stare piercing through you.

But, before you can open your mouth and ask him what’s wrong, he drops his gaze and sinks onto the couch, ignoring your existence once again.

“... reports of a snowstorm ravaging Mount Hakodate... advised to stay inside... skiing operations are suspended for the time being…”

Heavy snowfall batters against the glass windows, the hail gusting outside rattling the cabin’s hollow walls as the radio cracks the news in the background.

You’re huddled up next to Satoru, close to the fireplace while Sukuna stays by your right, Este tucked right next to him.

The reason for such close proximity isn’t because of want, but because of the embers glowing faintly from the fireplace and the lack of firewood which spikes unspoken worries across the room. You fight back a shiver, imagining your mother’s frantic worry and your father trying to reason with the other parents to bring down a rescue team for his daughter and future son-in-law.

No one could’ve anticipated such a setback, the snowstorm warning coming in shortly after the doors started rattling and white snow blankets the outside world, covering the windows and effectively locking everyone inside until further notice.

Your stomach growls and you’re reminded that besides some spiked eggnog, you’ve barely eaten anything for the day.

“We should’ve left for the lodge when we had a chance,” Este grumbles. Sukuna echoes her frustration in a sigh.

“I’m going to lie down on the bed, it’s too cramped here,” he complains, mouth set in a sour line as he trudges towards a nearby room. Satoru watches and waits to see if Este would follow him, but she doesn’t, wisely staying put to not draw more attention to her.

Smart girl, he thinks. She’s playing the long-term game. He shudders to think what would happen if he wasn’t here with you—how she wouldn’t bother to hide behind a facade as she sinks her talons into your fiance.

Satoru casts a look towards you, and what he feels bubbling in his chest catches him unexpectedly.

He wants nothing more than for you to open your eyes to what he can clearly see right in front of him. But, you’re too innocent and sweet for your own good. You think no one has it out for you, when this world is made of thorns and deception, thriving on the strong devouring the weak. And as the strongest, he has a duty to watch out for those who can’t even protect themselves.

“We’ll get home safely,” he says to the quiet room. You smile at his attempt at trying to comfort the both of you, while Este rolls her eyes petulantly, ever the pessimist.

“We better,” she grumbles, inspecting her nails and frowning when she finds her pinkie nail chipped. “I need another dose of retinol… this cold is making me shrivel up.”

You can tell Satoru is resisting the urge to snort because you’re trying your hardest not to as well.

Catching his eye, you think it’s not so bad to be caught in this storm if you had him by your side.

“So,” he starts, ignoring Este and focusing on you. “You beat me at the race. When would you like to claim your free beer?”

You miss how the brunette gives you a look laced with shock and outward contempt. Satoru’s attention is not on her either, the both of you collectively deciding to ignore her like she was a piece of furniture in this room.

“I guess whenever you’re free.” Unable to resist subtly throwing Este’s words back in her face, you mumble, “Maybe after I set up the gallery because that’s all my life will be—boring—so you’ll have to brighten it a little, Satoru.”

He exhales a laugh, and from the corner of your eye, you see Este shooting you a look of vitriol.

Keeping up with your wit, the white-haired man snorts, shaking his head.

“Anything to liven up a bored, rich wife’s life, am I right?”

The minute all four of you return to safety once the snowstorm subsides, your mother calls for a party to celebrate.

Barely finding your footing out of the Range Rover and back to the warmth of the lodge, you’re whisked away to get ready for the night, this confusing turn of events exacerbated by Sukuna’s distance when you both have a chance to unwind in the shared room.

He doesn’t utter a word when you set your clothes on the bed, faraway gaze locked in the distance as if he couldn’t be bothered with your presence.

“Itadori-san, you didn’t catch a cold, right?”

His attention snaps back to you, and you shrink back, wondering if you’ve done something wrong judging from his bitter glare.

“Why don’t you ask Gojo instead, hmm? Seeing as you’re both being so chummy together.”

You pause from the motion of wiping your face, gaping at him in confusion. “Excuse me?”

Your fiance, who only a few hours ago barely cared to help you to your feet from the slopes, advances towards you, a sneer on his handsome face as he corners you flush to the wall, close enough for you to smell the threatening anger wafting off of him.

“Don’t you fucking play stupid with me, woman,” he snarls. “I saw the way you looked at him. Do you want me to tell daddy that his little girl is two-timing her fiance with another man?”

Grating and mocking. His words send a chill up your spine. You want to fight back—to tell him that he’s wrong and that if anyone is to be blamed, it’s him with his blatant preference for Este over you. But, the words can’t fall from your tongue. To say them would be to confront their existence, and you’re not sure if you have the courage to cross that bridge just yet.

The idea of your fiance preferring another woman, even if she’s his friend, doesn't sit right with you. Coupled with the fact that he’s never once spoken ill of her and solely chose to treat you harshly makes you wonder if Satoru’s words were right—if Este and Sukuna are more than just friends.

“You’re insane,” you splutter, pushing him away. “Satoru and I are just friends. Unlike you and Este.”

His sneer falters, and you swear for a single second you see a sheen of fear in his vermillion eyes. It’s instantly replaced with disdain.

“Now, you’re the one who’s insane. Este?” He scoffs and grabs your arm, dragging you close enough so you’re face-to-face with him. Heart in your throat, you feel the fear pressing close to you, breathing down your neck like a terrifying poltergeist.

“Don’t you dare insinuate something like that.” He lets you go, pushing you away, leaving you to stumble and hold onto the wall to right yourself. “Know your place, Y/N.”

The storm of his retribution passes, and he leaves you alone with your chaotic thoughts, mind racing a mile a minute.

Anger… fear… injustice…

It all coalesces in you until you feel its tightening grip around your throat. Your vision narrows to nothing but your trembling palms; your heart is beating so erratically you think it might claw out of your chest.

You hear nothing. See nothing.

Why? The unfairness crashes into you, clogging your mind, numbing to sensations until you feel like you exist in a vacuum, floating aimlessly in a void created by the lack of your fiance’s presence.

He hates you. Sukuna hates you with every fiber of his being.

You thought it was a joke; a blip of his personality where he takes time to open up and get to know a person. But, right off the bat, he’s never liked you.

For what reason? You try to wrack your brain for a hint of wrongdoing you’ve committed against him, shuffling through memories, micro-expressions, a change in the mood or tone which signifies the reason for his deep seated anger towards you.

Your rumination comes up empty.

You stagger back onto the bed, feeling its softness for the first time in days, casting your gaze to the alcove with a futon, blanket and pillow he’s made you sleep on so he doesn’t have to be burdened by your presence.

Humiliation grates you like a shredder, sloughing away your defenses until only anger remains and you stagger to your feet, fists clenched to your side.

You were going to ask him the reason once and for all.

Why do you hate me?

What have I ever done to you?

Do you even want this marriage in the first place?

What average people didn’t know about the ultra rich was that they were born with a different set of shackles—restraints which many of them couldn’t even comprehend.

Unlike the other individuals in your society concerned with superficial things like money, status or accumulated wealth, your concern has and always will be, your family’s well being. It didn’t matter what role you had to play. You understood from a young age how important you were to your father’s legacy—his position in this society—and you would do anything to help him advance it.

That was your role. These were your shackles.

And didn’t Sukuna have the same type of burden?

He, too, was raised with the idea of duty above all—duty above love. Above selfishness and lust.

If anyone is to understand your predicament, it would be the man you were set to weather these storms with.

Rounding the corner, you pass the in-house glass garden, about to wander towards the bar when you hear the unmistakable sound of someone sniffling. You hide in the shadows, the light of a mock gaslight throwing you into complete anonymity. Only a sliver of light graces the barely-lit hallway where the open door and a sudden, heavy sadness pricks your curiosity.

There’s a pause. An unsteady breath.

“He’s brought the wedding forward,” you hear the voice murmur, and it strikes you with his deepness—Sukuna’s richness and despair.

Inching closer towards the parted door, you hear him groan and exude a shuddering breath.

He’s crying. The astonishment doesn’t last, shattered by him cursing under his breath.

“I can’t marry her. I don’t ever want to marry. I’m not… not the type…”

He trails off and there’s another shuddering exhale.

It hits you then that he’s sobbing.

“Fucking Jiro. He won’t stop until he’s destroyed us. I will never forgive him for what he did to our family. Never in a million years—”

Sukuna breaks off, muffling a keen with what sounded like his palm.

“And Jin, he—” Sukuna curses. “He just fucking agrees with no hesitation? Like this? Fuck!”

The sound of glass shatters, making you flinch.

“I can’t do this. I can’t. I can’t—” He chokes off, and you think this might be it; he’s going to call off the engagement tonight.

“But, what about the merger money?”

Nothing in the world could prepare you for such a shock.

Este’s soft voice ripples around you like a bomb that’s just been activated, shaking you so badly you have to cover your mouth to keep from gasping out loud.

“It’s just until the transaction is complete. That’s like, what—? A year? You can be with her for just a year, Ryo. Then, once it’s done—”

“I’ll divorce her,” Sukuna vows, and shards of pain stab into you with how resolute he sounds.

Like he’s already made up his mind even before giving you the chance to change it.

The wool is lifted from your eyes, and panic settles around you, muffling your every thought, making you sick to the stomach.

What should I do? Do I tell my parents? Do I go on with this? Is this real? Is he just drunk? Why is Este with him? Are they together? Is she conspiring with him? Will he hurt me? Why does he hate my family? What did my father do? What should I do?

What should I do?

a/n. ruh-roh

btw feedbacks and reblogs will always be loved <3 thank you for supporting my story this far i luv u

©️ lalunanymph. do not copy elements of my work, repost, change the sentence structures, translate across any other platforms. and claim as your own

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