#((but even if she were tender and loving and kind and everyone always wanted to be around her))

[abyssembraced]

Making You the Patron Saint of Something

Patron Saint of Creation

Patron saint of explosions. Patron saint of More. Patron saint of something new entirely. Something unfamiliar, something you can't recognize. Was Frankenstein's monster an abomination or had his like just never been seen before? You're the patron saint of all those new, beautiful things. You're the patron saint of the monsters, too.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Patron Saint of Bones

Patron saint of frameworks. Of structures. Of solidity. Patron saint of things that break. Patron saint of things that are left behind. The bones survive long after the body, the building: what is there left for them, when the rest is gone? What do bones do, with nothing to hold around them? Who holds the bones?

~~~~~~~~~~~

Tagged by: @distrxst (thank you!)

Tagging: Back at it again with tagging Everyone <3 And again, if you have multiple rp blogs, absolutely feel free to do it for one other than the one I tagged!! @bladesfromthedark , @legalbrats , @tazmilyxfamily , @pri-rp , @hopeful-hugz , @quillheel , @musescfmusic , @interdimensional-ship

[irndad]

oh, but you're good to me -s.r.

a/n: i continue to not know the word count- but here's pining!spencer x sunshine!reader!! very hozier coded <3

The team has gone out for drinks after a stressful week, and this is a moment where Spencer finds that his willpower does not so easily overpower his desire. They’d chosen a kind of kitsch place, the kind where there’s couches where waitresses could bring you your drink under dimmed lights and music with cozy acoustic music played. Emily and Morgan were comparing conquests at their trip to the club the week prior, Penelope chiming in with warm support on either end. On the opposite table, Hotch and Rossi were discussing criminology in serious, even tones. 

And Spencer, well. He was well-occupied. 

His best friend is on the team, and he does not say that lightly. She’s earned her place in his heart, as hopelessly romantic as that makes him sound. But she did. He remembers the day he met her, warm tone seeped in patience and understanding. 

He remembers the sight of her like its engraved crystal, carved into the basis of his mind. Her delicate features distinct in their warm kindness. She’d offered her hand, shook it and giggled a sweet sound when he’d said it’d be safer to kiss. He’d blushed enough that his lack of flirtation in his intent was clear. 

On the jet, that first case, she’d listened to him talk about Russian literature and other obscure topics he couldn’t remember now, because now, all he can recall is the color of her doe eyes meeting him in intention. 

He’s pretty sure he’s in love with her. 

Which, right now, feels a bit like a drug- both painful and exhilarating. She’s a cuddly drunk (only with him, it seems) and he’s got a lanky arm tugged over her shoulder. It’s lovely in a way words vex him, the weight of her against him. 

“You look nice today, Spence,” she muses, looking up at him. His heart is going to stop.

“You do too,” he breathes out. This is nice. She’s touchy, and he likes when she touches him. It’s a pleasure, like sipping expensive wine or decadent chocolate, sweet and a little bit sad, because you know you can’t have it forever. 

She plays with his scarf, and he is hopelessly endeared by the sight of the fabric in between her delicate fingers. 

“This color is nice,” she muses, and god,  he wants to kiss her. This a thought Spencer has often, oftentimes at inopportune times. On the jet, in the office, at her house, in the car- always, really. 

Except now, no one’s looking at them. If loving her was enough to make her love him back, then he could. 

But it isn’t. 

He chokes back the emotion rich in his throat. He brushes her hair out of her face, a tender motion that betrays his intentions with her. 

“You always look lovely,” Spencer says earnestly. I love looking at you, he thinks.

She smiles back earnestly and warmly. 

“I didn’t think you noticed things like that.”

“I always do, when it’s you.”

He doesn’t know why this is what he’s allowed to have. She’s so close to him, pinned up against him and he can feel the curve of her waist against his side. He doesn’t get it, why he’s not her boyfriend but he still gets moments like these, where she’s pinned to him like velcro. He’s addicted to them, really- craves the moments where she falls asleep on his lap on the jet, where they’ll be walking together somewhere and she’ll lace their fingers and tug him along when she’s excited and the destination in sight.

Maybe this is just how she touches her best friends- he tries not to question it, because he doesn’t want to loosest. 

But tonight, under the low-light of the bar, shadows of her lashes thrown across the slope of her cheek- he wants to ask her.

“Are you like this with everyone?” He muses. He immediately regrets it, sees her face harden and feels the shift away from him, and the space leaves a gap of cold air. There’s a swoop f nerves in his stomach.

“I don’t know, I think I just thought- you know, we’re like this. We’re touchy, you and me.”

He’s not touchy. Everyone knows this, but she’s the exception to a rule that has held true his entire life. But he loves this, loves the feeling of this.

“I like this,” he says, intentional eye contact trained on her shaking irises. He reaches out and laces their fingers in an act of bravery that rivals some of his most intense moments, “I’m wanting inf you want more of it. Because I do.”

“You do?”

She’s back close to him, now, and he’s so immensely grateful for it. She smells like lilies and her, and this might be the only time he’s brave enough to do something like this. 

It turns out he doesn’t have to, because before he can answer, she kisses him. It happens fast, and his response is all instinct- pulling her into him closer, his hands around her waist and her soft sigh into his mouth that threatens to kill him. It’s better than his fantasies at night could have made him expect. 

“Hi,” she says, barely above a whisper when she pulls away. She looks a little adorably off-guard, in a way he’d like to create- like to instigate. 

“Hi back,” he says, a beaming grin threatening to spread over his face. He tries to memorize the feeling of this, the weight of her in his arms in case this is not something he can keep- he wants to remember it, what it felt like for her to kiss him, to be wanted by her. 

“Do you want to go out sometime?”

“Like out of here? It’s kind of cold outside-“

“On a date, Spencer.”

Instead of a response, Spencer kisses her again. It is absolutely the right choice.

[bubbleggum444]

— ❝𝘛HE LOᐯELY MᗩID❞

contents bruce wayne x fem!reader, maid!reader au, fluff, 2k+ wc. synopsis bruce absolutely does not have a crush on his employee. nope. not at all. or at least… that’s what he keeps telling himself—over and over—whenever she smiles at him like that.

He's captivated. There's no other way to explain it.

Captivated by the sweet woman in front of him—the one serving dinner to his family and him. The same woman he originally hired to assist his aging butler, Alfred.

This was unlike him. Bruce Wayne, a 35-year-old billionaire, didn’t do crushes. Sure, he’d had his fair share of fleeting affections, even pursued a few women in his younger years. But that was before. Now, nearing forty, he had no business developing feelings—especially not for her.

"Mr. Wayne?"

"Huh?"His head jerks up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash, instantly focusing on the source of that soft, melodic voice.

The young maid blinks at his reaction, her brows lifting slightly before she smiles—polite, composed. She gestures toward his untouched plate.

"Your supper is getting cold, Mr. Wayne."

Oh dear heavens—or whatever’s up there—Her voice, her gestures, her kindness, her grace. Everything about her is just—And her smile! God—everything about her is—

"Stop ogling the maid, father. Close your mouth, you'll catch flies."

Damian’s voice cuts through his thoughts like a blade.

Bruce barely has time to register the words before his eyes find her again—this time, assisting Tim, carefully slicing a piece of bread for him.

The tenderness in her actions makes something tighten in his chest. He forces himself to breathe, the corners of his lips lifting slightly as he finally picks up his fork and eats.

"Is the food to everyone's liking?" she asks, scanning the room.

The family responds with nods, murmured approvals, and a few hums of agreement. She turns back to Bruce then, and when their eyes meet—

ba-dum ba-dum ba-dum

His heartbeat stutters.Her expression is warm, her gaze unwavering. It’s as if the world slows for a moment, like she’s silently pulling him in, like—

"Mr. Wayne? All done? How was supper?"

"Huh—? Oh! Yeah, yeah, supper was amazing, doll—Dear! I mean dear... It was, uh—fantastic."

Stop talking. Stop rambling. Just smile, Bruce. Act normal.

She blushes. Just slightly. But it’s enough to make his heart hammer against his ribs. Was it because of the way he’d called her doll? Or was she just being polite?

He wants to believe the former. But doubt seeps in, as it always does. Because he could read people—always had, ever since childhood. He could pick apart a liar, a manipulator, a fraud, all with a single glance. But her?

She was a mystery. No matter how simple or complex her actions were, he couldn’t read her.

And that terrified him.

Because every time he thought, Maybe she likes me, too, logic would intervene, reminding him of the facts. Why would a woman like her ever look at me that way if I weren’t her employer?

"Mr. Wayne, I’d appreciate some help carrying the dishes to the sink."

Her voice yanks him from his thoughts, and he’s grateful for it.

He clears his throat, nodding as he stands. Without thinking, he starts stacking plates, piling them into an unstable tower.

He lifts it, wobbling slightly—

She reaches out to steady it.

"No, no—I got it all under control. T’his is all easy peasy lemon squeezy!"

What the hell did he just say?

Bruce cringes so hard he wants the earth to swallow him whole. He quickly turns, marching toward the kitchen before he embarrasses himself further.

Behind him, his four sons watch in varying degrees of amusement.

"Huh..." Jason mutters, raising an eyebrow as he plucks a toothpick from the table.

That alone is enough to make Dick snort, nodding in agreement.

"Is Bruce—"

"In love? Probably," Damian interjects flatly, wiping his hands with a sanitary wipe.

"Father’s behavior is completely illogical. That is the only reasonable explanation."

Tim doesn’t say much. He only shrugs—but there’s a knowing smile on his lips as he glances toward the archway, where Bruce and their maid have disappeared.

─────────────────── 𐀔

© — ggυɱi '25

likes and reblogs are greatly appreciated

ദ്ദി ≽^⎚˕⎚^≼ .ᐟ

[wosospacegirl]

Sweet girl - Alessia Russo (+18)

Summary: Request-> Alessia and Y/n have a quicky in the morning after an argument and Alessia is late for training. Good thing Y/n has a motorcycle.

Warnings: +18!!!; smut; little bit of angst (happy ending); fingering alessia receiving.

Word count: 2.8k

MASTERLIST

..

Alessia was the sweetest girl you could ever meet in your life. She was caring, kind and gentle; sometimes she was too kind to people who didn't deserve it. Everyone who met Alessia fell in love with her right away, that’s how joyful she was.

Y/n often used the words ‘soft’ and ‘tender’ to describe Alessia’s personality as well. Sadly for Y/n, none of these qualities were shining through in her girlfriend at the moment.

Alessia’s week had been a mess– two days of splitting headaches, her period had ended days ago but she still felt bloated and sensitive. All of this affected her training, and therefore her performance in Arsenal's last game. As a result, the team lost 2-1 to Liverpool.

Y/n tried very hard to explain to Alessia that the defeat was caused by the whole team, not just her, but she was upset and wouldn’t listen. Whether Arsenal won or lost, it was never the fault of one player. Alessia knew this, of course, but she was upset nonetheless.

It was one of those days when frustration would linger around her and no one could take Alessia away from it. The match had been three days ago, but she was still upset about it, and an upset Alessia was rude Alessia.

“I just don't understand why you didn't buy the eggs when I asked you to!” Alessia said, slamming the fridge door. “You always forget to buy the groceries, and then I'm late for training because there's nothing to eat!”

Alessia was standing in the middle of the kitchen, wearing Arsenal’s training kit, her blonde hair was down her back, and she had a hair tie on her wrist. She had to be at practice soon, and it looked like that was Y/n’s problem, too.

Y/n listened to Alessia’s complaints as she sipped her morning coffee, sketchbook in hand, drawing tattoo designs for a client.

Y/n prided herself on being a decent girlfriend– she tried to look after Alessia as best as she could. The couple had been together for two years, so Y/n had been by Alessia’s side through a series of injuries, wins and losses.

It was hard to be an athlete's partner; their life was always full of adrenaline, and they were always busy with national and international chronograms.

Alessia was very mindful, considering she wasn’t dating someone from the football world, but unfortunately, when Alessia was frustrated, she seemed to forget that Y/n had a real life outside of being her girlfriend.

Y/n was a tattoo artist. She had opened her own tattoo studio in a corner of North London years ago. Alessia and Y/n had met after the player came into the shop wanting a tattoo on her feet; after their meet-cute, they’d become inseparable.

Y/n took a sip of the black coffee, the rich and bitter aroma filling her nose. Coffee always helped to calm her down, and she certainly needed to be calm, as it was early in the morning and Alessia was looking for a reason to argue.

Y/n sighed and put down the cup in her hand. “Baby, you were the one who had the car this week.” 8 am, it was 8 am and they were talking about fucking eggs. “And Lamar got sick, so I had to take in his clients.”

“I know, but I had a lot going on so I asked you to pick the eggs up,” Alessia said, clenching fists resting on either side of her body.

“And I said I couldn't because I was overbooked with customers, love.” Y/n leaned back in her chair, arms crossed. “How about I make you a fruit salad? We have strawberries and blueberries; I can make you something to eat.”

“I don't want fruit, I want an omelette! I always have an omelette in the morning. Alessia groaned and rolled her eyes. Am I supposed to keep up during training today?”

“Alessia, come on, baby–”

“No! This whole week had been shitty and you’re not even helping me!” Alessia continued to carpet.

And that made it for Y/n.

Y/n stood up. “Room, now.” Was all she said before disappearing into the hallway next to the kitchen.

The girl opened the bedroom door and sat down at the end of the bed with her legs spread open. She heard footsteps in the hallway and soon after Alessia entered the room.

“Come here,” Y/n beckoned to Alessia.

“You haven’t been very nice to me the last few days, have you?”

“No” Alessia shook her head.

“And why is that?” Y/n asked. “Look at me, sweet, I'm talking to you.”

“Sorry. I told you I haven’t had a good week,” she mumbled, playing with her hand. Embarrassment radiating from her.

“I understand you’ve had a bad week, what I don't understand is why you’re going out of your way to make sureneither of us can have a good day today.”

Y/n had always been a very straightforward person. She didn't like drama or didn't like unnecessary arguments. If she could fix something, she would. Since Y/n had earned the autonomy to do whatever she wanted in life she focused on opening her tattoo shop.

At the moment, Skin Deep Studio was her pride and joy. Y/n treated the studio with respect and expected Alessia to do the same, just as she did with Alessia’s career.

“I told you I had clients from 9 am to 9 pm, didn't I?” Y/n continued, her eyes fixed on Alessia. “Did you expect me to cancel on them? Especially knowing that they were booked months ago?”

Alessia listened to Y/n, tears slowly forming in her eyes. “You told me you had clients. I’m sorry.”

“You weren’t being very considerate with me,” Y/n explained reassuringly. “You know it’s not fair to ask me to drop everything to go out and do something you want me to do, I’m busy too.”

Y/n wiped a tear from Alessia’s cheek, “I'm just very stressed with everything,” Alessia cried.

The footballer put her legs on Y/n’s lap and rested her head on Y/n’s shoulder.

“There's this big game this week and I can't seem to play it right.” She continued. “But I shouldn't be mean to you just because I'm stressed. I'm very sorry.”

“It's okay, sweetheart,” Y/n said, hugging Alessia's body. “Just talk to me next time, yeah? You always talk to me. I don't know why you didn't this time.”

“I don't know either,” Alessia admitted, breathing in and out slowly, she was calming down bit by bit.

Y/n kissed her cheek, feeling the saltiness of Alessia’s tears on her lips. “It’s alright, just breathe…f do you feel better now?”

Alessia smiled shyly and nodded her head. “Thank you, I love you,” Alessia said before kissing Y/n's mouth.

The kiss was gentle at first, but it quickly became intense.

Alessia slid her tongue into Y/n's mouth. Her hands were on Y/n's shoulder, trying to balance herself while the other girl put her hands on Alessia's lower back, trying to pull Alessia closer.

“I missed kissing you like this,” Alessia said, placing soft kisses on Y/n's neck. “I missed it a lot.

Y/n squeezed Alessia’s hips. “If you hadn’t been so moody this week, we could have kissed a lot sooner.” Y/n said teasingly, holding Alessia’s hips so that she was straddling her.

“Sorry,” Alessia whispered, slowly beginning to grind herself against Y/n's black trousers.

“Is that why you were so grumpy too? You wanted some kisses and didn't know how to ask for them?” Y/n asked, scratching Alessia’s back.

“I think so,” Alessia agreed, rubbing harder, trying to create some friction.

Y/n cupped Alessia's cheek and kissed hard, tugging at the girl's shorts.

“Take them off,” Y/n said against Alessia’s mouth.

“We can't love, I have training” Alessia whispered, still moving her body against Y/n. “And I'm already late.”

“I’ll be quick, just wanna make you cum,”

Alessia blushed deeply. She was always very shy with dirty talk, So Y/n always lowered it down as much as she could.

“Come on, get up,” Y/n tapped her body, urging the girl to stand up, and she did.

Alessia stood in front of Y/n, who quickly pulled her shorts down. The blonde girl was now standing in only her underwear and Arsenal t-shirt.

What a sight.

“So pretty,” Y/n murmured, kissing Alessia's chin, then her cheeks and finally pressing her lip to her mouth. “I want you to ride my fingers, do you think you can do that? Be quick?

“Yes,” Alessia moaned.

Y/n slipped one finger inside Alessia’s soaked underwear “You're gonna cum real nice because you are already so wet, baby,” Y/n said as she sat further away from the bed, to give Alessia more room to get into position.

Alessia already knew what she had to do. She placed her knees on the mattress, each one next to Y/n’s body. The blonde met Y/n's lips and moaned into her mouth as Y/n pulled her underwear aside and gently played with her clit.

“I’m gonna put them in, yeah?” Y/n said, gently playing with Alessia’s hole before penetrating her with two fingers. “Feels nice?”

Alessia purred in her ear, telling her all she needed to know.

“Ride my fingers, baby,” Y/n told Alessia, easing the girl down until her fingers were properly buried inside her pussy.

“Like that, just like that,” Alessia moaned, sinking deeper and deeper into Y/n’s fingers.

Y/n loved watching Alessia being fucked. She was always so sweet when she wanted to cum, so good. Knowing she was the one doing it made her chest rise with pride. She was the only one to touch this pretty girl, the one responsible for her sweet sounds. They shared another kiss, this one was messier, and Alessia was getting eager.

“I need you to cum, love” Y/n whispered to Alessia, pushing her hips down and dictating the pace. “Or else we’ll be late.”

“Al-almost,” Alessia whispered with her eyes closed.

“Yeah? My love is going to make a mess on my fingers just before she has to go to play?” Y/n said teasingly, sucking on Alessia’s neck, but not enough to leave a mark behind. “Come on, let go for me.”

Alessia leaned forward as she came, losing control of her torso; her lips brushing Y/n’s ear. Alessia wasn’t vocal when she came, instead, she was silent, her mouth remaining open for a few seconds as her body trembled with bliss.

Y/n tenderly ran her fingers through Alessia’s blonde hair with her free hand, letting her come down on her own without rushing.

“I’m gonna take them out, okay baby?”

Alessia nodded, resting her head on Y/n’s shoulder as the girl lifted her hips. Y/n pulled her fingers out of Alessia’s warmth and cleaned them against the blanket on the bed.

“Wow, I’m very dizzy,” Alessia breathed, shifting her body and cradling Y/n.

Y/n chuckled, and kissed her cheeks “Is that because of the orgasm or because you haven’t had your omelette yet, huh?”

Alessia nudged Y/n, a shy smile in her eyes. “Stop it, I’m not the same person I was ten minutes ago.”

“Of course, you aren’t,” Y/n hugged Alessia. “My sweet girlfriend is back, now.”

Y/n playfully peppered Alessias’s face with kisses while the girl giggled, squirming against Y/n’s body whenever Y/n kissed a particularly ticklish part of her.

“Okay, okay,” Y/n said, planting another kiss on Alessia’s chin. “I’ll get you cleaned up and I’ll drop you off at training on my way to the tattoo studio, how does that sound?”

Alessia’s eyes widened. She had completely forgotten about training, too absorbed in the bubble of love they had created.

“Bloody hell, I'm going to be so late,” Alessia gasped, as she broke free of Y/n’s grip and ran to her bathroom, Y/n was close behind.

When Y/n got to the bathroom, Alessia was in front of the mirror trying to fix her hair so she didn’t look like she’d had sex with her girlfriend when she should have been at work.

“Renée’s gonna make me do suicide drills just for the fun of it.” The blonde complained, pulling her hair into a messy ponytail. “She hates it when one of us is late– do you think that’s a Dutch thing?”

“Probably, they do enjoy punctuality in the Netherlands,” Y/n said, handing Alessia’s short back. The girl put it on quickly and started brushing her teeth. Y/n gently pushed Alessia to the side so that she could use the sink too.

“Okay, I think I'm good,” Alessia said more to herself, looking at her reflection in the mirror and fixing an unruly strand of hair. “What do you think? Do I look like a mess?”

She and Y/n made eye contact through the mirror. “You look pretty,” Y/n said with a grin, making Alessia blush. “Now let’s go, I'm gonna get our helmets.”

Alessia stopped in her tracks. “Helmets? What do you mean? We’re using my car today.”

“Nope, we’re using the motorcycle.” Y/n pushed Alessia gently out of the bathroom, closing the door behind them.

“No, we aren't,” Alessia stated, turning around to look at Y/n.

Alessia wasn’t terrified of Y/n’s motorcycle, she genuinely thought it was cool. She just didn't like being the one to ride it.

“Baby, you have to be at Arsenal in…” Y/n looked at her watch, “...six minutes, do you think London’s traffic will allow that?”

Alessia thought for a moment, arms crossed. “ Hmph. Alright,. Well, I don’t have much choice,” she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Whatever, let’s go,” she added, grabbing her training bag while Y/n picked up the helmets.

“I won’t go too fast,” Y/n said, putting an arm around Alessia’s waist as they walked out the door. “Just enough to get you there in time without Renée biting your head off.”

“You know I need to breathe to ride, right?” Y/n said as they rode through the streets on London, rain pouring down on their riding jackets. Yes, her riding jackets because Y/n had bought one for Alessias as well.

Alessia clung to Y/n, her head pressed against Y/n’s back.

“I’m scared,” Alessia murmured, barely audible over the wind.

“Why baby? I’m a good biker.”

“Too fast,” was all Alessia could manage.

Y/n had already slowed down to a safer speed, but she let the motorcycle ease down even more. “There, how’s that? Better?”

“Uhun, thank you,” Alessa finally breathed, loosening her grip but still holding onto Y/n’s hips gently.

Alessia had a love-hate relationship with Y/n’s motorcycle. She liked it because Y/n liked it, and she knew it was almost like a lifestyle to her girlfriend. But sometimes, in her deepest thoughts, she wished Y/n would sell it. Alessia was just too anxious whenever Y/n rode it, afraid of a possible accident.

The motorcycle was undeniably cool and honestly, Y/n looked hot when she wore the black leather jacket that came with it. Alessia just wasn’t cut out for this lifestyle. That’s why she preferred her car–more safety, less wind.

When they finally arrived at Arsenal’s training grounds, Alessia got off the motorcycle, and handed her helmet to Y/n, feeling dizzy.

“You okay?” Y/n asked, catching Alessia’s arm. “You’re green.”

“I honestly think I’m gonna throw up,”

“No you’re not, it was an eight-minute ride,” Y/n smiled softly as she opened the motorcycle trunk and grabbed Alessia’s bag.

“Eight minutes was long enough,”

“You’ll have to ride with me more than that, get used to it,” Y/n leaned against the motorcycle and checked her watch. “Your training’s starting, you should go, baby.”

Alessia moved closer to Y/n and kissed her. “Thanks, love, I appreciate the ride, even though I think my insides are turned upside down.”

“Thank you, It’s always a pleasure to have a pretty girl bear-hugging me while I ride,” Y/n winked. “Also, let me know when you get your lunch break. We can get something to eat around here.”

“Okay,” Alessia smiled. “Will you pick me up when the training is over?”

“Yep, I can do that.”

“Can you take the car, though?” Alessia asked, giving Y/n her best doe eyes.

“Baby–”

“Please? The feeling of having something around you when you drive is nicer than having wind scratching on your face”

“We’ll have to agree to disagree there, love,” Y/n said, putting her helmet back on, and sitting down on the bike. “I’ll grab the car and pick you up.”

“I love you,”

“I know.”

..

Notes: Please like, share and let me know what you think! Feedback is important and makes me want to write even more. :D

Notes//2: my smut writing is shitty.

Read more of my work here -> Masterlist

[angelseraphines]

ೃ⁀➷ let the light in ˗ˏˋ꒰ 🦢 ꒱

╰┈➤ hwang in-ho x wife!reader imagine

a/n: i would like to give a special thank you to @lumillsie for the layout of this post and for the filter used on the header! there is a part one to this imagine, gods and monsters!

˚ ༘♡ the six-legged pentathlon had been an unforgiving challenge, following immediately after the tense ordeal of red light, green light. it was a game designed to push players to their limits, demanding perfect coordination and unwavering resolve. yet, despite the crushing pressure, you and your husband had been the deciding votes that ensured the games would continue. though it was a decision made out of necessity, it had not come without consequence. here, within the confines of the competition, hwang in-ho was not your husband, and you were not his wife. there were no tender reassurances, no whispered promises to endure together. you were merely 001 and 077, two strangers bound by unspoken loyalty.

˚ ༘♡ seong gi-hun had been the catalyst for in-ho’s unprecedented decision to shed his mask and walk among the players. a former victor, returning in defiance of the system, was an anomaly too intriguing for in-ho to ignore. his fascination was palpable, but you had your own reason for being here, one far more urgent and desperate. you could not let him face this alone. you loved him too much to stand by and watch from the shadows, even if it meant risking everything, including the life growing inside you and the young son you had left behind.

˚ ༘♡ “sorry about earlier, everyone,” in-ho said, his voice tranquil but edged with something indistinct. his expression was carefully composed, but you recognized the faint frown pulling at his lips. for a mere minute, your eyes met his, an instance of silent understanding passing between you before you forced yourself to look away.

˚ ༘♡ he had played the fourth game, spinning top, a deceptively simple contest that had nearly cost your team everything. his struggle had been apparent, his movements uncertain, almost clumsy, and time had nearly slipped away because of it. yet you had seen the fleeting smirk that ghosted across his face. he had been pretending. but why? was it a calculated move to test gi-hun’s emotions? a twisted form of amusement at the expense of the others? you didn’t want to think about it, not now, not ever.

˚ ༘♡ you had spent years training yourself to look past the truth, to separate the man you loved from the masked figure who oversaw these atrocities. but you could never truly escape it. he was both, the husband who once held your hand with unshakable devotion, and the front man who dictated the survival of hundreds. that contradiction lived within him, and you had chosen to follow him into it, as you always would.

˚ ༘♡ you had played the ddakji game first, the opening challenge meant to test both skill and precision. it had taken you two tries to flip the paper tile, a frustratingly slow success compared to others, but a success nonetheless. any difficulty you had was genuine, no sham struggle, no purposeful pretense. it had simply been a test of persistence, one you barely passed.

˚ ༘♡ as the men around you exchanged stories, their voices weaving through tales of past lives, military service and gambling debts that had grown beyond their control, you found your thoughts wandering astray. player 222 sat alone on a cot a few feet away, her gaze cast downward, arms folded over her lap. her presence gnawed at you. the slight swell of her stomach, though subtle, was unmistakable. she was pregnant. what kind of desperation had led a woman in her condition to enter this place? how cruel must the world have been to her for this to feel like her only option?

˚ ༘♡ you had extended a hand earlier, offering her a place in your group for the six-legged pentathlon, but player 333 had pulled her away before she had the chance to respond. that single moment lingered in your mind, a thread of unease you couldn’t shake.

˚ ༘♡ you stepped away from your group and approached her. “pardon me,” you said gently.

˚ ༘♡ she glanced up, wary but polite, nodding in acknowledgment. up close, you could see the exhaustion in her eyes, the guarded way she held herself, as if bracing for the worst. for a short while, you hesitated. perhaps it was the anxiety thrumming in your veins, or perhaps it was something deeper, a shared understanding of fear and uncertainty that pulled the words from your lips before you could stop yourself.

˚ ༘♡ you exhaled softly, lowering your voice as you rested a hand against your abdomen. “i’m expecting as well,” you confessed. “about a month along.”

˚ ༘♡ her eyes widened, drifting down to the wedding ring that still gleamed on your finger. you saw the unspoken question forming on her lips, the curiosity she hesitated to voice. before she could, you cleared your throat, your expression carefully serene.

˚ ༘♡ “my husband died a few years back,” you said, the lie slipping out with startling ease. “i never took off my ring because… he is still alive in my heart and soul.”

˚ ༘♡ she nodded solemnly. “i’m sorry for your loss.” a pause, then a quiet confession of her own. “the father of my baby is… not in the picture.”

˚ ༘♡ you didn’t press further. you had noticed the way player 333 watched over her, his concern woven into the smallest of affectionate acts, but if she chose not to name him, you would respect that silence.

˚ ༘♡ instead, you offered her a small, reassuring smile. “would you like to join our group?” you asked. “the rest are good men, but it would be nice to not be the only woman.”

˚ ༘♡ for the first time since you approached, her guarded expression softened, just slightly. she didn’t answer right away, but she didn’t reject the offer either. and in a place where trust was obscure and survival was everything, that was enough. then, she nodded, a subtle gesture of compliance.

˚ ༘♡ she followed you back to the group, her steps hesitant but determined. as you approached, you felt in-ho’s gaze land on you, sharp with perplexity. you refused to meet his eyes, your pulse drumming in your ears. whatever he was thinking, whatever presumptions were running through his mind, you weren’t ready to face them yet.

˚ ༘♡ player 222 offered a polite bow to the men. “hello, sirs,” she said with practiced courtesy. “my name is kim jun-hee. player 077 was kind enough to allow me to join your group,” she turned her head slightly, looking up at you with a small, knowing smile. “as she took pity on me, being pregnant herself.”

˚ ༘♡ the world trembled beneath you.

˚ ༘♡ your breath caught, blood running cold as a crushing surge of panic set in. in-ho didn’t know. he wasn’t supposed to know. you had hidden it carefully, layering deception upon deception because you understood well that he would never have let you come if he had known the truth. he had already fought you, already tried to stop you, and you had barely managed to convince him. but now, there was no going back. now, in-ho now knew of the secret you tried so desperately to conceal.

˚ ༘♡ a thick silence fell over the group.

˚ ༘♡ “you’re pregnant?” in-ho’s voice cut through the quiet, his disbelief laid bare. his usually enigmatic expression fractured, his mouth slightly agape as he stared at you, searching for some kind of denial.

˚ ༘♡ the others were clearly surprised, but none more than him. the confusion, the stunned realization, it was written all over his face.

˚ ༘♡ kim jun-hee’s lips fell open in a small, embarrassed frown. “i’m sorry, i thought you all must have known,” she said, bowing her head apologetically.

˚ ༘♡ “no, no, it’s good someone told us,” in-ho said quickly, getting to his feet, his tone measured, but there was something vexed in it, something bordering on anger, or worry. “so we know to take extra caution with player 077.” his gaze cast over you, and then he added deliberately, “your husband must be worried sick about you.”

˚ ༘♡ you swallowed hard. your throat felt tight, but you forced out the lie. “he’s dead.” the words came fast, like a reflex, like a shield.

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae, one of the older players, let out a sorrowful sigh. “young-il, didn’t you say your wife passed away?” he shook his head, voice thick with sympathy. “how sad. we have both a widow and a widower among us.”

˚ ༘♡ young-il. it had to be the alias in-ho was using. your mind reeled as you processed the implications. you turned your head slightly, watching him. the golden band still encircled his finger, worn and unmoved, just like yours. you had never thought much of it before, perhaps a habit, a meaningless remnant of a life he had long since buried. but now, faced with the story he had crafted for himself, a terrible thought struck you. it wasn’t entirely a lie.

˚ ༘♡ his first wife, the one before you, had died. she had been pregnant when it happened. you had never pried, had never dared to ask, but you had once seen a photograph of her tucked away in his desk drawer. when you had questioned him, he had shut you down immediately, his voice flat and final. don’t ask about her. it’s in the past.

˚ ༘♡ but it wasn’t in the past, was it? not entirely. some ghosts never vanished. some wounds never fully closed. and now, standing here, knowing that he had just discovered you carried his child in the very games he had tried to shield you from, you realized, this wasn’t just about your safety. this wasn’t just about his authority as the front man or the secrecy of your relationship. this was about the fear that history was repeating itself. that he would once again lose the woman he loved as she carried his child.

˚ ༘♡ “then we will have to protect both of you!” player 388 declared with a grin, his enthusiasm somewhat jarring given the bleak circumstances.

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae and gi-hun nodded in agreement, their expressions shifting into something more steadfast.

˚ ༘♡ you let out a sigh, trying to dispel the rising panic clawing at your throat. “i’ve already had a child before,” you said, keeping your tone even, as if that somehow lessened the severity of your situation. “i’ll be fine. it’s jun-hee we should be more worried about.”

˚ ༘♡ in-ho wasn’t convinced. his lips parted slightly, and for a split second, he hesitated, as though mulling over his words carefully before speaking. “having a child before doesn’t make you or your baby any less vulnerable,” he murmured, his voice quieter now, as if only meant for you to hear. “you shouldn’t place so much strain on yourself, sweetheart.”

˚ ༘♡ there it was. the carefully curated mask of indifference he had worn throughout the games had begun to slip, and you were the only one who could see it for what it was. you wanted to tell him to stop, to pull him aside and remind him that he couldn’t afford to behave like this, not here. if he didn’t regain control of himself, they would notice. gi-hun would notice.

˚ ༘♡ you forced a smile, lacing lightness into your tone, trying to maintain the illusion. “that’s very kind of you, sir,” you spoke, “but i don’t think my husband would appreciate you using such romantic names with me.”

˚ ༘♡ jung-bae let out a derisive snort. “he can’t be much of a husband if you’re stuck playing these games while pregnant with his child.”

˚ ༘♡ in-ho shook his head, exhaling softly. when he spoke again, there was something unfamiliar in his voice, a trace of restraint. “i’m sorry,” he said, his expression unreadable. “it’s only that you remind me of my late wife. she was as stubborn as you are.”

˚ ༘♡ your husband had taken on a false identity, young-il, but there was something in his story that wasn’t fabricated. his wife before you, the stubborn woman he never spoke of, had truly existed. you had seen the photograph once, tucked away in his desk drawer, aged and yellowing at the edges. you had asked about her, just once, and he had shut you down immediately. “never question me about her. it’s in the past.”

˚ ༘♡ yet now, the past was bleeding into the present, unraveling piece by piece.

˚ ༘♡ you sank onto the uncomfortable bed beside jun-hee, your hands resting over your stomach as if to protect yourself from the reality you had been so desperate to ignore.

˚ ༘♡ you had made a mistake.

˚ ༘♡ you should never have followed him.

˚ ༘♡ perhaps ignorance truly was bliss, because now you figured out too much. not only about the horrors of the games, but about him, about the things he kept buried so deeply that even you had never been allowed to see them. you had placed yourself in danger. far worse, you had placed your unborn child in danger. and as you risked a glance at gi-hun, who sat watching in-ho with quiet suspicion, you knew the cracks in your facade were already showing. you didn’t want to think about what would happen when gi-hun finally pieced it all together, as he would then have the woman that the man he loathed deeply loved before him, and the opportunity for a terribly potent revenge would be presented to him.

a/n: part two after an eternity!! i am writing for hwang in-ho again so please send requests!!! let me know your thoughts as well!! 🤍

[hcneymooners]

⋆ up until the very last ember of my heart extinguishes, i will be thinking of you.

dj!mel x best friend!fem!reader. men & minors dni.

synopsis: you & mel have always been thick as thieves, and things have yet to change. but lately, you've been thinking of mel differently and, well—maybe you want more. cw: dj!mel, best friend!reader, female!reader, no age gap i fear, you guys are in your twenties, modern!au, resolved sexual tension, pining, friends to lovers, clubbing, not actually unrequited love, explicit sexual content, dom!mel, sub!reader, lowkey y'all are switches, wall sex, tender sex, vaginal fingering, edging, cunnilingius, oral sex (r!receiving), couch sex, mel is actually insane about you, obsession, possessive behavior, squirting, face riding, pet names, you guys are very soft for each other.

notes: i love her so much guys; i'm gonna be sick. hope you enjoy. this is really rough for my first time back in a while but it is what it is, hmm?

“you’re loyal to her. i’ve never gone a night without seeing you here.”

the words are screamed directly into your ear and you stumble a bit, already off kilter thanks to the lychee martinis you’ve been sipping since the beginning of the evening. the world is beautiful like this: slurred into soft strobes of turquoise, gold, green that caress the sweaty gleaming bodies of the people spinning within it. the set for tonight is still danceable but decidedly slower than usual, honing in on the loneliness and escapism other people may desire on valentine’s eve.

you blink blearily at the girl vibrating next to you. she shakes with a jitter you know belongs either to ketamine or cocaine—or perhaps both. ck-ing was a popular method of dressing up a club night in london. you stop swaying to the beat, body still as you focus on her completely. mel once told you that this was your pull—this ability to make whomever was in front of you feel as though they were the most important thing in the world to you.

“sorry, what?” you finally push out.

“mel,” the girl shouts again, gesturing to the stage way up front. “whenever she’s performing, you’re here!”

you glance up at the woman in question, face softening as you watch the way her body flows into her highly practiced routine of dance. tonight the movements are more minimal, courtesy of her dress—a masterpiece of fanned peacock feathers that catch and scatter light with every subtle movement. the feathers are arranged in a mesmerizing spiral from the jeweled clasp beneath her arm, each eye seeming to watch the crowd as she moves. it's shorter than her usual style, ending mid-thigh in a flutter of iridescent tips that make her look like some rare, exotic bird. every time the bass drops, the feathers tremble in response, creating a hypnotic dance of green-blue shadows across her skin.

it’s not typical for a dj-ing outfit, but mel has cemented herself as a rich girl with a talent. everyone knows who she is, who her mother is. they love that she comes down to their level during the weekends, covers herself in glitter and spins together a beat like some kind of opulent spider.

"yeah," you shout back, your voice still managing to sound tender. "she's my best friend."

the words feel both true and incomplete in your mouth - they always do. you've been "best friends" since you quite literally crashed into her at university, spilling your coffee all over her white hermès sweater. instead of the fury you'd expected, she'd laughed, dragged you shopping for a replacement, and somehow ended up buying you three sweaters instead.

that was mel all over: excessive, generous, impossible to refuse.

"lucky!" your momentary friend shouts back and your mouth dips into a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes.

lucky. right. lucky to be the one who holds her hair back after bad nights, who listens to her practice sets until dawn, who knows exactly how she likes her tea when she's stressed (earl grey, splash of oat milk, two sugars). lucky to be the one who gets to love her from this careful distance, never quite close enough to risk everything.

the girl disappears into the crowd, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the music again. mel's current track winds down, bleeding into something slower, more haunting. you recognize it immediately—it's one of her original pieces, the one she'd made you listen to first, cross-legged on her bedroom floor at 3 am, her face anxious and hopeful in the low light.

the memory makes your chest ache. up on stage, she's different from that vulnerable version of herself. her movements are precise and controlled, even in that impossible dress. you watch as she adjusts something on her deck, the feathers shifting across her back like ripples in dark water. when she reaches up to adjust her headphones, the dress catches the light in a way that makes your breath catch.

you're not the only one watching. the crowd around you is entranced, and you hear snippets of their whispered appreciation. the warmth of your tipsiness is starting to wear off. you’re suddenly so much more aware of yourself, of the differences between you and the luminescent girl on stage.

tonight you’ve chosen a simple black midi dress with a scoop neck that cups your chest gently. the tops of your breasts swell up softly at the mouth of the fabric, gleaming with a golden sheen that could only belong to your beloved diamond shimmer bath and body works mist. your hair has been longer by a copious number of extensions, the bundles pooling together at your lower back. tinsel is strung artfully in-between some strands, a careful layering courtesy of mel.

as you look around at the people around you, you feel boring and a bit underdressed. everyone is suddenly so much cooler than you and the thought brings a rush of warmth to your cheeks, the embarrassment strong in its resurgence. you shift in place as the song changes to something a bit more fast-paced. there’s a chorus of screams, shouts of pleasure, and the floor begins to shake as people flood it to dance. you smile tightly as someone slams into you rather harshly, their apology half-assed and unfocused.

you clutch the top of your mother’s vintage ysl clutch, the chain a bit rusted and the body bulging with a combination of your house keys, your lip combo, some shit from work you didn’t take out in time, and the normally slim body of your phone which as been made bigger by the chunky sides of your artisan bedazzled phone case. the multiple polaroids of you and mel in the back didn’t help the situation in any way, the glossy memories slightly distended by the rolled bills you’ve tucked back there for emergencies.

as you turn to navigate the sudden pit of people, the music lowers just enough so that mel’s soft steady voice bleeds through. the lights flash once, twice, a third time; the bulbs are hot and pink. you know what’s coming, but you still don’t turn around, though your mouth twitches in a smile.

"hey, london," mel croons and the crowd screams back at her, eager to greet the woman soundtracking what is probably just another tuesday evening. "i have a question before i finish up. i don't want to forget."

your heart stutters in your chest. she does this sometimes, turns you into an unwitting participant in her performances. you remember the first time she did it, six months ago, how your knees had gone weak at the way she'd claimed you so publicly, so casually. how dangerous it had felt, how thrilling.

"has anyone seen my girl?"

the crowd goes crazy and you lift a hand to your mouth to hide your smile, heat flooding your cheeks. you hate how easily she can undo you, how these little moments of possession—even if they're just part of her show—make your pulse race. your free hand unconsciously touches the delicate gold chain around your neck—her birthday gift from last year, a tiny hextech crystal pendant that she'd said "reminded her of home."

"i came in with her. you know her, right? gorgeous little thing in a short black dress. kind of looks like…"

you close your eyes, remembering how she'd fussed over you earlier tonight, her fingers gentle as she wove tinsel through your hair. 'perfect,' she'd murmured, her breath warm against your ear, and you'd had to suppress a shiver. now, surrounded by strangers who are about to echo what you've felt for years, the irony isn't lost on you.

she trails off, holds out her mic to a group of girls right below her who giggle out the finishing portion of her sentence.

“…the love of my life!” they sing, drawing out the ‘i’ for a long while.

mel’s laugh echoes through the speakers, the sound throaty and raw. on cue, the music begins: “please don’t be love of my life” by caitvi, (calvin harris mix). they were a rock band that accidentally stumbled into becoming the summer muses for every edm fiend in existence.

you clutch your empty martini glass with a renewed strength, fighting until you manage to clutch a hand on the bar. the bartender smiles at you, complimenting your perfume which you don’t even think is still on your skin. you say thank you anyway, laughing openly as they tease you about your fondness for lychee. you’ve always been this way, you want to say, always holding on to what you know in the hopes that it’ll eventually love you back.

instead, you look over your shoulder at mel’s far off silhouette. there’s a moment where she looks up, seems to look at you. you don’t know if she really sees you, given your distance and the disorienting nature of the club. you smile regardless, raise a hand to wave lightly. the chrome bow on your acrylics flashes meanly, signaling your position.

she looks way, smiles earnestly at the crowd, and you drop your hand. the moment is broken, like always. as you move to pull your refreshed martini by the stem, mel’s dj tag sounds: sounds of birds of paradise, interwoven into one another over a damagingly sad violin sample. it’s her way of letting the people know that this will be her last couple of songs for the evening.

the birds’ calls fade into the melancholy beginning of “healing” by gordo featuring drake. the opening notes reverberate through you and you press your lips together, body thrumming with the effect of being noticed. she had seen you. that was the only reason she was playing this song. it had been your favorite for the past month, and now here it was on blast at one of the most elite clubs in the city.

‘i want to see you dance to this,’ she’d told you one evening, her mouth trailing against your shoulder. you were twisted together in your bed, the blankets plush around you as the two of you shared her airpods. ‘i want to see you have fun, lose yourself.’

‘i can’t lose myself,’ you’d said back, mouth rising in a secretive smile.

mel had lifted your hand teasingly, bit it gently, and then interlinked her fingers with yours.

‘don’t worry. i’ll find you.’

you look back at her, find her leaning over her deck with a finger pressed pensively to her mouth. she quirks an eyebrow and gestures to the crowd, as if asking why you’re not inside of it. you smile despite it all and abandon your martini, wiggling through the gaps of people until you're up front.

the bass drops and the crowd surges forward, but you hold your ground, eyes locked on mel. she's watching you now, really watching you, her movements more deliberate as she works the deck. you recognize this version of the song; it's her own remix, the one she'd been perfecting for weeks in her home studio. she'd added layers of ethereal synths that make it feel like you're floating, like you're the only person in the room who really understands what she's trying to say.

she gestures to her security guard, a subtle movement that you've seen countless times before. within moments, strong hands are parting the crowd, creating a path to the booth. your heart pounds as you're ushered up the steps, into her domain of switches and lights and pulsing energy. the peacock feathers of her dress brush against your arm as she pulls you close, her free hand settling on your waist.

"dance with me," she murmurs into your ear, her voice carrying despite the thundering music. her fingers trace patterns on your hip, and you wonder if she can feel you trembling. "show them what this song was made for."

you let your body move with hers, falling into the rhythm she's created. the feathers of her dress catch the light with each movement, creating a private light show just for the two of you. she keeps one hand on the deck, maintaining the perfect flow of music, but her other hand never leaves your body, guiding you through the dance like she's afraid you might disappear if she lets go.

the crowd below is going wild, but you barely notice them. all you can focus on is the way mel's breath catches when you press closer, the way her fingers tighten on your waist when you roll your hips. the tinsel in your hair catches the light, mixing with the iridescent shimmer of her dress until you're both wrapped in a cocoon of glitter and sound.

"see?" she whispers, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "i told you i'd find you."

the words send a shiver down your spine, and you turn your head slightly, catching her gaze. there's something different in her eyes tonight, something that makes your breath catch in your throat. maybe it's the valentine's eve atmosphere, or maybe it's the way the lights are hitting her face, but for a moment, you let yourself believe that the look she's giving you means what you want it to mean.

she transitions into the next song seamlessly, but keeps you close, as if she's forgotten that this isn't how she usually ends her sets. as if she's forgotten that you're supposed to be just her best friend, watching from the crowd like always. as if, just for tonight, you could be something more.

the spell breaks when you catch a glimpse of your reflection in one of the booth's chrome panels. you see yourself pressed against her, see the way you're looking at her: desperate, obvious, completely transparent. the music suddenly feels too loud, the lights too bright, your skin too tight. you're acutely aware of every place her body touches yours, and it's simultaneously too much and not enough.

"i need—" you start, but can't finish. mel's hand tightens on your waist for a fraction of a second before you pull away. you gesture vaguely toward the floor, not meeting her eyes. "sorry, i just—"

you don't wait for her response, practically stumbling down the booth steps. the crowd that had been watching your dance parts easily, perhaps sensing your urgency. you hear the next dj's tag start to play—some remix of a taylor swift song—which means mel's set is over. which means she might follow you. the thought makes you move faster.

you trip over your feet, your heel catching on the bone of your ankle as it lifts and you fall. your knees crack against the ground, but you regain your momentum. your neck is warm and you lift your hair with one hand as you spin, eventually locating the flickering neon sign denoting the bathroom.

the bathroom is mercifully empty when you burst in, all perfectly-cut marble and deep blue lighting that makes your reflection look expensive and almost admirably tragic. you press your palms against the cool counter, letting your head hang down as you try to steady your breathing. the bass from the club thrums through the walls, muffled but persistent, like a heartbeat.

“you’re always so fucking stupid,” you whisper to yourself, watching a tear splash onto the marble. you'd let yourself get carried away, let yourself pretend. but mel is mel. this is the girl who turns heads when she walks into rooms, who has fashion houses begging to dress her, who could have anyone she wants. and you're just… someone else.

her best friend, you suppose. the girl who’s responsible for holding her hair back when she's sick, who listens to her practice sets, who loves her so strongly that it feels akin to having a spear sunk through your chest.

the bathroom door opens with a soft whoosh, and you know it's her before she speaks. you can smell her perfume. it’s something custom-made in paris, a mix of lily, amber, and caramel. you don't look up.

"hey," mel says softly, and you hear the click of her heels on the marble floor as she approaches. "what happened up there?"

you close your eyes, trying to ignore how the marble feels like ice beneath your palms, how your body still burns where she touched you in the booth. "nothing happened, melly. i just needed some air."

you use your nickname for her as a way to disarm her, but mel has always been immovable when it came to getting something that she wants. the silence that follows feels incredibly long, but you know it hasn’t even been ten seconds. you lean forward, splash water on your face. blindly, you search for a paper towel but you’re handed a small hand towel instead. your makeup transfers onto the fabric, staining it with the traces of your exhaustion and loneliness.

"[name], look at me." her voice is gentle but firm, the same tone she uses when she knows you're lying. when you don't move, you hear her sigh, the sound followed by the soft rustle of feathers. then her hand is on your shoulder, turning you around.

she's closer than you expected, close enough that you can see the individual glitter particles scattered across her collarbones, catch the faint sheen of sweat at her temples from performing. the peacock dress seems alive in the bathroom's soft lighting, each feather shifting with her breath. you try to step back, but the counter prevents your retreat.

"you were crying," she observes, reaching up to brush her thumb beneath your eye. her touch lingers longer than necessary, and you hate how your body betrays you, leaning into her hand like a flower seeking sun. "why were you crying?"

"i wasn't," you lie, even as another tear escapes. "it's just the vodka. you know how i get."

"yeah," she says, and now both her hands are cupping your face, forcing you to meet her gaze. her eyes are dark, intent, stripped of their usual playful gleam. "i know how you get when you're drunk, and this isn't it. this is something else."

you try to laugh but it comes out choked. "melly, please—"

"when you were up there with me," she interrupts, one hand sliding down to rest against your neck, her thumb pressed gently against your pulse point, "what were you thinking about?"

the question hangs between you, heavy with possibility. you can feel your heartbeat racing beneath her thumb, wonder if she can feel it too. the bathroom suddenly seems smaller, the air thicker. somewhere outside, the music has changed to something slower, more intimate. the bass line crawls up through the floor and into your bones.

this is how love always finds you, corners you. it's a snake that's flat enough to slide underneath the door. you always watch it passively as it slides up your body, only crying out when it bites.

"i was thinking," you start, then stop, swallowing hard. her eyes track the movement of your throat. "i was thinking about how great you were tonight, how—how beautiful you are. ‘nd i was thinking about how some things can look real without being real. like stage lights. or club nights. or best friends who—"

you cut yourself off, but her grip on your neck tightens slightly, just enough to make your breath catch. the feathers of her dress brush against your thighs, a whisper of sensation that makes you shiver.

"or best friends who what?" she prompts, her voice low, almost dangerous. she's close enough now that you can feel her breath against your lips, can smell the champagne she'd been sipping between sets.

the door to the bathroom opens, the sound of the club surging in, and you both freeze. mel doesn't move away, doesn't drop her hands. instead, she leans closer, her lips brushing your ear.

"we're not done with this conversation," she murmurs, the words a promise that distills heat through your body. "come on."

she pulls back just enough to meet your eyes, and the look in hers makes your knees weak. you open your mouth to respond, but—

the bathroom door swings shut again, leaving you both in that suspended moment. your "okay" comes out barely above a whisper, but she hears it. of course she hears it. she’s always heard you, even when you chose not to speak.

♤

the ride home is thick with unspoken words.

mel's driver, marcus, keeps his eyes professionally forward as you slide into the back of the bentley, the leather seats cool against your bare legs. mel follows, close enough that the feathers of her dress spill over onto your thigh. neither of you speak, but her pinky finger finds yours in the darkness between your bodies, hooking together like you used to do in university when one of you needed grounding.

london slides past the tinted windows in a blur of neon and shadow. you watch the reflections of passing streetlights play across mel's profile, catching the sharp edge of her jaw, the elegant line of her neck. she’s removed her performance jewelry, but missed a spot of glitter near her ear. without thinking, you reach up to brush it away.

she catches your wrist before you can retreat, her thumb pressing into your pulse point again. the car feels smaller in a matter of minutes, the air between you charged with electricity. she turns to fully face you, bringing your hand up to her mouth so that she can slide your pointer finger into her mouth. the suck of her lips is gentle, tender. you watch her head bob as she slides down further, then pulls off.

she doesn't let go of your wrist for the rest of the ride.

when the car pulls up to her mayfair townhouse, you feel like you're moving through a dream. the click of her heels on the steps echoes in the quiet street. to you, they're like gunshots and you have the irrational thought of the neighbors coming out to complain, to tell you that your desire is choking them in the same way you feel now. your own steps are less sure, thanks to the martinis and the way your whole body seems to be humming with anticipation.

she fumbles with her keys briefly, something you've never seen her do, and then you're inside. the door closes behind you with a soft click that seems to echo in the darkness. neither of you move to turn on the lights. the moonlight filtering through her floor-to-ceiling windows is enough to see by, casting everything in shades of silver.

she looks unreal, like a figment of your imagination. you pinch the inside of your thigh, letting out a hiss of air from in-between your teeth. she moves closer, fingers the indentation where your nails had dug into the skin.

you shake, but she only steadies you.

"melly," you start, but she shakes her head, settling both hands on your waist.

gently, she maneuvers you until your back meets the wall. a hand lifts to settle at the base of your neck, her lithe fingers threading into your hair so that she can cup the back of your head. she’s making sure your head doesn’t hit the stone, sacrificing her own skin to ensure your comfort. the thought makes you warmer than before.

mel watches your face, her eyes almost erratic as she searches for whatever sign she needs. she comes flush against you and your legs part instinctively to make room for her, spread to accommodate the whole of her.

she lowers her head, mouth coming to burn against your neck as she presses a kiss there. you let out a small, weeping sound as if her lips have enabled a release inside of you. in a way they have. you soften, melt into her and find the strength to touch her.

your hands grasp at mel’s neck and she hums in satisfaction, working her teeth into the meat of your neck like a vampire. she pulls back only to look down, freeing a hand from your waist to inch the hem of your dress up.

you moan brokenly as you grow more exposed, your cunt wet against the baby blue lace that holds it. the moonlight sneaks between the both of you and renders the fabric practically translucent, the blue so light in its glow that it seems closer to white.

“you’re so beautiful, baby,” mel whispers and you blink at her, your throat tight. “you always say it about me, and i never understand it. when i look at our pictures, i don’t see anyone else.”

your eyes slip low, going tender, and you cup her face.

“you’re perfect, mel.”

“i guess we’re a good match,” she murmurs and then she’s in you.

the motion is so smooth, so quick. you hadn’t realized she’d peeled the fabric of your panties back, pushed them to the side. you know nothing now except for the steady pump of her fingers. there are two working deep into the heart of you, searching and spreading your slick heat.

you cry out, eyes wide like a doe’s. mel only smiles, predatory and slow. her teeth gleam, two rows of perfect pearls. you feel out of your body, but she brings you back in with every stroke inside of you. her breathing is becoming heavy, labored. her eyes seem a little wild and the hand on your neck moves briefly to squeeze tightly at your waist until you let out a deep “unh.”

mel grins again at the sound and it makes you surge forward, crushing her mouth into a bruising kiss. you bite at her bottom lip until she opens and lets you in, your tongue lapping all over as if to consume her. she slips a third finger inside of you, curling at the walls of your cunt to make you clench down.

you continue to kiss her, tilting your head so that angle is better. you slot together perfectly and she moans into your mouth, increasing the speed of her thrusts. you break away from her and study her face, taking in the way her lip gloss is smeared wickedly around her mouth. her lips are swollen and dark and she takes one in between her teeth as she works deeper into you.

your head falls back and she returns her hand to the nape of your neck, catching you before you can hit the wall.

“you’re okay, mama,” she murmurs and you nod, eyes focused somewhere distant on the ceiling.

she knows how you get, how disassociative you can become when you’re overwhelmed with emotion. she watches as you go somewhere she’s unable to follow. your chest heaves with every exhale and she leans forward to press a kiss to the top of your tits, then another right in the middle of them. her mouth is dusted with glitter when she pulls away.

you fuck down on her hand, an animalistic moan crawling from somewhere deep in your chest. mel fucks you harder, grunting as she shifts you bodily up and down with the effort. you keen as she uses her thumb to rub your clit, the circles tight and concentrated. pleasure arcs white and hot up your spine and you close your eyes, mouth falling open silently.

“that’s it,” she says. “come on, baby. come on.”

“mel,” you gasp and she laughs lowly.

“what happened to melly?” she teases and you whine, a foot kicking out as she presses against your g-spot.

“melly, please,” you whisper. “fuck, please.”

“please what?”

"just please.”

nothing changes. she only watches you squirm and beg like a whore, her face impassive. it was moments like these where you were reminded of her mother. the thought sends another shot of arousal to your cunt and it drools down mel’s wrist, sticky and warm.

“mel, fuck. fuck, i can feel it. i’m almost—i’m right there. just please, baby.” you’re crying now, disoriented and breaking apart with every push of her fingers. “please. please, melly, please."

you drag your eyes from the ceiling to her face, your pupils dilated and bright like stars. her face suffers through a range of emotion before she curses and yanks her fingers out of you.

“no,” you sob, and she sushes you.

“just hang on a minute, mama. hold on,” she soothes, her hands coming to lift you from beneath your thighs.

mel moves quickly and you take comfort in the fact that she needs this as much as you do.

you find yourself draped over the couch, your stomach resting on the arm of the chair. there’s a slight application of pressure as mel forces you into an arch, your ass and cunt pushed up. she nudges your legs apart and then gets on her knees, her hands coming to rest on the back of your thighs as she leans in and puts her mouth on you.

“oh,” you moan and she hums into you.

she’s methodical and precise, her tongue slipping into the mix and filling you as best she can. her pace increases as she licks you front to back, twisting so she can suck and nip on your clit. you let out a high mewl as she grips the plush flesh of your ass, rocking you slowly until you’re able to continue the rhythm on your own.

the heat returns, spirals up from your stomach into your chest and throat. you whimper, letting your head fall forward and down. your eyes squeeze shut as you focus on riding her face, swiveling your hips in small circles to better grind your clit against her nose.

again you can feel it, that call to somewhere distant. mel feels the way you tighten around her tongue, the sudden stiffening of your thighs. she knows you’re just there, right at the golden gate of your private paradise so she removes her mouth and focuses completely on stimulating your clit with her fingers.

“mel,” you breathe. “melly—”

“i know, mama. you can do it. cum on my face. cum all over me, princess. mess me up, hmm?”

you reach down and she reaches up, instinctively understanding what you’re aching for. just as your fingers intertwine, you fall apart. your arch drops and mel hums, closing her eyes as you squirt over her. she can feel you trembling and she opens her mouth lazily, letting your cum drip into it as if it was some sort of sacred rain.

her fingers lace with yours properly now, no more tentative pinky holds. you grip back with the strength of a soldier at war, your eyes rolling shut as you hump against her face and ride out your high. mel only lets you use her, dragging her other hand down to grope at her throbbing pussy.

eventually, you settle and she tugs you down so that you’re sitting dazed and lax in her lap. her hands squeeze your ass as she noses at your cheek, slipping a light kiss onto your cheek.

"hey. hey, baby, look at me. are you with me?”

“ye—yeah,” you get out. “‘m with you.”

“let’s go upstairs," she says softly, and it's not quite a question. "unless—"

"yes," you interrupt, squeezing her hand. "yes."

mel makes no move to get up, however, and you watch her face.

“melly?”

"i need you to know," she says, a hand coming up to trace your jawline, "that whatever happens next… this isn't just because. this isn't just because we were dancing, or drinking, or—"

"i know," you whisper, even though you don't, not really. but you want to believe. god, how you want to believe.

mel shifts, tilts you so that you’re on your back. her braids have fallen from her signature bun, and they block out the little light spilling in from the window.

“baby, i want you. i love you, i need you, and i can’t—i can’t tell you enough how much i’ve wanted this. nothing matters to me more than you.”

“i know, melly. trust me, i understand.”

she shakes her head, opens her mouth. you lift a hand, dig your nails into the sides of her throat as you clutch at it for just one second.

“i understand.”

it feels like she’s been the only thing on your mind since the day you were born. you’ve been waiting for her ever since.

© hcneymooners.

⚚ wife tag: @s-4pphics

[buttercupblu]

God is Fair|The Lore

Devotional Love with Suguru x Reader|Two-Shot

Part 1|Part 2|Part 3

the deets: ever since you were young, you knew you were meant for each other. he came into your life like a storm and grew closer no matter how distant you seemed. he swelled and captured your heart every time he was near. so why did you keep fighting him? w.c: 12.7k (holy f*ck) out of idk yet for part-two the rest (god bless) tags: fem!reader, mostly angsty….pretty much 90% angst for part 1, repressed feelings, jealousy, lingering lips and fingers, a little bit of self-depreciation at the end but pick that crown up love, reader gets a little violent at the end 😳|if i missed anything, pls comment or DM ☺️ angel’s note: this story started as one thing and ended up as another—so goes the way of life. PSA: most of the good, filthy, mack-nasty shyt is in part 2/3, but you’ve gotta wade through the fire first to get it. It’s always worth it|thanks for reading 🖤 earworm 🐛: Chihiro|Billie Eilish

Over time, you became perfectly molded to him.

As did his lips to your tender bud that sank under his sinful tongue.

Slender fingers grip and drown under his raven locks, barely saving you from the shallow breaths you must take to stay alive.

You’re just above water, and he steals your air, spelling poetry with his tongue over your folding petals.

Broken coos spill from your puffy lips—his favorite melody to ever grace his ears.

Whether it was today, tomorrow, yesterday, or forever—you fall—in and in and even deeper into his grasp. Under the waves and trapped in his ocean—he gently pulls you under—your lungs yearning for air, but you never want out.

And the way he dives in, drowning to taste every drop, every sweet, delectable sip of your nectar like he could live the rest of his life without oxygen—tells you that he doesn’t either. 

You learned to love each other’s oceans and came to mix seas. Both treaded rough waters but learned to float with calm bodies.

Now you lie hand in hand, limbs weaved like vines through each other’s arms, as you cuddle. Completely spent from another night in each other’s depths. Grateful. Grateful for his love—his patience.

And wondering how on Earth you thought it’d be possible to exist without someone you swore you despised.

Suguru has always been the best—the best at being good, the best at being kind, the best at being quiet—the best at being better than you. 

When you were eight years old, he made his quiet introduction into your quaint little neighborhood, arriving in a flashy Mercedes-Benz followed by two moving trucks that pulled right into the driveway directly across the street from your humble home. Heels painted with red bottoms adorning stocking-covered legs were the first things you saw as you watched from your bedroom window. 

The sound of movers drew your attention. No one ever came to your city, let alone your cul-de-sac. You felt a shift. A change was coming.

A tall woman, her long, sleek ponytail blowing in the wind, stepped out of the driver’s seat wearing large couture shades that took up most of her face. The overhanging forecast made everything bleak and gray, but the sunglasses stayed. A man exited the passenger seat and came to the woman’s side. He gingerly took her hand and looked around with a small smile, gently rubbing her arm. She slightly grimaced and handed him what looked like one of those small, overpriced designer bags.

They looked so…out of place.

They had to smell like money.

What the heck were they doing here? 

In a city like yours, one of those places where everyone knows everyone and everybody's business, you instantly knew that this couple would be the talk of the town. At least with the adults.  

You blew air into your bangs. You weren’t expecting new neighbors, but they could have at least come with a kid—someone who might actually want you around. 

“Hey, Bug,” your dad called from the garden.

He always left the back door open so he could hear you in case you needed him. He must have heard the rumbling of their heavy trucks now being unloaded with elegant furniture. Would all of that even fit in there? Their house was bigger than yours but not by much. “Sounds like we’ve got new neighbors. Might go by later and say hi if you want to come.”

“No thanks.”

You turned back to the window, resting your head on your arms. Meeting Mr. and Mrs. Richy Rich didn't sound very appealing to you and might only make you feel worse on this already gloomy Spring day.

For once, you wanted to be pleasantly surprised and not just surprised with something you wouldn’t expect, like hitting the jackpot or whatever.

And then you saw him.

Inky black hair drawn into a short ponytail, emerging from the back seat of the fancy car and clutching a book thicker than his torso. His starched white-collar shirt and beige shorts reminded you of school. He kept his chin tucked and looked like the wind just might knock him over if the book wasn’t keeping him upright. 

He and the woman were near twins. Definitely mother and son. She smoothed her hands down her skirt and put on a genuine smile for him. The man draped his arm around the boy’s shoulders as he took in the neighborhood. Slow and sheepish. You thought his eyes caught yours when he looked behind him and you ducked under the window sill. 

Sh—

“You can’t stay cooped up in here all the time, Bug,” your dad called again. It sounded like he might be wrapping up. “You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

You inched back up to the window and peered over the edge. The boy looked like he was just as lost as to why he was there.

Anxious. Reserved. Kind of boring. 

Not your speed.

You blew a raspberry and turned away. So much for that. You wouldn’t be missing much.

In your neighborhood, all the kids walked freely to each other’s houses to see if anyone was home. This was before everyone had cell phones to save time and figure it out for them. 

You watched it happen with the other kids all the time. They’d visit each other and either stay inside (super rare) or gather the rest of the neighborhood to play in the cul-de-sac or park. 

But you were never quite given a direct invitation.

The few friends you were close with moved away about a year ago, and the thought of making new ones who would eventually do the same kept you emotionally at arm's length. To make it worse, you swore the group you were left with undoubtedly hated you.

Why?

Because you had a history of sucking. 

Everyone else in the neighborhood was naturally good at something. Anything. Everything.

But you?

You had to try.

Mess up. And try again. At almost anything you could name.

Basketball? Trash. 

Tag? You were slow.

Football? Pssssh. As if—like you’d let yourself get hurt? You sat out every time.

So, the kids stopped inviting you or always picked you last. Both were grimy slaps in the face. Because you always knew you could be better. Delulu was the solulu if they’d only give you a chance. Or two. Or a few. But damn, you were trying. 

At least you weren’t the only one being left out. 

It’d been weeks since you saw the new kid on the block—not like you thought about him much after you dismissed him. But slowly, as the sounds of Spring beckoned him outside, he reminded you that the new “rich” neighbors did indeed have a kid.

It started with the curtains in his living room window gently ruffling before he’d peek out, scanning the scene for signs of life. Then eventually upgraded to gracing the neighborhood with his presence to sit outside. For hours, he watched from his front porch as the neighborhood kids dashed past your houses to play in the cul-de-sac. 

It kind of made you jealous—the amount of space and freedom on their porch that his parents clearly weren’t taking advantage of. Only two plastic chairs and a small table occupied the space, and they weren’t nearly as lovely as the things you saw go into the home on move-in day. If it were up to you, you’d string up one of those hammocks big enough for two like you’d seen on TV and just float in the breeze under the overhang. It had been a frequent daydream of yours long before they moved in. 

Instead, a gawking boy with too much time on his hands made it his home. Watching. Fiddling with his fingers and leaning on the rail. Watching. Always seeming too afraid to approach.

He had what you thought was the best house in the neighborhood (and probably the most money), and still, he looked so lonely. 

With the background he seemed to come from, you thought he’d be more ballsy. 

One day, you were, and you walked right up there, took the hand of the wide-eyed kid, and led him to the rest of the kids down at the park. His dad watched the whole thing go down from the kitchen window as he did the dishes, silently laughing as the boy stumbled behind you without saying a word. 

This was your chance. You were so tired of the other kids being better than you. With him being the new kid, you thought he’d at least be somewhat on your level or maybe even a bit worse. Anything was better than being the odd one out. 

You and the boy just a few inches shorter than you crashed the party right before the next game started. You beamed at the group like you had caught a prized fish. 

“Guys, this is um…um…” Then you realize you hadn’t asked his name. And he was still holding your hand. 

You dropped it and nudged him. “Suguru,” he said softly, seeming to avoid eye contact.

Suguru hadn’t seen that many kids in a group like this outside of school. He didn’t mean to look so anxious, but he wasn’t used to being in a neighborhood full of kids his age. He instantly felt like an outsider seeing how comfortable everyone was with each other, apart from you by his side. While soft smiles offered him a glimmer of acceptance, the stares made him self-conscious. He wondered if he could ever fit in.

You repeated his name in case no one heard him. Suguru. It naturally rolled off your tongue. Soft and sweet. Like the boy. He fidgeted with his fingers, but hearing his name felt reassuring. You looked at him and grinned. It was time to see what he’s got.

Tee-ball was the game. One you hated the most. Running was not your sport, and you certainly didn’t have an arm, so it never hurt your feelings too much when you weren’t picked for teams. But you made sure Suguru was. You wanted to see him in action. 

Last summer, you guys found an old traffic cone to use as the tee and placed sticks around the field for bases. 

You didn’t expect much from Suguru when it was time to bat because…look at him. He was so small and timid. The bat borrowed from someone’s dad was almost the same size as him, and you swore you saw his feet lift a few times during his practice swings. Too much of that and he’d be airborne. You prepared to give him a “job well done” pat on the back once he hit the ball a few feet.

Suguru squared up at the tee—on his way to join you at the bottom of the barrel.

And wouldn’t you know it? 

He knocked the ball clear out of the park and didn’t even skim the cone. 

Your mouth fell open before you remembered you were the designated retriever since you weren’t playing the game. You grumbled the whole walk and search for it. 

And then he did it again. And again. And again. 

And surprise, surprise, he excelled at every game he played after. Everyone wanted Suguru on their team. 

You gaped at the feat—so much power, strength, and coordination in such an unassuming body.

And instantly hated him.

Not because he was the best or braggy about it. 

It was the complete opposite. 

He barely seemed to acknowledge it—not in an arrogant, dismissive way, but more like he was just happy to be involved and doing something. He was sheepish with compliments and even seemed nervous to receive them. He’d rub his head and give a little close-eyed smile before returning to the game.

And peer over to you on the sidelines for approval. 

Every swing, every hit, and every game after, his purple eyes would find yours whenever he thought he’d done something worthwhile.

You tried to hide the jealous scowl, returning his shy smile with a nod and told him to keep his head in the game. 

But he noticed.

He saw it. He knew you were unhappy, and he wanted nothing more than to help. 

So after that, you kind of mirrored each other. 

The kids always saw you as a try-hard—constantly on repeat, trying to make yourself valid and stand out. You’d grab failure by the throat and wring its neck, determined to make it forget your name. Not because you were attention-seeking; you only wanted to be counted in.

And so the student became the teacher. Suguru began to slip you little nods as if saying he saw you—just like you saw him all those times on his front porch. It’d annoy you at first, what you thought could’ve been pity, but it felt nice to finally be acknowledged by someone. 

And so gradually, you looked to him as a spectator, earning silent yeses and nos until you finally worked up the courage to do what you were afraid of most. Ask him to be a friend. 

To help you perfect your skills, of course. 

But the friendship blossomed like the Spring, and you and Suguru actually grew really close—instantly drawn to each other. Pop-ups to his house were the norm as you had the most advantage out of everyone in the neighborhood by living right across from him. And you both were always brought up by one another’s parents.

Turns out Suguru’s dad was a lot like yours and they got on really well. They’re both funny, kind. But your dad’s a little bit different. He’s got rebellion in his bones, as he often talked about when he told you stories about his youth and take-no-shit hippie days. 

“I’m serious, Bug. So, there we were, strapped to the tree. Shackled, really.” 

He mimicked the story with his arms in between laughs. 

“So, so we’re all chained up, right? And this bulldozer is coming right at our heads, ya? I look over to Stanley,” your even crazier God-father who showered you with gifts every time he visited, “I say, ‘Stanley, toughen up. You look like you’re about to piss yourself.’ And he goes, ‘I’m not scared. I forgot to go before we locked ourselves in.’” 

Your dad roared with laughter, wiping the tears from his eyes like he hadn’t told that story a million times. Like he was going around trying to collect little activists. But Suguru almost fell over, leaning into his every word. He was such a shy laugher, always creasing his eyes and dimpling his cheeks when he did. It made your dad feel like the funniest guy alive when Suguru entertained his jokes.

“You were so brave,” and Suguru called your dad by his nickname just like your dad told him to. “I want to be that brave when I’m older.”

Your dad winked at you—you stuck out your tongue. Suguru was a good kid, he thought and reminded him a bit of himself.

Those days, your dad was mostly the same. He didn’t need much and chose to live a quaint and peaceful life. He’d talk your ear off about activism, travel, and stories about your mom who passed when you were born. You never got to “meet” her, but you always felt like you knew exactly who she was. And she was totally different from Suguru’s mom, who you learned was a hard-working corporate baddie. Red bottom heels. Makes sense.

By the end of that first summer, your families were practically joined at the hip. You and Suguru even more so. Outside of house calls and playing games with the rest of the neighborhood, the two of you also made frequent trips to the makeshift pier. Almost everything in your neighborhood and the surrounding area was walkable, including a small, wobbly, probably dangerous dock that sat over the small lake in town. You’d play a little alphabet game you made up on the walk down and constantly challenge him. Only for him to literally beat you at your own game nine times out of ten. 

“Angels shop at—” You skipped down the dirt path.

“Blessed boutiques,” Suguru finished, “Beautiful coats—”

“Can clothe their wings. Dashing dolls—”

“Eat every sweet. Forks will find—”

“Giant…giant,” you thought and thought and thought, “Giant—”

“Geese!”’ Suguru tagged you and ran down the dock, deeming you the loser of that round. You strolled down to meet him near the water reflecting the sunset. A pout took up your face. He patted the deck, motioning for you to sit. “You’re gonna miss the fireflies.”

Watching them pop up one by one and glow on the water as the sun went down became a ritual. And one of your favorite memories of summer.

The following school year, you were even more inseparable. And when the end of fifth grade rolled around the year after, you knew it was fate when you found out you’d be attending the same middle school. 

You were overjoyed. So was Suguru, but for different reasons. To you, now it was on. 

Academics was an area where you had a fair shot at flourishing. You were studious, attentive, and almost the perfect student. And while you didn’t have bad grades, you always felt like you could be better. And you know why. Because everything came naturally to Suguru, of course. 

Thank goodness for extracurriculars, though. The two of you didn’t need to do everything together, and you both benefited from the time and separation to do your own thing and discover your own interests. The Newspaper club caught your eye and was more interesting than you thought it would be—the first hobby to make you fall in love with words. 

Suguru took an interest in robotics and, surprisingly, Yearbook. He was pretty crafty with a camera and made sure to snap the best photos of you during your events. 

But the two of you rarely spoke of school or after-school activities. You never wanted him to know if you were struggling or needed help with anything and tried not to rely on him so much those days, so everything with you was always good.

It had to be.

He was still the competition, after all.

And you had to appear just as flawless. 

Instead, you enjoyed late-night phone calls that went way past both of your bedtimes as you grew into middle schoolers. Pretending to be asleep and slipping the phone under your pillow without moving a muscle when your parents checked in was a sport, but it couldn’t be helped. The books you were reading, shows you were watching, and thoughts on what high school would be like were too good not to talk about into the late-night hours—even when your eyelids got too tired to stay open. Falling asleep with your cellphones in hand or occupying a space on your pillows was the norm. 

“What’d ya think about the movie?” 

“I mean, the book is always better, right? But like,” you sighed happily into the phone, “they made their lives look so…amazing.”

The two of you watched The Great Gatsby 1979 version on DVD at Suguru’s house right after school that day before you had to scurry off to help your dad in the garden. Suguru finished the book a few days ago, and after catching him with it during lunch and poking him enough to get him to spill some of the details, you were sold.

A glamorous romance about a life of luxury and passion?

Say less.

And because you couldn’t resist, you told him you’d finish it in less time than he did.

Suguru thought the movie was pretty true to the book, but man, what a sad story. You, however, were in love with the lifestyle.

“What about Daisy?” he asked.

You pondered Daisy’s decision for half a second before deciding she was a one-off. All her life she had been spoiled, something you were a total stranger to but didn’t make a point to say—only dismissed her frivolous ways and called her a coward. “Just the money and parties would be enough for me,” you said in a daydream. “It’d be too happy to be that shallow.” 

Suguru laughed and said that wasn’t the point of the book. “Money can't always buy happiness. She could’ve had love. It was right there.” He sounded so sophisticated when he said it, much too wise and sappy for a 13-year-old. 

You sucked your teeth. “That’s easy for you to say.” And you reminded him that he has a nicer house, clothes, car. “And when are y’all getting the Benz back?”

Lately, you and Suguru had been getting picked up by his dad in a major downgrade of a car. It’d been at least two months, and you were missing the feel of luxury against your skin.

The phone went quiet for a second, and Suguru scratched his head. “Uh, we actually don’t have it anymore.”

Your eyes widened as if he'd just told you someone died. Borderline devastation set in like it was your family losing one of its greatest displays of wealth. But Suguru didn’t sound the least bit sad when he told you that his dad referred to the “new car” as a “cash car” because they needed something quick.

And then it clicked, and you realized why you’d been noticing that furniture and things had also been disappearing in his house when you came over. And why he had to switch to the free lunch program you were also on at school. And why his dad mentioned looking for a second job the other day.

Suguru’s family had been hit by the recession.

And that’s how he became your neighbor.

Most of everything Suguru grew up with in his previous family home was placed in storage when they first moved into your neighborhood. His mom thought their stay would be temporary; she had been demoted at work but didn’t think it was a big deal, and things would quickly be back to normal—maybe even come with a promotion if she worked hard enough.

But it wasn’t her skills that was the problem. The economy was in shambles, and her company was running out of money. After two years of hoping for a miracle, she and over 40% of her company were laid off.

They kept all of this from Suguru until only a few weeks ago. He was much too young to understand what it all meant when it first happened—he was just a kid. But now, he was older, smarter, way less naïve. They couldn’t keep lying to him about why the car was away at the shop or why the family heirloom dining table went missing, among other things. 

When they told him that he’d have to slow down on his growing book collection and only get one gift for his birthday that year, that’s when he started asking questions—not that either of those things meant much to him. He was more than happy to frequent the school library, and you noticed that he’d been spending a lot more time there than usual during breaks.

What bothered Suguru the most was the looks his parents gave him when they told him everything. Like they were delivering the worst news in the world. Like they were so worried that they’d be disappointing him. Like they should be ashamed. 

It hurt him more to know that they felt like they had failed him. 

“My dad just looks so tired all of the time now.”

Mr. Geto, who had been a stay-at-home work-from-home employee since before Suguru was born, had to get a part-time job working overnight to help bridge the widening gap between their old and new lifestyle.

Now, Suguru doesn’t get to see him as much except to make breakfast and kiss Suguru goodbye with a sluggish smile on his face before school.

He really missed his dad. And it made you feel like shit for momentarily being a Daisy.

For the rest of the night, you just listened to Suguru tell stories about back home—what his parents were like, the things they used to do, the trips they would take, and the time they spent together. Little memories from a place you’ve never been but could clearly see as he talked through the night.

Never once did Suguru mention missing the things he used to have or wanted now. The people in his life were what he cared about most. 

“My dad got a new antenna for the TV to surprise my mom with so she can still watch her favorite channels from back home,” he laughed. “It’s so big. I hadn’t seen one before, so it was kinda funny to look at, but I’m glad it’ll make her happy.”

You solemnly smiled and propped up on your arm. “Do you ever miss home? Like being back there?”

He mentioned that he thought about it sometimes: the plush green grass in his front and backyard that he’d lay in for hours, the much sunnier skies compared to the frequently gray and cloudy ones, and humid air here in your rainy city, the few friends and family members he had to leave behind.

But he liked it here better and surprised the hell out of you by saying so. 

Anywhere was better than being here. 

Even though his family was going through a hard time, they still managed to get the nicest house in the neighborhood. You could only imagine what his childhood home looked like compared to the one bedroom and living room your dad made into his own space.

You asked why. What could possibly make this place any better than where he came from?

You could hear him shrug through the phone as he lay on his back and stared at the ceiling decorated with glow-in-the-dark stars.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s just something about this place.”

You still think about that conversation sometimes.

The end of middle school came in a blaze, and so did puberty. 

Suddenly, you became aware that it was time to start caring about what you looked like.

Some nights, you would call it early with Suguru in favor of spending hours on YouTube watching videos and learning how to wear makeup. You put more thought into how you dressed and tried your best to style the little clothes you had into mostly decent outfits.

Every morning, you’d beam when you entered the kitchen to grab breakfast and say goodbye to your dad. He’d try his best not to cry, watching his little Bug grow up before his eyes. 

Suguru did some growing, too.

The summer of 7th grade, he got a little taller, and when your final year started, you guys were finally neck and neck. He was beginning to be able to see the top of your head when he lifted his chin, and he would make little jokes about it in his prepubescent boy voice that was starting to crack. You’d push the too-big glasses that he got at the start of middle school up the bridge of his nose and tell him not to get too cocky. This was the tallest he would get, you’d tease. He may have been good at everything, but he’d always be a pip-squeak. 

When you weren’t going back and forth with Suguru, you were hanging out with the new gal pals you made at school. Your little trio started spending more time together, window shopping at the mall, attending football games after school, and talking each other’s ears off about anything in between throughout your last year. You couldn’t tell Suguru everything, of course—there are some things that guys will simply never be able to relate to or understand. 

And one day, while the three of you sat at lunch together while Suguru was off with his robotics team, one of your gals leaned over the cafeteria table to poke you with a devious smile and ask the age-old question: who do you like in school?

Your brain had the audacity to picture Suguru first. 

Your friends squealed watching your face blush beet red, but you turned away and never answered the question—only said that you were more focused on school and extracurriculars to help you in college more than anything else. 

But where the hell did that come from? 

Suguru was, debatably, your best friend, but that was it.

Not that you needed to convince anyone else of that. Just…yourself?

Before that day, you never really thought of Suguru in that light. He was this quiet, nerdy, prodigy of a boy who was great at everything and gave you another reason to want to be just as good. You secretly looked up to him, if you wanted to call it that, but you certainly didn’t like him. 

He was just the boy next door. 

The boy next door who was challenging you once again: to push the little hints of affection that had been blossoming aside and dismiss them.

Bury them down, keep your eyes on the prize, and finally be rewarded for your efforts.

To keep up with him, not fall in love with him. 

On a rare sunny Saturday, a month and a half before school let out for the summer, the two of you sat on his beloved front porch with the future on your minds.  

Suguru picked at the grass growing between the wooden boards. “Thinking about trying something new next year?”

You popped another sugary blackberry from your backyard into your mouth while stretched out on Suguru’s favorite quilt. He couldn’t help but notice how relaxed you looked, drinking up the warm sunbeams on your skin.

“I don’t know,” your arms folded behind your head as you stared at the ceiling, “I love Newspaper, but…I don’t know. I think I wanna branch out.”

You just weren’t sure how yet. You had done some research on the high school you’d both be attending next year and ran down the list looking for something to jump out at you. Something you could really put yourself into. You still loved writing and expressing yourself, but there was nothing else besides repeating Newspaper or trying Yearbook (Sugu’s territory). The rest of your options weren’t ideal, but beggars couldn’t be choosers. 

“How about volleyball?”

“Nah.”

“Art club?”

“Mmm-mm.”

He leaned against the wooden railing. “Hmmm, choir?”

You laughed and didn’t even bother to respond to what was clearly a joke. 

He sighed and pensively licked the sugar from his fingers before asking if maybe you’d want to do something together. 

You looked at him and squinted. “What?” he shrugged.

“You know what.” And he shook his head all innocent-like.

Always innocent that Suguru. Effortlessly wrapping everyone around his finger. Your dad, his teachers. Even your trio mentioned him from time to time about how helpful he was. With all the times he went out of his way to make sure you were okay, even you were starting to let your guard down. Watching him now as his ponytail blew softly in the wind, looking so naïve as to what you meant but still wanting to understand, made you blush sick.

Not having much of a reason to actually be so guarded, you made one up. “You tryna go toe to toe with me, Geto?.”

Your brow cocked, and you used his last name because you knew it’d get to him. He was fully aware that you only say it when you’re serious, and it’s mostly blurted when you guys go at it on Mario Kart. 

“Just because I said we should do something together?” 

“Yeah, so you can one-up me.”

If there was a hobby or favorite pastime that you really enjoyed and might actually be better than good at, you knew it was best to keep it out of Suguru’s reach. Academic and recreational competitions needed to remain separate if you wanted to keep your sanity.

Suguru took a breath. If there was one thing he didn’t bother competing with you at, it was arguing. He knew you wouldn't back down if he just sat here and tried to convince you; you’d poke a hole in every counter until he simply gave up.

So, instead, he pandered to your inflated ego, chewing his lip before telling the truth. “C’mon, Twin. I promise I won’t. Do it for me.”

His soft purple gaze landed on you, and you got a funny feeling in your stomach that you hadn’t felt before. 

He was serious. 

He really wanted to be at your side trying something new—exploring together—helping each other find yourselves.

The shy teen who was as quiet as a mouse and yet a beast of a kid wanted to be right there with you. And he wasn’t afraid to say it.

You cleared your throat and averted his gaze. “Fine,” you agreed, but on one condition, “It stays a hobby, no competing.” And it sounded like you were talking to yourself more than him. “But valedictorian? That’s mine.” And you tossed another blackberry into the air and caught it perfectly in your mouth, making Suguru raise his eyebrows.

“That’s a bet,” he said, reaching over to wipe a bit of sugar from the corner of your lips. You swat away his hand and punch his shoulder, but damn him if the gesture didn’t make you feel all weird inside. He faked an “Ow” and rubbed his arm before joining you on the quilt to soak in the sun. You closed your eyes and pretended to float in the breeze whistling through the railing. Even without the hammock, it kind of felt like you were. 

“Sooo, what do you wanna do this summer?” And the possibilities felt endless.

Who knew this core memory of each other’s youth, the moment you finally let his fingers inch across the blanket and softly brush yours without pulling back, would be one of your last? 

Two weeks before break started, after all of your plans for the summer and the following school year had been planned out, it happened. 

To this day, you question the timing of your worst nightmare—just when you thought you were living the dream—coming true.

The Geto’s were moving on up. 

For years, Suguru watched his mom grind in corporate America. It wasn’t new to him; she had one of the hardest work ethics he’d ever seen, but it was on a different level after his family moved to your city.

Something in her had changed—the thought of instability.

She knew Suguru was used to not seeing her due to long hours at work, but when it started to affect her husband, when it began to shift the family’s dynamic, she knew she had to figure something out, and fast.

She could sacrifice her time for the family. She couldn’t sacrifice Suguru’s time with his dad. 

All these years, Suguru’s family pulled themselves up by their bootstraps while Suguru was lost in the bliss of friendship. Mrs. Geto’s hard work paid off, and she got a promotion—on the opposite end of the country. 

The day was bright and sunny when he left, the exact opposite of how you felt watching the beat-up car that had grown on you drive out of the neighborhood.

You looked on from your window because you didn’t want him to see you crying, watching, or caring. 

You had been right from the first time you saw him. 

And were back to square one.

Alone.

You guys tried to stay in touch, you really did, but being in totally different time zones made keeping up with each other a little harder. New apps for your phones, like Snapchat and Instagram, helped a little, but they didn't compare to the late-night phone calls you missed so much. 

At first, Suguru would Snap you about how he was getting on in his new city, neighborhood, and places his family would explore over the summer.

The thought of him being someone’s new boy-next-door made your stomach twist.

When school rolled around, he’d send Snaps and joke about his preppy new uniform that came with a vibrant red tie and over-starched navy pants. His mom got him into a fancy private school because, of course she would, but they were really strict with phones, so you weren't able to talk to him until he got home. By the time he did, the sun had already gone down for you, and you’d be too tired from your own after-school activities to keep your eyes open.

You missed Suguru—even your dad missed him and his family terribly. 

You missed him so much that you began to resent him—his new life, fancy school, and new “friends”. Jealousy reared its ugly head, forcing you to put your walls up again. 

Another friend, gone, moved on to bigger and better things. Leaving you behind once again.

You had finally found a friend, a real friend, who never made you feel bad—someone you could tell almost all of your secrets to.

Who got whisked away.

Who you’d give anything to see again and go back to the way things were. 

Though it’d only been five years, you felt like you’d known him your entire life.

But what you thought was fate, turned out to be folly.

It wasn’t fair.

Sometimes I fall But still, I rise To the skies high above  In the clouds my ego Will go where no one knows

Why I am here

And why I try

To defy what I believe What it means to succeed To be won

To be one

To be “the one”

A smoking gun.

“Thank you.”

The cafe filled with snapping fingers as you walked off the stage, heart pounding and a smile plastered on your ducking head. 

Look at you now. Performing in cafes, libraries, open-mics, wherever you could be that called for an audience. Still a little shy, but letting it motivate you and pour out on the floor to be soaked up by the listeners. It was an adrenaline rush, finally finding something you knew belonged to you and being damned good at it. 

No one was better than you at telling the world how you felt while simultaneously mesmerizing an audience with your soliloquy and speech. Words still had a hold on you; you just figured it was better to say them out loud than keep them written down.

“Good job, Bug.” Your dad handed you a hot cup of tea fresh from the counter with your nickname scribbled in big cursive letters across the cup. 

“Dad, please stop calling me that.”

He frowned. “But you’re my little bug.” He threw an arm around you, almost making you spill the hot liquid. 

You groaned and protested. “I’m not a kid anymore.” And took a sip too soon, burning the tip of your tongue. You held it in and swallowed, looking around to see if anyone else saw the scorned look on your face. 

You thought of 15 as one of your prime years and kept yourself busy to prove it. Just a sophomore in high school, Baby had a new hobby: dominating slam poetry. You had taken over the scene in your city with expansion heavy on your mind.

Though it was hard for your dad to hear, you were right; you weren’t a kid anymore. But you knew he was just proud of you. More than you could ever know. It made him happy to see you had something no one could take from you. 

With a tsk, you leaned into his hug. You should be thanking him more. When the idea of doing slam poetry first crossed your mind, you were a hot mess (surprise, surprise) at being confident (BIG surprise)—your stage presence was lacking, to be specific. 

On the page, your poems were like water in a desert, but opening your mouth and performing it with your whole chest was…different. 

Fixating on your lines and rhythm made you want to pull your hair out. It was hard making sure your words sounded like you and would be understood. You needed to be understood. 

You’d practice your performances in front of your dad until you were blue in the face. A show was put on for anyone who would listen. And secretly, you missed Suguru’s presence because he’d be perfect for it.

But you didn’t need him. You were on your way to competing in your first official local competition. All your practice around the city and long hours at home agonizing over your talent for slam poetry built up to that moment—the time to show the world what you had to offer. 

Nothing felt better than holding the gold 1st place medallion between your fingers afterward. Regionals came next, and nothing could have validated your talent more than the medals you took home on top of the prize money your dad stashed away for college. 

It was time to travel, and Nationals was your next target.

You couldn’t describe the feeling of finally being outside your city. The thought of being beyond the walls of home once felt like a hopeless dream. New cities, new friends, new organizations, and new styles of poetry were within your reach. The exhilarating travel that worried your dad put a thrill in your heart. You wanted to see everything—be heard everywhere. Life was full of opportunity and everything it had to offer. 

“So you’re gonna do the group piece and then an individual one, maybe?” 

You leaned against the cool bus window as you and your teammates winded down the road to your next hotel. Over the summer, you traveled with your state’s top slam poetry organization to compete in regional cities around the coast. All of this was practice for the Nationals coming up that August before school started. The day was coming faster than you could imagine. 

“I don’t know about a solo,” you wondered.

You looked out the window and chewed your bottom lip. Your team lead had been pushing you to do a stand-alone piece for the Nationals for weeks, but you felt far from ready. You were strong in a group, but on your own, looking out into a crowd of people while demanding their attention on an empty stage, the thought made you queasy.

This wasn’t your local library or a small regional contest. Nationals is where you tell the country who you are and why you matter. 

“Hey,” a hand rested on your shoulder, calling you back. “You’ve got this. You deserve this.” 

And you did deserve it. You’d worked too hard and advanced so far in such a short amount of time. You didn’t think you’d get here so fast, but here you were, on a double-decker bus full of others who were just as talented as you, in a place where you belonged. In a place where you didn’t have to try so hard or look for that slight nod of approval to let you know you were seen. 

August was in a hurry to put you on the stage because, before you knew it, it was time to head to California for the Nationals. What better place to begin to live your dreams than in the place where they all come true? Sunny skies, sandy beaches, and the aura of art and performance lingered in the air. It was the complete opposite of where you came from. It felt like home. You could see how Suguru could get easily lost in all. 

You always wanted to visit the West Coast and see how he was living.

It’d be so funny to randomly Snap him after all this time and tell him you were so close, but you decided against it.

Cali was HUGE; there’s no way the competition would just happen to be in his city for you to casually bump into him.

Plus, imagine that awkward reunion after a few years of radio silence.

You two could be completely different people now.

He probably wouldn’t even want to see you.

Maybe you didn’t want to see him.

So many great things happened since his family packed up and left. In fact, without Suguru around, you found yourself excelling more naturally at anything and everything than ever before. Comparisons were a thing of the past, and you knew you had something no one else could take away from you.

Except maybe the competitor going on before you at the Nationals. 

The audience was loud and clearly approving of his killer performance as they ate him up with whistles and snapping fingers.

Who needed a mic when you had a voice like that?

Easily projecting across the entire venue with every rhythmic pop, beat, and enunciation of his words.

You might have met your match or worse.

For the first time in your poetic career, you thought you just might lose your winning streak. 

Anxiety convinced you to head back to the holding area. You just needed to run through the lines of your solo only a few more times.

You’ve got this.

He was nothing.

This was nothing.

You were taking home first place—absolutely positive that success was literally on the tip of your tongue. Until you saw him. 

The boy with the raven hair. 

Unmistakable and stopping you dead in your tracks as you saw him in the flesh for the first time in 2 years, standing long and tall in the venue.

Not in the audience.

Not as a stagehand.

But in another team’s holding room.

As a competitor. 

Your heart plummeted into your ass.

What in the fuck was he doing here???

You swiftly ducked behind the wall leading to your team’s holding area, hand flying to your chest to still the thunderous beating. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. DEEP B R E A T H S. 

Suddenly, your mouth was desert dry.

The entire summer, you prepared yourself to keep from slipping up—how you would suppress the urge to call him, think about him, or wonder where he would be when you were here.

You covered all of the bases.

But here he was in a place you least expected.

In a place you now knew you’d dread seeing him the most.

The boy you had become a ghost to was haunting you, but somehow, you knew this would happen.

You only got a quick glance at him before you vanished, but it was enough of a glimpse to notice the chances.

And God, were there changes.

As teenagers do, you both had grown out of your prepubescent bodies and into your young adult ones. And while you thought you looked relatively the same with a few upgrades here and there, Suguru had gone through a full-blown glow-up that set yours on fire. 

“Almost ready?” 

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Your teammate followed your line of sight and smirked. “Know him?”

You shrugged a bit too nonchalantly and said you thought he looked familiar but didn’t. “Shame,” she rested her shoulder on the wall with a dreamy gaze. “He looks like a dream.” 

You turned away before you threw up and realized that you were about to be called up next. The frazzled look on your team lead’s face let you know she’d been looking for you, and you took a synced deep breath when she spotted you. Her hands fell on your shoulders before you went up the stairs to the stage. “You’ve got this.”

I’ve got this. . . . You don’t got this. 

Your legs felt like Jell-O walking up the short set of stairs to the black platform in the middle of the stage. You hadn’t been on one this big, in a venue so large, with an audience so vast and eyes in the hundreds. The row of judges sat below you, yet looked so intimidating. Heat engulfed you from the lights above—a literal deer playing the lion in the headlights.

Sight zeroed in on the judges, you avoided the audience. Hoping that he wasn't still there because you knew seeing him WOULD freak you out. 

In the silence Between the shattered and oppressed dreams I found, I tore The roar Of my own voice Reclaiming the night

Your lines flowed out of you more naturally than water, eyes closed, unfocused, or hazy as you transformed your surroundings into the scene of your story—the journey from struggle to empowerment—the story of why you deserved to be here. In that moment, there was no one else—not even the judges—just you, the stage, and the song that belonged to you, even if it mattered to no one else.

But it mattered to him.

And you didn’t see him until near the end of your set.

The familiarity of your voice called him to confirm it for himself. To make sure it was you. He couldn’t believe it. You looked so…powerful. Fully fledged in your adulthood, kicking ass and taking names. Fierce and poetic. The same attitude as the girl he grew up with but in its full realization. 

Your voice cracked a little when you spotted him, completely awe-struck by you, but you played it off like it was part of your set. Damn the boy who had the same gawking eyes that used to watch the neighborhood kids—quiet and longing. You hoped it wasn’t obvious, but Suguru noticed. He knew. He still had some kind of effect on you. He could tell by how quickly you looked away. You still felt a way about him. He wasn’t just a nobody to you. But given the circumstances, he didn’t know whether to love or hate it by the time he took the stage. 

The mic fit snuggly between his fingers. It was rare that someone fully approached it without starting their piece first. You wondered where he was going with this, why he looked a bit tense, why he kept his gaze low—if it could be because of you.

You held your breath and crossed your fingers. Once again, it was time to see him in action under the sweltering stage lights. And in seconds, you saw your gold medal fleeting.

You expected nothing less. 

His voice was lined with melody—a sweet, ethereal flow and a melodious string of vocabulary that wrapped you in an envelope and swaddled you like a baby. He sounded so mature. He sounded so much better…than you. 

The nerdy boy with too-big glasses and cracking voice had been replaced by a young man who towarded over the audience with a long side-bang and gauges in his ears. The red tie around his neck did look absolutely ridiculous like he said, but the rest of his navy blue uniform was tailored to perfection and fit like a glove.

He looked and sounded like where he came from. Money. But he was more than that. You found yourself hanging onto his every word as you watched from out of sight. He couldn’t see that he made your heart thump, but it was begging to fall out of your chest by the second.

This wasn’t about slam poetry anymore.

Suguru had entered your arena.

Shy, reserved, and knocking the ball out of the park. 

Out of over 200 solo acts, you came in 6th. Suguru came in 5th. 

And you couldn’t even feel good about it. Because you knew what this meant.

Regionals took over the remainder of your sophomore academic year, but when summer rolled back around, it was time to look Suguru in the face again at almost every out-of-state competition. The West Coast was once a dream—now you dreaded touring the area because you knew he would be there.

Performing.

Waiting to chew you up and spit you out. 

Over the final two years of high school, you both spent most of your free time hopping around the nation and directly squaring off with each other.

Growing more apart as you did.

Silent hatred brewed and led the way every time you saw him—unmistakably written on your face. 

He chalked it up to the fact that the two of you had changed over the years, and maybe you’d simply outgrown him. But he never thought someone he used to call his best friend could give him a look so cold. With no other choice but to follow your lead, he kept his distance and pretended you weren’t there.

But the way he racked up medal after medal, winning over judges and audiences alike, was loud and clear.

With him, you could only hope for second best. Though out-of-state competitions were just practice, losing to him in any capacity was a constant reminder that what was yours, wasn’t anymore.

If it ever was.

This time, anxiety burned through you instead of helping you. 

During junior year, one of the most pivotal moments of your poetic careers, you met face-to-face again at the Nationals. Both of your organizations fought their way to the semifinals, but as you held your breath waiting for the judges to call his team’s name, silence swept both of you when you realized that neither of you made it to the finals.

Again.

By that summer, you were tired, good and tired of inching closer and closer to third place, then second, but never first in out-of-state competitions where Suguru was in the mix.

He was sucking the life out of you, but you couldn’t show it, especially when on stage where you knew he’d have his eyes glued to you.

Then, in August of your senior year, it finally happened; you returned to the Nationals, your final opportunity to win and go international. This time, it was close to your territory, in Georgia.

All bets were off.

The winner was a toss-up.

And what a slap in the face to finally win….and tie with Suguru. 

You sulked on the inside the whole ride home while your teammates cheered and celebrated around you. To them, you’d just made history with your organization being the first in your state to go to the continental competition and have a shot at the World Poetry Slam Championship. 

To you, your freedom of expression kept escaping you.

You felt yourself starting to mold into something outside of yourself.

Some nights, you lied in bed, unable to sleep hearing Suguru’s rhythmic beats rack through your brain.

Analyzing them.

Judging them.

Mimicking them.

Wanting to be like the best.

Your foundation was shaking.

At least you didn’t have to worry about the continental competition. Winning wasn’t the point; only earning one of the top 10 high scores to be automatically qualified for the WPSC. 

It was a dream come true.

But how come it tasted so sour when you stood on that stage, your teammates going absolutely insane in the crowd at the news of you advancing to the international championship, but once again with a score just shy of Suguru’s? 

The two of you were declared the best in your country…and you were sulking. 

It shouldn’t matter!

You're one of the top 40 poets in the WORLD, babe!

And, for Godsake, a free plane ticket and trip to leave the country was waiting for you with your name on it! Belgian waffles and fountains of chocolate are more than enough reasons to get over yourself and this one-sided beef. 

But your dad still got an earful about it.

Weekly chats with him almost always centered around poetry and Suguru ever since you first saw him sophomore year.

The closer the world championship came, the sadder you sounded.

“What if I-”

Your dad stopped you. “Don’t even finish that sentence. What have I always said?”

You hugged the phone to your ear, rolling your suitcase back and forth between your legs in the airport terminal. “Bug,” your dad said after a moment’s silence.

You groaned. “We don’t say ‘what-ifs’. We say ‘what is’.”

“And what’s going to happen.”

You looked over to your team lead, soundly napping in the corner. It was the butt crack of dawn, and both of you had gotten to the airport way too early for your liking to make sure you didn’t miss your flight. Your first international flight. You actually had a passport, like??? 

So much had gone into getting you here.

Energy. Time. Effort. Trust. Encouragement.

People were rooting for you. They wanted to see you win. You wanted to see you win. 

“I’m gonna do my best.”

“Then you’re already a winner, Bug.”

God, your dad was gushy. And God, you loved him for it.

You didn’t feel so bad by the time you watched the sunrise in full bloom through your airplane window.

Pink, orange, and yellow washed over your face, making you feel so small. It wasn’t your first time in the sky, but definitely the most nervous you’d been.

Local papers, blogs, and newsletters featured your name—people knew you now; they had expectations.

A reputation had been made, and now you were in the fight of your life to keep it.

You sighed into your palm with your dad’s words in mind.

David was determined to take Goliath down.

Belgium.was.cold.

Like you hadn’t packed nearly thick enough coats type of cold.

You felt like an idiot. 

You were a lyrical genius but couldn’t even put ‘Belgium in December’ and ‘it might be freezing’ together. But the lobby of your quaint little hotel with hot chocolate on tap was warm and inviting.

Your team lead handed you a cup, and you found yourself missing your teammates. They would have loved this and cheering you on at the top of their lungs.

The feeling was lonely—nerve-wracking.

You were in the beautiful country of Germany for a competition, not leisure, so you couldn’t even relish in the fact that you were overseas.

At least the food was good. Nervous eating made you binge until you felt sick the night before the competition, but a quick stroll in the brisk morning air made you feel better.

The bus ride to the venue felt like you were about to hop into a boxing ring. And the gloves were off.

Crossing the threshold into a space full of chosen people was like marveling at the diamonds of top-society. And you were one of them. Your team lead walked by and closed your gaping mouth with a smile. “Chin up, dear.” And disappeared into the crowd.

You'd never met a foreigner before and were thrust into a venue full of different skin tones, accents, languages, and ages. It would’ve been even more overwhelming had it not been for the smell of coffee wafting through the air, reminding you of your last safe space for poetry before you went pro. With half an hour left until the competition, you thought exploring a little wouldn’t be a bad idea.  

The venue was dark and moody, perfect for setting the atmosphere and circulating the rising tension in your body. The main stage basked against the background of darkness under a single warm light that cast a circular glow.

Your final destination.

His burial sight. 

Suguru was nowhere to be found, but by the looks of the thick crowd shuffling in to fill their seats, it was easy to get lost. You met back with your team lead to run your rhythms a few more times. 

“Please don’t say it.” And she laughs, giving you a small nod and shoulder squeeze.

You still hear it in your head. You’ve got this.

But man, were these poets giving you a run for your money.

It was exhilarating and terrifying—a glaring reminder of why you were here among the best.

Translations were available on the screens behind the performers as you ping-ponged between their words and their expressions. Both demanded your attention and the crowd’s.

But so did you and Suguru when you both breezed through the semifinals.

For a second, you thought he hadn’t made it to the venue at all when you looked for him during your performance. But he let you and everyone else know he was in the building when he graced that stage. A hush fell over the space, and even you felt your face go soft while watching him.

He more than deserved that advance, but you weren’t done just yet.

After a brief intermission—the DJ wasn’t playing any games—you turned the corner to line up for the final round when you collided at 100mph with Suguru. 

“Fu— oh.” You held your arm as you looked at him—really taking him in.

When he was on stage, you noticed he wasn’t in his usual uniform, but up close, the alternative was definitely a choice. The loose black tee ruffled as he smoothed his bang. 

“Sorry.” 

He rubbed his shoulder and kept his eyes low. His hands stuffed into his black cargos as he looked away, not wanting to upset you. Or see the look of resentment on your face.

You could tell he knew he made you uncomfortable, but you didn’t know how different he wished things could have been.

Hurt was written all over the face of your childhood best friend, and you never knew Suguru to be upset about anything. 

You cleared your throat. “Good luck.”

His head drew back like he’d seen a ghost.

His lips parted.

Then he kind of smiled, leaning against the wall—looking at you for a moment.

You were so grown up and had accomplished so much.

Suguru was fully aware that you hated his guts and was so proud of you—even if you didn’t need him anymore. 

He reached out to shake your hand. “Good luck, Twin.” 

Your heart thumped—no one had called you that in 4 years—sweet and low from honeyed lips.

Suguru’s hand lingered in your air for a second before you gingerly took it.

Soft and warm.

Just like you remembered but stronger—firmer.

The gloves were off for him, too.

Things were done a bit differently for the final rounds. Instead of holding deliberations for the end of the rounds after everyone had gone, everyone got their votes front and center from five random audience members.

Paddles would fly in the air, displaying the scores to be tallied up and held until the end.

Thank God you could do quick math. Numbers were racking up—bone-chilling talent was on full display.

You were amazed, laughing, shocked. Every set was different from the last.

The crowd fell into a hush when one guy came on stage and laid straight down. Bareback to ground. Then fired off rhythmic jokes that made you laugh at some and ponder the seriousness of others.

Dark humor often has truth in it. 

Most sets were in a completely different language yet spoken so beautifully that you dug your nails into your palms to keep from crying. Emotion was universal. And you were feeling a lot of them.

Suguru walking onto the stage snapped you out of it as you watched from the other side of it. 

Though you’d just seen him a few minutes ago, this was a completely different light. Something had shifted.

Nice to meet you My name is Suguru Oh really? So is mine! It’s nice to meet you too.

Tell me what you’re like, what do you like to do? Lately, I’m not sure Was hoping for a breakthrough

In a world where masks are sticky and glue I’m lost in a maze with no clear view Doubt will cling like morning dew Caught in the storm of shifting hues

If you didn’t know better, you would’ve thought Suguru was having a mental breakdown.

Your jaw tightened, clothes fidgeting between your fingers.

It was the most unexpected thing you could’ve imagined. And this was just the beginning of the journey through his paradoxical mind.

His ship was sinking. And he was taking you all down with him.

…I wear many faces each one feels new, But none will fit like I want it to Left with a voice that's small and untrue Burying deep I don't know what to do

In this mirror, I’m searching for clues, But this reflection is oddly askew. You scream through the glass, “Stay real and stay true!” But if you’re me, then…who are you?

You could hear a pin drop.

Suguru stopped breathing.

He couldn’t believe that he actually did it. He had never been so vulnerable.

If you thought you knew him and what he was going through before, you were left stunned and corrected.

A few of his scores floated into the air, and though you couldn’t see them all, the few you did were perfect 10s.

It would’ve been hell to go directly after that—thankfully, you had a few more people before you. 

Time crept closer and closer to your set—nervous sweats and fidgeting fingers kept you company.

So much for keeping a hobby a hobby, you thought, pacing backstage.

This wasn’t fun for you anymore; it was always supposed to be fun, easy, natural.

But this was no longer just about you.

It never was.

It was about proving anyone who ever doubted wrong.  

When the host called your name, you made those 3 minutes on stage feel like your last.

Rain, rain don’t go away, You’re the only one who stays, Cross my heart and hope to die I promise that I will not cry

Build and build and There it goes! All for naught and just for show Hypnotize your guards to grave Leave the trust to fade away

This was your final plea to be heard by the world if you had ever made one.

A letter to those who ever dismissed, ignored, or left you.

Fire and brimstone poured from the pit of your soul—served up on a plate with the audience in mind but Suguru as the guest of honor. 

You thought he’d be away in the dressing room or at least within earshot, but no. He stood tall and bright, leaning against the door frame that led out to the hall, backlit by the warm lights that framed his figure, watching.

Listening.

Knowing the poem was partially about him.

You hoped it hurt him as much to hear it as it did for you to write it.

Deep breaths kept your voice steady—he wouldn’t hear it crack this time as you powered through your trembles. Bold and brash. Unleashing your truth.

He saw it in your eyes and unconsciously did the only thing he knew to support you, the beginning of your connection—trust that blossomed into turmoil. The small nod of approval. 

Years had passed.

Envy had pushed you to avoid him.

He accepted that you no longer saw him as a friend.

Yet he still wanted to show his support. 

And it pissed you off.

…Lo and behold the savior's light Here to take another flight Take me by my desperate hand Lead me how you only can Fragile like a gentle rose I will follow where you go.

Shadows whisper of the known What I am. I am alone...

You walked off stage before you could see your final scores.

Whatever would be was now out of your hands—the relief felt agonizingly sweet.

Your team lead wrapped you in her arms as you silently cried. You didn’t know how long the tears had been building up, but the release was like a dam burst.

Crying on your first international trip to Belgium.

Nice. 

A final intermission was left, and the scores were tallied. You guzzled down some water and took a few breaths before meeting the rest of the contestants. Finally, finally, you and Suguru stood side by side again on stage. Your entire history had built up to this moment—ready to declare a winner. Ready to determine whether you finally caught up.

His pinky brushed yours, sending sparks to your belly like that day on his porch.

Head down, you waited for a name to be called.

Any name, every name, would be better than—

“Suguru Geto.”

Naturally rolling off their tongue.

Suguru stiffened beside you like he couldn’t believe it himself as they motioned for him to come forward. In your mind, everything went quiet. You couldn’t feel anything but emptiness in the pit of your stomach. Not even anger.

Before he moved a muscle to claim the spotlight, he turned to you, daring to offer his hand again. But it felt less like a “Job well done!” and more like a pitiful “I’m sorry.” And you had had enough of condolences. 

You turned away and left the stage in the midst of the raging applause for Suguru. No one else may have caught the cold shoulder, but to Suguru, it felt like he was trapped in ice. He could leave your life forever now for all you cared.

This was your one, final chance to make things even between you two.

But reality was a bitch.

You couldn’t get away from him quick enough.

Yes, you’ve gotten to travel the country. Yes, you got the opportunity of a lifetime to go overseas just off your hard work alone, but all of that meant nothing if you were only second best. 

It was redundant. 

What was even the point in trying? You would never be good enough to stand on your own. Always under his shadow, drowning in his wake.

It wasn’t.fucking.fair.

You brushed past your team lead, contestants—anyone trying to tell you how amazing you did. You couldn’t stand being bathed in lies and beelined out the back of the venue. 

“Fuck this.” You choked back tears, breath escaping you as you pushed the door open.

The contrast of sharp, cold air whipped your face, making you realize you didn’t grab your jacket, but it was just what you needed to set the gravity of your situation in. 

You were nothing. 

You bawled your fists.

And foolish for trying. 

Hyperventilating.

Look at what you came from. Look at what you get for trying to change that.

Hot, fat tears spilled down your face as you huddled in a corner of the building. You wrapped your arms around your knees, trying to shield the icy winds, but you already felt dead inside. Pathetic and worthless. It was out of your hands to change that.

A voice called after you, belonging to the last person you wanted to see right now. That soft, angelic voice that swooned the world and made your insides boil. Why couldn’t he just get it?? Why couldn’t he stay the fuck away??

You thought you had hidden yourself well by putting a bit of distance between the exit and the corner you tucked into, but he found you in seconds, tears dried on your face, crouching into your knees.

He stood there gaping, completely overwhelmed by the state of you.

For once, he was out of words.

“Well??” It was hoarse and cracking. 

“I-I’m—”

“Oh my God, pLEASE fucking save it!” You shook, burying your head into your arms.

It was enough that he got to bask in your pathetic breakdown with front-row seats. He didn’t need to pretend he didn’t enjoy it.

But Suguru was fed up with your bullshit and came looking to tell you about it. The final straw was leaving his extension of sympathy high and dry as you walked off stage. Giving him the ultimate “fuck you” in his moment of congratulations. 

He never understood why you hated him—the resentment, what happened, what he’d done. But he was about to make you explain yourself. 

“Get up.” Gentleness left his voice.

He came closer and towered over your petite frame, cornering you so you couldn’t run away. “You think I don’t know how much this meant to you?”

When you didn’t answer, he crouched down to your level. 

“Hey.” 

You buried yourself deeper. 

“Hey.”

“Don’t touch me.” You brushed him away, pressing your back into the wall as you stood up, shivering in the wind.

But it felt like you had punched him in the gut.

He had never seen you so bothered before, and the revelation that you were pointing the finger and naming him the culprit made his chest feel tight. It felt worse attempting to bury your heart on your sleeve. But the extent of your scorn was on full display.

After a moment of looking your bitterness in the face, it finally clicked for Suguru.

Why you hated him. Couldn't stand to look at him. Avoided him.

Why you started all of this competitive bullshit in the first place.

The root of it was more painfully obvious to see than the daggers in your eyes. What else could it be?

“You’re jealous.”

And that set you off.

“HA!” It almost hurt to laugh. “Jealous?!”

People could probably hear you inside the venue. But Suguru knew just what to say to get you to talk. 

“This whole time, I thought you were upset because I left, but…you’re just jealous.”

You snorted. “You’ve never worked hard a day in your life.”

“What? You don’t think I earned this?”

“Who knows? Mommy buys you everything.”

“Woah,” he held up a hand and laughed, “Is that what this is about?” 

Your cheeks burned hot, but you had egg on your face and had just spilled the beans. But fire still raged in your chest.

“You could have had anything else. Anything! Anything in the world, but you just had to take this from me!”

“How was I supposed to know??” he cut you off, “You stopped talking to me.” 

You felt a pang and fell silent—flurries of unread texts, unopened Snaps, and missed calls played in both of your minds. 

“How was I supposed to know anything? How was I supposed to have anything without making you feel bad?” 

“Me?” You scoffed. “Without me, you’d probably still be sitting on that dusty ass porch (you loved that porch), watching everyone go and fucking live life.”

“I was like 7.”

“9.” You rubbed the blooming goosebumps on your arms.

“Whatever, you think I owe you or something? You want a ‘thank you’?”

His tone made you shift, but you puffed up your chest.

“No, I don’t need a thank you." Your eyes narrowed. “I’m just not that impressed.”

Oh?

He scoffed, backing away with a smirk, arms swinging as he looked away then back at you. “You’re full of it.”

“You’re not that talented.”

He cocked his head, raising a brow. You were questioning his talent—clearly emotional and spewing lies—but it was a shot at his reputation nonetheless. 

His smirk faltered as he clasped his hands. “You wanna go?” And then he got closer. Your breath caught as he studied your face, his left arm shooting out to frame you, pinning you into the corner.

The heat radiating off his body should have been a comfort in the frosty air, but fuck, you also felt other things that raced your heart and made you hate yourself. 

He leaned over you. “How would you like to eat your words? Fried? Or sautéed?”

His eyes bore into yours, daring you to buck up or back down. But just because he finally had the balls to challenge you and take up space didn't mean you were intimidated.

He was the same little boy he'd always been.

And you were quick to remind him.

“Bite me, Get—”

Instead, he kissed, capturing your lips in a way that shot electricity down your spine and stole the breath and shriek right out of your body.

In an instant, you swore your pupils morphed into hearts. For so long, he's wanted to do that—kiss your sweet, supple lips that ramble nonsense and shut you up—bridge the gap between your broken friendship to ask for more, to make all your fire, resistance, and anger melt away...so you could come back to him.

Knees weak, you nearly staggered, scrambling for the walls to keep you up, but was saved by his hand cradling your hip to hold you. Keep you. Protect you. Your heart burst.

You pulled away, eyes heavy. Leaving a sliver of space between your lips to see your heated breaths mingling in the chilly air as he rested his forehead against yours. Softly, you cradled his face in your hand, feeling waves of longing swell through your body—his had already burst. Then you slapped him.

“How’s that for poetry?” And left. 

extended angel's note: this story took a TOTALLY different turn from what i originally planned (thanks Mac Miller) but omg it's sO much better and kinda fits into all of the sugu angst i have planned (oh how i love to hurt myself so). this story in particular was supposed to be like all smut and no exposition but um…things happen 😅 sO, all of the low-angst, ‘enemies’ to lovers lives in part 1, with a focus on the resolution in part 2: lovers who give in and chose each other arc while remaining focused on my original goal of making a smut that spotlights and actualizes realistic sex. learning each other, listening, patiently growing, and choosing.

[mezzo-morte]

Being a Mulder/Scully shipper (aka everyone except Chris Carter) is such a profoundly confusing experience.

You get gaslit by the showrunner himself because for the first 6(?) seasons the characters are platonic. You get six years of them glancing at the other's lips, standing and walking so closely they're always touching, you get tender touches and warm embraces, you get forehead kisses, you get displays of jealousy and one of them even admitting to being territorial. You get this as soon as the damn pilot.

You get Mulder speaking into Scully's hair, you get Scully cradling and singing to him, you get Mulder making a scene threatening to fight anyone in sight when Scully is returned to the hospital, you get Scully wanting to have his child of all people.

You get that the connection is so profound they only trust the other and would (and have) gone to hell and back for their partner.

You have all of these feelings culminating in the intense way in which they gaze at each other, both directly and when the other isn't looking.

Then you have the actors, who were so horned up and fed up with the tension they went off script and made out like that, the same actors who did photoshoots in bed and kissed at award shows and interviews despite never being together, despite the characters never being canonically a couple. You get David, who when asked if he played it like he wanted Scully, he said he simply played it like he cares about her input and you get Gillian, who kissed David in the mouth before turning to kiss her husband when she won an emmy in 1997.

It's clearly love and although the absence of romance and sex don't make a connection any less legitimate or meaningful, I just don't buy it that there was never supposed to be an attraction from the beginning. That they remained friends for that long.

And still you're left questioning if it isn't all just projection because the two actors are so insanely attractive you can't help but want to see them in a sexual setting. If it's all just two good friends having so much chemistry that it makes it easy to come off as romantic. You're left to wonder if you have just been so blind in your own personal life that you have never so much as seen that kind of connection in marriages, let alone with coworkers. That perhaps you've just never had the fortune of having such a special connection with your platonic friend that you make out just for fun. You're made to believe that what you're seeing isn't desire but a deep understanding and care for the other's well being and happiness.

What is the truth. It's out there and at this point I have to believe it's all a ploy from the shadow government and Old Smokey himself to cover up what everyone already knows. The evidence is right in front of us and they keep trying to veer towards a specific answer and call bias if you don't agree.

[whiskeyskin]

Goddesses and Mortals

Premise: After the events of Love and Longing, Gale finds out that his feelings are reciprocated.. and that's not all.. 😳🍑🫵

Accidental sequel to a previous fic cause I can't get this lonely Wizard out of my head without the promise of a potentially happy ending 🥹 in more ways than one 😏🍆

Gale x gn!tav • 18+ • E/M rating • MDNI

Gale POV, reader referred to as 'you', no specific mention of gentials or gender, porn with plot?, Mystra can fuck right off, fantasies becoming reality, longing, love, tenderness, mutual masturbation, anal fingering (M receiving), unabashed consent, mild cum swapping, minor sub/dom energy, marking if you squint

5.3k words

Special thanks to @senualothbrok for nestling this tadpole in my brain for Gale to get the real deal one day.. 💜

And at it again @spellbooking with another beautiful gif of our Rizzard ☺️ Thank you! 💜

•°•°•

Gale was close, very close.

He had to hurry, the party would all be rising from camp soon. Though there was no sunlight in this desolate place, a full rest was almost upon him.

Safely secluded in the abandoned house on the far reaches of camp; sweat damp on his brow, his hand slick with salvia, Gale feverishly pumped his length in quick bursts.

Your illusion image looked up at him through lidded eyes licking your bottom lip hungrily and growling a hedonistic moan.

"Gale.." you whimpered, the voice distorted.

"Yes, love.. I'm going to come for you.. only for you.. come with me." He bit out, on the precipice of orgasm.

Suddenly, a faint lilting of rosewater assailed his nose and stopped him dead.

A cold dread filled his body, incapacitating his lungs.

Mystra.

It couldn't be.

Surely not.

Not here.

Not now.

Why right now for hell's sake?

He'd not felt her presence since she'd tried to wedge herself between you both when you'd shared a moment of magic in camp.

Despite their separation, she still checked in on her disgraced former chosen and lover at the most inopportune moments.

Fumbling, he quickly tucked himself away in his waistband and spun on his heel.

Nothing.. but the scent remained.

Had she finally gotten sick of his abusing himself constantly to the fictitious likeness of you, using her magical essence to do so?

Had she been sensing him masturbating at least twice a day since her intervention charm through Elminster?

Was she making herself known to quell his incessant self-gratification, or to participate in it?

Even a tenday ago, that would have been a comforting thought. One he would have relished in, taken solace and pride in.. but this felt wrong.

His sweet nothings he had whispered in the dead of night to "you" weren't for Mystra's perverse enjoyment, or sick amusement, weren't for her for to cast judgement on.

"I don't know why you're here," he called brazenly, "but I assure you, this is nothing that concerns you any longer. Now, if you'd be so kind, leave me in peace." He requested, firmly.

Silence.

He wasn't convinced.

"And I don't appreciate the timing of you little assertion here. Now that I'm finally on a path of some kind of healing, you make yourself known?" He snapped, pointing a finger at nothing.

"You have no reason to be here. You have already spoken your will and want with my life and until such a time that that moment arrives, I will do what I want, with whomever I want. Be they real, or fantasy is no concern of yours. Now, leave." He frowned and gestured finally.

The warmth in the air he didn't realise had been present disparated. He was left cold.

Just like always with her.

"Gale?" Called your voice, your vision now by the doorway.

He looked up to see you leaning on the doorframe, slightly bleary.

"Sorry, my love. I got distracted. Less said about that, the better. Now," he beckoned a crooked finger towards himself, "let's get back to where we were before everyone wakes up."

You frowned and looked him up and down, "Did you just call me, 'my love'?" You asked.

For the second time that early morning, Gale's blood ran cold.

"And what exactly were we doing before?" You irked a brow, looking amused.

Gale struggled for words as the blood that had been swiftly journeying to the south was urgently redirected north.

"I-uh-I did? Must've been a mistake. What are you doing up so early?" He asked, trying to change the subject.

You squinted, "Who were you talking to?"

"No one." Gale answered, feigning innocence.

"Wow, that was convincing." You teased with mockingly wide eyes. You narrowed your eyes at him and he felt a gentle brush against his mind. You were seeking permission. He allowed it.

"Mystra?" You asked with a tense lilt. Gale nodded.

"Thought so, I heard you calling that you were trying to move on and someone was suddenly trying to get your attention again. Is everything alright?" You asked, your tone worried and sincere.

Gale's heart bloomed.

"Yes, since her missive from Elminster, she's reached out. I don't have time for it."

"That's a massive step for you, Gale. You said something about moving on, is that true?"

"Somewhat." He answered in a half truth.

You smiled, "Is she still here?" There was a pause, Gale could see the cogs turning, "Did you want to make her jealous? Is that why you called me 'my love'?"

Gale blinked twice.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, maybe you snuck up here to be with me. Maybe I'm the one you're moving on with."

Again, Gale blinked twice.

How unintentionally right you were.

He swallowed.

"Would that be something you're interested in helping me with?"

"To fuck with the gods? Anything." You purred the last word down the connection at him and it made the hairs on his neck raise like you'd whispered it directly against his skin.

"Then by all means, take the lead."

You irked a seductive brow and turned down your head to gaze through lidded eyes.

He swallowed.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to stare. You're just so gods damned handsome. I'm glad we could sneak away again." You walked towards him confidently, a slight prowl in your gait.

Gale's blood supply had ignored previous instruction and fully marched back south. The sight of you - truly you - saying these things to him had him dizzy from the rush of blood.

"Not to worry, I quite enjoying being gawped at."

"Well, it's certainly no hardship." You wrapped your arms around him and pulled him in for a sensual hug, while he desperately tried to keep his erection from your notice.

"Mm, we have to be quick. We don't have much time until the others wake up." You crooned, wrapping your arms around his neck, "Did the minor illusion keep you warm enough while I was gone?"

And for the third time that morning, Gale's body shot full of ice.

His blood entirely confused, threw it's hands up in defeat for direction.

You knew?

How could you know?

He was careful.. wasn't he?

Your hands never stopped roaming; his arms, his shoulders, his neck.. his hair.. oh gods, up into his hair.

Gale's breath hitched and shuddered.

Oh gods, you felt like heaven. Even if he felt like he was in hell.

"I know you like me to watch you but I've been so neglectful lately with everything that's been going on. Can you forgive me?" You pulled back from him, your face pulled into a beautifully twisted smile, sin pulled at the edges.

"I th-think you can make it up to me." He gasped.

Your eyebrows flexed in amusement up your forehead, "Do you want me to watch you right now? With everyone waiting in camp, drinking tea and preparing breakfast?"

You smoothed your hands from his shoulders to the top of his chest, "Do you like the anticipation of being caught, Gale? The rush of being found?"

Oh gods, you were so close. You smelled so good, like lemongrass and lavender.. and underneath the balms, your musk, your scent. You.

"I would do anything, as long as it was with you, my love." He breathed, unable to contain the emotion in his voice.

Your eyes unfocused for a brief moment, then came back, blinking as though seeing through an unfogged mirror.

A soft gasp caught in the back of your throat; that noise could state him for a thousand nights.

Then you stepped away.

You averted your gaze, and backed away from his arms completely. You shut your eyes tightly.

"Gale, I-"

You opened them, a wealth of feelings swirling but he couldn't decipher any of them.

"I need to get back to camp. We need to get to Moonrise Towers today, with Isobel's blessing we can cross the Shadows. We need to be ready." You nodded curtly and disappeared.

Gale stared after you, the cold air of the Shadowlands around him a cruel but poetic pathetic fallacy.

He groaned and closed his eyes against balled fists, as he pressed them against his eyes. Tears brimmed behind them, hot frustrated tears.

"Gods fucking dammit."

***

Gale had attempted to maintain distance today, which had been difficult considering you'd partied up together with Karlach and Shadowheart.

Karlach had tried to question his glum mood, but he'd simply recused it as nerves of their close proximity to the potential Heart of the Absolute.

"Ah, Gale. If there's anyone who knows how shit it is to have a ticking time bomb in their chest, it's me. Come and speak to me sometime mate, yeah? We can talk about it."

"Karlach, you're truly a soul that steels my own. I may just take you up on that."

A firm nod and a beaming smile from Karlach ended the conversation as they entered this Balthazar's chamber, after which none of them really had the stomach for food that night.

Wyll had stepped up and made a hearty bowl of vegetable and meat stew. It was nothing on his own cooking, of course but it was a valiant attempt.

Needed a little more pepper.

You sat nursing your bowl, generally making conversation around the fire. Halsin had joined you back from Last Light with no new news of the catatonic lost soul, apart from that he kept singing. A lute of significance to him had been added to your list of items to retrieve; an ever growing list.

Gale swallowed a mouthful and risked a glance towards you, your eyes met for a brief moment before you looked away, uncomfortable. His heart sank.

He'd truly ruined any chance of friendship after his desperate behaviour this morning. You'd barely spoken two words together all day, and now you wouldn't look him in the eye.

He excused himself for an early night and retreated to his tent. He lit his candles and pulled out one of the many books he'd picked up along today's excursions around Moonrise, hoping that one of them would point them towards the heart.

***

The noise around the campfire grew weary as he poured over his readings. Various 'goodnights' alerted him to the potentially late hour.

Gale sighed and rubbed his eyes, he conjured a bookmark, closed it and drained his glass of wine.

Now that he'd been pulled from his focus, he realised how tired he was. Physically drained from a gruelling day of emotional turbulence.

Rosewater gently lilted under his nose, he snorted it back out.

"Oh for the love of-! Bugger off!" He spat through a whisper.

"I'm sorry." Came your voice from behind him.

He spun around on his knees to see you hastily trying to leave his tent.

"No!" Called a little too loudly, reaching out across the space, "Not you. I didn't mean you."

You stopped, looking back at him for the first time since the morning. The soft glow of the candles illuminating your wonderful face, his heart squeezed uncomfortably.

"I assume she's back again, then?" You asked through terse lips, glancing around the low lit interior of his tent.

"Where rosewater is, Mystra's sure to follow. What can I do for you?" Gale asked, shaking off the lingering of his former lover.

"I-," you started, wringing your hands, "I wanted to apologise for this morning."

Gale blinked.

You wanted to apologise?

"What for?" He questioned his tone incredulous.

"For it all. I embarrassed you, I embarrassed myself.. I acted poorly. I thought it would be a good way to show that I knew what you'd been doing-with the minor illusions." Gale's eyes widened. He'd been attempting to solve that one today.

"H-How did you find out?"

"I'd cast Detect Thoughts on Jaheria when we met her at the Inn, and it lasts all day. I heard you when I was laying down to rest. All the things you wanted to do." You swallowed thickly, and a jolt of excitement shot it's way through his cock to his brain.

That was two nights ago.

He'd fantasized about gourging on your sex as you mounted his face, fucking yourself with his mouth as you leaned back with one hand to stroke him. He'd made a mess of his walls, as well as himself.

"You've got a pretty interesting imagination, Gale. Especially since we seem to be ethereal galaxy people in your head." You smiled, folding your arms across yourself, "The one from last night was pretty hot too." You bit your bottom lip to contain more, and swallowed.

He remembered that vividly.

He'd fantasised about spooning you, fucking into you and playing with you from behind. The mirror image had gasped and moaned for him, breathed his name over and over again, as he came to the thought of pleasing you enough to milk his cum inside your clenching walls.

"I thought it was just sex, that maybe we could get rid of some nervous energy together but then this morning.. the way you-you looked at me.." you trailed off, Gale's heart hammered against his chest.

You rest your splayed hands across your heart, "I was foolish. You're not the kind to just sleep around. To have casual sex and not think of it again."

"Like Astarion?" He quipped before vetting the venomous comment.

You tightened your lip, "Kind of." You answered, with a tone that felt loaded with more secretive information but he didn't want to pry.

Well, he did.

But not right now.

"I could be." He postured, looking up at you.

You let out a short laugh, "That face this morning is not the face of someone who can just have sex and not want more."

He hardened his face, "It could be.. if you wanted to be.." Gale irked a brow, feigning a casual air.

"Oh, yeah?" You goaded, leaning on one hip and folding your arms again.

"Absolutely. We could have sex right now and I wouldn't bat an eyelid." He lied, pushing his lips down into a grimace, while his cheeks flushed and his heart pounded against his sternum.

"Really?" You questioned, looking dubious.

"Unquestionably." Gale punctuated with a flick of his fingers, relaxing into his position on the floor, widening his knees to sit back on his heels in an attempt at nonchalance.

"So, you fantasising about kissing my neck, my chest, stomach and hips and calling me "my love" means nothing." You stated, using air quotations.

"Certainly not. Mere sweet talk." Gale shook his head, shrugging his shoulders, while sweat gathered on his forehead.

You kicked off your hip and confidently strolled towards the short distance to him. His mouth instantly dried to dangerous levels of dehydration, as he tried to keep composure.

"And imagining your cock in my mouth, telling me how much you adore me, that isn't telling at all?" You sneered a lip through a smirk and shrugged one shoulder.

"Demonstrably." He tried to remain calm but every cell in his body was panicking, "Do you see me reacting?" He willed himself through words not to show a care.

Your tongue broke through your smirk to rub against your top teeth and his felt it between his legs, he jerked unconsciously.

"You're glowing." You drawled, dipping your eyes to his chest, "Do you even realise the orb lights up when you're horny?"

Gale's painfully stony face dropped as he quickly darted his vision to his chest.

You were indeed correct.

Through his camp clothes, a faint purple hue eminated through the fabric. Gale shot his had to cover his blatant display of arousal. He gave a sharp exhale through his nose and closed his eyes in utter embarrassment.

"This tent has been a purple colour show since Crèche Y'llek." You teased, the sound of your voice curved around a grin.

Gale's chest hollowed.

Gods dammit.

Mystra dammit.

"Oh and also this.." Suddenly he felt something graze along the length of his concealed erection - what he thought was a his concealed erection.

He let out a whining gasp, his hand slapping against worn leather, and he opened his eyes.

You'd rubbed the top of your boot under and against him in his kneeled position, gliding his sensitive member with the leather of your shoe. You continued the rhythm, the gentle friction was delicious, he gasped open mouthed.

Oh gods, it was real.

You were real.

It wasn't a cruel trick, or a fantasy.

It was you.

Gale reached up to grasp the crook of your knee, you held your gaze steadfast against his own. He began to pull off your boot, your eyes never faultered from his as it was flung to the back of the tent.

Your foot resting on his thigh, his hand still holding the meat of your strong calf.

You took his prickly chin within your fingers, eyes unsure.

"If this going to happen, it's just sex. Nothing more." You stated, in a low tone.

Gale nodded, trembling from anticipation.

"I mean it. If you're on a path to self-destruction in the name of a Goddess, I'm not wasting my time with feelings." Your voice caught and anger flashed across your features but tears hinted in your eyes.

You slid your foot off his thigh and slowly descended to crouch in front of him, taking his face fully in your hands. Their warmth slid into the deepest recesses of his lonely soul.

"I care about you, Gale. You're worth far more than what she's asked you to do. Far more."

He poured over your face, so close to him. Emotions that he had denied himself bubbling to the surface; the longing, the loneliness.. the fear.

You ran a thumb to dry a tear he hadn't realise had fallen.

"Say something." You whispered, your gaze flitting between his eyes and his lips.

Oh gods.

This was to truly happen?

He'd kiss your beautiful, soft lips?

His breathing was unsteady, the anticipation coiled dangerously around every facet of his musculature.

Gale opened his mouth to speak, to utter sweet poetry regaling your beauty, your passion, your wit and wisdom but the words would not form, they were stunted on his paralysed tongue.

You were so close.

He could feel the heat from your body, he could see the wisps of your hair moving with his unsteady breath.

You came closer and pressed your lips between his brows, electric tingling his skin in your wake. His eyes lolled shut as he finally brought his hands to hold you to him, press you to him, to feel you finally.

He slid his hands below the seam of your shirt, to feel your smooth and scarred skin, fire grazing his fingertips at the contact.

"I-.. I care for you deeply. I cannot deny this." He began breathlesly, your forehead's connected, your bodies melting together. You sank further into the embrace, widening your legs to fully welcome him between your thighs.

The image of that first night he touched himself to thoughts of you, bloomed across his mind and he bit his lip.

"Neither can I." You agreed, the sound of your voice low and raspy, "It scares me, Gale. It scares the shit into me," you leaned back, holding on to the back of his neck, slowly leading you both down to the carpeted rugs below his bedroll, "Show me. Show me I'm not wrong to feel this way. Show me I'm not alone in this."

Gale shook in head, almost trance-like, "You're not alone-not alone.. I'm with you." He followed you down, desperate not to lose a second's touch with you.

"And I'm with you, I'm not letting you go." You spoke the words against his mouth, it made his mind numb.

"No, never. Never leave me." He mumbled, as you both situated yourselves on the floor. Words bubbled and frothed out of his mouth before he could stop them, "I've been so utterly alone for so long, cut off from everyone I knew and cared for.. and I'm terrified, I'm filled with dread each day. I don't want to die-I want to stay.. stay here." He mewled through the overwhelming emotion in his throat. You increased the intensity of your touch against your brows.

"Shh, none of that matters now. It doesn't exist. For now.. it's just us.. you and me.." you whispered against his skin, he felt it shiver down every vertebrae.

"You and me." He repeated, comforted by the softness in your voice.

Suddenly, your hand grasped his naked cock. He yelped in pleasure, but was hushed by the passionate meeting of your mouth. You captured his cries, claiming them as your own.

His fingers bunched your shirt, his knuckles white, as your tongue swept in to merge with his.

Oh gods.

You tasted like wine, and oranges, and sex.

He'd imagined your taste, your scent.. but this.. the full force of you was so much more intense that he could have expected.

You fingered his leaking slit and he jerked at the sensation, causing you both to make involuntary, open-mouthed moans.

You increased in fervour at his reaction, a desperate whine eeking from his body.

It was too much but not enough. He wanted more, more of you, more of this. He wanted the world to fall away and to be consumed by only you.

Like you said; "Just you and me."

Even though it would be grammatically correct to say 'You and I'.

Your hand wrapped around the length of him, pumping the head of his penis in short, lanquid bursts.. and suddenly the correctness on ones grammar seemed worlds away.

Gale shuddered and knelt over your body, settling himself between your gorgeous thighs, pressing down against your sex, enough to make you gasp.

You shared a wicked grin together before he cradled you to him, desperately kissing and mating your tongues. His hips unconsciously twitching against the friction of your hand.

"Gods, Gale. I want you." You keened against his lips, puffs of air escaping aggressively from your lungs, as his hips drove against you.

"Yesyesyesyesyes.." he chorused, messily thrusting against your palm, "Want this. Want you. For a long while.. even before.."

"Did you fantasize about all the positions we could fuck in?"

A sharp feeling settled low in his gut and he squeezed his eyes shut to close out a threatening, pre-emptive climax.

"Yes, wanted you.. badly." He added, barely able to speak.

"I know, I saw. Sweating and willing underneath you?"

"Yess.." he hissed.

"Slipping a finger inside me, then another, preparing me to take you?"

Another deliciously painful pang shuddered inside him.

"Stretching my tight hole for you, till I'm begging you to fuck me hard and unrelenting?" You growled against his lips.

Gale tensed his jaw to mute a groan from his chest, as your words gripped the back of his head.

Oh dear fucking gods.

You were very, very good at this.

"I especially liked where I got to play with you. Those moans at the back of your throat when you'd think of me on top, or taking charge.. I had trouble concentrating yesterday because I couldn't stop replaying those sounds."

He heard you whisper an incantation, that his lust-filled brain slowly realised was Mage hand, the moment before he felt the cold sensation working his undergarments completely free, pushing them down passed his knees.

"There was one particular part you seemed to be interested in exploring together." You purred against his temple, as you twisted your grip around his plump, weeping member.

The Mage hand palmed at the cleft of his ass and lazily dragged it's fingers up his perennium, sliding towards his..

He gasped, throwing his head back and loosening his tight hips to tilt them upwards in wanton display.

"Oh gods." Gale whimpered, biting down on his lip hard, "Mm-Mhm." He panted in abandon.

He'd experimented with himself in this matter in his youth and in his newfound sexual freedom after his year of self imposed celibacy but never with another.

The magical fingers languidly drawled across his sensitive skin. He bucked and jerked against the feeling of you pleasuring him, needing more of both.

You groaned and rutted your hips against him.

"You look so beautiful like this, I can see you in the mirror behind you. You look spectacular, spreading yourself for me." You crooned, praising him and licking your bottom lip. You looked beyond him to what he assumed was his mirror.

Oh gods.

You were going to watch him like this.

Like he'd imagined.

Exposed.

Hedonistic.

Depraved.

The thought waved over his brain and made him dizzy, the desire swelled low in his belly.

"You're so willing and receptive, Gale. Do you want me to slide these fingers inside you? To pleasure you completely until you can't comprehend your own name?" You asked salaciously, assuring consent before blindly continuing. He raised his hips higher for better access as wordless agreement.

The mage hand ran a soaked finger across his puckering hole but ventured no further without express permission.

His whole body trembled, desire coarsing through his veins, soaking into every orifice.

"Yes.. yes.. fuck. I need it. Please.. please.." he wailed through staggered breath.

"Look at me." You instructed softly, halting your motions of abject pleasure.

With great difficulty, Gale did as he was told. He about exploded with joy with the sight of you.

He'd imagined you, summoned your likeness but nothing could ever compare to this.

The aura of his orb bathed you in a magical amethyst glow; the adoration shining in your eyes, the seductive curve of your lip, the sweat flattening your hair to your temples.

"So handsome.. so beautiful. Look at you, look at how you light up for me.." you smiled, guilding him with compliments as you raise a hand to touch the angry purple mark on his chest, now emblazoned with Mystra's star. "This does not define you. You are not the orb. You are not Mystra's chosen. You are Gale and you chose your own path. You are, and will always be, enough.. just as you are.."

Soft tears fell from his eyes from the intensity of his emotional response to your words and the physical stimuli of the hand gently testing his entrance.

You gently kissed the apples of his wet cheeks, then looked up at him with a darkened expression.

"Arch your back for me, sweetheart."

Gale instantly buried his face against your neck, lifting his exposed self for you.

"Good.." you cooed, beginning a slow pace to pump his cock again.

"Ohh, gods." His whined against your skin, his limit already close.

"Relax.." you whispered, kissing his temple, "Relax for me, darling. Take a deep breath, and let it out. Keep breathing."

Gale did as he was told. With each expell of air he loosened the muscles surrounding his asshole. The need growing to dizzying heights.

Pressure pushed against his rim as the finger glided halfway, he gasped and clenched unconsciously.

"Breathe, Gale." You soothed, pressing soft kisses to his face, "You're handling this so well."

Further and further you pushed inside him, delicious sensation flooding his body. His body tense and limp simultaneously, as the pleasure radiated through him from his pulsating walls.

"Fuck." He barely managed.

He kissed your neck and sucked down on the bite marks left by Astarion. He would make his own mark on you. One that everyone would see.

You gasped, your breath catching as you rolled your hips against him, teeth lightly nipping at his ear lobe.

Gale felt the friction of your other hand reaching down between you to stimulate your own release. His urge re-doubled in it's efforts to push him higher, intoxicated by your arousal.

He could feel your desperate movements between you, lightly grazing his testicles with the back of your hand.

You surprised him by gently pinching the head of him and thumbing the slit before initiating an unyielding, rapid rhythm wrapped around his cock. Synchronizing with curling the Mage hand towards his stomach, rubbing over the knot of his prostate.

A ragged, strained noise escaped from his throat as the sensations joined, assailing him from both sides.

He pushed back against the Mage hand, taking it's digit to the hilt.

"Oh yes, that's it. Enjoy it. It's for you.. all for you." You chorused his words to you, the words he used every night to pray to your false altar.

But now he had you, truly had you.. and you were spectacular.. you could not be formed into words.. you transcendend this mortal plane.. you were.. more than Godly.. you were-

A second finger penetrated him without refute and stretched his hole, doubling the pleasure against his sweet spot inside his ass, and he cried out in sheer bliss. Your hand wrapped around his cock, pumping in jubilant rhythm combined with the thrusting of the spell deep inside him.

The precipice of orgasm gripped him like a vice and choked him of all other need, apart from that to cum.

In that moment of blessed eternity, the world was narrowed down to nothing more than you and him. A vaccum in existence bathed in magical light.

Rapture split through every atom of his existence, building and climbing in a torrent of unstable energy.

"Yes, Gale-yes-come. Come with me."

His mouth open, panting like a rabid dog, he lost himself entirely.

He roared and strained and gasped, as he shot thick ropes all over your torso. His asshole squeezed and clenched tightly on the digits deliciously stuffed inside him working his orgasm longer. Your skilled hand milking every last drop from him.

He gulped for breath as you cried out underneath him, jerking against your own hand, breathless and exhilarated.

He watched you come undone underneath him, eyes screwed, mouth gaping, then biting down to quieten your moans.

Dear gods, you looked exquisite.

He reached a hand between you both to feel the after effects of your rhapsody, you twitched and laughed through a smile, as he stroked your sensitive sex in the wake of orgasm, riding you longer like you were to him.

"Stopstopstop-too much." You barely gasped against his sweat laden forehead.

There you lay, for what seemed like an easy age, together.

Aftershocks struck you both as you lay together in your joined euphoria.

The Mage hand had disappeared and left him feeling pleasantly sore from the hectic pace.

Gale pushed himself up onto his forearm, extracating his hand from between you. It was covered in your release, it glistened on his hand.

It was one of the most erotic things he'd ever seen. Something he hadn't fantasied.

He glanced back to you, you also held up your hand drenched in him.

You opened your mouth, clearing indicating to feast on yourself from his fingers. His tender cock twitched with desire.

He reciprocated his mouth and you swept your digits in his mouth. He tasted himself, licking his semen clean, as you suckled your own essence from his fingers, then pulled him in for a deep kiss.

Gale moaned at the melding of you both on mating tongues. It was pure sex and exhilaration. The desire and need. The fullfilment and warmth.

The kiss broke and you smiled at him, letting out a large breath.

"That was.." He started.

"Incredible." You finished.

"That's one of many words." He mused, laughing breathlessly.

Gale pushed himself up higher, "Oh, gods." He snorted, looking down at the scene of debauchery before him and kneeled onto his heels.

You and he were both covered in cum. It was obscene how licentiously delicious you looked painted with each other.

He remembered the first time he'd cum to your image, how hollow and alone he'd felt.

But not this time.

This time he felt complete.

Like a piece of him had hurried it's way back to him after so long apart.

"Well, that's one way to let off some steam." He chuckled darkly.

"I think it's hot." You smirked, biting down on your lower lip.

Gale swallowed with difficulty, "Careful you, that's dangerous."

Gale heaved out a breath and came to grips with what had just transpired between you both. How little his imagination had been able to conceive of you. What paltry figments had been the stars of his fantasies.

He glanced down upon you; hair mussed, sweat drying on your skin, clothes rumpled and he couldn't have loved you more.

"What?" You asked in a quiet voice.

Gale shook his head, "Nothing." He feigned.

He waved his hand with a simple somantic and the evidence was gone.

"Then come down here, I'm getting cold." You stroked your hands up his arms and enveloped him into an embrace that warmed all the lost parts of his soul.

"I meant it, Gale. I won't let you destory yourself for this. We'll find another way." You nestled yourself deeper into the hug.

Gale smiled contentedly from ear to ear, "I know we will.. because now I have something to live for."

•°•°•

Part 1

Psst.. Ive got a Masterlist too 👀

[readychilledwine]

Hi! I love your writing, it always makes me grin. Could I request a platonic Az fic? One where reader is like 10, super cuddly and touch affection starved and Feyre’s ward (kind of like Evangeline is to Lyssandra), and maybe like the kid or sister of one of the children of the blessed that was sent over the wall but feyre found her and took her in even though Tamlin didn’t like it, so when Mor took Feyre, she had to take reader too, and then during that dinner, she gets scared to meet everyone (especially cass sine he seems intimidating) so she runs behind the nearest person, Az and when he doesn’t get upset, she sticks with him through the dinner, wanting to be next to him, hiding behind his wings, asking for cuddles, and playing with his hands. He doesn’t get upset and reader just decides to follow him like a shadow from then in and make him her fave person, like watching when he train, being sad and quiet when he’s gone (until Nuella and Cereadwin bring her sweets), happy when he’s back, and never leaving his side, and even asking him to carry her etc.

Oath

Warnings - platonic soul mates, mentions of Amarantha and UTM, visions

A/N - I'm not saying I am tucking this away for a rainy day, but I'm not not saying that 👀

Azriel Masterlist

You didn't even have to ask or knock. The door opened, and shadows pulled you in. Guiding you to Azriel in the dark as he opened up his blanket and pulled you up to his bed and into his arms. "Nightmares?" He murmured softly into your hair, holding you close. "It's okay, little one. We all have them." You curled into him, basking in the warmth and protection he offered. His wing rested over you, feeling like a blanket weighing down like a tight hug. "Tell me what you saw?"

You started softly. "A robed figure with swans. But this time, it was like.." You paused, wiping tears from your eyes. "It was like I was a swan. You were on the waterline of the lake, yelling for me."

Azriel went stiff, then pulled you closer to him. "No one is going to take you from me. From us. You are ours to look after."

And you had been since you arrived in the Night Court. You had been ripped from the mortal realm with Feyre by Tamlin. Feyre had taken you in, despite arguments from her sisters, when she found you starving in the streets. You became hers, and she yours. She was closest thing you had ever had to a sister, and her regret the moment you were caught following her Under the Moutain was something she struggled to live with to this day.

Amarantha had taken a liking to you, though. You were a tender human girl she enjoyed using as a personal servant. She kept you at her side, almost always glowing with how much you admired the fae, how you were raised to be complicit to them by the Children of the Blessed. You complimented her constantly, adoring her dresses, her hair, her glowing skin. You had no idea she was so evil. So cruel. That was until Feyre's first trial.

It was Rhysand who pulled you into his room one night, sheltering you from the violence going on. He had whispered to you tales of a city covered in starlight and a family. A family that all found each other, chose each other, loved each other. He had worked you into the bargain with Feyre, ensuring he had you for one week every month, ensuring you were away from Tamlin, who, for unknown reasons, hated you.

When you first came to the Night Court, Rhys spent the week with you, teaching you to read and write more gently than he had Feyre, teaching you the different courts, the different high lords. He had put you in dresses that made his eyes sparkle but grow distant with longing. He had called you his little second chance, and on that second visit, you were sold. You loved Rhysand so fully that you had clinged to him, crying as Tamlin ripped you from his arms.

When Tamlin locked you and Feyre in the manor, it had been the scariest moment of your life. You were still mortal, but the power radiating from her, consuming her as she pulled you into her chest for comfort, was terrifying. She had told you the Night Court would be your home now once she had calmed down, and the decision was made to have dinner with Rhysand's family. Mor had taken you, winnowing you two in and letting you enjoy that drop, that rush of free falling. Everything had been fine until you saw Cassian.

Cassian was loud, he was huge, he had muscles in places you hardly knew could have muscles. You had ended up hiding, much to Cassian's amusement, behind the closest thing you could. Azriel.

And it had begun after that. Azriel became your best friend. You constantly looked for him, snuggled him, loved him. He became your everything and you his. You made him carry you everywhere, take you flying, and made him laugh with you under blanket forts.

On your 9th birthday, he had taken you into town, spoiling you before the war with Hybern begun with pastries, books, new dresses, and a stuffed animal. It was the same day Velaris was attacked. You had been taken from him, locked into a cell with Nesta, who held you close, whispering how it would be okay. You were forced into that same Cauldron as Feyre screamed, held back by Rhysand as the male pleaded for the King to let you go.

Azriel had promised you from that day forward you were his, swearing it to you in an oath that you two sealed with a pinky promise. He promised to protect you. To keep you safe. To make sure anyone who harmed you would regret it. But even Azriel, as powerful as he was, could not save you from the aftermath of the Cauldron.

1 week after your 10th birthday, weird things started happening to you. You had dreams where you saw things. Similar to Elain. Her visions came out in riddles, though. Yours were different. Odd to Rhys and Amren. Odd to Helion. Your powers were similar to a seer, yet so different.

Helion had described it as you walking through timelines. You could see all outcomes with no direction of how that outcome would come to be, whereas Elain saw one possible future and potential riddles guiding to it. "A burden," he had said to Rhysand quietly. "A burden to know each way someone you loved could die, to know what happens if one pawn doesn't move exactly according to plan, but not be able to tell them how exactly it happened."

You had fallen into yourself more, seeking only Azriel with Feyre's pregnancy and Nesta's spiral. You only told him what you saw in your dreams and occasionally the twins if he would send them to you with treats.

He pulled you close again, shaking you from the past. "What else did you see?"

"Elain," you whispered softly. "Lucien holding Elain tightly while she laid on the ground. She no longer glowed with the light of the fae. It was like the cloaked figure had taken it from her."

The grip on your nightgown grew tight. "What else?" His voice was tense, eyes getting slightly distant, letting you know he was communicating with Rhys that you had seen something.

"Rhys had facial hair." Azriel hummed. Unknown to you that you had just given him an idea of the timeline. It would have had to have been after the birth of babe. Rhys only grew facial hair when he was tired. "Feyre and Nesta weren't there. Just Lucien, Elain, the three of you, and I think me."

"As a swan," he repeated.

"Yes, as a swan. Trapped on his lake."

"Do you know how old you were when this happened?"

You shrugged. "No, but we had a string. It wasn't gold and glittering like Rhys and Feyre's, but red and power seemed to flow through it, not emotions. It felt like I was transferring something to you."

Azriel kissed the top of your head. "You know I need to tell Rhys about this?" You nodded. "And you know he may need you to show him?" You nodded again, but shivered at the thought of Rhysand in your mind. "We should also mention the red string to Amren. She what she can dig up."

"But she's so cranky." Hazel eyes, tired and heavy with sleep, peered down at you. "New Amren is way more mean than old Amren."

"A problem for tomorrow. Go to sleep, y/n. I'll keep your nightmares away."

"I love you, Azzie."

"I love you too, y/n. I won't let you turn into a swan."

You were asleep almost instantly, body back on that lake, and a cloaked figure with a bone like figure stroking your wings.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage

Azriel Taglist:

@elle4404

[bookwormjust]

Nesta harsh words (established relationship with Cassian, you feel vulnerable for once)

You had always approached Nesta with kindness and empathy, understanding that her tough exterior was a shield she used to protect herself. That didn’t make it any easier when she directed one of her harsh comments at you, particularly when you were in a vulnerable state.

The evening had been going well—a quiet gathering with the family, a rare moment of togetherness. You had been chatting with Feyre and Elain, laughing softly at some lighthearted story, when Nesta’s voice cut through the conversation. 

“Not everyone can be a perfect little angel all the time,” Nesta said sharply, her eyes fixed on you. “Sometimes it’s okay to be a bit more real.”

The comment was direct, and while you understood that it wasn’t necessarily aimed to hurt, the sting was unmistakable. It felt as though her words were a personal attack, even if that wasn’t her intention. You managed to keep your smile in place, though it faltered slightly. Your heart sank, and you tried to shrug it off, reminding yourself that Nesta’s barbed remarks were more about her own struggles than about you.

Cassian, who had been chatting with the others across the room, immediately picked up on the shift in your demeanor. His gaze, sharp and protective, flicked between you and Nesta, his eyes darkening with concern.

“Hey, Nesta,” Cassian’s voice came out low and firm, a warning note in his tone. “That wasn’t called for.”

You placed a calming hand on his arm, giving him a gentle squeeze. “It’s alright, Cassian,” you said softly, trying to defuse the situation before it escalated. “I’m fine. Really.”

Nesta’s eyes widened slightly, her expression shifting from defensive to puzzled, though she didn’t apologize. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” she muttered, though her tone was still blunt.

You offered her a small, forgiving smile. “I understand. It’s okay.”

Cassian’s protective nature was evident, but he respected your attempt to handle the situation with grace. He gave you a reassuring squeeze before turning back to Nesta, his expression softening as he tried to bridge the gap between them. 

As the evening continued, you did your best to appear unaffected, engaging in conversations and laughter as if nothing had happened. Inside, however, you were struggling to push aside the hurt. You wrapped your arms around yourself, more out of instinct than for warmth, and focused on the comforting presence of Cassian nearby.

Later, when the gathering had dwindled and everyone had started to disperse, Cassian’s hand found yours, his touch warm and grounding. He led you to a quieter corner, away from the others, his expression a mix of concern and tenderness.

“Are you alright?” he asked, his voice gentle but filled with worry. “You seemed really hurt by what Nesta said.”

You met his gaze, doing your best to smile reassuringly. “I’m okay, Cassian. I really am. I know how Nesta can be, and I’m used to it.”

Cassian’s frown deepened, his protective instincts clearly at odds with his understanding of the situation. “You shouldn’t have to just accept her harshness. You’re too kind for that.”

You squeezed his hand, appreciating his concern even as you tried to downplay the incident. “It’s alright. I’d rather not make a fuss about it. She’s going through a lot, too. I just want to be there for everyone.”

Cassian’s gaze softened, though a trace of frustration remained in his eyes. He pulled you close, wrapping his arms around you in a comforting embrace. “Just remember, you don’t have to take it all on yourself. I’m here for you, always.”

You nestled against him, letting his warmth and strength ease the lingering sting of Nesta’s words. “Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft and filled with gratitude. “I know you are. And that means everything to me.”

He held you a little tighter, his touch conveying both his love and his frustration at not being able to shield you from every hurt. “We’ll get through this,” he said quietly, his voice a steady reassurance.

You nodded against his chest, feeling the comfort of his presence. “Yes, we will.”

The night continued, but the pain from Nesta’s comment slowly faded, softened by Cassian’s unwavering support and the love that surrounded you. You knew that with him by your side, you could face any harshness, and that no matter what, he would always be there to protect and support you.

[simplygojo]

Unspoken Desires

author's note ⸺ THANK YOU for your kind words, my friend!! I loved this request, sorry for the delay on it hehehe. I love the concept of the Drink, Dare, and Desire and think it turned out pretty well so I was so happy to get your request. I hope it is what you were expecting, I am always open to feedback :) Lurrvv u anon <3 (sorry I forgot to include Nanami...MY BADD)

My requests are always open :)

request ⸺ “no cuz like why did Drink, Dare, and Desire eat. its how i found ur account and now ive literally read all of your works. you are so so talented. like fr ur so underrated. i wanted to request if you could do smth similar to Drink, Dare, and Desire but with young gojo, geto, shoko, nanami? potentially a gojo au ^.^” - Anonymous 

Pairing: 19yo!Satoru Gojo x reader

word count ⸺ 4.1K

warnings ⸺ 18+ Content, SMUT!, fingering, intercourse, alcohol use, reader has a vagina, reader uses female pronouns

The Jujutsu High dorms were filled with a cozy, intimate glow as the evening wore on. The soft light from the desk lamps cast a warm, inviting hue over the room, creating a perfect setting for a night of relaxation after a rigorous week of training. The air was charged with laughter and the faint, comforting aroma of sake.

You, Gojo, Geto, and Shoko had gathered in the common room, the evening unfolding with a mixture of playful banter and flirtatious energy. 

Gojo, as usual, was at the center of it all, his charismatic presence impossible to ignore, not to mention he was such an attention whore. With a smirk on his face and a glint in his eye, he suggested a game of Truth or Dare, promising to spice up the evening.

“Alright, everyone,” Gojo announced, spinning the bottle with a dramatic flourish. “Let’s turn up the heat. Truth or dare?”

Shoko, lounging comfortably on the arm of the couch next to Geto, raised an eyebrow. “I’m in. Let’s make this interesting.”

Geto, leaning casually against the wall with a drink in hand, gave a nod of agreement. “Yeah, I’m game. Let’s take it easy on each other, though.”

The bottle spun and finally pointed to Shoko. She met your gaze with a mischievous grin, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“Truth or dare, Shoko?” You asked, your tone laced with playful curiosity.

“Dare,” Shoko replied, her voice steady.

You leaned forward, emboldened by the alcohol and the thrilling atmosphere. “I dare you to share your biggest kink with us.”

Shoko’s cheeks flushed, but she responded with a sense of lazy confidence. “I’ve always been into dominant partners. I like it when someone takes control and knows exactly what they want.”

The room erupted in laughter and knowing looks as the conversation turned to more intimate revelations. The game continued, each turn more daring than the last. 

When it was Gojo’s turn, the bottle landed on you. His eyes sparkled with a mix of amusement and mischief as he leaned in, clearly excited to challenge you.

“Truth or dare, y/n?” Gojo asked, his voice low and teasing.

“Dare,” you replied, trying to match his playful tone.

Gojo’s smile widened, and he leaned closer, his eyes locked onto yours with a smouldering intensity. “I dare you to give me a kiss. Right here, right now.”

Your breath caught in your throat as you felt a rush of heat. The challenge was bold, but you couldn’t resist the thrill it sparked. You rolled your eyes but couldn’t suppress the smirk tugging at your lips. “Fine. You asked for it.”

Gojo’s expression turned from playful to interested as he leaned towards where you sat beside him. His lips hovered near yours—the anticipation was tangible. You felt a jolt of excitement as you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a tender and fervent kiss.

His kiss was a mix of softness and intensity, his lips exploring yours with a passion that made your heart race. A heat formed between your legs almost instantly after his long fingers found themselves around your belt loop.

The kiss deepened as Gojo’s lips moved against yours with an emotional urgency. 

His touch was firm but gentle, and the warmth of his lips moving hungrily against yours made your pulse quicken. You felt a surge of desire, a thrilling intensity that matched the fervour of his kiss.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, Gojo’s gaze was filled with a mix of satisfaction and something more profound. He grinned, clearly pleased with the outcome of his dare. The room was charged with an electric tension, the intimate connection between you and Gojo palpable.

The awkward silence in the room was thick with anticipation as Shoko and Geto watched the exchange with a mix of amusement and curiosity. 

Shoko leaned back against the couch with a smirk, an unlit cigarette dandled between her lips. “Well, that was something,” she remarked, her voice laced with playful sarcasm. “Gojo’s definitely not holding back tonight.”

Geto, who had been observing with a mix of interest and approval, chuckled softly. “Looks like Satoru’s been keeping a few secrets,” he said, his tone light but edged with a hint of intrigue. “You two make quite the pair.”

You, still catching your breath, felt your cheeks flush at their comments. Gojo’s arm remained around you, his presence both comforting and intensely alluring. 

“Are you always this bold during Truth or Dare?” You teased, trying to lighten the mood while still feeling the heat from the kiss. You shoved his arm off of you and scooted back over to your previous spot on the couch.

Gojo’s grin widened as he looked down at you. “Only when it’s worth it,” he said with a confident wink, provoking another annoyed eye roll from you.

As the game continued, Shoko took another long sip from her cup, a teasing glint in her eyes as she leaned back against the couch. The atmosphere in the room had shifted, the playful undertones now replaced with a palpable tension. Each revelation that followed seemed to push the boundaries further, testing the limits of comfort and desire.

Shoko swirled her drink lazily, her lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Alright, Geto,” she began, her voice laced with amusement. “Truth or dare?”

Geto, ever calm and composed, raised an eyebrow at her. “Truth,” he replied smoothly, taking a relaxed sip of his sake. He had been observant the whole night, watching the growing tension between you and Gojo with keen interest.

Shoko didn’t miss a beat. “Tell us your biggest fantasy,” she said, her tone both playful and challenging, the question causing Geto to choke on his sake. The question lingered in the air, drawing everyone's attention.

Geto’s gaze flickered briefly to you and Gojo before he answered, his voice casual yet with an edge of sincerity. “My biggest fantasy?” 

He took a moment, his dark eyes glinting with a hint of mischief. “I’ve always thought about having control over every sensation someone feels. To see them completely at my mercy, knowing every touch, every breath I take is driving them wild.” His gaze settled on the ground in front of him as he finished, his smile growing. “There’s something irresistible about being in control.”

Shoko chuckled softly, clearly entertained by his response. “Of course, you'd say something like that. You’re so emo, Geto.” She rolled her eyes but didn't seem surprised. There was a flicker of intrigue in her eyes, though.

You shifted in your seat, the charged atmosphere making it harder to sit still. Gojo’s hand, resting dangerously close to your thigh, gave a subtle twitch, reminding you of his proximity. 

His fingers brushed lightly against your leg, sending another wave of heat coursing through you. You glanced at him, catching the faintest smirk playing on his lips.

After another round of revealing truths and daring challenges, Geto turned to Gojo with a sly grin. “Truth or Dare, Satoru?” “Dare,” Gojo replied with confidence.

“Have you ever had a wet dream about anyone here?” You practically choked at Geto’s direct question.

Gojo’s eyes gleamed with a mischievous light. “Actually, yes.”

The room fell silent, anticipation hanging in the air. You felt your cheeks flush as you glanced to your left at Gojo, who met your gaze with a knowing smile.

Geto leaned forward, putting a hand on his knee as he took a big sip of sake, clearly intrigued. “Who was it about?”

Gojo’s eyes locked onto yours with an intense, burning gaze. “It was about y/n.”

The confession hit you like a jolt, that burning heat returning to your crotch, making you squeeze your thighs together in an attempt to squash the feeling. The revelation made your skin tingle and your heart race. 

The room seemed to narrow to just you and Gojo, the weight of his words making your arousal more palpable.

Shoko sighed loudly, “What a shocker.” She said before tilting her cup up to drink the last few drops of sake she had in her cup.

You tried to steady your breathing, but Gojo’s intense gaze and the revelation had stirred a deep, simmering desire within you. The wet heat pooling between your thighs intensified, and you became acutely aware of every touch, every glance. 

Gojo’s grin widened as he saw the effect his words had on you. He subtly shifted closer, his hand brushing against yours with deliberate and charged intent. 

“Looks like I’ve got your attention,” he said, his voice low and sultry.

You met his gaze, your breath hitching as the atmosphere between you thickened. The desire in his eyes mirrored the heat you felt, and it was impossible to ignore the magnetic pull between you.

As the tension between you and Gojo thickened, his hand began to move with quiet intent, brushing against your thigh with the faintest touch. 

It was subtle—almost teasing, but the sensation sent a shiver through your body. He was barely touching you, but the electricity in that light contact made your skin tingle, every nerve hyper-aware of his presence.

You tried to focus on the ongoing conversation, but Gojo's fingertips grazed your thigh again, this time lingering just a moment longer. 

The casual way he did it—like it was nothing, just a simple gesture—made it even more intoxicating. Your breath hitched as the warmth in your core began to build, a slow burn that grew with each fleeting touch. You were practically squirming with arousal.

Gojo's gaze flickered toward you, his eyes filled with that same teasing glint—he knew exactly what he was doing to you. Every time his hand brushed against your skin, it became harder to ignore the growing ache between your legs. You shifted in your seat, trying to find some relief, but the friction only heightened your arousal. 

Shoko, who had just finished telling a long story about one of the corpses she was working with, chuckled and leaned back against the couch. “I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Time for a smoke and some sleep,” she announced lazily, stretching her arms above her head.

Geto, always the gentleman, gave a nod and stood up, finishing off his drink as well. “I’ll join you. I am getting pretty tired myself.”

You felt a strange mix of relief and anticipation as Shoko and Geto prepared to leave, the prospect of being alone with Gojo sending another thrill through you. 

The playful teasing from earlier now seemed to hang in the air like a promise, unspoken but understood.

As Shoko and Geto moved toward the door, Gojo’s hand slid further up your thigh, his fingers brushing dangerously close to the hem of your pyjama shorts. You bit your lip, trying to steady your breathing, but the heat between your legs was now a steady throb, a pulse that begged for more of his touch.

“Night, you two,” Shoko called over her shoulder with a knowing smile. She and Geto gave a final wave before stepping out into the cool night air, with Geto following behind her.

As the door clicked shut behind Shoko and Geto, the room seemed to grow quieter. The only sounds now are the soft hum of the air and the pounding of your heart. The atmosphere thickened, the lingering heat of their playful banter giving way to a deeper, more charged tension.

Gojo broke the silence first as he slid his hand off of your thigh, his voice low and teasing, carrying a weight that made your pulse quicken. 

“Looks like it’s just the two of us now,” he drawled, the words rolling off his tongue like silk. He leaned back against the couch, his legs spread in a confident but relaxed manner, but the intensity in his eyes behind those rounded shades told a different story. 

There was something predatory in the way he looked at you, his gaze tracing the curve of your body with shameless intent.

You swallowed hard, the room feeling smaller, more intimate now that it was just the two of you. The heat that had been simmering between you all night flared to life, and it became impossible to ignore the pull, the desire that had been building.

“I guess it is,” you replied, sounding far steadier than you felt.

Gojo’s smirk widened as he shifted closer, his knee brushing against yours, the subtle contact enough to send a shiver racing down your spine. 

His eyes stayed locked on yours, intense and unyielding, as his hand slowly slid toward your thigh, already pressed against his. His fingers barely grazed your skin, a feather-light touch that sent jolts of electricity sparking through your body, igniting every nerve.

“You’ve been driving me crazy all night,” Gojo murmured, his voice dropping lower as his fingers traced lazy circles along the inner part of your thigh, the teasing touch maddeningly gentle. “I’m sure you know that, don’t you?”

You nodded in response, but you felt your breath hitch as his hand slid higher, the heat from his palm searing through the fabric of your shorts. The way his fingers lingered so close to where you wanted him made your skin tingle with anticipation. 

It was agonizing, but it was also thrilling—the way he held back, drawing out your need until it became unbearable.

“You’re torturing me, Gojo,” you managed to whisper, your voice betraying the desperation building inside you. The ache between your legs was nearly unbearable now, every touch of his hand sending waves of heat through your body.

Gojo’s grin widened, but the look in his eyes was darker, more intense. “Am I?” he teased, his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of your shorts, grazing the edge of your panties. “I haven’t even started yet.”

The deliberate slowness of his touch was driving you insane, and you could feel the wetness pooling between your thighs as his hand hovered so close, teasing but not quite giving you what you craved. 

You had enough, and you went to stand up, to move yourself onto him yourself. But he pushed you back down into your seat with one of his large hands on your abdomen.

“You’re such a tease,” you breathed as you were forced back down–your voice catching as he moved closer to your face, placing a teasing kiss on your neck.

Gojo chuckled, the sound deep and rumbling. “I like watching you squirm for me,” he confessed, his hand finally slipping beneath the fabric of your shorts, brushing lightly over your soaked panties. 

The contact sent a jolt of pleasure through you, making you gasp softly. “It’s almost too easy.”

His touch was maddening, his fingers tracing the outline of your folds through the thin fabric, but not quite giving you the pressure you needed. He placed sloppy kisses trailing down your neck as he toyed with you.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the heat between your legs intensifying with every second. The anticipation was unbearable—you were practically clawing at your cage—you found yourself leaning into his touch, silently begging for more.

“You’re so wet already,” Gojo whispered, his breath hot against your ear as he leaned in, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your neck. “Is this all for me?”

You could barely think, let alone form a coherent response. All you could do was nod and a meek-sounding “mhmm,” your body trembling under his touch as his fingers continued to tease you, slipping beneath your panties now, gliding through your wetness with practiced ease.

“I knew you wanted this,” he murmured against your skin, his lips pressing soft kisses along the curve of your neck. His fingers found your clit, circling it with a slow, deliberate rhythm that made you audibly moan. The sensation was overwhelming, and your body arched into his touch, craving more.

“Tell me what you want,” Gojo whispered, his voice a low, seductive hum in your ear as his fingers worked you with expert precision. His other hand slid up your body, cupping your breast through your shirt, his thumb brushing over your hardened nipple. 

The combination of sensations—the way his fingers moved against your clit, the heat of his hand on your breast—was almost too much to bear. Your body ached for release, the tension coiling tighter with every passing second.

“I want you, Gojo,” you gasped, your voice trembling with need. Every nerve in your body was on fire, your skin tingling with the promise of what was to come. “I want you in me,” you breathed out, almost embarrassed to say it out loud.

Gojo’s smile was wicked as he applied more pressure, his fingers moving faster now, coaxing out those sweet, soft moans from your lips. 

“That’s more like it,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear. His other hand slipped beneath your shirt, finding your bare skin, his touch firm and possessive.

Just as you felt yourself nearing the edge, Gojo pulled back slightly, his fingers exiting your gummy walls, leaving you teetering on the brink of release. “Not so fast, y/n,” he murmured, his voice filled with amusement. “I can’t let you cum for me quite yet, I wanted to recreate that dream I had…”

With a swift movement, he lifted you, adjusting your position from sitting beside him to straddling him. As you straddled him, you could feel the hardness of his cock pressed against your soaked pussy, aching to be inside you. His hands on your hips were firm, and his touch sent shivers down your spine.

His smirk softened into something darker, more primal, and without another word, he closed the distance between you, capturing your lips in a searing, hungry kiss. Your hands tangled in his soft white hair, gripping it tightly as you leaned into the kiss. 

Gojo’s lips moved against yours with an insistent hunger, each kiss deepening the tension between you. His hands gripped your hips firmly, pulling them into a grinding motion as his bulge pressed harder against your core, the friction sending jolts of pleasure through your body.

Gojo inhaled sharply, and he pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his blue eyes now dark with desire. “You feel so good like this,” he murmured, his voice low and rough. His hands roamed over your waist, pulling you down onto him. T

The two of you exchanged as your breath came out in short gasps against his mouth, each movement of his hips making you crave more. 

You could feel the heat radiating between you, the pulse of your shared desire growing stronger with every subtle grind of your hips.

As you straddled him, he unbuttoned his pants to reveal his giant cock, making your mouth practically water with anticipation. Teasingly slow, he pressed the thick head against your entrance, the heat of him making you dizzy.

He teased you with the tip of his thick cock, pressing it teasingly against your entrance before slowly pushing inside. This evoked a string of moans echoing his name in the now-empty common area. 

With a deep groan, he thrust into you, filling and stretching you with each powerful movement. He threw his head back in ecstasy as loud moans escaped his lips, while you felt your walls pulsing around him. 

You could see the tension in his muscles as he thrust into you, his face contorted in pleasure with every powerful movement. Gojo’s mouth hangs open in a blissful expression, and your own body is flush with desire and need as you watch him.

The sensation was almost too much to handle, but the intense pleasure kept coming. 

Gojo's warm body pressed against yours, your skin slick with sweat and heat as he moves inside you. Every thrust feels like a wave crashing over you, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he pulls you closer.

As he pounded into you, the sensation of his skin against yours was electric, igniting every nerve ending in your body. Your hands grasped at his chest as you rode him, feeling the muscles flex and tense with every thrust. And as you tightened around him, you could feel his body respond, moving with even more urgency and need.

Your screams echoed through the room as tears streamed down your face from the overwhelming pleasure of his dominating rhythm. And even though you knew that Shoko and Geto were in their rooms just down the hall, you couldn’t help but keep shouting out his name in pure bliss. 

—

You should have known, but due to Gojo being the self-proclaimed ‘strongest,’ you two spent the next few hours fucking in that common room. 

Neither of you had gotten much sleep, but somehow, you ended up in his bedroom, tangled in the sheets of his small bed, lying in each other's arms as you cracked a few jokes with each other, laughing until the sun rose.

Gojo's piercing blue eyes locked onto yours, his gaze steady but filled with a raw intensity that sent a shiver down your spine. His usual cocky smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead, his lips were set in a thin line, the vulnerability in his voice betraying his usual confidence.

"Y/n," he whispered, the words rough but so quiet, like they’d been sitting on his tongue for far too long. "I’ve wanted this... wanted you...for so long."

It was surreal seeing Satoru Gojo, the strongest sorcerer, like this—unguarded. 

His white hair fell loosely across his forehead, framing his handsome face, and for once, his eyes, usually concealed behind his goofy-looking sunglasses, were fully visible, the intensity of their electric blue drawing you in like gravity. 

It was as if the entire universe had quieted, and all that remained was this moment.

“Gojo…” you whispered back, your own voice trembling slightly. Your heart pounded in your chest as you reached up to brush a strand of his hair away from his face. His skin was warm against your fingertips, and his gaze softened at your touch, but the heat in his eyes only grew.

A small smirk finally pulled at the corner of his lips, though it lacked his usual bravado. “Aww, look at you,” he teased lightly, his voice low and husky, but there was a nervous edge to it. “Looks like you care for me too, huh, y/n?”

His hand cradled your face, his long fingers grazing your cheek with a gentleness that contrasted sharply with his usual arrogance. His thumb brushed lightly over your lips, and you could feel his cursed energy ripple faintly, heightening every sensation, every touch. 

“Oh wow, what gave it away?” You teased, a small laugh escaping your lips as you planted a small kiss at the corner of his lips.

"I've dreamed of this," he admitted, his forehead leaning into yours. “Yeah, I know. You told all of us about your wet dream.” You said it with a giggle, a playful tone still in hold of your words. 

His breath was warm against your lips, and you could feel the tension between you building, like the moment before lightning strikes. 

"Yeah,” He laughed at your quick remark, “There is that. But that’s not what I meant this time. I have dreamed of this—of holding you, of telling you how much you mean to me." His voice dipped lower, laced with emotion.

“Satoru…” you said, your voice trembling as your hands slid up his chest, feeling the solidness of his body beneath his clothes. There was so much strength in him, but right now, all you felt was the vulnerability and desire he rarely showed anyone.

The kiss deepened slowly, not out of hunger, but out of a desperate need for connection, as if he had been holding these feelings back for so long and could finally let them out.

He pulled back slightly, his breath ragged as he gazed down at you. “Do you know how hard it is to control myself around you?” He said, his voice dripped with desire. 

He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against yours in a kiss that was so gentle—so full of emotion, it nearly took your breath away. His usual smirk was gone, replaced by an earnestness that you rarely saw from him. 

“You mean everything to me,” he whispered, his forehead resting against yours. His fingers tangled in your hair, his touch tender. “I need you to know that. I don’t want to hide it anymore.”

And in that moment, with Satoru Gojo’s arms around you, it felt like the rest of the world had faded away, leaving only the two of you and the emotions you had both been too afraid to share for so long.

[padfootagain]

Love in Verses (XXXIX)

Chapter 39: ‘He grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was’

Hi! Here is a new chapter! It's dinner with the family!

I hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

****

Pairing: Hozier x fem!reader (professor!AU)

Warnings: slow burn, angst, hurt, hurt/comfort, tooth-rotting fluff in later chapters, some scenes in later chapters will have heavy sexual themes even if it’s not explicit nsfw description, so no minors here

Summary: Your life seems perfect. You're engaged, your career is thriving as you become an assistant professor at Trinity College, and this Andrew Hozier-Byrne you're sharing an office with seems to be a nice guy you hope to call a friend soon. Life seems to be smiling at you... until everything goes sour. When your fiancé breaks up with you, your perfect world shatters. And when your colleague also gets his heart broken soon after, your shared office seems to be a curse rather than a blessing. But Andrew seems determined to mend your broken hearts... Will things finally go according to plan?

Word Count: 4508

Masterlist for the series – Hozier’s masterlist – Main masterlist

Here

After it ended badly it got so much better which took a while of course but still he grew so tender and I so grateful which maybe tells you something about how it was I’m trying to tell you I know you have staggered wept spiraled through a long room banging you head against it holding crushed bird skulls in your hands your many hearts unstrung unable to play a note their wood still beautiful and carved so elaborately maybe a collector would want them stupid collectors always preserving and never breaking open the jars so everyone starves while admiring the view you don’t own anyone everything will be taken from you go ahead and eat this poem it will help

Kim Addonizio

“You should bring Y/N over next Sunday.”

Raine’s invitation wasn’t the first one of this kind, and Andrew smiled as she offered to welcome you to Saturday’s family dinner. Still, he didn’t want to push you, you had been together for merely a couple of months, he didn’t want to rush you.

“Soon, I promise, mom.”

“You know we like her already… but your dad and I want to know her better.”

“I know, mom.”

“Then bring her next week.”

“I’ll think about it.”

The door of your shared office opened, and you walked in, smiling as you saw him. God, you were so beautiful today…

“I have to go, mom. I’ll call you later, yeah?”

“Sure, honey. Have a nice day.”

“You too, mom. Bye. Love you.”

“Love you, Andy.”

He ended the call and turned to you as you walked around your desk, putting down your bag.

“How was your meeting, babe?” Andrew asked, walking over to you, bending to avoid the lamp hanging from the ceiling and burying his hands in his pockets.

“It was… interesting.”

“That bad, huh?”

“We’ll see. For now, some professors are reluctant at the thought of organising a full set of conferences around women and the female gaze. They fear there ‘won’t be enough speakers’.”

“Bullshit.”

“Yeah… it’s okay, I can still convince them.”

“I’m sure you will. You can do it, babe.”

“Thanks, honey.”

You smiled up at him when he moved even closer, so close you had to lean against your desk.

“Did you want something else, professor?”

God, his heart was beating so fast… it was so fucking hot when you called him that…

He had to remind himself that you were working, that he couldn’t simply devour you…

“Professor…”

“Stop it… we can’t.”

“Hmmm… I know.”

“Then why are you teasing, professor?”

Your lips parted for a second, and he smirked at the tortured look on your face.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, until he rested his hands on your desk, right next to where your lower back was pressed against the furniture, enclosing you between his arms.

“I like it when you blush,” you confessed, making him laugh.

“That’s still pretty cruel…”

You let out a sigh when he connected his lips to your neck, when he bit and kissed your pulse, his hold on your desk tightening so he would keep his composure. Your fingers got lost in his hair.

“Was that your mother on the phone?” you asked, breathless.

He merely hummed in response.

“How is she?”

“Fine…”

Gently, you pulled him away from your skin.

“We can’t, not here…”

Andrew nodded, trying to hide how hard it was to pull away.

“How are your parents,” you asked while he took a step back, remaining close to you, but none of you touching the other anymore.

“They’re fine. Just… the usual. My mom is working on a new painting.”

“Amazing!”

He thought about asking you, then. But it was too soon… it was too soon…

Were you really over Frank? Would you really stay? He couldn’t get his parents involved if you simply chose to disappear…

“Yeah, it’s pretty nice.”

He shook himself, put his hands into his pockets again.

“I should go back to work,” he reasoned. “I need to go to the library this afternoon, will probably work from there for a few hours.”

“Yeah, I should go back to work too… I have so much to do.”

“You’re still coming over tonight, right?”

“Of course!” you answered with an excited grin.

“I might not come back to the office before heading home…”

“Okay, I’ll see you tonight at seven, then?”

“Yeah, sure.”

You rose to your tiptoes to peck his lips, before turning to your computer, and Andrew walked back to his desk to gather his things.

He kept on wondering if bringing you to his parents was a good idea or not…

Andrew was an overthinker, which meant that he had a special talent for ruining his own life.

His day had taken a bad turn after that shared moment in your office. He was frustrated with the article he was working on, and the conversation with his mother kept on being played on repeat in his head.

And he simply… doubted himself.

There were days when his brain got too busy, too loud, and darker thoughts and doubts were enhanced in those times. And now that he was torturing himself on whether or not he was going too fast, his own insecurities were coming back. Was he really good enough for you? So far, he hadn’t had to change to make you love him, wasn’t that strange? He was used to tune down some of his interests, to be quieter than he wanted to be, so Sam would love him.

Wasn’t it strange that you were still talking for hours? That you were still interested in him? That you… didn’t ask for him to change?

And what if you longed for Frank still?

Lost in his thoughts, he barely noticed the knocking on his front door. Only when Elwood sprinted across the room and barked at the wooden surface did he realise that it was already 7 pm, that you were waiting on his doorstep.

He heaved a sigh, forced himself to hide his pain, before walking across his flat to welcome you in.

You greeted him with a grin, and a pizza box.

“Brought dinner!” were your first words, and he couldn’t refrain a smile as he took the box you were handing him.

“Thanks, baby.”

You went to your tiptoes to kiss him, and while he pecked your lips he wondered if it would be too much if he yielded to his impulse and hugged you now.

Yeah… probably… he would be too much…

“How was your afternoon?” you asked, taking off your shoes and jacket, before giving Elwood some scratches.

“Erm… yeah… it was fine.”

You looked at him, something expectant on your face, but he didn’t want to bother you with some unimportant problems. Sam was never interested in those anyway…

“Are you hungry, then?” he asked, already walking to his kitchen.

“Erm… sure! Yeah! Starving actually!”

“How was your afternoon?”

“Nothing very important happened… but I’ve found some interesting articles…”

He let you babble away for a while, nodding while he set the table.

You started eating, but then you grew quiet, and he wasn’t sure why. You had been excited, and then you simply… stopped talking.

Was he being annoying? Was that something he needed to change?

At the back of his head, his mother’s voice was still asking to invite you, and he was still debating on whether it was a good idea or not, and what about Frank? Did you still think about him? Did you still want him? Did you…

“Andy?”

He looked up at you, surprised that you were using his name. You hadn’t in a few weeks. The pet names were all you used when you were alone by now.

“Hmm?”

“Is there something wrong?”

“No… why?”

“I don’t know, you’re… you’re very quiet tonight.”

He couldn’t tell you that he was asking himself a thousand questions, that he was doubting himself, that he wanted to hold you close, because he would be too much then, and anyway he couldn’t talk about his feelings, he was never good at it and…

“Did something happen this afternoon? Are you okay?” you insisted, and he looked away, rubbing at his collarbone now.

“No, no… I’m okay.”

You remained quiet for a while.

“You can tell me anything, you know? I’m your girlfriend, I’m here for you,” you offered in a gentle, soothing voice.

“I’m fine.”

“Okay.”

“You… you were talking about your seminar… what about that speaker you wanted to contact, then?”

“Erm… I’ll contact her tomorrow.”

“Okay.”

He waited for you to speak some more, but you didn’t, and the silence that settled was awkward, at best.

This was so unusual for you. It was supposed to be easy to be with you, what was happening,? What was he doing wrong?

Would you leave? Would you regret Frank all over again?

“Andy.”

“Yeah?”

“Please, tell me what’s wrong. Why aren’t you talking to me? Is there something bothering you? Have I done something?”

“No, no… nothing, I’m just… tired.”

You stared at him, but there was nothing else he could say without talking about his feelings, and he couldn’t do that. He didn’t want to bother you, to be too much, and anyway, he didn’t like talking about his feelings, so what was the point in burdening you with those…

“Oh, okay… do you want to go to bed early?”

“Erm… sure, yeah…”

“Okay… I’ll clean up with you, and then leave you to it, then.”

He blinked up at you as you got up and picked up your plate.

You were leaving? You were supposed to stay the night…

“You… you can stay, if you’d like.”

“It’s okay, I understand that you’re tired. We can have dinner again tomorrow.”

“Okay…”

You gave him a bright grin. Were you happy to leave?

He started fidgeting, hurried to clean up the table. He noticed the way you seemed disappointed when you moved to his hallway though.

He was doing everything wrong, somehow, what was he doing wrong?

You wanted Frank again, of course, because he would know how to hold you back, and Andrew didn’t, and…

“Andy?”

“Hmm?”

“I get that you’re not in the mood to talk, but… I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nothing’s wrong, babe.”

“Please… you’ve barely said a word tonight. What’s going on?”

“Nothing, I just… wanted to listen to you.”

You frowned at that.

“You… you didn’t say anything.”

“I had nothing to say.”

“Now, that’s not true. Why are you lying?”

“I’m not.”

“Andy…”

“I said I’m fine!”

Your eyes grew a little round at his harsh tone, and he regretted snapping as soon as the words passed his lips, but it was too late to take the words back now.

“Why are you mad at me?” you asked, hurt evident on your features.

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not mad at you, I’m… I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Alright… well, I’m here if you change your mind.”

He watched as you grabbed your jacket, couldn’t refrain the words from passing his lips.

“Why are you leaving?”

You turned to him with a puzzled frown.

“You said you were tired, and you don’t want to talk to me… I thought you didn’t want me to stay.”

“I… I didn’t mean for you to leave.”

“Then… talk to me.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh, ran a hand through his hair.

“I… there’s no need, I’m fine.”

“That was almost convincing, I’ll give you another try.”

“It’s not funny.”

You put on your jacket, and he was so frustrated right now, by his own thoughts, by you leaving, by his stupid feelings making him vulnerable and overreacting and…

“Are you angry?” he asked, but you shook your head.

“No… disappointed, rather.”

You were disappointed in him… of course, you were. You thought he was worth the trouble, but he wasn’t, and you were realising it, and Frank was better even though he was a fucking jerk and…

His hurt came out of his mouth as acidic words.

“Right, leave then.”

You froze, flashed him a glare.

“What’s wrong with you?”

He rubbed at his neck, until it was painful, but he didn’t care.

“Nothing’s wrong…”

“Of course, something’s wrong! I’m not blind! I’m not an idiot!”

“Why are you leaving? You said you’d stay tonight…”

“That was before you acted like you didn’t want me here.”

“I didn’t…”

“Of course you did!”

You started to put on your shoes.

You were leaving… you were leaving…

“Alright then, leave!”

“That’s what I’m doing!”

You were leaving because you didn’t want him, because he wasn’t enough, because he hadn’t changed for you, because Frank was better, Frank…

“Well, then… go back to Frank!”

The look of horror on your face sobered him up, made all traces of frustration or annoyance vanish. Instead, he was just afraid.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your lower lip trembled, he saw tears glimmering in your eyes.

What had he done? What was he doing?

“Take that back. Andy, take that back…”

He remained silent, staring at you and rubbing at his shoulder and collarbone.

He was fucking up everything…

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you tonight, but I hope you’ll tell me once you’re calmer again,” you said in a cold voice, and he hated that tone.

And then you turned around, your hand on the doorknob.

You were leaving, you were leaving… because he couldn’t open his fucking mouth and be honest…

“Don’t… please, don’t leave.”

His voice was fragile now, and he hated it, he hated the weakness that transpired through it. You stopped your movements, turned to him, but your fingers remained on the doorknob.

“I just… I want you to stay,” he pleaded, but you raised an unimpressed eyebrow.

You crossed your arms before your chest. You were angry, but at least you weren’t about to open the door anymore…

“Really? Cause you don’t look like you want me around tonight.”

“I do. Please…”

“What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“I just… I’m sorry… my head’s all over the place… I do want you to stay though. I really do.”

You heaved a sigh, took off your jacket again.

“Talk to me, then, okay? If you don’t want to tell me what’s bothering you, then… tell me about your day. Or anything… I just… I want to understand what’s in your head right now. And please, stop this, your skin is all red.”

He was surprised when you reached for his hand, stopped his nervous gesture, and rubbed soothing circles in the back of his hand.

“Why did you talk about Frank?”

Andrew looked down at his feet. You were still wearing your shoes.

“That…that was really hurtful.”

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled under his breath.

“Why would you say that? Did you mean that? Do you… do you want to get back with Sam?”

“What?! Of course not!”

“Why would you say something like that, then?!”

“Because I… I don’t…”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Slowly, you nodded. He could see you were hurting though…

He was hurting you. He was hurting you… his silence was hurting you…

God, it was so painful to admit it all this out loud.

“I’m afraid.”

You gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, your expression softening.

“I’m afraid… about this. About you… leaving, and… I’m afraid you’re going to regret Frank. I’m afraid you’d choose him over me. And I’m… I’m afraid to go too fast, and to make you freak out. And I’m afraid because… I’m not changing for you, and that means I’m not giving you what you want, and…”

“Wait… what?”

“Sam… I was quiet with her, and I knew what parts of me she didn’t like, and so I tuned them down, but you’re… tonight you said you didn’t want me quiet, the way she wanted me, so… so what should I do? What should I do, so you can love me?”

He blinked tears away, and he hated it, he hated being so vulnerable before you, you could destroy him entirely with how much of his heart you owned and…

You reached up to gently stroke his cheek, and he was taken aback by your tender gesture.

“Andy… I don’t want you to change anything for me. I love you. Just as you are. I don’t want you to be quiet, I don’t want you to tune down any part of you. I just… want to be with you. That’s all. And I don’t regret Frank, not at all. I’m very happy with you.”

He blinked, trying to process your words.

“Really?”

“Yeah, really. And I… I would choose you over him. If I had to make that choice, I would choose you. I love you, not him. Not anymore.”

He brushed the tear that had begun rolling down his cheek, nodded.

He wasn’t sure he believed everything you were saying, and yet he knew you were earnest, that you weren’t lying.

“I’m sorry for tonight, I just… got really into my head, and just… I really doubted… everything, and… I’m sorry. Please, don’t leave, Y/N. I don’t want you to leave.”

“What do you want then? Earnestly. What do you want?”

“It’s embarrassing.”

“Why would it be? I’m your girlfriend, you can tell me anything.”

He forced the words out of his mouth, despite how vulnerable it made him feel.

“I… I really want you to hold me, right now.”

He let out a wry laugh.

“Christ, that’s pathetic…”

But before he could add another word, you were holding him in a tight embrace. All he could do was to hold you just as tightly.

“What about we go to bed, and cuddle?” you offered.

“Yeah… please…”

“Alright, I’ll get changed, okay?”

“Okay.”

You took off your shoes, picked up the pyjamas you had left in his drawer a couple of weeks ago, and disappeared in the bathroom. Then, Andrew got changed as well, and when he walked inside his bedroom again, you were already in his bed, waiting for him.

“Come here,” you invited him, opening your arms for him.

Slowly, like he couldn’t quite believe it, Andrew walked around the bed, lied down and nestled into your embrace, burying his face into your neck. For the first time that day, he let his body fully relax.

“You’re okay?” you asked, and he hummed in response.

“Yeah… much better. I’m sorry…”

“It’s okay. We can talk about it again tomorrow. Let’s just rest now.”

You turned off the lamp on your bedside table, and in your arms, Andrew was out like a light.

Andrew woke up to the smell of coffee.

You had closed the door of his bedroom when you got up, to let him rest a little longer. As classes were over for this year, you could allow yourselves to arrive later at work. As long as the job was done, no one cared when you arrived or left.

He checked the time, it was almost 8 am.

He forced his body to move, to get up, groaned as he stretched the sleeping muscles of his long back. He almost hit his head in the doorframe, forgetting for a second that he needed to bend to avoid it.

You were there alright, in your pyjamas, putting butter on toasts and talking to Elwood. Andrew’s heart melted at the sight.

You fitted so well in his life, in his home… this was obvious, you and him. Everything about it was obviously right, so why was he sabotaging himself?

You turned to him as you heard him enter the room, welcomed him with a smile. But it wasn’t as bright as your usual ones, and a lump crept up Andrew’s throat.

“Morning, babe,” you greeted him, voice soft.

“Morning, love.”

He wanted to reach out, to hold you close, to kiss you and apologise, but he was too afraid of messing up everything again…

“Slept well?” he asked instead. “Thanks for breakfast.”

“Yeah, I slept well.”

You poured him a coffee, stared at him as if gauging his reaction.

He heaved a sigh.

“I’m sorry about last night,” he let out in a whisper.

“It’s okay.”

“It’s not. It… it really is not. I’m sorry.”

“I just… I don’t really understand what happened.”

He started fidgeting, but he spoke anyway.

“I… like… I was stressed, and tired, and got stuck into my own head and… I think… I got really insecure.”

He heaved a frustrated sigh.

“I’m not… I’m not very good at talking about how I feel in those moments. I just… get stuck in my own ugly thoughts, and I fuck up everything.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I see… is that okay if we talk about last night some more?”

“Sure… yeah…”

“Andy… Look, I’m sorry if I didn’t react well. Maybe I could have handled that situation better…”

“It wasn’t your fault, it was mine,” Andrew shook his head. “I told you, I got stuck in my head, and was a mess…”

“Maybe I’ve triggered this…”

“You didn’t. Really, Y/N… none of this is your fault. I’m sorry.”

“Last night… you said some things… we need to talk about them.”

“Do we?”

He averted his eyes, spinning his toast in his hand, without taking a bite.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you said in a weaker voice. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, it’s not your fault.”

He knew you were right. You needed to talk about last night. He needed to clear the air, make up for the stupid things he said.

The stupidest of all was easy to remember.

“I’m sorry I mentioned Frank. It was cruel, and uncalled for.”

“Why did you say that?”

He shrugged.

“I just… I don’t know.”

“It hurt.”

“I know. I’m sorry. Like… I’m scared, Y/N. I’m really scared you’re going to wake up soon and regret giving me a chance, and regret not fighting for him more and…”

“I’ll never regret you, Andy.”

He looked up at you again, let his heart bloom with hope.

“I… I don’t have everything figured out either when it comes to us,” you admitted. “Sometimes, I worry too… that you’re going to leave, that you’d rather be with Sam. But I need to believe that you’d choose me over her. And you have to believe me when I tell you that I would not hesitate for a second. I would choose you, Andy. Even if Frank came begging to get me back, I would not hesitate, and I would choose you. I don’t love him anymore, I love you.”

Slowly, he nodded.

“Do you believe me?”

He couldn’t lie to you, he simply couldn’t. He knew you were being vulnerable now, and he couldn’t answer with a lie, even if it meant to make things harder for you.

“I know you’re telling the truth,” he nodded. “But I… my brain just… like… I’m really struggling believing that’s the case.”

“Why? Don’t you trust me?”

“I do. Of course, I do. But I’m… I’m not used to having someone who loves me the way you do. And with how Sam left, I… I thought she was a safe place, and it turned out she wasn’t. It’s hard to come back from that.”

Slowly, you nodded.

“I understand.”

“It’s not that I believe you’re lying, or that you could hurt me on purpose. It’s more that… I feel like you’re going to wake up one day, and realise you’ve made the wrong choice, and you’re just going to leave…”

“The way Sam did.”

“Yeah…”

“I’m not her, Andy.”

“I know. And I’m not Frank. Could you love me the way you loved him?”

He was surprised when you smiled, and even more so when you got up and walked over to him. He pushed back his chair so you could stand between his parted legs, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“I don’t want things to be the way they were with Frank,” you answered, staring intensely into his eyes, and he lost himself in the shades of your gaze. “I want better than him. You are better than him. I want to love you better than Sam loved you, too. I want this to be better, Andy. I’m not going to love you the way I loved Frank. I’m going to be happier with you.”

His heart grew warm at your words, at the sincerity in your voice and eyes as you spoke them. He blinked tears away…

God, he was such a sap, these days… crying over everything…

“All I want is for you to be happy, Y/N,” he whispered.

“And I want you to be happy, too.”

“I’m happy with you.”

You held him close, he nuzzled his face into your chest, his forehead resting against your chin.

“I’m happy with you,” you confessed. “And Andy… last night… I meant what I said. I don’t want you to change. I want you. Okay? I want you to be yourself when you’re with me. I want to talk with you. I want to hear everything you have to say. And I… I don’t want you to be afraid when you’re with me. I love you. I want to be here, with you. I’m certain about this. This… us… it feels so right…”

He took a moment to let your words sink in. And perhaps he could learn to believe them. That you could love him fully, like that. Yeah… yeah, he could believe that, with a little bit of time…

“Loving you is… I feel like myself when you’re with me,” he admitted in a fragile whisper. “And it’s… it makes me happy. But I’m not quite used to that. I’m sorry, if it takes me some time to adjust.”

“I understand. You can take all the time you need. Just… just promise me you won’t use Frank and Sam against me ever again…”

“I won’t. I promise you, I won’t.”

“Okay… I promise I won’t either.”

“Thank you.”

You heaved a relieved sigh.

“We should get ready for work.”

“This is nice, though… give us five more minutes.”

You chuckled, making him smile.

And he thought back about his mother’s words, and he forced himself not to be so scared anymore.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” you hummed, kissing his hair, holding him close to you.

“Would you like to come to my parents’ for dinner this weekend?”

He was surprised when you started laughing.

“So… we’re resolving our first real fight… and you directly jump to bringing me to your parents’?”

He couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Yeah… that’s a way to change the subject, I guess,” he joked, making you laugh again. “My mom asked for you to come, though.”

“Really?”

“Hmmm…”

“And you want me to come?”

“Yeah… but I’m worried I’m going too fast. I don’t mean to freak you out.”

“Who will be there?”

“My parents and my brother.”

“I’ve never met your brother.”

“No… but you’ve met my parents.”

“Yeah… and you have to warn your father, by the way… I will ask for our bet to be honoured. He lost. I was right about the rugby match we placed bets on. He owes me a beer.”

Andrew laughed.

“Alright… I’ll warn him. Do you want to come, then?”

“Of course, I want to come.”

“Is it not too soon?”

“No… it’s okay… I want to see them. And I want my free beer.”

You were laughing at your own joke, but he quickly shushed you with his lips.

Yes… perhaps, one day, he could believe that you loved him as much as he loved you…

[rose-edith]

Being a plus size Bridgerton sister would include:

•All your life you’d felt like an imposter, bigger than your sisters- sturdier- curvier. You felt less than, despite being physically more than. And you felt that no one ever really understood that.

•Your mother and Lady Danbury saw no flaws in you, thought you were absolutely beautiful, and kind and clever- but they believed you were simply crippling shy. So naturally, they went out of their way to help ‘bring you out of your shell’. Which yes, was as utterly hellish as it sounds! It meant rounds of introductions to eligible men, being pushed to the centre stage at all family functions, dressed in more jewels than anyone else. They really wanted to make you sparkle, because to them, you were already a diamond. You had been the apple of your Father’s eye before his death, and everytime Violet looked at you, it was Edmund she could see.

•as for the Queen? You may well not exist. She wasn’t even the slightest bit perplexed or excited by you. Which suited you fine!

•Anthony is SO protective of you, and following his marriage to Kate, she becomes protective of you too. Kate and Anthony stare at any members of the ton who even dream of thinking anything unkind.

•On his travels, Colin makes sure to collect for you the most beautiful jewellery or paintings or fabrics. Colin is tender with all his siblings, but he’s the one who listens to you most when you’re upset- he’s the one who sees it, and does his best to support you and build your confidence. Whether it’s fashionable or not to dance with your own sister, Colin will always take you for at least one turn about the floor; he can’t bare for you to be overlooked or be left ‘on the shelf’.

•Benedict is also your number one fan, at balls and social events he’ll often help you to escape- whether he takes you for a turn about the room, to get a drink, or to help you leave early if you’re just not feeling it.

•Growing up, you couldn’t help but be envious of Daphne, of her looks, her success on the marriage mart, her beautiful life with Simon. But as you grew, she showed you that real beauty comes from within anyway. Simon loves you too, finding you to be amusing, clever and witty. As for their children- well, you’re their favourite Aunt!

•Eloise was aloof as ever, she understood rationally and practically why you were somewhat on the outskirts of society. But she enjoyed not being the only one on the outside looking in; and sometimes when she needed an out you would cause a diversion, and vice versa; Eloise was an ally!

•and hand in hand with Eloise came a friendship with Penelope. You realised almost immediately that Pen was Lady Whistledown, but you never told a soul. Not Pen, not Eloise, not anyone. You were proud of Pen for using the harsh reality of a lonely life to create something meaningful; to carve her own career. Penelope was your friend, though she was Eloise’s best friend. She was at your side when Cressida cut across your heart with her barbs and remarks, and when Cressida “accidentally” cut Penelope up, spilt her drink or split her dress, you would retaliate in kind- most notably resulting in her perfectly smoothed down hair getting dislodged when she “tripped” over your out-stretched foot at the drinks table. ‘Poor Cressida!’ You had cried with devilish delight. ‘What an awful spectacle to befall you!’ The music stopped and everyone turned to look as the mighty Cressida crumbled. What an elated victory indeed.

•Francesca was in and out of your lives, going to Bath and escaping the misery of a lonely life in London. But she would send you music; and suddenly the world wasn’t so blue.

•Your favourite people of all to be around though? Hyacinth and Gregory. They were young, brains like sponges ready to learn and laugh and they love you without reservation. You spend afternoons drilling them with dances, playing archery, games, stealing cakes from the kitchens.

•but like all your family, there’s only one thing you ever wanted really: to find love. You just weren’t foolish enough to believe you’d find it yet, but maybe, just maybe, you’d be surprised when love fell directly into your lap.

[starsxblazing]

Cause and Effect (Part 1)

a/n: Finally part one of the series as I work on requests! I tagged everyone that commented on the original story but there were a few that I was unable to. Thank all of you so much in your interest!

Azriel x reader/Archeron!sister

(Part 2)

From the moment that you were forced into the Cauldron, your life had drastically changed. You weren’t sure what to do or where you fit in life. It wasn’t like you truly fit in anywhere anyway but it had only been amplified by being turned into High Fae. Pain and betrayal stayed with you because Feyre had done nothing to help you, Nesta, and Elain. In a sense, you understood why but it didn’t stop the emotions.

Being the youngest of all of the Archeron sisters meant that you were always looked over by everyone. Your father barely acknowledged your existence and Nesta was always more concerned about Elain and her wellbeing. You were only a year younger than Feyre and even she wasn’t treated in the way that you were.

Maybe it was because she took the initiative to risk her life to keep you all fed but when you pushed to help her, she refused your help and brushed you aside like everyone else. The only attention that you got was from a boy your age and you also knew that he didn’t truly care about you. It was only all about him getting what he wanted and then leaving.

The one thing that kept you going, kept you somewhat hopeful, were a select few human holidays that were nearly completely forgotten for a reason unknown to you. There was one in particular that always stood out and you always did your best to celebrate it. Despite that, your low rank in the family simply earned you a scoff and told that it didn’t matter. 

You simply wanted to share a small bit of joy that you could hold onto with the four of them. It was hard being so different in the sense that you wanted to spread love and joy but everyone around you was more focused on being miserable with poverty. 

The Fae had their own traditions, you had learned, in the separate courts in the new world that you were forced into but that piece of you that loved your holiday felt as if it was slowly dying. Dying just as your humanity had. You had watched in horror as Feyre was forced back to the original court that she had found her first love in. Despite that, you kept silent while standing a few feet away from your two oldest sisters on the ground who were just as drenched as you were.

Mor had all three of you before you had time to blink, sending you all through a pit of darkness before landing in yet another place that you were unfamiliar with. Naturally, everything would be unknown to you and a piece of you didn’t really care. As you sat in your room all alone, your mind drifted to the males in the castle that you had been in and you could only hope that they were alright. Your caring heart wouldn’t let you feel much of anything else.

That was until you began to move between both of your sisters' rooms. You didn’t want to be alone but Elain was in a catatonic state and Nesta simply shoved you out of the room. It was a traumatizing situation for all of you but you craved and longed for someone to be there for you as Nesta was for Elain to help you cope.

Mor had come to check on all three of you within a couple of hours and she was the first one that showed you genuine kindness for the first time in a really long time. It unfortunately didn’t last long before the female left you alone again with the excuse that she needed to check on her friends.

“Are they going to be okay?” you asked worriedly.

“They will be,” she assured with a tender smile. “They just need some rest while the healers work on them.”

“Tell them that I hope that they get better soon.”

She gave you a small smile of understanding and once she left, you made your way back to your room. You hadn’t taken the time before to fully take in the sight before you. The bed was huge, decorated in different shades of blue. Your new bed was just as big and it made you wonder why a bed would need to be so large. It was a far cry from what you were used to in poverty and even the new estate that you had placed in couldn’t compare to this.

The balcony was what caught your attention the most and you couldn’t stop yourself from enjoying the evening breeze that flowed through your hair, setting you at ease as you took in the sight of the city below you. You knew that the small area would be where you would spend a majority of your time if your sisters didn’t want anything to do with you.

Unable to stay in one place, you found yourself wandering aimlessly in an attempt to learn your new surroundings. The simple fact that it was built into the mountain amazed you and you wondered how much work it took to do such a thing. Becoming aware of your surroundings was your main goal but you always ran excitedly when Mor came to visit.

“Have you heard from Feyre?” you asked as you dined with her at the end of your first day in your new dwellings.

No.” Mor shook her head, sadness written in her features. “She’s fully capable of handling herself but we’re hoping that it won’t take her long to accomplish whatever she has planned.”

“And your friends?”

“Our best healer is working on Cassian’s wings,” she answered somewhat hesitantly even though you swore you saw tenderness in her eyes. “Azriel’s wound was nowhere near as bad as it seemed and he’ll be okay in another day or so.”

“I can’t imagine how much it would hurt to have that happen when you have wings.” You shook your head as pain for them filled you. “Or having an arrow in your chest that’s laced with poison.”

“They are Illyrians and they heal quickly,” she assured. “Healing and reconstructing wings is quite difficult but we trust our healer immensely.”

You weren’t given much information and your heart sank whenever she had to leave to check on the injured males. Taking a chance on Nesta again, you slipped into the library to be met with a hostile face. It was all that you could do not to cringe away from that look so you sighed instead.

“Mor just left and said her friends are healing,” you offered.

“I don’t care,” she replied matter of factly, her tone proving her words. “What are you doing here?”

“I uh- Just came for a book,” you muttered, your heart breaking at the hatred that you were receiving.

“Well get it and go.”

Doing as told, you grabbed the first book that you could get your hands on and darted to your room. Mor hadn’t returned on the second day and Rhysand, the High Lord, simply walked through the home, glancing at all three of you before leaving again. You were unable to focus on the words in the romance book that you had unknowingly grabbed as you sat at the dining room table on the third day.

You heard the beat of wings before you saw them and noticed that it was one of the males, Azriel as you remembered, who had landed on the balcony. It took you a moment of staring to realize that he was the most beautiful male that you had ever seen in your relatively short life. He locked eyes with you when he noticed you and his own went wide when you smiled brightly before he stumbled back a step as if he were in shock.

“Hey!” you exclaimed a bit too excitedly, happy to see another person.

“Hi,” he whispered breathlessly.

A small smile formed on his face that only caused you to grin in response.

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[aphroditelovesu]

Yan!Husband Maegor the Cruel/Yan!Mother-In-Law Visenya Targaryen Headcanons

❝ 🐉 — lady l: Am I obsessed with Visenya Targaryen? Yes I am. Lol, this takes place before he becomes King, except for the ending, so I hope you like it! Forgive me for any mistakes because it's 3 am where I live ❤️.

❝tw: not compatible with canon, mention of death, forced marriage, death, manipulation and usurpation.

❝🐉pairing: yan!maegor the cruel x female!reader and platonic yandere!visenya targaryen.

Your marriage to Maegor was rushed and you didn't have the chance to refuse or say no. Not when the Dowager Queen was the one who chose you to become her son's wife. You were doomed from the beginning.

Everything happened very quickly, you only remember your parents receiving a letter from the Queen ordering you to come to Pentos immediately. Neither your parents nor you have thought much about it. One mistake and soon you were placed in a ship and shipped off to Pentos without knowing the reason.

It was only after your arrival at the Red Keep that you knew what would happen. Your reason for being there. You would become Maegor Targaryen's wife.

You didn't want to marry him, you knew his reputation well but you no longer had a choice. Not when he had taken an interest in you and the Dowager Queen too.

Everything was done quickly. You were bathed, dressed like a doll and during the night, under several looks of pity and fear, you married Maegor, becoming his first and only wife.

It wasn't that bad, you quickly decided. Maegor was a kind husband to you and tried to make you happy. He let you have your freedoms and do what you wanted, as long as you never left the house in Pentos. Visenya was nothing but sweet to you, your mother-in-law was very affectionate and spent a lot of time by her side. You were grateful for that.

He was a decent and even good husband. You had to deal with his jealous outbursts frequently and his often painful touches, but it wasn't that bad. It wasn't bad when you slept with him or when he killed a guard by ripping out his heart because he looked at you for too long. It wasn't that bad, you told yourself every day.

When everything seemed too much to handle, you turned to Visenya and she always comforted you. Everything was fine, she said. This is his way of loving you, that everything would be fine in the end. Visenya knew how to manipulate you with sweet and poisoned words.

There were times when you loved your husband, times when Maegor was your caring and loving husband. This happened when you were on your period or more sensitive and he was a completely different person. His touches weren't harsh, his kisses were soft and his body was soft. You loved these moments.

He had always been possessive and you knew that the best thing to do was not provoke him. You knew very well what your husband was capable of doing, you still had nightmares of when he forced you to watch the terrible murder of your guard after he accidentally touched you.

When this happened, you would curl up on the bed when he left the room and call for Visenya. The only one capable of understanding, you thought. She smiled as she sat next to you and stroked your hair, always repeating that everything would be okay. Your heart hurt, but you blindly trusted your mother-in-law.

With tenderness, Maegor presented you with splendid jewelry, but your greatest treasure was the time you spent together, away from the judgmental eyes of the everyone. He protected you, not just with his warrior skills, but with kind words and gestures of affection.

You came to love Maegor in your own way. And he loved you dearly in return. Although you were still afraid of him, you learned to like him. You would always fear him, but you could ignore that. Because you knew Visenya would never let him hurt you, especially when you found out about his pregnancy.

It was Visenya who discovered it. She always had an eye on you and when one of your maids came up to her and whispered in her ears that you hadn't bled in two months, she smiled huge and knew it was time. It was finally time for Maegor to ascend the Iron Throne.

Maegor was delighted when he found out about your pregnancy. Now everything was falling into place. You will always fondly remember his reaction. How he knelt in front of you and placed his head against your belly, smiling widely and you could swear there would be tears in his purple eyes.

Now everything could fall into place. Maegor would have a secure succession and together with Visenya Targaryen, he usurped the Iron Throne and became King of the Seven Kingdoms. You were present, watching as Visenya crowned her son with his father's crown and everyone watched in awe as the new King ascended.

You clutched your belly as if you were protecting your baby. Maegor stood up and walked over to you, taking a crown that he had ordered forged for you and placed it under your head, crowning you Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Visenya watched with pride and satisfaction. Everything was coming together.