#ANYWAYS SORRY FOR THE SILENCE AND NOT WARNING BEFORE DISAPPEARING
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catchastarorten · 5 days ago
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—One more game.
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Pairing: the salesman (gong yoo) x winner!fem!reader
Summary: a year after winning your games, an unexpected guest shows up at your door, offering to play one more game of ddakji with you, just for the fun of it, and because you're his favorite winner.
Warnings: mentions of trauma, mentions of blood and gore, violence (basically just you smacking him a lot lol), masochism (<- on him, if you squint really hard?), English isn’t my first language, mistakes should be present, sorry!
Word count: ~ 1k
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You almost didn’t answer the door.
It was late—the kind of late where the silence pressed in too close and left you too alone for your thoughts. The rain tapped against the windows felt louder than it should. You hadn’t been expecting anyone. Not anymore, anyways.
Your thoughts drifted to that moment. When you stood on that playground that reflected a childish innocence, yet your hands were trembling, blood drying beneath your nails and painted across your teal uniform, the sound of the final breath and the plea that the other player let out before you swung down the knife with a cold precision that pierced him right through the head. It was over. You won. But it never felt like you were the winner.
The knock had been deliberate, sharp. Three steady raps, not the kind delivered by accident or from someone who might go away if ignored, it broke you out of your haze.
You told yourself you weren’t afraid as you approached, but your heartbeat felt too loud in your ears. Your fingers curled around the lock, hesitating for just a second. Then, you opened it.
And there he was.
The salesman.
You hadn’t seen him since the same rainy day where he found you in the subway station, drenched and cold, in debt—out of money, when he offered to play a simple game of ddakji with you. Not since he handed you a card with a number on the back and disappeared without a trace.
Yet here he stood, wearing the same tailored suit, sharp as ever. His face was unchanged—calm, composed, as if this was just another evening, another game. But it wasn’t.
You could tell by the way his eyes softened the moment they met yours.
He didn’t speak right away. His gaze swept over your face, tracing every detail, as if cataloging how you’d changed. Or maybe searching for the cracks left behind.
Then, his hand lifted.
The red and blue ddakji were already there, pinched between his fingers as though they’d never left. Worn slightly at the edges, but still bold in color. Waiting.
“Care for another game?” His voice was smooth, calm. Too calm.
Your stomach twisted.
The paper. The slap. The start of everything that seemed to haunt you.
It all came back too easily—how the game had started with that simple challenge, the humiliating sting of his palm every time you lost. Until you hadn’t. Until you’d proven you could be a winner, until he handed you that card as a congratulations.
“No.” Your voice came out flat. You started to close the door.
His foot shifted forward, not blocking but close enough that the message was clear: not yet.
“You don’t seem so sure.” His gaze lingered, voice quieter now. More dangerous in its softness. “You’ve played before.”
You swallowed, hating how he made it sound like a compliment. Like something to be proud of.
“I don’t play anymore,” you said, sharper this time.
His lips parted like he might argue, but then—he smiled. It wasn’t smug. Not mocking. Something else entirely. You hated how it made your skin prickle.
His head tilted slightly, fingers flexing around the ddakji. “You won, though. You survived. Out of all of them… you were quite ruthless.”
You shouldn’t have let him say that. But it was too late. Something inside you cracked.
Your hand shot out before you fully registered the movement. A sharp, stinging crack as your palm met his cheek, the impact louder than you expected in the quiet.
He barely moved.
He just stood there, lips parted slightly in surprise. And then—he smiled again, slower this time, his head tipping back, exposing the faint pink blooming across his cheekbone in the dim lights.
It felt less satisfying that he just let the pain settle there.
“There’s that fire,” he said, his voice taunting. “The same fire that got you through the games, that made you kill all those people, hm? I always knew you had it.”
Another slap, harder this time. His head jerked slightly with the force of it, his cheek flushing a deeper red. He exhaled softly, just a breath, but it sounded too much like a gasp, like something he’d been holding back.
And when his eyes met yours again— no smile. Not this time. Just a flicker of something you couldn't understand.
His hand shifted between you, lifting the ddakji slightly as if to remind you why he was here.
“You’ll have to win first,” he said, voice hoarse but playful. “Before you keep doing that.”
The tension was so thick you could cut it with a knife, the air too still.
You snatched the red ddakji from his hand, the paper crinkling slightly as your fingers curled around it.
The game began like it had before. The slap of paper against the floor. The silence between rounds, broken only by breath and the occasional hiss when a piece landed just wrong.
But it wasn’t like before, not really.
Because you felt his presence too closely now—the way he watched you, not just your hands but your face, your mouth, your eyes. As if he was searching for cracks in your mask.
So you played harder. Sharper.
And then you won.
The blue ddakji flipped with a sharp slap, the smooth side landing face up, and you felt the victory surge in your chest—not just from the game, but because of him.
Your eyes met his, he didn’t speak, didn’t flinch when your palm connected with his face a third time, but this time—his breath hitched. A subtle, almost imperceptible sound, but it was there.
And his gaze? It was the same as before. The same as that first night when he watched you fight for your life with nothing but paper and desperation.
He took a step back, finally breaking the moment. Rain whispered against the window, the only sound in the room now.
He bent down and picked up the red and blue ddakji, stuffing them into his pockets as his smile returned, and you could've sworn you saw a hint of pride in his eyes.
“Still a fighter,” he hummed.
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serosblunt · 6 months ago
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Kiribaku x Reader: Miss You
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Kiribaku x (Gender-neutral) reader
Warnings: Snippets of spicier content, pre-NSFW, 18+
Description: Bakugo's out of town on a mission, Ejiriou decides to text him late at night.
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12:46am
The numbers stared at Eijiro, taunting him with every blink. It felt like there was never enough space in your enormous king-sized bed, but somehow, now that there wasn't an angry blonde on the other side of the mattress, it felt remarkably empty.
You were long since asleep, curled up and drooling on his chest before 11:30pm - despite your adamant denial that you 'do not drool'. You were tucked up against his side, Dynamight plushie firmly secured under your chin.
The sturdy hero thought it was the purest thing he'd ever seen, and it gave him a reason to text Katsuki so late. He knew under normal circumstances, the blond would kill him for being awake.
He doubted Kats would even be awake himself, but if he wasn't, at least he'd see Ejiro's text in the morning.
So he snapped a quick photo of the two of you, cringing at the brightness of the flash.
~ Red 🪨
Think someone's missing you
<image attached>
The responding message came through in seconds.
~ Blasty 💥
Can't believe we still have that stupid thing.
*image saved*
True enough, the limited edition plush had more than a few scorch marks on it. Evidence of Katsuki's previously attempted 'hits' on the doll.
Ejiro smiled to himself fondly.
~ Red 🪨
I think we'd both prefer it if it was the real Dynamight
~ Blasty 💥
Obviously.
Which in Bakugo language translated to 'Yeah, me too.'
You stirred slightly under your boyfriend's hold, and the red head made a mental note to type more quietly.
~ Red 🪨
How much longer do they think the assignment will take?
~ Blasty 💥
Fuckers keep giving me different answers. Hard to tell. If it’s not done by Friday I’m coming home anyway. 
Ejirou knew he very likely would. 
~ Blasty 💥
  It’s late. Go to sleep, shitty hair. 
~ Red 🪨
  Can’t sleep. Miss you
~ Blasty 💥
Miss you too, E, and the Gremlin.
He meant you. The nickname stuck after the first time you all slept over together and Katsuki discovered your 'unsavoury' sleeping habits; snoring and latching onto people. 
~ Red 🪨
<image attached>
This time it was Kirishima kissing your head gently, your face smooshed even further into his pec with the change in angle. He knew it was risky to use flash, but he was praying you’d stay asleep. 
  Wish you were here x
~ Blasty 💥
  *image saved*
Why’s Friday so fucking far away?
The typing bubble filled the empty silence for a few seconds before disappearing. Riot held back a chuckle, he was tell Katsuki was wrestling with admitting defeat his feelings.
You guys are cute. 
~ Red 🪨
  Naww thanks babe, you’re not so bad yourself ;)
~ Blasty 💥
  Don’t start shit, Ejiro. It's too late.
The red head felt suddenly cocky.
~ Red 🪨
  That a challenge?
~ Blasty 💥
Warning you, E.
The red head considered his options for less than half a second before rolling away ever so slightly so he could send his partner a more…scandalous photo.
Pointing the camera towards his chest, Ejirou made sure to get his pec in frame once more, only slightly hardened this time, knowing how much the explosive hero loved them- even if he would rather die before admitting to that.
A cheeky smile showed off his sharp teeth and tongue that hung teasingly out from between them. 
He winced at the flash once more, but decided his mission was worth it. Satisfied with himself, he pressed the send button as you stirred beside him. 
~ Red 🪨
<image attached>
“E…what’re y’doing?” You mumbled. 
“Shit, I’m sorry sweetheart. I was just texting Kats.”
“With flash on?” You grumbled, clearly unhappy with the hero beside you.
“I’m, ah….helping him out?”
“Oh. Can I see?”
~ Blasty 💥
<video attached>
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soaps-mohawk · 11 months ago
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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood
Chapter 7 : Sweet Strawberry
Summary: You're not a soldier, you're just an omega. You shouldn't have to remind them of that, yet you find yourself needing to. Price makes it up to you in the best way possible.
Pairing: Poly 141 x reader
Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, military inaccuracies, language, angst, panic, fluff, suggestive content, terrible flirting
A/N: Not entirely happy with it but it's done and I can move on from this one. I struggled so much with this chapter omg. Also, I just wanted to make it clear that I am not from the UK, I've never been to the UK, I'm simply going off of prior knowledge and what Google can tell me. So, if there's any inaccuracies, I am so sorry.
MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->
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You’re expecting the knock when it comes. You’d been standing in front of your door for almost five minutes, and you get it open almost before he’s finished, hand still raised. He gives no sign that betrays his surprise, if he feels any at all, instead he simply looks you over before turning on his heel and marching towards the door. 
You close your door behind you, slipping down the hallway after him. It’s raining again, though you had prepared for that, flipping the hood of your jacket up as you hurry after Ghost. He threatens to disappear in the darkness of morning, slipping between the street lamps like a specter. It’s not often you get to see the true danger in them, the threats that they pose, the things that make them good at their job. You can imagine how many on his opposing side have been caught unawares by the way he seems to flow with the darkness around him. 
You are significantly less graceful and quiet, feet slapping the wet pavement as you speed walk to keep up with the giant alpha. You can almost imagine the look on his face as you plod along behind him. If your lives depended on your silence at this moment, well, it wouldn’t entirely have been your fault. If he didn’t walk so fucking fast...
He’s at least courteous enough to hold the door open for you, though perhaps that was simply something that was deeply ingrained in him. Manners that become unconscious practice, even when you despise the person you’re with. He leads you down the hall towards the practice room again, unlocking it and flipping on the lights. He empties his pockets and removes his shoes and sweatshirt, before moving to one of the punching bags. 
You can already predict what your lesson today will entail. Your knuckles have almost completely healed since your little fit a week ago. You quickly strip off your jacket and toe off your wet shoes, moving to join him without having to be told. 
“Do you know how to wrap your hands?” He asks, holding out two rolls of hand wraps. 
“No.” You shake your head. It’s not entirely true. They had shown you once while you were with the CIA, but that had been weeks ago and you’re sure you’ve forgotten the right way to do it. Even if you tried, he’d likely sigh and do it himself anyway. 
He lets out a breath, pocketing one of the wraps before grabbing your right wrist. His hands are just as rough as you remember them being the day you punched Corporal Allen, calluses dragging against your skin as he meticulously wraps the fabric around your fingers. You watch him, trying to memorize how to do it in hopes that maybe, eventually, you’ll surprise him and manage it yourself. 
He finishes your hands quickly before wrapping his own. You flex your hands, trying to get used to the feeling of the wraps. They’re not too tight, shockingly. You had half expected him to choke your fingers until they’re purple just because. But, you also know Price will be looking for any mark or sign of injury as soon as he sees you at breakfast. The thought of him laying into Ghost for even a bruise as your stomach twisting, and not in a bad way. 
“Make a fist.” Ghost says, crossing his arms as he stands in front of you. 
You stare at his bulging muscles for a second too long, quickly curling your fingers as your face warms. 
He takes hold of your hand, inspecting your fist. “Not bad.” 
“I did grow up with brothers.” You murmur. 
“Did they ever hit you?” He asks as he turns you to face the boxing bag. 
“Only playfully.” You say, missing the subtle edge to his voice. “Dad would have caved their heads in if they ever tried.” 
You can’t see the way he’s staring at you as he stands slightly behind you, but you can feel his gaze as it lingers for just a second longer than you expected it to. You’re not sure if maybe he doesn’t believe you, or maybe he knows there’s more to the story. You’ve hardly spoken about your family since your arrival, but they seemed to accept the fact that they haven’t been your family for years now as a valid reason.
“Get into your fighting stance.” He finally says, moving around you as you take the stance you had perfected last training session. “Good.” He says, looking you over. “Now throw a punch at the bag.” 
You squeeze your fists, imagining Corporal Allen’s face on the bag before you throw a punch, barely managing to move the bag. 
“Punches like that are what will get you hurt.” Ghost says, extending your arm. “You can throw your weight, which is good. That’s why you were able to throw Allen off his feet. You’re asking for a broken arm, though. Keep your arm flat and facing downwards through the entire punch. Aim with the knuckles and twist your lower body for support.” 
He throws a punch at the bag, the sound of his fist hitting it loud, and you watch the bag swing back and forth violently. He could probably punch through you if he wanted to. Your pitiful punch wouldn’t even stun him. 
He stops the bag from swinging, having you throw repeated punches at it. He fixes your form and technique as you go, teaching you different kinds of punches. Your arms quickly get tired, and you know you’re going to be sore again. Maybe you should take up some weight lifting or something. You could ask Soap to help you. 
You go until your arms feel like they're going to fall off, your shoulders burning. “I can't anymore.” You whine, breathing heavily from the exertion of throwing punches for 30 minutes. 
“You have to learn to push through the pain.” He says, looming over you. “You think in a fight, everyone will just stop because your arms are tired? Or you're a little sore?”
He has a point. 
You take half a step back as he invades your space, leaning down close to you. “If they're out for blood, they won't even stop even as you're bleeding out in front of them.” His eyes are dark, biting into you, speaking volumes of his knowledge and experience. You wonder how many times he's been in that situation, how many times he's had to fight quite literally for his life. He steps away from you, moving towards the center of the mat. “Come on. I'll teach you some combinations.” 
You don't want to follow him. You want to curl up in a corner and nap for the next four hours. You don't doubt he'll find a way to force you, though, so you move to the center of the mat with a sigh. 
He teaches you different combinations, working through them over and over. You're sloppy, mixing up which punch is which, which move means what. It only gets worse as you get more and more tired, but Ghost is relentless. 
Finally after almost an hour and a half of training, he calls it. Your legs are shaking and you can barely lift your arms to unravel the wraps from around your hands. You sink onto the floor, laying out flat on the padding as you try to catch your breath. 
“Come on.” Ghost says, lacing up his shoes. “You'll have time to shower before breakfast if we get back now.”
“Wait. Just gimme a minute.” You breathe, not even sure you have the willpower to get up from the floor, much less the muscle power. 
He lets out a sigh before approaching you, bending down to slip his hands under your arms. “On your feet, soldier.”
He lifts you easily, far too easily. Your legs shake, nearly giving out as you're forced onto them. You pout, ignoring the ache in your bones as you're forced upright. 
“‘M not a soldier.” You murmur. 
“In here with me, you are. You want to learn to fight, you get treated just like everyone else I've taught.” He says, glowering down at you. “Now get your shoes on and let's go.”
Your brows pull into a frown, but you do as he says, slipping your shoes back on and your jacket. You had hoped perhaps he would have a little mercy, given your status and inexperience, but it seems you're not even being awarded that. You know part of it is his revenge for you invading his protective circle around Soap, for kissing Soap in front of him. 
The frown doesn't leave your face as you follow him back to the barracks, having to almost run to keep up with him. 
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“You look tired.”
“I am. I had training with Ghost again this morning.” 
“How is that going?”
“It's hard.” You admit, sinking back in your chair. “He's hard on me. He sees me as a soldier, not an omega.”
“Have you brought this up to him?” Dr. Keller asks, crossing her feet as she relaxes on the couch across from you.
You nod. “Yeah. He said I have to push through it, because if I wind up in a real fight, they won't go easy on me.”
“Well, I can’t say he’s wrong about that. But, that’s still no excuse.” Dr. Keller tilts her head at you. “You could bring it up to Captain Price. He is your pack alpha, and he’s also Lieutenant Riley’s. I don’t doubt he’d bring it up to him on your behalf.” 
He would, but you don’t really want to stir the pot in that way. The last thing you need to do is become a tattle-tail. It’s quiet between you for a few moments, Dr. Keller shuffling her papers as you mark a clear end to that conversation. 
“How did you do on your assignment? I see you’re wearing a different sweatshirt this morning.” She says, eyeing you. 
You’re wearing Price’s sweatshirt, the one he gifted you. You’ve been wearing it almost every day, his scent still clinging to the fabric. Your face warms as she stares at you, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Yeah, but...I didn’t ask for this one. Price gave it to me after I told him about where my other one came from. I uh...I kissed Soap. And Gaz.” 
“Oh?” Her brows raise, and she writes something down on the paper. Your face warms even more as you watch her pen move with every letter. You can only imagine what she’s putting down. “Is that something you wanted? I know we talked briefly about it last time.” She says.
You nod. “Yes. I did want it. I...I also...kneeled...with Price...Did a couple times actually...” 
Dr. Keller’s mouth opens in surprise, her eyes shining as she looks at you. “You did? That’s huge! That’s an incredible development! Did you initiate, or did he?” 
“I did.” You say bashfully, sinking back further into the chair. “Both times.” 
Dr. Keller smiles at you, looking almost proud. “This is a big step in the right direction. How did it go? Were you able to relax?” 
You nod. “Yeah. It was nice. He was...gentle. He did it right.” 
“Good. How did you do coming down from it? I know it can be intense and difficult for some omegas.” She asks. 
You shrug. “Fine. I felt it a bit the morning after, but it wasn’t too bad. I fell asleep on him both times.” 
“Oh?” She lifts an eyebrow. “Did you stay with him?” 
You shake your head. “No, Gaz took me to my room both times.” 
“Good. That’s good practice, for when your heat comes. Shows how much trust they have in each other.”
You hadn’t really thought of that. There was a lot of trust involved in omega’s heats. Omegas have to trust their alphas to take care of them while they’re blind with insatiable need, but both alpha and omega have to trust a beta to keep them alive. Your heat will trigger Price’s rut and make him lose control for a while, and it will be up to Gaz to keep you both fed and hydrated. He’ll be the one to help you both afterwards as well.
“Have you started nesting yet?” Dr. Keller asks. 
You shake your head. “No. Don’t feel any drive to either.” 
Dr. Keller hums as she writes something down. “Well, it has only been two weeks. Though, perhaps if you can manage to ask for some things to make your space more comfortable, that might help ease you into it.” 
You chew on your lip, tugging at the sleeves of your sweatshirt. You know she’s right. Until you’re comfortable and feel safe enough, you won’t feel the drive to nest. You’ll need to nest before your heat arrives. Otherwise, it’ll cause issues for both you and Price. 
“When...when should I be worried?” You ask. 
“Hmm...” Dr. Keller looks at her calendar. “If you’re not feeling any sort of drive to nest by our next appointment, then I’d say we may need to consider using some exercises to help jump start it.” 
“Exercises?” You ask warily. 
“All easy things.” She reassures you. “Things like scent introductions, tactile explorations, and some bonding exercises might be helpful as well.” She writes something down on a sticky note. “I’ll explain everything in detail and you’ll get to choose whether you want to do any of it or not. No one’s going to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with, alright?” 
Tears prick your eyes at her words, and you furiously blink them back. It’s a little late for that kind of sentiment. Your presence here alone was thanks to a long line of people forcing you to do things you’re not comfortable with. It was easy to get lost in the excitement and the emotions of bonding with a pack, easy to forget that you would never have chosen this place had you ever been given the option to choose. 
You would have gone far from the military, far from this kind of life. It’s your duty to bond with an alpha, but what if you don’t want to? What if it’s all a front, and as soon as you’re claimed the curtains rise and suddenly everything is different? What if Price isn’t as kind as you’ve come to believe him? Just one squeeze too tightly around the back of your neck while you’re kneeling and everything would change. 
How easily he could take everything from you. 
“You want to talk about what’s going on in your head right now?” Dr. Keller asks, breaking the silence between you two.
You hadn’t even noticed you’d been staring off into space, lost in your thoughts. Of course she knows something’s changed. She’s spent years learning the ins and outs of omegas and all the secrets you can only imagine. She’s probably just as in tune with subtle changes as the four well trained soldiers that make up your new pack. Maybe even more in tune with them. 
You shake your head, keeping your gaze on the floor. 
“Remember nothing shared in this room leaves this room. It’ll always only be between us.” She says softly. 
You’re panicking. You can feel the pressure rising within you. You’re like a grenade and someone is about to pull the pin. You’re afraid you’ll spill everything to her, afraid you’ll let out things you’ve successfully kept buried for years and years. Things you’ve left behind, things you’ve had to move on from. Things you can’t afford to let out now. 
“I’d like to be done now.” You silently curse the way your voice shakes. 
Dr. Keller’s brows pull into a frown but she nods. “Okay.” She slips her papers into her notebook before standing. “Let me grab my keys.” 
You stand as she moves to her desk, grabbing her keys from the drawer. She leads you from her office, thankfully staying quiet as you walk through the rain towards the barracks. You’re still panicking, the turmoil inside you probably projecting the sour scent across the entire courtyard but you don’t care. You can’t. 
“Remember, if you ever need anything, I’m usually in my office.” Dr. Keller says as she drops you off at the door. 
You feel guilty as you hurry to your room, shoes squeaking on the tile. You feel bad for cutting the appointment off early, you feel bad for feeling the way you do. Later you’ll be grateful for Dr. Keller respecting your boundaries and not pushing, for following through with her promise and letting you be in control of the appointment. 
Right now you don’t care. Right now you can’t care. You’re too lost in your turmoil, the bitter scent of your distress seeping out from under the locked door. 
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“...can ye talk tae me, hen? Let me know yer alright?” 
The soft voice coming through the closed door pulls you out from your burrow under the thin blanket. You blink blearily at your phone, trying to see the time. It’s just a little past the normal time you go to lunch with them. How long have they been knocking on the door? 
“Come on, lass.” Soap’s voice comes through the door again. “I dinnae want tae have tae kick in the door.” 
You force yourself out from under the blanket, pocketing your phone before quickly moving to your door. You throw it open, Soap’s eyes immediately scanning you as you rub tiredly at your eyes. You don’t doubt he’d kick in your door if he felt he had to. 
“Sorry,” You yawn. “I was asleep.” 
His eyebrows raise as he stares down at you. “Ye were asleep? Ye weren’t kidding about bein’ a heavy sleeper.” He leads you from the barracks, crossing the courtyard towards the mess.
“One time, when I was about two or three, my dad took us to some demonstration on base.” You say as you begin walking to the mess with him. “I fell asleep about halfway through and slept through a howitzer going off.” 
Soap lets out a laugh so loud it echoes in the courtyard. “Ye slept through a howitzer?” 
You nod. “Yup. My dad never let me live it down. I heard it all the time. ‘You’ll have to try hard to wake her, she slept through a howitzer once.’” 
Soap chuckles, leading you into the mess. “Ye are a deep sleeper.” 
You shrug. “I did say so. My phone will wake me up though. Alarms, calls.” 
“I’ll keep tha�� in mind.” He says as he guides you through the line, making your tray for you. 
You sit between Price and Gaz as usual, feeling a bit on edge still despite your nap after your appointment. You hadn’t gotten to sleep for very long, not nearly long enough to clear your head completely. You know they can tell, Gaz slowly shifting closer and closer to you, Price’s gaze flickering to you out of the corner of his eye every so often. Even Ghost’s eyes pass over you every so often as they sweep across the mess. 
You wonder if he feels responsible. 
You hope he does. 
Soap walks you back to the barracks after lunch and you spend the afternoon burrowed under your blanket again. You’re exhausted and sore after a long morning of training and your appointment. You wish you could sink back into sleep, let the emotions pass without you having to feel them, but you’re too awake now. Too aware of them as they prickle in the back of your mind. 
Dinner passes without incident, but you can’t ignore the feelings still stirring within you. You feel agitated and on edge, not even pacing your room helping you. You let out a breath before you put your slippers on, slipping out of your door. You make your way down the hallway, turning right instead of left like you would if you were heading for the rec room. The door is cracked open and you pause just before you reach it, suddenly feeling nervous. You shouldn’t really. There was no reason to be nervous, yet you can’t help the urge in the back of your mind to turn tail and race back down the hallway to the safety of your room. 
“You can come in, unless you’d prefer standing in the hallway all evening.” A voice calls from inside the office. 
Your face warms a bit at getting caught, but he could probably hear you coming down the hallway. He could probably smell you too. 
You push open the door, slipping inside before closing it behind you. Price stares at you from his desk as you stand there, shifting nervously on your feet. You feel agitated, on edge still. You’re worked up, and you don’t quite know why. 
“Everything alright?” Price asks, likely picking up on your nervous energy. 
Yes. You want to say, but then you’d have to come up with a reason as to why you sought him out, why you feel so worked up. You could just kneel for him. It’s what you should do, let yourself be eased into a peaceful state of mind. Let him take care of you. 
 “I don’t know.” 
The words are hardly more than a whisper, your voice trembling just as much as you are. Your chest feels tight, your breaths becoming shallow. You're not sure when he got up, when he even moved. His scent wraps around you, warmth encompassing your being as your face is pushed against his chest. 
“I need you to breathe for me.” Price says, pressing your ear against his chest. You can hear the steady thump of his heart, the air flowing in and out of his lungs. 
You close your eyes, trying to match your breaths to his. It's hard, your body fighting your attempt to regulate it. You close your eyes, focusing on the soft fabric of Price's shirt against your cheek, the warmth of his hand on your head as he keeps you pinned against his chest. It's not constricting or suffocating. It's grounding, keeping you from drowning in your own thoughts. 
He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to as he holds you there, letting you calm down. You begin to slowly relax, your arms wrapping around his waist, fingers gripping the back of his shirt. 
“Want to tell me what’s going on?” He murmurs, lips brushing the top of your head. 
“I don’t know.” You whisper, still clinging to his shirt. “I’m just...I feel off. Ghost was being hard on me this morning and then I got upset during my appointment and I’ve just felt on edge all day and I can’t relax because I can’t get comfortable!” 
Price tightens his grip around you just slightly. “What do you mean?” 
You huff out a breath, squeezing your eyes closed so the tears don’t escape as the words leave you in a flood before you can stop them. “The blankets aren’t soft enough and the pillows are too thin and it’s too dark and I’m tired of smelling like bland soap!” 
Price hums quietly, squeezing you gently as a tear slides down your cheek. “Then we should do something to fix that.” 
“But I shouldn’t need it!” You cry, trying to push away from him, but he keeps you tight against his chest. “I’m supposed to be a good omega and adapt and learn to be comfortable where I am.” 
“That might be what you were taught,” He says, letting you push away from his chest, but he wraps his hands around your arms, keeping you in front of him. “But things don’t have to be that way. We should have taken care of something like this sooner. I’m sorry I didn’t even think of it. You shouldn’t have had to ask for it.” 
You blink up at him, genuinely surprised by his words. “I...what?” 
“We all have our own little comforts that we keep. Soap sleeps with a stuffed bear. Don’t tell him I told you that.” 
A small smile tugs at your lips at the mental image of Soap snuggling up with a teddy bear. 
“You deserve some comfort too.” He says, squeezing your arms.
“But, it’s not...regulation.” You say. 
“Doesn’t have to be.” He says. “You’re not a soldier. Even then, the only ones going in there are us. The only thing I can’t approve of is painting the walls. Unfortunately the prison grey has to stay.” 
You can’t help but laugh, wiping the tear from your cheek. “I suppose that’s alright. Just...as long as it’s not as dark and maybe a soft blanket or something. That’s really all I need.” 
He hums, staring down at you. You can’t quite figure out the look on his face, something shining in his eyes. “We’ll get it figured out.” He says, squeezing your arms again. 
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“Get some shoes on. We’re going on a trip.” 
You look up from your book, staring at Price as he stands in the rec room. He’s dressed in civilian clothes, arms crossed as he stares down at you on the couch. You mark your place in your book, pushing yourself up to sit. It’s a Saturday afternoon, and unlike last week they had the day off, which means you do as well. 
“Are you going to make me hike through the woods for two hours again, sir?” You ask, pushing yourself up to stand. 
“No. We’re going into town.” He says. 
You blink at him. You haven’t been off base since you arrived, and you figured you probably wouldn’t be getting that opportunity any time soon. “Can I ask why, sir?” 
“We’ve got some shopping to do.” He says simply, turning and leaving the rec room. 
You stand there shocked for a moment before you’re following after him, slipping into your room to put comfortable shoes on and grab your phone and a jacket. You don’t even have a wallet to carry around to make yourself feel better. 
Price is waiting by the door for you, a car parked outside. You’re slow to approach him, suddenly feeling a mix of emotions. He’s doing this for you. He’d really taken your conversation last night to heart and now he’s going to go spend money on you that he doesn’t need to. 
“What’s that look for sweetheart?” He asks, standing in front of the door. 
“You don’t have to do this.” You say, staring up at him. He seems so tall like this, so...imposing. 
“Course I do.” He says, his gaze softening just slightly. “Should have done it sooner. You deserve to be comfortable too.” He says, turning to open the door. 
You follow him out, climbing into the car when he opens the door for you. He gets in the driver’s seat, the car rumbling to life. He drives to the front gate, passing off two ID cards to the guards. He passes one to you when the guard hands them back, the gate in front of you opening. 
“That’s your ID card. Gets you on and off base.” He explains as he drives away from the gate. “I doubt you’ll be leaving on your own, but just in case.” 
“Thank you, sir.” You say, slipping the card under your phone case for the time being. 
He glances at you, a small smile on his lips. “You can call me John, if you'd like. You don't need to be formal when we're in private.” 
“Yes, sir.” You make a face, biting your lip at your automatic response. “Sorry. Old habits.” 
“From the institute?” He asks. 
You shake your head. “My dad, actually. He was a firm believer in respecting authority figures. All ‘yes, sir’ and ‘no, sir’ by the time we were old enough to know the difference.” 
“Sounds like my father.” He says, staring out at the road ahead. “Old grizzled military man.” 
“Do you still have contact with him?” You ask curiously. You don’t know much of anything about their families, their backgrounds.
“Not really. Beyond holidays, neither of us really make an effort to talk to the other. After mum passed, there wasn’t much to talk about.” He says. 
“She was the glue.” You say, watching the trees pass by the car. 
“Yeah.” He huffs out a laugh. “As betas usually are.”
“Do you have any siblings?” You ask, curiosity getting the better of you. You know next to nothing about them, while they likely know your entire life story. 
“No,” He shakes his head. “Just me. You have a lot of siblings.” 
You nod. “Seven at the time I left for the institute. Could be more now.” 
“They never tried to keep contact with you?” He asks. 
“Nope.” You turn to look out the window. “The institute didn’t really encourage it either, because we were being prepared to join new packs. That’s hard to do when you still have bonds with your old ones. I think they might have forcibly ended some. I know there were some omegas that tried to keep contact, but it became less and less until eventually it just stopped.” 
Price’s hands tighten around the steering wheel just slightly. You wouldn’t have noticed if you hadn’t been paying attention. Silence settles in the car as he drives, farmlands passing until the houses start getting closer and closer together. You stare at the buildings as he drives through town, a blend of historical and modern. 
“It’s beautiful here.” You say, watching people and cars pass by. 
“I suppose so.” He says, glancing at you. “I grew up in this area.” 
You turn to look at him. “You did? I didn’t know that. Then again, I don’t know much about any of you.” 
“You can ask us, you know.” He says. “We don’t have to be that secretive with you. At least not about ourselves.” 
He pulls into a parking lot, opening your door for you and helping you out of the car. You slip your hand into his, holding it as you cross the parking lot. You stare up at the store. ASDA. You’ve never heard of it before, though you suppose the stores would be different here too. 
Price drops your hand to grab a cart, the store bustling with people. You hang onto the edge of the cart, staying close to Price’s side. “We’re here for you.” He says, guiding you through the aisles. “Get whatever you want.” 
He’s led you to the homegoods section, your eyes widening at the entire aisle of blankets and bedding in front of you. You try to take it all in, but you feel a bit overwhelmed. There’s so many choices, so many options. 
“Pick out as many as you want. Don’t worry about the price.” He says, before you can protest. “We get paid decently, but don’t have many chances to use it. Let me do this for you.” 
You stare up into his eyes, the sincerity in them, before you nod, turning back to the wall of blankets before you. You study them, running your hand along them to find the softest ones, doing as he says and ignoring the price tags. You settle on a couple soft ones, grabbing a throw blanket as well that you can pack around to the rec room if you want to. He takes you to the pillow aisle, and you settle on a pair of fluffy pillows, as well as a couple decorative ones as well. 
“Here.” He slips a big plush strawberry into your arms before you leave the aisle, your cheeks warming as you look at it. “Makes me think of you.” 
You preen at his words, holding onto the strawberry as you make for the lamps and nightlights, settling on a cat shaped one that will sit on your desk and changes colors. You pick up a few other items before heading for the toiletries, finally setting the strawberry in the cart as you zero in on the soaps and body washes. You smell all the strawberry scented ones, trying to find the perfect one. 
“Why strawberry?” Price asks as you put a strawberries and cream scented body wash in the cart. 
“Compliments my scent.” You explain as he leads you to the shampoo and conditioner. “We had a scent specialist come to the institute one time as an activity. We all figured out what our scents smell like and what notes compliment them the best.” 
An arm wraps around your waist before you can look at the shampoo, pulling you back against a broad chest. Price’s nose presses into your neck and he inhales deeply. He lets out a content hum, his beard tickling the sensitive skin of your neck. “I think you’re right.” 
Your face burns hot as he presses a gentle kiss against the side of your neck before releasing you. You stand there for a moment, trying to calm the heat rushing through your body and focus on the shampoo. You hear him chuckle as you shuffle forward, your face still burning as you smell the shampoo bottles. 
You settle on one, holding onto Price’s arm as you continue around the store, picking up a few other items and a couple for himself as well before heading to the checkout. 
You hold on to Price’s arm as you leave the store, sticking close to him as he loads the bags into the trunk. You can feel the slight tension in his body, the way his eyes scan the parking lot every few seconds. You can’t even begin to imagine how hard it must be for him to relax, especially out in public. How fast his mind has to be running, how alert he is to everyone and everything. A threat could come out of nowhere, could come from anyone. 
It must be exhausting. 
“Hungry, sweetheart?” He asks as he buckles his seatbelt. 
“Always.” You answer, leaning on the center console.
He smiles. “What are you in the mood for?” 
You blink at him. Most of the restaurants you know probably don’t exist in England. “Fish and chips?” You offer, pulling up the one British food you’re confident in naming. 
“Fish and chips it is.” He says, turning on the car. 
“I have yet to have real fish and chips.” You say, settling into the passenger seat. 
“Well, I know the perfect place.” He says, pulling out of the parking lot. 
You don’t have to go far before he’s parking on the street and helping you out of the car. His hand settles on your lower back, guiding you down the street to a fish and chips shop. 
It's too early for the dinner rush, the shop mostly empty and quiet. Price orders for you before guiding you to a table, and you let him sit facing the door and front window. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to. They seem so relaxed on base, though you suppose that's the place they feel the most comfortable. You can't even imagine the kinds of things they've seen, the horrors they've been subjected to. 
You don't want to think about the things they've done. 
Your eyes snap downwards as Price's hand slides across the table, closing around yours. You don't want to think about the things he's done with those hands. The lives he's taken, the people he's tortured. Will he ever turn those hands on you? 
They've given you no reason to fear them yet. They've all been kind, polite. Even Ghost hasn't truly given you a reason to fear him, despite his obvious disapproval and hard exterior. 
You know nothing about them. 
You've known them for just over two weeks. You can't possibly have any understanding of who they are, how they express their emotions. What if they get upset? What happens when they get angry? What if you anger them?
“I know this hasn’t been easy for you. Any of it.” Price says, drawing you from your worried thoughts. “I know you were taught to expect this, perhaps not this exact situation, but something like this. Being sent off to some strange alpha to join their pack, bonding with complete strangers. None of us were expecting this either. It’s been an adjustment in a lot of ways, but I want you to know that we’ll take care of you. You need anything, you tell us. You want anything, we’ll do our best to make it happen. We’ll keep you safe.” He lifts your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. “I promise you that.” 
You want to believe him. You really do. They haven’t given you any reason to not believe it. 
It’s only been two weeks. 
You continue to talk with him as you eat, making light conversation, getting to know him a bit more. Despite the trickling uncertainty in the back of your mind, it feels good. It feels like a date, something you had dreamed of before you presented, something you had imagined happening when you finally got old enough to start looking for potential mates and packs. 
Of course, back then, you had thought you’d be an alpha. 
It had been expected of you. 
Price has his arm wrapped around you as you walk back to the car, his hand on your hip. It’s possessive almost, and it makes your stomach flutter. Price is the only one you haven’t kissed yet, well, besides Ghost, but you’re certain you’d wind up through a wall if you even thought of trying. It’s almost ironic that Price would be the last, considering he’s going to be the one claiming you, the one you spend your heat with. 
You stare out the window as the buildings fade into farmlands again. The sun is setting, painting the world in oranges and reds. You still feel a bit warm from Price’s possessive hold on you, his teasing in the store. You can still feel the tickle of his beard on your skin, his lips pressing against your neck. 
You jump when rough fingers trail down your arm, pulling it from where it had been resting in your lap. 
“You were right.” Price says as he lifts your hand to his face, pressing his nose against your wrist and inhaling for a moment. “Strawberries are the strongest note in your scent.” He lowers your hand again, lacing your fingers together. “What’s got you all worked up over there.” 
You stare at him, your face getting warm again. Of course he can smell it. You can smell the muskiness beginning to form around the edges of his scent. Desire. “You haven’t kissed me yet.” You say, moving his hand into your lap. “You're the only one that hasn't...well, besides Ghost.”
He huffs out a quiet laugh. “You sound disappointed.” 
You untangle your fingers with his, letting his hand rest on your thigh. “What if I am?”
His fingers flex against your leg, the muskiness of his scent strengthening. “Then maybe we should fix that.” 
The cocktail of scents in the car is intoxicating, and you feel bad for the poor beta soldier at the gate when Price rolls down the window to hand off your IDs. 
Price is out of the car as soon as it's parked, moving around to your side to open the door. He pins you against the side of the car as soon as you're out, caging you in with his arms. 
You stare up at him, head swimming with the musk laced in his scent. You can see his eyes shining in the light next to the door of the barracks. He looks like a hungry wolf, the back of your neck prickling with excitement. 
He leans down, breath fanning your face as he gets closer and closer to you. You press yourself against him, hands gripping his shoulders as he presses his lips to yours. His lips are surprisingly soft, his beard tickling your face. He growls quietly against your lips, pushing you harder against the side of the car. 
You let out a quiet sound in response, hands gripping his jacket. His hands slide from the car to your sides, sliding down to grip your hips. You can feel the muscle hidden beneath his jacket and shirt, the strength that he possesses. He may not be purebred like Ghost, but he’s still every inch an alpha. 
You let out another quiet sound as he pulls away, pressing a caste kiss to the corner of your lips. “Bloody hell, now I know what those boys were on about.” He breathes, leaning his forehead against yours. 
“They were talking about me?” You ask, pulling back slightly. 
“Only good things.” Price grins, leaning down to kiss you again. “Sweet as sugar.” He breathes, kissing you again. “And just as addicting.” He pulls away from you, his hands resting on your waist. “We should get your stuff inside so you can get it all set up. Want me to fetch one of the boys to help?” 
You bite your lip. “Or you could just do it.” 
He stares down at you, something flashing across his face but you can’t quite make it out in the low light. “You’re sure?” His voice is quiet, taking on that soft tone it often does when he speaks to you. 
“You’ll have to eventually.” You shrug. “Might as well start now.” 
He leans down, kissing you again before pulling away, opening up the trunk. He grabs most of the bags, only leaving the pillows for you to grab before he leads the way into the barracks. You open your door, stepping in first before he follows. You dump your pillows on the bed, and he sets the rest of the bags on your desk. 
“Blankets in the wash.” You say, digging them out of the bags, pulling the tags off. 
“I’ll take them.” He says, fishing out his stuff from the bags before taking the blankets from you. 
You switch out your pillows for the softer ones, organizing the decorative ones just the way you want. You squish the strawberry to your chest again, a smile forming on your face before you flop back onto the bed, sinking into the soft pillows. It’s almost perfect, you think. 
“Comfortable?” Price’s voice rumbles in the doorway, a smile on his face as he stares at you. 
“Much better.” You say, sitting up and placing the strawberry in its place. 
The two of you finish taking everything out of the bags, decorating the rest of your room. The posters on the walls, and the nightlight on your desk. It feels far more homey already, and you know you’re going to sleep well tonight once the blankets are out of the wash. 
“Thank you.” You say, looking up at Price. “This really means a lot.” 
“All in a day’s work, love.” He says, pulling you into his arms again. 
You lean against his chest, resting your head over his heart, listening to it beat steadily against your ear. 
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You wake up suddenly, yet you’re not quite sure why. There’s no one in your room, your new nightlight easily showing you that. Your mouth is dry, but there’s a line of wetness down your chin. You reach across your nightstand, your phone illuminating the time. 
Just past one a.m. 
You smack your lips, feeling thirsty after the excitement of the day. You’d forgotten to grab water when you left the rec room and you huff out a sigh. You don’t want to get up, but now that you’re aware you’re thirsty, there’s no stopping those thoughts. 
You don’t even bother with slippers as you pad to the door, opening it up. You leave it cracked as you sleepily shuffle towards the rec room, the barracks almost dead quiet this late. You grab a bottle from the fridge, unscrewing the top before drinking a few gulps. It’s cold and tastes divine, soothing the dryness of your mouth. You screw the top back on, closing the fridge before heading back towards your room. 
You turn the corner, still half asleep, nearly yelping as you slam into a chest. You stumble back a couple steps, staring up at the covered face looming over you. You gulp, holding the bottle to your chest. 
“S-Sorry.” You stutter. 
“You’re out of bed.” He says quietly, voice rumbling in the silence. 
“Thirsty.” It’s all you can manage as you hold up the bottle. 
He stares at you for a long moment, eyes flickering all over your face. His chest is heaving, almost as if he had been running before you ran into him. His hands are closed into fists at his sides, knuckles almost white with how tense he is. You think for a moment he might be mad, but you can’t catch any whiff of ozone in the air. Your nose prickles at the scent, but it’s not anger. 
Your tired brain can’t make sense of it, yearning to sink back into the softness of your bed again. You slowly shuffle around him, taking cautious steps, waiting for him to reach out and stop you, but he doesn’t. He simply watches you go, standing there in the hallway as you slip back into your room, not moving until he hears the click of your lock slipping into place. 
NEXT ->
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monamipencil · 3 months ago
Text
── 𝗠𝗥. 𝗔𝗡𝗗 𝗠𝗥𝗦. 𝗬𝗢𝗢𝗡 ft. jeonghan
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⛧synopsis; an intrusion, a couple, a murder and a twist. — second fic of lola's spooktober
⛧ pairings; husband! jeonghan x fem! reader ⛧ genre; smut, gore, horror ⛧ w.c; 4.1k+ ⛧ warnings; hybristophilia, body worship, blood, murder/death, description of corpse, sex on the dining table lmao, HORNY fucking, unprotected sex, oral (f.receiving) creampie, allusions to cults, devil worship, etc etc. mentions of food ⛧ a/n; *clears thorat* *coughs* im so sorry for the delay lmao, i was absolutely not motivated to write. but anyways, enjoy!!
READ AT YOUR OWN CAUTION ⛧ MDNI
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[ 07th October, 2024 ]
Thunder crackles, and lightning strikes. The heavy rain pitter-patters on the windows and roofs. Water flows, flooding the streets, making them inhabitable to unlucky strays. Chaos brews outside, and you observe it from within the safety of your home. 
A ‘meow’ shifts your attention. You smile at the cat you rescued from the storm and rub its head. It meows again and shuffles to the living room, black fur disappearing behind the couch. 
“-And everyone is requested to stay at home or take shelter till further notifications. Police’s investigation into the recent murders have been halted due to the storm. We request everyone to stay sa—”
The television cuts off and comes alive again, buzzing and glitching.  You turn it off with a sigh. Except for the pitter-patter of the rain, your home is silent. The silence lays heavy on the walls and floors. You can’t seem to fill it no matter what. Your hand involuntarily touches the pendant your husband gifted you. Muttering a prayer to Him, you ask for Jeonghan's safe return to you. 
[ ... ]
The gentle sizzle of the vegetables fills your ears, and you pour water into the vessel, turning down the flame. 
Your newly adopted cat nuzzles between your legs, purring with content at the warmth. You smile and coo at it. But before you can adore it further, the doorbell rings.
You wipe your hands, contemplating whether or not to attend it. It couldn't be Jeonghan. You sigh and walk to the door. The black furball stays in the kitchen, observing you with its yellow eyes.
Looking through the peephole, you see someone shivering from the cold and absolutely drenched. Your hands fly to unlock the door, and the person is startled at the force you open it.
“Come in, please!” you move from his way. He nods his head with gratitude and walks in weakly.
Quickly shutting the door, you lock it. The stranger turns to see you secure the array of locks on the door. You greet him with a smile. He smiles back.
“I'm sorry for the inconvenience,” he apologizes, but you assure him and welcome him into your home. “Oh no, It's fine. I don't mind some company.”
He removes his drenched coat and hangs it on the coat hanger. While doing so, he notices another coat on it. “Is it just you at home, miss?”
“Mrs.” You correct him and reply, “Yes, my husband is out of town for business.”
He also removes his shoes and places them near the door, noticing another pair of shoes. “May I ask you why you are out in such a storm?”
“Ah, I turned up for work and my friend who was supposed to pick me didn't turn up.”
You give him an apologetic nod and gesture towards your living room. “Please make yourself at home. I'll quickly put together a warm soup for you.”
He tries to protest, but you reason with him and disappear into the kitchen. He sits on the sofa with a sigh and thanks God for helping him at the right time.
The low purr of a cat catches his attention. A black cat sits in the middle of the living room. It stares at him, and he awkwardly smiles at it and tries to distract himself. It leaves eventually.
The interior of your home mesmerizes him, reminding him of those vintage homes. The teal wallpapers and the antique decors mesh well together and create a homely look. The myriad of pictures on the wall near the kitchen intrigues him.
He walks towards it and observes each photo. He sees you in all of the frames, along with a man whom he deduces to be your husband. He sees all types of pictures, varying from road trips to studio ones.
“Is your husband a celebrity by any chance, Mrs. Yoon?” He inquires after seeing a frame with the writing, ‘Mr. and Mrs. Yoon.’ A vague feeling of familiarity brews in him the more he looks at your husband.
“Ah, no, no. He's devilishly handsome and he could be a great actor but he only does business.” You voice from within the kitchen, but his mind drains you out. He's more fixated on the pictures, unable to shake the feeling.
He doesn't say anything after that, but you don't mind the silence. Quietly humming, you put together the soup. You smile to yourself, thinking of your husband. If he had been here, he'd be behind you, arms wrapped around your waist as he peppers kisses on your neck.
Your daydream feels almost real as you feel a presence behind you. Chuckling, you shake your head and move to grab a bowl. But before you could, a voice shouts behind you.
“Did you kill him?!” The stranger yells, anger surging through his voice. Confusion strikes you, “What do you mean?”
You try to distance yourself from him and grab a knife. His hand catches your wrist harshly, and you cry out. Acting on your instincts, you fling the pot of soup at him. He yelps as the hot liquid makes contact with his skin.
With him muttering a plethora of curses, you run out of the kitchen. The cat observes the chaos, slowly wagging its tail. The stranger blindly moves to the sink and splashes water on his face to wash off the soup.
After gaining composure, he trudges out of the kitchen with a meat knife. He checks every door and room, eyes darting to all corners to find you. His skin stings and burns painfully. He winces but doesn't let it deter him.
The floor creaks beneath his foot, and he doesn't care if it alerts you. He wants you to know where he is, to be afraid of him. He wants to make you feel fear.
A smirk pulls his lips when he notices the basement door open. He stands in front of it, observing the steep set of stairs. As he descends down, a foul stench hits him, and he covers his nose.
He struggles to find the light switch and crashes into a few things. The stench is unbearable, and he cringes. After finally finding the switch, he turns it on.
Light illuminates the room, but some things are better hidden in the dark, like the dead guy tied to the wall. He can't find it in himself to scream or even utter a word. The only noise that escapes him is a gasp.
His horror intensifies when he recognizes it as his friend. “You fucking bitch! You killed him!” 
But it seems that there are far graver things than his dead friend. The red pentagram etched on the ground makes his skin crawl. A turn of his head also reveals a board pinned with a map that has pictures of people pinned on several locations.
His heart stops beating when he finds his own picture on it.
A noise from the cupboard pulls him out of his trance, and he stalks to it. Yanking the door open, he finds you there, cowering in fear. You push him off you and run away from him. But there's no way out with him standing directly in front of the stairs.
He runs to you, pinning you to the wall. “You bitch!” Then, he cackles, “Aww, can't run anywhere now?” His grip tightens, and dread fills your gut. He leans in closer, “You're going to be so sorry for what you did when I gut you.” 
You flinch and shut your eyes. The sound of a stab echoes through the room, but you don't feel any pain.
A heavy thud echoes through the room, followed by the sound of a body falling on the floor. Warm blood dots on your face, and some stain the cotton of your slip. You gasp and shudder, chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. Your eyes land on the injured body. Blood flows from his mouth and his chest. Three holes punctured through his chest.  
You don’t need to look at him to figure out who your savior is. “Jeonghan!” you cry, throwing your arms around him. The garden fork he yields in his hands meets the floor as he hurries to take you in his embrace. 
Your lips are on his instantly, kissing him with ardor. He matches your passion, both his hands on your waist, pulling you flush against him. You curl your arms around his neck, lost in the warmth of his lips. It isn’t long before his tongue prods your lips, and you’re more than happy to oblige. 
His tongue glides over yours like it has countless other times. He shifts his head to gain a better angle and kisses you deeper. One of your hands uncurls to caress his face—his flawless skin, his high cheekbones, the bone of his jaw before it slides down further. You glide your hand over his shoulders, his lean biceps, and finally his crotch. 
Jeonghan pulls away, out of breath and overjoyed. You mirror his grin when you find him rock-hard beneath his slacks. “Oh, how I missed seeing you kill,” you finish with a giggle. 
With a playful roll to his eyes, he retorts, “it’s been barely four days since I did it.” 
“And four days since I’ve seen you.” you pout, making him doe eyes at him. He melts instantly and cradles your face. “Always hungry aren’t you?” 
“For you? Yes.”
“And for blood.” he adds, making you both giggle. 
“Come on now, you gave me something to take care of.” With a pat on his bulge, you pull him up the stairs. Jeonghan happily follows but throws a cautious glance at the presumably dead body. He smiles, catching no sign of life in him, and trails behind you. 
You strut to the dining table that adjoins the kitchen and the living room and sit on it. He grins at your place of choice, and lust taints his visage when you spread your legs, inviting him.
He stands between your thighs, taking a moment to appreciate the beauty in front of him. Little drops of blood decorate your face, but the look in your eyes entrances him. A myriad of emotions swirl beneath your irises, but he recognizes all of them, mainly lust and hunger. 
His eyes dip down to the column of your neck, which he glides his forefinger over. His finger slowly ventures down and undoes the knot of your slip. He tuts, complaining about the blood on them. “That’s fine. It gives me evidence of your love.” 
“I’m right here. The living proof of my love for you,” he pecks your lips and pushes the slip off you. 
He pulls you to the edge of the table. His fingers ghost over the cloth of your underwear, brushing against the wet spot on them. His warm breath wafts down to your breasts when he kisses your neck and chest. “I can prove it now, if you want me to.” 
A breathy moan escapes you, giving him somewhat of a ‘yes.’ With another kiss to your jugular, he pulls away and kneels down. He kisses your heat through the cotton material and smirks, eyeing the wet patch formed by your arousal. In one sly movement, he removes your hipsters.   His lips are on your heat before you can process it. He kisses your little nub and gives kitten licks to your hole. His eyes dart to your eyes, mischief swirling under his dark irises. “Jeonghan! Please!”
“Please what sweetheart? You have to use your words.” You feel his smile on your core, and his warm breath wafts against it. 
“Please, eat me out!” 
He groans and obliges to your wishes right away. He dives right in, licking and kissing your folds. He moves above, wrapping your clit between his soft lips. He sucks on the bundle of nerves, tongue flicking at the bud softly. He makes sure to look at you the entire time he’s buried between your legs. 
You relax and lay back down on the table. He spreads your legs further and licks up stripes on your sopping cunt. His tongue provides you the utmost pleasure, and moans fall from your lips freely. He switches to a slower pace as if he’s making out with your cunt. 
His tongue prods your folds, licking and savoring your taste. His hand moves to spread your lips, and he places a wet, loud kiss on your clit. A gasp escapes you when his tongue slips past your hole. He slowly moves his tongue in and out while he thumbs at your clit, drawing circles. 
He tones up his pace, getting faster and faster. Your legs tremble around his head as the coil in your stomach tightens. You cum the easiest whenever Jeonghan touches you after a “long time”—which is three days at the least. He seems to have some magic hidden up his sleeve to bring you the utmost pleasure possible. And, of course, all your years of marriage add to it.
The pressure on your clit builds up, causing your entire body to shudder and tremble. Your back arches, lifting off the table, but Jeonghan pushes you down, holding you firmly. And now that he has secured a tight grip on your hips, there is no escape from his tongue.
“Jeonghan!” you moan his name, hand shooting to grip his black locks. You push his head further into your cunt and move your hips in sync with his tongue. He smiles lazily between your legs, eyes holding nothing but awe and mirth.
The coil snaps, pushing you over the crescendo of pleasure. Wanton moans fill the room, and you cum on his tongue, giving him all your sweet nectar. Jeonghan licks you dry, caressing your trembling legs before he stands up.
Though you achieved your climax, the sight of your husband undoing his belt warms you up again. You sit up eagerly, hands flying to unbuckle his belt and slacks. He only chuckles, patting your head and muttering a low coo of ‘that's my girl.’
He slips off his shirt along with his slacks and boxers. It prompts you to undo your brassiere, presenting yourself bare to him. With a grin, he approaches you. You fawn at his rock-hard cock and undo your legs unconsciously.
Overwhelmed with the urge to feel him inside you, you pull him to you. He crashes his lips on yours in the process, giving you a searing kiss that sets your body aflame with desire. Your hands don't stay put, eager to roam all over his body. He does the same, hands relearning the route of your body for the nth time.
The heat of his body on yours melts your brain, knocking every thought out of you. The only thing you remember is his name and the way he makes you feel. Not the dire situation at play now or the dead body in your basement.
The brush of his fingers on your nipples, the poke of his cock against your inner thigh, the sensation of your sweltering skin making contact with his, the glide of his tongue on yours—all of it pushes you over the edge, driving you insane. Your arousal drips down your core, and it throbs with desire.
“Hannie,” you whine his name, your desire burning with a rage only he can control. “Fuck me.”
“As you wish, dollface.” 
His cock slips past your entrance with ease, filling you up in an instant. You hook your legs behind him, your foot digging into his back to push him in further. Your gummy walls envelop him in a warm hug that makes him dizzy.
You moan in unison when he bottoms out, in bliss with how perfectly he fills you. Throwing your arms around his neck, you prompt him to move. The first thrust is easy, given how your cunt drips down with arousal. It fills you with a pleasure that makes your body tremble.
He sets his pace, fucking you with eagerness. Each slap of his balls against your ass makes your eyes roll to the back of your head, and you cling to him for dear life. Sinful moans rumble from your throat with each snap of his hips.
His lips find yours again, but this time the kiss is sloppy and messy, with moans passed between your tongues and erratic snap of his hips. You meet his hips with the same vigor. You fuck him with an animalistic desire in your veins, and he gives you back just the same.
“Ah—fuck! God, I love fucking after we kill.” you yelp between your moans. He groans, replying with a “fuck, yes.”
Jeonghan grips your hips firmly, driving his cock in and out of you with a vigorous pace that numbs your nerves. Your nails dig into his back, and you scratch his delicate skin, leaving red marks for him to admire. “Ah, ah, ah, ah!” you moan, unable to control your pleasure. The table squeaks in response to the vigor of his hips. You press your tits against his chest, desperate to feel more of his warmth.
You look down to where your body meets him. The sight of his cock disappearing into your cunt with a wet squelch each time makes you moan. A creamy ring forms at the base of his cock, and some of your arousal drips down to the table.
Jeonghan shifts one of his hands to harshly grip the back of your head, forcing you to look up at him. A grin decorates his face at the hazy look in your eyes. He keeps up his pace while moving his other hand to squeeze your mouth open. You push your tongue out eagerly, waiting for him to spit in your mouth. He does, and you happily taste him before swallowing it.
“Good girl,” he kisses your forehead, sliding his hand down to wrap around your throat. He grips your throat, squeezing it lightly. A chuckle erupts from his chest, watching your eyes roll back. He kisses your forehead again, only for him to deliver light slaps to your cheeks. Warmth pools in his chest when you whine and push yourself closer to him.
“Fuck, I love it when you go dumb on my cock.” He whispers into your ear, tickling you with his breath. His cock kisses your sweet spot, and you feel him twitching inside you.
You clench around him on purpose. He groans a low curse, and his movements turn erratic. You continue to do so till he eventually stops, whining a string of curses. “Stop it. Stop doing that,”
Obliging to his wishes, you observe him as he takes a few seconds to compose himself. His eyelids flutter, and his lips fall apart as he tries to regain control. A knowing smirk graces your lips, knowing the effect you have on him.
“Brat,” you only giggle in response, which is cut short when he thrusts with a force that has you shuddering. His tip kisses your cervix, sending shudders of pleasure through your body. Tears prick your waterline and eventually cascade down your cheek as you cry out his name.
All it takes is one more thrust to push you over the crescendo again. This time, it's more intense and mind-numbing. You moan his name over and over again, like a prayer for salvation. He follows suit and fills his load inside you, shuddering the same as you.
His hands wrap around you tightly and, yours around him. Leaning your head against his shoulders, you catch your breath and try to control the shivers through your body. His warm breath on your back calms you, and so do his feather-light touches.
Your eyelids feel heavy as slumber descends upon you. And, before you know it, you fall asleep in his arms. 
[ … ]
“We have to let the others know about this,” Jeonghan informs, stirring his cup of tea with a spoon. You nod wordlessly, sipping your own cup of tea.
Slumber hasn't left you completely, and the tiredness weighs down on your bones. Your eyes slowly close shut again, and you lean back on the loveseat. Jeonghan sighs to himself, setting his cup down on the coffee table. He takes away yours before you can spill it on yourself.
Your soft groans make his heart flutter, and you stir awake again. The first thing you see is your husband sitting on the floor as he massages your legs.
“Poor thing, you must've had a hard time.” The pout on his lips makes you smile. “Not really,” you chirp, feeling more energetic as the seconds pass.
“Oh really?” he muses, and you hum. He shakes his head, worry marring his features. “What if I didn't get here on time? Why did you even allow him in?”
“I was bored.” To which he glares at you, a tired sigh falling from his lips.
“And, He visited.”
Jeonghan stops massaging your legs and looks up at you, confused. You see the tinge of fear in the clench of his jaw and the hold of his breath. You point to the black cat that has made itself home despite all the chaos that went down a few hours ago.
He visibly calms down and bows his head at the cat meows in return. He looks back at your smiling figure, and it strikes him. “Right, I asked for your safety to Him.”
“He saw our pictures,” your words barely audible as you look at the big wall covered with all your pictures with him. A soft smile graces your lips when your eyes fall on your wedding picture. 14th October, 1949.
Then you cackle, recalling the realization and terror on that guy's face. “Oh, you should've seen his face.” Jeonghan laughs along with you and resumes his ministrations on your legs. You relax on the cushion and let out a blissful sigh.
He sighs and zeroes in on the blood spots on your vintage slip. One of his many gifts to you, and it's something you've treasured for over seven decades.
“Ugh, it's fine. You can always buy me a new one.” You say, and a smirk adorns your lips when your eyes fall on the Johnny Cash vinyl on the shelf. You stand and walk towards it, pulling it out gently.
You flash your husband a grin, and he mirrors your visage. Placing the vinyl on the platter of the vinyl player, you move the tonearms and set it on the vinyl.
The world tunes into a buzzing background as you dance with him. His hands are gentle on you, holding you delicately. The setting is all a little too familiar to him, and before he knows it, he takes a trip down memory lane.
But the only one he can remember is the time when he almost lost you to death. The image of your bed-stricken figure flashes through his mind. He holds you a little closer.
In his life plan, Jeonghan never even imagined that you'd be diagnosed with cancer fifteen years into your marriage. Nothing held out, and it was hard to be optimistic with his wife on the lifeline.
And as he was holding your pained body in his arms, he cried and cried. What kind of god would allow this? Why should you be taken away? He felt life slowly slip out of you, and he couldn’t stop it. 
They say to never pray to the gods that answer at night, but that’s all he could do. Turning his back on religion and righteousness. His love for you blinded all reason, and he yearned to be in your embrace once again. He could never live without you—what he feels is an immortal desire, lust, love. Even if he is to die, the ground around him will flourish and sprout your favorite flowers—an amaranthine yearning. 
So he did it. He prayed and prayed, and when He finally answered, he vowed to do anything and everything that He wished for. Immortality for the curse of bloodied hands. He cringed at the sight of blood staining his skin, but as your bloodied hand intertwined with his, all felt right and in place. 
His hands take purchase on your hips, holding you as you sway to the gentle hum of the music. You smile at him and lean on his shoulders, content in his embrace. He mirrors your smile and kisses your forehead. 
What a blessing it is to be here with you? To gently sway to some music in the living room of your home with your blood-stained slips and his stained soul? 
He kisses you, and you kiss him back. You bite his lips just enough to draw blood. A thousand ways to bleed, but you are his favorite.
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⛧spooktober taglist !
@verogonewild @blancflms @chromequette @junniepookiedookie @kyeomiis
@jeonghnie @scoupsieee @xuminghaes @ohmygodwhyareallusernamestaken @ririesna
@monstacheol @hoshiskimchi @miyx-amour @woozidanisms @choco-scoups
@cookiearmy @shadowyjellyfishfest @wonwoossecret @strxwberry-skiess @iamawkwardandshy
@merakilles @vitaminkyeom @okiedokrie @armycarat2612 @gyuguys
@idubiluranghae @goodforgyu @jungkooknippleanddicksucker @gyubakeries @nonuify
@aaniag @4cheezflatbred
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nishibons · 10 months ago
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𝐇𝐄𝐘, 𝐈𝐓’𝐒 𝐌𝐄 . . .
or piwon pining thoughts/texts
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warnings na genre fluff word count eight hundred excluding texts
note hiii everybody!! sorry i disappeared for a bit but ive been busy with uni TT i got an 85 on my recent assignment tho so everybody cheer… anyway ive been obsessed with piwon lately hence this post but fear not i have an enha version coming soon
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keeho
confident but humble. he doesn’t have any expectations for your relationship but hopes that you’ll eventually catch on to his borderline obnoxious flirting, and better yet, reciprocate. if you do happen to return his feelings, he doesn’t waste any time in asking you out properly, because why wait? his friends say he laughs too loud around you for you to not know about his feelings, but he swears that they’re just being dramatic… he’s so normal and chill about you, really, that joke about the refrigerator or something was just funny!
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taeyang
an absolute menace. you end up assuming that he hates you with how he stares you down whenever you enter his vicinity and with how he exchanges hushed whispers with his friends from across the room, silenced only when he turns his head far away enough to steal glances at you. eventually, once he asks for your number under the guise of it apparently being weird that you were the only two between your mutual friend groups to not have exchanged numbers, he plays into this idea, hoping he can pull off some sort of enemies to lovers trope, because it always works in books, right? in truth, he’s just a little bit apprehensive about the vulnerability that comes with liking someone, and tries to preserve his pride with thinly veiled insults that upon second glance quickly fall apart. can you melt his icy cold heart? (the answer is yes.)
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jiung
likes you from the very beginning, but is a strong believer in the idea that lovers should be friends first, so he tries his best to establish a genuine relationship with you before he even begins to think about making any moves. he shows strong initiative even throughout your friendship–whether it’s invitations to meet up for lunch, to see that movie you’ve been eagerly waiting the release of, or even paying for your coffee every single time, he’s quick to assure you and dispels any worries you might have about repaying him with a wave of his hand and a bright smile–your company is enough, he says, and if you end up falling for him (who wouldn’t?) he, of course, eagerly awaits the day he can take you for an actual date, but enjoys every moment he spends with you until then just as much.
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intak
by far the most shameless with his affection. he can’t help it–you have him hopelessly whipped from the very beginning and he’s terrible at hiding it anyway, so why not lean into it? the first to jump up from his seat when you mention being thirsty–water or juice? and the first to compliment you regardless of the circumstances of your meeting, even on those days you can’t manage anything but a sweater pulled hastily over your shoulders and a messy updo. it’s impossible not to feel flattered around him, and he’s honestly not even actively trying to flatter you, he’s just being wholly honest. if you ever want to shut him up, just compliment him back–hopefully you have a stretcher on hand!
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shota
the cutest ever. you catch him staring at you more than a few times before he eventually works up the nerve to approach you, and initially you’re intimidated–but the moment he opens his mouth you know that he’s harmless, and obscenely adorable to beat. he’s not the greatest at expressing himself with words, so he makes sure to show that he likes you by sending you things that remind him of you–songs from an artist he likes, those little figures you collect he sees in the window of a store on the way to work, a rainbow in the sky after a rainy morning. sometimes he provides some commentary, or a cute emoticon, and other times he says nothing, sending only a simple picture and hoping that you can feel even just some of the many emotions that rush through him at the thought of you and have his heart fluttering in his chest when you eventually reply.
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jongseob
the sweetest of angels. he doesn’t crush often, but when he does, he crushes hard, so he doesn’t want to mess it up. though he’s rather reserved on the flirting front, he makes sure to send good morning and good night texts every day, without fail, on top of the seemingly random yet innocuous questions he asks throughout the day–what did you eat for lunch? how was work? any thoughts on this new album that just came out? part of it is in hopes that eventually you’ll fall for him as he did you, but he does also take genuine interest in you as a person and wants to know everything about you there is to know if you’ll just give him the chance. flirt with him at all and you’ll very quickly have him turning into a giggling, indecipherably stammering mess.
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izufeels · 5 months ago
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⁝ KATSUKI BAKUGOU !
description: as model! momo’s PA, you have a lot of interesting interactions
content warning: meet-cutes; flirting; no one really likes katsuki; stress y/n
You don’t hate your job. Actually, you really like your job. You like Momo and her friends, you like flying to different countries every week— even if that means you can’t ever make your own plans— and you especially like the money.
What you don’t like, is the hours upon hours spent in a sketchy warehouse with no air conditioning. Which, in retrospect, isn’t the worst place Momo has had a shoot, but it’s definitely the most unbearable.
You’re surrounded by models, obviously, and their own overly-snobby PA’s— whom you’d probably rather die than talk to.
And it’s hot. Insufferably hot. Triple digits hot. You regret wearing your hoodie and you regret not wearing a shirt under it even more.
You would say something to Momo, but she’s in front of a white backdrop with her arms draped over Shoto Todoroki— world famous model and your second favorite nepo baby.
And then your phone buzzes. You tear your eyes away from Momo and Shoto, looking down at your phone. “Oh,” you whisper, standing up from your chair. The notification is from DoorDash— Momo’s matcha latte has arrived.
So you get up without excusing yourself— because the people around you wouldn’t care anyway. You walk to the door, get the drink, and make your way back to your seat.
And, because you’re so engrossed in your phone, you don’t see the man headed straight for you and you slam directly into the front of him. The matcha latte spills down his torso and you’re frozen in fear.
You’re not looking up at his face yet— too mortified— but you can tell he’s a model just from the compression shirt and washboard abs that the drink is covering.
Imagine your surprise when you look up and see the Katsuki Bakugou standing in front of you.
Katsuki Bakugou; famous Japanese model, nepo baby and world class asshole. Or, so you’ve heard. You haven’t had the pleasure of meeting him, only listened to Momo and her friends bitch about him.
But, looking at him now, he’s kind of cute. Okay, he’s more than cute, he’s hot. His jawline is chiseled and his eyes are a dangerous shade of red that makes you want to commit atrocities not yet heard of.
“Holy shit,” you breathe out. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit. Oh my god, I’m so sorry. I wasn’t even watching where I was going and- oh my god. This is so embarrassing. I’m so sorry. I- oh my god.”
He looks down at his shirt, annoyance flickering across his face for less than a second before disappearing. His eyes narrow but, somehow, you can tell there’s no heat behind them. “S’fine,” he mumbles, sighing.
The silence is awkward for several seconds when, finally, you manage to open your mouth. “I um, I can pay for your shirt,” you offer, voice soft. “Like uh, for dry cleaning and stuff. Because, you know… I- I ruined it.”
He looks down at his shirt again as if he’d forgotten about the giant stain. A small chuckle bubbles up from his chest and he shakes his head, looking back at you. “Nah, don’t bother. Ain’t the first time this has happened.”
“What?” You furrow your brows and tilt your head. “You’ve had multiple girls spill matcha latte on your shirt because they were too busy scrolling on Instagram?”
He snorts, eyes sparkling with amusement. “Not exactly,” he chuckles. “but I’ve had people spill way worse on me. So, a little green liquid is like a walk in the park.”
You sense the eyes on you. You can hear the whispers. But, at this moment, it’s just you two. His red eyes staring into your own. “I’m Y/n,” you say, sticking your hand out. “Momo’s PA.”
He regards your hand with a blank stare, like he isn’t sure why it’s being extended to him, but, eventually, he takes it. His hand is so much bigger than yours and a shock runs the length of your arm as his palm meets yours. He grips you a little tighter than necessary. “Katsuki.”
“You’re a model, right?” You already know the answer, but you don’t want the conversation to end.
For some reason, your question makes Katsuki preen. He puffs his chest out slightly, clearly proud of the fact that you actually know who he is, and nods. “And a damn good one,” he says, a smirk finding its way onto his lips.
You open your mouth, but Momo’s voice cuts through the air and makes you turn. “Y/n!” she exclaims, briskly walking over to you. “Hey, are you okay? Is he bothering you?” she turns to him and narrows her eyes. “Why are you harassing her? I’ll pay for the shirt, for fucks sake. Go away.”
The smirk slides off his face in a heartbeat. He shoots your friend a glare and opens his mouth to respond. “I’m not harassing her,” he growls. “She ran into me like a dumbass. Dropped her own drink. Not my fault.”
“W- well it’s not really my drink-” you gasp and your eyes widen once more. “Momo! Oh my god, your drink! I’m so sorry! I spilled it everywhere!”
She holds up a hand and shakes her head, stopping you from delving into a second round of apologies. “It’s fine,” she says, shooting a sharp glare at Katsuki. “I just hope he didn’t give you too much trouble. Come on, let’s go. I’m done here anyway.”
tags; @sazankahanei @mimidonottouch
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bitchimasnake-sss · 7 months ago
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🧸teachin' some lessons ft. yuuji itadori!
set-up: your best friend's pink-haired, younger brother seems to have some trouble with his girlfriends. maybe you can help him out, one lesson at a time? warning: inexperienced!yuuji x experienced!reader; nsfw themes include oral (both male and female receiving), slight voyeurism, sukuna ffs. mdni!! wc: 4.6k (oof my longest fic, and its about one of my fav men of all time ugh) ⁎ porn with plot ⁎
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"hey yuujiii~" you called out sweetly, walking in through the main door. the familiar scent of the itadori household sneaked up on you as sukuna closed the door behind you. the keys jingled softly as the older itadori brother followed after you, his pace slow and languid.
the messy living room met your gaze with yuuji sitting on the couch, headphones on. in his hand was a controller, and he seemed to mutter angrily under his breath as he played the game. "fuck— come on, come on. hit harder. fuuck-"
the pink-haired was clearly unaware of your presence till you plopped down next to him on the couch. the furniture dipped under your weight and his eyes widened. the young quarterback moved quick – the game paused under his thumb, his deft fingers yanked out the headphones hastily – and he sat up straighter, taking in your sudden presence, "yn?"
"hey!" you beamed at him.
"hey?" he smiled back, confusion etched onto every crevice of his face. And you could see the puffy eyebags and residuals of sleep on his facehe briefly looked up at sukuna, who was standing behind you on the couch, “what’s going on?”
but sukuna was a man of few words. so, instead, the older delinquent wasted no time in walking to the tv and unplugging it, hence, turning off whatever game was playing on the screen, “time for a little heart to heart, brat.”
"you fucking asshole–" yuuji glared at his brother, cussing him in a single breath, "i was still fucking playing."
"tch, play later. she wanted to talk to you."
when yuuji cocked up an eyebrow and glared harder at sukuna, unfazed, you laughed. and that brought the jock's attention back to you, "well i– anyways. what's up?"
"well–” you dragged out the syllable to soften the awkward blow, “'kuna said something about your break-up and that you were being all sulky sulky–"
"ughh why?" yuuji cut you off with a pained groan. a silent blush crept up to his face in embarrassment and he looked away.
seeing his reaction, you put your hands up in mock surrender, "your brother is an ass, i know i know. but we are here for you, you know that right? you can talk to us."
"i-" yuuji's voice faltered and he looked away from you to glare at his brother again, "do– fuck you, by the way– do you have brain damage, sukuna?"
"nuh uh."
"fuck you mean nuh uh."
"don't make me wanna smack you." sukuna answered back just as smoothly, "now talk."
yuuji managed one last groan past his pretty lips before succumbing to the situation. he chose to look at you, avoiding his older brother's scorching gaze, "yeah, i did– get broken up with I mean. uhm, yuko... she broke up with me."
"yuu, really?" you asked dumbfounded, "I thought everything was going well? did she, like, give you a reason why?"
"no. I mean, I dunno really? there's never a fucking reason. everything always seems to go so well. then, all of a sudden they're breaking up with me." his voice quitened down, "maybe it's my fault? I don’t really know at this point."
"yuu, no. don't think shit like this." you gave sukuna a quick glance, your mouth running dry as you looked back at yuuji, "im sorry if im overstepping my boundaries but like... how's your sex life?"
yuuji almost choked on air, "wh-what?! i'm not talking about that with him around!"
"i'll leave if you'd like to actually have a heart to heart, brat." sukuna argued back, "not like i wanna hear about your tiny dick issues."
and with that the tatted, older boy disappeared down the hallway and into his own room.
"hey…" you offered once the silence had grown thick between the two of you, "if you want, i can help you out? give you a few tips maybe? like, you know you can discuss your relationship troubles with me?"
but the quarterback went blank.
and when he didn't react, you quickly continued, panicked – because this is yuuji, your best friend’s younger brother. "i mean you can come over my apartment tomorrow night? we can discuss whatever's been bothering you. it'll be easier without 'kuna sulking around."
"right." he finally breathed out. then offering you a small smile, he nodded his head, "sure, tomorrow night."
⋆。゚☁︎。⋆。 ゚☾ ゚。⋆
your house was eerily quiet.
your housemates were out doing god knows what on a friday night. and technically, you should be out with them, drinking and leaving smudged lipstick against some drunk man's neck. but here you were, sitting next to the boy a year younger than you, sipping on your third can of beer (because god knows you needed liquid courage to make this conversation work.)
"well, i don't want to make this more awkward than it already is for you, yuuji." you took a sip out of your can, "so, let's just get into it, right?"
you tried to steel your nerves. this was yuuji. this was the boy that had asked you to marry him at the age of seven, who asked you with a pipsqueak voice if you could be his first kiss when he was thirteen cause “everyone’s teasin me for not having a kiss yet, please?”. this was the boy who had sobbed on your shoulder when he went through his first heartbreak.
and, now this was the boy man sitting on your couch, sipping on his own can of beer with a uncertain, unnamed resolve in his eyes. he nodded, hiding his gaze under the pretense of examining the brand of the beer he was drinking.
"so, you said you were doing everything right, right? what are you even doing with them?"
he froze, "i mean, the- the usual? dates, cuddles, movie nights and all?"
"awh well that's sweet, isn’t it?" you smiled, reminiscing about the time when a guy put that effort into any of your relationships.
he nodded awkwardly and you continued, finding courage as the alcohol poured into your bloodstream, "then maybe it's something else? "
"my sex life's okay…?" his mouth seemed to have gone dry and he swallowed wantonly, "i mean i think? i haven't really gone beyond second base with a girl yet."
"what?" you mindlessly scooted closer to him, putting your hand on his bicep and staring him down. "but didn't you date the girl before this one for a good five months? what was her name– uh, kugisaki's friend, right?"
"i mean yeah—"
"—yuuji?! have you just been ignoring your girlfriends? five months is a long time."
"what?!" his face went hot, the blood rushing to his ear-tips and nose, "it is not! I- I mean I just dont wanna look like a pervert by coming onto them, you know?"
"by making them wait five months? you're insane."
before yuuji could defend himself, you were getting ready to cut him off again. you leaned in till you could count the acne scars on his left cheek, and that tiny cut under his eyes where sukuna accidentally hit him. and now, you were suddenly hyper-aware of his gaze on your lips and his breath on your cheek. you pulled back slowly with a shuddering sigh.
this was yuuji.
the alcohol was raging in your system. clearly.
you sighed, choosing to look away from his face. pulling yourself back fully, you ran your hands through a wayward strand of hair, "look you're clearly a good looking dude, yuuji.” you didn’t ignore the way his jaw grew tense under your compliment, eyes boring into yours, “I mean, you are well-built and you're nice. you’re the goddamn quarterback. half the girls probably wanna get with you cause they wanna get fucked by the quarterback."
"really?” his gaze faltered and for a second, he was the thirteen year old asking for his first kiss, “but i- i don't know how to do… that."
"do what?"
he chewed on the inside of his cheek, "fuck someone i guess?"
he took another sip and you didn't ignore the way his tongue peaked out to lap off a drop that lingered on his bottom lip. dragging your eyes upwards to meet his, you found him staring at you, the resolve in his eyes hardening. silently, he put down his can of beer on the coffee table.
you tensed, sensing something wrong in the anticipatory silence, "what?"
but before you could press further questions, he was scooting closer towards you. his deft fingers plucked the can out of your grip and kept it on the coffee table next to his own. meeting your heated gaze, he softly, uncertainly brushed the pad of his thumb against your bottom lip. he paused, “you want this?”
your eyes dropped down to his slightly chapped lips as you leaned into his touches, “maybe...?”
he let out a trembling sigh, the heat on your face erupting goosebumps across your body. but he pulled back quick, changing his mind, "you're drunk."
your fingers found purchase on his chest, and you pushed him backwards till his back was flush against your couch. daringly, you straddled him and the plush fat of your thighs felt wildfire warm against his clothes. your eyes pleaded against his, trying to find an excuse to do the wrong thing. you found yourself whispering, "not that drunk."
you shift above him. letting your hips rock gently against his thighs, you whispered again, "what are you scared of, yuuji?”
his pupils dilated, hair tousled and tongue got stuck to the rooftop of his mouth as you hovered over him. when he spoke, it felt like he was holding back a groan, “we shouldn’t – sukuna, he’d kill me if he found out.”
“we aren’t doing anything wrong. I think i can teach you a thing or two, yuuji." flashing him a quick smile, leaning downwards to tease him, "a few lessons, you know? you want it?"
he paused, growing sure of his words, “when do we start?”
🧸 lesson 01: please the lady
you were sprawled out on your sofa, hair a tangled mess. your fingers tugged his hair, moving him up and down like a personal fucktoy till you could no longer hold in breathless moans.
yuuji itadori met your eyes as his tongue flicked against your clit, too good for it to be a first time. then parting from your dripped core, he pressed a wet kiss to your inner thigh. eyes never leaving yours. his pupils were blown out, face flushed and hair sweaty. when he spoke, his voice seemed too thick for his body, "am i doing okay?"
you nodded, running your fingers through his scalp as he resumed the cruel pace of his wicked tongue against you, “you– you sure this is your first ah fuck- first time?”
“that good?” he just smiled against your heat, the throbbing of your clit in wicked sync with his ragged breath, as if he was gonna cum just from eating you out.
"yuuji~" his name came easy to you. it was a name you had moaned on some nights where your depraved fantasies caught up with you under those silken sheets.
you didn't dream of fucking your best friend's brother! that's gross! no, ofcourse not... it's just that one day the growth spurt hit and suddenly, yuuji was no longer a tiny blimp with a huge smile next to you. no longer the boy with a sweet, innocent crush on you. now, he towered over you, hair falling across his forehead and sweat dripping down his jaw as he saw you after practice back at his home sometimes.
but you didn't wanna fuck him. obviously not.
your voice betrayed you. the syllables strung in moans and gasps left your lips as you keened hungrily into his face, "fuck, you're so good at this already, god- ah fuc-"
he hummed against you, basking in the praise, and the soft vibrations ran up your spine.
you knew this was wrong.
he was sukuna's younger brother and 'kuna will eat you alive if he ever found out that you had offered his brother to play with your cunt as if it was a toy.
but it felt so right.
the way his sturdy fingers dug into the plush of your thighs, the way his tongue felt against your clit. slowly, as he went lower, you could feel his nose bump against the bundle of nerves and his tongue push into your drenching core. you squirmed as you forced his face closer to yourself, grinding your hips against his face to allow him to fuck you faster, “fast- nghh faster, please please- aaugh oh my god yuuUji-”
and yuuji obliged, letting you use him and his pretty mouth to get off.
it felt – no – it was right.
"mmph ohmygod–" your thighs tried to close around his pretty face as your back arched, trapping him against your pussy. the knot in your stomach tightening until the waves crashed violently in front of your eyes and came on his face.
yuuji moaned, a starving man and you were both his heaven and hell from the way you kept him trapped against your gushing cunt.
🧸lesson 02: returning favours
you pushed the jock on the same couch against which you were ravaged. finding yourself straddling his broad figure with ease as you took your top off.
yuuji’s eyes flicked from you pretty face to your heaving chest to your inner thighs – still wet from his administrations. dripping down slowly, almost ruining his pants. your thumb swiped across his wet bottom lip before your lips crashed against his.
he tasted of beer and you and sin.
“ah fuck–“ he hiccupped as you found your teeth against his pulse, your teeth violent and lips soothing. his hip jut upwards, the hard-on begging some attention, some friction, anything.
a laugh escaped you, you mumbled into his bruised jaw and neck, “easy now, yuuji.” your experienced fingers softly dragging over his erection – and feeling the wet fabric underneath – and he bucked into your touches desperately. flashing him a pretty smile, “let me take care of you, yeah?”
your predatory eyes set him ablaze as you backtracked and got down on your knees. your manicured fingers undid the button of his jeans, his hips eagerly jumping upwards to let you tug his jeans downwards and freeing him from his misery.
with a final tug, his cock sprung free. his tanned, slightly curved length nestled comfortably against his stomach. his tip was weeping, drenching his abs in a translucent white. you batted your eyes up at the boy, taking in his flustered expression, “don’t forget to breath.”
“you– you don’t have to do this.” but his eyes betrayed him, showing such utter devotion and desperation towards the woman in front of him.
“i wanna, yuu.”
his body tensed up at the use of the nickname in such a lewd situation. how dare you let the same childhood nickname fall from those pretty lips and then use those same lips to kiss his dick? honestly, how dare you.
yuuji closed his eyes, his jaw slacking and pelvis jumping up at the innocent featherlike kisses that you placed on him. his mouth grew dry and without much cognitive thought, he pushed your head down on his cock.
you made a depraved noise as he pushed the tip past your lips, forcing his length into your mouth with unabashed bravery. he opened his eyes but his breath picked up at the sight of you. eyes welling up from the sudden intrusion, spit down his length and on your pretty face. spurred on by the sight, he pushed your face downwards, relishing in your strangled moans.
“yuu-“ you moaned around his cock. and there it was again, that fucking nickname.
he groaned, throwing his head back, “fuck, don’t call me that or I’ll cum in a second, pl-please.”
his grip loosened, letting you move your head up and down at your pace. you pulled yourself upwards, sucking on his tip as your hand roamed his entire length.
“fucc-“ his words and hips stuttered in a wicked symphony, “shi– shit yeah, please keep going.”
your phone rung.
you expected the jock to beg you to ignore it, but once he heard the ringtone, he picked up your phone in his shaky hands. turning the screen to show you the name of the caller, he whispered, "sh-should i, like... pick it up?"
still sucking on yuuji’s dick, you saw ‘kuna💀’ flash up on the screen. shit. you let go of the tip with a pop, looking at yuuji with wide eyes. but before you could ask him to cut the call, the jock accepted it.
he put the grumbling man on the other side on speaker as your hands still worked on the younger brother.
"took you long enough to answer." sukuna huffed, "open the door, i'm outside."
your voice pitched up, eyes widened, but hands still moved up and down with ease, "whaT? you are? why??"
"i thought you'd wanna hang out since your roommates are gone?" he paused, "you sound like you’re busy. you’re busy?"
almost as if on cue, yuuji let out a broken gasp; his teeth caught his bottom lip, head thrown back as he tried to contain in the sinful noises.
"what was that?" sukuna asked, and yuuji pressed his broad fingers to his mouth, trying to hold off any and all sounds.
"mhm, nothing." you nodded no frantically as if sukuna could see you. all the meanwhile, his younger brother's brought his hands to your tits, softly tugging on your nipple. yuuji, that fucking brat. you restrained the choked moans and continued, "i'm no-t well, that's all, 'kuna."
"really? you were okay last night."
"yeah yeah, you... you should go back home, really." you squirmed at the jock’s expressions. he was now biting down on his fist, trying to hold in the wayward groans and moans. the sight spurred you on to move your hands faster, pressing chaste, wet kisses every once in a while.
testing both of your and yuuji’s limits over this phone-call.
"if you're sick, then you should let me in. i'll make you soup or something." sukuna sighed, "don't worry, i am not going all sappy on you, brat. i don't have anything else to do right now, anyways. you wouldn't believe, you know satoru?? that oldie, he went back to his ex su–"
"hm? really?" you answered half-lidded as yuuji’s abs tensed, his eyes rolling back in ecstasy and he bit down on his fist harder. a second later, thick white spurted all over your hands. the liquid drenched your hands and his abs, glistening under the overhead lighting.
“–do you want takeout right now?"
you broke out of your daze, suddenly realizing that your best friend was at the door as his younger brother lay spent in front of you. finally, you mumbled, "okay i'll open the door in a second, kuna. wait."
"yeah, i'm waiting."
"yuu?" you cut the call and looked up at the man. from the dazed look on his face, you were sure he hadn't paid any attention to your conversation with the man on the phone.
he looked down at you in mock anticipation and you raised an eyebrow, "did you tell sukuna where you were going?"
"fushiguro's. to play video games." he mumbled before tugging you upwards to kiss you.
you put a hand on his chest to halt his motion, and he whined. you brought a soft hand to his cheek, "great, so, uhm. your brother's outside and you're not supposed to be in here."
yuuji looked like he just heard his own death sentence.
he finally mumbled, "i'm sorry what!?"
"you were too busy getting a hand-job to listen—"
"—huh?!"
"—its okay, its okay, yuu." you stood up, and yuuji followed your actions, standing alongside you. you placed a quick kiss on his cheek before giving him a pleading look, "just go hide in the bathroom yeah? i'll ask kuna to go in a few minutes."
"what??" he looked genuinely surprised but obliged nonetheless. nodding mindlessly, yuuji pulled his jeans upwards and slipped into the bathroom at the end of the hall.
cleaning your hand, and putting your clothes on at lightning speed, you tried to smooth your hair out as you walked over to the door. opening the door, you found the tatted man peering down at his phone and scrolling away.
he looked up at you with confusion, "you look like you got railed."
oops.
🧸lesson 03: playin' it unfair
without commenting any further on the state of your hair or clothes, the older itadori had moved past you and sat down on the couch. the very couch where his younger brother had laid you down and gone to town in.
locking the door incase your roommates walked in early from their night out, you had turned around to look at your best friend. trying to hide the slight slur in your voice, you had nagged him, "you saw my face, now leave."
ignoring you, he continued scrolling his phone. then once he had done whatever inspection he had to, he had asked you without even glancing up, "so should i order chinese or what? in the mood to go to an in n' out?"
"didn't i just tell you that i was sick?"
"you are so bad at lying, dude."
"im not lying!"
and the ever-observant sukuna had nodded towards the two opened cans of beer on the coffee table. one of them had your lipgloss smothered over it while the other had been on his younger brother's lips. well, fuck. how did you forget to hide that?
you probably weren't aware of your kiss-bitten lips, of the trailing purple bruises that were laid bare against your jaw and neck, and the ones that trailed even under your loose shirt. you probably didn't know just how damp your hair looked and how your eyes darted from him to the rest of the apartment in a guilty dance.
"who was here?" he had finally asked. his voice was barely curious, just a normal question, "did he do something stupid?"
sukuna never bothered to lecture you about who you decided to bring back home or not, neither did you question the women he slept with. but if he found out who was here this time, it might end badly for all of you.
he wouldn't know yuuji was here, would he?
you had gulped wantonly, "what? no." you continued with a light laugh, "nobody was here, 'kuna. trust me. just some guy, total idiot." you had paused, trying to improv your way out of the situation, "he left a while before you called."
but for someone who was so scared of sukuna finding out, how did you end up back in the bathroom? letting yuuji fuck you on his finger as his brother waited in the living room outside?
"yuu, don't." you whispered as you sunk deeper into door behind you, your back flush against the hard door as yuuji caged you in.
"you said he'd be gone in five minutes, it's been atleast fifteen." he nipped along your jaw, slowly licking over the blossoming bruises he had left. he picked his head up, eyes pointing at you with ungodly desperation, "send him back, please."
his words were accompanied with slow circles on your clothed pussy, teasing you as he whined against your soft skin. his head dipped upwards, carefully brushing against your neck and cheek. hot breath tickling you as his hand carefully guided you to his hard-on.
a teasing laugh escaped you, "didn't i just make you cum?"
he smiled, but his voice was breathless, "should i apologize? i don't think so—" his voice died in his throat, hands going faster to get you just as riled up as he was.
"yuu, come on. kuna's outside." you muttered, but your fingers betrayed your words, palming him leisurely through his pants. running your hand up and down, you restrained any moans within when his teeth sunk down on your exposed neck. he kissed the bruise, "but you can't cut the lessons short."
"yuu—"
"—fu-fuck, jus' like that." yuuji ignored you, bucking his hips to get more friction out of your skimming touches. his pace fastened against you to match your relentless teasing. the quarterback leaned into your touches, teasing you faster and faster and faster and messier, so so messily, through the now-wet pair of shorts. as if his brother wasn't sitting outside, waiting for you to come back.
but the idea of getting caught only turned you both on further, the adrenaline acting like a cheap aphrodisiac as you both tried to grab any and every part of each other.
using his right hand, he grabbed ahold of your face and drew it closer to his. then, he kissed you. he kissed you as if you were the high his body was so desperately chasing. his hand slipped inside your shorts and started toying with your cunt, smiling against your lips when you closed your eyes and let him have his way.
"yuu—" you gasped, still sensitive, "don-don't do that"
he kissed you again, swallowing any objections and that wretched nickname down his throat with ease.
the door rattled as sukuna banged on it, "oi!"
both you and the jock you were tangled against stopped. breath caught in your throats, wide-eyed and looking at each other in horror. stabilizing your breath, you gathered courage and yelled back, "what is it, kuna?"
"you've been in there for way too long, everything okay?" he continued, "the food's here. and it's getting colder."
you casted a quick glance at yuuji, who seemed to have pursed his lips together so as to not even breathe.
"yeah, yeah everything's okay. i just, uh thought i got my period. but false alarm!" you chirped, sounding uncharacteristically enthusiastic about your monthly disaster, "just coming back."
"you're sure it's nothing else?" sukuna asked, and you could picture the suspicion on his tatted face.
"yeah yeah. aah—" you bit down your lip when yuuji decided it was a great time to thumb your clit. probably being a needy brat. you pursed your lips, before choking out a hasty, "—jus' go wait outside! give me some privacy, asshole."
"damn, okay. watch me eat all the food by the time you're out, brat."
"kunnaa" you groaned when yuuji went faster against you, "jus' go sit, i'll be out in a minute, okay?"
"fine." he grumbled before walking off.
you were about to whisper-shout at yuuji but he kissed you again, keeping the pressure of his fingers against your oversensitive clit constant. your knees wobbled, deciding to give out as the waves of orgasm threatened to wash over you. your thighs shook, head lolling back to rest on the wooden door.
"just a little more," yuuji egged you on, "come on, just a little bit more. gimme it, gimme please."
"fu- ngh no—" you bit on his lip to keep yourself quiet as the tides of orgasm washed over you and your knees gave out.
if he was in pain from your attack, he didn't show it. instead choosing to support your spent figure.
you both slumped against the door, sliding down as the pink-haired enveloped you into a hug. you breathed hard, resting your forehead against his chest. when you finally looked up at him, he gave you a smile, "too much?"
"you're an asshole." you whispered back. your fingers swiftly traced over his bottom lips, finding a little swollen bump where you had bit him.
"doesn't hurt." he reassured you, "barely felt like a pinch."
"i'm gonna go take sukuna into my room." you cleared, brushing the wet strands from his forehead, "you use the time to sneak out, okay?"
the quarterback pouted. what a child. "the lesson's over so quick?"
your fingers rested on his jawline, pulling his pouty face forward to lay down a chaste kiss. you give him a teasing smile, "i think i'll fry your brain if i taught you everything in one go, yuu."
"that so?"
"mhm."
the jock gave you a devious smile, "you're gonna make me wait?"
"teach you some patience while i'm at it, you know? patience is sooo import—"
"—I ATE YOUR FOOD, FYI. ITS GONE, DON'T COME CRYING TO ME LATER, BRAT." sukuna's voice boomed from the living room.
"fuck."
"fuck."
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a/n: guess which motherfucker is posting while still being on a "writing hiatus" (this is a scheduled post lmao). haha, hello, hi. should i post a second part because a few lessons are yet to be learnt? ofc. ofc i should. will i? thats between me and god. (jk, i'll write it if someone wants to read it lol) let me know incase you wanna be tagged in part 02! is here!! divider: by @plutism tagging: @kingofthe-egirls because you love yuuji just as much as i do <3
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loserlvrss · 1 month ago
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𝐌𝐈𝐃𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐖𝐀𝐋𝐊 b. christopher ( 방찬 )
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synopsis | you were so stressed out that you decided a midnight walk would be the best thing to clear your head, however so did your neighbor.
pairing : bangchan x fem!reader genre : drabble, fluff, hurt/comfort warnings : language, bit of angst word count : 539 authors note : oh to be validated
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The post-midnight air felt crisp as it swirled around you. Your hands shivered as you shoved them in your pockets, shoulders coming up and chin down to turtle further into your jacket.
You’d had a lot of thoughts crossing your mind tonight, tormenting your peace. And the moonlight coming through your window—beautiful and bright…and mocking—somehow made them worse. It’s been a difficult couple of months, to say the least, the last week being arguably one of the worst you’d had all year; from one thing, to another, it’s like the world was against you. And winning.
You thought a walk could clear the echoes. It’s not like you were sleeping anyway, tossing and turning in your sheets all night.
“Shit—” Your hands shot from your pocket, cushioning against a fleshy yet still firm surface. You hadn’t realized you were looking down until you finally leveled your sights on…your neighbor?
You were quick to apologize, “I’m so sorry.”
You refuted, “It’s my fault. I-i’m sorry. I should’ve been looking where I was going.”
You’d only seen him a couple times, never actually talking to him. Not that you'd had the actual chance to, only catching him as he’d round a corner or be halfway through his apartment door. And if you were more outgoing you might’ve called out to him one of those times, prompting an introduction. But you’d always let him disappear behind a wall or a closed door before you worked up the courage to.
“Are you okay?”
You huffed, “Metaphorically or literally?” You didn’t mean to ask—to burden him with your problems. Afterall, you’d never actually talked to him before apologizing.
And what a first impression it was.
“One of those days,” He replied, posture finally relaxing a bit after making sure you were stable. “You’re my neighbor, aren’t you? Moved in like half a year ago? Chris, by the way.”
“Y/n.” You met his eyes, and honestly you couldn’t tell if they reflected yours or if you just wanted them to. “It’s been one of those weeks, Chris.”
He let a tight-lipped smile of acknowledgement spread momentarily, “Yeah…” He mumbled the rest, “Like a car crash waiting to happen, but you won’t pull over?” But through the silence of midnight air you heard him loud and clear.
You hummed, teeth squeezing the skin on the inside of your bottom lip. And maybe it was the acknowledgment that made you teary-eyed, but you choked it down—like you had been all week…month—and let out a deep breath. ”It could be worse,” you remarked, looking past him, eye catching on the small flakes that danced through the air. They landed on his dark hair, disappearing with the residual body heat. It was beautiful, and maybe in hindsight you’d just lost sight of what you needed the most; a little joy in your life. Wasn’t that what the season was about anyway? Your voice barely cracked, “right?”
His breath reached in front of him, the tail end adorned with a small smile, “Wanna walk some more?” You nodded, “We don’t even have to talk.”
And somehow, despite Chris not knowing you for more than a few minutes, he did reflect you. And maybe that’s actually what you needed instead.
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gretavanlace · 7 months ago
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Softer, Softest
Josh Kiszka x reader
18+ only! Minors do not interact!
Warnings: sexual content, language, slight angst, penetration, cockwarming, etc
Okay, the quickest of blurbs (under 1k) because I have neglected my josh lane lovelies so, so terribly. I received a request for bad day/comfort josh but now I can’t find the ask. Did I answer it and forget? Perhaps. Who knows? Anyway, this is just a fast fix, but I promise a full length josh fic is right around the corner ❤️
Josh is lounging across the living room couch, battered paperback in hand, when you push open the front door with a clattering of keys and the thunk of your bag hitting the floor.
”Stay there.” You implore, when he moves to stand in greeting. Just the sight of his face, so beautiful and bright-white love, has tears threatening in your eyes.
He notices right away, and his own eyes turn wide with concern, “What is it, dove? What happened?”
”Nothing.” You shake your head adamantly as you kick off your heels, leaving them where they don’t belong in a way you normally never would, “Nothing I want to talk about, anyway. I just had a shitty day, and I missed you.”
”C’mere, baby…” his voice is soothing, lulling you like a melody as he pats his thigh, “Come sit.”
Hiking your pencil skirt up enough to straddle his lap, you settle in against him with a sigh of content. He is warm, and he is home.
His palm strokes up and down your back, wrinkling the silk of your shirt under its weight, “I’m sorry you had a bad day. How can I help? Are you hungry? I could make you something. Or draw a bath with those salts you like, read to you?”
You shake your head against his shoulder with a heavy sigh, “No. This. I want this.”
”Alright,” you can hear the soft smile in his tone, he is pleased to be what you want in your moment of struggle, no matter how small.
Fingers crawling upward, he squeezes at the clip tucked into your hair and releases it, then scratches lightly at your scalp to give you a shiver.
”That feels nice.” You murmur, nuzzling into his neck until he is all you can smell.
”Here,” he whispers, gently nudging your shoulders, “sit up a little.”
You do as he says and study his lovely face as he concentrates on working the buttons of your shirt before pushing it off of you. Next pop the clasps of your bra, and the bliss of being free of it sends another delicate shiver undulating up your spine.
“There we go, dove.” He pets at your hair again and then pulls you back in, blunt nails lazily tracing your back until you feel like glittering liquid in his embrace.
”Thank you, Josh.” Your lips brush against his soft skin as you speak, “I’m sorry.”
”What are you sorry for?” He asks, matching your quiet as his hands continue to coddle you.
”For being a baby.”
”You are a baby,” he reminds you, words filled right up with love. “You’re my baby.”
Suddenly, your heart feels too big for your chest. How did you ever get so lucky? Do you even deserve him? Certainly not…no one does. “I love you. I love you so much. I just want to disappear inside you and live there forever.”
He laughs at this, that tiny giggle that melts you right down to your toes every time it peeks out, “Isn’t it usually the other way around? Me disappearing inside you?”
You giggle to match him, “Classy, Joshua.”
”I am but a caveman,” his fingers swirl circles into the dimples of your lower back, “a disgusting specimen of the lesser species.”
Another laugh flits off your tongue. You know he is trying to cheer you up, and as always…it’s working. “You are no such thing. You’re so good to me.”
A comfortable silence creeps in, but your mind is working overtime. His comment, me disappearing inside you, playing on an endless loop until you can’t stand it any longer.
”Hey,” your voice is meek, timid and unsure, as you toy nervously with the mala beads looped around his neck.
”Hmm?” He pecks a tender kiss into your hair.
”Am I really your baby?” Why do you feel so shy about this? Normally you’re adventurous and even more outgoing than he is, which is really saying something. But right now you feel…inexplicably bashful.
“Of course you’re my baby,” his lips are pressing kisses against your head again as he audibly breathes in the scent of your hair.
“Can you…” you twist those cool, smooth beads around in your fist idly, “I want…”
”You want what, dove?” He soothes your nerves with that loving lilt laced through his tone, “Tell me. I’ll make it happen. I’ll give it to you.”
”I want to be closer to you,” your words breathe into his ear just before your teeth sink gently into his silken lobe.
He knows. He somehow always knows.
“Lift up, baby bird.” His voice, rasping with subdued lust and stark devotion, needles at your heart until your head swims.
You rise up on your knees and watch on as he tugs your skirt up even higher and then pulls at the waistband of his pants.
You lovingly tease him about these khakis and their elastic waist. You call them his ‘dad pants’ just to watch him become uncharacteristically crass and grab his crotch with a ‘I’ve got your daddy right here, dove’. But right now? Right now you’re more than grateful for the lack of buttons and zippers for him to contend with.
With your gaze fixed on his gorgeous cock, he sweeps your panties to the side and eases you down onto it. Hissing as the heat of your cunt envelopes him.
”Is that better, baby?” He asks shakily, once you’re seated in his lap, filled up tight and snug with him.
“Much.”
You relax fully in his arms and it tugs at his heart-strings, making him even more completely fucking gone for you. He would set this whole world on fire if you felt even a little bit chilly.
A haunting, calming song begins to hum out of him, the vibration of it purring from his chest and straight into your heart.
”You sound so pretty,” you praise, cheek pressed just beneath his throat until the weight of the world seems to lift away and disappear.
”And you feel so pretty, dove.” He’s lightly scratching your back again, coddling you into a haze. “Softer than satin absolutely everywhere. Inside and out. Soft here,” the back of his hand brushes down your arm, “softer here,” his thumb kisses your lips, “softest here.” His hips lift ever so lightly.
Without waiting for a response, he begins humming to you again…guiding you gingerly into sleep while he rests, safely nestled inside you.
Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @lvnterninthenight @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @thewritingbeforesunrise @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @calumspretty @sad1lynn @demolitionndann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @gretavangroupie @hugorobinson @jaketlove @josh-iamyour-mama @alwaysonthemend
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hopelesslydevoted2paige · 7 months ago
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002. because i liked a girl
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pairings: paige bueckers x fem singer!reader
word count: 529
warnings: none
su’s notes: second chapter! i hope u guys like it heheh sorry no paige just trust me here
series masterlist
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fell so deeply into it, it was all so innocent
You couldn’t help but tear up as you scrolled through the different articles about you and Paige.
A photo of you moving out had spread and gone viral. After the events that had happened with Paige, you decided to go stay with your friend Azzi, who you met through her.
"Y/N, you really need to stop reading those." Azzi snatches the phone from your hand.
You sigh and throw your head back on the couch.
“I just don't get why she went back to her, Az."
Azzi sits in the spot next to you. "Come on, Y/N. You haven't been outside in a week. Do you still remember what fresh air is like?" She teases.
You roll your eyes. "I don't have a reason to go out, so I simply won't."
"Go to the grocery with me at least! Please? You do know not everyone is on Paige's side."
You hesitate, but end up giving in. "Fine. You're getting me ice cream though."
Azzi puts her hands up in the air. "Go, get dressed!"
"Okay, where's your list?" You both entered the grocery, your faces red and wide grins from the karaoke you did in the car.
Azzi opened her notes app and gave you her phone.
You furrowed your brows. "Azzi, there are like three things in here!"
"I know!" She grinned cheekily and disappeared into an aisle.
You rolled your eyes before walking off to look for your ice cream.
You walked through ice cream aisle slowly, eyeing the different flavors and brands.
“Y/N! We’re such big fans!” Two young girls walked up to you and squealed. “Can we get a picture?”
“Uh sure!” You smiled warmly and stood behind them, getting into the camera frame.
“Is it true you broke up with Paige?” They asked you, putting their phone down.
“Uhm, I’d rather not say.” You laughed awkwardly.
“Oh, okay.” They both walked away slowly. “I always thought Paige didn’t deserve her anyway.”
You tensed, but shook it off and continued to look for your ice cream.
Once you found it, you met Azzi in by the counter and paid for your things.
“You okay?” Azzi noticed your shift in mood.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s just go.” You grabbed a paper bag and walked out with Azzi’s hand on your back.
The minute you walked out, cameras started flashing and reporters shoved their microphones into your face.
“Y/N! Is it true that you and Paige Bueckers are no longer together?”
“What do you have to say about the articles?”
“Who are you eyeing next?”
“Were you with someone else during your relationship with her?
Your chest tightened as you lost your breath.
Azzi held you the whole way to her car, guiding you as you faced the ground and covered your face.
Once you both got in the car, Azzi immediately drove back to the dorms.
The car ride back was quiet. The soft sounds of the music playing in the background.
“I’m sorry for making you come with me.” Azzi broke the silence.
“It’s fine. You were just looking out for me.”
You stayed silent for a few seconds as Azzi parked.
You nudged her shoulder. “Come on, I have a whole tub of ice cream for us to eat.”
dating girls with exes, no i wouldn’t recommend it.
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daenysthedreamersblog · 1 year ago
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STRANGERS
Don't talk to strangers or you might fall in love
Freezer bride, your sweet divine
You devour like smoked bovine hide
How funny, I never considered myself tough
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summary: you've won the hunger games, and ready to return home in peace, but president snow has other plans for you, and he won't take no for an answer.
pairings: president!coriolanus snow x district6!reader
warnings: MDNI!, blood, violence, murder, manipulation, power imbalance, coercion, heavy drinking, non-con male masturbation, non-con oral sex (m receiving), roses ( pls let me know if i forgot any!)
notes: im new at publishing on tumblr so pls be patient with me! also new at writing in second person POV so sorry for any mistakes! hope u enjoy! there will be more parts coming soon!
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Blood splatters onto your face.
"Please," He mouthed underneath you, but the knife was plunging down anyways. You couldn’t hear it.
The crunch of a sternum bone.
Silence. Cold silence rang in your ears and you blinked climbing off of the body a distant boom rupturing around the arena, but you only felt to shake of it, the sudden vibrational change in the air. You looked around the sun blaring down onto you as you turned away from the dead boy, you stumble forward, knee giving out from under you before you collapsed to the ground rolling onto your back staring upward. The blood oozed from the wound on your leg, it stung, it stung harshly, but it was welcomed.
It was over. Everything. It was over and all you were met with was blood stained hands and silence. You could smell the rot forming in your soul.
Boots were pounding into the ground, surrounding you, guns pointing at your body. Hands wrapped around your biceps pulling you, dragging you out of purgatory and into the looming light ahead.
~
"Congratulations." He whispered placing the small crown on your head, a dainty gold thing, his hands lingering too long on a wisp of your hair. The games had cut off your tongue it seems words never rising to the surface. His hand was under you chin, "Smile. You've won." It felt like a command so the corners of your mouth tugged up as the camera flashed upon you, shaking hands with your esteemed president.
"Thank you." His jaw ticked at your slip, the lack of his title, but he shook your hand anyways as Lucky Flickerman’s crew zoomed in for their close up. The motions were clear, set into place as you read the prepared words off the telecom. If you could get through this then you could return home where it was simple and safe. You would be okay once the Capitol train dropped you off in District 6 where you can happily watch it all disappear forever.
A hand slid to the small of your back, your spine locking up as another photo flashed of the two of you. Your smile stumbled as his shoulder pressed into yours heat pouring off of him where your bodies collided.
You met his eyes, face half turned towards each other, and your cheeks burned with a flush.
The only good thing about winning was finally eating and drinking real food again.
You downed cups and flutes of any alcohol you could find shoved into your hands drowning out the sound of people talking, congratulating you. It was cruel really how when the film of a camera was replaced it sounded like small bones cracking, so your drank more. Why were they so thankful? They arranged for you to be there...they sent you to either die or kill for them. Because some great-great grand-whatever rebelled, so now you had to live with the consequences of someone else actions.
Your brain was beyond heavy, mouth no doubt stained red from the wine. One more day, one more day and you would be going home to die of hopefully natural causes some other time. One more day and you would be out of this hateful city, away from theses entitled, hateful people. You felt it then, the dryness in your throat, the angry water welling in your eyes. You set the empty cup down, stumbling away from the party silent tears beginning to unwarrantedly roll down your cheeks. You gripped the railing as you climbed the stairs towards the mansion doors needing to hide away from the world, and when you reached the top you pushed it open harshly. The heels of your shoes clicked on marble floor in an empty hallway, a door slamming shut behind you as you kept moving. The hallway was spinning like you were stuck in a concrete mixer turning and turning and turning.
You tripped over your foot catching yourself by throwing a hand out to the wall, collapsing onto a small cushioned bench. The groan left your mouth as you slid out of your shoes feet aching, you felt the long gash of the scar the District 2 tribute had given you. It was taking a while to fully close, the wound on you soul would never heal either it seemed.
More tears. More anger.
"You should be celebrating." The cold, calculating voice cut through the air.
You could only roll your head upward, too drunk, too ashamed to be afraid at the surprise. Fresh tears rolled down your cheek. "I did."
Footsteps were coming towards you, slow, like the wolf hunting a doe, and that was when your body alerted, when he had stepped into your space, head snapping towards him. He looked as calm and collected as his tone, a rich black suit fitted to his lean body, a hand lazily in his pocket as his legs bracketed in your knee. "Then why are you in here? I have a whole party out there for you and you hide away in my home.”
"Too noisy." You stared up at him with red rimmed eyes as he towered over, your vision fuzzy at the corners.
His knuckle came up to your cheek collecting the tear freshly traveling down makeup covered skin. "You should be celebrating." He repeated the moisture glistening on his bone. "Not crying."
You sniffed, your voice cracking from crying, "Sorry sir."
"Mr. President." He corrected.
"Sorry, Mr. President sir." You cleared your throat offering him a fake smile.
His hand came under your chin, a pinky resting on your jaw his thumb tracing puffy, wine stained lips, "That's a good girl. Too much wine I suspect hmm?" You only nodded as he held you face, held your life with it too. You might have won his games, but he could still ruin everything, ruin the little family left back home. He had always made that clear to everyone; it wasn’t a shock people started dying soon after they crossed him.
"Yes. Mr. President, sir.” For some reason another tear slipped out with a wide eyed blink.
"You look so pretty when you cry." He traced over your lip one more time gently pushing in until the pad of his thumb pressed against your tongue. You heard the wet noise of his lips parting, as he took a quiet deep breath your teeth grazing his skin. Then he popped it out, bought it to his mouth, sucking gently on your leftover wine. "Come." He wrapped his arm around your bicep pulling you to your feet in front of him. "Let's get you some food, introduce you to some more friends of mine, and then bed." Two hands stroked down your hair holding your head between his palms. "How does that sounds my little victor?"
A dark gaze lingered in his eyes that there was no way around what he wanted, no telling him no. So you let him bend down and slip your shoes back on keeping your face towards the opposite wall. ”Yes Mr. President, sir.” His hand lingered too long on your bare ankle before he rose.
He smiled, a snake like gleam in it, like he had finished wrapping his body around his victim to suffocate it. One more day, and then you were done. He could introduce you to whoever he liked, feed you whatever he wanted, but come tomorrow on that beautiful train ride home the Capitol, the games would be a distant traumatizing memory, and he would just be a face on a screen come next year.
He plucked the white rose off the front of his suit jacket, took the pin out, and tucked it behind your ear to sit prettily in your hair.
His hand wrapped around your waist causing you to grip his forearm to stumble out into the party once more. Your eyes scanned the party, catching on a young girl, the winner from District 4. Her name started with an M, but you couldn’t find the rest of it in you hazy brain. The only thing you could focus on was the sad frown etched upon her pretty face as President Snow dragged you through his party.
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6 months later
You wiped dirt off on your pants standing up to admire the blooming garden spread out in front of you. A smile flittered onto your face for only a moment before it fell staring at the wilting leaves on top of wet soil. They had fallen no doubt during a weeding or pruning or plain decay, but they were there ready for the earth to absorb them for nutrients.
Did the arena absorb their decaying bodies too or were they flown away somewhere else? Did they go back to their families so they could rest in peace?
You shook the thought grabbing gardening tools and the water can heading back to the house. Time was helping, the white noise of the district was helping, the trains going by were helping. The only reminder you had ever been carted away...well that and the large sum you had been gifted upon winning. You decided to ration it, save it but comfortably. It was the only thing truly stopping you from drowning yourself in alcohol or morphling, and the disappointed look your father had given you when they had carried you off the train, too wasted to walk. You took up gardening soon after the initial withdrawing, rotting period needing to keep you hands, your mind busy.
The scent of vanilla hit you as soon as you entered the house your body freezing on the threshold. It was a warm vanilla scent, which meant your mother had made tea, which meant there was company. You set your tools down, peeling off you mud stained boots. Your mother laughed as you slowly continued down the hall, the sound muffled by the kitchen wall you had yet to curve around to enter the kitchen. Alarms shot off in your head, the hair on your neck standing up knowing it wasn't anyone from District 6.
"Mother." You called seeing the outline of her at the table.
"Darling." Your mother smiled as you turned the corner, eyes flitting over to the man across the table from her sipping on his tea. A fresh bouquet of white roses sat in a new vase at the center of the table. "We have a guest."
"Mr. President." Your mouth dried out, feet heavy, gluing you to the middle of the kitchen. "To what do we owe the pleasure?"
Your mother only stood up rushing towards you, taking your hands to sweetly drag you to the table. "Come sit, my darling bluebell." She forced you into an empty chair around the modest circular table, a plaid green table cloth covering it. You kept eyes on him as she poured tea into the only empty cup. Once the kettle was down she discreetly tried to wipe dirt off your face, "Always covered in something from your little garden."
President Snow mouth quirked up. "Garden?"
You only managed a nod. ”It was a small little thing, something to help…” Her eyes dropped, “Something to keep her busy, and well before you knew it it had taken up most of the lawn." Another discreet pat on the cheek. "I have never been more proud than when I see her out there working on it." She chuckled, "Well besides when you put the tiara on her head." You inwardly cringed at the word tiara, at the reminded of what had been done to earn it.
"My grandmother grew roses." He motioned to the red one he worse pinned to his blue suit. His eyes met yours, "Do you?" A small nod as steam swirled up from the tea that would never be drank, "May I see them?"
Your mother stood up answering, "Of course." Her hands came upon you shoulders, "Go change and show our lovely President." You pushed the chair back using it as an escape for the moment, "Wash your face, and put on that pretty blue sun dress." You didn't answer, only walked back down the hall to your room finally able to breath normally away from his suffocating presence. What was he doing all the way out here? You had figured, had clung, to the fact you would never have to see him, or the Capitol again, and now he was here invading your home.
After washing your shaking hands and face, digging the dirt out of your nails, and braiding your hair back did you put that stupid sundress on and walk back out. Your mother was standing by the door a forced smile on her lips, "Yes sir, no sir." She reminded you, pulling small tendrils of hair loose around your face. "Don't speak unless spoken to."
"I know." You told her, forcing her hands away from your face reciting what your father and mother had both instilled in you. "I am grateful for what you've done for us President Snow."
"Mr. President Snow, sir." She pinched your cheeks to give them color then let you step around her and out of the house.
He was standing near the edge of the garden just before the walkway split separating each sections. "It truly does take up most of the lawn." He smiled holding out his arm for you. You slowly allowed him to hook it under his elbow to lead down the walkway. "It smells divine."
"Thank you." You swallowed, "Mr. President, sir."
He only smirked, "Your mother raised a well mannered woman."
You offered him a shy smile, ”My father and mother always instilled proper etiquette as best as they could. They emphasized respect and dutifulness."
"Important traits to have." He agreed. He was Capitol, he was the president, no doubt relishing in the fact district folks weren't born with those traits, they had to have it beat into them.
His hand clamped around yours, trapping it in his arm. Your breaths shook, don’t stutter. "My roses are just this way." You motioned up the path for him to lead in that direction.
The rose bush could have looked better, but it had always been a work in progress, a difficult flower to manage, and your heart had never truly been fond of roses. Red and yellow seeds were the only color you could acquire so the colors sometimes missed their mark or died all together. “Troublesome for you?” There was no hiding the disappointment in his tone.
“Yes.” An embarrassed response. "I'm tempted to rid myself of them."
"Hmm," He stepped forward fingers running along the soft petals. "I have a garden full of white roses, I brought some for you today."
You gave him a small smile. "Thank you. I'm sure my mother adores them."
"They're for you, not her." He flatly told you a sneer on his face. "A gift of sorts to my favorite little victor." He smirked down at the bush plucking a perky red rose from its stem. "Or what did she call you?" He turned back towards you, "Her darling bluebell?"
The blush bit at your cheeks, "Thank you. Mr. President sir." He smiled deeply tucking the stem of the rose behind your ear rooting it into the braid. "They are lovely." I lied. The scent of roses overtook the air to the point you felt dizzy with it, felt them swallowing you whole like he did.
"I do hope your mother won’t mind looking after it all.” He sighed his hand running down your arm as blood drained out of you, the question sitting leaden in your mouth. "We're trying something new, something Dr. Gaul believed would bring good publicity to the games." You chewed on your cheek, biting the refusal back. You remembered hearing about her death a year or two ago. "A victory tour of sorts." Both hands were on your arms holding you in front of him, "You'll go district to district letting them celebrate you and then finish at the Capitol. I'm going to throw you another party."
Oh
His hand came under your chin tilting your face up to him, "How does that sound my little bluebell?"
"Okay." You whispered because it was what was supposed to be said to him.
He beamed, "Such a good girl." His smile fell, "Since this is the first time we're doing it I'll be going with you of course to make sure everything goes smoothly."
Ice coated you. How long would this be? Would he ever let you remain in peace? Would the garden wither and die in the time you would be gone? Why did he stare like that?
You only nodded the obedience in your spine locking into place.
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It wasn't horrible. The train was comfy and reminded you of home, the rumbling sound it made, the smell of the smoke and gasoline, the horn blaring through the night. They had written words, of course, to say at every district, reciting from a script how sorry you were for their losses and how thankful you are for the Capitol and their generosity. President Snow talked the most which was ironically a godsend since you didn't want to speak at all.
Mostly, there was food, tons of food...and wine.
You more self-indulgent habit to make the time go by smoother. Even more so now because you could, because it was free, because your parents weren't here to shame you. You would stop once you got home; you had done it before. When the tour was over, you would stop, you would go back home, relish in the normalcy, the garden, where it was safe. Where no one could find you.
Snow wouldn't be on the train ride home.
It unnerved you that he was here simply a few train cars down, eating, sleeping, plotting murder no doubt, planning more games. It only made you swig from the bottle more to shove the anxiety down.
You had crawled in the train car window, a comfy seat under it, curling you feet under you to watch the night blur past. Each bump comforted you, like you were in the older train cars carting people around the district. The moon wasn't out making any outline impossible to see, so you closed your eyes, pretending to hear the bustling square at home. You took another drink of wine savoring the lazy feeling coating your body.
The door slid open no doubt an Avox coming to do some chore, so you didn’t even bother to look. "You didn't come to dinner." Your head snapped up seeing Snow standing in the door a tray of food in his hands, "They said you only grabbed a bottle of wine and left."
"I wasn't hungry." Not a lie, you had felt ill since leaving District 9 the tributes faces beginning to gnaw at you once more. You had survived, and they hadn’t, and it felt wrong. "Mr. President, sir."
He wasn't wearing his normal suit instead a pair of dress pants, and a starched white button up, the top two buttons undone. His immaculate blonde hair was slightly mused a stray curling piece falling onto his forehead. "Come eat with me." You weighed the options before unfolding your legs out and turning to slid off the sill. You tugged at the nightgown they had shoved in the closet for sleep, a soft thin robe covering your shoulders over it. They hadn’t allowed you to bring any clothes from home. His eyes glanced up your body as you pulled it tighter around you.
"Excuse my appearance Mr. President, sir." You sat down across from him.
"No need." He only smiled as he pushed the tray. "Do you like the train?"
You nodded picking at the food, "It reminds me of home. We used to live by the test track before it moved, and it used to rumble the house. I used to hate it growing up, but now it seems to have grown on me."
"I bet it has." You should enjoy the food more, shovel it down until it was nothing. Your family had never suffered too much within the district not like the others, like 10,11,12... but it wasn't exactly always easy. The Capitol was always cramming food down your throat before and after the games, before you had reveled in it, the after...it tasted like dust in my mouth sometimes. You set the fork down pushing the half eaten tray away, but he only pushed it back. "Eat, please." You began to open your mouth in protest, but his jaw ticked. "Eat." A command, "All of it."
You watched his face, bottom lip trembling at the new tone he was using. It was bound to come out, but you had been so kind, always listened. You slowly began eating again forcing each bite until nothing remained, until your chest was tight with a full stomach. You took a sip of water. Always thank him, your mother had whispered on your way out of the door, Even if you are not thankful.’ “Thank you, Mr. President sir."
"You are so good to me, my little bluebell." He leaned forward the darkness engulfing the blue in his eyes. "Can you do something for me?" You made yourself nod even-though fear was trickling down your skin. He motioned with his head, "Go lie down on the bed."
The color drained from your face, "Wh-What?"
Don't stutter.
You cursed inwardly for the slip. ”Be my good girl and go lie down on the bed." His grin widened, “I won’t say it again.”
By the time your knee hit the bed tears had slipped over, you tried to stop them, but they welled anyways as you turned to look at him. He stalked towards you unbuttoning his pants, unzipping them, so you forced your gaze upward taking in the sounds of rustling. His hands pushed the robe down your shoulders letting it pool onto the bed. You couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to stop him as his fingers trailed along your bare shoulders, along your collarbones, up your neck. "Spit." He held out his hand. You swallowed, pulling the liquid back up and spit into his palm watching him bring it between his legs. You forced yourself to not look down, not look at what his hand was doing with a large length, to not look as he slid his hand along it. His other hand came up to your face, once again dragging across your bottom lip, pushing his finger further in, hooking it onto your bottom teeth. "Suck on it." He growled. You blinked fresh tears out before letting your tongue poke and lick up his finger, swirling around his knuckle listening to his pants. A cry of protest sat in your lungs, but would it matter? Were you always bound to be at his mercy, cursed to obey his whims to exert his power. “You listen so good." His head fell back a little the small groan hiding the sounds of him stroking himself. “Will you take my cock good too?”
"Please." You whimpered against his hand finding the smallest resistance in yourself at his words. "Please sir...I'm a virgin. I-I don't-!"
He shoved you back onto the bed with a growl his knees straddling your thigh as he pumped his hand faster and faster groaning into the air as two fingers invaded your mouth thrusting along your tongue. You felt violated, but all you could do was lie there and take it, let him do whatever he was doing because you were good, because he was the president and you had to obey. You closed your eyes tears burning your skin on the way his movements shook your body, until finally he stilled warmth shooting over your skin.
You finally breathed as he removed his fingers and stepped away. You lied there, listening to him straighten his clothes back on. "Don't change. Sleep in that." You glanced down at the white clumps running down your nightgown, some even drying to your exposed chest.
He stared at you expectantly. Thank him, even when you're not thankful. "Thank you Mr. President, sir.”
His grin was haunting as he left.
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The rest of the tour went unbothered. He only occasionally came back to repeat those events, but each time it got a little easier as you began to know what to expect, each time you dared to look a little bit more. Sometimes even getting lost in the way his hand glided across his glistening cock covered in your spit. On the rare nights, you even gazed upward at him, at his hooded eyes, sweat dripping down his forehead, tongue between his teeth. You even began to listen to the noises he made, the heavy grunts, the soft groans and grit of his jaw, his vulgar words at you when his eyes suddenly met yours making you look away with heat in your cheeks.
And then he would cum over your body.
You threw up after the first night only forcing it to stay on your body because he had said so. After that it became easier to withstand the feeling, the warmth, the smell. You realized after a few times it gave off a scent you had only attributed to him, you only knew that because he often stood so close to you. It was so mild and hidden that you could only tell when you brought some close to your nose, and since it was already there you tasted it and you figured his skin might taste like that too.
It was fine, until you finished the tour of District 2. The boy's face stared down at you, and you remembered how it looked covered in blood.
Please!
The crunch of bone.
You could barely get through the reading, crying halfway through before someone had to usher you to the side. Snow was angry; you could see it in his dark eyes but maybe he could find pity. You had been so kind, so good.
It didn't matter by the time he found you curled into the corner of my room you were covered in smeared make up and tears. You couldn't even take off the stupid pink dress they had given you. He stood there for a moment taking you in then he grabbed you by the hair yanking you up onto the bed. Then he reeled back and slapped you across the face so hard your head snapped to the side. "You were very bad today bluebell."
"I-I..."
Another slap the other way. "Don't stutter."
Your cheek was stinging, "I'm sorry." A pause, and then another hard slap stars split your vision. "I'm sorry Mr. President, sir." You closed your eyes waiting for more but then you heard the familiar noise of his pants unbuttoning and your body began to lay itself back like it had registered before you did. He only darkly chuckled as he pulled you back up and shoved you to your knees in front of him, "I know you didn't mean to break the rules. Right?” You nodded, “And why do I know that?”
"Because I'm your good girl, Mr. President, sir." You stared up at him with red cheeks and pouting lips.
He groaned, his hard length pressing against your mouth. You glanced up at him with furrowed brows not knowing how to do what he was asking. “Open your mouth,” You did. “Don’t bite. I'll do the rest." He pushed past your lips, taking ahold off your face and began rocking his hips into you, his cock sliding along your tongue. "Oh fuck," He shivered shoving himself deeper the tip of him touching the back of your throat. You swallowed the gag as he pulled out to slam back into you bring your throat more tears spilling out, spit running down your chin. You squeezed your eyes as he used your mouth for whatever he wanted as he thrusted his cock into your mouth viciously. "Swirl your tongue around it." He hissed and you obeyed running it along the shaft, around the head feeling him stutter his movements, but pick up speed. His hand was rooted in your scalp yanking your face up, pain bubbling up with each abusing stroke, but something else was there too, and you realized his skin didn't taste bad. "You like that? You like when I fuck your mouth?"
You mumbled out incoherently not even sure what your answer was.
He shoved your head back, neck craned against the mattress his hips pinning you as he blatantly fucked into your mouth. ”I wonder what pretty sounds you would make if I fucked you hmm?” His hand bobbed your head against him as you gripped his thighs to hold yourself up as saliva dripped across your chest. "I can't though...too many others want it."
Your eyes shot open just as his thrust turned sporadic and warm liquid shot down your throat. Your face was covered in fluids, covered in drool and cum, dribbling down your chin as he slowly removed himself. ”What?" Your throat was raw and torn.
"I was going to wait to tell you." He sighed tucking himself back in. "But you are very desirable as a Victor, and once you told me you were a virgin...well it made you a lot more desirable." He patted your tears and cum stained cheek, "But you have been so good to me despite this slip up, so I will try to pick someone you will like. Hmm?” You were too stunned to respond. He was selling you to people, selling you to the highest bidder because you had killed a boy. You weren’t even supposed to win everyone had let you know how the tribute from 10 was slated to win, but he got taken out while you were hiding, and they had lost money. Because your life was a bet for them.
"I want to go home." You cried softly his hand cradling your face.
He cocked his head to the side, "Oh bluebell. You can't leave me yet." He stood up and began to walk to the door, "I might just have to keep you."
He left you there on your knees. No he didn't quite taste bad, in fact, you thought maybe you enjoyed the pool of him on your tongue. You cried even harder.
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PART TWO here!
(if you care)
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alottiegoingon · 8 months ago
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the last night
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shauna shipman x fem!reader
summary: shauna comes back after 19 months in the wilderness
warnings: shauna and r had a situationship, very suggestive content but nothing explicit, wilderness time, mentions of mental illness (depression, anxiety), r cheating on her actual gf, manipulative shauna (?), angst but happy ending, not proofread
"i can't believe you're leaving me," you complain in a purposely whiny tone, your voice ringing in shauna's ears as you sit across from each other on the bed. she grips her familiar journal while you help her go through her checklist of essential items.
"i'm not leaving you. It's only a week," she murmurs, her head bowed over her journal, but her eyes lift to catch yours. a playful smile dances on her lips, secretly entertained by your antics.
shauna played as the midfielder for the yellowjackets, a girls' soccer team. their recent victory had secured them a spot in the nationals in seattle, and it was all she could talk about.
you were genuinely excited for her, but the thought of spending so much time apart made you anxious. it wasn’t a full week, technically, but you couldn’t help worrying about shauna meeting someone much cooler in a much cooler place.
"remember the last time?" shauna reminisces about her trip to denver five years ago, also for soccer. you were just middle schoolers then, and you were forced to make new friends while she was gone for days. "you found new friends," her voice crackled slightly.
"so we are friends now?" you say, your voice constricting. shauna doesn't look up but you hear her snort, contrasting with her muscles tensing up. the silence settles in and you don't wait any longer to fill it, not wanting to make things any weirder than they already were.
"anyway. it's just not the same now," shauna understood your words perfectly well, especially considering the kind of friendship you had. still, she questioned.
"why's that?" she inquires, her hands absently rubbing the pen against her journal as she finishes her list.
"you know why," three words of yours were responsible for the abrupt stop of her writing. shauna places the journal and pen aside, focusing on you.
"because no one is as cool as me?" she quips, a self-satisfied grin spreading across her lips.
"that's debatable," you retort, feigning skepticism as you mock her with a playful expression.
"you hurt my feelings like that," her false frown deepens as she leans in.
her hands move surreptitiously toward your legs, eventually landing in a gentle and not so innocent touch on your knees. inch by inch, she traces your skin with her fingertips until her full hands were on your thigs and crawling up to your waist.
"i'm so sorry," you try to keep yourself unbothered by her touch but she's smarter. her nose strokes your cheek, stopping to give your upper lip a messy kiss, and she kisses her way town to your neck.
brushing your hair out of the way along with the heart necklace, her teeth gently grazes on your skin.
"nuh-uh. this won't do," her hot breath into your skin makes you shiver. "i have a better idea."
𖠋
everyone remembers where they are when an upsetting event happens. the death of a celebrity, a natural disaster, a medical trauma. you remember, clear as water, where you were when you read the newspaper. walking back home.
it was all over the news. flight 2525, the private plane that lottie matthews' dad had chartered, had disappeared. the plane shauna was in. making everything worse, the news would often use the word 'crash' instead and you couldn't bare the idea.
soon enough, it hit you that the night before her trip was the last time you would ever see her again. the only thing more unbearable than that was the uncertainty; not knowing if shauna was still out there.
after a month of silence, you thought you had your answer.
people don't move on from things like that, not completely. especially if their best friend was envolved. spending your days in bed, skipping meals and not going to class became part of your new routine. you lost track of whether it was day or night, whether the sun was shining or not. your mind was consumed by her.
moving on or not, life goes on and the world doesn't slow down for anyone. after six months, normalcy had returned for most. apart from the parents and a handful of students, the yellowjackets had faded from people's memories, just like their plane. this pissed you off. you barely had time to grieve as the rest of the world rushed forward.
forcing yourself to merely exist, not truly live, you returned to class. like a ghost, you attracted curious glances and avoided them like the plague. after graduation, college was the next step.
a year later, shauna’s parents asked if you wanted anything from her room. something special, or perhaps just to visit. you were certain it wasn’t a good idea, but you went anyway. under her pillow, you found an envelope from brown university—the same school you were attending, the place you and shauna had planned to go together.
that was all it took to break you down into a sobbing mess on her bed.
𖠋
things got better. not perfect, not the way they used to be, but better. you weren't alone anymore but always had to push away the idea of losing all of your friends at once, one in special. luckily or not, college kept you busy.
"have you finished tomorrow's essay? It's so boring I might just drop the class," your girlfriend says, dropping a pile of old books on the cafeteria table and sitting across from you.
"i have dark circles under my eyes, what do you think?" you groan, lifting your head. she leans over the table to kiss your forehead.
"i think you still look pretty, baby."
"thanks, but I'm not letting you copy my work."
"worth the shot," she chuckles, placing two cups of coffee on the table, sliding one towards you.
your plan was to finish that damn essay and be completely free. the cafeteria was buzzing with students, but at least they were minding their own business. that's what you get for studying in a campus cafeteria.
"did you hear what happened to them? i'm so glad they're alive. It must have been so tough," her sudden comment startles you, taking a moment to register.
you swallow a lump in your throat as you glance over your shoulder at the TV, where crowds of people are watching the news: 'yellowjackets rescued'.
"holy shit," you whisper, the shock setting in as you realize you hadn't revealed not only your awareness of their situation but also your complex connection with one of them.
𖠋
a week after shauna got back, her parents had called you your stomach was turning upside down and your anxiety levels were through the roof. you couldn't manage to put your feelings into words.
you knocked on her bedroom door, too anxious to wait, just to announce yourself. for the first time in almost two years, shauna stood before you. she bore a few scars, nothing too severe; her hair had grown longer, losing its waves; her eyes seemed somehow larger, fixed on you as if she had just saw something extraodrinary.
she leapt from the bed, a cautious gaze scanning you, before rushing toward you and embracing you tightly.
her arms wrapped around your shoulders, her fingers digging into your clothes so intensely it almost hurt. you reciprocated, holding her waist tightly to keep her close, unsure when the tears started flowing, but you feeling your shoulders becoming wet.
"hi," she whisper between tears, her voice crackling.
"hi," you echo her. "i thought i would never see you again."
"i know," she sniffs, clinging to you. the last thing she murmurs for the long time you two spent hugging.
shauna was back, but she was much quieter, easily irritated, and frightened by everything. she had every right to feel that way, but you were worried. no one was allowed inches close to her journal and you respected that, encouraging her to write about her feelings.
your finals didn't matter anymore; nothing else did. for the next few weeks, you were constantly by her side. even waiting outside the bathroom door like a loyal dog.
however, you weren't the same as before. you weren't as touchy or intimate, especially after shauna discovered you were dating someone else. she became distant and strange, pushing you away and ignoring your calls.
"hey, I bought you a new book. It's from that author you used to like before..." you stop yourself mid-sentence. "you know."
forcing a smile, you place the book on her desk. her vacant eyes meet yours, but she remains still, lying in bed staring at the ceiling.
"is everything okay?" you ask hesitantly, walking towards her and offering your hand.
the silence lingers but she accepts your hand and joins you.
"shauna?" you say. as soon as she's on her feet, she drops your hand quickly.
"everything is fine," she says sharply.
"right... it's just that you've been acting weird lately," you explain, trying not to upset her.
"in case you didn't know, I was trapped in a cabin in the middle of nowhere for almost two years," she snaps, her body stiffening.
"yes, i know," you say, inhaling deeply. "but I—"
"don't you have to go back to your girlfriend anyway?" she interrupts, glancing at the door and then back at you. she clearly wanted you out.
"no, I don't," you reply, frowning. "is she why you're acting like an idiot?"
she snorts, taking a step forward, her eyes narrowing.
"It's funny how I'm the idiot when you've replaced me with someone else so quickly," you would feel bad thanks to the pain in her voice if it weren't for her absurd words.
"replace you?" you scoff. "she's my girlfriend, shauna."
"and what was I?"
"you were my friend! we were friends."
her face shuts down completely, lips parting as if ready to shout something, but she stops herself. you weren't sure if you agreed with your own words, but it’s too late now.
"i thought you were dead," you say, taking a deep breath to keep your voice steady. shauna, however, seems perfectly fine with letting her voice rise.
"you sure did," she says, shaking her head slightly.
"well, you left me."
"not because I wanted to, you fucking idiot!" she snarls, suddenly pressing her forearm against your collarbones and pushing you backwards. you gasp in surprise as your back hits the cold wall.
"shauna! what are you doing?" you try to push her away, but she’s stronger than you remember and hold you in place.
"do you ever think of me when you kiss her?" she whispers, ignoring your question. her breath is ragged, her chest heaving. she tilts her head slightly, studying your face. then she leans closer, her lips just brushing against yours.
you can hardly make sense of her words, stunned by her sudden change in behavior. your mouth hangs open, but no sound comes out.
"answer me," she growls, pressing her arm harder against you. her jaw clenches, making you yelp, and you immediately whisper a faint 'yes.'
she smirks, crashing her lips into yours. though you hesitated for a moment, you quickly recovered, syncing your movements with her rough rhythm. when you try to pull her closer by the hips, she lets go of your chest, grasping your wrists and pinning them along with you.
the urgent kiss didn't last much longer as she trailed her way down to your jawline with small bites and feral kisses, eventually reaching your neck. in her preferred area, you cry out her name when she sinks her teeth into your skin, drawing blood.
when did she got so into biting?
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shuastar · 8 days ago
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ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ .5 (JWW)
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ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ: ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴋᴇ!ᴡᴏɴᴡᴏᴏ x ᴀʀᴄʜᴅᴜᴄʜᴇꜱꜱ!ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴡᴄ: 19k (holy shit im so sorry) warnings: cursing, angst (but also fluff!!), battle scene (blood and vomit and wounds) ᴀ/ɴ: when i tell you guys that i'm so sorry for the wait, i am SO SORRY for the wait. i think i had like thirteen different deadlines for myself for intertwined but i missed literally every single one how tf;; but it's finally out!!! consider this my very late christmas and new years present for you!! <3 anyways, ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴɴᴀ ʙᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛ ᴏꜰ ᴍʏ ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ ᴘʟꜱ ʟᴏᴏᴋ ᴀᴛ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ <3
ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ; ɴᴇxᴛ
Wonwoo 
Wonwoo’s Capital estate felt colder in the middle of the winter flurry that sprinkled and twirled white onto the dead grass. His study, usually emblazoned with a warm, crackling fire, though not in use for a while, felt colder under the hiding moon and howling winds outside. A scratchy record player hummed a soft classical piano into the room – his desperate attempt to fill the lonely, crushing silence of his estate. 
The study is deathly quiet, save for the faint crackle of the dying fireplace fire, struggling to warm the cold, expansive room. Wonwoo sits at his desk, head bowed and the heels of his palms digging into his eyes. His desk is perpendicular to the empty fireplace, the firewood only holding a couple of smouldering embers of a day-old flame. He stares listlessly at the black ink of the reports on his desk and suddenly, the stack of reports fixated on the edge of his desk seem much more towering than he remembered them to be before he left his estate for the palace. His fingers rest idly, blankly, on the edge of the thick report in front of him, unmoving, as if the words and the numbers on the paper would magically disappear if he rubbed on them hard enough. He sighs as the habitual late-night thoughts creep up and teeths in his brain, eager to divulge more of his darker secrets – more of his deepest desires. 
“Fuck,” he whispers into the dimly-lit room, dropping his head into his hands. His shirt sleeves are rolled up to his elbows and his hair sticks up from the hour he spent pulling at it not even minutes prior. He wishes he could do something, say something, transform into something other than Archduke Jeon. Will she accept him then? When he is free of duties he apparently instinctively places higher than the love of his life? Than the one person he is willing to give all of his heart to? Or maybe she would be willing to let him back into her life, into her heart, when he finally comes to terms with his instinctual hierarchy of values?
A sudden rap against the wood of his study door snaps him out of his dejected self-deprecation. 
“Who is it?” he croaks, head still buried in his palms. 
There is no response except for a drawn-out sigh and the creak of an opening door, followed by the pitter-patter of slippered footsteps. The familiar clang of metal on metal gave away the mystery person’s identity before Wonwoo even raised his head. 
“What do you want, Soonyoung?” he mumbles into his hands, eyes closing. He wishes he could fall asleep better. He wishes he could slip into any bed and fall asleep like a newborn baby – maybe wake up with no dreams, no cold sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Instead, he finds himself, increasingly, these days, being held back from sleep because of her. Because every time he closes his eyes, the only thing he can see is your bright smile and all he can hear is the repeat of your laughter that had charmed him and refused to let him go. 
He hears the long scrape of a chair against the cold wooden floor as Soonyoung pulls the chair in front of his desk back, slipping into the seat. There is a small slap against the wood as he plops a folder down onto Wonwoo’s desk. The sound borders on giving Wonwoo a blistering headache. Really, he couldn’t do any more reports or numbers or letters or words or anything but her. 
“I’ve been going over the training reports,” Soonyoung begins, opening the folder and sifting through the pile of papers haphazardly stacked against each other, “and, you know, I think if we get Seungcheol to double the training hours for Wednesday and Friday so that we can actually get the mana drills in…” 
Nothing registers for Wonwoo. It’s as if Soonyoung’s every word slips in through one ear and flows out the other – as if his words are like slippery butter or oil, flowing through his thin neural membrane, and lodging itself in absolutely nothing. 
“-And so, if we can-” 
Soonyoung suddenly stops mid-sentence, cutting himself off. His eyebrows furrow and he leans forward, head tilting in an amusing angle to stare directly up at Wonwoo’s bowed face. Wonwoo doesn’t even move, eyes just closing as Soonyoung pokes his head. 
“You’re unusually depressing tonight. You alright?” he asks. And although his words are laced with a soft sort of teasing, Wonwoo can pick out the concern weaved through Soonyoung’s tone. Soonyoung shuts the folder at Wonwoo’s lack of response. “I can tell you that you’ve looked better.” 
Wonwoo finally lets out a sigh – a long, deep, rib-trembling, bone-shaking sigh. He knows he’s looked better. Hell, he’s felt better. His hand traces a faint line on his desk’s polished surface, decorated with grooves of a frustrated youth trying to manage an abandoned estate after parents’ death. He lets out one slow breath – one that seems to carry a little more weight and hold a little more space than the room itself. It’s heavy as it escapes his mouth. 
“What do you want, Soonyoung?” His words leave harsher than he honestly wants them to. But it conveys his ignorance in full respect. 
Soonyoung frowns, crossing his arms. “What I want is to know why you look like you haven’t slept in four days.” 
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Mind your own business,” he mutters under his breath, huffing. He knows Soonyoung won’t back down but he wishes he would. “Don’t you have training plans to detail?” 
Soonyoung shakes his head, gathering up the papers and the folder in one swift motion. Everything ends up on the floor by Wonwoo’s desk in the next second and Soonyoung leans forward, poking Wonwoo’s bicep, straining against his white shirt. 
“Training plans can wait,” Soonyoung hums. When he receives yet another silent response, Soonyoung leans back, gaze softening. “Come on. Stop acting like you’re fine when you very clearly aren’t, Wonwoo.” 
Wonwoo briefly looks up and he can feel the dryness in his eyes from the number of sleepless days. “I’m completely fine,” he retorts, but his words don’t hold enough power in them. Well, at least not as much as he would like. “Detail the plans, Soonyoung,” he orders, voice hoarse and thick with a lack of sleep. 
Soonyoung suddenly laughs, but it’s ironic and broken off. “You’re funny if you think I don’t know you better than that,” he clicks his tongue, “Come on, Wonwoo. Spill.” 
Wonwoo can’t help but crack a small ironic smile at how Soonyoung’s words feel more like an order than his. But, in all honesty, he doesn’t want to broach the topic – the topic that has his mind decrescendo into a flurry of disconnected thoughts. The topic that jams a thick round stone into the only opening of his throat and squeezes at the columns of his tear ducts to force out the salty tears from the corners of his eyes. 
Wonwoo speaks up, fingers tightly fisting on top of his desk, “I personally think we should get the cavalry-” 
“Shut the fuck up, man,” Soonyoung huffs, crossing his arms across his rippling chest. To anyone else, it would’ve seemed like a threat (to bash their heads in), but Wonwoo simply presses his lips together, opting to scribble his signature down onto one of the reports in front of him. 
“Wonwoo, come on. Don’t think that I haven’t realized you’ve been sulking for this entire weekend,” Soonyoung tuts, wagging his finger in Wonwoo’s tight face. “More than usual, too,” he adds as an afterthought. 
Wonwoo is quiet. He would tell Soonyoung everything if he knew how to phrase it better. Of course he would! Soonyoung is one of the closest friends he has ever had. Soonyoung has seen him hit himself with his own sword during a late-night knight training session and he’s seen him moon and fawn and coddle you when you were still “undisclosed” when attending the Academy. And now-
Shit, don’t fucking cry. 
And now, he guesses, Soonyoung was also about to see him cry, if he could correlate the exponential thickness of his throat and burning of his eyes to the oncoming onslaught of tears that he could predict. That and another depressingly self-deprecating monologue about how he fucked up. And it wasn’t even funny because it was true. Truly depressing. Truly, and perfectly, distressing, especially to him. Especially to his love for you. It was amusing, really, to realize that you’ve such an impact on him even after three years of forced distance. Distance brings fondness, at least for him. He wasn’t too sure of you, seeing as how you had yelled at him in the gardens a couple of days back. 
Soonyoung is still quiet, simply waiting for Wonwoo to speak up, which is a new development. Soonyoung maintaining his silence, of course, not Wonwoo speaking up. 
“I’ve ruined everything.” Wonwoo can feel his jaw tighten at his own words, hands stilling completely on top of the thick piece of parchment. He swallows hard, his already-too-tight throat constricting around the words that he had long-since become accustomed to. 
Soonyoung furrows his brows, tilting his head as his concern visibly deepens. “Everything? What do you mean?” 
Wonwoo finally fully looks up, and this time, his eyes sting not from his chronic insomnia but from the blockage of emotions that threaten to rise up and overflow over any opening of his face. Soonyoung almost jolts, as if the raw pain in Wonwoo’s eyes was too much to bear at once. 
“Everything,” Wonwoo breathes, as if he’s whispering a curse into the silent room. His eyes burn even more and he just knows that they are an inhuman shade of red. He doesn’t want to cry. Especially not in front of Soonyoung. “It’s gone. With her – Y/n, I mean,” he concludes hoarsely. By your name, he feels as though he is forcing every syllable out of his mouth with the effort it takes for something to push a horseless carriage uphill. 
“Wait,” Soonyoung rushes to interrupt, leaning forward, “I thought you talked to her? I thought-”
Wonwoo cuts him off with a bitter gasp of a laugh. “I did talk to her,” he admits, voice cracked and words heavy with an unfamiliar sort of defeat, “It doesn’t matter. I told her everything, Soonyoung. I laid my fucking heart in front of her because I thought she would- I felt that if she could just understand my part, my rationale, even, I could have even a sliver of a chance to win her back. But I don’t-” Wonwoo breaks off. He can’t bear to continue. Not when every word he utters feels like a self-inflicted blow of pain – a dig of a sharp, serrated knife that comes in the form of harshly-spoken, hastily-drawn words. “She doesn’t feel the same. Or couldn’t – can’t, I guess. I don’t even know.” His half-monologue ends with a rather anti-climactic flourish and every passing second of silence that treats his words as something to be examined, the more he wants to drink and drink and drink until he passes out. Metaphorically. 
Soonyoung is silent for a time (much help), until he finally uncrosses his legs and drums his fingers on his knee. “Are you sure, though?” he swallows at Wonwoo’s look, his arms flying up in defense. “I’m saying, she hasn’t exactly ever been the type to-” 
“-She looked at me,” Wonwoo cut Soonyoung off, voice tight as his vocal cords forced the words out of his larynx, “like I was the last thing she ever wanted to deal with. Like I had ruined her life by telling her how I felt. Like I was-” 
“-Wonwoo,” Soonyoung sighs, shaking his head as his fingers stilled on his knee. Wonwoo wants to snap at his friend, tell him how he doesn’t understand, how he would never fully understand the underlying torment of having to live with the knowledge that your-
“Wonwoo, what exactly did she say?” Soonyoung asks, eyebrows furrowed and now leaning against the desk.
Good question, Wonwoo thinks to himself. He recounts the words you had thrown at him, desperate for him to leave your life. The words that had sawed through his heartstrings and clipped off the tendons of his sculpted body and had knocked out the bricks of his well-crafted walls one by one, until he was left bare – in all of his diminishing glory – in front of you. Left bare in front of you and shivering in fear, lest you actually let him go. 
Soonyoung waits patiently for his response. 
Wonwoo finally relents – lets everything go, if only for a moment. “She said to give up on us,” he murmurs, “She said she doesn’t know if she can do it again, that she wants to forget us, that she wants me to stop.” He lets out a puff of apathetic laughter – frigid, detached, bittersweet. “She says that I’m being selfish, Soonyoung,” he finally spits, trying to swallow the thick ball down his unrelenting throat that constricts tighter every second. His hands shake on the desk and he can feel the tears start to gather again in the corners of his eyes. “I was stupid,” he laughs, “I was stupid to think she would– that anything I said would fix my mistakes. That it would return us to…” Wonwoo trails off, eyes misting over as he spots a picture frame, free of any dust, placed on the corner of his desk, “... normal,” he whispers. The word seems final, like he doesn’t expect anything else. 
Soonyoung is quiet as he processes Wonwoo’s speech before opening his mouth. 
“I think she just needs time, Wonwoo. She’s just scared. I know her, maybe better than you do, now. Whatever you guys had, yeah, sure, it’s over. But this? What you want it to be, that isn’t. Not unless you let it be.” Soonyoung’s voice is steady and confident. So much so that it almost makes Wonwoo believe his words. 
“It’s not about giving up,” Wonwoo counters, and he can feel himself choke up. He can feel the words he’s trying to say, die in his narrowed throat. “It’s about–” he clears his throat, eyes burning and ears ringing, “-- about knowing when I can never be what she wants me to be,” he breathes, lips curling into a bitter smile and eyes blinking rapidly as if to clear them of the tears that threaten to fall. 
“Wonwoo…” 
Wonwoo turns, facing Soonyoung fully now. He can feel the desperate helplessness rip through his entire body. “How,” he whispers, and it feels more like a statement than anything, “am I supposed to continue on with my life when it means absolutely nothing,” he laughs. His head drops and there is a beat of silence before a small plop is heard. Wonwoo sniffs, tears tracing their unfamiliar tracks down his cheeks. “When I can’t live without her again?” His fist suddenly slams against the desk as a sob wracks through him. “I can’t do this anymore, Soonyoung. I need her by my side again.” 
Soonyoung’s warm comforting hand finds its place on Wonwoo’s shoulder, slowly patting it. If he is shocked at his friend’s sudden outburst, he doesn’t show it. “I know, I know. And she needs you by her side, Woo.” Soonyoung lets out a soft laugh at Wonwoo’s sniffles and trembling shoulders, which earns him a weak shove of annoyance from Wonwoo, making him stumble back with a louder laugh. “Come on, man. It’s going to be fine. If there’s anything I’ve learned from sending her letters, which you didn’t do–”
Wonwoo cuts him off with a loud groan, voice watered down with his dwindling tears.
Soonyoung grins, slapping his friend on the back. “-- Y/n hasn’t given up on you, no matter what she says. If anything, she wants to be with you as much as you do. You just have to–” 
A sudden knock startles both men into confused silence. 
Wonwoo’s brows furrow as he and Soonyoung share a look. 
Soonyoung gives him a sideways glance and Wonwoo shrugs, wiping at his eyes as he slowly stands up. 
“Who is it?” he calls, voice now void of any evidence of tears. His deep tenor carries across his study and through his door. 
It is quiet for a second before a rushed voice replies – breathless and pitched. 
“Your grace, I am a messenger from the palace! His majesty has sent an urgent message with me. I am to return with your consent by daybreak!” 
“From the king?” Wonwoo muses, pushing out from behind his desk. 
Soonyoung whistles, brows rising, “Urgent, huh?” 
Whatever this is, it isn’t something he wants to deal with tonight, is all he knows. Not any night, really, but especially not after the emotional blockade he just experienced. 
“God,” Wonwoo mumbles, sinking into one of the couches, “Just fucking tell him to leave it at the door. I’ll look at it tomorrow,” he mumbles in the general vicinity of Soonyoung. 
“I-”
Knock, knock. 
“Your grace,” the messenger again, pressing from the other side of the door. The urgency in his voice is unmistakable. “His Majesty has stressed that this requires your immediate attention.” 
Soonyoung shoots Wonwoo a pointed look, which Wonwoo shrugs off. 
“Are you gonna get that?” Soonyoung huffs, fingers drumming on the wooden surface of Wonwoo’s desk. 
Wonwoo lets out a loud groan, head dropping on the back of his couch. “No.” 
Knock, knock, knock, knock. 
Now it sounds much more urgent – like Seungcheol will have the messenger’s head if he didn’t have an answer by daybreak. 
“Your grace, I beg your pardon, but this is really of the utmost importance!” 
“I think this is really important, Wonwoo,” Soonyoung echoes, brows rising at the desperate knocks on the door. 
Wonwoo huffs. He stands, reaching for his discarded robe that sits next to him. As he shrugs on his robe, Soonyoung trails behind him and situates himself against Wonwoo’s desk.
“You can enter,” Soonyoung calls out lazily, earning a well-timed glare from Wonwoo, who is half-way through pushing his arm through the sleeve of his robe. 
“Who’s the duke here again?” Wonwoo mutters as the door creaks open, presenting a messenger. 
Soonyoung shoots him a cheeky grin, arms crossing as he leans back against the edge of the desk. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” 
Wonwoo rolls his eyes. “Do it with your knights, not with my guests, dumb–”
“--I apologize for my late interruption, your grace!” The messenger greets, bowing deep at his hips, hand resting on his chest. His pale face is ruddy, with splotches of red and pink stark against his skin, from the cold outside. 
Wonwoo blinks. Had the Capital messengers always been this enthusiastic with their greetings? 
“His Majesty insisted this matter could not wait,” is said quieter, with much less enthusiasm.
“Yes, well…” Wonwoo trails off, noticing the envelope the messenger grips in his hand. He clears his throat. “What is it that His Majesty deemed appropriate to send at this hour?” Really, if it was Seungcheol, it would probably be an invitation to a ball of some sorts. But the way Soonyoung stares at the envelope, the way the messenger quivers under his stare, hints at something more. And it makes his stomach churn. It makes his eyes dart from Soonyoung to the envelope to the messenger in a fast triangle, brows furrowing as the messenger stumbles over his words. 
“Your grace, I apologize for disturbing you but I was ordered to deliver this message directly,” the messenger repeats, hands trembling. 
Wonwoo sighs, his patience already thinning. “Deliver the message, then leave,” he says, voice flat and uninterested. Really, he could think of thirteen other things he could be doing right about now. 
From behind him, Soonyoung stifles a laugh. 
However, the messenger hesitates, clearly unnerved by Wonwoo’s piercing words. “I- I apologize, but His Majesty has requested a response by tonight.”
“Tonight?” Wonwoo’s brow furrows and he hears Soonyoung push off of the desk, footsteps light against the wood as he pads over to him. “His Majesty is well aware that my estate takes at least three hours from the palace. Surely whatever this is can wait until sun-up.” He gestures towards the crinkled envelope in the messenger’s hand. “Let me see it and you may return to the palace. I will send a message to His Majesty if I see fit.” 
The messenger hands over the letter, hands shaking. Wonwoo can feel Soonyoung’s peeping eyes stare at the envelope in his hands as he breaks the wax seal with a sharp flick. 
“What is this about anyways?” Soonyoung suddenly asks, admittedly too bored of waiting for Wonwoo to unfold the parchment out of the envelope in silence. 
“I-”
“-Quiet,” Wonwoo cuts off both the messenger and Soonyoung with his snapped word. As his eyes scan the unfolded parchment, inked with delicate cursive, his jaw tightens with every line. 
This is ridiculous. 
Wonwoo can physically feel the world around him crumble. He can feel the blood draining from his face and his teeth grinding together. 
He can’t do this. 
He can’t fucking do this. 
Not again. Not after everything. 
“What? What is it?” Soonyoung asks, stepping closer to try to read the letter. 
Wonwoo allows Soonyoung to read perhaps one word before the parchment is fisted into a ball in his hand. The thick paper folds surprisingly well under his grip. He tosses the ball onto his desk, followed by the envelope. 
“He’s summoning me north,” he says. The words feel like a punch to his gut as he utters them outloud. It’s one thing to read them and another to confirm them from your own mouth. There is not even room to argue. It’s the king, for fuck’s sake. He can’t argue. What Seungcheol says, goes. And he must know. Of course he knows – about you, about him, about them. So why? Why, why, why, why, fucking why? 
“Again?” Soonyoung frowns. Even he looks disappointed. 
Wonwoo wants to laugh. He wants to rip apart the note and throw it into his dwindling fireplace. He wants to strangle the messenger until this ghastly note disappears itself. He wants to laugh and cry and scream and throw up all at the same time because why. Why was it that every time he tries to right things, tries to make an effort, tries to keep things in the status quo, something comes up to ruin it? To shred it into the tiniest, microscopic pieces and dump it onto the floor for him to clean up? 
“Wonwoo?” 
“Yes,” Wonwoo replies, word clipped. “There’s a threat. He’s most generously decided that I’m the one to handle it.” 
Soonyoung leans against one of the high-backed couches, arms crossed. “He has other commanders. I can go by myself. Why you?” 
“Because it always has to be me,” Wonwoo mutters bitterly, a frustrated hand running through his hair. He turns to the messenger and he can’t help how tense he sounds. Not when he feels like there is a rope that is slowly choking him. “Tell His Majesty I will respond in the morning. You can leave with my answer then.” 
In any other situation, the speed in which the messenger’s eyes widen would be comical. Wonwoo’s too immersed in his own mind to notice. “But your grace–!”
“--I don’t care,” Wonwoo interrupts. His voice rises unconsciously. “I’ve had enough for one fucking evening. Stay in the guest quarters if you must, but you will leave with my response tomorrow at first light.” Then, almost as an habitual ironic afterthought, “Dismissed.” 
The messenger, though Wonwoo can see the hesitation in his eyes, nods at his command. He bows hastily, back-stepping out of the room. “As you wish, your grace.” 
The door clicks shut behind him. 
Wonwoo leans against his desk heavily, fingers fisted atop the dark polished wood. The room is silent, save for the dying fire and Wonwoo’s sharp exhales that sound more like sobs than sighs. 
Soonyoung sucks in a breath. “Seungcheol really knows how to pick his moments and stun a man.” 
Wonwoo laughs. It’s bitter – so much so that it almost startles him. “That–” he chuckles, gesturing vaguely at the door as his frustrations spills over into his words, “is the exact fucking problem he has. He doesn’t pick and choose, he creates them whenever it’s fucking convenient for him,” he hisses, eyes closing. He can’t do this tonight. If he thinks about this for one more second, he feels as though he’ll snap. 
Soonyoung sighs. “You’re mad.” 
Wonwoo’s eyes snap open, head tilting almost psychopathically as his brows furrow. “Of course, I’m mad!” he snaps. His hand comes down against his desk in a loud echoing slap! and he pushes himself off his desk, starting a pace back and forth. “Every time– every single fucking time – I try to focus on my life, my choices, my–” he cuts himself off, jaw tightening at the name that dies in his throat, “He pulls me back in like I’m some sort of pawn. If it’s not the north, it’s the title. If not the title, then the crown. If not the crown, then some other fucking thing in the nation that I frankly don’t give a clown’s ass about! It’s always something.” 
Soonyoung runs a hand through his hair like he’s debating on whether to indulge Wonwoo in his rant. He indulges: “You have to understand, though, Seungcheol’s a king. His priorities are to the kingdom. He can’t help that.” 
Wonwoo comes to a skidding stop, turning on his friend with a piercing glare that makes Soonyoung regret what he says almost immediately. “And me? What about what’s best for me? For her? If Seungcheol’s all happy-go-lucky brother-figure in her life, why doesn’t he think about her?” His voice drops to a bitter mutter as he continues, unaware of how disheveled he looks with red eyes and fly-away hair. “He doesn’t care. He never has.” 
“You know that’s not true.” 
Wonwoo scoffs. It’s loud and echoes through the room. He wants to cry. He wants to sit on the floor and hug his knees to himself and just cry. Not go to war. Not fight in battles that were frankly not his to begin with. “Isn’t it?” he breathes, opening his arms wide. “He sends me off to fight in his battles while he plays Society host. He tears me away from everything I’ve ever wanted, cared about, and I just take it. Like some rich owner’s lap dog, expected to just smile and bow and salute and say Yes, your majesty, like I’m worth only what my fucking sword has to offer!” Wonwoo’s voice is tense with emotion as he all but yells the last few words out. He can feel the hot tears down his cheeks again and he hates it. He hates it and hates it with all his heart. His shoulders heave and shake as he catches his breath. He finds himself face-to-face with the stones of his fireplace mantel. His fingers grip the edges like he is steadying himself. “I’m so fucking sick of this,” he whispers, words barely audible. But it echoes. It echoes the loudest. 
Soonyoung crosses the room, a warm hand on his shoulders, grounding him. “Wonwoo,” he starts, and Wonwoo just knows he’s going to say something smart and understanding and reasonable, “If you’re this angry, tell him. Don’t just sit here and brood in your self-pity. You’re first and foremost his friend, not his servant. Seungcheol’ll listen if you-” 
“-- Would he?” Wonwoo interrupts, facing Soonyoung. He takes in how Soonyoung’s eyes rake over his face, taking in the tears, the blushed cheeks, the bite of his lip. “ It feels like all I ever do is follow orders. A sword to wield, an archduke to parade, an asset to marry off. And then a friend, in some cases.” 
He knows, he’s being too harsh. He’s known Seungcheol for at least twenty years. It’s not like this is old news. He knows Seungcheol’s duty to the country will always override anything. Even his love for Mingyu, his own brother. And he knows it’s not done maliciously, especially not to people in his circle. But sometimes – sometimes – his words feel like a snow storm just ripped through your entire life and uprooted every single memory from the malleable ground. 
“You’re more than that.” 
“I know.” 
“You’ll figure it out. You always do.” 
Wonwoo doesn’t respond, instead turning back towards the dying flame. 
“It feels like time’s always fleeing, Soon,” Wonwoo whispers, forehead meeting the cool stones of the mantel. The childhood nickname is nostalgic on his tongue. “I need more.”
“Then start chasing it. If you need more, start chasing for more.”
------------------------------
There is a profound feeling of desperation and sadness in a leaving dawn, Wonwoo decides. The dawn of today feels too cruel – a biting cold that settles too deep in his chest. It feels heavier than the steam of his breath in the cold morning air and heavier than the icy icicles and thick sheen of snow that clung to the cobblestones and the rooftop gargoyles. Around him, horses hoof at the stones beneath their feet. Perhaps they are as desperate as him to not leave the safety, the warmth, the longing of the Capital. Or maybe they’re just hungry. Either way, Wonwoo feels a pang of relation (though short-lived when his horse nudges against him), with the horses. 
Clangs of metal fill the royal courtyard as the royal knights, under the command of Soonyoung (really, if not for his uniform, no one would guess for him to be the Commander-in-Chief), and the Northern Knights, under the command of himself, busy themselves with the final preparations. Soonyoung loiters by his side, already mounted on his horse and (im)patiently waiting for his subordinates to finish tightening useless straps on their horses’ harness. But even Wonwoo could see how his usually cheerful nature is subdued. 
Time seems to slow as the sun rolls along its usual path along its sky route, painting even the shadows of the royal courtyard a magnificent display of golds, reds, and oranges. The knights grunt as they mount their horses and some clamber onto military carriages that hold supplies for the next who-knows-how-long stay in the North. 
Soonyoung yells something out from next to him. 
The horses jostle and neigh before the first line starts to trot across the courtyard and out the wrought-iron gates of the palace. 
But Wonwoo couldn't move. 
He sits rigidly on his horse, gaze locked in on the silent castle and its closed wooden doors, guarded by no one at this hour. It’s always the same, he thinks. Every time he thinks he can finally stay, every time he promises to stay, every time he thinks he can finally put her first, duty to the crown always tears him away. Far away. To the North, far away. And the ending is always the same. She’ll get a letter from either him or Soonyoung (whoever's letter reaches her first), and she will have to stay alone, frightfully along, battling something he was unable to help with again, as he fought to the inch of his death in some random Northern county to protect an inconsequential-yet-tremendous border. 
His fists clench tighter around the reins as her words, her face, her trembling bottom lip fills his mind. 
You just leave, Wonwoo. Again and again. 
And he had shaken his head no. He had promised her, with tears and determination in his eyes, that he would stay. 
No. No, you have to believe me, I won’t. 
Yet here he was, ironically. 
Yet here he was, breaking that promise like the others he had broken (unknowingly) before it. And it wasn’t even the leaving part. It was the inevitable cyclical nature of hope and heartbreak of your relationship. Every chance he had with you seemed somehow destined to crumble and shatter under the weight of some other letter or some ill-fated re-commission into the battle fields he had thought he had left behind the prior campaign. 
And he just couldn’t fucking escape. 
He wonders, briefly, if you were even at the palace. He wonders if the messenger is currently running through the palace hallways, trying to locate your room to deliver his letter. He wonders if it was enough – his explanation, of course. His futile attempt at explaining  his situation, his rise to duty (again) and how if it weren’t for the official commission, he would have never left. His futile attempt at convincing her that he would stay had ended the same too, though. He wonders if she had ever sat in her sitting room, against that windowsill by her fireplace, quietly hoping for his return from this godforsaken battlefield. 
“Wonwoo,” Soonyoung calls softly. It breaks the suffocating quiet. “We have to go.” He says it more as an order. 
An unamused laugh escapes Wonwoo’s mouth. He can’t help it. This entire situation feels like a series of dreadfully unfortunate events on his part. 
“I can’t,” he whispers, voice barely audible to even his own ears. He is rigid on his horse and his hands seem frozen in place on the reins. The leather of his gloves creak under the strain as his fists tighten. He feels his horse shift from foot to foot, sensing his unease. 
Soonyoung turns his horse to face him. His brows are furrowed and there is a brief pang of guilt in the shallow part of Wonwoo’s heart at the concern written all over his friend’s face. 
“What do you mean ‘you can’t?’” Soonyoung asks, blinking. “You have to. You don’t have a choice.” 
Wonwoo’s jaw clenches and his eyes squeeze shut. His words feel like they are forced out of his throat, “Don’t tell me things I already know,” he mutters. He swallows. He can feel the uncomfortable ball of frustration that he seems to be increasingly familiar with at the back of his throat. Jesus. “I promised her, Soonyoung,” he spits out, and he can feel his emotions (in the form of reluctant tears) rise up to the surface, “I promised her I wouldn’t leave again.” He heaves out a sigh that sounds like it is ripped from his lungs. “I promised. She had my word.” 
Soonyoung’s reply didn't come immediately. Quite frankly, Wonwoo did not need it to come immediately. The weight of his friend’s silence was heavy enough. Enough for Wonwoo to know what Soonyoung would say. 
“I’m so fucking delusional to think-” Wonwoo cuts himself off as his throat tightens. If he continues, he knows that he’s going to cry – dissolve into a mess of tears again. Except this time, it would be exponentially more embarrassing to shed a few tears in front of five thousand of his men. But his eyes linger on the castle doors. As if his sheer force of will could make her appear on the palace steps, waiting for him in the cold as the snow flurried down around him and his knights. As if just simply staring at the wooden door in front of him could move her from her slumber and into his arms so that he could say one last goodbye before he breaks her heart again. Just like he always does. 
Please come out. 
His eyes widen just a fraction as the door creaks open. 
His face drops when it is only a messenger, a bag slung over his thick coat and still in the process of pulling his hat down over his mess of hair. 
The gates shut tight behind him. The castle is silent once again. 
There is a sound of horse hooves behind him and Wonwoo knows his men are getting increasingly restless. They don’t want to ride up north any more than he does. Some of them have wives, most of them have more tethering responsibilities like sisters, brothers, parents, and family businesses. 
He wants to laugh at himself. It took only one month and two weeks in the Capital for him to forget this feeling of helplessness when he left – when he left you behind. It was like he was twenty one again, leaving for the first time, not knowing he wouldn’t step foot back into the protected walls of Society for three years. Not knowing that he wouldn’t see your face again for another tormenting three years. He wishes you could come out. He wishes he could stay a little longer – just until the sun is fully in the sky and the church towers blare their bells. But dawn is a picky little thing, and the glowing orb in the sky has already raced past his time of leave. 
“Sir.” A knight. “Your grace, we need to leave now in order to make it on time to the northern camp. It’s already past dawn, sir,” he states. 
Wonwoo sighs, loosening the grip he had on his reins. “I know, Lim, I know.” 
“C’mon, Wonwoo. Let’s head out,” Soonyoung says softly, handing him a fur hat with a grin that doesn’t really reach his eyes. Wonwoo cracks a smile, though shaky, as he pulls it on. 
With a shaky breath, the winter wind whistling in his ears, Wonwoo tugs his reins, turning his horse towards the open gates. 
“Let’s go.” 
It’s not an order. Rather, it’s more of a statement – something that he convinces himself he should be doing: following orders. It is his duty. The longer he waits in the falling snow for someone who he knows will not magically appear, the longer the road to the north becomes. As his men start trotting out of the palace gates, his body jerks as his horse follows suit, leading him (unwillingly) further away from the palace. 
Soonyoung sighs from next to him. “You’re not leaving because you want to. Y/n knows the kind of man – the kind of person you are. She’ll understand.” His words, supposed to be comforting, only leave Wonwoo with a heavier heart. He wishes he could argue against Soonyoung’s words. Tell him that he’s not sure if she would understand after everything he forced her to endure by herself. He had failed her so many times – to stay, to protect, to shield her – that every time he tried to find a way to fix everything, the world found some threshold way to pull him away. 
As their horses move through the gates and the iron-wrought lock clicks in place, Soonyoung gives him a sideways glance that Wonwoo pretends he doesn’t see. 
“What are you thinking about?” comes Soonyoung’s question. 
“Nothing,” is Wonwoo’s one-word answer that he knows Soonyoung won’t believe. 
And he doesn’t. 
“Liar,” Soonyoung laughs as they pick up the pace, now galloping against the snow-covered road that leads to the edges of the capital and into the north. The sound of hooves against the well-paved Capital roads ring in their ears and their coats fly behind them as the snow falls faster in harder flurries. 
Wonwoo’s eyes sting. First from the wind rushing into them. And then from the ache in his chest that swelled until it felt unbearable. His breath hitches with every gallop and thud of his horse’s hooves against the road that slowly turns more worn and uneven. With every shaking breath he inhales and as the cold whipped at his eyes and cheeks and nose, his vision went blurry. Blurry and blurry and blurry until his breaths suddenly come out in hitched sobs and his cheeks are wet and warm with salty tears. He wills it to stop as he brushes a furious hand over his eyes. From the corner of his eye, he can see Soonyoung stare at him as they race across the outskirts of the Capital. 
“You okay?” Soonyoung’s voice cuts through everything – his thoughts, the wind, his tears. 
Wonwoo nods, blinking back the rest of his tears that threaten to fall. “Fine.” 
Soonyoung’s shrug is followed by a sigh, “Whatever you say, man. Just don’t fall off your horse.” 
“Fucking face forward.” 
Soonyoung’s laugh, head tilted back and teeth shining, brings a smile, though reluctant to his own lips. And for a second, he has hope that when he returns, they will be okay. 
------------------------------
The sound Wonwoo hates the most is the sound of ripping flesh. The sound of burning buildings. The sound of destruction that surrounds and encaptures the air around the event. It brings forward a devastation that people would think impossible until they lay eyes on it themselves. A sound that even he thought was impossible until his third day in the military campaign, three-ish years ago, fighting not far from this very battleground. A sound that would haunt him even in his sleep, paired with the blur-inducing image of a knight under his command, crumpled to the ground, a glinting spearhead shining from the small of his back and blood slowly pooling out of his mouth: instant death. 
The smell Wonwoo hates the most is the smell of blood-curdling iron. The bitter smell of warm blood that pools with mines of iron that hit the inside of his nose with a sharp knife. The smell of sharp blood that hits the inside of his nose and pokes and prods his malleable brain. That assaults his eyes that have seen things worse than a simple wound. But it’s a gushing wound. A gushing, tearing, irony wound that he sees in front of him. And he can feel the gag and bile rise to his mouth, which he swallows back down in a desperate attempt to seem calm. 
And imagine his own surprise when, suddenly, he hears the haunting sound of ripping flesh and smells the overwhelming odor of warm blood hit his senses, followed by a searing, blinding, sharp pain in his shoulder. 
The battlefield is chaos. Not only this one, but all and every one he has been to. In this one, the snow is almost blinding and the clash of steel and courageous men fill everyone’s ears. Wonwoo can barely feel the cold. This is the final battle. If he wins, there is no more war. At least, not supposed to be. If he wins, there is no more fighting the nation’s battles. If he wins– 
Suddenly, everything moves in slow motion: like he is watching himself from another screen or like he is reading a book about himself. 
The sharp whistle of something cutting through the air is his single warning. It gloats past his ear like a little child who stole your candy without you realising. The next warning is not as much of a warning as it is a promise. A promise of something akin to death? 
Wonwoo turns, but – ah – too late. The pain he expects – more painful than he thought, actually – erupts in a flowering and deep maroon bloom in his shoulder as the weapon (a spear, he finds) strikes. It’s his fault, he guesses, that he had chosen today to be the day he forgoes armor. He’s always worked better without armor. His weakness, he realizes, a little too late. 
The spear lodges itself in his shoulder with a sickening force. His breath hitches, eyes blurring over as the shock of the weapon’s blow steals his balance. He staggers as he feels his flesh rip and the iron assault his nose. One of his hands instinctively goes up and grips the shaft of the spear. 
God…
His legs give out and he finds himself kneeled over, sword embedded in the ground and a long ass spear sticking out of his shoulder. At least it wasn’t his right one. 
“Wonwoo!” 
Y/n? 
Ah, no. 
He can very clearly, at least, see Soonyoung running through the clamor and chaos of the remaining bits and pieces of a retreating force (when had they started winning?). Soonyoung sounds awfully panicked and concerned as the knight fully jumps off his horse and starts sprinting the rest of the way to Wonwoo. There is a momentary pang of fulfillment – because who wouldn’t want their best friend running to their side in a time of need – before the sharper pain of the goddamn spear claws its way into his nerve endings. 
“Wonwoo! You-” 
Wonwoo’s eyes widen as Soonyoung leans over him. In an almost habitual instinct, his right arm shoots out, the flat edge of his sword meeting another metal. At the sudden attack, Soonyoung whips around, sword already in hand, and makes quick work of the rest of the problem. 
The man is dead on the ground in ten seconds flat. 
Wonwoo chuckles, every breath bringing tears to his eyes. The pain is sharper now as cries and shouts of victory fill up the barren, frozen, bloody valley. He goes to rise but immediately sways on his feet. His vision swims dangerously and the edges of his world suddenly darken. 
“Wonwoo, fuck, what happened to you?” Soonyoung rushes out and Wonwoo isn’t too sure if it’s the effect of the blood loss, the cold, or the spear sticking out of his shoulder, but his ears ring and he can barely decipher what Soonyoung says. 
“You’re funny,” Wonwoo laughs out, stumbling into Soonyoung’s steadying hands that make quick work of inspecting his body. 
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Soonyoung mutters (Wonwoo thinks it’s mostly to himself), as he sharply whistles for his horse. “Why is the fact that you look whiter than snow and have a fucking spear sticking out of your shoulder funny?” 
Wonwoo accepts Soonyoung’s slinging of his good arm over his shoulder, dragging him over to his horse that had come to a light trot in front of them. 
Wonwoo clenches down on his teeth so hard he thinks they’ll break when Soonyoung helps him onto the horse. For a second, he thinks he’s going to black out. If someone had ever told him getting hurt would hurt this bad, he would’ve never become a knight. God. 
“Is the spearhead through the back?” Wonwoo asks instead, and at his own words, he’s instantly much more aware of the long stick poking out the front of his shoulder. 
Soonyoung hitches himself up behind him. “Yeah. Don’t talk.”
“Ha!” Wonwoo laughs (or tries to). But it’s empty. He can feel the bile rise in his throat again. He doesn’t have the strength to swallow it down this time. The horse whinnies and neighs as he throws up onto the right, his shoulder throbbing at another beat to his slowly slowing heart. He can’t help the tears that flow down his cheeks and the remnants of his undigested breakfast make its way up from his stomach and into the open. He can’t help the choked gasps and groans of pain either. Neither can he do anything when he feels Soonyoung’s warm hand on his back, right under the wound, and a foreign pressure against the wound itself – like someone had grabbed the spearhead. 
A grunt of exertion and the same tearing of flesh. 
A clatter of metal and wood. 
A shout of pain (from his part not anything else). 
A gush of blood that coats the back of the horse and dribbles to the ground. 
And then a blinding pressure against the wound. 
“Stay awake!” Soonyoung yells right in his ear. Wonwoo feels a sharp slap against his cheek but his eyes are fluttering shut. Soonyoung should’ve never pulled out that goddamn spear. 
“You-” Another shout of paint interrupts Wonwoo’s own words as the horse starts accelerating into a gallop and Soonyoung applies more pressure against the wound. “Fuck, take it easy.” 
Wonwoo’s head lolls against Soonyoung's shoulder. And he realizes that this is the first time he’s ridden side-saddle. It’s exceptionally uncomfortable, and not just because he’s gushing blood. 
“Shut the fuck up. You’re losing blood.” Soonyoung’s words sound so much like an order it actually makes him shut up. 
He barely registers Soonyoung’s yell to return back to main camps and someone to ride ahead of them to notify the medics of the wounded. He also barely registers someone coming up behind him and tightly wrapping his shoulder until he feels the blood slow to an occasional dribble. Perhaps the cold helps clot his blood. He doesn’t really know. 
He and Soonyoung have already been riding for at least five minutes before he actually realizes that the horse has started moving again. And when he does, each bump and gallop on a different leg jolts pain up his body and into his shoulder. He can’t imagine what he looks like now – bloody, teary, gasping oxygen into his lungs as he leans against his best friend who holds him close to his chest. It’s a weird feeling. 
“Tell her…” Wonwoo gasps, the words leaving him before he can think them through, “I didn’t mean…” another gasp, “to leave.” His voice breaks at the end when the horse suddenly jumps over a fallen tree. 
“You tell her yourself,” Soonyoung snaps. Wonwoo’s unsure if he’s angry at him, at the horse, or at his wound. Perhaps all three? 
As the ride lengthened, the packed snow slowing the horse down, Wonwoo’s breaths turn more shallow and uneven, and he knows Soonyoung can feel his warm, wet, sticky blood seeping through his gloves. 
“Hah,” Wonwoo swallows but his mouth feels disgustingly dry, “Y/n,” he mutters, “should’ve stayed… should’ve–” his voice fades out, replacing itself with a broken mumble of words even he cannot make out. 
“Stop fucking talking,” Soonyoung hisses and Wonwoo can clearly hear the tremble of worry in his friend’s voice. Soonyoung’s grip around him tightens. It’s rather comforting to know at least one person doesn’t want him to kneel over and die. 
But for some reason, his lips cannot make out anything else except her name – like a prayer. Or a plea of some sorts. Like some lifeline that tethers him to the current world. “Y/n… doesn’t know… I–” a pained groan interrupts him again and he feels the tether slowly loosen in his grasp.
The next time he regains consciousness, they’ve arrived at main camp, medics crowding Soonyoung’s horse as Soonyoung tries to help lower Wonwoo onto some sort of stretcher cot thing. He feels the burning sensation of the rubbing alcohol against his wound as the medics clean his wound. 
“...not taken out the spear, Sir!” 
“I-!” 
“-See?” Wonwoo laughs, face scrunching in pain and eyes screwing closed as the rubbing alcohol meets his shoulder again. “Told you it was a bad fucking idea. Now I’m gonna die and–”
“--Okay! When I told you to shut the fuck up, I meant for you to shut the fuck up entirely. Not only when you please, smartass!” Soonyoung snaps, and Wonwoo doesn’t even mind his friend’s raised voice. He deserves it, anyways. 
Wonwoo opens his mouth to retaliate, only for a scream of pain to be ripped from the confines of his throat when the medics pour something all over his wound and turn him to the side. Wonwoo’s breaths come out in desperate pants and he feels his heart start to race when his vision quickly closes around the world, blackening the edges of his sight too quickly for his liking. 
And before he can even say anything, he finds his eyes fluttering shut and his body going limp, followed by a prick in his arm that barely registers. Well, compared to the gaping hole in his shoulder anyway.
Soonyoung
War camps are usually grim. More when people lose, but it’s grim. The scent of iron and burning wood always lingers in the cold air and the sterile odors of rubbing alcohol and medical ointment always burns itself into the grooves of your brain by the end of the campaign. And you have to enter a war campaign, yes, with hope, but you also have to brace yourself for the worst. Like losing family. Or friends, for that matter. Except, when that time actually comes, or when you think that time will come, you’re never ready. Of course you aren’t. Because who’s ready to see their best friend fall to his knees with a giant fucking spear lodged in his shoulder. 
God, when Soonyoung first saw Wonwoo stumble and fall, he had thought the spear had hit Wonwoo’s chest. Or some more important organ in his body. He saw Wonwoo’s life flash before his eyes. 
It’s a dangerous combination: worry, concern, and panic. It muddles your brain and makes you do stupid things like pull the said spear out of your best friend’s shoulder to leave a huge gaping wound and then get berated over the entire action when you reach the medical tents at main camp because apparently you’re not supposed to do that? 
But still. 
The medical tent is, unusually, quite empty. Empty, considering all the casualties the order had this time around. God, right. The casualty reports. He had completely forgotten in the midst of this mess.
“Sir, will you be glaring over our shoulders the entire night?” Yewon asks. Her pretty brown eyes flutter up to Soonyoung as her hands still over Wonwoo’s open wound, half-stitched. The other medics nod in support of her question. 
“I was not glaring,” is his reply. His arms cross as he leans against a pillar. To the right of him is the stainless steel medical trolley containing the rubbing alcohol bottles, some weird-smelling dark ointment, surgical thread and needles, and Wonwoo’s dark red bandages that were only thirty minutes old.
Yewon laughs. If she wasn’t working in this campaign, Soonyoung would have thought of courting her, except she was working in this campaign and she was conveniently working directly under him. All the more reason to start glaring.  
“Sir, quite frankly, you’re making the newer nurses nervous.” 
“Not you?”
“No, definitely not.”
“Then, not my fault if they can’t work under pressure.” 
“Not pressure, Sir, but constant scrutiny?” 
“Same thing.” 
“Definitely not–”
A groan coming from Wonwoo’s mouth cut them both off. Yewon glances at Soonyoung like he had something to do with Wonwoo waking up earlier than planned from his herb-anesthesia-induced slumber. Soonyoung shrugs, instead moving closer to Wonwoo.
He looks bad. He doesn’t think he’s seen Wonwoo this bad since the one Knighting Duel when Wonwoo got dagger-stabbed in his thigh. But even that was just a nick to him. This wound has his hair matted with cold sweat and head lolled to the side. His lips move in unfamiliar words. 
“Y/n.” 
Soonyoung scoffs, “For God’s sake, Wonwoo.” 
He repeats her name, voice hoarse and weak. The sound is so quiet Soonyoung almost doesn’t register it, but by Wonwoo’s third repetition, Soonyoung knows everyone has heard. 
Yewon clears her throat, diverting her gaze, “He’s delirious. It’s common with wounds like this. He’ll be in and out for a while.” 
As if his utter infatuation with y/n is a common herb-induced delusion. Ha.
Soonyoung decides not to comment on Yewon’s words, instead brows furrowing. He nods, dragging a chair over to Wonwoo’s cot to actually hear the broken words slipping from his delirious friend who is hopelessly in love. It’s a surprisingly good combination, deliriousness and being in love. 
“She hates me,” Wonwoo slurs, face twisting with pain. Soonyoung tongues the inside of his cheek as Wonwoo’s fingers twitch weakly against the blanket. “I promised,” Wonwoo gasps, “swear I didn’t mean to leave her.” 
Soonyoung can feel his chest tightening. It hurts him more, Soonyoung thinks, that Wonwoo’s relationship with Y/n had always been a relationship that was meant to be but just started at the wrong time. Soonyoung knew. Of course he did. He had grown up in the Capital with the royal family and the high classes of Society. He had attended the National Academy with Wonwoo, Joshua, Mingyu, and Y/n. He had been one of the only people who had seen firsthand how Y/n and Wonwoo’s relationship had blossomed, only to fracture, shatter, stumble under the weight of everlasting duty and simple circumstance. And now, hearing Wonwoo talk only about the woman he had always loved was almost too much to bear. For the first time in his life, Soonyoung felt something akin to pity for his best friend. 
“She hates me.” 
Soonyoung scoffs, leaning back against his chair. “You’re an idiot, Wonwoo,” he mutters, though it’s more to himself than anything. 
Wonwoo’s head turns slightly to the side as if he’s looking for something. 
Ah. 
Someone. 
Wonwoo’s brows furrow and his voice cracks at the pain of the slight movement. “Will she take me back?” he whispers, eyes fluttering open just briefly. They’re glassy and unfocused, staring into the depths of the flapping canvas of the tent. “Soonie,” he mumbles, and Soonyoung sits up at the nickname, “do you think…” a gasp of breath, “she’ll forgive me?” 
Soonyoung doesn’t answer immediately. He can’t. His throat tightens. For a moment, there is nothing he knows to say. He had seen Y/n’s heartbreak, her anger directed at both herself and Wonwoo, and her attempts to move on. He had been the one who had sent her letters of the three year war campaign and Wonwoo’s condition – though she never asked for it – every week. But he had also seen Wonwoo’s side. He had seen his midnight insomniac strolls, no matter how cold the weather was. He had seen Wonwoo’s body-wracking sobs as he woke up from a nightmare of losing his parents all over again. He had seen Wonwoo’s decision to never move on from his childhood love and how he had tried everything to return to the Capital. Soonyoung was the recipient of Wonwoo’s late night musings of perhaps living with Y/n in his Capital estate in the future and helping her tend to the garden and buying her whatever she wants. 
“She’s mad,” Wonwoo rasps (as if he knew what Y/n is feeling at the very moment), and Soonyoung bites his lip at the tears pooling in his friend’s eyes. “She should be.” Wonwoo’s voice breaks and he turns his head away, body trembling under the layers of blanket. Soonyoung isn’t too sure if it’s from the pain or from the cold. “I just keep leaving,” Wonwoo mumbles, eyes squeezing tight, “I always leave.” 
Soonyoung sighs, leaning forward to grasp his friend’s hand that twitches on top of his stomach. “Wonwoo,” he says softly, squeezing Wonwoo’s hand, “Stop tearing yourself apart. Your first thought when you’re near-death should be more about staying alive for her rather than if she’s mad at you for leaving. Focus on surviving. I swear she’ll be furious if you croak.” 
But true to Wonwoo fashion, he doesn’t seem to hear Soonyoung’s words. “I’ll write her. Tell her,” Wonwoo lets out a low groan of pain. Maybe the herbs were wearing off? “I’m sorry. So so so sorry,” he murmurs, the words slurring together. Soonyoung can only watch as a single tear traces down a track from the corner of Wonwoo’s eyes, down to his cheek, before rolling into the pillow. 
Soonyoung clenches his jaw. It’s not every day you see your best friend cry. Except, he will say, he had seen Wonwoo cry more in the span of the past two months than in the three years he was with Wonwoo during the war campaign. Soonyoung grips the edge of the cot. “You’re not dying, okay?” He says. He hopes it’s firm enough to snap Wonwoo out of whatever self-deprecating shithole he’s floundered himself into. “You’re not dying. You’ve got too many fucking problems to fix. If you want to apologize, Y/n’ll hear your apology from your own goddamn lips.” 
Soonyoung almost laughs when Wonwoo doesn’t respond, his body, Soonyoung guesses, finally succumbing to the pull of sheer exhaustion and pain. Soonyoung watches as Wonwoo’s chest slows to a steady rise and fall, though it remains obviously shallow, and his face relaxes into an uneasy sort of calm. 
Slowly, Soonyoung rises from his seat, pulling one of Wonwoo’s blankets further up his naked chest until it sits right below his wound. If Wonwoo returns to the Capital injured and sick, he would never hear the end of it from Y/n. 
“Sir?” 
Soonyoung turns, coming face-to-face with Yewon, who looks more exhausted than she did a while ago. That’s what war does, he guesses. 
“Keep him alive,” Soonyoung orders, voice harsher than he intends. But Yewon, nor the other medics, flinch. “I don’t give a flying fuck what it takes. Keep that man alive.” 
He doesn’t stay to hear any of the medics’ responses, instead stepping outside the sterile-smelling tent. When the cold air blasts his face, he exhales. It’s heavy and thick in his chest. 
His fingers drum on his thigh as the sudden memories of Y/n crying during one of his visits to the Capital flood his mind. He laughs to himself at the memory. The week before, he had written to Y/n (well, to Seungcheol, but it had happened that Y/n had also read it), that Wonwoo had sustained a large gash while fighting further up north near the border, and that he had to get stitches for his wound. He was basically asking if Wonwoo could return to the Capital for a proper medical check. Technically, if Soonyoung was honest, the gash wasn’t bad. Wonwoo had barely lost significant blood and he was fine. More than fine, actually, since that day, he had been out fighting with the rest of the knights, but Wonwoo seemed so miserable without the Capital (read: Y/n), that Soonyoung either needed to send him back to the city or make him shut up. 
He distinctly remembers Y/n running up to him with tears in his eyes, asking if Wonwoo was okay, if he was alive. He also distinctly remembers her forcing out a sigh of relief with the words “I don’t know what I would’ve done if things went wrong,” leaving her mouth. 
Soonyoung had never experienced love like that, but if whatever between Y/n and Wonwoo wasn’t the purest sort of love, he wasn’t sure what to base “love” off of. He had firsthand seen how her eyes softened when she spoke of Wonwoo. Even after everything. 
So, Soonyoung didn’t have the heart to tell Y/n about this yet. Not until he was sure Wonwoo would make it conscious and upright to the Capital. But one thing was distinctly clear: if Wonwoo had been fighting for anyone, it wasn’t for the nation or his Archduke title. 
It was for her. Her and her only. 
y/n
“My lady! My lady!” 
You turn from your seat at the windowsill, watching the snow fall in flurries to cover your garden. Nai comes running into your room, and when you see the waving letter in her hands, your heart thumps to a halting stop in your chest. Your blink rapidly. 
“Nai?”
You stand, dusting off your dress in faux calm. You feel your heart start hammering in your chest when Nai hands you the letter and you read the address. 
Kwon Soonyoung
Commander of the Royal Knights
“It’s a letter, my lady, from the battlefields. It just arrived,” Nai huffs, out of breath, certainly, from running up the estate stairs. 
You bite your lip and you can feel the familiar tightness start in your throat again. “What-” your voice cracks, “what is it about?” 
Nai shakes her head, pushing the letter further into your hands. “No idea, your grace. Perhaps it is encouraging news?” 
You hesitate to open the letter. There are the remnants of tears left in your eyes from the morning. This is the first correspondence of any sorts your had received since Wonwoo had up and fucking left for the northern war. And you had thought that he would write to you at least. That he would have written because you had finally gotten around to thinking that you could start with him again – that you were finally okay with his situation (not really, but still). That he would at least have the decency to let you know of the circumstances of this prolonged battle. That he would view you with enough dignity to even simply send someone over to express his feelings. Something that would clarify things for you. But of course. This was Wonwoo. He always got up and left without any prior notice. 
Your finger slides under the envelope flap, tearing it open. 
You suck in a breath at the first few sentences. 
“Wonwoo…” you whisper. 
It’s like your world is spinning. It’s like all the blood slowly drains out of your face and goes to power your heart that thuds dangerously fast in the confines of your chest. You feel your fingers curl in, wrinkling the crip parchment, dotted with ink stains. You feel the tightness in your chest and the thick ball in your throat. You don’t know what to say. What to think. The words written in Soonyoung’s familiar messy scrawl blink back up at you, unwavering and unrelenting. 
Y/n,
I hope you are doing well. My plan was not to notify you regarding this, but Wonwoo insisted. You know how he is…
He took a spear through the shoulder in the final battle. He’ll recover (medics approve!), but he’s been muttering delirious sentences at me and anyone who thinks to change his bandages. Every other word out of his mouth is your name. “Is she angry, Soonyoung? Will she forgive me, Soonyoung? What if I died, Soonyoung?” Seriously, someone needs to shut him up (I’ve tried). 
Anyways, I thought it would be best for you to hear about his current state from me rather than from the Society rumor mills. Don’t worry, y/n. But I will be frank with you. He’s lost a lot of blood and he’s exhausted from everything. We’re trying to either get a Capital medic up north or go back down to the Capital ourselves, but the roads are icy and I barely had enough of a melting window to send this letter.
You should know this though: he didn’t want to leave. He made me promise to tell you that. Whatever you think of him, whatever he’s done to make you believe he doesn’t care, you’re wrong. I’ve never seen a man so willing to leave the battlefield—not for his title, not for his honor—but for the chance to go back to you.
He’s stubborn as hell, and sometimes he makes decisions that would test the patience of a saint (you <3), but he’s fighting for more than simple duty. He’s fighting to survive so he can stand in front of you again and beg for the chance he thinks he doesn’t deserve.
So if you’re still angry, yell at him. If you’re still hurt, let him know. But please, don’t let him wonder if you hate him. It’s killing him more than the damn spear did.
Love, Soonyoung
You gasp in a breath, the letter falling to the ground. You barely register Nai picking it up and leading you over to your bed, sitting you down. You barely register her handing you a cup of water and forcing you to drink it. You can’t register anything. Not when–
“How deadly is a spear to the shoulder, Nai?” you ask. Your voice is high pitched and hysterical and it sounds muted and faraway to your ears. 
Fuck, he can’t die. 
Nai blinks. “A spear to the shoulder? Well, it depends on how big the wound is, my lady. The bigger the wound, the greater the chance of blood loss.” 
You swallow, breaths coming out in shallow exhales. Soonyoung told you Wonwoo was fine. He was fine. He was fine. He was fine. 
But why is there a gnawing sensation in your gut? Then why is there a sinking feeling in your gut that’s telling you he’s not? That Soonyoung was simply lying for your sake? What if Wonwoo was actually near-death? What if he was– 
“_-if that person doesn’t receive proper medical procedures?” 
Nai furrows her brows. “My lady, the war campaign’s medics are–”
“--That’s not my question, Nai!” You snap, head turning to your maid. Your eyes brim with tears as you trace over the words in your brain. 
He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s lost a lot of blood. He’s lost a lot of–
“--Well, they would need a blood transfusion. Only Capital doctors are certified for that procedure, my lady.” 
You’re quiet. Pros and cons. 
Don’t let him wonder if you hate him. It’s killing him more than that damn spear is.
There are only two pros on your list. 
Wonwoo lives.
He doesn’t think that you hate him. 
But those are two pros enough to convince yourself. The next few words out of your mouth are rushed and panicked. 
“I’m going. North, I’m leaving North,” you gasp, shooting out of your seat. You stumble over to your closet, throwing the door open and walking in, desperately digging through your countless dresses for something fur-lined. Something warm. 
Nai runs behind you. “My lady? North? Whatever for? It’s cold! You’ll fall sick!” She fusses with the corset back of your lounge dress, undoing it to help you into a new one even through her words. 
You shake your head, snatching the thickest cloak you see and slipping into your riding boots. “Send the estate’s medics up to the northern camp,” you order, clipping the cloak shut by your chest. You pull the thick hood over your head, wiping a stray tear off your cheek. You shove the crumpled letter into the cloak pocket. “I don’t give a shit if it’s icy. They will be there by noon tomorrow. Pack with them enough food and any medical equipment they need.” 
You walk out of the closet after snagging a pair of hunting daggers decorating your dresser surface. 
“My lady!” Nai yells, running after you. She grabs your wrist, halting you. “My lady, you cannot go up north by yourself!” 
You shake her off. You don’t even realize you’re shaking until you feel Nai’s hands steadying yours. “Then send an estate knight with me. I don’t care. I’m going up north right now.” 
Nai huffs, her grip on your hand loosening enough for you to pull it out. You turn on your heels and walk down the hall. Nai follows. 
“My lady, Archduke Jeon will be okay,” Nai hums, a comforting hand placing itself on your shoulder. You shrug her off. “Heading to the north may only make things worse, my lady. The archduke–”
“--He thinks I hate him, Nai!” you cry, whipping around. You feel tears poke at your waterline and your shaking hands hit your chest in frustration. “He thinks I hate him! Soonyoung just told me that they need Capital doctors. If you think I have enough self-pity to stay in the Capital while frankly, the one person I have ever loved may just as well die thinking that I hate him, you don’t know me as well as you think you do.” 
When you feel the tears stream down your face, Nai pulls you into a tight embrace. It’s comforting. But only for a moment, before Soonyoung’s words replay in your head. 
“Nai, I have to,” you whisper, voice thick with tears. You don’t know what you would do if Wonwoo leaves thinking you hate him. You’ve never hated him. Ever. Not when he left you alone to go play with Mingyu and Seungcheol when you were younger, not when he didn’t kiss the back of your hand during your debutante, and definitely not when he left you to go fight the nation’s war. You’ve never hated him. Resented him? Yes, perhaps. Frustrated at him for always leaving? Yes. Betrayed that he could never tell you why? Yes, definitely. But hated him? Never. And you were going to first burn your estate than let him think that you’ve ever hated him. 
“Then take a knight, at least.” 
“I don’t care who you send behind me for protection. I’m leaving.” 
Nai presses a pouch into your hands with a knowing look. “I know, my lady. These are silver coins for emergencies. Please be careful. The journey to the north is at least four hours.” 
“That’s why I need to go now.” 
Nai purses her lips but nods, stepping away from you. You give her a tight, wavering smile. 
“I’ll be okay, Nai.” 
Nai nods, bowing deeply, before letting you turn away and run down the rest of the hall and out into the courtyard. 
Your fingers clench the clasp of your cloak and your eyes squeeze shut for a split second, trying to blink back the tears. 
He’ll be okay. 
He’ll be okay. 
He’s okay. 
When you arrive at the entrance courtyard, your mare greets you, pawing the ground with her hooves. You waste no time with formalities towards the two guards flanking your sides, instead choosing to haul yourself up the horse and tug the reins, swallowing the lump down your throat as a strong wind whistles through the treetops. 
“My lady, are you sure–” Jedediah Kim speaks up, only to cut himself off when you avert your teary gaze to him. 
“--I need to,” is your simple response, voice shaking with not only tears but also with some emotion that is harder to place. Jedidiah holds his tongue, opting to just nod and share a look with Jay Lim who flanks your other side. 
“Your wish is my command,” he murmurs. The words are simple. They are words you’ve heard thousands of times before in your life, yet now, facing the brutal, windy, icy journey that you knew lay ahead, it seemed more as a pledge of loyalty, of unfailing servanthood than anything.
“Let’s go,” you whisper, but it carries. It whistles through the slanting morning sunlight and the brittle bones of the trees littering your courtyard. It swims through the canvases of the road laying before you and you mumble out a small prayer to any deity who will listen. Anyone who could let you know how he really was. 
The moment you pass into the arched entrance of the Northern Forest – a place you vaguely remember passing through when you were seven, riding a carriage up to your grandfather’s Northern estate – you’re hit with the extent of how bad your idea is. Not the motive behind it, of course. And nothing can stop you from getting to Wonwoo by evening, but you hadn’t expected a snowstorm to greet you on the doorsteps of the northern camp. The snowflakes border dangerously on small balls of hail and the winds tear through the rather flimsy excuse for a cloak you have on. 
“Your grace!” Jedediah’s voice breaks through the whipping whistling winds. Just barely.
You give yourself a second to glance back at him, whose horse can barely keep up the same pace as yours, before you return to look straight ahead. 
“Your grace, we are literally riding into a snowstorm!” Jedediah yells. His voice is muffled by the winds and the snow. 
As if you don’t know. 
“I am well aware!” You yell back, pulling your cloak tighter around your body as you lower yourself closer to the back of your horse. Maybe it’s a placebo effect, but you swear it’s less windy this way. Or maybe the four-hour ride was finally catching up to you in the form of hysteria or something. 
You swear you can’t feel your legs. If you hadn’t been glancing down every ten minutes at your feet, you could swear that your legs fell off three kilometers back. Your fingers feel frozen on the thick reins, unmoving except for the occasional squeeze or pull to veer your mare back in the right direction. And you definitely can’t feel your face, especially not with the wind heading straight-on to you, threatening to pull your hood up and over your head. But everything pales in comparison to your windward thoughts, spider webbing this way and that, never settling on an idea for more than one minute, lest it turns into a reality. 
You think you’ve gone through at least thirty one scenarios of finding Wonwoo half-dead on in the medical tent. And don’t get started on the other fifty four possible scenes of your entrance into the camp and then finding Wonwoo half dead in the medical tent. 
And it feels like you go through hundreds of these scenarios – quite schizophrenic – before you see the clearing used for the northern camp. It’s almost idyllic how the snow suddenly lulls into a softer blanket of white, unlike the harsh gusts of ice and frigid wind just minutes before, as you approach the clearing, hooves heavy against the frozen forest ground. The knights’ forms are mere shadows against the snowy white background of the otherwise-beautiful landscape behind the main camp. As your mare slows to a fast trot, the cacophony of the snowstorm that had assaulted your ears slowly changes into a mix and a mingle of bustling knights and occasional laughter. Along the camp’s perimeter is a line of crude barricades, most likely to keep away the snow piling too much, and the grounds are surprisingly empty and crowded at the same time, with knights rolling up spare tents and packing up unused or too well-used armory into wagons. At least half of them are visibly injured, with either crutches, arm slings, or bandaged heads (something you only heard of back in the Capital), and almost every one of them turn to look at you as you pull your mare to a sudden stop, simply and cleanly ignoring Jedediah’s hurried calls after you as you step down from the saddle, swallowing down the dryness of your throat. 
It’s a weird feeling because you were sure you could face all of this when you left your estate five hours ago. Now, you are standing in the entrance of the Northern camp, underdressed for the snowstorm that had been billowing outside ten mere minutes ago, hair wild from the wind, eyes colored red from the tears you had unknowingly shed, and body trembling – from the cold, the shock, the exhaustion, you aren’t too sure. 
You see their mouths moving before you hear the whispers as you stagger your way into the camp. The snow crunches under your feet and you offhandedly register Jedediah’s complaints of riding in the snow for five hours straight, and you minutely register the flakes of snow that decorate your hair. But nothing – nothing – pales in comparison to the thundering of your heart that has been transported generously to your brain, thrumming a melodramatic, syncopathic, urgent beat against the very fibers of your being. 
As you move into the camp, crossing the perimeter line, you glance around frantically. You can’t see him. At least, not from your current vantage point. You can feel the stares of everyone drilling holes into your head and if you were in any other mental state, you would have questioned why no one stopped you from entering yet. Each crunch of the snow underfoot is then drowned out by either the bustling of the camp or the chattering of your teeth that you don’t know is even happening until you clench your jaw and suddenly a noise stops. You feel high-strung. So high-strung to the point that you feel like if you don’t see Wonwoo in the next ten minutes, you might as well sit down and start crying. 
You’re so out of it that you don’t even notice the figure watching from the outskirts of camp until he starts jogging towards you, voice sharp with surprise and not-that-hidden accusation. 
“Y/n?” 
You whip your head – which grants you five seconds of almost complete blackness as your world spins, and you regret not taking your iron supplements like Nai had suggested – and come face-to-face with a brow-furrowed Soonyoung. His grip is firm against your shaking shoulders and he’s tense with some sort of anticipation and concern. 
“What the fuck are you doing here?” Soonyoung hisses, eyes frantic as they glance behind the two of you. His tongue darts out in between his pursed lips. “Do you have any idea how dangerous–” 
You have no mind to stand and listen to him tell you to ‘go home.’ 
“Where’s Wonwoo?” you interrupt, voice hoarse and trembling, Your words break off at the end and even you are surprised at how distraught you sound. You barely give Soonyoung a glance, eyes wild as you try to look over his shoulder to search the camp. 
Soonyoung visibly freezes, his grip loosening on your arm. “That’s why you’re here?” he scoffs, running a stressed hand through his hair. “Y/n, I didn’t send you that letter for you to come running up to a battlefield because you–” 
“--Soonyoung!” You snap, eyes locking with his. And maybe it’s the way you’re gasping for breath, or the godforsaken snowflakes in your hair, or your wild eyes, or maybe your rumpled clothing, but Soonyoung shuts up, glancing at you and then further behind you, where you can hear the rolling of a familiar carriage. “Soonyoung, where is Wonwoo?” At this point, you’re on the verge of begging your old friend. You’re desperate. You need to see him. You need to look him in the eyes and hold his face in your hands and tell him you’re sorry. Because God forbid if this shit happens again and all that you come to is a cold, lifeless body. 
“...he’s in the middle,” Soonyoung whispers, swallowing as you push past him, stumbling through and over the barricades and the strewn battle items. 
The knights glance your way, their movements slowing as you push past anything or anyone in your way, flatly ignoring the looks and calls of confusion, concern, and your name. 
You almost stumble to the ground when you finally see him – tall and resolute in the midst of everything. The snow falls in gentle flurries around him as he speaks with three other knights, gesturing vaguely towards the group of boxes on the other side of the camp. His back is towards you, his focus obviously on the knights speaking to him, but when all three of their eyes widen almost comically and they mumble something about a woman behind him, he turns. 
His eyes meet yours. You see his entire body freeze, his clipboard slipping out of his grasp and sinking into the snow-covered ground. 
And it’s as if something in you breaks entirely. A dam or a wall of some sorts. Something that had been the sole energizer behind your five hour ride into the northern territories, through a snowstorm, and now, here, in the middle of a military camp, completely powers off, leaving you standing along, cold, exhausted, and on the verge of tears, like you have been since the third hour on horseback. A sigh of relief is punched out of you. Relief that Wonwoo’s alive. That he is walking. That you can tell him without having to lean over his cold body and cry a river. 
Your legs give out, your knees hitting the cold snow. 
Wonwoo’s eyes snap open. “Y/n!” His voice rings out as he rushes to your side, knees also hitting the snow with a hard thud. His hands hover around your shoulders and waist, as if he’s unsure if he can touch you or bring you into an embrace, but the look on his face is unmistakable. His eyes are blown wide with alarm and you can see the deep dark circles under his eyes even through your slowly blurring vision. 
Wonwoo swallows, “What- what are you doing here? Are you hurt? Are- are you okay? What–” 
“--How could you?” you choke out, your voice shaking as your tears that had been gathering for hours finally decide to spill over, marking their tracks down your cheeks, chin, and onto the snow. 
Your words make Wonwoo tense up, his hands freezing from their hovering near your face. “Y/n…” For a second, he looks so pained you want to just bring him into your arms and tell him everything. Just let him encircle you in his familiar warmth and bask in the safety of his arms. 
“You left me,” you whisper, voice aghast with some sort of panicked grief, “Fucking again.” 
The guilt that flashes across his exhausted face is instant and dreadfully sharp. “I never– I didn’t want to leave –” 
“--Shut up!” You cry out, burying your face in your shaking palms, tears now drenching your icy face. “Just– Wonwoo, just shut up!” 
Wonwoo flinches as though your words had physically struck him, browning knitting together in ill-concealed anguish. “Y/n, listen, please, I didn’t have a choice–” 
“--You always say that!” You sob, your voice rising to a level of hysteria you personally thought was incapable. You don’t mean it to slip in, but there is a bitter undertone to your words. “Every time, Wonwoo, it’s the same fucking excuse. I didn’t have a choice. I had to leave. Do you really think that makes it hurt less?” You gasp, wiping your eyes, streaming with tears, to tearfully look up at Wonwoo, who stares at you with reddening eyes and a parted mouth. “Do you think that makes it okay?” 
Wonwoo shakes his head, his fingers curling around your wrist to pull your hand away from your face. “Y/n, I was trying to protect–”
“--Protect me?” you snap, bitterness imbued into every letter of your words. “Explain to me how leaving without a word is protecting me. How breaking every promise you ever made is protecting me,” you force out, angrily wiping away your tears. You barely even notice the stares from the knights around you. You shove a finger into Wonwoo’s chest. “Do you know what’s it’s like to wait for someone, not knowing if they’ll ever come back? If they even made it out of the first week alive? To love someone who keeps walking away?” 
Wonwoo suddenly grasps your hands, pulling them to his chest, laying them flat against his beating heart. “I didn’t want to leave,” he whispers, voice breaking. 
“But you did!” you yell, and you feel a fresh onslaught of tears in your eyes. “You did! You left and I-” you gasp in a breath, one hand clutching your chest and another gripping Wonwoo’s cloak, “I couldn’t breathe, Wonwoo. Every time I heard– heard your name, I thought–” you heaved, “thought you were dead!” Sobs wrack your shaking body as you clutch the furs of his cloak like it is the only thing grounding you to the present. “Do you even care? Do you understand what it feel like to lose someone over and over and over again?” 
“Y/n–” 
“--I can’t do this,” you cry, shaking your head as tears blur your already-clouded vision. “Wonwoo, I can't keep loving someone who always ends up leaving! Everyone I love leaves. My mom, my dad, my grandmother – they left. And just when I think I can finally at least have you by my side, you–” a bitter laugh escapes you, scratching blood down your throat, “you’re just like them. Always leaving, always running, always breaking your promises of staying.”
“I’m not–” Wonwoo’s voice trembles as he reaches for your hands again, only to have you pull away. 
“You are!! You left, Wonwoo. You left and you didn’t even think to say goodbye. How could you do that to me? How could you do that to me!” You’re left gasping for breath – mind reeling and throat constricting, and vision blurring out of control. Everything’s too much. You shouldn’t have come to the North. You should’ve–
“I can’t, Wonwoo,” It seems as though your mouth works separately from your mind, “I can’t keep waiting for you to come back, wondering if the next time I wake up to the news of your departure will be the last. I can’t go through that again. I can’t–” 
"Y/n, please, please just give me a chance--"
"--I can't, Wonwoo, i don't know how--"
"--Y/n, please, you-- you're everything to--"
It’s as if the walls to your own brain are closing in on you. All your thoughts are racing and your pulse quickens with every breath you take. It doesn’t take long before the confession is forced – squeezed – out of your entire being.
“--I love you,” you choke out, the broken confession falling from your lips like your salty tears fall from your chin. 
Wonwoo stares at you, stunned, like you just told him something extraordinary.
“I love you so much it feel like I’m breaking,” you say, your voice trembling as the sobs escape uncontrollably, staring dead-straight into Wonwoo’s eyes, “Like I’m tearing apart at the seams because of much you worry me and stress me out and make me cry and leave me waiting for years—” your hands reach up to him shakily, clinging to his cloak, “I hate it. I hate how much I love you because it hurts so much. It hurts, Wonwoo, it hurts.” You finish with another sob, head bowing as your forehead meets his chest. You feel his breath coming out in small stunned sighs against your hair. His hands hover as though his touch will make you rescind all your words.
His voice cracks as he whispers, “What did you say?” 
You look up, blinking as your lips tremble, tears trickling down your cheeks. “I love you.” You glance down before laughing mirthlessly, “I love you almost too much.” 
For a moment, Wonwoo is quiet. So is the camp and the rest of the world. Then, almost rushed, you feel a warm hand against your frigid cheek and a sudden swipe against your cheekbones. Next thing you know, Wonwoo’s lips are crashing into yours, molding shape against your plush lips. Your eyes are wide before another hand, though less confident, sneaks down to your waist, pulling you flush to him, chest to chest. His grip is tight against your clothes, against your frigid skin, as if a grip any looser will make you run away. He holds you like you’re fragile – like any stronger and you’ll break. Like letting go will shatter him. But his kiss is intense, strong, deep, as if he is pouring out his entire soul into a single kiss. When your eyes flutter closed, he breaks apart, and you see a single streak of a tear down his cheek. 
“Say it again,” he breathes, forehead meeting yours. 
Your mind is hazy from the kiss, and your fingers rise to brush against your lips. But your tongue moves with no wait for your brain. “I love you.” 
Wonwoo swallows and he lets out a small laugh, and with every passing millisecond that he holds you and brushes his thumb against your cheek, his smile grows with his laughter. “God,” Wonwoo mumbles, pulling you into his arms in a tight embrace, ignoring the sharp pain in his shoulder. “God, I love you. I love you, I love you, I love you, I love you,”  Wonwoo rushes out, a hand threading through your hair. You can feel a couple of tears that drop onto your cloak but you can’t bring yourself to care. Not when he’s right in front of you, mumbling nonsensical I love yous into your hair. 
Wonwoo pulls back to rest his forehead against yours, tears filling his exhausted eyes. 
You chew the inside of your cheek, bringing your hands up to his face. There is a sharp pang of guilt as you watch tears slip down Wonwoo’s smooth face. “Don’t cry,” you whisper, gently brushing the tears off his face with shaking hands. You try to steady your fingers, at least, but it feels like your adrenaline has finally worn off and you can distinctly feel the icy cold seep into your bones. Every bite and sting of the wind is sharper than you remember it to be and the flurries of snow around you land on your skin with a frigid sort of burn. 
Wonwoo is quiet before stands quickly, pulling you up to your feet, which you do, save for the slight stumble. 
“What-”
“-You’re freezing, Y/n,” He states, holding you at arms-length to glance up and down your body. You see his eyes narrow as you tremble, eyes blinking rapidly to drive away the blurriness. 
He suddenly reaches for the clasp of his cloak with his good arm, reaching behind him to shrug off his cloak. His good arm fumbles as he drapes it over your shoulders, movements stiff but deliberate. When he tries to adjust how the cloak sat on your shoulders, you see his eyebrows furrow as if he’s in pain before it disappears behind his focused expression. 
“Won–”
Wonwoo turns away, pointing to the first knight he sees with an air of command, “Get the fire going in my tent,” he orders, tone regaining its commanding edge. “Now.” 
The knight, rather shocked at the sudden singling-out, glances around himself before he salutes, rushing off into the biggest tent. 
Wonwoo’s arm snakes around your waist, pulling you tight against him as he motions Soonyoung over. “Take over here,” he hums, expression softening slightly, “Finish the preparations. We’re still leaving as planned.” 
Sonyoung raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “And what do you want me to do with this half-assed packing, huh?” he glances between the two of you with twitching lips, “Magic it into completion?” When you roll your eyes, Soonyoung sticks a tongue out at you childishly. 
“Just handle it,” Wonwoo mutters, patience obviously thinning as he glances back at you, tucked into his side, head resting against his chest. “I’m taking her into the tent. She’s freezing out here.” 
Soonyoung shrugs, picking up Wonwoo’s dropped ledger from the snow. He tuts when some of the ink is smudged from the snow. “Fine, go be in love,”  he sighs, gazing off to the side as if he is reminiscing about some old love of his (which never ever happened). 
You smile, genuinely, at his words. A feeling that you’re not used to creeps up your throat. It threatens to make itself known when Wonwoo pulls you closer — as if you could get any closer to him — and pokes at your eyes. 
“Come on, let’s go inside. You’re shivering.” 
It takes you a moment to register in your dulled head that Wonwoo is talking to you and not some other knight or even Soonyoung. You would have swayed on your feet if it isn’t for Wonwoo’s tight hold on your waist. Everything feels a little hazy and you don’t know if its the exhaustion or if its the cold that lulling your brain to sleep. 
“Y-yeah,” you mumble, looking down at the ground as Wonwoo just gives you a soft glance, leading you to the direction of his tent, away from all the knights and the bustle of the packing. 
You can see Wonwoo glance down at you at least twice every five seconds, as if he’s making sure if you’re really there, and you feel a pang of guilt — or regret, maybe? You didn’t completely think through your course of action when you had deceided that you needed to go up north. It didn’t really occur to you at the time that maybe Wonwoo would already be swamped with responsibilities bigger than you (like organizing the knights), until now. And seeing Wonwoo try to hide his every wince of pain when he even just moves his shoulder to better grasp your waist, basically holding you up as you stumble through the thick snow. 
“I’m sorry,” you mumble, palms digging into your eyes. When you remove them, black charcoal from your waterline follows, smudged and thick. “I’m sorry for coming, I didn’t really think through the—“
”—Don’t say that,” Wonwoo interrupts, his eyes sharp, even through the exhaustion and the pain lingering and floating in his orbs. He looks almost pained at your words and you mentally hit yourself at the constant distress you cause this man. “Don’t say that, Y/n, please. You— To me, you being here means more than everything. The only thing,” Wonwoo gives you a heartwarming smile, glasses fogging up as his puffs of breath hit the surface, “you shouldn’t be doing is staying out in this cold.” He lifts up the tent flap, ushering you in before closing it behind him. 
The first thing you notice about his tent is that it’s warm. It’s warm and toasty, thanks to the fire that’s blazing in the makeshift fireplace. The second thing is the sheer amount of nothing in his tent. It’s spacious, but only because the room contains nothing but a single cot, a desk, a chair, sheepskin rugs, and a random table in the middle of the room. As Wonwoo sits you down on his chair, pushing you closer to the fireplace, you notice the stacks of papers that line his desk, just waiting for him to come back and finish signing them off. You also notice the stiffness in his shoulder and how he works to minimize any movement in it. 
“Wonwoo–”
“--Here,” Wonwoo interrupts, flapping a thick fur blanket over your shoulder. You don’t miss the way he bites back a hiss of pain at the sudden movement. He gives you a smile, though thinner than last time. 
You shake your head, gently grasping his wrist, stopping him from moving his arm. “Wonwoo,” you repeat, firmer than before. He finally holds your stare, eyes flickering from your forehead to your eyes to your lips and then back up. 
He hums in response, kneeling in front of you so that he’s eye-level and not towering above you. He maneuvers his hands so that your hands rest in his. You feel his thumb gently smooth over your knuckles, calloused palms so warm under your touch. He looks at you like you hung up the stars and briefly, you wonder how you never saw the love in his eyes. 
“I brought my doctors,” you murmur, one hand going up to trace your fingers along his sharp jaw. You cup his cheek, fingers brushing against his pale skin, still slightly cold from the outside air. Your gaze flits down to his shoulder, bandages obvious under the thin tunic he has on. The stain of red clearly disrupting the sterile white has you worrying. “You need Capital medics, not just ones from the war camp.” 
Wonwoo’s eyebrows furrow, a hand going up to cover yours on his cheek. “Who told you that? I’m–”
“--Soonyoung did,” you state over his words, quieting him, “and don’t tell me you’re fine because there is no way your stubborn ass actually rested.” You give him a knowing glance and he glances away, murmuring something about being busy helping his knights pack and filling out paperwork. 
When you don’t respond, Wonwoo sighs, leaning into your touch. “You didn’t have to.” 
You bite the inside of your cheek. “I know. But I needed to.” 
Wonwoo gives you a confused look, blinking as if to tell you to continue. 
You bite your lip as you feel another rush of tears. “I–” your voice cracks, “I thought you were going to die before I told you the truth,” you whisper, feeling a stray tear drop from the corner of your eye. It feels refreshing, almost, to get it off your chest – to let someone else into your fiercely-guarded heart that was once (and still is) his. 
Wonwoo is quiet, studying your features as if looking for more unsaid feelings – things you’ve kept to yourself for these long years. When he deems it enough, he catches you off-guard, turning his head to leave a long kiss on the inside of your wrist, his eyes fluttering shut for the briefest of moments. 
Then, without moving, he murmurs into your palm, “Y/n,” his voice trembles at the last syllable of your name, “I’ve been in love with you for so long I don’t even remember what it feels like to not love you.” 
Your breath hitches and your heart pounds in your chest as his words wash over you like a tidal wave. Over and over again until every other sound surrounding the two of you sounds like meaningless white noise. Wonwoo says something, you know because you see his lips moving, but everything after his confession is a blur. It’s mere ringing in your ears compared to the soft words he had just murmured into your palm like agave honey down your throat. 
“...I know I’ve hurt you,” Wonwoo suddenly says, snapping you out of your daze, “I know I’ve made mistakes that I can never make up for. But if you can forgive me–” he cuts himself off, shaking his head, pulling your hand down into your lap, “--no, if you can even just let me try to– I swear to you, I will never leave you again.” He sounds breathless after the last word, like it took all the oxygen in his lungs to convince you of this fact. 
You don’t even realize you’re crying again until you feel Wonwoo’s fingers brush the tears off your face. 
“Never ever?” You ask, voice quiet and tinged with an edge of teasing. You fiddle with the silver ring that encircles his pinky. 
“Never ever,” he confirms, brushing the last of your tears off of your wet cheeks. He laughs as you blush under his touch, cheeks heating to a dusty pink. 
You sniffle, rubbing at your eyes. You pull your hands out of his grasp, instead trapping his face in between your palms. Wonwoo’s eyes widen a bit at your sudden actions. 
“You’re going to get that shoulder looked at when my doctors arrive,” you state. You want your words to sound firm, but it actually comes out more as a meek order than a non-negotiable sentence. 
But still, Wonwoo nods, a small smile gracing his lips. Your heart thuds in your chest. 
Fuck, if you knew battling this whole thing straight-on would make him smile so much, you would’ve done it sooner.
“Promise,” you add, holding up your pinky. 
Wonwoo links his pinky with yours, twisting so that your thumbs stamp together. Before you can say anything else, he pulls you by your hand, his good arm going to steady your waist when you suddenly jolt forward from the momentum. His hand cups your cheek (and you pretend to not notice his grimace of pain), as he leans in, a grin dancing on his lips. 
“I promise,” he whispers, his breath hot on your lips, before his lips meet yours. Softly as first, then with some growing carnal intensity that steals your breath from your poor lungs. It’s as if he is pouring all of his emotions into the kiss, the sincerity, the love, the truth. He mumbles something against your lips as he pulls back, but it’s lost in the pounding of your heart and the small embarrassing gasps you let out when he pulls you to stand, his lips now trailing soft kisses down the column of your throat. You hope, with eyes squeezed shut, that he can’t feel your erratic pulse under the thin skin of your neck. 
When he teasingly bites, right above your collarbone, you jolt, hands finding purchase higher on his chest. The movement has him wincing, face suddenly buried in the crook of your neck as he turns away from you, arms stiffening around your waist. 
You freeze, eyes blown wide open as Wonwoo lets out a soft noise. 
“I’m so– so sorry,” you gasp, unsure of what to do as Wonwoo just stands there, breathing heavily, a pained grunt escaping him. “Are–” you try to pull away, “Are you okay?” When Wonwoo doesn’t respond, your brows furrow, shifting so that your arms wrap around his waist, leaning so that your head rests against his chest. You can faintly hear his heartbeat from where your ear presses against his chest, and Wonwoo seems to relax a smidge under your embrace. “I’m sorry,” you mumble into his chest, feeling Wonwoo breathe a sigh into your hair. 
“I’m fine,” he replies after a beat of silence, save for the crackling of the fire. His voice is tight but not angry. “Don’t be sorry, ‘s not your fault,” he murmurs. 
You beg to differ. But you decide to keep your arguments to yourself, at least when he’s injured. 
“You need to rest,” you hum, eyes closing as his good arm goes up, fingers threading through your hair. 
“Later,” he rebuts, pressing a soft kiss on your temple. “Need to help with the packing.” 
You click your tongue. “A normal person wouldn’t even be out of bed in a week with a puncture wound as bad as yours.” 
You can feel Wonwoo’s lips curve into a smile against your temple. “Are you calling me abnormal?” 
“No, I’m calling you not self-responsible,” you huff. “Have you ever stopped to consider what would happen if you actually ripped your stitches open and your wound got infected? How are you even walking around? Don’t you feel the–”
“--Y/n–”
“--No, listen to me. You can’t just jump right into your duties after you were stabbed within an inch of your life–”
“-- Y/n–” 
“--Wonwoo. I asked the doctors before and they said–”
“--Love,” Wonwoo laughs, his head tipping back ever so slightly. His glasses slide low on his nose. But it’s the pet name that makes you actually shut up. 
You blink up at him, mouth slightly parted as he gives you a quick peck on the lips, the tips of his ears blushing red as you stare at him. It’s like your heart just stops for a second. But Wonwoo acts like everything is as it was. 
“You’re adorable,” Wonwoo chuckles, giving your forehead a peck as well. His injured arm’s hand sits low on your hip. 
“W-what?” 
Wonwoo gives you a cheeky grin, pinching your hip. “I’ll rest after I finish these reports, yeah? Just thirty minutes.” 
You nod, but your mind is still reeling from what he had called you before (Love!!!!!). “O-okay. That’s fine. But you have to.” 
Wonwoo just hums in response, gently adjusting his cloak that is on your shoulders. He looks down at you for a moment, meeting your eyes, before swooping in to steal another kiss, lips stretched in a grin as he whispers, “I love you. More than you know,” against your lips, and he smoothens your hair with such care and utter love that it’s hard not to believe him. 
Your eyes flutter shut and you reach up to cup his jaw, rising to your tip-toes to kiss him back. Wonwoo gently pulls your head back as he leans down, tongue swiping over your bottom lip with such practiced ease it almost makes you jealous of anyone he ever kissed before you. 
You detach with a gasp, out of breath and cheeks definitely a dark pink. Wonwoo’s tongue darts out to lick his lips, the edge of his mouth lifting as he thumbs your bottom lip, pulling the flesh down and swiping over your kiss-bitten lips with a laugh. 
“Sorry,” he grins, tucking a stray curl behind your ear. “Can’t help myself.” He curls a finger around your hair, lightly pulling on it with a teasing sort of smile. 
You let out a laugh of disbelief, burying your face in his muscled chest, face heating at his words. 
“So crude,” you mumble, but it’s not without a smile. Your cheeks hurt from how much you are smiling, arms returning to their place around Wonwoo’s waist. 
When you glance up, you feel your breath hitch. Wonwoo looks down at you with such an infatuated look in his eyes it churns your stomach. You feel tears prick at your eyes and you quickly go back to hide your face in his chest, lest he sees your watering eyes. But of course, it’s Wonwoo.
“Hm?” He gently goes to lift your head, but you shake your head no, holding him tighter, like you’re subconsciously afraid that if you let go, he’ll collapse. “Love, what’s wrong?” he asks, voice ever-so gentle. 
“Nothing,” you mumble, cheek pressed up against his chest. “Just,” you fist his tunic, feeling a tear slide down your aching cheeks, “it feels good to tell you– cathartic, I guess – that I love you.” Your cheeks burn at your confession, your voice trailing off into a meek whisper by the end of your hastily put-together sentence. 
Wonwoo just kisses the top of your head, gently peeling you from his chest with minimal resistance from you. “You know, right?” 
“Know what?” 
“That I love you, angel, more than anything.” 
His forehead rests against yours and the last word is a faint whisper against your lips but it rings clear in your ears. Internally, you hit yourself over the head because how could you ever have doubted this man – though battle-worn and sometimes clueless – and his love for you. 
And for the first time in years, you felt comfort in letting yourself believe him. 
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: ̗̀➛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴛᴡɪɴᴇᴅ -- ᴇᴠᴇʀʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ɪɴ ʙᴇᴛᴡᴇᴇɴ @syluslittlecrows @gaslysainz @meowmeowminnie @luvjichang @peachytokki @nicoleparadas @haneulparadx @venuszaa @lilylikesthat @ppaia @ameliamirabela @tearsdntfall617
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sughuru · 1 year ago
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you, me, and the sky above
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- gojo satoru x reader
In the quiet stillness of the night, you find yourself waking to an empty bed, wondering where Satoru disappeared to. As you search for him throughout your shared home, you discover him staring into the dark sky, his eyes revealing the weariness from a challenging mission. 
genres/warnings: angsty, fluff, hurt/comfort
notes: hello hello this is my first post on this acc so if you'd like to read more of my work, come check out my other works! my first language isn't english so don't mind the grammatical errors, sorry! :') anyways i love satoru sm u dont understand
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You woke up to the bed being empty and cold. Strange, you could’ve sworn Satoru went to bed with you last night. You grabbed your phone to check the time, reading 3:02 AM. It's barely three; where did he go? You got on your feet and slowly dragged yourself out of the bedroom to look for the man. 
“Babe?’ you called out, flicking the light switch on in the bathroom, assuming he went to the toilet but there was no one. Then to the kitchen it was, maybe he needed a cup of water–But that wouldn’t make sense; he always has a cup of water by the bed in case either of you wakes up feeling thirsty. Perhaps he went out for a run, or was it an emergency mission; still, he would’ve told you. Just when you were about to give up, you noticed him.
Satoru, your boyfriend, staring out into the dark sky. What was he searching for? Upon closer inspection, you noticed the dark circles around his eyes, his eyes were slightly puffy, his blindfold dangling loosely around his bare neck.
Surprisingly, he didn’t sense your presence, he always managed to notice you but tonight, his thoughts seem to be elsewhere.
"Satoru," you said softly, approaching him cautiously. The moonlight highlighted the contours of his face, and you could see the weariness etched into his expression. You knew about how exhausting the mission was yesterday, even his facade wasn’t strong enough to fool you. Yet, you didn’t say anything, not wanting to upset him any further.
"Is everything okay?" you asked, your concern evident in your voice. Satoru turned to you, and for a moment, it seemed like he hadn't expected anyone to notice his silent contemplation. His eyes, usually vibrant with energy, now carried the weight of unspoken burdens.
Satoru hums in response, a quiet one. Usually, he would whine about how the higher-ups made him do such a tough mission or how he has to work overtime, missing out on spending time with you. Tonight, he just stayed silent.
"I didn't mean to worry you," he said, his voice carrying a weight you hadn't heard before. "I’m sorry.” he dryly laughed, plastering a smile on his face, except, that smile didn’t reach his eyes. You frowned, realizing that he wasn’t letting his guard down anytime soon.
"Don’t," you responded gently, your hand resting on his.
Satoru took a deep breath, his gaze shifting away for a moment before returning to meet yours. “I just... I needed a moment,” he admitted, his voice soft but laden with sincerity. “The mission, it hit me harder than I thought.”
For a moment, Satoru's shoulders relaxed a fraction, as if the weight he carried had found a temporary respite. "The mission...it took a toll on me more that it should have, I-”
You squeezed his hand, offering a silent reassurance. "You don't have to go into details if you're not ready. But know that I'm here to listen whenever you're ready to share."
The two shared a moment of peaceful silence.
You prompted gently, "Is that why you're awake?" 
Satoru shook his head, his gaze momentarily dropping. "Bad dream," he admitted, the vulnerability in his voice belying his usual confidence.
Your heart sank at the revelation. "Satoru-" you whispered, tightening your grip on his hand. 
Satoru sighed, and a playful glint entered his eyes. "What happened to 'you don't have to go into details'?" he asked, a lighthearted tone replacing the previous heaviness in his voice.
You couldn't help but smile at the sudden change in atmosphere. "Well, you know me," you replied, matching his playful tone, "I can’t help it, I’m nosy.” she pouts
Satoru chuckled as he pulled her into his arms tightly, “come here, you’ll get cold.” He looked up at the stars again, admiring them. You couldn’t help but admire him. His blue eyes, they always shone brightly even in the darkest of nights.
"Come on," you said gently, offering a reassuring smile. "Let's head back inside. We can talk more if you want, or we can just sit in silence. Whatever you need."
Satoru's grip on the balcony’s railing loosened, and he followed you back into the warmth of the indoors. As you closed the door behind you, you couldn't help but hope that the darkness outside wouldn't linger within him for much longer.
“I love you, you know that?” he smiled, this time, reaching his eyes. You smiled back, “I love you too.” 
Satoru’s blue eyes that were dulled moments ago, now sparkled with hope and love once again. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss against his forehead, a promise of warmth and solidarity.
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gnocchisworld · 7 months ago
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Beautiful Stranger
Joost Klein x singer!reader
Summary: reader is playing at a festival and her set is right after Joost's, they meet in the backstage tent after his stage and hang out after reader does hers! Rumors circulate after fans spotted the pair and they reconnect after missed opportunities when they were together :PP
Word Count: 2.6k
Warnings: no use of y/n, YEARNING! no physical description of reader but uses of she/her and feminine descriptors!
A/N: omgomg this is my first fic ever on here so anyways I am a firm believer of the meeting people twice theory like yes second chances yes reconnection yes!
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Entering the backstage tent of the festival, you were immediately hit with a wave of scorching heat, the sun's relentless rays seeping even through the canvas. The energy from the performance on stage outside was pulsing and lively, carried by the young artist who commanded the crowd's attention, music increasing the adrenaline in your blood. Yet even as you prepared for your own set, the background noise and excitement faded to a muted hum as you focused on your vocal exercises and cues. As you readied yourself, the atmosphere surrounding you was as sultry and intense as the heat outside, the hot air seemingly alive with a buzz of anticipation. 
With as much haste as the sound disappeared from your brain, a new, baritone voice flowed through the air. 
“Ah, sorry. Didn’t see you here.” 
You looked up from your daze and were met with a deep, hypnotic blue, one that would make even the skies jealous. The angles of his nose were perfectly shaped, as if God had taken extra time to mould the clay that would later take on his form. From the standpoint of a bystander, the two would seem like the sun and the moon; two opposites that seemingly complimented each other like second nature. As the silence lingered for a second too long and his gaze set comfortably on yours, you choked up the first words that came to mind.
“No worries! I was just lost in my own world there for a moment.”
He was entirely captivating — you were unsure of how to compose yourself as you burned under his stare. As if reading your mind, he quickly offers his hand out to you, eager to make any form of connection.
“You can call me Joost.” He urges, carefully tracing his eyes over every line in your face for a reaction.
Taking his hand in yours, you promptly share your name. A subtle yet powerful exchange — trading names — the fibres in which every invisible string between two people begins to entangle together. His hands felt as though they had once held the warmth of a flame, having the ability to breathe life into anything it touched. For lack of better word, you were electrified.
A careful knocking on the stage door alerted the two and prompted the release of your hands. Your manager walks in, choosing to ignore the other figure in the room.
“Sorry, you’re on in 3.” 
“I’ll be there, thanks, Jere.” He nods, closing the door with relative ease and resuming whatever words he was muttering into his walkie-talkie. 
A beat passes as Joost speaks up again, “Succes!” Smiling fervently, he lightly brushes the skin on your shoulder with his palm as he walks out into his own dressing room before you could even respond, taking with him the warmth of his presence.
Unsure of how to make sense of what had happened, you drowned in your own quandary. The blood in your veins were still pounding against the valves of your beating heart and your kidney was beginning to beat to the same rhythm. You were unsure of whether this was due to stage fright or your recent encounter, though it didn’t really matter anyways; it was the fact that they were both valid options. 
—-----------------------------------------------------------
As you step on stage, the roar of the crowd engulfed your senses like a crashing wave. Your eyes scan the sea of bodies, a kaleidoscope of colours and faces all there to witness your performance. Unconsciously, you were scouring for the blue that looked at you as if you had been the only girl in the world. 
Unbeknownst to you, he had joined the crowd to experience the passion that you had brought out with your music — he wanted to get to know you, and music is the window to one’s soul. As you sang your first song, it became adamantly clear to him how the atmosphere shifted and every light softened under your radiance. Your music highlighted the more subtle hues in life that Joost had not seen in awhile, eliciting memories of lustrous summers and fleeting springs; it felt as if his world, which was always turning at 100 kilometres an hour, began to slow. Your voice was mellow, it filled his eardrums and calmed the ringing which usually reverberated in every corner of his skull. He took note of everything you did, from the way you held your guitar to the reds blossoming on your fingertips as you held down on its strings. Ultimately, he was hopelessly captivated — by your lulling melody, your beauty, and the entirety of your being.
Diverting your eye from your guitar to the crowd, you locked your gaze on a familiar aquamarine — a shade you couldn’t get out of your head as it bloomed in your peripheral vision. A smile played on your lips; you couldn't help it. It was as if the corners of your mouth were tugged at, forcing them to curve upwards. The warmth which was previously absent in your stomach began to reignite and it felt as if rainbows were being drawn on the skies of your psyche. Being on stage in front of thousands has never felt so intimate before.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
As your final song comes to an end, your cheeks are numb from the constant smiling — not performatively but rather from sheer happiness. You step off the stage and back into the backstage tents, still dazed from the trance you were under as you had, prior, melted under the beautiful stranger’s gaze. You could feel a familiar set of eyes linger on you and you’re met at eye level with two deep blue pools. He spoke up gently, breaking the silence between the two before it could settle on your shoulders.
Joost grins at you, his eyes still sparkling with the same intensity as before. "You were phenomenal up there," he says. "I couldn't take my eyes off you."
You felt your cheeks flush a rosy pink, with a shy smile you replied, “you weren’t too bad either.”
Joost let out a hearty chuckle, amused by your comment. "Just 'not too bad'?" he teased, feigning offence. A beat passes as you forget to answer, as if wind had been sucked out of you from the mere sight of his laughter. Taking the initiative, he inquires you; “Hey, uh, I was thinking of walking around some more, take a look at some other stages if you wanted to hang out for a bit?”
Your eyes sparkle with a glint of excitement, “I was actually thinking the same thing — I’d love to join you.” Your voice cracking ever so subtly, betraying your nervous plight.
Carefully, he took your hand and started walking out of the tent, leading you towards the next stage — “so you don’t get lost.”
As you shuffle through the labyrinth of crowds, your bodies are constantly pushed together, every small touch prompting an exchange of warmth in return. His doting predisposition was almost overbearing, each time he looked back to make sure you were still behind him was so subtle, yet so appetent. The implications of it all, his hands on yours as you traverse the field of human bodies, wide open for the consumption of a myriad of prying eyes, was not lost on either of you, yet it remained a fact that both of you choose to ignore.
Breathing away the air of silence encapsulating the two of you, he speaks up. “What kind of music are you into? Like what artist do you want to see right now?”
You hadn’t realised how your gaze was so readily fixed on him — as if it were a force of habit, until his voice fills the silence you’d had in your head; racing at 100 kilometres an hour to catch up to the speed of your heart. Without much time to formulate a response, you quickly mutter the first few words that enter your thoughts. “I’ll watch anyone! Plus — maybe you could introduce me to some new music?”
Your words elicited a gentle smile as he tugged you towards a new area; “truth be told I don’t know who’s performing either — but we can discover together!”
As you settle into the crowd and your bodies blended in to the splatter of colour amidst dancing souls, he rested his hand on the small of your back, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your top — holding dear to you and praying to a higher being so as to not get partitioned in the middle of thousands.
Although you were sure your attention was focused on the performance just ahead, you could feel each time his gaze averted into your eye line — his stare burned into your cheek the same way a kiss would; searing your flesh with a romance that lingered like sun rays on burnt skin. You used each chance he looked away to do the same — to leave a persistent stain on his peripheral vision which sent his heart to the moon. This prolonged back and forth lasted all the way to the end of the artist’s set, his songs being nothing more than background noise as your heart pounded prolifically in your ears. 
Eager to extend your time together, you asked to buy him a drink — with which he gladly accepted.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
Minutes passed into hours discreetly — you were lost in conversations about everything and nothing at the same time, until the noise settled and the crowd thinned, bringing your conversation down to weak attempts at staying in each other’s company.
You take the final sip of your drink; you promised yourself this’d be the last. Eased by the momentum of your mutual exchange, you ask him: “Do you ever look out into the crowd and realise that every person that everyone’s ever met was brought together by chance?”
“Like how your set just so happened to be right after mine?”
Hesitantly, you replied, stepping on eggshells as you cherry pick each word carefully, trying to gauge some meaning behind your blooming relationship. “Yeah, I mean like what if I hadn’t been in that tent when you came in? Would you still watch my set? Would you be having a drink with me right now?”
“I’m pretty sure someone with a presence like yours would’ve caught my attention one way or another.” His response was delivered almost immediately, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world.
Attempting to hide the smile inevitably slipping onto your face and the pink creeping up your cheeks, you let out a sincere chuckle. “I’m glad you think so.”
As your conversations drift with the sunlight, a call from your manager reminds you of your responsibilities, prompting an exchange of see you soons and subtle glances over the shoulder as you both depart from each other’s warmth.
It was hard to be around him — to be close but not close enough. To say he charmed you would be an understatement, and to say that he didn’t feel the same would be a lie. Being back in your hotel room reminded you of how intoxicating it felt to be near him, and it felt like an itch as you traced back the steps that you took so carefully around him; how the two of you danced around each other so gently. You weren't sure you'd ever cross paths again; the regret of not being forward about how you'd felt with him loomed around you as you lay in bed, phone in hand, wondering if he was still thinking about you. His name rested on the tip of your tongue as you drifted off to sleep, naturally burrowing a home in your chest.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
Waking up to waning notifications and texts hardly alerted you as you were seemingly stuck in the same state of wonderstruck that you had been in the day before. As you recollect your fleeing consciousness, the blots of colour on your screen begin to form coherent shapes, revealing texts from your manager and PR team, all addressed at several tweets and posts discussing you; their messages growing more and more panicked with each one. With a deep breath, you clicked on the Twitter app, bracing yourself for what you knew was coming.
The tweets were overwhelming, discussing everything from your performance to your interaction with Joost. People were making assumptions about your relationship and dissecting every detail of your interaction.
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Mindlessly scrolling through the barrage of tweets, a text from a number you have labelled as “Joost :)” halts every single movement and thought previously in motion.
J: hello girlfriend :D 
R: joost?
J: have u seen what theyre saying about us??
R: its really brutal
they dont hesitate
J: this is my first time experiencing something like this (・´з`・)
R: me too!
i hope youre ok with that kind of stuff though, its pretty intrusive
J: yup, but im going to have to get used to this (╥﹏╥)
and you are cute, so i dont mind  (⁀ᗢ⁀)
R: oh thank you, youre cute too :D 
You smiled as you read Joost's messages, feeling a warm sense of relief and happiness. Despite the gossip and speculation online, he seemed to be handling it all in stride – easing any preexisting worry that he’d be weirded out or pushed away by the assumptions forced upon you and your relationship. You stared intently at your screen, your fingers hovering anxiously over the keypad. Your heart rate quickened as you contemplated hitting send on the message, a wave of trepidation washing over her. 
R: maybe we can talk more over lunch? just to make sure ure all good!
Was it too desperate? Did it seem like you wanted a second? First? Date amidst an unfortunate impasse? Would he be discouraged? Did he even want to see you again?
J: i’d love 2!!!!
Oh. You release the breath you hadn’t noticed you were holding in, letting the pressure dissipate from your shoulders. Despite the weight of the situation, you found solace in knowing that he had playfully accepted the circumstances and was willing to brace the full extent of the accusations by risking another day with you. Finalising the details for lunch, you got ready and swiftly made your way out the door – towards the destined spot.
—-----------------------------------------------------------
Stumbling through the city, you took in the sights as you passed by slews of oscillating buildings and unnamed parks. Unanswered messages from your manager remain rigid and unread as you lock away your phone, looking forward for signs of the restaurant you were to meet Joost in. Determination sets in to the anterior parts of your brain – the tenacity to express your interest in growing together with the man you had just met the day prior. Although it was sudden, you were sure that getting to know him would only continue to confirm the feelings beginning to harbour at the base of your judgement. Rounding the last corner, you were hit by a familiar warmth; it was sudden, intrusive, preponderant, and all-consuming simultaneously.
“Hallo!” The Dutch accent slipped into his greeting like honey, the same baritone voice you’d come to be acquainted with to fill the air around you, as a blanket would. Suddenly every smell, minute sound, or gentle breeze that was prevalent became subdued – every one of your senses focusing on the presence of the alluring companion standing in front of you.
Your grin evident in your voice, you reply tenderly, “hello, stranger.”
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qu1cks1lversb1tch · 7 months ago
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Hi! I just scrolled through your blog and loved your writing, so I decided to make a request! I was wondering if you could write fem!reader x Lucifer where they're kind of just hanging out but R is kind of grumpy and Luci is subtly (but not subtly cause lord knows he's too awkward to be good at hiding things) trying to figure out what it is. R kind of just dismisses him while scrolling on their phone and Lucifer's like "let me try something..." and just slides a snack to R to which she nibbles on and then becomes normal again. Bonus points if she apologizes when she realizes she was being mean without meaning to. Anyway, this got long. If you decide not to write this, I understand. If you do, you are required to drink water and eat a snack too at some point. Love you and your writing! <3
A/N — OOOOOHHHHHHH anon I love you for requesting this 😭💖 thank you so much! It's just a little short, but I wasn't sure what else to add lol
Hangry | Lucifer x Fem!Reader
Warnings: reader being a little mean, Lucifer being loving and understanding
Word Count: 489
Summary: Luci forces you to eat something after you unintentionally snap at him.
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On a couch, in a palace, in hell, there was you. Glorious you. The very one who kept Lucifer sane — his Heavenly best friend turned perfect stepmother to his beloved daughter, which was a more recent (and super awesome) development. 
He could tell just by looking at you that you weren't exactly feeling the best — it was clear by the present frown and the way your brows furrowed every once in a while, as if you were fighting something. 
For a split second, he thought you were sick. But as he placed his hands all over your face, forcing you to look away from your phone screen, he soon realized that you weren't sick.
“Sorry. . .” He mumbled when you set your darkened glare on him.
You rolled your eyes, looking back to your phone. There was important stuff going on. Meetings to be scheduled. You didn't have time for anything else. 
“Did you sleep?” Lucifer questioned not even five minutes later. 
You sighed, irritated, practically growling out your answer. “Yes.” 
“Okay. . . Well how long did you —”
“GOD! Can you give me five fucking minutes to do my job, Lucifer!?”
He was momentarily taken aback by your harsh tone,  but then it was as if a light bulb went off in his head and he stood from where he had previously planted himself in front of you. 
Guilt began to settle in your being as you nestled yourself further in the couch to continue working. You hadn't expected him to leave — just maybe stop hovering like you were going to spontaneously combust and disappear.
You knew he meant well, but you just weren't feeling it. Any of it.
Five minutes later he returned with a plate that had your favorite sandwich and bag of chips on top, snatching your phone out of your hand and replacing it with the plate and a bottle of your favorite drink. 
You growled. “Luci—” 
“Eat.” He demanded, holding your phone out of your reach. 
And you did. That first bite of the sandwich made you realize that you hadn't eaten breakfast. . . Or lunch. . . You felt better immediately, which showed him instantly what the problem had been. 
Once you finished, you sat in silence, trying to figure our what to say. . . It ended up being a ‘thank you’ that was said so low it was almost missed in the quiet room.
“You feel better?” He asked.
“Yeah. . . I'm sorry I snapped at you — I didn't mean to. . .” You trailed off when he grabbed your face in his hands and forced you to look at him. 
“I forgave you the moment you started eating. Before anything, you're my best friend, and we don't need you being hangry.” 
“Wife.” You corrected with a slight smile.
“Even better.” He grinned, placing sweet kisses all over your face — even the tip of your nose. Yeah. . . You were definitely forgiven. 
So long as you remembered to eat and stay hydrated.
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