#Echoes of Hollow Trail
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incognit0slut · 17 days ago
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was i stupid to love you?
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in which a lingering glance at Rossi’s wedding threatens your engagement.
content: angst, 4.8k, takes place right after truth or dare (14x15), a lot of dialogue, mention of prison arc, emotional distress, relationship conflict, not proofread a/n: when was the last time you saw me write angst? exactly. this is inspired by malcolm & marie bc i really like the idea of having an argument while moving around the house (also disclaimer i have nothing against JJ i just like being dramatic)
The lock clicks open. The door swings with a creak. Your heels tap against the hardwood in a hollow rhythm that feels almost too loud. There’s a tightness in your chest, that prickling behind your eyes, and a familiar ache pressing up from the pit of your stomach, churning into a faint nausea that you try to ignore. You’re trying to hold it back.
Not here.
Not now.
Spencer doesn’t even look up. The keys slip from his hand with a soft clink as they hit the side table, and he turns away with a quiet sigh that reverberates deep in your bones.
“Are you hungry?” he asks, tossing a glance toward the kitchen. “Think we could order something?”
You trail after him, the sharp click of your heels echoing as you step onto the kitchen tile. “We just came back from a wedding.”
He’s rifling through the cupboard, his fingers brushing over the mismatched mugs and neatly stacked plates before he pulls down two glasses. “I barely ate anything at the reception.”
You watch him, biting back a response as memories flicker to mind. The slice of cake he’d poked at absentmindedly, washing it down with sips of water instead of real food.
It wasn’t hunger he seemed focused on tonight. No, it was his quiet glances across the room you keep on catching from the corner of your eye, and that conversation he’d had at the bar. The one where his posture softened, his gaze so intent you’d found yourself staring at the back of his head, trying not to read too much into it—and obviously failing.
“Why didn’t you eat?”
He shrugs, his back still to you as he fills the glasses with water. “I don’t know,” he says, sounding almost absent, like it’s something he hasn’t really thought about. “I didn’t get around to it, I guess.”
The muscles in your jaw ticks as you bite the inside of your cheeks.
Spencer turns, offering you a glass. “I was thinking of Chinese, or maybe we can check if that Thai place you like is still open.”
You take the glass from him, barely sparing it a glance before setting it back down on the counter. “Whatever you want is fine.”
A subtle crease appears between his brows. “You sure? You usually have some opinion when it comes to food.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“You don’t want to eat anything?”
You suppress a sigh. "No. I'm tired."
The soft amber of his eyes dims slightly as he studies you. There's a flicker of uncertainty passing through them before he nods. “Alright,” he concedes. “We don’t have to order anything.”
A faint, humorless laugh escapes you before you can stop it. It tastes bitter, a little unfair, but it slips out before you can pull it back, “You don’t have to change your plans on my account, Spencer.”
“I’m not changing any plans,” he responds. “I’m just making sure you have something to eat in case you’re hungry.”
Your shoes dig uncomfortably into your feet. You shift your weight, starting to pace a few steps back and forth. "It's dinner, you don't have to check on me for every little thing. Do whatever you like."
He blinks, looking genuinely perplexed. "What are you saying? I was trying to be considerate."
"Right. Considerate.”
There’s an unmistakable bite in your tone.
“Yes, because we like doing these things together," he observes, watching your uneasy pacing. "Am I missing something here?”
You shake your head. “Nope.”
"Honey."
The term of endearment lands softly, slipping from his lips like he believes it has the power to melt whatever tension has suddenly crept between you. But it only tightens the knot building in your stomach. It’s stirring the words you’re trying to hold back, tangling them somewhere between your chest and throat.
He calls your name this time, his eyes narrowing into sharp lines. “You’ve been awfully quiet on our way home, and now you’re… honestly, I don’t know why you're acting this way.” His voice dips with a tinge of exasperation. "What’s this really about?"
The words you’ve been biting back feel like a stack of stones in your throat, rising up, up, up, each one pressed tighter by the gnawing nausea in your stomach. You can feel them gathering, and before you know it, they tumble out messily.
“I’m just saying, don’t let me hold you back from getting what you want. I wouldn’t want to stop you from anything—or, god forbid," you add, letting your gaze drift away as if a little distance might soften the blow, “anyone.”
The soft, almost stifled inhale he takes is audible. You don’t even have to look up to see his expression shifting. You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way his shoulders tense, the way his breathing slows as he processes your words. You know his reaction by heart, yet right now, you wonder if saying this was a mistake, if this is the start of something neither of you can take back.
His fingers twitching at his side slip into your line of sight. He's angry.
Maybe this isn’t the time to start a fight.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
Your heels click softly as you turn.
“Forget it. I shouldn't have said anything,” you mutter, already moving toward the bedroom that’s been yours, too, for the past year. Although it feels strange tonight, like a space that belongs to someone else. A life you’re not entirely sure you belong in.
“No." His voice is somewhere behind you. “I think you should explain to me what you mean by that.”
You don’t respond, choosing instead to sink onto the edge of the bed, hands fumbling as you try to undo the straps of your heels. You twist the stubborn leather with more force. His shadow fills the doorway.
“Honey.”
Not again.
You decide to ignore him.
“Is there something you’d like to say to me?”
You tug harder at the strap. “No.”
He doesn’t buy it. “You’re clearly bothered by something.”
You shake your head, fingers still fumbling, the leather cutting against your ankle with each pull. “I’m just tired. Can we leave it at that?”
There’s a flicker of frustration in his gaze now, a crease forming between his brows as he studies you. He moves into the room. You barely have the chance to react before he lowers himself, bending one knee to the floor as he reaches toward the strap you’ve been fighting with. “Here, let me—”
“Don’t,” you interrupt, pulling your foot away. “I can do it myself.”
“I know you can. But let me—”
“I can do it myself!”
Your heartbeat thuds loud in your ears, each pulse feeding the frustration that’s wound its way up from your chest. He rises slowly, not a word passing his lips, but the tension radiates off him like heat. He’s close enough that his warmth presses against your skin, although it’s not the kind you usually find comforting. It’s almost suffocating.
You turn your focus back to the stubborn strap, your fingers trembling slightly as you struggle to grip it. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch him slipping off his shoes, one after the other, the soft thuds barely audible over the rush of your own heartbeat. He pulls off his suit jacket, carefully smoothing the crumpled fabric before hanging it in the closet. For a moment, it seems like he’s going to let it go… until his gaze drifts back to you.
You can tell his patience is fraying, and you’re proven right when he asks again, “What did you mean by that? When you said you wouldn’t want to stop me from anyone… what was that supposed to mean?”
You finally manage to tug the strap loose. The heel drops to the floor with a muted thump. “It was nothing.”
“I don’t think you’d say something like that if it was nothing.”
Your focus shifts to the other shoe. “Just drop it, Spencer.”
"How am I supposed to drop it when you're implying... whatever it is you're implying?"
You keep your eyes down, wrestling with the strap in silence. He cuts through the quiet before it has a chance to grow.
“Don’t do that,” he says. “Don’t brush it off like it’s nothing when it clearly means something. I need to know why you said that.”
You kick off the other heel and meet his gaze for the first time since you walked into the room. “You really want to know?”
He reaches for his bow tie, yanking it loose it with one hard pull. “Do I want to know why you’re giving me this attitude right now? Yes. Yes, I do.”
Oh. So this is going to be that kind of fight.
You hadn’t expected it to go here. Fights with Spencer are very rare, usually more a clash of misunderstandings that you both laugh about with limbs tangled between sheets by the time you’ve made peace. But seeing him standing there with the tie hanging loosely around his neck and his five o’clock shadow casting an even darker line along his jaw, it hits you differently.
This is real. And this time, you don’t know if brushing it off will fix anything.
“Fine, let’s talk about it then.” You rise from the bed, tension carrying you to your feet. “Emily’s speech tonight.”
His brow furrows, not quite a scowl, more a cautious crease as he processes your tone. “Emily’s speech? What about it?”
“What do you remember of it?”
There’s a slight pause, and you can tell he's clearly caught off guard by the question. “She mentioned how Rossi and Krystal are twin flames."
“Right. Two souls that are always meant to be together.”
His face is still marked by confusion, but there’s something else creeping in. A subtle tightening around his eyes tells you he’s starting to piece it together. “I don’t understand what that has to do with—”
“You looked at JJ the second Emily made that speech,” you cut him off. “Spencer, you didn’t even spare a glance at your future wife because you were too busy making eyes at the woman who’s apparently been in love with you all these years.”
There. You said it. The words that have twisted around your insides all evening are finally out. And maybe they taste a little bitter, but at least they're not choking you anymore.
A second passes, then another, and by the time the fifth heartbeat ticks by, he’s standing there with his hand on his hip.
“That’s not what happened."
“Then what was it?” you demand. "I sat beside you the whole day, you didn't even try to hide it."
“That’s not—you’re twisting things.” His hand moves through his hair, fingers digging in as his curls tumble forward onto his forehead. “And you know what happened that night wasn’t real. It was a forced confession. She was under duress, we both were. JJ and I are just friends.”
You arch an eyebrow. “You look at all your friends like that?”
His hand drops to his side. "I don't know what else you want me to say. JJ said what she did because she thought we might die. She has a family, and a husband who she loves. We already went through this, I don't understand why this is suddenly an issue again."
“Maybe I wouldn’t be bringing this up if you didn’t look at her tonight like you were ready to break up that marriage yourself.”
A flash of shock and anger crosses his features.
“That’s not fair,” he snaps, his voice sharper than you’ve heard in a while. “Do you really think I’d disregard everything I have with you because of a look? Because of a history that has never gone anywhere?”
“I don’t know what to think. It's not like it happened just once, I saw you looking at her the same way at the bar." You step forward, accidentally kicking your discarded heel as you move. "What were you two talking about, anyway?”
He lets out a tight breath. “She was checking in on me. She… we haven’t talked much since then.”
The corners of your mouth pull down. “Mhm. Another round of truth or dare?”
“I can’t believe you’re using that against me." His hair flops forward as he shakes his head, falling messily over his brow. "If there were anything unresolved with JJ, I would’ve said something. But I didn’t, because there’s nothing there."
“And yet, she’s always been an important part of your life, hasn't she?"
He tilts his head. "What are trying to say now?"
Your tongue darts out, briefly brushing your lips. You're not sure you should say it, but it feels like a door has swung open—a door to words that have been waiting for their moment.
You take a slow, deep breath, filling your lungs with as much air as you can.
“When you were in prison, you put her on your visiting list ahead of almost everyone else. Doesn’t that say something about where she stands with you?”
He exhales sharply, dragging a hand over the back of his neck.
“She’s part of the team,” he says, as if he’s trying to spell out something he’s already explained a dozen times. "There were strict rules, I already told you that only a handful of people were allowed to visit. It wasn’t like I could just put anyone on the list.”
“But you could’ve put me on there!”
The familiar burn of tears prickles at the edges of your eyes, but you blink them back, refusing to let them fall. An explanation or protest is poised on his lips, but you’re already moving, closing the distance with a single, decisive step. A finger lands on his chest.
“I was your girlfriend, Spencer. Were you that determined to keep me out? Was the thought of seeing me really so unbearable? Do you even understand how hard it was to sit at home, knowing you were locked up, feeling completely helpless? Do you have any idea how much I hated myself day after day because I couldn’t do anything to help you?”
Your lips quiver. You feel like your heart is about to leap out of your throat.
“I was out here, just… waiting. Wondering if you were okay, if they were treating you alright, if you even had someone to talk to. And meanwhile, she’s there, with you. Every single time, she’s the one who gets to be by your side.”
Your nail digs into the fabric of his shirt.
“So forgive me if I can’t just let that go. Because when it mattered, it felt like you didn’t want me to be there for you. And now… now I don’t even know if you need me the way you seem to need her.”
Your breathing turns shallow, each inhale catching in your chest. The tears you’ve been holding back are dangerously blurring your vision. You swallow the knot lodged in your throat.
“I need a minute.”
Without another word, you turn and walk out of the room, leaving him standing there in stunned silence. You slip back into the kitchen, leaning against the counter as you finally reach for the glass of water that’s been sitting there untouched. You take a sip, barely feeling the cool water on your lips, when you hear his footsteps behind you.
“You think I don’t want you in my life?” he demands. “You think I somehow need her more than I need you?”
You set the glass down. “What part of ‘I need a minute’ do you not understand?”
���You really expect me to wait quietly after you unloaded every doubt you’ve ever had about us?”
You life your chin up. “Yes, I do. I need space to think right now.”
“What more do you want to think about when you’ve already convinced yourself that I’m always going to fall short? Is it so hard to believe that you’re the one I want?”
“You want to know why it’s so damn hard to believe?” You turn towards him. “Because every time I try to let this go, there’s always something. A confession. That—that not-so-subtle look. And when those things happen, it reminds me that I’m not as close to you as she is. I’m fucking tired of feeling like I’m fighting for space in your life.”
“Do you think I want you to feel like that? Do you think I’d go through everything we’ve been through if you didn’t matter to me?”
“Then explain to me why I wasn’t on that list!” you cry out. “Explain to me why, in one of the hardest times of your life, you couldn’t make space for me?”
“Because I was trying to protect you!”
A heavy, dreadful silence falls between you. He takes a step back, his eyelids fluttering shut briefly, and when he opens them again, there’s a softness in his gaze that mirrors the gentleness now threading through his voice.
“I know it probably doesn’t make sense to you, and maybe it never will, but I couldn’t stand the idea of you seeing me like that. Living through it was hard enough, but having you there, seeing me so helpless… It would have crushed me. I didn’t want that to be your memory of me.”
His Adam’s apple dips as he swallows, a quick, almost anxious movement you’ve witnessed countless times.
“And when JJ came to see me,” he continues, “the way the inmates looked at her, the things they said after she left… it was disgusting. I couldn’t—wouldn’t—let that happen to you. I couldn’t live with thought of you being subjected to that because of me.”
You lower your head with a sigh. “I don’t care if they looked. I don’t care what they would’ve thought.”
“But I care,” he fires back, taking a step forward. “Because you mean more to me than anyone. All I wanted was to keep you safe, and maybe I didn't handle it right, maybe I made the wrong call... but it was only because I—" His voice drops into an even more gentle note. "Because I love you."
Your heart stumbles, an uneven beat that feels almost bruised, pounding hard against your ribs.
"I-I love you so much. More than I know how to put into words." The ache in your chest sharpens as his hands come up to cup your cheeks. "I don't like fighting with you. I hate it, actually. I hate seeing you look at me like this."
You also hate the way he’s looking at you. There’s a depth to his annoyingly pretty eyes that makes it impossible to hold up your defenses without feeling them crumble. You let your eyes flutter closed.
“Why don’t we… call it a night?” He suggests. “Let’s lie down. We don’t have to talk about this now.”
The blackness behind your eyelids does little to quiet your mind. Nor does his voice. Or his touch. Instead of offering peace, his presence throws every glance, every moment of tension from tonight into sharper relief.
You draw in a breath, trying to find some comfort in his palms against your cheeks. Yet, even this can’t smooth away the doubt that’s settled in. With a resigned sigh, you release the breath you’ve been holding along with the words that have been pressing at the back of your throat.
“You haven’t explained it to me.”
The shadows in his gaze seem to deepen when you open your eyes.
“What do you mean?”
“We’ve been going in circles, but you haven’t explained to me what happened tonight,” you say quietly. “Why did you look at her, Spencer?”
His thumb absently strokes your cheek in a way that feels more hesitant than reassuring.
“Be honest with me,” you press. “Was there a part of you, even the tiniest part, that still wanted something with her? Some small part of you that… wondered what it might be like?”
The silence between you presses in from all sides, broken only by the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant, muffled ticking of a clock on the wall. It’s the kind of quiet that sharpens even the smallest sounds, yet his lack of response feels like the loudest thing of all.
You pull back from him with an incredulous laugh.
“Unbelievable.” The word barely makes it past your lips, then louder as you start to move, pacing the length of the apartment. “Unbelievable.”
“Wait,” he says, trailing after you, “I didn’t even say anything.”
You stop short by the couch and whip around to face him.
“You didn’t need to! You—you hesitated," you stammer, searching his face for any flicker of denial, but it’s there, plain as day, that split-second of doubt you caught. “That was already an answer.”
He inches closer. A hand closes in on you. “Please—”
You flinch, pulling back, and every muscle in your body tightens. “Don’t. Don’t touch me right now.”
His hand falls to his side. “Please… let me explain."
You watch his hand drop, fingers twitching like they’re not sure if they should retreat or reach out again, but he keeps them there, hovering in some invisible line you’ve drawn. He looks at you with those big, pleading eyes, and for a split second, you almost feel bad for him.
Almost.
A bitter sort of smile tugs at the corner of your mouth. "So now you want to explain?"
He takes that as permission, and his voice comes in low, almost cautious. "When I first started at the BAU, I had… maybe a crush. A passing thing, barely anything, really. But that was fourteen years ago.” His hand scrubs through his hair in a frustrated sweep. “Fourteen years."
Your brows pull into a frown. “Why am I only hearing about this now?”
“Because it was nothing,” he says, almost too quickly. “I was young, it didn’t matter. I didn’t think it was worth bringing up.”
“Oh, I get it now. All those old feelings came rushing back the night she confessed, didn’t they?”
He mirrors your frown, a visible line of tension etching itself between his brows as he protests, “It’s nothing like that.”
“Then what is it?” you press. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks a whole lot like you’re caught between us because some part of you is still hung up on what might’ve been with her."
He shifts uncomfortably, and you notice the muscles in his jaw clenching the moment his gaze falters, dipping away for just a heartbeat before he looks back at you.
“It’s not that I don’t know what I want,” he starts to explain. “I didn’t expect her to say those things, and, yes, it threw me off for a moment. But that doesn’t mean I’m looking back, or that I want her. I want you.”
You shake your head, feeling a tired sort of frustration settle over you, and walk over to the couch. The soft cushions give slightly beneath you as you sink down.
“If you really wanted me, this wouldn’t be happening. You wouldn’t have let her get into your head like that. And now, you expect to believe that none of it meant anything?”
He’s quick to follow, closing the distance in a few tense steps. “It’s not—” His hands flex open and close at his sides. “You’re acting like one single look tonight is enough to decide I’m not committed to you. Do you really think I’d let some confession I didn’t even ask for get in the way of what we have?”
“It’s not just about that single look. It’s the way she could say something and suddenly, you’re pulled back to something you swore you’d put behind you. How am I supposed to feel secure when she still has that power over you?”
“And what am I supposed to do, then? Apologize for things I don’t even feel anymore?”
You flinch at the sharpness in his voice. A low, frustrated noise rumbles in his chest when you don’t respond.
“You’re always going to question me no matter what I say, aren’t you?"
You glance over at him, catching the disheveled strands of hair falling over his forehead, and it pulls you back to that night he came home after that dreadful night. He’d walked in looking worn in a way you’d never seen before, his whole posture weighted down as if he was carrying more than just the fear of being held hostage.
You remember sitting with him on this same couch, fingers brushing his, and asking what was bothering him.
JJ said she loved me.
Your heart lurched, a quick, quiet ache that you tried to swallow down. Really?
Don’t worry. It’s not true.
But with that same haunted look in his eyes right now, you can’t help but wonder if it really was just a well-intentioned lie.
“One glance and you’re accusing me of things that are never going to happen,” he starts again. “Do you really think so little of me? After everything we’ve shared, you really think I’d betray you like that?”
In true honesty, you don’t believe he would ever cross that line. But the doubts still linger, fed by those small hesitations, the moments when his eyes seem somewhere else. It’s not that you think he’d betray you. It’s that a part of him might still be holding onto something he won’t let you see.
“It’s like you don’t know me at all.”
Now those words you might actually believe.
“Maybe I don’t,” you say quietly, eyes drifting to the ring on your finger. You twist it absently, remembering the night he proposed. How he’d stumbled over his words, his cheeks flushing as he tried to make the moment perfect but ended up rambling in that endearing, nervous way of his. You’d laughed, reassured him that it was exactly right, that you didn’t need grand gestures. All you needed was him.
And yet, you don’t think he needs you as much you need him.
A hollow ache settles around your hand as you slip the ring off.
“What are you doing?”
You stare down at the gold band in your palm, blinking back the sting of tears.
“Tell me what you’re doing.”
Panic. Desperation. There’s a sudden rush of melancholy in his voice, a heaviness that wasn’t there a moment ago.
You swallow the lump in your throat. “I don’t know,” you whisper. “I—I don’t know anything right now.”
His face crumples, and in a sudden, almost instinctive movement, he drops down to his knees.
“No, no, you do know me. I’m sorry… I’m so sorry. Isn’t this—” he stops, then dips his head, trying to catch your gaze. “Isn’t that what couples do? They argue, they mess things up… but they work through it, right? Right?”
You look down, feeling the cool weight of the ring pressing into your skin.
“Spencer…” you begin. “I trust you. I do, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I didn’t. But… I need to feel secure. I… I need to know that I don’t have to wonder or worry about where I stand. I never thought you’d be the one to make me doubt that.”
There’s a sharp ache in your chest.
“I didn’t think it could hurt this much. Not from you.”
Your pulse ring in your ear.
“I can’t—” The words catch in your throat, a stinging burn rising as you force them out. “I can’t be your wife when I’m constantly questioning if I have all of you. When I feel like… there’s always a part of you that isn’t mine.”
“I’m yours, honey. I’m always yours.”
“I wish I could believe that.”
There’s a slight falter in his voice. “Don’t—please don’t do this—”
“I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t hurt.”
He falls silent, and for a moment, the only sound is the rough, uneven rhythm of both your breaths filling the space between you. Then, like something inside him finally cracks open, he sinks down, pressing his forehead against your lap. The sudden weight of him forces a broken sob from your throat.
“Please,” he begs, fingers clutching at your sides. His chin presses deep into your thigh. “Tell me how to fix this. I can’t— I can’t lose you.”
“Spence…”
“I love you,” he blurts out, the words tumbling from him in a rush. “I love you.”
But what is love, really? Is it just a word people reach for when they’ve run out of things to say, a way to patch over bruised hearts and broken promises? Or should it feel like something more solid, something that doesn’t leave you questioning or aching? You can’t even tell anymore.
You wonder, too, if maybe you’ve been wrong all along. If this feeling in your chest isn’t love but something dressed up as it, something that fills the gaps while slowly hollowing you out. Because here you are, clinging to a love that somehow makes you feel like you’re both needed and unseen. Everything and nothing all at once.
You feel like a fool.
“I want to go to bed.”
His head lifts from your lap, a flash of surprise darting across his face, as though he hadn’t expected you to say anything at all, let alone that. “Yeah, okay, let’s go to bed. We’ll… we’ll figure this out in the morning.”
“I’d rather be alone.”
The words hit him visibly. His mouth opens, an argument forming there, but he catches himself, letting the silence stretch before he nods slowly.
“Then… I’ll stay out here. On the couch,” he offers softly. “Just… in case you need anything.”
A pang cuts through you at the thought of him stretched out on the couch, his legs too long, his shoulders folded in to fit the cramped space. But the idea of sharing a bed right now feels impossible.
You reach down, holding out the ring towards him.
“No,” he says firmly, gently pushing your hand away. “Don’t do that. This… it doesn’t mean we’re giving up. It just means we need time. That’s all.”
You’re not sure if your mind will change in the morning. The ring presses into your skin, but finally, you close your hand around it, nodding faintly before you peel away from him.
The tears start the moment the bedroom door clicks shut behind you. It spills over in a jagged, helpless cry that sounds nothing like you imagined heartbreak might sound. It’s messy, a kind of aching grief that feels too big for your chest, clawing its way out with no grace at all. You can practically hear how pathetic you sound, and yet you can’t seem to stop.
Even when the hem of your dress trails across the floor. Even when you finally collapse onto his side of the bed. There’s no stopping you. With the ring sitting cold in your hand, your tears keep coming, soaking into the pillow as you cling to the last trace of him woven into the sheets.
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mojogojocasahouse · 6 months ago
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unexpected visitor
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jiyan x f!reader
Jiyan sneaks home to your bed in desperate need of a soft touch and sleep
c: NSFW 18+ only, smut, oral f-receiving, creampie, tacet marks are sensitive I don't make the rules, not beta'd
He slips in like a whisper, an unexpected secret cradled by the black of night. At first, you mistake him for the rustling of a rabbit outside the window and a burst of wind swirling beneath the clear moon, but then there was the clanking of metal buckles and the rustling of heavy robes falling to the floor. There was only one source of those sounds.
Jiyan.
Two weeks had passed since he’d left, and according to him, he was supposed to have been gone for much longer. Now, the mattress is dipping as he falls into bed behind you, a strong, warm arm circling your middle and pulling you flush against a broad, muscled chest, lips pressing to the curve of your neck.
“You’re home early,” you whisper, reaching back and threading your fingers through long, teal hair.
“Only for tonight,” he sighs, nuzzling his nose to the hollow behind your ear, “No one knows I’m away. I’ll have to leave before first light.”
“And what will you tell them?” you ask with a mischievous lilt.
“That I needed to sleep.”
Those words have you turning, his piercing gold eyes meeting yours and pleading for what only you can give him. He’s always said he can only sleep here, in the sanctuary of your bed. He doesn’t even have a home of his own anymore, it’s a tent on the front lines or this small cottage in the village. He has little in the way of belongings, but he leaves hints of himself around that you find and smile fondly at. Though nothing compares to the sight of him basking in white light, gazing at you as if you hung those very stars in the sky.
“Do you want to talk about it?” you soothe, brushing his bangs from his eyes. You already know the answer, but still, you ask every time in case he changes his mind.
“No.” It’s a polite but curt response, “You need not hear of the troubles of war.”
“But you’re troubles–”
“Are mine to bear.”
That will be the end of that discussion, as it always is. With a sigh, you cup the back of his head and pull him in, his lips so gentle and cautious as you welcome him home even if it is only for a moment. It’s your tongue that asks for entrance first, sliding along his bottom lip slowly, and he opens with a sigh. Large hands pull you in closer, your leg winding around his waist and you can feel his erection pressing against your thinly clothed slit. He’s opted to sleep with nothing on, as usual, and you curse the thin shorts you’d decided to wear. The grip he has on your side is hard enough to bruise, and you hope he has every intention of making sure you feel him tomorrow when you wake up in the bed alone almost as if he’d never come. Like this was all a fever dream. You’re still not sure if it is.
The tips of your fingers gently trace the Tacet Mark on his upper spine, his breath hitching as he flips you to your back. He kisses you like a man starved, nipping and licking into your mouth with greed and gluttony, his hips pulsing into your damp center as he slowly begins to lose that steadfast composure he holds so dear. You want him to lose it, too. He deserves to take for once, and you’ll let him bleed you dry.
As your teeth bite down onto his lower lip, he groans, taking one last parting peck before sliding down your body. The shirt you’re wearing is torn down the middle, and he latches onto one of your stiffened buds, his hands moving to cradle your other breast as if he hasn’t touched anything soft in weeks. His touch is so reverent and desperate that you’re whimpering as his tongue swirls and lips purse, your hands tangled in his locks as he descends lower, pecking a trail down your stomach until he’s pulling your shorts and panties off in one quick tug. 
Mingling moans echo off the walls as he locks onto your clit, your back arching off the bed as he suckles hard, worrying it between his lips before lapping at your soaked slit. You know you’re soaked, your inner thighs wet with what has already leaked free, and he takes it upon himself to not miss a single drop. As he’s tasting the sweetness sticking to your legs, you spread them further, inviting him back to bury his tongue in your cunt. And he does, happily, pulling you so tightly down onto his face you’re not sure he can breathe.
Muffled grunts and hums of bliss rumble deep in his throat, the vibration enough to have you keening in his hold. His talented mouth alternates between teasing your swollen bundle of nerves and enjoying the nectars of his labor, his face smeared and glistening every time he comes up for air. You want more, but you don’t dare stop him. If this is what he needs, this is what he can have, all you can do is scrape your nails soothingly against his scalp and try to quiet the roiling storm building in your belly. 
He’s waiting for you to come, you know that, but still, you try and stop the balloon threatening to burst. The sooner this is the over the sooner he’s gone again. And while you feign bravery and understanding of his long, frequent absences, deep down it breaks you every day to walk around town and see the couples together doing mundane tasks. They’re shopping, enjoying a meal, laughing and walking, and you’re…alone. You sacrifice the one you love so they can have this life, and while you’ve come to peace with this, no part of you has convinced you that you have to like it.
When he adds a finger, then two, you’re pulling his mouth back to your core by his hair, his smile stretched across your skin as the tip of his tongue prods so skillfully.
“That’s it,” he praises, “That’s what I want. Let me have it, baby.”
All he ever has to do is ask. Your orgasm washes over you gently like the waves on the shore, nowhere near as explosive as you’d been expecting, but you assume that was his intention. He knew you well enough to have discovered which of his ministrations caused which reaction and now he was almost tactile. It’s a little unfair.
No time is wasted, you’ve barely registered the end of your descent into the clouds and you can feel the soft head of his cock pushing into your cunt, your slippery walls giving no resistance as he bottoms out. He gives you a moment to adjust, taking advantage of your parted, panting lips to drag you into a messy kiss you can taste yourself on. You’ve missed the way he feels stuffed inside of you, bullying its way into a space too tight to accommodate his length and girth, but the burn subsides quickly and you let him know with a quick roll of your hips to urge him on.
The course hairs at his base are already soaked with your arousal as he begins to snap his hips into yours, the sound of skin slapping and breathy moans like a forbidden song drifting off into the night. His forehead is pressed to yours, the only air you can breathe is each other’s, and he entwines his fingers with yours and pins your hands to either side of your head, opening you up to his new, brutal pace. He can’t help himself, he’s long gone, drowning in the way your pussy clamps down around him every time he lets a whine slip out. You’d think he’d have learned by now and let his blissed sounds free, but he hasn’t. Maybe he never will.
“Jiyan,” you mewl, gripping him so tightly your knuckles turn white, “harder.”
It’s like something snaps, with a groan, he pushes himself up to sit on his knees, his hands claiming your waist as his hips begin to piston so hard his hold is the only thing keeping you in place. Your tits bouncing wildly hold his gaze as you cry out loud enough for anyone in the surrounding area to hear.
“Touch yourself,” he commands, regret in his voice because he can’t do it himself, “Come on my cock.”
Your two middle fingers dive to rub frantic circles on your clit, but you’re unable to focus as you dip your touch down to feel where he’s mercilessly thrusting into your hole. You can feel how stretched you are, how swollen, you’re moments away from release.
“Come with me,” you beg, your nails scraping down the firm dips and swells of his stomach, “Come with me, please.”
He looks wrecked as he lets himself lose control. His head falls back, his hair splaying across his shoulders, long enough to have the ends dancing over your skin. The way he glistens with sweat makes him look damn near ethereal, with green markings accentuating his clenched jaw as he tries to draw out what he knows is coming to an end. 
The molten pleasure boiling in your belly finally spills over, running through your veins until every muscle is tensed in anticipation and then released with a shrieking cry, his feral snarl joining you as he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your cunt. 
It’s a moment of stillness as you both catch your breath, his grip loosening as he fucks his seed deeper, enjoying how easily his softening cock slips through your channel. You’re so sensitive it almost hurts, but you’re not ready to lose the weight and stretch of him inside of you just yet.
“You need to sleep, my love,” you coo as he pulls out, immediately walking off to get a warm cloth to clean you with.
“Mm,” he hums, wiping what’s leaking from your fucked out hole, “In a moment.”
When he curls up behind you, there’s no stopping how you turn and bury yourself in his chest. It’ll be harder this way when he has to leave, but you haven’t heard the steady beating of his heart in too long. He chuckles as he wraps you up tightly, tucking your head beneath his chin, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on your bruised hip. 
It’ll be just a few hours, and as much as you want to stay awake and relish in this rare time, you can’t. Sleep finds you easily swaddled in his arms, the faint arid, earthy smell of him the most comforting scent. When you wake, you’re alone, not that you expected anything different. However, one thing that wasn’t there the night before catches your eye–a single Pecok flower in a vase.
A promise to return home.
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hoshifighting · 6 months ago
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— Synopsis: Where Seungcheol is your bestfriend with benefit, and after you agree to go on a date with a guy, Seungcheol has a jealous crisis. And during the date, you realize that going out with this guy was a mistake. — WC: 5.8K — WARNINGS: Smut, slut/whore shamming, angst, argument, jealousy, "you are mine", unprotected sex, oral (f. and m. receiving), flashbacks, penetrative sex, fingering, clit stimulation, chocking, hair pulling, cock/face slap, multiple orgasms, creampie, begging, overwhelming, confession and etc.
You apply the final touch of lipstick, glancing at your reflection in the mirror. The person staring back looks confident, ready, but you can’t ignore Seungcheol’s presence behind you. He’s perched on your couch, arms crossed, a pout that reminds you of a child denied his favorite candy.
"What's going on, Seungcheol?" you ask.
"This guy is no good," he replies, his voice tinged with frustration.
You mumble, "Yes, yes, you've told me plenty of times."
He leans forward, eyes intense. "Then why are you going on this date?"
You stay quiet, fiddling with the makeup on the desk. He presses on, "How long have you been talking to him?"
You don't answer, the silence thick between you. Suddenly, he stands, crossing the room in a few strides. He turns you around, pushing you gently but firmly against the desk. His breath is warm on your neck.
"Why won't you answer me?" he demands softly.
"Seungcheol, it's... complicated," you murmur, avoiding his gaze.
"Complicated?" he echoes, his grip on your shoulders tightening just a bit. "We used to talk about everything. You've always been open about your flings, but now..." He trails off, searching your eyes for answers.
"But now we're fucking, Seungcheol!"
"And? What's your point?"
"Why do you care now?" you retort, your voice tinged with irritation. "When you were fucking with Mingyu's sister, I didn't say anything!"
Seungcheol's shock is evident, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. Finally, he manages to sputter, "We weren't... we weren't fucking!"
You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Come on, Seungcheol. You think I'm blind? That girl couldn't keep her hands off you."
"We were just... hanging out," he insists, his tone growing louder.
"Hanging out?" you repeat, incredulous. "That's the best excuse you've got?"
Seungcheol's frustration bubbles over, his voice rising to match yours. "What's wrong with you, huh? Why do you care so much about who I'm with?"
"Why do you care so much about who I'm with?" you shoot back, your own anger rising. "You're the one who started this whole thing, remember?"
"And you accept it!" Seungcheol shouts, his frustration boiling over.
You push past him, heading in the direction of the door, but he grabs your arm, forcing you to look at him. His eyes are filled with anger, his jaw clenched tight.
"I can't believe you," he says through gritted teeth. "After everything I said, after all the warnings... you're just going to go through with it anyway?"
"Let go," you snap, trying to wrench your arm free.
He holds on, his voice low and intense. "If this guy does anything, anything at all, you call me. Understand?"
You meet his gaze, seeing the genuine concern in his eyes. Despite the argument, despite the tension, you know he means it.
"I hear you."
With that, he releases your arm and turns away, striding out of the apartment without another word. You watch him go, feeling a pang of guilt in your chest.
You sat across from your date, but your mind was elsewhere. The words exchanged with Seungcheol echoed in your head, drowning out any attempt at conversation. It was like you were just there physically, your mind a million miles away. – a date that meant nothing to you.
He tried to make small talk, but you could barely muster a response. Every smile felt forced, every laugh hollow. You couldn't enjoy the date, not when the weight of the argument with Seungcheol still hung heavy in your mind. 
When your phone buzzes with a message from Seungcheol, you jump, almost knocking over your drink. You quickly glance at the screen, your heart skipping a beat when you see his name.
"Are you home already?" the message reads.
You glanced at the time, realizing that it had been hours since you left the date early, claiming that you needed to go home. With a heavy sigh, you typed out a response: "Yes, I'm home."
After those messages, Seungcheol practically disappeared. Usually, your weekends were marked by his presence—his calls, his texts, him showing up at your front door with that familiar, easy smile. But this weekend, there was nothing. Not a single word from him.
By the time Tuesday rolled around, the silence was deafening. You took a long bath, trying to relax, but the empty space where Seungcheol's presence used to be was impossible to ignore. As you lay on your bed, you felt the temptation to pick up your phone and text him, just to break the silence.
The truth was, now that he wasn't around, everything seemed to remind you of him. The way he laughed, the way he teased you, the comfort of his touch and the warmth of his words. You realized how much you needed him—not just in your routine, but in your life. The thought of reaching out to him tugged at you, but your ego stood in the way.
Was it worth it? Was holding onto your pride worth the growing emptiness you felt without him?
You stared at the ceiling, the questions swirling in your mind. The minutes ticked by, each one feeling heavier than the last. You picked up your phone, your fingers hovering over the screen.
You dialed his number, putting the phone to your ear. The line beeped twice before he picked up, his voice coming through fast, "Y/N?"
Hearing his voice, you closed your eyes and sighed. "Cheol..." you murmured, the nickname slipping out naturally.
On the other end, you heard Seungcheol's breath hitch. He knew you only used that nickname when you were feeling particularly vulnerable, and he wondered if you needed him now. But he reminded himself to stay cold, at least for a moment—maybe you did need him. 
"What do you want, Y/N?" he asked, his tone carefully controlled.
You bit your lip, your heart pounding. "Where are you?" you asked, straining to hear the sounds of street movement in the background. He was definitely driving.
"I'm out," he replied curtly. "Why?"
"Out where?" you pressed, needing to know more.
He sighed, the sound heavy with frustration and something else you couldn't quite place. "Just driving around. Needed to clear my head."
You took a deep breath, summoning the courage to say what you needed to say. "Can you come over? I... I need to see you."
Another pause, longer this time. "Why, Y/N? Why now?"
"Because I miss you," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. "And because I can't stop thinking about you."
There was silence on the line, and for a moment, you feared he might hang up. But then you heard him exhale sharply. "I'll be there in ten."
The line went dead, and you lay back on your bed, staring at the ceiling as your heart raced.
When Seungcheol knocked on your door, you practically flew to open it. The scent of his cologne, the one you loved so much, filled the air as soon as you pulled the door open. He stood there in a leather jacket, black jeans, and that shirt you always told him looked amazing on him.
You wasted no time pulling him inside, closing the door behind him, and wrapping your arms tightly around him. You jumped up a bit so he could hold your legs, and he caught you effortlessly, pulling you close.
As he hugged you, his warmth enveloped you, and you melted into his embrace. His hands caressed your moisturized skin, sending shivers down your spine as he admired the contrast of your delicate babydoll against his rugged street clothing.
For a moment, everything else faded away—the arguments, the doubts, the uncertainty.
"Cheol..." you murmur against his neck, your voice barely above a whisper. He hums in response, his breath warm against your skin. You can't bring yourself to look into his eyes, feeling a vulnerability swirling inside you.
Suddenly, he gently grabs your hair, tilting your head up so that you're forced to meet his gaze. His eyes are intense, searching, emotions you can't quite decipher. But in that moment, you feel like he's seeing right through you, seeing all the things you're too afraid to say out loud.
Without another word, you lean in and kiss him, your lips meeting his in a desperate, longing embrace. His fingers press into the small of your back, pulling you closer, as he furrows his eyebrows, savoring the taste of your kiss like it's the first time all over again.
His tongue slips into your mouth, a silent plea for more, and you gladly oblige, deepening the kiss with every passing moment. Lost in each other, his arms wrapping tightly around you as he guides you towards the bedroom.
Seungcheol makes you sit on the edge of the bed, his hands deftly working to remove his leather jacket. You watch him, the strings of your babydoll falling from your shoulders as the fabric slides down, teasingly revealing hints of your curves.
Your lips are still stained red from the kiss, and your hair is slightly tousled from his grasp, but you can't tear your eyes away from him. There's a hunger in your gaze, a longing that mirrors his own, and he can't help but feel overwhelmed by it all.
As he stands before you, shirtless, he can't help but ask the question that's been burning in his mind since the moment he laid eyes on you. "Why do you do this to me?" he murmurs, his voice husky with desire.
"You drive me crazy, Y/N," he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. "But I can't stay away from you."
You reach out, your fingers trembling slightly as they brush against his chest. "Then don't," you whisper, your voice filled with a desperate plea. "Stay with me."
His eyes darken with desire as he pushes you back onto the bed, a hunger burning in his gaze. His hands move with purpose, swiftly removing your babydoll, and he scoffs softly when he realizes you're wearing nothing underneath.
As his hand slides down between your thighs, finding you already wet and ready for him, you can't help but tremble under his touch. His fingers move roughly against your sensitive folds, teasing and taunting you.
But instead of giving you what you crave, he teases you, his touch tantalizingly slow as he savors every moment.
"Seungcheol," you whimper, your voice pleading for more.
But he only smirks, his lips trailing kisses down your body as he continues to tease you, building the anticipation until you're practically begging.
"What? That guy couldn't handle you?" Seungcheol asks with a devilish grin, his voice laced with amusement.
"Fuck, don't ask about this right now," you plead, trying to focus on the sensations he's stirring within you.
But he tilts his head, his curiosity piqued. "Why not?" he asks innocently, his fingers entering your pussy with a deliberate slowness that makes you arch your back in pleasure.
"Because we didn't... we didn't fuck," you manage to stammer out, your breath catching as his fingers find just the right spot inside you.
Seungcheol hums in satisfaction, his lips trailing kisses along your neck as he continues to work you with his skilled fingers. "Did you kiss him then?" he murmurs against your skin.
You moan softly, the sensation overwhelming as his fingers brush against your g'spot. "N-no," you gasp out, your mind consumed with the pleasure he's giving you. "Oh my god, Seungcheol, please..."
The filthy sounds emanating from your pussy made you blush furiously, but Seungcheol only smirked, clearly enjoying your embarrassment. "Why didn't you kiss him?" he asked, his voice laced with amusement, relishing in your struggle to answer as his fingers worked faster, driving you closer to the edge.
You squirmed beneath him, trying to form a coherent response amidst the overwhelming pleasure. "I-I don't know," you managed to gasp out, your breath hitching as his touch pushed you closer to the brink.
Seungcheol's smirk widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he continued to tease you relentlessly. "You don't know?" he repeated, his fingers working you with an expert precision that had you writhing beneath him.
You could barely think, let alone form a coherent response.
As Seungcheol's fingers entered and left you with lightning speed, you couldn't help but stare in disbelief at the blur of his forearm, moving so quickly it was almost a blur. Your back arched involuntarily as you let out a string of breathless "ah ah ah's," each one punctuated by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body.
Seungcheol knew exactly what he was doing, his movements calculated to drive you wild with ecstasy. 
Seungcheol knew you were close, could feel the tension building in your body with every movement of his hand. But just as you were on the brink of release, he stopped abruptly, leaving you panting and trembling with need.
"S-Seungcheol! No…"
You looked up at him, your eyes wide with frustration and desire, as he casually opened his jeans, a devilish grin playing on his lips. "You're trembling," he teased, his voice dripping with amusement as he watched your reaction.
Seungcheol takes his hard cock, slick with his own arousal, and grabs you by your hair roughly, pulling you close to him.
"You want this cock, don't you?" he growls, his breath hot against your skin. "You want my cock, you filthy little slut?"
You nod eagerly, your mouth hanging open in anticipation as you close your eyes, ready to take him in.
"That's it," he murmurs, a hint of satisfaction in his voice as he slaps his cock against your face, the sound echoing in the room. "You're such a fucking whore, begging for it like this."
You whimper at his words, the intensity of his desire fueling your own. You can feel yourself getting wetter with each slap of his cock against your face, and the way he bites his lip, the need for him consuming you completely.
"Tell me you want it," he demands, his grip on your hair tightening. "Tell me you want my cock inside you."
"I want it," you gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want your cock, Seungcheol. Please, give it to me."
With a satisfied smirk, he positions himself at your mouth, ready to give you exactly what you've been begging for. And as he thrusts forward, filling your mouth with his hard length, you can't help but moan in ecstasy, knowing that this is exactly where you belong.
Seungcheol's mouth falls agape, his face contorted in pleasure as you take him in so eagerly. He watches in awe as you moan around him, your hands sliding over his abs, making his skin shiver in your hands.
His frown quickly turns into a smirk of satisfaction, a low groan escaping his lips as he feels the warmth of your mouth enveloping him completely. He can't help but marvel at how good you feel, how perfectly you fit him, as he rocks his hips gently.
You continue to moan around him, your hands exploring every inch of his body, fueling his desire even more. 
"This mouth..." Seungcheol's voice is low and possessive as he tugs at your hair, his grip firm but not unkind. "This mouth is mine. Mine to kiss, mine to fuck."
With that declaration, he guides himself into your throat, the sudden invasion making your nose hit his pelvis. He holds you there for a moment, relishing the sensation of being engulfed by your warmth, before you instinctively gulp around him.
For a moment, he holds you there, the sensation of your throat tightening around him making him hiss in pleasure. You gulp around him, his grip tightens as he savors the moment.
"You're so fucking good at that,"
Then, with a sharp intake of breath, he pulls you off, a trail of saliva connecting you to him as he looks down at you with dark, hungry eyes. The sight of you—lips swollen, eyes glazed with lust—only fuels his desire further. He knows he's claimed you, body and soul, and there's nothing in the world that could feel more right.
Seungcheol's hand wraps around your throat, his grip firm but not too tight, creating a delicious pressure that makes you gasp for air. He pushes you further up the bed, his eyes locked onto yours with rage. His fingers around your neck feel like a beautiful, sinful necklace, a reminder of the control he holds over you in this moment.
"You have no idea how fucking mad you made me," he growls, his voice low and rough with emotion. "You drive me insane, Y/N. Always pushing my buttons, always making me want you more than anything."
As he confesses his frustration, you feel the head of his huge cock pressing against your entrance, stretching you slowly, filling you completely. The sensation is overwhelming, and tears slip down the sides of your face, mingling with the intense pleasure and the sweet pain of his grip on your throat.
"I can't stand it when you're with someone else," he continues, his thrusts slow and deliberate, making sure you feel every inch of him. "You belong to me. This body, this mouth, this pussy—all mine."
You gasp, the pressure of his cock stretching you almost too much to bear, but the feeling is intoxicating. "Seungcheol," you manage to choke out, your voice trembling with a mix of pain and pleasure.
He tightens his grip on your throat just a bit more, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his dominance. "Do you feel that, Y/N? Do you feel how perfectly you fit around me? You're mine, and I'm going to make sure you never forget it."
He opens your legs wider, thrusting roughly inside you, the force of his movements making you scream. Your hands reach out, one gripping his arm while the other clutches the sheets with white-knuckled intensity. The pleasure and pain blend together, making it almost impossible to form coherent thoughts.
"Tell me you're mine," he demands, his voice a low growl. You stay quiet, the words caught in your throat, as if you couldn't hear him over the pounding of your heart and the relentless rhythm of his thrusts.
"Say it," he insists, his tone more forceful now. When you still don't respond, he suddenly stops, his cock buried deep inside you, his balls pressed tight against your cunt. The sudden stillness makes you sob with the force of the pressure, feeling him pressing against your g'spot, the sensation almost painful in its intensity. Your legs tremble uncontrollably, a testament to the power he holds over you.
Seungcheol glances down at you, his gaze hard and unwavering. He grabs your jaw, holding it firmly as he shakes your head slightly. "Say it," he repeats, his eyes boring into yours.
Between the overwhelming pleasure and the sharp edge of suffering, you manage to give him a sly smile, defiance flickering in your eyes. He narrows his gaze, recognizing the challenge in your expression.
Without warning, he delivers a sharp slap to your face, the sting of it sending a shock through your system. "Say it," he demands again, anger and desperation, his control slipping.
The slap jolts you back to reality, the raw intensity of the moment piercing through the haze. "I'm yours," you finally manage to gasp, your voice cracking.. "All yours, Seungcheol."
Seungcheol contains a smile, the satisfaction in his eyes unmistakable. He gives you another two light slaps on your face, the stinging sensation making your skin tingle. Then, with a show of his strength, he effortlessly flips you over, treating you like a doll, positioning you exactly how he wants.
Your chest presses against the mattress, your face buried in the sheets as you feel his hands gripping the meat of your ass, spreading you open for him. The vulnerability make your heart race, every nerve in your body on high alert.
Seungcheol's fingers dig into your flesh, holding you firmly as he lines himself up with your entrance. He pushes into you slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your walls clenching around him. Once he's fully inside, he pauses, his breath hot and heavy against your skin.
"Fuck, you're so tight," he groans, his voice a rough whisper of desire. "You feel so fucking good."
You can barely respond, your mind lost in the sensation of him filling you completely. He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deliberate at first, each one sending ripples of pleasure through your body.
"You're mine," he growls, his pace quickening, each thrust harder and deeper than the last. "Say it again."
"I'm yours," you moan, your voice muffled by the mattress. "Seungcheol."
He lets out a satisfied grunt, his fingers gripping your hips tightly as he pounds into you, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room. The intensity of his movements drives you closer and closer to the edge, your body trembling with the force of his thrusts.
Seungcheol's hand slides up your back, tangling in your hair and pulling your head back slightly. "Don't forget it," he hisses, his breath hot against your ear. "You're mine, and I'll never let you go."
You moan undone, your breathless praise slipping from your lips—"That is so good, so good"—but before you can finish your sentence, you're cut off by a sharp thrust that makes you scream. 
Seungcheol coos,"I doubt anyone can find it like I do." 
He tightens his grip on your hair, pulling your head back so you're forced to arch your back, your screams echoing in the room as he hits just the right spot again and again. 
You can feel the tension building inside you, the need for release becoming almost overwhelming. "S-Seungcheol," you gasp out, your voice a desperate plea for more.
But he just smirks, his movements becoming even more precise, more calculated. He knows exactly what he's doing to you, and he's reveling in every moment of it.
Seungcheol is fucking you so hard that tears stream down your face, your body trembling with the intensity of his thrusts. You're almost afraid to lose yourself completely, to let go of all control.  Just when you think it can't get any more intense, his hands find your clit, and you can't help but squirm under his touch.
You whimper as he pulls you up against his chest, his fingers flicking your clit rapidly as he watches your reaction with dark, hungry eyes.
To make matters worse—or better, depending on how you look at it—his hand on your clit, sends jolts of pleasure through your already overloaded senses. You squirm and writhe beneath him, the stimulation almost too much to bear.
Your eyes roll back in your head, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you struggle to hold on to your sanity. "Breath," he demands, his voice a rough growl in your ear.
You try to comply, but the overwhelming pleasure makes it difficult to focus on anything else. "I-I can't," you gasp out, your voice barely above a whisper. "It's too much."
Seungcheol notices the sudden change in your demeanor, the absence of your usual moans and the way you've gone completely still, holding your breath as if frozen in time. Concern flashes across his face, his movements slowing as he registers the subtle signs of your impending climax.
"Y/N?" he murmurs, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern, his fingers stilling against your clit. 
But you're lost, cumming, –almost chopping his dick off with your tight cunt– your body trembling with the force of your release, unable to respond to his touch or his words. You feel like you're floating, weightless and breathless, consumed by the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins.
With a gentle touch, he cups your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing away the tears that have gathered in the corners of your eyes. 
You try to respond, to reassure him that you're fine, that you're just overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure he's giving you. But all that comes out is a strangled whimper, your body still convulsing with the aftershocks of your orgasm.
Seungcheol's worry deepens, and he pulls you closer against his chest, holding you tightly as he strokes your hair soothingly. "Shh, it's okay," he murmurs, his voice gentle and reassuring. "Just breathe, baby. I've got you."
A strangled moan escapes your lips as your body softens against Seungcheol's, the intensity of your release leaving you jelly-like in his arms. Concern still lingering in his eyes, he asks softly, "Did you cum?"
You manage a breathless "Yes," a dizzy smile spreading across your lips as you gaze up at him.n "Are you going to fill me up this time?" 
Seungcheol's cock twitches at your words, the desire in his eyes almost palpable as he stutters out a response. "I-I... Are you sure?" he asks, his voice husky with need.
You swirl your hips against him, a teasing smile playing on your lips as you feel him grow even harder beneath you. His sharp intake of breath is all the answer you need, a silent confirmation of his desire.
"Please," you whisper, your voice barely a breath as you press your body against his, your hands trailing down his neck to grip his hips.
You always asked Seungcheol to fill you up, but he always denied. But now, as he presses you against the bed once again, you lie sideways, feeling his cock slide deep inside you. Your pussy is even tighter around him this time, the sensation almost overwhelming.
You glance up at him, doing that little face you know he loves—biting your lip, furrowing your eyebrows just so. His face contorts in pleasure and frustration when he sees you like this, and he lets out a string of curses.
"Fuck you, Y/N," he growls, his voice rough with desire. "Fuck you, why are you like this? Shit."
You can't help but smile, biting your lip as you watch the emotions play across his face. It's a game you both love to play.
Deep down, you knew that you messed with him, and deep down, he knew it too. It was a dynamic between you two that you couldn't deny. You loved to tease him, to push his buttons and see how far you could go, because it ignited something primal in both of you.
You loved the way he reacted to your teasing, the way his control slipped just a little more with each provocative glance or suggestive comment. And he, in turn, reveled in the challenge you presented, the way you pushed him to his limits and beyond.
In your mind, a film passed by, a vivid flashback to a night when you both decided to let your touches get wilder.
Seungcheol's hand gripped your tit, his lips trailing hot kisses along your neck as you moaned uncontrollably. You couldn't help but grind your clothed pussy against his clothed cock, the friction sending sparks of pleasure shooting through your body.
Suddenly, Seungcheol stopped, his grip tightening on your hips as he looked at you with a mix of desire and uncertainty. "No, no we—" he started to say, but you continued moving your hips, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.
"Seungcheol," you gasped, your voice filled with need as you begged him to continue. He was reluctant, hesitant, but you could feel the tension building between you, the desire simmering just beneath the surface.
His hips mirrored your thrusts, a silent admission of the desire burning within him. 
He took all of your clothing, stripping you bare as he worshipped your body with his mouth. The sensation of his lips and tongue on your pussy was too much, bringing tears to your eyes as he gave his everything to please you.
You arched your back against his couch, your toes curling with pleasure as you moaned his name over and over again. Seungcheol's gaze never left yours, his eyes dark with desire as he savored every reaction, every gasp and moan that escaped your lips.
"Seungcheol, d-don't stop! Please, please!" your voice echoed in his mind, focusing on making you cum on his tongue, making you mark him with your essence. 
"Y/N, you slut," Seungcheol pants, his voice heavy with desire and frustration. He thrusts into you, his body trembling with the effort, his expression a mixture of pleasure and suffering. His mouth hangs open, his hair clinging to his face with sweat as he continues to drive into you relentlessly.
"You only make me suffer," he confesses, his voice raw with emotion. "But fuck, I can't help but want you. Every time I'm with you, I–"
You cut off his confession, your breath hitching as you feel another wave of pleasure building inside you. "I'm... I'm cumming again," you gasp out, the sudden declaration sending you hurtling towards the edge with newfound intensity.
Seungcheol's eyes widen with surprise at your abrupt interruption, but he doesn't miss a beat. He grips your hips tighter, his thrusts becoming even more relentless as he drives you towards the brink of ecstasy once again.
You glance up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, trying to keep them open despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your veins. His moans mingle with yours, the sound filling the room as you both surrender to the ecstasy of the moment.
And then, with a shuddering cry, you feel yourself tumbling over the edge once again, your body convulsing with pleasure as you ride out the waves of your orgasm. Seungcheol's movements become more erratic, more desperate, as he reaches his own peak, painting your insides with his hot cum.
His body almost collapses on top of yours, but he sustains himself with one arm, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he rides out the last throes of his climax. You clench and unclench around him, milking him for every drop of cum as you let out a relieved moan, the hot cum filling you like a reward.
As Seungcheol quietly gets up and heads to the bathroom, leaving you alone, you can't help but feel a sense of unease settle over you. It's unlike him to leave so abruptly after sex, especially when he usually prefers to linger, basking in the intimacy of the moment.
You wait for a moment, hoping that he'll return soon, but when he doesn't, your concern grows. Something doesn't feel right, and you can't shake the feeling that there's more to his sudden departure than meets the eye.
With a sense of trepidation, you push yourself up from the bed and make your way to the bathroom, your footsteps echoing in the quiet of the room. You hesitate for a moment outside the door, unsure of what you'll find on the other side.
Taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you push open the door and step inside. The bathroom is dimly lit, the only source of illumination coming from the soft glow of the overhead light.
You find Seungcheol standing in front of the sink, his back turned to you as he splashes water on his face. His shoulders are tense, his movements stiff and mechanical, as if he's trying to wash away the weight of the world.
"Seungcheol?" you call out softly, your voice breaking the silence of the room.
He startles at the sound of your voice, his movements faltering for a moment before he turns to face you. His eyes are shadowed, his expression unreadable as he meets your gaze.
"Are you okay?" you ask, concern lacing your words as you step closer to him.
He hesitates for a moment, as if debating whether or not to confide in you, before finally nodding. "Yeah, I'm fine," he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.
But you can tell by the tension in his body, by the haunted look in his eyes, that he's anything but fine.
"I'm sorry for being a slut who makes you suffer," you say softly, your words heavy with remorse as you acknowledge the pain you've caused him. Deep down, you know that his hurt stems from your actions, from the tumultuous dynamic between you that often leaves both of you reeling.
But before you can dwell on your apology, Seungcheol rushes to reassure you, his words coming out in a hurried rush. "No, no, you're not," he insists, his voice firm as he looks at you with a mixture of concern and affection.
You exhale softly, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders at his words. But before you can say anything else, the confession spills out of you, unstoppable now that you've opened the floodgates.
"I blocked him," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. 
"Hm?" Seungcheol's head tilt, confused.
"The guy from the date. Actually, I couldn't think about anything else but you, Seungcheol. That date... I wasn't even paying attention to that guy. I just wanted you. I'd rather have stayed with you that day, but I left, and I hurt you–"
But before you can finish your confession, Seungcheol cuts you off by pulling you into a tight embrace. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if he never wants to let you go, as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "It's okay, Y/N-nie," he murmurs, "I understand. And I'm here for you, no matter what."
Seungcheol hesitates for a moment, his brow furrowing with uncertainty as he asks, "Am I being selfish if I say that I want you to be mine, and no one else?"
You chuckle softly at his question, reaching up to brush a strand of hair away from his face. "Not at all," you reply, your voice gentle and reassuring. "I want to be yours, Seungcheol. No one else."
A flicker of relief passes over his features at your words, but there's still a hint of uncertainty in his eyes. "But... is it okay for me to want that?" he asks, his voice tinged with insecurity.
You smile, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "Of course it is," you murmur against his mouth. "In fact, it's more than okay. It's what I want too."
Seungcheol's eyes widen in surprise at your words, his expression softening with a mixture of disbelief and joy. "Really?" he asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
You nod, your smile widening as you take his hand in yours. "Really," you confirm.
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k0yaz · 3 months ago
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(I don't do requests often, so I read your rules like three times out of nervousness 😭)
Could you write an Il Capitano x fem!reader where the reader is forced to walk home by her family after a ball. While walking back, Capitano picks her up and offers to take the reader to where she lives. Maybe toss in some soft/kind Capitano?
Thank you so much, I hope this is an ok request!
pitch black.
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Pairings: capitano x fem!reader
CW: sfw, female reader, assy family members, written before natlan, so capitano might be slightly ooc, can be read as platonic or romantic, yum frostbite yay, ngl id cry myself to sleep if I was in snezhnaya bc I can’t handle cold weather, probably an iron deficiency, lazy writing at the end again AUUUUGHHHH, freakytano my glorious king, not proofread.
A/N: HIHIHIHI ALSO IM SORRY IF I MISREAD THE FAMILY THING BUTTTT I ACTUALLY WROTE ON A WEEKDAY YAY also guys should I do like a special for 1k cause my followers are eating rn ok but seriously thank u so much for all the support love yall!! 🕯️
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Cold swishes of air circled the pitch black sky faintly illuminated by a star or two, ruffling the silky fluff of a heavy coat adorning your figure. You firmly tightened your grasp around the lapels of the large coat, fabric wrinkling and dragged between the clutches of your paling knuckles tinted a soft pink from Snezhnaya’s biting cold.
Hollow crunches of your footsteps simply rang aloud in your years as your father’s words piled up in your mind. They were merely harmless, yet the intent behind your family’s dismissal stung like a sharpened blade spearing into your chest. But of course, it wasn’t anything new. A gust of wind howled into the canal of your ear sharply, ringing the ill memory of your family spitting the venom laced words of ordering you to trudge home in the nation’s burrowing winter. They didn’t even bother to provide a coat or furnish your body in any way, simply shooing you off as if they were desperate to make you keep your distance from them.
You had been awkwardly situated next to them, the chatter making you shift uncomfortably in an off putting stance, similar to that of an upright statue. Their exasperating laughs bellowed throughout the ballroom obnoxiously, catching an occasional glance of a person or two eyeing them. If hunching your shoulders in embarrassment wasn’t enough, their attitude was more than enough for you to have a strong urge to pray for the Tsaritsa’s wrath to be bestowed upon them.
People had noticed your huddled stance, tracing the rim of your glass in circular motions in hopes to distract yourself from the growing oddity of your placement in the ball. And without hesitation, they would of course begin to approach you. Possibly out of pity? Perhaps even the goodness of their heart wanting to accompany the girl who wasn’t very engaged in the celebration. Each person would approach you, friendly smiles stretching their face as they’d attempt to greet you—only for it to be cut short by your parents’ attention snapping to the guest stood before you, slicing the conversation short as they’d beckon the person to come speak with them instead.
Tremors of disdain pooled inside of you upon seeing your family members so obviously attempt to shove out any possible chance of a trail of hopeful socialization paved on your direction. Your isolation only grew more and more frustrating as indistinct chatter bounced off the walls of the ball, your eyes following the sound of the echo trailing from the marble structure to the intricate chandelier and candles flickering. At this moment, you purely felt alone. Isolated from everything as you mentally stood still in a pitch black void, with drowned out voices clouding the lonesome darkness.
“(Name). I think it’s about time you headed home.” Your father rasped out, not even making eye contact with you as his gaze was locked onto the champagne bottle and glass snug between his hands. “The ball is over anyway. We’re only staying for extra drinks. Your mother and I will be out meeting some other relatives at the nearby restaurant.”
“Father, it’s too cold for me to walk back home. You know how-“
“Oh, (Name). You’ll be fine. I raised you to be an independent woman. You’ll find the way home just fine.”
Pushing past your father, your mother pokes her shoulder out as well, casting you a glance as she chimes in to the conversation.
“He’s right, dear. Go ahead and head home for the night. I trust you’ll fare just fine without us accompanying you home.”
“Mother, that’s not what I-“
“(Name). That’s enough. You should head home. End of discussion.”
You knew you couldn’t properly explain to them. They’d always toss you aside and swat off your remarks as such. You bit back your protest, swallowing as you scanned the ballroom for a spare coat anywhere. There were a few harbingers around, so a raggedy stray coat shouldn’t be too uncommon.
“Sorry. I’ll be heading home now.” You submitted under your breath, masking your mixed irritation dissolved into your tone. You only further grimaced slightly as your mother smiled and leaned over to place a faux affectionate kiss to your forehead. With one dismissive wave once more, her and your father turned their back to you to exit the ball, shouldering through the heavy spruce doors packed with people crowding them.
You blinked, fervent shivers making you tremble against each flake of snow that brushed along the exposed parts of your skin as you realized you had just stepped midway through. The searing cold made your head spin as you began to lose yourself, frostbite clouding your senses and enveloping the tips of your fingers slowly. No matter. You could make it home if you simply stopped spacing out and thinking about your shitty parents. Just then, a loud crunch resounded with the howling wind, heavy clanks of metal being heard in addition to the crunches.
The heavy thuds only seemed to become clearer as they grew closer and closer, a light drag of chains shuffling behind you as well. Your heart nearly pounded out of your chest in anticipation, a sense of apprehension overtaking you as you clutched the coat draped over you tighter in a pathetic attempt to shield yourself using the thick fabrics. The thuds came to a halt as your eyes slowly roamed over the man who halted before you. His figure loomed over you, as his towering frame was quite intimidating to the least.
The metal lining of his mask enshrouded his face in a sightless black, cloaking his face completely as it seemed like an empty void bore into the gap of his helmet. Streams of jet black hair along with that adorned along the cheekbone of his mask and down his shoulders, a few stray strands of his long hair edged along the sharp steel edges of his mask. On top of that. A thick white coat with black fluff was draped along his shoulders, the small fabric emblem in the corner pertaining to that of the Fatui. If he was wearing this coat, your best bet was he was definitely a Fatui harbinger. Likely a strong one at that.
Backing up slightly, your eyes wandered over the man’s figure as you stood neatly frozen in place, the wind swaying his streaming hair while the harbinger looked down upon you.
“Is something the matter, ma’am?”
His low voice cast the illusion of protruding through the thickened frozen air, a faint muffle present in his speech considering he had spoken through the hollow opening of his seemingly endless mask.
“I was just walking home..”
“You seemed to be troubled, though.”
You simply wanted to scoff, yet you only tilted your head away from the harbinger in shame. Had your family humiliated you this much to the point where a figure of such high status took pity on you?
Sucking in a breath, you slowly turned your head back towards him, his body frozen in place, and looking down at you like a great statue. His gaze remained locked on you—yet you couldn’t tell due to the hollow blackness pitched into the carving of his mask. “Your name?” He hummed lowly, his body still enveloped by his large coat, and arms hidden under the sides of the thick pale silk.
“(Name).” You replied bluntly, clearing your throat and lowering your voice almost immediately after as to not give a rude impression. “Yours?”
“Il Capitano.”
Capitano seemed to follow your lingering gaze as he spoke, tracing each spot your eyes transfixed on periodically. However, there was one particular spot you couldn’t take your eyes off, and he didn’t take long to notice you focused on the Fatui emblem at the corner of his harbinger coat. “First of the Fatui harbingers.” He added, sensing that you had been wondering his relation to the infamous organization serving under the Cryo Archon dispersed across Teyvat.
Sensing your evident shifts and subtle kicks of your feet, he didn’t take long to pick up on your troubled state fidgeting before him, as if you were afraid of a train of emotional danger clouding your judgement to even think properly—much less walk in such bitter conditions.
“Where are you off to so late, miss (Name)?”
“I’m just walking home…it’s important family business.”
You immediately added that last part as an audible afterthought, not wanting to involve a harbinger in your personal affairs. Capitano wasn’t stupid, however. The clouds of tension and fear were palpable amidst the indifferent expression of yours, flaked white from the occasional crystals of snow fluttering onto your face. Heavy clanks followed your words as he stepped forward carefully, not wanting to startle you as he made his way directly beside you.
The black fur lining the neckline of his coat brushed against your collarbone as he stood closely shoulder to shoulder with you, head kept high. He continued to stare off into the distance ahead of him, as if the burrowing fog wasn’t enshrouding the entire vicinity before the two of you and dimming your line of sight.
“Do you mind if I accompany you home?”
You blinked out of pure surprise. A harbinger? Walking you home? At first it was too much, you couldn’t possibly accept this, much less waste his time like this! However the chilling thought of walking alone at night so late sent a shiver down your spine, and it was definitely not just from the cold.
“Not at all, Sir Capitano.”
He shook his head, stepping forward as he beckoned you to catch up to him.
“No need for formalities. Just Capitano is fine.”
Nodding, you briskly walked beside him to match his pace. The two of you were purely silent as he walked into the swirls of fog patterned along the vicinity clouding the array of homes lined up on either side of the street. Shuffles of chains and howls of wind were the only noticeable sound echoing along the empty night roads, inducing a rush of calmness that replaced your previous anxious state. Halfway through, you proceeded to extend your arm out, pointer finger fixing ahead of you at a slight angle.
“My home should be around there.”
Capitano simply nodded, shifting his path in the direction of your finger’s aim as he slowly headed toward the squeezed space of homes cluttered along the sides. Once reaching your doorstep, he halted at the hardened spruce topped with a silver knocker situated above the center, as if he was awaiting your next words. You delivered him a sincere and thoughtful smile, folding your arms as you didn’t know what exactly to do with them. The freezing steel of the knocker uncomfortably brushed along the exposed skin of your shoulder, which was not effectively covered by the ragged coat, making you hunch over upon contact embarrassingly.
“Thank you, Capitano. I don’t think I could have reached home quick enough before passing out on the streets..”
He let out an affirmative hum once more, looking down at you through his helmet framed by his long hair which was now a bit unkempt from the winds mixed with the fog. But it was only a strand or two off anyway.
“The pleasure is all mine, Miss (Name).” He paused briefly, before adding once more. “If you’re in any trouble that requires my assistance, don’t feel afraid to call me.” His words were sweet, yet they made you laugh faintly, making you biting your tongue at his low tone questioning what was so humorous about his statement.
“Ah. It’s nothing, Capitano. It’s just…we met under a few hours ago..”
“It’s not the time we knew each other that’s the matter. Rather, it’s the fact that it’s obvious you’re clearly going through something, (Name). I don’t mean to pry, I just want to do what is just for you. And I can tell you’re a good person.”
His words only brought that faint elated smile back onto your face, an unexplainable disappointment drooping within you when he steps away from the door to head back. You wave to him, and he gives a quick nod, turning his back to you and heading back to god knows where. That smile remained on your lips for quite a bit, even when you rocked open the door slowly into the comfort and warmth of your home.
What a respectable and kind man.
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A/N: it’s 1 am and I have a quiz tomorrow morning LOLLL
Anyway I’m so happy I got this done yay
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catdia · 6 days ago
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Lost in a Wild Rune
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“Jayce— p-please slow down.” You whined. Throat straining against his hand.
He had you pressed against the wall of his abandoned workshop. Entering you with one thrust of his hips.
You came to his workshop to mourn his memory. Walk around the now ice cold fire pit and touch all those unfinished projects he had laying around.
Instead you found a broken Jayce, longer hair and full beard. Beautiful amber eyes uneasy and intense like never before. Talis hammer distorted with a Gem stone no longer blue.
A short emotion filled reunion. Hands grasping his dirty ruined coat. Nails digging into his clothing to see if this all was real. That he was flesh and bone.
You had so many questions about what and why. Before you could even get them out your mouth he claimed you with a kiss. Stripping you of your bottoms and shoved into a cold wall.
“I missed you so much, baby. I’ve become crazy without you.” He moan into your ear. Teeth sinking into your neck. Marking your skin red.
What happened to the man that used to make love to you so tenderly? The one that would give and give, and never take.
You refuse to believe that the man that was fucking you so hard was your lover.
He was pounding away at your entrance. Leg brace scrapping the outsides of your thighs. Your ass bouncing against his pelvis each time he thrusted into your weeping cunt. Other hand holding your arms behind your back making your wrists hurt.
He was so hairless before. Claiming he liked to be groomed for you. But seeing him shirtless with hair on his chest and a happy trail pointing to his cock made your cunt drool.
Jayce smelled of musk. The hand on your neck calloused by the lack of gloves. He wasn’t the council member you last saw.
He was just a man with the primal urge to fuck. And that made you unbelievably willing.
“Jayce, please, i-it’s too much!” tears were escaping your eyes. Your moans and cries echoed through the workshop walls. As if those walls were mocking you.
“My beautiful girl.”
He growled like an animal, having your velvety walls contract on his shaft was pure heaven. After months of pain and mental strain your skin was a much needed pill.
Balls slapping against your little abused clit deliciously. They were so backed up and heavy. Full of creamy seed. Head of his cock hitting your sweet spot just right. Squirming to get out of his hold, fearing of cumming too quickly. You wanted to savor his lust.
You almost forgot how big he was. Without any prep the shock of having him inside you was great, the burn was mouthwatering.
“How I’ve missed this pussy. Fuck, can’t wait to breed you.” He moaned between hollow breaths.“Should have done it sooner. I need to make you mine, baby.”
You were his the moment you met. Forever and always.
“Make me yours, Jayce. Fuck me full with your fat cock!”
He let go of your arms and neck. You braced yourself on the cold concrete. Palms violently grabbing the flesh of your hips, dragging them to meet the start of his shaft and all the way to the tip.
“Give yourself to me, muñeca—”
He came screaming your name, coating your cervix in white.
“Ohhh, fuck.” Jayce pulled you flat on his chest.
His hands pressing on your lower tummy. The pressure made you see stars, throwing your head back on his shoulder. Arching your back. Jayce captured your lips in a kiss, beard scratchy against your chin.
He made quick work of your clit with his fingers. Slapping her a few times making your body shiver and whine out.
“Jayceeeeee— I’m gonna cum!”
“Cream all over my cock, baby.” You came on his shaft. Body convulsing by the lack of release you haven’t had in months.
“That’s it, that’s it…” Jayce slowly pulled out with a hiss. Spreading your cheeks apart to see his cum dripping out of your swollen lips.
Your legs were like jelly, if it wasn’t for him turning his back against the wall and sliding you down to the floor your knees you have been bleeding.
Jayce wrapped his arms around you. They were more muscular than you remembered. You were all fucked out. Hair in every direction, sweat coating your brow. But this Jayce didn’t care.
He was smelling your body, nuzzling his nose into every crevice of your skin. Licking and tasting you as if you were going to disappear.
A giggle filled Jayce’s ears.
“Your beard is tickling me, baby.”
He smiled like a lunatic. Kissing the back of your hand. “It is? Do you like it?”
“Mmm I love it, Jayce. And the hair too.” You said tracing his jaw with your knuckles.
You missed each other’s joy so much.
You saw the pain in his eyes, one of a massive headache that cannot even be controlled by morphine. The way the lines of his nose scrunched up in discomfort. What happened to your lover?
The hormones of sex and bliss slowly diminishing.
“What happend to you? Why did you leave me alone?” You broke down in his chest. Ugly crying like he has never seen before.
“Sshhh, baby, please don’t cry. I’m right here with you.” Jayce cradled your head in his large palms. Bringing his lips up to your eyes and drinking your tears.
“I don’t even know where to begin…”
“Start with why the Hexcore has tuned into an angry human tissue sample.”
You pushed a strand of hair behind his ears. Massaging the sides of his temple with little pressure. Making him sigh in relief.
His gaze was focused, like the young inventor you saw for the first time in his blown-up apartment.
“Ok. Well, it all happened so fast after the attack—”
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suguann · 9 months ago
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Possessive!Geto who pretends he doesn't care when he overhears that a new high-paying customer comes to the club every Friday to watch you specifically perform on stage, knowing he can’t really do anything about it unless a patron breaks the rules printed on a neon sign above the bar—No touching the dancers unless you're tipping—even if he’s the one in charge.
He’ll smile and nod, shaking hands with big spenders with sleazy smiles in the VIP lounge while his eyes find you from the other side of the room as you climb into another man’s lap.
He can’t stop his jaw from clenching when that same customer tips a month’s worth of rent every week or asks about private shows even though you don't do them. How he notices you smiling prettily for this customer, eyelashes fluttering with stars in your eyes to match the glitter on your cheeks before you walk off stage toward the dressing rooms. 
Sometimes you play the part of making a lonely man feel wanted too well. 
Possessive!Geto whose hand tightens around his glass tumbler, watching the man who’s been coming to see you (now twice a week) slip a thick white card into the top of your stockings. The fact that he touched your thigh with his dirty hands irks Geto the most.
In times like this, he wishes he had never come up with the rule about keeping your relationship a secret—so nobody thinks I’m picking favorites—because regret is a thick pill to swallow.
When you walk up to his office later, Geto wastes no time by dragging you down onto his lap, trailing his nose down the slope of your neck where your soft-smelling perfume is strongest and sucking a bruise into the hollow of your throat for everyone to see. 
You’re still wearing those cross-stitch stockings—the feel of them under his hands making him halfway hard—and he yanks the bodice of your dress down just underneath the swell of your breasts to get rid of the thought of another man touching you.
“B-but, Suguru, we’re at work—”
“Let me enjoy these pretty tits, huh?” he growls before sucking a nipple into his greedy mouth.
You whine his name, and it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.
The blinds to his floor-to-ceiling windows are open, but it's tinted glass so nobody can tell what happens behind locked doors. Except, when he glances toward the busy club below, he wishes everyone in the building could witness what it looks like for you to fall apart under his hands—a personal show you put on just for him.
Only him. His fingers hook inside you to feel you tight and hot around him as a reminder.
Possessive!Geto who has enough one day after that customer asks for another private session—this time, he goes to Geto directly.
It’s a busy night, and every dancer works the floor. Well, almost. 
You’re kneeling between his spread legs, spit dribbling down your chin, whimpering while trying to open your throat for him.
He brushes your hair away from your face, watching your mouth messily slurp around his cock under his desk—his jaw is slack, and his other hand clenches on the armrest of his chair. “So good—fuck, baby—so fucking pretty,” he mutters, his top teeth catching his bottom lip.
His head tilts back when you eagerly fill your mouth with him again and again until he feels you choke, making his thighs flex under your hands. Geto’s thumb smooths an arc across your cheek.
“There you go,” he huffs. “I love that little mouth—”
There’s a knock on his door, and he feels you panic, moving to pull off his cock. But the hand in your hair tightens, keeping you pressed against him. Your nails bite into his skin, tears prickling your lashline as small distressed mewls escape your lips.
“Don’t you dare fucking stop,” he hisses. “Not unless I say so.”
Another knock echoes in his office.
“Come in.”
The customer with the too-shiny tie and a penchant for slipping thousands into your g-string opens the door with a smile on his face and a glint in his eye, sauntering into the room like he owns the place. “How about that deal—”
Whatever he’s about to ask is lost on Geto because his ears are ringing when he feels you swallow around him, and his balls draw up tight against his body, and—
Possessive!Geto who grunts when you moan around his cock as he cums down your throat, his lips twitching at the look of shock on the customer’s face.
“I’ve heard your deal,” he says eventually, glancing down at your glazed eyes and wiping away what little mess escaped your mouth with his thumb. “But she’s not yours to take.”
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milkbobatyun · 2 months ago
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foolish little dove
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pairing: yandere!sunday x reader
genre: angstober, events, yandere
summary: the consequences of not listening to the head of the oak family
word count: 936
C O N T E N T W A R N I N G : yandere behaviour, manipulation, fear
a/n: this can be read as a continuation of my first yandere sunday piece 'my love, mine all mine'
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the plush mattress of the bed dipped underneath you, the room furnished with an abundance of luxury—silk sheets, velvet drapes, golden accents, all shining in the glow of the candlelight. it was more than any common person could afford. yet, this was just a gilded cage, a dream disguised as a nightmare,
you were the dove, wings weighed down by invisible chains, helpless as you await for the fate your captor planned for you. the balcony teased you, thick, tempered glass doors teasing you, though it remained locked, the taste of freedom just out of reach.
oh how you prayed you could fly into the sky from the balcony, to feel the fresh air blow gently against your skin.
the vast room seemed to grow larger every day, the loneliness gnawed at your insides, making you yearn for company.
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the sun rose and fell, night’s moonlight flooded the room. the repetitive ticking of the grandfather clock downstairs struck through throughout the room, the gramophone’s needle scratched out the same haunting tune, echoing around the bed chamber. 
you lost count of how many days you were locked up. the staff brought you your meals, took you to the bathroom to bath, their routine revolving around you like clockwork. your days began to blend into each other, making your mind a blurry haze.
today, a key jangled in the lock, the soft creak of the heavy oak door echoing in the still room.
sunday’s heavy boots thudded across the floor, muffled by the plush velvet carpet.
your blank gaze slid away from where your hands tangled each other, your hair hanging around your face like lifeless vines, towards the new figure in the room. when you catch sight of a white coat and not the mundane black uniform of the servants, your head snaps up, eyes lighting up with hope.
your eyes meet sunday’s steady gaze, lunging forwards, hands grasping at him, at his clothes, to prove to yourself he wasn’t a figment of imagination. those hallucinations happened more often now. 
sometimes, it was your family, screaming in agony, their bloody hands clawing at your exquisite clothing, cursing you to eternal suffering, their screams worming its way into your ears. other times, it was the trailblazer, haunting the dark corner of your room, a silent visitor who would stare blankly in your direction.
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the smooth velvety fabric rippled cooling against your soft and warm skin. sunday’s mouth twitched into an amused smirk, as he closed the distance in a few long strides. for a fleeting second, you allowed yourself to believe that he was here, to free you from the cold shackles around your ankles. his cold hands, concealed by his pure white gloves, traced your face.
“my, my,” he purred, voice soothing. “how is my little dove?”
“please,” you pleaded, tears streaming down your face. “please, let me go… i beg of you” your voice trailed off, dying like the hope you held in your heart.
a hollow chuckle flooded the room, sunday’s face twisted in cruel humor.
“you still don’t get it, do you?” he hisses, voice taunting. “you’re mine now, little dove. even if i let you go, where would you go? home?” 
a twisted smirk adorned his face. 
“oh right,” he continued, tapping his finger on his chin in mock consideration. “you don't have one anymore! maybe because…they’re all dead!”
his eyes were alight with evil delirium, looking down upon you like a hawk would upon its prey. 
with one finger twirling a lock of your hair, sunday leaned close to your ear, lips brushing your ear like a lover’s promise, and whispered, “remember, my little dove, you’re mine now, always and forever.”
with a gentle, almost lover-like caress of your cheek, sunday placed a kiss on your forehead, before he turned on his heel, heading towards the door.
something within you snapped and you moved before you could think, hope shining in your eyes. you tried to run towards the opening. though your legs, weak with days of sitting around, failed you. sunday watched you with sadonic delight, gaze cold and emotionless as he observed you while you flailed about, like a newborn deer. 
throwing dignity to the wind, you dragged yourself towards the door, the comfort of the carpet burning against your skin. you watched as the shining sliver of freedom shut behind sunday. 
the door clicked shut with an echoing finality. hearing the snap of the lock, turning back into its place, you remained, clawing at the door. you were but a dove in a gilded cage, weighed down by invisible chains, freedom nothing but a cruel illusion, always out of reach.
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taglist (open): @yeonjunsfox
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∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobayun 2024 / づ ♡
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luvsupa · 2 months ago
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tags: chef!geto x married!reader, cheating (don’t do this guys), naoya is readers husband, food play(ish), geto has tattoos + purple eyes, smut (kinda), mdni,
w.c: 1.9k
+ finally this is out of my drafts 🙂‍↕️
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“i’ve hired a new chef.” your husband, naoya, announces coldly from the other end of the long, polished dining table. the sharp clink of cutlery echoes through the grand dining room as you both eat the meal your private chefs had meticulously prepared—medium rare wagyu steak with truffle mashed potatoes and buttered asparagus, the kind of meal that screams luxury. but his voice grates on you, cutting through your attempt to enjoy the evening.
you grip your knife tightly, scraping it against your plate in irritation, barely tasting the food. naoya’s eyes finally flick up from his plate, narrowing as he notices your silence. his leg bounces under the table, the tension radiating off him as he grows impatient with you ignoring him. 
“i’m speaking to you, woman,” he snaps through gritted teeth, barely holding back his annoyance.
you drop your utensils with a clatter, meeting his icy gaze. “and i’m listening. another chef, huh? what is this, the eighth or ninth employee you’ve hired just to fuck behind my back?”
naoya leans back in his chair, crossing his arms as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth. his tongue rolls against his cheek, a clear sign that you’ve struck a nerve. but instead of shame, he’s amused.
“whatever happens between me and my staff is none of your concern,” he says smoothly, his arrogance on full display. “and this time, i’ve hired a male chef. try not to spread your legs for him the way you do for everyone else.”
the words sting, but they’re nothing new. his chuckle follows as he tosses his dirty napkin onto his half-eaten plate and stands, casually loosening his tie from his work suit. “slut,” he mutters under his breath as he walks out of the dining room, leaving you with the hollow clink of his footsteps fading in the distance.
you stare down at your left hand weighed down by stacks and stacks of luxurious jewelry—gifts from naoya, from a time when he at least pretended to love you. the massive diamond on your ring finger feels heavy, a cruel reminder of the life you thought you’d have. a life where you were cherished, not ignored and humiliated.
but that was before the affairs. before he cheated on you with everyone from his secretaries to the maids. you’ve tried to leave him more than once, but his connections, his power—he’s made it clear he’ll destroy you if you ever walk away. 
and so you stay, trapped in this gilded cage.
⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *
the next morning, you wake up tangled in silk sheets, the rich fabric cool against your skin. you turn to the clock on the nightstand—9:40 a.m. naoya is already gone, no doubt having left hours earlier for work. good, you think. it’s better that way. waking up to his smug face would only ruin your morning.
slipping into your soft slippers, you wrap yourself in a sheer lilac robe, its light fabric brushing against your bare skin as you make your way to the bathroom. after freshening up, you take extra care with your skincare routine and hair, making sure you look more presentable than you did when you woke up.
the enticing aroma of freshly baked pastries and pancakes floats through the air as you descend the grand, floating staircase—something you’d begged naoya to have built when you first moved in.
you walk into the kitchen, expecting to see one of the female chefs who probably has a history with your husband. but instead, you freeze mid-greeting.
“good morning, rina—oh…” your words trail off as your eyes land on a tall, muscular man in the kitchen, flipping pancakes with an ease that seems almost hypnotic. his back is turned to you, but you can’t help but admire the way his broad shoulders stretch the black tank top—no, wife beater—that clings to his frame. you can see the muscles in his arms flex with each movement, glistening in the soft morning light streaming through the tall windows. his long, dark hair is tied up in a neat bun, and his discarded chef’s jacket hangs over the back of a chair.
he turns at the sound of your voice, a warm smile spreading across his lips, and you’re suddenly struck by how impossibly handsome he is. it’s not just his looks—it’s his presence. confident and utterly intoxicating. your mouth goes dry as you try not to ogle him, but it’s impossible. fuck, he looks good.
“ah, good morning, mrs. zenin. apologies for the late breakfast,” he says smoothly, his voice deep and velvety, and you have to lean more into the wall for support.
you quickly correct him by letting him no the preferred name rather than naoya’s evil surname. “a-and, there’s no need to be so formal…?,” you drag on for his chance to introduce himself.
“such a beautiful name,” he compliments, sending a shiver down your spine. you feel like a teenage girl speaking to her crush for the first time. “i’m geto suguru.”
suguru. you roll the name over in your mind,
“do… do you need any help, suguru?” you offer, your voice barely above a whisper. you step closer to him, drawn in by his presence. his cologne is subtle, but it clogs your mind, intoxicating you as you catch the scent of sandalwood and something dark and sensual.
he looks down at you, smirking at your shy demeanor. “you wanna help, pretty?” his eyebrow quirks as he motions you to join him, and you nod, as the petname made you all happy.
he motions you to move to his other side but as you follow- your gaze catches something else—tattoos. a full sleeve, intricate designs snaking up his toned arm. your mouth goes dry again as your eyes linger, tracing the ink and the way it contrasts against his skin.
he notices, of course, and chuckles. “got these during a… phase. not really proud of it,” he admits casually, his voice smooth as silk.
“i think they’re attractive,” you say softly, barely able to look him in the eye as you flirt back.
his smirk widens, and he turns back to the stove, pouring a decent amount of pancake batter onto the pan. the butter sizzles, filling the air with the rich, delicious scent of breakfast. “i think you’re attractive,” he murmurs, “shame you’re already married.”
his words hit you like a punch to the gut, a reminder of naoya, of the life you’re stuck in. your smile falters, and geto notices, his sharp eyes catching every little reaction.
“is that whipped cream?” you ask quickly, desperate to change the subject, trying to pull yourself together.
“just finished,” he replies, turning down the heat on the jam. his voice is low, smooth, teasing. “wanna taste?”
you nod, unable to resist the pull of his presence. geto steps closer, his gaze never leaving yours as he dips his finger into the whipped cream. slowly, he brings it to his mouth. his lips part, his tongue gliding over his finger as he sucks the cream off, savouring it with a soft, sensual hum. his eyes flutter shut, and the moment feels intimate—too intimate.
your lips part slightly, unable to look away from the sight of him. his finger glistens as he pulls it from his mouth, the motion slow, deliberate, teasing you without a single word. he dips back into the bowl, scooping up a thick, generous glob of cream, his eyes darkening with desire.
“say ahh, baby,” he whispers, his voice so low, it’s almost a growl, holding his finger near your lips.
your breath catches, your glossed lips parting eagerly as you wait for him to feed you, heat pooling between your thighs at the way he’s looking at you. but instead, his hand accidentally slips, the cold cream falling between your breasts, slowly trickling down your cleavage.
you gasp at the shock of it, the cold against your heated skin sending a shiver through you.
“oh… i’m sorry,” he murmurs, though the wicked smirk curling at his lips tells you he’s anything but. “mah i clean that up?” he politely asks as you mutter out a soft, yes, as he smirks.
before you can fully process anything, his large hands are on you, lifting you effortlessly onto the cool marble counter. your breath hitches as your robe falls open slightly, the flimsy material slipping down your shoulders, baring more of your chest. geto positions himself between your legs, his gaze locked on your cleavage, his tongue slowly wetting his lips.
you tremble above him, his body so close, the heat of him making you dizzy. he leans in, his breath warm against your skin as his fingers slowly push more of the fabric of your robe, exposing the thin top beneath. his eyes darken with hunger as he takes in the sight of you.
with agonizing slowness, he lowers his head, his long tongue sliding up the valley between your breasts, collecting the cream in long, deliberate licks. the sensation sends a shock of pleasure through you, and your head falls back, a soft moan escaping your lips. he moves up to your neck, sucking gently on the sensitive skin, leaving hot, wet kisses. fuck, you didn’t realize how touch deprived you were until now- especially being in his presence is making your cunt quiver.
his hands glide up your body, one gripping your waist while the other cups your breast. your eyes flutter at the intensity as your breathing quickens as he kneads your breast through the thin fabric of your top. you let out a broken moan as he sucks harder at your neck while simultaneously pinching and twisting your erect nipples between his experienced fingers as his tongue continues its sinful path along your throat. and oh, the sweet melodies of your moans escaping your mouth does something to geto. he feels his work pants get tighter and tighter the more you let out your moans. fuckk he thinks it’s beyond pathetic how something so minimal is making him this hard.
“m-more,” you plead breathlessly, your voice a desperate whisper.
geto chuckles against your neck, his lips brushing your ear. “does your husband even know how fucking needy you are?” he taunts, his voice thick with amusement. his fingers pinch your nipple harder, drawing a gasp from you. “how much you crave this? how desperate you are to be touched like this?”
you shake your head, unable to form words, your body arching into his touch, wanting everything he can give. but just when you think he’s about to give in to your pleas, he pulls back, his heat leaving you suddenly cold as he turns his attention back to the stove, his movements casual as if nothing had just happened.
your eyes fly open in disbelief, your body still trembling, aching for him. he flips the pancakes calmly, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips as though you hadn’t just been begging him for more.
“i-i didn’t get a taste,” you whine softly, your voice thick with need, still perched on the counter, your legs open, desperate for him.
he glances back at you, a knowing grin spreading across his face as he finishes preparing you your breakfast as he turns around, hands you a beautifully plated dish of pancakes, the whipped cream and fresh jam. “i don’t want the food- i want you,” you whine as he places the food beside you.
“you can’t always get what you want, spoiled brat.” you huff in frustration, your body still burning for him, but before you can say a word, he leans in close, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, his breath hot against your skin.
“maybe i’ll let you have more when you learn some manners, hmm?” 
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ninibeingdelulu · 5 months ago
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Unwanted emotions ✧
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Plot: You’re Sukuna’s new concubine.
A/N: heian era / true form sukuna
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In Sukuna's lavish palace chambers, the air was thick with exotic incense and the musky scent of sex.
He lounged on plush silk cushions, his muscular arms draped lazily over the scantily-dressed women squirming against his powerful frame.
One concubine trailed kishy kisses along his chiseled abs, her tongue teasing the strange tendril mouths above his navel.
But Sukuna's gaze drifted in bored disinterest. These women, for all their excessive praise and fake desire, failed to truly ignite that deep, burning hunger he ached for down in his very soul.
Their affections were empty and rehearsed - too afraid to look past the monster and see the conflicted man craving something more than just physical pleasure.
Perhaps that's why his strange red eyes kept wandering over to you, the newest and plainest concubine tucked in the corner.
An unadorned beauty with an innocent charm that somehow snagged his restless focus like nothing else.
The other women put on exaggerated shows of flattery and lust while you seemed sweetly oblivious, simply existing in your natural, unashamed state.
A pure, unpolished gem shining amongst these hollow pretty things.
There was a graceful vulnerability about your naive wonder at everything around you that wormed its way under Sukuna's skin.
Yet the idea that something as delicate and wholesome as your radiant presence could somehow reach the twisted, blackened depths of his cursed spirit felt like blasphemy too vile to entertain.
He was an incarnation of violence and destruction. A bringer of bloody havoc spawned from humanity's darkest fears and malice to reign over their inevitable extinction.
He was meant to corrupt and decimate mere flickering human sparks underfoot...Not wilt under the glow of something so untainted and sacred.
And still, your serene, unguarded gaze would rise innocently to meet his searing crimson stare.
Brimming with curiosity and something that almost looked like shy tenderness stirring in your big, soulful eyes despite the monster boring into you with hungry intensity.
That was when Sukuna felt his carefully constructed walls shake with a tempestuous tide of self-loathing and shameful longing. A maelstrom of ruinous desire echoing tauntingly on repeat:
How does something so frail and hopelessly fragile dare to have a living curse like me think impure thoughts about defiling her light? I who am the embodiment of every vile evil spawned to subjugate what pathetic existence dares to carry on...
Yet this pitiful human woman insists on smiling those soft, clueless little smiles at a monster - far too unholy to feel anything more than wicked temptation to defile her right here in this den of sin...
A rasping snarl ripped from the darkest, most twisted depths of Sukuna's ruined soul.
One clawed, monstrous hand flexed with the urge to reach out and crush the sickening lure of your radiance tempting that last shard of buried humanity entombed in nightmarish lightlessness--
Until that solitary, smoldering ember of depravity flared blinding and all-consuming in the wake of his ravenous yearning.
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anakinstwinklebunny · 3 months ago
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JAMES KELLY HEADCANONS 🧰
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TW: at some point it contains filthy, crazy sexual content, so if you're feeling uncomfortable with it, please do not read
James Kelly who met you during his work. At first he gave you few glances here and there but as you started to appear more often something started to stir in his heart
James Kelly who, from that time, always offered you his services and tried to bargain his friends so they would give him you as his new customer;
From the very first moment James saw you in his workplace, something shifted deep within him. It was a sensation that swept through his heart and stomach, enveloping his senses in a way he couldn’t ignore. Every time you visited the mechanical engineering shop, his ears would perk up at the sound of your sweet, melodic voice. He found himself irresistibly drawn to you, stealing furtive glances as you nervously tried to explain the issue with your car to his friend and coworker.
As the days passed and your visits became less frequent, a hollow emptiness settled in his heart. The absence of your presence left a noticeable void, making him long for your return. His thoughts were consumed by you, turning over the idea of you being his customer rather than just someone who came in occasionally. So, what's better way to make it happen than to persuade his friends to let him take over your case? “C’mon, please,” he sighed, trailing behind Jackson who headed toward the sink.
“james, I’m working,” Jackson replied, turning on the water to wash his hands, a splash of soapy bubbles momentarily obscuring his skin.
James leaned casually against the sink, his arms crossed over his chest, his posture radiating both confidence and a touch of impatience.
“Come on, man,” he said, his tone a mix of desperation. “Just once. I’ll owe you a favor, I swear.” He tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes pleading in a way that made it clear how important this was to him.
Jackson glanced over at him, a hint of skepticism in his expression. “And what’s in it for me if I agree?”
A knowing smirk tugged at the corners of James' lips. He was on the brink of winning this argument and he loved it. “You name the price,” he said, his voice steady and assured.
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Every time you stopped by the shop, James felt a flurry of butterflies in his stomach, as if his entire body were electrified with anticipation. His heart pounded so fiercely against his chest that it seemed to echo in his ears. He didn't understand it. He didn't even know you that much to have some kind of 'crush' on you. But maybe that's the case? Maybe people don't have to know each other so much to be attracted to them. He just wished he'd not mistake himself in thinking about you more as some customer, more as just friend.
Yet it felt like he won a lottery; you were beautiful, seemed so sweet and kind, had a sense of humor.. and the moment you appeared, a wide, genuine smile would spread across his face. He made a concerted effort not to stare too long, but even his best efforts couldn’t entirely tame his wandering gaze.
“Um… hi, is Jackson here?” your sweet voice chimed, cutting through the noise of the shop.
At the sound of your voice, James' heart skipped a beat, just as it did every single time you came around. He looked up from his work, his blue eyes instantly drawn to your figure
“Ah, no, he’s not in today,” he replied, his voice warm and inviting. “Can I help you with something?”
“Oh… he was supposed to check my car,” you said, a hint of disappointment in your voice when you pointed to the black machine behind you
He noticed the subtle disappointment in your voice and gave a small nod, seizing the chance to spend more time with you.
“Well, I’m not doing anything important right now, so I could take a look at it if you don’t mind,” he offered, his tone both casual and eager.
You thought about it for a moment. Jackson's not here, yet he promised to be there, your car in huge need to be checked out, a tall, handsome-looking guy with veiny hands in oil.. “Sure,” you replied, a hint of relief in your voice at his offer. It was important for you. So your car would have a proper care it needs and if someone offers you help and seems genuine about it, why refuse?
He pushed himself up from the hood of the other car he’d been leaning on and looked at you, taking in your slender form once more, your striking (e/c) eyes, and those plump lips that always seemed to captivate him.
“May I get your keys?” he asked, extending his hand in an attempt to appear as nonchalant as possible and forget about the awkward moment
You handed him the keys, and as he took them from your hand, he felt the soft warmth of your skin against his. His gaze followed the gentle graze of your fingers over his palm, which seemed to send a shiver through his body. He swallowed thickly to brush it off. He didn't want to make you uncomfortable and think of him as a perv
“Alright, I’ll take a look at it,” he said, already heading toward your car with a sense of purpose. Over his shoulder, he called out, “And you’re… Y/N, right?” He feigned uncertainty, though he obviously knew your name perfectly well
“Yes, did something happen?” you asked, your curiosity piqued with hint of worry
James inserted the key into the ignition, but he didn’t start the car. Instead, he popped the hood and peered inside at the engine.
“No, no,” he began, his voice thoughtful as he leaned over the opened hood, his tongue briefly touching his lower lip as he considered his words. After a moment, he sighed. “Jackson’s been swamped with clients lately, so he handed off a few to me… and you’re one of them.”
“Oh…” you replied, a bit surprised by the news.
He leaned further into the car, reaching for something under the engine. In this position, he had an unobstructed view of you—one that made his thoughts wander more than he cared to admit. He grasped a specific tool and began working on the engine, trying hard to focus on the task rather than the fact that you were so close.
“Yeah, I hope you don’t mind that it’s me taking care of you,” he said, attempting to lighten the mood. “I mean, not you personally, but… your car.” his tone slightly nervous. Yet to his surprise, you giggled at his awkwardness, the sound bright and uplifting his slightly crashed mood from moments ago
James Kelly who dyed his hair when he found out you like guys with darker hair at the beginning of your relationship (although you were sad that he did it and felt bad for somehow 'pushing' him to this decision)
James Kelly whose evenings often involve hanging out in his garage. It’s where he’s most at home, and he loves having you there with him. You might sit on a stool, sipping coffee while he works, occasionally handing him tools or just enjoying his company as he explains the nuances of car repair in his unique, enthusiastic way.
James Kelly who has a 'mechanic’s touch'. His hands, skilled and gentle from working with delicate engine parts, translate into tender, careful touches when he’s with you
James Kelly who has a soft spot for personal projects, especially ones that involve old, classic cars. He loves restoring vintage vehicles, and he often involves you in these projects;
James' eyes widened in awe as the old car was wheeled into his workshop. It was a vintage marvel, the kind of machine that whispered tales of a bygone era. The worn, weathered metal seemed to glow under the workshop lights, and his fingers twitched with impatience, itching to trace every curve, every detail of the car that had captured his imagination.
“Hell yeah,” he murmured, his voice a low, reverent whisper. A satisfied grin crept across his face as he took in the car's elegant lines and timeless design. “Look how beautiful this baby is.”
You glanced at the car, a little less impressed. “It’s… okay,” you mumbled, your voice lacking the enthusiasm he clearly felt.
His head whipped around to face you, disbelief etched into his features. For a moment, he just stared, as if trying to comprehend how anyone could see this masterpiece as merely okay. Then, with a snort and a roll of his eyes, he let out a soft chuckle.
“Okay?” he echoed, his tone almost incredulous. “This baby is a classic masterpiece. You’re looking at a piece of history, something built with passion and precision. There’s nothing just okay about it.”
His eyes sparkled with excitement as he turned back to the car, already envisioning the work he would do. To him, this wasn’t just a car—it was a labor of love, a chance to bring a piece of history back to life.
"Jimmy," you sighed, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his chest. "I’m just not as into cars as you are."
He felt himself soften at your touch, almost melting into your embrace. But before he could fully surrender to the warmth of your hug, he let out another amused snort. With a gentle hand, he lifted your chin, tilting your face up toward him so your eyes met.
"You’re hopeless," he teased, his tone light and playful. He leaned down and pressed a quick, affectionate kiss to your forehead, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"At least tell me I’m more beautiful than this car," you quipped, your voice laced with a hint of mock seriousness.
He chuckled softly, his hand moving to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly over your skin. His eyes, a deep and vibrant blue, gazed into yours with a warmth that melted your insides. They were filled with soft, gentle affection, a look reserved only for you.
"Oh, doll," he murmured, his voice full of sincerity. "You’re way more beautiful than this car. You’re more beautiful than anything in this world."
You smiled when your lips connected in a soft kiss. Every time he was around you, it felt like fireworks were exploding in your stomach, a rush of excitement that never faded. The sensation of your skin against his, the softness of your form wrapped in his embrace, and the subtle, enchanting scent of your hair—it was all intoxicating. You were his personal addiction, a perfect drug he couldn’t get enough of, and each touch, each kiss only deepening his need for you.
“So…” he murmured, reluctantly pulling away just enough to rest his chin on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck, “…what color should we make this car?”
A playful grin spread across your face. “Pink.”
Anakin chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest although something changed in his expression, “Pink? Really? Not red, orange, or yellow, but pink?”
“Why not?” you shot back with a teasing glint in your eyes.
"It's just… wrong on so many levels. Sorry, baby, but this is not a damn Barbie car," he muttered with a shudder, a grimace twisting his features as if the very thought of turning a classic car pink physically pained him.
"But it'd be pretty," you replied with a sweet smile, undeterred.
He stared at you, still processing the idea that you seriously wanted to paint this car pink. His mind struggled to reconcile the vision of a tough, masculine machine with the image of it decked out in pastel colors.
"This car is supposed to be badass," he said, his tone laced with disbelief. "A tough, masculine car. And you just… want to paint it pink?"
You bit your lip, holding back a laugh, and then smiled up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "A cute, baby pink shade… with glitter and jewels."
His soul practically left his body as you listed all the things you wanted to do to the car. He couldn’t believe you wanted to turn a classic, vintage masterpiece into something straight out of a fairytale.
“Are you kidding me? This is a vintage car, baby, and you want to make it sparkle like some kind of princess carriage?” he pleaded, his voice heavy with disbelief. He let out a long, weary sigh, already feeling the inevitable pull of giving in to your whims. Was he really going to agree to this just because he was hopelessly in love with you and couldn’t bear to see you anything but happy?
“Oh, please!” you chimed in, your tone sweet and persuasive.
He looked at you, a pout forming on his lips, his heart caught in the tug-of-war between his love for the car and his love for you. The way you didn’t quite grasp his distress—and the way you so innocently asked for a pink car—left him unable to say "no" outright.
“You’re gonna be the death of me, y’know that?” he grumbled, running a hand through his hair in exasperation.
Your innocent smile only widened, the sparkle in your eyes growing brighter.
He just stood there for a moment, staring at you, trying to find the strength to resist. But finally, he let out a sigh so deep it almost sounded like a defeated groan.
“i am not going to spend hours trying to make this car look decent in freaking pink,” he muttered, shaking his head. “And I swear to god, if you even mention glitter or jewels one more time, I’ll lock you in this workshop and won’t even think about letting you out.”
“Now that’s rude,” you pouted, crossing your arms
James mirrored your stance, crossing his arms over his chest as well, his gaze fixed intently on you. He raised an eyebrow, feigning annoyance, though the small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips betrayed him.
“Oh, and it’s not rude to demand that I paint this car in the most atrocious color and slap glitter on it?” he shot back, his voice dripping with mock indignation.
“If not this car, then another one? Pretty please?” you countered, your tone softening as you tilted your head and gave him those puppy-dog eyes that always seemed to work like magic.
He let out another sigh, the kind that hinted at resignation, but there was no hiding the fond smile that crept onto his lips. You knew he could never resist when you looked at him like that, with those wide, pleading eyes and that sweet, hopeful tone. It was his kryptonite.
“Which other one then?” he murmured, his voice softening as his resolve melted away completely.
James Kelly who loves to show off his work to you since he feels like you're really proud of him
James Kelly who's your one and only engineering. If anything is broken, you call Anakin. If anything needs repair, you call Anakin. If you have to put new furniture together, you call Anakin
James Kelly whose protective nature extends to ensuring your safety. He would always check your car to make sure it’s in perfect condition;
“jimmy, the last time you checked my car was three days ago. Nothing has happened since that day” you said, watching as he anxiously inspected your car, determined to ensure it was in perfect condition.
He straightened up, his expression serious as he leaned against the car with his arms crossed. His eyes held a flicker of concern, betraying the worry he tried to hide.
“You can never be too sure,” he replied firmly, though it was evident he was slightly exaggerating. He ran a hand through his dark hair, ruffling it as he sighed with frustration.
“I just want you to be safe, you know? Let me take care of the car and make sure nothing happens to you,” he muttered, each word underscoring his deep protectiveness.
“You make me think about riding a bike,” you said, rolling your eyes at his overprotectiveness.
“You’d look hot on a bike,” he responded with a wide smirk, his blue eyes locking onto yours with playful admiration.
“Oh, stop. Just—check the car and let’s go,” you said, trying to cut off the conversation.
“Sure, my lady"
James Kelly ho loved to test his motorcycles he fixed;
James had just finished working on the engine of the motorcycle, his hands smeared with grease and oil stains. He wiped them on a dirty cloth, a satisfied grin spreading across his face. There was something about being surrounded by machines that made him feel like a kid again—pure, unbridled joy bubbling up inside him. His eyes traveled to the shiny, black motorcycle, admiring the way the lights danced across the gleaming metal. His body buzzed with excitement at the thought of taking it for a spin.
“Now, it’s for your safety,” he said firmly, as he carefully placed a helmet on your head. “I’m not risking your health nor your life.”
The very idea of something going wrong on the ride—the possibility of an accident—sent a wave of anxiety crashing through him. His stomach tightened, and his heart clenched with worry. He couldn’t bear the thought of anything happening to you, not when you meant everything to him. So, even if you were just sitting behind him, he wanted to make sure you were as safe as possible.
He swung his leg over the seat, straddling the motorcycle with practiced ease, and settled in comfortably. With a quick flick of his wrist, he started the engine, the loud, roaring rumble filling the air and sending a powerful vibration through his entire body. “Hop in, pretty girl,” he called out over the noise.
You climbed on behind him, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist. The moment he felt your body pressed against his back, and your arms encircling him, a sense of contentment washed over him. The warmth of your breath against the back of his neck sent a shiver down his spine. It was one of the best feelings in the world—having you right there with him, close enough that he could reach out and touch you whenever he wanted.
“now hold on tight, doll,” he shouted over the roar of the engine, his voice laced with excitement, as he revved the motorcycle, ready to take off on the open road.
James Kelly who has little rituals that revolve around his work and you. For example, he would always start his day with a quick text to check in on you, and end it with a call to check if youre alright or just to hear your voice
James Kelly who made matching necklaces for both of you
James Kelly who's a big dog person. He'd very often stop by to stroke local dog (if it doesn't have an owner by itself) or gives food if some are wandering around his workplace
James Kelly who used, to your dissatisfaction, shower gel 3 in 1..and even if you've bought him more suitable and better shampoo, he had never used it due to his opinion that 'his shampoo is better and costs less'
James Kelly who had become completely devoted to you, giving all his attention and heart to you. He would do anything to see a smile on your lips and a sparkle in those beautiful eyes of yours. He'd do anything to make you happy, no matter what's the cost. He'd even go against everything and everyone for you if he'd have to
James Kelly who definitely talks you through it
James Kelly who loves to make love to you (obviously) however he, as much as adores sex in bed, he also likes the thrill of making it in the empty workshop..;
"someone could see us" you - tried to - say between moans, your cheeks flushed pink while you held onto James' arms
As often as he does, James ignores your concern, his eyes locked onto yours as he continues to pound into you with no care in the surroundings. "Shh, just let go, sweetheart. No one's around. We're alone out here". he grabs your hips and starts slamming into you harder, the car hood creaking beneath you.
His breath hitches as he feels your nails digging into his skin, his thrusts becoming even more frantic. He almost takes as his goal to hit this sweet spot of yours like he always does. He leans forward, his forehead pressing against your neck as he speaks in a rough, desperate voice. "Yeah..just like that baby..gonna mark this car with your little pretty body..and--oh god--" he groaned after feeling your walls clench and hug him so deliciously "when we're done..whenever I'll look at this car I'll just see your pretty face, those beautiful legs all spread out and waiting for me--"
James Kelly who has a habit to just have you in his lap, while your naked, and play with your breasts. Enamoured by your deliciously perfect taste, he can't help but trace the puffy skin to delicately spread his saliva all over your nipple before taking it back again for the hundreds of time to his mouth, as if almost worshipping your flavour
James Kelly who would definitely finger you while watching TV;
"So wet for me, baby" his fingers glide over your folds, spreading your slickness around in slow, teasing strokes. "Do you want me to touch you here?" his voice rumbled against your ear
"mhm--"
His grin widens, and he slowly slides one finger inside you, his touch gentle yet firm. "Just one to start, alright baby?" He begins to slowly move his finger in and out, his thumb circling your nub. "You're so tight...you like that? Just one finger?"
He tuts disapprovingly to your nod, slowing down his touch although his tone turns into chiming-mocking. "Eyes on the screen, love". He punctuates his words with a slow thrust of his finger "Good girl.." he praised after seeing you submit to him and to give you a prize, he sped up his touch once more, adding another finger and curving them inward to hit that spot. His actions elicited more gasps and moans from your mouth
"Shh, baby...quiet now". He adds a third finger, scissoring them inside you as he rubs your clit with his thumb. "Gotta hear the dialogue..." He whispered directly to your ear
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TAG LIST: @kingdomhate @ysrjune (sad about her not being her anymore..) @divineani @erosmutt @haydensprettyprincess @mistress-amidala @catnipaddictt @heartscone @haydensbbg @inneedsoffanfics @jediavengers @literally-izzy @anisluvrgirl @slutforfinnickodair @xhunnybeeex @fuckmyskywalker
(if you want to be removed or added then don't be shy and let me know 💋)
513 notes · View notes
novaursa · 3 months ago
Note
can i request something with aemond?
him going to harrenhal and having visions of his niece who he’s like in love with and he’s just going crazy
He Never Wanted to Leave
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- Summary: Aemond encounters your specter in Harrenhal, and you start to torment him days and nights alike - and Aemond never wanted to leave.
- Paring: niece!reader/Aemond Targaryen
- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are now closed!
- Rating: Explicit 18+
- Word count: 4 000+
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff
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Aemond Targaryen's chambers are shuddering with the chill of Harrenhal. The ancient fortress is filled with the weight of its cursed history, the very stones whispering tales of blood and betrayal. But tonight, it feels as though those whispers have become voices, murmuring secrets only meant for Aemond.
He sits on the edge of his bed, hands clenched into fists so tight his knuckles are white. His usually composed face is marred by the strain of sleepless nights, his mind haunted by the act he committed. The fire that once burned so brightly within him now flickers with a cold, unrelenting guilt.
In the low light of the chamber, Aemond stares at the floor, his eye unfocused, as if he's trying to drown out the voices in his head. But then, he sees you.
You stand before him, as clear as day. You are not a ghost, and yet, you shouldn't be here. You're miles away, safe in Dragonstone or perhaps King's Landing, alive and breathing. But here you are, in his chambers at Harrenhal, as real to him as the icy air that clings to his skin.
He dares not blink, afraid that you will disappear. You are dressed as he remembers, a vision from his childhood, from a time when your presence brought him a comfort he could never name. The long, silken strands of your hair cascade over your shoulders, and your eyes—those eyes that once held such warmth for him—now burn with something darker.
"You're not real," he whispers, his voice trembling with a fear he hasn't felt in years. But his words are hollow, even to him. Because you feel real. The scent of you—a mix of salt from the sea and the wildflowers that used to grow around Dragonstone—fills his senses, so potent it steals the breath from his lungs.
You tilt your head, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. "Aemond," you say softly, your voice a haunting melody that echoes through the chamber. "Do you truly believe that?"
His chest tightens, and for a moment, he forgets to breathe. "What do you want?" His tone is harsher now, defensive, as if he can will you away with the force of his anger.
But you step closer, your bare feet silent on the cold stone floor. He watches, frozen, as you reach out a hand, your fingers grazing his cheek. The touch is like fire, searing through him, and his resolve crumbles. He shuts his eye, inhaling sharply. He can feel you, warm and alive beneath his fingertips.
"Do you remember the last time we were together?" you ask, your voice gentle, almost loving. "Before everything changed?"
Aemond shudders, the memory flooding back to him with a painful clarity. He remembers the way you smiled at him, the way you laughed at his dry jokes, the way you would look at him as if he were the most important person in the world. It was a time when you were still untouched by the weight of your family's feuds, when he could still believe that there was something pure in his life.
But that was before. Before the bloodshed. Before the war. Before Luke.
"Stop," he whispers, but the word is weak, a plea rather than a command.
Your hand trails down to his chest, resting over his heart. "He was your kin, Aemond. My blood. Do you think I could ever forgive you for what you did?"
His eye snaps open, and he jerks back as if struck, his face contorting with pain. "It was an accident," he says, but the words are hollow, even to him. The truth is a heavy weight in his chest, pressing down on him until he feels like he might break under the pressure. "I didn't mean for it to happen. I—"
"You killed him," you interrupt, your voice sharp now, each word a dagger to his heart. "You hunted him down, Aemond. You wanted to hurt him, and you did."
The room seems to close in around him, the air thick with the stench of his sin. "I didn't want him to die," he says, desperation seeping into his tone. "I swear to you, I didn't."
Tears prick at his eye, but he blinks them away, refusing to let them fall. "Please," he begs, his voice cracking. "Please, forgive me."
But you don't move, your expression unchanged, as cold and unforgiving as the stone walls of Harrenhal. "You took everything from me," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "And you think you deserve forgiveness?"
Aemond shakes his head, his whole body trembling now. He drops to his knees before you, the proud prince brought low by his guilt and shame. "I'm sorry," he breathes, the words tumbling from his lips like a prayer. "I'm so sorry."
For a long moment, there is only silence. The specter of you looms over him, a reminder of everything he has lost, everything he has destroyed. He feels the warmth of your hand on his head, your fingers threading through his hair as you once did when he was just a boy, lost in the world and seeking solace in your presence.
But this time, there is no comfort to be found.
"You cannot undo what you have done, Aemond," you say, your voice soft but unyielding. "The blood you have spilled will stain your soul forever. You will carry it with you until your dying breath."
He crumples further, pressing his forehead to the cold stone floor, his tears falling freely now. He feels your touch retreat, the warmth of you slipping away, and he wants to scream, to reach out and hold on to you, to keep you with him even if it is only a cruel trick of his mind.
But when he looks up, you are gone. The room is empty, the chill more biting than before, and he is alone with his guilt, his regret, and the weight of a sin that no amount of tears can wash away.
Aemond stays on the floor, broken and weeping, the sound of your voice still echoing in his ears, a reminder of what he can never have: your forgiveness.
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Another day passes in the desolate halls of Harrenhal, but Aemond Targaryen finds no solace, no escape from the torment that gnaws at his very soul. The oppressive air weighs heavy, and the once proud prince can feel the darkness creeping ever closer, as if the very walls of this cursed place are conspiring against him.
He hasn’t slept since the last vision of you, your voice still haunting him, your words cutting deeper than any blade ever could. He tries to shake off the memory, to bury it beneath layers of anger and denial, but it clings to him like a persistent shadow.
As the evening falls, the flickering light of the candles casts eerie shapes across the walls, and Aemond finds himself seated in the same chair where he last saw you, his thoughts a tangled mess of regret and longing. The fire crackles softly in the hearth, but its warmth does little to chase away the chill that has settled deep in his bones.
He closes his eye, willing himself to forget, to block out the memories that threaten to overwhelm him. But as soon as he does, the air around him shifts, the familiar scent of salt and wildflowers filling his senses once more. His eye snaps open, his heart lurching in his chest as he sees you again, sitting on the edge of the bed, your gaze fixed on him with an unsettling intensity.
"You again," he whispers, the words trembling on his lips. He doesn't move, doesn't dare to breathe too deeply, as if the slightest motion might cause you to vanish like a mirage.
But this time, you don’t remain distant. Slowly, with a grace that is both mesmerizing and terrifying, you rise from the bed and walk towards him. He watches, transfixed, as you approach, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat a painful reminder of how much he still wants you, even now.
You stand before him, your expression unreadable, and then, without a word, you lower yourself onto his lap. The weight of you feels real, solid, and the warmth of your body against his is a cruel reminder of what he can never have. Aemond’s breath hitches, and for a moment, he closes his eye, trying to convince himself that this is all just another hallucination, another trick of the mind.
But then you speak, and the sound of your voice sends a shiver down his spine.
“Do you remember,” you say softly, “the day you hurt me?”
Aemond’s eye flickers open, and he meets your gaze, his face pale, as if the blood has drained from his veins. “I never meant to hurt you,” he replies, his voice hoarse with emotion. But even as he speaks, the memory comes rushing back, vivid and sharp, like a wound that has never fully healed.
You lean closer, your lips hovering near his ear, your breath warm against his skin. “You did, Aemond. You hurt me, and you knew it.”
He shakes his head, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so tightly his knuckles turn white. “I was angry,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—”
“You were jealous,” you interrupt, your tone unyielding, as if you are determined to make him face the truth he has been running from for so long. “You couldn’t stand the thought of me being with someone else, even though you had no right to me.”
The memory is clear now, as if it is happening all over again. He sees you standing before him, tears in your eyes, your face etched with pain as he spat cruel words at you, words meant to wound, to drive you away. He had been so consumed by his own insecurities, his own fears, that he hadn’t cared about the damage he was doing.
“I didn’t mean it,” he says, his voice breaking as he looks into your eyes, seeing the hurt reflected there. “I was a fool.”
“You were,” you agree, your tone cold. “But that didn’t stop you from hurting me. You wanted me to feel the same pain you did, to make me suffer for your own jealousy.”
He feels your hands on his chest, your fingers curling into the fabric of his tunic, and the sensation is so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “I never wanted to hurt you,” he says again, his voice trembling. “I love you.”
Your laugh is soft, almost bitter, as you pull back slightly to look him in the eye. “If that’s what you call love, then I pity anyone who falls under your spell, Aemond Targaryen.”
He winces at your words, the truth of them cutting deeper than he ever thought possible. “I was wrong,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong about everything. But please… please, believe me when I say that I never wanted to cause you pain.”
You tilt your head, studying him with an intensity that makes his heart ache. “And yet, you did. Over and over again.”
He can’t deny it, can’t escape the truth that you are forcing him to confront. His hands, trembling now, reach up to cup your face, the warmth of your skin beneath his fingers making his heart twist in his chest. “I’m sorry,” he says, the words spilling from his lips in a desperate plea. “I’m sorry.”
You close your eyes for a moment, as if savoring the sound of his apology, but when you open them again, there is no forgiveness there, only a sadness that cuts him to the core. “Sorry again? Sorry won’t change what you did, Aemond,” you say softly. “Sorry won’t take away the pain, or undo the past.”
He nods, a tear slipping down his cheek as he holds you close, as if by holding you he can somehow make up for all the wrongs he has done. But even as he clings to you, he knows it’s futile, knows that this moment is nothing more than a cruel illusion, a reminder of what he has lost forever.
“I’ll never forgive myself,” he whispers, his voice choked with emotion. “But please… tell me you don’t hate me.”
For a moment, you don’t respond, your gaze locked on his, as if you are searching for something within him. Then, you lean forward, pressing a soft, almost tender kiss to his forehead. The touch is fleeting, but it sends a shiver through him, his heart breaking all over again.
“I don’t hate you, Aemond,” you whisper against his skin. “But that doesn’t mean I can forgive you.”
He closes his eye, his body trembling as he feels you begin to fade, the warmth of you slipping away like sand through his fingers. He tries to hold on, tries to keep you with him, but it’s no use. When he opens his eye again, you are gone, the room once more empty and cold, and he is left alone with the crushing weight of his guilt and the memory of your touch lingering on his skin.
Aemond slumps back in the chair, his body shaking with silent sobs, as the walls of Harrenhal seem to close in around him, the cursed fortress now his prison, his tormentor, and his confessor.
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The morning sun is a pale, distant orb in the sky as Aemond Targaryen stands at the edge of the pond just outside Harrenhal. The air is cool, carrying the scent of damp earth and the faint, metallic tang of the nearby ruins. The water is still, a dark, glassy surface that reflects the twisted branches of the trees and the crumbling stones of the cursed fortress.
Aemond's eye scans the water, but his thoughts are far away, lost in a labyrinth of regret and guilt. The memories of the past few nights—of you—haunt him more than any ghost ever could. He had hoped, foolishly, that the daylight might offer some reprieve from the torment, that the sun's warmth might banish the cold grip of your specter. But here, at this pond, under the cold light of day, he finds no peace.
As he gazes into the murky depths, he sees not just his reflection but the shadows of the sins that weigh heavily on his soul. The stillness of the water is unsettling, almost as if it is waiting for something—someone. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but the air feels thick, each breath more labored than the last.
And then, as if summoned by his darkest thoughts, you appear.
You emerge from the trees, your steps light and soundless as you approach him. He doesn’t startle this time; he’s almost come to expect your presence, even in the waking hours. But the sight of you in the daylight is no less jarring. The sun catches in your hair, creating a halo effect that makes you look ethereal, otherworldly. Yet there is no warmth in your gaze, only that same sadness, that same coldness that chills him to his core.
You stop beside him, close enough that he can feel the ghost of your warmth, and you stare out at the pond with him, your expression unreadable. For a long moment, neither of you speaks. The silence stretches out, heavy and oppressive, broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves in the breeze.
Finally, you break the silence, your voice soft and lilting, but with an edge that makes his skin prickle. “Do you ever think about drowning yourself, Aemond?”
The question hangs in the air between you, shocking in its directness, in its cruelty. Aemond turns his head to look at you, his eye wide with a mix of horror and sorrow. He opens his mouth to speak, but the words die in his throat. How could he answer that? How could he admit that the thought has indeed crossed his mind, that the weight of his guilt is sometimes too much to bear?
But you don’t wait for his answer. You continue, your gaze still fixed on the water. “I do,” you say, your tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “Sometimes, I think about slipping into the water, letting it take me. It would be so easy, wouldn’t it? Just to stop fighting, to stop struggling, and let the darkness swallow you whole.”
Aemond’s heart pounds in his chest, each beat echoing in his ears like a death knell. He can hardly breathe as he listens to you speak, the words wrapping around him like a noose, tightening with every syllable.“You could end it all,” you murmur, your voice almost seductive now, tempting. “No more pain, no more guilt. Just peace. Just silence.”
He clenches his fists, the nails digging into his palms, the pain grounding him, keeping him tethered to the reality that is slowly slipping away from him. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice breaking. “I can’t do that.”
You finally turn to look at him, and there is something in your eyes that makes his blood run cold—a sadness so deep it feels like an abyss, one that he knows he could fall into and never find his way out. “Why not?” you ask, tilting your head slightly. “What’s left for you, Aemond? What’s left after everything you’ve done?”
He shakes his head, his mind racing, searching for something, anything, to hold onto. But every thought, every memory is tainted, corrupted by the weight of his sins. “I… I don’t know,” he admits, the words slipping from him like a confession. “But I can’t… I can’t just give up.”
You take a step closer, your hand reaching out to brush against his arm, and though the touch is as fleeting as a breeze, it feels so real, so tangible, that it sends a wave of longing and regret crashing over him. “You’re already lost,” you whisper, your voice like a dagger to his heart. “You’ve been drowning ever since you let that darkness into your soul.”
He swallows hard, trying to push back the tears that threaten to spill over. “Why do you keep coming to me?” he asks, his voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me be?”
You tilt your head, considering his question, and then you smile, a sad, weary smile that makes his heart break all over again. “Because you can’t let me go,” you say simply. “Because you’re still holding onto the past, to the guilt, to the pain. And as long as you do, I’ll be here, reminding you of what you’ve done, of what you’ve lost.”
He looks away, back at the pond, at the dark, still water that seems to beckon to him, promising release, promising oblivion. The thought of it is tempting, so tempting, but he knows that even if he took that step, even if he let the water claim him, your specter would still follow him, even into death.
“I won’t do it,” he says, more to himself than to you, his voice firm despite the tremor in his hands. “I won’t give in.”
You sigh softly, almost as if you’re disappointed, but you don’t push him further. Instead, you lean in close, your breath warm against his ear as you whisper, “I’ll be waiting, Aemond. I’ll always be waiting.”
And then, just like that, you’re gone.Aemond stands there, staring at the pond, the silence pressing in around him, the weight of your words sinking into his soul. He knows, with a dreadful certainty, that this is far from over. You will haunt him, day and night, as long as he remains trapped in this nightmare of his own making.
But for now, he forces himself to turn away from the water, to take a step back, away from the edge, even as your voice lingers in his mind, a constant reminder of the darkness that dwells within him.
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The walls of Harrenhal seem to pulse with a life of their own, as if the ancient stones are attuned to Aemond’s every thought, his every desire. The air is thick, charged with something electric, something dark. And within the oppressive atmosphere of his chambers, Aemond finds himself lost once more—lost in the presence of you.
You appear to him as you always do, suddenly and without warning, as though stepping out of the very shadows that cling to the corners of the room. But this time, there is no coldness in your gaze, no sadness weighing down your features. Instead, you look at him with the same fire, the same passion that once ignited the depths of his soul. And it’s enough to make him forget everything—his guilt, his pain, his regrets. All that exists in this moment is you.
Before he can speak, before he can even draw breath, you are upon him, your lips crashing against his with a desperate hunger. It’s a kiss filled with years of longing, years of unspoken words and suppressed desires. Aemond doesn’t hesitate—he responds with equal fervor, his hands moving to cradle your face, his fingers threading through your hair as if to anchor himself to you, to this moment.
Your bodies collide, heat and need overwhelming any semblance of reason. Aemond pulls you close, your bodies pressed together as if you are both afraid to let go, afraid that this fragile moment might shatter and leave him alone in the cold once more. He guides you back toward the bed, the world outside these chambers forgotten, discarded like an unwanted memory.
You fall together onto the bed, a tangled mess of limbs and desire. His hands roam your body with a familiarity born of memory, of dreams that have haunted him for so long. And yet, each touch feels new, electrifying. You arch into him, your breathless gasps filling the room, and it’s all he can do to keep himself from losing control.
As your clothes are discarded, piece by piece, Aemond’s mind races, his thoughts a chaotic swirl of emotion. He’s aware, on some distant level, that this can’t be real—that you are not truly here, that this is yet another trick of Harrenhal, another way for this cursed place to torment him. But he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care if this is real or not. All that matters is that, in this moment, he has you.
When he finally sinks into you, the world around him blurs, and all that exists is the two of you, lost in a rhythm as old as time. Your name falls from his lips like a prayer, over and over, as if by saying it he can make this moment last forever. His movements are frantic, desperate, driven by a need that has been buried for far too long. And you meet him, move with him, as if you’ve never been apart, as if you are still the only thing in his world that makes sense.
“I love you,” he breathes against your skin, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I’ve always loved you.”
You moan in response, your nails digging into his back, and the sound drives him closer to the edge, closer to the precipice of oblivion. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, the scent that has haunted his dreams, his waking moments. It’s intoxicating, overwhelming, and it makes him feel alive in a way he hasn’t felt since Rhaenyra stole you away.
“I never stopped,” he confesses, his voice thick with emotion. “Not for a single day. Not even when you were taken from me.”
Your response is a breathless gasp, a tangle of words and sounds that only spur him on. His movements become more urgent, more desperate, as if he’s trying to pour all of his love, all of his regret, into this one moment. And when he finally tips over the edge, it’s with your name on his lips, a whispered prayer, a final plea for forgiveness that he knows he doesn’t deserve.
Afterward, he collapses beside you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. The room is filled with the sounds of your shared breathing, the only noise in the otherwise silent chambers. He reaches for you, pulling you close, needing to feel your warmth, your presence against him. But even as he holds you, as he brushes his lips against your hair, a cold realization begins to settle over him.
This moment, this passion—it’s not real. He knows it deep down, knows that the you he just made love to is nothing more than a phantom, a specter conjured by the darkness of Harrenhal. But even knowing that, he can’t bring himself to let go. He can’t bring himself to leave this place, to return to a world where you are forbidden to him.
His thoughts drift to the letter from his mother, the one he has read a hundred times over, the one that pleads with him to return to King’s Landing. Queen Rhaenyra sits the Iron Throne now, and the realm is on the edge of being consumed by fire and blood. His duty calls him, his mother calls him, but all of it feels distant, insignificant compared to the pull of Harrenhal, compared to the pull of you.
Here, in this cursed place, he can have you. Even if it’s only an illusion, even if it’s only in his mind, he can still have you. He can still feel your touch, hear your voice, lose himself in your embrace. And isn’t that better than the alternative? Isn’t that better than a life without you?
“I can never leave,” he whispers to the empty room, though in his mind, he’s speaking to you. “Not now. Not ever.”
The truth of it settles into his bones, as solid and unyielding as the stones of Harrenhal itself. He is bound to this place now, bound to the specter of you, and he knows that he will never break free. Even if it means forsaking his duty, his family, his very soul, he will remain here, in this place where the lines between reality and illusion blur, where he can hold onto the one thing that still matters to him.
In Harrenhal, he can have you. Forever.
And that, he realizes, is the only thing that matters anymore.
432 notes · View notes
suguru-getos · 3 months ago
Text
Kid Gojo goes to Kid!Fem-Reader's House
This is a part II to a drabble I wrote, Part I.
Satoru's footsteps matched hers, trailing towards an unknown path leading to a normal-looking house. It was beautiful though, bright colours, gardens had flower beds of roses, tulips, a ceramic pot with fresh water for the birds. Homely, the house looked and felt what the Gojo estate never did. For a ten year old, who wasn't accustomed to this new found feeling, Satoru didn't know what to say, how to react. He hums, "small, your house is small." kicking a piece of gravel from the pavement.
She was on her tippy-toes, reaching for the door-bell and ringing it. "Mean." She pouted, looking at Satoru with a disgusted face. Like he has shit his pants and she can smell it kind of disgusted.
"What is that face?" He fumbles, taken aback, eyes siren in offense. She shrugged, sticking her tongue out, "I make this face at meanie poopy people." She crossed her arms, always works. No matter who it is.
The faint echoes of footsteps carry from farther away in the kitchen to the hallway, becoming clearer as the door opens. "Oh hello Y/N! Welcome home sweetheart!" Her mother beams, bright and joyful. Her eyes scan the little kid next to her, from his clothes he definitely did not look homeless. Beautiful, all-knowing, almost frightening eyes. "Oh? You made a new friend?" Her mother inquires, looking at Satoru. Now, Satoru Gojo was used to people bending backwards for him, this bland reaction was refreshing.
"My name is Satoru Gojo." He hums, "She dragged me here." He scoffs. Of course not, but the heir of the Gojo clan can't look eager for some cookies?
"She did? Oh my" Her mother gasped a little, knowing the kid was just behaving of his age. "I just wanted him to taste your cookies mama, he protected my favourite water bottle tumbler from the poopie kids!" She grins, walking inside. For a moment, Satoru looks hesitant. What is he even doing, he has roles and responsibilities. Cookie-tasting is definitely not one of them. He can have cookies from any part of the world, Paris? Even London's bakeries- why even-
His trance is broken the moment his wrist is grabbed by her, cheerful eyes beaming and dragging him inside. The moment Satoru's footsteps get inside, and the delicious scent of cookie dough fills his nostrils, he decides to stay. Cookies are important. He could get cookies from anywhere but these are the best ones, yes. The girl herself, said so.
"Come sit," Her mother coos, "Satoru kun, Y/N." She hums, getting them both a chair in the dining table.
Satoru's eyes linger around, the house is cute, not too vast. The distance between him and Y/N is also minimal, because the dining table is not so big. It's perfect actually. He grins, he feels happy, the spacing makes him feel included.
"So? What is your job?" Satoru asked, crossing his arms, looking at the girl.
"My job? I dunno- mama's daughter? Though when I play Police with my friends I am never the thief!" She grins. Satoru is… jealous. Satoru is… enamoured.
"No like, okay leave it- what is your dream?" He asks again, surely there can be some similarity where he can link his life to hers.
"I am gonna be an Astronaut!" She grins wide, "Gonna see the pretty moon, the pretty stars!"
Satoru Gojo pouts, he's ten, and his birth shackled him to one role. He wants to be a sorcerer because he doesn't know any other thing. He thought being a sorcerer was his decision, training was his decision. An eerie bewilderment presses his soul, hollowing it like a cavity. Why couldn't he think about becoming someone like an Astronaut?
"When you come here next time- we should play together." Y/N hums, feet shaking in boredom.
Next time… why would there be a next time? Her mother comes in the room, freshly baked cookies with a glass of milk, a slice of the cake she just made.
"Oh drooling!" Y/N whines, watching her mom place them on the table.
Satoru acts, sophisticated, there is no way some cookies would make him say that, he's not a dog! But they smell so good- NO WAY!
Y/N quickly takes the first bite, happy shakes and wiggles follow with whines. "Oh my god mama this is the best!" Satoru looks flustered, hesitantly taking a bite as well. The flavours melt in his mouth, it was perfect. Wow… "This is good." He announces, watching her mother grin and leave the two alone. He gets headpats, Y/N gets headpats. Satoru doesn't get headpats, the flustered expression on his face is evidence enough.
"Y-you were saying?" He asked, taking another bite.
"Oh yeah! I was saying, when you c'mere next time, we should play House." "House?" What is that game?
"Like, house? Or we could play Police too…" She grins, so excited, so thoughtless.
"I don't play kid's games. I am ten years old." Satoru scoffed.
"Aw- okay." She looked down, taking another bite, interest and excitement killed. Satoru's eyes glare at her, stop doing that! "Maybe just once." Satoru Gojo was kind, he knew he was… just didn't want to show it to others especially in a scathing world like the Jujutsu community where he is worshipped. "Okay! Let's play House then!" She grins, perking right back up.
Ten year old Satoru Gojo had already promised a second meet to play House. Is this how you make friends, he wonders…
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beatingdrumspouringwine · 4 months ago
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Helios rests in the sky, fond eyes gazing upon the mortals below, baking the world to shades of perfect greens and soft browns.
Nyx races overhead, Her starlit body whisking past, with Eos joyfully clinging to Her skirt.
With every storm, Zeus sits in the sky, and hurls down lightning, following it with booming laughs which echo through the lands.
Hera watches weddings go on below, spreading Her blessings among the newlyweds, bringing them peace and prosperity.
Artemis rests in the hollows of mountains, where chilled breezes still blow from streams which have not forgotten the winter's snows. Her skin is dappled with sweat, and Her eyes are greener than the vibrant moss.
Apollon whispers in the ears of mortals, golden sunlight now carrying prophecies in the beams. He takes the hands of mortals and leads them to songwriting and poetry, to painting and music.
Hermes whisks Himself up and down the highways, taking care of the travelers who look for new horizons under the summer's heat.
Messages never seem to still as Iris, bounding up in the aftermath of rain, leaves vibrant rainbow trails behind Her.
Demeter and Persephone slip through Farmer's Markets, carrying more fruits and vegetables and grain than they can reasonably hold. With every fallen fruit, every tomato that squishes a bit, every fallen shaft of wheat, They laugh.
Out on the seashore, Poseidon watches the waves roll in, and the tides go out. The sandcastles left behind by small children are His favorite offerings.
In the mornings, among the waves of birdsong, gentle pipes sound throughout the forests, played by Pan.
And somewhere out in the wilds, both on stony mountain peaks and green riversides, tearing through golden grasses and dancing through firefly-lit forests, is Dionysos. Head thrown back, long hair flowing, teeth bared in joy.
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mondaymelon · 1 year ago
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— " 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲, 𝐢'𝐦 𝐢𝐧 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐚𝐫𝐦𝐬 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧... "
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art by @/kodokunoakashi on twitter, edited by me !! angst. an eensey weensey redemption at the end
xiao, zhongli, wanderer, neuvillette x gn!reader
[ centuries after their lover’s passing, they finally are able to rest in your ghostly touch. ₊˚ෆ ]
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Perhaps the day he had found your lifeless body, eyes long fluttered closed and splatters of red decorating your throat was the day Xiao began falling apart.
He knew it from the start, that your death would be inevitable. You weren’t like him - a weary soul who had traversed these lands for thousands of years in search of a refuge that Teyvat had never provided for him. No, you were like the evening’s first star, brilliantly shining and setting the entire night sky ablaze. A warm glow that sparked flames wherever its light reached. He was one of many fortunate enough to be caught in your spiraling trap, those cursedly charming grins and a laugh with the innocence of a child. Your sweet warmth was addicting, and once he had a taste, he couldn’t get enough of it. Was that why the adeptus found himself leaving his corner of the inn more and more often, just to trail by your side? Maybe this was the reason he had found himself expressing something on his lips that he had never before?
Fragments split your face in his memory. Years, decades, centuries had passed. To the outside eye, all that could be observed was that the yaksha was particularly more elusive than before, only having briefly appeared once or twice before mortals. With ignorant and foggy minds, they’d declare that the Conqueror of Demons must feel despair over the sudden death of Rex Lapis, and they’d just leave it like that. An open question hanging in the air with no answer to pair it with.
Xiao didn’t know if he still had tears left to weep. 
His brethren that he had lost so many years ago had robbed them with their passing, and they were nothing left but an empty remnant of once had remained. A shapeless echo… yes, perhaps that was what he was now. All that knew him were certain that your passing had stolen a part of him that would never recover. The fragments of emotion that you had left with him had only dissipated with time, and he despised himself for it. Shards that danced in his vision as he hefted his spear, whirling it with precision and slaughtering all in its path. They had dared lay hands on you. They had taken whatever resolve he had left. Now, he was but a shell, hollow without your embrace.
It’s cold.
Sometimes, he heard your laugh on the wind, and he’d whip around, expecting to see you there, but only to be met with the terrible, terrible silence, and all the adeptus could do was laugh bitterly. Crystalline drops of tears would threaten to roll past the barriers of his carefully crafted facade, and he’d curse at himself, grasping at his chest with heavy breaths and blown eyes.
He didn’t deserve to cry. No, not after he had failed to protect you. Guilt, self-loathing, karma, all of it… it bound him down with red tendrils that burned against his skin. Pain bloomed throughout his body, a brilliant crimson that stained his clothing, an anguish that he ardently welcomed. His vision dimmed, and his honey eyes which had long since lost their light slowly shut, embracing the darkness that reached for him.
Darkness, so how come when he opened his drowsy lids, all he saw was light?
“Xiao?”
A familiar voice, one that had blurred with time, yet now rang clearly in his senses. Those excitement-filled eyes, that mischievous curve on your lips, and the warmth of your fingers with his. The grass prickled at his back, and the scent of blooming wildflowers filled the air with its spring sweetness.
A smile tugged at his lips. His sorrow spilled from his eyes. He almost could’ve laughed at your concerned gaze, and with a bandaged heart he pulled you closer in his arms. His wounded voice was barely a whisper. “Thank you… for waiting for me all this time, love.”
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He still remembers it. It’s a sight that’s been burned into his eyes. The way his composed expression had collapsed, how his disgraced self had fallen to his raw knees. Zhongli had held you then, feeling the precious warmth leave your body, listening to the thrum of your heart slowly ebbing away.
He had been seconds too late to hear what you had spoken in that moment, and only saw the wordless utter on your moving lips, the raspy, labored breaths, until they ceased to nothing but silence. How could something void of sound be so unequivocally loud? The silence rings in his ears, like a horrible testament of his broken contract. That bright moment the two of you had shared seemed centuries ago, an abstract painting of something that couldn’t have possibly occurred. With a beaming face, you had held his larger, gloved hand with two of your smaller ones, grinning at his touch.
“Let’s always be together, okay? No one can keep us apart!” You laughed to yourself at how red the man had grown at your words, and then stared fondly at the silver band he had placed on your finger a day prior, when he had kissed your hands and uttered his words of confession. Red dusted your cheeks at the thought, and to the wide-eyed man, you looked simply ethereal, with the way your lashes fluttered with every blink and the way your cheeks were warm with a smile.
“Yes.” Zhongli had been starstruck by you, so utterly breathless at how speechless a mere mortal could make him. It was astounding, how your smile seemed to steal his words away. He wanted to do nothing but to freeze those seconds, to place them in a glass and cherish them and relive them in a loop that lasted eternity.
Oh, what’d he do to see the way your lips curved upwards into a cheeky grin that you’d display just for him, the snarky comments leaving your mouth, and the way you laughed at his subtle reactions.
It’s only been two hundred years. Should he say “already?” Time passes slow, then fast, fluctuating without any thought of the man in mind. At times, when the clock strikes midnight and moonlight spills into the courtyard like liquid silver, the seconds slow into minutes and the minutes slow into hours, and he’ll gaze out onto the grassy fields where the two of you used to stroll hand-in-hand, and he’ll allow himself a moment of reminiscence. In other times, the world speeds up around him, and the incompetent man is unable to keep up. Your funeral was one of those times. How could he simply walk away from your framed portrait and declare, “that’s that?” Liyue had suffered a terrible loss, yet only he seemed to register that. How come?
Some days, he’ll talk to himself, as if you’re beside him. His words meet empty air and he smiles vacantly, holding a hand that isn’t there and kissing the lips of someone who is long gone. Your shadow is everywhere. He can’t escape it, but that’s okay. He doesn’t want to. Zhongli allows those remnants of you to linger and dance in the wind with the reddening leaves. By the bridge, excitedly petting the stray dogs, calling each and every one of them the name that you’ve bestowed upon them. A sight Ganyu would have loved to see. Or in the branches of a particular tree, laughing down at him with a giggle like birdsong, taunting words. “Would you look at that? Up here, I’m even taller than you, Zhongli!”
And every time he hears your transparent, faded voice, he can’t help but smile, despite how hopeless he feels. You’re gone, and that’s the truth, so where’s the harm in bathing in your afterimage just a moment longer?
He knows it isn’t you. It can’t ever come close. As centuries blur and whirl past, and he finds himself departing to the more secluded spaces of Liyue’s wilderness, he decides it’s time. His nation no longer needs him. The reason he had for living is gone, and the heart that had once been so lively has dulled.
Would it be too foolish to hope that when he opens his eyes, you’ll be there, waiting for him?
“Xiansheng? Come on, come on sleepyhead, wake up already!” Pause. “Oh, will this do the trick?”
And then there’s warmth on his cheek, the feeling of your lips against his skin, and he feels alive, for the first time in those archon-forsaken years. He knows what he’ll see, when he opens his gilded eyes that are shimmering with dew. “Yes, love. I’m here.”
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Betrayal. Those sickening words you had spoken to him, sweet beyond belief… Wanderer hissed through his teeth, holding his hands over his ears as his tears fell to the earth and soaked into the dark earth.
Yes, at that time he should’ve known. The truth you spoke to him was simply too good to be true - a fantasy that could never be attained. Yet he had been swayed by your smile and fell for your warmth, and since then had been willingly trapped in a void that was you, with no intention of escaping. It amazed him, almost, how he can smile in this moment, albeit however sour it is. What more proof did he need? To be unable to stay somber in the moments of your passing, did that not just prove how flawed he was? How undeserving? 
He detested it. No wonder why you had left this world. It was a pain to even be by his side. Words without “love” and a chest that did not thrum with flusteredness could never convince you to stay beside him. Once again, someone he yearns for has cleverly slipped through his fingers. From the beginning, he was a sinner. A worthless puppet incapable of feeling a shred of what you held for him.
Red dripped from his fingers as they clawed at the earth, as he bends into himself with ugly wails. Could you see him now, wherever you were? Tears flowed freely from his eyes, not heeding his mutters for all of it to cease. He wanted it to end, all of it, the suffering that he felt and the emptiness he could never fully elude. The fatui, his mother, they’d all laugh at him with pointed fingers if they saw him now, wouldn’t they? His flushed cheeks are stained with salt and his throat was raw from his shouts. The blood pooling around your body has already cooled, and your fingers that were intertwined with his had already grown cold to the touch. 
“Woah, Wanderer, your skin is really cold! Aren’t you hot at all? It’s summer!” You had stared at him with a childlike fascination, holding his hand in yours, poking it for extra effect, only growing more astonished.
“It’s nothing to be impressed over.” He cleared his throat into his fist, yet did not let go of your hold. “If anything…” At the time, his words had not completed themselves, yet his gaze had trailed to your own hands, and he had kissed the back of them with a cheeky half-smile. I like yours. They’re warm. There had been an inkling of naive hope, that your life could fill the void in his, and perhaps that was what allowed his plastic expression towards you to grow into true ones.
“H-Hey, c’mon…” His voice broke, unsteady like the legs of a newborn fawn. He took your blood-stained hand and pressed it to his cheek, only further wetting it with his tears. “This isn’t funny, you know, you can… you can stop now…”
Look how broken he’s become, stooping as low as to speak to a corpse.
That was only a decade ago. Every morning, the ache of its recollection brings a fresh dose of misery. Every evening he lulls himself to sleep by repeating the words you once said, imagining the stroke of your hands tangled in his hair, imagining your sunbeam-like smile as you gazed down at him fondly.
Really, what’s the point of living with you gone? Could he really call it “life?”
Those questions still remain sharp in his mind as he sputters out a cough, glancing down at the blade in his shattered chest, positioned right where his heart should have been. Cold, unforgiving steel, driving down and tearing apart. Wanderer blinks up at the cursed heavens above and heaves out blood that leaves a lingering red on his lips, and he can’t bring himself to cry anymore. He spits out a final damnation at Celestia before slipping away, eyes closing as he finally-
“Wanderer? Where’s your hat? You aren’t wearing it today?”
Your voice. It breathes life into his empty soul. Warmth. He wants to hold it, hold you, ever closer like he never had the courage to. His violet eyes spring open as he sits up with a start, his disheveled garments flinging about. “Y-You-!”
“What’s with you today? You’re acting strange, silly. Did you eat something you shouldn’t have?” You grin stupidly, an idiocy he finds all so lovable. The twinkle in your eye - you’re alive. You’re breathing and you’re existing before him. A final grace that he can’t thank whatever for enough.
There’s the sound of wind, and then you find yourself tightly wrapped in his embrace, your shoulder stained with his tears that spill despite how much he doesn’t want to show you this weakness. He buries his face into you, and you can feel the ghost of a smile against your skin. “I’ve missed you. So, so much. Please, please, don’t leave me again.”
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Lifeless, your body lay, along the shores and lapped by waves stained crimson. That day, Fontaine realized what it was like to truly rain, not a few drops, or even spring showers. Water fell endlessly from the skies, a downpour that may never end, an all-swallowing sea from the heavens that swallowed all unfortunate enough to be caught in its path. Irony clouded the skies, and Neuvillette found himself broken into pieces he didn’t know how to put back together.
His efforts to understand the human population were in vain. A complete, utter failure. How could he possibly judge, knowing the world despised him? Knowing that the scales were upturned and that nothing could ever be just? Your death, it was unfair. Unfair to the world and unfair to he who held you ever so dear. But what else could he do but continue his oversight? Quitting his position wouldn’t bring you back. Nothing would. He could hear your cheery voice in his ear, and the hint of a pout, a chiding tone. “Neuvi, you can’t quit! Let’s all try our best, okay?”
The days where you were by his side were the happiest. Fontaine had become akin to Sumeru’s desert, the sun blazing overhead and the moon shining brightly at night. Yet, how come the people of Fontaine had seemed upset at the skies for his contentment? They begged for rain, begged for their dying crops, to the point where you were forced to distance yourself from the man for days at a time, just the unrelentless sun would cloud over and perhaps a drop or two of rain would be squeezed from the heavens.
If he had known you would leave so soon, he would have never permitted you to depart from his side. If he had known you would pass this world and traverse to the next, he would have held you with every ounce of his soul, he would have declared his love for you over and over, he would have placed the ring he had been saving in his pocket, the one he slipped on his finger whenever he was at a particularly difficult trial. 
So many “what if’s.” None of them would materialize. Once again, his efforts would fall short. Once again, he’d lose someone. 
The tea was hot. It burned his tongue, yet he couldn’t feel a thing. You, the clearest of springs and purest of waters, had set his own sea into a never-ending storm. Lightning struck and its own surface churned choppily with enough rage to devour a nation. The second tea cup that was on the other side of his office desk remained untouched, the contents slowly cooling into nothingness. A something that could never be.
“Hydro dragon, hydro dragon, don’t cry~” He could hear it when he shut his eyes for what he hoped to be the final time, your voice from the mist that shrouded his mind, and he wanted nothing more than to embrace the owner of it. How could he possibly heed your words, when he felt his tears slip past his eyes, flowing as unperturbed as a river? Your back is facing him, but you know he’s there. You glance back with a fond beam, extending your arms outwards. An invitation. One that he’d readily take, any time, every time.
He would never enable you to slip from his grasp again. He allows you to engulf him in your arms, he allows you to stroke your thumb on his face and wipe away his salty tears, he allows you to brush his hair behind his ear and press butterfly kisses into his closed eyelids. Your warmth floods his body, and with a smile he takes the ring he’s saved for you out of his pocket, and fulfills his regrets as he slips it onto your finger, a final tear rolling down his cheek. “There’ll be no more reason to cry, not anymore.”
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(a/n) this further proved to me that writing angst is so fucking mind destroying but at the same time provides this sort of quiet sorrow that you aren't able to attain anywhere else and for some twisted reason this is literally one of my favorite things ive like. ever written. holy shiiiii
໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123, @scara-is-my-wife
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its-avalon-08 · 6 months ago
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ADORE UR ANGST! Can you do a lando norris x y/n where lando is upset with y/n because she wasnt listening when he was ranting about something that happened. He feels annoyed. Y/N doesnt know why he's upset but then she realises. she tries to apoligise
can i just say i love it when y/n messes up, because writing reader groveling is my guilty pleasure <3 thanks anon
look up from your fucking phone (ln4)
✦ pairing - lando norris x female!reader
✦ genre - alot of fighting, y/n is being annoying, angst, fluffy ending
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Lando slammed the apartment door shut, the echo bouncing off the bare walls of their new place in Monaco. He threw his helmet on the couch, the familiar orange a stark contrast to the simmering red of his mood.
"Y/N, did you see that?!" he yelled, stomping towards the kitchen.
Y/N was hunched over the counter, phone glued to her ear, a frown etched on her face. "Ugh, why won't this load?..." she trailed off, finally noticing Lando's stormy entrance.
"Didn't you see what Yuki pulled out there?!" Lando practically exploded. "That dive bomb into Turn 12? I could've been wiped out!"
Y/N finally peeled her phone away from her ear. "Yeah, I saw it. Sounds scary," she said, her voice flat. She scrolled through her phone again, a picture of a cupcake taking center screen.
Lando's anger intensified. "Scary? Y/N, it was reckless! He could've ruined both our races!" He gestured wildly with his gloved hands. "And all he gets is a five-second penalty? That's a joke!"
Y/N sighed, a sound of exasperation that sent a fresh wave of irritation through Lando. "Look, I'm sure you'll bounce back. Maybe get some revenge on him next race?" She offered a tight smile, her eyes still glued to the phone.
Lando felt a knot tighten in his chest. "That's it? No 'are you okay?' No 'that was a dirty move?'" His voice dropped to a low growl. "Don't you even care?"
Y/N finally looked up, startled. "Of course I care, Lando! I just... I had a really stressful day too, okay?" She gestured vaguely at the phone. "Work stuff."
The knot in Lando's chest unraveled, replaced by a hollow ache. "Right," he muttered, his voice devoid of its usual spark. "Work stuff is always more important than your boyfriend getting wrecked on the track, apparently."
Y/N's eyes widened. "Hey, that's not fair! I wouldn't say that." She reached out a hand, but Lando flinched away.
"Just forget it," he said, his voice tight. "I need a shower."
He stormed past her, the slam of the bathroom door echoing through the apartment. Y/N stared after him, the phone clattering to the counter with a forgotten thud. The file which had now loaded mocked her from the screen.
Her heart pounded a frantic rhythm against her ribs. She'd been so caught up in her own problems, she hadn't realized Lando was having a terrible day. Shame washed over her as she remembered his frustrated yells, his need for support.
She jumped up, rushing to the bathroom door. "Lando, wait!" she called out, her voice laced with panic. "I'm so sorry, I was just..."
Silence.
She tried the knob, but it wouldn't budge. He must've locked it. Lando, who never locked the bathroom door. A cold dread filled her.
He was mad. Really mad. And it was all her fault.
The silence stretched on for what felt like hours. Dinner, usually a time for shared laughter and stories, was a tense affair. Y/N cooked Lando's favorite pasta dish, but it sat untouched on the table, growing cold beside her untouched plate. Every time she stole a glance at the bathroom door, a knot tightened in her stomach.
Finally, unable to bear the silence any longer, she cleared her throat. "Lando," she began tentatively, "I know you're upset, and I just wanted to say again that I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have been on the phone. I was just..."
The clatter of the bathroom door slamming shut cut her off. Lando stormed into the living room, his face a mask of fury.
"Just what?" he spat out, his voice raw with emotion. "Just another bad day at work for you? Don't you get it, Y/N? Today was a nightmare! Yuki nearly took me out, the car felt off the entire race, and to top it all off, the media keeps hounding me about missing out on the podium."
He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. "And you," he pointed a finger at her, his voice cracking, "you weren't even there for me. You were too busy with your stupid phone to even see how much I was fucking hurting."
Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes. "Lando, I-"
He cut her off again, his voice laced with a raw vulnerability that ripped at her heartstrings. "No, Y/N! You don't get to talk now. I had the worst fucking day of my life, and your sorry does. not. fix. that. You listening to me, maybe even caring, might have. But you weren't there. And frankly, right now, I don't even know if you care at all."
He stormed past her, grabbing his helmet from the couch. "I'm going for a drive. Don't wait up." The slam of the front door echoed through the apartment, leaving Y/N standing alone in the cold, sterile silence. Tears streamed down her face, a silent apology echoing in the empty room. She had messed up, badly. And now, she had to find a way to fix it, even if it meant facing Lando's anger and rebuilding the trust she had so carelessly shattered.
Lando's car tore down the familiar winding roads, the roar of the engine a poor substitute for the roar of frustration in his chest. Tears, hot and angry, blurred his vision as he navigated the steep climb towards his favorite spot - the very same hill where he'd asked Y/N to be his girlfriend.
"Stupid phone. Stupid fucking Yuki. Stupid me," he muttered under his breath, slamming the car into park with more force than necessary. He stormed out, the cool night air doing little to quell the fire burning inside him.
He reached the familiar crest of the hill, the city lights twinkling like scattered diamonds below. It was supposed to be a place of peace, a place where he could clear his head. But tonight, it was a stark reminder of everything he'd lost.
"Why couldn't you have listened to me Y/N," he growled, the words catching in his throat. He sat down on the familiar patch of grass, burying his head in his hands. A choked sob escaped his lips, the sound harsh and raw in the quiet night.
Suddenly, a soft voice broke through his despair. "Lando?"
He looked up, startled, to see Y/N standing hesitantly before him. She was holding a basket overflowing with snacks, drinks, and a familiar fluffy blanket. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her face etched with worry and regret.
"Y/N? What are you doing here?" he asked, his voice hoarse. His anger hadn't quite subsided, but it was overshadowed by a wave of surprise.
"I followed you," she admitted, her voice barely a whisper. She set the basket down beside him cautiously, the woven handles creaking softly. "I know you needed some space, but I couldn't just stay there. I had to try and fix this."
Lando hesitated, then gestured towards the spot beside him. Y/N sat down, her gaze fixed on the glittering cityscape. Silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken emotions. Finally, Y/N reached out, placing a hand tentatively on his arm.
"Lando, I'm so, so sorry. There's no excuse for my behavior today. You were having a terrible day, and I completely ignored you. It was selfish and insensitive, and I hurt you. And for that, I am truly sorry."
Lando flinched, a tear rolling down his cheek. He looked at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of hurt and longing. "I just... I needed you, Y/N. Today was one of those days when everything felt like it was going wrong. And all I wanted was for you to be there for me, to listen, to just be you."
Y/N's hand tightened on his arm. "I understand now. And believe me, I was there in spirit. Every time you yelled, every time you slammed the door, it broke my heart a little more. But I was so caught up in my own problems, I didn't even see how much you were hurting."
She squeezed his arm gently. "Please, Lando. Let me try to make it up to you. Let's stay here, talk, share some snacks." She gestured towards the basket with a small, hopeful smile. "Maybe then we can face tomorrow together."
Lando looked from her hopeful face to the inviting spread in the basket. A flicker of his old smile played on his lips. He sighed, the tension easing from his shoulders. "Alright, Y/N. Snacks and talking it out sound pretty good right now."
As they settled under the blanket, the city lights twinkling around them, they began to talk. Lando poured out his frustrations about the race, Yuki, and the media. Y/N listened intently, offering words of encouragement and understanding. They reminisced about better races, laughed at silly inside jokes, and slowly, the rift between them began to heal.
The drive home was filled with a comfortable silence, a silent promise to communicate better in the future. As Lando pulled into their driveway, he turned to Y/N, a genuine smile warming his face.
"Thanks for coming after me, Y/N." He leaned in, his lips brushing softly against hers. "I love you."
Y/N smiled back, her heart overflowing with relief. "I love you too, Lando. And next time, I'm chucking the phone into the bin."
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minminyoonjii · 3 months ago
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hiiii i really love your skz writings and had an idea for a request. the pairing is 3racha x afab!reader.
so in the beginning they’re all having sex. like 3racha had a rough day and take it out on reader a little. at first readers really loves but when the slaps on the butt get too hard and too many, the grip on her body parts get too tight, the 8th orgasm is too much and reader suddenly gets chocked it gets too much. reader says the safeword. so it’s smut to angst to fluff cause id really love a happy ending where 3racha comfort reader and reader comforts 3racha with aftercare as well.
i hope you like my idea!!🙌
take care💗💗
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❤️Ultimate Masterlist
💜Rules and Guidelines
🕯Summary: Needy men equal to multiple orgasms. It's not your fault that they like dragging every last bit of pleasure from your body.
🌹CW
Blowjob|Squirting|Multiple Orgasms|Very Rough Sex|Praise Kink|Wet & Messy|Fingering|Dirty Talk|Threesome|Cum Eating|Cunnilingus|Safewords|Spanking|Choking|Mating Press |Commanding Tone|Teasing|Dom! Changbin|Dom! Chan|Degrading Praise Kink|Free Use Aes|Manhandling|Exhibitionism|Daddy Kink|Reader Likes It Rough|Aftercare
💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.
🍄Wordcount: 1.5K
"Baby," Jisung whined, plopping onto your lap. You ran your fingers through his hair, "Ji?" you chuckled, rubbing his ears. Jisung hummed, burrowing his face into your tummy, "Channie hyung was so mean today," he complained, kissing your belly button. "I was not," Chan scoffed, brushing his hair back. You giggled, squishing Jisung's sulking cheeks. "Hyung, have you heard of lying? I want the baby to comfort me," he grumbled, clinging closer to you. Changbin sighed, "Sungie, you know better than to lie for pity," he said, pulling Jisung off your lap. 
Chan clenched his jaw, frustration still dwelling in his mind, "Princess could you help us?" he asked, his eyes hooded and dark. You gulped, sitting straighter. "Yes, Daddy," you said, loving the chance to bring them pleasure. Chan chuckled, patting your head, his fingers tugging on your hair slightly, "Get on your knees for me, yeah?" he instructed, sitting down where you sat as you kneel between his thighs.  
You sat patiently, waiting for his command. Chan hissed, tugging down his sweatpants, his throbbing cock slapping against his torso, "Put your mouth to work, princess," he chuckled, brushing back your hair. You eagerly licked the base of his cock, your tongue flattened as you trailed upwards. Chan groaned,  resting his head back against the couch. You smiled wrapping your lips around his pulsing throbbing cockhead, drawing a loud grunt past his lips. 
You whimpered at his reaction, bobbing your head. "Hah, fuck. Princess, hollow your cheeks," he grits, pushing your head down. Your whines vibrated down his veiny hot shaft, his balls tensed up from the  pleasure. "Shit, ah!" he growled, using your hair as leverage to fuck up your mouth. You slacked your jaw, taking in his girthy length, his cockhead brushing against your uvula. A loud squelchy pop echoed within the room when his tip penetrated past your throat. 
Chan clenched his teeth, "Fucking hell, you feel so good. Your little mouth was just meant for taking cock isn't it," he growled, wiping the tears dripping down your cheeks as he quickened his pace. Your gags spurred his arousal, "Take it. Take my fucking cock," he grunted, thrusting his hips. You clawed his pants, breathing heavily past your nose. Chan growled, pulling you off his cock, "Good girl. Such a good girl," he chuckled, slapping his cockhead against your tongue. 
You stuck your tongue out, catching your breath, "Good?" you whimpered, looking up at him with tear stained cheeks. Chan lightly slapped your cheek, "Very good," he cooed, spitting onto your tongue. You gulped down and nuzzled his palm. Jisung pumped his cock within his palm, "Come straddle my cock, baby," he smirked, tugging the tip of his precum slicked cock. You shakily got up, and did as told, "Ride?" you asked, tilting your head.
 Jisung nodded, tugging down your shorts, "Messy girl," he chuckled, rubbing between your drenched walls. You moaned, grinding your hips at the briefest hint of pleasure, "Please Sungie, I'm loose enough," you whined, clenching around his fingers. Jisung chuckled, grabbing waist, "Okay, okay," he cooed, letting you align his cock before thrusting into you. "Hah, hah, yes," you moaned, sinking down to the hilt. 
Jisung kissed your neck, "Relax, baby. You don't have to do anything my precious little cocksleeve," he groaned, gripping your hips enough to bruise as he pounded  your cunt at a relentless pace. You arched your back, wailing at the sudden quick thrusts, "There, there, hah," you babbled, clenching around his veiny cock. Jisung hissed, manhandling you onto the couch, your legs over his shoulders, "Cum for me, baby. I know you're close," he grits, thrusting his  cock deeper in his position. 
You wailed aloud, cumming around his shaft. Your cunt fluttered around his throbbing cock, "Good girl," he chuckled, rubbing your clit in tandem with his thrust, "Come on baby, give me another," he smirked, fucking your tight little cunt deeper. His cockhead kissing your cervix. You tossed your head back, "Can't , can't too much," you cried, quivering within his hold. Jisung clicked his tongue, "I know your body better than you do, baby. Cum for me now," he growled, pinching your swollen clit. 
You sobbed, creaming around his girth. Jisung hissed, cumming  deep within your womb, his cockhead pressed against those sensitive bundles of nerves, forcing another orgasm from your body. You sniffled, tears dripping down your cheeks. Jisung cooed, kissing your tears away, "Aww my little girl," he chuckled, kissing you softly.   You melted into the kiss, his lips softer than his actions.
 Jisung pulled away and gently eased out of your dripping cunt, "I'll come back for you, baby," he said, sending you a flying kiss. You giggled at his antics and made eye contact with Changbin, "Bin," you whined, making grabby hands towards him. Changbin chuckled, "I'm here," he said, rubbing your cheek. You beamed, a dopey smile etched on your lips. Changbin kneeled between your legs, "Jisung left quite a treat," he whispered, his voice heavy and breathy. 
You gulped, staring at him between your  thighs. Changbin licked your puffy clit, "Sweet," he smirked, seeing your legs tremble. He circled your clit with his tongue, the roughness of his appendage made your cunt clench, pushing out Jisung's hot load. Changbin eased three fingers up your hole, "Can't have them go to waste," he growled, pumping his fingers in and out of your cunt. You arched your back, your hands pinching and tugging your sensitive nipples. 
Changbin sucked  on your clit, his tongue flicking in tandem with his fingers. The tip of his fingers curled against the sensitive bundles of nerves. "Cumming, cumming, hah," you whimpered, gushing around his fingers. Changbin licked his lips and  licked between your folds, "More," he groaned, thrusting his tongue within your hole. You yelped, clenching around his tongue, "Hah, shit, shit," you cried, fucking your hips back. 
Changbin growled, drinking in your slicked mixture, his tongue cleaning your ribbed walls. You clawed your tummy, "Hah, hhgh, ah. Fuck Bin!" You cried out, squirting onto his face. Changbin pulled away, chuckling softly, "That quenched my thirst," he teased, wiping his face with a towel. You panted, covering your eyes with your arms. Chan licked your nipple, tugging it between his teeth. You shuddered at the buzz of pleasure. 
"Surprised, princess?" he asked, pulling you onto his lap. You burrowed your face between the crook of his neck. Chan smirked, cupping your chest, "Rest, bubs. Daddy's got you," he soothed, his cock heavy and hot between your sensitive folds. He carefully eased his cock up your fluttering ribbed walls. You mewled, nipping his neck as your body enveloped his girth. 
Chan hissed, thrusting up your canal. "I'll make this quick," he growled, fucking upwards with a brutal pace. You sobbed, clawing his arm. Chan growled, wrapping his palm around your neck, "I know you can take it, princess," he grunts, quickening his pace. Changbin smirked, pumping his cock to the sight, "Let me help," he chuckled, slapping your ass with a firm spank. 
You choked on a moan, clenching hard around Chan's hot cock. "Again," Chan growled, keeping his relentless pace. Changbin did as told, spilling into his palm, "Hah, ah, fuck," he groaned, spanking your plush skin. You cried out, squirting hard around Chan's cock. Chan growled, forcing his cock deeper, "Fuck, fuck, fuck," he groaned, coating your inner walls white. Your eyes rolled back, quivering hard. 
Chan began thrusting again, to coax another orgasm out of you when "Red! Red," you sobbed, clawing the hand around your neck. Chan released his hold, his breath hitching. You cried into his chest, gripping his shoulders. Chan looked at Changbin, "Towel," he instructed, gently rocking you. "Hic, huh," you sniffled, nuzzling his jaw. Chan kissed your forehead, "Did it hurt?" he gulped, nosing your cheek. 
You shook your head, "Felt good, just too much," you sniffled, curling up. Chan wrapped you up in a towel, "Let's go clean up, yeah? Sungie's chilling in the jacuzzi," he said, cradling you closely. You nodded, melting into his hold. Chan gently laid you in the tub, "There we go," he whispered. Jisung pulled you close, lathering soap onto your body, "Look baby, a rubber ducky," he said, moving the ducky towards you. 
"Ducky," you giggled, an innocent gaze in your eyes. Jisungs smile softened, "Ahm, he wants to play too," he said, putting bubbles on the ducky. Changbin climbed into the tub, "How's our little girl?" he asked, tickling your feet. You giggled, splashing water at him. Changbin smiled, "Oh our little brat is back," he teased, rubbing your foot. Chan climbed in after, "I tidied up the couch, we can cuddle up for movie night after this," he said, slightly avoiding your gaze. 
You crawled towards him and nuzzled between his legs. Chan buried his face into your hair, "My heart sank when you said red bubs, but I'm happy you trust us to respect your body," he sighed, biting your ear. You giggled, looking up, "Trust daddy a lot," you beamed, bringing his hand to your lips. Chan smiled, "I'm glad, princess. I'm glad," he said, rubbing your shoulders. "Can we have chicken for dinner?" he asked, feeling hungry. Jisung snorted, "We can use Channie Hyung's card," he teased, only to get splashed by water.
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