#I AM TWISTED BY YOUR GAZE IS IT ALL LIES

[unknownarmageddon]

GEDDON. SCALE UP/SCALE DOWN BY LOUIE ZONG, BUT IT'S KILLER

OKAY so it took me forever to get to actually listening to this because i am bad at everything ever but i am now so i will report back o7

[aether-starlight]

Gymnopédie - Zayne

Pairing: Zayne x Reader

Warnings: alcohol consumption, innuendos.

Summary: You confuse Zayne’s number with your trusted ride back home. When he insists on picking you up himself, how could you refuse?

Word Count: 1.7 K

The world was spinning, but in a pleasant way, as if gravity no longer affected you. You felt close to floating instead of walking, weightless as the cherry blossom petals that drifted through the air.

You were so light, in fact, that your fingers struggled to exert any pressure on the numbers in your screen, phone nearly slipping out of your hands and crashing into the pavement.

You leaned against Tara, both of you giggling about nothing in particular as you sat by the sidewalk. Her arm was wrapped around your shoulders, the sides of your heads pressed together.

Mojitos had been flowing like water tonight, a celebratory dinner after a mission completed with no casualties, hunter or civilian. 

For a moment, you had been able to let go, put down the weight of grief, fear and uncertainty in favor of comradery, cheers and funny anecdotes from Captain Jenna and the eldest members of UNICORN.

Surrounded by your peers, you knew for sure someone had your back, and they wouldn’t let you fall without falling themselves first.

Pressing your phone to your ear—and almost dropping it again—, you impatiently waited for the other end to pick up.

Absentmindedly, you drew a strand of Tara’s silky hair between your tingling fingers.

“Your hair is soooo pretty,” you hiccuped. 

“Oooooo. Thank you!” Tara pouted, close to tears, redder than ever. You probably looked no better.

“You’re welcome! I need you to give me some tips because ever since that wanderer burnt half of my freaking scalp—“

“Hello?”

You had forgotten you were on the phone.

“Ah, sorry Mister Song, hi~ I don’t see you.”

There were a few seconds of silence, and you almost pulled down your phone to check if Mister Song hadn’t hung up on you.

“It’s Zayne.”

The smile fell off your face, and like a fool, you double checked the contact name, as well as the time.

It was 3 am.

“Goddess, I’m so sorry. I thought—“

He cut you off, voice thick with sleep, not missing an inch of its imposing nature.

“Are you drunk?” 

You winced—that was his admonishment voice, the one he used when your bood tests weren’t within standards, or you had circles under your eyes. 

Like a huge cosmic joke, Tara giggled, leaning closer to slur:

“Is that your Doctor? He does sound as grumpy as you s—” You pressed your free hand to her lips, her whole face burning like a furnace.

The silence was deafening. Unbeknownst to you, Zayne had grimaced on the other side of the line, a half amused twist of his lips.

“I’m good,” you lied through your teeth.

“Sure,” he replied goodnaturedly. “Send me your location.”

Defeated, you hid behind a curtain of your hair. A terrible decision, considering how the world began to spin, even as you closed your eyes.

“Okay.”

By the time Zayne arrived, Tara was snoring, head resting on your shoulder. Meanwhile, you had been sipping on a bottle of water Captain Jenna had kindly given you before leaving.

“Hi,” you greeted once he lowered the passenger’s window, mortified.

His gaze met yours, inscrutable. He looked as awake as ever, had it not been for the slight ruffle of his hair, not quite as perfect as he was used to wearing it.

“Oh, you’re here!” Tara slurred, suddenly awake. “This one wouldn’t shut up about you, you know?”

You shut your eyes tightly. Maybe this was all an alcohol induced fantasy.

A swift pinch to your elbow let you know that sadly, it was not the case.

“I’ll assist you.” Was Zayne’s only reply, door slamming it his wake as he approached to hold onto Jenna’s arm. 

If there was the ghost of a smile curling at the edges of his mouth, you preferred not to acknowledge it.

“Perhaps your friend could share more details on your opinion of me,” he teased over Tara’s head, hematite eyes full of mirth.

Now it was your face burning up. You were going to kill her when she was sober.

“Of course!” Tara hicupped happily. “She said she missed you,” she sing songed, extending the last word to an unnatural degree.

Tara —thank the Goddess— became dead weight as soon as her head hit the inside of Zayne’s ridiculously expensive car. 

Which left you in a somewhat awkward silence. You said somewhat because Zayne seemed as comfortable as ever.

A low melody played from the stereo, something calm and melancholic. He had told you the name once: Gymnopédie No. 1.

Only once Tara was safely back to her parent’s house—her mother hugged you in thanks for taking care of her, making a tight knot grow at the back of your throat— was that Zayne dared to speak.

“This Mister Song, who is he?” He inquired, something flickering through his features much too quick for your dizzy mind to comprehend. His knuckles became pronounced, hands tightening against the wheel.

“My driver?” You replied, confused.

He hummed, eyes on the road.

“A close…friend of yours?”

“Does it matter?” 

He shrugged, but it was far too stiff to be genuine.

“It always matters who you place your trust in.”

Silence reigned after that, nothing but your breathing breaking it.

What he said made sense, but the depth of his frown didn’t. He was driving you crazy. Hot and cold, hot and cold.

It was only once you had replayed the conversation in your head, that realization crashed over you. Something somersaulted in your stomach, filled you with an indescribable emotion.

“Zayne…are you jealous?” 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling, but it was a lost cause, mirth had permeated into your every word.

This was the closest you had seen him to bashful, pale pink blooming on his cheeks, Adam’s apple bobbing as he cleared his throat.

He loosened his hold on the wheel, letting the car come to a stop, as you were now at his place.

Your smile withered a bit at his lack of response, and took the brief silence as an opportunity to admire him. Zayne’s mouth had tilted down in a now sullen mien. 

There wasn’t anything precisely pointing to it, but you could tell he had built a wall, frozen distance even within the warmth of his car.

“You are right. It is none of my concern,” he said, voice icy and impersonal.

Gripping his chin between your fingers, you guided his gaze back to you.

“Mister Song is a seventy year old man. I met him when his taxi was totaled by a Wanderer attack. He’s been my trusted driver ever since.”

He let the information sink in, the jealousy brimming inside him simmering. 

A jealousy he knew he had no right to, which only served to upset him further.

You were not his. 

But he was yours.

And yet, something in the way you looked at him begged to differ. You weren’t his because he couldn’t bring himself to ask, because he was a fool.

“What’s that look for?” You whispered, fingers trailing down his shoulder, basking in the soft fabric of his black shirt.

“What look?” 

You tried to replicate his gesture, brows pulling together, almost making you go cross eyed.

He couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. 

“Hey, I’m trying,” you complained, raising your hand to intertwine with the other at the nape of his neck.

“I didn’t comment on it.”

“You didn’t have to.” Your words still had a slurred edge to them.

“There is no winning with you.”

You laughed back.

“Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.” 

“Who said that?” 

It was only then that a question that had been begging to be asked rose from the back of your mind.

“Why are we at your place?” You tilted your head to the side.

The petal spots in Zayne’s cheeks deepened in color.

“I would like to keep you under my observation, as you are still intoxicated.” He hesitated for a second, a low exhale escaping him. “If I have your permission.”

Your smile tempered into something different. Not upset, but serious. 

As you regarded Zayne, something tightened in your chest. It hurt, but left you wanting. 

Goddess, you wanted, you wanted, you wanted. It was a prayer your body hummed whenever he was close.

“I’d love to, Zayne,” you whispered. brushing a thumb to the edge of his jaw before letting go.

A light dinner, anc copious amounts of water afterwards, you were lying side by side with Zayne, wearing one of his shirts, and joggers that were definitely much to big for you.

The lamps on each side of his bed were on, as you were having a light conversation. He was resting against the headboard, while you had your face shamelessly pressed to the pillow on your side. 

The scent of it soothed you, of lavender and soap.

“I have sent you letters,” he denied, voice rough with sleep.

“If only I could have managed to read them.”

He frowned deeper at your poke at his chicken scratch. Some things were just inescapable in the medical field, you supposed.

You leaned closer, finding his gaze even as he purposefully avoided it, suddenly brimming with affection.

“Aw, was that too mean?” You cupped his face between your hands, and much like the black stray cat you liked to feed, he reluctantly leaned into your touch. 

Boldened by it, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. 

“I did read them, you know?” Your hands cradled the sides of his neck, thumbs resting below his earlobe. “I kept them all.” 

Zayne’s lips twitched, but he managed to remain serious, gray eyes boring into yours.

“I kept your replies too,” he murmured, turning to lay a kiss on your wrist. “Though I was tempted to correct some grammar mistakes.”

You huffed, dropping your hands.

“Rude! For your information, my writing is impeccable.”

“You said perchance an unacceptable amount.” He chided, seeming to mull it over. “I don’t think that word means what you think it does.”

He was probably right.

“Whatever,” you crossed your arms over your chest, leaning back against the head of his bed, setting your eyes forward.

The mattress dipped beside you, hinting at Zayne’s closeness.

“Are you upset?” He asked with an undertone of mirth to his faux concern.

You felt yourself flush deeper, forcing out a sarcastic reply.

“What makes you think that?” 

He pressed his mouth to the shell of your ear, sending shivers down your spine.

“As you so eloquently put into words, I’m obsessed with you.”

When you turned your head, your noses brushed.

“Yeah?” You breathed out. “How much?”

“A ridiculous amount,” he admitted, fixated on your lips, minty breaths mingling.

You smiled, pressing closer until your mouth brushed his.

“Good.”

[hier--soir]

a lover's pinch | five

joel miller x f!reader

pairing: professor!joel miller x f!reader rating: explicit, 18+ minors dni summary: you and your professor enjoy a day in new york. warnings/tags: au, university professor joel, age gap [20 something years diff], ethically dubious relationship due to inherent power imbalance, oral [m receiving], a smidge of cock worship, spoilers for antony and cleopatra by shakespeare lol, flirting, these fuckos kinda go on a date, prof joel is man of the arts idgaf, a tlou2 easter egg, oral [f receiving] and then oral [f receiving] again, sex acts in public, jealousy, sexting/nudes, unprotected piv sex, exhibitionism, dirty talk, light choking, overstimulation [f], pain kink, kinda dom!joel, describing men as pretty and beautiful because I LIKE IT, soft!joel. word count: 8.3k series masterlist | main masterlist a lover's pinch playlist a/n: so this whole thing is almost entirely sucking fucking and flirting, and i hope you enjoy it before we encounter angst. all credit to willy shakes for the passage from A&C that joel reads in the opening scene. thanks king for inspiring the title of this series lol xo this is part five of ALP. you can read the previous parts here: one, two, three, four.

Sunday.

The sound of paper rustling wakes you. Muted scrapes of page shifting against page.

Through your lashes you can see a thin reed of sun streaming in the window, flaring across the end of the bed to warm your skin.  And there’s a dull ache between your legs; a rhythmic throb that dances and twists through your core, through the muscles in the inside of your thighs. The type of pain that is warm – soft in its caress, like the trail of a lover’s fingertips down your spine. A sort of remembrance, or celebration. And you welcome it eagerly; delight in the sharp reminder of how it felt to welcome his body inside yours again. The hot sting of every third second, the meticulous pulse and ache of flesh that you hope stays with you for days.

Another page turns.

 You tilt your head to the side, eyes open a mere crack, and smile at the secrecy of it. At the private sincerity of this man who lies awake, sporting nothing but the thin veil of a sheet, gaze fierce and focused on an endless stream of text that raps his attention. It’s a type of heaven for him, you realise. This resting place, as calm and tranquil it is. The only weight that bears down is in the place where his wrist bends, hand coiled around the spine of a book, fingers poised, flicking impatiently against the corner of a page, begging to turn it, to see more.

You take in every ripple of muscle, every dip and curve and freckle and scar. The jut of his elbow. The hard line of his jaw. Watch pink lips part and purr as he whispers the words on the page to himself, and think about how perfect that mouth felt between your thighs.

His fingers pinch the corner of a page, pressing it down into a dog ear before he moves onto the next. You wonder what piqued his interest, what collection of words made him want to mark it, to leave a trail for himself to come back one day and remember.

You break the silence finally. “What are you reading?”

Joel flinches, glasses jolting to the tip of his nose.

“You’re awake.”

“I am,” you hum. When he stares at you for a moment you just smile, snaking a hand out from the sheet to tap the page of his book. “Tell me.” 

“Shakespeare,” he murmurs, a faint blotch of red rising at the base of his neck. You want to kiss that blush—taste it. Want to know if his skin smells like you. “Antony and Cleopatra.”

“I love that one,” you yawn. “Where are you up to?”

 “Act five,” he says. “Cleopatra’s big scene.”

“Will you read it to me?” you smirk.

There’s an upward shift of an eyebrow. The spark of a curious glint in his eye. 

“Really?” he drawls, unimpressed.

“Please?” your smile softens into something kind, something honest.

With a sharp sigh, and a quick adjustment of his glasses, Joel begins to read.

“Give me my robe, put on my crown,” he begins slowly, as if unsure. “I have immortal longings in me: now no more. The juice of Egypt’s grape shall moist his lip: yare, yare, good Iras; quick.”

His voice is a low vibration, a honeyed sound that drifts through the air and has goosebumps raising across your skin. You watch his mouth shape the words, enamoured. Savouring every glimpse of his teeth, every slip of his tongue between them.

“Methinks I hear Antony call; I see him rouse himself to praise my noble act. I hear some mock the luck of Caesar, which the gods give men to excuse their after wrath. Husband, I come. Now to that name my courage prove my title.”

His hair is a mess. A shock of greying curls that have flattened against his scalp after a night of being pressed into his pillow, threatening to spring up again. That dull pain flares in your core again and you rub your thighs together in an attempt to quell the ache. But something stirs there—low, prowling just behind the pain. Something wet and wild that whispers his name. 

“I am fire and air,” Joel continues obliviously, licking his thumb to turn the page with ease. “My other elements I give to baser life. So; have you done?”

Slowly, listening—hanging—you shift against the mattress. Allow the sheet to fall down to your stomach, exposing your breasts to the morning air. Your nipples stiffen, chest tightening as he glances at them from the corner of his eye. He pauses, mouth ajar. Swallows. Brown eyes return to the page, and he continues to read.

“Come then, and take the last warmth from my lips.”

Your hand drifts across the mattress, hidden from sight as it traverses the soft plains of the sheets, the blankets, and then the skin of his thigh. Bare, but smattered with soft hairs that tickle your palm and fingertips. Goosebumps tear across his skin and his breathing hitches; the faintest cracks in his calm façade. You surpass where you can see him hardening, fingers floating up his side to rest against his stomach. Gently, you feel across the soft slopes and curves of his tummy. Glide your finger over the dip of his belly button and smile when he clears his throat, legs shifting in a restless dance. And then your hand shifts down. Past his happy trail, past the dark curls at his base, to wrap your fingers softly around his length.  

“Farewell, kind Charmian,” Joel’s voice deepens. “Iras, long farewell.”

You lower yourself on the bed, dragging the sheets with you until they rest wayward and wrinkled around his knees. Your cheek nuzzles against his thigh as you stroke him, humming in delight as his cock stiffens in your palm.

Joel sighs. “You don’t have to—”

“Keep going,” you hush, glancing up. He watches you over the top of his glasses, gaze darkening. There’s still sleep in the corners of his eyes, and it’s so soft, so domestic, it almost hurts. You look down, simpering as you admire the sight of his cock, now fully hard and leaking in your grasp.

The head is swollen, a flushed shade so reminiscent to that of his lips that you want to kiss him. But his skin is warm and smooth, like silk as you nuzzle his length against your face. Feel his wetness streak across your skin, over the closed line of your lips, the apple of your cheek. “Joel,” you urge him quietly when he still doesn’t speak.

“Have I the aspic in my lips?” His voice is hoarse when he continues; wanton, rough with sleep and desire. “Dost fall?”

You lathe soft kisses against the tip, along the vein that pulses along the side of his shaft, against the tight swell of his balls, taking your time with him. You giggle when he sucks in a sharp inhale, the muscles in his thighs tightening beneath your cheek.

“Such a pretty cock,” you whisper, swiping your fingers over his weeping head.

“Yeah?” he exhales and drops the book against his stomach, fingers reaching to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Gonna show me how much you like it?”

“Mhm,” you bat your eyelashes up at him.

Joel raises the book again, slowly, eyes unfocused and glassy but still watching—still devouring—the way your lips purse around his tip. His stomach tightens when your tongue leaves soft kitten licks against the slit, lapping at the salty precome that rests there.

“If thou and nature,” he murmurs. “Can so gently part.”

And it’s almost painful, the way he sounds. Exhalations of tragic Shakespeare mixed with soft gasps, with curses loosed beneath his breath. The occasional revered whisper of your name, spurring you on.

His free hand settles at the back of your head, thick fingers curling in your hair as your lips part to take him deeper inside your mouth. “Fuck,” he groans, hips shifting against the mattress. “That’s it, baby, god you’re good at that.”

You hum around the weight of him, stomach warming at the praise. Swirl your tongue generously around his girth, lathing saliva over his skin until it’s dripping down to his balls. You cup them gently in your palm, massage him as your lips drag to rest around his tip again, paying close attention to the way he gasps and sighs when the point of your tongue dances along the ridge at the underside of his head.

“Sensitive there?” you ask quietly, eyes flitting up to look at his face. His cheeks are flushed, eyebrows furrowed as he nods.

“S’good,” he confirms, fingers tightening in your hair as you rub that spot again. A fresh bead of precome oozes from his slit and you smile, fingers curling around his length to tap his tip against the flat of your tongue. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyelids fluttering. “Yeah, good girl.”

You shift down on him eagerly, letting the heavy weight of him slip against your tongue, inside the warmth of your mouth, until he’s pressing against the back of your throat and you can hear him moaning.

“Got the prettiest fuckin’ mouth, baby,” Joel whispers. “S’like a fuckin’ dream, seeing those lips on my cock again.”

You whimper and swallow around him. A tear squeezes out of the corner of your eye, trailing a shiny path down to your chin. In steady, measured movements, your head bobs up and down on his length, guided by the gentle press of his hand.

“Yeah,” he sighs. “Take it all, baby, yea—yes.”

You relax your throat and take him deep enough to feel your nose brush against the rough hairs at his base.

“The stroke of death is as a lover’s pinch,” he reads, the cadence of his words stilted and breathy. “Which hurts, and is desired.”

Suddenly, his hips jut upward and you gag, throat constricting around him until your eyes are wet and blurry. He tugs gently on your hair, pulling you backward until you part from him with a splutter, messy strings of saliva dangling between your swollen mouth and his cock.

“God damn,” he swipes a finger across your lower lip. “Doin’ so good, sweetheart. So so good."

You think your eyes water more at that. Sweetheart.

“I want it,” you slur, lids heavy as you make eye contact with him.

“What do you want?” he pushes, cupping your jaw in his large palm. “Tell me.”

“Want you to come in my mouth,” your face warms and you lick your lips, fingers stroking him slowly. “Want all of it.” Everything.

“Okay,” Joel soothes, and then his hand drops from your hair so he can grip himself. Gently, he glides the tip along your bottom lip, trailing his salt across the skin of your chin, your cheeks, your nose, before finally pressing the head back against your tongue. “Take it, come on. It’s yours.” 

He presses between your lips, jaw tensing, and his eyes drift back to the book as you begin to move.

“Dost thou lie still?” he reads. “If thus thou vanishes, thou—Christ—thou tell’st the world.”

Your lips are tight around him, mouth sucking and moving in tandem with the strokes of your fingers, wrapped loosely around his base. Carefully, you shift to straddle his shins, forearms resting heavily against his thighs as you bring him to the brink of his orgasm. Yours.

“Fuck,” you hear him spit, and then he’s arching forward, the splay of his palm moving down the length of your spine until his fingers slip into the crevice between your ass cheeks. Gripping and squeezing the flesh there until you’re moaning too, the vibrations of your voice muddling with the wet sounds of your mouth against his cock. 

It doesn’t take much longer for coherent thought to evade him, Antony and Cleopatra flung to the wayside of the bed as his broad hands cradle your head, the tip of his cock nudging the back of your throat with every thrust. Your entire body is hot, slick with sweat, the musky scent of Joel filling your nostrils with every rushed inhale. The sounds he’s making turn rougher, deeper; raspy grunts and exhales that are almost animalistic in their intensity, and then—

“Fuckin—look at me,” he bites out, and watery eyes flutter open to meet his gaze. “Need to see those pretty eyes when I fill you up.”

And fuck you’re wet. So wet that it’s seeping onto the skin of your thighs, drooling out of you as you clench around sweet sweet nothing, cunt desperate and begging to be filled again. Tightening your fingers around his cock, you drag your mouth back to suck gently around the pulsating head, and when he comes it’s with a drawn-out, laboured groan that fades into harsh mutterings of your name and fuck and so fuckin’ good at that god damnit and that’s it, swallow it all baby, it’s yours, it’s yours, it’s yours.

You pull off him with a gasp, sucking in deep desperate breaths as you fall onto your back beside him.

Soft sheets stick to the sweat on your skin, and you close your eyes, vaguely aware of how the two of you breathe in sync; a high-strung cacophony of sharp inhales and heavy exhales.

After a few quiet moments you ask, “What time is it?”

“Eighty thirty,” he answers. The mattress jostles and tilts as his large frame shifts on it.

“Probably time to start the day,” you grumble, throat raw and tired.

But you can feel hands on your waist, nudging you backward until your head is slumped amongst the soft pillows again. And when your eyes peak open Joel is getting comfortable between your legs, glasses forgotten somewhere out of sight, hands pressing your thighs into the mattress to reveal your glistening sex to him.

And he says, “No,” shaking his head slowly, near-black eyes piercing as his lips lower to meet your cunt. “Not yet.”

You were unsure, initially, whose idea it was.

Unsure of who spoke first; if you or him brought up the idea of the museum. Unsure if he mentioned the bookstore or you mentioned The Iliad. Unsure, unsure, unsure.  

But as you stand on the outskirts of Central Park—showered, dressed, sure—eyes scanning the front window of the shop, the glass overflowing with newspaper cuttings and novel covers and author profiles and ads for signings – you are certain that it was him. Certain that he asked what your plans were for the day, head resting on your thigh, lips and beard still glistening with your come. Certain that you mentioned going to the museum, and that those brown eyes lit up, mouth splitting into a smile as he revealed that he had plans close by. Certain that he introduced the idea of going together.

A bell tinkles and your gaze sharpens, watching as his broad frame slips out the door with a brown paper bag tucked under his armpit. Joel ticks his head wordlessly to the side and you fall into step next to him, two sets of shoes scuffing against the pavement in a perfect rhythm. 

“Can I see it?” you ask, eyes roaming curiously around the street.

“Sure,” Joel holds the bag out and you take it carefully, fingers peeling back paper so you can take a peak inside.

“The cover is beautiful,” you breathe, fingers tracing vibrant swaths of gold and red, the white lettering that spells The Iliad. You balance the spine in your palm, curious to flick through to the first page. To see the acknowledgements, her author photo, anything. And as your eyes skirt over the very first page your feet stutter to a stop, pulse increasing as you spot the black marker on the page. A messily scrawled signature.

“Joel.”

Joel says your name, pausing a few steps ahead before turning back to face you. “What’s wrong?” he frowns.

You hold up the page, brows lifted in awe. “She… how did you get a signed copy?”

“We’ve met a few times in passing,” he admits sheepishly, eyes glancing between the book and your face. “I’ve always admired her work, and she offered to set a copy aside for me here. She’s very impressive, the first woman to—”

“The first woman to publish an English translation of The Odyssey,” you interrupt. “Yeah, Joel, I know exactly who Emily Wilson is.”

“And now she’s published The Iliad,” he hums. You begin walking again, the museum in sight now. “I’m lookin’ forward to readin’ it. Especially now that I’ve heard all your thoughts about how women and men translate differently. I’m sure it’ll be on my mind as I go.”

The skin on your face prickles and tightens under his attention. You’re still smiling, a wide and satisfised flash of your teeth, when the two of you reach The Met. Still smiling when he pays for your tickets and leads you toward the Cloisters.

You wander together through the exhibit. Medieval, Bohemian, Byzantine. Jean Pucelle, Robert Campin, Tilman. You catch Joel staring at the Bust of the Virgin, one hand on his hip, knee jutted out as he admires her elegance, the tenderness with which her face was carved.

“You like her?” you tease.

His shoulders stiffen and then relax into a sort of indignant laugh.

“I like terracotta,” he smarts, reaching out to pinch your forearm. When he pulls his hand away you see his eyes dart over your shoulder – a quick glance around the room to see if anyone noticed.

“Oh of course,” you nod, a mock serious expression on your face. “Me too. Terracotta virgins.”

“You know,” he huffs, turning to face you head on. “You oughta start showin’ me a bit of respect. Where’s your reverence for an authority figure, huh?”

“Authority?” your eyes widen, smirking broadly as you take a step forward, the material of your jacket brushing against his. “And what authority might that be?”

“I could fail you,” he murmurs, glancing down at your lips. “Tell everyone you’re the worst student I ever had. Never does as she’s told, always talkin’ back.”

“Oh, Professor,” you whisper back, fingers curling around the hem of his shirt, your snark emboldened by his. “I hate to say it, but you’re not very convincing in your distaste.”

You don’t wait around to see his reaction, turning on your heel and heading into the next room. Your cheeks are sore from smiling at the end of it, eyes tired from reading, and then you reach the courtyard gardens. See the cloisters. See the Romanesque columns with their fluting grooves that lead into arches, see the vast green garden with its flowers of yellow and pink and purple. Herbs and flora border the walking paths, filling the air with the scent of thyme and rosemary, and you can’t help but grin.

“Not bad right?” Joel’s voice comes from behind you.

“Not bad at all,” you turn to smile at him. “Would’ve been cooler if they had some dinosaur bones around here though. A museum should always have a dinosaur.”

“A dinosaur,” he repeats, quietly amused. “Of course, you like dinosaurs.”

“I thought, uh,” Joel clears his throat then. Glances away for a second. “Thought you might like it here; that it might remind you of your time in Greece.”

The words make your chest go all warm and tight. He looks so handsome, so easy in the middle of it all. Dark features and broad shoulders softened by the smell of flowers.

“It does,” you nod. “A little bit.”

“What was it like?” he asks.

“Greece was…” you trail off as you remember it. White sand beaches, turquoise waters, boreks and Doric columns, seemingly endless nights spent translating sheets and sheets and sheets of ancient texts. “It was wonderful, really. I feel so lucky to have had the opportunity, and Professor Samaras was a phenomenal instructor.”

Joel nods, fingers looped and resting across his stomach as he digests your answer.

“Good,” is the response he settles on, finally. “I’m glad. You… you deserve that. You work hard, and your presentation was solid.”

And it’s been less than twenty-four hours, but those words bring you calm now, not frustration like they did last night. So you smile, and thank him, and don’t stop yourself from asking him something in return.

“Have you really never been?” you ask, eyes squinting inquisitively as you watch his face, searching the emotions that flitter across it – near impossible to decipher, as always. “You said you weren’t interested, that first night when we spoke about it… but I would’ve thought… I don’t know, maybe a semester abroad or… or a fellowship?”

“Never,” he looks away. “Always too little time, too little money, too many responsibilities.”

You nod slowly, watch him curiously. You wish you could peel back his skin and see inside of that gorgeous brain, that heart. Understand every trouble, every missed opportunity that weighs on his shoulders.

“There’s still time,” you offer. “You’ve got so much time, Joel.”

Joel looks at you and you can see in his eyes that he’s grateful for the words. See that the earnestness with which you speak brings him some kind of solace, some kind of hope.

His fingers graze the skin of your wrist, curling around it to hold you in place beside him. Your body stills, eyes training carefully on the garden; the green of the grass, the pink of the flowers that bloom amongst it all. One of his fingers searches the skin at the inside of your wrist, swiping and rubbing over the tendons and veins there until he finds where your lifeline pulses. And then he strokes that spot, a calm, meticulous glide of his fingertip, over where blood thrums and rushes inside your body.

The tickling sensation has a painful knot of want curling in your chest, but you don’t stop him. Don’t pull your hand away, don’t take a step back. And with every stroke against skin, you feel it as if it where between your thighs—the soft curling of a finger between your folds, against your clit. It feels feverish, like a steady flame that spreads across your skin, up your chest to lick at the inside of your ribcage.  

“Soft,” he says, his voice low and thoughtful. “You’re so soft.” And it sounds painfully like, you’ve got so much time.

And you look at him and he knows. Your face says it all.

Says, let your hands wander wherever they like. Says, if you touched me here—now—I wouldn’t say a word, wouldn’t tell a soul. Says, everything I have to offer is yours if you could only bring yourself to take it. Says, and if your hand won’t wander, won’t stray, I’ll take it in my own and show you where to touch.

So you lead him back inside. Quiet, discreet, slipping past patrons and staff and guards until you find a bathroom. Tuck him inside and smile at the snap of the lock shifting into place behind you.

Joel’s knees meet tile with a soft thud, and dark eyes hold yours as he peels your trousers down, as he drags the slick fabric of your underwear to the side, as he presses the soft cut of his mouth between your legs. He watches you, steadfast, cheeks ablaze and pupils blown as his tongue works you open, calloused fingers holding your left thigh over his shoulder. 

And after you’ve come, face pinched and hidden behind your palm, he pulls away. Skirts wet kisses down the inside of your thigh, against the shell of your kneecap, to the bruise that colours your shin.

And he whispers, “Does it hurt?” with his fingers tracing tender splotches of purple and blue.

And you whisper, “No.” with your fingers brushing the curls off his forehead.

Afterwards you walk through the park, pressing through streams of tourists and locals alike; a lively crowd that parts and flurries around the two of you as you push forward. He fields your questions about Emily Wilson, about the years he spent doing his PhD, parrying seamlessly with queries about the West coast, about your undergrad, your roommates.

The bubble doesn’t break until Joel gets the text. Cursing softly, he turns away from you, eyes focused on his screen.

“Everything okay?” you ask.

“Yeah, yes,” Joel says, fingers flying across the touch screen, typing out a response before he tucks his phone away. “I, uh, look I actually forgot that I have somethin’ I need to do tonight.”

“Sounds mysterious,” you smile, eyebrows raised expectantly. But your smile wavers when he doesn’t match your teasing, face relaxing as you wait.

“Rachel and I planned this dinner a few weeks ago,” he explains. “When we both agreed to attend the conference.”

“Oh,” you blink. “That’s nice.”

“It’s this thing we do,” Joel offers, shifting on his feet. “A tradition, I suppose. To celebrate another conference done.” And you remember, I’ve been to twenty of the damn things. His twenty to your one.

“That’s nice,” you repeat, and hold your smile when he checks his phone again.   

Hold it when he tells you he should go, that he needs to get ready to meet her. Hold it when he hesitates, staring at you for a moment. Hold it when he presses a chaste kiss to the side of your head, lips meeting your temple, the weakest point of your skull, before turning to walk away from you.

Only when you’re alone do you let the smile fall.

After a lonely dinner, you find yourself back in your hotel room, thinking about Rachel.

Folding your blue dress into a neat square, and then a smaller square. Tucking it into your duffel bag, thinking about the rough sound of her laugh. The soft curve of her jaw, the sparkling greys that curl through her dark hair. You fold your underwear, pack that too, and think of her fluorescent toenails and her dangling earrings. Think of how sure she is; how intelligent, how charismatic. And then you think of yesterday – of her hand on Joel’s arm, soft fingers curling around the sleeve of his blazer, carting him around the conference. Leading him. Standing by his side, making him laugh.

And it burns, this hot feeling in your chest. Something dark green and scalding, fiery enough that you feel the need to sit on the edge of the bed and press your palm against the skin above your breast to tamp it down. Feel your heartbeat there, the rise and fall of your chest with each breath, and tell yourself that this feeling is cruel and unforgiving but that it is wrong. You lay out your clothes for the airport, wrap yourself up in the coarse hotel robe and push away the images your mind creates of them at dinner together. Push away the thought of her foot nudging his beneath the table, the thought of them sitting beside each other, thighs brushing like yours had on the bench last night. Because it’s wrong. Joel isn’t like that. Joel wouldn’t do that.

When Nora calls, you pick up on the second ring.

“How did it go?” she squeals, and you feel your shoulders relax at the sound of her voice.

“It was good,” you respond. “I feel good about it. Glad it’s over though.”

“You never answered my text—" the line crackles a little, muffling the last word of her sentence. “I was worried something bad might’ve happened.”

“Fuck,” you apologise. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that, I—I got caught up with something, I… I wasn’t looking at my phone.”

There’s a beat of silence over the phone. Another fried, crackle over the line.

“Oh you cheeky bitch,” she gasps then. “You could’ve just said you were getting some!”

“Nora—” you try, stomach dropping.

“Who the fuck was it?” she continues eagerly. You can almost picture the way her eyes would widen if she were here with you, hands clenched excitedly at her sides as she pushes for all the gory details. “Was it someone from the conference? Oh my god, was it someone from UNE?”

“No, no,” you rush, feeling an anxious heat rise in your chest. “It was just a random guy, we… I met him at a bar afterwards, it’s no one from Maine. No one from the conference.”

Another pause.

“And?” she asks finally. “How was it?”

You consider her question for a moment. Remember the way he undressed you in the dim light of his hotel room – slow, cautious. Remember the way he looked at you. Those dark brown eyes feasting over every inch of flesh, every mark, every freckle, every scar. The feeling of his hands on your breasts, his bare chest against yours as he pressed inside of you.

Quietly, earnestly, you say, “It was amazing,” and smile when she hollers down the line.

And this feeling is so much kinder, you think. The relief and the warmth that comes with being able to tell someone. To talk about him, even if you’re not really talking about him. Even if she can’t really know the truth.

You put her on speaker, still listening and laughing as she rattles off question after question. Did he go down on you? How big was he? Wait he was older?! You bitch! How old?! That’s hot. Fuck, I need to get laid.

“You really do,” you chuckle, laying down against the pillows and typing out a text to Joel.

Are you enjoying your dinner?

He replies within minutes.

Yeah, the restaurant is nice.

What are you doing?

“Hey Nora?” you interrupt. “I actually need to go.”

“Oh,” she huffs. “Alright, alright, I get it. You’re gonna go get fucked again. Good for you bitch.”

“I love you,” you laugh, already typing out a response to him. “See you tomorrow when I get home.”

Well my bags are packed, and I just tucked myself into bed

You watch the text bubble appear, disappear, and reappear over three times before it vanishes completely. Minutes go by; maybe ten, maybe fifteen, and then—

Show me.

Grinning, you loosen the tie around your robe to reveal a flash of the skin across your chest; the curve of your left breast, the peak of your nipple. Take a picture and make sure he can see your finger snagged between your lips, resting against the softness of your tongue.

For a moment you worry. Feel a spike of fear in your chest that if you send it someone else might catch a glimpse of his screen – that Rachel might see it. But then another text comes through, and you feel that fear melt into a warm pool of liquid.

I know you want to show me, sweetheart.

So you do. You click send and wait, teeth catching against the nail on your thumb.

The response is almost instant.

Jesus.

Are you wet?

You know I am

Are you touching yourself?

No

Good.

Dinner finished early. Where are you?

You send him the address of your hotel. Call the lobby and tell them to let him up. And when he arrives, you’re waiting for him on the balcony. You hear the heavy pad of his footsteps crossing the room, and then the slide of the glass door. Feel the broad span of his chest press against your back; outstretched fingers that glide around the curve of your waist to settle over your stomach.

Joel doesn’t say a word, nosing at the frizzled kinks of hair at the base of your neck. One of his hands drifts upward, fingers curling beneath the neckline of your robe, just grazing the curve of your breast. You let your eyes fall closed and think this feels like coming home.  Think, if this moment could last for hours, for days, for ever, that would be enough, and I’d never ask for another thing. Think, where have I been all of my life, and why was it not here with him?

You say, “Let’s go inside,” as he touches your nipple, and feel him shake his head.

“No,” he says. Presses his hips against your ass, rough denim brushing the backs of your knees. “Want you here.” 

You start to say Someone might see, but Joel pushes you forward again and your stomach presses against railing. Your eyes dart down toward the street, the road. To cars and pedestrians and tourists. 

“You don’t want that?” his lips brush the side of your neck as he speaks, the softest pressure. He tugs at your robe, guiding it down past your shoulders, elbows, until it pools around your feet. “Don’t want them to see us together?”

“That’s not—” you gasp as his teeth sink into the skin of your shoulder, hot tongue gliding over already bruising flesh. “Fuck, Joel.”

He groans against your skin, lathing wet kisses past your neck to the top of your spine. His hands are on your waist and your stomach and your tits and his jeans chafe against your bare ass, zipper catching every now and then. But your mind is hazy, a blur of thoughts that can only focus on the feeling of teeth and lips, on something long and firm pressing through the material of his pants, rutting slowly against you. 

“You’re hard already,” you breathe, surprised—delighted.

Joel grunts, distracted. “Been hard since you sent me that picture.”

A shaky breathes leave your lips as his hand skirts down your stomach, your hipbones, until his fingers slip past the glistening seam of your cunt – tender and swollen and aching. 

“But that’s what you wanted, hmm?” he rasps. You whimper as his fingers circle over your entrance, collecting your slick and dragging it upward. A flinch rips through you when he touches your clit, the nerves fraught after being given so much attention throughout the day. “You like knowin’ how much I want you? How badly? You like that I’d leave dinner early just to come here and fuck you?”

Face on fire, you nod; caught out. And then he takes another step forward, bending you further over the railing and pressing himself against you, hard enough that you can feel his cock between your ass cheeks, denim scraping the sensitive skin there.

“That is how much I want you. All the fuckin’ time,” he says. “Get it?” 

“Joel,” you stutter urgently, voice almost a squeak. Your thighs shake, knees close to buckling as his finger rubs slow circles against your clit. “S’too—fuck, Joel, it’s too sensitive.” It burns, too much – but his touch only serves to stoke the fire in your belly until it’s a roaring, raging thing, begging for more of too much. 

“I know, honey,” he groans, and you think you can hear the sound of his zipper coming undone. “You sore?”

When you don’t answer immediately Joel’s fingers still, body straightening as if he’s about to stop, about to pull away.

“Don’t,” you say quickly. “Just—”

“M’not goin’ anywhere,” Joel hushes. “Does it hurt?”

You hesitate, stomach tightening when his fingers start to move again. “It’s… yeah a little, but it’s…”

“But you like it? Like it when it hurts a little?” he fills the silence, and you can hear the change in his voice. Hear how it deepens, a gravelly effect that has your cunt tightening. You cringe, turn your head to the side in the hopes that he won’t see your reaction. But he doesn’t let it slide. Of course not. “Talk to me.”  

“Yeah, yes, I like it,” you admit, exhaling a relieved sigh when you hear his belt hit the ground.

“Good,” he says, and then you can feel him, hot silken skin on your own, the wet glide of his cock against your ass check.

His knuckles brush against you as he adjusts himself, and the weight of his tip at your opening is not unlike the brush of his fingers along your bruised shin. Tender, careful – the touch of someone that would never hurt you. Not unless you asked him to.

When Joel rocks his hips forward, cock splitting you open around his weight, the stretch is long and deep. A sweet, searing burn that has you balancing on the tips of your toes, mouth hanging open as you grip the railing and take it. The night air is cool against your skin, but warm hands land firm on your hips, thumbs circling and rubbing away the goosebumps there

“God,” he grunts into the hinge of your jaw, teeth nipping at the muscle there. “You’re so wet, so needy. Want this cock all the time, don’t you?”   

You can only moan in response – a choked, whimper of a noise that scratches its way out of your throat as he bottoms out. His thighs are warm and thick against yours, body practically moulding itself to you as you squirm, cunt pulsing around the thick length of him.

He gives you a moment to adjust, waits to feel you relax against him, and then he’s moving. Slow, powerful thrusts that have you feeling him in your stomach, and wishing you could see his face. Wishing you could watch his nose scrunch up, his lips curl into a snarl as he fucks you. Wishing that everything you’re feeling could be reflected back to you in his face, the way it was last night.

“Thought about you all night,” he says in your ear, a dirty little confession, whispered only for you to hear. “You know how sick that is? At dinner with my colleague, my friend, and I couldn’t get this perfect cunt out of my head. S’drivin’—me—fuckin’—crazy.”

And it’s sick, it’s awful, but you feel your lips peel back, face breaking into a toothy grin at the words. That envy, that jealousy, that dark green sticky feeling - all of it for naught because you were right. Joel Miller is yours.

“Yeah?” you pant, pushing your ass back into him and smiling even wider when he grunts, blunt fingernails digging into your waist. “What were you thinking about?” 

“’Bout how tight you always are,” he kisses the side of your neck, tongue flicking incessantly against the skin there. “How perfect you felt around me last night. How you take it so well.” He bites down, sucking until the skin throbs, another mark left in his wake. “How, if I can help it, I’ll never wear a condom when I fuck you again.”  

You curse, head lolling back against his shoulder. The confession makes you ache. “Please,” you mutter desperately. “Joel, please.”

“Thought about fillin’ you up,” he continues eagerly. “Fuckin’ you so hard, so deep with my come that you’d feel it for days. And you’d be mine.” His hips snap forward in a particularly harsh thrust and you grunt, cringing as the railing bites into your ribs. Mine mine mine.

“I’m yours,” you moan as he fucks you, a steady smack-smack-smack sound filling the air as his hips collide with the meat of your ass, over, and over, and over again. “You know I am.”

And you want to know what he thinks of that, want to know what comes next, but the sound of laughter echoes up from the street suddenly, and you tense, eyes snapping wide open. Joel doesn’t slow down.

“Look at them,” he hushes, voice quietening some.

His hand raises to point somewhere over the balcony, but you don’t see where; eyes trained on his fingers, his skin, the blue veins that swell and pulse beneath it. Your eyes try to follow it, but you’re looking the wrong way, following the hard line of his wrist, the corded veins in his forearm, his bicep, trying desperately, shamelessly, to catch a glimpse of his face.

“I said look at them,” his voice deepens, an authoritative tone taking over as his long fingers grip your jaw, angling it down until you do as he says.

You can see three of them. Squinting, you try to make out their faces from four storeys up. Stumbling down the street, laughing loudly, bumping shoulders as they walk.

Joel’s hips press forward and you gasp, eyes rolling back as his swollen tip nudges the deepest, softest place inside of you.

“Wait,” you whisper hoarsely, body jerking forward with every practised thrust of his cock. Say again, “Someone might see.”

“I hope they do,” he growls, hand falling to drape over your neck.

His fingers press gently against either side, cradling your pulse point in the palm of his hand. Your brain goes foggy with the pressure, mind buzzing and blurring. The sensation of his broad grip against your throat mixes with the drag of his cock between your thighs and it’s intoxicating; a high that you’ve never experienced before, and never want to end. You don’t realise how loud you’re gasping, moaning, keening his name, until you hear him laugh. A rough, elated sound.

“I knew it,” he chuckles, and you tighten around him, fingers fumbling backward, seeking purchase at the soft flesh of his hips as he continues rocking into you. His hand drops from your neck to your tits, and he squeezes.

“Admit it. Admit you fuckin’ love it,” Joel pants, every word punctuated by a white-hot press of his cock and a heavy exhalation against your neck. “Dirty little thing—you want them to see. Say it.” 

“Fuck,” you cry, spine arching as you push backward, meeting the movements of his hips.

“Fuckin’ say it,” he snaps, all hints of laughter gone now, his rough drawl only offset by the fond way his hands play with your tits. Careful, kind; every pinch, every squeeze, every caress a generous and tender display.

“I want it,” you blubber, sight blurring into a mess of streetlights and skyscrapers and strangers on the street. “W-want them to see how you fuck me, how you take care of me.”

“That’s it,” he groans, and you can feel the way he twitches inside of you, cock jerking against your walls in hot fast movements.

“Want them to know,” you continue, and there’s tears streaking messily down your cheeks, your lips moving faster than you can control. “Want them to see us, see how good it is, how perfect.”

And it’s too much now, you think. Finally, too much of too much. The railing is bruising against your stomach. Every stroke of his cock, every graze of your nipples – Joel’s touch akin to the end of a frayed wire, sparking and spitting embers wherever the two of you come into contact. Your cunt is on fire, every inch of sticky wet flesh throbbing and smarting.

“Fuck,” he groans. “Can feel you squeezin’ me, baby, you gonna show them how you come for me? Gonna let them hear it?”

“I can’t,” you choke out, shaking your head numbly. Yours lungs are on fire, mouth dry as you try fruitlessly to suck in breath after breath. “Fuck, I don’t think I can—”

“Hey,” his voice calls. A rough finger wipes across your cheek, smearing the salty tears further across your skin. “You can, you can, I can’t—I fuckin’ need this, need it.”  

“It’s too much,” you gasp frantically. But your words aren’t matched by the desperate grind of your hips. Aren’t matched by the way you twitch and shake between him and the glass, abdomen tensing tighter tighter tighter with every thrust. “Fuck, I’m—I’m close but it’s too much, Joel, it’s too much, I can’t, I can’t—”

He pulls out quickly. You gasp wetly at the loss, at how your walls clench and suck around that empty warm space in his absence. Deft hands grip your waist, tilting and turning you until your back is against the railing now, and his mouth is between your legs, wet lips and tongue so soft in comparison, so soothing against that burn.

There’s no shying away now, no stuttering or whining – you simply melt, thigh softening around the curve of his shoulder, allowing him to hold you up as his tongue teases and coaxes you to the edge of your third mind-numbing, toe-curling orgasm that day.

And you don’t notice at first how his bicep shifts and flexes beneath your thigh. Don’t notice how he groans and sighs against your messy cunt, panting and muttering your name as he strokes his cock in tight, wet jerks. And when you come, gushing into his mouth, his eyes snap open, endless spheres of deep brown gazing up at you, desperate to see. Your legs tremble with the force of it, hands grappling for purchase on his shoulders, in his hair. And with your lips parted, tears drying on your cheeks, you watch the way his face crumples—wrecked. How eyebrows furrow and eyelids flutter shut. Joel’s mouth slips away from you, teeth sinking into the flesh of your thigh, something to ground him as he grunts, a low, ragged sound, before you feel him come in warm, thick spurts against your calf.

“Fuck,” you mumble deliriously. Can hardly hear yourself over the roar of your pulse in your ears. “So good, you’re so beautiful.”

Joel’s face is flushed, skin tinged with a deep red that settles across the highest peaks of his cheekbones and disappears into his beard. And when his eyes open again, drowsiness swimming beneath those heavy lids, you can see the way they shine. Glistening with something wet, something earnest. You thumb gently at his waterline, swiping away the tears like he’s done for you. 

His lips press a chaste kiss to the pad of your thumb, tongue snaking out to lick his tear from your skin, and you think you must repeat it, So beautiful, because he smiles. Breathing heavily, eyes wet, he grins for you. A flash of white that he quickly smothers against the skin of your leg.

After catching his breath, Joel leads you inside and helps you shower. Stands outside the glass door, hand gripping your elbow to brace your shaking frame as you glide soap over your arms, down your legs. His fingers dig in firmer when you slip a hand between your thighs, whimpering as warm water streams over the sensitive skin there. He doesn’t flinch or shy away when specks of water flick out and dampen his shirt.

“You okay?” he asks as he helps you out, wrapping a towel around your shoulders.

You nod, mind still foggy, and let him rub the coarse fabric over the skin of your arms, your legs, drying you off before he tucks you back into your robe. And when he leads you back into the room, helping you carefully onto the bed, a flash of concern splits across his face. He takes a step back, a step away, until his back is brushing against the wall.

You lay down on the bed, heavy limbs splayed haphazardly across the soft blankets and pillows. Your robe is open, the tie still forgotten somewhere on the balcony, revealing the skin of your stomach, your thighs, still dotted with warm droplets of water.

And Joel's not far, not really; tucked away in the corner of the room, unsure, arms hanging listlessly by his sides as he stares. Takes in every inch of you as if it’s the first time all over again. Perhaps, as if he’s worried it will be the last.

“I should go,” he says, painfully unconvincing.

“Yeah,” you agree quietly, eyelids heavy as you stare back at him.

Your lips part in a soft yawn as you scratch languidly at the skin over your ribs, and dark eyes follow the movement of your fingers. Watch how your skin smarts and pulls beneath your fingernails until you sigh in contentment, the itch disappearing.

“You gotta be up early,” he says.

“I do.”

“And it’s late,” his eyebrows raise.

“Is it?” you smile. Raise your eyebrows in return and laugh when he sighs, hands twitching at his sides.

“Are we really doing this again?” you ask, smile slipping when you notice his frown. The twisted furrow of his brows, the curl of his upper lip. As if all of the features on his face have pinched together in the middle. Something churns in your stomach; a sick feeling that rises to lodge at the base of your throat. Waiting. “Talk to me.”

“M’tryin’,” he admits quietly. “Tryin’… tryin’ to be good. I want to be good.”

Your heart drops. And then, driven by some emotion that you can’t name, don’t want to name, it climbs its way back up, lurching forward in your chest. It claws and scrapes and tears itself out through a crack between two of your ribs, flinging itself across the room at him.

“You are good,” you whisper. Feel your bottom lip wobble, unsteady but sure. Certain of nothing but this as the words slip out. “You’re good, Joel. We are good.”

And when he smiles you think you can see it in his teeth. Little fragments of your heart; the beating core of you, dark red and macerated in the cracks of his canines, the lining of his gums.  

Joel closes his eyes and repeats the word. A softly murmured, Good, as if the word itself confounds him, and you think you must be imagining the red smeared across his chin. Your blood seeping out past his lips, dribbling down to stain the skin of his neck.

“I hope you’re right.” He takes a deep, steadying breath. One that shakes the planes of his broad chest, makes it rise to its fullest potential before he sucks another in, shoulders relaxing, and walks across the room towards the bed.

Towards you.

thank you for reading! x

[melancholyhigh]

SUNRISE.

ft. brother's best friend!leon x reader

synopsis. even though leon's supposed to be having a sleepover with your brother, he can't help but miss you, sneaking behind your brother's back to fulfil his desires.

content. 2.4k words. smut. subby!leon, handjob, fingering, quiet & sneaky sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, oral (f receiving), come eating, praise kink.

note. i'm finally active and the first thing i do is write for sub leon. old habits die hard.

masterlist. i love reblogs & validation !!

You stare blankly at your ceiling, unable to fall asleep. It’s currently 5 AM, and you’ve spent the entire night twisting and turning, trying to succumb to the sweet escape of slumber.

You believe it’s your body betraying you. Your brain understands his presence near you, but not close enough. It yearns for him and his touch, unable to function without it. He’s in the room across from yours, lying on the grimy couch in your brother’s room as he peacefully sleeps.

Your eyes begin to droop, and you allow yourself to give into the sense of vulnerability. Breaths coming out evenly, your chest rising and falling in sync. 

All sense of tranquillity disappears at the firm knock on your door. What could your parents possibly want?

You let out a groan in frustration. In all honesty, you’re about to burst into tears. The comforting rest you’ve been anticipating since Monday swept away because you couldn’t handle your feelings correctly, up late at night just thinking about what could’ve been.

The quicker you get it over with, the faster you’ll be able to get some sleep. You highly doubt that, though.

A few minutes pass, and you rip the smothering blanket off you, shuffling to the door. Gripping the cool metal of the doorknob, you stall before turning it.

The door opens to reveal him. Leon. The source of your nighttime dilemmas. His lips curved into a shy smile, and his eyelids drooped with similar exhaustion to yours. Your anger and frustration dissipate when you meet his tired gaze. It’s astonishing how much control he has over your emotions, over you.

“Can I come in?” he asks sheepishly, his voice hoarse from sleep. You stumble to the side, silently allowing him to enter the confines of your room. It’s second nature to him when he falls not so gracefully onto your bed, snuggling your sheets.

Closing the door, you lock it before joining him on your bed. It wasn’t unusual for Leon to find comfort in your twin-sized bed despite barely being able to fit in it with you, his limbs dangling off the ledge. It was odd of him to entertain the idea while your brother was nearby. 

He’s the cautious one despite asking you out first. He’s reluctant to face the consequences of your brother finding him intertwined with you in your sheets. You’re not mad at him for keeping your relationship private, but it’s not like you hate the idea of him showing you off or you, him.

You don’t care if your brother finds out. He’d get over it, but your brother’s a bitch when he wants to be. Though you’ve dealt with him for most of your life, it would be nothing new.

So, it confuses you why he’d want to doze off on your bed, risking facing your brother, and your silence doesn’t go unnoticed by him.

“I’m sorry for waking you up. I couldn’t sleep without you,” Leon mentions, words slurring from his drowsiness. If you were unable to sleep before, now you’re wide awake. He could’ve lied, saying that shitty recliner your brother got on a ‘deal’ was terrible support for his back. But no, he needed you just as much as you needed him. 

“I missed you too,” you reply, nose almost touching his as you rest your head on his pillow. Every moment shared between you two, you can’t help but admire him. He’s so pretty, even like this. Blonde hair draped messily onto your pillow, his cheeks rosy, and his half-lidded eyes shine brighter than any of the stars you’ve gazed at.

A grin graces his usual pouty lips. Leaning over, he presses his mouth to yours — it’s less lust and more intimate, reminding you of the first kiss you shared. You had never been more grateful for your dumbass brother getting locked in the theatre’s bathroom stall.

Your mom had forced you to pick up your little brother and his friend from the movie theatre, and you hadn’t anticipated his cute friend, whom you may have liked, sitting in the passenger seat as you both waited begrudgingly for your brother.

You had seen him around, playing fighter games with your brother on his PS1 in the living room. He was your favourite of his friends. Not only was he handsome, but he was also a good influence on your troublesome brother. And you may have developed a teensy crush on him. You didn’t take it seriously because you’re his best friend’s sibling — why would he even consider you an option?

Until that evening when he proved you wrong, your brother was gone for 20 minutes, and you had no other option but to talk to the boy. He was a bit awkward, you were too, but you both began talking and surprisingly hit it off. 

After mindless chatter, he confessed, which confused you til no end. He really wanted you? Your silence startled the poor boy, ultimately leading you to return his feelings with a simple kiss to end the night.

But it's different now as you entangle your fingers into his hair, tugging softly, a soft whimper falls from his parted lips — why was everything about him so pretty?

“Don’t be so loud, baby. Do you want him to hear you?” you whispered teasingly against his lips. His warm hands trail under your sleep shirt and grip your hips roughly.

“Fuck off,” he huffs quietly. The walls are thin, incredibly so. You’ve heard the movies Leon and your brother were watching during the night, and you’re sure they’ve heard you listening to music, so it was plausible that he might hear Leon’s moans and whines, but your brother slept like a rock.

And, even though the prospect of people knowing how good you please Leon was hot. The mortification of your brother, let alone your mother catching you, certainly was not.

Taking your hand in his, he guides it to his crotch, his erection straining his plaid pyjama pants. He lets you feel how badly he wants you, nuzzling into the crook of your neck and leaving kisses down the column of your throat. 

The sun slips into your room through the gap in your curtains, and you ponder how long you’ve been making out to get him so aroused. 

“Let me feel you, baby,” Leon breathed into the crook of your neck. Your hand slips into his pants, fingers teasing the head of his sensitive cock, stringy precum sticking to them. Your own arousal pools in your underwear, clinging to your drenched cunt. 

Deft fingers encircle his shaft, lazily stroking the base of his dick. Between shared kisses, Leon sneaks his hand into your shorts and underwear, rubbing your needy clit, and a sharp whimper falls from your lips. He tantalizingly glides his fingers through your slicked folds, teasing your sensitive nub with each pass of his digits.

The movements of your hand on his cock become messy and frantic, precum continuing to spill onto the material of his pants with each buck of his hip. 

You’re not faring better when he plunges his fingers into your tight hole, thrusting, resulting in your cunt producing slick and embarrassing noises. Your combined gasps and whines fill the room despite being quelled by each other’s lips. 

You melt away in each other's arms, forgetting about the conflict that would arise if anyone found you and him in such a predicament.

Drawing away from your swollen lips, Leon stills his fingers in your pussy, pulling them out, and you cease your hand on his dick. He groans at the loss of pleasure from your hands and the slick accumulated on his digits, unaware he made you so wet for him. 

“Can I cum inside you, angel?” he whispers breathlessly into your ear. He’s thoroughly lost in pleasure, uncaring if your brother finds him knuckles deep into your cunt. His cheeks are flushed pink, the blush leading to his chest under his black graphic tee. Chest heaving up and down with each breath as he admires your equally fucked out expression.  

“Mhm, okay,” you hummed, and Leon shifted his back flat on the mattress, allowing you to straddle him with shaky thighs when you rid yourself of your shorts and underwear. Leon’s palms instinctively went to your waist, gripping the flesh as he stabilised you, your ass sitting flushed to his clad thighs.

His shirt rides up, exposing his v-line dipping into his pants. Gasping softly when the fabric of his pants grazed his sensitive head, your hands eagerly dragged them down, revealing his pretty dick, flushed red to the tip oozing with precum. 

Hovering over him, you guide his cock through your glistening folds with your hand's help. You collectively groan when you slide down his cock, taking every inch of him into your tight hole. As you adjust to his size and girth, you lean down, kissing him as he encircles his arms around your waist.

You rock your hips gently, and Leon groans into your parted lips. He trails his lips to your collarbone, biting on the exposed flesh. A sudden moan escapes you when he thrusts his hips upwards into your pussy. His needy and feverish behaviour reminds you of your first time together. 

The squeaky opening of the door opposing your room results in you halting your movement on top of Leon, and he whines in protest. You clasp your hand over his mouth, glaring at him. With the tightening hold of your waist and the muffled moans, Leon is acting careless. He doesn’t give a fuck about your brother right now, too focused on the constricting grasp your velvety walls have on his throbbing cock.

The footsteps pad down the hallway, and you assume your brother is making his way down the stairs. 

“Be a good boy f’me, Leon,” you whisper, moving your hand away from his face. You don’t know what overcame him for him to be acting so recklessly. Cupping his blotchy red cheeks, you note how dazed he looks, his blue irises hidden in his dilated pupils.

“Ah, don’t stop fucking me,” he breathed in response, his hips continuing to rut into your warm cunt. The intimacy of it all makes it even more challenging to delay his release, you moving up and down his cock, riding him slowly and passionately in the morning, beams of sun sprinkling into the room, setting the euphoric scene. 

It almost makes him forget the absurdity of it. Letting his best friend’s sibling fuck him into an incoherent mess at 6 in the morning, yet he regrets nothing. He can’t help but grip your soft thighs encompassing him as he thrusts half-haphazardly into your hole, dripping down and sticking to his skin. 

He spills into you with a soft moan, staining your walls with his cum at the combination of your teasing words and soft lips on his.

“Good boy, Leon. You did so good,” you coo at him, and Leon whimpers at your praises and your tightening cunt around his overstimulated cock.

Slipping his softening dick out your hole, you collapse next to him, chest heaving as his cum trickles out of you, staining your thighs. Your eyes flutter shut, and drowsiness finally takes over your overworked body. 

Though, next to you, Leon brews in self-thought. He came after you did all the work, leaving you high and dry. What kind of boyfriend was he?

“You didn’t cum.”

“S’fine, Leon. I don’t want you to hurt yourself,” you grumbled, blinking your eyes open to glimpse at him. He’s pouting, and despite how endearing you found it when he couldn’t control himself around you, cumming prematurely like some bumbling virgin (he was), Leon still feels like a selfish lover.

“I can still make you cum. Please? You deserve it.” Before you can disagree with him, your brother is awake downstairs, probably looking for him — Leon quickly situates himself between your thighs, eager to satisfy you.

“Y- Yeah, okay, sure,” you stammered, because how could you deny your pretty boy, peering up at you through his long lashes between your thighs?

Spreading your thighs open, hooking them over his shoulders, Leon admires his cum leaking out your hole, stretched out due to his fat cock. You feel bashful as he marvels at your stuffed cunt, moaning in surprise when a glob of his spit falls onto your messy folds mixing with his release.

Hungrily he laps at your cunt, his skilful tongue nudging your overly responsive clit. Leon loves to make you cum with his mouth. He loves to make you feel good, and it’s dirty the way he grinds his once again hardening cock against your sheets, chasing the friction while he messily eats you out, your cunt dripping with arousal mixing with his cum.

You entangle your fingers into his hair, shoving his pretty face further into your cunt, your back arching. Biting your lip, you nearly draw blood, trying to conceal your groans.

He enjoys your pussy like it’s the main course after an appetiser, tasting his salty cum and your contrasting sweet juices as he delves his tongue into your hole. His fingers rub your throbbing clit, and your thighs shake around his head. Leon’s muffled moans and whines reverberate throughout your body, adding heat to the coiling in your tummy. 

“Am I doin’ a good job?” he questions, desperate to be good enough for you before he returns to your cunt, dragging his tongue flat against you.

“You’re amazing, baby. ‘M so close.” His nails dig into the fat of your thighs, leaving indents. You roughly pull at his hair as you climax, your body trembling when Leon moans into you. 

He continues to sloppily make out with your pussy even after your high. When he pulls away from you, a gloss of your combined cum stains his plush lips. He kisses you softly, allowing you to taste both him and you on his lips. 

He helps you into your shorts, pulling his pants up, attempting to look presentable, which is unlikely with the dried cum that stains the fabric of his PJs. He lays in your bed with you, cosying up to you with him in your arms, face in your chest. Caught up in his fantasies, he fails to face reality.

“I think you should leave. My brother might be looking for you,” you mumbled into his hair. Leon huffs in annoyance before untwining with your limbs. He wants to ask since when do you care so much about such trivial things, but he complies. He knows you’re just looking out for him.

[lostfracturess]

symptoms and causes | ch. 11

ღ pairing professor gojo x med student reader

ღ summary he's arrogant, self-centered, and he's your professor. renowned for his brilliance in neurosurgery and infamous for his allure. too bad you have to work with him on this research team. now you're stuck with dr. satoru gojo, delving into the complexities of both the brain and the heart—and of how far you'd go for a love that could destroy not only him but you as well.

ღ wc 13.5 k (enjoy your meal lol)

ღ warnings [18+] this story contains substance abuse/addiction, overdosing, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive and abusive behavior, manipulation, (heavy) angst, mentions of death / illness / blood, graphic medical procedures. reader discretion is advised.

ღ author's note hey loves!! thank you so much for your patience, i know it's been a while. buckle up, because we're taking another trip inside satoru's mind, so yeahhh. it's gonna be wild, oh and we're continuing right were we left off in the last chapter. this chapter is again in satoru's pov!! i've also updated the trigger warnings, so please take a look before reading (might be spoiling tho). and lastly, credit to the fanart in the cover, if you know the artist, pls let me know!! can't wait to hear what you all think & thanks for sticking with me!! ♡

series masterlist + playlist + ao3 + wattpad

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They say before you can love someone else, you have to love yourself first.

And there lies the damn problem. 

I don't know how. 

Never have.

Why am I thinking this now? 

I knew this was right. 

Right for her. 

But then why does my heart feel like it's being ripped out by the fucking roots?

Suguru will take care of her. He always does. That's the only thing that keeps me from screaming, keeps me from chasing after her.

I trust him, damn it, but it shouldn't be him.

It should be me holding her. Me, who knows how she likes to be held when the panic claws its way up. Me, holding her until the world feels less sharp, less cruel.  

Me, who knows that she doesn't want to talk about it. Me, who knows to give her space. She needs space. My strong girl needs space first. 

I hope he gives her space.

But he wouldn't know any of this. He couldn't comfort her in the ways I instinctively knew how. 

Me, who knows how to soothe the invisible wounds, the ones even she denies exist. Me, who knows the soft words she needs to hear after it passes.

It shouldn't be him. 

Sorry. 

It shouldn't have been him.

Past tense. 

It all might be past tense now.

And the thought is more than I could bear.

Shattered. 

Was that the word?

Was there even a word for what I felt in that moment?

How could I ever convey this suffocating agony that's tearing me apart with mere words?

Words are meaningless in the end.

Meaningless when they couldn't be spoken to her, couldn't reach her, couldn't make her understand, couldn't heal the wound I'd carved into her heart.

So, yeah, maybe shattered is the right word. 

The wrong word.

The sterile air was acid in my lungs. Each ragged breath felt like sandpaper against my throat. I held my breath, a desperate plea for the world to stop spinning, for the clock to rewind, for a chance to undo everything.

But time doesn't care. 

It marched on, relentless, while I stayed trapped in this hell, drowning in the mess I made. 

My lungs burned. My vision blurred. I waited until she disappeared. The world seemed to tilt sideways, losing all color and shape, leaving only the sharp, agonizing realization that I'd made her walk away.

I didn't want to breathe anymore.

Not in a world where every breath ached without her.

"Dr. Gojo?" A voice, distant, muffled. 

Irrelevant.

My gaze flickered to Sukuna. He watched, a predator savoring the kill. 

His twisted smile fueled rage within me. But there would be no fighting this. No grand defense. Not when her life was the bargaining chip.

So, I lied. 

Each word a nail in the coffin of the connection I craved more than life itself.

Each word a drop of poison forced down my throat. A self-inflicted wound, a desperate mutilation of the only thing that had ever felt real.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes I loved so fiercely, wide with confusion and horror. The strangled gasp, the way her body went limp in Geto's arms — a haunting image that would forever be etched on my heart.

Muscles screamed, a silent protest against my own pathetic stillness. But I remained frozen. 

This was my punishment. 

I had to watch her leave, had to sear the pain into my very being, an endless penance for the choices I'd made.

The door clicked shut behind them.

That simple sound, final, absolute.

My lungs filled with air, a betrayal. Oxygen I didn't deserve, didn't want. 

My own body, this treacherous thing kept going, kept me alive against my will, kept me tethered to this cruel reality.

The room swam back into focus, the judges' accusing faces nothing but a blurry backdrop. The sounds of their inquest washed over me like meaningless noise.

"Dr. Gojo? Can we continue?"

I nodded.

They pressed on. More questions about the research, her involvement, their accusations of favoritism.

How stupid.

Of course, I favored her. 

How could I not? 

She is everything.

Oh, sorry. Forgot. Past tense.

She was everything.

Did I regret it? 

Did I wish I could go back and treat her with the same damn indifference I afforded everyone else?

Yeah, maybe.

A familiar craving stirred my senses, the desperate need for the numbing escape that would mean failing her even more. My fingers clawed at my forearm, trying to replace the hollowness with physical pain. It wasn't enough.

My responses were rote, mechanical.

Yeah, I favored her. 

Yeah, I let her into the OR because of it.

Yeah, and she outshone every damn surgeon twice her age. 

No, she didn't know I'd set it up. 

No, she never asked for special treatment. She just worked until her eyes were bloodshot, pushing harder than anyone else.

And hell no, she didn't do a single thing wrong.

Except maybe — maybe loving me. 

After what felt like an eternity, the judges seemed satisfied, or perhaps just exhausted by my robotic replies. 

They painted me the arrogant professor with a weakness for a young student, who abused his power, who played favorites.

Whatever they wanted to believe, fine.

Didn't even have the energy to care anymore.

Let them drag my name through the mud, tarnish the reputation I'd worked so hard to build. 

Because the title, the position, the facade of success meant nothing when all I wanted was to rewind time, to undo the damage I'd done to the one person who truly mattered.

I didn't feel anymore.

I was done.

─── ·✧· ───

I burst out of the courtroom.

I needed escape, not just from this sterile prison of a room, but from my own traitorous flesh.

That itch.

It was a wildfire beneath my skin, a thousand insects gnawing their way to the surface. My fingers twitched, claws desperate to tear, to bleed out the poison of this relentless craving.

My legs moved without conscious thought, pushing me towards my office. Somewhere. Anywhere I would be able to breathe again. The guilt was a serrated blade twisting in my gut, each movement slicing me open anew.

Her terror-stricken eyes seared into my very soul.

The walls of my office closed in, the familiar space suddenly too small, too suffocating. 

My fist slammed into the desk. Papers scattered to the floor, a meaningless sea of white against the dark wood.

They didn't matter. None of it mattered.

A half-finished coffee mug followed. Porcelain shattered. Dark liquid splashed against the wall. 

My blood roared in my ears. 

Across the room, my framed diploma. I ripped it off the wall. Glass smashed. Sharp edges bit into my palm, drawing blood. But it wasn't enough. I hurled the frame against the wall.

Blood, hot and slick, coated my hands, the pain nothing.

In the shattered frame, I caught a glimpse of myself — wild eyes in a sweat-slicked face, a man on the verge of collapse.

It was a stranger.

I was across the room before I even registered the decision.

The drawer.

My fingers ripped it open. 

There, like a coiled viper, the amber vial gleamed, a venomous promise of oblivion.

Don't —

Don't come at me now. 

Did you really think I wouldn't keep a backup?

My hand reached, then hesitated.

The world lurched to a sharp halt as a knock pierced the chaos. My breath hitched, the vial a burning brand in my bloodied hand.

The door creaked open.

And there he was. Sukuna. 

He leaned against the doorframe, that sickening smirk plastered on his face. It was like a lit fuse to a powder keg. The rage that had been gnawing at my insides, tearing me apart, finally found its target.

Before a single rational thought could form, I was on him. Fist to jaw, heard the crack, felt it in my knuckles. He stumbled back, the smirk finally wiping off his face.

I pinned him against the door. Forearm across his throat, crushing his windpipe. His eyes widened, but even then, there was that damn flicker of amusement.

"Well, well," he choked out, "this is a nice welcome back."

"Funny to you?"

He coughed, a harsh laugh scraping out of him. "C'mon, Satoru, relax. I did you a favor," he sputtered. "Your precious little student, she's better off now. You know I'm right."

Every muscle in my body tensed.

He was right. 

In his twisted way, he was. 

And that's what made it all so much worse.

My grip on his throat tightened. But there was nothing, no satisfactio, no release in the violence.

Sukuna saw it, the hesitation. His mouth twisted into a smirk again. "See, you get it. Sweet thing doesn't belong in this mess, does she? It's not for her, Satoru. It's for us."

His words scraped like nails on a chalkboard. 

Yes, she was safer now, untouched by the rot that festered within me. Some desperate, logical part of me clung to that. But how could I hold on to that when my heart was screaming for her closeness?

"Or maybe," Sukuna drawled, pushing the knife deeper, "maybe you wanted to see where this goes. Stain her a bit, make her just a little bit more like you."

My breath hitched. For a split second, the floor vanished beneath me.

"Hit a nerve, did I?"

"Shut the hell up!" I couldn't face it, couldn't face the ugly truth as it would tear me apart. "You twist everything. Play with lives just for your own sick amusement."

This was his game.

Sukuna thrived on chaos, on exploiting pain. 

He knew my guilt, my fear for her, and wielded it like a scalpel, laying bare the raw nerve of my fragile sanity.

"Perhaps. But ain't I right?  You needed to end it, but you lack the guts for it. Waited a bit longer, it'd be a total disaster."

I hesitated, then my grip on him slackened. I stepped back.

"You know I'm right," Sukuna continued. "You know how this would have ended. Suspension. Scandal. She'll be doomed forever for getting involved with her professor for favors. You wouldn't destroy her like that, would you? You're not that cruel."

"I'm not so sure." I ran a hand through my hair.  It had taken everything in me to push her away. 

But I can't deny that an ugly part of me wanted to keep her close. Drag her down with me. 

See her drown.

"Damn, you hit hard," he said, rubbing his jaw. "Go beat up some students again, not me."

"Stop giving me reasons to punch you."  Exhausted, I slumped into my desk chair, burying my face in my hands. My head pounded, the infuriating itch worsening with each damn moment. "Was this your plan all along?"

"What?" he scoffed.

I lifted a single eyebrow at him.

"You think that low of me? Honestly, Toru, a bit of credit, please. It was your pathetic indecision that made this entertaining. You basically gift-wrapped this mess and handed it to me."

"Besides," he continued, "let's be honest, you were holding her back. Now maybe she'll have a chance to become someone who might surpass you one day. You wouldn't deny her that, would you? No thanks needed."

He was right, and I hated that more than anything.

Sukuna sank into the chair across from me, a picture of smug satisfaction despite the visible bruise. "Damn, that punch still stings."

I opened my desk drawer and wordlessly tossed him the bottle of opioids. His eyes widened in surprise, before he gave the bottle a knowing shake. "Still on the hydromorphone?"

I didn't answer. The sound alone threatened to shatter what fragile control I had left. The itch was unbearable, each nerve ending screaming for relief.

Sukuna observed me, a predator watching its prey struggle. "Withdrawal never suited you," he said, popping a pill. "You always get so—" he paused, savoring the word, "—tense."

"Yeah, real supportive of you."

"Actually, I'm being incredibly supportive. I'm leaving for a little research trip overseas—four months. Ethics committee can't meet without me, so—" He leaned back in his chair, his grin widening. "Gives you time to get your shit together. Isn't that nice of me?"

"Shut the hell up."

"C'mon, I put in a good word for you too. No suspension for now. You can keep teaching, just no surgeries. Yaga really hates my guts, doesn't he? But hey, at least you're not totally screwed."

"You expect a thank you?"

"Relax, Toru, the show's over," he said. "Trust me, they don't want a scandal, let alone lose their star surgeon. When I get back, a slap on the wrist, maybe a semester's suspension, then you're back to the boring old grind."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Last I checked, you were the one pushing for a scandal."

He rolled his eyes. "Someone had to do it. Knew you'd drag this out forever, playing the tragic hero. Needed a villain to get things moving." He gave a mocking bow. "At your service, my friend."

"Also," he continued, leaning forward in his chair, "the focus is off you now. The committee's sniffing around those implant engineers. Funny, isn't it?" 

Sukuna paused, savoring the moment. "Honestly, never thought there was anything wrong with your surgeries. You wouldn't make that kind of mistake. Tech malfunction more likely."

Of course. 

The bastard never doubted the damn research. It had all been a game to him — my career, my sanity, her — just pieces on his chessboard.

It should've made me furious, lash out, pound his face in again — but all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion, a weariness that seeped into my very soul. I was too tired, too hollowed-out to do anything but swallow the bitter truth.

"That supposed to make me feel better?" 

"A little," he said, tossing the opioid bottle back. "This, though? That'll do the trick even better."

I caught it, my fingers clenching around the plastic.

He rose, stretching with a theatrical sigh. "Well, time to go. Remember, you owe me big time. You should take one," he gestured towards the pills, "you look like shit."

My grip on the bottle tightened. I looked up at him. "When all of this is done, I never want to see your damn face again."

He laughed. "We both know that's a lie. You and me? We need each other."

"The only thing you need is some damn therapy."

"Ah, Toru," he dismissed me with a smirk, "you'll come crawling back soon enough. We both know how this works."

With that, he was gone. I was left alone in the echoing silence, the pill bottle a burning weight in my hand. The world seemed to sway around me, my eyelids growing heavy.

The will to fight simply wasn't there anymore.

─── ·✧· ───

Cruel. 

Cruel how one little pill can undo everything. 

Cruel how one little pill can silence everything. 

Cruel how one damn pill can soften the world, make it — bearable, almost.

Unfair. 

It's truly unfair.

The screaming under my skin, that relentless itch — it's still there, but it had dulled to a faint hum, pushed back by the familiar numbness.

Finally.

Oh, finally some fucking silence.

I let out a shaky breath. It wasn't peace, not really. I knew that all too well. Borrowed time, each second ticking closer to the inevitable crash, the return of that relentless screaming in my head.

But for now, it'll have to be enough.

I collapsed on the couch, smoke curling lazily before my eyes.

I knew I shouldn't mix opioids with cannabis. That's something they teach you within the first year of university. What I used to teach students within the first year of university.

What a hypocrite I am really.

Another drag — harsh, burning down my throat. 

The urge to close my eyes, to sink into oblivion, was almost overwhelming. But sleep wouldn't bring respite. Only nightmares. I knew that only too well.

So, I lay there, staring up at the ceiling.

It really came down to me failing again, huh?

What was it now?

Attempt number five? 

Six?

I started losing count.

Maybe this was my fate.

A broken record, stuck on the same damn track.

Deep down, under the chemical haze, guilt gnawed at me. It was a dull ache now, no longer the searing pain of earlier, but a constant, insidious reminder. 

She were out there, her life forever marked by my choices, while I was — here. Hiding in a haze of pills and smoke.

God, I hoped Suguru was looking after her. Making sure she ate, making sure she was safe — that she didn't hate me too much.

I brought the joint to my lips again, the smoke curling up towards the ceiling. It left an acrid taste in my mouth.

I watched my hand for a second.

Bloodied earlier, the wounds had scabbed over, the blood dried. It was perfectly still now, the trembling smoothed out by the chemicals in my blood. 

I clenched it into a fist, then unclenched, watching the movement like it belonged to someone else.

Traitor.

This body was a traitor — betrayed myself, betrayed her, betrayed everything I held dear.

Weak. 

Broken.

A pathetic mess.

Was that it?

Living as a slave to these chemicals to patch up my crumbling sanity one day at a time? 

Chained to pills, each dawn a ticking clock until the next dose, until I could silence the screaming for a few damn hours?

My eyes locked onto the half-empty vial on the table. 

Took too many, didn't I?

I knew that, even through the haze. But a cold certainty twisted in my gut. There'd be more. Always more. Until there was nothing left.

Before I could think, I threw another down my throat. Bad idea, probably, after a few clean days.

Suddenly, the haze warped, twisting into nausea. Bile rose in my throat.

I lurched to my feet, the world tilting precariously with each step. Surfaces rippled, the bathroom light stabbing into my skull.

I barely made it. My stomach heaved. Each retch wracked my body, leaving me gasping, weak.

Too many. 

Way too many.

How the hell did I forget? Forget my body's limits? Somehow, I felt like some reckless student again, stumbling through experiments, blind to the consequences.

Stupid. So damn stupid.

Darkness swam at the edges of my vision.  Another wave of nausea, and I was back, hunched over the toilet. 

I hauled myself up, hands shaking, clinging to the sink. In the mirror, a stranger stared back. Eyes bloodshot, a sheen of sweat coating his skin.

This wasn't me anymore.

I splashed cold water on my face, trying to wash away the acid burn. Didn't help. Drops of water ran down my face, felt like they were melting the damn skin off.

My knees buckled. I slid down the wall, my head heavy against the tile wall. 

The bathroom light, needles in my brain moments ago, seemed impossibly distant now. Each breath was a ragged gasp, each pulse a dull throb in my temples.

I waited for it to pass, the nausea, the haze. But as minutes crawled by, a new, searing pain gnawed at me.

My fingers trembled against my abdomen, pressing into the tender spot. Liver, of course. 

Wrecked it, just like the rest of me. I'd known the risks, had ignored the warnings, and now my body was demanding payment.

How pathetic.

Darkness gnawed at the edges of my vision, pushing back against the stubborn spots of light. My head felt heavy, detached from my body. Arms and legs useless.

Each breath a battle I wasn't sure I'd win.

Time warped. Stretching, then snapping, leaving me floating in nausea and pain. Then I heard something — muffled, distant. Footsteps, getting closer.

My eyes struggled to make sense of the shifting shadows.

Then, a voice. Soft, achingly familiar. I couldn't make out the words, but the warmth of it—

I knew that voice — would always recognize it.

Cold water hit my skin. Hands, gentle, but firm, on my face. I strained to focus, to see her, to soak in the sight I needed, yet feared more than anything.

Oh, how desperately I needed to see her. Needed her to be real.

But my eyes betrayed me.

She must be so beautiful. She always was.

Then, a touch on my outstretched leg, a flash of metal — was that a scalpel?

Agony ripped through me, shattering the haze. I jerked back, my scream ragged against the tiles. My head slammed back with sickening force.

Before I knew it, a needle pierced my skin.

The room spun as whatever she'd injected battled the comfortable blur of the pills. Nausea churned in my stomach, the numbness receding with terrifying speed.

Groaning, I shifted on the floor.

My vision sharpened, my senses returning with brutal clarity. 

The first thing I noticed was the metallic glint of the discarded syringe beside my leg. 

Then the cut, a ragged gash through the fabric of my dress pants where she'd stabbed the needle in — the unnecessarily deep and brutal cut — but in the chaos, I let it slide. Didn't even register the pain as I watched the blood drain from the cut. 

I reached for the syringe and read the label. 

Adrenaline. 

Smart girl. 

But as I turned it over, a frown creased my brow. Two fucking milliliters? Was she trying to give me a damn heart attack?

I lifted my head, the question burning on my tongue. But the words died unspoken as my gaze locked on hers. 

She stood there, just a few feet away, her breath ragged, her eyes — those pretty eyes.

Terror. 

There was raw, unadulterated terror etched in her eyes. But I was right. She looked as beautiful as ever. Even with those terror-stricken eyes she was breathtaking.

She stumbled back, slumping against the wall opposite of me with a choked gasp, pulling her knees up. I didn't move, couldn't move, my gaze locked with hers.

The terror faded slowly, replaced by a weariness that was far worse. 

For a fleeting moment, I saw a flicker of that familiar defiance, the spark I both loved and feared. But even that felt strangely muted now, as if even the energy to fight had been drained out of her.

She simply watched me. In silence, in that devastating silence.

How I hated her silence.

Because her silence was far worse than anything she could have screamed, any insult she could have hurled my way. Her stillness, her silence, was the most terrifying weapon she'd ever wielded against me.

And for the first time in a very long time, I was truly afraid.

Time stretched, then I choked out, "You're angry."

Her answer was blunt, devoid of emotion. "Oh really? What makes you think that?"

I glanced down. Blood still seeped from the gash in my leg. With a trembling hand, I fumbled for a towel and pressed it against the wound. "Your cut is kinda deep. Was that on purpose?"

She didn't say anything.

It probably was on purpose.

My gaze fell on the syringe. "Where'd you get that?"

"What happened to your hand?"

"I asked first."

"Don't try to play games now, Satoru. You're walking on thin fucking ice," she snapped.

"Shattered some glass," I said after a pause ", and punched Sukuna."

"Stole it from the hospital."

"What?"

"You think I'd date an addict and not have adrenaline on hand?"

My lips twitched into a weary smile. Oh my beautiful, brilliant girl, always prepared.

"But you know, two milliliters is a bit much." I moved my leg slightly to check if she had cut any tendons, which would complicate the healing a bit. "Or are you trying to kill me?"

Her gaze pierced me, colder than any scalpel. "Looks like you're doing a fine job of that yourself."

My smile faded.

Silence.

Oh, that cruel silence again.

She didn't say anything. Maybe I should be thankful for that, because if she said anything now, I'd probably crumble completely — if I haven't already.

Ironic, wasn't it? 

How much power this woman had over me. 

Yet it was me who destroyed her.

She dropped her head, ran a shaking hand through her hair, then looked at me again. "How much did you take?"

Huh?

Why would she ask that?

Didn't she see that it's over?

That I'm too far gone?

It was unbearable.

It was unbearable, how she could still look at me and see someone worth saving. It was unbearable, knowing she believed in me even when I didn't. 

Almost pissed me off, how stubbornly she clung to that stupid hope. Because seeing that hope in her eyes — it made me hate myself even more.

I wouldn't change, couldn't. Not for her, not for anyone.

"Doesn't matter. It's over."

"Satoru, please," she choked out, pain raw in her voice, the pain I caused, "cut the crap and tell me. Now."

"It doesn't matter," I repeated, my voice cold. I couldn't bear the flicker of hope, couldn't bear to fail her yet again.

Then, the first tear rolled down her cheek and my heart shattered, the fragments piercing me from within. 

I'd never wanted to be the reason those beautiful eyes filled with pain, the reason her sweet lips trembled. Every fiber of my being wanted to pull her close, erase the hurt I'd caused.

I would have given anything, sacrificed anything, if only I could make it stop.

But I couldn't.

Because I was the problem. I was the poison.

She buried her face in her hands. "I'm tired, Satoru."

"I know."

"I'm so fucking tired," she whispered through tears.

"I know, love."

My eyes burned as I watched her fragile body shudder. Each sob of her driving a stake deeper into my already bleeding heart. I bit my lip until I tasted blood. 

I hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself, hated myself because — because I was the reason for all of this. 

She'd never wanted this, never wanted to fall in love with me to begin with, but I dragged her into it anyway.

Because I was selfish. 

Knew how it would end.

And now, I could only watch — only watch in this unbearable silence as the woman I loved wept over the man I hated. 

"It's for the best, believe me—"

"No," she cut me off.  "You're sacrificing me for this—this reputation of mine you think matters. It doesn't. I don't want any of it without you. I don't want a future where you're not in it."

She looked up then, eyes red and filled with unshed tears. "Because I love you, Satoru."

What?

The words turned my blood to ice.

After everything — the lies, the ways I'd hurt her, the desperate attempts to push her away — there it was, the confession I'd craved and feared in equal measure.

My heart was being ripped apart and stitched back together again in that very moment — vulnerable and yet so unbearably full. 

She loved me, she said it.

She loves me.

She loves me.

And I love her.

God, how I loved her. More than I thought possible.

I've never once loved in my entire life. 

Not until her. 

Not until she changed me completely. 

What is that, anyway? Love?

How can I possible describe the type of feeling I feel when I'm with her? How can I ever convey the words when they are not even clear to me? 

How cruel it is. How utterly cruel the type of feeling is, that she makes me feel.

Because how could I ever live without it.

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

How to live.

How could I ever go back to what I was before her — was there even something before her?

Not when she showed me how to breathe.

With her.

For her. 

Because she is the air that fills my lungs.

The pulse that keeps me alive.

And nothing can ever change that. So how could I ever go back to what I was before? 

Oh, how she tortures me, tortures me with feelings I rather not feel, tortures me with her love that I deserve so little. 

Nothing. 

I deserve nothing and yet she gives me everything.

Why can't I give it back? What chains me, binds this rotten heart? Why does it fail me so cruelly to love her the way she deserves? 

Because she does. 

She deserves everything. 

She is everything. 

Yet there is only my own failure in loving her. I'm failing her again and again. I hurt her again and again. I hate myself, hate myself for the pain I cause her.

Still—

How can I let her go, when she's the only good thing in my life? 

It is selfish, selfish to say the least, to want to keep her close when all I do is fail her.

Her tears were molten iron searing my insides. But I clench my jaw, refusing to let them break me. If she saw weakness, she might hesitate. Might stay and continue to be broken by me. 

Every fiber of my being wanted nothing more than to reach out, to comfort her, to tell her it would all be okay.

More lies for a heart that deserved nothing but the truth. So I swallowed down the love threatening to spill from my lips. 

I would give her anything, my life, the last shreds of my sanity — except the one thing she asked for, the only thing she ever ask for. 

Because loving her, truly loving her, meant letting her go. Even if it destroys me.

"I spare you," I rasped.

"No." She slowly shook her head. "You're killing me. Can't you see?" There was a cold edge in her voice now. "You're killing me."

"I can't change. Love isn't enough. I can't stop."

"You're the only one who thinks that." Her reply held a flicker of her old, beautiful defiance, a defiance I loved so dearly. "I'd follow you anywhere, Satoru. Even if you can't get clean, then so be it. I don't care. I won't leave you."

The sincerity in her voice was a blow, a beautiful, terrible blow. Complete, unwavering acceptance of who I was, in all my brokenness.

And in that moment, I finally realized. 

It wasn't about saving her. It was about saving myself from the terrifying vulnerability her love demanded. From the weakness that threatened to drown me if I let her in.

Perhaps I'm just a coward after all.

My heart was too damn small, too messed up. Of course I had to push her out, deny her the love she offered so freely — because it terrified me.

Her love terrified me.

"I can't do this to you," I choked out, the words scraping my throat raw. "You deserve—" I swallowed, the words catching in my throat. "You deserve better." 

"Better?" She leaned forward slightly. "You are my better."

Oh, love, that's not true.

You are my better. I'm your worst.

I wanted to say that, should've said that.

But I remained silent, unable to say anything. 

"Say something, Satoru." 

I couldn't, simply couldn't. Because mere words were too hollow, too insignificant against the depth of her pain.

"Say something, damn it!" 

"It will get easier someday," I chocked out. Each word felt like a stone I was forcing down my own throat. Each word empty — we both knew it.

"Is that what you hope for?"

"I have to."

She closed her mouth. Her silence more devastating than any scream. She didn't explode, as I half-expected. Instead, she straightened, her movements slow, weary.

I watched her, unable to move, unable to look away, as a horrifying realization bloomed across her face. It wasn't anger, wasn't sadness — it was a terrible understanding.

She knew. She always knew.

Perhaps that's what I hated about her the most.

"That's it?" she asked.

"That's it."

She watched me.  Not in anger, but with chilling detachment. Her eyes, usually so filled with warmth, were now as distant as those of a stranger. 

Still, I burned the image into my soul, knowing it might be the last time.

Then, without another word, she turned. And walked away.

When she finally disappeared from sight, a wave of crushing despair washed over me. It wasn't just the loneliness. It was the terrifying certainty that there was no going back from this. 

I had destroyed the best thing in my life — a sacrifice she didn't even ask for.

But then again, my sacrifice is really only an illusion after all, masking a desperate, terrified selfishness.

Because I'm selfish.

I do love her.  Gods, how I love her. 

But my fear was stronger.

And I was too damn weak to fight it.

─── ·✧· ───

Four weeks.

Was it four weeks?

I can't remember.

Time — it didn't tick or flow anymore. 

It was a shapeless thing. Punctuated only by the empty thump of my heart in this wrecked chest.

Those first days — or weeks, who knows? — they melted together in a haze. After she left, I was — raw. One giant exposed nerve.  

Each damn breath without the pills felt like scraping sandpaper across it, a reminder  of what I'd lost — no, what I'd destroyed.

So I was barely sober.

My body didn't even protest. At first, it was almost — nice? The rush, the way it wiped out not just the pain but any thought at all.

But the crash was always brutal. Mornings, if you could even call it that, I'd wake up shaking, sick to my stomach, and terrified of — what was I even terrified of? Somehow of everything and nothing at all. But I knew the fix for that. 

It was a sick, relentless cycle.

The phone rang, vibrated with messages. Suguru mostly. His messages growing more urgent with each unanswered text. Liver issues. Treatment. Something about irreversible damage.   

It was all white noise compared to the screaming in my head.

Her name, though, cut through the haze.

There were nights — or was it days? — when a desperate, clawing need to hear her voice, to see her face, would rise up in me. I'd reach for the phone, fingers hovering above her name. Then the fear would crush that impulse. 

I knew that reaching out to her would be the final act of cruelty.

So I stumbled on, each day collapsing into the next. 

Until the next semester started and I remembered I had an actual job.

─── ·✧· ───

I stood in the corridor outside the auditorium.

My fingers fumbled with the familiar pill bottle. Just enough to numb the edge, get me through the lecture. With a bitter swallow, I tilted the pill into my palm, chasing it down dry.

Four weeks. Four weeks of barely holding it together, four weeks since I almost OD'd, four weeks since she left, and the weight of it all threatened to crush me at any moment. 

Yet, muscle memory took over.

I limped slightly as I walked into the auditorium. My leg still hurt after she basically cut my muscle in half. 

She definitely did that on purpose. She was too smart not to not know what she was doing.

The usual chatter died down when I walked in.  Old routine. Time for the performance. Pretend I'm the professor, pretend like this whole thing isn't ripping me apart, piece by piece. It should have been comforting. 

Once, perhaps, it was.

Wordlessly, I grabbed a marker, scrawled my name on the board. Like they didn't already know who I was, right? 

Everyone on campus knows, especially after this summer's mess.

With a sigh, I turned towards the class.

And there she was. 

My breath hitched, the marker clattering to the floor. My lips parted, but no words came.

Of course.

Of fucking course. 

Second-year lecture. 

How the hell could I forget that?

She was here, after everything, right in front of me. The pain of the past weeks, that suffocating emptiness — it all melted away, replaced by a pounding headache in that one instant.

My eyes clung to her, unable to look away, drinking in the sight of her. That stubborn tilt of her head, the pain in those beautiful eyes — God, how I'd missed her. 

Yet with every beat of my yearning heart came a fresh wave of guilt. I longed to reach out, to apologize, to tell her how much I'd missed her. 

But I knew it was wrong. 

Then, it hit me. Every eye in the room was on her, following my gaze like a spotlight burning into her. Damn it.

Still, she didn't flinch.

Endured it like she has always endured everything.

Clearing my throat, I managed to speak as I adverted my gaze. "So, uh, let's start the lecture."

My voice echoed in the now tense auditorium, words tumbling out in a forced attempt at normalcy. The lecture blurred. My own words were just noise in my head. I pushed through the lecture. Don't even remember what I lectured about.

It was routine, should have been easy, but — not with her there. Never with her. 

Every damn minute, my eyes flicked towards her, drawn like a magnet. I couldn't help it. Because all I could see was her. But she avoided my gaze.

Should've expected that.

Shouldn't make me angry, right?

Still did.

Finally, thank god, the bell rang. 

I let out a breath I didn't even know I was holding.

I remained behind my desk and gathered my notes. Students surged towards the exit, a faceless blur of motion. My traitorous gaze remained locked on her as the auditorium slowly emptied.

She and her friends passed by me. Before I could even think, the words tumbled out, "Wait, not—not you, first-year."

Silence. 

Her friend's chatter halted abruptly. I hadn't meant to say it, hadn't thought before the desperate need to speak to her had short-circuited my brain.

Now, it was done.

Her eyes, those beautiful eyes, met mine. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. 

Her friends exchanged glances. I could feel Zenin glaring daggers at me, didn't even need to look. She'd always been fiercely protective.

"I'll catch up later," she said then to her friends, a strained smile plastered on her face. 

They left, leaving us alone in the vast, suddenly suffocating auditorium.

Silence again.

My heart hammered against my ribs, so loud I feared she could hear it.

Finally, she spoke. "You know I'm not a first-year anymore."

I rounded the desk, the wood rough against my fingertips. "Yeah, right. Sorry." Leaning against it, I crossed my arms.

"Didn't you get suspended?"

"They postponed it."

She watched me for a moment, those beautiful eyes drilling into me. Her eyes held a coldness I've never seen before. For a sickening moment, I thought I might throw up.

"How are you?"

"Don't," she snapped. "Don't ask me that. Don't you dare pretend to care after—" 

She stopped herself, the silence louder than any accusation. After everything you did. After you pushed me away. After you nearly killed yourself.

She didn't need to voice it.

My hands clenched into fists against the edge of my desk, nails digging into my palms in a futile attempt to ground myself. Needed to maintain this thin illusion of control.

I do care. Dammit, I care more than you'll ever know. 

I wanted to scream it, to tear open my chest and show her the bleeding wound she'd left behind. But the words stuck in my throat. 

Pointless now, anyway.

Knuckles turned white, nails digging deeper.

She stepped closer. Her hand darted into her bag, then shot out, palm open. Keys glinted in the harsh light — the keys to my apartment. 

I watched them for a second. Should've expected that. Shouldn't hurt me. Still did.

"You don't have to return them. I want you to keep them."

"Why? I won't need them anymore, will I? Or are you planning on overdosing again?"

Each word was acid on an open wound.

I deserved this, the anger, the contempt, it was all on me. But why the hell did it make me so fucking angry?

"Have you ever thought about how I felt when I found you?" she snapped, her voice rising. "How terrified I was when you wouldn't respond? When you couldn't even recognize me? When I thought you'd die on me?" She took a shaky breath. "Fuck Satoru, I held your face in my hands while you were barely breathing!"

I tried to speak, but she cut me off.  "Don't. You. Dare."

"Four weeks," she went on, her voice sharp, laced with a fury that cut to the bone. "Four weeks of silence. Ever think I might be drowning, haunted by what I saw? Or were you too busy numbing yourself with pills? Hell, I didn't even know if you'd overdosed for good this time!"

Her words hit me cold, but they weren't the storm tearing me apart. It was the image of her, terrified, holding my barely-alive body, that ripped my insides out. 

Those eyes — her eyes filled with a terror that was all because of me. The guilt choked me. Seeing my near-death through her haunted eyes is twisted a knife in my gut.

It was the look of someone who'd had a piece of her soul ripped out. 

It was the look of someone who loved me.

"But then again, you never cared about me, did you?" she added, the raw hurt bleeding beneath the anger.

My stomach twisted. "Don't you dare say that," I rasped, the words ripping from my throat. "I care so much it damn near killed me. You were the only thing keeping me alive, the only reason I fought at all! Don't you dare say I don't—" I choked, the pain unbearable.

The room seemed to tilt, my anger threatening to consume me. 

I took a step towards her, closing the distance in one move. We were so close, I could smell her damn shampoo. "Every damn thing I did, every stupid decision—it was all because I care about you too much."

Her eyes widened. But only for a second. Then, that cold defiance was back, and it cut deep. 

"You're really pathetic, you know that?" she spat. "You talk about caring, but in the end you threw everything away. Because you are too terrified to let yourself love me. Because apparently your own damn peace is worth more than me."

Her words were knives, finding their mark with cruel efficiency. 

"Shut up," I whispered. "You know nothing."

"Oh really?" She glared at me, "then let me paint the picture for you—the minute things got difficult, the second you had to face actual consequences for your actions, you used it as an excuse to back away. Shut yourself down."

She moved closer still. "Convenient, wasn't it? Pushing me away, destroying us—it absolved you from having to confront anything real."

Her accusations hit uncomfortably close to home.

And I didn't want to hear it from her lips.

Not from hers.

"Shut up," I growled.

"Don't you dare tell me to shut up," she snapped back, her voice rising. "You don't get to play the victim here. You did this. You ruined everything."

Fury ignited, not at her, but at myself. 

Blindly, I reached out, my fingers gripping her jaw so tight it bordered on violence. I forced her to look at me, my eyes burning into hers. "Shut up, or I swear to god, I'll make you."

Her chin lifted, eyes narrowing. "I dare you."

The words set me on fire. Every rational thought, every vestige of self-preservation was devoured by a sudden, desperate need. My gaze fell to her lips, slightly parted, a vulnerable target I craved to claim.

Without even thinking, my hand went to her waist, fingers digging in as I pulled her impossibly close. My other hand tangled in her hair, forcing her head back. Our eyes locked, some kind of messed-up challenge.

I could feel her rapid breaths on my skin, smell that damn perfume of hers that I'd always loved, but now was driving me to the edge of control. Her heart pounding against mine.

Everything in me screamed to close the distance, claim those lips that had haunted me, haunted me for weeks. 

I wanted to claim her, to silence her, to lose myself in her, but my last shred of sanity held me back.

Because pushing her further into my nightmare was the ultimate act of cruelty. 

"Uncomfortable, isn't it? Getting confronted with the ugly truth?" she whispered against my lips.

My grip on her tightened. She really didn't know when to stop, or maybe she simply wanted to watch me burn. Perhaps both.

"Don't push me."

"Why? Scared of what you'll find if you let yourself be honest for once?" Her head tilted. Her gaze was fire, and I was already ash. "You run, Satoru. From everything, but most of all, from yourself."

"And that," she leaned closer, almost brushing my lips, "is what makes you the most pathetic person I know."

Oh, she could be so viciously cruel when she wanted to. So disgustingly cruel. It was one of the things I'd fallen hopelessly in love with. Even now, as it tore me apart, I still loved it. 

But I also wanted nothing more than to fuck that attitude out of her right then and there.

"You're right. You're always right. Maybe that's what's terrifies me about you so much."

"You're not terrified of me," she whispered. "You're terrified of yourself."

The air between us crackled. Every rational thought in my brain begged me to stop. Still, I couldn't resist. I inched closer, helpless against the force that binds and burns us both.

My hands tightened their hold as I took a sharp inhale. Her eyes fluttered shut, lashes trembling. 

Our lips hovered, almost touching, two aching souls suspended in that impossible space. So much unspoken words, so much hurt, and the destructive pull between us that had always tethered us together.

Then, the auditorium door creaked open. 

Her head snapped towards the sound. But I couldn't look away, wouldn't miss a second of her. Because this, right here, was all I had left.

Had to be Suguru anyway — anyone else would be screaming their heads off by now.

After a pause, she turned back at me. "You know, I'm still waiting."

"For what, love?"

"For it to get easier."

I looked at her, the woman I loved, and guilt clawed at my insides. That hurt, that anger on her face — I deserved it all. Because it was the consequence of the pain I'd caused.

"You said it would get easier," she added.

It was a lie. Nothing about this was easy. Nothing ever would be again. Suddenly, the room felt too small, the air thick and unbreathable.

"I don't know if it ever will."

Perhaps I was only meant to love her in silence.

In distance.

Because at least then I couldn't hurt her anymore.

Suguru cleared his throat. He stepped into the room, breaking the moment.

Reluctantly, I let go of her. She stepped back, eyes holding mine for a second, something flickering there that I didn't dare try to read. Then, without another word, she turned and walked away.

I watched her go.

Suguru approached me, stopping close by. He didn't say anything.

I leaned against the desk, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline from that almost-kiss crashed, leaving behind a hollow ache.

The sound of the door slamming behind her echoed in the empty auditorium, way too loud.

Suguru's hand landed on my shoulder. 

"You really have a thing for bad timing," I muttered.

"Bad timing," he echoed, "or good timing to stop you from doing something stupid?"

I didn't answer. The memory of her, so close, choked every thought out of my mind.

"You know it was the right thing to do. With everything going on, letting her go was the right decision."

"I know," I said, pushing off the desk and rounding it to gather my things. I couldn't meet his gaze. "I'm trying to remember that."

Suguru then started placing pill bottles on the desk with a serious expression. The first clink of plastic on wood cut through the silence. 

"Prednisone for the liver inflammation." Another bottle. "Lactulose for the hepatic encephalopathy." Then another. "Vitamin B and K for the nutritional deficiencies."

"But you know the first step would be to—" he paused for a second then placed another two bottles in from of me. "Methadone, to manage the withdrawal and craving. And Naltrexone, to block the euphoric effects of your opioids."

Hesitantly, another bottle appeared. "Clonidine, in case you feel like you're dying."

"Suguru—" I began, but he cut me off.

"Satoru, you have to get clean. The pills won't do a damn thing if you keep wrecking your liver."

"Yeah, it's a little late for that, don't you think? It's the only thing keeping me sane right now."

He sighed.  "You're the absolute worst patient ever."

"Aw, come on, I thought you liked a bit of challenge. You're the best doctor, you'll figure something out."  I rummaged through my bag, pulling out a folder.

"Even the best doctor on earth can't help if you don't—"

I shoved the folder across the desk, cutting him off. "What's this?"

"It's a patient. An anyeurism. I'm still not allowed to do surgery, not until this thing with the ethics committee is over."

Suguru opened the folder, flipping through the pages.  "You want me to do it?  Is there something special about this patient?"

"I want you to take her with you," I said quietly. "She likes aneurysm clippings."

Suguru looked up, that familiar crease between his brows.  "She'll figure it out. Sooner or later. Latest when you're in the hospital waiting for a liver transplant, not lecturing anymore."

Silence stretched. My eyes fell on the pill bottles lined up on the desk. 

I sighed, then gathered them and crammed them into my bag.  "Let's go. I need fresh fair," I said as I brushed past him, putting the withdrawal meds back into his hands.

Without another word, I left the auditorium.

─── ·✧· ───

My eyes snapped open.

I sat upright, a strangled gasp tearing from my throat. My heart hammered against my ribs, each beat threatening to burst right out of my chest. 

For a disorienting second, the world was a blur. Sweat drenched my skin. My lungs screamed for air.

Damn nightmares. 

Another night of that shit. 

I clutched at my chest, trying to quell the frantic pounding. Cold sweat made my shirt cling to my skin. The room spun. My pulse thundered in my ears.

I fumbled for the lamp, the sudden brightness stinging my eyes. But it didn't chase away the image seared into my brain. Her face, cruel, beautiful, cruelly beautiful, twisted in absolute terror. My stomach twisted.

My fault. 

Always my fault.

I couldn't breathe right.

Sleep was a lost cause now. First decent rest in a week, and my brain decided to torment me again. Exhaustion was its own kind of hell, but it was nothing compared to this. That, more than anything, was the real torture.

I slumped forward, scrubbing a hand over my face.

I'd hurt her. 

I'd hurt her, the one person who meant something.

Every day, it felt more like I'd made the biggest mistake of my life. Letting her go, pushing her away, I—

I hated myself. 

Hated the way I ruined everything.

Hated the way I ruined every chance at something good. 

It was like a damn curse.

Nothing good ever lasted for me. I should've known that by now.

Damn it, I knew it was wrong. But how the hell could it be wrong when it'd felt so damn right? When she was the only thing, the only person, that cut through the crap, made this whole mess seem like it might have some sort of meaning?

How could that possibly be wrong?

Guilt ate at my insides. Had I been a damn coward? Too scared to fight for something that made me feel, really feel?

Perhaps.

Easier to push her away, sabotage the whole damn thing, than risk actually letting her in. Letting anyone in. Losing control. But it didn't matter now, did it? 

It was over. 

I needed out. Out of my head, out of this apartment, out of my own damn skin. 

The silence was unbearable.

I pushed off the bed, muscles screaming in protest. I slipped into running clothes, the routine automatic. As I laced up my shoes, a sharp sting shot through my leg from the still-healing cut on my leg.

That bitch. 

The more I thought about it, the more sure I was she'd done it on purpose.

Good thing I was addicted to painkillers, huh?

I drowned a pill — no two, for good measure — before stepping outside into the pre-dawn chill. 

Cold autumn air bit at my skin. Each step echoed on the empty street. The pills kicked in, dulling the sharp pain in my leg. Good. Long as the cut didn't split open, I didn't damn care.

I pushed myself, needing the burn in my muscles, the ache in my lungs, to drown out the constant echo of her voice, her name, in my head.

The world blurred. Streetlights, shadows, it all melded together. The only reality was the ache in my body, the cold air forcing its way into my lungs. My mind, for once, was mercifully blank. 

No nightmares, no guilt, no memories of her haunted eyes — just the simple focus on putting one foot in front of the other.

I didn't set a goal, didn't choose a destination. 

Just moving, pushing, escaping.

Sweat dripped, but I barely registered. With each mile, the crushing weight eased. Not gone, hell, not even close to forgotten, but  — manageable. 

I ran until the city was a smear of lights, until my legs burned and my lungs screamed. 

Finally, gasping for breath, legs threatening to give out, I stumbled to a halt. The neon lights of a Seven Eleven cut through the pre-dawn darkness. My throat was sandpaper. I pushed through the door.

Inside, the harsh lights stung my eyes. I grabbed a water, my body on autopilot as I shuffled toward the register. The bored-looking teenager behind the counter gave me a sidelong look as I fumbled for my wallet.

"Rough night?"

"Something like that." I glanced down at my leg, the still-healing cut a visible red line. Wincing, I shifted my weight, favoring the uninjured side. 

I pulled out my card to pay, but then a flash of color caught my eye. Beside the cashier's register, stacked in a gaudy pyramid, was a display of energy drinks. I starred at them for a second, the name oddly familiar.

I knew why the name was so familiar.

I reached for a can and placed it on the counter. "And this."

Outside, I downed the water in a matter of seconds. Then, I cracked open the energy drink. The first sip hit my tongue. Surprisingly, it didn't taste half-bad without a shot of stale coffee to ruin it. 

But the taste wasn't the problem, wasn't it? 

Memories flooded back. Her, hunched over a massive anatomy textbook in the dim library, those beautiful eyes ringed with exhaustion. Beside her, half-empty, a mug of coffee — spiked with the sickeningly sweet energy drink I currently held.

Just the thought of that awful mixture made my stomach turn.

Still, a smile tugged at my lips.

Dammit, I didn't want to think about her. But to be fair, thinking, not thinking — it was all the same. The dull, constant ache of her absence throbbed beneath it all.

I chugged the rest of the energy drink, crushing the can in my hand.

Ah, fuck it.

Before my sanity could interfere, my legs were in motion.

I knew this was wrong. Knew every step took me closer to more pain. Knew all along this was stupid, reckless — inevitable. 

I couldn't stop.

The pull towards her was too damn strong. I needed to see her, to confirm her existence, to know she was real, to fix — what? What the hell could I fix? What the hell did I even think I was doing?

Finally, gasping for breath, I stumbled to a halt outside her apartment building.

A glance at my watch confirmed the hour — well past 3 am. Insane. I hadn't expected her to be awake. Just needed the pathetic reassurance of her presence. But as I looked up, my breath hitched. 

In a second-floor window, a flicker of warm light spilled into the darkness. And there, etched against that warmth — her silhouette. Unmistakable.

A heavy exhale escaped my lips. 

She was there.

Here.

On this same cursed world with me.

My heart pounded against my ribs. I knew, I had no right to be here. But god, I needed this, needed to see her.

She sat on the windowsill, book in hand. My future wife. Even in the dead of night, she was studying. How I loved her.

My gaze traced the familiar curve of her shoulders, the way the soft lamplight painted her skin with warmth, highlighting the strands of hair escaping her messy bun. 

In that stolen moment, I could almost convince myself that things were different, that my actions hadn't irrevocably shattered something precious.

But then, she moved. Rising from her seat, she stretched, drawing the fabric of her shirt upwards. Before my mind could catch up, she was at the window, pushing it open. I froze.

She was staring down — right at me. 

Shit.

I held my breath. For what felt like an eternity, we simply stared at each other. A muscle in her jaw twitched. Then her gaze dropped, breaking eye contact.

"You're bleeding."

I glanced down. The edge of my shorts was soaked through, a fresh stain of crimson spreading. Damn it. The cut had reopened.

"Yeah," I said, looking back up at her, "I'm a mess."

I braced myself for whatever was coming. The anger, the disgust, the righteous fury — it would all be justified. I deserved it. But she simply watched me. Her gaze was steady, devoid of emotion. 

"You know where the entrance is," she said finally, then leaned back into the soft glow of her room and closed the window shut.

Before my brain could catch up with how wrong this was, I walked toward the apartment building.

─── ·✧· ───

I sat on the edge of her bed, she on a chair in front of me, her hands already on my leg as she pushed the fabric of my shorts up. "How could you not notice that?"

I opened my mouth, but she cut me off, "Wait, forget it." 

Yeah. Now she remembered.

With practiced efficiency, she began cleaning the wound. Her touch was surprisingly gentle, considering how pissed she must be. 

The silence was heavy, broken only by the rustle of bandages and my occasional  sharp intake of breath when the antiseptic hit a raw spot.

My eyes wandered. Her space, even small and half-finished, felt warm, lived in. Smelled like her. Books spilling everywhere, papers scattered on a desk, a yoga mat forgotten in the corner — the organized chaos was so perfectly her.

Then my gaze landed on the half-unpacked boxes stacked against the wall. She really still didn't fully move in. Occupied with my mess, huh? 

Guilt flooded me. I didn't deserve this, didn't deserve her gentle hands on me, not after everything. 

Yet, a selfish part of me wanted nothing more than to stay exactly like this, wanted nothing more than to keep her hands on me.

With a sigh, I sank back against her pillows. Exhaustion seeped into my bones. Pain returned as the effects of the pills wore off.

Her fingers brushed the reopened cut. I winced, throwing an arm over my eyes. The relentless pounding in my head threatened to split me open, spilling all the ugly thoughts onto her pristine sheets.

"You've had nightmares again, haven't you?"

Huh? 

I lifted my head a fraction, struggling to meet her eyes. She glanced up briefly, her eyes guarded, then focused back on my leg.

"Yeah, something like that." My head thumped back onto the pillow. "Hard to sleep when your head won't shut up."

"What dose?"

"You really don't want to know."

"I asked because I do," she countered. The sharp tug as she tightened the bandage around my leg was enough to make me speak.

"Ten milligrams," I admitted, wincing. "The usual."

She scoffed, then another, even sharper, tug had me gritting my teeth. "Ngh—fuck," I moaned. 

I really needed a pill now.

She stood, gathering the first-aid supplies. "Heals slowly, doesn't it?"

I knew it.

I popped myself up on one elbow, raising an eyebrow at her. 

"Don't give me that look. You know damn well you deserved it."

I let out a dry laugh. "You really are a bitch sometimes." I dropped back onto the bed, my hand reaching for my throbbing head. 

I needed two pills now.

"You've got some damn nerve. You show up here in the middle of the night, injured, high—"

"I'm not high—"

"Save it," she spat. "You know what your fucking problem is? You can't stand being alone. Alone with your thoughts, with yourself. So you run. You run to pills, to whatever distraction you can find, anything to fill the void."

Yeah, how the hell am I supposed to want to be alone after feeling what it's like to be with you, stupid.

"You're too damn scared to face your fears," she continued, her voice laced with a bitter edge, "and when someone threatens your artificial peace, someone who might actually force you to look in the damn mirror, you panic. You sabotage it, push them away before it all gets too real, too close."

She stepped closer. "Because it's easier, isn't it? Safer to stick with the misery you know than risk having to face that void."

Every word stung, but I couldn't deny it, couldn't lie anymore.

"You're right. And I'm sorry—"

"Don't." She rose a hand at me. "Don't pretend you care, Satoru. You've made it clear how little I matter."

How little you matter? 

Oh, love, you couldn't be more wrong.

A harsh laugh escaped me. 

"You find this funny?"

"No, love," I said, pushing myself up. My leg throbbed in protest, but I ignored it. Everything narrowed down to her. I moved closer, a strange recklessness fueling me. "Quite the opposite."

Something flickered in her eyes — surprise? wariness? — but the anger remained.

"Keep going," I insisted, moving closer. "Let it out. Yell at me, tell me how pathetic I am. Make me feel something, anything other than this damn emptiness."

She hesitated. Her eyes searched mine, and for a breathless moment, I hoped that her fury, her anger, would burn away the numbness, making me feel something, anything.

Because even her anger was better than her indifference.

I couldn't stand being indifferent to her.

Might as well make her hate me.

"You want me to yell at you?" Her voice rose, the first hint of the storm I craved. "Fine! You wanna be a pathetic mess? Go ahead! Piss away your career, your life, whatever the hell you care about, I don't give a damn anymore!"

Each word hit me, but there was a desperate relief in it. Finally, she wasn't looking at me with that chilling indifference, that cold pity that twisted a knife in my gut. 

Her rage, it was fire — scorching and brutal, but alive. And I loved it.

Because it was prove she still cared, even if it was just to hate me with every fiber of her being. It was better than the void, that terrible chasm that had opened up between us after I'd pushed her away.

I closed the distance, enjoying the anger in her eyes. She flinched, but didn't back down.

"More." I grabbed her waist, lifting her with ease, and hauled her towards the bed.

"You're weak!" she spat, pushing against my chest, her voice rising with each word.

Yeah, so damn weak for you, love.

"You're selfish! So consumed by your own self-pity you can't see how you hurt everyone around you!"

Her words should have hurt. They probably would have, under different circumstances. But right now, I couldn't care less.

"Keep going," I rasped, my pulse pounding in my ears. I forced her onto the bed and hovered over her, my body trapping her between the mattress and my own. "C'mon, love, let it all out."

"You don't deserve me," she continued. "You don't deserve anyone who gives a damn, because you only know how to destroy things."

Each word was a knife. Yet, with each insult, the suffocating hollowness inside me eased a fraction. I wanted her anger, the full force of it, wanted the burn only she could inflict on me.

"More."

Her breath hitched, eyes narrowing. "You keep breaking my heart over and over, then come crawling back when it suits you, like it doesn't matter!"

"You're right." I leaned in, my thumb brushing over her bottom lip. The thin fabric of her shirt did little to hide her shivers. "C'mon, love, give it to me. I know you can do better."

In one swift move, I ripped my shirt over my head, tossing it to the floor. I leaned down again, my breath ghosting over her lips. "Hate me." My hands went for the flimsy waistband of her shorts. "Tell me how much you despise me."

Her breaths came fast, quick gasps against my skin.  I could see it all over her face — the rage, the fear, and maybe — yeah, maybe that darker edge, the same desperation burning in me.

"I fucking hate you, Satoru. Hate that you made me care, made me fall for you, then crushed it."

"Don't stop," I said, my voice a hoarse rasp. "Say it again." Before she could react, her shorts were down, exposing her to the night air. My own pants followed hasty, desperate. "Say you hate me."

"I fucking hate that you treat me like I'm just another damn plaything to fill whatever void your messed-up mom or whatever left you with!"

Okay, now it gets personal.

"I fucking hate that you act like you can control me," she hissed, but her body betrayed her, shivered running down her skin as my hands gazed her collarbone. "Hate that you make my choices for me, decide what's good for me, like you got to have control over something when you obviously can't control yourself!"

Damn, Freud himself is on to something tonight, huh? She really doesn't know when to stop.

"You're a fucking hypocrite, you know that?" I leaned closer, my mouth close to her ear. "You hate who I am, but you crave this, don't you? Giving up control, being at my mercy. Admit it."

Her eyes widened, then narrowed. She lifted a hand, as if to slap me, but I was faster. I caught her wrists and pinned them above her head, pressing them hard into the mattress.

"You know it's true," I pressed, relishing the way she struggled against my hold. "It's hard always being the composed one, isn't it? The responsible one. It's draining. Maybe that's why you're drawn to me. You love the thrill as much as I do, don't you?"

She stared at me, silent, her lips a tight line. 

"Prove me wrong, sweetheart. Call me a liar, and I'll show you just how wrong you are," I leaned in closer, my voice a harsh whisper against her lips. "We're the same, you and me. We feed off each other. Even if you hate to admit it, I fill that emptiness inside you same as you do for me."

"You arrogant piece of shit!" she spat, twisting and bucking against my grip. "You think you know everything, control everything!"

"Don't I?" My grip tightened, feeling her pulse throb against my fingers. "Seems I've got you pinned pretty damn well, wouldn't you say?"

"You know it's true. You love this. Makes you feel something your books, your fancy grades never could."

"Screw you, Satoru," she hissed, venom in her voice. "We're nothing alike."

"You really are a fool, for wanting to fix something so broken it'll cut you to shreds the moment you get close and then you cry afterwards—"

Her spit hit my face. I closed my eyes for a second, then a smile twisted across my lips. 

My future wife just spit in my face — what a good anecdote on our wedding day.

"That's my girl," I rasped, shoving her legs wider. "Tell me how much you hate me. Scream it."

"I fucking hate you Satoru, I hate you—"

Her words died on her tongue as I thrust forward, filling her completely. I closed my eyes, letting my head hang heavy for a second. 

My god, the things this woman's body could do to me. I could feel her body trembling beneath me, her heart racing as she arched her back.

How treacherous a body can be, huh?

"Hate you, Satoru," she managed to say before she closed her eyes, biting down her lip as I thrust deeper still. Her thighs spread further apart, inviting me closer, urging me onward. 

She's so damn beautiful.

I grinned, my hands still holding her wrists in place over her head. "I know you do, love. But you know what?" My lips were only a breath away from hers. "I hate you, too. I hate how you make me feel, how you expose every broken piece of me, how I crave you like I crave another fix."

Hell, I might just be addicted to this woman.

I pulled out fully, before thrusting back into her. Her head fell back, pressing into the mattress as a strangled moan escaping her lips.

She felt incredible.

Pulling back slowly, I watched her body react to the absence, her eyes flickering open to meet mine. Those pupils dilated with need, mirroring my own hunger for her. 

In that moment, nothing else mattered. Not our fight. Not our problems. Not our insults that had left our lips moments before. Just us — two halves coming together in a perfect whole. 

I pushed back into her, deeper, harder.

With each thrust, I felt myself sinking deeper into her, losing myself in her. Fuck, if there was anything better than this — well, I hadn't found it yet.

This woman owned me — plain and simple.

It was madness, this pull towards her. 

Insane, perhaps.

But it was also undeniably real. So real that even though dawn threatened to break soon, stealing away whatever remnants of darkness remained, I couldn't help but chase after that high only she could provide.

Even knowing full well that when morning arrived, reality would crash down upon us, forcing us back onto opposite sides of the divide.

"Look what you've done to me, love. You're making a fool of me." I whispered against her lips without touching them.

Weren't together anymore after all.

Kissing would be too much.

Her chest rose and fell rapidly beneath me. Her nails dug into my skin where my hands gripped her wrists. With each deep thrust, I watched her face contort with pleasure and pain, her features illuminated by fleeting streaks of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

I loved that look on her face.

I wondered if I could make that look even more pathetic.

I pulled out, dragging the tip of my length across her clit before pushing back in. She squirmed underneath me, arching her back. But I denied her, keeping my unhurried pace. I wanted to draw out this sweet torture for as long as possible.

Hours passed — or perhaps mere minutes. I couldn't tell anymore. All that mattered was this woman writhing beneath me.

Groaning in frustration, she attempted to break free from my grip. "Dammit, Satoru. If you won't finish what you started, then get off me!"

I smirked. "Why so eager, love. Can't handle the wait?" I leaned in to kiss down the side of her neck. She shivered beneath me, her breath hitching as my teeth grazed her skin. 

With my free hand I reached down, running my fingers down her quivering stomach, relishing in the shivers that coursed through her body. 

She glared up at me, her eyes narrowing dangerously. "Stop calling me 'love'. I don't belong to you, not anymore—" 

She gasped into my mouth when I found her clit. Slowly, deliberately, I began to circle it with my thumb, feeling her surrender to me. I plunged deeper, thrusting into her mercilessly.

Let her hate me all she wants. She can't deny the chemistry between us — a spark that refuses to fade, no matter how hard either of us tries.

She must have hated this — hated how she surrendered to me, even with all that anger. Made me wondered if I could rail her up even more.

"You think you're so much better than me?" I rasped. "So strong, so selfless, always putting others first? It's a lie, and you know it. You're just bored."

"You fucker!" Before I knew what was happening, she broke free of my grasp and had flipped us over so that she was now straddling my hips. 

Without warning, she reached forward, gripping my throat with surprising strength as she leaned down, her hair falling like a curtain around our faces. I couldn't help but smile.

"Don't project your bullshit on me," she seethed, her face inches from mine. 

Her words sent a chill down my spine, stirring up a fresh wave of desire within me. Damn, this woman was infuriating — and captivating in the worst way possible.

We glared at each other like enemies preparing for battle. 

"Aren't you a little tired? Pulling up that act all the time?" I choked out, feeling her fingers dig in further. "Deep down, you're just as bored as me, you're just too righteous to admit it."

"Shut up," she hissed, pressing harder, choking the words out of me.

This was madness. Destructive madness. But for this one desperate moment, I didn't care. It was exhilarating, addictive. Because love, our twisted, broken love, wasn't supposed to be pretty.

It was messy, chaotic, and borderline abusive. But sometimes all you need is a firm grip around the throat to remind you that you're alive.

"Harder, love," I gasped, a laugh bubbling up in my constricted throat. "Come on, make me feel your rage."

Slowly, deliberately, she began grinding her hips against mine, setting a maddening pace that left me reeling. Fuck, I think I love it even more when she hates me.

"Ahh, shit," I gasped, clutching at her thighs as she rode me mercilessly. "That's it."

Eyes squeezed shut, my head rolled back. Chills prickled my skin, possibly due to the cool breeze drifting in from the window. Or perhaps it was merely her.

She rode me with increased speed, and I could barely contain the overwhelming sensations coursing through my body. Every fiber of my being screamed for release. 

My knuckles on her thighs turned white from the force. "Oh, shit, you're going to kill me," I moaned between choked sounds that escaped my lips. 

My lips twisted into a smile again. "Admit it. You love the chaos as much as I do. The thrill, the way it makes you feel alive."

"You're wrong," she said, increasing her pace making my cock twitch inside her. "We're nothing alike."

"Keep telling yourself that," I replied, struggling to catch my breath, as she made me lose my mind. "But I know the truth—we're two sides of the same coin."

"You really believe that, don't you?"

"Why else would you be here, like this, with me?" I countered. "Face it, we're addicted to each other—the highs, the lows, the constant push and pull. It's exhilarating, isn't it?"

"You're the only addict here."

"Liar," I rasped.

Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She was close. Each contraction of her pushing me further towards a peak that I knew would soon shatter me.

But I wasn't ready yet. Not quite.

I shifted our positions, sitting upright before spinning us around so she was now beneath me on the mattress. I positioned myself behind her, forcing her down onto the mattress.

I slowly slid my hand along her spine as I pushed her further down, feeling her tremble beneath my touch, the softness of her skin beneath my fingertips. 

It was intoxicating to watch her submit to me.

"Fuck, you'll be the death of me."

Leaning down, I pressed my lips against the small of her back, feeling her shiver once more. My hand continued its descent, stopping just short of where she needed me.

"Satoru," my name fell from her lips.

Oh, how I loved it when she breathed my name like that. I couldn't resist her — could never resist her. I was at her mercy. Even now.

She arched her back, silently pleading for me to continue. I slid my hand between her legs. "God, you're so fucking wet," I murmured, slipped a finger inside her, then another. She was so tight, so warm. 

I couldn't wait to be inside her again.

She gasped, pushing back against me. "Don't stop."

Curving my fingers, I searched for that spot that I knew would drive her mad. When I found it, she cried out, her hips bucking against my hand. Her hands scrabbled at the sheets, grasping for purchase as I started to move inside her.

"Yes, fuck," she moaned, spreading her legs wider. "Right there."

Oh, love. I know you like that.

I smiled, relishing the fact that I knew her body better than herself. I knew every inch of her, every freckle, every scar, every sensitive spot that made her squirm. 

"More," she begged.

I happily obliged, adding a third finger and thrusting deeper. She was soaking wet, her juices coating my fingers as I fucked her with my hand. Her moans grew louder, more urgent. She was close, so close.

I increased the pace of my fingers, pumping them in and out of her as I used my thumb to apply pressure to her clit. 

However, as her moans reached a fever pitch, I withdrew my fingers, denying her release.

She gasped, glanced over her shoulder at me, her mouth open, but said nothing — probably out of breath. 

I brought my fingers to my mouth, savoring the taste of her. It was so uniquely her. I couldn't get enough.

Leaning in, I pressed my body against hers from behind, my hard length probed at her entrance. 

I leaned down over her, my hand snaking into her hair. I grabbed it tightly, forcing her head up to meet mine. "I love you, first-year," I murmured against her ear.

She trembled, but her defiance remained strong. "I hate you."

I sighed — always so fierce, makes me wonder what it takes to fuck that stubborn attitude out of her. 

"It's alright, I love you enough for both of us."

With that, I pushed her head down into the mattress. Her cry muffled by the sheets beneath her as I thrust into her once more, bottoming out inside her with a groan.

I began to move in and out of her. Faster now, harder until the headboard slammed against the wall. Her muscles clenched around me, drawing me deeper inside her. She clawed at the sheets beneath her, her moans muffled by the fabric.

As her cries grew louder, I quickly pushed her face further into the mattress. "Quiet, first year," I murmured as I angled myself to rub against her G-spot, making it harder for her to keep quiet. "Wouldn't want to disturb anyone in the middle of the night, would we?"

Neither of us spoke a word — not that she could but — perhaps because there was nothing left to say. Instead, we communicated solely through our actions, saying everything that needed to be said without opening our mouths.

I increased both the pace and pressure. Nearly causing her to fall forward hadn't I held her in place with one hand on her waist and one sill in her hair. Her breath hitched, her entire body tensed as she approached her breaking point.

Oh, how I loved feeling her tighten around me.

Bringing her closer to the edge was a thrill like no other. Watching her lose control, hearing her cries and moans, feeling her body tremble beneath me — it was intoxicating.

I could feel myself getting closer to the edge, my balls tightening as I approached my own release. 

Her cries grew louder, more urgent, until finally, she shattered around me, her orgasm triggering my own.

With a final thrust, I emptied myself inside her, filling her completely. Her contractions milked every last drop from me, her body still quivering around me. 

I stayed inside her, savoring the feeling. It might be the last time.

I was panting, my chest rising and falling rapidly as I tried to catch my breath. My cock was still twitching inside her. Reluctantly, I pulled out with a low moan.

I stayed behind her for a moment longer, admiring the curve of her waist, the sheen of sweat on her skin in the sliver of moonlight. 

Don't know when or if I'll ever see that again.

Time seemed to stand still, suspended indefinitely as we tried to find our breath again.

Then she turned her head. "You're a fucking idiot," she finally said.

"Tell me something I don't know."

She shifted to face me, her expression serious.  "Promise me something."

"Anything you want, love."

"Promise me, you won't kill yourself with your pills."

I swallowed hard. That's not what'll get me, I thought, as I felt a sharp pain lancing through my right side.

I moved closer, cupping her face with my hands that trembled slightly. For an insane moment, I wanted to kiss her, but I knew I couldn't — couldn't ever again. "I promise," I rasped.

The words heavy with a lie we both knew.

<- prev chapter | next chapter ->

author's note: wooooaaa, another insane!gojo chapter lol. this chapter really killed me, was crying, screaming, throwing up while writing.

i'm equally scared and excited to hear what you think about todays chapter, ngl. originally i didn't plan a smut scene in this chapter, but you know, somewhere down that line gojo just happened and here we are. 

also like, i think now both their's darkest secrets are now out — in the worst way possible. also because i keep getting messages regarding how much chapters are left of the story, idk i write form chapter to chapter. we're down somewhere the 60—70 % line with the story i guess, but we'll see. still more to uncover of gojo's past and all that.

also sorry for the people asking of for more fluff and happy moments, ehhh, there will be some in the future?? also i'm still sticking to the plan of a happy ending, so don't worry!! gojo fucked up big time and the next chapters will center about him trying to fight his fears and get shit together — let's see if he can do that. curious myself.

so thank you so so much for sicking by with the story. sending kisses to all of you lovely people seeing me messages, leaving likes, comments and reblog stuff. it really makes my heart happy everything i see a notification. love you all sm!! ♡

okay my last note, just so you know, i'm going on vocation soon, so the next chapter will be a bit delayed again, sorraaaayyy!! wishing you a great day or night and an awesome weekend ahead! ♡

🏷️ @sad-darksoul @aerithsthingss @mylovelessnightmare @bbyxxm @musababy @neuviloved @ykehqqy @hexrts-anatomy @fvsm4x @tw0fvced @heijihattorisgf @sadmonke @thatsopanu @sirencholia @sugurusdiscordmoderator @erwinslut @shervinss @certainlysyko @mechalily @purplehallow11 @kendall0111 @bloopsstuff @therealestpussyeater @louoi7 @whereflowerswenttodie @billiondollarworth @deluluforcarlos55 @starrynight-777 @vina21 @michelleeveline @boba-is-a-soup @cre8inghavoc @love-jelly @daimiyu @d0nk3y-k0ng @mo0nforme @smolbeanzzz @oneiricals @ynishalee @gojolvrr34 @nanasukii28 @ariiiii0938 @kelppsstuff @tojisdollx @drakenswifeyy @bakarinnie @vina21 @phoenix-eclipses @nanamis-baker @neptnszn (pls comment on the series masterlist to get tagged in the future!)

[dunebrat]

THE PEOPLES PRINCESS

Reader x feyd rautha smut

Summary: you get married off by your father to secure alliances. Despite you knowing your new husbands reputation, you finds yourself drawn to him.

➽─────────────────────❥

As you stepped onto the arid planet of Arrakis, the sun beat down relentlessly, casting harsh shadows across the shifting dunes. You, a princess, were escorted by your father, the ruler of your home planet, to marry the infamous Feyd Rautha. Your first encounter with Feyd was chilling. He stood tall and imposing, his eyes cold as they met yours. You couldn't help but feel a shiver run down your spine at the intensity of his gaze.

Throughout the preparations for the wedding, Feyd remained distant, barely acknowledging your presence. Amidst the bustling preparations, your father sought you out, his regal bearing softened by a look of paternal concern. He approached you with a tenderness that belied his stoic exterior, his eyes filled with a mixture of pride and sadness.

"My dear," he began, his voice gentle yet tinged with gravity, "today, you embark on a new journey, one that will shape the course of your destiny."

You met his gaze, a swirl of emotions churning within you. "Father," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, "I know not what the future holds, but I will face it with courage and grace."

A faint smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he reached out to grasp your hand. "You are a beacon of strength and resilience, my child," he said, his voice filled with pride. "No matter what lies ahead, remember that you are never alone."

Tears welled in your eyes as you embraced him.

Your wedding gown, made from the finest silks and embellished with gorgeous lace and brilliant gems, was a vision of grandeur and elegance. Its flowing procession, glistening in the intense desert sun, followed you like a moonlit river. As you stood in the grand hall, waiting for the wedding ceremony to begin you couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at the edges of your consciousness, knowing that once the ceremony commenced, there would be no turning back.

But amidst the fear, there was a glimmer of hope. Perhaps, against all odds, this union with Feyd would bring you the happiness and fulfillment you had always longed for. But you know the man that will soon be your husband is no kind man. But as you stood before him at the altar, his eyes locked onto yours with a fierce determination. When he leaned in to kiss you, you felt a rush of lust.

On your wedding night, as the grandeur of the ceremony faded into the intimacy of the chambers, you found yourself alone with Feyd. The flickering candlelight casting shadows across the room, adding to your senses heightened.

Feyd, with his usual air of confidence, approached you. His eyes, sharp and penetrating, seemed to pierce through the facade you tried so desperately to maintain. He noticed the tremble in your hands, the uneasiness that lingered in your of your gaze.

"You're scared," he observed, his voice a low, rumbling growl that sent a shiver down your spine.

You nodded, unable to deny the truth of his words. "I am," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Feyd closed the distance between you, his presence startling in its intensity, his lips twisted into a knowing smile. He said, "Fear can be a powerful motivator," with an a hint of humor in his voice. "But it can also be mastered."

With a swift yet gentle motion, he reached out to cup your face, his touch surprisingly tender against your skin. His eyes bore into yours with an unwavering gaze, as if daring you to challenge him, to defy the inevitable.

Feyd's eyes raked over your body, his gaze lingering on the curve of your hips and the swell of your breasts.

His voice was low and husky, his words a command.

"Strip." The word hung in the air like an order, leaving no room for negotiation or hesitation. You hesitated briefly before complying with Feyd's demand. You unbuttoned your dress, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of fabric. Underneath you wore nothing but lace underwear and stockings that accentuated every curve on your body.

Feyd's eyes roamed over your body, his gaze intense and unwavering. "I want you to know that I am not a man who will be gentle with you," he said in an even tone as if it were simply stating the obvious.

"I will take what I want, and you are to do as I say." The words hung in the air like a threat.

His gaze was intense, his voice commanding. You couldn't help but feel a sense of unease at the way he spoke to you. The words were harsh and demanding, leaving no room for negotiation or compromise.

You stood there, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to process what he had just said. The weight of his words hung heavy on the air between us and for a moment | felt trapped by them.

"I understand," you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I will do as you say." The words were barely out of your mouth before Feyd's hand was on the back of your neck, his grip firm and unyielding.

He pulled you closer to him, his lips finding yours in a kiss that was both demanding and possessive. His tongue invaded your mouth with an almost brutal forcefulness as he claimed it for himself.

His other hand found its way to your breast, his fingers pinching and twisting the nipple until you gasped in pain.

The pain was sharp and intense, but it also sent a strange rush of pleasure through you. You found yourself responding to his touch in ways that surprised even you.

His hands roamed over your body, exploring every curve and crevice as if he were mapping out a territory. He pulled you closer to him until his hardness was pressed against the soft folds of your sex.

You could feel the heat radiating from him, his desire for you palpable. His hands moved down to your hips and he lifted you up so that only the tip of his cock was inside you.

He held you there, teasingly close to the edge of pleasure. "Do you want this?" he asked in a low voice that sent shivers down your spine.

"Do you want me to take what I need from you?" The words were a command, not a question. The words were barely out of your mouth before Feyd's grip on you tightened and he thrust into you with a force that left you gasping for air. He fucks you hard and fast, his hips slamming into you with a force that left your body trembling. The pain was intense but it only seemed to fuel the fire of desire burning within him as he continued to fuck you relentlessly.

You could feel the wetness between your legs, a testament to how turned on you were by his rough treatment.

His hands roamed over your body, leaving bruises and marks that would be a reminder of this night for days to come.

Days passed after the wedding night, and you found yourself adjusting to life as the wife of Feyd Rautha. One evening, as you sat alone in the grand hall of the palace, Feyd approached you with a quietly. His usual stoic demeanor softened slightly as he took a seat beside you, his presence commanding yet strangely comforting.

“May I join you?" he asked, his voice low and gravelly, betraying a hint of vulnerability beneath the surface.

You nodded, surprised by his sudden display of openness. "Of course," you replied, unable to hide the shyness in your voice.

For a moment, silence hung heavy between you, the only sound the soft rustle of fabric and the distant hum of activity within the palace walls. And then, with a hesitant sigh, Feyd spoke, his words measured yet tinged with emotion. "I know I am not what you expected," he began, his gaze fixed on some distant point beyond the horizon. "I am not known for my warmth or compassion, but know that I will do everything in my power to protect you, to keep you safe from harm."

"I believe you husband," you replied softly, reaching out to place a reassuring hand on his arm.

[little-diable]

May thy knife – Feyd-Rautha (smut)

This is y'alls fault, all your comments made me write this. So, here we go, psychotic reader is back, but with a somewhat loving relationship. It felt only right to twist this famous scene – I'm sure this has been done before but I haven't read a fic that takes on this twist just yet, so I'm in no means copying any fic out there. Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: What if the reader, who is married to Feyd-Rautha, didn't know that Paul, her brother, was still alive? What if it was her fighting against him instead of Feyd – all for revenge, to make her brother feel the same pain he had forced her to feel with his faked death?

Warnings: 18+, smut, piv, oral (m), willingly rough loss of virginity, choking, dom!Feyd, degrading, spitting, fighting, passing out, blood licking, knife licking, reader is a psycho fitting Feyd, yet there's some form of love between the two, and no, I ain't killing us so we survive the fight

Pairing: Feyd-Rautha x fem!Atreides!reader (4.2k words)

The hatred she emanated was felt by all people surrounding her, people who didn’t dare meet her icy gaze – not even the emperor dared to turn towards (y/n). It was a wise decision, for the sake of all their lives, knowing that she could rob their soul and their last breath even without any weapons on her. 

It had only been a few minutes since they had been taken prisoner, and while (y/n) could have easily fought her way out of the tight grasp, she hadn’t been able to move. Frozen to her spot as she had never been before, unable to move as her eyes followed the frame of the Muad’Dib. Paul Atreides. Her brother. The man she had believed to be dead for endless weeks. The prophet who hadn’t spotted her in the small crowd. 

Not even Feyd-Rautha’s closeness had managed to rile her up at that moment, the man she had been forced to marry, the man she hadn’t allowed to touch her, not even on their wedding night. It hadn’t taken him long to accept that she’d cut off his hands should he touch her, speaking lies to the Baron to answer private questions that had left (y/n)’s insides churning. Feyd had protected her even when she went against a simple contract, lured closer by the darkness she carried deep within herself. 

She had made too many sacrifices for her brother and their mother’s lies, tossed away for a strategic marriage she hadn’t been prepared for. All to mourn her brother who was still alive and breathing, guiding those who saw the prophet in him.

“You’re quiet. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you like this, wife.” Feyd’s breath teased her neck, he stood with his armoured front pressed against her back, hands resting on her waist. It was a dangerous game, a game she didn’t buy into, too focused on her racing mind. Feyd gave (y/n) another moment to push him away, just like she had always done – but she didn’t, she kept herself pressed against him as if he was an anchor saving her from drowning. “What are you planning?”

“How I will kill the Muad’Dib.” Not one ounce of love thumped through her veins, an emotion she had once held onto, at least for her older brother; a love that had frozen in her system the second she had heard his voice ring in her ears minutes ago. Feyd’s raspy chuckles left her skin tingling, adding fuel to the fire simmering deep inside of her. 

For a moment, (y/n) allowed herself to focus on her husband’s touch, how he held onto her, tight enough to send a clear message to wandering eyes. He may have not claimed her behind closed doors, addicted to their game of back-and-forth, but to all those eyes, she was his as he was hers, a ruthless husband to a cunning wife. 

“You know, I am always excited for a fight.” She wanted to reply, wanted to tease him for fighting against drugged prisoners who never stood a chance against him, but the second his cold lips met her throat, her words were lost on her sharp tongue. Her heart roared in her chest, not used to being kissed by Feyd, not after their first and only kiss in front of their wedding guests. 

“You won’t fight. This is between my brother and me.” (Y/n) turned in Feyd’s grasp, letting her eyes wander over her husband’s features. He was handsome, she had always been drawn to him, and yet something had always held her back – the fear of being tied down by a man who perfectly matched her ruthless ways, a man who would rather kill himself than back down from a fight, just like (y/n). They were too similar, a scary realisation she had been forced to face many moons ago. 

“I will let you fight, wife, but for that, I get to claim you tonight.” The mischief twinkling in his bright pupils pushed anger through her, anger clashing against lust. Her mind didn’t get to interfere as (y/n) shifted her weight onto her toes to press a kiss to his lips. She pulled away before Feyd could deepen the kiss, heart roaring in her chest as if it was communicating with his. 

“You’ll have to lick my brother’s blood off me before you get to touch me.” Her words were meant as a warning, a warning Feyd clearly found enjoyment in. And with his raspy laugh echoing through the room, she found herself thrown back into her darkening mindset, preparing for a fight against her brother. 

……

“How can you be so sure the Great Houses are here for me?” Paul’s voice filled the room. She didn’t see much of his frame, standing behind Feyd to shield herself from her brother’s and her mother’s eyes. She hated the way her fingers trembled, urged on by her anger, by her sadness, emotions flushing through her like poison set to kill her. “They may be curious to hear my side of the story, don’t you think? I am Paul Atreides, son of Leto Atreides, Duke of Arrakis.”

She wanted to shoot forward, wanted to throw herself against her brother’s frame to force him to his knees. But the hand Feyd pressed against her stomach to hold her back was enough to stay glued to her spot. The time wasn’t right just yet. 

“Gurney, send a warning to all ships. If the Great Houses attack, our atomics will obliterate all spice fields.” Paul’s words left most of the people surrounding (y/n) tensing, words that were about to force a laugh out of her. She could feel and see her mother’s influence on Paul, forming him into the son she had always dreamt him to be. 

“You’re out of your mind.” The Emperor’s slightly trembling voice drew a smirk to both (y/n) and Feyd’s lips, they got a taste of the chaos soon unfolding in front of them, drawing a sick sense of satisfaction and anticipation through the couple. 

“He’s bluffing.” She couldn’t stop a soft laugh from leaving her at her husband’s words, urged on by the need to stand even closer. Her body was guiding her without giving her mind a chance to protest as her hand found Feyd’s. She was still covered by his tall frame, and yet she felt him freezing for just a second as she interlaced their hands. 

“Consider what you’re about to do, Paul Atreides.” Within seconds, the voice filled their ears, forcing the Reverend Mother to lose her balance. No longer could (y/n) focus on the exchange between Paul and the Emperor, no longer could she focus on Feyd whose hand she had dropped once again. (Y/n) knew that the time was finally right, it was now or never, a fight that would end with either her’s or her brother’s life on the line.

“Stand or choose your champion.” Those were the words that ripped (y/n) out of her trance, pushing past her husband. She didn’t see how Feyd’s fingers twitched, having to stop himself from reaching for her, to stop (y/n) from fighting a battle he had been destined for. 

“I’m here, Paul.” (Y/n) spoke the words with venom dripping from her voice, watching her brother’s bright pupils widen. From the corner of her eye, she could watch her mother shoot to her feet, and yet (y/n) didn’t dare let her gaze wander, enjoying the realisation that began to widen on her brother’s panicked features. “I need a blade.” 

“Accept mine.” She didn’t rip her eyes from her brother’s to look at the Emperor, seizing the chance to read Paul well enough to tell her that he fought an inner battle. Paul whispered her name as he slightly shook his head, begging his sister to step away. Her tongue kissed her teeth as a blood-curdling smile widened on her lips, she didn’t need to speak up to tell Paul that she’d try everything she could to kill him, a simple act of revenge for leaving her, for forgetting her, for playing her. 

With a slow nod thrown her way, seemingly accepting her will to fight, Paul turned from (y/n) to walk back towards his people. Only Feyd’s hand on her waist managed to rip her gaze from her brother’s frame, “Make me proud wife. Kill him.” 

Feyd squeezed her waist as he pressed a harsh kiss to her lips, a clear signal for all those who were watching their interaction. He’d kill them all should she die, avenge her death as if it was his own life they tried to take. Without speaking another word, (y/n) pushed Feyd away from her, she tightened her grip on the Emperor’s blade, and let her feet carry her towards her brother. 

“(Y/n),” Paul’s choked-up voice drew a humourless chuckle out of her. For a moment, she allowed her gaze to stray, to look at their pregnant mother and the unreadable expression she wore. (Y/n) had never been the favourite child, even though she was the girl Jessica had been asked to birth. She had always been too ruthless, too cold, too cunning for their family, the outcast who had been married to Feyd at the first given chance. 

“Say it.” (Y/n)’s words were venomous, spat at her brother whose pained expression made him appear even more pathetic in her eyes. She wanted Paul to speak the words, words the siblings had spoken as mere children whenever they challenged one another into a play fight. Paul kept quiet, unable to part his lips until she almost screamed her words, “Say it!”

“May thy knife chip and shatter.” Paul’s voice trembled as he spoke the words, momentarily closing his eyes as if he struggled to accept their fate, to accept that he was expected to kill his beloved sister, unable to back down from a fight like this. She repeated the words much slower than Paul had, with a dangerous smile tugging on her lips – no longer did (y/n) care about her own life, about the mere chance of dying in her brother’s arms. She was hungry for revenge, to make him feel the pain she had been forced to carry deep within herself these past weeks. 

And then everything began to blur, one attack after another, one strike after another, one stumble after another. She felt all their eyes on them as they fought, but (y/n) couldn’t give into the temptation to study the crowd, searching for Feyd’s eyes that were glistening with adoration for his wife. A woman fighting like a snake, slithering along Paul’s body to squeeze him to death. 

Only as Paul’s knife cut (y/n)’s skin for the first time did her world begin to slow down, momentarily stopping its spinning motion. Paul seemed to freeze just like she did, focusing on the blood pouring from the wound. Perhaps he expected her to back down, to leave the circle to search for her husband’s protection. But (y/n) did something she had studied her husband do one too many times: Her fingers found her wound, picking up the drops of blood to suck her fingers clean, high on the coppery taste. Feyd’s laughter rang in her ears as she attacked her brother once again, faster this time, even more ruthless than the rounds before.

With blood sticking to her lips, (y/n) and Paul kept circling one another – all until she seized her chance to ram her knife into his side. Paul’s gasp forced their mother to her feet once again, searching her daughter’s eyes to shake her head, a silent warning not to kill her brother, a silent gesture that they wouldn’t mourn her death, only Paul’s. But while her mother’s eyes carried a clear warning, Feyd’s carried encouragement, asking his wife to end this right there and then. 

A moment of distraction that gave her brother the chance to slice his blade through her skin, forcing it to nestle inside her stomach. Both siblings held onto one another, glassy eyes finding back together as neither loosened their grip. 

“Do it, kill me. Feel the pain you’ve forced me to feel, feel the grief that has almost killed me.” Tears dripped from (y/n)’s eyes as she choked on her blood, knowing that she’d pass out any moment now. And even though she felt the darkness creeping through her veins, telling her that it was time to bid this life goodbye, a smile began to widen on her lips. 

This was the moment she had imagined all these weeks, it was finally upon them. 

Slowly Paul sacked to the ground with (y/n) clinging to him, holding onto her as he lifted his teary gaze. She didn’t see the way her brother's panicked gaze looked around the room, didn’t see the way his eyes found Feyd’s rage-filled ones, luring her husband closer. All she could focus on were the tears dripping from Paul’s bright eyes, holding back his sobs as Feyd kneeled next to them. 

“Do whatever you must, save my sister.” 

……

She woke with a gasp, eyes shooting open. It took her a moment to focus on her surroundings, the grey walls, the dim light, and the figure standing close to her bed. Pain shot through her as she tried to move, forced to plop back down onto the mattress with a curse clawing through her.

“You’re finally awake.” Feyd’s raspy voice drew a whimper from (y/n)’s chapped lips, eyes momentarily fluttering close to try and remind herself of what had happened. “You almost died, killed by your foolish brother who has never fought fair before. I should have killed him for hurting you.” 

“Come here.” (Y/n) ignored her husband’s words, not daring to think of her brother, of their fight, and of the blood she had lost. Wordlessly, Feyd came to a halt next to her, staring down at her to wait for (y/n)’s next command. With another gasp roaring through her, she shuffled around on the bed, making space for her husband to lay next to her. “If you tell others of this I will kill you.”

His chuckles filled the room as he carefully placed himself next to her. The moment had something awfully intimate to it, giving the married couple a chance to be close to one another for the first time, without any eyes on them, without hatred urging words to leave their cold lips. 

Feyd’s hand slightly trembled as he reached for her no longer bloody fingers, slowly interlacing them. Never had he done this before, reaching for her without any further message to communicate, holding onto her for the mere chance to be close to her. 

“What happened to Paul?” Pain clawed through her at the thought of her brother. Anger had forced her to act, anger she hadn’t been able to swallow until now, unsure how to accept that her family had lied to her. 

“Don’t worry about him for now.” Feyd didn’t tell her how he had left the planet with her, how he had brought her away from that place. Feyd didn’t tell her how he had sworn to Paul that he’d avenge (y/n)’s death should she die. Feyd didn’t tell her how Paul had told others to let them go, not knowing where Feyd was taking (y/n), not knowing if he’d ever see his sister again. 

And at that very moment, (y/n) didn’t find the strength to ask another question, the strength she would regain soon enough to find her path back to her cunning self, set on ending the ruleless game between her and her family. 

…… 

“Fight like a Harkonnen for fuck’s sake!” Anger pushed her words past her clenched teeth. Sweat was pooling on (y/n)’s forehead as she stared at her husband with spite swimming in her pupils. She knew Feyd was holding back, not trusting that (y/n) had regained her full strength just yet, the strength she’d need to force him to his knees in a training session like this. 

“Wife.” It was a warning he spoke, a warning not to rile him up even further, knowing that he’d lose his patience soon enough. (Y/n) darted at her husband, her body collided with his to throw them both to the ground. She straddled his waist with a grim expression tugging on her features, knowing that in any other scenario, she wouldn’t have been able to attack Feyd like that. “Fine, this is your own fault, darling.”

Feyd harshly pushed her off him, momentarily robbing his wife of her breath as her back collided with the cold ground. He rose to his feet with his jaw clenched and his hands balled into fists – the version of her husband (y/n) desperately had tried to trigger. They circled one another, holding onto their blades with twitching fingers, set on regaining the upper hand.

Now it was on Feyd to attack first, his blade met hers over and over again, until he cut her cheek, drawing a hiss out of (y/n). She was heavily panting as he chuckled, bringing the bloody tip of his blade up to his pale lips to lick it clean, moaning at the taste of her blood. 

Something began to shift at that moment, something that forced her to drop her blade, to throw herself into his grasp and to kiss him. Both fell back to the ground, allowing Feyd to cage her between the floor and his frame. His hand found her throat to keep her pinned down beneath him, all while their tongues fought for victory. 

(Y/n) tightened her legs' grasp around his waist to pull him even closer, moaning at the way he ground his hips against hers, making her feel his hardening cock straining against his tight trousers. Everything about this moment was new to her, unsure of where to go from there without any experience guiding her, not knowing how to touch her husband. And yet, everything seemed to come almost naturally to her, trusting her body and Feyd to push her through the soaring waves of heat filling her trembling body.

“I should have fucked you months ago. You had your chance, but now I won’t be gentle with you, I will fuck you as a woman like you deserves to be fucked.” His words shot heat straight to her core, words that forced her to hold still as Feyd kept manhandling her, cutting her shirt open with his blade. The groan that left him at the sight of her naked chest made (y/nn) back arch, desperate to feel his hands on her. “I should tie you up, keep you as my toy to claim whenever I am hungry for you. I bet you’d enjoy that, wouldn’t you?”

“I hate you!” It was nothing but a lie, a lie both easily saw through, but at that very moment neither Feyd nor (y/n) cared about pleasantries, urged on by their desires. He cut open her trousers before another curse could leave her, exposing her arousal-covered folds to his darkening eyes. Tonight he’d litter her in bruises. Tonight he’d force her to follow his rules. Tonight he’d show her his most ruthless side. 

“Hate me all you want, wife, your body still craves the touch of your husband. You’re dripping for me.” He didn’t warn her before he plunged two fingers into her tightness, feeling her walls flutter around his digits. Feyd held eye contact with her as he spat on her cunt, rubbing his saliva against her pulsing bundle. (Y/n)’s moans rang in his ears, urging him on as if he was high on spice, blurring out their surroundings, blurring out the calmness they were now disturbing. “I can’t wait to rip you open with my cock, make you feel pain you won’t ever forget.” 

Her mind was silenced, fogged up by the lust thumping through her veins. Feyd fucked her with his fingers, he pushed her closer to the high she had only allowed herself to feel whenever she had been desperate for his touch but too proud to search his closeness. But her body wasn’t ready to give up the chase just yet. Her hand found her blade, moving without gaining Feyd’s attention, who was still fully focused on her cunt.

With quick movements, she brought the tip of her blade to his throat, stopping him in his movements. The chuckle leaving Feyd left her smirking, looking even more psychotic with the blood still dripping from the cut on her cheek. She barely put up a fight as Feyd ripped the blade from her hand, as he shifted them around to bring her to her knees and up against his front. 

The blade teased her throat as he held her to him, even as he freed his aching cock, ready to disappear deep inside of her, “You had your chance, I would have prepared you for my cock, would have given you time to adjust. But that kindness is no longer among us. Now you’ll take my cock like my own personal whore.” 

He forced his cock into her cunt, groaning at the tightness engulfing him. Tears ran down her cheeks, tears of lust, of pain, of desperation – finding an unfamiliar sense of enjoyment in Feyd’s rough touches. His name rolled off her tongue as he fucked into her from behind, dropping the knife to choke her with his cold hands once again. 

Feyd was treating her like his pet, treating her like he had been raised to treat women – momentarily forgetting about the love he fostered deep inside of him. And she loved every second of it, finally able to give up control for the first time. 

“It brings me great pleasure knowing that no other man will ever get to have you like this. Your body is mine, you’re my whore, you only listen to my commands. And you will kill whoever dares to touch you should I not be fast enough to do it myself.” His words left her choking, forced to claw her fingernails into his pale skin as her mind began to race. Even though the words didn’t sound like it, it was the most sincere love confession Feyd had ever spoken, words that cut deeper than any blade ever would. 

“Feyd.” She whimpered his name as his free hand found her clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves to push her towards the edge. The first of many orgasms was awaiting her, set on ripping her from this place into another dimension, led by her husband. (Y/n) felt his black teeth run along her neck, biting the spot where her neck met her shoulders, close to drawing some more blood from her weeping body. 

She came without another word clawing through her, calling out his name as her orgasm momentarily robbed her of her vision. Feyd kept a strong hold on her throat, his hips kept meeting her behind, forcing his cock further into her clenched tightness. He gave it a few more thrusts before he pulled out of her and rose to his feet. 

With his hand finding her hair, he forced her towards him, making her scalp burn from the strength of his touch. His cock was shoved past her parted lips, letting (y/n) taste herself on his cock as he fucked her mouth. The corners of her mouth began to burn within a few moments, once again making tears fall from her glassy eyes. 

She had never seen her husband like this, trembling for her, with his head thrown back, and his eyes closed, fully focused on the pleasure thumping through her. No longer did she feel the need to fight, no longer did her fingertips ache for the feeling of her blade, no, for the first time since knowing Feyd, she wanted to give her everything to satisfy the man. 

“You’ll swallow every drop of my seed, and then you’ll lick me clean.” It was a simple command, a command that left her moaning around his cock. Feyd came within a few more seconds, releasing himself down her throat and on her eager tongue. The two held eye contact as she swallowed, as she ran her tongue up and down his twitching length, following his every command. 

“Where are you going, wife?” She froze in her movements, her heavily panting self had turned from him, set on plopping down on the ground to catch her breath. (Y/n)’s wide eyes were drawn back to his like spice forced up into the air, following the wind’s call. “That was only the beginning. I won’t be done with you for a while.”

[brailsthesmolgurl]

APPRENTICESHIP

Preview: Set back in the olden days of China, your attendance was much summoned by Master Li Shen, a renowned Medical Physician that is in need of an apprentice. Known for his stoic personality, your temperance was definitely tested. But, could there be an actual explanation behind his stoicity?

Warnings: Angst but does come with fluff (that does not actually last long heh), surprise side character oops, suggestive themes because i know chu dirty dirty (like me)

P.S: I am not a doctor, hence most of the 'medication methods' mentioned in here are for the sake of the plot and is not and shall not be implied to real life practice! Futhermore, I am not a historian so I am not the best at depicting traditional China perfectly, all of the basis of my descriptions are taken off of the Chinese dramas I used to binge on. This story was also highly inspired by this amazing artwork and the most recent memory of his! He is always known as Doctor Zayne in modern days, so why not give it an inspirational twist and make him a highly honoured doctor in the older days of Chinese history! Divider is sourced from here!

The night after the incident, y/n could not wipe off the way events had unfolded during the night where Li Shen was tending to her wounds. The feeling of staying afloat while she was unconscious, could it be Li Shen who was carrying her back to his abode? Did he found her in the alley that night when the attack had happened? Or right when it was about to happen? She had so many questions, but little to none answers.

Running on assumptions does not seem to be worth her time either so she decided to confront Li Shen about it. However, it took her more than a week to muster up the courage she needed to ask him such questions that had been bottled up in her. Back to the current moment, she was sat in the treatment room, next to Li Shen, jotting down notes on the bamboo sticks for patient records. "Your wounds are not as deep, provide this young man with some herbs. You can take it everyday and you shall see improvement."

She wrote down the herbs that would be issued to the man and propped the ink brush against the ink stone, awaiting for the ink to seep further into the bamboo slip. Li Shen had gotten up, muttering to her that he shall be in his chambers and had asked her to finish up the current patient. Much obliged, she put the bamboo slip onto the tea table and grabbed some bandages made out of woven cotton.

The patient that sat in front of her was quite a good looking young man, long silvery-white hair that flowed down to his waist neatly tucked behind his shoulders as he was sat in front of her, top peeled off for her to examine his wound. He calls himself Qin Che when he was asked for his name at the start of the treatment. The man had eyes the shade of rubies that glinted whenever he watched her focusing on applying the herb onto his wound. So, this is the girl that the physician had set his eyes on? Qin Che finds it amusing.

"If it hurts, you can tell me and I shall let you have a breather." She glanced up from his naked torso and beamed warmly. Qin Che looked down at her, nostrils hanging high when he barely felt the sting of the herbs laid on his wound. He sighed and tugged a side of his lips up in a smirk, ruby gaze dancing between her eyes and her lips. Studying his prey carefully, watching her basking within the glow of the moonlight. "Is everything okay?"

"Never better." His voice, grumbled through his torso as he replied. This prompted her to fix her gaze back to his wound. The patient's body was full of cicatrixes, some formed scars, some still healing and some newly acquired like the one she is currently treating. He might be that tough of a hunter to obtain such scars. Her trail of doubt was interrupted when she felt a pressure against the top of her head. Looking up, she noticed Qin Che has his palm sat on her head, the smirk still stuck on his face. "You're as pretty as a doe aren't you?"

"Excuse me?" She was ready to pull back but his hand shifted positions to grab her by the nape of her neck and he pulled her upwards, his strength so great that all it took was one arm to get her secured within his lap. Y/n gasped but was immediately shushed by the man whom had already pressed his lips against hers. Her hands came up to push against his chest but it was to no avail. The man is built like a rock, heavy and immobile. "S...Stop." She begged with squeaks but the man did not budge, tongue darting out to lap at her bottom lip as his other arm grabbed her by the waist to secure her within his embrace. "Please..no..."

Based off of her will, he eventually pulled back, still holding y/n on his lap and he watched her flustered emotions, her arms raising up to shield her face. But Qin Che stopped her, wanting to savour the expression she was holding for the past few minutes. "You had never been touched before, haven't you?" His voice littering goosebumps onto her delicate skin. "Now I know why Li Shen was willing to leave you alone in the same room as me." She sensed betrayal, as if she was pawned off to a stranger for mere entertainment. Yet, she could not believe that Li Shen would do this to her. However, she could not even put a finger on what was going on in his head most of the time so who is she to assume that he may not have bad motives towards her?

Her mind is starting to be overwhelmed, hands turning cold, head still bowed low to avoid the intense gaze of the man with scarlet orbs. "He wouldn't do that." Her lips muttered what her conscience wants to believe but Qin Che only removed her off of his lap and he stood up, his height much taller than Li Shen's, making him much more intimidating. "You're lying." She could sense his presence, that same overwhelming aura she had gotten the moment she had entered the room. Fingers gripped under her chin and her head was tilted upwards, eyeing the man with the half naked torso, and a wicked smile on his handsome face.

"A pretty flower like you do not deserve to be deserted within such barren lands." He released his grip on her chin and caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. His gaze seemingly had softened under the flickers of the candlelight. "It has been my pleasure to see you my princess. I look forward to our next meeting." His hands retracted, leaving the burning sensation behind as a mark. Pulling on his top, he secured it with a knot and he grabbed the sword that he had placed leaning against the wall. When he turned, she caught sight of his waist tag.

The small and compact identification tag was carved out of jadeite jade, the sheen of green unnaturally brighter within the shine of the moonlight. In this day and age, waist tags identity one's status, family lineage and also their wealth. Jadeite tags marks as one of the most influential beings within a nation and the fact that Qin Che has one, it enshrouds her small mind even more. This man is not an ordinary hunter as what she had figured, he is a scion. Her lips could not utter anything, for she had pieced the explanation for his aura, his scars, his attitude and his sword together and now had grown to be more wary of him.

Out of respect, she kowtowed, forehead pressed tightly against the back of her hands. The man sauntered over to her and she closed her eyes, anticipating any forms of physical contact that she does not even have the strength to fight against but it did not came. Instead, the man served her a command. "Fear me not, for I will come back for you, my flower." He ran his hands smoothly down the back of her head till he reached her nape and he knelt down on one knee, whispering into her ear, his breath batting against the shell of her ear. "Next time, I'm afraid I might not hold back my desires on you."

Li Shen got up from his seated position and headed over towards the patient room that y/n was last seen in. He was wondering why she has yet to bring by the patient records for storage. Sliding the doors open with a thud as it came to a stop, he was taken aback with the sight of her on the floor, hair once in a bun now unkempt, flowing down her back with ends meeting and spreaded out on the floor. Her dress was slightly crumpled and she was caught staring into the expanse of the cold hard floors. His heart faltered yet again.

"Y/n." He leaned down to her, lightly tapping her shoulder to elicit a response. Y/n's head turned as her name was called out and he could make out that she had been crying, with streaks of moisture on her cheeks that glistened under the moonlight and her eyes that was unwilling to meet his. "Did something happened between you and the patient while I was gone? Did he do something to you?"

Her lips quivered, tears gathering at the corners of her eyes when Li Shen asked her about her wellbeing. The sense of betrayal had blinded her with such rage that she pushed him off, making him stumbled back and sat onto the floor and he watched when she dashed out of the room. "Y/N!" He shouted for her name, pushing himself off of the floor with one arm and he started sprinting after her.

Qin Che's arrival was undue. It was in the middle of the night and the man had appeared at his doorstep, with a huge gash on the side of his hip, blood soaked through his top. He is a stranger, for Li Shen had never met someone who had looked so intimidating like him. Although blood was dripping down from the sides of his lips, he seemed unfazed by his wounds, only asking for herbs and he shall be on his way.

But Li Shen still took him in, because assessing the way his clothings were tainted red, he could have died if he were to be told to leave the premises. However, his crimson eyes got Li Shen wondering if he was the myth that was foretold by the villagers; a king who failed to be crowned due to betrayal, a forbidden king so great that he moves only within the mist, bearing bloodshot eyes like a beast and with a strong desire for revenge against the kingdom. No questions were put forth of course, as Li Shen has never been the one to pry for answers. Especially when this man may be a dangerous individual.

Leaving her alone with Qin Che however, was not a decision he made abruptly. It was observed throughout treatment, that Qin Che was too weak to make any advances hence he decided to leave her alone to finish cleaning up his wounds. Li Shen had retreated back to his own quarters to seek for any other viable herbs that he may prescribe to the man. Yet again, Li Shen's guilt hits when he spots her disheveled figure on the floor, failing to meet his gaze and now refuses to be within his vicinity.

The physician trudged through the bamboo forests seeking for her, lantern hung at the end of a long stick, grasped within his tight grip as he navigated through the forest. The skies being the only witness to the events that had unfolded, quietly mocking Li Shen's emotions by sending thunder crackling through the dark voids of the night. Rain would come soon and his heart grew wary, worried for her safety. A few more moments went by and he heard rustlings of leaves, followed by sniffles.

"Y/n?" He tried to call her name again, and the lantern lit the narrow paths ahead, till he spotted a figure squatted near the berry bushes. "Y/n..." He approached her carefully, not wanting to startle her any further and he asked. "Are you---" But trails off when he seeks her ankle peeking out from beneath her skirt, a few cuts littered on them. There are no doubts she would not be slightly hurt as she did charged out without any guidances of any lanterns. Yet again, Li Shen was relieved at least she is in one piece.

Without even seeking for her permission, the man bent down next to her and wrapped his arms around her waist, hoisting her up onto her feet. Y/N only continued sniffling, tantrum seeking defeat when she was urged to climb onto his back and she got on, holding onto the lantern to light their way home. The journey back was a bit of a distance, and the two were entertained with the choirs of frogs, chanting to welcome the rain that was about to pour. "Why did you gave me to him, alone?" She was the one who broke the silence, itching to seek for the ugly truth, or so that was what she had in mind.

"By no means I intended to. I wanted to get him another kind of herb so I was off to my room to look through my medicinal records." Li Shen explained, eyebrows now knitted together when he tried to balance himself while carrying her up a slope. "What happened in the room when I was away?"

Her voice was hushed, indicating her fear and embarassment. "He...He kissed me." The way Li Shen's body stiffened got her stamping her face against his back. The thunder had cut through the awkward silence in between them, and rain drops started to fall. The young physician looked up at the night sky, and continued his journey, not uttering anything else to combat the ongoing silence. He directed his focus towards getting them out of the rain as soon as possible.

Conversations with Li Shen were held to a minimal threshold for the next few days as there has been a spike in patients due to a common cold. Y/n was not allowed to be anywhere out of the premises of the clinic and is only allowed to treat selected patients, only females to be precise. Ever since that night, Li Shen's benevolence had been put to the test. Rejecting all patients whom had visited him during dusk and applying new rules to enforce her safety. Some may view this to be a result for his absolution, but Li Shen was put in a tight spot. In order to protect her, certain sacrifices would have to be made. His decision is perhaps absolute.

Y/n was sat at her desk, brush in her hand as she is writing a letter for her father, to bid a greeting to him as it has been a long while since she had last went home. Homesick she does feel sometimes, but ever since the new rules are applied, she felt even more lonelier than she had ever been. Small talks with Li Shen now are deliberately rarer, and she could barely muster the courage to ask his permission to allow her to go to the market with him for groceries. A knock on her door jolted her and she turned, facing the door as it slid open, revealing the man she had thought of.

Li Shen slips himself into her room, a scroll in his hand and a bag in another. "Y/n." His call for her name has always been gentle, the only time he had ever resulted to a frantic call for her name was when she ran away from him, out of his personal space, leaving him in a state of guilt and confusion. He took a seat opposite her at her desk and places the items he was holding onto the ground carefully. "I am here to discuss with you about some matters."

Setting aside her brush, she looked up at him and awaited for him to speak. Her mind wandering towards what would be the discussion this time, part of her wishing he would care for her, maybe present a change in her daily routines or maybe finally allow her to take a breather outside of the house with a much lenient curfew. But his stoic look does not look promising. "I will be discharging you back to your home town. You are no longer needed to be my assistant."

Y/n felt her world spinning, her brain hammering against her skull when he literally just verbally dismissed her. He handed the scroll, his eyes studying her shocked features, but he remained expressionless. "Was this because of what had happened? When that patient did something humiliating?" Y/n was upset when the whites of her eyes are starting to line with red veins, tears surfacing. "Or was it because I ran away and you find me to be troublesome to your operations?" She had never been so straightforward, so outspoken about herself that Li Shen is all the more convinced that she will no longer remember her past memories with him and this is the right choice for him to make. For her good and for his own to forget about her.

Reluctantly sighing, Li Shen's eyes failed to meet hers. His sanctimonious act felt like an abrasive insult towards the young woman. "Nary of your propositions affected me when I decided upon this." His hands worked on smoothing a slight crease on the shoulder of his white hanfu. "I took you in only because of your father's wish and insistent nature." And maybe I just wanted to see you again. The last sentence of his was hushed, restrained from rolling off of the tip of his tongue. "You may pack up your necessities, your carriage will be ready by tomorrow for you."

He caught her hunched figure, candle light painting warmth onto her now pallor face. The silence in between them was cut off with the sounds of toads croaking. Her small hands had scrunched onto the piece of scroll, distorting the scroll into a crooked semi circle. She looks pissed, but had uttered naught. "There is one more thing I had in my mind." Laying down the scroll in her hand, she looked up, pupils dilated as she moved closer towards Li Shen. She was expecting him to move back, to not be so keen on her invading his personal bubble but he stayed put in his spot. "What went through your mind that day, when you found me in the patient's room?"

An imaginary spotlight was placed onto the young physician, his eyes staring straight back at hers, his forest-like irises eaten by his black pupils. He opened his mouth to speak, but to his surprise, she cuts him off with a question that reeked of dourness. "Were you elated perhaps?" His eyebrows furrowed as she continued questioning him. "That you managed to pawn me off to that patient and allowing him to display such indecent manners upon me." Her torrents did not seemed unending, her laments expressed through every single word of hers. "My father gave me a choice, whether to be married to someone of royalty that he had picked for me, or to work for you. I chose you, Li Shen."

Li Shen although seemed indifferent, he felt like he was to be blamed for the guilt she is feeling. Or whatever negative emotions she has to hold onto at this very moment. "I figured it can't be a coincidence, but, having you to send me off now, maybe it was my father's plan afterall. Maybe he did got you to set me up with that patient and after what the man had done to me, I would be bound to him, for I no longer maintain the chastity of my lips." The tears finally shown themselves, trailing down her pale cheeks and dripping down the edge of her jaw. "I never thought---"

"I would not do that to you." Li Shen chimed in before she could continue, already annoyed at the accusations that were placed upon him. He himself did not know that Qin Che is a royalty, nor did he paid specific attention to his identification tag around his waist. Li Shen placed two fingers under her chin and brought her face up just high enough so he may see her. Eventhough she is crying, she still nevertheless looked ethereal to his eyes. "I'm sorry that I made you feel this way y/n. But I did not act according to your father's will to find you someone of royalty. For I am no matchmaker." His eyes traced down her tear streak, till it came to a halt at her plump lips. "In fact, your father sent you to me not only because of your apprenticeship," his voice had gotten hushed and it was like he had silenced the croaks of the toads outside of the room they were in. All y/n could hear was the sound of his gentle voice, cooing her. "but he seeks for us to be in matrimony too."

Gasping, she blinked her eyes rapidly, refusing to believe that Li Shen is supposedly going to be the one that she shall be holding matrimony with. She could not bring herself to say anything, but to only be lost within his gentle, eager gaze. Li Shen's eyes darted back to her lips, and he slowly leaned in, giving up the advices thrown by his mind as he let his conscience took over him. "That day, when I found you, I was beyond furious. I never thought seeing you in that state would take me such great willpower to hold me back from acting brashly. I had never wished for you to be in danger, y/n." His lips hovered over hers, and she could feel his slightly quickened breaths feathering against her upper lips. "I want you, y/n."

The collision of theirs lips was a burst of emotions, a canonical event that shall reshape the course of their relationship. Li Shen had held back long enough that he thought his desires were going to vanish if she were to leave him. But the longingness he felt, mixed with his desire for her love, was not a good mix and it showed through his fervent kiss. He pushed her back, hand placed behind her head to be a cushion for her as she laid back against the mat. His lips were soft, gentle and needy, lapping over hers like soft tides over the edge of the beaches. His kiss had set Qin Che off to another tier --- imposing a new threshold for y/n--- as it was slow, unrushed, emotional and it felt right for her.

After a moment, their passionate embrace was withdrawn and Li Shen leaned back slightly, a tinge of scarlet now apparent on his cheeks and tips of his ears. The kiss was abrupt and with her most recent trauma, he was not sure if she could have taken their kiss lightly. However, she seemed to be spacing out, eyes slightly narrowed, lips slightly parted and complexion mimicking his, with the scarlet blush splattered across her cheeks too. She did not seemed to be in any abnegation, but she does bear the look of someone who was flabbergasted, or more confused. “My apologies.” The physician blurted out and her eyes travelled to meet his. Engaged in an intense stare, Li Shen could feel his heart trying so hard to lurch out of his chest.

“Li Shen.” A hand on his got the thump of his heart to slow down. Hearing the way she had called out for him and judging by the way she had reacted to his kiss, Li Shen was convinced that perhaps, perchance, she might not have taken it negatively afterall. “I think I need some time.” And there goes the crack on his heart. But when her fingers wrapped around his hand, it got him to continue listening to her. “I like you Li Shen, but I think with what had happened recently, I think it would do me good to retreat back to my home and to recollect myself.” Her words were drawn out slowly, as she seeks for his understanding on her situation, for she is nervous too.

“I understand y/n.” Li Shen reassured her, using his other hand to cup one side of her cheeks. “I will give you all of the time you need, but do not wrong me for giving up on you y/n.” A small smile then appeared on his face when she placed some of her weight against his palm, with her eyes closed, seeking refugee within his warmth. “I do want to be in matrimony with you.”

Her eyes slowly opened, and her smile surfaced. Under the cadence of the candle light, the dim, warm light danced across her face akin to how the butterflies flopped in Li Shen’s belly too. Being emblazoned with the memory of her lips on his, he could no longer look forward to that kind of passionate interaction as he knew that just because he got to hold himself back this time, it may not work as he intended anymore next time. And if her chastity have to be maintained till after marriage then Li Shen would patiently await for her, no matter what it takes or how long it takes for him. “I should leave you to rest for the night, y/n.”

Leaving her in the room, knowing that she would be departing the next day gave Li Shen a heavy heart. It was so heavy that it weighed in for his footsteps, the wood beneath evolved into imaginary mud, dragging his steps into clomps and slowing him down insignificantly. Arriving at the doors leading to his chambers, he heard a shrill of a crow, followed with an ear piercing scream. Li Shen turned and started dashing his way back to her room. It was no doubt that the scream belonged to y/n. "Y/n!" He called out, slamming both of her sliding doors opened, any harder, they would have broke off of its hinges.

Standing by the edge of her window frame, Li Shen could make out the figure that invaded her space. The broad-shouldered, towering man adorns a menacing aura that Li Shen had never encountered before. When he turned, Li Shen managed to seize half of his features in the gloomy room. This is the same guy whom had laid hands on y/n, leaving her stunned within the treatment room, unable to croak even a word, and leading her to flight due to his revolting actions. There, in the shroud of darkness, stood Qin Che, bearing the pupils of a monstrous beast that gleamed red under the silver moonlight, with y/n hoisted up in his arms like a porcelain doll that shall be shattered tonight.

Special tags: @xvysarene @pinkblusheschuu @uyenlee

[scarlet4rose]

Sleepless without you

Jess Mariano x reader

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story: your boyfriend Jess wakes you up in the middle of the night cause he can't fall asleep, he's too busy thinking about you

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It´s 3 am and Jess lies awake in his bed. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees your face before his eyelids. He turns around in bed, but he can't get you out of his mind. Jess sighs, thinking about you all the time without you with him is driving him crazy!

When he dropped you off at your house at 10pm, you said you were super tired, so he didn't want to ask you if he could stay over. So he had decided to go to bed early himself too, but now he couldn't find any sleep no matter what he tried. Dammit! One thing was clear, despite of what he had set out to do he just had to see you!

A few minutes later, he had crept to your house in the dark of night and was now standing in front of your window. He knocks, at first gently, then louder.

"Y/n", he whispers your name and fervently hopes you hear him and have not yet fallen into a deep sleep. After a while he hears noises in your room and you open the window a crack.

"Jess?", your sleepy voice couldn't sound any sweeter to Jess and he starts to grin "Yes, it's me babe, as I live and breathe"

You open the window all the way to let him in and he doesn't let a second pass before he joins you in your room.

"What are you doing here?" you ask confused, "I thought we were both going to bed early?" Jess pulls his left leg through the window and is immediately right in front of you, he puts his hands on your hips and gives you a quick kiss on the cheek. "Change of plans, I guess."

"Oh nooo, Jess, I'm really tired," you sigh.

"Yeah, me too, angel"

"Then why the hell didn't you stay home in bed?"

Jess smiles guiltily and lets out a small chuckle "I couldn't sleep without you. I just... I couldn't help it, I had to come here to see you" Your knees go a little weak and you notice his gaze, which he hasn't yet taken away from you for a mere second.

You sigh again "Alright Jess, then stay, I guess" Jess leans in and kisses you deeply, he pulls away from you and then gives you a second kiss. he really can never get enough of you.

"Thanks, babe, I was hoping you'd say that" he then laughs suppressedly "Without your mercy, I probably would have died of insomnia tonight" you roll your eyes "Oh please! The way I see it, I'm the one now who's gonna die of insomnia tonight instead"

Jess shakes his head as he gently twists your body around so that your back is now pressed against his chest. He slowly walks you back to your bed in the corner of the room. "Nah, no way Y/N. You`re gonna get your sleep, I promise".

Standing in front of the bed, he slowly lowers you onto the mattress and pulls the covers over you before getting in bed himself. He wraps his arms around you and whispers softly "Y/N, angel, I swear I came here just cause I needed to see you. Needed to be with you, alright?" You can't help but smile while you lean back against him "Oh Jess, I guess you`re growing soft. My Jess, my poor Jess..."

Jess frowns slightly "whatever that means. I snuck out and came here to see my girl, that`s not... well- I thought you wanted to get some sleep. You wanna start arguing now?" You grin and turn your head around to kiss your boyfriend on the cheek

"No need to argue, baby, you´re the toughest guy I know, really. well, and...", you can feel his heart beating faster behind you, "and I love you"

Jess presses a kiss on your forehead and hugs you even tighter.

"I love you, too, Y/n"

you snuggel into him and the two of you drift off to sleep.

Good night ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖

[littlefireball]

ꜱʜ|ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍᴄᴀᴛᴄʜᴇʀ (ᴍ/ᴀ)

Write about a dream assassin who is tasked with fighting a nightmare that disturb people's sleep. (ref)

a/n: find it on pinterest and an idea just pops up in my mind

ᴇxᴏʀᴄɪꜱᴛ (ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴀꜱꜱᴀꜱꜱɪɴ) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ x ɴɪɢʜᴛᴍᴀʀᴇ ꜱᴇᴏɴɢʜᴡᴀ

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: ꜱᴍᴜᴛ|ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ|ᴜɴᴘʀᴏᴛᴇᴄᴛᴇᴅ ꜱᴇx|ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ ᴋ*ʟʟᴇᴅ ʜᴇʀ ᴇx ʟᴏᴠᴇʀ (ᴍᴇɴᴛɪᴏɴᴇᴅ)|ᴏʀᴀʟ|ᴍᴀᴋᴇ ᴏᴜᴛ|ꜰɪɴɢᴇʀɪɴɢ|ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴛɪᴍᴜʟᴀᴛɪᴏɴ|ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛʟʏ ʙʀᴇᴀꜱᴛ ᴘʟᴀʏ

ᴡᴏʀᴅ ᴄᴏᴜɴᴛ: 2.8ᴋ

Summary: As an exorcist, your mission was clear: eliminate the demon. Yet, destiny had other plans. You found yourself captivated by him. Even after vanquishing his true essence, his spirit lingered within you, refusing to be forgotten. The only way to find peace was to confront him once more. But could you summon the strength to do it? Or would you surrender to the pull of your heart and let yourself love him all over again? 

"Here you are, nightmare." A deep voice shattered the silence as Seonghwa turned to confront you, a gun aimed directly at him. Ever since that tragic moment when you took the life of your beloved, believing him to be a demon rather than a mere mortal, a haunting darkness has consumed you. It was only natural that you would return here, driven by the desire to finish what you started─killed the demon.

"Ah, what a pleasant surprise, darling." He approached you, arms wide open, his demeanor relaxed as if your threat was nothing more than a playful jest. After all, in his world, he could control everything. 

"What can I do for you?"

"Easy. Stop making a nightmare and go back where you belong."

"My bad. Here I am. The dream is my true home."

"Absolutely not." You tightened your grip on the weapon, advancing toward him. "Hell is."

Seonghwa's smile never faltered, even as you closed the distance between you, the barrel of the gun now inches from his chest. It felt like your weapon was a mere toy in his eyes.

"You see, my dear, you misunderstand. I am not a mere nightmare conjured from the depths of someone's subconscious. I am the guardian of dreams, both sweet and terrifying."

Your finger trembled slightly on the trigger, but you refused to let your guard down. "Guardian? You bring nothing but fear and despair. I've seen the havoc you've wreaked on countless minds."

"Ah, but fear and despair are but facets of the human experience. They shape us, mold us, and make us stronger. Without them, we would be nothing more than hollow shells, devoid of emotion and understanding. I am merely a messenger, a catalyst for growth."

You shook your head, disbelieving. "No, you're just a monster hiding behind the veil of dreams. You feed on people's fears, twisting and manipulating them to your own ends."

Seonghwa's expression softened, and he took a step closer, the gun's muzzle pressing against his chest with each breath. "And what of your own fears, my dear? Do you not fear losing someone you love?I am but a reflection of those fears, a projection of your own mind."

You felt a surge of anger and frustration wash over you. "Don't try to play mind games with me. I know what you are, and I won't let you hurt anyone else."

"Hurt? I have never harmed anyone willingly. It is the fear within them that brings harm, not I. I am but a mirror, reflecting back their deepest terrors. If they can confront those fears, they will find strength within themselves."

Your resolve wavered for a moment, but you pushed it aside. "Enough of your lies. I won't fall for your manipulation. Go back to hell!" 

Without a second thought, you pulled the trigger; yet, he stood still despite the bullet passing through his body. The bullet hole in his chest closed seamlessly, leaving no trace of the violence you had just unleashed. 

"What?" 

"That's what you fear, honey." He cupped your face, gazing at your pitiful eyes. "You can't kill someone you love." Seonghwa's touch was gentle, yet it felt like a prison, trapping you in a reality that was both yours and not. The gun slipped from your fingers, clattering to the ground.

"I don't like you!Just get off me!" You shuttered, trying to deny the emotion that was bubbling up inside you. Yet, despite your words, your heart remained unable to hide the truth from him.

"Are you sure?" His voice was soft, almost soothing. "Or is it that you're afraid to admit it?"

Your heart raced as you struggled to find the word to refute him. "He was true, no. He merely glanced into the depths of your heart, then skillfully manipulated your subconscious to mold himself into the figure of your beloved." You thought. 

"Oh dear, dear." He muttered under his breath. "You know you love me." 

"No, you're evil and I hate you." 

"No.Y/N." He inched forward, his gaze piercing. "You're just afraid to admit who I truly am. You can't bear the thought that your beloved is a demon." 

"Please…no…" You shook your head, desperate to reject reality, yearning to escape the dream, but it held you captive. You shut your eyes tightly, and the only image that surfaced was that of your lost lover, the one you had taken from this world with your own hands. He smiled and waved, a siren luring you from the depths, beckoning you to surrender to this intoxicating embrace of longing.

"Love?" As you opened your eyes, you were greeted by the sight of Seonghwa standing in front of you,in the home you two shared, appearing entirely human. Gone were the devil horns, wings, and tail; everything felt just as normal as it had the day before you discovered his true nature. 

"Are you alright?" he asked gently, brushing away your tears. "What's wrong?"

Memories from the past flicker in your mind once again. He was a demon, having conjured a dreadful creation to dominate the dreams of others, disrupting their slumber and even devouring their souls. You were an exorcist, adept at eradicating the evil that tormented humanity. Yet, fate had a twist in store─you found yourselves falling in love during an encounter. Although you succeeded in destroying his true form, his spirit continued to reside within your heart, an unforgettable presence. 

"I had a terrible dream. I saw you turn into a devil."

"Don't be silly, girl." He laughed softly, wrapping you in a warm embrace. "How could I ever be a demon?" He rested his chin on your head, planting a tender kiss there. You nestled against him, your arms encircling his waist, finding comfort in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Could it all be a figment of your imagination? Perhaps he was merely an illusion, not a demon at all.

"I am afraid." 

"Shh, everything's fine." 

"Can you kiss me, hwa?" You murmured, your voice barely a whisper. "Please..." 

A sly grin danced across Seonghwa's face, aware that you had succumbed to him. With a gentle caress of your cheek, he drew you in for a kiss, slow and tender. Tears welled in your eyes, a painful reminder of the past. Those haunting memories clung to you like specters, dragging you into an abyss of regret, where you might never resurface.

You really missed him.

His kisses, warm and lingering, traveled down your jawline and neck, igniting a thrilling, tingling sensation that made your heart race.

"Be mine, Y/N." In an instant, he cradled your face in his hands and drew you into a fervent kiss. He intensified the kiss, his tongue probing for access with a touch of fierceness, a wordless assertion of possession. A wave of breathlessness washed over you instantly.

His hands crept to your back, slipping beneath your clothing to caress your skin, drawing a soft whimper of embarrassment from you. Your body ignited from the kiss, your thoughts dissolving as the world around you swirled in a dizzying dance. Yet, none of it mattered; you surrendered completely, allowing him to guide the moment. 

He seized your wrist with a firm grip, forcing you down onto the floor, and your clothes vanished into thin air. He showered your chest with tender kisses, his tongue gliding over your skin, punctuated by playful nibbles that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers wrapped around your bare thighs, parting them as he descended toward your stomach. His breath pooled against your clit, making you squirm and curl your toes. 

"Fuck…" You let out a small gasp as his flatted tongue licked your clit from the bottom to the top, shocked by the sudden touch of his wet muscle. "So sensitive, huh?" He drew back to your wetness, dropping a kiss before sucking your bud. A choppy moan and words flew away from your tongue, overwhelming pleasure made you lose words. 

You reached down to press your hand to the back of his head, ruffling his hair as your fingers buried in them. You arched your back and your bottom lips started shaking as soon as his tongue found its way to your cunt. Pushing one finger and his tongue to your depth, he slid in and out slowly, making sure you felt every movement. 

"Hwa─!!" Your whole body shook from his quick thrusting; he pushed in two more fingers to rub against your lovely wall, curling them to kiss your spot with different angles; his nose nudging your clit as he ate you out, tapping your bud and leaving a broken kiss on that. 

"Please…I'm so close…" Shutting your eyes tightly,a knot formed in your stomach that needed to be released. "Show me what you get from him, dear. Make a mess on my face, I want to taste you." His dirty words hung in the air, bringing you to the edge. His thrust went faster and faster, and you came on his face with a heavy pant. 

"Goodness, how delicious you are." Licking away the juices on his face, he then divided into your clit again to taste your sweetness. "Seog…" You tried to push away his head and drew back your hip, the overstimulation made you catch your breath; but he grabbed your ankles to pull you back, pushing them aside for better licking. He sucked even harder and licked faster, producing a loud kissing sound and mixed with your messy moaning. "Cum one more for me." He murmured before latching back to suck your juices. He let out a satisfied whimper, each vocalization caused vibrations that drove you insane. You couldn't help but cum again without warning.

"You're doing well, my baby girl." Seonghwa loomed over you, pressing his lips against yours. As you gradually opened your eyes, a chilling sight met you—an ominous creature lurking behind him, ready to devour your soul. A wave of terror washed over you as your eyes darted back to Seonghwa, who wore a sinister grin that sent shivers down your spine. You realized that retreating was no longer an option; you had to act before it was too late. For a fleeting moment, clarity returned, but it slipped away like sand through your fingers as Seonghwa pulled you deeper into his embrace.

"Look at me." He gently cupped your face with one of his hands, another followed to guide his manhood press against your entrance. "Say you love me, honey. I want to hear from you." 

"I love you…hwa…" Smiling, he pushed forward in one go, intertwining his fingers with yours. Your spine curved once more, your head sinking into his neck before it settled back against the ground. His towering figure obscured your view, leaving you unable to see what the creature would unleash in the next heartbeat."Hwa…hwa…" Your begging was ignored as he kept thrusting steadily. He was long enough to reach your deepest, making your legs bent more. 

He drew his hips a little bit and then pushed back in a quick motion, hitting your spot dead on. His pelvis grazed your clit each time he thrusted in. Everything was not rough but enough to bring you enjoyment; you soon forgot the excitement of the creature as he continued to roll his hips into you. 

"You're so good, honey." His hand slipped beneath your back, lifting you effortlessly and placing you on his lap. One of his legs encircled you, inviting you to snuggle into his warm embrace. With a firm grip, both of his hands clasped your hips, drawing you in with an undeniable strength, making your soft flesh hit his hard tip. "I can't get enough from you." 

"Oh my god!" You encircled his shoulder with your arms, squeezing your eyes shut as the unexpected jolt hit you. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, and then he playfully did it again. You let out a soft whine each time his tip shoved into your tightness. Your wall clenched, squeezing his cock hard, making a long throaty moan fly from Seonghwa's mouth. 

"I'll cum if you keep doing this." Seonghwa opened and closed his mouth for breathing, little did he know, he's already sunk in this love making. The spirit of an exorcist radiates a purity that is rare among humans, making it a sought-after prize. But is it truly easy to seize their souls? A direct approach is out of the question, yet what if they chose to offer themselves? It could be a risk worth taking. If he fails, he faces a return to hell, a place he loathes though. 

Then, he crossed paths with you. Your emotional naivety stands out, captivating him. Through his love, tenderness, and affection, you fell in love with him. The ultimate goal is for you to be the one to end his life. Only then will your obsession ensure his soul remains tethered to you. He was right all along. He haunts your thoughts, tormenting you relentlessly, until today, when you finally gave him everything you had.

Throwing your head at the back to give him more access, he buried himself in your chest, peppering it with an open mouth kiss. He bit your nipple slightly, sucking it to leave a red mark on that and tapping it quickly with his tongue tip. You were so perfect, from head to toe. He could just make love with you endlessly; your body was made for him, your moaning was his favourite rhythm in this world. Gosh, maybe he was the one who couldn't forget you. 

"Cum for me again, honey. I need you." "Fuck…fuck…fuck!!" You couldn't hear anything but your high-pitched moan and rough skin slapping sound. Feeling you reach the peak again, your arms and legs lost all strength as soon as the numbness creeped in, finally came the third time before Seonghwa creamed your wall with his hot white seed. 

Gasping for breath, you fell against Seonghwa's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. "You're mine now, forever." He cradled you into his arms, refusing to release you. As your vision sharpened, the creature lurking behind him came into focus. Before you could utter a word, it engulfed you, each fragment of your being transforming into a flicker of light and vanishing into the ether. Initially taken aback, you swiftly steadied yourself. Ha, you indeed couldn't get rid of him. Without any words, without any reaction, you disappeared in the air.

The world faded into a deep abyss once again, a familiar cloak of darkness that wrapped around him. A contented smirk appeared on his lips as he rose, feeling a rush of strength flood his veins.

It's worth it, even if it does consume time. Her soul was simply exquisite." Seonghwa stepped away from the dream, eager to hunt for his next victim. Yet, he was unprepared for the realization that no soul could compare to yours. An aching void settled in his heart, a persistent reminder of something lost. Why was this? Shouldn't he revel in the triumph of devouring an exorcist's essence? Shouldn't pride swell within him? Instead, he was met with an overwhelming sense of sorrow.

Had he fallen for you, too? He would never confess it. Yet, the memories of your shared moments haunted him—your laughter, your warm embrace, the sweetness of your kiss, the softness of your touch…everything.

—--

"What is the flavor of an exorcist's soul? Is it something delightful? Hongjoong sat opposite Seonghwa, savoring a sip of his drink. 

"Disgusting," Seonghwa declared.

"So you just wasted your time. I warned you."

"Not your concern." Seonghwa shut his eyes, wishing to avoid the conversation.

"Oh, I was actually going to suggest an exorcist for you. But maybe it's pointless now."

"Let me see."

"Are you sure? Didn't you just say it's revolting?"

Seonghwa shot him a glare that could freeze fire, prompting a chuckle from Hongjoong as he pulled a photo from his pocket.

"Here she is. I think you'll find her intriguing."

As Seonghwa gazed at the picture, a tremor of emotion coursed through his heart.

"Y/N…?" 

"Well, it depends on you how to deal with her."

Even though Seonghwa was unsure of why you remained, one thing was clear in his mind: he would once more make you his own.

tag list:@angelsaway, @yeosangcutie0615

[mm-lurking]

Your mara brings me pain too - Blade

Blade is the coldest Stellaron Hunter of them all. He is a man of few words and even fewer emotions. One fateful day you get a message from Kafka asking for your help and you learn that behind his cold exterior is a man just like you- and everyone else; he has fears, pain and regrets of his own.

A/N: I don’t understand much about how his mara works but this is how I envisioned it as. Plus, it was about time I wrote something on reader comforting Blade.

ALSO THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR 100 FOLLOWERS!! Oh my god thank you for liking my writing >< T^T

Warnings: Blade x fem! reader, angst and pain, fluff, please Blade deserves so much love and affection, idk my writing feels choppy my apologies I’m rusty as hell.

WC: 4227 — Hey are you free right now? It’s urgent.

One day on the Xianzhou Luofu your phone buzzes at night. You weren’t doing particularly much, just cleaning your space and lounging around. You pick up your phone and squint at the sender’s name only to stare at it for a while wondering if you read it right. It was Kafka.

I am available what’s up?

You wondered why Kafka would contact you for help at a time like this. Was everything ok?

Can‘t explain too much but it has to do with Blade. Come over as fast as possible.

You jump upon reading the message. There is a slight elevation in your heart rate as you read his name. Blade was the Stellaron Hunter that had caught your eye when you first encountered him. As days turned into weeks and weeks turned into months, you started realising that perhaps you were in love with him. The idea of that sounded so stupid that you hated to admit it but it was the truth. Obviously, the 9 million bounty over his head wasn’t discouraging enough to stop these feelings.

Left with no choice, you grab your phone and head out the door, practically sprinting to the hideout where those two resided. You’re breathless by the time you arrive and knock on the door, panting like a dog as Kafka opens it. She looks at you with surprise all over her face.

“You’re here. That was fast.”

“You said it had to do with Blade so.”

“Ah yes, it does. Come inside.”

You follow her inside and shut the door close. Neither of you say anything and you silently follow her to a room in the distance. Right before she enters the room she turns around and looks at you with an unreadable expression.

“His mara is acting up again but this time he is wounded pretty badly. While I use my spirit whisperer to calm him down, I need you to help me heal and keep him steady. There is a first aid kit on the table inside.”

You stare at her with wide eyes and blink, taking a minute to process her words. Your gaze flicks back and forth between Kafka and the door, and you take a long pause before saying anything.

“Kafka are you sure it’s ok for me to…”

Your voice trails off. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to help him. You were a healer; on expeditions and other occasions it was your responsibility to heal and tend to others wounds. But this was different -you liked Blade and you weren’t sure if he was comfortable with you healing him. You didn’t want to upset him when he was stable again. Kafka notices your dilemma and shakes her head.

“If there is anyone I can trust Blade with, it’s you. Plus, he would be ok with you.”

That makes your heart flutter but you mentally make yourself shut up and nod. She turns back around and twists the doorknob open, revealing Blade lying on the bed with injuries and hyperventilating. His coat has been discarded on the side of the bed and he lies on the mattress with nothing but poorly wrapped gauze on his upper body. There is a lot of blood splattered all over his limbs but the wound on his chest makes your heart twist; it’s oozing with warm blood and the bandages are unable to stop it.

The injury looks painful. The wound looks like a shattered mirror with lots of little cracks and crevices. You’re so shocked by his state that Kafka has to snap her fingers in front of your face to take you out of your trance. You look at her and then back at him again, wondering how to even explain what you were feeling.

“How did he…?”

“He must have over-pushed himself again. The Xianzhou Luofu reeks of his past and even with the lack of memory, the emotions are still present to induce his mara.”

You cautiously take a step closer to the bed. He’s clearly out of his mind as he keeps mumbling things along the lines of  “you must pay the price” and “my sins are no different than yours traitor”. A part of you is afraid to approach him as you fear he might accidentally hurt you in this state. But the other part of you aches seeing him in so much pain and there is nothing more you wish to do than to soothe his suffering.

“Be careful.”

Kafka warns you and you nod your head while continuing to take closer steps to his bed. There is an aura around him that you cannot discern; it is an uncomfortable feeling of pain and suffocation. By the time you are right by his bedside, the aura only gets stronger and worse. You

can hear him withering in pain from his wounds as sweat rolls down the side of his face. He turns his head left and right continuously as if trying to ease the discomfort. Judging by his half-lidded eyes, it seems he isn’t aware you’re standing next to him.

Immediately you summon your healing power, first creating a shield around yourself to protect you from the aura and any sudden self-defense movements he might do. Then, you lean closer towards his body and place your hands on his chest, removing his bandages carefully to begin healing.

“I’m going to start using the spirit whisperer now. On my count. One, two-“

You zone out the moment she finishes counting and release all the power you have into your hands to heal him. There is a faint yellowish glow over his chest as you hover your hands over the wounds. It takes a considerable amount of power to work on each wound he has, especially the one right in the middle of the chest that hasn’t stopped bleeding. You hear him groan in pain as you work your way through the different injuries continuously.

“I know…I know…”

You whisper soothingly as he seethes and huffs, presumably from the spirit whisperer. For a moment there is silence in the room until suddenly Blade throws his arm towards you, smacking your shield with a loud thud. The unexpected action makes you stumble a little and your healing abilities dispel from the shock.

You look up at Kafka who gives you a concerned look. She had mentioned that she cannot stop her ability halfway through the process and therefore leaving you alone to deal with Blade. You gaze back at Blade who's starting to stir awake and his groans only get worse as consciousness begins to set in.

With a deep breath, you hover your hands over his chest again and resume healing. Unfortunately for you, he tries to hit you again and the thud on your shield makes you flinch. Despite this, you push forward as you grit your teeth and finish healing his main wound.

A surge of pain takes over you as you exhaust yourself in the process of healing him. He’s trying to throw hands at you again, this time more aggressively as if trying to stop you from healing him. However, based on his constant murmuring and the pain laced in his voice, he’s reliving something and is accidentally taking it out on you instead.

At one point you catch his hands as you tightly grip them and hold them in place to stop him from hitting you. His strength is overbearing even during such a state of weakness. He squirms in your grasp, trying to escape but you hold onto him until he finally gives up and loosens his grip.

“Easy there Blade…”

Who knows if he’s actually able to hear you but regardless, you continue to whisper comforting things to him, trying to ease the pain as much as possible. It hurts seeing him in such a frail state, one where you can’t intervene. The mara is a sickness only those inflicted with it can understand and feel and as such, you’re left to watch him from the outside as he fights the battles in his mind.

The last of his wounds are easier to patch up and it should take no time to heal them. But just as you’re about to start healing again he physically stirs and you watch him twist and turn as his eyes flutter open. There is a momentary silence in the room before he shifts his head to look at you and you swear you see hatred in his crimson eyes.

“You traitor..!”

You gulp. He’s still mara-stricken but just awake. You’re unsure if you should say anything as it might make things worse; what if he gets physical with you? Hesitantly you softly reply.

“Blade, it’s me.”

“You…you must pay the price!”

Before you know it he has grabbed onto your arms once again and tries to wrestle you. The sheer force he exerts on you makes you panic as you try to make him let go.

“Blade…!”

You look back at Kafka whose eyes are closed as she continues her part of the job. A chill runs down your spine as you slightly panic, afraid you will be alone in dealing with his sudden change in demeanour. Another burst of light leaves your hands as you form a new shield and wrestle to contain him.

After what feels like forever, the unyielding grip he has on you loosens and he breathes heavily. You watch as he takes large gulps of air and turns his head side to side over and over. A pang of pain hits your chest as you try to ease his discomfort again, healing the last of his wounds while he seems to be calm. 

Silence falls in the room again as you finally finish healing. You take this opportunity to stare at his figure only to notice he has fallen completely silent and looks to be asleep. Confused at his sudden behaviour change, you glance at Kafka again who opens her eyes and looks at you. She gives you a small smile and you immediately understand that she has finished using her spirit whisperer.

“I have suppressed the mara in him. He should be fine now. Thank you for your help.”

Your attention shifts back to Blade, and you gaze at him longingly.

“You’re welcome.”

Kafka nods and smiles at you again.

“I will leave him in your capable hands. I am sure he will need your presence when he wakes up.”

You’re not sure how to feel about that. Yes, you would love to look after him but you were also afraid he wouldn’t be pleased if he saw you. Before you can say anything, Kafka leaves the room and it’s just you and Blade alone together. You haven’t been able to process anything since you arrived. Everything was so chaotic and sudden that only now were you able to think through things. You mentally trace the wounds on his chest, starting from the ones on his shoulder and moving your way down to his abdomen.

The injury on his chest hurts you the most. In your lifetime of getting injured and healing others, you’ve seen it all. You’ve seen flesh burn, knife stabs down to the bone, small scratches; name an injury and you’ve seen it at least once in your lifetime. But his wound was a unique situation. You knew that no matter how much he was stabbed and hurt his flesh would heal over and over on its own. That was the curse of immortality given to him. No matter how grave the injury, it would heal.

That doesn’t mean it wouldn’t hurt right? You couldn’t even fathom the pain he went through everyday, getting hurt in fights and having to come back to his residence to bandage up everything on his own. Each day like clockwork that’s what he probably did, cursing his immortality as he cleaned up his wounds all by himself, all alone.

The image of that brings tears to your eyes as you look at his face. How lonely must it be to live a life like this? To know you could never die, to know that you would have to look after yourself all on your own? Did he ever wish that someone could look after him just once? Or did he think he wasn’t deserving of such love?

Your tears splatter on the bedsheet as you feel an overwhelming amount of sadness from such thoughts. How desperately you wished you could be the woman by his side to assist him in such moments. How desperately you wished that you could love him so dearly that every fibre of his body felt wanted and desired.

It takes you a while to calm down from such depressing thoughts. The tears have dried from your eyes but you continue to sniffle as you grab the bandages and gauze from the first aid kit to bind his wounds. Slowly but gently, you clean up the remaining blood on his body with a clean cloth and sanitise the wounds before sealing the area with the gauze.

You couldn’t help but start tearing up again at the thought of him wrapping the gauze around himself on his own. For how long had he been doing this? How many years? How long and how many injuries must it take for one to become a master at bandaging their wounds?

You cannot contain the tears in your eyes as they accidentally drip onto his abdomen. You attempt to hurriedly wipe your eyes but it’s hard to contain them the more you ponder. What you don’t realise is your sniffling and tears have prompted the man to wake up.

“Urgh….why are you crying…?”

His deep raspy voice makes you jump slightly and you aggressively wipe your tears before smiling at him.

“Goodness, you’re awake. How are you feeling?”

You reply, completely ignoring his question. You’re aware he’s watching you as you work on his wounds, bandaging him carefully.

“Urgh…!”

“Ah I’m sorry, does that hurt?”

Worried, you lean closer to him and examine his shoulder carefully. You gently press on it to confirm the pain. He groans again and you give him a small smile.

“It’s a bit tender. Try to relax as much as you can.”

Instead of doing that, he catches your hand and looks at you intently. Your heart skips a beat as you make eye contact with him.

“I need to patch up the last injury on your arm Blade.”

“Stay.”

“I am not going anywhere.”

You reassure him and he nods before closing his eyes and exhaling. It takes a little under a minute for you to wrap up his arm injury and you sigh after you’re done. When you observe his body now, you see more bandages and gauze than his skin and the pang in your chest comes back again.

“…would you like some water Blade?”

You quickly ask since you were afraid you would start crying again. He opens his eyes and looks at you blankly before nodding. As he attempts to sit upright you quickly assist him, placing a hand on his back while the other holds his large one. He observes the shakiness in your hand as you pour him a glass of water and bring it to his lips.

“Drink some.”

The gentleness in your voice soothes him in a way he cannot explain. He complies and drinks the entire glass, all the while maintaining eye contact with you. Suddenly you feel very embarrassed and attempt to distract yourself but when your gaze lands on the chest wound you can’t help but feel sad again.

When he’s done drinking, you place the glass on the nightstand and sigh.

“Are you feeling any better?”

You softly ask as you help him lie down again. He hums and you take that as a yes. Unable to help yourself, you lean closer towards him and brush stray hairs away from his forehead. The proximity between you both makes your heart race but you fail to notice it as you absentmindedly run your fingers through his scalp. The sensation is calming and he finds himself relaxing under your touch. He watches you closely again, observing the tiny frown on your face and your red puffy eyes while you’re busy playing with his hair. He notes that you look exhausted.

“Your eyes are red.”

“Huh? Oh.”

You plaster a smile on your face. 

“Don’t worry about it.”

He didn’t need to know what you were feeling. It was embarrassing and you didn’t want to make things awkward between you both.

“Are you- urgh!”

He groans in discomfort while trying to adjust himself. It’s the wound on his chest that seems to be the problem now.

“Easy there.”

You quickly help him out, checking the bandages again and readjusting them. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and you grab a cold compress from the first aid kit to wipe them away. His breathing pattern is inconsistent as he huffs and sighs from the aching of his body. You check his forehead and it feels warm to the touch which makes you frown.

“Blade I think you have a mild fever.”

“It’s the side effect of the mara.”

“You need to take medicine.”

“There is no need.”

“Are you sure?”

You stare at him sadly and he sighs. You continue to wipe the sweat off his face and neck as he takes shallow breaths.

“Did Kafka send you?”

He manages to ask in between the bouts of pain.

“She did.”

He sighs and intently looks at you.

“When the mara strikes you shouldn’t be next to me.”

“She said she could trust only me with you.”

He scoffs.

“Even so.”

Silence fills the air before he continues.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

“Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

You jokingly reply only to realise he’s being dead serious when you make eye contact with him.

“I’m ok. I am a healer after all.”

You change the cold compress as you speak and look for a new pack. It is then he notices the slight bruises forming on your arms and the redness around them. Without a word, he grabs your arm and you yelp.

“Hey-?!”

He examines your arms and gazes at you with a look you cannot decipher. You gulp at the intensity of his gaze.

“When exactly did you get here?”

“Blade none of that matters, all that matters is if you’re ok-“

“Did I hurt you?”

You immediately shut your mouth. There are several ways you want to answer the question but nothing comes out.

“I will take that as a yes.”

“Blade please-“

“Why would you risk being around-“

“Because I care for you!”

A sharp exhale leaves your mouth as you realise what you just said. The tears you had been trying to hide so desperately started to flood your eyes again.

“Please. Let it be.”

You whisper slowly while putting away medical supplies. In your peripheral vision, you see him look at you with wide eyes as if unable to understand.

“I am a healer Blade, I will be fine. But I worry for you.”

You gently whisper as you adjust the bedsheets around him and fix his long hair. This time your tears have nowhere to hide as they freely roll down your face. With nothing left to do, you just awkwardly grip the edges of the bedsheet and hang your head low.

“I will give you some space. Rest well.”

The moment you let go of the bedsheet and try to stand up, he immediately clasps your hands tightly and silently demands you to stay.

“Blade?”

“Stay.”

Hesitantly you remain by his bedside and look at him. He doesn’t let go of your hands and continues to peer into your eyes.

“Stay.”

He repeats himself and you sigh.

“Alright.”

He slowly shifts away from you and pats the edge of the bed. Your eyes widen and you look back and forth between him and the bed.

“Are you sure?”

He doesn’t reply and instead gently drags your hands towards him until you have no choice but to sit on the bed. He then proceeds to look at your arms and then at you again.

“You…the fate of those I know is never a good one.”

You intertwine his fingers with yours and tenderly smile at him.

“That will change with me.”

You watch how his eyes widen momentarily before he turns his head away.

“You have a long life ahead of you, young one. Don’t waste it on me.”

Hearing that makes you frown.

“You’re going to have to find better ways to get rid of me then.”

“Mm.”

Silence falls once again. To your surprise, he doesn’t pull his hands away from yours as you rub circles on it. You note how calloused his hands are and the amount of scars littered on them. There is warmth radiating from his palms and it feels comforting and protective.

“Are your wounds still hurting?”

“No.”

“Good.”

You shift around to get a better look at his face.

“Do you feel at ease now?”

“Mmm.”

“Let me know if you feel any discomfort, okay?”

“You need to be more careful when the mara strikes me.”

“…”

“It is reckless of you to be around me even if you are a healer.”

He then turns his head to get a better look at you.

“I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.”

You absentmindedly run your fingers through his hair again and sadly smile.

“I hate that you have to deal with this alone Blade…”

You mentally yell at how tears have started forming in your eyes again.

“I hate that you suffer on your own while I spend my days in comfort. I hate that you have to bandage and heal yourself every day all alone. I hate that you’ve grown so accustomed to this life that you do not allow yourself to be loved.”

The tears in your eyes fall on him once again and he grips your other hand tightly. There is a confused look on his face, as if he doesn’t understand why would someone care for him and why would someone feel sorry for him.

“Foolish girl. Why are you crying?”

“Because I-“

You choke on your words and attempt to hide your face by hanging your head but fail to do so. He slowly brings his free hand to cup your face and sighs. His palm completely encapsulates your cheek and you subconsciously lean into it.

“My life is cursed to immortality. It is my sin to bear.”

“Still-!”

“Do not cry. This is a daily affair.”

“Doesn’t it hurt Blade? Even if you’re used to it?”

He takes a deep breath and wipes the tears away from your eyes.

“A sin is a sin. Of five people, three must pay the price. I am one of them.”

You sob harder into his hand, unable to stop yourself from feeling this way.

“Just what sin must one commit to suffer such consequences?” He stops wiping your tears and gazes at you momentarily with an indescribable look in his eyes. You can see how there are thousands of thoughts swarming him as he wonders what to reply. Fearing that you might have overstepped his boundaries, you immediately try to change the topic.

“You don’t have to tell me anything. I just..”

“It is a long story young one. Should you ever have to face the situations I have, do not make the same choices as me.”

“It must be hard to live with such regrets…”

He stares into the distance then hesitantly replies.

“Even if I have regrets, there is no point in pondering about them. There is nothing that can be done.”

“I am sorry…it should be me looking after you, not the other way around…”

You manage to say in between your hiccups. He continues to wipe the tears from your face and gives you a small smile. Seeing him smile makes your heart skip a beat and you can’t help but give him one in return.

“You need to rest.”

“So do you.”

“I am already resting.”

“I can rest later.”

He sighs at your stubbornness. You giggle a little and squeeze his hand, reassuring him you would be fine. A little chit-chat later, Blade falls asleep from your rhythmic playing of his hair while still holding your hand. There is a large silly smile on your face as you look over him lovingly.

Your tears have dried and the aching in your heart has calmed down. In his lifetime, you may not be able to take his curse away but the least you could do was to be by his side in times of need. If the Aeons were kind enough to you, perhaps in the future you could be his woman. There is a strange feeling of determination that burns in your chest as you hold onto his hand tighter and stroke his hair. You silently stare at his peaceful face, mentally tracing his handsome features as he takes slow deep breaths. The thumping of your heart grows louder with each passing second.

I would do anything for you Blade. Anything. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[novaursa]

The Conqueror's Legacy

- Summary: Dragon blood is meant to twist and coil on itself, and so Aegon wishes to bethrode his children to each other.

- Paring: sister!reader/Aegon I Targaryen

- Note: This story is part of The Broke Crown series. These events happen after Fire and Heart. The masterlist is pinned to the top of my blog.

- Rating: Mature 16+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround @fiction-fanfic-reader @fireandblood-mharmie @poisonedsultana @sunset18rose

You watch as Aegon’s figure cuts through the misty morning on the high ridge where Balerion waits. The sun catches his silver hair, casting a glow around him that feels both warm and commanding. Your son, Aerion, grips your hand tightly, his young face a mixture of excitement and fear. This will be his first flight on Balerion, the Black Dread—a rite of passage for a Targaryen child.

Aegon turns his gaze towards you both, a rare softness in his eyes as he walks back toward Aerion, kneeling before him. “Are you ready, my son?” he asks, his voice both gentle and firm.

Aerion swallows hard, his little hand clutching your fingers tighter. “I am, Father.” His voice trembles, betraying his nerves.

You kneel beside him, brushing his silver hair back. “Remember, Aerion,” you whisper, “Balerion is mighty, but he knows us. There is nothing to fear with your father by your side.” You give Aegon a small nod, silently entrusting him with the task of guiding your son into the skies.

Aegon’s hand, large and steady, rests on Aerion’s shoulder. “Hold on tight, and trust in me,” he says to the boy, a faint smile on his lips as he rises, extending a hand to help him onto Balerion’s massive saddle.

You watch, heart thudding, as Aegon lifts Aerion onto the dragon’s back and secures him. Turning his gaze back to you, he reaches out a hand. “Come, Y/N,” he calls. “Let us show Aerion the skies as we know them.”

With a nod, you join them, swinging up onto Balerion’s back and sitting just behind Aerion. The dragon beneath you shifts slightly, his wings stretching as he senses the journey to come.

“Are you ready, Aerion?” Aegon asks once more, his hands steady on the reins.

Aerion nods, clutching the saddle as tightly as his small hands can manage. “Yes, Father.”

With a powerful thrust of Balerion’s wings, you feel the ground fall away beneath you. The air whips against your face as you ascend, the dragon’s mighty beats echoing in your ears. Aerion gasps, and his grip on the saddle tightens.

“It’s alright,” you murmur to him, leaning forward to place a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Look around, Aerion. All of Westeros lies beneath you.”

Aegon glances back, his expression calm, though you catch the hint of pride in his gaze. “You see, Aerion, this is what it means to be a Targaryen. To look upon the world not as others do, but from above.” He gestures to the vast landscape stretching beneath, the rivers winding like silver ribbons, the mountains rising like ancient giants, and the green valleys unfurling in every direction.

“Do you remember what I told you of dragons, Aerion?” Aegon asks, his voice carrying over the wind.

Aerion nods, his awe-struck gaze locked on the view. “That they are our blood, bound to us.”

“Yes,” Aegon replies. “They are our blood and our legacy. And one day, you will ride a dragon of your own.” His gaze shifts from Aerion to you, a glimmer of affection in his eyes.

You smile, feeling a surge of pride in your son. “And on that day, he will remember this moment, with his father and mother by his side.”

As Balerion soars higher, Aegon begins to point out landmarks, recounting tales of battles, triumphs, and legends, his voice full of pride for his heritage and love for his family. Aerion listens raptly, his fear long forgotten.

After a time, Balerion’s massive wings tilt, and he begins a slow descent back to Dragonstone. You lean closer to Aegon, letting your hand rest on his back, finding comfort in the heat of his presence.

“A fine young dragonlord he will be,” you say quietly to Aegon, feeling a warmth bloom in your chest. “With his father’s strength and courage.”

“And his mother’s wisdom,” Aegon replies, his tone soft, but you hear the deep respect in it.

As you touch down, Aerion dismounts with a newfound confidence, turning to you and Aegon with a bright, excited smile.

“I’ll remember this forever,” he promises, his voice filled with a young boy’s awe and reverence.

Aegon kneels to meet his son’s eyes. “Good,” he replies, his hand resting on Aerion’s shoulder. “For one day, you may need to call upon this strength.”

Watching them together, you feel a profound sense of belonging. In this moment, high above the world, there is only the legacy you have built together.

The children’s laughter drifted through the courtyard, a sound of innocence against the heavy stone walls of Dragonstone. Aelora and Vaella, the daughters of Aegon and yourself, played hand-in-hand with their older half-brothers, Maegor and Aenys. Their silver hair gleamed in the sunlight, a reminder of their Targaryen blood, as their games wove them closer together like threads in a tapestry.

Visenya, regal and vigilant, observed the children, her expression one of quiet contemplation. She saw Maegor take Vaella’s hand, guiding her gently through the intricate game of dragon scales—a game she had taught him. Meanwhile, Aenys tried his best to keep up with Aelora’s boundless energy, his warm laughter echoing with hers.

“Aegon,” Visenya murmured, her voice barely a whisper, but Aegon’s attention turned to her as though he’d been waiting. She glanced his way, her piercing gaze softened by a hint of curiosity. “Do you mean for them to be more than just kin?”

Aegon didn’t answer at once. Instead, he watched his children, seeing something in them that ran deeper than family ties. “I do,” he replied after a moment, his voice steady. “The blood of Old Valyria runs strong in them. A union between the four would keep our line unbroken, ensuring the strength of our House.”

Visenya raised an eyebrow, a small smile playing on her lips. “You have thought well on this, brother.”

“Of course,” Aegon replied. “But I will speak with Y/N when she returns from her flight. The skies bring her peace; she feels freer with Tesaerix. And with the pregnancy…” He trailed off, his gaze thoughtful. “I would not place added weight upon her without her counsel.”

Visenya’s eyes softened as she followed his gaze back to the children. “She has always been close with all young ones,” she remarked, thinking of your gentle, protective presence with Aelora and Vaella. “They adore her. When she speaks of their future, I see the pride in her eyes. She would want a say in this, Aegon.”

Aegon nodded, his expression warming at the thought of you. “She has a sense for them, a way of knowing what is best,” he agreed. “I would have her wisdom in this. And besides,” he added, a touch of humor entering his voice, “I am certain she would be eager to decide who suits whom best.”

At that, Visenya laughed, a soft, restrained sound that felt rare and genuine. “No doubt. I imagine she has her own ideas on their futures.”

Aelora’s sudden cry of joy drew their attention back to the children. She and Aenys were locked in a playful contest, each trying to topple the other over a small pile of stones. Vaella, more reserved, clung to Maegor’s hand, watching her sister’s antics with wide, curious eyes. Maegor himself seemed slightly amused, his normally serious expression softened by Vaella’s quiet admiration.

“They’re well-matched,” Visenya observed, her gaze flicking between the pairs. “Aelora has a fiery spirit, much like you. She would balance Aenys’ gentler nature.” She looked at Maegor, her pride for her son evident in her gaze. “And Vaella... she has a steadiness, a quiet strength. I believe she would understand Maegor’s nature better than most.”

Aegon nodded, deep in thought. “I see it, too. But I would hear her thoughts, her dreams for them.”

“She will approve,” Visenya murmured confidently. “She has always held our family’s future close to her heart.”

As they watched, Aelora and Aenys finished their game, both flushed with triumph and laughter. Aelora’s hair whipped around her face as she gave a victorious cheer, and Aenys gave her a mock bow, ever the polite young prince. Meanwhile, Vaella offered Maegor a small, shy smile, her hand still in his. Maegor, unsmiling but gentle, squeezed her hand in response, a quiet exchange that needed no words.

Aegon’s face softened. “There is promise in them, Visenya. A unity that could bring us all closer.”

“And yet, I think she would caution you to give them time,” Visenya added. “She would want them to come to this union willingly, even as we guide them.”

At that moment, the air stirred, carrying the distant sound of dragon wings. Tesaerix appeared on the horizon, her brilliant scales glinting in the sun, with you at her helm. Aegon’s gaze brightened as he watched you descend, your bond with your dragon evident in the graceful way you rode.

Visenya offered him a knowing smile. “Go to her, brother. Speak to her of your plans.”

Aegon nodded, a rare smile touching his lips. As Tesaerix landed, he walked toward you, watching as you dismounted with a practiced ease. He reached for your hand, steadying you with gentle strength. “You seem lighter,” he murmured, noting the glow of your cheeks.

“The skies ease me,” you replied, your hand lingering in his. “It is as if the weight of the world falls away up there.”

Aegon led you closer to the courtyard, guiding your gaze to the children as they played. “Y/N,” he began carefully, “I have been thinking of their futures.” He gestured toward Aelora and Vaella. “And those of their older brothers.”

You raised an eyebrow, a spark of curiosity in your eyes. “Tell me,” you encouraged, leaning into him.

Aegon explained his thoughts, his desire to bind the four children together, ensuring the strength of their line. As he spoke, you listened carefully, a soft smile curving your lips as you watched your daughters with their half-brothers.

“They care for each other already,” you murmured, seeing the gentle way Maegor looked after Vaella and the joy that sparked between Aelora and Aenys. “A bond would feel natural to them.”

Aegon nodded, his fingers grazing yours in a quiet show of unity. “Yet I would not do so without your voice in this. They are ours, as much your vision as mine.”

You looked at him, warmth in your gaze. “I see the wisdom in it, Aegon,” you replied softly. “But give them time to grow into this bond on their own. Let it become their choice as much as ours.”

He nodded, gratitude in his eyes. “Then it will be as you say.”

You shared a look, both of you understanding that this moment was but the beginning. And as you watched the children, your hand in his, the future felt secure, a vision built not just on legacy, but on love and understanding.

[buckyalpine]

Catch Me If You Can 2/3

Mob!Bucky x single mom police officer

I am so happy you all loved these two so here is more from this AU. I had the story half in mind but wasn’t sure if people would feel it, once again, LMK if you want more! 

Warnings: fluffffff, single mom reader, crappy ex, Mob Bucky is a whole ass warning 

Part 1

Part 3 

-

You woke up to the smell of fresh coffee, sun pouring in the giant room, your body still aching from the night before but the peaceful rest proved to be helpful. You smiled at the steaming cup that sat by your bedside table, picking up the hand drawn card that was placed beside it; giant heart coloured red was in the middle with the words Get Well Soon decorated in bold letters. You grinned, opening the card to read your sons hand writing. 

Dear mommy,

Get well soon. Uncle Bucky says he took good care of you and that you’ll arrest him once you’re all better. He bought me a kinder egg. He seems nice. Maybe give him a running head start. 

Love and kisses and cuddles,

Jordan 

PS: Can we stay a little longer? Peter is still trying to beat me in Mario Kart

On the side of the card were a bunch of other messages, each signed by Bucky’s men. You shook your head at the signatures, your son having asked every one of Bucky’s men to sign the card, well wishes from them all scattered across the paper. A knock at the door broke you away from the card as Bucky peeked in, happy to see you were awake. 

“Where did he get art supplies” You snorted, while Bucky walked in, carrying a tray of eggs and toast. You whispered a quiet thank you as he set it down for you, taking a seat by the edge of the bed. 

“Had Steve pick some up” Bucky couldn't help but chuckle, remembering the way your son had asked him to sign the card before proceeding to go around the house with a glittery pen. 

“He loves to draw” you hummed, tracing over the bright, colourful letters on the smooth paper, the materials clearly from a higher quality art store. As nice as everything was at the moment, tension lingered in the air; the question of how you ended up in this position in the first place still left unanswered. 

“What happened” Bucky spoke softly while you turned away not meeting his gaze. Your jaw clenched as your hand skimmed over the bandage that covered your gash, a dull ache still radiating through your side. 

“It was-nothing” You lied poorly, unsure of to explain the situation to Bucky of all people, “Just some people trying to scare me” 

He didn’t believe it for a second. 

“This was personal doll” Bucky tilted your chin to meet his eyes, knowing damn well even some of the more unruly gang members in the area wouldn’t dare attack a police officer in their home, especially when they had a child. “Who hurt you”

“It doesn’t matter” You shook your head feeling helpless, knowing the problem wasn’t something you’d ever be able to easily get rid of. Bucky chewed his lip, deciding not to press the matter further but he couldn’t help the curiosity that still picked his brain. 

“Jordan came to me...didn’t call 911″ He cocked his head, wondering why your son would chose to come to  his club over easily calling 911 to help you, something you would have surely taught him. (Especially after he had kidnapped him...)

“He goes to people he can trust” You stated, nibbling on the toast, groaning at the grin that spread across Bucky’s face, “Don’t get it twisted, that doesn't mean I trust you” 

“Of course, officer” 

God, he was such a little shit. You hated the way his charming laugh made your insides giddy along with the way he was taking care of both you and your son. As if he could read your thoughts on que, he spoke before you could mentioning leaving. “Stay a little longer”

“Bucky-”

He shook his head, not letting you speak further, urging you to finish breakfast instead. 

“Your home was compromised, the locks were broken off. Let Sam and Steve clear some stuff up a bit and reinstall some new locks. They’re on it right now” 

You wanted to protest but you also knew there was no arguing with him, if all past encounters with his illegal antics proved anything. When he set his mind to something, he did it. This was one of the few times you were secretly happy he was so hard headed. 

“Alright” You smiled softly, cocking your brow at the smirk that danced on his lips immediately after. 

“Can’t promise I won’t give myself a spare, doll” Bucky winked leaving you to finish eating and rest up while he quietly made his way out to make sure your house was taken care of. 

As promised, Sam and Steve had gone above and beyond, cleaning and patching up all the damages, including replacing the broken photo frames that were smashed to bits. The locks they added were far stronger than the ones you had from the Home Depot, clearly purchased from somewhere you had no idea existed. Bucky had dropped you home along with a very excited Jordan who felt like he had Christmas twice this year, hauling bags of art supplies behind him.

“Y’know this changes nothing” You reminded him,  your cheeks warming up at the way he bit his lip, giving you a cocky smirk. 

Little shit. 

“Wouldn’t have it any other way, doll” 

*****

As expected, gang activity was back up and you were back to your job of investigating the latest nonsense Bucky was up to. You seemed to still be the only one concerned about stopping what he was doing while the rest of the department pretended not to see a damn thing. Most of the day would alternate between you trying to do your job and being told to lay off the mob boss. 

The worst was the little traitor that lived under your own roof. 

“Uncle Bucky is kinda like Batman” Jordan stated while you gave him a pointed look, continuing to make him breakfast which now consisted of scrambled eggs and toast, just like how uncle Bucky makes them. 

“Explain”  You knew you were going to regret asking as soon as it came out of your mouth.

“Well, he’s rich. Very rich. He likes to help people. He wears a suit. He stops the bad guys”

“He is a bad guy Jordan” You had your hands on your hip, challenging Bucky’s latest swimfan. 

“But the badder guys! That has to count for something” He peeked at you with hopeful eyes before turning back to his toast, nervously poking at it. “Can I play with Peter?” 

“Peter” You frowned, not remembering any of Jordan’s friends with that name. “Peter who?”

“Paarkerr” He drawled out, blinking up at you while you connected the pieces together, your eyes growing wide. 

“Absolutely not” 

“But moooom” Jordan gave you his best puppy pout, “None of the kids in my class are as good, you told me I should challenge myself” 

“That doesn’t mean you find competition in the house of the Mafia, Jordan!” You scoffed while he slumped his shoulders, hopping off his chair to get ready for school. You knew he was guilting you, acting as if you had refused to feed him for the rest of his life, staring out the car window like a sad puppy on his way to the pound. You kissed him goodbye, promising him you’d “think about it” before driving over to the prescient, most of the day filled with paperwork, a part of your actually thinking about letting Jordan play video games with Peter before you shook some sense back into your head. 

Just because he saved you once didn’t mean you had to let your son play with his junior henchmen. 

*****

You sipped on some tea as evening rolled around after helping Jordan with homework, the rest of his night spent using the newest fancy art supplies he’d gotten. You no longer paid attention to the show on TV, frowning at the unmarked truck that had circled the block twice. Then three times. You carefully reached for a gun tucked under the sofa and stood by the side of the window just out of sight. The SUV came to a stop near your driveway; uncalled for butterflies erupting in your tummy when you realized who it was. 

Bucky stepped out of the truck while you opened the door, your son much quicker than you, slipping past your arm and darting straight outside. 

“Uncle Bucky!!” Jordan grinned, bounding towards the all black SUV, ignoring your calls for him to slow down, maybe not run with so much passion and admiration for a man who had once kidnapped him and taken care of you and nursed you back to health and changed your locks and why the hell were you feeling hot and fuzzy right now. 

“Hey kid” Bucky smiled while you huffed, making your way over, poorly masking the smile that tugged at your lips. 

“Did you get lost Barnes, or were you here to kidnap me today instead?” You teased while Jordan slipped back into the truck to talk to his second favorite “Uncle” Steve. 

“You wound me doll, y’know, I’m not just a heartless gang leader” his facial expression almost the exact same as what Jordan had given you earlier. “Just came to see how you were” He said sincerely, not realizing his heart rate had calmed as soon as he saw you and your little one safe in your home. 

“We’re safe” You nodded, your heart fluttering at the way his gaze softened, scanning the area just to be sure there wasn’t anyone he didn’t recognize lingering near by. 

“Good to know” Bucky murmured, giving you a once over before getting back in the truck and leaving for the night. He didn’t like that he was still in the dark over what your story was. He didn’t like not knowing who hurt you; they were still out there and it made him sick. You didn’t deserve that. Jordan didn’t deserve that. You didn’t need to know that he had done some digging, learning a bit more about you but not enough to get answers. 

You also didn’t need to know that his unannounced visits were more frequent that you realized, sometimes a car circling around Jordan’s school, sometimes a quick roll around the block at midnight. 

Steve and Sam were only able to contain themselves for so long, making their own betting pool over how this would all end. 

They hoped it’d end with them getting a nephew. 

Maybe one day. 

*****

6 missed calls

4 voicemails

100+ text messages

Your jaw clenched watching your phone ring again, the No Caller ID screen shining bright as you ignored the call. Of course you still had the other issue to deal with. One that you had kept hidden ever since you moved to the city. One that had followed and found you over and over again, even after you managed to change your number and address.

The nightmare never stopped.

“You gonna get that? Someone’s been trynna to reach you all day” Your boss piqued as he walked by, curiously eyeing your phone that had been ringing the entire morning and afternoon, eventually muffled when you stuffed it in your bag.  

“It’s fine” You gave him a tight lipped smile, waiting for him to pass by before calling your son’s school and making sure he was still there, informing them to not let anyone else pick him up but you. 

As you drove home with him, you were on edge, your nerves ready to snap, heart rate spiking erratically. Jordan chatted your ear off about how he was still the reigning champion of his video game but you couldn’t help but feel a sense of uneasiness, the same feeling you got the day Bucky rescued you. The same day you were attacked. 

You just knew. 

The front door was still locked as you inserted the key. 

The lights were all still turned off.

But you knew. 

The hairs on your neck stood up as soon as you entered your home, the smell of alcohol enough for you to know who was already inside.

“Babycheeekss” 

Your stomach flipped, the blood in your veins turning into ice as he stepped out from the shadows, his feet crunching over the glass from the window he had broken into. 

Not again. 

“Baby, go upstairs” you whispered to your son, who was reluctant to leave your side, refusing to look at the man that was supposedly his father. You nudged him, giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze urging him to leave; the last thing you needed was for him to be further traumatized. Jordan shakily made his way up, stopping at the top of the stairs so he’d still be able to see you, reaching for the baseball bat he had kept by his room. 

Uncle Bucky would be proud of me, he thought, his small hands tightening around the handle, fiercely protective over his mama. 

“Why are you here” You hissed, flashbacks clouding your mind over the way he had broken into your house and didn’t take no for an answer. 

He’d rather have you dead than live peacefully single. 

“To see my son” Your ex shrugged, taking another casual step towards you while you backed up, slowly reaching for your gun. “I mean, he is my son, isn’t he? Unless you think there’s reason to believe he isn’t” Andrew sneered, while you scoffed, your hands trembling, hoping Jordan was safe in his room before you drew your weapon. The last thing you needed was for him to get hurt while protecting the both of you. 

Before you could do anything,  the front door swung open with a bang, your ex’s eyes growing wide, frozen in place, focused on the man that was now behind you. 

You turned around, gasping at the soft baby blue eyes that were peering down at you, his pink lips this time with a deep frown instead of his typical boyish smirk. Bucky gently tugged your arm, pulling you behind him, keeping you far away from your ex who was staring daggers at the both of you. 

“What the fu-”

“Stay away from her” Bucky growled while you ex scoffed, taking a step forward instead. 

“And who the hell are you? Her latest fuck? A new boytoy to play with?” Your ex challenged, unable to hide the quiver in his voice. If not for the seriousness of the situation, Bucky would have laughed. It was a valid question. Who was he to you anyway?

“Mommy?” Jordan padded down the stairs, instantly rushing to your side, his worries washing away when he saw who had come to the rescue. 

“Stay upstairs Jordan” You tried to urge him back upstairs but he stayed rooted in place, not willing to leave if there was someone trying to hurt you. 

“Let me see my son-” Andrew tired to take a step forward but Bucky wasn't having any of it, keeping the both of you behind him, and pushing your ex away. 

“Don’t” Bucky growled, keeping his itching hands away from his gun. It would have taken him all but 1 second to put a bullet between Andrews eyebrows and have the body disposed of within the half hour but he didn’t want to either of you to have to witness that. 

“Hey bud” Your ex tried to reach out for Jordan again, hoping he’d get some leverage if he got him in his hands. “C’mon, you missed me, didn’t ya?” 

Jordan trembled, his small hand clutching onto the back of Bucky’s suit jacket, the other still holding his bat. He shook his head, tightening his grip when he saw the anger flash across his fathers eyes. Bucky reached behind, taking your hand in his, holding it firmly in his grip hoping to ground you. 

“Leave” Bucky stared at your ex, nodding towards the door, giving him a final warning to leave with his life. Andrew glared at him before narrowing his eyes at you and Jordan while he silently left, the look he gave you telling you this wouldn’t be the last time he’d see you. Or so he thought. 

As soon as he was out the door, Bucky immediately turned to you, his hand cupping your face, scanning you up and down for any signs of injury, his features softening when he didn’t see anything. 

“You’re coming with me” Bucky stated, taking your hand in his again, ignoring the way his heart was still beating out of his chest. You wanted to argue against it but you didn’t feel safe in your own home and a hotel didn’t exactly seem like a safer option. 

Perhaps sleeping with the enemy wasn’t so bad...

At least sleeping at his house. 

You cocked an eyebrow, glancing at the door that was perfectly in tact, no signs of a forced entry from when Bucky entered the house. How the hell did he get in. 

“How did you-”

“Told you I’d make myself a spare” Bucky grinned, twirling a small gold key between his fingers, itching to wrap his arms around you. He squeezed his hand to his side instead, letting you go up to pack some things to take to his place while he waited for you outside. 

-

You had agreed to stay at his place until the window as fixed and a security system was installed throughout your house.

Then you agreed to stay for an additional week just to be safe.

Then that turned into two weeks to make sure Jordan was extra safe. 

Then that turned into three weeks while Bucky took care of business. He didn’t tell you what that meant but he promised you’d never have to worry about Andrew again. 

The nature of your relationship was confusing.

You spent time with Bucky, sometimes with Jordan and sometimes all by yourself while both boys ditched you to do something that would probably leave you reeling. There had even been a number of times where Bucky himself had gone to pick up Jordan from school, your little one more than happy to ride in the huge dark truck, any chance he got. 

You had no idea what to do with yourself, screaming internally on a daily basis, wondering why someone who did 101 illegal things a day made you feel giddy, feel safe, feel butterflies, all while quietly tossing a body off into the lake. 

It didn’t matter what you felt. 

It didn’t matter than his charming smile made you melt.

It didn’t matter than he took care of you in every way possible, not once looking at you in a way that was disrespectful. 

Nothing mattered. 

You were both still too different for anything to happen. 

Sweet as Bucky was, nothing would happen between the both of you.

That's just how things had to be. 

You reminded yourself that every night, whenever Jordan rambled on for hours over how much fun he had with uncle Bucky, how he taught him self defense, bought him more art supplies, beat Peter at video games again, got used as a human volley ball between uncle Steve and Sam. 

That's just how things had to be.

Then why were you still in his house. 

- 

“I don’t think I like the name Uncle Bucky anymore” 

“You don’t, huh?” Bucky smirked at his little side kick, your son no longer paying attention to his homework which he now often did in Bucky’s office. He took a sip from his apple house, swirling the ice around the glass cup just as Bucky did with his whiskey, taking another long drag before setting it down. 

“We look alike” Jordan stated, looking up at the mob boss while they both sat on the office couch, neither of them focused on their work anymore. Jordan reached over for the kinder egg that sat on the table, a treat Bucky had bought him for doing well on his math test. 

“We do” Bucky nodded, while Jordan smiled in satisfaction, munching on the chocolate, scooting over a little closer to Bucky. 

“Some people say you look like my dad” He spoke a little more quietly this time, inching closer until he was pressed against Bucky’s side. 

“Uh-huh” Bucky watched Jordan curiously while he assembled the toy, chewing on his bottom lip. 

“Sooo...”

“Soo?” Bucky waited for him to continue while Jordan fidgeted with his kinder egg toy, his eyes now trained on his lap, worried about what the answer would be. 

“Can I call you dad instead?” His voice was small, wavering slightly, unsure how Bucky would react. He held his breath, not daring to look anywhere else, hoping his request wouldn’t upset the mob boss. He didn’t need to know that he’d already been calling Bucky dad in his head for a while.

What would da-uncle Bucky say? 

Tags: @glxwingrxse @hungryyeyess @sebsgirl71479 @beabutterfly987 @teambarnes72 @witchywhore @jamesbuckybarneswify @slutforsexyseabass @chrisdrysdale @littlemarvelmenfan @buggy14 @whimsyplaty92 @sergntbarnes @inkedaztec @pono-pura-vida @moonlightreader649 @brooklynscherry-z @elle14-blog1 @justsebstan @littlelightnings @happyt0exist @emmabarnes @bethyruth @matchat3a @cjand10 @getwellsoontana @cherryschaos @lokisasgardianvampirequeen @ashenc-blog @buckybarnessimpp @potatothots @goldylions @high-functioning-lokipath @morganemorganite-blog @kingfleury @peaches1958 @spiderman-stilinski @peaceinourtime82 @gublur @wintersmelodie @geeky-politics-46 @lolawassad @almosttoopizza @a-poor-gryffindork @alternativeprincess @buckycallsmeaslut @kamaria-sweet-writes @charmedbysarge @xnorthstar3x @kryoee7 @alina02 @gh0stgurl @polishprincess999 @jessybarnes @alltheficsiwant @chemtrails-club @eralen @perdidosbucky-yyo @clqrosmgc   @buckybarnessweetheart   @pandaxnienke   @manyfandomsfanvergent

[ashtxrie]

plot twist! (sunoo)

PAIR. hogwarts student! sunoo x gn! hogwarts student! reader GENRE. hogwarts au, best friends to lovers, fluff, idiots in love, sunghoon is a real one (no house specifications mentioned!) WORD COUNT. 1.2k WARNINGS. none :) NOTES. everyone needs a sunghoon in their lives… + can you tell that i love the best friends to lovers trope with sunoo IN WHICH: you were trying to get kim sunoo to reveal who he liked while brewing amortentia, yet somehow sunghoon tricks you into revealing your feelings instead. what a jerk.

sunoo stares solemnly at the potion bubbling in his cauldron, fiddling with his fingers. the opalescent sheen of amortentia reflects in his eyes, and he turns to look at you, shrugging helplessly.

“just smell it,” you offer helpfully. “what could go wrong?”

sunoo looks at you mildly. you can already tell he’s beginning to think of everything that has gone wrong every single time you say something like this.

“right.” he cracks a smile. “like when you convinced me to eat two sugar hexes in one go?”

“that was once –”

“and when you told me to walk through the bloody baron?”

“i was in first year–”

sunoo laughs. “just wow. that’s horrible advice.” he leans backwards from the cauldron, his fingers still pinching his nose.  “but like sunghoon said,” he begins melodramatically, swiping a hand across his forehead, “amortentia makes lovesick fools of us all.”

you raise an eyebrow. “yeah, i doubt he’s ever said that.”

sunoo scowls, though not really meaning it, continuing to stare intently at the amortentia. “shut up,” he says, now resorting to waving the wisps of spiraling steam away from his face. “let me have my moment.”

“yeah, which you’ll have if you just smell the potion for once,” you say with a gleam in your eye. “what, are you afraid that it’ll be mint choco or something?” 

“i will not smell mint choco oh my god–”

“oh you definitely will.”

“i love mint choco but not like that– what is wrong with you how are we friends–”

“then what are you so afraid of?” 

your question catches him off guard, and he stays silent for a moment. he opens his mouth, about to say something, then closes it again. he shakes his head, eyes darting to look at something behind you. “i– i don’t know.” 

the seconds of silence that follow are broken as sunoo stands up too quickly, apothecary vials jittering. every eye lands on him, and he flushes, saying a quick “sorry!” before he turns back to you. “i’m just going to go and,” he gestures vaguely. “get more ingredients for the potion.” he sticks his hands in the pockets of his robes and makes for the cupboard, until sunghoon park stretches out his hand and pulls sunoo into the seat beside him.

the class snickers, rolling their eyes, and resumes their creation of the potion.  somewhere near the stained glass windows, the professor reprimands jake for attempting to slip a bit of his amortentia into a small vial after a dare niki gave him.  

sunoo and sunghoon whisper furiously at the desk near yours, and you can hear a little bit of what they’re saying.  

sunoo holds his face in his hands, shaking his head repeatedly as he groans. “i can’t!”

sunghoon whispers something back, rolling his eyes. he looks up to meet your gaze, then shakes sunoo, and leans down to whisper something.

sunoo peeks at you from behind his fingers, then abruptly shuts his eyes again and slams his head against the table.

you frown, tapping on jungwon’s shoulder. “watch my amortentia for me, will you?”

the boy nods, shrugging, as you get up and sit across from sunghoon and sunoo.

their conversation cuts off immediately. sunghoon looks immensely pleased.

“why are you acting so weird?” you reach to fix an apothecary bottle that lies skewed on the desk.  

sunghoon nudges sunoo. “why’re you acting so weird, sunoo?”

sunoo laughs quickly. “weird? i’m not weird, never!” he flushes, pulling at his hair. “nevermind, don’t answer that. i am weird. the weirdest.”

meanwhile the color from sunghoon’s face drains, and he widens his eyes in exasperation. “shut up,” he hisses.

sunoo nods while sending sunghoon a look, trying to stop his hands from quivering. “okay yeah you’re right.”

sunghoon looks at you dryly, pushing the cauldron of amortentia toward you. “what do you smell?”

you waft the potion towards you, smirking. “the real question is what sunoo smells. he ran away before i could get him to tell me.”

sunoo stiffens.

“i personally think he’ll smell mint choco,” you offer, nudging his shoe with your foot.

“oh really?” sunghoon smirks, his eyes boring into you. “that’s interesting. very interesting, actually.”

“you don’t think he will?”

“definitely not.” sunghoon folds his hands on the table and devilishly stares at you and sunoo. “oh, this is golden.”

you roll your eyes, beginning to rattle off all the things you smell. then you pause. “there’s something else too, it’s sort of odd.”

sunoo looks up curiously, his hands stilling. “what is it?”

you frown. “it’s like citrus, freshly washed clothes and–”

“–white peach?” sunghoon inserts casually, his voice a little too light, a little too innocent.

you brighten. “yeah. you’re right, actually.” you look at him curiously, tilting your head. “how’d you–”

recognition ticks in the back of your brain and you freeze. “shit.”

you don’t notice the way sunoo’s face turns a bright shade of pink, the smallest smile beginning to flutter at the edges of his lips. 

instead, you stand up from the table and return to your desk, frantically stirring your amortentia.

sunoo walks by your seat after a while, standing near your desk. “um,” he says.

you shake your head and glare at your potion. “go away.”

“okay.” and then, “sorry.”

you watch out the corner of your eye as he returns to sunghoon, who facepalms.

the clocktower chimes and you rush out of the classroom.  

you spend the rest of the week avoiding them until one day, sunoo taps on your shoulder.  there’s no one else in the corridor.

he looks down at his feet, his hands shaky. “i think you know why i want to talk to you.”

you shrug. “just forget it.”

sunoo leans back, eyes hurt. “forget it?”

“yeah. i don’t want to ruin our friendship.”

“what if i don’t want to forget?” he looks up at you, his eyes soft. “would that be so bad?”

you stare at him, something happy bubbling inside.

“i didn’t tell you what my amortentia smells like because i already knew.” he smiles. “like foggy days in the astronomy tower.” he stares at you hopefully. “and trying new skincare while talking about anything into the night in the common room. and eating mint choco ice cream in hogsmeade– so, i mean, in a way, you were right, i kinda of did smell mint choco too…” 

realization dawns on your face. “you should’ve just told me!”

sunoo gives you a teasing look. “you should’ve just told me!”

you smile happily. “take me to hogsmeade next weekend.”

“of course.” sunoo wraps you in a hug, resting his head in the crook of your neck and smiling against your skin. “i really, really like you. i always have.”

you nod, breathing in the lingering scent of white peach. “me too.”

[taesancore]

School au Friends to lovers w Woonhak pls ☹️ He's the cutest I want more ppl to write for him!!

the playlist i never sent

woonhak x f!reader

(𝐈) slow dance

a/n: omg anon ily for this ask!! i’ve been writing a f2l school au for woonhak but with a little twist~ i’ll be releasing it in parts as a series and i hope you enjoy it!!

🕊️.ᐟ synopsis: in which a dateless woonhak finds himself swept away by a mysterious white masked girl during his school’s senior masquerade ball.

🕊️.ᐟ genre: f2l (idiots to lovers🤡) with a modern cinderella au

wc: 3093, lowercase intended

“hurry, the ball’s almost starting!!” came eunchae’s frantic reply from your phone as you scanned the doors of the large banquet hall. accompanying your mother to one of her business events at the banquet hall wasn’t in your list for the month and you were quite unhappy when she announced that you were gonna have to miss your school’s senior masquerade ball. which is why you were currently trying to find an entrance from where you could sneak out without your mother catching you.

after successfully escaping from the staff’s entrance and to the parking, where you pleaded mr. yoon, your mother’s personal assistant to drive you to school, you were able to settle down and touch up your makeup, texting eunchae and letting her know to not let woonhak know about your arrival.

“what??? but our class planned the entire theme together!! and you were gonna be my date too!!” your best friend woonhak had lamented when you broke the news of you not being able to make it to the ball. “i know…i wish i could be there too but you know my mother” you exclaimed sadly as woonhak nodded, knowing that you stood no chance against her orders.

“what am i going to do now y/n, i can’t be dateless at the ball! i’m too hot for that” he cried dramatically again as he sat up. “calm down you manchild, you’ll find plenty of other dateless people in there” you snorted, making him fall silent. “is that okay with you? me dancing with someone who isn’t my date-?” woonhak questioned with a strange tone. “huh— yeah? why won’t it be?” you asked with a confused look.

the drama club really needed to cast you as one of their leads, you thought to yourself as you looked back at that moment. the thought of woonhak dancing and getting along with someone other than you made your insides twist unpleasantly. upon the sight of your school building drawing closer, you straightened up. you couldn’t wait to surprise woonhak and dance with him.

꒰ 🍃 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

the city below them was brightly lit up despite the late hours of the night. they illuminated your face as you admired the view. woonhak cleared his throat as you turned to face him. the boy nervously stepped forward as he looked into your eyes with a determined gaze.

“y/n…i like you” he said as you smiled, his favourite smile where you resembled the sun and its warmth—

this. this was how today was supposed to go. he had it all planned, along with the location of the confession too but instead, woonhak was bored. and lonely. he didn’t think that his first masquerade ball would consist of him being dateless and grumpy. he sighed as he lied down alone on the football turf. until he heard the rustling of a dress and the clanking of heels.

“i swear— no i won’t be dancing with you!” he yelled out, expecting another giggly freshman’s proposal. “okay? i can’t dance either ways” came a confused reply as he sat up with a start. the white feather mask covered her entire upper face except for her eyes which were currently sporting a quizzical look. her peach dress was embedded with little pearls at the waistline and hem, the peach-orange tint matching the colour of his tie. “oh— we’re matching!” the girl giggled, pointing at his tie.

“ah— sorry for my response earlier, i’m not having the best day” woonhak had no idea why he blurted that out to a random girl, but he did feel slightly lighter after letting it out. she smiled sympathetically as she moved towards him, not caring about her dress getting rumpled as she flopped down ungraciously next to him on the grass.

“same here, i can’t find my date” she confessed with a light laugh. “did he bail on you?” he asked curiously. if he did, boy was he blind because the girl next to him was stunningly pretty, even with the mask on. “no…i searched everywhere for him but i think he left” she sighed. “i’m thought he’d be at the dance floor…he’s such an extrovert that way” she continued. “if it helps, i’m dateless tonight too” woonhak said with a bitter smile. the girl turned to look at him with a frown” is that why you’re having a bad time right now?” she replied softly. he nodded as she pouted. “well, we’re both dateless and having a shitty day…let’s change that!” she declared as she stood up, wobbling slightly due to the weight of her heels. “watch out!” woonhak cried out as he stood up, catching her by her wrist as she fell into his chest with a tiny oof-

“i think you saved my life” she breathed out with a grin, stepping back and fixing her mask. he cleared his throat as he let go of her hand, turning away to hide his fierce blush. why was he blushing over some girl at the ball?

stop it woonhak you can’t do this to y/n! he chastised himself inwardly.

“let’s go?” the girl asked, cutting off his inner thoughts.

“what—“

“last one to reach the rooftop has to do a dare!” she yelled gleefully as she sprinted off.

how was she so fast in those heels?? woonhak yelled out a “hey!” as he ran, a smile unknowingly blooming across his face as he chased her across the empty hallways.

꒰ 🍃 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

the moon lit up the stone tiles of the rooftop balcony, with cool breeze brushing the school’s flag and the hairs on your sweaty forehead as you laughed through gasps. “god your legs are annoyingly long” you whined as the yellow masked boy laughed at your state. clouds of air escaped from his lips as he bent down to catch his breath, clutching the fabric of his pants as he met your eyes. “you’re seriously slow dove girl” he giggled. “dove girl—hey! you aren’t any better canary boy” you yelled back, causing him to double over the railing. once they calmed down from their laughter, you noticed his small smile as he gazed at the sky. “what’re you thinking about?” you questioned softly, the distant sounds from dance floor overlapping with your voice.

“i was gonna confess to her here” he replied, then chuckled bitterly. “ah nevermind— it’s probably for the best that i didn’t get to”.

he likes someone. your shoulders slightly sagged at the revelation, probably empathising with his situation. “you must really like her if you planned out the confession spot too” you joked, trying to lighten the mood. “i really do… but i doubt she feels the same” he sighed, turning to face you. something about those eyes—

“what are you saying— you’re a catch!” the words left you before you had fully processed them. gosh, you were being quite bold tonight which was very unlike you. canary boy scoffed with a smile. “you’re just saying that, you don’t even know me” he pointed out.

“well we should get to know eachother then”

was it the thrill of talking to someone new? someone who could possibly be your classmate from years ago or someone whom you’ve never interacted with in your entire school life? you really had no clue what spirit possessed you but it sure as hell made you determined to follow the YOLO principle tonight.

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆

woonhak was left speechless again by the dove girl. she grinned at him, leaning back to enjoy the night breeze that caressed their figures in the dimly lit balcony. okay, two can play that game. “you have to do the dare by the way” he spoke out, as she groaned at his reminder. “alright let’s get this over with your majesty” she grumbled jokingly, turning towards him. “who do you like?” he asked, mentally facepalming himself right after asking the question because jeez it really sounded less childish in his head. “is this a truth or a dare?” dove girl giggled at his question. “it’s only fair! i told you about my pathetic love life too…it’s your turn now” he defended himself sulkily. “okay lover boy…where do i began?” she pondered.

at that moment, the song shifted to another upbeat one, the cheers of their fellow classmates nearly deafening him as she laughed over the music. “i hate this song!” she hollered, her actions contrasting her words as she bounced along to the beat. “doesn’t seem like it” he teased as he mocked her movements, laughing at her annoyed expressions. “ah you’re a terrible dancer dove girl” he snickered as he moved closer, ignoring her offended exclamations as he held her shoulders.

“you gotta relax your arms, stop flailing them like tentacles. and your hips should be more….”

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆

his words floated in and out of your ears as warm feeling crept up your neck. his hands moved to yours, guiding them upwards to match the pace of the song— what song was it again? his warmth suddenly left your arms as you looked up to meet his eyes, those familiar round eyes you were sure you had seen before multiple times.

“do we have mr. choi’s class together?” you blurted out, watching his face twist into a grimace. “now why would you bring up mr. choi? ah my mood is ruined” he sighed loudly, causing you to snort. “anyways, am i doing better now mr. just dance?” you called out as you moved and wiggled wildly, beaming with a sense of achievement as he burst out laughing.

꒰ 🍃 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

the voices from the current song drifted towards you two as you fanned yourself. your hair was probably a mess after dancing your heart away, as several strands were stuck to your forehead and the nape of your neck. canary boy was no less, sprawled out on the floor of the rooftop balcony, his panting frame was currently staring into the starry sky. “you never told me” he started as he turned to you, patting the space beside him. “about your love life”. the yellow mask fell slightly askew across his face as he ran a hand through his brown hair.

“what can i say…he doesn’t like me either” you sighed as you lied down next to him, wowing at the specks across the sky above you. “tch, what a loser” he mumbled as you jabbed him with your elbow playfully. “he’s also my best friend, which makes the situation much more complicated” you let out, gazing into the sky as you thought about woonhak, who must’ve gone back home— which was quite unlikely. he was probably dancing down with your friends, and possibly with another freshman with a crush on him, or one of the really pretty trainee classmates of yours—

“well, he is a loser if he doesn’t like you” canary boy declared as he sat up, smiling at you as he helped you sit up too. for a moment you two sat in silence, basking in each others presence as the singer continued to sing the last notes through the speakers.

⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆⭒˚.⋆

“i really like this song” she murmured as soft music drifted out after the remnants of the previous song. woonhak blinked as she smiled, a full yet gentle smile and she got up, offering her hand to him. she didn’t leave his hand, still staring into his eyes as she moved closer. “dance with me?” she asked, looking up at him with shy eyes. seriously, how could someone not like her? “sure dove girl” he said as he grabbed her waist with one hand. “see, you should move your legs like this—“ he paused, catching her looking at him with amusement. “ah, i ramble too much don’t i?” he smiled sheepishly. “it’s quite cute canary boy, you must enjoy dancing” she mused softly, resting her hand on his shoulder as they moved slowly to the tune.

maybe he did share a class with her because woonhak did find her smile a little familiar as he watched her smile to herself. “thank you” he mumbled as she looked up at him. “for staying with me tonight” he said, sending a genuine smile. she smiled back, that familiar little smile as she whispered “thank you too, canary boy”. they continued to dance atop the balcony, as she spoke up again. “i hope she likes you back you know? your girl” she grinned as the leant forward. “because you really are a catch” she whispered cheekily in his ear. woonhak was pretty sure she didn’t miss the way his ears reddened because her grin bloomed into a full blown smile when he turned his face to hide his blush. she continued to dance with him as the song came to its end.

“i hope your friend likes you back too” he said slowly as they stopped dancing. his firm grip never left her waist and neither did her hand on his shoulder. woonhak had no idea what made her do it. or what made him do it. scratch that, he had no idea who did it first. because as soon as he uttered those words, he found the distance between them close as he leaned in. he felt her breath hitch as she too tiptoed forward to match his height. a pair of soft lips landed on his, he barely felt them due to their feather like feeling as he lightly squeezed her waist. he closed his eyes, mind racing with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. his first kiss. he was kissing the dove girl. his first kiss and it wasn’t with y/n—

she pulled away faster than lightning, covering her mouth with her hand as she gasped. her eyes were wide with alarm as she looked into his equally shocked gaze. his mouth opened and closed, with no sound coming out. he probably looked like a fish right now, he thought to himself. the distance between them had increased significantly as he felt her eyes move to something behind him…the clock? she gasped again, this time moving a little closer to him as she took in his hand in hers urgently.

“listen, i really have to get going now canary boy, but it was so much fun talking to you-“

“what—“

“-and i’m so sorry for um, pecking you like that—

“hold on—“

“-and once again, thank you for making my night the most memorable one!” she finished in one breath and she hurried down the hallway.

“wait!” woonhak rushed behind her. really, how was she so fast in those heels?”

he got a glimpse of her ruffled orange fabric as she dashed through the exit of the first floor, he chased her down the corridor as she ran towards entrance in a hurry.

woonhak’s pace slowed down as he crouched down, gasping for air near the entrance as he lost sight of the girl’s speeding figure. his breaths came out in ragged pants as his eye caught something on the floor— an earring. he reached to pick it up, a small pearl stud. the moonlight bounced off its surface as he turned towards the clock, displaying the time “01:28”. he sighed as he got up, lifting his fingers to his lips as he remembered what happened minutes ago. “fucking hell” he cursed as he caught sight of his pink cheeks in a mirror near the doors. fucking hell indeed, just how did he land himself in this situation again?

꒰ 🍃 ꒱ؘ ࿐ ࿔*:･ﾟ

“mr. yoon! I’m here!” you gasped out as you ran towards the black car, almost stumbling due to the bites on your toes, courtesy of those huge heels. “what took you so long? you know that your mother will be home in the next half an hour!” yoon jeonghan, your mother’s personal assistant chided as you quickly settled yourself in the car. “let’s leave fast, please mr. yoon!” you cried out, removing your sweaty mask as you fanned yourself. you were sure your face was still cherry red, probably due to the heat inside the car or the kiss you shared with the canary boy. it was probably the former, it really was quite hot in the car, you thought as your mind kept replaying the moment you kissed him—

“could you not mention this to mother?” you mumbled lowly as jeonghan chuckled. “when have i ever betrayed your trust miss lee” he exclaimed as you reached for your phone, which you had left in the car. “so many new messages and oh my god one from mother!” you fretted as you quickly typed out an excuse to your mother, exiting the chat as you opened woonhak’s chat which had six new messages from several hours ago.

woon-foetus: 1 image attached

woon-foetus: this is what you’re missing out on

woon-foetus: Y/NNNNN ITS SO FUN HEREE

woon-foetus: ok i lied. I WISH YOU WERE HERE ITS SO BORING WITHOUT YOU😔😔😔

woon-foetus: 1 image attached

woon-foetus: eunchae says hi, we both miss you bae💔

you snorted at his texts, opening the image of him with eunchae, his bright smile illuminating the screen of your phone as you smiled at his and eunchae’s silly poses. however, what caught your eye was his tie that was loosely tied around his collar. it can’t be…

you swiped to the first image he sent and sat upright with a cry. “is something wrong?” jeonghan called out from the driver’s seat. “n-no no, nothing’s wrong” you said shakily. oh, everything was wrong. you took in the picture of woonhak, showing off his outfit consisting of a light coral tie and white shirt, neatly tucked into his beige pants. a similar coloured blazer was buttoned on him, as he flashed his signature smile at you through the screen.

how didn’t you see it? that same smile that you had elicited several times tonight, the same loud laugh. his hair was styled with his forehead exposed and the usual bangs that fell above his eyes were neatly slicked back, all that was missing was the pastel yellow mask. you fell back against the car seat as the the ugly truth lit up the screen of your phone. canary boy was kim woonhak, the very same kim woonhak whom you had ranted about to canary boy…you had told woonhak about woonhak. your mind felt dizzy as you digested the truth. and…oh my god. your lips tingled as you buried your face in your palms, trying to get rid of the burning across your neck and face. it was of no use of course as you looked up at his selfie on your phone.

you had kissed your best friend kim woonhak, and he had no idea that it was you.

a/n pt.2: comment for a part two! do like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this part and feedback is welcome as always!

[reaper2187]

Regina George x masc female reader

The halls of North Shore High were a battlefield, with you standing alone amidst a sea of pink and designer labels. Regina George, the undisputed queen bee, had cast her icy gaze upon you, her entourage of loyal followers swarming around her like a pack of hyenas. You wore cargo pants and a plain T-shirt, an outsider in their glittering, superficial world.

You had been tolerating Regina's cruel barbs for months, but today, something snapped within you. A surge of defiance coursed through your veins as you met her eyes. Her perfect façade faltered for a moment, replaced by a flicker of surprise.

'Oh, look who it is,' Regina purred, her voice dripping with venom. 'The tomboy has decided to show her face. Lost your way to the boys' locker room, darling?'

A cruel laughter erupted from her minions, but to your astonishment, you found yourself standing tall. You retorted, your voice steady. 'At least the boys there have some respect.'

Regina's eyes narrowed dangerously. 'Respect? From some pathetic loser girl?'

'From boys who are actually interested in getting to know me, not just using me as a fashion accessory,' you countered.

Regina's face twisted into a mask of rage. 'How dare you challenge me? You know your place, Y/N.'

But this time, you refused to back down. 'My place is not here, playing your games. I'm not interested in being anyone's puppet.'

A gasp rippled through the crowd. No one had ever spoken to Regina with such defiance. The queen bee's throne seemed to tremble beneath her.

'You're nothing but a pathetic wannabe,' she hissed. 'You'll never be like us.'

'I don't want to be like you,' you replied. 'You're shallow, cruel, and insecure. I have friends who actually care about me, and I'm proud to be myself.'

Regina's eyes flashed with fury as she realized she had lost control of the situation. Her entourage, sensing her weakness, began to back away.

'You can't hide behind your masculinity forever,' she spat. 'Everyone knows you're a fake.'

'I'm not hiding anything,' you said, meeting her gaze with unwavering determination. 'I'm who I am. And if you don't like it, you can just deal with it.'

Regina's entourage slowly dispersed, leaving her alone with you in the crowded hallway. For a moment, there was only silence. Then, Regina broke into a mocking laugh.

'You think you've won,' she said. 'But this is just the beginning. I'll make your life a living hell until you're begging to be my slave again.'

'I'm not afraid of you,' you replied. 'You can try all you want, but you'll never break me.'

With that, you turned on your heel and walked away, leaving Regina standing alone in the center of the hallway. For the first time in her reign, the mean girl felt something resembling doubt.

The next day, Regina tried her best to make good on her threat. She spread malicious rumors about you, isolated you from your friends, and even threatened to ruin your life. But this time, her tactics had lost their power. You had grown stronger and more resilient, and you were no longer willing to be her victim.

You stood up to her, fought back against her lies, and refused to let her break you. And slowly but surely, Regina's power began to crumble. Her followers abandoned her, one by one, until she was left with nothing but an empty shell of her former glory.

In the end, Regina George was forced to face the truth: that true power comes not from popularity or outward appearances, but from inner strength and the courage to stand up for what you believe in. And you, Y/N, had triumphed over her, not with petty gossip or cruel taunts, but with your unyielding determination and unwavering spirit.