#I can slowly feel my heart beginning to heal

[mashtatosworld]

eyes on me (5)

summary: a break away from reality is healing - for all of you. but when you return to Seoul, the storm waiting for you is far from over.

You were tired of feeling hunted.

Every person who walked up to the counter at work, every too-long stare, every offhand comment - it left a coil of anxiety in your chest.

But when your coworker popped her head around the corner and sung with a smirk, “Lover boy’s here,” your body finally exhaled.

Daesung was standing by the door of the café, hands in the pockets of his jacket, smile soft. Even just his presence steadied you.

You took your break early.

Outside, under the cool air of the afternoon, he slid a small box across the table. AirPods.

“You said you were anxious on the phone the other day,” he said, shrugging like it was nothing. “And music always helps me.”

You stared at them, touched. “Dae...”

“I also made you a playlist,” he added, almost sheepish. “You might hate it. It’s a mix of stuff I like... there's one in there that made me think of you, actually.”

You laughed softly. “You’re too nice to me.”

“I’m not. You deserve nice.”

You hadn't told him about the case. Not yet.

Not about the file you’d been shown. How your safety was now a question mark, how the little life you’d been building was beginning to feel like a tower of cards in the wind.

But in this moment - with his leg resting against yours under the table, the rhythmic bounce of his foot keeping your spiralling thoughts tethered - was peace.

Fragile peace you didn't dare taint.

“So,” he said, stirring his drink, “I’m going to Japan for a few days.”

Your heart dipped, just a little. “Oh.”

“You should come,” he said quickly. “With me.”

You paused. “What?”

“Yeah. You’ve been working nonstop. You need a break. We can eat everything, shop, walk around all day. I’ll take care of the planning.”

“I don't know if I can get the time off yet,” you said, hesitating. “And... would it be a group thing?”

You were familiar with them. You'd been on your fare share over the years, with the boys always travelling for shows. And you presumed this was no exception.

Daesung winced, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Kind of. But Jiyong’s not coming if that's what you're worried about,” he added quickly. “He’s staying here. Said he has to sort some stuff out.”

That gave you pause.

It shouldn’t have mattered, and yet it did.

You looked down at your lap, contemplating before you felt a small smile tug at your lips. It would be nice to have a break. With him. “I’ll ask my manager.”

He grinned in relief. “That’s all I ask.”

You checked the time and sighed. “My break ended ten minutes ago.”

“Well don’t work too hard,” Daesung said, standing up and leaning over you, delicately dropping his lips to your head. "I'll speak to you later, yeah?"

You smiled up at him, watching as his figure slowly walk off. He waited at the end of the street, waving to you, then soon disappearing around the corner.

You stayed put, letting the street noise fill in the silence.

For a moment, it was just the sound of car engines, the murmur of conversation, a child crying somewhere in the distance.

You stared out at the busy street.

Someone was standing across the road, looking down at their phone.

You couldn’t make out their face. They could’ve been anyone. They could’ve been no one.

And yet.

The chill in your spine returned.

The peace was gone again

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You were drying mugs when your colleague came up behind you, voice low but annoyed on your behalf.

“I still can’t believe she said no,” she muttered. “If she knew who BigBang were, she’d realise what a crime she’s committing.”

You laughed a little under your breath.

It helped - her dramatic outrage.

She’d fawned over Daesung every single time he’d dropped by the café to visit.

Of course, she didn’t know the truth.

She thought he was just a flirty friend you were blessed enough to stumble across. You hadn’t told her you had dated one of Daesung’s bandmates - one of the biggest names in K-pop.

And you never would.

It had been private. Carefully curated. With only your old media name tied to him.

Jiyong had of course posted photos of you together over the years - just glimpses, but it wasn't enough to draw connections. Besides, he was frequently linked to someone new, a model or some actress. It was easy to conceal your identity.

You’d always asked him to keep you out of the spotlight, and now you were grateful.

Your colleague moved away to serve someone whilst you stayed beside her, focusing on the porcelain in your hands.

Until the customer didn’t leave.

She hovered at the counter, staring.

You glanced up, uncomfortable. She was young. Pretty. Dressed like she’d stepped off a fashion blog.

And her eyes were locked on you.

“…Can I help you?” you asked cautiously.

Her voice was sharp. “You’re her, aren’t you?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“You’re the one who leaked the footage of GDragon. You’re that shitty ex.”

The words hit like a slap. You froze. Your colleague did a double take, glancing between you and the girl.

“What the hell?” she said, trying to intervene. “She’s Daesung’s girlfriend actually - ”

Even though you weren't.

The girl didn’t care. She was seething now, hand tightening around her plastic cup.

“I'd recognise you anywhere. I've seen that tattoo before."

Oh god. So she was an obsessed fan, one of the many trying to witch hunt you.

"You tried to ruin him,” she spat. “You fucking snake.”

You barely had time to move.

The iced coffee hit your chest, shattering against your apron, soaking through your shirt. You gasped at the cold. Ice cubes skittered across the floor. Your mouth opened, but nothing came out.

But you did respond.

Physically.

Your hand grabbed the nearest thing - a fistful of sugar sachets - and launched them at her face. Hard.

She yelped, stumbling back.

Your manager shot up from her seat near the window, abandoning her laptop. “Out. Now.”

You turned and walked to the back room, heart thundering, coffee dripping down your front. You didn’t cry. Not yet. You just wiped your face and tried to breathe.

The door opened.

Your manager stood there, arms crossed, lips pressed tight. "Now I know the customer started it. But - "

“I get it,” you said flatly. “I’m fired.”

She didn’t argue.

You ripped off your apron, tossed it aside, and left without another word.

Outside, you shoved in your AirPods. Music roared in your ears.

You were halfway down the block when you collided with someone. You stumbled back, muttering a distracted “sorry.”

They kept walking.

You didn’t even look up.

Back at your apartment, you slammed the door shut, threw your keys blindly toward the counter - and knocked over the vase of tulips you had bought days ago. Water spilled across the table and ran off the edge. The flowers drooped against the marble.

You didn’t bother to fix them.

You just moved to stare out the window.

The street below was empty.

But your mind continued to tell you that something was there, even if you couldn't seem anything.

Coffee was soaking into the rug beneath your shoes, and you didn’t even care.

Your fingers found your phone.

And you called him.

“Is your offer still available?” you asked, voice hollow.

Daesung sounded surprised. “Wait - I thought you didn’t get the time off?”

“My manager changed her mind.”

There was a pause. “Well,” he said brightly, trying to lift the mood, “good thing I didn’t cancel anything yet. You’re gonna love Japan - the neon lights, the markets, the food - ”

You barely listened.

You stood there, phone to your ear, as his voice babbled on.

And continued to stare down at the desolate street below. It felt like you were waiting for a shadow to appear. The same one that was casting a dark spell over your sanity.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The airport was brimming with life - even at the ungodly hour. Families reuniting, wheels clacking against the polished floor, announcements echoing overhead.

You and Daesung were moving through it all, heads down, casual but efficient.

He was practically glowing beside you, clutching your luggage with one hand and swinging his other arm as he walked. There was a bounce in his step.

“I booked a spa place for us - one with warm stone rooms,” Daesung beamed. “And there’s this tiny local spot that does handmade soba. I thought we could go there tomorrow night.”

You nodded, warmed by his thoughtfulness, until you both slowed at the sight of the chaos ahead. A wall of fans and cameras gathered by one of the VIP exits.

Security blocked the crowd, holding firm lines.

You nudged Daesung with your elbow. “I almost forgot about this part.”

He craned his neck. “Well... at least we're prepared.”

A sigh escaped you as you pulled your hood up and tugged your face mask into place. Daesung did the same, and together, you slipped around the edge of the chaos and into the quieter corridor leading to the VIP lounge.

But then you heard it. The shift in crowd noise. The camera shutters picking up speed.

You turned your head over your shoulder.

A trolley stacked with Rimowa suitcases was heading straight towards you.

And they were still covered in those ridiculous stickers. The ones you’d plastered all over them. Memories from each city you had visited together.

Jiyong was here.

He was striding forward with his security parting the crowd. A pair of black-framed glasses perched on his nose, cap low, but unmistakably him.

You grabbed Daesung’s arm, voice low. “I thought you said he wasn’t coming.”

Daesung blinked at you, surprised. “He said he wasn’t.”

You didn’t have time to process it. Jiyong spotted you through the glass of the lounge and made a beeline for the door.

He entered with a sigh, tugging his hat off, raking his fingers through his hair like he’d been running the whole way.

“You’re early,” he said with a soft smile, stopping a few feet away. “I thought you’d be.”

You glared at him, eyes narrowed to bitter resentment.

Daesung broke the silence, trying to keep things light. “What happened to taking care of things in Seoul?”

Jiyong didn’t take his eyes off you. “My responsibilities are here now.”

You rolled your eyes and Daesung felt it. He gave a half-laugh, feeling awkward. “Right. I’m, uh, gonna grab some food.” He glanced at you. “Coming?”

“Yeah,” you said quickly, stepping to follow.

“What are we eating?” Jiyong asked, stepping after you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You turned sharply, hand up. “No.” The word was firm. A single finger raised in warning. “No.”

He opened his mouth to protest, but you didn’t give him the chance. You pulled your carry-on from Daesung and shoved it into Jiyong’s chest, causing him to stumble slightly as he caught it.

“I need you to stay here and look after this for me.”

He blinked, expression flickering. “I want to come with you.”

“No,” you said again, turning on your heel. “You’ll be fine. Stay.”

You walked away with Daesung, not looking back. You almost felt bad speaking to him that way, until you remembered why you were mad at him.

Daesung kept pace beside you, frowning.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. "I swear, he said - "

You shook your head before he could say anymore. “It’s fine."

“You sure?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “I can’t avoid him forever. And maybe it’s good for him to see me. Like this. Moving on.”

Daesung hesitated. But he didn’t argue.

He simply placed a steady hand on your back and guided you toward one of the food stalls.

Far behind you now, Jiyong stood in the lounge, your carry-on in hand, staring after you with something unreadable in his eyes.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had thought things would be awkward at first, since Hyo Rin and Youngbae sided with Jiyong during the fallout.

But they surprised you.

They apologised, and it was sincere.

They even shared their snacks with you on the flight like nothing had happened. And Seunghyun wasn't in attendance - he was off preparing for enlistment.

It was surprisingly easy to slip back into the rhythm of the group.

And when the private car finally pulled up to the hotel, you all went your separate ways.

Same floor, different rooms.

Your room was cozy, exactly what you needed after the long flight. You started unpacking, trying to shake off the tension still clinging to you, but when you went to grab your AirPods, you noticed one was missing.

You sighed.

You had a bad habit of losing things, but this one?

This one was especially annoying.

You plopped down on the bed and glanced around the room, half-expecting the missing AirPod to magically appear before you.

It didn’t.

Your mind drifted, as it often did, back to a memory with Jiyong.

It was your first anniversary, and you were standing in front of the mirror, fidgeting with the diamond earrings Jiyong had gotten you.

He was standing behind you, his arms casually slung around your waist, watching you with that soft, affectionate smile that only he could pull off.

“You almost ready?” he asked, his voice low and warm.

You nodded, glancing at the clock. “Just about. I’ll be done in a second.”

He didn’t respond, just stood there, swaying slightly, his hands brushing over your dress - not to help, but to distract. He tugged at the little zipper.

“Jiyong,” you laughed, “come on, I’m trying to get ready here. You know I like to be early.”

"You look so beautiful.”

His hands traced the line of your dress, pushing the strap off your shoulder just enough so he could kiss the exposed skin.

“You’re making this hard,” you muttered, but it was difficult to stay serious when he was being like this.

His lips brushed your neck, then your earlobe, before he playfully bit down. "You're making me hard,"

“Oh my god,” You breathed out, a laugh escaping as he pulled you backwards, towards the bed.

You never made it to the dinner.

But that hadn't been what the evening was supposed to be about anyway.

It was about you and him.

A day remembering the beginning of your relationship, which had bloomed from something so unexpected.

And as long as you were with him, you didn't care how you celebrated it.

Although, breathlessly tangled in bedsheets with Jiyong was a rather faultless way of honouring your love.

Your eyes felt heavy as you lay there, lying against his bare chest and staring at the TV on the wall - playing a show neither of you were really watching.

Meanwhile, Jiyong was tugging at your earlobe absentmindedly, his hair slightly damp and askew after you had spent hours tugging on it.

“You know, I think you lost one of your earrings,” he said, his voice thick with amusement.

You tensed, your hand flying up to check your ear. “What?” You felt around the bed, panic rising as you realised it was true. “No, no, I can’t find it!”

“Don’t worry,” he teased, his voice low, amused. “It’s probably just fallen somewhere. I can't believe you’ve lost it already, Jagi.”

You scrambled to search the floor, uncaring for your naked state, desperately looking for the missing earring. “What do you mean I’ve lost it?!”

He chuckled, stretching across the bed as you yanked the covers from his bare body, tossing them across the room to double-check the mattress. Jiyong lay there, smiling, thumb pulling at his lip as he watched you.

“I’ll buy you another pair,” he said, sounding too relaxed about it. “Maybe a few more, so I can keep biting your ears and make sure you keep losing them.”

You glared at him, even though it had no malice behind it. “You're right. This is your fault.”

He laughed, his hand reaching out to tug you closer until you were standing against the edge of the bed.

He stared up at you, eyes warm and full of admiration. “I won’t stop,” he promised, his hands brushing against the curve of your backside. “When it comes to you, I have no control.”

You couldn’t help but laugh too, even as you rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous,” you said, though you loved him for it.

And when he went to bite the curve of your thigh, you shrieked with laughter, the sound filling the room, the moment a perfect bubble of happiness.

He tugged you hard, your body collapsing onto his - onto the bed, the world outside slipping away.

The knock at your hotel door pulled you sharply back to the present. Your heart raced as you stared at the door for a moment, your hand still clutching the missing AirPod.

The memory of Jiyong, of how things used to be, clung to you like a scent that couldn't be washed away.

You let out a shaky breath and wiped your hands on your pants. The knock came again, louder this time.

With one last glance at the missing AirPod, you forced yourself to stand. You walked toward the door and reached for the handle.

Daesung was standing there, grinning with that familiar warmth.

“You ready for an adventure?” he asked, his eyes sparkling.

Before you could even respond, he grabbed your hand, pulling you out of the room and into the elevator.

Next thing you knew, you were being whisked away to the Mario Kart go-kart experience in the streets of Tokyo.

It was absolutely ridiculous, and that was what made it so perfect.

You both suited up in bright, oversized outfits, giggling at each other from your respective go-karts, racing through the bustling streets of the city.

The rush of speed, the adrenaline coursing through you as you zipped past buildings and tourists, was invigorating.

You found yourself laughing uncontrollably as Daesung swerved a pothole and nearly crashed into a traffic cone. He stayed just slightly behind you, letting you take the glory, and preventing the people from behind from overtaking you.

It was liberating. To forget.

You didn’t even think about the mess you’d left behind.

The whispers. The stalker. Your job. Jiyong.

But eventually, the karts came to a stop, and you were back in the quiet of the Tokyo streets, the air cool against your skin.

You both strolled around, taking in the sights together. He was leading you towards a restaurant, talking animatedly about the noodles you just had try.

You hadn't even noticed you were holding hands until he tugged you back from stepping onto the crossing as a cyclist whizzed past. You smiled at him in gratitude.

Your adrenaline was still pumping from the racing. Your head rushed. It was addicting.

And then, of course, Daesung had to ruin it by bringing up Jiyong.

“So… I’ve been meaning to ask,” Daesung began, his voice casual but tinged with something softer. “How are you really doing with everything? With him.”

You sighed, removing your linked hands to rake it through your hair.

Of course, it had to come up. It always did.

It felt like no matter where you went, or what you tried to do to move forward, the past kept following you like an inevitable shadow.

“I don’t know, Dae,” you admitted, “I just… I don’t want to keep thinking about it. I don’t want to keep going back to that. I just want to move forward, you know? We’re in Tokyo. I want to enjoy the trip. I want to enjoy this.”

Daesung didn’t say anything at first. He just looked at you, his expression serious. After a beat, he sighed.

“You can’t move forward until you make peace with the past, though,” he said quietly, his words hitting harder than you expected.

You stopped walking, the weight of his words sinking in.

“I’m not clueless, Y/n,” he continued, his tone a little more pointed. “I know why Jiyong’s here. He’s here because you’re here. And he’s probably wondering where you are right now. Why you’re with me.”

You felt your chest tighten. His words landed like a punch, but there was no anger in them, only truth.

You looked away, avoiding his gaze as the words he spoke lingered in the air.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you muttered, but your voice sounded small, even to you.

Daesung’s voice softened. “Sorry, I just feel...”

You nodded slowly, your fingers brushing the cool surface of a nearby shop window as you gathered your thoughts. You knew what he was going to say.

Guilty.

You hadn't felt that way at first. Maybe only a fleeting pinch. But leaving things unresolved with Jiyong meant your time with Daesung felt... borrowed.

Like you weren't allowed to progress until you had closed that chapter for good.

“I know,” you whispered. “I’ve been avoiding him. But I can't stomach the thought of a conversation with him. He really hurt me."

Your words didn't even begin to cover the damage Jiyong had inflicted. Even if it had been from misplaced anger and judgement.

Daesung nodded, his hand falling gently on your shoulder, a reassuring weight. “I understand. I'd never push you into something you're not ready for."

You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and he smiled, a soft, understanding smile.

It almost felt like his words had another meaning to them - like you weren't just ready for a conversation with Jiyong, but ready to move on.

Sometimes you wondered that if you sealed things off from Jiyong, then maybe your path with Daesung would suddenly appear.

Right now, it felt blurred and unsure.

It also felt exciting and hopeful.

You sighed deeply, feeling the weight of his words.

“Fine I promise that I'll be better,” you said softly, “I'll... try to keep the peace. But - he has to respect my boundaries too. I'm tired of people pushing me to my limits."

"I'll speak to him." He assured you with a nod. Then Daesung smiled again, his face lighting up. “I want you to have a good time. And we’ll be here, together. No more worries.”

You both stood there for a moment, the city moving around you, the night air cool against your skin. You stared up at him and then reached on your tip-toes, holding his broad shoulders for support as you pressed a delicate kiss to his cheek.

Daesung squeezed your waist as your feet flattened again, then he took your hand - fingers interlocked, continuing your journey through the city together.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The spa was meant to be a reprieve. A calming pause before the boy's performance later that night.

You and Daesung were wrapped in white robes, wandering through the corridors of still water and soft music. It was almost easy to pretend everything was simple again.

Almost.

Your eyes burned into the ink scrawled across his back.

Jiyong walked a few paces ahead, shuffling towards the indoor pool.

He had invited himself along, and Daesung had only offered an apologetic shrug when you looked at him with thinly veiled irritation.

You hadn’t said anything. There was no point.

You paused your steps, letting Jiyong go his own way. You just needed to keep your distance, stay in control.

But control slipped a little the moment Daesung loosened the tie on his robe.

He shrugged it off with the ease of someone used to being shirtless around others, and your gaze, unprepared, was caught.

The cut of his muscles. The curve of his biceps. The way his shorts hung low on his hips.

His body was all hard lines and effortless strength, and you knew he worked out, but you hadn’t seen it like this. Not so close. Not so bare.

You blinked and turned your head quickly, heart fluttering in your chest. The thought of sitting beside him in the sauna - watching sweat trace down the thick column of his neck, pooling in the crevice of his chest - was suddenly too much.

“I think I’ll go for the steam room,” you said lightly, masking the heat rising in your cheeks.

He looked over at you and smiled, towel in hand. “Alright. Let’s do that instead.”

The steam curled thick around you both as you stepped into the room. It was quiet, private, the hiss of heat enveloping your skin in seconds.

You sat side by side on the tiled bench, your knees almost brushing.

The air was hot and wet, making the silence between words stretch longer than it should have - but Daesung, ever gentle, filled it with low laughter and small stories. Something about the last time they were in Japan. A fan encounter. A near-disastrous ramen challenge.

You laughed softly, grateful for the lightness.

But after a while, he leaned back against the wall, blinking slowly.

"I might have to step out for a bit,” he murmured. “I'm getting a little lightheaded in here.”

You shifted upright. “I’ll come with - ”

“No, no. Stay,” he said quickly, hand brushing yours to stop you. “Enjoy yourself. I’ll come back for you.”

You hesitated, then nodded. “Okay.”

The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone in the thick fog. You exhaled and let your head fall back, trying to melt into the heat.

That’s when the door opened again.

You didn’t look. “That was quick - ”

“Y/n.”

You sat up fast.

Jiyong stood there, steam already beginning to curl around his body, his dark hair damp from the humidity. He wore nothing but tight black trunks, clinging to his thighs.

You stiffend, instantly on guard.

“No,” you snapped. “Get out.”

He stepped in anyway, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

“No,” he said evenly. “I’m going to stay here and talk to you. Even if I have to beg.”

You stared at him, unmoving.

He took a step forward. “Is that what you want? For me to beg?”

You stayed silent.

Tension hung between you, thick as the steam in the air. Old feelings clawing their way back to the surface. You hated how he could still pull them from you so easily.

He looked at you for a beat, eyes unwavering. “Well?” he prompted. “Do you?”

You crossed your arms, leaning back against the wall. “Go on then. Beg.”

You didn’t expect him to actually do it.

But then - he dropped. Right onto the steaming tile floor, knees hitting hard, ignoring the sharp heat searing against his skin. His hands came together in front of him, eyes locked on yours.

“Please,” he said, words low and sincere. “Please forgive me. I’m so sorry. I was stupid. I hurt you. I’ve spent every day since trying to be better. Trying to prove it. And I’ll keep doing it, Y/n. I’ll keep proving it. Just… please.”

The steam blurred the edges of him, but the emotion in his voice cut through like glass.

“One more chance,” he said, voice thick now. Raw.

He didn’t look away. And despite everything, it was hard to keep your heart guarded when he looked at you like that.

You exhaled slowly, heart tight in your chest.

“I'm tired, Jiyong,” you said finally. “I don’t want to fight anymore. It’s not fair to the others. I want this trip to be good. For all of us.”

His head dropped for a moment, as if something in him had finally unclenched.

You let out a breath. “You can get up now. Before someone thinks we’re doing something else in here.”

That familiar smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he slowly rose. “Wouldn’t be the first time we did, huh?”

You rolled your eyes.

He sat beside you, trunks sitting low on his waist, traces of his thigh tattoos peaking out. You stared ahead, trying not to glance at him, at the water glistening on his chest, the way his hair curled slightly with the heat.

The air was thick now, not just with steam but something unspoken.

History. Hunger. Longing.

Even just his presence beside you made your skin feel too tight. He wasn’t touching you, but you could feel him, the weight of what you used to be, of what you almost still were.

“Are you coming to the show later?” he asked, voice softer now.

You nodded, eyes still fixed ahead.

He smiled, small and genuine. “Good.”

And in that small pocket of heat and silence, the ache between you stirred again - unresolved, undeniable.

But for now, you leaned back, closed your eyes, and tried to let the steam carry it all away.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You and Hyorin had screamed yourselves hoarse from the barricade, limbs tangled in the wild energy of the fans.

It was impossible not to get swept up in it. Even if you hadn’t planned to cheer. Even if you told yourself you’d stay cool. Composed.

That hadn't been possible when Youngbae had stripped his shirt off and thrown it at the crowd - Hyorin fighting with a screaming girl to claim it. Or when Daesung poured his bottled water over his body, flicking the rest in your direction with a wink.

And especially not when Jiyong had collapsed to his knees in the middle of his performance of 'If You'. His eyes never leaving yours.

Unrelenting. Pleading.

Now, long after the final encore, the energy hadn’t quite faded.

You were all crammed into a hole-in-the-wall takeout spot, the kind of place that smelled like grease and burning. Noodles and soju littered the table, laughter spilling from every corner.

Youngbae had long since surrendered holding his head up, resting it flat on the tabletop, dead to the world.

Hyorin giggled uncontrollably as she slowly, dramatically piled noodles on top of his bleached hair, strand by strand.

“You’re going to give him a noodle crown,” you wheezed, covering your mouth with your hand.

She shushed you with mock seriousness. “Don’t wake him up!”

Even Jiyong had his head tipped back in laughter, cheeks pink from soju and residual adrenaline.

It felt like before. Before the fights. Before the silence. Before everything cracked.

Eventually, the energy began to fade, and someone mumbled something about sleep. Everyone agreed in a chorus of groans.

You stood, wincing immediately as the ache in your feet made itself known.

“God, I shouldn't have worn these shoes,” you muttered.

“Come on,” Daesung said, crouching down before you. “Hop on.”

“What? No, you just danced for like three hours, you must be - ”

He turned his head and gave you a look. “I said, hop on.”

You hesitated, then gave in with a laugh, throwing your arms around his shoulders and jumping onto his back. He hoisted you easily, gripping your thighs with a tight squeeze.

“Dae!” you squealed when he immediately took off into a sprint, making your stomach lurch with each bounce.

“You said your feet hurt!” he called back, breathless and grinning.

Behind you, you could hear Hyorin’s laughter, and Jiyong’s complaining as they were left to drag Youngbae’s half-sleeping form toward the hotel.

By the time you got back to the room, your whole body ached with exhaustion. You fell onto the bed face first with a groan.

“Dead,” you mumbled into the pillow.

Daesung leaned down, gently slipping your shoes off. “Still very beautiful though,”

“Mm,” you grunted, eyes fluttering closed as you rolled onto your side.

He tucked the blanket around you carefully, and you felt the dip of the mattress as he leaned in. Your breath caught. For a second, you thought - maybe -

But his lips just brushed the corner of your mouth. A near-kiss. Warm and fleeting.

“Goodnight,” he whispered.

And then he was gone.

You were drifting when your phone vibrated on the nightstand. You groaned and reached for it blindly.

“What,” you muttered, not even checking the screen.

“Hi.”

You frowned. That voice. Low and hesitant.

Jiyong.

“What do you want now?” you asked, more tired than annoyed.

“Did you get back okay?” His voice was quiet. Softer than usual.

“Yeah,” you mumbled. “Daesung walked me to my room.”

You didn’t tell him about the blanket. Or the almost kiss.

“Good,” Jiyong said. “I feel better knowing you’re safe.”

You said nothing, eyes closing again.

“You two have gotten close.”

“Mhm.”

There was a pause. “I’m glad Daesung was there when I wasn’t. He’s a good friend. For looking after you… for me.”

You didn’t respond.

He sighed, but continued despite your silence. “I’m glad I can talk to you again,” he said. “We used to call after my shows, remember? When you couldn’t come, I’d call you the second I got offstage. Couldn’t sleep without hearing your voice.”

You nodded, but your mind was too foggy with sleep to respond.

“I haven’t really slept since we ended,” he added. “Not properly.”

You breathed out, slow and heavy. Already gone from the moment.

“I love you.”

But you didn’t hear him.

The phone slipped from your hand as you fell into sleep, the line still open.

When your alarm blared early the next morning, you jolted upright, groggy and sore. You reached for your phone to silence it - and that’s when you saw it.

The call was still ongoing.

You hesitantly brought the phone to your ear and waited. You could hear soft breathing. The gentle rhythm of Jiyong’s sleep, steady and low.

He hadn’t hung up.

You stared at the call log.

He’d stayed on the phone all night.

Your finger hovered above the red button. Just for a second.

Then you sighed and ended the call.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Even though the trip had ended on a high, normality was calling you to return.

But that didn't mean Japan hadn't left its mark.

You'd have to find a new job once you returned. And the break from Seoul had sown a seed of hope.

Maybe you could return to your passion of producing again. Maybe it was time to move forward, instead of letting the world moving around you.

You stepped into your apartment, the door clicking shut softly behind you. The familiar scent of your linen spray still lingered faintly in the air, a gentle, deceptive kind of welcome.

Home.

But something felt off.

And then you saw them.

The tulips.

They sat back in their vase on the counter. The very same vase you’d left knocked over. The flowers had begun to wilt, petals sagging from their stems. You had left them lying on the marble.

You knew you had.

The bag in your hands fell to the floor, your grip weak.

A wave of dread slammed into you. It was too much. After everything - your job, your breakup, the long, slow crawl of putting yourself back together - this, this, was the thing that made the cracks split open.

You cried.

Loud, ugly sobs that ripped through your chest.

Someone had been here.

Someone had invaded your only safe space.

The police came quickly. Professional, composed, too calm for the way your voice shook as you explained everything.

They swept the apartment, asked questions, took photos.

They didn’t find anyone.

But they did find what you feared most.

Your bedroom window - shattered from the outside.

Glass on the floor.

And clear signs that someone had entered.

One of the officers pulled his notebook out and gave you a grave look. “It’s clear someone broke in through the window. We’re escalating the case from a report of harassment to a formal investigation for unlawful entry. You did the right thing calling it in.”

You were shaking.

Your fingers trembled, clenched around the sleeves of your hoodie like you were trying to ground yourself. Willing your body to stay standing. And you wouldn't have been able to -

Had it not been for Jiyong’s arm wrapped firmly around your shoulders. Pressing you against his familiar embrace.

The officer glanced between the two of you. “Do you have somewhere safe you can stay?”

Jiyong didn’t hesitate. “With me.” he held you closer. "She's coming home with me."

You didn’t fight him. You couldn’t. You leaned into him, letting the warmth of his body soak into your bones.

Home wasn’t a place anymore.

But maybe it could be a person.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

dae: i'll speak to him about boundaries

cut to jiyong the next day on his knees, in a steam room, begging you for attention

this damn drama queen

a/n: my big bang girls gave me keywords for this fic: sauna, begging, pathetic man, and dog collar - i hope i lived up to most of them

sorry if this wasn't my best work - i'm still grinding at uni butttt only 2 assignments left 🥳🥳🥳🥳 yipeeee

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @breakmeoff , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999 , @fleabagspurplewife , @sylviavf , @ldydeath , @wonyluvi , @deliciousmagazinequeen , @heartubeatusalon , @imminsugasgf , @steponupbabe

[pttucker]

"…Who was his target, anyway?" "You just woke up, but you're already so full of questions. How annoying." I sat on the bed, eyes blinking like an idiot. She pointed to my chest again. Upon taking a closer look, there were two [Modifier Necklaces] hanging around my neck. One of them was Asmodeus's Modifier, [Devil of Lust and Wrath], while the other one was… [□□ of □□] The places where my Modifier should've been were replaced by empty holes, instead. "No way?" "Yes, way." Well, at least he did leave behind 'Of'. That son of a bitch.

I KNEW IT!

Awwww, but he really has forgiven him, hasn't he? 😭

He even gave him the last syllable he needed to move to the next section. 😭💖

And Dokja picked up on the fact that he said he's a former Regressor!

Not the Regressor Yoo Joonghyuk, but a former Regressor. What was he thinking about when he told me that?

idk Dokja, maybe that's his way of telling you that he's made his final choice to stay in this life. With the guy who transformed him from this mindless, emotionless killing machine known only as "Regressor," back into the Yoo Joonghyuk he was before.

Oh, and I guess Joonghyuk didn't get dragged into the Library after all. Which is definitely for the best, I think. Joonghyuk yelling at Dokja while he's trying to do stuff would probably not be conducive to a friendly, non-stress work environment. 😂

...or if he did get dragged in, Dokja doesn't remember any of it.

[nebulaafterdark]

A Tale Of Two Dragons

Summary: After suffering a head injury, Princess Y/N forgets the past two years of her life, including her marriage to Aegon. Who will do anything to win her back.

18+ ONLY MDNI Targcest, Smut, Cheesy, Medieval Romcom

Y/N wakes terribly hot, her head throbs and there is something wrapped round her waist. She peels open her eyes…an arm. She flicks it away.

“What is the matter, my dearest love?” A voice grumbles, from behind her. “The maester says you should remain abed for several days.

“Why?” The word is past her lips before she can stop it.

“You hit your head.”

Y/N reaches up toward her throbbing temple, scraping against the forming scab beneath the bandage. Her fingers come away wet.

“You mustn’t touch,” Aegon chides, “let me see.”

Aegon?

Y/N screams at the top of her lungs, rolling onto the floor.

“What is the matter?” Aegon peers over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” He springs from the bed, grabbing a cup off the bedside table. “Here, milk of the poppy.” He attempts to bring the chalice to her lips.

Y/N slaps his hand away, the glass shattering over the floor. “Surely poison.”

“What?” Aegon breathes. “Why in the seven hells would it be poison, my heart?”

“Do not call me that.” Y/N snaps, feeling almost sorry for it as his face falls.

“Look at me,” he crouches down to her, cowering in the corner. “What’s happened?”

“I should be asking you! Why are you being kind to me? Why are you sleeping in my bed? Plotting to kill me?”

“I don’t want to kill you.” He huffs a laugh. Back are the sad, crestfallen eyes.

Y/N forces down the urge to punch him. “Why were you in my bed?”

“To be clear,” Aegon says, motioning behind him, “this is my bedchamber.”

Y/N searches the space behind him, he speaks true. This is not her room. “Why would I be in your bedchamber?”

Aegon’s upper lip twitches, “because you are my wife.”

Y/N laughs, “I am your wife.”

Aegon joins in, anxiously.

“You jest.” She wags a finger at him, “that is the Aegon I know. You have outdone yourself this time.”

Aegon’s eyes search hers for a moment more before he hollers, “guards!”

The doors fly open, “your grace?”

“We must have the grand maester.”

Y/N’s eyes track his movements. Pacing and pacing until the maester appears.

“Is your head troubling you, your grace?” He kneels before her. “I left you with milk of the poppy.”

“She needs more.” Aegon insists.

“She can have no more until the morrow.”

“She did not drink it.” Aegon shouts, “she tossed it away because she thought it poisoned.”

“I would never harm you, your grace. Surely you know that.” The maester addresses the princess directly.

“Not you, me.” Aegon throws up a hand. “She does not know who I am.”

“I know who you are and I do not like you.” Y/N argues.

“That is worse.” Aegon laments, “she does not remember our marriage or our-”

“Your grace,” the maester stops him. “Your lady wife has suffered an injury. It is best not to push the recollection of years past.”

“She will heal then?”

“I cannot say, the mind is unpredictable.”

Y/N narrows her eyes at the maester, “am I truly married to Aegon?”

“Yes, princess. For some two years now.”

“Nearly three,” Aegon corrects him, with a hand to his head.

Y/N’s breathing picks up, unable to calm herself.

“Princess, you must breathe slowly now.”

“I want my mother,” Y/N chokes out.

“I will get your mother,” Aegon offers, “just breathe.”

His command is foreign to her. That he would care. The maester fusses about her as they wait. “All is well, your grace, all is well.”

“I may faint.” She warns.

The maester begins fanning her with his hands.

Rhaenyra appears moments later, with Aegon hot on her heels. “What’s happened, my darling?”

“Mother,” Y/N reaches for her, sobbing against her shoulder.

“Hush now.” Rhaenyra cradles the back of her head, smoothing down her hair.

“I do not know how such a thing could h-happen.”

“What?” Rhaenyra begins swaying her like a babe.

“I woke up beside my sworn enemy, claiming to be my husband.” Y/N tells her, “and worst of all, everyone insists that it’s true. Am I truly married?”

“Yes.”

“To Aegon.”

“Yes.”

“And I am happy about it?”

“I’m afraid so,” Rhaenyra smiles. “You are quite taken with him.”

“To what degree is he hung?” Y/N scoffs. He must be-

Rhaenyra throws her head back with laughter, “I would not know, sweet girl.”

Y/N rolls her eyes, “he speaks true then?”

Rhaenyra nods.

“And we are in…” Y/N forces out the word, “love?”

“Very much so.”

Without warning, the princess faints in her mother’s arms.

————————————————————————

“And though all the realm wished for the princess to deliver a son, she blessed the prince with two daughters.”

Y/N comes to, blinking up at the ceiling. Pleased to find that she is in her own bed this time. She nearly finds herself comforted by the voice beside her, before looking over to realize it is Aegon. Seated in the arm chair with a brown leather book in his lap. She sits up, staring him down.

“Don’t,” he slowly closes the book, holding up both hands, “don’t scream.”

“What do you want?” Y/N groans. “I’ve already told you I don’t remember.”

“I’d like to court you.” His lips twitch, nervously.

“Really?” She huffs a laugh. “You, Aegon Targaryen, would rather court me than go find another well suited lady, of high status, to marry you?”

“Yes.”

“You want me?”

“Very much so.”

“More than anyone else?”

Aegon twists his wedding band around his finger. “Yes, more than anyone.”

“Well…what would we do together?” She crosses both arms over her chest, “I can’t imagine we have much in common.”

“Talk, stroll the gardens, fly together on dragon back, whatever you’d like.”

“You told me this morning, I am to remain abed for several days.”

“That’s why I’ve brought this,” he waves the book at her, “thought it might keep you occupied. That or I could dance for you.”

“How well do you dance?”

“Not very,” Aegon admits, “that’s what makes it entertaining.”

Y/N leans up, trying to catch a glimpse of the book’s title. “What book is that?”

“A tale of two dragons.” Aegon pulls it away, “do you want to hear the story or not?”

“I suppose,” Y/N sighs, sinking back into the pillows. “I’ve nothing better to do.”

————————————————————————

For four days he reads to her from that silly book. With each day that passes Y/N finds herself more invested.

“But if a son is expected of the prince, why does he not want for a son?”

Aegon smiles as he closes the book. “That’s all for today, you must rest.”

“I am not tired,” Y/N argues.

“Your eyes tell a different story.”

“Truly, I’m not tired.” She tells him, toying with her marriage ring. “My head hurts is all.”

“Might I try something?”

Y/N scowls, reluctantly closing the distance between them.

His hands cup her face, moving up to her throbbing skull, running his fingertips over her scalp.

It feels nice, though Y/N will never admit it.

“It will help if you stop making such sour faces, Y/N.” Aegon remarks, smoothing his thumb over the furrow between her brows. “My head aches just watching you.”

“You might wear a similar expression after being dealt my hand.” It is odd, her name on his lips. As though he rarely speaks it, save for when he’s angry with her.

“Yes, how devastating it must be; doted on by the man who loves you.” Aegon muses.

“You used to call me a bastard at family gatherings.” Y/N remembers that clearly.

“I used to do a great many things I am not proud of.” Aegon admits. “But the man I am now, the man I am with you…I take great pride in.”

“It will take time, if I’m to trust you again.”

“I have time.” Aegon assures her, “though at present, there is somewhere else I need be.” He presses his lips to her forehead in parting. “Good night.”

Y/N cups his wrist, at the side of her face, for just a moment. “Good night.”

————————————————————————

On the fifth day, the grand maester allows Y/N to leave her apartments, and by the tenth day, she is cleared to fly. Being amongst the clouds always helps clear her mind, mayhaps she will recall something.

“Good morrow, your grace.” Marcello, the dragon keeper greets her.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiles. “Might you saddle Stormborn for me?”

“At once, Princess. I’m glad you are well.”

Marcello returns a few moments later with the lilac dragon, whining as she nuzzles into Y/N’s hands.

“Issi ao daor biare naejot ūndegon issa, uēpa raqiros?” Are you not happy to see me, old friend? Has something happened between them that she’s forgotten?

Stormborn hums, nudging at Y/N with her head.

“What is the matter with her?” Y/N turns to Marcello.

The dragon keeper lowers his eyes, “she wants for Sunfyre, your grace.”

“She wants-” Y/N breaks off, clunking a fist to her head, “she wants Aegon’s dragon?”

“They are quite close these days.” The man in question says, stalking up behind her. “I heard you were flying out. I thought I might join you.” Aegon explains his presence.

“This is preposterous.” Y/N scoffs, “you mean to tell me we have become so deeply entwined that even our dragons cannot be parted?”

Aegon’s lips turn downward as his brows rise, “yes.”

“What can be done about it?”

“You loved me once, my hope is, you will love me again.” Aegon brushes past her, resting a hand on her dragon’s snout. “There’s naught to be done about it.”

To add further insult, Stormborn leans into his touch, cooing happily.

“I suppose I should pet your dragon.” It’s meant to be a threat, a means to get even.

“Go on,” Aegon encourages, “you’d like that, wouldn’t you, Sunfyre?”

The golden boy begins to serenade her with a low melody. Y/N rests her temple against his head, glaring at Aegon. It is not the dragon’s fault.

“Your dragon understands English?”

“As does yours.” Aegon informs her, “they are highly intelligent creatures.”

“Pōnta issi mēre rūsīr īlva.” They are one with us.

Aegon smiles, “indeed.”

“Do you not speak-”

“Nyke kostagon emagon naejot…vestragon mirrī.” I can have to…say a little.

Y/N bites back a grin, “I could teach you.”

He starts to say something else, but she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Later,” she leans in, pressing a kiss to the back of her own hand. Had it not been there…it would’ve been his lips. Which means nothing, muscle memory, surely. “I’m sorry.”

He catches her wrist, bringing her hand away.“Don’t be.”

————————————————————————-

Y/N enjoys evening strolls with Aegon in the garden, but on occasion she walks alone, outside the walls, wandering near the woods.

“Wait!”

Y/N whips her head around to see Aegon charging at her, knocking her backwards before the steel trap snaps closed near their feet. Two rows of long, jagged teeth, meant to catch animals. She stares at him, in disbelief.

“They doubled the number of traps round the castle in these past years. I did not know if you’d recall.” Aegon explains, still holding her in the safety of his arms.

“You…imbecile!” Y/N returns the awkward embrace.

“Please, call me husband.” Aegon smirks.

“You could’ve been maimed.”

“Better me than you.”

Y/N groans in frustration, “quit doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Charming me.” She pulls away enough to see him.

No, not the sad eyes.

“I should like to know you better first.” Imbecile, she curses herself.

“What do you say we go back to your rooms and I will read to you?” Aegon suggests, “I’ll even bring cake.”

There it is, that tugging in her chest. “I do love cake.”

“When you were-” Aegon trails off, “there was a time all you would eat was cake.”

Y/N presses a hand to her head, “when I was what?”

“In due time, my dearest love.” Aegon smiles, sadly. “The grand maester says we mustn’t push, you’ve made great progress already.”

————————————————————————

She recalls a great many things over the next weeks. Trying and failing to teach Aegon High Valryian, eating cake with him and laughing until their sides ache. But there are a number of things she cannot recall.

“Where is it you go?” She wonders, “when you are not with me? You said,” Y/N closes her eyes until the words come to her, “you said you want always to be with me.”

Aegon’s eyes widen, “yes, I did say that. You remember?”

“Not nearly enough, just silly things.” Y/N admits, “sometimes…I think I might’ve been with child.”

Oh.

“That’s it, isn’t it? We’ve a child.”

“Two actually, daughters.”

“One after another like clockwork, then?” She arches a brow, resting a hand over her empty womb, “you’re late.”

Aegon grins, “both at once.”

“Efficient.”

“Well, we are nothing if not thorough.”

“With the way you look at me, I’m surprised there are only two children.”

“The birthing bed was not kind to you. I would love any child of ours, but I would not inflict such suffering upon you again.”

Y/N sighs, “you are so in love. I wish desperately to remember.”

“You could love me again.”

“What if it is different than what we shared? What if it does not please you as much?”

Aegon shakes his head, “then it will be different and I will be glad for it all the same.”

“Might I come with you to see them?” Y/N asks, wringing her hands.

“They should like that very much, they’ve been asking for you.”

“What are their names?”

“Dahlia and Visera.” Aegon tells her, “it might be difficult for you to tell them apart at first.”

“Dahlia is a Strong name.” Y/N whispers.

“And Visera was named for Viserys. If we would’ve had a son, we might’ve named him-”

“Laenor.” She breathes, recalling the smile on Aegon’s face as they’d discussed it, over the prominent swell of her belly. Subsequently leading his kisses to trail lower…her cheeks heats up.

“Yes,” Aegon swallows. Mayhaps he is recalling the same conversation.

The twins are playing happily on the floor, with their maids when Y/N enters the room behind Aegon.

“Papa!” They race to him, waiting to be taken into his arms.

“Hello, my darlings.” He holds one in each arm, kissing their little silver heads.

The child on the left sees Y/N first, blinking at her twice, to be sure. “Mama.”

The little girl on the right follows her gaze. “Mama!”

Y/N reaches for them out of instinct, hugging them to her as they are transferred into her arms from Aegon’s. “My girls.”

————————————————————————

Time passes, Aegon and Y/N have long since accepted she will never remember everything. What they share now is different, but wonderful, nonetheless.

Aegon and their children fill Y/N’s days with joy, though she still feels a bit guilty for the life she forgot.

She and her husband sneak out of their daughters’ rooms once they’ve found sleep. Walking back towards Y/N’s apartments with their arms linked.

Aegon bids her good night at the door, with a gentle kiss to her cheek.

“Stay,” Y/N insists, turning her face enough to catch his lips.

“What are you-” Aegon smiles against her mouth.

“It hurts to look at you and not touch you.” Y/N murmurs, reeling him back in and burying her hands in his hair. “If you mean what you say, and you will be happy with me even if I am different, I want to be happy with you.”

“It pleases me to hear you say this, my darling. But are you certain?”

“I want you in my bed, always,” Y/N whispers. “Or to lie with you in yours. To wake with you each morning and spend each night at your side. Though right now there is nothing I want more than your cock in me. Is that certain enough for you?”

Aegon chuckles into her mouth, “that’ll do it.” He pushes open the door, leading her deep into her rooms, until they reach her bed chamber. He unlaces her gown with practiced hands. “Gevie.”Beautiful.

She works him out of his robes, kissing the underside of his jaw. “Gevie.”

He smirks, moving her to the bed. Positioning her sweet head against the pillows, stroking wayward hair from her face. Taking a long moment to look upon her, their gazes locked. Aegon kisses the tip of her nose. “Let us see if you remember this, shall we?”

His lips trail down her neck, across her collarbones to her breasts. Licking and suckling at the entirety of them before bringing a sensitive peak into his mouth.

“Fuck,” Y/N holds him to her.

“Mmm,” he hums, in approval as her hips buck up against his. “Anything coming to mind?”

“I’m afraid not, husband.” Y/N whines as he pulls away, “you’ll need to keep going.”

“Of course,” Aegon latches happily to the opposite nipple, flicking the first between his fingers. Lower and lower his mouth goes, swirling her navel, skating over the skin of her sex.

Y/N nearly faints as he parts her with his thumbs, exposing her pearl to his starved tongue. “Oh!” Her memory of this particular act, does it no justice.

He sighs against her, as though he’s waited the whole of his life to be in this moment with her.

She does not know how to be loved that way, or to give such love in return. But she wants to learn.

Aegon coaxes her through one peak to the next, relishing her breathless giggles as she shoves at his head.

“Enough,” she covers her face with both hands, “enough.”

Aegon chuckles, pressing a feather light kiss to her cunt before retreating, back up to her face. Caging her head between his elbows, hovering over her. “Still nothing?”

“Not a thing, perhaps if you continue.” Y/N reaches between them, taking his cock in hand and stroking, lightly.

Aegon shakes his head, “of course.”

She positions him at her entrance, feeling him slide into her with ease. As though he belongs there. Her hands find his face, stroking his cheeks, reeling him in for sweet kisses or to pant against his mouth. Committing him to memory.

“I love you,” he says, pressing kisses to her fingers, “we’re going to make new memories together, you and I.”

“I love you.” The words fall from her lips, without hesitation. “I love you.”

“I have gone too long without your touch, I will not last.” He warns.

“That’s alright.” Y/N assures him, “I’m nearly there.” Still sensitive from his tongue.

It’s all he can do to hold off until he feels her walls pulse around him, “good girl.” He groans, emptying his spend.

Y/N nuzzles her nose against his. “Aegon?”

“Hmm?”

“Happy anniversary, my love.”

His eyes open wide, meeting her gaze. “You remember?

Y/N nods, feeling tears prickle at the back of her eyes. “I am so sorry, I’ve no idea how I could forget you…us, our daughters, this life together is the world to me.”

“It was not by choice.” He rests his forehead against hers. “If I ever sustain a head injury, I’ll expect you to court me in return.”

“Mayhaps I will court you now, just because.” Y/N wants nothing more than to shower him with affection. “That story you read to me was ours, how did you get it?”

“I wrote it.” Aegon tells her, “to share one day with our children and their children’s children, their children’s children after that.”

Taglist: @21-princess @ladyriverasafepace @oh-you-mean-me @niyahnotnia @narwhal-swimmingintheocean @donalesaa @cookiesnfeesh @barnes70stark

[themotherofhorses]

simon riley x fem!reader

Imagine holding Simon when he cries. 

Simon Riley is an incredibly strong man, an absolute force to be reckoned with on the battlefield. Since joining the SAS in 2001, he has created a name for himself. A military legend—seemingly more ghost-like than flesh and blood. But that is the farthest from the truth, isn’t it? Cause, at the end of the day, he is still human. You’re his girl, the love of his life. His true love—his only love.

You are a source of comfort he somehow found in this shitty, cold world. The home he never had the privilege of experiencing; your arms have provided him with everything he was denied during boyhood.  

So imagine your Simon arriving home one evening—dead silent—merely shuffling his way to where you’re seated comfortably on the living room couch. His duffle bag drops near his leather recliner before the balaclava is tossed to the side. On his face is a certain heaviness, a sadness twisted in his handsome features; his blue eyes are not as bright as they usually are.

You swallow. Did something happen during the mission? 

“What is wrong, baby?” You coo, stretching your arms out wide to welcome him in. 

Without another thought, Simon tucks himself into your embrace, with his head resting gently on your chest. Against your breast, he can hear your heartbeat thundering away in your chest, moving in a rhythm that matches his. He reckons he is the luckiest bastard in the world, to find a soulmate who compliments him in every aspect of life. 

He lets out a small sigh, squeezing his eyes shut, feeling his throat closing up as tears begin to well up. His bottom lip trembles before he bites down on it. 

“Simon,” you murmur, pressing a gentle kiss on his forehead. “What happened, my love?” 

Another tear, followed by three more. A tiny, shaky exhale. Simon remains utterly still for a moment, not saying anything, until…“It’s my father’s birthday today.” His voice is quiet, breathless, unbelievably thick with sheer sadness. 

Your face falls at that. “Oh, Simon.” A sad smile pulls at your lips while you hug him closer, peppering more kisses up and down his hairline, pausing to brush back soft, blonde strands. You say nothing more as he continues to weep in your arms, entire body racking with choked-up sobs and uneven breathing. 

“I loved him,” Simon rasps out, pulling his face up from your neck. Both his cheeks and nose are a cherry-red, with baby-blue eyes bloodshot and puffy, lined with fresh tears. For a moment, he wasn’t the Simon Riley you fell in love with, but the Simon Riley who was five-years-old—all scrawny, little legged and freshly bruised, hiding behind the bookcase in his parents’ bedroom. 

“Loved him so bloody much.” 

You don’t know what to say. What can you even say? Nothing can heal those wounds, cut so deep in his heart and soul that any slight movement reopens them. “I know you did.” You kiss his nose, minding the mess of tears and snot. 

His fists slowly tighten, knuckles whitening as all the memories of his father begin to flood through him; they all carry an agonizing sensation, the kind that is too fuckin' painful to discuss aloud, yet too damn gut-wrenching to keep bottled up inside.

“Do ya…” he hiccups, clearing his throat. “Do ya think…in another life…?” 

In another life. You think for a moment, carding your fingers softly through his hair. “Maybe, my love…” 

Simon nods. “Maybe,” he croaks out, keeping his arms tight around you. There, on the couch, you continue to hold him, letting his torrent of tears soak your shirt; time and time again, your fingers run through his hair in some silent attempt to ease the little boy wailing inside. 

“It’s okay, baby.”

You kiss his temple.

“You’re alright. Let it out, baby.” 

He’ll be alright tomorrow. You know it. In the morning, he’ll be barefoot and content in the kitchen, baking his mother’s special recipe of blueberry and pineapple pancakes—a cup of milk, one egg, blueberries, pineapple, and, of course, the batter—all while waiting for your arms to circle around his chest. 

But for right now, he is five years old, finally being embraced in arms so warm and loving and protective—so unbelievably perfect. The feeling incites more tears.

"Thank you, baby," he mumbles, gently kissing your collarbone; it's a kiss so rich with love, appreciation, and adoration that it stirs up butterflies in your tummy. "For everything."

For everything. Oh, you silly boy. "Simon." You smile down at him, gently caressing his cheek. "For you, my love? I'd do anything."

note: a little drabble for my "let simon riley cry 2024" campaign. thanks!

[rockingbytheseaside]

Hey 👋 there just wanted to say I really like your art and how you flesh out the characters of the fatui.

Especially pierro

I was wondering if you’re taking requests, if you could make one about how reader is deeply injured to the near point of death and the fatui (separate)

Have different reactions to seeing their beloved almost dying and find the culprit or culprits involved and have them tortured or whatever their reaction is. And they later on stay by their side making sure they return to full health not knowing what they did for them.

(but in way I like seeing their cruelty for their reader getting hurt come to light and how they would feel.)

You don’t have to acknowledge this ask but it’s just something I think about

This request was asked by several anons and @ghost3029 ages ago. Apologies if I can’t tag all the lovelies here

✦ Someone hurt you, and how they take care of the matter

(Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Pantalone, Tartaglia) 

(Slight tw: mention of injuries, blood, violence.) 

To be the enigmatic beloved of a Harbinger means to have eyes on you - some in awe, while others with ill intent. Luckily for you and your dear Harbinger, privacy is paramount no matter what his job entails. However, what happens when you venture too close to harm’s grasp, whether by accident or by someone’s design?

✧ When Pierro saw the dangerous glint in your eyes, he knew two things were happening: you had just been embroiled in a lethal fight, and you would faint in any second due to immense fatigue. He doesn’t call out your name or contort his expression into shock or trepidation. Because in split seconds, he sprints towards you, catching your collapsed form right into his arms. 

Limp and marred with wounds, even your unconscious state looks worn out as The Jester swiftly lifts you in his arms. He was undeterred by the sight of your blood slowly seeping out onto his immaculate white suit. No, the Fatui Director is a calm but unfazed man. 

“You always took matters into your own hands, my divine. Ever so willful, always overexerting yourself.” - Pierro murmured to himself, before turning to face the monstrous culprit who dared to harm you, a remnant of Abyssal Corruption. “However, for someone to raise their hand at you is a sin. My beloved might be merciful when granting death, but I – don't.” 

You didn't hear or register anything; the last thing you remember is Pierro's hand shaking as he held you tightly. When you woke up groggy, wrapped in the ache of healing wounds, you weren't shocked to see yourself clad in clean clothes, resting by a spacious, comfortable bed. Beside you was Pierro; unmoving, sitting. He never once left your room.

“For… How long was I out?”

“For a whole day, dear. Do not fret, the best doctors and healers in Snezhnaya worked swiftly to patch you up.” – his palm gently rested on your forehead, brushing your hair aside as he ensured your temperature was stable. Even his gaze, so often sharp with command, had softened, devotion etched into every touch or glance.

“A-and the Abyssal monster I fought? Is everyone safe…?”

“Hm? You still concern yourself with that? This dread is not yours to bear, my divine. How many times must I remind you that it is not your duty to dirty your hands? Rest easy instead. No filth will tarnish the peace I have built for us.”

✧ Il Capitano is aware you can defend yourself. He respects your might; he doesn't doubt your cunning strength. However, can he stand idle when the clash of steel begins and the threat of violence dares to draw near you? Can his heart bear witness as you endure blow after blow, even in triumph?

No, he cannot, and this is his weakness. His body cries out to quickly shield you whenever an enemy gets too close. Even when you're amidst the roaring chaos of a battle, he intercepts those who venture too close with relentless force. You were expecting that, but you groan in frustration either way:

“Capitano, this is not your battle. I can manage myself!”

“I will not let you barge into danger recklessly,” – he retorted. The Antumbra held steadily in his hands. “You're moving too fast.” 

He refused to move between you and the onslaught of corrupted abyssal monsters. For a man who often reprimanded you about being reckless, your beloved hypocritically used his body as a shield whenever you were in danger. 

“Thrain-!” 

He rarely hears your stern voice. But the call of his true name rendered him motionless for a minute, a tense silence riveting between you. Before either of you could add another word, an abyssal mimic wielding the form of a Ruin Guard aimed straight at Capitano’s back. However, you were quicker in blocking the massive creature, taking the blow instead.

After the waves of monsters dissipated, the battlefield was left in ashes. A few of the Harbinger's soldiers scavenged the aftermath in search of any injured. You, however, clutched your disheveled wounds. Turning to face Capitano, you were met with his eerily silent and pitch-black expression. 

“Listen, Capi,” - you began quietly, voice laced with guilt. “I'm sorry for… raising my voice like that. I only meant t-”

Before you could finish your mumbles, Capitano hoisted you up onto his broad shoulders and started moving away. 

“Hey, hey! Put me back! I was in the middle of an apology,” - you thrashed, wiggling against his back while he kept a very resolute grip on you. Being slung like a sack of potatoes after a harsh battle only doubled your shame. Especially when he gave you a tap on your hip to keep you still. 

“Shush. I've heard enough. I am dragging you to the infirmary myself,” – he added sternly, one hand holding you while the other carrying his sword. “And if it means throwing you over my shoulders and reminding you how to be inert, then so be it. Either your recklessness will kill you, or my heartache will end me instead.” 

✧ For a man like Il Dottore, dissecting near-lifeless forms beneath sterile light was a ritual long devoid of novelty. But when fate laid his beloved upon that same table, the clinical detachment in his gaze curdled into something far more lethal.

Your cuts were sutured and your bleeding staunched by the deft encirclement of his bandages. As your shallow breathing mellowed down, teetering on and off your consciousness, you scarcely perceived the taut silence in the lab, or the meek voice of the Fatui soldiers that brought you back: 

“We have delivered them safely, Lord Harbinger. As per orders.” 

“Brought them you did, indeed. But safely…?” – his gloved grip retracted from your bandaged limbs, like a coiled snake slithering back. “Spare me your excuses, this is nothing but a horrendous job done. One command, and you botched it: return them to me unharmed.” 

The Fatui soldier stood rigid, hands clasped behind his back, though his head hung low. The Harbinger's eyes remained hidden behind the gleam of his mask, but the venom in his voice alone was enough to conjure the hell that would follow should any wretch dare to utter defiance.

“Tell me, if I shattered one of your bones for every drop of their blood spilled, would that seem just? Or maybe,” – he drawled, each syllable an iron weight, “For every stitch I had to use on their skin, and every roll of bandage used, you compensate by skinning your own limbs-”

The murderous tension was interrupted when your coughing echoed in the room – “... D-dottore?”

A single word, a call of his name, yet one that made The 2nd drop all his threats in an instant, kneeling on the cold stone floor beside your medical cot. “Yes, my dear, yes. Shh, I am here now. You're safe.” 

Your eyes fluttered toward him, the weight of exhaustion rendering your limbs motionless. Yet even then, you smiled faintly, reassuring him to keep his anger at bay, your fingers meekly reaching for his hand. You didn't say much, too drained to squander air that your body so dearly needed for healing. And Dottore didn't mind. Holding your single palm in both hands, he clasped it close and brought it to his lips. 

Like a heretic clutching an unworldly relic, he stayed there and held your wrist close to himself in a reverent prayer. As long as he could feel the quiet thrum of your pulse beneath his fingers, he would call down ruin upon Teyvat itself for every wound carved into you.

✧ Pantalone leaned closer in his seat, hand deftly reaching for the vial of saline as he pressed a dampened cloth to your wounds with deliberate tenderness. The Harbinger, ever composed in his peculiar cheer, wore his usual merry smile, opting to dismiss the servants and tend to your injuries with his own hands.

“Walk me through it again, darling, how ever did you end up with such dreadful scrapes?”

“Well, I'm telling you!” – you began with animated exasperation. “I was on my daily expeditions, doing my usual exploration around Jueyun Karst. A nice farmer on the way pointed me to where to harvest fresh Qingxin flowers. So I went on, but a group of Treasure Hoarder bandits ambushed me.”  

As Pantalone listened patiently, he continued to clean your wounds, ensuring even the smallest cuts were secured underneath a band-aid, his thumbs softly gliding over the bandages to ensure they seal onto your skin tenderly.  

“And- And then…! I went Pow! And then slash! I defended myself because they tried to steal all of my Mora. Thankfully, some local heard the ruckus and came to my aid. So, all in all, I got out of it with barely a scratch, in my humble opinion.”

The Harbinger shook his head, tidying up the bandage wraps before reaching to pat your hair – “Tsk, tsk, tsk. This won't do, you silly. You must be more careful when adventuring in the wild like that. No matter how minor the danger may seem.”

You could only exhale a sigh of reluctant surrender. You knew he had a point, and you did feel the fatigue catching up on you now that you were back home safely. Thus, with a loving embrace and a goodnight kiss, you decided to retire for the night. Pantalone waved a cheerful goodbye, watching your personal servants following dutifully in tow as you left his study room. 

You’d sit and sulk, like a child reminded for the tenth time to be careful when playing outside. Even when you reminded Pantalone of the time you'd bested a Stonehide Lawachurl single-handedly, he'd merely sigh wistfully and kiss your cheek.  

“Oh, I know, I know, my love. But still, take it slow for a couple of days, will you?” - he kept his thumb gently running down your cheek, his smile imbued with quiet reassurance. “I’ve no desire to see you crossing paths with bandits again. Rest easy, darling.”

And the moment you departed? His charming smile immediately vanished. 

Without turning to face the bowing servant, he ordered courtly, his voice lacking the usual innocent warmth he used with you – “Report. Now.” 

“The intel came in from the operatives we stationed on route. The treasure hoarders they spoke of are being tracked as we speak, Lord Harbinger.” 

Pantalone drew in a measured breath, quelling the fire rising in his veins. Before you even made it back home to his arms, he had already received news of the attack. How was he informed so quickly? Simply because he stationed the best spies to blend into the backgrounds and keep track of your safety, so-called invincible bodyguards all bound by oath and coin to the Regrator himself.

The nice farmer you met in Jueyun Karst? The kind local who noticed the commotion when Treasure Hoarders dared to attack you? All Fatui Agents, steeped in stealth, honed in combat, disguised perfectly to serve as his eyes while you kept living the best of your life. Even the personal maids who help you with your usual nightly routines – the best of Fatui Operatives from the House of the Hearth, ordered personally to function as your closest bodyguards by the 9th.

Pantalone was no fool. He would never let his suffocating devotion eclipse your freedom, especially when you sought nothing from the Fatui. You deserved joy, unshackled and luminous, filled with wild adventures and quiet victories of your own making. He would never command the course of your life, instead, he would love you as you are, unperturbed by his status as a Harbinger.

But you don't deserve this worry. He would shoulder this dirty burden on his own.

“The Agents acted sufficiently,” – he noted dully, his ringed fingers intertwined elegantly. “Instruct them to continue tracking the Hoarders. It's clear they tried to use my beloved as leverage to get to me. Ensure each and every single one of them disappears. Make it quick and make it clean.” 

✧ Smash. Tartaglia raised his arms up, the club-like piece of wood was but a crude piece of a fence he grabbed on the go. Smash. He didn't even register when he picked it up instead of his Hydro Riptide swords. No, his set of weaponry would've been much more precise. Too clean for this job. Smash. This club is slow and would deliver a much messier message. Smash.    

When did blood get on his face? 

The Harbinger had already forgotten the face of the person he had just clubbed to the ground, their limbs broken; crimson blooming in grotesque contrast against the pristine white of snow. The cries and pleas went unheard, like a static buzz behind his temples, drowning out everything but the pounding pulse of rage. All he could think about was how warm the vivid red looked against white.

That is until your voice pulled him out of his haze – “Childe… Childe!”

He turned to face you, disoriented as to why you're looking at him in exasperated horror, your eyes widened, and your voice breathless. Ah, he remembered now. Someone called you the 11th’s lapdog, had dared to treat you like a gutter-born wretch, and seized your wrist with rough, presumptuous fingers. That's why he chose a random piece of a wooden log. And that's why he delivered a slow, painful message to this person over a merciful end. 

“... Oh.” – Harbinger stated simply, leaving the club to sink into the snow with a dull thud. “I'm sorry, sweetie. Did I take too long?”

Walking away, as if the whimpers of a bleeding man on the snow did not reach him, Tartaglia smiled at you. The luster in his eyes is still absent. 

“I apologize, sweetheart, you shouldn't have seen most of that. I got too distracted.” 

You remained speechless. Your silence clung to you like frost, your body still trembling not only from what happened, but from the visceral sight of it. Even when your beloved noticed that, trying to soothe you by wrapping his arms around your shoulders, he failed to realize you were probably shaken from the blood around his hands. 

“Come here, let's go home for now. I'm sorry, dearie, I'm sorry.”

Red, he thought again, warm like you against his cool skin. 

[yayll]

~ a little something about waking up next to Dazai, and he's unbearable as always ~

"I might just eat you alive..." He mumbles to himself, barely audible. His eyes are half-lidded, and he's barely blinked.

He's been watching you sleep next to him curled up like a kitten for the past hour, way past the time you usually wake up. He's the oversleeper, not you, and it makes him hyper aware of your bodily functions and if they're okay. He hasn't eaten properly in days, but you don't need to know that. He's rabid, and he knows he's being a total freak right now, but who will worry for you if not for him? He must rise up to be the voice of reason, the watchful eye that keeps you on track even if he can barely keep himself alive! He wishes you'd stay forever, where he could avoid his problems and take care of your every single need. He should be everything you need... He hopes. Then you'd never leave, and he would make sure to eat more, just for you. How perfect... selfish.

God, he just wants to crawl inside of you and make you his home, it's almost pathetic. You'd find him vile for the things he would do for you and your happiness, despite you already being so accepting of his dark past... You're simply heaven sent. He takes a deep breath, and lightly runs his knuckles down your jawline, as if carving them out of the precious material that you're made of. You begin to stir, and his pupils dilate instantly as he pulls back with anticipation.

"Mmm... Osamu..."

You murmur sleepily as your chest rises up and down ever so slowly. He's freaking out. It's bad for his health to hear the way you say his name as if it were a healing oath, a spell that only works on him.

"Wakey wakey~"

Dazai's propping himself up on one elbow, a calculating smile plastered on his lips as if he were in on something you weren't. You pop open one eye, and groan softly.

"You're up... early"

"Yes!"

"Why..." You yawn like the silly little thing you are. He gasps in mock offense, clutching his chest.

"Can't a fortunate guy like ME just be happy that we both live to see another beautiful day?!"

He winks, and boops the tip of your nose, this gets a muffled snort out of you that causes you to bury your face into the pillow. He's addicted to the rush of causing any joy in your life, it's disgusting. When you don't lift your face back up, he scrunches up his face, and reaches out to stroke a strand of your silky hair, but his intrusive thoughts win and he tugs on it as payback for possibly falling asleep again. He needs your attention, and you're sleeping? Insanity. You swat at him, blindly smacking his arm away.

Oh, how he loves that you're the only person who truly sees him past his myriad of theatrics.

"Oh my... a slap from you feels wonderful!"

He rubs his arm, and grabs the hand that swatted him, bringing it up to kiss the pulse point on your wrist. Feather like kisses, almost undetectable... until you lift your face up from the pillow, finally.

He gazes at you as he rubs his face onto your hand like a cat greeting its owner, purring as if he were starved for affection. For a moment, his gaze becomes more serious, detached, as if he were thrown back into a distant memory. He can't describe the feeling, but the way your hand feels against his cheek is a warmth he hasn't felt in ages. His eyes sting, and he blinks the wetness away before you can notice as he hears your angelic voice again. He's back to his usual self.

"Osamu... You're being annoying"

"You think I'm just annoying?~"

His voice comes out in a tender whisper, his mouth curled up into a mischievous grin. He's insufferable. He could be anything for you if you wanted it. Especially annoying! He almost drools when you roll your eyes affectionately at him, the coldness in his heart disappears as he leans in just a little, invading your personal space as always, eager to hear your reply.

"Amongst other things, yes..."

You flash him a sweet little smile, and it mends all that is wrong in the world. The pink in your cheeks is starting to turn red, and it sends him to the moon. He hums, slowly nuzzling himself into the crook of your neck, it's his turn to curl up. You run your fingers through his messy hair that tickles you, feeling the warmth of Dazai's breaths against the back of your ear.

"Hmm, do I look like a pillow to you?"

He can hear the smile in your murmur, and he pulls back from your neck briefly, peering at you through his messy bangs, those intense hazelnut eyes demanding your attention, and his voice drips with an aching devotion that oozes like honey. he moves his lips to your ear, and whispers.

".. You look like an angel to me."

He watches you self destruct at his painfully smooth delivery of a compliment, and secretly rewards himself for once again giving you another reason to never leave. He's got it all!

Romance, self deprecating humor, an inability to properly process his emotions and grief, but more importantly, an undying commitment to stay alive against all odds so that he may see another day of you in his arms... or you helping him change his bandages... or-

He's cut short by you grabbing the sides of his face and pulling him into the most sinfully delicious kiss known to man, and he could swear that despite all his efforts, this might be what ACTUALLY kills him.

[mondaymelon]

₊˚ෆ 𝐅𝐔𝐋𝐋 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐇 !! | sagau xiao, childe, zhongli x gn!reader

ˋ°•*⁀➷ cw: uhm. obsessiveness? yandere if you blink a couple times? cult themes... the usual deal with this au

⤷ [ you, the benevolent and kind overseer and creator of teyvat, has descended upon this world in mortal flesh, with a presence that is overpowering, omniscient, and so impossibly pure. ෆ yet, one day, you come into the cathedral with a gash on your arm, dripping with shimmering golden ichor that spilled from your veins. there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring. ]

— sagau!xiao noticed you immediately. it would be hard not to. since the beginning, he had always heard it.

your sound. a beautiful one, a heavenly one. a chord struck him, somewhere in his chest, and he found himself panting on the ground, clutching at the fabric of his shirt.

like a electric charge - one that leaves you startled, tentative, with the tips of your fingers still tingling from what happened moments prior. a buzz in your veins that thrums along with your heartbeat.

he didn't deserve to see you. not with what sins he had committed. but xiao was selfish. he wanted to, with his tainted body, he wanted to praise you, scrape his throat raw with his voice.

and so he did.

his face brightens as you step into the cathedral, dressed in ceremonial robes as per usual. you look ethereal, why would you not? your eyes are warm as they fixate on him, and he can feel his heart skip a beat and words die in his throat. he kneels before you orderly, readying to lift his head when something catches his attention - that is, the coppery scent of blood.

blood?

a droplet splatters onto the dustless floor. melted gold.

xiao's already stood up before he realizes it. his eyes are blown wide, his shrunken pupils sharp, like a cat's. "who. who did this to you?" those words take all the willpower in him to speak. his mind is swirling, racing, thinking up of every single possibility, vision scattered and blurry as unbridled fury teems within him.

"it's nothing. some civilians have begun rioting in the city, saying that i'm an imposter. all i did was show them a little bit of my blood and they all started singing praises, so the issue has been resolved." you shake your head with a soft smile, like this matter isn't anything to concern himself over.

it is.

he hates it. how he feels so fucking powerless, how he couldn't even stop this simple event from occurring in the first place. it's his fault. it's his and everyone else who dared not believe your words. your word is the truth. it is the undeniable laws of the world, what maps the stars and what lays the land.

he'll have time to ingrain that within everyone's minds. even if it means time away from you. but that's not the issue at the moment. he turns to search for bandages, but sees the already-healing wound slowly closing up as your skin mends together.

there's a knife at your side, coated in something that shimmers in the rays of light coming from the high, color-tainted windows.

something in his heart decides, seeing your reserved smile.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

very well.

then he'll just have to eradicate every last one of them. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!childe had, to be honest, never cared all that much. why would he, to the person who had abandoned him into the cold, dark, abyss? yet, the smile on your face. it's bright. so bright it burns him. was there a day where he could smile like that?

no, no. he couldn't. that's an expression only reserved for someone as beautiful as you. as pure as you, like a blank, unblemished canvas, with the world as its paint. it's a level of resplendency that no one on this cursed universe could ever hope to accomplish.

a god in flesh, living in a tainted world. a walking contradiction that he had grown to call the thing that allowed him to keep living. something that spurred irony, you who broke all forms of the logic he had made to keep himself sane. perhaps that was why the heart he'd locked away has suddenly begun aching again? is that why he feels so warm from your divine prescence?

"childe?" you call out his name into the vast, empty hallways, glancing around for the familiar sight of a tuft of ginger hair. he hears you at once, rushing to your side with a grin on his face.

"your grace??" he bows at the sight of you, unable -to contain his excitement as he quivers in place, the smile on his lips tugging upwards even more than its current extent. "yes, what's-"

he stops abruptly, his voice faltering as he catches the scent of something iron. one familiar on the battlefield, a liquid that'd paint the surroundings a beautiful red.

his heart pounds. the thrill of a battle? no, that can't be it. if that was the case, how come it felt like he was slowly suffocating on his unspoken words?

that's when he catches the sight of the poorly wrapped bandages encasing your forearms. and the shimmering ichor that's soaked through the hastily wrapped cloth.

he moves to grab your arm, but curses himself out as he quickly changes direction and tightly holds your wrist, his expression more pained than yours, despite you being the one suffering with the injury. "what... your grace, what is this?"

he hates your knowing smile. he hates it. (oh, but does he? could he hate anything that is of you?) it just reminds him how you're all too far for him to reach, a purity that he does nothing to maintain. "there was a riot in the city against the church. luckily, they all quieted down after i gave them a glimpse of..." you trail off, ending your incomplete sentence with a sheepish smile. the rest is self-explanatory, anyway.

his vision trembles as his pupils shake. "haha, you...?" fuck. fuck fuck fuck, just whose idea was it to allow you near a knife? how did you get your hands on that?? which stupid fucking bumbling idiot allowed for this to happen?

it's his fault. he should've been by your side. curse the fatui, curse them all, how could they possibly dare keep him away from your holy being? the guilt that churns within him, is that why he remains mute as you step away, gracefully walking to meet with the other retainers?

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

no, it's fine.

it will all be fine.

cutting off their tongues won't be enough. cutting them up until they're a dismembered, bloody mess isn't even close to what you've suffered for the sake of humanity.

yes, he'll make them realize that. they'll pay with their blood a thousand times over. ₊˚ෆ

— sagau!zhongli had his breath taken away by you before he even saw you, before the two of you had even exchanged words. your presence - it was so simply alluring, a saccharide charm that just drew him closer and closer.

sweet. yes, it was a familiar flavor upon the tongue that had long since tasted the many marvels the world had to offer. like a warm cup of tea, made from the sugary extract of flowers, how the sensation of it seemed to bloom upon your mouth.

ah, how should he put this. perhaps you had procured the blossom in his heart instead? stems, leaves, buds, a floret that'd only appear when you were in his gaze. a steady thrum that ran throughout his body with every stolen glimpse he took from your attention expertly.

perhaps, was this what he felt all those years ago?

did it matter? his soul was resolute, now, and it glowed gold, just like the blessed blood that flowed through every vein and lay in every vessel within that beautiful, beautiful you.

yes, ichor... just like the splatter of it on the ground...? a pang of fear strikes him - has something happened to you while he was away? he should've none better than to trust those good-for-nothing other cultists, who spend all their time babbling about your gloriousness yet turn a blind eye to whenever you require assistance!

no, he had to calm himself down. this wasn't the moment where he should grow frustrated. first, he must confirm the situation... he's planned this out to the every plan b, c, d, e, and so on, so how come he's still feeling so anxious?

there you are, upon your throne, busy conversing with a fellow archon, the one as free as the wind. funnily enough, you were the one that tied him down like a shackle.

"ah, zhongli. are you alright? you're breathing quite hard." you tilt your head, averting your gaze from venti's sparkling eyes and instead fixing them on the usually stoic man's jumbled expression. his shoulder's heave as he resists the urge to collapse at your feet.

"what... what are you... you're hurt?" stained bandages peek out from just below your silk sleeve, a sight that cannot possibly be missed from his attentive gilded eyes. "why didn't you tell me? i-i'll call one of the healers so they can-"

"zhongli, there's no need for that." with a hand, you gently signal venti to leave the scene, which he does, with obvious reluctance. a silence gesture that resonates with appreciation deeply within him. "this was of my own accord."

"your own accord?"

"unbelievers decided to throw a riot, and there wasn't much i could do except...well, don't they say that seeing is believing?" how come you don't look the slightest bit pain? where is your self-pity? your frustration? "anyhow, i'm not in a good state. please leave me for the time being, i don't plan on receiving any more audiences tonight."

he bows hastily, yet each movement is still finely crafted with minuscule adjustments that have taken him thousands of tries to master. he does as you say, and his strides are quick and long. it won't take a genius to see that his facade has crumpled, with the clear agitation that's spreading across his features like a wildfire that devours all in its path.

there will always be those who are too foolish to see the light you bring.

he'll change that. every thrum of the golden markings running up and down his body seem to pulse in unison with his heartbeat, which is raring like he's recently returned from the battlefield.

who would've thought he'd so quickly return.

this time, of his own will. he'd be sure that these fools of this world would learn the truth of your paragon. ₊˚ෆ

(a/n) please save me the delulu has returned and iTS NOT LETTING GO

໒꒱ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ (open! send an ask or a comment ♡) : @manager-of-the-pudding-bank, @iamdedinside, @ilyuu, @achlysis, @swivy123

[narumi-gens]

boundaries gojo satoru x f!reader

post-breakup!gojo who can't quite follow through on the breaking up. he's as present in your life after he ended things as he was when you were still dating.

he still blows up your phone at all hours with nothing important. he insists on holding your hand when you walk side-by-side. he still uses your apartment key, which you never had the heart to ask for him to return. you've ended up in more than one heated makeout session with him, although you have managed to keep them from progressing past him feeling up your tits over your bra.

and when you end up in the hospital after a mission, he shows up before even shoko can get there. you sigh when his towering form appears in the doorway of the room you've been given.

"looks worse than it is," you say and despite the way you slur your words due to the painkillers, it's true.

your concussion, while serious, isn't something that wouldn't heal on its own. your broken ribs managed to avoid puncturing any organs. even the burst blood vessel in your left eye that's colored the white of your eye a ghastly red is only really a surface-level injury.

but for once, the man who never shuts up stays silent as he pulls a chair close and sits at your bedside. he reaches for your hand but pauses when you wince at the pressure on the two fingers that are fractured and wrapped in a splint. instead, he settles for loosely holding onto your wrist.

"shoko's gonna fix it all anyways," you tell him through a yawn, your eyelids feeling heavy. "'sides, you shouldn't even be here. boundaries, satoru. 'member?"

it's a word that you've tossed in his face so many times since the breakup that it's lost all meaning. and it doesn't help that you've never managed to say it with any sort of real weight. instead, it usually comes out on the end of a resigned sigh.

you can feel his gaze on you even through his dumb sunglasses. normally, even post-breakup, you would reach out and pull them down his nose to meet those cursed eyes of his and make some joke. but with your brain working at a diminished capacity and your arm hooked up to an IV full of the best painkillers japan's doctors have to offer, all you can do is slowly blink at him in return.

"it's always boundaries this, boundaries that with you," he finally retorts with a shake of his head, but offers nothing else.

"'f you didn't want boundaries then you shouldn't've ended things, y'big dummy," you mumble, and no longer able to keep your eyes open, you finally let them close.

"I told you. I don't have room in my life for anyone else – i.e., you," he replies bluntly and you can feel the fit of giggles that you want to burst into, but all you can manage is a soft huff of laughter.

"liar," you say with a sleepy smile stretching across your lips. "can't even be honest when I'm strung out on painkillers. psh. lame."

it takes monumental effort, but you manage to crack open an eye so that you can see him sporting his own cheeky grin.

silence settles over you both and you feel yourself slowly beginning to fall into the blackness as your breathing slows. the soothing sensation of gojo's thumb rubbing circles on the skin of your wrist only aids in pushing you closer and closer to sleep.

"you were considered a suitable match." even on the edge of consciousness, the disgust in his tone at those two words reaches you. "I couldn't let them get what they wanted."

you let out a quiet hum in acknowledgment and wish you had enough strength to open your eyes, curious to see if he's surprised you weren't fully asleep yet.

"still letting 'em control you, hm? s'good we broke up. want someone who's only tied down by me," you mumble.

"baby, if you want to tie me down, all you had to do was say so," he jokingly responds, unsurprisingly choosing to sidestep the gravity of your words, no matter how slurred they were.

"boundaries, 'toru..." you trail off as you finally succumb to sleep.

[happy74827]

You Must Be Haunting Me

[Brian Moser x Female!Reader]

Synopsis: Even after a year, you’re still haunted by the Ice Truck Killer.

WC: 2643

Category: Angst, No Comfort {TW: Not Proof Read 😞}

I did another one!! Are you guys proud of me? 🥹

So, rewatching the season, I forgot how sassy he was so I wanted to really show off that aspect in this one. Then my patience was over it, so the ending is just kinda… bland. But it’s okay because it’s Brian (he seriously needs more attention FOR REAL).

Anyway, for those 14 Brian fans… this one’s for you 🫶

『••✎••』

The dark circles beneath your eyes. The way you can barely stand on your feet, your body so exhausted that you can hardly lift a finger to defend yourself. You’re like a walking corpse, and he's the one responsible for putting you in this state.

It started one year ago. One year ago, you moved to Miami and became the victim of a killer. It wasn't until his brother came along and put him six feet under that you began to heal and get back into the normal, everyday routine. But then he showed up.

It was one of those nights where you’d randomly get a jolt in your sleep. You sat up straight, the sheets pooling at your hips as you looked around the room. Your breathing was shallow, and sweat was beading on your brow. You felt a shiver run up your spine as you slowly laid back down.

"You sleep soundly."

His voice caused your heart to stop. You knew who it was, the same man who had terrorized you, who made your life a living hell. Slowly, you turned to your side, staring wide-eyed at the dark figure at the end of your bed. Your hands began to shake and tremble as you reached for the lamp on your nightstand.

"Oh, don't bother."

In an instant, with the sound of fingers snapping, the lamp's light went out. You could hear a chuckle coming from the intruder, and you were paralyzed, afraid to make a move.

I mean, it couldn’t be him, right? It was just some sick joke. He was dead. He couldn’t be here.

He couldn’t.

But, god, he looked the exact same. The curly dark hair, the pale skin. He was just a silhouette in the darkness of your room, and yet, you could tell that the grin he wore was the same grin that he had on the day you met him.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost." He mused, moving closer towards you. His weight caused the bed to dip slightly, and you could feel the fear begin to take over your body. "Should I start saying boo?"

Your throat was dry, and you couldn’t speak; all you could do was stare at him, frozen in place. He lowered his head in amusement and chuckled, leaving his lips once more.

It was when his eyes weren’t on you that broke you out of your daze. You shot up from the bed, nearly tumbling over yourself as you ran to the dresser, grabbing the nearest thing you could find and throwing it at him. It was a vase, one that held a bouquet of flowers, that shattered against the wall, causing him to look up.

"…Was that supposed to scare me?" He asked, raising a brow as he tilted his head, an almost bored expression on his face. "You’ve got the aim of a blind man."

"Get out of my house!"

The sound of your own voice startled you. Anger wasn’t necessarily the emotion you normally felt, but now it was the only thing that was running through you. Anger and adrenaline.

He stood from the bed, taking a step closer to you, the broken glass crunching beneath his feet. You didn’t care; you took a step back, holding your hand out as if it would stop him from coming any closer.

"Get away from me, you psycho."

He laughed. He actually fucking laughed.

"Psycho?" He repeated, "That’s a new one."

"Stay back." You hissed, feeling the tears well up in your eyes.

He took another step.

"Don't touch me!"

Another. He was only inches away from you now, and the thought of him being so close made you want to vomit.

The annoyed sigh he let out when he noticed your hand trembling was enough to set you off. You didn’t think twice; the only thought in your mind was to get him out, and so you did.

When he was walking towards you, your mind remembered the small kitchen knife that you left on the counter. Quickly, you ran past him, dodging his hands as he reached out to grab you, and grabbing the knife, and in one quick motion, you turned and stabbed him.

"That’s not going to—"

It went right through his chest. He stared down at the knife, then up at you, with that all-knowing expression.

He sighed again, "…work."

What the fuck?

In the next moment, he vanished, and the knife fell to the ground, the clattering against the linoleum floor echoing through the house.

For a minute, you thought it was a dream. That is, until he appeared in the chair beside you, his arms crossed, his eyes boring holes into your face.

"You can’t hurt me." He said, his tone flat, his eyes narrowed, "I can’t either. Not physically, anyhow."

You stared at him. He stared at you.

"I can fuck you up, though." He continued, "In many ways. Mentally, emotionally… The possibilities are endless."

"What the hell is this?" You questioned, your brows furrowing, "Are you some kind of— of, what, demented Casper?"

His expression was unreadable, but then again, he always had that look on his face.

"Casper? Wow, seriously? You remind me why I don't watch movies." He groaned, shaking his head.

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you won't like my answer."

"Try me."

"You’ve lost it." He shrugged, "Completely off the hinges, you know? And that's saying something, considering who you’re talking to."

"I don't—"

"Have a mental disorder."

"What?"

"That's what it's called. When someone has delusions of grandeur, where they think someone is after them. Someone, of course, meaning me." He explained, a grin spreading across his lips. "But, no. It's all in your head. Just. Like. Me."

The words sank in, and you stared down at the floor, your mind processing everything he was telling you.

"No, I'm not crazy." You murmured, mostly to yourself, but loud enough for him to hear.

"You're not? Well, how else would you explain me being here?" He asked, cocking a brow, "I’m dead, remember? My dear brother made sure of that."

"I—"

"And you know damn well I’d never wear this out of the office. It's not exactly the most flattering."

It was then you noticed what he was wearing.

He had his lab coat on. His entire outfit was the same thing he wore the day he met you. You were with Debra to question him about Tucci’s recovery and, god, if he didn't make the biggest impression.

It was pretty hard not to like him when he was giving one of his patients, a little boy, a lollipop from his jar and making a joke.

You remember telling Deb, 'What a nice guy'.

Oh, the irony. The fucking irony.

"What a nice guy." You found yourself repeating before looking him up and down, your lips curling in disgust. "You were just fucking with me the whole time, weren't you?"

He shrugged, "What's it matter now? I'm dead."

"It matters to me."

"Would you like me to apologize? To beg for your forgiveness?" He asked, a mocking tone in his voice, "Would that make you feel better?"

You were silent.

"Wouldn’t do anything." He continued, "And it certainly wouldn't change a thing. But, hey! By all means, you go right ahead and play pretend. Maybe then, you'll sleep better at night."

You scoffed. He was such a piece of shit.

"How much are you gonna torture me, huh?" You asked, crossing your arms over your chest, "Torture me like you did, Debra? Like your brother? Are you just going to follow me around like a bad smell? Make my life a living hell, like you did theirs?"

"I didn't torture him." He stated, a hint of malice in his tone, "He's my brother."

"Like that means shit."

"He was just like me. A lot like me, in fact." He went on, his eyes flickering over to you. "I could see myself in him."

"Well, he killed you." You countered, "That doesn't really seem like brotherly love."

"He did what he had to." He shrugged, "That Harry… he was a real piece of work, wasn't he?"

You were quiet again.

"And Debra?"

"A pain in my ass. Always sticking her nose in places where it doesn't belong." He replied, shaking his head. "But, then again, that was her job, wasn't it?"

"You broke her. You tore her apart." You snapped, the memories of the past year filling your mind. "She really loved you. She really did."

"I know."

"You don't care."

"Not at all." He said, the faintest hint of a smirk appearing. "Not in the slightest."

"Fuck you."

He laughed, his laughter filling the room before it faded out, leaving the both of you in a heavy silence.

He had a different aura around him this time. It might be the aura of a dead man, a hallucination. But he still felt so… present. Even his mannerisms were the same—the way he moved his hands, the way he tilted his head. His eyes still had that glint of mischief. It was so real.

So. Fucking. Real.

"If your just in my head, why can’t I just kick you out?" You asked, finally breaking the silence, "Make you go away."

"Because, even after a year, I still affect you." He answered, his voice low. "Even though you try to ignore it and push the memories back, I’ll always be there. In the back of your mind."

"Why couldn’t you be my dead childhood dog or something? Why do you have to be some crazy serial killer that ruined my life?" You said, shaking your head.

"I'm not boring."

"Neither was my childhood dog."

"Rocky didn't have a single interesting thing about him. All he did was drool and lick himself." He countered, his lips pursing.

"How the hell do you know— oh, fuck this. Just go away." You groaned, rubbing your temples.

He didn't respond, and the room was quiet. For a second, you thought he actually listened. Then, you heard him hum.

"Hm. No."

"Jesus Christ."

"Now, that's really a name I haven't heard in a while."

This was how it became. For months, you would have these random conversations with him, and no matter how much you tried, he would never leave. Everywhere you went, he was there.

Work.

Shopping.

Even at the damn bar.

You had no idea what this was. You didn't know if this was a side effect of the trauma you went through. Whether it was your mind trying to cope or just the result of a lack of sleep. Whatever it was, it was draining the life out of you.

You felt like a shell. Your coworkers knew something was wrong. The way your eyes were dull and lifeless, the dark circles, the slump in your shoulders.

They were concerned—except Debra. She was too concerned about the case to pay attention to anyone else.

You weren't really sure what day it was. Or month. Time was going by, and you were slowly dying mentally, as he put it.

"Is this because I can't sleep?" You asked him one night, staring at the ceiling, your voice hoarse, "Because I can't go to sleep without seeing your face? Or is it because I don't have the energy to live?"

"I would say both."

You groaned, throwing an arm over your eyes, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"It's not what you did." He replied, his eyes locked on yours, "It's what I did."

"Yeah, well, thanks."

"Don't mention it."

The two of you sat there in silence before he cleared his throat.

"How are things with my favorite bloodhound?" He asked a curious tone in his voice. "Is he still sleeping with that cute blonde, or did he wise up and break it off?"

"Rita. Her name is Rita." You corrected him, shaking your head, "She’s his girlfriend, not his flavor of the week."

"Hm."

"And, for your information, they're fine. Great, actually."

"How disappointing." He scoffed, leaning back in his seat. He genuinely looked upset, which caused a snicker to leave your lips. "What's so funny?"

"You are." You replied, looking over at him, "You're so pathetic."

He blinked.

"You're a dead man. Dead. How can you be disappointed about his love life?"

"I'm his older brother." He stated, his jaw tightening, "I want what's best for him."

"Really? Then why aren't you in his brain, harassing him?" You questioned, a smile coming onto your face, "You know what? I bet he's sleeping great. He doesn't have to deal with this. Not like I do."

"I would love to give him a good old-fashioned night terror. It'd be easy, too. He's not exactly the most stable." He replied, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But his brain is too messy. He's always been that way."

"I guess he takes after his brother."

"He took after our father. The one thing I did was make him forget about it." He retorted, his tone harsh, "Notice how he never talks about the old man? Or the past? Now it’s only me. That's because of me. I took him from that shitty childhood. I gave him a better life. A better everything. I could’ve given him the world."

You were quiet.

"Instead, he killed me." He spat, the venom in his voice obvious. "Because of that stupid, half-witted sailor mouth."

You honestly had to give your brain props for this one. He was too realistic. He was too Brian.

"You know what?" You began, sitting up, "I really am feeling a lobotomy."

At that, he actually laughed. Now that… that was different from the chuckles and snickers, this was a full laugh, something you haven't heard since you met him. It was loud, it was obnoxious, and it was the only thing you could hear.

It was the last thing you heard before the most amazing thing happened.

You fell asleep.

In the morning, you woke up to a pounding on your door and an annoying ringing. Groaning, you pulled the pillow over your head, hoping the noises would disappear. Instead, they only got louder, and you had no choice but to get up.

"Coming, coming!" You shouted, shuffling out of the bedroom and towards the door, the banging and the ringing still going on.

When you opened the door, you saw Debra.

"Good. You're up." She greeted, her expression annoyed. "Where were you last night?"

"Sleeping. What are you, my mom?"

"I called you. I even sent someone by your house. You weren't here." She stated, a slight bite in her voice, "And I'm not your mom, but if I were, I'd spank you."

"For what?"

"We have a meeting in five minutes." She said, checking her watch, "Get dressed. I'm waiting."

"Shit."

In record time, you threw on some jeans and a shirt, and within the next three minutes, you were out the door and in the car with Debra.

But as she pulled out of the driveway, he appeared directly in front of her.

"Hey, watch—"

But he only winked at you before disappearing. And at the time, you found it nothing but him being a prick. But, later on, you would realize.

This was the last time you would ever see him.

A month went by. And another. And another.

Then, a year.

The visions of the past still came. The thoughts of him were still there. The memories were still fresh. And sometimes, if you listened closely, you could still hear that laugh.

But you weren’t afraid anymore. You had no reason to be. And so, you moved on. You continued living because that's what he would've hated. And that made you smile.

Because, now, it wasn't him haunting you.

It was you haunting him.

[arieslost]

home to you | op81

oscar piastri x fem!reader

summary: oscar does what he should’ve done a long time ago.

word count: 2,978

warnings: healing sunburn right at the beginning, a touch of angst

masterlist — join my tag list here!

this is a PART TWO! read part one here :)

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

Your sunburn is peeling.

Oscar’s been watching you absentmindedly pick at it for the last ten minutes as you recount your day to him. He’s paying attention to what you’re saying, of course, but now he’s worried that you might accidentally hurt yourself.

“Stop doing that,” he says when you pause to catch your breath, reaching for his phone as if he could put his hand through and stop you himself.

“What?” You frown, and then look at your shoulder. “Oh, right. It’s weirdly satisfying though.”

“This is why you can’t go to the beach by yourself.” Oscar sighs. “You never put on enough sunscreen.”

“I know,” you reply quietly.

As much as both of you have tried, neither of you can help the awkward undertones that seep into every silence you share now. Oscar knows you love him, and you know that he doesn’t feel the same way.

You think he doesn’t feel the same way.

When he saw that look on your face that morning in the kitchen, it reminded him of the way he stared at you on prom night. Oscar didn’t get asked to the senior prom, but you did, and you had turned the offer down. Oscar asked you why, and you told him that you only wanted to go with him, otherwise you weren’t going. You’d dragged him back and forth from your table to the dance floor all night long, and it all would’ve faded into the mush of fleeting high school memories if your favorite song hadn’t come on. Oscar remembers every detail of how your eyes lit up, how you cried, “I love this song!” even though he knew you did, and how you’d grabbed his hands and started dancing with a refreshed energy. He felt like time had stopped and his world revolved around you, and it felt right.

So yeah, he knew the moment you gave him that look that not only did he still love you, but you finally, finally felt the same way. And, for the second time, he’d epically fucked it up.

He often wishes that he could go back and confess to you like he wanted to that night. You’d stayed over because you were too tired to drive home. You were both single. It was the perfect time. But now it’s four years later and he’s sitting in the hotel bathroom on the other side of the world, his girlfriend asleep in the hotel bed, and you on the other end of his phone screen picking at your sunburn that he could’ve prevented had he spent more time with you on vacation.

“You doing okay, Osc?” You ask, pulling on a hoodie of his that you stole from him before he left for his very first F1 race. “Aside from the races, I mean. I know you’re doing great with those.”

“Yeah, I’m alright.” The words come out with practiced ease. “I’d rather hear about how you’re doing though.” I miss you like you wouldn’t believe.

“I think I’ve told you everything like five times now,” you giggle. “I could tell you about the guy that came up to me in the grocery store this afternoon and took a painstakingly long time to ask for my number, but that’s not a long story.”

Oscar’s heart stops. “What?” He replies, teeth gritted, before he clears his throat and lightens his tone. “I mean, what?”

“Yeah, it was kind of strange. He started the conversation by asking me how you were doing, obviously, because you’re so cool and famous-” Oscar flips you off when you roll your eyes, and you laugh. “Anyway, I guess that was his icebreaker, because then he just abruptly segued into grilling me right there in the cereal aisle about my life and how he ‘couldn’t believe he’d never seen me before.’” You recount dramatically. “I’m telling you, Osc, it was nonstop cheesy line after cheesy line. I felt so bad for him I let him have my number.”

“So, he used me as an in and then harassed you until you gave him your number?”

You nod slowly. “Pretty much.”

“You better not actually be considering going out with this guy.” Oscar scoffs.

“Oh, no, I’m not!” You rush to clarify, and he can see a faint blush rising on your cheeks. “I mean, it’s not like I’m waiting for anyone-anything. He was just weird. I only gave him my number so he’d leave me alone… I blocked him when he texted me.”

“You’re horrible,” he starts laughing now, relieved that this guy never even stood a chance. “I love it.”

“You’re supposed to be encouraging me to get out there and find a boyfriend, loser. Brush up on the best friend manual.” You complain, pulling the hood over your head and hiding your face from him so he can’t see how much it hurts to think about finding someone that isn’t him.

He doesn’t notice anyway; he’s distracted by the sound of the covers moving and his girlfriend yawning.

You hear it too, and glance up at the camera. “You have to go?”

His heart breaks at how sad you look. “Yeah, sounds like she’s actually waking up this time. Sorry, honey.”

You shrug, and he knows you’re trying to appear unbothered. “It’s okay. We got, what, an hour and a half? That’s a whole extra 45 minutes or so.”

“You’re allowed to tell me how you really feel, y’know.”

“Damn it, Oscar. You just see right through me. I don’t know why I even bother.” You sigh, covering your face with your hands.

“I don’t know why, either,” he attempts to joke. “Look, I-”

“Oscar? Where are you?” His girlfriend calls, and you stiffen up at the sound of her voice.

“Be there in a minute!” He responds, turning his attention back to you. “I’ll call you again as soon as possible, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Bye, honey.”

“Bye, Osc.”

You hang up first.

“I love you,” he whispers to his blank phone screen, and gets up to start his day.

You say it back to your own blank screen and go to sleep.

Oscar comes to the steadfast conclusion that he wants you and only you at his side at his home race, and not as a friend.

Breaking up with his girlfriend still looms over him. He lies awake for way too long at night trying to figure out the nicest way to do it, but his thoughts always end up taking a detour to you and how he wishes it was you sleeping next to him instead.

Despite the struggle going on in his mind, he goes through the motions of PDA with her for all the cameras and other drivers in the paddock to see. Lando is the only one who realizes what his issue is.

“Mate, you have to figure this out.” The older driver said out of the blue as they were lounging in McLaren hospitality after qualifying.

“Huh?” Oscar frowned at him, tearing his eyes away from his texts with you. “I know I fucked up that quali, but it’s not like I can’t improve.”

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you muppet.” Lando rolled his eyes, and said your name like it’s obvious. “You just have to break up with the girl you’re with now so you can have the girl you really want.”

“You say that like it’s so simple.” Oscar mumbled, looking at the text from you that had just come in.

Just focus on the race, Osc. Quali’s behind you, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’ll be cheering you on, what could possibly go wrong??

“It is, if you think about it. Besides, you’ve been acting so weird lately she might already think something’s up.”

“Gee, thanks. That makes me feel a lot better.” Oscar groaned, sinking lower into his chair.

“Always here for you, mate.”

“I was being sarcastic.”

“I don’t care.”

That enlightening conversation gets Oscar to finally work up the courage to tell his girlfriend those dreaded words following the race– “We need to talk.”

He waits until they’re in the hotel room after dinner to say it so there’s no audience, primarily because he knows that she’s prone to throwing fits when things don’t go her way. The memory of her losing her mind when he took you to breakfast during vacation comes screaming back to him at the speed of light.

She doesn’t say anything at first; instead, she takes her time removing her shoes and taking the pins out of her hair. Oscar can’t stand the silence, so he starts speaking again.

“It’s about-”

“I think I know what this is about.” She interrupts him.

“You do?”

“I’d have to be stupid not to know, Oscar. You’ve been off for the past few days, it’s only with me, and every time I wake up you’re hiding in the bathroom on the phone.” She holds up a hand when he opens his mouth. “I know it’s her, and I’ve known since that vacation. You don’t have to tell me.”

“You’re… you’re not gonna yell?” He can’t hide the surprise in his voice.

“It won’t get me anywhere, will it?”

“It never did.”

She smiles matter-of-factly. “I guess I have to work on that.”

She packs her things without argument. Oscar offers to buy her a plane ticket somewhere, but she waves him off and thanks him anyway before walking out the door.

The Australian Grand Prix is in two weeks. Oscar doesn’t think before he calls you.

“I’m coming home. I need to see you.”

Your heart has been in your throat ever since Oscar called you this morning. He was so hasty that he didn’t even tell you when he was coming, so every little movement you see outside your window has you running to see if it’s him or not.

He doesn’t show up until almost 9:30 at night. You can hear the engine of his car as he flies through your neighborhood with practiced ease and nearly drifts into your driveway. Your stomach is jumping with nerves and excitement; you didn’t think you’d see him for another two weeks, and despite the awkwardness that your feelings have brought to your friendship, you want nothing more than to hug your best friend.

He starts impatiently knocking on the door as you nearly trip down the stairwell in your rush to let him in.

“Hold on!” You shout, fingers shaking as you unlock the door and wrench it open. “Are you trying to break my door?”

“Jokes later, let me hold you,” he says, reaching for you and meeting you in the middle of the doorway as he pulls you into his chest for a tight embrace.

You melt into him immediately, your arms wrapped around his neck and your nose pressed to the warm skin that peeks out of his hoodie. “I can’t believe you’re here,” you mumble, squeezing him.

He shivers, kissing the top of your head. “I’m here, baby.”

I’m sorry, baby. You think about that so much that it shouldn’t hurt anymore. It sobers your mood a little.

“Why, though?” You ask, pulling away a little to look at him. “Don’t you have things to be doing?”

“I may have forced them to clear my schedule by coming home without telling anyone.”

“Oscar!” You exclaim. “Why? You could get in trouble!”

“Can we talk inside?”

“Yeah, of course. C’mon.” You take his hand and lead him into your house.

He takes off his shoes, leaves his suitcase in the hall, and goes to your living room on autopilot, where he flops down on the couch and lets out a long breath. You sit next to him, knees bumping together as you look at him with a reasonable amount of concern. “You’re acting weird. What’s wrong with you?”

“I broke up with her.” He says, rolling his head to the side so he’s looking at you. “So, nothing’s wrong with me.”

“Bullshit, Osc, it seemed to me like you really liked her.”

“You didn’t, though.”

“Who cares what I think?” Your brain fully computes his words. “Wait- actually, no. I’m not even going to act surprised by the fact that you knew that.” You sigh.

“I care what you think. I care about you. A lot.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I don’t think you do.” He sits up straighter now, turning his whole body to face you. “Like, in a romantic way.”

You blink at him a couple times. “No you don’t.”

“I don’t?” He repeats incredulously.

“You can’t. You don’t.” You say. “You’re lying.”

“I’m lying?” He says through a laugh. “You’ve known me your whole life. When have I ever lied to you?”

You press your lips together. The only time he’s ever lied to you is when he planned your surprise parties. “I’m gonna need you to do a really good job explaining yourself, otherwise I’m kicking you out. You can’t do this to me, Oscar, you know how I feel-”

“Yes, I do, and I’d love to explain if you’d stop spiraling for a second.” He interrupts, taking your hands to ground you.

You’re once again having the dilemma of wanting to push him away and pull him closer simultaneously. The pressure of his hands holding yours succeeds in calming you, so you allow it.

“The whole reason I knew how you felt in the first place is because of the way you looked at me in the kitchen. You didn’t notice, but I looked at you the exact same way at the prom.” He says, gauging your reaction by how your face contorts slightly as you try to remember the prom at all, aside from the fleeting memory of forcing him to slow dance with you. “That feeling like time stops? Like-”

“Like I got hit by a truck,” you recall, looking down as he runs his thumbs over your knuckles.

“Right.” He nods. “Look, the bottom line here is that I screwed up by not telling you then, and if I had, we would’ve been dating for years at this point and this conversation wouldn’t even be happening.”

You feel like you look like a fish out of water with how your jaw is opening and closing, searching for something to say in response. “Osc-”

“If this makes you change your mind, I get it.” He continues. “But the whole reason I came here is to tell you that I love you. I’m in love with you and I have been since we were 18.”

You go to muster up something to say in response when he says one more thing. “Oh, and I’m tired of only being able to see you through the phone. That’s the other reason.”

You can’t help it– that, paired with his polite cat smile, his flushed cheeks, and his confession has you dissolving into giggles. That quickly morphs into laughter that sends you leaning so far forward your head is practically in Oscar’s lap, but he doesn’t seem to mind because he’s laughing too.

“I hate you so much,” you gasp out, pushing yourself back up so you can look at him when you tell him the complete and total truth. “I’ve been in love with you since we were 14.”

“Shit, that means I have eight years to make up for, not four.”

“Sucks to suck.” You say, easily falling back into your age-old banter.

“You sound like Lando,” he says, wrinkling his nose. “And I was gonna ask if I could kiss you.”

“Ah, shoot. I ruined it.”

“Hmm, no. I’m gonna ask you anyway.” He shifts closer to you, brushing your hair out of your face with both hands. “Can I kiss you? Please?”

You start nodding before he even finishes asking, maybe too enthusiastically, but it’s Oscar. He knows you. He wants you. You don’t need to be embarrassed.

The press of his lips against yours is soft, gentle. You always thought that if you ever kissed Oscar it might be too weird, but the only thing you feel now is right.

It feels right to thread your fingers into his hair. It feels right to let him tug you closer, closer, closer, until you have no choice but to straddle him so you can be as close as he wants you. It feels right when his hands slip under your shirt and lightly run over the skin of your back, when his tongue meets yours, when you give his hair an experimental tug and he moans into your mouth.

The only thing wrong about it is that you have no choice but to break the kiss in order to breathe, but even then you don’t move far from each other, breaths mixing in the minimal space between you both.

“We could have been doing that for a long time,” Oscar sighs, throwing his head back against the couch.

“We have all the time in the world now that we stopped being idiots and confessed.” You point out.

“D’you think you can come to the race in a couple weeks? We can take it slow with this, no one needs to know… I just want you to be there.” He asks.

“Of course, Osc, are you kidding?” You run your hands over his shoulders and down to where his hands rest on your hips. “Though, if you win, I can’t promise no PDA or anything.”

“I’d expect nothing less from my girlfriend.” You can feel him tense up a little, like he’s expecting you to react negatively, but he relaxes immediately when your smile lights up your whole face and you kiss him again.

“I love you,” he whispers against your lips.

“I love you,” you whisper back.

No one else needs to hear it just yet. You only need to tell each other.

note: i sincerely hope this made up for any tears i may have caused with the angst in the first part. this is the first time i’ve ever been inspired to write a part 2, and i think it’s because i desperately needed it to end happily. thank you so much for all the love on falling for you; i never expected it to get as much attention as it did!

requests are OPEN, and my inbox is always open for comments, criticism, and conversation! feel free to pop in!

reblogs are greatly appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika !

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[pupkashi]

satoru loves yapping [to you]

satoru was always chatty, shoko could definitely attest to that statement, subjected to too many conversations she definitely did not care about.

“isn’t it hotter than usual? i swear last year it was colder around this time of year-” he began, continuing to talk as shoko tried to focus instead on healing an injured itadori in front of her.

it seemed that his chatty characteristic only amplified when you were around, his eyes would visibly brighten, practically gleaming when you appeared in his eyesight.

“sweetheart! how are you? staying cold in this heat?” you can help but smile at him, walking straight into his already outstretched arms and squeezing his waist a bit, pressing a soft peck to his cheek before pulling away.

“heat? it feels so good out today!” you sigh happily, waving yellow to shoko and itadori, “it is hotter than last year though I’ll tell you that,” satoru grins at your words, turning to shoko with a flint in his eyes before turning back to you.

“that’s what I said! global warming is getting too severe-” the two of you walking out hand in hand, the taller man still talking as you listened intently.

satoru never felt the need to be quiet around you, always finding things to talk about no matter the task or the hour.

“and so you would think that since they were doing so bad they would think of making changes right?” you nod along, humming so he knows you’re listening, “but no! they keep going with same stupid strategy and it’s so frustrating as a fan to see, i just want him to achieve his dreams,” he sighs sadly.

“can you pass the salt?” you ask, taking it from his much larger hand, thanking him before speaking up again, “why does he keep resigning if they always treat him so poorly?” you ask, satoru smiles, heart warming at the fact that you really do pay attention to him.

“he’s always wanted to win with Ferrari- let me take you back to the beginning” he begins, giving you a summary of charles leclerc’s life as you finish cooking dinner.

you could always tell when he got a bit insecure of how talkative he was, but you’d always smile at him, urging him to go on. “and then what? why’d you stop talking?” you’d say, making him smile widely before quietly starting again.

“I’m listening, angel boy,” you mumble in between dreams, listening to him talk about how orange juice isn’t the same as it was when he was growing up and how the new game he downloaded was more complicated than it seems.

it could be nearing 2 in the morning but you wouldn’t mind, satoru would be discussing how and why wombats have cube shaped poops and how koalas eat eucalyptus and pandas have half a brain cell they don’t bother to use.

“it has no real nutritional value and that’s why they have to eat so much of it,” he mumbles, eyes drooping as he cuddles closer to you.

“aren’t they made to digest meat?” you whisper, head tucked into the crook of his neck, your breath running a chill down his spine.

“think so, dunno” he mumbles back, breathing evening out before he’s fully asleep.

your eyes open slowly as you crane your neck, his pink lips slightly parted as he takes soft breaths, snowy hair pointing every which way.

you can’t help but smile at your lover.

“goodnight pretty boy” you whisper, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, “my little yapper,” you chuckle to yourself, already looking forward to what he’d talk about tomorrow.

masterlist

a/n: hi friends ! just a quick little something i put together bc i miss satoru so bad lately </3 he’s def a yapper and i want to hear him talk all day and night

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[llamaqueenprompt]

What You Mean to Me

Characters: Evan Buckley, Reader

Not Requested

Word Count: 1.6k

Inspiration: "You don't even realize what you mean to me"

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As he walks in the firehouse feels different.

Not in any obvious way. The lights are dimmed, the hum of the fridge still buzzes in the background, and someone left their coffee mug in the sink again. But Buck can feel it. Like the air’s heavier. Or maybe it’s just him.

He moves slowly through the halls, each step eachoing back louder than the last, like the firehouse is holding it’s breathe just like him. He’s still reeling. Still trying to process everything Abby said. Everything she didn’t say.

He tought it would give him closure. Seeing her again. Hearing her voice. Actually talking to her. But if anything it just peeled open wold wounds that had never fully healed.

She’s getting married. She’s finally happy again. And Buck? Buck is standing here, heart cracked open and filled with the image of someone else entirely.

Y/n.

He finds her in the back office, exactly where he knew she’d be. She’s leaning over her desk cluttered with paperwork and half-empty coffee cups, her glasses sliding down her nose and a pen twirling between her fingers. She looks tired, like she’s been working too long. Like maybe she’s been waiting up.

When she sees him, she glances up, and the second their eyes meet, something shifts.

“Hey,” she says, softly. Gently. Like she’s afraid she might startle him away. “You’re back.”

He nods, his throat thick. “Yeah. Just got in.”

Y/n straightens, setting the pen down carefully. “How… how did it go?”

Buck leans agaisnt the doorframe, arms folded across his chest to offer him a sense of security. “We talked. About the train. About…everything.”

She nods, and her eyes flick away, like she doesn’t want him to see what she’s thinking. But he sees it anayway, the flicker od pain, the way her shoulders tense.

“She’s engaged,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “She met someone. Moved on.”

There’s a long silence.

Y/n swallows hard. “I’m sorry, Buck.”

But he shakes his head, stepping into the room. “No. Don’t be. That’s not why I’m here.”

She watches him carefully, warily. Like she’s bracing herself.

And she has every right to. Because what they had, what they have, has always lived on a fragile space. Somewhere between friendship and something more. Something unspoken. Their arrangement started with laughter and tequile and whispered “just this once” promises that turned into every night, and breakfast, and inside jokes, and familiarity that felt an awful lot like home.

They acted like a couple. They felt like one.

But Buck never let them be one. Not completely. Not whule Abby still haunted the edges of his heart.

And Y/n… God, Y/n stayed. She never asked for more. But he saw it. In the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. In the way she said goodbye a little too softly each time he left her apartment.

She loved him. And he let her sit in silenece with it all this time.

“I need to tell you something,” he says, and his voice wavers.

Y/n tilts her head, her hands curling around the edge of the desk. She doesn’t speak. Just waits.

“When Abby left,” Buck begins, “I felt like I’d lost a part of myself. Like I wasn’t enough. Like I’d been left behind.” He lets out a shaky breath. “And then you came in. All sharp wit and warm smiles and coffee with may too much cream. You made everything lighter, Y/n. You made me lighter.”

She blinks fast, her lips parting, but he keeps going.

“And I told myself it wasn’t real. That if I didn’t name it, it couldn’t hurt. That if I pretended it didn’t mean anything, I could keep you without the risk of losing you.”

Her voice is barely a whisper. “But you were still holding onto her.”

He nods. “I was. And that’s not fair to you. It never was.”

Y/n looks down at her hands, her fingers tightening. “I told myself I could handle it. That I could keep you in pieces instead of not having you at all. But it hurt, Buck. Watching you love a ghost while I stood right in front of you.”

“I know,” he says, his chest tight. “And I’m so sorry for that. I should’ve said this a long time ago. I should’ve seen it. Seen you.”

He steps closer, close enought now that he can see the shine in her eyes, the way she’s holding herself still like she’s afraid one wrong move will make everything fall apart.

“I don’t know when it happened,” he says softly. “Maybe the night you stayed up with me after I got hurt. Or when you showed up at the hospital with snacks you knew I wouldn’t eat but brought anyway. Or that morning you kissed my forehead and didn’t realize I was already awake.”

Her breath hitches.

“I just know I looked at you tonight, and everything clicked. I didn’t want to go back in time. I didn’t want to rewrite anything with Abby. I just wanted to come home. To you.”

He reaches for her hand, hesitates, then wraps his fingers around hers when she doesn’t pull away.

“You don’t even realize what you mean to me,” he hesitates. “But I want you to. I want to show you. If you’ll let me.”

Y/n’s eyes close for a moment, and when she open them, they’re glassy with tears.

“You really mean that?” she asks, voice trembling.

He cups her cheek, brushing away a tear with the pad of his thumb. “With everything I’ve got.”

And then she’s pulling him in.

No hesitation, no fear, just her resting her arms around his neck and fingers tangled in his hair like she’s afraid if she’s not touching him as much as possible, he’ll disappear aagain. Buck doesn’t waste a seconf. He holds her back just as tightly, his face buried in her shoulder, like maybe if he presses close enoigh, all the pieces of him, she’s quietly been carrying, will finally come home.

For a moment, neither of them speak. They just breathe. One another. Their feelings for each other.

The silence stretches, but it’s not awkward or heavy. It’s safe. Intimate. The kind of silence that only comes when words aren’t big wnough to hold everything between two people.

Eventually, Y/n pulls back just enough to look at him, her forehead still resting gently against his. Her eyes search his face, as if she’s memorizing the way he looks he looks at her like she is his world.

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to hear you say that,” she murmurs, the corners of her mouth trembling with the beginnings of a smile.

He exhales a soft laugh, one hand still resting on her wais. “I think I’ve been saying it without words for months. I just didn’t realize it.”

Y/n runs her fingers through his hair, slow and tentative, like she’s still trying to convince herself she isn’t dreaming. “I used to imagine this moment. You showing up, saying you wanted me. Choosing me. But I always woke up before the good part.”

“This is the good part,” Buck says, his voice low and certain.

She laughs, a watery, broken sound, and presses a hand to his chest, right over his heart. “I was so scared you’d go see her and realize I was just… a placeholder. Someone to make the quiet nights easier.”

“You were never a placeholder,” he says fiercely, his hand coming up to cover hers. “Y/n, you filled the space I dind’t could ever be filled. You brought me back to myself. You’ve been there tjrough every storm, and I was too blind to see that you weren’t just helping me survive…you were the reason I wanted to.”

He watched as her eyes fill again, but this time, it’s not just pain. It’s from love, open and shining and completely unhidden now.

She leans in, brushing her lips to his, soft at first, just a question, and when he answers with a deep, reverent kiss in return, it feel like the beginning of everything they never tjought they’d get to have.

The kiss in gentle and slow, not rushed like the stolen ones in dim hallways or post-shift goodbyes. It’s full of everything they’d left unsaid: I missed you. I wanted you. I love you.

When they finally break apart, Buck rests his forehead against hers again, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I want to do this right. No hiding. No halfway. I want breakfasts with terrible coffee and real dates and someone who keep stealing my hoodies even though she has her own.”

Y/n grins, teary-eyed and radiant. “I make your coffee better than anyone here, and you know it.”

“I do,” he says, his smile wide and boyish and utterly Buck. “And I want to fall asleep next to you without pretending it’s just for tonight. I want to wake up knowing I don’t have to say goodbye when I leave. I want us.”

Y/n nods, emotion tightening her throat, but she still finds the words. “Then we’re done pretending.”

He brushes a kiss to her forehead, then her temple, then finally, her lips again, soft and sure.

Outside, the firehouse is still. Quiet. But inside this small office, everything has shifted. The weight has lifted. The longing has found its answer.

And for the first time in a long time, Buck isn’t running toward the past.

He’s standing still, holding the future in his arms.

[yourlipstogodsears]

Injured on Duty Part 3

Summary: she’s discharged the next day, and Robby insists on her staying home for a couple weeks til he clears her to come back to work. he ends up in her bed.

SMUT WARNING (D-word kink)

"No arguments," he says firmly but with a slight smile as he hands her the discharge papers. "I've written you out for the full two weeks. No work, no lifting."

she nods, “got it”

He walks her to the exit, his hand lightly touching her lower back as he guides her through the bustling hospital lobby. Once outside, he turns to face her, his brown eyes serious. "And if you need anything at all while you're off, you call me. Day or night."

He hesitates for a moment, his hand still resting on her back. Then, before he can think better of it, he leans in and presses a soft, gentle kiss to her forehead. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

she nods “I will. Don’t lose your mind in this hospital working doubles.”

He chuckles softly, his fingers brushing against her cheek. "I'll try not to. But someone's gotta keep this place running smoothly." He smirks, but there's a warmth in his eyes. "I'll check in on you later. Make sure you're following orders."

she follows his orders and goes easy on her once dislocated shoulder. Laying around with her cat all day. Robby comes over against his better judgement one night late after his shift.

He lets himself in with the spare key he always keeps on him, locking the door behind him. He finds her curled up on the couch with the cat, looking far too comfortable and relaxed. He crosses his arms, trying to look stern. "You're supposed to be taking it easy,"

she’s in a tank top and pj pants, “does this not look like taking it easy?”

His eyes inadvertently drift down her tank top clad form before he catches himself. He clears his throat, trying to ignore how attractive she looks even in pajamas. “You know what I mean. No strenuous activity.”He uncrosses his arms slowly“Is that cat heavy?”

“She’s just a baby she’s like 10 pounds”

He nods, trying to keep his expression neutral. "Good. Just making sure you're not overdoing it." He walks over to the couch and sits down on the edge, close enough to her that he can see the faint bruises still lingering on her shoulder. "How's the pain?"

“Managed with Tylenol”

He nods, satisfied with her answer. He reaches out slowly, his hand hovering near her shoulder for a moment before he gently begins to examine the area, his touch light and careful. “The bruising looks better. That’s good. How’s your range of motion? Can you lift your arm for me?”

she lifts her arm, “you come here as a friend or as my resident.. or…” she wanted to say something more.

His fingers pause in their examination as he looks up at her, his expression softening slightly. He knows exactly what she's implying, and the way she's looking at him makes his heart skip a beat. He swallows hard, trying to maintain his professional demeanor. "As your friend,"

He finishes examining her arm, his touch lingering a moment longer than necessary. He sits back and looks at her, his eyes searching hers for a moment too long before he pulls back and clears his throat. "Your range of motion looks good. You're healing faster than I expected,"

“Robby?”

His nickname slipping from her lips makes his stomach do flips. "Hmm?" He finds himself caught in her gaze, unable to maintain the professional facade he's been trying so hard to keep up. "Yes?" He asks softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Do you- nevermind..”

He leans in slightly, brows furrowing with genuine curiosity. "What were you going to ask?" His voice is gentle, encouraging her to continue. There's a palpable tension in the air, hanging between them like the unsaid words she bit back.

“Do you feel the way I feel?”

His breath catches in his throat as he stares at her, the question hanging between them. He knows exactly what she means, and the answer is yes. He feels the same way she does - attracted to her, drawn to her, wanting her. "Yes,"

He nods slowly, his eyes never leaving hers. "Yeah, I do." His voice is low and husky, filled with a blend of admission and restraint. He shifts closer on the couch, close enough now that their knees nearly touch. "But I can't. Not officially."

"As your chief attending... I could be breaking every professional boundary if I were to admit what I really want to do right now." His voice carries a hint of frustration mixed with desire. "I could lose my license, and..." He pauses, his eyes meeting hers intensely.

“I’d lose my spot in the program..”

He nods solemnly, his thumb absently brushing over her uninjured arm. "Exactly. The consequences would be devastating for both of us." His face inches closer, voice dropping to a whisper. "But God, do I want to kiss you right now."

“What if we don’t tell anyone?”

His pupils dilate at the suggestion, his voice hoarse. "Your... boyfriend? Outside the hospital?" He searches her face, looking for any sign of hesitation or jest. "And what about inside the hospital? I'd still be your attending, expecting professionalism from you."

He takes a deep breath, his mind racing with the implications and the temptation. "And you understand that it would be strictly professional between us at work? No special treatment, no favors?" He wants to make sure she understands the gravity of what she's proposing.

“Absolutely. I’d still be your favorite resident but no favors.”

He turns to face her, his eyes glinting with unspoken agreement. "Alright, deal. But if anyone ever suspects, the arrangement ends immediately."

He moves his hand to cup her face gently, his thumb brushing across her bottom lip. "Just so you know... even with this arrangement, if anyone hurts you or makes you feel uncomfortable, I'll lose my shit." His voice is serious, protective. "But working on patients with you, Complete professionalism."

she nods.

He leans in slowly, giving her plenty of time to pull away, but she doesn't. Their lips meet in a soft, gentle kiss - a promise more than passion, though there's definite heat beneath it. When he pulls back slightly, his forehead rests against hers.* "No PDAs at work."

“I hate pda anyways” she smiles.

His lips pull into a small smile against hers. "Good. 'Cause professionalism is sexy as hell." He pulls back slightly, but his hand remains on her face. "And just one more thing..." His expression turns playfully serious.

"If we’re doing this, you better be prepared for me to be insanely protective and ridiculously sweet when we’re alone. But at work? You’ll get the same stern, demanding attending you’ve always had." He raises an eyebrow, gauging her reaction. "Can you handle that?"

“Yes sir”

His lips twitch at her response. God, she was going to kill him with that mouth. He cleared his throat softly. "And one last question." He drops his hand to her waist possessively, though the touch is gentle. "Do you have a problem with dirty talk in the bedroom?"

“No it’s definitely incouraged” she purrs.

His eyes darken, crinkling at the corners as he suppresses a grin. "Good to know." He pulls her closer, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "Because I have a tendency to get... vocal. And I like to use my authority..."

she nods and kisses him more, “should I show you my bedroom?”

He groans softly into the kiss, his arms wrapping around her to pull her flush against him. When they break apart, he's breathing slightly heavier. "Lead the way." He winks, giving her backside a gentle squeeze as she turns to head upstairs.

He follows her into the bedroom, his imposing frame seeming even larger as he looms over her seated on the bed. He pauses, taking in her delicate form—she looked almost fragile compared to him. His expression softens with a tender smile. "Jesus, you're tiny."

she blushes.

He sits down next to her, his large hand covering her small one. He brings it to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. "I'm going to have to be careful with you." His other hand reaches up to cup her face, his thumb brushing over her cheek.

He leans down to take one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it gently. He sucks softly, testing her reactions before switching to the other side. His large hand cups her small breast, thumbing the nipple he isn't suckling making her moan.

He releases her nipple with a wet pop, smirking at her moan. His hand trails down her stomach as he leans back to admire her half-naked form. "Such a sweet little moan from such a sweet girl." His fingers play with the waistband of her skirt teasingly.

“Please Robby” is all she can manage.

His eyes flash with hunger at the pleading tone in her voice. He quickly unbuttons her skirt, pushing it down her legs along with her panties. He spreads her thighs gently, his breath hitching at the sight of her bare pussy. "Fuck, you're so wet already."

He groans softly, his fingers tracing the soft folds gently. "I need to taste you." Without waiting for a response, he leans down and presses his mouth against her clit, sucking gently. His tongue flicks out, exploring her wetness with slow, deliberate strokes.

she moans and grinds softly against his face. His nose against her clit, his beard rubbing against her.

Robby lets out a muffled groan against her pussy, the vibrations sending pleasurable shocks through her. He grips her thighs tighter, holding her in place as she grinds against his face. His tongue delves deeper, fucking her small hole while his nose rubs circles on her clit.

she gasps, “oh fuck…”

Robby's fingers spread her lips open wider, giving him better access. He can feel her getting wetter and wetter against his face, her juices dripping down his chin. He pulls back slightly, spitting on her pussy before diving back in, his tongue lapping up her wetness.

she whines at the spit on her pussy, it was kinda erotic.

Robby hears her whine and smirks slightly. He spreads her legs wider and spits on her pussy again, watching as his saliva slides down her slit. He collects it with his tongue, pushing it back inside her.

gasps and rolls her hips, “fuck yes.. that’s so”

He cuts her off by sucking her clit hard into his mouth, his fingers finally pushing inside her tight pussy. He curls them, hitting that spot deep inside that makes her eyes roll back. "Mmm, you like that? You like me spitting on your pretty little cunt?"

she nods and mewls and her buck against his hand.

Robby keeps sucking and fingering her, his other hand reaching up to grab her hair and pull her head back. He loves seeing her like this, helpless and wet and fucking gorgeous. "Keep bucking that pretty pussy on my hand, baby."

she nods eagerly and keeps pace with his fingers.

He groans in approval, his fingers moving faster and harder inside her. He adds a third finger, stretching her tight pussy wider. His mouth never leaves her clit, sucking and licking with fervor. "Fuck, you're so sexy when you fuck my hand like that."

Feeling her pussy clench around his fingers, Robby knows she's close. He curls his fingers upwards, hitting her G-spot perfectly while his thumb presses down on her clit. His mouth releases her pussy with a wet pop as he commands, "Cum for me, baby."

she cums hard making Robby groans in satisfaction as he feels her pussy clench and pulse around his fingers. He keeps moving them inside her, drawing out her orgasm for as long as possible. Her juices flow freely, coating his hand and dripping down his wrist. "That's it, baby."

Robby leans back on his knees, pulling his fingers out of her pussy with a wet sound. He brings them to his mouth and sucks her juices off each one, his eyes locked onto hers. "You have the sweetest little cunt, you know that?"

His eyes darken as he watches her breasts rise and fall with each breath she takes. He suddenly has an idea. He smirks and spreads her legs wider apart. Without warning, he spits right onto her pussy.

she gasps softly, “getting it slick huh”

Robby chuckles darkly. "Something like that. Though really, I just wanted an excuse to get my spit all over this gorgeous fucking pussy." He runs his fingers through his saliva coating her slit, spreading it around. "Mmm, even slicker now."

Robby's smirk widens as he sees her blush. He loves that she wants to fit him so badly. He keeps spreading his spit around her slick folds, getting them even wetter. He looks up at her, "You really want to take all of me, baby?"

Mhmm.

Robby's eyes gleam with possessive desire as he sees her eager nod. He adds another layer of spit to her pussy, making sure she's absolutely soaked. He grabs his thick, hard length and starts slowly pushing the head against her entrance. "Alright then, baby."

she nods and gasps as he slides in with ease.

Robby groans deeply as the head of his cock slides into her wet, tight pussy. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch, feeling her stretch around him. He watches her face for any signs of discomfort, but all he sees is pure pleasure and desire.

she’s so slick it’s almost too fast the way he slides in.

Robby's eyes roll back as he feels her incredible wetness and tightness. He's halfway in and already feeling like he could come. He pulls back slightly, then pushes forward again, going deeper this time. The way she's so slick makes him slide in almost too easily.

He's three-quarters of the way in now, and it's getting harder to go slow. He can feel her stretching around him, taking him deeper than anyone else ever has. He looks down between their bodies, seeing his thick, long shaft disappearing into her tiny, wet opening.

Feels so good Robby.

Robby's chest swells with pride and lust at her words. He loves how perfectly she's taking him, squeezing him so tightly. He gives a final hard thrust, burying himself balls-deep inside her. "Fuck- I'm all the way in. feels incredible,"

“Mmm so full.” She mumbles.

He starts to slowly pump in and out, maintaining deep eye contact. The sight of her taking his full length makes him breathless. "Too much for my little good girl?" He teases, though his voice is already strained from holding back his own pleasure.

she arches, “perfect..”

He watches her arch her back, taking him even deeper. He wraps his arms around her waist and pulls her down onto him harder, filling her up to the brim. He can feel her tight opening stretching around his thick head every time he pulls out slightly. "My perfect, perfect girl,"

He starts to pick up the pace, thrusting deeper and harder into her tiny opening. He can feel his heavy balls slapping against her backside with each thrust. He's never fit so perfectly inside anyone before, like she was made just for him.

“Mmm daddy” it tumbles outta her lips before she can stop it. The age gap between them was always hot to her. Being his resident and he’s her attending. The power dynamic is almost same as dom and sub.

He freezes mid-thrust, his eyes darkening as he hears the word "Daddy" escape her lips.

His smirk widens. He finds this conversation way too hot. He nuzzles her neck, his hands gripping her hips possessively. "Do you like callin me daddy?" He asks softly, thrusting slow and deep again.

A low rumble of approval escapes him at her admission. He captures her lips in a hungry kiss, dominating her mouth like he's dominating her body. "Dirty little resident, getting off on calling your attending Daddy," he teases between kisses, his hips maintaining a steady, rhythmic thrust.

she whines and nods against her bed.

He breaks the kiss to watch her face as he thrusts deep and hard, his thickness spreading her wide. He knows she's never been stretched like this before.

He starts to move faster, his hips slapping against hers with a wet, rhythmic sound. He knows she's close to the edge, and he wants to push her over it. "Daddy's big cock feels good in your little pussy, doesn't it?"

she nods and whines “yes.. yes”

"Fuck, you're gonna make Daddy cum so deep inside you." He reaches down between them, his fingers finding her clit and rubbing it in firm circles. "Cum on my dick like a good girl. Show Daddy how much you love his big cock."

"Jesus Christ." He watches as she throws her head back, tits bouncing, back arched. She's the sexiest thing he's ever seen. He loses control, his hips stuttering as he releases hot, thick ropes deep inside her. "Damn it."

He slowly pulls out and props himself up on one elbow, studying her flushed face with a mix of satisfaction and something almost tender. His fingers trace patterns on her collarbone. "Look what you did to your daddy." He nods down at his glistening cock, still semi-hard.

she smiles lazily “mhmm”

He chuckles softly, shaking his head in amused disbelief. "You've utterly ruined me, you know that?" He leans in to press a gentle kiss to her forehead, then rests his forehead against hers. "How am I supposed to concentrate on work tomorrow after this?"

she smiles.

"And don't even get me started on how I'm going to sleep tonight, knowing your sweet little pussy is soaking wet with my cum." He groans, shifting his hips slightly, his cock twitching against her thigh. "Fuck, I'm getting hard again."

He rolls his hips against her, letting her feel his growing erection. "You little minx. You know what you do to me." He kisses her deeply, his hands roaming over her curves possessively. "I should probably let you rest, but fuck if I can resist this pussy."

“We could cuddle with it in?”

He lets out a deep, rumbling laugh, pulling her close against his chest. "You're too fucking perfect." He spoons behind her, allowing his hardening cock to nestle between her thighs from behind. "Cuddling with my dick inside, hmm?"

she puts her leg over his thigh to open herself more.

He groans deeply, feeling his cock slide deeper into her wet heat. He wraps an arm around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. "Fucking hell." He kisses her shoulder gently. "This is the best kind of cuddling." His cock throbs inside her.

they both fall asleep. Robby doesn’t mean to til he wakes up to his alarm for work. Shit.. he spent the night…

He jolts awake, his alarm blaring loudly. He blinks rapidly, realizing he's still buried deep inside you, his arm wrapped tightly around your waist. "Shit," he mutters, glancing at the clock. "I have to be at the hospital in an hour and a half."

she nods, “you can shower here.. put on your scrubs and go..”

“Mhm." He carefully pulls out, wincing slightly. He swipes his thumb between your legs gently, checking if you're sore. "Damn," he mutters softly, then heads to the shower. He quickly washes up, then pulls on his scrubs.

she stays asleep since he’s making her take the week off after her shoulder Injury, “have a good day”

He pauses in the doorway, looking back at you sleeping peacefully. He smiles softly, shaking his head. "You too," he murmurs softly. He grabs his bag and headphones, then leaves the apartment, locking the door behind him. He walks to the hospital, listening to his favorite playlist.

[revelboo]

Hello revel!! Been reading your stories for a few months now, and I'm obsessed.

Do you have any plans on writing for Rung?

Glad you like my stories!

I have the overwhelming urge to add TFA Megs. Rewatching the series and I somehow always forget the size difference between the Autobots and Decepticons and just how big a boy Megs is in TFA. 18+ 🌶️

Anything For You

Rung x Reader

• Carefully snipping a part loose, he pauses to adjust the protective lenses over his optics before fitting the part in place. There’s something about the routine of assembling a model that helps him think. And he’s thinking about the little human that had been the first to appear. The one that had gravitated toward Megatron, the former warlord. And, he hopes, helping Megatron move past his guilt and begin to forgive himself. To heal. He been assembling a model then, too. Smiling, he turns to reach for a cube of energon and hears a cry and a clatter as parts scatter everywhere. No, not again.

• Wheezing through the pain, it feels like someone clocked you in the face, head splitting as you squint open an eye. And see the huge monster leaning over over you. Screaming, you shove yourself backwards and your hand lands on a bit of plastic bigger than your fist as you grab it and throw it to bounce harmlessly off the giant. “I’m not going to hurt you,” the monster says, voice soft and coaxing as he holds out big hands. And you bean him in the head with another chunk of plastic. “Please don’t.”

• Scrambling to your feet and staggering a bit, you grab another part and rear back. The other human didn’t lash out, they’d cowered, but not you. You’re baring your little teeth at him, afraid and angry. Wild as a cornered animal. “Don’t you touch me.” And you chuck your projectile and snatch up another. “I’ll mess you up!” Easing back so he’s not looming because you’re strung so tight he’s afraid you might bolt and throw yourself off the top of his desk just to escape. And despite the scowl and angry tone, you are scared. “I will!”

• “I’m sure you will,” he says, reaching for a cube of glowing goop and tipping it up to drink. Not trying to grab you as you back up closer to the far edge, tensed in case he makes a grab for you. Where are you? What happened? Your heart is racing like crazy, pounding so hard against your ribs you can barely breathe. Is this a nightmare? Are you asleep? As you watch, he reaches for a long metal thing nearly half your height and uses a servo to work the knob on the side and you stiffen as a blade pops out of the end. Moving slowly, he sets it down and pushes it your way with a servo. Giving you a weapon? “See? I’m unarmed.”

• Watches you lunge, hooking your arms around the little utility knife and aiming the blade at him, struggling to hold it up, eyes narrowed. “I’m not afraid of you,” you mutter, but your fingers are white knuckled gripping the knife. Can tell you feel safer having that and he doesn’t think you’d actually cut him unless you felt threatened, but you’re stressed and on edge now. The blade a little thing if it gives you comfort. And he studies you, frowning slightly as you tremble and glare up at him. “Where am I? Who are you?” You’re definitely not the other human, you’re all anger and fear. Needing help. Needing him.

Next

[eddies-ashtray]

YOUR HEART GOT TEETH!

Masterlist

Edit

Pairing: Kas/Vampire!Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Synopsis: Your grief swallows you whole. And so will he. 18+ ONLY, minors do not interact.

WC: 7.0k

Content: Predator/prey (he basically hunts you in the forest), no use of y/n, kinda ooc Eddie cause he’s Kas/a vampire, discussions of grief/loss, somewhat detailed (but brief) description of eddie's scars (from the demo-bats), taunting/mocking, unprotected piv, rough sex, dirty talk, fingering, pussy pronouns, tiny bit of spit play, blowjob (kind of?).

A/N: I did a little research on Kas so some of his character is incorporated into this but I also took my own creative liberties. So this is not supposed to be a totally accurate depiction of Kas.

*gif source | *divider source 1 | *divider source 2

He must have been lurking in the murky shadows and fog clinging to the trees. Or maybe he was part of it—moving through the fog as the mist himself. Of course, you were initially ignorant to his presence, drowning in grief as you were. 

The dense wood of the forest effectively dampens sound from beyond, making it easy to pick up on any snapping twigs or skittering up in high branches. 

But he—it?—moved silently. Swiftly. Evading sight. 

Then there was this sense. Like a sixth one kicked into gear, raising goosebumps on dewy skin. An overwhelming presence which immediately triggered your fight or flight response. 

You should run. But you’d always been one to freeze. Vulnerable. Easy prey.

This time is no different. You don’t move a muscle, standing stock still in front of the large old tree stump. Staring down at the polaroid of that grinning face you miss so dearly, which lays among the trinkets and things left there by his little sheep and the band. All laid out nicely atop the stump, it’s many rings—some light, some dark—barely visible beneath the clutter. Though it will never spend another season growing additional rings.

With your heart slamming against your ribs and the blood rushing in your ears it takes you a second too long to regain control of your muscles. To flee this place–this crudely cobbled together memorial, unstained by public view & tampering. 

So when you turn to leave, there he is. 

You freeze. And you swear your heart stops pumping blood through your arteries. Terror taking over as your blood runs cold. 

Moonlight slashes across half his face, illuminating one sparkling brown eye and a slice of that slowly spreading grin. Sharpened canines slide over dark lips, pleased to find you here. 

Pinkish-red scars decorate his flesh, shredded skin healed unevenly, giving them this odd webbed effect. They begin at his jaw and crawl down his neck only to disappear beneath tattered clothing. His bat tattoo, your favourite, is present but marred by the deep scars where the demo-bats tore away at his flesh. The irony is not lost on you, but the sight is too grim to dwell on.  

When he leans in closer you can smell him. An odd mimicry of Eddie. Different from before when his heart pumped blood through his veins. Something in your body naturally resistant to it, but simultaneously lured to him—an unadulterated pull. With every erratic inhale you crave more, like a smoker greedily sucking nicotine into their lungs.

You loathe to admit its intoxicating effect. Because this—this thing—can’t be Eddie. Not your Eddie. But some spectral version, warped by the mirror world. 

It’s only when he speaks that you have any sort of visible reaction to him at all. Like he could’ve been some figment of your interminable grief—unbelieving in him until his acknowledgment of you.

“You’re a pretty little thing, aren’t you?”

Stupidly, you gasp in surprise, stumbling backward, hand reaching out behind you for something to tether you to this earth because surely you must have gone mad.

The rough and textured feel of bark scrapes against the sensitive skin of your palm. Though it does little to ground you. 

He moves swiftly toward you again, this bona fide creature keeping close, commanding the fog to shift around you. Invading your senses. That grin is ever-growing and increasingly self-satisfied.

You’re breathing hard, eyebrows scrunched together—confused, intrigued. 

Though his scent is somehow subtly altered, his voice remains much the same, but with richer notes of darkness. An almost imperceptible difference. His tone differs too. It’s mocking, yes—not in the same playful way Eddie used to be—but it’s also curious, unfamiliar. 

It presses the heavy implication over your heart that he doesn’t recognize you. How could that be?

The way he examines you reveals his unfamiliarity, though his eyes remain unchanged—the same shade of dark chocolate. And it is this which elicits an aching longing. One that burrows deep in your heart.

Though he looks like him. Sounds like him. And almost smells like him. It isn’t him. You know this to your marrow, like you know that the sun will rise tomorrow. It’s his body, yes. But not his mind. At least, not all of it. Clearly, it does not carry his memories. 

When he reaches up, cold fingertips ghosting past your chest, your collarbones, your neck, you have to suppress a shiver. But the renewed goosebumps rising on your skin betray you. 

His lips curl into a smirk, this one self-satisfied and hungry as the knuckle of his index finger grazes the sensitive flesh of your cheek. Try as you might not to, you flinch. He pouts at you mockingly, his touch unyielding.

“I could devour you, sweetheart,” he whispers, like the thought has only just come to him as his flesh met yours. Like it excites him to no end and sends the fresh scars pressed into his flesh thrumming. 

“You won’t,” you say shakily, not because you know this, but because you’re hoping. 

But your heart is beating out of your chest like a bunny that’s been caught between the sharp teeth of a fox, who knows it’s only a matter of time before its heart stops pounding and its blood ceases to pulse through its veins. 

You wonder if he can hear it with the way his face twitches and he appears to stop and listen, savouring some near silent thumping. This has you suppressing another shiver. 

Do you want him to devour you? 

No. 

You want him to try.

“I won't?” he retorts with a tilt of his head, his voice suddenly taking on a sharper quality. A dangerous edge to it like he’s responding to a challenge—provoked by the suggestion that he could be merciful. 

He could tear you to shreds right here and now and you’d let him–couldn’t stop him. He wants to. You can see it in his eager gaze. While this incites deep seated fear, it’s also a thrill. Something which awakens you after the nightmare that the last few weeks have been. Spending your days sleepwalking, rather than living. You realize it’s the first time you’ve felt alive since he took his final breath in your arms. 

He must see it in your face—as perceptive as he was in life.

“Watch me,” he spits. Watch me tear you apart. 

You swallow, throat dry. 

He leans in and you almost bear your neck to him, seemingly ready for him to take you from this earthly plane. 

Suddenly, his gaze snaps sharply down to his left. Your heart lurches in your chest, stomach flipping as your eyes flit over his shoulder to the left. Then to the right. Has he heard something? Possibly, a presence that could put an end to this? Oddly, the thought does little to relieve you. Instead, panic surges—a need to keep him here with you, if only it will result in your end–burning bright in your body. 

The treeline remains empty and dark, save for the still hovering fog choking the trees. 

If you were going to escape, this moment offers an opportune window. But that panic of losing his presence keeps you as rooted against his chest as these very trees are to the ground. 

Of course, you don’t hear it. The disembodied voice only falls on his sharp ears when it hisses, “She serves a grander purpose.” 

His sword, sheathed in its scabbard, speaks. He is ever bound to its command, whatever it calls for.

Your eyes return to his—finding with a shock that his gaze has already fallen upon you again—when he speaks. 

“A greater purpose than a meal?” 

His gaze rests upon you, but the question is evidently not for you—who it is for, you may never know. 

Whatever one-sided conversation he was having must yield unfavourable results because his jaw ticks and nostrils flare. Frustration, maybe even anger, bubbles behind dark eyes. 

He must obey. 

But he’ll still have his fun. 

Eddie decides right then and there that if he cannot satisfy his blood lust for you—if he cannot indulge in his thirst—then he will instead seek to satiate an alternatively carnal form of hunger. 

Drinking your blood is not the only method of sowing terror. There are other means. He can get creative.

He leans in then, teeth bared, and you catch his canines growing sharper, protruding further from his gums when he whispers, “I'll give you a head start…run.” 

When he says it it’s like the forest goes silent. Like all those tiny, near undetectable noises cease when he speaks. It’s eerie the way you don’t notice them until they’ve quieted. 

At that moment, you tear through the woods, blowing past his memorial. Leaves crunch and twigs snap underfoot. You’re the opposite of stealth. Something this Eddie seems to be well-versed in. You’re clumsy in your terror, easy prey.

Having spouted falsities, he gives you no head start, immediately tracking you effortlessly through the fog. 

You ignore the stitch quickly cutting into your side and keep running. But your sense of direction fails you quickly, everything beginning to look the same–all looming trees, dappled moonlight, and menacing shadows. All you can do is keep moving forward.

Then there’s movement to your left. 

Is your mind playing tricks on you? Morphing the shadows of great oaks in your periphery to resemble the creature that’s hunting you? Or is he right there, just waiting for the ideal moment to strike? Letting the fear build in your gut before he pounces. 

You just need to keep moving. 

One moment it sounds like he’s hot on your tail, but when you chance a look, he isn’t there. 

There’s the quick scratching against bark like an animal hurriedly climbing a tree, traversing it as effortlessly as a duck floats on water. 

But you can’t look again, unwilling to tear your eyes away from the winding paths to see him scaling trees. Just the idea raises the hair on your arms. 

The road. Only a sliver of it, gently illuminated by a dull street lamp, is visible through the dense wood. But it’s there. Just a hundred feet or so ahead–freedom and safety coming into view. 

Despite your terror though, your all-out sprint fades into a jog. Hesitating in the densest part of the forest. 

You lost Eddie once. This would be like losing him all over again, wouldn’t it?

You crave just one more glimpse of him because running from him after weeks of yearning to hold him in your arms again feels wrong. But you know your grief is clouding your judgement, and a voice of reason pops up, telling you to run, go!

When you realize what he’s done–lead you into the densest part of the woods on purpose–it’s too late. 

Your moment’s hesitance costs you.  

He led you here so you could hardly revel in the warm embrace of safety before coldly tearing it from your grasp.

Nearly nose-to-nose, Eddie seemingly materializes from the mist in front of you. “Boo!” 

“Shit!” You jump, falling hard onto the dirt floor of the forest. You groan–heart hammering and tailbone aching, just laying there, willing your heart to calm. 

Then he’s gone. There, in terror-induced vibrant clarity. And then a vanishment so swift you can’t be sure he was ever really there to begin with. 

Laughing darkly from somewhere above–a sinisterly, amused sound–you venture a hesitant look upward, into the dense branches above. 

Eddie is in the tree. There, he crouches on a thick branch as he observes you with the tilt of his head. His curious smile seemingly glowing in the darkness with the top half of his face shrouded in shadow. 

And then once again, he manifests by your head. 

He’s more menacing like this. Always was taller than you. But from this vantage point he’s a leering predator appraising injured prey. An easy meal. He could make quick work of you. 

“That stupid, huh?” he laughs as if the prospect is the most amusing thing in the world. “Thought you’d get away easy?” 

He continues to taunt you as he stalks around you, now standing at your waist.

You try to raise up onto your elbows, but to no avail as searing pain shoots up your spine. 

“Hm?”

It should be the last thing to spring to mind right now. But his tone strikingly resembles the condescending one Eddie would use in bed. When he’d ask: That feel good? Hm? And he knew it did.

It forces you to look at him—like Pavlov’s dog drooling at the sound of the bell. A conditioned response.

Eddie’s practically glowing in the soft moonlight. 

He’s so…alive. 

It chokes you up a bit. A lump forming in your throat as unshed tears sting your eyes. You tear your gaze from him, guilt sinking into your belly like an anchor in the ocean. 

“Look at me,” he demands immediately, voice proud and controlled. Despite the guilt, you cannot reject your body’s reaction to him. It’s that tone. It sends shivers up your spine and warmth into your gut—a pleasant ache for something raw and intense. 

You obey. 

Maybe it’s the grief. The sudden loss of someone so dear. But as you lay here—bruised and tired, and gazing up at him—you don’t mind that he has no memory of you. He’s still right here, standing in front of you, isn’t he? You think you’re still trying to convince yourself. 

You are a tangled, contradiction of feeling. Fear continues to nip at your neck while intrigue licks at your spine as you observe this freakishly orphic creature observing you. He’s…enchanting, captivating.

Eddie sighs deeply, gazing up briefly at the moon peeking through the leaves. It hangs bright above you, branches extended toward it, as though worshipping it. 

The sound he makes is like savouring relief. Upon feeling the open air on his skin, thankful for the reprieve from the shadows that the moonlight brings. Though you can’t know this—that he is confined to the darkness for all eternity.

You’re finally able to push yourself up on your elbows–not without wincing–when he returns his gaze to you. Your breathing slows and deepens as another pleasant and warm feeling twists in your belly. 

“What am I going to do with you?” he ponders sardonically, excitedly. 

You find the answer comes out of your mouth without thought. Another involuntary response from your body. 

“Anything.” It sounds so needy. Feathery, as your response floats off into the trees. 

Were you crazy or desperate? Or maybe just so haunted by his ghost that what he is–what he’s turned into–is irrelevant? Whether he be an apparition of your own imagining or a real monster twisted by the mirror world. Maybe he doesn’t have Eddie’s soul. But he has his face. His body. Is it so wrong to want him?

When he leans over you, you whimper, “Please.” 

He pouts at you in faux sympathy.

Is the mercy you seek defined by his departure? Or does your version of “mercy” mean letting him devour you like he’d promised?

When he flashes those pointed canines and a mischievous dimple carves into his cheek you have your answer. You no longer need to question or analyze your thoughts. You just want to feel. 

As Eddie leans in and strokes your cheek with the back of his index finger, you press gently into his touch. Feeling warm all over, buzzing with electricity. 

Strangely, you feel safe under his scrutinizing gaze. A crease forms between your brows as he leans in even closer. Your parted lips brush his tenderly. You might catch fire. 

Just as your eyes fall shut in anticipation of his kiss—your first with him in weeks—you hear his humorous scoff. Your face heats as your eyes open to find him leaning back. 

“Pathetic,” Eddie whispers. 

“I-” you’re not sure what you’re going to say in your defence, but he cuts you off anyway, with a curt: 

“Lie down.”

His hand is a firm pressure against the center of your chest, pushing you toward the ground after stooping down next to you. Your back presses into the cool dirt floor of the forest. 

Will he devour you now? Take you without another word? 

No. He isn’t done teasing you yet–another similarity between the human Eddie and the creature Eddie. Always itching to get you writhing and whining beneath him. Never satisfied until he could make you beg for it.

The hand that pushed you to the ground remains on your body, cold as it drags slowly down in quiet curiosity. As if feeling you for the first time, just getting used to the way your body curves and trembles beneath his touch.

Calloused fingertips just barely brush your tits on his way down, raising goosebumps beneath your top. When you gasp and arch into his hand imperceptibly, he pauses just as the rough skin of his palm ghosts over a sliver of your exposed belly, above your navel. 

His eyes flit to your chest, only remaining there for a single inhale before returning to his hand which continues to skate painstakingly down your body. Studying you.

The path of his hand ends at the edge of your skirt, caressing the skin there with a tender touch. You have to bite the inside of your lip to keep from making an embarrassing noise. Not wanting to seem too desperate. Although you’ve probably already failed at that.

“Eddie,” you sigh, head lolling over to look up at him. He meets your gaze, hand curving over your hip. 

Humming thoughtfully, Eddie tilts his head at you. Like you’re the one who’s become a creature. Morphing into a small thing, bursting with need and a deep desire to be taken care of. 

All the while, his hand continues its path down until he meets the skin of your thigh where he squeezes the doughy flesh roughly. Like he can feel the thrumming of your veins beneath your skin, yearning to take a bite out of you. 

“Oh, God.” Your skin tingles delightfully. A soft moan, as quiet as the sound of skin brushing against skin escapes your throat. 

The barest hint of a satisfied smile cracks his features. 

You may be so haunted by him that you’ll entertain this potential dream or nightmare, or whatever this is. But you are also undeniably desperate. To feel his touch on your skin again is transcendent. Like the very first time he touched you, it feels as though every single one of your nerves is exposed. Readily available for him to toy with. 

Excitement courses through your veins, a drug only able to be injected by his hand, as it curves over your leg. Hand pressing into the flesh of your inner thigh, he squeezes again, his blunt nails scratching sensitive skin. He pushes them open, giving him the easiest access to slide his hand up your skirt. 

When he finally tugs your panties down, and finds the soaked mess between your thighs, he releases a breathy, “Oh.”

Stroking his fingers through the mess, he says, “Look at this…”

Your hips flex when he dips gently into your dripping hole, collecting the sticky stuff before pulling his hand from you to put your desire on display. 

When his now sodden fingers come into view, and he pulls them apart to show you just how wet you are, you whine high in your throat. Embarrassed that you’re this worked up when he’s hardly done anything to elicit your lust. 

Thin lines connect his fingers, your essence seemingly sparkling in the moonlight as gentle waves of humiliation crash over you. Watching on as he savours the taste of you on his fingers, you huff impatiently. 

The moment his hand returns to your heat, his fingers swipe through your wetness again, dragging it to your sensitive clit where he rubs his middle finger in a dizzying circular motion, the slide smooth. Upon the second circuit of his fingers, you’re gushing around him, getting wetter by the second. A fire blazes in your belly and your hips twitch, finding it difficult to remain still when he’s working you up so. 

“Fuck, look at you. Could probably make you cum from just this,” he laughs, applying more pressure as he continues his torturous circles over that magic little button. 

The lewd sounds from your pussy fill the still night air as the lustful haze in his eyes grows more determined–his teeth sinking into his bottom lip in concentration. 

It’s all too much and on pure instinct your own hand wraps around the wrist of the hand up your skirt. That you’re still fully clothed—sans underwear—makes this feel all the more dirty. Let alone that you’re in the woods on the filthy ground, the exposed sliver of your back likely coated in a thin layer of dirt. 

Though your grip is loose on his wrist, he doesn’t let you get away with it. Grabbing both of your wrists in his free hand, he pins them above your head. 

“Stay,” he orders. 

You watch helplessly as he presses his two middle fingers into your pussy, curving them on the first stroke. If this were months ago, and Eddie had you like this in his bed, you might think the squeeze he gives your wrists—bound by his own hand–was an act of reassurance. Now, you know it is solely an act of dominance. I have you at my mercy. 

“Fuck,” you whimper. “Eddie…”

You forgot how nicely his fingers filled you. How you feel like a bright, burning star when he touches you like this. Deep and slow, like he’s forcing you to savour each stroke. How the tips of his fingers, longer than yours, caress parts of you that you couldn’t fathom. How he works in earnest to pull noises from you that you didn’t even know you could make. 

The pace he sets is simultaneously torturous and delicious, his aim clearly being to tease and overwhelm. Tears burn behind your eyes as his thumb rolls over your clit and you whine, that familiar feeling slowly beginning to build in your belly. Like you’re on the incline of a rollercoaster. 

“That feel good? Hm?” he asks with a syrupy tone as he watches you fuck yourself on his fingers like you’re in heat. With your hands pinned, it’s all you can do to writhe in his grasp.

“I-yes!” 

You’ve never seen him more smug and satisfied. 

“Yeah?” you nod furiously, mouth occupied by wanton moans. “I know, I know, baby…Know you’re dying to take my cock.” 

A delicious heat twists in your belly. “Please!” 

Before you reach the peak of your rollercoaster, he pulls his fingers from you, releasing your wrists simultaneously–though they remain above your head. You whine in protest, feeling suddenly cold and empty without a part of him inside of you. Though this feeling does not last for long as he moves quickly. 

Eagerly, Eddie swiftly removes his scabbard and undoes his jeans and fly, shoving them down just enough to free his cock. It bobs, hard and leaking so much pretty precum your mouth waters for it. Beautiful as ever. 

The sigh he releases when he strokes his dick is euphoric as he smears your wetness from base to tip. Already soaked with you. You shift your hips, fidgeting in place, impatient. Wishing it was your warm mouth encircling his girth instead of his own hand. 

Just as quickly as he’d tugged his jeans down, he’s on top of you again, slotting himself between your thighs before flipping your skirt up. Getting his first proper look at you. 

“Fuck, look at the mess you’ve made, sweetheart. All for me?” He says it like he’s mesmerized by the sight, eating up the way your body unabashedly calls for him. 

Grasping himself at the base, he lines himself up, your breathing growing shallow and quick. Anticipating the feeling of him inside you, desperate to feel every ridge and vein. The warmth as he fills you. 

You hold your breath. 

Meanly, he paints the flushed red tip up and down your soaked folds, causing you to whine and writhe against him. When it glances your clit you gasp and your hips jump as white hot pleasure zips up your spine. 

Your eyes are on high branches now, but you hear his low, satisfied chuckle. He wants for you to experience a unique kind of anguish before he rewards you for your perseverance. 

You’re about to lose it completely when he smacks the head of his cock heavily against your clit. The sticky sound it elicits is vulgar. It forces your eyes to roll into the back of your skull and groan. 

He is not merciful. But, eventually, he puts you out of your misery. A sharp inhale marks the moment he finally slides the first inch of his cock inside of you. 

Bracing for the inevitable fullness and slight sting that comes along with it proves unnecessary as he does not nudge himself any further. It only takes you a moment to realize he’s still teasing and you release another low whine. Just his weeping tip penetrates your fluttering hole, making your head spin.

He is going to make you earn it. 

“Jesus, it’s like she’s suckin’ me in,” he mutters under his breath in disbelief. “Beg for it, sweetheart.” 

You don’t waste any time. Not a single second before you begin to plead with him, cutting him off before he gets the pet name out. 

“Fuck me, Eddie! Need it so bad. So, so bad,” you mewl pathetically. “Please, please, please, please-” you might be embarrassed if you weren’t an absolute wreck, distraught on account of his teasing. Right on the edge of intense pleasure, feeling like you can’t take it anymore and might-

His cock sinks into you fully, not slowly but roughly. His heavy balls slap against your ass as he tugs your legs up to sheath himself even deeper inside of you. 

Twin groans float into the air, his eyes locked on yours. His become impossibly dark, like the slow spill of black ink across a page. Pleasure explodes in your belly as stars seemingly explode in the night sky. You are a live wire casting sparks in every direction. 

He is all that matters right now. The world could be ending around you, and you would be ignorant to it, lost in the feeling of his cock sliding home inside of you. 

His large palms pin your thighs back, as close to your chest as they can stretch while he stretches you out on his cock. And, fuck, is it a stretch after all these weeks. 

Your pleasure errs on the side of pain, but you savour it nonetheless and let him devour you. The sensations commingle and soon, you cannot tell the difference between the two. The pleasure is pain and the pain is pleasure. 

On a particularly rough thrust, as his balls collide with your ass with a sharp smack, you cry out, moaning his name freely into the open air. The sound gets trapped in the thick trees, as do his groans. 

For the first time since he pinned your hands to the ground, you wrap them around his neck, exploring his back, heavily textured by scars. Feeling the way his muscles flex beneath your hands as he continues to pound into you. Slowly, they find their way up into his hair, feeling his waves between your fingers. Somehow soft and knotted at the same time. 

But he doesn’t let your hands roam free for too long before pinning them back above your head again, one palm still pressing firmly into the back of your right thigh. When you try to wrap your legs around his waist, he simply presses them back toward your chest, his throbbing cock reaching deeper inside of you as the obscene squelching sounds amplify. 

Your own sounds rival the distant symphony of insects–somewhere far off in the meadow, the chirping crickets and singing cicadas are drowned out by your moans. The tiny creatures may as well be silent with how loud your wails have become. But how could you be quiet when you can feel him in your belly?

“Take it,” he growls, as if you are not laying here fucking yourself back onto his throbbing dick. Meeting his deep thrusts with your own, feeling his tip kiss your cervix and whining. “Tell me how good my cock feels inside of you.”

All you can do is whine and gaze up at him, barely registering his words as your heart unexpectedly swells at the sight of his gorgeous, pleasure-stricken features. 

Every minute detail is identical to your Eddie. Every freckle–including the tiny one just below his eye. His cheeky dimples. The sparse trail of hair below his navel that you used to trail your tongue down, causing his hips to jump in response.

Predictably, you get lost in his beauty and the overwhelming sensations, barely recognizing when his hand abandons the task of binding your wrists. Abruptly, you are snapped back to the moment when that same hand lands a sharp slap to your clit. It only causes you to squeal, your pussy fluttering around his dick as the sting quickly merges into pleasure. You get more lost in the haze of dizzying pleasure-pain.

Realizing that he only succeeded in further blurring your thoughts, Eddie grasps your face in one large hand. He squishes your cheeks until your lips pucker, smearing your wetness across your face. “Tell me.”

Dizzying pleasure continues to cloud your mind, making it difficult to recall what he’s asking of you, let alone produce a response. 

You must take too long to answer as he squishes harder, your teeth pressing harshly against the inside of your cheeks. The feeling borders on pain, causing you to whimper again as heat sinks into your belly. 

With a jolt, you remember what his question was.“Tell. Me.”

He needs to know. 

“It’s g-” you choke when he thrusts deep, kissing that sweet spot deep inside. 

With the hand still gripping your cheeks, he shakes your head a little, like he’s trying to shake the thought free. “Huh?”

“Good!” you squeal. “L-love your cock!”

“You ‘L-love’ it?” Eddie laughs dryly, clearly enjoying the praise and the way you struggle to give it to him. 

That sweet humiliation warms your chest, feeling almost as good as the way he presses inside of you. Hot and heavy. 

You agree with a moan, lacking the wherewithal to respond coherently. When he removes his hand from your face, it travels to grope your tits greedily over your thin top. Arching into his touch, you close your eyes and revel in the sweet sensation. 

His groans and the filthy sound of skin slapping against skin fill your ears as he repeatedly strokes that wonderful spot inside of you. Pleasure bursts in vivid colour behind your eyelids.

When his hand travels further down your body, middle and marriage fingers pressing into that tender bundle of nerves at the top of your cunt, your pleasure surges to new heights. The coil which has been tightening slowly while he fucks you threatens to snap. 

Pace slowing in favour of deep, calculated thrusts, Eddie leans down to your ear. “Gonna make such a mess of you,” he whispers, sending shivers straight down your spine. The promise is like molten lava on your skin. 

More reckless moans spill from your lips as he nips at your earlobe, then drags his teeth slowly down your neck. A reminder that he could easily sink his teeth into your flesh. It sends a thrill through your body–not unlike the one that licked at your spine as he hunted you through the woods. 

“Promise?” you ask breathlessly. A fucked-out smile on your face. 

He stares hungrily, longingly, at your neck for just a moment before returning to your eyes after registering your words. A challenge that quirks his brow. 

Bracing himself with an elbow dug in the dirt, his pace quickens again as he works furiously at your clit. His rhythm is clumsy, but successful at continuing to send shockwaves of twisted pleasure through your body. His hips slam so hard against you that it would be unsurprising to find light green bruises pressed into your ass tomorrow morning. 

You gasp, tossing your head back on a particularly deep and perfectly angled thrust. He dangles you over the cliff’s edge, keeping you on the precipice of release. It’s all you can do to tighten your hands into fists as you twist your them in his unrelenting grasp. 

He doesn’t even have to ask you to beg this time. The pleas for release simply tumble out of your mouth with little thought. “Please! Gonna cum, Eddie! Please, please can I cum?”

Hot, overwhelmed tears threaten to spill over in anticipation of his permission. You doubt you’ll be able to hold on much longer with that perfect pressure on your clit and incredible fullness. His heavy panting indicates he isn’t far behind you. 

“Cum all over my cock…Let me ruin you for anyone else.” He’s breathless as he says it. 

It’s his words that inevitably shove you over the edge, pleasure swelling inside of you. Your clit numbs and you cry out, cunt clenching around him as you drench his cock. It is not a soft, gentle climax that graces your body, but an intense thing that seems to carry on forever. 

“I love you,” you whisper into the cool night air, your body still twitching with your orgasm as tears slip down your cheeks. The phrase so easily blurts from you and it’s then that he groans and begins to spill inside of you too. Face pressed into your neck as he shoots hot spurts of cum into your cunt. Rope after rope of the stuff, warming your belly fulfillingly. 

His thrusts slow and eventually stop as he collapses on top of you. 

Aftershocks flow through you in raw, euphoric waves as you pant into his curls. A sated smile tugs at your mouth and you tremble against him, boneless when he’s done with you. A blissful giggle escapes your throat. 

The both of you lay there for moments, just listening to each other’s heartbeats slow as the insect’s song replaces your moans. The moon gleams in the sky, spinning stars winking at you.

All too soon Eddie pulls away from your neck and observes the damage. You’re sure he finds he succeeded in making a mess of you. Your wetness still smeared across your cheek, hair completely mussed, and your bottom half covered in dirt as you draw in heaving breaths, still coming down from your mind-numbing orgasm.

There’s a small smirk that reaches his eyes more than his mouth before he tugs his hand from between your bodies. Lewdly, he shoves his two middle fingers between your lips. “Hmph!” 

Once the surprise wears off and you cup his hand in both of yours, you allow your eyes to drift shut. The mild taste of your own cum pervades your mouth as he presses his fingers deeper. Your tongue swirls around them, sucking softly. He continues to test the waters, pressing in further until the pads of his fingers grace the back of your tongue, causing you to gag lightly around them. When he pulls them out, they’re wetter than before. He smears the spit over your cheeks, just as he had done with your wetness. An act of dominance which leaves you breathless and twists your stomach into knots.

As you open your eyes, you watch him push himself away from you, sitting back on his haunches. 

“Clean up your mess.” The meaning of his statement only briefly eludes you. 

With wobbly limbs you stumble a step or two on your knees closer to him, intoxicated by your co-mingling scents before his palm finds the crown of your head and he presses you down against him. 

You gaze lovingly up at him and you’re sure the sight from above is simply obscene. 

It’s been too long since you’ve done this which makes it all the more satisfying when your lips wrap around his slowly softening cock. The gentle weight of him in your mouth, the best feeling in the world. Warm and heavy on your tongue as the salty taste of his cum graces your tastebuds and the musky scent of him reaches your nose. 

He inhales sharply on the first suck, then groans as he pushes your head down more. The scent of him here–with your nose nearly nestled against the dark curls above his dick–is dizzying. You try not to gag around him this time before he lets up a bit and allows you to move more freely, greedily licking up your combined juices as his warm cum slowly drips down your thighs. 

Eddie allows you to slurp happily up and down his cock for a few more moments before he decides you’ve cleaned him up sufficiently. When he pulls you off, wetness drips down your chin. He thumbs at the spit there and you watch as he licks it off his own thumb, like he’s savouring chocolate ice cream that dripped off the cone. 

Then, he pets the top of your head gently in appreciation. “Good girl.” 

Your heart simply glows in your ribcage. This blooming feeling is quickly stamped out and replaced with rising panic when he goes to leave. Your heart reaches out for him and comes up empty, as it had when the life had drained from his eyes. It is not the panic from before which left you frightful at the prospect of being caught between claws and sharp teeth. But a panic which urges you to capture him, to keep him in your grasp, even if just for a little while longer. 

When you catch his wrist, he spins around and bares his teeth like an abused animal anticipating harm and hurt–one who has never experienced a soft touch. What’s happened to him? What has he gone through these past few weeks while you’ve been grieving him, unable to eat or sleep or think at all? 

Now that you’ve had him, back again in your arms with a beating heart and warm skin, you couldn’t bear to part with him again. 

This panic, the terror of being clouded with grief again, is what drives you to stutter out, “W-will I see you again?”

Guarded features soften a touch as he stares into your face, trying to determine your motivations. To decipher that hopeful look in your eyes. 

When he leans down to caress your chin softly, you know he’s come to a conclusion. You look imploringly from his left to his right eye, awaiting his response as your heart hammers in your chest. 

"On the next night that the fog creeps over the hills...maybe I'll sneak into your bedroom...and devour you."

You sigh as he gently licks your top lip, close enough now that you could kiss him easily. 

Gently, he grabs your face, his thumb resting on one cheek and his other four fingers on the other. Just before he kisses you you ask him softly, lips brushing, “Promise?”

It’s then he presses his lips to yours, and it’s almost tender before he drags his teeth over your bottom one. A final kiss is pressed to your mouth, soothing the gentle sting that you savour. 

For the briefest of moments you linger in the feeling after he’s pulled away. 

And when you open your eyes, he’s disappeared into the fog. Evaporated into the mist. And it’s like he whispers back to you, Promise.

⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆⋆⁺₊⋆

You wait for him.

All the while, thinking only of him and nothing else. It’s like your grief has intensified—worse the second time around—and after a while you begin to wonder whether you imagined the whole thing. It isn’t much of a stretch to say so. 

After he died, you often took to lying in bed for all hours of the day, staring out the window and watching the shadows grow long before drifting off into a fitful slumber. Tortured by your grief, even in sleep. 

Could it have all been a dream? 

As the days and weeks stretch on and you begin to question your grasp on reality—you return to this schedule. Lying in bed. Watching the world move as you remain still. Nightmares. Repeat. 

You always dreamt of him. Nothing else. Watching the light drain from his eyes. The blood pool around his body. 

He rots until he becomes pearly white bones. And the skeleton comes to life, badgers you with questions. He would ask you, Why didn’t you save me? Why aren’t you dead instead? This is all your fault! I’ll never forgive you!

Your encounter in the woods must have never occurred. It was just another fucked up way for you to torture yourself over his death.

Some nights you never slept, trying to keep the nightmares at bay. And, despite yourself, watched desperately for the fog to roll in. 

It’s weeks before the fog returns to Hawkins.

When it does, and you hear the slow and steady creak of your window being opened as you lie in bed, you know it was all real. 

And Eddie kept his promise. 

Thank you so much for reading!! Please reblog and let me know what you thought!

[marauroon]

Hellooo! Marauders are taking over my heart my body and my life as well so could I maybe request a fic with James (or poly!marauders whatever you like) with a reader who is avoidant of relationships so once they realize they are loved they try to run away but James wont let her go and patiently convinces her to give them a chance? Thank you so much!

S E L F - S A B O T A G E — POLY MARAUDERS!

poly!marauders x fem!reader | h/c | 4.0k | masterlist!!

the marauders had thrown their hearts at you like it was effortless. and you just couldn’t return the gesture.

cw— relationship avoidant reader, mild miscommunication, mini argument, reader gets anxious and overwhelmed

a/n— thanks for the request ml, this one may require a part two <3

When exactly did it start? All four of you could give a different answer.

Sirius wagers it was the first potions class of fifth year, where you’d been unceremoniously wedged in between him and James as a part of a stupid boy-girl seating plan to stop ‘distractions’.

It didn’t work evidently, and James had managed to talk your ear off almost every lesson since, a familiar glint in his eye that Sirius knew all too well.

Remus would say it was closer to the end of that same year, when they’d somehow managed to invade your table in the library to study for their OWLs and Sirius had managed to get distracted—and distract you—within ten minutes of sitting down, spending almost a whole hour talking at you before Remus had to step in to make sure you both got an ample amount of revision done.

James would probably argue it was the first time the three actually spoke to you, finalised in the way that Remus looked at you as you slid a healing balm across the desk for his increasingly scarred hands with only a mutter that they “looked like they hurt,”.

And you? Well…

You’re not exactly sure.

It was so gradual yet so sudden and now you’re walking down the hallways with three borderline guard dogs at your tail like they’ve collectively decided you were a part of their pack.

And you weren’t sure how you felt about it.

It was endearing to a point, a genuine, unconditional affection shared between the three boys and spread onto you with no request for yours in return, but you’d be lying if you said it didn’t feel almost suffocating.

You were almost constantly in the presence of at least one of the boys, languidly smothering you in unbridled affection like it was second nature to them.

Whether it was Remus slipping you notes for classes you weren’t paying attention in, Sirius insisting on carrying your bag down the hallways, or James sneaking compliments into every sentence he spoke to you, the casual fondness they showed you was never-ending.

And if you were being honest, it was beginning to be a bit too much.

“Here, love,” James passes you a pitcher over Sirius’ breakfast. “You’ll dry out your throat, we need that pretty voice in tact ready for the match later,”

You take the pitcher from him with a raised eyebrow, hoping your fluster isn’t too apparent in your tone. “the… match?”

“The Quidditch match doll,” Sirius takes it upon himself to pour your drink for you, taking the pitcher from your hands like you’ll shatter if he’s not careful enough. “We’re versing Slytherin, it’ll be a sight for sure,”

Oh.

Right.

“Damn right, I can’t wait to see the looks on their faces when we take the cup for the fifth year in a row,” James hits Sirius’ arm lightly in his enthusiasm, stealing a slice of toast from his plate. “You are coming right?” James blinks at you slowly, honey-brown eyes big and round, like he’s silently trying to hypnotise you into agreeing with him.

“I- yeah,” You give him a half-stunted nod, letting your words speak before you can make up your mind and ultimately pull out of it. “yeah…”

“Excellent,” James clasps his hands together with a satisfied nod. “I’ll dig out a spare jersey for you,”

“Who said she was wearing your name?” Sirius turns to him with a raised eyebrow, and it starts a lighthearted debate that you quickly tune out in favour of the dull ringing in your ears.

The way they were talking made everything sound so final, so… concrete. Like you’d just completely melded into their routine through no input of your own.

“You don’t have to,” There’s a soft nudge against your left side, joined by what’s almost a whisper from Remus. “I don’t go to all of them,”

He’s giving you an out. Or at least trying to. You know that if you suddenly pull out of wanting to go that James and Sirius’d be disappointed, even if they pretend that they’re not.

“It’s alright..” You shake your head with a small smile, attempting to reassure both Remus—and yourself—that you really do want to watch the boys play.

James wins his and Sirius’ debate apparently, and a few hours before the match is due to start he hands you a folded up Quidditch jersey with a smile etched onto his face.

“Here you are m’love, look forward to seeing you in it later,” He presses a kiss to the top of your head, winking as he pulls away. “Gotta run for some last minute practice, wish me luck,”

“Good luck…” your hands curl in around the jumper almost instinctually as you stand stationary watching James run out of the common room waving in your direction, and once he’s out of sight your eyes drop to the clothing in your arms.

You hold it up to let it unfold, signature red and gold stripes adorning the fabric and a large embroidered ‘POTTER’ covering the back where it’d meet your shoulder blades.

Well, James’ shoulder blades. It would probably cover most of your upper back.

You spend the next hour staring at it in your dorm room, left draped over the end of your bed as you internally fought with yourself over whether you should actually put it on.

It was taunting you the way the gold embroidery thread caught the overheard lighting, forcing your focus towards the surname like an ultimatum.

If you put on that jumper, you were committing yourself to whatever you’d been thrust into.

And the thought made you almost physically nauseous.

It was like the boys had handed you their hearts on a silver platter, expecting you to shield them inside your ribcage, nestled against your own until they stop beating.

Like they were giving themselves to you wholely, nothing left behind until it was piled up so high that you couldn’t dig yourself out of the iron hold they’d captured you in no matter how much you tried, slowly asphyxiating yourself under the ever constricting grasp of the cage they’d trapped you in until you turned blue.

It terrified you.

You didn’t go to the Quidditch game.

God knows if you did it would end in nothing less than tears, if not you literally collapsing from hyperventilating at the first sight of any of the three of them.

Instead, you burrowed yourself underneath your satin sheets to seek a dull solace, no comfort found in the way you curled in on yourself, but no growing anxiety either.

You knew you’d have to leave it eventually, face the three boys and force out an excuse whilst desperately hoping they didn’t see just how horrifically anxious they made you.

It was horrible really, they’d done nothing but extend their kindest hands to you, treat you like you painted the stars in the sky and gifted them the oxygen they breathed.

And here you were, dreading the thought of so much as glancing at their blissfully oblivious faces.

“Sweetheart,” Marlene enters the dorm almost cautiously as she edges the door open, still clad in her full quidditch gear, sweat glistening against her forehead. “The boys are outside for you,”

“I’m not here,” You muffle your words into your duvet as you pull it up and over your head, and you can’t faintly hear Marlene sigh as she treads over and pulls you from your cocoon of self pity through dragging the quilt out of your hands.

She raises her eyebrow down at you questioning it, but you can see the concern swirling in her irises.

“Just tell them I’m asleep?” You furrow your eyebrows in silent pleading, echoed through your words as you exhale heavily. “Please?”

Shes clearly not very happy with your request, but she bites her tongue and gives you a small nod anyway, brushing stray hairs from your forehead with a sigh. “Whatever this is about, you should talk to them,”

“Yes mum,” You roll your eyes with a feigned sigh of indignation, pulling the duvet back up underneath your chin.

As she turns to leave, expression a mix of exasperation and amusement, you catch the jersey draped against your bed-post in the corner of your eye.

“Marls,” You point to it almost pathetically. “I really don’t want to face them right now,”

She practically snatches the jumper from the end of your bed with an almost scolding expression, and you flash her a guilty but grateful smile.

“I love you,”

“My love for you is dwindling,” She throws the jumper over her arm with an over-dramatised exhale, but she shoots you a flying kiss across the room nonetheless, and it leaves you with a small smile as the door clicks shut.

Although it doesn’t last very long.

You’d given her the jumper to return for you because you didn’t even want to consider what James’ face would look like when he got it back.

But of course your mind pictured it anyway.

The way his hazel eyes would pool first in disappointment before slowly turning to worry, a small, almost imperceptible frown pulling at the corners of his lips and his eyebrows furrowed just enough that it caused a line to form above the bridge of his nose.

You honestly didn’t know if you seeing it in real life or the picture your brain had unceremoniously forced onto you was worse, but what you did know was that you could not face him now.

The minute that boy saw you—any of them really—you knew that the impending conversation that followed was going to be one you didn’t want to have.

You jinxed yourself pretty hard with that prediction.

You’d managed to avoid the three at breakfast the next morning to no credit of your own, slept in so late after running your mind into the ground the night before you’d basically missed the whole thing, but you didn’t even make it down the hallway towards your first lesson before a pair of running feet crescendo’d in your direction.

“Hey—”

Shit.

“Sirius, morning,” You stop dead in the middle of the hallway, most definitely to the begrudgement of the rest of the students trying to get to class; And whilst you regret it almost immediately, Sirius doesn’t have a care in the world for diverting the foot traffic, concern written in the way his eyebrows knit together as his attention stays devoted to you.

“Are you okay? You didn’t make it to the match yesterday, we were worried about you,” His tone conveys less disappointment that you didn’t go and more genuine concern that something might’ve happened or gone wrong.

“Yeah, sorry,” You reply half awkwardly, fiddling absentmindedly with the cuffs of your sleeves. “I’m alright though,” You echo the end of your sentence with a nod, lips pressed together in a line, a mimicry of a smile.

“You’re sure?” He reaches out his hand to press the back of it against your forehead. “Because if you’re ill Moony’s got a bunch of stuff from Madame Pomfrey, I’m sure something’ll—”

“I’m fine, Sirius,” You don’t let him finish his sentence before you’re gently pulling his hand away from your face and back down to his side. “You really don’t have to worry, I just fell asleep,”

“Alright,” He most definitely picks up on the traces of defensiveness in your tone as he takes a step backwards to give you a little more personal space, and you’d have half the mind to feel guilty if you weren’t so constantly overwhelmed by him and the others.

“I’ll uh,” He presses his lips together half-awkwardly. “Let you get to class then,”

“Don’t you have potions?” It’s genuine curiosity, edged with a small amount of concern that Sirius’ll be late for his own class now that he’s followed you half way to yours. On the opposite side of the castle.

“Yeah, but I wanted to make sure you were okay first,” Sirius gives you a small smile, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Let me walk you?”

You shake your head slowly, gently pushing on his shoulder. “Go to your own class, Sirius,”

He lingers for a moment before turning to head back in the direction he came from, leaving you with a mix of relief and lingering guilt.

__

Your day is largely uneventful until lunch, the smell of parchment still lingering in your nose as you wander out towards the courtyard instead of joining your friends in the great hall.

You knew they’d be there. Of course they’d be there.

And after this morning with Sirius, which he’d definitely told the other two about, you were finding yourself wanting to be in their presence even less.

So you take your lunch to the courtyard instead, settling on a bench farthest from the entrance to avoid any potential encounter. The peace is short-lived, however, as you hear the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching.

“Thought you might be out here,” James' voice is gentle, his expression a mix of concern and relief as he takes a seat next to you.

You tense up, trying to muster a smile but failing. “Hey, James.”

“Hey,” he echoes, and you can feel the weight of his gaze on you. “You missed breakfast this morning.”

“Yeah, I—“ You search for an excuse, but nothing comes to mind. “I wasn't really hungry.”

James nods slowly, as if he's trying to decode the underlying meaning behind your words. “Is everything alright? You seemed a bit off yesterday.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the anxiety bubble up in your chest. “I'm fine, really. Just needed some time to myself.”

“Time to yourself?” James repeats, his tone soft but probing. “Did something happen? Are you okay?”

You wanted to curse James Potter sometimes.

How could he be so confident in himself that he could throw his heart at you with no fear of it shattering in your palms?

How could he be so sweet yet so painfully ignorant?

“If this is about you missing the quidditch match yesterday, Sirius and I aren’t—”

“It’s not about the quidditch match James,” You cut him off with a sigh. “Or— It is, but it’s not just about that—”

You stand to release yourself from James’ proximity.

“James, it's everything.” you finally admit, unable to hold back any longer. “I cant so much as breathe without one of you attached to my hip and I can’t do it anymore—”

James' face falls, the concern in his eyes deepening. “We're just trying to show you we care, but if it's too much, we can give you space.”

“It's not just space,” you say, your voice trembling. “It's... even thinking about you three is suffocating me...”

James's face contorts in confusion and a touch of hurt, but he quickly masks it with a forced understanding. "I... didn't realize it was that bad," he says quietly, his usual confident demeanor faltering for the first time in your memory.

You swallow hard, guilt gnawing at your insides, but you can’t take back what you’ve said. You don’t want to. It’s been building inside you for too long—the overwhelming presence of James, Sirius, and Remus in your life. They were everywhere, all the time, and while their company had almost become a comfort, it quickly spiralled into a cage.

“I’m sorry, James. I know you all mean well, but it’s just… too much,” you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, though the motion seems more for his benefit than yours, as if he’s trying to force himself to understand. “I get it,” he says, though you can tell he really doesn’t. “I guess I never thought about how it might feel from your side. We just… we wanted to make sure you really felt like one of us,”

The way he says "one of us" stings, a reminder of how you were a part of their tight-knit group—no, how they had made you a part of it, pulling you in whether you liked it or not.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? You hadn’t really been given a choice. You had been absorbed into their world, expected to fit perfectly into the space they had carved out for you, without ever considering whether you wanted to be there in the first place.

“I know you didn’t mean any harm,” you say, trying to soften the blow. “But I need to figure out how I feel without… without you all hovering over me all the time.”

James winces at that, and you can see the pain in his eyes. “We never meant to make you feel like that,” he says, his voice thick with emotion. “I thought… We— thought, you… We were trying to prove how much we care…”

The tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over, but you blink them away. “I don’t need you to prove anything, James. I need to breathe.”

He looks down at his hands, clasped tightly together in his lap. “If that’s what you need, then we’ll give it to you,” he says finally, though his voice is tinged with reluctance. “We can give you space, we can— leave you alone if that’s what you need. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if I’m never ready?”

James doesn’t really know how to respond to that.

“I— Why wouldn’t you ever be ready..?”

“I don’t know if I can do this, James,” It hurts, coming out of your mouth, echoing back into your ears. But it’s true.

“I— I know being with three people at once can be overwhelming but—”

“It’s not that James,” You shake your head with an almost imperceptible sigh. “I don’t think I’d even be able to date one of you without being overwhelmed,”

James’s eyes widen in surprise, his expression shifting from hurt to confusion. “Are you saying... you don’t want to be with any of us?”

The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of unspoken fears and regrets. You glance away, struggling to find the right words to convey the complexity of your feelings.

“It’s not that I don’t want to be with you,” you say slowly, trying to articulate the intricate emotions swirling inside you. “But I can’t… give myself to you, I can’t— hand you three my heart on a silver platter like you did to me. I just can’t.”

James's expression shifts from confusion to a mixture of frustration and sadness. He clearly hadn’t expected this level of honesty.

“I get that you’re overwhelmed,” he says, his voice quiet but determined. “But can you give us a chance to show you that we can handle it? That we can adjust and give you what you need without pushing too hard?”

You meet his gaze, seeing the earnestness and vulnerability in his eyes. It’s clear he’s invested in making this work, not just for himself but for all three of them. You can see him struggling to reconcile his own desires with your need for space and clarity.

“It’s not just about trying, James,” you reply, feeling the weight of your words. “It’s about whether or not I’m ready to be a part of this—whatever this is. And right now, I don’t even know what I want, let alone if I can handle being part of something with all three of you.”

James nods, absorbing your words. “I understand that you need time. But maybe instead of pushing you away entirely, we could find a middle ground. We could— take things slower, give you room to breathe while still being here for you in a less overwhelming way. If you don’t want us all together then… maybe it’s just one of us you’d be open to starting with? Even if it’s just as friends—”

Your heart softens a bit at his suggestion. The idea of easing into something less intense seems more manageable, though it still doesn’t completely resolve your concerns.

“You can get to know us properly— as people, and let us show you why we care about you.” There’s a hint of desperation in his tone, one that’s mirrored in his irises, swirling in his gaze amidst the sunlight reflecting off of his pupils. “Just… give us a chance,”

You take in James’s earnest plea, feeling the weight of his words and the sincerity in his eyes. The desperation and hope in his gaze pull at something within you, a flicker of longing for a connection that feels genuine and real, even amidst the confusion and overwhelming anxiety.

“I... I can try,” you say slowly, the words feeling both heavy and hopeful as they leave your lips. “I can try to get to know you better, as individuals, and see where it goes. But I need you to understand that this isn’t going to be easy, and it might take longer than any of us expect.”

James’s face lights up with a mixture of relief and gratitude. “That’s all I’m asking for,” he says, a small but genuine smile forming on his lips. “We’ll take it slow, no pressure. Just... let us show you that we can be what you need, one step at a time.”

You nod, feeling a tentative sense of hope as you look at him. “Alright. We’ll start with that. But if at any point it becomes too much, I need you to promise me that you’ll respect that.”

James’s smile widens, his eyes reflecting a mix of joy and determination. “I promise. We’ll be patient and understanding. And if you need space, we’ll give it to you. Just... let us try and convince you...”

There’s a moment of silence between you, the tension easing slightly as you both come to a mutual understanding. The path forward is still uncertain, but the willingness to try and the promise of patience create a small but significant shift in the dynamic between you.

You give him a soft nod. “Thank you, James,” you breathe out shortly, feeling a weight lifted off your shoulders.

James gives you a warm, encouraging nod. “Anytime. We care about you, and we want you to be happy. Just remember, we’re here for you.”

And so, the next chapter of your ‘relationship’ began. Starting in a place that preceded even the beginning.