#I dunno what else to say hope you like it

[ripplestitchskein]

Like, can we take a second to understand that every single moment from the time Stolas left that courtroom until the end of Sinsmas was a SENSORY NIGHTMARE? He is immediately attacked and has disgusting things thrown on him after truly believing he was going to DIE, he’s taken to a place he does not live and is not familiar with, is put in clothes that are not his own and then awakens covered in horse plushies to a bright and chipper Blitz making food he is unfamiliar with. He is then taken out into a world he does not know, surrounded by people who are openly hostile to him, that he does not know the social conventions or etiquette for, and its all activities that require a TREMENDOUS amount of executive function even if you are at your peak: laundry, shopping, trying on clothes, running from shopkeepers and getting into fights at diners all this while UNMEDICATED and worrying about his daughter who he has not seen, who will not communicate with him, and who is currently being looked after by a woman who tried to kill him twice and brother in law who just took everything he has.

Then after all that he is asked to participate in a holiday he does not celebrate, which is already overwhelming on its own, but this time in a in a chaotic workplace while being asked to learn a new job with people he doesn’t know very well, people are actively fighting and blowing each other up, and being very loud the entire time. He’s encouraged to answer a phone while in the middle of a sobbing break down to talk to the worst sinner in Hell who then reminds him of how badly he fucked up and how people view what he did, has a moment of suicidal ideation and is then left ALONE with the homophobe who triggered it.

He rightfully loses his shit and goes after his daughter and is swallowed alive by an ice hydra, gets decimated emotionally by his daughter and is then forced to participate in a Sinsmas party, again with people he doesn’t know, who are all being extremely loud and overwhelming. He goes outside to have some time alone and he’s followed and reassured with a story about an estranged loved one, who to this day, has not forgiven Blitz. It doesn’t exactly inspire hope to be told “My sister won’t see me either because of something I did, we were really close, it super sucks”.

Like we, the audience, can recognize that Blitz is being extremely supportive and open for once and trying to be helpful and he’s approaching it exactly like he does Loona (like to the letter), but lets take a moment to see how this looks from Stolas’s POV. He doesn’t even know Blitz realized he was in love with him at this point, they haven’t talked about it. Their last conversation before all this kicked off that we can reasonably expect him to remember was when he found out Blitz didn’t tell him about Striker’s first assassination attempt? He was drunk at the party and we have no way of knowing how much of that he retained. He even says that Blitz doesn’t have to feel guilty. Because what else is he supposed to think are the motivations behind Blitz’s 180? Guilt and pity and quid pro quo life saving.

So yeah, it’s a lot for him to process and the show was very clear about how much it was and how unhinged he’s feeling right now and like, if you think what he should be doing in those moments is performing gratitude for gratitudes sake I dunno what to tell you buddy.

[poppitron360]

Want another fanfic? Well you’re getting one.

— — — — — — — — —

“Hey.”

Leo leaned next to Percy on the railing, looking out at the sea.

“Hey,” Percy replied, “Gods, big fight tomorrow.”

“Yeah…”

“It helps knowing we’ve got that physician’s cure.”

“Yeah…” Leo repeated, his shoulders stiffening uncomfortably.

He was quiet for a count of ten.

“You were there when Beckendorf died, right?”

Percy blinked, the question sudden. “I- I was, yes. Gods- it would’ve been almost a year ago now.”

Leo wasn’t looking at him. His eyes were locked on the sunset. They held a sort of weird sadness to them- a quiet, solemn acceptance that Percy recognised, but he wasn’t sure from where.

“Wh- why do you ask?”

Leo sighed, “I dunno… just… all this talk of one of us dying made me think about what he did. His sacrifice…”

Percy’s brow furrowed in concern. He put a hand on Leo’s shoulder, and made him turn to face him.

“Leo, what’s going on?” He said, “Is something-“

Leo didn’t meet his eye, “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it. Forget I said anything.”

“Did something happen with Asclepius?”

“No! It’s nothing,” he turned back to the railing, “It’s just… I never met the guy, but I heard he was great. The effect his death had on my siblings was just… It just blows my mind sometimes how much impact you can have on a person. That even though I never knew him, I still felt the loss of him. I just wonder…”

It was then Percy realised where he’d seen that look before. It was the same look Beckendorf had had on there Princess Andromeda, his finger on the detonator, telling Percy to run. The firm resolution of the knowledge of what had to be done.

“Leo, you-“

It was then that Leo finally locked eyes with him. He held his gaze without saying anything for several seconds.

“Y-you’re not planning on… following in his footsteps- are you?” Percy asked, apprehensively.

Leo flashed him his trademark cheshire-cat grin. “Of course not!” He said, breaking the eye contact, “Just wondering, you know?”

“Leo-“

“Everything’s fine, Percy. Now we should probably get some sleep. Like you said- big day tomorrow!”

Leo walked away from the railing and was down the hatch into the deck below without another word. Percy was left staring out to sea. He remembered the shoreline of Manhattan just in view as the cruise ship approached. He remembered how Camp Half-Blood had looked as he’d broken the news. Percy had been through so much since then, but he never forgot. He remembered Bianca, Zoë, and Selena, too. All people he never got a chance to save.

He might not make it out alive tomorrow. But he’d be damned if he let anyone else die under his watch.

He looked back at the hatch. He hoped that Leo wasn’t planning what he thought he was planning. If he was… Percy just hoped he could save him in time.

— — — — — — — — —

Platonic Perleo I love you. Percy’s trauma coming in full force.

@euryvices-deactivated20241019 @deciduowl @lavenderfairiez @ottpopfic @ginnyluna @groverapologist @echo-stimmingrose @demigod-shenanigans @keefessketchbook @sleepyycapybara @123letsgobestie @kaleidoskuls @fairytalesociology @four-leafed-queer-gal @child-of-helios @green-tea217 @puzzled-pegasus @twomanyfandomshelp @lokiwiiiiiii @yoshuko-ew @frayna-of-the-hollow @via-rant @daonedaonlyskh @hadeslegacyhephgirl @siimplyapril @pjowasmy1stfandom @thetourturedwritersclub @m-for-now

[olailamajnoon]

Steve, Part 2

Previous fic

Steve walked into the bathroom of the warehouse where Batman had stashed him. Stupid flightless birds, he muttered, thinking of Oswald Cobblepot and his giant drum belly. Thanks to you, I don't have place to hang my underwear. The lack of fucking clotheshooks inside the cold-ass bathroom annoyed him. Who wants to put their underwear on the floor while showering? And there was no bathtub. Fucking Penguin, and fucking Regina.

Regina, with her drop-down-dead beautiful eyes, and her soft gurgly voice. Her lips, the way they kissed him, like he was wanted and loved.

She had wanted a squirrel fur coat, and had made it the price of admission, and Steve, like a total chump, had taken the bait.

"Takeout!" someone called from the door. Steve stepped out of the shower hurriedly and put on his robe and tighty-whities. "Coming!" he called, hoping the voice belonged to the blue one, and not the red one who liked to poke fun at his—everything, really.

He breathed in. Why the fuck was he nervous? These guys had never hurt him. These guys were constitutionally incapable of hurting him. They treated him like a vulnerable bunny. Even the big strong one with the guns.

He walked into the warehouse's main room. (He was calling it the main room because he didn't know what else to call it. It was large and white and square, and main.) The lighting was dim and harsh at the same time, and the concrete walls and floor were hard and smelled old.

There were like nine bats. There were definitely nine. Steve could count. He realized what he must look like, in his tattered bathrobe.

"Nice robe, Steve," said Red Hood. Steve stuck his tongue out.

Batman turned around, and stared at Steve. He didn't feel as self-conscious as he probably should have.

"Do you need fresh clothes," said Batman. He had some kind of gadget in his hands.

So Batman had definitely noticed.

Steve tried to smile and act jolly, but the truth was the presence of nine bats had unnerved him. He knew one thing about the Batfamily—they usually operated in twos or threes. Unless...there was a Gotham-wide operation, which could only mean one thing. A disaster. A cataclysm of epic proportions.

"What's going on? Can I help?" he asked, his smile too wide, his face way too happy.

"No," said Red Hood and Red Robin together, and then frowned at each other.

"Help how?" asked Nightwing. "You've already given us all the information on Penguin you could. Thanks to you, we took down his waterfront businesses. All of them."

Steve glowed at this praise. Then he collected his face, and composure. "I could go places you people can't. Perp habitats. Henchmen bars. Hellholes. I can be of use to you."

"Why," said Batman.

"Why?" Steve was confused. Also the heater was off, and he was standing in the middle of a cold warehouse trembling, but he didn't want Batman to see and think he was afraid or some shit. He wondered how soon he could get into his clothes. The bats seemed to be wearing insulated suits, the bastards.

"Why do you want to be of use," Batman said, as if repeating himself.

"I dunno," said Steve, shrugging. He breathed out. "Maybe cause you gave me another chance."

Batman looked at him steadily, not saying anything. Just looking with his arms crossed.

"Everyone deserves another chance," said Orphan gently.

"Yeah, well. It's whatever, you know," said Steve, embarrassed there were suddenly tears in his eyes. He didn't want to cry big man-tears in front of Batman.

"Fine," said Batman. "You might be of use."

"Really?"

"Yes. If you prove reliable, there may be a place for you. Keep out of the line of sight, and wear a mask."

Wait.

Holy fuck.

A mask?

"Yessir," said Steve. "Yes, yes sir."

"You will also—" Batman seemed to bore into Steve's eyes, "—not ask any questions that are not relevant to you, or try to ascertain our identities in any way."

"Uh—okay."

"Trust is built, Steve. My trust is limitless, once I extend it to someone, but it takes time to create."

Steve sighed happily. Batman was trying to trust him. He tried to remember the last time anyone had tried to trust him, really trust him. "I won't let you down, sir," he said.

"I hope you won't," said Batman, rather softly.

Steve turned around to go to his room to get dressed, but then he turned around. "Just one thing."

Batman cocked his head.

"I totally get it. The secret identities and all. But—" he swallowed. "I have no one to tell. I'm isolated from my family and friends, I can't ever return to them. I'm completely cut-off. So. You know. Even if I ever knew. Your secrets are safe with me."

"We'll see," said Batman shortly. "For now, you will operate under me. I'll see what can be done, about...other things."

He thinks I'm lonely, Steve realized. He thinks I'm complaining. But he doesn’t know that for the first time in my life, I don’t have to watch my back. I don’t have to keep up appearances. I’m totally fucking alone...

...and somehow, I’m fucking okay.

[steamedlotusroot]

I translated Lego Monkie Kid’s Cantonese Extended Opening

In the tags of my first post I said I wanted to translate the lyrics of the extended OP of the LMK Cantonese dub and I did it :D

Translation notes: (some translations are wonky bc either the og lyrics are ambiguous, I didn’t have enough space to translate the phrases fully, or my Cantonese is rusty)

“All reveal your true forms to me immediately!”— 現形 means to appear/reappear. I personally interpreted it as the spirits/demons showing their true forms when SWK is fighting them, but simply “reveal yourselves to me” works too

“I truly can’t help how popular I am these days.”— One of my wonky translations I think. The og lyric is more like “really, I’m trending right now, I can’t stop it even if I wanted to / even if I tried.”

“But now I have to hide away,”— The lyric for “hide away” 神隱 very specifically refers to gods/immortals/spirits going into hiding

“From now on, keep the Golden Staff with you at all times,”— In the original JttW text, SWK’s staff is called the 金箍棒 “gold-hooped staff/rod”, but in Cantonese the staff is more commonly called the 金剛棒, which doesn’t have the “hoop” character. It’s just a gold stick 

“Only rely on having enough audacity,”— I think it’s supposed to be “have a lot of/enough courage” but it can also mean “audacity”, and since this song is about SWK and MK I think the word “audacity” fits them much better haha

“I will reach the peak for a competition of skill.”— This is an instance of Cantonese being so compressed and concise that I have no idea how to structure the sentence in English

“Endure for the sake of loyalty,”— 捱義氣 means doing a favor out of personal loyalty that you might not want to do (eg. you help your friend clean his car when you hate cleaning cars cuz he’s your bud!). I think “endure for the sake of loyalty” is a goofy way of translating this but I dunno what to write instead

“Assemble surprises.”— I have no idea what this is supposed to mean. This is a very literal translation

“The me today,”— Longer version: The me I am today

“Chock-full of abilities.”— OG lyrics 一身本領 go a little bit like “the whole body is full of skills/abilities”. I wanted to just write “full of talents” but “talent” isn’t quite accurate. I went with “chock-full” cuz it sounds funny

“Clash with fire in a duel,”— I like to think that this line refers to Red Son and I like Red Son :]

“Carrying an endless mission,”— I originally wrote “shouldering” instead of “carrying”, but because 懷 means “embrace/chest” or “harboring”, I thought “carrying” sounds less grueling and more accurate than “shouldering”

“Eyeballs looking around,”— “eyes staring wide and round” probably fits 眼仔睩睩 better, but hopefully “eyeballs” sounds wide and round enough?? And I wanted to turn it into an action so I described the eyes looking around like they’re on guard!

“Grappling arduously with the enemy,”— Lots of ways to translate 搏命: fighting for your life, wrestling for your life, blah blah blah. I hope “grappling” is evocative enough 😭

“Quick-witted actions, be clever,”— I’m not sure if it’s “quick-witted, actions sharp and clever” or “quick-witted actions, be sharp and clever” 💀 靈活 means “mentally flexible”, sharp醒 means “smart, clever, alert, quick-witted”, something like that

“It’s called the NSoFFM,”— The lyric lacks a pronoun in Cantonese so I’m not sure if it means “call me/you the NSoFFM”, “call for the NSoFFM”, “you’re called the NSoFFM”, or something else. I interpreted it as SWK listing a bunch of traits and saying “someone like this will be called the NSoFFM”

“Skyrocket to ascension / I rise at Flower Fruit Mountain.”— 飈升 means shooting up really quickly/suddenly. I’m not sure what “shooting up” means in this context so I kept it as vague as possible. I also translated 飈升 in two different ways “skyrocket to ascension” and simply “rise” even though both lyrics mean the same thing in Cantonese. “Skyrocket” is most accurate IMO, but it sounds weird by itself

“I always strive for self-improvement,”— The og is just “I forever self-strengthen”, which sounds weird to me so I expanded it

“When I wedge into the crack,”— No idea what this means?? I’m guessing it’s supposed to evoke the image of SWK jamming a weapon into a crack? Also I wanted to write “wedge into the fissure” but when I googled “fissure” it showed me results for anal fissures and I was so put off by it I just used “crack” instead, even though “crack” sounds much sillier than “fissure”

“Demons please relax, lest you lose control.”— Nothing to note, I just really like the original lyric. It’s so cocky and badass and SO Wukong (or MK!) /pos

“Use kindness as the mark of recognition,”— Not sure what this really means? I interpret it as “kindness is my goal/principle”, but 記認 means both “marking” and “recognize/remember” so uh

“Evildoing is difficult to regard as the elder brother,”— The og lyric sounds fine but trying to understand it is?? It’s not “evildoers”, it’s “the way/path of evildoing”, but then it says “it’s difficult to be an older brother (non-familial)” like who is it difficult for??? Also “brother” here means a fellow disciple/classmate under the same teacher/master/school, so like the relationship between SWK and the other pilgrims (except their master, of course)

“I can’t be beat to death, swim carefree at the edge of the sky.”— The most egregious lyric IMO. I have absolutely no clue what it’s supposed to mean so maybe I’m just not that good at Cantonese??? It could be “I can’t beat to death swimming carefree at the edge of the sky” or “I can’t be beaten to death, swim carefree at the edge of the sky”. The swimming part lacks a pronoun so idk who’s swimming? What is happening in this sentence?? Help??

“Risk your life when taking action,”— 拼命 either means “as hard as you can” or “risking your life”. I’m only assuming it means the latter because I interpret this as SWK lecturing MK on how to be a hero

“And the battle lineup is again full of wit,”— I can sorta grasp what this means, but idk how to write it in English. 陣容 means the appearance/formation of your battalion and can extend to mean the array of abilities in a certain lineup. Not sure how to actually describe this though 😭 also I used “clever” for sharp醒 earlier but changed it to “wit” here so it’d be a noun and sound like an ability or something

[shmorp-mcdurgen]

I made a spotify playlist based on Gman cause I think he's neat

[franeridan]

thinking again about how in trigun 98 they had nick kill someone with the face of a child posing as an orphan for vash, and how in tristamp they had him kill a child in the body of a monster who had no choice in what had been done to him, and how instead in trimax nick for vash kills a man who'd approached vash for a death match, who'd demanded to either kill or be killed, a man nick had given vash a fair chance to fight and win against and who nick would have left alone hadn't said man attacked vash when his back was turned after the duel was over and done with, a man who'd been one step from possibly seriously harming vash hadn't nick stepped in. and about how after in all three versions vash yells at nick for it, but only in trimax nick tells vash that he's lucky he's there to play the devil for him so that he can stay a saint, and only in trimax in the arc right after vash ends up thanking nick for killing for him and protecting his home when vash couldn't because of his own morals, and only in trimax in the end when nick isn't there to play the bad guy for vash he ends up being right, and vash ends up having to dirty his hands himself to protect what he loves - while both in 98 and for now tristamp vash stays a saint until the end, and that fight they have ends in itself, and the only lesson it leaves you as a viewer is that nick is jaded enough to kill a child

[autism-disco]

can i please request a fun fact about anything ever

[nnugatoryextravagance]

attenjtion freaks

its me

[sensitivegoblin]

.....i just had to block the guy again

[radiotorn]

having to restrain from saying anything when my dad dares to say that men get paid LESS than women. in what world. are you out of your fucking mind old man.

[jellyloveru]

man. time sure does fly huh.

[sticky-sugar]

try it. (matsukawa issei x reader)

tags/cw: roommates to lovers, somnophilia, fingering, mattsun sends porn as a coping mechanism, size kink if you really squint

word count: 3.1k

“i’ve always wanted to try that.” 

issei chokes on his beer when you speak. you point at the tv in explanation, as though he needs one. the scene playing has just started out with a couple in bed, spooning while they fuck. everything’s covered, but it’s easy to tell through the blanket that the woman’s leg is lifted, her back arching against the man’s chest while she cries out lewdly. 

“never been fucked in the morning?” he jokes, keeping his eyes trained on the screen so he doesn’t have to look at you. his laugh sounds awkward even to him. 

“mm-mm.” you shake your head, draining your wine glass, and he can’t tell if that’s a confirmation or a rejection of his guess. but he can tell that that wine bottle on the coffee table is empty, because you would never say these things to him sober. 

“not that part,” you explain. frowning when you realize there’s no wine left, you rise from the couch, disappearing from the room and padding down the hall. issei sighs in relief at the moment alone, running his fingers through his hair and tugging hard.

“she’s drunk,” he whispers to himself, a reminder. “she’s drunk, and she’s your friend. and you can’t afford rent anywhere else, you stupid fuck.” that’ll do it. he’s broke as shit, and you’re a good friend. he can steel his nerves with those facts. 

“she was asleep when he started,” you call from the kitchen. 

fuck. 

issei drops his head back, hitting it on the wall a few times with purpose. fuck, fuck, fuck. 

you come back in, and he straightens, yanking the throw blanket over his lap. you’re too drunk to notice. 

you’re too drunk to notice much of anything, really — including your own running mouth. 

“she was asleep,” you say again. “and he fucked her anyway—“ you rush to explain yourself, holding a hand out when his eyes find yours, wide and uncertain. “consensually, obviously.” 

that doesn’t help. he’d been assuming that, but you confirming it makes it worse.

somnophilia, his mind whispers, the word latching itself to you. 

“i dunno,” you shrug, your refilled wine glass brought to your lips. “i think it’s hot, i guess. i’d try it.” 

he really can’t afford rent anywhere else. 

—

you’re scouring roommate ads in a hungover daze the next morning. 

what is your problem?, you think, rolling over to groan into your pillow. you open your bank app, staring at the number in your checking account and wondering uselessly if it’s enough to afford a place on your own. one where you’ll never have to look mattsun in the face again. 

why did you tell him that?

your brain flashes through two bottles of wine and drunk admissions, and you switch over to uber eats, deciding that cooking is simply not an option today. standing in that kitchen for more then four seconds and risking running into him is not an option. 

you know why you told him that. you know exactly why you told him.

you told him because, despite every coping mechanism you’ve tried over the years of living with him, matsukawa issei persists in being the most attractive man you’ve ever met. 

you told him because you wanted to test the waters. why you would ever test the waters with somnophilia, of all things, and not something standard and vanilla like ‘making out with a friend just happens sometimes’ or ‘drunk hookups aren’t so bad’, you will never know. 

but you’d told him because you think about it. you think about him, doing things like that. things that aren’t standard or vanilla or easily explained or plausibly deniable. 

you think about matsukawa issei fucking you while you sleep. and maybe it’s happened one too many times. maybe now it’s all you think about, enough that it comes up in your stupid, drunk admissions. 

maybe — just maybe — you hope he might take you up on it, now that it’s out there in the open like that. 

but that’s just a maybe. so you’re looking for another apartment, on the very real chance that he’s going to call you a freak and never speak to you again. 

your phone buzzes in your hand. 

it’s a text from him.

[10:17 AM]

mattsun: [link attached]

your face crumples into a frown. “what?” you murmur, jabbing a thumb on the link and hoping it’s not a virus. 

your phone starts moaning at max volume.

you scream, slamming down on the side button to lower the volume as the video intro plays through. your eyes fly to the title.

milf fucked by son’s friend while she’s sleeping

there’s no fucking way he just did that. 

[10:19 AM]

mattsun: smth like that? 

“matsukawa!” you scream, rolling out of bed and storming out into the hall. he’s laughing loudly from his room, and you all but kick his door down. “what the fuck is your problem?!” 

he’s in bed, cackling gleefully and covering his face with his blanket — but his eyes are anything but shy when he looks at you. 

“just trying to ease the tension-“

“by sending me porn?!”

he shrugs and gestures to his phone. “im just saying, you’re not alone! at least—“ he glances down at the screen “—3.8 million other people are into it, too-“ 

you scream in frustration, turning and stomping back to your room. his laughter follows, echoing through your door even when you slam it. 

he does it for two weeks straight. every few days, you wake up to a new link, each video titled something more obnoxious than the last. 

guy takes step-sister while she takes a nap

mom wakes step-son up with a special surprise on his birthday

repairman finds sleeping beauty home alone

each one draws an irritated screech of his name and the echoing giggles of satisfaction from his room. 

you could stop it. in fact, he’s asked you more than once if you want him to. 

‘if you really want me to stop, i’ll stop, he’d said in your kitchen last week.

‘just say the word,’ he’d reminded you on his way out one morning.

‘i think you and i both know how important consent is,’ he’d murmured just two nights ago, leaning on your doorframe, his eyes hot on yours. 

you’d shivered under his gaze and pretended to be engrossed in something on your phone. you’d hoped he couldn’t see the way you’d pressed your thighs together, but when you looked up, he was already staring down at them. 

he’d met your eyes again and just hummed, flicking his dark eyebrows up at you before turning away. your phone had buzzed with a new link only seconds after his bedroom door had clicked shut.

you’re certain he knows why you haven’t told him to stop. that the truth is that you don’t want him to stop. you’re certain he’s testing the waters now, too.

because each video he sends you gets closer and closer to being about roommates. 

your phone buzzes in your hands. you wonder if he knows that you watch each one, waiting for him to pull the trigger on the one that sits unspoken in the space between you. 

he does, a week later.

— 

you’ve caught him, issei realizes belatedly. 

maybe he should have noticed after you started sitting closer to him on the couch. or maybe after you’d refused to tell him to stop sending you porn. or maybe even after he’d sent you something titled ‘roommate can’t help himself while she sleeps’ at 4 in the morning and you hadn’t called the cops on him. 

maybe he should have realized you’d caught him after any one of those. but he doesn’t. he doesn’t realize it, not until this very moment, as you’re standing from the couch and bending over to clean the table of empty beer bottles before bed. 

he doesn’t realize it until he realizes you’re not wearing any underwear. 

he glances at you shamefully when you bend at the waist, hoping you don’t look back and catch him. and then he coughs violently, choking on his own spit and drawing your attention. 

he waves you off, blushing furiously and not even bothering to stop his eyes from flying to your ass when you just shrug and bend over again. your pajama shorts have ridden up, but there’s no lacy edge on pink panties where there should be. 

yes, he’d noticed years ago that these shorts tend to ride up and not mentioned it. yes, he knows what kind of panties you wear. yes, he has a favorite pair. 

what are you gonna do if you find out, call him a pervert? he’d sent you roommate somnophilia porn and you’d made him coffee in the morning.

“‘kay, goodnight,” you mumble, and issei wonders if you’re shy about it or if he’s just hoping you are.

“g’night,” he breathes, eyes finding yours. you keep eye contact all the way out of the living room. your eyes drop to his lap at the last second, and he watches a grin stretch across your face just before you disappear from the room. 

he looks down at his lap, and then he swears under his breath. he’s visibly hard in his sweatpants. 

—

he feels like a pervert. he really feels like a pervert. 

he stands in the hall outside your bedroom, one hand on the knob, feeling like a pervert. it’s 2 in the morning, and he feels like a pervert.

he sighs to himself and turns the knob slowly — ever so slowly, because he knows how it creaks, and he doesn’t want to wake you. he pushes the door open carefully, and then he finds you in the dark, moonlight spilling over your body. 

you’re completely naked. 

you’re on your stomach, blankets draped over your lower half and one knee bent out toward the wall. issei can see the expanse of your bare skin and the swell of your breast, but you’ve got your back slightly to him, so he can’t see everything. 

but it’s enough. 

he breathes hard, stepping into the room and shutting the door silently behind him. he runs his fingers through his hair, tugging hard and giving a soft sigh as he pads over to you. 

when he lowers his knees to your mattress, it’s with his heart in his throat and his cock straining against his pants. you look so innocent, so sweet like this, even while he’s sliding the blankets off of your skin and exposing you in the moonlight. 

is he really allowed to want this as badly as he does? 

your breath is steady, only changing slightly when he braces himself behind you, propped up on one elbow. he scoots toward you, breath caught in his throat, and then slides his hand under the back of your knee. you shiver, probably because his fingers are ice cold, and he keeps his eyes locked on the side of your face. 

when you don’t give any other sign of waking, he lifts your leg and hooks it backward over his knee, opening your body up for him. 

he swears under his breath, staring down at you in the moonlight. 

you shift, adjusting to the new angle of your body with a sigh. your back presses to his chest, and issei has to press his lips together so he doesn’t moan at the sight of you. 

he keeps his eyes on your face when he slides his fingers along your inner thigh, watching you intensely as his icy fingertips dance close to the spot between your thighs that’s radiating heat. 

when he cups your bare cunt, your skin breaks out in goosebumps, but you don’t move otherwise. issei moans now, because your body knows what he’s doing, but you don’t. 

he’d had a feeling before — in the weeks between that moment on the couch and this moment right here — that he’d unlocked a new, previously untouched fantasy. that his reaction to your drunken admission might have been about more than just being attracted to you. 

he sees it now. now, as he’s sliding two fingers between your folds and watching as you remain completely unaware, he realizes that you’ve done something to him. that you’ve made him want to do this to you, tonight and every night after. 

it takes every ounce of his self-control not to shudder and moan in your ear when your pussy twitches under his fingers, reacting to him even when you don’t. 

he drops his head to your chest, eyes locked on your face as he takes one of your nipples in his mouth. your lips part, and he freezes, but the sigh that falls out is nowhere near conscious, so he keeps going, sucking and licking and grazing his teeth over the bud while he massages your cunt with his now-warm fingers. 

the first sign that you’re reacting is the growing ease with which he’s able to push his fingers against you. your entrance becomes slick, and he can’t help that he pushes his hips against your ass in response, seeking relief. he drops his touch lower and swipes the pads of his fingers through the mess there, spreading it all over your cunt. 

when he circles your clit, slippery and warm now, your breathing changes, harder and rougher. the rise and fall of your chest pushes at his mouth, and he latches on with fresh fervor, watching your brows furrow and your lips twitch at the onslaught of sensations. 

it shouldn’t be as easy as it is for him to push his middle finger past your entrance. 

“fuck”, he whispers despite himself, mouth slipping off of you with a gentle pop and eyes rolling back in his head. your walls pulse around his finger, warm and velvety and wet beyond belief. his cock twitches hard in his pants as he slides his finger in and out of you, searching for that spongy spot that’ll wake you up. 

he knows you might have wanted him to fuck you like this, but he can’t help himself anymore. he doesn’t have it in him to be careful anymore. 

when his ring finger joins his middle, it’s with intent. the push is rough, bullying your cunt open with the size of his fingers, no doubt longer and fuller than you can get on your own. 

you shift under him, a quiet noise of question leaving you, and he lifts his head, attaching his lips to the crook of your neck. 

“y/n,” he whispers, more a moan than anything else. “need you.” 

he sucks on the column of your throat while you come to, his fingers curling and spreading inside of you — his sloppy attempt to prepare you for him. 

“h-huh-“ your head lifts slightly, and then you’re slamming it back against the pillow, your back arching. “oh, my god, mattsun-“ 

he almost comes in his pants when you say his name like that. 

“couldn’t help myself,“ he starts, shaking his head and pushing his body against yours almost desperately. “you were so pretty.“ your cunt tightens around his fingers in response, and he files that away for later. keeps it in mind, the things that make you react like this. “need you so bad, y/n-“ 

“yes, god yes,” you breathe, a whine trapped in your throat. you turn your head, back still pressed against his chest, and drop your still-sleepy eyes to his lips.

the coil under issei’s navel tugs hard when he realizes how well he can read you. 

he pushes his mouth against yours eagerly, moan unrestrained when your tongue slides against his. he wonders if you know how often he’s thought of this moment, years of wanting you and craving the feeling of you coming undone under his fingers. 

“please,” you whisper against his lips, back arching when he pushes the pads of his fingers against that spongy spot that makes you whine. “more, mattsun.” 

he groans, shivering when you pull his bottom lip between your teeth. “not yet — it’ll hurt,” he murmurs, leaning on every molecule of self-control.

“i can take it,” you just say, pushing your ass back against his aching cock. “promise.” 

he never had that much self-control to begin with.

his moan comes out in a shuddered breath, overpowered by the sound of you whining when he slips his fingers out of you. he shoves his sweats down to his knees, meeting your eyes and seeing the urgency he feels reflected in your eyes. 

when he slides his cock between your folds, it’s with a choked groan and a heaving pant in your ear. 

“can i- are you sure-“ he stutters, already lining himself up at your entrance.

“please, please, please,” you babble, arching your back to make the angle easier on him. 

you come around his cock before he’s even halfway in. 

there are stars in his eyes by the time you’re done. 

you cry out for him, shaking and clenching down hard, and he can’t do anything except bury his face in your hair and keep your leg lifted high with a trembling hand. 

“fuck,” he breathes, voice tight. “fuck, y/n-“ 

“more, mattsun,” you sob. he thinks you might be the girl of his dreams. 

pushing the rest of the way in, he shoves down his own orgasm, fighting and kicking and forcing it away so he can last more than thirty seconds inside of you. 

he only manages a minute before he’s spilling into you with a stuttered moan of your name, face buried in your neck and head full of static.

you’re just slumped against him by the time he comes to his senses, breathing hard and synced with his.

“sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, ears burning with embarrassment. “i swear i usually last longer than that-“

you laugh, tired and still weak but bright all the same. “yeah — so do i.” 

he snorts, pulling out slowly and letting your leg drop closed, trying his best not to moan at the feeling. 

“are you sure that was okay?” he asks, a tiny inkling of doubt still seeded in his veins. you just giggle, whispering his name in fond exasperation.

“sorry, which part of me sleeping naked was a warning sign?” 

“shut up,” he mutters, curling himself around you and feeling the beginnings of exhaustion start to drain his energy. “i’m staying here tonight. i don’t do one-night stands.” 

you just turn in his arms and wrap your arms around his neck. “was i that good, mattsun? i was asleep for half of it.” 

you’re gonna be the thing that kills him, he just knows it. 

[entitled-fangirl]

A second wife and a poet.

Cregan Stark x second wife! Blackwood!reader

Summary: The North pressured Cregan to marry again. He hates the thought of it, but at least the reader is someone he's comfortable with.

Warnings: mentions of death, fighting, battles, arguing, cursing, smut (p in v), and all that other stuff

A/n: Based on an ask sort of! This thing is so long I'm so sorry😭

Masterlist

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Cregan did not wish to marry again. The thought terrified him.

But he understood that his wishes were not taken into account when he was born with the Stark name.

Now, he nervously stood outside of the Winterfell walls, awaiting the young woman that would become his second wife. 

Lord Samwell Blackwood's only daughter. 

Cregan was not a religious man, but he prayed that this marriage would be better.

It would help further the alliance. That's what he told himself. 

He swallowed the lump in his throat as her carriage came to a halt. 

She stepped out.

She was different than what Cregan had remembered.

The Blackwood hair was obvious, the dark curly locks running down her shoulders effortlessly. He'd seen that same shade atop of Benjicot's head. 

But the manner in which she carried herself was different. Very… un-Blackwood like.

She was nervous.

He'd never seen any of the Blackwoods ever hold an inkling of doubt to them. It was a strange sight.

Not that he could blame her.

She curtsied out of politeness, keeping her head down.

He shook his head, "Y/n."

Her head shot up to look at him. To really look at him.

She remembered him visiting Raventree Hall in their youth. Cregan had found a friendship in her brother, Benjicot, as did their fathers.

This had prompted lots of visits in the past.

Until Rickon Stark died and Cregan took the mantle his father left behind. He was only thirteen.

Now in his twenties, the permanent exhaustion shown in his eyes. The years had been hard to him.

He was nothing like the young boy that had once sparred with her brother.

"Cregan," she greeted back.

Their eyes met.

It was awkward. What do you say to someone you know and yet, don't know at all? Especially when both sides had endured such grief.

"Did-"

"I heard-"

They both stopped, not intending to interrupt one another. 

"Please," Cregan gestured.

"No, I insist that you do."

An unsure breath escaped him. "Did Benji not accompany you?"

It was strange to hear the formidable Lord of Winterfell still refer to her brother as "Benji" as if they were kids again.

"No," she swallowed. "He had… more pressing matters to attend to. I hope you understand."

"Of course," he offered. "I was saddened, you know. To hear of the loss of your father."

The Battle at the Burning Mill had left her father, Samwell, and her cousin, Davos, dead in the dirt alongside many other men who fought by their side. It was a victory, but with victory came loss.

"As I, with your wife, I mean."

He nodded. "Thank you."

Silence swallowed them whole, both at a loss of what else they could possibly say to ease the other.

He took the time to study her, making a note of the way she tapped the tips of each finger to her thumb. A nervous tick, he made a note of. Benji did the same when he grew angry.

"Did your journey fair well-"

"-Yes," she quickly answered.

They both cursed inwardly.

"Right. Perhaps I should show you… Indoors?" He asked awkwardly.

She nodded. "Yes, yes of course."

…

She sat at the desk, laying her head down onto the wooden surface. 

Judging by the way Cregan had only lingered in the doorway before, she had guessed that he hadn't entered the room since the passing of his wife.

Everything in it had remained the same. 

It felt wrong. Like an invasion of privacy to open her own closet and see another woman's dresses in it.

"Shall I get these out for you, my lady?" Her handmaiden tried to ease.

"Leave them," she muttered. "I'll get them out when I'm ready."

"And when will that be?"

She sighed in defeat. "I dunno."

…

What a lousy first impression.

Cregan felt like punching a wall.

What an idiot.

Perhaps he was destined to always have a wife estranged to him. For that's how this one had begun.

It should've been easy. It was Benji's sister, for fuck's sake.

He tried to rack his mind of memories of his time in Raventree Hall. He was a much younger soul then and the memories of it had faded significantly with time.

But he did remember her faintly.

She was always around, but she never bothered them. Never spoke up. She always was somewhere near with a book or a thread and needle. 

He just remembered the essence of her, but that was enough.

And the thought that war had broken the siblings up put an ache in Cregan's heart. He knew she'd be safe with him, but still. Benjicot couldn't even leave his duties long enough for a wedding ceremony. And she had just… accepted that.

This was his second chance. 

He had to do better.

…

At dinner, he tried to ease the tension. 

He cleared his throat, "You can write to your brother. If you wish, that is."

She set her spoon down gently and folded her hands into her lap. "That's kind. It would ease his mind to know I made my journey safely."

He grunted and took another sip of his broth. He tried to think of anything else. 

But she spoke up again, "I was waiting to ask but… perhaps I should just ask."

He tilted his head down, "Yes?"

"Your son… he lived, didn't he?"

He could tell she shook a little as she asked. "He did. He eats in his room."

"Oh." 

"Did you… Did you want to meet him?"

She pauses and a genuine smile breaks out on her face. "I'd be hard to be Lady Stark if I didn't."

He hangs his head in mock shame and he chuckles. "Right. That was foolish of me to ask."

"No, I understand." She shifted in her seat. "You're hesitant to replace his mother. You don't have to explain that to me."

"It's not that," he countered. "Well, not exactly. It's confusing."

"Alright?"

"My…" he paused. "Arra was one of my greatest friends in this world. But she was no wife. Our friendship grew to duty, and the love we shared for other another faded quickly. We seemed to argue more than we got along towards the end. It was… disheartening."

"I see."

He looked up at her and pushed himself to continue. "I fear you and I are not an even match."

A sudden jolt was felt in the pit of her stomach. "What?"

His eyes widened as he realized his choice of words, "No. No. I just meant… gods." He rubbed his forehead. "I have… experienced all the wonders of a man and wife already and you have not." Cregan looked around in thought. "Just seems unfair to you. In many ways."

She considered his words. He was right, she couldn't deny that. "Do you believe my brother had any doubt in this betrothal?"

Cregan's brows came together in confusion. "I don't understand."

"Everyone thought him so eager to sign me away, but that's anything but the truth. He knows you, Cregan. If it were any other man wishing for my hand, he would have denied it. Not you."

That brought an unusual warmth to his chest. "Why?"

The ends of her lips quirked up into a smile. "He said he'd never seen an equal opponent such as you. And only an equal opponent would be worthy of something so precious to him."

"Do you agree with him?" Cregan's voice whispered.

"I'm starting to."

The silence that had once been full of tension began to ease into one of comfort. 

"All in your family are true warriors as well, my lady. Only a fool would deny that. Especially your father and… and your cousin, you said?"

She nodded, "Yes, yes, my cousin, Davos. Hard to think that we've considered the battle a victory with such a devastating loss."

He hummed, his interest shifting when speaking of something he may have insight on: war. "The Brackens lost family alike."

She scoffed. "All for a few more feet of territory? For stones?"

"Careful," he warned. "They didn't fight for stones. You're smarter than that. What did they fight for? Truly?"

She thought about it carefully before giving in to what answer she knew he was looking for. "Power."

"Exactly. Your father died for the chance of future Blackwoods gaining greater power. That's much nobler a death than stones, don't you think?"

"He died for Benjicot, then?"

"And you," he offered.

That struck a nerve in her. "Then why do I sit safely behind the walls of Winterfell when I should be fighting by my brother's side for future Blackwoods?"

There it was.

He knew she'd have Blackwood fire in there somewhere.

He only had to light it.

"Do you want to wage wars, sweet girl?"

"No," she countered. "But if it must be done."

"Spoken like a true noble," he chuckled. "It's not nearly the same, I know, but the Stark forces may appreciate your support. If you'll bless us with it."

She looked confused. 

"Please tell me you wish to become a Stark. I cannot bare to think I'm forcing you into a marriage you'll be unhappy in. I've done it before and I won't do it again."

She felt a twist in her stomach at the tough man's voice faltering. She breathed in sharply, "I… I think I do."

Cregan couldn't accept that. "Please," he urged her to continue.

"I… I've been caught on the idea of younger you." She tilted her head to the side in thought as she stared at her bowl. "I'd happily marry my brother's best friend. But… the Lord of Winterfell? I dunno."

"He is one and the same," he protested.

"Is he?"

Cregan had never been rendered speechless in his life, yet there was a first for everything.

She let the silence set before speaking up, "Cregan was a boy with the very essence of life in him. I always thought he'd become a brave knight. He had a fire to him that you so rarely see. But Lord Stark? He has duty written into his very skin. The fire seems to have been tamed by sacrifice. He doesn't want a second wife. Nor do I blame him."

"I never said that!"

"You and I both know if Arra had birthed you one more heir, you wouldn't marry again at all."

"Stop." He commanded.

She faltered, pausing her words at his tone.

"It is true that I marry out of pure encouragement from my council. But that does not mean the end of our friendship. Please don't let it be."

"Cregan, you and I were never friends. You marry me with the memories of friendship you have with my brother. You know I am not him."

"I do!" He yelled. He softened. "I do. You're not like him at all."

That weighed on the two of them like bricks. 

She stared down at her bowl again. "I wish you'd have known my cousin, Davos, closely. My father used to say that the gods placed twins in separate wombs to keep us from ending the world." She laughed lightly, "He and I were inseparable."

"I heard Lord Davos only loved sparring and getting into trouble."

"Do you believe he only managed trouble on his own?" She questioned. "He was fiery on his own, yes, but I only encouraged it. I should have been there. At the border. I could've… I could've kept the battle from starting."

Cregan scoffed lightly, "There was no way to keep an inevitable battle from beginning."

"But I might have prolonged it all further," she tried. "Kept the tension just a while longer."

"Until what? Until it is your brother losing his head? Or worse, you?"

"Yes."

She wasn't that nervous girl from before. No. She was indeed a Blackwood. There was no question about that.

He sighed and clenched his fist. "We wed tomorrow. I'd rather my betrothed sleep well tonight with hopeful wishes rather than regrets and guilt."

She stood. "Maybe you're marrying the wrong woman then."

He watched her walk out, completely stunned.

It reminded him too much of Arra.

…

The tension hadn't relieved itself if the glare in Cregan's eyes were any indicator.

It was a steady glare. More one that seemed to study her, trying to figure out what makes her tick. 

Seems she was the very thing that made him tick.

She had glared back at the beginning of the ceremony, insistent on giving back every look that was sent her way, but slowly, that had changed to something else.

Her nerves returned.

He didn't notice at first, but he saw the way her hand shook so violently she almost didn't get the cup to her lips without spilling the liquid inside.

He was wracked with guilt.

He had once again forced a woman to "love" him.

"I've called off the bedding ceremony," he spoke lowly. "If that's any help."

"It's not."

He was shocked by the way she had so easily pushed away his attempt to ease her. Like she'd kicked the last leg Cregan was standing on. 

"Get up."

"What?"

"Get up. We're going."

She stared in shock. "Cregan, forgive me. I was-"

"C'mon. I'm firm on this."

When she didn't move, he grabbed her by her bicep, yanking her up and beginning to pull her through the dining hall. Both ignored the cheers and chants of what the people believed would happen in the couple's private chambers.

Once dragged to his room, she pulled her arms from his vice grip and smoothed out her dress. "Is that what you wanted? A newly wedded wife in tears? Because you're awfully close to it, Lord Stark."

"Fuck," he cursed under his breath. "I'm not sleeping with you tonight. I refuse."

"What?"

"I'm not sleeping with you tonight. I refuse." He repeated with more force. He ran a hand through his hair. 

She shrugged off his cloak that he had placed on her during the ceremony and threw it aside. "You won't even let me perform my duties because you don't want to fulfill yours?"

"Y/n," he warned. "That's not how I meant it."

"I can't read you. Do you hate me? Do you love me? Gods, you're insufferable."

"-and you're blind."

"Oh! Enlighten me, then, oh great Lord Stark."

"I loved you. I still do."

She spun around to face him.

Cregan stood firmly. His eyes spoke more than his words did. He was insistent on having her trust him. 

"I don't believe that," she scoffed.

"Oh really?" He walked to his bureau and pulled out a small wooden box. He threw it onto the bed. "Have a look for yourself."

She looked him up and down before hesitantly walking over to the box. Sitting next to it, she pulled it open and examined the contents. 

Letters.

"What is this?"

"Every letter I tried to write to you the day I became the Lord of Winterfell. I had… foolish dreams of maybe having you as a wife. I was only a boy then."

She sat straight. "Why keep them?"

He shrugged. "I'm sentimental, I suppose. I had tried to burn them- many times, in all honestly. Couldn't bring myself to do it."

"May I?"

He nodded, anxiety filling his gut. 

Her nimble fingers picked up the letter that sat on top.

"There's a few others in there," he informed her as he sat on the other side of the bed. "All regarding you, of course. Letters to your brother, your father, you know."

She unraveled the latter despite shaky fingers. 

My loyalist friend Benjicot, I heard of the passing of your father. You have my deepest condolences. I understand all too well the feelings of honor and duty that have now been placed on your shoulders despite the grief that already weighs them down.  Regarding your sister, perhaps she may find a home in Wint

The letter stopped there, and she looked up at him.

"Some are… more recent, actually."

She nodded. "I see that."

He leaned to her, reading the letter with a light blush. "I'm not very well-spoken in writing, so I make lots of drafts."

"And they're all here?"

"Yes. Yes, all of them." He tapped the side of the box with his large hand. "Well, most of them."

She decided not to press the matter, placing the letter back and picking up an older one from deeper in the box.

This one had much sloppier handwriting, the page evidently aged.

Lady Blackwood, As the Leader of the North, I want you and Benji to visit as often as possible. I might be a lord, but I will always have time for the Blackwoods. Perhaps I can even teach you archery like you have so desperately wanted. Everyone knows I'm better at it than Benji is. Cregan

"Why did you never send them?"

He scoffed. "Read that again and tell me that was ever appropriate to send as the Warden of the North."

"You were a child then, as was I. It's in good favor."

"It's unbecoming of a cold northern lord, though." He reached out to take the letter from her but she held it out of his reach.

"Only yesterday, you told me this boy and the man in front of me were one and the same."

"And they are," he urged.

"That's bullshit and you know it."

"It's not!"

"Prove it."

He stared with an unreadable expression. 

She was insufferable, stubborn, witty, gracious, giving, honest…

He crashed his lips onto hers.

She let out a small yelp in surprise, but just as quickly melted into him, kissing him back with just as much enthusiasm.

"This," she panted again his lips. "This is a bad idea."

He kissed her again, then pulled away just enough to speak, pressing his forehead to hers. "What is?" 

"Loving each other."

He grinned. "I don't care."

She groaned and moved back to him, capturing his lips again. 

He pushed her onto the bed, throwing the wooden box onto the ground with a loud crash before getting on top of her. 

She tried to sit up at the sound, breaking away from him for only a moment, "you could've torn them."

"Why does it matter?"

"I want to save them."

He chuckled, "Lovely woman, you'd rather save scraps of paper from a man's youth than indulge in your desires with the very man that wrote them?"

She ignored the butterflies in her stomach as Cregan's thumb brushed over her cheek. "I never said that."

Cregan tilted his head in teasing disbelief. "Then tell me what you want."

"I want-" she paused. What did she want? Mere moments ago, she wanted to return to Raventree Hall and be rid of the northerner. Now, she wanted to bask in anything that he gave her. "I want Arra's dresses out of my wardrobe."

Cregan blinked, clearly taken out of the moment. He sat up. "What?"

She sat up with him. "You may keep them if you wish, but I'm tired of the reminder of her presence every morning, noon, and night."

"Consider it done," he urged. "I'll have them moved immediately. Any of it you want will be gone within the hour."

"No, I don't-" she sighed. "I don't want her gone, per se. She was a part of you, and therefore a part of us. She's given you a son. To rid Rickon of his mother's memory and you of your first wife should be considered a crime."

"But if I live in the past, I can't enjoy what's in front of me."

"Aye, but you're not doing that," she grinned. "You've got a pretty girl in your bed. Seems like you're enjoying the present."

He didn't grin back, only sighing softly and nodding. "I hope you do forgive me. For forcing this."

"Cregan, you did not force it. Benji gave me a choice." When he gawked at her, she continued. "He encouraged me to accept, yes. But he did not force my hand. I wanted to do this. I wanted to marry you."

"You wanted to please your brother and I or you wanted to be Lady Stark?" He questioned.

"I wanted to be the wife of the man I once knew when he was a boy."

He accepted her answer happily, kissing her once again. This time, it was soft and careful.

She reached her hands up into his hair, tugging delicately at the dark strands. His breath hitched and he brought one of his own hands up as well. His hand gripped over hers. He pulled his hand into a fist, forcing hers as well, and encouraged her to tug harshly on his hair. She took the encouragement, beginning to yank. 

He felt a shiver go down his spine and his mouth opened in a moan. She grinned and took that as an invitation to kiss down his jaw. He tilted his head up to give her room to do so.

"I… I lied," he whispered as his hands roamed over his waist. "I think I do want you tonight."

She nipped at a spot under his neck. "I think I want you too."

He grunted at that and pulled her away from him. "Tell me what you want. Truly."

"What do you mean?"

He sighed, "I've had a first wedding night. I want you to have yours the way you want it."

"I… I don't know what I want."

He absentmindedly rubbed at her hip. "Then perhaps we'll try things until you decide."

She nodded. "Th…things? There are multiple things to do?"

He pulled her head back a bit by her hair and kissed her pulse point. "Many."

"But how…"

He couldn't lie and say he hadn't been yearning for some kind of release these last few years. Between Arra's pregnancy, the birth, and the years after her death, Cregan had not laid with another woman. He found himself yearning desperately for touch, of any sort really.

And how lucky was he that hers was so soft. 

He pushed her down on the bed softly. "Trust me?"

"In every lifetime."

Overcome with lust, he pressed his lips to hers again, starting back up the heat in their stomachs that they had played with so eagerly. 

Cregan reached up the tunic on his back, pulling it over his head. He tried to connect their lips again but she kept him from doing so.

She trailed a hand down his shoulder and to his bicep, taking in the sight of his bare torso. Her fingers paused at the feeling of a scar on his arm. Her fingers faltered. 

"It's a rather nasty scar," he whispered.

"My brother gave it to you."

"Aye," His eyes lit up. "He pushed me into a stream and-"

"-and you fell on a rock. I remember my father being so angry with him."

He kissed her yet again, and the two continued as before with a deeper connection than they had thought.

He pulled her skirt up with one hand and caressed the inside of her thigh. 

She jerked at the feeling in uncertainty. "What d-"

"Just tell me how it feels, alright?"

When she nodded, he spoke again, "Sit up for me. We'll get this dress off of you."

…

"Cre… Cregan…"

"I know. You're doing good," he panted into her ear. 

"I… there's… a feeling…"

"I know. I know, it's alright."

He pushed down on her stomach as he thrusted deeper into her, making her moan and tears pull at her eyes. 

"Give in to it. It's okay."

"I can't… I… I'm scared…" she sobbed lightly.

The hand on her stomach moved around her body, arching her back up to him. He held her closely against him in an attempt to comfort her. "I've got you." He placed open mouth kisses on her neck.

She scratched at his back harshly as she reached her peak. A whine left her lips.

"I've got you," he panted as his hips slowed when his peak neared. "I've got you."

She felt overstimulated and exhaustion filled her body. She closed her eyes for just a moment. Just a moment.

…

She woke up to the feeling of sunlight on her skin. Her eyes creaked open.

She groaned at the ache between her legs, a slight shake in the muscles of her legs. 

But what caught her attention was the tray that laid on the other side of the bed. A full breakfast sat where Cregan had supposedly once laid. 

She sat up and picked up the note that lay on the tray. 

My beautiful wife,  I hope you'll take the words of a poorly worded poet to heart, for this is a letter that I finally am sending you. No more drafts hidden in boxes and no secrets to keep. My first draft shall always be my last when addressed to you. I dare say I despise arguments. I'm not as highly tempered as your brother, and I find that I don't run hot. I suppose that it's the chill of the North that has done that. Regardless, may this be our last fight for a long while. I have had Arra's clothing removed from all closets, and the traces of her are now few. Her portrait stays in the library and her remains in the crypts, but the greatest things she left behind were my boy and a gash in my heart. I believe you'll care for both of those things greatly.  But you'll not live in that room. You'll find your dresses in my wardrobe now. I don't believe I can part from you for too long now that I have you. This will be my first and last letter to you, for now you'll hear everything from my lips alone.  But I thought you deserved at least one letter after all these years. Your Cregan

"I told them to fetch me when you woke up," he commented from the doorway.

She gasped at his sudden appearance, "Good morning."

"It's after high noon, I dare say."

"Is it?" She looked at the window. "I'm sorry. It was not my intention to-"

"-Are you alright?" He interrupted.

Her brows furrowed. "I'm fine."

"I've never had a woman succumb to sleep like you did. Felt I did something wrong." He rubbed at his shoulder anxiously.

"No, it felt… it felt good. Quite good," she nodded. She took into account that she was still naked in his bed, but she was rather clean. "Did you…"

He flushed. "Oh. Um.. no. No, I didn't. Don't worry."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's not that I didn't want to," he tried to explain then backtracked. "I mean… you fell asleep and once I knew you were alright, I um… I couldn't do that to you."

"That's," she hummed. "That's noble of you."

He chuckled. "It's the least I could do for you. And the note?" He asked to change the subject.

She held it up and reread it. "Thank you. For… all of it."

He stepped to the side and kissed her head, "Anything for my beautiful wife."

"And you, my poet, Lord Stark."

He gripped her chin and forced her head up to look at him. "Don't let the others know," he teased.

"I dare not. This is something I want all to myself."

"Then you have me- heart, mind, and body."

.......................................

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[moonstruckme]

hii!! i love ur blog lol. i saw ur requests were open and i thought maybe id send one in! no pressure at all to do it, thank you for writing what you write (it’s really comforting!) i was wondering if you could do poly!marauders with a reader who is overworking herself for exams/college stuff and is hiding from her boyfriends because she knows they’ll be stern with her and make her take a break? so she tries to evade them but they foil her evil little plan lol. maybe like dom!remus… i’m obsessed w him.. just an idea!!!! have an amazing day 🩷

Thanks for requesting, hope you have an amazing day too!

cw: d/s dynamics to be found if you want them to be, mostly they're just bossy

poly!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 814 words

There are nice voices seeping into your consciousness. Soft, comforting. You snuggle into the gentleness of their familiar hum. 

Something moves from underneath your face. You start to open your eyes, slow and reluctant, and when the something is gone your face lands in a warm palm. It feels safe, easy enough to settle into, but as you’re about to let yourself slip away again it strokes its thumb over your cheek. 

“Angel.” James’ voice sounds almost like he’s trying not to laugh. He thumbs your cheek again. “Angel, hey.” A pause. “She doesn’t seem to want to wake up.” 

“She’s awake,” Sirius says. You feel his hand sweep across your shoulder blades. “Come on, sweetness. This is no place to spend the night.” 

You make a disgruntled, whiny sound you’d never allow in full consciousness. Your eyes peel open. 

“There she is.” Sirius rubs your back encouragingly.

You blink blearily in the sickening fluorescent light of the library. James is squatting at face-level in front of you, his expression somewhere between fond and pitying, while Remus stands behind him with your backpack over his shoulder. You can see Sirius peering down at you in your periphery, his hand still moving over your back as though to keep you from falling back asleep. 

There doesn’t seem to be anyone else around. It must be late. 

“Oh, no,” you groan, forcing yourself up. Your neck and back crackle as you straighten, making James cringe. 

“I agree,” Sirius says smoothly. “I too would be devastated if I traded a warm and cozy bed with my loving boyfriends for a hard, cold desk. But don’t be embarrassed, there’s still time to make things right.” 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You press the heels of your hands into your eyes, trying to rub wakefulness into them. “I…where’s my laptop?” 

“I have it,” says Remus. 

“I need it.” 

“You’ll get it back tomorrow.” 

A slow, heavy anxiety laces your bloodstream. “But I have to finish…” 

“Dove.” Remus’ voice is stern, though not unkind. “You have to sleep first. At home.”

You blink, your brain still lagging. “But…” 

“Sweetheart, c’mere.” James takes your face in his hand, angling you towards him. He brushes his thumb over the corners of your eyes, then smiles at you. “There. Sorry, you had crusties. Ready to go?” 

“I…” 

“Let’s go, babe.” Sirius winds an arm around your waist, hauling you up with him. “It’s definitely bedtime.” 

James chuckles. “Seems like it. Poor love.” 

“What about my stuff?” 

“I’ve got it, dove,” Remus reminds you. He frowns. “When was the last time you slept?” 

You think back. “Last night.” Was it really only last night? It feels eons ago. 

“But for how long?” 

“Uh…” you wince. “I dunno, a couple hours.” 

James makes a low pitying sound, and Remus’ frown worsens. On some level, you know you’d known they would react like this. Probably, you’d even known they were right. It was why you’d been spending as little time at home as possible, catching twenty-minute power naps in library chairs and avoiding your boyfriends. 

“Sweetheart,” Remus sounds tired himself, and guilt sprouts behind your ribcage, “you can’t run yourself ragged like this. It’s not sustainable. It’s not going to help with your schoolwork, and it’s awful for you besides. Why are you doing this to yourself?”

You heave a sigh. “I guess I just like living on the edge,” you grumble sardonically. 

Sirius huffs a laugh. He slots a piece of hair behind your ear. “Hey, recklessness is my thing,” he says, kissing your temple. “You need to get your own thing.” 

“Sorry.” 

“You need to take better care of yourself,” Remus chides. “You’ve tried your way, and it’s clearly not working. Right?” 

You’re silent. Then Sirius pinches your side, and you squeak, “Right.” 

“Good girl.” Remus’ tone warms some with amusement. “So we’re going to go home, and you’re going to sleep at least eight hours. Then, after you eat and drink something, you can have your laptop back. Okay?” 

“Okay.” You want to be more reluctant, but the allure of your boyfriends’ evil scheme is too tempting to resist. You don’t have the energy to fight them on it. “Thanks for coming to get me.” 

Remus holds the door open for you all to exit the library. As you pass, he cups your cheek with a small smile. “You’re welcome, dovey.” 

“And maybe during this next round of studying, you could take a break from time to time,” James suggests lightly. “I haven’t had a proper cuddle in days.” 

“Oi!” Sirius’ chin nearly smacks the side of your head as he whips around to see James. “What would you call what we did this afternoon?” 

“Not a proper cuddle. Your elbow has probably left a permanent indent in my stomach.” 

“There are people who would pay for a souvenir like that, Jamie.”

[ugh-yoongi]

hi. i would like to request seungcheol (obviously). all i request is enemies-to-lovers. you may do with this what you wish. i leave it up to you to decide exactly how you will ruin my life 😌

tysm for the request my beloved !! he is so enemies to lovers coded i had TEWWW many thoughts (and started three separate wips oops), but here we are. i hope u enjoy this !! can't wait to get the collab fics out of the way so i can torture u further with baseball dk. i picked dodgers hat!cheol just for u. ♡

— we need to talk

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader summary: sometimes the only way to win the game is to not play, but sometimes it's not a game at all—sometimes it's four years of emotional build-up with nowhere left to hide. genre: enemies (kinda) w benefits to lovers; frat/university au; smut, angst?, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact with this or any of my work. warnings: frat boys. gendered language and insults. swearing. mentions of drugs & drug use (vernon is literally a drug dealer 🤷🏻‍♀️) as well as alcohol. possessive, jealous seungcheol who is extremely down bad and kind of an asshole and would be toxic af irl but is fine in fanfiction probably. this is maybe more "people who used to fuck and started disliking each other along the way bc they can't figure out their feelings" to lovers than enemies. there are very slight, very meaningless mingyu x reader undertones here. jeonghan is a bastard. feelings you think are unrequited but alas! this got softer than i intended oops. smut warnings: seungcheol truly is a man driven to the brink of madness bc of pussy idk what to say. kissing. hair pulling. mentions of masturbation. the dynamics shift in this one a lot, but to be overly cautious i will say dom!cheol and slightly dom!reader undertones that are not implicitly stated or defined. seungcheol uses the term "whore" once, sorry. oral sex (f. receiving). pussy slapping. unprotected sex. if i missed any pls lmk. wordcount: 8k. no i do not know what a drabble is, leave me alone. author's note: title from the song of the same name by waterparks but this was actually brought to you by "i'll never stop" by nsync bc it's their best song and fit the vibes perfectly. anyway, i still do not love writing smut but i am insane over this man so whatever, we persevere. everyone go shower mj in lots of love bc she's the best and deserves it. also everyone say thank u @the-boy-meets-evil for looking over this for me. i did not look at this again after she beta'd it so any mistakes are of my own stupidity. <3

Seungcheol is incensed.

What in the fuck are you thinking, showing up here? Ignoring him, walking by him with nothing more than a brush to the elbow and that sultry, electric gaze? A pair of painted-on jeans and a sheer top?

Who the fuck had invited you?

He looks around the room, gaze heavy under his furrowed brow. Bass thumps in his ears, the music so loud he can feel it in his chest. Still, his feet stay planted on the floor, already sticky with spilled alcohol and god knows what else. He needs to find Vernon—just needs something to get through this very unexpected (and very unpleasant) surprise, take the edge off.

But he can’t see through the sea of people. They’re everywhere, occupying every inch of available space in the house, but he just needs a glimpse of that mop of cornflower blue hair. If he could just—

Instead, he sees a streak of white-blond in his peripheral vision. “Soonyoung!” he calls, grabbing the man by the arm. “Hey, have you seen Vernon?”

Soonyoung stares up at him with glassy, bloodshot eyes, his breath already stinking of alcohol as he shrugs and says, “Dunno, hyung. Think he’s upstairs.”

Fingers still wrapped around his bicep, Seungcheol heaves a sigh. “Go find Jeonghan. He’s on babysitting duty and you’re already fucked.”

“I’m fine,” Soonyoung argues, slurred words giving him away immediately.

Seungcheol scoffs. “Bro, you can barely stand and you reek of shitty vodka. Go drink some water.”

As he sends Soonyoung away, he can feel eyes boring into him, tension wound tight in the center of his back that refuses to dissipate no matter how many times he rolls his shoulders. He turns slowly, already knowing exactly what he’ll find, but knowing does little to stop the hitch of breath as he takes you in.

And he hates it. Fuck, he hates the effect you have on him more than anything.

Hates that he’s still pining after you. Hates that all you have to do is look at him and he’s putty in your hands. Hates that you’re the first person he looks for in a room, the last person on his mind before he falls asleep. Hates you, hates that all of this is unreciprocated, because if Choi Seungcheol is anything, it’s proud. He’s rich, he’s good-looking, he’s pre-law, and the president of this fraternity, for fuck’s sake—he should not be hung up on a girl.

But he’d been doomed from the beginning. Ever since you’d been assigned to him as a challenge to overcome, an impossible task to conquer, he’d been helplessly, pathetically smitten with you.

And fuck if you didn’t know it, too.

So, it’s a game now. A lifetime’s worth of pining for Seungcheol all because his frat was misogynistic and refused to keep up with the times. They’d nodded in your direction and laughed at the confusion on his face, the knot between his brows. Seungcheol couldn’t figure out why his initiation was to fuck a girl, one his brothers wouldn’t even address by name, but when he’d approached you at a party and you’d immediately told him to go fuck himself, he’d figured it out pretty quick.

Call it determination, call it a stubborn streak that refused to quit, but the two of you soon came to a reluctant agreement: you would let Seungcheol lie to his frat, figuring he was attractive enough that people thinking you’d slept together wouldn’t be complete social suicide, and he’d owe you a favor you’d keep in your back pocket for as long as it took to cash in.

Which hadn’t taken long. The stress of finals that first year had gotten to all of you, and it wasn’t long before you were at his door looking for his drug-dealing roommate and a quick fuck.

That was the second time Seungcheol had been doomed to hopeless pining, because once he had you, he knew it’d be impossible to let you go.

Short of outright saying the words, he’d all but told you as much during some alcohol-induced brain shortage junior year. And, in turn, you’d all but laughed in his face.

Right.

Of course.

That was to be expected.

So, you’d continued your… well, whatever this is: quick fucks when both of you were bored or lonely or horny, usually under the influence of something illegal; a mutually tense but beneficial relationship for each of you, because you had been Seungcheol’s initiation and the initiation itself awarded him connections and opportunities. You got a back-up plan. A safe body and warm bed to retreat to when the need arose—one who clearly wanted it to be something more, but was, all things considered, fine with the current arrangement. Didn’t pressure you.

But, as was also to be expected, it was never going to be that simple when feelings got involved. When he started feeling slighted. When he wanted you so bad he ached with it sometimes and it was beneath you to care. Which is why he really, really needs to find Vernon. If he’s going to endure an entire party with you, he’s not going to do it sober.

He takes the steps two at a time, feet stumbling onto the landing as soon as he reaches it. Vernon’s door is the third on the left, and he can hear a separate, distinct bass line from the one booming downstairs that hums louder the closer he gets.

And Vernon knows. Of course he does, because he’s yanking his door open before Seungcheol has even raised a hand to knock, the stench of weed seeping out into the hallway, and all he needs is a quick look at Seungcheol before he pulls the door open wider and says, “Ladies and gentlemen, the President of the United States of America,” as if he’s speaking into a microphone. When Seungcheol doesn’t react, he awkwardly tacks on, “Hi, hyung. I’m assuming she’s here.”

Seungcheol nods, dumbly, and stands as awkwardly in the center of the room as someone who’s about to ask their roommate for drugs tends to be. “Yeah.” Shoves his hands in the pockets of his overpriced jeans so Vernon can’t see the sheen of sweat.

“You looking for somethin’ specific?” he asks, rifling through the top drawer of a tall dresser. “Like, is this an I’m about to fuck her the rest of the night visit or an I need something to help me forget she doesn’t actually like me visit?”

The words come like a reflex. “Fuck you,” he seethes. Vernon’s not wrong, per se, but he didn’t have to go and just… say it like that.

Vernon just shrugs, one side of his worn-out collar slipping down his shoulder as he does so, and Seungcheol can’t tell if he’s actually dressed for the party or not. “Gonna guess it’s the second one, then.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “Well, it’s not,” he insists, knowing damn well he should let it go, that he’s just digging himself a bigger hole, but the truth sits in the pit of his stomach like lead.

And, really, he knows he just needs to accept it. That little strand of hope hasn’t brought him anything but more pain—allowed him to delude himself into thinking it could be something more, something tangible—and it’s time to let it go.

You don’t want more.

You don’t want the label and the relationship.

You don’t want him.

He knows this, but it still tastes sour in his mouth. Still tastes like the chill of autumn when you’d first showed up at his door all that time ago. Tastes like all the blunts you’ve shared and the liquor from all the parties you’d snuck away in the middle of. Tastes like the sharp notes of your perfume, the ones that’d coat his tongue when he’d kiss down your neck—the same notes that stain his bedsheets.

Mostly, it’s the pitying look Vernon’s giving him that hurts the most. He’s above pity. Doesn’t need it, especially not from Vernon Chwe, but it hurts all the same to be on the receiving end of it.

“Give me whatever you’ve got.”

Vernon’s face quickly morphs into surprised concern. “Uh, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I mean, I’ve got some pretty heavy shit here.”

Heat flares in his belly. The pity was bad enough—now he wants to be patronizing? “Then give me whatever the fuck you think I need,” he snaps. “I don’t care. I don’t have time for this shit.”

“Well, you definitely need to chill,” Vernon mumbles. “You want some dabs?”

“No. Something…” The word feels thick in his mouth. Stronger implies that Seungcheol does heavy drugs, and that’s not true. “Else,” he finally finishes.

Vernon sighs as he continues rifling through the drawer. “Your dad would fucking kill me if I gave you my real heavy shit, so…” He pauses, eyebrows raising in triumph as he finds what he was looking for: a small baggie filled halfway with some nondescript powder. “You want a bump?”

Maybe he should be ashamed at how quickly he agrees, at the urgency and greed with which he grabs the baggie from Vernon’s fingers, but he just needs something. Needs the distraction, the brain fog. He shoves it in his back pocket next to his wallet. “How much do I owe you?”

Vernon wrinkles his nose. “Nah. Consider that one a freebie. No offense, but you’re a real piece of shit when you’re like this.”

The implication only pisses him off more. Seungcheol is loaded—he can afford to pay his drug dealer, thank you very much—but he’s not like anything. “I’m sorry?”

True to his nature, Vernon barely shrugs. “I’ll put it on your tab, hyung,” he says in a way that implies he’s not at all going to do that and is only saying so to get the fraternity president off his back.

Jeonghan (23:12) Better come get your girl. Kim Mingyu’s dick looks like it’s halfway up her ass by now. Jeonghan (23:12) Uh oh! I think I just saw a testicle

Seungcheol stares down at his phone, hands trembling in anger. Of course it’s Mingyu. That pathetic loser has been taking up residence on the subs bench ever since you’d made out with him months ago in an admittedly successful attempt at payback. Seungcheol had hooked up with some downgrade at a party one time and you’d gone and made out with his friend. It was hardly a fair trade.

Seungcheol (23:14) Good for Mingyu, he can deal with her then Seungcheol (23:14) I’m busy Jeonghan (23:14) Doing what? Jerking off in the upstairs bathroom again? Jeonghan (23:15) Do you know what size condom he wears btw? Looks like I might need to fetch him one if you don’t want to take care of another man’s baby Jeonghan (23:16) Although, to be fair, you might want to sit this one out. He has way better bone structure than you. Might be a blessing in disguise Seungcheol (23:16) Fuck you Jeonghan (23:16) Better be nice to me, Choi Seungcheolie~ that might be the only fuck you get tonight

Seungcheol needs better friends. He needs a lot of things, really, but number one on his to-do list is to never let Jeonghan be on babysitting duty ever again. Somehow he’d forgotten how obnoxious Yoon Jeonghan is when he isn’t stoned and half-asleep on a couch somewhere.

For now, he just stomps down the hallway; locks himself in his room and doesn’t bother to turn on the light. He’s not going to be here long. Just enough time to do this line, change his t-shirt, and come up with a game plan, because he’s not going to let Mingyu even entertain the thought of being able to have you but he also can’t appear desperate. Not just to you, but to everyone else. Choi Seungcheol is not clingy, especially not over a girl.

Especially especially over a girl who doesn’t even want him like that.

But the longer he sits in the dark, the more trouble he has finding his resolve. Can’t bring himself to dig that baggie out of his pocket. Can’t drag his t-shirt over his head. Can’t bring himself to think about anything other than Mingyu’s hands all over you, and fuck, does that image drive him insane.

Does he touch you like Seungcheol does?

Does he coax those same jagged whimpers from your mouth like Seungcheol does?

Does his semi-hard cock feel as good pressed against you?

God, he’s so fucked. Utterly and completely fucked. And he wonders if this would be as bad if he’d just kept his mouth shut, took that secret to his grave instead of fooling himself into thinking it could be more. If it wouldn’t have devolved into… this. You’d always told him not to get attached, that sex was just sex and there was no need to ruin a good thing. But Seungcheol is a selfish man, always has been, and what if? is a dangerous question.

Jeonghan (23:36) Wow, you’re a fucking pussy. Stop hiding in your room like a little bitch. Seungcheol (23:36) Fuck off

He can’t go down there. Not because he’s a coward, but because he’s barely tethered to his sanity as it is. Something about you brings him out of his mind, makes him toss whatever good judgment he has left to the wind. Seungcheol is far too impulsive when it comes to you, reckless in ways that have all twenty years of his social training weeping in a corner; have alarm bells ringing in his brain. So, no, he can’t go downstairs right now because he knows he’ll do something stupid. Stick not only his foot but his entire lower body in it. He should’ve listened, yet here he is, dick pulled halfway out of his jeans because the thought of you alone gets him hard but his pride won’t let him jerk off to the image of anyone touching you that’s not him.

Forget whatever Jeonghan had called him. He’s a fucking fool. A moonstruck, delusional fool who’d tricked himself into thinking he could swim when he can barely tread water.

You (23:41) Something wrong?

Oh, here we fucking go, he thinks. Because this is Seungcheol’s game—one he’d perfected years ago, the one where he’s coy and chilly, never too eager, never committed. Just a little bit of a tease. Barely enough to keep them on the hook, a little needy; still enough to keep them coming back. But you’d taken one look at him all those years ago and had him pegged immediately. Figured out his game and learned the rules, used them against him. Now you watch him flounder with a smile on your face.

Seungcheol (23:42) Never knew you were so needy baby. First you show up uninvited and now youre missing me?

But just because there’s now a player two doesn’t mean he’s doomed to lose. He knows how you look when you’re on your knees for him. Knows how you sound when you’re begging to cum and stuttering out his name like you’re singing hymns. Knows how you look with your eyes rolled back after he’s fucked you dumb. Kim Mingyu doesn’t know shit.

Seungcheol knows he’s the only one fortunate enough to experience you like this.

And god does it kill him.

You (23:44) Don’t act stupid

A pleased exhale of laughter, an equally-smug smirk. Yeah, this is still Seungcheol’s game, the crown still sitting atop his head. You can let Mingyu grind his dick against you all you want, but Seungcheol is still the one you’re seeking out, pouting at the fact he hasn’t come to find you yet.

You (23:44) Mingyu invited me

Oh, you’re good—know just which buttons to press and how much pressure to use. Whatever smug expression Seungcheol had been wearing slides off his face immediately, tongue pressing into his cheek.

Seungcheol (23:46) And yet youre looking for me? You (23:47) Don’t have to look for you to know you’re upstairs sulking in your room because Jeonghan tattled on me like a fucking five year old Seungcheol (23:49) Maybe you should come up here then Seungcheol (23:49) Away from prying eyes

You don’t reply immediately. It’s just long enough for Seungcheol’s brain to conjure up something indecent—the way you’ll straddle him, the way his cock will feel pressed against the apex of your thighs; the goosebumps that’ll raise on his arms when you work your tongue along his neck, that spot near his collarbone you know he likes. His cock throbs against the confines of his jeans when he thinks about the devastated look on Mingyu’s face when you make up some excuse to get away from him, to traipse up the stairs and fall into Seungcheol’s bed, when he realizes he’s not going to have you.

You (23:56) It’d be pretty rude to leave my date, don’t you think? You (23:57) If you want me so bad, come down here and get me yourself

Seungcheol doesn’t play games; doesn’t compete because he has no competition. He’s always been given whatever he wants on a silver platter, no questions asked, so he’s wholly unprepared for this turn of events. What he knows he should do (respond to your text and tell you to fuck off, that you know where he is should you stop being a brat and change your mind) is not what he does (tucks his dick back in his jeans, finally throws on a clean t-shirt, and takes his time descending the stairs so he doesn’t look too eager), because logical thought gets tossed out the window entirely wherever you’re concerned.

“Ah, if it isn’t our resident pissbaby making his grand re-entrance.”

Seungcheol clenches his jaw for the nth time and glares. “Fuck off, Jeonghan.”

The man in question laughs—the annoying raspy one that grates on Seungcheol’s nerves—and hands over a cup of something brown and pungent. “Well, judging from your attitude, and the fact you’re barely hiding that boner you’ve got, you clearly didn’t spend your time away jerking off. What finally got you down here, the promise of cheap whiskey I nicked off some freshman or the fact that your girlfriend’s about two seconds from getting a public indecency charge courtesy of Kim Mingyu?”

Well. Jeonghan may be an asshole but he’s not wrong. Even through the crowd of people and the haze of whatever’s in his cup and a contact high, Seungcheol spots you immediately. Your back is pressed against Mingyu’s chest, his fingers gripping tight at your waist as you roll your hips in time with his. Whatever manufactured filth he’s whispering to you draws a smile, causes you to reach up and tug sharply at his hair. Fuck, Seungcheol can almost hear Mingyu’s moan from across the room, and his blood quickly heats to a rapid boil.

Another chuckle from the demon beside him. “Stop fucking laughing,” Seungcheol snaps, still unable to take his eyes off of you. “Fuck this. I’m going back upstairs. Make sure everyone’s out of here by three. I’m not paying for another noise citation.”

Jeonghan rolls his eyes. “I’m absolutely not going to do that.” He shoves a bottle of something in Seungcheol’s hand. “Take this and think of me when you’re crying yourself to sleep because Mingyu stole guaranteed pussy right out of your hands.”

“Why do you do this?” Seungcheol asks, shoving at Jeonghan’s shoulder roughly. “You never know when to fucking quit.”

Another streak of white-blond. “Hey, no fighting!” Soonyoung slurs, trying his best to push Seungcheol to the other side of the kitchen with his useless, limp arms.

This attracts the attention of Joshua, who struts into the room looking straight out of Fashion Week, much like he always does. He hasn’t even broken a sweat. “Aw, are Mom and Dad fighting again?” he asks, his lips tugged into a smirk. He ignores Seungcheol’s scowl as he fixes himself a drink. “You know Mingyu only does it to get a reaction out of you,” Joshua adds, quieter this time, as if he’s telling Seungcheol a secret only meant for the two of them to share.

“What’s her excuse, then?” Seungcheol fires back, because even if he doesn’t like it, Joshua’s right. This is exactly the kind of behavior he’d expect from resident campus whore Kim Mingyu, but he never expected you to go along with it.

Joshua cocks an eyebrow. “She doesn’t need an excuse, Cheol. She’s not your girl.”

Even though it’s a truth he already knows, it somehow hurts worse being spoken in plaintext, a hushed conversation in a crowded kitchen. Being let down gently. Seungcheol knows he needs to make a decision. He needs to let you go and start moving on with his life; can’t be having these quasi-meltdowns during frat parties anymore. Can’t be possessive and spiteful. You don’t want him. Everyone knows you don’t want him, so that’s all there is to it. Maybe you’ll want Mingyu and he can finally wash his hands of this forever, scrape the jealousy off his tongue.

He steels himself. Rolls his shoulders back, cracks his neck. Navigates the crowd in the living room until he reaches you and your so-called date. Grabs you by the elbow—gentle enough that it doesn’t hurt but firm enough to send a message—and says the two of you need to talk. Upstairs. Now. Mingyu just smiles like he knew this was coming and presses a pointless, wasted kiss just below your ear. Seungcheol tells him to fuck off, too, and Mingyu grins wider, tongue darting out to wet his lips.

As he guides you to his room, he doesn’t think about the way your hand fits in his. Doesn’t think about how this is going to be the last time he has you. Doesn’t think about who’ll have you after. Doesn’t bother to wonder if you’ve finally changed your mind like he had all those other times he’d walked this same familiar path with you in tow. Because it’s the last time. Whatever happens once it’s over is out of his control.

Perhaps that’s what it’d always been about. Seungcheol has always been spoiled and selfish and so terribly, terribly desperate to prove he’s more than his family name and family money. So, yeah, he’d wanted the control; wanted what was never his for the taking. You’d always been the opposite—his perfect little counterpart. Always so pliant and careless and free: everything Seungcheol tried so hard to be but couldn’t, and that’s where the switch flipped.

Someone like you isn’t meant to be controlled.

What he used to want so badly now tastes rancid in his mouth.

The door locks behind you. Seungcheol doesn’t meet your eye as he says, “You got what you wanted. Are you done being a fucking brat?” It’s not a tone he usually takes. Usually he’s dirty, a little possessive, willing to let you set the pace. He doesn’t miss the way your breath hitches. “I asked you a question.”

“Seungcheol—”

He clicks his tongue, stalks closer until you’re nearly in his grasp. Your eyes close instinctively as if you’re expecting his mouth on yours. Instead, he threads his long fingers in your hair and pulls. “What’s so hard about answering a simple yes or no question? Did you really want Mingyu’s dick so bad you’ve gone dumb all of a sudden?”

You gasp. “No.”

“No what?” Seungcheol chides. “No, you’re not done being a brat? Or no, you weren’t just downstairs acting desperate and pathetic for mediocre cock?” He runs his thumb across the seam of your lips, follows their movements as you speak.

“I wasn’t—”

A low, mocking chuckle. “You were, baby.” Sounds condescending; speaks to you like you’re a stupid child. He’s so close to you now. Can smell the tang of your skin, the sticky notes of your perfume. Feels your breath fan against his own sweat-slick skin. Still avoids your gaze, because as domineering as he appears, he knows he can unravel just as quickly. “Take your clothes off. This is the last time I’m gonna fuck you and I’m not going to ask twice.”

Now you truly look caught off-guard. “What?” Still he ignores you, expensive silver rings clinking into a dish on his dresser one by one, expensive watch following. “What do you mean the last time?”

Deft fingers play at the buttons on his shirt. Not silk, but just as expensive. “Shit. You’re really testing my patience, you know.” You’re still standing at the edge of his bed, staring dumbly as if he’s just going to start spilling all his secrets, give you some kind of explanation. “I believe I told you to strip.”

Unlike Seungcheol, your fingers tremble as they work at buttons and zippers and hemlines, push down denim and remove heels. It’s clear you’re trying to work out what he’s playing at—if this is some punishment for fucking around with Mingyu or if he really means it—but you’re not going to risk asking. Things between the two of you are already tense as it is. Seungcheol has never been wound this tight, never been so ready to snap.

“That’s it,” he praises once you’re left in nothing but a skimpy underwear set you know he likes. “Look at you. Fucking gorgeous. I bet that’s why you think you can get away with embarrassing me, huh?” He grabs your chin, forces you to meet his gaze for the first time since he’d dragged you up here. “Get on your knees. I’m getting tired of repeating myself.”

It’s not an unfamiliar sight—as it is, you usually leave Seungcheol’s room with bruised knees on a good night—but it settles differently in his gut this time. Because he’d dared a glance at you once and knows he can’t do it again, so he watches the top of your head as you fumble with his belt buckle and looks away whenever he thinks you might risk a glance upwards. Finds some point on the wall to focus on. Hisses through his teeth when you pull his cock from his briefs, your hands cold against his flushed skin.

All he wants to do is kiss you. Draw this out. Give you a memorable last time, maybe mark you up a little. He really wants to savor the feeling of your tongue on his cock, but all he can focus on is the fact that he’ll never be enveloped in that wet heat again. He’s never going to feel your mouth working him over, feel you humming around his length because he knows you love the weight of it, you love wrenching away that little bit of control, turning him into a mess.

But he’s not going to dwell. He’s going to thumb at the hinge of your jaw, force it open just wide enough for his cock to fit inside. Then he’s going to fist your hair into a makeshift ponytail, grip it tight, use it to guide your mouth until there’s only an inch of space between you. He’s going to stare down at you, silently revel in how fucked out you look already even though he hasn’t touched you. He’s going to watch the way your fingers dig into your thighs because they can’t touch him. Then he’s going to say—

“Beg me. Beg me to let you suck my cock.”

There’s a flicker of hesitation. Seungcheol doesn’t talk to you like this. This is not the kind of dynamic the two of you have, and Seungcheol finds himself wondering if things would be different if it was. If he’d never started going so easy on you. Would you want him then? Or would you have left a long time ago?

He’s half-expecting you to do that now. You look ready to bolt, to pull your clothes back on and tell him to go fuck himself on the way out. Probably go straight back to Mingyu, let him fuck you hard but routine, the way Seungcheol usually does, the way he knows you like. He expects you to leave, and this is the last time, anyway, so he figures he has nothing left to lose.

“I’m going soft,” he snaps, the admonishment harsh on his tongue. When you look up at him, his jaw is clenched, eyes narrow. “You have one fucking job and you can’t even do that properly? Who’s going to want a dumb little whore that can’t follow simple instructions?”

He watches your eyes squeeze shut involuntarily. Wonders if he’s gone too far before deciding he doesn’t care if he has. It’s the last time, anyway, so it’s not like it matters. Watches the indents in your thighs grow deeper. Watches you inhale and try to steady your breathing.

Watches your eyes snap open, any trace of hesitation long gone. “Did you make that other girl beg for you?”

Seungcheol snorts, amusement showing all over his face. “Is that what this is about? You’re still mad I hooked up with some other girl so you act like this?” He clicks his tongue at you, fists his cock, slicking it up. “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you answer simply, “I’m just trying to figure out why you think you can speak to me however the fuck you want.”

Seungcheol’s hand stutters along his length before it stills, your words sharp and immediate against his skin. He should’ve known. Shouldn’t have thought something like this would work on you, that you’d like it, and he’s halfway to soft and throwing his hands up and tucking his dick back into his briefs when you say, “Answer the question.”

“What?”

You tsk. Move your hands from your thighs to his, nails pressing just deep enough to leave crescent moons behind that match your own. Something for someone else to see. “Did you make her beg for you?”

Seungcheol’s brain power decreases the higher your palms go, when your thumbs press into the dimples of his hips. Can barely choke out a hissed yes, yeah, fu-fuck when your hand covers his, fingers wrapping tightly around his own as you guide it back and forth, up and down the length of his cock. “What did you make her beg for, Cheol?”

“To—to to-touch me.”

You hum. Tighten your grip on Seungcheol’s hand and laugh as his hips roll involuntarily, seeking the friction. “Touch you how? Like this?”

“Yeah—fuck, yes, like this.”

“Did she? Did she listen to you like a good girl?” Your hand leaves Seungcheol’s only to collect the precum at his tip. “Don’t get all shy now, Cheolie.” You suck your thumb into your mouth and he whines. “Was she a good girl for you?”

You sit back on your haunches. Watch him jerk himself off. “Yeah,” he finally says, word cracking in the middle. “Boring, though. Not like—not like you.”

“No one is like me,” you admonish. “I could’ve told you that for free, before you went off and fucked someone else.”

“Not an idiot,” Seungcheol replies, the pace of his hand quickening. He’s playing a dangerous game; approaching the cliff edge at a dangerous pace. “No-nothing comes for free with you.”

All you do is smile, lopsided and smug. “Mm, that’s true. Guess your little dom moment earlier can just be chalked up to momentary stupidity, hm?” Seungcheol wants to nod, wants apologies to tumble from his lips until you shut him up, but his palm is so slick against his dick, fist tight enough to white out his vision. “Did you make her beg to suck your cock?”

Truth be told, Seungcheol can’t remember much of anything right now. He’s perilously close to coming, right at that precipice, and each filthy word that slips from your mouth just pushes him further to the edge. He remembers Chan inviting him to a party. He remembers a few drinks, a few hits from a blunt, compliments of Vernon; he remembers a girl making eyes at him from across the room—eyes that had looked a lot like yours in the haze of his crossfade. He remembers a locked bathroom and the sound of his voice as he told that girl how to touch him so it felt like you. He remembers her doing whatever he told her to, remembers how eager and submissive she was, how she didn’t mouth off to him the way you always do—

Remembers how unsatisfying it’d been when he came.

You’ve ruined him.

Not a revelation. Not even close to one. Seungcheol has known this for a long time, but that doesn’t mean annoyance doesn’t flare in his belly at the reminder. You don’t want him. Being so hung up on you isn’t doing him any favors, just means he’ll have a longer drop when this is all over. God, what the fuck is he doing?

He wants you so badly he’s aflame with it. He wants you so badly he can barely look at you anymore. He wants you so badly it consumes him, drives him insane, has him all fucked up and seething. He wants you, he wants you, he—

Loves.

Reality washes over him like a cold wave. Knocks him backwards, drowning, desperately trying to remember how to breathe. In, out; in, out—and none of it changes a goddamn thing.

Four years of this. Four years of touches exchanged in the dark, behind locked doors. Four years of yearning and trying and failing. Four years of everything getting lost in translation, because it’s hitting him now, but shouldn’t he have felt it before? Shouldn’t all those ‘drive me fuckin’ crazy, can’t fucking stand you’s he spoke into the crook of your neck rang hollow?

“Cheol—” you say, because you asked him something, tried to play along with this whole stupid charade, and he knows he’s frozen, just standing there, hand still wrapped around his cock, and he needs to say something, he needs to fix this—

“I’m a liar,” is what he comes up with. You’re still staring up at him, brows furrowed, pinched in the middle. Move, he wills himself, but nothing happens. “I’m a liar,” he says again, because if he says it enough you’ll believe it. “I’m sorry. I’m—”

“What are you talking about?”

He swallows. I’m in love with you, he wants to say. Feels the weight of the words on his tongue, heavy and pressing, and he thinks you should know. Even if you don’t feel the same, he thinks you deserve to know, but the way you’re looking at him—

He can’t bring himself to say it.

But he can—“Can I show you instead?”

Slowly, you nod. Seungcheol nods, too, still feeling off-kilter as he cradles your face in his hands, thumbs in the contours of your cheeks. Moves them down your neck, your shoulders, down the length of your arms. You meet him halfway, twining your fingers together, and he helps you stand, careful and considerate. At full height, he places a hand in the small of your back to tug you closer, kisses you like it’s the end of the world. Whines into your mouth at your familiar taste, and if he lets himself be delusional enough, he can pretend there’s form and substance to those sounds, that their edges are squared-off to form the words he wants to say.

Because it really might be the end of the world. Seungcheol has never known how to play the cards he’s been dealt when it comes to you. Always gets it wrong. Feints one way when he’s meant to go the other, takes the field with two left feet, always playing catch-up. Maybe the mistake was treating it like a game. Maybe the mistake was strategizing, only playing to win, because he lays you gently on his bed, fits his body in the space you create for him between your legs, and realizes he already won a long time ago.

He won the first time your eyes met. He won the first time he’d kissed you, more nerves and teeth than anything else. He won the first time you tucked yourself against his side and stared at his bedroom ceiling, half-smoked joint between your fingers, and made fun of the stupid flag he’d hung up. He won every time you took all the bullshit he threw at you and dished it right back. He won every time he had the privilege of tracing mindless shapes into your soft skin.

Every second of your time you chose to give him—all victories.

He presses in further. Groans when your hands move to his shoulders and grip tight; when your nails dig into the skin of his back. “I’ve been so stupid,” he says, punctuating his words with a nip at your ear. Smirks out of the corner of his mouth at your shuddering breath. “Haven’t I?”

“Yeah,” you answer, rolling your hips upward. He grabs at you desperately, tries to keep you still; hisses when you swat his hands away and redouble your efforts. “You’ve been a fucking asshole for a—for a while.”

You can’t see the way he pouts. Wonders, too, if that would work on you, if it’d earn him one of those rare moments of tenderness. “Well I’m trying to—shit, baby—trying to make it up to you, but you seem pretty determined to make me bust right now.”

He can see the way you roll your eyes. See the way the corners crinkle after as you laugh softly, breathlessly, still trying to chase a high Seungcheol refuses to provide. “You deserve it. You tried to dom me, you dickhead.”

Embarrassment sits obvious on his ruddy cheeks. He hides his face in the crook of your neck so you don’t see it, don’t have something to poke at him with later, but you’re having none of it. You thread your fingers through his hair and tug gently, forceful enough to have him pliable, and there it is: there are stars in your eyes as you stare up at him, tender and soft just like he hoped you’d look, and he misses the feeling of your nails on your scalp until you’re tugging at the delicate chain around his neck and pulling him closer. “Just kiss me and we’ll call it even.”

This is how it feels to get struck by lightning, he thinks. Every part of him is on fire, and he’s content to burn as his lips find yours. He sighs happily into your mouth, hikes your thigh higher around his middle, presses in to lay claim to what little space is left between you. Seungcheol is so close he can feel the rapid pace of your heartbeat, because this is not the way you usually kiss. What used to be dirty and quick, a means to an end, now has intent, purpose. He’s kissing you like he wants to steal the air from your lungs to replace it with something better.

Trails those same kisses down the length of your body. Open-mouthed at your neck, your collarbones, the space between your breasts. Teasing and slow in the space between each rib, just to watch the way your skin pebbles. Hungry and insistent at the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, because if he’s feeling this unhinged, he wants you right there with him. Can’t bear the thought of still being in this alone. Not anymore.

“Legs over my shoulders.” You listen immediately, and Seungcheol mutters a quiet fuck at the sight before him. “God, you’re so wet.”

“No shit—”

He swats at your clit, delighting in the way your body jolts. “Hush. The only thing I wanna hear out of your smart mouth from now on is my fucking name.” And then he’s diving in.

He eats you out like a man starved; like he could do this every day for the rest of his life and he still wouldn’t be satisfied. Can’t help but rut against the mattress at the way you taste, the way your thighs tighten around his head, the sting as you pull at his hair. Places both hands beneath your ass to lift and drag you closer to his waiting mouth—licks at you wet and feverish, all of this seemingly more for him than it is for you, and you’ll get tired of it soon, just like you always do. You’ll tell him—

“Do it right, Cheol, please—”

And he’ll pull away and tsk, swat at you again. His responding laugh will be cocky and derisive when your body trembles again, frantic with the need for more. “What did I say, baby? Do you not trust me to make you come?” You cock an eyebrow, torn between throwing some sarcastic remark at him and following the rules long enough to get what you want. His voice grows serious as he presses a soft kiss to your core. “I will always take care of you.”

The rest is muscle memory.

The rest has a chorus of Cheol, Cheol, Seungcheol spilling from your lips as he suctions his own around your clit. The rest has you grinding your pussy against his face. The rest has him groaning at the way he’s so wholly consumed by you: the taste of you on his tongue, face soaked, two fingers pressed deep into your cunt. The rest has him saying that’s it, baby, come on my face, I know you can and feeling delirious when he finally pushes you over the edge; when your walls clench around his fingers, breathing fractured, when you grab at him until you’re eye-level and you’re licking into his mouth to taste yourself.

Tastes a lot like I love you.

“Want you to ride me,” he says, gaze half-lidded and pleading. You whine as he moves his thumb back to your clit, tracing slow, slow, slow circles, oversensitive. “Will you do that for me?”

The party seems so far away. Grows even further away when you nod and straddle his lap. Seungcheol sits up, tells you to wrap your legs around him. Can’t stand not touching you; needs every inch of his skin to be covered by you like a bruise—something deep that’ll last for days, weeks, months. The mottled colors will change, but it’ll still be there.

“Need you, Cheol,” you whisper, kissing his eyelids. He hadn’t realized he’d closed his eyes.

“You have me,” he answers, but it sounds foreign to his ears—sounds wretched, like the words have been punched out of him. It sounds like forfeit. “Always have.”

You pull back. Study his face. Run over his plush bottom lip with your thumb. It feels like an eternity of silence before you speak. “No, I haven’t,” you insist, tone insistent but delicate, like you’re trying to convince him of it, too. “Not like this.”

I love you.

You lift your hips just enough to sink down on his cock. Seungcheol’s moan is loud and unabashed, not afraid to let anyone hear the way you make him feel. All he can think is familiar: he knows your blinding white heat; has made countless homes in your tight grip he still holds the keys to; has done this so many goddamn times it’s second nature.

He was an absolute fool to think he could ever walk away.

You roll your hips, taking him deeper like you’ve got something to prove, body moving on its own sinuous accord. Seungcheol loves you like this, when you know exactly what you want and aren’t afraid to take it. When you press sloppy kisses to his neck, the column of his throat. When he grabs at your hips, tries to move you faster along the length of his cock, and you swat his hands away. When your rhythmic up-and-down turns into a slow grind that has you gasping and breathless, pussy spasming around him.

“Goddamn, I love this pussy,” he chokes out, fingers gripping tightly at the sheets since he can’t touch you. He’s mindless with pleasure, feels himself start babbling nonsense he can’t make sense of, and it’s overwhelming, having you like this. Isn’t sure how he’s survived this long, but maybe you were right.

Maybe it was never like this before.

Usually he’d take you from behind, quick and dirty, hands digging into the meat of your ass, palm cracking down on it every now and then, imparting white heat of his own. Usually he’d have you beneath him, knees pressed to your chest, all condescension as you told him, eyes rolled back, that he was too deep, that you couldn’t take it, and he’d rub at your clit and tell you you could as he dragged another orgasm out of you. Usually he’d be so frenzied and worked up he’d take you against the door, sweats pushed to mid-thigh, forearms straining as they held you up.

So, yeah—this is different. This is a patient, sensual dance to the finish line. This is Seungcheol in his rawest form: a live wire, vulnerable, anxious. This is the unknown, because something has to come after but he doesn’t know what it is.

This is Seungcheol throwing caution to the wind, leaning in close enough to taste the salt on your skin, and saying, “I love you.”

This is Seungcheol planting his feet and fucking up into you, unwilling to hear your response. Sometimes ignorance is bliss, but sometimes bliss is just bliss, and he’ll willingly take either.

This is you coming undone on his cock, breathing rapid and ragged, pupils blown wide as you stare at him in awe.

“Say it again.”

Someone slams into the wall just outside Seungcheol’s door, and all at once the real world creeps back in: the thrumming bass line of the music downstairs; laughter, shouting, and yelling; fists banging on shut doors—but he hears you loud and clear. Presses each word into your mouth this time and groans when you swallow them. Barely makes a sound as he spills inside of you, feeling like every nerve in his body is aflame.

The two of you are quiet for a time as you try to catch your breath. Seungcheol only moves to grab his duvet and wrap it around your shoulders, smiling fondly at the small thank you you mumble, seemingly still bogged down, well-fucked.

He presses a tender kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Okay?”

You nod, push at him until he lays back and pulls you with him, lets you use his firm chest as a pillow. That flag you’d made fun of before isn’t up there anymore, but Seungcheol feels warm at the memory anyway, almost laughs at the comment he imagines you’d make.

Clears his throat. Tries to find his courage. “I really am sorry,” he tells you again, because it doesn’t matter if he loves you if he doesn’t know how to be good at it.

“I know, Cheol,” comes your easy reply. You’re tracing shapes on his stomach that have his muscles contracting. “I know you love me, too.” You sigh, press your lips to his rib cage. “Who knew it’d only take making out with Mingyu to get you to admit it.”

A wild laugh tumbles out of him. “Fuck off.” He can feel your grin.

“You got a fucked up way of showing it, though.”

He hums, holds onto you a little tighter. “Go easy on me, I only figured it out about an hour ago.”

“An hour?” you faux-gasp, make like you’re about to leave. “I’m outta here. I know my worth. If I’m going to say it back to someone, they need to be in love with me for at least two.”

He chokes at the implication, heart threatening to beat right out of his chest and into yours. He knows he looks exactly like the moonstruck, loved-up loser he is, and he coughs to cover it. “That’s what I said,” he lies. “Two hours. You must’ve heard it wrong.”

No, it was never like this.

[heich0e]

"can i call you later?"

the wind bites at your cheeks, but the sting you feel is as much from the smile on your face as it is from the chill.

"dunno," you muse, pursing your lips as though you're contemplating the question deeply. "can you?"

rintarou groans, but the sound isn't half as plaintive as it ought to be. you watch as his head hangs down defeatedly where his frame is folded over the railing that lines the front of the train station, his body pitched forward over the barrier like he's trying to reach you on the other side.

you've been saying goodbye for the past twenty minutes—or, you've been trying to. sort of. maybe. the train you'd planned to catch has already come and gone, and the next is set to soon arrive. one more and it will be the last of the night, but not even knowing that fact seems to be moving you closer towards the door to the station—content to stay here, like this, as the wind of the late fall night nips at your cheeks and the two of you muddle through your goodbye with the inelegance of two people who couldn't be less committed to it if they tried.

rintarou lifts his head to meet your gaze.

"i mean it, though." he says. "can i call you tonight?"

your stomach flips when he looks at you this way. when he keeps looking at you this way.

"we just spent hours together," you remind him, but your words are too breathy to make impact. too elated to be reproachful.

you've been on three dates with rintarou now. you think they're dates anyway, though it's never explicitly been stated. his invitations are always casual, sandwiched in between all the other texts he sends to you these days, so you might be reading into things too closely for your own good. but dinner doesn't just feel like dinner when rintarou has this way of looking at you like you're the only person he's ever laid his eyes on.

"i know," he answers. it's not an explanation, or an excuse, or even an apology. it's plain acceptance. a shamelessness you find wretchedly endearing.

you glance back at the station behind you, biting the inside of your cheek to temper your delight.

"my train is coming," you say.

he looks a bit crestfallen. laughably glum, considering the circumstances.

you drag the heel of your shoe back ever so slightly, not quite a step—at least not in any meaningful way—but inching in the direction of the doors at a glacial pace. continental drift seems positively hasty in comparison to your retreat.

"bye," he calls, his tone dejected. you watch as he lifts his hand weakly, still slumped over the railing, and waves at you with only a few fingers raised.

you want to laugh, but your chest is so full of something else—something syrupy and fluttering and good—that it's like there's no space for it underneath your ribs.

you call back to him just before you step into the station.

"rintarou—"

there are other people around, stepping between and around you both—rushing into the station to escape the cold, or moving briskly as they brace themselves and step out into it—but you hardly notice them when your eyes meet.

you smile.

"—call me later."

he calls you almost every night after that.

even as the cool autumn winds change with the seasons; carrying flakes of snow as winter blankets nagano, warming with the spring, turning heavy with humidity in summer, and then repeating the cycle anew.

even as your reluctant goodbyes turn from late nights outside of train stations to early morning words whispered under blankets as rintarou leaves for practice or away games.

even as the uncertainty of whether or not you're getting your hopes up—of whether those meetings were even really dates at all—melts away into nothing more than a memory.

you're not even sure what the two of you manage to spend so much time talking about on the phone. nothing, really. everything in its own right. rintarou's phone calls are something you come to look forward to at the end of a long day. something you anticipate when you have exciting news to share. a comfort when you're missing him and a relief when you need him most.

"is that the last one?" you ask, turning just in time to see your boyfriend—your live-in boyfriend now, officially—flop back on the sofa after he drops the last moving box atop the stack piled near the balcony door.

"yeah," he wheezes, evidently winded from the exertion—from the exhaustion—of moving house. you laugh a bit to yourself as you shuffle over to the sofa, leaning over the back so you can peer down at him where he lays sprawled against the cushions.

"aren't you a professional athlete?" you tease him. "shouldn't you have better stamina?"

rintarou cocks a brow, something sly swimming behind his gaze.

"i need better stamina?" he drawls. "you're usually complaining about the opposite."

you roll your eyes in the wake of his remark, grabbing a throw pillow from beneath his head and yanking it from under him unceremoniously, only to press it lightly against his face.

you shuffle back towards the kitchen where you'd left the box you were unpacking abandoned. you grab a plate from inside the cardboard and turn to place it on the shelf you'd decided would house your dinnerware.

"it's late," you tell him, reaching for the next plate in the box. "you should go wash up first."

you don't get a reply, and that surprises you. you creep over to the sofa again, only to find rintarou staring up at the ceiling, lost in thought.

"hey," you laugh a little, leaning on your elbows against the back of the couch. "where'd you go?"

rintarou's gaze snaps back to yours. he still looks at you like he did on your first date. like he did outside the train station on your third. he smiles, bit it's a bit sheepish.

"sorry, was just thinking," he answers quietly. he reaches up from where he's lying on his back, brushing his thumb against your cheek. his smile turns a little bit giddy, then. boyishly charming. "can't believe we finally got a place together."

you lean into his touch, huffing a little breath through your nose—halfway to a laugh.

"guess you won't have to call me anymore," you joke, and rintarou's expression changes—falls slightly—but only for a moment. you realize what you've said, or at least think about the implications more, and you sort of understand the shift.

you fell in love through those phone calls.

you'll miss them—the ritual, the familiarity, the comfort—even though you know they've been replaced by something better.

you turn your face, pressing a fleeting kiss to rintarou's palm. "go wash up," you tell him again, heading back towards the kitchen and your (now twice abandoned) box of plates.

he seems to heed your advice this time, peeling himself up off the sofa and shuffling off in the direction of the washroom.

"don't use all the hot water!" you call after his retreating frame, and you hear him reply noncommittally under his breath before the door clicks closed behind him.

you've only got three dishes left to unpack before your box is emptied, but the shelf you'd been organizing doesn't seem to want to accommodate all of your bowls in the way you wanted, so you're left arranging and rearranging them as you try to find a way to get them to fit.

in the back pocket of your jeans, your phone begins to ring. with three plates balanced in one hand, you reach for it with the other—the movement muscle memory now, instinct more than volition, after all this time. you answer the call without even looking at the screen, holding the phone between your ear and your shoulder as you continue juggling the dishes in front of you.

"oop—hello?"

you pause after you answer the call, realizing for the first time that you shouldn't be getting a call at all. not at this time of night. not in this apartment.

the line is quiet, just the sound of breathing that you could recognize anywhere to be heard from the other end of the call.

"why are you calling me?" you ask rintarou, but the words are light. too fond to be reproachful.

you hear rintarou laugh—from the other end of the call and from the other side of the bathroom door.

"just wanted to hear your voice," he answers you (the same way he has a thousand nights before when you've asked him that same question.)

"you're ridiculous," you tell him, completely enamoured.

"i know," he replies.

it's quiet for a moment as the two of you stand on opposite sides of your apartment. on opposite ends of your call.

you shift a stack of bowls a little to the left. it all fits now. just the way you wanted it to.

"y'know, the hot water won't run out as fast if we shower together—"

you hear the bathroom door open, and when you look over your shoulder, rintarou is peeking at you from around the edge of the door—his phone held to his ear, a smile on his face you know is mirrored on your own, and a look in his eye that's never once wavered.

he tilts his head.

"—wanna join me?"