#I just really wanted to write Dream loathing him

[atlabeth]

unadulterated loathing (pt 2)

pt 1 / pt 3

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x fem reader

summary: you are forced to partner with fiyero on a history project. things don't go as you imagine.

a/n: sprinkling anthony bridgerton references in this because wreck my plans that's my man!! anyways this is actually going to be 3 parts because i have zero self control and ended up writing 15k words in total and im trying to see whether i like posting parts or doing one whole one shot more so there's going to be a third part. but for once in my writer life i have the whole thing written so it will be out in a couple days! have no idea how this fic became this long out of nowhere but i hope you all enjoy lol. stressed reader x calm bf will always be famous on this blog

wc: 4.9k

warning(s): almost cheating? fiyero is still w/ galinda for most of this so the line is very blurred but they dont cross it lmao. the slightest bit of angst but basically all fluff

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero spread his arms out as you took a seat in the grass. Idly, you wondered about getting grass stains out before he started talking again. “Fresh air, actual sunlight, and things to look at other than words on a page.”

“I do go outside,” you said wryly. “You act like I’m some hermit.”

He shrugged. “I only ever see you in class or at the library.”

“I’m just there most of the time,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’m not this smart by slacking off.”

Fiyero said your name with surprise. “Was that a joke?”

You laughed again. “Hardly.”

“I think it was,” he nodded. “You really are learning how to have fun.”

“I know how to have fun!” you exclaimed. “We just have different ideas of fun!”

“And what is your idea of fun?” Fiyero asked pointedly. “Studying? Attending class? Going through the intricacies of various languages?”

“That last one is very fun,” you defended. 

“How did you decide on linguistics anyways?” he asked. “You’re incredibly passionate about something I didn’t even know was a major here.”

“It’s not, technically.” You shrugged. “I’m a history major. I just convinced Doctor Dillamond to let me be his teacher’s assistant so I could include more linguistics lessons in the syllabus.”

“How do you do it?” he asked. “Oz— why do you do it? You’re stressed all the time. Surely taking one less class or not being a TA wouldn’t kill you. All of this seems like it is.” 

“I’m not like you, Fiyero,” you said. “I can’t get kicked out of a hundred schools and still be fine. I’ve got one chance, and if I squander it, then I’ve also squandered my dream. And that’s unacceptable to me.”

“There’s always second chances,” he said. “And third ones, too. Sometimes even fourth.” 

“Maybe for a prince,” you laughed. “But not for somebody like me.” 

“And just who are you?” Fiyero asked as he sat down next to you. “I know you’re Gillikinese and I know you’re probably going to succeed in whatever you attempt. But I still feel like I don’t know anything about who you are without the school uniform.” 

“Why does that matter?” you asked defensively. “We’re project partners, not friends.” 

“Because I’d very much like us to be friends,” he answered simply. 

That might have been the most shocking thing he’d said all day. Fiyero Tigelaar, Winkie prince and self-declared slacker and desired paramour of nearly every Shiz student, said he wanted to be your friend. 

Again, that warmth bloomed inside you. You tried to ignore it—tried to fully banish it. 

“Don’t do this,” you said, looking away from him. 

“Do what?”

“Act like you like me,” you said, stronger this time. “You— you do it with everyone, and that’s fine, but don’t do it with me.” 

“I’m not following,” Fiyero said. 

You glared at him. “I know you aren’t this daft.”

“Apologies,” he said. “I’m just trying to figure out how you figured I don’t genuinely like you.”

You blinked. “Because you’re you. You flirt with everybody so you can dance through life.”

“Of course,” Fiyero agreed. “It just so happens that I genuinely like you in addition.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Why?”

His laugh was nothing but shocked. “Are you asking me why I like you?”

“Well,” you glanced away with a huff, “when you put it like that it sounds ridiculous.” 

“I’ll bite anyways,” Fiyero said. “I like you because you know what you want. You never really stop talking about it, honestly.”

“Are you trying to compliment me?”

“You’re intelligent and driven and you don’t shy away from anything you want,” he continued. “And you thoroughly vex me in near every encounter we have, most joyously.”

“…So you like me because I’m stubborn and confusing,” you said. 

Fiyero sighed. “You‘ve got some serious self esteem issues.”

“I do not!” you exclaimed.

“You’ve tied your worth to your academic achievement,” he said. “You can’t see all the good you’ve already done, how smart you truly are, because you only stress about the next thing you need to do. You’d rather lose your mind over what’s to come than realize all you’ve got in the moment.”

Your mouth opened and closed for a good five seconds, like a fish out of water, before it snapped shut. 

“I thought you were supposed to be brainless,” you settled on. 

“I am,” Fiyero agreed with a chuckle. “But I also know people better than most, and our study sessions have given me ample time to study you.”

Great Oz, why was your face so hot? You felt like you were burning up from the inside out. Fiyero Tigelaar was killing you, and slowly at that. 

“Why are you studying me?” you asked pointedly. 

“Because you’re interesting,” he said. “And very beautiful.”

“Well, I’m— I’m glad we’ve finally reached a truce.” You tried to sound as casual as possible—you couldn’t let Fiyero know the full effect he was beginning to have on you. You didn’t think he would ever shut up about that, and Galinda certainly wouldn’t either. You didn’t want to make an enemy of her. “It’ll make this project much easier.”

“Yes,” Fiyero mused. “I believe it will.”

Amusement, and maybe something warmer, danced in his irises. A very small part of you wanted to let yourself fall, freely and uncaring, just as every other student did. 

You had to lock that part of you away, never to be seen again. You didn’t like Fiyero. He was still a nuisance in every single sense of the word. 

You swallowed, trying to cure your cottonmouth. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to notice. 

You needed to finish this essay immediately. 

-

You sighed when you heard a knock on your door. Coralie, for how smart she was, had a habit of forgetting her room key—so much so that you’d stopped bothering to lock the door on the days she went to class before you. 

“It’s unlocked, Cora!” you called out. You didn’t want to get up from your desk, not when you were in the middle of writing. You were worried that you would lose the thread of inspiration you’d finally caught the moment you got out of your chair. 

“You shouldn’t leave your door unlocked,” a familiar voice said. “All sorts of miscreants could get in.” 

Your hand slipped in your shock, but you couldn’t even be annoyed about smearing the fresh ink on the page or getting it on your shirt cuffs because you had more important things to worry about. Namely, your surprise visitor. 

“Fiyero?” 

“Present,” he affirmed as he leaned against your doorframe. “You’ve got a nice place here.”

“Thank you,” you said. “What are you doing here?” 

“Much less pink than Galinda’s,” he continued. “I think it’s the only color she owns, honestly. A bit absurd but—” 

“What are you doing here?” you repeated. 

“I should be asking you that question,” Fiyero said, eyes narrowing in on you. “I went to the library and you weren’t there.” 

You cleared your throat. “I was giving you the day off.” 

He frowned and stood up from the doorframe. “Who said I wanted the day off?” 

“You,” you said. “When you didn’t show up to Doctor Dillamond’s class today.” 

Fiyero brushed his hand through the air. “That’s different.” 

You looked at him expectantly. “So you skipped the class this project is for, but you don’t want to skip the actual project.” 

“That sounds about right, yes.” 

“You don’t even do anything whenever we’re together,” you said. “You just stare at me and complain about doing work and ask me about my life and take an hour to write one page of notes.” 

“That also sounds about right,” Fiyero said. “I enjoy your presence. Do you not enjoy mine?” 

If only he knew the way he’d been making you feel for the past week. He could never know that he appeared in your dream last night. 

“...Your presence is fine,” you said. “I just figured I would give you the day off, seeing as we only have one week left until it’s due.” 

“How much have you written already without me?” he asked. 

“Five pages, but that—” 

“You’ve nearly done half of the project without me?” Fiyero interrupted. 

“...Yes?” Why did you actually feel bad about this? 

Fiyero got closer so he could look over your shoulder at your work, and you found yourself holding your breath at his proximity. 

“Do you think you’re doing me a favor?” 

“Clearly,” you said. “The sooner it’s done, the sooner it’s over, and the sooner you don’t have to deal with me anymore.” You shrugged. “You said you wanted to ride my coattails anyways, so I figured I would make it easier for you.” 

“Just a few days ago you were chastising me for not doing my part,” Fiyero said. “Now you’re not even letting me try?” 

“I—” the words stuck in your throat, and again you felt your face heat. 

I don’t want to have to think about any of this more than I have to because I’m worried what I’ll realize. 

I don’t want to give you any more chances to take me off course because I know I’ll say yes. 

I don’t want to be around you longer than I have to because I think I’m starting to like you. 

“Yes?” 

“I am doing you a favor,” you finally decided. “You don’t have to worry about it. Go ride that horse of yours, or bother other students, or spend time with Galinda. You’ve earned it.” 

“Hardly,” Fiyero said. “I’m doing my part, whether you like it or not. We’ll meet at the library tomorrow morning before class like we’ve been doing.” 

“I have class at 8 in the morning tomorrow.” 

“...Then we’ll do it after class,” he reneged. “I do need my beauty sleep.” 

That got a smile out of you, which spurned one from Fiyero in turn. “I think that is one of the only genuine smiles you’ve given me since we started working together.” 

“I smile plenty,” you insisted. 

“At your books,” Fiyero said. “Not at me.” 

“That’s because my books are oh-so-beautiful,” you said. “And they don’t even need beauty sleep.”

He placed his hand on his heart. “You wound me.” 

Your smile grew and you set your pen down. “The library after class?” 

Fiyero nodded and tapped on your desk as he stood up. “Library after class.” 

He was about to go to the door when Coralie poked her head in. “Why is the door— oh! Fiyero!” She straightened up, plastering on a pretty smile as she stepped inside. “What brings you to our corner of Shiz?” 

“Doctor Dillamond’s midterm,” he said. “Your roommate here is trying to save all of the fun for herself.” 

“That sounds like her,” Cora nodded sagely. “You’re very good to try and keep her from that fate.”

Fiyero pressed his hand to his chest. “I consider it my duty. But I apologize for the intrusion—I’ll leave the two of you be.”

“Oh, stay as long as you want,” she spoke up. “I’m sure your partner wouldn’t mind.”

“He’s got things to do,” you interceded. “You’ve got things to do, Fiyero.”

He smiled knowingly. “I certainly do. You lovely ladies have a fine rest of your day.” He looked at you and said your name. “Don’t forget tomorrow.”

“How could I?” you said weakly. 

Fiyero chuckled and bowed his head in lieu of more parting words. The second he left, Cora turned to you with wide eyes. 

“Don’t,” you warned. 

“He came here to talk to you!” she exclaimed. “He found out your room number because he wanted to talk to you!” 

“Be quiet!” you exclaimed. “The door is still open—he can probably hear your screeching!”

Coralie shut the door and squealed. “He likes you!”

“We are project partners,” you enunciated. “Nothing more.” 

“Oh, I’m sure that’s what you think,” she said. “Just like I’m sure that he wants to be more.” 

“You’re acting like he isn’t with Galinda,” you said. “She controls this whole school—do you remember what happened to Elphaba when she didn’t like her?” 

Cora shrugged. “Sure. But I’ve been hearing there’s trouble in paradise.” 

That got you paying attention. “What?” 

“I knew it!” Coralie exclaimed—nearly yelled, honestly. “I knew you liked him!” 

“Be quiet!” you whisper-yelled. “Oz, what is wrong with you?” 

“I knew you liked him!” she repeated. “And he likes you— oh, it is too perfect!” 

“He does not like me,” you insisted, “and you are crazy.” 

“You didn’t say that you didn’t like him,” Coralie sung, and you screwed your eyes shut. 

“Fine!” you finally said. “Fine— I like him. Will you stop now?”

“Of course not,” she said, and you sighed. “How bad do you have it?”

“I don’t have it bad,” you scoffed. “I just— I enjoy spending time with him. And I think he’s kind of cute.” 

“Oh, you are full on head over heels,” she mused. “You just don’t know it. It’s okay.” 

You groaned as you buried your head in your hands. “I hate you.” 

She laughed. “And you like Fiyero.” 

“Shut up.” Your words were muffled, but you meant them all the same. 

You were comically doomed. 

-

The next day went… shockingly smooth. 

Fiyero was in the library when he said he’d be—he was even there before you, much to your surprise and he still had the notebook and pen you’d given him, much to his surprise. He made sure to bring an extra canteen of water for you, because he noticed you never had any with you. You were probably concerningly dehydrated. 

He tried to be a more attentive student to you than he’d ever been at any of his classes—not that that was difficult. You explained your outline and all the work you’d already done, what he could do on the last five pages and how to make his writing voice match yours to make a consistent paper. 

He wrote notes both on what you knew about Ilara Mayfair (a ridiculous amount, in his opinion) and anything else you thought he needed to know (also a ridiculous amount).

He was impressed most of all, though. No wonder you’d isolated yourself from near the entire student body and stressed over every letter in every sentence in every assignment. You were incredibly intelligent, but you were also able to explain everything in a way that even he understood. Fiyero had never really cared about… well, anything relating to school before he ended up partners with you. 

But now, Fiyero found himself surprisingly entranced by it all. He’d always liked your voice, and he had a permanent smile on his lips watching you talk so easily about your passions. It put a spark in your eye and a brightness about you that was usually bogged down by everything else that you stressed about. 

You were beautiful, especially when you were happy. And Fiyero had discovered over the past week that you were happiest when you got to talk about what you cared about to an interested audience. He only regretted acting like he wasn’t interested for so long. 

Finally, when Fiyero called a break on account of his hands aching (he’d never written this much in his life, and it still was only half of what you did basically every day), and you were eating an apple (that he also brought, because you really didn’t take care of yourself when you were doing work, which was always), he smiled at you. 

“You know, we really do make a good team,” Fiyero said. 

You swallowed the bite of apple you had in your mouth and cocked your head as you looked at him. “You think?” 

“I know,” he nodded. “You’ve done the impossible, darling. You’ve actually made me care about school.” 

“Well, I think you’ve done the impossible too.” You lifted the apple up. “You made me care about my health during midterms season.” 

“It certainly wasn’t easy,” he said wryly. “You kind of took it all kicking and screaming.”

You shrugged. “I’m not top of our class for nothing.” 

“Do you have to stress yourself into misery to be top of the class?” he asked. 

“I’m not miserable,” you retorted. 

It was when you said things like that that Fiyero really began to worry about you. It was part of the reason he was so intent on staying by your side through this whole project—no matter how dull he found the material—after the first session. He sometimes saw you around campus, usually carrying a stack of books or talking with your roommate.

After Fiyero was paired with you, he wondered why he didn’t see you more before it all, considering how active you were with literally everything school-wise. Then he realized you were likely always in the library, and the only time he’d visited the library was on Galinda’s tour. You were there, well enough, but you took your leave as soon as things started getting rowdy. 

A shame, he realized. He wondered what your relationship could have been had Galinda not staked her claim on him so soon. 

You weren’t going to take care of yourself, clearly enough, so Fiyero decided—at least for the duration of this project—that he would. It didn’t really matter if you were top of the class if you passed out from stress, exhaustion, annoyance, or a mix of all three. Likely a mix of all three. 

He didn’t really anticipate those feelings morphing into genuine affection. 

“I seem to recall you saying you dream of your future assignments,” Fiyero said, coming out of his thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like the habit of a happy person.”

“Oh, please,” you scoffed. “Everybody has stress dreams.” 

“You know, I really don’t think they do,” Fiyero said. 

You rolled your eyes as you picked your pen up with your free hand and jotted down a few more sentences. “Sure.”

“On that note,” he said, “why don’t we call it a day?”

“We can’t call it a day,” you said. You took another bite from your apple and swallowed, continuing to write all the while without looking at him. “We’re not finished yet.”

“That is the most casually you’ve said that so far,” Fiyero mused. “I really am making progress.”

You laughed, finally paying him mind. “Progress with what?”

“I’ve been tracking your smiles and laughs this whole time,” he said. “See, this essay was your project, but that was mine—trying to make you enjoy your life.”

“This essay is both of our projects, Fiyero,” you said. “Besides, I don’t think Doctor Dillamond will accept your bar graph of all the times I laughed at you making a fool of yourself.” You frowned. “Or would it be a line graph because it’s over time? Or maybe it could be—”

“Alright,” he interrupted. “You’re going into hypotheticals on my joke. That’s clearly the sign that we need to call it a day.”

“…Fine,” you reneged. “But it’s just a break, not calling it a day. And I get to finish proofreading the rest of the essay when we get back.”

“A compromise,” Fiyero said. “Love it.”

You rolled your eyes as you started gathering your things. “You love everything.” 

“Eh,” he tilted his head, and you felt his eyes on you. “Most things.” 

You couldn’t help your smile, much as you tried to bite it back. “Whatever.” 

Soon enough, you and Fiyero were sitting together by the dock. You let your legs dangle over as you watched the scenery around campus—the ripple of the water, the gentle brush of the wind, the chirping birds that flew around without a care.

“Isn’t this nice?” Fiyero asked. He also had his legs over the edge, but he’d laid down against the stone. 

“You don’t have to push your relaxation propaganda so hard anymore,” you said wryly. “I’m here, aren’t I?” 

“And I’m grateful for it,” he said. “Someone that works as hard as you do deserves to relax the same amount.” 

“We’ve gone over this a thousand times—”

“I know,” he interrupted. He turned his head to smile at you. “I just have to hope that some of it sticks.” 

You rolled your eyes, once again unable to hide your smile. “And I have to hope for the same with this paper. Do you think you’ll remember any of this once we turn it in?”

“Oh, but of course. You were the one to teach it to me, after all. I could hardly forget it all.” 

“Good,” you said. “Everyone should know about Ilara Mayfair.” 

Fiyero chuckled, and you once again fell into comfortable silence. 

That was the thing that shocked you the most, you think. Not that you were beginning to like Fiyero, or that you actually liked Fiyero, or that you actually looked forward to spending time with him. It was that you were so comfortable just sitting with him in silence. 

It was very difficult to get to the silence, though. Fiyero couldn’t really stay quiet, and you didn’t know if he liked talking or the sound of his own voice. But you found it didn’t really annoy you like it used to. 

Great Oz. You really were into him. How embarrassing. 

Eventually, when the strain in your wrists and fingers from writing had finally faded, you turned your head to look at Fiyero. “I think it’s time we go back.”

He sighed. “Already?” 

“It’s been fifteen minutes,” you said. “Far longer than the breaks I usually take.” 

He opened his mouth, likely to say something of the same ‘you need to relax’ ilk, but you held up your hand. “Don’t. Just be thankful you got me away for this long.” 

Fiyero smiled, and he pulled himself up off the ground. “I always am.” 

He held his hand out, and you stared at him for a moment. “Why do you always do that?” 

“Help you up?” 

You nodded. “I can do it myself.” 

He shrugged. “I told you it was my project to make your life easier.” 

“You said it was your project to track my happiness,” you said. 

“And they go hand in hand,” he said. “I’m surprised you remember.” 

“It happened thirty minutes ago, Fiyero,” you said wryly. “Besides, I remember everything. It’s a gift.” 

Fiyero laughed, and you finally took his hand. He pulled you up and once again, you tumbled a bit too close—and again, his hand fell to your waist. He had to be doing this on purpose by now. 

“We keep finding ourselves in this position,” Fiyero mused. 

Heat flooded your cheeks like usual. “And whose fault is that?” 

“Well,” he said, tilting his head, “you’re not exactly pulling away.” 

Your mouth opened, trying to think of what words to say when your head was reeling from his mere presence. But then you saw a flash of pink in the background, and your eyes darted away from Fiyero. 

Galinda. She was distracted, talking with Pfannee and Shenshen as she went down the stairs. Oz, how did she slip your mind so easily whenever Fiyero was in your proximity? Why did you let him get this close when he was spoken for? 

You panicked—nothing less. You tore out of Fiyero’s grasp with a bit too much gumption, and then you stumbled, then you slipped, and then you fell. Fiyero called your name in shock, reaching his hand out, but it was too late. You’d plunged into the water before you could save yourself. 

The cold water instantly shocked all your senses, your eyes widening as you gasped out on instinct. Your mouth filled with water and your muscles seized up from the change in temperature—it was so much deeper than you’d imagined, and all your layers of clothing weighing you down were of no use. 

You tried your damnedest to ignore the alarm bells going off in your head as you fought against yourself, finally gathering the sense to swim. You kicked your way up to the top, gasping for air once when you breached the surface. 

You heard Fiyero yell your name again and you blinked rapidly, trying to clear the water from your eyes. When everything finally came into focus, you saw him on his knees, his coat shed and his sleeves rolled up. 

His eyes were wide as he reached his hand out, once again saying your name—this time with a certain desperation. “Are you alright?”

You tried to respond but all you could do was cough, trying to expel the water from your lungs. You took his hand and he helped pull you up onto the dock, where an exhale shuddered out of you.

“I— I am so sorry,” he stammered. It was the first time you’d ever seen him flustered, and you were too busy hacking up a lung to point it out. “Obviously I didn’t think—”

You held up your hand in lieu of saying something, as you didn’t think you could say something. 

This was so stupid, and it was something that never would have happened before you and Fiyero started working together. Your paper was due in two days, you’d only just finished the draft, you still had so much proofreading and rewriting to do, and instead, you were here on the docks soaked to the bone. 

And you found yourself laughing. 

“Oh, Oz,” Fiyero said. “You’ve lost it.” 

You couldn’t refute it, because you kept laughing. You could feel the eyes of your classmates on you, could hear them whispering to each other—likely making fun of you—and it only made you laugh harder. 

“Are—” Fiyero chuckled nervously as he said your name, “are you okay?” 

“I’m soaked,” you got out through your laughs. “And everyone saw me fall into the water. I’m a fool, Fiyero!” 

He was still staring at you in that careful way, as if you were made of glass. “I can’t tell if you’re mad or not.” 

“Oh, Fiyero.” You wiped the trailing water off of your face and wrapped your arms around him. You felt him freeze beneath you for the slightest moment—it had to have been the last thing he expected you to do. “Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” Fiyero returned the hug, his movements still unsure. He didn’t seem to care that you were getting him wet, just about your wellbeing. “What— what for, exactly?” 

For a moment, you couldn’t look away. His blue eyes were meant to enrapture, his soft lips typically an invitation sealed with a smirk. But for once, Fiyero looked genuine—he wasn’t putting on a performance, or trying to seduce anyone who looked at him. He was genuinely sorry, genuinely confused. It only made you laugh again.

“What for, indeed.” A higher voice pierced through the air, and you separated from Fiyero immediately. Galinda, to no surprise, had found her way over to the chaos you’d created, her compatriots flanking her on either side. She smiled at you brightly, but her whole demeanor was like a violin string pulled taut. 

“Galinda,” Fiyero said. “Lovely to see you.” He didn’t seem half as shocked as you at her appearance, but his words fell flat. 

“And you as well, dearest.” Her smile turned sickly sweet as she shifted her attention to Fiyero momentarily, taking the opportunity to lace her fingers with his and pull him into a kiss. He pulled away first, but if it affected Galinda, she didn’t let it show when she looked back at you. She batted her eyelashes as she said your name incorrectly. “What was it you were saying?” 

The sudden combination of cottonmouth and sour guilt creeping up your throat didn’t really help your already flustered state. She knew what she was doing—but you did too, didn’t you? 

She was with Fiyero. You knew that. And though Fiyero danced across the line, you took his hand every time he offered. 

“I—” you cleared your throat, attempting a casual smile of your own. “Just that I know why Doctor Dillamond put us together.”

“Excellent,” Fiyero said. “Off-topic, but excellent— are you sure you didn’t hit your head down there?” 

“Perhaps you should go to the nurse,” Galinda said. “I’m sure Shenshen could—” 

“I’ll be fine,” you interrupted, your smile tightening ever so slightly. You looked at Fiyero. “Meet me at the library tonight, and bring coffee. We’re finishing this project tonight. 

“Of course,” he nodded.  

You nodded as well, and you started to go. Galinda’s gaze was sugary sweet poison, and you couldn’t take the weight of it anymore. 

“Wait,” Fiyero spoke up. 

You stopped against your better judgment, and he let go of Galinda’s hand to take his jacket off. He moved closer to you and wrapped it around you. His touch, light but certain, lingered on your shoulders once he’d finished adjusting it, and his gaze stayed on yours 

“Until you can change,” he said. 

“...Thank you,” you said. 

Galinda cleared her throat extremely loudly, her taut smile back. You remembered yourself and stepped away from Fiyero. 

“I’ll see you tonight,” you said, already starting on your way. You wouldn’t let him stop you again. 

“Tonight,” he agreed, bowing his head in parting. 

You only glanced back once you were by the stairs. When you did, you saw Galinda speaking rapidly to Fiyero—you were too far away to hear anything, but she didn’t look happy. When your gaze drifted to him, you found he was already looking at you. Almost subconsciously, you tugged his jacket tighter around you. When you realized what you were doing, you stopped. You averted your eyes immediately and hurried up the stairs. 

You weren’t out of breath from exertion. 

[wendichester]

Cute Dean request with a bit of smug Dean

Based on the truth episode loosely, the whole time on the mission Dean’s been trying to get you to admit you’d “hit that” with him in his cocky smug flirtation, so when Dean realises he’s cursed with people telling him the truth, he decides to prove to you both that you want to sleep with him except he gets more than he bargains for when you actually admit feelings and your view on him (the whole “you think so little of yourself but you’re a good guy” spiel) that hits him to his core

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚ loose lips,

summary. being cursed isn't always bad, right?

pairing. dean winchester x reader

wordcount. 687.

notes. i just love writing dean throw off guard. suits the hell out of him 😮‍💨

Dean has been insufferable the entire case.

“You’d totally hit this,” he says, leaning against the Impala with that cocky smirk that you both love and loathe.

You roll your eyes for what feels like the hundredth time. “In your dreams, Winchester.”

“Oh, come on,” he teases, striding closer. “You’re not fooling anyone, sweetheart. Just admit it. You think I’m irresistible.”

“Dean, you’re irresistible to waitresses, maybe,” you shoot back, grinning when his smirk falters for half a second.

He’s been relentless since the case started—a strange series of deaths linked to a cursed item that forces people to tell the truth. Dean, being Dean, has been using the situation to dig at everyone’s secrets. But then, you got hit with the curse, and everything that falls from your pretty lips is nothing more, nothing less than the brutal truth.

Back at the motel, the conversation spirals once again. Dean perches himself on the edge of the table, legs spread in that way that commands attention.

“So,” he says, voice dropping into a teasing lilt, “guess now’s your chance to prove yourself.”

You sigh, shooting him a sharp look. “Prove myself about what, exactly?”

“You’re cursed,” he points out, blatantly smug. As you glare at him, he takes it as his cue to continue. “That you’re not dying to jump me,” he says, his grin widening. “Because I’ve got to tell you, sweetheart, all signs point to yes.”

This conversation is about to get a whole lot more dangerous. “Fine, Dean. You want the truth?”

“Let’s test it,” he says, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Do you think I’m hot?”

You hesitate, your face heating.

“Yes,” you blurt, immediately slapping a hand over your mouth.

Dean’s grin stretches even wider. “Knew it!”

You groan, turning away from him. “This is so unfair.”

“Unfair?” he teases, stepping closer. “Come on, sweetheart, just admit it. You’ve thought about it. Us. Together.”

You clench your jaw, trying to resist, but the words spill out anyway. “Yes, okay? I’ve thought about it.” You cross the room, arms crossed, standing close enough to wipe the smug look off his face. “But not for the reasons you think.”

That gets his attention. The playful glint in his eyes dims, and his smirk falters. “What do you mean?”

“You think it’s just about your stupid good looks or your dumb one-liners?” You take a steadying breath. “Dean, you’re one of the best men I’ve ever known. You’d die for the people you care about. You’re brave, loyal, and selfless, even when you don’t think you’re worth a damn. You think I haven’t noticed?”

Dean blinks, his jaw tightening as he processes your words. The room feels heavy with the weight of your confession.

“And the worst part,” you continue, “is you don’t see it. You don’t even believe you deserve to be loved.”

For a moment, Dean looks completely unguarded, the mask he wears every day slipping just enough for you to see the vulnerability beneath. “You really see me like that?” he asks, his voice quiet, almost unsure.

“I do,” you say simply, the truth settling between you like some sort of fragile truce.

He lets out a soft, humorless chuckle, running a hand over his face. “Well, I wasn’t expecting that.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, offering a small smile, “maybe you should stop fishing for answers if you’re not ready to hear them.”

Dean stands up, stepping closer, his green eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that makes your breath hitch. “Maybe I needed to hear it,” he murmurs.

You don’t move as he reaches up, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. His touch is surprisingly soft, and when he speaks again, his voice is steady. “You deserve the truth too, you know. You mean more to me than I’ve ever let on.”

Your chest tightens as the honesty in his words hits you. It isn’t cocky, isn’t flirtatious—it’s just Dean, stripped of his usual bravado.

The curse might force the truth out of you, but for once, it doesn’t feel like a burden—it feels like freedom.

want be part of the taglist.ᐣ ⋆.˚ ★— @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing ⋆ @deans-daydream ⋆ @ariasong11 ⋆ @ambiguous-avery ⋆ @krabog ⋆ @itsdearapril ⋆ @nymphet-quenn

[militaryapple]

Hi, I'm not sure if you're taking request but I love the way you write Caleb ☺️ Is it possible you can do a cute little fake dating troupe in college with Caleb?

It goes like, reader (non MC) and Caleb are friends and reader wanted a bf but she can't find one so she tried out this "men will start chasing you when you have a bf" theory with Caleb when Caleb thinks this is an opportunity to do couple things with his crush 🫢

wc. 939.

add ons: hii yes I can!! so glad u guys love my caleb he's so crazy I miss him

college. it was definitely something. work load 20 times heavier, professors who don’t really give a fuck wether you live or die or right, and dating. how you loathed the couples in your university. was it because you were unable to get a boyfriend yourself? maybe. was it also because half of every guy on campus was either a massive jerk, a guy in a frat or taken? maybe.. partly.. yeah.

everytime you were close to finding a guy, a perfect suitable guy who was funny or sweet or kind— he had to bail or he already had a girlfriend! yeah, total dreamboat. you could only sigh at the thought of you and someone on a date, going to the movies or watching some corny movie. wow you were really single and mindlessly scrolling on social media wasn’t helping your case one bit. post after post, jesus how did they do it? then you had an idea.

maybe you were pathetic and desperate.. oh fuck you’re in college. what’s worse? graduating with no love life or dying without someone who loves you. yeah, you would take your chances.

you silently typed up on your phone “how to become more attractive to men”. was it weird? yes. did you care? not really. it’s not your roommate was here, she would go on about how “life is amazing without a lover!” and “you don’t need to cry over a man!” in which she was silently resigned everytime you brought up how she had a boyfriend. so it’s come to this. better now than never anyways.

“men like taken woman, gives them a chase.” well fuck! that was your issue from the start?! what were you gonna do? get a boyfriend out of thin air to make guys ma— then you heard a knock.

you closed out of the tab as you walk to your dorm door, opening it as your gaze shifted upward, and holy mother of pearls did you find the holy grail. he was your answer.

“hey, pipsqueak!” caleb said as he held his arms out for you waiting for a hug, just to be greeted by a grab on the wrist and a soft ‘thud’ on your bed. you stared up at him, inspecting him closely. caleb was a perfect candidate! he could be your fake boyfriend!

.

.

“be my fake boyfriend.”

you were met with small chuckle as he covered his mouth and muffled out apologies. you were embarrassed, god this was embarrassing. if only you could rewind 2 minutes. god god god.

caleb smiled widely, “are you sure you want me as your fake boyfriend? what’s this even for anyways, pipsqueak?” his eyes soften as he got more comfortable on your bed. you could only smile in content. he didn’t say no, so you’ll take that as a win.

“guys are more attracted to you when you have a boyfriend.” you said shoving your phone in his face. he scanned over the phone closely before pushing your hand down to look at you. god were you pretty.

“that’s.. not real pipsqueak.” he said trying to cover his laugh. were you serious about this? you couldn’t actually believe this crap. this is why caleb prefers for you to come to him for this sort of thing, not some lousy thread you found on a very sketchy site. though he couldn’t just trample on your dreams so he went along with it, even if it was funny.

“I’m serious!” you snapped back. “just for a while, until someone shows interest in me! well more interest than my supposed boyfriend.. please caleb?” you begged, and he could never say no to you. you jumped up happily before leaning in for a hug but instead you were met by a subtle push and “ah-ah”. you looked at caleb puzzled as he got up. his arms moving to your hip while he leaned down, his and your breath almost kissing.

“if im gonna be your boyfriend for a while pipsqueak, don’t I deserve a little reward for helping you out?” he smiled, “even if it’s a fake we have to get used to kissing.”

kissing.

your first kiss, would be him.

you stared up at awe, he was handsome. just one kiss, it wouldn’t be bad right? you were flustered but no backing down now. better make this as real as possible.

You nodded in subtle approval before you leaned in, your lips touching as his grip on you held tighter. his free hand cupping your face. he was a natural at kissing, his movements were tender and he was so gentle with you. it was as if he didn’t want to wreck you. caleb moved his head back, breaking away from the sweet moment. “okay then, it’s official.” he said softly.

caleb would take you out often, every week, everyday to be exact and there seemed to be absolutely no luck with other guys. it’s not like it mattered anyways though, you were having fun with caleb, almost like he was your actual boyfriend.

as for caleb, this was perfect, he was almost glad he checked on you the day he did. you were a dream, and this “fake boyfriend” idea? would soon wash away when you start to only think of him as your actual boyfriend. taking you out, kissing you, holding you while you’re upset. everything.

as for the guys who chase you around? haha as if! he personally made sure on your first day of university that everyone knew you were his. well it doesn’t matter, it worked out either way. for both you and him.

[rose24207]

Hi! Sorry to bother my english Its not so good

Can you do one where Max and reader know each other since ever and They are best friends and reader was always in love with him but he start dating kelly but in the end reader and Max start dating? Super angst kinda lacy by Olivia Rodrigo but with happy ending jaja thank you!

Lacy

Summary: You’ve loved Max your whole life, watching in silent heartbreak as he falls for the impossibly perfect Lacy

Max Verstappen x reader

Genre: angst to fluff, happy ending

TW: jealousy, heartbreak, confession, loathing

A/N: thanks for the request! Not so sure about this one. Guess I got a little rusty! I chose not to write about Kelly because I respect the drivers and their significant others. So here’s and OC! Ironically I called her Lacy. #justiceformygirllacy

Navigation

Max met her in Monaco.

Of course it had to be Monaco.

The city of golden skin, white yachts, and smiles painted on like art. You’d spent your childhood summers here with Max—racing scooters down stone alleys, sunburnt shoulders, dipping fries into milkshakes at portside cafés. It was your place.

Until she appeared.

Lacy.

You hated how perfect her name was. Like satin ribbon or powdered sugar. The kind of name you couldn’t compete with, no matter how sharp your eyeliner or how clever your jokes.

She walked into Max’s life like she’d been born to fill the empty space beside him.

And you? You watched it all unfold.

Smile tight. Heart bruised. Mind screaming.

You told yourself it was fine. That you’d been Max’s best friend since the womb, and some girl with “vintage film camera” energy couldn’t erase that.

But then Max started looking at her the way you dreamed he’d look at you.

And it shattered you.

Lacy had skin like puff pastry—soft and warm and unfairly perfect. Her laugh made people lean in. She was gentle. Gracious. Intelligent. She never fought for attention, and still, the whole world leaned toward her.

You watched her from across the paddock—her delicate arms draped over Max’s shoulders, her cherry-gloss lips kissing his cheek after each race.

Max would smile at her like she hung the moon.

And you’d stand nearby, pretending to scroll on your phone while trying not to fall apart.

It wasn’t just that Max had fallen for someone else.

It was that he’d fallen for her.

Because Lacy wasn’t cruel. Or manipulative. Or fake.

She was perfect.

And you hated her for it.

You used to think Max saw you.

Really saw you.

The late nights, the messy laughter, the loyalty like a second skin—you thought it meant something. You were his ride-or-die. The one person who knew what he looked like when he was 16 and scared. The one who held his hand before his first pole. The one who kissed his bruised knuckles after fights with his father.

But he chose her.

He loved her.

And every time you looked at Lacy—at her floating hair and voice like soft piano—you felt sick.

Because she had the one thing you’d built your entire life around wanting.

The worst part?

She liked you.

She complimented your outfits. She laughed at your jokes. She called you “so effortlessly cool.”

Her kindness was a loaded gun.

Every sweet word hit like a bullet against your skin.

You wanted to scream. To rip her lace dresses and smear her lipstick. To make her stop being so nice so you could hate her properly.

But she was perfect.

And you were losing.

One night in Zandvoort, you couldn’t sleep.

The team was celebrating Max’s win downstairs—music and laughter echoing through the hotel. You stood barefoot on the balcony, blinking back tears, trying to convince yourself it didn’t matter.

Behind you, the door slid open.

“I thought I’d find you up here.”

Max.

He stepped beside you, barefoot too, hoodie pushed halfway up his forearms. “You okay?”

You couldn’t look at him.

“Sure,” you lied.

He leaned on the railing. “You’ve been off lately.”

“I’m just tired.”

“From what?” he asked, gently. “Avoiding me?”

You froze.

“I’m not avoiding you,” you said.

“You haven’t sat with me on a flight in three weeks. You barely text back. You skipped dinner last night.”

You exhaled. “I’m just… dealing with some stuff.”

“Talk to me.”

You turned to him, sharp.

“Why? So you can play therapist before you go cuddle up with Miss Fairy Princess again?”

Max blinked.

You regretted it immediately. But the words were already out.

“Wow,” he said quietly.

You bit your lip. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.”

The silence burned.

He ran a hand through his hair. “This is about Lacy?”

You couldn’t lie anymore.

“I hate her,” you whispered. “And I hate myself for hating her.”

Max stared at you.

“She’s so… good. And I look at her and I know she didn’t steal you, but I feel like I lost you anyway.”

Your voice cracked.

“And it’s pathetic. Because I’ve been in love with you since we were kids, Max. And I never told you. And now I watch you give all your soft parts to someone else. And she deserves it, because she’s better than me. But it’s killing me.”

Max’s jaw clenched.

“I didn’t know,” he said.

“No one did,” you breathed. “I made sure of it.”

You wiped your face with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“Every time she compliments me, it feels like she’s twisting the knife. I see her everywhere—hear her in every song, smell her stupid perfume in my dreams.”

You laughed bitterly.

“She’s perfect, and I hate her. And I hate that I hate her. And I hate how much of me still loves you.”

Max was still. Like stone.

Then—

He stepped forward.

“I broke up with her.”

You froze.

“What?”

He met your eyes. “Last week.”

“Why?”

“Because I couldn’t love her the way she deserved,” he said. “Not when my heart was somewhere else.”

You swallowed. “Where?”

He reached out—hands trembling—and touched your cheek.

“You.”

Tears spilled down your face.

“I thought I missed my chance.”

Max shook his head. “You never had to say it. I already knew. I just didn’t know how to choose you without ruining what we had.”

“But you did ruin it,” you whispered. “You picked her.”

“I was scared,” he said. “You’re everything to me. If I lost you…”

“You did lose me.”

Max looked broken. “Can I earn you back?”

You wanted to stay angry.

Wanted to tell him it wasn’t that simple.

But when he looked at you like that—like you were the only air he could breathe—it was impossible.

You leaned in.

Pressed your forehead to his.

“You already had me,” you said.

And then you kissed him.

Soft. Slow. Shaky.

Years of longing poured into a single breath.

And for once, the ache dulled.

The envy melted.

The ghost of Lacy faded.

Because finally, finally—

He was yours.

Three Months Later

You saw Lacy again.

Briefly. At the paddock in Spa.

She smiled at you. Waved. Wore another beautiful lace dress.

But this time, when Max kissed you in front of everyone

You didn’t flinch.

You smiled back at her.

Because you didn’t have to worship her anymore.

Not when he was looking at you like you were the only thing that ever mattered.

And just like that—

You were free

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom, @ernegren, @esposamultifandom, @darleneslane

[huntingingoodwill]

civil. (j.m.)

masterlist

desc: you can’t stand joel miller, and he can’t stand you.

pairing: enemies to lovers! joel miller x gn! reader

a/n: this is my gift for the pedrostories secret santa 2024 event!!! i had so much fun writing this for my giftee, @adora-but-ginger. thanks so much for introducing me to the absolute bop which is never let me down by depeche mode which inspired this lil fic. i really hope you enjoy it babes <3 happy holidays!

“You’re an idiot. A big, hulking idiot.” 

“You think I’m big and hulking?”

You could hear the smirk in Joel’s voice, which made equal parts of anger and embarrassment flare up inside of you. You could admit he was… well-built. Sickeningly, disgustingly so. And right now, you wanted to snap his well-built body in two. 

“I’m going to kill you.”  

“I’d like to see you try, but we’re a little tied up at the moment,” his tone was sardonic, his meaning literal - the two of you were in the bed of some raiders’ truck, tied up and blindfolded, being driven to who-knows-where. It was probably for the best, as the restraints around your wrists were the only things stopping you two from choking each other out. 

“And whose fault is that?” you hissed. 

“I’m glad you asked. Yours.” 

“Mine?!” you exclaimed, the anger pulsing through you growing stronger by the minute. “I told you we should avoid the cabin and you still dragged us right into this mess.” 

Joel had insisted the abandoned cabin would be a safe place to rest. The raiders had the same idea, and were quick to pounce on the both of you after coming across your horses outside. They had ambushed the two of you, deciding to bring you back to their camp to figure out what to do with you later - probably nothing too pleasant. They had left your horses behind, and you had overheard them saying they’d come back for them later. 

“Maybe if you didn’t fall asleep when you were supposed to be on lookout, we wouldn’t be here right now,” Joel muttered. 

You sighed, a dull knot of ache forming behind your eyes. It was true. You had fucked up. But he had fucked up too. If it were anybody else with you, the two of you may have been able to admit that, kiss and make up. But you and Joel never got along. You bickered and fought on every patrol you were forced on together, and this was your last straw. You were livid, and he was too. 

“We wouldn’t have been there in the first place if you didn’t-“ 

“Enough with the goddamn lover’s quarrel!” one of the raiders yelled out from the cab. 

That shut you and Joel up sufficiently, but that word tinged the silence with a shy awkwardness. 

“Lover’s quarrel,” Joel scoffed. 

“Yeah. ‘Lovers’,” you mimic his veneer of nonchalance, poorly veiling the flustered tone in both your voices, “in your dreams.” 

“In yours,” he shot back, immediately rolling his eyes at himself. 

He was too old for this shit. Everytime he was around you, he acted like a petty teenager. You just ignited a flame within him, one that he mistook for the bitter burn of loathing, not knowing it was something else entirely. 

“So, how are we getting out of this one?” you whispered. 

“Why are you asking me? I thought I was an idiot?”

“I wish you could see the look I’m giving you right now, Miller.” 

He lowered his voice to a whisper, unheard by the raiders up front over the rumble of the engine. 

“Admit I’m not an idiot, and I’ll get us out of here.” 

“Oh, come on-“ you started, gritting your teeth with exasperation.

“Or, you can always spend the rest of the day with our new friends here.”

“...You’re not an idiot.” 

“And, who’s in charge?” 

“Oh, fuck y-” 

“I can always let you hitch a ride with these guys and see how you fare on your own,” his voice took on an annoyingly laissez-faire quality. You hated him.

“You’re in charge,” you assented.

“Correct. I hid my knife in my pocket. They missed it when they took away our weapons.” 

Maybe you didn’t hate him.

“Maybe you’re not as big of an idiot as I thought,” you smiled.

“Flattery will get you nowhere. Get it out of my pocket, then cut my ropes. Then I’ll cut yours.” 

You shimmied close to him, trying to ignore how the proximity made the heat rise in your collar. You tried to convince yourself it’s a physical reaction to your hatred for him. Like an allergy. 

You managed to slide the knife out, only almost stabbing him in the ass once on a bumpy stretch of road. 

“Hands!” He had grit through his teeth.

“Please, there’s nothing back there to cut. You’re as flat as a board,” you had whispered, immediately blushing and following your words up with a quick: “Not that I’ve been looking or anything.” (You had looked. A couple times. But you’d die before telling him that.) 

Unable to see, you fumbled around a little, careful not to cut him as you sliced through the ropes binding his wrists together. Once free, he lifted his blindfold with careful, quick movements, sure to not let the men in the cab see him, before cutting off the remaining ropes keeping his legs tied together then doing the same for you. 

With the ropes loosened in heaps around your wrists and ankles, you whispered: “What now?” 

His voice was determined, but grim. “We pray.” 

“I gotta take a leak.” One of the raiders mumbled a mere 5 minutes later, after you both had replaced your blindfolds and were acting like two good kidnapees in the back of the truck, in hopes that the men wouldn’t look too closely at the both of you and discover you had freed yourselves. 

“Let’s hope our prayers have been answered. Do you trust me?” Joel asked.

“No.” 

“You’re gonna have to. 3…2…1.” 

The two of you ripped off your blindfolds. 

The scuffle was over in a few minutes. Joel’s chest heaved from the exertion of the fight as he cleaned the bloody knife off on his shirt. He had subdued one of the men pretty quickly, which gave you enough time to grab your gun from the cab and deal with the other. 

He had done a pretty good job, you had to admit, with hiding his knife and handling the raiders. Without him, you would have been royally fucked. You felt a twinge of gratefulness, and a pang of something else as you watched him, the slope of his nose and hardness of his jaw as he wicked the sweat off his forehead with the back of his hand. He had saved you. 

Then, you looked down at the two dead raiders, and what glimmer of heroism that you saw in Joel’s figure distorted into frustration. 

You aimed your gun at Joel. 

“Jesus Christ! What is wrong with you?!” he yelled, the bullet whizzing past his head. 

“Cool it, Texas,” you huffed, “Now, hold still this time.” You aimed again. 

“I just saved your ass, and you try to shoot me because of it?!” 

“I told you we shouldn’t have gone to the cabin-” 

“Look who’s talking, sleepyhead!” 

You started to walk. 

“Where d’you think you’re going?” he called after you, his voice already receding into the distance. 

“Jackson. Back to the village of which you are the idiot of!” you screamed over your shoulder. 

“A bit of a convoluted way to put it, darlin’.” 

You refused to dignify that with an answer. 

You had only made it a few metres down the road when you heard the roar of the raiders’ truck, and the heat of the thrumming engine as it pulled up beside you. 

You stared straight ahead, feeling Joel’s gaze rove over you from the driver’s window as he cruised alongside you. 

“Get in,” Joel called out to you.  

“No.” 

“D’you know where you’re going? ‘Cause I sure as hell don’t.” 

“I do. I think. I tried to memorise the turns they took while we were tied up.” 

“Well, you aren’t getting back to Jackson anytime soon on foot.” 

You ignored him, marching forward. The next few moments were clouded in silence as you stormed down the road, Joel driving slowly beside you all this while. 

“C’mon, get in. Please?” Joel’s voice was startlingly soft, a flash of vulnerability that you hadn’t expected that stopped you in your tracks. He said his words slowly, like it was difficult for him to articulate. It definitely wasn’t easy for someone as stubborn as him to seek help from you. “I can’t leave you out here alone, and I need your help to navigate.”

You turned to look at him, not expecting to find the sincerity scrawled over his face. It softened you. But you liked to make him suffer. 

“Who’s in charge?” you said. 

“Oh, c’mon…” 

“Miller. Answer me. Who is in charge?” 

“You are. Now get in.” 

You smiled in satisfaction, clambering into the passenger seat. 

“You’re in charge of navigation, I’m in charge of driving,” he mumbled beneath his breath. 

You chuckled at his comment. Suddenly his snarkiness, though annoying, seemed like a harmless dig after the events of the day. That laugh was utter release, a reprieve from the loathing for him that had been boiling your blood all day. 

Peeking over at you, you watched his confused face turn into one that mirrored yours. One of cathartic happiness. He let out a laugh, unable to help it. You had never noticed his laugh, his smile. Like a silver lining. You liked it. 

The rest of the drive passed in relative silence, save for your directions, though the air between you was different. Still electric in its energy, but not because of anger, or frustration. It was strangely warm.

The sun had begun to dip beneath the horizon, and with a satisfying click, he flicked on the headlights, making a turn. The lights illuminated the cabin and your horses. Your heart soared. 

“Well, shit. You did it,” he whispered. 

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh, and more laughter bubbled from his lips. Laughing with Joel seemed so foreign after spending every patrol together arguing or in heated silence. It was pleasant.

From here, the two of you would be able to find your way back to Jackson, no question. The two of you mounted your horses and started your way back. He turned to watch you, the delicate turn of your head as you gazed up at the vast sky, drinking it all in. He felt that same pang he always felt around you, what he always thought was annoyance. It hit him with that same ferocity, but it was charged with a different energy. It felt kind of nice. 

You turned to lock eyes with him. 

“I’m sorry,” the both of you said in unison. 

You both dissolved into laughter. 

“Well, I’ll go first,” Joel chuckled, “I’m sorry. I really am. I should have listened to you-”

“No, I’m sorry!” you said. “If it wasn’t for me falling asleep… and I guess trying to shoot you wasn’t very nice.” 

“Wasn’t polite, was it?” he snorted, his smile reflecting your sheepish one. “Still, I fucked up. And the way you helped us find our way back… you saved our asses.” 

“I fucked up too. And if anyone saved us it was you. There was no way we would have gotten out of there without you thinking ahead and hiding the knife.” 

“I guess we make a pretty alright team, huh?” he said, the smile he shot you so hopeful and sweet you felt that hot, molten feeling in your gut again, though it definitely was not hate. 

“Yeah, we do,” you sighed. “I guess if your brother’s gonna keep insisting on putting us on patrol together, we could at least be civil to each other. I think we work together better that way. Deal?” 

“Deal,” he said. “You still drive me a little crazy though.” 

“Ditto,” you smiled at him, and the smile he flashed back made you feel strange and floaty, a similar sort of light-headedness from when you used to get so mad at him on patrols you wanted to scream. You were starting to realise that feeling may have been motivated by a different emotion entirely. He was definitely driving you a little crazy. 

“Where the hell were you guys? You missed the bonfire,” Tommy called out to Joel as the both of you arrived at the centre of Jackson, a dying bonfire crackling behind him. 

“That’s the least of our problems,” Joel huffed, dismounting from his horse as you followed suit, thrusting the reins into his brother’s hands. “You deal with that.” 

Tommy shrugged, leading the horses back to the stable. 

The two of you stood side by side, staring into what little was left of the bonfire, now a flame that licked up to around Joel’s knee-height. The crowd that was surrounding it earlier that night had fully dispersed, leaving just you and Joel alone before the fire. He turned to look at you, the fire glazing your eyes with orange and red hues, setting your gaze alight.

“I have an idea,” you said. Your smile meant trouble. “Let’s jump over it.” 

“What?” Joel asked, eyebrows shooting up incredulously. 

“I read it somewhere. It’s an old tradition, supposed to bring about good luck and new beginnings,” you smile at him, a smile that instantly wins him over. “We need all the luck we can get. C’mon Miller, indulge me. Be civil.” 

His laugh was hesitant, but when you reached for his hand he knew he could do it. 

“Do you trust me?” you grinned. 

“Yes.”

“Well, you’re gonna have to. 3…2…1!” 

There was a moment there, with his hand in yours, at the very top of where the flames swirled, where it felt like the two of you were flying, suspended against the dark sky. 

Then, you hit the ground. 

You were lying beside each other in the dirt, panting in between gasps of laughter, the cuffs of your pants and the soles of your shoes singed. That electric warmth fired through the air, boiling your blood - definitely not anger. Something else. Passion and anger possess that same fiery quality. 

It burned so brightly within the both of you that he couldn’t help it. He leaned over to kiss you. The fire was warm by your side, the sky dark and electric above you as a storm gathered. The two of you were definitely going to be more than civil.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[fictionismyreality3]

Take a Break

Warnings: hints at smut no actual smut, romance and everything that comes with it

Notes: every so often the need for this man will just suddenly pop up like gOD LET ME LIVE

The fingers you were clenching around your pen were beginning to hurt. Trying to write this essay was making you feel more like a wide eyed freshman than someone aiming to finish senior year at the top of their class. You stared aimlessly at your laptop, your eyes burning from how long you’d been looking over the work you had so far.

Which was only the title.

Just 2 more months. 2 months and then you could graduate, and you’d have your degree, and you could have your dream job and not be cramming book after book in your head, hoping you’d pick up the knowledge when really all it did was make you feel like punching your-

“Darlin’? You doing okay with your homework?” The honeyed voice of your boyfriend echoed around your dorm you, a light breeze the only warning you were given as he appeared randomly behind you.

“Yeah, Jasper. M’fine.” But just looking at his unfairly gorgeous face made you want to punch him instead of your TA.

It wasn’t fair. He got to be stupidly handsome and smart and he could easily ace your classes, probably finishing your degree in a few days with his stupid fucking vampire memory, and everything was so easy for him that you- “Honey, you’re frownin’ at me.” Jasper’s words drew you out of your little thought spiral.

“Yeah, I know, I know.. I’m sorry, I just..” You took a deep breath. “This is making want to rip my hair out.”

Jasper’s face now wore a frown mirroring your own, his gaze ever attentive, searching your face like he was looking for some hidden solution you couldn’t see. He ran his hand through your hair soothingly, his thumb brushing away the crease between your brows. The frustration and self-loathing that was radiating off you had hit him like a thick summer heat, pulling him up to your dorm in an instant.

He didn’t like to see his pretty little mate upset.

You were supposed to be happy. It was the last few months of school and he should have been feeling waves of glee and satisfaction dripping from your pores. Not this. And so, Jasper made up his mind. It wasn’t often that he used his abilities on you, it was something you’d discussed early into your relationship, something you insisted could only be a last resort kind of thing.

But the tears welling in your big eyes made his heart clench, and he found himself layering calm and relaxation over you like a blanket. “Why don’t you take a break, darlin’?”

Your head went all fuzzy, the cotton candy filling your skull making the words on your computer screen seem irrelevant. Blinking slowly, it took you a second to realize what was happening.

“No, no Jas, I have to finish this.” The words of protest sounded funny in your ears, the idea of doing anything but slumping back in your chair seemed exhausting. “No, you need to rest. You work so hard, honey.” Coaxing hands pushed you back in your seat, a sense of lethargy filling your bones as you hazily made out Jasper kneeling in front of you.

“Can’t.. I hav’to.. have..”

A Cheshire grin curled over Jaspers lips as he watched your body grow lax and pliant. Sure, adding little bouts of arousal between the relaxation would be breaking the rules you’d set, but he couldn’t have his mate overworking herself. Ghosting his hands up your legs, he pushed a little bit more bliss into you, enjoying the little whimper that slipped out.

“Don’t worry, darlin, I’m gonna take real good care of you.”

[fushiguruuzzzz]

𑁤 Cherry Waves

Megumi Fushiguro x Fem!Reader

Words — 2.3k

Cw — rockstar au, yes the title is a Deftones reference, mentions of alcohol (no use this time! Yay!), written in one sitting, not proofread, sort of situationship to lovers????? I’m not even entirely sure that’s a secret between them ig, chappel roan reference, lmk if there’s anything I missed !! All you long for is Megumi Fushiguro to love you when he’s sober. All he longs for is to have the courage to show you he does. These two dreams tend to clash when paired with insecurities and desperate secrecy, and the question is: will you be able to work it out?

a/n — this was fun to write tbh, I love rockstar Megumi baddddd and just wanted to get something out for him I fear. This won the poll so Gojo fic out some other time, in the meantime I’ll probably post Kilby girl prologue :3

Being famous had its perks, but with them came many downsides. One that you would consider the most pesky was the lack of privacy. Every secret you kept so precisely hidden was uncovered somehow, sometimes ones you weren’t even aware of yourself. Sometimes it was an old video of you found in the darkest depths of the internet, sometimes it was a song you hadn’t released yet. In your case, it was… whatever you had going on with your bandmate. Honestly you weren’t sure what exactly it was, neither was Megumi. But there was something, far too many glances that lasted just a beat too long, the graze of your fingers as you passed him his guitar that seemed to set you alight. The drunken kisses you’d share in the back of a crowded club that you were both eager to leave, the ones you wouldn’t talk about when the morning came. You’d share glances over the breakfast table that grew less awkward and more knowing as your rituals continued, the weeks going by and your dynamic never changing.

Sometimes months would go by without those moments of solidarity when your desperation bubbled over and came out in bursts. He never dared to voice it, but it killed Megumi. He loathed the way your touch would be all consuming, and then just a few hours later he’d been imprisoned by the lack of label between you, your distance heart wrenching. You were everything, and then nothing. You came in waves, not steady like the rise and set of the sun, but like the tide, unpredictable and heavy and undeniably passionate. You despised it equally as much, but you had the self control to contain it. Until you were on stage and consumed by nothing but the music, the songs you wrote about him, that is.

Your fingers were nimble and quick as they strummed the guitar, your lips ghosting over the rough wire of the microphone with every lyric. The rhythm reverberated through you, your heart beating in sync with the unsteady beat of the drums. This was it. This was life. Life was impending hearing loss and callouses on your fingers, it was red lights and the screaming of a crowd and the lingering knowledge that who might be the love (or loss) of your life is just a few pages behind you. The energy emitting from your body picked up his own every instance without fail, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up as soon as he walked into the room. Paranoia? Maybe. Soul ties? Also maybe. That secret wasn’t yours to know, as it seemed.

Everything felt blurry, your consciousness only ever going up to half capacity on nights like this. You figured that if you were fully present, you couldn’t handle it all. It was a defence mechanism you’d made for yourself to handle the constant attention, the haunting awareness that you were being constantly perceived. Every shift of your eyes as they wandered to your black haired bass player was recorded, forever on the wide world of the internet. So you had to be careful, tread lightly at all times. They were everywhere, it seemed. You never really got used to it. This was your job, though, you signed up for this. You knew that, so you put up with it. You just wished you could love in peace.

You panted, chest heaving as you took in gasps of warm air. Not all that refreshing, but oxygen nonetheless. The last instrumentals of the final song faded out, the only noise being the dull chattering of the crowd. You felt their eyes on you, but one stuck out far more than any others. Him. His emerald eyes in the dim light were piercing, having such a deep effect over you even when they were out of sight. You were suddenly all too aware of the sweat sticking to your forehead, and the faint aftertaste of coffee on your tongue. You’d chugged three cups beforehand, figuring you’d need it to get through the night. Maybe it should’ve been four.

“Thank you so much for coming out, folks! That’s all for tonight!” you said, putting on an overly cheery tone that you were sure reeked of bullshit. With that the crowd began filtering out, the rows becoming gradually more empty with every passing minute. You, Megumi, and the others fell into the same old routine of packing up your instruments and getting ready to head out.

When the equipment was away and you were officially free to go for the night, Nobara spoke up. “Anyone in the mood to get drunk off of shitty overpriced vodka and hope we don’t get cancelled?”

As you walked to your respective vehicle, you couldn’t help but laugh. Your eyes flickered to Megumi for but a brief moment, but long enough for him to catch it. Something lied in the air between you then, the acceptance of what would happen the moment the alcohol took its toll and you were left alone. But as you met the sight of his raw eyes shining with what almost looked like expectation, something shifted. You didn’t want to be something that he only loved when he was drunk, you didn’t want to be the girl that was always just there when he needed you. The smile slowly faded from your face, being replaced by something softer; something more fake.

“I’m spent, I’m not gonna join tonight. Call me, yeah?” you asked, giving a small nod to the group as you lowered yourself into your drivers seat. Megumi’s eyes followed you inch by inch, taking in every subtle shift of your face, the soft crease between your brows as you put the keys into the ignition and made an eager escape. You were doing this on purpose, you were avoiding him. Why? Was he not enough, was he too much? Was this the end of whatever sick dance of passion and indifference that you were playing? But Megumi wasn’t stupid, in fact, he was an academically gifted boy. He knew that if he loved you when he was sober, you’d be willing to get drunk. It made something in his chest clench unfamiliarly, and he hated it. Hated the way you made him feel, hated the way he made you feel. He just… hated.

He hated the way the sound of your engine faded as you drive further and further from him, because it felt like you were leaving him in more ways than one.

Your fingers strummed impatiently against the steering wheel, though you weren’t sure what you were waiting for. You had nothing to wait for, no one. Maybe you were waiting for the moment your screen would light up with Megumi’s name, that he’d magically overcome whatever emotional blockage that was keeping him from you and learn to love you properly. You shook your head. Be realistic, now. It’s Megumi.

Pulling into the darkened parking lot of your apartment building felt like the nail in the coffin, the break in the inconsistent pattern you’d been following for so long. And as you stepped into your apartment, the falls felt oddly empty. It was missing something that had never been there in the first place, something that seemed to fit so perfectly, yet you didn’t. Maybe that was the case. Megumi fit into your life, he fit whatever love you held for him, but did you fit him? Maybe not.

You felt exhausted, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep. You tossed and turned uncomfortably in your sheets for what felt like hours before sighing in defeat and trotting out to your kitchen.

As you sat on your counter, tentatively sipping an icy cup of water, your mind wandered. You wondered what type of lover Megumi was. When the lights were soft, would his touch be, too? Would the scrambled urgency of his lips against yours turn into something calmer when he knew you had the time? His rough hands calloused by his passion, would they hold you as delicately as they cupped your face in his moments of weakness, as you escaped from the crushing reality of your status? Your heart ached at the realization that you didn’t know, and you weren’t sure you’d ever get the chance to. Maybe someone else would, someone that fit.

A firm knock on your door pierced through the walls more than it should have. There was an empty sort of quiet that followed, as if the person waiting to enter didn’t have the courage to fill it. You slid from the cold marble, socked feet hitting the ground as you placed your glass next to you. There was barely the sound of shuffling as you padded to the door, not bothering to look through the peephole in your sleepy haze.

When you swung the door open, he looked nearly as shocked as you did. Of course Megumi had been the one to come here in the first place, but he half expected you to be asleep or just ignore him entirely.

“Megumi?”

He blinked at you for a moment, eyes unfocused. “…hey,” he said, voice hoarse as if he was the one who’d spent the night singing.

“What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out?” you asked, standing dumbfounded in the doorway.

He paused. “You didn’t go.”

That statement meant a lot more than its words. You didn’t go, so he didn’t. He wanted to see you, to be with you.

“Can I come in?”

You looked between you, suddenly remembering that he was standing outside in the hallway whilst you were keeping him there. You shuffled to the side, motioning for him to enter. He did, no words shared in the silent moment. You fell into step, taking the few strides across the apartment and plopping down on the plush cushions of your couch.

You stared down at your fidgeting hands, debating whether you’d break the silence or not. He was the one who showed up here, so shouldn’t it have been him? But deep down you knew Megumi, he wasn’t one to speak unless spoken to. Not usually.

“What are you doing here?” you asked again, voice softer. He lifted his head, the black spikes of hair shifting with every movement. He looked particularly disheveled, like he’d spent his night tossing and turning as you had. “You and I both know why I’m here.”

With a soft exhale through your nose, you nodded. The thing was, you didn’t know the exact reason for his appearance. Was it to put an end to whatever you had, or the opposite? Because whether you liked it or not, it wasn’t casual. You didn’t know if they ever had been.

“What am I doing wrong?” you blurted. Your eyes widened, surprised by your own words. Damn your mouth and its tendency to act before your brain could, because it put you in situations like this.

His expression mirrored yours, confusion and something else, something more unrecognizable. “What?” he said, throat suddenly dry. “I never said you did anything wrong. You… you didn’t.”

That only puzzled you further. If you’d done nothing wrong, what was it that kept him from you? Perhaps your actions weren’t wrong, just you were. “I don’t understand,” you whispered, unable to find the correct words.

“Why would you think you’re doing something wrong?” he pushed.

“Because you don’t like me.”

A silence fell over you, and Megumi felt more flustered than he had in his life. “I’ve given you some pretty clear implications denying that,” he murmured.

“But you don’t like me when you’re sober, Megumi.”

A heavy silence fell over you, swirling with unspoken words and the quiet desperation for closure. You just needed him to confirm it, you couldn’t spend any longer clinging to the last bits of drunken hope residing in you.

“I’m sober now.”

“Yeah, well-“ you were about to shoot back, but then he was tilting your chin up and pressing his lips to yours. Your lips were captured in his as he inhaled every bit of you, the taste of your lips overtaking his senses. Cherry. He swallowed every claim and rebuttal rolling off of your tongue, rough hands cupping your face as he kissed you with a mission to prove himself. Megumi had never been one for words, opting to show his intentions through action. He sure got his point across.

He panted into your mouth, brow bone ghosting over yours as his eyes drank you in, deep and curious. Not an ounce of alcohol swirled in his bloodstream, but he felt completely drunk off of you. Maybe he couldn’t ever love you when he was sober, for your every breath intoxicated him, drew him in.

Your mind was spinning, wondering if you were in the midst of a fever dream. Megumi tasted of nothing but espresso and mint, no traces of vodka bleeding into your mouth as it interlocked his. He was completely present, and he was kissing you. He held you with a delicacy you weren’t aware he was capable of, hands that were once in tense fists now cradling you like fine china.

“Are you saying…” you breathed.

“Yeah. Now shut up, will you?”

You huffed, but it did little to hide the eagerness in your actions as you took him by the collar and pulled him in once again.

As you felt his lips on yours, you realized that they were perfect; like puzzle pieces reunited. The thing about puzzle pieces is that it was never one fitting in the other, it was that they fit together, reciprocated. They were two parts of a whole, equal, mutually connected. Megumi filled the empty walls of your home, and you filled his heart, and that felt pretty damn equal to you.

Tags: @sh0ot1ngst4r @azinniya @anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @lizbix

[namelessgakusei]

A Whisker Away

Mark Grayson reader

Warnings: family problems(? Did I tagged that right), pining, miscommunication, slow burn that it made me nearly fall asleep

Notes: A purely self indulgent fic. I can't decide whether I'll write about something like One Kiss or Rewrite The Stars. Brought to you by a very very tired Gaku. I really should start writing on my laptop. Woah this turned really long, might cut this in parts.

Synopsis: After a chance meeting with a strange talking cat who sells masks, you gain the ability to turn into a cat! Using it to your advantage, you discover your effect on people, and your importance to a certain childhood friend.

It started with a fight against your parents. They were chastising you over your choice of major for college, saying that it's better to choose something practical for your career instead of prioritizing your interest.

It was nothing new, you fight with your parents almost every day. But their words just struck something hard, making you storm out of the house in anger...? No, hurt. Sometimes, you're fairly sure they're trying to live their dreams through you.

Usually, you'd go to the Grayson's whenever you want to sulk, but you have a feeling that your parents will search there first when you take too long to come back, and you really didn't want to come back, at least for the night. The image of Mark pouting after finding out that you didn't came to him made you chuckle through the stream of tears rolling down your eyes. Stupid Mark, he'll definitely get worried once he knows you ran away.

You didn't strayed that far anyway, only a couple blocks away, in the rundown playground that you and Mark used to play in when you were kids. The thought of Mark makes you want to go back, to knock on his window after scaling his house, crawling through his sheets and sleeping beside him when he lets you in, you bit your lip. You miss Mark.

But does he? He's been getting distant lately. Your normal hangout time is replaced with him awkwardly trying to make an excuse to leave, promising to make it up to you next time. Whenever you two were out, he's suddenly ditching you without an explanation, only with a text of an apology and another promise to make up. He doesn't even let you in his room anymore. You're not stupid, you've seen his injuries, despite him trying to hide it. You've noticed him changed, even if he swears he didn't.

He has the right to keep secrets, but you feel left out. Left behind by the only person making it worth it to live.

A puff of smoke snaps you out of your pity party. When you turned to see the source, your face fell. It's... a big cat... dressed in traditional Japanese clothes. ...Huh? You know that there are weird things happening in the world, there are super powered heroes and villains, and you're fairly certain that your school janitor is a vampire with how much he loathes light. But, a human sized cat, smoking from a pipe and smiling at you?

Did you died on your way here?

"Fancy a mask?" The feline seller grins at you.

Mark's panicking. You ran away from home? At this hour?! What were you thinking?! It has been a few hours since before your parents asked for his family and the neighbors' help. Should he ask for Cecil's help? No, Mark doesn't want to involve his personal life in his hero work. He doesn't want his family, nor you to get involved and possibly be put to danger because of it.

Why didn't you came to him? He'll always listen! He'll let you sleep over! Mark thought that you weren't fighting with your parents anymore since it's been a few months after you last went over in the middle of the night. ...Or was he just took busy to notice? Mark frowns at the thought and searched up in the skies for any signs of you.

You were last sighted going over here so... Oh? A cat? Mark lowers down to the ground, nearly startling the kitten laying in the swings, its head looks up at him and it reminded Mark of your own expression when he sneaks up on you, it doesn't help that its eyes look the same as yours.

Did you stopped by here? "Have you seen them?" Mark reaches out to pet the feline and it nuzzles to his touch, purring beneath his hands. He smiles at its actions, debating on whether he brings it with him or not. Maybe it'll serve as a good bait for you to come out?

It was a ridiculous idea but with how the kitten follows him after he stood up, it made him consider it. Scooping the feline to his arms, he flew above the skies again.

Mark can fly?!

You can only gape as Mark scoops you to his arms and fucking flew above the houses, looking for you. What. Since when can he fly?!

Then again, since where were you a cat? The mask seller gave you a mask for free, saying something like keeping his customers' good faith on him or something. You tried it on, not knowing that you'll turn into the cat you are now. How can you change back? Just pull the "mask" off! But you can't really do that now, can you? Not when you're 50ft above ground!

You need to find a way to distract Mark, or find an opening where you can change back into being a human without getting caught.

Thankfully he brought you home after the unsuccessful search for you. You quickly took off your mask when he turned around to talk to his parents, acting as if you snuck inside his room the whole time. Mark hugged you tight when he saw you and made you almost feel bad for lying. But hey, he didn't told you he could fly, so you're even!

You felt giddy for the following days, it's like sharing a secret with him! But he doesn't really know he's in it. Is this why he's been avoiding you? Was he practicing his flight? Why didn't he tell you? You won't judge! You'll find it really cool! He's like Seance Dog now!

Maybe if you tell him that you can become a cat, he'll fess up? And then maybe things will go back the way they were?

You tried approaching Mark to talk, but kept getting apologies and the same promises to make up for lost time again. You start to wonder if the way he looked for you that night was because of not of worry but obligation. If the way he clung to you when you were found holds any meaning.

It's wrong, you think, when you come to him as a cat. Mark recognizes you to be the same one as before and lets you in, petting you while he does his homework. At least in this form, he isn't pushing you away. Basking in the warmth of the makeshift bed he made out of his used hoodie, you wonder when you last hung out around each other.

It has been so long.

You wonder why Mark didn't told you about his powers, were you not that trustworthy enough in his eyes? Now that you had the time to actually look at him, he looks exhausted. Why? You don't know. What, is he secretly a hero who fights the villains you see at the tv everyday? You laughed— purred at the thought, catching his attention. Mark sighed and smiled, plopping his head on his desk and absentmindedly petting you.

"I miss them."

Who? You'd ask if you could speak, but he already answered it a moment later.

"I miss (Y/N)."

Mark groans and closed his eyes.

[1800bitchcraft]

Put It On Me

A/N: and here it is! The Dom!Reader x Ford fic absolutely nobody asked me for 😂 for real though I had way too much fun writing this. I'll honestly probably write more fics like this in the future; idk what it is but there's just something about making a strong man weak that gets me goin, yknow? 😈👹

CW: cum eating, dom!reader, sub!Ford, pussyjob, overstim, mommy kink kinda???, but not really, idk you decide, dry humping, begging, riding, uuuuhhh I think that's it??, lemme know if I missed anything

!!! MDNI OR I WILL CURSE YOU WITH WET SOCKS !!!

"You've got to be kidding me."

Your voice, thick and sluggish with sleep, broke Ford out of his concentration. His head snapped up, turning in his chair to look at you where you stood in the doorway to his study, arms crossed and looking severely irritated. He smiled sheepishly, realizing he'd been caught, and rubbed the back of his neck.

"I'm so sorry, darling, did I wake you?" You looked at him, clearly nonplussed. He chuckled a little, nervous at your continued silence.

"Yes, actually. I was having a really, really good dream, too. So imagine my surprise when I woke up, feeling particularly in need of my boyfriends attention only to find said boyfriend completely missing from our bed." You looked at him pointedly, stepping closer to him until you were directly in front of him. Despite the fact that now was not the time, Ford couldn't help himself from staring at you. You were just so pretty, even irritated and sleep-mussed, and he couldn't help the trickle of heat in his belly.

You weren't wearing anything special, just an oversized t-shirt (his t-shirt, he realized) but if Ford angled his head just right he could see a flash of your pretty black panties between your thighs. He swallowed thickly, mouth suddenly feeling dry. The plush softness of your thick thighs pressed and rubbed together as you shifted on your feet, and as his eyes traveled up, he could just make out the shape of your breasts. Pressed together by the crossing of your arms over your chest, you uncrossed them to plant a hand on one hip, the curve of it jutting out and he watched your chest move as it fell back to a more natural position. Heat slowly spread over his cheeks as he caught sight of the beginnings of a flush creeping down your neck. The gentle curve of it woefully unmarked. His gaze flickered up to your face and there was that pretty, pretty blush. Spread over the apples of your cheeks and cascading down your skin. You were softly biting at the inside of your lower lip, pouty mouth parted just barely. Your eyes were lidded and darkened, gazing back at him with a heat that made his heart rate pick up and flutter. He knew that look.

"Oh," he muttered, surprisingly ineloquent but then, you always had that effect on him. Rendered him speechless and flustered with just a look or a well-placed touch. If you were anyone else, he'd loathe you for the loss of control. But with you, he found himself leaning into it, craving it, more often than not.

"Tch," you scoffed, stepping closer and he spread his legs readily, giving you space to lean in. Giving him space to reach out and touch. "I tell you that I woke up because I needed you, and all you can say is 'oh?'" You muttered, lifting a leg to perch on his chair, calf pressed tightly against the outside of his thigh as your knee slid back until it met with the back of his chair.

Like this, he could feel the heat of you like a beacon, beckoning him closer. He leaned in, seeking you out like he always did, like he was helpless to do. The heat in his belly was growing in earnest, now. Stoked by the narrowing of your eyes, the way he could feel the desire and irritation rolling into one and blending into something new. His palms slid up the back of your thighs, pressing and tugging, urging you closer. He wanted you on him, needed to feel your soft curves pressed against him.

You leaned in despite yourself before a flash of indignation curling in your chest caused you to slide a hand into his curls at the base of his neck. Fingers tangled and pulled tightly, urging his head back to bare the line of his throat to you. The sting caught him off guard, but the arousal that shot through him surprised him even more. Unable to help himself, his lips parted on a whine as his cock suddenly twitched in his pants.

Silence followed. One beat, then two. Then suddenly you were in his lap, pressed tightly against him as you leaned down and licked into his mouth. You swallowed the moan he let out. Shifting and lowering your body, you rolled your hips against his in a dirty grind and Ford's hands slid up to grip and squeeze at your ass.

You parted slowly, saliva connecting your lips as you stared down at him. Your grip in his hair had relaxed somewhat but your fingers twitched back to life with a vengeance and you pulled another whimper out of him with a harsh tug. Your eyes glittered, dark and fascinated, and Ford was suddenly worried he might not make it out alive.

"Fuck, you really like that, huh?" You murmured, arousal threaded through your voice. Ford inhaled sharply, embarrassment and thick, heady heat flooding through his body. His blush returned with a vengeance and he nearly choked when you rolled your hips against him again and leaned in to nip at his throat. "I asked you a question, pretty," you murmured, low and amused. You bit at him again and he sighed, helpless to be anything but putty in your hands.

"I-- y-yes, honey- fuck, please," he bit out, voice hot and wet and it made your pussy throb. You kissed gently at the places you'd bitten, shifting up until you met at the sensitive spot just below his jaw.

"Please what?" You hummed. Ford's blush was now spreading down to his neck, his hands squeezing and rubbing and stroking any part of you he could reach. Mesmerized by this new, dominating side of you. "Cmon, now, please what?" You cooed again, voice ever so slightly mocking. You moved away from him and Ford couldn't stop the desperate little whine from escaping him. He turned his face, attempting to hide from the embarrassment burning through him when you leaned up and looked down at him. But your hand in his hair pulled again, sharply, and he immediately looked back at you.

"Fuck- please, darling, I- I need to feel you," his eyes were glossy and unfocused as he looked at you. Half lidded and dark with the insidious want now pooling through his limbs and warming him from the inside out. Making him desperate to touch you, to please you, anything so you'd just keep looking at him like that.

"Good boy," you purred at him and the pure, white hot pleasure that sparked through him had his eyes fluttering and hips jerking up into yours. You bit your lip, mesmerized at seeing your normally oh-so-composed boyfriend absolutely falling apart under you.

"God, you're so fucking pretty like this, Ford," you breathed. Your voice was soft and reverent, like seeing him like this was a religion to you. It made his cock twitch and leak, messy and wet against his thigh. But he couldn't find it in himself to stop it. Not when you looked at him like that, not when it felt so good.

You let yourself drink him in. Appreciating him as you rarely got the chance to. His shirt was rucked up a little, allowing you a glimpse of a soft, muscled belly and the dark happy trail that decorated it. His thighs tensed under you as you let your hands drift down. He whined again, soft and needy, and you shushed him gently.

"Let me appreciate you," you murmured. He tilted his head back against the headrest with a huff, and you chuckled. "S'the least you could do yknow," you said, soft and teasing. Letting him know you didn't really mean it, you weren't really upset with him. "After you left me in that big bed, all alone...." You trailed off, hands smoothing over broad shoulders before drifting down to his chest and squeezing. You heard his breath hitch, arching a brow as he brought a hand up to cover his mouth and look away. Aw, he's shy.

"So, so pretty," you murmured lowly. Letting your nails scratch lightly over cloth-covered nipples. Pinching and tweaking at them through his shirt to see the way he writhed under you. Back bowing softly to arch into your touch, even as he bit lightly into his palm to muffled the whimpery moans that wanted to break free.

"Mmmnn lemme hear you, pretty boy," you purred. He shuddered under you, eyes filled with desire. You reached up a hand, wrapping your fingers around his wrist and tugging his hand away from his face. He swallowed thickly, unable to break away from the stare you had him locked in. You chose that moment to gently pinch his right nipple, drawing your thumb over it to soothe the sting. His brow furrowed, kiss bitten lips parting as he let out a needy whine of your name.

You abandoned your place at his chest, belly fluttering as he protested. A weak, whiny little "babyyy" falling from his lips and only serving to make you wetter. You shushed him, crawling out of his lap and tugging him up onto his unsteady feet. He didn't have to stand for long because you turned and pushed him directly into the couch. He fell onto it, dizzy with arousal and this new power dynamic between you.

You stood in front of him, smirking slightly as you took in his flushed and ruined state. Seeming to sense what you wanted from him, he swallowed. Then: "Darling," his voice was rough, hoarse, with a little bit of a pleading edge. "Please darling," he murmured and you hummed thoughtfully, stepping close enough for him to touch you and he reached for you immediately. Moaning as if you were stroking his cock when he touched you and his palms slid under your shirt.

"Honey," he started again, lifting your shirt then leaning in to kiss your bare tummy. You sighed softly, leaning into the touches. Your hand came up to gently play with his hair and you tilted your head to look down at him.

"Yes?" You cooed. He shivered. "What do you want?" The tips of his ears burned red.

"Don't-" he swallowed. He sighed and his warm breath skated over the covered mound of your cunt. "Don't make me say it." He did whine then, sounding bratty and mulish, but the look in his eyes as he gazed up at you told you something different. Begged you to force his hand, feeling as drunk on this new dynamic as you were. You hummed and cupped his cheek, smiling as he leaned into the touch.

"Say it," you breathed. "Tell me what you want- beg me for it." Ford groaned against your skin, mouth open and panting. You felt the press his hooked nose as he nuzzled as you then nipped at your hip bone. You let him stall. Let him kiss and paw and whine at you while refusing to do anything, letting him frustrate himself. It was when he nipped at the underside of your breast, a soft plea of your name leaving him, that you snapped and tugged his head back sharply by the hair. You glared down at him, ignoring the way his eyes fluttered and hips jerked up into nothing. "You're stalling."

"Fffuuuuck-" he breathed the word out on a chest-deep moan. He looked up at you, mouth open, and the look in his eyes made you throb. Adoring. Worshipful. You moved your hand from his hair to his neck. Fingers squeezing gently on the sides, thumb stroking along his skin. You felt him swallow. "Please, darling. You were upset because I left you, right?" You arched a brow and he swallowed. "Then let me make up for it." Your belly clenched and your breath hitched.

"And how do you suggest I do that? Hm?" You said. Ford's breath left him in a rush. He tugged you closer until you straddled him, knees pressed into the cushions as you deliberately held yourself over his lap, wanting to break him. The hand on his throat squeezed and he moaned.

"Use me," he finally said, breathless. "Use me, wreck me, ruin me. Stardust, please, I- you can do anything, have anything- take what you want from me, darling, I just need you." His begging had the desired effect. You shoved him back, hand on his chest, and he went with a soft thud into the couch cushions. You tugged his shirt off, then yours. Tossing both of them to the floor in a pile. Your panties joined soon after, but you dropped them to the side on the couch. Ford might've questioned that if you didn't then tap his hip and, once he lifted them, shucked off his pajama bottoms leaving him bare.

You bit your lip as you caught sight of his cock; flushed and leaking from the thick, pink mushroom tip. You wrapped a hand around him, stroking and coating him in his own wetness. Ford's hips bucked with a whine.

"Yknow, I'm not mad at you, right?" You asked, a gentle hand on his cheeks turning his bleary gaze to yours. He smiled then, soft and sweet, nodding in agreement. You tapped a finger lightly to the tip of his nose, smiling even as you finally, blessedly, settled your hips down on him. Trapping his cock between his thigh and the dripping seam of your cunt. You rolled your hips, moaning with him as you started up a slow, rolling rhythm.

"Mmmmnnn, fuck," you moaned, belly deep. Your head tipped back, pouty lips open and panting softly. Twitching every time he hit your clit just right. "God, I love your cock, Stanford- fuck, I love you," were he in his right mind, he might've been embarrassed by how just those three simple words made his toes curl and his cock twitch against you. As it was though, he was on cloud nine while simultaneously suffering levels of torture he didn't know were possible.

"Sweetheart-- honey, fuck, please I- I need-- I can't-" he panted, unsure how to vocalize the vicious want gnawing at his insides. You shushed him with a gentle, slightly mocking coo and leaned in. Your hands cupped his face, forehead pressed against his as you just breathed each other's air. Mouths open and panting, Ford thought he might be drooling but he couldn't be bothered to care with your slow, even pace and how he could just feel your dripping entrance twitching and sucking at the tip of his cock. He felt like his brain might actually be melting.

"You can and you will," you murmured. Your voice rolled over him, thick and smooth like honey. "You wanted to make it up to me? Well this is what I want; you'll let me play with you, won't you?" Your words were spinning a sticky web around his thoughts. Narrowing his world down to just you and your voice and your skin on his. It only stoked the flames higher. Your hands slid down his neck to his chest, starting to tweak and play with his nipples again. His hips bucked up against you and his arms wrapped around you, nails scratching lightly at your back as he moaned wetly against your skin. Hiding his face in your chest like that might hide him from the pleasure crashing through him.

He nodded furiously. "Yesyesyes, God, fuck yes- I'd let you do anything-- anything you wanted to me-- Nngh h-hhah--" his smooth voice cracked, broke on a moan as he felt the way you coated him. Drowned him in your slick until it was dripping down his balls. You scratched your nails over his chest, leaving stinging rows of red that sparked along his nerves. Making his hips jerk and buck underneath you. And though he could've easily overpowered you, he didn't. He chose to stay like this, trapped beneath you, writhing and completely at your mercy.

"God, you're so perfect- so good, letting me play with you like this," you mumbled into his hair. Both of you shuddered as his tip caught on your needy, clenching hole. He muffled a shout against you as you started moving your hips in short, thrusting grinds that had you fucking just the head of his cock in and out of you. "So, so good for me-- so pretty, love seeing you like this." You spoke again, and Ford could've cursed and praised you with how intent you seemed on stripping him bare until he was nothing but a mess of want and pleasure.

"Love seeing you all fucked out n'dumb- not a thought in that big, beautiful brain of yours, hm?" He shook his head furiously, immediately.

"Just-- god, just you, only you, only- onlyy- please, baby, please please I need to be inside you, Fuh-fuck-" his deep baritone was hoarse and pitchy, whiny as he pleaded for your pussy and you oozed out another thick drip of slick around the head of his cock.

"No, baby- shhhh shhh," you soothed him as he gripped handfuls of your ass and sobbed against your chest at that. "Wan'y to cum like this first. Y'think you can do that for me? Think you can cum f'me? Get me all messy, mark me?"

It was the picture that painted: a lurid image of your slick, pretty pussy dripping with him. Plus the fact that he was already teetering on the edge, so close that he didn't even realize until it was suddenly barreling through him and he was tumbling over. The noises he let out were pornographic. High, whimpery moans and soft little gasping 'hh-hhaah-aaahh's' that made your starved and needy pussy clench tightly around the head of his cock. Still just sat inside you as he came.

You stroked your fingers through his hair as he panted and shook against you. Dizzy with the aftershocks. "God, Ford, you're so beautiful," you murmured, hushed and reverent. "So, so good for me. So perfect, so-" you were cut off when Ford suddenly grabbed and shifted you, moving you so that you sat on the couch and he was on his knees in front of you. So fast you hardly had time to blink but you reacted quickly. Bare foot coming up to press lightly against his chest, stopping him. Not a no, per se. But definitely a warning.

Your lips parted to speak, voice and expression equally bewildered, but Ford beat you to it. "Sweetheart," he choked out. Trying to sound anything but wrecked and failing. "C'mon, honey, gotta- gotta lemme taste you, please? Please darling?" He kissed at your ankle, feeling your weakening resolve in the way you still allowed him to touch you. So he slid your foot up until it dangled over his shoulder. Your leg bending as he slowly inched closer, dark lidded eyes practically drowning in hearts with the way he was looking at you.

You blushed, covering your mouth slightly and turning your head. "Ford, that's- you're filthy," you admonished him with nothing but the heat of desire in your voice. He rumbled a low chuckle, now close enough that your knee hooked over his shoulder and he was kissing and licking at your inner thigh. One hand came over to push at your other knee and spreading you wide. He looked down, caught the absolute dripping mess he'd left between your thighs, and groaned. He actually thought he might drool, having to swallow the saliva pooling in his mouth.

"Might be filthy but just for you," he quipped. He nipped at your inner thigh, watching the way you twitched and your poor pussy gushed out another thick dollop of his cum mixed with your slick. "Fuck, honey," his voice rumbled with a groan. "Lemme taste you, please? Wanna- wanna be good for you, let me clean up my mess. Yeah, honey?" The way he begged, voice soft and reverent and broken by his own need. You bit your lip, stifling a moan as he licked your inner thighs clean.

"Fuck, Ford, you're so-- oh, so needy," you murmured. Bringing a hand down to tangle in his hair and sighing when he whimpered. "Needed a break from that brain of yours, didn't you, baby?" You cooed when he nodded furiously, looking up at you with dazed eyes. Panting hot and open mouthed against your skin. "Feels good, doesn't it? You wanna make me feel good too? Gonna ask me nicely for it? Hm?" You were teasing him, unable to stop with how pretty he looked all gone on you. You weren't prepared for his response, though.

"Fuck, please ma-- ma'am," he whined the words, swallowing thickly as a blush colored his skin. His eyes closed, trying to hide from the embarrassment he could feel bubbling up. You noticed the way he stuttered, how could you not? But you kept it to yourself, too flustered by the way the honorific had your toes curling.

"Oh, y'gonna say that again for me? I couldn't hear you," you cooed softly, gently. Shushing him when he whimpered and cupping his jaw. Gently tugging his lower lip free from between his teeth. Breath hitching when he fluttered his eyes open, staring at you as he lapped slightly at your thumb.

"Please, ma," he muttered. Finally. Spitting out the word that had been on the tip of his tongue, that he'd tried to bury beneath a more polite title, ears bright red now. The way you looked at him, though: teeth digging in to your plush lower lip, eyes hooded and searing with heat, your thighs falling open just that littlest bit further. He couldn't regret it when you looked at him like that. He nipped gently at the tip of your thumb, hips rolling as his cock twitched with renewed interest.

"Please, wanna be good for you-- I- I wanna taste you, fuck, need to taste you," he whimpered as your hand in his hair tightened. He was so close to your pussy that his every exhale caressed you. It made you shiver and moan. "'Sides, I made a mess. Don't I gotta clean up after m'self?" His words slurred slightly, rolled over with a slight accent you couldn't place. One you'd rarely heard, outside of him being drunk. But it always made you wet, seeing the perfectly prim and polished facade of your boyfriend fall away. You nodded, finally, and your grip loosened enough for Ford to dive in. Literally.

If you had any doubts about the ferocity of Ford's desire, you certainly didn't now. At the first taste of you mixed with the flavor of his own cum as it drooled from your slick, needy entrance onto his tongue, Ford was a goner. Not that he wasn't out of his mind with you already, but the way he grabbed at you. Large, rough hands sliding under your ass to grip at the fat and pin you to his mouth. You couldn't run away, even if you wanted to, so your only option was to lean into the overwhelming sensation. You tangled your fingers in his hair immediately, pulling and tugging as you rolled your hips against his face. Using him, grinding into him when the curve of his nose hit your clit just right.

"Thaaaat's it- fuck, so good. Love it when you u-use me," his words were muffled, spoken directly into your pussy and you moaned. Hips jerking as his tongue slid up just to play with your clit.

Your thighs were trembling where you had them tucked tightly around his ears. Heels digging into his back as he ate you out with loud, messy sounds. Your cunt squelched and cried as he licked you, now only able to taste you and nothing else on his tongue. He could tell by the way you clenched, body shivering, that you were close and he whined into your cunt. Dark eyes locked with yours over your pussy. His brow was furrowed, and his eyes were so pleading. He looked like a puppy begging for scraps and it made you gush all over his face. You watched as his eyes rolled back, the sloppy sounds of him eating you out the only thing you could hear.

"Fuck, fuck m'gonna cum- gonna, fuck, baby-- baby, I'm- a-ah-!" You could hardly get the words out. Hips rolling, dragging your pussy against his face as you soaked him. Ford whimpered, sliding his tongue into you as far as he could just to feel you clench and pulse. Feel the way your cum dripped right into his desperate, needy mouth. He was well past hard again, feeling his cock twitch and leak against his thigh. But he kept licking at your cunt until you were dragging him off of you. Planting your foot back on his chest to gently push him back.

He went willingly, flat on his back on the floor until suddenly you were spilling into his lap. Kissing him, sloppy and wet, hot little hands touching everywhere, anywhere they could and making him moan into your mouth. He felt your pussy slide over his length, making him twitch and his head fall back against the floor with a thunk.

"F-Fuck- can't, I can't-- need you, need to be inside you pleaseplease mama, please I need it--" you shivered at how desperately he begged you for your pussy. How he was so needy he couldn't even begin to feel shame for it. This was what you wanted; your sweet, precious little genius fucked out of his mind. Unable to think about or focus on anything else. You wanted to take care of him and you didn't even realize you'd said it out loud until Ford was nodding furiously. Focusing hazy, tear glossed puppy eyes on you. Tangling his fingers with yours and dragging your hand up to kiss at your knuckles, even as you notched him at your entrance.

"God, yes-- y'always take such good care of me, ma- make me feel s'good, so-- so fucking good, fuck." You kept your hands intertwined, squeezing tightly as you sunk down the length of his cock. Your breath left you in a rush when you bottomed out and you moaned, head dropping forward as his dropped back. His back met the floor, a long drawn out whine of your name leaving him, when you started riding him in earnest. Picking up your hips and dropping them back down, punctuated with slutty rolls of your hips that had him gasping.

"Hhhah-- shit, m'not gonna last, n-not when you-- fffffuck when y'do that," his wheezy exhale was referring to the way you moved your hips. Lethal to his self control and he loved it. You leaned forward, pressing your chest to his and planting your hands on either side of his head. This had the added effect of shifting him inside you so that his cock, aided by its natural curve and your positioning, dragged every inch of itself along your g-spot. Your toes curled even as you pouted down at him.

"Awwww, s'my poor baby had enough?" You cooed. The tone of your voice was gentle, deceptively sweet, but so mocking. It made him turn his head, kissing at your wrist and whining as his tip left drippy, messy kisses against your cervix.

"N-No, I- god, I could never get en-nough of you," he murmured, blushing high and pretty atop his perfectly carved cheeks. You took the opportunity presented to you to bite at his exposed throat, earning yourself another flurry of sweet noises as you marked him.

"Mmmnn good," you purred, right up next to his ear. You felt his hips flex under you, knew he was trying to restrain the need to buck up into you. "Shhh," you murmured when he whimpered, frustrated with the slow pace. "Lemme take care of you, baby. Y'take such good care of me," you sat up then, and he moaned at the loss of your skin. Immediately gripped your hips in his hands and just squeezed. "Y'gonna be a good boy n'let mama take care of you?" You cooed sweetly, gratified when his eyes fluttered and a low, punched out groan sounded from his chest.

"Y-Yeeess-" he said, hissing through his teeth as you rocked your hips in a figure 8. He blinked tear glossed eyes up at you, tilting his head back and baring his throat with a moan when you wrapped your hand around it, fingertips digging into the sides and leaving him dizzy with the resulting headrush. "Fuck, yes, yes please wanna- wanna be good f'you." His brows were knitted together and a fresh rush of slick coated his cock at the picture he painted.

"Then cum for me," you said, picking up your pace. "C'mon, baby, want you to fill me up-- God, y'fill me up so well." You devolved into moans as Ford’s grip on your hips tightened. His orgasm took him by surprise; sneaking up on him and grabbing him in a chokehold as the pleasure tore through him. He had to bring a hand to his face, biting into his own palm to try and muffle the shout of pleasure that left him as he filled you. You rode him through his high, whining at the sensation of him twitching and filling your poor pussy to the brim. Panting, you laid down. Pressing your chest to Ford’s, he stroked your hair and back as you both slowly came down.

"Y'know," Ford started up after a few moments of silence. "If this is what I get, I might have to pull some all nighters more often." He laughed when you gasped and pinched his cheek, swatting you away lightly.

"Stanford Pines, you'd better not!" You hissed and he laughed. "I'm serious! You need sleep- and don't go giving me that attitude, either!" You sighed, looking at his handsome face and feeling the fight drain out of you. Your hand gently caressed the planes of his face before you gripped his jaw, squishing his cheeks slightly to get his attention. "Really, honey, I mean it. You gotta take care of yourself. And, if that means I gotta put you out of your head a little to do that, then I will." Ford stared at you, feeling a little awestruck and even more in love with you if that was even possible. He felt his heart pick up a little pitter patter and nodded when he realized you were waiting for an answer.

"Yesh ma'am!" You released him, pressing your forehead to his as you both chuckled softly. You stared into his pretty brown eyes, lost in the depths, when a thought occurred to you and you smiled impishly. Ford swallowed, he knew that look. There was a moment of silence, then:

"So... 'mama,' huh?" He groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as you cackled.

[bookfanatic06]

I haven’t written anything in over a decade, but this head canon just won’t go away. I’ve often wondered if the idea of “like calls to like” will be prevalent in Elriel’s book like in all the others. I really feel like Elain is hiding some deep shit that just can’t be ignored. This piece is really what I think could happen if Elain deep down shares Azriel’s penchant for self loathing and low self esteem. She gets so much crap from the fandom for being boring, I really see her surprising us with some darker personality traits.

Also, my favorite thing about this other than the Elriel fluff is Nesta. I wanted to see her and Elain making up after the events of ACOSF on page. I didn’t hate Nesta, just thought she treated my baby El poorly.

I’m not sure if I’ll write more to this, or if it’s going to stay a one shot. I’m also not sure if I’m ready to post to AO3. I’m a mom with 3 kids and a full time teaching gig. I’m not sure I have it in me.

So here is my first shot at writing Elriel.

Unworthy

Words: 5112

Angst/Romance

Pairings: Major: Elain Archeron/Azriel,

Minor: Feyre/Rhysand, Cassian/Nesta, Varian/Amren

———————

Remember who you are, Kingslayer.

She breathes to herself as she stares at her reflection in the mirror, plastering on the smile she knows her family would never second guess. Perfected so much over the years in her mother’s keep, as she was taught to never reveal her true emotions, to never let anyone see the heartbreak, the pain of unworthiness embedded in her very soul.

The dreams plaguing her at the moment, the ones that increase with the unyielding torrent of emotions swirling in her mind, are of her family having lost their use of her. That she has become a burden that they can cast aside so needlessly. So she sits at the mirror and contemplates how to be helpful. She’ll practice those new recipes that she received from that fae female at the market. She’ll make the gardens of Velaris so beautiful, people will ask for her. She’ll care for Nyx when his parents need a break.

But still, she feels the hole in her chest and wonders if it’ll be enough. Will she forever be cast aside or passed over in favor of her sisters because of their far more important accomplishments?

What exactly has she accomplished?

I killed the King of Hybern. She whispers so that only the shadows can hear. Not Nesta, as all of Prythian seemed to believe. She knows she pushed that knife into his throat, she still dreams about it; still feels the hilt of the blade in her hands. Even the shadows, the ones that she felt the comforting presence of for so long, have gone quiet since solstice.

She knows that her sisters are magnificent. That they both have earned their right to voice their opinions and be cherished in this world. Feyre, the High Lady that the Night Court deserves, and Nesta, the warrior she was always meant to be. But Elain, she carries the weight of unworthiness everywhere she goes. She wasn’t born to lead, she wasn’t born to be a warrior. She was born with a gentle heart, with a delicate resolve. But a will of iron.

You shoved that knife into his neck. You aren’t as gentle as you believe yourself to be.

She’s intimately familiar with self loathing by now. It curls around her like the vines that wrap around the fortress of her mind. But that voice, the voice that is hers, but much more confidently so, tries to remind her of what she has to offer. Her heart breaks as the self loathing pushes through whispers, “He doesn’t want someone who is brittle and weak. He wants someone courageous, someone with fire in their heart, someone like…”

Mor.

Despite the months that have passed since she found herself alone in the foyer in the early morning hours of Winter Solstice, she is still tortured by the thought that even her dearest friend, or whom she believed him to be, had been repulsed by her meritless existence. The pain of that night has yet to ebb, and she wonders if, at some point in her immortal life, it ever will.

She huffs a breath and stands from her vanity, moving to open the door and walk into the hallway, that gentle but false smile she’s perfected on her face.

As she reaches the kitchen, she is surprised to find Feyre, eyes clouded with sleep, hair poking out of the halfhearted braid she probably threw together before bed the previous night, holding a bottle to Nyx’s whimpering mouth.

“I think he’s starting to teethe. He’s been like this all night.” Feyre’s eyes flicker to Elain quickly before resting on her son’s mouth as it attaches to the bottle and then detaches with a small wail. Elain opens her arms, a silent request to take over – and make herself useful.

“I’ll take him, you go get some sleep.” She says gently, taking the babe into her arms. Feyre gives her a tired smile.

“Rhys and I are so lucky to have you here with us, El.”

Elain’s false smile returns to her features, and before she can give herself away, she shoos her sister out of the kitchen to take over as Nyx’s caregiver. She cradles her nephew to her, his chest to her own, rubbing circles on his back, between his little wings as she’s watched her sister and Rhys do time and time again. For a moment, the hole in her heart fills with the love she has for the babe in her arms. It doesn’t escape her, that if her life hadn’t so explicitly changed thanks to the betrayal that left her at the mercy of The Cauldron, she would probably have a babe of her very own by now. THAT thought doesn’t hurt as much as she thinks it should.

Because a child with Grayson would have been a monumental mistake.

The thought is gone as fast as it had come. That’s one part of her life that she is resolute in. Being Grayson’s wife, the mother to his brood, would NOT have been a step up from her current existence. She’s not sure how she knows that, perhaps from watching how Feyre and Nesta are treated by their mates. The unmatched adoration, the passion between the mates that she can sense from the couples as she plays the fifth wheel.

Why don’t I feel that way towards my own?

It’s not lost on her that she covets the bond her sisters have with their mates; what it must feel like knowing that your mate would give their very lives for your happiness. Her and her mate can barely be in the same room as each other, the bond an uncomfortable tether pulling at her rib.

She had once asked how it felt for her sisters, to see if the bond was true…

“It’s a blossoming warmth in my chest. The pull to Rhys is oftentimes so strong that I can't imagine my life before him.” Feyre had told her.

Her and her mate definitely could not relate.

But that warmth, she could have sworn she felt it before. When three fae males had walked into her home in the humanlands, and she had chanced a glance into the hazel eyes of the fae male with sapphire gems on his leathers. His gaze had caused her breath to catch, and every once in a while, when the war was over and she would be in his presence again, she would find herself looking into those eyes and she could almost feel the ghost of that warmth in her chest. Her breath would catch every time.

That hole was deep and chilled now.

The circles she’s been rubbing on her nephew’s back have quieted his little whimpers and he’s quiet on her chest as she moves to the window overlooking the gardens she’s cared for all these months. The gardens bloom in the vibrant colors of late spring. In her angst, she just wishes that the loveliness of the flowers she’s cultivated filled that hole in her chest that she so achingly wants to forget. An ache that, for the moment, her nephew in her arms has dulled significantly.

“Little one, you hold my heart in your hands.” She whispers as she kisses the thick black hair on his tiny head. At two months old, Nyx is the splitting image of his father, with Feyre’s temper to boot.

She sways back and forth, Nyx a solid presence, a weight holding her down to this earth. She almost misses the sound of the front door opening, but turns just in time to see the eyes of the male who still so captivated her thoughts.

No words are exchanged but he sends her a quick nod of acknowledgement as her own eyes quickly return to her nephew’s sleeping form. Her heart thundering in her empty chest. Before she can return her gaze to where the male stood, he is gone. Leaving her alone with that chasm in-between her ribs. The feeling of unworthiness crawling back into her thoughts.

He’s too good for me anyway.

She walks silently to the nursery, opting to place Nyx in his crib to attempt to get some breakfast prepared. She leaves the door slightly ajar, in case he awakens while she is cooking in the kitchen. Her fae hearing attuned to his little cries.

In the kitchen, she washes her hands and pulls out what is necessary for a quick meal. Bacon, eggs, some leftover scones from the pantry that she can reheat for her family to enjoy. She’s startled when Rhys and his companion walk briskly down the hall and through the foyer to the front door. Their voices quiet but unmistakable.

“All I need is 24 hours of rest and then I can head back down into the tunnels.” his deep tenor voice feels like a balm to her aching chest.

“Take the week, you look like you haven’t slept in months.” A pause and a sigh.

“I can always count on you for a confidence boost, Rhys.” She can feel the small smile gracing his lips as he speaks with his brother.

“I’m serious, Az. You’re no good to us if you’re dead on your feet. Take the week. Clean yourself up, eat a few hot meals, and sleep.” She wonders if this pause after Rhys speaks is meant to last as long as it does in her mind.

“Okay.” It’s breathless, and she can feel the exhaustion behind every syllable.

“Come to the kitchen. I’m sure Elain is whipping up something for breakfast. It’ll do you well to get something into your stomach.” She bites her lip at the invitation. He hasn’t had a meal in her presence in months, since before Nyx’s arrival, possibly not since Winter Solstice, but she’s unable to remember.

Elain straightens her spine, contemplating whether she should look in the pantry for some potatoes to add to her small spread. Her thoughts are interrupted by his forlorn response.

“I should really get back to the House of Wind, Nesta and Cassian are waiting for me.” An obvious lie and she feels like the remnants of her heart have turned liquid and puddled on the floor.

“Ask the House to make you something nice.” Rhys’ voice takes on a worried tone.

“I will.”

She holds back the tears threatening to spill as she hears his boots take him to the door and then outside. The heartbreak is still as tangible as it was months ago.

If Rhys notices the silver in her eyes when he strides into the kitchen, he doesn’t mention it. Just kisses her sweetly on the cheek and smiles,

“Good morning, Dear Sister.”

—————-

It’s a few nights later, while her family, sans Mor and Amren, sits at the dinner table eating the roast and potatoes she and the twins had been slow cooking over the course of the day, that Nesta looks at the empty chair across the table and says with worry gracing her normally icy gaze, “when are you going to start ordering Azriel to attend family dinners?”

Cassian places a hand on her knee as if to say NOT NOW.

She shrugs him off. Giving him that icy stare that’s become her calling card, “He’s a shell of himself. Even more closed off and broody than ever. He crawls around those tunnels and pokes his head out for a day or two and then heads right back in. The bags under his eyes are darker than yours” she points at Rhys. “And he doesn’t have a newborn to account for it.”

Elain sits up at that, heart sputtering as if she can feel him. As if she can feel the darkness pulling him under.

Maybe she can.

“I’m worried. Cassian is too; he’s just too stubborn to admit it. Az is working himself to death.” Elain puts a hand to her chest, as if that hand could hold her heart into place.

“Az is working very hard to get the answers we need about the Daglan and protect all of us, Nesta.” Feyre states gently, holding Nesta’s gaze as they narrow.

“But he shouldn’t HAVE to. We could rotate duties. We can go down there for a few days and let him rest.”

“This is what he wants, Nesta. He’s volunteered.” Rhys’ response is like an ash arrow to her gut.

“And why would he volunteer to do this assignment and be away from his family for so long if he was genuinely happy, Rhysand?” The room falls silent and the remnants of the meal she’s so thoughtfully made is ash on her tongue.

He’s not happy. That word, once vocalized, is hard for her to break from her thoughts. Azriel is unhappy.

It's her fault.

She grips the fork in her hand so tight the metal bends. It’s her fault because she read his intentions wrong on solstice. He is avoiding their family because she made things so awkward between them that he can’t bear to be in the same room as her. Nesta glances at her direction as if she can sense that feeling of worthlessness creeping into Elain’s body. Before Nesta can say anything, Cassian places his hand in hers.

“You’re right, Nes. We need to find out what’s going on with Az. I’ll ask Mor to visit him and get him to work through it. If anyone can get through to him, it’s Mor.”

And there was that feeling again. The feeling of a heart shattering, her lungs struggling to expand as her friends begin to plan for the intervention of the male who she so loved, even if he wanted nothing to do with her.

———————

Azriel was many things, within the last year or so, he’d resolved to adding foolish to his attributes. Foolish for thinking that he could be loved for the male he was, foolish for thinking he had any right to the happiness he saw in the faces of his brothers, and foolish to think that he could be hers.

It plagued him daily, the pull to a female that belonged to another. That he was not deemed worthy by the Cauldron of the female that held his heart, but that one of the sons of Autumn was.

She belongs to no one but herself. His shadows, his only companions, whisper.

It was a small mercy that she seemed as uninterested in her mate as her mate is with her. That she was once so willing to spend time with him despite being mated to someone else. That she was once happy to be his friend.

And now, they were nothing.

That thought buried deep inside of him, burrowed into his bones and tore through his limbs.

So he cut himself out of her world. He threw himself into his work. He trudged through the tunnels under the Night Court and pretended that he was keeping his family safe from the Daglan, when in reality, he was avoiding them.

It was another grueling pass through the tunnels. His eyes slowly adjusting from the change in light when he stepped out of the dark and into the quiet grasses surrounding the opening to the tunnels that have become his tomb. He had promised to wait a week to return to his work, but the ache in his chest had him packed and ready to continue his mission only 3 days after his last excursion. After a week of fighting through the tunnels, sliding Truthteller through the folds of the various beasts that inhabited the chasms below, his exhaustion was threatening to take his knees out from under him.

So he gathered what little strength he had left, and flew himself to the House of Wind.

And it was a mistake.

Nesta stood in the middle of the training pit, arms crossed. The rest of the priestesses were long gone by the early-afternoon. Precisely why he had chosen this time to fly back to the house, a feeble attempt to hide from everyone. He landed with a little less grace than intended, and as he took a glance at Nesta, he could have sworn that the silver flames that had been given back to The Cauldron to save her sister were still present in her eyes as she stared back at him disapprovingly.

“So you’re volunteering for these tunnel missions, huh?”

Azriel sighed. He learned long ago that arguing with Nesta was futile, that she would never let him go without a word.

“My schedule is open.” He shrugged absently.

“The hels it is, Az!” She bellowed, looking him up and down for a sign of…what exactly?

“Are you hurt?” She asked, this time with a gentleness not many would associate with the accomplished warrior, Lady Death.

“I’m fine.”

She continued to observe him, not completely believing he was all well and good. She noted his tired eyes, his rigid shoulders.

“What’s going on, Az? You’re like a ghost, never staying long enough to rest. Barely managing to function. This is so unlike you—-“ it pained him to interrupt, but the unworthiness creeped into his chest at her care for him.

“—this is me, Nes. It’s been me for 540 years. You’ve only glimpsed a small part of my life. I’ve always been like this.”

“That’s not true and you know it.” She says through her teeth, the frustration evident in her voice, in her posture. Azriel bows his head in a movement meant to placate the female before him. She sighs, and with a voice far calmer than she’s treated him with thus far speaks.

“She’s a ghost, too.”

He knows who she’s talking about immediately. And he dares not let her know that he’s affected by those words. He swallows the lump in his throat and moves to go around her. She stops him with her palm to his chest, right where his heart should be.

“I don’t know what’s happened between you two, but I know that the last time I’ve seen her smile, her real smile, was when you were the one to put it on her face.” The hole in his chest is infinitely bigger as Nesta moves her hand and places it gently on his arm.

“Be present, Az. We love you. She—loves you.”

Az is sure that Nesta means he is loved in a friendly way, but the idea of being loved by Elain Archeron makes his heart beat a little faster in his chest. He nods his head, words failing him.

“Everyone is coming here for dinner tonight.” Nesta states firmly. “Get cleaned up and meet us in the dining room at 5.” She shuffles past him to reach the door to the house and smiles mischievously at him behind her.

There’s no hiding from them now. Nesta will hunt him down until he appears. So he plans to arrive for dinner even as his brain tells him to run.

——————

Elain stares at her sister as she repeats the itinerary for the day, eyes wide as she questions Feyre over the plan to “meet Nesta and Cassian at the House for dinner.”

Elain is confused. Never has Nesta invited them to the House for dinner. Tea, on occasion. Training, frequently. Never dinner.

“What’s the occasion?” She asks, trying not to let her nerves show.

“She just misses us.” Feyre smiles, and although Elain is suspicious, she gives her little sister a genuine smile.

“Sounds delightful.”

And if her nerves intensify as her sister’s mate puts her down gently on the balcony of the House of Wind a few hours later, she doesn’t let it show, because she can absolutely scent the one person she is anxious to see the most.

Azriel is here.

And it takes all of her mother’s etiquette training to hold her head up high and enter the dining room to see his gorgeous, but somber face. A face she’s conflicted to commit to memory. He looks so tired, she muses. And despite the ache in her chest, the unworthiness that her mind flashes into her skull, seeing him is like breathing air after drowning, and she can’t look away.

Dinner commences and for the first time in months, the smile on her face is real. Everyone she loves is at the table, Mor and Feyre chatting animatedly with each other. Amren, Rhys, and Varian are lost in their own conversation about the Summer Court. Elain chances a look at the glorious Shadowsinger across from her. He’s impressive as usual, but she notes that his shadows are moving lithe around him, as if they are also exhausted from his travels. His eyes meet hers, and that warmth in her chest that only he can provide blossoms under his gaze. And she smiles, for real, and she thinks she sees the corner of his own mouth move up slightly.

It’s only when the meal is done and the House takes the dishes away that Rhys and Feyre take Nyx home to bed. Amren and Varian go back to Amren’s apartment, and Azriel excuses himself to finally get some rest. The rest of the family moves to the sitting room to continue to chat and Elain sits with them, appearing to listen to their conversation, but barely hearing what is being said. Her thoughts are helplessly on the male asleep somewhere in this house.

“Elain, would you like to stay here tonight?” Nesta asks with a beautiful smile on her face that captures Elain’s attention. She points a finger at her mate and says, “It’s easier for this old man to fly in the daytime. His eyesight is going poorly, and Mor is too drunk to take herself home, let alone you.” Nesta nods her head towards the beautiful blonde already falling asleep on the sofa across from her. Cassian scoffs.

“539 is NOT old.” He crows indignantly. The sisters erupt into laughter but Elain can’t help but think that her sister is only asking for her to stay because it’ll make things easier, and not because she wants her there. As the others begin to move towards their bedrooms, Nesta stops Elain with a gentle hand on her arm.

“I know I haven’t been the kind of sister you deserve, Elain. I want to make that up to you. I want to have breakfast with you tomorrow. I want to sit and talk to you about your life. I want to show you that I’m trying, that I’m here for you.” Elain’s chest expands with hope and a love she can only have for Nesta.

“I would like that very much.” She smiles. And Nesta offers to show her her bedroom for the night. The two walk arm in arm as they move through the house until they come upon the door of a room at the far end of the hallway. The room she’s given is warm and inviting, with a giant bed covered in lilac sheets. There’s a fireplace in the corner that is not in use due to the late spring warmth, but the double doors opening to the balcony overlooking Velaris is the crowning feature. She bids Nesta goodnight, with a promise to meet in the dining room for breakfast, and immediately heads for the balcony after Nesta shuts the bedroom door behind her.

What Elain doesn’t expect, is to end up sharing a balcony with the Shadowsinger himself.

And it appears he’s just as surprised as she is.

“H—hi” she breathes. Taking in his tall form in the shadows of the night. He’s seated on the edge of the balcony’s railing, one leg hanging over the edge while the knee of his other leg is bent for balance on the railing. His glorious wings are tight against his back, the bottoms on either side of the balcony. His hazel eyes, the ones that torment her in her dreams, are wide.

“I—I’m sorry. I didn’t know you— or anyone, would be here—on the balcony, I mean.” She stammers as she looks down at her feet in embarrassment. He’s still quiet in front of her, and she curses the fact that the Cauldron didn’t boil her alive when it had the chance.

“I—I’ll just go…” she says and begins to move. She’s vaguely aware of him sitting up straighter than before.

“No, please— don’t.” His deep voice is a whisper that her fae ears only hear because she’s desperate to hear his voice again. She wouldn’t miss his first words to her in months for anything in this world. She swallows, unsure of how to proceed. Any courage she might have deep within her, sputtering.

“I don’t want you to leave.” He says louder, with conviction, and that hole in her chest feels the fullest it’s been in months.

“I don’t want to leave, either.” She says confidently. Her courage soars with the vibrancy of his words.

“I miss you.” He adds gently, finally meeting her gaze, and she’s at a loss. This male who has captivated her body and spirit for years now. Whom she thought was angry with her. Who walked away from her on solstice and didn’t look back.

“Then why?” She whispers back, a silver tear escaping and trailing down her pale cheek. The question is open ended, but he knows what she means.

“Because I am unworthy of you.” He admits. The self loathing in his voice matches her own every time she thinks about him.

“Of course you are. If anything, I am unworthy of you.”

“Never.” He replies instantly, but she waves him off. Moving to his side, eyes peering at his form under the stars, tears falling down both cheeks now.

“You are kind, Azriel. You are gentle, and you are courageous. You’ve fought on the battlefield, and you protect the people of this court, of this family. I bake bread, watch Nyx, and plant seeds in the garden. You deserve so much more than I can offer you.”

The air between them crackles with the intensity of his gaze. He moves, and before she can loose a breath, his scarred hands are wiping the tears from her skin.

“How can you not see how incredible you are, Elain?” He speaks softly, rubbing his fingers back and forth over her cheeks. “You put the needs of others in front of your own. You bake bread, watch Nyx, and build gardens to bring comfort and beauty to those around you. In a world of war and bloodshed, you are reminder that there are things out there so beautiful it’s worth fighting for.” She gasps at the depth of his stare. “You are everything I could ever hope for, but I can’t have you.” The words he’s spoken break something within her. Her hands land on his own on her cheeks, and she uses them to push his away, to push him away. Confusion gracing her features.

“And why can’t you have me? Why have you shut me out all of these months?”

He thinks carefully at how to respond. It’s in his best interest to lie, the rage in her beautiful brown eyes cuts him further than any blade and he pauses for a moment.

Rhys will mist him for revealing the truth. He’s disobeying his order right now, just being alone with the female that possesses his heart and soul. But he finds that lying to her is impossible. That he would rather be misted than lie to the female before him.

“Because I have been ordered to stay away from you.” He says with deep remorse.

The earth ceases to rotate for Elain. Her mouth opens, but nothing comes out. She stares in horror and Azriel wonders if he’s made a grave mistake.

“Rhys?” She whispers. He nods.

“But—why?” The devastation in her voice is palpable, and he wants nothing more than to fly to the river house, despite his exhaustion, and hit his brother in his pretty face.

“You have a mate, Elain.” She scoffs. Ready to deny such a thing. He weighs his words carefully before he continues. “Our—involvement could have severe consequences for the Night Court.”

“What consequences?” She asks, in an eerily calm voice that he doesn’t recognize. He takes a deep breath and prepares himself for her ire.

“The Autumn Court has an archaic tradition that allows for a mate to call for a blood duel against any male that threatens his mating bond. Lucien or Beron have the right to challenge me to that blood duel if you and I—“

Elain looks up into his eyes, horrified at the realization that this is what is keeping them apart.

“—but I would fight for you. Rhys knows it. And I would win, because there would be no chance in this lifetime that I would give up a life with you if I had the choice. But if I were to kill Lucien in a blood duel—“ he pauses. “Beron can enact revenge by calling for war against the Night Court.”

She’s quiet for a long time. Her chest, that was finally full only recently, is hollowed out and bleeding down to her toes. Rhys has deemed them unworthy of each other. Have deemed them unworthy of his protection. Unworthy of the Night Court’s protection. She steps forward, so that her breath mixes with his. He’s stunned for a moment, peering down into her face, determination and understanding amongst the many emotions crossing her features.

“I would rather have you in secret, than not at all.” She says so quietly that only the two of them can hear and places her hand on his chest where his heart beats against it. He’s dumbfounded for a moment.

She’s choosing him?

“Are you sure?” He whispers just as quietly, so that only her and the Mother can hear him.

“Yes.”

The word is barely out of her mouth when his lips meet hers in a kiss that stops the world around them. It’s soft and gentle, just like they are, but Elain swears that this feeling in her chest, at finally tasting the male of her dreams, is the same one her sisters have so lovingly described about their mates.

How can this not be it? They both muse to themselves.

His lips move slowly against her own, savoring her taste, committing it to memory. She has chosen him. She is willing to risk war and their family’s loyalty for him. He will never understand why, but he’s too far gone to talk her out of it.

They stay on the balcony until the early morning hours, touching, tasting, and chasing away the demon of unworthiness inside of each other. Because even if their family or the Night Court didn’t need them, they found out that night that they needed each other.

Fin (or is it?)

[xechu]

From Worst to Hell (Pt. 1)

cw: suggestive themes, 18+ mdni, please read my blog rules before interacting, sexual themes, swearing, use of weed and implied driving under the influence (drive responsibly).

wc: 1.9K

summary: you call your ex-boyfriend in a drunk and sobbing state. What's the worst that can happen?

a/n: this is part of my au 'Cross My Heart' - check out the master list here! I had so much fun writing this. Thank you for reading. x

If the dictionary had the word 'world's-biggest-clown' in it, accompanied with a reference picture, Sukuna had no doubt that it would be his own face plastered on it. Because why in god's name was he laying beside Yorozu in this very moment? Naked bodies and limbs entangled, thick, heady musk lingering in the air, and high out of his goddamn mind.

What he really should have been doing—or should have already done—was grovel at your feet, begging for forgiveness, and giving you the best fuck to show you how sorry he was, and how much he still loves you. He should have done something—anything—when he found his belongings packed up in a box three weeks ago. But, no, it was always his pride and ego—always his insecurities that got in the way, that kept him from admitting he was wrong, that stopped him from apologizing. Sukuna had always known that he was his own worst enemy.

For someone as much of a screwup as he was, the universe had still managed to serve him all the good things in life on a silver platter: a good brother, an understanding sister-in-law, a cute nephew who he practically treats as his own son, a successful business, and you—the woman of his dreams. And yet, he managed to completely fumble it.

As he laid there in self-loathing, a phone call suddenly jolts him to his senses, and when he sees your name on the caller ID, he springs up the bed. He answers, heart racing in anticipation, and then to his shock, you were a sobbing incoherent mess on the other end. The sound of your distress immediately sobered him up.

"Shit, Y/N, what happened?"

"I'm—hic—I don't—I just—hic—wanna go home."

"Fucking Christ," Sukuna muttered, rubbing his face with his hand, "Are you hurt?"

"N-no—hic"

"Good," he lets out a breath of relief. "Can you send me your location?"

He glances at his phone as it buzzes, Y/N wants to share her location with you.

"Alright, sweetheart. I'm coming."

"What happened?" Yorozu's voice rasped, as she leaned in on Sukuna. Her breasts pressing up to his arm.

"I have to go," he shrugged her off as he climbed out of her bed.

"Why? I thought you broke up with her," she shot back, resentment lacing her voice.

"She broke up with me, and for a good reason. But I can't leave her like this." Sukuna clarified, as he zipped up his jeans and threw on his black t-shirt. The scar on his abdomen from the knife wound still tickled as his shirt grazes over it—a constant reminder of why and how things became the current shitshow it was.

"Are you coming back?"

"No," he said firmly, jaw tightening, "No more of this, Yor. This will be the last time."

"You're fucking joking, right?" Her tone was incredulous.

"I'm not. Whatever happened between us tonight, it won't happen again."

"What the hell, Ryo?" Yorozu hissed, "What do you take me for? Just some whore you could come for a good fuck and leave?"

"You and I both got what we wanted out of this. Enough is enough."

"Really? You'd drop me, and our years of friendship just for some other girl?"

"She's not just some other girl," he snapped, his eyes shooting her a warning glare. But to be honest, the fact that Yorozu even saw you in this light in the first place was entirely Sukuna's fault, and he knew it. He hated how he allowed his circle to view you as such, and it was because he never gave you the respect you deserved.

Yorozu rolled her eyes, as she stood up, "I know how much you loved her, but she just isn't good for you," she drew circles around Sukuna's arm, a last ditch effort to appeal to him.

"She can't appreciate the things you've done for her. And worst of all, she's trying to mold you into this person you're not! What are you, her personal fix-me-up project?"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"I'm saying that you've changed, Ryo. She's turning you into someone you're not."

"She was right about you," Sukuna lowly chuckled, as he shrugs away from Yorozu's touch, "I tried to vouch for you, give you the benefit of the doubt because of our history, but I should have cut you off a long time ago."

"I knew she was talking shit about me!" Yorozu's features darken, and her body trembled with anger, "What kind of bullshit has she been feeding you?"

"She hardly talks about you," he shrugged, impatience creeping into his voice, "Look, I have to go."

"You're a scum, Ryomen. You need to get your head out of your own ass."

"Tell me something I don't know," he scoffed, as he took his car keys and left the apartment.

Sukuna shoots you a text: I'll be here in 10. Don't talk to anyone, don't go anywhere.

---

You stood in front of the bar, arms crossed against the chill of the night. Your face was stained with dried tears and mascara streaks. You were a hopeless disaster, even then, 'hopeless disaster' was a gross understatement.

In your head, you knew you were far gone, but it seemed your body had a mind of its own, swaying slightly as you struggled to keep your balance. Why did you call him? You were doing so damn well, and you felt so good about being the one to end things this time, so why on earth were you crawling back to him like some pathetic, needy, little girl? When did you become so weak? This is why he thinks he could walk all over you.

As you mentally berated yourself, you contemplated on if you should just call an Uber home. But before you had time to change your mind, you see your ex-boyfriend's car pull up. Of course, it had to be his flashy one too: a black Lamborghini Urus.

"Hey," he murmured, quickly climbing out of his car and catching you before you lost balance.

"I wanna go home," you slurred, pushing him away and stumbling over your own heels.

"You can't even walk straight, what are you doing?" He let out an exasperated sigh, as he watched you struggle towards the car.

Before you could make an even bigger fool of yourself, he scooped you up, princess-style, and plopped you into the passenger seat. He didn't want to be taking you to the hospital tonight, though it would have been somewhat of an amusing twist of irony.

"Why were you drinking by yourself?" He asked, slipping into the driver’s seat and buckling your seatbelt. It was a stupid question, he knew why, but that’s how desperately he wanted to just talk to you again.

"B-because, you're a fucking dick." It was hard to take you seriously when you were a slurring mess.

"Right, and that's why you called me?" he quipped.

"I know, okay?!" You yelled, frustration overflowing, "Everyone's been telling me to just get over it, and that you're an asshole!"

"Are you sure they said that about me?"

"A thousand-hundred...ten-percent."

"Hm, okay."

Sukuna sat there, his arm resting on the steering wheel and his head leaning in his hand, listening to your slurred ramblings. Even with your mascara-stained face, why were you so beautiful?

"I'm so...pathetic. To love someone who never l-loved me!"

"That's not true," he scowled, "You know I lo—"

"There you go again!" You said in a mocking tone, "Telling me what is and isn't! You're just so clever, Ryo! And I'm just some helpless idiot!"

"I never thought you were an idiot," Sukuna muttered.

Despite the sheer chaos of the current situation, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of relief and happiness that you were here. The fact that you still thought to call him when you needed help filled him with an unexpected warmth. He was convinced that three weeks ago was the last time he'd ever see you.

"You can have the last laugh like you always do! Ha ha ha." You threw your arms up in exasperation, nearly smacking him in the face and garnering a small 'tch' from him. But he was willing to take in any form of abuse from you right now, after all, he deserved it.

"We're going home. I forget how much of a brat you are when you're drunk," he said, as he started the car.

"My home, I kicked you out," you giggled, seemingly a little too happy about that.

"Sure thing, sweetheart."

Almost immediately, an awkward silence filled the car. He glanced over at you, only to find you staring straight ahead, large globs of tears rolling down your cheeks. His eyebrows furrow in confusion, not sure what to make of your drunk erratic behavior.

"Y-you don’t get to call me that anymore!" You started bawling uncontrollably.

Sukuna pinched the bridge of his nose, it didn’t help that as of half an hour ago he was still high out of his mind, and in another woman's bed (which he was still mentally kicking himself over). Sighing, he decided it was better to stay quiet, flipping on the music in the car—the tunes of Arctic Monkeys quietly playing in the background.

Though you only lived about fifteen minutes away, it was going to be a long drive home.

---

Thankfully, the two of you had made it back safely to the underground parking lot of your apartment. It had taken every fiber of Sukuna's being to stay focused on the road, and resisting the urge to fill the silence with comments that could potentially throw you into a crying frenzy again.

He glanced over at you as he parks the car, somewhat bracing himself for another emotional outburst, but you seemed quietly distant, lost in your own thoughts. He ran his hand through his hair, a sinking feeling that tonight was going to be a long night. With a resigned sigh, he climbed out of his side of the car and walked over to your door, opening it for you.

"My feet hurt," you frowned, as you flung off your Kate red bottoms, "the shoes you bought me suck."

"Yeah, yeah, just tell me you want to get carried," he scooped you up effortlessly, while hooking your heels on his two fingers that were free, "and you're the one who wanted them, in case you forgot."

"They looked so nice on Zendaya," you murmured, as your head rested against his chest.

"Mhm." He had no clue who Zendaya was, he doesn't keep up with pop culture.

"Keys," he said, glancing down at you as you seemed to drift off to sleep, looking far too comfortable in his arms. Like you belonged there.

"In my bag," you mumbled.

"Grab it?"

"You're so annoying," you huffed, reaching into your purse and fishing out your keys. He tapped with his index finger, gesturing you to hook the keyring around it.

As Sukuna waited for the elevator, carrying you in his arms, he stared at the LED screen of the descending floor numbers. The numbers seemed to pull him into a trance, recalling unwanted memories—how he had hurt you, the brash and callous things he said just to be hurtful. Each digit felt like a ticking reminder of how he was so weak-willed, crawling into the arms of another woman just three weeks later. When suddenly—

"Ryo," you said his name with such unexpected clarity, it made his heart race. It felt as if all was forgiven, and he just woke up from a nightmare. The break-up wasn't real, the hospital wasn't real, sleeping with Yorozu wasn't real.

"Hm?" He tried to hide his anticipation.

"I need to throw up."

"Oh, hell no—"

Writing © xechu - please do not redistribute, translate, or repost any of my works.

[wettvagina]

[ from : Jujutsu Kaisen ] art by ko_22ke - twitter

"Y/n?" Suguru Geto called while pushing through groups of people dispersed amongst the hallway of Gojo's mansion. Lights were flashing, music was playing, alcohol was in his system. Vodka to be specific. And boy did he feel good, there was a rush of many emotions pumping through his veins and the only thing his mind was on currently, was you.

"Hey! Sorry man." Geto says as he staggers past another group of people, they all watch him with concern, some even scrutinizing his embarrassingly drunken state.

Finally, Geto's ears perk up at the heart stopping mention of your name. There was a rush of voices all at once combating the booming music, Geto sees a group of guys standing outside his bedroom door, some laughing, some muttering comments but all of their faces had the same amused expression.

"Y/n and her man are freaks, bro."

"Someone lower the music so I can get this shot on recording."

"Y/n?" Geto shouts enthusiastically while approaching the group of guys, hearing a faint thudding sound coming from behind the door they were all intently standing nearby.

"Have you seen her?" Geto questions with heavy lidded eyes, drink still in his hand taking occasional sips that only contributed to his befuddled state.

The group of guys all snickered to each other before walking away, leaving Geto confused and alone in front of the door.

''So she's in here?" Geto swings his head over his shoulder to ask, not even caring for a response as he eagerly twists the doorknob open, excited to see his favorite girl.

WARNINGS: p in v, creampie, geto walks in on you and nanami, cheating(kinda), mentions of cnc but not really, abrupt ending because i can't write lol, this is unedited, GETO IS NOT A CUCK

The door clicked open, and what was supposed to be a light push shoved the entire door wide open. And the sight that Geto set his eyes on were both a mixture of his dreams and his worst nightmares.

There you were face down, ass up taking backshots from his classmate Nanami Kento on HIS BED?!

As soon as the doorknob slammed against the wall, everything came into halt, your loud moans, the snap of Nanami's hips pushing vigorously against your bare exposed ass, making the nastiest, obscene sounds of wet skin on skin slapping. His large hand that was decorated with that chunky, stupid watch that Geto found absolutely ridiculous, yet you found quaint, was digging into the back of your head pushing you further down into his bedsheets.

Nanami's mouth hung open and Geto's drink slipped from the grasp of his hands and onto the carpet, spilling its contents everywhere. Geto felt his entire body paralyze with a myriad of emotions; anger, jealousy, sorrow and everything that would label this exact moment as a nightmare come true.

The one girl he's had his eyes on since forever, getting brutally fucked by his overachieving classmate that he loathed, on his own bed?

You tried to raise your head, but Nanami's large forceful hand was still on it, you started yelling into the sheets which shook Nanami and Geto out of their shocked positions.

Nanami pulled out in one swift motion, reaching to the side of the bed to quicky shove both of his legs into his discarded boxers nearby, Geto still stood there, trying to take everything in before you lifted your head to experience the horrible scene in front of you.

The first thing your eyes darted towards was Geto's widened eyes, practically digging into your irises upon meeting them. Your expression contorted and you let out a petrified, bloodcurdling shriek.

"Oh my god!" you wailed out, grabbing the sheets around you to cover yourself, eyes trained on Geto who was still there motionless with shock, Nanami pulled up his pants, still shirtless.

"Suguru, I'm sorry I- we should've locked to door." Nanami spoke promptly and formally as if he wasn't just balls deep inside the one girl Geto has ever wanted. "Y/n, I think it's time to go." Nanami growled, grabbing your dress that was tossed at the side of the room.

You were still concealing your body with the sheets, but Geto could see a perfect view of your breasts that were partially covered by his white duvet, and your sopping pussy was leaking onto his bedsheets. Geto could feel the heat in his face and throb in his heart travel all the way down to his thick cock.

Making the heavy muscles convulse with pure lust as he watched you climb over the ruffled sheets, discarding the makeshift shirt, which was his duvet, your bare breasts were exposed as you reached for the dress Nanami was handing you.

Nanami was not much help in attempting to conceal your body, not even standing in front of you, Geto thought that maybe he wanted him to see. Huge mistake.

Geto gulped let out a heavy huff from his nostrils as he watched you try to slip into your dress, getting the fabric stuck around the thickness of your bare ass. He could practically feel his cock throbbing despairingly, the sight of you naked, his dreams were finally coming true.

In the worst way possible.

When you quickly shuffled into your dress you turned around about to quickly exit as Nanami searched the room for his discarded button-up shirt, your eyes shifted to Geto's shocked, yet reddened face, then down....to the painfully obvious print of his hardened cock pressing against the fabric of his sweatpants.

Before you could react Geto quickly darted out of the room, muttering an inaudible sentence as he retreated, something along the lines of 'Fuck', 'sorry' and 'didn't mean to'.

The fuzzy recollection of his words was barely registered in your head as the image of his boner re-entered and paired with the way your clit throbbed, and your juices leaked between your thighs you knew something had definitely changed.

"Uh, Nanami?" you called out.

"Yeah?" He calls out while buttoning his shirt, looking around the room for his phone, "I think, maybe you should go?" you said as a question but more of a statement.

"Go? Like, leave?" Nanami asks while picking up his phone from the dresser once he finally finds it, he shoots you a confused look, eyebrows cocked and frown visible.

"Yeah, I'm sorry for this." Nanami said, chuckling bitterly while adjusting the collar of his shirt.

"It's fine, really. Not your fault." You say as you awkwardly sat on the edge of the bed.

"Well. See you around, I guess." Nanami said, promptly walking out stiffly with a noticeable frown. And once he left and shut the door behind you, your shoulders slumped and you physically relaxed.

You placed your face in your palms, groaning into them before standing to your feet, looking at the messy bed. Geto's bed.

What were you even trying to do?

Getting Nanami to fuck you in a backshot, with your face down so you could smell Suguru's sheets and pretend it was him because you knew that Suguru would never fuck you.

Or would he?

He was clearly hard just from seeing you naked. Running on straight adrenaline and maybe six or seven pure shots of vodka, you grab your phone that was on the side of the dresser, hastily sending Geto a text.

you: can you fuck his cum out of me? seen

Immediately after the message was sent, you toss your phone away, sitting silently on the edge of his bed, biting your thumbnail and anxiously sweating, after a few seconds passed you decided that he wasn't returning and that you should've just left him alone.

But then the doorknob rattled, and there he was. He shut the door behind him and quickly locked it, staring at you as you sat on his bed. You watched his face and fuck did he look sexy. He wore some baggy black sweatpants and a black sweater, that despite it being large it still clung to his deliciously buff chest.

"Fuck his cum out of you?" Geto remarked, raising an eyebrow as he walks towards you. You look up at him while blinking, his arms press your shoulders down onto the bed and as soon as your back hit the sheets he hovered over you, caging you between his large arms. You could see his biceps flex and tense through his sweater and his face looked so much better angry.

"How dirty do you think I am?" Geto asked, face nearing dangerously close to yours as you felt his breath tickle your neck. "I-" as you words were about to exit your throat they immediately halted and reshaped into a moan when Geto grabbed at your waist and sucked onto your neck.

Geto rubbed at your side before reaching between the space of your ass and the bedsheets to palm at your thighs. "I'm not gonna' fuck you. Not in your pussy at least." Geto says in between kisses, his tongue licks a long stripe from your collarbone down to your chest.

And when you feel his hand disappear from your thigh and onto the strap of your dress you question him, "What? Why?". Geto chuckles, pulling your dress down and kissing the flesh above your breast, leaving deep pink marks as his lips move on the skin.

You're too busy moaning and rubbing your thighs together, to create some sort of friction to satisfy the growing ache between your legs that just seems to be pulsing harder and harder as Geto's lips trace dangerously close to your nipple.

Geto gives your areola a small peck before giggling, "Either I fuck your throat, or I eat your pussy until you forget your name. Pick one, baby." Geto asks with a smirk as he begins to suck fervidly onto your nipple, his warm, wet tongue shifts from side to side against your hardening nipple as his hand reaches to your hips, pulling you against him.

"But, I want you to fuck me?" You question with a pout as you bite back a whimper. Geto abruptly stops sucking on your nipples, and hovers over to meet your face, he gives you a sweet smile, one that sends a pulse of heat to your core and has your legs shaking, but one that you were familiar with, and you knew there was a hint of malice behind that perfect smile.

"Dirty girls like you don't deserve to get fucked." Geto interjected sternly, "But, I'll tell you what." Geto says with a polite smile, nose nudging into your cheek he kisses onto your jaw.

"From now on, I get to fuck you, whenever I want." He kisses your cheek, "Wherever I want." he slowly reaches towards your lips, thumb stroking the side of your cheek before coming to swipe at your lips like if he's rubbing your lipstick off. "However I want." He presses his thumb against your lips. "And you can't say no, got it?" Geto finalizes.

His lips barely apart from yours as he speaks, you close your eyes and nod firmly, letting Geto's soft lips press onto yours, his hand cups your cheek and then grabs your jaw as his tongue slips into your mouth, you gasp into his mouth, and he presses one last kiss onto your swollen, wet lips before standing over you.

As he looms over you, he stretches his arms over his head to take off his shirt and tosses it to the side, and the sight you had in front of you could only be described by one word. Orgasmic.

His chest, his abs, his v-line. All toned and sculpted, and you were sure you felt a waterfall between your legs, almost on command your legs spread and because you weren't wearing any panties Geto got a perfect view of the reaction his body did to you.

Geto chuckles, spreading your legs wider, letting your dress ride up. "Tell me, now." Geto instructs, grabbing at his hard cock through his black sweatpants and by the way his large hands barely curve around the area you knew that you're gonna' have to prepare for a big stretch.

It might even split you open.

"Tell me how you want me to fuck you." Geto groans while rubbing himself through his sweats, sucking in a breath through his teeth as he stood over you, watching your body sprawled out before him, ready to be absolutely destroyed.

"Ah- However you want?" You say guessingly, watching as Geto holds back a smile, "It's not about me this time. It's about you, tell me what you want, baby." Geto states in a sultry voice.

"Hard." You whine out, Geto uses his knee to spreads your legs even farther apart, watching as your face contorts into a look of pleasure, your eyebrows scrunching together and your mouth slightly agape.

"I want you to fuck me hard." you wail out. Geto chuckles before finally reaching past the waistband of his pants to grab his cock, taking it out and shifting his pants down slightly, he slots himself between your legs and rests his heavy dick onto your stomach.

He strokes himself while it rubs against the skin on your stomach, the tip leaking just below your bellybutton, leaving sticky white dots and smears of precum. When his hand finally rubs the shaft and reaches the tip, he smirks before letting out a breathy giggle.

"I'm gonna reach here." He says as he points against your stomach where the tip of his penis lays, "Well put it in." You squeak as you squirm beneath him, however you couldn't deny that you enjoyed the view of him pumping his thick, long cock above you.

Your dress barely covered your breasts, and its hem reached up to your waist exposing your ass to the sheets below you, Geto let out a huff of breath before lining up the tip of his dick to your sopping pussy, he rubs the tip against your clit before tracing down to the hole.

"Hmm, you sure it's gonna fit?" you say as you prop yourself on your elbows and look down at his thick cock sliding through your folds. "I'll make it fit, don't worry, baby."

You bit your lower lip, jaw clenching and toes curling as Geto slowly but surely sunk his thick, girthy cock into your damp pussy, despite the discomfort of the stretch, he laid halfway in.

Hips struggling not to snap and smack right into you with the way you squeezed and clutched around him so gloriously.

"Mm- ahg! It's too tight!" Geto grunts, gripping onto your hips harshly before trying to squeeze you down onto his aching cock that was so desperately craving the feeling of your warm, wet pussy encompassing him whole.

"Shit- make it fit, Suguru!" you whimper, bottom lip retreating behind your front teeth, you reach to hold onto his firm grip that nearly bruised your hips as he slowly sinks into you.

"Jus' relax, okay? If you don't then I can't make it fit." Geto instructs calmly, and the slow sound of his sensual voice sent a riveting chill down your spine as you tried to comply.

You still gripped tightly onto Geto's arm, he looked down from your expressive face to where your hand held onto his wrist, he smiled before bringing his face down to yours, tucking his nose into the crook of your neck and pressing a soft kiss to the burning skin.

"It's okay, just relax." He reiterates, finally pressing his lips against yours once more as he slowly slides in deeper, he can feel you groan into his mouth when the base of his cock is buried into the slick warmness of your pussy.

And he almost moans as he finally feels your soft, gummy walls clench and warm his cock, just as and maybe ever more than he's ever imagined or dreamed.

He kisses you long and hard as the pain of his huge cock intruding into your clamping pussy slowly dissipates, he traces his hand from the dip of your waist down to your hips and squeezes the flesh softly, as he attempts to remain completely still, giving you time to adjust to his size.

When he breaks away from the kiss you can see his look switch and turn dark as he watches down at your face, then down to where your pussy swallowed him whole, he gulps before licking a stripe down your neck, then onto your collarbone.

"I know—shit." Geto grunts when you clench onto his cock as soon as he bites down onto your collarbone while speaking. "I know you've never taken a dick this big." he boasts as his lips move against your skin.

"I can tell by the way that pussy's squeezin' on me, shiiiit—" Geto moans as he reaches down to lick and suck on your nipples, taking one into his mouth and playing with the other with his fingers. His tongue swirls around your nipple and you swear you could see the moon.

"You can— move now.." you whine out softly, a loud moan threatening to fall from your lips, "Mhmm—" Geto hums, but it comes out more as a moan. He holds his upper body up with two hands pressing into the mattress near either sides of your waist, in making one loud smack he takes the first thrust, leaving your eyes rolling back into your head, mouth agape and begging for more.

His hips snapped relentlessly, as his heavy balls smacked against you with each thrust, you feel your stomach go hollow and your nipples harden at his pace, "Fuck— Suguru!'' you moan out as he just laughs, you see his insanely attractive smirk decorate his handsome face.

"How did you wanna get fucked, huh?" Geto taunts while his dick pumps in and out of you with thick, sheer white fluids that contained a nasty mixture his cum and your arousal forming at the base of his cock and dribbling down your thighs with each loud 'whack' of his hips against your inner thighs.

You moan and wail, letting out loud sounds of pleasure as he pounds into you, hands digging deeply into the sheets, "Huh? How do you wanna get fucked?'' Geto questions again, raising his voice while another groan slips from his lips.

"Ugnh— hard! Fuck— I wanna get fucked hard!" you cry out, feeling him pick up the pace whilst smirking down at you. You look up at him and your eyes meet as his dick continues to push deeper and deeper into you before retreating with only the tip inside, just to slam back into you again making wet, squelching sounds.

Geto scoffs, slowing his pace only to push deeper and deeper into you, until the skin of his pelvis meets with the sticky, hot flesh of your squishy inner thighs. "Hm— Think you could get away with fucking someone— ugh!— on my bed?" Geto grunts out, eyeing you below him as he moves in pulses in and out of you, only drawing back his cock a little to quickly plunge it back in with a soft 'plap'.

"What were you thinkin', huh?" he questions with amusement, you open your mouth to let out a string of moans followed by a deep, emotive, ''I'm sorry!'' To which he disgracefully laughs at.

"You better be fuckin' sorry!" Geto grunts, swiping his tongue over his lips. "I—I am, please Suguru, forgive me." you whine out as he hisses with the way you clench around him when you say his name.

"I'll only forgive you— If you let me cum inside you." Geto groans, grabbing both sides of your waist instead of the bedsheets to fuck into you more aggressively and wayyy deeper. You could practically feel it in your heart.

He jackhammers into you with no mercy, earning pitiful cries from your swollen lips and tears rolling down your fucked-out face. Cock slamming against your walls, rubbing up and down and up and down and up and down, and the way he gripped onto your sides so tightly you could feel the bolts of pleasure everywhere.

"Inside?" you murmur, upon your question he stuffs his heavy cock into you and halts, looking down at you waiting for a response. "Only way I'll forgive you." Geto restates, removing one hand from your waist and utilizing it to stroke your hair.

"Yeah! you can cum inside me!" you whine out desperately, "Atta' fuckin' girl." Geto exclaims, using his hand that was gripped tightly onto your waist to pull you onto him, he was now standing with your legs wrapped around him, he moves his hands under your thighs to raise and drop you onto his cock ruthlessly with a vehement force.

He raises you with only the tip inside, "I'm gonna fuck you everyday from now on." Then he slams you down onto him drawing a shrieking cry from your lips, he raises you once more. "Gonna fuck you in my room." Drop.

Raise. "Gonna fuck you in your dorm." Drop! Raise. "Gonna fuck you in doggy." Drop! Raise. "Gonna fuck your mouth." Drop! Raise. "Gonna fuck you—ngh!— in front of Nanami." Drop!

"Suguru, please! I'm close!" you bawl out, and he knows you're close he can feel it, just by the way your legs tremble and your pussy clamps down on him.

"Wait— shit!— we can come together." he grunts while repeatedly bouncing you up and down his cock. He envelopes your mouth in a kiss while fucking up into you, feeling his cock pulsate as a cue he cums inside of you, groaning against your mouth with a harsh force against your pussy walls.

He fills you up to the brim with his warm, white stick cum, feeling it drip down your thighs and onto his, he bites down on your lip, feeling the plumpness on his tongue as droplets of cum roll down his thighs and onto the floor.

Breaking the kiss he lets your heavy breaths fan his lips, with your arms wrapped around his neck and his grip on your thighs, this really was a dream come true.

You let out one big sigh and drop your head onto his shoulder, to which he chuckles mockingly at. "I wanted to go one more round." he quips, readjusting your body onto his, you barely have the energy to laugh so you just release an exhale from your nostrils.

He places you onto the bed, pulling up his sweatpants over his dick and goes to sit next to you. You look up at his broad back, and feel the trace of his fingers on your thighs as you drift off to sleep. Too tired to do anything else, too tired to even say 'I love you'.

[lowkaylove]

Room for Improvement

Pairings: MC x Xavier, MC x Rafayel, MC x Zayne, MC x Sylus, MC x Caleb

Not beta read

Every LI’s tag list will have the general content warnings plus specific tags that go with their scenario.

18+, MDNI (angsty/dangerous thoughts. Suggestive material, but no graphic smut)

Note: This story is very much cathartic for my own lived experiences in life. I do not want to imply or place the burden of my thoughts and feelings onto you (the reader) so this will not be in the 2nd POV or have uses of “you, Y/N, or reader.” Rather it will be 1st POV as the inner thoughts of MC. I do not mean to offend anybody or trigger any past trauma other people have experienced. I simply mean to put thoughts and feelings into writing as how I’d hope the LADS would be able to comfort me in times of feeling like I’m not enough.

CW: *LOTS OF UNHEALTHY HABITS* *ALLUSIONS TO EATING DISORDERS & GRAPHIC INNER THOUGHTS OF SELF-LOATHING* angst, hurt/comfort, hurting starts now, comfort will come later, MC is insecure/self-conscious, body image issues, MC feeling the need to change/better herself for LI, feelings of inadequacy, feelings of not being enough, feelings of being weak, Rafayel is baby, Thomas totally ships MC and Rafayel, MC is self-sabotaging, MC is straight up delulu in the image of herself, kissing, non-sexual intimacy, Zayne makes an appearance, Sylus is briefly mentioned

*PLEASE LET ME KNOW IF I MISSED ANYTHING IN THE WARNINGS*

1st Person POV

Prompt: I can’t believe I’m actually in a relationship with the man of my dreams. Congrats to me for bagging a fucking angel of a man! If only the little voice in my ahead would lift my confidence instead of agreeing with some comments made by those who are jealous of our relationship. But no problem, I’ll just have to turn into someone worthy of his time. Change is good, right?

Another note: please be kind, I’m really bad at writing. This took a lot and I wanna try to get better.

Rafayel

“Come on, cutie! We’re gonna be late and you’re the one who’s making me go to this exhibition in the first place! The sooner we get there, the sooner we can leave!” Rafayel’s whines echo throughout his house. I can just imagine his signature pout he makes when he’s forced contracted to attend his own art exhibitions.

“I’m almost done, Rafa!” I giggle at his typical apathy towards going to these events. Usually, I would be the one that’s ready to go before him. The Lemurian really shows me up with his own extensive routine to get ready to go out.

But this time is different. I’m not attending as his bodyguard. At least, that’s not the main reason.

Tonight is the first exhibition we will attend after officially becoming a couple. I need to look my best at Rafayel’s side.

There won’t be much fanfare about it (much to Rafayel’s dismay at not being allowed to hard launch his relationship), but it is the first time I will attend in an evening gown arm-in-arm with him rather than in my uniform and walking in his shadow.

The black, long-sleeve evening gown didn’t look too bad on me. The color added a slimming look, giving my frame a curvier look rather than my normal frump, and the fact that the ambiance called for dimmed lighting around the gala gave me courage to go with a backless design. It had a little stretch and give for me to move comfortably and a slit for me to quickly grab my gun in case there was an attack.

It should be good enough right? Besides, this night is for Rafayel. Most people who have seen me attend galas with him as his bodyguard rarely paid attention to me then. I doubt there will be much of a change from the normal looks I get.

As I finish spraying perfume and put on my earrings, I hear a low whistle to my left where the doorway leads to the bedroom. I smile in my reflection at Rafayel’s antics.

“Don’t even think about it, fishie.” I try to remain serious and focused on my task of putting on the last fucking earring, but I can’t help my mind slipping.

Rafayel gasps. “I haven’t even said anything. Cutie, what do you take me for? I am a distinguished Lemurian gentleman.”

I hear a few slow steps before I see Rafayel come up behind me in the mirror. His arms encase me as his lips meet my exposed neck tilted to the side as I am still trying to put on this fucking earring.

I finally get the damn thing secured before straightening my posture.

I revel in his touch. His arms are strong and secure around my waist as he brings me as close as he possibly can. I feel his hot breaths shudder against my skin as he inhales my scent. A low groan sends shivers throughout my body.

“I swear I will go to every exhibition for the rest of the year if you let me cancel on Thomas tonight.” His fingers dig into the fleshy part of my hips, hard enough to leave that lingering feeling throughout the rest of the night.

I scoff in absolute disbelief. “Rafa you’re a terrible liar. You and I both know you’re just going to plot even harder to get out of them if I say yes.”

His brings his left hand up to my upper arm before softly dragging the dress sleeve down to expose my shoulder. Kisses follow the exposed skin as he inhales more of my perfume. “I will make it worth your while my darling.”

I can’t help but lean into his touch, even as I protest. “Rafa, we can’t miss this tonight. Thomas will-”

His kisses cease to look at my reflection. “New rule: The word ‘Thomas’ is banned from leaving your gorgeous lips while I am kissing any part of you.”

I roll my eyes. “Such a dramatic merman.”

His eyes narrow. “Or mayyyyybe I just don’t want the most beautiful woman in my arms uttering the name of another man. My name should be the only one you say while I hold you.”

My face flushes with nerves and embarrassment at his praise. It’s still something I’m not used to. “We should get going. Like you said, the sooner we get there the sooner we can leave.”

Rafayel sighs in exasperation and rests his forehead on my shoulder. “You’re gonna drive me crazy all night. You better not leave my side into the arms of another man.”

“I don’t think anyone will snatch up an opportunity to take me from you.” I giggle in response. It’s a complete miracle that Rafayel has chosen me. Maybe since he’s not human, his tastes are different? Or maybe I’m a part of the taxi cab theory right now. Honestly anything is possible. But I’ll take what I can get and bask in this feeling while I have it.

Rafayel’s grip tightens even more on my hips, nearly to the point of bruising me. He looks back up into our reflection and stands tall. “I will damn sure scare off everybody into trying, but I know they’ll be thinking about stealing you from me. You are absolutely breathtaking, my dear.” He turns me to face him and looks at me with such reverence in his eyes. I seriously don’t understand what he sees, but I can only stay silent at his compliment and give him a little smile, lifting my hand to cup his cheek and give him a soft, chaste kiss.

Pulling away, I can’t help but give him a kiss on the check as well, hopefully reassuring him that his fears will never become reality. “Okay we really need to go before we’re late.” I walk past and grab his arm to drag him with me.

“One whole year of exhibitions and I won’t even complain about it!” This man is impossible. His affinity for the dramatics is always a breath of fresh air.

I laugh while walking out the door. “Not a chance, little fishie!”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Idle chatter fills the room as guests mingle around the pieces Rafayel submitted this month.

The dimmed lighting gives off a romantic, yet somber feel with some of the pieces on display. Brighter lighting around his paintings really allow all of the focus to be on each piece. Candles are lit throughout the area and the gallery windows have been left open to hear the crashing waves in the distance.

I nurse a glass of champagne as we walk around the gala. Rafayel explains his inspiration about every piece to me as critics and collectors creep near us, desperate to get his attention. Unfortunately for them, he spares none of them a glance as he continues to maintain his conversation with me, his right hand stuck to my exposed back. The pressure is gentle yet firm on my skin.

I’m actually a bit relieved that we have a little space to ourselves. Due to Rafayel’s dismay at not being allowed to use this event to announce our relationship, he rebelled and tried to enter the gala with the rest of the guests, thus thwarting Thomas’s plan to introduce him properly.

His plan backfires to nobody’s surprise because this literal God can’t be missed if he tried. His ethereal beauty and purple waves are not mistaken for anyone other than the very reason everyone was here tonight.

Expressions of awe and admiration were littered across almost everyone in attendance. Those whose gaze waver from Rafayel to me transformed to haughty indifference at best and downright disdain and envy at worst.

I felt naked all of a sudden. It’s like everyone could see all of my flaws and they were brimming with anticipation to point them out to everyone. Including my boyfriend.

Rafayel hasn’t even seen all of me yet. I’ve been putting off that next step in the relationship for weeks for fear he would look at me with the very same expression most of the women - and about half of the men - were giving me.

I refocus on Rafayel’s words as he continues with sharing everything he can about his paintings to me. I shouldn’t be thinking about those insecurities right now. Tonight’s attention is for Rafayel, not my flaws that will inevitably cause the downfall of his affection for me.

“This piece was actually inspired by the time we crashed the bicycle together. I remember the blush on your cheeks with dirt smudged all over and couldn’t get it out of my head.” He laughs at the memory.

I laugh in response as I look around us before my gaze locks to my right.

I notice Thomas walking towards us with frustration in his eyes and halt my movements. Rafayel doesn’t notice I’ve stopped until two steps later he bumps into my side and his hand on my back meets resistance. His eyes meet my face in confusion. “Cutie?”

“Incoming.” I warn as Thomas gets closer.

In my periphery, I see his gaze follow the direction of mine and his body tenses against me.

“Rafayel. You need to speak to the guests here. They came to see you. Show a little gratitude towards the buyers if you plan on selling any of these.” Thomas goes through his usual spiel in getting Rafayel to mingle with people he doesn’t care for.

“I’m here aren’t I? The old farts should be grateful I allow them to be this close to me.” Rafayel hisses the words through his teeth.

Afraid these two will cause a scene and attract the wrong attention towards Rafayel, I turn to face the Lemurian and placed a calming hand over his arm.

“Rafa, I actually need to go to the bathroom to freshen up. I’ll be a few minutes, so this will give you some time to talk with some buyers.” My eyes plead with him to just go with what Thomas is asking.

He looks betrayed almost, but sighs in resignation. “Only a few minutes okay? Then we can go home?” And cue the puppy dog eyes begging me to go along with his plan.

“Rafayel, that’s not enough time for the people -” Thomas begins, but is immediately cut off.

“Why don’t you go and gather a small handful of people who I’ve tolerated before, hmm? Anymore than that and I’ll set fire to all of my works.” Rafayel is tense as he grips my hand in a last attempt to not leave him.

Thomas gives up, sighs, and walks away.

“Rafa, my darling, I will be as quick as I can. I promise I’m not leaving you.” I rest my free hand over his heart where I know the bond mark is. A small tremor is felt as he places his hand over mine. After a few calming breaths, he takes my hand and moves it up to cup his cheek, turning his face to kiss the center of my palm.

“One minute and then we leave these idiots.” Oh dear, negotiations are impossible with this man.

I giggle at his never-ending dramatics. “Rafa I can’t promise that. It’ll probably be a little longer than that. I need to make sure everything is in its place. Can’t have your girlfriend embarrass you in front of all these esteemed guests now can we?”

He scoffs. “Puhhlease. More like groveling peasants who validate themselves by throwing their money in every direction and spitting on people who aren’t them. You are a goddess among mere mortals here. Don’t even spare them another thought.”

“Rafa be nice.” I raise my eyebrows at his harsh choice of words.

“I. Don’t. Care. About. Them.” His eyes are steeled with vitriol as his right hand applied more pressure to the small of my back, closing the distance between us a little.

My thumb softly rubs his cheek back and forth to calm him down. “Rafa, I’ll come right back to you. I always do, right?” His eyes soften at my words and he nods after a beat of silence.

I take one step back from him and he reluctantly lets me go. “5 minutes.” I whisper before turning to head to the bathroom.

Reaching the bathroom, I make my way into a stall to take a breath in private. I could feel myself sweating a bit under everyone’s stares.

Just before I gather myself and head out to check everything in the mirror, a fit of giggles enter the bathroom.

“Oh my god did you see her dress?! She has to be soooooo confident in herself to wear something like that.”

I pause, my gut stopping me from potentially embarrassing myself if these women are talking about me.

I decide to wait just a bit longer. Maybe it’s not me, even though I loathe the idea of anyone being talked about this way.

No such luck though.

“I know, the bravery to show off all of those rolls on her back and embarrass Rafayel.” My heart drops at the other girl’s words.

“He had to have hired her out of pity right? I mean, with her physique she doesn’t look like she has the reflexes to guard anything except a buffet table.” Their giggles turn shrill as tears form in my eyes. I can’t face them. I can’t let them see me cry.

“That’s probably where she just went. And now that we have an opening to catch him…” I hear silence in the bathroom except for some shifting of fabric. “How do I look? Are my boobs propped up all the way?”

I’m going to vomit.

“Oh totally girl. You’ll catch him for sure. And once you’ve got him, you can kick that whale’s ass on the street and away from your man.” Their giggles fade as they walk out of the bathroom.

I’m on autopilot as I check to make sure they’re gone before walking to the mirror.

I twist my body to find all of the rolls those girls noticed. I don’t know why I thought I had curves to show in this dress. That illusion faded as I realize I’ve made a grave mistake in wearing this dress and embarrassing Rafayel.

I need to get out of here.

I dry my tears and try to gather my wits just long enough to get through the next five minutes before I leave. I’ll just make up an excuse that I’m feeling sick and should go to my apartment so I don’t get Rafayel sick.

I open the bathroom door and walk around before finally spotting my boyfriend across the room.

And two women along with a small group of men, most likely the buyers.

They were gorgeous. One would think they were models with their dresses fitted to their figures like a second skin and not an ounce of fat to be seen. The one with obvious cleavage must be the woman trying to take him home tonight.

I’m not sure what to do. Her beauty obviously compliments his in ways I never could. I don’t have the guts to go up to him and look them in the eyes. But I don’t think my heart could handle leaving him without saying anything.

Big Tits places her hand on his arm and gives him a radiant smile, leaning in closer to no doubt shower Rafayel with praise and lure him in like a siren does a sailor.

Rafayel clearly looks down at her hand with confusion and something else, but doesn’t remove her hand. He just takes a step back and smiles politely.

I know that Rafayel is a gentleman and takes pride in holding himself in a higher regard than human men. But I can’t help but think that he deserves someone that compliments him. Maybe being out in public with me will only garner negative attention for him. Beautiful people should surround themselves with other beautiful people.

Disheartened, I turn and walk in the opposite direction to the bar and ask for some water. Just as the bartender places the glass in front of me, I hear someone say my name rather close behind me.

Thomas slides up right next to me and orders a water for himself. I manage a smile as best I can for him. “Thomas, I’m so sorry for causing a problem. If I had known he wouldn’t speak to anyone because of me, I would’ve done a better job of keeping my distance from him and the buyers.”

The bartender slides a glass in front of Thomas who takes it and turns to lean against the bar. He has an exasperated, yet slightly unbothered look on his face as he looks across the gallery. “Rafayel has always been this way, even before he met you. Trust me you were never the problem here.” Thomas gives me a sideways glance and smirks.

“I can’t say I’ve ever had a truly easy time since working for him. But ever since you’ve become a part of his life, his hunger for anything this world can offer him has reflected in his work in a way I never thought would happen. It’s just a matter of getting him to actually finish the paintings and sell them.” I can tell that, despite how exhausting I’m sure it is for Thomas to work for Rafayel, his respect for his boss is very apparent. Although I’m not so sure about what Thomas is implying.

I give him a nervous laugh to shoo away his words about my supposed influence on Rafayel. “Oh, I’m sure a genius like Rafayel gets so much inspiration and fulfillment from all things around him. You can’t possibly think that I-”

“You have no idea, do you?” Thomas’s words cut me off and his expression becomes sharp and discerning. His fingers tighten around his drink. Worried I offended him or Rafayel, I try to rectify my words.

“I don’t know what you mean, Thomas. I just-” And I’m cut off again.

“People from all over the world spend fortunes to travel in hopes of a miracle that Rafayel will give them a direct wave or smile in their direction. People throw themselves at him all the time, promising their everlasting devotion to a creative genius like him. There are some that have received a glare from Rafayel and took it as a sign to take a chance for more.

“You have never had to work a day in your life for Rafayel’s affections. He gives himself to you freely and without any doubts or reservations. I’d even go as far to say he gives you too much of himself and overwhelms you at times. You challenge him like nobody else can. You keep up with his dramatics without letting him take advantage of you. You’re clearly stunning and keep him on his toes. Obviously you’re his muse that inspired all of these paintings-” I can’t take anymore of this.

“I don’t think me doing the bare minimum and treating him with common courtesy and decency constitutes as being his muse. He deserves to be treated with kindness and compassion.” And all of that is true. Even if it weren’t by me, he deserves to be treated like a person and not some prize to win over. I’m just the lucky rookie hunter who’s here for him now. And if he finds someone better, I’ll be whatever else he needs me to be. That’s just how lovesick and pathetic I am.

Thomas gives me another discerning sideways glance. “I agree. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known. His genius is unlike any other and, contrary to how exhausting it can be to work for him, I’ve never regretted choosing to be his manager.”

As we are speaking, I maintain my gaze on Rafayel from afar. Big Tits is till with him, smiling up at him and pushing out her cleavage in a very unassuming way. Kudos to her for that sly move. Rafayel barely seems to notice so it looks like her subtlety is working on him.

I look down at my figure briefly, plucking at my dress so the rolls and flabby areas are concealed under the little wrinkles. Since I haven’t eaten anything tonight, I can suck in my stomach without any bloating issues.

I stand up straight and feign confidence, hoping that the stretch in making myself taller has smoothed out any protruding areas.

“Do not pay them any mind.” Thomas speaks up again, jolting me out of my inner thoughts.

I lift a brow in confusion. Did he mean my rolls? Are they clearly still showing?

“Clarice has vied for Rafayel’s affections for months now.” Oh, he was talking about her. I remain still and calm, like water, so as to not give away my thoughts about her taking Rafayel away from me.

Thomas continues. “Her father is a regular buyer and sometimes sends her in his stead. His health has been declining so he can’t make the trips to exhibitions anymore. She is your typical heiress to an empire and has never been told ‘no’ in her life. That is, until Rafayel declined her efforts to romantically pursue him about 2 years go.” His eyes are fixed on Big Tits — Clarice — who is speaking animatedly with Rafayel and men I also do not recognize.

I stay silent after Thomas’s reassuring explanation for me. He probably saw me spiraling and is trying to console me to get myself together. Can’t have the woman that came with Rafayel make a spectacle of herself.

“Clarice…a beautiful name for a beautiful woman…” Water. I am a pool of water. Cool, calm, and collected.

Thomas lets out a scoff. “Don’t be fooled, dear. She paid for her good looks. Not that there’s anything wrong with that, per se. However, she likes to use her powers for evil. She’s more like a witch who disguises herself to lure victims to their demise.”

Clarice points to Rafayel’s empty champagne flute and heads to the bar near them, no doubt getting him another drink to schmooze him.

The handful of men stay behind and chat with Rafayel. I see them shuffle even closer to Rafayel as if to whisper a secret. They look like they’re offering something to him. Rafayel’s expression turns stunned, then dark. Offended.

“Oh dear gods, Rafayel, please don’t kill them.” Thomas sighs as if he’s had to deal with this before.

Rafayel places his hand on one of the men’s shoulder and leans in close to whisper something to those gathered around him. With his angelic smile plastered on his face, Rafayel’s lips move as if countering their offer. But the men’s faces turn ashen…and horrified.

And just as Big Tits - Clarice - comes back with a new glass of champagne to offer to Raf, he turns to look in all different directions before finding me across the way and leaning against the bar.

Completely ignoring Big Tits - Clarice - Rafayel’s eyes light up in relief as he makes his way over to me, leaving his victims behind without a care in the world.

I can only force a small smile and give him a pathetic wave as he closes the distance between us. My eyes briefly shift to see the witch (fuck her, I don’t care about her name anymore) turn her nose up at me with a look of disgust. The friend does the same before whispering in her ear and they giggle to each other.

“Cutie! Why didn’t you come get me sooner? It’s been over ten minutes, by the way! Jellyfish are walking around naked and I’m dying to get out of here. Ready to go home?” My attention is back on Rafayel as he reaches me and immediately takes my hand in his. His aura is lighter now that he’s reached me. The murderous look he used for those men has completely vanished.

“Rafayel, what did you say to them? Are the buyers interested in any works tonight?” Thomas interrupts Rafayel to bring the attention back to the group of men who still seem rattled but whatever he said to them. Rafayel, however, was too busy trying to get us out of there. I guess I don’t need to convince him to let me leave early.

“Rafayel, what the hell happened with those buyers?” Thomas catches up and grabs Rafayel’s elbow.

Rafayel stops in his tracks and turns to Thomas. “Those insufferable cockroaches are never allowed at any of my exhibitions again. You would do well to find better options worthy of owning my paintings.” Rafayel turns and is dragging me again towards the exit.

“Let’s go home, my darling. I need a nice soothing bath to cleanse myself of all this stuffiness.” His grip on my hand tightens. It feels as if he’s afraid I’ll let go, but he would be more likely to leave me behind…right?

I hesitate in my steps. “Are you sure? You don’t…want to stay and get to know anybody here? Don’t you still want to sell some of your works?”

“Eugh, no. We should’ve left five minutes ago. I’m ready to blow this popsicle stand.” Rafayel tugs me along through the building. The crowd makes way for him to walk through.

“But…if those men aren’t going to buy anything, shouldn’t you stay to schmooze some of the other guests?” I realize how pathetic I am in trying to give him an opportunity to stay. Jeez I’m acting like a wingman to my own boyfriend.

“I changed my mind. None of the paintings are for sale tonight.” Rafayel’s hand tightens around mine even more as we leave the building, Thomas’s protests continue in the background, but Rafayel doesn’t seem to have a care in the world.

“But why? I thought-” I don’t get a chance to finish though.

“Those idiots thought they could insult me. They thought they could insult y-” Rafayel stops his words short, but the anger that remained served as a warning that I shouldn’t press him to finish his sentence. When we make it to the car, he stops before my door and turns to me.

The anger from earlier has dissipated from the air around us. “Don’t worry about it, cutie. They don’t matter. Let’s go home, yeah? I need a bath.” His hands come up to cup my face and brings me closer to kiss my temple.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Rafa? Is there anything I can do to help?”

A glint of mischief reaches his eyes. “Welllll you could always join me in the bath?”

Panic grips my heart. No. I’m not ready for him to see me yet… “Oh, actually I-“

Rafayel stops me. “Okay I know what you’re thinking. I know I take a lot of really loooooong baths and you’re probably tired. But just hear me out: I can open the windows that lead to the ocean and we can just relax. I can light some candles and put something on the vinyl player. Very romantic if I say so myself. What do ya say?” He’s worried about me being too tired to bathe with him? His pleading eyes are fucking killing me. I don’t know how I can say “no” to him.

Oh wait, yes I do. Because the minute he sees me completely uncovered is the minute I’ll lose him. That woman was right about me. Beautiful people deserve beautiful things.

I am water…cool, calm, and collected. I just have to get out of this.

“Actually, Rafa, I think I’m coming down with something. The open windows probably brought something in the air. I don’t want to get you sick…maybe I should go home for a couple days and make sure it’s nothing contagious.”

pleasebelievemepleasebelievemepleasebelieveme

His eyes fall in disappointment before worry replaces it. One hand leaves my cheek to feel my forehead. “You do feel a little flushed. Are you sure you want to go home? I can cook and take care of you if you wanna stay with me.”

I give him a small smile. Thank god he fell for it. “I’m sure Rafa. I would feel so guilty if I got you sick. Hopefully it won’t be too long. I’ll keep you updated okay?”

He’s clearly sad but nods in understanding. “Okay my darling. Let me take you home.”

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A Week Later

Ma Petit Fishie: Are you feeling any better? Want me to bring some soup to you?

Me: I just placed an order for some soup. It’s not too bad today. I’ll let you know as soon as I’m over this cold.

I feel awful for lying to Rafayel. But this is for the best. I’m sure once my plan works and shows results fast enough, he’ll be so happy with how I look and that we can move forward in our relationship and be seen in public together without any doubts of me belonging with Rafayel.

I put my phone away as I continue my workout. Luckily this gym is reserved for employees at the Hunter’s Association only so there’s no chance of running into him.

I’ve been coming to the gym around nighttime since there’s typically not a whole of people here around this time. The less people to interact with the better.

I was hoping for something a little more fast-acting, but I can’t afford cosmetic surgery and Zayne wouldn’t prescribe me anything to help with weight loss.

I was able to get an appointment with him the day after the exhibition, but I couldn’t get what I was looking for.

Zayne just looked at me with calculating eyes before jotting down some notes. “Why are you asking me for this? Your weight is within the range of a healthy woman of your age with protocore syndrome.”

That’s gotta be the biggest lie. Barely hanging on the larger side of a 60 pound range is laughable.

“No major reason, I just wanted to see if there was something that could shave off fat so that I could build muscle easier.” Jeez I hate that the lies are falling off of my tongue so easily. As long as I can look at his face, but not his eyes, this could be successful.

“There is nothing on the market that would pair safely with your heart condition.” Zayne leans back in his chair and narrows is eyes. “Are you sure there is no other reason?”

I shake my head with an innocent look. “No other reason. I just wanted to get stronger for large-scale missions.”

“I can refer you to a dietician that can create a meal plan, but I do not feel comfortable prescribing fast-acting drugs that have more negative side effects than the positive results you’re looking for.” Zayne types something on his computer before printing a sheet. “You can take this to suite 200 of the office building and she’ll help you.”

I take the sheet with a grateful smile and absolutely no intention of using this referral. Back to the original plan. I need to hurry before Rafayel gets bored of me for taking too long to move forward or disgusted with how I look now.

“Thank you, Dr. Zayne!” I rushed out of his office before heading to my apartment to finalize my original plan.

That was a week ago and I think I’ve got a solid plan.

I’ll play sick for a couple more days. Luckily Thomas has Rafayel extremely busy since he didn’t sell any of the pieces from last week.

I also volunteered for more rigorous missions to put my body to the test.

I jump off the treadmill to refill my water bottle and head to the weight station.

I continue pushing myself until the lightness I feel starts to make me a little wobbly. Then I refill my water again and head home.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Cutie! I missed you so much you have no idea! Please tell Thomas to go away! He’s been so cruel to me and I want some time alone with you!” Ever the drama queen, Rafayel gives me the biggest puppy-dog eyes to plead his case.

It’s only been a week or so. I extended my absence from him as much as possible and played it off as lingering symptoms that could still be contagious. Gods I missed him. But I’ve been trying my best to get the plan moving.

Looking at him now, I pray my efforts work so I can keep him.

For now, I’ll enjoy hanging out with him today.

“I’ll see what I can do, Rafa.” I give him a quick peck on the cheek.

His arms wrap around me and pull me close, his face nuzzling my neck. “Thank you. You have no idea how much I missed you. I can’t tell you how many times I-”

His arms tighten and loosen around me before his hands rub up and down my back. His hands linger on my hips and waist as they roam my figure.

It becomes too much as I realize he might be able to feel my shape through my clothes. I quickly step back, panic beginning to settle in. “Rafayel, what-?”

“Have you lost weight? Did you eat anything while you were sick?” His stance is intimidating as is eyes roam up and down my body. While the hoodies and sweatpants should make it difficult, it definitely feels like Rafayel can see through the baggy clothes and pick out the flawed areas of my body.

“Oh um…I highly doubt I’ve lost weight. It was just hard to keep certain foods down so my appetite was lost for a bit.” Lie.

“Why didn’t you tell me? I would’ve brought you some easy foods to help you.” At the mention of eating, I picked at my jacket to peel it away from clinging to my frame.

“It was nothing, my darling. I’m feeling better now and I actually feel good. I’m surprisingly very energized today.” Lie, but I give him my best smile to reassure him.

He doesn’t seem convinced until he smiles as well. Phew. “Well, as long as you’re feeling better. Are you hungry now? I was actually wanting to try this new Italian place. Wanna go there for lunch?”

Italian. Carbs. Absolutely not. “Oh Rafa, I’m so sorry. I already ate lunch today. I had some leftover soup that I needed to finish.” Lie.

His face falls. Fuck I hate disappointing him right now. But it’ll all be worth it in the end.

“Oh…yeah you should probably stick with easier meals since you were recently sick. How about dinner with me tonight? We can order in so it’s just the two of us” Dammit, I can’t say no to those eyes. And I can’t decline food twice or else he’ll catch on.

“I suppose we could have dinner…as long as it’s light and small.”

And he lights up again. I don’t know who cursed Rafayel to date me, but I’ll be forever grateful for these moments.

“Perfect! I know just the spot to order from! And while you’re here we can have a day in all to ourselves. Whatever you wanna do, cutie.” He winks at me playfully.

I giggle at him before playfully smacking his chest. “Okay little fishie, lemme see what I can do about Thomas.”

“My hero.” He brings one hand to his heart and the other to his forehead as if a damsel is about to faint.

God I love my little fishie.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

After I successfully convince Thomas to leave the house, I walk back to the living room where Rafayel is sitting on the couch scrolling on his phone.

“Mission accomplished. Thomas has agreed to give you a break for the next couple of days.”

“You, my darling, are a blessing. I don’t know how I was able to survive without you for so many years.” His words are teasing, but his eyes hold something deeper. I can’t exactly pinpoint what, but something about it nags at my brain.

Letting go of that thought before it gives me a headache, I sit down next to Rafayel, making sure to keep a little space between us. Rafayel throws that plan out the window and pulls me close to him.

My body tenses slightly as I feel him wrap his arm around me. “Okay cutie, what did you want to do today? We could watch a movie, go for a swim in the pool, or even go to the beach!”

Fuck, I knew he wanted to go to the beach. Of course he does. It’s his home where he’s the most comfortable.

“I wouldn’t…mind any of those options. I just don’t think I should do anything too strenuous like swimming right now. But I’m more than happy to sit on the beach and relax while you swim. I also don’t have a bathing suit with me today.”

His shoulders droop a little in disappointment, but shakes it off and shrugs in nonchalance. “It’s okay cutie. We can always go another time. How about we take it easy before dinner?” Rafayel’s hand is too close to my stomach.

I try to keep myself in check. “That sounds good, Rafa. Did you just want to lounge around and watch some movies?”

His hand gently caresses my waist over the hoodie. “Yeah we can do that. Let me just clean up the paints around here and-” He moves to stand up from the sofa but stops and turns to me. A devious smile matches the light in his eyes. Oh no…I’ve seen that look on his face and right now he has something crazy in mind.

“Orrrrrrr what if you let me paint you? You are my muse after all, cutie. I’m sure I could have a masterpiece done around dinner time.” His eyes are eager and hopeful. I would even go as far to say he looks crazed at the opportunity.

Yep, definitely crazy. No way is that ever happening.

I immediately curl in on myself a bit. “Rafa I’m not…I don’t think I have the capacity to sit still that long. Also…wouldn’t a professional model be more suited for an artist of your caliber?”

Rafayel looks at me with confusion and determination. His hands clasp over mine. “Nonsense! You would be a perfect model. There’s nobody else I would want to immortalize on a canvas.” He gives me a reassuring smile while running his thumb back and forth over my hands.

“Immortalize?” I can’t fathom a world where Rafayel paints how I look now and being proud of it. He would most likely be unhappy with the outcome and wonder what he did wrong before realizing that it’s not a matter of skill issue, but it’s just the way I look.

“Well yeah. It would be just for us. I would never allow anyone to own something as precious as a painting of you.”

“Rafa, I don’t think-”

“I mean, I already have countless drawings of you in multiple sketchbooks, but I’ve always wanted to paint you.” My blood turns cold. He has drawings of me? More than one? But why?

“You have drawings?” I feign light curiosity. “Can I see them?” I need to know what he sees. I know it’ll hurt, but maybe these sketches will show me the areas he notices that I will make sure to fix.

Rafayel in his excitement doesn’t notice my inner panic. He practically skips over to where he keeps his workbooks and paintbrushes. He grabs a handful of sketchbooks and brings them over flipping through one of them until he finds what he’s looking for.

“Here. There’s a couple more after that, too! See? You’re the perfect model for me, my darling. And these were all done by memory! Imagine the masterpieces I could create with you right here in front of me to capture everything.” Rafayel hands me the book and it is not what I was expecting.

The first one is a portrait of the face. The girl is beautiful when she smiles. I can clearly tell he poured himself into the finer details.

The problem was that this wasn’t me. It’s supposed to be me, but this isn’t what I look like. I can clearly tell what he meant when he said they were done by memory due to the obvious differences. This must be what Rafayel wants me to be. This is what he envisions compared to the real thing.

I flip the page and it’s a full body image. The girl walking along the shore and reaching for something beyond the page. She is also beautiful, but she isn’t who I am right now.

My heart breaks knowing that I am nowhere near this version of me.

But I can work with this. I can become this. At least I can visualize the goal now.

I run my fingers down the page. “She’s beautiful.”

I feel a finger lift my chin to look into the most beautiful eyes. “You are.” Rafayel whispers.

I let out a nervous giggle. “Stop, Rafa. I’m not-”

“Don’t. Do not finish that sentence.” His pinkish-blue eyes harden with his warning and I can see a flicker of the stormy blue they become when the Sea God makes an appearance. Just a flash, then they’re back to their normal shade.

I don’t want to argue, so I can only silently nod. “May I keep these two sketches? Please?”

“Of course…you can have anything you wish.”

All I want is him…

“You could command anything of me. A thousand sketches? Done. A million paintings dedicated to you? Say the word. You already have my heart.” Before I have anytime to register his words, Rafayel leans in to kiss me and I can’t help but lean into it. Who knows when it’ll be the last time. I need to make the most of these moments.

His finger remains under my chin, holding me in place. The slightest pressure from his other hand on my back is all he needs to apply as I lose myself in the feel of his lips on mine.

We stay like that for a few minutes before I reluctantly pull away. The guilt eats at me. I know I should give him more. Rafayel deserves the best kind of love in this world and all the intimate expressions it comes with.

But the best kind of love is not something I can give him right now. Because that love is free of disgust and shame and embarrassment.

His breath is shaky and his lips tremble against mine. “I could kiss you for an eternity and not notice the time pass.” The hand on my back twitches in excitement, but does not apply more pressure. Ever the gentleman, Rafayel doesn’t push past the invisible line I have drawn between us.

I don’t think I will ever understand how this beautiful Lemurian can shower me with such devotion. To even be allowed a smile is a blessing in itself.

Overwhelmed by the desire laced in his voice, I giggle and attempt to divert the attention from me. “I feel like you would eventually get tired of it after…oh I would say 24 hours, little fishie. You’d at least need to rest and replenish your oxygen levels.”

His body stills and he leans back to fully look at me. His entire demeanor changes and I wonder what I said to make him look so…insulted? No that’s not it. Challenged is more like it.

His pupils dilate, the pink and blue melting into a stormy violet. “Did you forget that I am a Lemurian, my darling? We have no need for something as trivial as stopping for air. At least…not for a long, long time.”

“Oh…” Oh? That’s all i can come up with? Why am I so lame?

“In fact, if I were to take you out to the sea right now, one kiss would let you breathe underwater like me. Then…you would have no need for oxygen as well. There would be no limit as to what we could do for hours and hours.” Rafayel’s gaze trails from my eyes to my lips and even further down before landing back on my eyes. I self-consciously move to cover myself more and shield my body from his scrutiny.

Conflict pulls at me from both ends. On one hand, my body is responding to his words. I feel my thighs clench together as desire sets my nerves on fire. On the other hand, I know I’m nowhere near the standard of feeling worthy enough to take that next step with Rafayel.

My focus clouds, thinking of all the possible ways things could go wrong if I give in now based on the hope that he would still want me.

Even in the worst-case scenario, I know Rafayel would be a gentleman. He would gracefully help me get redressed, reassuring that someone is out there for me, but I’m just not the girl for him. He would then either call me a taxi or leave his own house to give me time to collect myself and leave on my own terms. I would most likely be fired as his bodyguard to save him from the awkwardness.

Maybe after some time we could still be friends and my personality would be enough for him to want to be near me.

But if I could just buy myself some time, maybe I can turn myself into those drawings he made.

“…tie? Cutie?”

I snap out of my reverie to find Rafayel extremely close to my face. The storm in his eyes has faded to the normal pink and blue again. But they’re filled with worry this time.

“Oh, Rafa. I uh…I’m sorry I’m just…not used to um…I mean I haven’t-” Gods I can’t seem to pull myself together. I wring my hands together in anxiety.

Why does this have to happen now? Why can’t I stop thinking about the worst that could happen? Rafayel doesn’t deserve to be thought of in this light. He has done nothing to warrant the doubts I have placed on us. He deserves someone who can trust his intentions. He deserves someone who will enjoy this relationship. He deserves someone who can be present in the fucking relationship and this moment with him.

He deserves better than me.

Fuck it’s starting all over again.

My breaths quicken as a torrent of emotions swirl in my head. I need to find a way to fix myself faster. Maybe I can ask Sylus for a favor. He might know somebody who can get me something on the market in the N109 zone.

Or maybe I can just get off my lazy ass and work harder. Maybe if I can keep up with the plan for the next few months, Rafayel will notice some results. I just need to keep him occupied and entertained so he doesn’t get bored with me in the meantime.

In the few minutes I have these thoughts, I barely notice Rafayel trying to get my attention.

A wave of his hand in front of me and his evol quickly produces a flame that shakes me out of the trance I was in.

I gasp sharply at the sudden burst of light the flame emits. My senses focus on my surroundings and I feel a grip on my shoulder.

With a flick of his wrist, the flame extinguishes and I can now hear Rafayel over my breathing.

“Cutie, just breathe, okay? Hey, look at me. Look at me.” His hands hold my face, his grip reassuring yet firm. He guides my face so that I’m looking directly at him.

“There you are. You’re okay. Just breathe, baby. No need to get yourself worked up. I was only teasing, okay? I would never pressure you into anything you weren’t ready for.” His gaze remains on me. One hand leaves my face to take my hand and place it over his heart. “Focus on me, yeah?” He slowly takes a deep inhale, then exhales. I steady my breathing to match my heart rate to his.

Once I’ve calmed down, I rest my head on his chest and close my eyes, too embarrassed to maintain his gaze. “I’m…sorry, Rafa. I don’t know…what came…over me.”

Rafayel keeps my hand over his heart while the other trails from my cheek to the back of my head. He runs his fingers through my hair, the sensation keeping me calm.

“Don’t apologize, cutie. You have nothing to be sorry for. I didn’t mean to make you anxious. It was all harmless teasing I swear.” Rafayel makes no indication for us to move, his hold on me is unwavering in its mission to keep me grounded.

After a few minutes though, the adrenaline from the panic attack wears off, and I become aware of the fact that my body is still trembling, as well as covered in a sheen of sweat.

Then I feel Rafayel’s hand running up and down my back in soothing circles. His head lays on top of mine as he hums a tune, slightly swaying us in a rocking motion. I wonder if it’s a Lemurian song.

I can’t help but want to fall asleep in his arms, lost in the daydream where Rafayel doesn’t mind settling for who I am now.

And the shield surrounding that dream once my skin prickles and instantly becomes hyper aware of the fact that Rafayel’s hands have been roaming over my lumpy form.

If I play it cool, we can both pretend he’s touching the wrinkles in the hoodie. I just need to leave his embrace, however difficult that task is right now. I never want to leave the safety of his arms.

I twitch my hands a little and wiggle my body a bit to hopefully indicate to him I need to move. However, his hold tightens even more around me.

“Rafa, I need to-”

“Don’t. Just-just stay here for a while longer. Please.” He whispers into my hair so softly. His lips kiss the crown of my head as he continues to hum.

I can only pray he doesn’t notice what he’s actually touching. I pray he has mercy on me if he does.

“Okay…just a bit longer.” I whisper, too afraid my voice will break if I speak any louder.

We stay like that for a couple minutes (even if my anxiety made it feel longer). Rafayel stops humming and gives me another kiss to my head. His hand lets go of mine to join the other one to hold my waist. His fingers add pressure to the tense areas of my hips and lower back.

“So soft…” Rafayel whispers in awe.

I giggle. “You can borrow it anytime if you want. But this is my favorite hoodie so please don’t lose it.”

He pulls back to look at me in total confusion. “What are you talking about?”

It’s my turn to be confused now. “Uh, the same thing you’re talking about…my hoodie? You said it was soft.” I giggle nervously. “Does my poor fishie have the memory of a goldfish? It was only a few seconds ago.”

Rafayel shakes his head in disbelief. “Silly girl, I was talking about you. You’re so soft and warm. I would squish and snuggle up to you 24/7 if I could.” He resumes his previous position and grabs my hips in demonstration. He lays his head over mine again and continues to squeeze bits of me up along my torso making his way to just below my breasts.

It feels like cold water is thrown over me. My body tenses in response to his ministrations.

Squish me? Why would he say that?

Maybe this is his subtle way of letting me know he’s always known how I actually look. And the areas he’s paying attention to with his hands are the areas he wants me to fix.

If him touching me everywhere is any indication, then I have a lot of work to do.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Note: Whoa boy that was a lot. I hope y’all don’t mind the angst and inner turmoil in this story. I have different scenarios for each LI that I will be writing.

Let me know what y’all think!

[thesightstoshowyou]

Sooo my Ghoul idea! So fem reader, the ghoul takes an odd job unlike his regular job with just killing people for money. A employer hires the ghoul and pays him BIG BIG “money” Caps to bring his daughter home safely across the dangerous wasteland. The reader is a vault dweller and so is the father who has outside connections so he knows who to contact and bring his daughter back. She snuck out to see what up top was really like, and to escape an assigned marriage. Reader is not so bright, basically a bimbo 😅, first time for reader, reader actually finds him attractive, cream pie, Dom Ghoul. Hopefully this is something you’d like to write! ❤️

Thank you for this request!! I hope I did it justice 😁🥰

~~

Over Your Head

Cooper Howard (The Ghoul) x F Reader (NSFW)

Warnings: Loss of virginity, degradation, thigh riding, a little of the Ghoul’s self-loathing, painful sex (that becomes not painful), nipple play, dacryphilia, spitting, creampie, copious dirty talk

The Ghoul heaves a world-weary sigh. “Listen, darlin’,” he starts as he grips your ankle to shove your foot away from where it teases his inner thigh. “Your daddy’s payin’ a hefty sum o’ caps to bring ya’ back in one piece. I don’t think he’ll appreciate me deflowerin’ his lil’ princess.” The last word is said with so much contempt even you can’t miss it.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you whine, bottom lip protruding in a pout.

“Means you’re gettin’ on my last goddamn nerve.” The inhaler hisses when he sucks down a hit. Outside, the wind howls and rattles the foundation of the crumbling office building in which you’d taken shelter. He assumes the dust storm that kicked up and trapped the two of you here, alone, is some kind of divine punishment for his misdeeds. “I know there’s some fuckin’ smooth-skinned brat down in your vault who’s dyin’ to fumble around with ya’. You’re better suited for him.”

The Ghoul watches as your disappointed frown morphs into one of determination. He can almost see the gears working in your head as you try to think up a way to get what you want. You aren’t used to being told “no,” that much is clear.

Never has he regretted taking a job more than he does at this moment.

“I don’t want someone from my vault,” you say as you move onto your hands and knees. Languidly, you crawl through the sand and he can’t help the way his gaze falls on the sway of your hips. He grits his teeth when you slide into his lap, the warmth between your thighs settling right against his clothed cock. “I want you.”

“Did ya’ hit your head on the vault door on your way out, sweetheart?” he questions as your palms come to rest on his shoulders. His own hands, rough from life on the surface and scarred from rads, smooth over your hips and slide down to cup your ass. Irritation shifts into bemused resignation. Admittedly, it’s been a long, long while since he’s been intimate with anyone, and the way you’re writhing in his lap chips away at the last vestiges of his resolve.

“No?” you reply, obviously confused. Pretty…and dumb. Though, he’s still not convinced this isn’t some kind of elaborate prank. Why you’d want him of all people—when you could have anyone you want—is beyond his comprehension.

But, here you are, apparently ready and quite willing. Who is he to snuff out your hopes and dreams, as misguided as they are?

Slowly, the Ghoul inhales through his teeth as one of his hands slides up to grip the back of your neck. His thumb brushes over your nape and he feels a shiver zip down your spine. “I don’t think ya’ know what you’re gettin’ yourself into, sugar.”

Already, your eyes are half lidded and hazy, your plush lips parted to allow for quick breaths. Desperate. Innocent. “Pretty please,” comes your tremulous whisper.

He’s going to make you regret every decision you’ve ever made.

The hand on your neck twists so he can gather up a handful of your hair. He brings your face inches from his own so his lips hover just out of your reach. A grin pulls at his mouth when he feels you test his grip, desperate to close the distance.

He leans in until he’s a hair’s breadth away, until you can feel his exhale ghosting across your panting mouth. “Ain’t no backin’ out a’ this once I tear into ya’.” Hastily, you nod and a breathy whine sneaks past your teeth. Your unbridled enthusiasm is going to be the death of him.

Or you.

The Ghoul’s lips crash into yours in a searing kiss. He swallows your sweet mewl and the sharp gasp that follows when he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip. The feeling of your hips bucking in his lap and the taste of your blood on his tongue rips a rasping groan from his throat.

“Get up and strip,” he orders. He releases your hair and lands a stinging swat on your ass for emphasis. You yelp but scurry away, apparently determined to prove your obedience. The slide of your zipper fills the small space and the Ghoul’s eyes rake over your body as the vault uniform is peeled away, little by little.

The clink of his belt buckle follows and it’s nearly impossible to contain his snort of laughter when your eyes grow comically wide at the sight of him. He palms his cock and slowly hisses through his teeth when you squirm impatiently on the spot, now as naked as the day you were born. Even from here, he can see the arousal glistening between your thighs.

“Come take a seat, kiddo,” The Ghoul says as he spreads his legs and slaps a thigh. Eagerly, you straddle his quad. He wraps a hand around your throat as the other settles on your waist. Slight pressure urges the roll of your hips and soon you’re grinding your slick into his pants.

“What would your daddy say if he saw ya’ actin’ like such a desperate little slut, huh? For a ghoul, no less.” As he speaks, the hand on your waist slides up to roughly tweak a nipple. You squeal and attempt to twist away, but his grip on your throat prevents too much movement. The Ghoul clicks his tongue, “I thought I said no runnin’.”

“It hurts!” You whimper when he turns the same mean treatment on the other nipple.

“Then why are you soakin’ my pant leg, baby?” The moan you loose when his fingers slip down your belly to prod your clit heats the lust burning in his gut. He snatches one of your hands, wraps it around his length, and uses it to stroke himself. The slide of your soft palm along twisted flesh earns you a strained grunt and the briefest fluttering of eyelids.

He watches you from under the brim of his hat. Your eyes are locked on the way your hand works up and down his shaft, your bottom lip glistening where you’ve wet it with your tongue. You’re damn near drooling at just the sight of his cock. The Ghoul has had about all he can take.

“C’mere,” he growls as he grabs hold of your waist and hauls you flush against him. An anxious squeak leaves you when the head of his cock nudges your slick hole. “Deep breath, sweetheart.”

You only manage half an inhale before the Ghoul digs his nails into your hips to spear you on his girth. Your pained shriek echoes off the walls and you scramble to pull yourself up and off, but his grip keeps you seated and forces inch by punishing inch through spasming, untouched muscles. Too soon, you’re impaled up to the hilt, your eyes wide and brimming with tears, your jaw working open and closed like you can’t find the air to scream.

“Fuckin’ tight,” he mutters, nearly overwhelmed by the death grip your hot, slippery insides have on his length. A steadying inhale allows him to turn his attention to you. “What’s the matter, darlin’? Gettin’ split open by my cock not what you’d hoped it’d be?”

The Ghoul tugs you closer to drag his tongue through the fat drops now rolling down your cheeks. Pinching your face between thumb and forefinger, he forces your mouth open and spits your anguish onto your tongue. This seems to shock you enough to draw a choked, furious sound out of you.

“F-fuck-stop-it-it’s too-so full,” you stammer, your thighs shaking like the shingles on the roof above. The Ghoul chuckles, dark and low, as his teeth find the soft flesh of your throat.

“I told ya’ t’breathe, baby,” he reminds you between teasing nips and licks. Your skin is rich like the food they feed you down in that vault, your scent lacking the taint of fear that comes from living life in the Wasteland. Good enough to eat….

Laboriously, you gasp, each breath minutely relaxing your cunt, just enough for the Ghoul to give a few experimental thrusts. The sound you make is distressed, yes, but now there’s something else there to, something akin to that desperation you showed him earlier.

“That’s it, sweetheart. Learnin’ how t’relax and take it. We’ll make a good lil’ whore outta ya’ yet.” Slowly, he moves your hips back and forth as he speaks. Eventually, you get the message and clutch his shoulders to attempt a few tentative undulations of your own. The Ghoul growls, his nails digging crescents into your skin where he holds you.

Soon, no pain remains in your vocalizations. You whine and moan and keen so sweetly, your cries filling the shelter and mingling with the wet squelching of your cunt. You find your rhythm and bounce, unrestrained, in his lap as your juices soak into his pants.

Pressure builds in his groin. The Ghoul can tell by the way your hips stutter and your sweet hole clenches that you’re about to finish too. Hastily, he pulls you against him, plants his boots in the dirt, and hammers up into you until you’re screaming all over again.

You cum a half a second before he does. You freeze in climax, your back arching, so the Ghoul must dig his fingers into the flesh of your ass to work you up and down his girth. With a growl on his lips and teeth bared, his cock pulses to paint your guts in thick ropes of ecstasy.

Long seconds pass as you both hover together in that liminal space of bliss. “Ohh…oh god…” you sigh finally, slumping, boneless. He mirrors your sentiment with a pleased groan that rumbles in his chest.

A hand in your hair tips your head back so the Ghoul can assess your dazed expression. “Fucked what lil’ sense ya’ had right outta ya’, huh?”

“You don’t have to be mean about—

A yawn overtakes your affronted huff. You move to scoot off his lap. “God, I’m so tired now.”

The Ghoul hums disapprovingly and maintains his hold on your hips. “We ain’t done here, sugar. That dust storm is still howlin’ and you got two holes left for me t’abuse.”

Nervously, you laugh and shake your head. “But, I thought…I just wanted—

“A big, bad man t’pop your cherry so ya’ had somethin’ t’brag about back in your vault. Well, I intend on doin’ just that and there ain’t no sense in doin’ somethin’ halfway. Not my problem ya’ bit off more than ya’ could chew, sweetheart.” A chuckle bubbles up from his throat at your horrified expression.

“On your knees, sugar.”

[incarnadin3]

How Obey Me Brothers realized they were in love with MC: Part Seven, Belphegor

A/N: I'm gonna post this one before Satan and break the order because I have no clue what to write for him, and I originally started this series after thinking about Belphie being in love while being in the (you guessed it) shower. I feel like his is one of the easier ones because of what happened between him and MC and then Lilith. Another reason why Beel's is also really easy to write (hint hint). Also, unlike stated, Lilith doesn't actually hate Belphie, that's a figment of his imagination, and his hate for sloth isn't factual (I think?) that's just for plot. Anyways sorry if there's mistakes, for some reason autocorrect does not want to work. Enjoy~

Belphegor: The Catnapping Seventhborn

Being youngest meant that one could get away with a lot of things, but how could one get away with guilt?

There were only two things that Belphie felt guilt for. Killing you, and being the one that was saved during the Celestial War. Each day, when he looks at himself in the mirror, he sees a demon, full of sloth, and weakness. He looks at Beel's muscles, and wishes he had them too. Whenever he looks at himself in the mirror, he only sees the self-loath. Why couldn't he have had been stronger? If only he was strong enough to save himself during the war, then Beel wouldn't have had to choose between him and Lilith. Hell, he could have saved her. Now, her shadow stands behind him in the mirror, a look of pure hatred on her face.

One might look at Belphie and think, "Man, that's a demon who loves sleep". But no, Belphie hated his sin. It reminded him of his failure to be strong enough to save Lilith and himself.

He hated sleeping. Sure, his powers allowed him to control dreams, but what if his own powers want him to remind him of all his lacking qualities.

One doesn't think much of sleeping positions, and certainly no one batted an eye to Belphie sleeping. Not even his own twin knew when Belphie went into a nightmare. All he wished was that someone could shake him awake, hug him, and take care of him. But no-one noticed the signs that he needed comfort.

Belphie's sleeping positions went as such:

Splayed out - he was in a cozy dream, usually including you as a side character along with his brothers

Big spooning his pillow - in a dream with you (often times a date or a wet dream)

Little spooning his pillow - comfort dream where you reassures him that you didn't have him for killing you

And lastly, curled up - dream of the moment where Lilith died or you dying in Mammon's arms

No one, not even his twin knew that he still had these dreams, or what each position meant. He didn't think you even cared as long as you slept next to him. But today he got proven wrong.

Today was just like any other Saturday morning, full of chaos. On one had, Mammon was microwaving his frozen credit card, Goldie, and on the other, Lucifer was running around yelling, after a certain someone mixed bleach into his shampoo, making him look like a splitting image of his son/brother, Satan. Tired of the chaos, Belphie decided to steal a couple bites before slinking away back to his room, making sure to close his door tightly and hide the empty bleach bottle in case Lucifer and Satan joined forced in finding the culprit and burn down the HoL. Sinking into his bed, sleep took him within

The dream started like no other, Belphie big spooning his pillow as he dreamt of dragging you with him into the attic for a romantic date. But that's when things took a turn.

Belphie curled tighter as in his dream the two of you walked into the attic to see blood staining the wall. As Belphie reached for you in the dream, his hand touched a cold one. As he turned, he saw you, floating like a ghost, pale white, still in the clothes you died in, dried blood on your skin as you stared at him, and said in a gravelly voice, "You!"

"You killed me! I hate you!"

Belphie curled into a ball as he reached for you once again in the dream, as your hair fell into your face, (sorry to my bald MCs) obscuring your face from view.

As he reached out to push the hair away, to his horror, instead of your face, Lilith's angelic face greeted him, smiling, as your, or rather her body began to glow. Her smile turned sharper, as she reached into a hidden pocket in her angelic dress, and pulled out a sharp knife made of diamonds.

Belphie's face paled as he curled into the tightest ball ever, trembling as Lilith raised the knife and screamed.

"First you cause my death and then you kill my descendant?! I'll kill you!"

As the knife shot towards his chest, he snapped out of the dream, sweating as he gasped for air, his entire frame being shook by someone. He turned to see you, a concerned smile on your face as you wipe away his sweat, hugging him tightly and rocking him back and forth.

He doesn't know what takes him over at that moment, but he crumples into the embrace, his usual aloof personality being thrown out of the window.

"Shh its ok. I forgive you. And so does Lilith."

"H-huh? How'd you know I was dreaming of that?"

"I could tell by the way you were sleeping."

Never in his centuries of existence had anyone bothered to take notice of how he slept and correlate it with his dreams. Hell, it was a fucking milestone if someone even bothered to ask how he slept. But for you to tell what his dreams were about without him telling you, and comforting him? He felt like an angel all over again.

As the two of you laid down, him being big spooned by you, he relaxed, never once dreaming of Lilith and you dying ever again.

Guilt is often a crippling thing, and in the human world, it can even end lives. Belphie didn't go as far as that, but with you around, his brothers were shocked to see a smile on his face.