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navybrat817 · 5 months ago

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Hold You Tight: Part 9

Pairing: Club Owner!Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Fic Summary: The owner of The 107th wants you to be his girl whether you like it or not.

Part 8 | Series Masterlist | Part 10

Chapter Summary: Bucky takes you home, but will he keep his hands to himself?

Chapter Word Count: Over 3.7k

Chapter Warnings: DARK AU, tension, dirty talk, unease, possessiveness, inner turmoil, slight feels, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?), more warnings to come.

A/N: More Hold You Tight and thank you for your patience! Hope you lovelies continue to enjoy. Bucky edit by the beautiful @nixakimbo . ❤️ Beta read by the lovely @whisperlullaby , but any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @firefly-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You thought you heard the men wish you well once more when Bucky led you out of the office. You weren’t completely sure since you tried to block everything out, but attempting to disassociate wouldn’t exactly do you any good. The night wasn’t over yet and you had to stay sharp. You didn’t know what Bucky had planned for when he got you home. Were you prepared at all?

Not in the least.

You half expected to walk back through the front of the club to leave, but Ray directed you to a door near the back once he gave Bucky a nod. The car was waiting in the alley and you took a moment to glance up at the sky. You could only make out one star and you wished in that moment you could grow wings and fly away. But when did wishing upon a star do you any good?

“Let’s get you back to your place,” Bucky said, helping you into the car.

You had to give him credit for trying to keep up his end of the bargain by getting you home on time. Your body refused to relax though once he sat beside you and took your hand. Was he trying to get you accustomed to his touch? Make you crave him? It bothered you that in spite of your determination he drew you in to a certain degree. But you wouldn’t let him take you to bed tonight. You weren’t ready to cross that inevitable line.

Maybe, just maybe, if your performance in bed disappointed him, he’d get bored and walk away. The thought almost made you laugh. That wasn’t happening. If anything, he’d probably love teaching you how to be his perfect lover.

“I think tonight went well,” Bucky smiled.

“Which part exactly?” You mumbled, pulling your hand away. The part where he forced you to go, how his men all but admitted they knew Bucky stalked you, or how they beat the hell out of a man?

“Just the night in general. I knew everyone would love you, but I really think Thor wants to be your big brother now,” Bucky replied. You wanted it so badly to be endearing, but Thor was dangerous. He mentioned a father-in-law. How exactly did he find his wife? And bringing up the flower donations to the hospital. Bucky seemed upset. Why? “Which he’ll have to fight Steve for.”

“Fighting. You guys seem to excel in that arena,” you said, remembering how they all took turns beating up John. “But I guess Steve does have a bit of that ‘big brother’ vibe, helping you take total control of my life and whatnot.”

“Not total control. I’m still letting you work, but maybe I can buy the shop.” He chuckled at your thunderous expression. The light threat had you seeing red. “I probably shouldn't joke about that, should I?”

“Letting me work? Like it’s your decision? And don’t you dare buy the shop.” You pushed at him to keep from slapping him when he chuckled again. Not with enough force to get him far away from you, but you needed some sort of space in the vehicle. He also needed a good hit over the head. “You’re a bully, do you know that? So are your friends.”

His laughter died off quickly when he reached out and gently took your hand again, prying your fingers away from your palm. You didn’t notice it stung from your nails until he brought your hand to his mouth and kissed it. “You think we’re bullies?” He asked against your skin.

“Yes. Besides nearly beating that jerk to death, you do realize that you use force and threats to dominate and intimidate. That’s a form of bullying, Bucky,” you said. Was he deliberately being obtuse or was he lost in his delusion that this was all normal?

“I wouldn’t say we’re bullies. I call it protecting and keeping what’s mine,” he said. There was no shame on his end.

“Right. Because I’m a possession and not a person,” you said, your face scrunching up as you tried not to cry. You needed rest. If part of Bucky’s plan was to wear you down by overwhelming you, mission accomplished. “I’m so tired. I just want to go to bed.”

“You’re a person, not a possession, Kotyonok. And not just a person, a good person who gives so much of herself to others. And probably one of the only people who rightfully calls me out on my shit.” His response drew you up short. “Outside of my friends, no one else does that.”

“Maybe because they’re afraid of you and what you can do,” you said after a moment. Fear could make anyone say what they thought people wanted to hear. “Either that or they want your approval,” you added, which you could also understand to a point. People wanted a sense of belonging, especially with those who had influence and power.

“Maybe they are afraid,” he agreed, brushing his lips against your palm again with a sigh. “What is it about me that scares you most?”

“I’m not really sure exactly,” you admitted. There was so much about the situation that terrified you. What he was capable of. How he inserted himself into various aspects of your life and so quickly. How far he was willing to go to keep you. “But I think it’s your conviction. That you’re so sure that I’m your other half and no one can convince you otherwise, not even me.”

You could scream until your lungs gave out that you didn’t belong with him and you knew in your heart he’d argue until his last breath that you did. He was steadfast in that belief that you were soulmates. That conviction was so strong that what you really feared was that he would somehow convince you that he was right: that you belonged together.

Those steel blue eyes of his met yours and mesmerized you for a heartbeat before you looked away. “Love is scary. It’s natural to be afraid of it.” His lips brushed your ear, making you shiver. “But giving someone the most fragile parts of yourself is one of the bravest things a person can do.”

There was truth in his words, but it felt like he moved another chess piece into place. He was trying to disarm you and you couldn’t let him. “Who painted that black dahlia in your office?” You asked suddenly, feeling him move back enough that you could turn your head toward him. “And why display that flower?” You didn’t believe for a second that he chose it for aesthetic purposes.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Steve painted it,” he replied with an odd mixture of affection and bitterness. “It’s for my parents.”

“Steve is a gifted artist.” You hoped your voice stayed even enough that Bucky wouldn’t get jealous of you complimenting another man’s talent. “I don't know if the symbolism of flowers mean anything to you, but the black dahlia-”

“Betrayal. Sadness. Darkness,” he ticked off, his voice cold enough that another shiver moved through your body. “It was the last flower my dad ever got my mom and it serves as a reminder.”

You swallowed as warning bells sounded in your mind to tread carefully. “And what's that?”

He moved close, your eyes shutting as his hand wrapped around the nape of your neck. “That I'll never do to you what he did to her.”

There was suppressed rage within him. Sorrow. It rolled off him in waves strong enough that they could drown you. He said earlier that his dad got what he deserved. What had he done to his mom?

“You’re in pain,” you whispered. He was hurting and you logically shouldn’t care. So why did you want to know the cause of that hurt? “You have to tell me why.”

It wasn’t for you to use to your advantage. You weren’t sure if you could manipulate someone else. If you knew what happened though, it would at least give you more answers to who Bucky was and why he was the way he was. It could help you gain some sort of understanding.

“I’m not in pain when I’m with you,” he whispered, bringing your hand on his chest. Was he relying on you to chase away whatever haunted him? “Later. I’ve overwhelmed you enough for one evening.”

You let out a breath. You swore he was doing this on purpose, giving you just enough information that you’d wait around until he gave you more. “I can’t argue with you there,” you said, his heart racing under your touch. “Just answer one thing for me, please.”

“What’s that?”

“Marc from the bookstore,” you began, the man’s kind face shimmering in your mind. “Did anything happen to him?”

“I’d question another man being on your mind, but I know you’re just concerned about his well-being.” An easy smile crossed Bucky’s face as you bit your tongue. You could think about anyone you wanted to. “I can’t speak for him right this second, but he was perfectly fine when you and I left. He was just having a chat with one of my associates.”

You exhaled, thankful Marc wasn't hurt. “What kind of chat?” You asked. He was a nice guy, though he did seem to know a bit about Bucky. What exactly was he involved in?

“He just got a warning to be careful about what he does or doesn’t say to his customers.” You tensed before he kissed your forehead. Did he know about the conversation you two had? “And I don’t think the two of you should be alone with each other in the bookstore going forward.”

Just when Bucky had you feeling some sort of sympathy for him moments ago he shocked you right out of it. “Another decision that isn’t yours to make,” you stated, the car coming to a stop. “And you really don’t have to walk me up. I think we’ve had enough of each other’s company tonight.”

“I said I’m tucking you into bed and that’s exactly what I’m going to do.” The smile he gave you was nothing short of cocky when he added, “And you owe me a photo. I’m going to get it.”

He was a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t let that go. “Why don’t you just take a photo of me giving you the finger?” You suggested as he helped you out of the car.

“Only if you do it with a smile. I’ll even set it as the background on my phone,” he winked. Your reluctance and defiance of him didn’t phase him in the slightest. “And if you give me the finger, I’ll take it as an invitation that you want to fuck me.”

“Let’s go, please.”

You said nothing else as you went into the building, your anxiety mounting by the second. The slow rise of the elevator didn’t help, Bucky’s hip pressed against yours like he couldn’t stand to have space between you. You figure he’d shove you against the wall and claim your mouth, but he didn’t make a move. It impressed you that he behaved until you got to your floor. It didn’t stop your hand from shaking when you got your keys out.

“Still don’t want to say good night now?”

“I don’t want to say good night at all,” he answered, following you into the apartment and turning on the light. The welcoming feeling you expected when you got home wasn't there. There was a chill in the usual warmth.

“Well, you’ll have to sooner or later,” you said, swallowing when you faced Bucky. He shut the door and watched intently as you set your keys and bag down. You were quiet as you stared back, tension thick as you tried to predict what he was going to do. Once again, he managed to hold all the power in your home.

“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” He asked, heat and hunger in his stare as he slowly advanced.

Your throat went dry as you stepped back. “You have.”

“So beautiful and so good.” You made another move to retreat when he stepped forward, his manner confident and compelling as he reached out and prevented you from moving back further. “It’s driving me crazy not having you yet.”

“Please, you don’t…” you trailed off when he sank to his knees, unexpected heat flowing from your core. He guided one of your hands to his shoulder to brace yourself, his eyes soft as he helped remove one of your shoes. You found it difficult to breathe as he removed the other, his hand brushing your ankle with infinite tenderness. Like it was an honor to touch and be on his knees for you.

“I know the first time I taste you I’ll never want to stop. I’ll have to wake up every day between your thighs. Fall asleep that way, too.” His hand slid up your calf and his eyes darkened when your other hand found its way to his thick locks. Wetness gathered between your legs when his touch moved to your thigh. “Your pussy is hungry for me, isn’t it? My fingers, my tongue, my cock. I’ll feed her well.”

His voice was like velvet. Seductive. Aching. “Bucky…” Your breath rushed out swiftly when he kissed your mound through your clothes, tormenting you with arousal you didn’t ask for. It frightened you.

“I can smell you,” he murmured, nosing along where his lips had been before he sat back. “Smell so fucking good.”

Moving your shoes out of the way, he rose to his full height again as you willed your legs not to shake. You weren’t used to anyone looking at you, let alone speak to you, the way he did. Stark desire. Possessiveness. His form of love. Your heart pounded and you refused to answer him or glance down. If you looked at the front of his pants…

He took your hand and pulled you in the direction of the bedroom. Your heart pounded with mounting speed, your heels digging into the floor. “You still haven't kissed me,” you blurted out, hoping it would prevent him from taking you to bed. Or would he take that as an invitation to kiss your lips?

“No, I haven't.” You tried to keep some distance between you as he went to your bed, his hand moving along the blanket. You couldn't breathe. “It scares you how much your body wants mine, doesn’t it?”

“Is that what you think?” You asked, forcing air back into your lungs. It did scare you. It also scared you that you didn’t push him away or scream when he dropped to his knees to remove your shoes. Where was your fighting instinct?

“It is what I think.” The ease in which he moved away from the bed to your dresser to find your pajamas frightened you, too. Like he belonged in your room. You thought back to the night he broke in and left your gift on your bed. How much time did he take to look around? “Like love, giving your body to someone can be scary. You have to trust that you won't get hurt when you’re physically vulnerable.”

“You swore you wouldn't hurt me,” you reminded him.

“And I won't. But you know what else I think?” His magnetic gaze stayed on you as he brought a nightgown over. “That no guy has ever really taken care of you and you’re apprehensive to let me try.”

If you were apprehensive, it was because he was a walking red flag. “What makes you…” Your words stopped when he grasped the bottom of your shirt and pulled it up. Your arms instinctively went up before you realized what you were doing. Removing your shirt, you didn’t get a chance to cover your breasts before he slipped the nightgown on you.

“Your past boyfriends never did anything for you. Emotionally, physically,” he stated, sliding his hands under the nightgown to your hips. Grasping the hem of your pants, he pushed them down as far as he could. “I’ll bet they didn’t even buy you flowers and used the excuse that they didn’t because you’re a florist.”

The words were tiny cuts on old wounds, but you wouldn't give him the satisfaction. “And you will?”

“I will. I’ll give you the life and love you deserve, making you forget any other man out there existed before me.” His eyes raked over you as you stepped out of your pants, your panties still soaked. “But I’m not gonna fuck you.”

Exhaling slowly, relief flooded you. Though you couldn’t help but wonder why he wasn’t trying to take what he wanted. “You won’t?”

“Not tonight.” He shook his head even as his fingers moved along your waist. “Like I said, I’ve overwhelmed you enough. Sleeping with you might really put you over the edge.”

“Thanks.” He desired you, but continued to hold it at bay for your sake. How long would that last? “I appreciate that.”

“And we both know the moment I take you to bed, you’ll be begging for more.” His voice dropped as he toyed with the soft fabric. “And as much as I want to stay in bed with you all night and morning and give us what we both crave, I still need to get things in place at the penthouse and you need rest. You understand.”

You tried not to smile and failed. He acted as if he was doing you a favor. Cocky bastard. “I guess we’ll just have to suffer until then.” Sarcasm continued to be a good way to deflect.

He exhaled at your light teasing, his body still a bit tense. Being close to you and not having you was probably driving him mad. “Maybe we'll have to have another private call and finish what we started. Give us both some relief.” He turned you toward the door and gave you a light swat on your ass. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth before I change my mind.”

You made it to the bathroom in record time, not having to be told twice. You didn’t want to risk staying there in case he lost his resolve. Looking in the mirror as you went through the rest of your nighttime routine, you expected to look more exhausted from the whirlwind of the day. You somehow looked wide awake. Was the experience giving you thicker skin? Or did his desire for you somehow give you a bit of a twisted spark? You’d still be billing him for your future therapy bills either way.

A couple of deep breaths and you made your way back to your bedroom. You paused when you saw Bucky holding a framed photo of you and your friends, longing in his eyes when he lifted his gaze. “You look so happy,” he murmured, carefully setting the frame down on the nightstand before he pulled the blankets back for you. “Can you do me one favor and I’ll go?”

“I was happy. It was a fun day.” You slipped into bed when he gave you space to do so, but his body was still close to yours. Firm. Hard. He really could pin you down and do what he wanted if he wished. “What’s the favor?”

He tucked the blanket around you, his hair falling into his face. You almost reached up to brush it back, but refrained. Who knew what your touch would do? “Look at me like you love me. Please.”

You stiffened as you stared up at his face, your heart simultaneously racing and breaking for him. Love was something that provided a sense of connection, fulfillment. It was a way to show you that you weren’t alone in the world. You wanted to believe you were worthy of love, that you could build a life with someone. Bucky believed he was that someone.

Why?

You weren’t sure if it was his yearning gaze or if you were ready for the night to end, but your expression softened as you imagined meeting him in another life. Going on fun dates, talking about books, making each other laugh as you cooked together, snuggling under a blanket as you talked about your future. You found yourself smiling at the images that went through your mind. What could’ve been. What could be if he lessened his hold a bit on you.

He audibly exhaled when he snapped a photo on his phone, making you blink. “Thank you. Now I can look at this whenever I’m not near you and need to feel your love.”

Words escaped you, the invisible collar around your throat getting tighter. You could only nod and wonder how you kept throwing fuel on the fire of his want for you. Which one of you would burn first?

“Get some sleep. Dream sweet dreams.” You felt featherlight kisses on each eyelid when you shut them. “You know, I’ll sleep a lot easier once you’re in my bed.”

“If you get me into your bed,” you mumbled, refusing to look at him.

“Stubborn kitten.” He chuckled and gave each eyelid one more kiss. Why were his lips so soft? “Maybe I’ll stop by the shop tomorrow so I can take you to lunch. You can tell Addison all about it.”

“Maybe.” You yawned and snuggled more into your pillows. “Good night, Bucky.”

A finger moved along your cheek before it stopped abruptly. “Good night, Kotyonok.”

Bucky still hadn't kissed your mouth.

You didn’t open your eyes as he left, but you didn’t fall asleep right away either. Your body was too wound up. Too many questions went through your mind. Like what happened with his parents and how exactly he’d move you out of your place.

The man was a step ahead in everything. You’d be in his penthouse before the month was over. He’d get his way, but maybe it didn't have to be his way completely. He could give you an area in the place for you and you alone. It wouldn’t hurt to ask. After all, he did say he’d make it up to you by dragging you out tonight.

And if he cared the way he said he did, he could give you that one small thing.

Is our poor Kotyonok starting to accept the inevitable? Will Bucky stop by the shop? And how much longer until he really takes you to bed?Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

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lovecla · 3 months ago

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EAT YOU LIKE A PREY ; luke hughes.

nhl masterlist, nsfw, @lovecla’s kinktober collection, single chapter:

— pair: luke hughes x fmc (mila)

— synopsis: after finding out that her friend, the shy, cute luke hughes has a crush on her, mila decides that she will do anything to make him confess his feelings for her out loud. but what do people say about biting more than you can chew?

— word count: 4.3k

— chapter warnings: lowkey mean softdom!luke, unprotected sex, creampie, dirty talk, size kink and degradation if you dig deep, p in v, fingering, squirting (not super detailed tho), edging, pet names, drinking (just a shot but,) dacryphilia.

from me to you: happy halloween, my loves 🤍 i have a few things to say today so buckle up. 1st of all, thank u so much for 400 followers and 10k likes! this means so much to me, and it’s not about the numbers but about people liking what i write— something that not even i do sometimes. 2nd, thank u all for all the compliments on my smut writing heheh i’m really trying to improve my skills so whenever u guys compliment me i’m like ૮₍˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶₎ა so thank u again. 3rd and last, this is just a single chapter but TM(HTMHC) chapter 5 is already in the making 🤍 this is a lot different from what i’m used to write but i hope it’s still good? lmk what u think 🐰

𖧷

LUKE HUGHES was the sweetest, most adorable guy you have ever met.

Falling for him wasn’t anything out of this world, you were just another person to fall in love with his wholesome personality, and even though you had certain advantages over the other girls— because you knew him personally— you never really did anything.

When Jack told you that Luke had a crush on you— yesterday, literally—, the first thought that came to your mind was: “How?”

He always acted sweet and shy around you, besides treating you with utmost respect and affection. He takes care of you whenever you need, he knows your favorite drinks and your favorite TV shows, knows that when you’re bored you like to watch Disney Channel’s cringe ass shows just to laugh at the actors’ lines.

So him, having a crush on you, wasn’t at all that much of a surprise.

The fact that he hadn’t done anything about it, though? Yeah. That was a big, unexpected surprise.

Now it was Thursday, and while you got ready in your room, and waited for your best friend, Suzy, to pick you up, you thought of ways of making Luke want to confess to you.

You wouldn’t be the one doing it first, no. You had too much pride for that, and with every reason. You were gorgeous, you didn’t need anyone to tell you that. You could say that you’re too much of a princess and you don’t like to run after boys, but in reality, it was just that all of the men you had relations with were just a bunch of assholes.

They wanted you to be the first to make a move, they wanted you to decide where you would have dinner, or what movie you would watch. And that just doesn’t work for you, at least not anymore. You want them to work for getting you, not the other way around.

But with Luke, things were different. You can’t just know that Luke Hughes has a crush on you and not do anything. So you would have to be smart, and make him want to tell you how he feels, without asking him to.

Is this some way of gaslighting?, you ask yourself, applying some more blush to your face, I don’t know. But it has to be done, I guess.

Suzy didn’t take long to get to your house, and you got inside her car, complementing her Snow White costume. Now, you’re even more glad that you spent hours trying to choose the perfect costume for Mercer’s party. Usually, you’d go for something that showed less skin and was more scary than slutty, but something told you that this year you needed a change; and if that change was shortening your skirt and wearing a corset that squeeze your tits and push them up higher, then so be it.

𖧷

“SOMEONE SHOULD’VE told me that Dawson was planning on throwing his Halloween party at a fucking haunted mansion.”

You laugh, getting out of the car and feeling the cold breeze hit your skin, the sight of the tall, dark house in front of you making you shiver.

The party was happening inside a huge mansion that looks like it had been abandoned for years even though you know it’s all just play pretend. The front of it is highly decorated with skeletons, coffins, trash and signs that read:

“YOUR FINAL STOP,” and “WELCOME TO YOUR WORST NIGHTMARE.”

You thought it was all super funny, while Suzy whined beside you, and held your arm like her life depended on it. Entering the house after showing your ID and giving your name to the security guard at the front door, you saw that the interior is just as decorated as the outside, if not more.

“How much do you think Dawson spent on this?” You ask, genuinely curious.

Suzy started rambling about how he probably spent a lot of money and how there were thousands of people inside the mansion and how you were never going to find Jack or Nico or anyone for that matter because everyone were wearing costumes and makeup and—

“It’ll be fine,” you cut her off, shouting over the loud music. “I mean, are there hundreds of people here? Yes. Will we be able to find them? Very unlikely. But it’s fine, right?”

“I guess?” She cocks her head, her curls going everywhere. “Can we grab something to drink, though? You know I need my daily dose of beer…”

“You’re crazy. But yeah, we can.”

Moving through the sea of bodies, you greeted so many people that your head was starting to get tired. You didn’t even know all of them properly, but since Jack, Quinn and Luke knew so many people, and you were always with them, people said “hi” to you anyway.

Finding the drink section had been like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert, and while Suzy grabbed a can of beer, you had a shot of vodka before grabbing a non-alcoholic drink, wanting to be very aware of your actions through the night.

You got back to walking, listening to Suzy’s long complaints about how much time you spent talking with people she didn’t know and how she wanted to dance.

“Fuck, Mila, this is Drake!” She shouts, grabbing your hand and pulling you to the side, where a bunch of people were dancing.

“I was talking to Elliot, you know,” you shout, laughing.

“I don’t care, baby, this fucking song makes me want to go crazy and make out with you!” Suzy throws her arms up, jumping.

“Baby, that’s the alcohol speaking.” You smile, giving up and moving with the beat.

You need to get done, done, done, done at work, come over

We just need to slow the motion

Don't give that away to no one

Long distance, I need you

You danced with Suzy, not letting your mind think of Luke or anything else. Moving your hips was way easier when you didn’t have to worry about anything.

When I see potential I just gotta see it through

If you had a twin, I would still choose you

I don't wanna rush into it, if it's too soon

But I know you need to get done, done, done, done

Suzy’s hands caressed your body, as she goes to the floor, making you smile as she runs her hands through your bare legs, mouthing the lyrics to the song, singing Drake’s verse with a flirty tone. She got up and you turned around, laughing as you grind your ass on her, placing your hands on your knees and moving your hips while she held your waist, playfully.

I spilled all my emotions tonight, I'm sorry

Rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin', rollin'

How many more shots until you're rollin'?

While you danced, and while Suzy sang to you and hugged you tight, you felt a weird sensation in your chest. You were constantly getting goosebumps, and the left side of your neck burned. But no matter how much you looked around, you couldn’t find anything weird.

You knew so many people there, you could see Nico, Cole, Matt; and yeah, some of the guys were watching you and Suzy dance but that’s just normal, expected behavior from men.

Until you saw him.

There, standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the wall and holding a typical American red cup, wearing a full black outfit and.

Was that a ghostface mask?

You couldn’t be sure of who was behind the mask, but for some reason, you couldn’t take your eyes off him— and it looked like neither could he. While you ground on Suzy and danced with her, you made eye contact with the mask, feeling the hair on your arm going up; the hotness that before only covered the left side of your neck, was now running down your body, making you feel warm all over.

Which is weird, so weird.

Suddenly, the lights are off, and now everyone’s screaming with excitement and exhilaration, making you jump slightly, trying to find Suzy’s body. Once you do, you shout at her— or at least at what you hope is her ear.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” She yells back, and you can tell that she’s having a lot of fun for someone who was just complaining about how scary the house looked. “This is so fun!”

“It is, yeah,” you reply, as they turn the lights back on, the music somehow louder and the people even more animated.

“We need to dance more and then,” she gets closer, biting her lips. “I’ll find someone to fuck me.”

“Jesus,” you roll your eyes. “You’re insane.”

“Maybe.”

You laughed before moving your body with the next song again, dancing for what felt like hours, but not as thoughtless as you were before, no. Now all you could think of was the man that stood in the corner of the room and that now wasn’t there anymore, vanished as soon as the lights were on again.

Even if you had already looked around the entire room and you were one hundred percent sure that that man wasn’t there anymore, you could feel his presence around you, making your skin crawl with need.

I’m fucked up. Probably.

𖧷

YOU DON’T know where Suzy is.

Sometime between dancing and drinking, she found someone and disappeared like she had never been here in the first place.

You were tired, and you wanted to go back home, but, unfortunately, Suzy was your ride, so you’d have to wait until she’s done to go back to your apartment.

Of course, you could always call a taxi, or even one of the people you knew, or maybe try to call Jack or even Luke—

Luke. You hadn’t thought about him since you arrived at the party, too worried about having fun to even think of doing anything else.

But he’s not here anyway, you find yourself pouting, standing in the middle of the huge, fancy bathroom and staring at yourself in the mirror. At least I don’t think so.

But Jack had told you that he would be there, and Jack could be many things, but a liar wasn’t one of them. So, Luke probably is here, just hiding in a corner, like he usually did, always the shy boy.

Corner. Man. Black outfit. Ghostface.

Right, you take a deep breath. I’ll try to find him. Maybe I’ll manage to kiss him before leaving.

The thought of kissing Luke motivated you to get past the ocean of people, looking for curly hair and thick thighs. It didn’t help that you didn’t know what he was wearing or who he was with, but you were determined.

You walked the entire first floor, feeling your legs burn with how many steps you had already taken, especially after wearing high heels for so many hours. Luke definitely wasn’t there, and you were starting to feel frustrated.

You went up the stairs, regretting almost immediately. Dawson didn’t just decorate the first floor and the outside of the mansion, but the second floor as well. And if you thought the first floor was bad, this was even worse.

It was empty, it looked worse than the fucking Haunted House at Disneyland, and it was creepy as fuck. You started walking down the hallway, looking around while wrapping your arms around your middle, listening to the muffled sounds from downstairs.

Why isn’t anyone up here?

You walk past closed doors, until you stop in front of the only open one. Curious, you get inside the room, finding out that it was some kind of office: a big, dark wooden desk sat in the middle of the room, with an expensive looking chair behind it, and tons of books decorating the bookshelves against the walls.

A couch decorated the corner, and so did a lamp and a coffee table. You were just about to leave and go back to the party when you saw it— there, laying on the couch, the mask from before.

You hold in a gasp, feeling the left side of your neck burning again.

He’s here, he’s here. He’s here and he knows I’m here too.

“Took you long enough, bunny.”

You let out a scream, turning around to face the same man from before, who was now standing right behind you.

“L-Luke,” breathing fast, you mumble his name. “God, you scared me.”

“Sorry. Not my intention.”

He walks inside the room, sitting beside the mask— his mask.

“It… it was you.” You whisper, eyeing his clothes. The exact same outfit the man who watched you dance with Suzy and made you feel hot all over was wearing.

“Me?” He cocks his head, like he doesn’t know what you’re talking about.

“You,” you nod. “Downstairs. When I was dancing with Suzy.”

He stays quiet, not saying anything to confirm nor deny.

“Why didn’t you say anything? I’ve been looking for you for a while now.” You ask, confused.

“You looked like you were having so much fun,” there’s some kind of sarcasm in his tone, but you can’t really tell why. “I didn’t want to ruin your fun, that’s all.”

Usually, you’d just play around and tell him something funny. But you remembered what Jack said, and you also remembered that you had a plan. Make Luke Hughes confess his feelings for you.

Smiling and walking further inside the bedroom, you start your plan.

“You know you could never ruin my fun,” you say. “I missed you.”

He smirks, spreading his thighs on the couch.

“Yeah?” You nod. “I missed you too. You look cute with your little bunny outfit.”

You give him a little twirl, placing your hands on your hips. “D’you like it? I also think it looks great.”

He hums, before getting up, standing in front of you, his 6’2” figure making you feel small, even though you were 5’4” yourself.

“Why were you looking for me, Mila?”

His tone is so different from what you’re used to. He doesn’t sound sweet and adorable anymore, and for some reason, it has you intrigued. His eyes, looking darker with so little lighting in the room, staring down at you.

“I just wanted to see you. ‘Been a while, no?” Sweetening your voice to the max, you blink twice. “Perhaps we could, I don’t know, have some fun?”

His smile only widens at that, and just when you thought you were about to get what you want, his next words make you freeze.

“Do you think I’m dumb?”

You frown at his words, gulping.

“W-what do you mean?” You whisper.

“Bunny, bunny,” he clicks his tongue, stepping closer to you. “You think I don’t know what you’re doing?”

“I’m not doing anything—”

“I know Jack talked to you,” he whispers. “He isn’t exactly subtle. And I’ve seen you with boys before. You use those pretty, sweet eyes to make them fall for you, do whatever you want, beg for just a little bite. Am I wrong?”

You bite your lips, holding the hem of your skirt, looking for some kind of support. Luke’s breathy voice makes all of your tiredness leave your body.

“I asked you a question, cutie.”

“No,” you whisper. “You’re not wrong, Luke.”

The smile he gives you is brighter than the moon shining in the sky.

“I know I’m not, baby,” he gets closer, placing his large hand on your waist, on top of your corset. “So, if you want to have some fun with me,” he continues, using the same words you used not even five minutes ago. “It will have to be the way I want it to be, right?”

You nod with your head, scared that he would find out your underwear is slowly getting wetter and wetter.

He gives you a forehead kiss before stepping back, walking towards the door, letting you wonder if he was just being silly and was in fact leaving the room. Which he doesn’t, just closes the door and walks back at you, eyeing you like a wolf would look at a bunny.

Luke kissed you as if he was hungry, thirsty for something he could only get if he stuck your lips together. His hands, warm and large, encircled your waist and pushed you until your back hit the large bookshelf that decorated the wall of the office.

“Fuck,” Luke moans against your mouth. “I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.”

You wanted to tell him that you had too, but you didn’t even have time; Luke kissed you again, making you stand on your tiptoes, wrapping your arms around the back of his neck, messing up the curls that decorated his head.

His mouth moved against yours, his lips sweet and soft, different from the way he kissed you: bruising and desperate, holding you so close that you feared, for a second, that the two of you would become one.

“I’m gonna fuck you,” he warns, his green eyes, now a darker shade, looking into yours and showing all the impure thoughts he was having. “I’m gonna fuck you hard against that table, Mila, and I swear to God I won’t stop. So, if you don’t want that, tell me now and I’ll take you home.”

“No,” you say, desperately and shamefully wet. “I need you.”

“I know you do,” he says, his voice full of malice. His hands roam your body, touching only the top of your breasts, not lingering on them for more than a minute.

Then, Luke’s hands find the middle of your legs, and you close your eyes, embarrassed that he would now know how turned on you were.

You can hear Luke’s ragged breathing as he pulls the wet fabric of your panties up, making you moan as the fabric touches your clit, splitting your two outer labia.

“You’re so wet, bunny,” He murmurs against your skin, playing with the thin and—now—soaked fabric of your panties. “I bet I don’t even have to prep you before slamming my dick into you with how sloppy you probably are.”

You moan loudly, feeling your cheeks burn with embarrassment.

“Luke—”

Your speech is cut off when he shoves your panties to the side and thrusts two fingers inside you, thrusting them with urgency and need.

“I knew it,” he chuckles. “So. Fucking. Loose.”

You grip his arm, feeling wetter than you had ever felt in your life. Luke had always been sweet and loving, and you loved that face of his. But this? This is so much better.

Two of his fingers were moving in and out quickly, while his thumb was touching your clit quickly, making you see stars. The wet sounds filled the room and made you close your eyes in shame.

The weight of Luke's body on yours was comfortable and overwhelming at the same time, the height difference only making you feel even more like prey that had just been captured.

“Luke, fuck.”

“It’s a shame that a cute bunny like you has such a dirty mouth,” he makes a tsc sound with his tongue, not once stopping moving his fingers. “Did no one teach you manners?”

You shake your head, moaning loudly and forgetting that the door wasn’t locked, and that there was a party going on downstairs, with hundreds of people who at any moment could open the door and see the obscenity happening in front of them.

“I’m gonna come, Luke, please, I will—”

Tears immediately form in your eyes when Luke suddenly removes his fingers from inside you. “What? Why did you stop?” You sob.

“Because I wanted to.” He simply says, kissing your cheek, the sweetness of his act contrasting with the harshness of his words.

He comes closer again, running both hands behind your thighs, picking you up with ease. Then, he walks towards the table in the middle of the room, stopping in front of it and placing you on the floor gently.

He kisses you again, biting your lips right after.

“Turn around, cutie,” he smiles, before unbuttoning his pants and pulling them down along with his underwear, making you sigh.

Luke is big. Like, bigger than any of the guys you’ve been with before, probably thicker too.

“What?” He smirks. “Did the little bunny bite off more than she can chew?”

Gulping, you shake your head. “Y-you’re… big.”

“Mhm,” he shamelessly grabs his cock, stroking the head a few times, spreading the precum all over his length, as you watch with awe, his hand size matching his dick. “Think you can take it?”

Even though your brain screamed for you to run and hide, the unstoppable throbbing between your legs was too hard to ignore.

“Yes, but… even if I can’t,” you tilt your head up, staring at his lustful eyes. “You’ll make me, right?”

“Smart, smart bunny.”

He kisses you again before turning your body around, placing your hands on the table and lifting your skirt. You can feel him removing your panties as he spreads your legs wide with his feet.

He runs his cock over your lips for a few seconds, the wet sounds echoing off the walls of the room, and when he finally enters, it’s like everything you’ve been searching for finally makes sense.

“Holy fuck, Mila,” he groans, resting his torso against your back.

He doesn’t wait for you to adjust before pulling his entire length out of you and putting it back in, thrusting hard and precisely. Your hands grip the wood beneath your fingers tightly, and your eyes meet the back of your head.

You can feel the tears decorating your face, as Luke grips your waist with an incredible force and pushes his cock hard inside you, moaning loudly.

“You’re so fucking wet, baby,” he says, and you bite your lips, holding back a loud moan. “You’re getting my dick so wet.”

“Luke.”

You didn’t care about anything anymore. All you wanted was to cum, and preferably on his fingers.

He seemed to have heard your thoughts, as it didn't take him long to support one of your legs on the table, entering even deeper inside you, hitting places no one had ever hit before. Then, moving his fingers over your engorged clit, he rubbed it mercilessly, your orgasm building faster, since he edged you not even ten minutes ago.

“Luke,” you sob, calling out his name. “I’m gonna come.”

“Are you going to make a mess?”

“I-I don’t know—”

“Then hold it,” he says, as he applies even more pressure on your sensitive nub, slamming his dick deeper onto your g-spot.

“I can’t, I need to—”

“Baby, you’re not the one in charge here,” his voice is soft, gentle and calming— it didn't stop your tears, though. “If you’re not gonna make a mess, then why should I bother letting you come anyway?”

“Please, Luke, please,” you hiccup, feeling some pieces of the wood get under your nails with how hard you were scratching the table.

“Make a mess, Mila. That’s the only way you’re coming tonight.”

You’re dizzy. Your head is empty and you only need to let Luke ruin you, and everything you believe. When you finally reach your peak, you come, wetting his fingers, your thighs and the table, but none of that is enough for the curly haired boy behind you.

He keeps rubbing you, biting your neck, fucking you into pure oblivion, overwhelming you to the max. And when you feel himself pulling away, you shake your head, crying louder and clenching your hole around his dick.

He hisses. “Mila.”

“No,” you cry. “Inside— ah, please.”

“You’ll drive me insane,” he jokes, but there isn't a hint of playfulness in his tone. He keeps slamming inside you, until he finally comes, painting your insides white with his release.

It’s dirty, raw and human. It’s oddly comforting and overwhelming at the same time; it’s maddening.

People have been put in mental institutions for feeling much less than you right now.

“Mila.”

Luke’s voice is far, and as you rest your forehead against the cold wood of the table, you can feel him pulling away from you.

“Bunny?”

You feel his hand on your hair, and you can feel his presence everywhere. Wiping your cheeks, cleaning your thighs with his shirt, putting your underwear back on, pulling your skirt down. You can feel his warm, burning body behind you as he gets you up and rests your back against his toned abs, kissing your neck gently.

“Hey,” he whispers, and you can tell he’s trying so hard not to freak you out. “Mila, baby.”

“‘Gimme a minute,” you whisper, smelling his perfume, a mix of sandalwood and patchouli.

He lets out a quiet laugh, caressing your thigh with the same hands that held you so strongly not even five minutes ago.

“Do you want to sit?”

“I don’t think I can move my legs right now,” You chuckle, and he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist and lifting you up again, walking you to the couch, laying down with you on top of him. “Feels nice.”

“I know,” he hums back. “Listen, I’m so—”

“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry,” you ask, closing your eyes. “I wanted this.”

“I wasn’t going to apologize for fucking you,” he laughs, and you feel his chest moving under you. “I was going to apologize for not telling you sooner.”

“Telling me what?”

“That I like you.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he kisses your temple. “I don’t know why I didn’t do it sooner. I guess I was just scared.”

Now he sounded like the boy you knew.

“Same. I like you too much to screw things up.” You confess, feeling your cheeks burn.

“Well, that’s good to know.”

You snuggle closer to his body, ignoring the wet clothes and the fact that there was a party happening downstairs, and that Suzy was probably looking for you.

But it was fine. You could deal with her tomorrow.

𖧷

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yuujispinkhair · 1 month ago

Text

I WANNA BE YOUR ENDGAME – Chapter 10

🏒❤️ A Hockey Romance feat. modern!Sukuna

Pairing: HockeyPlayer!Sukuna x Reader (female) Genre: College AU, Hockey AU, fluff + smut Playlist: I wanna be your Endgame Word Count: 4k Warnings: 18+, smut, cigarettes, alcohol. Fuckbuddies to lovers. Reader is a creative writing student. Sukuna is an ice hockey player + history student. This story will have approximately 14 chapters. Minors don't interact. Header by me. Divider @/benkeibear

MASTERLIST

SUKUNA'S POV

He doesn't know how he got into this mess.

Sukuna was never the type to develop feelings. All he ever knew was casual sex. Just a little meaningless fun with no strings attached. Hell, he always thought he was somehow the broken twin who wasn't even capable of falling in love!

But look at him now. He is lying in his bed, wide awake in the middle of the night, staring restlessly at his ceiling because he can't stop thinking about a certain someone. You were here a few hours ago, and Sukuna's pillow still smells like your perfume, and it's driving him fucking insane! He wishes you were still here in his bed, in his arms, your naked skin pressed against his, your fingers tracing his tattoos while you joke around with him and occasionally steal a kiss.

Fuck, he wishes you stayed the whole night again, and he could wake up with you snuggled tightly against him as if his arms are your favorite place in the world.

Sukuna likes it when you spend the whole night and stay for breakfast. It's something he feels he wouldn't mind at all if it happened every night. It's a thought that is so ridiculous that it makes him laugh a low, humorless laugh.

Itadori Sukuna always had his rules. Never get attached. Never stay the night. Never let someone get too close.

But he broke all of those rules for you.

He wants to have you here. All the time. He wants to hold you every night, wants to roll onto his side behind you, and wrap your smaller body in his big, warm embrace. He wants to wake up to your soft, sleepy smile. He wants to have sleepy, lazy morning sex with you that ends in both of you laughing and joking around, making him feel alive even before he has his first cup of coffee and his morning run. He wants to make pancakes for you and walk to class with you, maybe hold your hand while doing so.

Sukuna groans and sits up in his bed, the ruffled sheets pooling around his hips as he runs a shaky hand through his messy hair.

"What did you do to me, princess?"

He asks the empty room, huffing as he rubs his face. It's so ironic what is happening to him. Sukuna has the reputation of being a fuckboy and a heartless asshole who ends things the moment his little fling tries to stake a claim on him. The campus bad boy who only does one-night stands and casual, meaningless sex. The guy who broke so many hearts that he knows there are whole hate groups dedicated to him on Instagram and Facebook.

And now he is the one losing his sleep over someone. Now, he is the one yearning. And his fucking reputation is making things even more complicated because, seriously, how can he expect you to give him your heart when he is known for being such an asshole?

A grim laugh escapes his lips. It's no use lying here and trying to fall asleep with all that on his mind. Sukuna gets up and walks over to his window only in his boxer briefs, not bothering to put on any other clothes, even as he yanks open the window and the chill night air hits his naked chest.

Sukuna hums softly as he sits on the window sill and lights a cigarette, shielding it from the wind in the palm of his large hand. He takes a deep drag, letting his head fall back as his eyes close and the nicotine fills his senses. He exhales slowly, opening his eyes to watch the cigarette smoke vanishing in the cold air blowing in from the street.

Sukuna's gaze lands on his desk and the stack of history books he borrowed from the library. He sighs and grabs the one on the top of the stack, flipping it open, his eyes scanning the page, hoping to distract himself with the descriptions of some Heian-era rituals. A topic that usually manages to keep Sukuna's undivided attention for hours.

But tonight, the words he reads don't register in his brain. Sukuna's mind strays to the smell of your perfume and your beautiful loud laugh, the way you looked at him earlier when he was on top of you and fucked you slowly, your eyes so full of something he couldn't put into words, but it made him feel all strange and almost flustered, and he had to look away, and instead lean down to kiss you with deep tongue kisses to make you stop looking at him like that as if you could see right into his soul.

"Shit."

Sukuna closes the book and stares at the dark street below his window.

He is such a fool.

The thing is, Sukuna really tried to suppress his feelings for you. He distracted himself with hockey, going to the gym even more often than usual, and lifting weights even more aggressively. Hell, he voluntarily agreed to binge-watch trashy horror movies with his brother just so his mind would shut up about you.

And when all of that didn't work, Sukuna told himself he would just fuck someone else to cure himself of those strange ideas that were filling his mind. He went to one of the many parties he always gets invited to, looking for a casual hookup. But he couldn't do it. Even just talking to another girl, one of many who wanted to join the long list of Sukuna's puck bunnies, felt wrong. Seeing her smile at him and flirt with him, so desperate for his dick, made the hairs on his arms stand up in alarm. And when she had the audacity to try sitting on Sukuna's lap, he had practically bolted from his seat and left the party in a hurry without looking back.

He had grabbed a bottle of vodka on his way out and drank way too much of it while he was sitting alone in his room, feeling like the world's biggest asshole (and for once, he wasn't proud of it) just for contemplating fucking someone else. It made him feel dirty. Like a cheater! Even though he wasn't even in a relationship with you, and nothing had happened between him and that random girl.

Sukuna had known right then that he was utterly and completely fucked.

Itadori Sukuna, fuckboy extraordinaire, was no longer interested in casual sex with various partners. He wanted to put his dick only into one person. He didn't want any one-night stands or casual flings anymore because fuck it, none of them were you. He didn't want to touch anyone else or let them touch him! It felt wrong even thinking about it!

And that's where he is now. In love for the first time in his life, scared out of his mind, and absolutely at a loss at what to do about it.

This is new territory to Sukuna. He knows sex, but he doesn't know this! Sure yeah, he wants to fuck you 24/7, wants to fuck you so good the only thing you remember is his name and nothing else, but it's not just that. Sukuna wants to spend time with you outside of having sex.

He wants to sit in the library with you on your little study dates as he has begun to refer to them in his mind. He wants you to visit him in his dorm not just to fuck, but to sit on his kitchen counter and chat with him while Sukuna cooks for you. He wants to meet up with you for coffee at midnight, tell you about hockey tactics, and listen to you tell him about the current story you are writing, hoping that when you write a love story, you think about him.

He wants to see you at all his games, dedicating his goals to you and getting his good luck kiss the night before each game. He wants to see the worry in your eyes when he gets slammed into the boards, wants you to kiss his bruises and dote on him afterward.

All those things make Sukuna feel so strangely warm, even in the most chilly hockey arena. Even lying in bed with you snuggled into his side and watching hockey videos with you on his phone is something that makes him feel happier than he ever remembered being.

It's a mess. He is a mess! Sukuna, who is usually so in control and smart about everything, suddenly feels like the biggest fool because this is something he is completely unfamiliar with. It's terrifying!

All his life, Sukuna was quite literally the King of the Ice. Unfeeling, cold-hearted, not interested. He didn't let anyone in. Always wore his cocky smirk and arrogant attitude like a shield. But then you came along.

And ever since you sneaked your way into his life, Sukuna catches himself, letting his mask slip when he is with you. He catches himself smiling at you instead of his typical smirk. He catches himself laughing genuinely with you, unrestrained and free. He lets you come to his room and stay there as if you belong there. And he hopes you want to belong there. In his room, in his bed, in his arms. He hopes you want to be his just as badly as he is yours.

He doesn't know what got into him when he told you about his past. That's another of Sukuna's rules: He never talks about his past! He doesn't think anyone deserves to know the real Sukuna. They can have this version of him he wants them to see. The rough, bad boy, the star athlete, the fuckboy the arrogant asshole.

But somehow, you make him spill things he has never said out loud before. Hell, Sukuna even catches himself telling you stuff he never even said to his twin brother! His own flesh and blood!

You changed him, and it makes him feel naked like never before. Stripped of his carefully applied mask. Vulnerable.

But as scary as that is, it also feels strangely good. Sukuna feels comfortable with you. It's such a new experience. He can just be himself, and you like him anyway. He suspects you could already see through his mask even before he got careless and let it slip. You seem to be able to read him like one of your books. Sukuna prides himself on his analyzing skills, but he thinks you are really good at those things, too. At least when it comes to him. You never let him push you away with all the stupid shit he says. You seem to find him funny, laughing loudly about his dry humor and arrogant remarks.

You are so close to him. You are his friend. And yes, that's a big fucking deal!

For as long as Sukuna can remember, he has never made friends. His grandpa always told him and Yuuji to go outside and play with the other kids. "It's important to make friends. Look at me. I am old and lonely, and when I die, I am sure only you two brats will be at my funeral. Don't end up like me!"

But Sukuna, who had always been smart, strong, charismatic, and good at anything he started, found that he had failed at that one thing. He didn't know how to make friends. He had just bullied the other kids and pushed them off the slide or threatened to beat them up if they didn't give him the soccer stickers he was collecting. He had always known how to make people fear him, admire him, or a mix of both. But he had never made a friend. His only friend has always been his brother.

But you? You are his friend, and it blows Sukuna's mind.

It blows his mind how you sneaked your way into his life and into his heart. And now everything feels different. He feels different.

Being Itadori Sukuna used to be lonely. Yes, he is the star player of the ice hockey team and, therefore, one of the most popular guys on campus. But those are just superficial connections. None of those people know him for real. But it's not like Sukuna ever cared. He didn't mind being alone. He didn't like most people anyway! He didn't need anyone besides his brother!

But now? He likes you. And he likes spending time with you. He wants you in his life. He feels so much lighter when you are with him. He misses you when he hasn't seen you for half a day! It scares him how much he needs you.

"Ah, fuck!"

Sukuna groans and throws the thick book across his room, not feeling better, though, when it hits the wall with a loud thud and falls to the floor, where it lands next to his hockey bag. Sukuna stares unseeingly at it as he takes another deep drag from his cigarette.

He is fucking scared. Sukuna, who is never scared of anything. Sukuna, who looks every rival fearlessly in the eyes before he takes them down. But this... this thing with you...these feelings he suddenly feels. This is scary.

Why do people act as if love is easy? It fucking isn't! It means someone has power over you. Power to hurt you. Power to utterly destroy you.

Fuck. Sukuna never thought it would come to this, but he is beginning to regret his life choices. Because Sukuna knows his reputation, and he knows you know it, too. And the whole fuckbuddies thing he asked you to do is just more proof of the kind of guy he is. Why would you be willing to give your heart to someone like him?

He is about to spiral more when the door suddenly gets pushed open, and Yuuji stands in the doorway,

"What the fuck was that noise? Did you throw something?"

Sukuna huffs, flicking the cigarette butt out of his window as he jerks his chin challengingly towards his brother,

"Why are you even still awake, brat?"

Yuuji shrugs,

"I was re-watching Human Earthworm. But this is not about me! What's up with you? Why are you throwing your precious history books?"

The way Yuuji says it is what gets to Sukuna. The worry in his twin brother's voice. His wide honey-colored eyes trail searchingly over Sukuna, trying to find out what bothers him, trying to help him.

And suddenly, Sukuna doesn't care about keeping up appearances anymore. Fuck it, this is his twin. This is the brat who has been attached to his hip since they were born three minutes apart. The only person who ever saw Sukuna cry, when they were seven, and Yuuji had chickenpox, and Sukuna was convinced he would die, and it scared him so much that he sobbed like an idiot at his brother's bedside.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, looking away from his twin and out over the nightly street as he murmurs,

"I like her."

Yuuji makes a "Ha!" sound that sounds way too triumphant and then adds,

"Yeah, I know."

Sukuna's head whirls around, and he stares at his twin incredulously. But Yuuji just rolls his eyes and shrugs,

"Come on! It's obvious! I see how much time you spend with her and how you smile when she is with you! You let her sleep in your bed and invite her over for dinner! It's so cute how you act around her!"

"Shut up, brat! It's not..."

Sukuna doesn't get any further because Yuuji interrupts him, grinning broadly at him,

"You are both so cute! To me, it's like you already are boyfriend and girlfriend!"

And Sukuna's half-hearted denial gets stuck in his throat. He stares wide-eyed at his twin. Just hearing his brother say those words sends a surge of adrenaline through Sukuna. The same feeling that fills his veins before every game. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Fuck. It should sound scary, but it doesn't. It sounds good. It sounds like everything he wants.

Sukuna sighs, hiding his face in his large hands and rubbing it desperately.

"I don't know what to do. I don't want to fuck this up."

"You won't fuck it up, man. She likes you too, I am sure! Just tell her how you feel."

Sukuna says nothing but just huffs softly and stares unseeingly at the wall behind his brother. Yuuji makes it sound so easy. As if it isn't a huge deal. As if this isn't the first time that Sukuna has felt anything like this. He clicks his tongue, and his hands automatically grab his cigarette pack again. Long fingers with black painted nails pull out another cigarette, which he brings to his lips with shaky hands.

Sukuna lights it and takes a deep drag, waiting for the nicotine to fill his veins before he sends his twin a glare and rolls his eyes in annoyance,

"Just tell her how I feel? Tsk. Do you have any other super smartass advice, brat?"

Yuuji makes an incredulous noise, about to complain, but Sukuna stops him by sighing and then adding softly, without looking at Yuuji,

"What if she doesn't want me like that? Or what if I fuck everything up? It's not like I am boyfriend material. The whole campus knows that. With my reputation, it would be no wonder if she runs."

"Oh, shut up, idiot."

Sukuna hears the shuffling of feet and then confident footsteps so very similar to his own before he feels his twin brother's body push against him, joining Sukuna on the windowsill. Yuuji bumps against Sukuna's leg and reaches out to ruffle Sukuna's hair, reversing their roles for once.

"Look at me, Kuna."

Sukuna makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat, but he sighs and turns to look at his brother, the hand holding the cigarette pressed lightly against his forehead.

Yuuji looks at him with that infuriatingly compassionate look in his honey-colored eyes, always treating Sukuna with so much kindness and genuine affection, whether he deserves it or not. Even Yuuji's voice is soft and gentle, understanding, when he tells Sukuna,

"You won't fuck it up. I know you are scared you will break her heart because that's all you ever did to girls. But it won't happen this time, Kuna. I know it. I know you. She is too important to you. And as tough as you like to act, you have a soft spot for the ones you love. Even if we are very few people. But if someone manages to break through your defense and find a way into your heart when you would do anything for that person. And she definitely broke through your defense."

Yuuji laughs good-naturedly and pokes Sukuna's chest with his index finger while he adds,

"It doesn't matter what you did before she came into your life. It doesn't matter that you used to think you would never fall in love. You changed. You have found your person. And that's all that matters. Not your past or what you used to think about relationships. All that matters is what you'll do from now on. And come on, my big brother is always the best at everything he does! So I know you will be an amazing boyfriend if you let yourself walk that path."

There's a lump in Sukuna's throat all of a sudden, and he gulps hard, feeling lightheaded somehow at hearing Yuuji say all those things. Sukuna does the only thing he knows to do in that situation and pats Yuuji's finger away, acting annoyed, even though he feels like he is overflowing with gratefulness for having such a good little brother.

Yuuji chuckles softly, patting Sukuna's hand away, too. His lips lift in a mischievous grin, a grin that is far too similar to the one Sukuna sees in the mirror. Sukuna steels himself for trouble right when Yuuji opens his mouth and adds in a sly tone,

"And if everything I just said wasn't enough to convince you, ask yourself how would you feel if she graduated and moved away and lived a life without you? How would you feel about that? Or if she starts dating another guy right in front of your eyes because you never told her how you feel, and she thinks you don't like her that way? How would that make you feel?"

And suddenly, blood is rushing in Sukuna's ears, and a vein is throbbing in his temple as he stares at his twin. Now that was a fucking eye-opener!

When that Gojo brat tried to hit on you, Sukuna saw red like never before in his life. The thought of seeing you with Gojo or any other guy makes him feel sick to his stomach. He doesn't want to lose you. He could never get over it if you dated someone else because Sukuna was too much of a coward to tell you he likes you.

You're his girl, and Sukuna is your boy, and anything else sounds like a cruel joke! And he realizes right fucking now that it's in his hands! The only way to make you hopefully stay with him is to be honest with you.

And yeah, that is a fucking scary thought. Opening up about his feelings, baring his heart to you on a silver platter, sounds like the scariest thing Sukuna ever did. But the thought of seeing you walk away because Sukuna wasn't man enough to tell you how he feels is scarier than walking up to you and dropping his mask and confessing how he feels.

Sukuna reaches out to clap his brother's broad shoulder appreciatively, wordlessly thanking him for the much-needed pep talk and advice.

He knows what he has to do now. Fuck it! He is Sukuna! He is the fucking King of the Ice! He is someone who laughs fear in the face and wrestles it to the ground, and works his ass off to get what he wants, no matter how big the challenge is!

He won't act like a scared little boy anymore! He will tell you how he feels!

"Hey, princess."

Sukuna walks up to you, where you are grabbing some books from your locker, looking far too pretty and sexy in the leggings and oversized sweatshirt you are wearing. You jump slightly at hearing his voice behind you. It's so fucking cute.

You turn around as Sukuna stops in front of you, looking up at him with big eyes and a little grin as you greet him.

Sukuna smirks at you as he reaches out to ruffle your hair, a move that always earns him the cutest little squeal from you and a half-joking, half-annoyed roll of your pretty eyes as you pat his hand away. But as always, you cannot stop the happy smile from spreading over your face. The smile that always makes Sukuna's heart feel a lot warmer.

He is so smitten it's embarrassing. But judging by the way you giggle and wrap your small hand around Sukuna's biceps, leaning closer so your face and tits press lightly against his arm while you smile up at him, Sukuna can easily pretend that you feel the same way about him.

Well, he will find out if he is right soon, won't he?

He walks you to your creative writing classroom, carrying your books for you while inwardly giving himself a pep talk, the same one he gives himself before every hockey game. You can do it! You will get anything you want! You will reach your goal. You are the fucking King of the Ice, man!

Sukuna stops in front of your creative writing classroom handing you your stack of books, his lips lifted in a lopsided grin as he cocks his head, silently applauding himself for how casual he manages to act even while his pulse is fluttering nervously and his muscles are all tensed up from how scared he is to fuck this up. But his voice comes out in his usual lazy drawl when he tells you,

"We have to work on your ice skating skills. Meet me at the arena tonight at ten."

You hug the books to your chest, tilting your head and blinking up at Sukuna with a little confused frown on your pretty face that he would love to kiss away right this fucking second.

"At ten? But is it even still open that late?"

"Let that be my problem, princess. So, are you coming?"

Sukuna shoves his hands into the pockets of his black jeans, one eyebrow raised expectantly as he grins at you. If you say no, he will literally start pouting and use every ounce of charm he has in himself until you say yes.

But he doesn't have to worry. You laugh softly and nod,

"Of course, I'll be there."

I LOVE HIM SO MUCH 😭💗💗 I had the time of my life writing this chapter from Sukuna's POV!! It always hits me right in the feels when I do that because it makes me feel so close to him.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter and all the things that flow through Sukuna's mind. If you haven't already done it, please listen to "Novocaine" by The Band Camino because it describes Sukuna's turmoil perfectly. While working on this chapter, I listened to it on repeat, and also "Tequila" by Dan + Shay, because it also describes this YEARNING, I think. Oh god, I am so in love with him, it's not even funny anymore 😭😭

Sighhhhh, he really likes us, hm? 😵😍

In the next chapter, Reader will meet Sukuna at the ice hockey arena, but it's a bit more than just the private ice skating lesson that she expects.

Thank you so much for all the love you give this AU! It means the world to me and makes me so happy! I wish you all a Happy New Year! 💗💗

Reblogs and comments would be very sweet.

#sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #sukuna fluff #sukuna smut #jjk x reader #sukuna #jjk x you #sukuna x y/n #jjk x y/n #jjk smut #jjk fluff

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tinyyoruichi · 10 months ago

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𝐇𝐨𝐰 𝐝𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐧 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 ?

featuring : gn!reader + Zoro, Mihawk and Ace

warning : none

masterlist

Roronoa Zoro

His heart suddenly beats more rapidly whenever he sees you smiling, laughing, or even doing the most random thing. On top of that, Sanji's overly complimentary remarks towards you make him want to reach for his swords. No, this can't be. He's stared death down a thousand times, cut through countless enemies. Yet, this new feeling blooming for you – it's terrifying.

Zoro coming to terms with his feelings for you? Buckle up, because it's going to be a hilarious journey. Denial will be his middle name for a while, trust me. This dense swordsman will be in for a wild ride before he finally connects the dots.

Thanks to Nami's interrogation skills (and a little sake), the whole crew knows Zoro has a thing for you. Now, expect endless teasing from Luffy and Usopp, who'll probably try to spill the beans before a certain mosshead gives them his best glare.

Zoro finally figuring out his feelings for you? Great! Now comes the real test: talking to you about them. Because let's be honest, under that tough-guy act, he is probably a nervous wreck, sweating bullets at the thought of rejection.

Zoro's not exactly the Romeo type. So expect a confession that's straightforward, maybe a bit awkward – but heartfelt nonetheless. If you feel the same, a weight will lift from his shoulders. But if not, he'll respect your decision and try to keep things smooth between you.

Dracule Mihawk

Don't be fooled by Mihawk's stoic facade – because he is quite aware of his feelings for you. Years have honed his instincts, and unlike his pupil, he has no time (and he is too old) for childish denial. His emotions are clear, even if unspoken.

That man has a very calculating mind. He'll dissect every interaction, every glance, searching for a sign that you love him as mush as he loves you. Despite his solitary nature, his mind might already be constructing a future by your side – a future dependent on your response.

Mihawk is probably one of the few men in One Piece who are very romantic (Oda told me so). His brand of romance is subtle yet charming. Imagine leisurely strolls through his gardens or watching the sunset with a glass of wine by his side. A subtle offer of his arm, a hint of a blush from you – that might be all the encouragement he needs to take things a step further.

Once confident your feelings mirror his own, Mihawk will approach things in an (VERY) old-fashioned way. Be prepared for a carefully crafted dinner invitation, where he can formally request the honor of courting you. His pride lies in being a gentleman, and rushing into things is simply not his style. He prefers to court you slowly and respectfully, allowing your relationship to develop naturally.

After a series of thoughtful dates, Mihawk will finally take the next step and ask you to be his partner (Perona and Zoro might have placed a bet on the timeline, of course). Like everything he does, Mihawk will approach this new chapter with utmost seriousness. Your well-being will always be his top priority.

Portgas D. Ace

Ace isn't the denial type. The ache when you're gone, the quiet competition with Marco and Izo for your laughter – these are the clues that tip him off. Ace falling for you? It's written all over his flustered face. He stutters and turns red like a tomato when speaking to you unexpectedly.

The entire crew is a nuisance and teases him constantly about his love for you. They have grilled him mercilessly – “When will you confess?” they ask, convinced you feel the same.

Denial ? Once again, not Ace's style. But baring his heart, admitting his love for you ? That's a terrifying vulnerability he fears more than anything. On top of that, I believe he is also afraid of losing your friendship by making things awkward if you don't feel the same about him.

Thankfully, Marco, ever the voice of reason, is there to guide this lovestruck dummy. And honestly, this old man is tired of watching you two pining from afar. A stern talk from Marco might be just what Ace needs to understand that silence could lead to a missed opportunity for a great relationship.

Ace's confession? A masterpiece in the making, at least in his head. Daily mirror pep talks and a meticulously planned romantic gesture – that's how he plans to declare his love. Just imagine the blushing, the stammering, the potential for minor explosions (caused by Ace's nervousness, of course).

Dinner over, Ace reaches for something hidden in his pocket. His nervousness is palpable, a sheen of sweat forming on his brow. But then, with a determined glint in his eye, he throws caution (and the letter) to the wind, ready to confess his true feelings directly from the heart.

#divider by cafekitsune #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece headcanons #zoro roronoa x reader #dracule mihawk x reader #portgas d ace x reader #zoro x reader #mihawk x reader #ace x reader #zoro roronoa x you #portgas d ace x you #dracule mihawk x you #zoro x y/n #mihawk x y/n #ace x y/n

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cressidagrey · 3 months ago

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It's a Love Story - Chapter 3

Summary:

Azriel's shadows find their master a wife.

Azriel would just really like his heart not to get broken again.

And Sky...well, she's just really surprised that that far too handsome male is interested in her at all.

Warning:

Rhys Bashing (as usual), I classified this as Azriel x OC, even when it't technically Azriel x Sellyn Drake (but we kinda know nothing about Sellyn Drake other than that she writes books so Sky is kinda an OC), Cassian is kinda a good guy for once, Azriel has a horrible time, as usual... Stuttering, toxic families (For once I do not mean the IC), Self-Esteem Issues, Secret Identity, Body Image Issues, Fat Shaming, People being utterly horrible.

If any of this triggers you or makes you uncomfortable, please take care of your own mental health and don't read it.

The shadows unceremoniously dumped a whole stack of Sellyn Drake Novels on Azriel’s desk.

Azriel eyed the stack of novels dubiously, wondering how in the Mother's blessed name the Shadows had gotten their hands on these. Or why.

But they stayed silent, clearly waiting for him to outright demand an answer. *Why?* he asked with a long suffering sigh. *What's this about?*

No response.

Azriel reached for one of the books, pulling it off the top of the stack and flipping it over. And immediately he regretted that decision. The cover was…certainly something.

A shirtless man holding a rather skimpily dressed woman up against a wall.

Azriel let out a long, long sigh.

*You need to read the books, Master,* the shadows told him seriously.

Azriel stared at his shadows, then at the books, then at his shadows. *You cannot possibly be serious.* What exactly was this supposed to give him?

He flipped it over, reading the synopsis.

When Lady Eleanor is forced into an unwanted marriage, she despairs—until the enigmatic Sir Tristan, a battle-scarred knight with a fearsome reputation, crashes into her life. Bound by a promise to protect her, Tristan whisks Eleanor away from her gilded prison, thrusting them into a wild escape across enemy lands.

Haunted by his past and wary of love, Tristan tries to keep Eleanor at arm's length. But as they face danger together, a fierce passion grows between them, tempting them to trust in a love that could heal even the deepest wounds.

What the fuck.

*We are, Master.* The Shadows told him, sounding as earnest as they possibly could.

He opened the book. Titled The Dark Knight’s Desire, flicking through the pages. Was this…a first edition?

*It’s important!* The shadows insisted. *You know…to brush up on these flirting skills of yours.*

Azriel shot the shadows an unamused look. *I can flirt perfectly well,* he protested.

*You most certainly cannot.* The Shadows deadpanned. *It’s research! Read them for her!*

*Read them for…* Azriel started, his voice trailing off.

*You found...* he trailed off weakly. They had found a female for him?

The shadows swirled around him almost playfully. *Of course we did,* they said innocently. *We told you we would, didn’t we?*

They were working quickly. It had only been weeks since he had agreed to let them find him a wife.

*You did,* Azriel said slowly, but his mind was working fast, so fast, trying to wrap around the idea that his Shadows were trying to help him find a wife…and more importantly, that they had found a female they thought he would find suitable.

*Where did you find her?* he asked, carefully.

*Here in Velaris!* the shadows answered brightly.

*Here?* Azriel asked, his surprise obvious. The shadows had found...a female...here in Velaris? Someone who was compatible with him? And they wanted him to read...what were these again? Sellyn Drake novels? So he would know how to best romance this female?

*Read the books, Master,* the shadows said with a sigh. So he did.

And that was how Azriel spent his next few hours. Reading a book, and blushing like some sort of adolescent boy when certain…particularly intimate scenes came around. The Shadows cackled beside him the entire time.

How the fuck did Nesta do this with a straight face?!?

Azriel had no idea, but by the Mother, he was never going to ask her. Ever. He would just die of embarrassment.

Though he needed to admit...he actually quite liked it.

The novels, that is. The…intimate scenes. Azriel liked them. A lot. Not even the...smut, like Nesta called it...no, he liked the love story. He liked the two people that came together and would do everything for each other...the falling in love part. He liked that.

But the Shadows were probably never going to let him live this down. Azriel did find comfort in a single thought, though. Whoever this possible future partner was, she was never going to know about this. There was no way in hell he would let her find out that he read smutty books to brush up his flirting skills.

But even that did not stop the nagging thought in Azriel's head, one that made him hesitate, and doubt himself, and doubt the Shadows' judgment. "What if..." he said softly, hesitantly. "What if she just...doesn't like me?"

He knew he had some...rough edges, to put it kindly. And he had his own...troubles. His own...insecurities. Some of the things he kept to himself, so many of his...issues. The shadows knew of them all, of course…There were many nights they stayed up with him, soothing him when the ghosts in his mind became a little too loud, a little too real.

What if that scared her? He didn't want her to be scared. He didn't want to scare her.

*She'll like you, Master.* The Shadows assured him, wrapping themselves around him comfortingly and soothingly. *She’ll love you.*

He exhaled. *Can you read minds now?*

*Only yours,* the Shadows assured him. *But as long as you don't cheat on her with her sister, you'll be doing a better job than her ex-partners!*

What.

"Are you seriously reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" Only 5 centuries of training kept him from flinching as he looked up to find Cassian in his doorway.

"Nesta said it was good," he shot back flatly, not hiding the book, because that would just give Cassian even more reason to tease him.

"You...actually listen to Nesta's...book recommendations?" Cassian stared at him, as if he had grown a third head.

"She is intelligent, and she reads more than either of us," Azriel shot back, sharply. "So yes, if she says it's good, I'll try it."

Cassian gave a slight shake of his head, not believing what he was hearing. "You are…actually reading a Sellyn Drake novel?" He repeated as if he couldn't quite believe that Azriel was actually doing that.

"Yes," Azriel said, his words clipped. "You have a problem with that?"

Cassian just stared at him for a long moment before letting out a quiet laugh. "No, I just never thought I would actually see the day that you read a Sellyn Drake novel."

"Well, I like it," Azriel said evenly. "It’s very are well written."

"And smutty," Cassian said with a grin.

Azriel rolled his eyes. "It’s are more than just...smut, Cassian, It actually has a story, and good characters."

"Characters who can barely keep their hands off each other long enough to solve the mystery, you mean," Cassian drawled, but Azriel ignored him, flipping a page.

."Have you ever actually read a Sellyn Drake novel, Cassian?" Azriel asked, shooting him a look. "Or do you simply judge by the covers?"

Cassian just grinned, clearly enjoying this conversation and how defensive Azriel had become. "The covers are pretty damn attractive though."

Azriel rolled his eyes at that comment, but didn't respond. Just looked back down at the book, completely ignoring his brother.

"Are you coming to dinner tonight?" Cassian asked him instead.

"No," he answered flatly. He did really want to know how the book ended.

*We found a house! We can show it to you!* the shadows hissed at that moment. Huh.

"There is something that needs my attention," Azriel said simply.

Cassian gave him a searching look, a frown etched into his face, but Azriel simple met his gaze.

"Az," Cassian said quietly. "Come on."

"I have something I need to do, Cassian." Azriel's voice was still flat, but more firm, a clear sign that he did not want any arguments.

"Az," Cassian said again, and this time, there was a small thread of pleading in his voice. "Just… come have dinner with us. Please. It'll be good for you."

Good? Good to sit at Rhys' table and be told to "behave"? Azriel would rather eat crushed glass than do that. Which was the reasons why he skipped out of them as often as he possible could.

He knew, he knew that Cassian was just looking out for him, but that didn't mean that he felt like he was obligated to go.

"I have something I need to do," he repeated, his voice even.

Cassian sighed. "You are so goddamn stubborn," he muttered, but he let the subject drop, clearly knowing that Azriel was not going to listen.

That evening, instead of sitting through that dinner, Azriel let the shadows swirl around him in excitement, tugging on his jacket, practically dragging him forward.

*It's a lovely house, Master!* they said as they wrapped him in their embrace.

He blinked twice as he rematerialised in front of a lake. Somehow not quite what he had expected. But then…then he saw the house.

Grey stone and wood and the biggest windows he had ever seen that promised an breathtaking view over the lake… and nobody around as far as he could see. He stared at the house, a brow raised. It was nice…very nice. A little too nice. Exactly too his taste.

Azriel turned towards the shadows as he raised another brow. *And how exactly did you…* he started with a huff. *You know what, nevermind.*

He could already hear the shadows saying that they asked for a favor in exchange. Or maybe they stole it.

The house was still nice though, perfect really. He just…didn't want to know what they had done to get it.

Azriel glanced towards the building again. He could almost picture himself in the space, walking around, just….simply existing. It was peaceful and quiet…and he would not be…disturbed or bothered.

He could see himself reading in front of the fireplace, looking out into the night sky through the large windows.

Azriel walked towards the building, his fingers brushing over the wall. He could feel it already….he could already feel his muscles loosening, his shoulders lowering from their stiff position.

Home, he thought as stepped into the space, the shadows following after him as his lips tugged upwards.

Yes, he could already see himself calling it that. Home. He liked the ring of it.

*You're welcome, Master,* the shadows said as they swirled around him, nuzzling him affectionately. They were happy for him, so very happy for him.

The living room was spacious, filled with overstuffed couches and armchairs made for wings… the view indeed was spectacular. And one long uninterrupted wall was lined with tall, massive bookshelves.

It was perfect.

*Does she like books?* he couldn't help but ask.

*Yes, Master! She loves books!* The Shadows assured him in an excited chorus.

She liked to read. That was the first little tidbit of information he learned about her.

*Will you tell me something else about her?* he asked them softly, as he kept exploring the house.

*What do you want to know?* the shadows asked.

*Did her ex-partner really cheat on her with her sister?* he wondered aloud.

*Yes. They are engaged to be married now,* the shadows answered. *He's an asshole,* they muttered darkly.

Azriel couldn't help but give a nod in agreement. An ass was too kind. Whoever he was, he was more than that. Azriel hated him, whoever he was.

*Anything else?* he asked the shadows, curious, so damn curious, to know more about the female.

*She has a cat. His name is Hector. He may be the ugliest cat in existence,* the shadows said primly, *but she adores him.*

Not what he expected, but it was...sweet. It was kind. She had a pet cat. His lips tugged upwards into an involuntary smile.

*And...?* he trailed off, waiting for a response. He was greedy, so damn greedy for more, so greedy to get to know the female more. His curiosity about her had grown to a fever pitch, it seemed.

The Shadows hummed thoughtfully. *She is very, very kind, Master,* they finally said softly.

Those words caused Azriel's smile to go soft, so damn soft. His heart fluttered at the Shadows' words. She was kind. She was kind and she had a cat that she adored. Her ex was an ass who cheated on her. She read, liked books, which meant she was intelligent, and…

Was he getting excited about someone he had never even met?

*When...when can I meet her?* he asked softly.

*Soon,* the shadows promised. *She doesn't leave the house that often...*

Azriel's brows drew together at that. *Why not?* he asked quietly, not sure if he really wanted the answer to that question.

The Shadows hesitated for a moment before responding. *People...people aren't very nice to her,* they admitted slowly.

Azriel blinked, confused. People...weren't nice to her...? But…why? What was there not to be nice about? From what he had gleaned, she was kind, had a cat, was smart, and liked books. What was wrong with any of that? It didn't make any sense.

*Why?* he demanded shaprly.*Because people are idiots as usual,* the shadows snapped right back. *People aren't nice to you either.*

Azriel gave a small wince at that, the shadows words hitting him like a bucket of ice cold water. But they were right, people weren't all the nicest to him, either.

Still...he didn't like the idea of her being treated poorly. He wanted...Gods, the want was so strong, all of a sudden. The want to…to protect her. To guard her, and protect her. To keep her safe. To make sure she was alright.

*Tell me when she leaves her house,* he demanded.

For a moment he could swear the shadows were nearly frozen in place.

*Change of Plans. Put on a different shirt,* the shadows said quickly. Azriel just stared at them.

*A different shirt?* he asked. He didn't even have any clothing here! That was back at the House of Wind. But the shadows were clearly not taking no for an answer.

He batted away a tendril as it started to unbuckle his fighting leathers and did it himself, only for them to shove him into a shirt that was so dark green it was nearly black and then start fussing with his hair.

Azriel barely had time to even process what was happening before the shadows were pushing him towards the door, still trying to fix and smooth his hair and clothes as they moved forward.

*What is the change of plan?* he asked them

*You are getting to see her right now,* the shadows said with a hint of glee to their voice. *Her sister and some friends are taking her to a bar.*

*The same sister that cheated on her with her ex-partner?* he demanded.

*Yes,* the shadows agreed in a hiss.

Great. So he was going to have to stop a fight from happening, all while trying to meet the female he apparently was connected to? That was a...recipe for disaster right there..

*She'll be at the Crystal Drop* the shadows informed him, and his heart gave a strange little clench at those words. He was...he was actually going to get to meet her. Tonight.

The feeling of excitement was back, rushing through him like a wildfire. But there was also a hint of trepidation, a hint of nervousness. What if he screwed it all up? What if he messed things up? His stomach was suddenly full of butterflies.

Azriel didn't have time to dwell on those thoughts, though, as the shadows gave him a little nudge forward again, all but forcing him to start moving towards the tavern.

He could see it in the distance, the sign proclaiming it as “Crystal Drop”. It...it was right there. She was there...

Taking a deep breath, he headed towards the bar, his heart pounding in his chest with every step that he took closer to the entrance. Gods, his hands were shaking.

He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he was

He entered the tavern, and his eyes automatically went to the crowd, searching for...something.

The shadows let him towards a place in a corner where he could view the whole bar and he ordered a single fireale, because he was not getting drunk. He wanted his wits about him when he met her.

But right now…right now, Azriel settled in to watch.

He watched the crowd, his eyes roving around, searching the whole tavern once again. He just wanted to know where the group was. He wanted to know where...she was.

*Do you see her, Master?* the shadows asked him, nearly teasingly.

*I have absolutely no clue how she looks, so how should I?* he gave back in a growl. The door opened and he watched as a group of females poured in...and then right there at the edges of that group...

His breath caught in his throat as his eyes fell on her, and...oh.

Between one blink and the next everything changed. A golden bond unfurled in his chest, connecting him to her.

Her.

He knew it.

She was his mate.

Mine. He whispered in his head, barely more than a thought. He knew it with every fiber of his being, every part of his heart.

He took her in hungrily.

She was so beautiful. So, so beautiful. Azriel had to physically restrain himself from going over to her right then and there.

He could hardly breathe. He couldn't form a coherent thought. His whole world had suddenly narrowed to the sight in front of her. His mate.

*Master?* There was alarm in the shadows voices as his breathing became near erratic.

*She's...You found my mate,* he said weakly.

The shadows hummed in confirmation and his eyes were glued to her still, drinking her in. She had long brown hair with soft curls, falling over back, bangs framing a rounded face with high cheekbones and plump cheeks...full rosy lips too and adorable freckles dotting over her nose...

She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. She was simply...stunning.

And mine, he thought to himself. She was his. She was his mate.

He didn't even look at the rest of the group. Just focused on the one...the one who was at the edge of the group, seemingly trying to vanish, to become invisible.

Even from the distance, Azriel could see the tension in his mate’s form. He frowned slightly at that. He didn't like it, seeing her like that.

He...his instincts were starting to kick in, a soft, protective urge rising up in him. He wanted to go to her, to...to stand by her side and ease away whatever was bothering her. But he stayed rooted to the spot, just...just watching her. Just watching his mate, the sight of her soothing every single little part of him until he felt warm all over.

He let the group settle at a table a few feet away from him, forcing himself to look down on the bottle in front of him and not stare at his mate like a total creep.

If he strained his ears, he could hear the whole conversation. Apparently it was his mate’s sisters Hen Party, the kind of celebration that some High Fae Females had before they got married.

Nice. Why not bring along your sister, when you were engaged to the guy that cheated with you on said sister?

The fact that his mate even came along into this bar that evening was probably a sign of how fucking nice she was. And Gods...no wonder his mate was so anxious...this whole thing was just...a disaster waiting to happen.

He glanced towards the group again, his attention once again immediately falling on his mate. He could see it, the small twitch of her fingers, the tightening of her lips...the small little things, and he felt his heart wrench at the sight.

She didn't talk. She was just sitting there silently, while the other females had a raucous conversation, that she wasn't part of. It made him bristle.

He didn't understand why they were doing that, why she wasn't a part of the conversation. She was right there. But they weren't listening, they weren't noticing her...or maybe they were ignoring her on purpose.

He...he didn't like it. He didn’t like it at all.

Just minutes later, Azriel realised that he should have wished that they kept ignoring her.

Because Azriel was quite certain that he was going to slit his mate's sister's throat with Truthteller if she said one more word.

The blonde, her sister, stared at his mate and this time a sharp, nasty smile curled on her lips. "Oh, what's the matter, little sister? Mad that I nabbed the male you were going to marry?" she taunted with a malicious grin. "I guess he just liked me better."

Azriel was so shocked that he could just sit there, staring.

The other females laughed as the blonde continued, her lips curled in a sneer. "You should be happy for me, really," she said, her voice sugary sweet. "After all, you could never keep him happy. You've always been useless, haven't you?"

The comments made Azriel see red. What the hell was wrong with this female? Who treated their own sister like this?

He had half a mind to go over there and wring her neck.

*Don’t,* his shadows hissed. *You’ll make it worse.*

*Make it worse?! It can’t fucking get worse!* he hissed back.

He itched to go over to the group, to protect his mate from these cruel, cruel words.

*Yes, it can,* the shadows snapped. *What do you want to do? Massacre her sister right in front of her?!* Azriel growled under his breath.

*Normally you are much more bloodthirsty,* he complained to the shadows.

*You are the fucking spymaster. Act like it,* the shadows snapped. *You want us to make her sister’s life a misery? We’ll do it. We’ll do it and it will never be traced back to you. Besides, she deserves worse than a quick death.*

He clenched his teeth.

The other females were laughing, but his mate...wasn't. She wasn't saying a single word, wasn't defending herself, wasn't saying anything. Just...just sitting there and taking the horrible abuse with a neutral, blank expression on her face.

"Cat got your tongue?" her sister asked her with a roll of her eyes. "I mean, it's not like you're good at talking, are you?" she asked her with a cruel little laugh. "Too bad for you that males want females that are able to have a conversation, not awkward little things who can't even speak when spoken to."

Azriel's body tensed as he listened to the words, every muscle coiled tight. It took every ounce of his control not to stride over to the group of females and punch her sister straight in the face. The only thing he wanted to do in that moment was to protect his mate.

The comment clearly found it's target, Azriel could see his mate flinch at the words, her face crumbling momentarily before it smoothed over into a neutral expression again. Gods...it must've hurt so badly to hear her sister speak to her like that…

*We’ll ruin her fucking life,* he vowed to the shadows.

*Agreed, Master.”

Her sister rolled her eyes another time. "Come on, let's go," she told the other females. "You have the bill, don't you, Skylar?"

The words made Azriel snap. So the sister hadn't intended to even pay for her drinks in the first place? It was…they had just used her, he realised suddenly. Used her for the first stop on their tavern tour, to pick up the drink tab…and that was all she was good for in their eyes…

It was...Azriel couldn't stand by and watch this anymore, it made him so angry. So fucking furious.

"Ye...yes," his mate stuttered.

She looked so small in that moment, her eyes averted, her shoulders slumped, her hands trembling. She looked...wounded, so hurt, and Azriel was...he was sick of seeing her just accept this verbal abuse without a word.

They left. They should thank the cauldron that they left at that moment, because otherwise Azriel would have made Cassian at his worst look like a puppy.

He wanted to storm after them, to give every single person in the group a piece of his mind, but that could wait. The most important thing right now was his mate. She was still here, after all. Azriel took a deep breath, and slowly, almost hesitantly walked towards her.

He watched as she didn't move, and he finally decided to speak, his voice a low, soft murmur. "Mind if I sit here?" he asked, gesturing to the chair beside her.

Her head turned, and he felt his heart stop as her eyes met his for the first time. Up close, her eyes were...mesmerizing. A deep, sparkling blue, framed by long, lush eyelashes. He couldn't look away from her.

And she stared at him, her mouth slightly open, her eyes near comically wide.

He gave her a soft, slow smile. "Hi," he greeted her, his voice gentle. She blinked a few times, still staring at him, and he found it so cute, how shocked she was that he was talking to her.

Her mouth opened but no words came out. She was staring at him like a poor bunny rabbit would at an apex predator , caught in his grasp.

For just a moment her scent went utterly haywire.

Caramel and Hazelnuts. So sugary sweet that he would have gladly rolled around in it. And she just stared at him, wide eyed, silent...until suddenly the scent changed to incadescent happiness.

"Oh." A small sound escaped her as she swallowed.

And he knew. He knew at that moment that the bond had just snapped for her.

#acotar fanfiction #azriel x oc #azriel x reader #azriel fanfiction #azriel fanfic #It's a Love Story

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osarina · 3 months ago

Text

ᡣ𐭩 WE WERE BORN SICK

FEATURING: dazai osamu

SUMMARY: that sinking feeling that's been looming over you both has finally come to fruition. truths are revealed, questions are answered, but one big one remains: is love enough for you and dazai's relationship to survive this?

AUTHOR'S NOTES: happy fridayyyyy, i can't believe we only have one chapter left of civzai, it's actually makin me emotional </3 this chapter was quite a doozy to write, and i hope it's equally a doozy to read HAHAH no no jkjk , i hope you enjoy. also do u guys want to add an arcane au to the dazaiverse .. ive been thinking heavily about it. comments & reblogs appreciated

GENERAL WARNINGS: fem!reader, port mafia executive!reader, civilian!dazai, dazai's struggles w suicide & sh, reader partakes in mafia business, dazai isn't dazai without a bit of obsessiveness and possessiveness (the possessiveness doesn't come til later but the obsessiveness starts from day 0).

CHAPTER SPECIFIC WARNINGS: hardly edited. angsty chapter. explicit depiction of suicide (past recollection of dazai), implications of past self-harm (dazai), very toxic thought processes at certain parts (dazai), past (and a bit of current) suicide ideation (dazai), manic behavior (reader).

SEE: WASTELAND, BABY! SERIES MASTERLIST

“I’ve been eager to meet you for quite a while. In all of the years I’ve known her, my little hime has never let something as trivial as a boy come between her and our work… I knew you must be special, but I never could’ve imagined just how special. I’m so pleasantly surprised.”

Dazai’s head throbs as he comes to his surroundings. He’s laying in an uncomfortable bed—a hospital bed, he thinks, he can smell the unfortunately familiar scent of antiseptic, but the walls aren’t the typical white he’s used to. He winces as he sits up, unable to recall where he is or what happened to him. Everything is too fuzzy, he remembers being with Fitzgerald, the car ride to the tea house, and-

And he remembers you.

He remembers you.

He lets out a shaky breath as he recalls the way you’d pulled him into your arms, cradling him close as soon as you got him back from Fitzgerald. God, he only got to be with you for what felt like a second. It wasn’t enough time. It wasn’t nearly enough time. You sent him off, he remembers—you sent him with two of your subordinates, the weretiger and that freaky little girl, and then…

“Shhh… Don’t speak. I want to get this done and over with.”

The gun to his back, Atsushi and Kyouka’s cries of shock, the baton to his head.

“No can do, weretiger. On orders from the boss.”

His mind tracks back to the words that had been spoken as he was teetering on the edge of consciousness, mouth going dry and eyes widening as he becomes acutely aware of the other person in the room with him. His gaze flicks up to where a vaguely familiar man sits at a desk watching him—straight chin-length black hair, inquisitive purple eyes, a long black coat, Dazai isn’t sure where he recalls this man from but he knows that they’ve met before.

“Who…” Dazai asks, voice wavering as pain shoots through his head with every little movement. “Who are you? Have we… met before?”

His wrist hurts. His mother’s nails dig into his skin so deep that it draws blood, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. He’d just been sleeping—is he still sleeping? He isn’t sure. He’s stumbling over his own feet trying to keep up with her, he keeps asking her what’s going on but she doesn’t answer him.

They turn a hall and his mother stops so suddenly that he slams right into her, nearly tripping over onto the ground. He doesn’t even regain his footing before his mother is pulling him back the way he came, he looks over his shoulder trying to figure out what caused his mother to panic so badly and he looks at—a man?

Who is that?

Why is he coming from grandfather’s room?

Is that-

Blood?

“Shuji! Shuji, don’t look back! Keep moving!”

Shuji? Who’s Shu-

“I think you know the answer to that already.” Dazai is startled out of the memory—was that a memory?—by the man’s voice. He sounds amused, and from the way that his eyes are glittering, Dazai can tell he’s finding great entertainment out of this situation. It pisses Dazai off. “Don’t you?”

“Tane-chan, you know you won’t be able to hide him forever. You’re just making this harder on yourself.”

Dazai’s breath catches. He shifts backward on the bed to press his back against the wall. Everything is wrong—the air is too cold, his bandages are itching, his head hurts, and he doesn’t know what’s going on. Who is Shuji? Why is he thinking of his mother after all of these years? And what… what was he remembering?

Memories of his youth have always been sparse and fleeting—he can vaguely recall the faces of his siblings, the anxiety he felt around his grandfather, the loneliness—but something like this… The panic on his mothers face, the pain in his wrist, the way she was dragging him around, the fear in her voice when she screamed at Dazai—was he Shuji? But then why—to not look back, to keep moving. He would remember something like that. That would be… crazy to forget, right?

What is going on?

“You’re Mori,” Dazai breathes out, clearing his throat. He hopes he doesn’t look as disconcerted as he feels, but he thinks he must. “You’re…”

The leader of the Port Mafia.

The closest thing you have to a father.

So, how does Dazai remember him from years ago? It doesn’t make sense. He couldn’t have been older than thirteen, maybe fourteen in that memory. What did he forget? When did he meet him? What’s going on? Dazai wants to scream, his mind is still slow from just waking up—he doesn’t even know how long he was unconscious, it couldn’t have been that long.

Mori’s smile widens as if Dazai just walked right into whatever trap that had been laid out for him, violet eyes flashing with a type of cruel amusement that makes Dazai sick to his stomach. Dazai has to circle back to remember what he just said, he needs to snap out of the daze he’s in. He needs to think. He made a mistake—Dazai made a mistake. He shouldn’t have admitted that he knew Mori. That was a mistake.

How does he fix it?

Can he fix it?

“You do know,” Mori says, like he didn’t actually expect Dazai to admit that he knew him. Like he’s pleasantly surprised. Again. Like Dazai just made things much easier for him. Shit. “Interesting.”

He’s going to use it against Dazai. Dazai knows it. He’s going to use it against him to hurt you. He remembers everything he’s learned about your relationship with Mori—how he pit you against that other girl, Yosano, to get results from you. And he already said it. He already said that Dazai is getting between you and your work, he’ll do the same thing here. He’ll pit you against him.

He’s going to tell you that Dazai knew who Mori was, and that Dazai is someone that he’s not—who is Shuji? Why doesn’t he remember his own name? Is that really his name? How does Mori know all of this? Who is Dazai?—and Dazai needs to be able to say something. He needs to be able to explain. How does he explain this when he doesn’t even know what’s going on? Dazai needs to remember; he needs to remember now, he needed to remember yesterday, because if he’s not the one to tell you this… If he can’t explain this…

This cannot be happening—it can’t. Right when he thought everything would be okay, when he would be with you. His throat starts to clog as anxiety clouds his head and weighs on his chest, a panic attack that he can’t afford right now. He needs to think, he needs to figure out what’s going on—Mori knows something about Dazai that he doesn’t know himself, and he’s going to use it against him to drive a wedge between the two of you. He’s going to tell you, and-

Dazai’s world feels woozy. Why can’t he remember? How does he know Mori? What was happening that night with his mother? He needs to snap out of this, needs to think, but he can’t even breathe. Fear—the mind killer.

“I don’t know what’s going on,” Dazai rasps, his voice is hoarse, and he feels sick, and he hates admitting that he doesn’t know what’s happening, but he needs Mori to believe it so that he doesn’t tell you something that’s not true. “I don’t know how I know you. I don’t-”

“You might believe that,” Mori says amused, “but will she?”

Dazai stares at Mori, his stomach churns violently and his vision swims as the answer becomes abundantly clear to him.

He doesn’t know.

———

The gun in your hand weighs heavily.

You hid it in the inside of your blazer to get up to the conference room. No weapons are allowed up past the thirty-fifth floor unless you’re one of the Boss’s hand-picked personal guards—even executives are forced to disarm themselves before going up, but security is much more lax for the upper echelon. Because you’re you—the hime, second-in-command, the Boss’s daughter—the guards outside of the elevator that goes directly to the top floor wave you past the metal detectors to go on up.

A mistake.

(Who is Tsushima Shuji? It can’t be Dazai. You know Dazai. Mori must be wrong.)

The smile on your face is bland and doesn’t meet your eyes as you walk down the hall to the conference room attached to Mori’s office. You greet the guards, and they don’t notice how off your demeanor is, too starstruck over the fact that they’re being acknowledged for once. They also don’t notice the way your hand is curled around the grip of your gun in your blazer.

A mistake.

(Mori is never wrong. Do you really know Dazai?)

When you reach the end of the hallway, you toss them one last brilliant smile. This one is a bit more genuine because you’ve realized that you’ve gotten through the top notch security of the upper levels of the Port Mafia headquarters without a hitch. That you’re one step closer to finishing this. They’re so blinded by the beauty of your smile that they don’t realize your teeth have sharpened into knives and the floral perfume you wear masks a putrid bloodlust.

A mistake.

(It’s always been odd, hasn’t it? The way he approached you. The way he was so insistent on pushing himself into your life. You always questioned it. There was a sinking feeling that something wasn’t as it seemed. Why didn’t you question it more?)

You keep your back turned as you slip into the room. You can feel four presences behind you—Kouyou, Piano Man, Chuuya, Ace. No Mori. No Dazai. That’s fine—you have something to take care of before they show up anyway. The conference room is soundproof; Mori designed it that way because he didn’t want the guards outside to overhear any discussion of sensitive topics. Even if he handpicked them for their loyalty, he understands that money can make the most devout man’s faith waver. Still, it’s not them rushing in that you’re worried about—it’s the people in the room with you rushing out, so you very carefully twist the nub of the lock and then reach up to fix the deadbolt. It won’t stop them, but it will slow them. You can feel their eyes on you as you make sure the door is locked, but none of them call you out for it or try to stop you.

A mistake.

(Mori always told you that the Tsushimas were like cockroaches. If they all weren’t killed, one would eventually return to reclaim their grandfather’s empire. There’d be a power struggle between the factions loyal to the new regime and the ones that still hid in the shadows believing that the Tsushima blood belonged at the head of the organization. Everything the two of you had built would crumble to ashes.)

You turn to make your way over to the conference table where the four of them are sitting. You haven’t decided how you want to go about this yet. You don’t know who all was aware of what Mori did, and because of that, you don’t know who needs to die. Treachery has always faced a death penalty—you don’t care if Mori ordered it, you don’t care that the Boss’s word is absolute, you have bled and breathed for the Port Mafia. You’ve sacrificed everything you’ve ever owned and wanted for the Port Mafia. You have made the Port Mafia into what it is today with your efforts abroad and at home—foreign governments, foreign criminal organizations, the Japanese government and other domestic mafias, all of them are just puppets that you pull the strings of to ensure the Port Mafia stays on top. Treachery against you will face the same penalty one would receive if they betrayed the Port Mafia, because you are the Port Mafia—Mori has made sure of that.

Chuuya and Piano Man share a look with one another as you approach the table. Neither of them say anything—is it confusion? Is it guilt? Did they know? Were you the only one unaware of the schemes going on around you? Were you the only one loyal? The only one you could trust?

Did they know?

(No one could ever love you without your ability at work influencing them. You’ve known that since the very beginning, but you were so quick to forget that when you discovered Dazai’s ability. You should have had more questions, you should have been more suspicious. Mori had been right from the very beginning. You were emotionally compromised. You were weak.)

Ace opens his mouth to speak.

A mistake.

“It was nice meeting your-”

Ace’s head hits the conference table with a hard thunk, his eyes wide and glassy, his mouth open around the words you didn’t let him finish speaking. Blood seeps from the bullet hole in his temple and pools around his head and the ground beneath his chair, staining the glass table and the white floors.

Instead of lowering your arm, you shift it so that the gun is pressed against Piano Man’s temple next. Chuuya says your name—it’s awful, something caught between a gasp of shock and confusion, he’s never said your name like that before. Like he doesn’t know what you’re doing. Like he doesn’t understand you. Like you’re something unfamiliar. Unrecognizable. You ignore him anyway, and the pangs that come along with it, and instead, you keep your gaze trained on Piano Man’s face.

He’s not as panicked as Chuuya, but you can tell that he’s just as caught off guard from the way his lips are twisted. He watches you carefully, waiting for you to say whatever you’re going to say—if you were going to pull the trigger, you would’ve done so immediately, he knows that. He’s always been good at reading you, better than even Chuuya sometimes.

“Did you know?”

Your voice is steadier than you expect it to be. Cold almost. Distant. You don’t recognize it yourself, you suppose it’s no wonder that Chuuya’s staring at you with such a foreign expression. You watch him just as carefully as he does you. He has a tell when he lies: he squints. Not an obvious squint, just the barest hint of his eyes squeezing shut like he’s calculating exactly what he wants to say, in what tone and with what fluctuation he wants to say it.

A subtle tell, but a tell nonetheless.

“No.”

He stares at you steadily as he says it. There’s no squint—he’s telling the truth. You don’t let out a breath of relief, but you certainly feel the weight off of your shoulders. You lower the gun, satisfied with his response, and then you walk over to where Chuuya is sitting.

You don’t raise the gun to his temple immediately. He looks up at you, you look down at him, a whole conversation is had in the silence between you, and eventually he lowers his lashes in resignation, telling you to do what needs to be done for you to feel more at ease.

He’s always put others before himself.

You lift the gun at the same time he lifts his gaze to meet yours. He could activate the Tainted Sorrow and end this before it starts, but he doesn’t—you know in your gut that if you pulled the trigger right now, he would accept the fate you delivered. Probably would take it as a better one than he deserved—it being at your hands rather than Arahabaki.

“Did you know?” you ask. The words taste bitter, rancid—they don’t belong there, Chuuya would never betray you, but you had to hear it from him.

Chuuya doesn’t have many tells when he lies—he’s a good actor, much better than people give him credit for. If he wanted to lie to you, he might be able to get away with it. But he won’t lie to you, not when he’s looking you in the eye.

“No,” he says, voice soft and raspy like he can’t believe he has to say it.

You let the gun drop to your side. It weighs heavier now—heavier than it did in the elevator, heavier than it did in the hallway leading to the room, heavier than it did when it was pressed against Piano Man’s head. You can hardly bear to keep holding it, but you’re not done yet.

Slowly, your gaze turns to Kouyou. Her expression is cold and unreadable, gaze pinned on you in the same way a lion stalks its prey through the tall grass… No, that’s not right. She stares at you with the same look in her eyes that a snake does when it’s curled in a corner, rattle shaking and hissing to try to scare off the predator that has it trapped.

“You knew,” you breathe out softly in disbelief. Your voice hardens and tightens as you repeat, “You knew!”

Before you can raise your gun—before you can pull the trigger four, five, six times, before you can riddle her body with holes because how dare she know, how dare she know and not tell you after what the previous boss did to her—the door that separates the conference room from Mori’s office opens, and your attention is drawn to the one person who caused all of this.

“Oh my,” Mori says airly, looking between you, Ace’s body, and Kouyou with an expression that is frustratingly amused. “I see you’ve been busy.”

You don’t even know what to say to that. You almost want to laugh. You think you do laugh, actually—someone does, and you think it’s you, because you feel yourself walking away, you lift your hands to your head to tug at your ears in frustration. Your vision is blurry—are you crying?

“You betrayed me,” you finally say, voice quieter than you intend, so you raise it as you repeat yourself. “You betrayed me. You. Of all people I never thought you would be the one to-”

You can’t even finish the sentence, your voice cracks over the words. It makes you feel sick, it makes you angry, it makes you want to crawl out of your skin, because how could he? To you? You don’t know why you’re so angry, why you’re so betrayed. Mori has always made it clear that his priority is the Port Mafia, but still, to do this to you. To do this to his-

To his what?

You’re not his daughter. You hate when people imply that you are, you hate being called hime, you hate being called ‘Miss Mori’, you hate when people give you respect because of your perceived relationship to him.

He’s the only father you’ve ever known. Almost every decision you’ve made has been with the motive of making him proud of you. When he seeks out your opinion specifically during meetings, your chest becomes warm with pride.

You don’t love him. How could you? Look at what you’ve become because of him.

Then why do you feel so betrayed? Why did you think he would be the last person to do something like this to you when you know the type of person he is? Why does your chest feel like it’s caving in? Like your heart’s been ripped right out of it? Why does this hurt as much—why does this hurt more than Dazai’s potential betrayal?

And he certainly doesn’t love you. He never would have done this if he did.

He’s killed people for disrespecting you—he hardly ever gets his own hands dirty, but he does when it’s you and your dignity on the line. He spends hours meticulously picking out birthday presents that he knows you’ll like. He gets sad when he invites you for lunch and you don’t join him, reminiscing about the days where you clung to the back of his coat.

He touches your shoulder, and your finger twitches on the trigger of the gun. You want to lift it, press it to his temple and pull the trigger just like you did to Ace, but you can’t. Your arm feels like lead, and when his hand slides down to your bicep to force you to turn around and face him so that your back is to the rest of the executives, you dutifully follow along.

His expression is unreadable as he looks down at you, violet eyes swimming with an emotion you’ve never seen in them before. He lifts his hand to wipe away one of the tears that had spilled over your cheeks with his knuckle, and then taps your cheek twice, chiding you silently.

Do not cry here, little hime. Not here.

“You have always been so dramatic,” Mori hums just loud enough for you to hear, but the words are fond, and the corners of his lip curl up as he looks down at you. “I would not betray you. Not ever, dear.”

You look at Ace pointedly in response and then back to Mori, the man sighs dramatically and gives you a disappointed look. The nerve, you think bitterly, narrowing your eyes on him as you wait for his explanation.

“I told you,” Mori says. “I did this to protect you. I wanted to get ahold of the boy-”

“Because you have some mistaken belief that he’s a Tsushima,” you interrupt coolly. “How did you even manage to come up with that ridiculous theory?”

Mori’s eyes flicker with something akin to interest, but shifts quickly into pity—you can’t tell if it’s genuine or mocking, and you don’t know which would be worse. He must be mistaken, he has to be. You don’t think you can handle the implications of if he isn’t, of what it might mean for you. For Dazai. Your whole relationship with him. How much was manufactured for him to get information about the Port Mafia? So he could get a foothold in the organization? Get in contact with the remaining loyalists to his family?

“Sit,” he tells you, guiding you over to the seat at the right of the head of the table. “I’ll explain everything, but first… Shuji-kun, why don’t you come out and join us?”

Your breath catches at Mori’s words, gaze twisting to the side over to the door that he’d come out of. You watch as the door creaks open, and the achingly familiar sight of his face finally comes into view. You’ve missed him—you’ve missed him, and you hate this. You should be back at your apartment with him, you should have him curled up in your arms, you should be listening to him complain about how long he was stuck with the Guild.

This shouldn’t be happening. You shouldn’t be sitting at the executive roundtable with Ace’s dead body a few feet away, and Dazai entering the room, questions of his identity, of whether or not he’s been using you for information and opportunity to take back his grandfather’s legacy.

You hoped that Dazai would enter the room angry, irritated by the kidnapping and the accusations, but you don’t think you’ve ever seen Dazai look like this before. He looks a mess, fidgeting, brown hair matted to his forehead, dark eyes wide and swirling with emotion. When he seeks you out, they’re pleading, imploring, like he already knows that whatever is about to be said is going to be bad for him.

He looks… frazzled. Nervous. Confused.

He looks guilty, and you know that Mori is telling the truth.

How much of this was a lie? All of it?

Your throat feels uncomfortably tight, gaze sliding from Dazai back to Mori.

“Tell me.”

Who are you, Dazai Osamu?

———

Despite his body being wracked with a strange sense of guilt, Dazai pushes open the door to enter the room where he assumes you’ll be waiting. You’re not the only one there sitting at the table—there’s five… no, four others—but Dazai can’t help the way he immediately seeks you out. He recognizes his mistake instantly. That highly unwelcome, and highly misplaced, guilt amplifies the moment his gaze meets yours and he sees how crushed you are by all of this. His face twists into something that he knows condemns himself more. and from the way you instantly look away from him, directing your full attention to Mori, he knows he has.

Now, you won’t meet his eyes at all.

Dazai sits stiffly across from you to the left of Mori. Nakahara Chuuya is on his opposite side, glaring holes into the side of Dazai’s head, but he can’t drag his gaze from you. He’s never seen you like this before—even back at the beach house when you’d been so close to breaking down under the weight of everything on your shoulders, you’d held yourself together as best you could.

You’re unraveling now; he can tell you’re still trying to hold yourself together, but it’s as good as trying to pick up water with your fists, your emotions spill out through the cracks carved into the walls you used to hide yourself behind. Mori hasn’t even begun talking, yet your breath is unsteady and your eyes are swimming with emotion; your fingers are still wrapped tight around the grip of your gun, and Dazai is very acutely aware of Ace’s dead body slouched over the table not even a few feet away.

And you won’t even meet his eyes.

Maybe it’s a good thing, he realizes, because Dazai isn’t sure what you might see if you do. You clearly didn’t like what you saw the first time. He just feels so guilty, and he doesn’t even know why he feels guilty because he’s not-he didn’t do any of what Mori implied. He didn’t use you, he didn’t know who you were before meeting you, it wasn’t all some scheme to try to take over the mafia. That’s ludicrous—he’s a literature student at YNU, not some gang lord. He just-

He loved you. Loves you. No ulterior motives. No strings attached.

“I said tell me,” you snap when Mori doesn’t immediately begin talking. “You love talking, so why are you holding back now? Tell me, or I’m leaving.”

Dazai feels a bit sick to his stomach when you say ‘I’ with no implication of taking him with you. He tries to get you to look at him again, silently pleading with you to just spare one glance in his direction, but you’re irritated now. He can see it in the way your fingers flex around the gun, knuckles whitening and finger twitching on the trigger—it’s pointed at the woman sitting next to you, who is very acutely aware of the fact from how stiff she is.

“Do you remember the night we took over the Port Mafia, dear?” Mori asks her, voice a low hum.

“What kind of question is that?” you answer tightly. Your lip curls up in irritation, Dazai can see you become more and more antsy and angry—he’s never seen you so out of control before. “Of course, I do.”

“And you, Shuji-kun?” Mori turns his attention to Dazai and he wants to spit in his face—his name is Dazai—but his voice fails him when he sees the way your face twists at the sound of the unfamiliar name. He stares at Mori instead, hating how amused the man becomes at his silence. “I’ll take that as a no, allow me to refresh you.”

“Eight years ago, a coup was staged against your grandfather’s regime,” Mori says, and Dazai feels like he’s being studied under a microscope. All eyes are on him now—even yours, but now, he can’t bring himself to look at you. He doesn’t know what he’ll find, and he’s scared it’s going to be something he doesn’t like. “Your grandfather was mad, killing civilians and mafiosos indiscriminately, something had to be done, and nobody was willing to do it, so we did.”

“We had to wipe out the whole family, and any loyalists. I was fourteen when I killed someone for the first time. She was a girl my age—the previous boss’s grandaughter…”

Dazai’s gaze drags over to you. You’re staring ahead now, gaze listless and expression eerily blank like you’re slowly starting to realize what this means. Dazai hasn’t come to terms with it yet, because if even a little of what Mori is saying is true then…

“We wiped out the whole bloodline and as many loyalists as we could,” Mori continues, “or we thought we did, at least. My dear hime was who I sent to kill the heirs, I trusted in her to make it quick and painless. We didn’t realize one of the grandchildren were missing until it was too late—he wasn’t in his bedroom, apparently liked to wander around at night because he couldn’t sleep. His mother was able to swoop in and get him out of the estate before our men took over the building… Tsushima Shuji, the youngest of the previous boss’s grandsons. Does this sound familiar yet, Shuji-kun?”

He has the best view of the night sky from an alcove on the fourth floor of the estate—his grandfather’s floor. It’s where he likes to go when he can’t sleep at night, and ever since his cousins and siblings started fighting over their grandfather’s legacy, that’s been just about every night: half because of fear now that things have started escalating to violence, half because he’s not even sure why he’s still here.

His knees are tucked tight to his chest, arms wrapped around them and head resting against the cool glass as he looks up at the stars. He hears a commotion happening somewhere downstairs, but there’s always a commotion happening at the estate, so he thinks nothing of it. He submerges himself in the darkness instead, letting his mind float away as he stares up at the sky—it’s the only time he’s able to relax, escape from the shadows of his own mind.

He’s not sure how long he sits there admiring the night, time passes immeasurably when he’s lost in the stars—he’s only snapped out of it when he hears feet slamming against the ground in his direction. He stiffens, eyes wide, wondering if another one of his cousins has finally turned to bloodshed as the way to inherit their grandfather’s legacy, but instead his mother turns the corner, her smooth face contorted in a type of panic he’s never seen on her before.

“Mothe…” he starts to say, confused, but he doesn’t even get a chance to finish the word, gasping as his mother grabs his wrist and yanks him off the cushioned seat in the alcove.

“Shuji, we have to go,” she gasps, “we need to get out of here. It’s not safe.”

He stumbles after his mother, struggling to keep up with her quick pace and longer legs. Her grip was painful, nails digging into the bandages around his wrists, right into the fresh wounds they covered. He grimaces in pain, breathing heavy as he follows his mother down the hall, assumingly toward the steps near his grandfather’s room.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “What about Bunji? Akane? T-”

His mother chokes over what sounds like a sob and his eyes widen—he’s never heard his mother cry before.

“There’s no time,” she chokes out, “we have to leave without them. We-”

They turn a hall, she skids to a stop and-

“It seems that it does… Allow me to continue then,” Mori hums, drawing Dazai out of the memory. He sounds unbearably amused, and Dazai would be angry if he wasn’t so shaken. He pulls his hands off of the table to rest them in his lap to hide the way his fingers are trembling. “Your mother was able to hide you from us for half a year, I warned her that she wouldn’t be able to for long and since she didn’t share your grandfather’s blood, promised to spare her life if she gave you up to us, but she refused. She tried to take you out of the Kanagawa Prefecture, but our men were catching up to her, and she took… drastic measures to ensure we couldn’t track you down. That I’m sure you remember.”

“Mother,” he whispered, staring up at the rope, her limp body, gaze trailing down to the kicked over chair. “Mother, I don’t… why did you…”

He takes a step closer. A step back. Another step closer. He reaches out, fingers brushing the white nightgown she’d worn the night before while getting him settled in bed, but he snatches them back instantly like he’d been burned, clutching his hand to his chest.

He’s not breathing, he realizes when his lungs start to burn. His eyes sting painfully, unable to draw his eyes away—unable to even blink—is it a nightmare? Is he hallucinating? She sways—sways like when she used to distract him when he was settling into a depressive episode by putting on music and forcing him to spin with her in the kitchen, sways like the wind chimes she keeps outside because the house doesn’t feel homely enough without him, sways-

“Shuji! Shuji, get away from there!” The voice that calls to him is familiar—Aunt Kiye? Why is she here? “God, I tried to get here earlier. Nee-san, forgive me.”

Aunt Kiye grabs his wrist, yanking him away from his mother, dragging him out of her bedroom and down the hall. His voice is hoarse as he screams, he doesn’t know what he’s screaming, if he’s even screaming anything intelligible. He doesn’t stop until he’s out of the house and she’s kneeling in front of him, shaking him out of his panic.

“Enough, Shuji! We have to go, we can’t stay here, they’ll be here soon,” Aunt Kiye shouts at him, expression twisted and eyes pooling with tears that she doesn’t let spill over. “We need to go, and we-we need to change your name, change everything. I promised I would hide you, I-”

“We can’t leave her there,” he argues, voice shrill. “I don’t understand, why did she do that? What did I do? It was my fault, It was my fault, wasn’t it? It-”

Aunt Kiye doesn’t answer his question. She looks bitter, angry, hateful. “We have no time. We have to leave,” she whispers, dragging him to the car despite his protests. She continues talking, more to herself than to him, but the words make his chest cave in. “I told her not to get involved with that family. Their blood is black, cursed. Everyone knows nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

His fault, he realizes, breath becoming thin and shallow. It’s his fault, his blood, his fault that his mother-

“Yes, quite the unfortunate scene we walked into,” Mori says dismissively. “She was smart for it though, she never would’ve survived a night with our sweet hime interrogating her. You should see what she did to that despicable journalist. Of course, she wasn’t as fine-tuned with her ability back then, but that would’ve been at your mother’s expense—her first few attempts at conditioning were quite… unfortunate for her test sub-”

“Enough,” you spit out, interrupting him. Dazai wants to believe that it’s because you can see how uncomfortable he’s getting, but he’s not even sure that you care. He’s not even sure you remember he’s in the room. “Get to the point. You think he’s the Tsushima kid we missed—that doesn’t prove shit. It doesn’t mean-”

You don’t finish what you’re going to say, but you do look at him, and Dazai’s breath catches when his gaze finally meets yours again. He can’t tell what you’re thinking—the expression on your face is entirely indecipherable, something caught between being accusatory and guilty. Dazai doesn’t know if he’s going to make it out of this room alive. Even if by some miracle, you decide to believe him, there’s a good chance that Mori will order his death anyway, and he’s not sure if you’ll pick him over the Port Mafia.

That being said, Dazai doesn’t even know if he wants to make it out of here alive. His brain is fogged with memories that he locked so deep within him that they never should’ve resurfaced—every time Mori speaks, Dazai’s recalling something new, something awful, something that proves that he’s every bit the freak people have always claimed him to be. Every bit as bad. Every bit as wrong. Not like other people. A monster whose mother killed herself because of him, a monster who's been cursed since the day he was born.

“... blood is black, cursed… nothing good comes from associating with those people.”

More than that, he doesn’t see how the two of you are going to be able to come back from this, and that scares him more than anything. You’re the only good thing left in his life, and he doesn’t think he’ll make it without you, but he doesn’t think that after all of this things are just going to work out. You killed his siblings. His cousins. And yeah, Dazai was never close to them—they thought he was too quiet, too strange, all of the things that the other students at school whispered, his family was the first to—but… they were still his family, and if Dazai had been in his room that night, he would’ve been just as dead at your hands as the rest of them.

You killed his family. You would have killed him. The Port Mafia is the reason his mother killed herself, the reason why he walked into her bedroom and saw her hanging from a fan. The Port Mafia is the reason his aunt hated him so much that she couldn’t even bear looking at him, the reason why he was left to die in Suribachi City.

Would you ever be able to get over the guilt of that? Would Dazai be able to accept it? You had a heavy hand in ruining his life, is it enough that you saved him years later? He doesn’t know, he’s hardly even processed it, he just knows that he has to cling to what little he has left, dig his nails in and not let go even if it makes you choke on guilt, even if it makes him sick with shame. He won’t let go.

“So impatient,” Mori sighs. “Your aunt hid you for almost another half a year, but she wasn’t able to move out of the Yokohama area. She did well though, I’ll give her that. We had our best trying to find you, but she was very careful. It was partially our own fault that we didn’t get our hands on you back then—some loyalists to your grandfather snuck under our radar, told her when we were closing in on the two of you. She got rid of you before we got to her… but we did get to her. Kouyou-kun was the one who handled her, if I recall it got quite… messy. I can’t imagine how it must feel knowing that your mother and aunt sacrificed themselves to protect you only for you to throw it all away in an arrogant attempt to reclaim your grandfather’s legacy.”

Dazai doesn’t even zero in on the last bit of what Mori says because he’s too busy trying to wrap his head around the rest of it. Aunt Kiye didn’t… die for him. Aunt Kiye hated him. He remembers that clear enough—he remembers how she could hardly stand to look at him, he remembers the way she was always so cold and rough with him, he remembers-

“You have to go, Osamu.” Aunt Kiye is shouting at him, and he’s sitting in the passenger seat of her car. He doesn’t move, he thinks maybe if he sits still enough, she won’t see him there and won’t make him leave. “Osamu, get out of the car and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

The name is still unfamiliar—he’s not used to it, and he doesn’t know if he likes it, but Aunt Kiye insists that Tsushima Shuji is dead and that name can never be uttered again. She gets mad when he doesn’t immediately answer to it, tells him not to let his mother’s death be in vain, and that’s usually enough to get him to stop being stubborn over it.

“Osamu, go!” She grabs his bicep hard to try to get his attention, but he flinches and squirms out of her grip, still not responding to her. He can’t remember the last time he’s spoken—he thinks maybe since they left the cabin that morning. “You-”

Aunt Kiye sounds angry now, but he can’t bring himself to look at her. It’s only when he hears her unbuckle and feels her start reaching over him that he starts to panic. He reaches up to grab her bicep, trying to stop her from grabbing the handle of the door to open it, but she’s stronger than him. He’s hardly been eating lately, and he’s never been particularly strong—he was always the smallest among his siblings.

It takes no effort for her to bat his hands away, pushing open the door and unbuckling his seatbelt. He struggles against her as she tries to push him out of the car, and she’s still speaking—shouting at him, begging him, he thinks she might be crying too, but he can’t even tell. His mind is fogged with panic and fear—he doesn’t want to be alone in Suribachi City, he doesn’t want to be alone at all. He wants to stay with Aunt Kiye even if she hates him because he doesn’t want to be alone.

Eventually, Aunt Kiye wins the fight—even with him fighting tooth and nail, she manages to push him out of the car. He hits the ground hard, gasping when he lands poorly on his elbow. He’s stunned for a moment by the shock and pain, and Aunt Kiye takes the chance to toss out a backpack from the back seat and close the door behind him, locking it quickly.

“No!” His voice is raspy from lack of use over the past few months. He scrambles to his feet and tries to pry the door open but can’t. Aunt Kiye won’t even look at him, she stares ahead as she switches the car into gear and he slams his hands against the window. “Aunt Kiye! Aunt Kiye, don’t leave me here! Don’t leave me here, please, I’ll be better, I’ll do better, just don’t-”

He stumbles back as she pulls the car away, falling when he trips over the backpack onto the asphalt, scraping up his hands and forearms. He’s not sure how long he sits there staring after where the car disappeared waiting for her to come back for him.

She doesn’t.

She didn’t die for him, Dazai thinks again, nails digging crescents into his palm. She didn’t die for him, she couldn’t have. Dazai won’t believe it. Aunt Kiye hated him, she abandoned him in Suribachi—none of this can be true. It can’t. His mother killed herself to be free of him, not to protect him; and Aunt Kiye abandoned him because she hated him, not to save him.

That’s the truth. It has to be. They couldn’t have died for him—for him. It doesn’t make any sense. He doesn’t want to remember all of this—he was better off thinking that they hated him, that they wanted to be free of him.

He can feel you looking at him now, but Dazai is back to being unable to look at you. He’s staring down at the glass table looking at his reflection, his eyes are wide and dark and far too black—he looks warped, inhuman almost. His expression is blank, none of the turmoil within him is reflected on it, and he doesn’t even understand why. He thinks it’s probably just making him seem more guilty.

“We figured she left you somewhere in Suribachi City, but we weren’t able to track you down,” Mori says flippantly. Dazai wants him to stop talking, but he has a sick feeling things are only going to get worse from here. “Not until you ended up with Oda Sakunosuke, at least, we…”

Dazai’s ears ring at his old friend’s name. Mori is still talking, but his words become a distant buzz. Everything starts coming back to him at once—his time alone in Suribachi City, the weeks he spent rationing the little food he had, getting the shit kicked out of him by some low rung gang who stole his mother’s ring from him. He remembers giving up, questioning the point of his own existence with a detached logic that left him with only one answer—there was no point to his existence, so he was as good dead as he was alive.

He remembers seeing on a sign that it was the eve of his fifteenth birthday, and he remembers dropping himself in the bay during a storm, hoping that the tide dragged him so far beneath the surface that he’d never see the light of day again.

He remembers waking up the next morning to an unfamiliar face at his bedside, brows knit in disapproval and lips turned down, and he distinctly remembers feeling put out by a stranger looking at him that way.

“What’s your name, kid?”

Dazai couldn’t remember anything but the name Aunt Kiye had drilled into him over and over again the past few months.

“Dazai Osamu.”

“Hm. Oda Sakunosuke. You got a family, Dazai?

Odasaku brought him in.

Odasaku saved him.

The doctors said he’d been dead for almost three minutes when Odasaku found him washed up on the beach—said his memory might return over time, but it might not—but Dazai didn’t even care, because Odasaku brought him in. He gave him a roof over his head, food to eat, and a reason to live. He sent him to school so he could feel like a normal kid his age. He played board games with him and didn’t even care when Dazai was a sore loser and quit mid-game when he realized he wouldn’t win. He humored Dazai when he faked being sick because he didn’t want to go to school. When Dazai was going through bad depressive episodes, Odasaku would sit with him silently and write his book so Dazai never felt alone. Odasaku introduced him to Ango and they were-

They were his friends.

Family, maybe.

They were all he had, and they were all he needed.

And then-

“We were the ones who killed him.”

Dazai’s gaze drags up from the table to focus on Mori. The man’s lips are curved into a cruel smile, his eyes are sharp, and Dazai is moving before he can stop himself. He lunges across the table, but Mori doesn’t even flinch because Nakahara Chuuya grabs the back of his shirt and yanks him back down into his seat.

“You-” Dazai spits, voice raspy and angry.

“Don’t look at me like that, we were trying to get to you,” Mori says casually as if the words don’t shatter Dazai’s entire world. “We would’ve loved to have Oda Sakunosuke amongst our ranks. His death was unfortunate. Collateral damage. He was an assassin for a long time—one of the best in the world. He was pretty much unkillable, his ability allowed him to see six seconds into the future. I never understood how our sniper managed to get him that day, but now I do. He saw you getting shot with his foresight and tried to pull you out of the way, but your ability is nullification, so when he touched you to save you, he damned himself. In those split seconds when he was pulling you to safety, he couldn’t see the future, and couldn’t see the bullets aimed for you that lodged into his chest instead.”

Dazai can’t do this anymore. He tries to push himself up to his feet but his legs are numb and uncooperative, and he can’t move his hands or arms. Mori’s lips part to continue speaking but Dazai can’t do this, he can’t hear anymore of this. He’d always known in his heart that Odasaku’s death was his fault even if he couldn’t remember much about his mother and Aunt Kiye and their desperate attempts to hide him from the Port Mafia. He’d known, but hearing it-hearing the confirmation, it’s too much for him.

Before Mori can say anything, Dazai is startled from his spiraling thoughts when you stand up so abruptly that your chair goes flying back. Your expression is haunted and you’re not looking at him again, but Dazai is glad for it, because he thinks he’s about to throw up.

“I… I need a minute. I just need a minute,” you say shakily before fleeing the room into Mori’s office so quickly that you almost trip over the chair you knocked over.

The room is silent in your wake, and after a few impossibly long moments, Mori stands to follow you into the other room. The three Port Mafia executives left in the room don’t say anything for a moment, and Dazai is just trying to breathe. He’s trying to breathe and process what Mori just said, but he’s failing miserably at it.

It’s the woman, Kouyou, who speaks first.

“She’s going to kill me for knowing about this,” she says simply, sparing a glance down at the dead body on her opposite side. “I’ve never seen her like this before. Even when Chuuya-kun went missing for a few days, this…”

“Well, maybe you shouldn’t have conspired against her,” Piano Man sings, looking entirely unperturbed. “I mean honestly, after what the previous boss did to you, I would’ve thought you’d be more sympathetic. Silly me to think you aren’t a cold-hearted bitch.”

Dazai tries to pay attention to what they’re saying, he tries to ground himself with the conversation happening so he can forget the feeling of Odasaku’s blood all over his hands, staining his clothes, smeared on his face. He tries to replace Mori’s echoing words with what they’re saying but he can’t.

“We were trying to get to you.”

“It has nothing to do with sympathy,” Kouyou snaps, but she does look ashamed. “It’s a security threat, it’s bigger than love. This boy could spell the end of everything we’ve built.”

“She won’t kill you, Ane-san,” Chuuya finally speaks up, his knuckles are tight around the armrest of the chair he’s sitting in. “I’ll talk to her, I just-”

“When he touched you to save you, he damned himself.”

“Chuuya-kun, she almost killed you,” Kouyou says so dryly that the words almost don’t even register to Dazai, but when they do, they’re the only thing that effectively draws him from his spiraling thoughts. He looks at Chuuya sharply to see if what Kouyou said was true, and his eyes widen when he only grimaces and looks down. “You and Piano Man. She didn’t even hesitate before pulling the trigger on Ace. She’s unstable right now, there’s no talking to her.”

“But she didn’t,” Chuuya says tightly. “I’ll talk to her, but first…”

Chuuya looks at Dazai so suddenly that he almost wants to snap his head away and ignore him, but he can’t. The ginger studies Dazai so intensely that it makes him want to crawl out of his own skin.

“Did you know?” Chuuya asks, voice low. He’s angry, Dazai can tell from the way a dark red color starts to flicker around his hands, but he’s trying to keep it together. “Tell me. Did you know who she was and use her to get closer to the Mafia for revenge? I’ll spare her the pain of having to put a bullet through your fucking head and kill you myself right now. Did you know who she was and purposely-”

“No,” Dazai interrupts, voice hoarse. “No. I didn’t-I didn’t know.”

Chuuya stares at him for a few seconds, studying him like he doesn’t know if he actually believes him, but after what feels like an eternity, he finally shakes his head and looks away, rubbing his face with his hands.

“Fuck, this is such a mess,” Chuuya breathes out, voice strained. “Fuck. She-”

Chuuya doesn’t finish his sentence because the door to Mori’s office reopens and you step back into the room, Mori at your heels. Your eyes are red, but your expression is withdrawn now, void of the tumultuous emotions that had been raging across it just a few minutes before. You settle back in your seat. Your eyes flit over Dazai like he’s not even there before focusing on Mori.

Dazai suddenly has a bad feeling.

“I’m not quite sure how you escaped us after that,” Mori continues where he left off, and Dazai is so sick of the man’s voice that he almost wants to rip his own ears off. “Probably Sakaguchi-san from the SDUP, I recall him and Oda-san being close… but that brings us to the present, doesn’t it? Four years later, you stumble into our lovely hime… Come, dear, let me tell you my running theory, and you tell me how accurate I am, yeah?”

Mori is looking at you now, eyes glittering as he waits for your response. Dazai has his own serious issues with the man, but he thinks it’s sick the way he’s enjoying your clear discomfort and increasing distress. Your jaw tightens a bit, but you nod, signaling for Mori to speak. Dazai’s nails dig into his pants as he waits for Mori to continue. Neither of you look at him, and Dazai’s lips part to speak so he can preemptively deny whatever Mori is about to accuse him of, but he can’t push a single word out.

“Your first meeting with him wasn’t by chance. A cafe, maybe… a bar?” Mori offers, watching your face carefully for a reason. You look away at the second option, and the man’s lips curve up. “A bar, then. One you frequent, I bet. The one in Hodogaya-ku, perhaps? Your first meeting, but not Shuji-kun’s first time seeing you. Ui Koutarou—his journalism professor at YNU—wrote his first article implicating the Mori Corporation’s connection with the Port Mafia in February of this year, around a month before rising fourth year students register for classes. Shuji-kun, naturally, has been following anything related to the Port Mafia closely, so when he sees a class being offered in the fall by the same man who has been openly targeting the Port Mafia, he sees an opportunity and signs up for the class.”

No, Dazai tries to say. His lips form the word, but the sound doesn’t come from his lips. No. No, no, no, no. You look haunted suddenly, and Dazai remembers the argument he had with you during the government event in Tokyo. How cold and withdrawn you’d become. How when he confronted you next, you accused him of working with Ui Koutarou and blackmailing you for money. Mori is reigniting all of the initial fears you once had.

“Ui-san has had his sights set on you for quite a while, dear. You don’t need me to tell you that, you’re very well aware of the man’s hatred of you… When Shuji-kun started classes in the fall, Ui-san roped him into his plans, and you became his project. That wretched man had many documents on you. I had the Black Lizards raid his apartment after we captured him—most were harmless, detailing places you frequented and people seen around you, but when Shuji-kun became involved, he started using that information to manufacture meetings between you. I imagine that after you met him that first time, he started appearing around you rather regularly. Bump-ins at that cafe you like in Minami-ku, on the streets—he even started renting an apartment on property that we own after he realized the opportunity he had with Ui… he’s only been living there since the summer, you know?”

His last apartment wasn’t close enough to the school, Dazai wants to argue desperately. He’d been lucky that a cheap apartment opened up in Hodogaya-ku before the semester started—he’s been trying to get one since his first year. It has nothing to do with-

Dazai suddenly feels nauseous again, everything is spinning around him—he still hears Aunt Kiye screaming at him, he still hears the creaking of the rope his mother hung himself on, he still hears Mori’s confirming that Odasaku’s death was his fault. And now this, and you’re not looking at him again, and he’s not saying anything, why isn’t he saying anything? Why isn’t he denying this?

“He attached himself to you quickly, didn’t he?” Mori asks rhetorically. “Too quickly, I’m sure you had doubts—not even your ability makes people reliant on you as swift as he became. How long did it take for him to start prying for information? Trying to make you slip up and implicate yourself with the Mafia? Confess yourself as an ability user?”

The night of the earthquake when you showed up at his apartment, he remembers dizzily. He started pressing you on your political opinion because he remembered Ui saying that all of the criminal syndicates in Japan are going to do whatever it takes to prevent the military bill from passing. But he wasn’t… doing it to prove anything? He just wanted to know more about you, he was curious, he was finally putting the mystery that you are together. It wasn’t malicious—he just wanted to know you. That’s all it ever was, he’s only ever wanted to know you.

“When did you tell him about your ability? More about our organization? Around when the Guild started making their move in Yokohama, I’m sure. He never told you about his ability until his hand was forced. In fact, I’m willing to bet he lied and said he didn’t know he had one, but tell me, do you really think an assassin of the caliber of Oda Sakunosuke would not realize his ward had an ability that negated his own? That he wouldn’t be trained in how to use it… Most importantly, if all of this wasn’t a scheme of revenge—if he really did love you—then why did he never get rid of the flash drive that contained the proof that his journalism house published? The proof that got you thrown in prison?”

You’re crying.

Dazai’s throat swells when he sees the tears silently tracking over your cheeks. At once, he realizes that he’s never seen you cry before; he itches to reach over to you, to grab your hand or wipe away the tears. He doesn’t—partially because he doesn’t think he could move if he tried, but mostly because he knows that he’s the reason you’re crying.

He wants to assure you that none of this is true. He had nothing to do with the Guild—they kidnapped him for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know about his ability, he didn’t even know Odasaku was an assassin. And he was just… careless with the flash drive, and he shouldn’t have been, but there was always so much going on, and he was so new to having someone in his life that really loved him that he was quick to bask in it and forget everything else.

He doesn’t assure you of anything, instead he watches as Mori reaches out to do what Dazai wants to do. He brushes away your tears and turns your face to look at him, a disgustingly sympathetic look on his face.

“I know you were eager to believe that someone could love you without your ability at work influencing them, dear,” Mori murmurs, “but people like us will never find a love that pure. There will always be other factors at work sullying it—wealth, revenge, threats. You understand now what this was, don’t you?”

No, Dazai wants to scream at you. He does love you, this wasn’t some ridiculous revenge plot for family he hardly remembered until this meeting, that-

“I do.”

Dazai finally is able to make a noise when those two words leave your lips. It’s weak—something caught between a wheeze and a whimper that sounds too loud in the silent room. He feels eyes on him—Chuuya and Kouyou’s in particular. Not yours. You stare down at the table.

“Ogai-dono,” Kouyou clears her throat. “If I may… perhaps we could… send the boy away. Abroad. Ensure he never comes back to Japan so we don’t have to risk him coming back and disrupting things.”

“We could give him a seat at the table,” Chuuya interrupts, ignoring the wide-eyed look both Kouyou and Piano Man give him because of the radical idea. “We’re down an executive anyway. We tell people who he is, that he supports the new regime. It’s what you wanted to begin with, right, boss? You wanted one of the grandchildren to legitimize the passing of power. We could make it work.”

“It’s too risky.” Mori isn’t the one to speak, Piano Man is, but he doesn’t look happy to do it. “Maybe back then it could’ve worked, but the Port Mafia killed his friends and family, and hunted him down. Too much has happened, he’s an unpredictable variable that we can’t risk. We can’t trust that he’ll just accept it all, that he won’t work behind the scenes to take us down. Giving him any leverage in the organization is the last thing we should do, but what Kouyou-”

“Leave him alive and we risk everything we’ve built falling apart—a civil war igniting, Yokohama being caught in the crossfires and all of our foreign enemies crawling into the city to reap the benefits of our fall. It’s one life or hundreds—thousands, even,” Mori interrupts, voice cool. He turns his gaze onto you. “I trust you know what has to be done, dear.”

Your expression is resolved, a heavy emotion in your eyes that tells him your answer before you even speak. “Yeah, I know.”

You stand up, and Dazai knows that it’s over. When you look down at him, it’s with a type of apathy that makes his stomach twist—he’d rather hate than nothing. His lips part to speak but he pauses when you shake your head slightly, so subtly that he almost doesn’t even notice it.

“Get up,” you say flatly, and then glance at Chuuya. “Chuuya, will you…?”

“Yeah,” Chuuya replies without you even needing to finish the question. His voice is hoarse, he looks more than a little disturbed. “Yeah. Of course.”

Chuuya rises to his feet and then grabs Dazai’s bicep to pull him up to his feet too. Dazai doesn’t even have the heart to give him a dirty look in response, following along as he leads him out of the conference room and into the hallway.

For a split second, Dazai really believes that maybe you’re just trying to fool Mori, you made him think you were taking Dazai to have him killed so that you can get him out of here safely, but even once you’re out of the conference room without Mori’s eyes carefully watching you, you don’t look at him.

“Get one of the clean up crews up here,” you tell one of the guards waiting in the hall instead as you frown at your phone, typing out a quick text to someone. You pointedly ignore how alarmed they are by the offhand comment to click on the button to the elevator.

When you look back at the two of them, it’s not to look at Dazai—it’s to look at Chuuya. The two of you are having a conversation, Dazai can tell that much, and he thinks that maybe he should be putting in the effort to figure out what’s going on, what you have planned, but he’s just… tired. He’s not even sure if he cares what happens to him anymore, and he figures the worst case scenario is that he dies at your hands, and of all of the ways he could go, he thinks that would be the most preferable, because at least you would be the last thing he saw.

He doesn’t try to speak again until the three of you are in the elevator and the doors have closed.

“I-”

“Stop.”

Dazai is startled by the sharpness in your voice. He looks at you, but you’re still not looking at him, your lips are curved down as you stare at your phone, typing furiously. He glances up into the left corner of the elevator, noticing the cameras—maybe that’s why, he thinks a bit unsurely, deciding to stay quiet until out of the building.

When the elevator doors open, it’s Chuuya that urges him to keep walking by nudging his shoulder. You don’t touch him, don’t look at him. There’s nobody in the main entrance of the building, which Dazai thinks is a bit odd, but he bites back any comments he might have when he sees a black car waiting outside the building.

The doors to the building open at your approach, and Dazai inhales the crisp, fresh air greedily, not even having realized how stifled he’d felt in that room with Mori, you, and the other Port Mafia executives. He thinks maybe that you’ll sit in the backseat with him and he’ll finally be able to talk to you, but you don’t. You open the door to the passenger seat and sit there without even sparing him a glance.

Dazai’s throat starts to swell again, stopping in his tracks as he stares at where you disappeared behind the car door. Chuuya pushes him forward, not letting him linger for long—he opens the door to the backseat and pretty much manhandles Dazai into the car before taking a seat next to him.

He recognizes the person at the wheel—Albatross, your friend. He’s driven you and Dazai around before, every time Dazai gets in the car with him, he makes a sharp comment aimed to embarrass you in some manner. This time, he doesn’t even look at Dazai through the rearview mirror. He just puts the car in gear and starts driving.

A pit starts to form in Dazai’s stomach. Dazai tries to initiate conversation with you again now that you’re outside of the Port Mafia headquarters within closed quarters, nails scraping against his pants as he decides what he wants to say.

“I d-”

“Stop.”

When you cut him off now, Dazai’s stomach flips. He stares at the side of your face, trying to understand why you won’t even listen to him. You can’t actually believe what Mori was saying, you can’t. You were faking him out, tricking him into thinking you fell for it—you had to be, you have to be. You can’t possibly believe him.

“You won’t… even hear me out?” Dazai asks you quietly.

“There’s nothing left to say.”

Oh, Dazai thinks to himself, withdrawing. He stares at you for a moment before turning away stiffly, expression tight and strained as he stares out the window, watching the buildings pass by as they get closer and closer to the ports.

You believe it, he realizes dully. You believe that it was all just a scheme. You believe that everything was manufactured, that he used you for some fantastical revenge plan, that he never loved you. You believe it.

But it doesn’t make sense, he thinks desperately. He doesn’t understand how you’re not seeing through it, and if you are, why aren’t you at least giving him some hint? He should try to say something again—he knows that, but he finds himself unable to. He’s a smooth-talker, quick on his feet, but never when it comes to you—since the day he met you, he’s been fumbling over words awkwardly, but now it’s costing him everything. He finds ash in his mouth preventing him from salvaging anything he might’ve had with you.

Dig your nails in and cling, he reminds himself, but his nails have become rounded out and blunted from how long he was scratching at his pants and skin while remembering all those memories he locked away. He tries to dig his nails in and cling, but his voice fails him and his nails can’t even find purchase on your skin, you slip out of his hands as easily as an eel.

He’s going to lose you. He might’ve lost you already.

Dazai thinks that’s worse than the realization that he really might be about to die.

The car comes to a stop much quicker than Dazai had hoped, and he stiffens when you waste no time before getting out of the car. He makes no move to join you outside, and Chuuya sighs next to him.

“Get out,” Chuuya says flatly. When Dazai doesn’t budge again, Chuuya snaps, “Get out of the car-”

“-and go, we don’t have time! They’ve found us.”

Dazai draws his knees to his chest, breath becoming a bit labored as his aunt’s voice echoes in his ears. He doesn’t even realize that Chuuya has gotten out of the car until Dazai’s car door is pried open. For a split second, he confuses the executive with his aunt as he’s yanked out of the car—he’s fourteen again and being abandoned by the only person he has left, and he can just barely bite back the “don’t leave me here!” that almost spills from his lips as his knees hit the ground hard.

Dazai is instantly hit with a thick scent that makes him gag. It’s noxious, almost entirely unbearable, clogs his throat to the point he almost struggles to breathe—a blend of rot, acrid chemicals, and something he doesn’t recognize, but it’s sickeningly sweet. As he pushes himself to his feet, he notices you pass your gun over to Chuuya, but in that moment, Dazai is more concerned with figuring out where he is, and when he does, his stomach drops.

The dumping grounds by ports stretch endlessly under the heavy, overcast sky. Mounds of trash rose like grotesque hills patched with scraps of torn plastic and suspicious lumps that Dazai doesn’t have to get close to know what they are. The ground is uneven and treacherous—a mix of sticky mud and sharp shards of discarded glass and plastic, and pools of murky water shimmering with oil slicks.

It’s disgusting, and Dazai has a feeling it might be his final resting place.

He trails over to the side of the road and his gaze tracks down to the ground directly below him. It’s not a far drop, hardly a foot or two, and certainly less gross than some of the other parts of the area, but that’s a low bar to meet. He tears his eyes away from the scenery around him to look back at you, lips parted to speak but he doesn’t say anything.

You’re leaning against the front of the car, watching him with an expression that Dazai can’t describe. Sad, maybe, resigned. Chuuya is back in the car, from what Dazai can tell, he's still fiddling with your gun—he wonders if this is his way of letting the two of you say goodbye in private.

“I do love you,” Dazai says. His voice cracks over the words. “No ulterior motives. No schemes. I just loved you. Love you.”

You don’t say anything for a moment, eyes drawing from him somewhere over to the side like you’re looking for something, but after a moment, you look back at him, your face a little softer than it was before.

“I know,” you tell him quietly. “I know, Osamu.”

Dazai’s lips part to say something back—he doesn’t even know what he wants to say, because confusion fogs his mind. If you know, then why-

Why are you doing this?

He doesn’t get the chance to ask. The car door opens and Chuuya steps back out, he passes your gun back to you and Dazai sees you subtly slide something into his hand too, but he can’t tell what it is. You sigh as you look down at the gun before looking back up at him again, he holds his breath as you make your way closer to him.

His lashes flutter shut, expecting to feel the cool barrel of the gun against his forehead, but his breath hitches when he instead feels the familiar warmth of your hand cradling his cheek. Your fingertips are flaked with Ace’s dried blood, but Dazai still leans into your touch, eyes sliding back open to look at you.

Up close, your expression is twisted with regret and… is that fear? Dazai can’t tell, he doesn’t care, he’s more preoccupied with memorizing the image of you before he runs out of time to.

“Forgive me,” you whisper so faintly that Dazai almost doesn’t hear you.

“I do,” he replies just as softly.

Your face crumbles as you look away. You take a step away from him, and your hand drops down from his face. Dazai instantly mourns the loss. You let out a heavy, shaky breath, sparing one last look down at the gun in your hand, one to Chuuya who stands half a step behind you, and then you look at Dazai again.

“Forgive me,” you say again, this time as you lift the gun—your voice is raspy, breath uneven.

Your fingers tremble so violently that the whole gun is unsteady, but Dazai doesn’t even care to look at it, gaze focused on your face instead.

“I do,” Dazai repeats.

You pull the trigger.

#dazai x reader #dazai x you #bsd x reader #bsd x you #bungo stray dogs x reader #bungo stray dogs x you

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crimsntwlip · 1 year ago

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"i said i love the smiths" | pt. 2

pairing: mattheo riddle x fem!reader

warnings: slow burn, readers status not mentioned, reader is a slytherin

summary: after that little interaction that happened between you and mattheo, he starts to notice you more.

a/n: ¿i think i might turn this into a chapter fic? if this does well.. please Imk your thoughts !!

masterlist I posted: 11/22/23 | part 1

a few days had passed since the little gathering in slytherin. mattheo was currently sitting in potions class next to theodore, quietly dozing off into his own little world while snape’s monotonous words bore him to death.

his mind drifted to her, thinking back to the little interaction they had during the party and how quickly he wanted to get to know more of her. during those few days that had passed, mattheo was consumed by thoughts of (y/n). he had become more aware of you; previously, he had not even known your name or acknowledged your presence in the classes you both shared, something he had not realized until recently.

he had his eyes fixed on the back of your head without realizing it. snape on the other hand, clearly noticed the distracted gaze mattheo had, quickly calling him out for it.

“mister riddle!” he exclaimed loudly, making him jump slightly in embarrassment as everyone turned their heads towards him, including yours as he immediately looked up at snape as he noticed that you had turned around to face the boy while he was being scolded.

snape deadpanned, "i see you're paying much attention." he scowled, "what negative effects could peppermint potion have?" he gave the instruction, causing mattheo to cast a sidelong glance in theodore’s direction, who appeared amused by the scenario.

he turned his gaze back towards the professor, “uh.. well..” he dragged, clearing his throat before continuing, “that would be uh steam coming from the ears?” he answered which sounded more of a question.

(y/n) noticed the confused tone in his voice, making her snicker quietly but quickly dying down when snape snapped his head towards her, making her feel small as she sunk into her seat. mattheo grinned at her but quickly wiped it off as snape turned back towards him. “correct.” he revealed sternly.

“now if you care to pay attention this time.” he requested, giving mattheo a determined look. theodore nudged him in his rib, smirking as mattheo simply narrowed his eyes at him before turning back towards the lesson, glancing at (y/n) here and there.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

(y/n) felt a small shove, she furrowed her brows as her two bestfriends filled the empty seats next to her at the dining table. "i heard what happened in potions," elenoise commented as she began to load her plate with goods. she glanced at a puzzled (y/n). “what do you mean?” (y/n) asked, recalling back to earlier, you thought nothing particular happened.

“you really don’t know?” elenoise asked as she began stuffing her mouth, (y/n) shook her head at the girl, as she began to grow curious. “a certain slytherin was scolded for staring at you the entire lesson!” augusta chimed in, wiggling her eyebrows at you with a grin. “me?” you asked, you felt a slight blush creep up, the two girls nod at you.

“actually,” augusta muttered, she moved her gaze away and looked across the table, not that far away from you guys was mattheo who sitting with his friends as his attention was fixated towards you. “he’s looking at you right now!” augusta smirked, you follow her gaze, immediately making eye contact with mattheo.

as you made eye contact with him, almost immediately did he look away. his ears turning red from embarrassment of being caught as he tried avoiding your stare, turning his attention back to his friends. your friends start laughing, holding onto your shoulders for support as they held their stomach. you though, stayed quiet as you continue blushing, looking down at your food as your friends continued to tease you about this.

“okay.. thats enough..” you whined, feeling flustered as your friends teased you. you glanced back up at him, revealing once again his gaze on you. you gave him a gentle smile back before turning your attention back to your friends.

thoughts of befriending riddle came across your mind, his small gestures lingering on your mind. maybe, you thought, he isn’t like the others.

mattheo noticed the smile you returned, maybe, just maybe did he have a chance.

taglist: @hisparentsgallerryy

#emsnotion #slytherin boys #slytherin boys imagine #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo x you #mattheoxreader #mattheo x y/n #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle #—crimsntwlipᡣ𐭩

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harryspet · 5 months ago

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well kept [5] r. cameron

[warnings] dark!ceo!rafe x reader, size difference, billionaire!older!rafe, shy!reader with low self-esteem, reader is a person who stutters, boss x personal assistant, heavy abuse of power, emotional/mental manipulation, little editing, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+

A/N: even longer chapter :)

word count: 5.3k

In which Rafe presents you with his plan for your future and you question the true cost of his offer.

well kept masterlist

You breathed easy for the first time in a long while. You laughed, smiled, and your heart beat at a normal pace. You sipped your drink not from nervousness but from a desire to truly enjoy yourself. The evening was about fun and connection, and you were determined to embrace it.

The week following your cabin trip had been a deep pit of depression. Your friends, concerned by your obvious distress, had insisted you join them for the weekend. They only saw the stress of work weighing on you, Rafe’s hidden bruises were invisible to them. You had opted for jeans and a crop top, deliberately avoiding a dress that might reveal the lingering marks of his anger.

It was an act of rebellion to wear something Rafe hadn’t picked out but it was freeing. It was time you accepted that he didn’t own you 24/7, he had no right to you two days out of the week.

You bought your friends drinks, a part of the new perk that came with having salary. You liked treating them but every swipe of your card reminded you of all you were putting up with to get it.

What Rafe did to you, he did out of selfishness, no one who cared for you truly could treat you like he did. You certainly weren’t a couple like everyone in Rafe’s close circle assumed you were. You didn’t know much about relationships or what real love looked like, but you were certain of one thing: whatever you had with Rafe would never evolve into something warm and tender enough to be labeled as love. You were reclaiming some normalcy. Or at least, that was what you hoped for.

The three of you had decided to move the party back to your apartment at 2 AM, and the city lights flickered like stars in the darkened sky. Imani, with her arm securely interlocked with yours, clung to you, her presence both comforting and grounding amidst the night’s chaos.

You squeezed into the backseat, chatter and laughter from the evening buzzed in your ears. Angel was making smalltalk with the driver because that was just the type of person she was. Closest to the window, you checked your phone for the first time all night. Three messages from Rafe. Your heart started to beat in the rattled way it had been, pressing against your ribcage in a way that made you feel like you couldn’t breathe.

Two images of you. Outfits you’d sent him. Along with a message.

For Monday and Tuesday. - R.C.

Sent at ten the night before. Imani leaned closer and you locked your phone, shoving it between your legs.

“He’s really texting you? It’s Saturday.”

“Sunday now,” You tried to not sound rattled as you met her eyes.

“Like that makes a difference,” You expected her tone to be light given the vodka on her breath and silly pop songs playing on the radio, “No wonder you’re going crazy.”

“Crazy?” You laughed but it came out hollow, “Y-You guys thought I was sad and now I’m going crazy?”

“Yes,” She spoke matter-of-factly, “And it’s strange that you won’t tell us anything about him.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this,” You said, realizing she wasn’t going to drop it. You wondered if this was her plan, to get you drunk and then pry out all the gossip about your new boss.

“I’m really worried, Y/N,” She said, “You don’t have to tell us everything but at least … let us help. We can help, I promise.”

Angel tuned into the conversation, realizing it had gone serious, “Yeah, my Mom and Dad are literally cops, Y/N. Just say the word-”

“I promise it’s not that serious, Angel,” you said, shaking your head. The idea of involving the police felt almost laughable given the magnitude of Rafe’s wealth and influence. “I told you g-g-g-guys, he’s just a demanding asshole.”

“If it’s not that serious than why has he been over at our apartment? If you’re not sleeping together or not dating?”

“It’s complicated,” You spoke robotically.

“We want to be there for you,” Angel added. You wanted to believe that. If you told them the truth, you’d have to explain why you hadn’t walked away yet. Rafe had given you every reason to quit and yet here you were.

“You guys are there for me. I-I-I appreciate this night so much. I’ve just b-b-b-been letting work consume me. You guys have pulled me out of my fog. This next wwww-week will be better because I’m actually taking care of myself.”

It was an excuse, a way to rationalize why you hadn’t walked away from Rafe yet. You started to believe it, convincing yourself that things would get better just because you were trying to take care of yourself now.

“Just because he’s rich doesn’t mean he gets to have your body,” The world seemed to go quiet after Imani spoke those words. The music quieted and both you and Angel stared at her, the heavy silence enveloping the three of you.

“She’s right, you know,” Angel said softly.

How had she seen so clearly what you were trying to hide? Why were they prying into your life? You were an adult, after all. You should have the right to make your own decisions, however flawed they might seem to others. But their concern felt invasive, as if they were prying into a private struggle you were barely managing to keep under control.

Pity.

Your best friends pitied you, “Oh, y-you’re not serious,” You smiled crazily, “He’s not …I’m nnn-n-not …you both have it so so wrong.”

They stared at you, trying to guage your reaction, but your heart and brain were going crazy. You couldn’t pick what emotion to convey because you were feeling all of them.

“I’m drunk,” You rested your head back, “I’m so drunk.”

As the rideshare pulled up to your apartment building, you fumbled with your seatbelt, eager to escape the heavy conversation, “Y/N, we didn’t mean to upset you,” You heard Angel say at they followed you out of the car.

“I’m okay. So okay.”

You wanted to hurry inside the lobby but felt a hand wrap around your arm, “Y/N,” Imani stopped you.

You whipped your head around, panicked, “I’m fine. I sss-said I’m fine.”

“You boss’s car is parked over there.”

You followed her pointed finger, and your blood ran cold. There it was—Rafe’s sleek black car, parked conspicuously outside your building. “Wha—” you stammered, unable to process the sight of it, “Oh.”

“Why the fuck is he here?” Imani cursed.

“I’ll meet you guys inside–”

“Go talk to him but we’re standing right here until you’re done,” Imani crossed her arms in front of her and gave you pointed look.

“Angel,” You looked at you other friend, pleading.

She shook her head, “We’re standing here, Y/N.”

“Fine,” You whispered. It was a quiet declaration of your frustration, a statement of your internal struggle.

They didn’t trust you. You could take care of yourself. This would upset Rafe, you knew it would. You took a deep breath as you wandered towards the small parking lot beside your building. His bright truck lights shined against the brick of the building and you saw his arm resting outside the window, fingers drumming nervous on the frame. You pulled at your crop top, wanting to force it to be longer, as you got closer.

“Y/N,” His voice cut through the night air with a sharp edge.

Tonight, Rafe’s blue eyes were wild. Instead of the usual darkness you saw behind his pupils, you saw wildness. Dark circles under his eyes spoke of sleepless nights, and his other hand was busy rubbing worried circles over his buzzed haircut, a nervous habit you hadn’t seen before.

“Rafe, wh-what are you doing out here?” You dropped the formalities. It felt wrong to address him with respect, more than it usually did, when he was sitting outside of your apartment at two in the morning.

He looked you over once, before his door opened, and he climbed out. Dressed in a polo and khaki shorts, he left his car running, before he was standing in front of you. Only a foot away and already you weren’t breathing correctly. He moved closer but you said, “You shouldn’t touch me.”

Hurt, confused, he gave you a look you hadn’t seen before, “Why not?”

You gestured as subtly as you could, to your two friend who were settled under the awning that hung over your apartment buildings entrance, “My roommates are waiting for me.”

Rafe’s jaw ticked, before his hands found his hips, “Right,” He nodded before he laughed, “Fuck, I’m sorry. I just feel crazy tonight, you know?”

Yes, you knew. Now your crazy was starting to feel like nothing compared to whatever was building inside of your boss. He was different tonight, younger, and out of control, “What are you doing out here?” You asked again, “It’s two in the mmm-morning.”

“Yeah, I didn’t mean to show up like this. I just wanted to talk to you. I came earlier and you weren’t here and I … I started spiraling, you know? You’ve been out all night. I don’t like …I just felt fucking nervous.”

“Nervous b-because I went out with mmm-mmm-my friends?” Your words were cautious but you couldn’t help that your eyebrows raised in confusion.

“I needed to see you.”

“You see me now,” You said, “What … what is it?”

Rafe took a breath, “I made a mistake at the cabin and I think, ever since then, you’ve been distant.”

You nodded as you tried to understand his meaning. He made a mistake when he spanked you with a belt, making two of his close acquaintances listen to you scream, and leaving you to cry yourself to sleep. The distance he now complained about was a direct result of his actions—a defense mechanism you’d put in place to protect yourself. And yet, here he was, expressing frustration over your response, as if your withdrawal was the real issue rather than his behavior.

“Rafe, honestly, this isn’t h-h-helping … I d-d-don’t know if I can handle this right now. I don’t know if I can be who you need me to be,” You took a step back and you were comforted by the fact that he couldn’t take a step towards you. He wouldn’t make a scene, not in front of your roommates. Maybe you could forgive their intrusiveness.

Rafe seemed to tense at your words and you watched as his eyes wandered down the sidewalk towards your friends, “Okay, uhm …they say something to you?” His voice carried a note of suspicion, as if their presence was somehow a direct affront to him.

“They’re my friends,” you replied tersely, hoping that would be the end of it. Of course your friends had expressed their concerns about him.

“Okay,” Rafe said, his voice edged with frustration. “I just … I’m here because I want to fix things.”

“C-Can we talk about it on Monday, please?” You asked, “I’ve been-”

“You’ve been drinking,” He filled in your words, more unamused than before, “It’s not safe, little girl like you, only your friends to protect you … there’s lots of bad, bad people in this city.”

The way he said "little girl" stung. It wasn’t the first time he’d used it, but it felt more patronizing and condescending tonight.

“I can take care of myself,” you said firmly, taking another step back towards your building, trying to put more space between you and his imposing figure.

“Can you?” he taunted, the words heavy with mockery. “Alright, I’ll give you some space. You know what? Go ahead and take Monday off, you deserve it, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” You said before you turned away from him. You jumped when you heard his truck door slam close but you didn’t look back.

Your friends, witnessing the tense exchange from the corner of the awning, approached you with concern written on their faces. Angel reached out, placing a gentle hand on your arm. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice soft but filled with worry.

“Fuck, that dude is crazy,” Imani said, “You have to quit. I’ll get another part time job. We both will while you look for something else. We’ll make it work.”

You should have cried in their arms, letting their comfort and love wash over you, but instead, all you felt was exhaustion and apathy. You didn’t have the energy to be comforted or to express your gratitude. Numb and drained, you trudged inside, your mind already longing for the softness of your pillow. Your friends followed quietly.

Tuesday morning, your alarm didn’t wake you up. There was a pounding on your door before Imani stormed into your room. Heart racing, you lifted your head and checked your phone sitting on your side table. It was thirty minutes before your alarm was even supposed to go off, “What the-”

“Look!” Groggily, you sat up in your bed just as a crumpled white envelope was thrown at your chest. You held it up to the light trickling into your room from the window, and you easily saw red bold letters stamped across the top of the letter: EVICTION NOTICE.

Without another thought, you ripped open the envelopement, “It’s probably a-a prank, Imani.”

“What is going on?” Angel stumbled into the room next, mouth full of foaming toothpaste.

You held open the letter as you began to read carefully, “As per the terms of your lease agreement and in a-a-accordance with the state and local regulations, this letter serves as your official notice of eviction–”

“Fuck,” Imani cursed.

“This decision has been mmmm-made in alignment with our current business strategy which includes renovating the apartment to increase its value and preparing the property for sale to a prospective buyer …”

“Someones buying our entire apartment building?” Angel asked, eyes wide with disbelief.

“This is fucked,” Imani added.

You continued reading, “The termination for your lease w-w-w-will be affected sixty days from the date of this notice. Please ensure thhh-that you vacate the premises by this date …”

You read the letter over and over, trying to make sense of it. The signature at the bottom confirmed its legitimacy.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Imani sat down on the edge of your bed, head in the palm of her hands, “They can’t do this. It’s illegal! Where are we supposed to go?”

“Sixty days from now is right before the holidays start,” Angel leaned in the doorway, her eyes starting to well with tears, “I can’t go back home.”

Imani shook her head, “This apartment is my home.”

Determined, you climbed out of bed, pulling on the work clothes you had pre-selected. You kicked off your fuzzy socks, removed your bonnet, and began fixing your braids into a messy bun. “I’m going into the office,” you said resolutely. “I w-w-w-work for a real estate company. Rafe will know what to do. They can’t just do this. If anyone knows how to get out of this, he will.”

The two girls exchanged glances, their concern palpable. “We don’t need his help,” Imani said firmly.

“I don’t think I want it,” Angel added quietly.

You stared at them, incredulous. “He c-can help. You don’t know him like I do.”

“Y/N, is this really smart?” Angel asked, her voice tinged with worry.

“I can’t believe you guys. Get out, I’m getting ready,” you snapped, frustration rising. “Get out, now!”

As they left the room, their worried faces lingered in your mind, but you were focused on finding a solution.

Despite drunkenly conveying your uncertainties about your position with Rafe a few nights before, that morning, you were the epitome of perfection. You wore exactly what he had chosen for you: a light blue dress embellished with sparkling sequins, pockets, and a Peter Pan collar. You even spent more than ten minutes putting on your makeup that morning, you looked flawless, more effort than you’d ever put in before.

You recited his entire schedule with only a slight stutter, had a steaming cup of coffee waiting for him at his desk, and arranged for lunch from one of his favorite restaurants. You allowed him to wrap his hand around your waist, to lean down and bury his face in your neck, to inhale your scent and press a gentle kiss against your skin.

It was like nothing had changed. Seeing Rafe outside of your apartment that night was frightening, a reminder of the presence he now had in your life, but you’d never seen him look so … desperate. Rafe Cameron was desperate for you, of all people. It dawned on you that perhaps there was room for negotiation. At the cabin, you had vehemently resisted his behavior, and his reaction had been explosively violent. But now, with him admitting to a mistake and showing a rare glimpse of vulnerability, you realized you might possess more leverage than you had previously imagined.

You spent the first few hours at work hyping yourself up to bring up the eviction notice to Rafe. All of his morning meetings went well and he didn’t have the usual cloud of darkness that was constantly over his head. When there was finally a lull in the day, you finally told him the news you’d learned that morning. However, his reaction made your face fall into a frown that you didn’t have the strength to correct.

“I’m not sure what the problem is. Don’t I pay you enough to be able to afford your own apartment?”

“My friends …” you began, struggling to find the right words. Mentioning your friends was wrong. You knew how he felt about the voices of reason in your life.

“Right, your friends. What would you have me do?” His words continued to be indifferent and detached, as if he could want you so bad, but care nothing about the lives that were closest to you, “Offer them jobs? Pay for them to live as well?”

“No, that’s nnn-not what I mean,” It felt like he was purposefully miscontruing your words, and in turn, your character. Of course you didn’t expect for him to take care of your friends. Not letting him take advantage of the sea of emotions you were feeling, you recited your problem clearly, “I just want to know if you have any advice. For handling the situation. Something that’s in our control as tenants.”

“You don’t have much power at all, as tenants. You’re subject to the decisions made by the property management and the owners,” Before the reality of his words fully sunk in, he sighed, continuing, “You could look at your lease agreement and read it thoroughly to find any clauses that protect you. You could consult with a lawyer though that would be a pricy right to go down. You could talk to your landlord and try to get an extension to find a new place. That’s where I would start, sweetheart.”

Rafe’s hands folded together, looking up at you, as a smile graced his face. You nodded, “Okay,” You were grateful for a straight answer, but admittedly, you thought he would offer a better solution, “What should we look for in the lease? What would protect us?”

“Anything about early termination, language about renovations or changes in property management. Stipulations about how much notice is required before evicting you. If the landlord has violated any of those terms, it could be grounds for negotiation.”

“Huh,” you nodded, your heart filling with a small bit of hope, despite how out of reach some of his suggestions felt, “O-Okay, thank you. Yeah, I’ll t-t-talk to my roommates about it.”

“If it were me, I would be make sure I focused on my own safety and well being. You can’t really help your friends if you’re out on the street with them.”

His words, rude and smart like always, stung but you didn’t dwell on them, “Thanks for the advice, sir.”

For the rest of the morning, you shuffled between tasks and scrolling through your lease agreement. You searched it for the keywords that Rafe at mentioned and when that search wasn’t fruitful, you started to read it top to bottom. Your landlord was only required to give you sixty days notice for an eviction. You found absolutely nothing about property management changes. Hours passed and as lunchtime approach, you were sufficiently frustrated.

You brought Rafe his lunch as he sat through a lunch time meeting but you made your way to the breakroom quickly afterwards.

Imani had called you a few time so you returned it. You’d texted your groupchat about all the steps that Rafe had mentioned. Imani had replied that he was probably withholding information. You weren’t quite sure why that idea hadn’t crossed your mind.

“Hey, I still haven’t found anything–”

“Cameron Development is the one purchasing the apartment building, Y/N.”

Your heart sank and you plopped down on the breakroom’s leather couch with a heavy sigh, “Shit,” You whispered.

“Shit is an understatement,” She replied, “Y/N, I’m starting to think you need to be really careful. Maybe we should go to the police.”

He’d lied to your face, unabashedly.

"We'll talk about it later, I promise," You spoke before you hung up, not giving her a chance to argue.

It was much too late for careful. You should’ve ran after your first conversation with him but now … you were effectively trapped. Rafe had sex with you even when you didn’t want to. He hurt you and you held him for comfort after you. It had been weeks since you’d even felt like yourself.

You leaned back to stare at the ceiling and you didn’t move for the next thirty minutes. Eleanor was the one who came to find you after you’d gone missing, “Y/N, Rafe’s been looking for you. What are you doing?”

“Did you know?” You asked her solemnly, your voice felt broken.

She came to sit beside you and you felt her place a hand on your shoulder as she leaned closer, “Topper told me they rushed the deal. Offered twice the asking price. Said it was horrible idea, completely financially irresponsible, but Rafe insisted. ”

“Wh-What should I do?” You turned your head towards her, tears in your eyes, “I-I’ve never had sss-someone feel this way about me b-but th-this feels wrong.”

“What should you do?” She repeated, “I think he loves you.”

“L-Love?” You seemed to choke on the words.

From what you could tell, it didn’t seem that Rafe was capable of loving anyone, “What does your gut tell you?”

This entire time, your gut had been telling you one thing, “T-To run?”

Even now, you were so unsure of yourself, “Makes sense, he’s suffocating you.”

You sat up in your spot, “Should I go now? Leave all my stuff? He p-paid for it, anyways.”

“I don’t think this is the time,” She squeezed your shoulder gently, her eyes soft as they fixed on you, “If you run, he’ll drag you back to his mansion kicking and screaming. Rafe just made this grand gesture to display his power. A huge fuck you to all the people you care about. He’s desperate. This is your time to get what you want from him. Tell him, you’re not going to be his little sex secretary anymore or follow him to the mountains, unless he changes.”

“Y-You think he can change?”

“I didn’t think so before,” Eleanor said, her voice firm. “But now, seeing how desperate he is, I believe he’ll do anything to keep you.”

You could barely admit to yourself that part of you wished what she was saying was true. The notion that Rafe might have feelings for you, even if expressed through flawed and controlling actions, was both intoxicating and unsettling. Maybe you could take the bad with the good if the good started to outweigh the bad. But Rafe’s bad was more than bad. His soft gestures were often accompanied by demands and manipulations.

There was no pros and cons list to be made. You looked at your situation objectively, Eleanor’s words having finally forced you to. If you ran, he’d come after you. If you ran, you’d have nothing. No apartment or salary to support yourself. You longed for a relationship where you felt safe and cared for and you wanted to live in a world where your friends were also taken care of.

“I hope you’re not handling your personal business during workhours,” Rafe had said when you finally returned to the office.

Ironic, given all the personal things you two had done together in that very office.

“I’m not the one who made it personal,” You spoke easily, smoothly.

You made your way to your desk. Your words seemed to bothered him but you didn’t glance at him long enough to take in his reaction.

“And how did I make it personal?” You flipped through your personal calendar, taking a pen and marking down all of Rafe’s scheduled social events.

“It’s not g-g-going to work. Using my friends to threaten me.”

“Oh?” That single word was dripping with venom.

“Just makes me think even www-worse of you. And I-I already had a poor opinion.”

“Yeah?” You wanted to look at him but you kept your eyes focused down, “What makes you think I give a fuck about your opinion of me?"

“B-Because I drive you crazy. Because I’m the one person y-you want to control completely.”

“Maybe I wanted to make things easier for you. Maybe I know that you’ll outgrow your little friends soon and you need a push in the right direction. You have friends in higher places now, you know that?”

“Y-You don’t like that they tell me to quit. That they know sss-somethings wrong with you.”

“You’re wrong,” He shot back.

“You’ve done a good job b-because now I can’t leave without losing everything,” It took everything to keep your voice from breaking. Finally, you turned your heads toward him. You saw the way his chair was towards you, the way his grip was tight on the armrests of his chair.

“Maybe I’ve been selfish.”

You scoffed at that, “You’ve mmm-made it clear that you don’t care about my needs or mmm-my feelings.”

“I know your feelings, sweetheart. You wear them so clearly,” Rafe replied, you could see it in his face that he was trying to keep his tone subdued He leaned foreward slightly, eyes as intense as ever, “Tell me what needs I haven’t tended to. Let me fix things, yeah?”

His offered seemed genuine and exactly what you were hoping for, weren’t you?

“You really want to fix things?”

“Yeah,” He said like the crimes he’d committed against you were something that could remedied, “I can’t change what I don’t know.”

“It’s not just about what you’ve done wrong. It’s a-about how you handle things from now on,” You started, choosing your words carefully, “It’s about allowing mmm-mmme to set boundaries and respecting them.”

“Boundaries?” His head twisted to the side like he wasn’t entirely familiar with the term, “There’s multiple?”

“First, I want you t-to do what you can to remedy this apartment situation. Then, I don’t want you to ever bring my friends into this again.”

“Fine, I’ll get them another apartment. I’ll even throw in free rent.”

“No,” You shook your head, “You own the building which means you let us stay. No renovations.”

“I made an investment. I have to make a profit–”

“I’m serious,” You countered, “Y-Y-You made your point. You have all the mmm-money in the world and we have nothing in comparison.”

Rafe sighed, fingers tapping against his leg, “Okay, they stay but you come to live with me.”

“What? Why?” It was another layer of control, not a solution.

“Your friends will want nothing to do with me or my help. If you continue to work for me, they won’t want anything to do with you either. If you want to maintain those relationships, some space would be better. Let them see you happy and they’ll come to their senses about our relationship.”

The implication of his words was clear. He was offering you a way to keep your friends, but it came with the price of further entangling your life with his. It felt like a manipulative trade-off. You thought about the way he had manipulated you before, using your friends as leverage, and it made you wary of his intentions.

“I won’t say yes right now,” You decided, “Sss-sss-since we’re talking about living situations. Next year, I want to stay in Charlotte.”

“That won’t work.”

What had Eleanor told you to do? Had she forgotten how stubborn he was?

“Y-You’re asking me to move across the state with you. I-It’s t-t-t-to much. There will have to be another arrangement.”

“Hmm, I won’t say yes right now,” he repeated your wording with an edge of mockery. You scowled, feeling the frustration build up inside you.

“You just sss-said you wanted to fix things.”

“My intentions … my intentions are to leave the city and spend the next few years settling down. I’m getting to a certain age and I’ve been thinking about, you know, getting married and having kids. It feels like the right time,” The information is a shock to you, not the thought of Rafe wanting a wife and kids, but knowing immediately he was implying that you’d be filling that role, “It’s a beautiful area. I wouldn’t expect you to continue your role there. You’d fully be a stay-at home wife, you could pursue any hobbies you wanted, and of course you’d have access to even more money than I’ve been paying you.”

Rafe began to paint a picture of a gilded cage. On the surface, it was tempting: a life of comfort, stability, and freedom from financial worries. But the price was your independence and autonomy. The thought of becoming a stay-at-home wife, completely reliant on him and cut off from your own life in Charlotte, was suffocating.

“What if I d-d-don’t want that life? W-What if I want my own career?”

He hesitated, his gaze narrowing as he leaned back in his chair, “What career do you want? I’ll give it to you. You can do practically anything from home these days. If you want to spend the first years doing that, fine, I’m not expecting kids right away.”

You hadn’t realized it but your breath was starting to quicken. You placed a hand over your chest, all of that resolve you had going into the conversation starting to fade away, “This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe seemed to talk to himself, “Hey, hey, calm down.”

Your breath came out in quick shallow breaths. Rafe’s proposal pressed down on you as the room started to spin. You felt his arms around you before you could fall from your chair, “Eleanor, I need you here,” You heard clearly. For the next moments, you could only hear their muffled talking. You remembered seeing both of them, panicked look on Eleanor’s face, a hand rubbing down your back. Rafe was talking to you, his eyes trained on you intently. You remembered a glass of water coming to your lips and you tilted your head back, welcoming the liquid, thinking it might quell the fire inside your mind.

Though your thoughts still raced, the room’s spinning slowed down, and the you heard Rafe dsay, “It’ll help you feel better.”

He stayed with you, rubbing soothing circles into the skin of your thighs, “Thank you,” You whispered though you hated that you found comfort in his touch. A wave of drowsiness overcame you and despite your best efforts to stay alert, you felt yourself lean forward until you were fully in Rafe’s arms, “Rafe–”

“I’ve got you, sweetheart. Rest,” Rafe murmured, his voice soft and reassuring as he held you close.

This got too long, gonna have to make another part! Pls pls pls reblog and let me know your thoughts and predictions!

#rafe cameron #dark fic #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x black!reader #black!reader #well kept #rafe outer banks #outer banks smut

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lulu-fic · 2 months ago

Text

𝚂𝚄𝙻𝚃𝚁𝚈 𝚂𝙴𝙳𝚄𝙲𝚃𝙸𝙾𝙽

Synopsis: Your boyfriend just cheated on you. But you can't just let him get away with that, can you?

Warnings: Cheating ( not by y/n), swearing, sfw, mdni

Wc: 2.1k

An: My first published work. Genuinely nothing too crazy just dipping my toes in water but dw next chapter will be something 👀 also the ending is a bit rushed because I was sleepy 😛

Aggressive typing sound echoed through the walls of a dingy restroom, accompanied by someone's sobbing hiccups. That certain someone was you. Who would have thought your so-called lovely evening would end up with you crying in a stall of a dirty restroom? When you thought your life was finally rainbows and sunshine, god had to give you a reality check.

Flashback

"Here's your order, sir! That'll be $6.80." You said with your fake polite voice to the customer. The said customer took his coffee and fished in his pocket for cash. He finally handed you the required amount and exited the cafe. "Huff god today is draining me." You say. You check the cafe's clock and see it's 2:00 pm. "*Sigh* Still couple of hours to go." You think. But you did not let that bother you.

You are in your most optimistic energy today. Well, today is your most awaited date with Nick, your boyfriend of one year. Your experience with dating him has been nothing but nice. And you believe he's the one. You're finally going to propose him today.

"Y/n! Give me a hand here!" You're pulled out of your day dreaming when your co-worker calls for you. "Yeah, coming right away." You yell back. "*Sigh* life is good." You thought and smiled, resuming with your day.

Time skip

It's 5:13 pm. Your shift is almost over. God, was it a busy day today? You never had such a hectic shift. "Well, my shift is finally finished." You think. You were about to start packing up for the day when the bell jingles, indicating someone had entered the cafe. It was a man.

He was intimidatingly tall and it kind of scared you. His jet black styled hair fell on his face, covering some of his features. He wore a overcoat over a three-piece suit. Perfect attire for the chilly weather. Even though he looked like a gangster. When he finally looked up, it seemed like the time has stopped.

He looked enthernal. He had sharp features- somewhat neck-to-shoulder length hair, strong jawline, siren eyes straight nose, high cheekbones- everything about him was breathtaking. He also had light eyebags, giving signs of late night work. And his lips, god his lips. He had thin, soft looking lips, like rose petals. As if the Adonis himself craved his face. If you weren't so much of a loyal partner, you would have definitely shoot your shot. But he seemed oddly familiar to you.

"What would you like to order, sir?" You ask with your most professional voice, making sure there is no tinge of emotion. "A black coffee and a chocolate muffin, please." He said. And god if you already didn't thought he was attractive, now you definitely do. His voice sounded mature, rich and gravelly. His voice was a little rough too, it felt like he spent years smoking through his stressed moments.

"Y-yeah, right away, sir." You nervously replied. Yep, now you're definitely cursing your whole existence for stumbling in words just because you thought a guy's voice was hot. Seriously, what's wrong with you?

You turned around to make his order, which wasn't some rocket science. It's just a plain black coffee. But it actually felt like that. The man just kept watching you, observing your every move. How you ground the roasted coffee beans, how you brew the coffee, how you pour the coffee into the cup. No matter how much you tried to ignore the staring, it felt like he was boring into your soul. God damn, you didn't feel this nervous even on your first day of work. Ugh!

But you forgot to ask him a crucial question, will he takeaway the coffee or drink the coffee in here? You turned around to see him...still staring at you. "Will you takeaway or drink it here, sir?" You ask. He didn't reply at first. He just kept looking at you. Okay, now you're creeped out. "Sir?" You call out again. This time he's finally out of his whatever dreamland he was in.

"Will you takeaway or drink it here?" You ask again. "Um, takeaway." He replied. You nod your head and kneel down to take out the chocolate muffin from the freezer. Genuinely, he didn't seem like a guy who would like sweets. But oh well who are you to judge someone's taste bud? You take out a white cupcake box and put the sugary treat in it. When you're finally ready with his order, you extend it to him on the counter.

"That'll will $9 dollars. Also I'll be needing your name for the bill." You say. He still just kept looking at you. Okay, now he's starting to annoy you. Why he's looking at you like you're some kind of piece of meat? "Sir?" You call out again. He still didn't reply. "Hello, Earth to sir?" You wave your hand in front of him to grab his attention, which you finally did.

"Oh, yes?" He politely ask, while blinking twice. "Your name?" You ask back with a irritated voice. He chuckles at something.

"Colter Hunt."

God, Even his name was hot. You quickly write down his name, to make it seem like you weren't just fangirling on his name. Suddenly a black card comes in front of your vision. You look up to see him holding it out with his index and middle fingers. Your attention averts to his wrist which is adorned with a silver Cartier bracelet and Rolex watch. "Damn," you think, "so he's rich rich." You add after.

You take his card and inserting it quickly in the card swip machine, telling him to punch in his passcode. He type in his passcode and takes out his card after the transaction was completed.

"Have a good day, sir!" You say, back with your professional voice. He takes his order and was just about to exit the shop when he turned around to look one last time at you, and then finally leaves.

Huff, a hectic day it was.

At the Restaurant...

You are finally at your most awaited destination for the night. You open the gate to the restaurant and are greeted by the receptionist. "Good evening, sir. How can I help you?" She asked. "Uh I have a table reserved for two under my name. Hong it is." She checks her computer real quick and give you your table number with a polite smile. You thank her and go inside.

You see Nick already seated and waiting for you. You quickly take your seat. "Sorry for being late. I had a customer last minute who was taking some time." You quickly apologize for being late. "So, what should we order, huh?" You ask while picking up the menu. "Well I wanted to try the main course of here for long time. I saw the review online and they said it's very good, even the customer service. Oh and the dessert choices are also-" You stop with your rambling in the midway when you notice Nate not responding to any of your babble. He seemed to zone out. "Hey, Nick? What happened baby?" You ask. He breaks out of whatever dreamland and finally looks at. "Huh? What did you say?" Ugh why's everyone seemed to zone out today?

"I asked did something happened. You seemed lost." You repeat. "Oh um no- I mean yes- uh I don't know." He babbles. You make a puzzled face. "What do you mean?" You ask. "Did something happened at work?" You ask again. "Uh yes- I mean no but it was someone from so technically yes but no." He again keeps puzzling his word. "Nick what are you even talking about? I don't get it." You say in a baffled voice.

"Ugh, y/n I don't know how to say this but I have been wanting to say this, but it's just I never got a chance." He explains a bit. "It's okay. You can say now." You say. "Maybe he will be the one who's going to propose me." You think with a happy voice.

"I-I...I sleptwithsomeoneonemonthagoatHalloweenparty."

"What? What did you say?" You ask not understanding his "explanation".

"I-I...y/n I slept with someone. A month ago. And I-I just feel more attracted to her." He finally says it.

"What." You depanned. "Y/n, I'm sorry! I tried to tell you this multiple time but never got a chance and-" he tries to explain but you raise a hand to make him stop. "When was it?" You ask trying to keep your temper at bay.

"At halloween party of my office." He nervously admits. "So someone from office then, huh?" You interjected. "Yes." He confirms, not trying to make eye contact with you. "Who is it?" You finally ask. "Huh?" He looks up at you baffled. "Who. Is. It." You grit your teeth.

"Rachel." He breathes out. You exhale a breath of air you didn't know you were holding. The chair makes a screeching sound as you slowly get up. "Y/n I-" He tries to utter something but you beat him to it by splashing a glass water on his face.

"Do. Not. Tell. Me. Your. Filthy. Excuses!" You yell grabbing the attention of other customer. You finally leave that place, ignoring the calls of your name from behind. You stop at your pace and take a turn and make your way towards the the restroom door that had "Staff Only" written with bold letters.

End of flashback

Tears are flowing down your face as you type out the message to your bestfriend, basically explaining the situation. You're not hurt about the fact he cheated, you're just angry on the fact that he cheated on you? Hong Y/N. You remember thinking how guys used beg for a chance to even let them take you on a date. And when you finally decide to settle down, this happens?

No, you cannot let a man control your emotions like this. Nope. You reject the fact that you are crying over a man.

You get up from the toilet seat and go outside to quickly wash your hands. You make a quick text to your bestfriend saying that you'll be late and call for a uber.

You go outside the restaurant and breath in the cold air of the chilly weather, finally feeling at peace a little. Your uber quickly arrives at your destination. "Square Town Club, please." You quickly inform the driver as you take a seat. Tonight it'll be all about you. Not someone cheating asshole.

The uber driver reaches at your said address after 10 minutes and you pay him the amount required as you get out of the taxi.

When you enter the club, it seemed like you stepped into another world. Neon red and green lights blinding your sights, party music booming through speakers, people making out or even having sex in the middle of the dance floor. "Ew, disgusting." You think. But that's main goal of tonight, only stuff like these can take your mind off that bitch.

You go over to the bar counter. You knew the bartender , Ricky, through social media. Also the reason how you got to know about this place. He looks over at you and asks, "The usual?" "No." You answer back. "Give me anything. But 10x stronger." You add. He raises his eyebrows but says nothing. As he was preparing your drink, you felt a little uncomfortable. It felt like someone was boring their eyes into you. Yes it's a club, of course you will grab attention.

But this one seemed a little off. A little familiar.

As you looked around to catch the supposed person, you attention is caught by a person sitting at the most secluded place of the club. It was a very dark corner. You try your best to ignore him. Keyword: Try.

Because the moment you look away a scary looking bodygaurd comes up to you with a drink and says, "Sir, this drink is offered by our master with the small note." Turns out the said master is none other than the guy you tried to take a good look at before.

This time you trun around and squint your eyes to take a good look at him. And this time, by some miracle, you're finally able to get a good look of him. But Oh. My. God.

It's the cafe guy.

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nab1wuzhere · 3 months ago

Text

Magnetic

“You wouldn’t look at me.”

“I saw plenty.”

“In my eyes.”

“…Does it matter?”

summary:

Bakugo Katsuki, No. 3 Hero in the charts, massive amounts of tan girls, always invited to galas, events, and even award shows along side his peers, but he has never once gotten a dating scandal in his whole career. Has never even looked in a woman's direction. So you can be certain he won't change his actions when artist Y/N is invited to sing at a private Christmas Gala hosted for hero's to celebrate the season and a year well done of duties...right?

Singer, artist, model Y/N, has it all. Looks, wealth, awards, friends, family, and boyfriends.. her music revolves around her relationships and past relationships along with her mental health that she speaks about through her music. She gets asked to gigs almost every day but few are lucky to book her, when her team gets a request for the Christmas Hero Gala which is highly exclusive, she immediately agrees to entertaining the hero's, excited for the night she doesn't realize she caught a certain man's attention in the back of the crowd..

• slow burn - secret pining - romance - bold Y/N, shy Katsuki - vice versa - celebrity!y/n x aged up!katsuki

• following contains, eventual smut, mentions of suicide, alcohol, mental illness, heavy party scenes and probably more !

• 18+ only!! this is your warning

• the rest of the celebrities mentioned in this series i do not take credit for, and the songs mentioned all writing ownership belongs to them! i do not take credit except for this fan fiction!

!! just a friendly reminder this is all fake, simply my imagination placed into writing !!

Chapter one

intro

After Kirishima left Katsuki alone in his hotel, Katsuki much to his dismay went through a whole social media dive on Y/N. Research, is what he told himself when he scrolled through her Instagram. Photo dumps from her and her friends, including a few actors Katsuki was familiar with, a picture of her dog, Bell, a candid photo of her in the studio, headphones placed on her head.. 'She's pretty' he thought but quickly brushed it away.

Yeah, Katsuki was extremely private when it came to his love life, so what? Was that a crime? Not at all, he had a disgust for the media and he sure as hell didn't want strangers all up in his personal life, it's how he has always been even from his UA days.

All of a sudden his phone started blowing up from the group chat he had with his friends. Kirishima sent a video from some Hollywood website, headlined "Y/N seen getting off at an airport in Japan". the video showed Y/N in a baseball cap wearing all black and a few bodyguards surrounding her, screams were blasting from his phone, flashes bouncing off her as she walked keeping her head down.

"For fucks sake.." Katuski scowled at the video, where's the humanity in following someone around? God he hated paparazzi.

Buzz Buzz.

Shitty Hair - OH GOD! this was today! she's here in Japan!

Raccoon Eyes - EEEK! I CAN'T WAIT FOR TOMORROW, WHAT DO YOU THINK SHE'LL WEAR?!?!

Bob Head - oh god! that's a lot of pap.. i hope she's okay :(

Nerd - Yeah.. I'm sure someone like her is used to it but, wouldn't that get a little draining?

He hated to admit it, but Deku was right, shit, having people scream your name everywhere you go has got to get tiring.

Shitty Hair - yeah, I'm sure it is tiring, but that's what you get in that industry, hell guys even we get that

Shitty Hair - …but seriously, I think she's gonna wear black

Pump Legs - She's definitely wearing red

Raccoon eyes - I SECOND THAT!!!!!

Shitty Hair - NO?!?

Shitty Hair - Katsuki! what do you think?

- i’m not participating.

Dunce Face - the obvious answer is green

Pump Legs - Wanna bet?

Shitty Hair - KATSUKIIIIIII

- white.

Shitty Hair - WHITE?!

Bob Head - waaaiiiittt cause i can see it..

Aaaand that was Katsuki's queue to exit the group chat, he scoffed to himself and was just about to go shower but curiosity got the best of him. He groaned before googling her name. Pictures and articles popped up of her when one of them caught his eye. "BREAKUP?! Y/N and Cole Malter’s 1 year relationship comes to a CLOSE" Katsuki's interest was peaked and he clicked on the link, scrolling down pictures of Y/N at red carpets were displayed, a tall guy with black hair and a cocky look in his eye was seen standing next to her. A very obvious grip on her waist. Katsuki narrowed his eyes and thought, ‘Who even is this guy?’ before realizing he was an actor on a popular sci-fi show Deku was once talking to Sero about during one of their movie nights. He could tell immediately this Cole guy was an asshole, just by the way his lips curved up into a smug grin and again that tight possessive grip on Y/N's waist. Katuski glanced over at Y/N trying to read her expression but was only met with a bright smile that creased the corner of her eyes a little.

Scrolling down on the article, according to a source Cole's very “open” drug addiction was one of the reasons for the split. A video was attached bellow showing Y/N and Cole late at night in LA by a crosswalk, Cole was clearly drunk out of his mind as he threw himself on her while laughing. Y/N's face was anything but happy. You see her shaking her head at him before turning him as she spoke, Cole throws his arms up in a defensive way, but Y/N keeps at it. She moves her hands in a expressive manner as Cole lights up a cigarette, seconds later he puffs smoke directly in her face..

Y/N stands there no longer speaking and turns back in front of her with a blank expression on her face, Cole laughing, no remorse shown. The video ends there.

Katsuki scrolls to the comments,

user62946: omfg it's so obvious he's high on TOP of being drunk.

y/nforpresident: what an ASS. I would've dumped him too.

maggieisabbi: when I see stuff like this I always think if people were dropped on their head as baby

reply/user72048: LOLLLLLL

kentuckyfriedchicken: didn't he just get out of rehab too??? how long has this been going on

deluluisthesolulu: I feel awful for her, my partner for 3 years was a druggie, by far most draining experience EVER. glad she got out when she did.

Kastuki shut his phone off after reading a couple more comments. A pang of sympathy rushed through him for her, he immediately clocked it and shook his head, he has no relation to her, tomorrow night will be the first and last time they ever crossed paths.

"Why do I even care?"

Y/N was awoken by a knock on her door, her manager, Crystal and long time best friend came through after announcing it was her. Y/N groaned dramatically when Crystal pulled the curtains open, the sun stinging her eyes immediately.

"CRYSTALLL."

"Wake up hun, we gotta get you ready for tonight."

Y/N's eyes opened at that, when her team got a request for her performance a month ago she was thrilled to say the least, she loved gala's and being able to have more domestic performances like she was just another girl with a voice.

"Uh?? Hello!! Yes!", was the first thing she said when Crystal pitched the idea to her.

Y/N was a big fan of the heroes and felt like her dreams were coming true when she realized she would meet some of her favorite ones! Not realizing they were just as excited to meet her.

After an hour of hair she was now sat down on a high chair, her makeup team working away their magic, she texted her mom letting her know how the preparations were going. A text came up from Cole, Y/N stared at it her stomach swarming with anxiety, she swiped the text away not even bothering to read what he had texted. With a deep breath she shut her phone off and focused on getting ready.

"Was that Cole?", Crystal asked with a hint of worry.

Y/N shook her head, "Doesn't matter, when I go back to LA I'll deal with him then.."

Cyrstal stayed silent, fiddling with her bracelet, "Just.. be careful? This isn't the first time he's come crawling back and-"

"I've got it handled Crys."

"-No I know it's just.." she sighed looking deeply into Y/N's eyes, "guard yourself, don't succumb back into what he wants."

Y/N extended a hand, holding Crystals hand with a small squeeze, "I won't."

Crystal smiled, “Good, now chop chop people we have to be out the door and on our way to the venue in less than thirty minutes!!”

Y/N smiled, Crystal completely back on manager duty, her mind went back to Cole, thinking about the last in person conversation they had.. Cole was almost on his knees asking her not to leave him, but she was too tired to continue on with him and his actions, she didn’t care about her image, if Cole needed her by his side during his recovery out of his addiction she would, and she was, but he just wasn’t meeting her halfway, and in the end the only person getting hurt was her.

“Hey babes?”, Kelly, her makeup artist spoke up, “I’m intrigued, who are you most excited to meet tonight?”

Y/N was pulled out of her daze and smiled brightly, “Now there’s a question I want to be asked! ..Hmm, honestly? I adore Red Riot, his quirk is so coool!! His whole friend group seems like such sweet people”

Crystal jumped in, “Oh yeah, i read somewhere they all went to the same hero school, UA or something”

Kelly nodded, “Yeah the top 3 hero’s are in that group as well… gonna be completely blunt, that Shoto hero…? Such a good looking guy”

Y/N snickered while Crystal laughed, “Oh my gosh let’s talk about it, that guy you mentioned Y/N, Red Riot? He could do whatever he wanted to me and I’d thank him”

“Haha-! What the hell Crystal?!”

Crystal and Kelly laughed along with some of the other staff working who overheard the girls conversation

After Kelly stopped laughing she asked, “What about you? Who do you find attractive from all the hero’s?”

Y/N shook her head, “No way in hell am i answering that-”

“Awww come onnnn!”

“No!”

“Please?!”

Y/N sighed, a small smile betraying her, “Uhm.. well Dynamight’s pretty cute-”

A squeal from the two girls pierced Y/N’s eardrums, “Oh my god shut up both of you! Aren’t we on a time crunch? I’m still with the same unblended concealer I had five minutes agooo!”

Crystal shook her head grinning before clapping her hands and ordering people around, Y/N smiled as a giggle escaped her and Kelly.

“Isn’t Dynamight the really loud and brash one? I heard he once cussed out a reporter on live television”

Y/N nodded, “Yeahh.. but that reporter did ask him a really stupid, out of the box question, so i think it’s completely valid”

“Yeah but doesn’t he like hate is fans or something? Anytime he’s at fan signs he always look so miserable”

Y/N pressed her lips, “You know he once saved two children from an apartment complex that was on fire and was about to crumble within seconds? He even helped an old lady at the grocery store cross the road because she was afraid to make cars stop for long just so she could go?” she paused for a moment, “Does he sometimes come off as loud? aggravated? mean? yeah, but so do we, that man has seen things and experienced things we couldn’t even imagine,” she ends with a shrug, “I’m just not convinced he’s truly like that”

Later into the evening Y/N was behind a secluded corner, preparing herself as she was about to go on stage and sing for the heroes she peaked out a curtain to see everyone gathered around, shes preformed in front of filled to the brim stadiums, always feeling confident beforehand and right about now she needed some of that confidence.

This was a more domestic appearance, they didn’t come here to see her, she came here to be the one to bring on a show for them and bring it well.

“You are 3 minutes till entrance Ms Y/N”, spoke out a tech staff that was helping for the night, she thanked them and noticed they were still lingering, “Is something the matter?”

“Oh! No- no i just- well, could i get a picture?”

Y/N smiled, “Of course!”

She finished up with the staff and began to take deep breaths to ease her stress

Suddenly microphone feedback rang in the air and a rough voice spoke out, it was All Might, one of the greatest hero’s about to make a speech.

“Ahem, hello everyone good evening, it’s good to see everyone here and thriving.” applause erupted, “As you know this year was filled with its challenges, hardships and struggles.. a lot of you have been placed in situations where some of us couldn’t handle. Some were forced to make difficult decisions, some of us easy ones.., but at the end of it we completed what we chose to do, and that was make the world a safer place.” applause filled the room a second time, “Now, it is time to relax, celebrate the holiday season, enjoy friends and old faces we haven’t seen in a while and most of all, pat one another on the back for yet another great year of hero work!!” some heroes let out whistles and cheers

“Now i won’t bore you any longer and skip to the part i know we all.. have been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen! Please give a loud and warm welcome to the woman who is by far the voice of this generation.. Ms Y/N!!”

Y/N’s heart felt like it got squeezed at the lovely compliment given to her, All Might stepped off the stage and the lights going completely off, a few gasps let out, she walked out onto the stage, careful not to trip, standing in front of the mic stand, her iconic jeweled microphone in her hand.

Flash

The lights came back on in an instant revealing Y/N standing in a beautiful while shimmer dress, her curled hair draping down her back, her cheeks rosy, her eye shadow glittering from the lights, a smile peaking out from her glossy lips.

“Heroes how we doing tonight!?”

Applause was not hesitated the minute she spoke. As the music began to play, a familiar christmas chime filling everyone’s ears, Y/N looked around the crowd seeing everyone’s faces and smiling before her eyes locked on dark red ruby ones, the eyes no doubt belonged to him.. Katsuki Bakugo.

authors note:

never in my whole time of being here on tumblr would i ever think i would have the guts to publish something, and when i finally do it received a lot of love and attention! (at least in my eyes)

seriously all the love from the intro made me so happy and i’m glad you all love it!! as requested here is a taglist! comment if you want to be added as well :}

ps. look out for a moodboard i’ll be posting! ;}

@d1orhaz3 @stoned-anime-babe @yjploum @penguinsravioli @mutsu422 @anonymity-222

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casualhedonists · 1 year ago

Text

✩ it don’t need your loving, it just needs attention ✩ (chapter two)

pairing: Coriolanus Snow x reader

chapter: 2/?

MASTERLIST

warnings: NSFW (18+), snow being snow, themes of sex work (not the reader), cuckolding, eventual smut, fake relationship, unprotected sex, themes of voyeurism & mild exhibitionism, murder mention (but no actual murder) (not yet at least?), MAJOR manipulation/gross power dynamics + generally darkish themes, some power play, oral sex, thigh riding, eventual piv, i’m new to full on smut bear with me here (and pls tell me if i forgot anything!)

i do not give permission for my work to be reposted/translated anywhere, under any circumstances.

a/n: first off, THANK YOU for the love on chapter 1. wasn’t sure how I’d fare since I’ve done a lot of writing in my life but little to no smut. with that said! longer chapter incoming. also I just know he’d give insane head okay i just do,the guy looks like he fucks and he definitely does

You weren't sure exactly how you slipped away from Snow’s room that night, but you could somewhat piece it together in flashes. First a head rush, then the fire in the pit of your stomach practically having gasoline thrown on it.

You remembered a quiet gasp escaping your lips, then panic, a flash of white, and suddenly you were stumbling away, head spinning as you tried to catch your breath, pacing unevenly down the hallway, any chance of a stealthy escape long thrown out the window.

Back in your room, once the door was bolted and your back was against it, making sure nobody could get in if they tried, you had your first shot at clear-headedness since you’d heard heels scuffing the hardwood.

You’d soaked your panties through and were dripping down your thighs, but you’d be damned if you could get into the headspace to take care of it. Panic flooded your veins, ice-hot as you tried to catch your breath. you slid down the door and sat there, legs numb against the cold wooden planks.

Who was she? A million questions filled your head all at once. Was she from the Capitol? Could she be one of Snow’s friends, one of your friends? The thought made you sick. What if you’d dined with her before? Talked to her? How long had this been happening? Who knew about it? Were you being played?

Had he seen you watching him?

Unable to help yourself, your one-track mind took you back to the way he’d groaned your name, though you were half sure that had been a fever dream of some kind. Still, you kept replaying it. Over and over, like a broken record.

It didn’t make any sense, you were so fucking confused. All this time you’d been hoping he would make a move, you’d practically begged him to. Why hadn’t he? When you were clearly on his mind, and yet he made you believe he didn’t think of you that way at all. Was he just respecting your agreement?

You fiddled with the lace on the hem of your slip as you mulled it over. You stayed sat like this for almost an hour, trying unsuccessfully to wrap your head around it. When you ended up right back where you started, and you were sure enough time had passed that if someone was coming to get you, they would’ve already, you finally stood up. Your caution led you to drag a chair from across the room, propping it up by the door to jam the handle. That left you with the sliver of peace of mind you required to shower off this cold sweat you’d formed.

The next morning, you dreaded breakfast. But you knew you had to face him, as well as the fact that this could very well be your last meal. You should at least try to eat well.

You made your way downstairs, a few minutes later than usual, enough for Coriolanus to already be sipping coffee, a few pages through his newspaper. You’d not got fully dressed yet, not wanting the contrast to be too obvious, but you’d wrapped a silk dressing gown around you so you were a little more covered up. You knew one thing for certain, you wouldn’t be trying any more of your tricks until you knew just what you were dealing with.

He didn’t look over at you, which you took as a good sign. The urge to hide from him, from what you’d seen and what you now knew, overwhelmed you. You didn’t say a word, and picked silently at your breakfast, but despite your best efforts, not managing to keep more than a few bites down.

“You’re quiet today.” He muttered, and you started.

“Um.”

He lowered his paper.

“Something wrong?”

How about everything?

“Oh, no, I’m okay. Just uh…” you glanced up at him, and met his sharp gaze. Fuck. You’d hoped you’d go unnoticed. You felt like a deer in headlights, like he could read your mind.

“Well?” He prompted, gaze unwavering. You blinked.

“Headache.” You managed to breathe, faking a small, pitiful smile.

He brought his paper back up in front of him, crisply turning the page. You both thanked the new barrier between you for cutting off his stare, and resented it as you looked at the tiny printed words you couldn’t make out from where you were sitting.

“I’ll have Lucille bring you up something.”

“Thank you.” you said quickly, almost too quickly, and you feared he might lower his paper again to watch you as you stumbled over another excuse. But you fell lucky this time.

The week seemed to pass in a blur, Monday’s gala being one of the only times you really left your room when Snow was around, other than meal times, which you spent in a similar state as that first breakfast. You cursed yourself for throwing out your longer dresses, and settled for the least suggestive of them, the white one you’d been thinking of pitching to Snow as a backup plan in your panicked state outside his bedroom. That all felt worlds away now. What you’d seen had shifted the tides, marking a solid, definitive line in your head between the before and after.

The gala went as well as it could given the circumstances. You danced, Snow was charming to you in front of the guests, but held your gaze no longer than usual. It was simultaneously terrifying and thrilling to feel his hands on your waist, knowing what you knew. It felt like you’d been tapped with a cattle prod and had to hide it every time his hand brushed yours on top of the dinner table, as unsuspecting guests smiled at you, the happy couple.

If only they knew that in the same breath, you were scanning the crowd, wondering who the blonde could’ve been, how close she was to Snow, if at all, and hating the way every touch he placed on your hands and waist served as a reminder that he’d been touching her instead of you.

Your stupid brain had formed a highlight reel of what you’d witnessed behind Snow’s door, and it tortured you with every passing moment. To know he was thinking of you. To think that maybe, he wanted you there instead. It put a strange sense of possessive pride into you, that weaved between your jealousy. Because yes, you’d seen another girl on her knees with her mouth around him, but you hadn’t heard any name other than your own while it happened.

You carried this strange hope, dwindling to start off, and then building each day that you were left un-hanged and very much alive, slowly chipping away at your fear of the worst. And yet, you knew the game, unbeknownst to Snow, had been fundamentally changed. You’d stopped your antics altogether, now barely meeting his eye as you passed each other in the hallway, covering up more at breakfast, and only talking just enough to avoid another interrogation. Avoiding touch, and conversation, and all-around keeping yourself away from him.

You were quieter still at night in your room. After a few days, you’d finally felt safe enough to move the chair away and sleep with the door locked as you normally would. But while your games had stopped, your want for him had only been amplified. Fuelled by jealousy and frustration, you had to bite down on your hand so that not even the slightest noise made its way out as you pictured him, not as you used to in your fantasies, but as you’d seen him that night, undone with your name on his lips. It was much easier, in your head, to picture yourself as the one on your knees. Any other fantasy just failed to make the cut now you’d seen the real thing.

Thursday rolled around and you’d made a new habit of pacing the downstairs library when Coriolanus was out of the house. That way, if he got home and stepped inside, you could pretend to be lost in a book. But the hours seemed to stretch out and you became bored, and with no Snow in sight, you decided to head down to the servants’ quarters.

This wasn’t a common occurrence, but it wasn’t unheard of. You were known for your gentleness among the house staff, less harsh than Snow, but firm nonetheless. It had led you to a respectful friendliness with the maids and servants, and once every so often you’d check in on them.

Today’s objectives, however, were purely self-motivated. You found Lucille, who dressed you, at the kitchen table, chopping vegetables.

She stood upon seeing you, and curtseyed (Snow was rather old fashioned that way). You nodded, then took a seat at the foot of the table.

“Do you need any help with that?” You glanced at the cutting board.

Lucille’s eyes widened. “I wouldn’t dream of it, Ma’am.”

You laughed. Lucille chopped and diced, and you asked questions. At first, they were after her family, her brother was sick and despite your offers, she wouldn’t accept help. So instead you listened, and slowly but surely, your questions got a little more directed toward the object of your interest.

You were good at playing the long game, so you started by asking about the company he kept. What she thought of them, with the promise that it would stay between the two of you, cross your heart.

She wouldn’t say much but she knew a little more than you; Snow kept very similar company as you did, and rarely went out for social visits. Any trips were strictly work-related, and when you eased into the topic of his past, Lucille mentioned, in very polite terms, that he had left a small trail of women heartbroken after a short period of time. That not all of them had been pleasant, and that she was pleased you seemed to have a positive effect on him.

She knew about your arrangement, practically the whole staff did, but they were kept on a very tight leash and were thoroughly reminded to not say a word acknowledging it, not even to you. It was with a knowing glance that Lucille told you she was happy you’d stayed around.

You smiled. Knowing that was likely all you were going to get for now, you let her be. By then, it was late enough to have gone dark, and you headed up to bed.

You awoke to creaking outside your door, and the shadow of footsteps from underneath it. You’d been tossing and turning for the last - you checked your watch - two hours. Excellent. You rolled onto your back wondering who it was, and then you heard it again. At first you wondered if it was just a sleep-deprived hallucination, or a sense of deja-vu, but then you focused, and there it was. The sound of heels. Again.

You sat up in bed, pushing your hair out of your face. You were enraged the first time, but if this was becoming a Thursday night tradition, it would be a serious problem. You were tired, you reasoned, you could just try to go back to sleep. Ignore it. Not let him have this power over you, a power that he didn’t even know he had. All the more reason to ignore it, and make it tomorrow’s problem.

But you just couldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, no matter how hard you tried. Your mother used to say it was a problem, always sticking your nose in places it didn’t belong. But it had got you this far, hadn't it?

You knew you were going to follow her to Snow’s room again, it was just a matter of time. You had to at least pretend you had an ounce of self-control, whereas really your head was thrumming and you knew it would take getting hit by a high-speed train to send you back to sleep now.

So you held off. Five minutes passed. Then ten. You had to know, at least, what they were doing. Maybe you could get a look at her face, see who it was, and answer some of the questions you had.

So you went. With a purpose this time, knowing full well what and who you’d end up seeing, trying to take steady breaths and focus on your plan. Check who it was, then leave.

You’d never been that great at execution. Call it hedonism, call it a morbid fascination, or living vicariously, but when you walked up to the door - which was ajar again, strangely even more than last time, by at least an inch or two - you looked inside, and your feet planted. The last shred of your self-control allowed you to take in the room first, the desk and chair that was right within your sight, and as you tucked yourself into the room, half hidden behind the door, you finally looked back at the bed where you’d seen Snow with his blonde girl last time.

Neither of them were sitting now.

Thirty seconds ago, you would’ve believed the hottest thing you’d ever seen was what played out in this room last week. But that was before you saw Snow turned away from you, still fully dressed with his sleeves rolled up, stomach on the bed and face between the blonde’s thighs, eating her out like he was on death row and she was his last meal.

You’d gotten head before. You knew it felt good, but the boys you’d slept with before your arrangement with Snow were selfish and inattentive. They would try, but they were far more interested in getting their dicks wet than showing you a good time. But Snow - you’d never seen anything like it. You didn’t know it could feel that good, or at least, not as good as the blonde girl - who you noted in the back of your mind, wasn’t anyone you recognised - was making it look. Her hips were bucking so hard he was having to pin her down with both hands around her waist.

She was just moving so much, wriggling and crying out and gasping and - you didn’t think you’d ever truly known jealousy until that moment. You couldn’t look away, knees weak and hands shaking, letting yourself get sucked into this headspace again, losing all trace of rationality. You’d think she was playing it up for him, but you knew what that sounded like. You’d faked enough orgasms to know if she was, but this? This was real. As she got close, grinding into him, writhing, running a shaky hand through his hair then getting louder, you managed to snap out of your trance.

In a flash, you ran back down the hallway.

If you thought you were avoiding Snow before, this week was about to give you a run for your money. You took breakfast in your room, and kept only to the parts of the house you knew he never entered. You only touched yourself in the shower, silent cries washed away by the water and steam, paranoia backing you into a corner.

You feigned illness the one time Snow sent a maid to inquire after you. Nothing too major, but enough to put him off. When he left the house, you snuck into the library to smuggle books back to your room, a pile forming as you tried ceaselessly to distract yourself.

You wrote home, you studied art and history. You attempted a few terrible sketches. You tore apart your room, then put it back together.

Before you knew it, Thursday rolled around again. On longer days like this, when Snow had been away working for hours at a time, you’d doubled down on your efforts to get information, and after chipping away for just long enough, you finally managed to squeeze some tidbits out of Lucille. Namely that there was a certain gentleman’s club in the city that he used to frequent before his election as President. Snow’s old driver might know its name, she said.

“But that was long before he met you, ma’am, rest assured.” She added hurriedly.

“Of course. Thank you, Lucille. I think I’ve kept you for long enough. Goodnight.”

Snow had been gone for the whole day, and you weren’t sure if he’d come home yet, so as you headed up to your room, you quietly wandered a little further down the hallway, to check if there was any light beneath his door. There wasn’t. Good. You were glad he wouldn’t be continuing this routine of his. Maybe this Thursday night, you could sleep peacefully.

With a sigh, and mulling over what you’d learned today, you returned to your room, poured a drink, then collapsed into bed.

This night was as sleepless as the rest, and you’d been drifting - not uncomfortably - in and out. A storm was brewing outside, and the sounds of howling wind began to keep you alert. You rolled onto your back and stared at the ceiling, then glanced towards your door. Snow must’ve come home at some point, and very late at that, because dim lights had been turned on in the hallway. Paranoia crept into your mind, slowly poisoning your thoughts and turning you inside out.

It didn’t take long before the feeling pushed you to roll out of bed, slide on a dressing gown, and crack open your door. This time, you couldn’t hear footsteps, or anything that might arise suspicion. You closed the door again. Waited. Then looked around your room, at the messy sheets and the half finished glass of liquor on the nightstand. You rarely drank alone, but these past few weeks had been getting to you, fucking with your head. Coriolanus Snow had driven you to this.

The wind got louder, and you knew you were too wired to sleep, so you stood by your window and finished the glass.

You’d never been good with mysteries. You wanted to know everything, all the time. Know who had power over you, know precisely how to take it away. Know exactly what was happening around you at any given moment. But most of all, you didn’t like being played for a fool.

And sure, the ethics of it had never been discussed between the two of you. Your business was strictly professional, but when you weren’t allowed to sleep around, why could he?

In fact, how dare he?

You poured another glass, straight whiskey. Downed it, pacing your room, back and forth between the door and the window, running your fingers along the ridges of the crystal glass. You thought about him, comfortably in his room, not a care in the world.

How dare he.

You weren’t sure if it was the drink or the buildup of your situation that had your blood boiling, but it didn’t matter. You were incensed. His behaviour was an insult to your name, to your family’s name. Sure, this relationship was a sham, but all the more reason for him to act with basic fucking respect. Sleeping with - and very obviously, at that - a whore, who had a bad habit of leaving the door cracked open, was unacceptable.

You were running hot, and if you knew one thing for certain, it was that when Snow met with fire, he was going to melt. You’d make sure of it.

Your feet took you into the hallway, with the decidedness that this would be the last time.

You rushed down the corridor with a tightly bottled rage that was about to burst, words hot on your tongue and demanding to be spoken, until you turned the corner and saw Snow’s door half open. You stopped in your tracks. Reassessed, then stepped closer, slowly, steadily. Remembering what you were there for.

Then, as you got close enough to see inside - right there, without you even having to step past the threshold, were the two of them, lit by a table lamp, Snow sat on the desk chair as the girl rode him to high heaven, obscene noises getting louder. As you approached you saw Snow’s face again, eyes shut, breath laboured, and you couldn’t believe that anyone just walking by would be able to see this. They were fucking like animals, out in the open. You didn’t know how or why you drew closer still, closing in on them. The girl’s head was dropped down to his shoulder, back facing you, and couldn’t see you unless she turned, but Snow? He was practically facing the door, almost as if he’d been…

No. It couldn’t be. Could it?

But you didn’t have time to think it through, because Snow’s eyes blinked open, and you knew. He was looking right at you, blue eyes piercing into yours, sharp and dangerous like he was going in for the kill. You stood there, jaw dropped, unable to look away. In what world could you walk in on someone like this, and feel like they held all the cards, and you none? That was how he looked at you; like you’d been there watching the whole time, and this was all a show, playing out exactly as he’d planned it. Like somehow, despite all your best efforts, he’d landed on top.

It was like he read your mind, because he wet his lips, unblinking as the blonde writhed on his lap, and fucking smirked.

a/n: can’t wait for them to hate fuck after this (oh sorry forgot i’m the author for a sec) thanks for reading <3

taglist: @superchatnoir07 @itsrainingreid @nycweb-slinger @lookclosernow @etfrin @resibunn @serving-targaryen-realness @harmfulb1tch @demonsnangels @superb-icarus @julesandro @gracieroxzy @slyhersophia @shadowsepiphany @ben-has-arrived @unclecrunkle @zerotwo-sciencequeen @itsleniiilosers @thesiriusmap @ooooglymoooogly @darkqweenn @going-through-shit @loverw1tch @stinkii-boii

if you’d like to be tagged, please leave a comment on the masterlist!! 💌

#coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow x you #snow x reader #snow x you #the hunger games #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow smut #tom blyth

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adragonprinceswhore · 6 months ago

Text

Rumours

Aemond Targaryen x (Ex)Wife

Chapter III: Dreams 🎼 Masterlist

Summary: You miss Aemond, yet you can’t stand to be near him. Will performing a new song about your separation make you feel better?

Warnings: 18+, AFAB reader, she/her pronouns, angst, toxic relationship dynamic, possessive Aemond, fighting, smut, oral (f receiving), spanking, thigh riding, P in V, thumb in bum, spit kink, degradation

Word count: 5750 A/N: Thank you always my love @theoneeyedprince ♡

“This is the third day in a row that guy comes in here, orders a coffee, and pretends to work on his laptop as he stares at you”, Alysanne whispers in your ear and points to the silver haired man sitting in the back corner of the campus coffee shop.

He’s clad entirely in black, and his long hair is neatly tied in a low bun at the base of his neck.

“You should go talk to him!”, she urges with a gentle push on your shoulder.

“What? No. He’s not been staring at me”, you shut her nonsense down, slightly embarrassed by your friend's pushiness. Alysanne is such a hopeless romantic; always convinced that the love of your life’s lurking around the next corner, constantly looking for a ‘meet cute’ to thrust you into.

“Oh, come on! He’s definitely been checking you out! Maybe he’s just shy?”, she argues, staring at the stranger unabashedly as he sips his coffee. Her lack of discretion fuels the nerves bubbling inside you, eager to end this embarrassing conversation as soon as possible.

“Aly, please. A guy like that doesn’t get shy. Typical rich fuckboy”

He certainly is good-looking, and probably knows it as well, dark designer clothes a stark contrast to the surrounding patron’s jeans and sweatshirts. He looks to be around your age, a student as well, you’d guess.

Alysanne hums in response, moves to stand by the display of sweets by the register, and places a cinnamon bun on one of the small dishes stacked on the counter.

Before your protests stop her, she walks towards where the stranger is sitting, a wide smile plastered on her face,

“Hi there! My lovely friend and coworker over there made these earlier today. Would you like one?”

Her voice is unnaturally cheery as she places the dish on the table next to the stranger's laptop.

He looks up, nods stiffly in confirmation, and quietly mumbles a “thank you” before quickly returning to type on the keyboard, eyes again on the screen.

“Would you like to talk to her? I can ask her to come over here”, Alysanne offers, voice still upbeat, so energetic it nearly comes across as intrusive.

The stranger seems slightly thrown off by her forwardness. He looks up at her in surprise, but stays silent.

To anyone else, his stoicism and unfriendly demeanour would be enough reason to leave him be. But not Alysanne, who turns around to catch your eye and gesticulates for you to come over with an exaggerated wave of her hand.

From behind the register, you’d watched the scene unfold in horror, certain that your friend would embarrass you to the point where ‘rich fuckboy’ would tell everyone on campus about what a freak you are.

You slowly make your way over, eyes boring holes into Alysanne as you force yourself to smile, dreading the inevitable faked niceties you’ll have to exchange with the strange, silver-haired man.

His face is even prettier up-close.

High cheekbones, strong jawline, sharp nose, beautiful eye-

Your gaze stops at his left eye. The baby blue iris is covered by a thin mist of white, and a red, angry scar slashes through the socket, starting at his forehead and ending at cheekbone.

“Hope you like it”, you blurt out, trying to grab Alysanne’s hand and tug her away from the unbelievably awkward interaction. She’s still smiling, dodging your hand while her attention stays on the stranger in front of you,

“Would you like her number?”

Alysanne persistence causes dread to pool in your gut. God, she could be so forward it was disturbing; completely ignoring what you thought to be common social decency.

Your heart is hammering in your chest as the stranger hums at your friend’s question,

“Actually, I wanted to ask you about the open mic last week. Did you write that song?”

“‘Planets of the Universe’? Um, yes, but it’s not really finished, um, I mean, I just sang it for fun, I was kinda drunk last Friday..”

Your babbling reflects how the stranger makes you feel; nervous and unsure. His face is impassive, and his tone so unemotional it borders on stern.

You only performed that silly song because your friends were pushy and you were buzzing on way too many margaritas. Why does he care about who wrote it?

“You’re not a guitarist, I assume?”, he asks and you notice the corners of his lips briefly turn upwards, as if to prevent a smile from breaking out.

God, the audacity of this rich fuckboy.

“No, but like I said, it was just for fun”, you bite back.

You don’t care for his condescending tone, or his efforts to make you feel bad about your sub-par guitar skills. Does he not understand what ‘just for fun’ means?

The stranger’s gaze is still locked on you as he hums in response. He stares with an intensity that leaves you feeling even more unsettled.

“You’ve got a very unique voice”

The unexpected compliment takes you by surprise, and a warmth spreads over your face; heating up your cheeks.

“My siblings and I play a bit of music on the side, for fun” he says with an emphasis on the last part, mimicking you, “I think your voice would go well with the sound we’re trying to create”

He sounds very matter-of-fact, like he’s offering you a business proposal. You notice something shine in his intense gaze; something inviting that makes it hard for you to concentrate on what he says.

“The song you performed has great potential, with a proper guitarist backing you up, that is. If you’re interested, we’re meeting up tomorrow night”

You’re briefly lost for words, not expecting him to be so forward. Alysanne is practically vibrating with excitement next to you, glancing over at you with a wide smile and big, expectant eyes.

“Sure, I’ll stop by after work”

Your infatuation with Aemond started slow.

Essentially, it was the small things he did that pushed you to the realisation that he isn’t just some ‘rick fuckboy’, but a quite caring and sensitive man. Albeit with a layer of stoicism obscuring his more tender side.

Things like him insisting that he needs to walk you home after band practice, even if it’s still bright outside. Or him picking you up in his car when it rains, so you ‘don’t catch a cold’. Or him offering to help you with coursework, surprising you with detailed, hand-written notes tucked in between the pages of your textbook.

Aemond is caring in such a genuine way, always asking you how your studies are going, how work at the campus cafe is like, if you’d eaten anything. Always straight-to-the-point. And when you answer, he listens to you with such intensity, you’d think whatever comes out of your mouth is of grave importance. For the most part, it’s not.

You soon find yourself looking forward to seeing him, heart skipping a beat every time he picks you up after you've finished your shift at the cafe. He always waited outside of the cafe, observing you tidying up through the shop window with a cigarette glowing between his fingers.

When he asks you one day if you’d like to grab dinner after practice, you eagerly accept his invitation, trying your hardest to hide the excitement you feel as he says a quick goodbye to his brother and sister before leading you out of the studio you used for practice.

It’s not a date, not really, yet when you sit next to Aemond in that dimly lit booth at the rather posh Yi-Ti-inspired restaurant he’d picked, it sure feels like one.

That night, after sharing a bottle of wine, your face is warm and you’re filled with alcohol-infused confidence. As you talk animatedly about your favourite musician, Aemond regards you with a small smile playing on his lips, eyes intensely meeting yours to take in all your telling him. You feel a sudden urge to kiss him, and though it is chaste and unplanned; a result of your slight intoxication, you feel mortified as you pull back, ready to apologise for placing your lips on his without consent. Before you have a chance, he places a hand on your cheek and pulls your face back towards his, kissing you passionately, though his lips are soft and gentle.

As you pull away, eyes still closed and mind lost in the bliss of your first kiss, you hear Aemond murmur a quiet “finally”.

As a partner, Aemond seems to study you just as diligently as he studies everything else.

He quickly picks up on your favourite things.

If you’d been admiring a particular flower when you passed by the flower shop on your way to campus, you’d later find a bouquet waiting for you at home. When you went to museums and exhibitions together, he’d lean in next to you, one hand gently on your waist and soft lips right by your ear, and tell you everything he knew about the artist or artwork in front of you. Later, he’d buy you postcards of the paintings you’d shown particular fascination with, so you could decorate your bedroom wall with them.

Though he claimed that his knowledge of the arts simply stemmed from being a history major, explaining that “art is one of the greatest insights we have to previous decades”, you have a strong suspicion he actually knows so much because there’s a secret love for the arts tucked away inside him, where he keeps the more sensitive parts of his soul.

Sometimes you’re privy to that too.

Like the time he wanted to take you out to a fancy restaurant downtown to celebrate your six month anniversary. Being a student, you didn’t really have money to spend on anything besides rent and food, meaning that you hadn’t been able to reciprocate the lovely gifts Aemond had given you since you first got together.

Determined to give him something meaningful, you purchase a small frame from the local charity shop, print out some pictures you’d taken together from the university library, and put together a little collage of your time as a couple.

You include a message on the back of it, thanking him for everything he’s done for you; for being such a caring boyfriend.

As you timidly hand him your homemade gift at the luxurious restaurant, you feel a storm of unease swirl within you, suddenly overcome with embarrassment that you couldn’t get him anything nicer.

Aemond’s eyes light up in a way you’d hardly seen before.

He turns the gift over in his hand, admiring the photo collage and reading the little message on the back.

Grabbing your hand, he looks into your eyes and says a quiet “thank you”, and the gravity and sincerity of his voice lets you know that he appreciates the simple gift more than he can put into words.

The coming week you stick to the same set list; kicking off each performance with ‘The Chain’ and finishing with ‘Go Your Own Way’. You’d like to pretend that the performances got easier as time went on, but that would be a lie.

Each night, you’re forced to sing Aemond’s self-pitying words; ‘if I could, I’d give you my world’. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes each time. What made him incapable of ‘giving you his world’ when you were married? He made it sound like he had no part in your divorce; like all he did was try and love you while you broke his heart.

Fuck that.

He broke your heart. And he kept breaking it. Every fucking night he made you sing his martyr complex bullshit.

It wasn’t anything new, not really. This is how it so often went when you fought as a married couple, it had just taken a new form. The bones of it are the same; Aemond is upset and shuts you out, you try to reason with him and get burnt.

There’s something about his attitude when you find yourselves in a fight. He could turn so condescending, berating you for your emotions. Like he’s better than you for not letting them get the best of him; for not shouting or crying.

He thinks showing that something hurts him is a sign of weakness. That he’s too smart to let his insecurities and doubts overtake his senses. So he can pretend he doesn’t feel such unbecoming emotions.

Even when they prove too strong to push down.

Aemond has been quiet for the entire trip back home, jaw shut tight and eyes refusing to meet yours.

You know something’s off in the way his usual stoicism doesn’t feel natural, but forced. He’s holding something back, keeping something from you, and you can’t figure it out for the life of you.

As you enter your flat, he finally breaks the silence.

“Did you like that?”

His voice is colder than you’re used to. You recognise the tone though, from when he’s had enough of Aegon’s endless shenanigans.

You step out of your heels and turn around to face him, “Like what? The party?”

His face is set in a frown and he irritably clicks his tongue at your obliviousness,

“You know what I mean, don’t play dumb”

You really have no idea what could’ve prompted his sour mood, so you stay quiet, waiting for him to continue. You don’t feel like playing these games with him; they won’t lead anywhere.

If he’d just tell you what made him upset, you could solve the issue and move on.

He sighs at the lack of answer, “You liked all that attention, didn’t you?”

Oh.

He’s jealous.

“Oh come on, Aemond, this is great for the band! We’re getting recognition! We’re recording our first album!”

You don’t want him to rob you off the excitement you’d felt today, talking to one of Westeros biggest record labels and finally getting the recognition you’d worked so hard for.

He turns to face you, features still stern as he backs you into the wall,

“But did you like it? The way that guy from the record label was eyeing you?”, he asks again.

You know Aemond has a tendency to get protective of you; fussing over you and insisting that you listen to him. And when he’s caring, and when you feel anxious, it feels comforting to have someone protect you so fiercely. But you’re not a child, and he doesn’t have to treat you as one.

“Why would I like it?”

Your challenge makes him move closer. You see the way his pupil is blown wide, the heat in his gaze radiating off him.

“I think you did. I think you enjoy the attention”

It’s almost laughable; the fact that Aemond Targaryen, undoubtedly one of the most alluring people you’ve ever met, feels threatened by some sleazy guy from a record label. How could he think some guy flirting with you would affect your affection for him even in the slightest?

Still, there’s something intriguing about the dark look in his eye. It’s so passionate; the way he observes you. Like he wants to devour you. Punish you. Claim you.

It sparks something alight inside you. You want to match his fire.

“Maybe I did”

You have to bite your lip to prevent a smirk from breaking out. Will he fall for the provocation?

Aemond’s eyes narrow. They travel from your face down to your body, and his arms come up to cage you against the wall of your hallway,

“You like tormenting me, is that it?”, he asks lowly and presses the tip of his nose to the side of your face, trailing it down your cheek.

You wrap your arms around his neck, lowering your lips to press kisses onto his neck,

“Yes”, you say against his skin, a light chuckle escaping your lips.

It’s almost cute when he gets like this, and so flattering in the most twisted way. He’s just as enchanted by you as you are by him.

He startles you by pulling away, grabbing you by your waist and flipping your body so you’re suddenly facing the wall.

He rucks up the short skirt of your cocktail dress with much more force than necessary and a firm smack lands on your ass. The sudden sting of pain makes you inhale sharply and you feel your pulse elevate with excitement.

Behind you, Aemond drops to his knees, kisses your stinging backside, and pulls at the flimsy material of your thong until it tears in two, falling to the floor.

His insatiable display causes desire to pulse within you; an ache that nestles itself between your thighs and beats as fast as your heart.

Pushing on your lower back, he urges you to lean forward as he continues to soothe the aching flesh of your ass with sweet kisses.

The chill air of the room feels strange against your hot, wet cunt, and you wish he’d touch you in the place you needed him most. The place that painfully pounds with want for him.

As if he could read your mind, Aemond grabs the front of your thighs with his large, warm hands and he presses his face against your exposed cunt, unwilling to waste any more time as he swipes his tongue over your swollen clit.

You moan in gratitude and your forehead falls to make contact with the wall in front of you, the sweat of your forehead sticking to the cool surface.

He knows exactly how to work you; how to make you squirm and tense up and reach your peak in no time.

With each movement of his tongue against your clit, you feel your peak grow closer; an embarrassingly fast release only your beloved could elicit.

As you lose yourself in the pleasure, and your hips begin to move in tandem with Aemond’s tongue, his debauched kisses lessen, and he pulls away from your cunt, wiping his sticky face against the back of your thigh.

You let out a frustrated whine, turn around to face him, and look down at him, still on his knees.

“That’s just cruel, Aemond”

He looks so beautiful kneeling in front of you, long hair dishevelled and cheeks flustered pink.

“Maybe I like tormenting you as well”

He still has that darkness dancing in his eyes, but now accompanied by the playful grin that’s spreading across his face. He stands, leans in so closely your body gets pushed against the wall behind you, and places one of his legs between your naked thighs,

“Beg me to fuck you”

He rocks his jeans-clad thigh against your exposed core as he makes his demand; blue colour quickly darkening from the stain of your arousal.

You throw your head back and moan at the pleasurable friction, the harshness of the fabric providing wonderful relief to your aching clit. Your hips quickly meet the rhythm of his thigh, and when he lowers his face to bite at your nipple through the thin material of your dress, you feel your previously denied release approach once more.

You move yourself more forcefully against his thigh, and as your movements turn sloppy from pleasure tightening inside you, he pulls away yet again.

You know you look like a mess with your hair frizzy from the friction of the wall, spit covering the fabric over your nipple, and the lower part of your body fully exposed; inner thighs sticky from arousal.

“Aemond, please”, you whine as he straightens up, face wholly entertained by your miserable state.

“Beg me to fuck you”, he repeats, this time slower and with emphasis on each word.

You bite your lip and look at him. You can see the hardness of his cock straining against his jeans, but you know he’ll never relent; never give you what you want until you give him what he wants.

“Please”, you plead, hands moving forward his zipper to undo his trousers.

He tuts and slaps your hands away,

“Beg”, he repeats, face returning to its previous, stern expression.

You’d like to think you’re as good as him at playing these games. But you’re not. You don’t have the patience.

“Please fuck me Aemond. Please make me come, please make me feel good, please stretch me out on your cock, please-”

Your pathetic surrender is cut off by his lips on yours, kissing you passionately, stealing your breath.

Pulling down his zipper, he takes his length in hand; rock hard and glistening with arousal. He pushes your body up against the wall and you quickly catch on, wrapping your legs around him as he enters you in one swift motion.

“Fuck! Thank you!”, you cry out when he finally gives you what you want, and an amused snort espaces his nose.

Aemond wastes no time in ravishing you and sets a brutal pace, pelvis repeatedly hitting your clit as his cock hits your g-spot. You’re unable to do much more than to just take it; take the mind-numbing pleasure he’s forcing upon you.

For the third time, your peak is within reach, so close your cunt starts to tighten around Aemond’s cock. To your dismay, his pace slows, and you’re back to begging,

“Please, I’m so close. Please let me come Aemond”

He pulls out, smiles at the devastated frown on your face, and turns you around once more.

This time, he presses your body against the small side table by the front door, pushing his hand on the back of your head so that the side of your face makes contact with the wooden surface, ass prettily propped up and glistening entrance waiting for him.

He presses the slick tip of his cock against your leaking hole, and pauses without entering. His large form looms over you as his hand reaches for your face, thumb stroking your lower lip, pulling it down to reveal your teeth,

“Who do you belong to?”

His voice is lower, and calmer, than before. You look up at him; at his lust-filled eyes and kiss-swollen lips.

You. Always you.

“You”

Aemond’s thumb is still on your lower lip. He leans down and pushes his length fully into you again, making you let out a cry in blissful relief.

God it feels so good.

You see him purse his lips together, spit collecting between them, and he slowly lets it drip down to where his thumb is.

Onto your lower lip, your tongue, your teeth.

He smears his spit around your lips and tongue with his thumb, pace of his hips picking up to thrust into you harder. The table beneath you rocks against the wall aggressively loud.

“Would you let anyone else fuck you like this?”, he asks, trailing his spit-soaked thumb down your body, stopping between your asscheeks to push at your puckered hole. “Never”, you assure, moaning as he pushes his thumb in, never ceasing the pace he’s set as he fucks you on the table. “Didn’t think so. You’re my little slut. Mine. No one else will ever see you as fucking cockdrunk as I do”

Maybe it’s the heat of his tone. The dark, possessive passion that excites you, even in its volatility.

Maybe it’s the way he knows your body. How he can turn you into a begging, pathetic mess by the briefest of touches.

It’s hard to decipher what makes your orgasm feel so utterly consuming, but when it hits, and your body shakes from the force of it, you know that no one else will ever have this effect on you.

You. Always you.

You’ve made it a habit to go back to your hotel room between the sound check and the show, not able to bear spending more time around Aemond than absolutely necessary.

Both of you had tried to keep up with the cordial act, but even Erryk had started to catch on to how forced each of your interactions felt. Whenever you or Aemond addressed the other, everyone around you tense up and the air feels thick; like you’re all just waiting for what’s bubbling beneath the surface to finally erupt.

Tonight, as you’re getting ready for the tour’s fifth stop in White Harbor, no amount of breathing exercises seem to lessen your nerves, making your hands clammy and heart flimmer in anxious anticipation.

You’re finally going to perform one of your new songs for Rumours.

What if the fans hate it?

Writing has helped you deal with the aftermath of your separation; a tedious effort to make the painful end of your relationship into something meaningful. A song about lost love.

What if it sounds awful live?

Recording separately means that this will be the first time the band actually plays the song, as opposed to each member recording their own part in solitude.

The song sounded good in post-production. It’ll sound great live too.

You try to repeat the comforting phrase to yourself as you spot Aemond and Alys in your peripheral vision; her arms around his neck, his lips coming down to brush against her cheek.

You don’t know if you’d rather barf or cry at the display, but when Aemond’s seeing eye briefly searches for yours, your stomach turns in disgust.

The intro of your new song starts to play; upbeat drums accompanied by a melancholic guitar melody. Aemond plays it flawlessly, just like you knew he would.

This is it. Your time to shine; to actualise the pain that’s been wearing you down for the past months. To make it into something that means something.

Your music.

‘Now there you go again, you say, you want your freedom’

‘Well who am I to keep you down?’

You don’t want to look at Aemond, don’t want to mimic the staring contest he challenges you to each time he sings ‘The Chain’ or ‘Go Your Own Way’.

You’re not doing this for him, you’re doing this for yourself. To make sense of the suffering he’s caused you. You’re doing it for the fans; all those who can resonate with what you’re singing.

‘But listen carefully to the sound of your loneliness’

‘Like a heartbeat drives you mad in the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Oh but gods, do you want to throw him a quick glance though.

See hurt in his eye.

See his jaw tick in anger at your words.

‘Thunder only happens when it’s raining’

‘Players only love you when they’re playing’

Now you understand why he wanted you to do backup vocals on his new songs. You feel so powerful as you make him sing your lyrics, a sudden rush of hubris getting the best of you as you steal a glance of him.

‘They say women, they will come and they will go’

‘When the rain washes you clean, you’ll know’

You’re disappointed to find him in his usual state, stoic face turned away from you.

The recent rage-filled, passionate tone his voice had adopted is gone. He sounds just as calm and precise as he usually does.

‘Now here I go again, I see the crystal vision’

‘I keep my visions to myself’

‘It’s only me who wants to wrap around your dreams’

‘Have you any dreams you’d like to sell?’

‘Dreams of loneliness like a heartbeat drives you mad’

‘In the stillness of remembering what you had’

‘And what you lost’

Like the previous nights, you’re in a rush to get back to your hotel room as soon as the show ends.

As are your bandmates; no one really enjoys the tension that seems to be a permanent feature whenever you are all in the same room.

As you’re about to jump into a taxi with Helaena outside of the venue, you realise that you forgot the tote bag you keep your notebooks and music sheets in backstage. You tell her to go ahead and quickly make your way back to retrieve your forgotten bag.

A security guard lets you back in and you spot your tote immediately, laying on one of the many cheap fold-out tables lining the walls of the room. As you make your way towards it, you hear someone clear their throat in the other corner of the room.

You’ve no idea what he wants, but you turn around in an instance, leaving your bag on the table.

Aemond is sitting by himself in a dark corner of the large room, stomping out a cigarette onto the silver ashtray he's holding in his left hand. He places it on the ground and leans back in his seat,

“I never said that, you know”.

His voice is low. He sounds tired.

“Said what?”

You’re still sadistically disappointed by the fact that he’d acted so indifferent during your performance of ‘Dreams’, and it reflects in your voice. He has a talent of bringing it out of you.

“I never said ‘women come and go’, or whatever. The reporter said it”

His voice grows more irksome with each word, matching yours.

Sure, he hadn’t said it. But he might as well have.

“Whatever, Aemond”, you sigh, too tired to engage in pointless discussion with him. You turn to leave, reaching for your bag, but he stops you once again,

“I’d prefer it if you didn’t perform that song again”.

You let out a startled, joy-less laugh at his audacity, “Too bad”

“Then change the lyrics. It’s obviously about our… relationship”

You can sense strain in his voice. He’s holding something back.

Maybe you finally got to him.

“So are your new songs”, you counter.

He is such a hypocrite, it’s almost laughable. An unbecoming characteristic of his that reared its ugly head more frequently as your relationship got worse.

“I never say they are though. You’re quoting me, hard to assume it could be about anyone else”

His voice is low and dark, you have to focus to properly hear him.

“Thought you didn’t say that?”

You have to bite the inside of your lower lip to keep yourself from grinning as you add,

“Maybe the song is about the reporter?”

The provocation works. Aemond swiftly stands up, seeing eye dark and threatening as his voice grows louder,

“My songs aren’t filled with blatant lies, you’re calling me names and shit”

His nostrils are flaring as he breathes heavily, hand flexing in an attempt to stifle his rage.

You’d got to him.

“You can’t be for real, Aemond! Every fucking time you perform your new songs you're staring at me on stage, singing about how I can ‘go my own, lonely way’! You have no right dictating what I write or how I express myself”.

He’d gotten to you too. You can’t hide your irritation any longer, a whole week being in his insufferable presence proving to be too much.

It’s his turn to throw a condescending laugh your way.

“Well, you’re the one who kept going on about how lonely you were”

Back when you were still together, when the fights had became a permanent, unavoidable recurrence, you had accused Aemond of never truly letting you in, leaving you feeling lonely in your relationship.

But there’s a difference between feeling disconnected from your partner, and being unable to be on your own.

“You couldn’t be alone for a second, Aemond, that’s how fucking lonely you are. How long did it take you to hook up with Alys? 3 days!?”

“Because you left me!”, he shouts back.

And there it is; the anger that he pretends he doesn't have within himself. The ugly, raw emotion he thinks he’s too good to let overtake his senses.

His voice isn’t cold anymore.

His face isn’t indifferent.

His eyes shine with heartbreak, but so do yours.

“You chased me away with your fucking obsessive behaviour! You deserved to be left!”

Sometimes when you fought when you were married, you’d hold yourself back, still trying to protect Aemond’s feelings to some degree by not purposefully hurting him just because you were angry.

Not anymore.

He grimaces slightly at your words and you feel a sick sense of satisfaction.

He deserves it.

You can’t bear to look at him, and you can’t hear anything either, heartbeat thumping in your ears so loudly it’s giving you a headache.

If you stay, and see that the fire in his eye has been extinguished by regret, you might cave in.

You can’t.

So you turn around, grab your bag in a haste and storm out of the door, rushing to get hold of a taxi on the busy street by the venue.

You hold it together in the car ride to the hotel. You thank the driver and offer him a tip, you enter the building and go to the elevator, smile at an elderly couple who engage you in some polite smalltalk about the weather.

It’s not until you enter your hotel room and lock the door behind you that you allow the tears to fall.

They seem endless, and all you want to do is crawl into bed and sleep.

Seeing the empty space, the empty bed, makes you feel so lonely a stinging pain goes through your chest. You're pulled back to the memories of living with Aemond, coming back home to him; sleeping in the same bed as him.

You miss him so much it hurts. Not the person you’d just had a fight with backstage. You miss the Aemond he was before; your Aemond.

You think about the Aemond in the museum, who’d tell you about the history of the Water Gardens and Prince Maron Martell.

You think about the Aemond that kissed your forehead before each show.

You think about the Aemond that loved you.

You go to your closet, stretch your arm all the way to the back, and search for what you know to be there. Your hand finds the soft sweatshirt and you pull it out from the dark corners of your hotel room closet, quickly pulling off all of your clothes until you’re standing in nothing but your underwear.

Aemond’s uni hoodie still smells like him. You cry harder, uglier, as you put it on, burying your nose in the fabric and inhaling deeply.

Maybe the Aemond you miss still exists in your dreams.

You get under the duvet, nose still nuzzled in the soft fabric and body shaking from the violent sobs leaving your body, and fall asleep.

A/N: Before you ask, no. She doesn’t know if Aemond met Alys exactly three days after their separation. She’s exaggerating for emphasis, as one often does when fighting. The point is that he “moved on” suspiciously fast.

Planets of the Universe is a demo song that never made it onto Rumours, but it so good; very raw and real. TY for reading 🩵

#aemond targaryen x you #aemond targaryen imagines #aemond targaryen fanfiction #aemond targaryen smut #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond x reader #aemond fanfiction #aemond x you #modern aemond #my fics #rumours

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bluesidez · 20 days ago

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Gym Rat Miguel Part 17

content warning: lots of fluff, lots of PDA, suggestive so MINORS BEWARE (I was feeling a certain way while writing this, my b), freakguel is BACK and ON THE PROWL, food mentions but they're small

word count: 5.5k (thank you Cookie! 🍪🩵 :3)

Special shout outs to Cookie and Mig server for holding me down! It's been a long break with this story, and you guys have been the bestest of friends! 🫶🏾

Here’s a moodboard for this chapter!

Prev | Next ✩°｡ ⋆⸜ 🎧✮ Masterlist

GymRat!Miguel who was cramped tight against your bed and the cold wall. It wasn’t ideal, but the feeling of your head against his chest put him at ease.

He doesn’t remember the last time he slept this peacefully.

No parents barging into his room, no alarms, no snoring roommates.

Just his baby and his dreams wrapped in a duvet with the heat off and pajamas on the floor.

He was so deep in bliss, he heard your voice through his slumber in the clouds of his thoughts.

The way you said his name was like a kiss of the softest blanket. It made him feel warm, fuzzy. No one ever said his name like that before.

“Miguel.”

Like music, like his grandmother’s abuelita. He could bathe in your voice.

“Miguel.”

His dreams were really generous today, which wasn’t a first, but usually, they ended with something off.

“Miguel, wake up!”

A squeeze to his chest has him jolting, knocking his head against the wall with a loud groan.

“Hush!” you cover his mouth and his head. He blinks, trying to adjust.

You look back and wait, heartbeat thumping against his chest.

The door to your dorm sounds off with a banging so loud it makes him jump again.

“I think it’s my RA,” you whisper frantically. “You gotta hide!”

“Hide where?” Miguel looks around your room in a panic.

“I don’t know! Maybe the bathroom or something. Just hurry!”

You slide off of him and start gathering clothes from the floor, feet light and frantic. His eyes pan back to the window near your nightstand and he knows he’s going to knock something over trying to jump out of there.

Miguel stumbles to the floor and grabs his lounge pants, hopping on one foot as he pulls a leg through the hole.

The knocking comes again only a minute or so later followed by a “one second!” from you.

There’s no way he can fit under Jess’s shorter bed and he really didn’t want to mess up her side of the room. Your RA might also check the bathroom for some reason.

You get closer to the door and he panics, making long strides to follow you.

His back hits a corner and he faces your dorm in hopes that he’ll morph into the wall.

As you place your hand on the doorknob, your other hand pulling a robe tight over a tank, you give Miguel an odd look.

‘Why are you standing there?’, you mouth.

Miguel only shrugs and squeezes tighter behind the hinges of the door, a stupid look on his face.

‘I panicked’, he mouths back, heartbeat in his throat and eyebrows raised.

Opening the door with a smile, you greet your RA.

“Hey, hey, hey Kaylee. What is up? How are you on this lovely Friday morning?”

“Not as good as you, apparently,” her eyebrows raise. Miguel sees you pull your robe even tighter and he hopes, for once, he didn’t leave any marks on your neck. “There was some banging going on in here last night. What was that about?”

“Oh, you know me! Sometimes the creativity takes over and I lose myself.”

“And losing yourself involves shouting, moaning, and more than one voice yelling? Right, right,” she counts off the actions on her fingers and your hands scrunch along the door tighter.

“Kaylee, I’m so sorry-“

“It’s fine. The dorms are open for two more nights and a day so I’ll let you slide this one time. My Christmas gift to you. Just don’t let it happen again.”

Your shoulders drop, “Thank you, it won’t.”

“And tell your boy toy that he’s not that good at hiding.”

Miguel looks at the giant crack between the door and the frame and sighs.

He slips out and stands behind you, sheepish, “Hi, I’m her boyfriend. Not her…boy toy.”

“Boyfriend, boy toy, boy in the girl’s hall after curfew making obscene noises past quiet hours. Should I go on?”

“No! No, thank you,” you start to close the door and block Miguel from view. “Again, I sincerely apologize. It won’t happen again.”

“Oh, I’m sure-“

“We’ll get out of your hair Kaylee! Good morning and goodbye.”

The door closes with Kaylee still teasing you through it.

GymRat!Miguel who is not allowed to shower with you because he’s “too distracting” and you want to hurry and pack for the winter break.

He stands outside of the bathroom like a puppy. You could hear him tapping and whining like little paws at the bottom of a door. All you could do was sigh.

“C’mon! I’ll wash you and you’ll wash me!”

“And it’ll be another hour before I get out. No.”

“It’ll already be another hour with or without me.”

“Which is why you’re out there and I’m in here.”

GymRat!Miguel who makes himself useful by cleaning up your side of the room.

He tidies your desk and switches out your sheets. He also double checks the screw on your bed just for safe measures.

GymRat!Miguel who is laid out on the floor, scrolling on his phone by the time you get out.

You walk to his feet, shuddering as the cool air hits you. Miguel perks up and shifts to wrap his arms around your legs. His eyes run from your head to your toes, sparkling at the sight of you in your underwear.

“You smell good,” his mumbles into your stomach, face pressing into your skin. He grabs the sides and squeezes softly.

“I-I would hope so,” your voice is as jumpy as your body with Miguel’s touches making your heart flutter. “I used a body wash and a scrub. Rubbed it in real good. Exfoliated.”

“Is that why you’re so soft?”

His hands move down your thighs then up to cup your bottom. His thumbs run circles just under the cut of your briefs without a care in the world.

“That’s part of it.”

“What’s the other part?”

“I shaved, and then, exfoliated.”

“Really?”

“Uh huh.”

His lips slide to the left and right of your belly button, nibbling and kissing the fat. His fingers kneading into your skin now.

“Are you having fun?” your skin is getting warmer because of him.

“I’m inspecting.”

You laugh, his breath tickling you, “For what?”

“For any missing spots.”

He wraps his hands over the band of your underwear, knuckles grazing you as he starts to pull them down.

“Miguel.”

“Hm?”

He pushes up your stomach and groans, bare skin staring back.

“Here, too?” his nose goes under your belly and he breathes in. His legs shift, thighs tightening around your calves. “What if you get cold?”

“S-shut up. That’s so silly.”

“It’s not.”

“It is and get your hands out of my panties.”

“But, I didn’t finish.”

“Finish sniffing me?”

“No, I gotta,” he dodges your touch and yanks your underwear further. “Gotta see finish looking.”

“Looking for what?”

“Looking at where you shaved, baby.”

You clench your thighs tight and giggle as Miguel tries to pry them apart. You can hear the thread of your underwear’s band breaking.

“What part of ‘you’re not supposed to be in here’ do you not understand?”

He huffs, “And what part of telling your boyfriend that you shaved do you not understand?”

“I never said anything about shaving down there.”

He stops, eyes glowing.

“So, you didn’t shave?”

“Depends, are you happy or sad about that?”

Miguel looks up, cheek resting against your middle.

“I’m happy with anything that involves you.”

“That’s cute, and I appreciate that greatly,” your hands run through his hair, “but that doesn’t answer my question.”

“You want to know what would really make me happy?”

Sighing at his giddy expression, you give in, “What?”

“If you surprise me and sit on my face.”

“Unhand me.”

“Baby, please!”

GymRat!Miguel who settles with rubbing cocoa butter into your skin.

It’s a slow process simply because he starts to admire every inch of you.

He kisses the inside of your wrists as he slides the butter up your arms.

He runs his nose over your neck and the back of your ears as he rubs into the hills and valleys of your torso.

He massages your feet, thumbs pressing into the middle, making you melt into the bed.

“This feels great,” you sigh.

Miguel works at a particular spot, watching you twist and moan into the sheets.

He was using every moment he had to catch up on these sounds, on this sight.

“Need me to do your back?”

“No,” your tone was soft and your eyes were sultry. “As much as I want you to, you have to get ready to go home. I’m sure your family is waiting.”

“Don’t remind me.” It was like you popped the bubble you two were in with a needle. “‘M not really looking forward to it.”

“Did something happen?”

Miguel reaches to grab your perfume and spray the inside of your ankles. Two spritzes for clarity, a third just because he liked the smell on you.

“No,” he didn’t want to tell you the things that his mother said. He couldn’t. “Everything’s all good.”

“You sure?”

He leans down to you and slots his lips against yours, humming when you bring your hands to his face.

“‘M sure.”

He’ll handle it.

GymRat!Miguel who doesn't want you to leave when your car is packed, so the two of you end up in his dorm room instead.

He quite likes the image of you cuddled up on his bed, sifting through his notes while he packs.

“I’ve never seen so many numbers and letters jumbled on one page before.”

He peeks over to see you’re in his coding notebook.

“This one,” he points to the first line, “is for color changes. And this one is for moving a character up at down the page. I just have to shift a few things within the brackets and the character can move horizontally or diagonally.”

You bite your lip and drag an open binder closer, “And this one?”

“This is my robotics notes. I’ve got stuff about a buggy part here. I need to figure out the mechanics then apply it to the program. But the thing is, the end effector is busted and we were waiting on the department to get us another. So, instead, I started working on an assembly robot-“

“Ok, stop.”

“Too much?” He tended to get carried away when talking about his favorite subjects.

“No, I’m just really turned on right now.”

Miguel’s eyebrows raise. He peers up to you and your eyes shifted quickly back to a book.

“Robot parts turn you on?”

“Well, if you say it like that, it sounds insane.”

“If that little piece of red rubber and plastic really helps you, then I guess I can work with it.”

“Oh my god, Miguel,” your hands cover your face. “That’s not it.”

“Then what is it? Tell me.”

Your voice becomes muffled as he leans closer and you shake your head.

“Why not? I wanna know.”

You spread your fingers and look at him under you. He looks cozy, his shower leaving fluffy and flushed. He’s blinking up at you expectantly, pretty smile planted on his lips. Your heart is pounding.

“It’s…”

“It’s?”

“It’s when you…”

He held your arm and pulled it down. If he touched your wrist, he would feel your heartbeat.

“When I what?” he slid your hand on his neck, thumb rubbing just under the sleeve of your turtleneck.

“I like it when you say smart things. When you go off into your own little world about science and math and technology. It’s hot.”

You expect him to look at you crazy, and to be fair, he does look a little lost at first. His eyebrows twitch and he blinks once or twice. Then, you can the wheels in his head turning and the smile he carried before turns into a smirk.

“Don’t make that face. I should have never told you.”

“No, baby. I’m just shocked. That’s just not something I thought people could be into. Definitely not something that got me praise in middle school. Or high school.”

“Well, I like it. You’re passionate and passion is an amazing thing to have. It shows you care. You’re also super intelligent. A lot of girls missed out. I’m glad that I’m first.”

“You’re not just saying that? It’s not just my body? My height?”

A snicker leaves your body before you can even think to answer.

“Is that what you think about, Miggy?”

“A lot of girls didn’t really notice me until I hit the gym. So I wondered if that was what made you notice me.”

Silence filled the room and Miguel watched your face sour.

“I’ll be honest, if you hadn’t made the first move, we would never be sitting this close together.”

“What? Why?”

“Because! You’re this,” your shoulders drop and you purse your lips, thinking about your words, “this muscular, tall guy. I thought you were a jock before you first spoke to me. A gym bro.”

“I am a gym bro.”

“True, but I meant the personality stereotype, not a guy that frequents the gym. What I’m saying is, I didn’t entertain the thought of making a move on you because I didn’t think you would ever like me. However, you were kind and consistent. That’s what drew me closer to you. The body and the height are plusses, though.”

“Oh.”

“You stood up for me a bunch. You made efforts to see me. And even after your mistakes, which are two for two by the way-”

“Hey,” Miguel pouts, shaking his head as if it would make his fumbles disappear.

“-you have reassured me more and more. You listen to me, you remember the smallest things, you make me laugh. I just really adore you.”

He grins, kissing the palm of your hand before getting back up, “Good. Because you’re never getting rid of me now.”

“Wouldn’t want to.”

GymRat!Miguel who is definitely stalling when he has you read off his list of things to bring home for the fifth time.

“Laundry?”

“Got it.”

“Games?”

“Yup.”

“Shoes?”

“Put them in my gym bag.”

“I think you’re ready then!”

“Could you go over it one more time?”

“Miguel, if nothing has grown legs and walked, it’s still packed up.”

He sighs, staring at his three bags by the door: a backpack, a gym bag, and a laundry bag. It really was time to go home.

Walking to you sitting on the edge of his bed, he drapes his body over yours.

“I’m going to miss you,” he mumbles into your shoulder.

“Me too,” your hand reaches under his jacket to rub his back. The rhythm of your nails matches his dramatic huffs, up and down the slope of his spine. “Wish we could have done some cute stuff. Like make gingerbread houses or-“

“Ice skate! Ski!”

“If that would make you happy, yeah.”

He makes an irritated sound and wraps around you tighter. He had to do something.

“What if we go book a hotel somewhere? Let’s have a little getaway from home before going home.”

“I have to help my parents prep to host holiday parties. And with what money, Miguel?”

He stands up straight and gives you a deadpan look, “You can’t be asking me that. You know I’ve got it covered.”

“I’m not letting you blow an absurd amount of money on something last minute.”

“I would do it for you. I would do it to be with you.”

“And that’s sweet,” you rubbed a thumb over his cheek, “but we don’t need to spend that much money to have fun.”

“You’re right, baby. Last night was lots of fun.”

“And just like that, you’re done.”

He laughs as you push him away from you, hands quick to pick you up from the bed. Your plea to let you go dissolved into giggles as he kissed all over your face.

“That was a cute moment and you ruined it!”

“Nooo, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. But I don’t take it back.”

Rolling your eyes, you barely fight his love attack. The two of you sound like you’re frolicking around in a meadow and not like he’s swinging you around in his dorm room.

A ringtone goes off, interrupting you both. You reach in your pocket and smile.

“Hey, Mom!”

GymRat!Miguel who listened to you talk with your mom while he kept your feet off of the ground.

Your fingers danced from his hair to his lips to his shoulders as you hummed after your mom’s words.

“I thought she was supposed to make a charcuterie board?” you ask her as you pull the corner of Miguel’s mouth up and down with your thumb.

He hears her say something about someone not knowing how to even spell charcuterie and starts to laugh. You cover his mouth with a grin and chastise your mom.

“Don’t say that, Mama. I’m sure it’ll turn out fine!”

Miguel kisses your fingers one by one while your mom rattles off in your ear.

She goes from topic to topic, from who was irking her at work to how your finals went to what presents she was waiting on. You kept up with a light tone and a soft gaze on his features.

By the time Miguel tuned his ears back into the conversation, he was sitting in a bean bag chair with your nails scratching at his nape.

“I’ll be home today. Well, tonight.”

Your mother’s voice buzzed through the speakers and your eyes darted Miguel’s face to his neck.

“Nothing! I’m just,” a pause joins in on the pattern you tap across his chest. Your lips curl out and your voice gets smaller, “hanging out with Miguel. We’re catching up.”

Like the impact of glass shattering, the bite in your mother’s voice had you reeling back.

She was talking, no, yelling so fast, he almost didn’t catch anything.

I thought you broke up with him?

Didn’t he cheat on you? Why are you in his face?

Do I need to come up there and shake some sense into you? Huh?

Answer me!

“Mom, please! Just calm down- no, I’m not telling you to shut up, just listen to me!”

Miguel was mortified.

You got up from his embrace and paced the floor with an arm hugging your middle. The fussing on the other end of the line was nonstop.

“No, I’m not putting him on the phone right now.”

His heart rammed as he shot up, “I-I can talk to her!”

Pausing and pushing your phone to your chest, you give him a stern “No!” before going back to your mom.

“Mom, we talked about everything and we’re fine now, I promise.”

You look at him and your mother’s voice muffles through the room again. He looks like he could cry and you’re trying to silently placate him.

“I’ll tell you everything when I get home, ok? You don’t have to worry.” Your eyes get big before you turn completely around and walk to the bathroom, chanting no over and over. There’s no telling what your mom thinks of him now.

He picks at his hands as he waits, the pit of his stomach in knots.

When you come out, you don’t even give him the chance to speculate before you spring on, “Want to go to Ikea and roleplay a couple moving into their new place?”

“I would love that but what about your mom?”

“Would you rather stew on what she thinks or would you rather hold my hand and compare mudroom seating?”

It was going to eat at him either way, but you were practically begging him to move on.

“I think we should talk about it, but,” he holds his hand out, “let’s discuss the pros and cons of wainscoting on the way.”

GymRat!Miguel who is already enjoying the linoleum floors and smell of hardwood before the second set of automatic doors even have time to close.

A fair amount of families were already walking by with carts, and pairs and groups alike were already pointing to different displays.

You stood at his side, arms wrapped around his bicep, knit cardigan nearly touching the floor. Every piece you had on was fuzzy and warm against his side. The two of you were a vision of college comfort with your flared pants and his matching joggers.

“Should I grab a bag, dear?” Miguel asks watching a little boy drag a yellow bag to his mother.

Smiling into his sleeve, you shake your head, “Maybe we should just look around to start? Check things out first.”

His eyes sparkle at you as you both turn to the right, heading towards the maze of furniture pieces. He clears his throat and you snort.

“Honey.”

His chest puffs up, smile derpy and big. He was so easy to please sometimes.

GymRat!Miguel who bent under the borders of a dimmed display as you ran to sit on a black, aspen loveseat.

“What do you think, Miguel?” your sweater hung off one shoulder as your hands graced the top of the couch. The arch in your back swerved right down to your leg poised over the other. “Do I look like a 90s pop diva waiting to hear producers fall over themselves to play me another track?”

Your head falls back, covered neck opened to the glow of the lava lamp on the studio desk next to you. He could see a peak of what he left behind last night.

He sits in the armless desk chair, smirking as you spare him some attention.

“Listening to all of these amateurs when you know your voice sounds better over me, whispering my name, wearing my chain.”

Your leg twitches and he sees your eyes flit through several different emotions. With the way you hop off of the seat, lust was one of them.

“Ok, MC Miggy Mig, let’s go to the next thing!”

He grabs your arm and pulls you back, a squeal high in your throat in the process, “Why’re you running, hm?”

“Because this is an open, public, area and you’re playing this role a little too well.”

“I think I’ll need to seriously consider this setup,” he runs his right hand over the digital mixer while his left hand sits firmly behind your thigh.

“You don’t even make music. Nor do you record anything.”

“Us together sounds like music to me.”

Bringing him to a furniture store with his pent-up feelings was probably worse than having one more round in his room.

You stew on this as you turn to go to the next display room, attempting to more find interest in the leather sconce lighting than the thought of you and your boyfriend in a booth after pressing play.

GymRat!Miguel who genuinely did take notes over what you liked and didn’t like.

You were an artist, so there were a lot of funky pieces here and there. Like an odd-shaped vase or a cabinet with more aesthetics than storage. A light fixture with more parts that it probably needed and mirrors with dramatics around the sides.

He loved it though. It was all so different from what he would ever choose, but the way you described things had him envisioning how you would be designing a space for the two of you.

It had him thinking of the future.

GymRat!Miguel who took on the kitchen displays like a Broadway actor. The hallways opened up more and his hand swung with yours as he stepped into the first room.

It was bright, a window bringing in fake sun. Dark salmon walls huddled up with light wood cabinets and milky white counters.

“Honey?” his voice was dripping with it, tone smooth and silk as he opened a retro fridge. “Did you remember to make your famous ambrosia?”

Grabbing a bowl with fake fruit from the fridge, you jump right into character, “Why darling, of course, I did! It’s your big day, I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“And that pretty dog to match?”

He takes you bowl and places it on the counter, eyes serious as he grabs your face in his hands, “That pretty dog and so much more. I’m gonna buy the whole town.”

You burst out into laughter before you can even think of a response, his facade dropping watching you giggle.

“This is a serious affair and you’re laughing.”

“Sorry.”

GymRat!Miguel whose act switched up in a smaller, compact kitchen. The wood was almost black, and a pull-out drying rack was next to the stark white counter.

“Baby, you’re late.”

Your eyebrow goes up, “Says who?”

He looks back, chuckling in disbelief, “Says the man that puts his life on the line for you.”

“And I didn’t ask you to. Yet, here you are. In my kitchen.”

Chuckling darkly, Miguel grabs one of the bottles and takes a swig. His throat bobs like there’s actually something in the bottle.

“That’s cute, real cute.”

You bit your lip as he leaned over you. He had a scowl on his lips and a dark shadow over his eyes that you rarely saw.

“You think I’m just going to let you walk out there unprotected? I’ve got eyes everywhere.” His thumb pulls your lip out and he bends your head up. “No one hurts you and I won’t hurt them. You’re mine, baby girl, and I protect what’s mine.”

An old married couple passed by, arguing over which cabinet was better. You feel like you’ve run a marathon.

“That was hot,” you whisper.

Miguel breaks, sliding his arms under yours.

“I was thinking you were a little too into that.”

“You should call me baby girl more often. It has a kick to it.”

He twists his nose cutely, your derpy, buff baby of a boyfriend coming back, “I like it when I call you mine’s better.”

“Your girl?”

“My girl.”

GymRat!Miguel who acts out nothing in the bedroom section of the showroom.

“This is nice,” he hooked his foot under that of the bed frame. “Sturdy.”

“It looks like a dorm bed,” you comment.

He places his hands on his hips and thinks.

“You’re right. Bad idea.”

Dragging him to another bed, you ask him how he feels about it. It’s huge, king-sized. There’s a quilt spread over it the bottom of it, with red pillows next to white ones on the top.

You bend over it, feet kicking in the air as you make “snow” angels with your hands.

Miguel pushes your legs down and drags you to the edge. He grunts as he barricades your body, knees next to your hips. He presses a hand to the small of your back, getting in close behind your bottom.

He moves slowly, hips grinding up against you.

“Miguel!” you partially turn, staring at him incredulously. “Are you crazy?”

“It’s too low. Not good for my back,” he responds.

A group of girls eye you both from the closet section of the showroom floor. One is giggling, one is mortified, and the other looks like an heirloom tomato. Miguel remains oblivious.

“We need something higher.”

“And I need to get you out of the bed section.”

Miguel looked at the remaining sets, “But I still have more to test?”

His voice lacks the giddy flow from earlier, so you know there’s no stopping him.

“Fine, just don’t pin me to the display beds.”

Pouting, he nodded and continued on.

GymRat!Miguel who thinks seeing you coo over everything in the kids’ furniture section might be the icing on the cake.

“How adorable is that? And it’s so soft!”

It was the fifth plushie you picked up in under the span of two minutes.

“Want me to buy it for you?”

“No,” you place it back in the metal bin, but he knew you didn’t want to. “I don’t need it.”

“I’m already buying something for your mom for the Christmas party. You can go ahead.”

If you had special effects, he’s sure exclamation points and starts would appear around you the way you perk up.

“Really?”

“Really.”

“Can I get the panda and the shark?”

“Whatever you want, bébe. You can have it.”

You walk out of the section with three plushies in a bag and happier than ever.

GymRat!Miguel who sits in the restaurant and feeds you bites of his plate while takes bites of yours.

“Like it?” you ask, holding a hand over your mouth as you chew.

“It’s ok. A little bland. I think I’ll like the cake better.”

“Agreed.”

The two of you made idle chatter over Swedish meatballs and salmon filets. When it’s time to drink, the two of you cross arms and down lingonberries.

It’s a sweet end to the outing.

GymRat!Miguel who is downing ice cream when you pop a question.

“How do you feel about coming over for the holidays?”

Miguel’s windpipe lodges closed and his fist is knocking up against his chest. You freak out and jump up to pat his back.

“Lift your hands, oh my god!”

He waves your arms away, wanting to laugh at you pushing your sleeves up.

“I’m good, I’m good! Just give me a second.”

You sat back down, expression concerned, “Ok, so maybe coming over is a bad idea?”

“Absolutely not! It’s a great idea. I would love to come.” He relaxed his shoulders, wiping his mouth. “If your family will have me.”

“I was just thinking.”

“Uh huh?”

“It’s been over a year since we’ve been together.”

“Correct. A year and three months since I asked you out, but who’s counting?”

“You know, you never explicitly asked me to be your girlfriend, right? So, these could all be imaginary numbers to me right now, but moving on.”

“No, moving back, what? I did ask you to be my girlfriend. We call each other boyfriend and girlfriend. We are together as boyfriend and girlfriend.”

“We are together but you never asked, we just naturally transitioned into that. That’s not my point, though. I was just teasing.”

Miguel bit his lip, stirring the thought for later, “You were thinking?”

“Right! It’s been this long and you’ve only met my mom,” who wasn’t too fond of him at the moment, “whereas I’ve met your close family. So, how about using this upcoming break to meet some more members of my family?”

He nodded his head, but a loud, blank noise took over his ears.

Meeting your family was a big deal, right? It meant that he was solidified and proven to be worthy of being with you. Of course, you met a small part of his family, but if he had it his way, it would have been more casual and less of an attack on all fronts. Spending that much time with your family meant so much…too much.

“Miguel? Did you hear me?” your hand reaches across the table and caresses his.

“Um.”

“All I said was that I’ll have to check with my own parents first, so don’t panic.”

It was too late not to panic.

“Right, not panicking. I’m just thinking about how many things I should prepare.” His Range Rover was about to rival Santa’s sleigh. All he needed to do was add those antlers and red nose that Gabriel bought him one year.

“You don’t have to do much, baby, it’s just my parents. And a few cousins, my grandma, grandpa, aunts and uncles, my dog. It’ll be chill.”

If it’s one thing his parents taught him, it was always to do too much. His heart was already in his throat about appealing to your mother once more. Who knows what your family already thinks about him?

“Once they see that charm that I fell in love with, they’ll love you too, ok?” you moved your hand to his cheek, which he melted in like a baby.

“Ok. I trust you.”

Miguel kisses your palm and you smile warmly back at him.

“And speaking of trust, my mom didn’t say anything worse than the spiel she gave me back on your birthday.”

“Top ten worst birthdays, I think.”

You nod, “I wholeheartedly agree, but, she thought the worst earlier today.”

“Like?”

“Like I was pregnant.”

His windpipe gives out again and this time you’re quicker to whack his back. The images of you in the kids’ furniture section do not help his sanity at all.

GymRat!Miguel who leans on the open window of your car.

“I’ll call you before I get on the highway, okay?”

You nod, leaning against the door while you stare at him.

“And don’t speed. Watch out for crazy drivers.”

“I will, Mig.”

He stays a little while longer, setting every one of your features to memory. You pucker your lips, silently begging for him to kiss you. He obliges, whispering love against your lips.

“Be safe,” he mumbles, taking your top lip between his.

“You too.”

Leaning back, he puts his hands in his pockets as he watches you leave.

He hopes to see you for the holidays.

dividers by: strangergraphics + adornedwithlight 🩵

a/n: I actually started writing this chapter two days before Christmas, but my writer's block hit me incredibly hard. I can say that I'm happy with the result now! And I'm happy to get back to the swing of things! In the next chapter, Miguel will be meeting Reader's family! Very excited about that. Hopefully, I can get the story caught back up with the current month soon! 🩵

The taglist is full, so if you would like to be informed of future updates, check my blog occasionally (💀) or subscribe to the story on AO3!

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judesmoonbeauty · 2 months ago

Text

Jude Jazza’s 2nd Birthday: “The Cursed Moon Within His Merciless Arms” Chapter 3

This is a fan translation. 100% accuracy cannot be guaranteed. Please expect grammatical errors and lack of nuance. Creative liberties were taken in order for a smoother translation. Cybird owns everything. Re-blogs are appreciated, but please do not repost or claim my translations as your own. Thank you for your support! ☾⋆

Quick shout out to @drachonia and @aeyumicore for assisting me on a line I couldn't convey to save my life, thank you! ♥

MDNI. NSFW. CW: Awkardly translated smut dead ahead, Graphic language..... & Rough sex (?)

After we attended the birthday party thrown by Victor….we were alone in the bedroom.

[Chu], [chu], the sound me leaving kisses on Jude’s body echoed in the air.

As he lay on top of the bed, I straddled him, sucking hard and leaving red marks behind

Jude: ….Whaddya plannin’?

Kate: Hmm…….what do you mean?

Jude: Left ya waitin’ in the bathroom. Thought ya’d be beggin’ me for a follow up.

As soon as we got back to the room, my desire wasn’t for any follow up, but only to let me kiss him.

Kate: ….While I was getting dressed after the bath, I realized that..

Kate: …It’s your birthday Jude, so it wouldn’t be right if I’m the only one who feels good…..

(….Also it’s because Jude said to me, “Can ya satisfy me ‘nough for the whole day, princess?”)

(I want to do whatever I can to celebrate Jude.)

Jude:…..Meanin’ the kisses are meant t’be pamperin’?

Jude: Yer too sincere. Really ain’t suited for this world — …Mhm.

While he was still speaking I kissed him to stop him from what he was about to say.

Kate: …..I’ll shut your mouth from saying such things.

Jude: Ha…..don’t say that ‘til it’s actually been shut.

We both laugh and exchange a light kiss before I slowly continue to go lower with my kisses.

I showered red marks on his neck, shoulders and chest like blossoms-

As I caressed his side, I kissed his lower abdomen, all the way to the edge covered by his underwear……

Kate: Wahh…..!

Jude suddenly flipped me over so that I was on all fours on top of the bed.

Kate: Jude?

Jude: …..That’s ‘nough pamperin’.

Jude’s low, husky voice was blatantly filled with desire, and it made my heart skip a beat.

Just thinking of being so deeply linked with him fills my heart with so much anticipation, tension, and excitement that it hurts.

Even though we’ve made love made together many times, I still haven’t gotten used to it.

Kate: …..Run out of patience with my pampering already?

I tried to put up a strong front so as to hide my pounding heart, but it wasn’t effective on Jude.

Jude: Yer the antsy one, not me.

His hand quickly flipped up my dress and ripped down my underwear.

Jude: I ain’t even done anythin’ yet, ‘n it’s already this soaked.

My wetness squelched loudly even with his fingers only lightly touching me down there.

It was obvious that I was more aroused than Jude, and I couldn’t help but feel embarrassed.

Jude: …This is what happens just from kissin’ me?

Kate: Y-you made me wait all evening, so I can’t help it — ….NGH AHH!

Jude scooped up my dripping nectar, and stimulated my sensitive bud with his wet fingers.

Kate: ……Ngh….!

Just as I thought he’d tease me by swirling his fingers around, he’d scratch me.

The mix of pain and pleasure caused filthy sounds to spill from my mouth.

Jude: Was it like that down there when ya were singin’ with those Crown guys at my birthday party?

Jude: ……If ya were next to another man like this, I’ll be pissed as hell.

Jude’s fingers penetrated me deeper, carefully loosening up my sopping interior.

His fingertips know my body so well that he knows precisely where to stimulate all the right spots.

Kate: Mmh…ahh…!

Jude: Ya don’t dislike this. Yer stubborn, but ya like it……here.

When his fingers stroked me inside and pressed firmly onto a certain spot,

An intense, pleasurable sensation hit me, and I almost lost consciousness.

Kate: Ahh!…..Jude, wait….I don’t want to come yet……haa!

Kate: I want you first, Jude…..I like being with you.

Jude: …..Yer good at rilin’ thin’s up.

His quickly pulled his fingers out and the tip of something hot touched my entrance instead.

Jude: Breathe out.

As I breathed out, he sank his fierce hardness into my drenched, sticky spot.

If you really want to know what Jude’s dick is called it’s this: 猛るto rage/to be fierce/ to be excited. Basically, a ferocious cock, but Kate's language is demure, so...fierce hardness it is.

Jude: Hu…..

Kate: AHH…!

While on all fours Jude hovered over me as he moved his hips.

He inched in slowly, watching me react, and then grabbed my waist and thrust into me roughly.

Kate: Ohhh…..!

Sparks instantly blurred my vision, and my walls squeezed itself around Jude in ecstasy.

Jude: Hah….what’s that? Didja ya come just from me puttin’ it in?

Kate: ….I-I didn’t come. ….I can keep going

Since it’s Jude’s birthday, I want him to feel good too.

With that mindset, I pressed my hips against Jude ready to accept him.

Kate: Hngh….see, I’m still good.

Jude: …..If that’s so…..then I won’t care if ya end up regrettin’ it.

With those words, his hands gripped my hips and a violent rhythm starts.

Kate: Ah….! AHH….!!!

I couldn’t hold back my voice as he ravenously thrusted into the deepest parts of me.

Even when I reached the point to were I was about to pass out, I was immediately fed more pleasure, leaving me no time to rest.

Kate: Ohh….haa…!

In order not to be drowned in the waves of pleasure that washed over me repeatedly, I stayed on my hands and knees and clutched the sheets tightly.

Jude’s laid his hand over mine and intertwined our fingers, which stitched us together.

(What should I do….it feels so good and it hurts….I’m going mad…..)

Since he was on top of me from behind, Jude’s weight was slightly rested on me, which was a bit painful.

But even the heaviness and staggered breaths were transformed into love and pleasure.

(Oh, but….I don’t like that I can’t see Jude’s face in this position….)

Kate: Jude….please…..

Jude: ……Say it.

Kate: Anywhere…..is fine….so….bite me…!

As I spoke breathlessly while being jolted, I felt him swell inside of me even more.

Jude: Ha….whadda pervert…..

Jude’s hot breath grazed my right shoulder causing me pain.

While biting me, Jude’s hips started to thrust into me harder.

Kate: ?! Ahhh……Ohh……!

Just like a beast that bites down on the nape of it’s mates neck to immobilize it,

The pain Jude delivers binds me, and won’t let me go.

Kate: Hngh, stop…..! Jude, I…..can’t anymore….!

Jude: Hhaaa…..

Jude seemed to be nearing his limit too, as he began to drill into me more violently—

Kate: AHHHH….!

I felt like a giant swell had swallowed me up as I climaxed, and my stomach tightened.

— Jude had climaxed with me.

As we both caught our breath, Jude pulled out his hot shaft.

Here, his cock is referred to as 杭 stake, post. Changed it to shaft because I HATE it being called that.

Jude: …..Yer tightest when I bite ya, yer so nasty.

Kate: Well, I can’t help it can I…?!

Kate: Even though I can’t see your face, the pain lets me know that you’re holding me Jude…..

Jude: When ya get bitten….yer happy

Jude taught me to love the pain the comes along with the pleasure.

That’s why each time I feel pain from being bitten or pressed down on,

When my body feel’s my beloved Jude entangled with me, it automatically fills with joy.

Jude: ….Then

Jude: If I bite ya from the front when we fuck……you’ll feel even better.

The actual term for "fuck" isn’t used in this line, but ヤってる, which means "doing it,” is used and it's the same thing. Let’s be real, I doubt Cybird will ever actually let him say it...but I sure as hell will.

Kate: That’s….

I thought about saying, “That’s right,” but that would be boring.

Kate: ….Guess you’ll find out, if you check it out yourself won’t you?

I stared at Jude with an instigative look, and he laughed fearlessly.

Jude: ….Let’s go then.

My legs were placed on Jude’s shoulders, and his body pressed against mine, crushing me from the front.

Kate: Mmph….

I relaxed once he fully entered me,

Although it was still a bit tight, my body accepted Jude more easily than before, sucking him and clinging to him greedily.

Jude: …..Open yer mouth.

He thrust far inside me only once while we shared a deep kiss that would never have been possible if he were behind me.

Kate: Mmph….ah, haaa…

Jude’s tongue obscenely invaded my mouth, all the while our hands were interlaced together…..

Mine and Jude’s bodies were stacked so closely together that nothing could come between us, and it was so satisfying.

Once he’d had his fill of my mouth, he finally resumed moving inside of me.

This time Jude slowly rocked his hips unlike before.

Kate: Oh……ah…!

Jude: …….

As we gently made love to each other, the sweet scent of sandalwood wafted in the air with each thrust.

When I yielded to the increased pleasure, Jude bit into my defenseless neck.

Kate: Hngh….

He plunged himself deep inside of me along with the tingling pain, and then rocked himself gently as if to soothe me.

Kate: Mm, ha, ahh……

With every bite my hips are rocked, causing my head to spin from the mix of pleasure and pain.

Kate: Ohh….Jude…..it feels so…..good…

Before, I hardly had time to breathe, now I could actually speak.

Jude: ….That so?

Kate: Jude…..?

Jude: ……….

Jude: …….Ain’t no way I’m gonna strain yer body by tanglin’ up with ya if it don’t feel good.

Kate: Jude, I…..feel so good…right now….I’m losing my mind….

Kate: Can you….say it more clearly….?

He teasingly withdrew his hips and then thrust deep into me, hitting every sweet spot.

As I succumbed to the ripples of pleasure from our slow love-making session, I pleaded with Jude for more.

Jude: Guess ain’t no gettin’ ‘round it…..

Jude: ….Feels good, Kate.

Jude dropped a kiss on my forehead and told me the words I wanted to hear.

Kate: Hehe….hey, Jude

Kate:……To be honest , I was hoping on your birthday, you’d say “I like you” or “I love you”…..

Kate: I kind of thought you’d say it….

In truth, I was hoping if I showered him with words of love and blessings,

Then maybe he would say it today.

Kate: But….this is plenty for now.

His gentle expression illuminated by the moonlight through the window, said it all.

—That he loves me.

(The sun’s so high…!)

It was past noon when I shot up, my body still tired from all the love-making.

Kate: Jude, wake up! What about your schedule for today?

Jude’s usually at work at this time, so I quickly tried to wake him up.

Jude: ….Took off today so it ain’t a problem.

Kate: Oh, okay, good then….

Kate: ….But, isn’t it rare for you to take a holiday, Jude?

Even though he had other employees to cover for him, I was surprised because he a did have a schedule even on his birthday.

Jude: Took it off on purpose.

Kate: Not just the one day, but the next day too? Why….

Jude: Answers written all over yer body, ain’t it?

When he said that, I looked down at my body to find very vivid traces on it from the night before.

Jude: Though we messed ‘round, he up ‘n disappeared the next mornin’…..

Jude: If ya wanna make me out to be that kinda lowlife scum then do it.

(In other words, he knew he was going to be spending his birthday night with me.)

(So, you took the next day off too?)

In order for Jude to have the entire day off, he’d have to clear his schedule far in advance.

I’m sure he planned it well in advance, before I even asked to spend his birthday together.

That thought filled my heart with so much happiness…that I threw my arms around Jude’s neck and hugged him.

Kate: I love you, Jude.

Jude: ….What’s this all of a sudden? I know that.

I think Jude’s the only one who’d reply to words of love with an “I know that”.

It might seem to an outsider that my love is one-sided all because Jude doesn’t say things like, “I love you” as I do.

But….if his hands that hold me or tenderly comb through my hair isn’t love, then what is?

Kate: Hehe…even though you already know, I still want to tell you over and over again, Jude.

Kate: Each time I hear your voice, see your face, or feel your touch….my feelings overflow so much that it hurts.

Kate: No matter how much I tell you, it’s simply not enough.

I gently rest my cheek against his like I’m fawning over someone I love.

Jude: …..I said love’s a curse, right?

Jude: If ya keep cursin’ me like that, I ain’t gonna be able to handle it.

Kate: What are you going to do if you can’t handle it?

Jude: …..Hafta get back atcha ‘course.

Jude: I’ll get my revenge. I’ll curse ya even harder than when ya first showed up.

If you take his words at face value, they’d sound like nothing more than revenge, but for us it means something entirely different.

Kate: ….I accept, fair’s fair.

Jude laughs at me and strokes back my hair.

His breath hits my vulnerable, exposed neck — sinking his teeth into me.

Kate: Hngh….

The repeated, playful bites bring back memories of ecstasy from the previous night…..

Shortly after my breathing became uneven, Jude bit down on me hard to finish me off.

Kate: ….Jude, I…..

Jude: …..Yeah. I’ll go steady with ya.

With Jude holding onto me, we fell back onto the bed again.

The curses we cast on each other grow stronger and stronger with each passing day….and it’s highly unlikely they’ll ever be broken.

[Story Master List] [Epilogue] Dividers: @[email protected]

My brain is fried after this chapter.....anyway, I think you'll all love his POV epilogue!

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