#I mean it wasn’t as devastating as I thought it was going to be but OW OW OW

[starkeynation]

I love you, I’m sorry

A letter from reader to Rafe

Content: Angst, like PURE sad, the lamp looks weird, based on the song I love you, I’m sorry by Gracie Abrams (may or may not be accurate)

A/N: about that cliffhanger and happy ending, I changed my mind… also ignore any writing mistakes if there’s any and this was kinda rushed so I hope it still turns out good

Masterlist

dividers from @anitalenia

Rafe,

It is Saturday night. I should be out doing something, partying or whatever to enjoy myself, yet here i am, pen in hand, finding myself writing to you again. I know this letter will never reach you- it’ll end up crumpled at the bottom of my drawer or burned to ashes. Still, I can’t seem to stop myself.

It has been exactly two august ago since everything fell apart. I remember the way I laid it all out, raw, I wanted to be real, hoping that honesty would mend us. We weren’t perfect. Hell, we were far from it. We fought like fire and gasoline, burning everything we touched. Jealousy leads us to mistrust each other but even then, I didn’t think it would end the way it did. I never thought that fight would be the last..the final, devastating blow before you ghosted me and blocked me everywhere.

I swear it wasn’t my intention to break up with you, I thought by exposing the cracks, we could patch them together. Instead, the truth just ended up pushing you away. When you drove off in your Benz and left me standing at my gate, it felt like everything had stopped. The time, the world, my heart…everything froze. I couldn’t breathe. I wanted to scream, I wanted to stop you, beg you to stay, to tell you that we could still save us but you didn’t look back, and i was too late.

Now, i watch you from a distance as you become successful, helping your dad doing business, running Cameron’s development like you were born to do it. I heard your name whispered in admiration at the club where I work, how you charm people the way you trained for. And you know what? I’m so so proud of you Rafe. I always knew you had it in you. I’ll be rooting for you always, even from the shadows.

Maybe two summers from now we’ll be talking again at some point, exchange smiles, our lives untangled and we’re cool again. I can picture you’ll be in your family’s jet, travelling, and me, on my boat moving on with our own lives. By then, i hope..im actually ready to move on. I know you’ve already moved on- I mean, why wouldn’t you? Still, there’s part of me wish that you wouldn’t yet, and maybe, just maybe, you would take me back.

But that’s just selfish isn’t it? I was selfish when we were together too. I made everything about me, i was inconsiderate, I turn something small into raging battles. I didn’t listen, didn’t see you for who you were. I’m ashamed of the person I was, of the mistakes I made. After everything i did, I’m surprised you haven’t send someone to kill me yet.

Lately I find myself sitting on the porch, watching sunsets like we used to, with a glass of something strong in my hand. I laugh at myself, at the crash I made, because what else can I do? It’s a twisted kind of coping—laughing at my own heartbreak. It doesn’t feel real and it’s really hard to let go but i guess that’s just the way life goes.

I know i was a dick, Rafe. I had too many flaws to count but as sick as it sounds, I loved you first. You’ll always be my first love. You were the best and the worst thing that ever happened to me, a storm that left me shattered but alive. Your love had impact me deeply, it is carved in my soul. No matter where we are, i want you to know that I’ll carry the past and the weight of my mistakes with me. Trust me, it will always, haunt me.

I regret every second for not treating you well, for not being the person you needed. Lastly, i want you to know that I still, truly, deeply, love you, I’m sorry.

*Ding* you heard the bell rings. You rush downstairs to answer the door.

“Pizza delivery”, says the delivery boy standing in front of you. You almost forgot you ordered one, an hour ago. You take your prepaid alfredo chicken pizza and thank him. It was Rafe’s favourite pizza, you’re not sure if it’s still his favourite though. After shutting the door, you walk to your kitchen.

Just two seconds later, *ding* the bell rings again. Did the delivery boy forget anything? You thought.

You open the door, “yes-“ you pause. You couldn’t believe it, standing right in front of you,

“Topper?”

“Topper what are you doing here?” you ask, your voice laced with confusion.

He then steps aside and reveals a man behind him, lying on the steps of your porch- a man whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere. “Rafe,” you whisper.

“Shit I’m sorry to bother you but this dumbass got into an accident for driving while he’s high,” Topper blurts out, panickly.

Your brow furrowing and your confusion deepens. You walk closer to Rafe and spot the blood dripping from his head, “Accident? What? Then why do you bring him here instead of the hospital?” You ask, your voice sharp, slicing through the chaos of the moment.

“He won’t let me. He insisted I bring him here to see you,” Topper explains.

“Y/n,” Rafe speaks up, his voice low and strained.

Your heart skips a beat. It’s like the universe has stopped spinning again. This is the first time you hear him calling your name after two whole years.

“Hey Rafe, you’re bleeding,” you say, your voice mix with feelings.

“I’m fine,” he says, giving a soft, disarming smile while trying to sit up.

You instruct Topper to go find some cloth to stop the bleeding. As he dissapears, you sit on your knees facing to Rafe, “Rafe, what happened? Why are you here?” you ask, still have no clue of what’s going on here.

“I wanted to see you,” he replies, putting on that damn smile again, the one that’s always managed to unravel you. “I miss you, y/n.”

Your face goes pale, your eyes widens, the words hang in the hair, heavy and unexpected. “Rafe, you’re drunk,” you accuse, trying to make sense of what’s happening right now.

“No, I’m not, i swear I’m very conscious right now,” he insists, his voice firm. You’re still not sure if he’s telling the truth or not. “I really miss you, y/n,” he continues, his voice low but still clear for you to hear it.

Your heart aches, torn between disbelief and the undeniable pull of his words. “How hard did you hit your head? God, you’re still bleeding. We need to see a doctor,” you say, trying to stand up, but he grabs your hand, pulling you back down.

“Stop it, I’m fine i swear…this is nothing,” he says waving off the concern. Just then, Topper returns with a towel in his hand. He hands the towel to you and says, “dude, are you sure you’re okay? When i saw your car there were smokes everywhere. Looks like you hit that tree pretty hard,” his voice fill with concern.

“I’m fine Top, just go. I need to talk to y/n,” Rafe says with a dismissive wave. Topper hesitates, he looks at you for confirmation as if you’re the one in charge here. You nod at him, signalling an approval, “s’okay Top i can handle this.”

“Okay, just call me if anything happens,” he says. “Thank you,” you mutter softly to Topper as he’s leaving towards his car.

With Topper gone, you shift your focus back to Rafe. You take the towel and start dabbing on the blood on his forehead, “we still need to get this stitched up,” you say. Rafe then grabs your wrist, his grip firm but not forceful, “look at me,” he demands.

You look at him straight in the eyes, drowning in his blue eyes. It’s overwhelming- staring at the man that you love but no longer yours.

“I do mean what i said, i miss you y/n and i wanted to see you,” he says, his tone steady and sure.

“But why now?” You ask, your voice breaking under the weight of the question.

“Sar..Sarah told me tonight that you’ve been writing letters about me. She found them stashed under your bed,” he says, hesitantly.

Your stomach drops and you shake your head in disbelief, “God…i knew it there was something wrong. She was acting so weird when she left this morning,” you mutter.

“So it’s true? You’ve been writing about me?”

Your face is turning red, you’re struggling to find the words. “I- yes…I’ve been writing letters. Pretending like I’m gonna send it to you but i never do,” you stutter.

“Why didn’t you just send them?” He presses, his voice low, almost pleading.

“You know why Rafe…you’ve moved on. You blocked me few months after we broke up. You’re thriving now with your job, you got your whole life together, and I- I was the reason why we broke up. I can’t just crawl my way back into your life like nothing happened,” you shatter, your voice breaking as you’re struggling to control your tears.

Rafe shakes his head. He brushes his thumb over your knuckles and kisses it. “You’re wrong y/n, you’re absolutely wrong. I’ve been doing nothing over the past two years except than trying to forget about you. That’s why I’ve been doing all these jobs, thinking it could distract me, but no,” he shakes his head again. “Nothing could make me stop thinking about you.”

His confession leaves you breathless, your tears streaming down your face as he continues. “About the blocking and disappearing, I’m really sorry, I was a coward. The truth is, that day i came to your house to apologize. Then, as I stood outside, i saw you were laughing with jj through your window. I knew you guys were not together cause after jj left, I may or may not have confronted him…” he then mouthed sorry. “But then, I remember the way you looked so happy when you’re with him. At that time, I knew I had to let you go cause you deserve someone better and you deserve to be happy so that’s why I blocked you..as if that makes any difference.”

You idiot,” you scoff. “I never wanted anyone else, only you Rafe, only you. You’re the only one who could truly make me happy.”

His eyes glisten, his smile soft and hesitant. “Please forgive me y/n, I swear I’m a better person now and I love- I love you, so much. I still do.”

You reach up, caress his cheek and pull him in for a kiss. “I love you too Rafe,” you whisper. He cups your face and returns the kiss. The kiss is passionate, slow and tender. His lip is so soft and only god knows how much you miss this. The world fades around you, leaving only the two of you, two broken pieces finding their way back to each other.

You pull away from his face and let out a giggle. “Why are you laughing?” He asks, can’t help but let out a soft giggle too.

“Before you came I was actually writing another letter for you,” you admit, a shy smile appears on your face.

“Oh really? Tell me about it baby,” he smirks. Your smile widens at the sound of the nickname that rolls out from his mouth. “Mm I miss that. You, calling me baby. Anyways, it’s in my room, wanna come in?” You ask.

He shakes his head, pulling you closer as he leans back against the stairs railing. “Hmm in a bit sweetheart, you can tell me here while we stargaze. I missed your porch- and mostly you, of course,” he replies with a faint smile.

So you do. You talk to him about the letter while your head rest on his shoulder and your fingers intertwined. “Lastly I wrote, I love you, I’m sorry,” you say, explaining the last content of the letter. But then, you realise he has gone quiet. His stillness unsettling. You glance up to him, “Rafe?” He’s not responding. You check his pulse but there is none. Panic sets in as you shake him, calling his name.

“Rafe”

“Rafe, wake up”

“Wake up!”

“Wake up!”

“Y/n”

“Y/n”

“Y/n, wake up”

You gasp, your heart is pounding like a drum. You’re sweating all over your body as reality crashes down. It was a nightmare.

“Hey..baby you okay?” You turn your head to your right and realise it’s Rafe. He’s okay, he’s alive and he’s sitting on the bed next to you. Relief floods through you like a tidal wave.

“Is it the nightmare again?” He asks. You nod, signalling him that he’s right.

“It’s okay baby I got you. Here, come back to sleep,” he says, gently pulling you into his arms. You smile and cuddle him, clinging to the illusion of safety his embrace provides. You close your eyes again trying to fall back to sleep till your alarm suddenly rings.

You wake up with a tear running down your cheek. You hit the snooze button and realise that was a dream and this time, it’s the true reality. You look to the other side of your bed, it’s empty. It always has been for quite a while now. The truth is, that night after Rafe collapsed, you called for an ambulance. On the way to the hospital, they try everything to make his heart beat again, but nothing works. It was too late. He had lost too many blood before that you weren’t aware of and that same night, Rafe had died in your arms.

It’s been 3 years since the tragic. You keep having the same dream almost every night. Part of you is grateful that you and Rafe had ended in good terms but another part of you knows that the truth is you’ll never get the chance to redeem yourself and be a better partner. There’s nothing remaining other than the memories that will haunt you forever.

Rafe, if you’re hearing this, I love you, I’m sorry.

Like and reblog if you want to kys after reading this😇☺️

[daisymbin]

Hi!! Could I have 24 and 31 fluff with mingyu? 🥹🥹

I love your writing btw!! I look forward to each story 🥹🥹

thank you lovely!!! hopefully you enjoy this one too!! <3

full prompt list!

check out my masterlist! // gyu's m.list

fluff prompt #24: "you’re the only person who knows how to make me smile like this." +

fluff prompt #31:"you’re like my personal sunshine."

mingyu sat on the couch, arms crossed, determined not to laugh. jeonghan, dokyeom, and joshua had pulled out every trick in the book—terrible impressions, absurd dance moves, and a variety of props that didn’t make sense. (why was dokyeom wearing a traffic cone on his head?)

but mingyu hadn’t cracked, not once. “you guys are terrible at this,” he said smugly.

jeonghan narrowed his eyes. “oh, you think you’re tough, huh? just you wait.” he turned toward the hallway and yelled, “we need backup!”

you peeked into the room, confused. “what’s going on?”

“mingyu’s trying to act all serious,” jeonghan explained, waving you in. “we need you to make him laugh. you’re the secret weapon.”

mingyu immediately smiled at the sight of you, the corners of his lips betraying him even before you stepped fully into the room.

you raised an eyebrow. “wait, did you already smile? i didn’t even do anything yet.”

“i didn’t smile,” mingyu lied, pressing his lips together and looking away.

“oh, he definitely smiled,” joshua said, grinning.

jeonghan clapped his hands together. “perfect. now, all you have to do is—”

“actually,” you interrupted, walking over and crossing your arms, “i don’t even need to try. i can just talk about the time mingyu cried because he thought his favorite hoodie shrunk in the wash.”

mingyu’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping “don’t!”

“oh, i have to,” you said, grinning as you turned to the others. “it was last winter. he came over in a full panic, holding the hoodie like it was a wounded animal, whining, ‘it’s ruined! my favourite hoodie is ruined!’”

joshua burst out laughing. “no way.”

“i was devastated!” mingyu defended, his voice getting higher.

“you didn’t even check the tag,” you continued, ignoring him. “i looked at it and told him it was one of those cropped hoodies. it wasn’t even shrunk.”

dokyeom fell over, clutching his stomach as he laughed. “he thought it shrunk?!”

“he tried to stretch it out!” you added, laughing now too. “he was literally pulling on it like it was gum, yelling, ‘why, why, why?!’”

mingyu groaned, burying his face in his hands. “you’re the worst.”

“oh, i’m not done,” you said, wiping a tear from your eye. “remember the time you got stuck in the elevator because you hit every single button trying to be funny?”

jeonghan leaned forward. “wait, what happened?”

“he was trying to impress some kid who was in the elevator with him,” you explained. “he hit every button, and then the elevator got stuck between floors. he had to wait for maintenance to get him out. how embarrassing.”

by this point, mingyu had given up, laughing along with everyone else. “okay, okay, that’s enough!”

“oh no, we’re just getting started,” joshua said, wiping tears from his eyes.

mingyu shook his head, looking at you with mock betrayal. “i can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

you shrugged innocently. “hey, you brought this on yourself. don’t challenge me if you’re not ready.”

he sighed dramatically but couldn’t hide the grin spreading across his face. “you’re seriously the only person who knows how to make me laugh like this.”

you paused, caught off guard by his tone. “mingyu…”

he smiled at you, the teasing gone from his expression. “i mean it. you’re like my personal sunshine.”

the room went quiet for a beat, the other three exchanging knowing looks.

“okay, that’s sweet and all,” jeonghan broke the silence, “but you still lost the game.”

mingyu rolled his eyes. “yeah, yeah, whatever.”

but as he looked back at you, his smile softened. “thanks for always knowing how to cheer me up, even if it’s at my expense.”

“anytime,” you said, grinning. “besides, you’re the easiest target.” as the laughter continued, mingyu couldn’t help but think that losing the game wasn’t so bad when it meant having you there to brighten his day.

[azrielslightintheshadows]

Hi!!! Could you possibly do a fluffy Rhys x reader where reader isn’t really into pda but the second her and Rhys are behind closed doors she becomes physically affectionate with him? She will show affection publicly every now and then but likes to keep it private for the most part.

Touch starved

Rhysand x f!Reader

Masterlist

Warnings; none, maybe a bit suggestive?

Hello I hope you enjoy the way i wrote your request

Rhysand always enjoyed showing off, it didn’t matter where he was, he didn’t care about the occasion meaning that he would steal the spotlight even at someone’s wedding. So, when he found his mate, he wanted to show her off to the entire world. He also wanted to show everyone that she belonged to him. Imagine the shock when he realized that you don’t like to show your affection in public. He was devastated at first but after the first time you spent time in public for more than a few hours he realized how good it felt when you were alone, how more affectionate you became because you were touch starved. Like today… Nesta decided to celebrate her birthday at a tavern which was kind of odd, but everyone agreed since you wanted to make the day about her and only her. You were sitting next to Rhysand as you talked with Cassian and Mor. Your knee touching your mate’s under the table being the only action of love for the time being. Rhysand felt irritated and he could feel your desperation to touch him through the bond but being the stubborn female you were he knew that you wouldn’t budge. It had been more than 15 hours since the last time you two were alone and your body was literally shaking with need, your shy nature though dreaded the idea of touching your dashing mate.

“Y/n are you listening?” Cassian asked with a worried look.

Your eyes focused back on him, and you shook your head trying to put your thoughts in order. “Yeah… no… sorry I’m just tired” you sighed.

“Honey, you don’t look good maybe you should head home” Mor suggested softly and caressed your upper arm.

Rhys immediately turned to you with furrowed eyebrows “Are you okay love?”

“I think we should go home” you replied and glanced at Nesta who was having the time of her life with her sisters. “I think she will be okay”.

Rhys smiled and being the amazing mate that he is he stood up and grabbed your hand leading you outside while also saying quick goodbyes to his friends.

The moment you stepped into your shared house you sighed in delight and ran to your room to get changed.

“So are you really tired or you couldn’t resist me anymore?” Rhys smirked when he walked into the room making you wonder if he somehow planted the need in your head.

You changed into your nightgown and glanced at him. “Just tired” you shrugged and slipped in your bed.

Rhys stopped undressing and looked at you with a cocked eyebrow making you giggle.

“You’re such a bad liar” he gave you his feline smile and crawled on the bed.

“Come here” you opened your arms and legs for him to lie on top of you. When he made himself comfortable between your legs with his head resting on your chest you smiled and started caressing his hair with one hand and his bare back with the other.

He hummed and relaxed on top of you carefully though so he wouldn’t crush you.

After a while you lowered yourself and planted kisses on top of his head making him moan and tighten his arms around your middle. His scent clouded your senses, the scent of smoke and whiskey with just a small hint of something sweet made you inhale sharply while your hand trembled on top of his velvety skin.

“Feels so nice” he murmured, and you smiled.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Morning came and you woke up alone stretching over his side of the bed trying to find some of his familiar warmth. After a few minutes you huffed because it wasn’t enough and left the room in search for your mate. You tiptoed into his office where he was seated on his big chair, legs spread wide as he read a book.

“There you are” you said softly and approached him. He gave you a sweet smile and you took a seat on his lap.

“Hi” you murmured and rubbed your cheek on the base of his neck touching your cold nose on his warm and soft skin earning a chuckle from him.

“Missed me?” He asked and started caressing your hair with one hand while the other held the book.

“You know I can’t stay away from you” you smiled and wrapped your hands around his torso. “Wish I could stay here all day”

You felt his chest moving sharply as he let out a small laugh “then that’s what we’ll do” he replied and got comfortable.

That’s how you spent your day, on his lap prepping small kisses on his neck and chest while he read his book with a sweet smile on his face

@littlest-w01f , @zara-aliza08

[lottluvs]

Jackie Taylor x Shy! Female Reader (but Jackie brings out your confident side): Childhood best friends to lovers.

Jackie and your parents ran in the same social circles, your fathers being especially close, while your mothers did not get along beyond polite pleasantries. You attend different schools but talk on the phone daily and see each other as often as possible. You both planned your entire future together, and you start dating. Your parents tell you that you’re moving, and no matter how much you beg to stay, it’s non-negotiable. Not long after, you find out about the plane crash.

Thank you! — 🫀

Teathered By Distance, Torn By Fate . (✉️)

gripping at the sheets as my tears stain them. crying. this reminds me of the movie ghost. ( p . s : proofread by scan , apologies for spelling errors ! ) 🌿

paring : jackie taylor x reader , c / w : character death , grieving , hallucinations , heartache , overall total devastation , fluff , hurt/comfort .

summary : childhood best friends become more , growing together , planning a future , when not only does reader move away , but the news of an unfortunate plane crash tears the two completely apart from harsh reality .

words : 5k

lottluvs , feel free to translate with credit . . open to criticism 🌱

a / n : i had to use a few time skips to pair this with all my ideas , my apologies!

Your first memory of Jackie Taylor was at her family’s Fourth of July barbecue when you were five years old. She had come bounding up to you, her confidence as radiant as the sun that reflected off her blonde curls.

“I’m Jackie,” she’d declared, sticking out her hand. “We’re going to be best friends.”

And just like that, she was right.

Your fathers worked together in the same tight-knit business circles, making your families natural fixtures in each other’s lives. While your mothers barely tolerated each other behind thin veneers of polite civility, Jackie and you were inseparable. It didn’t matter that you attended different schools or that she thrived in a social world that terrified you. Jackie made you feel like you belonged wherever she was.

Jackie always had a way of filling the silence you preferred with her own brand of light. When you shrank from new people or doubted yourself, Jackie was there to pull you forward, her hand warm and firm around yours. She made you feel safe and seen.

“We’re going to do everything together when we’re older,” she said one summer, sprawled across her pristine pink comforter, flipping through a magazine. “College, apartments, double dates. Everything.”

You didn’t know what your future looked like, but Jackie’s confidence was enough for both of you.

As you grew older, your bond didn’t fade. Even with your different schools and social circles, you talked every day—on the phone, at each other’s houses, and in the few moments you managed to steal during busy weekends. She told you about soccer practices and her drama with Shauna, and you shared pieces of your life you never thought you’d say out loud.

Then, when you were both sixteen, something changed. Jackie’s touches lingered just a little too long. Her eyes stayed on you in ways they hadn’t before. It was small at first—a brush of her knee against yours under the dinner table, a hand on your lower back that made your breath hitch. You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. Jackie was affectionate with everyone. But deep down, you wanted it to mean everything.

It wasn’t until the night of her family’s Fourth of July party that your quiet longing turned into something real. You and Jackie had slipped away from the crowd, sitting in the backyard under the fireworks. The colorful lights reflected in her eyes as she turned to you, her voice soft but certain.

“You’ll always stay with me, right? Even if everything else changes?”

“Of course,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

Jackie smiled, leaning in until her forehead rested against yours. “Good.” Then, without hesitation, she kissed you.

Her lips were soft, hesitant at first, but when you didn’t pull away, she pressed closer. It felt like everything you’d ever dreamed but didn’t dare to hope for. When she pulled back, her eyes searched yours.

From that moment on, Jackie Taylor wasn’t just your best friend— more— she was your everything.

Dating Jackie was like standing in the sun. She made you feel braver, stronger, like the world wasn’t so scary with her by your side. But she also had an image to uphold, so your relationship remained a secret. It didn’t matter. The stolen glances, whispered promises, and late-night phone calls were enough.

“I don’t get how you don’t see it,” Jackie said one evening, her head resting on your shoulder as you lay on her bed. “You’re amazing. You just… don’t let yourself show it.”

You shrugged. “I guess I’m not like you.”

“No,” she said, sitting up and cupping your face. “You’re better.”

Jackie had a way of making you believe her, even when your doubts threatened to creep in.

But good things don’t last forever.

The announcement came one chilly autumn evening: your father’s portion of his job was transferring your family out of state. When they told you, your heart shattered. You begged them to let you stay—offered to live with relatives, promised to make it work somehow—but it was no use.

When you told Jackie, the confidence she wore like armor cracked.

“You can’t leave,” she said, her voice breaking. “You promised me.”

“I don’t have a choice,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face.

Jackie pulled you into her arms, holding you like she could keep you from slipping away. “We’ll make it work,” she said, her voice firm despite the tears in her eyes. “I’ll visit. You’ll visit. It won’t change anything.”

But you both knew it wasn’t that simple.

The days leading up to your move were a blur of heartbreak. Every moment felt heavy with the knowledge that it might be your last together. Jackie kissed you like she was trying to memorize the feel of your lips, held your hand like letting go would break her.

When the moving truck pulled away, you watched her figure disappear in the rearview mirror, and a part of you broke.

At first, you and Jackie tried to hold on. You called every night, sent letters, and made plans to see each other. But life got in the way. Jackie had soccer, her friends, and the pressure of being Jackie Taylor. You had your own struggles—trying to adjust to a new school, a new life, without her. The calls became less frequent, the letters shorter.

Then, one day, the calls diminished altogether.

You tried to tell yourself it was just life pulling you apart. That Jackie was busy, and you were busy, and this was normal. But deep down, you felt the tether between you fraying.

Then the news came.

A plane crash. Survivors unlikely.

The news came over the TV, cutting through the quiet hum of your family’s kitchen. The anchor’s voice was grave, his words slow and deliberate, as though speaking them aloud would somehow make them less horrifying.

“A private plane carrying the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team has gone missing. Early reports indicate that the aircraft may have crashed in a remote forest area, as it has been missing for over 48 hours. Authorities have not yet confirmed if there are any survivors.”

Your fork clattered onto your plate. The world tilted sideways as the air was sucked from your lungs.

No.

No, no, no.

Your parents turned toward you, their faces blurred through the haze of panic that had suddenly engulfed you.

“Isn’t that—”

You didn’t stay to hear the rest.

Heart pounding, you sprinted to your room, slamming the door shut behind you. Jackie. Jackie was on that plane.

Your hands trembled as you grabbed the corded phone from your nightstand, punching in her number. Each ring felt like an eternity, the dial tone taunting you with its silence. Then came the voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message!”

Her voice, so bright and alive, hit you like a punch to the chest.

You hung up and immediately dialed again. And again. And again. Each time, the voicemail greeted you, that same cheerful tone now cruelly mocking.

The phone slipped from your hand, hitting the carpet with a dull thud. Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled toward the shoebox tucked beneath your bed. It was filled with letters, Polaroids, and little trinkets Jackie had given you over the years. The pink friendship bracelet she’d made at summer camp when you were thirteen. The mixtape she’d handed you last Christmas, scrawled with Our Favorites in her messy handwriting.

Fumbling through the box, you found her old soccer hoodie—the one she’d let you borrow after a game when you’d complained about being cold. It still faintly smelled like her, a mix of flowery deodorant and something undeniably Jackie.

You clutched it to your chest, sinking onto your bed as your sobs tore through the silence.

“No, no, no,” you whispered, shaking your head as though you could will the reality away. “She’s okay. She’s fine. She’s Jackie.”

Your fingers fumbled to rewind the tape deck on your stereo. The mixtape clicked into place, Jackie’s familiar voice spilling into the room as she introduced the first track—“Every Breath You Take,” by The Police.

“Okay, so, this is totally a banger,” her recorded voice said, laughing. “I’m going to make you listen to it on repeat until you admit it’s your favorite, too.”

The first beat riff began, jagged and raw, and you doubled over, clutching the hoodie tighter. Jackie was alive here, in this moment. She was alive.

Desperate, you opened the drawer of your desk where you kept the birthday card she’d given you last year. It was signed in her bubbly handwriting: Happy Sweet Sixteen! To my favorite human ever. I love you more than all the Pop-Tarts in the world.

The tears blurred the words, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe.

“—every move you make, I’ll be watching you.”

When your legs finally gave out, you slid to the floor, surrounded by her things. The hoodie, the bracelet, the mixtape, the Polaroids of you laughing together at the lake. Each item was a piece of her, a piece of what you’d lost.

You grabbed the phone again, dialing her number one more time.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do. Leave a message after the beep!”

This time, you didn’t hang up.

“Jackie,” you choked out, your voice shaking. “Please, please call me back. I don’t care when, just… please.”

You knew the plane carried a phone, in your delusional confusion, you thought by calling her, she’d pick up.

The beep cut you off, and you clutched the receiver to your chest, your sobs swallowing the quiet hum of the tape still playing in the background.

The hours blurred together as you sifted through every piece of her you could find, replaying old voicemails, and clutching her gifts like they were lifelines. The sun set outside your window, casting long shadows across your room, but you didn’t move.

You weren’t ready to face a world without Jackie Taylor.

The days after the crash passed in a haze. You barely ate. You barely slept. You existed in a liminal space between denial and despair, grappling with the crushing weight of Jackie’s absence.

Your parents tried to reach you, hovering in the doorway of your room with concerned eyes. But what could they say? How could they comfort you when Jackie—your Jackie—was gone? Their platitudes of “We’re here for you” and “You’ll feel better in time” felt hollow, like someone trying to sew up a wound without stitching the edges together.

You spent hours lying on your bed, staring at the ceiling, Jackie’s hoodie clutched to your chest. The cassette mixtape played on repeat, her favorite songs filling the suffocating silence. But even the music couldn’t drown out the gnawing ache in your chest.

You told yourself you needed to keep moving—go to school, do your homework, live your life. But every time you tried, the weight of grief pulled you back under. You’d sit at your desk with a pencil in hand, only to find yourself tracing her name over and over on the margins of your notebook. Jackie Taylor. As though writing it down could bring her back.

Your phone became a lifeline, a relic of hope you couldn’t let go of. You called her number every night, even when you knew it would go to voicemail.

“Hey, it’s Jackie! You know what to do…”

You’d listen to her voice until it hurt, your tears soaking into the receiver as you whispered into the void:

“Jackie, please. I don’t know how to do this without you, we— drifted apart I know, I fucking.. hate to admit it, but every ocean connects somehow, someway , right?”

As the days turned into weeks, people around you began to move on. The news cycle shifted, and the world seemed to forget the missing plane and the lives it had claimed. But you couldn’t forget.

You started carrying pieces of her with you everywhere. Her bracelet stayed on your wrist, the plastic beads pressing into your skin like a quiet reminder. The necklace she’d given you—a tiny star charm—rested against your collarbone, tucked beneath your shirt.

You wore her hoodie almost every day, its fraying cuffs a comfort against your fingertips. It didn’t matter if people stared. It didn’t matter if your parents exchanged worried glances. Jackie was gone, but these pieces of her felt like all you had left.

One evening, you found yourself alone in your room, the sun setting outside your window. The fading light cast long shadows across your walls, and for the first time in days, the stillness felt unbearable.

You pulled out the shoebox where you kept Jackie’s letters and gifts, spreading them across your bed like puzzle pieces you couldn’t fit back together. A folded note slipped from one of the Polaroids, fluttering to the floor.

You picked it up, unfolding it with trembling hands. It was from last summer, written in Jackie’s messy scrawl:

You’re my favorite person in the entire world, you know that? Even if you don’t believe it, I do. Don’t ever forget how much you mean to me.

Tears filled your eyes as you traced the words with your fingers. Jackie had always seen something in you that you struggled to see in yourself. Her confidence in you had been unshakable, like a lighthouse guiding you through the storm.

But now the lighthouse was gone, and you were left adrift in the dark.

The first time you returned to school, it felt like walking through a dream. The hallways were too bright, the chatter of your classmates too loud. You kept your head down, gripping the straps of your backpack like they might steady you.

In history class, someone whispered about the missing plane, and your chest tightened. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

At lunch, your friends tried to engage you in conversation, but the sound of their laughter grated against your raw nerves. Didn’t they understand? Jackie was gone. The world wasn’t supposed to keep spinning like nothing had happened.

You excused yourself to the bathroom, locking the stall door behind you as your knees buckled. Pulling Jackie’s bracelet from your wrist, you clutched it tightly, the beads biting into your palm.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “What am I supposed to do without you?”

The silence was deafening.

Eventually, the world forced you to keep moving, even when it felt impossible. You went to class. You finished assignments. You smiled when people asked if you were okay. But inside, the grief stayed with you, a constant ache that never fully faded.

You started writing letters to her, pouring out the words you could no longer say aloud.

Dear Jackie,

I miss you. I keep hoping I’ll wake up and this will all be some horrible dream. But it’s not. You’re really gone, and I don’t know how to live in a world without you. You always said I was stronger than I thought, but I don’t feel strong. I feel like I’m breaking.

The letters became a nightly ritual, a way to tether yourself to her memory. Some nights, you felt her presence so vividly it was like she was sitting beside you, her laughter ringing in your ears. Other nights, the emptiness was unbearable, and you cried until there was nothing left.

But through it all, you held on to the pieces of her that remained. Her words. Her gifts. Her love.

Because even though Jackie was gone, she had left a part of herself with you—a light that refused to go out, even in the darkest moments.

—

It had been nearly a year and a half since the crash. Time hadn’t healed the wound, but it had dulled the edges, turning the raw pain into something quieter, sharper. The grief was no longer a suffocating presence in your every waking moment, but it still lingered, hidden in the farthest corners of your mind. You’d learned to push it down, to carry it like a scar.

You had changed. You weren’t the same shy girl who clung to Jackie’s hoodie and cried herself to sleep every night. You had learned to move through the world without her, even if every step felt wrong. You wore her bracelet still, but her other things—the hoodie, the mixtape—were tucked away in a box at the back of your closet. You didn’t need to see them every day anymore. The memories of her were enough to carry you forward.

It was a quiet evening in your living room when the news broke. You weren’t even paying attention to the TV, your focus instead on a novel you’d been struggling to get through for weeks. The sound of the anchor’s voice was almost background noise until a familiar word cut through.

“…rescue efforts successful after nineteen months in the wilderness. A handful of the Wiskayok High School girls’ soccer team have been found alive…”

Your book slipped from your hands, hitting the floor with a dull thud.

The screen showed grainy helicopter footage of a group of girls being loaded onto a plane, their faces obscured by heavy jackets and camera angles. The anchor continued, her voice professional but tinged with emotion.

“While the survivors’ identities remain hidden to protect their privacy, sources have confirmed the rescue of Charlotte Matthews, one of the team’s midfielders. Families of the victims are being notified, and authorities are working to provide answers regarding the fate of those still unaccounted for.”

Your heart felt like it had been punched out of your chest. Jackie.

The familiar pang of grief rose to choke you, but this time, it was tangled with something else: hope.

“Mom,” you said, your voice shaky. “Turn it up.”

Your mother, seated in her armchair, grabbed the remote and increased the volume.

The camera panned to a press conference. A man you vaguely recognized as Lottie Matthews’ father stood at a podium, his face lined with exhaustion and relief.

“My daughter is alive,” he said, his voice trembling. “After nineteen months of thinking she was gone, she’s alive—“

The room spun around you. Nineteen months. Jackie had been missing for nineteen months. If Lottie had survived… Jackie could have survived too.

Your hands trembled as you reached for the phone. You didn’t even know who you were calling—your parents, someone, anyone who might have answers.

The line rang, and no one picked up. You hung up and immediately tried again, your breaths coming in short gasps.

“Jackie,” you whispered, her name slipping from your lips unbidden. “Please.”

But the hope burned out as quickly as it flared when the anchor returned, her tone somber.

“Authorities have confirmed that several team members did not survive the crash or the conditions in the wilderness. An official list of the deceased will be released in the coming days.”

Your stomach dropped.

No.

They couldn’t mean Jackie. They couldn’t.

Your mom reached out to squeeze your hand, but you flinched away, the world a blur of sound and motion.

“I need to—I need air,” you stammered, stumbling to your feet. You barely registered your mom calling after you as you slipped out the front door into the cool evening.

The street was quiet, the faint hum of crickets filling the air. You sank down onto the porch steps, burying your face in your hands.

You had spent the last year and a half convincing yourself that Jackie was gone. Trying, trying so hard to heal, but these words— the news— made you feel like blood was spilling from a slit throat. You’d told yourself over and over that she wasn’t coming back, that you had to let her go. But now, the possibility that she might be alive clawed its way to the surface, tearing open wounds you thought you’d closed.

And yet, there was that terrible, gnawing fear that she wasn’t one of the survivors. That the next announcement would confirm what you’d been running from since the day of the crash: Jackie wasn’t coming back.

You stayed there for hours, long after the sky had gone dark, replaying every memory of her in your mind. Her laughter. Her smile. The way she’d kissed you under the fireworks.

Would you ever see her again? Or was the Jackie you’d loved lost forever in the wilderness?

The days that followed were torturous. Every time you turned on the TV or opened a newspaper, there was another update, another scrap of information that sent your emotions spiraling.

The survivors had been flown to a secure hospital. Their names were still being withheld, except for Lottie’s, whose parents had chosen to go public. Speculation swirled about what had happened in the wilderness, but no one seemed to have answers.

Then, two weeks later, the announcement came.

“The identities of the deceased have been confirmed,” the anchor said, her voice heavy. “Among those who did not survive… Laura Lee, Jackie Taylor—“

It felt like the floor dropped out from beneath you.

No.

You shook your head, the word repeating over and over in your mind.

No.

Not Jackie.

But the anchor continued, listing names you barely heard through the ringing in your ears. You couldn’t breathe. Your vision blurred.

Your mother’s arms were around you, pulling you close, but the warmth of her touch did nothing to thaw the icy numbness that had overtaken you.

Jackie was gone. She had been gone all along.

The days after the announcement felt like a relapse into the darkness you thought you had escaped. It wasn’t just grief anymore—it was finality. The hope you had carried, fragile and desperate, had been extinguished. Jackie was gone. Truly, irrevocably gone.

But even as the world seemed to demand you move on, something inside you refused to let her go.

One night, you found yourself sitting in the quiet of your room, Jackie’s hoodie draped over your shoulders. You had slipped back into old habits, listening to her mixtape and rereading her letters until the words blurred together. It was the only way you knew to keep her close.

You stared at the photo on your bedside table—Jackie in her soccer uniform, her smile so vibrant it felt alive. The room was dim, the soft glow of the lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

“Jackie,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how to do this without you.”

The silence was deafening.

Until it wasn’t.

A faint creak echoed through the room, and you froze. The air shifted, growing heavier, charged with something you couldn’t name.

And then you saw her.

Jackie.

She stood in the doorway, just as you remembered her. Her blonde hair fell in soft waves around her shoulders, and her eyes—those warm, familiar eyes—were fixed on you. She was wearing the same soccer jersey she’d worn the day you last saw her, the one you had teased her for calling “too jock.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“Jackie?” you whispered, your voice trembling.

She smiled, that small, knowing smile that always made your heart ache.

“That’s me,” she said softly, stepping into the room.

You wanted to run to her, to throw yourself into her arms, but your body felt frozen in place.

“How—how are you here?”

Jackie tilted her head, her expression both tender and sad. “Does it matter?”

Her voice was exactly as you remembered—soft, confident, and full of that quiet assurance only she could bring.

She closed the distance between you, kneeling in front of where you sat on the edge of the bed. Her hands cupped your face, her touch impossibly— there.. warm.

“You’ve been carrying me for so long,” she whispered. “Too long.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you reached up to touch her face, half-expecting her to disappear. But she didn’t. Her skin was solid beneath your fingertips, her presence achingly real.

“I can’t let you go,” you said, your voice breaking. “I don’t know how.”

Jackie’s thumb brushed away your tears, and she leaned forward, pressing her forehead against yours. “You’ve been so strong, even when you didn’t think you could be. But it’s time, my love.”

“No,” you choked out, shaking your head. “Please. I can’t lose you again.”

She pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, and for a moment, the sadness in her gaze threatened to shatter you.

“You’ll never lose me,” she said. “I’m part of you. I always will be. But you have to let go of the pain. You have to let yourself live again.”

You clung to her, your hands gripping her shoulders like she might vanish if you let go. “Just stay a little longer. Please.”

Jackie smiled faintly, her fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. “Okay. You always were a clingy one; Just a little longer.”

She leaned in, her lips brushing against yours in a kiss so soft it felt like a whisper. It was bittersweet, filled with all the love and longing you’d carried for her. For a moment, the world fell away, and it was just the two of you, wrapped in the warmth of her presence.

When she pulled back, she rested her forehead against yours, her breath mingling with yours.

“I love you,” she murmured. “More than anything.”

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Jackie’s hand slid to your chest, resting over your heart. “Then promise me something.”

“What?”

“Promise me you’ll let yourself move on. Not forget me—never forget me. But don’t let this pain hold you back. You deserve to be happy.”

Your chest ached, the weight of her words pressing against the fragile parts of you. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You can,” she said, her voice firm but kind. “You’ve always been stronger than you think.”

The room grew quieter, the edges of her form beginning to blur.

“Jackie—”

“It’s okay,” she said, her smile soft and bittersweet. “I’ll always be with you. Always.”

Her touch faded, the warmth of her presence slipping away like sand through your fingers.

And then she was gone.

You sat there in the silence, tears streaming down your face, your heart aching in a way that was both painful and strangely freeing. For the first time, you felt the faintest flicker of peace. Jackie was gone, but her love remained—a steady, quiet light guiding you forward.

You pressed a hand to your chest, where her hand had rested, and whispered into the stillness:

“I promise.”

—

The journey back to Wiskayok was one you had avoided for a year and a half. Every mile felt heavier than the last, the weight of grief pressing against your chest. Yet, after that night—after seeing Jackie—you knew it was time.

Your hometown hadn’t changed much. The streets still wound through familiar neighborhoods, the same local shops still dotted the corners, and the Taylor family’s perfectly manicured house still stood as a quiet reminder of the life Jackie had once led.

The memorial was in the center of town, near the high school where Jackie and the team had spent countless hours practicing on the soccer field. It was a simple but beautiful tribute: a polished stone monument etched with the names of those who had died in the crash. Flowers, candles, and small mementos surrounded it, placed there by loved ones and strangers alike.

You stepped closer, your fingers trailing across the engraved letters, Jackie Taylor.

Her name seemed to stand out among the others, though you knew that was just your heart speaking. She wasn’t just a name on a stone—she was your Jackie. The girl who had held your hand when you were scared, who had kissed you under fireworks, who had shown you how to believe in yourself.

Your hand slipped into your bag, pulling out one of the thousands of Polaroids you’d taken over the years. This one was your favorite. Jackie was in mid-laugh, her eyes crinkled and her head tilted back, a half-eaten popsicle in her hand. You’d taken it during one of those lazy summer afternoons when the world had felt so simple, so full of possibilities.

You crouched down, placing the photo at the base of the memorial. It felt like giving her a piece of yourself—a piece of the life you had shared, one she would always be a part of.

“Hi, Jackie,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I’ve been… trying. I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but I’m trying.”

The wind rustled the leaves of a nearby tree, and for a moment, you could almost imagine it was her response—a soft, reassuring presence.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “And I don’t think that will ever change. But I know now that holding onto the pain isn’t what you’d want. You’d want me to live. To keep going. To be happy.”

You took a shaky breath, brushing a tear from your cheek. “It’s hard, though. Letting go is hard. But I’m going to try. For you.”

Standing up, you took one last look at the photo, now surrounded by flowers and candles. It felt right, leaving it there—a tangible reminder of Jackie’s light in a sea of grief.

As you turned to leave, the weight in your chest felt lighter, if only by a fraction. Moving on didn’t mean forgetting. It didn’t mean leaving Jackie behind. It meant carrying her with you in a different way, one that didn’t hurt as much.

In the weeks that followed, you found yourself living in small but meaningful ways. You picked up new hobbies, reconnected with friends, and even let yourself laugh again. But you also made it a point to return to Wiskayok every few months, bringing another few Polaroids, another piece of Jackie’s memory, to leave at the memorial.

It became your way of honoring her—not by clinging to the past, but by celebrating the joy she had brought into your life.

And each time you left a Polaroid, it felt like a promise: to live, to love, to keep moving forward—even when it was hard.

In some way, it made her unseen presence feel even more lively.

[potato-lord-but-not]

ough…… they’re so….. hng

[cressidagrey]

It's a Love Story - Chapter 1

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

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

Koschei the Deathless Sorcerer was killed by the Spymaster of the Night Court. 

It was less dramatic than it sounded. At least Azriel thought so. 

And if Lucien hadn’t been a fucking idiot and put himself into a position to be kidnapped by the very same deathless sorcerer…then they wouldn’t even have been in that kind of situation. 

But he had been and so it ended with Azriel so magically exhausted that he collapsed the very same moment Truthteller stroke true once more. 

At least Koschei was slayn. 

And the only reason Azriel had gone to rescue the red-headed male in the first place was the fact that  Lucien was Elaine’s mate. Lucien was the male Elain loved. Azriel couldn’t let him die. 

Couldn’t let Elain feel the devastation of a mating bond broken by death…so his decision making had been quick. Either he would manage to get Lucien free…or he would die trying.  There wasn’t many things that he wouldn’t do for the female he loved. Even when he knew it shouldn’t be. 

Azriel had never been very good at knowing when enough was enough after all, wasn’t he?

No price was high enough to pay when it was about Elain’s happiness, as far as Azriel was concerned.  

He hadn't expected to wake up, and yet… there he was. Alive and whole.

*I hope it was worth it, Master,* the shadows sniped at him.

He blinked, taking in the dim light of the room, taking in the familiar surroundings. His room in the House of Wind.

“You are a fucking idiot, you know?” Cassian hissed at him from his place at his bedside and Azriel blinked at him.

"Lucien?" he brought out hoarsely.

"Not as much as a fucking scratch on him. Thanks to you," Cassian responded. "You on the other hand...Madja thought you were going to fucking die from pure magical exhaustion!"

Even Azriel he had...it would have been worth it. Lucien had made it out alive - and that was all that mattered in the end. Elain would be happy. That was all he cared about.

He didn't say that aloud though. 

He took a deep breath, opening his eyes again. "How long was I out?" he asked.

"Three days," Cassian growled. "Three. Days."

Azriel sat up slowly, wincing at the ache in his muscles. It felt like his entire body was one giant bruise, every inch of him pained and sore.

"Lay back down," Cassian snapped.

Azriel shot him a glare, but sank back onto the bed nonetheless. "I'm fine," he grumbled. "Just tired."

"Yeah, well, we'll let Madja be the judge of that," Cassian snapped. "And when you are feeling better, I am going to kill you for going off on your own!"

Azriel just gave him a weary look. "Better me than you," he said dryly. He closed his eyes, feeling a deep exhaustion settle over him. Cassian had Nesta to think about. Azriel didn't. Azriel just had himself.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!" Cassian demanded.

Azriel didn't have the energy to answer

He dosed off, feeling the shadows twine around him. They were muttering, words he could c quite understand, bitching under their breath but for once it was comforting.

He woke up, feeling groggy and disoriented. His eyes felt like sandpaper, and his limbs were heavy. He groggily blinked at the room, feeling like he was in a haze.

It took him a moment to realize he wasn't alone. Cassian was still there, as was Madja.

Azriel groaned, pushing himself up into a sitting position. His head was throbbing, and his vision was a little blurred. He rubbed his face, trying to clear the fog from his mind. "Hey," he said, his voice rough and gravelly.

Cassian and Madja both looked at him, their expressions relieved. "How are you feeling?" Madja asked him, moving closer to the bed and waving a hand in front of his face.

"Like I was hit by a wagon," Azriel admitted. His muscles felt tight and sore, his body heavy with fatigue. His wings felt like they were made of lead, and every movement took a huge effort.

"That's unsurprising considering you nearly magicked yourself to death," Madja said gruffly. "Your body had a tremendous amount of stress and strain put on it. You're lucky to be alive."

He gritted his teeth. "Yeah, well, I didn't have a lot of other options," he pointed out.

Madja just let out a huff and began prodding and poking at his body, running her hands over his wings and checking his pulse. Cassian watched anxiously from the side, his arms crossed over his chest.

Azriel bore her ministrations in silence, trying not to wince as she poked and prodded at him. He knew she was just trying to help, but it didn't make the ordeal any more pleasant.

After what felt like forever, she finally stepped back, nodding to herself. "You're lucky, shadowsinger," she said gruffly. "You're lucky you're so damn resilient," she said, and he couldn't tell if it was a compliment or just an observation.

He looked at her blearily. "I guess I can add that to my list of things to be proud of," he muttered sarcastically.

Cassian barked out a laugh, but Madja just rolled her eyes. The door opened at that moment. "How's he doing?" Rhys demanded.

Azriel wanted to let out a sigh at the sight of Rhys. He loved his brother, but he didn't have the energy for a lecture right now.

Madja turned to Rhys. "He's weak and he's stupid," she snapped. "But he's alive."

Rhys let out a sigh, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little. "Thank you, Madja," he said. "Would you...give us a moment?"

Madja nodded, patting Azriel's leg as she got up to leave. "Rest," she ordered. "And no strenuous activity for at least a week."

As soon as the door closed behind her, Rhys turned to Azriel. "What were you thinking?" he demanded, his eyes blazing.

"I was thinking that I was saving Lucien's life," Azriel replied evenly, meeting his brother's gaze. "I couldn't let him die, Rhys."

"Wouldn't that have made it easier for you?* Rhys demanded sharply mentally. *You are the one that fancies himself in love with Elain.*

Maybe it shouldn't hurt him as much as it did. He didn't fancy himself in love with her. He was in love with her. Had been in love with her and Rhys had been the one to order him away from her, which had given Lucien the opportunity to swoop in and Elain had...Elain had given in. Given in to that Siren Song of the Mating Bond and was very much in love with her mate now. 

It hurt to hear Rhys say it like that, like it was just some passing infatuation that he'd gotten over.

*Lucien is her mate,* he responded simply. He didn't say what he really thought. He didn't say that he would rather have Elain be happy and never talk with him again than to have her wilt like one of her flowers because her mate had died and the mating bond would be broken… He didn't say that he loved Elain enough, that her happiness was more important to him than anything else. He didn't say any of that.

*At least you are recognising that now,* Rhys said with a snort.  Azriel didn't flinch. Didn't react.

He hid away in that little corner of his brain he went to when everything became too much. Where he could just shut up all his feelings, all these pesky emotions, and just be...nothing. Nothing. That's the only thing he still had left.

He just shrugged, schooling his face into a careless expression. "I did what I had to do, Rhys," he repeated stubbornly. "Lucien is a good male. He didn't deserve to die."

"Elain wants to thank you," Rhys said suddenly.

Azriel's stomach twisted as Rhys mentioned Elain. He felt a pang of longing in his chest, a desperate ache to see her, to touch her, to hear her voice. But he knew he couldn't. He couldn't subject himself to the torture of seeing her with her mate, seeing her happy in Lucien's arms.

So his answer was definite: "There is no need for that," he said simply.

Rhys gave him a sharp look. "Don't be an idiot," he said gruffly. "She's been worried sick about you."

But Azriel just shook his head, even as his heart thudded in his chest.

*You can keep it together for 5 minutes,* Rhys snapped into his mind.

"Rhys," Cassian said carefully. "If he doesn't want to, just let it..."

"He's being ridiculous," Rhys snapped, interrupting Cassian. "Elain is family.”

Azriel grit his teeth but didn't respond. He didn't have the energy for an argument right now. He just wanted to sleep.

*See her for 5 minute snad then you can sulk like a spoiled child until you feel better about yourself,* Rhys bargained drily.

Azriel hesitated. He knew he should see her, knew that it would make things easier for everyone if he did. But the thought of seeing her, seeing her happy with Lucien when he was so miserable, was like a knife to the gut.

"Does it even matter what I want?" he asked, his voice flat.

Rhys let out a frustrated sigh, looking at him with exasperation. "Az, stop being so damned stubborn. Elain has been worried sick about you - the least you can do is let her see that you are alive."

Azriel didn't say anything. Didn't respond. He just stared at Rhys, feeling like every fiber of his being was being pulled apart. He wanted to see her. Wanted to see her more than anything. But he knew that once he saw her, he wouldn't be able to hold himself together. He would break. He would shatter into a thousand pieces.

"Just...come on, Az," Rhys said finally. "Let her see you. She needs to know you're alright."

Azriel knew he couldn't say no. Knew he couldn't hurt her like that. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. "Fine," he said softly. "But just for five minutes."

Five minutes. He could do five minutes. He had to. For her…

She was still as achingly beautiful as she always had been. These devasting brown eyes, the caramel curls...

Azriel's breath hitched at the sight of her, and he felt a wave of conflicting emotions wash over him. Love, longing, sadness, and that bittersweet pang of being so close to something he could never have.

Behave, Rhys warned him sharply.

He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. Trying to push back that wave of feelings that threatened to drown him. It was just five minutes, he reminded himself. Five minutes. He could do this.

The shadows swirled around him, welling up with intensity, shrouding much of his body in inky blackness and Elain flinched back from them.

She had never quite warmed up to them. Azriel was just thankful for that display, for keeping her away from him as she entered the room, Lucien on her heels.

"How...How are you feeling?" she asked him, her voice soft.

He could tell that she was worried, that she was concerned for him. It warmed something inside him, and he hated himself for it. 

"I'm fine," Azriel answered hoarsely.  "Just tired.

"I...thank you," Elain said softly, binting her lip. "If you hadn't...if you hadn't killed Koschei and freed Lucien...I...Thank you, Azriel."

Hearing her say his name again was like a punch to the gut. It was both a comfort and a torture, to be so close to her and yet so far away. He swallowed hard, biting back the words that threatened to spill out.

"You don't owe me any thanks," he said quietly. "I just did what had to be done."

"I do owe you my life," Lucien disagreed. "Thank you. Without your interference...I wouln't have survived, " he said flatly.

Azriel just shrugged, feeling a wave of bitterness wash over him. He had saved Lucien, had risked his life to save the male who was mated to the female he loved. It was a strange sort of irony.

"It's fine," he said roughly. "I'm just glad I got there in time."

He couldn't look at her. Couldn't look at Lucien. It hurt too much. So he stared at the floor, willing the shadows to consume him entirely.

"We are all just happy you are feeling alright," Elain said softly. "I...I was worried about you. Everyone was."

Azriel forced himself to look up at her, his heart clenching at the sincerity in her eyes. She really had been worried about him. "I'm alright," he promised her, his voice rough. "Really. I just need some rest."

Elain hesitated, taking a step forward. He could hear her heartbeat, could feel the warmth radiating off her skin. It was torture to be so close to her and yet so far away. It was torture to know that she was so close and yet so unattainable. He wanted to reach out, to touch her, to hold her, but he knew he couldn't. He held onto that last shred of reason he had.

She tugged a piece of hair behind one delicately arched ear...and that was the moment he saw the gold and pearl ring that decorated her ring finger.

"Congratulations." He wasn't sure how he even brought out these words...how he managed to make them sound...appropriately happy for her.

It took a herculean effort to say those words, to offer a smile that barely reached his eyes. Every fibre of his being was screaming in protest, yelling that he should have been the one giving her that ring, that he should have been the one by her side. But he pushed back those feelings, burying them deep down inside of himself. He couldn't let her see how he truly felt. He couldn't let her know how much it was tearing him apart to stand there and look at her. Look at her with her mate, with the male she loved, the one she had chosen. 

"Congratulation," he repeated, his voice a little rougher than before.

"It wouldn't have been possible without you," Elain said, with a smile.

Azriel just nodded, feeling a lump in his throat. He couldn't find the words to respond, couldn't find the words to express the tangle of emotions swirling inside of him. He just sat there, feeling more alone and isolated than he had in a long time.

Elain took another step in his direction, seemingly ready to reach out, but Cassian intercepted her. placing a gentle hand on Elain's shoulder. "He needs his rest," he said softly. "Let's leave him be for now."

Azriel felt a pang of gratitude towards Cassian. Elain hesitated, looking torn.

"I wish you every happiness," Azriel brought out his voice hoarsely. Not even a lie.  It was the frank truth in these words and Elain gave him a smile, before Lucien's hand came to rest at her lower back, guiding her out of the room.

Thank the cauldron. They were gone. 

He slumped back into the pillow.  He was falling apart. He was exhausted, emotionally and physically. He just wanted to be left alone, to lick his wounds in peace.

"Az..." Cassian said carefully, but he cut him off.

“I am tired,” Azriel said, his voice hoarse. “I need to sleep.”

The shadows swirled around him tighter. 

Rhys and Cassian exchanged a look, before Cassian nodded, "Alright," he said. "Get some rest."

He laid down properly, closing his eyes, calling the shadows to him wordlessly. They swamred around him immediately. Damn Near suffocating him.  It was the only thing that kept him from starting to sob.

The shadows embraced him, wrapping him in their inky blackness, shielding him from the outside world. They were his only comfort, just like they had been for centuries. 

*We are there, Master.* They promised him softly. *It will be fine, Master.*

He didn’t believe a fucking word they said. 

*We are not willing to lose you, Master. We aren’t interested in finding a new master,* they told him seriously. He choked out a laugh that turned into a sob. 

*Sleep, Master. We'll keep watch,* they promised him.

And they did. 

Bone deep exhaustion meant that at least his sleep was dreamless. At least that was given to him. It was a small mercy. 

When he woke up again, Nesta was there, sitting in an armchair reading.

Azriel blinked, feeling disoriented and groggy. He sat up slowly, wincing as his wounds protested the movement. Nesta looked up from her book, her expression neutral.

"How are you feeling?" she asked him quietly.

"Fine," he answered, his voice hoarse. He was fine. He would be fine. 

"Thank you," Nesta said suddenly.

Azriel looked up at her, surprised. He wasn't even sure what she was thanking him for.

"For what?" he asked, his voice rough with sleep.

“You nearly got yourself killed to save my sister’s mate. I think Thank you is the least I owe you," Nesta said drily.

She mustered him with grey eyes and he knew that she knew. Knew that she knew or at the very least could guess about his feelings for Elain and probably be right. She wouldn't say anything, but she knew.

He didn’t want to talk about this anymore. It was over with. Done. 

Lucien and Elain could be happy and Azriel…Azriel would hide away somewhere. 

"You don't owe me anything," he waved Nesta off weakly, but she didn’t seem to want to take the hint, sticking out her chin. 

"Yes, I do," Nesta disagreed. "You are the reason why my little sister is happy right now," she told him fiercely. He swallowed down the unkind words at the tip of her tongue...didn't say anything. Didn't.... He didn’t want to think about this. He didn’t…

"Is there anything I can do?" Nesta asked him, her voice soft. "Anything at all, Az?" H knew that he could ask for anything and Nesta would do her level best to give it to him. She was stubborn like that. He had half a mind to ask her to use her silver flames to put him on fire and put him out of his misery. 

He didn’t. 

Even that wouldn’t fix it. 

There was nothing. There was absolutely nothing to make it any better. There was nothing that could...that could fix the ache in his chest.

"Porridge," he said, his voice hoarse.

"Porridge?" Nesta repeated incrediously.

"Porridge with honey. I am hungry," he repeated, meeting her gaze. Food. Food. More Sleep. More Work. He could fill his waking hours with useless things and everybody would be happy. 

Nesta just looked at him for a moment, then inclined her head.

"Porridge with honey. Alright," she agreed. Just a moment later a massive bowl of Porridge with honey drizzled on top, appeared on his bedside table, so hot it was steaming. Seemed like the house was in a mood to spoil him. He even got a whiff of cinnamon from it.

"Thank you," he thanked Nesta's creature aloud as the shadows fetched the bowl and held it up for him to eat a spoonful. "What are you reading?" he asked Nesta, changing the topic. 

She was polite enough not to say anything about it. 

Nesta held up her book. “The newest Sellyn Drake novel,” she replied.

"Is it any good?" he inquired, stirring his porridge gently.

“It’s brilliant," Nesta gushed, her eyes devoured the pages as soon as she looked down to continue reading.

"You seem to really like it," he pointed out, taking another bite of his porridge. "It is brilliant," Nesta agreed readily. “The plot is so intricate and twists and turns and the characters are so deep and complex and their emotions are so real and the romance is so...” she trailed off, blushing slightly.

He opened his mouth to respond...but then he heard her.

Mor. Of course.

He couldn’t deal with Mor. Not right now. But there she was, Rhys hot on her heels.

Nesta heard her too, rolling her eyes, curling back up on her chair, making it very clear that while she was going nowhere, she was letting him deal with it on her own. 

And he didn’t want to deal with Mor. 

But there she was. 

Mor came strolling into the room, her usual confident smile firmly in place. Rhys just looked at Azriel, his expression unreadable.

He didn't say it.  But Azriel knew. Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.  Either it was about Elain and Lucien...or about Mor and Emerie. Like Azriel would ever do anything to put that in jeopardy. Like Azriel was a jealous child that wouldn't allow Mor to be happy on her own terms. Like...

Azriel ignored the sharp pang of hurt that shot through him at Rhys's look.

Still it was better than looking at Mor…he couldn’t bear to look at Mor. 

 Didn't want to look at Mor, in her usual bright red, skin baring dress, that clung to all her curves...didn't want to look at the female he had spent centuries in love with even when he had known that she was never going to return his affections...it hadn't helped him. He had still been in love with her.

And he had still hoped...hoped against all hope that maybe...maybe there would be a time where she would return his affection...that maybe there would be a time where...

But there wouldn't. He knew. He knew. And he had still been in love with her.

Would have given damn near anything for her attention, for that broad smile on her face to be directed in his direction...would have given anything for her to bound over to his bedside and envelope him in her arms...to feel her soft skin against his as she hugged him fiercely, cinnamon and citrus enveloping him.

Now...now it felt like somebody was pouring salt into a gaping wound. Now it felt as painful as the fire and oil on his hands had. She was flaying him alive and she wasn’t even aware that she was hurting him. 

"How are you feeling, Az?" Mor's voice was gentle, concerned. He knew it was genuine, knew that Mor really cared about him. But he couldn't bring himself to look at her. Not when his heart was bleeding out just from the sound of her voice.

"Fine," he answered, his voice flat. "Nothing that sleep won't fix," he promised her, even as her hands fluttered around him as she sat down on his bedside...

She was so close. He could reach out and touch her, could feel the soft fabric of her dress against his fingertips. He clenched his fists, willing himself to keep his hands to himself.

But he couldn't help it. He looked up at her, meeting her eyes. He could see the concern there, the worry. He felt a pang of guilt for putting that look on her face. He didn't want to cause her any distress. 

"I'm just glad you are feeling better," Mor sighed, gently patting his arm. "You had us all worried for a moment there," she admitted softly.

Even just the touch of her hand felt like she was branding him. He wanted to flinch away and forced himself no to.

It was like a bittersweet poison, the way she touched him. It was so familiar, so comforting. But it was also so painful, a reminder of what he could never have.

He looked away, staring down at his hands. They were shaking, just a little. He clasped them together, the monstrous scars that covered them, standing out starkly.

The shadows trembled around him, pulling nearer, growing darker and Mor watched them with a raised eyebrow. "Worried, are they?" she teased him slightly.

*You are fine, Master,* the shadows promised him. *No more fire,* they promised him fiercely. But it didn’t help. He didn’t trust himself to speak without his voice cracking.

Mor seemed to sense his discomfort and stood up, her hand slipping from his arm. "Just rest and get better soon, alright?" she said softly, taking a step back.

"Thank you," he thanked her, his voice hoarse.

He risked a glance up at her, just a quick look. Her face was soft, her eyes filled with warmth. He felt his heart squeeze in his chest and he had to look away again. He wasn't sure how much more of this he could take.

"We should let him rest, Mor," Rhys said, giving Azriel another look.

"Right, right," Mor agreed, already turning towards the door. "Rest up, Az," she said again, giving him one last smile as she disappeared out the door.

Azriel felt a sense of relief wash over him as she left the room. 

Gone. Thank the cauldron. He couldn't take much more of her presence, not right now. 

He didn't even want to know why Rhys had accompanied her. Probably because he was worried that Azriel wasn't going to behave.

What was he supposed to do instead? Tell Mor about how much she had hurt him over the centuries? How she had given him jut enough scraps of her affection to make him yearn for more but never telling him that she didn’t love him like that? 

He wasn’t going to do that. 

He didn't want to look at Rhys right now, didn't want to face the scrutiny of his high lord's gaze. He just wanted to be left alone.

He knew that Rhys was watching him, that the male wanted to say something. But Azriel didn't want to hear it. He didn't want to hear the lecture, the warning. He just wanted to be left alone.

The room fell silent, except for the sound of his own breathing. He closed his eyes and sank deeper into the mattress. Maybe if he just pretended to sleep, Rhys would leave him alone.

"He's tired. You should let him sleep," Nesta said flatly.

Leave it to Nesta to tell Rhys to stuff it, he reflected weakly. He heard Rhys sigh, but he kept his eyes closed. And after a moment, he heard the sound of footsteps leaving the room.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding, feeling a wave of relief wash over him. 

Alone. Safe. Mostly at least. 

Life went on. It always did.

The exhaustion went away after a few days... he caught up on Paperwork in the meantime. He sent the shadows off to find him one information or other and they didn't even bitch to him that badly, which told him that even they felt bad for him.

Behave. That’s all Rhys was telling him these days.

So he did. He behaved.

He did his job. He did everything Rhys could possibly want from his spymaster. 

He didn’t argue. He didn’t fight. He did his job and he trained and he did everyhting that was expected off him. 

And then he hadn’t tortured himself enough… and he went to visit Rosehall.

Where his mother lived.

Under the Mountains had it’s own kind consequences. This was one of them: His mother didn’t even want to talk to him anymore. 

50 years without him...and his mother had made herself a new family. A family that he wasn’t welcome in. A family that she wanted him nowhere near. He couldn’t fault her for it. Not at all.

She had been half a child when she had had him and it hadn’t been by choice.

So who could blame her for making a new family with people that weren’t as fucked up in the head as he was? Not Azriel.

Azriel didn’t blame her at all. Azriel left her in peace. He didn't reach out. He made sure that she was fine, that she had enough money to never worry about it and otherwise dissappeared from her life. 

His shadows kept an eye on her…He shored up the wards around Rosehall and caught a glimpse of her. And then he left it at that. She looked happy. That’s all he cared about.

Happy and safe and…she didn’t need him. She didn’t want him around her either, and he could understand that too.

And still, it hurt. It hurt so fucking much. 

But 

*You know the rules,* he told the shadows quietly. *You don’t need to report to me about her anymore. Keep an eye on her and only tell me if she is in danger or hurt.*

*Yes, Master,* they agreed readily. 

So he went back to the House of Wind. Back to Velaris…Back to work. 

He went back to his routine, back to his duties, back to his mask of indifference. He hid the pain behind his usual stoic facade, only letting his shadows know how much it hurt. He threw himself into his work, using it as a way to distract himself from his own loneliness.

And when he wasn't working, he would spend hours and hours in the training ring in the House of Wind, working himself to exhaustion. Anything to try and drown out the ache in his heart.

For gods sake, he even attended Elain and Lucien’s mating ceremony. And gifted them an appropriate gift. He behaved just like Rhys wanted him too.

He even summoned up a smile for them on their special day, hiding his own pain behind a mask of false happiness. He congratulated them both, feeling a pang in his chest at the sight of Elain's beaming face. But he didn’t let it show. He behaved. Like Rhys wanted him too.

He stayed for the whole thing. Stayed for the dancing, stayed for the feast. Stayed until he could physically take it no more. And then he had retreated to that training ring again, beating his pain and loneliness out on whatever dummy he could find.

He was so tired. Tired of hiding, tired of pretending. Tired of pretending like nothing was wrong. He wanted nothing more than to just scream and rage and shout and cry. But he didn’t. He held it all in. Bottled it up like he was so good at doing.

He was in the bathtub, sluicing off the sweat he was drenched in…shaking off his wings just because he could move them however he wanted to

*You should go out, Master,* the shadows suggested seriously. *Go out and find a female.*

He just snorted. *Not interested,* he sniped back harshly. *I am not getting my heart broken again.*

Everybody could just fuck off and leave him alone. Even when he was aching…aching for somebody in his life that loved him. For whom he could be everything. Somebody he could dote on. Somebody that wanted his attention, that wanted his love…that would like his ruined hands on their body and wasn’t paid to simply acccept it. 

*You could let us pick her!* the shadows suggested brightly.

His eyes snapped back open and he glared at the shadows swirling around the room. *Absolutely not,* he said firmly. *I mean it, you stay out of it.*

*We can’t do a worse job than you do,* they sniped at him. *Neither The Seer nor The Morrigan would have suited you at all.*

*Excuse me?!* 

*You heard us, Master,* the shadows said, sounding far too smug for their own good. *And you know it.*

Azriel just glared at them, feeling his temper start to rise. *I know I wasn’t good enough for them,* he snapped. *You don’t need to tell me that.*

*You think you weren’t good enough for them?!* The shadows asked him incredulously.

*They deserve better. So much better than me,* he said quietly. "I'm not good enough for either of them. Never was.*

What was he, after all? An Illyrian bastard? A monster? Either? Both? 

He had never said it out loud before, not even to himself. But in that moment, lying in the water, his heart so raw and exposed, he couldn't help but speak the truth that he had always known but never admitted to himself. "I'm not good enough for either of them," he repeated softly, the weight of his words settling heavily on his chest.

He knew it was true. Mor was a golden ray of light, the embodiment of beauty and grace. Elain was sweet and gentle and kind, a pure soul in a sea of darkness. 

And what was he? Damaged. Broken. Scarred. Inside and out.

He had done unspeakable things, things that would haunt his nightmares for centuries to come. He was nothing compared to them. He was darkness, they were light. And they deserved better than him, far better than him.

Even if he had loved Mor with every fiber of his being, even if he had yearned for her with every beat of his heart, even if he had dreamed of her every night, it didn't matter. It had never mattered. Because he wasn't good enough for her. And he never would be.

He wasn’t good enough for Elain. The mother hadn’t thought it to be prudent to make them mates. Both of his brother had been gifted with a mating bond, but not him. That should tell him everything he needed to know abotu the state of his own soul. 

So why…why should he even try anymore. 

Why shouldn’t he just stew in his own misery, alone and heartbroken and a monster and expect everybody to just leave him alone? There was no point of putting himself out there again. There was nothing out there for him. Nothing but more pain.​​

So he closed his eyes again, sinking lower into the water, letting the warmth soothe his aching muscles. He let out a long sigh, his mind already racing with thoughts of his next missions, his next assignments. Because that was all that really mattered now. His job. His duties. His responsibilities. That was all he had left.

Behave. That’s all he was good for. 

*Alright, that’s fucking enough,* the shadows snapped. *You are not letting The High Lord talk to you like that any longer, Master.*

Azriel was so surprised by their fucking vehemence that he could just stare at them. 

*The Morrigan used you for centuries to make herself feel better about herself,* the shadows snapped. *She used the feelings you had for her and that she was very much aware of to strangle you and keep you in line.*

Azriel swallowed. He knew they were right. He knew that Mor had used his feelings for her for a long time. She had led him on, given him false hope, only to yank it away time and time again. It had been a painful cycle, one that had left him feeling used and broken and worthless.

*She could have stopped at any time but she never did,* the shadows hissed. *But instead she hurt you on purpose. Instead of turning you down, she slept with other males to show you that you would never have her!*

Azriel felt bile rise in the back of his throat. Mor had flaunted her other lovers in front of him, making it clear that he would never be enough for her. She had used his devotion to her as a weapon against him, wielding it whenever it suited her needs. And he had let her. He had been foolish, desperate enough to cling onto any scrap of affection she might throw his way.

*And The Seer?! Granted she has never done that, but her feelings for you weren’t particular deep when she replaced you on her affections with The Fox as soon as you weren’t available anymore! If she had cared, truly cared, she would have thought about what happened during Winter Solstice,* the shadows snapped.

*And The High Lord? Don’t even let us get started on him,* the shadows snapped. *You haven’t even done anything since that Winter Solstice, and he keeps behaving like some kind of despotic Overlord, worried that his orders won’t be followed. If you wanted to punch him in the face, you probably had every right to it,* they mumbled.

Azriel couldn’t help but snort. 

*You deserve better, Master,* The shadows told him fiercely. *You deserve somebody that loves you.* 

. He wanted to believe the shadows. He wanted to believe that he was good enough, that he deserved more. But the scars on his body and the memories in his mind told him otherwise. He had done terrible things, things that he could never undo. How could someone like that be good enough for anyone?

*Alright,* he finally agreed weakly. *Find me a house,* he told the shadows, as he closed his eyes.

*A house? What kind of house?* the shadows gave back, sounding surprised.

*A house,* he repeated. *A home. Somewhere in Velaris. Find me a home.* Something that could just be his.

A home. The idea sent a flutter through his stomach. He had never…never truly had a home. Had something that could just be his and nobody else’s. Just…a place that was his, where he could be whoever he wanted, where he was accepted and loved...it was appealing. Maybe even more than just appealing.

He closed his eyes, picturing it in his mind. A cozy little house, just large enough for himself. Warm and cozy and filled with light.

*That’s what a male needs to take a wife after all, right?* He asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossed his face. Was that what he should want? What he was supposed to want? He had never really thought about getting married before. But now, at the mention of it, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. A wife...a family...love and companionship. It all sounded so…so nice.

*You want to get married, Master?* the shadows asked curioulsy. *To whom?*

*You pick,* he told the shadows. They swarmed out in pure excitment. Azriel couldn’t even remmeebr the last time they had been so excited. 

He couldn't help but chuckle at their reaction. Maybe they would do a better job than him. At least they could probably sieve out females that were in a romantic relationship or preferred females themselves. 

*Find me somebody that I could make happy. Somebody that….Somebody that could want me.* Some long-suffering female for whom Azriel could maybe try to be enough. Somebody that would love him.

*What should she look like?* they asked seriously.

*I don’t care. Find me somebody that loves me and she’ll be the most beautiful female to me anyway.*

[ttsukiimi]

˗ˏˋOPEN ARMS! (AND LEGS) ´ˎ˗

୨୧⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ After your divorce, you’re devastated. Devastated enough to welcome the same man who hurt you with open arms. (And legs!)

୨୧⋆ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ Ex-husband!sukuna x fem!reader, smut (mdni), unprotected sx, lowk hate fckking, hair pulling, overstim, sukuna is feening, mention of slight toxic relationship, slight rough & mean!sukuna, light gaslighting, reader referred to as (baby, princess)

“I hate you,” you whimpered through gritted teeth, the absolutely pathetic noise that left you soon after betraying your previous words. Your eyes threatened to fill with tears, and your throat grew a lump you knew was too hard to swallow.

This was all so stupid—you were stupid for welcoming him back into your home.

You questioned your own moral, your self-respect; where did it all go? Maybe he had taken it with him. And with the way he had you acting such a fool, maybe it was right to assume that.

“Y’hate me, baby?” Sukuna mumbled, and you wanted to slap that stupidly hot smirk off his lips, but something in you also wanted to kiss it, caress his face and let him do as he pleased. But you didn’t.

“Inviting you here was a mistake,” you sighed, trying your best to ignore the way chills erupted on your body from just a touch of his hand. Sukuna stroked the supple skin of your cheek and let his thumb roam to your lip, pulling down and watching as the plumpness sprang back in place. His eyes bore into you as he stared down, a mischievous tilt to his head.

“If you think so, why don’t you kick me out?”

Your breath caught in your throat. “I—“

But Sukuna was faster. He had his lips plastered to yours before you could even react, holding your hips so softly in a way that wasn’t him, and that made you melt in his arms. Your knees buckled under the now tenfold weight pushing down on them and he chuckled, deep and taunting.

He pulled back, a string of saliva connecting your lips together. Somehow, he seemed more passionate with you than before.

Had he changed? Had he finally bettered himself? Your heart fluttered in your chest at the thought—albeit against your own will.

And maybe he had changed, but the way he handled you was still the same. All he seemed to want was to use you for his own satisfaction and pleasure.

Which was subsequently why he—seconds after consoling and convincing you that he loved you—had you sprawled out on your bed, stripped of any clothing.

“Wider, f’me, princess,” he ordered, palming himself through his sweats, and you’d be lying if you said that the way that he groped his cock through the material wasn’t captivating. Sukuna crawled onto the bed, making and claiming his rightful place between your legs.

“I missed you, y’know?” he asserted in your ear, cupping your cheeks together to force you to look at him. He let his free hand drift down to your chest, and fondled with your tit, admiring how his palms fit so perfectly around your mound. “Missed these pretty tits too.”

“‘Kuna,” you whined, arching up into his touch so quickly like the movement was ingrained in your brain. You’d been with him for so long, accommodated his every move, it felt wrong not to be with him.

Hence why, out of confusion for your own mental state, you hit him up. However, perhaps this was okay.

Sukuna between your legs, right where he always belonged. Stroking himself with such fervor that it seemed he had been thinking about you too. But he wouldn’t admit it, of course.

“Most of all,” he hummed, snaking his large hand down to your core, cupping your pussy. “Missed this filthy fucking cunt.”

It was all so lewd. His words, his touch, the way he glided the head up and down your sopping folds, coating his tip with your seemingly endless stream of dribbling slick.

"Gonna show you just how much I missed all of you."

And that was the problem. Sukuna wanted you, but not you. He had an obsession with this image of you he created in his head—this perfect wife—which was essentially you, but not.

You also found it hard to love a man that had an insane sex drive. Granted, the dick was heavenly, just not when you weren't in the mood. These little cracks between you drifted you both apart, and that led to the divorce.

With a swift movement, Sukuna had turned you around onto your stomach, propping you up on your knees. He inwardly cursed at how plump your body looked; and was immediately drawn in to smack the malleable flesh of your ass.

Hissing, you turned to glare at him, the complaint about to roll off your tongue caught in your throat as he thrusted in. Sukuna noticed this and rasped, voice so sexily low, and took a handful of your hair. "Shuts you up just like it always does, hm?"

"F-fuck you!" you replied, and one smart remark was all it took for him to have your head shoved into the pillows, rough hands gripping so harshly at your hips.

"'M already doing that, baby." As he pulled your head back by your hair, making sure your eyes held contact with his, sadistically finding satisfaction in the way tears welled in your waterline. Sukuna watched as each ram he drove into you caused your eyes to roll back—your mouth falling agape as soft little ah, ah, ah's fell from your lips.

The sight was unbearable to him, he had to see more, more of that already fucked-out expression taking place on your face. He found his rhythm quickening, the slaps of your bodies becoming more frequent, and your cries became louder.

Sukuna looked down at where you both connected, whistling and smirking to himself at the sight. "Always been so good at takin' dick."

"Mmf—it's easy cause y'r microscopic," you were quick to retort, smiling as you felt his grip on your hair and hips tighten, a little annoyed 'tsk' rolling from his tongue. But he was more than annoyed, he just played along with your little game.

Your cocky grin was wiped off of your face the moment you felt his tip repeatedly ram into your g-spot, stimulating you so much to the point it had you stuttering and your vision blurring. He was essentially taking his anger out on you and your poor pussy, fucking wildly into you like it'd be the first and last time he did so.

"I'm small, huh?" he murmured in your ear, breath fanning past your neck now, smiling against the skin of your shoulder. "I'm fucking small?"

He repeated his question again, though it didn't sound like a question initially, gripping your hair even more tighter.

You whimpered in response, shaking your head no, however, he wanted an answer. Though he knew you were in no state to talk.

"Yeah? Not so small when I'm ruining you." he licked a stripe up to your ear. "And not when I made you cum four times in a row, either, hm?”

[gay-dorito-dust]

Any characters of your choosing, but how would some of the hsr characters act with a partner who loves physical touch but is too shy to initiate?

Argenti:

More then willing to initiate the physical contact if you were too shy to do so, after all it was the least he could do for you, and Argenti would do a lot for you without having to be asked.

‘All you are to do is ask my beloved rose.’ He says as he helps by gently guiding you into hugging him, smiling when you press yourself up against him and pressing your face into his chest.

‘I just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.’ Was your response and Argenti couldn’t help but chuckle as your thoughtfulness as he presses a kiss to your head.

‘No such thing.’ He says as he holds you against him as you both took this moment to indulge in the another. ‘I’d very much rather you express yourself however you see fit, as I’ll accept your love and affection in all it’s forms it may take because at the end of the day that love belongs to someone I love very dearly.’ He finishes and you couldn’t help but burrow your head into his neck.

‘You’re too good for me sometimes.’ You mutter against him as you felt him chuckle.

‘I can say the same for you, my beloved flower.’ Argenti replied. ‘It’s hard not to when you’ve been nothing but a beacon of hope and love for me, even in my most dire of times. Your touch alone puts me back together again and makes me stronger then ever.’ He adds as he feels you clinging onto him for dear life as he whispered in your ear to say;

‘So please don’t be dissuaded from ever touching me when it’s brought me nothing but the happiest of emotions.’

Blade:

Stays silent.

Will not move an inch.

He sees what you’re trying to do from the corner of his eyes, but won’t do anything unless you have well and truly given up on trying to initiate contact. And it isn’t until then does he huff indignantly and grabs one of your hands and puts it against one side of his face, holding it there as he stared at you with his ruby red eyes.

‘Was this what you were trying to do?’ He asks despite already knowing the answer.

‘I didn’t want you to feel as though you were pressured into to let me touch you solely because I’m your partner.’ You replied as you were about to pull your hand away from him, when you felt him tighten his grip on your hand. ‘Don’t you think I would’ve said something by now if I did?’ He rebutted with a raised brow and you felt a little silly.

Blade never failed in letting it be known if you were doing something he didn’t quite like. He didn’t need to say much but his silence followed by a certain look in his eye were more than enough to tell you that you’d better stop while you were ahead.

‘True.’ You muttered as you instinctively began stroking his cheek with your thumb, not realising that Blade was pushing more of himself into your hand, much like a cat would when scratched between the ears and humming in content. He looked cute as he did handsome in that moment where his face looked the closest it ever could to peaceful in a long time.

‘If it means anything, your touch is the least painful thing I’ve experienced in my life as far as I’m aware.’ Blade says, finally letting go of your wrist as you placed your other against the side of his face and began stroking the skin there. You then heard him groan in content, a sound of which filled you with both warmth and joy in knowing that your touch helps him find peace, even if it was a small and temporary amount, but still peace none the less.

Aventurine:

Bastard man straight up teases you for being too shy to hold his hand.

‘Hmm? Is someone too shy to even hold my hand? How devastating that must be for you.’ He’d say before grabbing your hand and pressing his palm against yours. ‘It’s as easy as this.’ He continues before intertwining his fingers with yours, pressing a kiss to the back of your hand for added effect.

‘See? That wasn’t so bad was it?’ He asked teasingly, throughly taking enjoyment in all this, when deep down he loved nothing more than to feel you holding his hand at long last. ‘Nope, not at all.’ You replied, feeling your heart going a mile an hour when you felt him squeeze your hand, followed by the caress of his thumb against the back of your hand.

‘Then don’t be afraid to hold my hand in the future, I don’t bite but I’d think you would enjoy that a bit too much even if I did.’ He teases, which was followed by boisterous laughter.

Aventurine may act like he wasn’t phased at all by your touch, when in reality he was begging for more but didn’t feel as though he was deserving of asking for such a thing. He may talk a big game but is equally as hesitant to physical affection as you were for the exact same reasonings.

He silently encourages your need to touch him by doing things that suggested that he wanted it just as badly as you, seeing as how words failed him in moments where he’s wanting something he’s made himself believe he couldn’t have. After all in his own eyes aventurine was a loser, a coward, a fraud, a cheater unworthy of any ounce of kindness nor love but the moment he felt you hold him, his mind goes blank and all he can focus on was his you hands held him as though he were porcelain.

It was his favourite feeling and whenever he sees you hesitating in giving him that oasis from his own mind, he’s quick in making himself believe that you’ve realised that he wasn’t worth your affection, and tries to force you into giving it to him by teasing you and guiding your hands to where he needed to feel your touch most; which was his face.

Aventurine may not admit it out load but he can’t fathom living without your touch, he’d probably go mad but for now he’ll keep a hold of your hand for the remainder of the day.

[augustinewrites]

“pleeeease, shoko? as my best friend–”

“hold on,” shoko sputters, choking on her drink. “who said i was your best friend?”

“do you think i’d pay for lunch if you weren’t?”

the woman sets down her chopsticks, sending him an unimpressed look. “that’s what this is for? to bribe me into being your best friend so i can tell my actual best friend to go out with you?”

satoru leans forward in his seat, grinning from ear to ear. “i’m not asking you to tell anyone anything. i’m just saying, plant a few seeds here and there. maybe mention how devastated i was to get friend-zoned and that i’m way too hot to be strictly friendship material.”

“that’s way too unbelievable, coming from me. maybe you should ask nanami…”

“no, it has to be you. you think anyone would believe nanamin if he said i was a total smokeshow?” he asks, shaking his head.

“well, no one would believe him because it’s not true.”

“you’re being mean,” satoru pouts. “you’re supposed to be my best friend–”

“friendship isn’t how you’ll get me to do your bidding,” shoko interrupts. “i like whiskey.”

_____

“this is really good,” you hum in approval as you take another sip. it’s smooth, sweet, and strong. much better than any whiskey you and shoko have shared before. “how on earth did you afford this?”

“a friend bought a few bottles for me,” she waves off, settling herself into the opposite end of her couch. “so…how was your date on saturday? with that guy from the kyoto school?”

“it was okay. but i don’t think i’ll see him again,” you tell her honestly. “he just wasn’t…” 

“wasn’t gojo?” 

“what?” you ask. the idea that you didn’t enjoy your last date because he wasn’t gojo was downright ridiculous, but the quickened beat of your heart is trying to tell you otherwise. “why would you– you think i like gojo?” 

satoru gojo, whose second job seemed to be roping you into his nonsense back in your school days (and taking the fall when yaga eventually caught you). who showed off during missions and always yelled for you to watch (he has a small scar on his cheek from a failed infinity barrier projection). who now routinely showed up to your apartment uninvited to watch a film with you (and always left with a few rolls of your toilet paper).

“you don’t have to like him,” your best friend says, pulling you out of your thoughts. “you just have to sit on him.”

“ieiri!” you shout, horrified. “we’re friends. friends don’t sleep with friends.”

“what? i slept with him once - in a moment of complete weakness - and we’re still friends.”

“but now you no longer sleep with men,” you point out. 

she seems taken aback by that for a moment, but eventually shrugs it off. “true, but it’s different for you guys.”

“how?”

shoko fills the bottom of her glass with a heavy pour. “because he’s actually in love with you. he may be stupid and annoying, but maybe he does the things he does around you because he likes making you laugh, even if it’s at him.”

_____

satoru stumbles backwards into the wall, using his grip on your waist to pull you flush against him. you’d barged into his apartment, ignoring his questions and immediately pulling him in for a kiss.

“i thought–” he tries to get out between kisses. “–you didn’t want to ruin our friendship.”

you draw back to look at him, smiling. “i have other friends.”

[heavysighing-dreamyeyes]

"im not trying to fix you."

~1k words

Jason Todd is broken, but he’s not shattered. He’s picked up the pieces of himself and stitched them back together in a patchwork pattern that seems to mock who he used to be.

Jason Todd is splintered, but he’s making it work, he’s helping, he’s trying to be something greater than himself. (Even if ‘greater’ includes killing and hurting and a million other things he’d never thought he’d do)

Jason Todd is built of fragments of twisted morals and poisoned pits, so why, why do you keep showing up in his life? He doesn’t get it. He’s worked through all the scenarios, all the possibilities, and he still doesn’t have an answer.

You haven’t tried placing any bugs or cameras in his safehouse, haven't gone to the bat to try and take him down. (At least not that he knows of) You haven’t tried talking him out of taking over Gotham, and you haven’t even mentioned all the bodies piling up in his crusade against Black Mask.

He should have confronted you weeks ago. But you keep doing nice things for him. He still hasn’t figured out how you found his safehouse, but you showed up with takeout from his favorite restaurant and just kind of walked in. Really, he had been too stunned to stop you, and you kept showing up.

You always seemed to have a reason to be there, too. Blankets because his safehouse looked bare, food so you could cook dinner for the two of you, random knick knacks to bring color to his dull living room.

He wonders if you're doing it to make him feel guilty, to keep him from kicking you out of his space. As if he would ever.

It’s not until you’re telling him he should get his oven fixed so the next time you make brownies they'll cook better, that he realizes exactly what you’re trying to do.

You’re trying to make him better. He sees it now, he’s your pet project, no, your pity project that you think you can save. He doesn’t know how he could have missed it. Why else would you so freely offer your smiles? Your time? Your energy?

“You can’t fix me,” he grits out, crossing his arms as you set the brownies on the counter.

You look surprised, disbelieving even, as you pull off the oven mitts. (The ones he didn’t have before you started coming over) “What,” you question, meeting his gaze like he hasn’t found you out.

“You can’t fix me,” he repeats, harder and just as mean, “I’m not something you need to try and save.”

“I’m not trying to fix you,” you snap, and the tone of your voice makes him lose his confidence.

He opens his mouth, then closes it again. Oh. It sounds like you really mean that. He didn’t expect the hurt and anger to flicker over your face. And he certainly didn’t expect to see your face wobble.

“Is that why you think I’m here, Jason? Because you think I want to save you,” you ask, venom creeping into your voice.

“Well, yeah,” he mumbles, almost ashamed, but he doesn’t drop his gaze from yours, “There’s no other reason you’d keep coming back.”

That seems to break you, and he nearly regrets bringing up the topic at all. “Is that what you’ve thought of me this whole time,” you breathe out, anger fading.

He shakes his head, “No, I mean– I thought you were working for Batman,” he admits, and winces at how devastated you look.

“Then why did you let me come back,” you demand, and he hates the way your voice chokes at the end.

“I don’t know,” he tells you, voice going quiet, “I guess I just got used to it.” It’s a lie.He knows exactly why he keeps opening his door for you. You're a weakness he’s never outgrown, and one he never will.

You step back, eyes darting to the cooling brownies, “I just missed you,” you mumble, clearly self-conscious, “It wasn’t anything more than that.”

“Oh,” he says dumbly. There really isn’t anything else to say. He’s hurt you, thrown accusations with no basis.

He doesn’t know how to make it better, but a part of him doesn’t think he should. If you never came back, then at least you would be away from his sharp edges and his fractured parts.

The silence stretches between you like a chasm, and suddenly he does want to mend whatever he broke. He can’t help it, not when you look like you don’t know if you want to cry or run or curl into yourself and just fall apart.

He doesn’t have a plan, and maybe he should, because all he manages to do is gesture weakly to the brownies you’ve made, “Think they’re ready to eat?”

You eye him strangely, but he thinks he does succeed in fixing something. At least he hopes he did, because you sat on his lumpy couch and ate the brownies out of the pan at his side. So that has to count for something, right?

He finds it in himself to tell you they’re good, which is harder than it should be for a crime lord, and you offer him a small, unsure smile and ask if he wants to watch a movie. Your smile isn’t as bright as it usually is, but he figures he wouldn’t deserve it if it was.

The rest of the night is quiet, and you fall asleep on his couch just before the credits start to roll. He’s grateful for it. (He thinks if you had walked out after the movie, you wouldn’t have come back)

Jason carefully pulls a blanket over your shoulders, one of the ones you brought him, to shield you from the cold. He makes a note to get a better couch, even if he knows it would be better to not encourage you to come back.

After all, he’s only going to find another way to break your heart. Even when it’s the last thing he wants to do.

[stvolanis]

Now i know you better

PAIRINGS: Alastor x Fem!Sinner!Reader

WARNINGS: ANGSTTTT, mean!Alastor, cheating w/ Lucifer, probably inaccurate time line idk, foul language,this is honestly kind of poorly written I’m sorry, manipulation, abuse, Alastor owns Readers soul, toxic relationship, possessive!Alastor, pet names, brief mention of suicide

NSFW WARNINGS: dubcon, slapping, hair pulling, choking, forced cream-pie, degradation, dacryphilia, p in v sex, knotting, humiliation, blood if you squint

SORRY IF I MISSED ANYTHING!!!

˚ ꒰ა �� ໒꒱ ˚

It wasn’t your fault that your grave was dug the moment you stepped foot into the fiery pits of hell.

It wasn’t your fault that it was dug by Mimzy when she introduced you to her dear friend, the Radio Demon who, oh so casually, casted peoples screams for hell to hear.

Mimzy, known to drag people into her messes when shit hits the fan, had deeply embedded you into an on-going war with one of the various overlords, simply by seeking a place to lay low for a few days. You didn’t expect Alastor to show up, that damned smile engraved onto his face.

And it most definitely wasn’t your fault that you laid in said grave.

He was charming, and charismatic. A lethal combination when a sense of confidence and dad-humor was thrown into the mix. The way you met wasn’t the most ideal, especially when he basically bombarded through you, inviting himself into your wrecked home to find Mimzy himself without a word.

His smile, then, seemed aggravated. He did little to hide the annoyance she had somehow caused him, and the way his voice grew in static when he spoke showed that. He was scary when you had watched his figure enlarge, his once normal, slim body now turning into a tall, beastly, and lanky figure with protruding antlers and dilated pupils.

Dread set into your core that day when he directed his wrath towards you. His tall frame stalking over you, a hand quickly shot to your throat. Your back hit against the wall as you were lifted from the ground, gasping for breaths of any air you could possibly get.

His breath was drug out and uneven as his chest moved up and down at a surprisingly slow pace. Even though he seemed to be filled of fury and unease—he had a sense of control over his calmness to an extent. Eerily, he had glided his mouth along your neck, inhaling your scent.

A harsh groan, almost as if he were in pain had slipped past his lips. It rumbled deep in his chest, and your eyes watered as your vision began to fade. Only then, did he release you and let your body fall to the floor. You held your throat gently as you finally got what you were begging for.

“Maybe you’ll listen, since sweet Mimzy won’t.” He began, his voice deep and contorted with static and brute. “You will fix the mess she created, and restore what was mine to begin with. Your soul will be mine until you have fulfilled your duty as said.” He finished.

Your mouth gaped. He had presented it to you like you had a choice in the devastating matter, but you knew better. You sobbed as your curled into a ball, and watched as he raised a hand towards your frame that wracked with sobs. “Hush now, girl. You will be under my care so long as I’ll have you.” He ushered with a grimace as he watched you wipe your nose with your wrist.

You longed to object. To scream and yell out that never in a million and one light years would you ever agree to such a thing. Your freedom was yours alone, and you liked to keep it that way. He’d have to drag you through hell and back for you to allow that to happen, yet as you took his sharp hand into yours, it was all said and done.

A bright light consumed you, and just for a moment, you thought maybe it was the light shower everyone talked about up in heaven. The bright beacon of a light so blinding that cleansed you of all your wrong-doings, took away all your pain and replaced the emptiness with a euphoric feeling of content.

Warmth spread throughout your body, and that moment of hope ended when you felt thick, heavy metal of chains cling around your throat and wrists. Alastors smile haunted you. It crept up on you in your dreams, and ate away at the only good things you had left to hold onto.

The life you once cherished, even in hell, soon faded away till it was nothing but a faint distant memory of someone you once knew that was yourself. It was replaced by an evil demon, in the form of a gentleman who disguised plots and alterier motives with wide smiles and laughs.

but again, you knew better.

The person you once were was stripped from you, and you were bare before him to bend and mold how he saw fit. And so, he did. You became his his underboss of sorts, a quiet and submissive being who did as told. They always said behind every powerful man, there was a woman. And it was you. Everyone got the good side of Alastor, yet it was you he took his frustrations out on when the day was said and done.

It was you who endured his aggressiveness when everyone was fast asleep in their bedrooms, dreaming of a better life you knew you’d never receive.

You were his lap dog, and his favorite toy to play with whenever and however he wanted to. It was unofficial, and confusing to others, but you somehow managed to find yourself in some sort of situationship with Alastor. You were his. body, mind, and soul.

You tried your best to please Alastor, constantly seeking his approval that he so generously bestowed upon others. You chased your tail around, and ran in laps, jumping through hoops just to earn a small nod in approval for him.

He wasn’t always bad. He cared for you, in his own fucked up way. He cared in way that he would never let something bad happen to you, and would protect you at all costs. You were his delicate little flower, how could he ever allow anyone who isn’t him to inflict any kind of harm onto you? He’s a bitch, but to an extent.

He loved you, yes, but only when he was in the mood to love you. When he loved you, he’d hold you close to him when you were perched on his lap in the hotel lounge. He’d whisper sweet nothings to you as he kissed along your neck, making giggles vibrate through your chest. He’d run his fingers through your hair till you fell asleep against him at night after a particularly hard day.

And on days when he knew he went to far, his classic water works he only had in store for you would come into play. He couldn’t bare his favorite toy hating him. He didn’t know how to deal with the colder shoulder and short-answer responses from you. It aggravated him that only you could get under his skin without doing much, so when you were heavily upset, only then would he drop down to his knees and kiss the inside of your thighs lovingly.

Tears would align his eyes, but his smile never once wavering, and beg for your forgiveness. He’d tell you how much he loved you as he rubbed your sensitive bud, and wash away your worries with so many orgasms, you forgot why you were mad at him in the first place.

Yes, he owned your soul and tended to be abusive, but he wasn’t heartless.

He’d tell you he’s sorry, and that he’d never hurt you again. It’s always a lie, and each time you allowed yourself to stupidly believe it.

But the truth was, you didn’t know what else to do. You hated to admit it, but you were nothing without him. You spent so long shaping yourself into the person he wanted and needed you to be, that you forgot how to be yourself. You forgot what your previous hobbies were, or what else made you happy besides him. Your world revolves around him, and without him, it felt like your world was coming to an exaggerated end.

So, you put up with it. Each and every time.

It wasn’t till today, the day of Charlie’s fathers arrival to the grand hotel Alastor managed to put together and run, that you’d ever seen him so genuinely with any sort of nerves.

The moment Lucifer walked in, in all his glory, Alastors personality took a flip. He went toe to toe with the ruler of Hell himself, all because he was afraid of someone who he knew had more power than him. But Alastor wasn’t a weak man, not at all, and that’s why he made it his mission to piss off Lucifer as much as he could.

You’d never seen him this way before. With you? Yes, but with other people? Never. He was cunning and every word he spat at Lucifer dripped with malice and confidence. Alastor knew he couldn’t beat him with power, so he hit him where he knew it would hurt. His family. Specifically, the only one he had left.

What Alastor didn’t expect, was for Lucifer to become completely and utterly smitten with you. From the moment he laid his eyes on you, he’s been all smiles and giggles with you.

He listened when you talked, even the little small words or sentences no one cared to listen to. His lips against the top part of your hand when you first met was the only thing that circled your mind for days. His lips were plush and warm, soft and tender. It was a contrast to the kisses Alastor left you of pity and forgiveness.

He was sweet, and undeniably handsome. He made you feel ways you’d never felt before. He made you feel like you had a choice. A voice that wouldn’t be spoken over and genuinely listened to. He was charismatic, in a way like Alastor, but it was real. His smiles were real, as were the sweet nothings he said to you.

For weeks, you snuck around with Lucifer. At night, when Alastor was fast asleep, you’d sneak out from under his watchful arm and find your way to Lucifers room. His arms were more welcoming, and warm. His kisses sweeter than honey and his love as gold and bright as they come.

His voice was soft, and vibrant as he hummed against your ear. The fingers that raked through your hair were gentle and soothing, calmed you to your slumbers that comforted you through the night. His smell was intoxicating; cider and musk, like an orchid full of ripe apples. The two rosey spots on his cheek shined in hue when you’d enter the room.

I didn’t take long for Alastor to notice. He want a dumb and oblivious man. He was a ruthless overlord who couldn’t afford to look past the little things. He noticed the stares that the two of you sent when in a room full of people. The lingering touches no one else noticed when you brushed passed each other.

And most of all, they way you’d slip from his grasp in the dark of the night like he was stupid.

He knew, of course. He knew the whole time. And he let you let yourself believe that there was any other choice besides him. He allowed you, from the goodness of his heart, to feel a speck of the freedom you longed for. He let you grasp it and cradle it with all your might, just to draw you back in by the chains that shackled you to him for eternity.

He liked knowing that he controlled you. It fueled the god complex he had, knowing that no matter what you tried to do, you’d always be his. His to love, his to fuck, his to torment.

He mocked you for it, too. Rubbing it in your face that you were chained to him for as long as you’d live in hell. Suicide crossed your mind a few times, the only way you saw yourself out of it—yet, you knew that no matter what life you had next, you’d still always belong to him in some way, shape, or form.

You should’ve known better. Should’ve known that you could never be happy. Should’ve known that Alastor knew the whole time. Yet you were naive enough to think you were smart enough to go behind his back with a person he detested the most. The one person who could easily kill him with a blink of an eye.

Alastor would never say it out loud, because he knew deep down that he would never win against Lucifer. So, he did what he does best, and he took it out on you.

Tonight wasn’t supposed to be any different from any of the other nights you left Alastors bedroom.

You lay in another man’s arms, his chest rising and falling beneath you as soft breaths slipped past his pale lips. Lucifer looked especially beautiful like this. His white skin glistening in the dull lighting of the room, and his streaky blonde hair ran through messily against the plush pillow.

You wished you could stay in this very moment forever. You’d rather spend an eternity admiring Lucifer for all his greatness, than suffering in Alastors darkness miserably.

You never told Lucifer about the way Alastor treated you behind closed doors. You knew that if you did, Alastor would be dead without a second thought. It crossed your mind a few times, obviously. How could it not? It was your only way out. The only thing that stopped you was the fact that Alastor wasn’t always like this.

He wasn’t always a bad person towards you. In the beginning, he tried to make you as comfortable as possible. He made you happy, and lively. His presence didn’t make you want to cower away in a corner, and his stare made you flush red, as bright as the color of his hair.

After all he’s put you through, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt shoot through you each time you looked back at Alastor asleep in your shared bed. He never cheated on you. The one of many things he’s never done, yet here you were, every so happily cheating on him. You felt like a two-timing snake, and you knew if he found out that he’d feel betrayed.

With that thought, you slipped from under Lucifer’s heavy arm, watching with soft eyes as he muttered under his breath at the loss of your warmth against him. You kissed his cheek and whispered a goodbye as you exited his room, softly shutting the door behind you. Your finger glided along the walls of the hallway, all the way till you found yourself outside of Alastors room.

You inhaled deeply, reaching for the doorknob, twisting it ever so slowly. Your entered the dark abyss of the room, shutting the door softly behind you with a wince as it creaked lightly. Damned this old ass building.

What you didn’t expect, was for Alastor to press against you from behind.

His breathing was uneven, and sharp as his chest still moved up and down slowly. You froze. You felt your dead heart stop as if you were alive. It seemed like oxygen didn’t exist anymore as you gaped, jaw slightly fallen slack as your eyes lined with tears. Your body shook as his hand traveled to the bed of your throat, craning your neck back to meet his eyes painfully.

“A-Alastor—” you gaped. He clicked his tongue. “Hm, silly girl. You really thought I was unaware of your whore-ish activities?” He chuckled out, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. “Wait, please—” you began, but you didn’t get a chance to think of what to say next as he slammed your back onto the bed.

You tried desperately to crawl away from him, but within a second, chains tied you down to the bed frame. You wracked with sobs and please of despair. He stood silently for a moment, watching the way you crumbled so easily without him even having to really do anything.

“How dare you.” He hissed out after a moment. Climbing on top of your tense frame, he pinched your cheeks together and watched as tears ran down your cheeks pathetically. “I give you everything you could possibly need. I make sure you’re alive with a roof over your head and out of the clutches of hells streets, and this is how you repay me? By sleeping around with men?” He growled through his sharp teeth.

His smile was formed still, but more into a scowl of displeasure. His antlers were grown and prominent as he began to shift to his demon form that you hadn’t seen since the first time youd met him that fateful day. He was like a rabid animal, drool slipping through the cracks of his jagged teeth as his body became large and monstrous.

This was it. This how your soul would finally be put to rest. By the claws and bared teeth of a monster with the facade of a charming, hotel manager. Not the way you’d want to go out, but hey, at least your were gonna get out of it, right?

Or so you thought.

His claws, sharp as knives tore through your shirt, ripping it off of your figure and discarded onto the floor. Your white lace bra on display in front of him. Your pajama pants adorned with cheesy pandas torn to shreds alongside your favorite sleeping shirt. But all you could think about was the abnormally large bulge hard and prominent against your inner thigh.

God, you hated yourself. You danced along the line of lust, fear, and hatred. Hatred for him, mostly. You hated that you loved Lucifer—yet your body yearned to be used and played with at the hands of Alastor.

The sweet sex, praises and butterfly kisses Lucifer showered you was amazing, but this—this was different. The way Alastor fucked you was different. Yes, he was rough and fucked hard—but this was his way of showing you that he loved you. It was peculiar, to say the least. A man so easily able to use his words to fluster anyone couldn’t look you in the eye to tell you that he loved you.

So he fucked you like he hated you. But you knew what he meant.

His finger hooked under the middle of your bra, effectively slicing upwards to cut it in half. Your breasts sprang free, and your nipples hardened under the tense, cold air. You squirmed as his breath fanned against them, his long tongue shooting out to lick against them tenderly.

He played tricks on you. It was his favorite game. Giving you false hope. Dangling things he knew you longed for in front of you, only to yank it right back. Killing every last good thing you had left till you had absolutely nothing but him.

So you should’ve known better than to trust his soft tongue kitten licking your nipple. His sharp teeth bit down—hard enough to draw specks of blood around it. You yelped out in pain as your eyes lined with fresh tears waiting to be spilled over. The pain was dreadful, but god, did it feel good.

Alastors thumb trailed to lower, tracing down to your stomach till he reached your cotton panties, dampened with your arousal. “What a slut. Getting off on this. You should be ashamed of yourself, darling.” He mocked out with a cunning smile. He didn’t think twice before ripping your panties off.

He fumbled for second with his pants, unzipping them before letting them reach low enough just to pull his cock out. “Now, I’m gonna fuck this cunt till I’ve had enough, and after that, you’re going to go into the small-dicked-duck fanatics room with my cum dripping down your thighs and tell him just how good I fucked you.” He growled out, his hand finding it’s way back to your throat, squeezing tightly as he lined himself to your entrance.

“Alastor, please just listen—i” his cock bullied is way into you. Long, and thick. 9 inches of pure, heavy meat sat snugly inside of you, playing with your insides. He was perfectly trimmed, and his balls heavy balls slapped against the underside of your pussy with each agonizingly perfect thrust he delivered into you.

“Oh, oh fuck!” You moaned out, head thrown back as your hand clenched onto the chains that bound you to your bed post. “Tight little pussy. Tell me, does he fuck you like this, baby?” He panted out as he watched the way your eyes rolled to the back of your head.

He always thought you were the prettiest like this. Underneath him, writhing in pleasure, cock drunk and hungry for him. The only time you didn’t resent him. The only time you wanted him. He cherished this, not that he would ever say it out loud.

“I asked you a fucking question.” He said, slapping the side of your face harshly, leaving a painful sting behind. You whimpered at the familiar impact. “No, Alastor!” You all but screamed out as his cock kissed your cervix.

The sound of skin slapping against skin echoed loudly, and the smell of hot sex was in the air. A distinctive, vile smell. Your body was lined with sweat, as was his, and your breasts bounced each time his hips met flush against your ass. All you could think about was him.

He consumed your thoughts, plaguing your mind. You couldn’t escape him. And as of right now, you weren’t sure you even really wanted to all along.

Some sick part of you enjoyed this relationship you were in. The part that liked to be put in your place, and told what to do in return for praises of affirmations. A relationship that never got boring, and always kept you on your toes no matter what. Traumatic? Definitely. Toxic? 100%. But, this is what you had to endure. The least you could to was learn to like and deal with it.

You clenched down tightly onto him as his hips slammed into yours repeatedly, his dick hitting every right spot, including the little nerve of your g-spot inside of you. The angle he had your hips positioned in hit it better, and he could tell you were close when your cunt began to pulse around him.

“Please, please, I’m gonna cum!” You babbled on and on, drunk on the feeling of him inside of you. He chuckled as he pulled your head up by the root of your hair, just enough to have your lips crashing down onto his. “Fucked you stupid, honey, i know.” He cooed out against your lips.

He tasted bitter. Like whiskey and old cigars, mixed with a strange tea refreshment. It was an odd combination, but one that suited him indefinitely. His tongue swirled and glided against yours as they fought for dominance in a sloppy, and surprisingly passionate kiss. One that said what he didn’t have to out loud. ‘You’re mine’. He won the fight for dominance, and he sloppily suckled your tongue into his mouth.

The kiss was nasty, sloppy with saliva dripping down your chin and a few cuts on your lip from his sharp teeth clashing against them, but it was the least of your concerns as he rested his forehead against yours, nearing his end.

“I’m gonna fill this pussy up. Nice and full so everyone will know in dues time just who the fuck you belong to.” He growled out through clenched teeth. You shook your head back and forth, your eyes widening with fear. “No, don’t! Please don’t!” You begged, on and on, but to no avail.

His thrusts became harsher, and more demanding. Chasing his high aimlessly as you begged and moaned out his name underneath him. It was then that you felt it. His cock balls deep when you felt it began to swell up inside of you.

You gasped in shock as you were stretched painfully to your limit, the bulge in your lower stomach large and prominent as he pressed against it, triggering your orgasm. Your juices flushed out of you and all over his lower abdomen, and he groaned at the sight. You clenched down onto him impossibly tighter and he felt like he was gonna lose his mind.

“Pull out. Please pull out.” You desperately tried to reason with him, but he didn’t care as he sat snug inside of you, his knot finally emptying inside of you. It was warm, and you could feel it drip down your ass when his cock finally fell flaccid and limp, slowly pulling out of you.

“Maybe now, you’ll learn your lesson. You must be a fool to think that anyone could ever love you like i do.” He said, shaking his head. He bit his lip with a satisfied smile as he watched his mounds of cum pour out of you. “Milked my cock so well.” Was the only praise that slipped past his lips the rest of the night.

He didn’t allow you to clean yourself, only letting you thrown on a pair of panties from the drawer in his bedroom. Your inner thighs were slick and sticky with his warm, salty cum. “Run along now, dear. Come back when you’re finished.” He said in a singing tone, knowingly.

A flame rose in your core of embarrassment as you waddled out of the room, the uncomfortable feeling between your thighs growing by the second. It was humiliating, doing the walk of shame down the hallway, all the way to your now past lovers room.

A soft knock was laid on his door, and after a silent, dreaded minute of standing there, his door fell open. There you stood, in nothing but panties. Bite marks around your nipples and your neck prominent with a lingering bruise from the grip he held on your neck. His eyes trailed down to the cum slick between your plush thighs.

His eyes widened.

“The fuck happened to you?”

˚ ꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ ˚

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[hotchner-edu]

I was thinking about a cute scenario where Hotch misplaces his Rolex and is kinda bummed about it but reassures his girlfriend that he’ll just get another one someday. She has been saving up to get a new car but instead uses her money to surprise Aaron with a new rolax and he’s all like 🥹🥹🥹

The thought of spoiling that man consumes me.

The Watch | Aaron Hotchner

The case of the missing Rolex came to your attention before it did to Aaron's, and you were probably more devastated about it than your boyfriend was.

"Sweetheart, it's fine. I'll just get another one soon." He tries to placate you as you practically tear through his closet. Knowing Aaron, soon meant close to never due to how hectic his work life could get.

"It's not fine!" You call out from your spot on his closet floor. "A Rolex submariner going missing should qualify as an emergency situation."

You hear Aaron chuckle fondly and come up behind you, crouching down to give you a kiss on your temple, his hands moving down to stop yours before you could claw through another stack of his folded pants. "Honey, you won't find anything there. Besides, I mean it. I'll just get a new one."

Frowning, you lean back into him and sigh as he wraps his arms around your middle and drops kisses around your face. "You stress me out." You say lightheartedly, sagging in his hold.

He lets out an affectionate laugh, his chest rumbling under your back. "I love you, too."

To the misfortune of your bank account, your love for Aaron spurred you to endlessly research the variety of Rolex series available on their website. You have to fight back a grimace at every comma in the price tags.

After logging out of your bank account app (to protect your peace), you settle on purchasing the oystersteel model which resembled the one he lost.

You ended up digging into your car savings fund to purchase the watch, but you had no regret in doing so. Although it created a bit of a dent in your efforts to replace your current car, Aaron deserved to be spoiled. Plus, you’d be receiving your next paycheck soon enough.

The watch takes a little less than a week to deliver. Taking no risks, you had the delivery fully insured and tracked the package’s movements like a hawk for days.

The hard part of the entire ordeal came with having to actually give the gift to Aaron. Of course, he wasn’t above accepting gifts, but receiving gifts that cost thousands of dollars, especially on non-holiday occasions, was something else entirely for him.

One night as he’s laying beside you, watching tiktoks with you on your phone, you decide to bite the bullet.

“Honey, did you ever find your Rolex?”

He chuckles a bit sheepishly, seemingly still a bit embarrassed to have misplaced something so valuable. “No. I think I might’ve taken it off during a case somewhere and left it in the hotel.”

Nodding, you suppress an excited smile as you suddenly sit up, causing his hands to grip your waist in surprise. “Where are we off to, sweetheart?”

“I need to pee really quick.” You say smoothly, giving him a sweet kiss. "And no, you can't come this time." He gives your ass a quick slap as you crawl out of bed, causing you to shake your head playfully as he chuckles.

Locking yourself in the bathroom, you gently open one of the sink drawers containing your skincare items. Digging to the bottom, you pull out the green leather box containing the Rolex, taking a deep breath before opening the door again.

"Something wrong, sweetheart?" Aaron's voice sounds from across the room immediately, noting how fast you left the bathroom.

"I forgot something." You say and hurry toward the bed, unable to hide the giddy grin on your face.

Aaron props himself up on his arm and raises an eyebrow as you practically launch yourself back on the bed.

"For the best boyfriend in the world." You coo sweetly and extend the box toward him.

Aaron stares at you like you have three heads for a moment before frowning and carefully taking the box. "Sweetheart, you didn't have to..."

Your mood dampens a little at that and your shoulders sag. Aaron picks up on it immediately and sits up fully, eyes widened as he places the box aside and cups your face. "Thank you, really. But it must have cost a fortune, baby."

"You deserve to be spoiled, Aaron. Besides, I'm still being conscious with my money, so don't worry about it." You say, smiling when he tucks you into his chest and kisses your forehead.

"It's my job to spoil you, y'know." He grumbles playfully, squeezing your hip.

Accepting his affection, you reach for the box again and wiggle it in front of him. "Yeah, yeah, don't you want to see what I picked out for you?"

Before he opens the box, he showers you with more kisses, unable to ignore the fuzzy warmth that filled him.

"The watch, Aaron!" You protest in a fit of laughter.

He grins against your skin as he kisses your cheek. "Thanking my woman comes first."

When he finally does see the watch, he wants to just freeze time and take a picture of your expectant grin, thinking you look absolutely beautiful as you wait to see his reaction.

So while you fuss over putting the watch on for him, all he can do is stare at you lovingly and debate on whether to buy you a new car or an engagement ring first.

[seafarersdream]

Kiss, Marry, Kill? (Tom Glynn-Carney x Y/N)

It’s just a harmless game right? But who knows where it could lead to.

TW // Strong language and profanities.

The cast of House of the Dragon was in the midst of their whirlwind promotional tour, and today was no different—yet somehow, the stakes felt higher. Maybe it was the lights, the throng of people, or perhaps the sense of anticipation as they took their places on the plush, velvet couches. Tom Glynn-Carney slouched back, legs spread wide, his usual confident smirk playing on his lips as Ewan Mitchell settled beside him, more reserved but with an unmistakable twinkle in his eye.

The interviewer, a seasoned pro, knew how to work the room. She had them loosened up within minutes, firing off the usual questions about the upcoming second season. But then, with a mischievous glint, she leaned forward, practically rubbing her hands together in glee as she announced, “Alright, lads, let’s play a quick game of Kiss, Marry, Kill.”

Tom’s brows shot up, intrigued. He was game for anything. Ewan, seated to his right, nudged him with an elbow, a quiet laugh escaping his lips as the interviewer continued.

“I’m going to give you three names,” the interviewer said. “And you have to decide who you’d kiss, marry, or kill. Simple as that.”

Tom cocked his head, his smirk widening into a grin. “Go on then, hit us with it.”

The interviewer paused dramatically, milking the moment. “First up: Y/N L/N.”

Tom’s grin faltered for just a second, and then it came back, but this time there was a hint of something else in his eyes—something far less cocky and far more sincere. He could feel the heat creeping up the back of his neck. Y/N wasn’t just a name to him. She was a fucking icon, an absolute goddess on screen and off. He’d been following her career for years, from her stellar performance in Succession to her recent, jaw-dropping role alongside Cillian Murphy in Oppenheimer. And damn it if he didn’t have the biggest crush on her—a full-blown, no-holds-barred crush.

Ewan noticed the shift in Tom’s expression and snickered, leaning closer. “Oh, she’s got you good,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for Tom to hear.

“Come on, mate, don’t be shy now,” the interviewer urged, eyes dancing with mirth.

Tom leaned back, pretending to mull it over, but he already knew his answer. He always did when it came to her. “Alright,” he drawled, dragging the word out, “Y/N L/N, you say?”

Ewan was practically vibrating with laughter beside him, and Tom shot him an exasperated look. “I’d kiss the hell out of her, that’s for damn sure,” he said, his voice low, almost reverent. “And, honestly, fuck the game—I’d marry her too. I mean, have you seen her? She’s fucking brilliant.”

The room erupted in laughter, the interviewer included, but Tom wasn’t done. “As for kill,” he continued, a wicked grin stretching across his face, “I’d kill anyone who tries to get in my way.”

Ewan clapped a hand to his chest, feigning injury. “I’m wounded, Tom, absolutely devastated,” he said, playing up the dramatics. “I’m not even in the running, and I feel like you’ve killed me already.”

Tom just shook his head, a playful snort escaping him. “Sorry, mate, but Y/N’s got me all tied up in knots. Can’t be helped.”

“Christ, you’re smitten,” Ewan teased, leaning back with a grin of his own. “She’s going to see this, you know. You’re basically handing her all the power.”

Tom’s eyes darkened slightly, the playful bravado giving way to something more intense. “Good,” he said, voice rougher now, more serious. “She deserves all the power. She’s earned it. And if she ever wants to cash in on it, I’m here. Hell, I’d be on my fucking knees if she asked.”

The room went silent for a beat, the weight of his words hanging in the air. It wasn’t just a schoolboy crush. It was full-on, can’t-get-her-out-of-his-head, utterly besotted admiration.

Ewan broke the silence with a low whistle, shaking his head in disbelief. “And here I thought this was just going to be a bit of fun. You’ve gone and made it deep, Tom.”

Tom shrugged, unapologetic. “Can’t help it. She’s fucking perfect.”

The interview wrapped up soon after, but the mood had shifted. Tom had bared more of himself than he intended, but he couldn’t bring himself to regret it. If Y/N ever saw this—and he hoped like hell she would—he’d own every word.

As they left the set, Ewan threw an arm around Tom’s shoulders, still laughing. “You’re in deep, mate. Good luck with that.”

Tom just grinned, eyes distant, already thinking about Y/N. “Yeah,” he muttered, more to himself than to anyone else. “Good luck, indeed.”

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Le Grand Rex in Paris was ablaze with lights, the red carpet a river of scarlet against the darkened streets. The premiere of Oppenheimer had drawn a star-studded crowd, but even among the brightest, Y/N L/N stood out like a rare gem. Draped in a sleek, custom-made gown that hugged her curves in all the right places, she moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly who she was and the power she held.

As she made her way up and down the carpet, cameras flashed, fans screamed her name. Y/N was in her element, all smiles and waves, pausing to sign autographs and take selfies with fans. The night had been a blur of interviews, compliments, and chatter, but there was still an infectious energy about her that refused to wane.

Then, as she paused to speak with yet another member of the press, a journalist—a wiry man with glasses perched on the edge of his nose—grinned conspiratorially. “Y/N, have you seen the clip of Tom Glynn-Carney from the House of the Dragon interview?”

She blinked, caught off guard. “Tom? No, I haven't had a chance to catch up on much lately. It’s been nonstop.”

The journalist’s grin widened, sensing an opportunity. “You really should. Someone in the crowd can show you. It’s—well, it’s something.”

Intrigued, Y/N glanced over at the crowd, where several fans were already excitedly pulling up the clip on their phones. She motioned for one of them to come closer, leaning in as the screen was thrust towards her. The surrounding crowd hushed, everyone eager to see her reaction.

As the clip played, Tom’s voice filled the air, his brash, unapologetic confession spilling out as he talked about her. Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, then narrowed in amusement as Tom proclaimed his undying crush, his wish to kiss and marry her, and the sheer intensity of his words.

Her reaction was immediate and unfiltered—a laugh, rich and full of genuine delight, bubbled up from her throat. She wasn’t one to shy away from a little flirtation, especially when it was as earnest as Tom’s had been. As the clip ended, she looked up, her smile broadening into something that was part teasing, part genuinely flattered.

The crowd around her erupted into cheers, phones held high to capture every moment. Y/N wasn’t done, though. She knew exactly how to play this game, and she had no intention of letting Tom’s boldness go unchallenged.

She placed a hand on her hip, adopting a mock-serious expression as she addressed the cameras. “Glynn-Carney, if you’re watching this—and I hope you are—why don’t you go ahead and hit me up? Let’s see if you can live up to all that big talk.”

Her playful tone sent the crowd into a frenzy, laughter and cheers echoing down the carpet.

The journalist, sensing there was more to be mined from this moment, leaned in with a sly grin. “Y/N,” he began, “I have to ask—House of the Dragon is all about the Targaryen civil war, right? Team Black versus Team Green. Where do you stand?”

Y/N didn’t hesitate, her eyes lighting up. “Oh, I’m Team Black all the way,” she declared, her voice ringing with certainty. “Rhaenyra’s got that fire. I mean, who wouldn’t want to ride a dragon into battle and claim what’s rightfully yours?”

The crowd roared their approval. Y/N soaked it in, but she wasn’t done yet. She shot a playful, almost daring look at the camera, the one she knew would find its way to Tom eventually.

“But…” she continued, drawing out the word as she placed a finger thoughtfully against her lips, her expression turning wickedly amused. “Maybe Tom could do something to sway me to the Greens. I mean, he did say he’d marry me, right? That’s a pretty tempting offer.”

The crowd erupted once more, and Y/N couldn’t resist pushing it further. She leaned in, pretending to whisper into the camera but making sure everyone could hear.

“Here’s the thing, Tom,” she said, “I’m a tough sell. But you never know, I might just let you win me over. You’ve got your work cut out for you, though—dragons, crowns, and maybe a little more of that sweet-talking from you.”

She straightened up, giving the camera a wink and a dazzling smile. “But I’ll tell you what—if you can make me switch sides, I’ll wear green just for you.”

The crowd went wild, and Y/N laughed, clearly enjoying the chaos she’d just unleashed. She waved to the fans as she turned to continue down the red carpet. The internet was going to explode with this, she knew it.

As she moved on, continuing her walk down the red carpet, her mind briefly wandered to Tom. He was probably watching this somewhere, maybe even laughing as she was now. She couldn’t help but think that if their paths crossed—and she was sure they would—things might get very interesting.

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The next morning at the set was unlike any other. The usual pre-shoot routines were thrown into chaos as cast and crew buzzed with excitement, their energy crackling through the air like wildfire. It wasn’t just any morning; it was the morning after Y/N L/N’s premiere clip had blown up the internet.

Tom stepped onto the set, still bleary-eyed from a lack of sleep—who could sleep after a night like that?—but the moment he saw his co-stars’ faces, he knew he was in for it. The teasing began before he even had a chance to grab a cup of coffee.

“Oi, Tom!” Emma D’Arcy called out, their voice dripping with mock-seriousness as they waved their phone in the air. “Got any plans to defect to Team Black? I hear Y/N might be open to negotiations.”

Tom felt his face flush, but he couldn’t stop the grin that spread across his face. “Fuck off, Emma,” he shot back, but there was no venom in his words. He was too giddy to be anything but amused.

Rhys Ifans leaned in right next to him. “Tom, I reckon it’s time you took this to the next level. Send her something, maybe—oh, I don’t know—a bouquet of green roses? Subtle, yet effective.”

Fabien Frankel clapped Tom on the back, his grin as wide as anyone’s. “Honestly, mate, I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything like it. The internet’s gone feral, and it’s all because of you two.”

Tom could barely keep up with the barrage of comments. He was trying to play it cool, but inside he was practically vibrating with excitement. It was surreal—no, it was fucking unbelievable that Y/N had not only seen the clip but had played along so brilliantly. And now everyone knew about it. The entire set was alive with it.

Phia Saban sauntered over, raising an eyebrow at Tom. “You know, Tom, this could be your chance.”

Ewan Mitchell, who had been laughing since Tom walked in, finally decided to join the fray. “I told you, didn’t I? You went and made it deep, and now look where it’s gotten you—straight to the top of her radar. You’ve got the whole world watching now, mate. What’s your next move?”

Tom ran a hand through his hair, trying to process everything. He still couldn’t quite believe it—Y/N L/N, the Y/N L/N, had flirted back on camera, in front of the entire world. He felt feral, like a wild animal caught between disbelief and pure, unadulterated joy.

He let out a loud laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. “Next move? Christ, I don’t even know. How do you top that? Maybe I should just show up to her next premiere with a bloody dragon.”

Emma patted him on the shoulder, their grin wicked. “That’s the spirit, Tom. But seriously, you’ve got to strike while the iron’s hot. The fans are already shipping you two.”

Just when Tom thought the teasing couldn’t get any worse, Matt Smith strode onto the set, coffee in hand and an amused smirk already playing on his lips. The moment he saw Tom surrounded by the cast, all of them still buzzing from the morning’s revelations, Matt knew something was up.

“What’s all this then?” Matt asked. “Looks like I’ve missed quite the party.”

Olivia Cooke, always quick to catch Matt up, beamed at him. “Oh, you’re going to love this. Tom’s little schoolboy crush on Y/N L/N just went global, and she’s dared him to do something to win her over.”

Matt’s eyebrows shot up, and then he laughed—a loud, unabashed sound that filled the entire set. “You’ve got to be shitting me! Y/N L/N? As in, the Y/N L/N? Tom, you poor bastard.”

Tom groaned, running a hand down his face, but there was no hiding the grin that threatened to break through. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Matt. This is my life now.”

Matt shook his head, still chuckling. “I can’t believe it. I’ve worked with Y/N before, back when she did that one season on The Crown. She’s a bloody force of nature, mate. All or nothing with her. If she’s daring you, it means she’s already intrigued. But you better be ready to deliver, because Y/N doesn’t do things halfway.”

Ewan leaned in, eyes glinting with mischief. “Matt, you’ve got to tell him—what’s she like when she’s got her sights set on something?”

Matt set his coffee down, crossing his arms as he considered Tom with a gleam in his eye. “Let me tell you something, Tom. Y/N is the kind of person who, when she decides to go after something, she doesn’t just dip her toes in the water. She dives headfirst, no second thoughts, no holding back. And she expects the same in return. If you’re thinking about going after her, you better be ready to put everything on the line.”

Tom could feel his heart pounding, not from fear, but from the thrill of the challenge. “Fuck,” he muttered, grinning despite himself. “Sounds like I’m in for one hell of a ride.”

Matt clapped him on the back, his grin as wide as ever. “That’s the spirit, Tom. Just remember—don’t half-ass it. Y/N doesn’t play games unless they’re the high-stakes kind. But if you go all in, who knows? You might just come out on top.”

Fabien, who had been listening intently, couldn’t help but chime in. “Honestly, Tom, the whole world saw that clip. If you don’t do something epic now, you’ll never hear the end of it.”

Tom nodded, feeling a surge of determination. “You’re right. I can’t just let this slide. I’ve got to do something that’ll knock her off her feet.”

Matt grinned knowingly. “Good lad. And remember, she might be all or nothing, but if you go for it—really go for it—you’ll have her respect, if not more.”

As the cast began to prepare for the day’s shoot, the energy on set remained electric. Tom felt like he was on the cusp of something huge, something that could either be the best or the most terrifying thing he’d ever done. But one thing was for sure: he wasn’t about to back down.

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As the day’s shooting wound down and the cast began to peel away, heading back to their trailers or the waiting cars that would whisk them off to their respective lives, Tom found himself in a bit of a daze. The entire day had been a rollercoaster of teasing, planning, and more than a little anxiety as he contemplated what his next move with Y/N might be.

He was leaning against the side of the set, sipping on a bottle of water, when Matt walked over, still wearing that trademark smirk of his. Tom looked up, sensing that something was coming, and he wasn’t sure if he should be excited or terrified.

“So, Tom,” Matt began, his voice casual but with a hint of something mischievous beneath it, “I’ve been thinking.”

“That’s never a good sign,” Tom shot back, but his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. He was still buzzing with nerves.

Matt laughed, shaking his head. “You’re going to love this, mate. Turns out, I’ve got plans this weekend to meet up with Y/N at a pub. Just a low-key thing, some friends catching up, you know?”

Tom’s heart skipped a beat. “With Y/N?” he repeated, the words feeling foreign on his tongue. “You’re meeting Y/N this weekend?”

“Yeah,” Matt confirmed, his grin widening. “And I was thinking, why not bring you along? You know, give you a chance to show her just how charming you can be in person. It’s the perfect opportunity, Tom. No cameras, no pressure—just you, me, and Y/N with a few pints.”

Tom’s heart pounded so hard he could feel it in his throat. The idea of seeing Y/N in person, outside of the spotlight, was exhilarating. But at the same time, the thought of it made his stomach twist with nerves. What if he fucked it up? What if he got there and couldn’t string two words together?

“I don’t know, Matt…” Tom began, trying to find a way to express his uncertainty without sounding like a complete wuss. “I mean, what if it’s weird? What if she doesn’t even want me there?”

Before Matt could respond, Ewan, who had apparently been eavesdropping (and who was never one to let a good opportunity for chaos pass by), sidled up next to them. “What’s this?” he asked, his voice dripping with mock concern. “Tom getting cold feet? I never thought I’d see the day.”

Fabien, who had joined them as well, crossed his arms and gave Tom an exaggerated look of disappointment. “You’re not seriously backing out, are you? Come on, Tom. You’ve been handed the perfect setup, and now you’re going to chicken out?”

Tom opened his mouth to protest, but Matt cut him off, clapping a hand on his shoulder. “Listen, Tom, you’ve got nothing to worry about. Y/N’s cool as hell, and trust me—if she didn’t want you there, she wouldn’t have thrown down the gauntlet like she did. She’s daring you to show up, mate. You can’t just ignore that.”

Ewan’s eyes narrowed playfully. “And let’s be real, if you don’t show up, you’ll regret it. For the rest of your life, you’ll be that bloke who had a chance with Y/N L/N and didn’t take it.”

Fabien nodded, his expression turning serious. “This is your moment, Tom. Don’t overthink it. Just show up, be yourself, and let things happen. Besides, Matt’s got your back. You’re in good hands.”

Tom looked between the three of them, feeling the pressure from all sides. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go—he did, more than anything—but the idea of sitting across from Y/N, trying to impress her without making a fool of himself, was daunting as hell.

Matt, sensing Tom’s hesitation, gave him a reassuring smile. “Look, Tom, I get it. But trust me on this. Y/N’s not just some untouchable A-lister—she’s a person, same as you. And she’s already interested, or she wouldn’t have flirted back the way she did. Just show up, be yourself, and have a laugh. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Tom swallowed hard, nodding slowly. “You’re right. Fuck it, I’ll do it. I’ll come.”

Ewan let out a whoop of approval, slapping Tom on the back. “That’s the spirit! And hey, if things get awkward, just remember—Fabien and I will be waiting here to take the piss out of you when you get back.”

Fabien grinned. “And don’t forget, Tom, you’ve got a job to do. Make sure you convince her to change her allegiance to the Greens.”

Tom rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t help but chuckle. “Right, because that’s what this is all about—winning her over to Team Green. Piece of cake, right?”

Matt chimed in with a snort. “Like hell.”

Tom steeled himself. “If I come back empty-handed, you lot better be ready to deal with the aftermath.”

Ewan clapped him on the shoulder again, his grin widening. “Don’t worry, Tom. Whatever happens, we’ve got your back. Just go in there and be yourself. The rest will take care of itself.”

And as Matt sauntered off with a final salute, Tom couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, he had a shot at making Y/N see the appeal of the Greens—whether that was Aegon’s colors or something else entirely.

[jenscx]

LUCID DREAM — ning yizhuo

it’s been years without ning yizhuo in your life. it feels surreal; the day you walked out without an explanation. but just the thought of being able to see her again, it draws you back into the endless loop of loving her.

TAGS — angst, exes to ???, insecurity, model!ning, ambiguous ending, mentions of alcohol, making up, jmj wedding (we don’t actually get to witness it tho)

WORDCOUNT — 7.4k

you stare at the wedding invitation, written neatly at the top, the invitation is addressed to a ning y/n. you want to cry. the invitation clearly stating your ex’s name makes your heart clench uncomfortably. it’s a blaring reminder that your relationship ended and you’re no longer living in your childhood fantasy.

“fuck,” you swear, “fuck you, kim minjeong.” you want to murder minjeong, but who were you to ask minjeong to stop reminding you of your bitter ending? especially since it was your own impulsiveness that had ended the relationship. you could have been more understanding towards yizhuo, could have tried her best to resolve your conflict, but no. instead, you ran. ran like the coward you were.

you remember the brokenhearted look on yizhuo’s face, the devastated glimmer in her eyes before she had flipped her expression to another, like a switch. or more like a broken one, your brain offers unhelpfully. of course, the quiver of her lips had given yizhuo away almost immediately. you had known yizhuo for a third of your life, obviously you could tell when your soulmate– or in this case, ex, was about to break down.

you wish you had stayed, and simply comforted your soulmate like old times, but you couldn’t bear to watch yizhuo cry, because of you. you remember the look on your friends’ faces when you told them that you broke up with yizhuo, all the words they had yelled at her for betraying yizhuo. you remember the anger directed at you by yizhuo’s parents when you had sent them an apology letter. through the post, yizhuo had told you, letters felt more sincere than emails.

but perhaps the worst reaction wasn’t from any of them, it was simply from your own cat. meowing viciously when you had picked him up, bringing him together with you. the scratches lining your arms only serve as a constant reminder. mao, your british short haired, was desperately attached to yizhuo (and she was the one who named him too. what absolute luck.) his hostility could only be reasoned that he knew his owner had hurt yizhuo. if a silly little cat knew the extent of the breakup, what could that mean for you?

“wallowing in your grief again? that’s not good for you,” you peer up at chaewon, the only friend that somehow wasn’t connected to yizhuo. chaewon takes a quick glance at the invitation and giggles, “you’re going? i hope you survive, you haven’t paid this month’s rent yet.”

you merely sigh.

“the place’s gonna be filled with people who hate my guts, you really think i’m going? minjeong probably only sent this to piss me off.”

chaewon frowns, “you don’t seem pissed off, just sad. honey, you have to let me know if they’re bothering you, like actually. it’s not your fault, well– maybe it is, but you’re suffering too. it isn’t nice for them to do this to you.” you shrug in response. you deserve it. you deserve every stab in your heart, you deserve the tears that escape in the middle of the night.

“let’s drink tonight, okay? we’ll put on titanic or something and cry about life while eating ice cream,” chaewon offers. maybe it’s the thought of getting drunk, or titanic, or crying in your friend’s arms, but the offer is appealing and you find yourself agreeing too soon.

you can hear chaewon do a silent cheer. it makes you smile slightly and gives you enough energy to pull yourself up from the floor.

“i’ll go get the soju, just lie on the couch and relax!” you follow as your friend says and lie on the sofa you had picked out together after mao’s claws had sunk into the leather, ripping it to shreds. the cat was a brat.

doesn’t this remind you of something– or someone? the voice in your head quips. you groan, why couldn’t your head shut up sometimes? your heart drops as you recall the conversation between your parents when you had told them you broke things off with yizhuo. you remember your mother’s expression; disappointed and upset, a stark contrast to when you had told her that you finally found someone. the proud look on your father’s when you introduced yizhuo to them, god, why the fuck was yizhuo such an amazing girlfriend?

you caused this. you want to scream ‘no’. you’re the one who dumped yizhuo. who are you to be upset over thi–

“y/n? hey, stop thinking about it,” chaewon pouts, “don’t make yourself even more sad!” you blink back into reality and at the sight of chaewon puffing her cheeks out, holding two bottles of soju and a large bowl of popcorn, make you want to coo at the girl. you push the thoughts of yizhuo to the back of your head as soon as the opening to titanic appears on the screen.

you two laugh sometimes, mostly chaewon, but it’s quiet throughout the movie and you can’t tell whether you’d rather have chaewon’s comments about how cute the actors are or the silence that allows you to delve deeper into your thoughts. you take a sip whenever chaewon mentions how in love jack and rose are.

when you blink, it’s already at the part where jack allows rose to get onto the wooden door, while he stays in the freezing water. chaewon throws popcorn at the tv, apparently already drunk, screaming at rose to quote, “fucking move her ass,” for jack to get on. you take a large gulp of soju in the midst of chaewon’s sniffles.

“y/n…i can’t believe it… she just let jack die!” chaewon cries out, “the love of her life, she just let him go! how could she just let him die?!” you nod, trying to drink the already empty bottle of soju.

when you stand up, the whole room swirls and you stumble back onto the couch. “don’t let her go, y/n!” you jump at the close proximity of chaewon’s voice, “don’t let the love of your life go!”

you hum in agreement and scream, “i won’t let her go!” determined, you pick up your phone and the selfie of you and yizhuo greets her. you miss her, don’t you? of course not. you don’t miss her at all. change your homescreen then. you wouldn’t.

you roll your eyes and enter kakaotalk.

y/n [11.38pm]:

i kiss you

i miss you*

read [11.39pm]

“i did it, chaewon!” you exclaim, “i didn’t let her go!”

drunk you is apparently an idiot, since we all know, if a ‘i love you’ can’t solve a crack, obviously a ‘i miss you’ wouldn’t be able to solve an earthquake.

i miss you too. i miss you so much it hurts. but how could you say that, when you’re the one that left me first? yizhuo doesn’t cry as much anymore. she doesn’t sob into her pillow in the middle of the night anymore. the couple posts that appear on her instagram feed doesn’t make tears well up in her eyes anymore.

it still hurts. hurts as much as it did before. and yizhuo might just have to live with that pain everyday. the misspelt word makes her heart throb, in affection and pain, because she could imagine your voice in her head. are you hurting as much as she is? it doesn’t make the stabbing pain in her chest any better to know that the one she loves is suffering.

yizhuo stares at the glaring light from her phone. i miss you. really y/n? she wants to scoff. you were probably drunk out of your mind and sent that text on a whim. or maybe it was meant for another girl. the thought makes yizhuo want to cry.

is there someone else you call ‘baby' now?

fuck, you think, oh fuck. the read blaring on your phone, as if mocking you.

“shit,” chaewon groans, holding her head, “what happened last night? did we accidentally kill someone?” you wish you did. you take a deep breath, and scream. if the neighbours show up the next moment, it’s totally because of the night before, and not your scream at 8 in the morning.

you calm down. eventually. you calm down after chaewon grabs your shoulders and wiggles you back and forth, yelling for you to get your shit together. it only worsens the raging headache the both of you have. if rent wasn’t so high nowadays, you would have immediately fled and lived alone. kim chaewon with a hangover was not a good sight.

“whatever! you drunk texted your ex! whatever! hashtag yolo right— ah fuck, the room is spinning,” chaewon shrieks, “ugh, why did we drink so much?! but! your life isn’t over! so what if you texted her? it’s okay, we stay delusional and pretend things never happened!”

despite the wacky talk chaewon gives, it actually helps. texting yizhuo, while drunk, was a mistake. you nod hastily, “i get what you’re saying, but please let me go.”

chaewon loosens her grip, pursed lips as she huffs, “the most badass thing you can do now is go to the wedding.”

your eyes widen, “what the hell? kim chaewon, are you crazy? no, you’re insane.”

your roommate only grins lazily, “it came with a plus one invite, right? i’ll go with you. it’ll be okay! and don’t you wanna see your friends again?”

“i do, but most of them hate my guts,” you wince, recalling the angry messages left by aeri and minjeong, none from jimin, that probably speaks for itself what she thought of you, “they were yizhuo’s friends first, and mine second. when it comes to things like this, they would, rightfully so, take yizhuo’s side.”

chaewon whistles, “yeah it’s not looking too good for you right now.”

you flop onto the couch, sighing, “if i see yizhuo, i’ll freeze up and make a fool of myself.” your hands fly to rub at your eyes, groaning miserably, “i guess i’m not over her.”

chaewon slides into the space next to you, scoffing, “you think? having her number saved and pinned is crazy and the last time we talked before this, you were in love with her. what happened?”

your heart constricts painfully. you never spoke about your breakup to anyone, only asking chaewon if she still needed someone to split rent with. the moment you had uttered those words, you had left the shared apartment with yizhuo, not turning back to watch the love of your life collapse.

“i…” your throat dries up, “i was in love with her, i guess i still am. i don’t doubt that she felt the same for me, but maybe not anymore. our relationship was the best thing to ever happen to me. the happiest years of my life were when i was with yizhuo. she made me feel alive.”

tears prick at your eyes involuntarily. chaewon’s gaze is full of pity and comfort. sympathy. no one else gave you that.

“she wanted to get married, chaewon,” you whisper, “she was ready for marriage. i wasn’t.”

“oh.”

“i saw her looking at engagement rings one day and god, it was like, how have i never noticed before? she always shows me videos of weddings and how she would want her wedding to be like, but i never stopped to think whether i wanted marriage. i didn’t know what i would say if yizhuo just proposed. would it have hurt less for her if i said no rather than breaking up with her?”

chaewon presses a comforting hand to your shoulder, sighing, “i’m sorry, i literally see two of you right now but i’ll try to articulate this as best as i can.” her words draw out a hollow laugh from you. “you just weren’t ready yet, and yeah, you should have communicated that to her before jumping in to break up, but have you ever thought that you weren’t ready because you didn’t love her enough?”

you swallow, tears flowing down your cheeks freely, “n-no, i love her. she’s my favourite person. i love her so much, too much even. but getting married? that’s a lifelong commitment. i just didn’t know if she was sure that she really wanted to spend the rest of her life with… me. she has her whole life figured out. she’s a rich model who could have anyone else. we were childhood friends first, before girlfriends. and now she’s certain that she wants to marry me? what if there’s someone better for her out there? she’s only been chained to me because we got together so young. i just… had to let her go.”

“commitment issues,” chaewon states, “you have severe commitment issues.”

“i guess so,” you let out a watery laugh. your roommate chuckles, “you want her back?”

“yeah, i’m desperate.”

“let’s go to the wedding.”

you send a small smile to chaewon, “thanks, roomie.”

“i saw the invite by the way, and damn, are your friends rich? don’t get me wrong, i’m going as your moral support but the free buffet too—”

“i’m literally going to strangle you.”

yizhuo twirls the pen in her hand, watching it glide across her fingers and abruptly landing on the wooden table with a thud. she couldn’t stand seeing all the wedding preparations and chose to hide in jimin’s study. the door creaks open, a figure stands by the doorway.

“hello jimin unnie, aren’t you meant to be looking over the finishing touches of your wedding?” yizhuo asks, her smile dimming as she thinks about marriage. jimin frowns, “minjeong’s doing that. she told me to come check up on you.”

“me?”

“i know how you feel about weddings. we all do,” jimin says bluntly. yizhuo’s lips fall into a thin line. of course her friends were aware. they helped pick out the ring for god’s sake. the weight of a velvet box lying in her bedside table haunts her dreams.

yizhuo stands up from her desk, inching closer to jimin, a faux smile on her face, “you don’t have to worry about me. it’s your special day after all.”

“not yet, but let me worry about my friend for a while more before i get married,” jimin mutters, “minjeong sent an invite to y/n.” yizhuo’s whole body tenses up. a blurry image of you appears in her brain. she immediately shuts that down.

biting the inside of her cheek, yizhuo turns away from jimin with folded arms, “and? did she say she was coming?”

yizhuo hears jimin’s hesitance.

“just say it.”

jimin clears her throat, “she’s coming with a plus one.”

a distant thought forms. a plus one. your new girlfriend? did you find someone else? were you coming to the wedding to flaunt your new lover? yizhuo wasn’t dumb, she knew that her friends disliked you, heavily. minjeong most definitely sent out that invitation with disgust. jimin told her what minjeong had said to you. aeri had barely brushed it off, saying you weren’t worth her time scolding, despite the chain of messages she sent. she knew that you were aware they hated you. why would you come to the wedding?

“i-i’m not sure what’s their relationship, but her name is kim chaewon and oh my god, minjeong’s gonna kill me, y/n requested for a shared hotel room,” jimin utters out nervously. yizhuo’s eyes turn into slits. a shared hotel room?

“i see,” yizhuo says indifferently, contrasting the feelings bubbling inside her, “that’s good to know.”

jimin places a hand on yizhuo’s shoulder, “hey, it could all mean nothing, i don’t want you to get hurt again.”

“does it matter when i’m already like this?” yizhuo retorts back.

“i hope you don’t do anything stupid. before everything, you’re still my friend. if y/n showing up makes you uncomfortable, i’ll tell her she’s not invited,” jimin says softly, “minjeong will understand. you come first.”

“it’s your wedding, jimin. i won’t be a burden to you guys. it’s your day,” yizhuo mirrors jimin’s frown.

jimin’s shoulders slack.

“it’s not about that,” the older girl retorts, exasperated.

“what is it about then?”

“i don’t think minjeong will stay neutral and be calm when she sees y/n,” jimin groans, “she’ll probably pick a fight with her and i don’t want my wife to be stressed and angry on her wedding day.”

yizhuo can’t help teasing jimin, “wife, huh?”

jimin smirks, “yes, wife. you know last week, minjeong called me—”

“oh kay! i think you should go!” yizhuo yells, saving herself from the details of her friends’ intimate lives. jimin cackles maniacally as she leaves the study. yizhuo sighs and leans her head against the wooden door. jimin’s footsteps can be heard as she walks downstairs, along with the voices of her friends. they’re all scattered and anxious, she hears the distant shouting of minjeong and aeri. despite the noise around her, yizhuo feels somewhat at peace. for now. she doesn’t know what she’s going to do the moment you come to the wedding.

because despite what everyone else says, yizhuo cannot move on. you were literally half of her life and more. when you had uttered those words of devastation, it was like the world had ended. a terrible nightmare that tortured yizhuo every single day. was she too overbearing? sometimes— well, last time, you had mentioned that she was a very affectionate and clingy girlfriend. was that the sole reason? yizhuo frowns. no, that couldn’t be. you were equally as physically needy as her.

maybe you had found someone new? the plus one that was coming? that didn’t seem plausible either. if you were cheating, yizhuo would most definitely know and you abhorred cheaters anyway.

as she wrecked her mind for reasons, a common past time she developed after you had left, the constant rewinding of the conversation had been engraved in her brain eternally.

(yizhuo had just gotten off work, a smile on her face as she entered the house, heels clacking against the floor. the thought of you waiting at home impatiently for her only brought her smile to widen. maybe you would run up to her and embrace her warmly, complaining about how long she took. yet, neither of those happened and she’s left staring at you, hunched over, at the dining table, a suitcase packed by your side.

“what are you doing?” she had asked curiously. were you going on a trip? begrudgingly, you had gotten up, a sombre look on your face as you whispered, “yizhuo…”

that ticked yizhuo off. you never called her yizhuo. it was always baby, honey, sweetheart. but never yizhuo. it sounded so foreign and cold coming from your lips.

“what’s wrong? is everything okay?” she asked.

your face contorts into one of utter desperation and heartbreak, “i think we should break up.”

yizhuo’s mind had gone blank. she had never anticipated hearing those words from you. break up? that wasn’t in her future with you. her heart clenched uncomfortably against her ribcage and her throat constricted, to the point she couldn’t mutter a single word.

taking advantage of her silence, you run your fingers through your hair, the hair that yizhuo would so lovingly comb through every night as she whispered words of devotion into your ear, “i want to break up.”

“no.” is the only thing yizhuo can say. wide-eyed and stupefied, “no.”

you look as stunned as she is, yet the stark difference between the two of you, are the tears that threaten to tip over at every passing second in your eyes.

“yizhuo,” you pleaded, “i’m sorry. i can’t.”

“why are you doing this?” she croaked out, demanding an answer. the weight of the velvet box in her purse felt like it was dragging her down to the darkest pits of hell. she couldn’t imagine something like this ever happening. you were meant to be her happily ever after.

“i—”

yizhuo couldn’t stand it anymore. “tell me why you want to break up!” she yelled, the confusion and fatigue of her body overwhelming everything.

“i… please… don’t make this harder than it already is.”

“you don’t love me anymore? you found someone else?” yizhuo accused. of course, none of these were the true reasons. you couldn’t even look at yizhuo in the eye before murmuring an apology again and grasping the suitcase in your hand.

“i love you,” you had whispered at the door, “i’m sorry.”

yizhuo doesn’t even respond. pure shock overtaking her as she watched you leave. the moment the door had closed, sobs took over yizhuo as she collapsed on the floor, heartbroken and devastated at losing the love of her life.

if you truly loved her, you wouldn’t have left so easily.)

that statement plagues yizhuo’s mind for the next few years. it replays in her head repeatedly, like a broken mantra. she knows that it’s unhealthy; to be thinking of you every night before she succumbs to a dreamless sleep. yet, sometimes, yizhuo prays that she might be dreaming, and when she wakes up, you would be right by her side. jimin thinks she should get a therapist. but yizhuo doesn’t want to get over you. she fears that you might just become a hazy memory, lost in anger and grief. she doesn’t want that to happen. because despite everything, the pain you have caused her, she still loves you.

it’s strange, the way love works. yizhuo hates you for doing this to her; ruining her for anyone else because if they even bore a similar trait to you, she would just break down. like the blind date aeri had set her up on long ago. fresh out of the breakup, and with extreme bribery and convincing, yizhuo had met shen xiaoting, one of aeri’s friends, over dinner. aeri had said that maybe yizhuo needed someone closer to her culture, and with the homesickness she felt constantly, the lack of comforting words that you provided, yizhuo agreed.

that date was the whole reason aeri stopped asking yizhuo to go on blind dates, for when xiaoting had mentioned that she liked cats, yizhuo had started bawling, the memory of you playing with your own pet cursing her mind.

it was embarrassing to say the least, and even more embarrassing to explain to xiaoting that it wasn’t her fault. the poor girl had thought yizhuo had something against cats. aeri apologised endlessly as yizhuo cried, with an awkward xiaoting patting her shoulder. at least they became friends.

maybe, with the support of her friends, yizhuo would be able to stand the sight of you at the wedding. it would be totally fine! and if she sees you with someone new, maybe, just maybe, it would give her the motivation to finally get over you.

honestly, screw everything. you literally hate chaewon right now. thankfully, jimin and minjeong had provided a one night stay at the hotel. your apartment (and mao) was being taken care of by sakura, one of chaewon’s friends. there was apparently a party before the actual day. you assumed they would just want a shared bachelorette party. however, your self-proclaimed wingman was cozying up to one of the guests. by her straight posture and gentle expression, she was probably nakamura kazuha from high school. yizhuo was friends with her, you remember.

you couldn’t believe that all those words of encouragement had flown out the window the moment chaewon locked eyes with the ‘love of her life’. you roll your eyes, already annoyed with your friend. somehow, you still hadn’t spotted yizhuo amongst the crowd.

most of them, you didn’t recognise. some, from high school and college. the rest, probably family members. maybe some faces stood out, like shin ryujin from history class or jang wonyoung, the valedictorian. but mostly, unrecognisable. from the various mops of hair in the crowd, you spot uchinaga aeri’s infamous smirk. you wonder where the rest of the group are.

you sigh, taking a lonely sip of the champagne they provided. at least it was good.

chaewon’s obnoxious laughter fills the area. it’s loud and irritating, or maybe you’re just easily annoyed right now. kazuha just stares at her, all confused. it’s a little funny.

“y/n.” a steely voice rings out from the crowd. you whip your head, heart racing at the familiar but dreadful tone.

“oh,” you whisper, horror-stricken. you weren’t prepared to meet them now!

the older girl merely stares at you, before you bow your head hesitantly, “congratulations on your marriage.”

jimin visibly loosened up, her eyes twinkling and shining with adoration, “thank you.” perhaps out of all of yizhuo’s friends, jimin was the one who hated you the least. she didn’t bother scolding you or cursing you out, only choosing to glare at you.

“i think we should talk,” she finally says after a moment of silence. you wholeheartedly agree with her. if you were meant to see yizhuo tomorrow, you definitely needed another friend that wasn’t chaewon.

she brings you out of the function room, the starry night sky being the only company outside. jimin takes a long gulp of her champagne.

“why’d you really break up with yizhuo?”

the patiently and dedicated stitches of a sewed wound are ripped apart, directly exposing your bleeding heart and emotions. everything comes falling apart the moment she asks. you can only stare at her.

“i… i made a mistake,” you shake your head, “i wasn’t ready.”

jimin, patient as always, hums, urging you to continue.

“she wanted to get married. i didn’t,” you say, with grief and regret lacing your every word, because everything would be fine if you had just talked to yizhuo.

“we helped her pick out the ring,” jimin adds. you only feel more guilty.

“i can’t give her the life she wants, unnie,” the endearing term of intimacy slips out, a cry filled with desperation, “she deserves the world and i can’t give her that.”

“you were her world. it’s that simple. she only ever wanted you.”

hurt gnaws at your heart, it’s palpitating with raw stabs that echo of your heartbreak.

“i don’t deserve her,” you sigh, “i had to let her go. i couldn’t bear to see the look on her face if i refused her engagement.”

jimin nods, “i understand your fear. but i hate the fact that this could have been solved with an explanation.”

you groan, anger coursing through your veins. you were so upset and narrow-minded at the time. the only solution was to seemingly break up with yizhuo. it would spare her the everlasting pain from a rejection of her proposal.

“i know, i just couldn’t at that time.”

the older girl tries to smile. it’s akin to one of those encouraging ones she would give right before an exam or test. it sparks a shiver of nostalgia.

“jagiya, where are you— oh.”

jimin quickly straightens up, swiftly turning around to face minjeong with a grin, “hey, mindoong.”

you tense up, your fingers wrapping around the glass tightly.

“glad you could make it,” minjeong’s eyes flicker up and down your body, venom evident in her tone as she hisses, “y/n.”

nodding, you reply, “thank you for inviting me.”

the tension is overbearing; with minjeong’s glares, jimin’s beaming smile and your awkward shuffling, you couldn’t wait to retreat to the comfort of your hotel room.

“where’s your girlfriend?” minjeong suddenly asks. you stare at her, confused, “my what?”

jimin’s eyes widen as she hastily pulls minjeong aside, frantically whispering in her ear. but like the past, jimin has never been a good whisperer. you catch phrases like ‘she might not be her girlfriend’ and ‘what if yizhuo hears?’. a looming sensation brews in your stomach.

“kim chaewon? is that her name?” minjeong asks harshly, “didn’t take you to like korean girls, i thought you liked chinese girls instead.”

you’re visibly taken aback. what was minjeong saying? chaewon? your girlfriend? since when was chaewon your girlfriend?

“uh,” despite your fear of minjeong yelling at you, your words come out firmly, “chaewon isn't my girlfriend.”

minjeong falters slightly before scoffing, “yeah right. you don’t have to lie now. we all know that you left yizhuo for some other girl.”

your heart stops. what?

what was she saying?

leaving yizhuo for another girl?

“i— i would never… that’s—”

“minjeong unnie, that’s enough.”

you’ve thought of this moment forever. every single day after the break up. you’ve thought of running back into her arms, apologising endlessly for even thinking of breaking up with her. you’ve thought of how she would accept you graciously with murmurs of comfort, because that was just how she was. a gracious and generous girl who deserved the world. you’ve thought of her bright smile and gleaming eyes.

you’ve never thought of her staring at you, a dull and saddened look on her face.

“ning—”

“minjeong unnie,” she pleads, “please.”

the watery gaze must have swayed minjeong over. you would know, having fallen prey to her puppy eyes before. yizhuo slides the door open, watching intently as minjeong and jimin leave.

“good luck,” jimin whispers just before she steps away. you think you need all the luck in the world right now.

yizhuo lets out a heavy sigh once the door slides closed. she gazes at you for a second. you’re taken back to your younger days, where every day was spent just staring at yizhuo. you had proclaimed confidently that yizhuo was the most gorgeous girl on earth. you aren’t wrong. the years you spent apart from her had done her generously. it had only been two, yet, yizhuo looked more mature and sure of herself.

“did you really find someone new?” she whispers, shattering the glass of ignorance. you swallow, shaking your head, “no.”

yizhuo thinks back to the drunken message you had sent.

“was that on purpose? that text you sent,” she asks, eyes wide and afraid of your answer.

you shake your head again, “i was drunk. i’m sorry.”

“i hate you, you know that right?” yizhuo says. before, you had imagined the piercing stab of pain that came with those words. you had thought it would be the end of your life, with the girl you loved the most saying she hated you.

it’s understandable now, and inevitable.

“i know,” you whisper.

yizhuo continues to stare at you. somehow, this all feels like a fever dream, one that she’ll wake up from soon. it feels unreal to have you in front of her again.

she takes in the sight of you, memorising every detail for if you leave again.

“why’d you come then?”

there are many reasons that you can say, with varying degrees of truthfulness; to congratulate jimin and minjeong, to see your friends again, to just visit your hometown.

“i wanted to see you.” it’s the truthest thing you’ve ever said.

“you can’t,” yizhuo inhales sharply, “yo-you can’t just show up like this.”

“i know, i’m sorry.”

your head hangs lowly.

“tell me the real reason why you left.”

you had expected this.

she would want closure.

your throat constricts uncomfortably.

“i… yizhuo…”

“tell me.” it feels similar to your past.

yizhuo looks as beautiful as ever. she’s the only thing you can think of right now. her lips are moving, yet you don’t hear a single thing.

“i didn’t want marriage.”

oh.

the girl’s eyebrows furrow. her eyes turning into slits of anger as she takes in a deep breath. you know she’s about to start tearing up. maybe you should quickly explain yourself.

it’s your only chance.

“i saw you looking at engagement rings and i knew i wouldn’t be ready if you got down on one knee. you’re a model, for god’s sake. you had a prospering career, being tied down to someone like me wouldn’t bring you any benefits,” you finally say. it’s not the full reason why, but you hope yizhuo would understand even a semblance of your choice.

“i know that it’s a shitty excuse. i know that i’m a coward. but what else was i meant to do?”

yizhuo huffs.

“talked to me. you could have talked to me.”

you resist the urge to roll your eyes.

“would that stop me from breaking your heart?”

the love of your life stands before you. yet, it seems like the only words of devotion you’ll exchange is how devoted she is to hating you. yizhuo crosses her arms, frowning, “yes. i’d much rather have a minute of heartbreak than years of it. you’re such a prick.”

“yizhuo—”

“no, you don’t get to do this,” she points a finger at your chest, prodding the area where your head resides ferociously, “you can’t just come back, explain yourself with an extremely stupid reason, and expect that i would be okay with it. you sent me a drunk text, saying you missed me. how come i don’t feel anything?”

“i love you, yizhuo. i just did what i thought was right in that moment—”

the only thing you can hear is your heart shattering into pieces at the sight of tears falling down her face. yizhuo sniffles, her voice becoming shrill as she adds on, “you’re an asshole. you think you’re the only one in this relationship? you didn’t even explain yourself properly. you think you’re making the right choices for us? for me?”

you continue to stare at her blankly.

the next words come out like a gunshot, “then you don’t know me at all.”

it snaps onto your skin, leaving a scathing burn and engraving ning yizhuo’s name into your body. your insides coil up painfully. hearing yizhuo’s cries as you left years ago had been torturous, but nothing beats her breaking down in front of you right this instant. you’re overcome with a striking urge to pull her into your arms and whisper words of affection into her ears, promising her to never leave. the pet name leaves your mouth quicker than you can think.

“baby—”

a sharp stinging sensation sears in your right cheek. you can feel the affected area heating up, scorching hot and red. yizhuo’s handprint is evident, singed in your skin.

an onslaught of tears rises, but you’re determined to not let them fall.

“okay,” you whisper, unable to say anything else to the equally stunned yizhuo, “i’ll leave. i’m sorry.”

the girl just stands outside in the cold, her eyes bloodshot and cheeks rosy from the wind. before you go, the slight shiver that runs through her body makes you hesitate. the comfort of your jacket feels like a heavy burden now.

maybe you would get slapped again. but at least yizhuo wouldn’t be cold.

gently taking it off, you encase yizhuo in your jacket, biting your cheek (which still hurts!) to resist a smile at how it covers her small figure. she gazes at you like a deer caught in headlights. you sigh and try to move your legs, but they feel like jelly. with much difficulty, you finally make it to the door, using the frame to stabilise your wobbly walking.

when you turn back, yizhuo isn’t staring at you, but she’s staring at the night sky, more specifically, the moon. you take one last look at her. the weight on your shoulders is gone now. and all that is left is a longing feeling to have yizhuo back in your arms again. but maybe, you could live with that.

sliding the door open, you go back into the function room. the crowd had dispersed, leaving just a few people chatting around. you spot jimin and minjeong talking while drinking. aeri’s at the bar, engaged in a conversation with a waitress. chaewon, god bless her, is relatively nearby, while kazuha is nowhere to be found.

“chaewon,” you breathe out, relieved. she turns to you, startled, “oh damn, what happened to your face? you look a little…”

“i know,” you laugh dryly, “i think it’s time for us to leave and go to sleep now.”

chaewon doesn’t argue and instead nods, her eyes drawn to the reddening mark across your cheek. even in the dark light, she could still notice the imprints of someone’s fingers.

“she slapped you?” she asks while you head towards the elevator.

“yeah,” you scratch the back of your neck, “we kind of… argued.”

chaewon laughs heartily at your misfortune. you’re glad at least this brings someone joy. maybe minjeong too. she would love to see you in pain.

“i think you should get some rest buddy,” she pats your back. you nod, feeling as if sleep was just an arm’s reach away.

the conversation with yizhuo had drained you significantly, both mentally and physically. and maybe you should put some ointment on the red area too. you might wake up with a bruise or something tomorrow.

the urge to flop into bed is too strong as chaewon slides the keycard into the slot. the door opens, revealing a luxurious hotel suite with a king-sized bed. you remember requesting for a shared room. it was to mainly prevent yourself from doing anything reckless when drunk. you’d have chaewon to keep you grounded.

“did you get kazuha’s number?” you ask as chaewon throws her face cleanser at you. the girl giggles, “yeah. she’s so cute.”

you subtly cringe at the lovestruck look in her eyes.

groaning, you head into the bathroom. your eyes widen as you prod at your cheek, shocked that yizhuo landed such a heavy hit. damn, has she been going to the gym lately? the yizhuo back then barely had any strength to resist your tickles. there wasn’t any surging hot anger left from yizhuo slapping you, just a dull and yearning hope for her. maybe you should calm yourself down by taking a cold shower.

after dowsing yourself with water, you padded out of the bathroom, only to discover that chaewon wasn’t hunched over her luggage anymore.

you check your phone.

chaewon [10.27pm]:

zuha texted me, staying w her for the night

there’s ointment on the bedside table

for ur stupid face

bye :p

wow. chaewon had managed to do that within a day. staying at a girl’s hotel room? you whistle lowly. maybe she was onto something. but with her departure, the hotel room feels too quiet now. only the breezing and fluttering sounds of the airconditioning accompanying your thoughts of self-loathing. collapsing onto the bed, you reach out for the ointment.

just as you unscrew the cap, the doorbell rings. you don’t recall ever ordering room service. maybe it was chaewon and she forgot something?

you turn the door knob, not bothering to check who it was.

“chaewon—”

ning yizhuo stands before you, glassy eyes and a look of desperation that you’re familiar with.

“oh.”

she shuffles awkwardly, gesturing at your cheek, “are—is it okay? does it hurt?”

gulping, you shake your head.

“can we talk?” she asks, in the quietest voice ever, her words coming out shaky and breathless.

you open the door wider.

yizhuo mutters a soft, “thank you,” as she enters the room. you quickly send a text to chaewon telling her not to come back.

“did you put any cream on it?” she asks.

“no, not yet. i was just about to,” you reply quietly. the tension from the heated argument from before had disapparented, only leaving a strained relationship behind.

“can you sit down?”

you follow her instructions dutifully, sitting right at the edge of the bed. yizhuo lifts the ointment up, squeezing a bit on her finger before gently rubbing it into your cheek. it hurts, but the softness of her touch heals the area.

wincing as she applies more pressure, you can only stare at the girl.

“i’m sorry,” she whispers.

“it’s okay.”

you want to pull her into your arms.

you want her to lean onto you.

you want the feeling of her skin against yours.

“i was really hurt.”

“i know.”

yizhuo sighs, her hands dropping.

“i can’t believe you left me so easily.”

your chest tightens at the devastated tone in her voice. it wasn’t easy, you want to say. but it doesn’t feel right to defend yourself now.

“i thought it was the right thing to do.”

yizhuo lifts her head up, “why didn’t you just tell me you didn’t want to get married?”

“i don’t know,” it comes out in a hushed murmur, “i didn’t want to tie you down. you had a lot more things to accomplish.”

“i’d rather have you and nothing than losing you and having everything.”

the confession goes unsaid. because you’re her everything.

“i’m sorry. you just had your whole life in front of you and i was in the back. i… i didn’t fit into your life.”

the girl takes everything in. you were just so afraid then. scared that once you said yes to her proposal, yizhuo might realise that you weren’t the one for her. you’d rather be away from her, than be with her and make her unhappy. you didn’t want to live a miserable life where you hated each other.

“you don’t get to make that choice for me.”

“i know, yizhuo.”

yizhuo’s eyes are brimming with tears. her raven hair covering her face partially, but you can feel the pain radiating off her.

“you know that i would have been happy just being with you?”

“i know.”

“god, you still left like it was the easiest decision of your life.”

no it wasn’t, you again want to protest.

“you know that even in another life, i would choose to just have you by my side, even if i lose everything else? don’t you understand the extent of my love for you?”

it’s so surreal— the way yizhuo is practically begging for you to realise that leaving her was the worst possible choice for you to make.

“i love you too much.”

“then why’d you leave?” she asks.

through tears, you shakily breathe out, “because i love you too much.”

the lack of past tense doesn’t bother you, nor does it bother yizhuo. it’s a given that you’re still madly in love with the girl, and vice versa. it only leaves the question of what will happen now. yizhuo doesn’t say much afterwards. it’s the truth. you love her too much that you couldn’t bear to see her suffer because of you.

“i was so ready to marry you, i bought a ring,” yizhuo mutters, shedding tears. her sniffles aren’t concealed by the low humming of the air conditioning. it feels too real.

“forgive me, please,” you say.

“i can’t.”

the hotel room goes quiet.

“that’s okay,” it’s hard to say. you want to protest against everything, beg yizhuo to take you back and you could live your happily ever after with her.

it doesn’t happen. you don’t fall to your knees and plead.

you only stare at yizhuo in a mix of fear and longing affection. it pains you to see her so broken, and it only drives the knife further into your heart to know you’re the reason why.

“i’m so tired, y/n.”

you nod, feeling the fatigue seep in.

“me too.”

“can i sleep here tonight?” yizhuo asks softly.

you nod. there were still things to talk about, but you think you’ve done a decent job so far. pulling the covers over your bodies as yizhuo slides into the bed, you relish in the warmth and comfort of having her beside you again.

she turns her head to look at you, uncertainty filling her voice, “let’s talk more in the morning. i’m tired now.”

you agree with her wholeheartedly, inching closer to fit against her back.

as yizhuo’s eyelids flutter shut, you caress her skin tenderly. your index finger writes against her back, strokes lining her skin.

我爱你.

i love you. it’s one of the many phrases you’ve picked up throughout the years of being with the girl. she only taught you silly words and swears, but yizhuo had insisted you learn how to say and write those very words.

it’s fitting, because it’s all you ever feel for her.

because of yizhuo, you’ve had the opportunity to experience having a soulmate for almost your whole life. because of yizhuo, there’s no lingering doubt of being unlovable. because of yizhuo, you get to spend your days filled with happiness.

because of yizhuo, you understand what love is.

you just hope she understands you too.

[loveindefinitely]

༊*·˚ FOREVER WINTER (IF YOU GO) — task force 141 x reader

01 — TOO YOUNG TO KNOW IT GETS BETTER

featuring. simon 'ghost' riley + johnny 'soap' mactavish + kyle 'gaz' garrick + john 'bravo six' price + (non-endgame phillip graves)

warnings. nsfw, fem!reader, fmmmm, enemies to lovers, slow burn, polyamory, ghostsoap, pricegaz, alerudy, heavy angst, requited unrequited love, graphic violence

series masterlist. read on ao3.

<- previous part | next part ->

You almost worshipped him.

It wasn’t because of his status – although, that certainly played a role in it all – and it wasn’t because of his bank statements.

No. Phillip Graves was one of the best men you’d ever known.

Or so you had thought.

Turns out, no matter how well he looked after his men – his ‘girl’ – and no matter how charismatic he was, that wouldn’t, couldn't change his roots. And, at those very roots, was decay. Evil in its most purest of forms; a tantalisingly devastating mix of every sin.

The most prevalent one?

Greed. 

He was a greedy, greedy man, and he would stop at nothing to have it all. Even if he knew the fall out; even if he knew that he could never go back to the man he once was.

Phillip Graves didn’t care. Not in the slightest.

And it was you that would pay the ultimate price.

*

Rain beats down your back in heavy sheets as you stand, the harsh night littered with flashlights and car sirens.

It’s cool, just this side of too cold, and it has the hairs on the back of your neck rising with the temperature.

The temperature, and…

“Yup-yup,” the two men to your right call into their comms. You remain silent, but it goes unnoticed. Your eyes are trained to the paved street, rippling with the rainwater, littered with streaks of red.

Blood stains this town, and you haven't done anything to stop it.

“Let’s go.”

Raising your head, you meet the eyes of the operative who, ranks-wise, is below you. Really, you should be reprimanding him for his quip, but you understand the annoyance. You’re being quiet – something quite unusual for your normally direct and authoritative nature.

Tightening your grip around the shiny, water-slicked gun in your hand, you give him a sharp nod in response.

Seemingly satisfied, he turns, and you follow him along the sidewalk of the narrow, stone streets. Shops line either side of the area, their front-windows smashed and the products inside thrown about.

It’s like your heart has launched itself into your throat, the constant thrum of it setting your nerves alight.

“Three-zero, I want you and your two to find those Brits. We’ve got the cops. Copy?” 

That once reassuring, adoring voice is now cold, void of any emotion he used to have. It makes tears burn at the back of your vision – if you were a weaker woman, they’d have fallen. Instead, you press down the button for your comms.

“Copy, Sir. Three-zero out.”

The fact that you manage to get those words out is a feat in and of its own.

It feels as though you’re lost at sea, with nothing to hold onto. Buoyant, but barely – every wave threatening to pull you under for good. To smother your silent cries for help, for guidance, for something to keep you grounded.

But there is no sea, and there is no support.

“You two go up ahead, I’ll search the house here,” you say, voice thick with demand. You didn’t have to decide anything right now. You just had to be the leader you were, and do what you’ve always done.

“Copy,” your two subordinates say, moving up further.

With their absence, you find that you can breathe – as if a weight has been lifted off of your chest, and you can finally fill your lungs.

You’re alive. You’re alive. You’re alive.

The mantra helps, surprisingly, and you hold onto those two words like they’re your only lifeline.

Through the thick of night and rain, you can see the door to the house on your left. It’s been left open, which means that either it’s already been searched – which you doubt – or… Someone else has been in there.

Gun secured in your grip, you move to the door with soft footing, quiet enough to not be heard over the shouts of other shadows just a few ways away. The constant pattering of the overhead storm clouds slow, just the slightest, allowing for a bit more sight.

Using your shoulder to further open the door with a creak, you take note of your surroundings immediately.

There’s a flickering light to the room on your far right, a living area, most likely. To your left is a short hallway, but none of the doors alert you of any occupancy. The place has been torn apart, pictures scattered along the wooden floor, shards of glass decorating the space along with it.

It sends a pang of guilt through your chest.

These were families being torn apart by your commander, your company. And for what? What was Graves’ angle here? 

You’d been left on base to keep things running smoothly while Graves and unit one worked with the 141 and Las Vaqueros. You knew very little about any of this, and when you’d been called out to Las Almas, to aid with this?

This wasn’t what you fought for. This wasn’t what you would ever support, not in a million years.

But going against direct orders was going against your commander, and your livelihood. Shadow Company was all you’d known since your childhood. Having been hired when Graves was merely a young-upstart with big dreams, you were quickly swept up in the community of it all. They were your family, and Graves was the only semblance of a ‘loved one’ you had.

And now?

Now, he was sending you on a bounty hunt, for two men who, from your limited knowledge, didn’t deserve death. They were the good guys, and although most of your existing bias towards the two was due to rumours back on base, your intuition said that they were good men. And your intuition had never steered you wrong, not once.

Your mind feels like a never ending turbine as you move through the house, eyeing the barren walls and smashed vases. 

Exhaling a low, deep breath, you tighten your hold on your weapon. It’s more of a comfort, at this point. Which is odd, considering that its sole purpose is to kill and destroy.

Through the dim light, you manage to find a set of stairs. They’re dingy, and the patterned carpet is mildew-riddled as you make your way to the next floor with slow, careful steps.

You’ve decided to keep your flashlight off, just in case it brings any extra attention to you.

As soon as you make it to the last step, a sense of… wrongness settles in your system. Something’s off, and it’s almost as if there’s an alarm ringing in your ears at the realisation. 

Someone’s here.

Grounding yourself, both mentally and physically, you prepare to push through the hallway.

Setting aside your mental dilemma, you remind yourself that the physical battle is far more vital to your life right now. If you lose that, you lose your life.

If you lose your morals?

You just suppose you lose yourself.

The sound of a radio switching on has your senses alerted like a switchboard completely alight. 

Stepping into the hallway, your chest constricting, you snap your gaze to both of your sides. With the little-to-no light, you can barely make out your limbs, let alone your surroundings. Your spatial awareness was solid, but with conditions like this? Near impossible.

The entire corridor is shrouded in shadow, the incessant rain outside and the screams of the cartel’s policemen ringing in your ears. 

It reeks of death and despair, and your skin is coated in a thin sheen of chilled sweat.

The third door to your left is creaked open, just the slightest sliver, but it catches your attention like a moth to a flame. Keeping your frame encased in the darkest of the shadows, you move with patient, skillful steps towards the door.

A moment passes, tense and nerve-wracking in a way no other mission has ever been.

A breath in.

A breath out.

You push open the door, gun raised, ready for anything –

Nothing.

Quickly checking over the room to your right, you see nothing but bashed up mattresses and blood-stained carpet.

Just as you’re about to turn to check behind the door, two things happen at once.

One, you get slammed to the ground, your head knocking against the hard flooring and sending a burst of pain through your temple, your gun skidding across the floor to your left.

Two –

“Fuckin’ Christ!”

A man – scottish, that much is prevalent – whisper-shouts. You squint, the pain of the sudden fall throwing you off.

Not a second later, however, you manage to roll, shoving him off of you with a grunt. Your eyes struggle to adjust to the darkness, but you manage to make out the impossibly muscled frame of the man who’d just fallen on top of you.

He’s tall, not as giant as some of the men you served alongside with, but tall nonetheless. That’s all of the visual information you manage to gain before he sends an elbow to your gut, evoking a hiss through your gritted teeth.

You wriggle away, kicking out with your right foot and hitting what you think is his chin, considering his pained grunt.

“You bloody bastard,” he snaps, hand wrapping around your ankle and pulling you.

Your responding squeak is likely the most undignified sound you have ever made in your life, but it gives the man pause. Enough of one so as to allow you to wrench your leg back and careen it back into his face.

“Shut the fuck up!” You hiss back, all too aware of the likelihood that your men will show up and shoot first, ask later. 

“Are you feckin’ stupid, lass?” He retorts, although his tone is dutifully lower as he scrambles to grab your legs once more, his fist finding your belt and pulling you towards him.

Your attempts to dig your heels into the ground to prevent yourself from being pinned by him are fruitless, his strength undoubtedly superior to yours. That was a fact all too common when it came to your hand-to-hand fights, but luckily, it was just one factor of many.

“Are you?” Your shock is palpable as he gets his other hand around the other side of your belt, using the grip to pull himself over you.

His torso is pressed against your own as he goes to pin your hands, but with one quick manoeuvre, you wrap your legs around his waist and turn.

Utilising your lower body strength, you’re able to reverse the position, your hips pinning his to the ground. In one sweep of your hands, you collect both of his wrists and force them into the carpet. The room fills with your harsh, panted breaths, the outside commotion only a distant soundtrack.

“Yer supposed to kill me now, Shadow,” he says, a torment, a threat. 

You swallow, once, an unsure thing. 

He’s right, of course. He should be dead by now, bleeding out onto the floor. You should be comming to your fucking Commander, and telling him that one of the men he’s after has just been reported KIA. That’s what should be happening.

So how come it’s not?

“I know,” you say, the words falling through your lips despite the internal conflict in your head. “You should be dead.”

He mirrors your confusion with raised brows, and it’s then that you can feel the blood trickling onto your hand. He’s bleeding down his arm, you realise with a start. He’s wounded.

Flitting your gaze to the floor up ahead, you catch sight of your gun, only a few steps away. One shot is all you’d need. One second, and that mouth of his would never open again.

The sole window in the room flashes with a burst of lightning, and that short second of light lets you catch sight of his features. Blood coats his jaw – from your kicks, maybe – and he’s got dirt caked onto his cheek. His stubble has clearly missed a few shaves, and his mohawk isn’t gelled.

“Still waiting, Shadow,” he says. And although he’s quiet, the words feel like a yell in the tense room. Like a shout directly into your soul, screaming for you to sort your shit out.

You go to respond – with what, you’re not sure – when the man underneath you manages to rip his hands from your grip and swing them around the back of your neck. He pulls you forward, your neck fitting into the crook of his elbow as he squeezes.

When you try to inhale, you end up choking on a cough. He’s strangling you, you realise, with his fucking biceps.

There’s mere moments for you to make a decision before you pass out, or he breaks your neck. Moments for you to decide what the fuck you can do.

Balling your right hand into a tight fist, you punch into his nose, a sickening crack making your teeth slide together. He swears, rapid-fire, a few Gaelic-sounding words slipping out along with them. It’s enough of a distraction to let you wrench out of his hold with a cough, wincing when you claw at his arm and draw blood. Thank fuck for fingerless gloves.

Crawling forward as he brings a hand up to his now-bleeding nose, you’re just a breath away from reaching your gun when his hand grabs into your hair and pulls, eliciting a cry from you.

It’s a dirty move, but this is a dirty fight.

“Fucking – let go!” You grit out, the pain of the tightening on your scalp unique and not at all tolerable.

He just pulls tighter in response, and as you try and reach the gun, your fingers fall just millimetres short. It’s maddening, your emotions out of whack and your mental compass skewed beyond belief.

He should be fucking dead. He should be fucking dead.

So why wasn’t he?

You realise that he’s using his grip on you for leverage, to move himself closer to the weapon. Reaching towards his bare arm, you manage to catch your hand around it, nails digging into his wet skin.

He lets out a pained groan, and it becomes quickly apparent to you that he’s been shot in that arm. Moving your fingers, your index finger pushes into the open wound.

His grip on your hair goes lax, and he stops moving towards the gun long enough to allow you to move on top of him once more, pinning him underneath your weight. You’re both evidently weaker than the last time you were in this position, and you’re about to do something, something, something –

“Johnny? How copy?” An urgent, oddly panicked voice echoes around the room. It’s crackled, in only the way a radio’s can, and the two of you stun yourselves into freezing. His communications have been dislocated, and now they’re loud and clear for both of you to hear. “Johnny, what the fuck is happening?”

“Shit,” Johnny curses, head falling back against the ground in exasperation. 

You’re not sure when you’d laxed your grip from his wound, your hand loose around his arm. You’re not sure when you’d subconsciously started avoiding fatal moves.

At this point, you’re not sure about anything at all.

Although it’s hard to see, you’re sure that the two of you make eye contact.

Neither of you make a move.

“Soap!”

Slowly, Johnny moves his hand to the communicator in his vest, pressing the button to allow for his voice to carry over to the man on the other end. 

“A little occupied, Sir,” he murmurs, tightly.

If you move your hand to his throat, or use this as a distraction, you could have him dead before the other man could even register his words.

“I can’t get a visual on you,” the other man quips back, voice laced with thinly-veiled worry. “Johnny, if you die, I’m fuckin’ killing your ass.”

You bite back a slightly crazed chuckle at that statement, and by the shift in Johnny’s chest, he does too.

Johnny doesn’t turn off his communicator. The other man – Ghost, if you’re correct – will be able to hear everything you say.

Ghost and Soap.

Jesus H. Christ. Soap – Johnny MacTavish – the 141 operator you heard whispers about throughout your unit – he was underneath you. He was on the run from your commander. He was the man you were assigned to fucking kill.

He’s alive.

He’s alive.

You’re alive.

“Shadow Three-Zero, what’s your status?”

Oh, fuck. Fucking hell.

Both you and Johnny’s eyes dart to your own communicator – the earpiece scattered along the floor just as his had been.

Graves’ voice. It sends a shiver down your spine for all the wrong reasons, and the lump in your throat doubles in size. If it’s at all possible, the rain outside grows louder, and more gunshots echo in your ears.

“Shadow Three-Zero. Have you got ‘em? Don’t go two-timing me now, babe.”

How he’s – how he’s being so light, so carefree while storming these streets and murdering fathers, brothers, sons in cold blood – it cements a thought in your head. Out of the storm of them, the endless noise of them all, one becomes concrete. Factual. A single truth in your world of lies.

You press down your communicator button.

“Haven’t found them yet, sir. Wouldn’t dream of going against you.”

“Atta girl,” he responds, a light chuckle carrying over the radio. “After this is all done, we can have a celebration of our own, hey?”

Your mouth is barren of moisture, your tongue a heavy weight that feels all too useless as you reply once more. It doesn’t go unnoticed how neither Soap, or Ghost over the comms, say a word.

“It’ll be my pleasure, sir.”

You rip off your communicator, throwing it across the room. It sets the course of the rest of your life, you’re sure. You still do it.

All the while, you hold Soap’s gaze.

He hasn’t killed you. He could’ve, you realise, he really could’ve. He had the opportunity. Still does.

But.

You’re alive.

And so is he.

“What’re you doin’, Shadow?” Johnny finally asks, equally suspicious and curious. His tone is tight, almost as much as his body is against your own. 

You’d almost forgotten that he’s underneath you. Weaponless, and bleeding out. Wounded.

On the run.

Your eyes are wide, manic, maybe, as you say with shaky breaths;

“This isn’t right. I – I don’t fight for this. You guys, you,” squeezing your eyes shut, if only for a brief moment, you continue, slower, “This isn’t the Graves I know. I’m not going to be on the wrong side of history. I’d rather betray him than stand by his side with blood on my hands.”

Soap must sense your conviction, your wobbly words holding such truth and capability in them, because he nods, sharply.

“Johnny,” the radio chimes in again, the man’s tone a warning. “Don’t.”

Soap works his mouth, a crease forming between his blood-stained brows. If you were at all a poet, you’d akin his blue eyes to a storm-brewed sea. But you’re a soldier, so they’re merely obvious in the window’s scarce light, a stark contrast to the reds and darkness all around you both.

You’re not sure what’s wrong with you. You’d clearly hit your head too hard when Soap had crashed into you, or you’d been drugged earlier.

“I have intel,” you blurt out, like a crazed lunatic. That description is, unfortunately, a little too fitting to your current state. “I’m – I’m a fucking good fighter. You help me, I help you.”

“We don’t need your help,” Soap quickly, almost automatically, retorts. But his words seem weak, his certainty nowhere on your own.

“You’re shot and on the run with no weapons,” you reply, slowly. Words. You were good at words, at debates. You could survive this. Maybe. “I know Graves. I know my men. And I know that I’d rather be a traitor than a war criminal.”

That’s maybe the most true thing you’d thought, or said, since you’d first been asked to head to Las Almas with an order to kill.

There’s silence. 

A few beats pass before you open your mouth once more, tone just this side of pleading, “I’ll help you guys survive this. If you help me take down Graves, and support me – if you give me the assets I need. That’s all I’m asking.”

“We don’t trust you,” Soap says, and you nod.

“I don’t exactly have faith in you either. But it’s this or we all end up dead.”

Ghost inputs something, this time. “If you two make it to the church, we’ll consider it.”

That’s the most you can ask for. The best possible outcome from you being the biggest fucking idiot to walk this earth. You were lucky that Soap was… merciful. Which was, all things considered, the weirdest component of this entire, messed up equation.

It seems like agreement passes through you all, like a sort of handshake. An invisible one, but a symbol of truce nonetheless.

“Get yer ass offa me,” Soap groans, breaking the tension of the room. 

Scrambling off of him, but keeping your wits about you, you realise that you’d virtually been laying on the man your entire conversation. Your ears burn in embarrassment.

“...Right. I’m taking my gun,” you murmur.

Which is, obviously, the worst thing to say.

“Are you feckin’ serious? Dinnae wanna work with an idiot, Jesus,” Soap immediately hisses out, getting up with a hand on his knee, bringing his other to press against his bullet wound with a wince. You think that Ghost says something similar, but it’s drowned out by Soap.

“I’m best with close-range, and I’m not the one wounded,” you immediately bite back, hand wrapping around said weapon and holding it to your chest, checking over the room for any more supplies. Luckily, unlike the man in front of you, you still have all of your supplies and gear. His top is thin, you think, and soaked through with both rain and blood. Your standard Shadow Company uniform still fits you like a second skin, and although wet, doesn’t soak into your bottom layers. Your tactical knife, still strapped to your thigh, is secure and perfectly in place.

How you’d not used it in that fight was a testament to your mindscape more than anything.

“How do I know ye won’t just shoot me when my back’s turned?” Soap shoots back, his tone a weapon in its own right. 

You raise a brow, and you hope that he can see it. “I would’ve done that already if that was my plan. And you’re calling me an idiot.”

“You’re a right ass,” he retorts, not unlike a petulant child.

“And you’re a right dickhead.” And, alright, you realise that you’re not much better, but it’s deserved.

“And you both need to hurry the fuck up.”

You and Soap both have the decency to wince at the man’s words, and you both shut up as you finish checking over yourselves. You, focusing on checking your straps and belt, and Soap, hissing about his wound.

…If this camaraderie lasted the night, you’d think about apologising for that move.

Checking over your gun, you move to slowly open the door as Soap fixes up his radio, putting his earpiece back in its place. You are, admittedly, a bit annoyed that you won’t be able to hear Ghost’s callouts, but again, you had a gun.

“Let’s go,” you softly say, tilting your head towards the door. Soap nods, clearly ready to meet back up with his Lieutenant and get out of here.

As you slowly open the door, guns raised and eyes alert, you let the reality of your situation settle over you like the world’s coldest blanket. You’re going against everything you’ve ever known, all because of your morals that had always been slightly off-centre. Came with the job, you supposed.

But this was uncharted territory. Directly betraying your unit, your men, your Commander, and helping the men you’re assigned to kill? Asking them for their help in return?

“Clear,” you softly report to Soap, who acknowledges your order with a low noise. Following you with silent steps down the stairs, you keep your gun raised as you check over the bottom floor, before signalling for him to exit through the front door with you.

As the two of you enter the laneway once more, your breath catches in your throat as you assess the damage.

You spot several bodies littering the streets as rain hits you once more, the presence of it oddly comforting throughout it all. A truck up ahead has its lights on, the red of the brakes shining against the wet pavement like the pools of blood not three metres away from it.

“Steamin’ Jesus,” Soap murmurs from behind you, and you can’t help but agree with his sentiment.

This was pure bloodshed, at the hands of the one man you thought you could trust.

Betrayal tastes oddly sour in your mouth. Betrayal like this, on all sides, it’s like being suffocated by two cloths at once. Two very bloody, very assaulting cloths, at that.

Soap seems to be communicating with Ghost as the two of you make your way down the street, considering the back-and-forth whispers from Soap. He seems almost. Flirty. Which is a stark realisation, and truly, the least of your worries right now.

“If you can find bandages, or something close to it, I’ll get that arm of yours fixed up.”

You keep your tone low, careful of your surroundings as you see Soap nod, albeit almost in shock, in your periphery. Keeping your gaze forward, you move along the sidewalk.

The beauty of these shops, and this community, has been tarnished by the massacre of your Shadows. Your heart aches, seeing it all – the smashed windows, the blood, the distant sound of screaming and crying.

You and Soap make it about a block in silence, before flashlights ahead have you grabbing onto Soap’s shirt and pulling him into the open door of the shop to your left, heart beating rapidly in your chest.

“Shadow Three-Zero’s gone silent,” you hear a familiar voice say. Your subordinate – one of the two you’d sent to check the houses up ahead. “Reckon she’s dead?”

Soap, for his part, is silent where he’s been pushed up against the wall, your head meeting his collarbone. 

“Nah. She mighta slept her way to the top, but she’s good. Probably gone dark so she can suck Graves off on the side or something.”

Your breath comes out in a sharp exhale, your fists tightening unknowingly onto the fabric of Soap’s shirt. He doesn’t even breathe in response.

The other chuckles. “Fuckin’ slut. Can’t believe she gets to order us around when we all know why she’s here.”

And, oh, does that make your stomach turn. You were many things, but you were not one to abuse a position like that. They knew nothing of your struggles, or your relationships, or –

“Fuckin’ cocksuckers,” Soap grumbles, and that shocks you. For a man in the military to recognise misogyny like that was, really, unheard of.

You ignore that thought.

“Shut up.”

He does.

The two Shadows continue walking down the street, and you quickly peer out of the front window to watch them head down another sidealley, taking their thoughts with them.

“Come on,” is all you say, and Johnny follows tightly behind you as you continue down the way you were heading. 

You find an alleyway to your left, and you decide to follow it. You can see a flashlight scanning over the street further down. Shadows were everywhere, but they were pushing forward like a tsunami over a coastal town, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake.

Soap follows you without question, which is odd, but you’re not about to complain.

“Ghost says that there’s underground tunnels – we can get to the church through ‘em,” Soap murmurs as he taps your shoulder. You nod, not looking back as you search for any telling of where the best route would be.

After a few minutes, the two of you find yourselves nearing the tunnels Ghost had spoken about.

It’s when you’re about to head into the deep end – quite literally, considering the flooding – that an all too familiar and bone-chilling voice yells out from the right of you both, down another street.

“She’s gone dark – you will find her alive, and if she’s dead, you will be too!” Graves roars, and your heart skips a beat. “She could be hurt, or captured – she is your top priority now, Shadows!”

There’s a chorus of agreement, and if you look down, you’re almost certain that you’ll find your stomach laying at your feet.

A greedy, greedy man. That was what Phillip Graves was – now, more than ever.

If you were a weaker woman, a civilian, maybe, instead of a seasoned soldier, you’d have vomited by now.

Instead, you shoot Soap a look.

“Ghost still at the church?” Is all you ask.

Soap nods. “Yeah. Lt’s talkin’ my ear off,” he says with an eye roll, but his lips quirk into a half-tilted grin more resemblant of a satisfied pup.

“Didn’t think the 141 was so close,” you reply, and you could slap yourself for how nosy you sound. You’re not, not in the slightest – all you cared about was surviving both Graves and them.

Soap’s eyes hold an indecipherable gleam to them when he responds, a touch domestically, “You have no idea.”

You itch to delve deeper, to unpack that statement that seems to hold so many layers, but you keep your mouth respectfully shut.

And you prepare to meet Ghost at the end of the tunnel.

a/n. cutely drops this and hides!! jk but umm idk man this fic idea has been nibbling at my brain and GAWDDD smth about it just. got the juices flowing. this is my personality now thanks gn. if you guys enjoyed please comment or reblog or follow!! ty so very muchly ily all &lt;3

[stargirlrchive]

ROOMMATE!SIMON

cw: simon riley x fem!reader, toxic simon, cunnilingus, fingering, he’s an ass :((( (i want him), jealous simon

one - two - three - four

it had been a few weeks since simon had made you come on his fingers, and he had neglected you. purposely avoiding to touch you, knowing that it would cause your desperation for him to grow.

and it was working.

the way your eyes would light up when he finally got home, or the way your hands greedily trailed over his skin when you’d get close enough to touch him.

he went as far as getting home later than normal, just to grunt out that he was going out again, “just back home for a shower, don’t wait up.”

but you did, or tried to anyway. he always found you curled up on the couch, wearing his hoodie and deep asleep by the time he got home.

however, his resolve almost broke last night. you were sitting up on the couch, barely awake but you perked up at the sound of the door swinging open. wearing your brightest smile for him.

but it was instantly wiped away as your eyes met his, his fingers digging into a strangers hips as he held your gaze while he kissed her.

he kicked the front door closed with his foot as he guided her towards his bedroom. and the look of utter devastation in your eyes as he shut his bedroom door behind him made him shudder. guilt webbing into his heart as he heard your hurried footsteps rush to your bedroom and close the door.

he wasn’t being fair to you, and he knew it. but simon was in this for the long haul. and if he needed to pull away for a bit to show you what you’d be missing, then so be it. it would be worth in the end.

that’s what he kept telling himself at least. he’s doing this for you, after all.

that plan came crashing down the very next day. when he pushed open his front door, ready to finally indulge you in affection, but he heard the sound of your laugh.

whispered words mixed with your soft giggles coming from the kitchen and his brows pinched together. who the hell were you talking to?

he kept his steps light, purposely being careful to keep quiet. but white hot rage blinded him for a second as he found you caged between the kitchen island and some man.

“who’s this?”

a soft yelp left your mouth at the boom of simon’s voice, jumping softly as you turned to look at him.

simon’s eyes narrowed into a nasty glare as your companion tightened his arms around you as if trying to protect you from him. he could’ve ripped his jugular out that very second.

your face grew flustered as you blinked up at him, and gently pushed the man away from you, “you’re home early.”

his eyes finally flicked up at yours and you shivered at the icy rage behind them. “tell him to leave.”

“simon-”

he growled out, “now.”

your fingers wrapped around the man’s wrist and you guided him out of the kitchen. he could hear you apologizing softly and then the soft click of the front door.

you shuffled over nervously to stand in front of him, squirming under his gaze, “i thought you were going to get home late again.”

“and that makes it okay for you to have strangers over?”

“he’s not a stranger, simon. he’s my coworker.”

“he’s a stranger to me.”

you frowned up at him, crossing your arms over your chest defensively and simon’s cock stirred. you had never been so defiant with him and he could feel his cock hardening.

“you brought over that girl last night, why can’t i have someone over too?”

“that’s different.”

“how so?”

“because it is.”

he could see your frustration bubbling and everything in him was screaming to soothe you. this was not part of the plan.

he was supposed to find you waiting on the couch, wearing his hoodie and happy to see him. and he’d apologize for neglecting you with his face between your thighs.

“you’re being mean to me.”

the sniffle you let out had his knees buckling, moving towards you before he wrapped you up in his arms.

your face tucking into his neck as he pulled you closer, petting your hair as he apologized quietly.

“just don’t know what i did to make you be mad at me and ignore me-”

your tears were hot as they ran down your face, wetting the fabric of his shirt. guilt consumed him as he pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer.

“m’not mad at you, baby-”

“yes you are! been wanting you to look at me, and touch me-and ever since that night you’ve been avoiding me.”

and simon would’ve been angry with himself for making you so upset if those words hadn’t tumbled out of your mouth.

you wanted him to touch you, you wanted him.

it had worked.

“you’ve been missing me, sweet girl?”

you sniffled again, fingers fisting at his shirt as you nodded, “so much.”

simon’s fingers tangled into your hair, gently tugging as he pulled your face from his neck. your tears falling freely had his heart thumping wildly, leaning forward to press a kiss to your mouth.

you sucked in a breath and kissed him back instantly, gripping his shirt tighter as you leaned in even closer.

his tongue swiped against your bottom lip before prying its way into your mouth. his tongue rolling against yours as his fingers dug gently into your hips.

and the desire began to pool between your thighs, a soft whine falling from your lips when he pulled away.

“i’m gonna take care of you, love. gonna make up for leaving you lonely.”

and simon doesn’t miss the way your thighs clench, scooping you up and placing you on the island. letting his hand slip into the waistband of your pants to press his fingers against your clit.

a broken moan left your mouth as you gripped onto the counter, your thighs trying to close but being unable to because simon had placed himself between your legs.

“poor baby. barely started touching you and you’re already soaked.”

you could feel your skin prickle with heat out of pure embarrassment, “s’your fault. left me all alone.”

and he laughed, one that had his shoulders shake before he slipped his hand out. pinching the side of your bottom and then tugging down your pants.

your hips rose to aid him, letting him shimmy you out of the material that separated you two.

“i know, princess. i’m sorry, needed you to realize just how much you needed me.”

your brows pinched as if you were confused, but simon was laying you down against the cold surface, his mouth licking at your pussy over the fabric of your underwear and that thought flew out the window.

“course i need you, si’.”

and he moaned, sucking on your puffy clit as if to reward you. your legs trembled as you tangled your fingers through his short hair, crying out softly when he rolled his tongue against the swollen nub.

you jumped lightly at the snap of fabric, your panties ripped off of you, “simon-”

his nose pushed against your clit as his tongue lapped around your folds, grunting softly as he pushed your legs up towards your chest.

his tongue circled back up towards your clit before he sucked, your body tensed as your hips bucked upwards.

“fuck-”

and when he pulled away, you whined in protest. his mouth kissing and nipping at your thighs, “were you going to let him fuck you?”

“what?”

he bit down onto your skin, your body jolting.

“you heard me.”

you had, you just couldn’t believe he was asking that with his face between your thighs.

you hesitated, frowning softly before you shook your head ‘no.’

“good girl.”

his mouth was on you once again, circling your entrance with the tip of his tongue before pushing in. delivering shallow thrust into you.

your body thrashed under his, groaning out in frustration. you wanted more, needed more.

“need more, si’. please.”

he replaced his tongue with his finger, only giving you a few seconds to adjust before slipping in a second. his eyes fixated on how easily they slipped in.

“this what you wanted?”

you whined, shaking your head, “no, want your cock.”

a grunt left his mouth, pumping his fingers in and out of you quickly as you squealed in pleasure.

“not yet, baby. gotta work you up to it.”

his lips sealed around your clit, sucking harshly as he fucked his fingers deep inside of you. your back arched off the counter, hips undulating against his mouth as a sob ripped from your mouth.

he was too good. consuming every part of you and you both knew it.

he lapped at your clit; sucking and rolling his tongue once more before his fingers curled. rutting against the spot inside of you that had your bones turning into liquid pleasure.

“simon, gonna come!”

his name tumbling out of your mouth like a prayer as you came. his fingers relaxing in speed, but still pumping into you, providing gentle sucks to your swollen clit as he aided you through your orgasm.

“good fuckin’ girl.”

your mind was in a daze. body lax and plaint against the counter as you buzzed with excitement over his praise.

you sat up, trembling softly from the aftermath of your release. with shaky fingers you went to undo his belt. simon’s cock was hard, and your mouth watered in anticipation.

but your excitement was short lived, he caught your wrist and pulled them away, stopping you from undressing him.

“but-”

he cut you off with a kiss, a lazy smirk on his face as he gripped onto your hips to pull you closer.

“not yet, sweet girl.”

and you would’ve whined in protest had his fingers not slipped between your thighs once more.