#I'm always the one who tries to reach out | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

enhaniki-san · 6 hours ago

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fuckboy!ni-ki x reader

warnings: smut, nsfw, cursing, etc.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who likes to lie and waste time.

a game player, smooth talker, and a liar when it suited him.

ni-ki knew exactly what to say to get what he wanted. he'd tell a girl she was the only one, that she was special, that he couldn't stop thinking about her, only to turn around and send the same message to someone else.

when he got what he wanted? he gets bored.

it was always the same: a few weeks, maybe a month if they were lucky, then he'd just start pulling away. no more sweet words, no more playful texts, it's dry responses and distance until they finally took the hint.

girls will cry, get angry, some even tried to plot revenge... but ni-ki? he never felt guilty.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who doesn't believe in love.

he won't date and won't do relationships. he wasn't interested doing those late-night calls or good-morning texts, and the thought of commitment made him want to laugh.

he just likes a little flirting, a little fun, love songs, fucking then moving on before things got too serious.

they liked the chase, thinking they could be the one to change him, and the idea of being the exception.

but there are no exceptions.

ni-ki was always clear about what he wanted, even if they refused to believe him.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki was impatient.

he's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, and tight jaw. his fuck buddy is late and he hates waiting. it's not his style to sit around for anyone.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair. then, he spotted a familiar silhouette approaching.

finally.

and without hesitation, he reached out, grabbed your wrist, and pulled you into the shadows.

"you took your sweet time." he muttered, his lips brushing against your ear, whispering. "i should make you pay for making me wait, don't you think?" then ni-ki started talking dirty.

and your body in his grasp stiffened.

ni-ki smirked. he loves it when someone gets shy because of him but something was off.

there's no giggle or eager hands slipping on his body.

only silence.

ni-ki pulled back, his eyes locked on your wide, terrified eyes.

you're a face he had never seen before.

"who the fuck are you?!" he blurted out.

"i- i'm sorry!" you stammered, breathing heavily in shock.

ni-ki's mouth opened to say something but before he could, you ran away, you ran so fast that your belongings spilled onto the floor in your rush to escape.

ni-ki cursed under his breath, running a hand down his face.

fuck.

not only he's not gonna have sex but he also accidentally just harassed a complete stranger.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki got mad, completely ghosting and blocked his fuck buddy's number.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki wasn't the type to dwell on things. if he ever made a mistake, he moved on. simple.

what happened with you? that bothered him.

maybe it was the way your eyes looked at him, it was pure fear, like he was some kind of monster... or maybe it was because he had never been the kind of guy to force himself onto someone.

he's cocky, sure. shameless, absolutely.

but he never needed to resort to shit like that and now, he just left a random girl traumatized.

great.

ni-ki took your abandoned things from his bag, staring at them in irritation. he could've just tossed this somewhere and let you deal with it, but it's the least he could do, right?

he looked for you everywhere and when he finally spotted you walking down the hall, he didn't hesitate.

"hey."

your body stiffened instantly when you saw him, you gulped and turned to leave.

ni-ki rolled his eyes and reached out, catching your wrist before you could escape. "relax," he sighed. "i'm just here to give you these…"

you hesitated but quickly grabbed your things and muttered, "thanks."

he let go but he's also expecting you to run again though he's not letting you off easily.

his fingers wrapped around your wrist again, "i'm not done..." he said. "why are you in such a hurry?"

"i gotta go…"

"oh, really?" ni-ki scoffed but released his grip. "fine. look, i'm sorry about earlier. i thought you were someone else."

"your girlfriend?"

ni-ki chuckled, scratching the back of his head. "no, i don't do girlfriends." he teased but it wasn't meant to joke or seduce. "you forgive me?"

you smiled slightly before nodding but then you tilted your head, curious. "...but why would you say something like that to someone who isn't your girlfriend?"

he smirked and leaned in again, so close you could smell his cologne.

"mind your own business, won't you?" he said and walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who found you at his playground.

parties were all the same. loud music, flashing lights, people pressed up against each other like they forgot what personal space was.

ni-ki was used to it, it's his playground.

he's sitting with his friends, a smirk on his face while some girl clung to his arm, twirling her hair and giggling at everything he said, even though he wasn't even trying to be funny.

"so, ni-ki..." she purred, leaning in close, "when are we getting out of here?"

ni-ki exhaled through his nose, he's not in the mood yet and ready to give a half-assed answer until his eyes flickered to the entrance where you walked in.

huh.

you walked in, looking... insanely good wearing a dress that hugged all the right places. it made ni-ki's fuck boy brain short-circuit for a second.

the girl beside him was still talking, but he wasn't listening. his smirk twitched and his interest became completely derailed.

"wait here..." ni-ki muttered, removing the girl's arms off of him without another word.

she sputtered in protest but ni-ki was already gone, slipping through the crowd, with eyes locked on you.

he "accidentally" bumped into you, almost knocking you off balance. his hands instinctively gripped your waist to steady you.

"wow… you're-"

you covered yourself quickly, your arms crossing over your chest, and sent him a glare before he could even think about finishing that sentence

"what do you want?" you asked, unimpressed.

he blinked, momentarily thrown off.

"nothing." he recovered quickly, slipping his hands back into his pockets.

you sighed. "have you seen my friend, f/n?"

ni-ki shook his head. "i have no idea who that is," he admitted, then quickly added, "i'll help you look."

his hand landed on your shoulder but you instantly shrugged it. ni-ki scoffed at your unfriendly action, "seriously?" he asked, rolling his eyes but followed anyway, trailing beside you like he's trying to find his friend too.

he was enjoying himself, honestly.

his eyes kept drifting to you. the way your hips swayed slightly as you walked, the way your hair swung when you turned your head... it was so distracting and ni-ki found himself grinning.

he wasn't even gonna try to flirt anymore, he was just thrilled to be by your side.

you stopped in a less crowded part of the house, scanning the room, then you were pulling at your dress subtly, adjusting the hem like you're clearly uncomfortable.

ni-ki clicked his tongue "w- why are you wearing that if you're uncomfortable?"

you turned to him sharply, eyes narrowing. "why do you care?!"

"why are you so mad at me?"

"'cause i don't know what you're trying to do."

"i'm not trying do do anything to you!"

you glared at him again, adjusting your dress.

"tch." ni-ki removed his jacket and threw it at your face.

"what the hell-"

ni-ki rolled his eyes, already regretting being nice. "wear that, idiot."

you hesitated.

he sighed and turned away, "do whatever you want."

you slipped the jacket over your shoulders the ni-ki peeked at you from the corner of his eyes where he saw you practically drowning in his jacket. you looked so tiny in it, he had to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smiling.

you finally spotted your friend near the drinks table, "f/n!" you called out, relieved.

your friend turned with a smile then her eyes immediately widened when she saw who was standing beside you.

"oh. my. God." she gasped, barely even acknowledging you because she's looking at ni-ki.

ni-ki smirked at her reaction, clearly used to it. "hi. what's up?"

you friend actually looked starstruck for a second before shaking herself out of it.

"why are you with him?" she whisper-yelled at you, leaning in like you just brought home a stray cat but the dangerous kind.

"he just helped me find you." you replied, and without another word, you grabbed her arm and practically dragged her toward the exit.

"bye, ni-ki!" your friend waved at him.

ni-ki chuckled, grinning while watching the two of you rush off.

as soon as you and your friend stepped outside, she immediately started her interrogation, eyes gleaming.

"okay," she breathed, grabbing your shoulders. "do you know how many girls would kill to be in your position?!"

you groaned. "it's not what you think!"

she gasped, dramatically covering her mouth. "wait… did you do it?"

you blinked. "what do you mean by it?"

she wiggled her eyebrows and giggled, playfully slapping your arm. "you know what I mean~"

you eyes widened in disgust. "i would never do it with anyone!"

she laughed as you pushed her lightly, still giggling like a schoolgirl.

"okay, okay, i believe you..." she teased. "but still, damn. ni-ki even gave you his jacket?"

she said, snatching the sleeve of the jacket and sniffed it.

you grabbed it back.

she gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to her chest. "it smells expensive… sexy, actually."

you gave her a disgusted look again and tightened the jacket around you, trying to ignore the fact that, yeah, it did smell good.

"don't get so weird about this." you warned.

she only laughed, linking her arm through yours. "now tell me more about you and ni-ki."

"there is no me and ni-ki!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who wants to prove he wasn't actually the asshole you thought he was but ended messing it up.

he told himself it was over. he gave back your stuff, apologized (which, honestly, he never did for anyone), even gave you his jacket, and that should've been the end of it.

he tried not to be pushy 'cause he knew better now, but he still found ways to be around you. if he saw you at school, he'd just give a casual nod. if you were in the cafeteria, he'd sit nearby, pretending it was a coincidence. and if you caught him looking, you'd glare and he would quickly look away.

he was used to people chasing him, used to girls who always wants something from him, not someone who wanted nothing to do with him. and when you made it clear, he said "you really think the worst of me, huh?"

you crossed your arms. "can you blame me?"

ni-ki huffed a laugh. "i don't even do shit to you."

but then, you might just be playing hard to get, right?

he smirked, grabbing your phone and held it high.

"ni-ki, i swear- give it back!"

you jumped, reaching for it, but he was way taller. he tilted his head, watching you struggle, and then...

fuck it.

because he's ni-ki, he's reckless, stupid and didn't think things through... he kissed you.

it was quick, barely even a brush of lips.

he pulled back, expecting a reaction, but not the one he got.

your face twisted in disbelief before you hit him.

you smacked his chest repeatedly, pushing him, "what is wrong with you?! that was my first kiss, stupid!"

ni-ki's eyes widened. "wait- what? seriously?"

you fought back your tears, shoving him one last time before storming off. "don't talk to me ever again!"

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who did something completely out of character.

he didn't plan to kiss you. it just happened like some dumb, impulsive thought he acted on before his brain could catch up.

he wanted to reach out but what the hell was he even supposed to say?

"hey, my bad for stealing your first kiss lol?"

"i didn't think it'd be that big of a deal."

"wait, you really never kissed anyone before?"

shit, no. that was all dumb as hell.

for the next few days, ni-ki is not being himself.

he forgot his usual girls, he hadn't even been with anyone ever since he met you.

"dude, what's up with you?" one of his friends asked.

ni-ki just shrugged, flipping his phone in his hands. "nothing."

you were avoiding him like he was some virus. you look the other way when he walked past or really refusing to even glance in his direction.

so, fine. he swallowed his pride and showed up at your house.

you opened the door, immediately frowning when you saw him. "what do you want?"

ni-ki exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck.

"i'm sorry, alright?" he said quickly. "i was being an idiot, i didn't think, and..."

"you're apologizing?"

ni-ki groaned, shoving his hands in his pockets. "yeah..."

you crossed your arms, unimpressed. "took you long enough."

he sighed, stepping closer. "i didn't know it was your first kiss, alright?"

you rolled your eyes, "whatever."

then ni-ki hugged you.

you gasped, trying to make him let go. "what- what are you doing?!"

ni-ki just chuckled, resting his chin on your shoulder. "saying sorry?"

"by hugging me?!"

"would you rather i kiss you again?"

"ABSOLUTELY NOT!"

he laughed again, pulling back slightly to look at your flustered expression.

you scowled. "you're such a pervert."

his smirk returned, teasing. "you liked being hugged though."

you smacked his chest hard. "GO HOME, NI-KI."

he grinned, backing away "but we're good now, right?"

you didn't answer, just slammed the door in his face.

ni-ki chuckled to himself, breathing in relief as he walked away.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who's trying his best to please you... and hold himself back from being a fuck boy.

ni-ki has a serious problem. these days, he found himself doing things that were completely out of character.

like waiting outside your classroom when he swore he was just going to pass by, remembering your usual order at the café near school and handing it to you in front of everyone like it was no big deal, and making sure you got home safe after study sessions.

he wasn't even trying to get anything out of it because for once in his life, he actually wanted to do things the right way. he wanted to get a girlfr- girl friend. a friend that's a girl. that's all.

totally normal. nothing weird.

but it's so frustrating because you weren't even making it easy for him.

you still roll your eyes at him when he tried to be nice. you still gave him unimpressed looks when he offered to carry your things. and the other day, when he casually said you looked cute, you hit him with a deadpan, "what do you want?"

like, damn. he was actually trying here.

then… you'll also do things that completely messed him up.

your cheeks puff out whenever you concentrate, making him desperately want to bite them.

or how we would notice your tits slightly jiggle and move whenever you're running or simply writing. suddenly, he would have to leave the room for fresh air.

when you got mad at him, all fiery and stubborn, he had the worst urge to just shut you up, not in a way that was appropriate for a friend.

ni-ki groaned, running a hand down his face.

his first thought?

"God, i wanna touch."

his second thought?

"i need help."

you left something at school. suddenly, he showed up at your door, handing your things back along with a bottle of your favorite drink.

you looked at him confused, ni-ki rolled his eyes, pushing the bag into your hands.

"you… bought this for me?"

"don't be weird!" he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "just take it."

you stared at him for a long moment before stepping aside. "you wanna come in?"

ni-ki shook his head, he knew himself. he knew that the second he got too comfortable, his usual instincts would kick in... he would start flirting, the way he always found a way to get what he wanted.

instead of smirking and stepping inside like he usually would, he just shoved his hands in his pockets, exhaling.

"nah," he said. "i'll just see you tomorrow, okay?"

a small smile formed at your lips. "thanks, ni-ki."

he turned away quickly, waving a hand over his shoulder while his heart raced so fast. "welcome."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who can't figure out if you're just a damsel in distress or actually bossing him around

ni-ki liked to think he's a pretty capable guy. he's used to girls needing him for things... carrying their bags, opening their drinks, giving them rides home. he didn't mind. it boosted his ego.

but every time you asked for his help, he couldn't tell if you were actually helpless or if you're just treating him like some personal assistant.

you handed him your backpack without a word while texting on your phone.

ni-ki blinked. "uh… am i supposed to carry this?"

"yeah." you replied without even looking at him.

"…please?"

you gave him a look. "i could say please, but you're already holding it."

then later you stared at a vending machine like it had personally offended you.

"what, it didn't give you your snack?"

"no..." you huffed, crossing your arms. "it won't take my bill."

ni-ki sighed, pulling out his own money and sliding in a new bill. the machine beeped, and he pressed your selection.

the the snack dropped, you grabbed it, turned on your heel, and walked away.

the way you pouted when you struggled with something, how your brows furrowed in concentration, the tiny pleased smile you gave when things worked out in your favor... it pleased him too.

so when you showed up next to him one day, shaking your phone with an exaggerated sigh, ni-ki already knew what was coming.

"my phone is dead," you said.

he smiled "finally."

you glared, "give me your charger."

ni-ki scoffed in disbelief. "you don't even pretend to be polite anymore!"

you pouted. "please?"

his eye twitched. you're so annoying. cute but mostly annoying.

ni-ki pulled out his charger and handed it to you. "i swear, don't lose it."

"i never lose things." you said, already plugging it in.

"liar." he shook his head. "you lost your AirPods case last week."

you laughed and waved him off. "that was one time."

ni-ki smiled, he felt that stupid warmth creep up his neck again when he heard your laugh.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki asked you to work out with him.

you regret this.

you had never worked out before but when ni-ki said, "come on, i'll go easy on you." you refused to back down.

big mistake.

now, here you are, struggling to breathe properly while ni-ki, just finished another set of weights, stood there looking like some Greek god.

sweat clung to his skin, his black shirt sticking slightly to his toned torso. his hair was pushed back from his forehead and sharp jawline got even more defined.

you gulped.

then he caught you staring. his lips curled into a grin. "like what you see?"

you quickly looked away. "shut up."

he only laughed.

later, back in your room, you were dying.

your muscles ached in places you didn't even know existed. you lay on your bed, groaning while ni-ki sat next to you, arms crossed.

"you're overacting." he said.

"you tricked me," you accused. "you said you'd go easy."

"i did!" he defended, snickering.

you groaned again, moving slightly only to wince at the soreness in your legs.

ni-ki smiled. "want a massage?"

you looked at him. "you give massages?"

he smirked. "i'm really good with my hands."

you squinted and he laughed. ni-ki began to straddle your back, hands pressing into your tense shoulders.

the moment he started kneading your muscles, your body melted.

"oh… that's so good…" you whispered, voice airy.

ni-ki chuckled. "i am good, huh?"

"ye- yeah, it feels so good." you mumbled, already slipping into a relaxed haze.

ni-ki’s hands stilled for a second.

your voice sounded… weirdly suggestive.

he bit back a laugh. he knew you were just tired, but hearing you say that in such a soft, breathy tone? hmm.

he kept massaging, feeling the tension slowly leave your body. it wasn't long before your breathing evened out.

"…did you just fall asleep?" he muttered.

silence.

ni-ki shook his head, you looked so peaceful, face slightly turned to the side, lips parted slightly.

his eyes trailed to your exposed neck, ni-ki's heart pounded while reaching out, gently brushing your hair aside.

and before he could stop himself, he leaned in, pressing soft, featherlight kisses along the curve of your nape up to your neck.

your body reacted on instinct, tilting slightly, giving him more access.

a soft, sleepy moan escaped your lips.

ni-ki's eyes widened, heart slamming against his ribs.

"…a- are you awake?" he asked.

silence.

panic surged through him. he quickly grabbed the blanket and draped it over you, standing up so fast he nearly tripped.

ni-ki ran home and the second his front door swung open, he stumbled inside, slamming it shut behind him. his fingers went straight to the waistband of his sweatpants, tugging at it while his mind still clouded with you.

the soft moan you let out, the way your body naturally tilted into his touch, the warmth of your skin beneath his lips.

his jaw clenched as he glanced down at cock, his sweatpants doing a poor job at hiding the evidence of just how badly he was losing control.

ni-ki groaned, balling his fists, fighting the instinct to just take care of it.

he grabbed his phone, scrolling through his contacts.

the phone barely rang before a familiar, flirty voice answered.

"hey, ni-"

"how fast can you get here?"

the girl on the other end giggled. "mhm, about 30, 40 minutes-"

click. that's too late.

ni-ki exhaled sharply, tossing his phone onto his bed. his hand ran through his hair, feeling the frustration throughout his body. he pulled his sweatpants back up, shaking off the temptation.

and even though he had just worked out, he grabbed a set of weights and dropped to the floor, blasting music at full volume.

push-ups. sit-ups. anything to burn the tension off.

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki looked like shit the next day

you burst out laughing the moment you saw ni-ki.

he looked rough. dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, slouched in his chair like he barely made it out of bed.

"what happened to you?" you grinned, poking his arm.

ni-ki groaned, brushing you off. "it's your fault."

"wha- my fault? what did i do?"

he turned his head away, eyes shutting like he couldn't even look at you right now. "just… drop it."

you leaned in, pushing him playfully. "come on, tell meee." you pouted. "fine, then at least let me make it up to you! what can I do?"

ni-ki scoffed, tilting his head back against the chair. "there's nothing you can do."

when class ended and you followed him towards the gym storage room.

"ni-ki!" you called, slipping inside right behind him.

he turned around just as the door slammed shut. the click of the lock echoed through the small space.

"…are you kidding me?" ni-ki muttered.

you tried the handle. locked.

ni-ki groaned, he sat and started rubbing his face. "i really don't have the energy for this right now."

you stepped in front of him, with hands on your hips. "you seriously won't tell me what's wrong?"

and instead of answering, ni-ki suddenly reached out, gripping your waist and pulling you close.

you froze as he rested his head against your stomach, arms wrapped around you.

"just shut up, will you?" he murmured, voice muffled against your shirt.

you brought your hand to his hair, your fingers brushing the strands. you began to comb through them slowly, your touch gentle and rhythmic.

his body relaxed against you, the tension in his grip softening. ni-ki hummed.

you began to smile while playing with his hair, twirling a few strands between your fingers before smoothing them out.

it's sweet... but your legs were starting to ache.

"okay... maybe just a little longer." you thought, shifting your weight slightly to ease the pressure on your feet.

ni-ki didn't move. if anything, his grip on your hips tightened, like a sleepy child clutching a favorite pillow.

your legs began to tremble faintly, you hoped ni-ki would notice.

but nothing, he was like a cat curled up in the perfect sunbeam.

you sighed quietly, glancing down at him. your hands still in his hair as you debated your options. "maybe if i lean a little, he'll..."

ni-ki let out a low hum, his grip loosening just slightly as he shifted his head. for a split second, you thought your prayer had been answered, until he wrapped his arms fully around your waist, pulling you down to his lap.

"ni-ki!" you hissed, barely catching yourself with your hands as you stumble forward.

his eyes cracked open, a sleepy smirk tugging at his lips. "why are you so tense?"

"because you're treating me like a body pillow!"

"you're comfy."

you groaned, glaring at the top of his head. ni-ki added "you should've leave me alone." the smirk of his returned as his arms tightened around you once more.

"you know..." he began, "let's just skip class, you wanna sleep with me?"

your eyes widened, your brain short-circuiting at his words. "wha-what do you mean sleep with you?" you stuttered, leaning back instinctively.

ni-ki flicked your forehead lightly, his smirk growing. "not like that, you idiot." he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "i meant just sleeping. me, you, sleeping here. eyes closed. that's it."

you laughed awkwardly. "right..."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki realized that he doesn't want to be your friend.

ni-ki got annoyed the second you started talking about jungwon. he had just introduced him but he noticed the way your eyes stared at his friend.

ni-ki subtly stepped in front of your view, blocking jungwon from your sight.

"hey! move!" you hissed, trying to peer around him.

and instead of budging, ni-ki covered your eyes with his hands.

"what the?!" you immediately grabbed at his wrists, struggling.

he kept his hands firmly in place, waiting until his jungwon hyung was completely out of sight.

and when he finally let go, you blinked, looking around. "where is he?"

ni-ki smirked. "i killed him."

you smacked his arm.

later, he was sitting on his bed while you lounged across from him, "he was really nice," you said, kicking your feet. "and kinda cute too, like a cat don't you think?"

"who do you like better, me or him?"

you blinked, confused. "what kind of question is that?"

"just answer."

"i like you," you said casually. "as my friend."

ni-ki scoffed. maybe he did want to be your friend before. but that wasn't the case anymore.

"i'm not your friend."

"yes, you are."

"friends don't do this." ni-ki grabbed your face with both hands, tilting your head up before slamming his lips onto yours, aggressively like he was trying to erase every thought you had of Jungwon.

it was rough and desperate. his fingers pressed into your cheeks as he devoured your mouth, refusing to let you breathe. his thumb brushed against your jaw, angling your head exactly how he wanted.

you gripped his shoulders, a muffled gasp escaping as he deepened the kiss. ni-ki wasn't just kissing you, he was claiming you.

he groaned against your lips, his hands sliding to the back of your neck, holding you in place like he didn't want you slipping away and the second your lips parted slightly, he deepened the kiss, teasing, biting at your bottom lip like he wanted to ruin you.

when ni-ki finally pulled away, his lips were already swollen.

"you were saying?" ni-ki muttered, still holding your face.

you stared at him, breathless, lips tingling.

"…huh?"

ni-ki smirked, wiping his thumb over your lower lip before leaning in again.

"that's what i thought."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki who can't keep his hands off you.

you used to slap his hands away.

his arm over your shoulder? gone.

sneaking his hands around your waist? not happening.

grabbing your wrist to pull you closer? absolutely not.

but after the kiss, you started letting him and ni-ki noticed... of course, he did.

the first time you didn't push him away when he rested an arm around your shoulders, he almost did a double take.

you also didn't immediately escape when he pulled you onto his lap and when he linked his fingers with yours? he was expecting you to smack his hands, but you didn't.

"you're getting too comfortable," you muttered, feeling the warmth of his palm against yours.

ni-ki only smirked, giving your hand a squeeze.

"you're spoiling me, you know." he murmured against your ear, his breath sending a shiver down your spine. "if you keep this up, i'll start thinking you actually like me."

you scoffed, pushing his face half-heartedly.

ni-ki chuckled, leaning in like he was about to kiss you again. you froze, expecting the warmth of his lips- but he only brushed his nose against yours.

he pulled back, satisfied at the way you reacted. "see?"

your cheeks burned, frustration bubbling in your chest. you freed yourself from his grip and walked away, annoyed.

ni-ki watched you go with amusement. "where are you going?"

"far away from you."

✶ fuckboy!ni-ki ready to be your just yours.

"go put on a nice dress." ni-ki said over the phone.

you raised a brow. "why?"

he grinned. "because we're going to a restaurant."

you narrowed your eyes. "we are?"

"yeah." replied. "i made a reservation."

you got ready anyway. and when you stepped out in your dress, ni-ki scanned you up and down, "pretty." he murmured, before grabbing your hand and leading you outside.

before you both enter the restaurant, he suddenly intertwined his fingers with yours, "this is a date, okay?" he said, watching your reaction.

you blinked, caught off guard. "a what?"

ni-ki just grinned and dragged you inside.

your eyes widened as you looked around the table. all your favorite foods were there, plated beautifully under the dim, warm lights.

you turned to him, speechless.

ni-ki simply pulled out a chair for you, nodding at the seat.

the dinner was nice. way more than nice. he talked, he listened, and laughed with you.

"is this real? are you actually asking me out?"

"yes," ni-ki said, nodding. "i'm serious."

your chest tightened. you wanted to believe him but a part of you was scared.

what if he change his mind? what if you let yourself fall, only for him to break your heart once you bit into it?

ni-ki noticed your hesitation. he hated that you had to doubt him but he can't also blame why, though he wasn't just playing around.

he reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. "just a bit more of your trust, okay?" he whispered against your skin.

you stared at him for a moment before finally leaning in to hug him.

he held you close, his lips curving against your shoulder. "you were mine the first time i kissed you."

you pulled back and laughed, playfully slapping his arm as you remembered how he stole your first kiss.

at his house, ni-ki captured your lips in a slow, passionate kiss. his mouth moved against yours, savoring every moment. he then pressed soft kisses along your jaw and down the column of your neck.

he found that sensitive spot that made you moan, he latched on and sucked harder, relishing the sound of your pleasure.

ni-ki started guiding you towards his bedroom, never breaking the kiss. once inside, he gently laid you down the bed, his body still pressed against yours.

he looked up at you with intense desire in his eyes, he asked breathlessly, "can i?" his eyes flicked down to your heaving chest.

you nodded, granting him permission. ni-ki didn't hesitate, slipping his hands under your shirt to fondle and tease your sensitive nipples through the thin fabric of your bra.

you arched into his touch, panting softly. he swallowed down your needy moans as he devoured your lips again, his tongue delving deep to clash against yours.

"friends won't do this, right?" ni-ki gasped between heated kisses. he tugged your shirt up and over your head, tossing it aside. his mouth moved, licking and sucking at your bare breasts.

your fingers tangled in his hair, holding him against you as he lavished all attention on your tits.

then ni-ki trailed kisses down to your stomach. hooking his fingers in your panties, he groaned at feeling soaked folds. "fuck, you're so wet for me already," he murmured, tracing his finger along your slit.

he buried his face between your thighs and began eating you out with your panties on. the fabric added delicious friction when his mouth sucked the sensitive bud, lapping at your clit.

you cried out, ni-ki removed your panties. the first swipe of his tongue directly on your pussy made you both moan. you taste even better than he imagined.

ni-ki growled. diving in for more like a starving man. his talented mouth had you writhing and gasping within moments.

he couldn't help but picture how tightly your virgin pussy would squeeze his cock when he finally got to slide inside you. he just know he wouldn't last long once he felt your walls gripping him.

his tongue darted in and out of your slick folds, causing you to tug on his hair as he lapped at your sensitive bud.

ni-ki's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your thighs as he licked and sucked your clit with sloppy, desperate motions. sounds of your moans and gasps only served to fuel his own growing arousal with every passing second.

but he promised himself he could wait, for now, he was content to focus solely on pleasuring you, determined to make you feel as good as possible.

he sealed his lips around your clit and suckled hard, pressing two fingers inside as listened to the squelching sounds of your tight cunt.

you cried out, your back arching off the bed as he pumped them in and out. "ni-ki, i...i think I'm going to...ahhh!" your words dissolved into a wordless moan as he curled his fingers just right.

soon, your thighs clamped around his head as you came, your pussy clenching down on his fingers rhythmically.

ni-ki crawled up your trembling body to capture your lips in a deep kiss. "you taste so good," he murmured against your mouth. "i can't wait to be inside you." he said as he positioned himself at your entrance, the thick head of his cock rubbing at your folds "i'll be gentle, baby." he said, rubbing the head of his dick through your wet folds.

"tell me if it hurts too much." he added, slowly pushing forward when he felt your walls relaxed slightly.

you let out whimpers and sharp gasps, the sting of pain clouded your eyes with tears. ni-ki paused, giving you a moment to adjust to the sensation of being filled completely.

the sensation of your pussy squeezing him was unlike anything else. he wanted to fuck the shit out of you, claim you so thoroughly that you'd never forget your first time but he loves you so he has to be patient and gentle with your innocent body.

your whimpers and moans filled the room, ni-ki's heart swelled seeing you like this, breathless, desperate... he can't believe that your body is his for the taking.

your cunt began to welcome him inch by inch.

"fuck, you feel amazing." he groaned, fighting the urge to hammer into you wildly.

starting with shallow thrusts, he gradually increased his pace, still mindful of your pain. and as ni-ki thrust deeper, he leaned down to capture your lips in a passionate kiss. "you're taking my cock so well..." he praised. "so fucking sexy."

your eyes fluttered shut and you tilted your head back in bliss, lost to the new pleasure and pressure building inside you. ni-ki felt your walls fluttering around him erratically. "ni-ki, i think- i'm- again..."

he knew you were close.

he increased his pace, deep strokes hitting that special spot inside you with every thrust. his hands gripped your hips enough to bruise as he fucked his dick into you, grunting with the effort of holding himself back from his own release.

and with a strangled cry, you came undone beneath him. ni-ki followed soon after with a moan of your name, pulling out before spilling his cum all over your thighs.

after cleaning up, ni-ki crawled back into bed and pulled you to his chest, kissing your face and neck but you moved and positioned yourself in his hips, where his hardening cock already poking on your sensitive, beaten entrance. "ready again?" he chuckled, wrapping his arms on your waist, his face nuzzling on your neck.

you giggled and sank down on him with a gasp. ni-ki groaned at the slick heat enveloping him again, making love with more confidence this time around.

rounds later, slick with sweat, ni-ki wondered dazedly if he'd turned his sweet, innocent girl into a sex addict. "you're so good, ni-ki..." you said, kissing him. to ni-ki, you looked like a sex god, your lips kiss-swollen, chest full of hickeys, your hair is a mess...

completely wrecked by him.

he wrapped his arms around your limp form and rolled to the side, careful not to dislodge from where he was still buried inside you.

he never knew sex could hit this different when it was out of love but ni-ki is now determined to worship your body for the rest of his life.

"i'm going to fuck you all over again in the shower." he declared with a wicked grin where you answered with a moan that told him it sounded like the perfect plan.

a/n: this is too long lol! enjoy <3

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concretejunglefm · 1 day ago

Text

I'm not ready to let you forget me (part 3).

*edit credit goes to the lovely @defuckingthrone-dot-com

You told your friends you want me dead And said that I did everythin' wrong And you're not wrong

An anon request for lovers to enemies -> playlist, part 1, part 2.

Summary: It’s been two years since Noah cheated on you, abruptly ending your relationship. However, the universe seems to have a peculiar sense of humor in its plan to reunite you.

Pairing: Noah Sebastian x reader.

CW: none really. Mentions of cheating, Noah can be an overall asshole and a tad bit of angst. Brief joke from Noah about suicide. Please take care of yourselves.

WC: 3.6k

Dividers: Silent-stories.

Upon returning to the hotel, you presume that your time together has come to an end, allowing you to finally bid farewell to Noah and the rest of the Omens. However, Sloan's unexpected bomb shatters your hope.

"You agreed to what?"

"Dinner and karaoke. I genuinely didn't think you'd mind. You've always been a karaoke fan, and what's wrong with a free dinner?"

"The issue is that he'll be there. What part of this being a girls' weekend are you missing?"

"What part of this being a chance to humiliate your ex are you missing? I'm simply setting up the opportunity for you."

Sloan understood how you felt after Noah had ghosted you. Between the heartbreak and depression, there was also the sting of humiliation. You always wished you had the chance to make him feel the same way he made you feel.

"Alright, but I won't pretend to enjoy it."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

When you bump into the guys again, you find Noah approaching with a grin stretching across his face, looking like a cat who got the cream. You can't help but feel a surge of anger and desire to slap his smug face.

"I won you a prize." he exclaims, holding out his hand to show off a packaged mood ring he won from one of the kids' arcade machines in the hotel. Despite your desire to ignore him, you can't prevent your attention drawing to him when he steps in front of you, blocking your way.

"Wow, thanks." you reply, your voice dripping with sarcasm.

Before you can stop him, he reaches out and grabs your left hand with his larger, tattooed hand. Using his other, he brings the packet of the mood ring to his mouth and rips it open with his teeth. With the ring free, he slides it onto your wedding ring finger, and your mind goes blank for a moment.

The color of the ring quickly changes from a vibrant rainbow of colors blending into one another to a solid black.

"It's black." he comments, and you finally snap back to reality.

Your gaze rises to meet his, and you flash him a harsh glare. "Like your heart." you retort.

Slipping the ring off, you move it onto your middle finger before flipping him off and taking a step back as Sloan calls over to you.

At dinner, you were seated next to Noah, who spent a majority of the evening occasionally fidgeted with his own ring. You swear you noticed him switching it to his left hand whenever your waiter made a flirtatious remark aimed at you.

And now, you've reached the karaoke room, where you should've anticipated Sloan's performance of Lana Del Ray's 'Young and Beautiful'. It's her signature song, so much so that she has you recording most of it for her Instagram story.

As you go to post it, Noah shuffles closer to you, peering over your shoulder. Despite your best efforts throughout the night to make it clear that you're not interested in engaging with him, he still seems to act oblivious.

"A new post for your story?" he asks over your shoulder, and you don't look up from the phone screen, rolling your eyes.

"Depends. Are you still stalking them?"

In the months following Noah ghosting you, you tried to resume your usual life, including posting on social media. You then began noticing random spam accounts appearing in your viewers' list, despite deleting and blocking the band account and his spam accounts that you were aware of.

One night, after sharing this revelation with Sloan, she made a conscious effort to post something obvious and pointed to him for you. Initially, you felt mortified, but then you recognized the familiar spam account name—the one that had been consistently watching your stories since you blocked Noah everywhere. From that moment on, you no longer felt guilty about making every pointed post possible, always including a song that reflected your current emotions.

However, that all changed when you decided to message the account that had been non-stop watching you for nearly five months after your 'breakup', sending them a simple message: "Please stop. I don't want you in my life anymore."

The next day, the account was deleted.

You would have considered it a success until one of his close friends' names started appearing in your story viewers. You could have easily posted things to a closed list or even privatized your account, but you decided that if he had been that desperate to stalk you, then he could and you would put on a great show of proving that you had moved on, regardless of how true that actually was.

"You knew about that, did you?" He doesn't even bother to deny it, which causes a surge of irritation because no one would be okay with their ex stalking their online life.

When it's time for the guys to choose their song again, Noah steps up to select one. He's opted to sit out due to their performance tomorrow, claiming he needs to 'protect his voice' beforehand.

You roll your eyes at his excuse, but you're quickly silenced by his song choices. Each one becomes more pointed than the last, revealing the underlying narrative of his pathetic attempt at an apology.

After the first song, "Gives You Hell" by the All American Rejects, you stare off at him, daggers in your eyes. He shrugs off his choice with a cocky grin.

The second song he chooses, "A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More 'Touch Me'" by Fall Out Boy, feels even more appropriate and fuck boy like from him.

Noah's face lights up with pride in his song choice, which only irritates you more. Your jaw clenches as you bite back, wanting to confront him for his obviousness.

Naturally, his friends are oblivious or indifferent to the situation. They've always seemed friendly enough and liked you when you were together, but they never got involved in your relationship drama back then. Perhaps they feel the same way now. It's better to remain blissfully ignorant than to become caught in the middle.

"You're not having any fun." Sloan whines, plopping down next to you and offering you a sip from her half-empty glass. You had already finished yours, during your annoyance with Matt and Folio's rendition of "Gives You Hell." Surprisingly, Nicholas' rendition of a Fall Out Boy song fails to improve your overall mood.

"Watching you eye fuck Jolly while singing 'Young and Beautiful' is hardly my idea of fun." You sigh, your voice devoid of any hint of bite. You genuinely enjoy listening to Sloan sing the same song repeatedly. It's her go-to choice, especially when she's caught the eye of a guy. Strangely, when she performs Lana songs, they seem to captivate her men even more.

"Well, since you're up next, you need to cheer up, and I've already chosen a song for you." She beams, and you raise an eyebrow in skepticism.

"Sloan, what on earth did you do?"

"Oh, you'll see."

When it's your turn, you step onto the designated 'stage area' of the room, taking the microphone and scanning the screen. Within seconds, the chords to Carrie Underwood's 'Before He Cheats' begin to play, and you let out a scoff. You glance over at Sloan, who has now positioned herself between Nicholas and Jolly, and shoots you a wink.

It was one of your go-to songs when you were cruising through bars back in college. The lyrics always resonated with you then, and they continue to do so now. As the song begins, you launch into your own performance, tipsy enough to feel bold and lock eyes with Noah.

Every Instagram story you've posted over the past two years has featured a song dedicated to him, but now you finally get to sing one to his face—a perfect one that calls him out on the behavior you'd been suspicious of.

The cocky signature grin he's been sporting for his past few song choices fades, and you feel a slight surge of pride for being able to do that—for making him lose that ego he's been so proudly displaying.

As the song concludes, you take your bow, giggling as you hand the microphone off to Jolly, who swiftly transitions into his own rendition of Poison's 'Talk Dirty To Me'.

"I'm heading to the bar for another drink. Anyone want one?" You ask, taking orders for everyone except Noah, who simply holds up his bottle of water.

Approaching the bar, you're greeted by the same waiter who had been trying to flirt with you earlier that evening. "What a pleasant surprise." he remarks, and your cheeks flush slightly.

"Well, perhaps I was hoping to cross paths with you again." you reply, even though you weren't entirely interested in him. However, you couldn't resist entertaining a bit of harmless flirting, especially after dealing with Noah this weekend.

"I'll be off in a few minutes. Maybe I can buy your next drink?" he offers, sliding the suggestion your way as he wipes down the bar.

A small smirk tugs at the corners of your lips. "Okay, then." you nod before relaying the drink orders for Sloan and the guys.

Leaning against the bar, you find yourselves engaged in a playful back-and-forth flirtation, even genuinely giggling at some of his remarks. However, the moment is interrupted by an abrupt silence when you hear Noah's voice behind you.

"I was wondering about where you got to." His hand slides across the bar, his fingers barely brushing against your arm on purpose as he reaches for the drinks laid out in front of you. "I thought I'd lend a hand."

"I was happy to assist." The waiter interjects, but you remain silent, your jaw clenched, and you swear your eye twitches at the brief contact Noah makes with you a second time, as if deliberately trying to ward off the guy who had been flirting with you throughout the night.

"No need, friend." Noah responds, and you wait for the poor guy to step away with a slight dejected expression before turning to Noah with a hiss.

"What on earth was that?"

"I should be asking you that. Are you actually entertaining this random guy?"

"Random guy? I don't know, he must be better than the guys I already know." You huff, moving yourself away from him as you take Sloan and your drink, leaving the remaining ones for Noah to carry.

"What does that mean?" He calls after you, and you briefly turn your head, shooting your retort over your shoulder.

"You're smart. Figure it out yourself."

When you return to the karaoke room, you find a corner to settle into, sipping your cocktail mix while watching the last few songs of the evening unfold. Time seems to fly by, yet you can't shake the feeling of Noah's eyes on you, a notion you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge.

Back at the hotel, Sloan is already entwining your arm and guiding you towards the bar, insistently, pouting her lips and fluttering her lashes as if she can manipulate you into folding as easy as she does any man.

"No more. I'm ready for bed." You attempt to pull yourself away, but Jolly swiftly intervenes, taking a tipsy Sloan into his embrace, promising to take her for one final drink.

As you turn away, you overhear the final words of a conversation between Nicholas and Noah, your name being mentioned, drawing your attention. "You can't keep lying to her, you know?"

Lying? What could he possibly be lying about now?

Instantly, you find yourself yearning for some fresh air, feeling a surge of anger as you impulsively charge towards them, deliberately pushing between them.

"Woah, what the—" Noah's voice catches your attention, but he quickly loses his annoyance when he realizes it's you pushing past him. He calls out to you, but you ignore his attempts, determined to create as much distance between you and him as possible.

You had a reason for choosing to hide away on the rooftop balcony pool. Besides the quieter ambiance, you enjoyed toeing the line of where the diving section of the balcony opened up to the pool below.

It was Vegas, so it wasn't entirely quiet. Amidst the bustling crowds below and the soothing hum of music emanating from the hotel, there was no opportunity for deep contemplation. Yet, you almost didn't mind the constant stimulation. If you allowed yourself to dwell on Nicholas' words, you risked losing control and spiraling back to the emotional turmoil you had endured after Noah abruptly ghosted you.

From the corner of your eye, you catch a glimpse of something, and your gaze is instantly met with the unwelcome sight of Noah. A sigh escapes your lips. "Noah, what are you doing up here?"

"I was searching for you, believe it or not."

"Why?"

"Because you looked upset."

"And let me guess, you felt guilty or blamed yourself? Wow, an egotist and an asshole all rolled into one."

"Are you going to keep calling me an asshole throughout our time here?"

"Depends on whether you continue to behave like one."

"Fair point." He paused, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Will you at least come back from the ledge? You're making me anxious."

"Why? Do you think I'm going to jump?" You chuckled, deliberately walking along the darkened ledge of the balcony as if balancing on a tightrope.

"No." You heard the hint of doubt in his voice.

"You're lying."

"Okay, maybe."

"So, you think that I'm suicidal now?"

"I think you'd do anything to get my attention."

You nod to yourself, mulling over Noah's words. Your mouth opens as if to laugh, and you flick your tongue against your teeth. Before you can respond, you take a step away and glance down over the edge. With a couple more steps, you cast a look over your shoulder to him. "We'll see about that."

Without warning, you charge towards the edge of the open balcony, hearing Noah call after you as you jump over the ledge.

It feels exhilarating, your heart pounding in your chest as you plunge into the water of the pool below and you surface, you hear a splash behind you. Wiping your hand over your face, you look in the direction of the ripples and see Noah resurface beside you.

He had jumped in after you.

"Did you—" He briefly chokes on a mouthful of water, spitting it out as he treads water in the same way you are, keeping himself close to you. "Did you know this was here?"

"Guilty." You shrug, a playful smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

You had come up for some air and when you saw the pool below, you couldn't resist the temptation to dive in. It had been Noah who had interrupted your original plan, accusing you of trying to hurt yourself or get his attention.

"Wow. You're an asshole." He remarks, shaking his wet hair and pushing it back with his tattooed hand.

"Are you really that surprised?"

"No."

There's a brief pause before he speaks again, his voice softer with his confession; "I missed you."

"Ever heard of a phone?" You quip back without a moment's hesitation or time to ponder the meaning of his words.

"You blocked me."

You pause, wondering how he knew. Unless he had simply assumed. Or did that mean he had tried to reach out to you?

"Well, it's what you deserved."

"You're right."

That surprises you even more than the idea that he had tried to contact you. Noah had never said that you were right, about anything. In fact, most of your fights had stemmed from the fact that he was always so adamant against agreeing with you.

"Well, I can't say that I missed you." You're partially lying, but you hope he won't notice.

"I didn't expect you to."

"Well, good, because I didn't."

For a moment, everything between you falls silent. Your bodies inch closer as you continue to tread water in the deeper end of the pool. Your legs barely brush against each other, and you feel the gentle touch of his hand against your arm beneath the water. Then, you catch his gaze lingering a bit too long on you, flickering between your eyes and your lips. You don't need to ask what he's thinking; you already know.

"Don't even think about kissing me."

You burst the bubble which had been created around you both, delighting in popping it and watching as his expression shift from soft contemplation to sudden flustering.

"I-I wasn't."

"Good. Don't." You shorten your words and start swimming towards the pool's edge, pulling yourself out.

Your dress is soaked through and clinging to your skin. It had been a good plan until now, but the effects of the alcohol are wearing off, and you wonder if Noah's decision to jump in after you, assuming you were attempting something more dangerous, held any genuine meaning. Perhaps he did still care?

For a fleeting moment, you glance back at him as he attempts to climb out and turning to face him, you take a step closer, your foot poised to press down on his hand, halting his movements.

When your eyes meet his, he looks up at you with a soft expression, his dark brown eyes wide as they focus on you. "What did Nick mean earlier when he said you had to stop lying? Lying about what?" You hold his gaze, your foot pressing down gently against his fingers.

"Oh, nothing, just—ow." His voice breaks as you apply more pressure, deliberately pressing down on his fingers.

"Try again."

"Okay. Damn. To myself. He wants me to stop lying to myself."

"About what?"

"About you. About wanting to apologize."

You step back, releasing his hand from beneath your foot as you absorb his words. "Then do it. Get on your knees and say that you're sorry." You say it with a sense of confidence, despite his scoff at your request, but you remain steadfast, your gaze narrowing at his still wide brown eyes.

Instead of refusing, he climbs out of the pool and kneels at the edge, taking a near-pathetic wet dog stance in front of you.

"I'm sorry." he begins, clearing his throat before continuing, hearing a clear plea in his tone. "I'm truly sorry. For what I did. I shouldn't have…" His voice trails off, and for a moment, his gaze flickers away, almost as if he's ashamed.

Good. He should be.

It shouldn't be satisfying to see him in this vulnerable state, but you never imagined you'd have the infamous Noah Sebastian begging for your forgiveness.

"I should've apologized then. And all the millions of times I was watching your instagram. I wanted to, I did. I've been wanting to. I wanted to reach out and apologize the moment I knew you were coming."

Suddenly your brain latches onto those few words; since I knew you were coming. How did he know? Not even you knew, not until the other week. It was a last minute trip, one planned by—Sloan.

"Get up." You interrupt his ramble and you watch as he struggles to process the instruction as if he doesn't know whether you've accepted his attempt at an apology or not.

When he stands, he nods, shaking his limbs and himself off like he's an overgrown wet greyhound. "Yeah, let's head back inside."

You start to walk ahead of him, pulling yourself out from his reach when you catch his hand coming behind you in your periphery. You haven't responded to his apology and won't be giving him the satisfaction of even the slightest touch.

"What on earth happened to you two?!" Sloan, who had been flirting with Jolly earlier, is now walking away from cozying up to Nicholas. You narrow your eyes at her.

"Someone fell into the pool." Noah answers, and your gaze shifts to him. You fix him with the same disgruntled expression.

"I'm going to bed." you dismiss yourself, walking away as Sloan reaches for you, grasping your arm as she hurries to catch up.

"Did you really fall in the pool?" she asks, her brow raised in curiosity.

"Yes." you reply through gritted teeth.

"All that to get a man to dive in after you. I know you said he's an asshole, but—"

You come to a stop, pulling your arm from her grasp and turning to face her. "But what, Sloan? Should I give him another chance?"

Her mouth opens to speak, but no words come out, and her eyes widen in realization.

"Because I'm starting to think these strange coincidences aren't just that. Not to mention the way you've been flirting with Jolly and now Nicholas."

A brief flash of guilt crosses her face, and everything begins to make sense. Noah and his band may have had a concert in Vegas this weekend, but your run-ins with him had been anything but coincidental, as you had suspected.

"So much for you mocking me for being hung up on a guy for the past two years, huh? You're such a great friend, Sloan. So great." You turn to walk away, but she stops you.

"I thought—"

"You thought what, huh?"

"That seeing him would finally give you the closure you've been seeking. That maybe one last time being together would remind you that he's not worth your time."

"Yeah, I've come to realize that". You nod, taking a deep breath as you ponder Sloan's words. "I've also come to understand that my friend is more manipulative than I could have ever imagined, considering I never would have expected you to throw my heart back into the ring with him." Your voice cracks, but you manage to utter your words before pushing past her and finally walking away.

tagged: @fadingangelwisp @deathblacksmoke @geminigirlfromfinland @fuck1ng-queen @xxkittenkissesxx @lacy1986 @ichoosetenderomens @chey-h @blade-dressed-in-red @collisionofyourkissmakesitsohard @halfalgorithmhafdeity @dominuslunae @tosoundlessdarkistare @annthepenguin @samanthasgone @littlebear423 @aprosiacperson @flowery-mess @nyriastark @blackgirlmagicforever

#bad omens fanfiction #noah sebastian fanfiction #noah sebastian x reader #noah sebastian fanfic #noah sebastian fic #bad omens fanfic #bad omens fic #lovers to enemies fic #concretejunglefm fics #asshole!noah sebastian

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caitified · 2 days ago

Note

omg errand run with Cait ND bella would be sooo cute like bringing bella to the store w yall, moms are just kinda bein' goofy and planning out dinners, and when u skim past the toy aisle on the way to batteries or something IDK lol! bella sees a toy she wants and like screeches so loud u n Cait get worried only to learn she just sighted a toy..

trying to be the reasonable mom who teaches bella about the value of prices + how demand doesn't equal receive is counteracted by cait, who tries to support you at first

but bella's all like 'mommy I want i want' pointing to the toy with her puppy eyes. she even grabs it from the cart and clutches it to her adorably while staring at cait (who c'mon, we all know is the princess reinforcer) and when u tell her no, Cait's eyes go from supporting u to lookin' at u like c'mon babe this is our baby

and you're all 'stop Cait, blah blah,' and she's like 'yeah yell at me, let's just get it for her.'

and u and Cait cutely bicker until she just throws her hands up in the air and like seizes bella from the cart to hold her and bounce her around while cradling her head as a way to stop the impending meltdown and sobbing that comes anyway as bella watches u place the toy back

and she's like gently whining in Cait's ear and making her feel even worse, and she's all "please mommy tell her please for me" and u look at them BOTH and they're both sad -- CAIT IS LITERALLY SAD because ur not appeasing yalls' daughter and she has to listen to her beg while telling her 'i know i'm sorry baby next time' while bella just whines and huffs into her shoulder, little hands clutching at her mom for DEAR LIFE like she's experiencing the most heartbreaking thing ever and Cait is acting like she just watched bella get smacked in the face by u because she's so cute and loves her daughter and again the number 1 princess reinforcer

perphaps ends with y'all at checkout with them having survived and calmed down (#divas) finally, and right after the cashier finishes scanning the small stuff u bought to finish checking out quicker, Cait, who's at self checkout, returns to you quickly with the cart, bella in her seat holding her toy.

ALSO I love u so much lmao ur authors note on the last post made me CRY keep being u and doing the best gio <3

-😼

TOY

CAITLIN CLARK X READER

warnings:none

notes: as always i love this i love the detail and please keep requesting 😼

errands with caitlin and bella were always an experience.

it was supposed to be a quick grocery run—just a few things to stock up for the week. but you should’ve known better. between your two-year-old daughter and your overgrown child of a wife, nothing was ever just quick and easy.

you were scanning the shelves, comparing prices on different brands of cereal, when it happened.

the screech.

not just any screech—a full-blown, eardrum-shattering shriek that made you and caitlin both whip your heads around so fast you probably strained something.

“MOMMY, LOOK!”

bella was in the cart, little hands gripping the handle, eyes as wide as saucers as she pointed at the shelf across the aisle.

you followed her gaze and—oh.

a stuffed animal. a big, fluffy golden retriever plushie with floppy ears and big brown eyes. the kind of thing that bella definitely did not need more of.

“i want it,” she declared, already reaching. “i need it.”

you sighed. here we go. “bella, baby, we have so many stuffed animals at home.”

bella’s head snapped toward you, betrayal written all over her little face. “but not this one.”

caitlin, standing beside the cart, let out a quiet snort, but at least she tried to keep a straight face. “she’s right, b,” she said, attempting to back you up. “you have, like, a million of these.”

bella huffed. “but this one’s special.”

and before you could even respond, she grabbed the toy from the shelf, clutched it to her chest like it was her firstborn child, and looked directly at caitlin.

the puppy eyes.

you froze.

caitlin wavered.

bella knew exactly what she was doing.

“mommy, please,” she pleaded, her little voice soft and sweet, her grip tightening around the plushie.

you knew where this was going. caitlin, despite her best efforts, was the ultimate pushover when it came to bella.

“stop it, cait,” you warned. “do not cave.”

caitlin held up her hands in surrender. “i’m not caving!”

bella pressed her cheek against the plushie. “he’s lonely,” she whispered dramatically. “he needs me.”

caitlin’s eyes softened. “oh my god.”

“caitlin.”

“babe.”

“she has enough toys.”

caitlin sighed, running a hand through her hair. “yeah, but—”

“no ‘buts.’”

bella, sensing the impending loss, pulled out her final weapon. she gasped like she had just been mortally wounded, threw herself forward into caitlin’s arms, and started full-on whimpering.

you pinched the bridge of your nose.

“baby,” caitlin cooed, bouncing her gently, one hand cradling the back of her head. “i know, i know. next time, okay?”

“please mommy, tell her please for me,” bella whined, nuzzling into caitlin’s neck, her tiny hands gripping her hoodie like her life depended on it.

and the worst part?

caitlin was actually sad.

like you had just denied her a toy.

she was rubbing soothing circles into bella’s back, pressing little kisses to her temple, looking at you like you had just committed a crime against your own family.

“c’mon, babe,” she said, voice barely above a whisper. “look at her.”

“*i am looking at her, cait. and she’s acting like we’re taking away her *oxygen.**”

“because you kinda are.”

“oh my god.”

—

bella did not get the toy.

at least, not at first.

she whined and huffed into caitlin’s shoulder all the way through checkout, but she eventually settled, pacified with kisses and whispered promises of ice cream at home.

you thought you had won.

until—

“caitlin.”

you were at self-checkout, scanning the last few things, when your wife suddenly disappeared.

and then, right as you finished paying, she reappeared—pushing the cart toward you with bella in her seat, holding the toy.

caitlin grinned sheepishly. “look who found her way back to us.”

bella beamed. “mommy got him for me!”

you turned slowly to caitlin. “are you serious?”

caitlin shrugged, slipping an arm around your waist. “listen, babe, we fought the good fight. but some battles aren’t meant to be won.”

you glared at her. “this is why she’s spoiled.”

“yeah, well, if we’re gonna be real, that’s kinda on both of us.”

you sighed, leaning into her. “i hate you.”

she kissed your temple. “love you too, babe.”

bella, completely oblivious, clutched her new plushie and giggled. “he wasn’t lonely anymore.”

and, really—how could you argue with that?

#wnba x reader #caitlin clark x reader #wnba imagine #wbb x reader #wbb imagine #caitlin clark #iowa wbb #indiana fever #caitlin clark imagine #caitlin’s family

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chimielie · 12 hours ago

Text

hold ‘em up (above my heart)

summary: Atsumu x Physical Therapist!F!Reader. the sun rises and sets over and over as your relationship progresses from friends to pro yearners to more.

wc: 4.3k

cw: friends with benefits subplot and all that entails; not explicit, just suggestive

a/n: hi i didn’t die :3

“Hands up,” you say, voice low so as not to disturb the peace of the morning.

Atsumu raises his arms, elbows bent, making a frame of his face. His blond hair is pale, almost white because his little kitchen window faces east and he wakes before it rises above the upper pane. You sidle past him, back to his front, ignoring the weight of his hand as it settles on your hip while you reach up for the granola you keep in the cabinet next to the fridge.

He likes traditional Japanese breakfasts, the savory and umami flavors of natto and rice and miso. You have a sweet tooth and a craving for crunchy food, like a wild animal that needs to grind down its molars. On the days he has work, he settles for an omelette (or scrambled eggs if he fucks it up). You eat the same thing every morning or you'll be sick.

Growing up, Atsumu was never a morning person, but he sleeps better on the nights you're next to him. He doesn't get angry when you slosh milk over the side of his bowl onto his dining table, doesn't snap when you ask him what his plans for the day are. Maybe this is what being an adult is, these steady waters and calm skies.

You don't speak much as you chew, staring into space and thinking the slow thoughts of the exhausted, and he busies himself scrolling through his group messages and social media accounts.

There's a request from a verified account, a retired athlete-turned-model. He knows her name, has seen her in ads, bumped into her at the last Olympics. He clicks on it.

Hey, handsome. I'll be in Osaka this upcoming weekend - let's get a drink!

"I'm gonna shower," you're patting your hair, looking irritated. It always sticks up in the morning, no matter how you sleep on it, a few particular strands defying gravity.

"You should go to work like that," he says, voice still rough even if his mind's woken up. His accent is thicker in the morning, you've told him, but he can't hear it.

"Hell no," you say. "You're the only one who gets to see this morning glory for now."

"I better be," his grin is roguish, running his hand through his own bird's nest. "C'mon, you gonna let me shower with you or what?"

"No, you'll use up all my nice shampoo again!" You fake running to the bathroom, keeping your pace slow enough for him to wrap his arms around your waist and tackle you down, careful to fold himself so that you land on top of him, body between his legs, face cushioned on his chest.

He leaves his phone face up, forgotten on the table.

He's toweling off his hair, dressed in his practice uniform, while you're packing your bag for the day in the kitchen. His apartment is small, way smaller than some of the other guys' on the team, but he grew up crammed into a room with his mom and his brother. He'd toured one penthouse and decided he couldn't live with all that space strangling him.

He'd tried to get Samu to bunk with him like old times, but his brother had just said I'll sleep three meters from your dirty laundry in hell, and that was the end of the argument.

Besides, he has a lot of car bills to pay. He managed to fold another Mazda last month and you've been carpooling in your ancient Toyota while he waits to get license privileges again ever since.

"You got a text, by the way," you say casually, digging through your purse with your lips twisted to the side. "Aha!" You pull out a tube of lipstick triumphantly. "You should respond before you forget."

"Ah, was it Samu?" He asks, crossing back into the bedroom to put away his damp towel.

"Nah, the model," you call. "Sorry, I read your texts."

You're fighting the growing bitterness of the words, trying to sound jaunty and uncaring and casual. The admission of invading his privacy weighs heavily on your shoulders; you can't make yourself look up into his face when he comes into the kitchen.

"I don't care," he shrugs. "You can read whatever you want."

"You shouldn't say that," you try to laugh and wince instead. He just grunts and picks up the phone, swiping away from the conversation and leaving her on read. "I don't have the right, don't I? I shouldn't have—"

"I really don't care," he cuts across your strained attempt at an apology again.

"You should!" You sound like you're about to stamp your foot at him. He doesn't understand why you're so angry; he doesn't bite. "Aren't you gonna get mad? Shouldn't we be fighting?"

"I don't wanna fight," he rubs his large, calloused hand over your shoulder, your upper trapezius, to cup the back of your and pull you into a loose embrace. You stand, dumbfounded, chin pushed into his shoulder, hands at your sides. "Do you? We can if you want to."

"No," you whisper. "Sorry, I—sorry."

"'S okay," he says, digging his thumbs into the tight knots of muscle. "No big deal. Here, you dropped your thingy."

The thingy is the tube of lipstick, a deep berry color, rolling towards the edge of the table. He steps back and squeezes your cheeks in one hands, prompting you to part your lips slightly. He does it how he knows you do, a soft smear on the lower lip and two dabs made sharp by a swipe of his thumbnail on the outer creases, all blended together at the end for a subtle touch of color.

"You look like a frog about to burp," he says when he's done. You laugh so hard you cry.

On the car ride to work, you keep chewing on your lip. He frowns when he notices, all his work bitten off.

You wait for him to get out of the car first, a holdover from the days when you would wait five minutes so no one would notice that you were coming from the same place. In some ways, it's easier that he crashed his car; so convenient that you volunteered to be his chauffeur. He comes to your side, opens your door. You squint at him, jutting your chin out like you're bracing yourself for something.

"I wasn't gonna go out with her," he tells you, a secret between you, him, and the hard asphalt of the MSBY gym's employee parking lot. "Ain't nobody else seein' this in the mornings either. That's all."

He turns around and strides off, leaving you blinking in the morning light.

"Can you move it?" You say, your brows knit together. Hinata grimaces.

"I can bend it, like this—" he curls the injured finger inward. "But it won't stretch out, like this. Ah!"

You release his hand, where you'd applied pressure to the digit. "It's sprained. You're sitting out the rest of practice."

"Aw, but it really doesn't hurt that bad," he protests. You give him a look. "Okay, okay. Can I least do some running and stuff?"

"Do you want to come to practice tomorrow?" You say evenly. He gives you big brown puppydog eyes and you fold like wet paper. "I'll give you some stretches and exercises for your legs that you probably can't fuck up."

"Yay!" He cheers. "Thank you!" He uses an affectionate diminutive of your name with -chan tacked on the end. You laugh and wave him off, walking out of the main gym area toward your office, where you can print him the exercises.

You lean against your desk while the printer huffs temperamentally, taking a long sip of coffee. You should really stop going over to Atsumu's on weeknights, but you've been telling yourself that for well over a year, and it's a lot more convenient since all your clothes and your toothbrush live at his place.

You tell yourself a lot of things when it comes to your blond coworker.

The door to your office slams open and you make an involuntary, high-pitched noise in the back of your throat, focusing hard on keeping the cardboard cup in your hand from jumping with you.

"Sorry, sorry," Bokuto says, his hair drooping dramatically. "It's just really important—Tsumu's hurt!"

You take an inhale so quickly it hurts and burst your coffee cup all over your coat and work pants. Luckily, you take it mostly milk and sugar, so it doesn't burn you, but you don't even really notice it, just shedding the coat and rolling up your sleeves as you stride out the door without hesitation.

Behind you, Bokuto follows, making garbled promises you hear as through water to buy you a house to make up for startling you and ruining your outfit.

You try to take three deep breaths before you enter the gym, knowing you'll be much more helpful calm rather than battling the wall of panic that threatens to overtake you. Atsumu is blocked from your vision by a crowd of his teammates, fluttering around him like a herd of bumblebees.

Iwaizumi is already there, you see with an exhale of relief, ordering everyone around him to stay calm. You motion to the players around him to give him space, hoping your terror doesn't show untowardly on your face, hoping he can feel your singleminded prayer: please be okay.

"Eh?" He has a dopey expression on his face, dopier than usual, anyway. He says your name gleefully, but you're too busy scanning him for visible blood or bone to respond right away. "Nice shirt. Hey, why's your coat off? Were you taking off your clothes in there? Without me?"

"He collided with Sakusa," Iwaizumi tells you. Atsumu reaches for your hand and you stroke your fingertips lightly over the back of it, along the bones and tendons, each touch saying you'll be okay, it's going to be okay.

I'll make it okay.

"Sakusa's shoulder got banged up, you should probably put him on reserve for a couple days," Iwaizumi says. You glance over at the black-haired spiker, who gives you a thumbs-up though his expression is characteristically flat. "Atsumu, though... he fell pretty hard."

You can see that. There's a bruise blooming along the side of his face, like the sloppy trail of your lipstick after a night out. His ankle is swollen, too; the disorientation of the head injury must have impaired the grace of his landing.

You kneel and shift into clinical mode, receding into the comfortable space of your training. You feel along his leg, asking him over and over does it hurt, can you move this, does it hurt when I do this.

"Okay, doc?" His beautiful honey eyes are unfocused. You want to cry. You want to squeeze his hand tighter, but you don't want to hurt him more. "S all good. I'm fine."

You shake your head, grateful it's not worse. Afraid of what you have to say to him.

"That's right, you'll be fine. But the concussion paired with the ankle injury... I don't think it's a good idea for you to return to practice for a month at least."

You squeeze your eyes shut and pull your hands away from him. He probably doesn't want to be touched. He might hate you for this.

What's the point of sleeping with the doc if I don't get special privileges, you imagine him saying, if you're gonna take my life away from me like this. A month of recovery doesn't sound like so much to other people, but you've been working around these volleyball freaks since high school. You know that it's everything to them.

"Okay," Atsumu simply says. You look at him. "You gonna drive me home?"

"If you don't mind," you say softly.

"Yeah, then it's okay," he says, and scoots around, hissing when he forgets and puts pressure on the injured ankle. He leans back, and you catch his head in your lap.

"I'm gonna break my leg," Barnes says from somewhere behind you. "I want the doc to hold me like that."

You hear a thwack and then Iwaizumi's voice: "Sakusa, stop concussing your teammates. L/N only has so much room in her car."

Atsumu recovers more quickly than you expect. You should have known, though; he's always had a strong ability to heal. He rarely gets sick and though he's brash and reckless and sometimes outright stupid, he's lucky. In almost all the inadvisable endeavors you've seen him pull, he almost never gets hurt.

You're not actually a doctor, not that the team believes that. You've been trying to explain that you're a sports medicine physical therapist for the three years you've been working for MSBY and not once has it deterred anyone from calling you doc.

Atsumu was signed six months after you started, and you had only been friends until a year after that. In all that time, you've been the consummate professional at work, never letting your touches linger, never stretching him too deeply, trying not to stare at him like he's just any other player. When he first propositioned you, you tried not to say yes too quickly, as businesslike as possible.

You went into sports medicine because of your sister. She had been a superstar from the moment she stepped foot on a tennis court; even at a young age you saw that she wielded the racket like it was an extension of herself. As the two of you grew in age, you also saw the ways she overextended herself: the swollen knobs of her knees, hidden under frozen packs of peas, the frequent doctor's visits for hyperextension, the tear tracks when she tore her ACL.

You had spent so much of your childhood waiting for her during practice, doing your homework in the bleachers, fielding questions about her play to the uninitiated relatives who came to support her matches that it felt like the most natural course of action to go into a career field that meant you could help her and others like her chase their dreams.

You had also almost exclusively dated athletes as a result. While you were attending university and chasing your certifications, you had been surrounded by two types of people: students and athletes. You had barely any time in your schedule, much less the ability to align it with a similarly crammed med student. Athletes, on the other hand, didn't have an obsession with comparing your knowledge, liked that you were too busy to monitor them all day long, and loved that you had to attend every one of their games because it was literally your job.

By the time you got the position in Osaka, you were beyond over the routine of dating the people in your care. You swore to yourself that you wouldn't mess around with the team and entered a yearlong celibate streak, which Atsumu blew up into a million pieces and never allowed to recover.

To his (and your) credit, the both of you became close friends before ever crossing the boundary of inappropriate conduct. Just because you were strictly business during work hours didn't mean that you, lonely and shy in a new city, were going to turn down your coworkers' offer to go out after practice. You'd gotten to know Meian well and considered Bokuto to be something of a little brother. Then they had traded a couple of players for Atsumu, and the moment he gripped your hand and slapped your shoulder instead of shaking it or bowing like a normal person, you knew that he was going to mean much more to you than any other of your team.

You had fallen quickly into a deep friendship, and his apartment was much closer to the team's favored bars than yours was, so it was just easier for you to go home and crash on his couch. And his couch was gross, because it belonged to a bachelor who had never heard of a steam cleaner, so one night you insisted on sharing the bed, and you had become good friends who cuddled weekly.

It happened like this:

You were the last two left in the booth that had once contained the extremely compressed bodies of several of the largest men in Japan, probably, but they had practice early the next morning and had trickled out, one by one. Atsumu had his head down on the table while you desperately tried to convince him to come home (already you were referring to his apartment as your home without thinking, though only a spare toothbrush and a coat were kept there at the time).

"Please," you said, "I'm so tired. I'm not even drunk anymore."

"I am," Atsumu said, turning his face toward you. "Very."

"I know," you groaned. "Let's go home."

"I can't," he said despondently.

"Why not?"

"Not with you," his words slurred together. "I gotta problem."

"What?" You suddenly felt very, very sick. Maybe you were more drunk than you'd thought.

"Mhm. I gotta apologize, I think."

Oh, you thought. This is it. He knows.

"I've been having," he hiccuped and turned his face into his arms again so that you couldn't hear the next thing he mumbled.

"I can't hear you like that," you say softly. "Please, Atsumu, you can tell me anything."

You've been seeing someone, and she wants me to stop sleeping over. She wants you to stop being friends with me. You need the apartment to yourself to have her over.

"No," he says, turning back to you again, his eyes glossy with drink, his lips pink and just the slightest bit open. "I have been having manly thoughts about you. Unmanly thoughts. Whatever."

"What do you mean?" You'd asked, heart beating fast.

"I wanna have sex with you," he said, and then slammed his forehead against the table until it left a red mark. "I'm sorry, women! It's wrong to dream about kissing your girl friends, I know!"

You ignored his nonsensical shouting and put your hand under his face so he wouldn't injure it.

"Then let's go home so we can have sex," you said. He whipped his head up so fast you worried for his spinal discs.

"You promise?"

You actually didn't have sex that night because he fell asleep as soon as you coerced him into the bed. The next morning, he'd been hungover and ashamed, stuttering and afraid to look you in the eye. You had given him a handful of painkiller pills and waited until he was washing it down with a glass of green juice before you said "I think about having sex with you, too," so that he spewed it all over the floor.

Maybe it was petty, but you needed vengeance for his forcing you to drag him bodily out of that bar the previous night.

After your first time, he said, awkwardly, something about not being able to commit to a relationship at the moment, something about difficulty expressing his feelings, about being too immature to settle. A script you were as familiar with as the back of your hands. You turned to him, swiping sweaty strands of hair out of your face, glowing with a smile as he stuttered his way through it, and said I know the game. We don't have to talk about it.

He insisted that it wasn't a game, that you deserved transparency and to be treated well, and you rolled over on top of him and kissed him until he forgot his own name.

During the month-long recovery period, you had resumed the friendship you had had in the early months of knowing each other, refusing adamantly to do anything strenuous or even unsportsmanly while you had to work much more closely together than ever before. You insist on sleeping at your own apartment for the first week, afraid of aggravating his injuries further, until he threatens to walk to you with his pillow and sleepover bag. You bring him food near-daily and call his brother when your schedule prevents you from doing so.

He's diligent about doing the exercises and stretches you assign him to bring him back to full functionality. Towards the end of his detention (you pinch him for using such a dramatic word), you start taking walks together, in the evenings on work days and the mornings on days off.

You keep expecting him to ask for space, to push you out of his daily routine, to realize that he's bored because he knows everything about you; there's nothing left to hide. Nothing except the one unspoken thing, the one you're sure he knows but you can't acknowledge.

New growth is beginning to sprout on the trees, grey wood dotted with little specks of bright green. Atsumu walks without a limp, now, his posture straight but relaxed, his hands shoved into his pockets.

His body is healed, but his heart aches. You're wearing casual clothes, big soft pants that billow around your legs and a black shirt with his name in yellow letters, and you look far away, worried. No matter how many times he smooths the pinch between your brows away with his thumb, no matter how many times he asks what's wrong, you refuse him a straight answer.

He wonders if he's pulled you too close, in this month dying of boredom, forbidden from running and setting and anything that could damage his brain. He still gets to see you in the morning, your back arching as you stretch and yawn, the crinkle of your nose when your feet touch the cold floor outside of bed, which is probably slowly draining all the function from his grey matter.

You're wearing gloves, your extremities sensitive to the cold. He takes your left hand, tugs it off. When he tangles your fingers together, you look up at him, questioningly, that knot between your brows back again.

"What, woman, now I can't hold your hand?"

You stop walking. He curses his big, fat mouth. He always chooses the wrong thing to say, always has.

Osamu used to ask him what he was supposed to say to girls. Atsumu, proud big brother that he wanted to be, would puff out his chest and give him paragraphs of advice, and Osamu almost never used it. There were so few opportunities for him to advise Samu, though; he was so self-sufficient, maybe more than Atsumu had ever been. He was more introverted, less brash and crass and rude. Sometimes, when Atsumu ceded his insistence on being the wiser one with six more minutes of life experience, he wished he could be more like his twin.

"Do you love me like that, Atsumu?" You ask, mouth pressed into an unhappy line, already pulling away from him like you were expecting him to say something completely insane. "Because I understood fucking, and being friends with benefits, but I don't know if I get going out for food and holding hands and—"

"Like?" He says, refusing to let your hand slip from his. "I love you. That's it."

"Oh," you say, and your mouth is twisted up like you're searching for something he can't see again, but the crease in your forehead is gone.

"You gonna go out with me?" He says, and it comes out way easier than he ever thought it would, and if choosing the rest of his life is as simple a decision as chasing volleyball and you has been, growing up sounds way better than he thought. "'Cause I wanna do it all with you."

Once Atsumu's allowed to drink again, it's time for the real volleyball season to start, and his diet becomes much stricter and your schedule much longer, but eventually the two of you find yourselves back at the same old bar with the rest of the team.

"You're a scrub with no hope of survival in the zombie apocalypse," sneers Atsumu. This is a common topic of conversation among them; each one vying to be the leader of your hypothetical ragged survivors' team.

"I could win a fight against you with one hand tied behind my back," snits Tomas, who usually is oblivious to Atsumu's provocations but gets a lot feistier when he's drunk, to the setter's delight.

"Please don't," says Bokuto, his hair deflating in fear of his friends fighting.

"Haven't you had enough dick measuring," says Sakusa, holding a mug in front of his face like it'll prevent him from seeing Atsumu's and thus pretending he's not there.

"Have you guys ever done that?" You perk up, looking around. "Isn't that supposed to be a locker room ritual?"

"In high school, maybe," snorts Barnes. "We're way too old for that now."

"Yeah, we're real mature," insists Bokuto, his hair bouncing back up into its familiar two-pronged shape. You’ve long wondered how it does that, but if working with MSBY has taught you anything, it’s that science can’t explain everything.

You nod, taking another sip of your beer.

“So how big is it?” Atsumu addresses Sakusa and you squeeze your eyes shut. You just got him to start attending team bonding nights.

“Small. Leave me alone.” You choke on your drink, spluttering as you make eye contact with Sakusa and the tiny, prideful smirk on his face.

The rest of the team dissolves into laughter.

"What about you?" Hinata, his cheeks rosy, says to Atsumu. Before you can think, your drunken mouth speaks for you.

"You can’t have it, I called dibs!”

You slap a hand over your mouth, mortified. You can’t even begin to think about the rest of your coworker’s reactions. You haven’t even disclosed your relationship yet! Atsumu guffaws.

“I don’t think anyone’s trying to take it from ya, doll.”

#im panic posting this immediately before an appointment and RUNNING AWAY i will be back with tags and summary such later #note that there is suggestive content #haikyuu!! x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #atsumu x reader #hq!! x reader #hq x reader #atsumu miya x reader #haikyuu!! x reader fluff #haikyuu!! fluff #atsumu fluff #atsumu x reader fluff

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writingsoftarnishedsilver · 2 days ago

Note

Okay, I am in love with all your Sebastian fics like a honeybee to pollen 🐝

Could we get some love for Ominis, too? 🥺 If your requests are open, I was thinking of something a bit packed with drama. Maybe during the early 1900's, Ominis was going to be married off to another pureblood woman as a last ditch effort to save the Gaunt family from utter disgrace. But Sebastian sent a frantic letter to MC (knowing she's always had feelings for him) and she rescues him because she's quite literally the only person who can counter the strength of the Gaunts.

If this is too action-packed, I understand 😅 And if you want to do something else with this, I'm totally onboard for it! Thank you so, so much!

Speak Now | Ominis Gaunt x Reader

CAN YOU HAVE SOME LOVE FOR OMINIS? UM, YES. OF COURSE. ALWAYS. SEND ME ALL THE OMINIS PROMPTS, I LOVE HIM DEARLY.

ANON, I HOPE YOU LOVE AND ENJOY <3 THANK YOU FOR YOUR MESSAGE!!!

Words: ~10,500

Tags: Reader Insert, Female MC, No Y/N, Fluff, Angst, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Romance, Pureblood Drama

The ink was smudged, the parchment worn, as if it had been handled too many times before finally being sent. The hurried scrawl was unmistakable—Sebastian Sallow had always written like he was running out of time.

You have to come back.

That was the first line, sharp and urgent, as though he was reaching across the distance to shake you into action. You swallowed hard as your eyes darted over the rest of the letter, scanning the words that followed.

They're forcing Ominis into a marriage. He won’t fight it. He thinks he has no choice. He’s going to let them do it. The Gaunts are desperate—this is their last chance to cling to whatever power they have left. If you don’t stop this, no one will.

You tilted your head back against the hotel room chair, exhaling slowly. This wasn’t what you had expected when you saw Sebastian’s weekly letter among the rest of your correspondence—his updates had always been the same.

Small anecdotes of life in England, sharp-witted remarks about Ministry work, and the occasional complaint about the monotony of it all. It had become a habit, these letters, a quiet tether to the life you left behind.

But this was different.

Sebastian had always known. Even when you tried to hide it, when you buried your feelings so deeply they felt like ghosts inside you—he knew you were irrevocably in love with Ominis.

He had known when you stood beside him through the worst of it, when the three of you were still inseparable. He had known when you were sixteen, when you looked at Ominis across the Great Hall with something aching in your eyes.

Sebastian wouldn’t have sent this if he wasn’t desperate.

The candlelight flickered against the crumpled parchment in your hands, the ink smudging beneath the heat of your fingers. Your chest felt tight, something old and aching clawing its way to the surface.

You had spent nearly a decade trying to carve Ominis Gaunt out of your heart.

You had moved away. You had thrown yourself into the world, traveling far from England, chasing adventure and knowledge, anything to dull the pain of loving someone who would never be yours. You had gone years without talking him. Not because he hadn’t written—but because you never wrote back.

It never worked.

Because love like that—love that had rooted itself so deeply, so completely, didn’t just disappear. It lingered in the spaces between your ribs, in the quiet moments before sleep, in the way your body still tensed at the mention of his name.

It had been unspoken between you, as silent as the spaces he left untouched when you stood too close, as damning as the way his hand would hover near yours but never close the distance.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore, you left.

You left because you thought, maybe, if you put an ocean between you, the wound of unrequited love would heal.

It never did.

And now Sebastian was asking you to do the very thing you had spent years convincing yourself you wouldn’t.

Go back. Save him.

The Gaunts were a dying family, their legacy rotting from the inside out. With every generation, their blood grew thinner, their wealth squandered, their name teetering on the edge of ruin. A marriage—an advantageous one—was their final desperate bid for survival. And Ominis, bound by duty, bound by the fear that he had nowhere else to go, was walking into the trap with his head bowed.

You let out a shaky breath and reached for the letter again, rereading the final lines, the ink smudged and urgent.

If you don’t stop this, no one will.

By tomorrow night, you would be back in England.

The night was cold, the London streets slick with rain, the gas lamps casting a dim glow against the cobblestones. You barely felt the chill as you climbed the stairs to Sebastian’s flat, your heartbeat pounding louder than your footsteps.

You didn’t hesitate. You raised your fist and banged on the door. Hard.

The music inside was loud enough to mask the first round of knocks, but you weren’t deterred. You hit the door again, more forcefully this time, your palm stinging from the impact.

There was movement inside, the shuffling of feet, the clinking of glass. You exhaled sharply, bracing yourself.

All you could hope was that he was alone.

Because if there was one thing Sebastian Sallow had never lacked, it was company.

It had been a constant presence in your lives—girls who were drawn to him like moths to a flame, girls who whispered behind their hands when they saw the two of you together, girls who looked at you with suspicion, jealousy, irritation.

It had never mattered that you weren’t interested. That your heart had belonged to Ominis so completely that there had never been room for anyone else. That Sebastian had never once looked at you that way.

It hadn’t stopped the tension, the quiet hostility, the accusations in whispered conversations you weren’t supposed to overhear.

You could only imagine how much worse it would be now if you were about to interrupt a lover’s evening.

The door swung open, and Sebastian stood before you, shirt half-unbuttoned, a glass of whiskey in his hand.

His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Bloody hell.” His voice was hoarse, caught somewhere between shock and amusement. “You actually came.”

You huffed a laugh, tugging your bag higher up your shoulder. "Hello, Sebastian."

His expression shifted, something unreadable flickering across his face before settling into a lopsided grin. He stepped aside, motioning you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm. “Well, don’t just stand there. Come in before you catch a cold.”

You hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside, brushing past him. The flat was warm, filled with the scent of oak and whiskey, the remnants of dinner still on the table. A record played in the background, something slow and bluesy, and the room was dimly lit by the flickering glow of the fireplace.

You scanned the space quickly. No sign of anyone else.

Relief loosened the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian caught it immediately, his smirk widening. “Were you worried I’d have company?”

You shot him a look.

He laughed, the sound low and knowing. “You used to hate that, didn’t you?”

You sighed, tugging off your gloves, your fingers stiff from the cold. “I didn’t hate it, Sebastian.”

“Oh, you did,” he said, dropping onto the sofa, his gaze sharp. “Every time a girl so much as looked at me twice, they’d take one look at you and think they had to fight for their lives.”

You rolled your eyes. “That wasn’t my fault. You’ve always had a type, and apparently, that type is ‘possessive.’”

Sebastian grinned into his glass. “It was entertaining, at least.”

You huffed out a breath, shaking your head, but there was no real annoyance behind it.

He studied you for a long moment, something flickering in his expression, before he let out a quiet huff of amusement.

“You look so much more… grown up.”

Your hands stilled where they had been undoing the buttons of your coat. You glanced up at him, unsure whether to feel flattered or vaguely insulted. “Should I be offended?”

Sebastian smirked. “No, no. Just—well, you know.” His gaze flicked over you with something bordering on appraisal. “Filled out a bit. More mature.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, suspicious.

He grinned before leaning back into the sofa, stretching his arms behind his head lazily. “Ominis is going to be very happy to see you.”

You groaned at the implication, rubbing your hands down your face. “Gross, Sebastian.”

He laughed, clearly pleased with himself. “What? It’s been a long time. He’s going to notice.”

“You just noticed, and that’s already too much.”

Sebastian only smirked, utterly unrepentant.

You shook your head, slipping your coat off and draping it over the back of a chair. The warmth of the flat was already sinking into your bones, easing the tension in your shoulders.

Sebastian watched you for a long moment, his teasing expression softening slightly.

“You really came,” he murmured, quieter now.

You met his gaze. “Of course I did.”

“I’ve tried to reason with him, tried to convince him he doesn’t need to do this but…” He hesitated, drumming his fingers against his knee. “I don’t think he realizes he has a choice. How much he still—”

He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

“So,” you said, glancing at him, “do you have a guest room these days, or am I taking the couch?”

Sebastian’s lips quirked up at the corner. “What kind of man do you take me for?”

You arched a brow. “The kind who forgets to replace his bedsheets for months at a time.”

He let out a laugh, shaking his head as he stood, finishing off the last sip of his whiskey before setting the glass down. “You wound me,” he drawled, then he gestured for you to follow him down the narrow hallway.

As you trailed behind, he glanced over his shoulder, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“Your accent’s changed,” he noted. “Sounds almost American now. Tragic, really.”

You scoffed. “It does not.”

“Oh, it does.” He mimicked a horrible, exaggerated version of an American drawl. “Next thing I know, you’ll be saying ‘ain’t’ and asking for a cup of coffee instead of tea.”

You rolled your eyes. “I’ve been gone, not possessed.”

Sebastian chuckled, pushing open a door and stepping aside to let you enter.

The spare bedroom was small but comfortable—a proper bed, neatly made, a modest wardrobe, and a single oil lamp on the nightstand. It was uncharacteristically tidy for him, and you cast him a suspicious glance.

He smirked. “Surprised? I do have some manners, you know.”

“Debatable.”

He snorted but didn’t argue. Instead, he lingered in the doorway, watching you as you set your gloves on the nightstand, smoothing out the worn fabric between your fingers.

Then, without warning, he reached for you, wrapping you in a sudden, firm embrace.

You tensed for half a second before melting into it, your hands pressing into the worn fabric of his shirt as you buried your face against his shoulder. He smelled like whiskey, firewood, and something unmistakably Sebastian—familiar, grounding.

“Missed you, you know,” he murmured, voice quieter now, rougher around the edges. “I wish I’d threatened Ominis’s marriage sooner. Would’ve saved me years of boredom having you around again.”

You let out a breathless laugh against his shoulder even as your chest ached.

You had been gone for so long, chasing something you could never quite outrun. And yet, standing here, in the warmth of Sebastian’s flat, his arms still loosely around you—

It felt like a piece of you had finally come home.

You swallowed past the sudden lump in your throat, blinking quickly. “Well,” you said, clearing your throat, “we’ll have to make up for lost time, then.”

Sebastian grinned, giving your shoulder a final squeeze before stepping back. “Oh, we will,” he promised. “Starting tomorrow.”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder.

"What's the plan for tomorrow, exactly?"

Sebastian leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, the flickering lamplight casting shadows across his face. He tilted his head slightly, considering your question.

“Well, obviously, I have a wedding invitation,” he said, his smirk sharp and knowing. “And seeing as you didn’t exactly RSVP, you’ll be my plus-one.”

You sighed, rubbing your hands together. “Okay... but when we get there, then what?"

Sebastian’s smirk faded, replaced with something more serious. “We’ll try to get to him before the ceremony starts,” he said. “Pull him aside, talk some sense into him. If we can convince him to walk away without causing a scene, that would be ideal.”

You exhaled slowly. “And if we do have to cause a scene?”

Sebastian lifted a brow, a familiar glint of mischief in his gaze. “Well, you did bring all that dramatic ancient magic of yours back with you, didn’t you?”

You shot him a dry look. “Yes, Sebastian, I plan to hex an entire wedding party in broad daylight.”

“Now that would be entertaining,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

You sighed, rubbing your forehead. “You think he’ll listen?”

Sebastian hesitated, his fingers tapping idly against the doorframe. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve tried, but you know how he is. Stubborn as ever. He thinks this is the only way. Thinks he has no other choice.”

Your stomach twisted.

"And you think, somehow, I'm going to change his mind? We haven't spoken in, what, eight years? He probably—”

Sebastian cut you off with a pointed look. "Exactly. You haven't spoken in years. Which means you showing up? That'll shake him more than anything I could ever say."

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your hair. "Or it'll just piss him off."

Sebastian shrugged, unbothered. "That works too. As long as it gets him to actually feel something about this instead of just rolling over and letting his family dictate his life again."

Your jaw tightened. "You think he hasn't felt anything about this?"

Sebastian tilted his head. "I think he's spent so long convincing himself he doesn’t have a choice that he's stopped considering the alternative. And I think," he said, crossing his arms, "that if there's anyone who can remind him of what he wants instead of what he owes, it's you."

The words struck deeper than you wanted them to.

You swallowed past the lump in your throat, gripping the edge of the bed as if grounding yourself. "If he ever wanted me," you said, quieter this time, "it was never enough."

Sebastian huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "You always were terrible at seeing what was right in front of you."

You frowned, but he didn’t give you a chance to argue. He pushed off the doorframe, turning toward the hall. "Get some sleep," he said over his shoulder. "Big day tomorrow. You might have to throw yourself in front of an altar."

You snorted. "Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that."

Sebastian grinned. "If it does, at least try to make it entertaining. Dramatic declarations, an I object! shouted for the ages." He paused, then waggled his brows. "Preferably while wearing something scandalous."

You rolled your eyes. "Goodnight, Sebastian."

"Sweet dreams, sweetheart," he teased, retreating down the hallway.

You listened to his footsteps fade, staring at the worn wooden floor beneath you.

Tomorrow.

Tomorrow, you would face Ominis again.

Sebastian was already ready. Of course he was.

You could hear him outside the bathroom, pacing the hallway, his dress shoes clicking impatiently against the wooden floor. He’d already knocked twice, and now he was resorting to pestering you from the other side of the door.

"Are you ready yet?" His voice was exasperated. "Honestly, if I'd known you'd take this long, I would've given you a two-hour head start."

You stuck a pin in your hair and rolled your eyes. "It's been thirty minutes, Sebastian. You’re acting like I've been in here for days."

“Might as well have been,” came Sebastian’s voice from the other side, muffled but unmistakably exasperated. “We’re going to a wedding, not a coronation.”

You sighed, adjusting the way your dress fit over your shoulders, tugging at the fabric as if it would somehow settle your nerves.

The truth was, you were taking longer than usual.

But could he blame you? You hadn’t seen Ominis in nearly eight years.

And sure—he couldn’t see you, exactly, but his wand could.

You sighed, stepping back from the mirror and smoothing your skirts. You had settled on something elegant, something proper, something that would make it impossible for the Gaunts to ignore you when you walked through their doors.

Sebastian, of course, was dressed for trouble. A sharp three-piece suit, his tie just slightly loosened, his hair combed back but still holding that casual devil-may-care disarray that somehow made him look even more like a menace.

Another impatient knock. “The wedding starts in an hour, by the way.”

You shot a glare at the door, even though he couldn’t see it, then took one last look in the mirror before before finally stepping out.

Sebastian was mid-complaint when his eyes landed on you.

His mouth clicked shut.

He blinked.

And then, after a moment, let out a low whistle.

“Well, well,” he said, stepping back slightly to take you in. “You do clean up nice.”

You rolled your eyes, brushing past him. “Don’t sound so shocked.”

He grinned. “I’m just impressed. You put me through an agonizing wait, but I suppose it was worth it.” His gaze flicked over you again, more appraising now. “Ominis is going to—”

You shot him a warning look before he could finish the sentence.

Sebastian just smirked. “Right, right. Gross.”

He, mercifully, didn’t push the subject further as the two of you stepped out onto the quiet London street. The air was crisp, the overcast sky hinting at rain, and the city was already awake—carts rolling by, men in suits tipping their hats as they passed, women hurrying along with baskets in hand.

A sleek, enchanted carriage waited at the curb, black lacquer gleaming under the dim morning light. Sebastian, always the gentleman when it suited him, opened the door and gestured dramatically.

“After you, my lady,” he quipped, voice dripping with amusement.

You shot him a flat look but climbed in nonetheless. The interior was comfortable, the seats upholstered in deep blue fabric, smelling faintly of polished wood . Sebastian followed, settling in across from you as the carriage took off with a jolt.

The ride started in silence, the rhythmic clatter of hooves filling the space between you. You stared out the window, watching London give way to quieter roads, your stomach twisting itself into knots.

Sebastian stretched out, lounging like this was nothing more than a casual social call. “You’re awfully quiet.”

You exhaled, fingers drumming against your knee. “I’m trying not to think about the fact that I might be making a mistake.”

Sebastian scoffed. “Oh, please. As if this could even qualify as a mistake.”

You shot him a sharp look. “This isn’t a joke, Sebastian.”

His smirk softened, just slightly. “I know,” he admitted, leaning forward, bracing his forearms against his knees. “But listen to me—there is no version of this where Ominis doesn’t want to see you.”

Your lips pressed into a thin line. “You don’t know that.”

Sebastian’s gaze was unwavering. “I do.”

You wanted to argue, wanted to tell him he was wrong, that Ominis had probably long since buried whatever he had once felt for you—if he had ever felt anything at all.

But you couldn’t ignore the gnawing in your chest, the way a tiny, fragile part of you wanted desperately to believe Sebastian was right.

The carriage slowed. Your breath caught.

Sebastian straightened, adjusting his jacket. “Showtime.”

The Gaunt estate was exactly as you remembered it from your Hogwarts days—cold, imposing, and entirely too suffocating. The sprawling grounds were still vast, stretching endlessly in every direction, but there was something unmistakably wilted about them now. The hedges lining the drive had grown wild at the edges, the once-pristine cobblestone path cracked in places, and the grand iron gates—tall and menacing—creaked on their hinges as they shut behind your carriage.

The manor itself was much the same: gray stone, towering spires, an air of superiority that had always felt like a performance rather than a truth. But even from this distance, you could tell that the years had not been kind to it.

The roof, once gleaming with meticulously maintained slate tiles, had dark patches of discoloration. Ivy crept aggressively up the eastern wing, unchecked, wrapping around balconies and windows as if slowly strangling the place. The grand windows that had once shimmered with warm candlelight now looked dimmer, some of them cracked, their leaded glass slightly warped with age.

Neglect.

That’s what this was. The decay wasn’t extreme—not yet—but it was there, creeping at the edges, slowly taking hold.

And you knew why.

Ominis’s father.

The man had been wretched, and his penchant for excess was nothing new. Even back when you were all still in school, it had been whispered that the Gaunts' fortune was a shadow of what it had once been—that their power was more name than substance now.

And now, with his father dead and Ominis as the heir, it seemed evident that the cracks in the foundation had begun to spread.

Sebastian let out a low whistle beside you. “Charming as ever.”

You exhaled, willing your nerves to settle as the carriage rolled to a stop before the grand entrance.

Footmen were stationed by the double doors, their posture rigid, their expressions carefully blank. A few well-dressed guests were filtering into the manor, their whispers hushed but pointed, eyes flickering toward your carriage with interest.

This was it.

You were here.

And somewhere inside that crumbling, gilded ruin was Ominis—waiting for a future he had resigned himself to.

Sebastian stepped out first, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket before turning to offer you a hand. You ignored it, stepping down on your own, too preoccupied with the steady thudding of your heart against your ribs.

As you approached the grand entrance, one of the footmen—rigid, humorless, and probably handpicked for his ability to look as unwelcoming as possible—stepped forward, barring your way with a polite but firm, “Name?”

Sebastian handed over his invitation, flashing a smirk that bordered on arrogance. “Sebastian Sallow,” he said smoothly. “And my lovely plus-one, of course.”

The footman scanned the invitation with a blank expression, then flicked his eyes toward you. His lips pressed together.

“I’m afraid there is no ‘plus-one’ listed, sir.”

Sebastian blinked. “Pardon?”

The footman held out the invitation again. “Your name is on the list, Mr. Sallow, but there is no mention of a guest.”

Sebastian made a show of taking the paper back, squinting at it dramatically. “Oh, what an incredible oversight,” he said, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Truly, a devastating clerical error. You should fire whoever manages this list.”

The footman’s mouth twitched—somewhere between unimpressed and mildly annoyed. “Sir, I was given specific instructions. No additional guests who are not accounted for.”

Sebastian threw up his hands. “I’m accounting for her right now—”

“Sebastian,” you muttered under your breath, nudging his arm in warning.

He huffed. “This is absurd. What do you think she’s here for? To steal the centerpieces? I assure you, my guest is—”

The footman remained firm. “If her name is not on the list, she does not enter.”

Your fingers curled into fists. You should have seen this coming. Of course the Gaunts would keep the guest list strictly controlled—this wasn’t just any wedding, it was their last-ditch attempt to save face. The idea that a surprise guest might slip through the cracks was laughable.

Sebastian was still arguing when you finally grabbed his sleeve and yanked him aside.

He frowned at you. “What? I was wearing them down.”

“No, you were irritating them,” you muttered, glancing back at the guards. “Look, you have an invitation. You can get inside.”

He crossed his arms. “And what, exactly, are you going to do? Sit on the curb and wait?”

“No.” You lowered your voice. “I’ll figure something out. But you need to get to Ominis now.”

Sebastian hesitated, his brow furrowing. “You sure?”

You exhaled, glancing back toward the doors. “We don’t have time to waste. Find him. Get him alone. Make him listen. If that doesn't work... we'll... we'll think of something.”

Sebastian clenched his jaw, clearly not thrilled at the idea of leaving you behind. But after a moment, he exhaled sharply.

“Fine,” he muttered. “But if you’re not inside within the next fifteen minutes, I will cause a scene.”

You smirked despite yourself. “You always cause a scene.”

He grinned. “Yes, but this time, I’ll make it big.”

With that, he turned, flashing the footman an exaggeratedly smug smile before striding through the doors and disappearing into the estate.

You, meanwhile, lingered near the entrance, watching the footmen out of the corner of your eye. As much as you hated the idea of waiting out here while Sebastian got to Ominis, you knew forcing your way in wasn’t an option.

So you waited.

The footmen barely glanced at you once they assumed you were no longer their problem. Instead, they refocused on their duties—checking invitations, directing guests, speaking in hushed tones with the occasional arrival. It only took a moment for the perfect opportunity to present itself.

A carriage pulled up, the sound of clattering hooves drawing the footmen’s attention just long enough for you to slip away from the entrance.

You kept your posture casual, strolling toward the side of the estate as if you belonged there

The gardens sprawled around the estate in twisting hedges and overgrown flower beds, a shadow of their former grandeur. You maneuvered quickly, ducking beneath the trellis of a neglected rose arch, its petals long wilted, its thorns creeping along rusted iron.

Beyond the hedges, the ceremony setup came into view.

Rows of white chairs arranged in perfect symmetry. A raised platform at the far end, decorated with elegant but impersonal arrangements of deep red roses and ivy. Guests milled about in clusters, dressed in their pure-blood finery, the air thick with murmured conversations and thinly veiled judgments.

You swept your gaze over the fence, searching for a break in the iron, a space for you to slip through without your name on that stupid list.

Nothing.

You kept moving.

The gardens stretched endlessly around you, a maze of twisting paths and forgotten alcoves, the scent of damp earth and decaying petals clung to your senses as you pressed on, scanning every wrought-iron fence post, every creeping vine for a weakness in the estate’s meticulous defenses.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of your skirts, your mind racing, cycling through every possible version of what you would say when you saw Ominis again.

How were you even going to begin? Would you demand? Beg? Reason? Would you tell him he was making a mistake, that this wasn’t the only option? Would you say it plainly, admit that you had spent years running from the truth that you loved him, and you always had? That you couldn’t stand the thought of watching him tie himself to someone who would never understand him the way you did?

Suddenly, your skirts snagged against the thick brambles of a particularly dense bush, yanking you to an abrupt stop.

You hissed in frustration, twisting to untangle the fabric, cursing under your breath as you fought with the thorny branches.

Then—

Music.

You froze. Your hands clenched in the fabric of your dress, your breath catching in your throat.

A slow, solemn melody drifted through the air, carried by an unseen quartet.

Shit. Shit. The ceremony is starting.

Your pulse pounded. This wasn’t just some idea anymore, wasn’t just a plan scribbled onto parchment in Sebastian’s messy handwriting.

This was happening.

This was Ominis’s wedding.

Your heart was in your throat.

You tore your skirt free from the brambles, stumbling forward, breath coming faster as you scanned desperately for a way through.

If you didn’t get inside now—

A hand clamped down around your upper arm, yanking you backward with enough force to make you stumble. A startled gasp escaped your lips as you twisted in place, trying to wrench yourself free, but the grip was unrelenting.

The footman was tall, broad, and utterly impassive, his expression betraying not even a flicker of emotion.

"Ma'am, you are trespassing on private property, I must insist—"

“No, wait—” you gasped, trying again, shoving at his arm, but the man barely even shifted. “I just need a moment—I’m not here to—”

“The wedding is invitation-only,” the footman said, unbothered, already dragging you back toward the entrance. “Guests are to remain in designated areas. If you do not have proper clearance—”

“I just need to talk to him!” you nearly shouted, struggling as the ceremony music continued to drift through the garden, the slow, deliberate swell of strings making your stomach twist violently.

Ominis was at the front of that ceremony right now, waiting, standing still and poised while guests murmured and the woman he was supposed to marry prepared to walk down the aisle.

It was real. It was happening. And you were out here, being dragged away, powerless to stop it.

A sickening ache took root in your chest, spreading through your ribs, pressing against your lungs like a vice. Your breath hitched, sharp and unsteady.

You tried everything.

You dug your heels in, but the footman pulled you along effortlessly.

You tried bargaining. “Please, just listen—Ominis Gaunt—he knows me, we were close once, I need to see him—”

It didn’t matter.

He wasn’t listening.

Of course he wasn’t.

The Gaunts controlled their world too carefully to let last-minute intrusions disrupt them. Even now, at the end of their dynasty, they still clung to their crumbling influence, still made sure that everything went exactly as planned.

You just needed one chance—one opening to slip away, to disappear, to reach Ominis before it was too late—

Your fingers twitched toward the hidden pocket in your skirts, brushing against the cool handle of your wand.

It was reckless, maybe even stupid, but you didn’t care.

But then, another hand seized your wrist.

Your breath hitched violently as a second footman stepped forward, his grip firm, unyielding.

“Stop resisting,” he ordered, voice impassive.

“No—please—” you gasped, voice breaking.

The music swelled, the notes stretching out like a death knell in your ears, wrapping around your ribs like a vice.

You could see it now. Too vividly.

Ominis.

Ominis, sitting at the head of a long, extravagant dining table, a woman—his wife, a woman you did not know, would never know—beside him, her hand resting lightly on his wrist as they spoke in hushed tones.

Ominis, dancing with her at some pure-blood gala, his hand on her waist, his voice low in conversation.

Ominis at holidays, wathcing his children—laughing as they tore open gifts wrapped in crisp gold and silver paper.

Ominis in the soft quiet of night, pressing a kiss to his wife’s temple, his hands gentle as they cradled her face.

A sharp, ragged breath tore from your throat, your chest constricting painfully, your lungs refusing to expand properly.

This wasn’t happening. This couldn’t be happening.

You fought harder, twisting violently, desperation turning into something sharp and frantic.

"Please, you don’t understand,” you gasped, struggling, thrashing, but it was useless. "Please—I just need a moment—I have to—"

They kept dragging you back to the front drive, further and further away from the ceremony, from him, from the one moment you had to stop this. Your lungs burned, your vision blurred at the edges, and a hot, unbearable pressure rose in your throat—desperation curling tight, suffocating.

Tears burned behind your eyes, stinging, threatening to fall.

And then—

A sudden crack. A flash of red light. The grip on your arms vanished.

You collapsed to your knees, barely registering the sharp sting of gravel biting into your palms. Your chest heaved, ragged and uneven, the adrenaline still coursing through your veins as the world tilted around you.

The footmen hit the ground hard, unmoving.

And when you looked up—

Sebastian stood at the threshold of the grand doors, wand raised.

“Looks like I got here just in time,” he mused, voice light, almost lazy, as if he hadn’t just knocked out two Gaunt guards in broad daylight.

You sucked in a shaky, gasping breath, arms trembling as you pushed yourself upright. The fight had drained you—left you raw, exposed.

Sebastian’s smirk faltered. His gaze flickered over you, taking in the state of you—your wild hair, your disheveled dress, the way you struggled to breathe past the sheer panic still lodged in your chest.

His expression hardened. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, dropping to a knee before you, hand bracing against your shoulder to steady you.

“Hey,” he said, lower now, gentler. “You’re alright.”

You let out a shaking breath, still staring at the unconscious footmen, mind still reeling. “I wasn’t going to make it,” you whispered, voice hoarse, raw from the struggle.

Sebastian squeezed your shoulder. “Yeah, well.” He exhaled, straightening. “Luckily, I’ve got a terrible habit of causing trouble at exactly the right moment.”

You let out a breathless, exhausted laugh.

Sebastian stood, then offered you his hand. “Come on.” His tone shifted, sharpening with urgency. “We need to move. They’ll wake up soon.”

You took it, fingers gripping his tight as he pulled you to your feet.

Your legs were weak, but there was no more time for fear, no more time for second-guessing.

Sebastian held your gaze.

“Are you ready for this?”

Ominis was still waiting.

And you—you were still here.

You nodded.

Sebastian grinned. “Alright, then.”

And with that, you ran.

The Gaunt manor was a maze of dark corridors and endless rooms, its sheer size and suffocating grandeur turning your desperate rush into something far more frustrating.

Even with Sebastian practically dragging you forward, navigating the twisting hallways and sharp turns, it felt like time was slipping through your fingers.

Your pulse thundered. Your legs burned. Your breath came short and uneven as you sprinted your, skirts gathered in your hands.

Footsteps echoed in the halls behind you—shouts, movement. They were coming for you.

A left turn, another hallway, a sharp sprint down the main stairwell, and then finally—

Sebastian shoved open the back door, and you stumbled into the gardens.

The sudden burst of open air nearly stole your breath away. Your lungs ached, your body trembling from the exertion. And then—

You heard the officiant speaking.

Your head snapped toward the ceremony, your entire body freezing in place. It was already happening.

Rows of pure-blooded guests sat in eerie silence, their attention locked on the figures standing at the altar.

You could hear the officiant now, his voice steady, final.

"If there is anyone present who has just cause why these two should not be joined in marriage, speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Everything in you screamed. Your vision tunneled, and before you could even think—

"I OBJECT!"

The words rang loud, impossible to ignore, echoing across the ceremony as if they had weight, as if they had been carved into stone.

The officiant froze mid-sentence, his mouth still parted, the words he had been about to speak dying on his lips.

And then, the ripple began.

Gasps. Dozens of them. Whispers—hushed, sharp murmurs spreading through the crowd like wildfire, rustling through silk gowns and stiffly pressed suits. Heads turned sharply in your direction, eyes wide, mouths forming quiet exclamations of scandal and disbelief.

The woman beside Ominis—his bride—let out a small, startled gasp, the delicate bouquet in her hands trembling slightly. She turned her head toward him, confusion flickering across her face, but he didn’t move to reassure her.

Sebastian let out a sharp, triumphant breath behind you. "Well. That got their attention."

But you couldn’t answer. Your heart was going to burst.

You could feel it—pounding, breaking, swelling, shattering all at once, an unbearable rush of emotion so raw that it nearly brought you to your knees.

Because he was standing right there.

Ominis.

Older. More composed, more refined, dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly, every line and seam made for him. But it was still him—the boy you had once loved.

The boy you still loved.

Your vision blurred, and for a horrible, dizzying moment, you thought you might actually cry.

But your feet were moving now.

You barely realized it—one step, then another, then another, until you were walking, carrying yourself down the aisle toward him, your breath still coming too fast, too uneven from the struggle, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Your skirts were torn at the edges, your hair mussed from running, from fighting, from forcing your way through every obstacle that had tried to keep you away from him.

The whispers grew louder, the tension in the air becoming so thick, so suffocating, but you didn’t care.

The words fell from your lips, breathless, desperate, trembling with everything you had kept buried for far too long.

"You can't marry her, Ominis."

For a moment, the world felt frozen, as if the sheer weight of your presence—your defiance—had brought everything to a grinding halt.

The officiant stiffened, his mouth slightly parted in shock. The bride inhaled sharply, her fingers tightening around the bouquet, knuckles turning pale against the soft petals. The guests—rows upon rows of pure-blooded aristocrats—stared at you, their expressions ranging from horrified to scandalized to morbidly fascinated.

But none of it mattered.

Because Ominis finally turned.

His head lifted, his face shifting just enough for you to see him fully, and the breath nearly left your lungs entirely.

He was beautiful in the way only Ominis had ever been—his features a careful composition of sharp cheekbones, a proud jawline, plush pink lips pressed into a firm, unreadable line.

But God, he had grown even more handsome.

Time had sculpted him into something even more unattainable, something even more devastatingly perfect.

His voice, measured and steady, cut through the stunned silence.

"...And why is that?"

You felt it before you understood it—the way his voice reached inside you and wrapped around something raw, something fragile, something you thought you had buried beneath years of distance and silence.

It was deeper than you remembered. Richer. Steadier.

And for a terrible second, you couldn’t speak. You had imagined this moment a hundred different ways. You had dreamed of it, dreaded it, rehearsed what you would say if you ever saw him again.

But none of those versions had prepared you for this.

You swallowed hard, blinking against the burn in your eyes. Your fingers curled into your ruined skirts, grounding yourself, forcing breath back into your lungs.

"Because you don’t love her," you said, voice shaking yet resolute. "And she doesn’t love you."

The bride’s sharp inhale was barely audible beneath the collective gasp that rippled through the guests.

"You’re doing this because you think you have to," you continued. "Because you think there’s no other way. But that isn’t true, Ominis. It’s never been true."

His jaw tightened, but he didn't speak.

Your next words came softer, but they still broke through the air like a spell cast in desperation.

"Tell me you want this. Tell me this is what you really want, Ominis, and I’ll leave."

You took another step forward, heart hammering so hard it felt like it was trying to tear itself free from your chest.

The guests were silent now, barely breathing, watching as if they had stumbled into something far too intimate, far too raw to be witnessing.

But you didn’t care. You kept going.

"But if you don’t, if there's—" You swallowed, huffed a small, shaky breath, somewhere between a laugh and a sob, because god, you were unraveling. "—if there’s any part of you that doesn’t want this—any part at all—then don’t do it. Please. Because I—" You hesitated, feeling the weight of the moment bear down on you, crushing, suffocating. "Because I love you, Ominis."

A ripple went through the crowd—a gasp, a scandalized whisper, a rustling of fabric as guests turned to each other in shock.

The bride was rigid, her knuckles white against the bouquet, her lips pressed into a tight, thin line. But it was her eyes that gave her away—wide, wild, brimming with something between fury and panic.

"Ominis," she said sharply, her voice a blade cutting through the heavy silence. "Say something."

But he didn’t.

Ominis stood motionless, carved from something finer than marble, yet just as unyielding. His lips parted, breath slow and uneven, as though you had reached inside him and shaken something loose, something buried too deep to name. His jaw tightened, the muscle feathering beneath pale skin, his throat working around a swallow he never quite finished.

The silence that followed was unbearable.

It stretched and stretched, yawning wide like the space between stars, like the distance you had spent years putting between you. It pressed against your ribs, against your throat, thick and suffocating, a weight that crushed the breath from your lungs.

You had been so sure—so certain—that he would say something, do something.

But he only stood there. Still. Silent. Unmoving.

And as the seconds bled into each other, as the realization began to sink its cruel, merciless teeth into you, the first seed of doubt took root.

This reckless, desperate thing you had done—it had been a mistake. A cruel, foolish, selfish mistake. You had laid yourself bare before him, only to be met with silence. Nothing more than a last, flailing act of desperation, a pathetic display that only proved how far you had fallen.

Sebastian shifted behind you, and for a single, awful moment, you thought—

Maybe he’s going to drag me away.

Maybe he’ll step in, cut your losses, put an end to this, spare you from any further disgrace.

Maybe this was your only way out.

Maybe it was time to let go.

You swallowed against the burn in your throat, against the ache blooming in your chest. Your vision blurred at the edges, and for the first time, you truly considered turning around.

Walking away. Leaving Ominis to the life he'd been bred to live.

But then Ominis exhaled, a breath so sharp, so unsteady, it sliced through the silence like the edge of a knife.

And then, he turned.

Not just his head. Not just the subtle tilt of his face in acknowledgment.

All of him.

His entire frame shifted, shoulders squaring, spine straightening as he turned fully toward you, facing you where you stood trembling in the middle of the aisle.

The tension in the room snapped taut, the atmosphere shifting as if the very foundation of this moment had cracked beneath the weight of his movement.

A murmur rippled through the crowd, hushed and urgent, the kind of sound that signaled the birth of a scandal, the sort of thing that would be whispered about behind gloved hands for years to come.

The bride sucked in a sharp breath, her bouquet shaking in her grip. “Ominis—”

But he wasn’t listening.

His hand twitched at his side.

And then, he stepped forward.

Just one step at first, slow and deliberate.

Then another.

And another.

The bride’s composure cracked.

“Ominis,” she snapped, her voice laced with something sharp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

But he didn’t stop.

He didn’t even hesitate.

Your chest felt too tight, too full, as if your own ribs were locking around your heart, trying to keep it from breaking, from believing what was happening.

Because Ominis was walking toward you. Confidently. Purposefully.

As if there had never been any other choice but this. As if, after years of silence, of distance, of unspoken things left to rot in the past, there had only ever been one path left to take.

The whispers rose to a fever pitch, scandalized and sharp, shocked and disbelieving. A frenzied murmur of names and questions and outrage, but all you could hear were his footsteps against the stone, each one measured, steady, unshakable.

And all you could see was him.

Tall and lean, just as he had always been, the crisp lines of his suit, the effortless precision of his movements, the way his shoulders squared with a quiet, unshakable confidence—it was Ominis, but not the boy you had once known.

He was a man now.

And he was—he was right in front of you. So close you could see the subtle rise and fall of his chest, could hear the slow, deliberate exhale that left his lips as he seemed to gather himself.

Your heart pounded in your ears, drowning out everything but the sound of your own breath, the silent demand in your mind that you memorize this, remember this, because no matter what happened next, this moment would live inside you forever.

Then—he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, as if the weight of this moment threatened to crush him as much as it did you.

His fingers brushed against yours first, barely a touch, a whisper of warmth that sent a shudder through your spine. And then, with a quiet, unsteady inhale, he took your hand fully, his grip firm but trembling, as though he were afraid that if he didn’t hold on now, he might never get the chance again.

A gasp rippled through the crowd, a sharp intake of breath from dozens of watching eyes, but it barely registered. The garden, the wedding, the expectant horror of pure-blooded society—all of it had ceased to exist.

It was just him.

And then, finally, he spoke. Soft, low—only for you.

"You came back."

His voice—God, his voice.

Your throat tightened, your fingers tightening instinctively around his.

"Of course I did."

Ominis exhaled, a breathless, almost disbelieving sound—half a laugh, half a shudder. As if he couldn't quite grasp that this was real, that you were here. Then—slowly, reverently—he lifted his free hand, his fingers trembling ever so slightly before they found your cheek.

You barely had time to react before a sharp, furious voice cut through the air.

"Ominis!"

The bride.

Her voice rose, high and shrill, cracking under the sheer force of her rage. "Have you lost your mind?"

The ceremony was in chaos now—guests murmuring, shifting, watching with wide, horrified eyes. The officiant was pale, his hands clasped together as if unsure whether to proceed or flee. Somewhere in the back, someone stifled a horrified gasp.

But Ominis didn’t turn. Didn’t move. Didn’t even flinch.

His palm remained cradling your cheek, his thumb still smoothing gentle, unconscious strokes against your skin. His head tilted just slightly, his breath still uneven, as if the world outside of you had ceased to exist entirely.

"Tell me," he said, voice low and steady, a quiet thing made of certainty and desperation all at once. "Tell me it's true," Ominis whispered, barely more than breath. "Tell me you meant it."

Your pulse roared in your ears, your breath shuddering past your lips.

"You said you love me." His voice dipped lower, raw and unguarded, something fragile threatening to break beneath the weight of it. "Was it true?"

And oh—he needed this.

You could feel it in the way his fingers curled slightly against your skin, in the way his voice wavered at the edges, in the way he stayed, unshaken, unmovable, even as his world collapsed around him.

Your throat tightened. Your heart ached. And for the first time in years, you didn’t hesitate.

You lifted a hand, pressing it over his where it still cupped your cheek.

"I've always loved you, Ominis," you said, voice steady, unshakable.

His breath hitched—his fingers tensed against your skin. His grip on your hand faltered for the smallest second, as though the weight of it, the truth of it, had knocked the air from his lungs.

And then Ominis laughed, soft and disbelieving, shaky and full of something like wonder, like relief, like everything.

And then he kissed you.

It wasn’t polite. It wasn’t chaste. It wasn’t the careful, reserved gesture of a man bred for propriety.

It was a collision, a reckoning, years of longing and regret and unspoken words crashing together in one devastating, breathtaking moment.

Ominis kissed you like a drowning man breaking the surface, like you were the only thing tethering him to this earth, like he had spent years starving for something he had convinced himself he would never taste again.

His hands, usually so composed, were firm, desperate—one cradling your jaw as if to hold you exactly where he needed you, the other splaying against the small of your back, pulling you impossibly close.

And you melted.

The world around you erupted.

The bride screamed.

A high, piercing sound, raw with rage, with betrayal, with pure, unhinged fury.

Another voice—sharper, colder—cut through the chaos, filled with absolute horror. His mother.

"Ominis Gaunt, what in Merlin’s name do you think you are doing?!"

Pandemonium.

Gasps, shouts, the rustling of expensive fabric as guests stood, as scandalized pure-blooded aristocrats lost all sense of composure. The officiant took a stumbling step back, as if physically recoiling from the disaster unraveling before him. Somewhere, a woman swooned, and a man cursed under his breath.

It was chaos.

But you didn’t care. Because Ominis didn’t care.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t falter. If anything, the noise, the outrage, the sheer catastrophe unfolding around you only made him hold you tighter. Only made him deepen the kiss, parting his lips against yours in a way that made your knees buckle, that sent your fingers flying to clutch at the lapels of his suit, holding on to him for dear life.

He tasted like desperation and devotion, like every word he had never spoken, like every moment that had led to this one, like forever.

And all around you, the world was collapsing, and you could hear it—

Movement.

The rustling of fabric, hurried, frantic. The clambering of shoes against stone. Someone—his mother, the bride, maybe both—running toward you.

A furious, sharp inhale. A gasp of outrage.

And then—

A hand.

Firm, unrelenting, gripping your shoulder.

Before you could even react, before you could turn to see who had reached for you, there was a sharp pull, and the universe twisted, folding in on itself, pulling you through space, through time, through everything.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

You were somewhere else.

It took a second for your mind to catch up, to register your surroundings. The scent of damp earth. The distant hum of insects. The soft rustle of trees swaying in the wind.

Feldcroft.

And Sebastian was there, standing just a few feet away, arms crossed, an entirely too pleased expression stretched across his face.

“Well," He exhaled, shaking his head. "That was dramatic.”

You blinked, dazed.

Ominis's hands were still on you—one at your waist, fingers firm and unyielding, the other curled at the back of your neck. His chest rose and fell against yours, his breath still uneven, still chasing the moment, still catching up to everything that had just happened.

Sebastian let out a low whistle, looking between the two of you with the kind of slow-spreading smirk that made your stomach drop. He was enjoying this.

“Merlin,” he mused, rocking back on his heels. “I knew you had it in you, mate, but I didn’t think you’d actually do it.”

Ominis exhaled, sharp and slow, the ghost of disbelief still clinging to the breath. He had done it. He had walked away from everything—his family’s expectations, his carefully arranged future, the life he had been forced into.

All for you.

The realization struck like lightning, burning through your veins, stealing the breath from your lungs.

His mother was going to kill him. And the bride—dear god—

Ominis had just dismantled years of pure-blood tradition in the span of a single moment, and the fallout would be absolute.

But as his grip on you tightened—just barely, just enough to remind you that he was here—you realized something else.

He didn’t regret it. Not for a second.

He took a slow, steadying breath, then finally—finally—turned his head in Sebastian’s direction.

"I suppose you're expecting me to thank you for that little apparition stunt," he said, his voice still a little rough at the edges.

Sebastian’s grin widened. "I’d prefer a heartfelt speech about how I saved your arse, but I’ll settle for the knowledge that I just witnessed one of the greatest pure-blood scandals in recent history.”

Ominis scoffed—something that might have been amusement, might have been exasperation.

And then he turned back to you.

The shift was immediate. The teasing, the aftermath, the lingering humor between friends—all of it faded, leaving only the space between you, heavy with everything that had just unraveled.

Ominis still hadn’t let go.

His fingers twitched against your waist. His other hand, still resting at the nape of your neck, curled slightly, as if reacquainting itself with the shape of you. His head tilted, his lips parting just slightly, as though there were words on the edge of them, waiting, hesitating.

And you knew.

You knew what he was thinking.

What now?

You had shattered his carefully built world in a matter of minutes. He had destroyed everything that had been set in stone for him. And now, here you both stood, at the precipice of something entirely new, something undefined, something terrifying and exhilarating and real.

Sebastian, sensing the shift, sighed dramatically. “Right, well, I can see I’m no longer needed here.” He turned on his heel, taking a few steps toward the cottage before pausing. “Just don’t shag in my childhood home, yeah? I’d really rather not have to burn it down.”

Ominis didn’t even dignify that with a response.

Sebastian laughed under his breath, gave you a knowing look, then disappeared down the path, whistling as he went.

And then, it was just the two of you.

Alone.

Ominis let out a long, slow breath.

Eight years.

Eight years since he last saw you. Since the moment he convinced himself he’d never see you again. Since you disappeared from his life with nothing but silence left in your wake.

His grip tightened, fingers curling ever so slightly against you, as if he was afraid you might slip away again.

“You never wrote me back,” he said, voice quieter now, roughened at the edges. “Not once.”

You swallowed, throat tightening, a fresh wave of emotion crashing over you. “Ominis—”

“No,” he cut you off, a sharp exhale betraying the control he was desperately clinging to. “No, let me—” He broke off, shaking his head, voice dropping lower. “Let me say this before I lose my nerve.”

You nodded, pulse thrumming in your ears, watching as his expression twisted with something raw, something fragile.

“I wrote you,” he continued, softer now. “I wrote you for years. And I know you wrote to the others. Sebastian, Imelda, even Garreth, for Merlin’s sake. But never me.” His fingers flexed at your waist. “Why?”

Your breath caught in your throat. You had braced for this. You had known, even in the haze of everything that had just unraveled, that this moment would come.

You shut your eyes for a brief second, gathering yourself, trying to steady the tremor in your voice. “Because I thought you… God, Ominis, I was in love with you.” The confession tumbled out, raw and unpolished, your throat tightening around the words. “And I didn’t think you felt the same. I couldn’t—” Your breath hitched, and you forced yourself to go on. “I couldn’t handle it anymore. Every day, being near you, pretending I was fine when all I wanted was—” A sharp, shaking inhale. “It was easier to run. To disappear. To… to hide.”

Ominis made a sound—half choked, half incredulous—a sharp, disbelieving exhale that might have been a bitter laugh if not for the rawness in it. “Are you serious? You thought I—?” He let out a shaky breath and pulled back just enough to search your face, his touch firm but hesitant, as if afraid you might vanish again. “You were everything to me.”

The world around you shrank to nothing. It was just him, just the storm in his voice, the years of pain in his expression, the way his carefully composed mask had finally, finally cracked.

You could barely breathe. “Ominis...”

A muscle in his jaw jumped. “You really mean to tell me—” He let out a slow, shaky breath. “You left because you thought I didn’t love you?”

A lump rose in your throat.

"Yes."

His expression changed then—shifting from disbelief to something devastatingly open, as though every wall he had ever put up had crumbled all at once. No careful detachment. No measured control. Just him, stripped bare.

“Eight years.” His voice was barely more than a whisper, hoarse with something you couldn’t name. “I spent eight years convincing myself you were happy without me. That I was a fool to still be in love with you.”

Your breath stilled in your chest, the weight of his words sinking in all at once. “You—?”

“Yes.” The answer came without hesitation. No hesitation at all. “I loved you then. I love you now. I never stopped.” His fingers curled ever so slightly against you, like he was trying to ground himself in this moment. “And all this time, I thought you—” He swallowed, shaking his head, voice breaking on the last words. “I never knew.”

Your stomach twisted painfully.

For eight years, you thought you had carried this heartache alone.

But so had he.

Ominis had spent these past eight years thinking the same thing. That you didn’t love him. That you didn’t want him.

The weight of it crashed down on you all at once, stealing the breath from your lungs. Your fingers tightened against his jacket, as if holding onto him could somehow anchor you, could somehow make up for all the time you had lost.

Eight years. Eight wasted years.

“Ominis,” you finally managed, but the sound of his name wasn’t enough to contain everything you felt. The love. The grief. The aching realization of what you both had done to yourselves, to each other.

“Say it again,” he murmured, voice low, barely more than a breath between you.

Your brows furrowed. “What?”

“That you loved me.” His fingers flexed, tightening where they rested at your waist, and you felt it—the desperation, the need. “Say it.”

Your throat tightened, and you lifted your gaze to his, knowing exactly what he was asking.

Not just for the past, but for now. For the truth that still remained, untouched by time.

You swallowed hard. “I loved you.” A shaky breath. “I love you.”

Ominis let out a soft, broken sound, like something inside him had finally snapped. Before you could even think, he moved.

His hands framed your face, and then his lips were on yours again.

Unlike the desperate, heated clash of lips from the wedding—a collision of years of tension and aching grief, unpolished and frantic—this was something else entirely. This was slow. Purposeful. Reverent.

Ominis kissed you like he was memorizing you. Like he was tracing the contours of something long lost, something he never thought he’d have again.

His fingers moved, skimming along your jaw, tilting your face just so, allowing him to deepen the kiss in slow, measured increments. No rush. No desperation. Just the quiet, unshakable truth of what had always been there between you.

You sighed against his lips, and he responded with a quiet, content hum, the sound reverberating through you like a tether, like a promise. His thumb brushed your cheek, featherlight, as if to reassure himself that this moment was real—that you were here, in his arms, not a cruel trick of his imagination.

He broke away only for a breath, just long enough to rest his forehead against yours, his breathing uneven, his hands still cradling your face like something fragile and precious.

“I can’t believe it,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, filled with awe, with wonder.

You let out a shaky laugh. “Believe it.”

He swallowed hard, his lips hovering close to yours, as if he couldn’t quite bring himself to part from you. “I’ve spent so long dreaming of this.” A pause. “Of you.”

Your heart clenched at the quiet confession, at the raw tenderness in his voice.

“I’m here now,” you whispered. “And I’m not leaving again.”

Something in his expression shifted then, something profound and unguarded. His hands slid from your face, down to your waist, pulling you just that much closer until there was no space left between you. His lips brushed against yours once more—not demanding, not desperate, but full of quiet devotion, the kind that made your knees weak, the kind that felt like home.

His arms wrapped around you fully now, enveloping you in his warmth, his breath fanning against your cheek as he pressed a lingering kiss to your temple. “Good,” he whispered, his voice soft but firm. “Because I wouldn’t let you.”

A small, breathless laugh escaped you, but it dissolved into nothing as he kissed you again, slow and sure, as if he had all the time in the world to make up for every missed moment.

And maybe—just maybe—you did.

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pinkyqily · 1 day ago

Text

IT OKAY,WE'RE OKAY, WE ARE DEFINITELY OKAY

Summary: juju apologize and makes it up to you like the good girlfriend and teammate she is.

Part one

Contains: fluff, snappy lovers, cursing, groveling, not proofread throughly yet

A/n: here is part two as promised with a happy ending, would love to get reactions or feedbacks of what you guys think, if you have any juju requests feel free to send them in anyway happy reading readers 🩷

Next few days between you and JuJu pass by a blur. Having your coaches telling you guys to solve out your shit was definitely a wake-up call for you, you're mind just keeps on replaying those awful words from juju.

Was that how she really saw you as a player? was all your mind could wonder.

But at the same time, you couldn't stop thinking about how she felt even though you were the one that got hurt the most.

Ken, who was your roomie and heard about what happened between you and juju,tried getting you out of your hotel room. But you declined again. the only time you went down was when there was barely anyone down at the lobby side.

You couldn't face your teammates after that embarrassing showdown. It made you feel like a failure.

"Come, you'll still have to face everyone when we leave for the arcade, why do you have to be the one embarrassed juju was basically at fault too". She said trying to shake you up.

"She's literally one of the best players of course, what she said is going to get to me, if it was said in private, okay, but she did that in front of everyone". You told her, feeling a cold wind reach your spine.

"For somebody who always steps up for us you sure love discrediting yourself like you also aren't the best out there, juju saying that was nasty and loud for no reason so please get your ass up". Was all Ken said.

This time you did, because fuck juju who clearly had her head far in her ass to see how great of a player you are. and what you bring to the team all those 3s she be pulling must have blinded her vision or what.

"You know what you're right fuck her from now I'll be standing on business, she can go find another bitch to be pissy on cause I'm not the one".

"That's my girl now let's head down, and when you see her, you keep your head high." She told you, pulling you into a tight hug.

But the universe had other plans by slapping you in the face, because as you opened your room door, there was a juju watkins pacing back and forth in front of your door with a messy looking bun that definitely not her brand.

With only one look, you could tell she wasn't the only one who had a bad night.

Normally, you two would fall asleep on call listening to each other's voices as it helps the other person calm down.

It didn't matter if you were states away one block away down the street or rooms separating you guys would still call.

but after what happened last night, you both couldn't bring yourself to pick up that telephone.

And here you both are staring into each other's eyes unable to speak up until a familiar voice does it for you.

"JuJu, what are you doing here?". Ken asked her, crossing her arms over, letting her disapproval be known.

"I know you guys are mad at me rightfully so, but please give me 5 minutes that all I ask for." She said, fidgeting with her hands.

"Five minutes is all you're getting don't think I'm not timing it." She said as she left you both heading downstairs herself.

You and juju stood in that silence for a good two minutes, avoiding eye contact most ju.

"You have three minutes left, so whatever you want to say now,speak up." You said with a mean tone, not glazing any bullshit.

"I know, I messed up really bad and shouldn't have said what I did, you're an amazing player to our team you pick up the pieces whenever everyone seems lost." She started by saying her voice breaking as she fought back tears so she could speak.

"you put the teams needs before your own, your flow on the ball is way different than anyone else and you're a very unique player who contributes so much to the team"

"You're so important to me way beyond being teammates but girlfriends at the same time not only was I a bad teammate but also a bad girlfriend for saying and treating you like that." She told you this time around, able to meet your eyes after avoiding them.

"I just want to apologize because I know that I'm better than that, you deserve better and I want to be the better person you deserve so would you forgive me you don't have to rush it". She finished of by saying.

You we're definitely shocked to see her being so vulnerable and raw to you.

"You really hurt me by saying all those things in front of everyone I felt so embarrassed standing there looking like a fool ju, but that doesn't mean I hate you I'm just really hurt you had me overthinking like I did something wrong when I wanted was to help you". You told her, feeling a little hesitant as you moved your hands to grab hers.

"But that doesn't mean I'm not willing to forgive you". You told.

"I know, baby, take your time can i hug you, though?" She asked you before doing anything. You pulled her into a hug, forgetting about your whole standings on business cause you missed having your 6'2 social awkward girlfriend in your arms.

And that is how you found yourself standing next to her at one of the arcade games because she said she was going to start by winning you a prize. She didn't lie about that one and won the biggest bear in there for you.

Ken was already looking disappointed but was happy that you guys fixed things.

"Couldn't even stand on business for 24h". You heard a voice say.

"Bruh, she's still not fully forgiven how do you expect me to stay that mad at her?". You told her

"Whatever you guys are ruining my mood with your sappyness."

"You're just mad and single Ken it okay you'll find the one". You told her.

On the way back, you both sat down together in the bus, falling asleep on each other. Everything ended up being okay. ju stil has hella groveling to do, but you guys are okay, and that's all that matters.

#juju watkins #juju watkins x reader #juju watkins imagine #wbb #usc women’s basketball #usc wbb x reader #wbb x reader #wbb fic #wcbb x reader #wcbb fanfics #wbb imagine #ncaa wbb #usc trojans #usc wbb #wbb oneshot #wbb fanfiction #wbb fluff #juju watkins fanfics #pinkyqily fics

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starmatzz · 22 hours ago

Note

Hiiiii

I NEED a smut inspired by the song "Let the world burn" and that new trending audio "loveyouloveyouloveyou" on dom yunho

IT SCREAMS CRAZYYYY

and maybe not jump into action right away a lil foreplay would be GREAT 🫣🫣🫣🫣🫣

Let The World Burn

classmate!yunho x fem!reader | smut, 1.8k

nsfw tags dom/sub, vaginal sex, pet names, violence, death, possessive, stalking, ropes, bondage, orgasm, penetration, touching

You woke up on a cold, unforgiving floor. A dull ache pulsed through your body as you tried to move, but your arms wouldn’t budge—they were tightly bound. Panic rose in your chest as your mind struggled to piece together what had happened. The last thing you remembered was running.

Running through a dark alley.

Running from someone.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

A deep voice emerged from the shadows before the figure stepped forward. It was him.

Jeong Yunho—your classmate. The one you had caught staring at you far too often in class. The one who always seemed to be watching. And every time a guy showed interest in you, they mysteriously stopped coming to school the next day. Or came injured.

Now you knew why.

Yunho’s eyes lingered on your face, his lips curling into a smile—one that sent a chill down your spine.

“I never wanted things to turn out this way,” he murmured, tilting his head. “But you left me no choice.”

It's dangerous 'cause I want it all

And I don't think I care what it costs

I shouldn't have fallen in love

Look what it made me become

His voice softened, almost gentle. “You love me, y/n. We belong together—you just don’t see it yet.”

Then, his smile widened, dark and unhinged. “But that’s okay. You’re here now. You can’t run anymore.” He took a slow step closer. “And I’ll make you understand.”

And I know you think you can run

You're scared to believe I'm the one

But I just can't let you go

“So… beautiful.”

His hands trembled as he reached out, gently tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. His touch sent a shiver down your spine, but you couldn’t move, couldn’t recoil—not with the ropes biting into your skin.

“Oh, almost forgot.”

Yunho suddenly pulled away, flashing you a smile before disappearing into the shadows. The moment he left, everything clicked. From the anonymous notes that kept appearing on your doorstep, through the unsettling feeling of being watched, to your underwear disappearing from the changing room after sports class while you were showering.

It had all been him.

Before you could process it any further, Yunho returned—this time dragging someone with him. Your breath caught in your throat.

“Remember Yeosang?” he asked, his voice almost casual, as if discussing the weather. “He asked you to prom.”

Your stomach twisted as you took in the sight before you. Yeosang—bruised, bound, with tape covering his mouth—struggled against Yunho’s grip, his eyes wide with terror.

Yunho only smiled.

Fear in their eyes

Ash raining from the blood orange sky

I let everybody know that you're mine

Now it's just a matter of time

Without warning, Yunho pulled out a knife, the blade glinting under the dim light. Before you could react, he pressed it against Yeosang’s neck, his grip unyielding.

“No one can have you,” he growled, his voice laced with possessive fury. “Only me.”

Then, in one smooth motion, he dragged the blade across Yeosang’s throat.

A sickening sound filled the air—a wet, gurgling choke as Yeosang’s body convulsed. His wide, pleading eyes met yours for a fleeting second before the life drained from them. Blood spilled down his chest, soaking his shirt, pooling at his feet.

Yunho let him go, and his body crumpled to the floor with a dull thud.

You couldn’t breathe. The room spun.

But Yunho? He simply wiped the blade clean, turning back to you with that same twisted smile.

I'd let the world burn

Let the world burn for you

This is how it always had to end

If I can't have you then no one can

Yunho let the bloodied knife fall to the floor with a soft clang, his focus shifting entirely to you. Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the distance before kneeling beside you.

His hand reached out, his thumb brushing over your trembling bottom lip. The touch was gentle—almost tender—yet it sent a wave of dread coursing through your veins.

“P-Please… don’t hurt me,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a breath.

Yunho’s expression flickered, his brows knitting together as if your words had wounded him. Then, he let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head.

“Hurt you?” he repeated, his tone almost incredulous. “Darling, I would never.”

He tilted his head, his dark eyes searching yours. “How could I? You mean everything to me.”

As if to prove his point, he cupped your cheek, his touch featherlight. But no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how tender his caress seemed, the blood still stained his hands.

Yunho's palm slid down to cup your breast through the thin fabric of your pink shirt, his touch possessive and sure. Raw desire blazed in his eyes as he watched you, like a predator who had finally cornered its prey. Your breath hitched at the intensity of his gaze.

“You're so beautiful,” he growled, squeezing your breast until you gasped. His hand traveled lower, trailing fire across your stomach before finding the hem of your skirt. His fingers teased along your thigh, making promises his touch would soon fulfill.

“So pretty..my pretty girl, all mine,” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. One hand held you firmly, fingers tangled in your hair, while the other remained poised, as if daring you to challenge his claim.

His hand ventured beneath your skirt, but you reacted swiftly, clamping your legs together and bending your knee to kick him in the stomach.

"Don't you dare touch me," you warned, your voice steady and firm despite the adrenaline coursing through you. Yunho's eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and something else flickering in their depths.

Yunho huffed, clutching his stomach as he stumbled back, surprise etched across his features. But the shock quickly morphed into anger, and his eyes darkened, a storm brewing within them. The air between you crackled with tension, his fury palpable as he regained his footing, the predator in him reawakened.

“I wanted to make it nice for the both of us,” he growled, rolling up the sleeves of his button up, “but you're not leaving me with any other alternative.”

With that, he took steps forward, pushing up the fabric of your skirt before ripping your panties in one swift motion.

“Whore..” He mumbled under his breath, his breathing growing heavier as his fingers fumbled in his pocket. You barely had time to react before he pulled out a roll of black tape, his hands shaking slightly—whether from excitement or something more unhinged, you couldn’t tell.

With an eerie sort of patience, he tore off a strip, the sharp rip of adhesive filling the tense silence.

He grinned, pressing the tape firmly over your lips. His touch lingered for a second, as if savoring the way your breath hitched beneath his fingertips.

Your muffled whimper was the only sound you could make now. Panic surged through you, your body twisting instinctively against the ropes, but it was useless.

He shouted directly at you, his finger jabbing towards Yeosang's motionless form on the ground, exclaiming, “What do the other guys have that I lack?!”

He forced himself between your legs, before grasping your bound arms and securing them above your head, unzipping his jeans.

“Fuck, you're all pink down there,” he exhaled, his eyes focused on your private part, “It's a pity I'm going to ruin this pretty cunt right now.”

He didn't hesitate for a moment; he pushed in immediately. You whimpered over the tape as the pressure and burning sensation overwhelmed you, and you instinctively tried to squirm away.

Yunho groaned. The warmth and wetness of your pussy was driving him insane. He proceeded, his long fingers grabbing your hips in a bruising grip as he set a steady rhythm.

He pounded into you, his gaze locked onto your face, drinking in every trace of fear.

You couldn’t bear it—the pain was unbearable. Strands of hair clung to your damp skin as your body trembled, shaken by both agony and fear.

“Love you, love you… I love you so much,” he babbled, his words tumbling out in a desperate rush, as if trying to make you understand the depth of his obsession.

Nails dug into your palms as Yunho refused to stop, his hands pressing firmly against your shoulders. He grabbed you tightly, fucking deep into you. You could feel the tip of his cock hit your cervix, causing a piercing pain to wash all over your body.

“Did it hurt?” he cooed, his voice laced with mock sympathy because repeating the same movement over and over.

“You’re mine, y/n. Finally mine,” he murmured, his voice filled with possession. “See? We fit perfectly together.”

He looked down, watching his cock disappear in your pussy. The way you stretched around him, how you cried and whimpered, it was all his fuel. Keeping his gaze on your face as he moved his hands from your shoulders, he gently cradled your breasts, squeezing them.

Yunho continued fucking into you, curses and moans escaping his lips. He leaned closer, sucking and biting the soft skin on your neck, below your ear and over your collarbone.

“Oh god..I'm close..” he whimpered, his eyebrows pulling in in taunt as his thrusts have become twitchy. Your sweet scent enveloped him, sending a dizzying rush through his body, as if every nerve was awakened at once, leaving him lightheaded and lost in the intoxicating fragrance of you.

His large hand slid up your thigh, his grip tightening as he squeezed. “Fuck, look how deep I am in your pretty cunt...” he breathed out, massaging the bulge in your abdomen.

You laid there, motionless, waiting for him to finish, the stillness pressing down on you.

“Your eyes are mesmerizing,” he murmured, leaning in, his fingers softly brushing the hair from your face. “I wish I could see you look at me like this every day.”

He slowly withdrew, his cock rubbing against your velvety walls, before forcefully slamming back in. You cried out, the sound muffled by the tape, as your hands shook uncontrollably from the excruciating pain, each tremor making the ache feel even more unbearable.

“Ah..fuck!” Yunho suddenly groaned, staying buried deep inside you. His hips twitches as he came hard, filling you up.

“So pretty…” he mumbled, his breath shallow as he struggled to regain control, his gaze never leaving you. He pulled out, watching the strings of thick cum connecting his tip and your pulsating slit.

Suddenly he pushed back in, rolling his hips in circles as he continued fucking you through his orgasm. “Don’t think we’re over, princess,” he smirked, his eyes glinting as he watched the fear spread across your face. Your eyes widened in realization, and deep down, you knew he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

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bootsukki · 3 days ago

Text

operation: does tsukki like (y/n)?

hinata never meant to hit you in the face. it just... happened. you were walking into the gym holding a bag of clean uniforms when one of his spikes when extremely out of hand and instead of aiming for tsukishima's block, the ball landed on your face with a loud "smack!".

the ball ricocheted off your face with a thud and you stumbled backwards, your hands clutching your nose.

"oh my, (y/n)!" hinata panicked, running over to your side, but before he could even reach you, a large hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away.

"move," hinata stopped at the sight of tsukishima crouched beside you, his hands grabbing the back of your neck to check any possible injures with a look of actual concern, deep frown of his brows and eyes looking all over your face. "does it hurt anywhere? let me see your nose."

everybody in the gym blinked. even the first years who were scared of tsukishima were whispering about it: about the fact that he, the oh so stoic and angry tsukishima kei was softly checking on you, the sweet and lovely manager. tsukishima never talked to people like... that. he barely looked like he cared about anything or anyone but there he was, touching your face like you were made of the most precious material of the world.

hinata turned around, walking outside the gym as if he had just discovered the most scandalous secret.

tsukishima likes (y/n).

does he? well, he doesn’t know for sure! but that was something!

and so, the operation: does tsukki like (y/n)? was born. well, after a few text messages to a group he made without you or tsukki of course, texting everything to his three other friends that had missed practice today because of math tutoring.

step one: gather reinforcements.

that same night, an emergency meeting was scheduled in kageyama's house with kageyama, yamaguchi and yachi.

"i need to find out if tsukki actually likes her," hinata stated, hands on his hips as he tried to find ways to possibly catch the couple together.

"i mean... is that really necessary?" kageyama added, looking at a youtube video on his phone. "i don't think they are dating."

"why?"

"(y/n) is too sweet and tsukishima, well... he's my friend but..."

"hey!" yachi said. "tsukishima is great. he's smart and tall, i'm sure a lot of girls want to date him."

"yeah, but... (y/n)? i don't know..."

"he was acting sooooo weird when she got hit," hinata explained, trying to reenact tsukishima's worried face, which mostly looked like a bad impression of a wild animal. "and! i keep seeing them together!"

"they go to the same class, they have been friends for years and they live in the same neighborhood."

"i don't know, hinata..." yamaguchi talked for the first time. "i don't know, tsukki has always taken care of us in his own special way... he cares about us equally i think."

"maybe the best thing wse could do is ask?"

"yeah, no." hinata shook his head. "i would rather die than suffer the anger of tsukishima."

"what about (y/n), yachi?" yamaguchi turned to look at the girl. "you are best friends after all."

"we never talk about that so asking about it would be weird."

"the best thing we can do is to let it go, maybe you're just exaggerating, hinata." kageyama said, leaving his phone behind and grabbing a ball from the floor. "up for some practice outside?"

step tw- wait, there is no step two.

a few days after the incident, hinata had already forgotten about it and did not bother the others with the topic again.

after practice that friday, kageyama had one simple goal: grab his english notebook from the volleyball club room and go home to watch a match on tv.

easy, right?

no.

as he approach the club room, he heard voices from inside. he barely paid attention at first—there were other clubs having activities on the rooms next to theirs, but when he reached the door and pushed it open, he froze.

because his mind was about to explode.

there, standing in the middle of the room were two of his friends—way too close for just friends.

tsukishima had one hand resting on (y/n)’s waist, his other arm loosely wrapped around her back. and you? you were even worse! one of your hands was buried in tsukishima’s hair while the other one was… UNDER HIS SHIRT? WHILE KISSING HIM??????

WHAT.

kageyama’s soul left his body, he needed to leave and try to erase the mental image of his friends kissing but instead—

“HOLY SHIT.”

you yelped, jumping away from tsukishima and hiding yourself in a corner of the room.

tsukishima, on the other hand, was livid. “are you serious?”

kageyama was in shock, his arms flailed like a malfunctioning robot as he pointed at them. “W-WHAT—YOU—”

you were still trying to calm yourself “kageyama, calm down—”

“CALM DOWN?! I JUST SAW—YOU AND TSUKISHIMA— AND YOUR HANDS TOUCHING HIM…” he looked genuinely offended. “WHAT IS HAPPENING?!”

tsukishima sighed aggressively, rubbing his temples. “use your brain, dumbass. what does it look like?”

kageyama’s mouth opened and closed like a fish. his eyes darted between them, his face growing redder by the second.

“OH MY GOD,” he finally blurted out, shoving his hands into his hair like he was personally betrayed. “THIS IS WORSE THAN I THOUGHT.”

you rolled your eyes. “It’s really not that big of a deal—”

“NOT A BIG DEAL?!” kageyama practically threw himself out of the club room, tripping over his own feet as he ran out like the room was on fire. “I DON’T WANT TO HAVE TO TELL HINATA HE WAS, INDEED, RIGHT FOR THE FIRST TIME IN HIS WHOLE LIFE.”

“what?” you both called after him.

within minutes, hinata’s scream could be heard through the school.

operation: does tsukki like (y/n)? complete. conclusions: they are in love.

#tsukishima kei #haikyuu #haikyuu x reader #tsukishima x reader #tsukishima kei x reader

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wanderingwolfwitcher · 1 day ago

Note

"Don't need to read minds to know a lie when I hear one. Especially one from you. Used to be better at it... getting soft in your old age, red. Suit yourself. True enough, let's get on with it. Cult won't kill itself... besides a probable mass blood sacrificial ritual to wake their titanic mind breaking octopus-dragon-man looking 'Great Old One', of course. Let's get there before they do, not let them rob us of the fun."

Eskel's low, grimly amused voice returned to the crimson haired Sorceress, viper eyes still studying her closely, but not pressing her on the matter, helping lead her through the streets and on down the docks, as well as guiding Scorpion by the reins. The rain picked up around them as they spotted and reached the sizable ship, the Scylla appearing quite grim and foreboding yet befitting of the turn in the weather... the dark business that had brought them here. Crossing the creaking gangplank, getting aboard as the working sailors watched them all the while, they took the time to put Scorpion in the stables on the bottom of the ship before returning topside. As soon as they did, Sabrina drew him along and went at once for the Captain's cabin, predictably taking it over for herself, paying the less than enthused man and shutting herself away inside, locking the door, and leaving the Witcher to contend with the not exactly happy looking Skelligan whalers... looking of half a mind to try making him walk the plank. Regardless of the amount of coins she had handed over. A decades old tale, having to clean up the messes she left behind for the rest of the world. Thinking fast, he decided to distract and defuse their evident misgivings and likely reconsideration of the arrangement the best way possible... with some humor, charisma and repurposed truth. Shrugging his silver spike covered shoulders and addressing them all with a grimace.

"Don't look at me, gentlemen. She's always been like that. I know women are considered bad luck on a ship, but you only have to put up with her for the length of a boat ride. Consider yourselves lucky... destiny has had me dealing with that on and off since 1232. You older married men know what I'm talking about. Least you're getting paid for it. Maybe we'll be lucky and she'll sleep for most of the voyage. Or she'll drop the magically enhanced appearance and makeup and scare off any attacking Harpies and Sirens, free of charge. Her hair used to be black you know... even had the pointy witch's nose and everything."

The Witcher's marred visage smirked at the sudden, riotous laughter it managed to draw from the Captain and crew... men to the core, who had put up with their fair of ornery island women. On that note, the matter defused, they continued to set off about their tasks around the ship, preparing it for departure. He went down to the hold to check on Scorpion in his stall, patting the horse of destiny, feeding him some oats, then heading back topside in time to watch the ship casting off from Kaer Trolde Harbor. He found a good spot overlooking most of the rain soaked ship, watching them raise the anchors and head out to sea, but mostly kept his heightened senses focused on the crew, for any signs of cult behavior or treachery. He had little doubt she could handle herself if any tried to attack her in the cabin... but even so, he kept an eye out. Would visit her later, or she could join him up on deck. Even if they were cultists, it was likely they would want to deliver them to Darkwater Island, thinking they could use them as sacrifices. They would be in for a hell of a surprise if the attempt was made on a Witcher and Sorceress. He took out his bottle of Mahakaman Spirit and White Gull, taking a swig of it... not the only one aboard the ship already drinking as they headed out into the ocean, the Skellige Islands gradually growing more distant. He kept his eyes pealed, not just on the crew, but any sign of sea monsters... it had been awhile since he fought any, but his memories returned of other boat trips during his time at Skellige over the years.

@fallesto

Sabrina took a moment to compose herself, willing the pain to recede. She took a deep, calming breath, feeling the coolness of the night air fill her lungs. She knew she couldn't hide her distress from Eskel forever, but for now, she had to push through it. "Just a... headache." She lied, her voice wavering slightly.

"We need to move quickly, though. The cult isn't going to wait for us to make our move." She would lean into him for the moment. As she held onto his arm to steady herself as she walked. They moved through the damp streets, the rain picking up and plastering their clothes to their skin. The scent of salt and fish grew stronger as they approached the docks. The ships creaked and groaned with the tide, and the distant calls of sailors could be heard above the steady patter of raindrops. It was a familiar symphony to Eskel, one that had lulled him to sleep many times, but tonight it sounded ominous, almost foreboding.

Sabrina took deep breaths, trying to ignore the throbbing in her skull. She focused on her mind to ease the numbing pain that was there. She had to keep going, for the fate of the world rested on her shoulders. The book was a burden she had never wanted, but it was one she had accepted, and now she had to see it through to the end. She knew Eskel was right, would she admit it, never. But she would need to destroy it, there are many awful things she has done, but she never wished to unleash mass chaos into the land.

Finally, they reached the docks and spotted the Scylla, its wooden frame looming large against the backdrop of the night. The rain had picked up into a steady downpour, making the planks slick beneath their boots. They approached the gangplank, as she looked at the ship, this is what was meant to get them there, so be it, it would have to do, as she took note of Eskel concerns for the crew, but they would be paid and if they tried anything, she would kill them before they even had the chance to do anything to them.

Without hesitation, Sabrina stepped onto the swaying plank and made her way onto the ship, pulling Eskel behind her. She marched straight to the cabin door and pushed it open, not bothering to wait for an invitation as she left Eskel outside to deal with them all. The captain stared at her, surprise flitting across his weathered face before quickly being replaced by annoyance. "What do you think you're doing lass?" He demanded, wiping rain from his eyes.

"I'm taking your cabin." Sabrina said firmly, her voice steady despite the pain. She held up the coin pouch. "We're paying well for the passage, and I need somewhere private to work." The captain's gaze dropped to the pouch, and his scowl softened slightly. As she dropped the coin pouch onto the floor with a thud, taking the captains cabin for herself as she closed the door, locked it and quickly went to the bed to lay down.

#fallesto

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filmtv2022 · 3 days ago

Text

Our Time Is Limited: Part IV (18+)

Masterlist

Part III

Pairing: Geta x Reader and Platonic!Caracalla x Reader

Synopsis: With Caracalla falling deeper into this illness, Geta and Reader are yet again forced to confront the hardships of caring for him. Torn emotionally, Reader finally allows herself to find comfort in Geta, admitting the depth of the feelings she harbors for him. The pair find comfort in each other both physically and emotionally, neither one is fully whole without the other.

Warnings: SMUT(like a lot of it compared to the other chapters)+ wounds/wound care + use of opium as medicine

A/N: I'm alive! Work and illness took me the fuck out! I'm so sorry this took a while, but I think it turned out really well! I had to let it cook for a while and did a decent bit of rewriting, but I think it paid off. I love these guys so much! We aren't quite done with this story! As always, I apologize for any mistakes.

---------------------------------------------------

Minutes slipped away, trapped in Calla’s crushing grip. The ache in your muscles licked in heavy lines of flame; your injured shoulder throbbed with the effort it took to keep him steady. Rocking side to side, you felt Geta’s hand slip from yours, stealing your attention from the man who remained crumpled in your lap. Caracalla’s head now rested on you, allowing your gentle fingertips to brush away the tangles in his fiery locks and trace over the mottled expanse of his cheek. The rosy color he’d painted there early had smudged as he pressed his face further into you, tears streaming down in ugly rivers. His garbled words flowed in pitiful whimpers over and over, telling of the fears that ran deep in his soul.

Untethered, Geta struggled to his feet before clumsily moving across the room. The soft clink of glass against glass drifted through the air. Rhythmic footfalls marked his return to your side. Without question, Geta reached for his brother, sitting in the space beside you, he helped Caracalla sit, untangling his limbs from your body. Geta’s words were gentle and hesitant as he tried to gain Calla’s attention.

“Calla,” Geta waited, watching the unmoored drift of his brother’s eyes as he fought to focus, “It’s me. You look tired. I think it is time for some rest, hmm?”

Caracalla nodded weakly in agreement, incapable of speaking. Geta continued outwardly unfazed by his brother’s state. “Good, that’s good. Now, let’s get you into bed. You need rest and medicine.”

Once again, Calla nodded, permitting Geta to help him from the floor. The pair lumbered awkwardly toward the bed, the covers still thrown back from the previous night’s slumber. Now free to move, you stood and followed closely behind, watching with rapt attention as Geta cared for his brother. Gentle hands removed the crown of laurels, placing it to the side where it would be neither ruined nor harmful. Of his own accord, Calla sat upon the edge of the mattress, staring up at Geta as though he’d hung the moon and stars. Wanting to help, and needing to do something, you closed the distance between you, taking the space beside Geta.

Your movement caught their focus, drawing both of them to look at you. Bright crimson flowed along the curve of your cheek and neck, once again painting your skin with gore. A damning look of anger flashed in Geta’s eyes before falling back to his brother. All the while, Calla remained centered on you. Though no words passed his lips, it was easy to see how desperately he ached you to be close.

Timid steps brought you nearer as you reached for the vial that remained in Geta’s hand. With your palm outstretched, he placed it carefully in your grasp. The brittle hold of your nerves left your hands shaking, but you knew what had to be done. Taking the space that Geta had once inhabited before Calla, you cupped the emperor’s face, your thumb swept in feather-light arcs earning a weak whimper at your touch.

“It is time for your medicine, yes?” You waited for his silent acquiescence, which you received. The pop of the stopper coming loose met you, even as the hum of blood rushing against your eardrums threatened to drown out the rest of the world. The heave of your chest gave way to the pit of guilt that turned your stomach. Sensing your hesitation, Geta reached for you, his hand falling to the low of your back.

Cautiously, you brought the vial of sedative to Caracalla’s lips, and he drank without question, trusting you beyond measure. With the very last drop consumed, you stooped to press your lips to Calla’s forehead. The heaviness of his lids from the medicine, paired with your touch, had his eyes fluttering shut, but he had not yet succumbed to the full effects. The heady scent of opium drifted over your senses as your brow rested upon his. Not ready to let you go, Caracalla’s weak grip reached for your wrists, keeping you close. His touch was barely there, nothing of the violence from before remained.

“Rest.” The whisper of your breath fanned over his countenance, soothing the edges of his frayed nerves. Helping him lay back upon the pillows, you covered his body with the plush cushion of a blanket. The faint press of your lips ghosting over Calla’s left you feeling unbalanced, the gesture was one of habit, but also of remorse. Seeing him like this… it never became easier.

Free to retreat from the emperor’s bed chamber, you moved unspeaking away from Geta who had fallen into silent step behind you. Shame and anxiety flashed hot in your chest, stealing the air from your lungs and burning the bridge of your nose. Emotion clung like daggers in your throat cutting the erratic inhales you scrambled to take. Using the pressure of your hand against the wall for support. Caracalla’s pitiful murmurs troubled your mind, his words ran on a terrifying loop slicing with their barbs.

‘You’re mine, whore… lost… lost… I can’t find…’ The juxtaposition of a bloodthirsty emperor hell-bent on claiming what was and had always been his property and the child-like desperation for comfort turned your stomach. Bile coated the back of your throat forcing you to stop in your tracks. Your vision tunneled, black crowding the edges, dotting out the world as sweat coated your clammy skin.

The cool of the stone on your burning temple kept you upright. Your good shoulder supported the entirety of your weight. An incessant ringing replaced all other sounds, moving in tandem with inky darkness that blotted out reality. Unable to hold yourself any longer, only the sudden presence of another kept you from falling. Geta scooped you into himself, the dark crimson of the sanguine fluid running from your still-fresh wounds stained his front and soaked into the gold adornments of his robes. Struggling to keep you standing, Geta pressed you back into the wall, his sturdy frame flush with yours.

Tucked tightly into his chest, Geta’s breath drifted through the fine wisps of hair along your temple, “You are safe… you are safe.” He spoke as much to himself as to you.

“Calla-” The violent crack of your voice shuddered throughout your body, “… he’s-”

“I know.” Geta’s tentative fingertips trembled as he cupped the back of your head, guiding your face to look at him. The slice upon your cheek oozed fresh lines of gore, having bumped roughly against his front, adding to the flow from the crescent moons along your chin and highlighting the progression of black and purple surrounding it and those that marked your throat.

“You also need rest. And your wounds… you mustn't return to him tonight. Please.” His plea was hoarse, weary, and worn. Tentatively, his mouth met yours, the tang of iron filled his nose. The brush of his chapped skin against your own faltered the beat of your heart. A flare of emotion in your chest tugged you away from his soothing touch.

“And how would care to explain that to him? He is beyond reason, Geta. Only glimpses of his former self claw their way to the surface now, and their stay is fleeting and inconsistent. Luck and nothing more returns fragments of him to us.” Pressing your palm flat to his chest, you traced the edging of fine thread. “And what of the arena? There is no avoiding the necessity of my presence by his side in public. You heard what he said, and I was merely across the room. Lost. No matter how far into his sadistic obsession Caracalla may descend or how others may perceive the state of my being, he must be cared for. Gossip already flies quickly in the wind, it would be all-consuming at my absence. Not because those around you care for my presence but for the sheer fact that Calla’s grip on reality extends only so far as the pair of us… and even then…”

“What is it you truly fear?” Quick to pick through your stealthy words, Geta latched on to the hesitation that flowed from you.

“ Geta… the cracks… they must never show.” The emperor’s honeyed eyes gazed upon you, fear and despair in equal measures tugged at the corners, emphasizing the watery nature of his stare. The young boy, forced to assume a role far too grand for him to handle alone, beaten and bruised by those he adored the most stood before you begging silently.

“I know… I know…” He whispered, his brows pinched, the lines between them deep as the corners of his plush lips fell. The lush weight of your thumb brushed along Geta’s jaw, keeping him from falling away from this moment entirely. Blood trickled down the column of your neck, drawing his eyes. Mesmerized by the pattern left upon your skin, Geta reached for you, his fingertips tracing alongside the ruddy lines that muddy your person. Your chest rose and fell in unsteady waves, the bleary look in your eyes gave him the strength to speak. Working with a shaky breath, he clung to the only measure of normalcy he could find, you.

“Rest. You need rest and medicine.” Geta lifted his weight from your frame, his hand falling to the hollow of your back to guide you, but he made it only a half step before your resistance held fast.

“You should not have to traverse this alone. It is not good for you.” You reached for him, finding an anchor in the front of his robes. The gold and jewels circling his neck delicately clanked with the sway of his stop, leaving them askew. Without thought, you fixed the chain, righting the adornment so that it fell perfectly across the collar. The solid curve of muscle beneath the fabric transfixed you, body and soul. Cool metal brushed along your arm as Geta explored the sea of exposed skin, entranced by the flutter of gooseflesh that formed in his wake.

Tender and hesitant, Geta held the curve of your neck, leaning in close. Warm breath drifted over the shell of your ear as he spoke, “We will postpone the games for today, the public can wait, but more importantly… I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go. You heal me and haunt me, but there is no universe in which I will ever be truly parted from you.” His free hand reached for yours, drawing it to the space above his beating heart.

The pair of you clung to each other in the empty cavern of the palatial hall. The enormity of his touch burned you. A white-hot chain seared the empty pit of your stomach. The murmur of your own words threaded with Geta’s, churring and biting on their repeat… I am never truly gone, Calla. You can always find me, here, even in the dark. I am not alone. You are with me wherever I go.

Your promises collided, now more an omen of despair than a hopeful plea for each other. The burn across the bridge of your nose and strangled sob in your throat sent hot tears flowing down your cheeks. Geta’s vow held danger in its sincerity, for the knowing clash of desires and reality ripped invisible wounds. Silently, and more aware than he cared to admit of the war battling in your heart, Geta held you close. Eyes wide and worried, he buried your countenance in his chest, resting his chin on your shoulder giving him a sharp view of the hall that unfurled around you. No sounds besides the soft gasps of your emotions and the comforting mumble of sweet nothings that tumbled from his lips could be heard. But no matter the emptiness of the space, Geta couldn’t shake the fear of prying eyes… of the cracks that widened with every beat of his heart.

Carefully guiding you toward his chambers, Geta supported the bulk of your weak and weary body. Tucked away in the privacy of his room, he stopped you just short of the enticing expanse of silken sheets. His ringed fingers traced the pleats of your stola before taking your hand in his own. Brushing over the sensitive skin beneath the bands of gold that adorned your wrist, he hesitated, letting your palm fall away before moving to map the curve of your hips. Journying further, he teased the swell of your breasts unable to curb the base desires that always flowed between the pair of you. He may have felt poorly for giving into that part of himself were it not for the look of fire that consumed you. The sharp inhale he earned from you at the feeling of his calloused fingertips added fuel to the always-raging blaze. His coppery locks dipped, and the crown of laurels glinted in the sunlight, as he mouthed at your chest, luxuriating in the taste of you.

He leaned in, gripping tightly to your back. The pressure of his lips on your body zipped along the arch of your spine. Not wanting to fall, you reached for him, threading through the waves at the nape of his neck. Too soon he pulled away, his eyes blown and searching but serene. You chased him on instinct, searching, despite the exhaustion that crowded your vision.

His lips glistened, alluring and beautiful as he spoke, “Later. For now, let me tend to your wounds.” You nodded in resigned agreement. Geta accepted your soundless answer, using the hold on your waist to settle you upon the edge of the bed.

His shoulders heaved, shuttering with his exhale. “No more.” He whispered more to himself than to you. With as much care as he could muster, and fueled by his desire to keep you safe, he cleaned each of your wounds, coating them with honey to soothe the sting. The press of him into the space before you kept the unsteadiness of the moment ever present. Brushing loose hairs behind your ear, Geta rested his palm on your unmarred cheek, noting the warm flush that colored the skin. You nuzzled into his touch, not trusting your words.

Unrelenting marble greeted him as he knelt to meet you. From here the red rims of your eyes churrned the empty pit of his stomach. His wandering hands traced delicate patterns from your ankle toward the bend of your knees before placing a kiss on your inner thigh. The cracked tangle of his words snapped the stillness that had settled between you.

“Do you remember that day by the river?” The ghost of a smile lifted the corner of his lips at the memory. “It was just the three of us. The sky was perfect, the sun bounced off the water… He was so happy… you both were. Actually happy. I think that was the last time, and I will never forget it.” A sadness drifted back over him, replacing the momentary good with reality once more.

“And you?” Geta’s brows pulled together confused by your question. “Were you happy?”

“I wanted to be… I-I tried to be,” he confessed with reservation. Guilt pinned his shoulders to his ears.

“What if I told you that you were wrong?” You protested gently. The look on Geta’s face kept you going, “I am not speaking of you wanting or trying to be happy, I believe that. I’m talking about it being the last time.”

“How do you mean?” Watery eyes met your own, eager to hear, and desperate for the thoughts in your mind.

“Geta, you make me happy, you always have. Even when we… even when things were different. You were a light, guiding me back. I cannot explain it. I have always loved your brother, he put me back together when I was broken. But you… you are my salvation.”

Dropping to your knees, you held his brow to yours, “I-I… the joy I feel when I am with you… it scalds me. I fought it for so long, wishing it would fade so that I could absolve myself of the guilt I held for feeling it, but it never did. Every time we are together my love for you roots itself deeper in my soul. We are intertwined, where I end you begin. I burn for you.”

Geta broke. His sturdy frame was fragile in your arms, trembling with the enormity of what you’d confessed. The emperor’s arms wrapped around your body, hauling you close so that only the fabric of your clothing separated the pair of you. Its presence was an unwanted barrier between your souls. Struggling under his weight, you sank back onto your calves, taking him with you. Feeble and weary, you sagged under him.

Blindly, he reached for the pins that held your stola together. With deft skill, he removed them, tossing the metal away from you ensuring it posed no threat to your well-being. They clattered quietly, but the sound barely registered. Slowly, he guided the layers of material to the floor leaving you exposed before him. There was simply no hiding the way the sight of you affected him.

Lust blown, the amber hue of his eyes was almost imperceptible, replaced by the broad expanse of his pupils. Geta’s lips crashed with yours, hungrily devouring your gasp. He palmed at your breasts, pinching your nipple between his fingers roughly, earning him a desperate moan. The sly twist of his lips against your neck as he laid a line of fire from the shell of your ear to the base of your throat was thrilling. Feeling you shutter beneath his touch, Geta dropped a hand from your chest, raking over the curve of your waist and hip before dipping between your plush thighs. With practiced skill, he found his mark, brushing tender strokes over your clit, collecting your slick as he listened to the whimpering pants that left you.

Pushing further onto your knees, you threaded your fingers through his hair, tugging sharply at the root. This new angle had you reeling. A rumbling groan of his pain and pleasure reverberated through your skin as he continued to mouth at the swell of your breasts. Nipping keenly at your skin, he relished the hiss of breath through your teeth. Your free hand wandered, tracing the inner line of this thigh, causing him to shake as your touch finally fell to his hardening cock. With light pressure, you teased, drawing fragile lines along his length. At your ministrations, his hips bucked into your hand begging for more, which you readily gave.

Sliding the hem of his clothes out of the way, you trailed over his thighs, noting the way the muscles jumped beneath your fingertips. Higher and higher, you worked, finally reaching what you desired. Carefully, you wrapped your hand around him, using your thumb to work over the tip, collecting his arousal as you went. A choking huff erupted from Geta; the sound of it sent lust flooding over your nerves. Lifting his head to meet yours, you swallowed his groans, the steady rhythm of your wrist drawing him closer to oblivion. You could feel the way he twitched in your hand, each pulse and rush of blood sent his head spinning.

All the while his hand never ceased. Instead, he traversed lower, sinking his broad fingers into your folds. The wet sound of him working into you moved lewdly through the room.

“More,” you pled pathetically. Geta responded without question, pressing into you and curling his fingers, hitting the perfect spot inside you. Electricity rocketed through your body, pleasure pooling low in your stomach. Holding steady, he felt your walls quiver around him, the spasms wracked your body as you placed your weight into his arms. Your grip on him faltered, telling him just how close you were to the edge. Not yet ready for the moment to be over, Geta pulled away, leaving you empty and clambering for more.

“Bed. Now,” He ordered, his voice low and commanding. The pair of you stood on shaky legs, using the other for support. Free of your clothing, you pawed at his, pushing the fabric from his shoulders as best you could. Walking you back into the mattress, Geta lowered you onto your back before standing to remove his garments. Exposed to the ever-present chill in the air, he could not help the shiver that shuddered through him, but it was the dark look in your eyes that had him truly reeling.

Taking his time, he pressed a knee into the bed, slotting a strong leg between yours as he lowered down on top of you. You reached for him, pulling his lips to you. The sweet taste of wine remained on his tongue, delicious and intoxicating. Vying for control, he pressed the thick of his knee against your core, giving you something to grind upon, your hips moved haphazardly in search of the pressure you so desperately wanted.

Once again, he pulled you close to the edge, the shallow breaths and heady moans that tumbled from you were perfect in every sense of the word. Your hands roamed over his back, your nailing digging into the delicate flesh. This new-found layer of pleasure had him begging for more.

“I want to taste you.” Geta’s lips brushed along your jaw as he spoke, waiting for permission to take what he wanted.

“Then do it,” you whispered to him, barely able to speak through the waves of passion that threatened to pull you under.

Inhaling deeply, the emperor trailed his way over your body, mouthing and biting at the exposed skin between your breasts and your hips. Settled firmly between your thighs, his strong arms wrapped around your legs, holding you in place as his lips teased avoiding where you wanted him the most. Tired of waiting, you pulled him close by the hair, giving him one final show of consent. Feeling your hands in his hair, he gave in to his wants.

The slip of his tongue against you was too much and not enough. Everything around you fell away apart from him. Only the vibration of his moans and the ragged drawl of your soft mewls could be heard. Each glide over your clit sent you reeling and rushing toward your own release. The knot was tight in your belly, ready to snap and relinquish its devastating hold.

Knowing your tells, Geta kept his pace, adding the delicious stretch of his fingers. And with that, you were there. The muscles in your legs clenched, your velvety walls closing in fast spasms around him as he kept going, working you through to the end. Your lungs heaved with effort as he hauled himself up to kiss you. The taste of yourself on his lips was sweet, leaving you wanting more despite all the energy having been sapped from your limbs.

“Let me feel you,” you murmured into his shoulder as he kissed along the column of your neck.

“Are you sure?” He questioned, not unsure of your desire, but rather your well-being. From here the troubles of the day were clear. The dark hue of exhaustion beneath your eyes, the marks upon your broken skin… all of it ripped at his heart.

“I have never been more sure of anything.” Bringing him back to your lips, you reached between your bodies, pumping his still throbbing member. A strangled moan echoed from him as he rutted into your palm. Done waiting and too close to his own climax, Geta took matters into his own hands. With as much restraint as possible, given the state of his mind, he aligned himself with you. Your arousal coated his cock, easing the ache and leaving only pleasure.

Your hips were flush with one another, fully connected and dead to the rest of the world. The only thing that mattered was the rush of energy that flowed between you with each thrust of his slender hips. Rolling your own in time with his, the pair of you fought to hold each other through the waves. The vulgar sound of skin on skin blended harmoniously with the unchecked gasps of desire that filled the chamber.

Heat flooded your system, coating your nerves and coaxing you closer to the edge again. The sudden stutter of his thrusts and you knew he was close. The curve of your fingernails bit into his back as you nipped at his shoulder more forcefully than you had intended spurred him on.

“Let go, I’ve got you,” you encouraged, knowing he was holding on by a thread. With your words and a well-timed tug at the base of his silken locks, Geta reached his own release. Your legs wrapped tighter around his waist, keeping him close. No space existed between the pair of you, allowing you both to feel the other perfectly. The twitch of his cock, as he came down from his high, was crude and luscious in a way that had you choking on the air in your lungs.

Breathing hard, Geta’s shoulder heaved as he tried to keep from crushing you under his weight. Still buried deep inside of you, he could feel the flutter of your walls around him.

“Tell me what you want,” He begged, certain that you needed more, but not sure how to proceed.

“On your back,” you managed to speak, your voice hoarse and cracky from the effort.

A dangerous look flashed over his face at the implication of your request. Geta complied immediately, turning onto his back and taking you with him. Your plush thighs straddled his own as his hand came to rest on your hips. In the movement, he’d slipped from you, leaving you empty and begging for him. Sitting up on your knees, you reached for him, stroking gently, giving you time to catch your breath.

With your lungs back in control, you notched his weeping tip between your fold, sinking down until you were flush. Geta could do nothing to stop the noises that poured from him, but there was no concern of judgment as you matched him in every respect. Your palms splayed flat on his chest, your hips swirled in a messy pattern over him. Trying his best to help, he gripped you tight, supporting your weight with one hand while sweeping over your sensitive bud with the other.

From this position, Geta had the opportunity to look at you in full. The way your chest moved, covered in the marks he’d left behind. The tilt of your head as your lips fell open in want. The way your fingers dug into his skin leaving behind bruises of their own. You were stunning and so sure of yourself. Geta silently thanked the gods for their favor in bringing you to him.

Holding tight to one another, the both of you worked in tandem, your movements in miraculous harmony. Before long, you were there, on the precipice, ready to take what you wanted for your own. And that was precisely what you did. Matching the rhythm of his hands, you pushed yourself over, letting go of the tension in your body and focusing only on the thrum of your desire. The pulse of your muscles and core peaked before dipping back down to nothing, leaving you boneless and weak atop Geta.

The emperor adjusted his hold on you, pulling you flush with his chest before rolling to the side. Holding you close, he traced along your body, touching whatever skin he could find. Your bodies tangled together, your leg thrown over his hip, keeping you connected in every way possible. He could feel the sticky mess of sweat and spend on your body, but he was unwilling to let go of you just yet.

“Wherever you go I will follow,” you breathed into his chest.

“As will I,” Geta replied. His voice was low with exhaustion but smooth. The peace of having you in his arms was more than enough to settle his nerves about the future, at least for the moment.

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