#She is I feel it in my bones her relationship with her emotions is very… yes | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

acapelladitty · 7 months ago

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Trouble Like A Mugshot (1.5k)

Pairing: Lucy Maclean/Cooper Howard

Summary: After a long day of travelling the wastelands, Lucy is feeling horny and asks Cooper if he wants to have sex with her. A question which is much more complicated than she could have possibly known.

(A/N: I might turn this into a short series of moments showcasing the pairs developing relationship from this to hard nsfw if that's something folks would like to see.)

Fic Masterlist

Link to AO3

Lucy Maclean was no stranger to the difficult to ignore feelings which were pressing at her body. Fingers slightly trembling, breath coming in shorter bursts than she would admit to, eyes unable to pull themselves fully away from the lounging ghoul who reclined in his nearby bunk with a relaxed stance; cowboy hat tipped across his face as he feigned sleep.

Lucy Maclean knew herself enough to understand that her restlessness wasn't the radition sickness which had recently started to touch at her peripherals again. Nor was it the fact that it had been weeks since she'd had any time to herself that wasn't shadowed by either her ghoulish companion or some other entity.

Lucy Maclean was horny and she was never one to deny herself a simple, sneaky little indulgence when the mood took her.

"Hey, Cooper." She called, fingers rolling across her bare forearms as she sat with her back to the wall, legs crossed in a neat pile. "You awake and listening to me?"

"Hard not to with those foghorn vocals." A grumpy response, muffled by the hat rang back at her. "What are you yapping your flap about?

"Do you want to have sex?"

In their time together, Lucy had never witnessed Cooper doing anything that her vault lessons had taught her were sexual acts. He didn't touch himself around her, didn't disappear for some self-relief as the boys did, didn't make any kind of pass at her like some of the others had done before her husband had been selected. As far as she knew, maybe the ghoul didn't even feel the same things she did, and that realisation made her roll back on her question almost as quickly as she had asked it.

"I mean, if you can have sex that is. I don't know if your," Lucy paused, unsure how to describe her partners physical state without causing offence, "condition, makes it possible. I don't even know if you have the right parts for it but there's other ways of experiencing pleasure. We could use our mou-"

Cutting herself off as her babbling reach a new octave, Lucy watched as Cooper's body - his frame stock still since she had asked her initial question - finally stirred into action. A reddened hand slowly rose from its position by his hip until it reached the cowboy hat, plucking the leather from his face as he turned to look at his bunkmate and travelling companion with an indescribable expression; various emotions fluttering through his typically stoic face.

"I know your experiences with ghouls are limited, princess." Cooper spoke patiently, voice low as he fired the hated nickname at her, her vocal dislike of the new monkier making it a very quick favourite of his. "But the whole package is still intact so let's get that established before you go telling people falsehoods about my good person."

"Okay. Noted." Lucy held her hands up apologetically and her knees touched as she lounged against the concrete wall which was supporting her. "But you didn't answer me. Do you want to? Have sex, I mean? Last time i did was with my assigned husband and it was good enough, great even, but then he tried to kill me and it was this whole thing."

Mentally filing that information away for future use and subtle further investigation, Cooper lay back fully against his own cot and tilted his head closer in her direction, thankful for the dimness of their shared room as it shielded most of his features.

"As much as I'd love to bury my bone in a new patch of land, I don't think that's necessarily the best choice in terms of this little partnership we've stitched together."

Indicating his sewn finger, he wagged it at her dismissively as a discomforting sensation flooded his stomach, mild arousal at the thought of some tail mixing with something dangerous that set his teeth on edge.

"Why not? It's only sex."

Suddenly feeling older than he had any right to, Cooper fell silent as he mused on her question for a moment.

Lucy Maclean.

Eyes as big as a doe, that girl was built soft but he was lucky enough to see people for what they truly were and the steel which lurked beneath the painful optimism and naivety that shone free of her would make her a dangerous player if she ever truly entered the game. He felt the burden of his own cruelty at times, cornering her into making decisions that would cause her little vaultie friends to vomit if they knew the violence she enacted, but with every difficult choice came a fresh coating to that steel which would see her survive and thrive in the wastelands.

It's only sex.

In his life, Cooper Howard had enjoyed less sexual partners than many would believe. A sticky fumbling in the upper level of an old barn had been his first, the other party a sweet girl from a nearby ranch who was two years older and knew what she wanted from him. Pretty soon after that came Barb and as soon as he laid eyes on her he never saw anything past her.

War was terrible for the other men and many lost themselves in drink and the women who haunted the barracks and backlines looking for poor souls to feed on. But not him. Never him.

Not when he had to come home to Barb.

Even when married and at the height of his fame, when aspiring young things would throw themselves at him, their perfumes overpowered by the stink of wine and cigarettes, he had rebuffed them politely. He was loyal and he enjoyed the fruits of that loyalty as he held his wife in his arms and basked in the sweet sounds that she would make as they fucked. Hell, she had even given him a daughter and he loved her every day for it.

War never changes.

But he did.

And fuck him if his new appearance and designation as a Ghoul didn't screw him out of any chance of some stress relief as he wandered the wastelands. Might as well have been a fucking leper for all the tail which was now afforded to him and his leathery visage.

Not for Lucy Maclean though.

She, it seemed, didn't care about any of that.

"Did I say something wrong? The leaders explained all acts of intercourse to us so I know what I'm doing and I consent fully."

Lucy's voice, heated with an almost defensive lilt, broke into his musings and Cooper blinked at her as the hole that made up his nose flared while he inhaled deeply.

"I don't doubt that, darling. I've seen how you handle a pistol." Reverting to his typical sarcasm as he looked, truly looked, at her, Cooper sighed at the earnestness which oozed from her features. "But I'm gonna have to decline. Politely."

"Is it because of me? Did i do somethig wrong? I mean, my husband didn't seem to mind but then he was planning on killing me anyway so y'know?" Making a wild gesture with her fingers as she spoke, the casualness of her speech wasn't enough to mask the genuine insecurity which threaded through the questions.

"You're fine. Attractive little thing, even. I think any man would jump at the chance to have you wrapped around them like an old holster."

He wasn't lying- and he wasn't blind. She was a good looking young woman, her innocence flickering like the dull embers of a welcoming fire in the darkness of the wastelands. She was enthusiastic, eager, and damn pretty with those big eyes and curved figure which hid beneath the bulky clothes which she used for protection. More than once he'd caught himself glancing at her as she bent to snatch up things from the floor and the few times he did allow himself to fall into something like sleep featured breathy moans and the feeling of long, brunette strands brushing through his ungloved hands. Mouthy too so he knew she would be a vocal one - probably yowling like a hellcat.

It would be so easy to have her.

A simple yes and she would no doubt leap into action, shedding those clothes as quickly as did her weapons when trying to find peaceful solutions to violent problems. He would treat her right, everh inch the gentleman cowboy and no doubt much better than that shady husband she'd unwittingly fucked. He'd show her things with his fingers and mouth that would have her screaming loud enough to wake up all the devils in hell. Against the cot, against the wall and against whatever furniture she wanted, he could show her how a real man treats a woman as they both burned off some stress.

Feeling a very definite stirring in his groin, Cooper was quick to banish the dangerous thoughts.

"But a bad man like me shouldn't be allowed near a pretty little thing yourself. You're ready for a lot, Lucy Maclean, but you ain't ready for that."

Something almost like understanding passed through her gaze and Lucy nodded, instead exhaling deeply as she tapped the back of her head against the wall behind her.

"In that case, would you mind leaving for an hour so that I can masturbate, please?"

Cursing himself for the little shred of morality which plucked at his heart and refused to allow him to ruin this unknowing tease of a woman, Cooper dutifully rose to his feet and marched to the nearby door.

"You get half an hour." He grunted, barely tilting his head towards her as he stormed out into the nighttime air - determined to get far enough away that there was no chance that he would hear her and break his determined stance.

Besides, he might not be fucking her but as his cock pressed against his slacks, he wasn't masochistic enough to deny himself a similar pleasure and the distance would also give him some much needed alone time.

Goddamn Lucy Maclean.

Links to rest of the series:

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Part 7

#fallout #fallout amazon #lucy maclean #cooper howard #lucy x cooper #ghoucy #lucy x ghoul #cooper x lucy #ghoul x lucy #fallout smut #walton goggins #ella purnell #vaultghoul #ghoulcy

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aloesarchives · 9 months ago

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Two for the Price of One (JJK Oneshot)

TW/Warnings: Profanity, NOT POLY SATOSUGU X READER, Fem Reader and She/Her pronouns, ANGST, Angst for Satoru and Reader, Bittersweet ending for Suguru and Reader, HIGHKEY MISCOMMUNICATION, Possible OOC Satoru, abandonment issues if you squint really hard, Reader slowly losing herself, Reader feeling depression/hopeless(implicit), Reader's has a healthy dynamic with her clan

Series: Jujutsu Kaisen

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Fem!Reader/Suguru Geto x Fem!Reader

AU: Canon

Pronouns: She/Her(Reader's clan has a unrealistic healthy and understanding relationship with her)

Word Count: 6.1k words

Summary: Gojo's lack of coping caused you to drift away and eventually depart after Suguru's defection from Jujutsu Society.

(A/N): I know it doesn't make sense and will make many frustrated with how dumb this is. I just wanted to write my emotions out with this one, okay? I know this wouldn't slide but I'm a sucker for these scenarios. Edit: Since I've been getting positive reactions from you guys, I decided to take out the cringe/unrealistic out of the warning/tws lists. I truly love and appreciate you, loves!❤️

[!!Semi-edited & Proofread!!! 2/8/2024 4:04pm CST]

It was hard on all of you.

More so for you and Satoru.

Ever since Geto’s massacre and defection, the higher-ups and Jujutsu society have been scrambling to get the chaos under control. Having a special grade user become a curse user was sounding red alarms as there was an immediate threat to present-day Jujutsu sorcery.

You knew something was up with Suguru. You did; your observation wouldn’t allow things to go unnoticed. It was a bit here and there, but never a significant concern. You tried coaxing him gradually to open up to you, but your efforts were fruitless. No bells were ringing until the post-Plasma Star Vessel incident. You felt the shift in Suguru’s aura; you noticed his lifeless stare—the growing dark circles around his eyes surrounding the tiny flicker of life left inside.

You tried being there for Suguru. You did anything and everything to accompany him and not leave him alone. It was selfish of you. To be desperate for your best friend to lean on you for support and not to go down a destructive path. You became even more worried when Haibara returned cold with a frustrated and traumatized Nanami. It was becoming more evident of Suguru’s deteriorating condition, you to confide in Shoko and even Yaga-sensei.

Grief is like love, a twisted parasitic curse. Even though a year has passed, your grief was a malevolent spirit that latched itself onto your shoulders with a vice grip. A bitter reminder of how Suguru never said goodbye to you. He technically did with Satoru. But it was more of him telling Satoru that he was severing ties with Jujutsu Society by questioning him with his newfound powers. All you got from Suguru was a simple letter Shoko gave you at your dorm. She was with you as you read it. Tear droplets stained the paper, words smeared, and became unreadable. Out of pure frustration, you ripped the paper in half—the tearing of paper cut through the sickening silence. Shoko hugged you as you sobbed in the aftermath. While you were mourning the loss of your friend and your lives together, you were also mourning your life after this would never be the same. It would only get worse from here.

Satoru is tossed onto multiple missions left and right, never catching a break.

And there was you, trying to return to your regular school life. Or how every day can it be now? One of your best friends just murdered an entire village and his parents, and the other one is overworking himself to the very bone. Shoko being there for you was a surprising one, but at the same time, it wasn’t. Given that she was the first one Suguru said goodbye to, she understood his actions.

The problem was trying to tell Satoru about it, but he would brush it off, saying that maybe it was the change in weather or sickness. When you tried to explain there was more to it, Satoru would wave his hand at you, saying,

“You’re overthinking too much, (Y/N)-chan! I’m sure Suguru is fine. We just have to give him some time.”

Though the tone was light-hearted, it provided no comfort. You know Satoru was suffering as well. Individuals process trauma differently, after all. You were seeing this first hand.

Satoru was overcompensating to the world of Jujutsu with his enlightenment, overworking himself and burying his pain through that charismatic mask he now dons. Suguru is the most common one: Insomnia, isolation, and depression. He slowly became a lifeless husk. On the other hand, you were coping by trying to move forward while acting like a rock for them. Despite the hard transition, you didn’t deny your trauma as you slowly worked to process and navigate through it. You had the support of Shoko, your teacher, and even your clan/family stepped in to support your mental health endeavors. They went as far as providing you with a therapist, who was also a sorcerer.

But you all were suffering in silence.

A year has passed since Suguru left, and you were getting by. You, Shoko, and Satoru would graduate in the third year and officially become Jujutsu Sorcerers. Yet, at this point, it felt more like only you and Shoko. Satoru still attended class and hung out, but missions mainly preoccupied his school life. He recently returned from Hokkaido, only to be sent out again. This time, however, it was somewhere in Western Europe. That’s on the other side of the world. It would only be for a week, but still. You wanted him to rest or take a break, as he never did– not since the incident.

He wouldn’t be leaving for another seven days, so you had enough time to be with him. Yet it was challenging because Satoru didn’t let up. The ravine he created kept opening, the distance stretching far and deep, pushing you away.

Just like Suguru.

You didn’t want to lose Satoru. You almost did, becoming a grim reminder of how much you cared for Satoru Suguru. To fall for your best friend was a betrayal. You didn’t mean it, but Satoru did things that made your heart warm and fluttered. Suguru was the first to catch on; he saw your crush a mile away. Confiding in Suguru about it, you found solace in his words– feeding into an enviable delusion.

Unbeknownst to you, Suguru's eyes were able to hide his longing for you as you rambled about Satoru and your latest hangout together. Suguru always thought you and Satoru had a special connection—your two powerful chemistry and how you bounce off each other. He presumed Satoru had mutual feelings, but nothing was said. Once he left, he knew you had his heart. There was no space for anyone else to fill it but you. And Suguru was more than willing to live with reality. If the girl who gave his life light is with his best friend, so be it. He would settle with the heartache as long as you were happy.

But you weren’t happy at all.

Over time, you started questioning whether the life of a Jujutsu Sorcerer was worth it. Yes, you were born into the world of Jujutsu, and it has been your whole life. But the last two years radically changed that. You were already exposed to this life's dangers and cruelty; prepare to face it head-on no matter what. Yet second thoughts became third thoughts. Then, fourth, fifth, sixth, and seventh. The more you challenge your initial mindset, the more doubts seep into its cracks.

Why should I continue when I am nothing more than a placeholder in this world?

How can I save everyone if I can’t save one person?

Where is the meaning in all of this if I’ll just die alone and be replaced and forgotten?

Was this endless cycle of Jujutsu Sorcery even worth it?

You wondered if Suguru shared the same thoughts to push him to his decision. Now, you don’t blame him for leaving at all. It was grime. It was depravity. It was futile. You only stayed because you had your clan. You had Yaga-sensei and Shoko. But most of all, you had Satoru to shoulder the burdens of the Jujutsu world.

That’s. . .what you thought. . .

You decided to go to Satoru’s dorm to check up on him. Maybe squeeze a hangout in there. Gently knocking, you hope he was there since you couldn’t sense him around the campus. There was faint shuffling on the other side, signaling he was. You softly call out to him as you knock again. Once opened, Satoru greeted you in his school uniform. You found it odd since he’d switched to his comfortable clothes after school hours.

“Hi, Toru! I just came by to see how you’re doing. The mochi store we always go to releases its seasonal flavors today! Why don’t you come with me? I heard one of your favorites returned, so I didn’t want you to miss it.”

“I appreciate the thought, (Y/N). But not today, I’m sorry.” Satoru said with a smile.

You couldn’t pinpoint his smile, tittering on, sad and strained. A tinge of uneasiness settled inside your heart, but you still wore your smile to not let it surface.

“C’mon, Toru! You don’t know if they will sell out today. Plus, the weather is great. I heard some festivals with food stands are opening up because of that. It wouldn’t hurt to go out just this once, Satoru.”

Satoru’s smile disappears at your insistence, replacing it with a fine line. His mood change didn’t sit well with you. You had previous attempts to get Satoru to care for himself. However, this is different from all your others because the band that holds your desperation began to wane itself thin. Your solid composure falters in bits. Your bright aura slowly dimmed as your now chapped lips twitched.

“Satoru, I know that you’re busy. Always on missions, meeting the higher-ups, your clan needing you more than ever, you have your hands tied. But it wouldn’t be too much just to enjoy yourself. Just come with me today before you go to Europe next week. It’s been a while since we hung out together.”

“Look (Y/N), I don’t really have time for this. I need to head out now, or it will get dark. Maybe another time–”

Then something inside of you snaps. You didn’t know whether it was your desperation or uneasiness, but assumed both because your facade crumbles to reveal your emotions.

“You always say later, Satoru, but never do! You haven’t taken a break in months! You’ve gotten paler, and your under-eyes are darker than before! You’re pushing yourself too hard and beginning to neglect yourself. Toru, Please! I’m worried about you! You know I can always help you–”

“For the love of God, (Y/N)! Can you STOP TALKING?! GOD, YOUR VOICE MAKES MY EARS BLEED! LIKE HELL YOU WOULD UNDERSTAND MY RESPONSIBILITIES!”

It was never your intention to snap. But the way Satoru was acting paralleled Suguru. Eat, sleep, and go on missions. It was always those three, the same ones Suguru was subjected to that became a factor in his defection. Satoru was caught in the vicious cycle that pushed Suguru over the edge.

On top of your crippling fear of Satoru sharing the same fate as Suguru, Déjà vu struck you. Desperation emerged from within as you didn’t want to lose him, breaking your resolve before him. Desperation was fear in another form.

You weren’t the only one to reach a breaking point. Satoru snapped as well and at you, of all people. You guessed it was from all the stress and emotions he bottled up that exploded there. What Satoru was experiencing was valid and understandable; you knew this. Yet to blow up at you was uncalled for as you made it clear you’re only helping. Your eyes sting as you feel the formation of tears ready themselves, biting the inside of your bottom lip to keep your voice from breaking.

“B-but. . .Satoru. . .I w-was only trying to–” You stuttered out, forcibly pushing out words to fill the silence.

“Help? You were trying to help, (Y/N)?”

Once saying that Satoru let out a sarcastic laughter that could be mistaken for madness. Horror took over your face. Pain-filled eyes were glossed over, showing your tears could spill at any moment. His laughter abruptly stopped, making it so quiet that only your staggered breathing could be heard. He meets his eyes with yours with the most disdain you have ever seen.

“Do you think you could help when you’re just dead weight? You thought you were on par with Suguru and me. Get that out of your stupid little head of yours (Y/N). You were never strong like us.”

“You don’t mean that, right, Satoru?” You said incredulity as you reached out for him. Only for your hand to freeze before him, not going any further. A chill flashed over you, adding to the aching that enveloped your soul.

Did he– Did he just use his infinity on you?

“Oh, but I do. Now, I need to be somewhere. Do yourself a favor, (Y/N), and don’t bother me with your weak presence.”

And before you knew it, Satoru was already gone. He had used his teleportation to get to where he was needed. Leaving you alone with the door to his dorm wide open. The sounds of the crickets took over. They were paired with your small sniffles, furiously wiping away your nonstop tears.

Were you weak to him?

Have you really been holding everyone back?

Were you that much of a nuisance to him?

Is this how Satoru really felt about you?

Has he always felt this way?

You never saw utter detest and contempt from Satoru. Your previous interactions had him irritated or annoyed, but never like this. This was the first time Satoru had blown up on you, let alone given you such a reaction. Before, you’d repeatedly remind him of your support and help. But it always ends the same way, pushing you away. After what happened, this will be the last time you’d do this for him.

You were once told that you can’t help someone if they aren’t reaching out for help. And this was a bitter example of it. Your efforts in having Satoru lean on you bore nothing. What’s the point in continuing this if nothing changes after multiple attempts?

You were tired, drained, and indifferent. Your tears keep falling as you enter your dorm, not even stopping as the sound of nature lulls you to sleep.

You let two days pass to let Satoru calm down and give him space. No interactions or anything to pass some time. You would try to contact him for the next four days after that. But your texts were left unanswered and on read. When you tried calling, your call went straight to voicemail. He blocked your phone number, too.

The weight of your doubts and Satoru’s words the other day are fueling your impulsivity. If Satoru called you weak and dead weight, other sorcerers would think so, too. If you become a thorn in their side, you’re doing them a favor by pulling yourself out for them. Even if Satoru didn’t mean it, you knew there was some truth to it because he kept his infinity up. You could never forget how his blue eyes lit through his pitch-dark glasses as he spoke down at you. Giving away that he was conscious and level-headed when he said those words.

You were losing the war against your intrusive mind. Your doubts and thoughts gradually solidified in your consciousness. In the course of time, they won and consumed your psyche.

If becoming a jujutsu sorcerer would get in the way of others, then being a sorcerer wasn’t for you.

With your last attempts to contact Satoru, you have made your decision. A day before Satoru departs for Europe, you decide to pay your clan head a visit. It was sudden and unannounced; nonetheless, they allowed an audience with you.

They let you speak your mind, allowing whatever you need to be released and run free without judgment. Thus, you confided in them about everything.

This was too much; all of it was too much for you to bear any longer. You couldn’t see yourself as a sorcerer any longer after dealing with what you had experienced. Every day was a battle for you, and you lost every single one. You admitted you didn’t have what’s left of you it in you to shoulder the responsibilities of the Jujutsu world. You didn’t want the life of a jujutsu sorcerer anymore. You wanted one of peace, not having to fight every day. To enjoy the rest of your days as a regular civilian.

Confiding also in missing Suguru dearly and how his departure left a hole in your heart that could never be healed. You weren’t strong enough to face the horrors and hardships anymore and wish to live a peaceful life.

Although your clan head was shocked at your confession, they were understanding and asked if this was something you truly wanted. An unwavering ‘Yes’ left you, and your clan head nodded. They gave you a choice: to go after graduation in a few weeks or leave now. If you leave now, they will deal with the rest as you finish the important schoolwork. It was just a waiting game with missions sprinkled throughout.

You could wait before leaving, but that’s wasting time. If you weren’t going to continue your life here, you might as well get a headstart now in your new one. You finalize your decision with the head. They said they would have some members pick up your stuff from your dorms tomorrow morning, but you said it wouldn’t be much. As you took your leave, you told them you would keep in touch with the clan.

“What are your plans for what happens next, (Y/N)?” They curiously asked with your back facing them.

“Hmm, I don’t know exactly. But I have an idea, (Clan Head’s Name). Thank you for everything that you’ve done.”

With a reassuring voice, you turn to respectfully bow before leaving their room. Though they never said it out loud, they saw how your eyes were soft, like tremendous pressure was relieved from your body.

Thinking about it as you leave the estate, you never mentioned your fight with Satoru. Though it wouldn’t change anything. That night, you packed your dorm in your suitcase. Only leave your bedsheets, a pillow, and a few desk appliances behind. Your closet and drawers were empty of any clothes you had. By 10 a.m. tomorrow, any trace left of you would be gone. As you write a letter to whoever finds it about your whereabouts, your thoughts return to Suguru. To playfully think he did the exact same thing before his defection.

You looked at your school uniform as it hung on your door. You contemplated taking it with you but decided against it. You wanted no strings left attached when you leave the world of Jujutsu Sorcery.

Morning came as you stared at the room you once called your own. The remainder of your things are packed in cardboard boxes for your clan members to get later. You glance back over to your desk as your school uniform is neatly folded on top of it. Your lips are graced with a sentimental smile as you close the door one last time.

As you walked along the campus, fleeting memories of your days here flooded your mind. You reminisced on the areas and places you spent your youth with your friends and classmates. Now you’re leaving Jujutsu Tech and the Jujutsu World forever. Never to come back. You get to the main entrance of the school.

Before taking another step, you sensed someone behind you.

“So you're leaving, too, (Y/N)?”

It was Shoko.

“Yeah. . . Shoko. I’m going. . .”

She blows out a large smoke cloud from her cigarette, giving you a blank look before sending you a smile.

“At least say goodbye to me. . .I don’t blame you for going. . .” Shoko adds as she holds out her arms. You chuckle at her gesture and give her a hug. By the slight firm grip you felt, she didn’t want you to go, but she couldn’t stop you either.

Once you break away from the hug, you remember something and fish out a folded paper in your bag. You handed it to Shoko, and she eyed it curiously.

“I was going to leave it in my dorm for someone to find, but I thought it would work better if I gave this to you if I ran into it on my way out. My clan is sending members to get the last of my things, so I won’t return to my dorm. Sorry I had to make you the messenger again, Shoko.” You bittersweetly said.

You find it ironic that your departure is similar to Suguru’s. Shoko is the first to see you two go while giving her a letter for the others to read. You laugh as you think this over.

Oh, how history repeats itself.

Shoko tucks away your letter before taking a drag from her smoke.

“Does he know about this?”

You knew she was referring to Satoru. You shook your head no, still have a small smile.

“No, unfortunately. Satoru and I got into a arg– disagreement a few days ago. I don’t know if he’s okay with me to begin with, as cowardly to say. The only ones that know are you and my clan head.”

She hums at your response before going for another drag.

“Your phone number still the same?”

“I don’t really plan on changing my phone number. Even if I do, I’ll text you the new number so you can give it to the others.”

“I see. . .See you around, (Y/N). Keep in touch, will ya?”

“I will. I’ll see you around then. Bye, Shoko.”

Giving Shoko one last hug, you wave goodbye as you leave Jujutsu’s High entrance, disappearing from view. Not daring to look back because regret might come if you did.

Shoko watches from afar, her cigarette being halfway done. She takes one last puff before extinguishing it with the bottom of her shoe. She looks at your letter. The paper was crisp with no wrinkles like it had been fresh from the printer. From this, Shoko knew you had written it recently, no hesitation evident on the page itself. Unlike Suguru’s, her fingers tighten on your letter as she sighs while entering the school.

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“What brings you here? He’s a busy man.”

“I’m just an old acquaintance of his. Just a simple chat. It won’t take long, I promise.”

The pretty attendant raises a brow at you as she guides you to one of the rooms. She looks you up and down before facing forward again.

“You have a substantial amount of curse energy. You have a curse technique then; aren’t you a jujutsu sorcerer?”

“I…used to be…but not anymore…I chose to leave that life. I’m just a civilian that has a curse technique.”

You see the attendant smile out of the corner of your eye at your answer.

“I see. Geto-sama will be happy to take audience with you then.”

You shouldn’t be here. You knew that. Walking in taboo territory could get you hunted down by the very society you were born into. It’s not a secret of Suguru’s position as both a curse user and a cult leader. You remember hearing about him reforming a cult that worshiped Tengan but dissolved after the incident. You found it interesting he hasn’t done collateral damage yet. No incidents or missions revolving around curses terrorizing civilians. Perhaps he was going for something on a larger scale, you thought.

But you missed Suguru dearly. Not in a sentimental reminiscing way. More as in yearning for him entirely. Everyone tells you it’s not the same with Suguru gone, obviously. Yeah, but Suguru plagued your mind after his defection. You want nothing more than to see him again. Yes, things couldn’t go back to the way they were. But you didn’t like the prospects of what your future would hold if you stayed.

You disagreed with Suguru ridding the world of non-sorcerers. But you also understand and agree the current Jujutsu system is a dumpster fire that will never work. At the end of the day, only those the higher-ups favor will get to stay while the rest are sent off to die. You didn’t want to take part in that. You valued your life to know it shouldn’t be tossed around so easily by some dementia geezers who can’t even fight. And yet, you felt a tinge of regret for not staying to fix or break the system. Your only option was to leave and not involve yourself anymore.

The attendant takes you to the room, saying he will arrive shortly. Leaving you alone, you felt your heart race. You hope Suguru doesn’t kill you because he can sense your curse energy. Yet his letter was heartfelt and raw. His apology and the paragraphs after them were for you and you alone, like a confession. Even though you ripped the letter, you keep the two halves. Strangely enough, there was an address and a few words at the bottom of the page.

‘You know where to find me.’

Here you are, waiting for him with the same letter he sent. As you wait, you can feel his energy get closer. You stare down, kneeling, the letter shaking like a leaf in your hands.

Then the door opens.

You let out a small gasp, not daring to look up as the footsteps approach his seat. A soft chuckle fills the room as you keep your head low.

“I thought I was mistaken when I felt your curse energy. But I now know my mind wasn’t playing tricks on me. Please, lift your head so I can see you (Y/N).”

Your gaze meets Suguru’s soft eyes and warm smile. Both genuine and kind. His eyes widen before returning back to soft when he sees the tears trickling down for your lovely eyes he could get lost in. You stumble to stand, practically pouncing at Suguru. His embrace was like gates opening for you and closing once you entered. You softly sob into his robes as he holds you tightly. Comforting you by gently rubbing your back and hair, giving a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“I missed you so much, Suguru!” was all you said before you continued to sniffle and hiccup into him.

Suguru hums as he pulls away to better view your face. You felt self-conscious as he lovingly gazed at you. Your nose and cheeks were raw from crying, and your eyes became an irritated red. Suguru smiles, wiping away your endless tears with his thumb.

“Oh, (Y/N). I’m sorry for leaving you behind. You understand, don’t you? From my letter?”

You nodded to respond. Holding the paper in front of Suguru. He notices the tear stains and ink smudges from the words he wrote down.

“I would’ve told you in person, (Y/N). Believe me. But I couldn't once they announced my charges. You would’ve been questioned as a possible accomplice. I didn’t want that for you. Do you know what it means for you to see me now?”

“Yes, I’m aware. But I left of my own accord; it wasn’t just for you, Suguru. I wouldn’t be able to last long if I stayed. So I decided to go, leaving it behind, all of it.”

He was a bit puzzled by what you meant. But it didn’t take long for him to piece it himself. Suguru figured something happened between you and Satoru but decided to stay silent out of respect. You both stare with relief and tenderness. Suguru gingerly takes your hand and places a light kiss on your knuckles. You set your unoccupied hand on his cheek, quietly giggling as Suguru leans into your delicate touch. He sighed in contentment. Bring your hand up again to kiss it as he wraps his free arm around your waist. His sincere smile radiates down onto you.

“I guess we have some catching up to do then, (Y/N).”

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

Satoru was in a better mood today than before.

Satoru cooled off his head after a couple of days from when he made that outburst at you. He was stressed and tired of being continuously sent out on missions, and you did make a point that he hasn’t taken a break in months. He remembered what he said to you that evening, which made him feel guilty.

He knows he hasn’t been around because the higher-ups have sent him out like a work dog. It was now you and Shoko with him. The stabilization you two had on him once Suguru left.

You’ve been only trying to help him for a long time. Being there for him in your own way while coaxing him to hang out. Yet he took it for granted and said some vile things because his bucket decided to overflow then out of all the times it shouldn’t. You didn’t deserve that. You also didn’t deserve the silent treatment he gave you. He saw your text messages and listened to the voicemails you left. He did not answer because he was too prideful and stubborn to admit he was stressed and hurt you like that.

But sitting with his emotions and reflecting on how stupid he is for prioritizing his ego, he decided to cut down his pride and make it up to you. He unblocked your number and was going to call you. But he chose to just surprise you instead he chickened out. Satoru knew the European mission was a nuisance to his plans, so he had already taken care of it. By that, Satoru somehow teleported himself to where he needed to be in Europe, slayed the high-level curses, retrieved some curse objects, reported what he did, and teleported back to Japan in four hours.

He did all this at the last minute on the sixth day before Satoru was supposed to leave. He did this to stay and spend the whole week with you, make up for lost time, and give a proper apology.

Now, Satoru was strolling through Jujutsu Tech. He whistles as he holds a bouquet of (favorite flowers), a box with a (favorite color) bracelet with (favorite designs/charms), and a bag of mochi and daifuku for you two to share together. He walks around the grounds, trying to search you. He was told no classes today, so he went to your favorite spots. You weren’t anywhere.

‘Huh, that’s strange. (Y/N) would usually be in those places when class is not in session. I wonder where she could be.’

Satoru thought about dropping by your dorm but figured you were with Shoko. On the other hand, he couldn’t sense Shoko around either until Satoru felt it alongside Yaga-sensei. He sensed them in Yaga’s building, so he headed there.

Blissfully unaware of what would await him.

Satoru clutches your gifts to one side as he opens the door to enter. His six eyes hadn’t kicked in yet, but something in the air felt off. His sun smile hasn’t dropped yet as he scans around, wondering why the two were quiet when he entered.

“Yo, Yaga-sensei, Shoko! I’ve been trying to look for you guys. By any chance know where (Y/N) is so I can give these to her?”

He looks at his teacher, and Satoru’s demeanor instantly changes. There, Yaga stood with his glasses off, clutching a piece of paper with a stern frown. Satoru turns to Shoko, a somber expression replacing her lighthearted one. Satoru just looked back and forth between the two before his eyes settled on the paper in his teacher’s hand. Satoru stands stunned, hearing his heartbeat in his ears grow louder and louder. The air from his lungs disappeared as realization dawned on him.

Satoru clenched his teeth as he teleported to your dorm room, the clap resonating throughout the hall. He burst open your dorm door, and to his horror, your room was empty. The room was stripped of everything that made it yours. The closet and drawers were emptied, and your desk and bed were bare of anything from you. What used to be your dorm is now an empty dorm room, ready for the next person to claim it. He frantically looks around in hopes of finding any reminds of you.

Then, he spotted your old Jujutsu High uniform, laying neatly on top of your old desk. Satoru just stares, not daring to pick it up. Because if he did, he would’ve broken down. He can’t stay there anymore, to which he teleports back. He bears his pearly white teeth as he closes in on his teacher.

“Where the hell is (Y/N)?” Satoru lowly said.

“Gone, Satoru–”

“I know she’s gone! But where?! Why the hell is all her stuff gone?! Her room is completely empty!”

“Satoru,” Yaga tried calmly speaking, but he was clearly frustrated. “I know this is so sudden. But the (L/N)’s clan head said something came up with (Y/N), and they retrieved all her things. Her clan said they were going to deal with everything else.”

Satoru's breathing became staggered. He could hear it growing louder. He tried his best not to let his voice crack, but that made him angrier.

“Everything else? The hell does that mean, sensei? Why would the (L/N) clan withdraw (Y/N) from school?! School ends in a few weeks! She could have graduated with us!”

“It…wasn’t their decision, Satoru…It was (Y/N)’s…”

Suddenly, Satoru became flabbergasted. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This gotta be some twisted, cruel joke that was playing on him. His curse energy was flaring up, and his cerulean eyes lit lightly. The flowers from the bouquet were losing their petals, and his bag full of treats was getting smushed from his intense grip.

“What…?”

“The clan head said it themselves.”

“No…”

“She decided not to be a Jujutsu Sorcerer and leave Jujutsu society.”

“LIKE HELL SHE WOULD!!!” Just like that, everything came crashing down for Satoru. Not being in your usual spots on campus, the empty dorm; hell, he noticed your curse residuals becoming faint. The traces of them becoming weaker and weaker. Your presence here in Jujutsu High was fading faster than he could notice. The anger he built up showed itself as it was on full display. Honestly, Yaga and Shoko don’t blame him for his outburst. Satoru held you close, after all.

“Satoru, please.” Yaga pinches the bridge of his nose as he clenches his teeth. “I’m just as lost as you are. This came out of the blue…Her clan confirmed it, and she said it herself.”

Satoru slightly flinches when Yaga holds the paper out towards him. Gesturing for Satoru to take it.

“I didn’t read far into this because it felt like (Y/N) wanted someone else to read it.”

Satoru’s long fingers snatched the paper out of his teacher’s hands. His hands shake as he opens the paper up to see its contents.

It was a letter–from you.

His eyes slowly followed the words of your neatly written goodbye. His heart rips itself piece by piece as he continues reading. The guilt and shaming grew. He could feel the fatigue and jadedness from your thoughts. But the last paragraph makes Satoru’s heart hurt the worst. Your frustration was transformed into desperation for a new life, a fresh start. Away from the endless curses and scrutiny of the higher-ups, away from the pain and hopelessness, away from it all. You didn’t want to throw your life away. You just wanted to live. Then, you end the letter with an apology. Saying sorry because you couldn’t tell them your honest thoughts, for not facing them in your departure, for not trying hard enough for everyone when it was needed. Then, the last line of your apology made Satoru’s blood run cold.

‘Most of all, I’m sorry for being weak.’

He knew that line was for him 100 percent. You wouldn’t have written it down if he didn’t tell you. To Satoru, you weren’t supposed to be the one apologizing. It should be him. He was the one who yelled at you and said those cruel and discouraging things to you. The one who pushed you away and didn’t allow you a chance to help. Fuck, he had the audacity to use his infinity against you. How dare he do that to you, his best friend the girl he fell in love with. His teeth clenched so hard out of pure anger they could crack. The anger he felt for himself was tremendous. He was angry at Suguru, the higher-ups, and Jujutsu Society. Angry at himself for being so stubborn and prideful, for waiting too long to act and apologize. But above all else, he was angry at what had become of the situation. Fully knowing he could do nothing to change anything as already was set in stone.

If he hadn’t been so prideful, he would’ve apologized to you sooner. If he didn’t blow up at you, you wouldn't become broken and hurt. If only he didn’t push you away, maybe you would have stayed– stayed by his side. But ‘if onlys’ are regrets from the past of the current reality. Now, he is living in it with the consequences of his own actions.

This is the price Satoru had to pay. He lost the only remnant that got him through this world by pushing you away. He lost his only two best friends in the world with no way of fixing it.

The price of becoming the strongest came at the expense of two of his most dearest friends.

Suguru was gone.

You were gone.

Forever with no signs of ever coming back to him.

In the end, Satoru Gojo was, truly, alone.

396 notes · View notes

hheaven-sentt · 12 days ago

Text

blood and bone I

summary: you understand blood and bones well enough, emotions are another thing entirely | leon kennedy x gn!reader

word count: 5k

warnings: gore, medical happenings (everyone say thank you google), Leon being confusing and standoffish, two idiots who don't know how relationships work, language, implied violence

notes: there will be more to this, but i didn't want to kill people with the nearly 10k words i've written so look out for that. also, in my brain, the dso and bsaa operate congruently so | ao3

two

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You wonder where you would be if you hadn’t accepted that job. Maybe, if you’d kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t be sitting in a briefing room. The slideshow Hunnigan prepared is about as engaging as a lullaby. You cut a glance at Leon. He’s staring at the slideshow, clearly very invested. Hunnigan looses a huff and shuts down the projector. The hum of it dissipates into the silent room.

“Have you even been listening to me?” she asks, leveling her gaze on you. You feel sheepish.

“Yes, you say. It’s not the whole truth, but some will have to do. “I always listen to you,”

Hunnigan rolls her eyes. “Leon can brief you on the helicopter,”

With that, she gathers her things and leaves the room. You grimace.

“She puts a lot of time into those, y’know,” Leon says, not quite looking at you. “The least you could do is listen to them,”

You shrug. “Lot on my mind, I guess,”

Leon looks at you then. You can feel his gaze all over your skin. Sometimes, you wish he wouldn’t be so detached. Would it kill him to feel for other people? To feel for you?

“Just food for thought,” he says finally, looking away from you. “Get your things. We’re up in ten,”

With that, he leaves you in the briefing room. You frown, feeling the weight of his stare even when he’s not with you. It weighs heavily on your bones, infecting your blood and burning your skin. You let out a sigh, physically shaking the interaction from your body.

Your bag is stuffed into your locker. It’s a sad sight, you think. No decorations, nothing to prove you were even here. You’re another number, another set of hands forged to do their job well. You reach in, attempting to release your back from where it’s wedged. If the strain in your back is any indication, it’s really stuck. Of course it is. Nothing ever seems to go right for you on days like this. You’re able to convince a passerby to help you dislodge it. Finally, you’re able to sling it across your back, the weight of it nearly knocking you down. You wonder if this is how medics in no man’s land felt, constantly bearing the weight of their comrades’ lives in their hands.

You wonder why you’re here at all. Sometimes, when you look at the supplies in the first aid kit, you feel sick. You can still feel the sticky blood coating your fingers, still warm from its previous owner, not yet even coagulated. The amount of blood you saw that night, the amount of pained cries you heard; the memories are still very much alive and well, and they live in your brain in a spot you can’t reach.

With a sigh, you push through the door of the stairwell to reach the helipad. You could take the elevator, but you’re feeling mean and want to make Leon wait. Hoisting your bag further onto your shoulder, you begin your climb. It’s only a few flights, but it takes long enough to have Leon scowling at you once you reach the helipad.

“I said ten,” he says as you chuck your bag into the helicopter. “You’re late,”

You frown at him. “You can’t leave without me. You’d die,”

Leon mutters something under his breath as you haul yourself into your seat. He follows close behind, plopping himself in the seat beside you. He hands you a headset before putting one on himself. The blades above are spinning and drowning out the sound of everything around you. Once the headset is on, you’re left with your thoughts. You’re shoulder to shoulder with him, his own knocking into yours every now and then as you lift off. You stare out the window, watching the clouds begin to circle around the helicopter. It lulls you into sleep.

You wake sometime later. Leon nudges you awake, and you find yourself having fallen asleep upon his shoulder. You’re nestled between his collar and jaw, comfortable as can be. You find yourself not wanting to move. You do anyway, because it’s the right thing to do, and blink a few times as you return to the land of the living. Leon looks at you, a look much softer than what you’re used to, but it’s quickly replaced with his normally hard exterior. You blink back at him.

“Time to go to work,” he says, and you nod. You’ve since landed, and Leon begins unsheathing himself from the headset and buckles holding him down.

It’s a quick maneuver before you’re both standing on broken asphalt. You frown. You can almost smell the stench of bodies from where you’re standing, but you’ve yet to see any. The metallic odor of blood hangs heavy in the air, a smell you’ve never been able to escape.

Leon moves ahead quickly, leaving you to haul your supplies on your own. That’s not unusual; Leon likes to get into the thick of it as quickly as possible, while you prefer to avoid it for as long as you can. With a huff, you sling your bag over your shoulder and begin to follow him. There’s smoke that hasn’t yet cleared from fires long forgotten, and you see the makeshift tents that have been thrown up. Leon ducks between the curtains of one, and you follow him wordlessly.

There’s a few people gathered in the tent. Leon heads over to a supervisor, beginning his work. You intend to do the same. There’s an empty cot and table near the back, which is as good a place as any to set up shop. You take your time removing each piece of equipment from your bags. A handful of antiseptics here, a box of gloves there, it all comes to find a home in your small area. This is the only part of work that you like. Everything has a home until someone gets injured and you have to disrupt the quiet peace you’ve managed to create. The thought makes you frown.

“Someone tried to level the city,” Leon’s voice comes from behind you. You don’t have to always be privy to the information, but Leon likes to fill you in. “There’s not a lot to go off of,”

You shrug, not turning to face him. “We know what was here before the bomb, though, right? That should give us some inclination,”

Leon hums. “It does. But it’s not a lot,”

“Someone wanted this struck from the record and fast,” you say, finally turning to look at him. He looks tired, especially cast in the harsh light from the industrial lamps. They highlight his sharp features; jawline, angular nose, high cheekbones.

“Seems that way,” he says, taking a seat on the cot in your workspace. “Will probably be bloody,”

You sigh. “It always is,”

Day two, and you’ve gone through more stitches than you can count. A man you don’t know the name of is stuck in the makeshift quarantine room you’ve set up, and you’ve been monitoring his condition like your life depends on it. He seems normal enough, but one can never be too sure.

It’s on day three that Leon comes to you. He’s covered in blood, whether his or other, and there’s a deep purple bruise that’s forming on his jaw. He’s stumbling, nearly collapsing as he attempts to walk.

“What the hell happened?” you ask, running to catch him before he falls to the floor. He grins at you. It’s lopsided and boyish, one you would imagine on him in a different time. “Did you…?”

He shakes his head. “Lost a lot of blood,”

You narrow your eyes at him, hauling him onto the cot. “I gathered that. How, though? What made you lose all the blood?”

“We were getting swarmed. Had to make a quick decision and landed on some rebar,” he says, pulling up his shirt to reveal a nasty puncture on his left side. You grimace. “I have lost a lot of blood,”

“Yeah, I know,” you say, beginning to get to work. “You’re lucky you made it back to me, Kennedy,”

He frowns at you. “I’d always make it back to you,”

You choose to ignore his comment, instead focusing on cauterization. It’s mixed up in minutes, and you begin to slather it onto Leon’s skin. He breathes in deeply, twisting up his features in a wince. You’re babbling to him, mumbling that he’s okay and it’s not that bad and that he’s tougher than it.

“I need to remove your shirt to dress it,” you say, moving to grab scissors. “Don’t you dare move your arms above your head,”

He nods, moving them back to his sides. Gently, you take the hem of his shirt between your fingers and begin to cut. Once you reach his sternum, you feel his eyes on you. He’s watching you intently, a half smile on his lips. By the time you reach the collar, your face is flushing and you can feel the sweat beginning to bead along your hairline. You finish your work on the shirt, tugging it off him. You wrap his waist to hell in bandages to keep pressure on the wound.

“Take these,” you say, handing him two pills and a glass of water. He frowns at you. “Do you want to keep being in pain, or not?”

With a grumble, he holds out his hand, palm up. You place the pills in his hand and watch as he takes them. They go down hard and he winces again.

“Quit being a baby,” you say, smiling. “They’re not that bad,”

“I’m not a baby,” he says as he settles into the cot a bit more. His voice is soft, gentle, a tone you’ve rarely heard from him. You pull the thin sheet of a blanket up over him, tucking it around his shoulders.

“You’re on bed rest until I can be sure that you won’t die,” you say. He frowns. “And you’re getting a tetanus shot as soon as possible,”

“I hate those,” he says, drawing his brows together. A line forms between them, one you suddenly ache to reach out and smooth away. You feel a chill sneak down your spine.

“Well,” you say, puffing out a breath. “Quit falling on dubious looking metal and you won’t have to get them anymore,”

He hums, closing his eyes. You let the medicine do its job and lull him to sleep.

The next morning–or night, you’re not really sure–Leon’s cot is empty. You frown, knowing that he got up and went out without checking in with you first, which sparks a bit of anger in your chest. He knows better than to do that. At the very least, he tells you he’s leaving and lets you give him a once over before he disappears. You hope he knows he’ll be getting an earful when you see him next, a few choice words already spinning in your brain.

You busy yourself by cleaning your station. You patch up a few people here and there, sewing stitches like you were made to. It’s oddly calming. You know you’re good at your job, you just wish it were under different circumstances.

You wanted to be an EMT. That was always the dream. You’d watched them save lives hundreds of times, and that was what you wanted to do, too. But fate had other plans for you, namely in terms of bioweapons that changed the chemistry of human beings. This is not where you’d thought your life would go, but you’re playing the cards you were dealt nonetheless.

It’s day six when you see Leon again. He’s with a few men that you don’t remember the names of, hauling a black body bag into your tent. Leon’s gaze locks with yours, and you can feel the apology in it all over your skin. A lump forms in your throat that you try desperately to swallow.

“Got something for you to look at,” he says, plopping the bag onto a work table near your small station. You feel sick. “If you wouldn’t mind,”

“I don’t think I have a choice,” you mumble, pulling on a fresh pair of gloves. Gloves have become your security blanket. They keep the blood off your skin for the most part, which makes the job somewhat easier. Before, you’d never had an aversion to blood, it was just part of life. Now, you can never seem to wash it from your hands. Your frown deepens.

Leon hovers near you as you unzip the bag. It’s a horrid sight. The stench would be the worst part if it weren’t for the large amounts of flesh that slough off the body at every area. Whoever this was died a horrible, painful death, and you’re not even sure they knew it. You withhold a gag. They’re missing their nose, a few fingers, genitalia, and most of their bottom jaw. With as deep a breath as you can muster, you begin your work.

“What is it?” Leon asks. You shrug, breaking through their soft ribs. The crack is near silent. They were decomposing as they lived.

“Can’t be too sure yet,” you say, peeling back layers of sinew and muscle that were once taught and strong but are now lumpy and soggy. “Can you hand me a few of those dishes? I’ll need to keep samples to send home,”

Leon nods, moving around you to grab what you asked for. You place a few pieces of flesh and muscle into the dishes, closing the top and sealing away the smell. Leon’s nose wrinkles.

“You don’t have to watch,” you say, digging around further into the torso. “I know it’s not the most pleasant sight,”

“I’m the one who brought it, aren’t I?” he asks. You look at him. He’s fully serious, all hard lines and sharp edges. “It’s as much my duty as it is yours,”

You nod, continuing your work. You finally find what you’ve been digging around for. The heart is barely solid anymore. It was once healthy, capable of fueling the body better than any other organ, but it’s nothing more than a lump of tissue now. It’s oozing some kind of liquid.

“Can you hand me one of those vials?” you ask, keeping your eyes on the heart. It doesn’t look like it's been active in a while. Leon hands you a vial wordlessly, and you allow the liquid to drip into it.

“What’re you thinking?” Leon asks as you begin sewing up the sad sight of disintegrated tissue.

You shrug. “Infection of some kind. This person has been rotting a long time, whether they knew it or not. Places that should be healthy are not. My guess? They were sick long before any symptoms presented themselves and their body began to decompose and die. The infection took over,”

Leon lets out a breath. It’s not a great answer, and it’s even worse when given the context of your situation. “When will we know what it is for sure?”

“As soon as I get the results from the lab back home,” you say, disposing of your soiled gloves. “Probably two days,”

“That’s not ideal,” Leon says. There’s a strange amount of anger in his tone. You frown.

“I don’t like it any more than you do, but it’s the best we’ve got,” you say, words clipped. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to hose off somewhere. I’ve been rooting around in a dead body for the last fifteen minutes,”

Leon looks at you in a way that keeps you rooted in place. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder, and says, “I’m sorry,”

The tension melts from your bones. “It’s okay,” you say. “We all have a job to do,”

You notice then how blue his eyes are. They’re glazed over with something you can’t place, but that doesn’t detract from their color. His face is so symmetrical, too. You’re almost jealous. You wonder, for a moment, what it would be like to touch him. Before you can sweat over it, you remove yourself from the situation and go find somewhere to get clean.

On day nine, after the results have returned from the lab, Leon takes a seat on your cot. You’re worrying over some files, attempting to connect this mystery virus to anyone who would make sense. You hate this part of your job more than any other. You’re built to do things, make changes, use your hands, not whatever this is.

“Find anything interesting?” Leon asks, handing you a granola bar. Something twists in your stomach.

“Not really,” you say. “Since Umbrella’s been mostly dissolved over the years, there’s no real leads. Every doctor is either dead or missing,”

Leon hums, mouth full of his own granola. You cut a glance at him. He looks comfortable, probably more than he has in days. You wonder why. When you’re surrounded by so much death and destruction, it’s hard to find a moment to relax. You, for one, haven’t gotten much sleep considering you’re either taking refuge on your cot for a few measly hours or sat directly upright in your chair. Your back aches.

You blow out a breath, leaning back in your chair away from the files. Leon watches you. “How’s your side?”

Wordlessly, he lifts his shirt to show you the mangled mess that is your cauterizing job. “Still hurts, but it’s not bleeding or opening, so that’s good,”

You smile. “Definitely a good sign. Feeling sick in any way?”

He shakes his head. “Other than dead tired? No, I’m healthy as a horse,”

You can’t stifle the laugh that erupts from your lips. It isn’t often that Leon is kind and gentle with you, so you try to enjoy the moments where he is. “I wouldn’t go that far, Kennedy. You’ve still got a ways to go,”

He narrows his eyes playfully at you. “I’d like a second opinion,”

You roll your eyes, grabbing the granola bar he’d given you. You haven’t really been eating since you touched down nine days ago. A few snacks here and there, but nothing concrete. It’s mostly been military rations, which are dry and too filling to be satisfying. You turn your eyes back to the files spread out on your table. It would be far more helpful to study these in a place with people who knew what to look for. You’re better at getting the information rather than analyzing it. Pouring over files isn’t exactly your forte.

“We leave tomorrow,” Leon says. You look at him. “There’s not much left for us to do here until we figure out what we’re fighting,”

You nod. “And the people?”

He pauses. You know the answer, so you’re not sure why you asked. “We’ll come back for them,”

Either with a bomb or help, you’re not sure. Probably the former. “Right,”

“We’re helping them by doing this,” he says, standing up to move nearer to you. He towers over you in your chair. You feel your breath catch in your throat. “You have to believe that,”

“I know,” you say, though you’re not sure how true that is. “We’re helping people,”

“You are helping people,” he says, voice soft and serious. “More than I am, that’s for sure,”

You shake your head. “Don’t say that. We’re both doing our part,”

He sets his lips into a hard line, nodding. He leaves you with that, and you return to your files. You don’t like the way he’s been making you feel. It’s confusing and makes you worry you’re reading things wrong. He’s never this kind to you, often opting for clipped responses and scowls. He still does that, but it’s softer now somehow, more playful than angry. It causes a stir in your stomach that you’re not positive is just from a lack of eating. It makes you twist up your features in order to focus.

The next morning, you’re packing your things. Your bones are anxious, ready to leave and be done with this hellscape. You feel Leon’s presence behind you before he speaks.

“Don’t tell me you’ve brought bad news,” you murmur, placing your tweezers back into their place in the kit. “I’d really like to have a real shower,”

You turn to face him then, and he’s watching you carefully like you’re a specimen to be studied. “No bad news, just coming to make sure you’re ready to leave,”

His tone is short. It makes your mouth sour. “I’m just about done here. Just…trying to recollect, I guess,”

He doesn’t respond, just keeps his gaze on you. You nod, and return to putting things away. You feel him lingering behind you like he has more to say, but chooses not to. You almost want to ask him why he’s just standing there, and if he’d rather make himself useful, but he turns away before you get the chance. It makes a bit of anger spark in your chest.

Guess we’re back to that, you think. It makes you scowl.

You haul your bag onto your back, along with a few more bits and bobs that you snagged from the tent that you’d need later. The files are tucked snugly into folders that you’ll hand to Leon the second you get onto the helicopter. You want them out of your possession as soon as possible. A frown makes its home on your face as you duck out of the tent.

The stench of rotten bodies hits you quickly, and it occurs to you that you haven’t left this tent almost the entire time you’ve been here. You’ve been too busy patching people up, digging through mutilated corpses, and taking notes. Not that you’d want to leave if you had the chance; it was a warzone out here. You suppress a gag.

“Took you long enough,” Leon says as you approach. Your frown deepens.

“You didn’t give me a time limit,” you snap. Leon’s face flashes with an emotion you can’t discern before it’s replaced by his cold exterior again.

“Shouldn’t have to,” he responds, taking your bag from you. He places it on the floor of the helicopter. His tone lacks the distinct playfulness you’d grown used to these last few days. It makes you angry. How dare he give you an olive branch and then rip it away from you just as you’d grown used to it? He’s being cruel.

A loud blast shakes the earth beneath your feet. Leon’s arms snake around you as he hauls you into his frame. You can’t even find it in yourself to look at where the explosion came from, you’re too busy staring up at him. His focus is elsewhere, of course, his calculating gaze scanning the area.

“We need to go,” he says, turning his head to look at you. You feel your knees weaken, and you’re thankful he’s holding you because you’re sure you’d collapse under his gaze.

You nod, mostly because you can’t trust yourself to speak. You hate that he suddenly has the power to render you speechless. He helps you into the helicopter before jumping in beside you. You’re lifting off as he hands you the headset.

“Okay?” he asks, voice hushed. You nod. He scans you for injuries.

“I’m fine, Leon,” you say, reaching out to squeeze his arm. Whether from the action or the circumstances, his face sours, and he nods. You retract your hand.

When you land sometime later, Leon is silent as he helps you unload. You trek downstairs to your office, mulling over the last week and a half in your head. You’d found yourself looking forward to the next time Leon would invade your space. He’d provided a much needed distraction from the viscera of the job, and you’d welcomed it. You wonder if that was his intention and he was just being kind. But you didn’t know Leon to be kind, especially to you. You reach your office, feeling more alone than you have in a while.

It’s dark and empty in the room, save for two desks, a chair, and a few computers. It makes you sigh. You throw your bag onto one of the desks, and realize you’re still clutching the files you’d meant to give to Leon. You toss them onto the desk as well. If he wants them, he can come get them. How are you supposed to trust him when all he does is have mood swings? With a sigh, you sit in your chair. You’re only granted a few moments of peace before Rebecca bursts into your office.

“You still have those files?” she asks. You nod, turning to hand them to her. She thumbs through them for a moment.

“Any leads?” you ask, exhaustion heavy in your voice. Rebecca cuts you a glance.

“Nothing concrete yet,” she says, tucking them under her arm. “Leon wants to take them home so he can look at them tonight,”

Your brows raise. “Why couldn’t he come get them?”

Rebecca shrugs and gives you a soft smile before bustling back out of the room. Of course. You’re only helpful in the field, you should know that by now. You try to remind yourself that you and Leon are an unwilling team. Neither of you asked to be saddled with the other. There’s no real reason for you to be friends–or anything more, for that matter–you only need to be friendly. You’ve been content with that for so long, so you don’t know why it’s such a big deal now.

Your apartment feels like heaven when you finally return to it. You stand in the shower until the water goes cold, which you feel like you deserve. You can’t get the sight of that body that Leon brought you out of your head. It was so ugly, so mangled, and you feel a pit of dread in your stomach. That was once a person, with a family, with a job and a life, and you reduced it to a science experiment. It makes you cry. You cry on the bathroom floor until your tear ducts run dry and you physically can’t anymore. Your face is red and swollen by the time you finally get into a pair of sweatpants and a shirt from a long forgotten boyfriend.

And then you sit on the couch. You stare at the television, not quite watching the old movie that’s playing. All you can think about is that body. You don’t know their name, you don’t even know their gender, and they are all you can think about. You know you won’t be able to sleep, so you don’t even try.

The phone is dialed before you can even notice what you’re doing. He picks up on the second ring.

“I hope this is important,” he answers. You sniff. “You okay?”

You huff a laugh in spite of yourself. “Yeah,” you say, wiping your nose on your sleeve. The whole ordeal is gross and unbecoming, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. “I don’t know why I called. I’m sorry,”

You don’t hang up, and he doesn’t either. The line is silent for a while before he says, “You don’t want to be alone,”

It’s not a question, more of a statement, but you answer. “Yeah, I guess. This one was…harder,”

“I know,” he says. “I’ll be there in ten,”

Before you can protest, he hangs up. That wasn’t your goal, to get him trapped in your apartment, but you can’t say you’re displeased by it. You don’t want to be alone. And you can’t say you have anyone else to call, either. Things could be worse.

True to his word, a knock sounds at your front door ten minutes later. You answer it, eyes still swollen so much that they’re almost shut, and you look at Leon with slightly blurry vision. He looks so put together, so handsome, and you wonder how he manages it. It makes you frown.

“Are you going to let me in, or are you just going to stare at me in the hallway all night?” he asks, that playful tone back again. It almost makes you smile. You let him in, and he takes a minute to survey your living space. There’s a few knick knacks scattered on shelves here and there, a few pictures from high school, and your award of excellence you received when you graduated.

“I’m sorry,” you say. He turns to look at you. “You didn’t have to come all the way out here. I’m sure you have better things to do,”

He shakes his head. “Not really. You needed me,”

The softness of his tone makes your lips quiver. Before you can stop yourself, you ask, “Why do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Pretend not to care about me half the time, and then get all soft when something is bothering me. Half the time, I can’t tell if you hate me. You did it on this last mission, and you’re doing it now. I’d rather you be mean to me all the time than do…whatever this is,” you ramble. You can feel yourself grinding your teeth as he considers you.

“I don’t hate you,” he says, then takes a seat on your couch, making himself comfortable. “I’ve never hated you,”

You frown more, if that’s even possible. “Then why do you act like you do?”

He shrugs. “Easier that way, I guess,”

Your shoulders deflate and you settle in beside him on the couch. You feel suddenly calmer being next to him. He warms your bones and eases your tension, and for a moment, you hate him for it. You hate that he’s suddenly able to chase away your darkest parts, whether he knows it or not. It almost makes you angry.

“Get some rest,” he says, voice low. You nod, eyelids already slipping closed. Your head falls onto his shoulder.

“Will you stay?” you ask.

After a moment, he says, “Of course,”

#m writes #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #x reader #my fics #leon kennedy #resident evil fanfic #fanfic

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rockrosethistle · 11 months ago

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"Ted Spankoffski is so tragic" yes yes I agree with you but you know who we don't talk about enough?

The man, the myth, the legend, Ethan Green.

Everyone loves to talk about how much they love him, but you are all forgetting that he is heartbreaking.

So first of all, he loves Lex. Incredibly devoted. And you're thinking, "well obviously he loves his girlfriend?" But I am not exaggerating when I say nearly every decision this man makes is for the sake of making her happy.

He cares about her opinion of him. He cares about how she's feeling. Ethan literally has more emotional intelligence as a 19-20 year old than most grown men do. He was going to propose!

And then his relationship with Hannah. At the ripe old age of 19, Ethan steps into a fatherly role for his girlfriend's kid sister, and he fucking kills it. If he is devoted to Lex, he's protective of Hannah. He dies trying to fight off people that want to hurt her.

The first time we see him in Yellowjacket, he's trying to cheer Hannah up after her shop class accident. On Hannah's birthday, he takes her out to Pizza Pete's even though he doesn't have the money to spare. She is a priority to him. He even wears a little birthday celebration crown.

On top of that, he's a decent guy. Yes, he's not above threatening people or stealing, but his heart is always in the right place when he does it. He puts the effort into his relationship. He is shown apologizing when he fucks up and recognizing his mistakes. He saves Lex and Hannah's life's at the end of Yellowjacket.

Great, right? No. Not great. The narrative is consistently ruining his life.

He dies in Black Friday. Dies in a brutal way while being ambushed for a doll that he didn't have. He actually dies for nothing. And his very last words are "I'll get you to California, Lex. That way you don't gotta cry so much no more." Was Lex in the room? No. He was hallucinating her. Fucking devastating.

And then, his face gets worn by a dark god to torment Hannah. Hannah, one of the people he cared most about, is being toyed with by something wearing Ethan's face. You just know he's watching in the afterlife feeling utterly powerless.

There are timelines where Ethan and Lex accept larger jail sentences so that Hannah isn't left alone. He is not related to Hannah, or Lex. He has no real obligation to do that. He chooses to, for Hannah's sake. And has to spend years in jail.

In Yellowjacket, after all they've been through, after he bought the damn ring, the girls just leave him behind. He gets broken up with via a note while they escape to California. And you know it's for the better, you know it's for his own safety, but it still hurts.

There was even supposed to be a Nightmare Time episode where he comes back from the dead Pet-Cemetery style, murders Hannah, and then is tortured for eternity?? But then the Langs were like "No, actually, everyone would hate this." and thank God because Ethan does not need that on his plate.

Look at this. "We caught you a poki-man." He's too good I miss him so much.

This poor guy does nothing wrong and is constantly being punished. I need in my bones to have a universe where he marries Lex and they get custody of Hannah.

#ethan green #black friday musical #nightmare time #nmt #nmt2 #starkid #hatchetfield #hatchetverse #joey richter #robert manion #lex foster #hannah foster #long post #rant #essay

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mae-falling-in-may · 2 years ago

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My Little Flower | The Darkling x Fem!Reader

I wrote this just after finishing the season 2 of Shadow And Bone, it broke me so like it's a bit of a comfort fic I guess ? Just the way Aleksander was possessive of Alina made me feel things and I'm sorry about this... just a few heads up, I'm no Alina hater (I love her) I just needed to add a bit of tension in this, and also this is the first time I fully write smut AND that I post it on the internet. I'm very self conscious about smut because huh, I'm not the best writer in the world and english is not my first language. I still do hope you'll like it, I had fun writing it !!

Pairing : The Darkling x Fem!Reader

Warnings : very light spoilers, SMUT, jealous reader, kinda possessive!dark!aleksander ? established relationship, claiming, oral sex (f receiving) unprotected sex (protect urselves pls), p in v sex, dom/sub dynamics, creampie, 18+ only MINORS DNI!!!

Summary : Aleksander comes back from the dead, you feel your heart drop when you see him, darker than ever, the scars on his face making you feel weak. He's determined to get the sun summoner, and you're scared that he's drifting from you, but he will show you who you belong to.

Words : 3k

He came back. The one who held you with just one finger, the one who could get you on your knees just with one word. General Kirigan, your General. Hearing what happened in the Fold with the sun summoner and him, broke you. Hell, you didn't know if what happened between you two meant something to him, but you would do anything to make him feel at least something.

My little flower he called you, away from all curious glances. That was the nickname he gave to you, and you held it. You answered it, maybe he called you to have you by his side forever, only for his plans, maybe it was just all an act, but heck, you fell deeply. You fell so deep that nothing would ever make you betray him. You wanted to be with him until you'll be killed in the field, or even just died at his own hands. Whether it was love or a crazy obsession, seeing him alive made your heart much lighter than it was before. You clenched your fists, dangerously planting your nails in your own flesh to keep you from running to him.

His silhouette, his voice, his dark gaze, and his newfound scars, everything about him made your breath hitch. All you could think of right now while he was walking towards other grishas and you, were absolutely disgusting thoughts about how you would go under him to help him relieve himself. You unconsciously held your breath while he was walking towards you. He approached dangerously, all of your body was calling you to be at his service. You gasped for air when he spoke to you.

"My little flower." He whispered, really close to your face so no one could hear him talk. "I'm glad that my most precious Grisha is here."

You didn't manage to form a proper sentence, you were just stuttering words, and Aleksander saw how you were so emotional. You could only whisper the words: "You're alive.", before bursting into tears. He gently took you into his arms and shushed you.

"It's okay, little flower. I am back, and I'll need you more than anything for what we'll accomplish. Come and join me after dinner please ?" You could only nod while letting your tears drop freely.

"I need the Little Saint, you need to locate her, quickly, I want every information you have on her or anyone who's with her, you hear me ?" The tension in the room was heavy, all you could do with your fellow Grishas was to answer "Yes, General." You all waited for him to dismiss every one of you, and with a flick of his hands, he did. They left the room, as you stayed and waited for anything that he could ask you to do. Anything. You heard him shift into his armchair, and when you let yourself stare at him, your mind raced.

She was the one that caused all of this, seeing your General in this state made your heart clench. If only she listened to him, or you had been her, your General wouldn't be suffering like that. A deep cough startled you and your gaze got on Aleksander again, he was sick. You rushed towards him, obviously worried. You kneeled before him, putting a hand on his back and the other one on his knee.

"My General, are you unwell? What happened there ?" The shakiness of your voice betrayed you.

"Flower." He whispered. "I… It's my new power. The nichevo'ya, they're shadow creatures. They defend me when I'm in danger." He locked his eyes into yours, dark and full of fatigue. You felt him drifting off from you. An explosive wave of emotions passed through you when he looked at you. Was it worry? Hatred for the Sun Summoner? Jealousy? Or just everything that you felt for the General was crashing down deep into your being. You gulped, your mind going from one worry to another, then you asked him quietly.

"Is there anything I can do, my General ?" He lowered his head and waited a bit before answering. "I fear that I do not have a solution for my state right now, flower. I just need… The Sun Summoner, Alina…" He stopped himself, what for? You didn't know, but everything collapsed around you. He didn't need you, the nickname he gave you meant nothing. All you could do was make him feel a bit better about this. You'll bring him back Alina, you swore on your life that you'll do anything for him right? Then you'll do it, even though it will hurt more than you admitted.

You stood up, he looked at you, confusion and worry in his eyes. You tried to compose yourself and explained.

"I swore on my life that I'll do anything for you, General, if you want the Sun Summoner, I'll bring her back to you, even if I have to die trying to." You waited for an answer, an approval, anything, he stayed silent. You finally turned to leave the room, the sound of your steps resonating on the walls. You didn't want to leave, you wanted to stay, but hell seeing him like that hurt. You were about to open the door and leave when he stopped you with his voice.

"Flower. Please." You heard him stand up, and slow steps coming towards you. "You're the only one that can help me right now. Are you rejecting me? Your General ?" You felt tears building up again, you didn't know how you could tell him how you feel, having him obsessing over his Little Saint was so painful. But did you really have your right to speak up about it? You were just a Grisha, like any other Grisha here, you weren't her, yet you wanted to be her. You faced him back, letting your tears drop freely over your cheeks.

"How could I reject you when I'm not even yours, General? I know you need her, and I know I'll never be her, I've accepted it. Let me accomplish this for you, my General." You sounded hurt, exhausted, and deeply in love. He was dangerously approaching you by now, and for the first time in months, or hell maybe even years, he spoke your name. Not calling you Flower, like he loved to, just your name. He whispered it, and it felt so good on his lips. He cupped your face with his hand softly making you look at him, he seemed hurt.

"You don't understand. Yes, she is the Sun Summoner, and yes, I need her for every reason I already told you. But, what she is not, and will never be, is my precious little Flower. And you know who this is right? You, you belong to me, and I belong to you. I'll never deny that I wished you were the Sun Summoner, so we could accomplish everything together." Even with this, you couldn't believe him, your mind repeated to you that you meant nothing to him and that you weren't her. Even with his hand on your cheek, you couldn't let yourself breathe for him.

"Please, General, don't make me hope for something that I'm unworthy of." Something seemed to snap inside him when he heard the word "unworthy". He abruptly put his arm around your waist and pushed your body towards him with his hand on your back. The hurt gaze he wore before turned into something different, into something frightening.

"Do not use this word to qualify yourself, my flower. You are way more than that. You're my most precious Grisha, my most precious ally, and my dear, dear, friend." His words were spilled like tasty poison, so dangerous but yet, so good. You couldn't help but whimper under his touch. You knew how Aleksander could be possessive, but you simply refused to let yourself believe you were in his catalog.

Hearing you whimper satisfied him, he let a small smile creep on his face, and he slowly buried his face into your neck. "If you don't believe my words maybe I'll need to show you who you belong to, flower." He kissed your neck, making a path towards your jaw, then your lips. He made sure to dry your tears before kissing you, you sighed into him, your arms making their way to his shoulders. You felt helpless whenever he touched you like this, thinking of nothing more but to please him right now, in this room.

He broke the kiss that left you both breathless, he took a moment to look at you, your eyes, your face, lips, jaw, and neck, and he felt you burning for him. He loves the hold that he had on you. "To bed, without your clothes, please." Even if he would love ripping out your kefta from your body, to expose all of yourself to him, he couldn't, he already had to deal with the million layers of his outfit. So he just followed you to the bed, while you were removing your boots, then your kefta, and then everything that went under it. He was getting rid of his clothing too, but getting distracted by how beautiful you looked for him, his hands stopped doing what he originally wanted to do, and your voice interrupted the silence.

"Do you need help, General ?" You were almost fully naked in front of him, a wave of arousal went through his body, making wearing pants uncomfortable. He nodded at you first, then when you were getting rid of his first few layers of clothes he spoke again.

"Please flower, tonight, only call me by my name. Can you do that ?" You eagerly nodded while you were getting rid of his final upper layer, revealing his scarred torso to you. You let your fingers trail on some of them, wanting to kiss every bit of scars he had on his body. He smiled, loving your admiration and worship, he missed it. He took your wrists in his hand and smiled down at you.

"I know how much you love to worship me, flower, but not yet, you'll do it when I pump my cock deep inside of you. Right now I want to have you at my mercy and show you who this beautiful body belongs to. You hear me ?" You nodded, unable to form more than one word because of his power over you.

"Words, flower." He removed the last bit of clothes that kept you from being naked, exposing you to him. You stuttered "Yes, I understand Aleksander.", that seemed to please him a lot. He pushed you onto the bed, making his way on top of you. He still had his pants on, enjoying the friction of the fabric when his cock was getting bigger with arousal.

"This time it will be me who worships you. I'm going to taste you and make you scream." You whimpered, while he was kissing your neck, making his way painfully slowly toward your breasts. He kissed them softly before trailing down to your stomach, then your hips. He guided you to open your legs for him and found his hands gripping the back of your thighs. He kissed the inside of your thigh before finally making his way to your perfect already wet cunt. You were this wet since the intense kiss you shared earlier, and the more you felt his touch, the more you would be needy for him.

He first lapped your pussy, to take a taste out of it, then completely buried his face into it. You weren't ready, it's been so long since you felt any kind of pleasure down there, you gasped and moaned, already on the verge of screaming. And he was just getting started? You knew you were about to break under him. The obscene noises of him tasting all of you made your head spin. He was eating you out like he wouldn't be able to do it after. The tip of his nose was making friction with your clit, and his tongue inside of you. He groaned under you, you were delicious, and he would not get over how delicious you tasted.

Your moans and the noises he made by tasting you filled the entire room. He was almost tongue-fucking you as you felt your release build-up. You struggled to align proper sentences, just letting out the same words, "Saints, please, Aleksander". He loved how his name sounded on your lips when you were about to come for him, but he would be sure to make you scream it.

"I'm going to make you cum for me, flower. I want you to scream my name when you do. I don't care if anyone hears, they'll just know who you belong to. You're mine, flower."

He then sucked on your clit and took two fingers to pump them inside of you. You screamed at the newfound sensation of his fingers, and your back arched while you were begging for a release. You were so desperate for him and it made his cock ache under the layer of his pants. He wanted to stop right here and bury himself inside of you just to feel you come around him. He sucked your clit even harder and teased your folds with his fingers. His other hand squeezed your thigh as he felt you crumble under his touch. He knew you were close, you were already losing your mind, and the moans you let out were incoherent at this point.

“I know you’re close, flower, cum for me.” You screamed his name while hanging onto the bed sheets. The heat of your orgasm flew all over your body, your back arched and your legs were trembling. The delicious feeling of your release was overwhelming, you soaked Aleksander’s face. He pulled out his fingers slowly and kissed one last time your clit, then your cunt. He straightened up so you could see his face better, his hair was a mess and he was panting. He crushed his lips onto yours hungrily, making you taste the mix of your juices and his spit. You moaned against him, your hands finding their way to his groin. You stroked the length of his cock through the fabric. You wished he was fully naked right now, so you could feel him completely. He hummed into your lips and helped you get rid of his pants.

He broke the kiss to fully remove his clothes, which was a relief to both of you. He felt uncomfortable with the hard-on he had since he had first kissed you. And you, you wanted to please him, to have the taste of his cock on your tongue, to suck him so good so he could not think about anything else but you. But you knew it wasn't part of the plan today. You saw his cock already so hard and ready to be buried inside you. You bit your lip at the thought of it, you haven't had anyone since he left for the Fold with Alina, and god you missed him.

He went back once he was fully naked to kiss the corner of your lips. "I know what's on your mind, flower. You missed me, haven't you ?" He continued to kiss your cheek, your jaw, and your neck while placing himself between your legs. You felt him lightly stroke the tip of his cock on the opening of your pussy which made you moan. "Oh, Saints, yes I've missed you Aleksander." You felt him smile on your neck while caressing your body until his hands found your hips. He faced you once again and looked at you fondly with his dark eyes.

He licked his lips, seeing you desperate for him, he knew you were about to beg for him to fuck you. He didn't even wait for you to say a word that he pumped into you. The feeling and the heat of his cock were oddly overwhelming, and you felt you could cum right here. "I'm gonna fuck you so good, my flower." You couldn't help but moan a please, to indicate that you needed him to move. He smiled and started to thrust into you painfully slowly.

The rhythm he gave was making you feel every inch of his heat inside of you, you were almost trembling. But you wanted more, you begged once again and put your arms around his shoulders. "Please, Aleksander, I need more." Hearing his name falling through your lips while you were begging felt so good. He let out a curse and started to move into you harder and faster. Both of you loved being in each other's arms so you were on the verge of losing your minds.

The room was filled with your moans, the sound of both your skin slapping on each other, Aleksander's light panting while he was thrusting into you, and the obscene wet sounds of his cock going in and out of your soaked cunt. You wanted this moment to last forever, to have Aleksander all for yourself. The sound he made while fucking you was pushing you closer and closer to your release, and he felt it too. "Flower come on my cock with me please ?" You could only nod, overwhelmed by these sensations.

"I want to fill you up, love, can I ?" It was the first time he called you that, you couldn't even process the name you just wanted the both of you to cum. You almost screamed "Yes, please Aleksander.", you were so loud for him, so good to him, you'd never let him go.

The wave of your orgasm reached you when his thrusts became erratic. Your cunt clenched around him as he finally got the release you seek. You felt his hot seed splashing into you, while he reached to kiss you again while filling you completely. You moaned against his mouth, enjoying everything he gave you.

"You're mine, my little flower, mine only."

#shadow and bone x reader #shadow and bone imagine #reader insert #the darkling x reader #the darkling #general kirigan #general kirigan x reader #aleksander kirigan #aleksander morozova x reader #aleksander morozova #the darkling smut #ben barnes x reader #ben barnes

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whiskeynwriting · 10 months ago

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When You Say My Name

Simon “Ghost” Riley x Female Reader

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Word Count: 5.2k

Warnings: 18+ (minors DNI)

Size kink, mask kink, dirty talk, open-ish relationship, kinda cheating?, very brief mention of oral sex (f receiving), semi-public sex, unprotected vaginal sex, alcohol consumption

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A/N: Disclaimer - this is written at the point in time before Graves’ betrayal of 141. Also, I hate that bastard. Also also, Ty to @thesleepingmusicneek for beta reading 🥰

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Simon “Ghost” Riley Masterlist

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There once was a time where you were treated that way, like the center of attention, the only girl in the world. He’d keep you close, take you out, buy you drinks and gifts and truly, whatever you wanted. His attention was yours and there was no other woman in the world that could compete with it. Everything you could hope to hear, he’d tell you - you’re perfect, I love you, you’re mine. That was, until about a month ago. Now, all of those privileges have been handed off to whatever woman he deems fit for the night. But that was only supposed to be while he was on leave, not while he was home, and most certainly not in front of your goddamn face.

Easily, tears sting your eyes and a jealous lump forms heavily in your throat. Your veins feel like ice and unpleasant embarrassment creeps through your bones. Out of mere spite, you watch them, heart pounding when you hear Graves greet her with, hey doll, alongside a hug and kiss on the cheek. You thought that was only your nickname; he’d never called another woman that, not in the year you’ve been together. Or at least, that’s what you thought.

Phil told you he’d met this woman on his last deployment, and that told you everything you needed to know. You’d assumed with him coming home, you’d spend the evening together, not out at some shitty bar. Still, you came to see him, even though he was acting like he’d rather do anything else than see you. Even off the plane, he greeted you with a simple smile, a half-hug. The only man that approached you with genuine excitement, was Simon.

The hug Ghost gave you lifted your feet from the ground, tight and firm and full of happiness. He’s become a rather close friend as of late; for some reason, you find him easy to talk to. You met when Shadow Company joined 141 on their latest missions, no more than a few months ago now. And since then, you’ve managed to greet each other after every mission, making sure to send the other off when the next trip came around, too. And in between those occasions, Phil would often find the two of you on base together, usually in one of the common rooms. You’d be eating together, or playing pool, sometimes cards. Friendship was the word you often used, but Graves never fully bought it. Slowly but surely, jealousy crept up inside him, and you were more than aware of it.

Right now, though, that nasty, green emotion is consuming you. Your blood boils while you watch him continue to flirt, keeping an arm around her back and a hand securely on her hip. Graves buys her a shot, and then a drink, things he didn’t do for you when you joined him at the bar all but fifteen minutes ago. But then they’re sitting down together and she’s running her hand up his thigh and Christ, you feel like you’re going to be sick. As soon as he approached her, you retreated to the back of the pub, finding the farthest, darkest booth to sulk in. And still, you watch them, torturing yourself.

“All by yourself back here?”

“Fuck,” Jolting, your head snaps up, eyes falling on the bulky figure that is Simon Riley. “Hey, I… yeah.”

“Why’s that?” Casually, he makes himself comfortable, taking the seat across from you with a light sigh. It was something you bonded over, being loners. This type of scene wasn’t his thing, so of course, he came and found you.

Lifting both hands, he sets two glasses on the table, pushing one toward you. “For me?” You ask with a humorous smile, and he nods.

“That fruity thing you like.” Ghost responds before pulling up the edge of his mask to nurse his bourbon. And although you’re in no mood for company, his presence is comforting. Honestly, there’s no one else you’d rather have join you. “Why’re you alone, sweetheart?”

Sweetheart, a name that fell from his lips often. But only for you. Something Graves never liked.

The sentiment behind the name fills you with warmth, alongside the fact that he remembered your drink order. His entire presence prompts a new brew of emotions to swirl inside of you, clashing incredibly with the negativity brought on by Phil.

“Didn’t wanna see any more of that.” Jerking your head in Phil’s direction, you sigh, rolling your eyes.

“Yeah, I, uh…” Ghost looks over as well, taking in the situation. “I’d consider that cheating, if it were me.” He’s honest, he always is.

A huff of annoyance leaves your lips; his comment only stirs the embers that were once settling in your gut. “Yeah, well, lucky for him it’s not.”

“What?” Simon scoffs, turning back toward you. You’re not able to see his expressions, not with that balaclava in the way. In fact, you can hardly see any of his features. With his black hood pulled up, that mask on and even those boney gloves covering his fingers, he’s quite hidden. Something you’ve always found alluring about him.

“Yeah…”

“Pardon my prodding, but…” Leaning in, Simon scoffs once again, a type of chuckle bouncing from his lips. “What kind of sense is that?”

Since the very first day you met, Simon had an interest in you. He thought you were gorgeous; a cute, sexy little thing that he wanted to keep close to him. That, on top of his general dislike for Graves, made it easy for him to disapprove of your relationship. And he wasn’t ever too subtle about it, either.

One big, dramatic sigh leaves your mouth, your head tilting back against the booth. “It’s complicated.”

He just shrugs. “Fill me in.” Leaning back, he takes another sip from his glass, watching the way your eyes follow his movements. Ghost allows you to take in this small sight, his scarred skin, his growing stubble, the view not many are given. Intriguing. “Unless, you’d rather I just go…”

“No.” Your response is instant. “No, I don’t want you to go. I just… I don’t want you to think badly of him.”

“By the looks of it, he doesn’t seem to care what anyone thinks of him.” And you figure, he’s right. Phil isn’t exactly being secretive about this.

“He, well… he asked me for a, um… an open… relationship.” Ghost simply hums, a thoughtful noise as he nods. “He asked for it about a month ago.”

An open relationship, he thinks. Does that mean… she can sleep with other people, too?

“And you agreed to that?”

Another big sigh. “Yeah.”

“But you didn’t want to?” It’s almost like Simon is laying this out for you, trying to get you to see that Graves is just using you. Clearly, this arrangement isn’t fair.

“I… ugh. Yeah. I just didn’t want to cut things off completely, but… it looks like I should’ve just taken the hit. Would’ve been a hell of a lot easier than this.”

“He’s been with other women?” Ghost clarifies, trying to get the full picture. It baffles him, honestly. How could one man be so disloyal? And to you, of all people?

“Yep, quite a few. He tells me almost every time. Claims the honesty is good.”

Simon laughs at this. “Or he’s just clearing his conscience.”

“Exactly.”

A small lull wafts through your conversation, and in this pause, Simon knows what he wants to say. He knows what he wants to ask and absolutely has the balls to ask it. But is it the right time? Would you find his prodding offensive? Genuinely, he does cherish your friendship, but he’s wondering if this is his chance to make it something more.

“And have you?” Simon finally asks, the words coming out gently.

“Hm?”

“Been with anyone?”

The question isn’t exactly shocking. It’s no secret that Simon is interested in you, and with the way the conversation is going, it was only a matter of time before he asked.

“No, it didn’t interest me. I mean, not at first, anyway.” You’re speaking so openly that you don’t even register that you’ve said it before it leaves your mouth. And when it does, your face runs hot, wondering if he caught on to your wording.

“At first?” Of course he caught onto it. Would she be open to it? He wonders enthusiastically, Do I really have a chance of this going my way?

“Yeah, but I’m starting to think…” Fuck it. “Why not?” A dry laugh comes from your throat, rolling your eyes. “Maybe I should just start moving on.”

With excitement stirring inside him, Simon tries his best to suppress the expression on his still-exposed lips, which are now tilting upward into a mischievous grin. This is just what he wants to hear. And now that you’ve given him somewhat of an opening, he thinks he’ll shoot his shot. “Well… you know I’m always here for you.”

“Yeah?” Laughing at his comment, you look up. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Would he… would he really do this?

With a wicked smile, Simon squints his eyes at you. Hand wrapped firmly around his glass, those thick fingers slide over the condensation, gaze never parting from your own. “I think you know what it means.”

All too often, all too much, these sinful thoughts have crossed his mind. He’s indulged in them, fantasizing about you every time he got the chance. Thinking about how your perfect ass would look bouncing back against him, lubed up with your velvety heat swallowing him whole. Those pretty lips, what would they look like with your cheeks bulging, throat desperately trying to accommodate him? The way you sway your hips makes him want to pin you down, shove himself inside just to watch his dick press against your belly.

Ghost’s offer, or what seems to be an offer, is shocking to you. Finally, you think; a blatant display of his interest. You were starting to think he’d never make a move.

With one last glance over at Phil, you make an easy decision. Seeing him so blatantly disregard not only you, but your entire relationship, has you fuming. And feeling this much pain makes you want to hurt him back. What better way to do that than with Simon? The same man Graves has been jealous of, the same man you’ve wanted for months.

With a flirtatious smirk, you rest your elbows on the table, leaning your weight onto them. The circumstance has butterflies swarming your stomach, but there isn’t a single ounce of hesitancy inside. Just pure, simple excitement.

“Why don’t you spell it out for me?” Now, you need to get the full picture. The last thing you want is to make an even bigger fool of yourself tonight by assuming things.

“I want you.” Simon returns easily. “And you know it, too.”

Playing coy, you shrug, sitting back in your seat. “I don’t know anything. You’ve never made a move.” And your teasing prompts a deep breath from him.

“Well, if I knew about this situation a little sooner, I might’ve.” Eyeing you up and down, Simon’s gaze is slow, saturating your body with his attention. “The late nights we’ve had, those moments on the couch, those sweet hugs every time I come home…”

“I like seeing you come home.” It’s hard to play dumb when you so desperately want him too.

“I wanna come home to you.”

Finally, he’s won, he’s gotten in the last word. Because now, you’re simply stunned. Words escape you, your lips parting in shock. From the way he’s phrasing it, Simon isn’t looking for a simple hookup. He’s interested in you.

“I’ll tell you what,” Ghost then offers, downing the rest of his drink. “I’m gonna head out for a smoke. Whether or not you choose to follow me, is your choice.”

Standing, he steps toward the door, only a few feet from where you’re both seated in the back. But before he leaves, he glances down at you, gently tapping your chin with his thumb. “You know what I want.”

He’s giving you a chance to think this over, to really decide what you want. Because to him, this means more than sex, and you know that.

“Didn’t even have a chance to light a cig.” Simon chuckles, watching you approach him through the dark.

When you find him, he’s leaning up against the bar’s outer wall, cigarette in hand. And when he leans upright, standing to his full height again, you’re mesmerized. Alluring doesn’t do this man justice.

With a small sigh, Ghost watches you step into his space, one gloved hand lifting to your face. He cups it then, swipes his thumb over the bone of your cheek. And his touch feels invigorating on your skin.

“You gonna tell me what you want?”

Offering a small nod, you keep his gaze, something he likes. “You.”

And this time, it’s a gravely sigh, a firm breath as he holds your face with both hands. Easily, smoothly, he’s bringing himself down to you, watching as you rise to the tips of your toes to meet him. You grab onto his forearms, feeling his breath against your face, his lips against your own. And it’s everything you imagined it would be. His kiss is firm and determined; he tastes like betrayal and excitement, like an antidote mixed with poison.

Already, he’s shoving his tongue past your lips and into your mouth, moaning quietly when you reciprocate the action. He doesn’t have an ounce of restraint in him, not anymore, not when you’re acting like this. The eagerness he exudes is so easily returned, like the two of you have been waiting for this moment. And honestly, you don’t know why you haven’t thought about this before. You’re in an open relationship and you haven’t even considered fucking Ghost?

Soft groans vibrate against your mouth before he’s whispering, “C’mere.”

To your delight, he pulls you further in, dropping his hands from your face to your waist. Your height difference prompts him to dive even further down, mouthing at you with an unexpected amount of desire. It fills your insides with excitement, with lust, your nerves sizzling as you continue to chase his touch. And on his end, Simon can barely catch his fucking breath. He’s been waiting for this, fucking dreaming of this. Being this close to you has his heart pounding, his adrenaline rushing.

Naturally, your hands move from his arms to his neck, holding him in the way you’ve been wanting to for so many months. And you think now, Graves finally has something to be jealous of.

“You want me?” Simon asks again, smile growing against your lips. Boldly, those broad palms find your ass, squeezing harshly.

There hasn’t been a single goddamn day in your relationship with Graves where you felt this good, this desired, this genuinely wanted. The way Simon kisses you is dizzying and he tastes like fucking nirvana. Everything about this man is a turn on, from his strength and power to the raw masculinity you so obviously drool over. You’ve longed for this, dreamt about this, what it would feel like to kiss him, touch him, fuck him.

“Yes, yeah.” Your nod is rapid, fingers petting along that sharp jawline.

“I want you; I want you, sweetheart.” He’s mumbling against your lips, moaning wantonly when your tongue makes its way into his mouth. Eagerly, he returns the sentiment, running the wet muscle over your own in slow, heated strokes. “I want you now.”

Regardless of his wording, you don’t expect him to pull you back the way he does, yanking you into the bar’s side alley. Pushing you into the cold, brick wall, Simon presses himself to your back, whispering gruffly into your ear, “That too rough for you?”

Already, he’s rubbing himself against your ass, grinding himself over your taught jeans and wrapping both arms around your belly. Those sinfully sweet lips then find a home on your neck, along your jaw. Everything is moving so fast that it has your heart racing, blood rushing, arousal flooding your system and burning hot between your legs.

Before you can respond, he’s reaching up with both hands, fondling you over your shirt. And the unexpected action has a shiver running throughout the entirety of your body, feeling those broad palms fist your breasts, running his thumbs over the nipples, groping them with overt enthusiasm.

“Perfect fucking tits…”

“No,” Meeting his actions, you soon form a rhythm, swaying your hips back against him. “I like, like when you’re rough.” It’s almost embarrassing, the way you stutter. But you can’t find it in you to care, not when he groans with approval against the base of your neck.

Even through his jeans, you can feel him, hanging thick and heavy between his legs. Continually, he ruts his crotch against your ass, holding you close while breathing humid breaths down your neck and back.

“Fuck… you already feel so fucking good.”

“Yeah?” Ghost chuckles, grabbing onto your hips. “I can make you feel better.”

“Please.” It’s taking everything in you to not reach behind and pull off his mask, to not run your fingers through his hair and tug on the strands.

“Here?” He clarifies, more than willing. And you’ve never done anything close to this but you’ve also never been more excited in your entire goddamn life.

“Yeah,” Nodding, you gulp, feeling dizzy from his affection. “Yes, baby.”

Drunk on him and maybe your few drinks, you’re still sober enough to know you won’t regret any of this. Whether it’s a one-time thing or the start of something more, you won’t regret this.

“Mm…” Using both hands, he cups you, kneading the covered flesh of your backside with slow, firm grabs. He’s eyed you up and down so many times before tonight, imagining what it’d be like to grab you like this. But even through his unwavering lust, he has to be honest. “Haven’t got a condom, love.” It comes out as a mumble, the only time you’ve ever heard Ghost become hesitant.

“I didn’t want one.” It comes alongside a small laugh, a cheeky grin he can just barely see.

Instantly, he’s releasing a breath, moving spit-slick lips to your cheek for a quick kiss. “Perfect girl.” With a pleasant smile of his own, he drops his chin to your shoulder, fingers moving to undo your jeans. And the small ounce of praise has your insides flaming. “My girl.”

His, his.

Keeping his chin against your shoulder, he glances down, sighing when he pushes your jeans past the swell of your backside. Another squeeze, eyes glued to the sight of your bare skin, just as soft and smooth as he’d always imagined. Briefly, he wants to drop to his knees, kiss the sweet flesh he’s only gotten small teases of, bite into it, mark it. But he doesn’t have time for that, not when you’re out in public like this.

Unzipping his fly and popping the button on his pants is quick work, and though the lull is brief, your anticipation continues to grow evermore. You can feel the moment he’s free, resting himself between your cheeks. He’s hot to the touch, and noticeably throbbing.

“Baby…” Slowly, he slides, up and down between your cheeks. A wet trail quickly forms, his prespend smearing across your lower back.

“You want me?” He says it while slithering a hand around to your front, hooking two fingers into your panties so he can pull them down. Forgoing his aggressive nature for this moment, for you, two fingers then find your throbbing nerves, his touch sweet and delicate.

“Yes.”

“Need you to say it, love.” His entire body is pressed against your back, keeping you warm and safe. “Need you to tell me.”

Thick fingers toy with your entrance, dipping inside to get a small taste of your wetness, and it feels like fireworks are going off inside your stomach. He then drags both digits up to your clit, circling it while kissing your neck.

“I want you,” Lolling your head back onto his shoulder, you’re surprised at how quickly he then moves. Instantly, he’s retracting his hand and pumping himself against your ass, using the other to spread you open.

“Say it again.” Ghost requests, pressing himself against your thin skin, your pink lips.

“I want you.”

With his swollen tip spreading you open from behind, he pushes forward, groaning openly at your welcoming warmth. Every inch is intimidating, the push of his hips forcing you to accommodate him. Which is easy, especially when he licks up your neck, kissing your jawline and cheek. It’s sloppy, the way he mouths at you, the passion he gives you.

“Simon,” Both palms help to steady yourself against the wall as he continues, shoving himself inside inch by devastating inch. Christ, you can’t even imagine what it’d be like to have him in your mouth.

“Fucking hell,” A forced breath, like the wind had just been knocked from his lungs. It’s only released when he’s entirely inside, pelvis flush with your ass. “Christ, love when you say my name.”

Both of those strong arms then wrap themselves around your center, keeping you entirely against him. Almost naturally, you’re dropping a hand, cupping the space between your legs. You can’t help it, you just want to feel him, your fingertips caressing his base, his scrotum. And that has him losing his goddamn mind, throbbing against your walls in return. Nosing gently over your head, he groans - hums, the simple action showing him just how much you adore this.

Running a hand down your outer thigh, Ghost begins to move, his actions slow but firm. And every drag lights your insides on fire; it’s such an adrenaline rush to finally have him inside.

“How can that bastard ignore you like that?” Simon mumbles, more so to himself than anything else. “Look so fucking sexy in this… perfect body, in these tight little jeans.”

“Baby…” His thrusts are becoming quicker, harder, working himself up to the breaking point that’s soon to come. But not too fast, he wants to make this last.

“Been wanting to feel you since Graves brought you to base.” Ghost suddenly admits, the smack of his pelvis against your skin beginning to radiate into the night.

The words he’s using are truly a force to be reckoned with, every single syllable melting you to absolute putty at his feet. He sounds so serious and genuine, so dominant, so possessive. This is everything you’ve wanted.

Breathless, you look back at him, an adoring smirk crossing your face. “Really?”

“Fuck, yes.” Nipping aggressively at your neck, he moans, Ghost fucking moans.

“You should’ve said something earlier then.”

And at that comment, you think back to Phil. Should you really be doing this? You know it will upset him; but whether or not he has a right to be upset has yet to be determined.

“Yeah? Would you have chosen me instead?” Bringing you back to the present is that gravelly voice, deep and beautifully accented.

Yeah… fuck Graves, and fuck that relationship.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?” Simon asks again, pleasantly surprised by your answer.

“Fuck yes.” Reaching back, you find his head, hand sliding down the nape of his neck. You need to hold onto him, somehow, you need to feel more of him.

Honestly, you would have. And you don’t care if that makes you a shitty person or a shitty girlfriend; you gave your all to Phil and he took it for granted.

“You really mean that, sweetheart?”

“Yes, baby. I’m so happy you want me.” Forcing yourself back against him, you bounce off his pelvis, driving him deeper inside.

“Christ,” Dropping his head, his face falls to your bare shoulder, mouthing at you again and again.

Laughing, you chastise him gently. “You’re gonna leave a mark.”

“Want to.” Comes his returned mumble, hands securing themselves to your hips. “Fuck.”

It’s like he can’t even see straight; feeling the gorgeous woman that you are rolling your hips back against him. Asking for more, pulling him in for more.

In the middle of the night, half naked in a fucking backalley, you feel so incredibly exposed; but Ghost makes it feel like you’ve been doing this together all your lives. He touches you like he knows you, like he’s done it a million times. It’s comforting, his presence exuding a warm sense of safety.

Rolling your hips backward, your brows furrow, soft moans continuing to escape you. Images of Simon’s fully naked body suddenly begin to run rampant in your mind, wishing so desperately to experience more of him. His muscles and scars, the light blonde hair leading down to his pelvis, his broad back and wide hands. You want to touch every inch of him, hold him, feel him.

Christ, did you pick the wrong man when you met them. Simon feels so incredibly different than Graves; veinier, thicker. Every inch forces you open, spreads your legs just a bit wider, makes your whines just a little bit higher. It hurts so good and you can’t help but cry out for him.

“Oh… I love that.” Simon admits, slowing to a harsh grind against your ass.

“Baby,”

“You like how that feels?” Pulling out only about an inch or so, he shoves himself back in, harsh but not aggressive.

Simon’s body reacts so openly to your own, his lungs shivering with every breath just from the feeling, the sensation of your warmth. And every movement creates a delicious force of friction between your bodies, heat building, arousal peaking.

“Give me control,” He rumbles deeply into your ear, lips briefly brushing by. “Let me show you how good it can be.”

You can smell the bourbon on his breath, can feel the way he grabs for your hips and ass. And at that moment, you fully give in, halting your sultry motions and letting him do whatever the fuck he wants.

“Keep holding onto me like that,” He requests, feeling your nails dig into the skin of his neck.

“Yeah?”

“Fuck, it turns me on.”

“Simon, fuck I, I can’t…”

“Can't what, sweetheart?” He’s kissing all over your face, your cheek and chin and jaw, sloppy movements to match his increasingly erratic thrusts.

“Can’t believe I didn’t choose you.”

And that shoots a surge of energy through his bones, his thrusts now the product of his unwavering strength. It forces you to shriek, to cry out for him and release the most beautifully whorish sound Simon’s ever heard in his entire life. He fucks into you relentlessly, one arm sliding up to grope your chest again.

“We’re not being very subtle.” Choking out the words, you huff, feeling him punch against your most delicate spot.

“Don’t give a damn.” Comes his mumbled response, mouthing at your neck. “You’re mine, and I want Graves to see.”

“Really, baby?” Your breaths are rapid and heavy, lightheaded from everything you’re experiencing.

“Unless you tell me no, unless I hear otherwise, you’re mine.”

Dipping a hand down, he finds your precious little bud, rubbing firm circles into it. Immediately, your hips jerk beneath his touch, gasps floating from your throat.

“Look how responsive you are,” Nuzzling into your cheek, he kisses it. “Pretty little lover.”

“Baby,” Said alongside a breathless smile, you open your eyes, wishing to see his. “You’re so fucking perfect, baby.”

He feels so warm around you, inside you, keeping you beneath the sturdy barricade of his arms. You want to be his, more than anything in this moment.

“How could any man stray away from you?” He wonders aloud. “Perfect fucking cunt, gorgeous goddamn face.”

Repeatedly, he sinks in to the hilt, bouncing his hips back and forth with easy sways, slapping himself against the seam of your slippery cunt. He wants more than anything to feel your body, your bare skin, have you completely exposed to him. And he’s promising himself that he’ll make that happen.

“Christ, babe,” Huffing out a flurry of rapid breaths, he admits, “I’m close.”

“Baby, fuck.” A whimper slips from your mouth, eyes shutting firmly. You can feel the way he pulses against your walls, can feel the stutter in his hips.

The heat of euphoria curls tightly in his abdomen, the combination of arousal and possession pushing him over the edge. It’s fierce, powerful, legs shaking and breath punching from his chest. But still, he remembers to pull out, free hand shoving your jacket up while the other fists himself. Hot spurts shoot over your lower back, trickling down your ass. It’s sticky and wet but it turns you on more than anything, feeling him cum on you like this.

“Simon,” Arching your back for him, you listen to his ragged breaths, feeling how rapidly he pumps his shaft.

“Fuck me,” Ghost finally speaks, slowing his movements and taking a look at the mess he’s made. “Fuck me…”

Leaning further in, he sighs, kissing the back of your neck while tucking himself away. He’s careful to not get any of his own spend on his hoodie, but when he pulls away, realizes he got some on your jacket by accident.

“Shit, sorry about that.”

“Huh?” Turning around, you finally face him, blissed out expressions taking in the other’s. Briefly, he smiles, until he explains, “Got a little bit on your jacket.”

Surprisingly, you huff a sarcastic laugh, slipping your arms from the material and dropping it to the ground. “It was Phil’s, anyways.”

“Well shit,” Ghost exclaims, picking it up again. “Would've gotten a lot more on it if I’d known that.” All you do is roll your eyes, with the slightest smirk. “Turn around.”

He nods in your direction, watching you follow his request. Using the jacket he cleans his cum off your back, wiping it away before discarding the clothing once again. And then Ghost is pressing himself against your back, kissing your neck while pulling up your pants. He zips them, buttons them, feeling your cheeks plump with a grin.

“Si?”

“Yeah, love?”

Turning around in his hold, you release a wavering breath, hands sliding up his forearms. “Are you sure this is what you want?” Your voice is soft and quiet, hesitant. “I know it’s difficult, when you’re on leave…”

“Not for me.” Instantly, you give him a look of apprehension. But he just shrugs. “Don’t really fancy the barracks bunnies we get. And with the looks of you…” Reaching out, he cups your chin, fingers pressing lightly into your cheeks. “Pretty thing you are… I won’t have a problem being loyal.”

Suddenly, he’s removing himself from you, sliding his arms from the confines of his black hoodie. “Wanna head back to the bar?” He asks while shuffling out of the sleeves, finally taking it off his body. “Or back to base?”

“I don’t really wanna go back in there…” Your response is incredibly timid, not wanting to disappoint him if he wants to stay out.

“Perfect.” If he hasn’t made it clear, Simon isn’t exactly a people person. And then, to your dismay, he pulls down his mask, hiding that gorgeous grin. “Here, love. It’s chilly out.”

He’s handing you his hoodie, the black one he was just wearing. And when you take it in your hands, you realize it has his rank and last name on the back.

“Really?” You’ve never had anything like this, Graves never wanted you to wear anything with his name on it.

“Put it on, babe.” He nods once, cupping your jaw and giving your cheek a kiss through the cloth of his mask. “Keep it.”

#Simon Riley #babyyyyy take me #please #Simon Riley x you #Simon Riley x reader #Simon Riley x female reader #Simon Riley smut #Simon Riley cod #Simon “Ghost” Riley

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marvelmusing · 6 months ago

Text

Set In Stone

Part Two

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Reader

Summary: As the sun sets, your new life as a statue begins and you struggle to find your place in this strange and unfamiliar world. The more you learn, the less you understand, and the feelings you’re experiencing regarding Aleksander and Alina only adds to your confusion.

Warnings [18+]: smut, dub con, fingering, nudity, somnophilia, discussions of sex, mild violence towards the reader (physical and magical choking), angst, references to emotional manipulation with magic, object insertion, human to statue transformation, consumption of magical potions, very brief mentions of pregnancy, Aleksander and Alina have been alive for centuries and they don’t know how to have normal relationships

My Masterlist • Part One

As sleep fades from your mind, you turn your head and end up face to face with Alina. Her pale hair casts a soft halo over her features, the bright strands ruffled erratically by her slumber. A heart stopping smile spreads across her lips when her eyes meet yours.

“Good evening,” she whispers.

After scouring your surroundings, the plush pillows and soft sheets, you blink at her shyly.

“How did I end up in your bed?”

She brushes a strand of hair from your face, her fingertips grazing over your cheek to trace along your jawline.

“You were fast asleep when you turned human again. I couldn’t bear the thought of waking you. Aleksander carried you to bed.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She beams at you, her hand snaking its way down your body before it settles on your bare mound. Heat spreads over your cheeks as you ask nervously, “Are you checking for stone?”

She shakes her head, her fingers slipping between your folds. Each stroke is casual and languid, as if she’s simply enjoying the feeling of your arousal building beneath her touch.

“You’ve been so good,” she coos dotingly with a rather adoring smile. “I think you deserve a reward. Don’t you agree, Sasha?”

Aleksander’s hand smoothes over your hip as he presses a kiss to your collarbone. The smile that touches his lips is softer, more tentative, yet he agrees immediately.

“I do.” His answer is low and raspy, his voice thick from sleep and it makes your stomach flip.

Alina’s thumb encircles your clit and you whimper at the sudden burst of pleasure thrumming beneath your skin. It spreads through your muscles, soaking deep into your bones until you’re shaking with the need for more.

Their voices are low as they murmur encouragements and praises that make your cheeks burn, heat diving down to where your pulse is pounding. After the last two days of being edged and toyed with, your nerves are fraught.

The pressure of Alina’s thumb remains steadfast, confident circles that make you writhe between them both. In a direct contrast, Aleksander’s fingertips are deceptively light as they dance over your bare body. They leave you aching for more and less at the same time, which has you approaching your climax at a frightening rate.

Even after you’ve come undone over her fingers, the shaking doesn’t stop and your heart continues to pound as you attempt to catch your breath. Overwhelmed, you close your eyes and press your head back into the pillow beneath you. Before you even realise it, you’re thinking of Alina wrapping her arms around you while Aleksander strokes your sides.

Emotion blooms heavily in your throat as you realise how much you want to be held by them both. The urge makes your chest ache, but the thought of asking your captors for cuddles makes you feel ridiculous. Zoya’s words immediately spring to mind. You’re too soft for them. Much to your dismay, hot tears begin to slide down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” you sniffle, wiping your face with the back of your hand to quickly hide your tears and prevent any further embarrassment. Alina curls her fingers around your wrist, halting your movement, which allows your tears to fall in earnest.

“Whatever for?”

For a brief moment, you want to admit how much you want them both to care for you, and tell her about the doubts Zoya had placed in your mind. But you bite your tongue.

Zoya might not have given you the warmest welcome, but you don’t want her to get into trouble. Not to mention that you feel insane for feeling so much for them in such a small space of time. You shouldn’t feel anything for them besides anger and hatred for what they’ve done to you.

“Nothing,” you concede weakly. “It’s nothing.”

Alina tightens her grip on you.

“Don’t lie to us.”

Her voice isn’t overly stern, yet her eyes are your downfall and you relent quickly at the sight of them so fixated on your tears.

“Zoya said I’m too soft for you, and I’m scared she’s right.”

To hide from their reaction, you close your eyes. Until Aleksander says,

“Alina used to cry after sex.”

Shocked, you look up at Alina. Her head turns quickly to direct an accusatory look at her husband.

“Aleksander!” Each syllable is drawn out with mock fury and she swats at his bicep in retaliation. He ducks his head, attempting to make himself a smaller target.

“You did,” he protests with a playful smile which softens as he adds, “There’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

She clasps her hands in her lap, appearing shy for the first time since you met. Her gaze moves up to you from the ring on her finger - a polished piece of black onyx simmering in the candlelight.

“Aleksander was my first,” she admits.

Her eyes flicker up to look at him, a fond smile spreading over her lips when their eyes meet. It must have been centuries since they first met, yet in this moment you can see how they must have been when they first fell for each other. It warms your heart, yet there’s an ache of longing there once again.

Alina ducks her head down, capturing your lips with hers which catches you completely unawares. A small sound of surprise hums in your the throat, which soon dissolves into a quiet moan of pleasure as the ache in your chest eases. She cups your cheeks, her hands a soothing balm to the distress that had been burrowing its way into you.

She settles on top of you, pushing you firmly onto the bed, and you grind your hips upwards mindlessly in search of some friction. She breathes out a soft laugh, her smile widening which she sees your lips chasing hers.

A shocked little “oh!” escapes you when she slips a finger inside you which she mimics teasingly.

“I think you can give me another one. Can’t you, my little statue?”

Halfway through shaking your head, your body tenses with the force of nearing another climax. Each muscle in your legs quivers and you dig your heels into the plush mattress as you lose control over your body. The pleasure makes you shake even more than before, your chest heaving rapidly.

“You really are a work of art,” Alina murmurs appraisingly, her fingers dancing up your bare body. Unable to acknowledge her words, you keep your eyes closed as Aleksander tilts your head backwards, revealing your neck for him to kiss. His teeth drag over your pulse point and you moan softly.

Then Alina slips her arms around your waist, pulling you against her chest - away from Aleksander’s lips.

“Don’t damage her, Sasha.”

He grips onto your hips, tugging gently in an attempt at dislodging you from Alina’s hold as he argues,

“She’s my statue.”

“But I made her.”

An aroused little gasp slips from your lips, which draws their attention back onto you. They both grin. Alina strokes your cheek fondly.

“Do you like it when we fight over you?”

“A little,” you admit shyly.

They both laugh, appearing to settle on a compromise as they both begin to kiss you lazily. When Alina claims your mouth, her husband nibbles along your pulse point. Then they trade places. Aleksander sucks on your lower lip, while his wife digs her teeth into the sensitive spot beneath your ear.

There is barely a moment between each kiss for you to recover. It leaves you breathless.

“What kind of Grisha do you think you are?” Aleksander murmurs against your lips. That makes you withdraw slightly, though they don’t let you go far.

“I- I told you, I’m not Grisha,” you insist. “I’m not powerful like the two of you, or beautiful like the other statues.”

Alina sighs heavily but Aleksander smiles at his wife.

“Now you know how I felt about you.”

“I wasn’t this bad.”

“You were worse.”

Their discussion of you - and your non existent power - has nerves settling in your stomach and you gnaw on your lower lip in agitation. What will they do when they figure out that you’re nothing special? They won’t want you anymore. Aleksander draws you into his lap.

“Don’t worry yourself, my gem. Alina has always had a shorter temper than myself.” That makes her scoff lightly, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation at her husband. “Even after a few hundred years, she struggles with the art of patience. But I can wait. Reveal yourself whenever you are ready.”

Alina gives you a soft smile. It’s clear she agrees with Aleksander’s sentiments, but that doesn’t fully ease your anxiety. After all, you don’t understand what they want from you. Surely, if you had some sort of power it would have revealed itself already.

The covers slip from Alina’s body as she stretches, yawning rather adorably. Then you notice the scar on her left shoulder. It’s small, but gnarly, stained black from some sort of dark magic.

Hesitantly, you brush the knuckle of your index finger against the ridge of roughly healed skin. She smiles softly, before explaining in a low voice,

“A gift from the Darkling.”

The sound of Aleksander’s former title makes you glance at him quickly. A wicked smile spreads across his lips as he leans over to kiss his wife, which has your stomach flipping with surprise. You had thought neither of them would want to be reminded of when they were enemies - though it seems to be quite the opposite.

They both grin into the kiss, Alina’s teeth nipping at his lower lip during a brief interlude when they part for air. In response, Aleksander curls his fingers around her throat, squeezing the vulnerable area against his large palm.

A rather dreamy sigh escapes you, as you stare in admiration of them both looking so breathtakingly beautiful. The sound attracts their attention and they turn to look at you. Alina leans over to you, kissing you softly before she slips from her husband’s grasp.

Aleksander props himself up against the headboard, his bicep flexing as he curls his arm behind his head. The two of you watch Alina as she moves towards the wardrobe at the side of the room. The dimples at her hips crease as she shifts her weight from side to side, considering the clothing hanging in front of her.

She turns with a white lace robe draped over her arm and heads back towards the bed. She places it over your shoulders, pressing a kiss to your cheek.

“I’ll call for Genya to keep you company today.”

Self conscious, you fidget with the hem of the robe, drawing it closer to yourself as you lower your gaze.

“You don’t need to bother her. I’d be alright by myself.”

Aleksander reaches for you now, fingers grazing the side of your neck before they curl around the nape. He kisses you leisurely, his lips moving slowly as he steals each second of precious air from your lungs. When he finally withdraws, your chest aches as you gasp in a series of shuddering breaths.

“You aren’t a bother,” he insists. Then he kisses you again.

Hands curled into weak fists, you press them against his chest, unable to figure out if you want to push him away so that you can breathe or bring him closer to drown yourself in him. Bright sparks dance beneath your eyelids as he pulls away and your head spins as oxygen floods your system.

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Genya grins widely when she sees you standing outside Aleksander and Alina’s door.

“I take it you’ve had a good night so far?”

Heat rushes to your cheeks and you duck your head bashfully to escape her gaze as she loops her arm around yours. The two of you walk side by side through the corridors, moonbeams and flickering candles lighting your way.

Genya pauses when you reach a set of double doors. She pushes them open and immediately a rush of humidity hits your face. A shudder rolls through your body, as the lingering cold inside you flees from the heat. There’s a light sheen of sweat glossing over your skin as you enter the room, squinting in the bright moonlight that spills from the large window carved into the ceiling.

In the centre of the room, there’s a pool which seems to be the main source of heat. Steam curls over the surface of the water and you look at the people lounging around the room.

“Most of the statues spend their nights here,” Genya tells you.

“Doing what?”

“Whatever you want. Relaxing. Sleeping. Pampering one another.”

The sight of one particular group catches your attention immediately. Three women and one man. They are seated amongst a mound of velvet cushions and plush fabrics. All four of them are in varying stages of undress. The woman in the middle is wearing a sheer red robe, her bare body openly on display. Her eyes lock on yours and recognition dawns on you.

“Is that Zoya?”

Genya nods.

“Beside her are Nadia and Marie.”

The two women are fawning over Zoya, their hands wandering over her body. The man is draped between her thighs, his head ducked down as he licks leisurely at her cunt. It makes your core tighten.

“And…?”

Genya scoffs lightly in amusement when she sees where your gaze has stopped.

“The one between her legs is Nikolai.”

She takes your hand in hers, tugging you towards the side of the room.

“Here,” she says. “Let’s clean you up a little.”

The two of you find a quiet corner where you can sit undisturbed. There’s a number of smaller pools, that remind you of rock pools, where water bubbles cheerfully.

Genya finds a seat, settling down on a velvet bench that sits low to the ground. She scoops up a handful of water, splashing it over her face. Her fingers smooth across her cheeks, droplets clinging to her eyebrows and lashes. When she sees you watching her, a smile spreads across her face.

She dips her hands back into the water, shaking them lightly before she removes them and sweeps her wet hands over your face. The moisture makes your nose crinkle and Genya laughs softly.

“This water is enchanted.” You hum questioningly and Genya explains, “Being turned into stone so often takes a toll on our bodies. The water helps our muscles and joints stay healthy.”

She tilts her head, eyes tracing down your body while you consider this information.

“Should we clean off your legs?”

Looking down at your thighs, heat rushes through your body as you realise that the mess of your arousal has dried on your skin.

“I can do it, thank you.”

“Sit at the edge of the pool,” she suggests. A frown creases at your brows and she smirks with mischief in her eyes. “Zoya will be able to see you properly there.”

The temptation is too much to resist. It’s hard not to be aware of the eyes on you, as you sit down at the edge of the pool. But, after spending the beginning of the night with Aleksander and Alina, you feel a little thrill of pride as you lower your calves into the warm water, scooping up handfuls to clean your thighs.

The water is soothing against your skin, a comforting caress that clears away the evidence of your earlier climax.

At the far end of the room, a door opens and Alina steps inside. Almost everyone turns to look at her, as her eyes scour over the sea of faces until she lands on you. Unable to stop yourself, you smile and glance down at your bare toes, splashing them in the water beneath you.

She walks casually around the pool, her eyes rarely straying from you. When she reaches where you’re sitting, you tilt your head back to look up at her.

Alina sits down beside you, taking hold of your chin so that she can press a chaste kiss to your lips in greeting. A shy smile quirks at the corner of your mouth.

The two of you sit in comfortable silence, your legs hanging down in the water as you watch the other statues lounging beside the pool. Then she turns to ask you,

“Has Genya told you why I make my statues?” With a frown, you shake your head. “Aleksander and I aren’t complete together. There’s a missing piece - another person to balance us.” She glances around the room, gesturing to all the people relaxing in the heat. “Every one of my statues is someone who I hoped might have been the one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Aleksander’s mother was a prophet. She told him that our future partner will be a powerful Grisha. Someone capable of breaking my statue spell.”

Immediately, you think of the book you found in the library and attempt to remember how the spell could be broken. Before you make any progress in your recollection, you’re distracted by thoughts of how Aleksander had pressed you against the bookcase, leaving the hint of a kiss on your lips.

A flustered heat spreads over your cheeks and you look down shyly at your knees, hoping she can’t tell you’re thinking such thoughts about her husband. She traces her fingertips over your shoulder, drawing little patterns on your skin.

“The spell I placed on you is exceptionally hard to break. Do you know why?” You shake your head. She smiles. “Because you love me - and you like being my statue.”

Caught off guard, you’re painfully aware of your heart pounding in your chest, hot blood rushing to your cheeks and down your neck in response to her words. The feelings you have for her are still difficult to decipher and you’re mortified at her brazen acknowledgement of them.

She looks down at her knees, her feet swaying lightly in the water.

“All my statues love me - I created them - they can’t help it. That’s why you haven’t ever considered hurting me, even after what I’ve done to you. But the love you feel for me now… it isn’t real.”

Stunned by her words, you can only stare with parted lips. Something sharp twists in your chest. Strangely enough, it feels a lot like betrayal. The blossom of your feelings has been plucked, its petals tattered by the storm of emotion currently threatening to choke you.

She smiles sadly, reaching out to stroke your cheek. The ache inside you deepens at her touch. A tear spills down from your eye and you shake your head which causes her to drop her hand.

“No.” The word wavers on its way out. She tilts her head, frowning slightly as she tries to read your current emotions. It takes a moment for you to settle on one in particular - anger. “You don’t get to take my entire body away from me and then tell me what I can and can’t feel for you.” She leans closer, her hands reaching to comfort you and you recoil backwards. “Don't touch me.”

Alina freezes and for a brief moment you think she looks hurt. Guilt stings at your chest. Then her brows furrow together, her features darkening.

“I don’t appreciate that tone.”

Usually, you would be terrified of angering her, but in this moment you’re too upset to care. Tears blur your vision as you pull your legs from the water.

“Well, I don’t appreciate being a plaything to amuse you until someone better comes along.”

Her eyes widen, her expression dropping as you stand. Her voice is a near whisper that you barely hear as you hurry away.

“That’s not-”

The idea of your feelings towards them being artificial, something created by Alina’s magic, has you feeling foolish and eager to get away. They haven’t allowed you a moment alone since your second transformation into a statue and the heat that had initially been comforting is now strangling you.

A shiver runs over your wet skin as you walk through the corridors mindlessly by yourself, with no destination planned. Genya’s tour yesterday hadn’t been extensive and you soon find yourself in an unfamiliar area that looks like an entry hall.

As you walk towards the large oak door, your heart rate quickens in anticipation. There isn’t much hope in your thoughts when you reach for the handle, twisting it cautiously.

The door opens.

Stunned, you look back into the house, almost expecting someone to appear and stop you from leaving. But there’s no one there. From where you’re standing the house is silent, aside from the frantic beat of your heart.

For a moment, you hesitate. Your feet are bare. You’re only wearing a thin robe. But you aren’t escaping. A short walk in the gardens might help you clear your head.

The paths are winding, the route concealed by the tall bushes that line each side of the walkway. It’s almost like a maze. The thought of wandering until sunrise makes you worry. Would Aleksander and Alina look for you?

The sight of someone in the corner of your vision makes you halt in your tracks, stepping back behind a bush out of sight.

“You’re new,” she says.

Her accent isn’t the refined Old Ravkan that you’ve grown accustomed to hearing in the house. Rather naively, you stay still in the hopes of losing her attention.

“I can see you, little miss.” She laughs bluntly. “Not to mention that I can hear your heartbeat.”

Stepping forwards, you move away from your hiding spot.

“You’re a heartrender.”

She tilts her head, studying you for a long moment with her pale blue eyes before she nods.

“What’s your name?”

Genya had told you that only the statues that fall out of favour with Aleksander and Alina end up in the gardens. Even with your feelings hurt, you don’t want either of them to be upset with you. As a result, associating with someone in the gardens might not be the best idea. After some hesitation, you give her your name. She nods in acknowledgement.

“I’m Nina.”

“Why are you out here?”

She grins.

“I could ask you the same thing, little miss.” There’s a teasing spark in her eyes and you lower your gaze bashfully. When you don’t speak, continuing to wait for an answer, she sighs and explains,

“I fell in love. Aleksander didn’t approve.”

“What happened?”

She turns her head and you follow her gaze as it lands on a rather weathered statue in the centre of the neatly cropped lawn. The man is sitting on the ground, his expression fond as he looks at no one. Then it dawns on you.

“You’re one of Alina’s statues.”

She nods.

“As my punishment, Aleksander turned Matthias into stone. When one of us is a statue, the other is human.”

You can’t imagine how upsetting it must be, being separated from the person you love like this. Never able to talk to them, or hold them again. Yet so close. From what Genya has told you, Aleksander and Alina seem to care for their statues. But Alina’s admission has made you wary of your thought regarding them.

“I’d get back to the house if I were you,” Nina advises you. “Before they realise you’re missing. You don’t seem like the type to misbehave.”

Immediately, you shake your head at the thought of getting into trouble with Aleksander and Alina.

“I don’t know the way back.”

Nina raises a brow at you. For a moment, you feel like a lost little lamb. Helpless. Then she points down a pathway.

“Keep following that path until you reach the fountain. Walk through the rose garden, then you should be able to see the house from there.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugs.

“Don’t mention it.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Lost in thought, you wander aimlessly through the house. As you’re turning a corner, Aleksander appears out of nowhere, pinning you to the wall. His hand curls around your throat.

“You’ve upset my wife.” His words are cold and calm which sends a shiver down your spine.

“She upset me,” you protest, gasping in his hold as tears fill your eyes. “But neither of you care about that. You don’t care about me.”

“We don’t care?” he repeats slowly, as if testing the sound of the words on his tongue. Panic claws at you when you realise the skin beneath his palm is turning to stone. “You think we allow any of the others into our bed?”

Unable to stop yourself, you remark,

“What about Zoya?”

His anger sharpens, his grip tightening as he tilts his head aside to watch intently while your airway becomes restricted by marble.

“I have known Zoya for centuries. She helped me stave off the loneliness until I met my Alina.” With each word, his magic creeps over your skin, hardening your throat into marble. Dots swim over your vision, as breathing becomes even more difficult. “I don’t care which one of you started this petty rivalry but it ends now. You want to take Zoya’s place? Earn it. Is that understood?”

Only once you’ve nodded weakly does he finally release you. Without the pressure of his hand to keep you upright, you collapse. Instantly, you place a hand to your throat, rubbing the tender skin there as you heave in a flurry of shaky breaths. Teary-eyed, you stare up at him. If he regrets his actions, you don’t see it in his expression.

He strokes your cheek, ignoring how you flinch.

“I expect an apology before sunrise.”

There’s a hoarseness to your throat when you attempt to speak.

“I’m sorry,” you state shakily.

He grips your chin, tilting your head back to meet his darkened eyes.

“Not to me.”

A faint nod is all you’re capable of, but it seems to satisfy him and he strides away down the corridor.

Hot tears roll down your cheeks as you stumble back to your room. The only emotion you’re capable of feeling is utterly distraught, the shattered pieces of your heart digging into your lungs.

Once you reach the safety of your room, you close the door, slumping weakly against it as you tuck your thighs against your chest so that you can hide your face between your knees.

Then there’s a knock at the door.

It’s Genya. She smiles gently.

“Aleksander sent me. Are you alright?”

Immediately, you crumble in on yourself, bursting into tears. She wraps her arms around you, drawing you close as she steps into your room.

“I know,” she murmurs sympathetically as she strokes your hair. “He scared you - didn’t he?”

Genya guides you over towards the bed, setting the two of you down as you continue to cling onto her. She lets you sob, only stepping in occasionally when you forget to breathe. In this moment, you are so upset that you forget how self-conscious her beauty makes you, even when she wipes your runny nose until the skin is raw.

It isn’t long before you’re exhausted by your emotions.

She lowers your head onto her lap, so that she can smooth over your hair soothingly. The tears fall slower now, sliding heavily down your face. The two of you remain silent for a long time, the only sound being your tearful sniffles as you slowly begin to calm yourself.

“Genya?” She hums softly, encouraging you to continue. “How old are you?”

There’s a pause.

“I don’t know.”

“How can you not know?”

“We don’t really keep track of the days here,” she says lightly. “I used to count the summers, but gave up after so long. It doesn’t really matter to us.” Fresh tears bloom in your eyes, as you realise you are trapped here forever. Nothing can take you away from them, not even old age.

After a discrete sniffle, you ask,

“Were you one of the first ones?”

Her hand halts in its petting.

“What makes you think that?”

“They trust you.”

She pauses, before admitting,

“I was Aleksander’s first statue.”

At the mention of his name, you sit up to face her.

“Aleksander’s?”

She nods, stroking your cheek gently as she sweeps the tear-soaked hair from your face. You frown.

“But, doesn’t that mean you should be a statue now - at night?”

She shakes her head.

“As a wedding gift for Alina, he removed his magic from me, so that Alina could have me as hers. He did the same to Zoya.”

“Zoya?”

Saying her name, even in a whisper, makes you feel as though Aleksander and Alina are about to descend upon you for a scolding.

“Alina and I were friends almost instantly when she arrived here. Zoya has always been possessive - I think she and Alina are too alike - they bickered and fought from the moment they met. Belonging to Alina is a gift for me, but it’s a punishment for Zoya.”

Genya shuffles across the bed, until her feet are touching the ground. Then she tilts her head, studying your face.

“It’s almost time for dinner. Why don’t we freshen you up and head downstairs?”

The thought of sitting at the dinner table, in front of Aleksander and Alina and all the other statues, makes you want to hide in the wardrobe or under the bed.

“I’m not hungry.”

A light frown crinkles at her brows.

“They won’t be happy if you skip a meal,” she warns you. Something must shift in your expression, because she softens her tone as she adds, “After dinner, you could speak to Alina about what happened between you.”

“I don’t want to, Genya,” you protest pitifully, your voice wavering as you wipe at your tearstained cheeks with agitation. “They hate me.”

“They don’t.”

Staring down at your hands, you admit rather brokenly,

“I think they do.”

She places a hand over yours, cupping your cheek with her other hand to guide your eyes upwards so that they meet hers.

“Neither of them are truly angry with you - maybe displeased but not angry. Trust me. If they were, we wouldn’t be talking like this.”

“I’d be out in the garden.”

She hums quietly, not an outright agreement but you know you’re right.

“Come on, let me clean you up. How did your feet end up so dirty?”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Aleksander’s expression is sombre as he enters the dining room. His eyes scan over each person at the table, and you avert your gaze when he gets to you. He sits down at the head of the table, the same seat as the other morning when you had eaten breakfast in his lap.

Everyone seems to be waiting for him to speak.

He adjusts the position of his cutlery, straightening the knife closest to his plate. Then he looks up directly at you.

“Alina won’t be joining us for dinner this evening.”

You feel sick to your stomach.

Unable to focus on anything but the storm of emotions swarming in your chest, you push your chair backwards, uncaring towards the scraping sound that attracts everyone’s attention.

Genya murmurs your name quietly, a comfort or a warning - you don’t know. Her hand tugs lightly on your dress, but you pull away easily, shaking your head to dismiss her sympathy. You don’t deserve it.

The weight of Aleksander’s eyes presses on you all the way to the doorway. You still feel watched, as you walk through the winding corridors towards their wing of the house.

Once you reach their door, nerves twist at your stomach but you force yourself to knock. The silence afterwards has you wringing your hands together. The sound of Alina’s voice makes your heart skip.

“Leave me be, Sasha.”

Drawing together your courage, you call out,

“Alina? Can I come in?”

There’s a pause. Then the door unlocks with a quiet click. The handle creaks lightly, before it glides open.

She’s sitting on their bed, wearing one of Aleksander’s shirts. Her arms are wrapped tightly around a velvet cushion and there’s twist in your chest when you realise it’s the same cushion she placed beneath your head when you were in your statue form.

Her eyes are lined with red, and guilt stirs in your stomach. She uncrosses her arms as you approach the bed. Some of the tension in your body eases when she pats the spot beside her rather amicably. Relief softens the frown creasing between your brows. She doesn’t seem displeased to see you.

When you sit down cautiously, she strokes her hand over your cheek.

“You look like you’ve been crying yourself sick,” she observes, her lips puckered into a sympathetic pout. Her concern makes your tears return.

“Alina,” you whisper brokenly. “I’m so sorry.”

She regards you solemnly, her expression unreadable.

“Did Aleksander tell you to come apologise?”

Her question catches you off guard.

“I-” The thought of lying to her makes your throat tighten. The memory of Aleksander’s hand squeezing there causes a phantom ache. “He did, but I really am sorry. I don’t know why I acted like that.”

“You got upset.”

“Yes. I did,” you whisper shamefully, lowering your head to avoid her gaze.

She hooks a finger beneath your chin, tilting your head backwards so that she can meet your eyes.

“I understand,” she concedes. “I’m sorry too.”

You blink at her, confused.

“Aleksander was the first person to want me,” she says quietly, her thumb circling your lower lip. “It’s been such a long time, I will admit, I forgot how much it hurt thinking I was unwanted. But I saw it in your eyes, and it… surprised me.”

She tilts her head, considering her next words.

“Most of my statues don’t care that their feelings were created by my magic.” She traces over your cheek with her fingertips, stroking along your hairline tenderly. “You’ve fallen a lot harder than the rest of them.”

Embarrassment warms your cheeks. It’s ridiculous, falling for her so quickly, especially after everything she’s done to you.

“I’m sorry.”

She smiles and your stomach flips at how painfully beautiful she looks with mirth glistening in her eyes.

“Don’t be.”

There’s a small pause.

“Genya said that belonging to you is a gift,” you state. Alina hums in confirmation. Her eyes flicker between yours as she acknowledges your unspoken question.

“Aleksander made Genya his statue to keep her safe from her parents. Even though she loves him like a brother, being tied to such a powerful man always made her somewhat uncomfortable. Becoming mine freed her.”

That makes you pause, titling your head as you think. Their displays of affection might be unconventional, but Aleksander and Alina do seem to care for their statues.

“I should have listened to what you were trying to tell me.”

She shakes her head.

“I’ve explained it so many times - to almost all the newest statues - I don’t know why I got it wrong this time.”

“How can I make it up to you?” you ask shyly. “I’ll do anything.”

She blinks hopefully at you.

“Anything?” There’s only a brief moment of hesitation, before you nod. “Take your dress off.”

Her request doesn’t surprise you, though you still feel shy as you slip the straps of your dress down your shoulders, pushing the fabric over your hips before you drop it to the floor. She smiles widely, playing with a strand of your hair before sweeping it behind your ear.

“I’ve been thinking of a place for you, in the house.”

The thought of being moved out of their bedroom so quickly makes your stomach twist. Nervously, you fidget with your fingers.

“You have?”

She nods, tilting her head to gesture towards the centre of the room.

“Do you see that table?”

Hope enters your heart.

“Yes,” you whisper.

She places her hands on your hips, steering you backwards until your lower back hits the edge of the table. Slowly, she slides her hands beneath the crook of each of your knees, lifting you up onto the furniture. The surface is cold against your bare skin and a shudder rolls through you.

“Stay here,” she commands softly, pressing a kiss to the tip of your nose.

She moves over to the side of the room, stooping down to open a cabinet and retrieve a bottle of dark liquid. After lifting the stopper, she pours a glassful and brings it over to you. With unsteady hands, you hold onto the glass, staring down at the contents.

“Drink it all.”

Not wanting to be seen as disobedient, you take a plentiful gulp before asking your question.

“What is it?”

She waits until you’ve swallowed another mouthful. The sharp fruit flavour quickly softens as it slides down your throat and the tension leaves your shoulders as you lick over your lips.

“It should help relax your muscles.” She smirks deviously. “So, I can push you into whatever position I want.”

The sweet taste lingers heavily on your tongue.

“What position are you thinking of?”

She takes the glass from you, licking the rim at the spot where your mouth had been. Arousal burns in your core. Her eyes flicker down to your lips, drinking in the sight of you growing so flustered and she grins.

She pushes you back further, your feet swinging off the floor, and your stomach flips at the sudden sense of vulnerability. Then she keeps pushing, lowering you down onto your back so that you’re lying in the centre of the table. A shiver runs over your skin when the cool surface meets your bare body.

Alina hooks her hands beneath your legs, lifting them up onto the table. She bends them, until your knees are pressed up on either side of your head, your cunt bared to the crystal chandelier directly above you.

“Can you hold your legs like this?”

Surprised at your own flexibility, you turn your head to study each of your legs.

“Yes.”

She beams at you.

“That’s my girl.”

Every inch of you burns delightfully. Hers.

She lowers her head between your legs. Her tongue slips through your folds, licking a stripe over your open cunt. A squeal and a moan converge in your throat at the sudden sensation and your face burns with embarrassment at the sound.

Alina lifts her head, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Stay just like this.”

She moves over to the side of the room, standing on tiptoe to reach for the decorative light fixture attached to the wall. The flame flutters as she grips the base, loosening it from the attachment that keeps it fixed there.

Her fingers are curled around the base, which acts as a slim handle as she carries it over to you.

She traces a fingertip lightly over the curve of your buttocks, a contemplative expression dancing in her eyes.

“I’d like to slot this inside you.”

Utterly taken aback, your mouth drops open.

“The candle?”

She laughs.

“No, silly girl.” She tilts the candle holder, gesturing to the handle. “This end here. Do you think you can hold it for me?”

“I-” You falter.

“It would make me very happy.”

Slumping your head back, you stare up at the ceiling, eyes wandering over the sharply cut gems as they reflect the low light of the chandelier.

“You’re coercing me,” you mumble in protest.

She grins, amused and proud.

“Yes.”

Closing your eyes, you push your embarrassment aside.

“Will you go slowly?”

Her expression softens.

“Of course.” She offers you the candle holder which you take with an unsteady hand. “Wait a moment.”

She moves over to her dressing table, opening a drawer which she searches through with a small frown on her face. With Alina busy, you take a moment to study the candle holder. The material is smooth in your hand. There’s a substantial weight to the metal and your core tightens at the thought of having the handle pushed inside you.

Alina returns with a small tub of cream which she scoops up with her fingers on one hand. Then she takes the candle holder from you, and you watch as she smears the cream over the handle.

She then slips her hand between your legs, tracing a firm circle over your sensitive cunt. The cream is cold and you twitch at the change in temperature. Her fingers delve inside you, curling as they search for the spot that makes your hips buck upwards with a startled gasp.

A deep moan catches in your throat as she begins to push the handle inside you. In your hand, the metal had felt almost room temperature but it’s like ice as it meets your red-hot cunt.

“There we go. Good girl. Take it all for me.”

She slides it further into you, so that the wick of the candle is pointing upwards towards the chandelier above you.

“With some practice, you might be able to hold onto a more weighty candlestick, one with several arms.” It’s hard to concentrate on anything while she’s twisting the base inside you. “A pretty little candelabra,” she teases.

A familiar stiffness enters your body, and you inhale sharply when you realise the sun must be rising. Alina strokes your thigh soothingly with a smile.

“It’s okay. Remember, you just need to relax.”

The idea of turning into a statue doesn’t scare you as much as it did the first time, but you still aren’t comfortable as the heavy sensation fills your body. Suddenly, you realise that she intends on keeping the candle holder inside you during your transformation - that during the day she will be able to use your body as a light fixture.

“Alina?”

She stills and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve spoken her name aloud in front of her. Her dark eyes fix onto yours.

“Yes?”

“What would happen if…” Embarassment makes you pause, as you struggle to gather your words. “…if I reached my climax the moment I turn back into a statue?”

She grins widely.

“Then you will stay in that blissful state for the entire day.”

“The entire day?”

She nods.

“It is a rather intense experience. The pleasure could break you.” She tilts her head, her eyes locked onto your soaked cunt as she continues to twist the handle inside you. The urge to squirm coils inside you, but with your body transforming all you can manage is a shiver.

“If I continue like this, you will stay on edge for the entire day.” She blinks at you. “Which would you prefer?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your throat growing hoarse and dry as the skin of your neck turns to stone.

She hums, a thoughtful expression on her face.

“You handled a day of edging rather well last time. I think we will stick to that until you’re better trained to withstand pleasure.”

Thoughts of how she might train your body to endure such pleasure has anticipation prickling up your spine. She smiles, releasing her hold on the candle holder so that she can lean over and press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll see you tomorrow evening.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

Pure bliss warms your body as you wake, a pleasurable fullness in your core that tempts you into sinking back into slumber. But the sound of voices keeps you somewhat awake.

“She thinks far too much.” A familiar voice. Aleksander. A firm hand strokes down your bare back.

“Well, I know how to remedy that.”

“And what do you suggest, my darling wife?”

“We spend the entire night in bed, passing her between one another. She can’t think if she’s drunk on pleasure.”

After blinking some of the sleep from your eyes, you shift your body slightly and realise you’re lying on someone’s bare chest - Aleksander.

His dark eyes are hooded as he looks down at you, a lazy smirk pulling at his lips, and your heart pounds violently as you attempt to remove yourself from him. Involuntarily, your cunt tightens around his cock - as if protesting the mere thought of your sudden exit. He settles both his hands on your waist, holding you firmly in place.

“Easy, little gem. I’m not mad at you.”

You blink at him.

“You’re not?”

He shakes his head, breathing out a soft,

“No. I’m not.” He rolls his hips upwards, drawing a low moan from you. “Alina told me you apologised.” His hips grind against yours, the head of his cock nudging the sweet spot inside that makes your skin tingle. “Therefore, you’re forgiven.”

“Thank you,” you gasp.

He breathes out a laugh.

His cock is so big inside you. It stretches you open with each thrust, nudging at your most sensitive areas which has your toes curling with pleasure.

Alina rests her hand against your stomach, stroking the skin there as she presses the area where her husband’s cock is. Her name is slurred as it tumbles from your lips. She laughs.

“Yesterday was a long day for you, little statue. You must be tired still. Get some more sleep.”

She kisses your temple and a fuzziness fills your head as her magic creeps into your mind. A delirious moan slips from your lips as you succumb to her spell.

Despite being asleep, you can still feel everything happening to your unconscious body, while your mind wanders through a medley of fantasies featuring Aleksander and Alina - which blur with reality until you don’t know what is actually happening.

Grinding your naked body into Alina’s, her hands grasping at your most sensitive areas. She slips her fingers inside you, prying your cunt open.

Kneeling between Aleksander’s thighs with Alina by your side. The two of you trade wet, open mouthed kisses. She takes Aleksander’s cock into her mouth, pretty pink lips stretched. The next time she kisses you, the taste of her husband clings to her tongue.

The head of Aleksander’s cock gliding over your dripping cunt.

Alina’s teeth grazing your nipple.

Her tongue licking up the length of your inner thigh.

The pad of his finger, rubbing your clit.

The sticky softness of Alina’s cunt against your tongue.

Distantly, you hear Aleksander curse in an ancient language you’ve only ever read on yellowed pages. His fingers dig into the soft plush of your cheeks as he grips your face while fucking into you relentlessly.

“Alya. Where do you want me to-” He groans sharply.

“Inside, Sasha,” she insists with a breathy sigh. The sound of her slick coated fingers, playing with her cunt makes your core tense. Her back arches as she whines softly. “Finish inside her.”

With a stifled gasp, Aleksander presses his forehead against your collarbone, as he nears his climax. His teeth dig violently into the hollow of your throat, the pain causing you to tighten around him, your cunt now strangling his cock.

The two of you moan in unison, grasping tightly onto one another as you both reach the peak of your pleasure, your bodies writhing in the throes of a violent, synchronised orgasm. Aleksander’s grip on your hips is tight, squeezing you as he groans.

Alina isn’t far behind, her frantic movements and moans registering distantly through the clouds of bliss fogging up your head. It takes quite some time for you to catch your breath. Even when Aleksander eventually pulls out from inside you, there’s a disconnect between your mind and your body.

Their magic hazes over your thoughts, dulling your awareness while she plays with Aleksander’s spend as it leaks out of you. The wet sound of her fingers and your unsteady breathing fills the room. She smears the creamy mess over your thighs, before ducking her head down to lap up the streaks with her tongue.

The three of you remain in bed, lying side by side. Unable to stop yourself, you look down at your hand, watching your thumb move slowly over your abdomen.

“You won’t end up with child,” Alina says quietly.

Startled, you look over at her with widened eyes.

“I won’t?”

She shakes her head.

“My magic stops your natural cycle.”

“Oh.”

Her eyes wander slowly down your body, settling on where your hand remains on your stomach.

“Besides, Aleksander and I can’t…” Her voice trails off into nothing and sadness traces its way over her features.

“Alina, I’m so sorry.”

She attempts a casual shrug.

“It’s probably for the best.”

Placing your hand over hers, you squeeze it softly.

“I’m still sorry.”

She slips an arm around your waist, pulling you close until your hips are pressed flush against hers, your legs tangled together. Her nose brushes against yours before she kisses you softly. Aleksander’s arm curls around the two of you, drawing you both closer to him.

He leaves a kiss on your shoulder, resting his forehead in the crook of your neck as he inhales a deep sigh. Another kiss is pressed against your pulse point as he murmurs in a voice so quiet you scarcely hear it.

“Thank you.”

͙⁺˚*･༓☾ ‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk @acehyacinth

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters @idohknow @vaguekayla @the-desilittle-bird

#darklina x reader #aleksander morozova x reader x alina starkov #aleksander morozova x reader #alina starkov x reader #darklina au #shadow and bone au #shadow and bone x reader

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sailoryooons · 1 year ago

Note

okay, Yoongi rec time. I am prepared for you to ruin my life, lessgo~~~

Gimme feelings and vibes, babe!!!! These two understand each other, they are the safe space for one another, their quiet compatibility is god tier.

Premise: Yoongi is 'the one that got away' to you. When you're unexpectedly thrown into each other's worlds again, every old feeling you had takes over like he never left - and it's clear that it's mutual. Problem... Yoongi has a girlfriend.

(Prefer no infidelity, just Yoongi having to make a hard choice, realizing the depth of what he had/and could have again now with reader is more substantial. And reader not being completely sure (maybe from miscommunication or lack of it) what his choice will be.)

honestly idc how smutty you make it, if you want to throw me a bone (huhuhu) and have some spice you know i'm not complaining :)

❀ Pairing: Yoongi x f. reader

❀ Summary: Unresolved feelings lead to nothing but heartache when you run into Yoongi at a wedding five years after breaking up. Especially when you realize that despite Yoongi have feelings for you, there is still another woman on his arm.

❀ Word Count: 3,641

❀ Genre: Angst, exes to lovers, smut

❀ Rating: 18+ Minors are strictly prohibited from engaging and reading this content. It contains explicit content and any minors discovered reading or engaging with this work will be blocked immediately.

❀ Warnings: STUPID PINNING!!!! LIKE JUST TWO IDIOTS WHO NEED TO GET OVER THEIR PRIDE AND GET BACK TOGETHER!!!!!! Angst, a lot of internal pondering on relationships and life, Yoongi is honestly a terrible boyfriend to his current girlfriend (he is in love with reader and it’s very obvious) bickering about relationships, Hyori seems like a bitch but tbh she is in the worst situation lmao, depiction of a breakup, a lot of aching and being wistfully sad, explicit language, sexua content including vaginal fingering, light nipple play, unprotected vaginal sex, some cum and fluids idk they’re sweaty, this is more of an emotional/prosey smut scene than filth, FeElInGs

❀ Published: August 1, 2023

❀ A/N: JO IT TOOK ME A YEAR TO FILL THIS REQUEST FOR YOU BUT GOD DAMMIT I LOVE YOU AND I LOVE THIS REQUEST. I HOPE THAT THIS FITS THE VIBE OF WHAT YOU WERE THINKING AFTER WAITING FOR ME TO FUCKING WRITE IT FOR LITERALLY 365 DAYS. I LOVE YOU SO SO SO MUCH AND THIS IS UNEDITED OKAY. HERE'S TO HALI'S HAPPY AGUST'S FIRST REQUEST DROP!

❀ Disclaimer: All members of BTS are faces and name claims for this story. This is entirely a work of fiction and by no means is meant to be a projection, judgment or representation of real-life people. Any scenarios or representations of the people and places mentioned in works are not representative of real-life scenarios.

| Masterlist | Ask | Song Inspiration | Hali's Happy Agust

“Is that her?” Yoongi doesn’t have to turn to look at who Hyori is talking about. Her tone, tightening grip on his arm, and the way she stiffens says all that he needs to know. “Well? Is it?”

Yoongi doesn’t want to turn around and look. His back and shoulders hurt from sleeping on the hotel couch, his eyes burn from being unable to sleep after staying up most of the night fighting with Hyori, and he knows that Hyori knows what you look like. As if she has not spent hours scrutinizing every part of your life on social media.

Perhaps it’s Yoongi’s fault. He thinks of all the things he’s done for the last two years. Or better - he thinks of all the things that he hasn’t done that have landed him here at this wedding with Hyori seething at your very presence in the same room.

It’s only partially Hyori’s fault. Yoongi could have done better to make her feel secure, to ensure that she felt like he was in this relationship without thoughts of you, to make her feel like he would always be about her and not you.

Yoongi loves quietly, though. Too quietly for a bright, burning star like Hyori, who has turned into a flaring nova over the last year, burning Yoongi when he dares to get too close but freezing him out when he gets too far.

He doesn’t know what to do, so Yoongi does what Hyori wants him to do. He turns and looks over his shoulder, eyes scanning the entrance to the garden that Seokjin and his fiance have selected for their reception.

When he sees you, Yoongi swears he could die. His heart squeezes, his stomach flips. He keeps his features schooled as much as he can, knowing that his girlfriend is watching his every movement, waiting for another reason to dig her nails in deeper, waiting to say I told you so.

“Yeah,” he mumbles and turns back around without looking back again. “That’s her.”

Hyori hums, seemingly satisfied with Yoongi’s lack of interest in you. Her grip softens and she melts into him a little. He fights the urge to lean away, the sudden sight of you making him want to put distance between himself and Hyori.

She did tell me so, he thinks when he realizes that his first instinct of being in the same room with you again is to be away from anyone else. Fuck.

“I don’t like her dress.”

Yoongi hums in agreement, but he couldn’t disagree more. He thinks you look stunning in your silk, sky blue gown. It glows against your skin and Yoongi already knows you’ll smell like vanilla with a hint of cherries, a scent that used to drive him wild. He knows you taste as sweet as you smell, skin warm and soft and-

“Are you listening?” Hyori asks, voice ringing with annoyance.

He wasn’t. “Sorry, I was wondering how many people they invited.”

“Looks like a hundred or so. Did you see who Taehyung brought?”

Hyori launches into assessing the dates brought to the wedding as people are seated for the ceremony. Yoongi hums and nods when appropriate, but his thoughts are miles away from petty conversations with his girlfriend.

Instead, he’s focused on you. Three rows up and on the other side of the aisle, sitting next to Hoseok. You laugh and Yoongi begins to bleed at the seams, all of his wounds that he’s spent the last five years trying to heal opening up for him to drip with pain.

It’s stupid, this endless longing for you. You’d broke it off with him because it was getting too complicated and because Yoongi had missed every opportunity to give you reasons to stay. He knows that you’re happy and he loves seeing you happy, knows that you have no ill will toward him. You wish each other happy birthday, and he texted you when a mutual friend passed away.

So why is it so painful? Yoongi was happy with Hyori at first. She is everything he is not: bright, outspoken, full of energy, adventurous and social. He liked the way that she compliments him, where she makes up for where he lacks. But now, all of those differences have become obstacles, and what they had once admired one another for has become irritations.

When the ceremony starts, Yoongi knows he’s supposed to look back at the bride and watch her enter. Knows that she will be beautiful and it is her day and she is owed all of the attention in the world. But it’s you he watches, waiting with his breath held as you turn, eyes sweeping to watch the bride enter.

And then you’re looking at him and Yoongi breaks. A single look in five years and he knows with sudden, lightning-strike clarity that he cannot do this anymore. The stab of longing is far greater than looking at you from a distance, the weight of your gaze crushing.

Yoongi realizes that there is nothing worse than watching two people proclaim their love in front of their family and friends while the love of his life is sitting three rows, and an aisle away.

Letting out a shaky breath, you bring the flute of champagne to your lips, knocking back the entire thing. It burns on the way down and the carbonation fluxes, making you cough as a sudden burning sensation singes your nose, making you choke.

You set the glass down quickly, coughing your way through swallowing the alcohol the wrong way. Hoseok appears, patting your back and asking, “Shit, you okay?”

“Wrong pipe.”

“Maybe don’t chug your champagne like you’re using a beer bong in college.”

“Well maybe I need stronger champagne,” you shoot back. You immediately wince at your tone, Hoseok raising his brows. “Sorry. Very on edge. I knew seeing him would suck but I didn’t expect to feel like my rib cage would crack open.”

“By the looks of it, you’re not the only one.”

Gritting your teeth, you follow Hoseok’s gaze, glancing over your shoulder toward the far end of the reception room. Yoongi is leaning back in his seat, slouched slightly in his chair and staring off into the distance unseeing. Next to him, his girlfriend Hyori giggles with the woman next to her at their table, either unaware of her boyfriend disassociating or over it.

The worst part about Hoseok’s comment is that it’s true. Seeing Yoongi’s face during the ceremony was all you needed to see to know that it isn’t just you being burned by the fire. You aren’t alone in your pain, but you're not the one in a committed relationship. You’re not the one who has sat passively and let the world and love pass you by.

It’s knowing that hurts so much, you think. Knowing that you love Yoongi more than anyone else in the room. Knowing that maybe walking away because you were too young to understand his love language or how he could do better for you was a mistake.

Five years has given you a lot to think about. You don’t move through the world the same way, and you have a better understanding of the way that people pour love into relationships. You can’t help but wonder what it would be like now that distance has made you understand Yoongi more. You cannot help but ache over imagining that he has fixed all the things about himself you struggled with for another.

“He loves her,” Hoseok murmurs, speaking your thoughts. “But not… like he loves you.”

“Well, that’s his problem.” You pick at a stray hair on your dress. “I admit I was immature and impatient and didn’t give him the chances to be what I needed, but… if he wants me and won’t take me, isn’t that why I left in the first place?”

Hoseok hums his agreement with an undercurrent of sadness. “Come on, let’s dance. Weddings are for celebrating love, not watching it die.”

Hand in Hoseok’s, you let him lead you out onto the floor, spinning you wildly until you’re crashing into Jungkook and Taehyung’s arms, laughing and letting the music sweep you up and away from the hurt. The pain of knowing Yoongi is right there dulls a little.

Being with your friends helps. It takes your thoughts away from thinking of all the things that you did wrong, like ignoring the ways Yoongi was silently telling you that he loved you, like getting mad for not seeing what he was saying in his own, quiet way.

Yoongi isn’t faultless but neither are you blameless, which is perhaps why it hurts so much when you catch glances of him on the other side of the room. His hair is longer than it’s ever been and you wonder if it’s just as soft as it used to be. His face is just as round and soft, and yet he looks older somehow, more mature.

It’s hard not to wonder what it would be like if you’d just given him the chance to be better for you. What it would be like if you had been more patient and understanding of him.

Yoongi does not love loud. He does not exist brightly splashed across paper the way that you do. He loves gently, with your cup of coffee waiting and ready for you every morning, and the oil in your car changed, and the broken shelf in your library mended. He is a soft shadow, the gentle hand on your back at an art gallery you wanted to visit and a held hand at a show he didn’t like but you did.

Sweat lines your forehead and sticks to your arms from dancing. You excuse yourself to take a break and freshen up in the bathroom, the cool air of the venu making you shiver as you wend through candle-lit tables filled with sleeping elders and children stealing wedding cake.

In the hall, you teeter toward the bathroom. After being plied with champagne and some tequila from Taehyung to loosen you up, you feel a little too loose, like you might melt on the floor if you don’t get some water and a seat somewhere underneath an air vent.

“Fuck you,” someone hisses, their voice loud enough to stop you from turning the corner of where the bathrooms are. This section of the hotel is empty, reserved only for events and Seokjin’s wedding is the only event for the evening. “Why did you fucking bring me, then? I told you it would be just like this.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You will be. I have tried, Yoongi. I have tried for a year now, and nothing I do matters. No matter how hard I love you, you still love her. It isn’t fair and it’s cruel.”

Your heart speeds up when you realize it’s Hyori’s hissing voice you hear and Yoongi’s soft baritone. You chew your bottom lip, turning to look at the empty hall behind you. There’s no one around, the wedding working into the late hours of the evening. There doesn’t seem to be another set of bathrooms, and you can’t imagine trying to walk past Hyori and Yoongi in the middle of this.

“You’re right,” Yoongi sighs. You know that sound. Defeated. Sad.

“That’s all you have to say? That I’m right?”

“I don’t know what else to say. You are right. You don’t deserve the effort that I’ve given you, I have been incredibly unfair, and though I love you, it doesn’t erase what I feel for her. It is the worst kind of cruelty I can think of, and I thought I’d get over it. I didn’t.”

“You are the worst kind of person.”

Before you can get yourself together at the sound of Hyori’s clicking heels, she’s turning the corner and nearly slamming into you. She takes a few steps back, eyes wide and blinking in surprise. When she realizes it's you, her face twists into something cruel and venomous.

Instead of saying anything, Hyori rushes by you, shoulder smacking yours. You teeter but don’t stumble, staring at the empty space where she was moments ago. You’re not sure you deserve her wrath, but you understand it. You don’t blame her for it. There is no happiness at her pain, no twist of pride at winning. Knowing that her pain is because it’s still about you. Always has been.

Licking your lips, you take a shaky breath and peek around the corner. Yoongi is standing in the empty hall with his head tilted back toward the ceiling, eyes closed. His long hair falls to his shoulders around him. He looks so beautiful in a suit and bowtie, a picture perfect groom if you thought about it long enough.

Tears sparkle in the corner of his eyes before tracking down his face. His pain is tangible, and before you know what it is you’re doing, you’re walking toward him. He either doesn’t hear you coming or doesn’t care that there is someone to see him cry, because he doesn’t look down at you until your hand is in his and you’re squeezing.

Warmth blooms between your palms. His are rough and calloused like you remember, all from playing guitar and taking the woodshop classes he loves so much. He still smells like cedar and sage, hypnotizing and dark in a way that makes you want to fall into him each time you inhale.

Yoongi’s eyes open, lined in silver-tears. He looks so in pain and so beautiful, this soft boy who is now a man. Different but familiar. A burn and a balm.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, quick to speak first. Your hand squeezes his more as Yoongi opens up in front of you on command. As if he only has a moment to correct all of his mistakes in a single breath. “I get it now,” he whispers, voice cracking. “I do, and I’m sorry. And you look beautiful, and happy and I am so happy for you.”

“I know.” You feel a burn in your eyes and realize there are tears threatening to break free. “I- me too. Can we just?”

You don’t have to say what you mean. Yoongi gets it - has always gotten it. From the beginning, to the end. Even when he’s confused, he figures it out. Knows how to put the pieces of your puzzle together for the full image.

Just a tiny exchange leads you to a twist of muttered words, spilled tears and Yoongi’s mouth on yours. You don’t know when he kisses you first or if it was you, but you know that his mouth is on yours and he is warm warm warm and his mouth tastes like whiskey. You breathe him in, fingers pulling at the lapels of his jacket. You want more more more - you always do with him.

Yoongi is a giver. He never takes. He lets you take from him. He crushes you with the weight of his love on the bed, hands feverish and hungry as he pulls your legs up to wrap around his waist. You moan as his rough palms skate up your exposed thigh, lighting a fight as he strokes your skin.

It feels like you might suffocate. The air between you is static as Yoongi sucks your tongue into his mouth, making you shiver. Kissing him has always been your greatest weakness and you forget the way he breaks you apart with gentle swipes of his tongue, the soft nibbling of your bottom lip between his teeth.

You feel like an exposed wire, sparking under Yoongi’s touch. He pulls the dress from your overwhelmed skin, your nipples pebbling in the cold air as his mouth moves from your tips, to your jaw, to your throat. Your pulse beats wildly under the careful touch of his teeth against your skin, the sting of his bites soothed by a swipe of his tongue.

Trembling and panting, you pull at his pants. Yoongi’s skin is hot to the touch, firm in places you don’t remember and soft in places that you do. Your fingers trace his lines and curves, remembering, discovering. You want to learn all of the new things about him and recall the things you already knew.

“Fuck,” you gasp as Yoongi’s wet mouth wraps around a pert nipple. He hums and gives a vicious suck, making your back arch off of the bed. His tongue flicks across your hardened bud a few times, making you twitch under him. “Yoongi.”

He lets go with a pop, a string of spit connecting his mouth and your skin. “Say it again,” he whispers, voice ragged. “Missed hearing you say it.”

“Yoongi,” you say again.

You don’t stop saying his name - can’t stop saying his name. Not when he slides his hands between your legs, fingers trailing through your soaking cunt. Not when he circles those nimble fingers around your clit, sparking pleasure deep inside of you.

It feels like you’re on the edge of madness. Years of want and hurt and desire come bursting to the surface all at once. Your hands slide through Yoongi’s hair, just as soft as you remember it being. You tug hard on the locks, making him moan deeply into your shoulder. His breath is hot against your skin as he teases you, fingers tracing your entrance but doing nothing.

“Please,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Just wanted to see if you still get all worked up.” His laugh turns into a groan when you pull his hair harder. You feel his cock straining against your thigh, sticky tip tacky against your skin. “You still do.”

“You have some nerve saying that like your cocks not drooling on my thigh, Yoongi.”

“Fuck, I know.” He slowly slides a finger into your dripping heat. You curse, arching up into him. It isn’t enough. “Could bust just fingering this tight fucking pussy.”

“More.”

“Yeah?” Yoongi inserts another finger and you feel fuller, better. You nod, eyes fluttering shut as he sets a gentle pace, fucking his fingers into you at an angle to press up against that soft spot inside of you that makes you whine. “I still got it.”

“Shut up.”

Yoongi has a right to be smug. It feels like you’re going to shatter, your hips coming off the bed to meet his thrusting hand. Your mouths smash together, teeth and tongues colliding. It’s messy and wet but Yoongi is yours again - maybe not forever, but he is in this moment and it's all you want. All that matters.

Dizzy and drunk on him, you let him work you toward your high, the wet-smack of his fingers between your thighs bracketing the high-pitched sounds escaping you. He attaches his mouth to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, licking and sucking until you’re trembling under him, hands shooting to his arms and legs squeezing his hips as you come apart around his fingers, walls squeezing him tight.

Curses drip from his mouth as he shifts forward, pressing you further into the mattress, thrusting his fingers harder. Your orgasm reaches a peak and your mind is near breaking, ears ringing as he drags it out. You try to move away from him but pull him with you, reaching over stimulation but wanting more.

Yoongi drives you mad. Has always driven you mad. You crave him even more as he pulls his fingers from your fluttering cunt, smearing your slick down your thigh as he gets up on his knees. Your legs fall open for him, butterflied as he strokes his heavy cock in his hand, watching you catch your breath.

Sweat sticks to your skin, the sheets clinging to you. Your thighs protest as Yoongi presses you open and slides his cock along your sticky folds. You twitch when his tip catches your clit, little shockwaves pulsing through you from the stimulation.

Biting his bottom lip, Yoongi angles his hips to push in on his next teasing upstroke and you gasp. The stretch is painful and good, the pressure mounting as he pries you open. You feel yourself drift a little, lost in the feeling as he presses into the hilt, stopping to let your walls flutter around him.

“So fucking tight,” he mutters, falling forward to cage you in with his arms. “Fuck.”

“So fucking big,” you shoot back. “Not my fucking fauuult.”

Your words turn into a mewl as he pulls out and slams back in, hips smacking with bruising force against yours. Yoongi’s laughter is dark against your mouth as he presses his lips to yours. You breathe hard against one another, sharing breath as he fucks you hard and deep.

Sliding your hands along his back, you grab him and pull him closer. Press your fingers into his shoulder blades, grip sliding with the sweat on his back. He works you so easily that within a few moments you’re delirious, babbling under him and near tears that finally - finally - you have him again. Something you’d never thought you’d get.

Apologies spill from his mouth. Yoongi tells you everything he always meant to say. Everything you always wanted from him. You mutter it back, pull sweet words from his tongue, claw him open and make him shudder at your touch.

Forehead pressed to yours, dark eyes burning, Yoongi brings you back to the precipice again. This time when you come, it’s together, your body squeezing tight, muscles spasming. Yoongi kisses you then, shaking above you as you ride it out together, unable to think of anything else but Yoongi.

Later, when he’s asleep next to you and you’re wreathed in the warm cage of his arms, you think never again. Never again will you risk this heartache and let him go.

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