#Why did I post this?? It's just the f word????? There is nothing engaging about this??? I need to get out of

[anotherhumanperson]

FUCK

[pedgito]

𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐓𝐋𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐕𝐄 | Marcus Acacius x reader

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summary | once your dad's greatest friend, now his greatest enemy. you cannot shake the desire and care you feel for the fallen general, even as he heads toward death.

author's note | LISTEN, none of this is going to be accurate. and frankly idc, i'm horny i needed to write this do not come at me. no source material? idc i'm still writing it. anyways, enjoy the p*rn. (if you're reading this prior to the movie coming out, none of this is canon. this is just an idea that i wanted to write and felt like posting, if you do not like the idea of writing without source material, please do not engage or send me asks to be combative, they will be deleted. i won't be continuing this specific fic and will not be writing for him again until the movie comes out.)

content warning | 18+ smut, this is dbf for the gladiator girlies (gn), sneaking around, descriptions of smut, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected piv, creampies, breeding kink, age gap (reader is early 20s, marcus is late 40s/early 50s), alcohol tw, innocence kink

word count —2k

You knew he would be here soon, he must. 

You curled into the dark corners of the arena hall, having been here since dawn with your own father, a high military commander who struck down Marcus as punishment for such things even he wouldn’t tell you about. You knew nothing, heard nothing—you weren’t allowed such privilege. 

It has been days since you last saw him—Marcus. General Acacius to many, another esteemed leader amongst the masses, and a once great friend to your father. Though, that was no longer.

You often called him sir, finding that General Acacius was quite the mouthful. Or often just General, but his endearment toward you was blatant and he insists, almost pleading that you drop the formality when alone. Which was easier, as your fondness of him grew.

It started at a celebration, one of the many grand parties thrown in celebration of fight won or any reason for the men to drink, but Marcus liked to linger. Often tucked away in a corner watching the madness unfold, you were too curious to stay locked up in your room.

The first night he caught your eye, it was a smile around the edge of his silver goblet drowning in red wine, a hand crossed over his chest as he watched you slip away in fear that he may say something to your father.

But, he never did.

For weeks after, it progresses. From a smile, to a lingering gaze, eventually he finds himself inching closer to you, week by week. Until one night he finally finds the courage in himself to be waiting by the corner you often sneak around, watching curiously.

“You are pushing it, dove.” He speaks softly, his eyes downturned to look at you from the step he was on above you, slowly inching down until he was level, “if he catches you—”

“He hasn’t,” You tell him in a clipped, hushed tone, “and you haven’t said anything. You won’t….will you?”

He bypasses the question, “Why do you come here?” Marcus curiously asks, “These men, they are—animals, if they see you dressed like that, they would not hesitate to—”

You had on a pale nightgown, thin and barely enough to cover your modesty but it was enough. The sticky, summer heat prickled your skin, formed a line of sweat across your brow and you huffed out at his words, “My father would murder them. Besides, you are not like them. So, why do you linger here?”

He was much more than a friend, closer and akin to family. 

But, he had his own troubles. Stepson, a wife, he should be away caring for them. Yet, he was there with a disgruntled scowl and eyes only set on you.

“Why not?” He shrugs, “It is…quite entertaining. Isn’t that why you sneak around here to watch?”

You mimic his shrug, shying away slightly as you pull away to leave, but his hand catches your wrist, his cup placed in the gap of pillars separating you both. His facial expressions show an internal battle of thought, like he’s fighting against the bad and hoping the good would win out.

Unfortunately, the bad prevails.

“Let us walk,” He tells you, nodding toward the exit a few feet away, “if you would accompany me?”

You nod eagerly, switching the grip on your wrist to curl around his bicep, muscular and hard from years of fight training. He flexes slightly at the touch, covering his free hand over yours in a comforting gesture. 

He made you feel safe. And that was all that mattered to you.

—

The walk was the first mistake.

It wasn’t more than a few minutes before you found yourself tucked away by a nearby tent, unbuckling and unfastening Marcus out of his gear hastily before he fucked you under your nightgown—gentle but firm. He was the first man, the first ever to have you in such a way. You’d told him so as your hands shook under the weight of his gaze, the taste of bitter wine on his lips. He’d kissed you as he pushed his cock inside of you and didn’t stop until you were tipping over the edge.

Over time, you grow bolder. Sneaking him back into your home was easy, knowing the guards weren’t as watchful in the late, late hours of the night. It was dangerous, reckless, but as you tug him down into the cellar and sink to your knees, it all fades away quickly.

His little dove, he often calls you. Sweet dove, so pure and innocent. His hand caresses your chin as you swallow him down, eyes locked on his half-lidded gaze before he comes down your throat, nose scrunching up slightly and his brow furrowing, biting at the back of his other hand to muffle the groan that escapes him.

It was always like this—hurried and quick fucks that didn’t diminish the feeling, but reminded you how easily you could both be caught. It continues for months…and months, until suddenly he stops coming around.

No parties, no visits—Marcus had become a ghost.

But, enough digging had led you here, tucked away in the shadows again—but watching as he fought for his life. The other man was much older, weaker, and Marcus struck him down within a matter of minutes, blood splattering across his face as he stuck again and again, bashing the poor man’s skull in until it was nothing, teeth gritting as his body surged with adrenaline.

Gladiator fighting wasn’t a new thing—and you knew he wasn’t the only one, but why?

He’s making his way down the arena toward the pillar you are tucked behind unknowingly, alone and battered as the guards run off to dispose of the body. You aren’t sure where Marcus is going now or when you would see him again, but you take the chance when you know no one is watching, grabbing him by the armor plate on his chest and pulling him away and into a dusty closet, knocking into a stack of buckets in the process.

You gasp as his hand wraps around your neck, fist cocked back in preparation of an attack.

But, then his eyes land on you.

“Dove, what are you—”

You shush him quickly, hands molding against his face and the dried blood, his breathing quick and short as you attempt to calm him.

“I had to see you—I thought…I thought you had—”

“I might as well be,” Marcus replies somberly, “we cannot meet like this. We cannot meet at all.”

“It’s fine, It’s fine–” You assure him, reaching forward to press your lips against his.

Marcus pulls away hesitantly, grabbing your face roughly until you look at him, eyes widening.

“They will kill you. I cannot see you again. I should not even be here with you.”

Your eyes well with tears, forcing yourself forward again to capture his lips and this time he allows it, opening his mouth slightly as your tongue dips inside, working silently at the buckles to his chest plate.

“No talking. Let us…enjoy this. If it is the last time.”

You were both well aware—he would fight for his life or die, that was it. And he would fight until that point came. He was no longer a General, completely stripped of his power. But, he was still Marcus. And you would hold onto that for as long as you could.

He’s shaking, the adrenaline raking his body and making him restless as you kissed him, tongue dipping into his mouth again as his hands roamed, squeezed, caressed. 

“I will not break,” You whisper into his mouth, “take what you need, Marcus.”

It was all he needed to hear, turning you around swiftly and forcing your down with a hand against your back, arms pressing into the shelf in front of you as he pushed up the silk, carefully woven and intricate fabric of your dress—so pristine and perfect. He wanted to rip it off you, be he refrains, squeezing at your hips while he kneels behind you.

“Marcus, you need not—”

“Quiet, little dove. Let me have this,” He licks against your cunt hungrily, noisy slurps as he lapped you up, squeezing less than gentle at the inside of your thighs as they shook, his tongue swiping over your clit, a broken moan slipping past your lips, “beautiful—let me hear you.”

“Marcus,” You plea, his fingers joining his tongue as they breached you and drag against the soft, but incredibly sensitive spot inside of you, your hand reaching for his wrist tucked between your legs as you whined out his name once more, twice, until your legs gave out, feelings his strong, broad shoulders flexing as he used his brute strength to keep you upright, licking up the gush of fluids that leak out of you, rising with haste and untucking himself from his garments, wrapping a gentle hand around the back of your neck before he’s pulling you upright harshly.

“Want to leave you something,” He whispers against the shell of your ear, “something to remember me, if I shall never leave here. Something of me for you to carry on. Alright, sweet dove?”

You nod knowingly, as Marcus had always been careful to pull himself out before breaching that point. He was always careful, hesitant—but being on the brink of death, he found himself careless and desperate. He couldn’t let you go.

He slips inside of you with a hand tucked around your throat, pulling your back to his chest as he snapped his hips into you firmly, groaning lewdly into the side of your neck as he bit down, squeezing at your throat with every soft sound you made and you want it just as bad, forcing your hips back into every push of his cock—you were positive this pain would last you into next week, but you needed that reminder. His fingers dip into your skin, hard and uncaring and sure to leave marks, but that was what you wanted.

And his groans quickly turn needy, more high-pitched than you’ve ever heard them

He’s holding back, restraining himself. You turn your head, catching his heated gaze as he pants, your thumb tracing over his lip. His hand drags over your stomach, rests, curious of how beautiful you would look swollen and carrying his child. 

It is a hopeful and distant dream, one that he will never foresee.

“Give it to me, Marcus,” You beg him, “I want it.”

It so easily undoes him, “Take it, my dove,” He growls, coming deep inside of you with a shaky thrust of his hips, squeezing you tight against him, “I think of you, always. You must know—know that.” 

It pulls at your heart, tugs in a way that makes your entire body ache. He pulls out with a low grunt, silently tucking himself away as you adjust your dress.

“And I love you,” You admit, watching as his gaze pulls up quickly, “even if you cannot say it back. I know. I know you do.”

Marcus breathes harshly through his nose, crowding you once more but it is soothed by a gentle kiss, “You need to leave—do not come back here.”

“Marcus,” You counter, sadness lacing your tone.

“If, by some miracle, I make it out of here,” He drags his thumb along your jawline, pausing on his words as he looks you over, memorizes you, “I will find you.”

You nod jerkily, eyes never breaking from his, “Just like you always have.”

divider creds: @/cafekitsune

thanks to @chaotic-mystery & @pr0ximamidnight for being the absolute best friends ever and beta'ing this for me on a moments notice, ily both.

[amywritesthings]

in the wrong. / levi x f!reader

for @levievent #levimonth24. (day one: pre-canon, first time)

pairing: gang leader!levi ackerman x military police!reader word count: 2.4k summary: You're Military Police. He's public enemy number one. Getting involved with one another is wrong.

tags: 18+ MINORS DNI! pre-aot, in the canon of 'a choice with no regrets', smut, enemies to lovers, military brutality mention, first time, bottom!levi, virgin!levi credit: dividers by @saradika-graphics

And so it goes—

There’s no disputing if waiting here in the dead of night is right or wrong.

Leaving your post, forcing your colleagues to pick up the slack — it’ll catch up with you eventually.

Military Police stationed within the Underground City is about as much of an oxymoron as it comes. You see the irony of walking these streets as the symbols of order when it’s a place that thrives in disorder. 

Your superiors don’t wish to save these people.

You — your squadron — will do nothing here.

(But he could.)

Meeting with the leader of the most notorious gang in the city started out as an accident, really. 

You’d minded yourself down here, still trying to do your job when you could: helping elderly people walk their rotting groceries to their door; aiding a young child who found themselves lost, only to witness the dilapidated home they came from; smuggling your own rations down from the surface to feed the sick.

In their eyes — wrong.

In his — confusion.

If you ever came into contact with the perpetrator known as Levi, then you were meant to engage.

Albeit fast on his feet and even faster with a weapon, his ever-growing group of goons were the Military Police’s biggest enemy.

You’d just spotted a redhead doing her best to creep up one of the staircases towards the surface, assuming no one was watching.

There are people up there, you remember saying.

Her wide eyes stared back at you with uncertainty, like perhaps getting her attention was a trick to set her up, but you’d managed to grab her by the scruff of her dirtied vest.

The small girl made a noise of protest, but you did your best to press a finger to your lips:

Silent.

Pulling her back into the shadows with you had been the smart move — the unit at the top of the stairs trudged down the stairs and into the Underground pathway, presumably to cause trouble.

They always did.

You held onto the stranger until the unit disappears, letting go only once the place is clear. 

The girl turned around, seemingly breathless. “You… why?”

You didn't know.

“I don’t know,” you confessed, blinking between her face and the pathway. Paranoid. “Those two are pieces of work. Nasty. Would’ve had your damn head on a platter.”

“So you saved my life?” she asked, and the musical naivety of her voice squeezed your aching stomach.

“It wasn’t that noble,” you promised softly. “Just… be more careful.”

She realized as seconds pass: you’re letting her go.

There’s nothing to arrest her for.

The people down here suffer enough.

When she left, you thought it was the last time you’d ever see her.

.

.

— —

.

.

  It isn’t.

.

.

— —

.

.

  “The hell is an MP doing here, Isa?” 

You can’t say. You’re not sure.

The redhead, a common recurring figure in your time patrolling the Underground, seems to have taken a liking to you when she surely shouldn’t.

Isabel Magnolia, you learn, is her name.

Talking to you about her life, asking questions about the surface, wondering if there’s a better life up there—

She’s a part of a found family she definitely shouldn’t be telling you about.

You explain that, while the sun is beautiful, the surface isn’t much better sometimes.

If there’s a better life, then clearly you wouldn’t know it.

You’re stuck down here, too, whether you’d like to admit it or not.

Perhaps by choice — you enlisted for a reason — but nonetheless stuck.

She’s so cheerful. Trusting. 

You hate that for her.

(Someone could take advantage. Doesn’t she know that?)

Yet when Isabel grabs your hand one day and excitedly pulls you down an alleyway, telling you she has to show you something, you wonder if this is the moment where your stupidity catches up to you with a final blow to the head.

So it begs the question while you’re standing in an oddly pristine, clean-to-the-edges apartment in the middle of the city where two boys stare at you like you’re the devil incarnate:

What the hell is an MP doing here?

An ashy-haired boy yelps from his spot at a round dining table, catching a second dark-haired boy’s attention. He whips around, the whites of his eyes growing while he stares directly at you.

Immediately you recognize the cold stare, the raven-black fringe sweeping against them.

A smaller frame for a man but nevertheless daunting.

Billowing white sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. His hands are busy scrubbing dishes at the sink of their quaint kitchenette.

The one they call Levi.

“This is the girl who saved me a few months ago,” Isabel chirps like it’s nothing, happily tugging you further into the apartment.

Your uniform feels constricting, like it’s threatening to choke you out.

“You never said it was a goddamn MP, Isa,” the lankier boy whisper-shouts as he stands from the table, his head whipping between the other two. “Levi? The hell do we do?”

Levi’s silent, observing you.

“Isabel, I should go,” you murmur to your odd friend, looking over the ginger warily. “They’re right. I shouldn’t be here.”

“But why not?” Isabel asks with confusion. “You’re not like them. Furlan, she’s really not, she’s actually really—”

“You’re the one who saved her ass from MPs?”

Levi’s voice, smooth like honey and deep like a rumble, cuts through your panic.

You turn your chin to regard him, lips parted with an apology you shouldn’t owe.

“She was getting too close to the stairwell,” you confess softly to him, clenching your fists at your sides. “I know how the MPs treat people down here. I didn’t — I couldn’t let something happen to her.”

“Why?” he asks abruptly, eyes narrowing.

Isn’t that the question of the hour:

Why are you trying to get yourself fired and tossed down here with the rest of them?

“Because it… was the right thing to do.”

He makes a noise, something of a tch, before picking up a fourth tea cup.

.

.

— —

.

.

  If your colleagues knew you spent the better part of your shifts in the Underground talking to their number-one public enemy, with your backs against adjacent brick walls — you facing the street, him in the shadows of an alleyway — they wouldn’t hesitate.

Execution style, side by side.

You confess the routes of your brethren.

You warn them of the dangers of different colleagues that want nothing more than to hurt people, to use their position of power for worse.

It takes time — months upon months — but eventually his group grows stronger than your unit.

They could very well kill you themselves, if they wanted.

Maybe you’re like Isabel with the desperation to connect.

Maybe you find yourself hating the animals your colleagues become under the guise of an endless night.

Levi meets with you weekly, if not daily, by this point.

For the good of his friends, he claims. Nothing more.

You don’t blame him.

(Yet the more you talk to him, learn about what he’s built, what he’s about, the less you feel like returning to the sun.)

.

.

— —

.

.

  He likes tea.

That much you’ve gathered in your time sitting in the living kitchenette of their apartment.

You’ll never forget the change in his expression, usually so stoic and emotionless, when you produced a small bag from under your emerald cloak late one evening.

“The traders down here don’t carry these blends,” you tell him, pushing the bag towards him.

His eyes squint, observing the brown pouch with confusion, before reaching to delicately unravel the tie holding it together.

Levi lets out a gentle huff when the aroma hits him, face smoothing with recognition.

Fresh leaves. 

“Why?”

It’s a question you’ve even asked yourself.

You get things for Furlan and Isabel all the time, their requests for surface goods fairly frequent, but—

“Because you never ask for anything,” you confess. “And it’s the least I can do.”

“But why?” he questions again, softer this time.

His gaze flickers to yours.

Your throat clenches with the truth.

“I don’t know.”

A lie.

.

.

— —

.

.

  You’re meant to be patrolling the streets of the Underground City in the dead of night.

Another lie.

All you’ve learned to do is hide, steal, and lie.

Yet nothing feels closer to the truth than Levi letting you into the small, cramped apartment.

Opening his home to you.

The enemy.

“Furlan and Isabel are elsewhere tonight,” he confesses under his breath when he closes the door.

“Elsewhere?” you ask him quietly. “Are they safe?”

“You would know if they weren’t.”

You step forward, anticipating the same song and dance you’ve played for over a year now.

Instead of dancing with you, playing the game, Levi stays put. 

It forces you chest to chest, eye to eye, and suddenly you realize just how blue those gray eyes really are.

Stormy, like a sky he’ll never see.

Something shifts in his expression. Something lighter, tangible, as he takes a slow inhale through his nose.

You shift on impulse, angling closer, until you feel the heat of his face.

“Can’t,” he states, like you know what he’s saying.

By now, you do.

“I know,” you whisper, and those eyes dart lower.

Cheeks.

Nose.

Lips.

“Shouldn’t,” he argues to no one but himself when he leans closer. 

His breath tickles your face.

“Wrong,” you agree, accidentally brushing your lips to his.

A single act opens the floodgates.

Both pairs of hands jump as your lips smash into one another’s.

His palm cradles the back of your head while yours guides his cheek closer, directing the angle of the kiss.

With a purposeful push, he slams you into the front door, caging you in and causing stars to flash behind your eyelids.

You’re already undoing the straps of your uniform with haste — he may have stolen ODM gear in the time you’ve known him, but you’re not confident he knows how to disrobe a military uniform.

He seems grateful, because he grunts against your lips and flicks his tongue against your lower lip in thanks. You part your lips obediently.

Can’t, but you’re still hopping up into his arms the second you free your lower half of white uniform trousers.

Shouldn’t, but he catches you with ease, digging his free hand into the flesh of your ass while he pivots and walks with you in his arms.

Wrong, but he drops down to his couch anyway, letting you sit in his lap.

There’s no time for decorum.

His hand blindly dips down your lower belly and slips under the fabric of your panties, groaning when he realizes you’ve been wet since you saw him.

You make the tiniest noise, a strangled moan at best, and you feel it right against your lips:

A smirk. 

Brief and fleeting, but you felt it.

Lazily dragging his fingertips in a circle around your clit, your breath becomes stagnated. Shaky.

Your bare thighs clench around his, trying to keep your wits about you, but his hand only proceeds faster to ruin those efforts.

“Off,” you weakly state, reaching between you to pathetically tug at his own trousers.

Levi pulls away from your mouth, staring up at you in his lap. “That’s—”

“What I want,” you interrupt, and you see his throat bob with a swallow.

“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he confesses, and it feels like the closest you’ve ever gotten to knowing the essence of him.

“You don’t have to,” you promise. “I do.”

Once, fumbling at the cadet barracks.

It was awkward and quick and unremarkable.

Yet the way Levi’s eyes widen with recognition, you already know this is what you want — him, every fragment of him, hidden away from the world.

Pushing him to the couch cushions, you raise your hips to help him push down his trousers and underwear.

His cock springs free and his hisses at the contrast of the cool air and his hot skin.

You take advantage of the moment, wrapping your hand around him.

The way he whines when your hand leisurely pumps will be burned into the back of your skull.

“Are you sure?”

His question manages to weave itself through the hazy maze of your mind.

Glancing down at him, you note how flushed his cheeks have become; how his chest rises and falls under that flowing white shirt. He looks utterly wrecked without having to do much of anything.

“Are you sure?” you ask in return, giving your answer rhetorically.

Panting, the dark-haired boy nods.

Certain.

So are you.

“Just touch me,” you tell him, and Levi leaps at the damn opportunity to do so.

He raises up from the couch to loop his palm around your neck, dragging you down with him into a searing kiss. You moan into it, gently nudging the tip of him to your entrance.

When his hand returns to your clit, eager to draw those noises out of you, it only makes it that much easier to slowly push yourself down onto his length.

Both of your mouths drop open, wide with a soundless shout, as you ease him fully into you.

Wrong.

Over and over, the word plays in your mind.

Levi groans as you drag your body up, then down, beginning a tentative rhythm.

Wrong.

Nothing fills you like him.

Nothing fills you like this.

He lets you set the pace as you fuck him on his couch, the sounds of your pleasure mixing in the midnight air.

Faster.

Harder.

His hand grips your hip so hard it could leave a bruise.

You don’t care.

He groans a semblance of your name, something he rarely does, and squeezes harder.

Close.

If he’s never done this, then you know he won’t last long.

With your own climax coming at you with a vengeance, you can’t find a reason to care.

Suddenly you feel it — the wave rises so fast and falls that you don’t have time to warn him.

Within seconds you cum around him, violently shuddering around him as you cry against his mouth.

The sheer force of it causes Levi to gasp sharply, hips slamming abruptly into you so he’s buried deep—

He doesn’t have time to warn you, either.

He cums just as hard, sealing the loud moan with a kiss to your lips.

You still your hips, spent — his arms catch you when you crumble against his chest, desperately trying to catch your breath.

You’ve passed it: the point of no return, forced to confront a choice with no regrets.

The aftermath, euphoria clouding judgment, hasn’t quite hit yet.

Wrong.

(Neither of you care.)

.

author's note:

Thank you so much for reading! This one shot was unbeta'd and written in two hours so I hope this insane "I woke up with this idea and really wanted to participate" story made you as sweaty as it made me this morning.

[roseykat]

TITLE: Venom Biter

PAIRING: Minho x reader

SUMMARY: The end of a relationship between you and Minho turns as sour as it could ever get. A lovers to enemies trope.

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won't be able to regulate every single interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work or page whatsoever.

TAGS: breakups, hate sex, post-breakup sex, unprotected sex, swearing, angst, manhandling, push and shove, spitting, choking, oral sex (f!reader receiving), angst, strong hints of degradation, use of degrading names such as 'slut' and 'whore'.

A/N: this was originally meant to be for one of the days I had planned for Kinktober but I was up to my neck in work and I didn't want to post something sort of half-assed so I had to hone down on most of the work for this piece.

MASTERLIST

“Broke up?” Chan’s eyes refuse to blink. “You two broke up!?”

His confused filled stare shoots for the direction of his best friend, Minho, who quietly sits opposite him across the table. He looks slightly withdrawn or…off colour. It can’t have been the gruelling two hour lecture they finished before heading out to lunch. If it were that, Minho would be complaining his head off saying how boring it was or cursing himself for not changing his minor earlier. 

He’s just not his usual self. In other social settings, he could talk until the cows came home. But the entire hour that they’ve spent together at lunch, Chan has been doing all the conversing and only receiving vague one-word answers. It wasn’t until he asked what was up with Minho that his friend dished out the news that he and his girlfriend - you, had split up.

“Why?” Chan proceeds, still swimming in shock.

A sigh leaves Minho’s mouth. He truly doesn’t feel like revisiting this subject. When he even thinks about the answer, all he can recall is the firey shouting match you both had the day things crumbled. 

“It’s messy,” he replies with a cloudy and ambiguous answer. 

“If you talk about it, then it might help you make sense of it all.”

He groans this time, “I really, really don’t want to do that. What’s done is done.” 

“Done?” Chan questions, still not letting up on an interrogation. “You were in a relationship with Y/N, for years. You guys talked about a whole future together. That’s not something you just sweep under the rug and forget about.”

If there’s one thing he almost did forget about, it’s that you were friends with him - not just Chan, but the seven others as well. After all, it was Minho who introduced you to those select people whom he calls his brothers. They would’ve found out eventually if Minho refrained from telling them who you were dating all those years ago.

Though naturally, you became very close with them. 

“We’ve both chosen to do that so there’s nothing really much left to dispute.”

Chan’s eyebrows furrow, realising he left out a crucial question to the situation, “why did you guys break up in the first place?”

Minho feels like he’s going to run out of sighs, “she doesn’t love me anymore and I don’t love her anymore. That’s literally all there is to it.” 

“You’re telling me you both fell out of love - at the same time,” Chan responds, still having a difficult time trying to comprehend his friend's situation.

“Pretty much,” Minho confirms with a nod. 

Chan finds that extremely hard to believe from his friend - the very person who would enter a different realm whenever he was in a five centimetre radius of you. His eyes would glaze over as if he were possessed; always fixated on you, he’d smile more than he usually would, and was comfortable in the space around you. 

There had to be another reason, surely. 

But it had almost been three weeks since Chan dissected the news out of Minho, and it was almost like pulling teeth trying to dive for the details. Each attempt was as fruitless as the next and in the end, Chan just plucked the same answers.

Regardless, it seemed to play out better than expected. Minho saved himself from having to dish out explanations as to why you wouldn’t be around anymore. As a result, telling Chan was the best option and since the others didn’t know, Minho was okay with him telling them so that he didn’t have to. 

In saying that, Minho left out very central details of what happened leading up to the breakup. He never mentioned the constant fighting, the lying, the false accusations, the shouting matches, up until the point where you were both swimming in the toxicity the pair of you created. 

He also absconded from the fact to Chan that not only did you both separate, but you’ve also both come to view the other differently and not through a good lens. Minho shouted it in your face the other day to which you did the same; “I hate you.” And that was that.

But his friends probably didn’t need to know all of that. 

Since that day, you’ve been in the process of trying to find an apartment for yourself which isn’t easy. You want to remain in town and not too far out so that you don’t have a long commute to work, and at the same time, you don't want to break the bank trying to find a nice place to rent in the city. All in all, it was tough, but you were ready to just leave. 

Having packed up the majority of your stuff in boxes, all you had to do was wait for landlords to contact you back about possible vacant apartments. Thankfully Minho was lenient in allowing you to stay until you found a place. 

You slept in the spare room, mainly keeping to yourself and the boxes of things surrounding the space. Occasionally you would have to lock yourself in there and throw on some noise-cancelling headphones whenever Minho brought around another woman to sleep with.

It was his house, you knew that and now that you have no ties to him and he’s letting you stay, it was never your place to question his actions. 

Still, that could never lessen the hurt. It was painful which is why you hated him so much. You don’t know how a person could move on so quickly after so many years of being told how much you’re loved. It was like he never meant it. With that being said, when you eventually managed to find a decent place, you were free from Minho. 

All of your items were ready to be moved out, taking a couple of days to actually get them to your new place. In the tiring process, you also had to factor in your work schedule which meant it would take longer to continue moving your stuff. Nonetheless, you had the majority of your boxes out of Minho's house with only a few remaining that you needed to swing by and pick up.

"Something wrong?" he wears a blank look on his face when you arrive on the doorstep to his house.

"Some of my stuff is still here, can I come in to grab it please?" You ask politely. He gives a silent answer in return by opening his door wider for you to walk in before he goes back to whatever it was he was doing.

You make your way into the spare room where the last of your things remain, but there is one odd detail you notice as you approach the items. What was supposed to be taped down lids to the boxes had in fact been opened; not in the state you had originally left it in. 

"Minho," you call out, hoping he heard you.

Sure enough, he did. Minho walks into the spare room with a puzzled expression, wondering why he's been summoned, "what?"

“Why are these open?” You ask, lifting one box off of the other to check if the rest were open as well. “Half of my stuff isn’t in here.”  

“You were coming back for those?” he replies with a question. 

“What the hell else would I be coming back here for?” 

“That's what I thought when you got here,” he says. “I thought it was for other things that you left behind, not ones in these boxes."

Your eyes never leave his face, tracking any sudden shifts in his muscles to try to figure out if he’s actually telling the truth or not. Even though you and Minho aren’t together, you're sure he wouldn't do anything malicious out of spite.

“So why is half my stuff missing?” 

Minho pinches the bridge of his nose, “I thought you didn’t need any of it and that you left it here on purpose for me to deal with or throw out.” 

“So what…” you trail off, expecting his answer. Minho hesitates for a few moments, sitting on the fence about whether he should actually tell you or not. But the least he can do right now is be honest. 

“I told the…girl I bought around the other day that if she wanted anything-“ 

“No you fucking didn’t.” 

“-she could have whatever was left in the boxes,” Minho finishes the rest of his sentence which would’ve been better for you not to hear. 

“What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“What the fuck is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with you for leaving them behind in the first place!” Minho argues back, trying to defend himself here even though he knows he’s in the wrong. “You were gone for a few days Y/N, I thought you just left!” 

“I never left them behind! I told you how long it was going to take my things to move!” You shout at him, tears brimming your eyes. “Now my stuff…”

The hurt genuinely sets in. Minho feels a sharp stab of pain in his chest when he sees how visibly upset you are. He knows that he’s been nothing short of a dickhead within the past month and now he’s gone and made things worse. It’s no point in him now to say that it was an honest mistake.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know, truly.”

You shove him backwards into the dresser, knocking down some of the empty photo frames that were once homes for pictures of you and Minho, “you’re not sorry. You’re the fucking worst.”

Taken aback by your actions, Minho turns behind him to see the frames flat on the surface then looks back at you, “seriously Y/N, I would not have done that out of spite.”

“But it’s the fact that you still did it!” You raise your voice at him and shove him back again. “You didn’t bother calling or texting me about it when you should’ve!” 

Minho predicts your next move and catches your arms to stop you from pushing him back impossibly further into the dresser. He shoves you back, the back of your knees hitting the edge of the bed which causes you to land on it behind you.

Before the surprise kicks in, Minho is kneeling on top of you, nearly straddling your lower half as he starts pinning your arms to the side of your head. Yet with a split second of momentum to break free, you struggle but manage to flip the tables and pin Minho on his back. 

You mount his hips before your mouth comes down to kiss Minho so aggressively that it takes him a moment to react. With any other woman that he’s slept with so far, he would allow them to be on top. But because it’s you, and supposedly hates your guts, not to mention his untapped pride, it’s not going to happen. So Minho fights back, kissing and biting nearly every part of your upper body in the process until you’re under him. 

He sucks large, deep, red hickies into the skin of your neck, in places where everyone would be able to see them. Minho would want people to know that you’re just a whore he uses. Especially for the next guy you sleep with who would go down on you and see the myriad of hickies that Minho would eventually put between your thighs when he rips your pants down. 

“Wanna play this fucking game with me,” he rasps before yanking down your off. 

Despite being a dickhead Minho will still eat you out for prep. But it’s not soft and teasing when he does go down on you. It’s tongue and finger fucking you until you’re dizzy from how hard you’re about to cum. It gives you the opportunity to pull and tug on his hair until his scalp starts burning, forcing you to be as vocal as you’ve ever been. 

His fingers curl up into that sensitive spot while his tongue and mouth work simultaneously. He’s always been good at giving head, but unusually better now that he’s relatively angry. In the back of your mind, you supposed it helped having not slept with anyone for a month, making it easier to reach that peak of delicious, eye-rolling ecstasy. 

“Fuck!” you scream out, voice projecting throughout the room as Minho sucks on your clit. “Fuck you…you’re gonna make me cum.” 

Those words are something Minho could never get tired of hearing you say. Even in the headspace that he’s in now, he wants nothing more than to hear how good he’s making your body feel. However, he doesn’t need verbal confirmation from you to know that you’re about to cum. When your walls seize and clamp around his fingers, when you’re trembling around his head, Minho knows what that means. 

The quick drag of his fingers is only light work for him, pumping at a pace that has you panting to try and keep up with it. As a result, it’s not long before Minho brings you to your sweet release; a toe-curling burst of euphoria that has you silently creaming around his fingers. 

He has no patience for you to descend from your orgasm, sucking his fingers clean as he pulls away from your pussy. He gets to unbuckling his belt faster than he can even comprehend that this is still happening. 

“H-Hurry,” you whine, trying to quell the hunger for Minho’s cock while you wait.

His eyes squeeze shut, hissing as he coats his length with your slick, “shut the fuck up.”

Despite being in a haze post-orgasm, you manage to sit up quickly to turn and push Minho down by his shoulders. You find yourself straddling his hips once more, reaching down and behind for his cock, aligning it with your hole. Minho allows you to work for it yourself, watching his cock vanish by the second as you sink down. 

“Mmm…f-fuck,,” you whine, unable to come to grips with how much you miss him filling you out. 

Taking a couple of slow strokes up and down allows you to realise that never in your wildest dreams could you ever imagine hate sex with Minho would be this…rough. Both of you pushing, shoving, and manhandling each other around, speaking to each other with such disregard for the other person's feelings – beyond the point of degradation.

“Come on,” Minho grunts, fingernails embedding themselves into your hips so that the indents remaining become as equally as vibrant as the hickies blooming on your neck. 

You look down at him with disgust before your hand lowers to his throat, choking him out by the sides of his neck. That familiar feeling of restriction to Minho forces him to repress his sick enjoyment of it, even more so when you start really riding him. 

“Fuck you,” you strain out, trying to assert some degree of control even though you’re battling with oversensitivity from your previous orgasm. 

You slam your hips down repeatedly, building up a good pace and rhythm that’s enough for small moans to force their way out of your mouth. With a cock like Minho’s, it’s impossible to keep quiet no matter how much you try. However, as you work for your own orgasm, you don’t want to give him any satisfaction by making him think that he’s the one doing it; yet in reality, he is. 

Nonetheless, you continue to use him just as much as he’s using you until the luxury of pleasure accelerates in the pit of your stomach. In saying that, it doesn’t take long for Minho to find that information out as you continue to ride him. The observation is clear-cut;

“Nobody’s fucked you since me haven’t they?” He asks you breathlessly, watching you roll your hips deliciously over his cock. “Know how I can tell? Because you keep fucking clenching around my dick.”

Your eyebrows furrow, struggling to find an answer for him because he is right and that’s not your fault, “s-so what? Want me to stop?” 

“Didn’t say that, did I?” He argues back, too proud to say ‘no’. “Just…just keep moving.”

A firm hand of yours catches his taut jaw, and while his mouth is open, you lean down and spit right in it. 

You curse right at him, “fuck you.” 

His eyes lock with yours and for a moment, Minho is shocked, but not in a bad way. In that moment you despised him so much that he made you do something a normal person would find disgusting. Although it’s not long before a sick smirk spreads across his face, failing to pretend as if he didn’t just enjoy that, swallowing it back. 

“Course you’d be into that you fucking whore,” he rasps, his body jolting every time your hips slam down. 

“I’m not the whore who’s taking it,” you snipe back at him. 

Your comment riles Minho, resulting in him nearly bucking you off his body before flipping you onto your stomach. He yanks both of your hands behind your back as something for him to latch onto when he pushes his cock back into you, and starts fucking hard and fast. 

“Yes, yes, yes, fuck…” you whimper, eyes fluttering shut. 

The new angle makes his dick slip in just that extra bit deeper, achieving a sensation which you miss all too much. With the amount of relentlessness that Minho puts behind his thrusts is nothing but a fast, brutal, and unforgiving type of fucking. He’s not holding back with you, no matter how much you hate him and he hates you, he will fuck you to tears.

“Such a fucking slut,” he drives forward nastily. “Needy, loud, slut.” 

Your choked moans and whimpers are typical responses to hearing him call you that name again. In bed, if you weren’t his lover, you were his slut. Minho wouldn’t care less if the bed broke beneath him trying to fuck you like the whore you always wanted him to treat you as. But it was phenomenal.  

Now, that’s only a distant memory clawing to come back. 

“Make me cum…make me fucking cum,” you demand, acknowledging how close you are to the cliff of ecstasy.

Minho's breathing picks up from hearing the pure desperation in your voice, and so does his pace. His only release is not but a minute away, respecting that and also his motive to continue rearranging your guts. 

Yet the possibility of keeping up any longer draws to a short term. Minho’s hold on your wrists behind your back becomes a solid death grip with no chance of escape until the wet heat from your pussy has his hips jumping out of rhythm. 

His head tilts to the sky, the pleasure screaming at him from the base of his cock, “y-yes, fuck I'm cumming.”

At that very instant, Minho’s release rocks him over. His hands let go of yours in lieu of grabbing onto your ass instead. The pain and sting of his fingernails scraping deep into your flash forces strained whimpers and mewls from your throat, helping to push you over the verge of your second orgasm. 

“Y-Yes, cumming, oh fuck-” you cry out with a shaky voice, stiffening while your hole seizes rhythmically around Minho’s length. 

The pleasure is throat-gripping, making you forget the words to express how good you feel. Except, in the vapour of your orgasmic haze, you still don't want to accept the fact that it's Minho who makes you feel that way.

He pauses for a moment then thrusts hard back into you, making you keep the warm load that you were so undeservingly given, regardless if your walls are spasming and contracting it out. Then just as he was fast to try to get inside you, he's just as fast when he pulls out and flops beside you.

The air in the room becomes breathable again now that your heart rate isn't racing to the heavens, but picks back up quickly when you decide to hop off the bed and get dressed. You couldn't care less if you were sore and unbalanced. The thought of staying in the room with Minho any longer was suffocating.

“About your stuff,” he starts, filling the silent void with an exasperated voice. “I’ll try to get it back.” 

You zip your jeans up, “don’t bother. I know you did give it away for whatever reason, but for what reason is something I’m betting you’ll take to the grave with you.” 

Minho is up and now following suit by putting his clothes on. If now is the time to get one thing off of his chest, it’s now. Since the day you both separated, there has been no proper conversation. Both of you are too stubborn to admit wrongs and fix rights, but in your eyes, it's too far gone. There’s no going back to a good thing that was once more. 

"I won't if we can just talk it out," he offers the opportunity to you.

“Minho, the nights that I had to listen to you fuck someone else in the next room right after we just broke up was a clear sign that we did not need to talk it out. All it made me do is realise that you didn't actually love me."

“That’s not true,” he shakes his head as you hear a twinge of desperation in his voice like he's pleading his case. "That's not true at all."

"It is though," you correct him. "You were free to sleep with whoever you wanted to because we had broken up at that point, but not a day after that did you wait."

Minho follows through with his explanation, “I was trying to get you out of my head. Spending too long just thinking about you makes me want to lose it. It didn't mean that I never loved you before."

“So you’re just going to continue being delusional? To fuck your way through trying to forget me?” You question, nearly laughing. "I honestly think you're just being pathetic."

He shrugs, “if it means that I don’t have to feel heartbreak, then yes.”

Part of you gets it. Minho’s found a vice and is using it as a tool to deal with his pain. But you’re in pain too, and you haven’t done anything to upset him ever since you split. Maybe it is as bad for him as he says it is. Maybe he doesn’t truly know how to navigate himself out of this like you’re attempting to.

It’s almost a rebuttal to your statement about whether he truly loved you or not; if he’s using other people to drive the thought of you out of his brain because it’s too painful to deal with, then maybe you were more than just a lover to him. 

"I mean this in the nicest way possible, but I cannot stand being around you anymore because of how much it hurts to know that you're not actually with me. I'd rather try to forget your existence in order to not feel that type of heartbreak," Minho explains, his words coming from a place inside him that must've just opened up.

But he continues, "the second we split, I needed every last memory of you out of this house. But I know that this hurts you too and that this past month I’ve hurt you and that’s no justification to say that my reason is because you mean more than my entire life.”

There’s an ache in your chest that you’ve never felt before, a blend of all the emotional pain that could’ve been prevented had the two of you just talked. But that ache is fuelled by the fact that you can hear the waiver in Minho’s voice, and even though his back is still turned to you while he sits on the edge of the bed, you’re sure he’s crying.

-

A/N: Dare I say that I want to make a part 2 to this where Minho and reader try to rekindle, things are pretty tender but they sort of want to make it work...

[nyarumie]

Ruined Flowers, Beautiful Flowers.

hoshina soshiro x f!reader — 3.6k words. Mentions of stabbing, reader had an outburst, attempt at angst, established friendship, extreme fluff at the end because i cant stand making my characters suffer. Not proofread!

Author's Note: It's my first time writing something involving drama, feedbacks are highly appreciated! I tried my best and got carried away with the length. 💔

Author's Reply: A request from anon here. Kinda hit way too close to home when you said reader is afraid of falling in love 😭 (also guys pls send me Narumi stuff too I want to make more content for my guy)

Ask box is open! Also cross-posted on ao3.

Cheers erupted from your platoon, exhausted strength from the fight seemingly replenished as you dealt the final blow to the Honju once again. Their eyes sparkled with victory, anticipation filling the air as they immediately chatter to plan another celebration for your win. Familiar words of praise reach your ears, but none of them truly reach your heart. What's there to praise about when you're just doing work as expected?

You offer a soft smile to your platoon who is now approaching you, finally engaging yourself in chatter. You were never one for loud occasions, but you have a reputation to keep. They went on about your elegant strikes in battle, your speed and agility that beats even the fastest of lightning, and the reputable “silent, but deadly” strides you have.

“Man, I sure would always keep my distance from our platoon leader! Might get caught up in her Kaiju kill with how silent she attacks, y'know?” one of them joked, a series of awed agreements emerging from the others.

That's right, keep your distance. Getting too close… might just kill anyone.

You close your eyes as you listen, basking in the enthusiasm exuding from your officers. To them, the hushed strides you've perfected in battle is nothing more than a technique. To you, it's just the one thing that keeps your peace, and no one will be able to understand it the way you do.

Except, there's this one person—too persistent for your liking, so much more than your comrades asking you to mentor them. Scratch that, he's not persistent; he's simply way too highly attentive, it scares you just how much about you he already had figured out.

From a distance stands Hoshina Soshiro, the esteemed Vice Captain of the division you belong to. His watchful eyes never miss anything. You fail to ignore his all too familiar peering gaze even as you try to indulge yourself in the antics of your platoon. You don't understand, you never will. Why does he desperately want to unravel you? Closing your eyes really was the best option. That way, you'll avoid making eye contact with him lest he sees through you again, as if he's starting to pick up the puzzle pieces bit by bit. Curiosity getting the best of you, you peeked one eye open to see what he's up to.

Ah, he's now making his way to you. Well, damn him.

Concluding that you have no escape from what's about to come, you sighed and bid your platoon a (short) farewell, leaving them the promise of a celebratory feast tonight. You walked and met him halfway.

Vice Captain Hoshina was already grinning from ear to ear when you neared him, as if he wasn't mentally piercing through your own mind moments ago. You pouted. In an instant, his arm is heavily draped over your shoulder, his other hand playfully ruffling your hair. 

A series of complaints were heard from you, only causing him to let out devilish laughs and made an even more mess of your hair. 

“Vice Captain! It took me almost an hour to fix and style my hair, and we have a celebration to attend later!” you complained, begging him to stop.

“Fine, fine! Ya did another excellent job today. No wonder Captain Ashiro always trusts you a hella bunch.” he said, satisfied with today's operation. “However…” 

And there he goes.

He stood too near you, still hearing clearly enough despite how hushed his voice became. “You're a lot worse today. Still not spillin' the beans? I'm your closest friend here, ya know?”

You looked away from him, finding a car ruined to smithereens apparently far more interesting than whatever this is right now. “Must be your imagination. The Honju just so happened to be tougher today.”

Lie. Today's Honju had a lower fortitude compared to last time. You both know that. And you both know there's no fooling him from what he saw.

You stood atop the Kaiju's corpse after neutralizing it. Back facing everyone, holding your head up high. To the rest of the Division, you were basking in your victory, trying to keep your breath steady after all the action that took place. But there was no fooling Soshiro's eyes.

His keen gaze traveled over your entire figure. Breath ragged, chest heaving as if deprived of oxygen, a clenched grip on your thin, sharp sword forged akin to that of a rapier—in contrast with your lax hand holding your pistol, careful to not fire a shot. You looked like you were in complete agony and exasperation. Soshiro knows that you were heavily sobbing. Silently. Alone. Exactly how you do things your way.

You were only snapped out of your unrest when cheers finally erupted from your platoon. The smile you offer, to a stranger's eyes, is soft and gentle. To him, it's sad—as if it was a struggle for you to smile wide without hesitancy. Your deadly silence in battle wasn't so silent today at all. He can hear it far too well, that each slash of your blade and each shot of your pistol is accompanied with restlessness, each attack heavier than the last.

The Honju has been reported to have no vitals detected, but you kept slashing and shooting, ‘just in case’. Outrageous. You were literally taking out whatever storm is in your head to the Honju's corpse. Not that he minded the Honju, but he cared for you. He is your friend, you can pour your heart and mind out on him instead of a corpse of a monster. Why won't you? Why is the inside of your mind much more different from what you show others? How do you do it?

He doesn't understand. Or maybe he does, but you won't let him in. He wants to be with you, even at your lowest. And he's already failing.

“I see. If the Honju is indeed tougher today,” he started, “then report to me later, Platoon Leader. Post-celebratory report will do. Take it easy for now.” 

Was he upset? He rarely addresses you by your position. You carefully turned your head back to him, afraid that he's finally fed up with your bullshit. You're insufferable. Maybe one day he'll ask you to serve another Division. But instead, you see him grace you with a real, soft smile. It makes you want to cry.

'Take it easy for now.' You wish you could unhear it. You hate how easy his words always go through you. How can you take it easy when you try so hard to not be a burden? You don't want him to know any more than he already does.

“...I've no need for rest. But thank you.” You finally feel the tiredness creeping its way through your system.

Post-neutralization banquets are rare, happening annually at most. Somehow, your platoon members managed to smooth talk their way in securing an approval for tonight's celebration. For what, you don't know.

Everyone had their eyes on you when you entered the hall, bright smiles and expectant faces greeting you. This unnerved you, knowing full well what they're requesting with their doe, puppy eyes.

“Ahem. If you're expecting a heartwarming speech, I'm not the person for the job. You all should wait for the Vice Captain for that.” you said, earning a handful of groans from your members.

A hand suddenly lightly ruffled your hair, an action you’ve grown quite accustomed to. “Wait no more! Allow me to handle things, then!” the Vice Captain cheerfully said. Taking this as your cue to sit down, you excused yourself from him, feeling his slightly disappointed gaze trailing you as you sit.

Cheers echoed from the team as he finished his short spiel, everyone’s hunger evident as they hurriedly fill their plates with food. Your tablemates are no different, they're rushing here and there to get the best pieces of meat and pour each other some drinks. You decided to wait, not wanting to contribute to the mess the hall has become.

A plate filled with juicy meat and a bowl of your favorite stew was placed in front of you. Now someone is also taking up your space? About to reprimand whoever placed them in your eating area, you looked up to see that it was just the Vice Captain.

“Eat up. Keep waitin’ for the chaos to calm down and ya will be left with nothin’ to munch on.” He sat beside you, carrying his own set of food.

“Thanks. But I can grab my own fill just fine.” That's what you said, but still started eating what he gave you.

“Mhm… Just accept it in earnest. You never happily accepted any help I offered ya.”

“That’s because no one can give me the help I need.” you absentmindedly said, almost mumbling to yourself. Soshiro remained silent, now looking at you instead of his food. Maybe you shouldn't have said that. “... Let's just eat.” 

As the end of the celebration approached, he wanted to test the waters; he got up and collected the plastic flowers adorning the tables, wrapping them around a ribbon he miraculously spotted somewhere—his own version of a small, makeshift bouquet. 

He sat down beside you again, earning your attention. You raised your brow at him upon seeing the makeshift bouquet in his hand, a silent question about what he's up to.

“Ta-da! They aren't the real deal, but I did a pretty good job, won't ya say? This one's yours, ya look good with it.” He made a gesture for you to take the flowers, which you did, studying it closely for a while.

“Vice Captain, you shouldn't be taking the establishment’s props.” you said, frowning. “We should get back to your office. Let's get today's report over with.” 

Internally sighing, he doesn't know if you're purposely acting dense or just straight up ignoring his subtle advances. Maybe he needs to tell you outright. You once told him that words and actions come hand-in-hand.

It's surprisingly cold tonight even through the heat of the celebrations. He went outside the hall, leaning against the corridor’s wall to wait for you. You told him you have unfinished business to take care of, which is scolding your far too drunk officers who took their drinking competition to another level. Groans and wails from the inside resounded through the door, probably from officers begging you to lighten their punishment. 

Finally, he saw you stepping out of the hall. No makeshift bouquet in hand spotted. “Where’d ya put it?” he asked, already knowing the answer.

“Oh, the flowers? I told you we’re not supposed to take them. So I kinda dismantled the ribbon and put them back in place…” you said, looking away guiltily.

That surprisingly stung, despite knowing you didn't want to intentionally hurt him. He knows you’d leave it there, but dismantling them is another. He struggled putting it all together, after all.

“Makes sense. Let's get the report done.” he smiled, ruffling your hair again. This time, it's his way of saying ‘it’s okay, don't feel guilty about it’.

You threw him a look of concern, the playfulness absent from his smile. “I didn't—” 

“Are ya cold?” he suddenly asked. Before you can even answer, he removed his work jacket and draped it over your shoulders. “Please put the sleeves on. Yer hands are shakin’ so bad.”

Oh, you didn't even notice. Silently, you put them on as he asked. It's so… large. And oddly comforting. You hated it, somehow. The sleeves extend way beyond your hands and it would look like a mini dress if zipped up.

Satisfied with this, the Vice Captain started walking, pace slow. You followed suit, opting to walk behind him. You looked confused. You feel overwhelmed. Why is he always doing so much? You prefer your friendly banters, the idiotic laughter you share with each other after stupid musings; you dislike the foreign feeling and lingering intention in each action he does towards you. You don't understand.

He once gave you a poetry book about flowers, saying it was like a reflection of yourself. It wasn't. You told him to stop mocking you.

You never asked for company on boring work days, but he was somehow finding his way towards you, offering an invitation to train new recruits. He knew you loved helping others, imparting your knowledge and watching them grow. You turned him down, saying he's more than capable of mentoring them himself.

Once, you were feeling a bit too competitive. Your platoon urged you on, daring you to make a bet with the Vice Captain. The losing platoon must prepare a banquet according to the winning platoon’s wishes. He can hit you in your sword sparring as many times as he can, but hit him once in the given time limit and you win. But you just so happen to miraculously strike him at the last second. He lost on purpose. But you didn't attend the banquet.

Then a tragedy occured. A citizen hiding from the Honju was left undetected, causing you to accidentally inflict a fatal wound on them as you attacked the Honju. Had you known, you would've prioritized their safety. He didn't have to cover this up. He was there. He should be reprimanding you. You were at a loss then.

You bump into his figure, letting out a sound of surprise. You were already inside his office? Perhaps your mind has been too occupied all the way here, you don't even know if he said something on the way here or when he opened the door for you.

Soshiro looked too serious at the moment. You shouldn't have agreed to report to him, because the Honju being tougher today is bullshit. This leaves you with nothing to report, and god you want to miraculously vanish into thin air at this instant.

“What's goin’ on in that li’l head of yours? It's unlike ya to get so out of focus.” he asked, crossing his arms.

“Vice Captain. I’d like to proceed with the report, please.”

“But ya don't have anything to report. I saw it well with my own two eyes.”

He can barely hear you, your voice only a mere whisper. “...Then report to me instead, Soshiro.”

He walked closer to you, your breath almost stopping. Why is it like this?

"What do ya want to know? I'll give you everything." 

Your fists clenched in frustration at his words. He's doing this on purpose, saying something that totally means another.

“Why… Why do you insist on staying by my side? Why do you care so much? I don't understand. You're my friend, but you're doing so much for just a friend. Why do you do these things? The book—the poetry book you once gave me, saying it reminded you of me—it doesn't make sense! It's full of flowery words, it speaks of beauty, but none of those are me. You’ve seen what mess of a person I am. You say you’d give me everything, but I can't even give you a single thing, Soshiro!”

You grabbed the front of his shirt, lowering your head as you failed to stop the tears from flowing.

“You should've let me rot in bed when you found me in a sickly state. Should've reported me to the higher ups for making a careless mistake. Should've distanced yourself from me, I did nothing but unintentionally hurt you when all you wanted was to look out for me.” 

You bit your lip, not wanting to spill more than you should've. A warm pair of arms went around you, causing you to cry harder, your body relaxing against your wishes.

“I see. Do my actions confuse you?” he softly asked. 

“...I can't accept them.” 

“That doesn't answer my question.” 

Still sobbing, you answered, “I don't know. You confuse me. I don't want to rely on anyone. I don't know what to make of them. I hate the lingering, unspoken intentions. I hate not understanding. I hate pushing you away, but it feels overwhelming when you're too close. I hate the comforting feeling you give me. Please don't waste your energy on me. I’m filled with dirt, my hands are covered in more blood than you know about.”

You’ve never spilled this much before, Soshiro noted. He thinks that's a lot to unpack, but he has all the time in his hands to walk you through it. You were a ticking time bomb, the impending explosion only delayed by taking out your anguish on all the Kaiju you’ve slayed. 

Soshiro caressed the back of your head, speaking. “Then I’ll help ya understand. I like you and I like bein’ with ya, even if you think otherwise. If you don't wanna rely on me, then don't. But I’ll be here when ya need me. I’ll walk you through everythin’ slowly if you’ll allow me. And I still think you're as beautiful as the flowers I keep tellin’ you about.” 

He tried holding your hand. You pulled it away when you felt his, but he insisted. “And these bloodied hands ya speak of, tell me more, please? The stains might be impossible for you to wash away, but I’ll gladly hold ‘em still.” 

He isn't the type to deliberately fool others, even if he humors himself with being a menace to others. You looked at him and was met with surprise as you were met with the soft pair of red eyes and gentle smile you’ve deniably always found comfort in. Were you deserving of this, even after unintentionally turning him away?

You let out a shaky breath, bracing yourself to recall a scenario that has haunted your mind for years. 

“A Kaiju attack. Was a yonju. It was small, but I can tell it's dangerous. Grabbed anything sharp, anything heavy I can get my hands on. I closed my eyes and kept swaying my makeshift weapon around, in hopes of defending myself. I know my sister was hiding somewhere, but it all happened too fast. I heard a piercing scream right in front of me. The yonju had found her somewhere and used her as its shield. I didn't know that even a yonju could think of that. I… accidentally stabbed my sister. She died. I should’ve kept my eyes open. I was weak and was only 14 then. Today's neutralization location is the exact same spot where it happened.”

Tears filled your eyes again. “The day… when I accidentally hit a hiding civilian. I felt my mind shut down. The same scenario replayed over and over again. Had it not been for you, both I and the civilian would've been long gone now. I was only able to take a breath when they got stabilized by the medical team.”

“I’m sorry. I understand if you don't want to involve yourself with me anymore. But thank you for… being my friend.” 

Instead of letting you go, you felt his arm wrap even tighter. “I told ya, didn't I? I’ll walk with ya through everythin'. What happened then doesn't make you any less of a person in my eyes. You’ve saved more lives than any of us can count. I’m sure yer sister will be immensely proud of ya.” 

"And! I haven't kept my end of the deal for our bet. Ya didn't attend the banquet for it." 

How persistent. But he's always been like this. It comforts you, how he's still being Soshiro even after your heavy outburst.

You cleared your throat. “You said you like me.”

“Mhm? And what about it?” 

“...I’m sorry for unintentionally pushing you away, or if I was rude sometimes. I didn't know how to handle it.” 

He let out a laugh of relief. “Dear, that was nothin’ at all! Ya don't have to reciprocate, I only wanted to do what I can for ya. That won't change anytime soon.”

Back to his playful self, he let you go and squished your tear-stained cheeks. “I’ll go with ya anywhere, even if it's straight to hell.” 

What a fast turnaround of mood. You don't mind it, though. There's no use drowning in your anguish. You wanted to get better.

You frowned. “Don't want you to go to hell, ‘Shiro.” 

“Was kiddin’. Get some rest?” 

You tiredly nodded at him, eyes heavy. “Vice Captain. I’m officially giving you a chance. At the same time, I’ll start getting better.”

He shot you an incredulous look. “My title? Really now? Fine then, Platoon Leader, as a reward for taking your first step, let me bestow this upon ya. Close your eyes.”

What is he up to now? You’ll punch him with no hesitation if he kisses you on your lips.

You felt something cold wrap around your wrist, his own hand gripping the back of yours.

“Open up.” He held up your hand to your face level. It's a floral bracelet. He always loves associating you with flowers. You don't understand why, but someday you know you will.

“Perfect match, ain’t it? Now, for the cherry on top…”

His next move took you by surprise. With no hesitation, he kissed your palm. “There. I hope that wasn't too much?”

Receiving no reply, his eyes snapped to your face, worried if he overstepped his newly established boundary.

The sight that greeted him was something to behold. You were looking at anything but him, unable to control the redness of your face. Ah, so that was quite the shot to your heart then?

“Hello? Earth to you?”

“I’m fine! It's okay! Just… not used to it. Do give me a warning next time for my sake, please. And we're not yet in a relationship, mind you.” you said, shyness still evident.

He heartily laughed, still not letting go of your hand. “I’ll walk ya back to your room now. The princess needs her long needed quality sleep.”

And sure enough, it was indeed the most peaceful night you’ve ever had.

[juyeonszn]

NECTAR

PAIRING kim sunwoo x f!reader

WORD COUNT 7.14k

GENRES smut ﹒ fluff

WARNINGS 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, mature language, umm age gap!! reader is like 10 or so years older than sunwoo (it’s never really specified what her exact age is), reader is also eric’s older sister, there’s a bit of spanish thrown in here lol they’re in mexico for vacation what did u expect, sun eric and hak are professional baseball players, there’s a scene where a waitress is kinda icky to reader bc she’s older, i think mentions of alcohol, sunwoo is down BAD down bad to the point of no return it’s crazy, he’s also a horny impatient little shit, soft dom!sunwoo ig idk, oral (m! & f! receiving), face fucking, handjob ish, a little bit of hair pulling, vaginal fingering, So Much Praise, UNPROTECTED SEX pls be safe!!, edging, delayed orgasm kinda, missionary position, creampie, aftercare :P, the last scene is so cute and disgusting i hate couples

SUMMARY despite being nearly a decade older than him, sunwoo’s always had his eyes on you. so when your younger brother invites you to join them on vacation, you fall right into his trap. you can’t really blame him for finally taking the bait after all these years.

MORE woah hey again 😋 this one isn’t as wild as the hyunjae fic, but it has its moments LOLL if u ever read my warnings about this when it was on my wip list, then u know that this was actually an old fic back from when i wrote for anime 😭 i changed a lot tbh but a good chunk of the original plot is still there 👍 i got inspo for the last scene from a tumblr quote my irl posted on instagram isn’t that crazy anyway….. enjoy!!

PLAYLIST nectar — wayv, tangerine love (favorite) — nct dream, delicious — the boyz, passion fruit — the boyz, horizon — jaehyun, moonlight sunrise — twice

When you agreed to go with your younger brother on a vacation in Mexico for a week with his friends, you weren’t sure what you were expecting.

You knew your brother’s friends well. They'd gone to high school together and after partly going their separate ways following graduation, decided to go on yearly trips to make up for any lost time. This year, the destinations were the gorgeous beaches of Mexico. Cozumel, Cancun, you name it. You were hitting all the spots.

Those were the luxuries of being the older sister of a professional baseball player.

From the start of your getaway, every single one of your movements felt like they were being watched. Your skin burned with the heat of mocha brown eyes staring at you. Half of you wanted to point it out to Eric, but figured you’d save yourself from the drama. Besides, you were a big girl and two could play at that game.

The first instance took place before you even left for the trip.

You lived about an hour away from Eric and since you were all taking the same flight, you thought it would be more convenient to just ride to the airport together. And because he was closer to the airport, he offered for you to stay at his and Sunwoo’s apartment. Haknyeon would be meeting you there due to prior engagements with his own team.

When you arrived at your brother’s place, you immediately regretted it. You hadn’t called before going over and Eric happened to be out, leaving you alone with Sunwoo. There was nothing wrong with him, you just hadn’t seen him in a couple years and you were afraid of it being awkward.

The younger male helped you bring your things inside, huffing when he dropped your suitcases in the guest bedroom. He wipes away imaginary sweat from his forehead, blowing out a raspberry as he turns to face you.

“Did you pack bricks in there? Why the fuck was that so heavy?”

You laugh. Sunwoo had always been quite the clown as long as you’d known him. “I’m a girl, what did you expect? We never pack lightly.”

“You can say that again,” he snorts, twisting his torso to pop his back. “Uh, are you hungry? We have some leftover takeout in the fridge ‘cause you know damn well neither of us know how to cook.”

Before you can respond, you’re distracted by the sight of him raising his arms to stretch, his t-shirt riding up to show a sliver of his abdomen. From the way his slender fingers lock above his head to the taut skin peeking behind the fabric, you’re entranced. Your brain finally comprehends the fact that Kim Sunwoo was no longer a teenage boy, but rather a grown man.

He clears his throat, breaking your trance and forcing you to stop staring. Your cheeks flush slightly as you attempt to hide the embarrassment flooding your features. His lips are pulled into a smug grin, making you aware that he caught you. He doesn’t say anything though, keeping the cocky smirk as he leaves the room. (Presumably to go to the kitchen.)

With hefty feet, you drag yourself to follow. He’s already warming up the leftovers for you as you take a seat at the island barstool, resting your chin on your palm and your elbows on the counter. Your moment from a few minutes ago is long forgotten as you become transfixed by him on the other side of the island.

It’s weird for you to think about how much Eric has matured, coming from an older sister’s point of view. But having that same realization for Sunwoo is a completely different can of worms. You watch as he extracts the container out of the microwave and opens a drawer beside him to grab a pair of chopsticks simultaneously, all without skipping a beat.

He spins on his heels to place the food in front of you, pausing when he notices that you’re staring at him again. The glint in your eyes was more wholesome than before and it made his heart stutter in his chest. He slides the container across the surface of the island, leaning closer to you.

It was almost like your gaze trapped him in a spell, taking over his actions and drawing him towards you like a magnet. He’s never wanted you as much as he did right now, seeing you in his home, sitting on the stool in his kitchen. Your eyes widen when you’ve snapped back to reality.

Before he can do anything, the sound of the front door unlocking stops him and he’s stepping away to tidy up his mess as if nothing happened. Eric comes in to greet you happily and life continues on just as it had prior to Sunwoo leaning into your personal space. He acts like it never occurred, laughing along at a stupid joke your brother made.

And for some reason, you thought he would keep pretending nothing happened. What a rude awakening you were in for.

It’s a couple days into your trip and you were sitting on a lounge chair poolside, while Eric and Haknyeon had gone to get drinks. Sunwoo placed himself in the seat next to you, his sculpted chest and torso gleaming in all their tanned glory.

He knew it was wrong of him to pine after his best friend’s sister, but how could he not? There was something about your maturity that drove him crazy. But even if you ignored that, anyone who could see would find you stunningly gorgeous. The sight of you scantily clad in a bikini was enough to make the strongest men weak.

Perhaps it was also the thrill that you were nearly a decade older than him.

At this point, you weren’t sure if the warmth engulfing your body was from the sun or the brunette’s intense gaze, but you want to push your luck, the incident at the apartment still fresh on your mind.

“Sunwoo? Do you mind putting some sunscreen on my back for me?” You ask innocently, grasping the base of the tube firmly. His tongue darts out and swipes across his lips.

She knows what she’s doing, he thinks to himself.

“Yeah, s’no problem,” he responds cooly, standing from his chair to sit behind you on yours.

You’re borderline on his lap, so close that you can feel his breath on your neck. Just to fuck with him some more, you reach behind yourself to untie your swim suit top.

You’ve been on this playing field long enough to know when a man wants you, but you’ve never been an easy target. It was like a game of cat and mouse for you. Right when they think they’ve got you, you always seem to be three steps ahead.

This little chase that you were leading Sunwoo on wasn’t any different.

His fingers dance dangerously low on your back, working the lotion into your skin wonderfully. As you’ve gotten older, your body has undoubtedly changed. The fat of your thighs was far more than it was when you were in your early twenties/late teens. Your stomach was lined with stretch marks, no two the same. But even so, you remained ever confident. You wouldn’t put up with anyone who wouldn’t agree that your so-called ‘imperfections’ were beautiful.

After a few minutes, once the trap had been set, you tied your bathing suit back. The ghost of his skilled fingers lingered as you stood from the lounge chair, spotting your brother and Haknyeon walking back.

The brunette had never been denied before. He got what he wanted without fail, and he’d be damned if this was the one outlier. He’d just have to prove to you that even though he was younger, he was more of a man than any you’d ever been with. And that was a promise.

Later that evening, the four of you had gone to your respective rooms to shower and get ready for dinner. Luckily, Eric had used his brain for something good and reserved separate hotel rooms for each of you. ‘Just in case,’ he’d said.

You did the finishing touches of your makeup and checked your phone, finding a text from your brother.

[8:07] eric: we’re all in the lobby

[8:07] eric: just waiting on u

[8:07] eric: but take ur time dear sister pls don’t rush on our account

[8:08] eric: it’s not like we have an uber waiting for us or anything

[8:08] eric: note the sarcasm btw

You roll your eyes as you grab your purse, tossing the device inside. Who was he to talk about how long it took you to get ready? You were in your thirties and you were not about to be bossed around by your little brother. Back when he was still in high school, you were the one telling him to speed up his morning process.

Your dad had gotten a job halfway across the country right before his second year and it crushed him. You remember how upset he was when they broke the news, the thought of packing up his entire life and leaving all of his friends stung. So instead, you got a well paying job and bought a two bedroom apartment for the both of you, that way he could stay and finish out the rest of high school. You made some sacrifices, sure, but you were practically done experimenting in your life. You were in your late twenties by this point, what more was there to do? You’d already graduated from university so helping out your brother was doing everyone a favor.

After living together for nearly three years, you and Eric had grown a lot closer. With such an age difference, it’d been difficult to relate to one another and bond over certain things. When he’d discovered a new phase to go through, you had moved past it years prior. You were always just out of reach from each other until then. It was like the universe itself was trying to bring you together.

Even now, both of you much older, he still calls and asks to come over to your place so he can hang out. You meant just as much to him as he did to you.

The elevator dings, opening so you can stroll towards the group of young men waiting for you. Right when they caught sight of you, you started making your way to the Uber parked under the carport outside of the hotel.

The drive to the restaurant was silent, but you could feel an intense gaze on your form. Purposefully, you’d worn your most revealing outfit. A nice tight dress to hug your matured body and some skinny heels to elongate your legs. You were thankful that your brother wasn’t the type to be overly protective, well aware that his older sister could carry her own by now. However, you think even Haknyeon had started to pick up on your actions and the unspoken tension between you and Sunwoo.

You arrived at your location for the evening, stepping out of the car gracefully. You received multiple stares from other patrons and even a few employees. You weren’t sure if it was because you were just that drop dead gorgeous, or if it was another reason entirely. Maybe they were wondering what three men who looked as young as they did, were doing with an older woman such as yourself.

You don’t have to dwell on it for too long, a host showing the four of you to a booth almost immediately. Shout out to Eric and Sunwoo for having connections.

The seating arrangement ends up with you and Sunwoo on one side, Haknyeon and Eric on the other. You had a feeling this was not a good idea. They’d dropped you right where he wanted.

When the waitress comes to take your drink order, you feel the toasty warmth of a hand on your thigh, nearly tripping you up as you point out a margarita on the rocks from the menu. After she jots everything down, she taps her pen against the tablet. She then gestures between your party.

“Are any of you dating?” she asks curiously, eyeing you with a quirk to her brow. To anyone else, it’s a normal question. Eric, Haknyeon, and Sunwoo were indeed good looking guys. (One of them was your brother, of course he was attractive— where do you think he got it from?) But you could see right through her fake act. She had to have recognized the three baseball players.

“Haha, no actually. She’s my sister.” Eric chuckles, pointing at you with his thumb. She narrows her eyes momentarily before covering it up with a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Ah, tú hermana.” She tries to laugh off, but when the boys furrow their eyebrows, she realizes it fell upon deaf ears. You fight the urge to burst into laughter at how stupid they were.

“She said ‘your sister’ in Spanish. Idiots, I swear.” You explain to the still confused table. They let out a chorus of ‘ohhhh’s in response. Learning Spanish was something you’re glad you did, seeing as you sometimes needed to translate during your trip. You would definitely hold it over them when you got back.

The waitress seems to notice how close you and Sunwoo are sitting, but doesn’t call you out on it. While the other two are oblivious to her fixation, the brunette catches on quickly, squeezing the inside of your thigh as she continues her silly little version of twenty questions.

“Cuantos años tienes?” She asks you personally, realizing that you can understand her. What ever happened to girls supporting girls?

“How old are you?”

“En mis treinta.” You answer without hesitation, not exactly telling her for the sake of your own satisfaction. The press of Sunwoo’s fingers trails upward, causing you to shift uncomfortably.

“In my thirties.”

You can sense that she wants to say something snarky to you, her opposition to your age clear as glass, but she chooses not to. Whether that’s because she wants to seem like a good person in front of the boys or otherwise, you couldn’t care less. As long as you hadn’t been disrespected. And you knew if you were, Eric and the guys would jump to defend you with all their beings.

After what feels like a millennium, she finally leaves you alone, even going to the extent of switching tables with another waitress. Was that even allowed? You’re not entirely sure, but at least you didn’t have to deal with someone rude.

The majority of the dinner goes smoothly, the drinks and the food tasting unlike anything you’d ever had. Haknyeon couldn’t stop raving about the different flavors he was experiencing. At some point you think he told the waitress to send his thanks to the chef, in true Haknyeon fashion. That was the majority. The rest of the dinner was spent in absolute agony.

A certain baseball player couldn’t keep his hands to himself, eating with one and teasing you with the other. How no one paid any attention to what was happening right in front of them was beyond you. You’d even accidentally whimpered, covering it up by pretending the food was just that good.

The check couldn’t come fast enough, your body betraying you and anticipating getting back to the hotel. Your brother had different plans, claiming that the night was still young and he wanted to have drinks somewhere else. Your disappointment must’ve been obvious, because Sunwoo comes to your rescue.

“Eric, I think your sister’s ready to hit the hay.” He pats the brunette’s shoulder, one hand on his hip.

“Oh we can head back then—“ You interrupt him.

“No no, it’s fine, Eric, I'll be okay on my own. You guys have fun, don’t let me stop you.” You dismiss him. You could get rid of your problem yourself this way. No one to bother—

“I’ll go with you. Someone’s gotta make sure you get to your room safely, N/N. Besides, I'm beat. The sun’s starting to catch up to me.” Sunwoo grins, ruffling your hair. You glare at him, your irritation coming to light for the first time since you’d landed in the country. You’d done so well at acting like he wasn’t affecting you.

“Alright sick! Thanks, Sunwoo! Hak and I will see you tomorrow I guess,” Eric says. He turns to you, hugging your side. “I'll check to see if you’re still awake later.”

And that was that. You and your brother went your separate ways, ordering two Ubers for the pairs you were in.

It took all of about seconds following the ding of the elevator reaching your floor, for Sunwoo’s lips to meet yours. You jump, wrapping your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, his large palms supporting you from your ass. It was so attractive that he could hold you like this— showing off the muscles he’s built from all his years of playing baseball, a far cry from that scrawny kid you knew when he was younger

He fumbles with his keycard, waving it frantically in front of the sensor. There’s a flash of green and he pushes the door open wide enough to fit the two of you through its threshold. Never once do your mouths disconnect, kissing each other so feverishly it raises the temperature of the room. He kicks the door closed behind him with his foot, pressing you up against the floor to ceiling mirror-wall beside the bathroom. The heat radiating off of your body fogs up the outline of your figure.

Sunwoo can’t seem to get enough of you, groping and grabbing any part of you that he can. You have to admit, you’ve never felt so needed— so wanted— in your life. In the messiness of teeth clashing and tongues tangling, your desperation begins to run rampant. You whine as he tugs at your bottom lip.

“You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for this, N/N,” his voice is husky and breathy, his soft pants filling your ears. He pecks your bare shoulder affectionately, cupping your right breast in his hand. “How long I’ve been waiting for you to take me seriously… to let me treat you like a real man should.”

His knee nudges itself between your legs, creating some much appreciated friction momentarily, his erection prominent against your thigh.

“I know that you know what you're doing when you dress like this. All slutty and revealing, showing yourself off to everyone,” his mouth hovers over the skin of your neck, goosebumps littering the surface. “But really, you do it for me, huh? You do it on purpose ‘cause you know how crazy it makes me. You know exactly what I’ve been wanting since we got here. That’s my smart girl.”

You can’t help the small moan that erupts from the back of your throat, his words and the wet feeling of his tongue circling the area he had just been sucking on going straight to the excitement pooling in your belly. He smiles mischievously, thumb running over your clothed nipple.

You’d been so lost in pleasure that you hadn’t even realized he’d moved you to the bed, your back on the fluffy white comforter and your thighs spread apart for him. He takes a hold of the back of his collar and removes his shirt in one swift motion, pushing your dress upward afterwards to assist you in discarding it.

His eyes rake your now half-naked body, the fullness of your tits nearly spilling out from the lacy nude strapless bra you were wearing. He drags a finger along your lace covered slit, his lips curling when he watches you shudder underneath his touch.

“Sunwoo, please…”

You don’t even know what you’re begging for, just that you need it. And you need it badly.

“Please, what?” He tsks, now massaging your inner thighs, working you up just like he wants. You pout, hoping to convey the message without pleading. Embarrassment floods your body when you realize he’s not gonna make it easy for you. “Use your words, sweetheart.”

You shut your eyes, hoping to will away the sheer mortification flushing your entire being. “P-please touch me.”

This fuels his ego even further. As if it could get any bigger.

“Open your pretty eyes, baby,” he coos, leaning forward to kiss you. When you obey his request, he hooks his long fingers into the waistband of your panties. “There we go. See, good girls get what they ask for.”

He slides them off, parting your legs immediately. The cool air makes you flinch. The one article of clothing that kept you unexposed was gone now, along with the confident woman from earlier in the day.

He repeats his actions from minutes ago, his pointer finger collecting your slick as it slides through your folds with ease. The squelching sound it makes is horrifying, your shame settling back into place. He kisses the plane of your stomach gently, murmuring into the skin.

“Do you hear that, sweetheart? Do you hear how excited you are for me? There’s no point in trying to hide it anymore.”

Your eyes widen at his words, opening your mouth to say something in retaliation but he takes this opportunity to bury two fingers inside of you. A gasp leaves your throat consequently, your back arching on instinct. It had been a while since a man had set aside time for foreplay. He truly was making good on his word, treating you like a real man should.

He lowers himself, positioning his face in front of your pussy and darts his tongue across his lips before flattening it against your clit. The sensation makes you shiver, though that reaction is nothing compared to what happens next. He curls his fingers inside of you, brushing that certain spongy spot that drives you insane, then begins alternating between kitten licking and sucking on the engorged skin of your clit.

You cry out, hands flying down to tug at his hair and dig your nails into his scalp. He doesn’t appear to mind at all, more like he enjoys it, reveling in the way you’re losing yourself to him slowly but surely. It's a dream come true for him. He's finally getting the opportunity to completely ruin you after waiting for-what-felt-like-ever. Horny, teenage Sunwoo would be jumping for joy over this.

He remembers the first time he met you. Eric had invited him, Haknyeon, and other members of the team over to your shared apartment for a team bonding during their second year. The only thought in his mind upon seeing you was ‘damn, I love older women.’ You were just so sure of yourself, he couldn’t help the tightness in his pants and the thumping in his chest.

And those feelings never seemed to fade.

In fact, it appeared that they grew with time. He’d dated other girls since then, especially because he was so popular in high school and in university. Yet for some reason he could never quite pinpoint, things never worked out. They just didn’t feel like the one for him, so he’d end the relationship before anyone got hurt more than they had to. Then the yearly trip would happen and Eric would update him on your life and his crush on you would come rushing back to him.

Even when you’d gotten engaged a few years ago, nothing could stop the way his heart beat only for you and you alone. He didn’t really like the dude all that much, but expressed support for you anyway because he wanted you to be happy. After Eric told him that he broke off the engagement to pursue someone else, Sunwoo just about lost it. He wanted to hunt the guy down himself. He couldn’t fathom how one could just throw away the once in a lifetime opportunity of calling you his. You deserved the world and so much more.

Everything resurfaces and it’s evident in the way his fingers dive even deeper inside of you, his appendage lapping mercilessly at your aching clit. You don’t question him even if you wanted to, your entire body feeling like it’s on cloud 9. He takes a break from licking and sucks at the sweet spot harshly, ripping out a prolonged moan from your lips.

Your release is in your field of vision now, so close that you can nearly taste it. You attempt to buck your hips up into his mouth to chase what you’re yearning for. He senses exactly what’s happening, so he slows his assault, much to your aggravation. You can’t even help the pleas that tumble from the back of your throat.

“No no no no, please,” you sit up, your hands still intertwined with his messy brown locks. “Sun, please… why’d you stop?”

His smile is almost conniving, you swear you can see his canines peeking through. He hovers above you, caging you between his torso and the bed. “You've been having all the fun, so now I think it’s time I have some, too.”

You’re about to ask what he means, when he steps back to undo his belt and zipper, pushing down his pants in record speed. Even through the black material of his (expensive looking) briefs, you can tell he’s well endowed. You rub your legs together, still sensitive from being deprived of your orgasm, and your hunger for all of him increases immensely.

“Eager, are we?” He chuckles, switching places with you. He sits at the edge of the bed, his legs open enough for you to fit between them. You bite your bottom lip, gripping each of his muscular thighs. It wouldn’t be such a bad thing to get crushed by them. It sure would be a hell of a way to die.

He leans back onto his palms, bunching up the sheets in his fists. You move forward to press your mouths in a searing kiss, cupping his clothed erection in your hand. He groans as his teeth nearly gnash with yours. You seize the chance to discard his underwear and massage his cock. The warmth and length of it makes your mouth water, almost whimpering at how flushed it is. You can tell that he’s painfully hard in the way he’s extremely responsive to all of your touches. You swipe your thumb over his slit, collecting the pre cum that’s formed there.

After deciding that enough is enough, he parts from you in favor of ordering you to get on your knees. You maintain eye contact as you wrap your lips around him, the nerves you’d been feeling all night finally washing off. Your tongue swirls around the tip a few times before it licks a broad line from the base back up along the underside. You take him down your throat this time, massaging his balls as you do so. Your cheeks hollow out as you bob your head, your hands jerking what you can’t fit.

An erratic knock at the door startles both of you and you’re about to remove yourself from him, but he keeps you there with a large hand, urging you to continue. You listen reluctantly, assuming the person would just go away if you ignored them.

However, the knock comes again moments later. Sunwoo looks down at you. His eyes tell you all you need to know, so you don’t stop.

“Sunwoo! Hey, have you seen my sister? She’s not in her room.”

You practically choke on him at the sound of your brother’s voice, but he still doesn’t let you pause. His attention doesn’t leave you as he replies.

“Uh yeah, she’s borrowing my shower. Hers wasn’t working.” He lies. His eyes bore into yours intensely, the knowledge that he had Eric’s hot older sister right here in front of him on her knees shrouding his mind.

The brunette outside seems to find that answer sufficient enough and doesn’t interrogate further. “Okay, cool. Just tell her to text me when she gets back to her room.”

“You got it.”

His footsteps can be heard padding against the carpet of the hallway as he walks away.

Your nose brushes against the hair at the base of his cock before he cups your cheeks and lifts your mouth off of him. You take in a deep breath, keeping your hands on his dick firmly. As you regain your breathing, you leave kisses all over, starting at the tip and ending down the shaft. You feel him shudder beneath you, a satisfaction coming from knowing that you’re the one who has him so weak.

You had Kim Sunwoo wrapped around your pretty little finger.

Unbeknownst to you, that’d always been the case. Since day one. But it didn’t matter at the moment. All that either of you cared about right now was wrecking each other.

He slides his cock down your throat again, loving the sight of you getting face fucked by him. You moan around him, the vibrations causing him to grasp at your hair tightly, though you don’t mind the sting either.

“You look so gorgeous like this, sweetheart. Your lips look so pretty wrapped around me. Can’t wait until I’m inside you,” he hisses when your tongue runs over his slit. “You want me to fuck you into the mattress? Until you can’t even remember your own name?”

You release him from your lips once more, nodding frantically. It’s almost pathetic how needy you are for him, your brother’s best friend, someone nearly ten years younger than yourself. “Yes, please, Sunwoo. I want you so bad. I want you to fuck me so hard, I can’t walk properly.”

His smirk from your pleads is ungodly. He swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, pinching it between his fingers before he pulls you up to kiss you roughly. Even though he has this big dominant act up on display, you know he wants you just as much. And he conveys it in the desperate way he moves his mouth against yours with such fervor.

After a few minutes, both of you get sick of wasting time and he flips you around so you’re on your back. He nips at your neck, whispering dirtily as he pumps himself in his hands.

“The only thing I want on your mind is me, you got that?” He lines his dick up with your hole, nibbling on your earlobe while he does so. “The name Kim Sunwoo is gonna be engraved in your fucking brain after tonight.”

Without any semblance of a warning, he pushes himself in, giving you no time for adjustment. His cock fills you up nicely, better than you’ve ever been before, and the feeling alone rips a particularly loud moan out of you. “Oh my god, Sun. Y-you're so big and your cock f-feels so g-good. So s-so good.”

“You’re so tight, your pussy is squeezing me. You gonna cream on my dick?”

He gives you another one of those sly grins, where it’s almost like he’s baring his canines to you, and you swear you’ve never wanted to be ruined as much as you do now.

His pace is unrelenting, nothing but sheer power going into every thrust of his hips. His cock hits places deep inside that you didn’t know existed. It amazes you how much stamina he has and it doesn’t appear like he’s letting up any time soon.

“Sunwoo, just like that— f-fuck yes— right there,”

“Look at you, Y/N, so fucking messy and all because of me.”

He hooks one of your knees on his shoulder, plunging even further into your pussy. The mewl you release is voluminous, enough to wake up anyone in the rooms surrounding his. One of his hands holds your leg in place while the other travels south, gripping your side and using his thumb to vigorously circle your clit.

The added stimulation is just what you need to nudge you closer to your tipping point, what you were deprived of earlier. He, of course, notices that and stops his attack with his finger. You whine in protest, not wanting to deal with his teasing again right now.

You open your mouth to express your distaste at the same moment he rolls his hips experimentally. So instead of complaining about his edging, you let out a choked groan.

“Sunwoo, please, let me cum. Please, I'm begging. I need to.” You hate that you’re in this position, but you can’t hold out much longer. Fatigue is catching up to you and if you don’t cum soon, you might pass out.

“You wanna cum, baby? You want me to let you cum?” He all but growls in your ear. You moan wantonly in response, quickly becoming a babbling mess. “I think you can wait a bit longer. Take it like a big girl, yeah?”

Your other leg wraps around his waist, allowing his already buried cock to kiss at your cervix. The new angle is unhinged, short circuiting your brain. Discarding any thought behind your actions, moving on autopilot, you pull him down to press your mouths together.

The combination of passion and pure lust drives both of you wild, fueling your desires. His lips part from yours and he moans breathily as you clench down on him, the exhale fanning over the lower part of your face. The sound is unlike anything you’ve heard before and you’d do just about anything to hear it again. The brunette was completely unaware of the effects he had on you, something as simple as a noise kicking you into high gear.

But it seems even he’s reaching his limits, not able to hold himself back anymore. In an attempt to finish you both off quickly, he brutalizes each piston of his pelvis. Your nails sink into his shoulders.

“F-fuck— S-Sunwoo I’m gonna— I’m gonna cum— so fucking—“

His thumb finds its way back to your clit and resumes its previous attack, the other circling around a peaked nipple, cutting you off. You arch into him, trying to bring the two of you impossibly closer. His cock rams in and out of you almost inhumanely at the rate he was going. With one particularly harsh thrust, he commands,

“Cum for me, sweetheart.”

The words send you overboard and you release around him, simultaneously gripping him like a vice and moaning so pornographically, you kind of feel bad for everyone else staying on this floor. Your whole body spasms with your orgasm, hushed moans falling from your swollen lips. Seconds later the twitch of his dick alerts you as he follows, filling you up with the warmth of his own cum. Had he not still been inside you, you were certain it’d flow right out, something akin to Niagara Falls. But you’re both too busy trying to catch your breaths to really pay attention to any of that extra stuff.

The ache was settling in your bones instantaneously, and you half-regretted encouraging him to ‘fuck you so hard you couldn’t walk properly’.

After what feels like an eternity, he slowly pulls out his softening cock, your pussy clenching at nothing and feeling empty as he presses a soft peck on the tip of your nose, his dominant personality dissipating along with it.

The moment feels strangely domestic, his coos of praise and the worry that he was too rough with you not flying over your head. Things like ‘you did so well, sweetheart’, ‘I’m so proud of you, baby’, and ‘your pussy was made for my cock’ floated around the air. He caressed your belly with one hand and your hair with the other before pulling himself away from you fully.

“Let me go get you a towel,” he smiles warmly, disappearing into the bathroom he told your brother you were borrowing. When he comes back, he has a fresh pair of briefs on and a damp washcloth on his forearm. “You know, I‘ve had the biggest crush on you since high school. The moment Eric introduced us, I practically fell in love.”

He carefully cleans up your cum covered thighs, weary of how sensitive you are. It dawns on him that you’re fighting back your sleep, but he also realizes that you can’t stay in his room, running the risk of being compromised and Eric finding out. He helps you into a sitting position and leads you to the bath.

He washes your hair and body for you, increasing the overwhelming amount of domesticity that you already started to feel. Even with his admission, you didn’t want to assume that this was something he really wanted. You’d made that mistake before, with your asshole of an ex fiancé, and you couldn’t stomach the thought of that happening with him. He was a young, hot professional baseball player. Why would he want to be tied down to you?

With a towel wrapped tightly around your body and your clothes draped over a shoulder, he aids you in your sneaky trip to your own hotel room. You fumble a bit with the key card, nervous under his gaze for some reason. When you finally get it open, you hurriedly enter, desperate to get away from him to avoid small talk. You were a grown ass woman and here you were, acting like a petulant child.

He reaches for your wrist and stops you prior to getting too far past the door frame. “Hey, hey, what’s the matter? Why won't you look at me? Did— did I do something wrong?”

“N-no! You didn’t. I just— I don't wanna misinterpret the situation...” You betray yourself and look him in the eyes, nearly melting at the soft chocolate color staring right back. He leans forward to kiss you on the lips. It isn’t rushed or forceful like any of the others from earlier in the night. It’s more like the loving one he placed on your nose. It conveys exactly what he wants to say, but can’t put into words, and rids of your doubts all at once. You instinctively shut your eyes, a smile working its way across your face.

“I’ll see you in the morning, sweetheart. Goodnight,” is what he leaves you with, scampering off to his room.

You bring your fingers up to your lips, the stupid grin not disappearing. He wasn’t kidding when he said the name Kim Sunwoo would be engraved in your brain tonight.

The next day, the four of you visit one of the beaches. You chuckle to yourself as you observe Eric and Haknyeon attempting to skimboard, but failing miserably. Your brother flies forward when his board skids to a stop and he stumbles a bit before regaining his bearings. The older laughs at him, hunching over and clutching his stomach as he does so.

Your eyes stay on them for a bit, but your head turns at the sound of footsteps approaching you and the beach towel you were sitting on. You finally glance over when a grunt fills your ears over the crashing waves. Sunwoo leans back onto his palms, sunglasses perched on top of his head. The goods you wanted were set between you, a bag nearly full to the brim with mandarin oranges.

On your way to the beach, you passed a vendor on the street selling different fruits. Among said fruits were the mandarins that caught your attention. You pouted when you realized you left your purse at the hotel, only having your I.D. on you. Being absolutely smitten with you and having no self control, Sunwoo made a promise to himself to come back when you were least expecting to buy you as many as he physically could. (Gift giving was one of his love languages.)

He smiles as your eyes light up like a Christmas tree in August, instinctively reaching for one of the oranges. You bring it up to your nose to smell the faint citrusy scent of the rind, humming contentedly afterwards. With the summer breeze blowing through your hair, the humidity painting your cheeks rosy and the sun behind you giving you a halo-like glow, you look like a scene ripped straight from a movie. Sunwoo feels like the most fortunate guy in the world knowing that he’s the only person who gets to see you like this, committing the visual to memory so he can look back on it whenever he pleases.

He decides that he could die right here right now, and he’d be satisfied with his life. He can already see it, his headstone; Rest in Peace Kim Sunwoo, 2000-2023.

You slowly start to peel the mandarin, each corner of your lips curled upwards. You pop a piece into your mouth, closing your eyes and savoring the taste of its nectar. Without pausing to think about it, you scoot closer to Sunwoo, feeding him some of the orange. A small giggle escapes the back of your throat when he smiles again, this time at how much more comfortable you are with him. (And also how yummy the mandarin is.)

“It almost tastes as sweet as you.”

He meant for it to be an innocent insinuation, but completely forgot about the fact that it could be misconceived as an innuendo. You slap his shoulder with a gasp because that’s exactly how you took it, and he raises his hands in surrender.

“Woah, I was trying to be cute. You’re the one with the dirty mind.”

You roll your eyes, shoving a few more pieces of mandarin into his mouth to shut him up. “Kim Sunwoo, you’re lucky I like you.”

His cheeks are puffed up with the fruit and he tries to smile at you, his pouty lips making him look a little silly. You press a quick kiss to them, forgetting that you were very much in public. He turns to you with eyes like a deer caught in headlights.

“What if Eric sees?” He swallows thickly.

You shake your head. “Let him. I’m happy. That’s all he really cares about.”

It befuddles you that just a week ago, you never would’ve thought this could happen. A week ago, Sunwoo was still that high school boy who stuttered whenever he spoke to you and came over to yours and Eric’s apartment every day after school. A week ago, you were still apprehensive about putting yourself out there, out of fear that you’d just get hurt again. But somehow, Sunwoo managed to change your entire perspective. And sitting here on this beach towel, feeding him mandarins and giggling at his jokes solidifies that for you.

© juyeonszn. do not steal, claim, or repost.

[manicrouge]

(DESERTION) || CHAPTER TWO: THE FIGURE

[SIMON RILEY X F!READER] || MASTERLIST || (DESERTION) MASTERLIST || PLAYLIST

'Are you a fool for feeling as though he’s lying to you?'

cw: brief mention of violence.

[Word Count]: 3k

The command to rest is something neither of you care to ignore.

There was nothing else for the pair of you to do and you were left sitting around a small campfire the pair of you constructed. Fortunately, there’s no sign that it’s going to rain and, if it is to rain, you’re more than convinced that you would cry. Everything as of late has been so exhausting, and as you’re sitting around the campfire, you find your mind is running wild at the conception of a life beyond the military.

Dutifully, there’s always a doubt which always keeps you from discussing your leaving from the space you have been taking up for so long; at this point, it’s moulded to fit your very image. Even if a replacement is called in, you know it won’t fit their curves in the way it fits yours. 

You’re well versed in the world now, but you were when you were a child. 

A fighter — a soldier, that’s exactly what you are. And still, you feel the desire to abandon your post as you look at the man sitting before you. Your ring finger feels bare and you pinch at your finger, a sigh escaping your lips as you think about the diamond engagement band sitting in your dresser at home. But the ring doesn’t change the fact that you have blood on your hands. 

There’s not a single fight you’ve turned down: Cassie in year six after she put gum in your hair? Well, she was dealt with accordingly when you clumsily drove your little fist into her face. That was the first time you felt a bone crunch beneath your hands, her nose crunched and blood gushed from it with such immediacy, you often wonder if her fickle little body was tired of her shit too. 

You were reprimanded accordingly when the Head Teacher, Mrs. Monroe, called your mother, detailing what you had done to that poor poor girl, and for the entire time she was taking to your mother, you recall the grip that she had on your shoulder. Occasionally, when Mrs. Monroe said something particularly hurtful (you recall the words ‘monster’ coming up more times than it should have), you would squeeze your shoulder with her hand. Firm enough to be reassuring, yet not firm enough to leave you concerned for your fate when you eventually stepped out of the room with her. 

When that fateful time did come, when you were out of the school and in her car, your mother burst into a fit of laughter. The strings of laughter she released at that moment was something she had definitely been attempting to quell as she looked at Mr. Monroe with a stone-cold and stern ‘I will most definitely be having a long talk with my daughter’ face. It was joyous to hear, the chime reminding you of the sorts you’d hear on television when watching Wrestling with your father. 

‘Unbelievable,’ remarked the woman bitterly. ‘She’s been giving you a tough time for months, and now, they have an issue with what you did?’ she said, ‘what did she do this time?’ 

You look down at the blood on your summer dress. ‘She put gum in my hair,’ you said, ‘a- and I was tryin’ to get it out but it just wasn’t budging and she was laughing at me with her friends.’ 

‘So you punched her.’ 

‘I didn’t know what else to do, mummy,’ you remarked, ‘it was gross.’ 

Your mother laughed again. ‘I’m sure it was, flower,’ she said, nodding her head, ‘but don’t you go worrying about anything, alright? She deserved what you did to her — she deserved a lot more than that — but, it’s baby steps, hey?’ 

‘She called me a monster.’ 

‘Only because you stood up for yourself,’ said the woman, ‘and you know, people sometimes like other people more — in Mrs. Monroe’s case, she’s got the hots for Cassie’s dad and that’s why you’re the monster and she isn’t.’ 

Her wording was ludicrous and you dumbly stared at your mother. Sometimes, it was like you were talking to a good friend, not your own mother. Perhaps that was a detriment too, something that shouldn’t have happened as she was supposed to parent you. But neither of you felt the consequences of that and you enjoyed your friendship with her. 

‘She has the… hots?’ 

‘She has a crush on Cassie’s dad,’ she said, ‘people are always gonna side for the thing that benefits them the most, that’s just how things work unfortunately,’ she added, ‘and, if telling a fib about you makes Cassie look better, then that’s just was Mrs. Monroe is going to do.’ 

You blink. ‘Gross.’ 

‘It is,’ she said with a short giggle, ‘but that doesn’t matter.’ 

‘It doesn’t?’ 

‘No,’ your mother said, ‘because you’ll always have me fighting your side. Right or wrong.’ 

‘Why would you help me if I was wrong?’ 

‘Because that’s what mother’s do,’ she said, turning the key in the engine. ‘How about we go into town and go and get something for dinner, hey?’ she asked, placing her hand on the steering wheel, ‘we’ll go to Pizza Hut, and as a treat for being such a brave girl, we’ll go to Build-A-Bear and get you that teddy you saw last week when we were out shopping.’ 

It was on that day that you got Bearie. 

‘What happened to the bear I was holding before?’ you ask, lifting your head to look at Simon. His mask has been abandoned and you spy him drinking from his canteen. His brows furrow, causing his forehead to wrinkle as he looks up at you. 

‘What bear?’ 

‘The bear I picked up before – y’know, the one that looked like Bearie?’ 

He stares at you. ‘Are you feeling okay?’

‘You saw the bear didn’t you?’ He continues to look at you, but doesn’t speak. ‘Simon?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, sweetheart.’

For a brief moment you feel like you're drowning. The blueness of the night sky leaves you feeling as though you have been swallowed whole in water – your entire body feels numb. The thumping of your heart is ringing in your ears as you chew on your bottom lip, cocking our head to the side, looking at Simon. 

‘Really? You didn’t see the bear?’ you ask, your throat closing as you clench your fists, ‘the bear that I held up and asked you about?’ 

He nods. ‘Really.’ 

‘O- Oh well, uhm,’ you clear your throat, the tips of your fingers thumping against your knees as you tilt your head from side to side, ‘well, maybe I just need sleep,’ you mumble under your breath, leaning down to grab a fistful of grass, pulling it from out of the ground. ‘Yeah,’ you sigh, looking at the blades of grass in the palm of your hand. ‘I just need sleep.’

Are you a fool for feeling as though he’s lying to you?

You can’t chase the thought of it away no matter how much grass you pull from the ground, and with every yank you feel the throbbing in your head intensify. Allowing the grass to fall into a pile on the ground, you bring your hand to your forehead, pressing your cold, clammy hand against it. It’s somewhat like an ice pack, yet it does little to solve the issue of your headache. 

‘I was thinkin’,’ Simon says, catching your attention. ‘When we get home, for the wedding, we should get lilies.’ 

You smile. ‘I remember when you showed up to my dorm with them, Price was on your ass about it all fuckin’ week.’ 

‘Worth it,’ he says, poking the campfire with a stick, ‘used to always dream of the day that I could do that for someone. Saw the way my mum used to light up whenever we got her a thingy of flowers on mothers day. She acted like she got a fucking diamond necklace or something.’ 

‘The last vase you got me is still on the dining room table.’ 

You catch his eyes leaving yours, falling onto the fire burning between the pair of you. 

‘Oh well, you’ll be getting more flowers soon,’ he shrugs, clearing his throat, ‘hopefully lilies. Unless you want something else.’

‘No,’ you say with a smile, ‘lilies are fine. Great, actually.’

'Then that's what you'll get.'

'What about you?'

'You really think I give a shit about flowers?'

You laugh. 'Everyone has a favourite flower.'

'I like daisies,' he says, looking at you. 'Remember when Maeve was round ours for a sleep over an' we took her to the park?'

You nod excitedly, shocked you even dare forget something that had you red in the face from laughter. 'You looked like a Disney princess,' you grin, 'I used to make flower crowns with my sister.'

'She was fuming at me cause I couldn't make one,' he says, shaking his head, 'she's meaner than Price when she wants to be. Never thought I'd be getting bossed around by a little girl.'

'We'll do daisies too, then,' you say abruptly, 'I'm sure there's a way to do that, right?'

He nods. 'And if there isn't a way, we'll just have to find one.'

The fire soon dies out and the pair of you waste little time making home the spot of land you’ve found yourselves on. It’s far from the luxury of home and the sleeping bag you’re in is reminiscent of a coffin. Confined to your own space, unable to touch the man who is lying beside you in his own sleeping bag. You roll your eyes at your own inclination to hate an inanimate object, yet remain unable to shake the feeling. So, you lay staring at the night sky, constellations going on for seemingly forever. They bend a curve around the shapes of the branches of the trees which appear much more like sharp and scattered lines on a page than your original fears – you suppose even the dead must have their rest from time to time. 

And the night is feverishly stunning. Nature and her presence keeps persisting, almost saying ‘notice me’ whenever a star twinkles in your blurred gaze. You remark inwardly of the moment in time in which you find yourself, where everything feels so familiar yet so bizarre. Try as you might, you cannot quite conceive how Simon didn’t see the bear you had had in your hands – the bear you had presented to him. 

Something isn’t making sense.

You listen out for a change in his breath before shuffling out of your sleeping bag, mindful of your surroundings (as much as you can be). You stand for what feels like hours, when, in reality it was but a second before making your move. The fire is still crackling and you see the outline of the fallen tree stump in the distance.

Grabbing your torch from off of your belt, you move slowly, like an animal creeping up on its prey. Perhaps it was all a daydream; it would make sense for such to be the case, you realise, remembering how (during your rookie days) you had been the victim of countless hours of push ups as a result of not paying attention during training.

Doubting Simon feels awful, in fact, it feels like death, leaving you feeling like a criminal on death row. He has no reason to lie and, most of the time when the issue concerns something other than his private life, he is privy to saying what needs to be said. 

And still your mind is compelled to detail him as one. 

Shining your torch on the ground in front of you, you see the same old things you have spied over and over again. Nature never fails to persist, even when you wish to be elsewhere, she is still there. If anything, it should really be calming the pounding in your chest and the aching in your head; where nature persists, mankind does not.

There’s no sight of the bear you thought you encountered an hour prior and you, really, should be happy about that. But, you still frown as you scour the earth in an attempt to recover the one thing which left you pale faced. 

‘Do you remember when you first got him?’

You are still at the sound of a voice, your hand moving towards the pistol on your belt.

‘Year six, you broke a girl's nose and your mother praised you for it. Strange how violence can be rewarded, isn’t it?’ 

The voice resembles a feminine one, a sweetened twinge causing your ears to twitch. Looking around, you find a figure standing to the right of you. You can make out very little aside from their extended hand with the bear in their hold and when you point your flashlight up towards her, a buzzing is emitted from it as it grows hotter in your hand before the bulb pops. 

‘She deserved it,’ says the person, ‘she put gum in your hair and she’d been doing things like that for the past couple of months, hadn’t she? The school wasn’t doing anything to help you – really, they left you no choice,’ they continue, shaking the bear in their hold, ‘and as a reward, you got Bearie.’ 

‘Who are you?’ 

‘And he followed you everywhere – when you got kicked out of highschool, when you joined the military, he was everywhere,’ they say, ‘because you needed someone who understands you, that’s all you’ve ever really wanted.’ 

You face flushes with heat and you grab your pistol. 

‘And when you met Price and agreed to join the task force, Chevvy, one of the guys in your brigade got jealous.’ 

Your head is pounding and your hands shake as you attempt to aim your pistol at your target standing before you. ‘He’d always been jealous of you since you joined; could never understand why a woman was doing better than he was. When it came to killing Petrov, he even failed at that and you had to pick up the pieces he’d caused – and you did it efficiently,’ you can hear the smile on their face as they speak, ‘and when he found out that Captain Price had been lookin’ for you, he tried to rip Bearie to shreds.’ 

‘But he didn’t,’ you say.

‘He didn't do it because of Simon,’ they say, ‘he didn’t even know who you were back then and he did that for you, all of a teddy bear,’ they snort, ‘and you mean to tell me that you think he’s a liar? Why would he lie to you, what purpose does he have to lie to you?’  

‘Huh?’

'He protected you from the day that he met you, he's never gave you a reason to doubt him,' they say, 'he's given you his life and you're doubting him.'

'That's not true,' you refute.

'Then why are you here searchin' for something he said doesn't exist?'

You stare at them, unable to find the words to speak. The gun in your hand wobbles.

Why are you out here searching?

‘You’re tired,’ they say simply as though their words are fact, dropping the bear onto the ground, ‘your body’s tired now – it’s done enough for you, you need to rest.’ 

A tightness in your chest compels you to squeeze the trigger. The shot rings for miles. You wince as your ears ring, and when you lift your head, you’re alone.

Stumbling backwards, you look around before rushing to where the figure had been standing, falling to the ground, feeling around in the grass for something, anything. You’re shaking as you do so, the autumn breeze growing colder by the second as you search desperately for the person you just saw. 

Your search the grass like a receptionist searches a busy filing cabinet for receipts, a scream brewing in your mouth as the more your hands brush through the grass, the further answers grow from you.

You hear Simon emerge behind you, knowing his footsteps too well to ignore him and when you turn to lift your head, he’s standing right behind you, observing you. ‘Was that you?’ he asks, turning his head head away to look around the area. 

‘I- I swear – there was someone just here, t- they had the bear and they were talking to me about Bearie and you a- and…’ Your words trail off as your bottom lip wobbles and you look up at him. You burst into a fit of sobs, dropping the pistol in your hands onto the ground, pressing the palms of your hands into your eye sockets. ‘I- I swear, I swear there was someone here. I saw them, they were here!’ 

Crouching down onto the ground, he falls onto his knees and looks at you. Wrapping his arm around your shoulder, he pulls you into him, resting his head atop yours. ‘You’re exhausted, sweetheart,’ he says, ‘the past few weeks have been hell.’ 

‘I- I feel like I’m going crazy,’ you snivel, resting your head against his shoulder, ‘I’m sorry – I know I shouldn’t be like this.’ 

‘It’s been difficult,’ he repeats. You nod your head. ‘Too many close calls are gonna make you anxious.’

‘That’s not how it’s supposed to be.’ 

‘You think I wasn’t shitting myself back when Graves and his gang of nobs were hunting us?’ he asked, squeezing your shoulder, ‘you can be trained to be a fighter, but that doesn’t mean shit sometimes.’ 

‘Cause you’re still human.’ 

‘Tryin’ not to be,’ he says, ‘it’s somethin’ I’m still trying to figure out.’

You laugh as another tear rolls down your face. ‘Let me know when you figure that part out, ay?’ 

‘Wouldn’t want you any other way,’ he says, lifting his head from off of yours, ‘c’mon,’ he beckons, ‘I’ll keep watch for whoever you saw.’ 

‘You need to sleep.’ 

‘You need it more than I ever will, love,’ he states, standing up, ‘I’ll wake you up if I’m getting too tired.’ 

‘You never do,’ you scoff, taking his hand, standing up. 

‘Cause I like knowin’ you’re okay.’ 

‘It’s not your job to keep me safe,’ you say, walking beside him as the pair of you walk back to the small campsite you made.

‘It is,’ he retorts, pointing to your sleeping bag, ‘now go and rest. I’ll be right here when you wake up.’

[pinkroseblooms]

It's Better Than Regretting

Kikaku Hanbee/f!Reader, post break up, mentions of sex and some light dirty talk (once again, minors dni) probably a little OOC but I tried. This fandom needs more content and this crazed witch like man has a place in my heart. The title is lyrics from "Crashed the Wedding" by Busted which was what inspired me to write this. Summary: Post breakup, Kikaku finds out you've agreed to a marriage of convenience. word count: 4.1k

Kikaku feels the wedding invite burning a hole in his pocket; he takes a long drink of beer, wondering for the tenth time if this is a mistake. The two of you broke up; he and you wanted different things out of life. So what if his parents were friendly with your old man? No one expected the two of you to end up together. In fact, Kikaku had been made all too aware of your father’s disapproval of him. When you got your first piercing, when you got drunk for the first time and missed an exam, when you started staying out all hours of the night frequenting different music venues, the blame was placed squarely on Kikaku’s shoulders for being a bad influence on his perfect princess.

It was always like that; your father would say he was only looking out for you, but Kikaku called it how it actually was; all he was doing was forcing his own expectations onto his only daughter. You had come to him many times, complaining about the feeling of suffocation, wondering how you were supposed to call the man “family” when you couldn’t even talk to him half the time without walking on eggshells. Kikaku didn’t have any answers, aside from telling you “Fuck that shit” and take you out for a good time. 

Eventually, inevitably, the two of you transitioned from friends to friends with benefits; sitting and nursing his beer, Kikaku tries to shove the memory out of his head to no avail. How could he forget? His band had played one of their first shows and barely anyone had showed up, and the people that did hated them. 

You had been the only friendly face at the bar, toasting to him at the end of their set with a sympathetic smile. None of his other girls were answering his texts; you were there and the two of you had a little too much to drink at his place. When the other members left and it was just you and him, Kikaku let you hug him; according to you, he looked like he really needed one, but that wasn’t all he needed. Your body was soft and your breath smelled sweet and sharp from the plum wine. Before Kikaku could communicate to his brain that his dick was acting up around you and it would be a bad idea to act out on this sudden urge, you had kissed the top of his head and squeezed him to your chest. Kikaku can’t remember too much of what happened afterward, only flashes and sensations and waking up in the morning with a raging migraine and you laying nude on the futon next to him. 

It was a good thing the two of you had for a long time until the day you had come back to his apartment and refused a make out session with a serious expression. Kikaku could have guessed the problem; it was always the problem with his main girls. They got too close, too attached, even though Kikaku really didn’t make much of a secret that he wasn’t into the whole exclusive thing. Frankly, he didn’t think what the two of you had was special. You just had the benefit of knowing him the longest and being his friend first. 

That being said, you never showed signs of jealousy or feeling hurt by Kikaku’s other lovers, so he really hadn’t expected that to be the reason you decided to end things officially and not just the sex, but everything. No more shows or take out or movie nights. No more being friends; you called it being amiable. When you crossed paths, you would say hello and engage in a little small talk. Nothing more, nothing less. Kikaku accepted without making a fuss; he was in a shitty mood for a while but hey, getting dumped is never fun.

“Is that why you ended things?” Kikaku cut right to the chase as soon as you took the stool next to him; he slid the card over to your coaster, like it was some distasteful object. “You wanted to make things serious with this guy?”

“Hello to you too. How did you get this? Oh no, just water please.” You told the bartender, who had just come over to take your order. “Kikaku, my father sent this to your parents; how did you get it?”

“Wow, you weren’t even planning to invite an old friend to such a grand occasion?” Kikaku grumbles. “Cold. I thought you said no hard feelings.”

“I heard you were busy with work; besides, since when do you enjoy going to formal parties?” You give him a wry half smile. “Unless there’s an open bar.”

“Is there?”

“Yes. Father spared no expense.” You hold your glass of water but don’t take a drink. “He set up the whole thing. I didn’t even have to worry about picking out a dress. It’s all been decided.”

“What, did he pick out the groom too?”

Kikaku snorts but your smile is nowhere to be seen; you take the invitation and push it over to him. 

“I know it’s short notice, but I’d like your parents to come if they can. They’ve always been good to me; they’ve treated me more like a daughter than he ever did.” You tell him softly. “I must look pretty lame to you, huh? Letting my father marry me off and domesticate me. Is that why you called? Did you want a good laugh?”

“What the hell are you talking about?!” Kikaku turns so quickly in his seat, he nearly knocks over his now empty glass. “I was joking: did your old man really pick the guy out? What, did he send out a resume or something?”

“He works at the same company; we’ve met a few times. His name’s Kenji Hazawa. He needs a wife and my father needs me to settle down. A match made in heaven.”

“So? What is wrong with you?” Kikaku’s eyes scan your face, hardly believing the words coming out of your mouth so casually. “You’re gonna let your dad marry you off to some asshole you don’t even like?”

“Stop. I do not need you, of all the people in the fucking world judging my decisions.” You fix him with a cold stare. “I gave it to you for free. You know what I get with Kenji? A comfortable life and my father finally off my back. I get freedom.”

“How?! How the hell is selling yourself to the highest bidder-?”

“I knew you wouldn’t understand. It’s why I never told you. That's why I stopped talking to you.” You sigh and pinch the bridge of your nose. “You just don’t get it, Kikaku. I’m a single woman nearly past her expiration date, father’s words not mine, and no one is letting me hear the end of it. I’m done fighting against it all by myself.”

“You don’t have to do this. He can’t force you.”

“It’s already decided. I just have to walk down the aisle and say ‘I do’ and I never have to worry about money or being looked down on again. Sweet deal, isn’t it? Sorry. I guess I’m not the cool badass bitch I thought I was.” You roll your eyes and suck in a breath of air. “I tried doing it my way and what did I get? My father is ready to disown me, everyone in my life is treating me like a joke, minus your folks.”

“I never-”

“No, no, I wasn’t a joke to you. I was a good time.” You correct yourself. “Well, now I’m tired. I’m fucking exhausted and weak, alright? There, I admit it. I’ve been on my own in this and I’m sick and tired of it all. Is it really that different than you giving up music professionally for your merchandising job?”

“My job doesn’t fuck me.” 

The sentence slipped out before Kikaku could filter himself; but it’s true, isn’t it? Won’t your husband expect you to perform your wifely duties? Kikaku’s nails dig into his palms; he can’t get the image out of his head, a faceless man, on top of you, taking you as though you’re his. You might get pregnant. 

“How is this happening? She’s mine…she was mine.”

“It sounds like your job fucks you plenty.” You take a sip of water. “So, is that your issue? You won’t have the chance to get in my pants again if I’m spoken for?”

“Stop changing the subject, this isn’t about me.”

“It’s always about you.” 

Kikaku glares at you, but somehow can’t bring himself to truly be angry; you’re being so despondent and resigned. The person sitting next to him might as well be a stranger. The fire is gone from your eyes and the sly quirk of your lips is nowhere to be seen. But then, maybe that was just the face you showed him. Kikaku can’t even defend himself and say you hadn’t made him aware of what you were going through. You had, multiple times, for years. He just wasn’t taking it to heart. At some point, you apparently decided to pull back entirely. 

“Look, I don’t want to fight. I don’t hate you, Kikaku. This isn’t your business and I never meant for you to even know about the damn wedding. I’m going to get married next week and it’ll be okay. Kenji is a good man; we get along enough. We both know it’s a marriage of convenience.” You smile but it doesn’t reach your dull eyes. “Who knows? Maybe somewhere down the line we could fall in love. Either way, we’ll be content. It’s more than most people get to have.” 

“This is fucking crazy. You’re crazy.” Kikaku is hunched over the bar counter; his voice is shaking. He can’t look at you; all he can do is stare blankly at the wood panel. “You can’t be happy with this. I don’t believe that for a second.”

“I guess it’s a good thing I’m not asking for your blessing.” You put a few bills on the table. “Here, I still owe you for the last time we got drinks. You might not believe it, but I’m doing what’s best for me. I’m living my life for me. It’s my choice to do this, to make it all a little easier.”

“Is that the logic you’re using? Give up something to gain something you want more?” Kikaku leaves the bills on the counter, untouched. “Is it really worth it? Is this really what you want?”

“That’s also none of your business.” Despite your words, your tone is almost kind; with a faint smile, you stand up and push in the stool. “Have a goodnight, Kikaku.”

No. You can’t leave now, not like this. That smile is as fake as they come. Kikaku knows what your fake smiles look like; he’s always been able to tell how you’re feeling. He might not have been much of a comfort on your bad days, but he knew when you were having them, and he would try to make it a little better. 

When did that stop? It wasn’t his intention to make you feel uncared for. Kikaku might have played around, but it didn’t make his feelings for you any less. He was just caught up in other things. He had no idea you were having that hard of a time. 

You walk away and Kikaku doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t yell or leap from his chair to drag you from the door. He can’t feel his legs. You’re getting married. You’re going to be someone’s wife. He’ll never be able to make up with you. It’s over. You’re not going to give him the second chance Kikaku hadn’t even realized he had been hoping for. 

“She’s really gone. It’s really over. She’s getting married.” Kikaku mutters to himself. “She’s getting married and I…I can’t do anything to stop it.”

“Hey don’t worry so much. Most marriages end in divorce.” The bartender comes over to collect the empty glasses. “I got married twice and we were actually in love. Besides, if it’s a marriage of convenience, maybe you can be her side piece.”

“Huh?” Kikaku glowered up at the man smiling placidly down at him. “Who the fuck asked you?!”

“Just trying to offer some comfort. I thought you guys weren’t serious anyway. How drunk are you? Don’t you recognize me?” 

“Uh…”

“Nekota? This is my bar; it has been a while, but you came here a few times with a couple of my buddies.” 

“Oh right. Usao-kun and Kumao-kun’s old friend.” Kikaku recalls. “My bad, I was…I’m kinda out of it today.” 

“I could tell. That seemed rough. Want something stronger? On me, but just this once; still gotta make those child support payments after all, haha.” Nekota laughs good naturedly as he pulls down a bottle of tequila from the middle shelf. “Hey, that’s something to drink to; you’re a young bachelor, you’ve got plenty of time to settle down if you want to.”

Settle down? Kikaku never wanted to settle down; that was why things didn’t work between him and you in the first place. He has no right to feel so deflated. 

Was there some secret part of him that hoped you would eventually come back? Well, contrary to Nekota’s assurances, Kikaku doesn’t have time. You’re going to be married in a week. You’ll be someone else’s. He won’t have a place in your world, not any more, not when you’re going to be somebody's beautiful, blushing bride. 

“She doesn’t even love him. How can she do this?”

“Come on, Kikaku, right? Here, have a drink and relax.” Nekota beckons with his hand and sets down the shot of tequila. “The little lady said so herself, it’s not your problem.”

“No. I guess it’s not.”

Nekota is right and Kikaku doesn't need a two time divorcee to lecture him on matters of the heart. You had every right to go and marry another person, for whatever reason. Kikaku isn't even your friend anymore and he's certainly not your boyfriend. You don't owe him a thing and it's not his place to step in and try to convince you to not go through with a sham marriage. You've chosen your path and he's chosen his. All he can do now is toast to your nuptial and hope for the best. He can do that much for you.

"To the bride and groom." 

"Here, here!" Nekota clinks his own shot glass with Kikaku's. "Good man, you're gonna be just fine."

"Cheers." Kikaku slurs and downs his shot in one large swallow. "Here's to the whole thing goes off without a hitch."

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

“Do you take this woman, to have and to hold, to-”

“I OBJECT! NO ONE SAY ANOTHER DAMN WORD, I OBJECT!!!”

It took Kikaku two hours to get up that morning; he had been drinking into the late hours of the night in a last ditch effort to make sure he wasn't able to be mobile today off all days. Even now, dressed sloppily in an old suit, hair hastily tied back and eyes sunken in with sleep deprivation, he feels like he’s running in a dream. The venue is quaint but tastefully decorated in pastels. There’s not many guests; he supposes your father wanted to get the wedding done with little fanfare. The objective was to tie you down, not throw a celebration. 

“Son of a bitch.” Your father is the first one to rise; he addresses you angrily. “Did you invite him?”

“N-no!” 

You look aghast, glancing rapidly between Kikaku as he comes barreling down the aisle and your soon to be husband. Kenji looks twice as confused and a little scared, which is fair, considering how haggard and demented Kikaku looks, like a twitchy spider rushing to catch its prey. You hadn’t heard a peep from Kikaku since that night and his parents had politely turned down your invite, as they had a previous engagement they were committed to attend. It was a good thing they couldn’t, because you’re certain both Kikaku’s mother and father would keel over and die from the spectacle their son is currently making of himself. 

“I said, I object!” 

"Heavens above." The priest frowns. “Not another one.”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP?” It’s a wonder Kikaku can yell so loudly when he’s barely breathing; there’ sweat stains at his collar and the underarms of his blazer. “You can’t marry these two-they shouldn’t be married!”

“Who the heck are you?” Kenji’s brows furrow and he looks at you questioningly. “Do you know this guy?”

“Yes.” You sigh. “Kikaku, you’ve been drinking, haven’t you? I could smell you from the doors. Didn’t I tell you this wasn’t any of your business?”

“I don’t care! Dammit, I’m sorry, alright? I’m sorry it took me so long to get my head out of my ass, but this isn’t about me.” Kikaku finally manages to speak without gasping. “I get it. You’re tired of dealing with your father’s bullshit and you think this is the only way out, but it’s not.”

“I’m calling the police!” Your father’s face is red and he looks ready to run up to the podium and deck Kikaku in the face. “How dare you? Haven’t you done enough? You weren’t good enough for her then and you sure as hell aren’t now.”

“Dad, you don’t need to call the police,” You look at him pleadingly. “Kikaku will leave on his own. He knows this is what I want.”

“No it’s not.” 

“Dammit, will you leave already!?” You’re the one raising your voice now; hot tears prick the corners of your eyes. “Why, Kikaku? Why are you doing this to me? Are you just upset because I won’t be available anymore? Well, too bad. Go play with one of your girlfriends and stop making a scene.”

“I’m sorry. I'll say it as many times as I have to.” Kikaku steps forward until he’s standing in front of you. “I’m sorry for not listening. I’m sorry it took me this long to get it, but you don’t have to get married.”

“What? Is this your idea of a proposal or something?”

“I don’t deserve you either. I should have been there more. I can be.” Kikaku looks at you, exhausted, desperate. “Don’t do this. Let me be there for you like I should have been all this time. You don’t have to fight on your own, not anymore. I’ll never leave you alone again.”

You blink and tears drip down your cheeks. “Kikaku,”

“I sent out messages to all the girls I was seeing last night. Look at my contact list.” Kikaku takes his phone out of his pocket and shows you the screen; his contact list only has a handful of names, people you recognize as family and work colleagues and friends. “It’s okay if you don’t feel the same way, just…don’t marry this guy.”

“Kikaku, you’re being absolutely-!”

“Hey,” Kenji begins tentatively. “I think he makes a few good points.”

“What?” You turn to stare at your fiance. “But, I agreed to this.”

“It’s not like we’re in love.” Kenji cracks a begrudging smile. “It could’ve been nice but something tells me that’s not going to cut it.”

“I’m…I couldn’t just-”

“Also, your friend’s kinda freaking everyone out and I’m a little scared he’s going to put a curse on me.” Kenji glances at Kikaku. “You couldn’t have showered before coming to take the bride away?”

“You-!” Kikaku grabs your hand. “Just for that, you’re cursed! Everyone’s cursed! I hope the open bar is worth it assholes!” his eyes soften as he looks at your stricken face. “Can we talk somewhere more private? I think your old man is gonna kill me before the cops show up.”

You look at his hand; his palm is sweaty. 

“Please.” Kikaku’s voice is hoarse. “I won’t leave without you. I never want to go anywhere without you.”

“Damn you.” You’re really crying now. “You asshole.”

“Yeah.” Kikaku offers a weak smile; he glances down at your dress. “Oh. Wow.”

“Don’t say it.” You shake your head and wipe your eyes aggressively. “I know, it wasn't my choice.”

“You’re beautiful.”

Kikaku exhales and his grip on your hand tightens; he’s only just taking in the sight of you, dressed head to toe in a flowing white gown, dolled up and looking like an angel descended from heaven. 

Maybe he was full of shit because right now all Kikaku wants to do is take you away for himself. He brings a hand up to wipe the tears off your cheek; why do you look so sad? Is he really not wanted here? Is giving himself to you not enough?

“I’ve been a fucking mess all week.” Kikaku admits, eyes searching your face for any sign you don’t despise him. “I couldn’t sleep or eat or focus at work. I’m being shameless, you don’t have to tell me that. Maybe it’s too late for us, but I can still fix this. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. Just tell me what I have to do.”

You’re blushing now under his intense stare. “...take me with you.”

“What?” Kikaku leans in to catch every word. “What do you want?”

“You. I want you, Kikaku. I want you to take me out of here.” You confess, trying not to whimper as his thumb rubs your hot cheek. “I can’t do this without you.”

“Say no more.”

You hike up your skirt and kick off your heels; Kikaku leads the way, the two of you ignore the shouts and gasps and threats being hurled your way by your father. Your eyes stay glued on the hand still clutching onto yours and you run, run, run until the car is in sight, decked out in flowers and a “Just Married” sign on the back. Kikaku opens the passenger side door and guides you into the backseat, even lifting the hem of your skirt so the door doesn’t close on it. The driver, rightfully skeptical and a bit horrified, practically throws the keys at Kikaku when he screeches for them. 

“I think everyone assumes you’re some sort of demon here to kidnap me.” You watch as the driver races up the steps of the venue, probably to explain why he’s left his post. “We’re going to have to return the car.”

“For now we drive,” Kikaku turns the keys, backs out of the parking space, and slams his foot on the gas. 

“This is fun for you, isn’t it?”

“A little.” Kikaku laughs, suddenly quite cheerful. “I’m relieved. I thought I was going to lose you…again. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“I’m still on the fence about that.” You tell him warily, taking off your veil. “Did you really mean all that?”

“I might have lied a tiny bit about not wanting to steal you away. I want you for myself. I know it’s not fair to you, but that’s how I feel. I was going crazy.” Kikaku looks at you from the corner of his eye. “You look really good right now.”

“Thanks.” You adjust your seat belt. “Eyes on the road.”

“I want to fuck you in the dress.” Kikaku blurts out. “Let’s get a hotel and pretend we’re married to get a free bottle of champagne.”

“Aren’t you still hungover?”

“Hair of dog. Besides, this calls for a celebration.” Kikaku smirks a little. “I know it’s scary the first time, but I’ll be gentle with my pretty little bride.”

“Kikaku, was this all so you could play out some weird little fantasy?” You grumble. “I’m gonna jump out of this car and run back and see if Kenji will reconsider.”

“No! I was half joking…I just want you so bad.”

“Kikaku,” You cross your arms. “I mean it, I’m not in the mood for any teasing.”

“I meant it all. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.” One of Kikaku’s hands leaves the steering wheel; his playful smile is gone. “Do you not want me anymore? I don’t expect you to believe in me, after everything…but do you want to try again?”

For a tense moment, Kikaku thinks his chest will explode; he might actually die if you say no, even if you have every right to reject him. But then you take his hand and interlock your fingers. You smile, a little exasperated, but it’s a real, genuine smile. It practically blinds him; Kikaku has half a mind to beg you to marry him then and there. There’s still time and Kikaku plans to use it making you fall in love with him so you never regret today.

“Yes.” You kiss the back of his hand and smile brighter than he’s ever seen. “I do.” 

[cozyrecords]

Volleying Love

Here's another post for one of my favourite characters, Kuroo Tetsurou <3

I hope you guys enjoy reading this and any suggestions are welcome!

Kuroo is an all-time famous volleyball player and there is no denying that but so is the fact that he has been your best friend ever since you moved to Nekoma. You guys have seen each other's most vulnerable sides to the most embarrassing moments. Not to mention also the times when you guys have been in a really heated argument once but thankfully made up just in time.

Of course, you guys were nothing more than just best buddies, right? Or so you thought...

"Y/N, my beloved...I have missed you a ton!" Kuroo dramatically clutches his heart, entering the class.

"I think you guys met yesterday?" Lev questions, showing the recent post on Kuroo's social media where he took your picture while playing claw machine at an amusement park.

You rolled your eyes, shook your head, and released an annoyed sigh. "I miSSeD yoU ToO."

"Anyways, you know the drill, right? Match at 6 pm today." Kuroo winks at you and puckers his lower lip when he sees you gagging at his gesture.

"Kuroo, I will f*cking bury you alive if you do that again." You slightly smack his arm.

Kenma snickers without diverting his attention away from the game. Meanwhile, Lev and Kenma go to their classes and your homeroom teacher enters the class and asks you guys to open the textbooks.

"Heyy..psst!"

You feel your chair being kicked by someone and turn sideways to come face-to-face with Kuroo.

"What do you want, idiot?"

"You." He smirks.

Your eyes widen and your body goes into a defensive mode but even before you realize what's happening, you feel your hair being ruffled by him.

"Looks like someone fell for that." He cackles and it immediately makes your eyes all watery so you blink rapidly and turn around to get a pencil.

"F*ck off, Kuroo. I- I almost threw up at your words." You slightly quivered, throwing the pencil at him.

"Oww, what did I even do?" He whisper-shouted at you.

Kuroo felt a paper ball hit his shoulder and he looked back to Yaku who signed to that paper ball to be opened.

'You are dumb as fuck'

"Yaku-san! Come on..not you too?"

--------------------------------------------------

After classes, you go to the canteen to buy snacks for the game. You contemplated whether to buy Kuroo's favourite drink because he will be getting tons from his fans.

"OMGG! I CAN'T WAIT TO GIVE THIS TO KUROO."

"NOO...I WILL BE THE ONE TO GIVE HIM BEFORE THE MATCH."

You sighed in annoyance after hearing a few girls from your school competing about who would hand him the drinks first.

"Getting jealous much, are we?"

You whip your head towards the owner of the voice to see Lev standing behind you. He cackles as he takes a glance at your serious face.

"Hahaha...why would I be jealous? And that too because of those girls??? Over Kuroo???? Please." You said averting your eyes away from his.

"Y/N, who are you even kidding? Don't you think its time you tell him about how you feel?"

"Lev, I think you misunderstood the whole dynamic we both have. He is just my best friend and nothing much. Stop having these unrealistic ideas." You were calming yourself from becoming agitated.

"Are you telling that to me or to comfort yourself? Y/N, you don't have to be honest with me but be honest with yourself at least." You noticed his face being stoic, void of any hint of playfulness.

"Let's go. I think you are getting late too." You tried breaking the conversation.

Lev gasped looking at the time on his phone and stormed to the gym before yelling a 'see you after the match.'

--------------------------------------------------

You arrive at the volleyball court to get a spot on the bleachers and just to your liking, you get to have a good view from there. Letting your eyes wander all over the room, they take a pause at your best friend, who is engaged in a serious conversation with the coach along with other members.

Taking a glance at his body, you pay attention to his strong physique consisting of his sharp jawline, strong biceps, and relaxed yet fit posture. Has he always been this manly? Or am I just going crazy?

All of a sudden your thoughts were interrupted by the whistle indicating that the match started and you scrunched your face in disgust for even thinking about Kuroo in this way.

Everyone started screaming as the members jogged up to the middle of the court to greet the other team. You noticed Kuroo spotting you in the crowd and smiled in acknowledgement, waving his hand slightly at you. The most unexpected thing happens as you shoot a tight-lipped smile in response, your heart races slightly at this interaction.

The match started and as usual, you saw the other team get beaten into a pulp by the ruthless Nekoma and more so

"We see our reliable middle blockers block the ball with ease and have it tossed with an unimaginable speed to the other side...aandd one point to Nekoma!" The commentator excitedly screams as Nekoma scores a point.

As the match goes on, you become engrossed in the game as usual but you start noticing something. This match was filled with energy, determination and the zeal to play more and win however you also observe a change in Kuroo. He seems bold and draws more attention than usual which captivates you even more. His spikes and blocks are intense, and he is leading the team with unparalleled intensity.

That is when it clicks so you realize that it is not just his playing but also his attitude and the way he looks at you amidst the crowd. His gaze keeps finding you, and every time he scores or gives an incredible block, he flashes a smile filled with fondness which you have only seen once or twice. It's as if every point he scores is a message meant for you. Having said that, he is revealing a side of himself that you have never seen before. Am I being delusional? Why would he do that? You think to yourself.

As the match reaches its final state, you are torn between admiring Kuroo's exceptional performance and the confusion regarding his behaviour. Nonetheless, you shake your head to remove any other thoughts just to focus on the game.

The crowd finally breaks into cheers as Kuroo and Kenma team up for the last point to make a spectacular play, attaining the victory. Your eyes moistened as you smiled and made tiny jumps in excitement. Similarly, Kuroo was being thrown in the air and caught by his teammates in joy but all he cared was about you.

You watched as Kuroo squeezed himself in between the ecstatic crowd and made his way towards you, his face glistening under the bright lights and a smile that reached his eyes. And that is when the realization hits you like a ton of bricks and you are left in shock. Kuroo is in love with you as much as you are in love with him.

But even before you can move, your peripheral vision registers a frenzied fan making her way towards Kuroo, who seems to be oblivious to the surroundings, keeping his focus solely on you. In an attempt to prevent her from running towards him, you blocked the way but what happened next made the gym fall into a horrified silence.

The scene unfolds to the fan slapping you hard enough to be shoved to the ground as you try to protect your best friend. Cheers have been ceased and the atmosphere shifts from celebration to disbelief.

Your cheek aches with a stinging sensation, gradually swelling and the force of your head hitting the ground makes you slightly dizzy. His face fades as your vision becomes blurry both from the tears and dizziness, so you try your best to not fall unconscious.

Kuroo's movements slow down but his pace increases as his jaws set in a tight line, fists clenched and his face reddens with wrath clouding his eyes. It was obviously unacceptable and his hiking frustration was just as threatening as him.

However, as soon as he looks at you, trying to withhold the pain, he rushes towards you without any care for his anger. He takes a deep breath not wasting another moment, and picks you up in an instant carrying you to the infirmary. You could only listen to a few of the team members asking Kuroo to take care of you while they deal with that fan.

--------------------------------------------------

"Hey, hey...Look at me. Don't worry, I am here, here with you. I've got you so you're going to be okay." His voice was laced with concern along with a subtle tremble in his voice due to the exhaustion.

"Kuroo...I am- I am alright..." You wince lightly trying to stay awake.

"Let's talk later okay? We need to get you a first aid."

He took a turn to the medical room and the doctor quickly takes you to the room. She asks him to stay out for a while and you could make out his reluctance, so you smiled fondly at him. You nodded a bit, raising your thumbs to subtly indicate that you will be alright.

"Thankfully you didn't have any concussion but I would still advise you to get a checkup done at the main hospital." The doctor smiled at you, giving you an ice pack for your cheek.

"Thanks, doc." You peeped through the door, looking at Kuroo who is fidgeting his legs and hands, taking ragged breaths.

"I will let your friend come in so you keep the ice pack for now."

He got up from his seat and dashed through the door. His eyes softened at the sight of you and you signaled him to sit on the chair by the bed.

"Hey, precious...how are you feeling right now?" His gentle touch on your hair made you almost cry because this soft side of him is genuinely making you feel emotional.

"My cheek stings justttt a bit." You snickered to ignore another nickname he used, stressing on 'just' in an attempt to lighten up the mood.

His hand slowly dropped to the swollen cheek, grazing it so delicately as if it's made up of glass. But his face was painted with a stoic expression. "I am gonna make sure she is suspended from all our games."

You couldn't help but be moved by Kuroo's protectiveness, though you might have been grateful if it was anyone else instead of Kuroo but it's just different. After being friends for so long, your newfound feelings towards him made your chest tighten in fear. What if you were wrong about Kuroo? What if he just put an extra amount of dedication to the game and did not convey something to you- but you felt a rush of emotions as a consequence of his undeniable tenderness in his actions.

The words spilled out of your mouth before you could stop them.

"Tetsu, there is something I need to tell you," you began, ignoring the mini shock you got from using his first name. He turned to you, in an instant as it was rare of you to use his first name unless you have a favour to ask him or when you mess up things. His eyes showed you the assurance you needed. So you took a deep breath and uttered the words which have been tugging your heart ever since.

"I...I like you. And not as a friend."

Pretending to not observe how his eyes bulged out and jaw wide open in astonishment, you continued. "Seeing you play and the way you looked at me today, it...it gave me the benefit of the doubt that you might be having a tiny....really a tiny bit of feelings towards me. I love you, Tetsu. 'Like' is just a small word in comparison to the amount of love I have towards you."

You mentally prepared yourself to be laughed at but had a small hope of being on the side where your love is reciprocated. But what is giving you a hard time is that the room fell into a brief silence making you anxious, so you look at Kuroo for an answer.

His face had long been void of the surprised expression and all you could see was his warm and genuine smile before he screamed in excitement. "OH...my god, Y/N! I have been waiting for you to say that! I was- I was gonna say that after the game because you took a long time to respond to my hints."

"I love you too, Y/N." He cupped your uninjured cheek and the moment felt like a dream, the pain in your cheek long forgotten as Kuroo leaned in, his lips softly meeting yours in a gentle, sweet kiss. Your arms made their way, one to his neck while the other to his hair, drawing him closer to deepen the kiss, and he didn't waste any further and tugged at your lips.

You both pulled away from each other, faces flushed at the mini-makeout session, giggling a bit.

"Your bed-hair just got worse." You grinned, smoothening out his spikes while Kuroo just sat like an obedient love-sick puppy with his body all relaxed at the familiar feeling of you.

[velarisnightsky444]

Teatime*

Kinktober Day 15: Face Sitting with Elucien

AN: This is my first non x reader post. We don't have a lot of interaction between these two yet, so i don't really know their dynamic. I will do my best.

CW: Face sitting, oral(f receiving)

Summary: Elain has accepted the bond in this and lives in the Spring Court with Lucien.

Word Count: 770

⳾⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅*⳾

Elain was preparing a tea out of herbs she grew in her personal garden. Lucien would be back from his hunt any minute now.

She had been so lonely the past two days without him. She'd thought about him every single night.

This tea was his favorite. She'd made it for him after she'd first accepted the bond, merely two weeks ago.

When the door opened, she nearly dropped the teapot. She placed it on the table and ran to the door, leaping into his arms.

He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her and squeezing tightly. She rested her head on his shoulder, tears welling up in her eyes.

"Lain, it's only been two days," he cooed, stroking her golden brown hair.

"I know, I just missed you," she sniffled, pulling back to glance up at him. He smiled, kissing her forehead.

"I missed you, too, love," he promised.

"I made you some tea," she said, taking his hand and leading him to the kitchen. He sat at the table, allowing her to pour him a cup.

She enjoyed doing little things like that for him. Though he was fully capable of doing them himself, he let her because he saw how happy it made her.

It was nothing like his own mother, who did everything for her husband because she had no choice. Elain did it because she wanted to show him how much she loved him. He appreciated that.

He and Elain retired to the bedroom when they were done drinking their tea.

Elain immediately got down on her knees, undoing his belt, the same way she had always greeted Grayson when he returned from a long day.

"Not yet, little flower," he decided.

"You've been gone two days," she said. "You need your release."

He stroked her cheek. She still had traditional views of servicing her husband, left by her last relationship. He desperately wanted to show her that her pleasure mattered just as much as his.

"You made me tea," he recalled. "You greeted me at the door. You have been so perfect while I've been gone. I think I need to reward you."

She got to her feet, her confusion showing on her face. He climbed onto the bed and laid on his back.

She got on the bed as well, going to unbuckle his belt again.

"Not yet," he repeated.

She stared, her eyebrows furrowed. She could see that he was hard. It was her job to take care of that. She'd been taught that during her engagement.

"You are just as aroused as I am," he pointed out to her.

"I can handle it," she whispered.

"I want you to lift your skirt and take your underthings off," he told her. She obeyed, though she wasn't sure where this was going. "Now I want you to come over here and sit on my face."

Her cheeks went red. She'd never once heard of such a thing. Why would he possibly want her to do that?

"Trust me, my love," he said, chuckling at the shock on her face.

"Won't I hurt you?"

"Of course not," he promised.

She flushed, but did as she was told. She climbed up to the top of the bed and carefully set herself on his face, hovering just above him.

He gripped her hips and pulled her down, his tongue lapping at her clit. She let out a loud moan, grabbing his wrists.

He didn't let up. He parted her lips with his tongue, flicking it around to find the spots that made her a mewling mess.

And she was a mewling mess.

Already, she was whining, moaning, and whimpering above him. Nobody had ever used their mouth on her before. She'd heard about it briefly, but usually blushed and left the room when conversations like that arose.

His tongue dipped into her cunt, making her gasp and grind her hips against his face.

Her head was thrown back as she relished in the pleasure unlike any she'd ever felt before.

"Lucien," she moaned, her eyes rolling into the back of her head. "Gods, Lucien."

He hummed against her heat, making her tremble as her vision nearly faded to black. Her stomach was so tight. She whimpered, her hands in his long hair.

"Mother above," she cried out as the tightness released.

Her orgasm overtook her, more powerful than any she'd ever felt before. She gasped, riding his face until the pleasure faded.

She fell back onto the bed, panting as she tried to catch her breath. He chuckled, sitting up and wiping her release from his face.

⳾⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅*⳾

Elucien Taglist: @roxan1930

General Taglist:

comment to be added to the taglists!

⳾⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅❀⑅*⳾

[ap41cu5]

can you do joseph x reader when the reader have a nightmare when reader wake up from the nightmare but she doesn't wake joseph up because she doesn't to bother him but he can't sleeping without her and he comfort her

Plagued Dreams

Joseph Oda x F! Reader Rating: Fluff Genre: One-Shot Fluff Word Count: 1173 Short Synopsis: The reader wakes up from a nightmare that used to persist often in the past. The incident causing the nightmare had troubled her for months and she had seemingly recovered from it. But the nightmare returned, and the reader, who didn't want to wake up her fiance (Joseph Oda), begins to have a meltdown in the living room. Joseph hears her cries and immediately goes to comfort her. A/N: im gonna be honest this is not my best work and i am so sorry that i posted this so late but i do hope that you enjoy this nonetheless! i havent had much time to write as usual, and i apologize if this fic isnt as long as you were hoping

“Holy shit, oh my God..” you whispered to yourself, your head aching as you rubbed your temples.

You had just woken up in a cold sweat, gasping for air as the sheets clung uncomfortably to your body.

What the hell?

You couldn’t wrap your head around it. You had gotten over it years ago, so why did it come back now? You hadn’t even thought about the incident in months. Why was such a tragic memory coming back to haunt you?

It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault, so why was it that you could never shake the feeling of guilt that washed over you whenever it was mentioned?

You looked over to Joseph, who was peacefully lying beside you, the sheets sloppily thrown on top of him and one of his arms carefully wrapped around your torso. His lips slightly parted and his head tilted, even lightly snoring. The clock on his nightstand read: 3:23AM.

You were always so grateful to be engaged to a man like him. He was smart, had a delightfully dry sense of humor, beyond compassionate, sweet, and such a gentleman. He always had a knack for reading you like a book– like all of your thoughts were written above your head for him to see. You balanced each other out wonderfully, rendering the both of you the perfect team.

You moved to gently shake him, but checked the clock one last time before your hand had the chance to make contact with the resting man. The small lettering beside the time read in all caps: TUE. That’s right. It was a Tuesday morning, meaning you both had work. It wouldn’t be fair to wake him up and have him miss out on sleep because of you. 

Carefully retracting your hand, your eyes still scanning his sleeping form, you gently took the covers off of you and got up out of bed. You gently lifted his arm off of you and placed it atop your pillow, hoping he wouldn’t notice the difference as you began to make your way towards the living room.

Carefully shutting the bedroom door behind you, you immediately headed for the kitchen to treat yourself to a cold glass of water. 

The cold liquid made your throat ache as you gulped it down. It was oddly refreshing, and seemed to clear your head during the brief moment. The night was silent, the only sound rushing through air being the occasional buzzing of cars passing through the intersection outside the kitchen window. 

Placing your glass in the kitchen sink, you made your way towards the couch. Maybe watching a bit of TV would help put me back to sleep, you thought. Plopping down on the couch and grabbing the remote, you flipped through a couple channels before finally settling for the news. Since it was three in the morning, you had a feeling nothing good would be on anyway.

You tried as hard as you could to focus on the news, but the incident refused to leave your fatigued, debilitated mind. Images seemed to flash through your head, no matter how badly you tried to think about anything else. Nothing seemed to work. It was suffocating. You hugged your knees as you felt your chest begin to tighten. The low sounds emitting from the TV seemed to fade into nothingness as everything around you seemed to crumble from beneath your fingertips. Your breathing became heavy as you tried your hardest to snap yourself out of it. Tears cascaded down your cheeks and the walls seemed to cave in around you. 

“(First Name)?” The sound of Joseph’s voice seemed to cut through the haze of your anxiety.

He quickly took your side, wrapping one of his arms around your back as his other hand moved to cup your cheek.

“Hey, it’s alright. I’ve got you,” Joseph quietly muttered to you as he gently pulled you towards him.

The feeling of his arms around you immediately helped you to ground yourself again. His embrace was warm and his words were comforting. You turned, slowly wrapping your arms around him as you sobbed into his chest. 

Joseph stroked your hair, “It’s alright, you’re alright. I’m here,” he whispered into your ear. 

He laid backwards onto the couch, allowing for you to lay on him as you held him. His scent was awfully soothing, and his warmth only added onto it. His arms were carefully wrapped around your waist as he pulled you in. One arm placed around your hips, the other gently rubbing your back.

“It wasn’t your fault. It never was.”

At this point, you were squeezing him. Your head buried in his chest, your legs wrapped around each other’s, his head in your hair. 

It always took you a while to finally calm down whenever you’d experience any panic attacks or meltdowns related to the incident. But Joseph was always there for you, every step of the way. Willing to do whatever it took to help you calm down no matter how long it took. He never grew impatient, not once. 

He grabbed you a couple of tissues to blow your nose with while he wiped away your tears. 

“Why didn’t you wake me up, (First Name)?” Joseph asked, his thumb wiping away a tear as he caressed your cheek.

You sniffled, “I.. I didn’t want to bother you. You looked so peaceful while you were sleeping, and– and you’ve had to do this for me so many times already. And you have work in the morning–” “(First Name), I will always be here for you whenever you need me. I love you, (First Name). I’ve never been more sure about anyone else before. You are the most sweet, thoughtful person that I know. That’s the reason that I’m marrying you,” Joseph tilted your head towards him.

You chuckled, “you’re so sweet, Joseph. I love you so much, I really don’t deserve you.”

“You never give yourself enough credit, (First Name). I know better than anyone how amazing you are. I can say with full confidence that you deserve the whole world and more. I love you, (First Name),” Joseph murmured, cupping your cheek in one of his hands.

Taking one of your hands in his, he gently coaxed you back up onto your feet.

With one arm around your waist as he began helping you back towards the bedroom, he gave you a kiss on the cheek.

“Let’s head back to bed, my love. And after work, why don’t we visit that new cafe that just opened up? It’s been awhile since we’ve gone on a proper date, and I think you deserve the treat,” Joseph gave you a slight smile as he tucked you in.

Climbing into bed beside you, you immediately wrapped your arms around his waist to cuddle him. With your head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat, and one of his hands gently stroking your hair, you felt yourself almost immediately drift back off to sleep. 

[jerzwriter]

Hot Idea

Book:              Open Heart (Post Series)

Pairing:           Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Kaycee MacClennan)

Rating:            Teen

Words: 990

Summary: Ethan & Kaycee are poolside on one of the hottest days in Boston's history; Ethan's eager to go inside until Kaycee mentions wedding planning. Then, there's a brilliant idea.

A/N: This is loosely based on an old ask from @potionsprefect. I think this took place just days after Kaycee got her official engagement ring in As Planned. And look at me keeping it under 1,000 words!

It was sweltering outside. One of the hottest days in Boston’s history, bound to break all records. Ethan removed his sunglasses, or maybe they slid off; he was undoubtedly sweating enough for that. After a long chug of ice water, he rolled over on his lounger to address his fiancee.

“If there is a god, she intended for days like this to be spent one way… and one way alone.”

Despite the heat, Kaycee couldn’t help but grin. “If and she. There is a reason I said yes to you, Ethan.”

“And that’s what it is,” he smirked. “I assumed one of my many other talents made you arrive at that decision.”

“It was a million little reasons. But tell me, how did the possible goddess intend for us mere mortals to spend days like this?”

“Indoors,” he deadpanned. “Where it’s air-conditioned.”

“Poolside isn’t good enough for you?” She teased.

“Before dating you, I didn’t know my condo had a pool. Does that answer your question?”

“Well, it is boiling,” she agreed. “And it’s our only day off this week; we probably should go inside and start discussing wedding plans.”

“You know,” Ethan said, reclining in his chair. “If we drink more water, it’s entirely bearable out here.”

Kaycee reached for her glass of ice water and playfully tossed it atop Ethan’s bare chest.

“HEY!” He hollered.

“What? If ingesting the water will keep you cool… and away from discussing wedding plans… I figured external application would merely assist you.”

“You realize I have a glass right next to me, and I’m not above retaliation.”

Reaching over, Kaycee stole his glass and chugged the water in its entirety. “There! Now, that threat is eliminated.”

“But there is still ice,” Ethan winked. “And you know our history with ice.”

“Mmm,” she hummed. “Nice attempt at deflection… but I’m not letting you off the hook. Why are you so unwilling to discuss wedding plans with me? If I hadn’t received two beautiful proposals, I’d think you had cold feet.”

 “It’s not you,” he sighed. “Or the marriage. I’d head down to City Hall today and make it legal. It’s… the wedding…”

“I know,” Kaycee sighed, slumping back into her chair. “I’m not all jazzed about that part either.”

“Wait,” Ethan exclaimed. “You’re not? I assumed you’d want a big, fancy thing with all the trimmings.”

“Have I ever alluded to that?”

“No,” Ethan agreed. “But you went on and on about how you liked Reynaldo’s wedding in the City.”

“I did. For Reynaldo, but it’s just not… me.”

“Your mother would kill us if we eloped,” Ethan stated.

“Without question,” Kaycee laughed. “My Mom is part of the problem. I know she means well, but she’s Italian. She can’t help herself. A wedding means a church, hundreds of distant cousins I never knew I had, and a dress that would make Cinderella look understated.”

“Hundreds?” Ethan moaned.

“Don’t worry,” Kaycee smiled, gripping his hand. “We aren’t doing any of that. But… I have to the talk I’ve been avoiding with my mother.”

Ethan removed his glasses and looked at her sincerely. “Kaycee, what do you want?”

Kaycee closed her eyes, a slow smile spreading on her face. “I want a pretty dress, but nothing fussy. I want our closest friends and family there, but no one else. Good food, drinks, music, and laughter are musts, and at the end of the day, I better be married to you. But outside of that… I don’t care.”  

“Well, I approve of that,” he beamed. “So, how do we go about doing this?”

“I’ll talk to Mom. She’ll come around… eventually… with my father’s help,” Kaycee sighed. “Her heart’s in the right place, but. I wish I could avoid the headaches. Maybe we should plan a surprise wedding,” she laughed.

Ethan’s eyes went wide. “Kaycee! You’re brilliant!”

“I am?” she asked. “I mean, I am... but why now?”

“That’s a perfect idea! We plan the wedding… something simple to our liking. Then, we invite everyone to our ‘engagement party,’ and when they show up… SURPRISE! We’re getting married!”

“Wait… are you serious?”

“I’ll admit it’s unorthodox, but….”

“But I freaking love it!” Kaycee gushed.  

She jumped on Ethan’s lap before he knew what hit him. Peppering him with dozens of little kisses, the remnants of her pink lip gloss leaving slight kiss marks all over his face.

“Would you stop,” he chuckled. “We’re in public!”

“Ethan Jonah Ramsey! We have done far worse in public, and you know it! Do you really think we can do this?

“We can do whatever we want,” he assured. “I just have one request.”

“What’s that?”

“I want it to be soon. I’ve never seen the point in long engagements, and if we aren’t going to have a gala to prepare for, I see no need to delay.”

“Ethan Ramsey rushing to the alter,” she giggled. “Who could have predicted this?”

“OK, wiseass,” he smiled. “Stay on topic! Where should we have this? Mistral has a private room; we could look into that.”

“As much as I love Mistral, that is a little stuffier than I envision.”

“OK!” He snapped his fingers. “La Famiglia in North End, it’s one of your favorite places. It’s Italian, so your mother will be somewhat happy… it’s perfect!”

“It could be,” she pondered. “But I was thinking…Oh my God!” she gasped.

“What?”

“Our vacation! The house rental on the Cape!”

“We could do it there!” Ethan enthused.

“It’s perfect! Do you agree?”

“I agree… there’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“Kaycee, it’s three weeks away.”

“So we better get moving,” she said, jumping from her chair. Let’s get into that air conditioning you were talking about. We have a wedding to plan.”

“You know,” he grinned as they walked toward the elevator. “This was all part of my master plan to get you inside.”

“Ethan?”

“Yes.”

“Hush.”

“Ah, it’s like we’re married already.”

Tagging separately.

[khywren]

7, 8, 10, 13, 17, 27, 39, 63 & 64 pls!（￣ε￣ʃƪ）

(questions are from this post.) 7: how do you choose which POV to write from?

in general, i like writing from multiple POVs at once, sort of like an omniscient narrator. trying to stick to just one POV is difficult for me. but if i'm writing a scene that's integral to one specific character i always try to stick to just their POV to make it more impactful, i guess you could say.

8: do you prefer the beginning, middle, or end of a story?

when reading: no preference. when writing: definitely the middle. starting a piece is tricky, since you wanna make it interesting enough to hook someone in. i am notoriously awful at endings and never really know how/where to do them, which explains why a lot of my stuff probably feels like it ends very abruptly lmao. when you're in the middle of the story there's definitely far less pressure.

10: cltr+f "blinks" on your WIP & copy paste the first sentence/paragraph that comes up

TIL i basically never use the word "blink." i had to DIG for this one.

13: what’s a common writing tip that you almost always follow?

in my senior thesis class we had to turn in something my professor called the "zero draft." the idea was to write something, anything; even if it's bad, just getting some ideas out and written down is better than nothing. you gotta start somewhere - for me, it's often just a random like that pops into my head that could be literally anywhere in a fic, and i might not end up keeping it but it helps to have something, anything to go off of during the drafting stage. so a ton of my WIPs will literally say something like, "talk about x here" until i figure out exactly how that's gonna go down. that way i have a general idea of what i'm doing but also so my ADHD lizard brain doesn't forget.

17: what do you do when writing becomes difficult? (maybe a lack of inspiration or writers block)

as i'm currently dealing with this right now, here's what I've been doing! i know that the words just aren't wording right now, but because i still WANT to write, i'll allow myself to open my drafts if i'm feeling particularly antsy. but i don't force myself. i'm also engaging with other hobbies that i enjoy, and i've been using the time to catch up on some games i haven't played much in a while. i've also been reading, both books and fanfic. last time i was in a slump, reading other people's work helped a lot, as i was still able to engage with writing without the pressure and was inspired by a lot of the things i'd read. as far as getting rid of the guilt for not writing… i've literally never been able to get rid of that, but there's nothing i can do because my brain is an asshole, lol.

27: what is your most and least favorite part of writing?

most favorite: being able to get an idea i'm passionate about out on the page. even if it's something i never share, being able to create is very therapeutic for me. least favorite: definitely the imposter syndrome. i struggle with this all the time, even in the academic writing i did. my fiancé has been joking with me for years that "the more i hated a paper the better it probably was" because i was never satisfied with anything i wrote. no surprise this curse followed me into fanfic. i'm glad that my brain is always looking for ways to improve, but i wish it would do that without self-sabotaging.

39: share a snippet from a WIP

63: something you hate to see in smut.

there are certain terms and phrases for actions and anatomy that i just hate. but what's sexy to one person may be cringe to another, so unless i'm just not vibing with the story at all, that's not usually enough to get me to stop reading. it might take me out of it a little, but unless it's super egregious it's not a huge deal.

64: something you love to see in smut.

non-sexy dialogue. don't get me wrong, i looooooove a fic with dirty talk, but i also like it when the characters engage in some casual banter while doing the deed. i find that showcases the chemistry between them and makes their relationship super believable. i am a hopeless romantic and stuff like that always makes me kick my feet and swoon.

[satanicchristiancult]

Sexuality and labeling is weird and I want to talk about it.

This is all focused on my own experiences.

Honestly, I have no exact reason to post this, especially since I have homework that was due yesterday that I still haven’t finished, but oh well.

Back when I was really active on queer spaces (I genuinely used to be one of the moderators of a pretty large Amino. I spoke with so many people about so many things. It’s impressive that I even managed to do that), I used to really investigate as many labels as I could. I knew about so many obscure gender, romantic, and sexual identities just for the sake of helping other people find their own.

I guess that I was, in one way or another, searching for my own identity. At that point in my life, I would have described my identity as panromantic, asexual, and demiromantic. I was okay with that definition. I was someone who didn’t experience sexual attraction, and felt little romantic attraction unless it was to someone close, in which case, their gender or identity didn’t matter.

I liked finding labels for myself. Finding something in the gender department was a tad bit harder. I identified with pangender and liked it.

I drifted apart from the community and just stopped engaging in queer spaces like that all together.

I constantly debated whether or not I was more aroflux than demiromantic, so for a while I’d just use them interchangeably.

Around that time, I came out for the first and only time.

Hear me out, I consider these things important, but I’ve always had the idea that I’m just never gonna come out to anyone. I’d be fine with that. I’m me. That’s enough. I don’t own anyone any pretty words to describe my identity. (I did like the flags though).

This time I came out, I tried to do this same explanation, plus some other xenogenders and more obscure identities that I somewhat identified with, while adding the flags as well:

“I’m pangender, which means that I identify with all genders and with none of them at the same time. Between that pangender identity, there are xenogenders, which refers to genders that can’t be described in the usual “masculine”, “feminine”, and “androgynous” ways. I use neopronouns, which refers to pronouns other that “he”, “she”, and “they”. I use xe/xem pronouns and strongly resonate with them. I’m asexual, so I don’t experience sexual attraction. I’m panromantic, demiromantic, and aroflux, which means that I don’t experience romantic attraction, except for when I do, in which case it tends to be for people who I have a strong emotional bond with. This person/people could be of any gender. I don’t care about looks, identity, anything. Just personality~”

Fun fact, to this day, even after so many years of using xe/xem pronouns, not a single person has ever referred to me with them. None of my neopronouns. Not even once.

The reaction, of course, silence from the group chat.

Some questions. Other than that, nothing.

Honestly, people don’t expect you to go on and come out, identifying with microlables. People expect you to identify with the classic sexualities, all of those in the acronym. LGBT. (That’s why I like to extend that bastard as much as I can while still making it “socially acceptable” so people don’t look at me weirdly. LGBTQIA2S+).

Honestly, I don’t know what I expected. I had a similar conversation with a cousin. It’s was like 1am and we were chatting, and he said “oh, well, but we did need the “gay cousin””. I told him it was me, he told me that it was him. We just repeated those things for a while. Eventually, I genuinely asked him if he meant it. I told him I did. He told me he did. We came out to each other. I guessed his sexuality correctly, I explained each of my identities carefully.

Next time we saw each other, we talked about it. I came out, explained each label again. He hadn’t heard about a single one of them. I told him my preferred pronouns, my odd disconnect with my given name, and things like that.

He seemed to have forgotten by the next time. He referred to me with that name, which is fine, but the pronouns. Those hurt. I wasn’t gonna say anything though. It’s been years, I still haven’t.

Not so long ago, he came out to me. I accepted him, used his pronouns, addressed him by his name (which I don’t know how he spells, by the way, cause this is Latinoamérica and you can never asume how someone writes their name, we have like a thousand different ways to write each one). I came out again. I repeated my crisis with my name. My pronouns. Has he used them? I haven’t got a clue. We haven’t been able to speak one on one for a while. I miss him.

I guess that these experiences of coming out, plus an almost forced outing and an actual forced outing, neither of which I’m gonna expand upon, made myself look at my own identity differently. I started considering the identity of unlabeled.

I like labels. I liked labeling myself. It meant having a community of others like me. A space.

I started feeling disconnected from them, in a weird way, at least. Am I technically all of those things? Yes. Do those terms explain me correctly? Not really??

I’ve slowly just gone on to identify myself as me. I love love, I love everyone and everything. I want to have a relationship, marry, hell, maybe even sex. I don’t know. I like the idea of those things. I can’t picture myself as actually being in any of those, but I like to believe that they will come someday, and that I will enjoy them.

I love in a nonconventional way. For me, love is love, no matter whether or not it is sexual, romantic, platonic, or anything else.

My gender? It is yes and no. Everything and nothing. It doesn’t matter, yet it does.

I don’t understand, even after so many years of being in both the aro and ace spectrums, what the hell is “attraction”. I guess I just don’t feel those. Isn’t that the definition of both of those terms? Yes.

It’s truly been years, and until recently did I manage to open my eyes and tell myself “even without attraction, you can have a relationship. You can have sex”.

It was so contradictory to me. If I don’t have attraction, do I just not want those things? In my case, I do want them, I am attracted to the idea. Whenever it comes to people, it’s harder though. I’m terrified of people. I want a relationship. I want to have sex. I want to understand.

What even is attraction???

I identify as unlabeled, but I am in denial.

I am unlabeled, but only in my head.

Hell, not even there.

I’m not gonna come out to anyone as that. If anyone asks, I’ll make a simplified version of what I’ve always said. “Aroace and panromantic. Gender? Good question”.

Do any labels actually identify me? Yes and no. I’m disconnected from them. I want them to fit. They fit. But they don’t.

I’m me. That’s enough.

Is it enough?

I try each day to convince myself that it is.

I also don’t know.

-Mori (They/Xem)

[shadowbriar]

Never Walk Away Again - George Weasley

Pairing : (F/M) || George Weasley x Reader Word Count : 3k Warning : Slight mention of vulgar word and sexual activity. Notes : This story was posted first on my Ao3 account. Inspired by Never Gonna Leave This Bed by Maroon 5. She knew that she’s playing with fire from the beginning, but his demeanour has poured nothing but gasoline and now she’s the only one burning in flame as he watches on the side.

She steadies her breathing, trying to make it seem like she was fast asleep. The room was quite dim and her back was facing him but she couldn’t risk making it known that she was awake. She’s always fallen to sleep after they had sex. At least, that’s what he believes.

His hand was gently stroking her hair, combing it through his long fingers. Once in a while he would caress her skin, making small circles lightly so that he wouldn’t wake her up. He knows that he’s slowly burning their bridge, cuddling her like this. It was one of the fundamental rule they’ve established before engaging in such loosely attached relationship: sex only, no fuzzies.

Perhaps it was after their Quidditch win against Slytherin last term, or that night she was heavily pissed after a couple of drinks at the Three Broomsticks, George couldn’t tell precisely when he’d fallen for her but he did. She’d always held a tender spot in his heart. He’s just unsure when that spot turns into a gigantic black hole, ready to swallow him whole anytime soon.

With one desperate sigh, George unwraps himself from the duvet. He quietly gathers his clothes, putting his trousers on first before finally tucking the cover back on her. He leans in, hesitating to plant the small kiss on her shoulder before deciding to go against it and leave in silence.

Upon hearing the door click to its frame, she turns to face the now empty side of the bed. His perfume still lingers strongly on the sheets, making it harder for her to breathe. His leaves are getting earlier and earlier, leaving her alone with her train of thoughts. The bane memory torments her because ever since, they couldn’t even have sex and enjoy it. At least, he couldn’t.

“George, I think we might need to talk.” she says, her knuckles white from the tight grip of her hands to the bed sheets.

The boy was still busy buttoning down his white shirt, his back facing her. He only replied with a small hum, encouraging her to proceed on her words.

“I think- I think we need to talk about our relationship.”

He stopped midway. His hands falling to his sides, still not turning to see her. The smile that was plastered on his face is now turned into a tight line, brows furrowing at the confusion and slight disappointment.

George tries to gather his composure, continuing to dress himself, “How do you mean?”

“Well I- I don’t think we're just mere mates who mate now, are we?” she says with a bitter chuckle “I mean it’s a lot more personal than that. I know we agreed on the boundaries but lately it’s been so blurry and I just- I just need to know if this means any further than what it was for you too.”

The boy runs a hand through his hair. He turns to face her, who is now staring at him with hopeful yet apologising eyes. Everything was so perfect a minute ago. Why did she have to ruin it for them now?

“Love,” he calls softly, a nickname he gave her though it meant nothing like the word “I’m sorry but I couldn’t bring this any more than what it is.”

She blinks, her expression more confused than before.

“I’m sorry but I can’t be involved romantically with you.”

“Why not?” she cuts fast “You’ve been sending me flowers, holding my hand and walking me to my classes. What would any of those mean if not for romantic gestures?”

“I was just being a friend.” he says as a matter of factly “We were friends first, have you forgotten? We agreed to stay that way, no feelings attached. You agreed on the terms that night.”

“Well, friends don’t fuck, George.”

Disappointment and anger were mixing in her chest. She hurriedly gathered her belongings, slipping on her underwear and dress before leaving George with a slam of the door. She knew that she’s playing with fire from the beginning, but his demeanour has poured nothing but gasoline and now she’s the only one burning in flame as he watches on the side.

She sighs as the nightmare replayed in her mind. It took them weeks to straighten the misunderstanding and get back to square one. Though she still has the very same feelings towards him, having him around as a hookup partner is far better than to not have him around at all. The brief separation they had certainly taught her a valuable lesson.

But his change of attitude lately has given her a side thought. Perhaps they couldn’t get back to what they were before she ruined it that night. He’s been more drowned and distant since, not even waiting till morning to leave. They barely exchange words daily, not even at Quidditch practices. It’s like he’s trying to avoid any further confusion by walking away completely.

They have indeed burnt the bridges down to ashes.

____

The Quidditch match of Gryffindor against Hufflepuff has just finished with Gryffindor winning by a dramatic finale. If George didn’t keep the bludger off of Harry at the last minute, the Hufflepuff seeker would have certainly caught the snitch. A brilliant save of the Beater indeed.

She was walking out of the field with the rest of the Gryffindor team, her Quidditch robes dirty of sweat and dirt. It was raining earlier and she had fallen off her broom a couple of times during the match. To say she looked like a mess would be an understatement.

“One save and he thinks he’s the British National Beater.” Angelina commented as they stare at George who’s now set apart from the flock “Look at him looking all high and mighty.”

She chuckles, watching the girls swarm the tall red head. It never bothers her to see him get all the attention. So long as he doesn’t engage in a romantic business with them, she hardly paid any mind. In fact, it’s always been quite amusing to see George flushed at the recognition. He’s always been the more quiet twin after all. Fred on the other hand, would enjoy and milk all the glory till its last drop.

“What’s Davies doing here?” Harry commented as he pointed at the Ravenclaw Quidditch captain.

The brown haired boy walked closer to the group of lions, a nervous smile evident on his face as he approached. It is indeed a bizarre sighting to see him, especially since the Ravenclaw did not play that day. One of his hands was tucked in his trouser pockets while the other awkwardly waved at her, trying to gain her attention.

“Hi,” he greets with a smile “Can I steal you for a minute?”

“Me?” she asks, confused “Uh, sure I guess.”

Angelina and Ginny were shooting playful smiles as the team bid their goodbyes. Watching her pack walk away, she could see from the corner of her eyes that George was eyeing them. She couldn’t make out if it was due to the girls still crowding around him or because of Davies’ presence, but he sure looked rather resentful.

“What can I help you with, Davies?”

“I, uh, it’s rather silly, really.” Roger says nervously as he rubs his nape “I was wondering if you’re free this weekend? Would you like to go on a Hogsmeade date with me?”

She blinks, looking slightly taken aback. Sure they’ve had a couple of friendly conversations before, but she has never considered him as friends. Classmates, at most. Roger is considered one of the best looking men of their year and his lady-loves have always been girls who are chased by many. To think that Roger Davies might fancy her would be the most wildered scenario of the year.

“Uh, sure.” she says with a slightly forced smile “How’s Saturday sound? Meet you at the Great Hall at lunch?”

Roger nods with a spreading smile, “That sounds perfect.”

With a happy face, the boy walks away to join his friends again. She watches his back getting tinier as the distance between them grows. It’s the first time in a while that she’s going on a date with someone other than George. She was a bit baffled yet happy at the chance of meeting someone else. With all the drama happening between her and George, new faces surely would be a refreshment.

“What did Davies want?”

She turns her head to meet George’s untelling expression, “None of your business, really.”

“What, we’re keeping secrets now?” he asks with a forced chuckle “Come on, you know can tell me.”

“Well, if you must know,” she says with a mocking tone, continuing her pace “Davies asked me to go on a date with him, this Saturday.”

“And what did you answer? No?”

She raises an eyebrow, “Why would I say no?”

“Because it’s Davies?” he says with a shrug “I mean, come on, that bloke is certainly not fit for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she asks, this time sounding fully offended at the commentary “I may not be as fit as his previous girlfriend, but couldn’t you at least be supportive that I'm finally having a date?”

George bites the inside of his cheek. His mind was in chaos, unable to make any sentences to portray what he truly felt. He didn’t mean to insult her. If anything, Davies was the one un par with her.

“You know what, I’m tired. I’m sticky and I’m desperate for a warm bath.” she continued, still with the same level of annoyance in her tone “I’d appreciate it if you’d leave me alone for the rest of the night.”

Nodding in defeat, George stops his pace to let her leave. He watches her walk away, an unpleasant feeling growing in his stomach. He’s never considered himself to be the jealous type, especially due to the fact that they’re not dating and he’s the one who didn’t want to label their relationship, but seeing Davies and her earlier turned something in him. Something he certainly did not enjoy.

____

One Hogsmeade date turns into another handful of dates within a month. Roger turns out to be a witty and fun chap that could entertain her almost as good as George does. It feels good to be around Roger. Like a brief pause of clear air from the suffocating thoughts that is George Weasley.

George has also noticed the intimacy growing between them two. She barely talks to him now, hardly ever present at the Common Room either. During their classes, she would switch seats to be next to Roger. Even on Quidditch practice, she would always occupy herself with the girls instead of him. It’s like they’ve never even been close before.

Like they’ve never even happened.

So when he spots her now sitting alone at the library, he couldn’t let the chance pass and approached her right away, “Hi.”

“George,” she looks up to him, looking slightly surprised “What are you doing here?”

“The same question goes to you. Since when do you go to the library?”

“I’m waiting for Roger. He’s going to help me with my Transfiguration essay.”

“Roger, huh?” George scoffs, sounding and looking quite irritated “Since when did you two get to the first-name basis?”

She blinks at his bitter commentary, brows furrowing from confusion, “I’m sorry, did I wrong you in any way? Why are you raging at me?”

“I’m raging because you’ve been so out of reach lately! I wasn’t aware that our deal was called off, without my consent, might I add.”

She scoffs in disbelief. Of course he’s mad because he hasn’t had sex with her. It’s nothing along the line of missing his friend or anything such. He’s never seen her more than his booty call. His personal release when he has to get his needs sorted. Not even years of friendship mattered because for him, she’s nothing more than his fuck buddy.

“You know what, I’m so tired of you treating me with such low remarks.” she says, standing from her seat to level him “I’m not your whore, George Weasley. I’m done being your fuck buddy. If you want sex then go ask one of your little admirers, I’m sure more than plenty are willing to throw their knickers off for you.”

“That’s not what I meant, I-”

“I don’t care what you meant.” she cuts, packing her stuff to leave “From now on, we do not know each other. We’re not friends, Weasley. So don’t ever come to me again because you make me sick.”

George's call of her name was replied with silence. He’d made her angry before but this was nothing close to any of it. He knew he’d messed up, big time. He just finds it so hard to convey his feelings whenever she’s around. She makes him so nervous, so dishevelled that his mouth could not match his heart. He wanted to beg her to stay, plead her to come back to him, but the only thing coming out of him are words that lead to more misunderstandings and he hates himself for it.

Oh how he wished he could turn back time.

____

She lets her fingers trace the stone wall as she walks up the stairs of the abandoned corridor. One of these rooms used to be the place where they would do their dirty doings. She misses him, truly, but she couldn’t spare another heartbreak of realisation that George had never seen her the same way she sees him. Not even close, not even a little bit.

As her way of silent goodbye to George, she comes to the room they so often visited before. A little bit sick if she has to admit, but she wanted to do a proper farewell and cut ties with anything related to him. Though it might be hard, seeing that they share the same dormitory and classes, at least she could leave this particular memory properly.

Just before she could push the door open, a tall figure comes out of the room, looking surprised too to see her there. They both look exhausted of the emotional torture they’ve been trapped in for the past weeks. Silence filled the space as they stared at each other.

She was about to turn her heels and walk away before George pulled her into a hug, whispering, “Please stay.”

Her breathing was caught on her throat. It felt like her chest was getting tighter, her stomach turning. She’s never heard such fragile tones in his words. It seems like he’s succumbed to his despair and holds onto her like his last strand of life line.

“Please stay.” he repeats, this time breaking the hug and staring at her eyes intently “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for everything.”

She didn’t know what came into her but looking at those desperate brown orbs, she leaned in and sealed themselves in a kiss. A desperate, hungry kiss. George pushed the door and closed it, not breaking their snog. They didn’t even bother to charm the room with silencing or isolation spells. They couldn’t care less if Dumbledore himself would come in knocking on their door. They’re desperate for each other, in grave need to taste each other.

And on that night, they didn’t fuck as they usually did.

They made love instead.

____

George rests his arm on top of hers, locking their fingers together. He was spooning her, this time not being so subtle of his gentle touches. He plants small kisses on her exposed shoulders as if trying to mark his territory. He missed her dearly and he’d make sure to not lose her again this time.

“Love?” he calls “Are you awake?”

She hums and turns her body to face the boy, flashing an unsure smile.

He stares at her deeply. The very face he missed and longed to kiss for the past haunting nights is right in front of him now, staring back at him. He could still see the hurt and uncertainty in her eyes. After all the things he’d done to her, one night of love would surely be insufficient.

“I will never walk away again.” George whispers, pulling her close “I promise.”

“George, I don’t-”

“Please,” he begs, the very same despair she heard hours ago still evident in his tone “Give me another chance.”

She shakes her head, a pained smile forced on her face, “It’s not gonna work.”

“It’s going to work this time.” he says with a firm tone, trying to assure her “I would give up anything, everything, just to get you back.”

She remains quiet, unsure.

“It isn’t perfect,” he says gently, caressing her cheek “But I’ll stay this time. I’ll fix it. Whatever it is I need to do, I’ll do it. Just please, stay.”

Fireworks were exploding inside her. To hear the very words she’d burn to hear from him all these time. His eyes were gazing into her soul lovingly, begging for what the mouth could not utter. The warmth of his skin is sending electrical jolts to her whole body. Tonight was different from all the nights they’ve spent before. Tonight was special.

“Love?” he calls again “Please?”

She lets out a sigh, faking a forced smile to tease him, “One chance. If you mess this up, I’ll castrate you myself.”

A happy grin is emerging on the boy’s face. He nods eagerly, thanking her in between his kisses. He pulls her close, taking in the sweet scent of her perfume. Oh how he loves her dearly.

“But George,” she calls, still trying to toy him “What about Roger?”

His face turns sour, hardening his jaws, “What about that tosspot?”

“I was beginning to like him, you know.” she teases, pulling on his strings “He was kind, and funny, and he takes me on a lot of lovely dates. And he also helps me with my essays. And he-”

Her words were cut with a deep loving kiss. He knew she was poking him and it was working. He hates to hear her compliment other men. He wants her all to himself. When it comes to her, he would be the most selfish person there is. She was his and his only.

“Whatever he does and gives to you, I’ll do it a hundred times better.”

[cacalowee]

« 𝖋𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖔𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖓 𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 »

azriel x f!reader | lovers to enemies

synopsis : as azriel's secret lover within the city of velaris, you have never met the inner circle, but when you bump into rhys and feyre while walking along the sidra with az one evening, your secret are all revealed and suddenly, you're the biggest target in the night court

warnings : death, implications of torture, angst, cursing

word count : 4,759

notes : this fic was the most requested in the ask post so here it is :)) [ I'm writing across worlds next don't worry ] I don't know how good this will be considering I've never done lovers to enemies but lets hope :sob:

but hopefully it's what you wanted :)) have an amazing dayy

happy reading

calliste xx

[ banner image belongs to me ]

Warm calloused hands gripped yours as the soft sounds of your footfalls filled your ears. You stared out into the depths of the Sidra to your left before darting your eyes over to the male's beside you. When he caught the gaze, he gave you a soft smile and he squeezed your hand gently before staring straight ahead again.

Your grin widened and you swung your intertwined hands a bit, enjoying yourself in the moment. There had never been that many ordinary moments between the two of you, Azriel preferring the quiet of your apartment to the bustling streets of Velaris.

He had never liked the crowds. Or attention. You had been with Azriel for five years now, and not once did the both of you emerge from your apartment and engage in such a mundane activity. Like walking along the Sidra, right before dusk.

It was perfectly fine with you, however. You also preferred the quiet company of the male beside you. You also understood how he could never tell his family about you. Or maybe, at least, not right away.

He had his reasons, you knew, but he never cared to share his worries with you.

Only late at night, when you were both delirious with sleep did his inner walls slip a bit and let you in to wander. Sometimes, he would whisper stories of his time at war. Sometimes, he would whisper about the unchangeable past. But, all his stories had a common theme: tragedy. And you wished so badly to turn those horrible tales into something less traumatic.

But, one step at a time.

Last night, both of you had laid entangled in each other's arms and held each other until you inevitably fell asleep.

You felt a sudden pair of eyes on the side of your head and you turned to look at Azriel, a grin playing on your lips. He smirked at you, his hazel eyes crinkling at the corners.

This entire exchange felt so . . . normal. So natural.

You wished it could be like this forever. Neither of you being the person you were and just spending your time together with no identities. No Shadowsinger. No traitorous beast. Just two people in love.

Wouldn't that be nice?

And there was nothing in the world that you would have traded for this moment.

"Didn't you once jump into the Sidra with all your clothes on?" you asked, your head tilting to the side.

"Didn't you once tear a borrowed book?" he questioned in return, his eyebrow cocked and a playful smile on his face.

"Why do you always bring that up, Az? I've already apologized—twice!" you grumbled and he laughed in return.

"Yes, and every time you do it gets more entertaining," he chuckled.

You hit his arm gently, "And those were the last you would ever get." Azriel jutted his lip out in mock sadness.

"Well, then I—" Az cut himself off and his head snapped to two approaching figures. There was an aura of control surrounding both of them, commanding some primal part of you to turn all your attention onto the pair.

He stiffened slightly beside you, but forced his features into a relaxed position and gripped your hand tighter.

The both of you slowed down as the two intimidating figures came closer and their facial features fully came into clarity. The male had dark hair and a mischievous grin set permanently onto his lips. He was beautiful, but his most remarkable feature were the swirling purple eyes flecked with stars. The female was just as gorgeous with her flowing brown hair and the wisened blue-gray of her eyes. Both of them together, however, formed a beautifully sculpted piece of art.

The male's grin widened, his gaze focusing on Azriel beside you, "Az! I thought you were back at the house with Cassian." He turned to look at you, noting your interlaced hands. "Who's she?"

"Cassian and Nesta were . . . busy, so I left. This is y/n," Azriel responded, answering both statements in one breath.

Rhysand turned to you, "Hello, y/n, are you a friend of Azriel's?"

Your lip twitched, "Yes, you could say that." At the sound of your voice, the High Lord turned back to you with a quizzical expression on his face.

"Ah, well 'friend of Azriel's', it's a pleasure to meet you," Rhysand said, a hint of the confusion still lingering on his features. The High Lady, Feyre, elbowed her husband in silent reprimand, but he just smirked at her, his gaze trailing over to where your hand was still holding onto Azriel's.

Feyre rolled her eyes playfully, but she smiled gently at you, "It's wonderful to meet one of Azriel's friends for once, y/n." You hesitantly smiled, not sure if that was the appropriate reaction.

You turned to your lover and you saw a hint of red coloring his cheeks and you tried to hide your grin. You turned back to the pair before you and you saw Rhysand watching you intently, his eyebrows furrowed.

You returned his stare, keeping your eyes on him, trying to seem submissive and unharmful at the same time.

He squints his eyes at you and looks you up and down before a hint of recognition lights up his face. "Have I seen you around before?"

You shrug, trying to keep your posture nonchalant, "It's a small city."

He frowns slightly, but Feyre tugs on his arm and smiles at you reassuringly. You're not entirely sure what to do, deciding to look over at Azriel to try to catch a glimpse of any emotion to help you decide what to say next but there was a prominent crease in between his eyebrows.

You feel his fingers tighten on yours imperceptively and the slight shifting of his wings tell you that he's . . . nervous? But why? He was the godsdamned Shadowsinger and brother of the High Lord.

Rhys turns his head slightly, staring out into nothing as he murmurs, "I swear I've seen you before." You shrug, plastering a fake smile on your face.

He couldn't know about it. He couldn't. Or you might as well already be dead.

You hadn't allowed yourself to think about your past crimes during your time in Velaris. To be honest, you were slightly scared to, in case the High Lord could somehow hear you from his manor across town.

Now, however, when the living reminder of your time Under the Mountain stood right before you, it was hard to repress the memories. Specifically, the memory of the High Lord on his knees in front of Amarantha. But you couldn't suppress the past any longer and it played in the forefront of your mind, your weak fight against it doing nothing but spurring the memory further.

"Look at the pathetic Night Lord upon his knees for his Queen," Amarantha gloated, her red-painted lips spread wide in a grin. "This, this is what you will endure if you are found guilty of any crimes. You will forever serve me. Let Rhysand be a reminder."

Your eyes were lowered as you watched Amarantha continue to humiliate Rhysand, his shoulders slightly drooping with defeat.

When his dim eyes slid over to your spot beside Amarantha, you averted your gaze and tilted your chin up, trying to maintain an air of superiority for no other reason than the adrenaline-filled rush it supplied you with.

Because you sat beside your Queen with one of the most powerful High Lords kneeling before the both of you.

"Dear y/n, would you care to join me and the High Lord for the afterparty festivities?" Amarantha asked, her sickly sweet expression focusing on you.

You almost blanched, the idea of sharing a bed with both of them abhorrent, but you flashed your teeth in a semblance of a grin and shook your head, "I'll allow you the full and utter pleasure."

Amarantha cackled, her auburn hair falling over her shoulders as she tilted her head back. "Well, you're allowed to join us anytime."

Your insides roiled, but you smirked and endured it. Like you had endured every other day. Just keep going.

You drifted back into reality slowly, not even noticing the switch of scenery from the blood-tainted throne room to the calming bank of the Sidra.

When your eyes focused and you realized what you had just done, you froze. Shit, shit, shit. I'm so screwed. Fuck.

Rhys and Feyre's faces were both pale, their eyes wide and staring at you with outright shock. Azriel was looking at the three of you with evident confusion shining in his eyes. He tugged gently on your arm, trying to get you to look at him, but you were frozen in place.

You had just revealed everything within a few minutes of meeting Azriel's family. Shit.

Rhysand stared at you for a few seconds, his eyes revealing nothing, but there was a cold set to his mouth. You knew things were about to get ugly.

Rhysand reached behind him and tugged Feyre to his side like he needed reassurance that she was there. His eyes were still on your face, unblinking. Feyre shot a worried glance at her mate before turning to glare at you.

"What's wrong?" Azriel asked the High Lord and Lady, wrapping a protective arm around you. You felt his arm tighten and the closeness to another living being made you realize you were shaking.

Fuck.

Rhysand stared at his brother's arm around your back, turning calmly to Az. "Ask y/n."

Azriel turns to you curiously, his brows furrowed in confusion.

You fumble with the hem of your sweater, muttering an excuse about not understanding the question. But you knew what Rhysand meant, and so did everyone else around you.

Azriel tugs his arm away and places both hands on your shoulders, turning your torso to face him. He tried to get you to talk to him like you usually do, but his brother pulled him away from you, leaving you alone to face the three intimidating faeries in front of you.

When you glanced up from your feet, you found Rhysand staring at you, his gaze sharp. "Speak the truth." His voice was compelling, something in his tone making you hesitate a bit before opening your mouth to answer.

"I was Under the Mountain," you whispered quietly, trying to force off the effect of Rhysand's voice. Azriel's eyes widened imperceptibly, but he didn't seem to grasp your true meaning. He took a step toward you, but his brother held him in place.

"Go on," Rhysand commanded, and once again, against your will, you felt your mouth move at his command.

"I was under the mountain, a-and I saw Rhysand there," you muttered, your gaze fixed on the particles of packed sand beneath your feet.

You felt the High Lord's stare on the top of your head, urging you on silently.

"I-I was there when Feyre arrived. I had been there since the beginning."

With each word out of your mouth, Azriel's expression shifted to concern. There was a spark of anger in his eyes and you wanted to scream that you didn't deserve his sympathy. You had not been captured there, not in the same way as Rhysand. You had done unspeakable things and you were not worthy of empathy.

"Continue on, y/n," Rhys said calmly, his High Lord mask firmly in place. This felt like an interrogation, the tone of his voice giving no room for the freedom of speech. Words formed out of your own accord and you knew that this is what you had been dreading. The moment when Azriel realized how much of a monster you were.

"I knew A-Amarantha. We were close."

Anger ignited on the planes of Rhysand's face, his upper lip curled in disgust. "Close? You were fucking best friends and we both know you reveled in the bloodshed."

You flinched, trying not to react to his voice and tone.

Azriel seemed to be processing his brother's words, for you saw no hate in his eyes. Not yet. He stared blankly at you, silently urging you to contradict his brother, but you didn't dare. Not when you knew it was the truth.

"Yes, I was close with Amarantha. But I never enjoyed the bloodshed. Think what you want, but you don't know everything," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. You would not waver. Not to people who didn't understand a single thing about your situation.

"Fucking liar. I saw your face when she killed those innocents. And your face when Feyre was fighting the Middengard Wyrm," Rhysand's eyes flashed dangerously, his teeth exposed in a near snarl.

You heard Feyre suck in a breath, but you didn't dare turn to face her. The condemnation in her eyes would make things so much worse.

"I never enjoyed it. I had no fucking choice. I may not have been a prisoner in the way you were, but I was not free."

"You always had a choice. Amarantha loved you. She would have let you go on your happy little way back to Hybern if you chose to.

"I wouldn't have gone back to that hellhole."

"Where then? The Continent? To the Human Queens?" Rhys spat viciously. The Continent was dangerous. So were the Human Realms. You couldn't have gone back to Hybern so the only option was Prythian.

"I ended up here, didn't I?" you asked quietly.

"That was a big fucking mistake. You shouldn't have come here or tried to seduce Azriel." The tension in the air was thick and anger was written on every line on Rhysand's face. Feyre stood with her face unreadable next to her mate while Azriel watched the exchange quietly, his eyes shadowed.

"I did no such thing."

"Liar."

"I'm not lying."

You glanced up quickly, trying to make them understand, but you caught Feyre's gaze on you, staring silently.

Your gaze focused on the High Lord before you. "Could you have disobeyed Amarantha? No one could. She would destroy you."

"No, because I was her prisoner. You were free."

"I wasn't free."

There was charged tension in the air, and you felt waves of anger wash over your skin. Azriel took a step forward, his mouth opening to interject and break the argument.

"y/n, I think you should go," he said, his voice somber.

You froze, whirling toward him. "You don't believe me." It wasn't a question. It was a fact. Azriel's face was hardened and it was clear he was siding with his brother. Not that he was taking sides, per se. He just believed his brother over you.

Azriel took a deep breath, but before he could unleash his thoughts, Feyre spoke up.

"I saw you. I remember now," Feyre stared into your eyes, her gaze unfaltering. "You had been laughing while I killed those faeries."

And that did it.

Rhysand snapped. His fury was unleashed and his face contorted in anger. There were no longer any civil feelings. You had laughed at his mate's pain and you knew you were screwed the second Feyre opened her mouth.

Rhysand released his hold on his power and the night's wrath exploded out of him in powerful waves to wash over you and drown you in its darkness. The tendrils of hateful night wrapped themselves around your throat tightly, cutting off your airway.

Rhysand was going to kill you right then are there.

The darkness tightened and you saw black dots swim across your vision, a choked gasp escaping your mouth as the image of the High Lord's wrath ingrained itself into your mind.

You felt your vision blur and you could faintly make out a dark blob step toward the menacing figure standing in front of you. The darkness receded and you dropped to your knee, taking in large gasps of air.

Azriel walked up to you, stopping only a few inches away from where you kneeled on the ground.

When you glanced up, tears streaming down your cheeks from the lack of oxygen, all you saw was the cold look and angry glint in his eyes.

"Let me."

You shuddered, feeling fear for the first time. Death by Rhysand would have been quick, but if Azriel was the one initiating it, you knew he would drag it out for as long as possible for the sake of his High Lord and Lady.

Rhysand, his face still seething, raised an eyebrow but shrugged. Everyone knew the pain that Azriel doled out would be much worse than anything Rhysand or anyone else could do.

And at that moment, the male you had grown to love turned to look at you with cold hatred in his eyes and you felt a sob build in your throat. You knew what was coming. A punishment so severe it would taint the mouth of anyone speaking of it. All for crimes you had committed a long time ago.

Azriel reached down for your arm. He sharply tugged it away from your sore throat and wrenched it behind your back. He nodded to his High Lord and hauled you up to your feet.

He winnowed you both away into a storm of darkness, a dark, stone-walled room appearing from nothingness. He shoved you toward a bloody stool and crossed his arms menacingly.

He didn't bother tying you down. The both of you knew you wouldn't or couldn't run. It was a cruel joke.

"Is it true?" he asked quietly, his stone-cold exterior dropping for a few moments, his true emotions breaking through. The horror, disbelief, and shock.

"It's not the entire truth."

"But is it true? What Rhysand said?"

You remained quiet for a few moments, knowing you couldn't lie to the infamous Shadowsinger of the Night Court. " . . . yes."

He blinked, the wall inside of him building itself up again. He slowly started to take out a few daggers from his leathers and lined them up neatly on the steel countertop behind him.

"Why did you come here? If you knew Rhysand and knew he knew you as Amarantha's friend." Azriel asked softly, his demeanor contradicting his actions. He used a rag to wipe at a bloody stain on one of his knives, the handle stained with red.

"Do you not think I don't regret my choices? People can change. And I wanted a chance at a new life. Why do I have to be defined by some shitty thing I did years ago?"

"Because it was not that long ago and you know it," Azriel replied blandly, his body still turned away from you. It's like he didn't even consider you a threat. You were untied and there was a line of sharp weapons within reach. It was slightly hurtful that he didn't think you were capable of hurting him.

You stared at him quietly. You knew any truth you shared would just be fuel igniting his fiery anger further. Nothing you could say would change his mind. You were the villain in his eyes, and you would remain that way forever. How could one peaceful afternoon take such a turn?

Azriel didn't need to know why you had sided with Amarantha. You didn't need to share them.

"Tell me the truth," Az said, his eyes pleading as he tried to find the female he loved. You were still there. You had always been, but he was now just too blind to see it.

"I . . . I can't."

His face hardened. "You know this only ends in your death. Either way, I don't care. You can lie to me all you want."

Your heart clenched in your chest, his words stinging.

"Even if I do tell you the truth," you said quietly, "Why would you believe me?"

"I can tell a lie from a truth."

"Then you must know that you don't have the full story. Rhysand may think one thing of me, but there's so much more to it than simply what he has to say."

"Then please, enlighten me."

You kept quiet, pondering your next words. You weren't giving an excuse. You were giving him an explanation for why you had done what you did. Even if he didn't deserve it.

You decided to start at the very beginning. Maybe by the time you reached the part of the story that always made every part of you hurt despite the years that had passed, you would be prepared for it.

You took a deep breath, "I . . . I was once in love."

Azriel nodded for you to continue, the hesitation clear on your face.

"I grew up in Hybern," you said instead, deflecting the story to a timeline even further from the point you started at. "My parents were part of the Hybern Court and would visit the palace often."

Az's face was unreadable, his eyes focused on your face, untangling all the meanings your words could hold. The job of the spymaster.

"I would sometimes go with them. And just . . . listen to the conversations. You learn a lot when you're quiet and unnoticeable." You paused slightly, trying to find the point in this part of the story. "I was there during a meeting when two sisters walked into the room."

Azriel frowned, "How is any of this relevant?"

"I'm getting there," you replied.

He nodded, "Ok, go on."

"I-I felt a pull toward one of the sisters immediately and . . . we started spending more time together. And eventually, after a few decades, when the sisters were already established as Hybern's greatest generals—" You cut yourself off, the memory of that moment breaking off your train of thought. You swallowed, the lump in your throat making it near impossible to breathe. "—they were established as generals and . . . the mating bond snapped into place."

Azriel froze, his face pale and eyes widened as he stared at you. The shock and disbelief were clear on his face.

"You were mates with Amarantha?" he asked, guessing the identity of one of the sisters.

You gazed back at him, blank-faced. "No."

"Wait but—"

"Clythia was my mate."

He had been looking back at you from the dagger counter, but he slowly turned his entire body toward you.

"But she and Jurian . . . " he started but stopped when your eyes darkened almost imperceptibly.

"Clythia didn't reciprocate my feelings. She rejected the bond."

Azriel watched you silently and after a while, he murmured, "I'm sorry." Your heart wrenched painfully, but you ignored it.

"It's fine. It happened a long time ago." It was not okay. It still hurt everyday.

"Amarantha helped me. She helped me overcome it all and despite her, well, her nature, she helped me. I owed her for that," you admitted, your words hovering in the air for a moment before dissipating into nothing.

"We eventually got closer and things got a bit strained when Clythia found Jurian, but Amarantha told her to be cautious of him. For me and for herself.

"When Clythia died . . . she offered for us to kill Jurian together, but I declined. Clythia hadn't chosen me. I wasn't entitled to revenge."

Azriel lowered his gaze and you heard his wings shifting behind his back. "That still doesn't explain how you ended up Under the Mountain."

"Amarantha invited me to the party, thinking I could use some fun. It was. Fun, I mean. I drank and partied all night . . . but then things escalated. I didn't know what she had planned, but when she cursed all the people there, she cursed me as well." Your eyes were distant as you recalled the intoxicating laughter and the swell of the music around you during that horrible party.

"Cursed you how?" Azriel asked.

"As long as I loved Clythia, I would remain with her. Where she would help me. Maybe she meant it in a good way, but for me, it meant a prison that I couldn't ever escape.

"I loved Clythia—I still do, but I was alright. I couldn't stop loving her, no matter how hard I tried. I still grieve, yes. I grieve for the life we could've had, but I'm mostly over her. We were only friends for a while, practically nothing in fae years,. We were never together romantically. I was ok. But Amaranth kept me down there with her. I don't know why she couldn't just release me, but I was kept down there with her, a prisoner of another sense."

Azriel silently absorbed the new information, his unfaltering gaze fixed on you. "And what about Feyre's trials? When she was fighting the Middengard Wyrm?"

You remained silent, your mind searching for the right way to put your thoughts to words. You said instead, "Have you ever heard the term, Darkness drives you mad?"

Azriel nodded grimly.

"I lost myself down there. Like any sane person does. I became the person Amarantha wanted me to be. When she was killed, I felt myself again. That's why I didn't want to go back to Hybern as I had originally planned. I ended up here by some twist of fate. I don't know exactly why, but I felt like I needed to be here. Maybe to explain myself like I am now."

"That's not an excuse."

"I know it's not. I'm trying to explain myself. I didn't make good choices. I regret everything I did down there, but I want you to understand. I want you to understand what happened to me to make me act that way. I don't care if you kill me or not, but I want you to know who I truly am. I don't want you hearing the 'truth' from a story Rhysand told. I want you to know my story, through my lips."

You sucked in a deep breath, a weight lifted off your shoulder at the truth that had been revealed. The truth that had kept itself hidden for too long. Maybe it was partially your fault for not telling Azriel sooner, but it had never been the right time.

Now, however, you felt like the truth was settling into the air.

Azriel nodded. He picked up Truth Teller from the row of daggers lined up before him and stared at his reflection in the blade. You could see his facial expression clearly from the image on his knife, two emotions warring on his face.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath.

"Go."

"What?" you asked, the moment feeling too surreal.

"Go."

You stared at him quizzically, not entirely sure what you were hearing.

"Go, leave. Be free. Don't come back to the Night Court. Leave Prythian altogether. You might as well be dead to all of us here. Go and be on your way. Change you name, color your hair, whatever. But leave. I don't want to kill you. You may deserve many things, but you don't deserve death. Go."

"But—"

"Go, Rhysand doesn't need to know about this. I'll explain later, but for now, let him believe you dead. Go."

You stared at him, mouth gaping open a bit before jumping up from the chair. You hesitated, a million different doubts rising to the forefront of your mind. You remembered all the different tales told of the Shadowsinger. The warrior who never let any prey escape.

You stood there for a moment, deciding between running and staying. The door was only a few feet away but Mother knew what would happen to you when you bolted.

If he killed you on your way out, it would hopefully be a fast and merciful death. Hopefully, he would give that to you after everything you both had been through.

"Goodbye Azriel," you said, making up your mind and deciding to take your chest with escape. You didn't give him any time to prepare. You ran out of the dungeon. The prison.

You barely heard his faint farewell before you were sprinting up the stairs and into the outside world.

You had just lost everything, once again, but you were free now. You could go anywhere, be yourself, albeit with a different name, but you could be anything.

You didn't have to be Amarantha's friend who enjoys bloodshed and slaughter or the loving partner of the infamous Shadowsinger.

You were you. You found yourself grinning at the newfound path laying itself down before you and you laughed at the opportunity, closing your eyes and relishing in the feeling of the wind on your face before spreading your mind open and winnowing away to the new life ahead of you.

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