#Words are: Peace Nature and Temporary

[dawnwriterimagines]

Rewriting Part 5 of Traitors Among Us

CLEAR SKIES (A Rewrite)

SIMON 'GHOST' RILEY x FEM!READER TASK FORCE 141 x PLATONIC!FEM!READER Rewrite of PART 5 of Traitors Among Us

Traitors Among Us Masterlist

Summary: With your resignation approved, Price discovers you've resigned. You head back to begin to pack your life away from Task Force 141, running into those who've betrayed you.

Author Note: Soooo, I decided to rewrite Clear Skies: part 5 of Traitors Among Us because...I didn't like it as much lol, and it wasn't received as nicely as the other parts. It's pretty much completely different lol. So, here I am rewriting this part! Don't worry, the multiple endings of Traitors Among Us will be releasing very soon...

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---

Silence filled the air in the Chief Officer’s office, thick with tension. Captain John Price stood rigid, arms crossed, eyes locked on Laswell as she calmly sipped from her tea, her lips set in an almost casual line. He’d expected a straightforward debrief, not this.

“You did what?” Price’s voice was low, disbelieving. His brow furrowed, the anger creeping in like a slow burn.

Having arrived at the administrative building, delivering his mission reports and making his way into Laswell's office. Captain John Price wasn't expecting to receive the surprising news so casually that the woman in front of him had signed off on your resignation, without so much as consulting with him, your Captain.

"I gave her what she wanted, John," Laswell rolled her eyes, sitting in her seat. "I let her go. She was never about to meet with you, and I won't let a soldier like that leave, under my supervision, without some type of severance," she speaks, casually, tapping her spoon of tea along the rim of a porcelain mug. "I do apologize, I was actually preparing a better way to tell you this. Time got away from me, I suppose." Although, Laswell says so unapologetically as she takes her first sip with a hum.

Price blinked, caught off guard by the detached nature of her words. He shook his head slowly, still processing.

"Severance?" Price gritted. "She didn't lose her place on the force, Laswell. She's on temporary leave for recovery not discharged--I would've never--"

"Oh, stop it, John," Sweeping away a few locks of hair, Laswell sits back in her chair. "Even if, would it matter? The girl's petrified of you, if she saw you she might actually kill you," she can't help but release a humored hum. "Willing to turn down her pension, her insurance, just to resign in peace.

She would've never come to you, and you were foolish enough to think she'd stay," she laughs this time at the absurdity of it. "She wanted an out," she takes another sip, shrugging. "I gave it to her." She then slides a few papers her way, preparing to continue her paperwork, interrupted for the second time today.

Slamming a hand over the stack of papers, Price can't contain the expression twisting his face, his anger, his grief. "Let her what?! You stripped her of her title, does she know that? There is no lawful resignation without my signature, what've you done?"

"Well, you are in need of a Demolition Operative now, I will say," she hummed, tapping the spoon against the rim of her mug, her voice annoyingly casual. "I already have someone in mind, luckily for you."

"Operative Gray is an integral part of this Task Force, it's not up to you how I handle my team anywhere outside of our missions, Laswell," Price hardly held his tone.

“Funny, John,” Laswell mused, not looking up, her voice dripping with dry amusement. “I seem to remember you handling a certain... situation under my orders.” Her eyes met his now, sharp and calculating. "Just fine."

Price’s jaw tightened, and the old guilt gnawed at him. “The worst mistake I’ve made on the force.” His voice was quiet but raw.

Laswell’s smile didn’t fade a bit. “No, John,” she said softly, her tone almost teasing now. “Your mistake is thinking you have any authority here that I don’t already have.”

Price froze for a moment, the weight of her words sinking in. He reached for the papers on the desk, his hand curling into a fist before he let them go. Laswell slid the stack back across the desk with a single, deliberate motion, then stood up.

As she passed him, her shoulder brushed against his, and he stiffened, barely holding himself together.

“Oh, John,” she said, almost too sweetly. “The military is engrained in all of us. In your blood. In hers. Don’t worry,” she hummed, tapping the edge of a file. “She’ll be back. They always come back. In one way or another.”

"Well..." Laswell shrugs, calmly. "Just never to Task Force 141," she turns back to Captain Price, dismissed him with a wave, leaning back in her chair., slipping a file from her desk. "Not like that wasn't the original plan before our informant came clean, hm?"

Wary, grieving eyes drift away from the Station Chief, chest tight. "Well what about Gray?" Price swallows. "I can't allow her to leave without everything she deserves from her service, I won't."

"Christ, John, you take the fun out of everything nowadays." Laswell’s smirk faded into something more calculating, more serious, before rolling her eyes. "We'll hold off on that for now," before Price can interject, she holds up a new folder, stamped a harsh red CLASSIFIED, it glares up at him. "You and your team have other matters to discuss."

Price hesitated, brows furrowed. He took the folder, the tension in his muscles still tight. He opened it quickly, scanning the document with a sharp eye. His face darkened as he read, the information weighing a heavy burden, but nothing he could say was undeserved.

Lips pressing tight together, John Price presses down into the folder hard, creasing the papers and clenching his jaw. Fuck.

---

The sliding doors open automatically, the lobby going quiet at the sight of your sopping wet figure stumbling through the entrance. Dropping your hands from over your head, you pause to stare down those who held eye contact too comfortably, quickly their stares dropped.

Entering the residential building, it's nearly midnight, the mess halls still quite lively, soldiers prepping for their next mission or staying guard in the halls. Your boots squeak with every step unwarrantedly, trailing a puddle as you shuffle your way down the hallway, face flushed cold from the rain.

The hall seems much too long suddenly, the wet squeak along the marble floor, the damp cling of your clothes to your skin, the uncomfortable twist of your brace around your legs, the pruning of your fingers. You were ready to just lock yourself away in your room, pack and never see even the silhouette of this place ever again.

Rushing to the elevator, ignoring the whispers, the burning eyes on the back of your head, you rub your clothed arms to warm yourself up, soaked to the bone. Stealing a jacket from one of the racks before leaving the building, it wasn't as insulated as you'd hoped but it was better than nothing, or Kyle's pity wear.

Pressing the upper arrow, you wait for it to light up.

It doesn't.

So you press it again. This time it does glow, finally.

...But, no opening.

You wait a few seconds, then check the electronic number above.

1.

First Floor.

You press the arrow again. Waiting for the doors to open.

Clearing your throat, you press down on the down arrow this time. Just open up.

Nothing again.

Motherfucker...

A few heads turn while you press the buttons on the elevator one too many times, taking a breath as you continue to tap on the buttons along the panel. You didn't care as long as it would just open. Up. Down. Up. Up. Up. Down. Fucking somewhere, just open the fuck UP!

"Just fuckin open..." you grit out, attempting to keep your nerves down. For all you knew, Simon or Price, or Kyle or Johnny, could've seen you enter the building, they could be walking up to you right now. The very thought had you anxiously holding down on the elevator buttons, contemplating the stairs but walking was already a hassle with your brace. "Open. Open, open, open!"

"Open!" Your fist coming up in frustration to slam into the panel, the metal creaks and bends back but it doesn't make the elevator go any faster. It does hurt your hand though.

Taking your now sore fingers into your grip, pressing into your knuckles, your nostrils flare and you take a breath. You don't dare turn around as you hear the chuckle behind you, you can feel your teeth already grinding to nubs.

"So, you're the reason this thing breaks down every week, huh?" sliding up next to you, a soldier, lieutenant by the single silver bar on the shoulder of his uniform, his kevlar unhooked and new, prepping for departure. "Ya know, you can't make it go any faster that way?" nodding to the dented panel, before flashing a charmed smile your way.

Narrowed eyes link with his. "Excuse me?"

For a moment, all he can do is stare back, words lost on his tongue as he darts between your eyes, mesmerized. His smile doesn't drop even as he clear his throat, "I just mean, you'll hurt your...hand."

"Oh, will I? I didn't know that," you wonder, sarcastically. Before, hitting the panel again, a louder bang sounds in the hallway, causing attention. "Maybe I'm doing it wrong." A screw comes loose with a cling, your jaw twitching at the sound as he only huffs a humored sound.

"Yeah," he chuckles briefly as the metal falls with a klunk. "You're quite the mechanic."

"Can I help you, lieutenant?"

"Just a stranger, looking out for another, that's all," the lieutenant says simply.

"Ok, Stranger," you speak, this time turning your back as the elevator finally beeps as it descends to the ground floor. You direct your chin back to where he came. "You can leave now."

He feigned disappointment. "Ouch," he sported a playful grin. "I thought we were getting along pretty well."

"Well I'm sure you've got a flight to catch, don't let a stranger make you late."

"The only stranger I've met worth being late for," he says, genuinely.

"Oh!" Surprised, you glance away from him. "Subtle," you take a step back, uncomfortable with the space between the both of you now. You lean against the edge of the elevator door, it dings again, your knee brace wasn't helping your leg pain at all.

His charming smile fades, brows lifting as he quickly backs off, reading the lines. "Oh, sorry, I-"

"No," you clear your throat, hearing the ding of the elevator behind you. "No, no I'm just..." your hand goes to your ring finger, you used to fidget with your engagement ring all the time, there used to be a tan line imprinting it along your skin, now that same finger was scarred up to the nail. "I'm just not the flirting type right now." Your hand tensing up, balling into a fist, you'd nearly forgotten...

"Ah," He notices, clearing his throat, embarrassed at himself. "You're with someone."

You wanted to scoff at that, not anymore.

"No," Your knuckles cracked. "Just uninterested." Your hand falls to your side. The years you'd spent loving Simon, adoring him, fighting beside him, all that time...it was painful to know it would all just lead up to this. But, it was easier now to just feel nothing because it ended such a way.

The elevator opens and the both of you looks back towards it.

The lieutenant's eyes flicker back to you. "M' sorry," your brows lift in question. "About your...lover."

"He's not dead," you say.

His lips press together, thoughtfully, before nodding once. "Sounds like quite the guy."

"No idea," you scoff, an understatement indeed.

After a moment of silence, the elevator door, with a squeak, beginning to close. The persistent stranger puts his hand out before you have to, fully stopping the closing door before it can seal, taking a large step to catch it.

You froze as he unintentionally corners you, for the moment take him in, analyzing every detail as you'd always done as a soldier. His hair and clothes damp from the rain, cheeks flushed for a reason you weren't sure of.

He reminded you terrifyingly of Simon. Though the two had to be quite different in all capacities besides ranking and muscle definition.

He's tall, wide broad shoulders, a scar curved through his left brow to his temple, green wide eyes and he smelled...warm, was the only way you could describe it. You're sure his skin would feel as so.

You were quite cold from the rain, though you've been freezing ever since that day and you've never gotten past the phantom cold, eager to be warm again.

Not once in this disturbing, cold and humiliating event had you ever felt a moment of comfort. Of warm, loving comfort. A single embrace would destroy your every resolve. Not a minute, not a second, not a breath of warmth.

Your eyes flicker up, surprised to meet his staring back, seemingly taking you in the same way. His hand leaving the opening elevator door, to rest above the wall above your head. He was close enough for you to feel the leather of his kevlar against the back of your hand, for once your first thought wasn't to push someone away. His gaze lingers on the fresh scar beneath your eye, the tinted pink fading in the white of it.

"You shouldn't do that," you breathe.

There's nothing good here left for you anymore.

You're no longer a soldier.

"Do what?" he asked.

No longer apart of the Task Force, no longer apart of any of this.

And the scars you'd be left with just for being here...

Bringing your hand up to your face, running over the raised, ruined skin, your jaw tightening and your lips pressing together. You shift to the side, your hand finding the handle grip along the sides of the elevator doors.

He notices, straightening, awkwardly. Swallowing thickly, "Sorry, I didn't mean to, uh..." he squeezes his fist, as if berating himself internally. "--that's quite the memorabilia." Again his expression twists at his own question, fist squeezing, that was a dumb thing to ask.

"It is," you grazed the tender flesh of your scars. "Isn't it."

"I'm sure you've got quite the story."

Lips pressing together hard, fingers curling into your palm as if your own scars had burned you.

"Um..." going into detail meant a lot of things you didn't want to confront right now, pressing the button for the elevator again, it opens this time. "I appreciate the conversation, stranger. But, you should go."

"I'm sorry-" he realized he'd touched unsavory ground, voice lowered with regret. "I didn't mean..."

"It's fine," you swallowed thickly, taking a breath. "It was nice to meet you truly."

He follows you to the divide of the open elevator as you step in and though the divide, turning to see his face, desperate for a glimpse of yours.

Your stranger speaks soundly. "Wes."

His name you realized, you press your lips together, thoughtfully as he stares at you, not expecting anything in return, seeming peaceful with you just...knowing. The elevator doors slipping closed. You say nothing else, but you can't help but look at him differently, humming softly. You supposed he was no longer a stranger.

"Ok..." you managed a meaningful smile that struggled to begin. "Wes, then."

You could see the relief in the drop of his shoulders.

As the metal doors ding in preparation to close, you catch a glimpse of someone beyond your persistent stranger, as he turns to leave.

An approaching figure that enters the building, exiting the rain with heavy steps, dragging his feet along the marble, a black mask painted white along the curves of his mouth and nose, a skull. Stalking the halls like the ghost he preferred to be, Simon.

And he haunts you as so.

You hardly notice as the doors begin to close, a sinking feeling in your stomach erupting as you made eye contact with Simon Riley.

His slow, deliberate steps become nonexistent, he's instantly rooted to the floor, you were sure he'd even stopped breathing.

Though you felt your blood run cold, your chest squeezing violently with ache, and a rage in your soul that begged you to claw his fucking eyes out and rip out his heart like he'd done to you weeks ago, you didn't freeze.

No, instead your hand comes out, taking the closing end of the elevator door. It pauses with an electronic strain of its gears beneath your resistance, while you stare unblinkingly at your Ghost. And it opens again with a light ding.

Simon's eyes widen a fraction, he straightens noticeably, hopefully. His hand coming up, pulling at his mask, the skulls creasing down to reveal himself to you, but he'd remain as so...your ghost.

"(Y/n)..." you can hear the whisper of your name from his lips, but you've turned from him now.

Stepping forward and off the divide of the elevator, you take Wes by the arm, pulling him back around to you, his eyes are wide in surprise, innocent enough to have never expected more from your encounter and unable to find the nerve to speak smoothly now that you're making a move.

"Sorry..." you breathe to him, before reaching up and pressing your mouth to his.

It's not a messy kiss.

It's hardly a kiss.

But, it gets the message across.

You had loved Simon, completely and utterly. There was no punch or kick you could ever throw at Simon that could convey the collapse of those feelings.

So this, was the next best thing.

As Wes melts into your lips for the brief moment of surprise intimacy of a stranger, you cup the back of his neck, as you've done many times for Simon. Eyes opening to gaze back to your ghost, and as you do, you're not surprised to see him practically looming over the two of you.

He's a mess of himself. A fraction of the man he was before. A ghost of himself.

But, he'd always been a ghost to be feared.

As Wes's hand climbs up to grip at your hair, you retreat back, tucking your hair back and taking a breath.

Your guiltless eyes blink up to Wes, "You should go."

Hardly given a moment to recuperate, still reorganizing the thoughts you'd taken and filled him with all in the seconds you'd spared him with. He, rightfully confused, breathes. "What?"

"She said, you should go."

As Simon speaks, voice heavy with emotion, anger and resentment but most of all hurt, PAIN. Only then do your lungs fill with air again, untainted by the weight of your fears of him, of broken dreams and memories your defiled love.

"My dead lover's risen again," you speak, sarcastically. Staring down the hollow-eyed man, "A ghost."

The metal doors close with a light thud.

And so, maybe you had no fear of him anymore. Maybe you were tired of being frightened. Whatever it was had more guts than you had the energy to have in the last few weeks.

Because the next thing you know, you're shoving past Wes, blood red in the tint of your vision, your fingers expertly popping the gun out of his holster and you take your aim at Simon.

He doesn't flinch.

Neither do you.

Your finger is steady on the trigger. And you pull.

---

The subtle light of the safe house cast shadows across the room, the usual tension of Task Force 141 momentarily replaced by an air of anticipation. Everyone knew but you. Ghost stood slightly apart from the group, his mask hiding the myriad of emotions that flickered beneath. He’d planned this moment carefully and yet being trapped in a safe house during the night of the dinner he'd planned for you both wasn't apart of it. It was still meant to be tonight.

Your lover stared at you in the reflection of the window, catching your beautiful eyes in the glass, they sparkle and his bones feel liquid and he nearly loses his grip on the velvet box. What better time could there be?

Ghost turned to you, pulling his mask away, revealing Simon Riley, garnering your attention with a surprised stare, "What's...goin' on?"

His deep voice steady yet laced with a rare vulnerability. “Wherever you are, I wanna be,” he took a step. "Wherever you go, whether you like it or not, I'm goin' too."

"Stalker," you quipped, though your voice could barely reach a whisper as you stared at the tiny box in his hand, watching as he came closer.

He cracked a smile, but he continued. "Everywhere you are, anywhere you want to be, if you'll let me, since you're right...I just can't stay away," he teased, watching as you short circuit as he approaches steadfast. "...and if you want me, as you'll have me...I wanna be everywhere you are."

The team fell silent, the weight of the moment sinking in. Price raised an eyebrow, an amused smirk dancing on his lips, while Johnny tried to stifle a grin, Kyle cursed quietly shifting in anticipation. "The best thing I've ever held onto in this life is you. It will always be you."

Simon takes the closing steps to you, watching you closely, the two of you sharing the same overwhelming expression, though yours freer in its willingness to express. He was being serious. This was really happening. "I can't imagine taking on this life of chaos without you."

With a small, almost hesitant movement, Simon revealed the velvet box. The flicker of metal caught the light as he produced a small box, his hands surprisingly unsteady. His eyes momentarily flickering downwards before gathering the nerve to look you in the eye again. “We’ve been through hell, we're in the aftermath of it now, another glimpse not far behind, but there’s no one I'll ever know, that I’d rather have by my side.” He dropped to one knee, the rest of the team exchanging glances, a mix of excitement and surprise evident in their expressions. "No one but you."

As Simon kneels before you, your heart races, disbelief clear on your face, brows furrowing into each other, watering as you look to him, all your feelings flooding your senses. His words echo in your mind, and the world around you fades away, leaving just the two of you.

“Marry me...” His voice was firm, yet you could see the vulnerability in his eyes, the way he waited with baited breath, his shoulders halting all movement as he wouldn't take a single breath until your answer. "I'll choose you. I'll choose you every time..." The room held its breath, the only sound the quiet rustle of fabric as the team leaned in slightly, as if to witness a moment that transcended their usual world of warfare. "Marry me..." his voice is a breath against your skin.

You feel your heart race with feelings that seared itself into your soul, a moment that would never leave you, your vision blurred with tears. "Simon..." the world narrowing down to Simon and the hope in his gaze. The silence was palpable, a shared moment of vulnerability among seasoned soldiers. Finally, you nodded, emotions swirling as a smile broke across your face. “Yes,” you laughed with a sob, nodding as you wiped your face. "Of course, Simon. Yes!"

Simon rose, slipping the ring onto your finger as cheers erupted from the team. The laughter and joyful roars of Task Force 141, your family, fade into the background as you focus solely on Simon, the man you love.

Johnny clapped Simon on the back, Price grinned widely, laughing heartily in glee, and Kyle let out a whoop of approval. In that moment, amidst the chaos of their lives, there was a rare glimpse of hope and happiness—a reminder of what they were truly fighting for.

---

The clouds, still held hostage by the night, moved almost imperceptibly through the midnight air, the rain having stopped by now and the stars taking action to be seen beyond.

You breathe evenly, stroking the broken skin of your knuckles, smearing the blood that still leaked through and picking at the dried specks of it along your nails.

Heavy hangs the air as you sit in your silence, nothing but the light scrapes of your nails along your own skin. Then, a heavy padding of footsteps outside the door, your eyes drawing to the movement as a shadow pulls along the flooring of the lighting beneath the doorway, the door clicks open.

A round-faced, army suited man, your attorney, enters the room, behind him two men standing at attention, stomping his dark boots down onto the old wood eager to be noticed, lifting a document to read. "Sergeant (L/N), due to potential endangerment of yourself and your fellow man, you are to be supervised continuously throughout the night until the remainder of your scheduled departure from central Orloz Military Base.

From there, as requested, all contact will be terminated, all personal and packaged requests, terminated. All inquiries, all personal and otherwise familial advises for continued contact, terminated. Due to the nature of your injuries and the unprecedented circumstances brought upon by the events of June 23rd 2023, you've been pardoned from additional..."

What use is there listening to more?

Leaning your head against the cool glass, you let yourself fall blissfully unaware of his voice, drowning in the sea of your own mind.

You stare down at the scars enveloping your hands, your wrists, still raw and sensitive even now. Along your ring finger was the imprint of your engagement ring, it would fade with time, but nothing else would.

You felt so blind, so dumb for thinking this family was ever real, that they were anymore than colleagues, soldiers of war. An idiot for believing in Ghost, believing that he was more than the soldier you'd fought beside for a decade.

Who would've thought things would've turned out this way.

The weight of everything—the heartbreak, the disappointments—were pressing down on your chest like a block of cement.

Letting the absent, warm tears fall down your cheeks, soaking into the dampness of your shirt.

You press your palms into your thighs, trying to ground yourself, but the overwhelming feeling spiraled further, tightening your throat till it hurt.

---

Simon's face is burned red with scratches, blood smeared along his face. His hand holds tight to your wrist, the gun having long fallen from your grip, the entryway still smoking from a missed fire.

Your teeth pull at Simon's exposed skin, biting down on the skin of his wrist until you can feel it snap away from the bone, resistance failing the muscles.

With a pained groan, Simon pushes you back into the metal doors of the elevator, "Stop this, (Y/n)!" he hissed at you, as he locks you into his grip, cornering you as soldiers come forward at the commotion.

"You promised," came your voice, your mouth filled with blood, a chunk of his flesh from your mouth as he shoves your neck into the metal divider, keeping you as still as possible. "You promised you'd choose me..."

Simon's twisted expression unravels as he hears his own vowed words from your tortured lips, seeing glimpses of the woman he's always loved in the livid, scorned woman he'd left behind in that cell.

"(Y/n)..." he began, his grip loosening.

Clicks of rifles and heavy booted steps filled the dormitory, interrupting him. "HANDS UP!"

---

"...if you're in understanding of these terms, we can proceed as stated."

"...Yeah," you whispered. "Understood."

"Thank you for your service, Sergeant (L/N)," he saluted shortly, before picking his beret off the table and walking out of the room. "Your assistance to the dormitories will be available shortly."

So, when he leaves, claiming to be back to escort you back to your quarters, you sit there. You sat there for hours. Or maybe it just felt like it. Either way, it didn't matter.

This time tomorrow you'd be off base, no longer a soldier but a citizen of no one, with no one to turn to and disowned by your family...

What was there to look forward to now?

Your hand comes up, tracing the water lines running down the glass, the ray of light from the street lamps that burn into the room, stinging at your eyes and lighting up the evening.

A streak of red follows your stained fingers.

Dried blood melting off your skin and running down the glass, falling slow.

Nothing to look forward to at all...

Multiple Endings coming soon. The end of Traitors Among Us... STAY TUNED

[sofiatarot]

What Is Your Future Self Dying to Tell You? Pick a Card

TIP JAR - FREE READINGS - PAID READINGS

1.2

3.4

Group 1

Your future self is asking you to recognize where you’ve been neglecting your own growth. There’s a part of you that’s been putting others first or investing energy into situations that drain rather than nourish you. It’s time to shift your focus inward. Reflect on the ways you might be holding yourself back by ignoring your needs and desires. You have the ability to create abundance, but it starts with taking care of your foundation.

Clarity will come once you stop second-guessing yourself. You’ve been searching for answers outside of yourself, but your intuition already knows the truth. The uncertainty you feel is temporary, and they want you to trust your inner voice. Stop looking for validation in others and begin to trust your own instincts.

You might feel as though your efforts aren’t paying off, but the future-you is here to remind you that not all seeds bear fruit immediately. Some situations aren’t meant to grow, and it’s okay to let them go. Focus on what truly matters to you, rather than trying to force outcomes that aren’t aligned with your path.

There’s a message here about communication and observation. You may be learning valuable lessons by watching how others handle conflict or challenges. Your future self encourages you to approach situations with curiosity rather than judgment. Be mindful of your words, as they hold the power to heal or hurt.

Rest and reflection are crucial right now. You may have been pushing yourself too hard, and it’s affecting your ability to make clear decisions. Take a step back and allow yourself the space to recover. Your future self reassures you that rest is productive—it prepares you for the next chapter.

There’s a lesson here about letting go of the need to "win" at all costs. They want you to prioritize peace over pride. It’s time to walk away from conflicts that drain your energy. Choose your battles wisely, and don’t allow others to pull you into unnecessary drama.

Finally, this future version of you is guiding you toward balance. There’s a sense of harmony waiting for you, but it requires you to juggle your priorities with care. Celebrate the small victories along the way, and remember that true stability comes from within. Your efforts will lead you to a place of celebration and fulfillment.

Group 2

Your future self wants you to know that the delays you’re experiencing are not failures. It’s natural to feel frustrated when things don’t go as planned, but these setbacks are helping you build resilience. This is a time to focus on refining your goals rather than rushing ahead. Trust that the universe has a plan, even if it’s not immediately clear to you.

Conflict or competition may be present in your life, but your future self encourages you to see this as an opportunity for growth. Challenges can help you sharpen your skills and clarify your priorities. Stay grounded and avoid getting swept up in unnecessary arguments. Choose collaboration over conflict whenever possible.

Abundance is within your reach, and they want you to know that your hard work will pay off. There’s a sense of independence and self-sufficiency in your future, but it requires you to stay committed to your goals. Celebrate the progress you’ve made and take pride in how far you’ve come.

There’s a warning here about seeking external validation. They want to remind you that success is not about the approval of others. Focus on your own definition of fulfillment rather than trying to live up to someone else’s expectations. Stay true to yourself, even when it feels like the world is pulling you in different directions.

A new emotional beginning is on the horizon. This future-you is encouraging you to open your heart to new opportunities for love, connection, or creativity. Let go of past disappointments and make space for something beautiful to enter your life. Trust that you are worthy of the joy that’s coming your way.

You might feel a sense of lack or loss, but they want you to know that this is temporary. Sometimes, letting go is necessary to make room for something better. Don’t be afraid to walk away from what no longer serves you, even if it’s difficult. Trust that brighter days are ahead.

Your future self sees you stepping into a more confident and adventurous version of yourself. Embrace your passions, and don’t be afraid to take risks. However, remember to protect your energy and resources. Balance your drive with practicality, and you’ll find yourself creating a life that feels both exciting and secure.

Group 3

Your future self sees you standing at a crossroads, where the options seem endless but also overwhelming. You may feel unsure of what direction to take or what is truly meant for you. The key is to listen to your inner guidance and trust that clarity will come when you step away from external distractions. Avoid the temptation to overanalyze; your intuition holds the answers you seek.

You’re being reminded of the power of stillness and observation. They want you to embrace patience and allow things to unfold naturally. There’s wisdom in knowing when to act and when to simply observe. This is a time to rely on your inner strength and trust in divine timing, even if the path ahead isn’t fully illuminated yet.

There’s a sense that you may be ignoring a difficult decision or avoiding something that requires your attention. This future-you urges you to face these challenges head-on. You’re stronger than you realize, and the discomfort you feel now is only temporary. Once you take action, the weight you’re carrying will begin to lift.

Life may feel unpredictable, as if things are happening beyond your control. They want you to know that even when life seems chaotic, there’s a greater plan at work. Trust that the cycles of change are ultimately bringing you closer to where you need to be. Adaptability is your greatest strength right now.

Despite the challenges, there’s light shining through. Your future self sees you rediscovering your joy and reconnecting with the things that truly make you happy. Focus on the simple pleasures and the people who bring positivity into your life. Gratitude will guide you through any darkness you’re currently experiencing.

They want you to address the doubts or insecurities that have been holding you back. It’s time to release limiting beliefs and embrace your potential fully. Stop underestimating your ability to create the life you envision. You’re capable of achieving more than you give yourself credit for.

Finally, your future self sees you breaking free from the burdens you’ve been carrying. There’s a celebration in your future—a moment where everything clicks, and you realize the hard work has been worth it. Trust in your resilience and your ability to overcome any obstacles in your path. Transformation is inevitable, and it will bring you closer to your highest self.

Group 4

Your future self wants you to reflect on how your past may be influencing your present. There’s something you’re holding onto—perhaps an old memory, relationship, or way of thinking—that is keeping you stuck. It’s time to release what no longer serves you and make space for the new. Healing begins when you acknowledge and let go.

Heartache or disappointment may be weighing heavily on your spirit, but they assure you that this is not the end of your story. Pain often carries lessons, and from these lessons, you’ll grow stronger. Be kind to yourself as you navigate this period of emotional recovery.

You might feel like the world is working against you or that your efforts are going unnoticed. They want you to know that even setbacks are part of the bigger picture. Sometimes, things fall apart so that you can rebuild in a way that’s more aligned with your true purpose.

Stagnation may be frustrating, but this future-you encourages you to focus on the small victories rather than the bigger picture right now. Progress doesn’t always look like forward motion; sometimes, it’s about learning to be patient and trust the process. The answers will come when you stop forcing them.

A breakthrough is on its way, and your future self wants you to embrace this moment of clarity, where the truth becomes undeniable. Use this newfound insight to move forward with confidence and determination. Trust your ability to make decisions that honor your needs and values.

They see you stepping into your power. There’s a fierceness within you, a determination to rise above any challenges. You’re being called to lead with both courage and compassion. Take bold action toward your goals, and don’t let fear hold you back.

Ultimately, your future self is here to remind you that the wheel of life keeps turning. Even when things feel uncertain, change is inevitable. Trust in the cycles of growth and renewal. What may feel like an ending is actually a new beginning. You are stronger than you realize, and this is only the start of an incredible transformation.

-xoxo ✨️

[honeyryewhiskey]

when dean falls in love

or, all the little details that run through dean's mind when he's falling in love. and all the fears and self-doubt that come crashing down on him. warnings ! a pinch of angst | mostly feel good | kissing | confessions | dean admiring reader | dean's internal struggles | reader being patient | sam third wheeling j's note ! this is my apology for that sad one i posted last night. also, i had little baby 26-year-old dean in mind for this one. enjoy <3 5k words

Few rules exist in Dean’s life—most are made to be bent, broken, or ignored altogether. But you?

You’re the exception. You’re the rule he refuses to cross.

You are entirely off-limits.

Not that you seem to care. You crashed into the Winchesters' world like a wildfire, all sharp eyes and steady hands, showing up guns blazing in the middle of a nasty hunt. There was no slow introduction, no time for cautious trust. One minute, it was just another night, another hunt—then suddenly, there you were, standing in the wreckage, breathing heavily, covered in blood that wasn’t yours.

Dean should’ve known to let go right then and there—you were too good to be true. But he didn’t. Instead, you stuck to the corners of his mind like sugar between his teeth, sweet and relentless. Your energy, raw and electric, burned through everything around you. You invaded his thoughts, wrapped around his mind like a constant hum.

You were the kind of girl who made a man forget his own damn rules.

At first, Dean tells himself this newfound trio is temporary.

You’re a lone wolf, and the Winchesters don’t do long-term attachments. But somehow, you weave yourself into their lives like you’ve always belonged.

You slip into the passenger seat of the Impala without waiting for an invitation, kicking your feet up on the dash just to piss him off. You steal fries off his plate like it’s second nature, smirking when he glares at you but never stopping. You roll your eyes at his bravado, call him out when he’s being an ass, and yet—when it matters—you’re always there. Ready to fight. Ready to bleed for this life, for them.

For him.

Dean tells himself he doesn’t notice the little things. The way you hum along to his rock tapes like you’ve known them forever, how your hands—so much softer than he deserves—patch him up without hesitation. The way you meet his teasing with just as much fire, never backing down.

None of it means anything.

Because it can’t.

Not when he’s always been too rough, too jagged around the edges to hold onto something as good as you. Somewhere around his twentieth birthday, he made peace with the fact that he was cursed—fated to be nothing more than a soldier, a brother, a blade meant for war.

Being anything else, wanting anything more—wanting you—would only end in tragedy.

But then he catches Sam talking to you in hushed voices over coffee in the morning, like you’re family. As if every diner table and wobbly motel kitchenette was always meant to sit the three of you. He watches you clean his gun without being asked, like it’s second nature now. He hears your voice on the other end of his phone at 3 a.m., always answering when he calls, asking if he’s okay after a rough hunt. 

And just like that, you’re in. You’re a part of them.

A part of him.

And that? That’s the most dangerous thing of all.

Dean doesn’t know when it happened—when the lines started to blur, when the rule he swore by turned into something fragile, something breakable.

Maybe it’s the way you slip so effortlessly into their lives, settling into the spaces he didn’t even realize were empty—mediating brotherly arguments like you were always meant to be their missing piece. Maybe it’s the sound of your laughter, bright and unshaken, slicing through the heaviness of a bad hunt. Or maybe it’s the way you look at him, like he’s something more than the scars, more than the sharp edges—like he’s worth seeing at all.

Or maybe it’s the small moments like this.

The diner is warm, buzzing with the quiet hum of conversation, the clatter of silverware against plates. Sam’s focus is his laptop, half-listening to whatever you’re saying as you flip through the menu, sitting beside Dean, debating tonight’s meal. Dean’s trying to keep up, trying to ground himself in the normalcy of it all.

And then, without a second thought, you reach for his jacket.

It’s been draped over the back of the booth since he sat down, familiar and worn, carrying the weight of long nights and too many miles. And you just take it, slipping your arms through the sleeves, tugging the collar up like it belongs to you.

Dean’s fingers tighten around the menu.

It’s nothing new—he’s handed it over a dozen times before, thrown it around your shoulders without a second thought on cold nights. But this? This is different. You didn’t ask. Didn’t even hesitate. You just did it, like it was instinct, like it was yours.

He clears his throat, trying to force down the feeling clawing its way up his chest. “Comfy?”

You hum, settling into the fabric, your fingers curling into the sleeves. “Mmhmm.” Your voice is light, easy. “You always run so warm. Thought I’d steal a little of that.”

Dean swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry. Prying his eyes off of you, he tries again to look like he’s reading the menu. Scanning the small font, even though he’s already decided on a burger and fries like he always gets. 

Across from him, Sam sighs, clicking at his keyboard. “You guys do realize you act like a couple, right?”

Dean shoots him a glare. “Shut up.”

Your laugh falls out sweet and quiet, the sound pressing against his heart with a persistence to make it move faster. Your boot nudges Dean’s under the table, and he takes it as an excuse to look at you again. “You jealous, Sammy? Want me to steal your jacket next?”

Dean barely hears the response. He watches as you burrow further into his jacket, your nose dipping beneath the collar. Then, with that same mischievous glint in your eye that always spells trouble for him, you lift the collar to make a show of taking a slow, exaggerated sniff.

His brows press down, lashes forming a tight squint around his eyes as he braces himself, “What the hell are you doing?”

Your lips twitch like you’re holding back a laugh. “One thing about this old jacket, though,” you muse, taking another thoughtful inhale. “There’s this metallicy smell… buried under all that cologne you drown this poor leather in.”

Dean scoffs, shifting in his seat and turning his head to save himself from letting you see the pink creeping up his cheeks. “I do not drown it in cologne.”

Sam doesn’t even look up from his laptop, but his chuckle doesn’t help ease Dean’s embarrassment. “You kinda do.”

Dean’s head shoots up, tilting slightly as he glares at his brother. You’re already grinning, undeterred, your fingers lazily tracing the worn seam of the sleeve. “It’s faint, but it’s there. Like… gunpowder. And whiskey, I would assume. And maybe a little bit of blood?” Your teasing gaze flicks up to meet his, “What have you been getting into, Winchester?”

Dean should play it cool. Shrug it off. But he can feel his ears burning red and hot from that little teasing smile on your lips and his brain is a few steps behind, caught somewhere between you’re too damn close and when did this get so hard to ignore?

He leans back, arms crossing over his chest. His mind makes quick work to steady buzzing nerves, “Dunno what to tell ya, sweetheart,” he sighs, jaw popping as he finds his barings, “That jacket’s seen more action than you have.”

You feign offense, pressing a hand to your chest. “Wow. First, you over-season your leather, and now you’re just slinging insults?” You shake your head, dramatic as ever. “I thought we had something special, D.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitches. “Yeah, yeah. You done sniffin’ my jacket, or should I be concerned?”

You huff, settling back against the booth so that your arms brush against each other when you shrug. “I dunno. Might need another whiff.”

Dean points a warning finger at you, his smile breaks his attempt at stoicism, and all it does is make you grin wider.

Sam lets out another long-suffering sigh, shutting his laptop with a little more force than necessary. “I’m concerned. And I’m officially done with this conversation.”

You smirk, smug as ever, but Dean? Dean’s just trying to pretend he’s not completely, stupidly gone for you.

The rest of dinner passes in easy conversation—at least, for you. Dean is quieter than usual, letting you and Sam fill the space between bites of food and stolen fries. He tries to focus on anything else—the chipped laminate of the table, the hum of the old diner lights, the way his fingers tap absently against the side of his glass.

Mostly, he tries not to look at you.

Not when you lean forward, chin propped in your palm, laughing at something Sam says. Not when you nudge his boot under the table, stealing the last bite of his pie with a satisfied little smirk. Not when you adjust the lapels of his leather jacket like it’s yours now, like it belongs to you the way he does.

By the time the check hits the table, he’s still got too many thoughts in his head, and none of them are ones he should be having.

Outside, the night air is crisp, the motel’s flickering vacancy sign glowing just across the lot. Sam mutters something about research and trudges off toward their shared room, leaving the two of you lingering by the diner’s door.

Dean shoves his hands into his pockets, suddenly hyper-aware of how quiet it is. You shift on your feet, then tilt your head toward the motel.

“What’s it gonna be tonight, D?” Your voice is soft, slipping into the quiet like it belongs there. “You sticking around for a bit, or heading to bed?”

Dean exhales, shaking his head. “Gotta make sure you get in safe.”

Your laugh rings through the empty parking lot, light and easy, curling around him like warmth against the cool night air. And despite only wearing a flannel, despite the late hour and the breeze whispering through the lot, he feels nothing but warm.

“Ah, yes,” you tease between giggles, nudging his arm. “My knight in shining armor, always keeping me safe.”

The short walk across the lot is quiet but never empty—the kind of silence that lingers in the spaces between you, comfortable and charged all at once.

At your door, you unlock it with a flick of your wrist, pushing it open before leaning lazily against the frame. The dim motel light catches the amusement in your eyes as you glance back at him.

“See?” You gesture to the empty room with a grin. “All’s quiet on the western front.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He waves you off, stepping inside without a second thought, the door clicking shut behind him.

You move past him with easy familiarity, shuffling through your things while Dean leans against the dresser, arms crossed over his chest. He watches as you slip into your usual routine—kicking off your shoes, pulling your hair back, stifling a yawn with the sleeve of your sweater. His jacket, draped over the chair beside your bed, stays untouched. He doesn’t move to take it. If he’s honest, he kind of hopes you’ll sleep in it. Let it take on your scent instead of his.

When you return from the bathroom, fresh-faced and sighing contentedly, you crawl onto the bed and sit cross-legged, flipping absentmindedly through an old paperback—the one you grabbed from the library when you were supposed to be researching.

“You gonna tell me what’s got you so deep in thought tonight?” you break into the silence without looking up, voice soft but knowing.

Dean huffs, tipping his head back. He’s trying to find something other than you to look at, he’s gotta stop watching you so often. “I’m always deep in thought.”

You snort, “yeah, okay. Sure.”

Your eyes flicker over him, he’s always following you into your room like a stray pup, like he doesn’t know where else to go. He lingers in your space, but is careful to maintain a set distance. At first you thought he was trying to claim you as another notch on his bedpost, but all that ever happened on these nights were quiet talks until your eyes grew too heavy to keep open. And by morning, you’d be alone, tucked beneath the blankets like someone made sure they were pulled around you just right.

You watch him for a beat, noting the familiar tension winding through his shoulders. “Seriously, though. You were kinda out of it at dinner.”

Dean hesitates, glancing away like he can pretend he didn’t hear you. His eyes settle on the peeling motel wallpaper, tracing the cracks like they hold some kind of answer. He hadn’t planned on sticking around this late—not when his head is already full of you. Not when it’s dangerous for the sanctity his carefully drawn lines to be near you like this, feeling the way he does.

But neither of you move. You, cross-legged on the bed, book in hand. Him, still leaning against the dresser, pretending he has somewhere else to be.

He should make an excuse, crack a joke, steer this conversation somewhere safer. But your voice, soft and steady, tugs at something in him. And instead of fighting it, he lets himself lean in.

“You ever think about what happens when we stop?”

Your fingers still against the worn pages of your book. “Stop what?”

“This.” He gestures vaguely, like that explains everything. “The hunting, the moving around. All of it.”

Your brows furrow slightly as you consider his words, the weight of them pressing down in a way you don’t want to acknowledge. This life—it’s far from glamorous, but it’s all you’ve got. Stepping away from it is a thought you buried long ago, a fantasy that never had a chance. You shrug, pushing the thought aside. “I don’t know,” you say quietly. “Never really let myself think about it too much.”

Dean exhales a heavy breath, eyes dropping to the floor like the weight of your words is sinking in. “Yeah.”

A beat of quiet settles between you. It’s not uncomfortable, but there’s a weight to it that presses against Dean’s chest, making the space feel tighter than it is. You can feel his tension, like he’s holding something back, but he doesn’t look up.

Then, you shift, breaking the silence with an easy gesture—a pat to the empty space beside you on the bed. “Don’t just trail off on me, D. Sit down. Tell me more.”

Dean hesitates for a split second. This is a bad idea. It’s an invisible line he’s been toeing for too damn long, one he’s tried not to cross—never sit on the bed, never get too close when we’re alone. But then again, it’s you. You’re looking at him like you care, soft and patient, as if whatever’s inside his head actually matters.

And just like that, he gives in. One little exception, just for tonight.

With a quiet sigh, he pushes off the dresser, settling beside you on the bed. He stretches his legs out, but the small mattress makes it impossible to keep any real distance. His legs brush against yours, and his arm brushes yours too. He hopes to hell you don’t see the flush creeping up his neck.

If you notice, you don’t mention it. There’s no teasing, no playful smile—just the quiet comfort of your presence beside him. You don’t push, don’t pry. You just sit there, calm and steady, waiting for him to speak.

“I dunno,” he mutters, “just been thinkin’ lately. About what it all looks like when it’s over. If it ever is.”

You tilt your head, studying him. “And?”

Dean swallows, debating how much to say. How much to admit.

“And… I don’t see much of anything.” He exhales sharply, shaking his head. “Spent my whole life doing this, I don’t see an ending where I’m not dying at the hands of this. Y’know, going down in the fight.”

You’re quiet for a moment, then—so softly he almost doesn’t notice—you shift closer, your arm snaking its way around his. You’re snuggled right up next to him, watching with careful eyes.

“There will always be monsters to hunt,” you murmur, your voice soft yet steady in the dim room. “But you don’t have to be a warrior forever, D. There will always be hunters, too. Doesn’t mean you have to be one.”

Dean chuckles, but it’s a hollow sound, more an exhale than a laugh. His gaze drifts toward the bedspread, unable to meet yours. "Yeah, well... I don't know if I could just walk away." His words come out quieter, like he’s unsure if he’s talking to you or to himself.

You turn slightly toward him, noticing the tension still coiled in his shoulders. The quiet settles deeper now, heavier with each passing moment, but he doesn’t seem to notice the distance between your words.

“What’s got you thinking about all of this?” you keep your voice light, though there’s a weight to it.

Dean rubs the back of his neck, his thoughts at war with the words he wants to say. "I can’t have the things I want, not really," he finally admits, the confession slipping out before he can second-guess it. His gaze drifts to the side, and his fingertips come up almost absentmindedly, dragging across your temple, pushing stray hairs back into their place.

“This life," he continues, barely above a whisper, "it consumes all the good things in my life."

“Not true,” your voice is firm but gentle, like you’re trying to remind him of something he can’t see.

He doesn’t answer immediately, just quirks a skeptical brow at you.

“You have your brother,” you continue, “and you’ve got me. Nothing in this universe can take us from you.”

Dean’s breath catches, and for the briefest moment, he wonders if you understand just how much weight those words hold. He swallows, trying to hold it together, but he can’t ignore the ache that creeps up his spine. He gives a small, almost rueful chuckle, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. "What makes you so sure?"

You meet his gaze with a steady confidence. "Because I know you wouldn’t let it."

His hand lingers by your face, his thumb brushing softly against the warmth of your cheek. There’s an electricity in the touch, something that feels too close and yet too natural. He can feel the way his pulse quickens, how much his body wants to close that last inch of space between you. But he doesn’t.

You don’t push him. You just watch him, like you’re waiting for him to decide whether to take the step—or to retreat.

Dean’s breath catches in his throat, and his eyes drop to your lips for a moment before meeting yours again, like he’s trying to reconcile the gravity of what he’s feeling. His voice drops to almost a whisper, his words thick with something raw. “You have no idea how right you are, little miss.”

Your hand comes up, curling over his with a quiet, deliberate touch. The softness of your skin against his makes it almost impossible for him to remember the times he’s watched you move through the world—handling a gun with precision or a blade like it’s second nature. Most of you makes him forget, really, about everything that doesn’t involve you in this moment.

Your warmth, your softness, it makes him lose himself in daydreams of a version of you—one that doesn’t belong to this life. A version where you’d lean into that gentleness, the part of you that exists outside the hunts and the danger, in a life far away from the chaos that haunts him.

You shift, sitting up, still keeping your gaze on him, and it makes something in his chest tighten. The determined strain in your features catches his attention immediately. It’s the same look you get when you're deep into a lore book, your brow furrowed with that little scowl—like something has piqued your interest, and you won’t rest until you’ve unraveled it completely.

“Dean, there’s more to this than you’re letting on.”

He shakes his head, trying to brush it off with a quick, dismissive shrug, his lips pouting up into his best attempt at nonchalance. “Nope. That’s pretty much it.”

You let out an exasperated huff, and Dean can tell you’re seeing straight through him. It’s not enough to deflect you. What he doesn’t expect, though, is the rough shove to his shoulder. It makes him blink in surprise, but before he can recover, your fingers press right back into the tension of his muscles he’s been trying to ignore all night.

“You’re as stiff as a board,” you point out, your fingers digging in a little harder. “Something’s bothering you.”

His breath comes out shakier now, and for a moment, his whole body feels like it’s been wound too tight. You can feel it, he knows you can. There’s no denying it now, but the words feel too heavy in his throat. He wants to argue, to brush it off again, but something in the way you’re watching him shifts. It’s not just curiosity anymore—it’s concern. And maybe, just maybe, a part of him wants to let you in.

But damn if it doesn’t feel like a risk.

Dean shifts uncomfortably, trying to pull away, but the pressure of your fingers is a subtle anchor, keeping him there. His gaze flits to the floor, anywhere but your eyes, because once he looks at you, he knows he won’t be able to hide.

"I told you, it's nothing," he mutters, his voice rougher than usual, the words escaping before he can stop them. He tries to push himself up, but the weight of your stare presses him back down.

You don’t buy it. You never do.

"No, Dean," you start softly, the concern clear in your voice, "I know you better than that. Something’s been eating at you for a while, and you’re not gonna keep dodging it."

His chest tightens, his heart racing in his ribcage. Every part of him wants to throw up some wall, some excuse. Something to keep you from seeing the rawness of what’s inside. The vulnerability he’s been running from his entire life.

But still, you watch him, waiting, your eyes steady and unwavering.

"Come on, just let it out," you press, your hand moving to his shoulder again, your touch gentle now but insistent. “You don’t have to carry it all by yourself, you know?”

He swallows hard, his jaw tightening, hands suddenly restless at his sides. The fight inside him is crumbling, piece by piece, until he's barely holding on to whatever's left. His voice comes out strained, almost desperate.

“Please, just drop it,” he grinds out, his eyes briefly meeting yours before flicking away again, helplessly. “I’m fine. You don’t... you don’t need to know all of it.”

You sit forward, leaning in just a little, your hand still gently gripping his arm as you search his face. The determination in your gaze doesn’t waver, but there’s something softer there now, almost like a plea. “Dean—”

He jerks back slightly, suddenly standing up with a bit too much force, the air between you thickening with a tension that’s making it harder for him to breathe. He takes a few steps away, running a hand through his hair, his back turned to you as he tries to calm the storm rising inside.

"I can’t do this," he mutters, his voice low, rougher now, like it’s been dragged over gravel. His shoulders still tense with the weight of the world pressing down on him.

You’re silent for a beat, and he knows it’s because you’re giving him space. But he also knows you won’t stop until you get him to say what he’s been holding back.

He exhales sharply, his hands trembling as he clenches them into fists, his back still turned, fighting a battle he knows he’s losing. "God, I don’t want to talk about this." His voice cracks slightly as he says it, and he hates how much it betrays him.

His eyes flick to you then, and there's a crack in the armor—a vulnerability that’s almost painful to see. He looks at you, but he’s not sure he can bear the weight of your gaze anymore. Not when all he wants to do is keep you safe from the wreckage inside him.

His body is coiled tight, but his chest feels like it’s going to implode. He wants to walk away. He wants to escape from the weight of this conversation, from the way you're looking at him like you’re waiting for him to finally crack open and spill it all out.

But when he finally turns back to face you fully, all he sees is that unflinching patience, that quiet insistence that you’re not going to let him go until he finally says what he’s been hiding for so long. It makes him want to burn every rule he’s built for himself.

"You don't get it," he spats roughly, eyes flicking to the floor. "I can’t just... say it. It’s part of me, it’s who I am, this thing that I can’t get away from."

You rise to your feet, crossing the room in one smooth motion. There’s no anger in your steps—just a calm resolve that cuts through the tension between you like a knife.

"I'm not an idiot, Dean," you peek up at him, unfamilarly timid as you cross this uncharted territory. "I see the way you look at me. Hell, at first I thought I was imagining things but I can see it’s eating you alive. And I—” your words cut off in your own shock at the confession, the sincerity in your expression making his knees weak, “I can’t bear to see you like this.” 

Your hands reach up tentatively, like you’re scared he’ll tear himself away again. But he stills, letting your warm hands press into either side of his jaw, “you’re my rock, alright?” your words trail into a soft laugh, easing the tension of your own truth. “I don’t wanna live in a world where I’m not by your side, because you make life worth the fight to stay alive. But you can’t just keep me in the dark, I have to know what you’re feeling.” 

His breath catches in his throat, the weight of your words hitting him harder than he expected. The realization that you know, that you’ve seen through all his defenses, makes everything inside him ache.

"I don’t know what you want from me," it comes out sounding like a plea, still looking for an excuse to retreat into himself.

"I want you to stop hiding from me." Your words are simple, but they strike right at the heart of the matter. "I want you to stop pretending like you can’t have the one thing you want most."

His throat tightens, and he shakes his head, trying to dismiss it. "I don’t get it," he mumbles, though his eyes are locked on yours, searching for the reprieve he still doesn’t believe he’ll find. "I don’t... I’m not fit for this."

"I’m not either, D. I’m just asking you to let it happen." You’re so close now, he can feel the warmth of your body, the soft pressure of your fingers against his jaw. Your gaze doesn’t break, it never wavers.

And that’s when it hits him. He’s been afraid of this—afraid of the way you make him feel like he can finally breathe, like all of his pain and avoidance can cease in your presence. he’s been holding himself together with tattered shreds for so long, and you’re the only thing that’s strong enough to pull him out of the mess he’s made of himself. 

And letting that security live in someone else terrifies him more than any monster he’s faced. 

“I’m not perfect,” he admits quietly, his words like gravel in his throat. “I’m broken, and I’m scared as hell, but god, if you only knew how much I want—”

You stop him with a soft kiss, the sweetest touch of your lips to his. It's gentle, almost hesitant, but it shatters something inside him, enough to freeze him in place. The weight of everything unspoken presses in, and for the first time, it feels like the walls he's built around himself might finally crumble in your hands.

The chains of his tightly kept composure snap at the delicate pressure of your lips, and without thinking, his arms wrap around you, pulling you closer. His hands find purchase at your waist, holding you as if you were the only thing that kept him grounded. The kiss deepens, desperate, as if he's trying to kiss away the years of holding back, the silent fear of letting you see the real him, the uncertainty of if you’d stay with him in the wreckage.

When you finally pull back, your lips linger just above his, breaths mingling. Your voice is a soft whisper, but it cuts through the tension like a thread being pulled taut. “Then say it, Dean. Tell me what you want.”

His heart beats in his chest, loud and frantic, as his walls come crashing down, piece by piece. He can’t think straight with you in his arms, all of his steely armor melts at your touch. And for the first time in what feels like forever, he lets go of some of those fears.

His eyes are nearly consumed by his pupils as he takes in the sight of you slightly out of breath, lips wet and a little more pink. From his doing, from his touch—it makes every broken rule worth the trouble.

“I've fallen for you, Sweetheart,” he breathes, his voice is raw, shaky, but it's honest, every word carrying the weight of what he’s been holding back. “I want to keep falling for you, love and all that crap. And I’m terrified of it, but I can’t keep hiding this from you.”

Your thumb brushes over his cheek, the gesture soft, but nevertheless, grounding. A quiet smile tugs at the corner of your lips, and your eyes hold nothing but certainty. “You’ll never have to hide any part of yourself, Dean. I’ve been here all along, with nothing but love. Just been waiting for you to see that.”

tags <3 @titsout4jackles @floralscented @deansbeer @snowluvvie @dulcescorderitas @bluemerakis

[arxiwon]

Survival Instinct

Genre: Dark, Smut, Angst, Apocalypse, Horror Warnings: Graphic Violence, Death, Explicit Sexual Content, Dubious Consent, Trauma, Gore, Psychological Manipulation

Synopsis: The world is in ruins—corpses rot in the streets, and the air reeks of decay. Seoul is no longer a city but a graveyard, overrun by the undead and worse—humans who have lost their morality in the name of survival. Leading a small group of survivors, Jungwon carries a weight heavier than most. But survival means making choices, some darker than others. When desperation turns to desire, and lust becomes a means of control, the line between protector and predator blurs.

Chapter 1: Jungwon - The Reluctant Leader

The world had long since collapsed into chaos. Streets once bustling with life were now littered with corpses, the scent of death thick in the air. Seoul had become an endless labyrinth of crumbling buildings and bloodstained alleys, where the dead roamed hungrily, seeking flesh. Amidst the decay, a small group fought to survive, led by none other than Yang Jungwon.

He hadn’t asked to be a leader. It just happened. When the outbreak started, when society fell apart, people naturally gravitated toward those who could keep them alive. Jungwon was sharp, quick on his feet, and had an innate ability to strategize under pressure. But the weight of responsibility pressed heavy on his shoulders. He had already lost too many.

Tonight, the air was colder than usual. The group had found temporary shelter inside an abandoned convenience store, its glass windows smeared with dried blood, shelves ransacked. Jungwon stood by the entrance, gripping the metal baseball bat that had saved his life countless times. His dark eyes scanned the darkness beyond, ears tuned for the groans of the undead.

“Jungwon, you should rest,” your voice broke through the silence.

You had been with him since the beginning. A survivor in your own right, hardened by loss and desperation. You stepped closer, your presence a temporary relief to his ever-growing burden.

“I can’t,” he murmured, not looking at you. “Someone has to keep watch.”

“We have shifts for a reason,” you countered, reaching out to touch his arm. He flinched at first but didn’t pull away. “You’re exhausted. Let me take over.”

Jungwon exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his disheveled hair. “It’s not just the zombies. It’s the people, too. The ones who’ve lost their humanity. We can’t afford to let our guard down.”

You nodded, understanding all too well. The undead were predictable in their hunger, but humans? Humans had become the real monsters.

The silence stretched between you, heavy with unspoken words. When he finally turned to you, something in his expression had shifted. The tension wasn’t just from survival; it was something else, something primal. His fingers brushed over yours, a hesitant yet deliberate touch.

Your breath hitched. The weight of fear, of exhaustion, of needing to feel alive in a world that was crumbling—it all combusted in that single moment. Without another word, Jungwon pulled you close, his grip firm, his lips crashing against yours in a desperate kiss. The cold, the hunger, the world outside ceased to exist as you both surrendered to something forbidden, something that reminded you that you were still human.

For tonight, survival meant more than just breathing—it meant feeling, burning, losing yourselves in the fleeting moments before the sun rose on another fight for your lives.

Chapter 2: Jungwon - The Breaking Point

The sun had barely risen when the sound of distant gunfire shattered the fragile peace. You jolted awake, body sore from the night before, memories of tangled limbs and whispered moans still fresh in your mind. But there was no time to dwell—Jungwon was already up, his expression cold, calculating.

“Pack up. We leave in five minutes,” he ordered, strapping his bat to his back.

You didn’t argue. In this world, hesitation meant death.

The group moved silently through the ruins of Seoul, every step calculated, every breath measured. The streets were empty, but that meant nothing. The danger was always there, lurking beneath the surface.

Jungwon led the way, his grip tightening around his weapon. His mind was elsewhere—you could see it in the way his jaw clenched, the way his shoulders tensed. Last night had been a moment of weakness, a fleeting lapse in control. And Jungwon did not like losing control.

“We need to find more supplies,” he said, scanning the buildings. “Food, weapons, anything we can use.”

You nodded, following as he moved toward an old pharmacy. The door was half-open, the inside ransacked, shelves overturned. It looked empty—but looks were deceiving.

“Stay close,” he muttered, stepping inside.

The moment you did, the door slammed shut behind you.

A blade pressed against your throat, and a rough voice whispered in your ear, “Drop your weapons.”

Your heart pounded. Jungwon had already turned, his eyes dark with rage. He didn’t hesitate.

A gunshot rang out. The man behind you staggered back, blood spurting from his skull. Jungwon lunged, his bat connecting with another attacker’s ribs, the sickening crunch echoing through the store.

It was over in seconds. The bodies lay motionless, blood pooling on the cracked tiles.

Jungwon turned to you, chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands were slick with blood, his face unreadable. And then—

He grabbed you.

Pinned you against the counter, his breath hot against your skin. His hands were rough, urgent, teeth grazing your neck.

“This world is hell,” he whispered, voice raw. “And I won’t lose you to it.”

His lips crushed against yours, the taste of blood and desperation searing into your senses. The danger, the adrenaline, the need—it consumed you both.

There was no morality left, no line between right and wrong. Only survival. And this—this was survival.

Outside, the dead groaned, the sun climbing higher in the sky. But inside, nothing else existed but him, and the way he made you feel alive in a world of death.

Chapter 3: Jungwon - Blood and Ruin

The night was cold, the wind carrying the distant screams of the dying. Jungwon sat in silence, his hands wrapped around a knife, its blade still wet with fresh blood. His body was tense, every muscle coiled, his mind trapped between what he had done and what needed to be done next.

You watched him from across the room, the shadows casting eerie patterns over his face. He hadn’t spoken since the ambush. He hadn’t even looked at you.

“Jungwon,” you said softly, stepping closer. “Talk to me.”

He exhaled, finally turning toward you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “I killed them,” he muttered. “Without hesitation.”

You reached out, fingers brushing his wrist. “You saved me.”

His jaw tightened. “And I’ll do it again.”

Then, he was on you, hands gripping your waist, dragging you into his lap. His lips crashed against yours, rough and unrelenting. There was no softness left in either of you, only desperation, only the knowledge that at any moment, the world could take this away.

His hands explored, claimed, possessed—because in this hell, you were the only thing he had left to hold onto.

Outside, the dead waited.

Inside, Jungwon burned.

Chapter 4: Jungwon - Possession

The fire inside Jungwon had been burning for days. He felt it every time another man looked at you, every time you spoke too softly to one of the survivors, every time you smiled in a way that wasn’t meant for him. And tonight, after witnessing one of them—a man from another group—get too close, touch your wrist like he had the right, Jungwon had reached his limit.

You were his.

The tension between you had been thick since returning to camp, the makeshift shelter barely holding the illusion of safety. You knew something had shifted in him the moment you stepped inside the dimly lit room you shared. His eyes were dark, his jaw locked tight. He hadn’t said a word since he killed the man who thought he could take what belonged to him.

You stood near the cot, peeling off your jacket, feeling the weight of his stare. “Jungwon—”

“Shut up.” His voice was low, dangerous.

You turned to face him fully, but before you could speak again, he was on you. His hand wrapped around your throat, backing you against the cold wall. His body pressed hard against yours, heat radiating from him.

“You think I didn’t see the way he looked at you?” His grip tightened just enough to make your breath hitch. “The way he touched you?”

“He didn’t—”

“He did,” Jungwon growled, his other hand sliding up your waist, pushing your shirt up roughly. His fingers dug into your skin, claiming, branding. “And I let it happen. I let him think he had a chance.”

You gasped as his lips crashed against yours—raw, bruising, filled with an unrelenting need to consume you. His tongue forced its way inside, taking, dominating. His teeth scraped against your lower lip before he bit down, making you whimper.

“You’re mine,” he murmured against your lips, his hands tearing at your clothes, impatient, desperate. “Say it.”

You panted, fingers clawing at his back as he pressed his knee between your legs. “I’m yours, Jungwon.”

He let out a sound—part relief, part possession—before yanking your pants down, your underwear following in one swift move. The cool air hit your exposed skin for only a moment before his fingers replaced it, slipping between your thighs, stroking, teasing.

“You’re already wet,” he smirked, voice dripping with arrogance. “You like it when I get like this, don’t you?”

You couldn’t deny it. The way he took control, the way he burned for you—it ignited something deep inside you, something primal.

Jungwon didn’t wait. He didn’t give you time to think. He lifted you, your legs wrapping around his waist as he carried you to the cot. He dropped you onto the mattress, his body covering yours in an instant. His clothes came off in a blur, revealing toned muscles, a body hardened by survival and war.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, leaning back to watch.

Your breath hitched at the command, but you obeyed, sliding your fingers down your stomach, parting your thighs for him. His eyes darkened as he watched you, hunger written all over his face.

“Enough,” he growled, grabbing your wrist, pinning it above your head. “That’s mine to touch.”

Without warning, he thrust inside you, stretching you, filling you completely. A cry left your lips, back arching at the overwhelming sensation. He didn’t start slow. He didn’t give you time to adjust. He pounded into you, his hips snapping against yours with a force that had you seeing stars.

“Say my name,” he demanded, his teeth grazing your neck before biting down, marking you.

“Jungwon,” you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

He groaned, moving harder, deeper. “Louder.”

“Jungwon!”

His pace grew punishing, his grip on you unrelenting. He wanted to own you, to make sure everyone in the camp knew who you belonged to. He wanted you wrecked, ruined, unable to think of anyone but him.

“You take me so well,” he murmured, his fingers slipping between your bodies, finding your most sensitive spot. He rubbed circles, his movements precise, calculated, designed to drive you over the edge. “Cum for me.”

You couldn’t fight it. The pleasure built, your body tensing, your cries echoing through the room as you shattered beneath him. The world blurred, the only thing anchoring you was Jungwon—his touch, his voice, the way he kept thrusting, chasing his own release.

“Fuck,” he cursed, burying himself deep inside you as he reached his peak, filling you with his warmth. His body trembled against yours, his breath ragged.

For a long moment, neither of you moved. His forehead rested against yours, his fingers lacing with yours. The possessiveness in his touch softened, turning into something tender, something real.

“You’re mine,” he whispered again, but this time, it wasn’t a demand. It was a promise.

And in this cruel, broken world, he was yours too.

[lxndonorris]

games - Franco Colapinto

Y/N x Franco Colapinto Theme: Smutty, Teasing, Touching playing teasing games with Franco word count: 3520+ taglist: @game-set-canet @cloud-55 open for requests :)

The hum of the paddock was always the same. Mechanics bustled between the garages, engineers huddled over laptops, and the faint smell of burnt rubber and motor oil lingered in the air. 

It was race weekend, and as a member of Williams' strategy department, your mind was consumed with tire degradation rates, fuel calculations, and weather forecasts.

This weekend was different, though; Franco Colapinto had been brought in as a replacement for the remainder of the season. It wasn't uncommon for drivers to shuffle in and out, but his arrival left you with mixed feelings.

While his talent was undeniable, his presence also underscored the volatility of the sport. 

One moment you're on top; the next, you're replaced.

You tried to keep your head down and focus on your work, but Franco had other ideas.

From the moment he stepped into the Williams garage, he exuded confidence—maybe too much. His charming smile seemed to disarm everyone around him, and his jokes quickly won over the mechanics. 

You wanted to be immune to it. After all, you weren't here to be dazzled by a driver; you were here to perform as best as possible. 

Still, there was something about his energy that made him hard to ignore.

Friday morning was spent poring over practice session data. By the time the clock struck noon, you were desperate for a break. Slipping away from the chaos, you found a quiet corner of the hospitality area. The cool breeze and a cup of coffee were all you needed to reset your mind.

But, of course, that peace was short-lived.

"Found you," came a smooth voice from behind.

You didn't need to turn around to know who it was. Franco had a knack for making his presence known.

"What do you want, Colapinto?" You asked, keeping your tone neutral as you sipped your coffee.

"Is that how you greet all our teammates?" He teased, sliding into the chair across from you. 

He didn't wait for an invitation, naturally.

"I'm not sure we're teammates," you countered, setting your cup down. "You're here to drive; I'm here to strategize."

"Semantics," he said with a shrug. "We're both here for the same goal, aren't we?"

His casual confidence was maddening, but you refused to let it get under your skin.

"Did you need something, or are you just here to disrupt my break?"

He grinned, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Maybe I just wanted to get to know you better. You seem... interesting."

"Interesting?" You echoed, raising an eyebrow. "That's vague."

"Charming, sharp, beautiful. Should I go on?" he asked, leaning forward slightly.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

"Flattery doesn't work on me."

"Oh, I don't believe that for a second," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken. "But if it doesn't, I'll just have to try harder."

It was infuriating how effortlessly he pushed your buttons. And yet, you couldn't deny the thrill of it. 

If he wanted to play this game, you'd make sure you won.

Careful, Franco," you said, letting your fingers brush over his arm as you stood. "You don't want to bite off more than you can chew."

His breath hitched just barely—a subtle reaction, but one you didn't miss. He tilted his head, smirking as he leaned back in his chair. 

"I think I can handle it."

"Good luck, then," you said, walking away before he could respond.

---

The day went on, and you managed to avoid Franco for the most part. But by the time the evening rolled around, you found yourself thinking about your brief encounter. 

He was charming, funny, and annoyingly attractive. And yet, you couldn't shake the feeling that getting involved with him was a bad idea. He was a temporary replacement, after all. What was the point in letting yourself get tangled up in something that might not last?

But Franco wasn't the type to give up easily.

---

Saturday morning brought more practice sessions and strategy meetings. You were buried in data when Franco strolled into the engineering office, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"You look busy," he said, leaning casually against the desk.

"I am," you replied without looking up.

"Maybe I can help," he offered, his tone playful.

"Unless you've suddenly become an expert in race strategy, I doubt it."

"I might surprise you," he said, stepping closer.

You glance up at him, your lips curving into a smirk.

"Oh, I'm sure you're full of surprises."

His eyes flickered to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you seemed to crackle. Then, just as quickly, you returned your focus to the laptop in front of you, leaving him standing there.

But Franco wasn't one to be ignored. He leaned down, his breath warm against your ear.

"You know, if you keep teasing me like this, I might start to think you enjoy it."

You turned to face him, your faces inches apart. 

"And if I do?"

His grin widened. "Then I'd say we're going to have a lot of fun."

With that, he straightened up and walked away, leaving you to wonder what exactly you'd gotten yourself into.

---

A few hours later, the buzz of post-qualifying energy filled the air as team members analyzed data and discussed strategies for the race.

The car had shown steady performance, and Franco had managed to secure P13—a good result considering the car's limitations this season and his inexperience with it all.

You sat in the corner of the engineering office, reviewing telemetry and tire degradation patterns when the door swung open, revealing Franco. His white racing suit clung to him, the logos proudly displayed on his chest. His hair was damp, slightly tousled from the helmet, and a faint sheen of sweat made him look effortlessly rugged.

"P13," he announced with a grin, his voice bright as he strode into the room. "Not bad for the new guy, huh?"

You glance up from your screen and nodded.

"Not bad at all. You might even be worth keeping around."

His grin widened as he leaned against the desk beside you.

"High praise coming from you. I was beginning to think I'd never win you over."

"You still haven't," you said, letting your lips curve into a smirk. "But you're off to a decent start."

He chuckled, his dark eyes locked on yours.

"I'll take that as a challenge."

As the room cleared out, people heading off to dinner or more meetings, Franco lingered. His teasing continued, lighthearted at first, but his words grew bolder with each exchange.

"You know," he said, his voice low, "I think you like having me around more than you let on."

"And why would you think that?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Because you're still here talking to me instead of running off like everyone else," he said, his tone smug. "Admit it—you’re intrigued."

You leaned back in your chair, studying him.

"Intrigued? Maybe, impressed? Not quite."

His laugh was soft, and he leaned in closer, his arms crossed as he rested them on the desk. 

"You're tough to crack, you know that?"

"Maybe you're just not trying hard enough," you shot back, your tone playful.

Beneath the table, an idea crossed your mind.

Without a word, you let your foot drift toward him. Slowly, deliberately, you dragged the tip of your shoe along his calf. You felt him tense ever so slightly, his smirk faltering for just a fraction of a second before returning, sharper than before.

His eyes darkened, but he played it cool.

"Oh, so that's how you want to play?" he murmured.

You didn't respond, instead letting your foot continue its slow journey up his leg, brushing over his knee and toward his thigh. His breathing quickened, though he did his best to hide it. When your foot reached just beneath the edge of his suit, you stopped, withdrawing just enough to leave him wanting more.

"You were saying?" you asked, your voice innocent.

He cleared his throat, his grin never fading.

"I think you're enjoying this even more than I am."

You tilted your head, feigning indifference. 

"Maybe. Maybe not."

He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a whisper. 

"How about we find out?"

Your heart skipped, but you kept your composure.

"And how do you propose we do that?"

"Meet me later," he said, his words deliberate. "My motorhome."

For a moment, you let the suggestion hang in the air, the weight of it pressing down on both of you. Then, with a coy smile, you leaned back in your chair.

"We'll see."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he stood. In one swift motion, he unzipped his suit just enough to grant you a glimpse of the blue fireproofs beneath.

"You're going to drive me crazy, aren't you?"

"Only if you're lucky," you replied, watching as he walked away.

As the door closed behind him, you exhaled deeply, your mind racing. You didn't want to admit it, but the thought of meeting him sent a thrill through you that was impossible to ignore.

---

An hour later, you found yourself standing outside Franco's motorhome, the cool evening air brushing against your skin. Your heart was pounding. Was this the right decision? Yet, something about him—his charm, his confidence, his maddening ability to make you second-guess everything—had drawn you here.

You knocked, the sound feeling louder than it should in the quiet paddock. A moment later, the door opened, and there he was.

Franco stood in the doorway, still in his racing gear, the upper half loosely hanging down around his waist. The tight blue Nomex undershirt clung to his chest and arms, highlighting every contour. His hair was still slightly damp, and his grin was as infuriatingly cocky as ever.

"You came," he said, leaning casually against the doorframe, his voice laced with amusement.

"You invited me," you replied, your tone light but guarded.

"And I didn't think you'd actually show up," he admitted, stepping aside to let you in. "Come on, make yourself comfortable."

You hesitated for only a second before stepping into the motorhome. It was cozy, the space designed for function but with enough personal touches to make it feel lived-in. A small table and couch sat to one side, a kitchenette on the other. The faint scent of something fresh—maybe soap—lingered in the air.

The door clicked shut behind you, and you turned to find Franco watching you, his arms crossed and that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips.

"Not bad," you said, glancing around. "I expected it to be messier."

He chuckled, stepping closer.

"What can I say? I like to keep things in order. Well, most things."

You raised an eyebrow. "And the things you don't?"

"Those tend to be more fun," he said, his voice dropping just enough to make your pulse quicken again.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

"You're relentless, you know that?"

"And you're impossible to ignore," he countered, closing the distance between you.

The teasing back-and-forth began almost immediately. His fingers brushed against your back as he passed you, a casual touch that sent shivers down your spine. 

You retaliated by letting your hand linger on his arm, tracing the toned muscle beneath the fabric. His grin only widened.

"You're not making this easy," he said, his voice low.

"Good," you replied, leaning against the small table. "I wouldn't want to."

He moved closer, his eyes searching yours as he rested his hands on either side of you, caging you in without actually touching you.

"You're going to drive me insane," he murmured, his breath warm against your skin.

You tilted your head, a smirk playing on your lips.

"Maybe that's the point."

His gaze dropped to your lips, and for a moment, the air between you crackled with tension. Slowly, he leaned in, his face inches from yours. Your heart raced, your breath catching as his fingers brushed against your back again, this time more deliberate, more lingering.

You let your hand slide up his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm. Your fingers drifted to his shoulders, then down his arms, before finally brushing over his thigh.

His breath hitched, his composure faltering ever so slightly, and you knew you had him.

But just as his lips were about to meet yours, you pulled away, stepping aside with a teasing smile.

"Not so fast," you said, your voice light and playful.

His eyes darkened, and he let out a low laugh, shaking his head. 

"You're cruel, you know that?"

"Am I?" You ask innocently, though the gleam in your eyes betrayed you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mingled with amusement.

"You're going to be the death of me."

You shrugged, moving toward the couch and sitting down, crossing one leg over the other. 

"Maybe. But you'll enjoy every second of it."

Franco stood there for a moment, his hands on his hips, as if deciding whether to let you win this round. Finally, he let out a breath, his smirk returning.

"You're trouble," he said, joining you on the couch, his knee brushing against yours. "And I like it."

You lean closer, your voice a whisper. 

"You have no idea."

The air between you felt electric, the tension thick as you leaned in just enough to close the distance without actually touching him. 

Franco stayed still, watching you with a mix of amusement and anticipation. His restraint was admirable, but you could see the flicker of desire in his eyes. 

He knew you were playing with him, and yet he let you—whether it was curiosity, confidence, or sheer temptation, you couldn't tell.

You let your hands roam over his chest, your fingers trailing along the lines of his toned muscles beneath the fabric of his Nomex shirt. His breath grew shallow, his chest rising and falling in time with the slow, deliberate movements of your hands.

You lingered at his collarbone, letting your fingers drift upward to his neck, where you caressed the sharp line of his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, the faintest hint of a stubble grazing your fingertips.

With your other hand, you let your fingers slide down to his thigh, brushing over the firm muscle just barely. The touch was light, teasing, a mere whisper of contact that made him shift slightly under your hand.

His lips parted as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. He just watched you, his gaze dark and intense, as if daring you to push him further.

"You're quiet," you said softly, your thumb brushing over the edge of his jaw.

"You're in control," he replied, his voice rougher than usual, a low hum that sent a thrill down your spine. "For now."

The confidence in his tone made you smirk. 

You let your fingers on his thigh press down a little more, moving in slow circles that barely grazed where you knew he wanted them. He shifted again, his composure slipping just enough to make your teasing worth it.

"Franco," you murmured, leaning in so close that your lips nearly brushed his ear. "You're enjoying this too much."

He chuckled, the sound soft but strained.

"You don't know half of it."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your fingers still exploring his jawline while your other hand continued its slow, deliberate movements on his thigh.

His eyes were locked on yours, his restraint remarkable given the circumstances. 

It was a game now—one you weren't sure either of you wanted to win.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of teasing, you leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a kiss that was soft but purposeful. He hesitated yet gave in, his hand moving to the small of your back as he deepened the kiss, his restraint giving way to the desire he'd been holding back.

The moment felt charged, every touch, every movement heightened by the tension that had been building between you.

Your hand on his thigh moved slightly, your fingers brushing against him just enough to draw a sharp intake of breath from him. 

You smiled against his lips, knowing you had him exactly where you wanted. You let your touch linger, a faint stroke that sent a shiver through him.

When you finally pull back, his eyes were heavy-lidded, his breath shallow as he looked at you with a mix of satisfaction and frustration.

"Was that what you wanted?" you asked, your voice low, teasing.

He smirked, running a hand through his tousled hair. 

"It's a start."

Your fingers, still on his thigh, pressed down a little more deliberately, tracing slow, deliberate circles over the firm muscle. He tensed beneath your touch, his breath hitching just barely, but his eyes stayed locked on yours, a challenge glinting in the dark depths.

"Patience," you murmured, letting your fingers drift a little higher, teasingly brushing along the edge of where he wanted them most.

His jaw tightened, and you could feel the restraint it took for him to let you lead, to let you play this game.

"You're relentless," he whispered, his voice rough and low.

"Only because it's fun," you replied, your lips curving into a mischievous smile.

You leaned in again, letting your lips hover just over his, close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath against yours. At the same time, you let your fingers slide up his thigh once more, giving him the faintest, gentlest squeeze. 

His breath hitched again, sharper this time, and you couldn't help the soft laugh that escaped you.

"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?" he asked, his voice tight, his control fraying at the edges.

You didn't answer, instead letting your hand linger, your touch slow and deliberate as you felt the tension coiling in him, the way his body reacted to every subtle movement. 

Your other hand moved back to his chest, tracing the lines of his muscles beneath the tight, slightly damp fabric of his shirt, before sliding upward to cup his jaw.

His eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment, and you took the opportunity to lean in, pressing your lips to his in another slow, lingering kiss. 

This time, he didn't hold back. 

His hand slid to the small of your back, pulling you closer as he kissed you with a hunger that made your heart race. His other hand cupped your face, his fingers warm and steady against your skin.

But just as he was beginning to take control, you pulled back, breaking the kiss and pulling away from his touch. Your fingers trailed down his chest one last time before sliding back to his thigh, giving him one final squeeze. 

You smirked as his eyes opened, dark and heavy with frustration and need.

"So much trouble. You're impossible," he said, his voice husky.

"Maybe," you replied, standing up slowly, letting your fingers linger on his thigh until the last possible moment. "But you're still letting me win."

He laughed softly, shaking his head as he leaned back against the couch. 

At first, he exhaled and raised an arm, stroking the back of his head. The movement made his toned chest stand out even more, the fabric of his undershirt clinging to him as he stretched slightly, trying to shake off the tension you'd left behind.

"I'm letting you think you're winning."

You turned back to him, raising an eyebrow, watching him closely.

As he leaned back against the sofa, his head resting against the cushions, he let out a long, steadying breath. His hand moved almost instinctively to his chest, following the path your fingers had traced moments before.

His fingers slid over the fabric of his nomex shirt, pressing lightly against his chest as though trying to capture the sensations you'd left behind.

His other hand drifted lower, brushing over his stomach and coming to rest near the visible strain inside his suit. His bulge was unmistakable, the tension evident even through the tightly fitted material. 

"Oh, is that what you're telling yourself?"

He smirked, the heat in his eyes unwavering.

"You'll see."

Franco closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening as he let his hand hover over his bulge, his fingers flexing slightly.

It was as though he was chasing the lingering heat of your touch, replaying every teasing stroke, every deliberate squeeze in his mind.

The ghost of your fingers on his thigh, the press of your hand against his jaw, the softness of your lips—all of it hung in the air between you, even though you stood up.

He exhaled sharply, his hand brushing against the strain, his body responding to the memory of the game you'd just played. A low chuckle escaped his lips, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Next time, I'll make sure to win."

You laughed, stepping toward the door.

"Goodnight, Franco."

Goodnight," he called after you, his voice rich with amusement. As you slipped out of the motorhome and into the cool night air, you couldn't stop the smile that tugged at your lips.

This was a game you weren't sure either of you wanted to end.

[r3starttt]

what if Abby’s gf was like, not very smart, and Abby would like be reading a book out loud to her and she doesn’t understand like 70% of the words she’s saying and she’s just sitting there like ☹️ but she just enjoys listening to abby so she lets her keep goinggg :(

BOOKWORM! ABBY

an: this is the cutest request ever ughhhhhh she's so pretty | taglist

You had spent the entire day absorbed in productivity, your mind and body tirelessly engaged in tasks, and visibly worn out. the strain evident in your fatigued and tired, red eyes, a reflection of the excessive hours of screen time and minimal sleep.

The house glowed warmly, bathed in hues of orange and yellowish light that softened every corner you passed through. Each step on the wooden floor echoed faintly, the sound mingling with the comforting ambiance.

"Abby?" you called out softly as you entered the kitchen, receiving a muffled "here" from the living room.

Hurrying over, you found Abby seated cross-legged on the well-worn couch, nestled comfortably under a thin blanket. Her glasses perched on her nose, the light reflecting on them covering her eyes very slightly as she glanced up at you with a sheepish smile.

First thing you noticed once you stepped closer was a novel in hand with its pages yellowed with age.

She adjusted the blanket, making room for you beside her. Nestling close, your back rested against her stomach while her hands pulled the blanket around both of you.

Abby planted a gentle kiss on your head near your forehead, and the room settled into a quiet peace, broken only by the rhythmic turning of pages and the soothing cadence of Abby's voice "...and he, in a state of somnolent contemplation, pondered the ephemeral nature of existence..." Her voice flowed smoothly, entrancing despite your struggle to comprehend.

You snuggled closer, finding solace in Abby's voice as she continued, "...before him lay such an ethereal landscape, undulating hills and verdant foliage stretching infinitely under the cerulean sky." you closed your eyes momentarily, allowing Abby's voice to wash over you, cherishing the moment.

You listened intently, occasionally furrowing your brow at unfamiliar words like "sepulchral," "tumultuous," and "effulgent". Abby, however, read with unwavering confidence, pronouncing each word accurately without pause or hesitation.

"What do you think that means?" you whispered, as Abby's finger hovered over the corner of the current page, preparing to turn to the next.

She hummed a few seconds, contemplating how to explain it. She understood it well herself, but she knew it might be challenging for you.

"Well," Abby began softly, "when it says 'in a state of somnolent contemplation,' it means the character was deep in thought, almost like they were half-asleep or... lost in their thoughts. And 'pondered the ephemeral nature of existence' means they were thinking about how life is temporary, like how things don't last forever."

She moved to the next page, but no words came out. A thought crossed her mind. She knew you well enough to sense when you weren't fully grasping something, even if you didn't explicitly admit it. So, she decided to summarize everything she'd read on herself and to you so far.

Feeling more at ease, you settled back into Abby's embrace, ready to continue listening to her soothing voice weave through every complex paragraph from the novel.

The room remained steeped in a peaceful silence, the serene warmth enveloping you both. Abby's voice, smooth and resonant, filled the space as she continued to read.

You listened intently, absorbing the richness of the language. Though some of the words made you innerly pause to reflect. "Then again, his existential quandary was exacerbated by the labyrinthine corridors of his subconscious..." They were beautiful words, but their meanings confused you.

Abby, however, read accurately without much pause or hesitation.

"You know," she said, setting the book aside for a moment, "you don't have to understand every word. I just love sharing this time with you."

A smile spread across your face, and you gently took one of her hands, pressing a soft kiss on her knuckles. "Yeah, I know. I love it too," you nodded, meeting her gaze before returning your attention to the book. "Plus, it's hot to see how smart you are."

Abby chuckled softly, a hint of playful disbelief in her voice. "Yeah?"

Your eyelids grew heavy, and Abby's hands grew numb from holding the book. You drifted off to sleep first, and Abby followed shortly after, pressing a gentle kiss on your scalp before finally closing her eyes.

[itsnesss]

𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐰𝐞 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧 | peter sutherland × fem!reader

summary | a quiet evening with peter turns bittersweet when an urgent call forces a temporary goodbye, but both share their love and a promise to reunite soon

warnings | temporary separation, emotional tension, mild angst

word count | 1.8 k

author's note | it would help me a lot if you liked, commented and reposted so that more people read what I write and don't forget to follow me, thanks ᡣ𐭩

It’s a quiet night when you arrive at Peter's house, the soft light from the lamps reflecting a comforting atmosphere in the room. The door opens almost immediately after you knock, and he’s there, standing with a smile that seems to brighten the room even more than the soft lighting. "Good to see you," he says, and his voice feels like a whisper of calm amidst the chaos that always surrounds his life.

You simply nod, your nerves calming just a little as you take in how cozy his home feels. It’s hard to imagine someone like him, so deeply involved in politics and security, also having such a serene refuge. "How was your day?" you ask as you take off your jacket, feeling his eyes on you, but not with the pressure you might expect. It’s a soft gaze that makes you feel at home.

Peter closes the door behind you, and without saying another word, he leads you to the kitchen. The simple things seem to be what you both enjoy in these moments. He, always so serious and focused, allows himself a break when he’s with you. He’s told you before: you’re his peace, his small escape.

"Would you like something to drink?" he asks as he pulls out a bottle of white wine, one of his favorites. There’s something in the way he moves that always captivates you. Every gesture, every movement seems calculated, yet still so natural when you see him with those bright eyes of someone who, even though tired, is always present. As if he’s ready to enjoy the simplest of dinners or a conversation that could stretch for hours.

"Yes, please," you reply, smiling softly. You lean against the edge of the kitchen table while you watch him pour the wine. The way his hand moves, elegant, assured, makes you think of everything he’s been through to get to where he is. But in this moment, it doesn’t matter what came before. All that matters is now. Here. With him.

When he finally hands you the glass, his eyes meet yours, and the world outside that kitchen seems to fade away. There are no threats. No conspiracies. Just him, you, and a small corner of tranquility you’ve both built, even if only for a few hours.

"Sometimes," he starts, as if he’s been thinking about it, "all I want is this. Something simple. Something that’s not filled with complications." He looks at you as if he’s searching for something in your eyes, as if waiting for an answer, even though you know he’s not asking a specific question. You just need to listen. He needs to be heard.

"I get it," you say softly, and take a step closer to him. "Sometimes I just want to be here too. Not having to worry about anything else."

Suddenly, the sound of a phone ringing interrupts the silence in the room, and you both glance at it with a mix of frustration and resignation. Peter steps away from you slightly, his expression shifting instantly, the seriousness he always carries returning quickly.

"Sorry," he says as he glances at the phone screen. "It’s urgent. I have to take it."

You nod, though inside, you wish he didn’t have to. The contrast between the peace you’d just shared and the sudden pressure that seems to envelop him again leaves a knot in your stomach. You know it’s part of his life, but that doesn’t make it any easier.

"It’s okay," you reply, though you can’t help but let a slight hint of sadness slip into your voice.

Peter looks at you for a moment before answering the call, and for an instant, he seems to hesitate. As if he wants to stay with you, as if what he has with you is more important than whatever the call represents. But in the end, he answers the call, his voice firm and professional, returning to that role that sometimes seems so foreign to the man you know.

"Peter..." you say softly, before he walks too far away. He looks up at you, his expression softening.

"I know," he replies, his eyes shining with a mixture of regret and understanding. "It hurts, but I can’t avoid it."

You sigh, walking over to him and touching his arm. "I know. And I understand."

The call continues in the background, but he doesn’t pull away completely. For a second, it seems like he forgets everything else. He’s just there, with you. It’s as if time slows down, and you both allow yourselves to savor those last few seconds together before reality pulls you apart once more.

"Promise me that when this is over, you’ll come see me," you say, your voice thick with contained emotion.

Peter nods, his expression soft yet filled with quiet determination. "I promise. As soon as I can."

The moment doesn’t last much longer. The call persists, and finally, with one last look between the two of you, he’s forced to step away, to respond to whatever it is that’s called him back to duty. But before he takes another step, he grabs your hand, and his fingers tighten around yours with a firmness that speaks volumes more than words could.

"I love you," he whispers, and those words hang in the air, suspended in the space between you both.

"I love you too," you reply, your voice barely a whisper, as if those words could break the spell of distance that’s beginning to open up between you.

He takes the call, but looks at you once more, as if he doesn’t want to let you go. And even though his words are directed at someone else, the echo of his promise to return still lingers in your mind, reminding you that, even though the goodbye is temporary, what you shared will never fade.

Finally, you pull away from him, feeling how the emptiness starts to settle in your chest, while his words still throb in your heart.

[shiny-jr]

outlander

Warning: Yandere. Gender-neutral reader.

Characters: Riddle Rosehearts, Leona Kingscholar, Azul Ashengrotto, Kalim Al-Asim, Vil Schoenheit, Idia Shroud, Malleus Draconia. 

Summary: In every land you travel to, there's a god with elemental powers. But why is it that in every nation you arrive to, the gods attempt to make you stay?

Note: Why has no one done a genshin x twst thing? This is more of a concept idea than anything else. I might do a series with it, or not, or just random posts. Feel free to ask about it or request stuff for it.

This must be a dream, either that or a never-ending nightmare.

Waking up alone on a sandy beach, as if washed ashore, was disorientating. There was nothing else on the shore save for shells and the occasional crab, no debris indicating a wreck and no scattered belongings. All you had on you were the clothes on your back, which were a pair of shorts and an oversized t-shirt, your pajamas.

In the center of your palms, was a marking you had never seen before, like a freshly painted tattoo in the shape of a tiny key. As curious as the strange new markings were and you wondered how they even got there, there was a larger question looming:

How did you get here?

GRIM

There was a cat on the beach. At least, it looked like a cat. A talking feline, with gray fur and the most impossible feature of blue fire lightly simmering in his ears.

It spoke, just like a human, with a grating high-pitched voice. It was a devilish little beast, with little fangs sharper than his comebacks that he supposed were funny.

The feline pridefully announced his name: Grim.

And when you told Grim your story of how you woke up by the water's edge with no recollection of how you got here and little to your name, the creature didn't appear to care. However, when he spoke of elements being used by people and names of nations and cruel living gods you never once heard of, only then was he very vaguely intrigued. Perhaps it was amusement, as he laughed and called you stupid for not even knowing of The Seven.

That's when you heard a growl, not from behind his fangs but from his stomach. If you looked at him from the right angle, he looked quite scrawny. The poor thing was hungry, you realized.

All it took was an offering of cans of tuna found in an empty cabin nearby, and you had him in your grasp. Following you around was only temporary, he insisted, he'd go along so long as there was food. While a talking cat was not the most conventional of guides, it was better than nothing, especially since he knew basic knowledge of each nation and where the nearest sign of civilization was located.

HEARTSLABYUL

Through the winding dark woods where mysterious creatures lurked in hollow trees and dead end paths, were meadows of flowers and peaceful grooves. However, don't let the tranquillity of nature fool you. In the distance were mountains– not actually mountains, but volcanoes and hot sprints along this land's border.

It's been said that the very millions of roses and other greenery in this land, was formed when ash rained down on dry barren earth for nearly a month. Ash from those very dormant volcanoes that were the backdrop to this perfect scenery, which came in huge black clouds thousands of years ago and blanketed the earth.

A god, an archon, the deity of law that rained hell on earth over thousands of years ago.

Long ago this land was a country of criminals ruled by a god of chaos that reveled in havoc and disorder. Among the mayhem, was a small deity of fire with mighty powers and a vision for a future he was determined to see. Riddle, is what the deity was called.

Riddle gained a number of followers to listen to his words, and he created order. A small feat compared to the many wicked still running about in a lawless land ruled by a god that valued anarchy. So, using newfound strength, the deity of fire drew forth molten lava from the mouths of the northern volcanos, burning all those in its path while the deadly plumes of smoke and ash suffocated those that remained. Atop the remains of the destroyed towns and cities, he built a new nation of order for his loyal followers.

Today, it is a thriving nation filled with flowers and greenery. However, there is one issue. The god of pyro, Riddle, is a tyrant. Every law is expected to be followed without question and without fail, beheadings have become nearly a daily occurrence with the criminals often being charged with mistakingly picking flowers on Wednesdays, drinking the wrong sort of tea post-meals, or playing croquet after five pm.

You were fortunate to be spared after your audience with the god of law, for breaking the rule: one must never bring a cat to a formal affair. Before he could burn you were you stood, you interjected, answering that your companion was no cat, so you had broken no rule.

Well, he promptly apologized for the misunderstanding and in turn, offered to make up for it by inviting you to a tea party. It would be best to except his invitation, afterall, he was the same deity that buried nearly an entire country in lava and ash, then built his kingdom atop their remains. He was a tyrant that beheaded and burned people on the daily. It was wise not to get on his bad side. Besides, he appears to have taken a fancy for you. Riddle implores that you tell him more of your world while you ignore the whispers of rebellion.

There is no leaving Heartslabyul, not without the explicit permission from the god of law. The borders with their volcanoes burn any would-be invaders, allowing passage only to merchants and travelers who have received the pyro deity's blessing. Why would Riddle ever give you his blessing to see you go?

SAVANACLAW

Across the volcanoes and hot springs of the borders, the mountains turn green with dense jungles. Across the river lies the savanna where the world's most wondrous creatures run free. Times have been turbulent, the shaking ground was evidence of troubles with this nation's divine beings, or rather, now single divine being.

Earthquakes have always been a sign of something occurring either for a purpose or unintentionally by someone else. The harsher the quake, the greater the importance of the event. And not too long ago, a ginormous tremor shook the entire globe. Something of major importance had happened.

A god, an archon, the deity of intellect was the new sovereign after tragedy befell his elder brother.

In the past the land was under the protection of the god of strength, a mighty god worshipped by his people. This god had a young heir who was also beloved by the people. However, most forgot or completely disliked the younger brother of the god of strength, a deity of ground, Leona, who had a burning hated for his brother.

Leona amassed followers of his own in secret. It came as no surprise that the common and the wealthy adored the exalted god of strength. However, the poor detested him, because he offered no help to them, no matter how much they prayed and offered what little they had to his alter. Instead, their prayers for mercy and for a change in luck, were answered by the deity of ground. The change of luck came from the death of the former god and his son, paving the way for a new sovereign.

Today, there is uncertainty in the street. Many of the former worshippers of the god of strength believe in one thing. The god of geo, Leona, is unfit to rule. The poor and mistreated have emerged from hiding places in the shadows, filled with newfound confidence for their was finally a god that answered their prayers. However, there remains a growing tension between both factions. Followers of the new god sing his praises, while followers who mourn for his brother believe that everything is falling into disarray.

You were promptly introduced to the god of intellect by his followers that wished to spread the good word. There was something wrong, you and your companion both agreed. How could a powerful god of strength and his young heir just perish without warning? Something was amiss.

This was just a new follower, at least in his eyes. So he brushed you off, allowing you to partake in the best food and drink only his followers had the privilege of receiving. Testing your luck, you decided you would ask him if he knew of a way home. For now you filled him in, explaining your origins and recent adventures. For such a conniving and arrogant leader, he was surprisingly lax. It even appeared as if he wasn't even listening to your words, just dozing off on some pillows. Your words were at least more interesting to him than the rumors of possible unrest.

Perhaps he does know a way for you to return home, but he doesn't want to tell you. It's as simple as that. He likes the new follower, you. Besides, you're not going. There is always the option of traveling further, but why do so when the geo deity has what you need? Leona greatly loathes betrayal from his own worshippers, so you wouldn't leave Savanaclaw to see another god, would you?

OCTAVINELLE

In the seas dwell creatures of unimaginable horrors living deep within the watery depths, across the ocean over turbulent waves there are islands of paradise. The chain of islands composed warm southern beaches and cold northern snowlands. This may be paradise, but a toll must be paid to even get near the islands.

A tax is applied to all arriving merchants wishing to trade and tourists wishing to step foot on the island. It doesn't make much sense, until you see their towns and cities bursting with trade. Business was booming, apparently. The water is clear and pristine, you could see the vibrant coral reefs and schools of fish swimming below.

A god, an archon, the deity of contracts once came from these very waters when there was no land.

Thousands of years ago there was nothing but ocean out this far away from the mainland. That is, until a deity of water appeared from the depths. He promised a new nation to traveling merchants, so long as they worshipped him. The deity introduced himself as Azul.

Azul had grown bored of the dull happenings under the sea, for he had achieved most things beneath the waves. The ocean could not satisfy his endless greed. He had his sights set on higher elevation, with the lofty goal of being just as powerful on land as he was in the ocean. He moved waves, creating tsunamis outward but revealing islands once hidden by water. The merchants took to land and fulfilled their end of the deal, worshipping him while creating a prosperous nation of deals.

In present day, hardly anyplace can compare to the thriving hub the nation has become. However, loyal followers have begun to see his greed. The god of hydro, Azul, is a charlatan. The ocean in all its vastness was not enough to satisfy his desires, it was why he took to land. For the promise of fulfilling prayers, something always must be given in turn or the worshippers must risk going on a quest. But, it is not always as it seems. One way or another, a prayer asking for something will end in the worshipper becoming in debt to him.

In exchange for an answer to the continued question of how to return home, you have nothing to offer for payment except for ideas. Home was modern, this world was not yet on par with the technology you knew. So you offer ideas of inventions, a device to capture an image in time, a mechanism like a box with wheels, a tool to contact someone miles away.

He believes you're quite bright, you think it false flattery to deceive you but you would be wrong. Your ideas are truly brilliant, and will no doubt earn him more millions and influence in other nations on the mainland! Best to take the compliment with a smile, or else this swindler may find a way to trap you in debt. Azul insists you tell him more of your home and your lucrative ideas. Here, a contract, where he shall sell your ideas as goods and you shall reap the rewards! Whatever hearsay you've heard painting him in a bad light, is defamation! Don't fall for it so easily.

Sailing away from Octavinelle would just be a fool's quest. Unless you can escape on a boat that can weather the harshest of sea storms, there is no stepping foot off the island without the risk of drowning. Don't you have more profitable ideas to share with the hydro deity? If not, just listening to your voice would make Azul content than all the gold in the world could.

SCARABIA

Rolling sand dunes stretch as far as the eye could see, and rocky canyons border a savanna. Sandstorms fill the skies like a dark cloud, covering the dry hot land in a new layer of sand once again. Struggle through the scorching days and blistering cold nights, and there will be an oasis in the center between large flowing rivers.

Life follows the flowing waters, and an enormous oasis is planted in the center of the desert. For miles and miles along the banks, are blooming cities and towns. A great contrast to the desert outside, these settlements are overflowing with water, with the greenest gardens and greatest crops.

A god, an archon, the deity of commerce that gave life to a once barren land.

Thousands of years ago, a terrible famine struck the land. All remaining oasis had shriveled up, leading to starvation. A kind-hearted deity of earth took pity on the people. So he decided to extend a helping hand. People would call the deity Kalim.

Kalim used his abilities to create a lush environment, a vast and incredibly rich oasis out of sand in the middle of the desert. When he walked, grass and flowers sprouted from the sand. In days, he managed to create a garden of tremendous size and design, where his new followers could live in peace and luxury by the rivers. Towns and cities were developed, giving way to a grand nation where he resided in comfort and extravagance, surrounded by people that adored him.

Now there is a grand metropolis where there is just as much gold in the markets as there are flowers. The god of dendro, Kalim, is naive. For thousands of years he has been sheltered and treasured by his people. He is oblivious and clumsy, but at the same time he is not foolish. He knows of the people that have attempted to use his abilities for sinister purposes. Although, no one could guess a conniving being plotting against him, resides in his very own palace.

Exciting adventures and thrilling tales, the god of commerce loves to hear your stories of the outside world! First time foreigners are welcomed with open arms, but you are treated as a rare guest with your unique origin. This might just be the most peaceful land you had ever traveled to.

Come, partake in the celebrations! It's easy to forget that such a laidback and cheerful personality belongs to that of a deity that gave life to this region of the desert. Dance, chat, he wishes to do it all with you! The brightness of the fireworks and lively atmosphere is nearly enough to drown out the presence in the shadows you see from the corner of your eyes. A figure with a piercing gaze, watching the jolly divine being with envy in their eyes. With a power as tempting as his, there would be those wishing to snatch it. Kalim distracts you, offering more food and drink with a smile sweeter than any flower.

Why would anyone ever wish to leave this garden that was Scarabia? The outside, the desert and canyons, were harsh and unforgiving. The god of commerce did not wish to see you risk traveling and getting hurt. The dendro deity invites you to stay in the city! Surely you could be happy here with Kalim, right?

POMEFIORE

On elevated lands, between mountains and hills, were endless forests in which travelers often vanished in or were discovered frozen. A winter wonderland, although this wasn't so delightful. It was beautiful, but a deadly kind of beautiful, where you risked being chased by mysterious beasts or becoming lost in blizzards.

The snow may be pure, it may look picturesque upon frozen lakes and lines of white trees, but looks are deceiving. This was once a serene land with a temperate climate, but it has only gotten colder and colder in more recent months until there was not a single spot of green to be seen.

A god, an archon, the deity of curses who was so bitter like the cold that he caused snow to fall all year round.

Stories have told that the land was once warm in springs and summers, only growing cold whenever the divine being was cross. They were frighteningly beautiful and terrifyingly powerful, regal as royalty but at times wrathful. Vil, is what the deity was referred to.

Vil became envious of an emerging figure, so he invoked powerful blizzards and storms. In recent generations, there have been a growing number of his people breaking off into a separate faction that worshipped a younger compassionate god of healing. Enraged by the betrayal of some followers and resentful with biting jealously, many knew that it was only a matter of time before he would snap. This frightening divine being would not accept being dethroned, he would not allow himself to be demoted in the people's hearts.

Civilization continued to thrive, even despite the never-ending snow. And yet, people cannot help but worry what may happen if the cold doesn't let up by spring. The god of cryo, Vil, was pretentious. Anyone who openly voices their distaste for him or a preference for the god of healing, can expect to be encased in ice and used as a display. No one dares to even utter the name of his rival, for fear of incurring his wrath.

Misfortune brought you before the god of curses' throne. Mistakingly his followers had believed you to be worshippers of the god of healing, which you insisted not to know of. You had simply been lost. Maybe it was your gawking at his ethereal appearance, or the compliment you murmured under your breath, but you were not frozen a punishment.

He decided to interrogate you himself, and through his stern questioning you found yourself a nervous mess as you answered honestly but blabbered far too much. Maybe this deity was amused, much like a king would find humor in a pathetic little jester. The divinity that froze nonbelievers into statues for his palace, found you quite endearing. Vil even once smiled at you when you spoke of inconsequential things, warming his heart to which the clouds carrying snow broke apart if for a moment, causing his followers to go into a frenzy fueled by hope.

When leaving Pomefiore is so much as even mentioned, all exits will be frozen shut by the god of curses. Why even venture outside the palace, when you have earned the favor of the cryo deity? Perhaps the land is warmer, but the neighboring nation is dangerous and he forbids the journey. Why would anyone leave after finally melting Vil's icy cold heart?

IGNIHYDE

A forest of dead trees serves as an ominous welcome, or perhaps it was an omen warning incoming travelers. Slopes gave way to valleys, and along the coasts was a heavy mist that painted the vision gray. Homes and buildings, magnificent temples and crumbling feats of architecture, appeared to be floating in white clouds, but in reality they were situated on cliffsides thick with fog.

In the center of the dying forest, there are ruins of a grand temple once belonging to a god that met a tragic end. However, its remnants are closely guarded by mysterious creatures of air that cannot be touched. Legends say the temple was once a place of worship for a fledgling god related to the main god the nation worships today.

A god, an archon, the deity of innovation that has never once shown his face to the public.

Thousands of years ago, a pair of divine beings appeared. They went largely unnoticed for many years, until their brilliant inventions brought awe to those around them, attracting worshippers and diminishing the power of other local gods. The one remaining brother from this pair, is a deity known as Idia.

Idia created wondrous inventions, unintentionally forming a nation of inventors in the process. Withdrawn, dark, and silent, he is quite the unconventional god and yet he begrudgingly rules nonetheless. As reserved as he may be, he is feared among divinity. All lesser gods aiming for his spot are quickly wiped out by his inventions, without him so much as lifting a finger and using his own abilities. They're reduced to mere memories, as nothing is left of them. In times of old, it was once believed that he was a harbinger of death.

On decent days, the sun may shine on the coast, but most days there are heavy clouds and fog. The god of anemo, Idia, is an enigma. Most think him a ghost, for never appearing and for his abilities. The highest families, the most brilliant inventors, even other divine beings may request an audience, but he will never show. No one has ever seen him, all that's known is he is a figure shrouded in black robes like a grim reaper. There are others who believe there are double, because two figures have been spotted once.

You become the first to see his face purely by accident. It seemed he was just as startled of you, as you were of him. Thankfully, you were not going to be blown off the face of the planet by hurricane-level winds. No other god would help, in fact, they wished to keep you here. So you had to turn to him for assistance in finding a way home.

It was only by promising that he could pet Grim, a deal to which the feline disagreed to, did the god reluctantly hear you out. After your explanation, he scoffed as if looking at a simple equation like 2 + 2. Of course he knew the answer, but he wouldn't give out the assistance you needed. The deal was to hear you out, not help you out. He'd become quite bold in the private conversation, a sharp contrast to his previous anxious demeanor. There was no arguing against he who could slaughter gods with a snap of his fingers. Although you aren't as intolerable as other mortals, this he admits.

Departing from Ignihyde is highly unlikely, given how dense the fog is. You cannot even see the ground you're walking on. While, yes, the anemo deity hasn't assisted you, he will, eventually, probably, maybe... You're the first mortal Idia has ever asked to stay, so why would you turn your back to him?

DIASOMNIA

A wall of impenetrable thorns stands in the way, magically opening and creating a clear-cut path through dense forbidding forests lively with critters. The thorn walls close, effectively trapping you. There was something different. It was unlike all the previous nations, the very air itself felt off. With every step deeper into these whimsical woods, it felt as if you were not alone.

Once upon a time, there was a dragon. No one knows how long the dragon has been alive, only that even the oldest tales say he was already ancient way back when. Valleys were shaped by his claws, the rivers from his tail, rare ore came from his fallen scales buried in the earth, the tallest mountains were but small hills to him.

A god, an archon, the deity of dreams is by far the most powerful and most ancient of all divinity in the world.

Peace was his personal preference, as he enjoyed new company which he never truly received due to his fearsome reputation. However, when other divinity sought out his destruction and his home, the deity of electricity raged. Destruction was left in his wake across the entire globe, and everyone came to know the name Malleus.

Malleus commanded thorns to be raised like walls protecting his home, and constant violent storms to ward off anyone threatening to cause trouble. For hundreds of years, no foreigner was allowed to step foot within the nation's boundaries. Anyone that tried would quickly be reduced to ash, and just a number added to the untold amount he's slayed in order to protect himself and his territory. Kind he may be to his own, but to foes he is merciless. With his black horns and piercing eyes, some refer to him as a devil incarnate.

A land unseen by outlanders, it's peaceful and magical in it's beauty. However, it seems that while your presence may be surprising, it is not a shock. You're taken by knights in gray and black, escorted away. The god of electro, Malleus, has invited you to his castle. There is astonishment and disbelief in people's eyes, a foreigner alive and well. Most like you would have been reduced to particles before they could even step foot past the thorns.

Much to your horror, or relief, once you're brought to the god of dreams, he seems delighted to have you here. It seems your presence was expected, as all he said was, "So you've finally come to see me, hm? I was beginning to grow concerned that perhaps I would have been left out of your list of destinations."

This was the last option, the only one you could turn to in finding a way home. Surely, the most ancient and powerful deity would hold the answer and assist you, since he had been so kind as to allow you inside his nation. Although as welcoming as he may be, you must remember that despite his fang-toothed smile and the twinkle in his eyes, this man– no, god, was archaic and all-powerful. He must have killed more people than you will ever know, wiped out whole armies and flattened entire nations. Malleus tilts his head at you, requesting that you recount your tale, with every minute detail.

This will be the end, there will be no escaping Diasomnia. Of course, you shall not know until later. For now, the god of dreams delights in your stories. You were the first guest he's had in thousands of years, and one of the few who did not wish to slay the legendary dragon that was the electro deity. Malleus knows what you desire, he has seen it in your dreams. However, he will not be kind and grant you what you sought. If he did, then what he desired would then vanish: you.

[merakiui]

eden.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, nsfw, non-con, captivity, obsession, menophilia/period sex, vague references to the story of adam & eve note - a self-indulgent paradise crafted by rollo's generous, gracious hand.

Silvery slivers of moonlight spill through the space in the curtains, illuminating the fluffy sheets you’re currently entangled in. A sharp sting in your abdomen rouses you from your dreamless slumber, so agonizing it causes you to slowly curl in on yourself. Miserable and defeated, you groan and bury your face in the neighboring pillow. Now muffled, the sound can only carry on for however much capacity your lungs possess. It eventually fizzles out into a solemn, silent resignation that forces you to accept the third day of the monthly curse that is the menstrual cycle.

It’s a natural facet of your biology, but that doesn’t stop you from moping when you register the slick sensation between your legs.

This wouldn’t be an issue if he got me pads or tampons, you think, bitter with resentment and worn to exhaustion even though you’ve only just woken.

Awkwardly, you attempt to sit up and pull the covers back to check the damage. Rollo’s sheets are always spotless and fresh; he washes them every two weeks on Sunday afternoons, dedicated to following his schedule down to the letter. But then the pain persists, stabbing through to your very organs, and you resume your pitiful fetal position in hopes that the severity may abate.

It does, but you think you’re just tricking yourself into believing so.

You can feel the blood soaking through your white nightgown, and the sodden fabric molds itself to your rear in a very unpleasant way. Shuddering, you blink back tears.

I wanna go home.

Home, as it happens, has felt less and less temporary with each passing month spent in Twisted Wonderland. You’ve come to associate the familiarity of Night Raven College and its student body with comfort and contentment. It’s your home away from home. A long, long way from home. But it’s all you’ve ever had since the Dark Mirror beckoned you forth, and it’s served as your solace for a while.

Initially, you felt trapped and alone, uncertain of your fate and what this could mean for your life. But now you realize that no amount of feeling stuck at school could ever compare to this—to real confinement.

Your capture and, subsequently, your captor’s inexplicable infatuation are the result of arbitrary observation. In his frigid, heavy-eyed stare, you fit the criteria for a definition of purity he has constructed for his own abstract conduct. Untouched by magic, unable to conjure even the simplest spell, you are the speck of hope within Pandora’s box—a blessing enshrouded in sin.

“It must be taxing to live amongst mages so often,” he had said, as if to extend sympathy.

Foolishly, not quite understanding where those words were coming from, you replied in jest, “Believe me, it is. The amount of times I’ve nearly been caught in the crossfire when my friends get into heated arguments… Yikes.”

Rollo Flamme is a righteous man, and thus it is his duty to build a pristine paradise for you. An Eden of his own creation, its sole purpose to safeguard you from the pollution that is magic and, by extension, mages.

But purity cannot be found here, for Rollo is a devil in this garden. Potted plants adorn the floor; it’s something of a floral jungle, filling the room with perfumed scents and pretty sights. You’ve made note of their habits—of every flower that wilts and rises once it’s watered, of every petal that pries itself open under the moon’s glow and closes come sunrise, of every stem that’s trimmed to prevent excess.

Rollo Flamme prefers tidy spaces, so this well-kept garden is sterile and peaceful. You’ve likened it to a morgue filled with dead things—or soon-to-be dead things, as most plants cannot thrive forever no matter how diligent the botanist.

He barked a humorless, monosyllabic laugh at your declaration. “Unless you’ve chosen to view yourself as a rotting corpse, which you are not, your comparison is both unwarranted and untrue,” he muttered, and that was the final utterance of that subject.

Conversations with Rollo are always impossible, which is why you’re dreading this next one when he turns the key in the lock. The sound is like a gunshot in an empty room: explosive. As if echoing your discomfort, your cramps worsen in their intensity and you suck in a shaky breath through grit teeth. You hear the door shut and lock, sentencing you to an exchange with an unwanted warden. He walks into a mostly serene scene, his glacial gaze sweeping across the room to pick apart any interruptions in this slice of Shangri-La.

“I’ve brought dinner,” he announces, and you lift your head to peer at the tray in his hands.

“I don’t want your grapes and croissants,” you spit. “I want something warm.”

“It is warm.” Stepping closer, he sets the tray on his desk. You spy wispy tendrils rising from a bowl of soup. “Sit up and eat before it goes cold.”

You attempt that, halfway up on your elbows, but then your abdomen tightens and you slump back into the sheets. “Hurts,” you whine, clutching your stomach.

Rollo sniffs at the air, brows furrowing. His shoes click out an even rhythm against the floorboards, stopping at your bedside. Without ceremony he yanks the duvet away and you hiss at him, humiliated even though it’s normal. Your skin prickles with a chill, and it’s made even worse when you see the fiery glint in his eyes—the perceptive sort of glaze that overtakes his pupils when he’s observing you. His eyes crawl down your figure, stopping at the stain sullying your satin nightgown.

“Ah, you’ve leaked.”

“Obviously,” you snap. “I did this yesterday, too. When are you going to get me pads? Or tampons? I’ll even take a towel at this point or toilet paper. Anything is better than this.”

Rollo shakes his head. “You’re perfectly fine as you are.”

“Free bleeding like this is filthy and unsanitary.”

“So I’ll simply clean you.”

You drag your hand down your face and groan. “Rollo, please. It hurts, and it’s wet and uncomfortable.”

“You’ve illustrated these points more than clearly.”

“So then… Then do something about it!”

He narrows his eyes at you, silently taking issue with your demand, before he hums his consideration. His face settles into something neutral while he removes his hat and shoes, dutifully setting them in their respective places.

Rollo surprises you when he climbs onto the bed, kneeling over you with the tiniest trace of a smile.

“Spread your legs. I’ll have a look.”

Fresh horror blooms on your already distraught countenance. You bickered with him over this yesterday when he’d brought a wet rag to your inner thigh, seething at you to stay still while he wiped you down. You’d wrestled with him for ownership of the rag, insisting in panicked huffs that you could do it yourself. Your slap had rung out in the silence, rendering Rollo stiff with stormy emotions. He’d relinquished the rag, scoffing at you for being ungrateful and resolving to scribble in his diary for the rest of the day—a prisoner to his own silent treatment.

Now, as his cold fingertips creep up your legs, you feel less hungry and more sick.

Weakly, you shake your head at him, sinking deeper into the pillows. “I… I can do it myself…”

“With what? The nightgown you’ve already dirtied?” He tilts his head at you and smiles an odd smile. You can’t place it, whether it’s smug or sweet, but it soon becomes the former when he throws your words right back at you: “That’s filthy and unsanitary.”

“You don’t have anything either,” you retort, only to grimace once more.

Rollo exhales through his nose, amusement flashing in his dreary eyes. “Because I’m not going to clean you. Not yet.”

Ice crystalizes within your veins, and the tension in your legs slackens enough for him to pull them apart. “What?”

His hands stray dangerously close. You stiffen, nerves tangling with panic. “There are ways to alleviate menstrual cramps. You should be aware of them, so I see no need to go into detail.”

“I know, yes, but—” You swallow thickly and push his reaching fingers away before they can curl around the hem of your nightgown. “Rollo, please don’t…”

“You’ll feel better,” he assures you matter-of-factly, whispering the words like that will change anything. “This is better than medicine and safer than magic.”

You shift beneath him, unsettled. “A… A hot compress will do. Y-You’ll get yourself dirty. Also! A-Also… If we don’t wash the sheets soon, it’ll stain.”

“Let it. It will serve as a reminder to both of us. A reminder that, though you may ruin these sheets with all manner of bodily fluids, they will still remain pure.” He lifts your nightgown, leaning close to your ear while palming at your stomach. You angle yourself away from him, eyes squeezed shut. “It’s because you’re perfect and clean, untainted by magic, that you are able to exist here. I envy you…”

His bare hand is cold against your warm belly and it travels lower, his fingers hooking around the waistband of your panties. You stifle a whine, tears welling up behind your eyelids.

“Rollo…”

“Even your voice…” He inhales deeply, high off the scent of you—metallic and pungent, a natural musk more enticing than any flowery perfume. “Everything about you is so clean, even the very blood that pools between your legs… Just a moment in your embrace is enough to wash away the layers of filth that accumulate on my person. Perhaps you might even manage to scrub beneath my skin, wash out every ounce of magic that rests within… Would that I could, I’d break myself into pieces so that you may reassemble me—build a better me. A me without magic. If only…”

His other hand slithers into yours, squeezing tight. You’re arrested by the strain in his tone when he speaks next, so full of yearning and desperation. Covetous. Shameless.

“If only.”

“R-Rollo, please stop…”

“Yes… Yes, of course,” he babbles, nodding to himself. “I’ve likened you to a concept—to purity alone—but you are more than that. The embodiment of it… An angel. Otherworldly, immune to the poisonous effects of magic… Yes, that is what you are. An angel bereft of flaws.”

He fishes his celestial-patterned handkerchief from his pocket and presses it to your lips next. Your eyes snap open to find him now much closer than before, and you have but a moment to brace yourself before he leans in. The kiss is indirect, the both of you separated by the cloth, but the intention is there. It sticks to you even after he’s lowered the handkerchief. You are too pure and he is too filthy, which is why your lips must never touch.

Contradictory because he’s kissed you before.

Rollo drags your blood-soaked panties down to your knees. You shudder like a frail leaf caught in autumn’s harsh breeze.

“I’ve saved you—freed you!—from those…those villains. So you must allow me to indulge.” He shakes his head, his licentious, lustful stare smoldering to such a scorching degree it brands impure, unhealthy love upon your bare flesh. “I will indulge because I have been nothing but agreeable. This—” his fingers brush your slick folds, testing the waters— “is a wonder no magic could ever hope to reproduce. This is just you. Perfect, pretty, pure you…”

Experimentally, his digits dip shallowly inside. You flinch and inhale a sharp, frantic breath, your stomach somersaulting and knotting itself all at once. Complicated feelings stir within you as you writhe under his invasive touch. Your effort to escape is halfhearted; it’s too painful to move, so instead you attempt to clamp your legs shut. He tuts at you and slips his hand out from your hold to pet along your thigh.

“There goes a certain tale,” Rollo says, breathless as he continues his patient exploration. His eyes rove over your pussy like he intends to imprint it in his memory, and he doesn’t shy away from the crimson rivulet that runs down his palm when he sinks his fingers in further. You grit your teeth, melting against the pillows like an angel stamped in snow, and your free hand strangles a fistful of sheets. “In which a pair lived together in paradise, but it was temptation that ultimately led to their downfall. It is a doomed narrative.”

You’re breathing heavily now, your eyes flicking from the ceiling to the many plants that surround you on all sides, each one in full bloom. It feels as if you’re on a bed-turned-boat in a sea of greenery.

A sea of divine fertility.

With a skillful curl the two fingers delve deeper, pressing up against your gummy walls. Against your better judgment, you whine, loud and bawdy. His touch soothes, but then it stings. It makes you want to peel yourself open and step out of your skin so that you may subject it to a vigorous washing. It makes you despise the scent of flowers. It makes you fear the sound of the bell as it tolls unfailingly every single day. It makes you wish you’d never opened your mouth to respond to his words all those weeks ago.

Tears slip from your lash line. “Stop… Please stop…”

“Perhaps this is that same story made modern. Perhaps you were sculpted specially for me and I for you.” A third finger joins the other two working you open. Paper-pale skin is coated in brilliant vermillion, the very color of ardent desire. “Perhaps we are destined to fall together, born anew in someplace purer…”

The slow, steady drag of his fingers is more tempting than the ripe redness between your thighs, and you force yourself to gaze sidelong at the soup sitting abandoned on his desk. He plucks at each of your tangled, dewy strings, unraveling them with graceful strokes, and you’re pulled along on the blissfully uncomfortable current, treading between someplace grounded in reality and fantasy.

From above, at the bird’s eye view, you have become a garden for Rollo’s twisted whimsy.

You return to yourself when he eases his fingers out, stalling for a silent beat, before he thrusts them back in in one fluid motion. It punches the air from your lungs, has you throwing your head back with a weepy howl. He watches this with fierce scrutiny, curious at a clinical level.

“You’re beautiful,” he admits, spreading his fingers inside you. “My world. My panacea. My angel.”

“No… No, no.” You sob, your chest heaving with every wail. You can smell yourself on the air, the sharp scents of iron and sweat. Your pussy weeps blood, devastated at the hands of a monster, and yet it can’t stop affixing itself to him. A mold meant to suit his design. “Please… Please take it out.”

A shadow of contemplation passes over Rollo’s flushed countenance and then he’s reaching over to dry your tears, dabbing at your face with his handkerchief. “You’re okay. It doesn’t hurt anymore, right?”

You shake your head in protest rather than respond, chewing your bottom lip to shreds. A feeble whine slips through and you arch into him when his thumb presses down into your clit and prods at your hood. It happens all too fast. You tighten and loosen all at once, your mouth dropping open and eyes rolling back. The sheets are soaked through and properly soiled now, but that fact doesn’t lessen the seismic ecstasy that drapes itself over you like a veil. Your vision whites out and you fall, fall, fall through the waning vestiges.

Your heart drops into your stomach at the realization.

It doesn’t hurt anymore.

“You’ve done well.” He slides his fingers out, and the gooey squelching wrings a shudder from you. This time he grants you one of his rare smiles—the authentic, sincere kind—while he presses the pads of his fingers to his upturned lips, dyeing himself in your essence. You blink through encroaching tears, an ocean that obscures your vision and fuzzies his figure.

His fingers dig into the plush pudge of your thighs, thumbs rubbing soothing circles along your adductors. You open yourself again, involuntarily blossoming in this garden of iniquity.

“Good,” he praises again, whisper-soft. “You’re only permitted to be this way with me. Anyone else would simply tarnish your sweetness. They’d take advantage of your ability to cleanse even the foulest of filth. But I…”

Rollo, still clothed and now libidinous in his impatience, fumbles to pull himself free. His throbbing erection presses against your stomach, the final piece to force this puzzle to completion.

“I will always lay myself at your altar.”

You beg him not to, but every objection goes unheard. His hips connect with yours; he’s holding back, if only just barely, pressing onwards slowly, his breath coming in huffs and grunts. To savor it. To know the feeling firsthand and engrave it into his very being, from his fingers to his toes. To immerse himself in the red rain of a shackled angel.

To color a picturesque paradise in cardinal sin.

Just beyond the windows of Eden, swathed in midnight luminescence, a glorious city set aflame burns bright, overtaken by fiery flowers.

[professorsnape394]

Day 5: Staying with Severus

Pairing: Severus Snape x OC

Rating: 🥰

Prompt: Pillow

Summary: Y/N is forced to stay with Severus after Peeves destroys her living quarters and secrets are exposed.

A/N: Part 2 to Snapetober Day 3 'Haunt'. Again this one kind of ran away from me and turned out being a lot longer than I expected.

Warnings: casual drinking?

Word Count: 3314

Credits to the artist.

DAY 1

“Alright, let’s hear it.” I said, dropping my bags at my feet upon entry.

“Excuse me?” Severus looked at me inquisitively.

“You said you’d have stipulations for me staying with you, let’s hear them.”

“Very well.” He sighed, crossing his arms over his chest. “As there is no spare bedroom you will unfortunately have to sleep here on the couch. This means, you are to wait until nightfall to arrange your sheets accordingly. Similarly, I don’t want to see them in the morning, I would like them to be removed before I awake.”

“Not a problem, I’m just grateful to be able to escape that pesky poltergeist. Anything else?”

“I expect all the living areas to be kept clean and tidy.”

“Of course.” So far nothing too unreasonable.

“No excessive noise; this means no music or singing or anything else I might consider grating.”

“Not even in the shower?” Snape raised a single eyebrow at me. “I’m kidding. I’ll keep to myself I promise.”

“No wandering, I don’t want you messing with my things. And no guests whatsoever; I do not wish to stumble upon anything I do not wish to see.”

“You don’t have to worry about that.” I smirked. If only he knew.

“I have some marking to do in my office tonight, so that will let you get settled in peace.”

“No worries, I’m just excited to take a long shower in a bathroom that’s actually clean for once. I’ll probably spend the night reading on the couch by the fire, if that’s alright with you. I haven’t had peace and quiet for so long.”

“I’ll be back around 10, until then you are free to do as you wish.”

Severus quickly made his way to the door, seemingly wanting to get out of my way as soon as humanly possible.

“Severus.” I called after him. “Thank you for this. I really do appreciate it.”

With a curt nod he way on his way.

It was a struggle to stay awake after my shower; the heat of the fire making my eyes droop almost instantly. It was the first time in weeks I was had complete silence and my body was starting to naturally shut itself down. Unable to wait until Severus returned to set up my bed, I fell asleep right there on the sofa, curled into myself to keep warm.  

DAY 2

I awoke the next morning in exactly the same with the exception of a fluffy blanket that had been gently placed over my body.

It seemed not only had Severus silently entered last night, but had also already left before I awoke this morning. There was practically no sign of any life having ever been in the small apartment that were his living quarters.

Knowing I didn’t have long until breakfast I quickly made my way about getting ready for the day, making sure to leave as little trace of myself as possible.

As I arrived in the Great Hall I flashed Severus a large smile he had no in intention of returning, his cold demeanour never having changed despite his uncharacteristically kind gesture.

“You’re looking awfully chipper this morning.” Minerva commented as I took my seat next to her.

“Let’s just say I’ve found a temporary living situation, completely devoid of poltergeists.”

“How did you manage to pull that off?”

“I took your advice.” I smiled, unable to help myself from glancing towards to the potions master.

“I see.” She grinned. “And how is it going so far?”

“Fine. I’ve pretty much had the place to myself.” I shrugged.

“You mean the two of you haven’t spent any time together yet?”

“Not really. And to be honest it doesn’t seem like he’s planning to at all.”

“Hmm.” She turned her attention to her mug of tea.

My peace didn’t last as long as I had initially hoped with Peeves showing up half way through breakfast, beginning once again to annoy the living daylights out of me. Despite his taunting getting worst a decent night’s sleep made all the difference and I was finally able to endure his taunting. My sudden disappearance from my chambers only seemed to spur the ghost on; seemingly pissed off that I had managed to find a loophole in his agreement.

From verbal taunts to disruptive actions; Peeves quickly changed tactics to more disturbing forms of chaos. He started with turning the heating off to my classroom, causing issues for not only myself but my pupils for the day. Then he took it as far as to tear up my students test sheets, using the remnants of parchment as confetti while he followed me around for the rest of the day. Yes, it was frustrating to say the least but nothing I couldn’t endure until the end of the week.

It didn’t come as a shock to me that Severus was not in his chambers when I returned later that evening. I almost felt guilty for spending more time in his quarters than he was; not fully expecting how inconvenient my staying here would be for him, but at the same time I wasn’t willing to spend any more time being tortured by Peeves than was absolutely necessary.

This time I managed to stay awake to see him return, hoping to ask him a question that had been on my mind all day.

“Hey.” I greeted him as he crept through the door.

Severus faltered at my words, clearly not expecting me to be awake.

“Good evening.” He said without stopping.

“Do you want to sit with me for a bit?” I offered, not wanting to chase him out of his own living room.

“I don’t think so, I’m not really in the mood to talk.”

“Oh okay, no worries.” The disappointment in my voice evident.

His eyes fluttered shut, a short sigh escaping his lips.

“If you’re still up for it tomorrow, we can talk then.” He compromised.

“Sounds great.”

He began to leave again.

“Wait, Severus, one more thing. Was this you?” I gripped onto the blanket I had taken the liberty of wrapping around myself again.

“You looked cold.” He said simply before disappearing into his bedroom.

DAY 3

“Hey.” I smiled, tucking my feet under myself as Snape returned from yet another night hidden away in his office.

Snape didn’t even bother to look in my direction, stalking over to his liquor cabinet on the opposite side of the room. Pouring himself a large glass of Firewhiskey, Severus raised the bottle in my direction, cocking a single eyebrow to silently offer me a drink.

“No thanks.” I smiled, lifting up my half-drunk mug. “I’m good with tea.”

He grunted in response. Taking his sweet time to drain his glass, before pouring himself another, Snape slowly made his way over to the couch.

Patting the empty seat beside me I encouraged him to join me. Unsurprisingly, he opted for the solitary leather armchair.

“So…” I tried to break the awkwardness of the silence. “How was your day?”

“Perfectly adequate.”

“Oh.” I focused my stare into my lap. I knew Severus wasn’t the warmest of men, but we had known each other well over a decade now and yet he was speaking to me like he barely knew me. While we were never friends, and I knew Severus didn’t get along with James and Sirius, I wasn’t aware he felt the same hatred towards me.

Starting to regret my want to reconnect with him, I considered maybe it would be best to keep my distance. That was until he spoke again.

“Better than your day, anyway. I hear the poltergeist hasn’t let up.” He elaborated.

“Yeah, I think he’s pissed I’ve found a hack in his system. But I can put up with it for a few days if it means I get to come home to peace and quiet every night. I never fully appreciated how truly tranquil it is down here, I understand why you want to keep it that way.”

“I’m not entirely sure if it’s a natural quality of the place or just that the students stay clear of the halls at risk of running into me.”

“Oh, come on, you’re not that bad.” I giggled, though he seemed deadly serious.

He shot me a glaring look.  

“You forget I knew you before you were like this, Severus.”

“And what exactly is this.” He sneered, taking another large gulp of his whiskey.

“I don’t know…. Intimidating? Scary? Dark and brooding. Whatever persona you’re trying to portrait, you’ve not always been that way.”

“And you would know how I used to be?”

I bit my lip nervously.

“You’re clever.” I stated, deciding it would be better to prove how well I knew him rather than to try and explain myself.  “Probably the most intelligent person I’ve ever meet, to be honest. And you’re and mysterious, in a way that’s sort of intriguing. And you can be kind… when you want to be.”

“You’re an interesting woman, Y/N.”

I couldn’t help but blush at the sudden intensity of his stare.

“How’d you mean?”

“You’re so … likeable.”

“And that’s a bad thing?”

“It’s confusing.”

“I don’t understand.”

“How could a girl like you end up friends with those infernal boys. I’ve never understood it.”

“Oh. Well, I don’t really know how it happened, we were in the same house I guess it was inevitable. I would study with Remus after class and Sirius seemed to take a shine to me from day one. They we’re really the kind of people I would have chosen as friends, but c’est la vie.” I shrugged.

“Did you two ever….” Snape eyed me intently before taking another swig of whiskey.

“Me and Sirius?” I scoffed, “Don’t be ridiculous. He was never my type.”

“Hmm.” He hummed, seemingly satisfied.  

“It seemed to me that you and I would have been perfect friends, Severus. We always frequented the same secluded spots.”

“I liked to keep to myself.”

“I noticed. I was always just trying to find a moments peace from those boys, but I don’t imagine you ever saw me.”

“I did.”

“I just figured I was one of those people who were easily overlooked, I didn’t expect to be noticed by anyone.”

“I always noticed you.” His eyes met mine once more, daring me to be the first to look away.

Clearing his throat, he looked down at his once again empty class. I win.

“Well, I think I better turn in for the night.” The eery silence of the room threatened to swallow us whole.

“No worries.” I smiled, bashfully. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.” He smirked.

DAY 4

The following night Severus returned from dinner and joined me by the fire without prompting.

He took his usual path to the back of the room; fumbling about with his glass decanter as he always had before speaking a word to me. Watching him I realised; he did this not because he was rude, as I had initially suspected, but that he was nervous and he needed a moment to himself to mentally prepare himself before joining me by the fire. The moment the tight muscles in his shoulders dropped, I knew he was ready to chat.

“Tea?” He called without looking back.

“Oh. Eh… yeah, go on then.” I said, caught off guard by his offer.

Falling back into silence I continued to watch as Severus busied himself making my drink.

Despite clearing room for him on the opposite side of the couch, he once again opted for his singular worn down arm chair.

“Coping any better with the haunting today?” He asked, still preoccupied with his drink.  

“Oh definitely. I think just knowing I don’t have to deal with him when I come back here has taken so much weight off my shoulders. I was struggling there for a while, but I don’t think there is anything he could do to me now that I can’t handle.”

“Good. That’s… good.”

The awkwardness in the air threatened to halt the conversation all together.

“Do you have any plans for the weekend?” I asked in a panic.

“No.” He answered a little too quickly. “I don’t tend to… socialise much.”

“I remember.” I chuckled, earning a stern glare from the professor. “If you want, we could go get a drink together. I’ve yet to take a wander into Hogsmeade, maybe you could remind me of the way? That is unless you’d prefer to be alone.”

“I usually do.” He hesitated. “Though there is a select few I can tolerate spending time with.”

“I don’t suppose I fall into that category.” I blushed, realising he was avoiding my question.

“You’re getting there.” He admitted. “It hasn’t been nearly as inconvenient having you stay here as I expected.”

“If you were dreading it so much, why did you say yes?” I was suddenly very conscious that I was imposing by staying here and that maybe I should have just stuck it out another week like everyone else had.

“Because you asked me to.” Severus spoke softly.

“But I was only joking, you didn’t really have to agree if it made you uncomfortable.”

“I wanted to.” He confirmed, his eyes telling me he meant it.

“Well, I know I’ve said it plenty of times, but I really do appreciate it.” I gulped, finding it hard to relax again.

“Stop stressing, Y/N, I’ll accompany you to Hogsmeade.” The tension I was holding in my body instantly eased at his words.

DAY 5

“What is this?” Snape questioned upon my entry, for once he hadn’t returned to his office after dinner. He held a weathered old book between his hands, his eyes scanning page after page.

“No idea.” I shrugged, barely looking away from my book.

“It belongs to you; a diary I believe.”

“What?” I paled. “Where did you get that?”

I had only kept a diary once in my life; I poured my heart and soul into it through my teen years at school. It contained every thought I had, every emotion I felt, and worst of all, my biggest secret I had tried so hard to hide. I kept the for the sentimental value but had otherwise forgotten it existed, buried it in a drawer somewhere in my chambers.

“It was pinned to the door… with this note.”

He held up a singular yellow post it baring the words; READ ME.

Peeves. That ghost had gone too far now.

“Give it back.” I demanded, jumping from my chair,

“Why? Is there something you don’t want me to see?” He raised an eyebrow challengingly.

“No.” I blushed.  “It’s just private.” I tried to snatch it from his grasp.

“Ah, I see. Wouldn’t want to reveal any hidden emotions or… artistic abilities.”

I blanched further.

“You’ve seen them.”

“I may have stumbled upon a few drawings, yes.”

“Oh God, please don’t tell me you’ve read it.”

“Afraid so.” He stated simply, but made no effort to stop the huge grin spreading across his face.

I hastily flicked through the pages, scanning as much as I could to gauge what he knew. The text was damning. Severus Snape knew that I was in love with him.

“You’ve read all this?”

“Yep.”

“So… you know?”

“Every. Last. Detail.”

“It’s really old; I was a hormonal teenager and I wrote down anything that popped into my head. It doesn’t mean anything, I promise.”

“I see. And the pictures?”

“They’re just sketches, I… thought you had an interesting face.”

“You never drew your friends?”

“I tried but they mostly annoyed me the whole time.”

“They’re impressive.” He noted simply, reaching for them again.

“Thank you.” I gulped.

We took to the couch again that night, Severus enjoying the embarrassment that showed on my face time he spared a glance at my sketches still spread over the coffee table.

DAY 6

“I’ve been thinking about your journal.” Severus brought up the following night.

“Hmm?” I hummed, pretending to preoccupy myself, despite the burning feeling starting to crawl up my neck once more.

“You said it was old, that your feelings for me ending during our time together at school.”

“Of course. It was just a teenage crush, nothing more.”

“So you say but upon leaving for breakfast this morning. I happened upon something else pinned to the door.”

“Really, what?” I sipped my tea, trying hard not to sound invested.

All sense of composure left my body the minute he lay a further pile of parchment on the coffee table.

“Oh.” My stomach dropped at the sight.

Another set of drawings of the potions master stared back at me; this time more recent depictions of the man.

Despite the previous sketches having taken place over a number of years the second pile was just as large.

“Care to explain?” His words were curt but his tone had a hint of amusement to it.

There was no hiding the scarlet hue of my face nor the fact I obviously continued to draw Snape in my free periods since I started at Hogwarts.

“They’re from memory.” I blurted. “It’s not like I’m sitting watching you or anything. I… I just like to draw your face.”

“Is there a reason you like my face in particular?”

“I already told you; I find it interesting.”

“Anything else?”

“No. I…”

“Y/N.” He cut me off.

“Yes?” I squeaked.

“Are you still in love with me?”

I bit my lip nervously, having to force myself from spilling my life long secret.

Snape stared me down.

I nodded before I had a chance to think too much about it. Instantly my mind went into overdrive.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s inappropriate of me to stay here when I feel this way. I just really needed help and you-“

My rambling was cut off by the crashing of his lips against mine.

“I feel the same way.” He admitted, mouth hungrily moving against mine.

“You do?” The air had almost completely left my body, I couldn’t believe what I was hearing.

Now it was his turn to nod.

“Why do you think I was so nervous to speak to you when you first arrived. I was always jealous of those boys for getting to spend time so much time with you when I liked you so much. All I wanted was you all to myself. I just never knew how to approach you.”

“I was worried you couldn’t even remember I existed.” I let out a breathless laugh.

“Believe me, I always remembered.” He pressed his lips against mine once more, this time deepening the kiss.

DAY 7

For the first time that week I didn’t wake up on that old green velvet couch, but instead on the chest of Severus Snape.

After our revelation last night we waited no longer than walk to the bedroom to finally let out our years long pent-up emotions for one another.

We immediately fell into his dark satin sheets; our bodies becoming a tangled mess of moans and gasps until we collapsed breathlessly against one another. Severus with his arm wrapped tightly around my waist, and me with my head using his body as a pillow.

The first thing I remember thinking when I opened my eyes was that I never wanted to go back to real pillows ever again.

~

“I guess I’m finally free to leave then.” I commented as we drank our morning coffee together, still snuggled under the sheets of his bed.  

My month long haunting had finally come to an end.

“That’s true.” Severus responded. “Or… you could stay.”

“What, here?” My eyes nearly burst out my head.

“For a while.” He shrugged. “Or just tonight?”

“How about we start with tonight.” I grinned, leaning into touch.

We had plenty of time to spend together from here on out.

[unholybacon355]

Milk Coffee

Mina x Reader

Words Count: 3.6k

A/N: You and your coworker Mina take a lovely breakfast together this morning at the office.

It had been an intense week of work, and it just didn’t seem to be stopping anytime soon. You and your team were currently working into making a contract for a new client that you bring to the company, giving everyone the smallest of margins regarding time, and placing a lot of pressure upon every detail so it remained perfect. There wasn't a day in which you didn’t stay after work hours, so coffee and energy drinks had become your greatest allies.

One particular night you had seemingly fallen asleep in the office, finishing so late that it was no longer worth going home. You simply decided to sleep on a couch in the break room. Your co-worker, and faithful assistant in your arduous task, Miyou Mina, had just happened to have fallen asleep on the sofa next to you when you entered the room, so, carefully and quietly, you made your way into your own temporary bed, the couch, and slept through the night.

Mina was a cheerful girl, despite always having loads of work like everyone else she never lost her smile. Sometimes you even wondered how a girl like her had come to be your co-worker. The word beautiful fell short for the likes of her, if elegance and beauty had a baby, Mina would certainly be her name.Not just her beauty, but she also most definitely had a figure any model would envy, and that gorgeous polka-dotted face of hers could make you buy whatever product she was advertising.

The company didn’t really have any rules about relationships between colleagues,as long as it didn't affect the performance, it wasn't a problem for anyone.But maybe in another life, where you weren't so committed and invested in work, you would have tried something with her despite the small age difference between you both.

The morning after you both passed the night on the break room couches, she decided to go out for some pastries for breakfast. The well equipped kitchen in the room allowed you to make some coffee for yourself and Mina, figuring that a nice cup would wake some senses for you both.

You and Mina were basically the only people in the building. The cleaning crew didn’t work weekends, and there was still time for anyone to arrive as well. Not to mention, you had instructed everyone to come in an hour later than usual, knowing they had earned it from the gruesome week of work that raged through.

Even though you weren't the boss, you were high enough in the chain of command to make those decisions, and after all they didn't have to suffer from the extra work you brought into the office. It was fifteen minutes to nine and you knew no one would arrive until half past that hour as you had previously told them, so you knew you had some quality time to have breakfast in peace with Mina.

Who knows, maybe today you would feel a little brave to flirt with her, but just a little. After all, reactions from cute girls like Mina would naturally bring your mood to the max.One thing is certain, and that was that you hoped that your occasional glimpses of her deep cleavage or her luscious legs had gone unnoticed. Even when you stole glances at her perfectly molded butt, which, regardless of whether she was wearing a skirt or a dress, it had always managed to look deleitable.

The last few weeks, you had also noticed that her touches and glances towards you were becoming a frequent thing, the occasional brush of your arm whenever she laughed, the playful rolling of your hair whenever she stood next to your chair, and leaning on your shoulder as you took the elevator to get to your floor. Not only that, but the occasional brush of your legs, the playfulness when you both sat together, and the faint feeling of her feet brushing against your legs whenever she sat across from you were also signs that she might have been having a little too much fun with you.

But again, you wouldn’t think too much about it. Small office would always lead to a lot of interactions. It was ten minutes to nine when you heard the door opening once again, noticing your coworker entering while carrying a small box that seemingly contained the pastries.

Mina always radiated beauty even in the most occasional of outfits. A simple cream-colored blouse with a bow adorning the middle, the jacket agreeing with the skirt that showed her long legs, meaty thighs. And the high heels with straps that secured her ankles. Everything made you want to admire her more closely. You had noticed how she had touched up her makeup before leaving for the pastries, but you didn’t have the time to admire her beautiful hair cascading behind her shoulders, something you quickly did as she entered with a smile. Despite the simplicity of her clothes, Mina had managed to look radiant. As if she had belonged in a runway and not a corporate office.

"Hope I didn't take too long, there were lots of people this morning." She apologized even though in reality she had only been out for a few minutes. "Don't worry, I made us some coffee in the meantime, so I would have still waited ifit wasn’t ready for when you came- woah.” You turned and suddenly stopped, a cup in each hand and almost spilling the contents on the person in front of you.

There she was, Mina, with her back facing you, on tiptoes that attempted to reach in order to get some plates from the cabinet in the wall; so, naturally, her skirt rose, blessing you with the sight of her smooth things from behind. Her extended form made the fabric clung to her curves , giving you a clear view of the shape of her ass, the sight of her cheeks parted without any effort was a blessing.

The sudden stop made you unable to move immediately, not to mention the way you ogled at her perfect backside like an animal, so, once she put her weight back on her heels you were practically touching each other involuntarily, making Mina let out a sudden gasp, as your heart jumped at the sudden touch. Her shapely butt pressing against your erection, which had formed at the speed of sound, but who could blame you with a view so perfect?

Mina didn't say anything, she stood still for a few seconds, making you swallow hard at what was going to be happening with you and your career. But to your surprise, she did something that took your breath away completely. Against all odds, Mina began to slowly rub her bottom in circles over your erection. "Oh. Did you get that hard just from a little glance?” You couldn't believe what you had just heard, but you weren't going to complain about what was happening either. “I didn't think you were that shy. Or maybe this isn’t really what you’re into?” She added to your silence. "I've seen the way you look at me, I know you want me."

You slowly put the two cups of coffee down on the kitchen worktop, thinking about what you were about to say."If this is some kind of prank you're going to regret it." Truth was that you wanted to grab her hips and rub against her, but if it was some kind of trick to make you fall, you'd rather stay safe. Although from her apparent response, she was very convincing, and that’s because she decided to rub her ass up and down your erection behind your pants. It was painfully slow but satisfyingly hard, the pressure she put into it made her cheeks part enough so that your cock could be felt between her rear. And she, instead of saying a word, just let out a small moan.

That moan was your breaking point, not being able to resist anymore, you took her by her slim waist, making the girl let out a gasp and a moan after you pulled her towards you even more. Letting your covered shaft be smothered by her parted asscheeks. More muffled moans escaped her mouth as she straightened herself to press her whole body against you. In an almost reflexive act, you began to plant kisses on her neck, still not finding the right mindset to believe how this was happening.

Mina rested her head on your shoulder as a sigh escaped her lips the moment you moved her hips a certain way, this only gave you more access to the intoxicating aroma of her skin, as you were able to take in the sweat that covered her body mixed with the perfume that she had applied the day before. After all, neither of you had had the opportunity to clean yourselves properly since you both spent the night at the company, but far from upsetting you, it only made your desires grow by the second.

You leave her waist and raise your hands to her supple chest, kneading both her breasts, as you bring your mouth closer to hers. Smothering her neck all over while approaching her full lips, until you finally connected hers with yours. Your tongues began to tangle in such a lustful way that you thought was forgotten in you. After all, it has been a long time since you've done something like that. The constant worrying of your job made it impossible for you to be this intimate with someone, relying on sad and lonely occasionally handjobs to relieve some pressure.

Mina decided to suddenly break away from your lips, and touch, making you surprised and left wanting more, but immediately thinking that all of this was just a cause of your twisted fantasies, that she was just playing with you to end your career and take over your place. But the moment she turned and smiled made all of those thoughts fly far away. As if that wasn’t enough, she reached down to raise her skirt and you were able to see her underwear

"We have a lot of time." She breathed out before getting between your legs and pressing her center against your thigh, as you took her by her rear to help her out with her plan, making you hiss at the soft feel of her supple asscheeks on your hands, making you give involuntary hard squeeze that earned you another moan from her lips.

You glanced at the clock on the wall.Nine o'clock, which meant you still had at least half an hour before someone would arrive. More than enough time to do whatever you were going to do in that little kitchen.

Mina began to rub against your leg at a pace that was slowly increasing over time, noticing the quiet moans and irregular breaths as she rubbed herself against you, you decided to help the chase of her orgasm by squeezing even harder on her ass, and kissing her once again.

Moving a little towards the furniture beside her, pressing yourself closer to her, you squeezed her ass and pressed your knee against the furniture, lifting your leg slightly, and pressing your thigh against her drenched cunt even more. Mina had now stood on her tippy toes because this was intense for her, riding your leg with a more feverish rhythm, as you left one of her cheeks to move your hand under her blouse and up to her chest.

Once again, your lips met and your tongues began a battle that seemed to have no winner. You could feel her quiet moans in your mouth, the way her body began to shake lightly as her movements became irregular, and you were more than sure that if it weren't for the fabric of your pants you would also feel her wetness on your leg.

You were met with little resistance on her bra that you would have loved to remove it completely so you could reveal those nice pairs of tits in all their glory, but you settled for playing with her stiff nipple since she was seemingly loving it if it wasn’t by the way she began moaning loudly out in the open room of the kitchen.

You knew you didn't have time to get naked and fuck right there, so the thigh-riding athad to do it, but the fact that she was practically using you to masturbate made you painfully hard by the second, your hard cock throbbing for some attention; but you could only keep using your hands to knead her body, wanting nothing more but to help her chase out her own pleasure.

You went back to her neck, kissing, licking it, savoring it, hungry for her. Little beads of sweat were beginning to gather on her pale skin by the way she moved around your thigh, and you were more than happy to wipe them away with your tongue. The scent of her dirty body from her sex and from spending the night in the office turned you on in a way you never would have imagined.

You used the remaining hand you had on her ass, to grab the back of her neck so you could more comfortably devour her neck, so you could suck on her collarbone and lick her chin, you were freaking out over Mina’s body as her thrusts into your leg became frantic, her moans rising in volume.

She held you tightly by your shoulders and you understood that she was about to cum, you kneaded her chest with need and you kissed her again more than anything to silence her moans. She couldn't play with her tongue anymore, she was too focused on moving her hips and keeping her heels up, so you raised your leg higher to take her off the ground, and taking her up the ass again you hit her as hard as you could. Mina hid her face in the crook of your neck, and in between spasms, and screams of pleasure, she climaxed.

Her whole body trembled against yours, causing her body to collapse against your chest the moment her orgasm finally seemed to be subsiding. You kept squeezing her ass just to feel it, loving the way your fingers sank around the flesh of her supple cheeks, and squeezing hard at one cheek to pull apart from the other.

Your bodies were still so close that despite both of them being fully clothed you could feel the throbbing of her pussy against your thigh at each deep breath she too, a breath that tickled your neck, as you found that despite not having done much you were also panting as if you had just ran a marathon.

You slowly lowered your leg and lowered Mina to the ground, but she was still so tired that she could barely stand, she was still holding you and breathing against your neck.

You stayed like that in silence for a few minutes feeling each other's body, loving the feel of her ass, the constant squeeze of her breasts, just catching your breath in a small kitchen filled with the aroma of sex, and coffee.

That is until Mina started caressing your chest and then lowering her hand until she put it in your pants. She didn't even say anything, and neither did she unbutton your pants when she began handling your cock, she just reached under your clothes and wrapped her fingers around your hard shaft before she slowly began to jerk you off, slowly and with little movement because her hand and your erect member didn't leave much room inside your pants.

Forms of affection swapped as well, with Mina beginning to plant soft and chaste kisses on your neck and chin, as her other hand rubbed along your chest, she was a little shorter than you so now that she was on the ground she had to stretch out a bit to kiss you, by lifting herself on her toes, and you could still feel her erratic breath as she pumped your cock, making you shiver at the tight yet comfortable grip she held on you.

You didn't want to let go of her ass as she worked on your cock, the soft skin of her buttocks felt so good in your hands. Her tender flesh was so malleable but firm that it seemed to melt between your fingers, but you really needed Mina's hand to move more freely, so, almost against your will, you let go of her ass to open your pants and lower them just enough for your cock to spring out.

The release of your cock was welcomed by both of you, her hand now having more range of motion which increases your pleasure, however, Mina did not increase the pace, she continued to slowly masturbate you pressing her fine fingers on your throbbing cock. Twisting her at a rate that almost made your balls ache, pressing her palm on your reddened tip, making your knees weak from her delicate touch to the point where you started moaning and breathing heavily by her technique.

You needed to come soon or you were going to go crazy, besides, you knew you didn't have much time left according to the clock on the wall, it was fifteen past nine, which meant that someone might be showing up soon. But that didn't seem to matter to Mina who simply kept kissing across your jaw without a care in the world as she kept caressing your cock endlessly slowly.

Missing her supple cheeks by a certain stroke that made you rest your hands on the counter behind you, you once again moaned next to her ear, feeling your cock twitching suddenly by her touch. You took another look at the clock and started to worry, it was only ten minutes before kick-off time and you were sure your neck was covered in her lipstick; also both were disheveled and with wrinkled clothes. Not to mention that your thigh had been stained with moisture from your partner's orgasm. Somehow Mina seemed to understand your concerns and she started stroking you harder, moving her hand up and down with a frenzy she hadn't shown until now. You helped her by moving your hips to fuck her hand reaching a new level of pleasure

You could feel the pressure building up in your balls, you knew you were about to explode and it was going to be a lot. To tell the truth, it had been weeks since the last time you came, so you couldn't take it anymore. Closing your eyes and tilting your head back waiting for the release, you couldn’t see what happened next as your breath hitched and slammed onto Mina’s hand one last time.

You closed your eyes and tilted your head back waiting for the release, so you didn't see what happened next. Without stopping jerking off Mina took one of the forgotten coffee cups and pointed your cock at the dark liquid. With your eyes closed you had one of the best orgasms of your life, the release felt so good that you couldn't suppress the moans and moans that came out of your mouth. You almost fell apart right there as your legs were shaking a little, and only Mina's strong grip on your cock seemed to keep you going. Milking you to the last drop of creamy cum, she didn't stop jerking you off until she was completely sure it was all out. However, she did not let go of your shaft.

Now a little calmer you opened your eyes, and smiling for the relief you looked at her expecting to find her a mess. You thought she was going to be mad because you must have cum all over her blouse or skirt, but instead of finding the fabric ruined you saw your load floating in the coffee cup. She kissed your lips without giving you time to react, and finally she released your erection. The truth was that you would have preferred to cum in her mouth or on her body, but you didn't care at all about having done it over the coffee; after all that was the least of it.

You stared at each other for a moment as you both caught your breath, grinning like idiots, and still wanting to trade kisses. You didn't know what what had just happened meant, if it was going to be something at once or if it was going to represent the beginning of something. However, all those thoughts quickly drifted away from you when you heard the front door knob turn.

Quickly Mina gave you one last chaste kiss on your lips and separated from you heading out of the kitchen. In one hand she was holding the coffee cup with your milk, so she used the other to adjust her skirt. Before the fabric returned to their place you could see how her pretty butt practically swallowed her underwear, product of all the hustle and bustle, and how your fingers had been marked on her pale buttocks. But what made your cock hard again was watching her lift the cup to her mouth and take a deep sip of coffee before walking out to greet the newcomer.

You were stunned for a few seconds and then you realized that this was your chance to sneak into the bathroom without being seen. So even with the image of what had just happened you ran to hide to fix your clothes and clean up a bit, leaving behind your cup of cold coffee and the kitchen smelling of sex.

[kumkaniudaku]

Finals

Summary: When Asia's in need of a few lessons regarding matters of the bedroom, her colleague and friend, Kelvin, offers his expertise.

Pairing: Kelvin Harrison Jr. x Black!OC

Warnings: Mature Content (18+)

Word Count: 7.8k

MASTERLIST

Asia felt like home. 

When he was 21 and standing in a line of his sister's bridesmaids listening to her tie the knot in front of God, family, and friends, he heard his new brother-in-law say the phrase in his vows. Melody feels like home. At the time, Kelvin thought it was made up mushy bullshit you say to fluff up dramatic speeches. His jaded heart was fresh off another half-assed attempt at a relationship and felt like love, let alone marriage, was all a sham. It didn't exist. No one was meant to find one person and devote a portion of their lives to staying together. Especially not him. 

Each time love came knocking, he'd open his heart for quick formalities and empty gestures but never let the emotion stick around too long. He wasn't looking for a long-term house guest or anything concrete to keep him stuck in one place for too long. Temporary arrangements as he floated from city to city looking for elusive satisfaction kept him detached enough. Never get too comfortable. Adapt to keep the peace. Play the game. Rinse. Move. Repeat. 

Then, love visited on a rainy Friday night at a grungy bar bearing housewarming gifts. Two dazzling brown eyes brightened up the place. A pretty smile added some warmth to his cold nights alone. A shared love for 90s sitcoms put color on once-blank emotional walls. An off-kilter sense of humor added permanent laughter to a heart that had only known the sound in spurts. Asia turned his house into a home. Finally, he understood what his brother-in-law meant on that warm summer afternoon. 

Part of Kelvin wanted to call Damian and thank him for giving him language to understand his feelings. Most of him, the part that would miss Asia's back rise and fall in bed beside him as city lights streamed through his bedroom window, just wanted to enjoy the time left in their unlikely fairytale. 

They made a promise to ease out of their short-lived relationship at dinner on Valentine's Day. After an awkward first course colored by silence and timid glances, Kelvin broached the topic with a joke about the server's pompous faux-Italian accent. 

"Little by little," He offered as a solution to the disorienting whiplash of a swift, clean break when the very nature of their time together was fast and furious. "We got four weeks to make a move. No need to rush." 

No rush yielded no forward progress in two weeks. Asia's fluffy turquoise towels still mixed with his black set on laundry day. Her favorite mug hadn't left its home near all the others in the cupboard. She still hadn't emptied her drawer in the bathroom or at the top of his dresser. And, at night, when the world crept to a stop, Asia still crawled into bed next to Kelvin to rest. 

So much for creating separation. 

With fourteen days left to get it right, Kelvin watched Asia mix and mingle in a crowd of his favorite current and former coworkers, trying and failing to find an easy way to restart a necessary process. 

News of Kelvin's departure brought out a small start-up payroll worth of people to wish him well in his next chapter. Asia had tricked him into showing up, lying about Ty and the gang wanting to catch up, only to walk him into a surprise party full of familiar faces. He did his due diligence to shake every hand and smile for every picture until the thrill of seeing everyone wore off and sent him into a corner to observe.

Applause in the private back room of a downtown pizzeria pulled his attention away from Asia nursing a cocktail across the way to focus on Savannah commanding the room with her glass in the air. 

"Where's Kel," she shouted, craning her neck until she spotted him alone. "Kel! Come over here! It's time for a toast!"

All eyes fell on him and his awkward shuffle to the front of the room. Asia straightened from her slouched seated position, watching for any signs of discomfort. Three weeks ago, she would've joined him. Second nature would've pulled her away from the plush velvet stool at the bar to stand by his side while a room full of people waited for him to deliver some witty banter and heartfelt remarks. Now, though, she forced herself to avoid Savannah's eye contact silently begging her to come take her rightful place. 

Kelvin chuckled at the swell of voices chanting, 'Speech! Speech! Speech!' before finally giving in to the noise. "Uh, shit," he started, rubbing the back of his neck. "If this is, like, a primer for my funeral, I'm not doin' that bad, I guess." Pockets of low laughter rippled throughout the crowd, settling into silence as he continued. "This last couple weeks have been tough, I'm not gonna lie. Out of all the places I've been and people I've met, you guys and this city have made the biggest impression on me. So, thanks for that."  

Stiff whiskey left a bite on Asia's tongue as she threw back the last of her drink and raised her hand for another. In fourteen days, she vowed to turn over a new leaf and leave her old friend alcohol behind. Tonight, she needed all she could safely get.

"I'm trying to…I don't know…come to terms with the end. It's tough. I love this place, you know? I love a lot of y'all." As a chorus of 'awws' broke out, Kelvin looked over at Asia, swearing he could see a thin veil of tears coating her eyes under the neon sign above her head. She offered a half smile before looking down at her knees. "Anyway, this is probably the coolest a lot of your lives will get, and for that, I'm sure you're grateful. If you're ever in Chicago, come have a beer with me. Your treat because more pay means more taxes. Drink, y'all!" 

Asia let out a genuine laugh as she sipped her second glass of amber liquid along with the group, more focused on keeping tears at bay than the familiar voice calling her name. 

Savannah cupped her hands around her mouth to shout across the room again. "Asia, c'mon! Speech!" 

The request and 30 people eyeing her with varying levels of curiosity caught her off guard. Asia looked to Ty, Chris, and Sid for an out but found none outside of Ty instructing her to lift her head and walk. 

Shaking hands found a home on her cold glass, mixing sweat with condensation as she slowly approached Kelvin's side. He tried to offer sympathy in the form of a closed-mouth smile once she was close enough to see him. Muscle memory or plain 'ol fear compelled Asia to reach for his hand, and without thinking, Kelvin threaded his fingers into the gaps between hers and then squeezed. I'm with you. The non-verbal reassurance nearly made her weep in front of strangers before she could speak. 

"Raise your hand if you've been victimized by Savannah Reese." Every joke had some truth to it, evidenced by the hands Asia watched shoot up from the crowd. Her laughter invited others to join in on Savannah's light humiliation. "I'm glad I'm not alone," Asia laughed. 

Savannah waved everyone off. "Whatever. You people need discipline. Say thank you!" 

"Thanks, Sav. We all love you in like a sick, loving your mean older sister way," Asia joked. "First, I guess I'll say thanks to all of you for coming. Most of you don't know who I am, but that's okay. I'm not the important one here. It's Kelvin. Or Kel. I heard some of you even called him KJ at some point. A lot of variation in there." 

"I hated KJ, by the way. I'm leaving, so I can say that now. Still love you, though." 

Asia laughed at Kelvin's interjection along with the group. She looked over at him, letting her small fade into a more wistful version of itself. "I've had the pleasure of knowing Kelvin as a lot of things over this last year or so. But, I think my favorite version of him is friend. He was the first person to say hi to me when I started. He's opened me up to new things I never thought I'd get to experience and challenged me in ways I would've never thought to ask for. So, thank you." 

Ty clasped his hands at his chest, leaning into Sidney's embrace while the group watched Asia and Kelvin exchange looks of adoration. Kelvin mouthed you're welcome back at her and leaned in to kiss her forehead without regard for who was watching. He was running out of opportunities to feel her skin against his lips and would take whatever bottom of the barrel oppportunities still existed. 

"I'm sure we all have a ton to thank Kel for. Whether it was pulling an award-winning idea out of his ass in the 11th hour or flirting with a client to buy us all some time, we owe this guy a lot. So, if you don't mind, get those glasses in the air and join me in a little toast," Asia instructed. She waited for the group to follow suit, then continued. "Good luck out there in the world, Kel. You're more than ready and deserving of what's coming to you. We all love you so much. Cheers." 

Asia couldn't bring herself to stick around for compliments on her speech or the hug Kelvin tried to prolong. She needed to hustle into the lady's room and prepare for the other side of her mouth-watering from an unsavory mix of grief and Bulleit Rye. Her heels clicked across shiny tile into the emptiest room in the building, unknowingly drawing a crowd of one trailing behind. 

Savannah slipped into the bathroom behind Asia before quietly sealing out the rest of the world with the lock's quiet click. "You okay?" 

"No," Asia answered, no longer interested in keeping up appearances. "I will be. Just…not right now." 

A sympathetic look passed between the two of them, turning words into nothing more than frivolous accessories to fill the silence. Savannah scooched past Asia to lift her body onto the countertop and patted the empty space next to her. Too tired to object, Asia did the same. They sat together in silence for several moments until Savannah cracked the seal.

"Who got cold feet first, you or him?" She asked without looking over at Asia.

"I did," Asia mumbled. "Less cold feet, I just… slipped into some old habits he shouldn't have to see me through. Kelvin had become my sun, and I was starting to orbit out of control. It might be hard to tell, but I've never done all this before," she explained as she aimlessly gestured around them. "I don't know. I should've taken a second to stop and think about who I am and what I wanted from a relationship long before this happened, but I just kept pushing it away until the universe made me confront myself. It's not his fault, though. Kelvin was perfect. I'll put it all on me."

Savannah nodded. "Sometimes we fuck up. It doesn't have to be the end of the world." 

"Not all the time. This time for sure, though. Pretty sure I fucked this up to the point of no return. No more lives. I lose. Thanks for playing." Asia laughed, but the humor in the whole ordeal was still elusive. 

"Can't you restart a game from the beginning after you learn something new, though?" Nonsensical circular reasoning drew a side eye from Asia, making Savannah double over with laughter. "I'm only sayin'! You know how many Candy Crush levels I've had to take a break from until I passed? Sometimes you don't always get shit right on the first try. You'll figure this out and move on to a new level. Then you'll figure that one out too. Even if it takes you a little extra time." 

Asia nodded along, seeing some of Savannah's logic as she mulled over the words. "Sure," she finally answered. A question she'd been pondering for a while paused all thought. "Can I ask why you care so much? In the kindest way possible?" 

"I don't know," Savannah answered with a shrug. I think I missed my chance at love trying to chase perfection, and I've been tasked with saving others from a similar fate to appease the gods," she laughed to herself. "Plus, I see the way he looks at you. No one should miss that over a timing issue. The universe isn't that cruel. At least, I don't think so." 

"Yeah," Asia half-heartedly agreed. "Me neither. I think." 

Maybe it wasn't. Maybe the universe had other plans far beyond Asia's feeble comprehension. Maybe she'd fall asleep in Kelvin's bed, smelling the musk of his cologne, with his back touching hers as dreams took over her daily thoughts and woke her up to a new lease on life. 

The sun rose to nothing of the sort. No amount of prayer or late-night notes app journaling could change her mind. If she continued to follow old patterns, any happiness she sought to obtain would crash and burn into nothing. 

She knew it, and as a fitful sleep stirred Kelvin awake, he knew it, too. If not by her forlorn expression when he looked over to find her quietly sifting through black and turquoise towels, then by the two empty drawers once housing her things. 

Kelvin opened and closed the first bathroom drawer twice, knowing the truth but still having difficulty processing it. 

Asia stepped into the room behind him and softly cleared her throat. "Thought maybe it was time to start moving things." Kelvin turned to look at her, finally taking stock of her tired red eyes hidden behind the blue light glasses he'd gifted. "I'm not running away. I promise. But -" 

"Yeah, no. I…I get it. It's okay. You need a box?" He started to rifle through cabinets under the sink, trying to make himself useful without listening to Asia's objections. 

"Kel…Kelvin." Neither variation of his name received so much as a glance in her direction. She signed. "Baby…" That one did the trick. Kelvin stilled before standing up to acknowledge her voice. "It's okay. I found one already. It's all packed." 

He nodded. "Oh. Um…cool. I guess that's it then." 

His last words in her direction echoed in Asia's head once she returned to her apartment for the first time in weeks. The space felt cold and foreign, devoid of all the spark that made returning to her own space after a long day worth it. 

Asia trudged to her bedroom to drop off her belongings, only to find herself standing in the center of the room, feeling empty. Her bed hadn't seen her since she'd trusted Kelvin to help her shed fictional purity without judgment or ridicule. If she closed her eyes hard enough, she could still see the way he looked at her and feel his fingertips lightly tracing her hips while he coaxed her body to new heights. 

Climbing into bed, still clothed in her favorite of Kelvin's old t-shirts, Asia curled herself around a pillow on his unofficial side of the bed and cried. She cried until Saturday afternoon turned into Saturday night. Then she cried some more into half-eaten lo mein while a reality TV dating show played in the background. She cried when Sabrina called to check in on a 911 in their message thread, holding her friend hostage to witness a complete meltdown before swearing she didn't need a visit. She just needed time. 

Crying became Asia's default setting for the weekend. Then, cries turned into a light misting in a bathroom stall by Tuesday when seeing Kelvin's empty desk reminded her that he was, in fact, not coming to walk to lunch with her. On Wednesday, she only felt sadness from a calendar invite about their one-month anniversary. The thing she found absolutely ridiculous quickly became a reminder of what she'd given up. By Thursday, she'd learned to compartmentalize and push forward despite constant conversation with Kelvin arranging a final opportunity to see him off to those greener pastures they'd discussed weeks ago. 

Friday brought the storm. Just when Asia thought she'd returned to homeostasis, a bottle of red wine unlocked a new well of tears she didn't know she'd been holding. 

Sabrina sat beside her on the couch, acting as a support beam to hold Asia's crumpling body upright while she sobbed into her friend's shoulder. As much as she wanted to support her friend through her first breakup, Sabrina couldn't let Asia pass without a little tough love. 

While Asia poured her heart out without interruption, Sabrina waited for an opportunity to provide much-needed clarity.  

"I miss him already," Asia cried into Sabrina's shoulder. "I know it's crazy because I made the decision, but I don't know. I just wish he was here right now. What if I fucked up? Do you think I fucked up? Tell me if I fucked up." No answer came, grabbing Asia's attention long enough to lift her head and look in Sabrina's direction. "Are you ignoring me?"

Sabrina chuckled. "I'm just confused by you, girl, that's all. First, you're telling me you have to leave him because you need to find yourself, and now you're wondering if that was the right decision. I love you, but we have to settle somewhere, friend." 

"I'm grieving right now!" Asia's exasperation pulled an infectious belly laugh from Sabrina that quickly spread to a full-on cackle once she got a glimpse of Asia's face contorted in a mix of confusion and frustration. "What's so funny, 'Brina? Please, tell me so I can laugh too." 

If not for the clear and present anger underscoring Asia's line of questioning, Sabrina might've laughed for the entire night. She fought to reign in her chuckling before answering. "Can we be for real tonight, Asia? Like really, so for real?" Asia folded her arms and craned her neck to dramatically showcase rising annoyance. Sabrina waved her off, undeterred by childish antics. "A, why are you really breaking things off? Answer honestly." 

"Because I could see myself falling into old habits. You saw me when I fell hard last time. His whole life took over mine," Asia answered, practically jumping off the couch to make her point. 

Sabrina nodded along. "And I get that! Shit, I applaud the pattern recognition. Good on you, sister! But, if it's that, why are you so worried you made the wrong decision?" She watched Asia's eyes dart off to some other place in the room, knowing her point had been made. "Is this only about your growth as a woman, or can you look me in my face right now and admit you're at least a little afraid of what that man was giving you?" 

"I don't know what you're talkin' about." 

"Yes, you do," Sabrina answered after kissing her teeth. "Be real with me, Asia. You were afraid of the possibility of really devoting yourself, saw the old habits arising, and used the last part as a way to run away from the first. Now, you're afraid this might've been your only shot. Tell me I'm wrong!" 

Denial gave way to guilt. "You're not wrong," Asia finally grumbled. 

"I know I'm not, but thank you for the confirmation." Scooting closer, Sabrina pulled Asia into a side hug and squeezed softly. "Fear kept me doin' the same stupid shit over and over. Don't let it dictate your future like it did mine for so long, girl. Do your thing. Go out in the world and learn who Asia is if that's what you really need to do for yourself. But don't use that as an excuse to get out of going through something a little difficult. Either do the hard thing now and take the chance with no regrets and no blame, or leave that man alone and let him go find someone willing to put in the work. But don't keep him in that back and forth. That's not fair after all he's been to you." 

Defiance told Asia to buck Sabrina's advice and continue as planned. She still had time to call Kelvin, push through her discomforts, and deal with a Chicago winter if he felt inclined to take her back. But defiance had never gotten her hard head anywhere but stuck between a rock and a hard place with a soft ass. Facts had to overrule feelings, no matter the emotions tugging her heartstrings raw. 

Asia huffed in resolute defeat, knowing her decision to look within came with a heavy price before light presented itself at the end of the tunnel. Though the thought of him falling in love with someone else hurt like hell, the weight of what could happen if she ignored unmet needs felt like hell on Earth. "I miss fun Sabrina. Get out of therapy. Now!" Asia joked. "This fuckin' sucks, by the way. I know I'll be better for it in the long run, but I hate it right now." 

"Hate it all you want, baby girl. Such is life," Sabrina sang, dragging the last word as she stood from the couch. "Matter of fact, let's talk about how much we hate it over sushi. Eat those feelings before we get in the gym tomorrow morning."

Asia scrunched her face as she tracked Sabrina across the room. "Who said we were going to the gym?"

"Bitch, we are rediscovering ourselves together! Starting with the stairmaster and ending at the squat rack. Whether Lover Boy is in the picture or not, we must keep these asses tight. I have 31st birthday plans, and you've been getting cracked like a glow stick for so long that you're missing sessions. If we gone break up to get it right, do it for real!" 

Trudging toward her apartment's front door, Asia stopped at the entryway mirror to slide on her shoes and get a look at her ass for the first time in weeks. She winced at lost gains and poked at softening thighs. Confirmation if she'd ever seen it.

She sighed and pulled her crossbody from the hook before unlocking the door. "I'm eating my weight in spicy tuna tonight and we're back on top of things in the morning. Swear." 

Plans for weight room therapy were a far cry from the endless tasks on Kelvin's to-do list. He'd spent the better part of a week pushing Asia as far back in his mind as reasonably possible, constantly battling the desire to call or text for fear he'd change his mind at the last moment. Chicago was a good thing. It was a stepping stone. And if she wasn't willing to undertake the challenge with him, then so be it. He'd get over this breakup like the last one. No sweat off his brow. 

In a crowded barbershop packed with a dozen grown men shouting their way through another greatest rapper alive debate, Kelvin used his time to scroll up and down a mostly empty text thread and reread past messages full of sappy sentiments he thought would last longer than a few weeks. 

Brandon took liberties from his position behind his most frequent client, peaking over Kelvin's shoulder to get a look at what had his boy so occupied. "I should charge you more for using your last haircut to do this lovesick shit you been doin' for the last 10 minutes. C'mon, man. Tighten up. You moving to Chicago and getting white folks money. Pipe up, man!" 

"Yeah, I guess," Kelvin answered before locking his phone screen and sliding the phone back beneath the barber's cape draping his torso.

"You feel ready," Brandon questioned. "You fly out in a couple days, right?"

Kelvin hummed his confirmation. "Saturday afternoon. The movers come to get my stuff in the morning, and then I'm in the air. Shit kinda feels fake, I'm not gon' lie. This wasn't how I expected things to go."

"What you expected?" 

"To still be in a relationship for one," Kelvin answered, huffing out a laugh at his own misfortune. "I thought Asia was it, man. If you asked me to tell you what went wrong right now, I couldn't. There I was thinking shit was finally different, and it all blew up in my face." 

Brandon shook his head, still examining his work over his glasses. "She say why?" 

"Something about needing to go find herself. Which I get, I guess. But, fuck, we couldn't go through it together? I felt like I took the conversation in stride when it first came up, but the more I think about the shit, the more I'm fuckin' pissed about it." Anger radiated off Kelvin's body, turning his neck so hot Brandon could hold his hands at the nape for warmth to shield him from the draft as the shop's door opened and closed. Kelvin's hands emerged from behind the robe to help him work through his point. "She said she was making my needs more important than hers, but I never asked her to do that. I never once tried to convince her to do anything she didn't wanna do. Why is she punishing me for some shit she did?" 

"Maybe it don't have anything to do with you," Brandon commented without much fanfare. 

Kelvin scoffed, not taking much stock in his friend's rebuttal. "She was scared. I was scared, too, but I was willing to figure it out. The distance, the falling in love, all of that. We were supposed to figure it out." 

"Give that girl some space, man." 

"Damn, nigga. Are we not cool or what? Take my side!" Kelvin caught Brandon throwing his hands up in surrender from the corner of his eye and frowned. Of all the people, he expected total agreeance from his good friend and former roommate.

Chuckling, Brandon tilted Kelvin's head sideways for a better view. "You know how you get man. Don't act like that," he rebutted. "You like to dive right into shit just as quick as you like to jump out of it. And that's cool, but not everybody is like that. Sometimes it's too much."  

"I'm not gonna take offense to that and ask you to elaborate. Keep in mind, your tip is on the line." Kelvin's caution came with a cheeky grin as Brandon kissed his teeth. 

"I'm just sayin', man. Think about how she comin' into the situation. From what you told me, she was new to a lot of this. When you new, you don't know what you don't know. Maybe this don't have anything to do with you. She might really have to go figure shit out on her own. If you love her, you gotta let her live, bro." Sage advice from Brandon was like witnessing the Nothern Lights or Halley's Comet with your own two eyes. Kelvin tried to listen objectively as his barber continued. "Don't feel like you gotta wait for her. Live your life by all means. But maybe think about doin' some discovery of your own. I'm sure you got some shit you need to work through." 

Information overload turned Kelvin's self-centered ramblings into a barely audible whisper in the back of his mind, giving Brandon's provocation center stage. Self-discovery was a foreign concept. Much of his adult life revolved around running. Running from state to state, searching for a new meaning and a fresh start, running from past versions of himself who didn't quite make the cut, and running from women when casual became too serious and expectations felt like burdens. When he backed away from a few souls looking for connection, he frequently cited bullshit lines about needing to find himself without remorse. 

Now, on the other side of the tearful conversation and harsh realities, years of bad behavior had caught up to deal him a lesson he hadn't expected to learn. At least Asia was honest. That much Kelvin could tell. He couldn't boast the same. 

"Got you stuck, huh. Go ahead up that tip, my boy." Brandon's taunting didn't go unrecognized, earning a small smile from Kelvin. 

He closed his eyes to avoid hair debris and smirked. "I'm not tipping you. I ain't even ask for your advice. You never said shit worth hearing." 

"Yeah, well, hear this if you don't hear nothing else: I'm proud of you, man. At the end of the day, you my brother and I want you to be happy. Whether it's in Chicago with ol' girl or some other way, know you got somebody in your corner." 

Kelvin's teasing smirk slowly morphed into a genuine smile. "Damn, bro, that was nice. Thank you, man." 

"Did I get the tip back?" 

"Fuck no," Kelvin laughed, the sound growing louder once her heard Brandon kiss his teeth. "Keep talkin' though, and see where I'm at when you pass that mirror around." 

Brandon prematurely doused the back of Kelvin's neck in alcohol to revel in watching his shoulders draw up to his ears in pain. "I'm always gone have my get back. Plus, I started including the tip in your price. I know how you down South niggas get down." 

Kelvin continued contemplating what he'd heard as the conversation bobbed and weaved into topics of far less importance. His fingers moved without his mind's input to type out a message he wanted to delete but couldn't find the heart to follow through. A few simple words graced a blue text bubble, waiting for a response. 

Can I get your help packing up a few things tomorrow night? It won't take long and I kinda wanna talk if that's cool. 

He'd prepared himself for radio silence or a simple rejection, but the phone's vibration tingled his hand within minutes. 

Pretty Girl 💖💚 Sure. Time?

They settled on 7 pm. Kelvin swore he read somewhere that finishing tasks early in the evening provided a sense of accomplishment to launch you into the weekend. Or maybe he'd confused that information with his made-up theory around day drinking on Fridays to avoid paying for drinks when he hit the bar in the evenings. Either way, he hoped they'd complete their tasks and talk in enough time to mosey down to his favorite spot and spend time saying goodbye to the regulars. 

A set of knuckles rapped against the door just after 7:15 pm, pulling Kelvin away from organizing items into keep and throw-away piles to usher his guest of honor inside. He expected more fanfare when they came face to face for some reason. Tears, maybe? Anger? A smack in the face for blatantly requesting her labor as a thinly veiled attempt at one last interaction? Any and every reaction was in play. Instead, they fell into chipper banter and light joking while working side by side to return a once lively apartment back to showroom prestige. 

"You know Linda in accounting misses you, right?" Asia informed, her attention focused on taping a cardboard box full of shelf trinkets. "I saw her standing at the coffee bar trying to figure out the hot water dispenser for her team. She looked so sad when I asked if she needed help and said you used to help her with that." 

Kelvin poked out his bottom lip. "Aw, my girl. Did she get her tea?" 

"Yeah. Apparently, I'm the new you. She's a very particular lady." Kelvin laughed at Asia's misfortune, knowing all too well how Linda navigated the world when requesting simple favors. 

"If you keep it up, though, she'll have a Christmas present for you. I haven't paid full price for a donut in like 8 months because of her." 

Asia noted the potential benefit with a head nod before pressing a final piece of tape across the decor box's cardboard flaps. All done. She didn't expect the twinge of sadness tightening her chest as she slowly let her eyes sweep across a near-empty room teeming with memories. Seeing it stacked high with labeled boxes momentarily turned her into a young Will Smith taking a final look at the Banks mansion. 

Kelvin watched Asia stand with her hands firmly planted on her hips, taking in the dips and curves of her body under dim track lighting for the last time before joining her side to take stock of his apartment. 

They stood in silence for a few moments until Asia spoke. "Thanks for letting me help. This probably sounds crazy, but it feels like I lived here, too, sometimes. I didn't pay rent or anything, but still." 

"Yeah, but you restocked the orange juice that one time. Same thing." Kelvin's smile grew in time with Asia's when she looked over to laugh at his joke. "It's cool. I appreciate you helping me out. You didn't have to." 

She shrugged. "You would've done the same for me." 

Awkward silence heightened the uneasy static between them as they stared at nothing in particular for an inordinate amount of time. Kelvin pushed his hands in his pockets, then pulled them out to adjust his earring before fidgeting with his nails. Anything to keep his hands and mind busy. But he couldn't stop stealing glances at his first real love. She'd be gone soon. He needed to savor what was left of their time together. 

Force of habit or sheer insanity compelled him to pull Asia into a hug, and, to his surprise, she melted into his embrace with no pushback. They rocked side to side, enjoying how their bodies fit like puzzle pieces destined to create a bigger, more beautiful picture. 

Kelvin crossed his wrists at the small of her back to squeeze tight as he lifted Asia onto her tiptoes. "Thank you for stopping by," he mumbled into the crook of her neck. "Be safe for me, okay? You know you can always call." 

"I know. You too." Asia closed her eyes to inhale Kelvin's scent, hoping the smell would remain seared into her brain for all eternity. 

A slow release and her heels returning to the ground signaled the end of their embrace and life as they knew it. Timid glances as they adjusted their clothes were packed with words they might say one day.

Asia kept her gaze low as she crossed into the kitchen to collect her purse and keys. If her mind wasn't clouded with the nagging sense that things weren't quite complete, she would've dashed out into the night without looking back. 

But her mouth started to move before she could corral her question. "You hungry?" 

"Uh." Kelvin wrestled with his rational mind and his rumbling belly before siding with the latter. "Actually, yeah. I was gonna order out, but if you had something in mind, I'm down." 

Traffic lights and streets empty as real movers and shakers tucked themselves away to prepare for long nights in and out of packed clubs brought them to where it all began. A fitting farewell. 

Calm before a storm of 20 and 30-somethings took the bar, searching for answers at the bottom of a glass, gave Kelvin and Asia access to their favorite booth at the back of the room. Appetizers of every sort covered the small to pair with a pitcher of bottom shelf margarita. Both of them knew it wasn't worth the money it cost, or the headache was sure to follow. The price of a worthwhile goodbye, they thought. 

Salted rims created loose shoulders and looser lips between two people who were too caught up in the moment to part ways so soon. Any trepidation vanished after their first glass. Their second warmed up the senses, shedding more inhibition than they had planned. The results of the third remained to be seen. 

For Kelvin, it meant an impromptu confession hour. After popping a fry into his mouth, he leaned forward and flashed a boyish grin at Asia from across the table. "I wasn't gonna ever tell you this, but fuck it. Before I ran into you over there," he started, pointing over his shoulder at the bar. "I saw you. I'm not gonna say I had an elaborate plan or anything. I just noticed you talking to your girl and knew I had to move fast because it looked like you were leaving." 

"Wooooow! So it wasn't a real meet cute? I thought that night was kismet," Asia joked. 

"Nah, it was. We ended up in the same place at the same time. I just hurried it along. I won't apologize for that because if I didn't, I wouldn't have gotten to know you." They stared at each other, once again finding silence in place of chatter that once came easy. In any other circumstance, Kelvin would've moved on and left well enough alone, paid the bill, and dipped out to save face. He still had one more question, though. One more chance at closure. 

Asia caught him fidgeting with his hands and pointed out his nervous habit. "What? What's wrong?" 

"Do you regret any of this? The messing around, the relationship…any of it?" He shifted his attention to the couple playing darts behind them to keep from losing his nerve. "I just hope I didn't push you into something you didn't want. So, give me the chance to apologize if –" 

Asia cut him off, not allowing him to slide too deep into an apology he didn't need to provide. "I don't regret anything, Kel. Not a single second. Please know that. Can you look at me?" Kelvin nodded before returning his undivided attention to her face. She sighed. "I'm sorry for how I handled things. I shouldn't have blamed you for problems I've had my entire life, and I damn sure shouldn't have waited as long as I did. It was fucked up. I'm so sorry. Whether you forgive me or not, I owe you that much, and I want you to know I'm fixing them." 

Kelvin answered with a half smile. "It was fucked up, but thank you. I tried to be mad at you for three days, but it didn't work, anyway. You're good." More thick and miles long silence greeted them on the other side of resolution. Loud chatter from a group of college students entering the building cut through their wordless standoff while Kelvin mulled over what to say next. He sipped from his drink for liquid courage, then shrugged. "See where I'm at when you're done. I'll be around. My number won't change." 

"I'm not asking you to wait for me." 

"I didn't say I would," He clarified. "If I've moved on, I'll tell you. I'm just letting you know the door isn't closed. When you feel like you're ready, see where I am. Just in case. Don’t call me to fuck around though, Asia. I’m serious."

Asia quickly nodded her agreement. "Yeah, yeah! Of course." A timid smile graced her face under Kelvin's unwavering stare. "Thank you." 

"Mhmm." Kelvin bit back his smile as he took stock of their spread and an almost empty pitcher of evil lime concoction. "Come on and finish this bullshit with me. I'm not about to be hungover by myself. Bottoms up, girl." 

After two burning chests and a bill-splitting argument, Kelvin and Asia found themselves approaching a fork in the road again. He wrapped her in a tight embrace around her shoulders to kiss the top of her head against the driver's side of her small sedan, turning them into two people looking more like young lovers than adults navigating a loss. They'd said their goodbyes but couldn't stomach pulling away. Not yet.

Asia held tight to his waist. "Where you sleepin' tonight?" The question came out muffled against Kelvin's hoodie, waiting for an answer that almost didn't come. 

"Air mattress," he answered. "I'll probably crash in the living room. Why?" 

"You need a good rest before the morning. Stay with me tonight if you want. No pressure." 

Kelvin's body tensed before he pulled back to get a better look at her face. He hoped for some indication she was too tipsy to know the temptation she'd introduced. Instead, he saw eyes pooling with latent desire like they did every time they inched toward a new level in their physical relationship. Saying no like he knew he should've felt like too much to ask of a man still hopelessly attracted to the woman holding him close in an early evening chill. Forbidden fruit always tasted the sweetest. 

Pushing a long braid behind her shoulder, Kelvin threw caution to the wind. "Okay." 

A little sleepover couldn't hurt. Not a sleepover complete with a singular joint rolled for New Year's Eve then discarded for a worthy future moment with a couple of humans suddenly allergic to containing their laughter. Or their touching. Or soft kisses on smooth skin becoming more and more exposed as the minutes ticked by. 

"Tell me when to stop," Asia whispered with her knees already planted next to Kelvin's hips, supporting her weight while she rolled her clothed center across his lap.

She shivered as his fingertips slid up her spine to feel for the latch on her bra. "No," he answered before deftly unhooking the garment keeping him from his prize. "I don't want to stop. You tell me or enjoy what we both want. It's up to you." 

Objection never came. Words no longer formed full sentences. They chose to use their voices as indicators of boundless pleasure, moaning and breathing into each other's mouths as two bodies joined to make one. Kelvin couldn't tell where he ended and Asia began. He didn't care. He only needed to know if she was as close to her peak as he was. And, if so, was she interested in fucking him until she couldn't anymore. 

Asia answered every question with her body. Would she miss him? Kelvin knew the answer was yes by the way she let saliva coat her mouth and chin while he repeatedly kissed the back of her throat with his tip. Was it all real? Absolutely. He could tell as she breathed his name through long, loving strokes with her forehead pressed against his. 

Kelvin let his body tell her things through sex he couldn't bring himself to say aloud. Having her writhing against his face, panting and keening for a break, helped him communicate just how much she meant to him. When he stared up at her with stars in his eyes through frenetic, upward pushes into her exhausted body, it was to tell her how beautiful she was at all times. Hair wild and untamed or perfectly prim and proper – it didn't matter. Statues should be made in her honor.

Fucking was the only language they could speak. Even when their bodies had given up by first light despite the mind still being willing. 

Cozying up to her backside on top of crumpled sheets, Kelvin held Asia's leg up to chase their high from the side. He nuzzled his nose against her shoulder and tightened the grip on her body. "You kept me up all night, girl," he purred against her shoulder. "I'm gon' need whatever you got left." 

A desperate mix of sounds came from Asia's throat in a strained groan as her belly weakly coiled for the absolute last orgasm she could muster. Her fingernails clawed at his forearm for an anchor to keep her body from levitating off the bed. 

"Don't forget me, baby." Kelvin didn't know if he was out for sick revenge or saying things he really meant. All he could decipher was the need for Asia to end the night depleted. "Don't forget me." 

By morning, when eager muscles settled into soreness and a few short hours of sleep shocked their systems into submission, the outside world reminded them that the previous night was the only fairytale in existence and hailing a Lyft at 6 AM was just the tip of their problems. 

Groggy and satiated, Kelvin and Asia trudged to the front door for what they knew was the absolute end of the road. They quietly basked in each other's presence. Faint smiles from steamy flashbacks kept them in good spirits, considering their reality. 

Kelvin gathered his belongings in silence, checking twice for the important stuff while Asia watched and battled with what to say next. A solemn goodbye? Well wishes? Something hopeful even though she didn't feel all that convinced he'd want to speak to her when the post-orgasm fog had cleared? In two agonizing minutes, she couldn't come up with a single word she hadn't already said.

She settled on nothing at all once Kelvin pulled her into a hug wrapped in feelings too intense to describe. He breathed her in, letting sweet vanilla tantalize his senses as he pressed her closer to his body.

"I love you." 

Simple and plain. No fuss. No request for an extravagant response. Just three words he needed to say for himself. Whether she felt the same was immaterial. He couldn't leave without being honest. 

Asia acknowledged what she already knew with a contented hum before pulling away to get a last look at his face. "See you later?" 

He wouldn't lie. Being hopeful for a reunion wasn't the same as believing one would materialize. So, Kelvin smiled. Instead of leaving her with a potentially false sense of security, he left Asia with a placid smile and a tap on the tip of her nose before repeating what he'd told her hours ago. 

"Be safe, Asia. Call me if you need me." 

Truthfully, Asia didn't know if she'd be calling. Even as she watched his chariot whisk him away until the car became but a tiny speck in traffic, the path forward was abstract and muddy. She didn't feel sad. The time for that had long passed. But happiness wasn't there either. A hint of peace peeked through a more tangled web of emotions. Longing, perhaps? She longed for all the lessons learned in matters of the heart and body. Lessons she'd lock away in some deep, special place in her heart. Determination rose up next. If nothing else, Kelvin had held a mirror up to Asia's face and forced her to examine parts of herself she'd swept under the rub for far too long. She'd thank him for that down the road. 

Above all else, though, as she slid dirty sheets from a crooked mattress and inhaled the lasting scent of him wafting throughout the room, Asia couldn't escape the hope coursing through her veins. She'd stepped out on a limb, taken her kisses and bruises in equal measure, and come out on the other side with new information for the future. One loss couldn't erase months of progress. 

And, with the door still cracked open for a time in the distant future, she finally felt like she'd arrived. At what, she couldn't tell. She'd have to find a new professor to learn that.

SPRING SEMESTER

TAGS: @planetblaque @wvsspoppin @thatone-girly @avoidthings @slutsareteacherstoo @eilujion @amyhennessyhouse @yaachtynoboat711 @jenlovey @pinkpantheris @blowmymbackout @onherereading @becauseimswagman1 @thiccc-c @hrlzy @urfavblackbimbo @blackburnbook @ashanti-notthesinger @xo-goldengirl @ariiijestertheklown @blyffe @tvchi @wabi-sabi1090 @flydotty @aldrigmer444 @ash-ketchumzzz @nayaesworld @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @writingsbytee @teddybeerz @trippyscotch @theogbadbitch @thevelvetwhispers @wowitsafemale @kindofaintrovert @sexysativa605 @jvzmine19 @turn-thy-paige @lapateeserie @simplyzeeka @supremechae @palmstreesallday @blackmoonchilee @ovohanna24 @prettypynklemonade @gwenda-fav @itsash-okay @sparklytemi @blackchickinthedesert @miyuhpapayuh

[ataleofcrowns]

I don't know if this is too much of a bother.. but I've spend ages avoiding asking it, and it's not bad. I'll just do it. And just ignore me if It's annoying. Eh. Can you write down for me the character traits' messages for ALL the combination of traits? Like. For manners, attitude, etc. It's just, I'm way too indecisive and have restarted a lot of times, and I know I need to tell myself to just commit to something, but this would grant me peace of mind. Thanks either way. Your writing is beautiful.

No problem!! I'll add in the temporary descriptions as well, so you get a full overview of how it works. Read more for length!

Your Manners Toward Others [Charming/Blunt]

Temporary descriptions until CH4:

- Both charming/blunt and kind/calculated having equal points: You take the middle ground between being charming and blunt, much like the average person. - Charming > blunt and kind = calculated: You tend to charm others, drawing people to you. - Blunt > charming and kind = calculated: You say what you mean and hold nothing back, speaking bluntly.

Final descriptions:

- Charming and calculated: You prefer charming others in conversation with your sharp wit. - Charming and kind: You often charm others with your grace, treating others with courtesy. - Blunt and calculated: You speak bluntly, but your every word is chosen with thought. - Blunt and kind: You speak bluntly, but treat others kindly; you wear your heart on your tongue.

Your Disposition Toward Others [Kind/Calculated]

- Kind = calculated, possible until CH4: You are not particularly kind or calculating, but choose to adapt to the person in front of you. - Kind: Your first impulse is to treat others with kindness - Calculated: You are not afraid to calculate how to best use others to your advantage.

Your Mental Capabilities [Intuitive/Intelligent]

- Intuitive = intelligent, possible until CH4: You don't lean strongly toward either intuition or intelligence, instead finding a balance. - Intuitive: You listen to what your gut tells you, trusting your intuition to lead you to the right path. - Intelligent: You easily categorize the world around you into pieces of knowledge to be stored away, putting your intellect to good use.

Your Attitude [Adventurous/Cautious]

Temporary descriptions until CH4:

- Both adventurous/cautions and intuitive/intelligent having equal points: You are cautious when you need to be and adventurous otherwise, walking a path between. - Adventurous > cautious and intuitive = intelligent: You cannot resist the call of adventure, finding yourself drawn to it despite the risks. - Cautious > adventurous and intuitive = intelligent: You would rather avoid risks when you can, trusting your cautious nature.

Final descriptions:

- Adventurous and intuitive: You are naturally drawn to adventure, letting your instincts guide your actions. - Adventurous and intelligent: You eagerly seek out adventure wherever you can find it, driven by a thirst for knowledge. - Cautious and intuitive: You are naturally cautious, relying on your instincts to keep you away from danger. - Cautious and intelligent: You have learned to move through life with caution, always thoughtfully weighing your options.

Your Decision Making [Passive/Assertive]

- Passive = assertive: You have no clear preference regarding leading or following when making decisions. - Passive: You are typically passive, preferring to observe and listen to others in order to make informed decisions. - Assertive: You are typically assertive, often the one to take control of a situation and trusting your own judgment when making decisions.

Romantic Inclinations [Flirtatious/Reserved]

Temporary descriptions until CH4:

- Both flirtatious/reserved and adventurous/cautious having equal points: You are neither especially flirtatious or reserved, capable of both depending on your mood or the situation. - Flirtatious > reserved and adventurous = cautious: You do not shy away from showing your interest in others, flirtation being your preferred method of doing so. - Reserved > flirtatious and adventurous = cautious: You are not one to be open with your affections, coming across to others as reserved in most romantic situations.

Final descriptions:

- Flirtatious and cautious: You take romance seriously and though you enjoy flirting, you are not the type to do so carelessly. - Flirtatious and adventurous: You are bold and you show it in the way you flirt, easy and open with who you choose to share your affection with. - Reserved and cautious: You have often heard your reserved demeanor being described as withdrawn, lending to your careful approach to love. - Reserved and adventurous: You are more reserved in regards to love, preferring to let your interest in someone show through actions rather than words.

- Passive = assertive (temporary): You have no clear preference regarding leading or following when you're in a relationship. - Passive: In a relationship, you prefer to follow your partner's lead. - Assertive: In a relationship, you prefer to take the lead. *Note: Yes, I am aware that some people differ in how they behave with decision-making vs in a romantic relationship in terms of how assertive or passive they are. To have mercy on myself with coding, however, the Crown is not one of those people. Their passivity/assertiveness extends to their romantic behavior as well (people like that also exist), so that's just something you're going to have to keep in mind when you're creating your character.

[targ-shelby-stark]

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚ 𝖎 𝖈𝖍𝖔𝖔𝖘𝖊 𝖞𝖔𝖚 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖒𝖊, 𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖎𝖌𝖎𝖔𝖚𝖘𝖑𝖞 ɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

. ༘˚⋆𐙚｡ 𝐚𝐞𝐠𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧 𝐱 𝐟𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 ⋆𖦹.✧˚

⤷ ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ; language, FLUFF.

⤷ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀꜱ; Aegon Targaryen, Original Female Character, Alicent Hightower (mention), Rhaenyra Targaryen (mention), Viserys Targaryen (mention).

⤷ ɪᴍᴘᴏʀᴛᴀɴᴛ; this is all work of fiction. in no way am i prompting the acts in this fictional story nor am i encouraging acts done or words said in this piece of writing. i heavily recommend only those who can stomach this universe proceed as the heavy themes are not the most suitable for a most audiences.

Aegon found himself in the throes of an unbearable headache. The cause remained a mystery to him— was it the remnants of last night's wine, or the ceaseless prattle of the Small Council on matters that held no interest for him? Yet, above all, it was his Mother's incessant nagging that grated on his nerves. Her unsolicited critiques and condescending remarks had left him feeling hollow, devoid of joy.

For two decades, he endured the relentless torment of inner conflict, torn between his true identity and the expectations placed upon him. Despite being named after a great conqueror, he harbored no ambition for political power. Though hailed as the kingdom's beacon of hope and the King's heir, he would willingly submit to Rhaenyra if it meant finding relief from the torment that consumed him.

He sought solace only in the peculiar wines and the depths of brothels. However, they were no longer sufficient. He was weary of the alcohol-induced headaches and the constricting pain in his chest after waking up next to a woman who was only there for payment. His pride was crumbling, and he could finally concede to the world's judgment of him; Aegon II Targaryen was indeed pathetic.

Aegon yearned for unspoiled air, free from the breath of others. He sought refuge in solitude, fearing that his inner turmoil would drive him to drastic action. The gardens offered a temporary reprieve, their natural beauty calming his troubled mind. Yet, it was not the flowers that brought him peace, but rather her comforting presence. It was she who soothed his troubled soul.

Perhaps it was the knowledge that she chose to stand by his side willingly. He was accustomed to women being in his presence out of obligation or for their own gain due to his royal status, but he could discern that she was there out of genuine desire. Despite her naivety as a foreigner in the court, she seemed genuinely sincere when she expressed her admiration for him. Or maybe she was not naive. She was smart; he dare say smarter than him in a lot of topics, but no amount of smart helped him understand why she wanted him.

"Your Majesty," she curtsies gracefully as she catches sight of him approaching. Aegon shook his head, "Simply fucking not. I am here to escape from all of that," he required no reminder of his identity. He longed for a few moments to simply be Aegon— not the King, not the man bearing the name of the great Targaryen conqueror, not the man embroiled in war. He despised that persona. He despised himself when he was himself. Yet, he could endure his own company when he was with her, and that was more affection than he had ever felt for himself.

He gazed upon her as she chuckled at his severity, the melodic sound reverberating within him. She remained unfazed by his inadvertent hostility. Was she aware that this was a result of his upbringing? Endless reprimands were all he received as a child, it was all he knew how to express.

She delicately toyed with her exquisite golden rings; oh, how he could admire her endlessly. His sole desire was to etch into his mind every one of her subtle mannerisms, to decipher her emotions with just a glance, to interpret the unspoken signals that revealed her innermost feelings. "What troubles you?" she softly murmured, her head tilted in genuine worry. Worry for him.

"Absolutely everything," Aegon exhaled deeply, wandering aimlessly in front of her, "I feel as though I could stand before Sunfyre and embrace her flames," he watched as her eyes widened slightly. She huffed out, "Please refrain from saying such things," her tone filled with dread. He smiled and casually remarked, "I have vowed to speak only the truth with you. And that, my dear, is the truth."

He observed her closely while she pondered her response. Each word carefully selected, not out of insincerity, but out of a genuine desire to provide him solace. She had once advised him to consider his words before speaking, she inspired him to follow suit as she spoke up, "What can I do to make you feel better?" she inquired.

He indeed considered the counsel and pondered his response. Aegon II Targaryen would retort with a clear desire for wine and the companionship of whores to alleviate his emptiness. But what words would Aegon choose? What would truly bring solace to Aegon? He remained uncertain. He had never looked beyond those trivial matters. Those basic indulgences that he had been taught were the sole source of a man's contentment.

Was he truly acquainted with his own being? By the Seven Hells, she provoked such profound contemplation within him. Yet, he understood the value in it. It was her influence that guided him towards self-awareness, allowing him to delve deeper into his thoughts. What could bring solace to Aegon? After much deliberation, he concluded, "Peace."

"Peace?" she inquired with curiosity, seeking further elucidation, yearning to delve deeper into his thoughts. Aegon pondered for a moment before responding, "I crave tranquility. I yearn to be free from the burdens of duty and the weight of responsibility," he paused, collecting his thoughts. With a resolute tone, he continued, "No. That is not entirely accurate. I do desire responsibility, but not in this form. I have no desire to wear the crown, for I am not fit for such a role. I am better suited for the responsibilities my Father neglected."

“What do you mean?”

"I intend," he murmured softly, "to outshine him, but not as a monarch. Rather, as a father," he chuckled softly. The image materialized before him, a daydream of a serene existence where he could slumber undisturbed until a child with his own hair and eyes rudely awakened him with a plea. Occupying himself throughout the day with the babbling, disorder, and vexation of children—yet, by the deities, it was an exasperation he would never wish to dispel. The unending juvenile needs, the perpetual reliance on him, and the nerve-wracking moments at feasts while they scampered off to play.

Following his duties diligently, he would eventually retreat to his private chambers. Ensuring everyone was settled for the night with a reassuring word of meeting again in the following morn. Upon entering his chambers, a heavy sigh would escape his lips as he sank into a luxurious bath, losing track of time. With damp hair cascading and hovering over his shoulders, he would leisurely make his way to his opulent bed, where the familiar chuckle he cherished would resonate as the mattress welcomed his presence.

Subsequently, he would raise his gaze. He would lift his eyes and with mesmerizing violet eyes, he would behold her. He would behold her all the time; as he looked upon his children and he would behold her when he desires to, referring to her as his beloved spouse. His wife. This was the aspiration of Aegon. This was what would elevate Aegon to a higher state of being.

"Aegon?" Her voice interrupted his reverie, yet the tenderness with which she uttered his name mirrored the way she did in his dreams. Aegon dismissed her with a shake of his head, "Let it go. Dreams are not meant for rulers," he chuckled, aware of the ambiguity in his words. Drawing closer to him, she insisted, "But they are. Kings possess the power to obtain anything they desire. That is the essence of royalty— turning fantasies into reality," her voice carried a sense of urgency, imploring him to fulfill the desires of a King for Aegon.

He was immediately persuaded. He entwined his fingers in her luscious dark locks and shut his eyes, savoring the flavor of her lips reminiscent of the sweetness described in the romantic High Valeryan poetry. As he gazed into her eyes after pulling away, he made a firm decision.

Aegon made the bold choice to embrace both roles. Despite the hardships that came with being King, he knew it was the only path to winning her heart. To having her be his.

And Aegon II Targaryen might get burnt for this, the Septa might judge him and the Gods might haunt him but he will be damned if he did not choose her when she was right there.

masterlist.

[anika-ann]

For the ask game, "I will take what I can get", with Steve x Reader 😘

Oh hello my dear Vidra 💕

Thank you for taking part in this ask game 🥰 but not for teasing me in a way I CLEARLY do not deserve like AT ALL

I took the liberty to change the 'title' into a 'line' and keep the fic with a temporary title of Match Made in Heaven. Enjoy 💕

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Type: blurb, fluff, recently established relationship WC: 990 words shhh, shhhh, shhhhhhhhhhhh, don't say it- Warnings: fluff, mentions of flu, one swear word 'cause I can

“Steve no-“

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out exasperatedly through the speaker, probably sending a figurative sympathetic pat on the Bucky Barnes’ shoulders all the way back to the 1940’s, where the poor brunet had to face an equally stubborn and a lot sicklier creature – Steve Rogers.

But you, you were entitled to your stubbornness.

It wasn’t that you wanted to argue with him; quite the opposite. Should you have your way – the way you actually wished for – you’d be snuggling your gorgeous, warm, golden-hearted hunk of a boyfriend on the couch, getting distracted from a holiday movie by the twinkling Christmas lights and tinsels you had so carefully decorated your Christmas tree with a few days ago. Perhaps getting distracted by his presence, his fingers carding through your hair absently, lips pressing to your forehead, the lovely planes of muscles shifting against your body…  

No. You couldn’t.

Because.

“I love you, but-“ you tried to argue, accidentally breathing in too deep.

Which naturally resulted in another coughing fit.

Because the universe hated you, and instead of Christmas cheer and peace, you were sick. Sick with flu in a way that made you wander your apartment at the speed of a snail and with aches in joints as if you were the one actually born in 1918. And so instead of a lovely pre-Christmas with your boyfriend of three months, you got isolation and arguments apparently, because he thought he knew better, while you knew the opposite was true. You knew better.

He could not come see you; you had your reasons. He might not be able to get sick, but you were sure that if he saw you like this, he would get sick of you real quick. And you could not have that. You could not have your ultimately perfect man who somehow hadn’t got sick of you yet, see the mess you were right now, because he would run for the hills and have himself get frozen for another seventy years just to avoid ever setting eyes on you again.

Perhaps you should use that argument; a stealthy version of it, wrapped in a neatly tied Christmas bow. After all, your boyfriend was practically a spy, and stealth – at least where his stealth suit was concerned – looked exceptionally well on him.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry, maybe I could-“

“As I was saying,” you rasped, nearly jumping out of your skin when a sharp knock sounded through your apartment, causing you to move from the slow lane towards the kettle to the even slower and irritating lane towards the door – who would even bother you at time like this? “I love you, but… I’m sorry, but if you came here now, all you’d get is a lot of barky cough, icky tissues and a grumpy, cold-sensitive me and honestly, I like you too much to have you have to deal with that-”

Another insistent knock on the door. You sighed, not wanting to waste the remnants of your voice on shouting at the impatient lout, even if you wanted to. Kids these days. So rude. Or maybe it was your 78-year-old Mrs. Cheery-Next-Door-Neighbour bringing you another batch of her disgustingly addictive cookies…

“Ugh, sorry, Steve, that’s all I have to offer, and there’s someone at the door, I gotta-“

Your hand fell heavily on the door handle, snapping it open as far as the safety lock allowed.

And perhaps the way you nearly dropped your phone served you right, because your boyfriend – stealthy spy and soldier and Captain – would be thoroughly disappointed in you if he saw you opening your door without checking through the peephole first.

And the joke was on him; because he did.

Your uninvited guest stood there, snowflakes melting in his golden hair and on his dark navy coat with creamy scarf, cheeks slightly pink, a gorgeous smile on his lips. His eyes crinkled with mischief as he lifted a paper bag like a peace-offering – no doubt consisting of spicy chicken broth, pain meds and flu meds, and treats just to get a foot in the door – a distant sound of a call ended pinging from your phone.

“If that’s your offer, I will take what I can get,” he said with a grin, his eyes already scanning your slouched and messy – and now perfectly tense and apprehensive – form. Oh no. Oh god. Shit. He was about to run for the hills in 3, 2, 1- “That is if you’ll have me. Would you let me take care of you, sweetheart?”

The notes of humour remained on his face, but his voice wavered with vulnerable sincerity, gaze softening.

Your shoulders slumped. Further.

The gorgeous, loveable, stubborn bastard.

Perhaps you were the one who should send a sympathetic pat on the shoulder to the past Bucky Barnes; when it came to pigheadedness, much like in many other qualities or sins, Steve Rogers had simply no competition.

As you sighed and let the man in, his hand instantly reaching for your cheek with tenderness that would make angels weep, the softest press of his lips to your burning forehead, you felt tension melt from your shoulders completely – though not quite the ache – and made peace with the thought of finding real-life Bucky to bond over Steve’s personality in near future.

But before that, you’d snuggle on the couch with your gorgeous, warm, golden-hearted hunk of a boyfriend, getting distracted from a holiday movie by the twinkling Christmas lights, by his presence, by his fingers carding through your hair, his lips pressing to your forehead and the lovely planes of muscles shifting against your body, dozing off to the soothing sound of his breathing, his heartbeat the most comforting lullaby in your ears; and a quiet realization that had your roles been reversed and you had you been told off by small, sickly and endlessly stubborn Steve Rogers, you would fight your way through and held him with love all the same.

Divider by @firefly-graphics.

Thank you again for the ask @murdock-and-the-sea and thank you, whoever read this. If you enjoyed, let me know 💕

You can find my other works in my masterlist, should you be interested 😇

HOW DO YOU PEOPLE KEEP THIS GAME ON ACTUALLY JUST 5 LINES, HOW-

[lksvi]

love him and let him love you

𝆹⭒ re6!leon kennedy x gn!reader

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ synopsis — meeting you in raccoon city was a blessing. now, you've become the light within leon's darkest hours.

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ content — fluff, probably some angst?, no uses of [name], i love leon kennedy, focuses on leon, a lot of leon reflecting

⏜ ‎ ◯𝆹⭒ word count — 2.2k

𝆹⭒◯ ⏜ note — the mischaracterization of leon kennedy makes me Sad so i wrote this. also requests r open js as a reminder!!!! enjoy this work!

𝆹⭒ masterlist

Leon is a graveyard of empty promises and bloodied corpses. Too many times has he promised what he cannot uphold, given what he shouldn’t– At his core, he is selfless. His heart beats the same direction of Ashley’s veins and his breath is remnant of Luis’ cigarette smoke. Those things kill, you know, he had said, not yet understanding what Spain had in store for him.

If there was any test of loyalty to his country, it was Spain.

He can’t tell you what he went through. The government holds him on a tight leash, never straying too far from the D.S.O. headquarters. Your home is a temporary peace; a light in the dark. Soft cushions and open windows, moonlight filtered through glass. Tranquility is not often felt by Leon, but whenever he is with you, at your home, with the gentle light of the moon brushing over pale skin, it buries itself into his bones. Carves into the marrow, makes a home of his ribcage.

Peace has never felt so free until he met you.

He thinks of that time often: Surrounded by the groans of the undead, brain matter sticking to the soles of his shoes. Yet, in the darkness of Raccoon City, laid a savior in the shape of you. Leon, a rookie cop who had yet to experience the weight of the world, thought you were an angel. He thought your purpose was to guide him out of the shadows, rescue him from the grime and filth that was Raccoon City.

Instead, he rescued you. Adrenaline pricked at his skin, shot through his veins. He remembers the sight of you: All-consuming fear swimming deep within angelic eyes, covering you head-to-toe. His gun did not feel heavy, nor did the bullet sound loud. All he could focus on was you, you, you.

He did not hear himself ask you, “Are you okay?” He simply saw you nod, and without a second glance, reached out to touch you. Fate intertwined your paths, brought you to him and him to you, for this moment. For Leon to gently grasp your wrist, flesh marred with dried crimson and flakes of dirt. For him to guide you to the police station, luminescent lights flickering overhead.

Underneath the fake lighting, he saw beauty personified. Breathless from running or from the sight of you, he did not know, but even if he wasn’t already panting, he would’ve started at the mere glance of you. He’s seen beautiful women, ones who turn heads and capture the lenses of cameras, but he thinks any lens would’ve shattered upon your grace.

Ever since Raccoon City, Leon has had a sworn duty: Protect the country and protect you. Helping has always been second nature for him, ever since he was six-years-old and standing up for the bullied kids housed in the orphanage, but for you, it’s his first. He helps you before he thinks of helping himself. Even with mundane tasks such as unscrewing the lids of jars and reaching something on the top shelf for you come natural to him.

He’s always helping you. So, he doesn’t know what to do with himself when you help him instead.

It’s long after midnight. Moonlight seeps through panes of glass, illuminating your living room. Tonight is cold and lonely. You reside by yourself, the glow of the television the only source of light within the home. A blanket drapes over you, shielding you from the cold, and a hot cup of tea sits on the coffee table. You’re about to go to bed when there’s a knock at your door.

You weren’t expecting anyone tonight. Confusion knits between your brows, teeth digging into your bottom lip as you stand up. Cautiously, you undo the locks and open the door, surprised to see Leon there. His sleeves are rolled up, dirt and grime stuck to the surface of his knuckles and inside of his nails. Turning up at your house with bruises and scratches are common for Leon, but he looks particularly rough tonight.

“Leon!” You gasp, moving to the side to let him in. A crooked smile plays on nude-colored lips as he steps inside, a shiver racking his frame. Dark blue fabric does little to shield him from the cold. The first few buttons are undone, revealing an array of yellow and purples peeking out from beneath it, along with a few cuts along his collarbone. “I thought you weren’t supposed to be back for another two weeks?”

A light chuckle escapes him. He’s grateful to be back in your home, the comfort already making a home within his beating heart. “Got back a little earlier,” Leon responds, raspy timbre not giving away his exhaustion. You don’t miss the hitch in his breath when he steps, or the way he tries to conceal his pain. “Thought I’d swing by, pay you a visit. How’re you holdin’ up?”

You don’t answer his question, too busy eyeing the unusual color against his skin, eyebrows furrowed. “You’re hurt,” You say instead. He offers a small sigh, a tug at the corner of his lips. “S’The job, sweetheart. What can you do?”

Gently, you lead him to your bathroom. It’s small, barely able to fit the two of you, but you make it work. You treat him as if he’s made of glass, even if you know he isn’t. Although you don’t know what happens in his line of work, you see the aftermath of it. The angry splotches against his skin, dark bruising and crimson-dried cuts. “Was this one of the rough ones?” You ask softly, even if you know the answer.

Leon can try to lie. He can attempt to conceal the truth behind vague words and shifty eyes, but he doesn’t. He sighs, watches you get out the first aid kit, and nods. “It’s always rough,” He mutters, eyes cast downwards. Talking about work isn’t something he enjoys. He doesn’t like to bring his work home, even if it infects certain aspects of his day-to-day life subconsciously.

He doesn’t trust anyone. He eyes down any suspicious looking person while getting you both coffee, always takes a sip of yours before he gives it to you, just in case. You don’t know he does these things– He’d rather deal with his paranoia himself. He doesn’t want to make you paranoid. Leon keeps you close to him in crowds, a hand splayed out on the small of your back or an arm wrapped around your waist or your hands intertwined. Touching you in some way is a must. If he can’t physically feel you, he thinks you’re going to disappear.

And Leon understands it’s silly. The things he does, the precautions he takes, he knows it’s coming from a place of anxiety. Humor me, won’t you? is what he asks every time, accompanied with a playful click of his tongue. Yet, he’d rather be safe than sorry. Risking your safety in any way is the greatest sin of all, one he refuses to even chance.

You try your best to cheer him up. His job is dangerous, that much you know, but you try to be a beacon of light for him. He has a mansion of his own, but you always welcome your quaint home up to him. A place of safety. At first, he didn’t take it. Showing up at your home was rare, if he came at all. Truthfully, he was worried about infecting your home. Plaguing the air with his anxiety, worries, and fears; somehow shifting the quiet environment to one of chaos.

His own house may be tainted, but he didn’t want to risk yours.

“Take off your shirt for me,” You instruct him. The first aid kit is laid out on the counter, gauze and bandages and band-aids littered about. He’ll never admit it, but he always looks forward to your band-aids. You always go for a colorful theme of some kind. Last time, your bandages were space themed, littered with stars and galaxies and asteroids. He secretly loves your themed band-aids.

This time, they’re Hello-Kitty themed. One of the characters, who you’ve told him is My Melody, takes up the space of the band-aid. His lips quirk in a smile. “Hello-Kitty this time, huh?” He says as he unbuttons his shirt, letting the fabric fall to the ground. Scars litter the expanse of his chest and abdomen, taut skin stretched across muscles. Chasing down Bio-Organic Weapons for a living gave him the physique he dreamed of having as a young boy (with several scars added, too).

He doesn’t say it out loud, but the themed band-aids remind him of Sherry. The young girl you two had taken care of for a short amount of time, who Leon sacrificed the rest of his adult life for. Getting recruited as a government agent was his part of keeping you, and her, safe. In exchange for his recruitment, you and Sherry got to live a normal life. Although Sherry was much more grown up, now. Seeing her in China had been whiplash for Leon.

She was a young woman now, different yet similar to the little girl you two had rescued long ago. He was different, too. No longer a bright-eyed rookie cop who blindly protected in the name of justice. He thinks back to Ada’s words– “You haven’t changed. You just think you have.”– and ponders on if he really has changed. In a way, he has. Gruesome sights and ungodly terrors have plagued him, shaped him into a man of battle. But in a way, he still helps. He still offers a hand to those in need.

Helping people has always been what he wants to do. It sits at the core of his being, flowing through his blood. He thinks of Ashley, Luis, and Sherry– All the people he could and couldn’t save. He will never be okay with not being able to save everyone. It keeps him up at night, infects his dreams until they morph into night terrors.

But he has saved people. Like you.

You nod your head, cleaning the cut on his collarbone and decorating it with a band-aid. He doesn’t tell you that he saw Sherry– Not yet, anyway. He doesn’t want to disturb the serene silence. It brings forth tranquility, a type he only feels when around you. It’s quiet as you continue patching him up, save for your delicate humming (a quirk about you that he loves– Silence often scares Leon, makes him await when the next B.O.W. will find him or when an enemy will come out of nowhere. Your humming doesn’t interrupt the silence, instead making it more peaceful) and the sound of gauze and bandages ripping.

Sleep tugs at his eyelids. It isn’t often he gets the pleasure of falling asleep, but he hopes he does tonight. Even so, he’ll get to lay with you, and that’s enough to relax him.

When you finish, you smile at him. “All done,” You tell him. You card a gentle hand through his hair, brush through the knots with nimble fingers. Luxuries such as brushing his hair aren’t often thought about during his missions. Typically, he comes back with his hair in knots. He hates the feeling of you brushing through them, but he enjoys sitting on the floor in front of the couch, your legs over his shoulders. Leon will turn his head as you’re combing through his hair simply to press a kiss to the inside of your thigh, leaving you to complain about having to start all over.

It’s the domesticity that kills him to be away from you. Thoughts of you persist even when he’s on a mission. Close calls have led to him thinking if leaving you, gentle kisses and exchanged laughter, would be the last time he saw you. A few times he’s picked himself up, even when an ache settles itself into his bones and he’s lost blood by the liters, because the thought of leaving you tears him apart. Never getting to see you making breakfast for him or your tongue sticking out when you focus or the blotches on your lips after anxiety-ridden days would break him.

He never wants to leave you. The image of you sobbing, tissues piled high and comforter up to your chin, makes his heart ache. He’s getting up before he realizes it, tugging you close. He hopes you can feel his heartbeat and understand that it beats for you. Leon’s never been good at expressing his emotions, but he hopes you know how much he loves you. How he would die and kill and tear apart flesh a thousand times over just to come home to your sweet smile.

“C’mon, sweet thing,” He murmurs into your hair. Rough fingertips gently scratch up your back, caressing the soft skin. He pulls away, just to see you look up at him. In this moment, he memorizes your eyes and your smile. He memorizes the feel of your skin, the smell of your perfume, the veins that map out a river beneath your flesh. He memorizes you and your love. “Let’s get to bed.”