#again I don’t know if anyone will read this or enjoy it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

cipheress-to-k-pop · 2 days ago

Text

beauty and the beast (m.r.)

Pairing: Mattheo Riddle x Reader

Word Count: 9.3k

Summary: Mattheo Riddle, the infamous heartbreaker, gets his heart broken.

A/N: this is my first fic ever for matty but basically what happened was i read @redeemingvillains's amazing amazing fic called 'Dove' and it made me feral and i wrote this when i was supposed to be studying for my finals

im not so sure abt it lol because i feel like it's all over the place but this is what happens when i get depressed and get inspired at the same time

so, i hope you enjoy the product of my academic burnout and procrastination

also vee i hope you like the fic cuz ur most definitely my celebrity crush hehe 👉👈

Mattheo Riddle and you made an odd couple—at least, that’s what everyone said.

He was the son of the Dark Lord, Slytherin’s crowned king. All sharp edges and smoldering glances, more beast than boy. Mattheo solved problems with fists long before he used his brain, and even then, he was more likely to headbutt the issue than think it through. Fights, bruises, bleeding knuckles—he was practically the poster child for them.

You, on the other hand, were his opposite in every imaginable way.

Hufflepuff’s sweetheart. A sunbeam in human form. You were always wrapped in soft pastels with flower crowns tucked into your hair, hands sticky with sugar from baking treats or speckled with soil from planting herbs. You loved baby animals and warm tea, and your hands only ever got dirty in the name of creation or care.

So when Mattheo Riddle—the dark moon to your warm, gentle sun—started showing interest in you, your friends were quick to intervene.

Mattheo loved flustering you. Whether it was a cocky compliment or a teasing nickname, he’d always say something just to catch that bashful blush on your cheeks. He’d lean in too close, grinning like a devil as you tried to hide your smile.

“Ah! You’re just so cute. Muah!” You giggled one afternoon, pressing a kiss to the head of a tiny kitten. You’d found a litter of them near the castle grounds and built a makeshift shelter, lining it with soft blankets. To your delight, your friends had fallen in love with them too, helping feed and cuddle the kittens when they could. You came today for the usual dose of kitten therapy.

“Wow, where’s mine?”

The deep voice startled you so much you nearly toppled over from the crouch you were in, silently praying to Helga that your arse wouldn’t land on a defenseless kitten.

“Woah there!”

Luckily, someone caught you—one hand steadying your back, the other gripping your elbow just enough to stop your fall. The kitten in your arms squirmed and you realized you might’ve squeezed it in your surprise. Loosening your grip, you gently pet between its ears with a single finger, smothering it with kisses as an apology.

“You really know how to make a bloke jealous, sunshine,” Mattheo said, his voice a low purr near your ear, “I save you, and you’re still more invested in the kitten.”

You turned, only to find him inches from your face. You squeaked again, your blush rising fast as you looked away, tucking your face into your shoulder. Mattheo grinned.

You cleared your throat, trying to gather yourself, “Well, if you recall, you’re the reason I almost fell in the first place.”

His smirk widened, one brow arching—the same brow with the notch he’d gotten in a fight just a few days ago. You’d heard about it in passing, less concerned about the fight and more about whether anyone had been seriously hurt. Your friends had smiled gently at your concern, telling you you were too sweet for this world.

“I didn’t realize I distracted you, princess.”

The nickname was your undoing. Again.

You turned away, hiding behind another kitten as your cheeks burned. You couldn’t understand how someone like Mattheo Riddle found so much joy in tormenting your poor, flustered heart.

You cleared your throat, flustered, “So… you came to see the kittens too? Don’t they just cheer you up after a long day?”

Mattheo gave you a look��something between a smirk and a genuine smile, an expression that made your heart stumble over itself before he even opened his mouth.

“I am cheered up now,” He said, his voice low and warm, “But I must say, it’s not because of the kittens, Sunshine.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

Your friends had immediately tried to intervene—purely out of concern for you, as you came to realize that night in the cozy safety of your dorm room, when Mattheo Riddle’s name was brought up.

“We just want you to be careful,” Lila said gently, her dark curls falling into her eyes as she spoke, “Mattheo isn’t exactly a stranger to other girls’ beds, (Y/N). He’s gone all the way with them—four bases, easily. Hell, with him, there’s probably an extra base we don’t even know about.”

Imani winced, “And well… we know you aren’t as experienced.”

You felt your cheeks flush. They weren’t wrong.

They were referring to the fact that you were a virgin. You’d never dated anyone. Never even had a boyfriend.

“…Is that bad?” You asked softly.

The girls’ eyes widened and they immediately jumped to reassure you.

“No! Not at all!” Lila said quickly.

“Of course not!” Imani added, shaking her head.

“That’s not what we meant,” Daisy chimed in, reaching over to squeeze your hand, “You just… you deserve someone who’s patient with you.”

“Mattheo’s part of a rough crowd,” Evangeline said, hesitating. She always chose her words carefully, “I don’t want to sound mean or make you feel like we’re judging him, but… I’ve been overthinking this whole thing. And you really can’t be sure he’s not doing this as some kind of cruel joke. Or a dare. Or something equally awful. I wouldn't put it past some of his friends.”

She looked you right in the eye, her voice softening.

“I feel bad assuming the worst, I really do. But I also don’t want to trust just anyone with someone as precious as you.”

That made you smile despite yourself.

Evangeline. The mother of the group. Always looking out for everyone. Always making sure you were safe, happy, and loved. She deserved something in return for how diligently she cared for you all.

You made a mental note to bake her favorite strawberry jelly pastries as a thank-you.

“I understand what you’re all saying,” You said, voice warm, “Thank you… for looking out for me.”

Thus began the excruciating process of trying to remind yourself of everything your friends had said—every time Mattheo began to flirt with you.

You returned his charm with a polite smile. You laughed at his silly jokes. You reminded yourself, this probably isn’t that serious to him.

He could have any girl on his arm—any girl who actually knew what she was doing. What business would Mattheo Riddle, famed Slytherin heartbreaker and rumored womanizer, have with someone like you? Someone who wasn’t experienced. Someone who needed emotional connection to feel safe. Someone who couldn’t even tell whether this was real or just another one of his games.

It all came to a halt the day Mattheo—so casually it could have been mistaken for a joke—suggested you two actually go out.

It happened in passing, half-directed at someone else in the conversation. But you noticed the way he paused. The way he looked at you afterward, as if waiting—hoping—for an answer.

You stared at the hand he extended toward you, palm open.

Then your gaze lifted, meeting his eyes. Wide. Hesitant. Innocent.

He laughed, trying to play it off, “What? Don’t you trust me?”

You froze.

The corner of your mouth dipped downward, a subtle but telling movement. And Mattheo noticed instantly. The playful spark in his expression faded, replaced by a chill that settled into his shoulders like dread.

“Oh.”

“Mattheo, I—” You stopped, unsure what to say as you tugged anxiously at the edge of the shrug you’d crocheted, “I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.”

“You didn’t, princess,” He said quietly, shaking his head, “Truth is… I’ve never given you a reason to trust me.”

You paused, chewing your bottom lip nervously. The sight of it made something sharp and aching stir in Mattheo—an urge to pull your lip from your teeth with his thumb and press his own mouth to yours, just to stop you from doubting yourself.

“I’m sorry.” You whispered.

Mattheo gave you a gentle smile.

It was a sad kind of smile—soft, genuine, and far too forlorn for someone who was always so cocky and sure. Seeing it on his face made something twist in your chest.

“Don’t be, princess.” He said. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

The next couple of days were filled with a Mattheo-shaped hole in your life—and it left a heavier ache than you expected. You tried not to dwell on it, but it was hard not to overthink. Had he only wanted one thing from you? Had your rejection truly been enough for him to discard the little friendship you’d built?

Was that all he ever wanted? Was that all anyone wanted?

Still, the thoughts didn’t consume you completely. You had your friends. You had your kittens. You had the little chaos garden you were growing with Professor Sprout’s permission just beyond the greenhouses, where wildflowers grew beside pumpkins and honeybees lazily floated between blooms.

That was enough… mostly.

At least until Mattheo found you in the library.

You were seated near the back, flipping through your Herbology notes, when he strolled up and set a small vial down on the table in front of you. The clear liquid inside shimmered faintly, catching the candlelight. You looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

Mattheo’s chest was puffed out in obvious pride. He looked like he expected you to gasp or leap into his arms or start clapping.

But you just stared between him and the vial.

His posture deflated slightly, “Come on, princess. At least pretend to be interested. I spent days trying to get my hands on this.”

You bit back a smile, secretly amused by the way he still spoke to you like nothing had changed. Like you hadn't broken his heart—or at least bruised it. The fact that he was here at all made something flutter in your chest.

You gave in with a curious tilt of your head, “Alright, Mattheo. I’ll bite. What’s in the vial?”

“Veritaserum.”

Your eyes widened, but before you could even think to stop him, Mattheo uncorked the tiny bottle and downed it in one go like it was a shot of Firewhisky. He slammed the empty vial back onto the table and leaned forward, smirking.

“I’m completely at your mercy now, sunshine. Ask me anything. I’ll prove I’m not messing with you.”

You blinked, taken aback by his dramatic display. Then you pouted a little, your lips tugging downward as your eyes softened.

“How do I know that was actually Veritaserum?”

He laughed, grinning at you, “Trust issues much, princess? I respect it. Go on—ask me something I wouldn’t answer unless I was under the influence.”

Your eyes flicked over him, unconvinced. That was when you noticed the fresh cut across his nose—no doubt from yet another fight. It should have made you concerned, should have made you check him over for any other bumps and bruises. Instead, you had the completely embarrassing thought that it looked… sort of adorable.

You cleared your throat and hummed, thinking, “Your best friend is Theodore, right?”

He smirked, already cocky again, “Of course. Come on, angel. Give me a tough one.”

You tilted your head, pretending to ponder. Then, as sweetly as ever: “Have you ever thought about kissing Theodore?”

Mattheo froze.

His entire face lit up in a furious blush, red blooming across his cheeks and ears, “I—I mean, yes—but I wasn’t fantasizing about it or anything!” He sputtered, “It was just… a random thought that popped into my head once, I swear!”

You clapped a hand over your mouth, giggling uncontrollably. “Well,” You managed through your laughter, “I guess it really was Veritaserum.”

He covered his face with one hand, groaning into his palm, “That was embarrassing. I am embarrassed.”

You paused, your laughter fading into a soft frown as concern overtook your expression, “Mattheo… if you regret it, it’s okay. I won’t ask you anything else until the serum wears off, you don't have to answer anything else.”

He peeked at you through his fingers and smiled, slow and sincere. “You really are too good for this world, princess.” He let his hand fall and leaned forward, eyes never leaving yours, “No—I don’t regret it. I want you to trust me. And this was the only way I could think of doing it.”

You let out a breathy laugh. Of course it was. Of course the way Mattheo Riddle tried to earn your trust was something absurd, reckless… and somehow incredibly endearing. Just like him.

You hesitated, then asked the question that had been sitting on your chest for weeks, “All those compliments you give me… when you say I look beautiful… do you really mean that?”

His expression softened so much it almost hurt to look at. “Without a doubt,” he said without missing a beat.

Your heart stuttered in your chest. A blush crept up your neck, spreading across your cheeks like warm sunlight, “…Do you really want to date me?”

“More than anything.”

You swallowed hard, “Is this possibly part of a joke? Or a dare? Or something else I should be scared of?”

Mattheo didn’t even flinch, “Believe me, princess, I would rather fall twelve stories from the Astronomy Tower than ever do something like that to you.”

Your breath caught. You’d been cold earlier, the drafty corners of the library nipping at your sleeves—but now you felt hot all over, your skin tingling like you’d been dropped into sunlight.

You blinked, “…Are you using me as a beard to hide your true feelings for Theodore?”

“(Y/N!)” He exclaimed, utterly scandalized, your name leaving his lips for the first time ever instead of a teasing nickname. The outrage on his face was so genuine that you couldn’t hold back anymore—you burst into a fit of laughter, face falling against his bicep as you tried to muffle your giggles.

Mattheo was still huffing beside you when you finally peeked up from his arm, and the expression he wore—soft, amused, fond—made your breath hitch all over again.

You shifted nervously, “Do you… like me?”

“More than you realize.” He said, quiet but certain.

You lowered your head, flustered, heart pounding as you fidgeted with the sleeves of your jumper. You weren’t usually so forward. Asking him all those questions had taken a surprising amount of courage. And now that you had your answers, you didn’t know what to do with them.

Mattheo tilted your chin up with a featherlight touch, catching your eyes. He glanced at your lips, then back into your gaze with so much reverence it almost made you dizzy.

“Will you go out with me, sunshine?”

Your lips curled into a shy smile, “I’d love to, Mattheo.”

His smile widened, something boyish and sweet in it that you hadn’t seen before. But before you could let yourself fully sink into the glow of that moment, the nagging voice of self-doubt tugged at your courage.

“I… don’t know if you know this about me,” You started hesitantly, “but I’ve never really done this before. Dated, I mean. So… I might need to take things slower than what you’re used to. Is that okay with you?”

There was a beat of silence where your heart was convinced it might just split in two from the pressure. But then Mattheo leaned in, pressing the gentlest kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there for a heartbeat longer than necessary.

When he pulled back, his eyes were soft with something so genuine it made your throat tighten, “We’ll go as slow as you need to, princess.”

You smiled, chest loosening as you leaned slightly into his side, your hand brushing his.

It wasn’t until later—when you were curled up in bed, running back through every detail—that you realized something.

He had never actually clarified if that pace—slow, careful, uncertain—was okay with him.

He had said you could go slow.

But you didn’t know if he wanted to.

***

It had been about three weeks since you and Mattheo started dating, and even now, it sometimes didn’t feel quite real. Not because he didn’t show it—if anything, Mattheo Riddle was a surprisingly attentive boyfriend. He brought you little things he thought you’d like (a flower he saw outside Greenhouse Three, a charm that reminded him of your favorite animal, a quill in your favorite color just because you said yours was running out). He always waited for you outside class, always carried your books if your bag looked even slightly heavy, and never let a day pass without calling you by some new sweet nickname.

But more than that, he never pushed.

On your first date, you'd gone to the edge of the Forbidden Forest—somewhere quiet and peaceful with just enough sunlight trickling through the trees to give the illusion of safety and magic. You’d spread out a blanket, shared pumpkin pastries and pumpkin juice, and talked about anything and everything. Mattheo hadn’t even tried to hold your hand until you'd gently brushed your pinky against his, and even then, he’d waited for you to fully intertwine your fingers.

Since then, it had been a slow rhythm of delicate moments: shoulders brushing in the corridor, pinkies linked under the table, his fingers tucking a strand of hair behind your ear with careful reverence. He never took more than you offered. Never asked for what you weren’t ready to give.

Even now.

Now, it was late—past curfew—and you stood with him in a shadowed alcove near the Astronomy Tower, where moonlight pooled like spilled silver. The castle was hushed, and your heartbeat was the loudest thing in the world.

Your hand touches his cheek, featherlight, like you’re still unsure if you’re allowed to touch him this way. Your voice trembled at the edges when you spoke—

“Can I kiss you?”

Mattheo’s heart stops.

“You—you wanna…?” His voice catches, and he mentally curses himself because he’s Mattheo Riddle, for fuck’s sake, and now he’s stammering like a schoolboy.

“I want to kiss you,” You admitted, voice soft and just a little shaky, “But… I’ve never really done this before. I mean—not really.”

Mattheo’s expression softened immediately. He reached out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek before curling gently around your hand, “Me either.”

You blinked, “You’re kidding, right?”

He laughed under his breath, shaking his head, “No. I mean—I know what people say. I know what you’ve heard. And yeah, I’ve kissed girls before. But those… they didn’t matter. They didn’t mean anything.”

You stared at him, skeptical, “But you’ve done things, Mattheo. With other girls.”

He didn't deny it. Instead, he took your hand in both of his and guided it to his chest, just over his heart. The steady thud was frantic beneath your palm.

“You’re the first one,” He said, voice quiet and steady, “who’s made me feel like this… from just being around me.”

Your breath caught. And then, slowly, you rose onto your toes, brushing your lips against his.

It was tentative, uncertain—but real. So real it made your knees wobble and your heart race.

Mattheo barely moved, just kissed you back softly, reverently, like he was afraid you’d vanish if he wasn’t careful. When you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, smiling like you’d just handed him the stars.

“Still nervous?” He whispered.

“Only a little.” You replied, cheeks warm.

And then he leaned in again like you were sacred.

Not like a boy kissing a girl. Like a sinner kissing a prayer.

He didn’t grab. Didn’t take. He just kissed you like it was all he ever wanted to do, like your kindness was the only thing that had ever made him feel clean.

When you finally parted, your breath was uneven, your hands still trembling faintly in his.

For the first time, you understood what people meant when they talked about wanting. The way your heart kept whispering more in the stillness. The way you leaned closer without even realizing.

“I think,” You said, barely louder than a breath, “I might need some more practice.”

Mattheo grinned, brushing his nose against yours, “Good thing we’ve got time, then.”

And he kissed you again—just once more, until you asked him for more—like you were the only thing that had ever made his heart beat like that.

***

The morning sun poured lazily through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting golden light over half-finished bowls of oatmeal and drifting owl feathers.

You slid into your usual spot at the Slytherin table beside Mattheo, nudging his side lightly with your shoulder, “Good morning, Matty.”

His lips quirked up immediately, voice still raspy with sleep, “Good morning, baby.”

A chorus of greetings chimed around the table.

“Hi, (Y/N),” Theodore greeted, already mid-sip of pumpkin juice.

“Morning,” Lorenzo added with a grin, elbow-deep in toast and marmalade.

Draco gave you a nod, lifting his chin. “(Y/N).”

You smiled sweetly. “Hi, Theodore, Lorenzo, Draco.”

Mattheo tried to hide the way he preened, but he wasn’t fooling anyone. His hand casually slid onto your thigh under the table, his thumb brushing tiny circles there. You weren’t one for PDA-heavy nicknames in front of the boys, so the fact that he got a "Matty" while everyone else got their usual names? That was better than syrup on pancakes. And he was smug about it.

“What are you guys talking about?” You asked, pouring yourself some tea.

“We’re just messing with Draco,” Lorenzo said with a snort, “Apparently Pansy invited him to go flower picking in the Far East Forest.”

Your eyes lit up, “That sounds like fun!”

The table went silent for a moment—and then all three boys burst into laughter.

“You’re so precious,” Lorenzo wailed, wiping a tear.

Theodore leaned in, “Oh, it is fun. Just not in the way you’re thinking.”

Your brows furrowed, “Huh?”

Mattheo snorted, clearly amused, “Flower picking in the East Forest is a very hands-on activity, sunshine.”

Draco looked smug, “It's basically a date with, uh, extra-curriculars.”

You gasped, “Ew! Draco!”

Mattheo leaned closer to you with a smirk, his voice dropping suggestively, “If you’re that interested, I could take you flower picking sometime…”

Your head whipped toward him, scandalized, "There’s a whole brood of sweet little ducklings that nest there! Don’t you dare snatch their innocence!”

The boys lost it.

Draco buried his face in his hands, laughing helplessly, “You sound like a disappointed forest fairy.”

“I am!” You declared, scandalized, “Honestly, I hope that every time you try to do anything with Pansy out there, you open your eyes and see a baby duckling staring right at your soul. Judging you. Silently.”

Lorenzo practically choked on his juice, “Even her threats are innocent!”

Mattheo couldn’t stop grinning. He looked at you like you’d personally hung the moon, brushing his knuckles against your cheek affectionately.

Just as the laughter around the table began to settle, a familiar voice called out from the entrance of the Great Hall.

“(Y/N)! Come on, we’re gonna be late!”

You turned to see Evangeline waving you over, with Lila and Imari flanking her, each holding an enchanted picnic basket floating obediently beside them.

Mattheo let out a quiet groan beside you, letting his head drop gently onto your shoulder. “Where are you going? It’s not even time for class yet. It’s so early…”

You giggled, nudging him lightly with your elbow. “I know, but we haven’t played with the kittens in days thanks to that Charms essay. I promised the girls we’d have breakfast outside with them.”

He sighed like it was the worst tragedy known to man, looking up at you with tired eyes and a pout. “So you're ditching me... for a bunch of furballs.”

“They’re our furballs,” you said with a soft smile, standing and brushing off your skirt.

Mattheo looked up at you—his hair a mess, his expression still sleepy, but his eyes so warm and full of something you couldn’t name. You leaned down and pressed a featherlight kiss to his cheek. It was barely anything, just a brush of your lips, but it had heat blooming across your cheeks.

“Bye,” You said quickly, “Save me a seat in Charms?”

He nodded, watching you trot off toward your friends with a smile so dazed it made him look a little lovesick.

As soon as you were out of earshot, Theo let out a low whistle, “Mate. You’re gone.”

Lorenzo leaned in with a grin, “Did you just blush? Over a cheek kiss?”

Draco raised a brow, amused, “You’ve had girls snog you senseless behind greenhouses. 'The Hufflepuff Sweetheart' kisses you on the cheek and you look like you're ready to write her a sonnet.”

Mattheo blinked slowly, still smiling like a right fool, “It was a very good kiss.”

Draco smirked, “She barely touched you and you look like you’ve been hit with a Confundus charm.”

None of them noticed the two girls lingering near the entrance—eyes narrowed, arms crossed—who’d heard every single word.

***

You weren’t supposed to hear them.

Their voices were just a low hum at first—giggling, whispering—coming from around the corner as you walked the quiet corridor. You weren’t trying to eavesdrop. You weren’t looking for trouble.

But the words found you anyway.

“Mattheo Riddle? Merlin, he’s such a fuckboy,” One of the girls said, her voice dripping with judgment, “He’s probably seen more girls naked than he can remember. And now he’s with her? Sweet, innocent little thing? She doesn’t stand a chance. I mean, how could someone like her—so sweet, so innocent—keep up with him?”

Another girl snickered, her tone mocking. “It's probably just a corruption kink. He’ll get bored as soon as he realizes she can’t give him what he really wants.”

You paused mid-step, your heart sinking into your stomach. The words struck you harder than you could have imagined.

“She doesn’t have what it takes, though. Look at her—so naive. You think she even knows what to do with a guy like that?” One of them continued, “You really think she knows how to keep someone like him satisfied?” The rest of their words faded, but they’d already done their damage. The words had been carved straight through your chest.

You hadn’t meant to listen. But now you couldn’t unhear it.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel the sting of tears burning behind your eyes, the cruel weight of their words crushing your chest.

You wanted to shake it off. You wanted to tell yourself it didn’t matter. But their voices stuck to your skin like smoke. You weren’t enough. You never would be.

You felt stupid.

You’d been so blind to think someone like Mattheo, with all his past, could ever truly want someone like you. You weren’t like the other girls. You were soft, innocent—too innocent, it seemed. You knew it, deep down, but hearing them confirm your worst fear was unbearable.

You didn’t even know how you managed to make it to your dorm. Everything blurred—walls, portraits, passing students—until finally you reached your bed and collapsed onto it, curling in on yourself like you could disappear. The tears came hard and fast, soaking into your pillow no matter how tightly you shut your eyes.

You couldn’t shake the image of Mattheo and his past. Of all the things he’d done, of all the girls who had been in his life. And here you were—so different from them. You were certain he deserved someone who could keep up with him, someone more experienced, more capable of handling whatever it was that he needed.

What if Mattheo needed someone more experienced—someone who could match the fire in his veins, not melt under it?

Could he really be happy with someone like you?

The ache in your chest tightened. You tried to brush it off, to convince yourself it didn’t matter, that Mattheo wouldn’t care what those girls said. But the words kept echoing, louder with every breath: He’ll get bored. She’s not enough. She can’t keep up.

You’d always known you were different than the girls he'd usually chased. You thought he liked that about you. But… maybe you’d been delusional to think he could feel the same way. Really feel it.

The sadness settled over you like fog—thick, inescapable. You tried to reason with yourself, tried to dismiss the ache as insecurity, paranoia, nothing real. He told you he didn’t mind. He’d said it plainly, truthfully—Veritaserum coursing through his veins, no way to lie. You could take all the time you needed. He liked you, chose you, in spite of your hesitation.

And still, the doubt crept in.

Maybe he had meant it at the time.

But maybe he’d change his mind.

Maybe one day he’d wake up and realize what he was missing. Maybe he’d grow tired of your softness, your innocence, your quiet kind of love.

The ache deepened, dull and steady, like something inside you had cracked and wasn’t going to heal quickly. You curled tighter under the blanket, trying to shut it all out—the voices, the doubt, the image of Mattheo with someone who could give him more than you ever could.

You told yourself it didn’t matter.

You told yourself to stop.

But the feeling wouldn’t leave.

***

The next morning, when Mattheo met you in the corridor, he noticed it instantly.

There was a weariness in your eyes that hadn’t been there before—an invisible weight pressing down on your shoulders. The usual lightness in your step, the spark in your smile, your warmth—all dimmed, like someone had drawn a curtain over you overnight.

“Hey,” He said softly, tilting his head to meet your gaze, “You okay?”

You forced a smile, but it felt brittle—like glass about to crack. “Didn’t sleep well,” You murmured, brushing your hair behind your ear as you looked anywhere but at him. The floor suddenly seemed very interesting.

Mattheo’s brows pulled together. He didn’t press, not yet, but the shift in your energy felt like a punch to the ribs. You were always open with him. Bright, effervescent—sunlight in human form. Seeing you closed off like this, hiding behind half-smiles and lowered eyes, made something twist deep in his chest.

He leaned in for your usual morning kiss—your quiet tradition, simple and grounding. Mattheo loved giving affection, and you adored receiving it, but he’d always let you close the gap. Let you decide. Whether it was a quick kiss, a lingering one, or just a soft touch on the cheek—he followed your lead, always careful not to push your boundaries.

It was something that had always made your heart flutter. His patience. His gentleness with you.

But this morning, all you could think about was Fifth Year—when he’d grabbed the girl he was dating at the time and snogged her senseless in front of half the Great Hall. No hesitation. No care for who was watching. His hand had been tangled in her hair, the other gripping her waist like he needed her closer, and when she’d giggled against his mouth, clinging to him like he was gravity itself, he’d laughed—carefree, cocky, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

It had been effortless for him then. Confident. Public.

Your heart seized.

How much did he have to restrain himself now? How many times had he accepted your fleeting pecks, when he might have wanted more? How often had he pretended it was enough?

A wave of guilt washed over you. You wanted to reach out, to grab him by the tie and kiss him breathless. Maybe then the whispers wouldn’t matter. Maybe then he wouldn’t get bored. Wouldn’t leave.

But even with that desperate thought flickering in your mind, your body didn’t move. There was ice in your veins. Fear anchoring your limbs. So instead, you leaned up just enough to brush your lips against his, featherlight. Barely there.

Mattheo froze.

You always smiled after your kisses—grinned and scrunched your nose, sometimes added a ridiculous muah sound that made him roll his eyes but secretly love you more. But now…

Now, you didn’t even look at him.

“Sunshine,” he said gently, “are you sure you’re okay?”

You sighed, and this time the smile didn’t even try to reach your eyes. “Just feeling… tired,” you murmured, the words barely above a whisper.

He didn’t believe you. Not for a second.

***

The next few days felt like a slow drift—like two ships caught in different tides.

You weren’t as quick to meet him between classes anymore, often ducking into the crowd or lingering behind with classmates until he was gone. You still spoke when you ran into him, but only when he spoke first. Your voice lacked its usual lilt, and the pauses between your words were longer. Heavier. When he asked to see you, you hesitated. “I’ve got homework,” you’d murmur, “I think I’m getting sick.” Excuses—flimsy, transparent.

You didn’t even show up for breakfast.

Your absence was glaring, something his friends immediately picked up on.

“Where’s your sweet little princess, Matty?” Theodore teased around a mouthful of toast, “Too busy with the mice and birds baking a pie?”

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Because in all honesty… he didn’t know where you were. Just like he hadn’t known yesterday. You’d slipped through the day like a ghost, nowhere to be found, avoiding every place he’d looked for you.

He’d even sent an owl that morning. A soft, simple note: Missed you at breakfast. Meet me after class? I miss you.

All he got back was a short reply scribbled hastily on parchment: Sorry, slept in. Was up late. Just really tired. Maybe later.

There was no little kiss-mark of your lip gloss. No sweet spritz of your perfume clinging to the paper. Not even a heart at the end of your sentence.

And it hurt him—visibly, deeply. More than he could ever admit.

Mattheo wasn’t stupid. If anything, he was painfully perceptive when it came to you. He noticed the way your eyes didn’t light up when you saw him anymore. The way you flinched—subtly, but undeniably—when he reached for your hand. How your laughter came less often. How your smile no longer reached your eyes.

You were pulling away.

At first, he tried to play it cool. Maybe you were stressed, maybe you just needed space. He’d seen you have bad days before. But the quiet between you kept growing louder, stretching taut with everything unsaid. Every time he reached out, you slipped further from his grasp—like sand slipping through his fingers, no matter how tightly he tried to hold on.

And it scared him.

Because this time… you weren’t just hesitant. You weren’t just unsure, or overwhelmed, or waiting for him to take the lead.

You were running away.

And he didn’t know why.

***

It had been nearly two weeks.

Two weeks of avoiding his eyes, his touch, his voice. Two weeks of skipping dinners and brushing past him in corridors like he was a stranger. Two weeks of burying the ache in your chest and pretending like you didn’t feel the pull of his absence every second of every day.

And now… you were here.

Standing outside the boys’ dorm, your fist hovering just inches from the door.

You hesitated—long enough to wonder if this was a mistake, long enough to feel the lump rise in your throat again—but then you knocked. Once. Twice.

It creaked open immediately.

“Oh—hey,” Theodore said, surprised but smiling, “Uh… Mattheo’s inside.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

Around the room, the other boys lifted their heads. Recognition dawned quickly—followed by an awkward shuffle of movement. They exchanged glances, and then, wordlessly, began to file out.

“We’ll give you two a minute,” Lorenzo said with a wink, nudging Blaise toward the door.

Draco gave you a small, kind smile as he passed, brushing your shoulder gently, “Good to see you again, (Y/N).”

And that made it so much worse.

You swallowed hard. Guilt pooled in your stomach like lead.

When you finally stepped inside, Mattheo was sitting on the edge of his bed, a book abandoned in his lap. His head snapped up the moment he saw you.

“(Y/N),” He breathed, standing quickly, his eyes searching your face, “You—you’re here. Are you okay? Are you finally gonna talk to me?”

He looked so hopeful. So relieved. Like your silence had just been a bad dream he was waking up from.

You couldn’t meet his eyes.

“I wanted to talk,” You said softly, “Can we sit?”

He nodded quickly, motioning for you to sit beside him on the bed. You did, folding your hands tightly in your lap.

He sat close—close enough to touch, to reach for you—but you shifted slightly away, just enough for him to notice.

His smile faltered. “(Y/N)…?”

You forced yourself to breathe, to speak the words that had been lodged in your throat for days. To finally speak the words that had been festering inside your chest like poison.

“I think we should break up.”

Silence.

You couldn’t look at him.

It took him a moment to react—like the words had hit, but the meaning hadn’t quite registered yet.

“What?”

Your heart cracked in your chest.

��I don’t think we’re right for each other, Mattheo.”

He flinched—actually flinched—like you’d slapped him, “What are you talking about?”

“I just…” You struggled to keep your voice steady, “I think we’re too different. You and me. It’s not working. I don’t want to waste your time.”

He was staring at you now—like you’d just confessed something absurd, “You don’t want to waste my—(Y/N), what are you saying? You’re everything to me.”

“Mattheo—”

“No.” He stood suddenly, running a hand through his hair, pacing a few steps like the motion might help him make sense of the spiral, “You’re lying. This isn’t you. Just tell me what’s wrong and I’ll fix it. Is it something I did? I can change. I will change. I’ll do anything. Just—don’t do this.”

You stood, too, voice quieter now, “That’s the thing. Even if you change…it wouldn’t make a difference.”

Because I’m the reason everything is falling apart—but you couldn’t say it.

And Mattheo was standing there like the wind had been knocked out of him.

He opened his mouth—but no words came.

So you left.

You turned on your heel, walked out the door, down the stairs—your legs trembling the entire way. You were halfway across the common room before—

“(Y/N)!” His voice tore through the air like lightning.

You froze.

Then you felt it—his hand wrapping around your wrist, desperate and trembling, pulling you gently back around.

His friends were there, scattered around the couches, watching with wide eyes.

“Can you just please tell me what’s going on?” He asked, breathless and hurting, “I’m not mad—I just… I don’t understand. You don’t even look at me anymore, you’re avoiding me, and now this? If you want space, I’ll give you space. If you need time, I’ll wait. Just… please. Tell me the truth. I can’t fix it if I don’t know what I broke.”

You looked up at him then. His eyes were shining, lips parted, pain carved into every inch of his expression.

And it shattered you.

You shook your head slowly, tears burning at the corners of your eyes.

“You didn’t break anything,” You whispered, “But some things just…can’t be fixed.”

And that was all you gave him before you slipped your wrist out of his hold and walked away—this time, for real.

He didn’t chase you again.

Mattheo stood there, unmoving, eyes locked on the spot where you’d stood.

“What the hell was that?” Blaise asked quietly.

Mattheo didn’t respond.

He just stared at the door, still trying to catch his breath.

“We just broke up,” He said hollowly. Then he sank into the nearest armchair, elbows on his knees, head in his hands. His fingers threaded through his hair, trembling as he blinked rapidly—like the world was spinning too fast, and he couldn’t keep up.

***

It had been nearly a month since the breakup. And every second of it had been hell.

Mattheo wasn’t just off—he was unrecognizable.

He stopped showing up to class unless someone physically dragged him. On the rare occasions he did, he’d sit slouched in the back, hood up, glowering at the floor, snapping at anyone who dared speak to him. He skipped practice. Ignored meals. Picked fights for no reason.

And when Quidditch rolled around? It was brutal.

He played like he had nothing to lose—like every match was a battlefield, every tackle a personal vendetta, every swing of his bat a desperate attempt to release something festering inside. Players left the pitch bruised, limping, bleeding. Referees issued warnings. Professors whispered behind closed doors. Students started walking on eggshells whenever he passed, careful not to catch his eye.

But still… even through all of that, he searched for you.

Every time he walked into a room, his gaze found you. Across the Great Hall, surrounded by your friends. In the courtyard, hunched over your journal. In the corridors, where you kept your head down and your footsteps quick—where you avoided him like it physically hurt to meet his eyes.

Because it did.

Once—just once—you ran into each other between classes.

You turned a corner and there he was.

His steps halted. Your breath caught.

“(Y/N)—” He breathed, his voice low and hopeful, like he wasn’t sure if he was dreaming.

But you couldn’t look at him. You ducked your head and brushed past, your heart hammering in your chest.

You kept walking, fast, willing yourself not to cry.

And just before you rounded the corner, you paused.

Just for a second.

You glanced back, hoping—aching—for even the smallest sign that he was looking back.

Mattheo didn’t see your heartbroken gaze.

But Evangeline certainly did.

***

“This is ridiculous.” Theo muttered one night, slamming his book shut.

Blaise didn't look up from his game of exploding snap with Enzo, “He didn’t even show up to practice today.”

“He was out back,” Enzo said quietly, “Feeding her cats at the shelter again."

The tension in the Slytherin common room was already thick when the door opened and four girls stepped inside.

Evangeline, Lila, Daisy, and Imari strode in with a kind of urgent determination that made every conversation falter mid-sentence. Heads turned. Even Draco glanced up from where he sat lounging by the fireplace.

When him and the others saw the girls heading straight for them, their expressions shifted from curiosity to mild alarm.

“You lot,” Evangeline said firmly, folding her arms as they approached, “We need to talk.”

“Uh…” Theo blinked, “Hi?”

Lila didn’t waste time, “It’s about (Y/N).”

That got their attention.

Blaise sighed and put down the Exploding Snap cards.

“She’s not eating,” Daisy said quietly, “I’ve been sitting with her at meals, and she hardly touches anything. She’s barely there. Her eyes are dead, and I know she’s been crying herself to sleep every night. I can't watch it anymore."

Imari added sharply, “And she won’t tell us what happened. All we know is that she broke up with Mattheo, and ever since then, it’s like we’re living with a ghost.”

The boys exchanged glances—uneasy, guilt-ridden glances.

“Well,” Theodore exhaled, running a hand through his curls, “if it makes you feel any better, Mattheo’s not exactly thriving either.”

Draco snorted, “Thriving? He’s on the verge of a full mental collapse.”

“He’s stopped going to class,” Blaise muttered, “He’s smoking like a chimney again. Got detention twice last week for fighting.”

Lorenzo chimed in, “He damn near took someone’s head off at Quidditch. We’re this close to him being benched for the rest of the season—or expelled.”

Evangeline’s expression softened slightly, “So… they’re both miserable.”

“Clearly,” Theo muttered, leaning against the arm of the couch, “But what are we supposed to do about it?”

That’s when Imari stepped forward, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. She fixed the boys with a hard look, “You all know Mattheo better than anyone. What the hell is he doing to fix this?”

Theo’s eyebrows shot up, “Why does Mattheo have to fix anything? (Y/N) dumped him out of nowhere and shattered his heart! Some Hufflepuff sweetheart she turned out to be!”

Lila stepped forward defensively, “She must’ve had a good reason! Mattheo must’ve done something—he’s obviously in the wrong!”

“You shut your Hufflepuff mouth,” Draco snapped, standing up as the tension in the room heightened.

“Enough,” Evangeline snapped, eyes flashing, “This isn’t about blame. We’re not here to fight—we’re here to help them. Or did you all miss the part where they’re both completely wrecked without each other?”

Theo blinked, “…Damn. I like an assertive woman.”

Evangeline didn’t even look at him, instead turning her attention back to the boys, "We need to help them. They’re both falling apart, and if we don’t do something now, it’s only going to get worse."

Imari glanced at the guys, her eyes narrowing as she thought for a moment. Then, a smirk tugged at her lips. She stood up straight, crossing her arms as she looked them over, "I’ve got an idea."

***

It was just past sunset when you heard a stampede of frantic footsteps charging up the stairs to your dorm room. You barely stirred from bed, buried deep in a cocoon of blankets and silence.

Then the door burst open.

“Does anyone have gauze? Or a healing salve? Lila, where’s the bloody first aid kit?!”

The chaos jolted you upright.

Imari was digging through drawers like her life depended on it. Daisy was pacing, hair a mess, muttering under her breath. Lila had inexplicably opened your wardrobe and was rifling through your jumpers. Evangeline was trying—and failing—to look composed.

You blinked, “What’s going on?”

“We found a baby owl,” Daisy rushed out, breathless, scrambling to your bedside, “Abandoned on the Astronomy Tower. Its wing’s all bent—it can’t fly.”

“—and it was crying,” Lila added dramatically, dabbing at imaginary tears, “Little squeaky hoots, like it was calling for help.”

Your heart lurched, “Wait—what? Is it still up there?”

“Yeah, we didn’t want to risk hurting it more by moving it,” Imari said, voice sharp with urgency, “We were grabbing supplies, but honestly, you’re the best with animals, (Y/N). Could you go? Please?”

You were already tossing off your blanket, “Of course. Where?”

“Astronomy Tower,” Evangeline said, “By the west-facing window.”

“We’ll be right behind you with the kit,” Lila added, pushing the nearly empty first aid box into Imari’s arms.

“Go on,” Daisy said gently, “Poor thing’s probably terrified.”

Without another word, you slipped on your shoes and bolted for the door.

The second you were gone, the girls sagged in relief.

“We’ve been trying to get her out of bed for weeks and all it took was a fake injured animal?” Lila muttered.

“She’s too pure for this world,” Daisy sighed.

“I love her for it,” Evangeline said softly.

“Right?” Imari smirked, “Now we just need the guys to hold up their end of the bargain.”

Meanwhile, in the Slytherin dorm…

“Oi, Mattheo,” Blaise called casually, leaning against the doorframe, “Fancy a smoke?”

Mattheo didn’t even glance up. He was slouched in his desk chair, hood up, fingers twitching idly. But after a pause, he sighed and stood, “Sure.”

They walked in silence, the kind that made everything feel heavier. No jokes. No jabs. Just thick, uncomfortable quiet.

Halfway to the courtyard, Theo suddenly froze, smacking his pockets, “Shit.”

Mattheo frowned, “What?”

“My lighter. Left it in the dorm.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, “Use your wand?”

Theo blinked, “Uh… right. That would make sense.”

Mattheo stared at him.

Draco stepped in, cool as ever, “Ignore him. Dropped on his head too many times as a child. Just head up to the Astronomy Tower—we’ll catch up.”

Mattheo’s expression tightened, “Why the Astronomy Tower?”

“Best view. Less wind. Good vibes,” Blaise said, waving him off, “Go on. We’ll be right there.”

Mattheo looked at them for a long second. Suspicious. Then he turned and headed toward the tower alone.

As soon as he was gone, the boys broke formation.

“Do you think he’s going to punch someone if this goes wrong?” Lorenzo asked.

“Definitely,” Draco muttered, “I’m blaming that halfwit Imari. This plan is ridiculous.”

“I don’t know,” Theo said thoughtfully, “Evangeline seems like she knows what she’s doing.”

Draco narrowed his eyes, “Theo’s kink is women telling him he’s stupid.”

Theo shrugged, “Not denying it.”

***

You ran up the stairs to the Astronomy Tower, lungs burning, trying to quiet your breathing so you could listen for the pained hoots of an injured owl.

But then you saw him.

“Mattheo?” You breathed, freezing in the doorway.

He leaned against the far wall, bathed in the fading light of sunset, his posture tense, eyes sharp with disbelief, “What are you doing here?”

“I—I didn’t know you’d be—”

The door slammed shut behind you with a heavy clang.

You both spun around, “What the hell?!”

“YOU’RE WELCOME!” Came Theo’s smug voice, muffled through the thick wood, “Not unlocking this ‘til you two sort your shit out!”

“DON’T BOTHER SCREAMING!” Imari added cheerfully, “It’s soundproofed!”

Mattheo stormed to the door, yanking at the handle and pounding his fist against the wood, “This isn’t fucking funny, Theo! Open the door!”

You stood frozen, caught between panic and the overwhelming urge to melt into the floor.

“Mattheo—”

“Honestly, what the fuck were they thinking?” He snapped, pacing now, furious, “Let’s just trap us in a room together, yeah? Brilliant. Force her to spend time with the monster she couldn’t wait to get away from.”

Your chest clenched, “You’re not a monster.”

He laughed bitterly, “Right. That’s why you couldn’t even look at me when you ended things.”

You flinched.

“You didn’t even say anything real,” He continued, voice rising, “Just some vague crap about how we weren’t compatible—like that wasn’t a complete lie.”

You stared at the floor, throat tight, “It wasn’t about you, Mattheo.”

“Oh, no?” His voice cracked, “Could’ve fooled me.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, “It wasn’t you. It’s me, okay?!”

He froze, “What?”

You couldn’t stop the words now, even as your voice wavered, “It was me. I’m the problem. I can’t give you what you need. I’m inexperienced and clumsy and it was only a matter of time before you realized you deserved better—someone who could give you the kind of relationship you actually want.”

He looked like you’d just struck him.

“I didn’t want it to get to my head,” You whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks, “But I couldn’t stop thinking about how I wasn’t making you as happy as you made me. I wasn’t enough. And every time I saw you, it hurt… and I just didn’t want it to hurt anymore.”

“(Y/N)…” He breathed, shaking his head, “I told you so many times. I promised you—we wouldn’t go faster than what you wanted. What you needed.”

“But what about your needs?” You cried, voice cracking, “Why should you have to restrain yourself and ignore what you want just because I’m too scared to give it? What makes me worth that sacrifice?”

Mattheo was stunned silent.

Then, in the quiet, his voice broke through like a prayer, “Because I’m in love with you, (Y/N).”

You froze.

“I love you for who you are. There isn’t another girl in this bloody castle—or the world—who’s as kind and selfless as you. I told you before—I’ve never felt like this with anyone else. And I don’t want to. I’m not going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, voice softer but no less intense.

“I don’t love you in spite of your caution—I love you because of it. Because every time you trust me, even just a little, I know I’m getting a part of you no one else has. That means something to me. That connects me to you in a way I’ve never felt with anyone else.”

His eyes searched yours, earnest and unwavering.

“So if you want to take things slow? That’s fine. If you want to join a convent and die a virgin—I’ll turn into a priest.”

That startled a teary laugh out of you.

“All I need is you, (Y/N). In whatever way you can give me.”

And then, in a blur of movement, he crossed the room and wrapped you in his arms so tightly it knocked the air from your lungs.

“You stupid, beautiful idiot,” He whispered into your hair, voice shaking, “You think I’d ever stop loving you?”

You sobbed into his chest, gripping the back of his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I don’t care what anyone says,” He murmured, “I don’t care if you’re scared, or shy, or awkward—I. Don’t. Care. You’re mine, (Y/N). That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I just didn’t want to disappoint you.” You hiccuped.

“You couldn’t,” He said fiercely, “You never could.”

You pulled back just enough to see his face—his eyes were glassy, rimmed red, but so, so soft.

He cupped your cheek, kissed your forehead. Then your temple. Your cheek. Every inch he could reach without letting go.

“I love you,” He whispered, like a vow, “And I’m gonna keep loving you—no matter how long it takes you to believe me.”

“I—I love you too,” you whispered back, trembling.

And this time, you kissed him first—wrapping your arms around his neck and molding your lips to his, harder than ever before. Not because you felt like you had to, but because you missed him.

You missed him so much.

The stars above bore witness—not to an ending, but a return.

***

Bonus:

You stirred your cup of hot cocoa lazily, a playful smirk tugging at your lips as you watched both groups of your friends awkwardly glance at one another. The kitchens were warm and buzzing with laughter, but a hint of tension from earlier still lingered in the air.

“Unbelievable,” You said, looking more upset than you were considering your eyes were still red and your cheeks were still blotchy, “Lying about a poor injured baby animal like that.”

Lila, ever the spokesperson, threw her hands up with an exasperated groan, “We’re sorry, (Y/N). But you were so depressed! It was horrible. We didn’t know what else to do.”

You raised a brow, grin deepening, “So you told the depressed girl to go to the only place in the castle with a balcony?”

The room went dead silent. Everyone exchanged panicked looks as the weight of that unintended implication sunk in.

Then—your laughter broke the silence, bright and sudden, echoing off the stone walls. The sound was so unexpected that they all visibly relaxed, joining in with nervous chuckles.

Mattheo, seated beside you, leaned in and pressed a kiss to your knuckles, his voice quiet and steady. “Don’t talk like that,” he murmured, his lips brushing your skin, “I don’t like hearing it.”

You blinked up at him, momentarily caught off guard by the tenderness in his tone. His gaze was soft but serious, full of something fiercely protective.

A quiet warmth spread in your chest, and you gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Okay,” You whispered, your smile softer now.

Across the table, Theo let out an exaggerated groan, “And now we have the pleasure of witnessing the tooth-rotting fluff. Again.”

“They’re adorable. Stop being mean,” Evangeline shot back, smacking him lightly on the shoulder.

Theo perked up, undeterred, “Maybe I wouldn’t be so mean if I had some teeth-rotting sugar of my own.”

Evangeline looked genuinely disturbed, “I’d rather third-wheel their disgustingly cheesy romance, thanks.”

“Alright, alright,” Daisy cut in, raising her mug in a faux-toasting motion, “How about we all agree to be mildly happy for them and get back to celebrating the fact that they’re no longer moody shells of human beings.”

“Agreed,” Blaise added, lifting his own cup with mock solemnity, “For the greater good of us all.”

***

Forever Taglist:

@simonsbluee

@notslaybabes

@superheroesaremyjam113263

@writers-whirlwind

#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle imagine #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle oneshot #mattheo riddle fanfic

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joshujin · 3 days ago

Text

can’t wait no more

🔞 18+, minors do not interact • masterlist • submit a request

your pov • soonyoung’s pov ⇣

soonyoung has been best friends with you for 10 years now—in love with you for almost all of that time. one way or another, those 10 years end tonight.

♫ darl+ing svt pairing: soonyoung x fem!reader word count: 11.6k (i don't want to talk about it) tags: best friends to lovers, idiots in love, a lil miscommunication, angst, happy ending, soonyoung pov, flashbacks cw: smut - possessiveness, unprotected piv (pull-out method. v irresponsible piv. don't be like these two), reader loses virginity, spit, oral f. receiving, fingering, mention of choking, mention of masturbating, soft vanilla smut, probably a little hornier than the other pov bc this is a MAN after all a/n: happy @citruscheol birth!!! ٩(ˊᗜˋ*)و to celebrate this momentous occasion, i ofc had to honor her request for a soonyoung pov of we can be all we need. you don’t really need to read that before this one; after all, they are essentially the same fic. BUT! i recommend you do bc it will make this version more enjoyable + easier to understand. and y’know what, i literally had to drive myself bat shit crazy and completely alter my brain chemistry to write this. like. there isn’t enough grass in the world that i can touch to return back to normal. and idk if i can ever look at hoshi the same ever again, so the least you can do is read both ok ㅠㅠㅠㅠ kidding ofc pls do what you want haha. either way, i think you’ll enjoy whichever one you want to read! as far as smut goes, same thing as last time: i marked where the smut starts and ends, but this courtesy is for adults who don’t want to read explicit material. minors should not be interacting at all pls!

soonyoung has been avoiding you. he knows you know it because you’ve asked him multiple times now if anything was wrong, and every time, he’s lied to you and told you everything was fine. everything wasn’t fine. it hardly felt like anything was fine, actually.

because you just blew out your candles, you’re 30 now, and his time has officially run out. he can’t blame anyone other than himself, though, and he knows it. he had seven whole years to tell you, and instead, he foolishly thought if he just continued to love you the way he’s always loved you, you would simply see it yourself. you would see how hopelessly in love with you he is.

you didn’t. for whatever reason, his showering you with lavish gifts, vacations, and fancy meals didn’t strike you as odd for a friend. or the way he was constantly wrapped around you or leaving kisses on your forehead whenever he had the chance. or the fact that it’s been nine fucking years since he went on a date or slept with anyone. he’s fucking priestly at this point.

and he doesn’t do it just so you’ll get the hint. he does it because that’s how he loves you and that’s how he’s always loved you. but maybe that’s the issue: you think this is just how he is as a friend because he’s been this way ever since he met you. but you couldn’t be more wrong.

soonyoung has never even felt inclined to treat anyone outside of his family the way he treats you. as far as he’s concerned, everything he does for you are just things he watched his dad do for his mom his whole life. you’re not even aware that the way he loves you is supposed to be reserved for whoever becomes his wife.

and he’s been so happy to give you all of that even if it meant you never saw him the way he longed for you to. it fills him with pride to know that your expectations are higher because he’s loved you so well—that you know exactly what you deserve because he’s always tried to give you exactly that.

at least, up until a few weeks ago, when the horror of the truth really started settling into his bones: you weren’t going to fall in love with him by the time you turn 30. and without even really realizing it, he started distancing himself from you, deluded into thinking it would be easier to let go if he just put a little space between the two of you. he knew it was hurting you just as much as it was hurting him, and he knew you didn’t deserve it.

it’s against his hardwiring to do anything that hurts you, and it’s reflected in how terrible his life has become in just a handful of weeks. his apartment has been filthy; the only reason it was ready for your party was because he paid the housekeeper double to come even though he wasn’t scheduled to clean for another week. his work is fortunately still fine, but he spends whole days with horrible brain fog, hardly understanding or even hearing anything anyone says to him. he hasn’t seen any friends—mutual or otherwise—because he spends all his free time in bed or drinking himself into a sobbing mess.

that’s all he can seem to do these days, is cry over you.

soonyoung steps out into the balcony attached to his bedroom, leaning against the sliding door once it’s closed. he cranes his neck to look up toward the midnight sky, and takes a deep breath. it doesn’t help keep the tears at bay. he keeps his head tilted up.

he knows you don’t deserve this. he knows you’re hurting and that you feel him slipping away. he saw it. just now, just before you blew your candles out, he saw the way the joy and life immediately fled your eyes when they landed on him. he wonders what you saw. did you see the apathy he was desperately forcing? did you see how sad he was at all?

because he is. he’s the saddest he’s felt since you told him you would rather be on vacation with someone you were in love with seven years ago. someone who wasn’t him. maybe he’s even sadder now. at least back then, he was foolish enough to hope you would change your mind. at least back then, he had time on his side.

now, it’s over, and now, it’s time to give himself a fair chance to move on. you don’t deserve what he’s putting you through, and it’s true for him too. he doesn’t deserve what he’s put himself through for the last decade.

countless nights you fell asleep at his place, countless times he wished he could gather you up in his arms and carry you into a bed you shared. all the times you told him you loved him and he desperately wanted to beg you to repeat it, even if it was just so he could pretend you meant it the way he needed you to mean it. whole weeks spent overseas on all kinds of vacations, time he spent daydreaming that this was what a honeymoon with you could feel like.

it all adds up to a decade of putting his heart on the backburner so he could allow himself to continue loving you.

soonyoung scoffs at himself when the tears refuse to stop welling in his eyes. he shakes his head and steps forward, resting his forearms against his railing and staring at the blackness in front of him.

part of him hates the version of himself from seven years ago that thought making this stupid promise was a good idea. what good can come from not loving you? but the reason he’s stuck to pulling away and holding you at arm’s distance is because that version of himself somehow knew the pain would grow more and more, year after year.

he can’t do this for the rest of his life—can’t just keep making room for more heartache the older he gets. you’re 30 now, and even though you insist you’re fine and have no desire to date, he knows you’ll get restless soon. and when he thinks of you finally deciding you want to have a boyfriend, he wants to vomit. when he thinks of some other asshole’s hands on you, his lips on yours—when he thinks of you sighing anyone’s name but his, he gets near homicidal over something that isn’t even real. at least not yet.

soonyoung doesn’t want to wait for that to happen. he doesn’t want to wait for you to hate him for being unable to share you—and he won’t be able to share you. he also doesn’t want you to have to face the pressure of having to choose between a best friend and a boyfriend.

instead, he’d rather you start to hate him slowly, over time. he’d rather you allow him his space and not even realize you hate him for slipping away and leaving you behind—not until it’s years later, when you hear his name in passing, and you think, he just left, and you tell yourself it’s fine because your life is better without him anyway.

it hurts you now, but it’ll hurt less later. it’ll hurt less for both of you to endure this silence now, rather than fight until there’s nothing but resentment.

the door behind soonyoung slides open forcefully and slams closed a moment later. he flinches, looking over his shoulder to see who entered his room and ready to tell them to get out. when he sees you, though, he turns back away, trying to discreetly wipe his eyes.

“what are you doing?”

he quietly clears his throat, hoping he doesn’t sound too worn when he speaks. “just needed some air.”

“no.”

you say it in that tone that always scared him a little. it’s when he knew you were about to get your way. he wasn’t interested in doing the whole fighting thing with you; he just gave you whatever you wanted the moment this voice came out of your mouth. it always drew a smile out of you and it made his life easier.

this is about to be the one and only time he can’t let you have your way.

“what are you doing?”

soonyoung squeezes his eyes shut, like that will help him brace himself against the conversation he has to have with you.

this was coming, he tells himself. you knew this was coming. she was never just going to let you go without an explanation.

“why are you ignoring me?” you ask, voice cracking. it takes everything in him to stay where he stands and keep from wrapping his arms around you, apologizing, and begging you to stop crying. “why are you avoiding me? why are you acting like i’m not your best friend?”

soonyoung opens his eyes and almost laughs. best friend. he doesn’t know when the term became so derogatory to him. anyone would be lucky to be in your life, let alone be your best friend. he hates it anyway.

he’s your best friend. you’re not his. he would never dream of calling you that—at least not without calling you the love of his life first. his most beloved. the woman he would give anything to marry. on the totem pole of things he wants to call you, best friend is at the bottom.

“because you’re not,” he says honestly. he immediately regrets it when he hears the small whimper that escapes you. “at least, i don’t want you to be,” he adds, hoping it will soften the blow of what he just said.

“what are you saying?”

soonyoung feels so tired and sad and heartbroken. he hangs his head a little as he takes a deep breath.

“what are you saying, soonyoung?” you repeat when he doesn’t answer immediately. patience was never your strong suit.

when he’s sure he’s not going to start sobbing upon turning, he finally faces you, and even then, he can’t bring himself to look you in the eye. if he does, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to do this.

“do you remember your 23rd birthday?” he asks, gaze fixed on the stain on his balcony where you dropped a smoothie and he insisted you leave it instead of cleaning it. he forgot to do it himself and now he has a permanent reminder of how whipped he is for you.

“siquijor,” you basically spit at him. he feels your walls coming up. he feels your defenses getting ready, and he knows you’re aware of what he’s about to do. “what about it?”

siquijor. the best and worst trip of his life.

“i think i’m drunk,” you announced, words slurring so badly, soonyoung was convinced anyone else wouldn’t be able to understand what you were saying.

“what?” he asked sarcastically. “no way. what makes you say that?”

soonyoung loved being sober when you were drunk like this. he loved hearing and seeing all the silly shit you’d never say or do sober. most of all, he loved taking care of you. he loved pretending he meant something more to you and this was just another boyfriend duty of his—making sure his drunk girlfriend was happy and hydrated and safe, and that when she woke up, she had a lineup of hangover cures at her disposal.

you answered with the gnarliest burp. he burst into loud laughter, grateful the beach was far enough away from any rooms that the two of you weren’t disturbing anyone.

after a few moments, he realized you weren’t laughing along, simply leaning back on your elbows in the sand, smiling softly at him. he did what he does best: he pretended. he pretended you were just a lovesick girl staring at someone she yearned for. he pretended you wanted him just as badly as he needed you. he pretended you were in love.

“penny for your thoughts, you drunkard?”

you giggled, slipping off of your elbows and laying all the way down. he joined you, both of you looking up at the sky. it was different here than it was back home. it was quiet and warm and there was no light to disrupt the view of the stars. he loved that he was seeing something like this for the first time with you.

“my thoughts are worth more than a penny.”

he snorted. even drunk, you were a brat. “nickel?”

“nice try. a hundred bucks, buddy.”

“ha!” he shouted. “never mind, keep your thoughts to yourself.”

“soonie!” you half whined, half burped. he made a face of disgust at you. he thought he did a good job of hiding how endeared he was.

“gross.” soonyoung sighed, turning back to the sky. “fifty.”

you giggled. “deal.” there was no way in hell you were going to remember he owed you $50. “i’m thinking… i am having the best time of my life.”

his heart swelled knowing he did well for your birthday celebration.

he let his head loll to the side, watching you. you had your hands folded politely over your ribs and your legs were crossed at the ankles, your feet swaying side to side like there was a song playing that only you could hear. if soonyoung concentrated hard enough, he thought he could hear it too. it sounded like what he imagined his love for you would if it were a song.

you smiled at the stars like you were talking to them.

“i’m so happy,” you said. “best birthday ever, soonyoung. best month ever. thank you. i love you so much.”

“you’re welcome, y/n,” he said, voice coming out barely above a whisper. “i love you too.” so god damn much.

you turned to look at him when he said that, your smile fading naturally the longer you looked at him. “i…” you trailed off, frowning a little before you continued. “i think… i think i feel lonely, though.”

he mirrored your frown, immediately bringing his body closer to yours. he rested a hand on top of yours. “what’s wrong?”

you opened your mouth but before you could start speaking, you were suddenly crying.

“y/n?” he sat up, bringing you up with him. “what’s wrong, baby?” his eyes widened at the slip-up, but you were too drunk to notice, frantically wiping the tears that kept streaming down your face.

“i’m so happy,” you breathed, hand still in his. “this is everything i’ve ever wanted. this is everything i could ever dream of having.”

your words were still slurred and with the addition of the crying to your inebriated state, you’re hiccuping badly as you speak.

“then why are you crying?” he asked. “why do you feel lonely?”

“this is what i want from y—from…” you hiccuped again. “this is everything i want from someone i’m in love with.”

he felt his heart drop into his stomach, and he couldn’t help the way his hand stiffened in yours. he pulled away.

“oh” was all he could bring himself to say.

what else was he supposed to say to that?

“i’m in love with you. please let me be the one that gets to give this to you.”

“please love me.”

“please don’t break my heart like this.”

he couldn’t say any of it.

“i want you to want… i want…” you kept hiccuping, and despite feeling like his heart was breaking into smithereens, soonyoung found it in himself to rub your back comfortingly. “i want—” you cut yourself off with another hiccup.

“shhh.” it came out in a daze. the sky looked darker. the stars looked duller. the water wasn’t as bright anymore. “it’s okay. it’s okay.” he didn’t know if he was telling you or himself. “it’s okay.”

soonyoung pulled you into his arms, still rubbing your back as he tucked your head under his chin. he didn’t bother trying to find the right words to tell you; he knew you probably wouldn’t remember any of this. so he allowed himself to feel heartbroken as you wept and hiccuped until eventually, you fell asleep.

and when you did, it was his turn. he silently cried until the sun came up, and when it did, soonyoung gathered you up in his arms and carried you back—only as a friend, to a bed you’d never share.

“it hurt,” he says, tears finally beginning to stream down his face.

soonyoung never shied away from crying in front of you; he did it kind of often. but there’s something especially humiliating about it now. he’s wrapped up in his sadness, and it’s suffocating him, making it hard to speak. he thinks if he does, he might choke on his grief.

“it hurt more than anything i’ve ever felt, y/n,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. he isn’t sure if you heard him, but he can’t bring himself to repeat it.

your hands close over his, where they hold the lapel of his jacket around your shoulders. he doesn’t even know when he took it off to put it on you. loving you was exactly like that—an instinct he didn’t have to think twice about. loving you was just something that happened without his knowledge or permission.

“soonyoung,” you call his name, high and desperate. your defenses have come down. you’re not using that scary voice on him anymore. you’re not bracing yourself. he thinks you should be. “that’s not what i meant. i—”

“it’s okay,” he breathes, so many tears in his eyes, he can barely make out the shape of you. he blinks rapidly to expel them. “i’ve had time to—”

“but if you would just let me ex—”

“there’s nothing to explain,” he interjects softly, eyes coming to you now that he can properly see past his tears. “i stayed around, didn’t i?”

your fight falters and you stop trying to talk over him.

“i stayed for seven more years. if i needed you to explain, i would’ve asked the second you woke up sober.”

your shoulders fall and he knows the rest of your fight has dissipated into the night. the next question you ask almost breaks his resolve. “only seven?”

the question comes out small and quiet and defeated, and soonyoung feels his lips tremble. he rolls them between his teeth to stop himself from telling you something he doesn’t want to say: no, of course not only seven. you’ll have me wrapped around your finger until the day i die.

he takes his hands back from under your hold once he’s absolutely sure he won’t say something that would disappoint the version of him that sat on that beach in siquijor, swearing that he wouldn’t let himself feel that heartbroken in the next decade of his life.

“i didn’t mind waiting seven more years to see if you would ever return my feelings,” he says instead of answering you, fully aware of how badly his voice wavers as he speaks. “my friends, they told me i was insane for letting my 20s go to waste like that. but to me… if i still got to be around you, still give you experiences and love that made you feel like that’s what you deserved from someone you actually were in love with, then… i can’t see the issue in that. i’d happily wait seven more years. because even if it was seven years of the same longing—and even if it was seven years leading to nothing more, it was still seven years of me being able to show you how well i could…”

he swallows the lump in his throat and fails. he shakes his head and just says what he should’ve told you seven years ago.

“how well i could love you. how much i do love you.”

you look dumbfounded, and if this were any other situation—if soonyoung didn’t feel like he was actually fucking dying—he thinks he’d make fun of you. your eyes are the widest he’s ever seen them, and your mouth is parted like you’re poised to say something but you don’t even know what.

“soonie—” you start.

he doesn’t let you finish. he can’t. he’s so close to ending this—to doing the worst thing he’s ever going to have to do—and if he lets you finish, he’ll lose the courage to walk away.

“i told myself… while you slept in my lap on that beach in siquijor, that if by the time you turned 30, we still hadn’t moved past… this…” he can’t stand the look of horror on your face as you start to process what he’s saying. he looks at the sky behind your head instead. “then, i wouldn’t spend my 30s torturing myself anymore. i’d let you go.”

you don’t let even a millisecond pass before you practically scream: “i don’t want you to let me go!” at him so forcefully, he flinches. “i don’t want you to let me go, you stupid idiot! if that’s what you’ve been doing the last, few weeks, ‘letting me go’—” you make exaggerated air quotes with your fingers and a face that tells him you think he’s ridiculous. it catches him so off-guard, he almost laughs. “—then knock it off!”

you slap his chest to each word to punctuate your point.

“wh—?” he brings his arm up reflexively to defend himself.

“what i meant to tell you, it came out wrong,” you inform him. his arms slowly fall back to his side as he listens to you as closely as he can. “i didn’t even mean to tell you anything, but if drunk me outed me like that, i need you to know that’s not what i meant.”

the words came out of your mouth in a rush like you thought soonyoung wouldn’t let you say them if you took too long. when he doesn’t say anything in the brief silence, you take a deep breath, obviously trying to steady yourself.

“i was lonely. i was really lonely,” you admit, seeming to remember the feeling more than you did the actual conversation. “and yes, it was because i enjoyed that vacation so much and yes, it was because i wished i could have it with someone i was in love with, but i was having it with someone i was in love with!”

everything in soonyoung’s body tenses, like his own defenses are coming up—like this is some kind of joke and his body is preparing to be laughed at. because you just said you were on vacation with someone you were in love with in the philippines… but you were on vacation with him in the philippines…

his body braces itself.

“i just meant i wanted it to mean more for both of us,” you continue, hands waving erratically between you to drive your point home. “i wanted to be on vacation with you!”

your brows furrow and your lips thin as you helplessly fight off a wave of tears he knows is pushing to be released. he knows that when you’re too emotional—whether it’s sadness, joy, rage—you cry, and once you do, you end up blubbering for so long, you usually end up asleep at the end of it.

but still, you bravely fight it off, obviously determined to tell soonyoung what you need to.

“but you as my boyfriend! not you as my best friend! there’s no one else i would’ve wanted to be with, soonyoung!”

he’s glad his body is stiff enough to keep his knees from immediately giving out under him. because all soonyoung wants to do now is fall to the floor and cry. cry because he never thought you’d say these words, because he felt like he was getting back something he lost on the beaches of siquijor, because the two of you wasted a decade dancing around each other instead of just fucking saying something.

“do you think i’ve been single our entire friendship for fun?!” you shriek the question through tears. “do you think it’s fun being the 30-year-old virgin who’s never even kissed anyone?! because it’s not!”

you whined about this often early on in your friendship, but eventually the complaints petered out, and he would drive himself crazy wondering if it was because that changed—if someone else had taken those firsts.

did it happen?

she would tell me.

right?

no, i’m still a dude. that’s weird, she’d probably tell a girl.

no no, i’m her stupid ass best friend. she would tell me!

oh my god, would she tell me?

what if i just die?

and so the cycle would go. he knows it wasn’t any of his business and that if you had lost those firsts to someone else, that was your prerogative, but still, he feels relieved to hear that isn’t the case.

and he knows he has no right to—not when you haven’t had the proper conversation to hash things out yet—but he suddenly feels an overwhelming possessiveness for you. because he waited for you. no one was ever going to make him stray away from you, so he waited for you—never expecting, just hoping. sorely hoping. and now he knows you waited for him too, and now… now, all he can think about is making you his. all soonyoung can think about now is giving you all the things you abstained from in the hopes you’d have it with him of all people.

it’s what you deserve, isn’t it? for waiting? and isn’t he in the business of giving you what you deserve? his hand twitches, begging him to reach for you and kiss you stupid.

“but i didn’t want anyone else! i wanted you!” you point at him almost violently, and his heart grows too big for his chest. “you waited seven years, but i waited ten! TEN, soonyoung! do you—”

his willpower can only withstand so much. at the end of the day, soonyoung is just a man who’s pathetically in love with you, and hearing you say you wanted him—hearing you confirm you waited your entire friendship just for the chance to have him and be with him and only him—it completely undoes his entire being.

soonyoung’s mouth is on yours before his brain can fully process what’s happening. he feels the shock on your lips for only a moment before you’re moving. despite it being your first kiss, you respond quickly, your body knowing exactly what to do with soonyoung’s like it’s second nature.

you taste like tears and champagne, and even with all the extravagant dinners he’s taken you on and the places around the world you’ve traveled to together, this is the best thing he’s ever tasted.

soonyoung thinks he’s happy to stand here, kissing you and tasting you and listening to your cute, little breaths against him forever. but then your hands start exploring him—his hips, his waist, his chest, before wrapping around his neck and bringing him in to kiss you even deeper. and he knows immediately that all the strength he mustered up to deal with tonight is gone. the moan that comes up his throat is loud and bordering on obscene, but you smile upon taking it into your own mouth, as if you’re feeding on his desire. as if you love the taste of it.

soonyoung doesn’t wait after that. he can’t wait after that. without letting your lips separate, he guides you back into his room, careful to keep you from tripping over the threshold and all the crap he left on the floor when he was busy having his pity parties.

he lays you in his bed gently, thankful that even though it’s unmade, he at least had the housekeeper wash his sheets. he lays on top of you, trying not to let his weight crush you, but when you wrap your arms around him, you press him to your body as close as it can possibly go, and after he releases his entire weight on you, you hold him like even that still isn’t close enough.

it’s all so much. after spending so long hoping you’d one day want him even a fraction as much as he wants you, tasting the excitement on you and feeling the adoration in your hands as they feel every surface of his body they could reach—it’s so much.

it wears down his self-restraint.

you don’t seem to mind, though, because when he runs his tongue along your lips, asking permission for more, you open your mouth immediately. and when his tongue slips in and meets yours, the moan he gets back is so loud and uninhibited and hot, he feels it in his dick.

you giggle a little, and though you recover quickly and continue trying to make out with him after that, the sound delights him enough that he stops to look at you. your makeup is tear stained and your eyes are still a little red, but you look worlds different than you did just a few minutes ago. there’s no tightness in your smile, no devastation in your eyes, no anger furrowed into your brows. when he looks at you this close, he realizes he’s never seen you this happy, this excited, or this light—like you’ve been relieved of a burden that was too heavy for you. but really, the most different thing about you now is that you just look like you’re his.

“what’s so funny, hm?” he asks, resting his forehead on yours. at the start of this night, he didn’t think he would ever hear you giggle again.

“nothing,” you claim, even though your voice still has traces of amusement somewhere in there. your hand snakes up into his hair and starts scratching his scalp. he hums at the sensation. “i love you, soonyoung.”

he lifts his forehead to look at you. it’s his millionth time hearing you say that. it’s the first time he’s hearing it in the context he’s wished to hear it for the last decade.

you love him. you love him. you love him.

“i’ve always loved you,” you announce unabashedly. “from the very start.”

in retrospect, the proper thing to do would’ve been to tell you he loved you too—so much that he didn’t even know how to process it well enough to attempt to put it into words. but instead, he pushes himself off you, slightly ashamed that your confession made his dick go from semi-hard to rock hard in record time, but insanely elated (and painfully and obviously turned on) at the idea of you having spent your entire friendship loving him just as much.

when he sits back, his pants uncomfortably pull against his erection, and he winces, glancing down at it and silently scolding it to stop embarrassing him and have some goddamn decorum.

he clears his throat and looks back at you, where you’re now propped up on your elbows, smiling at his crotch like it’s already yours. it ruins him.

soonyoung is going to tell you he loves you. and sure, you already know because he already did, but now he gets to tell you knowing you feel the same. so he’s going to tell you, and he’s going to say it over and over and over again, but once he does, he gets the feeling that he won’t want to stop at just kissing you.

he knows it’s probably a lot—to go from what you were to… this, and on top of that, lose your first kiss. and even though you made it clear that he’s the only reason you even remained a virgin, he doesn’t want to assume you’re ready to do something as big as have sex for the first time tonight too.

soonyoung wishes he could be a bigger person than the horny teenager he feels like right now. he wishes he could stop this for the both of you and insist on having a conversation first before things get any further like a proper adult would. but you want him and you love him, and it’s driving him absolutely fucking crazy, and if he gets any harder, his dick is going to start hurting.

“how far?” he asks, his voice so pathetically needy, he wants to die. “i don’t want you to feel rushed or pressured. i just…” he falters, trying to find a way to say this without making it sound like it’s all he wants from you. “we wasted so much time.” not a great start. “and i—”

“all the way,” you say, a coy smile on your lips when you interrupt him. his pants stretch even tighter.

it’s clear he was worrying for nothing; from the way you look at him, he knows you understand what he’s desperately trying to say and failing.

he watches you with heavy-lidded eyes as you lay yourself back down and wrap your legs around his torso, doing nothing when your already short dress rides all the way up to expose you.

“please,” you add on so sweetly, he groans. he won’t be lasting long at all tonight.

soonyoung rests his hands on your thighs, thumbs instinctively rubbing circles into the soft skin there as he tries to take a moment to process everything in front of him. he knows if he doesn’t, the excitement will paint over his memories with zero remorse, and all he’ll remember is that it happened—not what he said, did, or heard. and this is absolutely something he needs to remember.

he has to remember the way your knees quickly and easily fall apart and away from each other at his touch—almost like they’re sighing in relief at his arrival. he has to remember how your lower back arches and your pelvis wriggles underneath his fingertips before he’s even really done anything to you. soonyoung’s gaze rakes over your figure, taking note of every, little thing he can, when finally, they land on something that lays his fears to rest.

because there is no way he’ll ever forget the moment his eyes found the space between your legs. he stares at you now—right on the spot where your panties are already drenched with your arousal. soonyoung doesn’t care how overwhelming his excitement is right now; there is simply no possible way his brain will be able to gloss over this no matter how many years pass: the moment he saw physical evidence of just how much you craved him and needed him. how much you’ve deprived yourself of him.

and now, he gets to give you anything and everything you want from him.

his hands begin to travel up your thighs, goosebumps following the trail of his fingertips. he stops just shy of your cunt, trying to breathe deeply enough to calm his thunderous heartbeat. if he gets too lost in this, he’ll cum in his pants, and he will never forgive himself.

he stares hard at your desire, just barely able to keep from screaming when he realizes the dark spot is slowly growing the longer he sits there, unmoving. you squirm under him, and his hands involuntarily squeeze in response. your thighs are plush in his grasp, so full and beautiful, your flesh is forcing its way into the spaces between his fingers and turning white from hard he grips you.

don’t fucking cum right now, you loser, he thinks hard to himself. you cannot cum before anything happens during your first time with y/n. he exhales deeply and slowly. i will literally kill you if you cum right now.

he’s so tempted to look you in the eye just to see if you’re struggling even a fraction of the amount that he is, but he knows eye contact with you right now will just set his progress back.

when he’s mostly confident he won’t immediately finish in his pants, he has to swallow the idiotic smile that threatens to take over his entire face. finally, soonyoung gives in and he moves. just one finger, pressed against the part of your panties that sinks just a tiny bit more than the rest—right where he plans to be in the next few minutes, stuffing you full as far as he’ll go.

as soon as you feel his fingertip brush against your entrance, your hole pulses like it’s trying to clamp around something bigger than his finger that isn’t there. he feels some of the control he has on that pathetic smile of his slip, and as if it’s an avalanche, the rest of his control comes crashing down. without thinking about it, his finger sinks the tiniest bit deeper as he drags it up your slit, the wetness from your panties catching on his skin ever so slightly.

when his finger finds and presses on your clit, you begin uncontrollably writhing and gasping beneath him, and his eyes tear themselves away from your cunt long enough to finally meet your gaze. you look at him with so much lust and love and longing—all of it so loudly desperate—he completely loses track of where his finger is and what it’s doing. all he wants to do is latch his lips onto yours again and say what he should’ve at least ten times by now: that he loves you.

so instead of rubbing your clit until he teases your first orgasm out of you like he planned to, he removes his hand from your center so that he can lean forward and kiss you senseless. but as soon as his touch leaves you, a strangled whine forces its way up your throat and past your lips, making him laugh immediately.

“what?” you ask, your eyes narrowing at him. it should invoke fear in him, but he’s too endeared for that. “why are you laughing?! did i do something embarrassing?”

soonyoung scoffs as he brings himself over you. “‘embarrassing’? no, baby.” he rolls his eyes. “your neediness is not ‘embarrassing.’ it’s fucking hot.”

you turn the prettiest shade of pink. “shut up.”

he grins. “gladly.”

soonyoung kisses your nose, enjoying the shade of pink it turned under your blush. then, he kisses your lips, just for a moment so that he can lean back and look you in the eye when he says:

“i love you. i love you so god damn much, i thought i was going to die having to leave you.”

he knows it’s dramatic, but he was convinced that’s exactly what was happening to him not even an hour ago. the thought of doing life without you by his side made everything look and feel so colorless and dull and boring and ugly. dead was as good a word as any to describe what his life would look like without you.

“you’re not leaving me,” you say so matter-of-factly, the smile it brings to his face hurts his cheeks. he was so dumb to think he could; even if he had all the strength in the world to end your friendship, you would’ve never let him off the hook that easily.

“i’m not,” he says.

soonyoung gets to work covering you in as many kisses as humanly possible, his lips pressing against your mouth, jaw, neck, collarbone—wherever you have skin, his lips are all over it. your gasps and moans reach a fever pitch, and he figures it’s time to stop making you wait.

“you tell me if you want to stop, okay?” he asks, lips brushing against your ears as he speaks. “and we’ll stop, no questions asked.”

you nod so eagerly—so obediently—he can’t help but smirk. his tongue darts out to lick your lobe and bring it between his teeth to nip at before he starts kissing his way down your body.

“you sound so pretty,” he tells you as you continue to make sure he knows exactly how good you feel. all moans and groans and whispered begging. “exactly how i imagined you’d sound.” his lips graze your already hard nipples through the fabric of your dress and he earns another loud whimper. “fuck, even better actually.”

he pulls your dress down and off one shoulder to expose the breast he was just teasing, and when he sees you bare, he hangs his head, letting his forehead meet your chest as he grunts loudly.

what is my life? he thinks to himself. this is literally insane.

soonyoung flattens his tongue against your nipple, and you inhale sharply, your hips immediately bucking up. he doesn’t realize his eyes have fluttered closed until he opens them to look at you and make sure you’re okay. from the way your eyes roll into the back of your head and your mouth hangs open in dazed ecstasy, he thinks it’s safe to assume you’re okay.

“soonyoung.”

god, his name sounds so good when you say it, especially when you say it like this.

“fuck,” he grumbles against your tit. he swears his dick is throbbing from how hard you have him.

“lower! please, god, lower!” you order him.

“whatever you want,” he breathes against your skin.

but he’s not moving before he has the chance to leave a tiny, little something that can lay claim to you—something only he and you will see. he presses his hand against the side of your breast, groaning at how full you are in his palm. he leans down and bites into the flesh just above your nipple. your hips jerk up as he sucks on the spot just long enough that he knows it will stay a few days. he smiles when he releases you, the hickey already turning a beautiful purple.

“pretty,” he mutters. he wants to cover you in them. he kisses the mark gently before removing the other strap of your dress.

with the bottom of your dress completely ridden up and the top half bunched around your waist, you’re almost completely naked, and already, soonyoung can hardly refrain from jumping off his bed and running around the room screaming.

fucking breathe, bro.

he gently lifts your hips up and off the bed so that he can slip both your dress and your ruined panties off your body in one go. once he does, all the refraining he’s been doing tonight comes to a brusque end.

“oh my god!” he shouts, burying his face into your clothes and groaning into them. “i can’t believe this is my life right now, oh my god.”

soonyoung presses your clothes against his eyes so hard, he thinks he should see stars, but still, all he can see are your perfect tits and your bare, glistening cunt and the sensual look in your eyes like they’re all forever burned into his retinas. or maybe his eyes are open?

he blinks and brings your clothes down just enough to be able to take a peek at you. nope, the image of your naked body in his bed are definitely just burned into his eyeballs.

“oh my god, i really have you naked in my bed right now, oh my god oh my god oh my god.” he probably says it 20 more times. he’s not sure.

“soonyoung!” you berate his behavior the way you always do. he smiles into your dress because even as everything is literally changing before his eyes… nothing has. you’re still his best friend, pretending to get mad at him for being silly. he knows from the fond way you look at him that you aren’t mad at all. “focus! come on, you’re just teasing me now. please.”

“okay, okay!” he says, voice muffled by your dress. “i’m so sorry, i’m not trying to tease you, i swear. i just…” he stammers, unable to stop the whole bunch of nothing that comes spilling out of his mouth. “i’m—just, i—it’s just, like… what?” the question comes out as a laugh. “y’know?”

you raise an eyebrow at him and he realizes he isn’t really sure what he’s asking you.

“like, what the actual fuck?” he adds like that will help explain.

you groan. “it’s crazy how quickly you go from sex god to loser.”

soonyoung feels his face immediately fall into a glare—one you’re used to seeing whenever you two bicker. “you know…” he says, eyes narrowed at you. “my favorite thing about you has always been your patience.”

he throws your clothes aside, hands going to his shirt to begin unbuttoning it.

“good thing i have a lot of it then,” you claim. your bratty smirk falls right off your face as you watch him slowly undress.

“right.”

when he shrugs his shirt off and lets it join your clothes on the floor, your eyes widen like you’re seeing him shirtless for the first time. your eyes sweep up and down his torso, your chest heaving as you begin to breathe harder, and it almost makes him shy—almost makes him want to hug himself and jokingly tell you to stop ogling him like a piece of meat. but he also enjoys it more than anything.

so many times you’ve been half naked together, wearing swimsuits at the beach or at the pool, and although he’s relished having your eyes on him before, this feels different. you stare at him shamelessly now, making no move to avert your eyes the way you used to. this is where he would make a joke to lighten the mood—to give you an out from a situation you might feel caged in by.

this time, he just allows himself the space to revel in this feeling of being adored.

“wait,” you say suddenly when he stands up off the bed and his hands start undoing his belt. you crawl over to him, completely naked, and he thinks he might have a heart attack watching you on all fours like this.

“change your mind? it’s fine if you do,” he assures you, already fastening his belt before his dick can get any more ideas about where the night is going.

“no,” you laugh as you rest your hands on top of his. “i’m not going to change my mind, soonie.”

you sound as sure as he does about this. it relaxes him immediately. you smile at him before you press your naked body against his, tangle your hands in his hair, and bring his face down to lock lips with you again. he holds you delicately as your tongues slide against each other—different from how he’s pressed, tugged, and groped at you tonight. he forces himself to be gentler. he forces himself to slow down and enjoy the feeling of being in love with you openly.

he says as much. “i love you. oh my god, i love you. holy shit.”

“don’t start with the loser behavior again, please,” you mutter against the kiss. he wants to laugh, but he doesn’t dare leave your lips. “but i love you too.”

soonyoung doesn’t think he’ll get tired of hearing it. the past 10 years of his life have led up to this moment. it will take so much more than that for him to ever get used to the feeling of you telling him you love him.

he rests his forehead against yours and smiles. “i’m so happy.”

“me too, soonie.”

he watches as your hands leave his hair and travel down his chest, taking their time to trace every line and curve of every muscle. you finish the job of undoing his belt and unbuttoning his jeans, and that’s about all he can take before he decides it’s time to stop holding back.

before you can even touch his zipper, he grabs your face and kisses you roughly, tongue twisting with yours immediately. he kisses you like he’s held his breath for 10 years and you’re air. you kiss him back the same, exact way.

he finishes undressing, kicking his pants away and wasting no time picking you up, your legs wrapping around his waist as he does. his cock twitches violently once it’s sandwiched between you and his stomach, and he has you laying back in his bed in mere seconds.

our bed, a voice in his head reminds him. a bed we can share. if you want.

when you tear yourself away from him to catch your breath, your eyes immediately go south, and he doesn’t have to follow your gaze to know what you’re gaping at.

“see something you like?”

you don’t even pretend to hear what he said. “uh, what?”

it inflates his ego to unprecedented levels, but he doesn’t gloat and annoy you the way he usually would. mostly because his laughs are cut off with your frantic begging.

“soonyoung,” you whisper so suddenly and seriously, he freezes. “put it in me.”

the order catches him by so much surprise, he laughs even harder than before. “i can’t just put it in you.”

you shove him and he pushes off the bed to put some space in between you. he looks at you, amused. “what?! what do you mean you can’t just put it in me?” you sound the most offended he’s ever heard you. “is that not how sex works? you put that in me? like… over and over again?

“baby, please,” his laughs are bordering on uncontrollable wheezing. “you’re making this so unsexy.”

“you made it unsexy first!” you complain. “put it in me, soonyoung!”

he wants to keep pretending that this is incredibly unsexy, but this exchange, however goofy, is just making him want to fuck you even more. “stop saying that!”

“why?! you keep making me wait!”

the way you complain and beg makes soonyoung briefly forget that you’re losing your virginity, and he isn’t letting that happen without proper foreplay first—without getting at least one orgasm out of you.

“pu—”

before you can tell him to put it in you again, he presses his hand against your mouth. “okay!” he says, raising his voice to drown out your muffled pleas. “okay! shhh. relax, and i will. alright?” your eyes widen and he feels a burn in his stomach when he sees the submission in them. you nod. “good girl.”

you moan into his hand and grind your hips up into his.

“oh, you like that?” he asks, smirking. all you do is squirm more.

he releases your mouth, and when you stay silent on your own accord—so willingly compliant—he thinks there are a few things he’d like to try in bed later on down the line.

soonyoung plants a wet kiss on your lips before he rests his hand against your neck, eyes watching as you swallow underneath his fingertips. he thinks you look pretty like this: bare throat adorned by his fingers. he has a passing thought to ask you if you would ever be into being choked, but there’s no fucking way he’d do that during your first time having sex. he lets the thought go, making note of it for a later time.

“so pretty,” he says, finger tapping your lower lip. when you take his finger into your mouth all the way, sucking it and releasing it with a pop, he has to spend a few moments reminding himself he can’t cum already. “jesus christ…” he sighs. he needs to move fast or he will be embarrassing himself tonight. “let me know if i do anything you don’t like, okay?”

you nod quickly—impatiently. your enthusiasm stutters when he doesn’t immediately “put it in” like you’ve been begging. you frown as he pulls away again, but when he settles with his head between your legs, your tune changes immediately.

“oh.”

soonyoung has dreamed about this moment for so long. he’s had obscene, vulgar thoughts about you—thoughts he would touch himself to. he’s spent an embarrassing amount of nights moaning your name while vigorously grinding into his fist, and all it took for him to cum was the thought of tasting you. he didn’t even have to think about fucking into your pussy or how wet you would be or how warm you would feel—all he thought about was eating you out until you came all over his face, and that would do it for him.

if he was looking to get a quick orgasm, maybe release some frustration from a day spent hanging out with you, he’d just rub one out in the shower. but if it was one of those nights he was tossing and turning, thinking about how much he loved you and how much he wanted you to be his, he’d throw his blankets off, grab a bottle of lotion, a box of tissues, and sometimes, when he was feeling especially depraved, his favorite photos he’s taken of you. there was something about looking at photos no one else has seen of you—no matter how ordinary or innocent—that turned him on.

his daydreams always started with getting you sinfully wet. yes, with your own arousal, but with his spit too. he’d massage it into your clit, mixing the both of you and your pleasures together until your hips are bucking and shoving your needy cunt in his face. then, he’d give in and lap your clit gently and the first taste would send his eyes rolling into the back of his head. he would try to stay cool and composed, but realistically, he knew tasting you would send him into a frenzy.

he’d already be close by this point in his fantasies, whining and groaning, his phone and photos of you long forgotten because he has to squeeze his eyes shut to keep from coming before he could finish playing everything out in his head.

because soonyoung couldn’t cum before his favorite part: when he would imagine shoving his face as far in between your legs as he could, extending his tongue as far into you as humanly possible. you’d say his name the way no one has ever said his name. you’d pull at his hair until he was sure you were permanently damaging all of his follicles. sometimes, he’d immediately cum after this. other times, he’d be able to at least get to the part where he starts fucking you with his fingers.

on lucky days, he would reach the end of his dreams. by this time, he’d be feverishly tugging on his cock, a mess of sweat and whimpers of your name as he thought about you squirting all over his face. he would drink you up like it’s the fucking elixir of life. you would make the filthiest mess of his face—chin dripping, cheeks sticky, lips swollen and covered in you—and he would thank you for it and beg for more. of course, more would never come because he would make a mess of his own hand after that.

he always felt like a pervert after—always felt so guilty picturing his best friend like this and doing something so dirty with you in mind—but the next night would come and the next night and the next, and he couldn’t think of anything else. anyone else.

and as lewd and impure and delicious and downright euphoric as his fantasies were, nothing could have prepared him for how much fucking better the real thing would feel. how much better the real you would taste.

by the time you cum on his face, not once but twice, he knows this is something he can do for the rest of his life. he would never even need you to fuck him or blow him or give him a handjob; all he literally needs is to devour your cunt any time you’d grant him the privilege to and he’d be a happy man for the rest of his life.

you’re still panting, chest heaving from your orgasms, when soonyoung climbs up over you once more and wraps his arms around your waist, kissing, nipping, licking, and whispering i-love-yous from your collarbone and up until he reaches your lips. he kisses you lightly just in case you don’t want to put your lips on him after he just ate you out, but when you deepen the kiss and hug him even closer, he thinks you might actually like the taste of you on his mouth.

“soonie,” you eventually whisper against him.

“mmm?”

you say something that he’s been wanting to hear for a decade. you confirm something he’s been desperately searching for signs of for your entire friendship. “i want to be yours. i want to be yours so bad.”

he stops peppering you with kisses and watches you carefully, like this all might still be a hallucination that will fade if he gets too lost in the moment. but you remain where you are, looking at him with as much love as he imagines he’s always looked at you. tears gather in your eyes, some escaping the corners. he catches every single one that does, pressing it back into your skin with his finger.

when you give him a small smile to tell him you’re okay—that these are just tears of happiness—he leans in, presses his cheek to yours, and promises you, “then i’ll make you mine.”

just being inside you is enough to make soonyoung want to cry. he does his absolute fucking best not to because you already are and he doesn’t want you to think of anything other than yourself and your pleasure during your first time. but he wants to cry as he buries his face into your neck and slowly pushes into you, only moving whenever you say it’s okay to.

when he woke up today, he did it with swollen eyes from a night spent crying over you. he tortured himself all day, thinking about how every last time he had with you was the last and he didn’t even know it—the last laugh he heard, the last smile he saw, the last time you bickered with him, the last time you told him you loved him. he steeled himself to face your tears or your screaming or whatever else you did to him when he ended your friendship.

at the start of the day, soonyoung was preparing for his life to be over—for you to take every good thing he’s ever had and felt with you when he forced you to walk away.

now, he’s fully buried inside you, forehead resting against yours as you both struggle to adjust to the overwhelming feeling of each other. it’s when you tell soonyoung that after 10 years, there’s nothing that will change your mind about him, that he finally moves.

“oh fuck,” he breathes as he starts rolling his hips, cock dragging in and out of you in an astonishingly seamless fit. “your cunt is perfect.”

you bloom at the praise, and you don’t shy away from returning it, chanting his name over and over again, whispers of how good he feels wherever you can fit them in between—how good he is for you, how he was made for you.

“y/n,” he gasps. he tries to tell you that if you keep saying his name like this—like he’s yours—he’s going to cum inside you. but all that comes out is: “oh my god.”

and all you say is “soonyoung” again and again and again. he’s never put any thought into his birth-given name, but tonight, he decides it’s his favorite string of letters. he never wants to hear you say anyone else’s name. he never wants anyone other than you to say his name. it’s yours and yours alone.

at some point, he can tell you can handle even more, and he pushes up off you, using the headboard as leverage as he pounds into you harder and rougher, rhythm becoming erratic and frenzied. the noises that come out of your mouth are so nasty, he’s on the brim of losing it.

“oh my god. look at you,” he pants, his sweat dripping from his face, his neck, and his chest onto you. a drop lands on the corner of your mouth, and without hesitating, your tongue darts out to lick it up, and he groans.

it’s too much: your neediness, your obedience, your eagerness. your tits—one sporting his hickey—bouncing wildly as he fucks you at a brutal pace. your unbelievably tight cunt, sucking his cock in so desperately, near-strangling it and refusing to let him go.

“so fucking perfect,” he tells you.

you make it clear that you’re not lasting long—that your third orgasm is on the horizon. it’s a bittersweet realization; on one hand, he’s relieved because he’s been holding his own orgasm off since his tongue met your clit. on the other, he never wants to stop fucking you.

but this is just the start, he tries to remind himself. this is just the first time, and there will be so many more now—now that you’re his and he’s yours.

your voice rings loudly in his ears again. i want to be yours so bad.

his voice is hoarse when he asks, “do you feel like you’re mine yet?”

you nod frantically, pussy squeezing tightly around him like the thought is pushing you even closer to finishing. “yes, god, yes. yes!”

“say it,” he demands, eyes never leaving yours. he can’t look away when you look like you would say or do anything for him.

“i’m yours,” you say immediately. “soonie… i’m yours, soonyoung.” his name comes out in a tortured whimper.

“i never want to hear another name come out of your mouth ever again,” he declares. “ah, fuck, holy shit. you feel so fucking good, baby. just for me, huh? oh fuck.” his orgasm is begging to be released, but he refuses to let up until you reach yours. “you’re mine. and i’m yours.”

you barely finish agreeing and calling soonyoung “mine” when your pussy is suddenly and violently quivering around him, pulsing and throbbing as you ride through your third orgasm of the night. the feeling of your climax squeezing around soonyoung is unreal, and he pulls out just in time to avoid coming inside of you, painting your beautiful, soft skin with his bliss.

it feels like it lasts forever, the spurts of white splattering you. he thinks he could get hard again when you let your mouth hang open and catch some of him on your tongue.

“holy shit,” he breathes when he’s tugged himself dry, leaning back and trying to catch his breath. he feels drops of sweat sliding down his body everywhere, his muscles burning deliciously.

soonyoung looks down at you and is pleased to see you covered with him: his cum, his sweat, his spit. he made good on his promise. if you don’t look like his right now, he has no idea what you look like.

“c’mere,” you whine, reaching for him with grabby hands when you have no energy to sit up and actually take hold of him.

he smiles and leans in to kiss you, before retrieving a towel from the bathroom to clean you both up with.

for the rest of the night, you two stay tangled up in each other’s arms and talk about when you fell in love.

you: when you first met him.

him: when you first walked into the room.

neither of you know if the other is telling the truth or if you’re just trying to win the i-loved-you-first competition (you’re both telling the truth).

you talk about what the future looks like. you decide you don’t know for sure, but one thing you’re confident about is that you’ll be facing it together. one thing soonyoung is sure about is that he’ll be making you his wife.

you ask if you can make your anniversary two days from now so it doesn’t land on your birthday. soonyoung asks if you can make it two days prior so that he can forget that he was trying to leave you on your 30th birthday. you agree.

you both run through every big moment either of you can remember being so hopelessly in love with each other, it hurt and what the other person was thinking at that moment. for every memory of yours soonyoung can remember, he’s able to tell you he was suffering just as much as you were. the same is true for you. for every memory he can’t remember, he feels like a kid, giggling and kicking his feet in bed with you hearing about how you were equally, pathetically down bad for him.

your birthday party is long forgotten, traded for an intimate night getting to know each other in drastically different ways than you did as best friends. soonyoung feels like he’s meeting you for the first time again—a privilege he never thought he would be afforded ever again. aside from learning what you liked from your time in his bed tonight, he learns a lot.

like for one, you actually are very into physical affection, something soonyoung thought you didn’t like displaying since you were constantly shoving him away; you just avoided it because it exacerbated your feelings for him and blurred the lines too much for you. in fact, you stay burrowed into his side the entire night, whining any time he moved a tiny bit away, even when it was just to adjust his position or reach to turn off the lamp. you love playing with his hair and tracing little patterns on his chest (he thinks one of the things you traced was your names together). you constantly thread his fingers with yours and when you get tired of that, you still keep your pinkies linked.

he learns you love hanging out at his apartment more than you like the fancy dinners. you feel the most at home with him when you’re actually home with him. you tell him your favorite nights are when you’re in charge of placing a food delivery order at his place while he unwinds from his workday, showering and changing (and unbeknownst to you, probably jacking off in the shower to make sure he doesn’t accidentally get hard while you two hang out). you say it feels like you’re his wife and this is your home too. the sentiment is enough to make him tear up, and you, of course, tease him mercilessly once a fat teardrop lands on your head.

by the time the sun is rising, soonyoung realizes you both have rewritten siquijor in the confines of his bedroom. all the miscommunication (or absolute lack thereof) and the pain and heartbreak have been replaced. from where you two lay in bed, he watches the sun’s rays start to reach into the sky, turning it stunning shades of orange, pink, purple, and blue, and for the first time in seven years, he doesn’t cringe away from it and the feelings of loneliness it used to bring. he doesn’t feel heartbroken all over again like he used to.

this time, the sun rises, and soonyoung feels so ridiculously happy. you quietly watch the sky with him, and he thinks you know what he’s thinking of as you continuously trace hearts, one after the other, never-ending, into his skin.

“it’s a new day,” you say quietly.

“it is,” he agrees, his heart full. “it’s a new day, and i love you even more than i did yesterday.”

you hug him tighter to you even though there is literally no space between you.

“i love you, soonie.” you yawn. “is it time to say good night?”

“it’s morning, baby.”

“no, we didn’t go to sleep. it’s definitely still night.”

he grins and doesn’t bother arguing with that logic. he moves to get out of bed, but you immediately lock your arms so he can’t. he snorts. “i’m just going to pull the curtains so we can sleep.”

you sigh like it’s still an inconvenience, but you release him all the same. “fine. you should get, like, a remote for them or something. isn’t that what rich people do?”

he rolls his eyes as he gets up and closes the curtains, bidding the sunrise—the best of his life—a farewell for now. “rich people stay rich by not buying things they don’t need, baby.”

“i don’t think so,” you disagree, arms opening again for soonyoung to lay back in.

“you know what, whatever you say,” he says as you kiss all the skin you can reach from where you hug him. he preens at the feeling. “you’re always right.”

you hum, smiling against him. “good boyfriend.”

“soon-to-be husband,” he mutters before yawning.

you giggle the same way you have been every time he’s corrected you tonight. “soonie-be-husband.”

he scoffs. “boo,” he heckles you. “bad! get off the stage!” you laugh harder, and it coaxes a soft smile out of him as he watches you.

“best friend” doesn’t seem like such a bad title in this moment anymore. he thinks he gets it now that he’s able to call you even more than that; it’s such an honor to be able to be both your boyfriend and your best friend now. it’s such an honor to be able to build something more on a foundation of friendship as strong as the one he shares with you.

when the laughter subsides, you both sigh, sinking into the bed further and getting comfortable.

“good night, love of mine,” he says, kissing the top of your head.

“mine,” you repeat like you can’t get enough of the sound of it. “yours.”

soonyoung smiles and his eyes flutter closed with exhaustion, thoughts bleary but still painted with you and the last 10 years as he starts to drift off to sleep. if this is what he gets to have now, whatever pain he withstood and however much time he wasted is nothing to him—just a moot point in the story you’ll both tell for years to come.

he dreams of you two in siquijor that night, this time both of you sober and wrapped in each other and in love, with the rest of your lives ahead of you.

bonus (performance unit group chat):

#svthub #soonyoung x reader #soonyoung x you #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fic #svt scenarios #svt imagines #svt fic #hoshi x reader #hoshi x you #kwon soonyoung #soonyoung #hoshi #HAPPY CLOVER DAYYYYYY 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼#{ 📝 } → joshujin fic #{ 💌 } → bbchoco requests

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thatsmzbitchtoyou · 2 days ago

Text

The Dangers of Dream Walking -Oneshot

Word count: 5748

Y/N hated her power. The ability to dream walk was at times nice, but mostly it was a literal and figurative nightmare. People dreamt crazy and unhinged things all the time, so it was rare to ever step into a happy dream. She couldn’t understand why she was born with it, what good it did her or anyone else. It wasn’t like she could manipulate the dreams. She could only watch on as a casual observer. Until she met the Avengers.

She had been knocked out by a piece of debris during another fight the Avengers were having, and had dream-walked right into a memory of Wanda Maximoff, who was temporarily knocked out as well. But this time, Wanda turned and looked right at her in the dream and talked to her.

“You can see me?” Y/N asked incredulously.

“Yes,” Wanda said simply as her memory played out behind her. “How are you here?”

“I…I dream-walk,” Y/N explained, walking toward her. “I think I got knocked out and now…” The image of a young Wanda and what Y/N figured was her brother playing in a field of wildflowers distracted her. “I’m sorry,” she said, sensing the sadness in Wanda’s eyes. “I don’t have control over it.”

Wanda tilted her head and analyzed her. “But you can,” she replied. “I can see it in your mind. I’ll come find you, dream-walker.” Then she and the memory disappeared, and Y/N hopped into a new dream. A week later she was surprised to open her door to Wanda Maximoff in the flesh. “I told you I’d find you,” she said cheekily.

From that day on she had been taken in by the Avengers. She wasn’t an official team member, but had been working with Wanda on honing her power and using it to be able to tap into specific people’s dreams, then using the connection of being in their mind due to the dream and then going through their memories and thoughts. She even learned how to start manipulating the dreams, changing the circumstances or interacting where she could to make it so nightmares turned into softer dreams. It proved useful when she was able to get into an operative’s mind and find the coordinates and plans for the next attack. And it proved even more useful once the Avengers fell apart, the Blip happened, and then Wanda disappeared. After everyone came back she was lost for a while until Bucky Barnes asked for her help.

“We’ve got a new guy that has…well, some mental issues,” he explained. “And I think your abilities might be able to help him work through those issues and make it so he can access his powers without the dark side taking over so easily.”

“I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I can try,” she said.

That’s when she met Bob and started working with him extensively, and was recruited back into the New Avengers. They became like family to her, and she loved being able to be a part of something bigger again. She, Yelena and Ava would have girls nights. Alexei would compliment her abilities heavily and praise her for her efforts with Bob. Bob was awkward and quiet, but seemed to enjoy their quiet moments of reading together and then forming their own two-person book club. Walker was still an asshole, but she was able to get him to simmer down most days. Then there was Bucky. Sweet but serious, sarcastic but kind, dangerously strong but soft, and devastatingly handsome Bucky.

Y/N pushed her feelings for him down deep, not wanting them to affect her working relationship and new friendship she had made with him. But it was getting harder the more he tended to seek her out after rough missions or bad mental days and she would help him drift off into a dreamless slumber, or as he sat next to her during team movie nights, or as the little friendly touches started between them that eventually morphed into long hugs and him kissing the side of her head before they left for another mission. He was usually quiet, not the one to start a conversation and preferring to be a casual observer, but when they were alone he talked and asked questions.

At night she usually took heavy sleep aids to help her completely knock out so she wouldn’t accidentally walk into the team’s dreams. Something about the pills helped her mind go fuzzy enough to have her own dreamless sleep and not unwittingly walk into other’s minds as she slept. Then one night a year into living at the Watchtower with them she had fallen asleep after a long day working with Bob. The mental exhaustion had worn her out, and she hadn’t taken the sleep aids. That was the first time she had seen it.

Her eyes opened in what looked like…Bucky’s room? She looked around in confusion, then heard heavy breathing. He wasn’t in his bed. The edges of her vision looked blurry, and she realized she was dream-walking. Shit, she thought. I’m in his dream...dammit. She didn’t mean to, and willed herself to try and wake up, but then the breathing got louder and turned into grunts. Her curiosity got the better of her, and if it was a nightmare maybe she could at least help him ease out of it. She followed the sounds to his bathroom where the door was slightly opened. She peeked inside, then silently gasped, her mouth dropping open dramatically.

It was partially a memory from a few weeks back when he’d come home from a mission with a nasty wound along his chest and she had tried to help him clean it up since he refused to go to the med bay because, “I’m a super soldier, doll, I’ll heal soon.” Bucky was sitting on the lid of the toilet like he had been weeks ago, shirtless with a bandage on his chest that she had placed there after cleaning it, but in this dream he was fully naked and she was now on her knees between his legs sucking him off. Y/N’s eyes widened in comical shock as she watched herself suck Bucky’s cock lewdly, letting out little mewls, moans and gags as she tried to take all of him, her right hand fisting what she couldn’t and stroking him at the same speed as her head bobbed up and down on him.

“That’s it, doll, fuck,” Bucky groaned, his metal hand holding back her hair and his right hand cradling her jaw. “You’re so good at this, you know that? Such a good girl.”

Dream Y/N made an affirming sound as she pulled up off of him for a moment to breathe then smiled up at him. “Your good girl,” she said seductively before lapping at the head of his cock, her spit dribbling down his shaft.

“Damn right,” he huffed. “My good girl.”

Y/N had walked into wet dreams before, always quickly walking out of them with her hands over her eyes or ears, but this time she stayed and watched. It was strange to see herself doing something so vulgar, so dirty, and enjoying it. But all she could really focus on was Bucky’s face. The way the ever-present crease between his brows was now from a look of lust and desire, his mouth agape as he breathed, every once in a while biting his bottom lip as his head fell back, then looking back down at dream-her with the most lovesick expression she’d ever seen. The way his lips said the dirtiest words and praises to her, how gently he cradled her head and she could see him struggling not to thrust into her mouth.

His breathing got faster, and the sexiest whimper bubbled up from his throat as he tensed. “I’m gonna cum!” he whispered, then a moment later he held her head down and shuddered as he let out a long, loud moan that echoed in the bathroom, his hips rutting into dream-her’s mouth. Dream-Y/N whimpered as well, swallowing as much as she could. Bucky sat there for a moment before pulling her up and off his cock, wiping at her lips with his flesh thumb and smiling at her. “Let me see, Y/N.” Dream-Y/N obediently opened her mouth and stuck out her tongue to show him she swallowed it all. “Atta girl,” he smirked, then kissed her deeply.

Y/N felt the pull in her mind and watched the vision go hazy, then she woke up, gasping for air as she sat up straight in bed. She was in her room again, looking around frantically as she pieced together what she had seen. There was a deep ache and wetness between her legs that made her groan in discomfort and she fell back on her bed in a huff. “Fuck me,” she breathed exasperatedly.

***

She knew she shouldn’t pry, that she should take the sleep aids and forget she ever saw it. But she didn’t. She let herself fall asleep naturally from then on and purposefully sought out Bucky’s dreams. He didn’t dream about her every night, but more often than not he did and she was the star of his fantasies. His wet dreams were quite…colorful. The positions he put Dream-Y/N into were intense, and the way he spoke to her was dirty but also sweet and endearing. Every time she would leave his dream she’d have to cum afterwards, pathetically muffling her cries as she pleasured herself to the memory of his dreams night after night.

During the day when they interacted nothing changed, but she felt herself looking at him more often, which was quickly picked up on by Yelena and Walker. They teased her about it, and she tried to deny it but ultimately would just roll her eyes and walk away. “I mean, he’s nice looking,” Yelena said as she nudged Y/N’s shoulder. “Why don’t you go for it?”

“Go for who?” Bob asked.

Y/N jumped in her seat and wheeled around to face him. “Jesus, Bob! How do you just appear out of nowhere?”

“I don’t,” he chuckled. “But seriously, who are you going for?”

“Bucky,” Yelena said.

Y/N turned to her and smacked her arm, making Yelena yelp as Bob nodded. “Oh, yeah, you should,” he said with a small smile. “He stares at you, too.”

She turned back around and smacked his arm, making him yelp and step away. “Both of you stop it,” Y/N hissed.

“Why are we smacking people?” Bucky’s voice chimed from the other side of the common room.

They all whirled around to look at him in surprise. “‘Cause they deserved it,” Y/N said quickly, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, adding a little shrug at the end of the sentence.

His eyes narrowed as he looked at each of them then huffed a laugh and shook his head. “I’m sure,” he smiled. “Ready for your lesson, doll?”

“Yep! I’m coming!” Y/N said in a more chipper tone, then turned to Yelena and Bob once Bucky was out of sight. She made a “zip it” motion over her mouth to them, and they both snickered as she jogged away to catch up with Bucky. He led her to one of the many training rooms, holding the door open for her as she thanked him and stepped in to find a table set up with guns lined up on it.

“Alright, first, I’ll teach you how to put one together,” Bucky said, his tone turning professional. “Then we’ll practice shooting. Sound good?”

“Okay. Remind me why I need to know how to shoot a gun?” Y/N asked teasingly as she stared at the array of guns on the table.

“It’s a good skill to have,” Bucky said, coming up behind her and grabbing one of the assembled guns. He flicked the safety off then with his other hand handed her some ear plugs. She quickly took them and put them in her ears, then watched as he raised the gun and took merely a second to aim and shoot at a target on the opposite side of the room. It hit the bullseye perfectly, the gunshot still ringing in her ears and making her wince. He then met her gaze and shot at the other four targets without looking. Her eyes widened as she held his stare, then looked at the targets. Each of them were perfectly shot through the bullseye.

“That was hot,” Y/N said with raised eyebrows and a blush on her cheeks.

Bucky laughed, a blush painting his cheeks as well as he put the safety back on and set the gun back on the table. For the next hour he taught her how to put one of the simpler guns together, how to load it, unload it, clean it, and then it was time to practice shooting. Y/N wasn’t good at it. The feeling of the gun in her hands felt unnatural, and the kickback made her flinch each time. She still hit the targets within the outline of the body drawn on them, but not in any fatal areas.

“You gotta get behind it,” Bucky said with a slight laugh in his voice after watching her tense up after the last shot. “The recoil won’t be as rough if you do.” She took a deep breath and aimed, angling her body a little differently. It helped as she shot, the recoil not making her feel so off balance. “Good. Again,” he said with a smile. After a few more rounds he stepped behind her. “Left foot forward,” he instructed, slightly kicking her shoe to make her step forward. “Right foot back. Square shoulders,” his hands directed her shoulders to face the target better. “Lean forward to anchor yourself. Elbows slightly out to absorb recoil,” his hands slid down her arms to put them in proper position. “Engage your pec muscles to squeeze your hands together, wrists locked.” His hands slipped back and down to her mid-back as a secondary anchor, barely touching her. Then he leaned in toward her ear. “Now aim.” His voice dropped, and she had to suppress a shiver as she aimed carefully. “Take a deep breath,” he said quietly, his breath tickling her ear. She inhaled deeply. “Let it out, and shoot.”

Y/N slowly let out the breath and shot. The recoil wasn’t nearly as bad that time, and it hit right in the middle of the forehead of the target. She let out a surprised huff of a laugh, and felt Bucky’s hands squeeze her sides. “Good girl,” he said proudly.

She froze. He said it. He fucking said it. In real life. To her. She tried to school her expression as she set the gun down and he stepped away on shaky legs. “Um…thanks,” she said, clearing her throat. “I, uh…excuse me.”

“What? Where are you going?” Bucky asked as she stepped around him. “We’re not done yet.”

“I just need a minute,” she said, walking fast out of the training room and towards the nearest bathroom. The second the stall door was closed she leaned against the wall and stuck her hand down in her pants. Once her fingers made contact with her clit she moaned, shutting her eyes tight as her mouth hung open. She was already so wet just from him touching her during the lesson and calling her a good girl that she immediately pumped two fingers inside her sopping pussy, causing a full body shiver to roll through her. Did she Pavlov’s Dog herself into nearly cumming every time he called her that from watching his wet dreams? Just as her thumb was flicking at her clit and getting her close she heard the bathroom door open.

“Doll?” Bucky’s voice called out. She silently cursed, her hand stilling in her pants as her eyes snapped open. “What happened, huh? Did that freak you out? I’m sorry, sometimes that first lesson can be a little intense, actually shooting the target like that.”

“I’m fine, Buck,” Y/N said hastily. “I’ll be there in just a minute.”

She heard him sigh and then walk toward the stall she was in. “It’s okay, Y/N, just talk to me,” he said softly.

“I’m fine. Seriously.” Her wobbly voice did not help her case. Her fingers twitched inside her and she lightly gasped, trying to be quiet.

“Y/N, what are you…” He stopped, then she heard the almost imperceptible sound of a deep sniff. Goddammit, she thought. Damn that super soldier serum. There was a long pause, then he shuffled closer to the stall door. “Are you…touching yourself?”

Y/N wanted the earth to swallow her whole. This was so embarrassing. Of course he knew. How would she explain this? There was no good explanation. She’d have to tell him about the dream-walking, watching him fuck her crazy in his wet dreams for the past couple of months. She ripped her hand out of her pants and flushed the toilet with her free hand, tucking the wet one behind her back as she opened the stall door. Bucky stood ramrod straight, his eyes looking dark and analytical as he stared down at her. “That’s crazy,” she said, skirting around him as best as she could.

As she tried to walk away he suddenly grabbed her and pushed her toward the tiled wall. She squeaked in shock as he caged her against it with his arms, his left knee moving between her legs and invading her space. His metal hand reached around and gripped her wrist she was hiding and pulled it back around carefully and up to his face. His bright blue eyes looked sharper than usual as he looked her over, his breathing heavy, and when her fingers were close to his face he broke eye contact and stared at her wet fingers, still soaked with her arousal. His eyelids fluttered as he tilted his head and his nostrils flared as he sniffed her fingers. He then met her gaze again and brought her fingers to his mouth, opening wide and licking at them.

Surely this was how she would die. Her heart thundered in her ears, she blinked rapidly and her mouth fell open as she watched him lick then suck her fingers into his mouth. He closed his eyes as he tasted her, and the hum he let out vibrated around her fingers. She sighed, her head falling back against the wall. Her knees shook, threatening to give out, and his flesh hand wrapped around her back to hold her flush against his body and keep her upright. He finally pulled her fingers out of his mouth and opened his eyes, licking his lips as he stared at her. “You taste delicious, doll,” he whispered. “Why were you touching yourself?”

She swallowed thickly and dropped her gaze to his chest. “I…I needed to,” she said weakly.

“Why?” he asked firmly, his metal hand letting go of her wrist and then pulling her chin up to make her look at him.

Y/N couldn’t handle the intense look in his eyes and the shame so she shut her eyes. “I’ve been dream-walking into your wet dreams for the past few months,” she confessed quickly. “I didn’t mean to, I just forgot my sleeping pills one night and suddenly ended up in your dream and I saw myself giving you head. I’m sorry.” She felt overwhelmed and inhaled shakily, trying not to cry. “I’m so sorry.”

He didn’t say anything at first, then she felt him move and kiss the side of her mouth. Her eyes snapped open as he pulled away and he smirked at the look on her face. “What else did you see me doing to you?” he asked.

Y/N huffed. “Y-you…you fucked me in the shower,” she whispered. “And on your bed. Then during a mission. Basically everywhere,” she stifled a laugh at the memory of all the places and ways he’d dreamed of fucking her.

“What was your favorite?” he asked, his metal hand sliding down to her throat and wrapping his fingers around it. He didn’t squeeze, just held her there as he stared at her.

“I…all of them,” she breathed. “I loved all of them.”

His smirk widened into a wicked smile. “Especially when I called you a good girl?”

Her eyes rolled back in her head unwittingly and she whined in his face. “Yyyeeesss,” she grunted through gritted teeth.

Bucky moaned and kissed her. Y/N gasped through her nose, kissing him back and trying to keep up with how passionately he was kissing her. His tongue slipped into her mouth, and she could taste the remnants of her arousal as she entangled her tongue with his. His flesh hand moved down her hip, over her ass cheek, then up to her breasts, kneading them and leaving a tingling sensation in his wake. His metal hand slightly squeezed her throat, pulling another whine from deep in her chest.

“Fuck, doll,” he groaned against her lips. “So responsive. Just like in my dreams.” He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers as they both breathed heavily. “Lesson’s over. Let’s go upstairs and you can choose which dream we recreate first.”

She nodded frantically. He let her go and grabbed her hand, pulling her out of the bathroom and walking with purpose toward the elevator. The entire ride up he didn’t say anything or move, watching the floor numbers rise as he held her hand firmly. When the elevator dinged he nearly ripped her from the elevator and dragged her to his room, shutting and locking the door behind her and then pushing her against the door. He kissed her again, his hands roaming over her eagerly. Y/N melted against him, letting him move her and kiss her any which way he wanted to.

“How do you wanna start, Y/N?” he asked as he licked at her neck. “You wanna suck me off like that first time you saw me? Or do you wanna fuck me? I’ll do whatever you want.”

Her hands were shaking as she gripped his shoulders, trying to ground herself so she wouldn’t collapse. “Do you…do you actually want to do this?” she stuttered, her self-doubt kicking in. “I u-understand if you’re…mad or–”

“Stop that,” Bucky said, gripping her cheeks and making her look at him again. “What you saw in my dreams is exactly what I want. You. I want you. I’ve been falling for you from the moment we met, doll. I want your body,” he kissed her lips. “I want your mind.” He kissed her forehead. “I want your heart all to myself.” He dipped down and kissed the spot over her heart, making her almost sob. “I want you to be mine, and I want to be yours.” The look on his face and the hope in his eyes was almost too much to bear as he gazed at her.

“I want that,” Y/N nodded. “I want all of that. I’m yours, and I want you to be mine.”

“Already am,” he shook his head with a knowing smile. “I’m yours.” He kissed her again, but this time it was softer, sweeter, and the tenderness made her whimper against his mouth. Her hands moved up to hold him by the back of the neck and keep him close to her, and he used the leverage of her hands there to lift her and make her wrap her legs around his hips. Bucky turned them towards his bed and laid her on it, continuing his kisses as he stayed there with her for a moment.

When he moved his kisses to her cheek and down to her neck she finally found her voice. “I want…I need you to make me cum with your fingers,” she said. “I need to cum so bad, Buck. Please…please honey…”

“Mmh, I like that,” Bucky smirked against her neck. He quickly stripped her of her clothes, leaving her naked and splayed out on the bed. His eyes hungrily gazed at her as he stripped himself, and she ogled him openly as his flesh hand moved closer to her pussy.

“No, not that one,” Y/N said.

Bucky looked like he short circuited for a moment, his eyes widening as he stared at her in shock. Then his eyes narrowed and he brought his metal hand forward, hovering it over her pussy. “You want my metal fingers?” he asked, sounding perplexed and in awe. She nodded, smiling softly at him. He let out a long sigh, like he was relaxing after a long day, then brought his metal hand up to her face. “Open up,” he instructed. Y/N opened her mouth and he dipped his middle three fingers into her mouth. She licked and sucked them, loving the way the metal felt against her tongue and giggling at the clink sound they made against her teeth. When he felt like they were lubed enough he pulled them out of her mouth and brought his hand back down between her legs. “Good girl,” he praised her with a knowing smirk.

She visibly shivered at the praise, and he sunk two fingers into her without warning. Y/N gasped, her back arching at the sudden but pleasant intrusion that her body had been yearning for. He pumped his fingers slowly, letting her get adjusted to them and watching her carefully, making sure she wasn’t in any pain or discomfort. His eyes couldn’t seem to decide whether to stay on her face or her pussy, mesmerized by the slick sounds coming from between her legs and the moans and whimpers falling from her lips.

She was so close already, and whimpered at the need and desperation that made her hips tremble in his hand. The metal felt amazing inside her, somehow staying cool against the immense heat radiating from her pussy. Bucky could tell she was struggling to finish and leaned over her a little bit, bringing his face close to her pussy. He suddenly spit on her clit, and she flinched at the added warmth as well as the sound, her breathing getting even heavier at how hot that was. His metal thumb started circling around her clit, rubbing in his spit as his fingers continued to fuck her. He watched her squirm for a moment before getting close again and then licking at her clit. Her hips bucked into his face, but that only seemed to drive him on as his flesh hand held her left thigh tightly to hold her down, his metal fingers moving faster inside her as the tip of his tongue flicked her clit.

“Holy fuck, doll,” he mumbled against her. “So good…let go and cum, Y/N. Be my good girl and cum.”

The build-up of her orgasm was finally about to tip over the edge. She reached down and gripped Bucky’s hair in her fingers, tugging at it as her hips grinded against his mouth. He moaned, sucking at her clit hard, then teasingly nibbled at his with his teeth. She came with a shriek, her legs clamping against his head as she bucked against his face again and again. Bucky kept moaning into her, his mouth and fingers refusing to stop and letting her ride out the orgasm as long as she wanted.

Once she stopped shaking he gave her one last broad lick and eased his fingers out of her, then put them in his mouth and licked them clean. She watched him enjoy her cum, the arousal rebuilding quickly. “Honey,” she breathed. His eyes flicked up to her face as he pulled his pointer finger out with a pop. “That was so good…thank you,” she huffed.

Bucky smiled and wiped his hand on the comforter before climbing over her and slotting his hips between her legs. His cock was heavy and hard laying on her pussy and lower stomach. Her hips squirmed again at the feeling, and he smirked watching her writhe uncomfortably, her lustful frown as she looked down at him making him beam. “So desperate for my cock, doll?” he teased, leaning down to kiss, lick and suck at her tits insistently.

“Yes,” she said unabashedly, her fingers back in his hair and scratching down his scalp.

“Is this how you want it?” he asked, dragging his lips across the skin of her chest. “The dream where I fucked you hard and fast on my bed, with you begging me to fill you, huh?”

“Oh my…GOD YES!” she grunted.

He chuckled against her sternum before moving back up and kissing her. “On your stomach, doll,” he instructed. Y/N immediately rolled over, planting her knees on the bed and raising her ass in the air with her face down in the bed. She heard him huff another laugh and then position himself behind her, rubbing his cock through her soaked lower lips. His flesh hand slapped her ass cheeks, and she whimpered again at the sting that he rubbed out gently. “Such a good, obedient girl,” he said lowly, teasing her pussy with the tip of his cock over and over again. “Go on. Beg.”

She turned her head to try and look at him as best as she could, her eyes pleading with him as she shook her ass back against his hips. “Bucky, honey, please…please? I need you to fill me. I want your fat cock to fuck me and fill me up, please. Please please please, honey? I’ll be so good. Your good girl.”

His eyes rolled back at that and his mouth dropped open. “Damn right you are,” he groaned, then thrust forward and filled her completely. Y/N yelped at the sudden stretch and fullness, her face smooshing back into the bed as she dropped her head down and her own eyes rolled back. He was perfect. She had never been so full in her life, and she knew instantly that she was ruined for any other man. Bucky let her adjust for a minute, a deep hum vibrating in his chest that she could surprisingly feel through her pussy, then he rolled his hips. That pulled a whine from her, and from then on it was like a bargain between them. A roll of the hips for a moan. A hard snap for a whimper. Widening her legs for a grunt and hands squeezing her ass cheeks. They were playing with each other, learning what the other wanted and responded to the most. Y/N had never felt so turned on or completely loved and cared for, and it made her sniffle as she started to cry.

“You crying, doll?” Bucky asked, laying his front over her back and kissing between her shoulder blades. “Does it feel that good?”

“Yes, honey,” she moaned, her fingers grasping the comforter in a death grip. “Never been so…mmh, full before,” she said.

“Really? Aw, buttering me up, huh?” he asked, the teasing tone coming back full force, his lips tracing along her back and his teeth nipping at her randomly, making her tense up. The way his beard was leaving goosebumps along her sensitive skin was tantalizing. “Gonna keep praising me ‘til I cum deep inside this pretty, sloppy pussy? God, you’re better than my dreams, Y/N.”

Y/N shivered at all the different sensations coming together to make her start tipping over the edge of another orgasm. Her face thrashed against the bed as the pace of his thrusts picked up, snapping into her hips so hard that the slapping of skin echoed in his room. His fingers gripped her hips hard, and she knew she’d be bruised and sensitive the next day, but that somehow made it even hotter. “Oh fuck…fuck, fuck, Bucky I…ungh,” she groaned as her pussy pulsed around him. “Fuck me full, honey! Please!”

“Yeah,” he huffed, the pace getting even faster. He leaned over and adjusted his feet on the bed, making it so he was mounting her. He tucked his face into the side of her neck, his heaving breaths heating her ear. “Take it, doll. Take all of me like the good girl you are. And all mine.” Bucky bit her shoulder, not hard but enough to make her shudder. “Mine,” he growled around the muscle in his mouth.

Y/N came careening over the edge, cumming so hard around his cock that she screamed and shook violently beneath him. Her pussy pulsed in waves as the orgasm rolled through her body and to each extremity, her vision going white as her voice was muffled into the mattress. Bucky clenched behind her, his hips pistoning into her a few times more until he whimpered in her ear and then shoved himself as far in as she could and stiffened. Another deep hum vibrated through him as he came, and she could feel the warmth increase inside her as he filled her up just the way she wanted.

It took her a few minutes to come back to herself, but when she did she could still feel him rutting into her from behind, his lips still at her shoulder but kissing and licking at the bite mark he left, and his hands generously massaging over her back, sides and hips. He gripped his cock between them and squeezed, making sure to get every last drop of cum was emptied into her still undulating pussy walls, her hips twitching periodically.

“Good girl. You’re such a good girl,” he said, his voice sounding tired. “Did so good for me, doll. That was amazing. Thank you. Thank you for walking into my dreams. My pretty dream girl. Fucking hell…”

She giggled as he turned to his side and pulled her with him, keeping his cock tucked inside her as best as possible as he settled them more comfortably. “My dream man came to life,” she teased, reaching back and pinching his hip.

Bucky laughed and grabbed her hand, pulling it up to his mouth and kissing her fingers. “Your dream man. My good girl.”

She nodded and leaned her head back into his chest, and he kissed her top of her head near her hairline. “Your good girl.”

@nerdreader

#marvel #bucky barnes #smut #bucky barnes x reader #ask #request #anon ask #oneshot

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back2bluesidex · 2 days ago

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Noona - Geum Seongje (WHC 2)

summary: Having a crush on a delinquent highschooler is definitely not a good idea.

pairing: geum seongje x fem older!reader

genre: fluff? ig.

word count: 1k

A/N: Writing something that's not about bangtan is always tough. but ngl, weak hero class has changed the trajectory of my life. While I am a sieun & suho girlie, I find seongje interesting. hence, this fic. enjoy, ig.

btw, I also have written a tiny sieun x suho that you can find here. if you wanna read I mean.

You should run, or at least scream. But oddly enough, your feet stay planted in their own places - as if they have their own minds - stubborn enough to listen to whatever solution your brain is supplying currently.

The scene unfolds right before your face. A highschooler is slammed on the nearest wall with a loud enough thud to jolt your core, another gets a blow on his face - neck almost breaking, the next one is tackled so fiercely that his face smashes into the ground, he starts bleeding instantly.

There are some other movements but you are so taken aback by the bloody mess just a few steps away from your shoes, that you don’t see anything else happening.

Your eyes are planted on the pool of blood just when you see a figure walking over to you from your peripheral vision, skipping over the bloody mess, to approach you.

And then you see him. With some difficulty, you pull your eyes from the ground to look at the face of the center of whatever massacre that took place a few seconds ago.

It’s another high schooler.

Uniform tucked under a vigorously orange windbreaker. By the looks, anyone would call him a nerd but you, although unaware of the boy’s identity, know better.

His glasses sit low on the bridge of his nose. Fire dances in his eyes as he takes a good look at you.

Even in the dim light of the shady alleyway - the boy looks handsome.

It’s only when he comes closer, you spot a mole under his left eye and his handsomeness increases by ten fold.

Only if he wasn’t almost five years younger than you…

Only if he just didn’t beat up at least eight guys right before you…

“Did you see anything, noona?” the guy asks, stepping dangerously close to you. You step back.

He says those words with a casualness as if he knows you for years.

You don’t reply. He grins. And fuck! Why does he have to be so hot?

“Don’t make me sad. Come on, I need a reply.” he presses.

“What will you do if I say yes?” your voice comes out confident, the exact opposite of what you are feeling inside.

The guy only smiles.

“Then I will make sure that you don’t misunderstand anything. These guys were bullying my friend so I just taught them a lesson. Is that believable?” He gestures towards the beaten up boys who now have started fleeing one by one.

“No. Not at all.” you reply.

The guy breaks into a loud laugh.

“You are intelligent. And that’s why I will expect you to forget whatever happened here, yeah? Oh and by the way, I’m Geum Seongje. We will meet again.” and with that he walks away. His figure slowly disappears in the dark mouth of the alley and you find yourself tracing the fading shape of his silhouette.

You need sleep.

You really need to sleep and forget.

The second time you meet Seongje is when you turn the corner of the same alleyway and take the road that leads straight to your apartment complex’s entrance.

You don’t see him at first, so he takes it upon himself to gain your attention.

“Noona, how are you doing?” He starts walking beside you and you jump out of your skin in terror.

“The fuck!” you scream, “you scared me!”

He laughs, full and bright, minus the mirth, “I’m sorry. That wasn’t my intention.”

“What are you doing here?” your eyebrows bunch together in a frown. You thought he left you with a warning that night? Then what is he doing here right now?

“Just checking up on you.”

“You mean checking up on whether I reported anything to the police?”

“That too”

You stop, half because you are annoyed with the boy’s unannounced appearance, half because you have reached your destination.

You are about to come up with a verbal blow when something catches your eyes. The corner of Seongje’s mouth is cracked.

He follows your line of sight and smirks, “it’s nothing”

“Come in with me. Don’t go around being bruised like this.” Your proposal takes both of you and him off guard.

You don’t know what made you prompt such an offer to a stranger. He is probably wondering the same.

But none of you make any more arguments as he follows you closely behind.

You can tell Geum Seongje gets into fights quite often by the way his hands work in automation while applying first aid.

You place a glass of water on your coffee table as he puts a bandaid on his knuckle.

“What’s the point of it if you are going to get hurt?” you question absent-mindedly.

“Not all of us get to live a comfortable life. We are forced to the battlefield even before we learn to stand and by the time we understand what’s happening, fighting becomes a habit.” a look of hurt, solemness flashes on his eyes. But those are gone as soon as they come.

You ponder upon his words. Whatever he said is pretty deep and not every highschooler would think in such a way.

“Have you eaten?” you divert the conversation.

Seongje’s eyes widen.

“What is it with you, noona? First treatment and now food? Do you like me or something?” his smug smile is back on his face, gums flashing - your heart does a quick skip.

“Yah! What- what are you-”

“Oh you are blushing!” he laughs. Your face feels way too hot for your own liking. Before you can deny his accusations, he stands up, “sorry, but I have to go now. Got some unfinished business. But if you don’t mind…” he fishes his phone out of his pocket and extends it towards you.

You contemplate for a second before taking the device from him and punching your number and your name in it.

“Noona, your name is as pretty as your face. You are totally my type.” he smiles again. The funny feeling in your stomach only deepens.

“Get out of my house!” you fake annoyance.

Seongje casually strolls towards your door. He throws a casual, “I’ll see you again” over his shoulder before the door closes behind him.

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!

You have a crush on a highschooler?? That too a delinquent?? What’s wrong with you!!!???

#geum seongje x reader #seongje x reader #wolf keum #geum seongje #weak hero x reader #geum seong je #geum seongje imagine #geum seongje scenario #whc2 x reader #weak hero class two #keum seongje #weak hero class 2 #wolf keum x reader #geum seong je x reader #whc2 #weak hero

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clovercap · 3 days ago

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unsaid

2.1k

note: hellooo! this is my first post on this blog and i hope you enjoy ˊᗜˋ i want to make this a series so pls let me know what you think, send me asks, and reblog and like if you enjoyed it!! thank you so much for reading ˘³˘

pairing: bsf!rafe and bsf!y/n

summary: rafe may or may not have feelings for y/n, and there's a confession of sorts

warnings: this is 18+. drug mentions and alcohol use.

“Did you know that Sarah broke up with Topper?” You say, your eyes darting to Rafe through the mirror. He’s laying on your bed, holding his phone over his face as he did…whatever it was he did on his phone. It certainly wasn’t answering texts, because you swear he’d leave you on delivered for years if you didn’t call him.

His gaze meets your through the mirror, as you continue fiddling with your necklace. He drops his phone on the bed and sits up on his elbows, his face knitting in confusion.

“Wait—what?”

You nod, your lips curling inwards as you occasionally meet his gaze in the mirror.

“Yeah, she told me last night. Said he got pissed at her for not wanting to give it up.” You scoff.

“Okay, first of all, I don’t wanna hear that shit about my sister—”

You roll your eyes, turning to face him. “Okay, I literally just said she didn’t have sex—”

“No. No, no, no, no,” Rafe’s voice raises slightly.

He’s not actually upset, you know that, but to anyone else it would certainly seem like it.

“No,” he continues, and you can’t help but crack a smile at his disdain. “Don’t say that again, please. And second of all, why would Topper do that? Doesn’t seem like him.”

You purse your lips and Rafe sits up on your bed, his legs hanging off the edge. Of course he would rather find fault in his sister rather than his friend. Any chance he had at putting Sarah down, he would do so. Ward’s influence was heavy, and his disappointment in Rafe even heavier. You would be blind to not recognize the obvious favoritism that Ward shows his daughter.

You sigh. “It is totally something Topper would do. He’s gotten mad about it like a million times, ‘cause he’s desperate for—”

You cut yourself off, not wanting to mention Sarah’s sex life. Again. “Listen, I’m not saying he’s this horrible person, Rafe, but that’s fucked up of him.”

Rafe just presses his lips inward. “You might be right, but I don’t—I don’t wanna talk about this anymore. It’s grossing me out.”

You roll your eyes again, turning back to the mirror to take yourself in. “Fine,” You look back at Rafe. “How do I look?”

“Fine.” He says, disinterested eyes flickering over your form.

That was the most you’d get from him. A ‘fine’ in Rafe’s world was a ‘great’ in yours. You smile and start putting on your shoes.

“Why is Kelce even having this party again?”

“Because,” You drag the word out slipping on your sneaker. “His parents are out of town and it’s summer. You’re asking like you need a reason to party.” You tease, standing straight.

His lips quirk up ever so slightly. He hates how you know him so well, but he can’t help the way his heart skips everytime you show it.

“True,” Rafe shrugs. He stands and slips on his own shoes. “Shots before we go?”

You laugh and walk to your closet, pulling out the bottle of tequila you keep hidden in the corner. You uncap it and take a swig, your face twisting at the harsh burn spreading down your throat. He takes it from your hand as you wipe the corner of your mouth, your body involuntarily shuddering.

He chuckles, taking a sip of his own, barely reacting as he passes it back to you.

“You’re such a lightweight.” He grins, watching as you hide the bottle back in your closet.

“Maybe because I’m not 200 pounds, over six feet tall, and a man.” You roll your eyes.

“Hey, Ruthie can down five times more shots than you can. It’s not just about size.” He teases, following you out of your house.

“Sue me for saving money, I guess.” You huff as the two of you walk down the street, the setting sun casting a glow on the pavement.

You try not to think about how Rafe knows that about Ruthie. She was in your friend group after all, but you and Rafe had spoken about your shared distaste for her. You shook your head. If Rafe simply talking about another girl got under your skin, you knew you had to mentally prepare yourself for tonight, when he was bound to flirt with or even hook up with some random tourist or kook.

You knew why you were jealous. Your affection for Rafe had grown into something much less freindly over the years you’ve known him. But you’d never say anything. He was your best-friend. One of the most stable relationships you’ve ever had, and Rafe was notoriously unstable, so that was saying something. He was your rock, and you couldn’t imagine loosing him because of some stupid feelings.

The walk to Kelce’s was fast, but the increasing absence of the sun was giving you goosebumps. Before you realize what’s happening, Rafe’s right next to you, his arm around your shoulders, and his hand rubs the top of your arm. “Cold?” He asks.

It’s things like this that confuse you. His affection was rarely given out, but recently, he’s been doing things like… whatever this was.

“Kind of,” You lean into him. “I think I just need to drink more.”

You can tell he’s grinning, even though you aren’t looking up at him. “I think so too. We should get fucked up tonight.”

You nod in agreement. “Oh, we will.”

When you get to Kelce’s house, he drops his arm, and a feeling of emptiness wells up in your chest before you push it down. You walk in, and he’s behind you for only a second before someone pulls him away.

You’re used to that, so your eyes dart around for someone you know, but before you can find anyone, Rafe’s back at your side again.

“Sorry,” He says, leaning down just enough so you can hear him over the pounding music and chatter. “Dan thought I had shit with me tonight.”

You look up at him. “You don’t?”

You try not to act too suprised, but you know he can read it all over your face. It was true, he usually did have coke, and sold it (and did it) at parties like this, but not tonight. It was also somewhat shocking considering that just the other day Ward had ripped into him, again, about getting his life together, being irresponsible; the usual flaws he found in his son.

Rafe had rarely divulged any details, as per ususal, but you could tell it was bad. Especiallly considering he had called you at 10 P.M. and just took you for a drive in his car. Not to talk about it, or go anywhere in particular, but to just be with you. He did that sometimes.

“No, I don’t.” He says simply, jaw clenching.

He didn’t feel like talking about it, but he knew you would want him to. Sure, you wouldn’t say anything. But you would look at him a certain way that told him you wanted to know more. He hated how it usually worked, and he ended up saying something to you he didn’t plan on telling anyone.

It was strange, how you were able to get him to talk with just a look. It was also strange to him that you cared enough to want to know. Well, he knew why you cared. You were best-friends. Recently though, he’s been feeling…strange, around you. There was just something about you that made him think about you all the time. But he doesn’t know what that means, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to find out.

You smile slightly. “Let’s get a drink.”

He sighs in relief as he follows you to the kitchen, grateful you changed the subject. Truthfully, he didn’t want to be coked-up tonight. It always made his chest do that weird achy thing when you saw him like that.

You resign yourself to one more shot and a seltzer for the night. Partially because you were anxious that if you were around him while you were excessively drunk, you might say something about how you’ve been feeling, and you coudn’t have that.

Rafe, however, was throwing back shots and shotgunning beers like there was no tommorow. Maybe it was because of him and Ward’s conversation, maybe it was because he just wanted to party. Or maybe it’s because everytime you get a little too close to him his palms start sweating. He’s not totally sure.

The party rages on, and Rafe sticks by your side most of the night, talking to other people, or playing pong, but he disappears a few hours in and you find yourself with some girls from school. They’re all talking about Sarah and Topper’s breakup, but your mind wanders to earlier that night when Rafe and you played a game of pong.

Some guy had come up after the two of you had won and asked you to play. While you were politely declining, Rafe’s hand found its way around your waist. Like you were his. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the delusions you allowed yourself to create when he did those things.

You eventually got bored, and left the group of girls, meandering around the party to find where Rafe had gone. You do a lap, and he’s nowhere to be seen, so you walk out on the front porch for some air, only to find him sitting on the porch swing.

“Hey,” You smile, walking up and sitting next to him. “Why’re you out here?’

He looks over at you, and his eyes are glazed over, a signature look that tells you for certain; he’s plastered. He grins lazily as you sit down.

“Needed some air.” He says, staring at you.

You tilt your head, and as you're about to ask why, he speaks up. “I looked for you.”

“I was by the staircase, like, the whole time.” You can’t help but crack a smile at his obliviousness.

“Oh,” He nods, eyes flickering in recognition. “I missed you.”

You let his words wash over you, and you suddenly feel hot.

“I missed you too. But I’m here now.” You smile softly. He smiles back, and looks out at the neighborhood.

“You’re here,” He nods, like he needs to repeat it to know for sure. Then he looks back at you, with something in his eyes.

“Whenever I need you, you’re there, and I always need you," He scoffs like he wishes he didn't. "You’re like—it’s like I can breathe when you’re around, you know? And when you aren’t here, I just like…” He trails off, but makes a clutching motion at his chest. “It all comes back.”

I can breathe when you’re around.

You almost stop breathing at his words. They hit you like a train, and you feel like the Earth had stopped spinnning on it’s axis. He always needs you? How the fuck were you supposed to repond to that?

“Well, I guess I can never leave then.” You say, forcing yourself to smile like it was a joke. Because he can’t be serious. Can he?

He just looks at you, and rubs his chest with his knuckles, like it’s physically hurting him. But then he drops his hand back into his lap, and he smiles, tilting his head slightly, like he had just processed your words.

He had just laid himself bare in front of you, and you suddenly felt a wave a guilt wash over you. You couldn’t be what he needs. You can’t even be honest with him about how you feel.

You furrow your brows and look towards the street for a moment, trying to gather yourself. He wasn’t asking for help. No, he was just…telling you how he felt. You knew that. But it scared you, the weight of his words. How could you ever be enough for him? How could you be what he needs?

You take a deep breathe and school your face into something soft, and look back at him. He’s still looking at you, but he’s miles away.

“That’s…” You trail off, grabbing his hand. “I’ll always be here for you. Seriously. I need you, too.”

He looks down at your intertwined fingers and squeezes your hand. He doesn’t say anything in response, and he loosens his grip. You pull your sweaty hand back into your lap as you both look towards the flickering street lamps.

“Yo!”

Your heads turn in unison to the front door, where Kelce had just burst out of.

“You guys need to see this shit, Top’s gonna drink the bitch cup.” He grins, panting.

“Fuck, yeah.” Rafe stands, a bit wobbly and laughs, following Kelce inside, leaving you on the porch without a glance back at you.

Like he hadn’t just flipped your world around.

#hi!!! thank you for reading :))#my writing #rafe cameron fanfiction #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x female reader #rafe cameron x you #rafe cameron x y/n #bsf!rafe #rafe cameron #rafe cameron and reader

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dioslesbianwife · 21 hours ago

Note

Hi! I have been reading almost all your posts, I think? And I really really love how you write all of this! So, if possible, I have a request for the reader having 3 stands and getting shot tree times by the arrow. Even Enya wasn't sure of her survival, and one of her stand is attack, the other was defence, and the last is healing, but if she used all three stands, she unconscious for three days that's why she'll only use one or two at a time

(There's a lot more details in all three stands, but I'll give this much for now)

And please take your time. I can wait and thank you so much!!! And have a great day

hiii, i wasn't sure if you wanted certain characters' reactions but since u mentioned Enya and the stand arrow I'm going with part 3 characters but you can totally message me or comment if u wanted smth different instead- anywho thank u so much for being patient and ty for requesting and hope u enjoy <33 (also have a great day/night too!)

You were shot three times by the Stand Arrow, something not even Enya thought you could survive. But somehow, you did. The result: you now have three separate Stands - one for attack, one for defense, and one for healing.

The catch? If you use all three at once, you're unconscious for three whole days. You typically use just one or two at a time to avoid the cost.

DIO

“Three Stands... Three Arrows... and you survived.”

Completely obsessed. You're a miracle, a perfect example of divine power.

Wants you on his side immediately. May even offer you a place at his side as some twisted recognition of your power.

“You were born to be above others. Don’t squander it being a hero.”

If you reject him and collapse after using all three? He watches your sleeping body, murmuring to Enya about your potential.

Jotaro Kujo

“Tch. Of course you’d pull something insane like that.”

He’s lowkey impressed. He doesn’t show it much, but he watches your fights closely, analyzing how you shift between the Stands.

If he sees you trying to overexert yourself in battle: “Don’t. We’ve got this. Don’t pass out on us now.”

He takes it personally if you use all three to protect the group and then collapse. Will sit by your bed for three days and scowl at anyone who tries to make noise.

Joseph Joestar

“THREE Stands!? GOOD LORD, that’s... that’s amazing! Also absolutely bonkers, but amazing!”

He nerds out. Tries to research you like some kind of walking Stand anomaly.

Says you were blessed by the goddess of luck to even survive three arrow hits. He’s a mix of fascinated and slightly worried.

“You’re like a Swiss army knife! Wait- don’t pass out! Damn it!”

Polnareff

“Mon dieu... you’re like three warriors in one body!”

Thinks your ability is absolutely cool. Trains with you constantly.

Gets reckless during team battles thinking you can “cover everything” and then feels guilty when you collapse.

Will 100% volunteer to carry you bridal style while dramatically sobbing over your noble sacrifice.

Avdol

“That kind of power comes with a heavy cost. You’re incredibly strong, but promise me- don’t treat yourself like a weapon.”

Very calm and wise about it. Helps you develop strategies to only use what’s necessary.

Works with you to develop signals during fights so the team knows which Stand you’re using and what to expect.

He’s the one who makes sure you’re cared for when you’re unconscious- fresh water, cooled forehead, incense burning nearby.

Kakyoin

“Fascinating... It’s like your soul split itself three ways to survive.”

He’s the strategist. Will absolutely build battle plans around your abilities.

Gets super anxious when he sees you use all three. “No- don’t- she’s going to- !” and then you’re out cold.

Waits beside your bed reading or doodling until you wake up, then casually says, “You scared us again. Don’t do that.”

#jojo's bizarre adventure #dio #dio brando #dio x reader #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro kujo #joseph joestar x reader #joseph joestar #kakyoin x reader #noriaki kakyoin #polnareff x reader #jean pierre polnareff #avdol x reader #mohammed avdol

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my-youth-hannah · 2 days ago

Text

What we can't avoid || "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader ||

Summary: In which anyone can freely enter the void and see more of Bob’s shame rooms / past memories he cannot even recall. Thunderbolts kept him in the headquarters while is undergoing therapy so only few will know whenever he is having episodes that could open the void. "Bob" Robert Reynolds x f! reader

Warnings: trauma / schizophrenic

Word Count: 2.6k

Disclaimer: Writing style may be different from other writers on this platform since I was used to writing stories in different ways back when I was in my early teenage years. Just wanted to turn the scenarios in my head into words. Hope y’all enjoy it.

Quite not sure with how Russian words

༒︎

Y/N introduced herself as someone who used to work for Valentina along with Mel, but since all of them had an agreement they work together, she was assigned to stay with the team. Win win situation it is, now she was assigned by Valentina to assist Thunderbolts or what she calls New Avengers in anything they need in exchange of not testifying for her impeachment.

“Why Thunderbolts?” She asked

“West Chesapeake Bay Thunder-” Alexie got cut off by Yelena when she inserted bread into his mouth.

“It’s nothing, plus the government calling us New Avengers whatever now so.” Yelena.

“Mishka~” Alexie while chewing.

Bucky was asking Ava to tour me around but pointed out other members to do the work instead. “Why don’t you ask John instead” but Walker instantly declines it and passes it to Yelena again and tosses it to other members.

“Are they always like this?” She whispered to myself.

“Yes, they are, you’ll get used to it.” Then a cool looking guy who looks in late 20s appears on my side wearing some comfy clothes unlike the rest of the team who is fully geared. “I am Bob by the way” smiles but not looking at her. “My name is…” She offered her hands to shake but all of them caught it at the right moment and stopped her and made her completely clueless.

Ava gave her a tour around the HQ, showing everything from essential facilities to pointless rooms—even the bathrooms. Yet, there was one area that stood out. It appeared newly constructed but heavily used, with numerous scratches and visible signs of frequent use. “Never mind it, it's nothing.” answer from Ava.

She was instructed by her that all of them will be going to a mission for a week days from now, she was allowed to go anywhere but not near Bob since he has ‘contagious disease’ that they are looking for a cure at the moment. Normal conversation was allowed but no personal questions shall be entertained by Bob.

༒︎

“Hi uhmm lemon?” Bob offered. She woke up one morning with no one else but Bob, looks like the team left earlier than what is planned. “No, thanks.” Days staying in the HQ she got a chance to know all of them, attitudes and routines- basically observe them. Valentina would like to know if there’s something they are planning to do against her. “Seems like harmless…… even defenseless.” Bob smiled like the usual does. “Am I? I have no idea haha” pure innocence is visible in him. “But seriously, what is with that room? the dungeon like one” He stopped for a minute trying to think “t-the dungeon, haven’t been there.” whispers to himself that she got used to it even after a few days of staying.

Reading books, doing yoga, light workouts, and washing dishes became part of his routine whenever he stepped out of his room. Since it was just the two of them, Bob agreed to help him with the dishes, though he was careful to avoid any direct contact. “Relax, we’re just washing dishes,” she said, but Bob still kept his distance. “Y-yeah,” he replied nervously. It was probably a good thing they were both wearing gloves. Bob hadn’t realized washing dishes could be this fun; the last time he did it with someone was with John but didn’t enjoy it since he’s only telling stories how he saved people during the time he was serving the country as a military. “Hey, I’ve got a joke,” he said. “Why don’t dishwashers ever get lonely? They always have a full load.” She paused for a moment while removing her gloves, trying to get the joke. “Oh, come on, it’s funny!” Bob complained. She finally laughed and playfully hit him on the bare arm. “You—you’re the funny one.” He laughed along with her for a minute before realizing that she was in direct contact with him.

༒︎

He panicked and promptly asked her how she was feeling which made her confused when she looked completely fine. “I am fine, Bob. Can you settle here on the couch?” but he didn’t listen and kept walking around while talking to himself about being cured and healed. She is on the edge of contacting Bucky to ask for help since she didn’t see this coming and wasn’t even oriented. Hours after, the team arrives from their mission. Even looking exhausted they first check on Bob, while he welcomes them like a kid missing his father.

“Okay, Bobby, we can’t understand if you are rapping.” John.

“Breathe first, Bob.” Bucky said, “So what happened now?”

“W-we- We touched.” Bob.

“Oh little Bob, You are a man now. I am so proud of you.” Alexie.

“That is not what he is talking about, old man!” Ava. Yelena directly went to check on her. “Are you okay? What did you see?”

“I am fine, why you all overthink?” Based on their reaction, they didn’t expect her answer.

༒︎

The team discussed the possibility of Bob being healed or if the Void already did vanish. Bob has never been so at peace even though they haven’t confirmed it yet. “We should still test it when he is already, Let’s give him another week of rest. Testing it would be stressful for all of us.” Bucky discussed which all of them agreed with.

In the other room, She was kept to be monitored for any symptoms of ‘contagious disease’ they said to her, but freed before the evening.

༒︎

At dawn, she heard her name being called by a calm, soothing voice, compelling her to follow it. Feeling lightheaded, she obeyed, wandering through the halls in her pajamas. The voice led her to a dungeon-like room, where only darkness awaited. “Who are you?” she asked, standing barefoot at the entrance, unafraid.

“I am... nothing. But come closer if you want to know better,” a no emotion voice replied.

Her mind felt blank as her body moved forward on its own, stepping into the darkness turning her into a shadow and consuming her entirely. John and Yelena witnessed it, having been drawn to the eerie, familiar sound—Void.

“Bob?” First thing she saw was him in an attic of a house where she was directed. Bob paused for a minute but not surprised anymore, he knew he’s not cured and the Void was still in him. “H-hi”

“Where are we?”

“My world haha, Welcome anyways, I haven’t prepared any warming gift for newbies here.” He joked while playing rubik's cube. Bob gave a brief explanation of what is happening and where they are.

༒︎

Outside the void, John and Yelena are arguing on who is going inside the void and who will stay. “I know I’ve been there infinite time, that’s why it's your turn. Are you afrai-”

“I am not!”

“You’ve been there like 2-3 times, what’s the big deal in saving our friend?!”

“Fine! Fine! I got into a room where he is touching himself, happy now?”

“Oh goshhh Walker, Every adult did that! Just ignore it. You must understand that, you even made your own baby!” Yelena.

“Still!” John.

Yelena left no choice but to enter the void while John waited outside for the others. As she stepped in, she was directed to her shame room- bathroom where she was lying drunk. “Not again.” but none of it was moving. A familiar presence she felt from her back going towards her “Lena tsk tsk…. I can’t let you intrude but only to watch.” Void himself.

༒︎

“You are supposed to have your own shame room actually, no idea why the Void decides to direct us to my shame room. I even have no episodes these days. He's so unpredictable.” Bob explained to her. Now she understands why thunderbolts are so possessive of him. Now they are just waiting for any doors to open to lead them to other rooms till they exit the void. Bob was already used to it as he knows what to do in every room they’ve been in. “Glad you don't feel heavy here.” Bob said

“Maybe I am used to episodes? Not so new to me.” She replied. Bob knows she is different, she does have a shame room, no episode in direct contact with him and doesn’t feel a burden in his void. “May I ask, what were you doing before you came here? You said you're working for Valentina, right?” Bob asked.

“Valentina, who’s that?” She asked.

༒︎

Meanwhile, Void made Yelena watch every room they are passing by through the mirror of her shame room. “What now?”

“Don’t be impatient, Lena. You are lucky I didn’t make you join the maze and just let you watch here. Also maybe you should know.” with a blink of an eye, the mirror went bigger and showed outside the void with two John. “I am improving… I can now let anyone go outside the void as an illusion.”

“Mel, yes, hello? Remember the intern you sent here, She went inside the void. Don’t let Valentina know about this-” Bucky made a quick call to Mel to advise her and to check any records they can have about her past. “Bucky, it’s 2am. What are you talking about? We have no intern sent there.”

“What did you say?” Bucky looked at Alexie with full of confusion.

༒︎

“It doesn't usually have this kind of count of rooms, It looks like Void is bringing up other traumas we’ve been, even to the smallest anxious times.” Bob explained, their hands were comfortably intertwined to each other without noticing- seems like used of it- or more on does in usual. “Are we just going to run and run?” She asked as she noticed that he wasn’t paying attention to the rooms and only running to escape it. “This is how we do this thing, just follow.” Bob's response.

“Aren’t you tired of it?”

“Of course, I do. But this is how I manage it”

“Running away?”

“.....”

“Bob…. this is not the answer. You should face it.” that made him stop when he’s about to open another door. Bob knew that would be a great help for this issue with Void but he was too weak to control and overcome it. “You don’t know him”

“I know you, I know him.” Echoing in the empty hospital hallway.

༒︎

Yelena was forced to watch John along with Ava to fight with Void John who was wearing a military uniform. “Fine! You proved yourself, You can now unleash the void version of ourselves, you can manipulate it not only inside the void. Can you stop the Void John?” Void actually enjoys kicking John and Ava’s ass since he’s still questioning why Bob cares over John when he is an asshole. “Fine” sighed and snapped which made void John stop and walk back to the void entry.

“You are no fun, Lena, tsk tsk. Let us just watch Bob again, shall we?”

༒︎

“I can’t recall this place. If I am going to face Void, I should know what room I go to.” Bob said while keeping her on his back. They’ve been wandering in the hallways and rooms of the hospital like it is infinite and no end. There were only a few staff but some screams could be heard from the end of the hallways.

After almost an hour running through the hallways and passing the rooms, they were able to find Bob in this shame room. They were trying to open the door, but Bob was peacefully standing in the center of the room. “Are you dancing alone?” She asked.

“I don't know how to dance, and I don’t even know this place.” He replies as he was trying to open the glassdoor. The other Bob inside the room, which they thought is the Void, continues to slow dance and reveal someone hugging with. “B-bob.. Why am I here?” It was her.

“Beautiful, aren’t they?” Void asked Yelena who was confused with what they were watching. “W-why? Who really she is?”

“Watch, just watch, Lena.”

“I don’t know, I don’t really know.” Bob cannot believe what they just saw. They were both slow dancing in hospital gowns. So peaceful, so quiet, yet, the affection is visible as how Bob handles her. It was love in an unexpected place. He kissed her forehead and placed his chin on top of her head while continuously slow dancing with no music on.

“You should go now, Bob.”

“No, I’ll be staying here, wth you”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go of the most beautiful thing that happened in this miserable life I have. This is.. like ending my life too.”

༒︎

“She….. She was supposed to be the Sentry Project and I was just a test subject.” Void started without leaving eyes in the mirror watching Bob and her. “She had this plan to escape from the facility after taking the serum but I need to go first, and there’s no assurance if she can really take it or not. They only know how her blood was.”

“Does it mean that all this time, what we had was an illusion from the void?” Yelena asked.

Void chuckled. “I just want all of you to meet her, but I enjoyed that too much I guess. Too bad, can’t keep her too much outside the void either.”

༒︎

“Bob?”

“Please don’t ask me questions, I really don't know. This is also exhausting for me.” He was on the edge of losing his shits when he felt a gentle cold touch on his face. As he opened his eyes, he saw her standing in front of him in the first room where they saw themselves. His hands on her waist, while her arms wrapped around his torso.

She looked into his eyes,“You should go now, Bob.” With that, his lost memory flashes on his mind, he now recalls her, the love of his life, the only person he considered as his other half, the woman who gave his life meaning, his everything. “No, no no- don’t say that. I’ll be staying here, wth you, my beautiful”

“We have talked about this, Bob, Please…”

“But, I just can’t let go the most beaut-” Without completing his sentence they were tossed to another room where he was laying down in a hospital bed, and she was busy getting medical tools that she needed to transfer her blood to him. “I know this, I know this- Please no! Don’t! Please!” He screamed out. He can now recall every minute of that day, on how they were supposed to escape but ended up transferring her blood to him to pass the inactivated Sentry serum.

“Please, Void! No! Not here on the rooftop.” He pleaded, but it was too late and everything was supposed to happen. The door opened and she was running to him to activate the Sentry Serum in his body. Gunshots are fired and her body catches it from her back.

“Bob…” She managed to take out the activator and injected it right to his veins. She looked at his eyes for the last time. “This ending was only meant for me, not for you. Go and fly. Look for the purpose, My Bob.”

Void Bob appeared with Yelena in the scene while Bob was quietly sobbing. Yelena immediately comforts Bob while Void Bob watches the body of her consumed by darkness.

“So long, my love.”

#thunderbolts #new avengers #bob reynolds #robert bob reynolds #sentry #robert reynolds #bob thunderbolts #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #yelena belova #marvel #marvel mcu #mcu

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thenextlordthorpe · 2 days ago

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If anyone knew him better than he knew himself, it was Piet. Growing up, his world was full of men dominating and playing vital, important, roles in the life around him and even as a sailor it was full of testosterone with men wanting to be the best, showing off their strength. They all thought and showcased it as if that had made them men. That wasn’t him. Piet was right. He was submissive and he liked it. It felt good to not be the one in charge and have someone not expect that of him. Not just in life but in bed, too. He preferred to be the submissive one but when he came back to society, it was so full of people expecting him to want to take power in all aspects of his life- even the first thing Whistledown wrote of him. Someone who saw others as prey to be taken, someone that wanted to prove the power he would eventually yield but that wasn’t him. It never had been. “Ah, because you knew me right from the first sight,” he laughs but knows he very well could have. “I’d have thought you would be trying not to down instead of trying to read me for who I am.” Again, he was right. The drink that night might’ve made things seemed longer, but it wasn’t that long at all before he interrupted the pair and made his own claim. Pushing him worked and he liked it being done in that context.

When his hand is moved away, Tobias sits back with confusion all over his face at the turn of it and a sudden heaviness coming over his chest. There’s nothing he can do but listen with pleading eyes trying to hide the hurt stabbing inside him. It hadn’t even been a full day, the night was technically their honeymoon and the ultimatum they’d agreed to had already crept between them when he just wanted to enjoy their reunion and making it last forever. The ring still felt new on his finger, but the truth of Piet’s words hung heavy between them. Yes, his father had done all that but he didn’t think that warranted murder. “Do I have to do it to prove myself to you?” he spits back, angry and glaring at Piet. “I already told you I would do anything to protect you and I will but if this is you pushing me in some kind of test then…” he has no follow through with it but the rage build faster than he can collect a thought. It was one thing to be stolen away against his will but to be left was new and the very threat of it. Piet had made up his mind, that was clear. His father would be dead at the hands of the man he loved, the one who his father had taken him from. “I never said I’d plead for his life,” a lie given that moments ago he’d tried to persuade Piet for some deviation. “Do it. I won’t stop you.” There’s an attempt to sound firm but even he can hear the wavering in his voice. “I only ask to keep us out of it. I mean our relationship. I don’t want it tainted by him. Please,” Tobias whispers.

A DIRECT WAY LED TO FASTER RESULTS, BUT THE JOY WAS IN THE TOYING AND ORCHESTRATING A MAN’S ACTIONS TO THE POINT WHERE THEY LOSE CONTROL AND INHIBITIONS WAS THE BETTER ROUTE TO TAKE. Not quite breaking someone but pushing them to the point where fear and whatever holds them back fades into nothing leaving only desire and no choice but to follow through on what was really wanted. That was some of what he planned that night all those years past. “You are submissive despite your title and status, and I could tell that back then without knowing your high birth.” Highly suspected but not known even if Tobias’ refined face and way of being gave that away. “I wanted you to go for it yourself and look at how I rewarded you that night and all the nights since!” Piet knew Tobias and in return of that knowledge he’d opened himself up to be discovered and read without knowing only for his lover to dive in and discover everything that could be. “You fool yourself thinking you lasted long at all when it was not much time at all. My jealousy would have watched you do it, knowing it was all for me,” Piets voice rakes between them, heavy in gravelled knowing it’s the exact voice Tobias can barely resist. “Then, when you finished without satisfaction, I’d have let you know what you missed. I’d have shown you with the very man that looked like you, making certain you’d hear me fuck him like I would have you.” Jealously was a weakness for Piet but he knew how to play it with others and twist it to affect those he wanted it to reach.

Stopping the touch on his tattoo, Piet’s hand covers Tobias own and looks right at him with a soft but stern look that expected more. “Marrying you was a risk,” tender spoken weighted in love but purposely chosen words to evoke a confused feeling that he could play and orchestrate. “And if you want to protect me and have me with you then you need to do the actions we spoke of. My love for you is strong but it will not protect either of us unless you hold power yourself. Its time, Tobias, for you to grow up and take what is yours.” The voice now carries a weight to it, a scorn and a menacing quality equal in its seduction. “As heir, you have nothing. You were heir when you were taken back by your father, shackled because you are his heir, locked away because you are just an heir, followed like a criminal by your father’s spy because you are just an heir. Do you have to?” Piet shakes his head and rises from the bed, moving Tobias’ hand off him that he held affectionately moments ago. “No. You do whatever you want but don’t be a fool and think romantic ideals will save your disappointment and heartbreak when your inability to act breeds consequences you regret that you’ll face.” A pause deliberate and heavy in the heir is created to force Tobias to ponder the spoken words thrown at him in hopes they take root in his mind. “If you do not want to do it, know I will and I will take no pleas of mercy from you. You want to enjoy our reunion then I implore you to wake up from your dreamlike notions. I love you but there is only so much risk and inaction I will tolerate before I move on. And I will.”

#whereaway #tobias & piet #piet: 01

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thenightshadowqueen · 5 months ago

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Divorces and Teddy Bears—Watchthrough Thoughts

I’m not sure if anyone likes reading these, but I do, and I figure I can’t be the only one, so here we go. (Plus, they’re fun to make.)

The little card and “beginning-middle-end” editing is amazing

The presents in the title card being addressed to “Peter Steven”, “Priscilla”, and “Johnny and Janae”??????? They know their fanbase; I died

I love this stage

Also captions!!!

I love Luke being so confused at the beginning and just going “Oh!” when he gets it

“I was dressed as a sheep” ah, taking lessons from Sam, are we?

AJ’s sassy walk!!!!!!!

Okay I love Mrs. Claus holy shit

“Leave the keys in the sled, yes. So I can start the engine of the sled.” I love it when Sam points out logic flaws without even breaking character (although I also love it when he breaks character too)

Poor Snowdrop, being assigned as the child of divorce and forced into the middle

Also Luke’s hair???? He looks amazing

The camera quality is great as well

“We feed directly on your emotions. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.” Luke????

Congrats to Luke for finally getting his diagnosis!

Also Luke directing the audience to cheer for him and then to stop is amazing (reminds me a bit of that clip of him getting the room to be quiet in that recent Genre game)

Tom changing the scene just to crouch behind the chair… This caught me so off guard (in the best way possible)

I know someone already said this but Little Krampus has huge Scottish Robin vibes

Also I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again: how the FUCK does Tom move like that?

Tom stroking at a strand of Luke’s hair like that is so weird and I’m here for it; Tom’s character choices are always top-notch

I think “sassy women who fly to warm places to cheat on their husbands with men called Javier” is my favourite niche sub-genre of AJ character (insert that thing about nickels and things happening twice) (shoutout to Tracy) (also I know that Tracy didn’t canonically sleep with Javier but like… she totally did, right?) (or with a different Javier) (there are always plenty of Javiers available in the SFTHverse) (and she has been fucking everyone (direct quote from her))

I love it when AJ fucks up some tiny, barely-significant thing and Sam just CANNOT let it go and it becomes an actual plot point

AJ’s passport photo poses are gorgeous

“The most wanted terrorist in the North Pole” Jesus Christ Sam

Also tangent but can I just say that AJ wearing friendship bracelets is everything (and am I right in saying that I think those were the ones made by fans? Or am I misremembering? Because if they are that is so fucking sweet)

Now I really want to learn more about the Great Battle

Sassy Tom!!!! I love sassy Tom

The Sam and Luke elves remind me of the Oompa Loompas from West End Big Boys

I love Luke’s determination to climb on Sam and Sam’s determination to prevent it

“~Rudolph motherfucker~” have I mentioned that I love AJ?

Audience to the rescue!

“Initiating micro-space” AJ???

Javier having basically all of his buttons undone… Xavier flashbacks, anyone? (Also, Tom having basically all of his buttons undone… he definitely remembers the latest DnD livestream)

“I was expecting a sexy lady with a big beard” hell yeah, bearded women!

“Is [having your shirt unbuttoned] the local custom?” “No, only when we are awaiting a lover. Which, again, you are not; you are two children.” I love that Tom has to remind Sam to not unbutton his shirt because… it’s Sam

“My manservant was surprised” one, of course Javier had a manservant, and two, they need to stop making me think of BBC Merlin because it kills me every single fucking time

Luke just casually telling this random man that he’s 2000 years old… god, they really do never leave the North Pole, do they?

“Tell me a little less” I love Tom

“I’m definitely the receiver in the relationship” TOM (but also good for Javier)

AJ oh my fucking god

“That’s how it works up there” god I love Sam’s very specific “suspension of disbelief” voice

“That looks like a plot point that’s almost been abandoned” Tom is amazing

Oh, Luke, you’ve just set yourself up for another Pocket scenario

“I just wanted the pussy” Tom

“You know it’s casual” does she? Because she’s moving halfway around the world for him

“Wow, that sounds very transactional to me” I mean… yeah. Yeah, it does

“Hey, let’s not blame someone with a disorder, shall we?” I love Sam holy shit

Tom singing!!!!!!!!!!!! He sounds so creepy??????? He’s doing an amazing job

“~I just realised there’s no cable on this mic at all~” Tom has been freed!

Oh my god I love seeing Tom so happy

Tom’s villains are always amazing for a lot of reasons but especially his physicality???

Tom is having so much fun

AJ’s expression when Tom puts their faces close together is amazing; it’s like, “I have no idea what the fuck you’re doing but I’m going with it”

“Poor little teddy bear Christmas man.” I love Tom trying to bring back the title (“I have so many names and that is not one of them”)

LUKE!!!! (his Little Krampus movements are amazing)

Also Snowdrop :(

AJ just staring blankly into the camera is so fucking creepy

Luke good fucking god

Thought we were going to get a kiss for a second there…

Sam singing!!!!

I love the audience singalongs!

AJ singing!!!!

Holy shit I love this play

Merry Christmas to everyone who celebrates!

#as always if anything I said comes across as a criticism that was not the intention #I absolutely adore this play #I think this is one of my new favourites #again I don’t know if anyone will read this or enjoy it #but I had a great time making it #shoot from the hip #sfth #Divorces and Teddy Bears #Nightshadow’s watchthrough thoughts

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measurelessdreamer · 9 months ago

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Part II of my musings about my scogan kid fic idea (read part I here)

It’s very delicate. And Logan doesn’t deal with delicate. He can deal with force and dangerous and what-doesn’t-kill-you-makes-you-stronger. A four-year-old girl calling him “dad” is nowhere near any of these things.

And Summers must know how much of a deal this is because he’s quiet the whole time they walk to his office to talk, for which Logan didn’t ask but Scott offered anyway, without the typical stoic composure Logan was used to seeing on him.

Then they get there and neither of them can really sit down or start because where do you start after seeing something like this? After apparently living in a universe where time-travel is possible and it happens to be your damn luck that you have to live with its consequences?

And Logan realises that Scott could ask first. He wasn’t there when Logan talked about his timeline with Charles and as far as the little girl goes, calling Scott “papa” is on the same spot of “urgent” as calling Logan “dad” is.

But Summers speaks in the end and, surprising no one, he decides to be unselfish and asks Logan what he wants to know. Logan gives him a look that must speak for itself because Summers clenches his jaw but still waits and Logan hates him but not really and so he asks, “The girl. Who is she?”

And Scott says that her name is Kayla (because I happen to be a big fan of Wolverine: Origins and I always have been ever since I saw it when I was, like, thirteen, and despite all the sad stuff about Kayla, I loved the message of her words to Logan that he’s not an animal and I think it would be nice to have that message survive in a little girl who at some point learned to love him enough to call him dad because if that doesn’t say he’s not an animal, then I don’t know). It might warrant a reaction from Logan right away. He might know what the name means, the Logan of this timeline probably didn’t (but it’s possible he doesn’t know either).

So he asks who gave her that name, to which Scott replies that he chose it and Logan asks why they would let him and Scott says because he was the one who found her. There is something Summers isn’t saying, though, and although Logan can tell, he lets it go this time.

Found her? he asks next and Scott says I assume you’re familiar with the name “Stryker”, to which Logan lets out one of his claws, the middle one, akin to all those years ago on the Liberty Island and he doesn’t know what he expects, but the soft smile that graces Scott’s face before it is squashed down by the cold calculated look was definitely not it.

Then Scott reaches under his desk and unlocks one of his drawers and pulls out a thick file with the huge red stemp of “classified” written over it and he pushes it closer to Logan. It says “Weapon XII” on the front and Logan bristles and almost lets out all of his claws.

He doesn’t reach for the file and Scott probably didn’t even expect him to because he goes on, unprompted, and says that the project was meant to be a continuation of the previous one, of designing a mutant who would be able to hold and control multiple abilities at the same time. The previous project made them aware they could change one mutant. Now, they wanted to know whether they could fully create one and raise them to be their perfect soldier.

For that, they needed a suitable collection of DNA from mutants they knew existed because it turned out that not every ability was compatible with the rest of them.

When Logan asks how they found out, Summers says it’s in the file and then clenches his jaw when Logan just says he’s not reading it. Then Scott says there were multiple test subjects that were biologically engineered in different ways so they knew where to push their limits. At the time, Kayla was being referred to as “12.9” and she was the only one they found at the facility. The rest were defined in the file as “failed” and “closed” and Logan really feels slashing through something right now.

Scott says she was merely six-months old when she was found by them. They didn’t know who she was but the following days were a bit self-explanatory when she teleported a meter away right in front of their eyes and shot red beams from her eyes at a toy she didn’t particularly like.

Her powers were meant to manifest early so Stryker’s people knew if she could harness all the powers they engineered her with without dying. It was a long process of deciding which ones she had to have and which ones she didn’t. All of the children had Logan’s, though, and as much as there indeed is no adamantium in her body, it was the plan to put it into her once she grew up. Putting it into her now would prevent her from her natural development and result in her death. Logan says, “Don’t tell me they found that out the hard way,” to which Scott replies, “What do you think?”

So, what, is she a clone? Logan asks after Scott explains the rest and Scott says, Yes, in a sense.

What do you mean? She either is or she ain’t!

Clones are usually of “something” and are meant to resemble that something to perfection. She has so much of other people in herself that no one would be able to pin point what she is a clone of.

As much as it clears up a few things about her to Logan, there is a lot Scott doesn’t mention that day or the ones that follow. He doesn’t say that it was actually the two of them together who found her and not just Logan. He doesn’t reveal that her first days here were a pretty accurate depictions of hell and that Logan’s healing factor came especially in handy and she also sort of seemed to cry a lot less when she was in Scott’s arms compared to everyone else’s. And he doesn’t say anything about the fact that, yes, as much as her DNA is comprised of DNA of other mutants, the percentages vary and there are two sets of DNA she has more of than from others and there is a reason why her eyes are so blue and why she purposefully has weaker versions of all her mutant abilities aside from her healing factor and heightened senses.

Part III

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wickmitz · 7 months ago

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SEDGEWICK SABLE & MITZI MAY : an overall study, part two . part one .

discussing their individual characters, their relationship, their respective scenes, and a plethora of details found in-between.

now that we’re here at the second part of this analysis, we’ve finally reached wick once again in the narrative! in grindstone there are a few things to note, like wick’s haggard state, tired from the events of last night and curing his hangover with more giggle water -- working away on finances he needs to present to the investors before the start of the week. lacy is also there at his house, slaving away on a variety of things we hear more about in sneakthief. it’s noted today is potentially one of her days off, but the workload is potentially a little behind and big enough that she’s decided to lend an extra pair of hands even when she shouldn’t have to. they are busy at work in grindstone, hence the title! there is hardly any time for extra activities that don’t involve wick chained to his desk and slaving away, with him already in poor working condition ; he claims he can’t see a thing he’s writing despite having his reading glasses on, and not only disrupts his time but lacy’s in an attempt to ‘find’ them. he’s very much out of it and whatever work he’s doing will probably need some revisions at best, yet wick’s job is put on hold again when lacy asks if he’s expecting company, a comment which spurs him into hurriedly changing and telling her to stall mitzi at the door. again, we have wick confirming that him and mitzi indeed made ‘last minute plans’ to meet up today, even though he and lacy acknowledge that he has no real time for this. despite that, wick greets her warmly after he’s dressed, also adorned with a fond smile while hovering a hand over the small of her back when ushering her into the foyer so he may fetch the car for their outing. nothing seems too amiss here, though things begin changing come balderdash, where wick noticeably begins crumbling as a character for the first time.

to start off, i think people are rather generous with wick’s character overall. his flaws are limited to readers, to where the most common ‘bad’ traits talked about when referring to his character is : alcoholic ( not a trait ), hypocrite ( accurate! ), and he’s too kind or oblivious. while the latter two can still be something the character can have too much of or lead to genuinely bad traits, this is still an extremely small inspection overall, one that almost shies away from a harsher read. this can be attributed to how little we see of wick, but there are things we can infer via his scenes with mitzi as well as church’s words all the way back in caveat … words which come into play here. during the comic page balderdash, rocky is desperately trying to ward off wick from his beloved miss m, getting rather physical in the meantime -- he’s still seething after the events of last night and in his attempts to thwart wick from helping mitzi further, he decides to lean into the public shared narrative that this widow is dangerous and got her husband killed. we see how strong wick’s faith in mitzi is during this page ever so briefly, looking almost amused at rocky’s words while maintaining an aura of confidence when dismissing these rumors. he says, “i’ve known her a while, rocky. whether out of class or kindness, she wouldn’t harm a fly.” what wick clearly hasn’t considered, however, is what rocky implies next, which is the idea that wick’s paramour could’ve hired someone else to do the dirty work for her … an idea that very quickly disturbs him and shakes his view on mitzi and, perhaps, the lackadaisy, even when he tries verbally dismissing all this as a joke.

despite his dismissal, it’s rather obvious that rocky’s words stay with wick. throughout the date, wick is stuck in a state of doubting things that he’s never entertained before, with no way of discerning what’s appropriate to fret about and what’s not, and this is in no small part because of the verbiage rocky was using. wick thinks he’s doubting mitzi, that he potentially doesn’t know her as well as he thought or that he has a reason to be afraid of her, due to rocky’s claim that she’s dangerous and his insistence on throwing the carnage and consequences of rumrunning onto mitzi as a person. however, his true feelings are rather far from that. while it’s true that wick is riddled with doubt after rocky’s attempt at driving him and mitzi apart, i find it prudent to clarify here that his love for mitzi outweighs those doubts in large measure. wick’s sudden and unfounded fear doesn’t drive him to isolate himself from mitzi, and thus some part of him does still believe that she isn’t a cruel person and that she wouldn’t try to harm him. there’s no reason why he would think otherwise apart from rocky’s unsettling and instigating threats. wick’s fears are both similar and dissimilar to the ones zib voices in blood-money. while zib is worried about the corrupting influence of the life mitzi is leading, wick is more so afraid of the life itself. wick still views mitzi as every bit the charming, funny, and impeccably elegant woman he fell for, but he is now forced to wonder if he would ever be harmed because of her presence in his life. in essence, rather than questioning mitzi as a person, he is worried about the danger inherent in the life she leads and how that danger might directly impact him. unfortunately, though wick seems to at least subconsciously trust mitzi, his doubts stick around like intrusive thoughts, presenting a constant what-if that wick can’t shake, and it’s these very thoughts that continue to make the business-meeting-turned-date as awkward as it is.

now, it’s rather interesting how much the notion of mitzi hiring rocky to kill her husband shakes wick up due to how normal this sort of method is within gangster lifestyles ; with us even seeing atlas absent or abstaining from mordecai and viktor’s violent work ethic, his hands physically clean despite how its his order causing all this destruction and death. asa does the same! they have workers for a reason, ‘faithful operatives’ as rocky so lovingly calls them, and these men are utilized with complete efficiency. it’s not insane to think that mitzi hired another to kill atlas, and besides rocky’s bumbling incompetence, it’s not strange to consider him a likely man for such a job due to his utmost loyalty to miss m over anyone else, including atlas. yet wick acts as though this hasn’t ever crossed his mind, wholeheartedly believing that mitzi would have to kill atlas herself in order to get the job done, something he’s sure she doesn’t have the heart nor the guts to do. he is visibly shaken the rest of the date, one more distraction piled on his plate high, so suddenly paranoid through the haze of perpetual tiredness that he even snaps at mitzi over something as simple as the word bunny. for the first time, i believe wick is thoroughly beginning to question his part in all of this and is starting to reexamine these once harmless aspects now that the inherent danger has been shoved in his face so earnestly. while a part of this is naivety ( he’s far away from the criminal underbelly after all, as rich and comfortable as he is, a lackadaisy patron and nothing more ) i’d also point out that another aspect of it is a sense of subconscious invincibility. perhaps he is too content in his status and wealth and how well he’s been doing to even consider he’s hardly exempt from consequences, much less the side effects of hanging around criminals or dangerous establishments.

it seems rather strange and far-fetched of a claim, but think of church’s warning to him back at the start of the comic ; “you’ve done well lately … but don’t imagine it means you and your reputation are invincible.” it’s easy to dismiss church’s words due to how mean he often is, how overly critical, but he arguably knows wick better than the readers do, so i think it’s pertinent to take his words and to consider them. he’s also not wrong. everything church says in caveat is the god’s honest truth and wick, to some degree, knows this! it’s why he’ll practically regurgitate church’s advice in mephistopheles when rejecting mitzi and explaining why he must reject her proposal. so then why wouldn’t church’s read on wick be somewhat accurate as well? i think wick’s biggest flaw is that he’s too easily caught up in emotional throes while also struggling to think of every tiny detail, an issue that may or may not have to do with how excessive exposure to alcohol has affected his short term memory. he doesn’t bat an eye at the ruffians or violent gangsters who hang around the lackadaisy because they aren’t currently threatening wick himself, and he won’t dwell on it too hard that these men have to procure their hooch somehow, and that it’s said to be a bad business. if it’s not affecting wick and his enjoyment of the establishment ( or the woman he’s eyeing ) then it is not something he concerns himself with or feels the active threat of. has a simple mindset that sort of functions like : well, mitzi wouldn’t be able to kill someone with her bare hands! she’d loathe to get blood on her lavish garments, doesn’t have the coldness inside to see the life leave a man’s eyes! much less her husband’s! it’s ludicrous. imagine knowing the lady and thinking her capable of that, when she looks and acts as she does! …

again, it’s a rather closed-minded view of the whole thing. how could you not consider she has guns for hire? that the men she surrounds herself with are indeed dangerous individuals who are more than willing to watch the life leave another’s eyes for her? he sees viktor at the bar and in the pilot even appears intimidated by his stature and scarred face, yet doesn’t think twice about what a man like that is doing there on mitzi’s paycheck? even thinks it normal to take viktor to the hospital after hearing that viktor’s been shot at the lackadaisy, not at all considering that police and doctors would pry. wick is extremely privileged and short sighted here, a little full of himself and what he can get away with -- this is the very same man who actively showed interest in a man’s wife, for crying out loud, and didn’t at all consider that someone like atlas would’ve killed him had he known wick’s intentions. this is more than just being blind or oblivious. while i love wick for his kindness and loyalty, i can also admit that he’s still a capitalist at the end of the day, and a successful one at that. him getting too big for his britches and throwing himself into scenarios without considering how this will affect him is extremely likely for his character, and is exactly what he did when agreeing to meet with mitzi the first night in lackadaisy. i believe wick was too caught up in the passion and euphoria of finally getting what he wanted, and started making promises and plans he couldn’t necessarily deliver on, not thinking at all about the logistics or the next day and instead focused on some whimsical future. he loves the lackadaisy and he adores mitzi, so why not invest in it? sure, they can discuss the details tomorrow, he has time just for her … and then reality hit him like a train twice over, leaving wick scrambling around aimlessly. he knows what he has to do but doesn’t want to actually do it, which instead makes him seem completely disinterested and wishy-washy instead.

( i also want it on record that the potential of harm or danger really scares wick when he’s made aware of its presence, at least in certain scenarios. while he can brush off the pig farmers raiding the lackadaisy and viktor’s injuries, he can’t ignore rocky’s threat or its implications because this is shoved directly into wick’s face rather unsubtly. what wick gets from the lackadaisy is mitzi, it’s some strange sense of belonging, and a break from his stressful normal life -- it’s not the awful booze he’s interested in, it’s not the thrill of being in the center of danger, it’s the mindless company and vague sense of ‘i have a seat here, right here, around all these people who don’t seem forever irritated by my presence.’ it’s also the rocks but that’s less poetic. point is, wick’s horrific loneliness and ridicule from his peers is what has him drinking at the lackadaisy instead of in the wine cellar he has at home, which means him being perfectly blind to the danger the workers there face is all the more heartbreaking. he won’t ever truly be one of them until he’s actually breached their criminal lifestyle in its entirety. he may pose with them in pictures, but he’s still an outsider in title. he can’t choose them over his business because he needs and wants his business and, clearly, the lackadaisy needs that too. he can’t sacrifice his safety but he doesn’t want to sit idly by and allow mitzi and her employees to suffer because he is still a very kind man. it all exists in extremes and is what makes wick’s arc fascinating in my eyes … his character also becomes more interesting with this in mind, more human, and that’s exactly why i adore him and mitzi ( and their relationship ) as much as i do )

though here we are, finally done with the detours and event recapping to discuss the original question : what is wick’s and mitzi’s mindset during their date? we have all the tools available and any further information i may give later should be extra elaboration at this point rather than anything new. after all, in order to understand why the date went the way it did we had to understand wick and mitzi’s individual characters and what they feel towards each other, what they think they feel, as well as how their relationship has functioned so far. and with a multitude of misconceptions cleared up too, this section hopefully seems a bit more straightforward, though i suppose we’ll wait and see. now, we’ll be discussing the pages doublet, drollery, veracity, photomajig, briar-patch, and mephistopheles … plus some of the date’s aftermath much, much later!

at the start of doublet ( and carrying into drollery ) mitzi and wick are seated in a rowboat, with wick doing the rowing while she’s situated comfortably on a pillow and enjoying the view ; typical of their gender roles during that time. wick looks almost quizzical in the first panel we see of him, though some of that tenseness appears to leave his face by the time mitzi turns to look at him … only for such a look to return when she says, ‘let’s talk business, wick.’

throughout this page and the others it becomes obvious wick very much doesn’t want to discuss business with mitzi, despite that being the purpose of their little meetup at all. he’s extremely quiet when she begins rambling on about how wrong her approach had been last night, how she should’ve just sought wick out to begin with ( an interesting thing for her to say given how reluctant she was to use him initially ). there is a wave of compliments and flattery here from mitzi, an almost buttering up, and it’s worth saying that what works a genuine smile out of wick here is mitzi saying something as simple and as romantic as liking his face. it’s undoubtedly an earnest expression, still tired but softened considerably, and wick will continue to show that what he’s most receptive to are mitzi’s advances, her small flirty remarks and gestures. but once again, when she decides to come out and say what she’s trying to discuss with wick, ‘i’d like you to be my business partner’, he quickly shuts down. his expression falls and he becomes even more quiet than before, enough so to prompt mitzi ( who’s now rowing with him ) to ask if he’s lost interest overnight. all wick can muster in response is some hesitantly worded excuses, like how he’s a little tired and that this proposal is a lot to think about. i say these are excuses because i think wick knew from the start that he was going to reject mitzi’s deal, whatever it was, because now that reality has set in he’s come to understand church’s warning as pure facts. there was never a moment during the outing where wick was even thinking about mitzi’s offer, and he does everything he can to avoid discussing it because he knows his answer.

mitzi, similarly, only wishes to discuss business with wick here -- it’s what she came over for, after all, and she’s at the end of her rope after last night’s and today’s events. she needs this deal and wick’s money, to the point where she remains almost purposefully stereotypical throughout their entire outing. gone is the more genuine bond between them that we saw in rendezvous, because now every time mitzi does a romantic action ( or a sexual one ) it’s wooden and rather fake ; it’s her feeling as though there’s no other choice and being desperate enough to stoop so low if it means wick won’t reject her business. their wants and desires are complete opposites at this point, with wick wanting this to be a date and to be with mitzi while the woman in question is avoidant of any lovesick antics until she feels like she’s losing wick. there’s definitely some manipulation happening on mitzi’s end just as much as there’s some purposeful misleading on wick’s, with both of their behaviors rubbing the other party the wrong way ; wick is still on edge due to rocky’s comment and is prone to getting upset whenever mitzi so much as jokes about it, and then we have mitzi, who’s already dealt with a similar situation today with asa, someone who dragged her to an outing she didn’t ask for and then avoided the conversation she wanted to have with him. for perhaps the first time, neither wick nor mitzi are really seeing each other anymore, they’re instead doubting one another where there had once been ironclad resolve and are too blinded by their desires to have an honest conversation about any of this. add this on top of how exhausted and stressed they both are, it’s no wonder their ‘date’ was doomed from the start.

i also want it on record that mitzi is being extremely open and upfront here about what she wants from wick from the first page. she didn’t waste any time before making her intentions with him clear! this isn’t me dismissing her more manipulative behavior during the date, but she certainly doesn’t use wick to the extent some people act like she does. rather than asking him to be an investor, she tells wick she wants him to be her business partner who would get 40% of the revenue and a 40% say in her decisions regarding the lackadaisy. it doesn’t seem like much, but given how little wick actually needs this money back, it’s a rather generous offer all around, with it almost being half and half. while she’s still undoubtedly using him, there is still a level of respect here, i think, some kind of : well, if i have to use wick, let me at least make the terms as good as they can be. some fans act as though mitzi deceived wick from the start when i’ve more than proved she’s mostly been completely transparent with him outside of a few select situations, which happen to be moments where her desperation turns her impulsive and wholly selfish, as seen briefly in rendezvous and whenever she flirts with wick during their outing. an impulsive instinct that will only worsen come sneakthief, when mitzi is utterly humiliated, angry, and at the very end of her already thinned rope. to me, it’s important to understand that her reasons for her actions during this arc are understandable and, perhaps, a bit sympathetic -- but that and the fact that what she does is wrong can coexist. wick is in a similar boat, where i mostly want to present him through a neutral lens so we can understand that he’s also done some wrong himself and is hardly a perfect victim, but that these wrongdoings still don’t dismiss the fact he shouldn’t have been stolen from or had his affections used. but i’ve gotten a little ahead of myself, so let’s dive back into doublet and drollery.

doublet ends with mitzi cooing at wick in an almost teasing but fond tone, calling him a ‘poor bunny,’ a comment so unremarkable that she’s not at all anticipating wick to react rather aggressively. he’s sort of accusatory and defensive, as though bristling from the mere title alone. we quickly find out in the next page ( and from his mumbling before his outburst ) that he’s still unable to shake rocky’s threats from balderdash, to the point of internalizing the confusing metaphor he was given, which wick hardly understands but is still reactive towards. he’s tired and stressed and on top of that he’s suddenly nervous for his life, it’s little wonder why he’s so jumpy. mitzi, in turn, expresses utter confusion at his question and, when wick explains that rocky insinuated he killed atlas because she wanted him to, she begins making light of the situation … much to wick’s dismay. to her, it’s just not something to take seriously! and she repeatedly pokes fun at the mere idea, going back and forth between ‘i’m kidding!’s and ‘or am i?’s until relenting entirely, going on to tease wick for believing she’d do something so awful and for taking rocky’s words as something to be worried about. drollery is a deceptively important page, as it’s a great demonstration of how little wick and mitzi are understanding each other. it makes complete sense for mitzi to make light of the situation and to be unable to understand why wick is so afraid, considering that rocky idolizes her and therefore has never threatened her or even done so much as to appear annoyed around her. in stark contrast, wick’s emotional state here is frazzled and fraught, and he’s in desperate need of some sort of comfort. he seems to get that comfort when mitzi teases him about believing rocky, only for fear to take over once again when mitzi casually mentions, ‘rocky’s name is definitely not on my murderers-for-hire roster,’ implying that she still has one even if rocky himself isn’t on it. wick is noticeably so shocked or frightened that he stops rowing, and then there’s a brief timeskip before we see the pair again in veracity.

what i find most prudent to talk about during this page is the discussion of atlas may between the pair, with wick asking two rather wise questions ; if the talk about mitzi’s part in her husband’s death is false and, if so, why not speak up on it? her answer is rather similar both times, saying she didn’t kill atlas because she loved him, and that she doesn’t like discussing the circumstances surrounding his death due to how fresh it all still is. she begins fiddling with her necklace, a telltale sign that her late husband is on her mind, before offering something rather interesting.

as we know it, mitzi is a rather reserved and private person, and that goes tenfold for anything involving atlas post mortem, an aspect of her character that’s even referenced in this very page! so for this to even be offered, albeit hesitantly, is fascinating on many levels and can be read through two lenses. either this is a genuine offer from mitzi or a fake one in an attempt to garner wick into her corner, with the promise of a solved mystery in his pocket. both are completely valid interpretations of this scene given where mitzi’s currently at, and i won’t dismiss either one. however, i personally view her words here as an honest invitation, one she’s extremely reluctant to give but is willing to let it be out there regardless. she’s not promising that wick will get this information, it’s merely a possibility ; if such a question truly weighs on him so heavily, then perhaps she can find it in herself to someday tell him about atlas. i think mitzi is more than willing to give wick that sort of honesty in return if he decides to help her out -- which, in a way, is a blend of the two options i brought up earlier. i just don’t see why she’d bring this rather sensitive and personal wound up to wick at all unless she was serious about it, given how avoidant she usually is with this subject.

one aspect of lackadaisy that i rarely see brought up is the tangible theme of grief. mitzi is often interpreted without her grief being a factor, or her grief being a small obstacle that she simply needs to ‘get over’. this is hardly how grief works, especially not when a loss is sudden and violent, as atlas’ death unquestionably was. this is to say nothing of the horrific circumstances that followed mitzi afterwards -- while previously, she was a wealthy socialite, sheltered from harm and the particularly gruesome details of her husband’s work, she is now forced to wear shoes that are far too big and bloody for her to fill. i find it prudent to digress and harp on this a bit, as it’s hardly ever mentioned in the lackadaisy fandom that it can be incredibly difficult for a grieving person to hear the name of their lost loved one, especially when you’re someone as reluctant to share your feelings as mitzi is. hell, mordecai just hearing atlas’ name once was enough for him to flee the luncheon and squirrel himself away in mitzi’s car. and not only has atlas been brought up twice today already, he’s been used as a tool to threaten mitzi’s life. while wick could hardly know that his discussion of the rumors surrounding atlas’ death might have a serious impact on mitzi considering the context of what happened that day, he certainly belatedly realizes that his words have the very real capacity for hurting mitzi -- he just doesn’t realize how much. with this in mind, there is undoubtedly something to be said about how mitzi offers to talk to wick about atlas at all, with us being able to read into this as a testament to their previous closeness or miss may’s rising and almost animalistic desperation. wick’s response to this is rather telling too, with him immediately rejecting her offer due to mitzi not ‘owing’ him such an explanation and apologizing for bringing atlas’s death up at all, as well as expressing that he’s duly ashamed of himself for it. while this puts a damper on their outing ( and gives wick another excuse to try and avoid mitzi’s desired topic by ending things early ) there’s no denying that even when they’re on relatively strained terms, a glimmer of respect and care for each other keeps shining through. it’s either that or wick just has impeccable manners and an innate understanding that bringing up a widow’s murdered husband during what’s supposed to be a date isn’t a wise move. or, like always, it’s probably a mix of the two. this fondness and affection towards one another, as subconscious as it may be, is highlighted once again in photomajig! a page which i won’t talk about too much, but one that’s integral nonetheless.

realizing things aren’t going the way she wants them to go, mitzi spies an opportunity to prolong and ‘fix’ things when seeing a photo booth, one which she drags a curious wick to with a renewed smile upon her face. for the first three-ish photos, wick seems rather apprehensive about this situation, likely still feeling their earlier talk in its awful entirety ; only for mitzi to physically tug and pull at him in an attempt to help him loosen up, going as far as to pinch his cheeks into a poor facsimile of a smile for the camera. after this, wick gives more of an attempt during the next two pictures, mimicking mitzi’s pose both times and seeming to find himself having fun despite circumstances. there’s a noticeable shift in the photos where the two not only appear to be enjoying themselves, but are actively enjoying one another’s company. for a couple shots it’s almost like the current despairing state surrounding them disappears entirely as they silently fawn over each other and indulge in some harmless fun, with these three specific pictures being prime examples of this.

there’s no denying that wick is visibly smitten with mitzi here once he loosens up, burdened with an overwhelming attraction his face can barely hide once the date begins feeling like an actual date. mitzi’s more subtle, though there’s a lightness to her expressions that feel less forced and sad, actively engaging in ridiculous poses and naturally falling into more loving gestures without much orchestrated affections on her end. you can see what they could perhaps be like as a genuine couple if they could allow themselves such a future ; happy and silly and capturing memories to always keep … and this brief insight makes what happens at the end much more devastating, where we see mitzi ( who has, maybe, remembered herself and her goal ) throw this away to force herself onto wick again with a bruising force, attempting to take advantage of his good mood so they can talk about her business proposal again. just like that the moments are gone, as are their more honest feelings, and although wick still dodges the topic yet again ( which, as previously stated, he shouldn’t be doing given the true purpose of this outing ) he retains a more playful attitude than before. joking that he was planning on running away from mitzi until he begins looking rather smug and adoring while teasing her ‘ruthless’ strategy, and how it doesn’t leave him in an advantageous negotiating position. the page ends with them realizing they’ve cultivated an audience with their antics as wick laments he’d hate to disrupt them with business talk -- a sarcastic remark undoubtedly, but further drives my previous points home nonetheless.

now we approach the last stretch of this analysis, centering around wick’s rejection of mitzi and then briefly touching upon her stealing his money. briar-patch is an intricate dance between two exhausted parties, but this exhaustion is exactly what makes it so easy for them to fall into their normal styles of talking. the next time we see the pair, they’ve left the park and have since returned to wick’s home ; holed up in his wine cellar and enjoying some quality wine. it’s very interesting that wick has an entire underground room full of illicit beverages when he so often frequents the lackadaisy, though i digress. still sporting his improved mood, wick behaves rather coyly during most of briar-patch, rambling about the bottle of wine mitzi asks him about and implying he’s too socially awkward to properly entertain a lady … this is an obvious lie, and it’s one mitzi doesn’t hesitate to call out, but this doesn’t dampen his spirits any. once again looking smitten at the woman sitting in his lap, his tail seeming to curl slightly around her outstretched leg. it all paints a rather fond and romantic picture, in spite of its context.

just like mitzi with his earlier fabrication, wick sees through her attempts at getting him drunk until he acquiesces to her proposal, though doesn’t visually appear mad at mitzi for this. naturally, she denies the claim -- a little tipsy and not at all a good liar, instead resorting to a minor guilt trip -- ‘i’m starting to worry you’re leading me on,’ -- as another way to nudge wick into her desired direction. i’m sure wick knows what mitzi is getting at when she claims he’s leading her on, but he chooses to ignore her true meaning by saying that he couldn’t be leading her on because he’s been eyeing mitzi since she was married to atlas. and mitzi admits to knowing about his interest … making a slight remark that she’s surprised atlas didn’t have him killed for it. we see more evidence of wick’s avoidance towards the topic of murderers for hire in his very clear statement of ‘…that’s comforting. anyway’. wick goes on to immediately dismiss the very real danger he was in and confess that he ‘couldn’t help’ being attracted to mitzi. this highlights one of wick’s other flaws ; his belief that he is unable to resist his impulses and that this somehow absolves him of the consequences of his actions. he could very easily have gotten over his initial attraction to mitzi instead of constantly mooning over her and feeding his interest. he could also have thought through mitzi’s invitation and decided against sacrificing his investors and their reputations for his own gain. this flaw can be tied into his alcoholism as well, where we see that wick has poor impulse control yet again when, after just being scolded by his secretary for drinking, he then pours hooch into his coffee when her back is turned, not even waiting for her to leave the room. all of this is to say that wick has a penchant for ignoring the consequences of his impulsive decisions and struggles heavily with the awkwardness involved in taking accountability for them.

we then move onto the next page where lacy interrupts the two, asking if wick could drive her home since bix, wick’s driver, isn’t outside anymore. wick, who admits to essentially forgetting about her presence, promises he’ll be up in a second to take her home -- and it’s that scene which marks the end of the date. wick was more than content to drag this on as long as possible, having been all but relaxed and cozy earlier, in a manner of undress with mitzi ( who had taken her heels off ) and filling the air with meaningless conversation. these aren’t the actions of a man who is eager to push the lady out the door, but rather someone who enjoys this reality too much to do the right thing and end it ; to save them both the now wasted time because they both have businesses to run, and can’t afford pleasantries like dates that last hours … or, in mitzi’s case, this was never what she wanted at all with this meeting, and wick knew that deep down and purposefully withheld from addressing the topic until the end was near, and then there wasn’t much else he could do except finally come clean. his face falls and scrunches, initially turned away from his company before he begins to let her down, fidgeting by scrubbing his neck and avoiding her gaze again by looking into his wine glass. i think paying attention to wick’s body language is always important, because his tone and how he speaks is rather glib in nature.

wick is a character who doesn’t really speak emotionally with his voice ; perpetually stuck in a stuffy but charming sort of tone as seen in the pilot ( even when he’s noticeably angry at rocky’s implications of dynamite and machinery ) as well as here, where his words are so casual sounding that it’s hard not to view them as apathetic. starting his rejection with a polite but seemingly uncaring, “uh, i was saying … i’d love for this to work out … but, uh …” he sounds like he’s talking to a stranger, almost, someone who came up to him on the street with a business proposition rather than with a girl who he cares for and selfishly kept the entire evening once he could manage it. even his verbal hesitation can be viewed as indifference. he carries this normal air afterwards too, able to seem unfazed during sneakthief and chauffeur ; propped with a casualness to him and his words that make it hard to comprehend that the situation is as bad as it is. as mentioned above, wick is rather short-sighted and tends not to think through the finer points of things. he has a notable talent for dismissing schools of thought that aren’t immediately pertinent, and i’d argue that he has a penchant for self-soothing, burying his problems in fine wines and expensive toys. it’s not outside the realm of possibility that wick would immediately fall back into his glib, carefree tone, trying to soothe himself with the normalcy of bantering with lacy. it’s probably fairly easy to write wick off as never being too interested in mitzi because of this, but given the rest of his character ( along with the brief faltering we see in his expression here and there ) that’s likely not at all true. honestly, i believe he’s even less likely to consider the true consequences of what’s transpired, considering that he a.) completely dismisses lacy’s assertion that mitzi had been rifling through her things and threatening her with dismemberment, b.) is so tired he is hallucinating a duck and therefore can’t drive straight, and c.) is definitely drunk, having seemingly polished off two bottles with mitzi over the course of the date.

sedgewick sable, for all intents and purposes, is a businessman and a capitalist after all. and while he’s leagues better than his peers in terms of kindness, passion, and humbleness, there’s still no denying that he’s still a man made of money who has to spend hours of his day rubbing elbows with blue blood types. he may be an outlier, but he’s secured investors for a reason and isn’t new to the social games that are a part of that environment. can’t be, when he can act so confident and ‘better than’ when such displays are needed from him. i understand the narrative of wick being ‘socially inept’ or ‘socially awkward’, because he is to a degree, though i think some people have the habit of erasing him of any competency entirely. during quarryman, caveat, and quacksalver, wick does well when holding his own and is able to keep an almost smug look about him even when faced with ridicule or critique from his wealthy peers ; never letting their insults or boredom stick, and behaving as if he’s amused by their comments at best.

i don’t think wick truly feels unbothered by these events nor do i believe his constant pleasant tone is always genuine. there’s a case to be made here about masking : the practice of concealing or suppressing aspects of one's ( potentially ) neurodivergent traits or conditions, in order to fit in with the norms of the workplace or society. it may be a ruse, but it’s a damn good one, to the point where it’s potentially taken over how he speaks entirely. and it’d make sense given the themes surrounding wick’s character already, but i’ll just leave that there for now. what matters in the context of him rejecting mitzi and his behavior thereafter is that wick has a really bad habit of coming across as uncaring on occasion, something not only the reader could be fooled by, but mitzi as well ; in her already sensitive state, still angry and hurting from asa’s imposed lunch as well as last night’s many humiliating events. despite this, the actual wording of wick’s confession, as distant as it may seem, is rather purposeful in my eyes, because he says : “i’d love for this to work out, but, uh … not if it’s contingent on a business partnership.” here, wick makes it clear that he’s not rejecting a romantic relationship with mitzi, merely the business proposal itself. if she wanted to date him without the business part, than wick would be more than willing to indulge her -- and even during the rejection itself, he never comes across as mad or angry at her in particular, expressions-wise. just rather saddened about things, a little shameful, but he seems to hold little issue with mitzi even though he’s still uncertain of her motives.

it’s also worth noting that despite wick’s feelings for mitzi being ‘obvious’, it’s very likely mitzi has no clue what those feelings really are in nature. to her, it could be a physical interest and nothing more, and given how she acts around wick ( as in, being extremely touchy physically ) i think her views of his attraction veer towards more shallow waters than sickly sweet romance. something that adds further insult to injury here, and makes her rather aggressive reaction, where she essentially says this :

all the more understandable, and honestly a rather human reaction all around. people love to dismiss everything mitzi says as ‘manipulative’ or ‘fake’, but tracy herself has essentially called wick a hypocrite before too … so there’s more truth to her words here than fans are comfortable to admit. while cruel, there’s honesty to what she’s saying. wick is indeed, by definition, a hypocrite. he also has, undoubtedly, led her on throughout this entire date and did so on purpose. she has every reason to lash out at him here and to continue doing so afterwards, torn between being angry at him as well as desperately needing him in turn ; still throwing herself at wick in a last ditch attempt to save things, even though we know she regrets and loathes such actions. her shallow view of wick’s affections isn’t exactly helped when, in response to her still biting words, he calls her mephistopheles and draws attention to her curves. if you don’t know, mephistopheles is a demon who corrupts the souls of men, and in some interpretations is said to take on desirable and pleasing forms. while a rather mean remark ( something mitzi even points out ) wick’s lips are in a tiny smile, eyebrows raised as he stares at mitzi with lidded eyes … it reads more like a tease, an action that the two engage in often when talking to each other ( as can be seen here, and other such instances ), rather than being a scathing review of character like mitzi’s words previously.

still, despite mitzi’s tempting offer of the more sexual implication, wick holds his ground and stays true to his rejection. a rejection that was practically just church’s words to him word-for-word, might i add. the date ends here and they separate. but i’d be remiss to not even briefly discuss sneakthief and other events afterwards, since they’re rather major in nature. though i will only talk about these events briefly, since they’re an entirely other can of worms and this analysis is long enough as it is.

as we’ve thoroughly covered thus far, mitzi stealing a blank check from wick’s checkbook wasn’t her plan all along, nor was it even a malicious action on her end. it was pure desperation that drove her to steal, just like it was pure desperation that drove her to play the condescending, evil crime boss gig to lacy … a gig she’s scarily good at, and one she’ll probably utilize more in the future. and no, this doesn’t dismiss how awful these actions are, it merely explains them. mitzi is not some evil manipulative mastermind, she literally heard about the checkbook in lacy’s bag and instantly ( foolishly! ) stole it immediately thereafter, basically getting caught as well. mitzi doesn’t even seem to think about what she’s doing before she moves to do it, a side effect of her all consuming obsession and, again, her desperation. these are hardly the actions of a woman who’s thinking reasonably or with any level of coldness, even if her actions here are extremely selfish. still, there’s no excusing it, though mitzi tries to find some justifications for her actions in an obvious attempt to soothe her own mind and, perhaps, to make her actions more palpable to even herself. you see this in backalley, where she briefly touches upon her actions in a way she won’t ever do again.

she’s rationalizing it to herself, thinking wholeheartedly that she’ll pay it all back eventually, and that she isn’t intending to take this money without giving any of it back. this is rather shortsighted of her, since a.) she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to make this money back, enough so to be able to give it to wick, and b.) that’s hardly the issue here, when the real betrayal lies within the fact she’s done this to wick at all. like most things, mitzi’s clouded view isn’t allowing her to realize the extent of what she’s done … i don’t even think she’s understanding that by doing this, she has potentially lost wick as a friend forever. or if she has realized this, it hasn’t begun weighing on her yet -- which is understandable, given her fight with zib and his disappearance right after the fact, as well as her beloved necklace being broken. there are just other things on her mind besides wick sable! and that’s the tragedy, isn’t it? there’s no room for her to really evaluate her feelings about him or him at all when she’s so obsessed with the abstraction of her late husband and all he represents ; down to the pearls she wears of him and the bad reputation he kept. it’s still easy to justify things in this state, to talk in circles about how wick is too nice to be mad at her or send her to jail and how she’ll eventually pay him back, when there’s no clarity for her. mitzi knows what she’s doing is reprehensible but she doesn’t know how bad it all is yet, something tracy has, again, said about her before. the last we see of mitzi in the comic currently is her saying this, which isn’t the expression nor the words of someone who is feeling anything but awful, though has found company and comfort in it despite the pain :

and we’ve now reached the end of this analysis! i want to give an immense thank you to anyone who’s sat through and read all of this from beginning to end given its length! and i also want to say that i understand some of the things covered here are a bit vague when compared to other parts, so if anyone has further questions or wishes to discuss this further, please feel free to do so! i view this project as an overall analysis rather than one that’s extremely specific to certain topics, so because of that ( and for your sanity and mine ) there were things i was curt with on purpose. trust me when i say that there’s not one aspect of these characters or their relationship that i haven’t given immense thought to, or analyzed. similarly, to reiterate my earlier disclaimers, everything i’ve said here is said with neutral evaluation at best and with some bias at worst, a bias that pertains to both wick and mitzi. i adore them both equally and i don’t want my words here to be twisted as me saying one of them deserves ‘better’ than the other, because frankly i care very little for that argument. at the end of the day, they’re two extremely human characters : flawed and intense and existing in multiple extremes, good and bad, and that’s exactly why their relationship fascinates me. i’m not here to play the moral police on fictional characters who are actively in a morally ambiguous work, i’m here to merely observe them and hopefully give them justice in my readings of their dynamic and respective complex characters … especially since i don’t think the fandom has done a good job of that for either of them!

though this is still just my opinion and analysis of the text that’s been given to us, so to each their own. i feel like i have so much more to say or elaborate upon, but this is a nice little place to leave it for now, so again, thank you all … and thank you tracy butler for squeezing my brain for thousands of words worth of braincells that has went into studying her comic like the bible <3 and then actually writing those thoughts down like some insane person!

#my posts.#lackadaisy analysis.#lackadaisy #mitzi may #sedgewick sable #character analysis #tracy j butler #major credit goes to user @churchwick btw! they helped edit these monsters so be sure to check them out as well!#also wow this beast is done. oh my god. i’ve spent an entire month on this !! like. STRAIGHT #if i reblog this ten times over the course of this month no one said anything this is my new baby and you will see it eventually!!!#but in all seriousness again i cannot thank anyone reading this enough! you’re some real ones if you’ve made it this far!!#uh. i don’t know what else to say??? so im gonna leave it at that but. yeah!! wow. i hope everyone enjoys this feast #love you wick and mitzi respectively!! here’s 15k words of love for YOU!

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marimbles · 2 years ago

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at the risk of sounding like really entitled….

does anyone else have a fic that is their most popular, but you don’t want it to be, because you don’t think it deserves it, and you have better stuff, and while ofc you are grateful that people like something you wrote, it’s almost annoying that for some reason That one is the most popular. lmao

#for me it’s this like time travel shenanigans ml fic called Why Are You Like This #which I had a ton of fun writing and I like the fic #but I also tend to forget about it lol #and then I see that it’s my most popular one and I’m like ‘not but this isn’t even in my top 5 favorite fics I’ve written. why’ hdjsjs #it’s probably closer to the bottom of the top 10? and I do not have that many fics hahaha #I remember rooting so hard for tell me something I don’t know to surpass it in kudos #which it eventually DID and I was so happy #but then later WAYLS passed up tms again lol #and I was slightly annoyed to realize that WAYLS was my first to break 5k kudos #while tms still hasn’t #it’s very close tho I need like. 2 more #ok ok sorry this definitely sounds super entitled DHDKDK #I promise I am VERY grateful for every fic interaction!! every kudos or comment I’ve ever received!!#thank you thank you to anyone who has ever read my stuff💜#I just think this is kind of funny #cause I keep scratching my head wondering why that one is the top fic #I think ppl just rly enjoy time travel stuff?#also I did it as a gift for yunyin based on one of her comics so that probably boosted it haha #anyway

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neverbeforeandneversince · 2 months ago

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I need to be vulnerable in the tags

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kitimeq · 3 months ago

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✿‧₊˚ ☾. ⋅ say yes to heaven 🤍 sylus 秦 ⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ ✿

pairing ✿‧₊˚: lads sylus x reader

summary ✿‧₊˚: 3+1: three times Sylus suppresses his desire to have you, and one time his control finally snaps. sprinkled with relationship fluff, size difference, love confessions and whole lot of overthinking from our fav crow boy.

word count ✿‧₊˚: 13.6k (a whole ass freaking novella, grab a snack.)

tropes ✿‧₊˚: 18+, 3+1, smut, but packed with feelings, fluff, est. relationship, body worship, plot with porn??, love confessions, sylus is obsessed, and so in love, first times implied, p in v, size difference, (by size difference i mean sylus is freaking huge, like a mountain of a man, so big it actually makes him nervous bc u so small, every single one of us would be a small dot next to him that’s my personal headcanon, have you seen his ib memory? yeah, yeah u have this man HUGE), anyways what is protection they don’t use it don’t be like them, needy sylus, pet names, everything is consensual, awooo.

author’s note ✿‧₊˚: hello! i was cooking this one for so much time, i hope it’s not too boring! I’m not a native speaker so i apologize in advance for all mistakes or repetitions. I was also trying to write inclusive y/n and i hope i succeeded. I also did not imagine y/n to have a specific body type — i truly believe that no matter your size, next to sylus you would look like a crumb. as small as a pebble. believe me, i’ve studied the sacred texts (night of secrecy, grassland romance, innocent birdcage do i really have to keep on listing the memories where he enormous u get the gist). so!! i hope you’ll enjoy it ૮꒰ྀི∩´ ᵕ `∩꒱ྀིა

!!do NOT read if you’re not 18+!!

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ ݁

Sylus usually considered himself to be a patient man.

He occasionally did act on his desires—he could admit that much—but when it came to the things he truly cared about, the things he treasured, he didn’t mind the wait. He knew that the best things in life came at a price, and if the currency was time, in this case he was willing to pay in full. He knew it was worth it. That you were worth it.

You, who accepted him as he was, with all his flaws and imperfections, making his life better every day you were together. You, who were so brave, gentle, and kind that you made him want to become a better man too—just so that one day, he could say he truly deserved you. You, who he had completely fallen for, unable to imagine a world in which he wouldn’t make the same choice of courting you all over again.

That’s why he wanted nothing more than to treasure and respect you in every aspect of life—including intimacy and his own desires. And to be perfectly candid, he had plenty of those from the very moment he laid eyes on you. But he wanted to act like a gentleman, never rushing you into anything. He was patient, waiting for you to make the first move. He wanted to be sure you trusted him, that you weren’t afraid of him—or of the things he wanted to do to you if he ever got the chance.

And even after several months of officially dating you, he still stuck to his resolve, despite the unhealthy hunger growing inside him. He was adamant that you make the first move, even though the waiting was slowly killing him from the inside—his desires burning through his skin, desperate to see the light of your glossy eyes, to feel you squirming beneath him, and to hear your soft moans and whimpers, letting him know that you wanted him too.

He wanted you passionately. He didn’t desire anyone or anything else in his life. He had never thought of anyone else in such terms, which made the wait much more bearable, fun even. The occasional tension in the air only made things between you even more intriguing. Sylus wondered when the moment would come for you to finally let him explore you, taste you, just as he had wanted since the first time he held you in his arms.

He was a patient man. An inquisitive one, but patient nonetheless.

But it was just getting too much for him to handle lately.

He wondered if you were doing this on purpose. Were you trying to make him go feral with want, push him into some action? Maybe you were just too shy to ask for something more, and decided to coax him to take you right then and there? Was it an act? A part of your meticulous, sneaky plan?

He felt his sanity slowly dissipating.

“Sylus? Please, hurry up and help me, we have to go!” You turned your head to look at him, your lips puckered in an adorable pout, and your feet anxiously shifting from one to the other, the sound of your beautiful black heels clicking against the floor of your apartment. The red soles didn’t go unnoticed by him.

And what didn’t go unnoticed as well was how breathtakingly gorgeous you looked, dressed in your tight black gown that accentuated the figure he was obsessed with.

However, he was a strong man. He could look at you in a dress and not get an instant boner; he wasn’t some mere beast. But when you asked for his help, he realized that life hadn’t prepared him for everything you had up your sleeve.

Because right now, you stood before him, your back turned toward him, holding your hair in your hands and exposing a zipper that you wanted him to take care of. A zipper that ran from your neck down, down, down to your red lace panties, which peeked out from beneath the unzipped black material.

He turned his head upward at the sight, his hand reaching for the bridge of his nose, a silent prayer escaping his lips. If God existed, He was not merciful this time.

He could also clearly see that you weren’t wearing a bra, the soft skin of your back exposed, slightly hidden under the material of the dress. Hadn’t he suffered enough?

He wanted to bark. Badly.

Oh fuck, was he really going to bark?

He hoped not.

“Sy?” The nickname almost made his legs buckle. He needed a moment to calm himself after just one look at you, and it seemed to take him much longer than what would be considered natural. The impatience in your voice betrayed your desire not to be late for the opera performance, which he had promised to take you to today. He gulped audibly and realized that you had no idea what you were doing to him—and that scared him.

If you were this dangerous unintentionally, how will he survive when you’ll finally, consciously decide to take things further?

“Yes. Yes, of course, sweetie.” He managed to choke out and stepped closer to you, your delectable scent overwhelming his senses. He tried to hide the slight tremble in his hands as he reached for the zipper at the bottom of your dress. When he zipped you up, he took his sweet time caressing your body with his knuckles, basking in the soft feeling of your skin and the dangerous touch of the lace of your panties. He hoped you couldn’t hear his heartbeat—or see the pink in his cheeks. He couldn’t remember the last time he had blushed, but now he was sure of it, judging by the warmth on his face.

He was hopeless. Utterly ruined.

“There you go.” He said quietly, caressing your beautiful hair with his fingers, smoothing the creases which appeared after your hold. He brushed it from your neck and planted a slow kiss there, his movements far too composed for someone who was boiling with desire inside.

“Thank you. I couldn’t reach it at all and we’re already short on time.” You put your hand on his head, patting it gently and sighing when he touched your waist. He couldn’t help but squeeze you there, feeling the warmth of your skin through the soft material of your dress. You understood this gesture as teasing and giggled adorably.

“You look magnificent, my dove.” The compliment slipped through his lips, earning him your sweet smile and a kiss on a cheek. He watched as you passed him to grab your purse, going straight to the front door, leaving him behind. Trusting he’ll follow your step, as he always did.

Sylus closed his eyes and touched the very spot on his cheek where your lips had grazed, releasing a sigh that could be interpreted as both contentment and a silent prayer for endurance.

“You coming, Sy?” He could hear you calling for him, and he opened his eyes. His left one shone brightly at him from his reflection on the window. His Evol proved useless when his body already made it abundantly clear what—or whom—he desired the most.

“I fucking wish.” He whispered under his breath, turned around, and walked up to you, picking you up and throwing you over his shoulder as he reveled in the weight of your body pressing against him. His ears were graced by your little squeal, that quickly transformed into uncontrollable laughter, a sound he wanted to record and play every time you were away.

You slapped his back playfully and joked about wanting to use your legs once in a while, and he laughed, saying that he just wanted to make sure that he had all he needed with him. Then, he grabbed his coat with his Evol, and used it to slam the door after you both went out. He hoped that the lust he felt, which started to get out of his control, managed to stay behind them.

He waited for so long; how hard could it be to wait for another couple of months?

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Hard.

Tremendously hard, both theoretically and physically, given the reaction of his body upon the contact.

He shifted slightly so that you wouldn’t feel his growing bulge against your core, his hands hovered over your thighs, his cheeks flaming hot. He was about to fucking pass out.

But you were none the wiser, sitting on his body, strangling him with your soft, mouth-watering thighs, practically rubbing yourself against him, and performing your little dance of victory after pushing him to the ground during your sparring.

Normally, he would have laughed with you and treasured your moment of happiness, his senses overwhelmed by pride as he watched you get better and better at self-defense with every practice.

But that was just cruel.

Not only did you show up in that little piece of fabric covering your breasts, something you dared to call a sports bra, its thin straps reminiscent of a fish net, offering NO support whatsoever for your charms, but you also dared to wear that pair of leggings you claimed you had bought with your friend during your last trip to the mall.

And they were leaving nothing for his imagination, your every curve hugged tightly, every dip deliciously emphasized. And fuck, you looked gorgeous in wine red. You knew you did.

“I got it in your color! Do you like it?” You asked upon entering his gym, twirling for him like the most adorable fucking thing he had ever had the pleasure of seeing, your arms up and your hair still untied. He did saw red, and it wasn’t just the color of your clothing.

His color. His girl in his color, he was going absolutely feral.

“I do.” He choked out, and tried to avert his eyes from your posture but lost that battle quickly. “You look stunning. My little gem.” He answered and you dared to look at him sheepishly, your face showing the signs of getting flustered.

“I’m not just a gem anymore. I’m a professional fighter.” You playfully punched his shoulder, jumping around and mimicking boxing moves, making him laugh out loud as he grabbed your fists in his hands. He pulled you closer to him and kissed your forehead, his arms wrapping around your frame.

“Is that an apology in advance?” You asked him when his lips left your skin. He smirked, his brow raising.

“Might be. Today we’ll be practicing attacks and knocking down your opponent.”

“Me? Knocking you down?” You looked at him with disbelief, your hands dropping to your sides, already defeated. “I’m doomed. Sylus, can’t I knock down Luke or Kieran instead?” Your cute pout and hands clasped in a begging gesture made him laugh again, as he fixed the bandages on your hands.

“And you think they would be easier to conquer?”

“Yes. Obviously, yes.”

“But they wouldn’t make sure you’re not going to hurt yourself, kitten, and I already know your patterns…” He leaned over you, his hot breath caressing your ear, making you shiver. His hands avoided touching your body. “And weak spots…” A whisper and a gentle bite on your earlobe were enough to send your adrenaline soaring.

“You—!” You jumped from him, like a little kitten, your face flustered and gaze filled with playful threat. “You’re going down mister. You’re SO going dooown.”

And down he went.

Right under your soft body, squashed between your warm tights, looking up at your beautiful lips twisted in an adorable, cunning smirk.

Oh, the way he loved you. The way he wanted to have you. The intensity of that feeling started to suffocate him.

“Okay, you got me, sweetie.” He choked out and tried his best to sound as nonchalant as possible. But nothing about this situation was nonchalant—your soft tights squeezing his waist and your butt pressing on his weak spot almost made him see stars. He grabbed your waist to try to stop your body from moving and gritted his teeth, fighting with himself to not buckle his hips up. “Now, up. I admit defeat.”

Defeat that had to do with the improvement of your skills and the force of your little fists, yes, but also with the way Sylus was distracted by your body, his eyes wandering everywhere during the battle, but not the places he should actually pay attention to.

Apparently, he was a weak, weak man, when the situation concerned you. Weak and impossibly horny.

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I want to.” You answered, a mischievous glint adored your gaze. He drank that expression in.

Beautiful. You were absolutely beautiful, sitting on him, your body sparkling with sweat, face red from the exhaustion. How could he keep his mind from going places? “I think I like you like this.” His eyebrows went up, and cheeks felt a little bit too warm for his liking.

What were you trying to say?

“Yes? Like what, kitten?” His heart felt like it was about to beat out of his chest. He knew that you could feel it, one of your hands rested on top of it, stroking his chest, feeling the warmth radiating from his skin through his shirt. He shivered, his body covered in goosebumps, finding the gentle touch too intense, somehow.

“Towering over you.” His breath hitched; his heart almost stopped its beating. “It’s much easier to look at your face when I’m like this. It’s nice.” His heart squeezed instead, your confession turning out to be more touching than teasing, and he cursed himself internally for belittling your interactions and intimacy lately. His mind immediately assumed sexual undertones, where everything you were doing with him, at your own, unique pace should be more than enough for him.

“You like looking at me that much, huh?” He answered, his hand going up to caress your cheek with the back of his fingers. He smiled with content, and he put his hand at the nape of your neck, hoping you’ll understand the implications.

You did. Not a second later you lowered your body so that you were lying on top of him, one of his hands holding you to himself by your waist, pressing you even closer together. He acknowledged how much he loved your full weight on his body, your hearts pressed so close to each other they started beating as one.

You put your hands on his cheeks, smiled down at him, and pressed a small kiss to one of his eyelids, and then to the tip of his nose. He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the feeling.

“Of course. You’re my beautiful boy, Sylus.” You whispered to him, a smile adoring your face and he couldn’t help himself. He pulled you close by your neck and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips, almost whimpering into your mouth from the intensity of his feelings.

You reciprocated the kiss, not hesitating even for a second, and soon, both of your lips were swollen and glistening, your minds filled with sparkles and cotton.

You were the one to break the kiss, your mind going dizzy, body trembling from the arousal. He could feel it without using his Evol—the desire that raised within you, the fire that now flowed through your veins. His eyes sparkled with anticipation.

One moment and you’ll go pliant against him, melting into his embrace.

One second, and he’ll finally taste heaven, be as close to you as anyone ever has been.

“Y/N, will it be alright if I—” He started speaking, your eyes looking at him from above as you held onto his cheek and neck, caressing his skin with your thumbs, making him feel oh, so cherished. Yet, he didn’t manage to finish the request because a sudden crash from the door opening pierced through the silent room, popping your comfortable bubble in an instant.

You jumped out of his embrace, leaving him cold and yearning, his hands sliding over his face in frustration.

“Boss—”

“Luke, Kieran it better be fucking important.” Sylus hissed through his teeth, and the fact that he didn’t even try to hide his frustration made you huff out a laugh and you quickly covered your mouth with your hand. You didn’t want to laugh at him so openly, hiding how adorable his anger towards boys seemed to you at that moment.

His eyes caught yours, lured by the bubbly sound, and one of the corners of his mouth went up slightly. He raised his hand to your covered mouth and brought your hand down with his fingers, revealing your smile.

“It is, Boss! The Girm Company chairman called and demanded a meeting in thirty minutes.” Luke said quickly, Kieran peeking out from behind his shoulder. “And he didn’t want to take “no” for an answer.” Kieran added, his body now revealed.

You were not sure if Sylus was even listening, his eyes glued to your face, his fingers tracing the line of your smile absentmindedly. He still didn’t raise from the floor of the ring, his posture relaxed, one arm now resting behind his head.

“That bastard.” He answered under his breath, and closed his eyes in annoyance for a second and when he opened them, they were once again glued to you. “If you don’t want me to leave, just say a word.” He said, and put a strand of your hair behind your ear. The back of his hand started a slow caress of your cheek, and you felt embarrassed, knowing that the boys were still looking at you both, waiting for Sylus’s answer.

“It’s okay, Sy. I actually have some errands to run in Linkon so I better get going.” You answered, grabbing his hand and pressing a kiss to his fingers. His breath hitched, eyes following the movement with a longing deep in his chest. “Besides, I’m tired of beating your ass today. Save some dignity for the next time.” You added with a mischievous look, poking his hard chest with your finger teasingly.

The laugh that came out of his chest was sudden—loud, deep, and so sincere that it warmed your chest, your lips spreading in a proud smile. He grabbed your hand off of his chest and brought it to his lips, kissing your fingertips. The mirth in his eyes clearly visible, the affection bare and tangible.

“You are so generous, sweetie. Letting your pray off the hook so easily.” He couldn’t stop smiling even when he was raising to his feet, his hand going to massage his left shoulder. He looked at you and offered you his hand, which you immediately accepted. He helped you stand, his eyes tracing your every move, still unable to look away.

Your body entranced him, your presence lit a fire in his veins. The point where your hands touched warm and almost overwhelming. His desire for more once again proven unquenchable.

“Boys, let him know I’ll be there. It seems that I need to remind him who actually is in the position to make demands.” His voice was now authoritative, followed by the boys’ exclamations of “Will do, boss,” along with two salutes send his way.

And they were gone just as quickly as they had appeared.

“Don’t be too harsh on the chairman. I don’t want to get in the way of your business.” He saw you turn to him with a worried expression on your face, and he leaned down to place a kiss on your forehead, his lips lingering on the spot for much longer than necessary.

“Hmm, I’m afraid that’s impossible.” He took your hand in his and placed a kiss on your knuckles, looking deep into your eyes. The sadness of you parting ways already blooming inside him. “They cut our time together short, so I’m planning on making them pay for that offense generously.” He smirked and watched you shake your head with disbelief, a small smile gracing your lips.

“I already miss you.” He heard you saying and you surprised him by throwing your arms around his neck, then kissing him almost senseless.

He closed his eyes and returned the kiss, which was starting to border on filthy. His hands grabbed your frame, pressing you closer to him, as his body bent toward you.

When you parted, your breaths were hot and heavy, a string of saliva still keeping your mouths connected. He stared at the filthy sight, his heart pounding in his chest, his boxers starting to become a rather tight fit. You placed a hand on his chest and pushed him away gently, your fingers trailing downward until they grazed his abdomen. He gulped audibly and remained still, watching you walk further and further away. He didn’t trust himself to move even an inch, afraid he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself anymore.

“Bye, Sylus. I’ll let you know when I get home safely.” You told him, walking away backwards now, your eyes not leaving his. “And we’ll continue what we started next time, okay, Boss?” The last part a whisper from your sweet lips, almost making him drop to his knees right then and there. You waved at him, shyness visible on your cheeks, and then you left him in the middle of the ring, stunned and filled with excruciating desire to finally have you.

Next time.

He groaned, his hands covering his blushing face, his mind already imagining the things he’ll do to you, only if you let him. God, he hoped that you’ll let him.

He did arrive late to the meeting that day, having to compose himself for much longer than you would have expected. He also made sure the chairman regretted keeping him away from you—your softness, your scent, an addictive drug he never wanted to be deprived of. The audacity to take that from him deserved nothing less than the highest of punishments.

He couldn’t help it; he already missed you.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Sylus could write poems about his beloved, listing all her remarkable qualities and quirks; however, not once would he describe her as elegant and composed.

You usually were a tornado of various emotions, a temple of the things you cherished, your expressions lively and loud, honest and unrestrained.

You were also a bit clumsy—an occasional stumble, a bump to your limb now and then, or a broken glass wasn’t anything that Sylus hadn’t see you do before. He often worried about you and your safety, with new bruises appearing on your body from bumping into things or a piece of glass piercing through your delicate skin. Sometimes, he wished he could protect you from yourself too, but all he could do was press a kiss to every small injury you sustained from your hectic movements.

All bumps aside, he utterly adored that quality of yours. Every time he caught you acting awkwardly his chest seemed to shrink on itself, his heart squeezing, cute aggression overcoming his senses. You were just so adorable in those moments, the sight always reminding him of a little fawn, beautiful but uneasy on its feet. His craving to grab you and hold you in his arms, protecting you from the whole world, was strong; the urge to press a kiss to your forehead, then to kiss you senseless, even stronger. You were his little chaos: wonderful in your unexpectedness, extraordinary in every sense of the word.

Needless to say, he was used to your adorable clumsiness. He loved it.

That was probably why his brain stopped working when you proved to be everything but clumsy while playing the games at the local funfair. Your moves sure and precise, your gaze locked onto the targets, your body positioned exactly how it should be in order to gain the reward you wanted—whether it was a new plushie, a funky gadget or even some snacks.

And he had to say that this new, confident, borderline cocky behavior you were displaying was making him feel some things.

“Wait, let me try this time.” You said the first time he couldn’t score the prize, the claw mocking him relentlessly, wounding his pride.

You got that plushie in one, excellent attempt.

“Let me get that for you, Sy.” You proposed later, seeing him eyeing a figurine of a crow that reminded him of Mephisto. You were able to get not only that, but also a coupon for a food stall that served the best waffles you’ve ever eaten. As for Sylus, the sweetness of the treat paled in comparison to your blinding smile, with whipped cream still staining the corner of your mouth. He swiped it away with his thumb, then licked the digit, sending you a wink in the process.

He took pride in your blush, especially when making each other red that day started to feel like a competition between you two, whether you were aware of it or not.

“You want this one? Say no more, handsome.” Your words almost making him choke, your hands already grabbing the controls, your body bending over the machine, offering him a wonderful view of your ass. The tips of his ears immediately started to feel as if caught on fire. Even though he knew that you were teasing him, the pet name sounding foreign from your lips, he liked the feeling of you taking the initiative.

He also couldn’t stop his eyes from wandering, your body presented to him in a way that felt illegal to watch. He swiped his gaze up from the nape of your neck to your shoulders, taking note of your delicious-looking waist, perky butt, and thighs, which seemed lonely without his hands squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

The cheerful sound of the machine made him snap back into reality, just as you were looking over your shoulder, sending him the sexiest, oh so sexy, proud smirk he ever saw in his life. He smirked right back, even though his legs felt disturbingly like jelly.

“I’m starting to think you enjoy this.” He remarked, grabbing the prize from your hands once again, the rest of your treasures already sitting comfortably in the back of his car. You send him a mischievous smile and fixed your hair, your fingers threading through the strands, the smell of your perfume reaching him once again during that night.

He wanted to devour you.

“And what’s wrong with that?” One of your hands grabbed his bicep, holding on to him as you started your lazy stroll in search of yet another entertainment. “You always get me things. And since I know now that you suck at these games, I have a perfect opportunity to return the favor.” He laughed at that, his hand moving to flick your forehead.

“I don’t suck at these games, all of them are tempered with, sweetie. I actually find it astonishing that you are so good at them.” His reply kind of soothing his wounded pride, his mind once again remembering your movements from before. The way you moved with confidence and grace, the little smirks and winks you send his way. His blood started to boil several stalls ago, and it hasn’t calmed since. “Makes one wonder about the extent of your abilities.”

The new, cocky, and self-confident side of you aroused him almost to the point of him grabbing you by the waist and taking you to his car, taking advantage of his tined widows.

“It all comes down to having a good strategy, as someone once taught me.” You said, repeating the words Sylus is always saying to you during your training, a mirth lacing your tone. How he adored you.

“Wise counseling you have here, kitten. You must have a fantastic teacher, if his lessons are proving to be useful anywhere you go.” The smile not leaving your face making him never want to look away.

“Oh, yes, he is. And an eye-candy too.” You touched his nose with the tip of your finger teasingly while he laughed. He stopped walking and turned to you fully, his arms closing around your waist, bringing you to him, close enough for your bodies to touch. The height difference always made him dizzy, with your head fully tilted upward in order to catch his gaze.

“Mm. Maybe that’s a quality he learned from you.” His tone quiet, one of his hands going to touch your cheek, his thumb pressing on your bottom lip. You appeared stunned. “I cannot think of someone sweeter than you. If he’s a candy, you’re one delectable dessert.” He whispered, his eyes going from your eyes to your lips, their reddish tone reminding him of a little cherry. He was fighting with himself not to put his hands on your ass, and squeeze the flesh that you kept pushing his way from the very beginning of your date, or not to place a kiss on your smart little mouth, which kept sending him these playful smirks all day long. He knew that if he started here, he would not be able to stop. No one would be capable of separating him from you, public place be damned.

His desire boiling inside him, threatening to melt his vessels and pour from his body, enveloping you in a tight, pleasurable embrace. He felt feverish, your body pressed to his giving him all the warmth he ever needed, molding his thoughts to fit only your frame.

You were perfect in his eyes. Your body, the perfect shape for him to hold, your face the only one he wanted to remember. And the way he felt when he was with you—so immensely happy, so carefree, so right—was a feeling he had never even dreamed about having. Your banter, little jokes and witty comments made him so at ease he never wanted to stop talking to you, afraid of depriving himself of even a second of the comfort you brought him: the knowledge that he could speak his mind freely, for you understood him beyond the limitations of language. By your side, he could be himself, the thoughts in his head quiet, giving way to expressing himself in any way he wanted. His little taste of heaven: the time you spent together.

He loved you. So intensely it used to scare him, but now he was offering himself willingly, no longer afraid of rejection. Even though you both still didn’t acknowledge it out loud, the feeling lingered in the air between you — a delectable sweetness, a comforting fragrance.

He wanted you. Body and soul. Soul and body. He liked to think he already had your soul in grasp, your actions and openness served as a perfect proof of that, yet your body was still his to claim. And the fact that there was still a part of you he didn’t manage to possess, to thoroughly acknowledge, frustrated him inconceivably.

Especially because you had that strong of an effect on him. Everything you did capable of driving him perfectly insane. Oh, how you had him wrapped around your little finger, without being aware how completely obsessed he was with you.

“Is that so?” His gaze went from your hypnotizing eyes back to your lips, drinking in every single whisper. You stood on your tiptoes, the sight making his hands squeeze your waist tighter, his breath quickening, mind trying to process closer distance. “If he keeps sweet-talking me like this, then I guess he will finally get to taste it.” You grabbed his chin and tilted it down, pressing a soft, drawn-out kiss to his lips. His eyes closed immediately, desperate to heighten his senses. He wanted this kiss to last, both in the moment and later in his memory.

And just as he was about to wrap his arms around your back, pulling you closer, hiding your body from everyone else just to steal a few more kisses, you stepped back, the quiet sound of a smooch echoing between you. He bit his lip, almost drawing blood, restraining himself from chasing after your lips.

“C’mon now. I still have a few tricks up my sleeve that I need to show you.” You gripped his hand tighter and started to walk toward one of the booths. You sent him a smile over your shoulder, making his efforts to calm his racing heart futile. “And then maybe we can grab some cotton candy? All this talk about sweets made me crave some.”

“Anything for you, sweetie.” He answered absentmindedly, your taste still lingering on his lips. How were you always able to move on from the kisses so quickly? It would be the only thing he could think about in the next minutes.

“And what do you want?”

“Hmm?” The question shocked him, his eyebrows going up, his eyes intently observing your face.

“Do you have something you’d like to do while we’re here? I keep dragging you stall to stall ever since we came here.” You said while turning to fully face him, grabbing both of his hands. “I want you to have fun too.”

“I always have fun when I’m with you.” His response honest, his thumb caressing your knuckles. “You make life so interesting. And today you already managed to surprise me, so I would say that was more than enough entertainment for me in a day.” You rolled your eyes at him, a small smile on your lips, and looked at him with patience.

“But the day’s not over yet. Isn’t there anything you’d like to do? Look around.”

He lifted his head from your frame and began taking in the booths and various food stalls that had previously escaped his attention. He hummed, and he could feel you shifting on your feet, unable to contain your excitement.

That’s when he caught something interesting out of the corner of his eye—a couple emerging from a small booth, huge smiles plastered on their faces as they held small pieces of paper. A spark of excitement ignited inside him upon realizing what it was.

“There. I want to have a memento.” He said, his finger pointing to that innocent-looking booth. Almost impossible to spot in the abundance of lights and sounds coming from other attractions.

“Okay! I think I already won you a mountain of mementos but if—Ah!” Your eyes lit up when you realized what he was pointing to, your lips spreading in a cheerful smile. “A photo booth! Sylus, that’s wonderful!”

It wasn’t long before you were both inside the booth, the space cramped, almost too small for him to fit. He sat on the small stool, taking up nearly all the space, leaving you no choice but to sit on one of his legs. Your arms wrapped around his neck for stability, yet there wasn’t a hint of discomfort on your face.

He loved how natural it was for you to be this close to him, the proximity no longer making you nervous. He still remembered how you were at the beginning of your acquaintance, when even an eye contact was enough to make you shy away. Now, touching him was as easy as breathing, your body relaxed and pliant under his wandering hands.

While you were clicking playfully on the screen, setting up the machine, he took his time observing you—mainly how your body looked next to his, which made him short-circuit, reminding him why he was still waiting for you to make the first move in initiating sexual intimacy. The reason he didn’t want to rush things, nervousness buried deep inside his chest.

You were sitting on his leg, your whole body weighting next to nothing, his one limb nearly twice as big as both of yours. Your soft flesh pressed to him didn’t even take up half of the place available on his leg, and when he put one of his hands on your back, the huge patch of your skin he was able to cover made him gulp audibly.

You were so tiny, next to him.

He was a huge man, and he knew that. Not just his height, but his overall build made even other men look small in comparison. While he usually considered it one of his greatest assets, a fantastic tool for intimidation, in this particular case, it planted a seed of worry in him.

It took some time for you not to shy away from his touch, not to flinch every time he leaned to you, his body covering whole line of your vision. And it took him even more time to learn how he should touch you and hold you, not to put too much force behind his caresses, not to make you bruise. And although the gentleness run in his bloodstream by now, he was still worried about the actual sex.

What if he scares you? His body completely covered your delicious curves without issue.

What if he overwhelms you? His stamina and eagerness matched his overall size.

What if he hurts you? The thought of your body unable to accommodate to his size made his blood run cold.

He looked at your body again, and he had to hold in a sigh. He loved your curves, the unbelievable softness of your skin, how warm you were. He felt his hunger increasing every day, every minute, every second he spent in your presence.

Yet he had to wait patiently, not wanting to scare you. He also knew that you were starting to get bolder with him day by day. He liked to think that it was just a matter of time until you will initiate something more, cover him with your soft embrace, let him melt in your warmth.

Because at the end of the day, his observations of your size difference not only filled his mind with fear, but also made his body tingle in all the right places. The arousal he felt knowing that he could manhandle you without any issue, cover your whole body entirely with his, shield you from the world and its coldness—all consuming. The only thing he could think about.

You were tiny in his embrace.

But he could make it work. He will make it work so good.

How could he hurt you when he was so certain that you were made to be his? Two halves of a perfect soul.

His hand slid down to hug your waist and he pressed a lingering kiss to your shoulder. It made you giggle, you thought that it was his way of showing impatience. And it was, in a way. Just not the kind of impatience you assumed it was.

“All set! I had some fun with the stickers, do you want to choose your own?” He looked at the screen and opened his mouth to deny, but one sticker did actually catch his attention. He clicked on the small dove and placed it in the bottom of the template, next to the various hearts you already decorated it with.

“That’s you. The resemblance is almost striking.” He said making you laugh and you picked a sticker of some kind of a black bird.

“And that’s you. They unfortunately don’t have a crow one so this little fella has to work.” You placed the sticker close to the dove one, satisfied with your work.

“I get the vision. When I’m squinting my eyes, I guess.”

You had four pictures taken, all accompanied by laughter and endless teasing. One where you kissed his cheek, one hand holding his jaw, his eyes closed and features relaxed. One where he pretended to bite your neck, your face caught in laughter. One where he rolled his eyes, reacting to your lame joke of getting rabies from his bite, as you placed your pointed fingers above his head, adoring him with imaginary horns, your mouth open in fake shock. And the last one, where you grabbed his face and kissed him, his gentle smile pressed against your mouth, a picture of joy that couldn’t be restrained.

“I might have gone kind of overboard with the stickers.” You said when you got your two copies of the pictures, four perfect rectangles inside a scarlet border, adorned with hearts, flowers and stars. Two adorable birds were at the very bottom of it, just below the date. Sylus looked at the pictures, and his heart seemed to grow bigger, the wave of emotions making him unable to utter even a simple word. “But I think they’re cute regardless! It’s so nice to finally have a picture of us printed out. I’m definitely going to frame mine.” You said and took out your phone to take a picture of it.

His thumb gently caressed the piece of paper, words still stuck in his throat.

It was the very first picture of you two together, and when he looked at it, he couldn’t help but get emotional, knowing that he never expected to have someone like you in his life. Someone to cherish, to protect, to hold. Someone who reciprocated his feelings, someone who will never leave him, even if doomsday falls upon Linkon, even if the world crumbles.

“Are you okay, Sy? You’ve gone nonverbal again.” He felt your hand on his wrist, offering him a gentle squeeze. He finally looked at you, going out of the trace he was in, and saw your beautiful face laced with concern. He felt your hand going up and down his arm, caressing him in order to bring comfort.

“Did I?” He managed to choke out and hugged you to his chest, craving the closeness, not wanting you to see his slightly glistening eyes. He feared that the darkness of the night would not be enough to cover them, the lights from the fun fair only exaggerating his sudden surge of emotions. “They’re perfect. Thank you.” You hugged his torso tightly, your arms going up and down his back. You knew him well enough to realize he got emotional, but you were smart enough to let him savor his feelings in peace. If he was not comfortable showing you his tears, you had to understand it—the knowledge of how much it meant to him already warming your heart.

“Anything for you, Sylus.” You repeated the same thing he said to you earlier, and he picked you up, still hugging you to himself, his face finding coverage in the crook of your neck.

“Sly little thing.” He whispered and pressed a kiss there, drinking in the sound of your laugh and melting under the touch of your fingers, which stroked his hair affectionately.

Oh, how he couldn’t wait to finally be yours completely.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

Mesmerizing.

You, dancing in his room at two p.m to the new vinyl he bought, your hair down, arms up. Your eyes were closed and there was a small, relaxed smile playing on your lips, that seemed to grow bigger with each sway of your hips. You decided to wear the nightgown he got you some time ago, white lace caressing your body with a gentle flow of the shiny fabric.

He couldn’t breathe. All air sucked out of his lungs the moment he turned around and saw you swaying to the music he picked out. A surge of want so intense came over him that he was afraid to move even an inch—his body on fire, his mind filled with the visions of you, thoughts of you, and what you could be reduced to, enriched with under the touch of his hands.

If only he wasn’t a coward.

“Will you join me?” you said over your shoulder, opening your eyes slightly, and you must’ve seen something unusual in his eyes, because your movements slowed down and a furrow appeared between your brows. He wanted to kiss it off instantly. “Sy?”

You were so precious and delicate, a perfect opposite of his harsh exterior and even more barbaric interior. He waited so long, restrained himself for so much time, waiting for you to move first—now, standing before you, the thought that you wanted him this way too pierced a hole in his heart and filled it with fear.

“Forgive me. I cannot.” he answered, his voice coming out with a slight growl, that he couldn’t contain anymore. He inhaled deeply and gritted his teeth, hoping that he was at least successful in not making his eye glow, his Evol suddenly unstable. He didn’t want to know your desires, not when they were visible so clearly on your face now—openness and anticipation, ever since you went back from your date.

He hoped that shower would be able to calm you down, even though the warm and steady stream of the water didn’t manage to help him this time around.

He was losing his composure and he was losing it fast. Weeks of this insatiable hunger, unrelenting need and dripping tension did that to him. He knew he was fighting a losing battle ever since he laid his eyes on you today, looking so cozy in your oversized sweater, filling the air around him with your intoxicating scent.

He was ready to devour you months ago, the buildup straining his muscles now, making him restless. He was a goner—one wrong move and his previous patience and willingness for you to take the lead reducing to vapor.

“Why? We always dance together to your vinyls, especially the new ones.” Your movements faltered to a stop, your magnificent face turned to him, with an expression so honest it made his heart clench painfully.

He thought of all the times you danced under the moonlight, soft notes of his favorite music floating through the air, your bodies moving to the rhythm, sometimes gracefully, some other times not so much. The feelings overwhelmed him even more drastically, his eyes closing for a moment.

It was enough time for you to close the distance, and soon he felt your cold hand pressing against his cheek, swiping the flesh with your thumb. He squeezed his eyelids shut tighter, the touch making his soul burn. You took his head in both of your hands, lowering it to face you.

“Sylus, talk to me.” you said, tone worried. He could feel you standing on your tiptoes, wanting to bring your face closer to his. His body almost shaking with the need to hold you. “You’re acting very unusual today. Is something wrong?” He exhaled the air he didn’t know he was holding and opened his eyes. Your face was so close that he could see the shadow your eyelashes cast on your cheeks. He could feel your breath, warm and inviting.

“I can’t touch you now,” he managed to utter, his hands at his sides, struck in cruel stillness. He locked his eyes with yours, filled with worry and a comforting gentleness. You were always so gentle with him; it made him go insane. “Because if I do, I won’t be able to hold back anymore.”

He saw the realization in the shift of your features as you fully grasped the meaning of his words. To his surprise, you took one of his hands in yours, and placed it on your cleavage, right over your beating heart, the rhythm beneath his palm fast but steady.

“Then don’t. Why would you even want to hold back with me?” You answered, slightly breathless, a pleasurable tingling already setting deeply in your abdomen. You looked at his face, the redness of his cheeks nearly matching the color of his eyes, the look he gave you so desperate it turned your legs to cotton.

The sudden burst of happiness in your chest almost made you tremble, you had waited so long for him to finally claim you as his, and it seemed he had finally reached his limit.

“I don’t—” He stumbled upon his words; a reaction so different from his usual self-confident demeanor it made you crave to uncover more versions of him. All versions of him, every single one he was willing to show you. “I can’t help but fear that I will hurt you. You are so soft, so breakable, it makes me nervous. Aren’t you scared of me? Of—Of what I could do, to you?” The confession slipping out of him, and he grabbed your wrist in one hand, the other coming to rest on your back. He slowly brought you to him, pressing your bodies together. He heard your breath falter, and drank that sound in. Then don’t — you had no idea what a hurricane you managed to stir inside him with just two simple words.

“Sy. My sweet, caring gentleman.” He heard your answer, and felt your fingers caressing his under eyes gently, your eyes never leaving his. One of your fingers touched the wrinkle between his brows, smoothing the furrowed surface. “You could never hurt me, even if you wanted to. You’re so fixated on the knowledge what you can do, that you’re forgetting that you’ve never even touched me hard enough to leave a bruise. No matter how much I wanted you to, sometimes.”

“You—”

“I’m not scared of you, Sylus. I could never, and I will never be scared of you. You’re the one with whom I feel the safest.” His hands started trembling, his patience thinning with every beautiful word from your lips. You were telling him things he didn’t even know how desperately he wanted to hear. “And I want you. I want to finally feel you, all your roughness and sharp edges. I want all of it.” The sound of your breathing mingled with the soft tunes of the vinyl. The air thick with want.

Any second now, he could feel it in the shiver down his spine.

“And I want it now.”

Snap.

His resolve shattered as he pulled you into him, capturing your lips in a kiss so deep and desperate it left your legs trembling. He kissed you with raw intensity, his tongue exploring your mouth, drinking in every sound you made as his hands roamed your body, claiming every inch he could reach.

You felt him everywhere. Your thighs, hips, waist, your neck, hair and breasts—he seemed to touch everything he was depriving himself of before. His hands huge, and although slightly rushed and trembling, still surprisingly gentle.

He lifted you up, your legs straining his waist and he laid you down on his bed, not breaking the kiss for even a second, your breath his breath, your lips water to quench his thirst.

His head was spinning, and when he finally opened his eyes the sight before him alone made him lose his mind.

You were sprawled under him, your hair a wild mess, your lips swollen from the abundance of his kisses. Your eyes glistened, the look in them so full of trust and love, love so visible it nearly broke him in half.

“You’re exquisite. Irresistible. Ethereal.” The praises slipped out of his tongue before he could stop them. The last bit of control fleeting with the touch of your impatient fingers, unbuttoning his shirt, taking it off of him in a matter of seconds. He couldn’t even find it in himself to tease you for your impatience, not when his brain already turned into mush after touching your bare skin. “You look as if you’re coated in frosting. My sweet girl, my most delectable little sin.” His eyes focused on your white dress; his hands not brave enough to let it slip off of you yet. He already feared the man he would become upon seeing you fully bared before him.

“Sylus—”

“It’s unholy. How much I want you.” His lips traced a path from beneath your ear down to your neck, finding their place on your collarbones. “How much I need you. The greed unexplainable, insatiable no matter how close I get to you. It’s not enough. It will never be enough.” His eyes met yours in a silent question and you nodded quickly in permission, gulping audibly, your eyes drooping. He let his hands travel up your legs, grazing your inner thighs, swiping through your hips, his palms tracing the lace of your panties, making the hair on his body raise. He then swiped through your waist and finally, finally his hands rested on your breasts, where you wanted them from the very beginning.

His breath hitched as he looked down your body, noticing how his touch had already lifted the fabric of your dress, baring your legs and stomach. His body shielded you from the chill in the air.

He squeezed your breasts gently, fondling them in his hands, a low groan escaping his lips—the same ones which couldn’t resist kissing your belly, anywhere he could reach, not even thinking about stopping his sensual kneading. It baffled him, how soft you were, how pliant under his touch. His hands, although taking so much of the space on your body didn’t seem to make you nervous at all—every single one of his touches you accepted with soft sights, low whines and a bitten lip. You trusted him, and he was drunk on that trust, wanted more, needed to see how far it could take him.

It quickly appeared that there was no limit to the things he could do to you, your whispers not only appreciative, but also encouraging. The uncontrollable thrusts of his hips against the duvet bordered on painful, the knowledge that he would have you in mere minutes making him unbearably hard. But he accepted the friction, your comfort mattered to him the most, and he wanted to take care of you properly.

“Sylus. Sylus, more, please.” He heard your silent plea, and caught your eyes in his, and that’s when he decided it was a time for you to drop the dress. He helped you out of it then licked the goosebumps forming between your breasts, each tiny dot on your skin making him awfully aware that this was it. Your beautiful form, completely bare, just for him to see, to worship.

“My little gem.” He breathed out, his eyes drinking in your body, committing to his memory every dip and curve. “My treasure.” He nearly growled, his mouth attached to your breast, licking and sucking on your nipple, moaning in the process. He wanted to devour you whole, to not leave a patch of skin untouched by his mouth. He thrived in the way you took hold of his head, your hands messing up his hair, caressing it when his tongue worshipped your breasts and nipples, drowning in their softness. He found his safe place.

“Oh God I—I feel like I’m floating, please don’t stop.” He heard you breathe out, your chest heaving, your legs closing in an attempt to relieve the tension building inside you. “You’re so good. So, so, so good, Sy.” He released one of your nipples with a pop, and stored the visual of your skin glistening with his saliva for later. He basked in your praise and pushed himself down, knowing exactly what he wanted to do next.

“Yes? You want it, kitten? Say you do. Please. I need you to say it.” His voice groggy, laced with yearning so tangible it made your body shiver.

“Yes. Yes, I do. Please, Sy. I waited so long for you.” Your words made his head spin, a smile spreading on his lips not flirtatious at all, just pure joy and contentment. He kissed your stomach and his hands once again swiped through your whole body. He raised on his forearms and caged your head between his arms, and then pressed a long, deep kiss on your mouth which quickly turned into another wave of heavy kisses. He wasn’t hungry anymore.

He was ravenous.

“I need to prepare you first, sweetie.” He said to your mouth, his words immediately swallowed by your perfect lips. You whimpered and his grip on your arm tightened involuntarily, his hand playing with your hair. “I need to take my time with you, otherwise I won’t be able to fit. You’re so tiny it scares me.” You nodded into the kiss and he smiled at you gently, and after pressing a kiss to your forehead, he went down.

And when he finally widened your legs, his mouth was on you instantly, making you moan, your legs clasping on his head reflexively. He grunted into your core, licking and sucking skillfully, guided entirely by pure need and his own instincts.

“You taste so sweet.” It wasn’t long before your legs were trembling and his fingers joined his mouth in an attempt to open you up a little more, to prepare you for what’s to come. “You’re dripping because of me.” He chuckled softly but deeply, chest filled with pride, and he licked your core once again, sucking at the sensitive bud. What he didn’t expect was when he managed to fit one finger inside you, angling it upwards, your back suddenly raised from the bed, hands reaching to his chest, delicately pushing him away. A drowned-out cry escaped your lips, the wetness between your tights increased, your plushy walls fluttered around his finger.

He made you come, and he instantly got addicted to it.

“Yes. Yes. Just like that, beautiful—Fuck.” With a swear word on his lips he wasted no time in slurping up your spent, his fingers from one, going up to two, then three. And when the only thing he could hear were your moans and whimpers, the taste of you imprinted on his tongue, the slide of his fingers smooth and slick—he realized that you were ready for him.

He slowly withdrew from your pussy, pressing one last lingering kiss to your clit. As his fingers slipped out of you, he finally let himself to catch more than a glimpse of your face.

And it shattered him, how utterly ruined you looked. All flushed and heaving, skin glistening with sweat, eyes shining, filled with unshed tears.

He did that to you, and he couldn’t be more proud of himself. He licked his fingers clean, savoring your taste, then he pulled you into an embrace, his arms wrapping around your whole body. Your head dropped on his bicep; your breath labored.

“You okay, kitten?” He asked gently, ignoring his painful erection, still stranded in the stiff fabric of his pants. His head pressed to your neck, and he inhaled the scent, licking off the droplets of sweat in the process. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yes. More than okay.” You answered, and he felt your hand wandering, trying to unbuckle his belt. His chest squeezed. “Need you now. Please, Sylus…”

“You don’t have to beg. I’ll gladly give you my everything. All of me.” His hands left your body for a moment, swiftly taking off his pants, his mouth now kissing your cheeks and nose.

“I want to taste you, too.” You whispered to him shyly, and he grunted, closing his eyes, begging every deity to give him more patience. How he would love for your little mouth to envelop him, but he knew that the sight alone would be enough to make him undone.

“Next time, okay, sweetie? I cannot wait to be inside you.” You giggled and nodded, pressing a kiss to his nose, stroking his hair gently.

He shivered and hissed when he took off his underwear, letting himself out in the open. He was so hard it hurt, his hand going up and down his erection in an attempt to reduce the tension, even though he knew that the only one who could truly satisfy him was you.

“Oh my god.” He heard your gasp, and noticed that you were looking at him, his body fully exposed, his cock heavy in his hand. “Sylus— Sy, it won’t fit. There’s no way that—” He silenced you with a kiss, and swiped his hand through your core, gathering the slick and spreading it on his member. The smooth glide felt so good he lost himself in the feeling for a second, his tongue licking into your mouth, swallowing your gasps.

“Shhh, I made sure to prepare you as well as I could. And I won’t hurt you, you said so yourself.” He said the last sentence into your lips, once again pressing a long kiss there. Then he kissed your cheek, and breathed hard against your neck, his one hand wrapped around your waist, holding you closer to him, and the other stroked his cock, guiding it to your entrance. When the tip touched you, he gritted his teeth and you gasped, the first contact electric. Your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers playing nervously with the hair at his nape.

He breathed heavily; the tip of his cock aligned perfectly with your entrance. “You can take it; you were made for me. I will make it fit.” He let go of your waist and grabbed one of your hands in his, kissing your knuckles and smiling gently at you, the anticipation making his body shake. “Just relax for me, will you? Can you do that, kitten?” You nodded and exhaled slowly, some tension getting out of your body. He pressed one last kiss to your forehead and intertwined your fingers with his.

“Close your eyes. I want you to feel me.”

“No. I need to see you, Sy. Don’t make me look away.” He chuckled and pressed his forehead against yours in a silent acceptance. He never wanted to take his eyes away from you too, your desires matching perfectly.

You were his soulmate, after all.

He pressed his erection to your opening and started to slip in, gently, unhurriedly, despite the desire to take you in one thrust of his hips. You opened your mouth in a painful moan, squeezing his hand, panic visible in your eyes. He hated that he was bringing you pain, but knew that it was inevitable, he saw how wide he was stretching you out. “It’s okay, sweetheart. Easy. You’re doing so good…” He breathed out, his hand leaving his cock to hold your hip, the other going up and down your body in a comforting caress. “Taking me so well...” His voice hoarse, sweat dripping from his forehead from the strain of keeping himself under control. He managed to put the tip in, your pussy squeezing him, your heat making him shiver, the sensation the most pleasurable he ever felt. He closed his eyes for a second, trying to calm himself down.

“It hurts, it really—it really hurts.” You whispered and he grunted, feeling you squeeze him harder, his length sliding into you deeper. He opened his eyes and lowered his body to get closer to your face, and placed a kiss between your eyebrows.

“I know, love. If you want to me stop—” He couldn’t recognize his voice anymore.

“No. Never. Please.” You kissed his brow, and send him a small smile. “I—I can take it. I was made for you, yeah?”

He huffed out a laugh, a whimper finding a way out at the same time.

“You were. Mmhm. Good.” He slipped in further, his mouth opening wider. “Good girl. Just a little more.” And before he managed to stop the shivering of his body, he burrowed himself in your tight heat almost to the brim. You were not able to take all of him in yet, but it was nearly a perfect fit, the sight of you wrapped around him made him see red, a low moan slipping out of him, your whimpers the most magnificent tune he ever heard.

“I’m going to move now.” He said and you moaned, your head nodding frantically.

He started thrusting inside you, and he felt as if fireworks exploded inside him, the desire burning brightly, need finally calming down, his mind completely at ease. Your moans, whimpers, cute little “ah,ah,ah’s” making his whole body shiver, a smile finding its way onto his swollen lips. You felt so good below him, your warmth enveloping him fully, and he started to question if he truly was worthy of such a blessing.

He didn’t care anymore. He had you, you wanted him and that was all that mattered now.

“You’re so. fucking. tight. God.” He started moving faster to the accompaniment of your small encouragements, his hand holding onto yours. And when your legs wrapped around his hips, bringing him closer to you, he was gone.

He grabbed your waist and lifted up your butt, the pace and force of his thrusts intensifying, his grunts leaving his mouth freely, silent praises slipping from his lips every now and then. He couldn’t stop now. Didn’t want to stop.

“I want—I want to stay inside you forever. I feel—Ah—Mm—like I’m melting.” He moaned and you felt his mouth on your body, kissing every patch of skin he was able to reach. You kept breathing out soft, quiet moans, tears filling your vision. “So cute.”

You felt so good, the stretch now pleasurable, your body accepting him fully, every thrust welcome, each one anticipated.

And he could see that so clearly on your face, his mind calming, knowing that he was able to bring you pleasure. It made him feel better too, your lovely expressions making his blood pump faster, his hips thrust deeper, just to see and hear more tokens of your delight. He was addicted to you and your reactions, to the way you sang his name, the way your skin tasted and eyes glistened every time he managed to catch eye contact.

Time quickly went by when you were losing yourselves in each other. The positions changed constantly, Sylus looking for and finding new ways to tip you over the edge, making sure you were completely satisfied. You encouraged him to leave some marks on you, and you made sure to repay the sentiment, scratching his back with your nails, and pressing hickies on his chest—he already wished for the marks to stay there forever, and you assured him that you’ll stay instead, making him jump on you once again, burying his head in your shoulder.

“Say my name, kitten. Keep—Keep saying my name.” He grunted, his hips unrelenting, your bodies soaked, your own so tired that he had to hold it in his arm for you to not slip off the bed. He kept thrusting inside you from behind, his lips pressing gentle kisses on your neck and shoulder, his movements deep and sensual, pleasure overwhelming. You granted his wish, your voice hoarse and quiet.

You were going at it for hours now, yet he still hasn’t come.

Not because he couldn’t, but because every time he was close, he was slipping out of you, his eyes squeezing shut, a hand gripping himself at the base.

He didn’t want the night to end, refused to let you go, savored the feeling of being buried deep inside you, not knowing where you ended and he began.

“Sy—Mmm—Sylus—Ah.” The words failed you, your mind filled only with pleasure and thoughts of him. You were so tired and yet he made you feel so good you wanted to stay in his arms forever. “The—Ah—The sun is rising.”

He nuzzled into your cheek, his thrusts slowing down, quiet grunts leaving his lips. He sounded wrecked.

“I know, love. You look so wonderful in this light.” He kissed your cheek and glued himself off of you, leaving your body cold and shivering. In the next second, he manhandled you onto your back again, facing him. Your hands immediately flew to cover your face, fearing how completely ruined you must have looked after so much time making love and so many orgasms ripped out of you.

“No—Mmh—Don’t hide yourself from me.” He grunted, and took your hands in his gently, revealing the beautiful mess he managed to make of you. Your face covered in tears, cheeks flushed and lips so swollen it only made him want to kiss them some more. So he did. “Never hide yourself from me, dove. Hold me.” He kissed the palms of your hands and put them on his neck, your arms going to hold him closer. He huffed out a weak laugh, his thrusts not stopping even for a second. You felt his huge hands caressing your thighs and you moaned softly. “God, I’m sorry, kitten, I just can’t stop—I—”

“It’s okay, S—Sylus. Ah—I won’t run away.” You pulled his head closer and kissed his lips softly. His hands encircled your waist, drawing your body closer to him, the hair on his forehead brushing against your chest. Your eyes met his and he seemed to calm slightly, your gaze soothing the flame inside him.

“I love you. I—” You suddenly confessed, a single tear slipping down your cheek. His breath faltered, ruby eyes widening, your words shaking his world completely. “I love you, Sylus. So much. I love you so intensely it scares me, I—Ah—” A moan was ripped from you when he suddenly picked up the pace, the sweat from his forehead landing between your breasts. Another happy tear slipped from your eye, and if you had enough energy to keep your eyes open, you’d see that he was teary-eyed too. His hands grabbed your head, turning it up so he could look straight into your eyes—his own burning with desire and unspoken devotion. He needed to hear you say the words once more, but before he could start pleading for it, you managed to read his mind.

“I love you, Sylus.”

And those words were what finally made him shatter.

He came, so violently he nearly blacked out, his whole body trembling, and movements faltering, his cock buried inside you the deepest he could go. He released grunt after grunt, his arms holding you tight to him, your soft sighs only seemed to prolong his fall. He nuzzled his face up against your neck, then cheek, his lips touching your skin, unable to press more kisses due to the uncontrollable moans coming out of his mouth.

“F-Fuck—” He managed to choke out and you tried to calm your heavy breathing, focused on his cum filling you up, so much that you could already feel it spilling out. You whined and brought your hands to his waist, holding him close, and you came one last time too, your pussy squeezing him even tighter, ripping a short cry out of him. Goosebumps spread around your body from the pleasure and you went pliant in his arms, letting your sore muscles finally rest against the soft sheets.

Sylus relaxed a few moments later, his sweaty body collapsing on top of you, mindful not to put his full weight on you. His hot, heavy breath still warmed your neck, your hearts beating rapidly against each other, showing no signs of calming anytime soon. He managed to turn onto his side, his arms still wrapped around you, taking your body with him.

You were held in a wet, yet warm embrace, his arms protecting you from the cold morning air, your bodies still connected. The silence that ascended upon you comfortable and desired after so much time of intense workout—both throats roughed up and in need of hydration.

“Sylus, I—” You started saying, your voice a rough whisper, your head raising to meet his gaze, surprised that his crimson eyes were already studying you. He put one of his hands on the back of your head, his fingers playing with your hair ever so gently.

His gaze so intense you started to turn your head away, but he gently brought it back to him. He didn’t have to open his mouth for you to understand what he was feeling—the emotion in his eyes unmistakable.

“I love you, too.” He breathed out, his hand going up to your cheek, stroking it with the back of his fingers. His hand was cold and served as a delightful compress for your burning face. “I love you more than any words could ever express.”

He reminded you of a statue under this warm, morning light, his body perfectly sculpted. The only source of color were his cheeks, blaring red, nearly matching the color of his sparkling eyes. His wet hair still bearing the paths carved by your fingers, his lips kissed and twitching, fighting off a smile, which threatened to form when he realized how intensely you were observing him.

“My home is your home, my heart is your heart. Every breath I’ve been taking ever since I met you had already been yours — the day you tell me to cease, I will gladly do so.” He continued, his breath slowly calming down, one of your hands going to stroke his chest.

“I will never tell you to cease, you little dramatic fool.” You answered playfully, blinking away your tears, your hand going to rest on his warm cheek, his face immediately nuzzling into your palm. “If anything, I would curse you to live forever. Soundly and happily, by my side.” A soft laugh came out of his lips; a start of a smile that overtook his entire face, lightening up his features, showing off his small sharp canines.

“By your side...” He repeated, his voice possessing a dream-like quality, a smirk still visible. He swiped his hand over your body: from your shoulder, through your waist, down to your hip, and then back up. His touch soothing as always. “A curse has never sounded so sweet, my little dove.” He closed his eyes, and a sigh escaped his lips. The happiness spread through his body so intensely, that he thought he was going to burst.

Live forever, by your side. There was no other place in the entire universe where he would rather be.

He felt you squirming, a crease appearing between your brows, your hand squeezing his bicep. He hissed, feeling you squeeze him down there too, his cock still buried deep inside you, your plush walls a place he never wanted to leave. However, he knew that after so much time and so many orgasms you needed a break, your body sensitive and in need of extensive pampering. Good thing he adored spoiling you with affection.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay sweetheart?” You nodded your head, a small smile on your lips. You were just too adorable. “And then I’ll put you in a warm bath, order your favorite meal and change the sheets. Any objections?”

“None at all.” He switched your position so that he was once again on top of you, and he gently pulled out, a grunt leaving his lips at the loss of the comfortable fit. You whimpered when his cum started flowing out of you freely, and he couldn’t look away, the sight making the desire in him burn once more. He stopped himself before he started showing the cum back inside you. “Will you join me in the bath too?” He looked at your face, covered in the warm sunlight, the sight making him breathless.

“I would love to, if that’s what you want.” He hugged you to himself one more time, his body covering yours completely, his face finding refuge in the crook of your neck. He grazed the delicate skin with his teeth, then pressed his lips to your pulse, his tongue picking out to lick at your salty skin. “I love you.” He whispered into your neck, basking in the feeling of your heartbeat beneath his lips. “I love you, Y/N. Thank you for showing me what love feels like. Thank you for accepting me.” His breath started going out labored, the intensity of the emotion too big for his body.

“Thank you, for letting me love you. You are the best thing that happened to me, Sylus. I hope you know that.” Your kiss to his temple and your hands caressing his back felt like a blessing, your bodies connected in a soul-crushing hug his own private oasis. Never in his life had he experienced such a moment of total tranquility; only you were capable of bringing him peace.

He never wanted to let you go, and he didn’t have to. No other thought filled him with so much joy. You were his, just as much as he was yours. An ideal exchange of souls.

“I do.” He breathed out, and looked into your loving eyes once again. You smiled at him, and he felt his breath being punched out of him, his ruby eyes fluttering. He shook his head and reciprocated the smile, which quickly turned into a full laugh, your bodies shaking, hearts beating in unison. “I truly do.”

Your lips found his in a kiss that tasted like a promise—of a hand to hold, body to warm up to, and a heart that beat for one another. In every life, every universe, and in every space and time—now, and forevermore.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡ bonus! ˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

“So, which one finally did it?” You asked him nonchalantly, when you were both freshly washed up, lying on the new, pleasurably chilly sheets, basking in the afternoon sunlight. Too exhausted to raise, too happy to fall asleep after the whole night of making love.

His head on your chest stirred slightly, a confusion slowly overtaking his features.

“Hmm?” He opened his eyes, but he didn’t find it in himself to raise. His arms holding your body close to his, tightening their hold, a signal he hoped would make you continue the caress of his back with your fingers.

Your skin bared a fragrance of his soap and his skin, and he felt drunk ever since he noticed it.

“The workout outfit a size too small? Or those jeans at the funfair?” You continued, and his mind started to connect the dots. His eyes widened. “I knew that I would be sticking my ass out a lot that day so I made sure they were extra tight.” He heard you giggle and raised his head immediately, his gaze falling on yours.

“You—”

“What? You were making me wait forever! And don’t get me wrong…” You cupped his cheek, and he was rendered speechless. The whole time he was fighting for his sanity, trying to wait for you, restraining himself from taking you on the nearest piece of furniture — You were riling him up on purpose? “I love that you are a gentleman, and the princess treatment is really nice too, but I just couldn’t wait to have you ravish me, you know? Your girl has needs.”

He was going completely insane. He let out a hearty laugh, and shook his head in disbelief. It seemed that he underestimated you again, forgot that your desires and needs matched his almost perfectly.

And he should’ve known that the workout clothes were a bit too revealing for your liking. Fuck, he should’ve known.

“And it seems my girl is a sly little vixen.” His voice laced with humor, a smile still visible, head impossibly light. He hummed, and kissed a smile off of your plump lips, then your neck, shoulders and chest. You started trembling, and the smile he sent you this time made him look as if he was a wolf studying his pray. You gulped audibly. “Well then, if you decided to manipulate me, then I think you are ready to suffer the consequences.” His kisses reached your breasts, and he took one perky nipple into his mouth, sucking passionately. His other hand grabbed at the other boob, kneading the flesh languidly.

“But it’s already bright outside, shouldn’t we—” A press of his finger on your lips hushed you, and his eyes met yours, his lips still circled around your delicate nipple. With a snap of his fingers the curtains covered the windows, cutting of the only source of light. Darkness enveloped you, making the press of his body on yours even more intimate. Your body was still on fire after the hours of tangling in sheets, every part of you sensitive and tingling under his skilled hands.

“Ah, ah. You’re trembling. Why is that, I wonder?” You heard his voice closer to your ear, and when your eyes got used to the darkness, you saw his eyes filled with mirth and something primal. His hands went slowly up your tights, their destination obvious. “I had no idea that my kitten was that starved. Now I can’t possibly leave her unsatisfied, can I?”

You felt his hands touch your warmest spot, and you let fireworks overtake you once more, your spine twisting to get closer to him. He tasted the skin on your chest again, and went down with his kisses, leaving a happy, wet trial in its wake. He raised suddenly, kissing you on the lips.

“And what about the zipper?” He asked absentmindedly into your lips, remembering the situation that nearly made him lose his mind couple of weeks ago.

“What zipper?” Your confusion truthful, your squeal loud when he suddenly plopped motionless on top of you, a sigh of exasperation leaving his mouth.

It seems that loving you was the beginning of his end, after all.

˙⟡⋆˚✿˖°⟡

thank you for your time! ♡ PLEASE let me know if you liked it, i would appreciate every single comment and engagement!!! i would be so happy to read your reactions (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

likes would be much appreciated ദ്ദി(˵ •̀ ᴗ - ˵ ) ✧

#❀˖° mochi writes!#lads sylus #l&ds sylus #sylus x you #love and deepspace fic #lads smut #love and deepspace sylus #love and deepspace fluff #love and deepspace #lnds sylus #sylus smut #sylus fluff #sylus qin #sylus #love and deepspace smut #sylus love and deepspace smut #sylus x reader #lads #love and deepspace sylus fic

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