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cynettic · 3 years ago

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hi, i hope i'm not bothering you, but i can order a Scaramouche × Kitsune reader, the two met before the vision hunt (and before he was a fatui if you want) the reader was always in the same place, sometimes having a conversation , the good old routine, but with the hunting of visions the reader disappeared not wanting to give up his own vision, and years later a reunion, SFW or NSFW is by your will, thank you, I really admire your work

Summary - Scaramouche met you as a child, growing up with the constant assurance that you would be right there, sitting at your spot where he could meet you with every visit. He isn't happy when you suddenly disappear.

Pairing - Kitsune!Reader x Yan!Scaramouche

Warning - Slight Yandere warnings?

Penpal - Ahhh- hope this is what you were looking for. I couldn't find a spot to put much nsfw unless I considered writing more for the series ( I could, just put a request in if thats what you’re looking for ). But I hope you liked it!! You're not bothering me at all and I'm glad you like my work!

A/N - Alright- so considering that with the 2.1 update with Scaramouche coming in, I just wanna state beforehand that I wrote this prior so I dont know if we learn about his backstory or anything!!

Link for Part 2

Stay With Me

Scaramouche was used to the routine he’d found himself going along with every visit to Inazuma. As a child he’d pass through the wild fields that stretched just beside his hometown, adventurous and curious with all the tenacity of a child.

And of course you, a kitsune that sat perched on the ground awaiting the Kitsune Saiguu, was bound to notice him. Unlike the other earth kitsune statues, you hadnt turned to stone during your wait. Instead, staying in the same place did you interact with travellers and the locals, which included Scaramouche.

“Fox person!” The little boy chanted, pulling at the hems of your clothing. Bright blue eyes bore into your own, and you slowly shifted your head to pay attention to the boy who was on the verge of bouncing on you.

Humming in reply to his excitement, the little boy paused, both of his small hands still tightly clasping the fabric of your clothes. Soft matted hair brushed past his face in a messy manner, calling out the boy for his boundless running and rebellious urge to keep his hair messy despite his parents wishes.

“Play with me!”

Staring at the boy only a moment longer, you simply chuckled at his antics. “I’m afraid I cannot move from the spot in which I dwell~ Perhaps I’ll be able to entertain you if you bring cards?”

But the young boy had made up his mind at the statement to which you couldn't move. A pitiful frown enfluged his face as he cast you the nastiest glare a five year old could muster. “Boring!” He shouted into the distance of the fields, dramatically turning on his heels and bouncing up into a sprint away. You watched his small figure fade away into the background, absentmindedly sighing and returning to your mindless thoughts.

As a child, Scaramouche would pass by you fairly often. Frequent when he asked you to play with him, and storming away with the same expression when you denied him. Nothing out of the ordinary, you’d lived for an exceptional amount of time, and even though grumpy children were not your specialty, you’d grown accustomed to their behaviour.

Growing up, Scaramouche got no better. You soon noticed his violent tendencies before they became an issue, the way the children shied away from him when playing Temari. Hiding in front of a tough exterior, he scared them away and laughed, approaching you later with tearful sob.

“Will you play with me?” He asked again, trying to hide the fact that he still wept when the other children pushed him away.

But your answer stayed the same, helping him wipe his tears and coaxing him into your arms. Not the first time you’d made contact with a human, but the first time you held them in such an affectionate manner.

It was clear Scaramouche was beginning to see you as some sort of pillar of reassurance when he began running away from home to simply ask to be held. You always welcomed him with open arms, urging him to head back to his household and sort things out. There was no harm in simply providing love and comfort for a child who received none was there?

“Now now, hurry back home little one. Your parents must be growing awfully worried if you’re out by this time at night.”

“My parents dont care about me!”

Darkness slowly pooled into the fields, an obscure shade covering the two of you from the tree you were under. Biting back form your normal emotionless statements, you pondered for something to soothe and convince the boy. Misunderstandings and hardships were normal from what youd seen with children, and you could only offer your hand on his shoulder, a promise. “Go back, I promise to stay here if anything further happens. But you shold give them another chance dont you think?”

And so he’d sprint back to his hometown, and you wouldnt hear from him again till he ran up right up to you a few days later. Begging you to play a game with him. The normal you supposed, and with a grin that seemed to stretch wider with every day, you told him the same thing you told him every single time.

“You cant move?!” Scaramouche nearly yelled one time, tiny fists curling at his side. “Thats… thats stupid!”

“It is isnt it?” You only smiled in response.

Unsatisfied with your response, he clawed your arm, pulling you with all his might. Strong, you realized with surprise that he was much stronger than most children his age. Easy enough to tug away from, but strong enough to take you off guard.

Snapping your hand back to your side, you narrowed your eyes. You weren't angry… no, you hadnt felt strong feelings like that after the disappearance of the Kitsune Saiguu. “Do not attempt to move me,” was your curt response, said in the most stern voice you’d used with the boy.

He’d looked at you only a few seconds longer before bursting into tears, turning away and running. You didn't feel regretful for defending yourself, only turning once more with a tired sigh to stare at the distance.

But just as you stayed ageless, Scaramouche grew older. Still, crossing each others pass was inevitable when you sat in the plains, just alongside the path that lead to his hometown.

With a permanent scowl that seemed to stain his face, he still seemed to have mature a tad bit. Maybe hadnt improved in the social department, because he now scared children and adults and alike, but more mature…

“Hm? Whats this?”

Once again, sitting criss cross under the large tree that provided the perfect shade on sunny days, you stared at the boy expectantly. His hands hesitated at your question, but he resumed shuffling. “Cards,” he simply said in response.

A small featherlike feeling flitted across your chest, making you feel lighter and… almost ticklish. A small smile crossed your face, and you recognized the emotion to be one of adoration. For him to have remembered words you’d spoken years ago, it gave you a warmth you’d sorely missed. A warmth akin to watching him and the other children grow up.

“Ew, dont smile like that, its creepy.”

Swatting at his head, he frowned further when you laughed. “You’re more mature,” you pointed out, lazily leaning back. “You need to work on your people skills though, as someone who hasnt moved in years, thats pitiful that I know more than you.”

“Shut it!”

But as he grew up, you hardly got to see much of him. He’d reached your height and then fully disappeared, leaving no goodbye. And much as you hated to admit it, you hardly noticed, not when days passed in a flurry. You were used to being by yourself, entertaining the kids and greeting the people that passed by.

Sometimes, there’d be the reminder of the warmth he’d given you. But it was quickly overshadowed by your duty to remain seated in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. A dedication kept in its earnest, but beginning to dwindle.

Inazuma was beginning to change.

“The vision decree…” you repeated, staring at the traveller who’d mentioned it to you. “Care to elaborate?”

The new archon threatenening to take away visions from every inhabitant of Inazuma. It was preposterous, so much that you didnt move. Your vision meant the world to you, but so did the Kitsune Saiguu. You werent sure just how you weighed the two till you saw civilians passing by you, ones you recognized, ones that didnt recognize themselves.

It was snowing, cold snowflakes melting into your skin while your hair soaked in the water. Unflinching, you hummed to a little tune, awaiting someone to pass you so that you could attempt to strike a conversation of somesort. The unnatural weather distanced all who entered the field though, and you simply waited. For the Kitsune Saiguu, for someone, or for some form of entertainment, you didnt know. You Slowly closing your eyes, you decided not to care.

“Im gone for five years and you’re still sitting here like a dumbass.”

Eyes snapping open, you find yourself face to face with a complete stranger. Dark purple hair with dark blue eyes, piercing and dangerous in a way you dont recognize at all. Fancy clothing that you cant identify or put a name on.

The boy took a step towards you, crouching down to stare at you directly. His eyes scanned over your figure briefly, and he brushed the snow out of your hair and ears with one flick of his hand. In the next, he was offering a coat to you. “Take it, you’re probably getting cold.”

You leaned forward, ignoring the coat he offered you. Gently, you raised your hand to brush the hair from his eyes, centred on the way his pupils widened. Offering a small moment of surprise and one glimpse into the small childlike blue eyed wonder he was. “Kiddo,” you breathed, pulling your hand back and scanning him once again. “You’ve grown.”

“And you havent.”

Snickering at his comment, you took the coat. You didnt need it, but he looked like he didnt either. He was already wearing clothing that kept him warm, and with careful observation and an untouched coat, you settled on the fact that he’d brought it here. Brought the coat here for you.

“Still havent improved with those social skills of yours have you?”

He scoffed, letting himself fall back till he was sitting fully. “I dont want to hear it from someone who refuses to move an inch for years. Lazy ass.”

You open your mouth to retort, but instead laugh at his comment, shaking your head. “Gained some humour on your journeys have you? Bad words too it seems. Anyways...” He had sat down, which meant that he meant fully well to sit, chat, and catch up. That familiar warmth filled your chest, a contrast between the cold snow. “Welcome back.”

It wasnt often that Scaramouche visited Inazuma, but when he did, he was sure to visit you. The two of you would sit down for hours, talking about the most trivial topics. He never mentioned what he did in his time away, and you never asked.

But things began to go downhill when news of the vision decree finally took action.

“Its no joke anymore! The Raiden Shogun has taken custody of almost a hundred visions!”

In that moment you made your decision, weighing your vision over the Kitsune Saiguu. Awfully selfish you knew, but you’d spent decades sitting there in wait.

And for the first time you sat up from your position on the ground, clumsily stumbling upright but gaining balance. It takes a few steps until you’re back to normal, and you begin your journey in order to escape the Raiden Shogun’s vision hunt decree.

_-_-_-_

You didnt expect to see him again.

Long grass tickled at the skin of your legs, making you adjust your footing to no avail. Sun slowly descending past the mountains to mark the start of an evening and the soon approaching night. A normal day of exploring the mountains and islands of Inazuma, observing the constant changing situation, and running away from the vision decree like a favourite past-time.

With the exception of a firm grip on your wrist.

Dark purple like hair, same hate brimmed eyes and lavish clothing. You recognized Scaramouche the moment he had appeared, looking just as surprised as you were. That being before he snatched your wrist and snarled, “You.”

You wouldve considered it pure luck to find him, an unexpected reunion with someone you actually remembered. But no, his tone had some predatorial edge to it that had you cringing. Hard. “Yes, its me.” You answered back with a frown, trying to loosen his hold. “Nice to see you too, is something the matter?”

He only seemed confused at your words, pulling you closer.

“Something the matter?” He asked as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Well, to start, you’re not sitting at your damn spot.”

Taken aback for a moment, you wondered if that sole fact was what drove the boy to such lengths. Surely he couldn't be so troubled over the fact that you moved… “The vision hunt decree, I'm sure I mentioned that I was sticking around in wait for the Kitsune Saiguu. I decided to wander around and avoid the conflict until I could settle back.”

“You could’ve waited for me,” he stated almost instantly. “I could have protected you.”

You felt your brows furrow quizzically. “Wait for you? Why in the world would I-”

“Why wouldn't I?” He pushed you closer till he could fully grab both wrists, taking a step closer as if his words would resonate clearer in your head. “You took care of me as a child, it would only be fair for me to repay the favour.” But he only seemed to be looking for excuses. “And besides, you can't just up and leave… I didn't know.”

Before you could interject with the obvious answer that he didn't need to know, you stopped. You’d lived decades, nearly centuries if you’d kept count, and you had learned to read people's expressions even when you’d stayed away from them for so long. He didn't know. It hit you in the most unpleasant way that he wasn't aware that it was none of his concern. To him, you were just another thing he needed to keep track of, something he had control over. His face basically screamed, ‘I depended on you to stay in that place.’

Deep breath in and out. You’d lived long, longer than him, you could deal with a child throwing a tantrum.

“Don't worry,” you gestured to the vision ta your side. “I'm strong enough to protect myself, I appreciate your concern, but I’ll be back when the vision decree ends.”

Unconvinced, he pulled you closer, just until your faces were mere inches away from each other. “No,” he said in a stern voice. “I’d rather you by my side, where I can protect you. I hate to question what you’re capable of, but you’ve been sitting down for as long as I’ve known you for.”

“I’ve lived decades more than you,” a simple reply, hopefully enough to get by him. You snatched your hands back with ease, ears flinching slightly when a cold breeze swept past you. But you stayed firm, not wanting to look vulnerable against the imposing air he had around him.

Still unconvinced. “You’re coming with me.”

“No I’m not.”

You’d known him as a kid, watched him grow up along with all the other small ones in his hometown. And maybe you admit you cared a smudge bit about the warmth he gave you when settling down to play cards, but he was different. He had changed in the worst way and you weren't about to deal with it.

“So you’re not coming with me voluntarily?” He asked softly, taking a small step to which you responded by stepping back. He had his hands up, as if telling you he wouldn't hurt you. But the way he said voluntarily sent shivers up your spine.

“No.” Hand on your vision, you held your own hand up threateningly.

He took his time when tilting his head, taking a deep breath in, and then appearing in front of you in just a short stride. Too quick to react, you hesitated before you could attack him. You didn't want to hurt him, he was still a child in your eyes, and you paid the consequences for that. He slid his hand just along your neck, and a jolt of electricity seemed to thrum inside you just as you collapsed in his arms.

Scaramouche was quick to catch you, hoisting you up into his arms dearly. “I do hope you’ll come to understand,” he said softly, cradling your unconscious form in his arms. Making sure not to crush your tail when carrying your legs, he looked past the mountains, sigh resting on his lips.

Because Scaramouche liked to have control of the things he held dear. Like keeping all your valuables neat and tidy in a closet, he was happy knowing you were safe and stable in that spot you always sat on.

And he couldn't have you moving could he?

#genshin impact #genshin headcanons #genshin oneshot #genshin fanfic #genshin scaramouche #genshin scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact x reader #cynshealthysfw #genshin fluff

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taeyamayang · 2 years ago

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hi pea!!! i am joining your 1k event!

I choose Suna from haikyuu. the numbers i choose are 7, 13 & 3. thank you!

I hope you are doing okayyy! Congratulations for 1k!♡

Can we do another entry too?

Ps: i hope it isnt angstt ending!😦

a/n: hello hello!! it's lovely to see you in my ask box 🥰 thank you for joining and i hope you like this one tho your last request may... not... (:

and yes! you may do another entry :D

• suna rintarou ; flings

• fall seasonㅡpumpkin patch

• hurt/sad/tragic ending

---

fallen leaves, cinnamon dusted coffee, and long coats. fall could have been so much better if you were with him but unfortunately, as he said, he couldn't make it today. he told you that he has errands to run for the day. although, from the tone of his voice and the way his face crumpled in an expression you are unfamiliar with lets you know that suna may not like your idea; he's making up excuses not to come.

from how he reacted you figured that pumpkin picking may be the lamest first date for him. as the thought grows in your head, you begin to feel the embarrassment crawling up to your face. why did you have to ask him out to an event that does not fit his style?

on top of of that, you remember the way one corner of his lips tugs up, tongue rolling on his lips as he softy huffs. he hides a sneer behind the lid of the porcelain cup as he gazes at you through his lashes, eyes pierced through your unguarded state.

"i'm sorry but i am not free on that day and i just want to ask..." he trails off, cocking a brow as his face wrinkles to a look you are never fond of. "what do you think of us?"

his question gobbles your mind since the day he asked. you assumed that sharing intimate nights with him means that you have taken your relationship to the next level but with how he threw you off guard with his question coupled with a belittling a smirk on his face, you are gradually convinced that maybe you are being played.

but you also remember the candied words he said to you the same day you asked him out. he was sweet and his actions proved it but still you are bothered with doubts even though he told you that it's only you.

your sibling might have sensed your focus fleeting away from the pumpkin picking event. hence, they pulled your coat to get your attention. you shake off the negativity clouding your head and try to enjoy the event with your overly-excited younger sibling, which you find endearing.

not long, your attention was snatched by a vendor calling out for costumers and as you whip your head up, to your surprise your vision lands on a person other than the man behind the stall. his tall figure, slim yet well-built, hair roughly styled with gel, and his side profile that once made your heart beat so fast that it almost feel like it jump out of your chest. you can never be wrong.

suna?

what is he doing here? i thought he's busy-

your internal monologue was cut off when your orbs spots a woman next to him. her hand wrapped around his arm as she enchants him with beguiling eyes.

"kiss me, rintarou." she coos, pouting her lips as she gently wriggles her body in a flirty manner.

just as he was about to cave in, electricity shoots in your veins as your eyes meet. as you are stunned and unable to utter a word, suna keeps his eyes on you for a brief moment before leaning towards the woman. and as if he lacked mercy, he kisses her with eyes wide-open. without a sense of empathy, he watches your heart break into pieces, twisting it dry and dead until you no longer feel anything as he finally shuts his eyes to deepen the kiss with one arm pulling the woman closer to his body.

a/n: i've never written anything related to cheating nor toxic relationships 'cause i want to keep my works (as much as possible) light hearted BUT DAMN THIS *dramatically sucks air* i'm sorry yall but i... kinda enjoyed writing this gemdbs lmaoo

side note: genshin players, i couldn't be the only one who read "fallen leaves" in kazuha's voice, right? lol

masterlist | hq.list | join the event!

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #suna rintarō #suna x y/n #suna x reader #suna angst #suna hurt #hq suna #hq romance #hq fanfiction #hq drabbles #hq imagine #hq hc #suna oneshot #suna drabble #haikyuu suna #suna headcanons #pea.writes #pea.event

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letsasoiaftogether · 3 years ago

Text

Roose Bolton Imagine Pt. 2

Imagine....the aftermath of your first encounter with the Leech Lord

Pt I

Word Count: 4,042

Warning: Smut about halfway through? Small bits of degradation/name calling? rustily written Roose???

A/N: here’s to hoping the last two imagines I’ve posted are a sign of what’s to come (I’d REALLY love to be able to post long one shots multiple times a week again!) I hope you all enjoy!!

(gif isnt mine!)

“Who’s to say the lion would even want you back?”

Nothing further was said between the two of you after that and you were shown back to your room by a guard. You didn’t protest, not even a little bit, and you even ate the now-cold meal that had been left for you on the suggestion of the guard who seemed to take a great offense that you hadn’t touched it. He probably thought you were some spoiled young woman who was doing nothing but wasting the time of everyone in Harrenhal.

You barely slept that night and the next day you remained in your room, too preoccupied with trying to figure out exactly what Lord Bolton had meant to be bored.

The next few weeks passed quickly and in a blur. You stayed mostly in your chambers, eventually you were given books to read once you had finally swallowed your pride and asked for them.

Every day Lord Bolton would come and talk with you; he didn’t talk too much, often speaking just enough to make small jabs at your family - your siblings, especially. He seemed to enjoy making comments that made you defensive; after all, those were the moments where you forgot that you were playing some game of cat and mouse with him, and you would let slip small, vital facts about yourself - things you wouldn’t dare tell anyone if you could help it. The Northern Lord clung to the details about your marriage and your life at the Rock; prying back every layer of steel you had wrapped around your heart until his hand was just inches away from the most personal thoughts and feelings and experiences of your life.

It was the first day of week three when everything came to a head…where the lines of captivity blurred with your desires to be seen and understood for who you really were, and not just for a lioness of Casterly Rock with mines full of gold and expensive tastes in clothes and jewels.

The castle was gloomy, as it always was, but on a rare occasion you found yourself in the Lord’s study, standing next to the window in silence waiting for him to arrive.

He had summoned you there half an hour earlier, but you hadn’t been surprised to find him absent. It was the usual time of day where he was shut away in his chambers with his former-maester, Qyburn and was leeched. He was also, at the same time, holding a council of sorts with a few Freys and others you hadn’t learned the names of.

You were grateful to have been brought to the study instead of his chambers; you were quite certain you would have bolted right back to your chambers and died of humiliation if you had to see the man in a state of undress.

Still, the longer you stood there the more bored you became.

Your gaze kept playing a dangerous game; flickering every few moments toward the desk where a few small rolls of parchment laid. They were messages. The ravens had arrived that morning - you had watched them fly toward the castle from your chambers.

Your curiosity had always been a problem for you. More times than you could count you found yourself scolded by your Father and Uncles for impatiently asking what their own correspondences had entailed.

You had been staring back and forth from the letters to the window for the last five or so minutes, fighting against the urge to cross the room and greedily devour the information from the outside world.

What harm could be done from you taking a small peek at the parchments? It wasn’t like you could do anything with the information you learned.

If they were from the King in the North or others of his army, you would have information from them but no way of sharing the information with your Father’s forces - you would never be able to make it to rookery to begin with and never in time for the information to be of any use.

If the letters were from the Dreadfort, then they wouldn’t be of any use to you except for giving some insight into how his inferiors speak to him, but that had already been made very clear to you over the past three weeks.

And other than those, who else could be sending Lord Bolton ravens?

Slowly, keeping an ear out for any and all noises in the hall, you stepped away from the window and over to the desk.

Your heart was pounding in your chest with excitement and anxiety as the tips of your fingers brushed over the first of three small rolls of parchment. For just a small moment you were happy. The thought and memory of parchment, its smell and the feeling of it against your hand, always gave you a sense of calm. Like Tyrion, you enjoyed reading so very much. And in your youth you had even taken to writing poetry whenever you could. It was a favorite pastime of yours; one that you had neglected for too many years as you helped your father rule the Westerlands as the de facto Lady of the Rock.

Pausing to listen for the sound of approaching footsteps, you unrolled the parchment and quickly read its contents. There was nothing of importance or interest. It was simply from the Maester back at the Dreadfort giving Lord Bolton an update on how things were going back North. There was a mention of a “Lord Ramsay” but you didn’t give too much thought to the name of a random northern lord.

The second letter was the same; a report of some sort that almost appeared coded in the way there was clearly an important message involved but nothing you could be completely certain of. While you were curious, it wasn’t enough to make you want to ask Lord Bolton directly about the contents.

Lastly, there was the third piece of parchment and the moment you unrolled it your eyes widened.

The contents inside were in Lord Bolton’s own hand; he must have pocketed the last message he received and immediately begun a reply.

The letter wasn’t complete and was rather detailed about the Lord’s intentions for the foreseeable future. From betraying the Stark boy-king to becoming Warden of the North. It was out of character for him to express himself so boldly and out in the open for anyone to see should the raven be intercepted. Not only that, but the only way he could become Warden of the North in more than just name was if he aligned himself with the Iron Throne - with your family - and if he had done that then…

Why am I still a hostage?

There was no way he had informed your father of your whereabouts. Tywin Lannister began to assault the Riverlands when his youngest son (the one he despised above all else) was taken prisoner by Lady Stark and her father’s bannermen. There was no doubt he would rain hell down upon those who laid even a finger on his second daughter and heir.

Father doesn’t know I’m here and in the clutches of a Northman whom…appears to be in cahoots with the Hand of the King to topple the Stark reign for good.

But then that only brought more questions. The biggest being why Lord Bolton would leave this half done message out in the open for anyone to read if they had the curiosity and ability to do so?

The obvious reason was that because he enjoyed his games and wanted to see who he could trust, but that could only be revealed if the person who read the letter did something with the information.

Unless, of course, it was meant specifically for you to find and read. No doubt, Lord Bolton had gotten rather good at reading your body language by now.

The sound of footsteps and softly clanking armor caught your attention and as quickly as you could, you placed the parchment back where it had been and moved back to the window. Your every sense was on high alert as the door opened and shut behind you.

“My apologies, My Lady. The meeting ran longer than expected.” As usual, his voice was light and airy. He spoke so nonchalantly, almost emotionless really.

You turned to watch him move from the door to his desk; his pale eyes flickering over the contents before returning to you.

He was waiting for a response and it took all you had to offer a light, tight smile and say, “All is forgiven, My Lord. I understand the importance of such things.”

A soft hum slipped from his lips as he gestured you forward, “There is a quick matter I must deal with, and then we shall have lunch together.”

Lunch.

It had become a regular thing for the two of you the past week. Not a lot was said and he was often pulled away to handle things before you had even finished eating, but it was a bit of normalcy and routine you found yourself clinging to.

“Of course, My Lord.” You allowed your feet to carry you toward him until you stood at the side of his desk, only a foot’s worth of space away from him. You were hyper aware of the half-finished letter as his hand brushed over it. You hadn’t rolled it back up as tightly as it had been in your haste to not be caught holding it, and you knew he had noticed.

Just as you were suddenly cursing yourself in realization.

Why would he have rolled up a piece of parchment he hadn’t finished writing on unless it was his way of catching you in the act?

After all, you were the only one in there that could have unrolled it. No servants would enter without the Lord present. Not unless they wanted to end up in the dungeons being flayed alive.

You were so preoccupied with your internal panic that you nearly missed the tsk that slipped from Lord Bolton’s lips. As the sound registered, you met his gaze and you knew that you were doomed.

“My, my, someone has been very naughty.” the Northman hummed and your entire being froze.

Your body’s reaction surprised you more than him saying the words did.

Breath catching in the back of your throat, your thoughts immediately went to activities you had never really cared for.

Having become a widow at such a young age, and refusing to have careless flings like Tyrion and a few of your cousins, the thought of sexual acts hadn’t really crossed your mind in nearly a decade.

You certainly wouldn’t have ever imagined you would be envisioning such things involving Roose Bolton.

You still weren’t, truly, doing so. But your body was reacting to his words and there was a certain heat spreading over you as you realized just how long it had been for you.

“You’ve been conspiring with my father.” They were the only words you could think to say, your voice shaking.

“And?”

And…

And what? What else was there to say?

If he hadn’t given you back to your Father already, nothing you could say now that you had read the letter could make him.

“And…send me to King’s Landing or Casterly Rock. If you’re working with my father, then there’s no reason for me to be your hostage. Write to him. Tell him you found me amongst bandits. Send me back to him and I won’t breathe a word about what really happened.”

It wasn’t that you had been treated poorly. In fact, Lord Bolton seemed to pull out all the stops in order to make you as comfortable as possible in such a gloomy place. But you missed the Rock. You wanted to be home in your mother’s memorial garden. You wanted to do your duty as Lady of the House in your father’s absence alongside your aunt Genna, Uncle Damon, and all your cousins.

Above all else, you wanted to have some control over what happened to you. The fact you were at the complete mercy of a dangerous stranger, one you knew next to nothing about even after nearly a month, had eaten you alive every waking second.

And, to be honest, it ate at your pride to be a Lannister captive. It felt as if your family was being mocked at every angle, and although you were able to swallow it often, your pride had been pricked and left to fester.

“No.”

It was one word, but it was enough to spark the temper you rarely felt.

The slap you delivered onto his left cheek stung your hand as much as you hoped it stung him, but it was worth it to watch his pale skin turn a soft shade of red.

“I have been patient, and I have stood complacent and allowed you to play whatever game you felt entitled to play, but I am bored and tired of being here.” you hissed, slapping your hands down on the desk “Send me home, My Lord, now!”

A deathly silence filled the room and even though you knew you had messed up, you didn't need to look into those pale, ghost gray eyes to know that, you were too angry to back down from him.

Instead, you met his gaze with a deviant glare and put your hands on your hips, refusing to budge no matter how long he stared down at you.

And then he moved, closing the gap between the two of you.

His hand was on your arm, moving your body as if you weighed nothing to slam your back against the desk.

His other hand wrapped tightly around your throat as his lips found your ear.

His breath was cold on your hot skin as he hissed, "I had hoped you would have learned your place by now. You disappoint me, Y/n." For the first time ever, you heard something resembling anger in his tone.

"Let me go." You wheezed out, his hand around your neck making it difficult to breathe.

Your hands pressed against his chest trying to push him away to no avail. Just as you had figured on your first day at Harrenhal, he didn't appear strong in any manner, but he was when he needed/wanted to be.

His grip only tightened until your head began to pound and you were seconds away from losing consciousness.

And then it loosened, moving to tangle in your hair instead.

"I had hoped to do this more…gently." Lord Bolton sighed as he finally released your arm and moved his hand from your collarbone down to your lower stomach.

"My Lord…" your breath fluttered as his fingers brushed, ever so briefly, between your breasts before continuing down to your stomach.

You were angry and your head hurt, your neck would most certainly be bruised by that night, but just as it had earlier, your body was reacting to his words as well as his touch (no matter how aggressive it was).

"Undo your gown, Y/n."

“Wha-what?” you squeaked out, eyes widening as your cheeks flushed a bright red.

You had known for some time what his intentions were, but the longer you were at Harrenhal you had begun to think he had changed his mind. Even knowing it was a possibility, him being so up front with his demand was enough to temporarily catch you off guard.

He just raised a brow in response. As if he was silently asking if he should undress you himself.

Teeming with both fear and some measure of excitement, you moved your arms behind your back and tugged at the strings that held your gown in place.

You let the dress pool at your ankles as you grabbed the hem of your shift, pausing to throw a hesitant look in Lord Bolton’s direction.

He answered only with a small roll of his index finger before moving to sit down in the wooden chair behind the desk.

I could run for it. Right now. Even if just back to my chambers.

There was no reason you had to give in so easily. It wasn’t like he could do too much damage to your body; not if he wanted to remain in the good graces of your father and the crown.

No reason except…

Except that I want this. I want him.

There in that castle, in that room, was your only chance to have something you would never be able to get away with back at the Rock. Your Father watched your every step too closely. Ever since your husband had passed and you were brought back home, you were never alone. You knew your every word and movement was spoken to the Warden of the West. It was how your father knew of your complaints and wishes and doings before you could express them to him yourself.

But Harrenhal…while you had been brought there as a captive, Lord Bolton hadn’t treated you unfairly and other than that moment right there he had never laid his hands on you (other than to place a hand to your lower back as the two of you walked together or to hold your hand as you took your seat at the table). While you were a hostage, you also had a level of freedom to speak your mind and you didn’t have to watch every word you uttered to make sure you wouldn’t be called an imbecile or make your family believe you weren’t qualified to rule the West after your Father passed on.

For the first time in your life, you truly had a say in something.

You could go along with Lord Bolton and take part in what he was silently assuring you was about to happen, or you could fight it and resist which would be pointless since you both wanted it. Perhaps for different reasons…but it was all the same in the end, really.

Making up your mind, you took in a deep breath and lifted your shift over your head. It dropped to the floor as you stepped out of your gown, half confident and half self-conscious with your nakedness.

“Sit,”

You followed the gesture of his hand to his desk and smirked ever so slightly to yourself as you did as he commanded, the cold of the wooden desk on your bottom barely phasing you compared to the flush across your body.

Sitting forward, Lord Bolton’s hands brushed from your knees up to your hip bones - holding you in place. Your heart skipped a beat when he began to lean forward, your body fully aware of what he was about to do.

“My Lord,” you breathed out just before his lips were pressed against your most intimate parts.

You repeated his title, this time in a whimper as your hands came up to cling to his - your nails digging into the back of them.

It was pleasurable, but there was no gentleness about it - especially when his top and bottom row of teeth pinched down onto your clit causing you to cry out in pain.

The Northern Lord continued his oral assault until right before you fell over the edge. Just as you brought a hand up to claw at the back of his neck, your body shaking from the release rushing for the finish line, Lord Bolton pulled away and stood - his lips and chin glistening with your juices as a wicked smirk tugged across his face. His pale eyes were full of amusement and hubris as he wiped his face with his sleeve.

Pouting, you reached out and grabbed at his belt. When you weren’t met with any resistance, you quickly unhooked it and pushed his trousers down ever so slightly to free his length.It was...average, you supposed, although you only had one other to compare it with and you refused to tarnish your late husband’s memory by doing so.

There were no thoughts on your end of what you would do after this.

You didn’t care about the consequences. In fact, it was quite a thrill to be doing something with a consequence that could absolutely ruin your life. Although, you weren’t sure you would care much. You had longed for a child of your own ever since you had lost your first pregnancy a year into your marriage. You had no preference for a bastard or legitimate heir. With your father as Hand of the King, your child would be legitimized easily enough if it ever became an issue.

Your only true thought was having Lord Bolton inside of you.

"Who's to say the lion would even want you back?"

Lord Bolton's words from three weeks earlier came back to you then and you couldn't help but smirk.

Who's to say the lion would have to be told?

The first thrust of Lord Bolton's hips brought a delicious pain to your body that had you moaning and spreading your thighs further apart, giving him more room to move closer and further inside.

Nothing was said between the two of you.

The room was filled with nothing but moans and the sound of skin slapping against skin. Lord Bolton's hands remained on your thighs, his nails digging into your skin and drawing blood. Your hands moved to his back, your nails digging into the fabric of his shirt wishing he was as naked as you.

You were very certain his skin would have looked beautiful covered in scratches.

You came twice before he did. It had been too long since you had had a release and your body was all too ready to chase that high. With each orgasm, the man buried inside of you grew more and more brutal in his thrusts - to the point you knew your insides would be sore for days after.

"I'm going to put a bastard in your belly, Y/n." Lord Bolton panted as his thrusts grew erratic and his jaw clenched. "I'm going to put a bastard in your belly and you'll have no choice but to become my pretty little wife."

His words barely registered but you responded with a moan and a plea.

Yes. Yes. Please, My Lord, please.

You felt his cock twitch and you felt the moment his seed spilled into you.

The feeling of it pushed you over the edge once more and your body shook with yet another orgasm.

"Fuckkk," you screamed, throwing your head back as your back arched forward, pushing your chest toward him.

Lord Bolton's lips attached themselves to your right nipple, biting and tugging at the sensitive nub only causing you to moan more and to try and pull away - your whole body over sensitive as you continued to come down from your release.

He chuckled and it was only as you slumped forward that he pulled his mouth away and withdrew his cock from your cunt.

His fingers replaced it, holding his seed inside of you.

"What a little slut." He murmured and your only response was a proud, tired smirk.

With a sigh, he placed a brief kiss to your lips before pulling away to put his clothes back into order.

You watched him and moved to climb down from the desk when he tsked, stopping you in your tracks.

Confused, you met his gaze.

"We're not done. We have to be certain that we were successful." Taking his seat, Lord Bolton wipes his hand on your leg with a soft him, "I have some work to finish up. Be a good girl and sit there." And he grabbed his quill.

You were too spent to argue, and you silently thanked him for not moving or being rude as you leaned forward and placed your face into his neck.

It was already obvious that your situation had gotten a hundred times more confusing, and while you would be concerned come the next morning, you pushed the thoughts away for now and let yourself appreciate the comfort of a man for the first time in years.

Even if that man was Roose Bolton.

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spookys-diary · 3 years ago

Text

Some of my hp unpopular opinions:

- this one isnt really unpopular (or I hope its not) but remus lupin gets the short end of the stick Constantly (specifically in his relation to harry but also just in general considering hes a werewolf and all). Like imagine teaching the kid of your dead best friend and 1. he doesnt even recognize you (although harry is stupid so...) and 2. even after he figures out that you knew his dad he doesnt even try to have a close relationship with you like he did with sirius. I get that he was harrys teacher and its a little weird to suddenly have a close relationship with him but also hes one of the only last living people who was friends with your dad and he isnt an insane fugitive. Like it sometimes feels like the only reason harry isnt as close with remus is because he isnt harrys god father like... c'mon.

- percy weasley isnt that bad of a person. like yes hes a dick and shouldnt have been on the side of the ministry but also his family constantly bullied him, not just fred and george but everyone in that family was mean to him and disrespected his work, something that he was insanely passionate about. and its shown that he holds a lot of value and pride in the ministry this shouldnt really have been as big of a surprise to the family, and everyone is susceptible to propaganda especially when they put so much value in the ministry.

- the books were written somewhat badly. like theyre great and i love them but i feel like jkr ruined a lot of things that could have been really cool. also the overuse of adverbs. like i understand using adverbs to a point and i dont agree with some people saying that you shouldnt use adverbs at all but when its after every single line of dialogue it gets too much after a while. also the plot conveniences! the most famous example probably being the time turner where they just use it and it never comes up again, but i also feel like there is a lot of things that could have been used less like polyjuice potion. in the second book polyjuice potion was like super hard to make and in the restricted books section and then they go on to use it so many other times. i guess they do have a whole potions master in the order so it would make sense that they have a store of it but it just feels like a copout most of the time.

- i dont think sirius should get so much hate for acting impulsively in the books. my man was locked up for twelve years, and not in any normal prison, no, in one where the guards literally suck away all your happiness, after he got framed for ratting out his best friend to voldemort, getting them killed, by one of his other best friends. and then when he finally got out he had to go on the run fully knowing that the murderer of his best friend is still on the loose, and starving because he was on the run. and then when he finally had a place to go after all of that it was the home of his family who abused him! and on top of that snape is constantly making fun of him for being stuck inside and not being able to do anything. and then he heard that his best friends son is in danger and cant help himself from going to save him. and somehow people hate sirius for being impulsive. (also the people who defend snape and attack sirius by saying he only sees harry as his father need to shut up because like what do you think snape does..? im not saying either of those things are right just get a different thing to hate him for. also this isnt @ people who criticize that with both parties just the people who think snape can do no wrong and then hate on other characters for doing the same things snape does)

- i dont think in the first book when dumbledore gave the win to gryffindor instead of slytherin was all that terrible. although definitely shouldnt have made it seem like the slytherins had won and then rip that away from them but the points he gave them were completely justified like its not everyday that you defeat the most powerful wizard in the world when you are 11 (even if he was less than a ghost). plus everyone knew that something happened they just didnt know what so its not like it was all that random for the other students either. was it still unfair to the slytherins? yes. was it as bad as people make it out to be? i dont think so (but i do understand if you disagree)

- (again probably not all that unpopular but) there was a serious lack of good slytherins. i think the best we got was regulus and even then he still became a death eater (largely because he was forced into it and then once he realized that the death eaters were horrible he sabotaged voldemort and sacrificed himself to protect his house elf and the wizarding world at large) + we didnt even meet him and only know about him through letters or something (cant remember exactly how we learned about him). you also have slughorn but he "collected" people which is very weird and he only cared about his students when he thought they would become powerful and help him in some way. then theres draco who barley if at all got a redemption arc, and again became a death eater (although again largely by force). then some people try to claim snape but hes just not. anyway being ambitious and cunning are not bad things and doesnt mean you are selfish or only care about stuff when it personally benefits you.

- idc why everyone is so against cho chang. like oh no shes crying after her boyfriend got murdered by a fascist *shocked face* like i agree that harry and cho should not have even tried dating after that but its clear that they both liked each other before and i feel like cho wanted to relate to harry with the murder (which is probably not the best way to deal with that but therapy in the wizarding world seems to be severely lacking)

- i like kreacher way more than dobby. kreachers vibes are just more immaculate. also is it bad if i say dobby kinda annoys me.

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cdroloisms · 4 years ago

Note

Sooo... how about that reveal that c!Sam wasn’t feeding c!Dream? I mean, we all knew it was coming, but still. The auto food dispenser probably broke or smtg bc when c!Sam came down, c!Dream asked if he was there to give them potatoes. (Also with him being shaken up by learning c!Tommy is alive, c!Sam might not remember or care to feed c!Dream, who has none of his stores of potatoes left.) So, assuming the dispenser is broken and he doesn’t know, why would he come down in the first place? 🟩⛏?

hello anon !! yeah that reveal ,, dang, we already knew that c!sam had presumably been starving c!dream, but to see not only c!dream but c!sam confirm it as well as it having lasted AT LEAST a week ,, d a n g . they are Not pulling any punches in this arc (which, i mean, judging on the q stream, isnt exactly surprising anymore,, but still)

in the prison guard stream, we see how the dispenser works - it’s not automatic as much as it’s remote, as c!sam or the prison guards still need to press a button in order to dispense food. he also says “i havent even been around to feed the prisoner” or something along those lines in tommy’s stream, so we can conclude that the decision to deprive c!dream of food after c!tommy’s death is INTENTIONAL,, which i mean. again. yikes.

anyway, here’s a snippet of c!dream finding out that the “automatic” feeder isnt as automatic as he might’ve thought - here, the dispenser + crying obsidian are installed at around the same time, so it’s between bad and sapnap’s visit

tw: starvation, disordered eating, abuse, mental illness, self-hatred, toxic relationship, gaslighting, disturbing imagery, dark content, c!sam/warden!sam critical (again, be careful with the content warnings)

Dream stares up at the hole in the obsidian, barely able to make out a glint of metal in the dark chute. The dispenser, just as expected, doesn’t respond to his glare, refuses to whir and click in the way that indicates food, and Dream bites his tongue, mumbles curses under his breath.

“Prick,” he blows a breath through his gritted teeth, only more irrationally angry when the dispenser, as expected, ignores him. “Some automatic dispenser, Warden.”

The walls don’t respond. Nothing responds, here, besides the dark dark thoughts swirling in his brain, and he thinks he’d prefer it if those didn’t - or maybe he doesn’t, because company is company, even if said company is the same litany of blood anger revenge pain you deserve this you deserve all of this you have destroyed the world now lie in the bed you have made pounding at the base of his skull. He drags his hand down his face; every minute is an hour, and every hour is a minute. Time has no meaning when your only frame of reference is eternity.

Even so, even he can tell that it’s been a long time since he’s had food, even by his usual standards - several days, at least, because the ever-present ache of hunger in his gut had swelled into something angrier, demanding, no longer as easy to ignore. Another stabbing round of pain nearly sends him to his knees, and just as he always he does, he clings to the feeling, gathers it into his hands, grabs it by the edges and directs the sharp edges into the words he spits at the indifferent walls. Let the Warden hear him - what can he possibly do?

Just as it always does, the fury in him peters out, drains, leaves him alone in the middle of his cell. He sinks the ground, arms wrapped around his stomach; a part of him wants to laugh at the irony. Some people think of silence as emptiness, void; he knows now that it’s anything but. Silence is suffocating, thick, so present that anything he says seems to get lost within it seconds after leaving his mouth. It grows and pushes into his limbs, becomes a weight tied around his throat, expands into the air in his lungs like a slowly inflating balloon until it’s pressed into every corner and space of the cell, every corner and space of him, taking up so much room that he can hardly breathe around it.

The hunger hollows him out, and the silence fills the space that’s left; Dream wonders how much more there is for him to lose before he’s completely empty, just a husk filled with the same liquid misery that drips down the walls. He wonders if anyone would care- laughs. As if.

“Dream.” The intercom crackles; Dream perks up at the voice, spine straightening against his will, and his hands tighten into fists as he realizes - prime, how pathetic is he, now? The voice deepens, becomes more insistent. “Prisoner.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here. Or maybe I’m not; you better come and check, yeah?” A humorless smile tugs at his lips, and a static-filled sigh comes through the speaker.

“This isn’t the time for games, Dream.”

Dream rolls his eyes. It’s not exactly the time to be a dick, either, but you don’t see me complaining. A flutter of something warm, joyful, rises in his chest at the sound of something- someone, other than his own voice, and he strangles it with a hand wrapped around his own throat - he won’t let them break him, won’t let himself become desperate enough to crave the attention of a man that hates him - he won’t- he can’t-

“Do you need something? Or were you yelling at the wall for no reason again?” Sam’s voice is steely, indifferent, on a knife’s edge between apathy and anger. “Don’t waste my time, prisoner.”

Dream bites down the snarky reply sitting on his tongue, breathes in, out through his nose until the fury is no longer blinding.

“Your fancy automatic jig is broken. The potato one. It’s not- working.” The hunger fogs his mind, makes it hard to think. He feels caged and weak and pathetic and he hates it.

“That’s because it’s not automatic.” Footsteps echo on the speakers, Dream tapping along to the rhythm before he realizes and stops himself, and a moment later the familiar whirring and clicking of the metal box comes from behind him and a small pile of potatoes fall down and splash into the water. “There. Is that all?”

Dream feels the fury rise, again, but doesn’t quite to keep the words back, this time.

“So what was the point of the whole automatic feeder, asshole? You’ve changed nothing! What’s the difference between that thing and you coming over to my cell besides that you’ve wasted a couple stacks of redstone? Congratu-fucking-lations, you’re a goddamn genius-”

“It’s remote now, so I don’t have to come into your cell.”

“Oh, so it’s just the good ol’ Warden looking for more ways to make the prisoner suffer, huh? Should’ve figured, you fucking self-righteous prick-”

“Dream.”

His mouth shuts with a click, a flash of fear searing through his muscles, white-hot, and by the time he’s blinked back the ringing in his ears the silence has stolen all the words from him, once again. Pathetic, he screams in his head, but his jaw remains firmly locked in place - the Warden’s won, per usual, and they both know it.

“Is that all?” He sounds impatient. Part of Dream wants nothing more than to never hear his voice again, and the other half of him rails at the idea of being alone with his thoughts once more. All of him hates himself, and all of him hates the silence; they’re the only two constants in this place. “You’ll have to speak up if you want anything.”

“How- long was it, since you last gave food?”

Static for a moment, then another. “It’s only been about a day.”

“Bullshit.”

“You’d know if you took care of your clock instead of destroying it, prisoner.”

“I’d know if you were less of a fucking prick.”

“Behave, and you might get it replaced.” The Warden’s breathing is harsh, almost labored - he must be angrier than Dream thought, then. “Speaking of which, you won’t be getting any for a day after this stunt.”

“Ooh, I’m so scared. It’s not like you don’t do this - what, every other day?”

“Do you want food or not?”

Dream’s teeth grind against each other; he breathes in, out. He hates this, hates the potatoes, hates the Warden, hates himself. Hates the way that a part of him recoils at the thought of making the Warden angry at him, reaches desperately for a chance to earn his clock- his approval. Attachments are weakness, he tells his traitorous heart, knowing that it, as always, will fail to stay away.

“Yes. Thank you.” The pleasantry burns on his tongue, tastes worse than the bitterness of raw potatoes that seems to be the only thing it knows, anymore.

“Good-bye, prisoner. Don’t make me come into the cell.”

The intercom cuts off with a click, the space that the static made immediately filled by silence. Dream watches it blankly, jaw sore from how tight it had been clenched, and begins to work his way through the first potato, nibbling at the pale flesh just enough to tide over the worst of the pain.

This is fine, he tells himself, and the walls stare at him impassively. He’s not sure they believe him.

He’s not sure how much longer he can believe himself.

#tw starvation #tw disordered eating #tw abuse #tw mental illness #tw self-hate #tw toxic relationship #tw gaslighting #tw disturbing imagery #tw dark content #c!sam critical #warden!sam critical #sorry sam #but starving people is still very not pogchamp #queue <3 #long post #my writing :D #my asks !!

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kaz11283 · 3 years ago

Text

Where Were You

1) Dont You Say That....Not you

31) Your Alive

10) Where Were You When I Needed You

~~~~~

Ok so this was originally an ask but I goofed and just posted the prompts. So after saving them and trying to figure out what to write for the longest I have no idea who requested this because they were anonymous (so this is for you Anon if your out there)

Characters: you x Loki

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end, Loki being a slight asshat, hurt reader

Summary: You were Lokis only good thing that had happened in his life but when the hunger to rule over the kingdom gets the best of him and he fails where does that lead you? Your one love gone to never come back.

Announcement: I have been on a much needed LOA and after coming back I have been elbows deep trying to catch up woth everything going on at work. Was the trip worth it? Yes and i had some much needed time off with the fam and the babe. Would i do it again? In a heart beat. Did I miss work? Gods no but I did miss my little tumblr family that i have. So after a good bit of relaxing and my toes in the sand i am back!

I also wanna give a shout out to @high-functioning-lokipath for reading over this MULTIPULE times while I was freaking out about what to do!

Loki Masterlist

💚💚💚💚💚💚

~~~~~

"Loki!" You ran after him as he headed to the bit frost. "Please stop! You dont have to do this! You dont have to be someone that your not!"

"See that right there is the problem everyone seems to be having lately. Maybe this is who I am. Maybe this is who I want to be. After all Lady Y/n you are the one that has always told me that i could be anything I want to be. And I want to be king of Asguard." He said turning on you.

"Loki you are smarter than this! You are just upset about finding out who you truly are." You walked up to him and placed your hand on his cheek. You seen him almost give in before snapping back out of it.

"Ah yes, a frost giant? Someone who couldnt be loved by neither the family who abandoned me or the family that took me in." He spit the words at you.

"Loki, I love you. I have always loved you. You know that better than anyone." You grabbed at his emerald green cloak pulling at it causing him to turn around to face you with a cold look. You could tell that all emotion was gone at that point. You took a step away from him.

"You might love me but I have never truly loved you. You were mearly there to keep my bed warm at night" He said stepping closer to you. With the words came a cold creeping into your chest. Pain literally tore through your heart as they slowly sunk in.

You raised your hand and slapped him as hard as you could causing his head to jerk to the side. "Dont you say that, Loki Odinson, dont you dare compair me to one of your whores."

"Get out of my way." He said grabbing you by the shoulders and shoving you to the side. You crumpled to the cold stone floor moving your hand to your stomach as you watched the man that you had loved your entire life walk out the front of the castle.

You wasnt really sure how long you sat there crying when you looked up you could see the sun barly peeking over the horizon and you stumbled to your feet and slowly made your way back to the room you and Loki had shared.

Pushing the door open you heard a sniffle and seen Thor sitting on the bed, his head in his hands. "Thor?" He jump up off the bed and ran to you pulling you into him.

"Lady Y/n! I didn't know what had happened to you. I thought.... I thought that he might have done something before....before." He pulled you away to look at your face.

"Before what Thor?" He turned away from you a tear trailing down his face. "Before what Thor?!" You yelled.

"He fell." Your heart sank, emptyness filled you with the darkest feeling you would have never thought possible. You stumbled to the nearest chair and collapsed into it barely feeling the warmth of the fire that was slowly dying out. "I looked for you after. I couldnt find you, I thought that maybe he had done something, but I knew that he would never do anything to hurt you."

"Thor, I have to tell you something that not even Loki knew." You stared directly into the flames watching as they slowly died as the sun rose higher in the sky. "I was waiting till this was all over but now I wont get a chance to tell him." You take a deep breath and look up at him. "I'm pregnant. I am going to have his baby and he isnt even here to do this with me." You placed your head in your hands and started to cry.

"We will figure this out Lady Y/N. We cannot let father know but we can tell mother and she will help us." Thor said pulling you up from the chair and rushing from the room.

~~~~

Two years later

~~~~

You sat with your daughter in the all mothers garden waiting for your husband to arrive.

"Astrid, please dont chase the cat." You called watching her almost grab its tail. The almost two year old stopped to look back at you and giggle before taking off again. She was so much like her father with her black hair and green eyes along with her always trying to cause trouble.

"Lady Y/N, your husband will be arriving soon. He asked that you meet him in the throne room, but let one of the maids take the princess back to your living quarters." One of the guards called walking into the garden.

"She is always there to greet him when he returns. What could possibly keep him from wanting her there?" You asked as your daughter ran up to you giggling.

"Dada." She cooed clinging to your leg.

"He has brought a prisoner and he doesnt think that she should be there. He hopes that you will understand, and that once everything is said and done he will be able to spend some much needed time with his family." Your heart sank at the words prisoner. Leading Astrid to one of the ladies in waiting and kissing her head you promised you would be back soon. As you walked down the halls you could swear that you heard your heart hammering. As you opened the door to the thron room your eyes locked with Thor.

"Darling! I am so glad you are home." You said throwing your arms around his neck and kissing his cheek.

"I see it didnt take you long to find another prince to bed, my pet." Your blood ran cold as ice when you heard the voice from behind you. As you turned you looked at none other than Loki. Tears sprang to your eyes as you looked at him. He looked weak, thinner than you remembered almost sickly.

"I thought you died." You placed a hand over your mouth in shock.

"Seeing what has become of my once true love I wish I would have." He said looking between you and Thor.

"Loki, hold your tongue." Frigga said from across the room.

"But arent you proud mother? With me out of the way all your dreams came true it looks like." He said smirking looking back at you and Thor. You had grabbed ahold of his arm for support.

"Loki th-" The door had burst open at that point as Astrid came running to you and Thor a maid chasing behind her.

"Dada! Dada!" She threw herself into Thors arms as he picked her up.

"Hello my little love." Thor said kissing her and tickling her with his beard causing her to giggle. Loki stood observing, watching everything take place. He wasnt blind to the black hair that she had or the mischievous gint in her eye that he also had.

"Wow, stricking resemblance brother. She looks just like you." He grined looking between you and Thor.

"Loki, shut up." Thor said handing your daughter to you. "Why dont you take Astrid back to our quarters and I shall be there in a moment." He said kissing the top of your head.

"How sweet brother, a girl who simply rolls from one bed to another, and now a built in family. The girl must be about two now? How absolutly interesting."

You sat Astrid down next to Thor and walked over to the man that use to mean everything to you and stood right in front of him. "You, Loki Odinson, do not need to look, breath, or assume anything. Not towards my daughter."

"Interesting use of words dear my-" he was cut off by a sharp slap across the face.

"Come darling. Lets get you in the bath." You said opening your arms, your daughter running into them.

After you have made sure all the dirt was washed from her and she was nesseled into your bed nice and warm you sat by the fire with tears streaming down your face when Thor finally entered the room looking exhausted.

"Let me help you take your armor off. There is a warm bath for you also. Make sure the dirt is all off before climbing into bed, those are clean sheets." You stood walking over to him and undoing the straps that held his chest plate on.

"What did I do to deserve this kindness from you?" He asked placing his finger under your chin making you look up at him.

"You took me in, loved me after your brother couldnt, you have helped me raise a child that is not your but you let her call you dad. Me and my child both think the world of you Thor and honestly I couldnt imagine it without you in my life." You placed a hand on his cheek and brought him down to kiss him.

He leaned his head agintst yours and sighed. "You must go talk to my brother. He is down in the cells."

"What if I dont want to? What if I want to keep this happy little bubble that we have created?" A tear rolled down your cheek.

"If not for you or me, go talk to him for her." He said motioning over to Astrid who was snorring lightly in the middle of the bed. "I will look over her. For tonight and for always, it doesnt matter what happens tonight I will always love both you and her. And I know you will love me to but not as much as you have loved my brother." You were both crying now, you had decided two years prior that you would give this man what was left of your heart because the love of your life was gone but now? Now you were torn between the safty of being with Thor and the uncertainty of if Loki could ever love you the way he had before.

You kissed Thor on the cheek again making him promise to take a bath before going to bed causing him to laugh. "Yes I promise. Now go before I decide to keep you here with me." He handed you your dark blue cloak and shoved you out of the room.

Silently you made your ways to the dungeons under the castle not being noticed by anyone at this time of night, you pulled the hood up as not to be spotted by any of the other prisoners.

"I was wondering if you was going to make an apperance Y/N." Loki said, he was facing away from you his hands placed behind his back. "You've made quite the impression on my brother. Such a good impression that you two are married. Tell me dear is he as good as I was?" He asked turning to finally face you. You stood there shocked.

"Loki," you looked up at him. "This is not the time nor place for talk like that. I came here to ask what happened to you? I thought you had died."

"So you crawl in bed with my brother?!" He yelled hitting the shield between you and him with his fist.

"So I married your brother to save not only me but our daughter!" His jaw dropped at the admission. "Oh dont act so suprised. I know you know that she is yours. For norms sake she has your hair."

"I never thought you would admit it."

"I cant hide it Loki. Your mother is the one that came up with the plan for me to marry Thor."

"I bet father loved the fact that you were pregnant before the wedding." He said rolling his eyes.

"Odin would have killed us if he knew the secret!" You yelled, fire in your eyes. "Its not like you were around to protect us, to keep us safe. Your daughter has magic and is part Jötunn." He froze staring at you wide eyed. "Where were you Loki! Where were you when I needed you? When we needed you?" You screamed at him tears running down your face.

Neither of you had noticed Thor or Frigga talking to the guard in the shadows, neither of you had realized that the shield keeping Loki in his cell had been dropped until Loki had actually reached for you yanking you to his body. You clung to him like if you let go he would disappear all over again. You buried your face in his neck, his hair tickling your face as you felt his pulse aginst your lips for the first time in a long time. His hand was at the base of your neck as his face was buried in your hair, you felt his tears land on your cheek. He pulled back from you, both hands now on the side of your face as he wiped your tears away with his thumbs.

"I promise on all nine realms y/n I will never leave you or my daughter again. I promise that i will never leave you alone, I will always be there as I should have been in the begining of it all. You should not have had to go through alone." He leaned forward kissing you. You melted into the kiss, it had been forever since you had felt so connected with anyone like this. His lips were cool aginst yours as you both moved in perfect sync batteling for dominace over the other finally you gave into him. You pulled away slightly out of breath.

"I wasn't alone, I knew that I had a peice of you with me and i knew I wasnt alone at all. I knew you would come back. You always come back." You smiled at him.

"For you my queen, always." He said pulling you into his arms again whispering words of love.

Tag List:

@high-functioning-lokipath

@serpentargo

@drbaureid

@poetic-fiasco

@kgirardin

@sophlubbwriting

@supbeeches

@rosaline-black

@jesuswasnotawhiteman

@natandersonnla

@delightfulheartdream

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sloppykyuu · 4 years ago

Note

Kitten tree stuff continues

After seeing kitten in the park after months of disappearance Oikawa called Issei to let him know and hes so relieved to heat that shes okay and not hurt so he starts to wander around the park trying to find her but his kitten isnt anywhere to be found he cant see her and he wonders if she left completely but kitten is hiding on a tree waiting for him to leave and when he does she goes back to the birds trying to catch dinner but Issei comes back everyday and after a while kitten started to care less and let her guard down so while shes sitting with her legs at her chest behind big bushes trying to get rid of the fish scales on her breakfast Issei finds her cos the angry mumbling gave her away and when he comes up to her she gets scared and threw the fish at him and jumps up the tree while hes looking at the small dead fish who doesnt look good at all and he looks up at her telling her to come home and he has high hopes but they all shatter when hes met with a firm no from her so he sits down looking up at her waiting for her to come back but she refuses and its already night time and shes not planning on coming down and Issei feels it and he doesn't like it he is begging her to come home he'll do whatever she wants and he regrets saying it the second her ears perk up and her eyes shine so she comes home and tells him he'll sleep on the couch forever and leaves him alone to fo to the bedroom and he watches her as she throws his pillow and blanket in the hallway and locks the door so he sleeps on the couch but at least shes back but she barely comes out only when hes gone and when he comes home she goes back to her room so on his day off he sits on the couch and his kitten is getting impatient waiting for him to leave but she doesn't hear the door so she goes out and sees him on the couch waiting for her he pats the seat next to him and when she sits he tells her how much he regrets hurting her and that he cant beat it anymore and his kitten pours out about how hurt she is and what she saw and what she felt and she doesnt know what to do cos how is it gonna go back to normal what if he gets angry again and he makes her sit on his lap presses her head on his chest where his heart is and tells her to sleep a bit and that things will be better once she wakes up (◍•ᴗ•)

There’s hope thrumming in his heart when Oikawa calls him, claiming he’s just seen you, talked to you. He says you look okay for the most part, you look skinnier and dirtier. He doesn’t wait long after the call before running out the door and heading to the park.

He doesn’t see you that day, maybe you just weren’t here today. He doesn’t let hope dwindle. He’s going to find you.

Everyday for a week, he spends hours in the park, waiting for a sign that you’re still here, that he can still bring you home. But hope is running thin, there’s no you anywhere.

Until one day, he passes by a bush and hears mumbling. So familiar. He rounds the bush to find you peeling the scales off a particularly stubborn fish, angrily murmuring.

“Kitten,” his voice is quiet because he can’t believe you’re here. He’s finally found you, after months of laying his bed alone just waiting, praying for you to return to him, berating himself for the way he treated you. He watches you pause, turning to him with wide eyes, he thinks you’re going to run into his arms when you stand up, but... you’re backing away from him.

Every step he makes closer to you, you take one away from him. “Kitten, please.” He’s desperate. You run off to a nearby tree and run up it, claws digging into the thickest branch as you hide behind it.

“Please come home. I need you.” Hope refills his chest when your head pops out from behind the branch. He can’t figure out the emotion behind them as you shake your head, “no.”

He could throw up. His stomach twists unpleasantly just like the night you left. His breath is becoming labored and tears poke at his eyes.

“Please kitten, I’m so sorry for yelling at you. I’ll do anything for you to come home please baby, I can’t live without you.” You pop your head out again, eye brows furrowed before deciding to climb down.

He moves to wrap you in his arms but you push him by the chest away from you. “I’ll come home but you’re never allowed to sleep in the bed again.” He doesn’t want to sleep on the couch, but if it brings you home he can’t do anything else but nod.

That night you take a shower and eat the meal he made you before stalking off to the bedroom and walking back out with pillows from his side of the bed and a throw blanket, tossing them onto the ground next to the couch. “Goodnight, kitten.” You don’t respond.

For the next few days the cycle repeats; he wakes up on the couch, makes breakfast for the both of, heads off to work, comes home, showers, makes dinner and sleeps on the couch. He doesn’t see you at breakfast or at dinner. But both meals are eaten by the time he gets home.

It’s not what he wants, but at least you’re home and safe.

You don’t hear the door shut like you usually do this morning. You can hear him shuffle around in the kitchen. When is he going to leave? You’re getting impatient and your stomach is growling. When the noise subsides and the house sounds empty, you walk out only to find issei on the couch as if he was waiting for you.

“Come here,” he pats the cushion next to him, slightly wincing with how far you sit from him. “I can’t even begin to explain how sorry I am, kitten. All those days you were gone hurt so bad. I really didn’t think I’d ever be happy again. I know i hurt you, and I’m so sorry. I’ve never regretting anything more in my life. I just need you back, I can’t bear doing this without you.”

He can’t tell if the look on your face is indifferent, but you open your mouth and fears the words about to come out.

“You really, really hurt me. I didn’t mean to hurt her that, she kept pushing me and then you yelled at me. You’ve never done that.” You pause and look away from him. “I came back later that night and no one seemed to care that I was gone.”

You sound so small, it breaks his heart the way you quickly wipe the tears that fall from your eyes. “Baby..” he grips your hand. Heart softening when you don’t pull away. He doesn’t explain himself further, there’s no words that could fix the scars he left on you that night; instead he pulls you into his chest, cradling your head against his chest.

“Things are going to get better, my love. I promise you, I’ll never make that mistake again. I can’t lose you.” He kisses your head and strokes your hair, there’s a heaviness in your eyelids as he pets you. “Go to sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Ever so softly, he can hear a gentle purr rumble against his chest as you drift off.

#ITS DONE YALL #matsukawa x reader #matsukawa angst #matsukawa fluff #matsukawa issei #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #pea answers stuff #(◍•ᴗ•) anon

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xsarcasticwriterx · 4 years ago

Text

Au Volant-part 1

Summary: You were free, you had control until bucky and Steve showed up at your door.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Warnings: Angst, swearing, minor tfawts ep 2 spoilers.

Notes: This is a series btw and I'm not sure how long it'll be (not like I do for any of my series) and yea that's all just know it will be pretty....dark pfft. Also, this does NOT fit in the marvel timeline even if references are made to such.

Steve knew when he was out-matched, hell even before the serum he knew when he'd lose he just didn't know when to stop. Bucky did though and nothing about that had changed in 100 years. Not even now when steves ass was being handed to him. after getting bucky back steve and bucky had gone off on their own mission to find other super-soldiers who may still be alive. of course they expected this to be easier than it was.

Of course, bucky could've just brought steve to Isaiah Bradley but he still knew steve would be pissed after finding out what had been done to him and he just wanted to leave Isaiah to his own thing still.

Then there was you. Bucky met you back when he was first becoming the winter soldier. you were their first test into becoming one of them. of course, your trigger words hadn't been finished before you killed those who were working on you and escaping. it s why they advanced buckys mechanism. You'd had tried to free him but they were already in the works of triggering buckys words.

Bucky knew you were free but only by self-discipline and no one knowing the words aside from hydra who, by this point, you'd spent the last century running from. He wanted you to stay out even if he knew where you were at.

That was until now, they needed another super soldier to win. Sure he could call Isaiah but as far as triggers go you were more likely to not only survive this but even join it. So with that process bucky grabbed steve ignoring his words and ran to your house.

you were 95 years old, despite how you looked. you had managed to escape hydra. Ever since hydra fell you ere truly free for the first time in a long time. you had enrolled in college majoring in history, ironic yes but you figured with your overextended life maybe you could use it and become a history professor.

This was your plan until there was a knock at your door. you figured it was the pizza you had ordered until you opened it seeing a bloody avenger and the weapon that hydra used over and over again to kill people. So with that you slammed the door, locked it, and walked back to your living room. "y/n come on" you heard bucky say. "nope" you yelled back.

"I thought you said shed be willing to help?" you heard steve groan. "I never said willing I said she could help" bucky replied. steve sighed "look y/n I know-" steve started to say "you don't know shit about shit star-spangled man with a plan," you said back.

"I spent the last 70 years running from this man ok. Now I know he is back to Sargent Barnes or whatever crap he was before but guesses what it does mean I am willing to just jump back in the man who was on my ass trying to kill me just yesterday, and it sure as fuck doesn't mean that I am willing to jump back into war" you wished they just go away. You were finally free safe. "steve go" "huh?" "go ill be back with you in a few minutes" and so steve walked away out of hearing distance. bucky said down but your door.

"look y/n I know what you've been through ok. I know they hurt you because they hurt me too. See this difference is I was a soldier before this...you were just someone in the wrong place wrong time. Me and steve here are looking for the others those who were like us, set them free too. Though they seem to either be like you, Isiah, or are still trying to fight. now I'm here because most are trying to fight and they're gathering together and fighting. I don't blame you for not trusting me I get it, some days even I don't trust me but know that I never wanted to hurt you." bucky cleared his throat "I am James 'bucky' Barnes and you are part of my amends" bucky said before the door opened and he fell back.

You stuck your hand out "give it" you said which bucky only looked up at you confused. "come on there's only so many therapists for brainwashed murderes give it" you said again. bucky handed you the tiny book. you opened it and crossed out your name handing it back to him. "get up and get your boy toy over there to come inside. I need to get ready if we're going to war." you said walking upstairs. "so you'll come?" bucky asked. "sure James why the fuck not but be aware you may be fixed but I'm only free out of pure will, soon as someone says the words I'm no longer free" you said walking to your room.

Bucky opened his notebook writing down ten words. he handed the paper to steve. "what's this?" he asked looking down at the words in both Russian and English. "her trigger words. just know as soon as there said she's one of them" bucky knew the words. hydras orders were if he found you to trigger you. "so she's not...." steve trailed off "nope she's only free out of self will" bucky shrugged sometimes he wished he had been able to be like you. "is it safe to bring her?" steve asked fearing what would happen if you became like bucky. "ill be fine" you said from the top of the stairs. you were wearing your gear which consisted of a black long sleeve made out of bulletproof gear that you stole from the police, black leggings for movement, black boots, and a hoodie. your hair was out of your face and you had your daggers on one side of your belt and your guns on the other.

"don't be a moron and say those words and everything will be fine," you said walking down. "now what's the game plan what do I need?" "what you have and spare clothes and weapons," Steve said. you nodded walking to your garage where the rest of your knives and guns were at along with your disguised clothes. "so you said that the soldiers are grouping up and fighting. know why?" "There are only rumors some say they want new hydra, others say they're scared some say they are forming a 'better' hydra," bucky said following you.

you grabbed a bag stuffing clothes in and ammo along with some daggers. "so are we staying with the rest of the little einstens?" you asked turning to steve. you were met with two confused faces. you blinked, how on earth are you, a person on the run, more educated on pop culture than these two "its....its a kids show" you said clearing your throat "im asking if were staying at the avengers headquarters" you said awkwardly. "oh no were tracking the group and certain people, those suspicious and then we just stay in hotels" steve said. you nodded and walked to the front door. "lets go then shall we"

you two got into steves car. "so how come no ones ever heard of you if you were on of them?" steve asked. "got out before i become one fully they never were able to trigger me" you shrugged. "she tried getting me out but...she was too late" bucky looked down. steve shut up from that point on. you all drove to a motel close to where they had seen a few people hiding out at from the sights of it.

the motel was kind of well really bad, not quite what you expected when rolling with the avengers. they said it was to stay undercover, large purchases and such could trigger that someone famous is rolling in. So here you were sat on a rigidy bed in the motel. there was 2 beds but 3 of you so someone had to share. "not it" steve said flopping back onto a bed. you and bucky looked at each other. "come on you two have known each other for almost as long as buck and I" steve said sitting up.

you grumbled sitting on the bed before sighing. not like you slept much so maybe you wouldn't have to actually share the bed. "for tonight we will fill you in" steve said. you 3 sat at a table and they told you the information they have and what they're plan is.

They said how they have a few places where they think people are hiding out based on the hours of activity and a few spots look like people are hiding out there. They said their plan was talk until people started noticing bucky and then chose to fight, then they came to you. Now their plan was talk but with back up incase shit takes a turn again.

Bucky and steve had gone to sleep but you were still up sat at a table. you were sharpening your daggers. you were zoned out for a while at this point. you didn't sleep often due to fear that if you let your guard down you wouldn't be able to hold back the soldier part of you. you really only slept when you were on the verge of passing out. This started when one night you had a dream, not long after you escaped, of the man saying the words. you felt your whole brain shift, luckily you woke up and were able to push back before anything happened. since then it was too close of a call to risk anything ever again.

You saw movement and looked up seeing bucky look around in almost a panic before he saw you. his breathing steadied "hey" he whispered out of breath. you nodded to him "you ok there?" "hmm? yea why are you up isnt it late?" you looked at the clock. last you looked it was 12am. you shrugged "same reason your up" "guess being brainwashed has its cons" you huffed "ysupposeou could say that"

"you sleep at all" bucky asked standing and walking to you. "i sleep when i feel like im going to pass out" you returned back to sharpening your daggers "last time i casually slept the world almost had another winter soldier" you scoffed "never doing that shit again" you looked up at bucky. his hair was a mess and a thin layer of sweat covered his chest. he was definitely muscly and you'd be lying if you said he wasn't hot.

"you should rest ill watch over you make sure you don't change" he said looking at you. "no its fine got another" you looked down at your watch looking at the date "few days before i pass out" you shrugged. "y/n. sleep" he stated. you shook your head. bucky groaned, walked to you and threw you over his shoulder "come on sleep time" he said putting you on the bed. you groaned but soon as you were laying down you felt your eyes insticntly close. "stupid body" you grumbled

soon slumber took over. bucky smirked down at you. you two were one in the same except while he was forever free you, you were free on pure will and keeping your guard up. "ill keep you safe doll, no one will change you even yourself" he said brushing the hair from your face. soon he felt as peace seeing you so calm and he laid next to you. the bed reminded him of the ones in the military. sleep took him over not too longer after.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #the winter solider fanfiction #the winter solider x reader #james bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #mcu #mcu fanfiction #mcu x reader #marvel cinematic universe #marvel

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yeoldontknow · 5 years ago

Text

The Morning After | (M)

Author’s Note: welcome back to chanvember! i hope you enjoy this piece <3 its been a while since ive written smut for him and given how the last time went over, ive been very nervous about this. so i hope everyone has a great time! | this work features graphic sexual content and themes not suitable for an audience under the age of 18. please do not read if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable or if you under 18. Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Genre: smut; romance; friends to lovers!au; fluff; angst; au Summary: For the last several months, every time you and Chanyeol get drunk you wind up in bed together. At this point, you’ve come to expect it - it happens like clockwork. But now, your feelings for him have developed into something much stronger than friendship. Now, you’re not sure you can carry one pretending to be fine with this arrangement. Rating: NC-17 Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; unprotected sex; creampie; sex on a kitchen counter for all to see (but the stove isnt on; safety first!); dirty talk; drinking games; jongdae possibly passed out in the snow Word Count: 11K

The heat of his body pressed against yours is what wakes you, the full length of his limbs nestled against your skin, seeking security.

Chanyeol is needy in sleep, always curled against you in the hopes of sharing warmth, contact, and affection. Waking up beside him, held so tightly in his arms, his breath cascading over your neck, is your favourite part of this non-arrangement - the glory of waking up and feeling wanted. He’s good at it, too, tall enough and warm enough to make you feel special, protected; and enough to make you want him him down to your soul, as though you could ever want him less.

But this, you know, is also your least favourite part of waking up with him - apart from waking up at all. The gift of waking up feeling held, protected, needed, down to your very bones, is a blessing most people savor, something they would hold onto with both hands, reluctant to release even after morning breaks. But you, you know what it means, and it’s the meaning that stings, even if it’s shallow. Being held like this makes it <i>hard.</i> It makes it hard to leave, makes it hard to remember who you are and what you are, feeling special only to remember these fleeting moments don’t last.

With other people, you’ve grown accustomed to waking up and walking away - in fact, you relish the act of leaving, body sated and mind empty, your craving reduced, in these morning hours, to coffee and solitude, with no room for anything else. With other people, you disappear as though it is your magical blessing, body already awake before dawn, footsteps quiet, and smile reserved for yourself, for the satisfaction that comes from liberating yourself from men you don’t really want.

For you, walking away is easy, a sacred talent of empowerment, but, with Chanyeol waking up hurts.

The sun seeps through the linen of the curtains, and you sigh, blinking resolutely at the yellow hue fully aware you’ve missed the dawn, and thus missed your escape. Mouth dry, the alcohol from the night before lingers on your tongue, much the same way his hand lingers on your stomach, palm flat as if to hold the totality of you. His other arm rests beneath your neck, cradling you close, protective, while still ensuring you are comfortable enough to sleep.

Biting your lip, you press back against him, feeling the hardness of his erection rub against the curve of your ass, as much a reminder of his anatomy as it is a phantom memory of the previous night, the purposeless celebration, and the way you fell to bed together, acting as though you were surprised and unprepared.

Chanyeol was already drunk when he found you, stumbling into the living room with a smile on his face that spoke of yearning, Your own motor skills had been delayed by the alcohol in your system, a frown set on your face as you attempted to figure out the HDMI settings needed to use the Nintendo Switch the Air BnB had so generously provided. It was for Mario Kart, you complained, eyes wide and pleading with Chanyeol’s savant capabilities with wires and technology. He had to help you.

But he didn’t want to. He said this with a pout, reaching for your neck and shoulder with messy inelegance, looking bereft, the beanie on his head too large for his cheeks, giving him the appearance of someone too innocent for his age. The drinking games had gone poorly, bad enough to hurt his pride, and he was seeking consolation for his losses. He needed you, he said, adamant and desperate, pleading even though he’d never admit it, looking so young and so small and so terribly needy.

Hands on your hips, you grimaced, told him he’d only get comfort if he helped you, annoyed because he certainly did not need any comfort. He was terrible at drinking games, the only games he could never master because he could never master his drink, and he should know this, you said. He’s smart enough to know.

You don’t remember how his lips found yours. If you’re being honest, you rarely ever remember. Every time, you never truly remember much beyond the blinding haze of desire that floods your limbs whenever you look at him, but you remember the feeling. It was so unlike the kisses he usually gives you when he’s this far gone, hands seeming to remember where you like them best and lips moving with an assured confidence, as though he no longer needed permission - as though kissing you was something that came naturally, and without hesitation.

Chanyeol walked you up the stairs, one at a time before pulling away from your lips with a frown, and lifted you, wrapping your legs around his waist to carry you the rest of the way.

‘Fuck off.’ A weak protest, one that you mumbled against his lips. ‘I’m too heavy.’

‘No, you’re not. Shut up.’

He resumed kissing you, kissed you even as he pushed through your assigned room, the room you staked claim in by dropping your bags not seven hours previous. You were glad you’ve moved them to the floor.

It was messy, from there, his hands at your jeans and pulling them down while your fingers worked at his belt - too complicated, you’d said, and he’d laughed. His mouth found your core, licking a full line up your slit before diving inside. He moaned on contact and so did you, not bothering to be quiet. Downstairs, Jongdae yelled victoriously - another win. In bed, you gripped Chanyeol’s hair with one hand and the bed sheets with another, feeling victorious yourself as you rolling up against his face until he kissed your clit and told you not to come.

The thickness of his girth still resonates between your legs, stretching you to a fullness your body always remembers, but can never replicate with your own hand and fingers, not even your vibrator. He fucked into you while he called you love, and baby, and perfect, kissing at your breasts as he fucked you hard enough for your hips to hurt. He came inside you, too, a new development that makes you grateful you’ve been taking birth control, a new development that makes your thighs clench in memory. Overwhelmed by his orgasm, he moaned into your neck, biting down on the flesh until he shuddered to a halt, cock still twitching inside you.

He kissed and kissed at the mark, apologizing for the redness and any pain, kissing at your lips only when you told him it didn’t hurt too much, and that you liked it.

Your hand finds the mark now, careful not to disturb him. Running your fingers over the mark, the bumps and indents of his teeth still remain and you still feel him, the pain gone and leaving with it a memory of heat and wanting, a tattoo of recollection that makes your chest feel tight. It’s strange, you think, to feel marked and claimed without anyone truly wanting the possession of you, a feeling that makes you feel lonely rather than alone.

Turning over to look at him, making sure your do so lightly, you eyes catch sight of his tattoos, the dark lines and art casting shadows on the veins and always so tantalizing to touch. Cuddling closer, you run your hands through his hair, aware that an action like this is both too affectionate and too risky, but you find it can’t be helped.

A few months ago, you discovered that he enjoys having his hair stroked, though you never do so when he's sober and certainly not when he's awake. But when he's sleeping, and you've been lucky enough to have him, he cuddles into your touch, whining with a puff of air through his lips. He's needy, your favourite thing to learn about him - a man so notoriously detached from connection and romance craves it with all of himself when his guard is down, and when he doesn't know he wants it at all.

The sun hits his skin in ways it seems to avoid your other partners. Lately, you've woken up with other people and watched the way the sun carves edges into their skin that makes you feel hollow. It does not make them ugly, just harsh, illuminating all the reasons they aren't what you want, only just what you needed - briefly and for a limited amount of time. On Chanyeol, the sun finds a home, turns the tips of his ears pink and adds dimension to the dark strands of his hair, the curls turning from a deep brown, almost black, to a rich chocolate, turning him amber and amber, and turning your heart to amber, frozen in the single moment of your admiration.

His eyelashes splay over his cheeks as he sleeps, a slight flush of rose smeared against the bone, and you smile, knowing that even under blankets with another person the heat is sweltering, You're warm too, always a little too warm with him, but for some reason you don't mind. Always, you push yourself away in bed, careful not to touch or be touched after you've had your fill, looking forward to leaving but not really sleeping, chest filled with great disdain for accidental contact.

With Chanyeol, sleep comes easily, easier than it does even when you're on your own, and so you've learned to hate leaving - often already left, body finally relaxed into a state of comfort with him, rousing only when he has departed entirely and craving the lack.

Having spent too long thinking around and through him, beyond comparison and into craving, Chanyeol's eyes begin to flutter with the first traces of wakefulness. Feeling adrenaline seep into your veins, you pull your hand away, dropping it carefully on the pillow beside your head and closing your eyes, hoping he does not notice or feel your movement.

For a moment, there is only silence. Silence and the deep, low growl that always accompanies Chanyeol's yawns. Biting the inside of your cheek, you force yourself not to smile, always amused by the sound and the way it resonates around the room, long and aching as though he pulled it from deep within his soul. When he's quiet again, the sudden lack of noise, only his even, smooth breaths remaining, feels painful, hair on your arms standing on edge, defying the weight of expectation.

'Really?' Chanyeol's voice comes as a soft mumble, a whisper of reverence that makes your chest flush. You're glad to be covered by the blankets, the pink heat of it hidden from view. 'Again?'

Not a trace of displeasure tints his voice, the smile he wears offering a gentle caress to the cadence of his tone. If you could, you'd sigh in the breadth and the wake of it, luxuriating in the way his smile can never be hidden, not even by the darkness of your closed eyes and the icy cruelty of the morning sun. Chanyeol drips everywhere, all over you and into your soul, smiling to himself in his own amusement and smiling into your spirit, giving you wings enough to feel carried through the day.

It's enough to make you want to stay. It's enough to make you think it could be easy.

But he moves under the sheets and the spell is broken, reality scratching at your shoulders, reminding you this kind of softness is never reserved solely for you, especially not when you’re sober.

You focus on keeping your eyes calm and still beneath your eyelids, waiting for him to depart and counting down the seconds to the loss of his warmth, his touch, and his attention. Idly, you wonder if you’ve ever waited long enough to wake up with him, realizing that there is no record time to make it to, no goal to achieve before the norm feels broken. By missing the dawn and having your fill, you’ve already broken the mold, and now you must start over, from nothing and from everything all at once.

The pillows and the sheets wrinkle, bed shaking with the motion of his long limbs, but the warmth doesn’t leave you. Instead, it comes closer, one of his legs sliding between yours, the bone of his hip meeting the curve of your stomach as he curls into you. Chanyeol brings himself closer, humming with a rumble of contented bliss, and your heart lurches into your throat.

A lump forms. Panic rises. You feel yourself drawn into him by your own accord, lured, like always, just as a magnet to its pole, to the cascade of affection radiating from his soul. And it would be so easy to give in, to let yourself fall back asleep and pretend you didn’t feel him, you never felt him, that this whole time it was him who was preparing to leave, but you can’t.

To let it continue would only be a detriment to your soul and to your heart. And so, however unwillingly in the effort of self-preservation, you furrow your brow, assume the imagined expression of a person learning to greet the day, and open your eyes, met, instantly, with the kind tenderness of his stare.

Blinking at him twice, you let your eyes adjust - to his brightness, to the feeling of seeing him see you first, before anything else, and to the notion that he has not moved. Chanyeol does not pull away, not even a little.

'Morning,’ he whispers, settling deeper into the pillow, getting comfortable.

Strands of hair fall into his eyes, your fingers twitching, straining with the effort of keeping still and refraining from wiping it away. Chanyeol narrows his eyes and blows them off his forehead instead, shaping his lips into a perfect circle. The air leaves your lungs, leaves you breathless, transfixed by their pink softness.

'Hi,’ you manage, the word barely more than a murmured breath of acknowledgement.

He chuckles, wiggling his toes against the bed. The muscles in the leg caught between yours flex, and you wait for him to comment on the intimacy of this position, but he does not. 'Day one and we're already at it.'

It’s your turn to laugh, looking away from him, sheepish. 'We've been making a habit out of this.'

'We?' he exclaims in mock offense. 'I think you mean you?'

'Me?' you laugh. 'You were the one all sad and looking for a kiss after you lost, what? Kings? Beer pong? Whatever the fuck you were playing.’ Letting your smile fall into a pout, you regard him with wide eyes, teasing. ‘Jae and I just wanted to play Mario Kart.'

'I didn't need a kiss,' he whines childishly. 'I wanted a hug or something. If you didn't give me one I would have been fine.'

Rolling your eyes, you click your tongue. 'You are literally the least self aware person on this planet.' Gasping, Chanyeol wiggles in the bed in protest, and you press your hands against his chest, laughing. 'Calm down, you know you are! How do you do that?'

With a deep pout and a huff, Chanyeol stops his fussing and lets silence fall over the room once more. He doesn’t make any motions to leave, and you keep your eyes on his muscles, waiting for any sign of abrupt departure, keeping yourself on edge. Your hand leaves his chest, skin still tingling with the contact, bringing it under the sheets to press your nails into you leg, hoping to erase the sensation.

In all his fussing, Chanyeol has brought his chest as close to yours as he can, close enough one deep inhale on your part would press your breasts against his sternum, and so the motion of your hand beneath sheets, accidentally and inadvertently, grazes against his side. Eyes going wide, Chanyeol pushes away, albeit not far, a playful smile of protest tugging at his lips.

'Stop!' he yelps, though it falls away with little protest, revealing an undercurrent in his tone than sends a shiver down your spine. 'That tickles!'

Drunk on the power of this moment, you smirk. 'You big baby, I didn't do anything!'

Even as it happens, you can feel this moment and the weight it carries, the change it means to deliver. Biting your lip, you watch as Chanyeol remains still, expectant, eyes alive with a hunger that keeps you nervous and, conversely, invigorated, driven to know what a look like this could mean. Something about this look speaks of desire, longing, and encouragement, and so you act quickly, with little thought at all, hooking your leg over his hip to flip him on his back.

Straddling his hips, you bring both your hands to his sides, and tickle him, keeping your thighs locked on either side of him as he fights.

Loud in general, Chanyeol’s laugh is thunder against your skin, an earthquake that battles at your sternum, demanding entry to your heart. His laughter his loud and so is his yell, the yell of defeat he releases as he grips your hips, head thrown back and eyes closed, smile on his face bordering in ecstasy.

But he yells, and in the aftermath, you both pause, halting your motions, watching one another in abject shock.

People have seen you - everyone sharing this Air BnB with you has seen you with him. Waking up with Chanyeol is not new, hardly a new development that could surprise anyone.

The first time you kissed, you were both wasted - exceptionally, beautifully caught in the throws of a haze that made you both ravenous for attention. It had been Baekhyun's drunken suggestion, tossed nonchalantly into the wind as a way to break the tension and ensure you both received what you were looking for, thus leaving everyone else alone. In a way, your lips on Chanyeol was a drunk form of entertainment, a way to prove to everyone, and to yourself, that friends - best friends - could kiss and make out and still come away unchanged, perhaps closer, delighted that boundaries had been blurred without any real consequences.

And so you kissed him with vigor, kissed him hard and long, mostly to make everyone laugh or gasp, waiting for a reaction, but partly, and in many ways most of all, to prove to yourself that you could. You kissed him as a means to prove to your aching heart that the torch it had been carrying and feeling ultimately meant nothing and that, with one taste of Chanyeol's lips, you would be sated and disinterested, glad to have someone to keep you comfortable when your skin flares with desire for a pair of hands.

The problem, in the end, was that you kissed Chanyeol and then seemed to never stop.

The second time, it escalated to his fingers against your waistband, teasing the skin while he sucked your bottom lip, hesitation in his touch but not his tongue.

The third time, he'd left marks on your shoulder and your teeth had marred his neck purple, and everyone had noticed, your foundation not a match for his complexion; your breasts ached with the feel of his palms for days, desperate to feel the force of his touch once more.

The fourth time, he'd asked you if you wanted him to stop, lips wet with your kisses and the traces of his beer, eyes wide and affectionate, and aware enough to be concerned. His hands lingered at the waistband of your sweats, gripping the fabric tightly, while your legs lingered at his hips, your shirt discarded somewhere across the room. You told him no, don’t stop. You never wanted him to stop.

The fifth time he did not ask if you wanted him to stop. It was clear you didn't want him to, not with your mouth around his cock. He paid you back in kind with three fingers in your cunt and his lips kissing against yours, smirking possessively until your came around his knuckles. You watch, cheeks red and soul blanched, as he brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean, eyes on yours the whole time.

The sixth time, there was no room for words - not with the way he gasped as he fucked into you, and not between the moans he pulled from your throat with each snap of his hips. There were no words after the orgasm, your body still shuddering against his while he held you, his own lips pressing soothing kisses to your neck and chest, right above your heart.

There hasn't been room for words since, not for at least nine months, perhaps even longer - you've really only started counting the times where you woke up with him, not the times your mouths found one another accidentally on purpose.

And so, everyone is aware of this silent agreement - all agreeing silently not to talk about it because the tension always seems to disappear in the morning. But with Chanyeol looking up at you now, eyes wide and cheeks blanched, you know he's not ready for someone to see you in bed. Something about being found feels to real, to raw, and you’re not sure either of you are ready to bear that cross.

Your heart sinks. Your mind races. You realize this is why it’s best to leave, even if it hurts.

Chanyeol rolls his hips up into yours, his erection pressing against your core as a reminder you both are naked and wrapped against one another in the sheets. His hands grip tightly at your hips, your own hands pressed against his sides, careful not to move, as he rolls up against you once more. Eyes falling closed, you remind yourself this is his favourite position. He’s said as much, declaring it so because he gets to kiss you, keep his hands on your breasts, and wear you like armor - his drunken words six months ago when you came so hard around him you thought the prison of your bones had been shattered.

Grinding down onto him, responding in kind to his movement, you wait to see if he will meet your pressure, but he doesn’t. Chanyeol keeps still, trapped in a state of wait but for what you can’t be sure. Mind fogged and heart starting to feel like glass, you can never seem to truly sense the needs of his body when you’re sober - your own mind and body wrought with the pleasure it feels and the awareness that it still feels good, perhaps even feels best, without the burning edge of alcohol laced through the satisfaction.

For what feels like too long, Chanyeol doesn’t move, his hands on yours an anchor that only serves to remind you of all the ways your feelings and his touches are a problem.

'Sorry,' you say, keeping your voice even and clear. 'I didn't mean for that to get loud.'

Sliding off his hips, you don’t bother remaining in bed, too awake to let yourself pretend anymore. Throwing your legs over the side, you look down, seeing the clothes you’d thrown in your haste. The memory of how Chanyeol hadn’t bothered to fully remove his jeans, sliding them down his thighs enough to push inside you turning your mouth dry. With no trace of your underwear and the nearest thing being your shirt, you sigh and rise to a stand, putting it on with a stretch. The hem of the shirt just falls to the curve of your ass, rising up slightly each move of your arms overhead.

Outside the window, endless white seems to filter through the gaps, a too bright sheen battling against the sun. The hardwood floors sting their chill against your toes, and you hug yourself in a shiver, glad for the snap of winter to keep you grounded and level headed.

'You're not gonna put underwear on?' Chanyeol asks, breaking the silence with a tight voice.

'Calm down,’ you laugh, keeping your chastisement soft. Walking away from the bed, your nod in a vague direction. 'My bag's over there, I'm not going far.'

Crossing in front of the footboard, you turn to look at him over your shoulder. He’s pushed himself up against the pillows, erection tenting the sheets gathered at his waist as he watches you, pupils dilated and jaw tense. His hands remain nowhere insight, body still and chest flushed. It’s the sort of vision that will stay with you long after the morning has passed, taking possession of this moment with greedy hands and fingers, and you smile, unsure how the expression truly looks, not bothering to mask any of your emotions, if only for this moment.

Chanyeol’s head tips back, nostrils flaring as he exposes more of his neck in the effort of appearing long, powerful, imposing. Wetness gathers at your core once more, threatening to glide onto your thighs from the force of your desire, and you turn away from him, looking back out the window, hoping for a distraction.

'It snowed last night,’ you muse, hoping the white blanket beyond the curtains can help ease the racing of your heart, the empty expanse soothing.

'Must be why I slept so well.’ Chanyeol’s words are heavy, thick, and you try not to focus on the sound, aware of the effect it will have on the clenching of your thighs. 'Finally cold enough for your body heat.'

Rolling your eyes, you shift your gaze from the window and crouch in front of your suitcase, careful not to bed over or to tease. 'You say that like you're not a personal heater,’ you counter, rifling through to find your favourite hoodie. ‘Or like you don't actually sleep well after you've fucked me.'

Chanyeol huffs, sounding petulant. 'It's the orgasm.'

'Well,' you laugh, sliding on your underwear with a sway of your hips, 'at least I still get to say I'm responsible.'

Pulling your hoodie over your head, you immediately regret your choice. Chanyeol was the last person to borrow this, the fabric having taken on his sent - or, maybe, it was his to begin with, and you had stolen it. It’s been passed between you both so many times neither of you really remember who has rightful possession, sharing it with mutual custody. The problem, now, is that it smells like him and is too warm, too thick, for the bedroom, the heaviness of both these things making you feel light headed.

'I'm gonna go make brunch,’ you announce, giving yourself an escape as you turn to face him once more. 'Can I expect your help with the pancakes?'

Head tipped back against the headboard, he nods minutely. 'Yeah, just need a minute.'

Humming in a noise of acknowledgement, you duck out of the room, considering all the lines you’ve crossed from the moment you opened your eyes. Too much touching, too much laughing, too close - far closer than you’ve ever been while sober, blurring the limits and boundaries you’ve defined for yourself. The taste of alcohol lingers on your tongue, but it does not linger in your blood, aware that the choices you made this morning were done with clear, selfish rationality.

Walking down the stairs, you’re glad for the distance you put between one another, giving himself time to think and yourself time to rebuild your armor.

The kitchen is far cleaner than you remember it being, glancing over to the open expanse of the living room to see this, too, has been cleaned. Smiling, you make note to thank Minseok and Jae, both early risers who likely sorted most of the mess before taking their morning run together. In a distant room, Baekhyun snores, though there remains no sign of Jongdae, the door to his room fully open and bed empty when you passed. Briefly, you wonder if this will be like the time you found him on the lawn in college, passed out with a bottle of beer in one hand and a smile on his face.

The thought makes you smile, but you imagine since there’s snow, if this did happen, he would have woken up and moved himself somewhere warm - you trust him at least enough to give him the benefit of the doubt.

You’re grateful for the silence of the house as you begin to cook, the one thing that truly relaxes you, an automatic response of your hands married to your eyes, having long surpassed the need to measure, plan, or time your actions. Chopping garlic, your hands do the work for you while your mind walks, travels far back beyond the first time you kissed Chanyeol, looking for clear moment to define when your feelings changed.

Still, you come up empty, aware that it likely wasn’t any one thing that turned your feelings of love from platonic endearment to deep rooted longing. Rather, it was a lot of little things that accumulated over time. Intimacy is a thing that is gained, gathering not unlike the snow during a storm, piling until you notice it and until it sticks - until, in the end, you find yourself buried, unwilling and unable to moved back to your prior state, not unless the season of your heart changes.

Intimacy between you and Chanyeol had gathered almost violently, aggressive in the way you suddenly anticipate his movements, skin hungry for his and heart ready to give and give all of yourself over to all of him, without question or hesitation. With Chanyeol, you do not hide, you know that you do not have you. With Chanyeol, you know that you are accepted unconditionally, already aware of your greatest flaws and still supporting you in spite.

With Chanyeol, you know there needn’t be a reason for you to have fallen in love with him, accepting, in the end, only the knowledge that you did. Most of all, the knowledge that a love like this, was ultimately inevitable.

Whisking the eggs and garlic together in a bowl, you feel Chanyeol enter the room rather than hear him. With your back to the entryway, the atmosphere seems to change simply because he is there, the electric shock of awareness running down your nerves. Food was the first thing you shared with him, long ago and long before you knew his name, dipping your fry into his milkshake with his permission the night Baekhyun introduced you.

Over time, you’ve continued to share food: drunk breakfasts, sober dinners, holiday meals cooked together, prepared in quiet understanding of one another’s movements. Every time you cook together, the chaos that usually follows you is seemingly absent, falling into a comfortable, wordless flow.

A smile pulls at your lip, glad for the familiarity of the silence that will come from his help. Cooking with Chanyeol, there will be no need for conversation, hopefully eradicating the sensation that anything has changed at all.

'Can you start making the pancake batter?' You don’t bother to take your attention away from the eggs, already imagining his small nod and proud smile. 'You're so much better at pancakes than I am.'

Chanyeol comes behind you, pressing his chest firmly against your back, curling over your short frame as he drops his chin onto the crown of your head. You pause, lifting your eyes and keep them trained straight ahead at the wall and the cabinets, waiting for his petulant whine of disinterest. Or, perhaps, his claim that he doesn’t want pancakes and would rather have toast, something far easier to make when hungover but equally as hearty.

He’s done this before, after long bouts of teasing and usually in conversation, wrapping around your body to make your movements difficult, to slow you, to tease you. Chanyeol has done this before but he has never done it the morning after, certainly never done it with drink still in his system and without expectation. Closeness like this always demands more, and you feel too sober to let yourself get carried away.

Forcing yourself to smile, you run through these thoughts and prepare for his complaints, building up your walls on instinct. Instead and without warning, he brings his hands beneath your hoodie and shirt, pressing his fingers firmly against your skin as he hugs you close, tight enough you imagine he is seeking to bind you to him.

'It's cold,' he whispers, as though this explanation is sufficient enough.

'Yeah,' is all you can manage.

You wonder if he is lying, if he actually is cold at all, his hands and fingers perfectly warm to the touch. If he were cold, you’d already have swatted him away, startled by the chill of his skin. But he remains, and you let him stay, his heat flowing and spreading over your skin like a fever. The warmth of this is familiar enough to water you, tongue feeling heavy as your walls clench around nothing.

'You're warm,’ he continues, tipping his head down to kiss against your hair as he speaks.

You blink. 'Are you still drunk?'

He laughs, shaking his head against yours and messing up your hair. 'No.'

'Hungover?' you try, needing an explanation, an answer - any clue to assist in your next response.

'Not really?' he muses. 'You left water by the bed before we fell asleep, so I feel a little better. You're always taking care of me.'

With a small, happy sigh, he hugs you tight, leaving no room for air between your bodies. He brings his chin to your shoulder, turning inward and letting his nose graze along the tendon of your neck as you tilt for him, giving him room and access against your best judgement.

'Chanyeol.'

'What?' he mumbles, eyes closing, eyelashes ticking your skin in the process

'What are you doing?'

The words come heavy and thick, so unlike the soft, kind words of affection you like to give him when he’s like this. So too unlike the words of playful abjection that comes from feigned irritation, reminding him and your friends and yourself that you are, in fact, just friends.

Just friends and nothing more.

He furrows his brow, and you can feel the tension in his cheeks as he does so. 'What do you mean?'

Turning your body in his hold, his hands maintain their position as they slip to the small of your back. Gingerly, he lifts his head just enough for you to regard him, cool and bewildered. Remaining careful, your own hands grip the curve of the counter, knuckles tight with the effort of not reaching for him, wrapping around him with the same, easy affection. Your eyes search his face, his small frown of concern and his deep, chocolate eyes filled with such warmth and vibrancy, the very closeness of him making your chest burn with ardor.

Taking in a deep breath, you gather the strength to speak. 'We do this when we're drunk,’ you say simply.

It hurts to say the words, to bring the very grandeur of him down and to name yourself as the reason for his withering expression. But it hurts more to let your hands and lips and heart kiss at the glimmers of hope. It hurts just as much as the way it renders him so small, so impossibly small and young and lost, his eyes reading your expression as anxiety begins to seep into his irises.

'What if I want to do it when I'm sober, too?' he tries, the quietest he’s ever been, especially around you.

Casting him a quizzical, hesitant stare, you bite your lip, attempting not to feel wounded or boxed into a label that hurts. 'You mean officially be friends with benefits?'

Chanyeol pull back from you a little more, blinking as the color drains from his cheeks. 'Is...is that what you want?'

Something in his eyes tells you that he’d give this to you if you said yes. His admission for wanting this sort of intimate closeness when he’s sober says he’d give you this if you said yes, feeling as though he’s won the universe with sex and a best friend, and a world of other options ready and waiting for his touch. He’d give himself to you, too, you see it in the way he bites his lip, making sure you felt pleasure every moment, your world colored into ecstasy, the limits put on pleasure suddenly rendered obsolete.

It would be so easy, to have him and simultaneously have nothing at all.

And so you swallow thickly, aware that moments like these are tests of love - self love, and little else. Chanyeol has granted you a rare opportunity to be honest with yourself, even if you are not directly being honest with him, fully aware that you are too selfish to want only a fraction of his whole. With Chanyeol, you want all of him - you want absolutely everything, having tasted both sides of his soul, even if you have not tasted them altogether.

'No.' You shake your head, lungs empty of oxygen, speaking within a hollow exhale of emptiness. 'I don't think I could stomach that.'

'Oh.'

He regards you with a crestfallen expression, shoulders and posture falling as your resolute answers weighs him down.

Bewildered by this unexpected response, you decide to be completely honest, fully aware that unless you say something, he will absolutely never figure it out for himself.

'You have to know it's been hard for me, right?' you try, cocking your head to the side in a silent plea. 'The last few months of this?'

'We can stop -'

You cut him off, closing your eyes and shaking your head. 'That's exactly my point, Chanyeol.' Your grip tightens on the counter, bracing yourself for this fall - this time, likely, away from him. 'I don't want to stop. I keep having to stop when we wake up and walk away. I'm -’ your voice breaks, throat tight and mind racing. Taking in a deep breath, you let yourself say it, all of it, without reservation. ‘I want more, constantly. I want all of you to myself. You know I'm inherently selfish, and also inherently direct. So I'm just letting you know I can't be your sober friend with benefits. I think that would kill me. I want you too much.'

When you finish, Chanyeol swallows, your gaze drawn to the movement within his neck. In your chest and hands, your pulse is racing, blood moving at a pace that keeps you lingering on the precipice of falling or flying, feeling, all at once, not unlike Icarus.

'I don't want to be friends with benefits either,’ he says, shaking his head, almost imperceptibly.

Your grip loosens. Your stomach drops. Still, your nerves remember the sensation of his touch, bringing forth the memory in urgency, aware that, not an hour ago, you already had your last fill.

'Then…’ your voice drifts, words arriving on your tongue in the wrong order. ‘Do we stop? I know you Chanyeol, you can barely handle alcohol and I can't handle myself around you.'

Even if he wants to stop, you aren’t sure you can. Your desire for him has reached deep into the nodes of your lungs, spreading like spores into the crevices of your heart, your mind, your blood. Chanyeol fills you, everyday and all the time, especially when you are drunk. With a drink in your system, your lust and love for him hits you tenfold, and one look at him will never be enough, not with the memory of the taste lingering behind the vision.

'I don't even really want to be friends, either.'

His abrupt announcement makes you grateful your hands are on the counter, knees buckling with the weight and help upright by structural stability of the house alone.

'Oh.'

The word doesn’t sound like it comes from you, but you don’t bother clearing your throat. Really, you think you’d welcome the hold of the floor. At least it would never let you down.

'I want so much more of you than that,’ he clarifies, breath leaving his chest in a desperate, needy sigh.

Your skin starts to tingle as he presses you tightly against him, hands walking up your spine as he grinds his hips against yours. Letting himself get close, he nudges the side of your face with his nose before speaking, opening you to him.

'I want to be able to do this -’ Chanyeol leans down and places a kiss at your neck, tongue stroking the marks his teeth made the night before. 'Whenever I want.' The coolness of his breath against the wet spot he created makes your tremble, and he chuckles at feeling of you quaking in his arms. 'I want to touch you here -’ Abruptly, he slides his hands down your back, both palms cupping your ass with a firm squeeze ' - without you thinking I'm joking.'

Leaning back to make room for his closeness, you finally release your hold on the counter, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your fingers card through the soft hair at the nape, scratching in a mindless pattern that makes him growl within his throat.

'And most of all, I want to taste you when ever I want.'

He captures your lips in a kiss that feels so unlike all the rest he’s given you. Sober and fully in control of your awareness, you cup his cheek, fingers toying with the tip of his ears as he parts your lips easily, running his tongue against yours with skilled prowess. The hot flash of his tongue is brief, removing a hand from your ass to guide your face up and back, moving to suck your bottom lip between his teeth.

Against your stomach, your feel the hardness of his erection begin to form, the solid feel of it sending a wave of desire to your core. Wetness pools between your thighs, and this time you are grateful for the underwear that separates you, letting your desire win over. The heat of your craving gathers in your veins, making your skin feel tight as his hand roams from your ass to the small of your back and down again, possessing what it can and claiming you for his own.

Breaking away to catch your breath, he rests his forehead against yours, feeling yourself recline into him.

'Chanyeol,’ you sigh, feeling slightly dazed and a little light headed.

In your chest, your heart battles against your sternum, sending waves of heat down and down into your core, feeling yourself become soaked, wanting to be full of him.

'You left me so hard this morning.’ He kisses along your cheek, letting his words cascade over your skin. 'I had to feel your wet cunt over my dick without getting to have my fill of you.'

Moving his hand from your cheek once more, he grabs your ass firmly, squeezes the flesh with vigor, rutting against you with a fervor that speaks of his need to be inside you. Over time, you’ve come to learn that Chanyeol is an inherently giving lover, so willing to offer pleasure first, the sense of pride in making you come likely its own form of eroticism, a stroke against his ego as pleasurable as a hand stroking at his cock. But, while he is terribly giving, he can often be impatient, his desire to be buried inside your walls sometimes rushing him past foreplay.

Most days, you do not mind, just as desperate to feel full of him and to sate the empty feeling that always comes with his departure. Today, it is your turn to be greedy, your own ego riding a high at the thought of leaving him wanting.

'All you ever have to do is ask,’ you smile, coquettishly cocking your head to the side. 'You know that.'

Moving your hand from his neck, you glide your thumb along his bottom lip, feeling the plump softness. Keeping his eyes trained on yours, he sucks your fingers into his mouth, swirling his tongue over the tip before releasing it. On instinct, your legs part wider, making room for him and making room for the feel of him.

Dipping to capture lips in another kiss, his hands massage the flesh he holds with deft fingers, squeezing hard enough to lift you up onto the counter. Pulling back, he swallows hard and grips both your thighs, pulling you to the edge and wrapping your legs around his waist.

'Can I fuck you?’ he asks, kissing against your lips as he speaks.

Chuckling, you nip at his bottom lip, a small whine escaping your chest as he thrusts against the thin fabric of your underwear. Beneath his sweats, it’s clear he wears nothing else, the heat of his erection seeping through to your core, creating a wet patch in the shape of the head of his cock.

‘You’ve been fucking me,’ you sigh, voice caught between a laugh and a moan.

‘I want to fuck you,’ he clarifies, leaning down to place his teeth against your bite mark, grazing gently. ‘I want to fuck you and I want it to mean something.’

Pressing your heels against the back of his thighs, you roll your hips against him as best you can as you pull him close, clicking your tongue. ‘Have the last nine months meant nothing to you?’

Abruptly, Chanyeol raises his head and regards you in abject shock, looking stricken.

Blanching, you search his face for a problem. ‘What?’

‘It’s been a year,’ he explains, assertive in his tone.

‘A year?’

He nods. ‘It was a year last month.’

Time swirls around you, catching up to you only to depart once more, the timeline of your love and lust for him blurring together to one long, extended always.

Clutching his neck and pulling him close, you kiss him, hard and demanding. ‘I’ve only been counting the times since we started waking up together.’

He smiles, moving a hand from your leg to rest between your bodies. Slipping his hand beneath the hem of your hoodie and moving it out of the way, he finds the space between your parted thighs and brings his fingers to the clothed barrier of your slit. ‘I’ve been counting it from the first kiss,’ he clarifies, pressing lightly smirking at the wetness he finds.

‘We’ve wasted a whole year,’ you manage, ending on a gasp as he moves your underwear to the side and drags his finger over your cunt.

‘I’m too impatient to waste anymore time.’

Taking your lips once more, he moans into the kiss as he teases your slit with his fingers, moving his tongue against yours in the same rhythm, gliding over your wetness. Curling around him, your hands roam over his chest, his arms, his shoulders, gripping his muscles through his shirt. One hand moves down his sides, making him gasp in oversensitive shock against your mouth, before your grip settles on the waistband of his sweats, tugging at them.

The tips of his fingers against your cunt become insistent, offering teasing, gentle breaches into your wetness, wanting more and all of you.

‘How many fingers do you want?’ he questions, walking his free hand down your back and over to your hip, thumb rubbing circles against the skin.

‘Three,’ you breathe against his lips. ‘It feels best with three.’

‘That’s my girl,’ he smirks, hand moving from your hip and over the soft fold of your stomach, palm settling with a rough grip against your breast. ‘Always so greedy.’

Pushing at his thighs with your heels once more, the movement of your legs makes you aware of the cold marble of the counter, aware that this is the most public you’ve ever been - breaching more boundaries in one day than you ever had before.

‘Shouldn’t we move?’ you ask, gasping as he presses his index and middle finger inside. You clench around him, wishing for more, for something larger, thicker, and deeper.

Feeling the tightness, he smiles, offering shallow thrusts with his hand that slowly increase in speed. His other hand massages your breast idly, thumb pressing against your nipple as he smiles.

‘Don’t want to,’ he mumbles, setting a deep, languid pace with his hand. ‘I’ve needed you since I woke up.’

Moving your hand under the band of his sweats, you scratch along his hip bone, pleased with the way a shiver ripples through his muscles. The memory of his hard length pressing against your ass when you woke up gives you a sense of power, digging your nails deeper into his skin.

‘Poor baby.’

Chanyeol whimpers, pressing deeper into your core and dragging a moan from your chest as he pulls his fingers out, only slightly.

‘Don’t tease,’ he chastises, hands moving from your breast to your back, pulling you closer as your other nipple rises, waiting for attention that will not come. ‘I’m hard enough for you it hurts.’

Sliding your hand forward, you walk your fingers down, tracing the fine hair of his happy trail down to the thick wires of his pubic hair and smirk, proven correct. Beneath his sweats, Chanyeol wears nothing at all.

‘What did you do without me?’

It’s an ambiguous question, vague and almost meandering, but he catches on immediately.

‘I used my hand and thought about your pussy on my tongue.’ The pace of his thrusts increases, curling upwards as your head rolls back, resting on the cabinet with a gentle thud. ‘Didn’t feel nearly as good as the real thing.’

Emboldened by his admission, you reach down and grip his cock firmly at the base, his fingers halting in their ministrations against your walls as he gasps, releasing a keening whine at the strength of your hand. Pumping him, you keep your gaze on his changing expression, watching as his features morph in the wake of pleasure.

‘Like this?’ you whisper, pumping his cock with long, languid strokes. ‘You touched yourself like this?’

Chanyeol leans forward, nodding, pupils dilated and lips parted. Spreading his fingers into a wide V, he stretches you in preparation, matching the pace of your hand against his cock. Like this, you share pleasure together, wetness gathering against his fingers and the blood of his cock racing beneath your palm.

‘Yeah,’ he breathes, sounding strained.

Finally, he grants your requests and he slips his ring finger into your core, pressed against his middle in an effort to maintain the stretch. Satisfaction courses through your veins, the bump and ridge of his knuckles against your walls putting tension in your thighs. Always enamoured with the size of his hands, three of his fingers inside you is a stretch that you relish, a whisper of the fullness you anticipate.

Using your other hand to tug his sweats down, you free his cock, increasing the speed of your pumps. ‘You’ve been a needy boy this morning.’

‘You make me that way,’ he moans, moving his hand up your neck to fist in your hair. He leans down, kissing at your jaw, down to your neck, sucking on the tendon he finds, mouth and tongue needy. The overwhelming sensation of being handled by him has your free hand gripping the small curve of his ass in pleasure.

‘I can’t take it,’ he announces, releasing your neck and tugging your hair back, demanding your attention. ‘Are you ready for me?’

Focusing on the intense expression he gives you, it hits you that your orgasm lingers not far off in the distance. With three of his fingers working at your walls, the slickness of you gathering at his hand evidenced by the wet noises that fill the air, you suddenly realize your are gasping for breath, flushed and hot and tense, thighs and back aching for a release.

Nodding, you close your eyes, releasing your focus on power and letting yourself be consumed by the sensation of being owned by him. Your wetness drips over his fingers, smeared onto your thighs and onto the counter, drenched for him the same way your body tightens for him, brought to the edge of desire by his touch alone.

Chanyeol pulls out his fingers, pulling from you a keening whine of emptiness, your muscles protesting the loss. His hand joins yours on his cock, twining your fingers together as he brings your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles. It’s such a romantic expression of ardor, one that softens you more than you would have expected to feel, realizing now that Chanyeol is far more romantic than you might have ever given him credit for.

But he breaks this expression of soft, gentle romance easily, placing your hand on his hip while he pushes you forward, guiding the tip of his cock to your entrance.

‘Need to be inside you,’ he mumbles, impatient.

Even when drunk, Chanyeol had adopted a habit of pausing at your core, letting your wetness smear over the tip as he grazes your slit. It could, you imagined, be a method of teasing you into submission, but always his eyes bore into yours, waiting for your approval. Now, totally sober and in control of himself, aware that you, too, are fully in control of your choices, he pauses, this time with far more hesitation than you’ve ever seen.

In this moment, flush creeping up his neck and into his ears, cock straining to be buried inside you, he pauses, waiting for your answer and giving you the opportunity to retreat. In this moment, for the first time, Chanyeol looks as though your answer weighs his happiness, appearing vulnerable behind the bravado of being so cocksure.

Reaching up, you brush the hair out of his face, glad that these touches get to belong to you, and nod, angling your hips to spread your legs wider, urging him inside.

With a low moan, Chanyeol thrusts into you, pushing through your walls and burying himself to the hilt. Your hands grip at his shoulder blades, a hiss of pleasure escaping through your teeth as you feel yourself stretch to accommodate his large girth. Chanyeol stills inside you, giving both of you a moment to adjust to the sensation of feeling one another, sober and without distractions.

The difference in sensation is difficult to rationalize, nerves and synapses entirely overwhelmed by how intense the feel of him inside you actually is. Without the alcohol to dull your awareness, Chanyeol feels so much more tactile and heavy, your walls stretched around him in a way that feels complete. You clench around him and he shivers, moving both hands to your hips, keeping you still as his head falls to your shoulder.

‘Don’t do that,’ he moans into your skin, words garbled from pleasure. Unable to help yourself, you do it again. Chanyeol squeezes your hips, offering a shallow thrust into your core. ‘Please,’ he begs. ‘If you keep doing that I’ll come faster than I want to. You’re so fucking tight, I can’t really take it.’

You let one of your hands find the hair at his neck once more, stroking idly in comfort while he moves in small, messy thrusts, getting used to the feel of you both without a condom and while sober. Stretched full of him now, your orgasm looms, a promise you can almost kiss without really feeling, but you don’t rush him to move, aware that he feels completely different - harder, longer, and deeper than you have ever experienced before.

Eventually, he pulls out to the tip and sets a hard rhythm, pressing the full length of his cock into you with each thrust. The pace he sets is not unusual, but the tenderness with which he ends his thrusts, almost slowing to ensure you feel every inch of his length and that he feels every aspect of your walls is tender, sweeter than he usually is. Last night, he was unforgiving in the way he snapped his hips against yours, both of your relishing the pain that came with your hips meeting and the stretch of your lips to accommodate him.

Now, he is almost careful with you, his hands pushing your hips to meet his every thrust while he kisses at your ear, tender and gentle, whispering praises of how good you feel.

‘You’re pretty,’ he whispers. ‘You’re so pretty like this, wrapped around me and completely mine.’

It's the first time he's allowed himself to be so possessive, using words that stake claim and allowing himself to be needy. You're not sure how long you've felt like his, perhaps always, but now you are glad to relish the title, aware that it is your rightful home, and your rest a hand on his cheek, titling his face towards your to kiss him.

The kiss is messy, all teeth and tongue, but you smile against one another, Chanyeol fucking into you with an urgency that makes the muscles in your back and stomach coil, tense to your core as your body learns to take him deeper.

'Chanyeol.' You sigh his name against his lips, a whine following quickly after as he hits the spot inside you no one has ever reached, not even him. You hold onto him tightly, feeling the tightness of pleasure overtake your limbs, nails starching into his skin, tense.

'That's my girl,' he says, speeding up his thrusts.

Chanyeol moves a hand from your hip, working it between your bodies to swirl his fingers against your clit. On contact you moan, hand coming away from his shoulder to grip the handle of the cabinet as you roll up against him, needing more. You're not ashamed of how loud you are, forgetting there are others in this house - that you're even on holiday with someone other than Chanyeol, your high pitched whines unleashed with every hard press against your clit.

With his finger on your clit, your walls clench involuntarily, your orgasm approaching with a swiftness that startles you.

'Fuck, baby,' Chanyeol whines, his thrusts losing their sharp, even edge and becoming messy. 'Baby, you're doing it again - fuck, oh fuck.'

Chanyeol's attention your clit stutters, hand on your hip tightening as his head rests once more on your shoulder. You smile through your pleasure, eyes trained up at the ceiling in awe of how raw and full and warm he is. His boyish moans only lure your orgasm closer.

Still, you continue to clench around him, the swirl of his fingers driving you closer.

'Fuck,' he announces, fucking into you harder. ‘I’m gonna come.’

‘Yeah?’ you breathe, surprised by how quickly his own end approaches.

When drunk, it is not that he lasts for an explicitly long period of time, merely that he takes his time - foreplay takes time, his thrusts take time even if they are hard and fast and long. Now, he trembles against you, skin hot and neck damp as he lets himself get overwhelmed, straining to keep his pace. His arms shake, hand at your hip clutching to you as though your flesh and bone root him to the earth, but you are glad for this hold, pressed into the counter and held in place.

You, too, feel yourself become dizzy, dazed and overwhelmed by the stimulation of him. His natural scent mixing with the cologne already lingering on his shirt, the heat of the hoodie, the sound of his breath as he moans through his thrusts - louder than you ever remember him being - is enough to set the burn in your heart and chest to your core, your own legs shaking, a hard press to your clit rolling you up into him once more.

‘Come inside me,' you mutter, breathless and urgent.

Chanyeol's head rolls against you, his hips slowing in an attempt to slow his thrusts, but you clench around him, shuddering as a swirl over clit makes you quake, and he chokes, thrusting hard and deep, right against your spot.

‘Are you sure?’ he whines, kissing at your neck in desperation.

Taking your hand from the cabinet, you clutch at his shoulders, nodding. Realizing he cannot see you, you suck an inhale through your teeth, the muscles at the base of your spine building a pressure that sends your hips into his, messy and uncoordinated, pushing yourself to an end, even if it is not unified.

‘Just come,’ you affirm, scratching your nails down his back. He whispers a small, almost missed fuck into your neck, and you smirk, clenching around him in encouragement. ‘Come in me, I’m so close.’

He whines, hand at your clit stilling while still lingering, a teasing pressure that keeps you needy and on edge. Something about this barely there touch sends fractured and splintered waves of your oncoming orgasm down through your back and stomach, a ripple of an oncoming storm that has you quaking in his arms, feeling violent and wild.

'Come with me?' he tries, the words choked and garbled.

It’s the romance of it that does you in, you think. So many times over the last year, it seems, you’ve had Chanyeol and the hard edge of his eroticism, the teasing and possessive way he licks a full line of your slit before he presses his tongue inside; the way he leaves bite marks on your breasts, hand prints on your ass, marking you in all the places that say someone has been there before and will be again. Now, he asks for your heart, seeking a climax that is shared, kissing your hands and kissing your soul, entwining you together and staking a claim that says someone is here and always will be.

So it's the romance, seeing him so devoted to you and your needs, to your heart and your body, that makes you hold onto him a little tighter, legs widening to take him even deeper, all the way into your soul. It's the romance that has you nodding against him, gasping for breath beneath the heat of the hoodie, his touch, and in the wake of his thrusts, your orgasm burning beneath your skin, ready to shatter your bones.

Against your neck, he smiles. 'There it is,' he whispers, but you're too far gone to ask. 'I can feel you. This is my favourite, every time.'

Chanyeol presses his fingers against your clit once more, the shift from the teasing, cloying grazes you'd been feeling to the rough swirl of a circle sending your orgasm through your nerves. The world around you breaks, black and white and full of colours, the shapes of the world blurring behind your tears and into nothing as you squeeze your eyes shut. Your hands fist in his shirt, clutching to him as though afraid of disappearing altogether, the bliss and ecstasy of feeling all of him at once breaking over you in a wave that leaves your lips parted, his name spilling from your lips in a whispered, almost silent, scream.

His name spills from your lips at the same time he spills inside you, the sound of his orgasm reverberating into your skin. On him, your name is a shout of euphoria, almost victorious in the way he declares it, a tattoo of ownership against your neck. His warmth fills you, the heat of his come warm and almost unfamiliar, a sober experience that feels strange yet paradoxically so right.

Chanyeol slides his hands from your hips to your back, tips of his fingers rubbing circles at the base of your spine, something about this touch so overstimulating that you shake in his arms, drawing him closer and breathing him deep.

‘Mine,’ he mumbles, sounding so small and so shy. ‘Please be mine.’

It's hard to imagine how he would believe you belonged to anyone else, could ever want to after feeling all of him, right down to his soul. But Chanyeol has always been shy and insecure, the tremors of his bravado simply a mask that hides his nervous smile.

Your arm feels heavy as you lift it to his hair, carding your fingers through the strands and stroking him, soothing him. ‘Yours,' you agree, turning your head to kiss at his ear. Chanyeol rumbles happily against you, the heaviness of his limbs comforting. 'Only yours.’

‘Literally, what the fuck?’

Minseok's yell startles you both, Chanyeol flailing as he pulls back and thus pulls out of you, your eyes squeezing shut from the stimulation of it. He pulls you to the floor, hidden from view behind the kitchen island, covering your mouths to keep from laughing.

'This is...,' comes Jae's voice, drifting away in shock. ‘You’re both disgusting!’

Chanyeol's come begins to drip between your legs and you grimace, aware that the mess has spread elsewhere. Still, you don't really find it in you to be guilty.

‘You’re cleaning all of - whatever the fuck - on your own. I’m not coming in there,' Minseok declares resolutely, the sound of their footsteps drifting as they run, rather angrily, up the stairs and to their room where they close the door with a slam.

Moving his hands from your mouths you both erupt into laughter, Chanyeol collapsed on top of you as he howls. Putting your hands on his shoulders, you nudge him, rolling him off you as you reach up for a dish towel.

‘The good thing about sex on the floor,’ Chanyeol begins, watching you wipe his come off your thighs and the floor, ‘is that if it’s with the right person you don’t realize it’s the floor.’

Cleaned, your fist the towel into a ball and put it beside you, making a mental note to add that to the laundry. Turning to face him, you smile. ‘Want to find out if that’s true?’

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