#and some of it feels out of place because the directions called for certain things

[sardonicplague]

So, I didn't want to do this here but this is too long for the replies, unfortunately. Sorry Crim for making it look like I'm replying to you, but since it would be too tedious for the replies, reblogging my own reblog just seems the most logical to me.

Anyway, I'm sorry @purpledemonlilyposting for literally doing the thing! I'll admit that for me personally it is force of habit at this point because I personally find saying 2SLGBTQIA+ to be too much to type every time, so that's my bad for not being more careful with my wording since I know you don't like it. I am sorry for (unintentionally; I will explain in a minute, but I want to be fair to your feelings here, which are valid) lumping you in with a word you don't like being used for you because I'm really not trying to just shit all over you here. I generally respect you and like your content for the most part, but I spoke in frustration, which is generally not a good idea where clarity is concerned. That was not kind of me, and I ought to have been more careful.

But I need you to understand that this conversation is so genuinely frustrating to younger queers because it seems like all you're doing is firing off smug quips about us younguns not knowing or being able to understand what our reality or history is unless we've personally lived it in order to shut down conversation when no single one of our experiences with The Community (henceforth referred to as such to avoid using EITHER debated term) are universal. But I am not going to argue about this long because frankly Crim did it better, I'm just going to be repeating most of his points, and all I really *wanted* to do was express my disappointment and upset that you could really have read the entire long post Crim wrote about it being an academic term and still have seemingly nothing but quippy retorts to shut down arguments rather than have a conversation about your disagreements without it dissolving into more snappy quips.

Since you called me out in the replies though, I'll throw my two cents in for whatever it's worth. But I cannot stress enough that I'm not going to engage with this topic much beyond what I'm saying here if we’re going to just talk past each other.

So, I equate my use of the word queer in those tags to the use of The Fuck Word.

There are certain folks who don't like swearing for various reasons—some perfectly valid—who might say if I, just for example, exclaim "what the fuck are you doing?" in astonished reaction to something they are doing as "swearing at them". Now, to me personally, I'm just swearing. Not swearing AT them. Just because I'm speaking TO or about them doesn't mean I'm swearing AT them because in this instance the word fuck is being used in a different context. It's being used as a descriptive word, not as a word to cause harm. To me, swearing AT someone is more like saying, "go fuck yourself", "you motherfucker", "you are a fucking idiot", etc. because it's being directed AT a person. The equivalent for the latter pejorative usage of the word queer would be saying, “you ugly nasty queer”, “I bet she's one of them *queers* (spoken with nasty intonation such as to indicate it's being used as a pejorative)”.

TL;DR if folks are not using it as a pejorative then it isn't being used as a pejorative, end of, even if you don't like the word. And the reasons I believe this can more kindly be explained by Crim’s reblog that you initially ignored. So when you perceive “being lumped in with the queer community” as the equivalent of being called a slur, it comes off as you playing semantic games. Now I'm not saying that IS what you're doing with bad faith intent, because I believe your feelings about this word come from a place of genuine hurt. I just think—and this is 100% just my opinion that you can feel free to say is presumptuous or whatever you'd like—that it is generally bad to let the traumatic feelings and experiences that you've had with individual bigots rule your behavior and language to the extent that you're cutting useful language out of your lexicon and then implying that other folks ought to do the same. Because even if you say “it's okay to say queer just don't use it for me because I take it as a slur”, you're still kind of discouraging its use by dint of labelling the word as As Bad As A Slur No Matter The Context.

Also, just for the record, I don't think that the “we are different and that's okay” and “we're normal, actually” arguments are mutually exclusive either. We ARE different to cishets, BUT that's normal, AND it's okay.

And we really don't need to be fighting over terminology right now anyway! There are bigger proverbial fish to be fried with regard to our civil rights and lumping other folks in The Community in with people who readily say slurs like the ones anon hatefully spewed at you is just kinda needlessly divisive.

Like, I just feel like we could have all dunked on that idiot anon *without* all this, yknow? Could you do that next time this happens?

Ask sent to my main blog.

You see how tolerant and progressive and totally not homophobic people who regularly use queer are?

[the-life-of-a-herm]

This is a rushed paper I wrote to my professor as an introduction to intersex genital mutilation. It was all done and researched in less then a day because I was hospitalized. I know it's not the best, but I think it holds up well... (and no the MLA did not transfer over very well when i copy and pasted lol)

-

Intersex Genital Mutilation (IGM) refers to a type of surgery enacted on intersex individuals, typically children. The term intersex refers to when an individual has sex variations from the norm. Examples of this could be somebody who went through a feminizing puberty but also a typically closer to male body, somebody who has XXY chromosomes, CAH (Congenital Adrenal Hyperplasia), which can cause various mixed primary and secondary sex characteristics depending on the type, somebody with XY chromosomes and CAIS (Complete Androgen Insensitivity Syndrome) will have their body reject all androgens in development and cause them not to develop as male and many more experiences. In the case of IGM, this affects people with variations that cause atypical/ambiguous genitalia. This is genitalia that is between male and female. Because of how humans develop in the womb, this is not as uncommon as one might think. Humans only have one reproductive system, which means that while growing in the womb, our parts start from the same thing and then grow differently depending on other factors like chromosomes and hormones. This is also why SRS (Sex Reassignment Surgery) is possible. So, for people with atypical genitalia, their genitalia grows between the standard male and female genitalia. This could look like an enlarged clitoris, an imperforate hymen (no vaginal opening) on somebody with otherwise typically female genitalia, somebody with fused labioscrotal folds, meaning they have a labia on an otherwise male body and many more variations. Now, while some variations need to be changed to prevent health issues/pain while growing down the road, many are completely fine with being left alone. Despite this, it has been standard practice for decades to operate on babies who have genital sex variations for purely cosmetic reasons. This is still a type of surgery many get today. Despite it being common practice, I believe putting intersex individuals through surgeries they do not need is a violation of bodily autonomy and wrong.

One of the most common reasons people object to ridding children of unnecessary changes to their genitalia is because of social norms. Doctors and parents alike believe that by ‘fixing’ the child’s ambiguous genitalia to look as close as possible to typical male or female genitalia, they are saving the kid from a lifetime of social scrutiny. Or, as Dr. Kenneth I. Glassberg put it, they would be “considered freaks” (Lerner) by their peers. Of course, society can be cruel to people who deviate from the norm, but I hardly think this is a valid reason to support something as life-changing as IGM. If the real issue was that kids would be bullied, then the answer should not be to cut kids up until they conform. The problem will only worsen if we continue to treat intersex individuals’ existence as something inherently needing to be fixed or ashamed of. The correct response to social issues is not to make everybody conform to the majority but to educate people. Children especially need this education. If a child is made fun of for their mixed sex characteristics at school, the answer is to use that as a teaching opportunity for the offending child to understand the world is bigger and more diverse than just themselves. It is illogical to imply that forcing people into conformity is doing anything more than promoting the same societal standards that ostracized intersex people in the first place. Additionally, there is “insufficient evidence that growing up with atypical genitalia leads to psychosocial distress” (Elders et al.) Meaning the entire argument here that most people defending IGM use is based on speculation. Forced conformity to the sex binary does not help those who lie outside of it because it is the enforcement of the comfort of the same people who you claim you are protecting them from.

Additionally, the harm that IGM can cause far outweighs the possibility of saving people from bullying and social consequences for being different. A lot of the time normalizing surgeries can lead to medical complications such as, but not limited to, painful sex, loss of sensation, frequent UTIs, need for additional surgeries later to fix the previous ones, etc. Mind you, these surgeries are often done on infants and toddlers, meaning oftentimes they are too small to know for certain what the results will look like after the kid grows or if it will cause more issues as they grow. Sure, it looks normal when they are an infant, but what about later on? Many opposers to ending invasive procedures act as if these children are “..never going to grow up,”(Fae) and have more complications as they age or loss of function. Surgeons are creating more issues medically than if you just left the child alone. Additionally, many times people don’t know they have had surgery until years later, meaning there could be major complications because of surgery they ignore because they don’t know it’s not normal. Not knowing about your own body and medical history can be an extremely dangerous situation for people. Yet intersex people who go through IGM are oftentimes left in the dark. Few intersex people look back and are happy with the invasive procedures they went through in childhood. (Lerner) When people find out they went through these procedures later on in life, it is common for them to feel violated or like they have been lied to, some even saying they grew up with “deception and shame for years” (Lerner) after they learned the truth. Commonly, intersex individuals will not have the full story about their medical history so they are still left to wonder even after finding out about their surgery. People who never asked for genital normalizing surgery are left to deal with the consequences of the medical system’s decision to think their bodies needed changing.

Furthermore, rarely are these surgeries necessary. In some instances, such as somebody with atypical genitalia will have a variation that can cause pain as the kid grows up, which is a valid reason for considering giving a newborn surgery. However, most times the surgeries that are performed are purely aesthetical. Since around the 50s, the primary reason for IGM has been “...to ‘normalize’ gendered appearance, not to improve function.” (Elders et al.) This means the surgeries don’t aim to improve the child’s physical well-being or make it so their genitals will perform proper functions without difficulty, instead, they seek to force people into a more clear box of male or female. The existence of normalizing surgeries for children is based entirely on the need to make people fit the status quo. These intersex individuals have to experience growing up being uneducated about their bodies and healthcare needs, life-altering complications from surgery, and left coping with “great stress and confusion, often [paired] with incomplete information” (Gregorio) about their medical history and the knowledge they were born in a body seen unfit to live a normal life with. All of these struggles are because of a type of surgery that’s sole purpose is to focus on what a baby’s genitals look like, instead of their own best interest. Leaving babies who do not need medical intervention alone will ultimately cause more good than harm. A kid who was left alone can grow up and decide as an older person they want to have surgery on their genitals, but a kid who had corrective surgery done on them as a child cannot grow up and choose to have it never done in the first place.

Another segment of this issue is intersectionality with other social issues like medical misogyny and medical racism, because of how intersex bodies, and by extension the people with them, are seen as inherently medicalized. Intersectionality is a concept of when oppressions intersect, an example of this is how black women will face certain experiences for being both black and a woman that white women will not, often referred to as misogynoir. Intersex people who are viewed as women/closer to female commonly have to deal with doctors who dismiss their worries. Some women are even being “referred to a mental health professional” (Fae) for merely discussing the pain they experienced. Many medical professionals are uneducated on female anatomy and dismiss the concerns they have. This only gets worse when you are also somebody with mixed sex characteristics, which many doctors don’t know enough to treat properly. Similarly, with medical racism many people with complications have issues getting the care they need. Many doctors are still under the false impression black people of colour have a higher pain tolerance than their white counterparts or dismiss them as drug-seeking. Because of this, people with serious health complications later on as a result of their surgery can have trouble being taken seriously by doctors. Intersex people in general don’t have a good experience with getting healthcare that benefits their needs. However, when you intersect these problems with things like racism or misogyny, the matter gets more complex and harder to navigate for these individuals.

Finally, the major problem with corrective surgeries for atypical genitalia is consent. A baby cannot consent to going through a normalizing surgery, and arguably parents are most times not educated enough to either. Sure, in some cases medical practices override consent. An example of this is giving NARCAN to somebody who overdosed, there are laws protecting doctors in this case from being sued because the person cannot consent, but their life still needs to be saved. However, intersex variations are not an overdose. Intersex genital variations are rarely in need of medical intervention. There is no reason consent should be overridden for a nonessential invasive surgery that can commonly lead to tons of complications down the road. The key difference here is necessity. Changing an infant’s genitals because they need that to function and changing it because they would look more typically male or female are not the same. The situation isn’t dire, and consent matters. If they grow up and wish to change it themselves, that is entirely fine. The difference between somebody older deciding to get surgery and somebody who is a baby is that the older person is exercising bodily autonomy. To do often irreversible invasive surgeries on infants to normalize their genitalia is to rob them of their “right to personal autonomy over their own future.”(Elders et al.) Intersex people deserve to choose what is best for their own lives, not doctors or parents. It is their body that is getting a life-altering change, the consent should lie on their shoulders.

Intersex Genital Mutilation is a standard practice thing that happens all around the world with many repercussions. These people grow up to feel violated and confused and are often lied to about their medical history enough to where many will never know the full truth of what happened to them. These are aesthetical surgeries that are oftentimes nonessential, but cause complications that can last a lifetime. IGM rips people of their bodily autonomy and right to consent to major changes to their bodies. This is an issue that’s been being fought for decades, but through activism, things have started to change a bit. Social and systemic change happens through hard work and education. This will only end if we all educate ourselves and others on intersex issues and urge our government to make a change to protect people’s right to their bodies. Right now IGM is standard practice, but it does not have to be. Organizations like InterACT Youth or Intersex Society of North America are a few activist groups fighting right now for the rights of intersex people. Without more education and more perisex (non-intersex) people standing up for these practices to change, nothing will happen. A better future is possible through social activism, which is spreading information through social means, and joining together to urge our government to say no to IGM.

Elders, Joycelyn, et al. “Re-Thinking Genital Surgeries on Intersex Infants.” Palm Center, June 2017.

Fae, Jane. “Normality under the Knife.” The Guardian, The Guardian, 21 June 2010, www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2010/jun/21/normality-under-knife-surgery-genitalia.

Gregorio, I. W. “When Emergency Pediatric Surgery Is Anything But.” Scientific American, 17 May 2017, www.scientificamerican.com/blog/observations/when-emergency-pediatric-surgery-is-anything-but/?WT.mc_id=SA_FB_POLE_BLOG.

Lerner, Barron H. “BEHAVIOR; If Biology Is Destiny, When Shouldn’t It Be?” The New York Times, 27 May 2003, www.nytimes.com/2003/05/27/health/behavior-if-biology-is-destiny-when-shouldn-t-it-be.html.

[englishisaboutconfidence]

Jealousy, I Know your Name

"Ahyeon, Ahyeon, Ahyeon!" Snapping out of her trance, Ahyeon finally turned to the person trying to get her attention.

"You've been distracted all day. What has your brain all tied up?"

"Nothing Ruka Unnie"

"Are you sure Ahyeon? It seems that ever since we met the new employees, you've been somewhere else".

"Sorry, just a lot on my mind with the project deadline coming up."

"Hmmm, normally I would accept that except for some crazy reason, your eyes keep drifting in a certain direction…"

Trying to act not nonchalant, Ahyeon responded "I have no clue what you're talking about Unnie".

"Are you sure Ahyeon? Because it seems that every time, we get a new coworker who happens to be a woman our age, your mind seems to wander somewhere else and your eyes seem to magically keep an eye on a certain someone…"

Accepting that lunch in the work cafeteria wasn't the right place to have this conversation, Ruka accepted her answer. "We don't have to talk about this now, but we are going to talk about this tonight when we get drinks Ahyeon".

"Fine Unnie"

--- A few hours later ---

"So Ahyeon, are you going to finally tell me the truth because we both know that I know you better than anyone else. We have been friends for almost a decade"

Knocking back a shot of shot, Ahyeon sighed and started to answer: "Okay okay, I guess its been long enough that officially telling you won't be the worst thing in the world. Yes, I was thinking about Y/N… and maybe making sure that he wasn't getting too friendly with any of the new hires…"

Ruka responded with a simple raise of her eyebrows and a tilt of her head.

"… Yes like I always do. IDK, I just don't like when new hires get too friendly with Y/N too early. While he has a bit of a killer instinct when it comes to his coworkers and upward momentum in the work place, he is also Y/N. I still see him as the sweet, cute, nerdy guy I met in the middle school. I know he can handle male coworkers who want to snake him; but when it comes to girls our age, he can be too kind for his own good and I want to make sure that non of these skanks take advantage of him".

Hearing Ahyeon call their female coworkers caused Ruka to smirk, but Ahyeon didn't notice as she was too engrossed in her little tirade.

"I mean come on, remember Sullyoon,I mean all she did was touch his arm a little bit and flutter her lashes, and suddenly he was helping her whenever she asked. Don't even get me started on that bitch Julie, I mean how much sluttier can you dress. We are professionals and she wears the tightest skirts possible and the lowest hanging tops that whenever she just so happens to lean over my Y/N's desk, her tits are nearly falling out."

Hearing this, Ruka started to giggle.

"Don't start Unnie. You are nearly as bad. I mean you know how I feel and yet you constantly are talking to Y/N at his desk and while walking to meetings".

Sensing the change in Ahyeon, Ruka decided to cut off Ahyeon before she said something she might regret.

"Ahyeon, relax. I know how you feel about Y/N, but you need to remember that I am his sunbae just like I am yours and I have known him just as long as you have."

"Sorry Unnie, I know, I just get so worked up about Y/N and I don't know why"

"Well it doesn't help that you've been in love with him since you two were in the 8th grade. Plus you went to middle school together then high school then college and now work together… and you still haven't confessed…"

"He's supposed to! He's the guy Unnie!"

"Ahyeon, you've liked him for over a decade, I think this is equally if not more on you. You also haven't done anything to make it obvious to him and you know Y/N is completely oblivious to anything when it comes to romance. He's only dated 1 girl and that was barely for 3 months when he has been liked by multiple girls between 7th grade and now…"

Staring at Ahyeon, Ruka continued "Oh wait, I forgot something seemed to happen anytime a girl showed any interest in Y/N. Any interest was suddenly dropped. It was almost like someone either scared them off or made sure that every girl knew that Y/N was taken".

Ahyeon simple crossed her arms and muttered "It's not my fault that those girls needed to know that he's mine."

Raising her voice, "They don't understand him like I do and they would've broken up eventually too. Y/N is too in love with me to date anyone long term".

Sighing, Ruka responded to her delusional but well meaning junior "you two are somehow a combination of infuriating, delusional, and the cutest couple ever. Sometimes I regret telling you that Y/N has had a crush on you since the 7th grade as well."

Hearing the word couple, instantly brought a smile to Ahyeon's face. Seeing this, Ruka just sighed and said "God, you and Y/N are the worst. We should probably get going, it's already 10pm and we have a long day tomorrow."

---- The Next Day ---

Walking into the cafeteria, Ruka looks around for Ahyeon so they could sit together and instead she found someone who looked like they were planning a murder.

Approaching her junior, Ruka cleared her throat to try to get Ahyeon's attention before finally speaking "I don't think you are supposed to just stab the salad."

"It's better I stab this salad than that bitch Sian. God she's such a pick me. 'Oh Y/N could you help me print this doc. Oh Y/N you're so good at excel. Oh Y/N you're such a kind and caring sunbae'. Such a phony bitch. I had to sit there grinding away on our project while that whore practically offered herself as a public fuck toy for my Y/N."

Sighing, Ruka tried to calm down her junior "Ahyeon. I love you but I am sure you're overreacting."

"Unnie, I know I normally do; but trust me, this is different. You'll see tonight at the team dinner. That bitch is practically throwing herself at Y/N thinking that she will be able to get him to do all her work and the worst part is that it'll probably work."

"Well if she starts giving him her work or asks for too much help, I'll step in as team lead and make sure she asks someone else for help or does it herself if it's within her abilities".

"Thanks Unnie; but Sian gets too friendly tonight, I have to take things into my own hands"

Hearing this, Ruka just shook her head; but secretly, she hoped that Sian would flirt with Y/N because this decade of mutual pining has taken a toll on her.

--- A few hours and a few drinks later ---

The team had been dropped off by a couple of the companies vans earlier that night and the drinks had started flowing the second they stepped into the restaurant for the monthly team dinner. Most of the team would indulge in a few drinks at these dinners, but the younger employees always seemed to find a way to elevate the celebration to a point where it was almost an HR hazard to keep having them. The team would naturally split into the respective age/hire groups with the older team members huddling together spectating their younger colleagues while the newer and newest hires would often rope in the 2-3 year tenured employees into joining them in indulging in as many free drinks as possible. Each of the new hires had seemingly grabbed a slightly older sunbae to cling on to throughout the night and Sian had decided that Y/N was hers for the night. Ever since they had clocked out, Sian had been inseparable from Y/N. She literally grabbed hold of him on the way out of the building and had not let go of him since. Ahyeon of course instantly noticed this but had done a remarkable job of holding herself back; but that resolve was quickly fading. Ruka could practically see the steam coming out of Ahyeon's ears and decided that it was best for the team (while also being a wing woman for her best friend) to distract Sian for a bit. Walking up to Sian and Y/N, Ruka could see the mixture of happiness and also pure terror in Y/N's eyes from the proximity and amount of physical touch he was having with Sian. "Sian, come chat with me and Asa, we want to hear more about you outside of work. You can hang out with boring old Y/N anytime." "Okay Sunbae, bye Y/N" Sian said before giving a quick peck to Y/N's cheek and following Ruka to talk with Asa.

Giving a sigh of relief after finally getting some separation from your good meaning but clingy junior, you looked around to see what everyone else was doing. You saw your sunbaes gathered as far as possible from you and your fellow young coworkers. Your sunbaes always loved to chat amongst themselves while also spectating their drunk juniors. You also saw a few other teams who had also decided to come here for their monthly team dinner. Finally, your eyes landed on the girl who had lived rent free in your head for almost if not over a decade long, Jung Ahyeon.

She was your middle school, high school, college, and now work crush. You two had first met when you transferred into her middle school in 7th grade and had been smitten ever since. She was the class president so she gave you the tour of their building; but you had to keep asking her simple questions because you couldn't focus due to her beauty and charisma. That crush had stuck with you throughout their schooling and had even intensified when they got to college. Being the beauty and kind hearted person she was, Ahyeon had dozens of guys who were interested and her and all of them were far better than you, so you had never even thought about actually asking her out. Throughout the years, your friends had asked you who he were interested in or who your dream girl was and the answer was always Ahyeon. One night during your Junior year of college, Ruka, who was a year older than you and Ahyeon and who you had also known for a decade, asked you who you were interested in. Being a little more than tipsy, you answered her truthfully and said Ahyeon. Ruka asked why and you started going into detail about how beautiful, kind, etc. Ahyeon was and after 15 minutes of you showing how you had been practically obsessing over Ahyeon, Ruka finally laughed and told you to shut up. The next day, you had woken up in a panic and called Ruka to beg her to not tell Ahyeon about any of what you had said. Ruka told you not to worry about it and after a few days of treading lightly whenever you saw Ahyeon or Ruka, you were finally able to start acting normal again, trusting that Ruka hadn't told Ahyeon about your embarrassing and somewhat obsessive confession.

That was four years ago now. After graduating college, you and Ahyeon had actually joined the same company and team as Ruka. Being the only 2 new hires for that year in the team, you two had gotten closer while still not being super close. You had gone from people who go to school together to close work colleagues or even potentially work friends, although your relationship still hadn't moved past talking in the office or hanging out with each other at work events; but when your eyes landed on her after finally getting some space from Sian, you could tell something was wrong… mostly because it looked like Ahyeon was trying to melt a hole through you. Confused as to what you did wrong, you started to wrack your brain for any fuck ups you had at work that day or if you had taken any of the meat Ahyeon liked while eating dinner; but you couldn't for the life of you figure it out. Suddenly Ahyeon started marching at you like someone ready to start a fight. You were then grabbed by your t-shirt and roughly pulled into the hallway then supply closet of the restaurant.

"Ahyeon, I don't think we are supposed to be in here"

"I don't care Y/N. What the fuck is up with you and little miss princess Sian?"

"Uh, nothing? She's just a coworker."

"Really? Then why has she been holding onto you like a life craft and why are you practically doing her job for her?"

"Woah woah woah Ahyeon. She's just new and hasn't gotten close to anyone. She asked me a question yesterday and after helping her out, she has just had me as her go to person."

"Are you sure its not because you're fucking her? Are you seriously already fucking her? God, why do you fall for the eye fluttering and flirty touches of every woman who works with us. You are such a spineless coward. Falling for anyone who shows you any attention. You know what, screw you Y/N. I can't believe I've been in love with you all these years"

Looking shell shocked, you just stared at your crush of over a decade.

"What Y/N? Too scared to confess that you've been fucking the new hire. She's practically a fetus. Still fresh out of college. She hasn't even been out of school for 6 months".

Not hearing a word she said, you just stared at her like an idiot and said "You're in love with me?"

Clearly annoyed at you, Ahyeon stared at you dumbfounded "Is that seriously all you heard Y/N? Or are you just playing dumb?"

Still not hearing a word she said, you just repeated "You're in love with me?"

Practically ready to blow, Ahyeon spat at you "No, I WAS IN LOVE WITH YOU. I thought you were cute when I gave you that tour in 7th grade and the more I saw you and got to know you throughout the years, that infatuation turned into love; but now it's gone because you can't keep your dick in your pants and you are a pathetic simp".

Not hearing half of what she said, you just looked at Ahyeon and were completely captivated by her beauty. Not sure whether it was the soju or a sudden surge in confidence, you, not thinking, softly raised your hand to her face to cup it. Stunned by your sudden touch, Ahyeon paused her tirade and looked like she was short circuiting. Still moving without an ounce of thought, you moved your other hand to her waist and brought her close before capturing her lips with yours. After breaking out of her stupor, Ahyeon pulled you even closer and responded to your kiss tenfold. Needing to break for air, you and Ahyeon finally separated after what felt like eternity. Still holding her by the waist, you gazed lovingly into Ahyeon's eyes before saying "I love you". Hearing that caused Ahyeon to blush and she started to pull away, but you weren't about to fuck up this opportunity of a life time. Pulling her flush against you, you raised her face so her eyes met yours and said it again "I love you Ahyeon". Seeing your sincerity and the love behind your eyes, Ahyeon took a second before responding "You're an asshole". Confused you loosened your grip on her, sensing this, Ahyeon grabbed your face and smashed her lips against yours again. Stunned, you barely were able to reciprocate before she broke away again. Grabbing your hand, she led you out of the supply closet, through the hallway, past your team, and out of the restaurant.

Still not saying a word to you, but muttering to herself, Ahyeon continued to lead you by the hand through the streets of Seoul before finally coming to an apartment building which she scanned in and led you through the lobby and into one of the elevators. Once the doors closed, Ahyeon was on you like a lion. Pushing you against one of the walls, she practically mounted you while capturing your lips with hers. Trying your best to match her fervor, you put both of your hands on her waist and pulled her closer. Deciding this wasn't enough for her, Ahyeon moved your hands from her waist to her ass and made sure that you had firm grasp of it before letting you take hold alone. After making out for a bit, the elevator finally signaled that it had arrived at her floor. Hearing the noise, Ahyeon let you off the wall, but made sure to grab one of your hands so she could lead you to here apartment. When you two finally arrived at her door, she made sure that you had both your hands on her waist before punching in her code. After inputting the code, she turned and gave you a quick peck before pulling you into her apartment. Letting her lead the way, you walked through her apartment before stopping in her living room. Turning around, Ahyeon looked at you with a mixture of happiness and fear. Sensing that she needed some more reassurance, you grabbed her again by the waist and captured her lips once again with yours. Not wanting this to turn into a full on makeout session, Ahyeon separated from you after a few seconds. Taking a second to look at her in her eyes, you see the fear and happiness melting away and being replaced with something else… lust.

Feeling a renewed sense of purpose and anger, Ahyeon once again grabbed you by your shirt and dragged you into her bedroom before shoving you onto her bed. Landing on her bed, you are then met with the sight of a lust filled Ahyeon. This along with the previous makeout sessions caused your dick to start to harden. Seeing this, Ahyeon smirked before sitting on your lap and straddling you. This only caused you to harden more and you released a slight moan. This caused Ahyeon to start to grind herself on top of you. Deciding that you need take back some control, you flipped yourself and Ahyeon so now she was on her back. Taking a second to truly take in the sight of her, you noticed what she had been wearing the entire night. While not inappropriate, it was borderline non work attire. She wore a small black skirt that at the right angle would reveal the bottom of her ass and a tight white button down with a black tie that was begging to be ripped off. Seeing your loss of focus, Ahyeon thrust her clothed core to meet your hardened dick which once again caused you to moan. Deciding you truly had had enough, you ripped off your shirt and pants before starting to strip Ahyeon. Seeing how excited she was for you to do so, you chose to taunt her a bit by slowly dragging down her skirt inch by inch.

"Y/N just take it fucking off"

"Language Ahyeon. I don't want to fuck a foul mouthed whore"

"Listen Y/N, if you don't hurry the fuck up. I will tie you to this bed and will ride you until you can't even think of getting your dick hard".

"Now Ahyeon, how is that supposed to dissuade me". "Fuck you" she replied. "That's the plan babe".

"How about this. The faster I get naked, the faster you get to bury your cock inside of me and the faster you get to see my naked tits. Don't pretend like I haven't caught you staring at my tits or my ass throughout the year… oh and, the faster you get to find out how much of a whore I am for your cock. Maybe I'll even let you fuck my ass tonight".

Hearing this certainly motivated you and you practically tore of her skirt and shirt before actually tearing her panties before struggling with her bra. Seeing you struggle, Ahyeon decided to help you out and unclasped it for you. Seeing her bra drop and her tits barren in front of you, you hovered over her practically panting. Seeing you frozen, Ahyeon rose up enough to meet your ear before whispering "You can suck them you know." Hearing that, you dove face first into her tits before capturing one of her nipples with your mouth and groping the other tit with your hand. Swapping back and forth, you feasted on her tits before finally she had to physically tear you off of them. Annoyed at being separated from your prize, your head was then shoved down past her delectable abs and in front of her neatly shaven cunt. Realizing what she wanted, you slowly moved towards your next feast. Slowly licking down from her abs, you gave her inner thighs some much needed attention before diving in. After a few minutes of burying your head in her cunt, you sensed that her orgasm was approaching. Ahyeon started to pant your name "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, please" Tearing yourself away from her glorious cunt, you raised your head and said "What babe, what do want". "Please Y/N." "Please what Ahyeon" "Please just fucking make me come" Hearing this you dove back in and started to truly feast on her, burying your tongue so deep that you felt her nearly come from any movement. Coyly moving your right hand in front of her puckered hole, you inserted one finger into her ass right when you captured her clit with your mouth. Feeling this Ahyeon, instantly came and showered your face in her cum. After making sure to lap up her entire orgasm, you removed your finger from her ass and met her face to face. Seeing her dazed, you softly grabbed her face and kiss her, making sure she got a tase of her own release.

After recovering, Ahyeon then slapped your shoulder before kissing you again. "Yah, I didn't say anything about putting a finger in my ass"

"Really? Oh well, because it certainly seemed like you liked it Ahyeon" you cockily responded.

"Whatever Y/N. You're lucky I like you".

"Love honey. Love me"

"Shut up Y/N. Swap spots with me so I can return the favor."

Not wanting to look a gift blowjob in the mouth, you quickly swapped with Ahyeon so now you were laying on your back and she was on top of you. After pulling off your shirt, Ahyeon gave you soft kisses down your chest before hovering over your lap. She then tore your pants off before slowly sliding your underwear off revealing your bare cock which had been hard since you two had made it to the bedroom. Like the little minx she was, she then gave slow, long licks along your hardened shaft causing you to moan like a little bitch. Hearing this caused a smirk to come over her face. "Ahyeon" you groaned. "Ahyeon what, Y/N?" "Ugh, you know what babe" Giving another long lick and cupping your balls, Ahyeon asked you again "What Y/N?" "Fuck you" you angrily spat. "Just say it Y/N" "Fine… please Ahyeon please blow me" you begged. Hearing you final beg, Ahyeon started to take your cock inch by inch. Each inch caused you to moan even louder causing Ahyeon to smirk even more before you finally bottomed out. Ahyeon gave you a second to relax before she fucking her throat on your cock, drooling and letting spit leak out of her mouth. Feeling your orgasm approaching, you gave Ahyeon a warning about your upcoming climax; but hearing this only caused Ahyeon to fuck her throat with your cock even more before finally your orgasm overwhelmed you and you fill Ahyeon’s throat with your cum. Ahyeon, being the good little slut she was, took your entire load drinking it without abandon before letting your cock pop out of her mouth and then opening her mouth to show you that she had swallowed your entire load.

Ahyeon then straddle you and lowered her face right over yours before saying "Don't even think about passing out on me Y/N. I have wanted too damn long for this and I am getting what I deserve". She then captured your lips in a kiss that was filled with both lust and love. You then flipped yourself and Ahyeon again so she was on her back and you were above her. You then softly placed your hand on her check and were about to speak before she beat you to the punch. "Y/N, I love you; but will you for God's sake, stop being a gooey romantic and just bury your cock in my aching cunt". Hearing this along with her grabbing your cock and giving you a handjob got you hard once again. You then positioned your dick in front of her entrance before looking at her for one last bit of reassurance which she gave you by whispering in your ear "Y/N, want to know a secret. You're going to be my first" This got you even harder than you thought possible. She continued "Think about it Y/N. You are going to be the first and only person to fuck Jung Ahyeon. Think about your tight I am going to be then imagine burying yourself in there night after night filling me with your seed. Breeding me over and over again until all I can think about is your cock. And then after you have filled me with so much of your seed that I am leaking, then you get to fuck my ass. That tight little ass that looks so good in mini skirts and leggings. Don't you want to breed my greedy little cunt. Don't you want to fuck my puckered little hole." Finally breaking your resolve, you slowly slid in inch by inch into Ahyeon's waiting cunt, giving her time to adjust to each inch before you finally were fully sheathed in her cocksleeve. Looking at her for reassurance, Ahyeon pulled your face closer to hers saying "Fuck me Y/N. Give my aching cunt your seed and breed me" and capturing your lips with hers. Hearing this, you start to hammer into her waiting cunt like a piston with each thrust causing Ahyeon to moan more and more into your mouth, moving your hands to grab her ass as you fuck her cunt like a madman. After a few minutes, you begging to feel your second orgasm nearing. Sensing this too, Ahyeon wrapped her legs around you to lock in you place and make sure that you couldn't pull out. She then whispered again in your ear "Breed me. Fill your cock slut with your seed and mark me as yours". Hearing that triggered your release and you began to fill Ahyeon's pussy with spurt after spurt of your load. This along with your finger which you had once again sneakily buried in her puckered hole triggered Ahyeon's second release as well. Finally after both of you had the felt the last moments of your respective orgasm leave you, you both glanced down at your combined loads leaking out of Ahyeon's pussy which caused your dick your dick to twitch which Ahyeon immediately felt causing her to moan as well. Finally raising your eyes to meet hers again, you gave Ahyeon once last soft kiss on her lips before you flipped you two over once last time and passed out with your cock in the warmth of her pussy.

--- The Next Day ---

Waking up after a night of intense fucking was nothing like you imagined especially with the girl of your dreams with you. After a few seconds of your blinking your eyes and regaining your awareness, you then become aware again of where you were, what you had done last night, and who you did it with… and also who you were still buried inside. Realizing the situation you were in, you slowly tried to pull your cock out of the tight embrace of Ahyeon's cunt. Feeling the loss of you, Ahyeon's legs were instantly wrapped around you and she once again leg locked you so your cock would remain buried inside of her. Feeling the tight embrace of her pussy once again, your cock started to harden. You then shifted your eyes towards Ahyeon's waiting and annoyed face. "What were you trying to do Y/N? she angrily asked. Stuttering, you respond to her "I was trying to pull out because I was still inside you and I thought that it would be impolite to" You started to say before Ahyeon cut you off. "Y/N, I begged you to not only fuck me but to also breed me multiple times last night. I leg locked you so you wouldn't be able to pull out and then I made sure you were buried inside of me before we passed out… since you clearly are terrible at picking up even the most obvious signs, I want your cock to be buried inside me like the good little cocksleeve I am as often as possible". This statement caused your cock to once again stand at full attention, although this was a little hard being buried in Ahyeon's warmth. Feeling you once again ready, Ahyeon pulled you close to her once again, whispering "Now am I going to need to tell you what to do again or are you finally going to pick up on my signals and take some fucking action". Capturing her lips with yours, you started to makeout with her once again. Tearing her lips away from yours, Ahyeon looked at your angrily and once about to start lecturing you; but before she could, you began to fuck her without abandon and all thoughts left her brain with you two spending the rest of the morning trying your best to catch up on lost time.

[acoazlove]

A New Place | part five

Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Summary: A couple of weeks after your conversation with Azriel, your mind won’t let you sleep. what happens when the person on your mind can’t sleep either

Word count: 2.8k

Warnings: Angst, Fluff ? maybe?

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Eyes flutter open, blinking a few times to reorient yourself. Adjusting to the dark room. You turn your head towards the windows, dark. Still nighttime.

With a heavy sigh, you heave yourself out of bed. Waking up hasn’t been such a task since you were human. Living in that cabin—if you can call it that. Waking up back then was simpler.

But since you left your sisters and the rest of their family, you can’t bring yourself to care if you don't get out of bed ever again.

Pulling the covers off of you, sliding out of bed. Your feet meet the chilled floor while making your way blindly into the bathroom. Turning on a dim faelight.

Everything about your apartment is old, and worn down and you used to think it gave it character, made it unique. But as you look at the light you can’t help but wish it was the old cabin. Life was easier back then, no fae, no wars, no monsters, no evil kings or cauldrons, but most of all, you had your sisters. Of course you were all on the verge of starving or freezing to death. You don’t miss that.

Despite the fighting, you were all closer. Now everyone’s gone their separate ways and have their own families and partners. You don't have any of that. That thought breaks you from your reverie, turning to the mirror hanging above the sink. The edges are slightly rusted and the frame is a bit scratched.

Locking eyes with your reflection, you cringe. Dark shadows under your eyes, hair messy and frizzy as if you hadn’t brushed it in days, shoulders tense with undercurrents of your strained emotions. You look exactly how you feel. Tired.

Ignore it. A small voice in the back of your mind. You turn the tap and splash water on your face. There’s no going back to sleep so might as well do something.

Turning back and entering your bedroom, heading straight for your wardrobe. Putting on the first thing you grab. Staring in the mirror for a moment too long, you grimace once again at your reflection. How long had you looked a mess? Your friends would tell you if you didn’t look okay. Right?

With a heavy sigh, you exited your room. Passing the kitchen—you’re not feeling well, you’ll eat later, you tell yourself—and go straight to the front door, grabbing your coat as you glance at the clock on the wall by the door. 4:00 am, no wonder everything’s so quiet.

Without another thought, you slip out the door. You can’t be in that apartment for another moment. Shoving your hands into your pockets, you decide to clear your mind and go for a walk. Because walking down dark streets at 4:00 am is totally normal.

You miss the small shadow slipping under the door, following you. A second one going in the opposite direction, away from you.

─

Meandering down the streets of The City of Starlight, your thoughts wander despite trying to clear your head.

Wandering to a certain shadow-wielding Illyrian. Your conversation had been two weeks ago now. You wanted to talk to him again. or at least just see him.

You huff. Where had that thought come from? I mean he was kind enough to go for a walk with you and listen to you rant.

But he hadn’t exactly offered to be the company you’d seek out, but you’ve been lonely. You’re not sure if you’re ready to forgive your family just yet. You want to, but you won’t reach out first. They need to put in the effort for once.

Surprisingly—or unsurprisingly you should think—there are a few fae still wandering the streets. Maybe they were in your position too. Can’t sleep, and might just need to clear their mind, and get some night-chilled air

The Court of Dreams. It honestly doesn’t feel like it. You don’t feel like you’re dreaming. Nor had any of your own dreams had come true. It felt more like a nightmare.

Alone. All because your family forgot your birthday. You think bitterly. But then again, the more you think about it, you find more reasons that had been chipping away at your patience with them. It just happened to explode into a huge freakout on your birthday. The last straw.

They probably thought you were being overdramatic. You kick a small stone on the ground in front of you at that.

─

Tossing and turning, wings shifting uncomfortably, azriel grunts as he clenches his eyes shut. Trying to get some sleep for once, only for it to be just out of reach.

It’s like his mind was in overdrive—every thought shifting to another even more unwanted one—making him restless, which in time made his shadows restless. The main issue was that they weren’t telling him what was wrong. he doesn’t like that.

Finally, as his body relaxed and he was so close to falling asleep a new shadow joins the mix. Immediately slithering across his bed until it reached his ear. The information he received had him shooting up from where he had been lying down, and every last ounce of tiredness drained from his body.

She’s going for a walk. He glanced out his window. With how high the moon was in the sky he gathered that it was around four in the morning-

Why are you going for a walk at this time?

With a huff, knowing he won’t be able to sleep at all now, he pulls the blankets off him at the same time as sending a few more shadows to follow you, to make sure you’re okay and not in any danger of course.

Azriel hasn’t been able to get the conversation he had with you either. Well, it was more him listening as you spoke your mind, plus him apologising a few times and getting some of his thoughts out there. Or maybe it was just you in general. He can’t quite figure it out.

Now that he was out of bed he realized he didn’t actually know what he was planning to do with the situation. You’re going for a walk at four in the morning. You won’t want company. Besides, he already sent a few shadows. That should be fine.

The rest of Azriel’s shadows whirl around him, still agitated. Wanting him to do something, but still not telling him what. A long-suffering sigh leaves him, as he turns to look at his leathers, which are hanging over the back of the chair at his desk—thrown there after a long day—then back to the window.

He’s been staying in the townhouse since his last encounter with you, to make it easier for you if you want to seek him out and don’t want to see the rest of the family. Which you haven't. Why would you?

He also has a better view of the streets of Velaris from here. Which is why he sees a figure walk down the street, heading towards the sidra. Though he can’t see their face, he doesn’t need confirmation to know who it is. The posture, the way your shoes scuff when you walk while in thought, the way your hair falls with your head down.

Nevertheless, a shadow snakes up his arm, to his ear. Sad. Confused. Angry. Guilty. Lonely. The last word repeats over and over.

Azriel’s features contort into a frown. Watching as you disappear from view, having turned a corner. And without a second thought, he put on a change of clothes—deciding that if you do see him, his leathers possibly might make you uncomfortable, might think that there’s some kind of danger—opening up the balcony doors, stepping out and launching into the starry night sky. Following the direction you went, keeping a decent distance.

As he catches sight of you once again, slows down, descending to the ground. Landing as silent as he could for a massive Illyrian male.

Azriel steps into the shadows, trying to stay out of view and give you space.

He stands there feeling slightly awkward suddenly. Never has he felt that way about watching his family. Confused and caught off guard he misses the way his grip on his shadows loosens, most of which scramble their way over to you.

Already reaching your feet before he finally realizes, much to his horror. Frantically trying to yank them back to his own body.

─

Your train of thought is interrupted by small shadows softly brushing against your ankles before, slinking up your legs and entwining with your fingers. A soft smile curves your lips, as a scuff sounds from behind you.

“Hi Az.” your voice is soft. Looking over your shoulder, at the same time as he steps out from his hiding place. And even though it’s dark and void of any street lamp where you are, the stars and moon light his face enough for you to see the pink tinge to his cheeks. The sight brings you far more enjoyment than it should.

“Sorry.” he mutters lowly, watching the shadows almost reluctantly untangle itself from your fingers and body, returning to their master. “They have a mind of their own sometimes.”

Your smile widens ever so slightly, “It’s okay,” turning back to your beautiful view of the sidra, shimmering like the stars above. “I like them. They’re good company.”

Azriel blinks a few times, dumbfounded by your admission. You like them and think they’re good company. Not many think so. A lot of people perceive them differently. Not inherently scary, but wouldn’t consider them good company.

After a long moment he gathers himself. “Would you-” he stops himself mid-sentence, mouth snapping shut before the full question is out. But rather than running in the other direction like he assumed you would, you turned to face him, “Yes, I would like company Azriel.” That certainly caught him off guard.

You aren’t quite sure where the confidence came from. Cheeks tinting pink, gaze darting back to the sparkling sapphire river. You don’t even know if he was going to say that.

Right as you prepare yourself to leave, utterly mortified, his dark figure enters your peripheral.

Shoulders still stiff from the previous embarrassment you look out the corner of your eye. Thanking the mother when you see that his attention is elsewhere.

Your gaze casts downward, suddenly feeling awkward, you clear your throat, causing the Shadowsinger's attention to shift back to you.

Shifting between your feet, turning your head slightly to glance at him, “Uh…” Unsure.

You watch a shadow crawl around from his shoulder to his ear. a twitch between his brows at whatever information he had been given, before evening back out. Body turning fully toward you. “Am I making you uncomfortable?”

Your eyes widen marginally. “No!” you say all too quickly, rubbing a hand down your face. “No, I’m just not-” gaze meeting hazel, “I was just wondering if you maybe wanted to go for a walk?” Voice quieter than before, “Rather than just standing here.” Trailing off.

His wings twitch at his back, you barely catch the movement, before he gives a gentle nod. You give him a small smile before whirling around, and heading back through the streets of Velaris. Azriel and his shadows follow closely behind before coming up next to you.

The walk settles into silence. Not awkward like before. Comfortable. That’s something you’d noticed about Azriel from the moment you first met him in the human realms. He always let others talk and listened intently to every word. Contributing to the conversation only when needed.

Your thoughts drift to every interaction with him. He’d always been observant and encouraged conversations with you. Wanting you to feel comfortable. Similar to what happened with Elain a long while ago. Except he’s never had any romantic feelings for you. He was just being polite. Just as he is now.

You ignore the turn in your thoughts. Weird. And your destination is only a few steps away. The bridge above the sidra. The place you come to when you really need some kind of white noise to clear your head.

You lean forward, over the bridge peering down at the broad sparkling river. Almost mirroring the beauty of the stars above. You feel Azriel settle next to you on the bridge. Twist your head to look at him. He’s looking up at the sky, shadows swirling contentedly around his shoulders and wings.

You take a moment to look at him. Really look at him. You always knew he was handsome, would have to be blind not to. But in the moonlight, he’s stunning. The way his dark hair falls over his forehead, shadows cast over his eyebrows, his other features highlighted. His hands resting on the bridge wall, the lighting illuminating the ridges and crevices of his scars.

Just in the corner of your vision, you see the sun starting to rise, pinks and oranges, painting the previous starlit skies. It was views like these that make you wonder what the other courts are like. The Night Court obviously has exceptionally beautiful night skies, the stars so clear you might think one could reach up and touch them.

But then there were The Dawn Court’s dawn skies. A customer at Benny’s Bar once told you that when the sun rose in dawn it was one of the most breathtaking views one could see, that you had to see it at least once in your immortal life.

The Day Court had some of the most incredible libraries filled with immense knowledge. Something you’d like to see and explore at least once too.

The seasonal courts had to be amazing as well, you hadn’t heard too much about them except Mor saying how much she loved The Winter Court because of her best friend and how beautiful the snow is, and briefly of Summer from when Varian is around with Amren. And Spring, well Feyre and Rhysand don’t like talking about The Spring Court, so you never asked. The same goes for The Autumn Court.

You feel a cool brush of Azriel’s shadows against your hand, pulling you from your longing, wrapping around your wrist almost as if to comfort. You let out a heavy sigh, your walk must have been longer than you anticipated. Originally just hoping to clear your head, and tire yourself out before going back to sleep.

You have work anyway. Early shift, which is fine, you get to finish early in turn.

Turning to the Shadowsinger, “I should head home. I have work earlier today.” You fiddle with your fingers, not wanting to to head back to your apartment just yet. Back to the tavern. You haven’t talked to your coworkers much since the inner circle dined at the tavern.

Azriel gives a small nod, watching your features for a few moments before speaking, “Would you like me to walk you home?”

without hesitation you give him a nod in answer. “yes please.” Your answer soft.

He gives you a gentle smile before turning with you to leave.

─

Standing at the bottom of the stairs to your apartment you run a hand down your face. Azriel is quiet behind you. You huff, spinning on your heel to face him. Trying to find the words to what you want to ask him.

He’s patient as always, features kind. Allowing you to sort through your thoughts.

Inhaling sharply, you open your mouth, then close it again. Frustrated, you just blurt it out instead, “Would you like to do something once I finish work today?”

Azriel’s brows raise fractionally, and your face heats up. “of course only if you’re free, or even want to. If you don’t want to that’s okay-“ You pause your rambling when you see the subtle smirk curving his lips.

“What?” You cross your arms over your chest. He huffs out a laugh. “You didn’t even give me a chance to answer,” keen eyes, observant as ever, see you shifting from foot to foot, clearly uncomfortable from the lack of an actual answer. “I would like that. I’ll come by and you can decide.” Voice more quiet than before.

You give him a curt nod, happy with the response, turning toward your stairs once more, stopping at the top step, looking over your shoulder to the Shadowsinger, “Thank you az.” At the tilt of his head you continue, “For just… showing up, I guess. I appreciate it.” Smile at him and slip through your door before he can reply.

Azriel stares at the closed door for a few long moments before heading back to the townhouse. His shadows far more calm now. Interesting.

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a/n: Hi guys, I’m so so sorry that I took so long to post this but I was in a really bad writing slump and had other stuff going on in my life. I’m better right now and am planning on writing more. I know this isn’t the longer part that I asked you about but I just wanted to get this out, and it would’ve taken longer to come out. i’ve already started the next part as well. next week I probably won’t update just because I’m going to Australia with my sister for a week but you never know. Anyway I edited this but there still might be some mistakes. I love you all and thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoyed. <3

[bluejutdae]

• best friend Stray Kids saving you (or being saved by you) from a bad date | Minho x you

Chan, Changbin, Hyunjin, Jisung, Felix, Seungmin, Jeongin

genre: friends to lovers

warnings: asshole date, nothing happens but reader thinks her date might follow her home

This night has been terrible so far. Your friend convinced you to go out with one of her colleagues to get over your crush for Minho, and you knew it was pointless, but she insisted so much you have lost the will to fight. So you wore a nice dress and a minute before you left the apartment, the guy texted you saying there was a change of plans and to meet two hours later and at a different location. Is the dating scene like this for everybody? You haven’t dated anyone for a long time, a bit because of how things ended with your last boyfriend but mostly because of the raging (unreciprocated) crush for Minho.

Minho’s now one of your closest friends, but you never actually gave up on your feelings for him. It’s almost comfortable, safe in a way, to love someone knowing things won’t change but won’t end either.

But for the sake of shutting up your friend, you are now in a very shitty situation. The guy is pretty, you’re mature enough to admit that, but he’s a major asshole. Even ignoring the last minute change of plans, the fact that he arrived 25 minutes later and apparently the new location is a nightclub. His hands have been on you the moment he introduced himself and the more you try to put some distance between you two, the more he’s all over you. You could just leave, that’s true. It’s also true that this guy is very set on never leaving your side and he’s so pushy you’re certain he wouldn’t hesitate to follow you home.

You wonder when Minho is going to be here so you can at least leave the club and have him keep you company, when you feel a hand grabbing your wrist. You turn to find the hand holding you belongs to Minho himself and he’s looking at you with a surly expression, teeth clenched and a frown between his eyebrows. “We’re going home.”

His voice is cold and firm, you’ve never heard him speak to you like that. Your date notices the scene and turns to Minho. “Woah dude, she’s mine tonight.”

Minho’s cold stare rests on the guy and at the same time your friend makes a step to place himself between you and your date. “She’ll never be yours, not tonight, not never. She belongs to me. Dude.” The last word was spat through Minho’s teeth, mocking and a bit cruel.

Words die on the guy’s tongue when Minho gets into his face and says something too quiet for you to hear.

A moment later he’s gently pushing you away and through the crowd, towards the exit.

“Well, that was intense,” you joke when you’re safe on the sidewalk.

“Don’t you ever put yourself into a situation like this. Ever again.” He’s on your face, almost screaming the words at you, anger contorting his face.

You can understand he was worried, but you don’t like the way he’s talking to you.

“Ya, Minho! Do you think I wanted that?” You raise your eyebrows. “I didn’t call you so you could scold me! I called you because I trusted you to help me, I know I was in a shitty situation!”

“And yet you still got into this situation!” He rebuts, and in this moment you hate him a little.

Why is he judging you like this? Why is he blaming you? Sure, you were a bit too naive but it’s not like you consciously decided to put yourself in a potentially dangerous situation.

“This clearly wasn’t what I expected.”

“No? You’re the one who decided to go to a club with a man you didn’t know. And you came alone! Was bringing a friend too easy?”

“Fuck you, Minho!”

You stalk away, towards the direction of the bus stop. Why is he mad at you now? He’s never been mean or cruel to you, despite what lots of people say about him, he’s a caring friend.

You can hear his footsteps getting close and you almost laugh at the thought that comes to your mind: you are always so focused on him, you can now recognize his footsteps.

“I parked in the other direction.”

“Then go the other direction. I don’t need you here. Sorry I bothered you. I won’t be your problem anymore.”

“You are my problem.”

“Oh, so I really am a problem to you.” You can believe him. All this because he had to come get you? You didn’t think it’d be such a hassle.

“Yes. You’ve been my problem since I met you.”

“You’re being so fucking cruel tonight, Minho.”

“I am not- can you stop walking?” He asks, sounding exasperated. You stop and face him, one hand on your hip and your lips pursed in disapproval. “So you can tell me more about how I’m a problem?”

“I didn’t say a problem.”

“You said exac-“

“I said MY problem! Emphasis on my. Because you’re not other people’s problem. And I don’t want you to belong to other guys, don’t want them to call you theirs! I want you to be mine.”

You stare at him for half a minute, silent and still. Putting aside the fact that he’s repeating the fact that you’re a problem, you try to read between the lines.

“Is this a fucked up way to tell me you have feeling for me?”

“Yes.”

This is ridiculous. Really ridiculous. Your crush has feelings for you. And the most backwards way of confessing. Well, considering he is Minho, it’s pretty in character for him. Still ridiculous, though.

“I didn’t know you decided to go on dates.” He says it like a second thought.

“I didn’t.”

“You were on a date.”

“Doesn’t mean I decided to go on dates.”

“Means exactly that.”

“Jesus, Minho. Can you ever drop something?”

“Not when it’s about you.”

This asshole. How can you find his otherwise annoying answers amusing?

“My friend insisted so much that she wore me down, so I accepted this date with her colleague. So, as I said, I haven’t decided to go on dates.”

“Good.”

“You can never be normal, uh? Always with a weird answer.”

“You like weird.”

“I do.”

“You’re normal. I like normal.”

He likes normal, and he likes you. And he tells you so in a Minho way at least another ten times in the following minutes, during your way home.

You say goodbye and you’re about to get out of the car, when he puts his hand on your arm, an hesitant expression on his face. “No more other guys, right?”

You smile softly at him. “No more other guys. There hasn’t really been another guy since I met you.”

His smile is all you need.

[sleepymarimo]

𝐌𝐀𝐓𝐂𝐇𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐑𝐒!

based off of this small drabble from a while back, the idea is just stuck in my head :)

zoro x gn!reader // sfw

synopsis: you're a vice captain of an ally crew and your crewmates want to set you up with zoro so badly! the strawhats are doing the same thing, pushing their swordsman to take the leap.

basically, they set you up on a date.

an: reader is caffeine-fueled, zoro is booze fueled :)

you sigh as you stroll down the cobbled streets of the most recent island you and your crew have docked on. it's been... a mess, truly, with many battles fought and places explored over the course of a few weeks. the most interesting thing to come of this whole adventure has been your alliance with the straw hat crew, especially their swordsman.

though his title as second in command isn't official, you can tell that there's a sort of unspoken rule, a presence he demands without trying.

the two of you had gotten along quite well, managing your crews in different, but respectful ways. sometimes he'd chide you for getting too involved, urging you to let your crew mates settle scores with themselves, telling you to quit worrying. meanwhile, you get on him about being too callous, reminding him that his strength should be delivered with a certain grace.

it's a pleasant dynamic, the two of you finding peace in each other's company.

both of your crews were shocked when they'd found you snoozing away under the shade on one day, your head on zoro's shoulder while his chin rested on your temple. your crew were surprised because, well, you never seemed able to take a break- the amount of caffeine you consumed also didn't allow you to sleep much, anyway. and zoro, well zoro could nap anywhere, but his crew is well aware that he doesn't let his guard down around just anyone.

after that point, both sides were bent on getting you two together.

they never hid their intentions, making it painfully clear that they wanted you guys to do something. zoro is too focused on his role as a swordsman, perhaps unsure of what to do when his palms get sweaty around you. it's similar on your end, with your cheeks growing exceptionally warm whenever you're around him, whenever your crew members give you teasing looks.

it seems endless, but today your crews will be going their separate ways, the alliance coming to a soft, momentary close.

in a way, it's a last stand of sorts.

now, you're carrying a slip of paper in your hands, heading toward what is supposed to be the best coffee and tea shop on this island. your mood is light, mind already drifting toward what you'll order. something new, or a drink you know you'll like?

as you approch the building, you notice another figure standing there, one hand on his head and another holding a note of sorts.

"zoro?" you call out, only a few steps from him now, wondering what he's doing here.

the swordsman turns his head, brows raising. he's comfortable around you, you make him feel at ease- mentally. physically though, he can tell that his heart skips a beat and it makes him uneasy.

"ey," he speaks, confused but not entirely displeased to see you.

in front of him, you tilt your head. "what are you doing here in this part of town?

he mumbles something you can't hear, holding up the slip of paper. "that dumbass cook told me this place had the best booze around, gave me... directions," zoro eyes the address scribbled on there, not thinking much of it. "they told me to bring some back, too."

humming in interest, you squint when the numbers and letters appear familiar. "wait, hold on," you step forward, staring a little more. "that's the same address my captain gave me."

both of you turn your head, looking up at the large brick building, it's name written in wonderfully crafted metal letters.

brews & brews: best coffee and cocktails in the sea!

things click a little then, a switch flipping. both of your cheeks start to burn as you remember the sly looks your crew had given you, telling you to have fun and enjoy your drinks.

zoro looks away and grits his teeth, unfolding the rest of the slip of paper he was given to see the "order" he was supposed to pick up. inside, he finds all sorts of encouraging messages from his crewmates.

'zoro, you have a big crush!!! bring meat when you come back!! - luffy'

'don't screw it up, stupid!! use the berries i gave you to pay for their drink! - nami'

'be brave, zoro! don't chicken out! - usopp'

'treat them right, stupid marimo. you'll scare them off by being a brute. - sanji'

'zoro, you're so cool, you'll impress them for sure! - chopper'

'i think it's lovely that you feel this way, mr. swordsman. - robin'

'their vice captain is suuuuuuuuuuuper cool, bro! make them a part of the family! - franky'

'a good warrior uses their heart as much as their head - jinbe'

'dont forget the meat!! -luffy'

"those damn idiots," zoro hisses, glancing at you as you read comments from your own crew members.

when you turn your head and meet his gaze, the two of you look away and get your thoughts together. neither of you thought your crew mates would go this far, but clearly they're more than willing to go the extra mile.

"ugh... might as well get a damn drink, I guess," he grumbles, nodding his head toward the establishment.

you swallow, stuffing the note back into your pocket and clearing your throat. "I guess so, yeah," comes your response, a little stiff as you think about your date.

and, as the two of you take a seat at the bar, ordering your drinks, you find the conversation becoming more and more fluid, the two of you settling in quite nicely.

eventually, the two of you are practically shoulder to shoulder, drinks in one hand while your pinkies link beneath the counter.

[robo-writing]

I saw your requests were open, so I have to ask for… pain 😔

Can I request a Logan x afab!reader HCs or full fic about how reader is getting older and he kinda isn’t yk? Like going from when they first met, to readers deathbed, and how he has to live without them for the rest of his life 🫶🫶

Also take care of yourself DRINK WATER 🥰

Oh yeah, it’s angst time.

It's sooner than later that you'll be alone Synopsis: You live a long life, but not as long as Logan's. Warnings: 3.2k words of gut-wrenching angst, mentions of blood, grieving someone after they're gone Author's note: Hope you're happy anon, I cried five times writing this <3

He had first met you in your twenties—twenty-three, to be exact.

Young, bright eyed, naive. You were kind, where he was not. You were hopeful, where he was jaded and angry at the world. He loved your innocence, how you always saw the best in others—suppose that’s what made you such a good counselor to the children. You listened—really, truly listened—made anyone that walked through your office doors feel welcomed.

Maybe that’s why he found his way to you. When the nightmares wouldn’t let him sleep and the voices wouldn’t let him think, he shuffled to your bedroom door without a goal in sight, bare feet padding against the polished floors. His knuckles meet your door, seconds passing by before he asks himself why the hell he’s even here in the first place.

Before he could walk away he heard your feet shuffling, followed by the click of your doorknob.

He felt guilty for waking you up, eyes red and face puffy, but you didn’t even question why he was at your door, just rubbed your eyes and opened the door wider for him to walk in.

It was silent at first. You offered him some water, passed him a blanket, and just sat there. You never pressured him to speak, and he didn’t feel compelled to. Maybe five minutes later he said something and you just nodded in his direction, encouraging him to continue.

For the first time in a long time, he talked. And you listened.

It became a ritual between the two of you, staying up late at night just to chat. It wasn’t always about his past, sometimes he just needed to let it all out, and you were the perfect outlet. He felt like you didn’t judge him, and that’s all he ever needed.

Eventually he wanted to hear you too—he preferred it that way. Talking about lesson plans and movies, little things that seem mundane but made him feel less like a patient and more like a friend. You were a welcome distraction, and an added bonus was that you were really cute when you were talking.

He was the one who made the first move. He remembers every detail, from your pajama shorts to the over-worn tank top sliding off your shoulder, your eyes bright as you went on about a new baking recipe you wanted to try. Sat on your bed, looking so relaxed he couldn’t help but stare and marvel at your beauty.

“Logan?” You ask, waving your hand in his face. “Hello? Earth to Wolverine?”

The moment you called out his name he was already making his way to your bed. The mattress sinks beneath his weight, and you let out a soft noise of surprise before he plants his lips against yours.

Yours are soft compared to him—everything about you screams softness, innocence and purity, and he’s not sure if a man like him even has the right to be next to you, much less kiss you. He’s certain his soul is filthy, tainted—a layer of black that’s sure to muck up your own if he keeps this up. He knows this deep in his heart, but greedy man that he is, he keeps his lips locked to yours.

Once, and then never again. He can’t be with a girl like you, and he knows it.

You hold him by the neck and pull him back when he tries to leave your embrace. Maybe it’s pity, he thinks, the way your hands tug him by the shirt and cling onto the fabric. Maybe you’re only entertaining him, stringing him along just to laugh in his face, mock him into ever thinking he had a chance. If you are, he doesn't care, because at least now he’s got a taste of what he could never have.

The two of you finally separate, a silk-thread of spit connecting the both of you, looking at each other with a mixture of shock and confusion. What happens after this? How does he return to what you had before—how can he, when he now knows your chapstick tastes like cherries?

He makes a move to leave, but against all odds your hand is still clinging onto his shirt. In that moment he knew he was the luckiest man alive because you begged him to stay in that cute voice of yours, begged him not to leave when his hands made their way up the front of your shirt—begged him for more when his lips wandered lower.

By your thirties you already had a shiny ring on your finger, one that he can say he proudly put on your finger. A gold band adorned by diamonds, it shines in the orange light of the sun, staring at you from its red-velvet housing. 

It’s the first time the X-Men see him cry, tears running down his face when you run into his arms screaming yes, yes, over and over as he holds you in his arms, sunset illuminating your features. He always thinks of you as beauty personified, but watching you admire the diamond-studded band with awe—the one thing that signifies you as his—he can’t help but look at you like icarus does to the sun.

The wedding was small—neither of you minded. Hank was the ringbearer, and Charles walked you down the aisle, and when your vows were said and done the priest could barely finish the ceremony before Logan lunged forward and kissed you, dipping you at the altar accompanied with a cheer from the people you consider your family.

Scott has the video saved on his phone. He pretends it pisses him off, but he had Jean send him a copy later. Sometimes he watches it when he thinks you’re asleep, but little does he know you are very much awake.

In your fourties’ you have a house together, somewhere upstate where no one can bother you. A cozy wooden home where it’s just you and him, relaxing by the fireplace and watching tv every day. When he’s not helping the X-Men he works at a local lumber yard, the highlight of his day being when he comes to work, grabbing his equipment from the truck. 

His co-workers jeer at him every time, call him whipped like butter, but they wouldn’t understand what he feels. He certainly doesn’t seem to care, especially when it’s your kiss pressed to his cheek.

He can safely say his life is perfect. It’s domestic, it’s everything Logan ever dreamed of, everything he thought he could never have—and it’s all thanks to you. He wakes up every morning grateful to you for giving him the greatest gift he could ever receive: serenity. 

Between the fairytale ending and his rose-colored glasses, he doesn’t notice it, not until you’re in your fifties and he’s—he’s not.

You’re aging, and he’s staying the same.

You still love each other and he’d never, ever, think about leaving you, but the realization sticks with him. He thinks about it late at night while you sleep next to him, pressed against his side. Your scent, your touch, he memorizes it all because he doesn’t know when he won’t be able to feel it again.

In your heart you know it too, but you don’t say anything—you don’t want to scare him away. He’s only just begun to get used to normalcy, and you don’t want to take that away from him. You don’t want to watch him fall into the honeyed trap of isolation again, return to that shell of a man you only just helped him shed.

So when you’re watching tv together, he makes sure to cradle you to his chest extra tight. When you’re sitting by the fireplace, heat radiating off your skin, he makes sure to memorize the way the fire illuminates your face. When you’re whispering his name after a night of love-making he etches the sound deep into his synapses, memorizing each syllable.

No matter what, he’ll remember you.

By your sixties you’re faced with an awful truth, one neither of you want to admit but your smile lines and crows feet stand contrast to his barely aging face. You get stares when you mention he’s your husband, some curious, some judging. You were called a cougar once by a shopper, finger pointed accusatory while Logan told her in no uncertain terms to go fuck herself.

He was there to reassure you then, but he can’t be there all the time. You don’t tell him that this wasn’t the first time you were accused of being a predator, and you don’t plan on doing so. 

Maybe this counts as acceptance, faced with the truth in the worst kind of way, but at least the both of you can say it out loud now—

You’re going to die, and he’s going to outlive you. It’s just a fact, but it still makes the both of you terrified.

Your seventies are rocky—you want to enjoy the time you have left, but Logan wants to make sure you’re safe. In his eyes you know he has only love for you, but you can see the fear in them too, how he coddles you every day. Your bones are starting to ache, you’re getting slower. Where you used to go on hikes with him you now choose to stay home, your stamina not like what it used to be. He thinks you don’t notice how he watches you carefully around the house, how he’s so eager to help you. You’re flattered, but also annoyed—it’s a short-lived train of thought when you look at him.

He still looks at you like he did when you first kissed. 

He still loves you, and you still love him. For now, that’s all you need.

He finds you on the floor in your eighties—eighty-three, to be exact.

The moment he sees your resting form behind the counter he sprints into the kitchen. There’s broken glass, a trail of blood running from your temple, and you’re completely out of it, eyes closed shut. He calls your name, shakes you, but nothing. He knows you’re still alive, he can hear your heart beating but he can feel how weak it is under his clammy hands, the soft thump nowhere near as strong as it should be.

He doesn’t know what to do—he’s long since been familiar with blood but this time it’s you, and he’s panicking. He doesn’t know what to do.

The ambulance arrives, longer than usual because you live far away from the city. Maybe if they’d gotten there faster they would have been able to do an infusion. Maybe if the phone wasn’t so far you’d be able to call 9-1-1 before you passed out. Maybe if he was at home he would’ve been able to see the early signs—

“Sir? Are you alright?”

He looks at the clock on the bedside wall: 7:38 pm. 

It’s well into the night, five hours have passed since you were admitted, and an hour since you died.

He’s been staring at your body for who knows how long. The doctor pronounced you dead, said you had a heart attack and hit your head on the way down. An accident.

A fucking accident.

“Sir, was she related to you?” The young nurse asks, contemplating whether or not she should even speak. Wordlessly, he nods.

“I understand you’re grieving,” she continues, standing at his side. Her words are full of empathy, none of which he needs but lets her speak anyway. “I saw on your hospital logs you share the same name, I can’t imagine how it must feel to lose a loved one.”

He nods again.

“If you don’t mind me asking, how old was she?”

“…eighty-three.” He answers. “Her birthday was in a month.”

She shakes her head. “That’s a shame.”

“It sure is,” He says, reaching out to touch her hand. It’s cold to the touch, a cruel reminder. “It sure is.”

You would’ve been eighty-four now.

He still lives in the same house but it’s not the same without you. It’s lifeless, empty—all the love you poured into the decor now just an awful reminder of what he lost. He thinks about tearing it all down sometimes but he knows you’d probably kick his ass if he so much as touched your crystal vases.

Your side of the bedroom is untouched, he moved all his stuff to the separate one the week after you died. It hurts to sleep there knowing you’re gone, but sometimes he’ll sit by the nightstand, a drink in hand and stare at the empty spot where you would be. Sometimes if he stares hard enough, he can see you through tear-rimmed eyes, hear your laughter through the dull buzz of the alcohol.

He misses you. He’s not sure if he’ll ever stop.

He doesn’t know what possesses him, but he opens your closet. It’s an indulgence, a moment of weakness—he promised he wouldn’t touch your stuff and here he is, rummaging about. 

Coats, dresses, shirts, all memories flooding back to him as he moves past them. The black dress you wore on your first date, the sundress you wore for your anniversary—

When his fingers brush against the lace, his heart lurches. He doesn’t need to see it to know, but he tugs anyway, revealing your wedding dress hidden deep inside. The most beautiful thing you’ve ever worn.

He takes the gown between reverent hands, as if the fabric would fall apart, disintegrate if he was anything but cautious with it. It still smells like you.

He finds the box labeled “wedding” next to it, and without hesitation pulls it from its corner. Wedding invites, flowers, old videos, everything that you could have taken as a memory, you had it. You even kept the cake toppers.

What surprises him though, is a notebook. It’s tiny, leather bound and slightly worn, every page a new entry. He flips to the first page and his heart nearly stops.

Dear Logan,

If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead.

His eyes widened. When did you write this? The small book suddenly feels like lead in his hands, it’s a struggle to pull his eyes back to the ink-stained pages, but he does so anyway.

I hope I managed to give this to you before I pass. I wish I could explain to you how much I love you, and how much I worry about you. You’re a stubborn asshole, could never see the good in yourself but I did—I still do. I’ve known you for thirty years now so I’m willing to bet you’re probably reading this drunk, blaming yourself for my death.

He doesn’t know when he started crying but your words make him laugh through the pain, wiping the palm of his hand against his cheek. He used to say you were secretly a telepath, always able to read his mind. Seems it’s a talent that extends beyond the grave.

Anyway, rambling aside, I wanted to give you something to remember me by. You’re going to live longer than I am, we both know that: but maybe my memory can live along with you.

His hands are shaking, fingers stumbling through the next page with bated breath.

Entry one, not sure how I should start…I’ll figure it out later. Your beard grew out a little so I offered to help you shave…

I think I did a shit job but you didn’t seem to mind, or maybe you were trying to save my feelings? I don't know which one. In any case remember to take care of yourself, I might be gone but like hell if I’m gonna let you let yourself go!

Attached with a paperclip is a photo of the two of you in the bathroom, you smushing his face while he stares at the camera annoyed, or at least it seems. There’s a hint of a smile on his face.

He remembers that day. You were cuddling him and complained his beard was scratchy. He let you sit on his lap while you gave him a trim, you said your lines were crooked but he didn’t give a shit—he had you all to himself, and that’s all he needed.

A small huff of laughter escapes him, even in the afterlife you’re still bossing him around. He flips to the next page—

Entry two, don’t isolate yourself! I know you Logan, that lone wolf shit doesn’t work and you know it too! When’s the last time you talked to the other X-Men, huh?

Your words rattle in his head, feelings of guilt blooming. They call occasionally, but he never picks up. Charles is the only one he ever gave the time of day and even then the mention of your passing is a sore subject. One time Scott showed up at his house, helped him clean up a bit before leaving; he never said thank you.

His eyes flick to the phone on his nightstand before continuing to read. 

Entry three, don’t starve yourself! I left a couple of my recipes in the last pages, just in case you missed my cooking…

Entry four, I have a secret album of us on my phone. The password is…

Entry five, stop being so hard on yourself…

Entry after entry, all stories with advice for when you’re gone. Clean up after himself, don’t try to find peace at the bottom of a bottle, remember to find a hobby…every single page, accompanied by a description of what you did that day. Went hiking, went on a dinner date, stayed at home and watched tv—almost an entire year's worth of reminiscing in the form of a tiny brown journal.

By the time he got to the last one the sun had begun to rise. His eyes burned with exhaustion, but the thought of stopping never crossed his mind.

The big three-six-five, happy anniversary! It’s been a year since I started this project and I think I should end it here, so I’ll end it with the best advice I can give you.

Logan, you need to move on.

I know it hurts, but I’m gone, and you can’t spend your life chasing after a woman who isn’t here anymore. You deserve more in life than to grieve. I love you more than anything in the world, which is why I’m telling you it’s okay to move on.

I’ll always be with you, so don’t think that you need to feel guilty. I know you love me, and I love you.

I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

He re-reads your words. Once, twice, even three times before they really sink in. I’m giving you permission to forgive yourself, and let me go.

At that moment it all comes crashing down on him. Your death, the funeral, the pain and longing, the grief—all of it. Everything he’d ever tried to push aside by drinking, culminating into this single release of emotion.

He cries. A full-bodied, pathetic display, he sobbed while holding your last memory to his chest until he was red in the face, until his lungs burned. He sobbed until he had no more tears to give, then sobbed some more.

Even in death, you were still listening.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

he’s staring.

in the corner of your eye lies a silhouette, a blur of black hair and sharp facial features. awfully hard not to notice, when he’s standing so close to you — gazing at you so intently. waiting for you to say something.

(resisting the urge to look at him directly is a struggle.)

a smile tugs at the corners of your lips, something giddy and sweet flooding your veins. he’s just standing there. all while you tap at the keys of your laptop, trying to focus on your work. in vain.

because, inevitably, the rubber band of your patience snaps — and you can do nothing but give in to the temptation. feeling him shift from foot to foot, silent as a mouse. you turn your head.

suguru looks meek.

there he stands, tired eyes trailing over your facial features, before falling down to the floor. something about it makes you want to coo — almost like he’s a little flustered. fidgeting with his hands, wringing his long fingers together, so patiently waiting for your attention to fall on him. 

you swear you see the ghost of a pout slip into the curve of his lips. wearing a comfortable sweater, oversized and fluffy, framed by the obsidian of his hair; cascading down his shoulders like a black river. let loose, free to fall as it please, a signature sign that he’s tired.

and as soon as your eyes meet his, a certain something blossoms within the scope of his iris. peeling at the corners, slipping into the amber and cedar, an emotion you can’t quite place. would it be too tacky to call it love?

a giggle slips from your lips, dancing on the tip of your tongue. it’s soft, a little teasing, but who could blame you when he looks so cute? suguru, with his tall stature and broad shoulders, sharp eyes and intimidating presence, staring meekly in your direction. as if too embarrassed to ask for something, curling into himself.

”hey there,” you exhale, something amused laced into the vowels. ”everything okay?”

he averts his gaze. enamored with the smile on your face, the crinkle of your eyes, the melodic lilt of your sweet laughter. like peach blossoms and duvet covers, too soft for him to handle. far too sweet, the mere sight of you, all cozied up on the couch; legs crossed and laptop balanced on your thigh. 

(suguru wishes he could take its place.)

a tilt of your head beckons him to speak, and he can’t help but notice the remnants of something teasing in the gesture. he feels a little out of his element, almost shy, and it’s discomforting — but he’s just so tired. much too plagued by the need to be close to you.

he can live with a little teasing, if it’s you, only if it’s you. 

”what’re you working on?” he asks, delicate, soft voice flowing from his lips like melted honey. there’s a raspy tilt to it, a little scratchy. you smile, gaze drawn towards the screen in front of you.

”nothing much, just some essay. i’m almost finished.” a low sigh, as you lazily scroll through the text. suguru hums. when you look over at him, the smile on your face grows just a tad softer. ”did you need something?”

suguru stills. blinking drowsily, slow and awfully endearing, a flutter of his black lashes. absentmindedly fidgeting with the hem of his puffy sleeve. the silence lingers, a contemplation etched onto his features, until he clears his throat — still unable to look at you properly. 

(there’s only one thing he wants. needs. asking for it is just a little bit tough, though.)

patiently waiting, you begin to study his expression. second nature, to tuck his features in between your ribs, smoothe along the contours you’ve come to love so dearly. memorizing every dip and birthmark.

there’s a barely noticeable flush to his cheeks, a crimson smear that starts at his ears and only ever nips along his cheekbones, but it’s enough to let you know that he’s embarrassed. more than enough, seeing as his gaze won’t even land on you, seeing the fatigue beneath his eyes, the crease between his brows. something that sticks to his skin and drags him down. 

he has been a little stressed, lately. more so than usual. and you’ve noticed, of course you have — worriedly waiting for him to approach you, to let you help. winters are never very kind to him. 

he’s gorgeous, though, even like this. especially like this. sleepy, just a little unkempt, in his natural state. bare, somehow. like he just woke up, like the morning sun is kissing up his collarbone and he just made a cute little sleepy noise that you’re going to tease him for over breakfast. like he’s unguarded, at peace, safe in your arms.

it makes your heart soften considerably. crumbling at the corners, a pang of lovesick ache tugging at your fragile heartstrings.

and finally, you speak up. urging him to continue, gently, not wanting to rush him. ”well?” 

suguru gnaws at the flesh of his bottom lip, just a little chapped. his tongue flits out to lick along the dry skin, and he does a little cough under his breath. you’re patient, waiting for him to speak, but it’s tough when all you want is to tug him close.

(you have an idea of what he’s going to ask you, what it is he wants. because you know him — and you want it too.)

”… can,” he starts, tentative. slow, as if he’s trying to swallow the embarrassment, gulp down the nervous flutter of his heartbeat. then he continues. ”i get a hug?”

finally, he looks at you; and your heart ricochets in your chest. amber eyes boring into yours, deep and warm, soft around the edges. kind of shy. 

a sharp intake of breath. you can’t help the grin that crawls up to your lips, and you can’t help the words that spill from them. ”gosh, you’re so cute.”

suguru turns away, with what you’re almost sure is a low grumble — buzzing in his throat, like a dragonfly itching to break out. he really does look meek, a little needy, so cute you’re afraid your lungs might collapse. when a chuckle pushes past your lips, the red tint on his neck and ears only seems to exacerbate. 

with swift movements, you close your laptop, plopping it down on the table in front of you. not wanting to waste any time, a little afraid that he’ll change his mind. ”of course you can,” you assure him, a soft lull of your tongue.

leaning back, you rest your head against a pile of cushiony pillows, melting into the couch beneath you. extending your arms; beckoning him close, into your embrace. the smile you grace him with is a little teasing, but mostly soft, inviting.

and suguru can’t resist it.

he still seems a little flustered, as he crawls along the couch, to take his rightful place in your arms. flopping down on top of you with a huff, like a big dog, cheek squished against your chest — eager to listen to the echo of your heartbeat. steady and soothing, a lullaby to his muddled mind.

a long, satisfied sigh escapes him, muffled into the fabric of your shirt. he wraps his arms around you, nuzzling a little further into your touch. slowly melting.

ah, he’s just too much. try as you might, you don’t fully manage to stifle the coo that laces the tip of your tongue. just admiring him, in the dim lighting of the room, all sleepy and content. that palpable fatigue, slowly dissipating. a soft groan slips from his lips when your hand goes to card through his hair, softly, nails raking over his scalp.

”my big baby,” you murmur, planting a kiss on the top of his head. suguru wants to grumble, protest a bit, but all he can do is soak in the words, the skip of his heartbeat that follows. ”everything okay?”

he nods. groggy, cheek against your soft chest. no longer able to hide his neediness, to muster the strenght, thoroughly soothed by the warmth that seeps from your body. from your veins to his. and he sighs, barely above a whisper. ”jus’ missed you.”

he must notice it, you think — the rapid rhythm of your heartbeat, something erratic in the decisive thumps of blood. a little louder than they should be. 

but if he does, he doesn’t mention it. only shifting a little in your arms, nuzzling further into your chest, relishing in the sensation of your hand in between his messy locks. so cozy. 

”i missed you too,” you echo, unable to fight off the sappy grin on your lips. so much affection in every caress, every soft glance. eager to be let out. ”’m sorry if i’ve been neglecting you.” 

suguru shakes his head — brushing off your guilt. always so willing to put your peace of mind before his. it only weakens you further, thoughts fuzzy with the image of him, the love that clouds your vision. how to properly convey it in words. 

”i’m always so proud of you,” you exhale, a little shaky. so earnest that you falter. a loud mantra of your heartbeat filling your ears, so much fondness stuffed inside your chest. ”working so hard. love you so, so much, honey.”

this time, it’s suguru’s heart that stutters and flails. reduced to a desperate instinct, something intimate and bare. the term of endearment slips off your tongue like it was always meant to be there, like that’s where it belongs, coupled with the soft sensation of your fingers ghosting over his skin. brushing away his bangs to smear a kiss against his forehead.

”i’m never gonna let you go,” you promise, unable to control the affection smeared into your voice. like you’d explode if you didn’t speak it out loud. ”my angel.”

”okay — that’s,” suguru croaks, before you can continue. exasperated, deeply embarrassed. at this point, he’s sure his face must be red, and he’s sure you can see it. despite his attempts to hide away in the crook of your neck. ”that’s enough.”

laughter bubbles up in your throat, sweet like osmanthus and whipped cream. giddy and teasing, in equal measure, sending a jolt of fondness running through his veins. ”are you embarrassed?”

”no,” he scoffs, too quickly. you both know he’s lying. it’s a rare treat, seeing him this flustered — how could you resist the urge to tease him a bit? 

”then why d’you want me to stop?” you grin, searching for his gaze. but suguru refuses to look at you.

”it’s just…” he mumbles, a string of tiny words. gnawing at his bottom lip. ”a little much, don’t you think?”

”i mean it, though.”

suguru groans, and a bout of giggles pushes past your lips. the smile on your face is starting to make your cheeks hurt, an achy kind of joy. yeah — suguru is just far too cute. he’s cute, and pretty, and beautiful, and gorgeous. how could you keep yourself away?

reaching for a strand of his hair, you let it fall between your fingers. smooth and silky, brushing against your skin, soft and familiar. memories bloom from your fingertips, seeping into your subconscious; the first time he let you touch his hair, that content purr in his throat, the time you braided it as the world fell asleep around you. he takes good care of it, always has. attentive and delicate, almost as lovingly as he handles you.

a great surge of affection sprouts in between your ribs, spreading throughout every cell of your body, wholly engulfing you. it’s too much to bear.

a blissful sigh. you tilt your head, softly, a bleeding tenderness to every word you speak. and you do, with a sincerity to your voice that he’s never been able to handle. “is it really so strange if i want to give the love of my life some affection?” 

— and suguru’s resolve crumbles into dust. 

”… you’re,” he tries, a shiver of his weak voice. under normal circumstances, he could think of a suave reply, something to get the upper hand; but today, suguru happens to be very tired, and you seem awfully set on making him melt through the couch. ”— awful. you know that?”

his heart aches, when the bitter words make you giggle. a little sleepy. it makes him want to tuck you into his chest, hide you away inside his ribcage. kiss you breathless.

”so mean,” you pout, entirely fabricated. a heavy amusement lays thick on your tongue. “i’m professing my undying love for you here, y’know?”

”that’s exactly what i mean,” he sighs, unable to repress the slight smile on his lips. a little tug, that says more than his words ever could.

the laughter in your throat lingers, for a bit, until the intimacy of the moment softens you up. something tender and genuine in the depths of your eyes. ”i mean it, though. i’m not just teasing you.” 

your hand goes to cup his face, thumb smoothing over his cheekbone. and then you’re leaning in, to press your lips against his forehead — pulling away with a drawn out mwah, a soft grin, a little boyish. terribly cute. 

”i really do love you,” you profess, a whisper. he believes you. “i love everything about you.”

a moment passes. the soft ticking of the clock fills the space between your words, and the scent of leftover curry and brewed coffee simmers in the faraway kitchen. wafting out into the living room. 

suguru places his hand over yours. a rough palm, always so gentle with you, slipping down to your wrist so he can hoist himself up. 

you blink. 

before you know it, he’s pressed his lips to yours, slow and methodical. tender, tender, tender. always. he sighs into the kiss, content, and your heartbeat quickens — he tastes like honey and rain.

when he pulls away, he’s smiling. a little lovesick.

”i love you too,” he hums, a soft purr that trails down your spine. he delights in the way you finally blush, cheeks warm beneath his heavy hands. ”so, so much.”

all you can do is stare, entirely transfixed. 

then you’re averting your gaze, and he’s stifling a soft bout of laughter, and something warm and wonderful blooms in the nearly non-existent space between you. his cheek finds itself pressed against your chest, again, allowing the soft and rapid thumping of your heartbeat to carry him away.

an anchor for him to hold on to, his lighthouse at the end of a murky ocean. it’s always, always there — that soft mantra of thump, thump, thump.

(he can’t tell you how many times it’s saved him.)

”… you can’t do stuff like that when my guard is down,” you murmur, after a moment. sheepish. ”what if my heart explodes?” 

suguru only chuckles, sleepy and raspy, the same as ever. he turns his head to press a kiss against the fabric of your shirt, right above your heart, a kind of cheeky, soft apology that you know he doesn’t actually mean. 

(he could never feel sorry for telling you how much he loves you; no matter how flustered you get.)

and, at last, suguru thinks the fatigue clinging to his soul may have slipped off entirely. substantially. soothed by your presence, your very being. 

it’s embarrassing, being so very doted on, being so painfully unaccustomed to it. but suguru could never hate it. he could never hate a single thing you do to him, grant him with, from your soft touches and cheeky kisses to the burnt pancakes you worked so hard on. 

he’d rather die than deny you. 

so he has no choice but to bask in it; the feeling of your hands in his hair, nails on his scalp, breath against his skin. the change you’ve brought into his life. bringing with you the fading scent of peach blossoms and chewing gum, sweetness and softness. happy dreams.

yeah, that’s right. he has no choice but to melt into your touch, nuzzle into your chest, fall asleep to the sound of your heartbeat. 

no choice at all.

[wolvisms]

BLOOM ─── PETER PARKER

summary: peter visits your flower shop, and needs some help picking out the perfect bouquet. you later find out who he’s delivering them to.

pairing: tasm!peter parker x florist!reader

warnings: sight angst, crying, casual hand-holding, talk about death and grief, very very brief harry potter references (not relevant to the plot whatsoever so dw), a lot of very well-deserved cutesy adorable fluff !!!!!

word count: 3.2k

note: this is one of my favourite things i’ve ever written. hope u like it & please let me know if u do! <3

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Your family’s flower shop is honestly one of your favourite places to be. Work is never a bore; you usually have customers constantly coming in and out of the store, and meeting new people never fails to put a smile on your face.

Even on days where it’s empty, you so graciously take laps around the shop, purely because it makes you happy. Seeing the hundreds of different types of flowers, mentally ticking off every single colour of the rainbow as you speed-walk through the store has become one of your most favoured pastimes.

That’s exactly what you’re doing today. Though, admittedly, you aren’t feeling very enthusiastic for any customers to walk through the front door. You’re exhausted, and the only reason you’re frantically taking laps around the shop is that you’re desperate to stay awake. Eyelids incredibly heavy, you’re certain that you’ll fall asleep if you stop moving at any given time.

So, when you hear the bell at the front door chime whilst on your fifth lap, saying you’re a little annoyed would be an understatement.

“Hello?”

You groan lightly, before immediately plastering a fake smile onto your face and emerging speedily from the corner of the shop.

As your eyes fall upon a relatively tall, brunette guy who looks around your age, your smile widens. “Hey, how can I help?”

He sends you a soft smile in return, glancing around the shop quickly. “I wanted to buy a bouquet, but I might need help choosing, since there seems to be... a lot.”

You snort out a laugh, your side leaning against the counter. “A big selection, I know,” you hum, absentmindedly fiddling with a loose string hanging from your apron. “No worries, I can help you.”

“Great! Thank you—” his eyes narrow, head bending down slightly to read the name on your badge, “—Y/N.”

You stand upright, a now-legitimate grin forming on your face. “You’re welcome...” your voice trails off, silently urging him to tell you his name.

“Oh,” he clears his throat, “Peter.”

Brow perked up in amusement, your arms cross over your chest, weight shifting onto your left leg. “Peter? Like, um... like Peter Pettigrew?”

His face scrunches up a little. “Ha-ha,” he feigns a laugh, earning a proud smirk from you. “Yeah, I guess so. But nobody’s ever called me Peter Pettigrew before.”

A hint of amusement crosses your face, before you whirl on your heel to walk further into the shop. “Well, it’s an honour to be the first one to do so. Now, would you like to create your own bouquet, or choose from the ones we’ve already assembled?”

Peter follows you unwittingly, his eyes flickering around the store as he tries to keep up. “I think the bouquets here are beautiful.”

You hum in agreement. “So, you’d like to pick one?”

“Yeah.”

You stop in your tracks at what you believe is the best aisle, in which there’s the widest variety of bouquets in the shop.

“Alright then, Peter Pettigrew, what kinda flowers are you looking for?” You gesture towards the assortment of flowers displayed in front of you both.

Peter does a double-take in your direction, shaking his head at your Harry Potter references, but he lets out a genuine chuckle fall from his lips nonetheless. “Uh, I don’t really know. That’s kinda what I need help with.”

“Right.” You place your hands on your hips, eyes narrowing in thought for a moment. “Okay, I’m gonna need some details to figure out what they’d like. Who’s the lucky lady?”

Peter seems a little shocked by your question. “Oh, uh... not really a lucky lady—”

“Oh, my apologies. Lucky man?”

“No, no, it’s no one like that,” Peter mumbles, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. “It’s for a... family member.”

With a reluctant nod of the head, your lips purse together. “Got it. What’s their favourite colour?”

“Uh...” he hesitates, his desperate, brown eyes meeting yours again.

Your eyes widen, urging him to answer the question. “Well?”

“I–I don’t remember.” He gapes at his own words, mentally scolding himself for forgetting such a detail.

“Oh, come on, Peter.” You flail your arms jokingly, but your face immediately falls when you notice the frown upon his face. He’s genuinely upset, and you can’t help but feel guilty for making him feel that way. You swallow thickly, before feigning a cheerful voice, “You know what? That’s not even important.”

“It is—”

“It’s not,” you say firmly, holding out your hand. His eyes flicker between your hand and your face, and you send him a comforting smile. “We’ll figure something out.”

Peter sighs gently, returning the smile before contently slipping his hand into yours.

You haul him around the store, and Peter follows behind you like a puppy on a leash. When you stop at the rose section, you glance at him with your eyebrows raised in question, silently asking if he liked them.

To your dismay, Peter shakes his head. “Too red,” he murmurs. Humming in agreement, you point at the bouquet of white roses that are sat just above the red ones, but once again, he shakes his head. “Too white.”

You roll your eyes, catching onto what he’s hinting at. “No roses, then?”

Peter shakes his head once more, a grin pulling at the corners of his lips. “No roses,” he confirms.

You resume tugging him by the arm until you arrive at the next section of the store: the tulips section. “You like these?” you suggest.

Peter’s eyes narrow in thought, pouting slightly. “Maybe. I think I should look around the rest of the shop before making my decision, though.”

“Good idea.”

So, the pair of you pace the shop hand-in-hand, searching high and low for the perfect bouquet. Granted, Peter is rather difficult to satisfy; it seems like he doesn’t like any of the flowers at all.

Just as you approach the end of your second lap around the shop, you sigh in exasperation, practically dragging him at this point. “Peter, we’ve gone around the whole store twice now. There must be at least something that you like—”

“Wait!” He tugs at your hand from behind, causing you to yelp as you stagger backwards a few steps and fall onto him. He instinctively releases your hand, his own hands shooting forward to catch you, grabbing your waist to hold you upright. “Oh, my God, a–are you okay?” he asks, worry lacing his tone as he scans your body up and down quickly.

Heat creeps onto your cheeks, feeling his intense gaze lingering on you. “I’m fine. Don’t do that again!”

“Sorry,” he says with a small grin.

You laugh a little in disbelief, shaking your head gently. “It’s okay. Why’d you stop me?”

His head jerks in the direction of an incredibly colourful bouquet of flowers in front of you. “I like those,” he announces. “Nice variety of flowers and the colours are pretty.”

You reach forward to grab it. “Good choice,” you muse, but as your eyes trail the shop shortly after, you notice something. “Peter...”

“Yeah?”

“We’re back where we started!” You scowl at him, shoving him in his side jokingly and causing him to stumble the tiniest amount, but he’s laughing in amusement all the same. “Couldn’t you decide that you liked this one before we went around the entire store?”

“Oh, would you look at that? You’re right!” A cheeky smirk is across Peter’s face, as he takes the flowers from your grasp, his fingers brushing against yours in doing so. “Sorry, Y/N.”

“It’s fine,” you sigh playfully. Closing the gap between you both, you take a couple of steps closer and reach out, fiddling with and adjusting the flowers he’s holding. When you glance up at his face, you notice that he’s already watching you intently. Not in a weird way at all, but in a way that makes you feel relaxed under his gaze. “You made my prolonged shift go by a little faster.”

✧₊∘

There’s something rather sinister about the cemetery that you pass every time you walk home from the flower shop. It’s always completely dark and deserted, like there’s a bleak, gloomy cloud constantly hovering over it, causing everyone to avoid it at all costs — or at least just look away. The mere sight of it is disturbing enough to make your spine tingle.

But today is different. As you walk past the dreaded cemetery, you spot a batch of elegant, colourful flowers laying on the ground, next to the familiar silhouette of a man sitting near a gravestone, isolated from everyone and everything else.

Peter.

Almost immediately, your heart shatters into pieces, realising that he bought flowers earlier to lay on someone’s grave.

You speed-walk over to him, and he turns around when he hears your footsteps, his emotion-filled eyes widening in shock.

“Y/N?”

“Peter,” you greet with a singular nod of the head. He gapes at you slightly, struggling to find the words to express his disbelief of seeing you there, but you ignore it, collapsing onto the ground and sitting cross-legged next to him. “Are you okay?”

“Y–Yeah. Yeah, I'm fine,” he mumbles, his gaze averting back to the gravestone in front of you both. The bouquet that you had perfectly curated just this morning is laying right beside it, almost as if Peter’s trying to use the flowers to bring the soulless rock to life.

Eyes flickering over the gravestone, you read the name written on it in your head.

Mary Parker.

A silence lapses around you and Peter for a while, both of you waiting for the other one to start a conversation. He’s playing with his fingers awkwardly.

Desperate to rid yourselves of the uncomfortable silence, you swallow thickly. “Are you okay?” you ask again, your mind seemingly unable to form any other words or sentences to say.

A humoured puff releases from Peter’s nose when it clicks in his head that you’ve asked the same question again. His eyes heave from the gravestone to your face, to which you return the stare. “Yeah, I’m okay, Y/N,” he assures you with a soft smile.

You sigh, pursing your lips. “You don’t have to lie to me, Peter.”

His eyebrows raise. He seems to be startled by your accusatory tone. “W–What?”

“You’re not okay. And that’s okay.”

Peter’s hand raises to his chin, scratching it gently. He huffs as his eyes fall shut, and in this moment, he looks peaceful. No emotion — not happy, nor sad — just at peace.

“She was my mother,” he begins, his voice low, and eyes remaining shut as he speaks.

Your lips cease movement for a moment, pain clawing into your heart. He’s only said four words, but those words cut you deep. Licking your dry lips, you swallow thickly. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

“No, I want to,” he reassures, his eyelids fluttering open to look at you once again. Your own head turns to meet his painful stare and you notice his eyes glistening elegantly. Whether it’s the moonlight’s reflection, or his eyes glossing over with tears, you can’t tell. “I never really talk about her. I don’t know why. I should — she was an incredible person and the best mom I could’ve ever asked for.”

You nod at him comfortingly, offering him a weak smile. “I’m sure she was.”

He cracks a small smile in return, his body relaxing as he immediately feels content in your presence. Releasing a shaky breath, he continues, “She passed away when I was younger. Today’s her death anniversary.”

His voice is wavering with so much emotion. He’s crying. And you can’t help but feel for him; his words churn the upset that’s already rushing through your body, and your eyes begin to brim with tears. “Peter, I— I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Oh, my God! Don’t cry, Y/N!” he laughs, using his thumb and forefinger to gently dab at the corners of his eyes.

You release a nervous chuckle, shaking your head. “Sorry,” you breathe with a small sniffle, pulling the sleeve of your sweatshirt to wipe the few tears that leaked from your own eyes.

Peter sighs, smile still lingering on his lips. “Don’t be sorry.”

Without giving you a chance to reply, he lays down on the ground, causing you to shoot him a look of pure confusion. He pats the ground next to him, encouraging you to do the same.

You frown. “You want me to lay on the ground?”

He looks at you hopefully. “Please?”

You groan lightheartedly, but it’s not long before you give in and shuffle to lay down next to him. Head against the cold, hard ground, you exhale exaggeratedly, flailing your arms a little. “Now what?”

“We’re stargazing, Y/N,” Peter says, his voice warm and soft, it makes you feel cosy. You love stargazing. He points at the sky, and your eyes visibly trail up his arm until you’re looking at the star he’s pointing at. It’s difficult to miss. “You see that star?” Peter asks, and you nod in response. “You know what it’s called?”

“Sirius,” you reply, biting back a grin as you add quietly, “…Black.”

He retreats his arm, glancing in your direction as he releases an intrigued scoff. “Okay, first of all, I knew you’d make a Harry Potter reference. Secondly, I’m impressed. How’d you know that?”

Your lip curls in amusement. “I always loved the stars as a kid. I did way more research than I should’ve done at that age,” you admit, biting your bottom lip to hold back a laugh at the bittersweet memory.

Peter’s heart is alight; learning information like this about people is something he finds so special and intimate. “I loved the stars as a kid, too,” he chirped. “Still do, even.”

Your face breaks out into a smile as you admire the sky; a sheet perfectly speckled with twinkling paint that would make any person stare in awe. “Me too. They’re mesmerising.”

Peter nods, before he’s pointing at the same star again. “That star, Sirius? Known as the brightest star in the sky, right?” You hum in agreement, and he continues, “Ever since I was a kid, my aunt always told me that Mom will always be with me. Uh... ‘in the stars’, as she likes to say.”

“And you think you see her in Sirius?” you ask, genuinely curious.

“I swear, Y/N, I see her in that star every night. She’s there, I know she is.”

A pearly grin etches across your face. “Really?”

“Yeah!” he replies with enthusiasm. Soon after, however, he seems to be in thought momentarily, before he facepalms with a gentle groan. “Oh, my God... you probably think I’m crazy—”

“I don’t,” you’re quick to dismiss his accusations. “I believe you, Peter.”

He turns to you, looking at you in question, “Y–You do?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Thank God.” Peter huffs in relief, jokingly placing a hand on his chest. “The last person I told said that I was crazy.” He chuckles lightly at the memory.

The dirt beneath you is uncomfortable, but you roll over to face him, elbows digging into the ground as your hand helps prop your head up. “Well, I don’t,” you announce, stealing a quick glance at the name carved into the gravestone. “Mary Parker watches down on you every day. You better make her proud!”

“I’m trying!” Peter laughs, but his eyes soon lock with yours when he stares up at you. In this moment, you could swear that even under the extreme luminescence of the full moon and stars tonight, you see his brown irises turn darker. “Thank you, Y/N.”

Your brows pinch together in confusion. “For what?”

He doesn’t answer your question. He stands up, patting his hands down his trousers and shaking himself clean of any dirt that’s clung onto him.

His hand then darts forward and you take it with no hesitation, and much to your surprise, he pulls you up effortlessly. You let out a little yelp at how fast he manages to heave up your body using just your arm, slightly taken aback by it, and you don’t miss the cocky grin on his face.

The pair of you begin to slowly walk to the cemetery’s exit, hands in your pockets as a comfortable silence lapses around you both.

“Thank you for believing me,” Peter finally responds, all of a sudden. “And for being there for me tonight.”

You can practically feel your heart swell at his words, but your exterior refuses to show that — simply shrugging. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t just gonna leave you there alone.”

“I was literally a stranger to you yesterday,” Peter reminds you, and you nod in confirmation, making it crystal clear that you’re also aware of the stated fact. “You didn’t need to stay with me.”

Just as your lips part to reply, Peter’s hand reaches out to your chest to stop you in your tracks, the sudden contact causing you to flinch a little. “That being said,” Peter speaks again, clearing his throat awkwardly, “I know we only met a couple of hours ago, but I just wanted to know if you— uh...”

His voice trails off and you perk up a brow at him amusingly. “If I what?”

“Y’know…” Peter does weird hand motions as if you’d understand what he’s trying to imply with just gestures.

“Nope. No, I don’t,” you tease, grinning sardonically. Although, you’re certain you do — you’re just pushing him to ask the question.

He sulks, head falling into his palms in embarrassment. “I’m not good at this, you know.”

You raise your hands in your defence, laughing. “Sorry, I can’t read minds.”

Peter groans as he looks up at you again, his brown eyes boring into yours desperately. “Okay, fine.” He inhales deeply, fixing his posture, and suddenly— “Would you wanna hang out some time?” His words nearly jumble together with the way he blurts it out all at once.

You have to bite the insides of your cheek to refrain from giggling. “I thought you’d never ask.”

“Oh, thank God.” Peter huffs, a relieved scoff falling from his lips. His arms reach out as if to hug you, but he instantly recoils, eyes widening slightly. “I’m— is it okay if I hug you?”

Your face softens; the fact that he’s so considerate makes you feel pleasant all over. Without saying anything, your arms wrap around him affectionately, a warm smile arranging on your lips.

Peter flinches the slightest bit, but he’s quick to adjust to your embrace, his lightly toned arms perfectly cloaking your frame. He sighs into the crook of your neck, releasing a shaky laugh. “I guess that’s a yes.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

[mojavebluez]

Choke - the salesman x fem!reader

Chapter 3

“You can take it.”

summary - one week since your last arrangement, he finds you again. He offers you a game of ddakji that quickly turns into a fight for your life.

tags - choking, blowjob, non-con, age gap, 18 mdni, sadomasochism, crying kink, choking kink, sub!reader, dom!salesman, sadomasochism

a/n - guyssss thank u so much!! It’s been a little while but I’m back… and I’ve got some big plans for the rest of the series. I think you’re gonna LOVE the next part ;))

Series masterlist

4.6k words

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You hadn't heard from him since that night, when he called you and simply stated, "next week. Be ready." Then he hung up.

You were conflicted. On the one hand, now you had proof: you were practically coated with his DNA - inside and out. Going to the police was an easy solution to this whole ordeal. But it seemed too easy. He was far too thorough, far too careful not to have considered that possibility. Maybe it was simple. He knew you would never turn him in.

Aside from some aching in your limbs and a little mental scarring, you were relatively unscathed by what he did to you the last time you met. The clinical way in which he had cut you made it so they healed into clean lines within a week. You almost forgot they were there - though, when you caught a glimpse of your thigh in the mirror, your stomach still twisted. You just hoped that they wouldn't scar. You weren't sure that you'd like a permanent reminder of him on your body for the rest of your life. Perhaps that was his goal.

A week later, you are all-too aware of what is to come. You had spent the whole day with your eyes trained on the clock, counting down the minutes until the end of the day (partially out of anxiety, partially eagerness). He was just so unpredictable. You make a mental list of what he could possibly do to you this time. Every item on that list was a synonym of 'torture'.

Finally, it was time for you to leave. Class had ended for the day. You pack up your things and head outside, feeling yourself growing slightly faint. You almost fainted for certain when you step outside the building. Because there he is.

He stands, arms folded and legs crossed, leaning on the door of a car. He adorns his usual suit: jet black and paired with a dark red tie. The colour seems like a purposeful reminder of what he drew from your skin seven nights ago. His eyes don't exactly light up when he sees you, but his lips curl into his signature empty smile. You can barely distinguish his pupils from the black abyss that they swim in. They must be there, somewhere, though.

You contemplate avoiding him and walking in the opposite direction. Knowing that would just end in some sort of punishment, you steel yourself and walk towards him, barely feeling your feet hit the ground. You are painfully aware of the stares you're receiving. He doesn't seem to care though. His eyes are only trained on you, and the intensity of his gaze makes your skin crawl.

"Good afternoon," he says, straightening up to greet you, "how was your day?"

You don't reply. You stare ahead at his chest, fighting the urge to curse him out. The audacity of him to infiltrate your personal life like this. You were determined to keep him separate from all of this - yet he has wormed his way into the one place you thought you were safe from his influence.

He bends down slightly to catch your eyes. "Feeling a little non-verbal? That's alright. I'm sure I'll get you talking soon enough."

He waits for you to respond, then chuckles quietly when you don't. He turns to open the car door behind him, gesturing for you to enter. You pause for a brief moment. It would be so easy for you to turn on your heels and run. You don't. Instead, you slip inside and stare him down through the tinted window. He taps on the glass mockingly then moves around to the other side of the car, letting himself in.

You glance around the interior. It's sleek, entirely black and laden with real leather. The two back seats are separated from the front by a window, indicating to you that this is some sort of chauffeur car. It checks out. You can't picture him driving himself around - he's far too superior for that. He slides in beside you on the backseat, arranging his legs over his briefcase, which sits at his feet.

"Don't you have a job or something?" You say bitterly once he shuts the door, not meeting his eyes.

You can hear the smirk in his voice. "Yes, I do. My hours are... flexible, though."

"How fantastic for me," you reply, not able to keep the sarcasm from your voice.

"Indeed," you can feel his eyes on your profile.

It's silent for a moment before your gaze drifts to the briefcase at his feet. "What's in the case?"

Instead of responding, he bends down to lift it up and places it down in the space between you. You wince as he opens the latches, still remembering the last time you saw it. Instead of a gun, this time two squares of folded card sit inside. The shape is familiar to you.

"Ddakji?" You ask, tilting your head. Was this his plan for tonight? Another one of his games?

He nods once. "Left over from work today."

"You play ddakji for work? What, are you some kind of professional?"

He laughs dryly. "You could say that."

By day, a professional ddakji player. By night, a sadist. He just keeps surprising you. "But, last week you said..." you trail off, recalling your game last time the two of you met. You didn't manage to find the lie in his list of professions, but you knew he must work either in an office or as a recruiter. So which one is it?

He holds up a hand. "Something you'll learn in the future. Don't get ahead of yourself."

You sit back in your seat, slightly embarrassed. He was right, of course - you had misjudged your relationship with him. There was no way he would tell you something so incriminating as his profession. You couldn't help but laugh at the double standard; he is allowed to violate you in any way he pleases, but you can't even ask what his job is? You almost laugh, but decide against it. Instead, you stare out of the window to your right. The city flies past in a blend of grey hues. Normal people walk the streets, probably on their way home from work or school. You try to imagine yourself before all this, but struggle to, knowing that you can never have that life back now.

After several minutes of silence, the car slows to a halt. Stupidly, you hadn't concentrated on the journey. If something were to happen, you would have no idea how to get back home. This fear is further cemented when you look outside to see that the area is completely unfamiliar to you. It seems like an industrial neighbourhood. Huge building blocks, their windows either boarded or broken, close you in. The streets are empty as well as the roads - you seem to be the only people in a five mile radius. He's brought you to the middle of nowhere.

"Where are we?" You ask, concern evident in your voice.

He doesn't reply, just taps the window as if to thank the driver and picks up his briefcase. He opens the door to his left and steps outside. You stay sat in the car, utterly terrified. If he were to finally put an end to all this, this would be the perfect place to do it. He doesn't wait for you, instead opening your door and gesturing for you to exit the car.

"Out," he says, obstructing your view. As slowly as you can, you step out of the car and onto the street, barely having time to gather yourself before the car speeds away.

"Where did-"

"Too many questions," he interrupts, straightening his tie with one hand, "I thought you would trust me by now."

"How can I?" You raise your voice, the noise echoing through the empty street.

"Follow me," he walks away from you without checking to see if you'll follow. He seems to know every decision you make before you make them. You speed after him, jogging slightly to match his long stride.

You had never walked beside him like this. It seemed like an action too normal for your dynamic. He towers over you, his legs covering almost twice the distance you can with one step. His briefcase swings at his side. You feel a small reassurance knowing what sits inside.

Eventually, he stops in front of a door to one of the large redbrick buildings. It looks like a warehouse to you. He unlocks the door with a ring of keys, pushing it open and stepping aside to let you enter first. Always the gentleman.

You find yourself in a cavernous room. You crane your neck to look at the ceiling, but notice that it ascends several floors up into darkness. Every window is boarded, but natural light still seeps through the cracks in the wood. Your steps echo as you move further inside, shoes slapping against the concrete floor.

"What is this place?" You ask, but with anxiety instead of awe.

"I own the building," he replies, voice monotone. He overtakes you, walking past and deeper inside the building. It is practically devoid of furnishing aside from a few empty boxes or planks of wood here and there.

"Is this where you murder people then?" You say, remembering a sentence he spoke last time you saw each other. It was something along the lines of, 'I am a mass murderer'.

"No," he doesn't smile as he says it. You have the feeling that the time for jokes has passed. "I wouldn't kill you here anyway. You deserve something a bit more... dignified."

"Thanks, I guess?" The way he says the words must mean he's considered it before. You stand a few steps away from him, watching him cautiously.

You had many ideas about how this evening might play out. You certainly weren't expecting this. He lowers onto one knee, settling his briefcase on the floor and letting it open. Then, he lifts the two ddakji squares and holds them up with both hands, presenting them to you. A slow smile spreads over his features - though it never reaches his eyes. You have learned from experience he only smiles fully when he's about to make you either cum or cry.

"Red or blue?" He asks, still holding them in the air.

You'd had enough of the colour red for a while, and always felt a bit more partial to blue. "Blue, please."

"A good choice," he hands it to you, and you try your hardest to take it from him without making contact with his skin. "Do you know how to play?"

You knew the rules well enough. It was a common game played in school as the paper components were easy to make - you weren't exactly the greatest at it, though. "Yeah, I know the rules. I try to flip your tile. If I don't, it's your turn, but if you can flip mine then you win the point."

He nods, clearly pleased. "Clever girl."

You wait for him to initiate the game, flipping your tile in your hands anxiously. There has to be some sort of catch. It's completely out of his nature to suggest an innocent game like this with no consequences.

He sets his tile on the floor. The red square is the only colour amid the sea of grey stone beneath your feet. He looks up at you expectantly. "Ladies first."

You nod slowly, readying your tile in your hand. It's been years since you last played, but the general concept seems familiar to you. You're fairly assured with yourself. Gradually, you raise your arm and bring it down in the air, releasing the tile. Not enough power. It hits the edge of his red square, barely moving it an inch.

You slowly look up to meet his eyes. A shadow seems to have fallen over his features. You aren't sure if it's your imagination, but his expression alone makes your blood sing in your ears. There is something distinctly shark-like about him - black eyes, perfectly white teeth and his unending desire to make you bleed.

He picks up his tile and arranges himself to the correct stance. Something about his professionalism makes your gut twist with dread. You already know how this will turn out. Just as you guessed, he moves back his arm and slaps his tile against yours, perfectly in centre. Yours flips over to its flat face with ease. His lips curl into a small satisfied smirk, and he folds his arms before him, looking down at the tiles.

He makes no move to continue the next round, so you bend down to pick up his tile and hand it to him. Once you reach your full height, though, he catches your chin in his hand and holds you there with a vice grip. Ah. Here is the punishment for your loss.

Faster than you can register it, he brings his hand back, then strikes it across your face with terrifying force. The sound of his palm hitting your skin echoes throughout the building. Your breath catches in your throat and you recoil from the pain, bringing a hand to your face. The skin of your cheek already feels hot and angry, and you feel tears prick in the corners of your eyes. You can barely find the words to question him.

"What- why did you-"

"You lost," is all he says. His hands are clasped before him, weapons in their own right. In a way, his hands are far more terrifying than any knife or gun - he has complete control of them. And he uses them as he pleases.

"You didn't have to-!" You cut off, pressing your palm against your face to soothe the pain. There is no point in arguing the point with him. Now you have learned of the penalty for failure, and that is just how his games work. All you can do is hope that you won't lose again.

The next few games continue in silence, aside from the crack of his tile flipping yours and his palm against your face. Each time, you add a little more strength behind your throw, but each time you fail to flip his square completely. By the fourth round, tears flow in flick streams down your face, and your skin hums with the heat of his strikes. He remains stoic, a smirk on his lips the only sign of his enjoyment.

It's the fifth round and you can feel your hands twitch with frustration. This time, you go first, and throw your own tile down with enough force to make him flinch. His red square flips easily. You can't help but laugh at your triumph. As long as he fails his turn, you're free to slap him right back.

He picks up his red square and positions himself, then throws his ddakji. It strikes the ground nearly 5 inches from yours. You frown. He would never overlook or allow a loss like that - it must have been purposeful.

You meet his eyes and he smiles, clasping his hands before him. Something about his silence unnerves you. You step towards him, bridging the gap between you both, flexing your fingers. You'd been imagining the expression he might make. Gradually, you line up your palm with the side of his face and pull your arm back. Quicker than you can see, he grabs your wrist before it connects with his skin, digging in his fingers until you can barely move any further. You make a frustrated noise, trying to release yourself.

His eyes seem to twinkle as he watches you struggle. Then, with no warning, he crashes his lips against yours. You cry out, voice muffled by the force of his kiss. There is no affection, no softness in the way his mouth fights your own. You pull at your arm, but he keeps you there, not releasing until you both pull away to catch your breath.

"What the-" you start back, wrenching free from his grasp.

He swipes a thumb over his lips, examining the saliva you left on his mouth. "A reward for your win."

You stare at him, utterly baffled. The kiss felt more uncomfortable than loving. More of a punishment than an award. You search his eyes for an explanation - nothing. Two black abysses staring right into yours without a trace of humanity. Kissing him didn't even see like a possibility in your mind; it was far too affectionate.

You hold a hand to your mouth and stare down at your shoes, not ready to continue the game. The tiles sit, expectant, by your feet. After a moment of silence, you hear his voice. "Pick it up."

After a brief moment, you obey, lowering to one knee to pick up his red tile. On your way back onto your feet, though, you feel his hand press firmly on the crown of your head. You look up at him, eyes wide and questioning.

"Get on your knees," his voice is cool and commanding. It sends a strange dread through your bones that forces you to stay down. You bring your other knee to the floor, letting your skirt pool around you. You raise your chin to watch his expression. He seems completely passive; the situation has played out exactly as he desired.

"Let's get on with it, shall we?" You see his teeth flash white as he speaks.

You feel a small spark of defiance within you. You stare ahead at his knees, not daring to look up at him. He waits, silent, for you to respond, before he loses his patience and grabs a fistful of your hair. He yanks your head back, forcing you to look at him.

"Is this really how you want to do things?" He asks, condescending.

You don't speak. He slowly untangles his fingers from your hair, bringing them to the waist of his trousers. His hands diligently undo the button, then the zip, finally coming to rest on the waistband of his boxers.

"Open," his voice is dark. He reveals his cock to you, and you try not to gasp, despite knowing that you'd seen it before. You remember how it felt inside you. Impossibly big and impossibly perfect. You shiver.

You force your lips shut. He runs a veined hand from the tip to the base of his cock, tilting his head as he looks down at you. He slaps it against the skin of your cheek, which is still warm from your punishment. You can feel him get harder at the sight of you on his knees for him. Your face is still stained with tear-tracks, and your eyes are red-rimmed. All things he has done to you.

You part your lips in an attempt to catch your breath. He grabs your chin, forcing your mouth to open wider. You whimper in protest, pulling at his arm, but it’s no use. He forces his cock inside your mouth with no warning. You gasp around him, voice muffled by his girth. He makes a quiet noise at the damp heat of your mouth, forcing himself deeper.

You can’t control it. Your teeth graze his cock, harder than you mean to, and he makes a disgruntled noise in his throat. You nearly scream when he shoves his cock in even further until you feel it grazing the back of your throat. You squeeze your eyes shut, gripping his leg for support.

“You can take it,” he says, pressing a hand to the back of your head. His fingers twist into your hair and he controls your movements like a puppet. Your body goes limp, your throat relaxing just to save yourself from choking to death on his cock. It’s no use - he’s just too much. Even with your mouth full of him there’s still room at the base for you to run your hands across.

Your vision is blurry with tears, and he uses this as a sign to thrust harder. He guides your mouth over him with his hand, pulling your hair to move you back and forth over his length. With every thrust you feel him get harder, and he makes deep grunting noises when his tip touches your throat.

Eventually, it becomes too much. The room echoes with the sounds of your gagging and sobbing. Tears flow freely down your face, hot and thick, some landing on his cock. He sucks in his breath, head falling back, the curve of his neck illuminated by the faint light. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. You bristle slightly at the sight - you’re clearly pleasing him. It almost motivates you.

“Don’t- ah…” he trails off when you bring a hand to the base of his cock, curling your fingers around his thick girth. You bob your head, picking up momentum, trying to take his whole length. You twist your hand, moving it up when your head pulls backward. One hand still grips his leg for support, but you can feel him tense under your fingers when you pick up speed.

“S-such a whore,” he stutters, tilting his head to look down at you, “trying to make me cum, huh?” He takes in a shaky breath, pulling on your hair so hard that it makes you whimper with him still in your mouth. The vibration of your throat makes him shiver.

He doesn’t falter though, keeping himself buried in the heat of your mouth. You begin to tire, squeezing your eyes shut and dropping your hand to the ground. You pull backward, a string of salvia connecting your lips and his swollen tip. Your body wracks with your heaving breaths, hands trembling.

“Fuck-“ he starts, his eyes darting downward, “don’t you dare fucking stop.”

His voice is deep and commanding, and an incredible motivator. Your chest heaves with exhaustion as you bring up both hands this time, placing them side by side around his cock. He does the same, but to your head, taking fistfuls of your hair and holding you with extreme force. You cry out when he shoves his cock into you, harder than before, until you can basically feel it bruising your throat.

He grunts with the effort of forcing you over him, using his hold to face-fuck you until the tears flow hot and fast. The vibrations of your sobs don’t put him off, in fact, they make him thrust with more aggression. He sighs at the soft heat of your mouth against the stiffness of his erection. When he looks down at you, he nearly comes undone - the mark of where his fingers struck your cheek have settled into thick red lines. He is struck with the sudden overwhelming urge to hold your throat and press down until you choke on him. So he does.

You make a strangled noise as he releases one hand, curving his body so he can grip your neck. You look up to search his eyes. Utter terror chills you. A dark look has settled over his features, melting his face into a mask of serenity. His lips barely curl with the effort of holding you. He seems utterly at peace watching you choke, and his fingers press, one by one, around your neck with increasing pressure. His entire hand almost fits around your throat.

You try to pull away from his cock, but he doesn’t let you, using his neck to constrain you. You feel, quite suddenly, like you might die. Your vision swirls as you feel the lack of oxygen finally set in. He keeps thrusting, faster, faster, even when your body goes slack. His breath picks up, his cock twitching inside your mouth. You know he’s close. You fight for your breath, hoping that he will grace you with oxygen soon.

He curses as his orgasm finally arrives. He shoots warm, salty cum into your throat and you sob, nearly choking all over again. His body curls inward, his head hanging over you, and he finally releases his hand. He rests his core on the crown of your head, using you for support. You cry to yourself, taking in deep lungfuls of oxygen until your vision returns to normal. You feel his whole body tremble with the release.

After a moment, he moves back, standing to his full height. He swipes a thumb over the corner of your lip, flicking away a drop of his own cum that leaks out of your mouth. It is the extent of his affection. You hang your head, feeling exhaustion deep in your bones. He used you. Pushed you to your limits. And you almost died with his cock in your mouth.

You see him open his mouth to say something. Then, his back pocket vibrates. His eyes flicker with confusion. You watch expectantly, still on your knees and too tired to stand up.

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, at the same time zipping his trousers up again. He looks just as he did before, though his hair flops messily over his forehead, slick with sweat.

His eyes scan the number on his phone. Then, to your complete astonishment, he answers. He turns away from you, mumbling a ‘hello’ into the phone. His voice is slightly broken, but still sickeningly professional.

Your mouth hangs open, hands limp in your lap. He has left you, tear-stained and on your knees, to answer the phone. He barely spoke a word of acknowledgment before walking away, speaking quickly into his phone.

Several feet away now, he turns back to you, holding a hand over the speaker. “There’s a car waiting outside,” he says, voice as regular as if he were talking to a work colleague. That’s it. He walks away, deeper into the building, until his voice becomes an incoherent mutter.

For a moment, you barely register what has just happened. Your entire body aches as the product of his aggression. He manipulated you to his will.

Gathering yourself, you wipe your cheeks with the heel of your hand, wincing at the soreness of your face. You can feel the heat of where he slapped you several times. How are you going to hide the marks?

You smooth your skirt and stand up, swaying on your feet slightly. Your throat feels sore and dry, breath raspy, and you press gently on your neck. It feels bruised. You’ll have to wear turtlenecks for a while, you think to yourself bitterly. You nearly marvel at the control he has over your life now, but decide not to. It will just make you hurt.

You cast one last downhearted glance at him. He is a distant figure across the floor of the warehouse. He stands, completely still, one hand holding his phone and the other in his pocket. You feel suddenly sick at the sight of him, and decide to leave.

True to his word, the same black car from earlier is parked on the street, waiting. You open the back door and slip inside, trying to make yourself as small as possible. You feel humiliated. The car speeds away and turns the corner, leaving the building, and him, behind.

On the drive home, the tears fall all over again, but this time you let them. You hold yourself as your body jerks with sobs. You keep holding yourself until fatigue sets in, and your eyes grow heavy.

You make a vow to yourself as the car slows to a halt outside your apartment: you are never, ever, going to see him again.

But, of course, you do.

[3fingersofscotch]

Like a Party Favor

Like a Party Favor

Pairing: M/M/M/M/F Sylus x Zayne x Rafayel x Xavier x Afab Reader

‧₊˚✩彡Summary: In what scenario does MC get passed around like a party favor? This one!

‧₊˚✩彡WARNINGS: 18+ mdni!! GANGBANG, word porn with just enough plot to make your brain happy, double penetration, vaginal and anal sex, rough face fucking, rough cunniligus, creampies, tons of cum, like... tons, reverse harem, butt plugs, multiple partners, multiple positions, actual funny parts, gratuitous self pleasing smut.

‧₊˚✩彡Author's note: I started writing this back in August, so obviously some new cards have come out to spoil a couple of things. There is one chapter where Zayne is enjoying a martini. We know know he doesn't drink. Give me a break. This is a WIP. I'm trying to figure out how to fit Caleb in there somewhere.

‧₊˚✩彡Ao3- 3fingers_of_scotch Chapter 2

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I do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated anywhere.

You can’t hide your innermost desires from a man with an aether core in his eye. And this man in particular makes direct, sinister, enrapturing, infuriating eye contact with you as he plunders your body.

Sylus is a far departure from the men you are used to. You shudder at the thought. You’ve struggled with this for a while now. Grandma would be so ashamed if she were still around to find out.

You’ve sampled 4 men in as many weeks. 4 beautiful men with giant hearts and eyes that look at you like you hung the very stars in the sky. And while you let them ravage your body and lose yourself in their arms, in that brief searing moment, love seems so pure and so wholesome.

Then you come down from your high and that feeling is gone—replaced with the guilt of knowing you are nothing but a common, back stabbing whore who can’t pick one good man to give your heart to. You tell yourself that your love is true, that you aren’t a bad person. You don’t believe that lie for a second.

You know Sylus can hear the voice calling from the depths of your mind on occasion. He has heard your heart cry at some point-

Xavier

Rafayel

Zayne

And though he pretends he didn’t hear and that he doesn’t know, you can’t help but notice that those are the sessions that he fucks you the hardest. Those are the days that your orgasm rips through your chest because he fucks you like he paid top dollar to use your body like some common street walker.

‘This has to be grief,’ you tell yourself as you try to distract yourself from the mental and physical pain of losing your family in that explosion.

But if that were the case, grief is still not an excuse for being a bad woman.

Fuck me

He stares at you intently after you dismount the back of his bike and remove the helmet. You were painfully wet. Sylus had teased you all night when bidding became boring and he was certain no one was looking. You could tell he was wound up and ready to pop, especially since he’d taken the hand you had wrapped around his waist and placed it over his half hard erection when you were nearing his compound.

The wet spot you left on his bike was embarrassing. All of this was embarrassing. It is shameful how much you need him. It was disgraceful what your innermost desires confessed to him in the throes of passion.

You wonder why he hasn’t walked away. He continues to comply like your desires aren’t insane. He looks thrilled as he fulfills all of your darkest needs. He hasn’t said no yet. It appears he is also willing to comply tonight.

Fuck me

“In due time, kitten.” His voice is like warm honey in your ear and you tremble as his fingers tease under your skirt and slip into your panties. Sylus pulls your hips back into his clothed erection and you grind against his length, whimpering your want as the pads of his fingertips dig deeper to firmly tease your clit.

 You know you aren’t alone in the compound. Luke and Kieran are lurking somewhere, but you let Sylus rip open your blouse, buttons flying across the living room. His right hand is still playing with your pussy and you know your skirt has ridden all the way up, and the left hand pushed your bra up and over to expose your breasts so he could play with your nipple.

“Luke and Kieran--“ you begin.

“Will stay out of sight if they know what is good for them,” Sylus murmurs in your ear, making you shiver. His fingers sink in past the lips cloaking your entrance, making awkward squelching noises with each pump.

“Look down,” he orders. You comply and see him withdraw his fingers that are glistening with clear, sticky juices. He lifts his fingers to your lips. “Clean the mess you made, kitten.”

He normally likes some sort of resistance. Resisting has turned him on thoroughly in the past, but tonight, you just want to be fucked so bad and this back and forth is making you frustratingly hot.

You lap at his finger just like the stray kitten he imagines that you are and you hear him hiss with approval in your ear.

“Sweetie, when did you become so obedient?” the timber of his voice purrs.

“I won’t stay this way for long if you don’t bend me over soon!” Your frustration amuses him.

His evol envelops your body and lifts you off the ground to bring you upstairs and you feel your own juices tickle as they drip down your thighs uncomfortably.

His compound is too large. By the time you reach his bedroom, you are crying from need and Sylus hates seeing you cry.

“Shh, shhh,” he cooes as he unbuttons his shirt. His evol places you gently on the edge of the bed and you become increasingly frustrated as you try and tug his belt off. It won’t comply.

Sylus grabs your hand and lifts it to place a gentle kiss on the inside of your wrist as his other hand slides a notch on his belt buckle. It releases quickly and you unbutton and unzip his pants, feeling triumphant as the head of his big beautiful cock springs forward from his underwear. The front of his boxer briefs are nearly as wet as you are, and you lean forward to taste the tip of his cock.

It’s salty and bitter and oh so rewarding, especially as he hums his approval, fingers threading into your hair. You desire to be used. To be punished for being such a loose, despicable woman.

Fuck my face

And he does with hands firmly wound in your hair, he holds you in place as he thrusts. You can feel the head of his cock impact the back of your throat and that just won’t do. He clucks with disapproval, before repositioning you so that your throat lines up straight with is thrusts. You’ve practiced this before. Several times in fact, he has read your desires and given you exactly what you are too afraid to say aloud.

Today, the head of his cock enters the column of your throat, stretching out your esophagus. You clutch at his muscular thighs as you feel tears sting your eyes. He thrusts a few times, before abruptly withdrawing and throwing you back on the bed.

“I’m not ready to cum yet,” He growls and his right eye glows red. Your bra and panties are ripped off, but he leaves your skirt bunched up around your waist. 

Punish me

“How?” He asks as he kicks off his pants. You aren’t quite sure you even know yourself. But he always come up with an answer and you find yourself on your hands and knees in front of him. He sinks two fingers deep past the heat of your thighs and without warning, roughly finger fucks you, causing you to cry out blissfully.

This felt more like a reward than punishment and you want to be mad, but he is already making you cum and it catches both of you by surprise as you cry out and your inner walls clamp down around his fingers.

“Sylus!��Ooh, Sylus!” He doesn’t need you to announce your orgasm because it won’t stop him. His fingers continue their plunder as his other hand caresses the smoothness of your ass cheek. You are screaming at this point, but the firm grasp he has of your ass is not lost on you. He squeezes roughly and as your second orgasm ripples through your body, his hand withdraws from your ass cheek and you are given a firm, stinging smack.

He’s never spanked you before, so he waits for you to protest before he dares to try again.

You love it. It only makes your orgasm more powerful and your cries only reflect pleasure.

“Hmm, this is interesting. Does the bad kitten need another spanking?” he asks. You can hear the amusement in his voice and although it annoys you, you also feel a wave of relief at the lack of disgust you were worried he’d feel.

You nod wordlessly in response and feel the crack as his palm smacks your ass with more force.

“Ooh!” You cry. Words are useless at this point and you quiver as you feel the bed dip behind you as Sylus climbs up, lining his cock with the entrance of your core and sinks in, filling you deeper than his fingers did. You moan as he gives you all of him and sighs your name under his breath.

He enjoys the feeling of your moist heat swallowing him for a moment before he moves, plunging violently deep within you.

Deeper and deeper and deeper. He’d crawl into you if he could, you were sure of it. The others could be too gentle when all you wanted was to be used. An endless stream of moans, curses and his name tumbles from your lips.

Punish me

Oh God, why is he reading you again right now? You were going to start thinking of the foulest, dirtiest things soon.

Sylus’ hand smacks your ass once more and you practically buck crying out sharply. That one was sure to leave a red welt. You want that and more and his cock feels so good and you feel so naughty.

“Slut.” Yes, you are his little slut. Your body was made to be wrapped around his, you are certain of it. His hand slaps your other ass cheek and the sting lingers.

“Oh, God,” you utter as you feel him reach forward and wind his fingers in your hair, using it as a handle as he continues to fuck you from behind. You are so close to cumming and the hair pulling nearly tips you over the edge.

“Does my little slut want me to cum in her tight pussy again?” Oh god, he was close too?

You love cum. You love being filled by cum. You love feeling a cock throb inside you as it releases rope after rope of cum.

Sylus never bothered to put on a condom. As a matter of fact, he never bothered to ask you if you were on birth control. You don’t think he really even cares. But every time he cums in you, he asks you for permission and its hot knowing that your pussy is good enough for his release.

Cum in my ass.

“Fuck!” Sylus bucks like he can’t believe what he just heard and you feel him coming completely undone, trembling and shaking as his cock throbs in you. He grips your hips, holding you flush against him, burying himself as far as possible and you are certain this is the longest he’s ever cum as you feel his body twitch and jerk against you.

“That was so fucking hot,” He murmurs as he rolls you onto your back. He kisses you the same as he always does when you are done. Deep, like he wants to say something that words can never convey. He leaves you, digging around a drawer in his room somewhere, but you can’t see because you are still trying to catch your breath. Despite not finishing, you are happy, ready to clean up and let sleep take you.

He returns, a lecherous grin you’ve never seen plastered on his face with a tube and a towel in his hand.

“Is that really where you want me to put it, kitten?”

Fuck, suddenly you remember that your inner most desire told him something you weren’t ready to reveal.

Sylus puts that nonsense to bed, silencing the protest you are about to utter with his lips. You feel the growing need as hope blooms in your chest. His lips taste the column of your neck and you realize that he is rock hard as his still wet erection rubs against your navel.

You want to touch him everywhere and he lets you as he continues to taste your chest. Your fingers grasp at his hair when you feel a lubed finger circle your asshole. Your cheeks burn bright red as he meets your gaze.

“Princess, you have to tell me. Is this what you want?” His voice is dripping with desire you didn’t know he’d hidden from you.

You can’t trust your voice, so you shyly nod and you feel his finger push in. You wince at the discomfort and he studies your face, pressing soft kisses to your temple to distract you and he pumps slowly, in and out until you nod that he can go faster. Whatever pain from initial entry subsided after a moment and you were ready for another.

You still can’t talk, so you nod once more and Sylus understands, grabbing the tube of lube and diligently applying more to his fingers before entering.

You can feel how hungry he is as his lips swallow yours. You try to match his enthusiasm, but his fingers scissoring and stretching you out distract you. He is diligent and gentle until he is not, needily nibbling at your ear and hungrily squeezing your body against his.

“Fuck, kitten, I need to be inside you so bad,” Sylus rocks his hips, grinding his erection against you. You can feel his leaking need.

“I’m ready,” you tell him. Honestly you aren’t sure, but you’ve never heard his voice drip with this much desperation. He withdraws his fingers and applies a generous amount of lube to his cock before rolling you onto your stomach.

“I’m sorry sweetie. This will probably hurt,” He whispers as he enters.

Despite Sylus’ diligent prep, it is searing. You feel the head of his cock ‘pop’ past the ring of your entrance and the pain is astounding. You buck and cry out as Sylus pins you down.

“Fuck!” Tears roll down your cheek and onto the mattress beneath you. “Fuck, Sylus!” You don’t think you can take it. His cock is so very huge and you are so very small.

“Shh,” he soothes and you hate him for it. “It will only hurt for a little while. Trust me.”

Sylus doesn’t press further and you focus on your breathing. It still hurts, but you think you can handle more.

“More,” you tell him and he obliges, sinking further into you as you continue to take deep breaths. It still hurts, but not as much as it did initially and you realize he is fully seated. He doesn’t move and you continue to focus on your breathing.

“Okay, Sylus. I’m okay.” Your voice is shaky and you are sure it betrayed you, but Sylus takes you at your word and gentle thrusts in slow shallow motions that are searing. You bite your lip, enduring the pain when you notice that suddenly, it doesn't hurt. As a matter of fact, it is starting to feel good.

It’s not long before your tepid breath becomes pleasurable moans and you feel Sylus huff in amusement against your shoulder.

“You like it, kitten?”

“Mmhmm, oh Sylus! Yes!” And that was all he needed to rear back and pound into your tiny body. Every bone and muscle in your body reverberates with each clap of his hips against your ass as you feel yourself sinking further and further into the mattress beneath you. You are swimming in a pool of sweat and your own desires and Sylus is unrelenting, encouraged by your screams of bliss.

“Fuck, your little asshole is so tight,” Sylus mutters and you can tell he is fighting a losing battle from the pitch of his voice. You can’t see him, but you imagine he is beautiful as he pounds you with abandon, glistening with the sweat you can smell all around you. His hand snakes its way under your torso and between your legs, teasing your clit deliciously.

“Sylus, mmm! Oh! Sylus, I’m gonna-“

“Me too," the way his moaning becomes more fevered as his breath becomes shallow confirms it.

"Cum for me, kitten!” You vision goes white hot. You are throbbing from multiple places. Sylus grunts are drowned out by your cries of pleasure and you feel him filling you up so nicely.

Sylus chuckles when he hears you whimper as he pulls out and pulls you into his arms. He places gentle kisses on your temple, like he wasn’t just balls deep in your asshole seconds ago.

“Thank you,” he whispers, gently running his fingers through your hair.

“For what?” You know the answer, but you want to hear him say it.

“Your first time. It’s a big deal. Thank you for choosing me.” Sylus picks you up with his Evol and takes you to his shower. His aftercare is like a routine at this point and doesn’t surprise you.

What does surprise you though is the hour under steaming hot jets where he persistently showers your body in doting kisses until you feel the temperature drop and know that the hot water is about to run out.

You feel guilty and undeserving once more as he pulls you into his chest and rapidly falls asleep. He always does when you are around, despite your opposite sleep schedules. But your body is exhausted and sleep claims you as you ponder what to do to get out of your predicament without hurting four men you care about deeply.

The only thing there to wake you in the morning was the glimmer of sun peeking through the dark curtains in Sylus’ room. You plug in the cellphone that you realize you never charged the previous night and head down to the kitchen to see if Sylus’ chef can whip something up for you. It isn’t until you are completely down the stairs that you realize that Sylus is talking to the three people you’ve been avoiding since you went into hiding at the N109 zone.

You hear Zayne, Rafayel and Xavier call out after you as you turn and run as fast as you can out the front door.

Chapters 2, 3, 4, and 5 are already uploaded on my Ao3.

You must ask for permission to repost on other platforms.

I do not give permission for my work to be copied or translated anywhere.

[charlottesbookclub]

i'm here (ser gwayne hightower x reader) 💚💚

Summary: you have a nightmare, but gwayne is there to comfort you 💚

Warnings/Tags: spouse!reader; gn!reader; established relationship (marriage); nightmares; angst/anxiety brought on by the nightmares; absolutely catastrophic levels of tooth-rotting fluff; let me know if I've missed anything! ☺️

Words: 2870

Author’s Note: as I mentioned in this post, gwayne hightower has absolutely consumed my life and I am down sooooooo bad for him rn, so voilá, this fic has emerged as a result of that! 💕 as I also say in that linked post, I'm not super familiar with hotd, so I'm sorry if any of the terms I use aren't canon-accurate (I watched game of thrones a few years ago and I tried my best to make it feel authentic to the world of canon, but something may have slipped through 😅). and I hope this feels in-character to gwayne! I've rewatched the scenes of his that I have access to many times for...... uhh ~Research Purposes~ but I haven't seen all his scenes yet, so I apologize if it feels ooc at all – I did my best to make it feel like him! 🥰

oh and this is key: we've all seen the necklace, right?? we know about the necklace, right????? that fucking necklace makes me absolutely feral so I've given it a backstory, because it truly has me foaming at the fucking mouth 😌 (also, if you haven't seen the necklace, may I please direct you to this incredible gifset so we can descend into madness over it together?)

as always, I hope you enjoy!! 🥰🥰 (also please feel free to share any gwayne thoughts you have – I'd love to scream about the precious man with y'all! ☺️💕)

            The memory was not yours, but in this moment, it felt like it was. Gwayne had only told you the story once, with hushed words and averted eyes. You had asked, and he could never find it in himself to keep anything from you, even if it made his chest seize with shame. He told you that the whole ordeal had been a result of foolishness on his part, something he would admit only to you. He said that he recalled the memory with great embarrassment now. But you felt nothing but terror.

            You stood on a large, grassy plain ringed with trees, a few wispy clouds scuddling across the blue sky above you. This was a place you had never seen, never been – but one thing was familiar. As you struggled to gain your bearings in the strange location, you saw a group of men on horseback just a short distance ahead. You recognized your lord husband instantly: the delicate silver interlace of his steed’s armor and the auburn glow of his hair in the sunlight were as familiar to you as your own heartbeat.

            You called out to him, but he didn’t respond; he seemed to be in conversation with one of the other men. You ran toward the small group and cried his name again, but even at close range he appeared not to hear you. Panic grew in your chest by the moment as you hurried closer still, coming near enough that you could almost reach out and touch Gwayne’s mount. You stretched out your hand to do just that when your arm was stopped by some invisible force. There was nothing in front of you, just empty air that you should have been able to move through with no difficulty. But you were trapped mere feet from your beloved, unable to reach him.

            Something was terribly wrong. You screamed his name this time, desperation compressing your lungs with the force of your yell. But it was clear that he could not hear you, since neither he nor any of the gathered men so much as turned toward the sound of your cries. Real fear gripped you now, shooting ice through your veins as you cast about you for something – anything – that you could do. And that was when a new kind of fear crept over you, one so old and visceral you could feel it down to your very bones. Shudders wracked your body as you turned your eyes toward the sky, suddenly certain that you were being watched. But not just watched – no, you were being hunted.

            At a loss for what else you could do, you renewed your efforts to alert Gwayne to the danger that you could feel but not yet see. You screamed until your voice was hoarse, but you were forced to watch in horror as Gwayne continued his conversation as though nothing was wrong, even flashing that charming smile that you knew and loved so well. It was just then that the other man finally noticed that something was wrong. He cast his eyes toward the sky as you had mere moments before, saying something to the gathered men. A wave of fear seemed to run through the horses, as there was a flurry of shifting hooves and nervous snorts. You could only watch in terror as realization washed over Gwayne’s face, twisting his handsome features into a terrifying expression of horror.

            You screamed at him to run just as everything burst into motion, the horses tearing off across the plain toward the cover of the trees. You found yourself moving along with them, though you had no mount of your own. Instead, it was the same terrible invisible force, dragging you along, forcing you to watch as the scene unfolded before you.

            And then you saw it: the dragon. It swooped down from the sky as though it had erupted into existence from nothing, filling the empty air with huge grey wings that seemed to blot out the sun. You screamed again, but this time without the intention of forming any coherent words – the noise that escaped your throat was an expression of the fear that was buried deep in your bones upon the sight of the creature. Its lean body shot across the plain toward the fleeing men with a kind of focus and intention that proved what you had thought from the beginning: the dragon was hunting. And worse than that, it was hunting Gwayne.

            Voice rubbed raw from screaming, and realizing your cries to him did nothing anyway, you watched in terrible silence as his steed thundered across the ground, its legs eating up the distance as fast as it could. And yet the dragon gained. If this was some cruel trick played by the gods, you couldn’t think what you could possibly have done to deserve this kind of torment. You could do nothing but watch, utterly powerless, as Gwayne – your Gwayne – fled for his life, his beautiful face contorted into an expression of fear that cut you to the core like a knife to the stomach. You held your breath, fearing each moment would be the one when you were forced to watch your love be consumed by dragonfire, ending both his life and yours in one swift blow of unimaginable anguish and heartbreak from which you knew you would never recover. Just as you had resolved to try calling to him one last time – if nothing else, to assure him of your love – the treeline broke around you and the horses cantered to a stop beneath the cover of the forest.

            The world was still again, but the fear lingered. You could sense the dragon above you, even hear its thin, unearthly cries as it searched for its hidden quarry. Your eyes instantly found Gwayne, needing to make sure he had survived the ordeal. Indeed, he still sat upon his steed, and you watched his chest heave as he attempted to steady his breathing. The fear that still permeated the forest remained etched on his face as well, changing his features from those of the man you had courted and married to those of a young boy, trembling and horror-struck and so helpless and small.

            You longed with every fiber of your being to run up to him and pull him into your arms, to feel his warm breath on your neck as he folded into your embrace. You ached to hold his face in your hands and wipe away the single lingering tear he likely didn’t even know was still glistening on his cheek. You yearned to kiss the terror away from his brow and his nose and his lips, to tell him he was safe – to tell him that you were here. 

            But you were trapped just feet from him, all these longings locked into your body as you pressed toward him as far as the strange invisible barrier would allow. You watched as the fear slowly faded from his face, his features once again becoming warm and familiar. You couldn’t help but smile as he seemed to return to himself somewhat. Turning to one of his companions, he opened his mouth to say something when both of their eyes snapped up to the sky, reacting to some sound you must not have heard. You followed their gaze, and didn’t even have a chance to scream as a column of fire descended from above, ready to devour you all.

            You woke with a gasp. Your heart was pounding loudly enough that you could hear it in your ears, and you pushed yourself up into a sitting position as you struggled to calm your ragged breathing. The darkness in the room was soft, and your eyes adjusted slowly to your surroundings, only to find them all comforting and familiar – this was your room, your home. Instantly, you turned to your side, and let out a small sigh of relief when you saw Gwayne sleeping peacefully next to you. He was here, he was home, he was safe – you both were.

            When your breathing had calmed back to a normal rate, you eased yourself back down under the covers, burrowing into his arms as he sleepily adjusted his position to accommodate you.

            “Hmmm—is everything… alright?” he muttered, blinking his eyes open.

            “Everything’s fine,” you assured him, “I just had a nightmare.”

            He seemed to waken a little more at your words, propping himself up slightly on one arm as he reached the other hand out to stroke your cheek.

            “Are you alright? Do you want to talk about it?” his voice was still thick with sleep, but you knew the questions were genuine.

            “It was about you,” you reached up to cup his hand that still rested on your cheek, intertwining his fingers with yours. “And the dragon,” you added, your words barely above a whisper. Hearing his sharp intake of breath, you were certain he was reliving the memory himself, and instantly regretted your words.

            “But it was nothing,” you hurried to assure him, “I just—I just wish I had been there. Or that I could have helped or—” you were distinctly aware that your jumbled words made very little sense, even to you. “I just felt so helpless,” you ended with a sigh. Gwayne watched you with soft eyes, his fingers squeezing yours in reassurance.

            “You were there, though,” he responded, smiling gently, “and you did help.” You just stared at him incredulously, wondering if he was the one who was dreaming now. He read the question in your eyes with a small chuckle and disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself up to sit. 

            Pressing a hand to his chest, his fingers found the chain of the necklace that he always wore. The charm was a delicate circle of beaten metal hanging from a simple coppery chain. You had bought it in the market one day when the two of you were still courting. The rich auburn sheen of the metal had reminded you of Gwayne’s hair, and you were determined to have it. The seller assured you that the little ring symbolized unending love and devotion – a never-ending cycle, an unbroken vow. You were doubtful that had been the original intention of the maker, but rather a ploy on the seller’s part to drive up the price after he realized you intended it as a gift for your beloved. Had it been that obvious how love-struck you were? 

            Regardless of whether it was intended or not, you liked the idea of the simple circle as a token of promise and loyalty, as well as a celebration of one of Gwayne’s most striking features. You had given it to him wrapped in a carefully-embroidered handkerchief when he had gallantly asked for your favor before a tourney. You cherished the memory of him asking you to help him put it on, and the fleeting touch of his skin and flaming hair you were able to steal as you clasped it around his neck. He won the tourney, and insisted that his victory was due at least in part to the precious charm you had given him, imbued with your affection and devotion. To your knowledge, he had never taken it off since.

            Now, in the dim light of your shared chambers, he held the little ring out for you to see. It was slightly more battered now than it had been, and though its original shine was gone, it still seemed to glow with a warm coppery light. Reaching out, you took the small circle in your fingers, feeling all the tiny knicks and ridges it had acquired over time, each one of them proof of Gwayne’s promise to always return to you – an unbroken vow.

            “See, you’re always with me, right here,” he gestured to the charm in your fingers. The feeling of the metal against your skin and the sweet memories that swirled through your mind caused tears to prick at the corners of your eyes, chasing away the lingering cobwebs of fear that the nightmare had spun. Gently, you released the ring and Gwayne’s fingers replaced yours on the circle, guiding it back to where it always sat on his chest, just above his heart. He pressed it there, emphasizing his words: “right here, right where you always have been – and always will be.”

            Ducking your head away, you tried to hide the tears that were now threatening to slide down your cheeks as his words. But before you could wipe them on the sheets, Gwayne’s hand caught your chin, gently pulling him back to you, the rough pad of his thumb banishing the tears from your face. His eyes sparkled with affection and mirth, and you found yourself unable to stop yourself from echoing his smile.

            “Hmmm… it’s more serious than I thought,” he said with mock-concern, tilting your face as though he was examining it, “you appear to be desperately and madly in love with me – a very serious condition indeed.”

            You couldn’t help the laugh that spilled out of your mouth as you nudged him playfully, causing him to break into bright chuckles of his own. Your chest, which just moments ago had been compressed with terror, was now so full of love and happiness you were certain it might burst.

            “And tell me, Ser Gwayne, what is the cure for this most dire of conditions?” you matched his tone of feigned worry as your laughter subsided.

            “Hmmm,” he rubbed his chin thoughtfully, unable to hide the dimples forming on his cheeks, proof of his barely-suppressed smile, “perhaps marriage? I have heard many esteemed lords claim that the institution of matrimony is bound to cure an ailment such as yours.”

            “Oh, but I fear I’ve tried that,” you exclaimed, “and it has only made my condition worse.”

            “Then this is indeed one of the most serious cases I’ve ever seen.” He pondered for a moment, then his eyes lit up: “There is one more cure, but it’s risky. You could try true love’s kiss. One does read about those sorts of things working miracles after all.”

            “What’s the risk?”

            “The risk is that the kiss renders your condition utterly uncurable by any other means.” Gwayne’s lips tilted up into your favorite lopsided smile as he grinned at you, dimples glowing like twin suns, sending the delicate freckles on his face colliding into each other like falling stars.

            “That’s a risk I’m more than willing to take,” you breathed as he reached out to cup your face and bring it close to his. You closed your eyes as your lips met in a burst of warm sunlight that seemed to fill your whole body with its radiance. You weren’t sure how long you remained pressed against him, feeling his heartbeat against your skin, his auburn locks twisted in your fingers, his necklace hanging between your entwined forms. 

            “Did it work?” he whispered when he finally pulled away, his forehead still resting against yours.

            “No,” you responded happily, your fingers once again finding the thin metal of the little circular charm, “I fear I’m even more madly and desperately in love with you than before.” You met his eyes, finding them bright and soft and just as madly and desperately in love as you were certain yours were.

            “Well, I like to think of myself as chivalrous, but I don’t think I can find it in myself to regret your condition,” he whispered, a teasing smile on his face as he reached a hand up to run his fingers through your hair.

            “Nor can I,” you whispered back, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek.

            He pulled you fully into his grasp then, maneuvering you both back under the covers without relinquishing his hold on you. You rested on his chest, head tucked under his chin as he wrapped both arms around you. Your fingers found his necklace, and you clasped it in your hand. He echoed your motion until both of your hands were intertwined around the metal circle, resting just above his heart. You could feel it beating against your skin, and you snuggled yourself even closer to him.

            “This is what I imagine,” Gwayne said softly to the darkness, “when I’m on the road without you, and all I have is this small charm to remind me of what it feels like to rest in your embrace. This is what I dream of.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead and squeezed your hand where it entwined with his on the necklace. “You’re always right here.”

            “I’m always right here,” you echo, your words a promise, a vow.

            “But thank the gods I don’t have to imagine right now,” you felt his words as his lips moved against your forehead, “because I am right here.” Gwayne wrapped his arms even more tightly around you, and you gladly tucked yourself further into his warm embrace. You felt yourself drifting back into a pleasant sleep in the comfort and safety of his arms. You heard his words echo softly in the gentle quiet of the room:

            “I’m right here.”

[reomikagekin]

your fics are awesome😭😭❤️ when i found out that alien stage characters canonically got photoshoots and collabs with brands etc (seen ivan doing it in the top 3 video) i couldnt help but imagine how it would be like to work together on photoshoots with certain characters, id like to see your take on it🙏🙏

Lights, Camera, Tension

You never thought working on photoshoots with Alien Stage stars would be easy, but nothing could have prepared you for this.

The room is buzzing with activity—stylists adjusting last-minute details, photographers calling for lighting changes, and assistants running around with coffee orders. And in the middle of it all, you’re standing next to some of the most well-known faces in the industry: Luka, Till, and Ivan.

It’s a lot.

---

Luka

"Keep your chin up," Luka murmurs as he stands beside you, his posture perfect as always. His princely aura is effortless, and while he looks ethereal on camera, you can feel the subtle tension in his fingers where they rest near yours.

Luka’s professionalism is unmatched. Every movement is graceful, every expression carefully calculated to perfection. He barely needs direction, shifting seamlessly between soft, longing gazes and sharp, intense stares. It should be intimidating, but somehow, it’s more unsettling than anything else.

Because even off-camera, Luka maintains that same poised demeanor. He never jokes around between takes, rarely engages in casual conversation, and if he does, it’s with a tone so measured it feels rehearsed.

Yet, in the briefest moments between shots, you catch a glimpse of something else—a flicker of unease when the photographer places a hand on your shoulder to adjust your pose, a rare break in his expression when he sees Hyuna passing by outside the studio.

"You're tense," you comment absentmindedly as the makeup artist fixes the gloss on your lips.

Luka tilts his head, offering a practiced smile. "Am I?"

You don’t push. But you do notice, later, when he reaches for your sleeve absentmindedly between takes, his fingers curling around the fabric as if grounding himself.

---

Till

Till is… well, Till.

The moment he steps onto the set, he’s stiff as a board, eyes darting around like he’s trying to find an escape route.

"You okay?" you whisper, adjusting your position beside him.

"I—Yeah. Fine." His voice is soft, barely audible over the camera clicks. He’s fidgeting, hands clasped together so tightly his knuckles are turning white.

The first few shots are awkward. Till doesn’t know where to look, how to pose, or what to do with his hands. The photographer tries to guide him, but it only makes things worse.

Then, in a moment of pure instinct, you reach for his hand.

He jolts. But when he looks at you, something shifts. His fingers twitch before hesitantly relaxing against yours. You squeeze lightly, offering a small smile, and he exhales. The tension eases just a little.

"You're doing great," you say between shots.

Till doesn’t answer. But later, when the break is called, you notice him sketching furiously in the corner of the studio, his face set in deep concentration. Peeking over his shoulder, you spot a rough outline of the two of you mid-pose.

He catches you looking and immediately slams the sketchbook shut, his ears burning red.

---

Ivan

If Luka is calculated and Till is anxious, Ivan is pure chaos.

"Let's do something fun," he suggests, completely ignoring the photographer’s directions. He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you into an effortless pose that somehow manages to look both candid and elegant. "Right? C’mon, don’t be boring."

He’s a natural in front of the camera, flashing a charismatic grin that makes every shot look like it belongs in a high-end magazine.

But Ivan, for all his confidence, is also a menace.

"Hold still," you mutter as you fix the collar of his jacket.

"Make me."

You roll your eyes, but Ivan just smirks, clearly entertained by your reaction. Every now and then, he sneaks in little gestures that definitely weren’t part of the concept—tilting his head close to yours, brushing his fingers against your cheek, leaning in just a little too much.

"You’re doing this on purpose," you accuse.

"Maybe," he hums, eyes gleaming with amusement. "What? The camera loves chemistry."

The photographer certainly doesn’t mind. In fact, they encourage it. "Perfect! Ivan, lean in a bit more—yes, just like that!"

You sigh. There’s no winning against Ivan.

But later, when the shoot wraps up and everyone starts packing up, you catch him in the dressing room, staring at himself in the mirror. His usual grin is absent, replaced by a quiet, contemplative look.

You don’t say anything. Just nudge his shoulder lightly as you pass by.

Ivan blinks, then chuckles. "What? Don’t tell me you’re falling for me already."

"Not a chance," you deadpan.

He laughs, but this time, it’s softer. Almost genuine.

---

By the end of the day, you’re exhausted, but the photoshoot is a success.

Luka thanks the staff politely before slipping away without a word, as if retreating back behind an invisible wall. Till lingers near the studio exit, sketchbook in hand, casting you a glance that almost seems like a silent thank you. Ivan, as expected, is the last to leave, throwing a wink over his shoulder as he disappears down the hallway.

You sigh, rubbing your temples.Working with these three is going to kill you.

But you can’t deny it.

The camera really does love chemistry.

[appleblueberry-pie]

currently going insane over the lack of Yandere!Armin x reader, please deliver 😭🙏

I Know You Like You Know Me

In which Armin Arlert is getting ready to confess to his friend that is also his muse and he secretly calls his lover. He was very patient and articulated very carefully how he decided to approach you with his obsession over you for so long, until one day you call him out on his behavior. He tries to cover his tracks, but you aren't one to fool.

Text Breaker by @cafekitsune

wc: 3,703 words. i needed this badly. thanks for the request.

Armin told himself to give it a few days before he confesses. And usually he would take the first chance possible to talk to you if he picked up on something that needed communicating for. But this was bigger than just a simple argument. Bigger than needing help with homework or finding out how you're going to pay off your tuition, because all of these things he knows how to control and handle. He always finds a way to make things right for you. But this...he can't control this. All these years of studying your mind, your actions and little habits, he doesn't know if you'll give a promising yes. He needs a yes from you. He needs you to need him. Just giving basic interest is enough to please him. Fuck, just giving him a chance is all he needs to show you he's everything you'd ever want and need.

For the millionth time that day, he fiddles with his fingers, staring at the ground in deep thought. "Armin...?" The sound of a familiar saccharine voice has him pulling his head up to the sight of you. The worry melts off his face and, instead, paint a natural smile. "Y/n....I didn't realize your class was over yet. I would've met you by the door." He stands to offer his seat to you. You accept and go to sit down, feeling him take your backpack from off your shoulders. "Oh, you don't have to." "No, no, it's fine." He puts it on for you and watches you watch him. He shoves his hands in his pocket to not embarrass himself and feels heat on his neck when you don't break eye contact. "Are you alright? I tried texting you a few minutes before my class ended and you didn't respond. You looked worried when I found you." He shakes his head. "No, I'm totally fine. I promise. Just thinking about if you ate anything yet," He lies. You look up in thought. "Oh, okay. Oh...yeah, I didn't eat anything today." Armin's smile drops and he pulls you to your feet to drag you in the direction of the cafeteria. "What? Why not? Didn't you eat the breakfast I packed for you?" He gives you a concerned look and you remember finding the randomly placed hot meal in your dorm room this morning. You meant to ask him about that. "Wait, that was you? How did you even get into my dorm-" "You need to eat at least three meals a day. This is why you have headaches, right?" He takes you through the cafeteria doors and you purse your lips at him dodging the question. His hand went from your arm to your hand, holding it like it was meant to be there.

He's been throwing you off these past few weeks. And you want to drop it because he is your friend and you've known him for so long. But you catch him staring at you. Hard. It's always when you're not looking and he thinks you're unaware of it, but his gaze is too strong to ignore even if you wanted to. You also know he overthinks everything you tell him because when you tell him about your classes(the only time you're NOT together), you watch him think over your words as if he's playing it in his head. Like he was there when it happened and was trying to see if your memory was correct. Not only that, certain problems have been reoccurring. And for some reason, these creepy things keep happening to you and it always seems too conveniently strategized, like it was specifically meant to happen to you, for you, like the person knew you. You don't even like thinking too hard about the details, knowing how you get when you're paranoid. And the only person you can tell about your issues is Armin. But what if.....

There's a plate of meatloaf and mashed potatoes in front of you. Armin placed it there. He also has a plate, but his doesn't look as good as yours. Gravy sits on top of the mashed potatoes, so beautifully plated. You got a better slice of meatloaf than him. He stares at you, waiting for you to start eating. You pick up your fork and knife, beginning to eat. It's better than you thought and you realize you did need this. He starts eating when you do.

"I know you didn't eat earlier too." "It's not about me." You give him a stern look. He smiles at you. You sink back into your thoughts while you eat and Armin quickly catches onto your silence. He stares at your blank face. He wants to disrupt your peace, but you've already had a long day.

The rest of the day is spent the same way it was yesterday and the day before. Wake up, go to classes, text Armin between classes, meet at the end of your last class, eat, go back to either yours or his dorm to study, talk, go to bed, repeat. If he wasn't so adamant of sticking together all the time, you would probably have more friends and wouldn't be stuck on campus all of the time. As messed up as that sounds, it's true.

The clock on your wall goes twice as slow as you count down the seconds that this "mandatory" study session takes to end. You knew about this chapter already, having studied it over the weekend when you woke up earlier than you usually would. You watch Armin point at the sentence mentioning something important that you don't really care about anymore and you look up at him. He's already looking at you, waiting for you to show that you understood the words coming out of his mouth.

".....Yeah." He smiles and nods, moving onto the next page. You interrupt his focus, calling out to him, "Um...I think I'm ready to take a break now." He doesn't lift his head from the textbook, pointing a finger up, "..Okay, just in a few minutes, it's a little more in this section that I want to make sure you understand." Before you could control it, you heaved a sigh, shoulders slouching. You hated when he made you do things on his terms. It felt way too controlling and you were beginning to get sick of it. His head snaps up at the sound you make, silence filling the room. You don't look at him, focusing your eyes on the desk in front of you.

"We can take a ten minute break."

He closes the textbook and runs a hand through his hair. "Sorry. I guess I just got a little too deep into the material for a second." He awkwardly smiles, expecting you to respond. But you don't say anything in return. He hesitates, but eventually looks over at you, watching you scroll on your phone. He didn't like your silence. He usually can correctly predict you filling in the silence whenever you feel like you have to. But now, you aren't really responding to anything he's saying and he doesn't know what to do. "Did I do something wrong?"

You put your phone down and look over at him. "You've been pretty controlling lately." His heart drops at your words and he automatically sits up straighter. "W-well, I just....have been trying to make sure that you're on the right track recently. You know, with midterms coming up, responsibilities are-" "Okay, yeah. But you're not my parent or anything. We're both grown adults here." Your face is like stone, unmoving, stern and....intimidating. Armin clenches his jaw. Why are you looking at him like this? Talking to him like this? Is he not being a good lover friend?

More silence between the two of you fills the air. Armin's stomach begins to turn.

"....Sorry. I just want to look out for you. I didn't mean for it to come out any other way. I just...care. That's all." You purse your lips before returning to your phone. Armin averts his gaze and finds himself messing with his fingers. How long has he been doing that? He clenches his hands to attempt to hide his nervousness and stares down at the textbook on the table. This wasn't going to be a good look on him. How is he going to confess when you look at him like that? He's never gotten that from you before. Maybe it's something you two need to discuss later on. Yeah. He'll give this a few days to settle. And if it comes up again, he'll find a way to make it up to you. It just....can't happen now. Not when he's so close to getting you to be his.

The rest of the night passes with the usual routine. By the time you're done getting ready for bed, Armin finished dropping all of his things off at his dorm. He takes a deep breath, sitting on his bed. He needs to go to sleep. He lays down on his bed, on top of the covers, still fully clothed and an arm over his eyes. He's tired and completely drained from today. He needs to go to sleep. Images of you flash in his mind. You eating. Your enticing gaze. Your frown. Your pouting. Your smile. Your smell. He needs to go to sleep. He clenches his jaw, imagining holding you in a tight hug, your body molding perfectly into his, your warmth in his hands and the smell of you imprinting on his brain. Everyday, you remind him of why he's crazy over you and you don't even have to try too hard. He just wants you all to himself.

I need to go to sleep, he tells himself as he speeds towards your room again. He timed it perfectly last time. He knows your full night routine takes about forty minutes. And he surely spent every single one of those minutes thinking to himself how soft your lips taste and how your hands feel on him. His body feels numb, but fully functioning. Blood rushing through his veins, making him sweat at just the thought of you. He hates, absolutely despises, this side of himself. He feels like he lost control of his mind, letting his body tell the story every time he gets this way. He thought he stopped this habit over a month ago, but here he is, ready to see you again. He needs to see you. At least check that you're okay. That's just what he tells himself, but he knows he's only here because he wants a reason to stare at you.

There's a plain of grass behind the dorm building you live in. You're conveniently placed on the first floor, your window at the perfect height for Armin to peek in, and that's exactly where he is, peeking in past your blinds to your sleeping form. His breath fastens, but he tries to stay quiet in case he's too loud. He looks around to make sure no one is out here, but it's just grass and the moon shining down on him.

Fuck, you look so beautiful. That's the big shirt you always wear to sleep. He doesn't know if you have your sleep shorts on underneath the blanket, but that doesn't matter. No...it never took much. His hand sneaks down to the stiff bulge between his legs, eyes stuck on your form. This is wrong. He told himself it's wrong and he knows you'd absolutely hate him for this. But thinking about your eyes on him has him grabbing his hard-on through the pants.

Your hot breath on his neck, telling him he's all you can think about.

Promises of staying together until death tears you apart from each other.

He needs you to want him. He needs you to need him.

Sweat drips down his forehead and his eyebrows are knit together, eyes squeezed shut as he lets himself believe the dream. One hand on the cold wall, the other squeezing his throbbing cock. Fluid leaks from his tip, making the friction a little better than before. He imagines it's you touching him instead of his own hand and it makes his soft pants turn into soft whimpers. He wishes you saw him fucking his own hand just to let him into your room and hold you. He wishes you'd love him and let him love you the way you deserve. He wants nothing more than to just be with you and it aches that you can't see that he loves you.

He opens his eyes and peeks into your window again. Still asleep. But now you're facing his direction. There's those beautiful eyes. Those eyelashes, cheeks, lips and nose that he adores. Open your eyes please, he tells himself in his mind. He wants to see those eyes on him just once, knowing it'd ruin everything between the two of you. He wishes he was in your room again like last time. Being in the closet is so much more intimate than standing outside the window. He misses the smell of you and the sound of your snores. Fuck, he's close.

His knees can't hold up for longer and his thighs are wobbling. His hand tightly grips what it can of the wall and his eyes nearly roll when you shift again. His forehead rests against the wall as he spurts out onto the grass, whatever thought going on in his head melting away entirely. Little gasps leave his mouth as he drains himself, hand slowing down.

He sits there for a second to catch his breath. Silence and a cool breeze brings him back to Earth. He opens his eyes, dizzy. This should be the last time. But he doesn't seem to hold himself to the small promise when worst comes to worst. When he looks into your room again, you're not there anymore. He freezes, body rigid. Did you see him? Did he wake you up? Where did you go? He quickly pulls his pants back up and when he's about to leave, you still don't come back.

He takes his leave.

Today, you complain to him that you didn't really get rest last night. He can't get those words out of his mind. 'Yeah, I don't know, I just couldn't really stay asleep,' you said. It seems too convenient to him. He was paranoid the entire time you two ate. Every time he looks up at your face now, you seem to not really realize how important those words mean to him. The sun was beginning to go down by the time you two reach his dorm room to study. Time felt slow like he was anticipating something shitty to happen, but you didn't really seem to care about how he felt. He hopes it doesn't show on his face.

When you smile up at him, his face relaxes a little. You were talking to him more today. He feels bad because he hasn't really been speaking much. You ask him questions about your homework and he answers. You even cracked a joke, laughing at it yourself. It gets him to loosen up a little. You must've had a bad day yesterday. He hopes it doesn't get like that again.

He offers you a snack during the study break. You accept the granola bar and begins to snack on it. While you eat, he slips out of the room to go to the bathroom.

He walks down the hall, taking his time. His head is low as a few football players pass him, loud and disruptive. He watches them go into a dorm room, not really caring about how annoying they all are to everyone else on the floor. Armin opens the bathroom door, passing his reflection in the mirror. He isn't like them. Isn't as tall as them. Doesn't have their humor. Isn't muscular or anything. He's nerdy, talkative, and doesn't have anything going for him besides his obsession over you. He couldn't fix himself even if he wanted to. But he will do anything if it meant making your life as fulfilling as possible. You're his only hope. His air. His soon to be lover. He's gonna make it right. He has to.

When he comes back, you're back to your work, reading the textbook. He sits down next to you and skims to where he last was. It's silence for a little bit, then he feels your eyes on him. He slowly looks up, meeting your eyes. He gives you a small smile, expecting you to say something. But you just stare at him. His smile stops growing as he watches you stand up.

"Stand up."

He wants to say something, but goes against it, curiosity taking over his will to speak. He stands and looks over at you. You're staring through him. But it's not a stare he's used to. You look like you're looking to humiliate him or something. It makes his neck heat up.

"Is there something that you want to tell me?"

Armin has a million thoughts of all the pervy shit he did not too long ago and settles on shaking his head. "No...? Why? Is something wrong?" A scowl grows on your face at his answer. Does she know? The question flashes through his mind before he can stop it and his heart begins to race. Not now. You walk around to the other side of the desk to lean on his night stand by his bed. "Come over here."

He meets you by his night stand and runs one of his hands through his hair. "I-if something's wrong, please tell me. I don-" "Open this." You point at the top drawer. There's three. You just asked for the first one. His stomach drops at the realization. You looked through his shit. You know about your underwear in his drawer. You saw that he's a nasty fucking stalker that snuck into your room and used your clothes to get off. You hate him. You don't love him anymore.

Your eyebrow raised at his face. Armin is suddenly completely frozen and is staring at you with a disturbing expression you can't describe. You wave a hand in front of his face. It doesn't make him move or blink. You knew he was up to some shady shit. You step forward and that makes him move. "Armin, open it." He opens it. Regular school materials. Pencils. Tape. Sticky notes. A small, hand-sized notebook. You close the drawer.

"Open this one."

Everything he worked so hard for. Years and years of dealing with his own mental state, learning about how to handle himself before he approaches you. Patience got him this far only to ruin it for himself in the end. He doesn't feel so good. He feels sick. His head begins pounding. Armin shakes his head, his eyes glossy.

He sees the anger in your eyes. How long have you known? You go to open the drawer yourself, but his hand clutches yours with a strength you didn't know he had. The grip is too tight and it hurts. You turn your head. His eyes are wide open, veins poking out of his forehead and neck as he pants. "Don't." A surge of energy bursts through you as you snatch your hand away from him.

"I already fucking know what's in there, Armin. You think I'm stupid? All these months of you stalking me. Following me into my class, sitting in the back of a room like a fucking weirdo. Babying me all of the time. Treating me like your wife when I've never even seen you as anything more than a friend. You know, I tried." You begin to rant and Armin shakes his head as if that was going to stop the truth from pouring out of your lips.

"I really wanted this to work between us. But....you don't know how to be normal. I just wanted something normal, I wanted a normal college life, I wanted friends and to party on the weekends.....and do all of these fun things that would...make me feel like me. You just like having someone to control-"

"That's not true! I really do love you! I want you to be happy, just- just tell me whatever-" He gives you a desperate look, reaching his hands out to you even though you back away at every step he takes forward. "No, no, no. Not with you. I can't always be with you. Don't you understand that?" You looked like you were trying to keep piece of your patience and sanity together, and Armin wasn't any better.

"But I love you, Y/n." He closes the gap between you, a distance he dreamed of closing between the two of you. Your eyes widened, hopefully in realization and love, he thinks. His hands hold yours, you stare up at him while he looks down to you just like he always wished to. He ignores your shaking hands. "I've loved you for as long as i've known you. You- you make my heart beat. I think of you when I wake up and go to sleep. I make you meals in the morning, keeping you in mind. I want to wake up with you there and go to sleep with you in my arms. Everything I dream of at night can be with you because you complete me. You're all I need."

His face relaxed into a loving gaze. It looks so true, so real. You never watched a man's face go through emotions so quickly before. Never met someone so obsessed with someone he can't have. His heart skips a beat at every breath you take and you finally realize that the man you've allowed into your life is someone you were told about a million times. He's a stranger. A monster with delusions strong enough to kill reality. This isn't Armin Arlert. You don't know who this man is.

Silence.

It's okay, he thinks. It does take a second to process a love confession. His gaze goes down to your lips, waiting for a yes to come out.

[heavyhitterheaux]

Wifey’s reaction to the pro bowl content? 👀👀

This is a little sneak peak into her and Taylor Rooks Podcast The Woman Cave

You and Taylor were sitting across from one another filming yet another episode for the podcast you both share when the conversation started going into the direction of the pro bowl and she quickly asked you about your husband.

“I see your other half actually went to the pro bowl this year? And participated!?” Taylor said as if she was surprised.

Because she low key knew how he was.

“Yes, he actually went but it did take a lot of convincing. He changed his mind about fifty times. After the season ends, that man stays up under me. Not that I mind, but I'm convinced if he could find a way to actually attach himself to me or crawl into my skin, he would.” You told her as you laughed when you thought about how Joe barely let you do anything by yourself when you both were home.

“And apparently doesn't like mascots?”

With this came the most intense eye roll followed by you shaking your head.

“He is literally such a diva and so dramatic. And he is definitely going to get me for saying that, but Wifey Shiesty said what she said. When I heard his mic’d up clip saying that he tells the Bengals mascot to get away from him, I lost it.”

“That actually doesn't surprise me. But it seemed like he didn't get a lot of time for his portion in the skills part on Thursday.”

“That's why I should have done the trivia because I knew every single answer and he would have won. No shade to Jared obviously. But Ja'Marr always would laugh at me and say that I know his playbook better than he did as well as players stats across every team in the NFL and I still do.”

“Which a lot of people tend to be surprised by.”

“I think that people don't realize that more women actually watch football than men do and we actually know what we're talking about. Some of them are intimidated because we end up knowing more than they do.” You told her and she quickly nodded as she agreed with you.

“Did his answer change once he knew your twin was going?”

You couldn't help but to roll your eyes and smirk.

“Of course it did. Those two together usually send my stress levels through the roof. But they look out for one another and have done that since they were both at LSU and I know it's going to always be that way. I'm definitely grateful for that.”

As soon as the last word left your mouth, you let out a yelp from being startled by Joe's arms wrapping around you, picking you up and him sitting down where you were while placing you onto his lap. His hands protectively went over your baby bump and leaned over to kiss your cheek.

“Hello to you too, husband. Aren't you supposed to be with my twin and Justin!? See what I mean Tay?” You said as Taylor was laughing at the two of you.

“I heard you were talking about me so I figured that I should come pay a visit.” Joe told the both of you as Taylor smiled at him.

“Well, while I have you here….” She started to say as Joe nodded.

“You're my favorite interviewer besides this one right here so go for it.”

“How would you describe your feelings about this season overall?”

“Hmm, speaking from an individual standpoint, I'm happy with the numbers that I put up this year coming back from an injury. Overall, it's disappointing that we didn't make the playoffs but just have to do certain things to keep certain people and I know the front office will make that happen so we can all continue to play together.”

“Yes, put the pressure on them. Now, I remember when you signed your record breaking contract. Are you willing to negotiate in order to keep certain people in Cincinnati?”

“Absolutely without a doubt. Might have to pick up a part time job to make up the difference because my wife is expensive though. You two hiring?”

“Just for THAT comment, absolutely NOT. Your resume is going in the trash. And it's called The Woman Cave, not The Woman Cave plus Joe Burrow.” You told him as you pouted and crossed your arms across your chest.

“And you call me the dramatic one?” Joe asked and you tried to scoot away from him, but failed miserably.

“Ever since I met the two of you, I knew that you were made for each other. Now let me ask you this, NFL Honors?”

“I know I'm not winning MVP…”

“But he's definitely MVP in my eyes.”

Joe had a small smile on his face before continuing.

“But I'll still go and show my face. Always love going down there. It's like a family reunion with my LSU family and with my wife's family.”

“And who are you predicting will win the big game on Sunday?”

“I hope they both lose. But if I HAD to pick, definitely going with Jalen.”

“NOT you saying you hope they both lose. Babe, it doesn't work like that.” You told him as he shrugged.

“I'm using one of your lines, I said what I said.”

“You've definitely been around me too long.”

[writersrkive]

Light | Aaron Hotchner

summary: since a few days ago, you have been distracted. Something about the holidays and Christmas is triggering to you. Apparently, the team doesn't notice this, but your boss, of course, does. He is troubled, but when you say that you are sick on Christmas Eve, right before dinner, he is ready to go with you and keep you company. He also appears with a small gift that can cheer you up.

genre: angst, hurt, comfort.

pairing: Aaron Hotchner x bau!gn!reader

warning: holidays and Christmas being a nostalgic/sad holiday to reader, mention of reader not being from Virginia, family issues (reader), reader is new member of the team, allusion of an age gap (not specific), reader being called "kid" two or three times.

a/n: so... maybe I projected myself a bit into this fic. I hope whoever feels like the main character feels some comfort and understanding here. I'm sorry if there's anything wrong with the writing, I haven't edited yet, but I wanted it posted before Christmas (it's 11pm in my country). English isn't my first language, please be kind <3. Merry Christmas reader, thank you for being here one more year! I'm proud of you.

Masterlist Spanish ver. On Wattpad (coming soon)

Christmas isn't what it was a few years ago, but neither was your family. When you decided to move to Virginia, far from home, it was hard for you because despite having a broken family, the feeling of wanting to fix everything for everyone was still there. The holidays, especially Christmas, brought back memories of when everything was fine —or so it seemed—.

The dynamic of the team was like a family, but as the newest member —and one of the youngest— it was hard to feel completely into it. However, you didn't feel as isolated as you did at first. So, they didn't notice how nostalgic and sad your aura was the days before.

Oh, but Aaron, your boss, did.

It started the day that some workmates decorated the office with a mini Christmas tree, lights and bows. Everyone was heading home, except him, as usual. The paper work ended so the stoic man was closing the door of his office when he noticed the way you were standing in front of the tree, almost giving him your back. He could see half of the profile he caught himself admiring often. The lights were reflected in the sad look similar to that of a child hoping to obtain something impossible.

“Why are you still here?” He asked, not scolding, but rather with curiosity.

“Oh, good night Hotch. I was finishing some paperwork.” Your expression showed that you had come out of a trance.

“Are you done?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Maybe we can walk to our cars together.”

“Sure.”

He didn't try to make small talk. The feeling of tiredness was in the air, but he also felt that he shouldn't try to break down any kind of personal barrier that you had at that moment. Because despite showing a friendly smile, it was obvious that your mind was somewhere else.

Then, a few days later, you were distracted by something peculiar.

“Hey, are you okay?” Derek asked when he noticed that you weren't listening to his theories. Hotch was talking to a police officer, but he was looking at the way your workmate and you were analyzing the crime scene. “Are you cold?” His teasing smile made you chuckle slightly.

“Yeah. I still haven't gotten used to the weather, sorry.” The lie went unnoticed by your colleague. They were profilers, but you were one too, so it was kind of easy to fake certain things. It wasn't right, but at that time of the year you just wanted to survive. Besides, you couldn't tell them anything, not because you didn't trust them, but because it was too much to handle.

Across the street, Aaron looked in the direction you were looking before Derek spoke to you. It was a park a few blocks away. There was an ice rink, giant decorations, and lots of families gathered around. What could that place have to distract you so much?

There were many other occasions like that. The last time was on Christmas Eve. Months ago, Penelope had decided to buy an instant camera to take photos of the team inside and outside of work, when they had days off.

“Here it is, my beautiful fellas!” The blonde said excitedly. “Your handmade Christmas gift!”

She made all of you sit around the table, so she could put in the center the sparkling red notebook, with silver letters. 'Memories at the BAU' could be read.

“Garcia! It's so beautiful!” Emily said, smiling. Derek hugged his friend in appreciation and JJ got closer to Emily so she could see better.

“Look at that. Always a great time for pasta.” Rossi joked looking at one of the pictures where he could be seen making pasta for dinner after a heavy case.

“Always looking good.” Derek said pointing at a picture of him posing with one of the plushies García had at her office.

“Look at us! But why do you look so sad?” JJ joked looking at a group photo. You could be seen at the back with a forced smile.

“I was a little tired, sorry.” You answered, but the reality was that you had received some messages from your family minutes before that photo was taken.

“Hey, why did you take a photo of me taking a nap?” The confused tone in Spencer's voice made you laugh a little, but Aaron noticed the way your eyes didn't light up.

“Does anyone know where our newest member is?” Derek asked, smiling. He can't help but remember the way Emily, JJ and he teased you before. You started to get late to a few compromises —it happened at work once or twice—, but your boss didn't scold you like he would scold anyone else on the team. “He has a soft spot for someone.” Derek playfully twitched that time, thinking the bags under your eyes weren't caused by anything but work —he was wrong—.

“The kid just sent a message to the group chat.” Rossi announced.

“Sick?” Penelope showed her worry, reading your message.

Aaron felt a weird pinch on the chest. He immediately got even more worried than everyone in Rossi's house, even if his face just tensed a little bit more than usual. In his mind he debated whether to go with you to make sure you were okay, even though it might be intrusive.

Maybe you needed space….

Or maybe there was something else you weren't telling them, just like he noticed before.

“Am… I think I'm a little bit sick too.” He whispered after a while.

“What? We are about to eat dinner.” Emily said a little sad. She was worried about the team's health now that Aaron and you were sick.

“I'll be fine. I'm going to take some food with me in case I get hungry later." His movements were a little fast, as if in a hurry.

“Are you sure you don't need a medic, Aaron?” His old friend said and the boss could sense a little teasing in his tone.

“I'm good, I just need to go right now. I'll see you tomorrow. Everyone, please be safe.” The team could sense sincerity in those words when he gave them one last look, after he took the food, his jacket and his keys, and before stepping out of the house.

“Kid is gonna have some company.” Derek teased and everyone, including Reid, smiled knowing what was going on.

Both of you were surprised when you opened the door. He didn't expect to see you with red puffy eyes and nose, and you didn't expect him there, in front of your house, holding some tuppers with food and something else tangled in his arms.

“Hotch?” Your furrowed eyebrows and tilted head made his chest feel warm. You looked confused and also cute. He felt a little bad to think like that when something was wrong with you.

“I needed to make sure you were okay.” That's all he said.

“Oh… Am… I'm just a little…”

“Sick? I don't think so. You have been acting weird, and Christmas has something to do with that. I know because apparently it triggers something that makes you… sad.” His voice was soft. It felt like he didn't want to expose you, but he needed to show how much he knew about the situation. “I don't think you actually fool them. At least, not now. Maybe in the beginning, but that wasn't my case.” But you did feel exposed, even a little ashamed. The lack of movement told Hotch that you were uncomfortable. “I'm sorry…”

“It's okay. I guess it's impossible to fool S.S.A. Aaron Hotchner.” You showed a sad smile, it was more like a grin. “Wait, what about Jack?”

“He's with his aunt. They were on a trip I couldn't join because of obvious reasons. I guess we can keep each other company.” Little by little he had begun to show a smile that was contagious to you.

“Sure.”

When he walked in he noticed the lack of decorations on the surroundings. There was just a small tree at the back of a hall. It had a start at the top and had some lights and spheres. That was it.

“I'm sorry if I'm being intrusive, but can I ask what's wrong?” he asked when you started to help him to put the food on two plates.

You sighted thinking about all the things you needed to explain so you could give him an answer. “It's complicated. I don't know if I wanna talk about that.”

“That's okay. Then, can you tell me how you are feeling?”

You smiled, knowing he changed the question so as not to make you feel uncomfortable, while still keeping in mind the fact that he needed to know how you were feeling. “Everything brings memories. I'm supposed to be with my family, but what family?” I asked, sitting next to him in the kitchen. “Sometimes I wish things were like before, like having a time machine and just going there: where everyone was. Now I know how heavy the family issues were, but I was a kid so at least I was living in a lie… a good lie.”

“I know family is complicated. There's people who hurt other people, and that's not right, but there's too much.”

“Exactly…”

“But you have a family here too, now.” He whispered. And the way he looked at you made you feel like you weren't alone, at least not how you have thought.

“That's why I bring Rossi's lasagna with me. He's gonna be sad if you don't get to try it.”

Dinner was good. Of course you loved Rossi's cooking, but you came to the conclusion that it was because of the company of your boss. He helped a lot by distracting you, chatting about Jack, some plans outside of work and various things. After a few hours you couldn't handle your curiosity anymore.

“Hotch, can I ask you something?”

“Sure, what is it?” Apparently, your question took him by surprise, perhaps it was the tone in which you spoke to him, almost tenderly.

“What is that?” You pointed at what he left coiled up on the armrest of one of the sofas in your living room. It looked like a silver wire with transparent stuff on it.

“These are Jack's favorite lights. We bought it a few years ago. He loved them until we bought a set of identical, larger lights. Do you want to see?”

“Yes!” Your childish tone made him smile.

He untangled the lights and plugged them into the nearest socket, quickly his hands and the place where the lights rested shone brightly.

“Wow…” It was almost a whisper, but Aaron enjoyed the answer as if it was a shout of joy. “These are beautiful.”

“I knew you liked the lights.”

“Huh? Oh! You mean the night when you caught me staring at the…”

“Yeah.”

“Well, yeah, I liked lights. I think I've always liked them, but at some point the feeling became sad."

“They are for you.”

“No, but, Jack…”

“Like I said, he has new ones, so, there's no problem. He will love that you have them.”

“Can you help me to…” You hesitated.

“Sure. Let's go, where do you want them?”

A fun playlist invaded your house. While Hotch held a ladder and watched your back to see if you lost your balance, you placed the string of lights in the living room window.

“Can you turn them on?” You asked him gently. The decorated window came to life as did your eyes and Aaron couldn't feel calmer as he admired your excited countenance.

“I'm glad you liked them.”

Suddenly, cries of excitement were heard from neighboring houses and some Christmas songs began to play from the speakers of nearby restaurants even louder.

“Merry Christmas, Hotch.” You said when you came down from the ladder. The man who came to brighten your night didn't think that seeing your expression would fill his chest with warmth.

“Merry Christmas, kid.”

You definitely didn't know or would have imagined that the man who watched your back at work was what you needed to feel better. He brought the light you needed for days.