#and they expect us all to just stand in silence

[azrielbrainrot]

The Sweetest Dream

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Warnings: pure fluff, not proofread

Word Count: 0,9K

Notes: Writing little drabbles to help with writer's block. This is prompt #15 on this list.

Everyone in the house is asleep as you sit by the fireplace, sipping your tea, lost in visions of hazel eyes and gentle smiles, the same ones that wouldn't let sleep find you tonight.

“Can't sleep either?”

The sound makes you jump on the sofa, too distracted to realize someone had walked into the sitting room. Your heart calms as soon as you turn to find Azriel standing close to the doorway, cringing softly when you notice the guilty look in his eyes. You shouldn't have expected anything else from the Spymaster, walking around silently out of habit.

“I didn't mean to scare you,” he murmurs, hiding his hands behind his back and bringing his wings close to his body. Trying to make himself look smaller perhaps? As if that was possible.

“You didn't, Az,” you rush to assure him, “I just didn't expect anyone else to still be awake at this hour.”

Azriel hums and walks closer to you, the faint light coming from the fireplace making him look even more ethereal than usual as it hits his carved body so beautifully. Warmth spreads to your cheeks as his shadows give way and you notice he was only wearing loose pajama pants, it seems he really had been trying to sleep before coming downstairs. The thought makes you tug at the hem of your nightgown, remembering you were in the same position as him.

“You didn't answer me,” he speaks up again as he takes a seat next to you on the sofa.

“Right,” you clear your throat, pushing away any impertinent thoughts. “I can't seem to fall asleep, no.”

“Did something happen?”

His concern for you is exceedingly sweet, truly heartwarming, and even though it's something any of your friends would show, you can't help the murmur in your chest as it comes from him. The fact that his hushed voice sounds like warm honey in the quiet room not helping your situation at all.

You shake your head, turning your body to face him, leg propped on the sofa as the empty teacup in your hands disappears at the house's command. He looked impossibly handsome with his dark messy hair and his half-lidded eyes trained on you.

“Just have too much on my mind, that's all.”

“Alright,” he whispers, blinking slowly down at you, “but you know you can talk to me about anything, right?”

“Of course, Az. I promise it's nothing bad.” He nods, eyes never straying from yours as silence falls between you once again. “Why can't you sleep?”

“I guess I'm just not tired,” he shrugs.

You know better than to pry, but you also know of the nightmares that often plague his dreams, and of the insomnia that won't allow him to get a good rest. Your fingers twitch, wanting to reach out to hold his hand, settling on biting your lip instead, your eyes darting back to the fireplace.

Ever since realizing your feelings for Azriel weren't exactly platonic anymore, you didn't really know how to act around him, entirely too aware of every movement and word, and what they could mean. It also didn't help that he seemed different with you as well, it made your heart get too many ideas.

“The sun is almost rising in the sky. We should probably give up on getting enough sleep,” he says, getting up from the sofa and coming to stand in front of you, holding out a hand towards you, one you don't hesitate in taking, letting him pull you up to your feet. “I know a good place to see the sunrise. Why don't I take us there instead?”

A smile spreads across your face as you accept his invitation with a nod, a smile of his own mirroring yours. Cauldron, how could you not fall in love with him? It seems more impossible to you that no one else was madly in love with the shadowsinger.

His hands fall on your waist unexpectedly, your eyes widening in surprise. “I'll fly us there,” he explains quickly, easily lifting you up into his arms, making you wrap yours around his neck. You've flown with him countless times, but now you could feel his body moving towards the window far too well, considering the lack of clothes between you.

“Azriel,” you call out his name just as he reaches the window, the way his eyes fall on your face taking your breath away for a moment. “Maybe we should get our robes or something before leaving.”

“No one will see us,” he assures, his shadows climbing up your bodies as if confirming their singer's words. “Is that okay?”

“Yes.”

“If you don't feel comfortable with me-”

“I do, Azriel,” you murmur, tightening your hold on him, “Of course I do.”

“Alright,” he whispers, pulling you closer to him as the smile returns to his lips.

“Alright.”

Your lips were only a breath away from each other, and it seems he also realized this as his hazel eyes travel down to watch your mouth, the desire that briefly flashes through his eyes taking your breath away before he recovers, opening the window and letting the chilly early morning air kiss your exposed skin instead.

“We should hurry,” he says with a smile, watching the way you blink up at him. “We don't want to miss the sunrise.”

It seems your silly crush isn't as silly or one sided as you thought.

[revelboo]

hey. you know that one meme where planktons standing in front of a board giving a speech? something soemthign that next psa megatron makes but it gets hacked or whatever. in light of 'everything is alright's update <333 HJGDSKGMDSGDS--

Poor guy has no idea what’s coming for him

Everything Is Alright Pt 101

IDW Starscream x Reader, Soundwave x Reader, Megatron x Reader

• Say something. Anything. Feels you begin to tremble against him as you stare at Starscream and Soundwave curls an arm around you, anger simmering through him and growing with every moment of silence. Knows the Seeker views the world through a lens of how it affects him, but he also knows that you need Starscream to at least pretend to be glad about this. To say something and not just stare at you like that with no expression whatsoever.

• “You’re mistaken,” he rasps, dragging his optics away from the sight of you in Soundwave’s lap and those eyes he gets lost so easily in. A new cruelty, a new ploy to get a noose around his throat. Because sparking you is impossible. As impossible as bonding you and he’d seen how that had went. Servos flexing and spark aching when you make a soft sound. “You’re lying.” Denta bared, his servos curl under into fists, because it must be a lie. Dangling something he can’t have right in front of him. And he won’t fall for it, won’t be manipulated or tricked.

• “Star?” Voice small against the fury in his voice, you don’t resist when Soundwave’s servos shift against the back of your head, keeping you pressed close as his other arm curls around you. His hold protective. But Star’s not a threat. He’s just upset. Angry. Turning your head to see him, your words fall away. Because you’ve seen him look at you like that before when you’d first been taken, all cold calculation and it prickles through you. A whisper of uncertain fear even though you trust him. Love him.

• Curling himself around you as your emotions grow chaotic and needle into him, he wants to grab the Seeker by the neck and shake some sense into him. Because that empty lack of a reaction is hurting you and before he can separate you from him to make good on the impulse, the Seeker is mass displacing and walking away. Running away from dealing with what he’s done. He can’t possibly be that selfish. That cold, but Soundwave feels you press your face against his neck, shoulders shaking. “I’m here,” he says, catching your chin and tipping it up so he can brush his mouth against yours as you cry. “I’ll always be here.”

• Not running, but striding through the halls, wings drawn tight to his frame as panic claws at him. Just needing to get away. Escape, because it hurts. Transforming, thrusters screaming, barely aware of other Decepticons ducking out of his way as he flies through the halls. How own furious howls lost to the scream of his engines. Because this blow he wasn’t expecting, hadn’t even dared to entertain. Had let his defenses down and Soundwave had struck out to hurt him. Or at least he didn’t think he had wanted it, wanted a sparkling, but to use it to hurt him? Like a cruel joke?

• Denta bared as Megatron pushes away from the wall and his servos flex watching the fleeing Seeker, he’s tempted to fire at him in retaliation. But what’s sent Starscream running like that? Venting tiredly, he’s almost certain the answer will be you. A lover’s spat maybe? Amused now, he heads toward the Seeker’s quarters and lets himself in, fully intending to toy with you, see that anger of yours flare. And stopping short at finding you in Soundwave’s lap, making a noise of such pain that his own spark aches. “What did that idiot do?” He growls tiredly as Soundwave lifts his head, his old friend stiffening.

Previous

Next

Nevermind about not opening the limited editions… gold Megs and Sounders to go with Star

[bluem1lls]

✧₊⁺ forget about everything for a while

se-mi x fem! reader

✦ synopsis: you find your ex in the place you least expect it, and then again in the bathroom. she wants to say sorry but she doesn't know how..so maybe eating you out helps?

tw: minors dni, smut w a little plot, bathroom sex, fingering/oral (r!receiving), sub!reader, dom!se-mi, degradation (a little?), a bit of choking

authors note: hi! this is my first time writing (and in english) so im trying my best! tysm for reading and i hope u like it!

of course she's here.

you would've thought that after years of trying to get over her, the next time you'd see her, it would be at the coffee shop, where both used to go frequently. maybe even at the gas station, where she bought cigarettes and (per your request) a slushie.

you never thought you'd find your ex at the games where everyone was getting killed.

but of course you did.

so when you saw her standing there, wide eyed, being left alone to basically die as her entire group left her, the only conscious thing you could do was run to her and grab her hand.

se-mi stares at you, taking a double look to see if she was mistaken but nop, that's just her luck. it was you.

she would recognize that hair everywhere.

"what the fuck-" se-mi said, like she'd seen a ghost.

"no time to talk, maybe later" you said, dragging her into one of the rooms and closing the door behind.

she leaned against the wall and crossed her arms in front of her chest, she wanted to say a lot and at the same time, she had no words.

"why are you here?" she asked. her eyes searched for yours.

"my dad, he's.. extremely i'll and i couldn't let my mom carry with all that" you spoke, trying to regain your breath from the adrenaline of minutes ago and ignoring her pleading stare.

se-mi stares at the floor, trying to find the right words to say. what could she say to make it better.. after all these years?

"i didn't know. he's a really good man... i'm sorry"

"yeah." you reply, bitter "how could you know when you've been declining my calls and ignoring me?" you roll your eyes as you leaned against the door.

"i can't do this here, i really can't" se-mi said, putting her hands over her face trying to supress the wave of sadness that washed over her everytime she thought about you.

you bite your lip with rage. she was still avoiding you, after all this time.

"yeah no worries. i wasn't planning on staying here talking to my ex either" you mumbled.

she glanced over you trying to keep her cool facade as they open the doors

hell. you couldn't wait till this was done.

as you stirred in bed once. two. three times without being able to sleep, you decided that maybe the best would be to splash some water on your face, at least to be somewhat alert.

knocking on the door asking for the bathroom, the guards weirdly enough allow you without a lot of resistanse. maybe they're in a good mood.

you open the bathroom door and stand in front of the mirror, taking some water in between your hands to splash on your face.

you let out a sight when se-mi steps out of one of the stalls, closing the door behind her.

she looks a bit surprised when she sees you standing there. she stays in silence as both lock eyes from the mirror, her gaze softening as she roamed all over your face.

after a few seconds, she spoke in a soft and quiet voice.

"can't sleep huh?"

you nodded, turning around to look at her.

"it's been hard here. i just don't know when it's gonna be the last game" you spoke. she nodded in agreement.

there's an expression that you can't read on her face. it feels like guilty, pity and sadness all at once. you can see a hint of concern in her eyes.

"i really am sorry, you know...for not calling." she says.

you nod, getting closer to her, taking her scent. almost forgot the way she smells.

she looks at you with a frown on her face. deep down, you know she's sorry.

"i tried so hard to let you go..." you whisper, looking into her eyes.

"i tried too." she says, leaning an inch closer. "it never worked"

her eyes slowly reading all your features, as she took a deep breath and slowly placed a hand on your cheek, gentle. leaning into her hand, you sure missed her touch.

she bit her lower lip and gently cupped your face in between her hands.

"it's up to you se-mi. i've already said everything you needed to know. you were the one who was never sure" you whispered, feeling her breath on your face as the distance kept closing.

before you could even register what she was doing, you hear her mumbling a soft "fuck it" before she closed the distance and pressed her lips against yours.

the moment your lips touched, it felt like something snapped inside of both. one of her hands slid down to grab your thighs, encouring you to wrap your legs around her waist. so you did.

she pressed your body against the wall from behind while bitting rough on your lower lip. the kiss going from slow and loving to a rough, deeper one. both tongues fighting for dominance, you let her enter in your mouth as one of her hands slides from your thighs to your neck, softly squeezing for a few seconds, making you break the kiss to whimper for air.

her eyes scanned your whole face, eyes and pouty lips, basically begging her to fuck you. she let out a low groan as she kissed you again and again, going harder each time. her mind filled with nothing but the taste of your lips and the feeling of your chest pressed against her. little moans escaping from your lips, making her wanna ruin you right then and there.

"i missed this so much" you mumble in between kisses. the words sending a small pang to her chest as she pulled away from the kiss to lean her forehead against yours. her voice slightly shaking from lust, replies.

"i missed this too"

you pulled her by the neck, enough for her to kiss you again. you could feel yourself throbbing only from the kisses. grabbing her hand that sat on your waist, you lowered it down to where you needed her the most.

"i cant wait any longer.. please" you begged her to ruin you.

she looked at you with lustful eyes. "if it was any other moment, i'd make you beg, but since i dont think we have that much time.." she said, falling on her knees.

you pulled the pants and panties all in one go as she helped to get rid of them and pushed you softly against the wall.

she placed one of your legs on her shoulder and started to kiss your inner thighs, making you let go small whimpers. se-mi could feel herself growing wetter just by your scent, it was driving her crazy.

you placed a hand on her hair, softly pulling, and quickly her kisses escalated from inner thighs to your puffy clit, as her lips wrapped around it, you couldn't help but moan.

"be quiet" she hissed. "or you want everyone to know what a slut you are? maybe next time i'll fuck you in the common room" she smirked as you replied with a desesperate moan and a nod. "of course you'd like that. want everyone to know i'm the only one who fucks you stupid, princess?

as she finished her sentence, she placed her tongue on your clit. a cold feeling left you whimpering.

oh.

is that-

thats a tongue piercing.

of course she got a tongue piercing.

you covered your mouth with one hand to quiet your moans as the other one pulled her hair.

as two fingers entered your needy cunt, you bit your lip to quiet a loud moan. she kept working her tongue on your clit while roughly doing and 'in and out' motion with her fingers that was quickly dragging you to the edge. her eyes became almost black with lust as she roamed your fucked out face, your eyes rolled back from pleasure.

"i forgot how good you are at this oh my god-" you kept moaning and whimering as her fingers became rougher and quicker inside and her tongue picked a more rapid pace "no one will ever make me cum like you do se-mi"

her mind clouded with lust as she heard your words. she added another finger and could feel your cunt clenched around her.

"gonna cum baby? you feel so thight around my fingers." she said, her words driving you closer and closer to your release. "poor baby, she was just begging to be fucked like the slut she is, i bet no one ever made you this wet" she cooed while teasing. se-mi chuckles at the way you moan senseless in agreement.

"i need you to use your words, can you do that baby?" she says, her tongue pace fastening making you clench even more. "or maybe i should stop and let you talk"

"n-no please- please. im so close, s- so close please" i begged in between whimpers.

she grunted, fucking you harder. "cum for me princess, cum in my mouth. you're such a good slut" she said while wrapping her lips and sucking around my clit.

the motion of her lips and her fingers curling against your spongy walls at the same time, hitting your g spot, was enough to have your cunt pulsing and eyes rolling back. you felt the pressure snap and a warmth spreading on your lower tummy, you arched your back.

she keeps slurping everything until youre a whiny and trembling mess.

she decreases her pace, slowly removing her fingers and standing up, making you lick her fingers clean, staring into her eyes.

she helps you get dressed again, and it feels like how it used to all over again, the soft aftercare.

after cleaning you, she softly kisses your forehead and pecks your lips, she was apart from you once, and she's never gonna do it again.

"i love you. i'm so sorry for everything" she says, still trying to catch her breath.

you nod, tired, and give her a fucked out smile as she chuckles.

"i still love you too. so this was a 'im sorry for breaking your heart, i'll fix it by eating you out' kind of apology?" you say, trying to stop your legs from shaking.

you let yourself into her arms as she hugs you tight and fixes your hair gently.

"mhm, but i'll have to keep doing it, just so i can make sure you forgive me"

"please do..."

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Squeaky Clean 6

Warnings: non/dubcon and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers

Summary: You start work as a maid but you’re not prepared for the mess your client brings with him. (maid AU – plus!reader)

Note: we in for it now.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

A shell of numbness encases you. Your heart continues to flutter but the rest of you is dull. You close yourself in the bathroom with the cup of coffee. It’s strange how he sees that small gesture as a such a grand act of kindness when he can tell you to your face what he intends to do. 

You drink it. You don’t feel the warmth; you barely even taste it. The simple act merely helps you focus, to steady your hands enough to function. 

You crank the shower on. The thrum of the pipes rattles through you. You undress and step under the scour of water. It pours over you like the swell of tears you won’t let fall. You wash mechanically, no real perception of what you’re doing. It’s all just habit. 

You peek down at your body. There’s still a chance. He could be like that blind date you went on. The one who said he didn’t expect you to look the way you do. That coded statement. You never did that again. That guy along with Steve only prove the same point; men aren’t worth it. 

You turn the water off. You falter before you can get out. He hears that too. He hears how the time ticks by and inevitability creeps closer and closer. You step out and dry yourself. There is no urgency in you. It’s a fight just to keep going. 

You can hear him too. He's pacing around. The coffee is acid in your stomach. You take the mug and stand in front of the door. That’s it then. The last seconds of freedom, or whatever you want to call it. 

You step out as the apartment hazes in your vision. You refuse to look at him and turn away. You put your cup in the kitchen sink, you hand clutching the top of the towel. He clears his throat and his footfalls stop. 

You rinse out the porcelain and leave it in there. You take a step back. You can’t do this. Well, you don’t get to decide that, do you? 

His hands on your shoulders startle you. You wince and sway between him and the counter as he brushes along your skin. His touch goosebumps down your arms and back up. You shiver and grip the edge of the counter. 

“You smell nice,” he purrs as he traces a straight line down your neck and hooks two fingers under the towel. It takes a single tug to dislodged it. 

The cotton falls to your feet and you shudder. You close your eyes. Waiting. Please. Please. Your hopes splinter in the breathy silence as his gaze scours you. He gets even closer, arms hooking under yours, as he brings himself flush to your back. 

His naked skin blazes against you. He curls his arms around to cup your chest and you whimper. Instinctively, you try to bat him away, to cover up. He gropes you and growls into your hair, inhaling you like an animal. 

He hums as he wiggles against you, his rigid length bobbing against your back. You keep your eyes sealed as you hide in the darkness. Let him do what he wants, you don’t need to do a thing. 

He groans as his nose brushes along your hair and he bends to nuzzle into your neck. It sends a chill through you. Your fingers stay locked on the edge of the linoleum counter. His lips press down and the graze of his teeth pinch your skin. 

“You feel so good against me,” he rasps. “Your heart’s going so fast...” his hand crawls up to your throat and his thumb finds your carotid, feeling it pulse beneath. “Mine too.” 

Your blood flows cold, even as he cocoons you in his heat. He blazes hotly against you as his other hand drifts down your stomach, kneading and pushing into your soft flesh. Greedily, he grabs and gropes you; squeezing your love handles, splaying his fingers over your stomach, before caressing again. As he feels you up, his hips rock subtly with his need. 

He draws you away from the counter, step by step. Your hands cling for just a moment then unlatch. Your arms hang at your side as you surrender to his control. Don’t open your eyes. He moves you with him, staying entwined with you, tangled around you like a leash. 

Your soles pad over the scuffed wooden floor, your legs trembling as you rely on his strength to keep you upright. He stops you again and drags his hands back to your shoulders. He urges you forward until your knees meet the low metal bed frame. 

You bend as he guides you. You bend your arms against the mattress as your head lolls from your neck. The cool air tingles over the back of your thighs as he drapes you over the edge of the bed. He flutters his fingertips along your legs and the curve of your ass. You twitch as you feel how exposed you are. 

He purrs again. His nails jab into your flesh and he fondles your ass. He massages it as he pushes the excess together, lifts it, jiggles it. He toys with you as the floorboards shift with his weight. 

He groans and something else prods along your ass. His nose trails alongside the crease between your cheeks and his hot breath smatters across your cunt. He drones hungrily and tilts his head against you, poking his tongue out to delve between your lips. You squeak as his mouth sends a thrill up your spine. 

You push your toes into the floor as you lay prone over the foot of the bed. His large hands continue to knead your ass as he laps at you. The noise that rise from him sicken you. Like a glutton at feast, he devours you sloppily. 

You quiver as his tongue stretches to find your clit and frames your hips, lifting your ass higher as he angles your hips. He smothers his face in your as he drinks you in. He gulps as if he is starving, as if he has been wandering a dessert for years.  

You put your forehead to the mattress and quake. His desperation is frightening. You can feel it in his touch, in his grip. He isn’t going to stop. 

[bokutosbabe]

hey, for the more than a married couple event, can i request isagi with 🍊🍫?

of course!

an isagi yoichi chocolate covered orange

જ⁀♡⊹｡° all this money can't buy me a time machine

♡ a/n — for my more than a married couple event !

♡ content — isagi yoichi x gn! reader, ex bf! isagi, gn! reader, pining (isagi) , established relationship, trying to make it work (spoiler: it wont)

♡ synopsis — maybe in another life, you and isagi yoichi would've worked out. he just wonders why it couldn't be this one. and sometimes, you do too.

When you walked into the small apartment assigned to you for the marriage simulation, the last person you expected to see standing there was him.

Isagi Yoichi.

Your breath hitched as his dark blue eyes met yours, widening in recognition. He hadn’t changed much in the past six months—not that you’d expected him to. The same messy hair, the same soft smile, and the same hopeful look that had once made you fall for him.

“Hey,” he said awkwardly, shifting his weight.

You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady. “Hey.”

The room felt smaller now, suffocating under the weight of everything left unsaid.

It had been six months since you broke up.

The decision hadn’t been easy—not for you, and not for him. But Isagi’s relentless pursuit of his soccer dreams left little room for anything else, including you.

No matter how much he apologized or promised to do better, you always found yourself waiting: waiting for him to come home, waiting for him to text, waiting for him to notice the cracks forming in your relationship.

Until, one day, you couldn’t wait anymore.

The breakup wasn’t explosive or dramatic. It was quiet, like the last flicker of a candle before the flame died out.

He had cried, begging you to stay. You almost did.

But “almost” wasn’t enough.

Now, standing in the apartment with him again, the memories came rushing back.

“This is unexpected,” you said, breaking the silence.

He let out a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Small world, huh?”

You couldn’t bring yourself to laugh.

“Let’s just get through this, okay?” you said, your tone sharper than you intended. “It’s only a few weeks.”

He nodded quickly, his expression faltering. “Yeah. Of course.”

The first few days were awkward.

You kept your distance, avoiding unnecessary conversations or eye contact. Isagi seemed to sense your discomfort and gave you space, though you caught him watching you sometimes, his expression unreadable.

The program forced you to interact—cooking meals together, completing tasks designed to “strengthen the bond” between you. It was unbearable at first, the weight of your shared history making every moment feel like a test.

But Isagi was still Isagi.

Still kind, still thoughtful, still determined to make things work, even if this wasn’t real.

And despite your best efforts, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack.

One night, after a long day of assignments, you found yourselves sitting together on the couch, exhausted.

Isagi leaned back, his head resting against the cushion, eyes half-closed. “Remember when we used to do this?” he murmured, his voice soft.

You stiffened, unsure how to respond.

“After games,” he continued, not waiting for an answer. “I’d come back so tired I could barely move, and you’d just…sit with me. It always made me feel better.”

“Yoichi,” you said quietly, not trusting yourself to say more.

He turned to look at you, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t name—regret, maybe, or longing.

“I missed this,” he admitted. “I missed you.”

Your breath caught in your throat. “Don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?” he asked, sitting up. “It’s the truth.”

“Because it doesn’t change anything,” you said, your voice trembling. “We tried, Yoichi. We tried so hard, and it still wasn’t enough.”

He looked at you, his expression pained. “I could try harder.”

“You always say that,” you whispered, tears pricking at your eyes.

The silence that followed was deafening.

The first kiss happened a week later.

It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t even intentional.

You’d been arguing about something trivial—who should clean the dishes, maybe, or what to cook for dinner. The tension boiled over, and before you knew it, his lips were on yours, soft and familiar and wrong.

You pulled away almost immediately, your heart racing.

“That was a mistake,” you said breathlessly.

He nodded, looking just as shaken. “Yeah. A mistake.”

But it happened again.

And again.

Every time, you told yourselves it didn’t mean anything. It was just a slip, a moment of weakness.

But deep down, you knew better.

The final week of the program arrived far too quickly, bringing with it the inevitability of goodbye.

You tried to steel yourself, to remind yourself that this wasn’t real—that it couldn’t be real.

But Isagi made it hard.

He looked at you like you were the only thing that mattered, his every action a silent plea for you to stay.

On the last night, as you sat together on the couch, the weight of everything unsaid hung heavy in the air.

“I don’t want this to end,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

You looked at him, your chest aching. “Yoichi…”

“I mean it,” he said, his voice trembling. “I don’t care about the program, or soccer, or anything else. I just want to be with you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “You can’t mean that,” you said, shaking your head. “You love soccer. It’s your dream. I can’t compete with that, and I shouldn’t have to.”

“You’re not a competition,” he said, his voice desperate. “You’re everything. I’ll give it all up if that’s what it takes—”

“Don’t,” you interrupted, your voice breaking. “Don’t say that. You’d hate me for it. And I couldn’t live with that.”

His shoulders slumped, his expression crumbling. “So that’s it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You wiped at your tears, forcing yourself to stay strong. “That’s it.”

The next morning, you packed your things in silence.

Isagi didn’t try to stop you. He didn’t say goodbye.

As you walked out of the apartment for the last time, you allowed yourself one final glance back.

He was standing in the doorway, his blue eyes filled with a pain that mirrored your own.

But you turned away, knowing that some dreams were too big to share.

And some loves weren’t meant to last.

10/10 recommend listening to the one that got away acoustic version it makes this so much sadder

i hope you liked it!

likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!

[tired-truffle]

Before We Lost It All

A Viktorxfem!reader fic

Chapter Word Count: 2.5k

Tag list: @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @potatointhedirt @dedicated2viktor

"We make each other alive. Does it matter if it hurts?" - Ingmar Bergman

A/N: This takes place in chapter 9 of Muj Milacek during the scene where you convince Viktor to take a break from working and get some much-needed rest - in your bed, of course.

Masterlist

He’d let you sucker him into resting with those big, pleading eyes that plucked at his heartstrings. He was worrying you, he knew this, but he’d never been very good at accepting help. With his declining health and your visions of his death hanging over his head, he’d been growing increasingly desperate. And desperate times called for desperate measures - like sleeping in the same bed as the girl he’d been in love with for seven whole years.

If only you’d stop laughing at him.

"Is there something you find humorous about my attire, Milá?" He fixed you with what he hoped was a lovingly exasperated glare. At that point, he was too exhausted to tell.

"I'm sorry." You continued to giggle, undercutting your apology, though he found the sound pleasing enough to forgive you. "I'm overtired and I really wasn't expecting them to be that ill-fitting."

Viktor huffed at you, rolling his eyes with a small smile. He was well aware he looked ridiculous, the oversized shirt drowned his thin torso in fabric, but the pants barely reached past his knees. They had to be children’s pants, why you had them was beyond his understanding. To make matters worse, you were standing there in nothing but a large shirt that reached your upper thighs, your legs illuminated by the moonlight streaming through the window, and he assumed underwear beneath. You were gorgeous, and he was…feeling rather silly. Though he found it difficult to care all that much when you smiled so sweetly at him, the corners of your eyes crinkled with mirth.

"You can have the bed,” you offered when you’d managed to stop giggling. “I'll take the couch."

"I'm not stealing your bed, Miláček, it is plenty big enough for the both of us." Viktor pulled back the covers, slipping in. "And I will not subject you to that couch for any longer than necessary. I swear they made it with knives instead of springs."

He had insisted this both out of genuine concern for your back after sleeping on such an object, and out of his selfish want to sleep beside you. Could a dying man not be granted this one wish?

You hesitated, and for a moment he worried he’d overstepped your boundaries. But he wasn’t left waiting for long. You made your way to the bedside, shy but not necessarily timid.

"If you insist," you said, turning off the bedside lamp. "But you better not warm up your frigid toes on me."

"No promises."

The mattress dipped as you climbed into bed beside him, laying down with your hands curled tight against your chest. You were facing him, your chin tilted to meet his gaze.

This felt dangerously intimate. He was in bed with the woman he secretly loved - well, secret to you, Viktor was pretty sure everyone else knew. If he asked you to come closer, would you understand then? If he placed a soft kiss on the crown of your head, his hands cradling your back, would he need to say it? But he couldn’t voice his request, couldn’t find the words to ask for that which he longed for most.

He’d been a fool to think he could sleep with you so close yet not within his grasp. To lay beside you like his skin didn’t prickle with the need to be pressed completely against you was its own kind of torture.

"Does it hurt?" You broke the silence, your head turning to face him in the dark.

He was too tired to try to deny it, and you’d see through his lie anyway. "Yes," he answered plainly.

"Can I try something?" you asked, your tone even.

Curious and unable to deny such a simple request, he nodded. You reached forward, placing your hand against his chest and sending a bolt of excitement running through him. Your palm was soft and warm through his shirt, your heart beating quickly in your veins and tapping lightly against him. He lay still, his gaze fixed on you, giving you space to make the next move.

You closed your eyes, forcing your breathing to even out, your nose crinkling adorably in the low moonlight as you concentrated.

Nothing happened.

"Can I get closer?" you asked, and he appreciated your asking for permission - always polite and giving him the agency to choose. 

He opened his arms, motioning for you to snuggle in. Slowly, you scooted closer until the top of your head was just below his chin, feeling the gentle rise and fall of your chest against his as you breathed. Your ear rested against his chest, one hand pressed against his chest while you placed the other on his back, over the back brace he’d been too tired to take off. He’d regret that tomorrow when his skin itched and his spine ached, but now he could focus on little else except the feeling of you curled up in his arms. Slipping an arm under your neck, he rested the other over your waist, drawing lazy circles on the small of your back. Viktor didn’t want to think about anything that didn’t involve you, nor how difficult it was going to be to pull himself away when the time came.

This wasn’t the first time you’d insisted he take a much-needed break from his work. Years ago you'd dragged him to a street fair in Piltover when he’d become so worn down by reports that he didn’t know where he ended and the equations began. He'd grumbled at first, but your infectious enthusiasm had won him over. You'd shared sticky cotton candy, the sweetness on your lips making him ache to taste them. When fireworks exploded overhead, he'd been captivated not by the display, but by the light reflected in your eyes.

Viktor's heart swelled with a bittersweet ache. He loved you - wholly, desperately, irrevocably. You were the sun to his withering form, the spark that kept his passion for progress alive even as his body failed him. He longed to confess, to pour out seven years of pent-up devotion. But fear held him back - fear of rejection, of complicating your friendship, of leaving you heartbroken when his time inevitably ran out.

So instead, he held you close in the darkness, committing every detail to memory. The soft whisper of your breath against his neck. The delicate curve of your spine beneath his fingertips. The subtle scent of your shampoo, floral and comforting. He etched it all into his mind, a perfect moment to carry with him always, no matter what the future held.

Viktor felt a sudden warmth emanate from your palm, spreading through his chest like rays of sunlight. A faint blue glow pulsed beneath your skin, illuminating the creases of your hand.

As your magic seeped into him, Viktor was struck by an overwhelming sense of déjà vu. The sensation was wistfully familiar, like a half-remembered dream or a long-lost memory struggling to surface. It felt like coming home after years away, like slipping into a warm bath after trudging through a blizzard. He couldn't place why it felt so natural, so right, but he found himself sinking into the comfort of it nonetheless.

The magic flowed through him, a soothing current that sought out every ache and pain. It pooled in his joints, easing the constant throbbing in his hip and knee. It traced along his spine, melting away the tension that had become a constant companion. Even the persistent headache that had taken up residence behind his eyes began to recede.

As the pain ebbed away, replaced by a numbing coolness, Viktor felt his body truly relax for the first time in years. His muscles unknotted, his breathing deepened, and the ever-present furrow between his brows smoothed out. He let out a long, shuddering sigh, filled with relief and contentment.

"Miláček," he whispered hoarsely, his voice heavy with sleep, "you truly are a wonder."

You didn't respond, your eyes still closed in concentration, but he felt your magic pulse in response to his voice. The blue glow intensified, casting soft shadows across your features. Viktor found himself enthralled at the sight, overcome by your beauty, wishing he could run his fingers down your jaw before capturing your lips in a kiss.

As the pain receded further, Viktor found his mind clearing. Ideas and solutions that had been just out of reach now crystallized with startling clarity. It was as if your magic had not only soothed his body, but sharpened his intellect as well. He wanted to leap out of bed and rush to his workbench, to capture these fleeting inspirations before they could slip away.

But the warmth of your body against his and the blissful absence of pain kept him rooted in place. For once, Viktor allowed himself to simply exist in the moment, free from the constant drive to work, to improve, to race against his own mortality. He tightened his arms around you, pulling you closer as you nestled in, pressing your face against his neck.

Viktor fought against the encroaching darkness, desperate to savour every second of this closeness, but exhaustion tugged insistently at the edges of his consciousness.

Within minutes, he was sound asleep.

Viktor drifted slowly into consciousness, his mind still blissfully foggy with sleep. Without thinking, he tightened his arms around the warm body pressed against him, pulling you closer. He nuzzled into your hair, breathing in your familiar scent. For a moment, everything was perfect.

Then awareness hit him like a bucket of ice water.

His eyes flew open as he realized where his hands were. One had slipped beneath your shirt during the night, splayed across the bare skin between your shoulder blades. If he moved it even slightly higher, he'd expose…Viktor's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to complete that thought.

"Yeah, I noticed that too," you said, alerting him that you were awake.

He became acutely aware of every point of contact between your bodies. Your leg was slotted between his, your thigh pressed dangerously close to his groin. Your breath tickled his collarbone, your lips mere centimetres from his skin.

Viktor squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the temptation. You trusted him, had opened your home and your bed to him without hesitation. He refused to betray that trust, no matter how much his body screamed for more contact.

But oh, how he ached to explore further. To trace the curve of your spine, to map every inch of your skin with reverent touches. To wake you with gentle kisses and whispered confessions of love.

But that wasn’t for him.

"My apologies, Milá, that was not my intention," he said apologetically, reluctantly pulling his arm away and tugging your shirt down for you. It was the least he could do.

Returning his arm to your now clothed waist, his finger traced smooth patterns along your back. He swallowed his gasp of surprise when you buried your face in the crook of his neck.

"It's okay,” your words vibrated against his shoulder, “I don't mind."

He hummed a soft acknowledgement and was pleased when you made no move to disentangle yourself. The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a golden glow on the peaceful bubble. Nature's symphony of birdsong and distant traffic provided a gentle soundtrack as he let himself slowly wake up. As the fog of sleep lifted, Viktor became acutely aware of the pain creeping back into his body, the ache in his joints and the tightness of his back. Still, his head felt clearer than it had in months, the persistent headache reduced to a dull throb rather than the usual stabbing agony. He felt…rested. Truly rested, in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Much too soon, your alarm clock shattered the serene atmosphere and worsened his headache.

You groaned as you slowly peeled yourself off of him and Viktor resisted the urge to grab your hips and pull you back into his arms. With a sigh, you slapped the top of the alarm clock aimlessly, finally hitting the off button and ending its incessant beeping.

Flopping onto your back, you turned to look at him, a soft, warm smile spreading across your face. The morning light caught in your tousled hair, creating a halo effect that made you look almost ethereal. Your eyes, still heavy-lidded with sleep, held a tenderness that made his heart stutter in his chest.

By the Gods, you were beautiful. Not in the polished, artificial way of Piltover's elite, but in a way that was uniquely, breathtakingly you. It was beyond his ability to describe, so he didn’t try.

Viktor's fingers twitched with the desire to trace the curve of your jaw, to tangle in your hair and draw you close. He imagined pressing his forehead against yours, breathing the same air, whispering all the words he'd kept locked away for so long.

But he couldn't. He wouldn't risk ruining this, whatever this was between you. So instead, he returned your smile with a small one of his own, hoping it conveyed even a fraction of the warmth he felt.

“You look like you slept well,” you teased, your smile tilting into a lopsided grin.

"You say that like it’s a good thing but it seems more like an insult to me." He patted at his hair, an attempt to flatten it that was doomed to fail from the beginning.

You giggled, a wonderous sound he would never tire of hearing, and sat up in bed. Before he had time to avert his gave, you’d stretched your arms over your head and you squeezed your eyes shut. Did you realize how your thin shirt plastered itself against your body, giving him a clear view of all your soft curves?

He cleared his throat, finding great interest in staring at the wall across the room, ignoring the blush that tinted his cheeks. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw your blush match his when you realized exactly what had just happened.

"I'm going to get ready," you announced shakily. With a quick swivel, you got out of bed and picked your clothes out of the closet, all while keeping your back to Viktor. Not that he minded, necessarily, but there was something about your reddened cheeks that captivated him entirely. "I'll meet you in the lab with breakfast?"

"Grab me a sweet milk and carrot muffin if they have it?"

“I’ll do my best!”

As you fled to the bathroom, Viktor found his voice once more. "Thank you, Mila." You turned back around to peek at him from around the door, adorable in your embarrassment. "I feel much better, you were right after all."

You smiled softly at him. "You should come back tonight," you said before hastily adding, "but only if you want to, of course."

He wanted nothing more, but did you? He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the sunlight streaming through the window illuminating his soft brown hair. "Are you sure? I don’t wish to impose any more than I already have."

You shook your head. “I don’t like sleeping alone, you’re not the only one who benefits.”

He smiled, bright and unburdened. Why had he doubted you? It seemed silly now when you regarded him with such bashful hope. You cared for him as he cared for you, didn’t you? “Then I suppose we have a deal.”

A/N: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed the second Viktor's POV <3 Sadly, the arcane hyperfixation has left me, but when it comes back, I'm sure you'll definitely see more of these two! For now, I must let the writing demons out in my Dragon Age fic - time to terrorize another fandom!

[lilmisshellfireswritingblog]

The Prophecy Chapter 5: Let It Once Be Me

Summary: Lucius and Aurelia bond.

A/N: I am back! Thank you for following along. This is more of a filler chapter but our Empress and Emperor bond and we love to see it. I have like three WIPs and this one is ever so present in my brain....

Warnings: forced marriage, kissing, Geta being a dick, use of flashbacks

Separator banner credit to: sweetmelodygraphics.

It had been nearly a month since the Senate had tested them both, since that night when Aurelia had stood before the assembly and defended their union with a strength she hadn’t known she had or wanted to have. In the days that followed, there had been more meetings, more formalities and more attempts to define what their relationship would be as Emperor and Empress of Rome. They’d learned to function together, to stand united in front of the Senate, but behind closed doors, the marriage still felt like a fragile, untested thing—something that existed more in the realm of duty than desire.

However, tonight was different. There was something in the air—a subtle shift that neither of them could explain. The palace was quiet now, the usual bustle of advisors and courtiers having faded into the background. Aurelia had dismissed most of the attendants earlier, craving solitude after a day full of speeches, meetings, and the ever-present undercurrent of political maneuvering.

She stood before a mirror in the grand dressing room, staring at her reflection with a mixture of weariness and determination. The weight of the imperial robes felt heavy on her shoulders and the gold laurel wreath she wore seemed more like a burden than a symbol of power. She reached up to remove it, her fingers trembling slightly, but before she could, the door to the room opened.

Lucius stepped in without knocking, as was his usual way—no pretense, no formality. His piercing blue eyes found her immediately, and for a moment, they just stood there in silence, neither of them saying anything. He was dressed in a simple tunic, the black fabric a sharp contrast to the golden robes he’d worn earlier in the day. His dark hair was tousled from the long day, and the way he stood—hands casually resting on his hips—made him seem like an Emperor but yet entirely human.

"Is this how it’s always going to be?" he asked, his voice low but with a certain wry edge. He nodded toward her reflection in the mirror. "The crown, the robe, the constant formality?"

Aurelia raised an eyebrow at his reflection, her lips curling into a faint, amused smile. "Do you expect something less formal from the Empress of Rome, Lucius?" she teased, not looking away from the mirror.

Lucius chuckled softly, crossing the room toward her. "I don’t know. Maybe I’m hoping for a little... less grandeur. Something more..." His voice trailed off, and his gaze fell to the empty space between them, as if trying to find the right words.

"More what?" Aurelia asked, intrigued despite herself.

"More human," he said, his voice suddenly more serious than she expected. He stood beside her now, leaning casually against the stone wall, his blue eyes meeting hers in the mirror. "Less of the queen and more of the woman. Do you know what I mean?"

Her breath caught in her chest. There was something in his tone, something unguarded, that made her feel as though she wasn’t just a political pawn anymore. She wasn’t just the Empress or his wife—she was Aurelia.

And she hadn’t been just Aurelia for years. 

"I think I do," she said slowly, her fingers brushing against the edge of the crown on her head. She removed it and set it gently on the table beside her. The cool, heavy metal felt like a weight lifted from her brow. "But it’s not that simple, is it? This is Rome. We don’t get to drop the titles and just be. We are what the Empire makes us. Besides, the Aurelia I was before all of the Empire - I don’t think she exists anymore.”

He tilted his head, a faint smile curling on his lips. "I don’t know. I think Rome has always been about more than just titles. It’s about the people, too. The ones who actually live here. The ones who, every day, don’t get to play by the rules of power and court politics. They just... live."

Aurelia’s heart skipped a beat at his words. The rawness of it, the simplicity—it was unlike anything she had expected from Lucius. He’d always been so composed, so controlled, but in this moment, he seemed to be searching for something—perhaps for her, for something more than just the role they were both forced into.

"And what do you want, Lucius?" she asked, turning to face him fully, her voice quieter now. "What do you want when the titles, the robes, and the politics aren’t in the way?"

Lucius smiled, but it wasn’t the hard, calculated smile of an emperor—it was something softer. Something real. "I want to see who you really are, Aurelia. Not just the Empress, not just the woman Rome expects you to be. The real you. The woman behind all of this," he said, gesturing vaguely toward the palace, toward the Empire that had consumed them both.

Aurelia stared at him for a moment, taken aback by his directness. It was something she wasn’t used to—people looking at her, not just her role, not just her status. And for the first time, she realized how much she longed for that, too. To be seen for who she was. To be Aurelia, not just the pawn of Rome’s political machine.

"You’ve seen me already," she said, her voice quieter. 

Lucius laughed softly, the sound rich and warm. "Maybe. But I don’t think I’ve seen everything yet."

The playfulness in his tone made her heart flutter—something she hadn’t expected. She stepped closer to him, the space between them charged now, the air crackling with a strange, new energy. Her eyes met his, and for a moment, everything else in the room—the Empire, the Senate, the crown—faded into the background.

"What do you want to see, then?" she asked, her voice suddenly softer, more intimate.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "Maybe I just want to see the woman who isn’t afraid to laugh. The one who isn’t afraid to live a little, even if it’s only for a moment when we have time to set the Empire aside.”

Aurelia’s breath caught in her chest. There it was—the invitation, subtle but clear. She couldn’t help but smile, her lips curving upward. It wasn’t a smile of royalty, not a smile of duty—it was something real, something that was just her.

"You’re a bold man, Lucius Verus," she said, her voice a mixture of amusement and something deeper, something more uncertain. "Is that how you always speak to people? Or am I special?"

He grinned, his eyes flickering with something she hadn’t expected—a spark of mischief. "Only the ones who interest me."

Her smile widened and for a heartbeat, she felt something shift between them—something less about their roles, less about the duty they both carried, and more about the two of them as people. They were no longer just Emperor and Empress. It felt like she was a child again. Hopeful even. 

They were Aurelia and Lucius. For once they could just be themselves and not have to worry about the Empire. 

"Well," she said softly, moving just a bit closer, "I hope I do interest you."

Lucius’s expression softened and for a long moment, neither of them said anything. The tension between them was palpable now, the shift undeniable. There was something magnetic about the way they stood there, so close, yet still unsure of how to bridge the gap completely.

"I think you do," he replied, his voice low. And then, with a small, teasing smile, he added, "I think I’d like to get to know you better, Aurelia. Much better."

The flirtation hung in the air, playful but laden with something more—a promise, perhaps, of something more to come. Aurelia couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement. She was no longer just a political partner, a piece of the Empire’s machinery. She was herself, and that, for the first time in a long while, felt like enough.

"Well, then," she said, her voice a bit breathless.

Lucius’s grin widened, a glimmer of something new—a hint of warmth, of genuine interest. "I look forward to it."

For the first time since she had become an Empress, Aurelia felt the weight of the Empire lift—if only for a moment—leaving only the two of them, standing there, on the edge of something neither of them could yet define.

Flashback ~ What Life Was Like

It had been a time of gilded isolation.

Aurelia sat in the grand, dimly lit hall of the imperial palace, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the smooth edge of a marble table. The air was thick with the scent of incense, which mingled with the weight of oppressive silence. Her surroundings, vast and opulent, were meant to inspire awe in any visitor—gleaming columns, the soft glow of golden lamps, intricate mosaics that depicted Rome’s triumphs over its enemies. Yet, for Aurelia, the luxury felt suffocating.

Her gaze wandered to the floor, where a servant was arranging purple flower petals for the evening’s banquet. The sound of her soft footsteps was the only sound that filled the silence between them. Aurelia had long since ceased to care for these grand displays. Everything, it seemed, had become a performance—a pageantry she could neither partake in nor escape from.

Across the room, the throne of Emperor Geta stood empty. Though she had once believed that the seat of power would imbue her with the sense of importance she had dreamed of when she was young, she now found the empty throne to be a reminder of all the things she had lost.

Her marriage to Geta had never been a love match. Her family, desperate to secure their own position in Rome, had arranged the union, hoping it would elevate them. She, a highborn woman with a sharp mind and a keen understanding of politics, had come to the imperial court with grand aspirations of power—of leading alongside her husband. But Geta had always kept her at arm’s length, a distant ruler who seldom involved her in any decision of importance. He was a man ruled by suspicion, even cruelty, and his cold demeanor had always kept her at bay.

They had been married for nearly two years now. Two years of watching him rule with an iron fist, of feeling his icy indifference toward her. Despite her noble birth and her intelligence, despite her natural grace and the strength she possessed within, Geta had never truly seen her as his equal. She was Empress in name only. To him, she was little more than an ornament for the court—a figurehead.

The sharp sound of footsteps echoed through the hall, drawing Aurelia from her reverie. Her heart quickened, and she stood up, smoothing the layers of her dress, the fine fabric rustling around her. She turned to face the door, where the figure of Emperor Geta emerged.

He was a striking man, his dark eyes piercing, his expression always a mixture of arrogance and brooding dissatisfaction. His frame was imposing, his movements calculated. Yet, despite his external power, there was always a certain fragility to him—an insecurity that gnawed at the edges of his confidence. Aurelia could feel it, even if she did not acknowledge it aloud.

“Ah. My Empress… Are you ready for the banquet?” he asked, his voice cold, as though speaking to a subordinate.

Aurelia nodded, masking the frustration she felt deep inside. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she replied, her voice steady, though she couldn’t hide the weariness beneath it. She had long since stopped expecting warmth from him, but the emptiness of their interactions cut deeper with each passing day. It was almost as though her very presence was a burden to him.

“Good,” he said curtly, barely sparing her a glance before walking toward the gilded doors that led to the banquet hall. He did not wait for her to follow. He never did.

Aurelia stood still for a moment, letting the heaviness of the moment wash over her. The palace, the empire, her marriage—they all felt like a gilded cage. She was trapped by her title, by the expectations of her family, by the political machinations that surrounded her. She was not a partner in governance; she was a symbol—an accessory to his rule.

She followed him to the banquet, her every step measured, her heart hardened by years of silence. She entered the grand hall behind him, where the guests were already gathered—senators, generals, wealthy patricians, all partaking in the splendor of the empire’s wealth. There were laughing voices, clinking goblets of wine, and the warmth of firelight casting long shadows on the stone walls. But for Aurelia, it felt like a performance. She was simply another figure among them, her status as Empress making her the center of attention, but never allowing her to truly belong.

Geta had taken his place at the head of the table, as always. He barely acknowledged her presence when she sat beside him, his gaze drifting past her as he spoke with a senator on his left. Aurelia stared down at her goblet, swirling the wine, her thoughts miles away. The lavish feast, the sweet fruits and delicate pastries, the elaborate platters of roasted meats—none of it brought her comfort. Her mind wandered to the emptiness of their marriage, to the distance between them that seemed only to grow as the days wore on.

For the briefest of moments, her eyes flickered to a young general across the room—Tiberius, a man of strength and courage whom Aurelia had met a few times at official events. There was a glimmer of warmth in his smile whenever their eyes met, a subtle acknowledgement of shared frustration with the court. Aurelia quickly turned away, her breath catching in her throat. It wasn’t that she found him attractive—no, it was something more dangerous than that. It was the quiet recognition in his gaze, the understanding that she was more than just a figurehead. He saw her.

But of course, she could never act on such a thing. Not while Geta ruled.

The evening dragged on. Aurelia’s interactions with the other guests were formal, polite, as always. She engaged in conversation with senators, her words clipped but measured. Her smile was reserved for the public, and though she knew how to play the part, every moment of it felt like a lie. She couldn’t help but feel like an outsider in her own life.

When the banquet finally ended, and the guests slowly trickled out of the hall, Aurelia was left alone with Geta once again. He had barely spoken to her throughout the evening, consumed by his own concerns and the ongoing political games he was playing with the senators and generals.

She stood by the door as he moved to leave, her heart aching for something—anything—that could make her feel truly seen. But Geta didn’t notice. He never did.

“Aurelia,” he said, his voice distant, almost as though he were speaking to a servant. “Make sure your chambers are prepared tonight. I will be there shortly.”

Her heart clenched in her chest at the dismissal. She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth, her throat tight. But she nodded, as she always did. “Of course, Your Majesty.”

As Geta exited the room, Aurelia stood there, feeling smaller with each passing second. The silence enveloped her once again, the weight of the palace pressing in on her. There was no love here. There never had been. Only duty. Only the cold, suffocating politics of Rome.

In that moment, she realized the truth that had been building in her for so long: she was not loved here, not truly. She was an asset, a tool in a political game. She had tried, for a time, to win her husband’s affection, to find some way to warm his cold heart. But the effort had always been in vain.

Aurelia’s hand clenched into a fist at her side, her knuckles turning white as she fought to keep her composure. The realization stung, but it was a sting she had grown accustomed to. In time, she would learn to wear the crown without longing for the affection it had failed to provide.

She turned and left the hall, her steps echoing in the empty corridors as she walked toward her chambers. Alone. 

Always alone.

The night had settled over Rome like a blanket, the cool evening air filtering through the open windows of the Imperial chambers. The palace was quiet now, the bustle of the court and the weight of their first day as rulers fading into the background. Aurelia  sat by the hearth, the soft glow of the fire casting dancing shadows on her face, her thoughts far from the polished, orderly world of politics and power that they had navigated earlier in the day.

Lucius Verus had long since retired to the other side of the room, taking a seat at the long table where scrolls and reports had been hastily abandoned. His cloak was discarded across a nearby chair, and the golden laurel wreath that signified his imperial authority sat forgotten on the table next to him. The informalities of the day had peeled away his usual stoic demeanor, and for the first time since their wedding, Aurelia saw him not as an emperor, but as a man—vulnerable, perhaps, but also strangely familiar and perhaps, relatable.

Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer than she meant to. He had removed the tight formal tunic, his muscular frame now encased only in a tunic of simple linen, his dark hair messy from a long day of work and council meetings. He was still the warrior—he couldn’t shed that part of himself, not even when it was just the two of them. There was something else there too, something she hadn’t expected. Something raw, human. It was a side of him that made her feel less like a prisoner in this marriage and more like a partner, though the line was still delicate given the circumstances.

He caught her gaze, his piercing blue eyes meeting hers across the room, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence was thick but not uncomfortable. It was as if they were both waiting for the other to break it, to make the next move, to give a sign that they were no longer just husband and wife in the eyes of the Empire, but something more.

Aurelia looked away first, but not before she saw the flicker of something in his eyes—something that wasn’t about duty, politics, or the Empire. It was just… him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator turned emperor, a man who had spent years fighting for survival, now standing on the edge of something he had never intended to find. Something neither of them had bargained for.

She pulled her gaze back to the fire, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her wine goblet. The taste of it still lingered on her tongue, a reminder of the ceremonial banquet they’d shared earlier. The lavish meal, the formal toasts, the endless speeches. Yet none of it felt real—not compared to this moment. This quiet, unscripted moment in the stillness of their chambers.

Lucius stood then, moving toward her, his bare feet silent on the marble floor. He didn’t speak right away, but his presence was enough. Every step he took felt like an unspoken challenge, a question hanging between them. What were they, really? Were they just two people forced into a marriage for the sake of an empire, or was there something else starting to bloom between them? Something fragile, maybe, but real?

"Do you ever think about how this all happened?" Lucius’s voice was softer than usual, almost hesitant, as though he were treading into dangerous territory. He paused beside her, close enough that she could feel his warmth. "About the roles we’ve been given? About what we’ve lost to get here?"

Aurelia’s chest tightened at his words, but she didn’t look at him. She kept her eyes fixed on the fire, watching the flames dance, but the weight of his question settled heavily in her chest. It had been only a few days since their wedding, but it already felt like years. What had they lost? What had she lost? Her husband Geta. Her autonomy. Her dreams.

"Every day," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, a small flicker of bitterness lacing the words. "I think about it all the time. The life I had before I married Geta, the things I thought I could control. And now... this." She gestured vaguely, indicating the palace, the crown, the empire that bound them both. "I was never supposed to be here still.”

Lucius was quiet for a moment, his eyes studying her closely, his gaze piercing in a way that made her feel as if he could see every one of her secrets. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the armrest of the chair beside her, close enough that she could feel the heat of his body, but not touching her. Yet, in the space between them, something shifted.

"We’re both here, Aurelia," Lucius said, his voice lower now, more intimate. "You might not have chosen it, but neither did I. I didn’t ask for any of this. But here we are. Together."

The words felt strange coming from him. Lucius Verus, the gladiator who had survived the worst of Rome’s brutality, the man who had fought his way to power for the honor of Rome. For all his bravado, there was something different in the way he spoke now. Vulnerable, perhaps, or just honest. It was a side of him that Aurelia hadn’t expected, a side of him that made her question everything she had believed about him.

She turned toward him then, her breath catching in her throat as their eyes met again, and for the first time, she didn’t feel the anger that had been simmering in her since the day they were wed. Instead, there was something softer in her heart—a quiet understanding, maybe even a flicker of trust.

And, just like that, the distance between them felt smaller.

"You’re right," she said softly, her voice a little unsteady. "Here we are." Her lips curled into the faintest of smiles, a smile that held no pretense, no obligation—just the fragile reality of two people trying to make sense of the mess they’d found themselves in. 

Lucius didn’t respond with words. He reached out, slowly, as though waiting for her to pull away, but when she didn’t, his fingers brushed gently against hers. The contact was light at first, tentative, as if they were both testing the waters, uncertain of what it would mean.

But in that touch, something unspoken passed between them. Something raw. Something real.

Her heart began to race, and she found herself leaning toward him before she could stop herself. He did the same, as if drawn to her by an invisible thread that neither of them could explain.

And then, finally, he closed the distance.

Lucius’s lips were warm, his kiss slow at first, like the soft brush of a breeze across the skin. But then, as if the world had fallen away, it deepened, a kiss that was no longer just the joining of two people by duty, but the merging of something else—something fragile and tender and unexpected. It wasn’t a kiss of passion, not yet. It was the kiss of two people who had been bound together by circumstance but were beginning to feel the stirrings of something more.

Aurelia’s breath hitched as she kissed him back, her hand rising to rest against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath her fingertips. She had no idea how this had happened, how this strange intimacy had unfolded between them in the quiet of the night. But she knew one thing—whatever they had been before, whatever had brought them here, this moment was theirs.

While it was only the second time they had shared this closeness, Aurelia felt like it was the thousandth.

When they finally pulled away, both of them were breathless, their foreheads resting together. Lucius’s blue eyes were dark with something she couldn’t quite place, but she saw it now: the vulnerability, the softness beneath the warrior’s armor.

"You never answered my question," he murmured, his voice low, his breath still warm on her skin, his lips brushing against hers. 

Aurelia smiled faintly, her hand still resting against his chest. "Which question?"

Lucius laughs, a genuine laugh that filled Aurelia’s heart with actual joy. “I don’t remember. Forgot all about it to be honest.”

For the first time since they’d met, Aurelia felt something she hadn’t expected. Hope.

And, as their lips met once again, she realized that, perhaps, this unexpected marriage—this strange partnership—wasn’t as much a prison as she had once thought.

[vortexbloom]

𝕃𝕚𝕥𝕥𝕝𝕖 ℝ𝕒𝕓𝕓𝕚𝕥 ❆

Pairing: Yandere Dottore x Female Reader

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Warnings: Dottore, Yandere themes, forcing, spying, syringe, 1x curse word, obsessiveness (tell me if I forgot anything)

English isn’t my first/native language, so there might be misspellings etc.

Also, I do not own any Characters like Dottore !

Anyway, have fun reading this :)

You slowly opened you eyes, realizing, that you’re not at home, but rather in a lab, tied to some kind of hospital bed.

The first thing you did was trying to free yourself from the bed, but of course, it was no use, since the ropes were way too tight.

Still trying to free yourself, you didn’t hear the door of the lab opening, being way too focused on your useless attempts.

"I see, the little rabbit finally decided to wake up, hm? But just so you know, you’re just wasting your energy."

Hearing the sudden voice, you stopped trying to free yourself. Finally seeing the man that was leaning against the wall, being amused at your little attempts.

Looking more clearly at the man, you finally realized who he was. It was Dottore, known as the Doctor and the second of the 11 Fatui Harbingers.

At first, you two just stared at each other for a few minutes. The staring situation felt a bit weird, so you decided to finally talk and break the silence.

"Why am I here?…"

Dottore just chuckled, clearly hearing the fear and nervousness in your voice.

"No need to be scared, little bunny. After all, I would never do anything bad to you."

You rolled your eyes after getting that he was just mocking you. The situation you were in wasn’t the best, but you knew better than to show your fear.

"I‘m serious, why am I here?"

Dottore walked closer, now standing next to the hospital bed that you were tied to.

"Bold now, are we? I like that. But to finally answer that question of yours, you’re here because I specifically ordered some of the Fatui Soldiers to bring you to me."

"But why? I mean…..I know that you’re doing experiments on humans, but why would you specifically ask for me?"

Dottore just grinned wickedly and caressed your cheek with his gloved hand. His touch was surprisingly tender. Deciding to stay quiet, you waited for his answer.

"Let’s just say, I had my eyes on you for a while now. And to ease your worries, I‘m not gonna experiment on you, unless you want me to~"

You didn’t know if you should feel more nervous or feel better after hearing that he won’t experiment on you. After all, you knew better than to trust this Psychos words and fall for his tricks.

"You had your eyes on me? Have you been fucking spying on me?"

Dottore ignored your questions and decided to free you from the bed instead. After you got up, he finally started talking again.

"Yes, I did have my eyes on you for a while, after seeing you at the market for the first time. You piqued my interest, little Rabbit. And no, I didn’t spy on you, it’s not like I‘ve got enough time anyway. I made some Fatui Soldiers do it for me instead."

You stepped back a bit, creating some distance between the two of you.

"Making others do the spying for you ain’t gonna make me feel better."

Dottore stepped a bit closer, being close enough to put his arms around your waist. Your breath hitched at the closeness.

"W-What‘re you doing? Get away from me, now."

You tried pushing him away, but it was no use, since he was physically stronger than you.

"You’re just wasting your energy, little bunny."

Knowing that he was right, you stopped trying to push him away.

"What now, huh? What exactly do you even want from me?"

Dottores grip on your waist got a little bit tighter, to the point where it even hurt a bit.

"What I want? Well, I want you, little rabbit. I want you to be mine, completely and utterly mine. To be more clear, you’re gonna stay with me.

His answer was kinda unexpected and your brain was not braining at this point.

"What do you mean by that now? You can’t just expect me to leave my life behind and stay with you instead. And no, I‘m not gonna be yours."

Dottore pulls out a syringe and holds it near your neck, injecting you with some kind of liquid.

"Oh, little rabbit, who said that you’ve got a choice in the first place? But anyway, we‘re gonna talk about all of this after you wake up again. After all, there’s no use in explaining everything to you now, when you’re so panicked. Sleep well, little rabbit."

These were the last things you heard before falling into another slumber.

Should I make a Part 2?

Have a good day/night/evening/morning/afternoon ☼꥟☽

[adumbratrapedme]

tsukishima x reader | teen pregnancy. pt 1 the news.

Synopsis. a teen pregnancy storie between tsukishima and reader.

wc. 3,5k words aprox. | genre. angst to fluff | cw/tags. angst to fluff, teen pregnancy mentions, etc. TW: BAD ENGLISH X,D

links: kenma | hinata | kageyama | yamaguchi | yachi(!? teen pregnancy series masterlists here!

important ! Please read the note at the end! And make sure you reblog if you liked it heh-

General Headcanons:

╭⋅ When you first tell him, his initial reaction is complete silence. His golden-brown eyes widen for a brief second before he pushes his glasses up, avoiding eye contact. ╭⋅ His rational mind immediately jumps to practical concerns: finances, school, and future plans. ╭⋅ I also have this idea that Yamaguchi would be the first one he would go to, although we see Tsuki as someone cold, I know he trusts Yamaguchi with all his being. ╭⋅ Probably a little rude when you first break the newssz… ╭⋅ Tsukishima isn't one for grand declarations, but his actions speak volumes. He starts researching everything - prenatal care, parenting, balancing school and work. ╭⋅ Becomes incredibly protective of you. If anyone dares to judge or gossip about your situation, his glare alone is enough to silence them!!! ╭⋅ He goes out of his way to make sure you're comfortable. He'll bring you snacks, make sure you're not overexerting yourself, and even argue with doctors if he thinks you're not being taken seriously but don’t ya’ dare make a comment on it or he will deny how much he cares!! ╭⋅ Though he's still sarcastic and snarky, his teasing becomes lighter, more affectionate. You'll often catch him staring at you with a mixture of awe and worry.

The words hang in the air between you.

“I’m pregnant.” At first, Tsukishima freezes. His gaze locks onto you, and for a moment, you wonder if he even heard you. His eyes widen slightly behind his glasses, but he doesn’t speak. His silence feels suffocating. “…Say something.” Your voice trembles, barely above a whisper.

He finally shifts, letting out a harsh breath through his nose, running a hand through his blond hair.

“You’re serious?” His tone is sharp — defensive.

You nod, tears welling up in your eyes.

“I wouldn’t lie about something like this, Kei.”

Tsukishima stands abruptly, pacing the room like he’s trying to escape the weight of the news. His mind races. He’s always prided himself on being in control, on having a plan for everything. But this? This was never part of the plan. “We’re still kids,” he mutters under his breath. “We can’t… we can’t do this.”

His words cut deep.

“I know it’s not ideal, but… unfortunately it’s happening,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady.

But Tsukishima is spiraling. His insecurities — his fear of being useless, of being a failure — consume him. He feels like the scared little boy he used to be, watching his family fall apart. “What about school? What about your future?” His voice is colder now. “Do you really think this is going to work out? Do you think I’m ready to be a father?”

The tears you’ve been holding back spill over.

“I didn’t expect this either, Kei. But I thought… I thought you’d at least try to be here for me.” His heart cracks at the sight of your tears. He wants to comfort you, but he’s too afraid. He’s terrified of messing everything up — terrified that he’ll hurt you or the baby. So he says nothing.

You shake your head, grabbing your bag.

“If you don’t want to be part of this, just say it. I won’t force you to stay.”

The door slams behind you, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

That night, Tsukishima doesn’t sleep. He stares at the ceiling, replaying your words over and over. He called Yams a few minutes after you left to explain the situation. He ranted about his fears and admitted how he treated you. Of course, Yams was shocked by the news, but he made sure to make Tsukishima realize how rude he’d been toward you—and kind of pushed him to apologize.

The guilt gnaws at him. He knows he hurt you — knows he’s running away from his own fears. But he can’t stop thinking about you, walking through this alone, carrying his child.

The next day, he shows up at your door, like he usually would when walking to school together —except this time yams isn’t here — His hands are stuffed in his pockets, and he looks exhausted, dark circles under his eyes.

When you open the door, you’re surprised to see him, but you quickly mask your emotions.

“What do you want?” You tell him as you hang your backpack on your shoulder and close the door behind you.

For a moment, he doesn’t know what to say. But then he steps forward, closing the distance between you. “I’m sorry.” His voice is low, almost a whisper. “I was scared.”

Your eyes soften, but you stay guarded.

“You think I’m not scared too?”He nods, guilt washing over him.

“I know. And I should have been there for you.” He takes a shaky breath. “I… I don’t know if I’ll be a good father. Hell, I don’t even know how to take care of myself and even our relationship sometimes. But…”

He reaches out, gently taking your hand.

“I want to try. I’m not going to leave you — or the baby. We’ll figure it out. Together.” You can see the sincerity in his eyes — the vulnerability he rarely shows anyone.

“Kei…” Your voice breaks, he pulls you into a hug, holding you tightly. For the first time in days, you feel like you can breathe again. His arms around you feel like home, even if the future is uncertain.

“I’ll be better,” he murmurs against your hair. “For you. For our kid.”

A soft laugh escapes your lips through the tears.

“Our kid, huh?”He pulls back just enough to meet your gaze. His expression softens in a way you rarely see. “Yeah. Our kid.”

There’s still fear lingering in his heart, but for the first time, it’s outweighed by something stronger — love.

As he rests his hand gently on your stomach, a rare, genuine smile tugs at his lips.

“We’re going to be okay.” And for the first time in a long while, you believe him.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

Tsukishima isn’t perfect, and he knows the road ahead won’t be easy. But he’s determined to stay by your side, to be the partner and father you both deserve.

chan's note: hihihi soo as i said before this will be a series for all haikyuu boys, i'll try to cover all the aspects of a teen pregnancy by chapters such as: breakin the news to friends, birth, first days, etc. As for now i'll finish all karasuno's first years (and kenma) and ill continue with the second years & 3rds years.

TAGLIST:

@chilichopsticks @dreadnoughtus101

if anyone else wants to be part of the taglist just tell me heh..

[bluelavendre]

Title: "Surviving Together"

Fandom: BTS

Pairing BTS ot7 x Reader

Major Genre: Survival, Zombie apocalypse

Zombie Au inspired a bit by All of us are dead series

Chapter 12: "The Truth Unraveled"

The streets are chaotic. Infected swarm in all directions, their relentless pursuit of anything human blurring the line between life and death. You’re on edge, adrenaline pumping through your veins, your hands shaking as you grip your weapon. The tension from earlier—between you and Hana, between you and Taehyung—is pushed to the back of your mind, replaced by the fight to survive.

Hana is next to you, but the silence between you two is heavier than ever. There’s still a sense of unfinished business lingering in the air, but you can’t afford to dwell on it. The infected grow in numbers as you push forward, battling your way through the streets. The group moves as one, each of you expertly maneuvering through the chaos, protecting one another as best as you can.

You glance over to Taehyung, your gaze meeting his briefly. There’s a sense of connection there, but it's fleeting, clouded by the immediate danger. He’s still too caught up in the survival game to focus on anything else.

And then, it happens.

The infected come at you in a flash, faster than you expected. You swing your weapon, knocking one of them back, but you barely have time to react as another lunges toward Hana. You shout, trying to warn her, but it’s too late.

With a sickening sound, one of the infected’s teeth sinks deep into her arm. Hana screams in agony, her body jerking as the infected drags its mouth deeper into her flesh.

"No!" you shout, rushing forward, but it’s too late. The infected’s grip is unrelenting, and Hana’s screams echo in your ears as she struggles to break free.

Without thinking, you charge in, slamming the infected away and managing to cut it down. But Hana is left panting on the ground, clutching her bitten arm. Her face is pale, her breathing erratic, and the reality of what just happened sinks in.

"You’re bitten," you say, your voice trembling with disbelief.

Hana stares at you, her eyes wide, and then her expression hardens. "I know," she breathes, her voice a strained whisper. "But that’s not the point."

Before you can say anything else, she stands up shakily, her body swaying as she steadies herself. Her eyes scan the group—Jimin, Jungkook, Jin, and Taehyung are all still fighting off the infected, unaware of what’s just transpired.

She stumbles forward, her voice hoarse with pain. "Taehyung!" she yells, her voice frantic. "Taehyung, you need to listen! Y/N—"

You can’t let her finish. You grab her by the shoulder, spinning her around to face you. "Hana, stop!" you warn, your voice firm. "You’re not going to lie about this."

But Hana isn’t listening. Her eyes dart to the group, and she forces the words out between ragged breaths. "Y/N—Y/N got bitten too! She’s infected! She’s the one who’s dangerous! You need to protect yourselves!"

Your stomach drops, and your heart hammers in your chest. The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around you—Taehyung, Jimin, Jungkook, Jin—seems to freeze.

Taehyung is the first to react, his eyes narrowing in confusion and disbelief. "What are you talking about, Hana?" he asks, stepping forward. "Y/N hasn’t been bitten."

You open your mouth to deny it, to tell him it’s all a lie, but the words die in your throat. Hana’s accusation lingers like poison in the air, and for a brief, terrible second, you wonder if she’s right.

Your heart races, but you can feel it—the eyes of the boys, their suspicion rising. It’s like they’re all waiting for you to confirm it. They’re waiting for you to admit the truth.

The group stands frozen, every pair of eyes now locked on you. You try to speak, to clear the air, but the words are stuck. You can feel your pulse thudding in your ears, the weight of their stares suffocating. Taehyung’s face falls as he searches for any hint of truth in your eyes, but you know the damage has already been done.

"Y/N..." Taehyung says, his voice full of uncertainty. "Is it true? Did you... get bitten?"

The silence stretches between you like a chasm. Your mind races, your heart aches. Why would Hana lie like this? Is she trying to tear you apart? But the look in Taehyung’s eyes—this mixture of concern and doubt—makes your breath catch in your throat. You’re not sure if you can make them believe you anymore.

"No!" you finally choke out, shaking your head vehemently. "I’m not infected! I’m fine, I swear! You’ve seen me—"

But Hana interrupts you, her voice cutting through your explanation with venom. "You’re lying! I saw it! I saw the mark! She’s infected, Taehyung! I’m trying to protect all of you! If we don’t do something now—"

"Enough!" Taehyung’s voice booms across the street, a sudden sharpness in his tone that cuts through the chaos. His eyes shift from Hana to you, his expression unreadable. For a moment, you think he’s going to say something—anything—that will clear your name.

But instead, he simply stands there, torn, his gaze flickering back and forth between you and Hana. His jaw tightens, his hands clenching at his sides. “I need to think.”

That’s it. The words fall like a hammer, sealing the silence. His gaze is full of indecision, the weight of the world crashing down on him. In that moment, you feel utterly alone. The warmth you felt from him moments ago has vanished, replaced by something colder—something distant.

Jin steps forward, his voice measured but full of concern. "We can’t keep arguing. We need to focus on surviving right now. If Y/N is lying—" He pauses, glancing at you briefly, then at Hana. "We deal with it. But not here. Not like this."

Jimin, usually the peacekeeper, stands beside him, his face hard. "We don’t have time for this. We need to move out, now. The infected are closing in, and we’re all in danger. Let’s figure this out later."

But it’s too late. The damage is done. The doubt has been planted. The seeds of distrust have taken root.

The group moves out in silence, but the tension is unbearable. As you walk, you can’t shake the feeling that they’re all watching you—waiting for any sign, any moment of weakness. The weight of Hana’s words hangs over you like a cloud.

As you move forward, your eyes dart to Taehyung’s figure in the distance. He hasn’t looked at you once since he heard Hana’s accusations. You want to reach out, to pull him back, to show him that you’re not infected—but every time you try, the words get stuck in your throat. What can you say now? How can you prove it when they’ve already begun to doubt you?

And Hana—Hana’s gaze is burning into the back of your neck. Her smirk, twisted with satisfaction, is almost unbearable. She watches you closely, like a predator waiting for its prey to break.

You don’t know how much longer you can keep it together. The virus isn’t the only enemy you have to fight now. The truth—whatever it is—is slipping through your fingers, and you don’t know how to stop it.

To be continued...

[oldsoul007]

no strings

javier peña x reader

summary: y/n and javier promised no strings attached…

a/n: kissing, cliche, enjoy ;)

javier peña masterlist

please request!!

It started in the aftermath of an operation that went sideways—one of those missions where everything that could go wrong did. The DEA had been closing in on one of Pablo Escobar’s key lieutenants, but the whole thing blew up, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. People were hurt, intel was compromised, and the Cartel had managed to slip through their fingers yet again. The sting of failure lingered in the air for days.

Javier Peña had been through his fair share of disasters in Colombia, but this one hit harder. He was no stranger to the stress of the job, but lately, something was different. He was tired. The long hours, the constant threat of violence, the pressure from the higher-ups—it was all starting to wear on him. He found himself retreating into his own head more often than not.

I was a recent addition to the team, had been thrust into the fray during this operation. I was sharp, efficient, and determined, but like Peña, I was feeling the weight of the mission. I’d come from a different unit, one more focused on money laundering and financial crimes, but the lure of the Cartel’s operations was too much to ignore. I didn’t mind the intensity of the job, but there were moments when even I questioned what I was doing in the field.

After the failed operation, the team needed a debrief. Tensions ran high, voices were raised, and blame shifted from one person to the next. Peña, ever the diplomat in the face of chaos, did what he always did—kept his head down, worked the angles, made sure everything was documented. But after hours, when the office cleared out and the city felt too quiet, he found himself alone in a corner of the safehouse, sipping his whiskey in solitude.

I had been just as shaken by the operation as he was, found myself drawn to him. I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was the quiet resilience in his eyes, the way he didn’t pretend to have all the answers but still carried on like the weight of the world didn’t crush him. Or maybe it was just the exhaustion that made me seek out the only other person in the room who seemed to understand what it felt like to lose.

I walked over to him, pausing just outside his peripheral vision. For a moment, neither spoke. It wasn’t until the silence grew too heavy that I finally broke it.

“You good?” I asked quietly, almost too quietly, as though I was testing the waters.

Peña didn’t look up right away. He took another sip of his drink and let the warmth of the liquor settle in his chest before answering. “Yeah. You?”

“About as good as anyone can be after that mess,” I replied, a slight edge of bitterness in my tone.

He nodded, recognizing the sentiment. We both knew that in this line of work, the “messes” were constant. Still, there was something different about this one—it felt personal, like we’d lost more than just the case.

A beat of silence passed. Peña felt the familiar weight of exhaustion drag him down, but I was still standing there, a presence he hadn’t expected but didn’t mind.

Without thinking, he gestured to the empty chair across from him. “Sit,” he said, his voice low, almost tired.

I hesitated for a second, but then I slid into the chair, the weight of our shared fatigue settling between us. Neither said anything for a few moments, but there was a quiet understanding. It was rare in our line of work to find someone who didn’t judge you for the things you did or didn’t do. I wasn’t interested in pretending everything was fine, and neither was Javier. We just… were.

Eventually, Peña broke the silence. “You handled yourself well out there. That’s not easy to do.”

I gave him a brief, appreciative glance, though I didn’t respond right away. The tension between us was palpable but unspoken. We weren’t friends. Not really. We were colleagues, bound by the same purpose. But something about the shared weight of our mission—and the night—made the distance between us feel a little less important.

That night, the conversation shifted to the case, the details of what went wrong, and how we could fix it. It wasn’t much different from the countless debriefs we’d done before. But it felt different, in the way our eyes occasionally met, or the way my hand brushed his as I passed him the files. And by the end of the night, when I stood up to leave, there was a silent question hanging in the air between us.

It wasn’t the first time he had a casual encounter, nor was it the first time we’d both been under pressure. But this felt different. Maybe it was the exhaustion. Or maybe, just maybe, it was because both of us needed something to break the tension, to give us a way to escape from the constant storm of our work, even if only for a few minutes.

Without words, we ended up back in one of the spare rooms. No strings. No expectations. Just a release. The physicality of it offered something the job couldn’t—a momentary break, a way to shed the weight, to forget about the dangers we were facing every day.

It was raw and uncomplicated, and in that fleeting space, we both understood what the other needed. But as the night ended and the dawn came creeping in, neither of us said anything about what had happened. It was just another night in our chaotic lives.

But it wasn’t the last time. And neither of us really knew where it would lead. We just knew we needed it, whatever “it” was.

The tension in the room was thick, and it wasn’t just the heat. Javier Peña stood in front of me, his eyes dark with desire. Without a word, he pulled me into his arms, and my breath caught as his lips crashed against mine. The kiss was deep, urgent—everything we’d both been holding back for too long.

Javier’s hands were rough but gentle as they slid down my back, pulling me closer. My fingers tangled in his hair, and I could feel the heat of his body seeping into mine.

“Te he querido desde el primer momento que te vi,” Javier growled against my lips. (I’ve wanted you since the first moment I saw you.) His words were like a promise, a confession.

My heart raced as I kissed him back, feeling the fire between us ignite. He tasted like something dangerous—strong, unyielding, yet utterly captivating.

He pulled away for just a second, his breath ragged, his forehead resting against mine. “Eres todo lo que necesito,” he whispered, his lips brushing mine with each word. (You’re everything I need.)

I could feel the heat in his words, the raw emotion he rarely showed. My fingers trailed down his chest, feeling the firm muscles beneath the worn shirt.

Javier’s hand slid into my hair, tilting my head back slightly to deepen the kiss. “No sabes lo que me haces sentir,” he murmured, his voice dark and needy. (You have no idea what you make me feel.) His lips moved slowly down my neck, each kiss leaving a mark, a promise.

I couldn’t hold back any longer. I pulled him back to me, my lips capturing his in a desperate, hungry kiss. Javier’s hands slid down my back, gripping me tighter, pressing my body against his.

“Vas a ser mi perdición,” he whispered, his voice low and full of desire. (You’re going to be my downfall.)

My pulse quickened at the intensity in his voice, and I responded by kissing him harder, feeling the same pull, the same inevitability between us. Everything else faded away—there was nothing.

For months, we had managed to keep things casual. What started as a no-strings-attached arrangement between us had turned into something more complicated, though neither of us was ready to admit it. The physical connection was undeniable—intense, satisfying—but beneath it all, emotions had started to creep in, uninvited and unwelcome. We both pretended not to notice.

I liked to joke around, keeping things light, often throwing in playful jabs at him. It was my defense mechanism, a way of guarding myself from what I feared might be slipping into something deeper. I wasn’t sure when the line between friendship and something more had blurred, but it had. And now, it was hard to pretend she wasn’t feeling something more than just the thrill of the next encounter.

He, too, played the game, hiding behind sarcastic remarks and that same casual demeanor that had always been his shield. But every time I teased him, every time I made one of my jokes, it stung a little more than it should. He hated the idea that she might not see him as anything more than just a “friend” in the way he wanted to be seen.

He’d smile it off, pretending it didn’t bother him, but the words she said lingered longer than they should. It wasn’t just her teasing; it was the way she looked at him sometimes, with that softness in her eyes that said something more. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to ask her about it or pretend it wasn’t there.

For all his deflecting, he couldn’t ignore the small things. The way she would linger for a second too long when she touched his arm, the way her laugh seemed to carry a little more warmth when they were alone. She always kept a distance, kept the walls up, but he could sense the cracks forming, the spaces where something else was starting to show.

And myself? I wasn’t blind. I noticed how sometimes he would get quiet, or how his gaze would soften when he looked at me. He wasn’t as unaffected as he liked to act. I couldn’t deny that every time our eyes met, there was a spark—one that neither of us was willing to admit to. I played it off, always covering up with humor, always pretending it didn’t matter. But it did. I knew it did.

For months, we existed in this gray space—where the boundaries were clear, but the feelings never stopped pushing against us. We both understood the rules of our arrangement, but neither had anticipated how much harder it would be to stay detached as our connection deepened.

Every time I laughed, teasing him or making light of our situation, there was something else beneath the surface. Something that hinted at care, maybe even longing. But we never talked about it. We couldn’t. Not if we wanted to keep things simple. And so, we carried on—two people pretending we weren’t on the verge of something we both feared to name.

Javier stood outside y/n apartment, his heart beating faster than usual. It wasn’t just the usual pull he felt toward her—no, this was different tonight. Something about the evening, about the way things had been building between them, had him feeling a bit… off-balance. He knew they were friends with benefits, had been for a few months now, but lately, it had felt like there was something more lingering beneath the surface. Something unspoken, something neither of them was acknowledging.

His knuckles rapped softly on her door, the sound barely making a dent in the silence of the hallway. He could hear movement from inside, the shuffle of footsteps, and then the soft click of the lock as the door opened. She stood in the doorway, her expression soft but inquisitive. Her hair was loose around her shoulders, looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that always made his chest tighten.

“Javi?” I asked, a slight curve to my lips as I leaned against the doorframe. “You ok—”

But Javier didn’t answer her question. The air between us felt thick, charged with something neither of us had ever been brave enough to voice. Before he could even think to respond, he moved forward, stepping into my personal space with a quiet urgency. Without a word, he cupped my face in his hands, and before 8 could register what was happening, he kissed me—deep, hungry, as though he hadn’t seen me in years instead of just a few days.

I gasped against his lips, my hands instinctively reaching up to hold onto him, to steady myself as his kiss deepened. It wasn’t the gentle, teasing kiss we were used to; this was something else, something desperate, something unspoken. I felt it, too—the change in the air between us, the shift in our dynamic.

When we finally broke apart, my breath was ragged, and my pulse was racing. I stared up at him, my eyes wide and searching. “Javi…” I whispered, trying to catch my breath. “Is something wrong?”

Javier didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he rested his forehead against mine, his hands still gently cradling my face, his thumbs brushing across my cheekbones. There were so many things he wanted to say—things that had been building up inside of him for weeks now. But he couldn’t quite find the words. He didn’t know how to say it, how to voice the thing that was gnawing at him, the feeling that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t want to be just friends with benefits anymore.

“I don’t know…” he murmured finally, his voice low, almost uncertain. “I don’t know if something’s wrong. But I needed to see you.”

I searched his eyes, studying the way he held me, the intensity in his gaze. “You could’ve called me,” I said gently, my fingers tracing the edge of his jawline. “You didn’t have to knock on my door like that.”

“I know,” Javier whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “But this… this felt right. This is where I need to be.”

My lips parted as I processed his words. I felt it, too. The pull, the heat between us that was growing with every passing day. But the reality of our arrangement had always been clear—friends with benefits, nothing more. No strings. No complications.

But tonight, it felt like everything was on the verge of changing. And neither of us knew what that meant.

Before I could speak, Javier kissed me again, this time slower, more deliberate. His hands slid down my neck, fingers grazing my collarbones as if he was trying to memorize the feel of my skin. I leaned into him, my hands threading through his hair, holding him close as if I, too, could sense the shift, the uncertainty, the tension that hung between us.

When we broke apart again, this time, there was a new understanding in the air, something unspoken but felt deep in our chests. Javier didn’t say anything, but his eyes—his eyes said it all. He wanted more than this.

I swallowed, trying to find the words that had been on the tip of my tongue, but we all seemed inadequate. I wasn’t sure if I could even articulate the fear, the doubt, the feeling of wanting something more but not knowing if I was ready to risk it.

Instead, I just rested my forehead against his, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. “Javi, we can’t—”

“I know,” he interrupted softly, pressing a kiss to my temple. “I know. But I need to figure it out.”

We stood there in silence for a long moment, holding each other, each lost in our own thoughts. The weight of what we had been, what we were, and what we might become hung between us, too heavy to ignore. Neither of us knew exactly what would come next, but in that moment, the connection was undeniable.

And for the first time in a long while, Javier felt like maybe—just maybe—the line we’d drawn between friendship and something more was starting to blur.

My fingers softly traced the line of his jaw, my voice barely a whisper. “I don’t want things to get complicated, Javi…”

“Neither do I,” he replied, his voice equally quiet but firm. “But I can’t help it. Not with you.”

It was dangerous, we both knew that. We had crossed a line before, and now it felt like we were standing on the edge of something even more uncertain, more terrifying.

But for now, in the quiet, in the stillness of the night, neither of us could deny the spark that had always been there—and that, maybe, was enough for now.

Me and Javier sat in the dimly lit break room, the hum of the coffee machine filling the silence between us.

Javier had been unusually quiet all evening, his eyes focused on the papers spread across the table, smoking his usual cigarette, but his mind clearly somewhere else. I noticed the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenched whenever our eyes briefly met. I had felt it too—the shift, the subtle change that had been creeping between us for weeks now. We had crossed a line, but neither of us had been willing to admit it.

I broke the silence first, my voice soft but firm.

“You’ve been quiet tonight,” I said, leaning back in my chair. “More so than usual. What’s going on?”

Javier hesitated, then glanced up at me. His eyes softened, almost imperceptibly, as if he’d been caught off guard by the question.

“You know, this job…” He trailed off, running a hand through his hair. “It wears on you. People die, things go wrong. We’re in it so deep, sometimes I forget what it’s like to just—” He paused, searching for the right words, “—feel something that isn’t just about getting the next lead or dodging bullets.”

I nodded slowly, my gaze never leaving his. I knew exactly what he meant. I’d been feeling it too, the weight of it all, the constant danger and the darkness of our world creeping into every part of our lives. But what I hadn’t been able to shake was the pull I felt toward him. It had started as nothing more than a moment of comfort in the chaos, a way to numb the tension that hung between us. But over time, it had become something I couldn’t ignore anymore.

“You’ve been acting distant lately,” I said quietly, my voice tinged with an emotion I couldn’t quite name. “Like you’re pulling away.”

Javier’s gaze hardened, but it wasn’t anger. More like confusion, or perhaps vulnerability. “I guess I am. But it’s not about you. It’s… it’s everything. I don’t know how to keep doing this without losing a part of me, y/n. It’s hard to separate what we do from who we are. And when you start to let someone in, even just a little, it feels like you’re asking for trouble.”

My heart skipped a beat. I could feel the weight of his words, the fear behind us. It was the same fear I had been carrying inside myself for weeks now.

Without thinking, I stood up and walked over to him, my movements deliberate, but not without hesitation. I reached for his hand, her my brushing against his. His hand tensed for a moment before he allowed me to hold it.

“You don’t have to pull away, Javi,” I whispered. “I’m not asking for anything more than what we already have. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this, whatever this is.”

His gaze softened, and for the first time that night, he let down his guard, allowing himself to look at me—not as his partner, not as a colleague, but as someone who understood him in a way no one else could.

“I feel it too,” he confessed, his voice low, almost reluctant. “But I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t want to put you at risk. You mean more to me than you know.”

My breath hitched, and I squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You think I don’t know that? We’ve been living in this world together for so long, Javi. I get it. I don’t want to be a liability to you, either. But I can’t ignore how I feel. And I’m not sure I want to anymore.”

Javier let out a slow breath, his thumb lightly brushing the back of my hand. “I’ve spent so much of my life shutting everything else out. It’s easier that way. But you’ve always been different. Maybe that’s the problem.”

I leaned in closer, my voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe it’s not a problem. Maybe it’s just… us.”

Javier’s lips curled into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes but carried a warmth that felt almost like relief. “You know, we might be crazy for this. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t want this too.”

For a moment, neither of us spoke, just standing there in the quiet of the room, both of us realizing the depth of what we’d confessed. It wasn’t just physical. It was the understanding, the shared experiences, the unspoken bond between us that ran far deeper than either had ever been willing to admit.

I reached up, gently touching his cheek, my fingers tracing the familiar lines of his face. “I’m not asking for promises, Javi. Just… not to shut me out.”

He leaned into my touch, his eyes closing briefly as he let the warmth of the moment settle over him. When he opened his eyes again, we were softer, but still guarded.

“I won’t,” he said, his voice steady, but with a hint of something more. “I don’t know what this means for us—what it means for the job—but I’m not going anywhere. Not without you.”

I smiled, the weight that had been pressing on my chest for weeks finally lifting. “Then let’s just take it one day at a time.”

Javier nodded, his hand still holding mine, as we stood together in the quiet of the safehouse, each of us uncertain of what the future held, but for the first time in a long while, willing to face it together.

[hksdlgsyappage]

Backburner

Spencer Reid x readet

C: Angst

Summary: After weeks of silence, you sit in a café, reflecting on the painful realization that Spencer Reid had never made them a priority, for always being second place.

I haven't heard from Spencer in days. It's been weeks, actually. Not that I expected anything different. His job has always come first—always. The BAU, the cases, the people who needed saving. And I was always the one waiting, lingering in the background, hoping that maybe, just maybe, he'd remember me.

But he never did. Not really. Not in the way I needed him to.

Flashback:

It wasn’t supposed to be like this.

I remember the first time I realized I wasn’t a priority to Spencer. We had spent hours together after a particularly brutal case, talking over dinner. We laughed. We shared things about ourselves that we hadn’t told anyone else. It felt real. And for once, I didn’t feel like I was on the outside of his world.

But the next morning, it was gone.

He was already back at the office, drowning in paperwork, absorbed in his work like he always was. I sent him a message, a simple one: “Good morning! I hope you’re doing okay.”

He didn’t reply.

Not for hours.

And when he did, it was the same as always. A few words. Casual. Polite. Nothing more.

I told myself it was fine. That I had to understand. That he was busy, that he was doing important work. But deep down, I knew what was happening. I wasn’t a priority. I was just the person who was always there when he needed someone to talk to, but never someone he would choose when things got hard.

Present:

I’m sitting in the same café where we used to meet—before. Before he pulled away. Before I realized that my feelings were just a shadow in his life. It’s almost ironic, really. I had told myself that if I was patient enough, if I gave him the time he needed, he’d see me. He’d come to his senses.

But that didn’t happen.

It never happens.

And so, I gave up. The final nail in the coffin was a week ago. I had waited by my phone, staring at the screen, hoping for a message that never came. And when it did, it was just another case update. Another report. Another moment where I wasn’t a part of his life.

I could feel myself slipping away, feeling like I was fading into the background of his world. It hurt more than I thought it would. It still does.

So, I walked away.

Flashback:

We were in his apartment, the scent of coffee lingering in the air. It felt familiar, comfortable. I wanted to stay there forever, nestled in the quiet of his presence. But I knew it wasn’t right. I couldn’t keep pretending like this was all okay when I knew, deep down, that it wasn’t.

"Spencer," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "I can’t do this anymore."

He stopped what he was doing, a frown forming on his forehead. "What do you mean?"

I swallowed, trying to find the words. "I can’t keep waiting for you. I can’t keep being your second choice. You say you care about me, but when it comes down to it, you’re always focused on something else. Someone else. I’m just here when you have time for me, but I’m not enough to be a priority."

His face hardened, his jaw clenching. "That's not fair."

"No," I replied, my voice shaking now, "what’s not fair is how I’ve let myself be treated like I’m not enough. I don’t want to be an afterthought. I don’t want to be on your back burner anymore."

He didn’t say anything after that. He didn’t try to fix it, didn’t argue. Just stood there, silent.

And I left.

Present:

The door chimes as it opens, pulling me out of my thoughts. My heart stops, and for a split second, I wonder if I’m imagining it. But no, it’s him. Spencer.

He’s standing in front of me, his face unreadable. I want to ignore him, I want to tell him to leave, but I can’t. I can’t just shut him out when everything inside of me is screaming for him to stay.

"Hey," he says softly, his voice quieter than I remember. "Can we talk?"

My hands tremble, the remnants of anger and hurt still fresh in my chest. The audacity of him to think that now, after everything, we can just talk. After weeks of silence, after everything I put into this... now he wants to talk?

I look at him, my mouth dry. "You can’t just walk back into my life, Spencer. You can’t just show up now like nothing happened. You left me. I waited, and I waited, and you never even noticed. And now you think that you can just... what? Make it better?"

He takes a step closer, his eyes searching mine. "I know I screwed up," he says, his voice breaking. "I’ve been... I’ve been a fool. You didn’t deserve that. You didn’t deserve to feel like you were second place."

I want to scream at him. I want to tell him how much it hurt. How much I still feel the emptiness of his absence. But I just stay silent, because I already know. I already know the answer.

"I’m sorry," he continues, his words almost a whisper. "I didn’t mean for it to happen this way. I was so focused on everything else, and I didn’t see how much I was hurting you."

I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head. "You think saying ‘I’m sorry’ is enough? You think that makes it better?"

His eyes widen in pain, and I know I’ve hit a nerve. But I can’t stop now. I can’t let him off the hook. Not when I’ve been holding myself together for so long, waiting for him to notice.

"I don’t even know who I am anymore when you’re around," I whisper, my voice cracking. "I put everything aside for you, but you never asked me to stay. You never asked me to be a priority. I can’t keep doing this. I’m done being your afterthought."

His eyes search mine, desperate now. "I never meant for you to feel like that. You were never an afterthought. You—"

I stand up, cutting him off. "Then why did I feel like I was always on the back burner?"

I turn to leave, my heart heavy, my throat tight. I don’t know if he’s following me, if he’s even said anything. I can’t hear anything over the sound of my own pulse, the ache in my chest threatening to consume me.

But before I reach the door, I feel his hand on my arm. It’s warm, and I want to pull away, but I don’t.

"Please," he whispers. "Don’t go. I’m trying. I will do better. I want to be better for you. For us."

I look at him, my face wet with tears I hadn’t realized I was shedding. "You can’t just want to be better, Spencer. You have to actually do it."

I pull away from his grasp and walk out of the café, my chest heavy with the weight of the words I’ve said. And as I leave, I know something for sure: this time, I won’t wait.

[blu3haw4]

Hi! Hello, you guys remember I said I had an extended shot for Clexmas free day that was basically done? That I told you to forget about when I posted the little oneshots? That I thought I would be able to write before the year was over? 😅 Well it's here! After days and days of neglecting it and then hours of writing and editing and writing some more and then... much more than I originally planned.

A continuation of my Clextober contribution The Halloween Party

For Clexmas 2024, Day 7: Free day (already on AO3)

and a little bonus only for tumblr

The Christmas Party(es)

“Gala? Define gala?”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll pick your dress”

“You will absolutely not pick my dress, Clarke!” Lexa all but stumped on her feet, standing in Clarke’s living room as the blonde lay on her couch.

“Why not? Aren’t there more important things you should worry about?”

And she might have a point, these past two months have been full of gathering information on the hunters and possible enemy creatures -they’ve also been full of making out, but they don’t talk about that- and tonight it might all come together. They have a few leads on the hunters’ plan and tonight might be the chance to crack exactly how much they know about the wolves and if they’re getting help from the creatures they suspect.

“Look there’s a lot of names and faces you should at least know of. Did you read the subjects these people like to talk about that I sent you?” Clarke pressed, still very casually laying on her couch.

Because that was the key point of this particular party, it wasn’t just about the hunters, it was about the people who founded them, knowingly or not. The people that are throwing this Christmas gala aren’t all hunters, and they were the people Clarke thought they should worry about the most.

“I- didn’t, I mean yeah, I looked them over-”

“You need to know what they’ll be talking about; we’re not going to get anywhere near the information you want if they clock the fact that you’re not one of them. This is a fancy, glamorous Christmas themed party. An excuse to look hot and show off their money, really” Clarke rolled her eyes dramatically “If we don’t look and act the part, they’ll kick us out in not time”

Lexa sighed, Clarke had a point- “So… you worry about the character details, and I will worry about us dressing the part”

“Clarke-”

“Our outfits will match, and they’ll be bulletproof!” Clarke grinned, sitting up with excitement.

“Bulletproof?” Lexa yelped “We’re planning for that type of night?” she asked -ignoring the matching thing- concerned… only to have Clarke’s mood immediately change.

“No” she huffed “but we didn’t think Halloween was going to be one of those night either and yet…” Clarke looked up with raised eyebrows and pursed lips, still bitter about outcome of that night.

And okay, that was fair.

That night hadn’t ended in any of the ways Lexa had expected.

After telling Clarke not to follow -mostly so she wouldn’t have to face the consequences of their make out. Too drunk and too shaken to even consider what to say and how processes the argument between her head and her heart… and her pussy, a little, if she was honest- she ran to the warning howls of her people.

It hadn’t been an emergency, but she had decided to go anyways because Indra’s team had been ambushed by hunters. They had had encounters with them before, but mostly because they had been purposely sniffing around their business. This time, the hunters had been the ones to track them down.

When Lexa arrived, both Anya and Indra’s teams were fighting a big group of hunters in between alleys, and she joined in even though she knew they had it under control. The ringing of their silenced shotguns had stopped for a few minutes while most hunters were forced into hand-to-hand combat.

Then, one singular shot rang out followed by a loud curse.

“What. The Fuck?!"

Lexa had turned to look just in time to see Clarke grabbing the wrist of the hunter who shot her as a second shot ran out, said bullet hitting the wall beside them. There was a bullet hole in the back of her dress with a stain of blood dripping from the closed wound where the bullet had clearly made it out.

“You just ruined my fucking dress!” was the anticlimactic sentence that left Clarke’s mouth before she lashed out cracking a few of the hunter’s bones and throwing him away.

She launched herself to the other hunters and got shot in the stomach before she could take the remaining three out.

“Fucking… Fuckers!” She shouted, breathing a little heavy and clearly -at least to Lexa- drunk “I loved this dress, you bitch!” she scowled kicking a dead hunter to the other side of the alley.

Whit a look, Lexa sent both teams away and didn’t care that Anya and Indra both remained when she approached Clarke. With a million things in her head, there was really nothing she could do when the words out of her mouth were “I told you not to follow”

The huff Clarke let out felt like a slap in the face, she turned sharply to look at her with a deep frown “I wasn’t. I was literally on my way home, when I got fucking shot!” She exasperated, and didn’t bother to avoid her shoulder when she walked past her “You’re welcome, by the way” she huffed before jumping all the way up to her building’s roof top.

Because of course the fight happened right beside her place.

So okay, it was cool that their dresses were bulletproof. What was probably not okay was Clarke picking the type of dress Lexa would wear.

“Tik-tak, Heda”

“Okay fine! I’ll read about these people, you pick my dress, but Clarke-” She warned her, pointing at her with a look stopping the vampire’s excitement “Have them ready two days before”

“What?  Why?”

“So I can make sure you picked something appropriate or find something else” Lexa huffed as she started to walk out the door.

“Of course it’s going to be appropriate! What makes you think I would pick something inappropriate?” Clarke asked with a smirk.

Lexa turned around and they shared a look, one that ran out all the memories they’ve shared these past two months, one that showed how easy it would be to stop pretending like none of it happened and let loose.

After Halloween they didn’t contact each other for a week, Lexa making herself busy gathering and connecting the information they had, and Clarke… well, living her life as far as Lexa could tell. Anya kept her updated without Lexa asking, she didn’t follow her, but Clarke kept showing up when Anya and her team were on their vigilante’s adventures as she had been since before Halloween.

When they finally saw each other again they just jumped straight to business mode, with Lexa filling Clarke in on the theories she had, and Clarke helping her plan meetings with specific creatures she thought could or would help.

They went out five times in two weeks.

At the end of the first night, they cleared the air with a few jokes about the fight; it had clearly been a coincidence. Jokes about the fight, though, turned to jokes about the night, which turned into flirting and easily, naturally, turned into them kissing.

It was intoxicating, addictive. Lexa kept trying to avoid it, or so she told herself as each night she continued to proposedly, actively push for it to happen.

And throughout-fully enjoy it.

They never talked about it, but just as each night they got bolder and bolder, each next time Clarke looked more and more sure that they should mention it. If only to make sure it keeps happening…

Or maybe Lexa was projecting, but it was easier to pretend like she was just giving in to what Clarke wanted than to admit to herself how much she craved it.

So once again, she shut it down.

“Two days earlier Clarke!” she called before closing the door.

“Ugh. Fine”

-

The dress was fine, with a little more cleavage than Lexa would’ve liked -she would reconsider later-, but perfectly appropriate. The silky cloth bunching around her hips made her feel good and the way the open back teased the end off her tattoo was just about everything she wanted Clarke to focus on. The color also, matched perfectly to Clarke’s jumpsuit, which was… way more appropriate that Lexa anticipated.

Somehow that made it so much worse for her.

Because she prepared for long milky legs, for too short skirt and a teas of her ass, she prepared for cleavage and a perfectly shaped necklace falling in between, she didn’t prepare for Clarke’s arms to be the most skin showed, for the power she extruded with her hands on her pokes and the sexy show of her clavicles on top of the flat line of her jumpsuit’s collar that fell, perfectly covering the actual size of her boobs. She prepared to resist the urge to stare at Clarke’s body, not her face.

Because, damn it, her face.

Clarke absolutely noticed, all too content to stare at Lexa’s cleavage to ‘make it even’ and make a show of speaking oh so close to her face to ‘cover the staring’  -“you can know, but they can’t” she said with a smirk and a wink- it was ridiculous and way too distracting but somehow… it was working to their favor.

Each conversation they took part on moved them closer to the people they needed, and it all felt effortless, they laughed at the most classist comments and Lexa had to cover her reaction each time Clarke threw one of her own like second nature with that light drop of sarcasm underneath. They stared at each other way too much and hushed little jokes about how full of themselves these people were. They flirted a lot too; it was a little ridiculous how little of their sentences lacked flirt honestly, but it was fun, and it was working and Lexa felt good.

Until she didn’t.

Moving closer to the people they needed meant she started to recognize the faces she had studied. And then some. There were a bunch of hunters she spied on from afar on their missions, and many she easily remembers from the warehouse, all mingling with the wealthy people who founded them. Eyes were always on her since they walked in, and now she started questioning if it was because they recognized her more than because of how hot they both looked.

Her heartbeat picked up and her breath heaved as she tried her best to discretely check her surroundings. Lexa mindlessly started walking into a more secluded area of the gallery they were at, not caring or noticing if Clarke followed.

Her vision started clouding and her hearing got randomly specific, picking up on sentences and then jumping to another person, another heartbeat, another click of heels. Her smell wasn't helping either, only making her overwhelmed- and where the fuck was the exit!

Unable to recognize or care where she was going in her haste to get out, she failed to realize she was walking into the corridors of the gallery instead of outside. Her ears and nose picking up the scent of a guard far too late, and her feet not listening, never stopping, but somehow, she did.

In two blinks her back was against the wall and the only thing all her senses could notice was Clarke. All over her, body pressed fully into hers, a hand interwinding with hers and the other in her hair, her lips on hers, nose pressing to her cheek, Clarke’s hip in her hand.

It was grounding, and all the same earth-shattering. Her breath caught and she caught Clarke’s tongue with her lips, her body molded to her instinctively, one hand squeezed Clarke’s and the other pulled at her hips to keep her close.

It didn’t feel like a loss when Clarke’s lips left hers. It took Lexa a second to blink back into reality and realized Clarke had pulled her face away, looking to the side and talking-

“Yes, sir, we’ll be right out” The vampire smiled apologetically at the guard and used her hold on Lexa to pull her away from the wall and down the corridor back to the main room.

Some of the panic came back but was soothed by the soft caressing of Clarke’s hands on the back of hers and the comforting press of the other over the small of her back. In no time they were out on a huge balcony with stairs down into the giant flower yard and Lexa came back to her senses enough to let go of Clarke’s hand, step away from her and lean over the railing.

Lexa could tell Clarke was giving her time to breathe it out, to calm her heart and mind.

“Am I… the only one who knows?” Clarke asks eventually, and Lexa doesn’t answer right away.

She looks at her, trying to play dumb, but Clarke just tilts her head and gives Lexa a soft look, gives her time to accept it.

So, Lexa nods. Small and tired and she looks down and away.

Clarke gets closer to her “We should go”

“We can’t” Lexa immediately raises her eyes “The intel-“

“We can get it another time. You shouldn’t be here”

“I’ll be fine. I- I just needed a minute-“

“Lexa. You can’t be here” Clarke says grabbing her chin softly, Lexa thinks it might be pity. But under deeper examination there’s nothing but understanding in those eyes.

Lexa’s ready to argue still, but Clarke starts talking again “What you went through was traumatizing, okay? I bet you’re telling yourself you’re a big bad wolf and that you’ve been hurt thousands of times before and that you can handle it. But you freaking out like this? Instinctively running away and losing control of your senses? You have PTSD. And you shouldn’t have to face the people who caused it before you’re ready. I won’t let you; you deserve time to heal from it… Okay?”

Lexa blinks once, twice, she can’t be sure, but the millisecond Clarke’s eyes change tell her that her own might’ve gotten a little sparkle right before her hands tangled in Clarke’s hair to kiss her, hard and deep, and so good. Clarke loses her balance for a second before recovering and holding onto Lexa for dear life.

It’s only one kiss, it lasts a full minute but it’s only one. Lexa parts with a sigh and Clarke licks her lips, smiling dopily.

“Are we really gonna continue not talking about this?” she whispers, and Lexa can’t believe how easily Clarke gets silly.

“I think I’ve made it clear that it is not about the job. What else do you want to talk about?” She replies after a beat. And Clarke stares at her like she wants to say something, like she would like to talk about it more, instead she rejoins their lips softly.

She moves smoothly and presses Lexa against the railing in the balcony as they continue to make out. Lexa noticed the high -highest- heels Clarke picked for herself, realized she had hopes of getting to be taller, or at least the same height as Lexa tonight, but she should’ve known the she-wolf would go all out as well.

They hear people making their way over the balcony, and they maybe push their luck a little when they only separate right as the people are turning the corner. They smile at each other and bite down on their lips to suppress the urge to kiss. They walk away as casually as they can while practically glued to each other.

-

A couple of days later Clarke texts Lexa telling her there’s a corporate party that weekend, she tells her it’s way more casual than the gala and they talk all about their outfits. Lexa arrives at Clarke’s that Saturday in her dark green slick blouse and a black flannel skirt to find Clarke in a mouthwatering dark green long sleeve velvet dress much shorter than Clarke had mentioned, and with much more cleavage.

“Hey! You look great! We should go, I might’ve misread the invite, and we might be a little late”

“What? What about the plan, you didn’t tell me what we have to do, who will be there, what’s the-“

“Oh right, yeah. Uhm, no plan. Just… be you… well, human you”

“But the… intel?”

“It’s… well-” Clarke sighs and Lexa frowns at her, she’s going to ask again when Clarke pulls her into her apartment “You see that folder over there?” She points at her kitchen counter “That’s all and more information than we would’ve gotten last weekend…”

Lexa blinks a few times, not sure what to make of the information and how to feel about it, at her silence Clarke continues “I-Uhm, got it this week and it will be there when we get back… tonight is my studio’s corporate party, and it’s just… for fun” She shrugs, and Lexa can’t tell if she’s nervous or just not used to been honest and serious at the same time.

Lexa doesn’t move, looking between the folder on the kitchen counter and a very sexy looking Clarke. Since she said casual but classy, Lexa opted for knee high boots to compliment her outfit, while Clarke wore the same high heels from the formal gala meaning Lexa was eye level with… a wonderful view.

“You …? You” Lexa sighs a laugh in disbelief, all Clarke does is smile at her and fo willingly when Lexa leans up and pulls her down for a kiss.

They melt into it for the short time it last and Lexa looks at Clarke yearningly when they part, not knowing what to say or how to thank her. Clarke seems to get it though, or wants to dismiss it, because she pecks her lips one more time and slide her hands into hers.

“Ready to go? I wasn’t lying when I said we might be late” she says with a wink.

She’s so fucked.

-

The party was so much fun. Clarke gave Lexa a bottle of the same elixir they drank at the Halloween party so they could get drunk and they drank too much wine and champagne and ate every little appetizer offered to them. Lexa met Clarke’s work friends -though she refused to refer to them as anything but colleagues- Bellamy and Wells, as well as Clarke’s boss Abigail; a woman that reminds Lexa of Indra in many ways, including the warm look in her eyes under the stoic façade.

Lexa gets to learn a lot about Clarke’s life here, she learns that Clarke Griffin is a 27 going on 28 years old graphic designer who works from home and only shows up at the office for important meetings or specific deadlines. She’s nice to everyone but almost never goes out, she’s still known for holding her booze and killing it at darts. She’s closer to Bellamy and Wells because they are the only people beside their boss that spend most of their time away from the office, they are down to earth, and Clarke swears they’ve hooked up but she can’t prove it.

They spend most of the time just talking quietly to each other. It’s easy to smile more and lean into Clarke. To touch her hand and caress her arms, to soak in the warmth of Clarke’s hands on her hips and back.

To comfortably slide her glace sideways and be met with Clarke’s cleavage.

A much better view than the one from the top of the five stories building. That wasn’t anything spectacular, but the ambiance given to the rooftop with little fairy lights and a few benches around the edge made it look cozy despite the breeze. Made it even easier to get handsy with Clarke while they make out in one of the benches after Clarke guided Lexa up the emergency stairs, a few hours into the party declaring they were done mingling.

They part their lips eventually because even though Clarke doesn’t need to breath Lexa does. She heaves a breath and tries not to be embarrassed about it as they share a look, she’s not very classy straddling Clarke as she lays on her back. Her skirt is up too high as she leans on her elbows on either side of Clarke’s head. Her breathing shouldn’t be an issue, honestly. Their mouths are inches apart, but Lexa doesn’t let Clarke lean up as she looks at her eyes with a tilt of her head.

“What’s so interesting?”

“Your eyes... are shifting” Lexa realizes “Black and blue”

“Must be that I’m thirsty” Clarke winks with an overly confident smirk.

“They were red at the gala” Lexa deflects “After we made out” she smirks and Clarke full on grins with another wink.

“Again. Thirst”

“What's the difference?”

Clarke huffs with a pout after trying to lean up for a kiss again and getting a question instead “I hope you know I was having much more fun when we were kissing”

“Well miss, you ask a lot of questions about werewolf and answer none about vampires, so indulge me for once”

With another huff and a slight eye roll Clarke starts taking “you know the black is hunger. Red is... similar, is hunger while there's blood in my system”

“So, you haven't fed?”

“Not... that recently”

“Shouldn't you?”

“I’m fine. If they shift when I kiss you what do you think that means?”

Lexa smirks, but deflects again “so you feel it? When they shift?”

“Can you?” Clarke deflects as well, lifting an eyebrow.

“Yeah” Lexa answers right away, shifting her eyes to red, her signature alpha color “just like I can feel my fangs and... every other part of shifting”

Clarke hums and frows slightly “I can't... mostly. I know they go black when I get my fangs out and I can... feel? Like they might be black when I'm too thirsty. And I can will them to red. I do feel that one... it's almost like they are actually filling with blood.”

“Whoa... that's… insane”

“You know what's insane?” And she leans up to kiss her. Lexa sighs a giggle into her mouth and feels Clarke smirk into the kiss as well.

“We should get you something to eat” Lexa hushes between kisses.

“I’m fine right here”

“We could go and come back. Kill a bad guy and be back”

“Kill? In these outfits?!” Clarke yelps pulling back from the kiss “Are you insane? I ain't spilling on this dress”

Lexa huffs a little laugh and tries again “Well drink from some-...” only to stop, not wanting to finish that sentence, to suggest Clarke go out to make out with someone else.

“I shouldn't. I could accidentally kill 'em” Clarke shrugs and Lexa tilts her head once again, confused… Only to have Clarke chuckle.

“I need to tell you how much of a puppy you look when you do that”

It’s an instant reaction at the name, to fang out, shift her eyes and growl out “don't call me that”

Clarke doesn’t flinch, because of course she doesn’t. With Lexa still lowly growling Clarke pecks her lips “Sorry” and kisses her again “I won’t-” but this time Lexa sits up when Clarke leans a third time.

She huffs and gets comfortable on Clarke’s pelvis “What did you mean?” She asks, because she won’t let Clarke get away with it after she -unknowingly- insulted her. Now matter how outstandingly beautiful she looked laying under her “Accidentally, how?”

“You just don't let thing go do ya?”

“You just can't give a straight answer, can you?”

“Can't do much straight” Clarke grins with a way-over-the-top wink.

Lexa resist, tries her best at containing a smile, cover her giggle with a huff and an eye roll. She knows Clarke can see right through but nevertheless, it works. Clarke sighs and rolls her eyes as hard as she can.

“I told you the black eyes are hunger but... I like to think of it more as instinct. And blue eyes are... consciousness. Instinct and consciousness fight all the time. Hunger triggers instinct, instinct takes over consciousness. Just from hunger my eyes turn black, they do when I scent blood. Imagine how it goes when I taste it” Clarke shrugs casually, and Lexa can’t help but like it “told you I can't really feel when they're shifting, but I can tell instinct is trying to take over”

Lexa hums, ignoring the relief of knowing Clarke won't be kissing other people... tonight at least “so it is trying to take over now” she says, trying to quiet her mind.

Clarke sighs again, roll her eyes pointedly at her and Lexa notices they’re blue “yeah” she leans up on her elbows “but it's manageable, no one's bleeding out” She raises her eyebrows with a tilt of her as she gets closer to her face “Also I have bags of blood at home” she winks with a little smirk.

“Oh so we still have time” Lexa smirks too not giving into the kiss yet.

“Preferably to continue the kissing” Clarke groans, pulls at her by the hips and connects their lips. Lexa nods giggling into the kiss, and interweaving her hands in Clarke's hair to deepen the kiss.

*

Bonus. Clarke's PoV (not on ao3)

The kiss is full of tongue and teeth, deep and dirty, Clarke’s hands grabs at Lexa to pull her close, nuzzle her nose with her when Lexa pulls back to take a breath and dives right back into it when Lexa captures her lips again. It’s a well know dance they do, have been doing for the past two months, Lexa no longer hiss when her tongue graces Clarke’s fangs, and she lets Clarke nib on her lower lip, even pouting it out for her.

Is totally accidental when on a particular hard kiss, Clarke nibs a little too hard tearing Lexa’s skin and making her bleed a little. Lexa hisses and pulls away quickly, licks her lip and the wound is already closed. Clarke zeros in on Lexa’s mouth, her own mouth still parted until Lexa kisses her again, clearly having moved on.

Clarke answers the kiss on instinct, grabbing at Lexa more firmly and pulling her close, even closer, impossibly closer. Because she got a taste, a taste of the blood she scented however many months ago and ruined her for worse; made her unable to follow a patter of feeding and unable to satiate from any blood that wasn’t Lexa’s.

She knew it couldn’t be just that she was a wolf, she knew it couldn’t be about her been an alpha, but hell desperation drove her places and she tried both, mind controlling both wolfs to forget about it after and ending up equally as unsatisfied as with any human.

Lexa parts with a heavy breath, holding Clarke’s head and keeping her from chasing. But doesn’t she try, angles for her jaw and only blinks back to reality when Lexa pulls at her hair -and so what if that turned her on?-

‘I need to feed’ she thinks, still staring at Lexa’s lips, processing the addictiveness of Lexa’s blood, just a drop and it was intoxicating. She blinks again, realizing Lexa isn’t diving back like before. She licks her lips and looks up to see Lexa watching her.

Is it possible to smirk only with your eyes?

“Do you need to go home?” She asks, sweetly because of course she thinks she knows what she’s doing.

Lexa never seemed to think Clarke could be a danger to her. Lexa trusted her from before she got proof that she was right, and then settled for one singular proof without any more information. Even if Clarke literally yelled at her that she was wrong.

How terrible it was that she is just as addictive as her blood.

“Clarke?”

And she’s been staring, not even at her mouth, just her eyes, her deep red eyes- “Why red?”

“Because yours are black” Lexa doesn't miss a beat.

And okay, there has been many, many times through her -long, long, long, long ass- life where Clarke has been thankful for been a vampire. Tonight, she's thankful that she can't blush, nor lose her breath or have her heart miss a beat. Because all of those would be dead give aways she does not need Lexa knowing about.

“I told you I can’t help it” She tries with a frown, needing Lexa to shift her eyes back to green, because red… red is new, red is blood, red is not something she’s prepared for, red is something she can't have, red should be forbidden. Green? Green is known, green is good, is fun drunk nights, and long talks and smiles. Green is innocent making out -with wandering hands but still- green is smirks and blushed cheeks. And green- is back.

“Better?” Clarke only nods “Yours are still black so I’m going to guess you do need to go home”

“That would be a good idea. Yep.” She nods again, standing up with Lexa still in her lap and enjoying the missed beat of Lexa’s heart before she puts her down.

They walk back down hand in hand ‘to make sure you won’t run away’ Lexa says and Clarke is too content to call out her lie.

Lexa walks her home and kisses her goodbye at the entrance of her building. She’s still thinking about it when she enters her apartment and heads straight for the fridge. She’s happily surprised to realize she’s only thinking about Lexa and her kisses and not her blood, nevertheless, she dries out all five of the bags she has in storage.

The next day, Clarke wakes up from a magic induced sleep to a dead body in her kitchen. Lexa isn't there, neither is the folder from the night before, just an open window and a note.

Thanks for last night

♡.

[hardyshoe]

Sonnenblumen - Chapter six: Anemones, for anticipation.

⚘⚘⚘

On the twelfth of December, you pull on two jumpers under your thickest coat and walk out into the field. It had started snowing in the night when you were in Aegon’s dorm, he had woken you when the sky was bleeding orange into purple and kissed you until he started swearing at the hour. The magic of fearful excitement had chased you to the perimeter of the grounds, past the backs of buildings and in between tree lined paths. He had taken you all the way to the back gates under the crystalline dawn, his white hair glowing pink under the catching snowflakes.

There is no colour to the sky now, just a roiling mass of grey clouds. You stand in the middle of the field, close enough to startle the birds from the trees when you clap your boots together to shake the clumping snow loose.

It is ten o’clock, and the sun has forgotten to rise.

Your nose burns from the cold with every breath you take and you can feel the ends of your hair begin to stiffen and freeze but you stay where you are.

A mechanical screech in the distance pulls you in its direction, just a step, and you rock forwards onto your toes when the steam starts to pour from the tree line as though the woods themselves were on fire. The first glimpse of the locomotive, burning forwards in all its crimson glory, evokes flames in the base of your lungs. They smoulder with the deep breath you take to try and douse them.

You watch it shuttering past in flashes, speeding up as it rockets away for a distant destination. You remain rooted to the spot even after the last gasps of steam have cannibalised themselves in the sky. In the wake, the air smells like longing, and your veins course thickly with powerlessness.

When you walk home, turning with reluctance from the woods, you feel alone in a way that you hadn’t when you left.

As small as it makes you feel to do so, you let the tears burn down your cheeks without wiping them away. Not even when they start to chill at your neck on their way down. However, when you get to your room and are faced with your reflection, the tracks of fine, pale salt start to irritate your skin. Confronted by the silence of his absence, everything starts to feel too much, too hot, too tight. Wrong in an unfixable way.

You start shedding off the clothes you're wearing with frantic panic making your hands fumble. The necks of the jumpers catch on the pins in your hair and pull harshly at your scalp, leaving your two plaits wispy and tangled. Left only in your slip, the cold catches up on you quickly and your numb fingers sting against your feverish skin as they trace across the neckline to hover shakily over the yellowing bruise he had left that night with his lips and his teeth. It is all you have of him to cling to and the way it loses its colour at the edges, the border between you and the barest visage of him fading, makes you feel all the more powerless.

How unfair it seems that, in a few days, you will be robbed of this too.

⚘⚘⚘ Dear Aegon,

I hope you have made it back to London safe and well and that it is not as miserable as you feared it would be. I went to watch the train go past, I confess I had a moment of wanting to chase it. I will also confess that I am writing this the same afternoon. I don’t know when it will get to you but I expect you will be itching to leave again by then.

If you have a great escape planned, which I am sure that you do, please don’t let it be some faraway land that will keep you away from my dull corner of England. Please don’t come back with any new scars either, you must save some space for ones made in happiness, not moments of pain.

It is mad to say, but I miss you. I missed you when you left me at the gates and I missed you all the days in between. I think I miss you every moment that you are not around. However, watching you steam away made it feel all the more difficult. I can feel the distance stretching between us even as I write this.

I want you to know that I don't regret a thing of what we did the other night. I did not know it would be like that, so tender and so lovely. I feel as though you took a little bit of my soul when we did what we did. I don’t mind, I am glad for it, I give it willingly. I will treasure what you have given me of yourself forever.

Please tell Daeron that I say hello, I dearly hope he is doing better now that he is home. Tell him that the next time I see him it will be under better circumstances when I can get to know him better.

I will end here, with you being away I fear I will have very little to report on and I must therefore ration what I want to say. I look forward to hearing from you, though saying it like that feels an understatement.

Your sunflower. Ps. I would very much like to kiss you right now, so much so that I can think of little else.

⚘⚘⚘

The girls come back, one stronger than last time with the return of Mary. Barbara seems lighter with the tiny girl by her side, smiling easier. She has shed her self-conscience, no longer moving like her legs feel too long.

Mary is just as you remember her, so happy that it pours from her. She hasn’t stopped smiling since they arrived, when Barbara tucks her under her arm in the corner of the booth, she laughs at nothing and leans in closer.

It is nice to be among them, to think about something other than the fact that it is a Wednesday and Aegon is not coming. Still, your reflexes have you watching the door when the conversation lulls.

Since telling them that he has gone home for the holidays, they haven't asked you anything at all. You think they can sense that their teasing would not go down in the way it had last time. The odd numbness badgering at you still has you excusing yourself under the guise of needing another drink.

“Where’s your gentleman caller then?” Bill asks as he sidles into the space next to you at the bar, shaking his glass at your mother over your shoulder.

Brian appears on your other side, the pair making for an almost humorous dichotomy with Bill towering over you and Brian hardly coming up to your shoulder. “Yes, we were planning on challenging him.”

“Challenging him?” you echo, not quite following.

They both mine throwing darts, “to a game of course.”

“Oh,” is all you can muster. The pair are known for being territorial over the board. You recall a time, some years ago, when the young mining boys had come in, still sooty and blinking at the overhead lights. They had sat themselves down on the nearest table to the board and waited for their turn. Four hours and many rounds later, they had given you dismayed shouts when you had rung the bell for the end of the night. Bill and Brian had clapped them on the backs as they made their way to the door.

“You see, young lady, on the very rare occasion that he isn’t staring a hole in that there door, waiting for you to come down,” Bill starts, poking you in the arm until you watch him gesture over to the door up to the flat.

Brian finishes, “He watches us play.”

“I’ve even caught him lining up shots in the air a few times.”

You can picture that so vividly it makes you laugh weakly.

“So,” Brian continues, a cheeky grin on his face to match that of his best friend, “we have decided to challenge him for the affections of our favourite barmaid.”

It's incredibly sweet, especially coming from two men who so rarely leave their little corner. You don't quite know what to say.

“We need to make sure he’s good enough for you, don’t we Bri?” The man in question nodes sagely.

You're a little choked up when you finally do find your words. “You two are too good to me.”

“Not at all,” Brian says, Bill nudges you on the arm with his pint. They head back to the darts board and you call after them as they go.

“I will tell him when he gets back in the new year, but you have to promise me not to be too hard on him.”

“Anything for you, my dear,” Bill says but you watch him elbow Brian in the side where his shirt sleeve is pinned to the shoulder of his shirt. They share a wry smile.

You hardly have a moment to recover before you are called for again.

“Come back to us quickly,” Marlene begs as she takes you by the arm. “Barbara and Mary have started using big sciency words and I think they have short circuited Joan.”

You laugh and let yourself be dragged along, picking up the end of Mary’s fast and excitable rambling. “-an essay on benzene in organic chemistry from one of the girls in my class, it’s absolutely fascinating. She was kind enough to let me take it to the library and run it through the xerographic copier so you can read it too, Barb.”

Barbara smiles happily and lets her witter on.

“Where’s my present?” Joan asks and Marlene swats her on the arm for it when Mary’s face falls.

“Oh! I’m so sorry Joan. Did you want a copy too? I didn’t think it was your sort of thing but I can go and make another one if you want?” Her genuine sincerity has Barbara burying her face in Mary’s shoulder. You hide your laughter in your drink but Marlene cannot contain herself.

Mary looks at her, confused, which only makes Marlene laugh even harder. Mary then starts to pester Baraba for an explanation of what is so funny. You turn to the room, still chuckling, and look onto the Christmas tree near the fireplace.

Your mind begins to float in a familiar direction, the tides unchanging. Leading back to the same shore every time.

What must he be doing? All those hundreds of miles away. You have tried picturing his house so many times, always a tall, grand thing somewhere terribly important; on a road lined with shining motorcars. He looks so funny when you try to put him there with his rolled trousers and cardigans missing half their buttons.

You are glad, at the very least, that Daeron has gone home. The image of him in that freezing corridor haunts you. You think of how he had cried for his mother and hope that she has it in her to show him some kindness. Perhaps some of what she has withheld from her eldest son.

You hear your name being called and leave the thoughts of a shaggy blond head silhouetted in the darkness, up high in the window of a house he is too alive to haunt.

“Yes, yes. Sorry.” You say, shaking yourself. Barbara squeezes your shoulder and you blink hard at the understanding in the gesture.

“We were asking if you wanted to come Christmas shopping with us next week?” Asks Joan, somewhat tentative.

It is both a step forward and back. Out from your cave of self-imposed exile and back into the village. You try to quell the disquiet by speaking before it can overwhelm you. It is an imperfect solution but it works for the moment.

“That would be nice, thank you.” You say and they all smile at you. It's nice, nice as it always was. You still feel like you're having to leave a bit of yourself behind for it though.

⚘⚘⚘

Dear Aegon,

I am sorry for writing to you again before you have replied to my first letter but I truly do not know what else to do with my thoughts. The girls came by on Wednesday, it was nice. Barbara is so happy now that Mary is back. I kept thinking you would come through the door, they would say something and I would laugh and forget for a moment and then the door would open, and it wasn’t you.

I am going to go shopping with them in a few days, and might even get you something if you're lucky…

Anyway, I really hope you're doing okay. I am looking forward to hearing how you are, what you're getting up to and such.

Your sunflower. Ps. You might like to practise your darts playing, I don’t know if you have ever played but unless you want your arse handed to you by Bill and Brian you really ought to spend some time on it. They were very sweet, I think they are quite fond of you really. Not that they would say as much though.

⚘⚘⚘

Your mother is elbow deep in a bowl of mince pie filling. You sit across the table from her shaping little pastry cases. The kitchen windows are open on her insistance that the chilled air is better for the butter in the pastry. The day outside is bright in that watery-pale way of midwinter.

Frank Sinatra’s ‘Songs for young lovers’ is spinning on your player, brought down from your bedroom to sit on the kitchen counter. Her choice, you raised an eyebrow but she just smiled evasively.

You've been at it nearly half an hour, working in comfortable silence. Then she speaks, “So,” she starts and you know to brace yourself, “How is Aegon?”

She isn’t looking at you, eyes focused deliberately on the red gingham oilcloth on the table.

“I haven’t heard from him yet,” you say, trying to keep your tone lighter than the weight of the words on your tongue.

“Oh?” she questions, her brows pinching. You can see that she is looking at you but you keep your eyes on the little cases.

Her tone doesn’t help with the game of avoidant denial you have been playing and you try not to let your shoulders drop visibly. It has been a week and a half since you watched the train take him away and still, nothing. No thinking can make post go that slowly even on a second class stamp, not if he had sent one even a few days after getting your first.

“I don’t know, he might just be really busy. I know he told me that Christmases there aren’t quiet, his mother hosts all these events…” you trail off, she catches the hint and leaves well alone for the moment.

“Hurry up with those, my girl or I will make you stir the next batch of mince.”

You follow her instructions quickly. It is a tradition every year at the pub. In the days leading up to Christmas, you and your mother make a truly obscene amount of mince pies and sell them for two shillings with a pint. This is the first year in memory that your mother hasn’t had to do a whip around of ration points for something. It was only butter last year but it had still left her with a funny energy, guilty despite the kindness she was doing.

She is taking the opportunity to go all out, more of everything than you have ever seen before. She sent you to the grocers for the currants and the old man and his wife had smiled and only let you pay for half. They said they were looking forward to coming down to the pub when the pies were ready.

It is therapeutic in the way that a diverting task always is, the sense of accomplishment when the first batch comes out steaming and bubbling, alleviating something from your chest. It will take the whole afternoon to bake the hundred or so little pies but you don’t mind, there is nothing else to do but think.

⚘⚘⚘

Dear Aegon,

Are you alright? I know this will be the third letter without a word in return from you but I cannot stop myself from worrying about you. I am sorry if I have done something to make you not want to write back to me but if I have then I do not know what it was. Please tell me if I have, I want to make it right if so.

I desperately want to know that you aren’t having too bad of a time. If it isn’t my place to ask then you need only let me know but I can’t stop thinking about all that you have told me. I want you to remember how lovely you are, that it isn’t all your fault. I care for you deeply, that cannot change.

Please, if only this, just tell me how you are?

Your sunflower.

⚘⚘⚘

The windows of the village streets are bright with decorations, strings of tinsel hanging from a tree in the café and paper snowflakes littering the books in the window of the bookseller’s. You duck in there with Joan on your tail, you for a copy of Arthur Miller’s newest play ‘The Crucible’ and Joan for a biography of King George the sixth.

Marlene has Elsie in a pram but the little girl soon kicks off and ends up passed between the five of you, her pram filling with your purchases. She babbles indistinctly all the way, Mary agreeing with everything she says like she understands while holding her. She has a tiny tweed coat on and you smile when she is passed over to you.

Barbara and Marlene go into the butcher’s together, the latter for the ham for her small family’s christmas lunch and the former for the dinner she will make for herself and her mother. Barbara’s mother has been unwell for years and, since her father had died from black lung when she was ten, Barbara had looked after her. You all knew that was the only reason she hadn’t gone up with Mary and the injustice hands a little on Marlene’s shoulders, like she could have done anything at all when really it is just life getting the best of everyone as usual.

While they are in there, quickly followed in by Mary who wouldn’t leave Barbara’s side for a moment and Joan who felt left out, you cross the road with Elsie to the town square. You pick through the mucky streets, browned with dirt from horse carts and pedestrian footfall, to where the snow still clings to the stone of the war memorial in the centre. You sit and bounce Elsie, reading through names absentmindedly. She pulls on your coat buttons and you smooth down her little woollen hat.

You watch the postman pass by the shops in the corner of your eye and have to force yourself not to watch him to see if he turns to walk up the road to the pub.

“Sad,” Elsie says, vowels pulling wrong and consonants too heavy. At a year and a half old, she can say a few things but mostly chooses to communicate through grabbing things and pointing.

She jabs her mittened hands into the corners of your mouth to force them upwards and it's so clumsily sweet that you actually do.

“I’m sorry darling,” you say, muffled by her hands still pressing into your cheeks. “I’m not sad, I promise.”

She starts singing a disjointed song comprised entirely of non-words and you kiss her on the forehead.

You wonder though, if she can tell so easily with her terribly limited scope of emotion that something is wrong, how clear his absence must be in the way you carry yourself. You wonder if there is a ghostly Aegon following you like Mary’s apparition hangs around Barbara when she is gone.

You just wish so desperately that you could think straight, get past the personal bits and be rational about it for a minute. You know you are clouding your own judgement but you can’t stop that, not now, after everything.

Not asking questions just isn’t in your being, you are curious by nature and the idea that you are missing something here because you haven't thought about it enough is causing you so much grief it is becoming overwhelming.

More than anything, you can’t shake the idea that something else is afoot. In your heart of hearts, you know you haven’t done anything wrong and Aegon had given you nothing but warmth and joy when you had left him in the snow. It does not make sense, you hate that you can’t figure it out.

You are so worried you feel sick with it.

When the girls come out, pram laden heavily with even more good, you get up with Elsie to rejoin them. You try to leave your thoughts of Aegon behind but, inevitably, some follow anyway.

“I just want to go to the men’s dress wear shop, John wanted a new dinner jacket for christmas.” Marlene says as she steers the group down one of the side roads off the square. Joan poaches Elsie from you and takes her on a trip to the haberdashers for some ribbon with the other two.

You would blame it on your cold hands if anyone asked why you followed Marlene instead of them. Thankfully, no one does, flimsy an excuse as it is.

The shop is not large, one wall dominated with denim overalls for the miners and the rest populated with more traditional suits and day jackets. You run your hand across the various tweeds and wools, letting the fabrics itch at you as you go. Marlene is asking the shopkeeper about lounge suits and you lose yourself in the racks while she chats.

You stop short when your hand meets buttery soft leather instead of scratching wool. It is a big brown leather jacket, far too much room in the shoulders and too short to look tidy. You think of Aegon instantly and, despite everything, you take it from the rack and replace the bare hanger in the space left behind.

Images of his skin flushed pink from the cold and the way he would bike back to school without even a jumper take you to the counter.

“I wouldn’t have pegged your father as liking this sort of thing,” the slim cashier behind the counter says, peering at the jacket over the half moon spectacles perchen on the end of his nose. You don’t care to explain anything to him and offer him a paltry shrug instead. He rings you up without asking anything else. It isn’t cheap, in fact it is the most expensive piece of clothing you have ever bought, but you so rarely spend money on anything but books and journals and you work so often that it is hardly a dent in what you have saved.

The money sits in tightly rolled wads of cash in a box under your bed, waiting for a day when you can spend it on a suitcase and a train ticket. The cloud of uncertainty hanging over that disquiets your mind further but you try not to dwell.

The paper wrapped jacket is heavy in your hands, almost as heavy as Marlene’s questioning gaze when she returns to the counter with a deep brown jacket for her husband. You stare at her and she gives you a hug you did not ask for, but needed more than you knew.

⚘⚘⚘

Dear Aegon,

It is snowing again here. I am not sure what the weather is like where you are but it looks like there’s going to be a blizzard tonight. I’ve been staring at the school these last few days, at least I can see of it over the trees from my room. It is hazed out with white right now. I have a lot on my mind which I cannot quite get into a sense of coherence.

I have so many questions, I hate this silence. I don’t know how to shut off the part of my brain that is still listening out for you.

I worry about you all the time and I miss you even more. I remember realising that nothing would be the same after I met you but I could not have known how true that was at the time.

I wish I could show you how you look in my eyes, how wonderful I think you are. The truth is, I do not care what anyone else has to say about you, not when I have so much to support that they are all so very wrong. I just need you to know that I don’t think of you any differently for what you have told me of yourself. You keep saying that I will when I learn bits of you but I just don’t think that is true.

If you are worried you gave too much or that I do not want to hear more then please do not be. I am listening.

Still your Sunflower.

⚘⚘⚘

Christmas is a huge affair, the pub heaves from opening with people pouring in from all over the village. You are moving between the front and back of house, helping your mother finish cooking the huge dinner for as many people as she can, and serving people alongside your dad behind the bar.

It is warm and jolly and the fire is roaring in the corner. Everyone is smiling, even you despite the hectic atmosphere. Every time you step out onto the floor you are pulled into a hug by someone or another. You and your mother receive a deafening toast when you finally bring out the food.

There are plates and plates of potatoes and roasted vegetables and stuffing. The star of the show is the assortment of roasted meats which your mother glows at. The last thing to be taken off rationing, meat had always been scarce in the Christmas dinners of years before but not this one.

You are sandwiched tightly between your parents on one of the tables, paper crowns on all your heads. Cracker jokes are read around to varying levels of disapproval. Bill and Brian take turns making up rude ones and pretending to read them from the scraps in their hands. When one of them says a truly crass one, Joseph Blackburn, much to his wife Helen’s dismay, throws his empty cracker at them and Brian falls off his chair backwards.

Everyone laughs raucously and you feel warmed to your bones. You are not letting yourself think about the wrapped jacket under your bed or its absentee recipient today. You can worry again tomorrow.

Gasps of excitement go through the gathered crowd when your father lights the brandy on the massive christmas pudding. It burns blue and orange and Joseph burns his finger when he pokes it too soon.

Helen pulls you and your mother aside to congratulate you on the feast and you thank her warmly. She mutters about her husband under her breath but you catch him chasing her with mistletoe later and she cannot wipe the smile from her face.

You excuse yourself when the night starts winding down, leaving your father to do the rounds of waking the patrons who have fallen asleep after a good meal and far too much to drink.

Your ears ring in the quiet of your room and you can feel voices through the floor but you need some time away. You close the door and breathe for a minute before turning on the light.

You stand in front of your bed and run your fingers across your present from your parents again. A beautiful, navy, two-piece travelling outfit, it is far nicer than any of your clothes and you adore it. But that is not what you love the most.

That spot goes to the three piece set of matching powder blue suitcases, stacked inside one another’s open mouths. The viscerally tangible excitement that they evoke makes you giddy.

⚘⚘⚘

Aegon,

I do not know if I will send more letters after this. I am not stopping for any other reason than that it hurts to hope that you will respond more with each one I send.

The new year begins tonight and I know you will come back to school in a week. I hope you will come back, I hope there is some explanation for all of this. I hope you are okay and I hope you do not have any regrets just as I do not. I hope an awful lot these days, sometimes I think it is all that I am running on.

There is still space for you here, that has not changed. Nothing has on my end, nothing at all. I just don’t know how many times I can watch the postman come and go without anything from you.

I suppose I don’t have much to say, not without knowing that you want to hear it. I have so many things I have been waiting to tell you, I am not sure where to put them anymore.

Your sunflower, I hope.

⚘⚘⚘

You do not go out to watch the train go past on its way back to the school.

The girls are in for one last night before Mary goes away again, you settle down with your drink next to Joan but move to stand again when you see that Marlene doesn’t have one. “Sorry Marlene, did you want me to fetch you something while I’m up?”

She widens her eyes at you and says no quickly, “I am fine, thank you. I don’t fancy it tonight.”

You can tell she was trying to be subtle in a way but she is perhaps the least subtle person you know. Well, apart from one.

The others stop talking and look at her, she flushes pink and smiles awkwardly. Joan gasps and Mary hides a squeal behind her hands.

“You're not!” Joan exclaims, nearly leaping out of her seat.

“I didn’t want to say anything! It’s Mary’s night and it’s still so early on…” she trails off and Joan almost tackles her with an embrace.

“Oh don’t be daft Marlene. This is far better news than me going away, now we have something to celebrate!” grins Mary. You all take turns shuffling around the table to hug your friend.

Marlene is glowing, from more than just happiness too. She has tears in her eyes when she smiles, “Thank you all.”

“Here she goes,” mutters Barbara and you laugh as Marlene starts to sob with joy. It is so lovely you find yourself emotional too, even Barbara is bright eyed.

Joan and Mary start asking her questions at a frantic speed, due date, names, what she thinks it is. Marlene can hardly stop crying enough to respond.

It is only later, when they have left and you are alone again, that you realise you didn’t even hear the train whistle as it went past.

⚘⚘⚘

The first Wednesday has you bounding on your feet behind the bar, uncertainty coursing in your veins all night. However, as you watch the clock run further towards closing you sag more and more. The final drinks bell ringing like a death knell in your ears.

The routine follows much the same on Friday.

He misses the first quiz night of the year and you lose a little bit of hope. More dies with each evening he does not come in.

You have half a mind to march over to the school yourself and find him, but you don't think you could face it if you actually tried. It has gotten to a point where you cannot even think of what you would say if he did come back.

Marlene comes in a lot, mostly for tea in the mornings. You know she knows that something is wrong but she doesn’t ask. It is nice to have company though.

By the time February hits, you start to make up your mind about some things. You cannot bear staring at the suitcases in the corner of your room anymore, nor can you bear the undying hope that prickles at your mind every sodding time the door opens for someone who is not him.

You make the decision and your parents smile at you hesitantly, they had known this day was coming for years but you know they don’t feel so sure about it all the same. Marlene cries when you tell her and makes you promise her Joan and Barbara one more night in the pub. You acquiesce.

So, you pack your clothes into the three suitcases. You take down the clippings you love the most and paste them into the scrapbook that Barbara had given you for Christmas. You do not touch the ‘Sonnenblume’. Its frame of reverence grows around it with each cutting taken from the wall.

Your mother helps you, folding things on your bed while your father stands in the doorway and watches quietly. By the time the sun sets, your wardrobe is empty save for the things you do not want to take and your walls are so bare you don’t want to look at them.

“Are you sure about this, my girl?” your father asks as you sit back wearily on your heels.

They both wait for your answer patiently and you pick at the pile of your pink rug. “No, but I don’t think there will ever be a time when I am.”

“It will hurt less with time, but you cannot force time with distance” your mother says and you blink hotly at the floor.

“I just,” you ball your fists up in your lap until your nails burn sharply against your palms, “I need to do this.”

When you look up at them, they nod in understanding and do not say a word when you cry in their joint embrace.

They leave you alone with reluctance, telling you they love you on their way out of the room. You turn off the lights and get into bed. Frenetic energy sizzles between your skin and blood. Sleep will not come easily tonight as you try to chase away dreams of a blond miracle with thoughts of places far away.

⚘⚘⚘

Happy Friday dear readers! lovely to see you again! Please don't hate me for this chapter, I know that probably will not help but oh well. This was the hardest chapter to write for me but, in the end, it had to be done. Shout at me if you must! All my love, SlaginSecret xxx

@neithriddle

[cafulur]

i love being made to feel like a child at this job 😊👍 cannot wait till i get to quit

[sttoru]

pls pls pls 🥹 older bf! gojo fucking the attitude out of his gf

 𝝑𝑒 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. satoru picks you up after your lecture to spend quality time with you, only to realise you got an attitude that needs some fixing.

tags. dom older bf!gojo x female reader. smut, pwp but also with plot. age gap (reader early 20’s, satoru early 30’s). rough. hints of degradation. p in v -> unprotected. standing doggy. semi-public. spanking. hair pulling. name calling. creampīe. nicknames ‘princess, baby’. wc: 3.2k

“mind telling me who that was, baby?” satoru asks while he fixes his sunglasses. he pushes his hair back a little, walking beside you through campus. you had just finished your study session with a boy who’s in your statistics class. your lovely boyfriend offered to pick you up and take you back home after that.

though, despite the kind gesture, you’re still visibly stressed after revising the material. your mind is occupied with all sorts of stuff you need to know before your exam on thursday.

“just a classmate,” you respond curtly, not even looking at satoru. you’re speeding ahead of him, wanting to rush home already. you nibble on your bottom lip and your brows are furrowed due to the distress, “why do you care?”

that sentence came out harsher than you had expected it to. you don’t mean to be bitchy, but you’re under too much stress at the moment. your body reacts before you can withstand it.

satoru is silent for a few seconds. he’s surprised by the tone of voice you used. he keeps on following you, however, not letting your little comment ruin the conversation. he’s there to help you, not to make you even more upset.

which is why he tries to lighten the mood.

“oh?” satoru chuckles, his dimples showing. he easily keeps up with you, his long legs carrying him around quite fast. the white haired man pushes a strand of your hair behind your ear ever so gently, “did someone upset my little princess today?”

you don’t answer him. you’re focused on your phone, hurriedly texting your friend back while speeding past all the other students. you don’t even notice how the girls are gawking at your man—whispering about how handsome he is and who he might be.

satoru doesn’t pay them any mind. his sole goal is to gain your attention back. he frowns after his question is met with silence. the clicking of his dress shoes increases as he tries to get you to stop and face him.

“c’mon,” your boyfriend sighs and stands in front of you, stopping you to an abrupt halt. he holds your wrist tenderly yet firmly, letting you know that he wants to properly communicate with you, “y’ can’t ignore me.”

you yank your hand back, your irritated attitude visible in your actions. you look up at satoru, not caring about what he thinks or wants at the moment. you just want to go home and relax. everything is overstimulating you.

“i can and i will,” you huff before stepping aside to continue your journey out of the university’s terrain. your boyfriend’s frown only deepens. you’re not the only one who’s currently getting agitated. you push past a group of students who stood in your way, “let’s just go home.”

satoru’s eyes narrow. he doesn’t get upset fast—he rarely feels any kind of anger—but right now he can feel something itching inside of his chest. he’s tried not to let the jealousy get the best of him at first, but now with all the other emotions coming into play, it’s nearly impossible to hold himself back.

satoru considers himself a fairly mature man. he’s always been one, yet when it comes to you he can’t help but feel like he doesn’t have any control over his emotions. his body and mind act on their own.

“aht aht. not so fast, little lady.”

you suddenly feel yourself being dragged to the side. satoru’s grip around your arm isn’t harsh, but it sure is enough to make you stumble along with him. you click your teeth in slight annoyance after the initial shock settles in. you know there’s no fighting it; you don’t want others to witness your little squabble.

“hey, where are we going?” you ask, a slight whine leaving your throat. you simply want to go lay in your bed and avoid everything and everyone else. your eyes are focused on the back of satoru’s head as he guides you along. he doesn’t bother to face nor answer you.

you sigh and simply allow yourself to be dragged away. if you’re going to get a scolding, you don’t mind. you’re just going to hear him out and nod along so you can go back home faster.

you raise an eyebrow when satoru arrives at the bathroom on the second floor. “what the—” you’re confused as to what your boyfriend is trying to achieve. you quickly look around to see if anyone has seen you.

no one seems to be close. this part of the building has always been empty around this time frame anyway.

you’re pulled into the men’s bathroom after satoru made sure that the coast was clear. he gently pushes you into an empty stall and locks the door. “satoru, what’s up with you?” you sigh as you stumble back against the bathroom wall. it’s a hypocritical comment considering your own nasty attitude.

you try to push him aside, only for your boyfriend to force your arms around his neck, pulling you flush against him. your eyes lock into his and that’s when you notice how . . dark they are. the usual playful look is nowhere to be found.

“i’m just thinkin’ that y’r attitude needs some fixing, hm?” satoru whispers. a ghost of a smirk appears on his face—it’s a twisted one. wicked, with the thoughts of what he’ll do to punish you for your actions. he rarely has that expression when he’s with you.

he tips your chin up with quite some force, “i can help with that.”

everything else happens at a blink of an eye. one of satoru’s large hands slithers up your back to tangle in your hair and yank it back, exposing the column of your throat for his hickeys to take shape on. his other hand swiftly makes work of your pants and undergarments.

his jaw is clenched—the usual hint of gentle love in his eyes is replaced by lust fuelled by jealousy and frustration. satoru is not playing around either. instead of taking his time like he usually does when it comes to intimacy, he’s quick to discard both your clothing.

“fuckin’ tease,” the white-haired man mutters under his breath, panting with desire. he zips down his pants and frees his big cock from his boxers. “always pushing my buttons. isn’t that right, baby?”

satoru lets out a breathy, mocking chuckle. he fists the shaft slowly while his blue eyes roam over your body caged against him and the wall, “but i guess tha’s part of the reason why i love you—hah.”

you’re basically in shock at the sudden switch. your jaw is slack and your eyes are wide, but there’s an undeniable feeling in your chest that tells you you’re loving this change. you can’t deny the fact that you’re turned on. extremely turned on.

“‘toru, i don’t think it’s smart to do this here,” you murmur in a small voice. you’re trying to have some dignity, even now, when your panties are soaked and the scent of your obvious arousal is driving your man crazy.

“don’t care,” satoru shakes his head with a smug grin. his long fingers hook around the waistband of your underwear before flimsily tugging them down to your ankles. his eyes darken the second he sees the webs of sticky, translucent slick clinging from your panties to your puffy folds.

he grunts, his cock twitching painfully in his hand. he’s thinking of simply jerking off to the sight of you in front of him, but he decided otherwise. satoru smacks your clit with his fat tip, “should’ve thought about that before catchin’ an attitude with me.”

suddenly, he turns you around so you’re facing the wall. your nails dig into the flat surface of the tiles, catching onto nothing. you’re hoping that no one will walk into the bathroom. last thing you need is everyone knowing that you were getting your back blown out by your boyfriend on campus.

not that satoru would mind those rumors. it’d only fuel his (already) huge ego.

“oh, yeah— shit. you need this ‘s much as i do,” satoru groans as sinks his cock into your pussy, agonisingly slow, inch by inch. you shudder and hold in your moans as your velvety walls make part for him.

his hands spread your pert asscheeks, smacking the full globes before kneading them to soothe the pain. he continues in a low, dangerous voice, “you wouldn’t be so stuck up if y’ didn’t need this fuckin’ dick to shut you up.”

satoru doesn’t stop pushing in until his heavy balls are resting snugly against your bottom, warming his sack full of cum that’s aching to be released in your dripping cunt.

“ngh, ‘toru,” you bite your lip and try not to orgasm just from the feeling of being full— so full of cock that it makes you see stars, “just like that.”

the white-haired man responds with a satisfied grunt, sweat forming on his forehead from how hot and wet it is inside of you.

“oh, there she is,” satoru coos once he hears your whiny voice, that sweet voice he cherishes and loves. it isn’t cold nor avoidant anymore like before and that’s really all he wanted to acquire. he licks a stripe from the tip of your ear to the lobe, voice husky, “there’s the girlfriend i know. moan some more f’ me.”

you shiver as satoru’s lips connect with the back of your neck. after wetting the skin with his saliva, he bites. not hard enough to draw blood, but hard enough to leave a mark. you clamp around his dick in response and he curses under his breath.

“please, fuck me,” you breathe. you need more stimulation, need him to absolutely ruin you. the shallow and slow thrusts he’s giving are nothing but torturous.

satoru grins and rests his chin on top of your shoulder, large hands rubbing around your hips and lower abdomen, teasing your clit every now and then to get you even more pent up.

“fuck you?” he tilts his head, as if contemplating. he clicks his tongue and gives your ass a firm slap that nearly sends you over the edge. “hah, you should be grateful for what i’m givin’ you.”

but satoru’s weak for you. even if he’s trying to be the ‘mean’ and ‘cold’ dominant guy. his cock is aching to plunge in and out of your wet hole, to see you come undone and feel your juices coat his balls and thighs.

“fine. i’ll fuck you,” satoru relents with a roll of his eyes, acting like he isn’t desperate for you too. he grips your hips in a bruising manner and bites your shoulder, “—fuck you like the brat you are.”

your hands save your face from making contact with the wall as your body suddenly jostles back and forth in a speed you can’t even process.

“satoru!” you nearly scream his name out of pure surprise. the pleasure comes crashing down in waves, your pussy uncontrollably spasming around his girthy cock.

satoru grumbles something incoherent as he pistons his hips, ramming in your sloppy cunt while his eyes are fixated on your bouncing ass. white locks of hair stick to his forehead as he splits you open on his dick.

“so pretty,” the older man sighs. he turns your head sideways so you can look him in the eyes while he fucks you silly. he caresses your cheek gently, a contrast to the mocking grin on his lips and the rough thrusts against your ass, “too bad y’ got such a potty mouth on you.”

satoru pushes his index and middle finger between your lips to muffle your noises, “…but don’t worry, i’ll fix that for you. gladly.”

you eagerly suck on them between quick gasps of air, saliva trickling down his hand. your boyfriend redoubles his efforts, the fat tip of his dick hitting that special spot deep inside you.

his free hand reaches down to circle your clit. the double stimulation sends you into a state of pure bliss. your pupils are dilated as you struggle to find satoru’s gaze, head lolling back and forth with each powerful stroke.

perhaps this really was all you needed to help destress and forget all about your responsibilities. it feels good to not think about anything at all— your head empty except for the feeling of your cunt being filled.

satoru’s cock twitches inside of you with the urge to release a load in your womb. “give me it, please,” your voice is muffled as you plead with him. your hand sneaks downwards, trying to find his balls, “w-want your cum.”

your fingers toy with his sack once you find it. his pre-cum and your own juices now coat your skin as well, your hand enclosing around his balls, massaging them. it’s like you’re trying to coax his potent semen out of them and that alone makes satoru throw his head back in ecstasy.

“little cumslut. . .” satoru growls, brows furrowing as he tries not to shoot his cum inside of your greedy cunt right that second. the hand that was keeping you quiet quickly snatches your wrist and pins it against the bathroom wall.

“are you that desperate to get filled? yeah?” your boyfriend huffs, not stopping to catch his breath at all. his hips pound faster against your ass with renewed passion.

your lips are parted and they move, but not a single answer comes out of your mouth. you’re unable to think or talk because of the pleasure.

satoru takes that as a yes. the erotic sight of you being so lost in sin is enough to fuel his desire to fuck you harder. his hips never falter as he scoffs at your pathetic self, “tch, so addicted to my cock y’ can’t even answer me.”

you shake your head and search for your words. however, you fail, and all that you’re capable of communicating is what you need, “fuuuuck, yes i am—‘toru, need your cock ‘n cum— more.”

satoru lets go of your wrist to grab your jaw. he forces your head back again before he captures your lips in a bruising kiss. his tongue plunders inside your mouth, exploring every inch.

he pulls back to gasp for air and releases your jaw with a slight shove to grab your hips again. “more? hah,” the white-haired man lets out a haughty chuckle. he gives a particular hard thrust against your butt, tip kissing your cervix painfully yet deliciously, “y’ think you deserve more after that shit you pulled?”

satoru yanks your head back by your hair. the stinging sensation makes your scalp itchy, but it also increases your pleasure. he lowers his lips to your ear, his voice dangerously low, “nah, you gotta make this work.”

you could. you can make it work and that’s the truth. he could fuck you with just his tip and you’d be able to cum a couple times in a row.

jolts of pleasure run down your spine as satoru drives into you harder, the force of his thrusts rocking your entire body. you’re seeing stars and the words roll off your tongue, “please, mhh, almost there!”

satoru groans. he can feel the delicious fluttering of your cunt around his cock, the telltale signs of an orgasm building. he has half a mind to pull out completely and let you writhe and beg him some more.

he contemplates it for a few seconds. the second your eyes start to roll back, signaling your impending climax, his cock slips out of your pussy. you whine and push your hips back in search for his dick- to fill the void he left.

satoru jerks himself off at the pitiful sight. he rubs his veiny shaft between your slick folds before slapping the tip against your cunt, letting it catch onto your entrance for a few times.

“begging like that isn’t going to get you anywhere. y’ can do better,” your boyfriend encourages in a sultry tone. one of his hands rest on your tummy, fingers splaying over your clothed skin. another filthy smack of his tip against your slit makes you shiver, “come on.”

you bite your lip out of frustration. you arch your back each time the fat head of his cock catches onto your gaping hole, hoping to slip it in, but you can't. you tilt your head back and lock eyes with satoru close up behind you.

“please let me cum, 'toru. i'll be good, i promise,” you beg with a lewd pleading expression. one that make satoru's balls tighten with the urge to cum as well.

with a low groan, satoru snaps his hips forward, burying his dick inside of you once more, “there ya go. good girl, knew y’ had it in you.”

the praise and familiar feeling of his dick stretching you open is enough to push you over the edge. you nearly black out as your cunt spasms around him, your juices gushing out to coat his length and balls.

satoru grits his teeth once he feels your tight cunt clench viciously around his throbbing cock. your orgasm has a domino effect on your lover, causing him to hastily chase his own release. “shit! take it, princess. take it all inside this greedy fuckin' cunt,” he hisses and grinds his pelvis against the fat of your ass.

satoru buries himself to the hilt before his cock jerks and pulses, emptying his balls deep inside of you. his fingers dig into the meat of your butt, holding you in place as he grinds against you, making sure every last drop of his seed is nestled into your waiting womb.

“there y’ go, mhm—taking my load so deep,” your lover sighs and lowers his head, resting against your back. he hugs you tightly to his chest while you both catch your breath. he rides out his orgasm slowly, still grinding against you while he leaves lazy kisses on your nape.

a minute passes before you've regained your composure, somewhat. you smile as satoru kisses your temple lovingly, praising you for taking him so well. the switch back to his usual gentleman personality is much needed after such an intense moment.

“thank you, babe. i needed that,” you giggle as you rest back against his chest. thick, pearly globs of cum escape your pussy, dripping around his cock and onto your thighs, but neither of you could care less. the clean up is a problem for later.

satoru chuckles back at you as he leaves another loving kiss against your cheek. “i knew you did,” he murmurs and pets your head, “my poor girl has been working so hard on her assignments, hm? poor, poor baby.”

you playfully roll your eyes at the overexaggerated concern in your lover's voice, however you appreciate it.

satoru doesn't bother to pull out. first things first; he needs to get you all comfortable again and give you the aftercare you deserve. his hands massage your hips as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, acting all lovey-dovey like he hasn't just shown you a more dominant side of him.

“how ‘bout we go home and order some food? we can cuddle and watch a movie together, ‘kay? i’ll take care of you, princess.”