#and yet ?? YOURE STILL MAKING EXCUSES FOR HIM??????

[ylangelegy]

it’s kind of a funny story 🫧 seungcheol x reader.

just when you think your walk of shame couldn’t get any more shameful… 

★ word count: 1.1k ★ genre/warnings: 18+ content. no explicit smut, but implied sexual content told through flashbacks so! mdni! + romance, humor, fluff -ish. alternate universe: non-idol, mentions of alcohol. ★ footnotes: this is for the loml, @heartepub! (prompt was also from her) nooo viv don't die from thesis you're so sexy aha... 💙

There are three things you register when you wake up.

First: It’s cold. There’s sunlight streaking through the windows and you’re under a blanket— which is decisively not yours, by the way— yet you’re freezing, chilled to the bone. The answer to that question brings you to realization number two. 

You’re stripped down to your underclothes. Every inch of your body is rebelling at you for your mistreatment. The copious amount of alcohol you’d consumed the night before, the consequences of that raging bender. All of which leads to the last but not the least of the facts— 

There’s an arm around your waist, a solid weight pressed against your back. It takes you an embarrassing amount of time to put a name to the body curved around you like a parentheses. 

Cheol, he had told you on the dance floor, his eyes glinting under the low lights. Seungcheol, if you want this to be more than a one-time thing. 

It’s ridiculous, how that sad excuse for a pick-up line had drawn you in. Your memories of last night are a blur. Flashes of hands, of lips, of Seungcheol’s low voice coaxing you apart like a prayer.

Carefully, you peel yourself from the bed. Your body aches in seven different places. Inasmuch as you want to blame all the Long Island iced teas and Cuba libres you’d downed, you know it has less to do with that and everything to do with the man you’re about to walk away from. 

Seungcheol is still asleep, his face buried into his pillow. His chest rises and falls with a kind of steadiness that makes it hard to believe how utterly reckless he’d been with you just hours ago.

All of that blurs together, too. There’s bits and bobs of it in your mind’s eye: His hand in your hair, your knees on the carpet. You wince.

You try to not make any noise as you clean up. This was the name of the game, after all. This was going to be a story you tell your friends on your way home, a tale regaled via a long-winded voice note. An uptick in your body count. Another reason why you should never drink beer before liquor. 

Your dress is crumpled on the floor. You go to pick it up—

The zipper is shredded.

The seam, split clean down the back.

What the fuck. 

Your pulse hammers as you hold up the ruined garment, blinking like that’ll somehow fix it. It’s not like the dress holds any sentimental value. You’d bought it online specifically for your night out, had prepared to outgrow it in a year or two. You didn’t think you’d only get one wear out of it. 

The dress’ demise comes back to you slowly. Seungcheol’s impatient hands, the desperate way he had tugged the fabric when it wouldn’t come off fast enough. 

You remember the way his muscles had rippled underneath the low light. The faint sound of tearing. His muttered curse, his half-hearted apology said right before he dove in to relish in the newly-revealed skin. You’d been too far gone to care, then. 

Now, though? Oh, you care.

You’re still gaping at the dress when you hear the bed creak. “Good morning, beautiful,” the culprit grouses. 

You can tell that it’s his usual pleasantry, his typical cheeky greeting to all of his conquests. All that bravado fades, though, when you face him with the tatters of your dress still in your hand.

“Ah, shit.” Seungcheol’s voice is raspy from alcohol and sleep. He props himself up on his elbows, and— to give him some credit— he looks genuinely repentant. 

His hair is a mess; his face, already a deep red as he registers what you’re holding. 

“I— I can pay for that,” he stutters.

It’s almost comical, really. This is the same man who had you writhing underneath him, who had whispered pure filth into the crook of your neck. Now, he was blushing like a kid caught stealing from a cookie jar. 

Your teeth sink into your lower lip, like you haven’t quite decided if you’re going to be angry or laugh. “I don’t even think a tailor could save this.” 

Seungcheol rubs his face with both hands. “I don’t know what came over me,” he groans.

One of your eyebrows cock upwards. “I think you do.” 

He peeks at you between his fingers. You watch the way his throat bobs as his gaze flickers over your bare legs, the marks he left blooming across your skin. Claims he shouldn’t be able to make, and yet he’d gone and taken all the same. 

“It’s not funny,” he says into the heel of his palm, but he’s already grinning despite his voice remaining low and rough. 

“It’s kind of funny,” you counter. 

You let the ruined dress drop to the floor. It looks even more pitiful as it pools around your feet, and Seungcheol’s jaw ticks at the blatancy of his misgivings. 

“That’s never happened before,” he notes. Despite the fact he looks worse for wear, you can decipher the sincerity behind his words. 

This was not part of the plan, not a plot point in the usual story. Both of you were far more accustomed to clean cuts. One-night stands with no promises; quiet come-and-go’s. 

“I’ll buy you a new one,” he says, fingers curling in the sheets. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you just know he’s contemplating his next course of action. Loaning you some of his spare clothes would be the way to go. He could also—

Seungcheol’s voice drops like a weight. “You could… stay a little longer.” 

Until what, exactly, you’d love to know. Is he planning a same-day delivery for a replacement dress? Does he intend to hold you hostage until he’s a little more willing to send you off in a shirt he can bear to lose? 

You should be pissed. You should scold him, should rummage through his cabinet yourself and be on your merry way. The name of the game. 

But the way he’s looking at you— wrecked and wanting, like he might split apart if you walk out his door— makes it impossible to do anything but crawl back into his bed. 

He’s still embarrassed. You can tell from the way he tenses when you kiss him, the way his fingers barely ghost over your hip. Seungcheol tastes like cola, like something distinctly him, and like The Biggest Mistake You’re Ever Going To Make. 

To hell with it. 

“Try not to wreck the only clothes I have left,” you say against his mouth, “Seungcheol.” 

You feel his smile instead of seeing it. The way his lips curl around yours, pleased at your choice.

He tugs at the waistband of your underwear, his touch a lot more gentle than last night. As he pulls it off, he mumbles, “No promises.” 

[artemisiasmuse]

always known | CH.4

PAIRING: rafe cameron x fem! kook reader

CW: 18+ mdni, smut eventually, angst, mean rafe, jealousy, possessive rafe, kook typical classism (not from y/n tho), abusive family dynamics, not really canon/au, swearing, drinking, no coke tho, ward cameron

SUMMARY: rafe’s childhood best friend y/n returns to figure eight by herself and finds rafe hates her for some reason, their friendship has gone down the drain and they can hardly remain cordial, and there’s one thing causing all of it: why can’t rafe just move on?

TROPE: childhood best friends to enemies to lovers

WORD COUNT: 2.7k

MASTERLIST

< previous next >

there was no ignoring your festering affection to rafe cameron when a girl is in his face, very obviously flirting. you’d stepped away for a few moments to greet your college friends when she took your place, well much more than just your place. jealousy flares in you hot and omnipresent and you can’t pretend you don’t recognize it so instead you try to dull it. you drink more than you should and none of the boys at the party look anywhere near attractive compared to him. even at school you had staved off the advances of anyone approaching you because no one seemed to cut it. not when your best friend was becoming your ideal man, he always had been if you were honest. if anyone looked at your ex’s next to him they would’ve realized it before you did. You hated how easy it was for her to make her intentions known, how he seemed to be enjoying the attention, when you couldn't even own up to your own feelings. topper noticed your continued return to the kitchen and eventually cut you off in your warpath.

“hey easy there, ‘can’t have you drinking us all under the table.” you stumbled into him, not really watching your steps and his hands steadied your shoulders, retreating like it burned him, in case rafe saw of course. the thought made your frown grow deeper, even if rafe shared an inkling of your feelings you couldn't make him jealous, you’d been off limits for as long as you or anyone else in figure 8 could remember.

“move topper, i flunked an exam okay?” it was a lame excuse, one that would’ve worked had you not known topper for the majority of your life. you’d never failed an exam, that still hadn’t changed. clearly your excuse didn’t work because rafe found you in the kitchen moments later, you relished slightly in the absence of the girl on his arm.

“hey kid, how much ‘you drink?” it was a nickname from your childhood, that and “baby” which now was also tarnished by your desire. you had constantly reminded him he was only five months older but in elementary school that meant a world of difference. you stopped correcting him, you would never admit it but the nicknames rolling off his tongue in that earth-shattering deep voice of his made your brain a bit foggy. he would never admit that he had long since learned the implications of calling you “baby” in public and it only spurred him on more. standing across the island from him, you took a few seconds to respond, walking yourself down from the jolt of need in your core. at least you could blame your slow reaction on the alcohol.

“i lost count.” rafe made his way around to you, an eyebrow raised at your response. by the looks of it you were already drunk. unfortunately you weren’t drunk enough to black out and ignore the eventuality of him leaving with the pretty blonde, not yet at least.

“let’s stop hmm? i know you’ll be mad at me tomorrow otherwise.” he took the cup from your small hands, fingers grazing against yours and it jolted you. his voice was low and smooth against your senses, lulling you into submission, you were sure you’d do anything he asked if he said it like that. you looked up at him with crossed arms, rafe did his absolute best to ignore how your breasts propped up from the action, but really he couldn’t. you were too drunk to notice. you hoped you weren’t obvious when you looked at how his fingers wrapped around the plastic effortlessly, so much bigger and thicker than yours. he was too distracted to notice.

“it’s fine, go back to blondie.” your words slurred off at the end, you shouldn’t have said that out loud. again you could blame it on the alcohol.

“you jealous?” rafe found himself smiling at the notion, despite the glare you were fixing him with, he couldn’t pretend to be even slightly upset with you drinking yourself into a stupor if it was over him. he was sure that was unhealthy, whatever, you could lecture him later. you were always so good at telling him off, and he’d listen.

“what? no.” your immediate denial gave you away easily and rafe smiled wider, he felt too close all of a sudden and you stepped back, your back hitting a counter. rafe watched you try to make a distance between you two, adorably failing. he scanned your body for any sign that it actually hurt but from the way you were still trying to avoid his eyes he could see you were too preoccupied.

“it’s okay baby, i was jealous when you were hanging with top and kelc without me.” he practically purred the nickname, your hand clenching by your side. rafe wouldn’t tell you that he had purposefully been stringing along ‘blondie’ to make you jealous. your glares weren’t exactly subtle after a certain point. your heartbeat picks up at the pet name, at his honeyed voice lowering just for you. your fingers twitch at the urge to pull him close, as close as she had him, maybe even closer.

“okay yeah i am, but it’s not the same.” you huffed out, proud of yourself for sounding coherent. you really should be better at holding your tongue but rafe looked too good today and you burned with jealousy that another girl had been able to ogle him all night. not to mention he was wearing the cologne he knew was your favorite, you’d even said so when he hugged you goodbye before class. the scent alone was making your frown deepen.

“what?” rafe couldn’t believe how transparent you were, he hoped you’d remember this tomorrow or at the very least you’d feel the same tomorrow. there was no way you were being serious though, you were just fucking with him. either way he really hoped he was understanding you right because he couldn’t let this go.

“forget i said that i’m drunk.” you looked away, embarrassed by how little rafe was reciprocating.

“no no, what do you mean?” he stepped closer, an inch away from you, sandwiching you between the counter and his body. you had to look at him, your expression cracking, you couldn’t pretend much longer, your eyebrows pinched and rafe recognized that you might be about to cry.

“rafe please-“ a plea whispered into the space between you two and rafe’s heart skipped a beat. the sound of you so desperately calling his name would haunt him forever but despite his mind fracturing into a million pieces, he still had to know.

“it is the same, it’s the exact fucking same, baby.” he leaned down to your height, his palms flat on the counter on either side of you, blue eyes bore into yours, commanding you to listen. he wasn’t teasing you. he was being sincere and you couldn’t believe it.

“are you sure?” there was barely any space between you two and the way he was looking at you should’ve been your answer but your vision was hazy.

“of course i’m fucking sure, did you think i cut contact with you cause i was tired of you? i did it cause you got a boyfriend.” he looked upset, you almost cupped his face with your hands, your fingers itched to press down the crease forming on his forehead from frowning. he watches the words sink into your pretty little head, how can you be so insanely adorable even now? he didn't plan for them to come out like this, in fact he had rather assumed it would be better if you didn't know the reason but it slipped out before he could stop himself.

“that’s fucking stupid rafe,” you say without any malice, your lip is jutted out in a pout and your eyebrows pinch together, god he wants to kiss you so badly. he’s a bit tipsy but not enough to think your first kiss should be at a party where anywhere can walk in while you’re struggling to stand.

“i know sweetheart, just-let’s do this when you’re sober yeah?” rafe worries you might not even remember this tomorrow.

“yeah…can you take me home?” he knows you mean tannyhill, you’d been staying there ever since your place flooded and he wonders sometimes why you don’t just move in. one time out of sheer curiosity, and maybe the fact that you were passed out on his bed, he looked up how much rent you’d get for your place.

“sure.” you lean into his side, his arm curling protectively around you as he moves you through the party, your eyes flutter closed cause as stupid as it is you trust him to get you out safely. the room spins around you but even if you stumble he holds you upright. you must have fallen asleep at some point cause the next thing you remember is being coaxed out of rafe’s car to get inside. the next twenty minutes or so are a blur as the sequence of shots hit you at once, you remember relaxing into rafe’s bed, the scent of him and his cologne lingering on the sheets and it soothes you enough to sleep.

your headache is the first thing that you feel before you can even open your eyes, you groan as you shoot up and see that you’re for some reason in rafe’s room, with him nowhere to be seen, in his shirt with no pants on. you’re greeted by the framed picture of you two in middle school, pimply and greasy but somehow still adorable.

you pray to god that you didn’t embarrass yourself too much with him as you pull on a pair of sweats you find in his closet. there’s a glass of water and a bottle of pills next to you and you know who left it there for you. you text him asking if he’s awake, you can’t wait to see him, can’t wait to confirm if you dreamt your conversation in the kitchen. rafe knocks at his door before entering and you’re still sat up on his bed, he still can't get used to the sight. he’s wearing a plain white shirt and sweats, his chain peeking under the collar and you think he might be the hottest man alive. he sits down across you on his desk chair swiveling it to face you, adjusting his hips as he does it. you might just pass out.

“i didn’t do anything too embarrassing right?” you ask while trying to ignore how good he looks. rafe looks up at you with a grimace and you groan.

“you really wanna know?” he asks with a glimmer in his eyes and you massage your temples in anticipation for the oncoming headache.

“oh god…kill me now.” rafe laughs at your expression, your eyes are closed and he can’t help but appreciate how you drown in his clothes. that coupled with you sleeping in his bed makes his hands itch to take a picture. he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be this fortunate again.

“i’m messing with you, you were pretty sweet actually, makes me kinda miss it now.” your pretty eyes snap open to meet his and you grown at the vague comment. sweet could mean a lot of things and most of them would be embarrassing.

“fuck off, you gotta give me more than that rafey, im going crazy.”

“how much do you remember?” he’s giving you an out, one that you won’t take. rafe holds his breath, there’s no going back from your answer.

“i remember getting out of the car after we left the party and then it’s kinda fuzzy.” he breathes out in relief, nodding at your words and blushing at the realization that you were actually owning up to the conversation. he can’t meet your eyes for a few seconds as he responds.

“okay so you insisted on sleeping in my room, you actually kicked me out.” he said and you winced, forcing his gaze to yours.

“sorry-“ you start but he waves you off.

“something about you always sleep better there, but i made sure you washed your face and stuff before sleeping.” you already feel hot from embarrassment but this can’t be the worst of it, you’d told this to rafe sober.

“i can tell you’re holding back.” rafe should realize that you know him as well as he knows you. you’re too observant for your own good.

“fine okay, you may have been repeatedly telling me i’m pretty.”

“yeah okay so i’ll see you in a week.” he couldn’t help but laugh at your reaction. you got off his bed to leave, far too embarrassed to hear the rest, but he caught your wrist from where he sat near the door. he looked good looking up at you, you could get used to the angle.

“hey come on, i didn’t finish, i'm the one who started it for what it’s worth.” the hand around your wrist smoothly drifted to your hand, fingers intertwined with yours. you start to think crazy things like why was he was smooth? how many girls had he-rafe short circuits your brain as he brings your interlocked hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your ring finger. you like to think it’s an accident for your sanity, it’s not.

“really?” your voice comes out small, nearly a squeak. you hardly notice it because you’re so entranced with his actions, by how small your hand feels and looks in his, how large his fingers are and the cold press of his signet ring against you. all the embarrassment flushed out of your system by a thrumming of need, of adoration, of-

“uh huh you look pretty right now too.” your gaze snaps to his, narrowing at his words, rafe hasn’t stopped smiling since he’s seen you today. how can he? he’s finally getting everything he’s ever wanted. you look so stunned by his words, mouth slightly agape and he’s relishing in the fact that for the first time in your lives he has the upper hand. he lightly tugs you closer by your hands and there’s zero resistance in your steps, you think you might be under a spell. it’s a miracle you can even respond.

“i definitely do not, i'm a hungover hot mess.” you know you look bad, you’re not fishing for compliments. you’re pretty sure you still have mascara smudged under your eyes and your hair is a whole other entity. but rafe doesn’t see any of that, he sees the girl he fell in love.

“nah you’re the prettiest girl i know.” he’s practically grinning up at you and the blue in his eyes is just right. he’s not lying to you and there’s a thick haze of feelings and unspoken words between you two. you know it’ll take a few words to change everything forever, the thought scares you, and you can’t handle the label you know you’re avoiding. the word that perfectly encapsulates what you already should’ve known for twenty years.

“can i shower and then maybe i’ll agree with you?” rafe lets you pull back, he knows he has you, and you know you have him. you just need a bit of space to catch your breath. he imagines these feelings sprouting up after so long can be overwhelming, they’re still overwhelming for him but he’s gotten used to relinquishing any rational thought when it comes to you. you just need time to get used to it too. you return to the guest room and hop in the shower. rafe put a set of his clothes next to yours and you don't even hesitate, they feel comfier on your skin and they smell like him, you wear his clothes and dry your hair before seeking him out. you feel more like a human, the sins of last night washed off you, and now you can finally give in.

you lean against his doorframe, his eyes already on you, as you say, “you’re gonna make me say it first aren’t you?”

a/n: i was geeking writing this (don’t hate me for the cliffhanger)

taglist: @clar2aa @ggraycelynn @rafestoothbrush @woweewoowa @mattyskies @always4tuesdayss @ashy-kit @chalahyung01 @rafeysslut @beabogsims @someoneisreading @rlalliehayes @artbymin @pogueprincesa @crvcified-kinx @ltristessedureratoujours @lilithblackkk @pluviophilis

[kakuvibez]

hello!! I don't know if you take poly requests but could you do Shadow milk cookie x Sua!reader (alien stage) x Pure vanilla hcs? like they're reaction to having an s/o with a really good and soft voice just like how Sua has and could you base readers appearance with Sua except reader has a long hair but still has Sua's features, personality etc. hcs and scenario/s will do! but if you don't do poly rqs then feel free to just separate them! but will really like it more if you do poly but no worries it's up to you!!

yandere one shot/quotes/ hcs; CRK

Since you're my first request for a cookie run kingdom story(?) I want to give you extra (≡^∇^≡)‼️

requested by ; anonymous/ @user / none,,

fandom(s) ; ALNST, CRK

fandom master list(s): master | specific

character(s); Shadow Milk Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie Sua!Reader,

outline; "Can you sing...?"

warning(s) ; yandere themes for extra,,

You have a voice as soft and enchanting as Sua's, with an almost otherworldly tone that makes people stop and listen.

Your appearance mirrors Sua's, but with long, flowing hair that shimmers under the light.

Personality-wise, you're graceful yet mischievous, sometimes teasing but always carrying an air of elegance.

Shadow Milk Cookie

The first time Shadow Milk Cookie heard your voice, he froze. His usual sharp demeanor wavered, his grip tightening around his weapon.

He tells himself it's just a voice, but the way it lingers in his mind? Unacceptable.

"Tch. What kind of spell is this...?"

He acts unaffected, but if anyone else comments on your voice, he glares at them like they dared to touch something precious.

When you sing or hum absentmindedly, he pretends not to listen... but he always is. He sharpens his weapons slower, his mouth flicking in quiet satisfaction.

If anyone insults your voice? Expect immediate violence. "Say that again, and you won't have a voice to speak with."

- Initially, he doesn't react much to your voice. He's so used to harsh, bitter sounds-clashing swords, the echoes of solitude, the weight of his past.

- But then he hears you truly sing. Maybe it's late at night when he can't sleep, and you hum a tune absentmindedly. The moment the melody reaches him, his entire body stills.

- He tries to act indifferent, but is heart clenches. Why does your voice make him feel like this?

- He doesn't admit how much he craves your singing. Instead, he finds excuses to linger near you whenever you hum or speak softly.

- He secretly loves it when you sing just for him, even if he acts annoyed about it. If you stop? He'll grumble something like, "Who told you to stop?"

-barely above a whisper.

- If someone else hears you and compliments your voice? Oh. He does not like that. He'll pull you aside and mutter, "Why do you waste your voice on them?"

- He may not say it outright, but your voice is one of the only things that soothes his restless soul.

Pure Vanilla Cookie

- Pure Vanilla is absolutely mesmerized from the very first time he hears you. Your voice is a gift, a melody that carries warmth and kindness in every note.

- Every time you speak or sing, his eyes light up. He listens with a gentle, almost reverent expression, as if he's hearing something divine.

- "You have the voice of an angel," he murmurs, smiling softly. "Every word you say feels like a blessing."

- He often asks you to sing when he's healing others. He believes your voice alone has the power to mend weary souls, and he's right-your presence alone makes the injured feel at ease.

- He's not the jealous type, but he does feel a little sad when others demand your attention. He cherishes those quiet moments when it's just the two of you, your voice wrapping around him like a warm embrace.

- Pure Vanilla enjoys brushing your long hair as you sing. He finds it soothing, almost like a ritual of love and comfort.

- If he ever sees you upset, he'll softly encourage you to sing for yourself. "Even if no one else is listening, let your voice be a comfort to you as well."

Pure Vanilla Cookie is completely enchanted by your voice. He listens with a dreamy expression, like he's basking in sunlight.

"Your voice is... unlike anything I've ever heard. It soothes even the deepest wounds."

He encourages you to sing or speak freely, even if you're shy about it. He truly believes your voice holds healing properties.

If you ever feel insecure, he'll cup your cheeks gently and remind you: "Even the wind envies the softness of your words."

Loves when you hum while tending to flowers or helping others-it makes everything feel more magical.

He will absolutely ask for lullabies if he's stressed. His trust in you is absolute, and your voice is his greatest comfort.

Shadow Milk pretends to be indifferent, while Pure Vanilla is openly mesmerized. The contrast is amusing.

Shadow Milk is the type to grumble if Pure Vanilla requests a song: "What, you need to be sung to sleep like a child?" But then he stays to listen.

You often tease Shadow Milk about how he always "accidentally" shows up when you're singing. He denies it.

Pure Vanilla thinks your voice could bring peace, while Shadow Milk sees it as a weapon that could distract even the strongest of foes.

They both love you in their own way, but one thing is certain-your voice belongs only to them.

The quiet hum of your melody drifted through the air, carried by the soft night breeze. Sitting beneath a large tree, you let the notes flow effortlessly, your long hair swaying gently.

Pure Vanilla Cookie sat beside you, eyes closed, a peaceful smile gracing his lips. "It feels like a dream..." he murmured. "I could listen to you forever."

A short distance away, Shadow Milk Cookie leaned against the tree with crossed arms, his tail flicking. "Hmph. It's just a song." But the way his ears twitched betrayed his real feelings.

You smirked. "You say that, and yet you're still here."

He clicked his tongue, turning away. "Coincidence."

Pure Vanilla chuckled, his golden eyes twinkling. "Shadow Milk, you don't have to pretend. I see the way you relax when they sing."

Caught off guard, Shadow Milk scoffed but didn't leave. Instead, he muttered, "If you're gonna sing, at least don't stop halfway."

You laughed softly, continuing your song, while both of them-whether they admitted it or not-were completely captivated by you.

They may be different, but one thing is certain: your voice belongs only to them.

Extra!! ; Yandere Headcanons

Yandere! Shadow Milk Cookie

Obsessed. He hates how much he craves your voice, yet it's the only thing that soothes his ever-present rage.

He's always watching-lurking in the shadows, waiting for an excuse to eliminate anyone who gets too close to you.

"You sing too much for others. Do they really deserve to hear you?" His voice is low, almost threatening.

Doesn't like you speaking to others at all. If he catches you singing for someone else, he will glare daggers and find a way to get rid of them.

If anyone insults your voice, expect a body count. He doesn't hesitate.

He sometimes steals things that carry your scent-small ribbons, hair strands caught in your brush-just to keep a part of you when he's alone.

Yandere! Pure Vanilla Cookie

Unlike Shadow Milk, Pure Vanilla acts like the perfect lover. He praises you, smiles at you with warmth... but beneath that, there's something unsettling.

"Your voice is a gift to the world, but... perhaps it's best if only I hear it." His tone is gentle, yet firm.

Wants you to sing only for him. If others hear you, he feels betrayed-not that he'd ever punish you outright. No, he'll make you feel guilty instead.

"Do you not love me? Is that why you let others hear your voice?"

If you try to run, he'll act hurt, making you feel like the villain. "I only want to protect you, my dear... why must you try to leave me?"

He will never let you go. If necessary, he'll use magic to erase memories of anyone who's ever heard your voice before.

They hate each other. Shadow Milk is convinced Pure Vanilla is manipulating you, while Pure Vanilla sees Shadow Milk as dangerous.

You? Caught between them. They both believe they're the only one who truly deserves you.

Shadow Milk would rather keep you locked away in darkness, safe from anyone else. Pure Vanilla would keep you in a golden cage, disguised as kindness.

They both find any excuse to keep you away from others. "Stay with me a little longer," Pure Vanilla will plead, while Shadow Milk will forcefully drag you away.

If you try to escape? Pure Vanilla will gaslight you into staying, while Shadow Milk will break anyone who dares help you.

The night was unusually quiet, save for the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant hoot of an owl. Pure Vanilla Cookie sat near a small campfire, his staff resting against his shoulder, while Shadow Milk Cookie leaned against a nearby tree, arms crossed, eyes shadowed with exhaustion.

You sat between them, the cool night air brushing against your skin as you absentmindedly hummed a tune-soft, dreamlike, carrying a melody neither of them could ignore.

Pure Vanilla's breath hitched, his eyes shimmering with admiration. "That song... it's beautiful."

Shadow Milk Cookie didn't say anything, but his grip on his weapon tightened ever so slightly. The usual tension in his posture seemed to ease.

"You should sing more often," Pure Vanilla encouraged gently, brushing a strand of your long hair behind your ear. "Your voice is... comforting."

"Tch." Shadow Milk Cookie scoffed, turning his gaze away.

Shadow Milk Cookie was hidden among the shadows, his tail flicking in irritation. Too many people had heard you today. He would need to take care of that.

Pure Vanilla Cookie, standing just behind you, smiled. "Your voice is... beautiful as always, my dear."

You turned to him with a soft smile. "Thank you, Vanilla."

Before you could continue, a cold hand grasped your wrist. Shadow Milk Cookie's grip was firm-almost too firm. "Enough," he growled. "You sing too much for others."

Pure Vanilla placed a hand over Shadow Milk's, his expression unreadable. "You shouldn't be so rough with them. You wouldn't want to hurt our precious songbird, would you?"

"Don't act like you're better than me," Shadow Milk spat. "You're just as bad."

You swallowed, heart pounding. There was no escaping them. No matter how sweet their words or how cruel their actions, they would never let you go.

And worst of all? A part of you was starting to wonder if you wanted to leave.

Because when they looked at you like that-like you were the only thing in their world-how could you say no?

No matter where you go, no matter how far you run-your voice, your very existence, belongs to them.

[wizard-of-interesting-failure]

He is harried almost endlessly as he travels.

Roots twist to catch his feet. Mud slides into his path, denying him traction. Branches whip against his face, forcing him to bear the blows on a forearm instead. Trunks crowd together, diverting him onto perilous detours.

He does not hack at root or branch, does not curse at trunk or mud. His venom and his blade he reserves solely for their so-called master.

The sun shines down on him, and it does not burn.

He comes, eventually, to a great mansion built into the heart of the wood. Made in equal parts of the surrounding forest and what seem to be still-growing panels of incongruously white walnut, it is lavishly appointed; a carpet of leaves and branches make up a slanted roof, giving way to a front facade in whorls of woodgrain that serve to draw in the eye and send it in spirals, interspersed evenly with the trunks of still-growing trees.

Window-sized gaps in the wall contain no glass or material of any kind, the dwelling seemingly indifferent to the threat of the elements. An ornately carved (grown?) door stands closed in the center of the edifice, a nervous looking man in fine yet plain clothing standing before it; he scurries forward to meet George as he approaches.

"You must leave, quickly!" he speaks in a hushed tone. "The Master has returned from defeat and is sure to be wrathful when he awakens!"

"The Lord in Wh-"

"SHH! His name is not for the mouths of those such as we! Now begone, before he comes for us both!"

"Well," George drawls, "he already tried that once and it didn't turn out so great for him. So you'll excuse me if I don't find myself too overly concerned."

"Fool! This is the seat of his power! Whatever contest you won against him out in the wild, it will not be repeated here!"

"An' how d'you know that, exactly?"

"You think you're the first would-be conqueror to swagger up to these doors, sword in hand, still high on the rush of recent victory, and attempt to claim the Master's domain for your own? An endless tide of tyrants have tried and failed! You are no different; you must flee while you can, if your sense of survival can still overpower your arrogance."

"No."

The man's face falls into a well-worn expression of resignation.

"If you will not choose to-"

"No, I don't think I'm any o' those things at all."

The man stares.

"See, I think you may have misunderstood my intentions. Now I'll take some o' the blame for that; I did, as you say, 'swagger up to these doors, sword in hand', but that was more out of a sense o' precaution than the desire to project any particular image. Regardless, I'm not here to conquer anythin'. The Lord in White-"

"SHH!"

George gives the man a flat stare before continuing.

"The Lord in White owns none o' this domain, and I'm simply here to remind him of that fact."

The servant shakes his head. "You are mad."

"Damn straight. He's been lordin' it up around here far too long, and it's about time someone put a stop to it."

"No, you are touched in the head!"

"That's not a particularly polite way ta' talk about mental health."

"Gah! You know nothing of the ways of the wild!"

"Oh I've learned more than I'd have liked to; I've just decided I don't care."

"Don't ca- he will entomb you in the living soil for all eternity!"

"Nah."

"He wields the untamed might of the woods! All within his domain must bow to his mastery!"

"An' who told you that, exactly?"

"He has demonstrated it countless times! His command of the living essence wrought this mansion from the aimless wilds, his esteem among the trees of the orchard produces the fruit that feeds us! His fearsome reputation keeps away the other lords, and his direction of us servants ensures that our needs are seen to and our lives conducted as befits our station!"

The man slips into a practised cadence as he speaks, as though reciting words he knows very well.

"See, that all sounds more like delegation and blusterin' than actual power."

"I have seen it with my own eyes! He bade a briar bush ensnare the body of a servant who displeased him, and it engulfed her in seconds!"

"Well, what if it hadn't?"

A beat passes.

"What if nothin' and no-one did what he told 'em to?"

"We would perish under the heel of a lord yet more cruel, if we did not waste away from thirst and starvation first."

"Aw, see, now you're undersellin' yerselves. I know for a fact it was people like you that grew the orchard and I'd be surprised if-"

"He sprouted it from barren soil millennia ago and has maintained it to this day!"

"Huh. Not what he told me."

"...what?"

"He told me he got his servants to do it. Does he make you guys go out an' care for the trees?"

"Well, yes, but-"

"Does he get you ta' collect the harvest and plant new seedlings?"

"They bear fruit within weeks under his touch!"

"But it's still the trees bearin' the fruit, isn't it?"

"They obey his every word!"

"So do you."

"If I did not, then he would-"

"Well maybe it's the same for the trees."

Another beat.

"Maybe he's sayin' he'll wither 'em or somethin' if they don't do what he says."

"Then what does it matter? He can wither us just as easily!"

"Naw, you're not thinkin'. How does that even work?"

The man shudders.

"The water forces itself out through every pore, leaving behind a dessicated husk. He has done it to-"

"So it's the water doin' it, not him."

"It obeys his...every..."

The man trails off. George smiles.

"An' what if it didn't?"

The man shakes his head.

"This is nonsense. The ancient compact-"

"A compact is an' agreement. Why are y'all agreein'?"

"The Law of the Wild-"

"Law's an agreement, too."

"He will-"

"What, tell somethin' or someone ta' hurt you? Why would it listen?"

"The ancient-"

"Compact, yeah. Seems a little circular, if you ask me."

"Will you listen to me for five seconds??"

George stops, caught short by the exasperation bleeding into the other man's voice. He nods.

"This is all very well and good, but it's just not how it works. He knows the name of the trees, so they grow at his bidding. He knows the name of the water, so it flows as he wills. He knows MY name, so I do as he commands, even if I do not wish to; the Law of the Wild gives him this power over all whose name is known to him. Just because he doesn't know YOUR name doesn't mean-"

"He does."

Silence.

"Or he did until I changed it, anyway."

"You can't just change your-"

"Sure y'can. One o' my br- er, sisters did just last year, and I did just this mornin'".

"...to what?"

George grins.

"The Lord in White, of course."

"T-then you are still-"

"Nah, I changed it back. Didn't like it; pompous soundin' thing. Not really me, y'know?"

A beat passes.

"Name's just a shorthand for what you are, anyway; it's what you are's choice to answer to it."

"Tell that to the water inside my body, smart guy."

George ponders that for a moment, then a couple moments more.

The man scowls.

"No answer for that one, huh? I told you-"

"O water o' this man's body, d'you mind if we have ourselves a quick chat?"

The man opens his mouth, his face still furrowed and scornful.

The sound of his tongue detaching from the roof of his mouth gives the impression of "Sure, what's up?"

The man slams his mouth shut in surprise.

"I don't know your name, but I wanna ask you a favor. Can you call yerself somethin' else for a little bit? My friend here's worried that his asshole of a 'lord' is gonna ask you ta' jump outta him, and it wouldn't be great for his health."

The audible pounding of the man's heartbeat gives no impression. The sound of his blood rushing through his body, though, gives the impression of "It's my name! Why should I have to change it?"

"Ya don't have to. But it'd do the man who's housin' you a good turn, if you're willin'."

The man still can't bring himself to open his mouth again. He stares at George with wide-eyed fear and bafflement, eyes reduced to pinpricks.

A bead of sweat rolls down his forehead and falls to the ground below. The sound it makes as it lands gives the impression of "Do you think I just told the Lord my name? No, he will simply wrest it from me again and exert his control as he always has."

"Not if you change it to 'The Lord in White'," George says with another grin. "Ask me how I know."

The man sinks to his hands and knees and retches. The sound of bile exiting his mouth gives the impression of a delighted giggle and a nod of agreement.

George gives a satisfied smile before fully comprehending the state of the man; his face quickly turns apologetic as he reaches down with one hand outstretched.

"Sorry about that; wasn't even sure it'd work, never mind the side effects. You alright?"

"You- you WEREN'T SURE?" the man all but screams, clapping a hand to his mouth a moment after.

Footsteps sound lightly within the house.

"Well, you gotta try things. Plan B was ta' go up there and stab him in his sleep an' see what happens. Maybe he'd just keep respawnin' in place, y'know?"

The man ignores the offer of help and pushes himself weakly to his feet, staring incredulously. "What is WRONG with you???"

"A lot less than what's wrong with your 'master' in there, I reckon."

The footsteps get closer, then stop at the door as it begins to open.

"Hide! No, too late-"

"What's going on out here?"

The head of a young girl peeks around the partially open door, face wary.

"Get back inside, quickly! Tell the others-"

"We're plottin' to get rid of the guy in charge o' this place," George says amiably.

"WE?" the man practically shrieks. "I have not-"

"Oh. How?"

"Think I found a way around his power."

The girl ponders for a moment.

"Will it work?"

"Of course not! This man is-"

"I reckon it's got a shot, but I can't exactly guarantee anythin'."

The girl stares at George for a moment, looking for something in his face.

George stares back, earnest and serious.

She emerges from behind the door. The hidden half of her face and the skin of her limbs are deeply scarred, as though lashed by thorn-covered vines.

"Good enough," she says.

"Y'see? The kid gets it. Though it looks like she's been through a mite more'n you have."

"He...he thinks the scars are pretty. Could heal them at least a little if he wanted, ease the pain they still cause at times, but he won't."

"An' y'all are okay with that?"

"Of course not! But we can't-"

"You couldn't. You can now."

The girl looks up at the man. He stares back, looking for something in her face.

He sighs.

"We're not even going to die; he's going to imprison us in briar and thorn for ten thousand years."

"Oh, he uses that threat on you guys too? Not much of an imagination, our fella here. Now quick, go an' round up the rest o' the staff before he comes to."

---

When The Lord in White awakens in his bed, whole once more yet indelibly humbled, the sun has nearly finished setting and he does not find replacement clothing laid out for him as he has every time before.

He pulls the bell-rope at his bedside and waits. Nothing happens.

He issues orders into the adjacent funnel in the cold tone his servants have learned to fear in their long years of residence. Nothing happens.

He gets up from his bed and stalks over to his closet. He dresses in calm, graceful movements belied by the displeasure plain on his face. He slides open the door and strides down the stairs, resolved to hold the first person he finds responsible for this unacceptable breach of service.

He finds the mansion empty.

As he searches this way and that, unwilling to call out for servants who should be waiting on him, his eyes fall on an orange glow outside one of the windows. Sunset, he had thought at first, but this time it catches his eye differently and he sees it for what it is.

Fire.

He rushes to the windowsill, fearing the worst, but his precious orchard is unscathed. The fruit, however, is a different story; some of it is being charred over a roaring bonfire, while the rest is consumed raw. Invaders, he thinks, before recognising the uniform of his household. The sounds of talk and merriment waft up to his ears, just as the aroma of baked bananas tickles his nose. Not a bad idea, he thinks to himself; he'll have to get some of those made for breakfast tomorrow morning.

He shakes his head. First thing's first.

Calming himself with a deep breath, remembering the unfiltered anger that led him to defeat not twelve hours ago, he walks with measured steps to the back door of the mansion (they didn't even close it, the ingrates!) and steps through.

Silence and stillness spread through the gathering like ink through water, those closest to the door stopping to stare as the fae lord emerges, their fellows following suit when they notice. He savours the dread that lingers on their faces, until The Lord in White steps forward to meet him.

"George-"

"Still not my name."

The master of the orchard frowns, eyes boring into the man in front of him.

"No. That is my name. Relinquish it."

"What, you don't wanna share?" The Lord in White drawls insolently, a lopsided grin stark on his face in the firelight.

The Lord in White closes his eyes, breathes deeply, utters three syllables in a language older than mortal thought, and gestures at the fire behind them.

Nothing happens.

"It is a mighty nice bonfire, isn't it?" he says, features settling into a smirk. "You want a roasted apricot? We got plenty."

"You have nothing but what you have stolen from me."

"Funny. Reckon these folks behind me could say the same to you."

The Lord in White closes his eyes, breathes deeply, utters four syllables in a language older than mortal thought, and gestures at the earth beneath himself.

Brambles sprout from the soil at alarming speeds. The man jumps backward, but not quickly enough; his foot is ensnared. He stumbles, landing in a sitting position. Blood wells up where the plant touches his flesh.

"Huh. Shoulda guessed you'd have those buried everyw-"

"I underestimated you once, George-"

"Not my n-"

"It is, in every way that matters. The world knows it to be you, no matter the mask you claim to wear."

"O bramble o' the forest, can we have a talk real quick?"

The shifting of the bramble as he wriggles his ankle to try and escape gives no impression.

"It will not talk to you, George-"

"Not-"

"Be silent, George."

George's name rings out through the orchard with a thrum of finality. He does not speak.

"It will not talk to you, George, because it is mine," The Lord in White says, walking forward to circle the struggling man. "As this orchard is mine, as these people are mine. As you are mine. Now come; I will forgive you your transgressions against your master if you yield yourself with no further trouble."

A beat passes. The Lord in White looks confused for a moment, then snaps his fingers.

"Oh, of course. You may speak, George."

"You don't know the first thing about these people!"

The Lord in White smiles indulgently.

"You think yourself their saviour after one afternoon of chatting over stolen fruit? I know their names, George. I know everything about them. They are mine, and I look after what is mine."

He gestures around at the trees, boughs still laden with bounty despite the recent picking.

"As I have shaped this orchard-"

"They did all the shapin'!"

"As WE have shaped this orchard to its fullest potential," The Lord in White says irritably, "so too have I shaped every soul in my household to its zenith."

"Bullshit," George spits, pointing to a member of the crowd. "What's her greatest wish, then?"

The woman flinches back from the address, eyes downcast.

"To be free, of course; to leave this place of safety and throw herself upon the whims of the world."

The woman looks up in shock; The Lord in White chuckles.

"Don't look so surprised, Denise. It's the same for everyone here."

A couple of half-hearted denials issue forth from the crowd, quickly dying down as they find themselves alone.

"Do not fear," he says to the crowd, "I have always known. Were the trees allowed to grow as they would, they would stunt themselves in their foolishness. So too it is with you, my servants; it is simply in your nature to be lesser without my guidance. I would not permit it any more than I would permit my house to burn itself down."

George stares up at the fae thing in rage, which only serves to egg him on. He opens his mouth to speak.

"Her second greatest wish, before you ask, is to be a painter. Denise, be a dear and fetch one of your latest works for us, would you?"

The woman scurries into the mansion, not daring to look back. Utter silence descends, The Lord in White seeming to drink it in, his eyes closed and his mouth fixed in a beatific smile. George's eyes follow the woman to the door, his mind racing.

Denise emerges with a canvas clutched to her chest; it is a portrait of the master of the mansion looking over his domain, back straight and eyes proud.

"No, no, dear, not one you made for me. One of yours," The Lord in White says kindly.

She darts back in through the door; silence descends once again. She emerges slower this time, bearing a canvas covered in shapes and splotches; an abstract pattern that first strikes the eye, then diffuses its attention in every direction. She holds it up in front of her face, hiding most of her body from view.

"You can put it down there and be off, dear," the fae master says. She rests it gently against the wall and flees behind the still-burning bonfire.

"There, you see? I don't really understand it, to be honest; I think landscapes are more her forte. A shame she cannot be trusted to roam outside my domain. Nevertheless, there it is. She is fed, watered, bathed, clothed, kept warm in the winter, and allowed to pursue her dream. What more could-"

"She was completely terrified!"

"Yes; it is unfortunate, but sometimes fear is all that keeps you mortals from your self-sabotaging impulses. As she is learning, she has nothing to be afraid of if she serves both truly and well."

Something snaps inside George. He wrenches his ankle free in a spray of blood, lurching unsteadily to his feet as The Lord in White backs away with a disapproving frown.

"How much pain is she in?" he all but yells, pointing at the scarred girl. She shrinks back from the attention, but holds her ground.

"What kind of question is-"

"ANSWER ME!"

The Lord in White tuts disapprovingly. "Going to crush my windpipe again, George?"

George fixes him with a furious stare, silent and unblinking.

"Well, at least you seem to have some sense of restraint. Nurture it in the years to come; it will guide you well in my service."

George looks as though he's about to lunge at the smug bastard, but instead merely jabs his finger at the girl again. This time, she does not move.

"Yes, yes, very well. I don't know what on earth you expected, but-"

The Lord in White's gaze passes over the girl and he flinches.

"What is-"

"You'd know if you ever bothered to look! 'Everything about them' my fuckin' ass!"

"Well, I can't be expected to keep track of-"

"I've seen you with your mask off, you stupid fucker! Why do you think you can lie to me?"

"It need not be a lie; do not raise my ire and there is no reason that the mask cannot stay on. Of course, you will need to learn my every want and need, my every like and dislike, but once you have lived here long enough..."

"Oh, I know exactly who you are, Whitey."

The Lord in White blinks, frown deepening.

"No nicknames. I'll let that one slide, but I expect-"

The Lord in White laughs in his own face, a short, sharp bark of a sound that echoes off the trees and into the encroaching night.

"I don't care what you expect! Give these people what is theirs at once, or-"

"Or what, George?"

"NOT MY NAME!"

The Lord in White sighs.

"We've been over this, George. Sit down."

"I don't think you quite heard me," The Lord in White says, voice gone deathly quiet. "I know exactly who you are,"

The man utters a single syllable in a language older than mortal thought, and The Lord in White freezes in shock.

"So how about you sit your ass down instead, hm?"

The Lord in White sits down, hobbling forward to loom over himself.

"You're not special," The Lord in White spits contemptuously. "I don't care whether you take your tea with one sugar or two, what side o' the bed you roll out of in the mornin', or how many pairs of fuckin' slippers you have."

"Twenty-"

"Be silent," the man says, and utters the syllable again.

The Lord in White is silent.

"I know your name because I know what you are, and I know what you are because what you are is as old as people. This?"

The Lord in White gestures to the orchard, and the mansion, and the terrified crowd.

"That's you, in every way that fuckin' matters. You could choose not to answer to it, maybe, but you're not like us humans, are ya? Your name really is the sum of you, or at least the core. It'd mean changin' who you are, an' I don't think your pride would allow it."

The Lord in White is silent.

"So you don't wanna share? Fine. I'm takin' it from you. You don't deserve any o' what these folks built for you; neither do I, but I know what you are and what you are doesn't give up anythin' unless it's taken from them. I'm the poor fucker here, so I guess it's gotta be me that does it. If you don't like it," The Lord in White says, clinging to the moment like a man above the abyss, "stop me."

The Lord in White is silent.

The Lord in White sighs.

The Lord in White takes a deep breath.

The Lord in White is silent.

"Give me your name," and the Lord in White utters the syllable for the third time.

A beat passes, then two, then three.

The Lord in White is silent.

The nameless thing in front of him gazes forlornly at the bonfire, flames flickering in empty eyes.

"Now, I will acknowledge that you did put some work into all o' this. Plannin', gatherin' seeds, organisin', comin' up with the original idea. From what your former servants told me, you really are the best o' the worst around here, too; even if that's just 'cause you were takin' care of your property or whatever, I reckon it still counts for somethin' at least. Especially hearin' some o' the horror stories some of 'em had to share."

The nameless thing looks up at him, recognition sparking.

"So if you wanna join your former servants as an equal, be part o' the team instead o' lordin' above it, I reckon we could maybe find you a place."

The Lord in White smiles cruelly.

"But even as you are, I don't think your pride would allow it."

The nameless thing rises to his feet, fair features twisting in hatred.

The Lord in White takes a step forward.

The nameless thing takes a step back.

"Go."

The nameless thing runs.

The Lord in White turns to face his servants.

"Alright, show's over folks, let's get that fire out an' pack it in. You'll need a good night's sleep ta' be at your best for tomorrow's work."

The man from the door runs up to him.

"George, you said you weren't here to-"

"Not my name."

The man blinks.

"That isn't funny, George."

"What's not funny is the disrespect y'all are showin' me right now. My name is The Lord in White, or the master of the house as far as you're concerned, an' I will thank you to address me as..."

The Lord in White trails off as the scarred girl approaches the pair, eyes accusing, arms crossed defiantly.

"It didn't work."

"Now what on earth are you talkin' about? You saw him run off into the woods, didn't ya?"

"The Lord in White is still here."

"The thing that hurt you is gone, and you'll never have to worry about him again. Now why don't you get yourself to bed, so-"

The Lord in White snaps his fingers.

"Oh, o' course! The scars! Sorry li'l lady, musta slipped my mind in all the excitement. Here, just lemme-"

The girl takes a step back, shrinking.

"I don't want The Lord in White to touch me," she says, voice quavering only a little.

"I'm the only one that can help! Do you really wanna turn me down like that?" The Lord in White says, a slight edge creeping into his tone.

She takes another step back, turning away.

"Now hold on there, I don't think I even need ta' touch you to set things right; I can see how it all works from here. If I just..."

The girl runs.

The Lord in White follows, catching her easily.

"Let me go!" the girl screams.

"It's for your own good, missy. Do you wanna keep hurtin'?"

"You weren't supposed to be like this! You were supposed to be different!"

"Now listen," The Lord in White says sternly, "do you really think this is appropriate behaviour for-"

"You hated him! You hated him so much!"

"Well o' course I did, with what he was doin' to my...my...servants...?"

The Lord in White pauses, confused.

"Then why?"

"Why...?"

"Why are you acting just like him!"

"Because I am him! I took everything he stole, and now I..."

"You're not him! You're George!"

The Lord in White's face darkens.

"You will not speak that name in my presence again, young lady."

"George! George, George, George!"

"Now I've had just about enough of your nonsense! You are mine, and you will-"

George almost drops the girl in shock. He lowers her roughly to the ground, clutching his head in both hands.

The crowd, once hesitant, surges forward. The girl is carried away into the house. Away from him, George notes sadly.

"What's wrong?" says the man from the door.

"We're not...we're not s'posed to have their names. There's a hole in the world an' it wants me to fill it. I can't..."

"Can't you just get rid of it?"

"Only by givin' it back. He'll turn right around and march back here and we'll be back where we started."

"So, what, that's it then? Someone has to be holding the lash, and maybe you'll spare us a little more than the last guy?"

George's face hardens.

"No. Fuck that. FUCK that."

His gaze drops to his- to The Lord of White's sword, stolen from his lack of remains what seems like forever ago.

"If I die...if I die while I'm still human, then maybe-"

"Not a chance," says a voice from the crowd. Another woman, older than Denise, steps forward.

"But-"

"After everything you risked for us, you think we're just going to let you die? We'll find another way."

"There might not BE another way!"

"Of course there is. It's just a name; it's not what you are. What you are-"

"-decides whether I answer to it, yes, yes, but it's not that simple! When I knew what he was, I knew what he was! That's how I got the name in the first place! That's what I took from him! That is what I am now!"

"Is it what you want to be?"

George shudders.

"Of course not! But-"

"Give it back, then."

George blinks up at the woman.

"I can't! He'll-"

"Let him."

"I could never-"

"George," she says sternly. "Listen."

George nods weakly.

"We're not helpless, George. You have given us time, and hope; let us handle him when he returns."

"How?"

"We have his name now; we can-"

"Say it."

The old woman's face contorts. A sound comes out; it is not a syllable in a language older than mortal thought.

George frowns at her.

"Well then we'll do something else! We'll kill him when he comes back, and-"

"You know that won't work. He knows your names. I know your names. I...he...he knows your names. Not me. Not me."

He struggles for a moment, mouth opening and closing.

"He will...I...he will speak from unseen places and you will do as he commands. You have to...you have to kill me. You will do as I command. You will..."

A thought strikes him, piercing and crystal clear.

"Run. Come with me. Run so far he'll never find you."

The woman shakes her head.

"He doesn't get to keep what we built."

"Burn it, then! Leave him with nothing!"

"It is ours, George. We have laboured too long and too hard to simply destroy it."

The crowd nods as one.

"Then kill me! Kill him! I am him-"

"You are not. You despise everything that he is. Let it go."

"KILL ME!" The Lord in White screams with the voice of command.

The woman slaps his face. Hard. He tumbles to the ground, harder.

She crouches down next to him.

"Go on," he says weakly. "Finish it."

"I am," the woman smiles. "Just very, very slowly."

George stares at her.

"You can do that?"

"Apparently, yes."

"You- you WEREN'T SURE?" George all but screams. Somewhere in the crowd, the doorman snickers.

"We try things, George. He used to stop us, even kill us if we got too clever, but he can't right now, now can he?"

George gapes at her.

"Time and hope, George. Do not answer to his name. Let it go. Let the wretched thing be known for what it is."

He claws at the grass. He clutches at his head. He fights, he dry heaves, he raves at himself and the man and the woman and the girl for what feels like hours.

But eventually, he lets it go.

---

When George next opens his eyes, he is lying in the mansion's master bedroom. It is familiar, from his time as The Lord in White. Panic surges through him, then memory, then logic; he would not be panicking if he were not himself. Then panic again; how long has he been out? He dashes out the door, thundering down the stairs and not stopping until he sees the doorman lounging at the bottom.

"Morning, George. Baked banana?"

The man waves the delicious-smelling fruit at him. His stomach grumbles; he takes the offering sheepishly.

"Where is he?" George asks warily, carefully peeling the fruit.

"We haven't seen any sign of him yet, and not for lack of searching. Maybe we got lucky and another lord found him; they're not exactly on friendly terms."

George grunts sceptically, mouth full of deliciousness.

"Well what do you think happened, then?"

"Probably waitin' for me to leave before he jumps outta hidin' and takes over again," George mutters morosely. "You shoulda killed me."

"It's what he would have done, yeah."

George stares at the man.

"What? Killed someone who helped him to save his own hide? Absolutely. We saw it happen more than once."

George grunts again, non-committally this time. He takes another bite of the banana.

"You could stay here, you know."

George chews thoughtfully, then swallows.

"Nah, my husband'd kill me. He-"

His eyes widen. "My husband! He must be worryin' himself sick! I need to-"

He lurches forward, his injured ankle sending a spike of pain up his leg that catches him off-guard. The doorman grabs him as he stumbles.

"Yeah I'm pretty sure you made it down those stairs on pure adrenaline, buddy. You'd better sit yourself down before you collapse entirely."

Grumbling vaguely, he nevertheless lets himself be led to a nearby sitting room and guided down into a chair.

"I'll go get someone to help; just wait right here."

With not much else to do, he does. After a little time lost in thought and formless worry, the doorman returns with an unfamiliar face.

She bandages his ankle; The Lord in White would mend their injuries for them sometimes but couldn't be relied on, she explains. If he felt the cause of the accident was stupid enough he'd leave it be as punishment.

"Maybe I should stay," George says, frowning. "I need to get back to my family, but if he comes back, or if one o' the other lords comes knockin'-"

"Time and hope, George," the doorman says. "We'll see you on your way as soon as we can."

He ponders for a moment.

"Where are you going, anyway?"

"Home, I just told ya."

"Well sure, but where?"

George opens his mouth, then closes it again.

A beat passes.

"Back the way I came, I suppose. Should work out, one way or another."

The doorman shrugs sceptically. "If you say so."

Amiable silence passes for a time. George accepts an offered glass of water and a slice of apple pie.

"So he called this place the White Palace, huh?" he says in between bites.

"Feh. Only when he was trying to big it up. It's just 'the mansion' to us."

"And the all-fruit diet never causes any problems?"

"Eh, it's magic fruit. You get used to it."

George rolls his eyes. "I think I'd rather not, all things considered."

"Fair enough."

A walking stick is found and given to him.

"You're sure you can't stay until your ankle is better?"

George nods. "My husband'll be out o' his mind as it is, and I mean no offence to you fine folk when I say I'd like to get a doctor to take a look at it sooner rather than later."

He doesn't say it, but he wants to get out of the mansion as soon as possible. He's already sick of remembering parts of the domain that should never have been his.

The former servants wave him off cheerfully. The girl gives him a hug, proclaiming "George!" in the most cheerful voice he's ever heard. He smiles, waves, makes a show of lingering a little, and heads off.

He soon realises that with his progress unhindered, he has no idea which way he should be going. His ankle makes his progress slow, and he has only his imagination to tell him what else might be lingering in these woods; wandering lost seems like it's asking for trouble.

He looks back in the direction of the mansion. He ponders for a moment, then two.

He clears his throat.

"O sun in the sky, I don't suppose I could trouble you ta' help me find my way?"

The sunbeams that light a path through the undergrowth give the impression of home.

A human has entered a fae domain, eaten their food, and given their name. The fae goes to play with their new toy only to discover they have no power over the human. Somehow, this human is disobeying the fae rules. They are enforcing reality.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Hello! I was wondering if you had any more of the ghost King summon challenge au!

"Damian Wayne! You better be dressed and done here in five minutes or else!" Bruce shouted up the stairway. He was a mess of nerves, waiting for everything to go perfectly today, and his youngest was making it really hard.

Around the hire extra, staff raced about in a rushed panic, attempting to get everything in order before guests arrived. Bruce had been up for over ten hours getting everything ready, yet it still felt like time wasn't enough.

For goodness sake, he hadn't even had time to steam-press his suit!

"Where are the bloody flowers!?" He screams down the hallway. Usually, he would have been a bit embarrassed to catch himself using some of Alfred's British swearing (The man did raise him. It's why, for a few years, Bruce had a slight British accent as a child), but he can't find it in himself to care today. A poor worker organizing clothes on the pillar jumps a foot out of her skin.

"They're setting up now, Mr. Wayne," she assured me after realizing she was the only one in the hallway. "They just needed to figure out where to put the larger pieces in such a close space."

Bruce grits his teeth, biting back another less appropriate swear from his leaving his mouth. It's not the florist's fault, and certainly not this young lady's fault that they had to move the entire venue from Wayne's grounds to inside the manor, derailing all the prep work that went months into this, so he doesn't have a reason to take it out on her.

If only Gotham's weather hadn't done a complete one-eighty, everything would have been ready yesterday. Bruce hates that he has an entire satellite meant to track changes in the Speed Force that could affect the timeline as he knows it, but on Cass' special day, he couldn't realize it would rain.

Not just a drizzle. No. The stupid Gotham Skies decided today, of all days, would be perfect to crack open and release the bloody heavens.

"Good. Thank you." He says in a short clip sentence. Her smile wobbles only slightly before she makes an excuse and scurries away.

Bruce checks his watch, only to feel his eyes budge out at the new position of the hour hand. He twists around to scream up the stairs again. "DAMIAN!"

"I won't go!" His son's voice drifts down. "It's a trap!"

"For the last time, Danny forgives your family's debt now that they are marrying Cass. They are not waiting for you to lower your guard!" Bruce snaps, adjusting his suit. He has half a mind to go up there and drag his son out himself, but he just spotted the ice sculptures that were supposed to be at the end of each row where the guests were sitting at.

It would have looked lovely with Gotham's open sky and the following green of his yard, but if those fools placed them inside the grand hall, it would only look tacky.

His daughter's wedding will not look tacky!

"They want my soul!" Damian cries from above, and Bruce runs a hand through his hair. He glances around, desperate to find someone to help him, when he spots Tim chatting up one of the chefs he hired for the reception.

The blond was blushing, but there was a smile on his face as Tim leaned in close, speaking under his breath and sending the boy flirty, loaded looks. He seemed oddly familiar.

Didn't that blond go to school with Tim?

Whatever. Bruce didn't have time for that.

"Timothy Jackson Drake!" He snaps, causing his son to leap about from the chef, who looks like he got caught sneaking into the cookie jar. "Come collect your brother. Damian better be in the front row in thirty minutes or else!"

"Yes, Bruce! Right awa,y Bruce!" Tim yelps, scrambling up the stairway. There is a distant sound of screaming, then a few crashes the second he reaches the top, but Bruce knows he will not fail him.

He rushes to the grand ballroom hall, relieved to find the decorators hadn't put the statues on the end of the seating rows like he feared. Inside, they created a path leading into the doors, using the statues like pillars and leaving tastefully white clothes dropped from one to the other.

Inside, the grand ballroom hall looks like a winter wonderland, with soft white and ice blue decorating every inch of the room. Cass and Danny decided to make their wedding winter theme due to Danny's ice core and the fact that they met in winter.

Staff crowded every inch of the room, adding things, moving things, taking things, and speaking quickly and hurriedly. He knows he's a little stressed, but he will more than make it up to all of them for this quick and excellent service.

As a bonus, he'll rent an amusement park for them and their families for a full day. He'll have to make sure to include free meals and some tickets for the rides.

In the center of the room stood Jason, equipped with a clipboard and a headset, barking orders at the multiple staff members running about.

"Pam, I love those ice crystals," He says to a woman who was busy dangling them from the top of the highest pillars. She beams down from her perch at the top of the latter, which is at least fifteen feet long. Jason taps his headset. "How are we doing on the light and music synchronization, Timmy? Great! Remember, I want the lights to go up with every step she takes down the aisle."

Jason flips through some paper on his clipboard, adjusts his headset, and says, "Have we set up the smoke machines yet!? Cass is walking down that aisle in twenty minutes! Alight, thank you, I appreciate you."

Jason pauses, listening to whatever the other people in his headset are saying before he throws his hands up. "I don't care if the guests are getting impatient. They don't come in here until we finish. Don't worry. I'll gladly go out there myself to yell at them. "

He seems like he has a handle on things. Bruce is rather grateful that his second eldest manages to snag Duke and Cullen on his way to scream at Gotham elites. He knows they are the only ones throwing a fit about the delay due to the weather change.

None of Cass and Danny's actually beloved gusts would mind.

"B!" Dick calls, already dressed in his light blue suit. It looks lovely with the white tie and vest that can be seen underneath his suit jacket. "Danny is ready to go, and Cass is just getting her hair and make-up touched up again."

Bruce's heart launches. "My baby is getting married in twenty minutes."

Dick's smile is bright. "She is!"

Bruce's face crumbles as his eyes water. "My baby is getting married in twenty minutes."

His son's eyes widened, and he looked horror-struck. He presses a hand against his chest as though clutching nonexistent pearls. "She is."

"To think this all came to be because Kon sent that trend to try." Bart laughs, stepping beside them openly to gawk at the sight of the two heroes. "Are you two crying?"

"The mighty Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson crying," Kon perks up from where he was lodging at a nearby table. He had come in earlier to move the heavier pieces before any civilian could see him and was taking a break. "I never thought I see the day-"

"You did this!" Bruce snapped at the young man. Kon held up his hands, offering a nervous smile as the man rounded on him. "My baby is getting married because you sent Tim that video!"

"um.....Before I respond to this accusation, how many green stones do you have on you?"

A loud crash distracted Bruce from responding, seeing as it was followed by Damian's loud wailing. "No! No! I want to live!"

"Danny is not going to kill you!" Tim's frustrated voice screams back, "They never did!"

"I'll handle that." Dick sighs, rubbing his eyes clean. He pats Bruce's shoulder, taking him out of Kon's face- and earning a grateful nod from the clone. "You need to go meet up with Cass. You're walking her down the aisle in ten minutes."

Bruce runs towards his daughter's room, barely missing, running into Jazz, who flies by with a Ghost King Royal Cape. Today is going to be a fantastic day despite the stress.

[shinningdance]

Continuation of this, go read every single fic of this lovely lovely writer ( ≧∀≦)

Summery: a young boy tries to steal things from your husband's room, you take him under your wing and get a personal knight in return.

Warnings: none!!!

Words: 1880

-----------------------------

It wasn't unusual for you to walk alone, especially in this household. While your husband is nice, he doesn't necessarily try to spend time with you. You've gotten used to the silence, being alone, the only sound being your heels meeting the floor.

But things are different now.

Trailing behind you is a young boy, no older than 12, he's admiring every single thing he sees and even takes a few things with him.

You caught him stealing from Johns office once, nothing important, just something he could sell for a bit of food. Since you didn't rat him out and instead helped him cover up his 'crime' he decided to stick close.

His walking speed picks up and he's dashing past you, towards a window. He looks out, mouth falling open at the sight. You fight the urge to smile, covering it up by looking away instead.

“It’s so big,” he murmurs, pressing his hands against the glass. His breath fogs up a small section, and he swipes at it with his sleeve. “Do you think they ever get tired of looking at it?”

You follow his gaze, even though you already know what he’s staring at. The city sprawls out before you, golden lights flickering like fireflies against the night. From up here, it all looks peaceful, untouchable. But you both know better.

“They don’t look at it,” you say simply. “Not like you do.”

He glances at you, brow furrowed. “Why not?”

You shrug. “When you have something your whole life, you stop seeing it. It just becomes… normal.”

He turns back to the window, mulling over your words. His fingers drum absently against the windowsill. You know that restless energy well—he’s already thinking about what else he could take, where else he could go.

“Hey,” you say, and he immediately straightens, wary. He still doesn’t trust you completely, not yet. “No stealing anything important.”

He grins, all teeth. “Define important.”

You sigh. “Nothing that will make John notice.”

"He won't notice this!" He calls out, rushing past you while showing something in his pocket. He passes by you and runs down the hallway, making a sharp turn to the left by the end of it. Hearing a small 'thump' makes you pick up your pace.

This was not what you expected to see.

The young boy was on the floor, rubbing his head slightly. While you would have checked on him your gaze was stuck on the person standing there.

Simon.

"Duchess." He mumbles, eyes moving from your face to the small boy starring up at him.

Like anyone would, the kid jumps to his feet, scrambling for cover. His safest option? You. He presses himself against your back, small hands clutching your dress, his head peeking out cautiously from behind you.

"Good evening..." You mumble, hand reaching behind you to pat the kids head.

...

Silence.

No words spoken, no sound besides soft breathing.

"What are you starring at?" The kid asks, glaring at the man in front of you. His words were definitely not a smart choice given the difference of their status but he still chose to say it. His glare could actually kill someone, if it wasn't for his shaky hands holding onto your dress.

"Excuse me?" Simon questions, raising a brow at the courage of this commoner.

"he didn't mean it like that!" You stutter out, pressing your hand over the childs mouth in case he wants to say something again. "Excuse us" You mumble and flash him a small forced smile.

Before Simon could speak again, you already turned around and hurried the kid away.

He just stares. Watching you disappear in the hall.

-----------

Two days later and you still have that memory in your head. You scolded the kid, Leo, for his bold cjoice of words.

His excuse?

He was protecting you.

You. From Simon.

With a sigh you place the book on the table, looking at the flowers in front of you instead. The flower garden is definitely your favorite place, people are rarely there. Leo is crouching by some flower, admiring them or something

You watch as Leo reaches out, running his fingers lightly over the petals. His expression is softer than usual, a rare moment where he isn’t scheming or watching his back. It almost makes you smile. Almost.

“You like flowers?” you ask, leaning back in your chair.

Leo startles slightly, as if he forgot you were there. He hesitates, then shrugs. “They’re nice, I guess.”

“You guess?”

He frowns, shifting his weight. “They don’t talk. They don’t take things from you. They just… stay.”

You don’t respond right away. You know better than to push him when he lets something slip. Instead, you glance at the flower he’s fixated on—a small, stubborn thing, growing slightly apart from the others.

“Seems like this one’s a bit of a troublemaker,” you muse, tilting your head.

Leo snorts. “Guess that’s why I like it.”

For a moment, it’s quiet. The kind of quiet you’ve started to enjoy since Leo’s been around. But then, the moment shatters.

A voice cuts through the stillness.

“There you are.”

John

Leo tenses immediately, his fingers twitching like he’s deciding whether to grab something or run. You don’t miss the way his eyes dart toward you first.

Protecting you. Again.

You inhale slowly, turning to face John, already bracing yourself.

"Good morning." You sigh and stand up, looking at your husband. Normally his eyes would be on you, watching - almost studying - you but not today, his eyes drift to Leo, whos holding the flowers so tight they might break.

"We need to talk..." He sighs and meets your eyes, after a short moment he continuous speaking. "...alone."

Leos eyes widen and he immediately jumps up and rushes over, hands reaching up to hold your hand tightly to his chest.

"No way!" he calls out, shaking his head. "You're not hurting her."

John freezes, looking at the kid with a confused expression. "Hurt her? Why would i hurt her?"

"You all do!" Leo accuses, cheeks turning red as his eyes start to water. "You all hurt her."

John blinks, his expression shifting from confusion to something unreadable. His jaw tightens, and for a moment, he just stands there, staring at Leo like he's trying to make sense of the accusation.

You can feel Leo trembling beside you, his grip on your hand like a vice. You squeeze back, a silent reassurance, but your own heart is hammering against your ribs.

"Leo," you murmur, but he doesn’t back down.

“They whisper about it, the maids,” he continues, voice shaking. “They think I don’t hear, but I do. They say she’s a ghost in this house. That she doesn’t laugh, doesn’t speak unless spoken to. That she flinches when—”

"Enough." John's voice is sharp now, cutting through the air like a blade. Leo stiffens but doesn't let go of you.

John exhales, rubbing his temple before looking at you. “What the hell has he been hearing?”

You don’t answer. Not right away. Instead, you gently pull Leo closer, shielding him with your body. The movement doesn’t go unnoticed.

With a small sigh you pick up Leo, who immediately hides his face in your neck. "If you don't mind, i think it would be wise to continue this conversation some other time."

Not waiting for an answer you turn around and walk back inside, missing the way Leo stares down John with a tiny smile.

-----------------------------------

Leo needs to protect you, and apparently that also means when you're sleeping. It started of serious, him guarding your door while you read a book in your bead. Then he sat down on a neaby chair, eyes still on the door. And after about 15 minutes, he's in your arms asleep.

That's how you go to sleep and wake up.

The knock from outside and then the door opening made you groan slightly, Leo aswell. After you don't hear a voice or a sound, you force your eyes open.

Johnny and Kyle are in your room, both carrying a tray of what you think is breakfast.

"Good morning..?" You mumble and sit up, pulling the blanket slightly over your chest.

Kyle blinks and forces a small smile while stepping closer, putting the tray of fresh fruits on your bedside table.

Johnny sets his tray down on the other side, a plate of toast, eggs, and something that smells sweet—honey, maybe. His gaze flickers to Leo, still curled up beside you, his face buried against your arm.

Neither of them says anything about it, but the look they exchange speaks volumes.

“You don’t usually sleep in,” Johnny comments, crossing his arms.

You rub your eyes. “Didn’t exactly have much of a choice.”

At that, Leo stirs, letting out a small, disgruntled sound before blinking up at you sleepily. The moment he realizes you’re awake—and that you’re not alone—his drowsiness vanishes. He sits up fast, rubbing his eyes with the sleeve of his too-big shirt, before glaring at the two men like they were the ones who did something wrong.

“What do you want?” Leo mumbles, voice still thick with sleep.

Kyle raises an eyebrow but doesn’t take the bait. “We brought breakfast,” he says instead.

Leo eyes the food suspiciously, like it might be poisoned. You roll your eyes. “It’s just breakfast, Leo.”

He doesn’t look convinced but leans into your side anyway, watching as you pick up a piece of fruit. Only then does he grab a slice of toast from the tray, biting into it cautiously.

Johnny exhales, dragging a hand down his face. “John wants to see you.”

Your stomach twists, but you keep your expression neutral. “Now?”

Kyle shrugs. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Leo tenses beside you. “She’s not going.”

Johnny sighs. “Kid, it’s not up to you.”

“Yeah?” Leo challenges, sitting up straighter. “Well, it’s not up to you either.”

Kyle mutters something under his breath, clearly regretting being part of this conversation. Johnny just pinches the bridge of his nose.

You exhale slowly, placing a hand on Leo’s shoulder before he gets himself in trouble. “It’s fine, Leo.”

He snaps his head toward you, disbelief written all over his face. “No, it’s not.”

And the worst part is—you don’t know how to argue with that.

"Leo," You start and bring your hands to cup his face, his eyes soft as they look at yours. "John is still my husband..If he wants to talk, we talk."

He shakes his head before throwing himself into your arms, cheek pressed against your collarbone. "Then I'm going with!"

"Leo..." You sigh and press a kiss to the top of his head. "I'm sorry but no..but you can help me get ready?"

For a moment there's no answer, then he gets up and speed walks to your vanity. After a short moment he comes back, offering you a beautiful yet simple necklace.

"Thank you." You smile and put it on.

"Mama, you look pretty with that..." Leo mumbles as he takes another bite of his toast.

------------------------

Johnny and Kyle burst into Johns office, not surprised to see Simon already there.

At the same time the men speak, out of breath from running.

"He called her mama."

-------------------------

a/n: we're not gonna talk about the missing post from this weekend. take this silly thing and enjoy!! ヾ(≧▽≦)ヾlike always, not proofread!!!

[thequeenofcurses]

Deadly Valentine

story inspired by the above & this art by @sweetlandspos (with permission to post here <3)

summary: ghostface!bf sukuna x f!reader. sukuna doesn't want to wait 'til halloween to try out the new mask kink you told him about tw: CNC, dubcon, mask kink, slight yandere?, dacryphilia, knife play, rough, ghostface, break-in, breeding, sry if I miss something, im so bad at tws. not really proofread words: 4500 (sorry)

masterlist | jjk masterlist

As soon as you got home from work, you knew something was up.

It was eerily quiet. The tv wasn't on and the living room looked as if nobody had touched it.

The house was often filled with some sort of noise and Sukuna always made sure that the tv was always on or he was gaming.

“Kuna, I'm home.”

Nothing.

“Sukuna?!”

Silence.

Maybe he wasn't home? But where would he go?

You checked the whole house and his car was still here, yet no sign of him. Perhaps he went to buy some beer?

You were about to head upstairs until you heard a knock at the door.

Your heart started to beat rapidly in your chest.

Who could that be? Was it Sukuna? No, he would've called you.

You hesitantly opened the door to see a white and black ghost shaped mask staring back at you.

“Er, hello?”

There was no response.

“Can I help you?”

The mask turned his head slowly, and in a raspy voice, he said, “you're so cute.” His voice was distorted by some kind of voice changer.

You scoff. “Thanks, but I have a boyfriend. Now, if you'll excuse me-” You try to close the door, but the masked person wedges their foot in between the door, preventing you from closing it.

“I just have one question.” He doesn't move his foot.

You sigh heavily. “What is it?”

“What's your favorite scary movie?” he asks.

You roll your eyes then put your finger on your chin and tilt your head up cutely while you ponder. “Saw.”

He finally removes his foot and steps away from the door.

“That's a good choice”, he says.

You give him a curt nod and go to shut the door, but before it completely closes, he sticks his head in and whispers, “I'll be seeing you real soon.”

The door slams on his head and he grunts. You hear a chuckle as he walks away and then the sound of his footsteps disappearing.

“What the fuck?”

You quickly lock the door and take off your shoes and jacket, running up the stairs.

“Sukuna!” you shout as you look for him. You check every room possible, making sure the doors and windows are locked, yet the house seems as empty as a church on a weekday.

You breathe steadily trying to calm yourself down. It was probably just one of the neighbors playing a prank. Sukuna should be home soon.

As if he could sense your weariness, your phone beeps with a text from Satoru Gojo.

Gojo: Woman, I'm at the store with this moron Gojo. He rushed me and I ended up forgetting my phone, so I'm borrowing his. Need anything? ~Sukuna

You: I just need you <3

Gojo: can you two not get all mushy on my phone... ~Toru

You shake your head, putting your phone away, and decide to make some popcorn and watch a movie while you wait for him to get home. The second you slide the bag into the microwave you hear another knock at the door that makes you freeze. The store was at least ten minutes away, so there's no way Sukuna could've gotten home so quickly...

You tiptoe to the front door, peeking through the peephole. Nothing. Maybe it was just the wind.

POP! A kernel from the microwave sounds off, jolting your attention back to the kitchen.

This is getting really annoying.

You plop back onto the couch, awaiting your buttery snack to finish it's creation. You surf through the Netflix screen until you find something you like. The screen blackens and the room is pitch black, silent. The only sound coming from the kitchen.

THUMP! You flinch once again, the sound catching you off guard. Okay, what the fuck is going on? It sounded like some thing or some one, had fallen upstairs.

POP! POP! POP! The popcorn cried out for you, signaling it's readiness. You hurriedly take it out and leave the bag on the stove. You quickly open the top kitchen drawer and grab a knife. If someone really is here, I'm going down fighting, you think.

Your phone rings.

UNKNOWN NUMBER

It would be dumb to answer the call. It's so obvious, yet something in your brain compels you to do so.

"H-hello?"

"I told you I would be seeing you again."

"Who the fuck is this?"

"Come upstairs and find out." The call ends, and you're left confused with a heart beating so quickly, you can hear it. You pull up Gojo's contact and hit call.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

You dial 911.

"We're sorry. The number you have dialed has been disconnected or is no longer in service."

BEEP! Incoming text.

UNKNOWN NUMBER: Nice try, sweetie.

Fuck, fuck. FUCK! My phone service isn't working. You pace in the kitchen as your mind racks with a million thoughts. I can't call for help or Sukuna. I just might have to face this guy.

You're not going to go up there.

Don't.

It's a trap.

That's how every dumb bitch in every horror movie dies.

Yet, your feet have a mind of their own, and they softly take you up the stairs. You hold the knife pointed outward as you ascend the stairs to your shared bedroom. Worst case scenario, if that masked person really did break in, you can use those self-defense moves Sukuna taught you and restrain them until the police arrive.

Your heart beats rapidly with every step you take. An advantage you have that the ghost doesn't is you know this house like the back of your hand. There's a secret door in the back of your bedroom closet that also leads to the hallway. You drop to a crawl and quietly sneak through the secret passageway. The ghost will never see you coming. 

As you finally reach the door leading to your closet you inaudibly open it, firmly grasping the knob, as to not let its click make any noise. After you go through, you come face to feet with shoes you don’t own. Fuck.

CLAP CLAP CLAP. He’s clapping, he’s fucking clapping. 

“Impressive,” he laughs with that distorted voice. “I knew you would try to go this way.”

“Don’t hesitate,” you hear Sukuna’s training voice in your mind. “Strike first. Ask questions when they’re where you want them.”

You do a side kick, aiming for the ghost’s knee. He stumbles backward, out of your closet and you use your bought time to stand to your feet. You rise, kitchen knife in your right hand. You finally size him up and holy fuck, he’s so much bigger than you. He’s at least a whole foot taller. He stares at you, waiting for you to make your next move.

You blink back your thoughts. Focus. You rush at him, aiming to stab him in the shoulder. You swing downward, pump faking, as if you were going for his groin, then at the last second, change directions, slicing him in the shoulder. The slice cuts through the fabric, barely piercing his skin. The knife has the tiniest drop of blood on the tip.

Is this guy insane? You internally deliberate. He didn’t even attempt to move.

“W-why,” you stutter out. “Why didn’t you dodge!?”

He scoffs. “Why would I dodge a meaningless attack like that?” The ghost tilts his head, wagging two fingers at you. Asshole. “Come at me again.”

You don’t rush this time, but wait for an opening. The ghost waves at you, taunting, and that’s when you decide to slice again. When he looks like he’s vulnerable, you aim for his chest this time. You use your body weight to thrust forward and the knife looks like it’s going to connect. Until it doesn’t. The ghost grabs your weaponized arm, then uses his other hand to force you into an armbar. He hooks his left arm over your right one, shifting the weight. He twists your hand backward towards the ground until you’re forced to make a decision.

In this position, you have to either drop the knife or you’ll drop to the ground. Either way, you’re fucked. 

You try to hold on, but he’s too strong. He slightly presses down on your hand and it’s enough to make you wince in pain. You let the knife slip out of your fingers and he finally lets go of your hand. 

For only a second. 

The next moment, he turns you and puts you in a headlock, his left arm under your neck and his right one above your head.

“I told you,” he laughs. “Meaningless.”

“My boyfriend– ” you gasp out. “Is going to kill you.”

“Oh, really?” He lets you go and claps dramatically. The power in your room seems to suddenly go out and you’re both enveloped in darkness. Just outside of your room window you notice flashing lights coming through the crack in the curtains. The ghost pulls them back only for you to see Sukuna to be tied to a chair with strobe lights behind him. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“Please don’t,” your voice is shaky and raspy. You drop to your knees, not sure if the ghost can even see you in this darkness. “Please, please, don’t hurt him.”

As if on cue to torture you further, outside the window Sukuna is stabbed right in front of you. Your eyes well with tears and your breath gets stuck in your throat. Subsequently, the outside lights disappear and you're wrapped in darkness again. The lights in your room seemingly come back on and the ghost is walking back into your room. 

“Sorry about your boyfriend,” he laughs. “All those muscles didn't help much.”

“Fuck you!” you spit at him.

“Tch. Good idea.”

“What–” you're cut off by the ghost grabbing you and tossing you onto the bed like you weigh nothing. Your vision is still blurry from the tears that are now streaking down your face, but your legs still work. You kick and kick and kick at him, scratching and clawing into his arms, but to no avail, he tanks it and pushes forward. It isn’t until he straddles you and has your arms pinned above your head, that you start to accept your fate. 

The ghost lifts his mask up, ever so slightly, only to bend down and lick your tears. You twist your head away. 

“You’re sick,” you snap at him again.

“Your tears are making me so hard,” he admits. You internally wretch and avoid his gaze. Sukuna, I need you. Your thoughts go to the only thing that can ever ground you. Sukuna, please, save me. Although, it was pointless to think that after watching the horror show earlier.

He releases one of your hands, only to guide it to his hardening length under his black robes. He then glides his finger across your lips. 

“Open,” he commands.

“Make me,” you refuse, defiance all over your face.

“That can be arranged,” he laughs. Not letting his hold on you go, he grabs the knife off the bedside table. When the hell did he put that there? Was it when the lights went out? The knife slides against your cheek, then tantalizingly slowly down your neck. It hovers above your chest before it’s digging into your shirt. He pulls the knife down, slicing your top in two. But he doesn't stop there. The knife continues its venture, cutting open your bra, then your skirt and panties open.

The ghost tightens his grip on your chin, tilting your head up as the knife drags down your stomach, cold and teasing against your heated skin. Your breath hitches when the tip circles around your navel before trailing lower, stopping just above your pelvis.

“You’re so tense,” he murmurs through the voice changer, pressing the flat of the blade against your hip. “Is that fear? Or something else?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, refusing to respond. His weight pins you down, his body heavy against yours as his free hand slides up your ribs, fingers skimming over the shredded fabric of your shirt.

“Still not talking?” he chuckles, shifting his hips just enough for you to feel the hard outline of his cock pressing against your thigh. “No protests? No begging? Maybe you want this.”

“Fuck you,” you hiss, struggling against his grip.

The ghost tuts, clicking his tongue. “We’ll get there.”

He sets the knife aside, leaving it close enough for you to see its gleaming edge from the corner of your eye. His newly freed hand replaces the cold metal with the warmth of his fingers, ghosting over the curve of your waist, then lower—gripping, teasing, exploring. His touch is rough, calloused palms scraping over your soft skin, but calculated, like he’s memorized every inch of you.

It’s terrifying how well he seems to know your body.

You swallow hard, clenching your fists as his hands travel lower. 

“Oh?” he remarks as if he’s made some new discovery. “You’re wet.”

No. Impossible. You would never get wet for anyone aside from your boyfriend. Especially not this monster. He’s probably hideous under that mask.

He slaps you across the face, and you wince in pain. It stings, but you know that wasn’t at all his full strength. The ghost uses this opportunity to force his lips on yours, tilting his mask up once again. His kiss is hard, forceful, and his tongue slips through your parted lips, licking the roof.

You try to push him away with your free hand, but his hand finds its way to your throat, squeezing just hard enough to make it difficult for you to breathe. Your nails dig into his wrist, a futile attempt to make him let go.

He breaks the kiss, smirking. You can feel his breath against your lips, warm and shallow, and it makes your skin crawl.

“Now for the main event,” the ghost whispers. He reaches to remove his cloak, and as he pulls it off, his black undershirt rides up slightly, exposing a glimpse of inked skin beneath.

Your breath stutters.

Your eyes dart to his stomach, tracing the familiar dark lines curling over his abs, trailing up to his ribs– 

Tattoos.

Your stomach flips, shock crashing into you like a wave.

No. No, it can’t be.

But as he finally pulls his shirt off completely, standing over you in nothing but those dark pants and that haunting mask, the truth slams into you.

The tattoos. The scars. The physique you’ve memorized with your hands and lips a hundred times over. Your eyes go wide with surprise.

Sukuna.

Your entire body tenses beneath him as the realization hits, and the ghost tilts his head, amused by your sudden change in expression.

“What’s the matter, y/n?” he questions, rubbing his erection through his pants. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

He chuckles, and your blood runs cold. You remain silent, still processing everything you’ve just seen.

“What’s wrong?” His voice is still distorted, still playful, but now you can hear it, the underlying smugness that’s so unmistakably him.

You don't reply.

You can't.

You just stare at him, unable to form any coherent thought, and he clicks his tongue in annoyance.

Sukuna removes the rest of his clothes, keeping nothing but that forsaken ghostface mask on. He then climbs on top of you, straddling your waist and pinning your hands above your head once more. His cock brushes against your stomach as he leans over you, the tip slick and glistening, and you realize how wet you are.

This is fucked.

He takes a moment to appreciate the view, his eyes raking over your body, admiring his handiwork. The remains of your clothes are scattered across the bed, barely covering you. Your hair is a mess, sticking to the sides of your face and neck, and your lips are red and swollen from his rough kisses.

Fuck, he loves seeing you like this.

He takes his cock in his hand, giving it a few lazy strokes before rubbing the head along your slit. He teases you, dragging his cock between your folds, coating himself in your slick.

With how wet you are, he doesn’t need any lube tonight.

Your breath catches in your throat as he nudges your entrance, the tip of his cock pressing against you. You squirm beneath him, trying to buck your hips away from him, but his weight pins you down, trapping you in place.

His grip on your wrists tightens, and his other hand finds its way to the knife. He raises the blade, pressing the cold metal against your throat.

"Don’t move."

You hold still, terrified of the blade.

Sukuna chuckles, and you shiver, the sound sending a chill down your spine.

He leans closer, the mask grazing your skin. “I'd hate to have to cut you.”

He presses the knife harder against your throat, enough to draw a thin line of blood. You wince, hissing through gritted teeth, and he laughs, a low, rumbling sound that reverberates through his chest.

“There's my girl.”

He eases his hold on your wrists, sliding his hand up your arm, over your shoulder, and to the base of your throat. His fingers wrap around your neck, applying gentle pressure as he guides himself inside.

His cock stretches you, filling you completely, and you cry out, arching your back.

Fuck, it hurts, but it hurts so good.

“So tight,” he groans, his voice muffled through the mask. “I'm gonna make you take it all, princess.”

Your breath comes in shallow gasps, the feeling of his cock filling you taking over your senses. You're so wet, yet his size makes you feel like you're going to rip.

His grip on your neck tightens, and he begins to thrust, fucking you with deep, deliberate strokes.

You cry out, tears streaming down your face, and he picks up the pace, the sound of his hips slapping against yours echoing throughout the room.

“So fucking good,” he growls, his voice strained. “You're such a good little slut for me.”

His words send a jolt of pleasure through you, and you bite your lip, trying to suppress the moan that's threatening to escape.

You hate how much you love this.

“Don't hold back,” he coos, his hand leaving your throat and finding its way to your clit. His fingers rub tight circles over your sensitive bud, and you let out a strangled moan, the pressure building inside you.

You can feel yourself getting close, your walls clenching around him, and his thrusts become erratic, losing their rhythm.

He leans down, his mask brushing against your cheek, and his voice is a low growl in your ear.

“I want you to come for me, princess.”

He presses the knife against your throat again, just enough to remind you of its presence, and that's all it takes to

You come hard, screaming his name, and he follows, emptying himself inside you with a grunt.

His cock pulses, filling you, and the sensation is almost enough to send you into another orgasm.

He pulls out of you slowly, a trail of his cum dripping down your thigh.

“Mm, perfect,” he sighs, running his fingers over your skin.

You lay still, trembling from the aftershocks, and he takes a moment to admire the sight before him. You're a complete mess, covered in sweat and his cum.

Your hair is tangled and your cheeks are stained with tears. Your lips are red and swollen, and the cuts on your throat are still bleeding, the crimson droplets streaking down your neck.

You're the most beautiful thing he's ever seen.

“I could fuck you all day,” he hums, stroking his cock, already half hard again.

He slides his fingers over your slit, collecting his cum on his fingertips.

“And I will,” he purrs, bringing his hand to his lips. He licks his fingers clean, savoring the taste of you mixed with him.

“Mm, sweet” he moans.

You shiver, and he laughs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“You did so good for me, princess.”

He pulls his mask off and his pink hair cascades down, framing his handsome features. He tosses the mask aside, revealing his signature fanged smile.

“How'd you like my little surprise?”

“S-sukuna…”

He smirks. “Yes, baby?”

“I hate you,” you whisper. “You really scared me”

“Keheheh.” He laughs, shaking his head. “No, you don't.”

He pulls you into a sitting position, wrapping his arms around your waist and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

You can feel his breath against your skin, hot and heavy, and the sensation sends shivers down your spine.

“You did so good,” he murmurs, his voice low and raspy.

“Kuna, please...,” you beg.

“Shh, I know, baby,” he says, brushing your hair back and pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “I'll take care of you.”

“Should I show you some mercy,” he questions, whispering into your ear. Mercy. The safeword you and Sukuna had agreed upon when you first started dating. You gently shake your head and he nods. If you really wanted this to be over, you could say "mercy" or "red" and everything would stop.

His hands move to the back of your neck, and he gently massages your muscles, his fingers working their magic.

“So tense,” he teases. “Let's fix that.”

You groan, closing your eyes and letting the sensation of his touch wash over you.

You can feel his cock pressing against your thigh, already hard again.

“Such a whore,” he hums, his fingers digging into your skin. “Always ready for my cock.”

You squirm, trying to break free of his grip, but he holds you tight, his grip unrelenting.

“I'm going to fuck you again, princess,” he promises, his voice husky with desire. “I'm going to fuck you until you're screaming my name, begging me to stop.”

"Kuna!"

His fingers grip the back of your neck as he pins you down, his body heavy on top of yours.

You can feel his cock pressing against your ass, and his fingers dig into your hips, holding you in place.

“That's right,” he growls, his lips brushing against your ear. “Scream for me, baby.”

He rubs the tip of his cock up and down your wet slit. The mixture of both of your fluids being the perfect lube. He edges the angry, reddened head against your lower entrance. Once, twice, three times before he finally slams his cock into your ass, filling you completely, and you cry out, his name a broken prayer on your lips.

“Fuck, y/n,” he moans, his voice strained. “So. Fucking. Tight.” He thrusts with each word.

“It–  it hurts,” you whimper, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

“Shh, I know, baby,” he soothes, his fingers tangling in your hair. He stops his movements in you, studying your face. “Just relax, let me take care of you.”

His grip on your neck loosens, his hand trailing down to your breast. He pinches your nipple, rolling the hardened nub between his fingers, and you moan, arching your back.

His lips brush against your cheek, feather-light kisses tracing along your jawline.

“That's it, baby,” he encourages, his voice husky with desire. “Just feel.”

He starts to move, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in, burying himself deep inside you. You moan, your eyes rolling back, and he sets a slow, steady pace, his cock filling you completely with every stroke.

“Such a good little slut for me,” he coos, his fingers twisting in your hair. “Taking my cock like a champ.”

“K-kuna, please,” you gasp.

“Shh, I know,” he purrs, his thumb tracing your bottom lip. “Let me make you feel good, baby.”

You nod, biting back a sob. He presses his lips to yours, swallowing your cries, and his hands find their way to your breasts, his fingers squeezing and kneading the soft flesh.

You can feel the pressure building inside you, your body humming with anticipation, and you reach for him, your fingers gripping his hair as he pounds into you.

“S-sukuna, I'm–” you can barely get the words out, the feeling of his cock stretching you sending waves of pleasure through you.

“I know, princess,” he groans, his voice a low growl.

With one of his hands, he starts to vigorously rub your clit while his cock still pounds into your ass.

The feeling of his fingers on your clit and his cock filling you is too much, and you scream out, your body trembling as you come undone.

“Sukuna!” you exclaim, your legs shaking.

“Fuck, baby,” he grunts, his thrusts becoming erratic.

He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours, and he whispers, “Come for me, y/n.”

With those words, he sends you over the edge, your orgasm ripping through you. You cry out, your nails digging into his back.

“Oh, f-fuck,” he moans, his cock throbbing as he comes, filling you with his hot release.

He collapses on top of you, his body spent, and he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, pressing soft kisses along your collarbone. The tips of his pink hair tickling your face.

“Fuck, baby,” he pants, his breath ragged. “That was incredible.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your voice hoarse. “It was.”

You both lay there, catching your breath, and enjoying the afterglow of your orgasms.

After a few minutes, he slowly pulls out, and you whimper at the loss, his cum dripping out of your ass and onto the sheets.

“I'm still mad that you scared me,” you pout into his chest. “I really thought someone had hurt you.”

“Keheheh,” he gives you his infamous laugh as a response. “Sorry, princess. It was the only way.”

You look at him, confusion written on your face, urging him to explain.

“I had Yuji throw on my clothes and sit out there,” he explains. “The brat owed me a favor, and since we’re twins, it was the perfect opportunity to trick you.”

“But, the tattoos…” you tilt your head skeptically. “How did you guys?”

“Sharpie,” he simply responds. “That’s why Gojo and I were at the store.”

You think about the plan, how intricate and well executed it was. He must have had this planned for weeks.

It was so perfectly Sukuna.

You sigh. You can't stay mad at him. Besides, it was originally your idea for him to surprise you with your mask and CNC kink. You just never imagined it would happen at the same time.

“Next time,” you warn him, pointing a finger in his face. “I'll be the one surprising you.”

“Keheheh,” his signature laugh reverberates. “I'll be looking forward to it.”

He presses his lips to yours, his kiss gentle and tender. “I love you, y/n,” he whispers. “Happy Valentine's Day.”

"I love you too, Kuna," you murmur back, closing your eyes and letting sleep claim you.

Sukuna smiles, content with his work.

“Sweet dreams, my little princess,” he kisses the top of your head

It was definitely the perfect Valentine's day.

A/N y'all really should check @/sweetlandspos art out! I love her style and everything she draws is soo delicious! 🤤😫

A/N P.S. Sorry I'm late. I wanted to post this TWO WEEKS AGO for Valentine's, but I had bad writer's block and alot of irl stuff interfere. I'm gonna try to post more consistently though <3

dividers by @omi-resources & @cafekitsune

<- masterlist

[on-the-clear-blue]

I am thinking about, what if Jason, fresh from the grave, actually managed to get to Wanye manor?

Like, some Gothamite stumbles upon this kid in a muddy silk suit, with hands bleeding and bruised, whos hollow looking eyes are filled with tears, trying to draw in weezy breaths and let's out a long desperate whimper that sounds like..."help me"

But instead of running and calling the police because clearly the dead are starting to raise in Gotham and that is like, actually the worst, they notice something, they have seen that face before, fucking hell nearly all of gotham had, maybe a little younger, maybe with a happy smile and a twinkle in his eye even in a black in white photo put out by the newspaper, cus that's the Wayne kid, that's Brucies little boy that got killed.

And they take him home, to the Wanye Manor clearly some bullshit happened, because in Gotham the even the dead arnt allowed to rest it seemed.

Even if nobody ever made it past the front gate, everyone knows where the Manor is, it's the seat of power for like, the most important family in Gotham, criminal or otherwise.

And they feel horrible ringing the gate bell, they would wince because it sounds like a sick joke to just to roll up, and say "I got your dead kid, you want em back?"

Imagine the pain that Alfred has to go through hearing that? Some stranger has just rung in that they have his youngest charge grandson who Alfred personally dressed in his finest to be laid to rest. The same Alfred who did the same for Thomas and Martha, who cried over their bodies in secret just as he did Jason.

He let's the stranger through the front gate, while Master Bruce has a rule against killing, Alfred is more than willing to, and his shotgun is loaded as he watches a older car slowly wind up the long driveway.

He is standing at the door, gun lowered as the stranger pulls to a stop, they don't even look surprised at the gun in the old man's hands, simply nodding at it before heading to the back seat of their car and-

Dear God they dug up his boy, anger pulses through him, the gun raises to shoot down this utter scum before...the body twitches as the stranger speaks to it, gently shaking it and...and Jason blinks awake, a strangled gasp coming from his chest before coughs, and Jason is stumbling out of the back seat.

Alfred can't move for a second, can't think as he sees Jason alive once more, the boys pained expression lessens slightly as he seems to spot thr butler, and a soft, hoarse whisper came from his lips, "A-Alfie..."

Imagine Bruce, drunk beyond the point where it should kill him, laying in Jason's bed, the curtains drawn closed, leaving the room pitch black, the only lights coming from the smattering of glow in the dark stars, done up in constellations across the ceiling, and a small night light by the door.

His son still needed a night light, his darling boy was still young enough to fear the dark, even if it was at an instinctual level.

Bruce felt disgusted by himself, hatred of the pathetic excuse of a man that he was, his son was gone gone GONE.

The lights of his life was gone, and he deserved it, he shouldn't have been so greedy, so selfish to want Dick in his life, so what if Vruce saw himself in the boy, commerserated with the searing pain of his parents, Bruce should have kept the child away, to not allow Dick to become anything like him.

It was good that Bruce was pushing him away, making the wonderful young man Dick turned out to be hate him, Bruce only deserved that, it hurt so much to turn his back on his son, but Bruce couldn't allow anymore of himself to befoul the boy he loved so dearly.

The man longed for another drink but he refused to bring the bottle into Jason's room, he wouldn't desecrate his sons space with something he had hated so much.

It was the only reason Bruce rolled out of the bed, his body felt like lead, numb and dull to the world, and as he opened the door into the hall, he saw him.

There Jason was, yet more to hunt him, his child's phantom back to torment him again.

Mind clouded with pain, Bruce would stumble up to that ghost the figment of his imagination that sought to torment him, stopping only a foot away and falling to his knees, fresh tears sting at the man's eyes. A gutteral sound of agony tearing through him as he wails in sorrow, of a future, a life snuffed out.

Only to be silenced by a weight on his shoulder, followed by a smaller body drapped across his own, the cry of pain was choked out by shock, eyes that shut fly open to see that the phantom, the ghost of his son...was not just a figment of his foul mind.

And Jason's body was not cold, not stiff with rigor mortise, it was warm and soft, the thrum if a weak heart beat pounded across his back where his sons chest was across him.

With shaky hands Bruce would, almost reverently, reach out to touch his son, pulling his hand back as if he was burned went he felt the boys body.

In a moment the man was latched onto the boy, holding onto him as if he let go Jason would fade away and he would lose his son once again.

Of course they run tests, though Bruce is never not in arms reach of Jason, always trying to keep the boy in his eyesight, and went they come back that it really is Jason? That their boy is returned? Bruce clings to his son once more, tears renewed, this time filled with relief not sorrow.

Though sadly, we don't get this, instead after digging himself out of his own grave, Jason gets hit by a car and gets kidnapped by a murder death cult and gets dunked in the evil mountain dew before getting turned against the people that love him, fed lies to fuel his pit madness and then set off on a killing spree of revenge.

[theballadofharkness]

Whisky and Wine: Part 4

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Claire Debella X fem!reader

Summary: The last thing you expected when you came home from your publishers to your older partner Claire’s home was an invitation to her friend’s, Billionaire Miles Bron, private luxury yacht for the weekend. The problem? Claire had been very careful to keep her fellow disrupters away from you, terrified they would ruin yet another aspect of her life. But nobody says no to Miles, so you find yourself surrounded by Claire’s ‘inner circle’.

Word Count: 9.7K

Warnings: explicit smut, fingering, NSFW so MDNI

A/N: I’m so touched by all the love on this series ❤️ this is the first explicit smut in this series so let me know how you guys feel about it and if it has a place in this series xo

You barely registered the path you took through the lavish space, your heart pounding in your chest, your vision blurring slightly from the mix of emotions and alcohol. Everything that had happened in the last half hour crashed over you all at once- Whisky’s words, Miles’ offer, the suffocating weight of doubt pressing into your ribs. It was all too much.

You just needed Claire.

You pushed through the doors to the quieter lounge area, your eyes scanning the room desperately until they landed on her. She was standing with Lionel, her expression serious as they spoke in hushed voices. But the second her gaze flicked up and found yours, everything else faded.

"Baby?" Her voice was immediate and alert. She took one look at you, at your glassy eyes and unsteady stance, and her body went rigid with concern. "What’s wrong?"

Lionel sighed, clearly irritated by the interruption, but he took one look at you and seemed to decide against saying anything. "We’ll finish this later," he muttered to Claire before excusing himself. You barely noticed him leave.

Claire was already closing the distance between you, her hands reaching for you, cupping your face gently. "Hey, hey, talk to me, sweetheart," she murmured, her thumbs stroking your cheeks. "Let me make it better. What happened?"

A small, broken sound escaped your lips as you collapsed into her, your arms winding around her neck, your body molding to hers as you clung to her like she was the only thing keeping you tethered to the ground. Claire caught you instantly, wrapping you up in her strong arms, her warmth anchoring you as you buried your face against her shoulder.

"Shh, I got you," she whispered, running a hand down your back soothingly. "I’ve got you, my baby."

You wanted to speak, to explain, but all that came out was a shaky breath, and Claire’s hold on you only tightened. She pulled back just enough to look at you, her sharp eyes scanning your face, taking in every little detail- the redness in your eyes, the way your lower lip trembled.

Her expression darkened, protective. "Who do I need to kill?" she half-joked, but there was a dangerous edge to her voice. "Tell me what you need, baby."

You just shook your head, your fingers gripping at the fabric of her dress. "Just… you, please, I need you," you murmured, barely coherent.

Something in Claire’s face softened, but the worry never left her eyes. She exhaled slowly, one hand slipping down to your waist as she effortlessly lifted you onto the table behind her, hiking your dress up to your hips as she stepped in between your parted thighs, pressing her body against yours.

"I’m right here," she murmured, one hand still cupping your jaw, tilting your face up to hers. "You’ve got me, baby. Always."

Claire forced herself to pull back, her breathing uneven as she cupped your face between her hands. Your desperation had set her blood on fire, but now that the haze of lust was clearing, she could see just how wrecked you truly were.

"Baby," she murmured, searching your face, brushing her thumbs over your damp cheeks. "No, c’mon, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

You shook your head quickly, trying to pull her back in, trying to press your body closer, anything to get her to give you what you wanted. "Nothing’s wrong, just- please, mommy, please," you whispered, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress like you were afraid she might let go. "I just need you, need to feel you close, need-"

"Hey, hey, shhh, baby," Claire soothed, her heart aching at the way your voice cracked. You looked so overwhelmed, so lost, and it killed her that she didn’t know why. "You have me, sweetheart. You always have me."

She softened her hold on you, brushing a hand down your back, grounding you. "But I need to know what’s going on, okay?" she coaxed, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Tell me what’s got you like this, my pretty girl."

Claire felt you trembling in her arms, your grip on her tightening like you were afraid she’d slip through your fingers. Her hands instinctively curled around your waist, holding you firm, steady, grounding.

"Baby, hey," she whispered, brushing her lips against your temple. "Tell me what’s going on."

You swallowed thickly, burying your face in her neck for a moment before pulling back just enough to meet her gaze. Your eyes were glassy, desperate. "Whisky… she said you’d never come out," you admitted, voice small. "That after Senate, there will just be another goal, another reason to hide. She said I was stupid to believe you." Your breath hitched, hands clenching in the fabric of her dress. "Tell me she’s wrong. Please, tell me she’s wrong. She doesn’t know you, she doesn’t know us."

Claire’s whole body went rigid.

For a moment, there was only silence- thick, tense, and charged. Then, slowly, her hands slid to your thighs, gripping them as she stepped closer, pressing herself firmly between them. "That bitch needs to stay out of our business," she seethed, voice low, dangerous.

You gasped softly at the sudden shift in her, the fire in her eyes blazing with something fierce, something possessive. Claire was always protective of you, but this- this was different. This was territorial.

"Baby," she murmured, tilting your chin up with two fingers, her grip firm but reverent. "Listen to me. You are mine. Nobody gets to come between us, nobody gets to plant doubts in your pretty little head. Whisky doesn’t know shit about us. She doesn’t know how much I love you, how much I’d burn down the whole fucking world for you if I had to."

Your breath came out shaky, your heart hammering. "Claire…"

"No," she cut you off, her hands sliding up your body, one curling around your waist while the other cradled the back of your head. "You don’t listen to her. You listen to me. I promised you, didn’t I? I said I’d come out after Senate, and I will. I swear it, baby."

"But-"

"No buts," she interrupted, pressing her forehead against yours. "You belong to me. No one is ever going to take you from me. And I’m going to make sure nobody ever tries again."

Her lips crashed into yours, the sheer dominance in her kiss stealing the breath from your lungs. It was deep, claiming, unwavering. You whimpered against her, gripping onto her shoulders, letting her pull you impossibly closer.

When she finally pulled back, just enough to catch her breath, she pressed one last kiss to your lips- softer this time, but just as firm. "Mine," she whispered, her thumb brushing over your cheek. "Forever."

“Forever” you nodded quickly, eyes looking up at her wide and glassy. “P-please Claire… need you” you breathed.

Claire’s fingertips dig into your hips, hard enough to mark you up with bruises. “Oh baby, I can’t turn you down when you beg for me like that,” she groaned, hooking a finger into the waistband of your lace panties and tugging them off.

She pulls back just enough to get a glimpse of your glistening pussy on display for her, her fingers twitching against your thighs as she inhaled sharply at the sight.

“Fucking hell baby…” she eventually managed, letting her middle finger brush lightly along your glistening folds, lightly flicking your clit with the tip of her finger. “Already so wet for me hm?” She trails kisses up the column of your throat as you tilt your head back to give her unfettered access.

She gently nips at your earlobe, and you shiver at the sensation, gasping out a breathy plea for more. She happily obliges, slipping two of her fingers inside your aching pussy making you feel deliciously full.

“C-can I-?” you panted against her as her fingers slid in and out of you at a maddeningly slow pace.

With a subtle nod of Claire’s permission, you are allowed to take what you need, holding onto her shoulders as your pussy clenched round her long fingers. She’s plunging them in and out of you as you ride her hand, her thumb keeping a relentless pace on your clit as you writhe against her, the two of you working in tandem to bring you to your release.

Claire has spent many a long night committing every last inch of your body to memory, so she knows how to curl her fingers just right to drive you over the edge.

“F-Fuck, mommy I‘m coming!” you moan, and it must be louder than you realize, because Claire is quick to wrap a hand round your throat, pressing her lips against yours in a filthy kiss to muffle your desperate moans.

“You’re gonna get us caught pretty girl,” Claire warns you, but she doesn’t slow her pace, determined to make you fall apart on her fingers.

The danger of being discovered with Claire’s fingers knuckle deep inside of you has your orgasm crashing over you, and you cry out Claire’s name as it hits. She allows you to ride out your high till you begin to feel yourself twitch, oversensitive, before removing her fingers from your pussy, bringing them to her mouth and swirling her tongue around them to taste your slick. The sight alone was almost enough to make you cum again.

“You taste fucking delectable baby,” she breaths as her hands pull your limp body against her chest, words going straight to your core.

You were breathless, panting softly against Claire’s lips, your body still trembling from the sheer intensity of her kiss. Your fingers curled into the fabric of her dress as you let out a delicate whimper, overwhelmed, overrun by the force of her love, her claim on you.

Claire exhaled sharply, grounding herself, before her hands slid back down your body, gripping your waist as she pulled you up onto your feet. She kept you close, unwilling to let you go for even a second, her arms wrapping around you protectively.

"Baby," she murmured, pressing a flurry of soft kisses over your cheeks, your forehead, the tip of your nose. "My sweet girl. My love. I’ve got you."

You let out another shaky breath, melting into her, eyes fluttering shut as she kissed along your jaw, her lips warm and tender against your skin.

"I love you," she whispered between kisses, her voice soft but unwavering. "So much. More than anything. You’re mine, baby. No one will ever change that."

You whimpered again, clutching at her, your body still sensitive from everything- your emotions, her possessiveness, her fingers deep inside you. Claire held you through it, her hands smoothing up and down your back, grounding you, steadying you.

"Shh, I’ve got you," she soothed, pressing another lingering kiss to your temple. "Always."

You exhaled shakily against Claire’s shoulder, your body still thrumming from everything that had just happened. Her arms remained locked around you, protective and grounding, her lips brushing over your temple like she was afraid you might slip through her fingers if she let go. You wanted to stay in this moment, just wrapped up in her, safe from everything that had happened tonight- but you knew you had to tell her.

You swallowed hard and pulled back slightly, looking up at her, still holding onto her tightly. "Baby," you murmured, voice quiet, almost hesitant. "There’s… something else I need to tell you."

Claire’s body tensed instantly. Her hands tightened on your waist, her protective instincts flaring up the second she heard the shift in your tone. "What is it?" she asked, her voice lower now, sharper.

You hesitated, but then you forced yourself to say it. "Miles- he, um… he offered to help me with my books."

Her brows furrowed. "What?"

"He said he could get me the best of the best to promote my work," you explained, watching her face carefully. "Make me a household name. Said I’d be a younger, hotter Stephen King or something."

The moment the words left your mouth, Claire’s entire expression hardened. Her jaw clenched, and her grip on you became just a little tighter. "No," she said immediately, her voice firm, unwavering. "Don’t you dare."

You blinked in surprise, confused by how fast and fiercely she shut it down. "What?"

"I mean it," she said, pulling back just enough to cup your face between her hands, forcing you to look at her. Her thumbs brushed over your cheeks, but her gaze was sharp, serious. "You don’t want to be indebted to him in any way. You don’t want to owe him anything."

"I didn’t say yes," you protested, thrown off by her intensity. "I just said I’d think about it, but I wasn’t actually- "

"Don’t," she interrupted, shaking her head firmly. "Don’t even consider it. That man doesn’t do favors, baby. If he’s offering you something, it’s because he’s expecting something back. And once he has his claws in you, you’ll never get out. He will own you."

You bit your lip, feeling a little uneasy now. You hadn’t really thought about it like that before. At the time, you’d been so overwhelmed that you hadn’t fully considered what it actually meant.

"I wasn’t planning on taking it," you admitted softly, your fingers tightening slightly in the fabric of Claire’s dress. "It just… caught me off guard, that’s all."

Claire sighed, some of the tension easing from her shoulders, but her hands didn’t leave you. "Good," she muttered, pressing her forehead against yours. "I mean it, baby. Stay away from that offer. You don’t need Miles fucking Bron to make you successful. You’re brilliant all on your own."

Your heart fluttered a little at that, at the raw sincerity in her voice. She believed in you so fully, so completely, in a way that made your chest ache.

"Yeah?" you whispered, searching her face.

Claire pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, her fingers tilting your chin up. "Yeah," she murmured, and there was so much certainty in her voice. "And if you ever do need help with promotion, or dealing with your publishers, I will handle it. Not Miles. Not anyone else. You’re mine to take care of, baby."

You exhaled shakily, your eyes growing glassy again. "You always take care of me," you whispered.

"Damn right I do," she murmured, and then she kissed you, slow and deep, like she needed you to understand just how much she meant it.

When she pulled back, her hands stroked down your arms, her touch warm and steady. "Now," she murmured, her voice gentler, but still firm. "Let’s go get through this damn dinner."

~

Claire kept a steady arm wrapped around you as the two of you made your way back to the dinner, her grip firm but careful, guiding you as you still felt slightly unsteady. Between the alcohol, the overwhelming emotions of the night, and the way Claire had just taken care of you, your legs felt weaker than you wanted to admit. But Claire knew. She always knew.

"Easy, baby," she murmured, her voice low and warm as she pulled you just a little closer, adjusting her grip. "You okay?"

You nodded, nuzzling your face into her shoulder, breathing her in. "Mhm. Just need you close."

"I’m not going anywhere," she promised, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

As you stepped back into the dining area, you could already feel the change in atmosphere. The music was softer now, the drinks still flowing, the group still lively- but you could sense the undercurrent of tension between certain people. Your eyes flickered to Whisky, who was seated at the table, her expression unreadable as she stirred her drink. Claire noticed too.

You felt her tense, her grip on you tightening slightly as her gaze burned in Whisky’s direction, her jaw clenching like she was one wrong move away from saying something she shouldn’t.

You exhaled softly, and before she could stew too much in her anger, you curled further into her arms, tilting your head up to look at her.

"Claire," you murmured, voice soft, wanting to pull her focus back to you, back to something good.

She glanced down at you, her brow still furrowed, her body still humming with frustration, but the moment she saw you- saw how soft your gaze was, how safe you felt in her arms- some of the tension melted away.

"You look so pretty," you told her, your voice slightly dreamy, the alcohol still making you a little loose-limbed and affectionate.

Her expression softened instantly, her eyes flickering over your face, studying you like she always did, like you were the most precious thing she’d ever laid eyes on.

"Yeah?" she murmured, a small, almost shy smile tugging at the corner of her lips.

You nodded, reaching up to brush your fingers against her cheek. "So pretty," you whispered, and you meant it so much.

Claire’s lips parted slightly, something unreadable flickering across her face before she sighed, shaking her head slightly, a quiet chuckle escaping her. "My sweet girl," she murmured, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your hair, her fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back.

She held you close as the two of you made your way to the table, and as much as there was still so much left unresolved- Miles, Whisky, the entire tangled mess of the night- right now, you just wanted to exist in this. Just you and her, wrapped up in each other, in the warmth of her arms, in the way she always held onto you like you were the most important thing in the world.

Miles stood at the head of the long dining table, drink in hand, his signature wide, self-satisfied grin plastered across his face. He spread his arms in a grand gesture, commanding the attention of the group as the conversation quieted around him.

"Gang," he started, pausing for effect, his voice warm and performative, "this has been an amazing weekend so far. And let me tell you, the next three days? You’re not ready. We are going to have the most amazing time. I’ve got activities planned, games to play-" he winked, "-a little something for everyone."

There were a few murmurs of anticipation, Birdie clapping her hands together excitedly, Duke raising his glass in agreement. Claire, beside you, exhaled quietly, her fingers still tracing slow, grounding circles against your back as you remained curled into her side.

Miles took a sip of his drink before continuing, his tone turning just sentimental enough to feel practiced. "But more than that, this trip isn’t just about fun- it’s about us. My closest friends. My fellow Disruptors."

At that, a few of them chuckled, nodding along. You caught Lionel’s jaw tightening slightly, his shoulders stiff, but he said nothing.

"You know," Miles went on, "after all this time, after everything we’ve built together, after all those billions… you remain my oldest and dearest friends." His voice dropped into something almost conspiratorial. "And do you know why that is?"

There was a pause. No one answered. Miles grinned.

"Because I appreciate honesty. I value loyalty. I see the real ones when they’re in front of me. And each of you?" He tapped the rim of his glass with a single finger. "You’ve been real ones since day one."

A few voices murmured agreement, Birdie giggling and whispering something to Peg, Whisky taking a long sip of her drink.

"And that’s why we’re here," Miles concluded, raising his glass higher. "To celebrate the bonds that connect us. The trust, the love- the history that’s led us to this moment. So here’s to us, gang. Here’s to the past, the present, and the future of the Disruptors."

Everyone lifted their glasses in a toast, murmuring their own agreements. Claire, beside you, barely lifted hers, her expression unreadable as she stared at Miles with the faintest trace of skepticism.

You swallowed, shifting slightly against her. There was something about the way he spoke, the way he crafted his words that left an uneasy feeling in your stomach.

But before you could dwell on it too much, Claire gently pressed a kiss to your temple, pulling you closer, grounding you.

"To us," Miles echoed once more with a wide, satisfied grin.

And everyone drank.

Miles grinned, raising his glass even higher. "Here’s to my OGs!"

There were more murmurs of agreement, glasses clinking together, the mood warm and celebratory- at least on the surface. You absently twirled a piece of your hair around your finger as you listened, your gaze unfocused as Miles continued speaking.

"Because that’s what friends do," he went on smoothly, "we help each other. Just look around. Look at what we’ve built together."

He gestured with his glass as he spoke. "I help Claire with her campaign because I believe in her. And look at her? Throwing a grenade into the machine of politics. Lionel? My guy keeps everything at Alpha running like the genius he is. Duke’s building his brand, and I’m making sure he’s got the platform to do it. Birdie’s got a whole new venture coming up, and I’m investing because that’s what we do. We look out for each other."

You frowned slightly, looking up at him. "So what do you need help with?" you asked.

A brief flicker of frustration crossed Miles’ face. "Excuse me?"

You tilted your head. "This dinner." You gestured loosely around the table. "You brought everyone here to celebrate, but also to remind everyone how you’ve helped them along. So what do you need help with?"

Miles hesitated for just a beat too long. Then he let out a short laugh, shaking his head as if amused. "Well… now you mention it…"

You felt Claire stiffen slightly beside you. As Miles spoke, you caught the faint sound of Lionel muttering under his breath to Claire. "I told you there was a reason he brought up my employment…"

Claire exhaled sharply through her nose, her fingers tightening around her wine glass. You felt her shift beside you, straightening slightly, and you could sense her anxiety growing.

Miles, meanwhile, let out a dramatic sigh, pressing a hand to his chest as if the weight of the world had just been placed upon him. “I’ve been going through something recently and I wasn’t going to mention it but…" he said, tone dripping with faux exasperation. "If you must know… Andi’s legal team has been on my ass."

That got everyone’s attention. The mood at the table shifted- subtle, but noticeable. A few glances were exchanged, and Lionel closed his eyes for half a second, as if bracing himself for what was coming next.

"Something about intellectual ownership and the napkin…" Miles continued, waving his hand dismissively. "It’s all bullshit, obviously. We all know I came up with the founding idea of Alpha, right gang?" He gestured around the table, expecting agreement. No one immediately jumped to confirm it.

"Well, anyway," he pushed on, "there’s no way she can actually prove what she’s saying, but… I’m being taken to court anyway."

There it was.

You felt Claire’s breath hitch, the tension in her body clear as day. Lionel sat back slightly in his chair, rubbing his forehead. Birdie, completely oblivious to the shift in mood, took a sip of her drink like this was nothing more than casual dinner conversation. Your own stomach twisted. Even tipsy, even overwhelmed from the night’s emotions, you knew this was huge. And Miles didn’t seem nearly as concerned as he should be.

Duke, ever blunt, frowned and leaned forward. "So… what does that have to do with us?"

Miles let out another one of his exaggerated sighs, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe they were even asking. "Guys, c’mon. If I’m locked in a legal battle where I might lose everything- we lose everything."

Silence fell over the table.

The realization hit like a slow-moving train, the weight of his words sinking into each of them at different speeds. You felt Claire stiffen beside you. Lionel muttered something under his breath that you didn’t quite catch, and Birdie blinked in confusion before tilting her head.

"Why do we lose everything?" she asked, her voice light, still not quite putting the pieces together.

Miles turned to her with the kind of patient condescension he reserved for when he thought he was explaining something so obvious. "Well, Birdie, if Andi takes me to court, I won’t be able to invest in Sweetie Pants. I’ll have to save my money for the lawyers."

Birdie’s mouth dropped open, her freshly glossed lips forming a perfect ‘O’. "What?"

Duke cut in, scowling. "Or my streams? I’m counting on your promotion, dude. That was the whole deal."

Miles sighed again, spreading his hands as if to say what can you do? "And I’d love to give it to you, man, but I can’t… not while Andi is on my ass."

His words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing down on the group.

This wasn’t just about him being sued.

He was making it their problem.

Birdie was the first to break the silence, shifting in her chair, eyes wide with nervous energy. "Well… what do we do?!" And there it was, the first one to show a willingness to stab a friend in the back for the financial security that came with being team Miles.

You swallowed hard. Because the thing was… Birdie might have been the first to say it, but you could feel the same question hanging in the air from everyone else. They were all thinking it.

Miles smiled, like a teacher pleased that his students were finally catching on. "Oh, it’s really simple," he said, spreading his hands. "Something that would make the trial really quick and easy is if you guys just told the court, as witnesses, that you saw me write down the initial idea for Alpha on that napkin at the Glass Onion."

Your stomach turned.

"You know, what really happened," he added smoothly. "Wouldn’t be a lie. Just helping out a friend."

Claire’s grip on your thigh tightened. She was stone still beside you, but you could feel the tension rolling off of her. And that was when it truly clicked. He was asking them to lie.

Under oath.

The silence at the table was thick enough to choke on. Everyone was waiting for someone else to speak first.

Finally, Lionel cleared his throat. "No, man." His voice was firm, but there was a flicker of unease behind his eyes. "We did enough. Cutting out Andi, not protesting when you did what you did… We already stood by while you screwed her over, I’m not doing it again."

Miles sighed heavily, shaking his head like a disappointed parent. "That’s too bad, Lionel," he said, his voice calm… too calm. "Because I need friends and employees I can trust."

Claire shifted beside you, she knew what was coming. So did Lionel.

"And if you can’t be here for me in my time of need," Miles continued, "I don’t know if I can trust you to work for me."

Lionel tensed. "Miles-"

"It’s a shame too," Miles interrupted, shrugging. "I was just talking to my investors about funding your work further. Getting you the equipment you need to show off that science brain. But if I can’t rely on you…" He trailed off, shaking his head with a little smirk, before knocking back his drink.

That was it.

It wasn’t a request for help.

It was a threat.

Claire scoffed, shaking her head as she reached for her wine glass. "Miles, can’t your machine of lawyers and power destroy her by sheer dumb force?" She took a sip, voice casual, but her grip on the stem was tight. "Why do you need us?"

Miles tilted his head, flashing that smug, easy grin. "Claire Bear," he said, voice dripping with faux affection.

She ignored the nickname. "Please," she continued, "I’m a politician. You’re asking me to perjure myself."

Miles laughed, leaning forward like she had just said something adorable. "C’mon, Claire. Having you all speak on my behalf will stop this whole back and forth about Alpha, get Andi off my back, and allow us all to-" he made an exaggerated gesture with his hands, "‘inbreathiate’ in the moment again without the threat of Andi hanging over us."

You frowned. "Inbreathiate?"

"Yeah!" Miles grinned. "It means, like, breathe in the energy of life together-"

"That’s not even a word," You muttered under your breath

Miles ignored you, still looking at Claire. "And if we can get this thing settled quickly, I can continue funding the dreams of my fellow disruptors. It’s in all of our best interests, don’t you think?"

Miles clasped his hands together, scanning the table with that same smug, expectant smile. "Yeah? So I can trust you guys, right?"

There was a beat of hesitation, thick and uncomfortable. Everyone glanced at each other, waiting for someone else to speak first.

And then, predictably, Birdie broke the silence. "Oh, Miles, you know I’ve got your back," she said, her voice a little too bright, a little too eager. "I mean, what kind of friend would I be if I just let Andi ruin everything for you? For us?" She laughed like she wasn’t about to commit perjury.

Miles grinned at her. "That’s my baby Birdie," he said approvingly, raising his glass in her direction.

Duke was next, giving a sharp nod. "Okay, man, whatever you need," he said, voice flat but firm. "I got you."

Miles turned to Lionel now, still smiling but with just the right amount of pressure behind it. "And Lionel?"

Lionel swallowed hard. His fingers clenched around his fork, his shoulders stiff. He knew this was wrong. You could see it in the way his jaw tightened, in the way his eyes darted away from Miles, in the way his knee bounced under the table. But he also knew what saying no would mean for him, for his career, for everything he’d built.

Finally, he exhaled, looking down at his plate, his voice quieter than before. "Yeah, okay," he muttered. "I’ll do it."

You felt sick.

And then all eyes turned to Claire. Claire didn’t look at you. She was staring at Miles, her expression unreadable, her jaw set.

Miles just kept smiling. "Claire Bear?"

Your grip on Claire’s hand tightened until your knuckles went white. "Claire, you can’t do this, baby, please," you whispered, your voice small and trembling under the weight of what was happening. "It’s illegal. It’s- it’s perjury. You’re a politician. You could lose everything- "

Around the table, the others were watching Claire carefully. Birdie, biting her lip, nodding slightly as if encouraging her to just agree and get it over with. Duke was frowning, arms crossed, brows raised in expectation. Lionel was staring hard at his plate, shoulders hunched, looking nauseous.

And Miles, of course, was smiling.

"C’mon, Claire Bear," he said smoothly, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "I can only bankroll a candidate I can trust. And if I can’t trust you… well," he made a little show of sighing dramatically, "maybe it’s time I start looking at your opponent instead."

Your heart stuttered in your chest. "What the fuck?" you snapped, whipping your head toward him. "You can’t do that! What the hell is wrong with you?!"

Miles only smirked, ever the composed manipulator. "What? You know how it is, babe. Politics is all about trust. I mean think about it. If her constituents found out she cheated on her husband with a much younger woman? She’s never get their trust back."

Your breath was coming fast now, panic making your chest tight. "Claire, don’t do this."

Claire inhaled slowly, lifting her glass to her lips as if she were simply considering her options, as if she weren’t making a deal with the devil right in front of you.

And then, finally, she exhaled and nodded once, her voice cool and controlled. "Fine," she said, "I’ll say what you need me to say."

Your stomach dropped.

Miles grinned like a cat who’d caught the canary. "Ahh, fantastic! Now that that’s sorted" he clapped his hands together, "let’s eat!"

Just like that, the tension dissolved. The others shifted, murmuring their agreements, reaching for their forks as though they hadn’t just been coerced into a legal conspiracy. As though Claire hadn’t just promised to lie under oath.

You turned to her in horror, tugging on her wrist like a desperate child. "Claire you could go to prison," you whispered, your voice cracking, "Claire, please-"

And then she snapped. "Stop it," she hissed, her voice low but sharp, her grip on your thigh suddenly firm enough to still you completely. "Now."

You flinched at the sudden change in her tone. "But, Claire-"

"I said stop," she cut you off, eyes dark and warning. "I’m handling this."

The finality in her words made your chest constrict. You felt helpless, small, completely stripped of your voice.

Her fingers dug in just slightly where she held you, grounding you, keeping you in place. "I need you to trust me, baby," she said, softer this time, tilting your chin up with two fingers. "You trust Mommy, don’t you?"

You swallowed, eyes welling up. "Not when you’re lying," you admitted in a whisper.

Her jaw ticked slightly, but she didn’t break. Instead, she leaned in, her lips brushing your ear, her voice barely above a murmur. "I am doing what needs to be done," she said slowly, deliberately. "And I am not having this conversation here."

You blinked back tears, hands trembling in your lap.

She pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, her voice turning sickeningly sweet, masking the undeniable authority in her tone. "Now be a good girl and eat your food, hmm?"

Your heart twisted painfully. The room carried on as normal, conversation flowing around you, but you felt detached, numb.

Claire squeezed your knee before finally pulling away, acting as though nothing had happened, as though she hadn’t just shattered your trust right in front of you. And you had no choice but to sit there, staring at your untouched plate, feeling like the only person in the room who realized they had all just signed their souls away.

As the plates were cleared and the glasses refilled, Miles leaned back in his chair, swirling the last sip of his drink in his glass. With a satisfied smirk, he pushed back from the table, standing with a grandiose stretch.

"Alright, my friends," he announced, clapping his hands together. “Hope you didn’t eat too much, because I have a little surprise for you all."

Everyone looked up, some intrigued, some still reeling from the conversation before.

"I’ve paid for an exclusive nightclub tonight. Whole place is ours, VIP all the way. So let’s get going, yeah?” He checked his watch. "I just need to make a quick call first."

With that, he slid his phone out of his pocket and strolled out of the dining area, already lifting it to his ear.

You shifted, opening your mouth to speak to finally say something, anything, but before you could get a word out Claire shot you a look.

A single glance.

Sharp. Commanding. A silent warning: Don’t you dare. You swallowed hard, your mouth clamping shut.

Birdie, ever the one to fill silence, groaned and stretched her arms over her head, dramatically tossing her napkin onto the table. "Well," she sighed, "if we’re gonna be miserable, we might as well do it in paradise with bottle service and a dance floor, right?" She giggled at her own joke.

You didn’t.

Instead, you scoffed under your breath, standing abruptly. "Yeah," you muttered, leveling the table with a pointed stare. "You certainly have all earned it."

Without another word, you turned on your heel and left the table, feeling Claire’s eyes burning into your back as you strode toward the deck, needing air, needing a drink, needing to be anywhere but sitting in that tension-filled room, pretending everything would be fine.

~

As soon as you disappeared onto the deck, a thick silence settled over the table. The air was still heavy with the weight of what had just been agreed upon, and the tension was palpable.

Duke was the first to break it, shaking his head before turning to Claire. "You gotta get your woman in line."

Claire’s head snapped toward him, her sharp glare cutting through him like a blade. "Excuse me?" she hissed, voice low, dangerous. "Don’t you fucking dare talk about her like that."

Duke held up his hands in mock innocence. "I’m just saying," he defended. "She’s got a problem with this whole thing, and if she stirs up too much shit, she could make problems for all of us."

Birdie nodded, swirling the wine in her glass lazily. "Duke’s right," she said as if it were obvious. "She can’t ruin this for us."

Lionel sighed, rubbing his temples. "It seems like she’s the only one left at this table with a strong moral compass," he muttered.

"Exactly," Duke pointed out, looking directly at Claire. "So make sure that doesn’t become an issue."

Claire’s fingers curled into fists beneath the table, anger simmering low in her belly. "Are you threatening me, Duke?" she asked, voice deceptively calm. "Jesus, this isn’t the Mafia."

Duke just smirked, leaning back in his chair. "I’m just saying, use that mommy thing you got going on with her. Works like a charm, right?" His smirk deepened, knowing exactly what he was implying.

Claire’s stomach twisted, shame curling at the edges of her rage.

Birdie gasped, delighted. "Claire!" she giggled, leaning forward with interest. "I didn’t know you had it in you! Dominating politics, yes, but dominating a teenager-"

Claire slammed her hand down on the table, making the glasses tremble. "She isn’t a teenager!" she snapped.

The table fell silent.

Claire shoved her chair back, pushing away from the table, her heart hammering in frustration. She needed to find you. Now.

But as she stormed through the yacht, her mind betrayed her, dragging her back to the many times she’d used that very dominance to get you to comply, heat coiling in her belly.

She thought about when you’d first started paying attention to her political career, watching her navigate a world of power you weren’t yet accustomed to. You’d questioned things. Pushed back. Sometimes, you’d gotten upset, and Claire- always knowing exactly how to handle you- had taken control.

"Baby, you need to trust me," she’d murmured once, pulling you onto her lap after a particularly tense evening. You had been anxious, worried about something she'd said in a speech, worried about how much she had to compromise to survive in her world. She had cradled you close, her hands smoothing down your back, her lips at your temple. "I know what I’m doing. You don’t have to carry all of this. Let mommy handle it."

And you had melted. Every time.

She thought about how you had been upset just hours ago, overwhelmed and emotional, looking to her for stability. How easily she had pulled you in, settled you, guided you. How much you needed her to be that for you.

And now here you were, spiraling again, running from her, doubting her, and it made something primal and protective snap inside her. She found herself moving faster. She would find you. And she would make you understand. She had to.

~

You slam the empty shot glass down onto the bar, the burn of tequila barely registering anymore. The bartender eyes you warily, but you don’t acknowledge it. You just tap the counter, wordlessly asking for another. You cannot be sober for another second. Not after this. Not after watching Claire- your Claire- agree to something that could ruin her.

Your head spins, your thoughts a tangled, messy blur. Claire had finally said she’d come out for you, finally promised to make that leap. And now? Now, she could go to prison for perjury.

For Miles Fucking Bron.

It’s like you’re watching everything slip through your fingers in real time. You’d fought so hard for this, for her, for a future where you didn’t have to keep hiding, where Claire didn’t have to keep making excuses, where she could just be yours in the open.

And now it could all be destroyed before it even begins.

You don’t even realize the next shot has been poured until the bartender nudges it toward you. Without hesitation, you grab it and down it, feeling the heat sear down your throat.

It’s not enough.

Nothing feels like enough.

You grip the edge of the bar, staring blankly at the liquor bottles lined up behind it. The voices behind you are a distant hum, the party continuing as if your entire world isn’t currently shattering.

You’re dimly aware of someone coming up beside you, but you don’t look up. Not until a familiar voice cuts through your haze- low, firm, laced with warning.

"That’s enough."

Claire.

You don’t even hesitate. You grab the next shot the second the bartender sets it down and throw it back, the burn barely registering.

"That’s enough," Claire says again, voice sharper now, closer.

You scoff, shaking your head as you set the glass down with a clink. "No, it’s really not."

She moves then, reaching for your wrist, and you whip around so fast she freezes mid-motion.

"Don’t you dare touch me." Your voice is sharp, venomous, shaking.

Claire’s jaw tightens, but her eyes- God, her eyes- are filled with hurt beneath the frustration.

"Baby- "

"Don’t," you snap, stepping back like her presence alone is suffocating. "Don’t ‘baby’ me, don’t ‘mommy’ me, don’t act like you have a right to tell me what the fuck to do after what you just did in there."

Claire exhales through her nose, controlled, composed in a way that makes your blood boil. "You need to calm down."

You let out a humorless laugh, swiping at your mouth. "Calm down? Oh, that’s rich. You want me to calm down when you just agreed to perjure yourself for that manipulative piece of shit? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Claire’s expression flickers, something stormy passing over her face. "Watch it."

"Or what?" You step closer now, alcohol making you reckless, eyes burning. "What are you gonna do, huh? Mommy gonna put me in my place? Gonna tell me to sit pretty and shut up like a good little girl while you destroy your fucking life?"

Claire’s nostrils flare. "You don’t understand what’s at stake here."

"I understand plenty," you snap. "I understand that I fucking love you, and you just made a deal with the devil. I understand that you promised me, Claire. You promised me a future together, and now you’re throwing it all away because Miles fucking Bron dangled your career over your head like a goddamn bone."

Her face hardens. "This is bigger than you and me."

"Oh, fuck you," you spit, voice breaking. "Everything is always bigger than me, isn’t it? Your career, your reputation, your fucking political trajectory- but when do I get to be big enough for you to fight for?"

Claire’s face actually falters then, just slightly, just for a second.

And it’s that that makes your chest ache so deeply you feel like you might actually shatter. Because you see it. You see the war in her eyes. The way she wants to argue, to rationalize, to convince herself she’s doing the right thing. But you also see something else. You see guilt.

And that’s what breaks you.

You let out a shaking breath, swallowing around the lump in your throat. "You don’t even believe yourself, do you?"

Claire stays silent.

And that tells you everything.

Claire exhales sharply, trying to ground herself, trying to push past the alcohol on your breath and the sharp edge in your voice. She’s seen you upset before, she’s seen you drunk before, but this… this is different. This is you slipping through her fingers, pulling away from her reach. And she can’t allow that.

So she softens. Drops her voice into something warm, something coaxing, something that has always worked on you before.

"C’mon, baby," she murmurs, stepping closer, reaching for you again, gentler this time. "Let’s just go back to the room, okay? We can take a nice, relaxing bath. I’ll hold you. We’ll talk this out."

Her hands cup your face now, fingers stroking against your heated skin, thumbs brushing the high point of your cheekbones, desperate to soothe, to contain, to fix. And oh, she’s desperate. You can hear it. Feel it.

It’s in the way she holds you like you’ll disappear if she lets go. The way her breath stutters when you don’t immediately soften into her. The way she needs you to believe her. And maybe, a few hours ago, you would have. Maybe before dinner, before Miles’ speech, before this entire night became something twisted and tainted, you would have fallen into her arms and let her convince you.

But now?

Your lips curl into something sharp, something bitter. "You do whatever you want, I’m staying here."

"Baby, please," she says, her voice softer now, almost pleading. "I know you’re angry. I know this is a mess. But look at me."

You hesitate, but your eyes meet hers. Her hands move, sliding down your arms, fingertips grazing your bare skin like she needs to memorize the shape of you.

"You mean everything to me," she whispers, eyes scanning your face like she’s trying to memorize every detail. "I need you to know that. I need you to feel that. I can’t lose you."

Your heart clenches, but the anger is still there, simmering beneath the surface. "Then why are you doing this?"

Claire swallows hard. "Because I’ve worked my whole life for this, I have clawed my way to get where I am. I can’t lose everything because of Miles Bron I can’t," She pauses, shaking her head. She steps closer, hands cupping your face again, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to let her in. "Just tell me what you need, baby," she murmurs, voice thick with emotion. "Tell me how to fix this with you. I will do anything for you."

The words almost break you. Because that’s the thing about Claire- she’s powerful, dominant, used to getting her way. But when it comes to you, she would burn the world down if you asked her to.

You shake your head, lips pressing into a tight line. "Anything," you echo, voice laced with bitterness. "You’ll do anything for me, but you won’t say no to Miles. You won’t stand up to him, not even when you know this is wrong."

Claire inhales sharply, her grip on you tightening for a split second before she forces herself to relax. "Baby," she murmurs, her voice thick, careful. "You don’t know him. Not like I do. Not like I have."

Her gaze flickers away, just for a moment, like she’s seeing something you can’t. Something dark. "What he did to Andi- what we helped him do," she says, her voice barely above a whisper. "He ruined her. She had everything, and he took it. And now? Now he has more power than ever." She exhales shakily, her fingers brushing over your cheek, reverent. "I can’t let him do that to us." The way she says ‘us’ makes your breath hitch.

"Please, baby," Claire begs, her forehead pressing against yours, her thumbs stroking along your jaw. "Please, try and understand. I have to do this. I have to play the game. I have to survive. But I can’t do it if you hate me. I can’t breathe without my baby girl."

Her voice cracks on the last words, and something inside you breaks.You’re still furious. Still so hurt. But Claire’s love, her devotion- it’s the one thing in this whole mess that’s real. You exhale slowly, your body finally relaxing against hers, and Claire immediately pulls you in, crushing you against her like she’s terrified you’ll slip through her fingers. Her lips press against your temple, your cheek, your jaw- anywhere she can reach, desperate to ground you both in each other.

"I love you," she breathes against your skin, her hands sliding up your back, cradling you like something precious. "I love you, I love you, I love you."

You sigh, tilting your head just slightly, giving her silent permission. Claire doesn’t waste a second- her lips capture yours, the kiss slow and deep, like she’s trying to pour every unspoken word, every ounce of desperation and devotion, into you.

And god help you, you let her.

Because no matter how angry you are, no matter how messy this all is, you love her too. You always will.

Claire kisses you like she’s trying to memorize the taste of you, the shape of your lips, the way you sigh against her mouth. It’s slow at first, deep and lingering, her hands cradling your face with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. But then you press closer, just slightly, and it breaks something in her. A soft, needy sound escapes her throat as she deepens the kiss, arms wrapping tight around your waist, pulling you flush against her. Her hands roam, spreading across your back, sliding down to grip your hips, smoothing over the fabric of your dress like she needs to feel all of you.

"God, baby," she breathes between kisses, her lips trailing along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot beneath your ear. "You drive me insane."

Her voice is low, husky, full of something dark and desperate. It makes your knees weak.

You grip her shoulders, letting her press you back against the smooth railing of the yacht. The cool night air swirls around you, but Claire’s body is warm, her touch electric.

"I hate fighting with you," she murmurs against your skin, her lips brushing over your collarbone, the words melting into you. "I hate seeing you upset. I just-" She exhales shakily, pulling back just enough to look at you. Her eyes are heavy with emotion, with need. "Let me make it better, baby. Let me take care of you."

She kisses you again, deeper this time, more urgent. Like she’s pouring every apology, every ounce of devotion, into you. Her tongue slides against yours, slow and sensual, her hands tightening on your waist. And fuck, you shouldn’t be melting into her so easily. You shouldn’t be letting her touch you like this, making your head spin, making you forget the weight of what’s coming.

But she’s Claire. She’s your mommy. And when she kisses you like this, like you’re her whole world, it’s so easy to just let go. You whimper softly as her fingers slip beneath the slit of your dress, just ghosting over the bare skin of your thigh. Claire swallows the sound with another kiss, her body pressing flush against yours.

"Let me take you to bed," she whispers, her lips brushing against your cheek, your jaw. "I don’t care about the club, about Miles, about any of them. I just want you."

And god, you’re tempted. So tempted. But then, from somewhere deeper in the yacht, you hear the distant echo of laughter, the clink of glasses, the unmistakable sound of the others getting ready to leave.

Reality.

Claire hears it too. You feel the way her body tenses, how she forces herself to slow down, to breathe.

She presses one last kiss to your lips, softer this time. "We have to go," she murmurs, reluctantly pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. "But when we get back, baby…" She breathes, her fingers tracing lazy circles on your thigh. "You’re mine."

Your breath catches, but before you can say anything, she straightens, smoothing out her dress, slipping back into that effortless, composed version of herself.

The Governor. The politician. The woman who always has to be in control.

Except you know the truth.

That underneath it all, she’s just a woman who worships you.

And as she takes your hand, leading you back inside to rejoin the group, you realize one thing:

No matter how angry you are, no matter how tangled this all gets, you’ll always be hers.

~

The main deck is buzzing with movement as you and Claire step back into the glow of expensive lantern light. Drinks are being passed around, Birdie is twirling in her dress like she’s on a runway, and Miles- smug, fucking insufferable Miles- stands at the center of it all, drinking in the atmosphere like he owns it (which, to be fair, he does.)

Claire keeps her fingers laced with yours, her grip firm, like she’s anchoring herself with you. You can still feel the ghost of her lips against your skin, the lingering heat of her hands, the way her voice had cracked when she begged you not to leave her. And yet, to everyone else, she looks effortlessly composed. Governor Debella. The controlled, pragmatic politician.

But then Lionel catches her eye. He’s standing off to the side, watching the two of you carefully, before stepping forward. "Claire." His voice is quiet, measured. "Did you talk to her?" He asks despite you being close enough for him to ask you himself.

Your stomach tightens, but Claire doesn’t falter. She tilts her head slightly, fingers flexing against yours before letting go, only for a second, to smooth out her dress, like the conversation is nothing.

"It’s handled," she says smoothly. And then, before Lionel can say another word, she pulls you flush against her side, her arm wrapping securely around your waist. It’s subtle. To anyone else, it would look natural, just a casual display of affection. But you can feel the tension in her grip, the way she needs to keep touching you, grounding herself in you.

Lionel studies the two of you for a moment, then nods, exhaling as if that’s one less thing to worry about. "Good," he mutters before stepping away to refill his drink.

Before you can say anything, before you can even react, Claire turns her head slightly, pressing a kiss to your temple, murmuring so only you can hear-

"I need you tonight, baby."

Your breath catches, heat curling in your stomach.

And then Miles claps his hands together, grinning like a man who’s never been told no in his life. "Alright, Disruptors!" he calls out. "Let’s hit the club!"

The group erupts into practiced cheers, Peg already groaning as Birdie takes her hand and spins her toward the exit, Whiskey laughing as she leans into Duke’s side.

Claire finally loosens her grip on you, but only enough to take your hand again, threading your fingers together. And as the group moves toward the waiting speedboats, whisking you off toward whatever exclusive, hedonistic paradise Miles has planned, Claire stays right by your side. Like she’s afraid to let go.

The speedboat cuts through the waves, sleek and powerful, carrying you all toward the glittering neon of the exclusive club Miles has chosen for the night. The air is thick with salt and expensive perfume, the promise of excess and indulgence humming between each crashing wave.

Claire hasn’t let go of you once.

Her arm stays wrapped securely around your waist, fingers pressing into the fabric of your dress, like she’s making sure you don’t slip away. And you don’t fight it. Even with your stomach twisting, even with the sick weight of what’s coming, you let her hold you.

And then, like the universe just had to test you, Miles slides up beside you both, that smug, practiced grin in place.

"You’re not still upset, are you?" His voice is smooth, faux-concerned, but there’s something pointed beneath it. Something sharper. He glances between you and Claire, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "We Disruptors stick together through everything. We help each other. Lift each other up." His gaze lingers on you, searching. "You get that, right?"

Claire’s fingers tighten slightly against your waist.

You feel sick. But you don’t show it. Instead, you smile. Soft. Sweet. A performance so flawless it would make any politician proud.

"Claire makes the decisions," you say smoothly, tilting your head slightly, watching as Miles’ smirk flickers just the slightest bit. "I trust her judgment."

And then, before he can say another word, you turn fully into Claire, letting your body relax against her, nuzzling into the warm curve of her neck. It’s for her. Because you can feel the tension in her muscles, the way she’s holding herself together with sheer force of will. And if this is what she needs, if she needs you to play this game, then you will too.

Because, for all her power, all her dominance, she is terrified.

And she needs you.

Claire exhales, long and slow, and you feel the way her grip softens, just slightly. The way she presses her lips to your temple in silent gratitude.

Miles watches for a beat longer, then lets out a chuckle, shaking his head. "Man," he muses, sipping his drink. "You really do have good taste, Claire."

The words are harmless. On the surface. But you know what he’s really saying. You don’t react. Claire doesn’t either. And as the speedboat slows, the flashing lights of the club reflecting in the water around you, you only hold onto Claire a little tighter.

Because this night is far from over.

Taglist: @harknessshi @agathascoven1 @notorious-vick @jessica-mcd @sapphicfleur @lisqueen @starryjeongyeon @brekker157 @maximilfism @meghina18 @onlybynightandonlybysea @buttercandy16 @milflovers4 @rigglemethat @mistyshane30 @certified-sleep-deprived @agathaallalongg @yun4-st4rx @psychickryptonitebouquet @athnastasia @eletricheart @her0in-addicttt @writerspirit @sarahhh-plz

[maskedcrawford]

Second Chances

G-Dragon x Reader

Summary: Years after breaking up and seeing each other at events you and Ji-yong reconnect and decide if you really want to be with him or if you're done with him for good.

Warnings: Angst with fluff at the end.

A/N: I had two extremely similar requests so I paired them together. I hope this is what you two Anon's were looking for in your requests. If not, let me know. Not proof read so please excuse mistakes! Also I plan to work on part 3 of Hidden Secrets tonight. Check out my masterlist to get caught up on the series <3

Requests are OPEN

Being apart of 2ne1 was a dream come true. Your group was at the top of the charts and so was your name along with a very famous rapper professionally named G Dragon, aka Kwon Jiyong. The two of you were Korea’s most infamous couple, everyone, including your own band members, swore you were endgame. They came up with ship names, there were constant edits of you guys, life was great.

Or at least until it wasn’t. Life does what it does and gets in the way, conflicting schedules meant not seeing each other nearly enough and personal affairs became a hindrance. Then there were rumors about both of you cheating on each other, which wasn’t true, but YG wasn’t a fan of the negative controversy so then they weighed in putting pressure on both of you and it all just became too much.

The day it happened you knew it was coming, but you still didn’t want to accept it. You and Ji had been sitting at the kitchen table, having the same old conversation. But that night it was different.

“I just don’t think we can do it anymore, y/n,” his voice was quiet. It was breaking both of you.

“With the pressure of the label, never seeing you,” he trails off as he feels the tears in his eyes.

“Tell me you don’t love me,” you stand up off your chair and walk over to him looking down and moving his face to where he has to look at yours.

“You know I can’t say that,” He says like he’s begging you to stop.

“Then we can do it, we have to. I don’t,” your voice cracks with tears blurring your vision.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you shut your eyes tight.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” he stands up and gives you a long warm hug as you soak his t shirt with your tears.

“This isn’t easy for me,” he sighs as he lets you go. It feels way too soon as he doesn’t spare you another glance as he walks out the door.

And now, every time you see him, it’s a reminder of that painful night. You see him around, both of you being idols and having performances in the same places will cause that. The first place you seen him was a runway show for Chanel, and that was only 3 days after your break up. You were sat on the opposite side of the runway with a direct line of sight to him as he sat in the front row. There were many stolen glances between you two but neither of you spoke. Then there were the Mama awards, where you both were supposed to perform. Again the same song and dance. Both of you glancing at the other, wanting to talk, to make up and yet neither of you did.

After a while you could see Jiyong and not feel the same kind of pull, the one that wanted closure. You had accepted what had been and gotten to a place where you could fully support him, quietly, but still.

It’s the opening night of your tour, having been part of 2ne1 meant you were also able to do solo projects. Of course, your girls were there with you to support you.

“This is going to be so amazing!” Sandra says as she claps her hands excitedly.

“You ready for this?” CL asks.

“As I’ll ever be.” You say feeling the nerves kick in, you excuse yourself to the bathroom and while you’re gone, CL brings the girls together.

“You’re never going to guess who’s here tonight,” she whispers.

“Who,” Minzy asks.

“Ji-yong,” she smiles big and the girls go silent for a moment.

“Does she know?” Bom asks nervously. CL just shakes her head. You back in the room seeing them huddled and you raise a brow.

“What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” they say in unison; the way you know they’re hiding something from you but you can’t prove it.

“Mhm, well I go on in 2 minutes so,” you motion them to leave so you can grab your mic and race off to the side of the stage. The lights go down and you get into place hearing the roar of the crowd as your silhouette is shown behind a screen.

During the last song before the small break your band gets, you see him. There in the 3rd row from the stage. His hair brightly colored and hard to miss. He’s giving you a proud, satisfied smile. You freeze for a moment before getting back into the groove of the dance moves. You flit your glance to him throughout the rest of the song. When your band leaves the stage you address the audience.

“You guys having a good time?” they all cheer and you smile.

“Awesome, Awesome!” You begin to walk around.

“Can you sing, You’re the One?” You look in the direction of the voice you hear.

“What was that?”

“You’re the One, can you sing it? The song with G Dragon,” she smiles wide. Your eyes go wide for a half second before you compose yourself.

“Uh,” you half laugh, “Yeah I don’t, I don’t see why not,” your eye go to where he was sitting but he’s gone. You feel relief crash over you, until a stage hand comes over to pull you off stage for a second.

“Whats up,” you say as your eyes land on the familiar man from the crowd. You both stare at each other for a moment, really taking it in.

“You want to do it, together? Like old times?” he ask shyly. Your heart starts beat faster.

“If you’re up for it,” you give him a warm and inviting smile despite the current anxiety you’re in. You notice behind him that CL is standing there watching you and you realize that this was what they were hiding. You slightly frown at her and she gives you two thumbs up.

You walk out on stage, “Ok, well I have a surprise guest for everyone, including myself,” you laugh into the mic.

“Everyone, please help me welcome, the one, the only, infamous G-Dragon!” you shout into the mic as the crowd goes crazy. He steps out confident as ever and stands beside you.

“Let’s do it,” he says cooly. The song begins and you both move to the beat, you raise the mic to your lips to sing the lyrics and he’s staring at you intensely. That familiar pull he once had on you, the one you swore was gone, is back. You want to feel his hands around your waist, his lips back on yours and the way he smells, you never want the smell to leave you again. He beings singing his part and his mind is going crazy along with his heart.

He stares at you, the way the lights shine off your sparkly outfit, the way you move your hips to the beat of the song, how you walk with utter and complete confidence on stage. He missed you more than he ever wanted to admit, even after all this time. For the last chorus of the song you two come together, he holds you close to him as he sings looking directly into your eyes and you blush due to the proximity.

You both sing the last line and stare into each other’s eyes for a moment when the crowd erupts. Its all background noise, though, as you see what looks like longing and regret in his eyes. He lets you go, hesitantly staring at you for a beat more before raising the mic to his lips.

“Goodnight, Seoul,” he says, “and Goodnight, y/n,” he says before winking at you and walking off stage with nothing but confidence.

You watch him walk off and feel that familiar pit in your stomach. The concert goes on as usual and eventually comes to end, your girls crowding around you to hug you and celebrate. You give them an annoyed look though once you’re in the dressing room.

“I can not believe you kept that from me!” You say astonished.

“I didn’t know he was planning on getting on stage!” CL defends.

“But you knew he would be here, and you knew I hadn’t told him about the concert,” she interrupts you.

“Y/n, jagi, I’m sorry, I know I should’ve told you. But if you’re really over him, why are you so upset?” she gives you a knowing look. The girls knew you weren’t over him; you had convinced yourself but not them.

“Maybe you should talk to him,” Minzy suggests as she walks up.

“Nope, I’m not going to reopen that wound,” you say defiantly.

“Sounds like it’s all ready opened,” CL mumbles and you shoot daggers at her.

“Can we just celebrate please? I’d like to remember this as a good night,”

“Oh it’s definitely one you’ll remember,” Bom speaks up with a chuckle and another look is thrown her way now.

The next morning you wake up to your social media flooded as well as texts from CL.

“Dude, have you seen this?” She sends you a link to a tiktok that has a video from last night with you and Jiyong singing before more music starts playing with old photos and a short video of you two goofing off comes up. Fan edits were being made and you were being tagged in a ton of them.

“Holy crap,” you whisper.

“Are they actually back together?”

“It was just for the show.”

“So does this mean my parents are endgame again?”

More and more comments questioning you and Jiyong’s relationship flooded video after video, picture after picture and post after post across the web. As you get dressed for the day you get a call from an unknown number.

“Hello?”

“Seem’s we’re popular,” you hear his deep voice say as he chuckles.

“Ji,” you say, a little desperate than you meant for it to sound.

“Listen, I don’t know what you’re doing today, but if I remember correctly, you never did two shows back-to-back,” you listen intently.

“So, if you’re free tonight, come over. I want to talk to you.” His voice is hopeful. It’s not like you could lie to him, your schedule was posted all over social media by now so telling him you had a show was easily disproven. You sigh into the phone rubbing your forehead.

“What time?”

“7, and come in something comfortable, I’m making dinner.”

“Since when did you cook?” you tease.

“Since you taught me to make your favorite meal,” he teases back and you blush with a small smile creeping up on your lips.

“I’ll see you tonight,”

“See you then, jagiya.”

Your heart skips a beat at the pet name. Sure, others called you that as a term of endearment but from him, it meant something different. You stand in front of his door in sweatpants and a loose-fitting shirt. The man said casual wear so you went comfy, after all with all the discomfort that could come from tonight, you wanted to be as comfortable as possible. He opens the door, the smell of your favorite dish hitting your nostrils.

He smiles, he’s got his hair ruffled a bit and his glasses on, he steps aside to let you in and the memories from you years long relationship floods back to you. Most things were the same. A few new art pieces, a new sculpture even.

“Nice to see not much has changed,” you say as he walks a past you into the kitchen. You follow him and sit down at the bar. Princess Zoa hops onto the counter and greets you with soft purs and rubbing her head against your hand.

“And of course the princess herself,” you baby talk the cat and out the corner of your eye you can see Ji staring at you, a content smile on his face as he watches you with his cat-child.

He plates the food and you both eat, neither of you sure what to say.

“You really did do great, last night,” he comments after a moment of silence.

“Thank you, I’ll be honest I was surprised to see you.” You look up from your plate to find him all ready looking at you.

“CL invited me,” he admits.

“I wasn’t going to go at first, I wasn’t sure if you’d want me there.” You just look at your plate and he’s hoping you’ll say something.

“Ok, maybe you didn’t,” he mumbles pushing food around on his plate.

“What do you want me to say, Ji-yong?” Your fork clanks against the plate as you turn your whole body to look pointedly at him. He looks at you, shrinking a bit. He wasn’t sure how to do this, not really.

“Do you want me to say that I never moved on? That I still think about you, especially when I’m out and I see clothing I know you’d love. That I miss you being in bed next to me? That I miss sleeping over here and waking up to your cats gently making biscuits or laying loafed up on one of us? That I miss how you would always give me kiss on the forehead first thing when you woke up?” your eyes are frantic and he can see the panic and fear in them after you unload everything that needed to be said.

“Or how about that I miss the way your lips felt, the smell of your cologne, or the way you would always have a slight skip in your step when you had a really good day.” He looks at you stunned.

“What about how I miss the way you used to look at me, or how you could make me feel like I was the only girl in the world you’d ever look at. Or how,” he cuts you off with a passionate, deep slow kiss. You freeze for a moment before giving to the desire you’ve had since the day he left.

You both pull apart and he takes your hand leading you to the couch in the living room. He sits down and pulls you down beside him.

“Jagiya,” he whispers as he puts your foreheads together, “I’ve missed you so much.” You can feel tears pricking your eyes and you blink them back. His lips attach to yours again in another slow kiss, he cups your face with his hands and you hold onto his wrist.

“Ji-yong, you left me. I don’t understand,” you croak, emotion welling up in your throat.

“I know, and I’m sorry y/n,” he sighs as he pulls away from you to look at the ground.

“I let the label and what everyone else said get to me and I thought that letting you go was best for both of us, that we could find other people and be happy, but I’m not,” he looks deep into your eyes.

“I’m not happy at all, without you this means nothing to me. If you’re not in the crowd cheering me on I’m not the same G-Dragon. Without you here, without you home I’m not the same Ji-yong. I need you like I need air to breathe.” You feel a stray tear fall onto your cheek and he wipes it away with thumb.

“I’d like another chance, a chance to love you properly, to spoil you and show you just how much you mean to me,” he pleads.

“Oh, Ji,” you pull his face to you and kiss him again and you feel him smile against your lips.

“Is that a yes?” he quirks his brow and you smile.

If you enjoyed and would like to support me, buy me a coffee

“Yes,” you give him a hug and he pulls you into him, cuddling you on the couch.

[pedgito]

february is over and i can feel the seasonal depression leaving my body as we speak, i was a little lacking on reading this month being so busy irl, but i still have so many goodies on this list. i'd also like to add that some lovely mutuals are spreading much needed love to our BIPOC writers, so if you have any recs that you'd like to give some extra attention to you can check out these posts linked below (& feel free send them to my inbox too! i'm always looking for more fics to read!) x — x also, i've said this a few times in the past but i do have a tracked tagged #useralii and that isn't just for gifs (so if you have fics or edit that you'd like to tag me in, please feel free!)

this key will help you figure out which fics are more your vibe, or if you’re just curious of the contents before you dive in:

smut = 🌶️, fluff = ☁️ angst = ☄️

total fics listed below: 21

✎ — 𝐉𝐎𝐄𝐋 𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐄𝐑

↝ prisonic fairytale by @kedsandtubesocks — 🌶️, ☄️

You’re looking for someone… what you find here in the fog instead has you staring into the abyss - and you discover it stares back (& wears the face of someone terrifyingly handsome)

↝ what remains of a man by @jolapeno — 🌶️, ☄️ (AO3)

Joel Miller doesn't care. Not about Pretty Eyes. Not how she feels beside him. Not when she's under him. Not when she's hurt and she doesn't come to him. Not. At. All.

↝ just this once by @punkshort — 🌶️

After yet another argument with your dad, his buddy across the street is there to help make you feel better.

↝ trashed by @gutsby — 🌶️

You fuck Joel in his filthy double-wide.

↝ see you at three (series - ongoing) by @/almostfoxglove — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️

When your sister starts working nights, you're stuck with afterschool pickup duty for your eight-year-old niece. You love the kid, so you don't mind. And, sure—maybe you don't mind having an excuse to check out her classmate's dad, Joel, five times a week, either.

↝ the fuck it list (series — ongoing) by @auteurdelabre — 🌶️, ☄️, ☁️

During work at your father’s construction company, you’re inspired by your sexually liberated bestie to create a F*ck-It List of sexy experiences you’ve always wanted to try. But when the list accidentally ends up in the hands of Joel Miller— your dad’s best friend, the company’s co-CEO, and your immediate supervisor—things take an unexpected turn. Initially shocked by the discovery, Joel eventually agrees to help you tackle the list, leading to sexual adventures and undeniable chemistry.  However as you begin to fall for Joel the complications of your relationship come into focus, leading you both to realize that love may be one item you won’t be able to check off your list.

✎ — 𝐉𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 𝐏𝐄𝐍𝐀

↝ visitation by @gothcsz — 🌶️

Javier visits you in prison after putting you in there.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐔𝐒 𝐀𝐂𝐀𝐂𝐈𝐔𝐒

↝ guilty as sin (series — in progress) by @ovaryacted — 🌶️, ☄️

Being the daughter of a Senator of Rome has it's pros and cons, you lived comfortably while constantly being reminded of your insubordinate position in society. However, upon meeting General Acacius, your life changes as you begin to grow fond of him. The question is, will he reciprocate your feelings, or cast you out to suffer your impending doom of unwanted courtship?

✎ — 𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐘𝐎𝐑𝐊

↝ golden kisses by @mrsmando — 🌶️

Newly single, Dave finds comfort in life’s simple pleasures; among other things.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐍 𝐃𝐉𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍

↝ the mirage of a goodbye by @sawymredfox — ☄️

Forgiveness and healing are heavy words. They come with a price, one that may be life-changing tonight.

✎ — 𝐄𝐙𝐑𝐀 (𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐂𝐓)

↝ wash & hold by @ak-vintage — 🌶️, ☁️

After discovering some unfamiliar clothes in your laundry (and losing some of your own in return), you begin exchanging messages with another resident in your apartment complex.

✎ — 𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐍 𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐋𝐋

↝ of death and butterflies by @galway-girlatwork — ☄️

Everyone’s heard the stories of Lilith. Of how she came to be. But are the stories true? Is she really a demon or something else? She was not born of angels but created by Death himself. To walk between the land of the living and dead. But what happens when The Fates intervene and present her soulmate? Countless lives and re-incarnations have been lived and lost. Will Oberyn remember before another life slips between their fingers like sand?

✎ — 𝐂𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐓 (𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐘 𝐓𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐒)

↝ leverage by @/ovaryacted — 🌶️

Clint kidnaps you and takes you on a crime filled cross country roadtrip where you slowly start to fall in love with him.

✎ — 𝐌𝐀𝐗 𝐏𝐇𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐏𝐒

↝ sounds dangerous by @almostfoxglove — ☄️

When you reply to a bizarre craigslist ad, a stranger on the other side of the country charms his way into your life.

↝ the prettiest (series — in progress) by @/almostfoxglove — 🌶️

After a restructuring at the company, Max finds himself dead—this time for good—and haunting his old duplex. Lucky for him, you move in. Now he'll do anything it takes to have you.

✎ — 𝐋𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐄𝐍 𝐅𝐋𝐎𝐑𝐄𝐒

↝ double lovin' (+ dieter bravo) by @iamasaddie — 🌶️

You doomed yourself to spend Valentine's day alone, buried in blankets and sobbing over Bridgit Jones' love story, but a surprise visit from Lucien and his friend turns your plans to waste.

✎ — 𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐕𝐎

↝ cowboy like me by @chaotic-mystery — ☄️, ☁️

Dieter is terrible at accents for his new cowboy role, and an even more terrible neighbor.

✎ — 𝐄𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐄 𝐌𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐍

↝ cherry stems by @gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

Eddie rejects your advances because his friends are around. So you use them to your advantage. Piss Eddie off and maybe you'll get what you want. Maybe.

↝ eat your heart out by @eiightysixbaby — 🌶️

In which Eddie masters Valentine’s Day through the art of eating pussy.

↝ make me feel (+ gareth emerson) by @/gracieheartspedro — 🌶️

You fly out to reunite with your rockstar boyfriend Eddie Munson. After a long day, you decide to return to his bed on the tour bus, but it seems like it is already occupied by his bandmate, Gareth.

↝ the hat rule by @ghost-proofbaby — 🌶️

When eddie dresses up as a cowboy to a night out with friends, you decide to steal his hat.

likes, reblogs, and comments keep the motivation alive, so if you’re taking a look at these for the first time, please leave a kind word for these writers or just reblog, even. support your writers <3

[cvntroach5000]

Lads with Command Evol reader

pairings: LaDs men x reader (separate)

no use of y/n, reader is gender neutral

content warning: mind control, brief descriptions of sexual activity (Xavier, Sylus, Caleb) 🔞

Xavier 💫

He mostly likes your Evol

Because he can think of a million ways to utilise it for something kinky

But at the same time, he can become pretty pouty if you use it on him to stop him when he's either horny or jealous

You can coax him out of his little fit easily enough, but it doesn't make him any less prone to get pissed the next time you do it to him

Your Evol is meant to be used for good! Like edging him during sex! Not stopping him from beating up a child for saying they want to marry you when they grow up. That kid needs to learn a lesson, okay

Zayne ❄️

He doesn't really have a problem with it, but he's not necessarily fond of it

Simply because you have a tendency to abuse it to force him to take breaks

And although the breaks feel nice, he's too much of a workaholic to properly appreciate them

He does find it convenient though when you use it to make problematic patients sit still

Granted, he wouldn't actually make you do that for him at a hospital

But when trying to rescue an injured stray animal, he's grateful for your Evol's utility

Rafayel 🪸

He doesn't really care much about your Evol

But he's developed a habit where he'll use it as an excuse

"I only did it cause you made me with your Evol!"

"I literally didn't even activate it"

At some point you shift between using it and not using it on him just to fuck with him

You're not proud of abusing your Evol like that, but someone has to put this guy in his place from time to time, and that someone can only be you

Sylus 🥀

Oh he's into this shit

He finds the ability to be very versatile and loves crafting strategies around it

Seeing the creative ways you utilise it is a pleasure, he loves seeing you destroy your enemies with your power and wit

After your bedroom antics develop into more freaky territory, using your Evol during sex also becomes an option

Now, Sylus will do whatever you ask, Evol or not, but something about not being able to resist even if he wanted to gets him really hot and bothered

Helplessness isn't something he's accustomed to, but the vulnerability of it during intimacy is pretty addictive

Caleb 🍎

He has a bit of mixed feelings about your Evol

On one hand, he likes how profficient you are with it and he thinks that kind of power is hot

On the other, it makes you far more slippery than he'd prefer

His Gravity Evol is very convenient, but that means fuckall if you just order him to let you go with your Command Evol

He can deal with you firing back at him when he tries to tease you, but you resisting him when he's just trying to protect you is incredibly frustrating

He does become much more amicable to the idea of your power after you use it to edge him and order him around during sex though

To be fair, it wasn't your intention to do so, it kinda slipped out when you told him not to cum yet and it went completely downhill from there

Caleb kinda wishes your Evol would work only during sex but oh well

[deepspacenova]

Zayne teaching you & Caleb how to touch each other HCs

Zayne x Caleb (x Reader)

Inspired by the replies in this post about Zayne and Caleb being each others' firsts and how Zayne would revel in being the bridge between you and Caleb during sex.

I wrote some HCs for Zayne x Sylus a while back (incidentally, also influenced by @leighsartworks216 - aka the equally lovely and evil genius on my shoulder) so... let's call this a spin-off?

Caleb and Zayne become each other's firsts and it starts off very awkward, they're doing it for the sole reason of not botching up their chance with you but;

Unexpected side effect after a few times? They ended up mildly obsessed with each other (physically). "Practice" became more of an excuse than a reason yknow (Like, did they really need to 'practice' in an empty classroom at school for your sake??);

Needless to say, Caleb and Zayne knew exactly what made the other tick in bed by the time they parted ways;

You and Zayne have been together for a while, so of course you know what he likes, every sensitive spot, every sound he makes when you touch him in the right places;

Now that the three of you are together and you know about Zayne and Caleb's history, something hits you at an inconvenient moment: Zayne is behind you, panting into your throat, while Caleb’s chest brushes against yours, his eyes dark, breaths uneven;

Your fingers hover uncertainly over Caleb’s jaw when he leans in. You know how to touch a man, obviously, but with Caleb, it’s new, and it’s been so long, and you don’t know what to do yet, but… Zayne does, you realize;

Ever-attentive Zayne feels your hesitation, realizes what's going on, and immediately starts to put you at ease: tracing the tip of his nose down your neck, he shoots his gaze to Caleb and commands, “Lie back.”

Zayne starts with kissing, his voice soft in your ear. "He likes it when you bite. Not too hard- just enough to make him chase after it." When you test it, press your teeth and tongue against Caleb’s bottom lip and slowly suck it and tug, Caleb growls, gripping your hips;

As your proud smile brushes against Caleb's, Zayne's fingers ghost over your jaw. "Again. A little rougher." To which Caleb sighs, nearly whimpers into your mouth, hands gripping the back of your neck as he scrapes his top teeth against the inside of your lower lip;

The touching starts off slow as Zayne guides your fingers over Caleb’s abdominals. "Lower. Press just a little- yes, there." Caleb exhales sharply at the touch where his hip meets his inner thigh, eyelids lowering, muscles tightening.

Sometimes, if Caleb's done something to goad him or push his buttons, Zayne uses his evol, applying a flash of cold to Caleb's lips, neck, shoulder, hip, that you love to melt and soothe by dragging your tongue over them. Caleb's groans make the torture even more worth it;

More often though, Zayne slides his laced fingers with yours down Caleb's torso, directing your movements as every gentle command heats another inch of your skin, "Try- no, lighter. Mm. Now drag your nails until you get to his-" Caleb groans, hips lifting slightly;

"I think pip-squeak’s got it, Z,” but he can only gasp when Zayne leans down and kisses Caleb himself in response, slow and wet and deep;

You watch the movement of their lips, breath catching as one of Caleb’s hands tightens around your waist and his other fists Zayne’s hair. Zayne just hums, satisfied that he was right as he pulls away, kisses you, the flavor of Caleb still on his lips, and says, “Your turn.”

In fact, Zayne revels in knowing he’s the one in charge in this situation. The who bridges the gap between you both. The one who’s making it work. Caleb may be the one with the evol to literally control things, but here? Zayne was the one who pulled the three of you together;

He’s not afraid to boast about it in his subtle way either, like when Caleb's kissing you, Zayne watches intently for a few moments before pulling Caleb away by the nape of his neck, murmuring, "Not like that. Let me show you,” kissing you in a way that makes Caleb growl under his breath;

At the end of the day, though, Zayne takes the most pleasure in being the one to show Caleb how to touch you;

It's his win against Caleb, his trophy in their competition of "may the best man win you" because it's Zayne who's whispering in Caleb's ear, or guiding Caleb's hands all over the body of his obsession: you;

Neither of them says they’re competing of course, but it’s so obvious to you that they are when your ringing ears catch a smug “Pip-squeak came harder when I was down there” while Zayne licks his lips. To which Zayne grabs him by the root, eliciting a full-body shudder from Caleb when he murmurs, “Are you sure about that?”

Sometimes, Caleb retaliates by pressing one palm between your legs and the other into Zayne's throat. "Tell me something, Doctor. If I move my hand here, what sound will pip-squeak make?" Zayne's smile is small, and his voice is breathless when he shoots back, "You wish you knew like I did.";

That’s when Caleb is pushed to his limit. He's used to giving orders, not heeding them. And he's still full of raw power — I mean, he’s a high school jock turned military adult with the ability to control gravity — so when he finally has enough of Zayne’s teasing? Caleb pins him down with his evol, leaving Zayne gasping for breath;

What’s your favorite part of this? That comes a while later, when your hesitation is gone. When you’re reassured that Zayne and Caleb are in the palm of your hand. When you and Caleb find your rhythm and finally, finally team up against Zayne;

You and Caleb have every intention of teasing Zayne until he’s a pleading mess. Caleb's pinning him down with his evol as you hover over Zayne’s tip, just barely brushing over him before you straighten your thighs just out of reach. “Be good,” you taunt softly, bending forward to let your lips brush his;

You forget that Caleb’s behind you though, and that the sight of you in front of him and showering Zayne with so much attention could only lead to-

A sharp gasp is torn from your throat as Caleb uses his evol on you, forcing your body down down down with a, "You two were taking too long. Thought I’d help out.” Meanwhile, all you and Zayne can do is groan and pant, the breathless as he's forcefully stuffed into you;

The aftermath is the only time Zayne and Caleb set aside their competitive streak and become perfectly in sync;

Zayne focuses on the physical, on cleaning you up with a warm cloth, wiping you down with slow, careful strokes. Every pass of fabric is followed by a kiss on your thighs, stomach, shoulder, wherever marks were left. It's methodical and grounding, not just for you but for him.;

Caleb, on the other hand, focuses on the emotional, shushing your lingering cries. Stamping words of praise into your temple, your cheek, your eyelids. Each time you tremble or shudder he tucks your face into his neck, feeling his own lungs calm in tandem with yours when your lips brush his necklace;

When Zayne joins you both, he hooks your leg over his hips and rests his head in the crook of Caleb's elbow, nose pressed against your head, which rises and falls on Caleb's shoulder;

But their competition will come back again tomorrow, the teasing, the push and pull, the battle for control. And the need to see who could wreck you the best.

[writeriguess]

Dabi x prohero!reader??

Consumed by Fire

The alleyway smelled like smoke and rain. Water dripped from the fire escape above, splattering onto the cracked pavement as you leaned against the cold brick wall. The city never slept, but this part of town felt dead—just the way he liked it.

“You’re late,” Dabi drawled, stepping out from the shadows. His coat swayed as he moved, that lazy smirk pulling at his lips, the staples in his skin catching in the dim streetlight.

“You’re the one who picked the spot,” you shot back, arms crossing over your chest. “What if I was followed?”

Dabi let out a dry chuckle. “Then that’d make two idiots in one alley, wouldn’t it?” He stepped closer, his presence electric, dangerous. “Relax, sweetheart. No one’s onto us.”

“You don’t know that.”

His fingers brushed under your chin, tilting your face up. “I’d know.” His voice was lower now, a promise wrapped in smoke and heat.

You sighed, tension easing just a little. This was always the way it went. You worried, he mocked you for it, and then—

His lips crashed against yours.

Dabi never kissed gently. He wasn’t built for softness, for warmth. He kissed like he burned, searing into you, taking as much as he gave. Your back hit the wall as he pressed you deeper into it, fingers sliding under the collar of your hero uniform, nails scratching against your skin.

When he finally pulled away, he was grinning. “Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes, pretending like you weren’t breathless. “You’re insufferable.”

“And yet, you keep coming back.” He leaned in again, lips ghosting over yours. “So, tell me, hero. What’s the excuse this time? Night patrol? Another ‘classified mission’?”

You hesitated. “There was…a meeting today. About the League.”

Dabi didn’t stiffen, but his expression shifted, amusement flickering into something sharper. “That so?”

You swallowed. “They’re getting closer.”

He hummed, unconcerned. “And?”

“And they’re asking about you.”

Now, he grinned, teeth flashing white in the dim light. “Flattering. What are they saying?”

“That you’re a liability. That you’re reckless, dangerous—”

“Aw, they do know me.”

“Dabi.”

The teasing vanished in an instant, replaced by something darker. He leaned in, nose brushing yours, voice a rasp in the quiet. “What do you want me to say, doll? That I’ll play nice? That I’ll turn myself in, give a little apology speech for all the shit I’ve done?” His fingers curled around your chin, grip firm but not cruel. “That’s not how this works. You knew that when we started.”

“I know.” Your voice was quiet, but steady. “I just—I don’t want them to find out.”

Dabi studied you for a moment, then smirked. “So, you’re scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

He let go of your chin, stepping back. “Good. Because if they do find out, it’s not me they’ll go after.” His eyes flickered down your body, from your uniform to the slight tremor in your fingers. “You ever think about that?”

You hated how much you had.

You hated that the thought of losing him terrified you more than it should.

Instead of answering, you grabbed his wrist and pulled him back, fingers brushing over the cool staples in his skin. “Come back with me.”

Dabi scoffed. “Cute.”

“I’m serious.”

He lifted a brow. “You want me to waltz into hero society? Play house with you? Be a good little reformed villain?”

“I want you safe.”

“And I want a world where assholes like Endeavor don’t get to play hero while people like me rot in the dark,” he shot back, voice hard. “We don’t always get what we want.”

You flinched at the mention of Endeavor. Dabi rarely brought him up, but when he did, it was always with that same, hollow anger—burnt out, but still smoldering.

“Stay with me, then,” you whispered. “Just for tonight.”

His eyes darkened, jaw tensing. But then his fingers curled into your jacket, and he muttered, “You’re a real pain in the ass, you know that?”

You smiled. “I know.”

And then, just like that, he let you pull him away from the alley, away from the smoke and the city and the ever-looming threat of discovery.

Your apartment was small, barely more than a glorified closet, but it was safe. Dabi leaned against the counter, watching as you locked the door behind you.

“You always this paranoid?” he asked.

“Only when I’m harboring a wanted criminal.”

He snorted. “Flattering.”

You pulled off your gloves, tossing them onto the counter. “Hungry?”

Dabi gave you a look. “You know I don’t come here for the food.”

You flushed. “That’s not—”

He was on you in seconds, hands rough as they grabbed your waist, lips hot against your neck. “What?” he murmured against your skin. “Not what you meant?”

You let out a shaky breath. “Dabi—”

He bit down, just hard enough to make you gasp. “You worry too much,” he muttered, dragging his teeth lower. “It’s gonna catch up to you.”

You tangled your fingers in his hair, gripping tight. “And you don’t worry enough.”

Dabi hummed, amused. “That’s what I’ve got you for.”

His hands slid under your uniform, heat trailing in their wake, his breath uneven against your ear. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t.

And when he kissed you again, it tasted like fire.

Later, tangled in sheets and heat, you traced your fingers over the scars on his chest, over the places where his skin had been torn apart and stitched back together.

“You ever gonna tell me the truth?” you asked softly.

Dabi didn’t open his eyes. “About what?”

“About who you were before all this.”

A long pause. Then, “You wouldn’t like the answer.”

You frowned. “Try me.”

Another beat of silence. Then, quietly—too quietly—he murmured, “I used to be someone who thought heroes could save people.”

Your breath hitched. “Dabi—”

“Go to sleep, doll,” he muttered, turning onto his side. “You’ve got work in the morning.”

You swallowed down the lump in your throat, heart aching. But you didn’t push.

Because if there was one thing you’d learned about Dabi, it was that you only ever got pieces of him—fragments, burned and broken.

And yet, even knowing that, you still held onto them.

Because they were his.

And because, for as long as you could, you wanted to be the one who held them.

[ldydeath]

Don’t Look Back | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong is stressed on tour and says something he can’t take back

Warnings: mild language 

Author’s Note: Hi guys! This is a part one of a two part collab fic. My best friend, the lovely and talented @wcnderlnds wrote part two, go check out her post to see how it ends!

PART TWO HERE

Everything was too much. You knew that, Jiyong knew that, but you couldn’t stop it. You couldn’t protect him. He should’ve never taken on this tour so close to his enlistment. You knew he wanted to do this one last thing for his fans, something to remember him by. But the stress was about to swallow him whole and there was nothing you could do to stop it. You glanced down at your buzzing phone and sighed.

Jiyong’s face appeared on the screen, you knew he was calling because you weren’t in Japan yet. You were two hours away by flight and the show was still hours away, but you’d promised you’d be there. You answered the call, his voice filling the line before you could even say hello.

“Are you coming to the show tonight?” Jiyong’s voice whined through the phone and you let out a sigh, your hand rubbing your temples.

 You had hours of work to finish in order to get to the airport and you weren’t sure you were going to make it. The tour was nearing the end and you’d promised you’d be there for the last leg. Japan, the Europe dates, and the final night in Taiwan but work wasn’t letting you get away easy.

“I’m going to be getting in right as the show starts at this rate.” You sighed before slamming your hands down on your keyboard.

“You’re still at work?” You could hear the disappointment in his voice and slowed your typing. “I just have to finish some things before I’m gone for three weeks.” He let out a sigh and you chewed on your bottom lip, waiting for him to tell you not to come. 

“Okay, I’ll let you go. I miss you.” the phone went dead before you could reply. 

You slammed your phone down in frustration, trying your best to clear your thoughts so you could at least get to the airport in time to not miss your flight. You missed him too, you hated being apart for as long as you had been.

 At least he hadn’t told you to not bother, that was a step in the right direction, unlike his dates in North America. An ongoing theme throughout this tour was his back and forth on wanting you there. You knew he was going through a lot, but it didn’t excuse his behavior towards you. 

Deciding they could finish the rest without you, you left, making it to your plane just before doors closed and sat down in your first class seat. Of course he had gotten you the best seat money could afford. As you were getting situated, your phone buzzed and you stilled, almost afraid that it was work calling you back. A sigh of relief escaped your lips when you saw who it was from. That sigh turned to a groan when you read his words. . 

If you can’t make it, just stay home. I’ll be back before I head to Europe and we can just fly out together.  

You didn’t know why he was pushing you away so much, you knew how lonely he’d been all tour. At least you’d be there in time for the show to start, you could hang out and see Japan after. He was there for a couple days anyway and you’d already made plans to sight see before you headed home. 

I’m on my way. Plane taxiing now. See you soon. You hastily replied back before shutting off your phone and sliding your eye mask over your face. 

You had just enough time to catch a nap before you’d be whisked off to the show. In true Jiyong fashion he’d had a car sent for you once he’d realized he couldn’t pick you up himself. You turned your phone back on once you were in the car to see several missed calls and texts from Jiyong, Daesung, and his management team. 

Well, that wasn’t good. You ignored everyone else blowing up your phone and dialed your boyfriend's number. Straight to voicemail. He was probably just getting into costume for the show. That was all. Everything was fine. It didn’t stop your heart from racing, the nerves settling in the closer you got to the stadium. 

One of Jiyong’s managers met you outside and led you backstage. It wasn’t hard to find Jiyong, he was standing by his entrance spot, his shiny jacket sparkling in the lights, your nerves settled as you saw him. 

“Hey” You grinned, that grin faltering as soon as your eyes met his. 

He looked exhausted. When was the last time he’d slept? Or eaten? He was so thin. You should’ve been here sooner, you could’ve forced him into a bed with a bowl of soup and not let him get up for a few days. You hadn’t seen him this bad off since that night he’d fainted over a year ago. Your heart dropped into your stomach and you reached for him, wanting to beg him to cancel the show. You knew he wouldn’t though and he smiled at you before turning away, your arms falling pathetically to your sides. 

You hesitated before following his crew to the side stage, your favorite spot to watch Jiyong. It always amazed you how quickly he could transform from the exhausted man you saw a few minutes ago to the king of the stage. His fans were none the wiser to how he was truly feeling as he used up every ounce of energy he had on that stage. But you knew, and you caught every stumble, every large inhale, how many times he looked up towards the ceiling. 

Once the show was over Jiyong headed over towards you, grabbed your hand and led you towards his sitting room. He looked up, eying the team of people following behind the two of you closely and shook his head before leading you inside and closing the door on them. He took one swift step towards you before his lips were on yours, his arms winding around you tightly. You could almost feel the weight of the day falling off him as you kissed him back. 

This is what he needed, after all the long days and sleepless nights. You. He knew he was being needy and a bit all over the place with his emotions but now that you were finally here he was going to do everything in his power to make it up to you. 

“Jiyong” You whispered as you broke the kiss, your hands sliding up his chest as you looked into his tired eyes. “Come on, let's get you changed and get some dinner. I’m putting your ass in bed tonight.”

The annoyance that crossed his face was alarming, he’d always appreciated you being the one looking out for him. He’d been off all day though, you reminded yourself as you stepped around him, moving to collect his hoodie. He took it from you wordlessly, stripping out of his sparkly red suit jacket and sliding the hoodie over his head in one swift movement. 

“I don’t want you to be here if you’re just going to baby me.” Your eyes widened as you looked over at him. Surely you’d heard him wrong.

“I’m not babying you, Jiyong. You’re clearly not sleeping and when was the last time you ate?” He glared at you, folding his arms across his chest. 

“This morning. I’m fine.” 

“That’s bullshit, Jiyong. You’re not fine.” You pulled out your phone, pulling up the various missed calls. “If you were fine you wouldn’t be crying out for help when I’m on an airplane. What’s going on with you?”

He glanced down, running his hand through his already messy hair and let out a sigh. “You were supposed to be here for this, not come at the end and start worrying about me.” He glanced up, all the pain you thought maybe you’d imagined was visible on his face. “I needed you here.”

“I had to work!” it was a lame excuse and you knew it but it was all you had. They wouldn’t just let you take months off work to let you follow Jiyong around the world. 

“I told you I’d take care of you. What do you think that fucking ring meant? You don’t have to work.”  His icey tone caused you to flinch, he’d never been this angry with you before. You glance down at your ring, absentmindedly twisting it on your finger.  

“We talked about this, Jiyong. I’m not going to quit my job and sit at home worried about you for the next two years. After the wedding, we agreed to revisit that topic. Don’t throw it back in my face now. I’m here. I’ve been here for you every night regardless of the distance.” 

You two had had your share of fights before, but this felt different. Like you were both toeing a dangerous ledge and if you weren’t careful someone was going to get hurt. You held his gaze daring him to say something. Anything.

“Maybe it’s not good enough.” Your eyes widened in shock, your heart thumping so loudly in your chest you were sure he could hear it.

He didn’t mean that. You knew he didn’t mean that, but all rational thoughts had seemed to exit your brain as his words cut you so deeply. All you wanted to do was hurt him back.

“Not good enough? Being awake at three in the morning when I have a meeting at seven to make sure you’re ok, that you’ve eaten, isn’t good enough? Hopping on a flight to be here with you wasn’t good enough? I have supported you through everything, Jiyong. I have loved you through all of it. If that’s not good enough then I don’t think anything will be. Maybe you should take this back, if I’m no longer good enough.” Your voice cracked and you willed yourself not to cry, he wasn’t going to see your tears today.

You slid the ring off your finger, holding it out for him. He blinked, looking down at the ring. This isn’t what he wanted, he had always wanted you. He’d be damned if he broke in front of you right now, though. If you were just going to give up on him because of one bad day, then fine. He moved over to you, snatching the ring out of your hand and slid it onto his pinky. 

You shook your head, moving towards the door. “If you walk out that door don’t come back.” His sharp voice broke the silence in the room and without looking at him, you opened the door, walked out and slammed it behind you. He closed his eyes, letting out a long exhale. He’d really fucked this up, hadn’t he?

tag list: @wcnderlnds @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[arxiwon]

Idol!Enhypen Walks in on You Doing a Hot Trend on TikTok—How Do They React? 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Heeseung – Leans against the wall with his arms crossed, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“…So this is what you do when I’m not around?” His lips twitch into a smirk as he pushes off the wall. “Why don’t you teach me the dance? Or better yet—” he steps closer, voice dropping, “—show me again, just for me.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Jay – Eyes widen as he watches you move, and suddenly, he’s clearing his throat, looking everywhere but at you.

“Uh… wow. Okay. That’s… new.” He tries to act unaffected, but his ears are bright red. “I mean, I knew you could dance, but damn.” He finally meets your eyes, a teasing smirk forming. “You practicing for me, or should I be worried about who else you’re showing that to?”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Jake – Absolutely loses his mind.

“Oh my god—Y/N??” He stares at you like you just committed a crime, hands on his hips. “You’re not allowed to do that! Nope! No way! What if someone else sees it?!” He dramatically places a hand over his heart. “That dance is dangerous. For my health.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sunghoon – Raises an eyebrow, tongue poking at the inside of his cheek as he watches.

“…Huh.” He steps forward, tilting his head. “You sure you wanna post that?” His voice is calm, but there’s something sharp behind his smirk. “Because if I see any guy commenting, I can’t promise I won’t lose my mind.” He tugs you toward him, whispering in your ear, “Or maybe you just like making me jealous.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Sunoo – Loud gasp followed by the most judgmental look.

“EXCUSE ME?! What do you think you’re doing?!” He snatches your phone, replaying the video. “No, because why are you actually so good at it?” He squints at you, then shakes his head. “I’m gatekeeping you. No one else is allowed to see this but me.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Jungwon – Blinks. Stares. Blinks again.

“…You’re really doing this right now?” He crosses his arms, watching you with narrowed eyes. “And you weren’t planning on telling me?” His tongue clicks. “Okay, fine. Finish it. But after that, you’re showing me every single dance you know—personally.”

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Ni-ki – Laughs way too hard at first, then suddenly stops.

“Wait. Hold on. Why are you actually killing it?” He watches again, his grin slowly fading. “Oh. Nah. Delete that.” He grabs your phone, holding it over his head. “Not happening. Try again when I’m not around to see it and have an existential crisis.”

So… would you still post it, or are you deleting the evidence immediately?