#balcony elbow railing

[surajcore]

SS Door Handles Manufacturers

SS Door Handles Manufacturers & Suppliers in Delhi, India: Quality & Innovation by Core Architectural Hardware

In the world of architecture and interior design, every detail matters. One such crucial detail is door hardware, particularly door handles, which not only provide functionality but also add aesthetic appeal to a space. Among the most durable and stylish options available today are stainless steel (SS) door handles, and when it comes to high-quality SS door handles, Core Architectural Hardware stands out as one of the leading manufacturers and suppliers in Delhi, India.

The Importance of SS Door Handles

Stainless steel is a popular material in door hardware because of its incredible durability, corrosion resistance, and sleek appearance. SS door handles are known for their ability to withstand wear and tear, making them ideal for both residential and commercial applications. They do not rust or tarnish, which ensures that they retain their original look and functionality for years. Moreover, SS handles are easy to maintain and clean, which makes them a hygienic choice, especially in public spaces.

SS door handles are also versatile in terms of design. Whether you prefer a modern minimalist look or a more traditional style, stainless steel handles can easily complement various architectural themes. At Core Architectural Hardware, we understand the importance of design in door hardware and offer a wide variety of SS door handles to suit different tastes and functional needs.

Core Architectural Hardware: A Trusted Name in Door Hardware

Based in Delhi, India, Core Architectural Hardware has established itself as a leading name in the manufacturing and supply of premium SS door handles. We specialize in providing door hardware solutions that combine durability, style, and functionality. Our extensive range of SS door handles comes in various colors, sizes, and shapes, allowing customers to choose the perfect handle for their doors, whether for residential homes, offices, or large commercial projects.

Quality Craftsmanship

At Core Architectural Hardware, we believe that quality is paramount. We use only the highest-grade stainless steel in our manufacturing process to ensure that our door handles meet the highest standards of durability and performance. Each handle undergoes rigorous quality checks before it is made available to our customers. Our commitment to quality has earned us a reputation for delivering products that last and perform in even the harshest environments.

In addition to durability, we also focus on design innovation. Our team of skilled designers and craftsmen work diligently to create door handles that not only function smoothly but also enhance the aesthetic appeal of any space. Whether you're looking for sleek, modern handles for contemporary interiors or more classic designs for traditional settings, we have something to suit every preference.

Why Choose Core Architectural Hardware?

There are several reasons why Core Architectural Hardware is the preferred choice for SS door handles in Delhi:

Wide Range of Products: We offer a comprehensive range of SS door handles in various styles, sizes, and finishes, ensuring that you can find the perfect match for your needs.

Custom Solutions: We understand that every project is unique, which is why we offer customized door hardware solutions to cater to specific design requirements.

Competitive Pricing: Despite offering premium-quality products, our pricing is competitive, ensuring that you get the best value for your money.

Excellent Customer Service: Our dedicated customer support team is always ready to assist with any queries, ensuring a smooth and hassle-free experience.

Quick Delivery: We understand the importance of timely delivery, especially for large projects. Our efficient supply chain ensures that your orders are delivered promptly, no matter the size of the order.

Conclusion

For those seeking high-quality SS door handles in Delhi, Core Architectural Hardware is the go-to manufacturer and supplier. With a focus on quality, durability, and design innovation, we are committed to providing door hardware that enhances both the functionality and beauty of your spaces. Whether you're an architect, interior designer, or a homeowner, our wide range of SS door handles ensures that you'll find the perfect solution for your door hardware needs.

Explore our collection today and discover how Core Architectural Hardware can add value to your architectural projects with our top-notch SS door handles.

This blog highlights the unique strengths of Core Architectural Hardware, while emphasizing the importance of SS door handles in modern architecture.

https://corehardware.co.in/ss-handles.php

[coreglass11]

Railing Elbows Manufacturers

[bluefunkybeats]

PAPA SYLUS WITH HIS DAUGHTER

SYLUS WAKES UP TO YOU NOT IN BED WITH HIM. With a slight hunched tension on his back and spine, Sylus does a gruff and puff as he adjusts his silk black robe, to take off and come get you back to bed.

He turns to sit up properly on the bed, hands pressed firm on the mattress either side of his body to backstretch and to let his feet meet the floor. Yet funnily enough he places his feet down to be met with the most frigid cold floor (which grants him a distasteful expression); and he can’t feel for his slippers.

He treads to the kitchen with shivering numbness on the soles of his feet, but that irksome bother is quickly forgotten once he actually gets a glimpse of the scene in the kitchen from the doorframe.

Sylus’s face turns from disgruntled to wholesomely entertained to the sight of his little one sat perched sideways on the island stool facing her biggest teddy bear, whom was sporting her papa’s artisan-crafted suede slippers.

His smiley amusement only grows on his face as he meets your equally cheekily amused one, rumbly delighted chuckles fluttering out of him that you meet with your own giggles.

He approaches the pair of you and bows down to be close to eye-level with his little angel’s face.

“Can I have them back, sweetie?”

“Or is teddy’s feet too cold?” you brazenly chime in.

He can only meet your audacious smile with fake, light-hearted frustration (which to you is always a really bad act, since he can’t help snickering and the corners of his mouth turn upward), along with mock groans and crossed arms, all designed to make you laugh.

She’ll be the judge on who’s getting the slippers.

SYLUS WHO FINDS HIS LITTLE PRINCESS ASLEEP ON THE COUCH, limbs branched out comically whilst her stuffed animals stay splayed on the floor, presumably struck down by her little arms and legs (which move like cats on hot bricks when she’s asleep- a kicker for sure).

Papa Sylus begins on bending down and picking up her soft toys and placing them on the sofa with her. As he does, a few get lay down with cotton-filled flabby arms covering their beady eyes and having starfish legs, all in purpose to mimic the sleeping position of your daughter. The others get lined up around her like waiting for her to wake up and watch TV or play with them again (don’t worry- they’re placed a radius far enough so she won’t kick them down again, hopefully.)

Once done with his antics, Sylus turns from his view the of the couch and catches glimpse of you behind the glass sliding-door of the balcony.

Carefully and slowly sliding the door open and closed as to not make too much noise for your sleeping angel, he joins your leaning figure of elbows on the railing, watching the view outside the apartment.

He grabs your waist letting his arm and hand rest across the entirety of it, and kisses the top of your head.

“She’s fast asleep.”

[leighsartworks216]

I Want You

Sylus x gn!Reader

For all my folks who have been told they're not good enough to be wanted by anyone

Warnings: insecurity, kissing, alcohol, swearing, crying, embarrassment, not proofread

Word Count: 1,349

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form

“Have you ever been with anyone?”

It’s a simple question, perhaps born from your uncertainty, here and now. Standing on a moonlit balcony, dressed nicely, dinner on a candlelit table behind you, already savored. It was all Sylus’s planning, of course. When he needed to go to another country, he’d invited you to join him, as a little vacation from your own work to help him with his. When he then invited you to dinner, well, you didn’t think it would be quite this… romantic.

You both stand side by side at the balcony railing, you with half a flute of champagne and him with his own glass of wine. With your elbows on the rail, the flute hangs loosely over the freefall to the ground below. Beyond that, an entire city stretches out into the dim horizon.

You laugh humorlessly. “No. Who would want me?”

“I want you,” Sylus answers quickly.

You don’t look away from the view. Instead, you swirl the champagne around the sides of your glass. The sardonic, deprecating smile slips slowly from your face. You don’t believe him.

He sets his glass on the railing and turns fully toward you. With gentle fingers, he holds your chin and guides you to look up at him. His eyes are sharp. “I want you,” he repeats, firmer this time. His hand slides up to cup your face, thumb brushing over the apple of your cheek. “What will it take for you to believe me?”

You divert your gaze again as you try to pull his hand from your face. “Look, you don’t have to pity me, Sy. I know I’m not desirable-”

“Not desirable?” He scoffs. “Now who ever told you that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe just everyone, my entire life? I know nobody wants me, you don’t have to bullshit me on this.”

“When have you ever known me to bullshit something?”

You don’t answer, and he doesn’t let you pull his hand away. Instead, he cradles your face in both hands, chasing your gaze. “I want you. I want… your laugh when you hear me singing, and your eyes when you’re trying to get a plushie from the claw machine.”

“This isn’t funny anymore.” You set your glass down to hold both of his wrists, trying to pull your burning face from his hold so you can leave.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking, sweetheart,” he scolds lightly. “I want your smile when we go for joyrides, and your frown when the Twins are playing tricks on you.”

He leans in, tightening the space trapped between you. The night air is pushed out. It’s just him and you, and your shared breaths. He looks so intense, but not in a frightening way.

Your whole body is hot and uneasy. This still feels like an elaborate joke meant to insult you and make your faux-vacation a personal hell for you to relive every 3am for the rest of your life.

“I want your courage,” he whispers, deep voice slightly raspy at this volume. “I want your stubbornness.”

Your eyes are burning. You’re so embarrassed - you wish you could just hide under the table cloth until the end of the universe.

“I want to watch that triumphant little dance you do when you beat me in Kitty Cards. I want to hear your voice when you first wake up.”

A tear slips free. His face is blurred by the breaking dam. He brushes away each tear with his thumbs.

“I want… every little thing about you.”

You sniffle. You hold tighter to his wrists, torn between continuing to push him away and pulling him closer. He doesn’t shake you off, either way. “What about all the things you don’t want?” you ask, voice trembling and weak and utterly pathetic.

He brushes his nose against yours. Your breath stutters. “Like what?”

“My temper and my recklessness and how- how naive I can be sometimes…” You close your eyes. You can imagine any expression you want on him like this, and right now, you can just picture so perfectly the realization that would come across his face when he realizes you’re right. When he finally remembers just how insufferable and annoying you are. More tears fall as you squeeze them shut tighter. “My fat and my pickiness and-”

“All of it,” he cuts you off. “Anything you can possibly think of. Everything. I want it all.”

His tone leaves no room for argument…

But you’ve never listened to that anyway.

“Why? Why do you want… all of this? You- You can have so much more than me. So much more. Why do you want to settle for me?”

He scoffs. “I’m not settling for anything. You should know by now, kitten, I don’t go for anything less than the best.”

You sniffle again. You can’t imagine what you look like, all gross from crying. One hand finally releases your face, slipping out of your grasp. You hold onto the railing tightly in its place. Something soft and cool brushes away the tears. It’s silk; it feels just like the expensive bed sheets he has on every bed in his base.

“Will you open your eyes?” He cups your face again, the silk pressed in between his palm and your cheek. He brushes his nose more insistently against yours. “Please?”

Water sticks to your eyelashes as you force them open. Under your eyes feels raw and heavy, but your tears have dissipated enough that his face isn’t blurry. He smiles softly.

“There you are,” he whispers, fondly stroking your cheek again. “I want you. Nothing you think will ever change that. Nothing anybody else thinks will change it, either.”

“Really?”

One corner of his mouth quirks up slightly higher, becoming a smirk. “Do I need to prove it to you?”

Your face burns with more than just embarrassment now. You nod ever so slightly. This close, you can see the way his eyes darken as they glance down at your mouth. You can feel his pulse under your hand where you hold his wrist, picking up speed. You just barely hear the slight hitch in his breath as his lips brush over yours. Your eyes flutter shut, and he fully slots your lips together.

He kisses you slow and deep, holding your face firmly to keep you there, to keep you from drawing away from him. It’s insistent. He pulls away for a breath and dives back in. Each kiss is more determined and desperate than the last, until he’s breathing heavily against your mouth, tongue begging for entrance. Until your lips are swollen as you let him in. Until he finally, finally draws away, and watches with hooded eyes as the string of saliva connecting your mouths snaps.

You’re just as dazed as he is. You haven’t even opened your eyes yet, dumbly seeking out his lips again for one more kiss until your mind catches up with the quiet chuckle that fans across your face. Your chest rises and falls with passion, your cheeks are burning with desire, and you look up at him like he’s just pulled the moon down from the sky and handed it to you. He can’t resist nipping gently at your bruised lower lip. He’s glad he didn’t, when you let out a choked whine, begging for more.

“Do you believe me now, my beloved?” he rasps. The name sends shivers down your spine.

You release his wrist and reach up to hold his face. He’s all sharp cheekbones and broad shoulders, but when your fingers brush his hair, it’s impossibly soft. He’s impossibly soft right now, leaning into your touch and sighing as your fingers scrape along the fine hairs at the base of his skull. Gathering all of the courage that he admires so much, you whisper, “I think I need a bit more convincing.”

He laughs, already kissing you when he says, “It would be my pleasure.”

And, despite all the things you’ve been told all your life, you think you’re really starting to believe him.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @huen1ngk41 @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter

[ichangedmycornyahhname]

Earth 42!Miles x reader

Summary: Reader grows suspicious of Miles, and eventually puts all the clues together. He’s the prowler. And she’s avoiding him. Ignoring his texts, calls, anything else. So finally, he confronts her.

Warnings: None really? Cursing, some kissing here and there, pretty fluffy. Nothing too bad (though if I make a part two I can’t say the same.) Not proofread at all- part.2 here

The text simply read, “Really Y/N?”

Her brows raised, confusion finding her expression at her boyfriends text. For the past few months Miles has been very suspicious. Leaving with his uncle to go gods knows where in this broken down city. “What is he talking about..?” She muttered to herself as she stared at the grey bubble. Her thumbs hovered over the screen as thoughts jumbled together in her mind. Did he know? Did he know that she found out?

She shut the phone off, setting it down on the balcony’s thin railing. Her eyes fell upon the dim city, the neon purple and green colliding together in a fierce blend of colors. She always reminisced about how the city was before crime took over. It was normal, you were able to walk the streets without being snatched or robbed. Maybe even killed depending how far into the city you go. A sigh aired from her lips, her head hanging down as she leaned against the railing. Her arms kept her propped up, allowing her to take a step back so that she had room to rest her head onto her forearms. “So you just gonna leave me on seen mami?” She jolted, her head shooting up and taking a peek over her shoulder. Behind her on the fire escape was miles, his relaxed demeanor coming as no surprise. His bulky coat, jeans, and Nike airs drawing a small smile to her face.

“Sorry Miles..got a bit distracted. Thinking.” She chuckled under her breath, attempting to break the ice. Miles approached, now leaning against the railing beside her with a hardly noticeable smirk. “So, you’re just gonna pretend you don’t know? Y/N.” His gaze hardened, his eyes now boring into the side of her head. This caused her to close her eyes, a sharp inhale coming from her. “That’s all I can do, ain’t it?” She paused, taking a moment before turning around, now propping her elbows onto the railing. She rested her back against the rusted metal, her shoulders relaxing as her eyes met his. “Miles, I know you’re doing what you think is right..I’m not gonna tell you off or anything. I just- fuck I wish you just told me. You buy me all these things, and earn all this money, and I knew..I knew it wasn’t from anything good. But you being the..” Her voice caught in her throat, her lips pursing together into a thin line as she struggled to speak the name. Miles took notice of this almost immediately. His smirk was gone, now flat teetering on the edge of a frown. His pretty hazel eyes raked up and down her figure before returning to her gaze. He held it, his stare unnerving. “Being the what ma?” He inquired, his brows furrowing ever so slightly. This ticked her off, his attempt to bluff, or change the topic. Or whatever the hell he wanted to call it. She scoffed, her hands raised in defense as she stood from the comfort of the railing. “Are you being serious Miles? You’re just gonna pretend like I don’t know what im talking about? I saw the suit. And you’re always leaving with your uncle to wherever the hell y’all go. Fuck- if you’re just gonna sit here and glare at me then go somewhere.”

“Y/N, chill.” He said. No, commanded, and Y/N did not like that. “The fuck you mean chill? Miles, how are we gonna be in a relationship and you’re just gonna lie to me the entire time? Psh, you can have this back.” She reached behind her neck, pulling the necklace with their initials off and tossing it at him. He caught it almost instinctively, the silver necklace now resting in his palm. He sighed, his hand coming up to rest on his braids. “Cmon mami, don’t be like this. I was only trying to protect you. Don’t you get that man?” He stepped closer, his hand coming to take a hold of hers. He laced his fingers with hers, his pretty eyes focusing in on her. “Why would I tell you something that could get you killed? escúcheme mami.” He let go of her hand, now holding the necklace up and wrapping it around her neck. “I would never want to hurt you, you know this. I didn’t want to tell you that for that reason.” He clipped the necklace together, the shiny metal now resting around her neck. “You know I wouldn’t want you to get hurt, right ma?” She blinked, her stomach swirling with that familiar feeling. Butterflies, this man always gave her butterflies. “Right..I’m sorry I just..-“ He cut in, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “You’re talking too much ma.” He says before placing a pleasant kiss onto her lips. It’s gentle, patient, and forgiving. It almost has her knees buckling. Her arms wrap around his neck, his hand now finding sanction on her hips. Their lips lingered for a moment, the silence being broken by the honking and chattering of the crime ridden city. And while the city was a complete hell, Miles made everything so worth it. And it was the same for him. Her and his mother kept him going. Slowly they parted, though their noses were now nuzzling against one another as they rested in one another’s arms. “M’proud of you baby..you work so hard for us.” She muttered, which only drew a hum from him.

The two were so immersed in one another that they hadn’t taken notice of Aaron standing at the bottom of the fire escape. His lips curved into a smirk as he watched the two coddle one another. “Yo Miles, Cmon man. You can see your girl later. We got stuff to do.” He shouted up to them, drawing the two from their entanglement. Miles retreated from her arms, a small smile decorating his purple tinted face, the city lights making him look oh so good. “I’ll see you later ma, Ight? And go check on my mom for me yeah? Thanks.” He said as he began to climb down the stairwell. “Te amo mami.” He shouted from the distance. “Love you too baby!” She shouted back gleefully while waving him and Aaron goodbye. And just as you thought he was about to leave, Miles popped back up, strolling over and placing his hand under her chin.

He grasped it lightly, his lips finding hers once more. Yet, this kiss was much more intense. He bit and nipped at her lips, all whilst he watched her face contort, melting into his kiss. The kiss lingered, as did his lips as he pulled away. His pretty hazel eyes took in her flushed out face, his lips curling into a smirk. “Imma send you some money later mami, so you can get your nails done in that color I like. Kay?” He said before finally, he departed. He hopped back down and joined Aaron.

Y/N stood there, her face hot and her body even hotter as she pondered on his words. She knew exactly what he wanted. With one last sigh she retreated back into the open window behind her, her dimly lit bedroom greeting her. Tonight she would go to sleep with a clear conscience, no longer needing to worry about Miles and his secret escapades.

[cloudsmateria]

love crushed - cloud x reader

summary: cloud can't sleep with you on his mind, unable to accept his feelings. until eventually you both get caught unable to sleep. confessions occur, seggs happens perchance.

tw: seggs, quite rough seggs

He finally gave up. After hours of writhing in his hotel room, trying to convince himself over and over again, he knew he wasn’t winning. You had been circulating his mind, doing laps, your face crossing his vision every second. Continuously recalling your cut-up face today, panting, exhausted, the way his heart failed at the sight of you. You had no hesitation when it came to saving anyone, even at the expense of yourself. 

He groaned, dragging himself out of bed to get fresh air on the balcony. He dragged his hands down his face as he leaned against the railings, looking over Junon. He was being such a fucking girl about this, really. Just a simple crush and it was like he was 14 years old again, getting sweaty hands at the mere thought of you, and yet he still didn't want to accept it, what was right in front of him.

Cloud sighed deeply, resting his elbows against the railings and clasping his hands together. He couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn't be away from you. Even if you didn’t return his feelings, it wasn't going to stop him, no way in hell, he just needed you by his side, sitting in that bed he was already thinking about knocking on your door just to talk to you and see if you were still okay from that fight that happened hours ago. 

"I don't like her. I'm just not used to having new friends," he told himself, the wind ruffling his hair and his heart pounding at the thought of you, eventually shaking his head, that didn't feel right. He couldn't even deny it anymore. "...It's just a crush, I'll get over it."

The lie tasted bitter on his tongue.

Cloud was already heading to your room, his hand raised to knock on the door before he realised what he was doing. He cursed himself, dropping his arm back down to his side. This was fucking ridiculous, what was he doing? Cloud didn't even realise the way he was acting, but this was unlike him. Normally, he was cool and collected, always had been, but you, you turned his world upside down and he had no idea how to handle it. 

"Why am I doing this?" He thinks, softly leaning his head against the door. "She's probably sleeping, why are you disturbing her for this stupid shit?" He asked himself, turning around and walking down the hall towards the elevator. He pressed the button, waiting as he looked back at your door. And you stepped out, half asleep and still in your pajamas, it was so dark you didn't even see Cloud at the end of the hallway. 

You shuffled down the hallway. Your head was killing you, all those thoughts that had been swarming you for the past few hours, and now you had a headache. It was a horrible, horrible, night. You needed to go see Aerith to see if she had any healing spells, or Tifa to see if she had any medication, maybe you could go out and clear your head.

You bumped straight into Cloud's chest while you were rubbing your eyes.

"Y/n?"

"Cloud?"

"What are you doing up? Are you okay?"

"I could ask you the same thing. Not trying to sneak out on us are you?" You say, looking up at him, squinting. The hallway lights were bright and you couldn't see his expression properly.

"Just taking a walk."

"Oh my god, that's great. Can I join you?"

"Sure. Everything okay?"

"Yeah," you sigh, "I just couldn't sleep, I've got a lot of things on my mind."

"I know what that's like."

"You couldn't sleep either, huh?"

"Yeah."

"Wanna talk about it?" You ask, walking next to him as you both go downstairs.

"Not really." You smiled.

"You're never going to open up to me, are you? It's nice to get things off your chest, you know. I'm a great listener."

"You're also so nosy."

"Only for hot, mysterious guys." You giggle, poking him in the chest. He rolls his eyes, shaking his head and trying not to smile, but you notice his mouth twitching and the tips of his ears going red. "Where are we going, by the way?"

"Down on the beach, unless you want to go somewhere else?"

"No, it's fine. I love the beach."

"You'll freeze."

"I won't."

"You're still wearing your PJs."

"I don't need a lecture, Cloud."

"Well it's my problem if you get sick, isn't it?"

"That's cute. Assuming the responsibility of taking care of me."

"Isn't that what I'm doing right now?"

"Touche."

You both walked in silence to the beach, the breeze was warm and the stars were shining bright in the sky. The waves were crashing on the shore, the smell of the ocean was filling the air, and Cloud was beside you.

"What's on your mind?" He asked. 

"Hit my head when we were fighting earlier, had a headache. And just thinking about some stupid shit that happened years ago, it's so annoying when you can't get things out of your head and you get a headache."

"I get it. I feel the same way. Sometimes it feels like a million things are happening and all at once."

"Exactly."

You were quiet for a moment, listening to the ocean and feeling the soft sand beneath your feet. He turned to face you while you were looking over the water, moonlight softly reflecting in your eyes, lighting up your face. Breathtaking. Although brutally reminded of earlier as his eyes dropped down to the cut on your cheek, the gash on your arm. 

"I’m sorry that I couldn't get to you quick enough earlier."

"It's fine, you don’t have to protect me. Just ended up with a concussion."

"Why do you always get yourself hurt for other people?" You laughed. 

"I couldn't let Tifa get hurt, could I? She deserves princess treatment. You would know, you have a crush on her, don't you?" 

"What?" Cloud choked.

"Knowing a girl that pretty since you were kids? Sounds like a great love story." You were genuinely curious, not wanting to be a homewrecker or get the wrong idea from him at any point. You could get the vibe that she liked him too, that they were flirting sometimes. 

"Tifa is my best friend, I've known her for years."

"You guys were arguing like a couple in Nice. Or is it a relationship?"

"We're childhood friends."

"That's not what I asked, Cloud."

"No, it’s not.”

"What about Aerith?"

"Aerith is like my sister."

"Do you have a crush on her then? Is that why you always get flustered around her?"

"Why does it matter? You've got a thing for Reno, don't you?" You burst out laughing, he couldn't help but smile watching you die for a minute straight, until you could feel abs coming through. But he genuinely wanted a straight answer. "Don't you?"

"No?" You snorted. 

"Leslie or Tseng?"

"Oh my God, Cloud. You're going to kill me." You laughed. "What makes you think that?"

"You kept calling them hot. The way you look at both of them too. "

"The way I look at him? Are you jealous?" You tease.

"Of course not." He said sternly.

"Why are you getting so defensive, Strife?" You smirk.

"I'm not."

"Sounds like jealousy to me."

"Why would I get jealous?"

"Are you sure you're not jealous, Cloudy? You're getting a bit worked up."

"Y/n..." He mutterest annoyedly.

"You're not denying it."

"What's there to deny? ...Oh, come on. I saw the way you looked at Reno."

"Reno's a pain in the ass. An attractive pain in the ass. But I don't like him." Thank God, he thinks. "What about you then? Aerith or Tifa?"

"No."

"No to both of them?"

"Why are you surprised?"

"Because they're gorgeous! Are you gay?!"

"No. I'm just... not attracted to them. That's all."

"Ok so... not gay, not attracted to Tifa or Aerith." You list. "You have to like someone."

"Who do you like thetn?" I’m not ready for an unrequited confession, you think. 

"I asked first."

"Are you 5?"

"We're literally sitting here talking about crushes and you're dodging the question. You’re the five-year-old."

"This is ridiculous."

"Who is it?"

"Are we really going to do this here?"

"Please."

"I like you." Cloud says, finally looking at you. You freeze, blinking a couple of times. His heart sinks to his stomach, knowing he should’ve expected rejection and feeling like a fucking idiot. 

"What?"

"You heard me."

"Say it again."

"I like you, Y/n. What? Have I ruined everything?"  One more butterfly and you would've flown away. 

"You don't." You say, trying to confirm it.

"Why is that so hard to believe?"

"If you're being serious I'm going to do something really stupid."

"Wha-" You grabbed the collar of his vest, pushing his face toward you, lips connecting.  His hands find your waist quickly, pulling you closer and deepening the kiss. Your hands snake around his neck, running through his hair, his hand cupping your cheek, thumb stroking it. He pulls away, biting your bottom lip, picking your hips to wrap your legs around his waist, panting heavily and taken shocked.  

"You have no idea how long it took for me to come to terms with the fact I like you."

“I can’t believe it either.” You smile, kissing him again. “I bagged Cloud Strife.”

“And I bagged you.”

"Let’s get back to the hotel. It’s cold.”

“Almost like I said. And who’s going to be the one taking care of you?”

“It’s almost like I wanted you to warm me up.” You smiled. 

…

He quickly had you against the door the second you got in, kissing down your neck feverishly. It was the only thing he could do after you had been relentlessly going through his mind all week. He wanted nothing more than to feel every inch of you.

"Cloud," you moan, pulling at his vest and throwing it off of him.

"What?" He breathes, his hand reaching the back of your neck to pull you into another kiss.

"Do you know how hot you are?"

"Do you know how hot you are? Why the hell are you not naked yet?" He mumbles into your mouth, ripping your shirt off.

"Fuck." You gasp, as his lips travel down your chest, unclipping your bra. "Couldn't even wait to get onto the bed? Ah-!" His nimble fingers came to your breast, rolling the bud, his mouth sucking in your other nipple, tongue swirling around it. You grip onto his hair, your body burning, twitching. He lifts his head, his lips capturing yours again.

"You're beautiful."

"You're making me blush." You breathe, as his finger catches in your waistband, moving slowly.

“It looks good on you."

"Hurry up, please,"

"Begging already?"

"You've had me waiting long enough, I swear-" He presses his lips against yours again, silencing you.

"Patience."

"I can’t." You mutter as he pulls off your shorts and undergarments, bringing his face down, arms wrapped around your thighs to prop you up against the wall.

"Please, Cloud."

"God, I love it when you beg. You have no idea what it does to me." He groans, taking in what is in front of him. 

"Fucking do something about it." You say frustratedly, bucking your hips forward to prompt any kind of contact. 

"Didn't expect you to be such a brat." He nudges his nose against your clit, making your thighs squeeze, although forced back open by his arms.

"Cloud!"

He licks a long stripe down your pussy, his tongue slipping in. His tongue flicks, making you arch as you whisper his name over and over.

"Cloud, fuck, Cloud,"

"So pretty," he says, muffled.

"More, please."

He takes your clit into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it, his arms holding you up as you start to shake. His tongue works its way down, sliding in and out, nose pressed deeply into your sensitive bud. It didn't take you long to feel yourself build up to your finish.

"I'm close." You whimper, he feels your thighs tighten, letting your thighs squeeze his head and hang your legs over your shoulder. 

"Come on, baby."

You moan as your climax reaches, eyes rolling back, gripping his hair tightly. Your legs begin to twitch, his head lifting up.

"So perfect for me." He hums, standing up, held up by your ass as he brings your face up for a kiss. He brings you over to lie on his bed. He kisses down your body, making you whine.

"What about you?" You ask. 

"What about me?"

"Don't you want to finish?"

"You want me to fuck you?"

"God, yes."

"Are you sure you can handle it, princess?" He asks, undoing his trousers and removing the rest of his clothes. “How do you want it?”

"However you want."

"I asked how you wanted it, Y/n.”

"I'm indecisive, I just need you. Do whatever you want, please."

"You sure you're not going to regret that? I won't hold back." He says, kicking off his trousers. You can see the bulge through his boxers, making your heart stop for a minute. "Having second thoughts?"

"That's a lot for my first time."

"You're a virgin?"

"I don't exactly have time for boyfriends when I move all over the place."

"I'll be gentle then."

"I thought you said you weren't holding back." You sit up, watching him as he pulls it out, and kicks away his boxers too. Speechless.

"Only if you had a deathwish." He teases. 

"Can I suck it?"

"Only if you promise not to bite."

"No promises."

He smiles, stroking his cock a couple of times, standing over you. He lets your hand wrap around it, guiding you to his tip. You take him in your mouth, his hand tangling itself in your hair, gently guiding himself down your throat.

"You're so pretty." He groans. You swirl your tongue, making him buck his hips slightly, a moan escaping his lips. You hum, sending vibrations down his dick, his grip tightening in your hair.

"Faster," he pleads, thrusting into your mouth, your eyes watering as he goes deeper. "Fuck,"

He pulls out, you lick a long strip down the underside, sucking the tip. You can taste the precum as you go back to deepthroating him as far as you can manage until you feel his balls tighten.

"God, I could cum in your mouth right now."

You can feel him getting close, his grip starts to tighten. He pulls you away by your hair.

"I was going to let you finish me, but I want to hear you scream." He pushes you back down onto the bed, spreading your legs wide open. You can feel the heat radiating off of his dick, as it rests on your pelvis. "You still want this?"

"Yes, Cloud. Please, please."

"Needy thing." He says, leaning down to peck your lips. He swirls a finger around your clit, before pushing the tip against it, slowly running it up and down. He watches the way your face contorts in pleasure, as you grab the pillow underneath your head. He lines himself up, changing his mind at the last second with a grin, rubbing it up between your lips again. 

"Stop teasing me,"

"It's so fun to watch your squirm,"

"I'll finish myself off."

"Oh yeah? How are you going to do that if I'm holding you down?" He grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head.

"I can't wait any longer, please."

"Since you're begging so nicely."

"God, finally." He leans over again, kissing you one more time before lining himself up. Slowly, pushing the tip in, and letting you adjust to the stretch as he stayed there for a minute. He groaned, it was already so tight, hot, wet.

"Fuck... So tight." He mutters, thrusting the tip in. "You okay?"

"Yeah." You twitch around him, and he feels it. He pushes in slowly, inch by inch. His cock filling you, the stretch getting wider, as he slides in completely, the inside of you full.

"Ah- Fuck."

"Want me to stop?" You shake your head. He bites down on his bottom lip. "God you feel so good." Slowly, he pulls out, the head catching on the edge, and pushes in again. The pace stays slow for a while, his hand holding your wrists above your head.

"Taking me so good." He moans, kissing your neck again. You whimper, any discomfort starting to melt away, pleasure taking over.

"Harder, Cloud."

He complies, snapping his hips into you, the pace slowly picking up. You cry out and his hand comes off your wrists to clamp around your mouth before you woke up everyone else, his thrusts turning into a fast and rough pace, the sound of skin slapping on skin echoing through the room. His breath was hot on your neck, panting.

"You want it rough?" 

"God, please, yes." He pulls out suddenly, flipping you over onto your chest, your ass hanging in the air. 

His hand came to your hip, slamming back into you, grabbing a handful of hair and yanking it back, forcing your back to arch. His pace was brutal, his hand leaving your hip, coming to the small of your back, holding you in that position. The room filled with nothing but the sound of his balls hitting your clit, the obscene wet noise of his cock slipping in and out. You bury your face into the pillow, muffling the noises spilling out of your mouth.

"God, you take my cock so well. Such a good girl." He groans. His pace begins to stagger, his dick twitching inside you. "Can't believe I had to wait this long for you."

He pulls your head back, pressing his chest against your back. He kisses and sucks at the skin of your neck, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of the headboard knocking against the wall. His hand comes back down to your clit, rubbing harsh circles, and it was overwhelming. You felt tears form in the corner of your eyes.

"I'm so close."

"Me too."

"Come on, y/n, cum on my cock." His hips snapped again, and you couldn't hold back anymore. The knot in your stomach released, your legs shaking.

"Fuck." He groans, his hips stuttering and his hand coming down to grip your ass, feeling the convulsions of your body around his dick. "I'm going to cum inside."

"Please."

"You want it?"

"Uh-huh."

He buries himself inside, a guttural groan escaping his throat, the heat of his cum filling you up, twitching, his thrusts slowing, riding out his orgasm. His arms wrapped around your body, keeping you pressed against his chest, as you both lay there, panting, trying to catch your breath.

"Fuck." He chuckles. "That was..."

"Wow."

"Are you okay?" He asks.

"I'm seeing stars, I think. Or maybe I'm in love."

"You're definitely in love." He smiles, kissing your cheek. He thrusts deep into you one more time, his cock sensitive, the both of you moaning. "Round two?" He suggests.

"I'll die." He laughs and pulls out of you, you whimpering at the loss. He rolls onto his back, pulling you with him.

"I'll get you a pill tomorrow morning, okay?"

"I have an important question."

He wraps his arms around your waist, his forehead pressed against yours. "Go on."

"How did you learn how to fuck so good?"

"I had a lot of pent-up energy."

"So I was just an easy outlet?"

"Maybe."

"I don't want to hear another word."

"I'm joking. It was pent up feelings, you idiot."

"Or maybe you're just a man whore?"

"No, definitely not. Just pent up feelings, like I said."

"For how long?"

"Like a year."

"That's a long time."

"I know."

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"I thought you didn't like me."

"Cloud."

“Mm.”

“You’re stupid.”

“I know. We could’ve fucked sooner.”

"Is that what you're really thinking about?"

"Not really. I'm thinking about how good your pussy feels around my cock."

"You're gross."

"You're gross, you made me cum inside you. They're going to give us an earful tomorrow, they definitely heard us." He mumbles, littering kisses up and down your neck again, wrapping his arms around you tighter. 

"Guess we better get some sleep then?"

“Anything you say, princess.”

-

this is my first time writing smut. not sure how to feel about it. maybe a little too fast paced but very fun to write, learnt a lot.

[swordsandholly]

Fancy

Ch. 4: Black Out Days

Ao3 | Previous - Next | Masterlist

Vampire!Poly 141 x Fem!Fat!Reader

MDNI | cw: sickness, hallucinations, injury, some light dubcon

Word Count: 6.2k

Summary: A permanent darkness rests over the city. You’ve lived here your whole life - in the slums, just another human to be pushed and pulled at the whims of the vampires that run it. Another human made to bleed and crawl their way through a meager life. Maybe, just maybe, a meeting by happenstance will change your fate.

A/N: the tone of this story has sort of shifted as I’ve worked on the next few chapters/plot points. I hope it’s not too jarring, but I’m excited for the direction it’s going in.

Your mother rises out of her drunken stupor - spine too straight and head flopped back limply. As if her hips are the only thing capable of moving and her neck has snapped at every ligament. The worn sheets pool around her hips, torn neckline of her nightclothes exposing her gaunt, bruised collar bones.

She says your name in that sickening, gruff voice of hers. A voice too exposed to the poisons outside. Blood drips from the corner of her mouth, coats her teeth as she speaks. Black and viscous. “Oh, darling, what have you gotten yourself into?”

You’re small. A child kneeling by her bed like you always did, waiting for her to ask you to bring her water or pain pills. “What?”

“It’s easier if you give in.”

People aren’t buried anymore. There isn’t room. Your mother’s urn is painfully cold in your hands. You stumble as the train lurches. A new voice hisses above you. Wild eyes and big hands that leave clawing, bloodied stripes in their wake down your body. A flash of blonde, some sort of scar. An accent so old you don’t recognize it.

“It’s easier if you give in, little girl.”

You fall back, out of the train doors and onto something soft and silky. For a few beats you stay there, in the quiet. In the dark. Comfortable in a way so deeply foreign to you it might as well be alien. Until some thick cover pulls away from your face. John grins down at you, shirtless with his head resting on his hand and elbow on the pillow below him.

“Knew you were awake.”

You rub your eyes. “Wh- when did- when did I get here?”

He frowns, a deep crease forming in his brow. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve…” You run a hand through your sleep tangled hair. “I don’t know…”

“It could be so easy, Fancy.” He murmurs, voice low and far away. “It doesn’t have to be… this.”

“I can’t…” Something complicated swirls in your chest. A twisting of guilt and love and unadultered disgust.

The world shifts. You’re standing, now. Simon leans on the railing of the penthouse balcony, staring out at the city. He takes up so much space. Envelopes you without even touching you. “How many memories do you think a person can lose before they’re someone else entirely?”

“What?” You frown. There’s an ache in your head - a drumming pain growing more intense by the second. Your bones rattle along to the rhythm.

“It’d be so easy…”

You peel your eyes open only slightly. It hurts, as if they’ve been glued shut. An offensive light blazes in your face. It takes a moment before you realize the tingle on your skin comes from the UV lamp beside you. Did you fall asleep under it again? No matter how hard you blink your vision won’t clear. When you finally manage to swallow it feels like your throat has been lined with shards of glass.

You grope around the bed uselessly, hands unsure. The edge of the bed takes longer to get to than it should. With a low groan you crawl to the edge, barely managing to swing your legs over. Well, swing is a generous description. In reality you end up on your back on the floor, head thunking against some sort of plush rug or carpet. Your vision swims.

With another groan you slowly pull yourself up into a shaky stance. Wherever you are, it’s big. The bed you fell out of is easily a king with richly woven sheets and a thick comforter. The rug on the floor has such intricate patterns it makes your pounding head dizzy. There’s even a fireplace in the far corner, unlit at the moment.

Something different catches your eye - an item too familiar for this foreign room. Your box of valuables sits on an elegantly carved wooden dresser. Real, actual wood. You run your fingers over the strangely organic material, so rare that it almost feels more unnatural than the plastic plywood you’ve grown accustomed to in the slums.

You limp weakly toward the heavy door on the far wall. A whine escapes you as you pull it open, the heavy wood causes the hinges to creak quietly. You poke your head out, walking down the empty hall like a person with decade long atrophy. Sweat drips down your back, the sickness in your gut turning to anxiety as you realize where you are.

The penthouse.

Voices waft through the mostly open central area - deep and growling. A sound you might mistake for an angry beast if it weren’t for the intelligable words the noise makes up.

“Bloody ‘ell, Price, what the fuck?” That baritone could only belong to Simon. You poke your head around the corner of the wall, peaking into the living room where the four vampires stand.

“I know, I fucking know. I couldn’t-” An exasperated sigh. “I couldn’t lose her again.”

“So you fuckin’ marked ‘er?”

Your hand lifts shakily to the still sore cuts on your neck. They’ve scabbed over but barely. The action makes you look down at your hands - neatly bandaged. Recently, too, you think. At least if your blurred vision is to be believed.

“We’ll lose ‘er anyway if you fuckin’ scare ‘er away!” Simon’s volume continues to grow. He steps forward. John doesn’t back away.

“Guys…” Kyle tentatively steps in, hands outstretched between them as if stepping into a dog fight. He might as well be, frankly.

“You promised her you wouldn’t!” Simon’s voice wavers. It makes your heart skip, the unsteady sound so bizarre coming from him. “We all did!”

“Simon’s right.” Johnny crosses his arms. “We said we’d take our time. See where she’s at.”

“Weren’t exactly taking your time when you fucked her raw were you?” John snaps back. It’s shockingly childish and out of character for the man. Not that you would know. He sighs, rolling his wide shoulders. So much for not being angry about it.

Before you can make heads or tails of the scene playing out in front of you, your vision blackens, one leg stiffening and the other giving out. You barely catch yourself on some random side table, knocking it against the wall in the process. Despite your efforts to hold yourself up you collapse onto the cold, hardwood floor.

“Oh, baby girl.” It’s Kyle at your side first, cool hands tenderly enveloping you as he checks for damage.

“Don’t…” You push at his chest weakly. “Don’t touch me…”

“Dove-” A crack sounds throughout the penthouse, deafening and ringing as Simon’s palm comes into contact with John’s chest, forcing the man back a few steps.

“You’ve done enough.”

There’s a moment, long and silent as you watch them stare each other down. A power struggle. John is the head of the coven, objectively. The only way to change that is an exchange of power. A death. You’ve seen it out on the streets within lesser covens. Simon is bigger, but you can see the cold, dogmatic shift in John’s eyes. The look he gave you in the car. The one that says he is well and truly Right and there is nothing to stand between him and what is Right.

The moment ends when you double over, lungs heaving as you choke and cough. A slimy, viscous glob of red-black comes up from your throat. Barely liquid with the thickness of it. You fall limply against Kyle, as much as you’d rather be left in a dark alley than with these psychopaths your body just can’t hold itself up.

Someone scoops you up, pressing you tightly to their chest. Johnny or Kyle, you think. A touch so soft and sweet you might mistake it for love. Not that you would know. You’re back under the wave of nothing before you even touch the sheets.

You sit still as you can, arm growing tired of the stiff angle you have it positioned in. Laid out across some old loveseat that creaks every time you move even slightly. You don’t trust it to not have at least a little dry rot considering it’s from a good few centuries ago. One of those random pieces John hoards for some secret reason. The light positioned carefully above you feels too warm, discomfort making you twitchy.

“Johnnyyy!” You whine. “Hurry up!”

“Ye can do it, bonnie. Just sit like me.” He goes still. Inhumanly still. Transitioning from living (well, undead) being to a marble statue in barely a second. It sends a frightened shiver down your spine - the prey instinct in your hindbrain moving into overdrive.

You take a shaky breath. “I hate when you do that.”

When he does what? Has he done that before? Have you been here before?

“Jus’ be a good lass f’me.” Johnny murmurs. A different sort of shiver runs down your spine.

You recognize his room but it’s… different. Lighter, somehow, than the last time you were here. The only time you were here. The wall has far more drawings tacked to it, nearly doubling the amount and bleeding across onto another side of the room. You squint. It’s you. Well, mostly. All in different poses, some more salacious than others, each carved out with a deep attention to detail. Were… were those there before? They couldn’t have been.

Your body lights up, the room grows darker. Nearly pitch black. Your hips roll lazily. You feel… good. Ecstatic. The warmth from the light replaced by an immeasurable heat. The man below you comes into focus as the dream settles - a mountain. Blonde and pale and scarred. Part of his right ear is clipped off from a fight. At least you think it was a fight. His hair just barely long enough for you to tangle your fingers in. You’d know those dark eyes anywhere - the ones that look right to the very core of you. That know you wholly from Eve.

“Fuck, Si…”

“Tha’s my girl.” He grins. The action pulls at a scar covering his lips. “Always so good f’me.”

The hands on your waist lift you like nothing. Like you weigh as much as paper and are just as delicate. A burning fills you, a tension that pulls a grating whine from your chest.

A distant part of you remembers to question what this is. Why you’re here, with him. Why you’ve never seen his face before but seem to know every detail of it by heart. The rest of you falls into the moment without a care, allowing yourself to be consumed entirely by him and his desire. It’s all you want - all you need.

Simon’s voice rumbles in a sort of call and response to your devoted babbling. “I love you.”

You jolt, snapping forward and sloshing water around you. For a moment, you panic that you’re drowning. That you’ve been dropped into some great sea and left to flounder.

There’s a quiet rumble behind you, vibrating through your back. Simon. You couldn’t make out whatever he said.

You relax instinctively. Some unconcious part of you falls back into him. Until he runs a soap rag over your chest and you tense, clumsily attempting to cover yourself and curl into a ball. The water sloshes over the edge of the tub again. You don’t get very far, despite the massive size of the bath you’re utterly surrounded. Bracketed by Simon’s strong thighs and large hands.

“None of that.” He barks, pulling your arms back to continue washing you. “You’ve been sweatin’ in bed for four days. Gonna make y’self worse.”

Four days? Worse?

You stay quiet, limp and pliant as he pours a hefty glob of shampoo into your hair. Vanilla. Far too exhausted to put up any sort of fight. Not that you would win. It feels good, if you’re honest, the way he systematically scrubs every part of your scalp, slowly detangling with conditioner. You nod off for a moment, coming back when he pours water over your head to rinse you.

“Simon?” You murmur weakly.

He grunts.

“Why am I here?”

The hands in your hair pause. Only for a moment before going back to their gentle movements. “Because you’re ‘ome.”

You shiver, another coughing fit wracking your body. At least nothing comes up this time. There aren’t bandages on your hands, just the scabbing wounds that have obviously been carefully tended to. Even as the coughing subsides your breaths wheeze, shallow and hollow in your chest.

When you were young, your mother would set you in a cart to walk to the supermarket. The cracked streets would bump and rock you uncomfortably but it was better than walking all those miles. You always hated the market. Too loud and confusing. A maze of sterile white tile and shelving so high it felt giant to you.

One time you lost her, distracted by a massive plushie that she said you can’t afford. You’d stood there staring at it, angrily contemplating why you couldn’t afford it. What sort of societal disservice had been done that you can’t have that bright pink creature. Angry and lost you ended up wandering the aisles for what felt like an eternity. Walking through that white void in search of… you’re not really sure what, actually.

That confusion continues to eat at your mind as the aisles transition into a small, lush greenhouse. The UV lights above you would burn, if it weren’t for the large hat covering your head and shoulders. Gardening gloves protect your hands as you carefully harvest a few tomatoes. They came in so well this year, bright and firm.

You’re lost in it. The green. So accustomed to grays and neon lights that it feels unnatural. You turn your gloved hands over, palm up, down, up, down. They’re yours but distant. As if you’ve possessed some alternate version of yourself. You suppose you have, in a way, if these fever dreams are in pattern. Not that you remember the others well.

The lights turn off suddenly and you freeze, muscles tensing and hackles raising. You turn slowly as the door begins to creak open, trowel in hand. Not that it would do much against whoever has you cornered. John said to be wary.

He’s been acting strange lately.

Isn’t he always?

A hand clamps over your mouth and you shriek behind it. You claw at the stony hand covering you, instinct taking over. Adrenaline pulses through you.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.” Kyle coos, letting you go quickly. “Sorry, love, I didn’t mean-”

“Don’t do that!” You snap, harsher than you meant. Or less so?

He deflates a bit, shoulders sagging. “Sorry, I just wanted to come in here with you for a bit.”

“Why?” You snort. Kyle is the only one brave enough to venture in. Even with an external light switch, the others are far too wary of the UV lights hanging across the roof to enter. It’s a joke between Simon and Johnny - that they’ll throw Johnny into the greenhouse if he doesn’t behave.

Kyle nods, scooting forward. You can barely make him out, the only light being that of the faux stars drifting gently through the fogged greenhouse glass. “Missed you.”

“I saw you, like, five minutes ago.” Did you?

He shakes his head. You wish they would tell you more. They always hold back so much, as if your puny human brain can’t grasp what they think. You could. You’d learn to. Even if it was some horrid, eldritch secret you would bear it for them. He pushes you back until you’re laying on the floor, slowly resting his weight on you and burying his face in the crook of your neck.

“Just let me stay like this for a bit.”

You frown, but only move to reach up and pet his hair. It’s smells like vanilla. He stole your shampoo again. A fraction of you screams, rails against the idea of being this close to an apex predator. To a man you don’t know. Strange. You know Kyle. You love him. Both the fear and the fondness swirl together into a confusing mixture in the back of your mind.

“We can stay. For as long as you want.”

Something heavy and cold coils around you. You weren’t out as long this time, you think. If you’re even awake now. The room is dark. A pitch black void that you float in outside of the grounding weight holding you in place. That vanilla scent felt so real, still wafting through your nose. A nagging sense of despair settles in your chest as it dissipates.

“Need t’go home.” You croak, unsure of why you say it. Your tongue feels heavy and numb. God only knows why.

“Ye are home.” Johnny murmurs in your ear, voice low.

“Not m’bed… sheets’r t’nice.”

“It’s yers.” Johnny’s arms tighten around you. His voice shakes. “It’s always been yers.”

“N-no…”

“Knew it was tae soon tae bring you back.” He buries his face between your shoulder blades. “Told Kyle it’d be tae much.”

“Wh-”

“Ye make us such a mess, bonnie.” He sighs. “Cannae believe Price-“

Johnny cuts himself off. You can’t find it in yourself to argue or press. A sob wracks you out of nowhere. Something about Johnny, about being wrapped up in his strong arms sends you over the edge of it all. The weight of him mimics the one in your chest.

“Dinnae cry.” Johnny sits up a bit, running a thumb under your eye.

“I’m s-so confused-“ You sob. “I can’t- I-“

Somewhere in the midst of your crying fit the bed dips in front of you. Kyle cages you in between himself and Johnny, pressing you tightly in the center. It makes you want to thrash, to fight and scream.

It also feels so, so good.

You’re back in the slums, in your apartment, with some random man groaning above you. He works down the street, you think. Smiles at you whenever you go get a coffee or cigarettes. You stare at the ceiling blankly. You brought him here… why did you bring him? What- You hiss at the living heat of his hands, burning through your skin - gut churning at the blue of his eyes. It’s wrong. Neither bright nor tranquil enough. You can’t voice it. Can’t place it. They’re just wrong.

You catch a flash of dark irises as you take drinks to some slimy little vampire paying on credit. Immortal but still poor. Pathetic. Suddenly, though, you don’t care when he and his friends grab at you, your gaze trained on the man lounged in a booth on the other side of the club. You can’t stop staring at him, something tugging at you deep down to go to him. His eyes connect with yours, and you nearly leap with joy when he waves you over.

Except, when you get close, you freeze in place. Straddling his lap, a crushing weight lands on you all at once. They’re not what you’re looking for…

What are you looking for?

You sob in your bed late into the night, pressing the heels of your hands to your eyes. You’re so lost. So hollow. You don’t know why - don’t understand what changed. Some portion of you carved out into nothing. A soulless tulpa born of someone’s imagination. You can’t be human, there’s no way you can be human and this empty. A walking carcass. Not even undead, just barely animated. A puppet, almost.

It’d be so easy…

You wake in a fog this time, limbs heavy. As much as you try to will your arms to move, they won’t quite do it right. Your hands glide over the soft fabric around you, barely moving a few inches. The muscles twitch and shake. It feels like wading through molasses and with a thousand pounds of steel strapped to your back as you attempt to sit up even slightly.

“There she is.” A familiar voice murmurs. It’s soft, comforting, but also incredibly far away. “Hey, lovie.”

“Kyle?” You croak. You might as well be speaking around a massive ball of cotton. There’s something hot and wet streaming down your face. Are you crying?

“You’re alright.” He murmurs, soothing down your hair. Petting you like a dog in pain. An injured, feral animal.

You collapse back on the bed - not that you made it that far in the first place - unable to see more than a few feet in front of you. Kyle, really. Kyle is all you can make out. His face so vivid you’re sure you could draw it from memory. “Where am I?”

He pauses. “…Your room.”

“M’chest hurts…”

“I know, lovie. We’ll make it better.”

“What’d y’do t’me…?” Your vision flashes in and out. You’re going back under, as hard as you try to fight it. The edge just comes closer. You teeter on your heels.

“You just breathed in some bad air. You’ve been out for… a while.” Somehow, you get the sense that what he says is an understatement. That there are layers he has to hold back. Simon said four, you remember, though you can’t quite define if that was real or a dream.

“I hate you.” You whisper, barely audible. “I hate all of you.”

“I know.” Kyle sighs, continuing to run his fingers through your hair. “I know.”

Teeth sink into you. A choked gasp escapes your lips, body stiffening and hands knotting into some thick cloth. The pain is searing but fleeting. A part of you, the present part of you, feels disgusted. Wants to shake and batter whatever parasite has you caught in its maw. Another part, a far more distant piece of you that you aren’t even sure is you, blossoms with warmth. You melt into the strong arms that hold you against a cool chest.

“John?” You murmur. Or, rather, this other you murmurs.

A low groan reverberates from his chest to yours. Your head gets lighter, vision fuzzy around the edges. A hand clamps over the bloodied parts of your neck. Your vision fractures, partially the scene in front of you and partially the ceiling of your room that isn’t your room. Your lashes flutter and you’re back loosely straddling John’s lap.

“Yes, love?” He pants, mouth and teeth stained red. It sends a wave of panic through your veins.

You swallow roughly. “I don’t-”

Something shatters - the staccato sound reverberating through the apartment.

You startle, sitting up and throwing your blankets back. The bed is empty, room dark except for the few embers trapped in the fireplace off to the side. You don’t notice the box missing from your dresser.

“Hello?” You frown, standing and moving toward your door as if possessed by some external force. As if you at all know where you are going. Your bare feet pad quietly against the hard wood, door silently sliding open a fraction.

There’s another smashing sound. Your heart rate spikes, fear coursing through your veins. No one’s home - they left days ago. On business.

How do you know that?

Suddenly you’re in the living room of the apartment, crouched behind the couch and groping underneath for one of the silver daggers stashed around in various hiding spots. An insurance policy. Your breath comes in short, rapid gasps. You have to get out. Get downstairs. There’s security down there. They’ll help you, they know you.

How do they know you? How did you know the knife was there?

With the small dagger gripped tightly in your fist, you flinch at another smash. It came from John’s room across the apartment, another following right after. It sounds like this person (or people) tore his metal bed-frame apart. Splintered into pieces.

You take the opportunity to carefully move toward the front exit, allowing the noise to cover the sound of your movements. Damn the open concept design. You told John you didn’t like it. Breaths come in faster and shallow. You’re not built for running - too soft from all that pampering. A chubby, well loved pet. Not that you’re complaining. It’s just not the best for this particular moment.

A figure moves at lightening speed from John’s room to Kyle’s. You duck down behind the kitchen counter, covering your mouth to stifling the sound of your breath.

“I can smell ya.” A low voice taunts, echoing through the apartment. Fortunately, your scent is everywhere. It will take longer to distinguish where you are in particular than he may think.

Why is your scent everywhere again?

There’s more tearing and smashing. A door groans loudly as the intruder tears it off the hinges. More shattering. Your heart breaks a little - that must have been Kyle’s pottery. Oh he worked so hard on those. Some of them are from a century ago.

Anger begins to boil up your spine. Who is this fuck who thinks he can just wreck your home? Someone you know, for sure. He would have had to be invited in at some point. With a sneer you continue making your way through the penthouse, toward the front door. John’s going to rip this fucker in two when he gets back.

Except, just as you’re reaching for the front door, the vampire exits Kyle’s room. You meet his eyes - glinting in the dark of the hall. There’s barely a beat before you begin to rush, opening the door as fast as you can.

Not fast enough, of course. You’re only human, after all.

A scream rips it’s way through your throat as you connect with the far wall, knife clattering who knows where. Something broke, you’re not sure what. Every nerve ending seems to light on fire as you try to sit up. Your arm doesn’t move more than a twitch when you try to stand.

“Hey there, little girl.” The man pins you suddenly. You get the nagging sense that you know him, his name on the tip of your tongue. Buried somewhere under lock and key in your mind.

You thrash, punching at his chest and tearing at his hair. To no avail, of course. He just lets you, a cruel grin spreading wider and wider the harder you try to get away.

“What do you want!” You finally sob, going limp when your body finally gives out under pain and exertion.

“To destroy John’s coven. Obviously.” He huffs. “Yer step one.”

The vampire grabs your jaw in an iron grip, your teeth crack under the pressure as his pupils dilate. They’re bright - so blue and infinite and you can’t look anywhere else no matter how hard you try.

A clarity washes over you almost violently as you come to - like breaking through the surface of water after staying under too long. Everything from yo ur time under washing away, sinking back into the deep. A forgotten wreckage - old and twisted and grown over. Another lost Atlantis somewhere in the depths of your mind.

“John?” The name falls from your lips before you even realize you’re speaking, before his face comes into focus. Soft and familiar - comforting and enraging.

“Right here, dove.” He murmurs, dabbing your face with something damp and cool.

“Wh…” You swallow roughly, not entirely sure what you even want to say. So any words threaten to spill from your lips and yet your mind feels blank. All fuzz and static.

You want to beg him to let you go. To keep you forever. To tell you why he brought you here despite the ever nagging sense that you know why. Something deep in your marrow that connects you to this place - to these men - at the very soul. You are theirs and they are yours and you want nothing more than to run from them as far as you can go.

Those blue eyes focus on yours, so oddly gentle for all of their inhuman qualities. “We’ll talk when you’re better, okay?”

Talk about what? There isn’t anything to talk about. You don’t know them and they don’t know you, no matter what that tugging in your chest tells you. You’ve lied to yourself before - you’ve lied to others before - surely you’re just doing it again. This man hurt you. Marked you, whatever that means, so why do you still melt into his touch?

Your name falls from his lips, reverent and frightening. You blanch, eyes wide and mouth falling open. You didn’t tell him that. You didn’t-

“Just sleep for now, yeah?”

~~~

John watches intently as you fall back asleep. There was panic in your eyes for a moment, but your sick body can’t do much more than drift in an out of consciousness. You look more peaceful this time, at least, your breathing even and your body still. You’d been thrashing before, for what reason he isn’t sure. The lower city’s poison air does a number on the body, it’s effects only growing worse as time goes on and the pollution becomes more dense.

He did that, didn’t he? He left you and now you’re sick and hurt. John runs his fingers over the Mark, nearly entirely healed now. Just two small, faded marks that will follow you to the grave.

“I’m so sorry. I just keep failing you, don’t I?” He sighs. You always said he was a good man even when he didn’t believe it. Even with all the things he’s done. Would you still agree?

John‘s eyes sting. He’d be crying if he was human, surely.

He glances at the door. The others are out - taking care of business while he watches over you. The world doesn’t stop even when you need it to desperately. It took Johnny and Kyle nearly dragging Simon away to leave you alone with him.

He takes your hands in his, guilt wrecking him. They’re so much smaller, so much warmer. He can feel your pulse in every fingertip. Surely he’s ruined any chance to fix this before they could even try. He wouldn’t blame Simon if the man decided there needed to be a change - that John needs to be removed. He wouldn’t fight it.

John crawls into bed beside you like he’s done so many times before. Nestles under your pink silken sheets - the ones you picked out for Christmas. That was years go, now. Over two. Two tortorous, draining years that felt longer than the past six hundred.

He ran for days. Weeks maybe. Tearing through the city block by block, dodging and weaving between people and buildings alike. Speaking to anyone, using up every connection and resource he ever gained under this damned dome. It took a week to get through the sewer system.

No one knew where you went.

No one heard a thing. At least, nothing they would admit to. Even under compulsion.

You were gone, just like that.

Two years go by in the blink of an eye for a vampire. Might as well be a day, a night, a handful of hours. Time in such small increments is nothing to an immortal. Decades are barely enough to measure with. Not for them, though. Every second drug on. The days were long and tense.

A fracture formed between them. Kyle retreated into himself - quiet and frayed around the edges. Sometimes John caught him with a far away look in his eye, staring at nothing. He thinks Kyle would have been crying in those moments if he could. Johnny became far too unpredictable. Ripping and tearing any lower level vampire he can find. He spent a few months hunting Frenzies in the lower city without contact.

And Simon…

Simon turned into a fucking nightmare.

After the first year, they at least hoped to find your body. After the second anniversary of your disappearance came around, they gave up. The guilt of giving up brought a whole new wave of grief on them. Johnny laid in your bed for weeks, nearly beginning to petrify as he denied any blood. John couldn’t blame him, opting to re-read your favorite books with shaking hands. Simon fished your last knitting project, eyes heavy and tired. Kyle meandered listlessly through the house, sometimes laying with Johnny but most often sequestering himself in the now empty greenhouse.

They try to fill the hole with pretty girls that look sort of like you. Never enough and they never act like you. Too busy placating to snap at them like you were so willing to do. These others are only place fillers - something to take up the space you left between them. They could never truly fill it, though. It was far too great. A chasm that continues to swallow the four of them whole.

He’s so tired. The others were, too. Kate handled business well enough but their involvement was still required. Each issue and event weighing on them more and more. Kingpins of the city and they’ve been nearly ruined by the loss of a single girl. A single, human girl. None of it mattered in the face of what they lost.

John looks up, the pin-drop silence in the room bringing his attention back to the present.

And there you are.

Like Lazarus returned. An angel bathed in low, red light. Your hair spills around your shoulders framing that face he knows so well, one he’s held more times than he can count. A face that made him pray to a god he does not believe in every day to get back. Just once. Those unmistakable pearls grace your neck, the ruby latch glinting as you twist your neck and tuck your hair behind your ear.

“I’ll be your Companion tonight.” You say so softly. Almost the way you used to, laid up in his bed, whispering about nothing and everything with your fingers running through his hair. Asking about the things he’s seen with such awe.

“What happened t’ Cherry?” Kyle asks faux casually. John can feel the tension in the man next to him. He’s feeling it out - always so good at that. Better at human subtleties than the rest of them. His dark eyes sparkle, though, with a light John hasn’t seen in so long. He hadn’t realized just how much he missed it.

“She was unfortunately unable to come in tonight.” You slide the tray onto the table. You look the same. You sound the same. There’s a few new scars, some scratches here and there. A wariness in your eyes that wasn’t there before. Damage done to your skin that could only come from the lower city air.

Where have you been?

You shift nervously. “If I’m not to your standards-“

“Well, now, none of us said that.” John says far too quickly, smiling despite himself. It might not even be you. Maybe a doppelganger. A distant relative. A clone is more plausible. “What’s your name, dove?”

“Fancy.” And oh, John is sure his dead heart comes back to life. It is you. It has to be.

“Fittin’.” Johnny says, eyes raking over you. He might as well be vibrating, struggling to keep himself held back from yanking you into his hold.

They’re all measuring you up the same way he is. Feeling for anything unfamiliar. Outside of your distant, distrustful gaze with a lack of recognition that makes his chest ache, it’s you. It’s all you.

“Do you know who we are?” Simon murmurs. You’re having trouble looking at him, only meeting his gaze in small glances. Not so different from when they first met you. You and Simon have always had a certain… connection. Not that you weren’t all close - that they all didn’t love you deeply - but you and Simon had an understanding. He wonders if you can still feel it somewhere, deep down in the back of your mind.

You’re panicking a little, eyes flitting between their faces. John’s heart sinks. He feels it in the others. A deep disappointment - a turbulent melancholy- seeping into their bodies. You don’t know them. You don’t recognize a single one of them.

It’s all gone.

“It’s not a trick question.” Kyle says gently, ever one to soothe.

“No, sir.”

John’s heart breaks all over again.

A/N: My initial summary for this one was just “Fancy tripping balls on pollution while John and co. have a meltdown”

[riddlesb1tch]

Under the Stars

Azriel x reader

summary: years ago you made a pact with Azriel that if the two of you were single in 20 years, you'd marry each other. As you two reflect on this promise years later, Azriel admits something that he has been hiding since that day.

warnings: none!

Azriel stood on the balcony of the House of Wind, his elbows resting on the railing as he gazed up at the stars. You could see the tightness in his shoulders, the way his posture was just a little too stiff. It was clear that he was in pain, his heart breaking in a way that made yours ache for him. You had no idea why, though. He had been upset the whole day and refused to speak with anyone.

You moved quietly to his side, mirroring his stance, and offered a gentle, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied, his voice soft but carrying a depth of sadness that cut through you.

Looking up at the night sky, you ventured, “Wanna tell me why you’re sad?”

Azriel inhaled deeply and after a couple of seconds spoke so softly you barely heard him. “What if I can’t find anyone? What if no one likes me?” 

Furrowing your brows, you turned to him. “Why would you think that?” you asked. 

Azriel shrugged, mumbling, “I don’t know,” while looking down at his hands. “Maybe I’ll always be too much of a weirdo for love,” he let out a hollow laugh. 

“You’re not too much of a weirdo,” you said softly. “You’re just the right amount of weird, Az. I’m sure one of these days, someone will come along who will love you exactly as you are. They won’t try to change you or ask you to give more than you have, and they won’t give you for the world.” 

Azriel gave a hollow laugh, the sound devoid of true humour. “It’s been five centuries. I can’t imagine a miracle happening now.”

Your heart twisted further at the weight of his words. The pain etched into his features and the hopelessness in his eyes were almost too much to bear. You took a deep breath and decided to offer a glimmer of light.

“Hey,” you said, trying to sound more upbeat, “if things don’t work out, we could always marry each other.”

He turned to you, a surprised smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “What?”

“I’m serious!��� you insisted, trying to keep the mood light. “If, in 20 years, we’re both still single, let’s make a pact. We’ll marry each other.”

Azriel’s gaze was sceptical but intrigued. “Why would you want that?”

You took a moment to consider your answer, glancing up at the stars once more before meeting his eyes. “Well, we’ve been friends for over a century. We know each other well, and we get along great. We live in the same house, so there’s really nothing we don’t know about each other. And,” you added softly, “I care about you, Az.”

His eyes softened, and a warmth spread through his gaze as he looked at you. “I care about you, too, Y/n.”

A genuine smile broke across your face at his words. “So it’s settled, then! In 20 years, if we’re still single, we’ll marry each other.” You extended your hand toward him, hoping he would agree. 

Azriel hesitated for a moment, a mixture of scepticism and amusement dancing across his features. Then he reached out, his hand clasping yours firmly. “Deal,” he said with a small, hopeful smile.

You squeezed his hand and gave him a reassuring look. “I won’t let you die alone, Shadowsinger,” you whispered. “You’re much too precious for that.” 

At that moment, Azriel looked at you as if you had hung the stars in the sky. He pulled you into a tight hug and you felt the tension leave his shoulders. 

You chuckled softly as Liam animatedly recounted the stories from your date. When you reached your door, he gave you a wistful smile, the kind that suggested he wished the evening could last a bit longer.

“So is this where the night ends?” he asked, his tone betraying a hint of disappointment.

You mirrored his expression, nodding solemnly. “It’s not goodbye,” you ventured, a soft smile touching your lips. “We will see each other again.”

Liam’s face brightened slightly. He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek, his lips warm and lingering for a brief moment. “I’ll see you tomorrow!” he called cheerfully as he turned and walked away, his steps echoing softly down the hallway.

Smiling, you winnowed inside the House of Wind, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you like a comforting embrace. The house was quiet, as expected. Cassian and Nesta had gone away for the weekend to a secluded cabin to celebrate their first anniversary, leaving just you and Azriel behind. You assumed Azriel had gone out too since he hadn’t mentioned any plans, and fatigue from your date was beginning to weigh on you.

As you made your way to your room, the muffled sounds of grunting and punching reached your ears. Curious and concerned, you realized that Azriel was on the rooftop training.

Deciding to check on him, you headed towards the roof. The cool, crisp night air hit your face as you stepped into the open training ring. The sight before you was striking: Azriel stood in the centre of the ring, his hands clenched into fists, his focus fixed intently on the punching bag. The bag swung with each of his forceful strikes, and his movements were charged with a pent-up intensity that made the air around him almost crackle.

You took a moment to admire Azriel, appreciating his physicality—the way his muscles flexed with each punch, the fluidity of his movements, the raw strength he exuded. Though nothing romantic had ever happened between the two of you, you couldn’t deny that Azriel was strikingly handsome. His sharp, defined features, and dark hair contrasting with his light eyes, paired with his impressive physique, made him undeniably captivating.

“Hey there,” he greeted, his voice carrying a smirk as he glanced over at you.

You felt a flush of warmth spread across your cheeks but tried to maintain a casual demeanour. Leaning against the doorframe, you crossed your arms over your chest. “So what did the poor punching bag do to you? You’re hitting it like it stole your bride.”

Azriel chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. He hung his head slightly, shaking off the tension, and moved to the bench at the corner of the training area. He sank onto the bench, grabbing his water bottle with a sigh of relief. You followed and took a seat next to him.

“How’d the date go?” he asked, his voice a mix of casual curiosity and concern.

You sighed, staring at the starry night sky of Velaris. “It was okay,” you admitted, your voice carrying a note of resignation.

“Uh oh,” Azriel said, a teasing edge creeping into his tone. “Did he do something shitty? Did he say ‘pacifically’ instead of ‘specifically’?” he teased.

You laughed, shaking your head. “No, no, he was actually really nice. I just didn’t feel like he was right for me,” you said. “You know?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, nodding in understanding.

The two of you fell into a comfortable silence, gazing at the vast, twinkling expanse above. Your gaze eventually drifted to Azriel’s hands, and you noticed the bloodied and bruised knuckles, evidence of his intense training session.

“You’re bleeding,” you said, your voice gentle but laced with concern as you reached for his hand to inspect it up close. The sight of his battered knuckles tugged at your heart.

Azriel dismissed your concern with a casual wave. “It’s nothing. Just been at it for a while,” he said nonchalantly.

You frowned, disapproval evident in your eyes. Turning to his shadows, which had been hovering around you both, you whispered, “Can you bring me a first aid kit?” The shadows bobbed up and down as if nodding in agreement before darting out of the room.

Azriel looked at you and his shadows with surprise. “Since when do they listen to you?” he asked, his astonishment clear.

“They always have,” you replied with a shrug. “You didn’t know?”

He shook his head, clearly amazed.

The shadows soon returned, depositing a rectangular box in your lap. You opened it, retrieved the alcohol and cotton pads, and set the kit aside. Gently, you resumed tending to Azriel’s wounds, dabbing the alcohol-soaked cotton on his knuckles, slowly and carefully cleaning away the blood. As you worked, Azriel’s eyes remained fixed on your face—observing your concentration, the kindness in your eyes, and the tenderness of your touch.

“Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible.

You looked up, offering him a soft smile. “It’s no problem,” you replied.

A comfortable silence settled between you, the only sound the rustling of the night wind and the occasional hum of the city below. You continued to work on his hands, your fingers brushing against his skin with a soothing touch, while Azriel turned his gaze back to the sky.

After a few moments, he spoke again, his voice reflective. “Do you remember 20 years ago when we were standing right over there?” He gestured toward the railing. “And we made that promise to each other—that if we were both single in 20 years, we’d marry each other?” His smile was wistful, a touch of nostalgia in his eyes.

You turned to look at the spot he indicated, your smile mirroring his. “Yeah,” you whispered. “Crazy how fast time flies.”

You finished cleaning his hands but didn’t let go. Instead, you held his hand gently between your own, your fingers tracing the lines of his scars with a delicate touch.

“So are you still down for it?” Azriel asked, his eyes softened by an earnest hope.

You were taken aback by the question but managed a soft smile. “Yeah, I am.”

Azriel sighed in relief, a genuine smile spreading across his face. “Because, truth be told, Y/n, I’ve been yours since the day we made that promise,” he confessed, his gaze unwavering as he looked deeply into your eyes.

Your breath caught in your throat, and you stared at him, stunned. “What?” you whispered, barely able to comprehend his words.

“It’s true,” he continued quietly. “I’ve avoided every long-term relationship with the hope that one day, we’d end up together, Y/n.”

For a moment, you were at a loss for words, your mind reeling. Then, with a shaky breath, you replied, “Well, if only you had said that 20 years ago, we could have been celebrating our 20th anniversary today.”

Azriel chuckled softly, his head hanging in a sheepish gesture. “Forgive me, my dear. I’m not the best at expressing my feelings.”

“No, you are not,” you agreed with a light laugh. “But I’d be happy to teach you,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth.

“And there is no one else I’d rather learn from,” Azriel whispered before leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss that was both tender and fervent, a culmination of all the years of unspoken feelings and promises.

Masterlist

[surajcore]

[coreglass11]

[sweets3rial]

i wanted it to be you. (II)

ch. 1 // ch. 2

di!leon x fem!reader

summary: when Leon thinks things are too late, he gets a friendly reminder that things are never too late.

tags: angst/comfort, happy endings, fluff, wedding ceremony, marriage, vows, talks about future, small mention of overbearing in-laws, reader having many second thoughts, drunk letters/vows, Chris and Claire Redfield mentioned, runaway bride, panic/anxiety attacks, Leon loves you, time skips, teasing, smut, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it before ya' tap it)

warnings: panic and anxiety attacks

word count: 10.3K (yikes srry ya'll)

“my dream house?”

“yeah, tell me.” he urged, bumping your hip with his. you looked up into the sky, pondering his question. it was a good question. you’d never thought of something like that before. you were so used to your two-bedroom and one-half-bathroom apartment.

“well, i want lots of greenery. like plants in every corner and in every room.” you began, using your spoon as a little wand as you spoke. “i also want a lot of warm lights, to give the house a nice welcoming vibe to it,”

he hummed, nodding as you finished each sentence. “i like earthy tones or nude tones, nice soft couches, and a stone fireplace. a big living room and a large dining room- y’know how in those movies where the rich sad family gathers for dinner and it’s very awkward and quiet?”

his eyebrows furrowed, “you want something like that?”

you chuckled, “no, but i want my dining room to look like that just less … sad.”

“i see, it’s like those where the father is at the end and the mother at the other end,”

“exactly,” you smiled wider. you picked a cherry floating atop your frozen yogurt, taking it by the stem and bringing it to his lips. he opened his mouth with an audible sound, wrapping his cold lips around the fruit and plucking it off the stem.

you flicked the stem out of your fingers and onto the street where it’ll be swept away in the wind and trampled on by those who walked by.

“i want a large backyard, with either a poo or just a large field of grass.” you smiled at the thought of walking out onto your porch as an old feeble woman to enjoy a cup of coffee as you stared out into your backyard to watch the sun set or rise. or even watch your future kids play with the family dog.

you never wanted to have kids. just the thought of splitting yourself in half while pushing out new life sent chills up your spine. but sometimes, the idea of holding a child to your chest and watching it grow. the idea of listening to them laugh and play, watching as they discovered new interests and learned new things, and being alive to discover the person they will become, doesn’t sound too bad.

“i want a balcony, one that stretches from one side of the house to the other. that way i can sit outside and i don’t know enjoy a nice cigarette.”

a laugh erupted from his chest at the thought of you only wanting a balcony to smoke a cigarette. but then that image warped into him watching you from the door smoking that cigarette. the wind blowing in your hair, the sun kissing your skin, your clothes flapping against your skin.

he imagined you’d be wearing a baggy shirt, maybe one of his shirts. the wind blowing up from the balcony would cause your shirt to cling to you. to your curves and the dips of your body, the purchase of your hips, and the slim of your waist.

you’d turn to him with your elbows leaned up against the railing behind you, cigarette between the plump skin of your lips as you beckoned him over to join you.

“i had a friend,” you started, interrupting his small daydream.

“her parents had this master bedroom. when you walked in, to your left was a sliding door that led to the balcony overlooking her backyard, and then to the right was a couple’s bathroom,” you sighed at the memory, you envied her.

one, because her parents were happily married and slept in the same bed. two, because she had a big house with a large backyard. and three, because she was happy. she lived luxuriously in her big house, she was spoiled, and her parents doted on her. her life was perfect.

yours, not so much.

“her mom occupied one sink with her makeup and her jewelry, and her dad occupied the other with cologne and little figures,” you gulped down a lump in your throat, looking up at him to see him already looking at you. you could see the sad look on his face. the look of pity and sadness, it left a stab in your heart knowing that you probably ruined his night for him.

“i want that.” your words left your throat with a small croak. you weren’t just talking about a couples bathroom with a jacuzzi bathtub but also to be happy. to live in a large house, to be happy with your future husband and kids, to enjoy luxurious jewelry and clothes.

his heart hurt at the look in your eyes, the yearning and the hope. he could see the pain as you spoke about your friend, even if you were smiling as if it was a good memory. he wanted to say, i can give you that.

he wanted to give you that. not only for you but also for himself, that way when you beckon him over as you smoke your cigarette he can join your side. his daydream began to play again; as he joined your side, you’d put your cigarette out and wrap your arms around his torso with a sigh.

he could smell the shampoo in your damp hair and the lotion you lathered onto your skin — along with a hint of his cologne from the baggy t-shirt that belonged to him. the wind was nice and fresh, a cooling breeze along with the warm morning sun. he’d shut his eyes and hold you to his chest, slowly swaying you back and forth as he enjoyed the warmth from the sun along with the warmth from your body.

“that sounds nice,” he looked down at you, “peaceful,”

you smiled up at him, licking your sticky lips, “yeah, it does,”

your smile slowly faded as you began to doze off, he was very … pretty. the way his dirty blonde hair framed his face so perfectly. golden strands that are soft like silk and fluffy like cotton. his eyes, how they gazed into yours, pulling you in deep like the tide of the ocean and drowning you into his being.

they say the eyes are the window to the soul. when someone furrows a brow, you can tell their soul is confused or troubled. when a tear swells you know their soul is sad. when their pupil dilates you know their soul is in love.

there is a ring around his pupils, a ring of blue — the color of his irises. his plump lips are agape, sucking in breaths and letting them go. his lashes flutter with every blink, his eyes trailing every inch of your face, taking every detail of you into memory.

you did the same. scanning over his dimpled cheeks, his high cheekbones, his strong brow bones, his long lashes, the tips of his cold ears, and the window to his soul. all of it.

“you’re so beautiful,” his words came out almost in a drunken whisper. his brain wasn’t able to process any word that left his mouth until it did.

the blood that pumped into your veins instantly ran to your face. your cheeks heating up as your eyes widened, you looked back down at your melted froyo — hoping that taking a bite would hide away your hot cheeks. “thank you,” you mumbled trying to fight back the smile creeping up onto your sticky lips.

“of course uh- back to your dream house-“

“oh right! um-“

------

a living room with comfortable couches and a coffee table in the middle sitting, in front of a large stone fireplace. a kitchen with off-white cabinets, black tile floors, and an island with black marble counters and a deep sink. a dining room with a large table with seven chairs and a runner underneath.

plants, everywhere. in the front, in the large backyard, hanging from the roof, in every room, and in every corner.

large windows that faced the sunset and sunrise, casting down their warmth and triumph into the house to illuminate every corner without a single flip of a light switch. warm lights, in the kitchen, the living room, the dining room, the hallways, everywhere.

a patio out front and out back, a balcony that stretched across the back of the house. five rooms, a guest room, three kids’ rooms, and a master bedroom. a master bedroom where when you walked in, to the left were the sliding doors to the balcony, and to the right a couples bathroom and a walk-in closet.

though, it wasn’t a home. there were drapes over the furniture to keep them from collecting dust. there were no plants just empty corners. the windows were shut and no one lived there.

the rooms were empty, with nothing but carpet and walls. it wasn’t a home. it had no life, no family, no giggles and happiness. it was simply just a house.

“sir, i just need you to sign here and then we’ll lease the house.”

he straightened his posture and blinked away the dryness in his eyes. he looked over at the man, he was about his height. he wore a fancy suit, his mustache was nice and jelled up, his hair slicked back and he smelt of expensive cologne.

he took one last look around the house, his heart aching. if he closed his eyes, he could hear you in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and listening to your music or your podcasts. he could hear your voice calling him from your bedroom. he could hear a dog maybe the giggles of children. but that was just a figment of his imagination.

he was standing in the middle of a house. your dream house. the one you told him about so many years ago. back then, he would’ve said ‘i can give you that’, but he hesitated. would that have made you stay? if he said he was putting all his money into building this house for you.

buying the furniture and the tiling and marble necessary to make it happen. hiring construction workers to add on a balcony and a back porch. would all his effort … would it have made you stay?

“who’s getting married?” the realtor asked, pointing at his boutonniere with his pen. he blinked, once again brought out of his daze.

“uh my … ex-girlfriend,” he grumbled awkwardly. the realtor jumped back a little, a small strand of his slicked-back hair falling out.

“oh,” was all he could say as he too joined him in looking around the house. the real estate agent could tell that this man wasn’t looking to live here by himself, there were so many rooms, rooms for a family. a couples bathroom and a shared walk-in closet.

the realtor sighed, looking up at the man. his eyes were bloodshot red, most likely from crying or being up all night. the bags under his eyes were dark and heavy. he was holding a flask of whiskey and his posture remained slouched.

“Mr. Kennedy,” the realtor clicked his pen and hooked it back onto his suit pocket. he stuffed the paperwork under his arm and puffed out his chest. he was losing business by doing this but he’d rather see a man happy to sell his house rather than sad to sell his house.

“i was young once,” he began, standing next to Leon as he dozed off. “i too had a girlfriend, she was the girl of my dreams,” the man chuckled at the memory.

“we were young and very, very stupid,”

Leon’s head slowly turned towards the man beside him, he found that the realtor was looking out the window with a smile on his face which caused his mustache to turn upwards.

“i was poor and she was wild, i wanted to give her a proper life. so i worked and i worked to the point that i’d tire myself and i barely had time for her.”

Leon let his eyes fall to the ground, this story was sounding a bit too familiar to him. not having time for each other led to miscommunication and arguments all the time. it was not a story that he wished to retell.

“so she left me, one day i came home and she was gone.” the man sniffled a bit, watching a bird fly out of one of the trees that sat on the front lawn. the bird reminded him of her, his songbird, always singing and so loud. though, he loved it when she sang and tweeted like a bird.

her voice was always like music to his ears anyway.

“i crashed her wedding like a fool and she told me that she would’ve been happy getting married without a big ring and a big house. that she would’ve been happy with how things were,” the man let out a sigh, swallowing the lump in his throat.

“so, my word to you is…don’t let it be too late. if you love her and hopefully she still loves you then … make it work.” the man placed a hand on Leon’s shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. a sign of support for the young man since he too has been in Leon’s position once.

“it is never too late to be what you wanted to be,”

'i wanted it to be you.'

your voice replayed in his head. he could still hear the tears clogged in your throat and he could still see the look in your eye. he could still smell your perfume and feel your lips on his skin. it isn’t too late. he wasn’t too late.

Leon slowly began to nod his head, building up the courage to do something anything. he knew it was time to let you go, that it was over and done.

'do you still love me?'

'goodbye, Leon.'

those were the last words you said to him. he replays the sound in his voice every night and it keeps him awake at night. he tosses and turns, missing the warmth of your body and the feeling of your skin. he feels selfish, yearning for someone who wants nothing to do with him. someone who is getting married in a few hours.

but you aren’t just anyone. dare say, you are the love of his life.

“thank you, Mr. Gudzynski.” Leon smiled at the man, taking one last chug of the whiskey in his flask before making his way out the door. Chris stood there waiting for him, leaning up against his car with a cigarette hanging from his lips as he stared down at his phone.

upon hearing Leon’s foot crush the rocks beneath him, he looked up. he stomped out his cigarette as he blew out the last puff of smoke.

“how’d it go?” Chris asked, rolling his shoulders to let the sleeves of his suit adjust.

“did you just put out your cigarette on fresh cement?”

“i guess you sold it then,” Chris chuckled dryly.

Leon took a moment to reply, looking at the porch behind him. it was empty, just plain wooden slabs. he knew how much you wanted a patio, this was your house after all.

completely inspired by you. every corner and every detail of this house you had spoken to Leon years ago. he made your dream a reality, though you'll never know that.

“i couldn’t,”

Chris turned to Leon, his frame tensing up, “uh you what?”

“i couldn’t sell it, i just…” Leon ended his sentence with a shrug and much to his dismay, Chris nodded understandably.

“i knew you wouldn’t be able to,” Chris sighed, opening the door to his car.

“what?” Leon said with a lift of his brow.

“just get in,”

the whole drive to the church, Leon could feel his body growing heavier and heavier. he was nervous. unsure of what he should do or say? will he have the time? he was constantly wiping his hands onto his pants, trying to wipe the nerves and sweat away.

he was staring out the window blankly, bouncing his leg and biting on the inside of his cheeks.

~

’stop that,’

‘stop what?’

your fingers reached up to tap his cheek, ‘stop biting your cheeks, you’re making me anxious’

he stopped instantly, licking over the skin that he was just biting at. you sighed, standing in front of him as you fixed his tie. you worked with straightening the silk fabric and tightening it around his neck — not too much.

he looked down at you and his nerves instantly eased. your face was relaxed, your breathing slows, your lashes fluttered with every single blink, and god you were glowing. he couldn’t help but smile, he knew he had no reason to be nervous if you were right by his side.

and here you were; fixing his tie and smoothing out his suit.

‘you got this, it’s just a simple speech, we rehearsed it many times,’ you leaned up onto your tippy toes to place a kiss on his chin. ‘and i’ll be right in the audience supporting you,’

~

his lips curled into a small smile at the memory, he would’ve for sure embarrassed himself if it wasn’t for you being by his side. he remembers it clear as day, standing up on that podium as he received his award, his hands were shaking and his vision was blurry.

he was trying to read off of his speech but he couldn’t. that was until he found you in the room and then suddenly, you two were in the living room of your shared apartment. you were sitting on the couch with takeout in your lap. as he practiced his speech, you’d slurp your noodles or take a bite of your fried rice as you pretended to be a high government official.

once his eyes found yours in the large crowd, you smiled up at him mouthing the words; ‘you got this,’

“we’re here,” Chris sighed aloud. Leon looked up to see many familiar faces walking up the steps into the church, hand in hand and with smiles on their faces. all dressed in black suits and dresses, a simple and traditional color.

you were never a religious woman, you weren’t the type to go to church every Sunday or pray before every meal. but here you were getting married in a church, under the eye of god as if you hadn’t slept with another man just a few months ago.

your eyes were stuck on the cross hanging above you. the hairstylist you hired was busy touching up your hair, your makeup artist was powdering your nose and adding more highlight to your cheekbones consistently saying the same words, ‘make sure you smile that way you can really pop.’

you’d give her a small silent nod, whatever made her happy.

you haven’t smiled once. it was your wedding day. after months of trying on dresses, trying cake flavors, sending out invitations, and picking out bridesmaids. the day was here and you couldn’t smile. you’ve been sitting in this chair for hours, getting your hair and makeup done.

your bridesmaids would come in screaming excitedly while waving around bottles of champagne. you put on a fake smile with fake laughs and giggles but your mind was elsewhere.

you were thinking of a lot. your future after today, losing your last name, kids, and in-laws. but mostly you were thinking about him. it was hard, writing his name down on an envelope and sending it to him through the mail.

your fiancee, soon-husband, didn’t know about you and Leon. he believes you two are coworkers and nothing more. acquaintances or even strangers. he didn’t know the deep love you held for that man.

he was excited to see that you were inviting the other agents. he felt special. as if him being married to a D.S.O agent would make him a better tech or get him a promotion.

it was so hard sending him that invitation. most of the other invitations were given in person unless the guests lived far away. you wondered if he would come, part of you hoped he did and the other part of you hoped he didn’t.

“it’s almost time,” you looked to your side to see your uncle standing in the doorway. you chose him to walk you down the aisle, he’s been here for you more than your father. he was there for your daddy-daughter dances, for your graduation. elementary, middle school, and high school.

you stood up from your chair, smoothing out your dress. your dress was itchy and heavy, the pins in your hair stabbed your scalp with every movement, your makeup felt heavy and cakey, and your heels hurt. everything felt wrong.

“are you ready?” you looked at your uncle, a smile on his face as he looked at you. that was when tears welled in your eyes and you shook your head, suddenly you were a little girl again, crying to him when you didn’t get a toy you wanted.

your uncle’s face contorted with worry as he rushed to your side.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

you sobbed, throwing your head down so your tears wouldn’t ruin your makeup. you grabbed the back of your chair, trying to find your words and your breath but it was hard with the corset constricting your every movement.

“i can’t do it, i can’t go out there-“

“of course you can,” he reached over for a few napkins as his hand rubbed up and down your back, “i know it’s stressing, this is your big day, and your life is going to change after this.”

you shook your head again, pursing your lips together to keep another sob from leaving your lips.

“but this is the day you’ve been waiting for, you’ve stressed yourself out enough. after this, you get to enjoy your honeymoon and your house.”

you looked up at him, blinking away another tear. he smiled at you, taking the napkin to blot away the tears. you couldn’t help but think, only if he knew.

only if he knew where your heart truly lies. who your soul calls to. what you did, more specifically who you did. you couldn’t tell him. it was too late to tell anyone. what were you supposed to say? i slept with another man. quite frankly, the only man i’ve ever loved.

you’d be burned at the stake, by everyone in the church. especially, your mother-in-law.

so you sucked in a deep breath and stood up straight.

“okay,” you croaked, and you held the napkin to your tears. you hoped he wasn’t here, you really did. you knew if you made eye contact with him somewhere in the crowd, you would break.

so you linked arms with your uncle, standing up straight and putting a smile on your face. your uncle smiled back at you, giving your arm a small squeeze. your feet were already beginning to hurt and the minute the piano started your limbs began to shake.

your nerves were on edge, your palms were sweaty and you could barely control your breathing. you walked out of the small room you used to get ready and into the main hall. there were photographers, gasping at the sight of you.

gorgeous dress that made you look like a princess, the fabric along with your veil trailed behind you, leaving a path of your essence. instantly, camera shutters were beginning to go off. you gave the photographers a nervous smile and wave as you stood in front of the two large doors.

you looked up at the roof, naked baby angels danced above you, they were holding harps and chasing each other with smiles on their faces. clouds surrounded them along with doves. hints of gold were seen in the paint.

it was beautiful. architectural and just pure with grace. even if the paint was fading and cracking, it was the most beautiful thing you've seen today.

your uncle knocked at the doors, signaling whoever was inside that you were ready. when the doors opened you were met with gasps and the sound of people rising from their seats. you made eye contact with a few people both from your family and his.

you watched as a few covered their mouths in shock, their facial expressions softening in awe. you smiled at a few, keeping your head forward most of the time. your fiancee stood at the end with a wide smile on his face. his friends were giving him firm pats on the shoulder, demonstrating their support.

you smiled at him, pursing your lips as you let your eyes wander. to your left, in the second row, seated in the very first seat…there he was. he came. your face dropped upon seeing him, your knees suddenly felt weak, and a large pain erupted in your chest.

he stood with his hands folded in front of him. his lips were agape, his jaw hanging loose. his eyebrows were upturned in awe. your steps slowed a bit as you got closer to him. you wanted to see him one last time before it was too late.

in his mind, he was standing there at that altar instead of that bearded man. he was watching you walk down the aisle and you were smiling at him. you looked beautiful. god, that color always suited you. your makeup and hair were done beautifully, he’s never seen you this way — all dolled up.

it put his heart to a complete stop. he couldn’t focus on anything but you. your eyes were stuck on him as you passed by. he watched your smile fade as you both made eye contact and he felt a stab in his chest. for a second, he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t blink. he was just frozen in time.

as you walked past him, your head fell to look at the ground. Leon too looked away, continuing to bite on the inside of his cheeks, this time he could taste blood. he shouldn’t be here. he shouldn’t watch this happen. he couldn’t. he couldn’t.

but he wanted to, today was special to you but it was the complete opposite to him.

he watched as you stood before your husband, a smile rising to your mouth as you gave him a small ‘hi’. Leon let his head drop to his lap, his leg was bouncing uncontrollably. he couldn’t do it. he couldn’t be here.

he was about to look up at Chris to tell him he had to go but he was interrupted when Chris put his hand on Leon's knee. when he looked at Chris, he was looking ahead. a toothpick between his lips and his eyes stuck ahead on you and your future husband.

he knew Chris was trying to convey something, probably 'calm the fuck down,' but also some type of support.

Chris knew today was hard for Leon. with each passing day that the wedding got closer, Leon has been sulking and slacking off during training. his flask was his best friend and so was his bed.

Chris was the only one who knew how deep Leon’s love ran for you. Chris was there during the nights Leon would stumble around drunk and depressed. he gave Leon a hand when he was at his lowest. he helped Leon get rid of his addiction. he got Leon a therapist.

he did a lot for Leon when you two split, same for you. Chris was like the older brother you never had, he was supportive and kind. he was always understanding. you were able to confide in him comfortably. you could sob on his shoulder and use him as a punching bag instead of Leon.

Chris saw both of you at your lowest points and he brought both of you back.

he did so much to bring you two back together but here he is; watching one get married while the other watches with tears in his eyes. Leon kept his head down, unable to face you and watch the scenery before him. the priest prompted you two to begin your vows and he was first.

there was a nervous smile on his face as he pulled out a folded piece of paper from his pocket. he unfolded the paper, his eyes flickering between you and the speech before him. he cleared his throat, facing the crowd.

“first and foremost, i want to thank everyone for being here; friends and family.” he cleared his throat once again, looking towards you. it made Leon’s stomach twist with jealousy as you smiled at him so lovingly. he also couldn’t stop admiring how beautiful you were. pure innocence and grace, well he knew you were far from innocent.

“and most of all my gorgeous wife-to-be,” your smile dropped into a simple lift of your lips. but slowly, you began to look around the crowd. your eyes landing on your family, your in-laws, and then Leon. from there, you stayed fixated on him.

you haven’t seen him so polished in so long. his suit was nicely tailored, sleek back with a white brooch. though his tie was crooked and he was chewing on the inside of his cheeks. his frantic leg bouncing stopped once he made eye contact with you. his body froze in a way, his breath caught in his throat.

he smiled at you, gently. the look in his eyes spoke for him, ‘you look beautiful,’ he said.

he tried to keep calm, for you. even though he was on the verge of a heart attack. even if he was terribly heart broken, he needed to be happy for you. today is your day.

you smiled back at him even wider, shying away from him with visible heat in your cheeks, ‘thank you,’ you said back, smoothing out the skirt of your dress. your fiancee’s speech fell on deaf ears, you were paying attention to everything else but him at the moment.

Leon sat right in your field of view. at the other side of the aisle, in the second row, towards the very end of the bench.

you sucked in a deep breath, your lips falling agape as you kept eye contact with him longer. suddenly, the feelings you wished to bury. the ones you’ve been trying to bury for years were coming back. it was like slowly drowning. you can see the surface still but as you sink deeper and deeper, it becomes blurry and you are forever trapped in the ocean beneath you.

his kisses, his touch, his love, his passion, his laugh, his smile, his hair, his teeth, his nose, the hair on his arms and legs, the scar on his shoulder, the mole on his neck — it was all coming back. he was coming back.

the happiness you felt when he would wake you up with gentle kisses to your neck and shoulder. the joy you felt walking into the kitchen to see him there making coffee, he hated coffee. he hated the feeling it left on your tongue. the bitter taste and the smell of your breath after taking a sip. he hated coffee but he still made it.

it made him feel like a normal person living in an apartment with his normal girlfriend.

the comfort you’d get when he’d hug you. the excitement you felt when he’d come home. the small things he did that aroused you to the point of insanity. the arguments…you even missed the petty arguments. arguments never lasted long. Leon hated arguing with you.

it would usually end up with him sleeping on the couch that night. then he’d wake up with a heavy weight on top of him. of course, it was you. or it would end up with him throwing you over his shoulder and locking you both in your shared bedroom together.

even if you two argued, you refused to be away from each other.

you were woken from your daydream by the wave of chuckles around the room. you joined in subconsciously, blinking your dry eyes and averting your attention away from Leon. meanwhile, he was gripping the pants of his suit with butterflies in his stomach. he couldn’t shake off this feeling.

the feeling of loss. the feeling that maybe it was too late.

your fiancee had finished his vows, folding up the paper and storing it back in his pocket. you looked up at you, a blush on his cheeks and sweat brimming at his forehead. you could see he was nervous, he was shaking — constantly rocking back and forth and itching at his beard.

you reached into your bra, pulling out your vows. you were so unprepared. you wrote your vows probably a few nights ago, drunk one too many drinks and elbow-deep in a bag of your favorite chips.

the minute you unfolded the paper, you knew you should’ve read it over.

‘To my beloved, Leon…’

you swallowed a lump in your throat, nervously looking between the paper, your fiancee, and Leon sitting in the crowd. you were drunk and wrote vows to the wrong man. no, it was to the right man. Leon was the right man. he always has been.

“um, to my beloved, future husband,” you began, your voice trembling and your throat aching. you read over the first line and you instantly felt tears swell up in your eyes, “i miss you, um,” your eyes flashed over to Leon.

“i miss you even if you’re right next to me. no words can summarize how much i love you, how much i burn and yearn for you every passing minute … every passing day.”

Leon felt his heart break into a million pieces right then and there. your eyes remained on him, only looking away to glance back down at your vows. were you … reading these to him? Leon swallowed a lump in his throat, his eyebrows upturning as he tried to hold himself together.

you were making up things as you went, your words completely different from what was really written down:

“i am glad to have you by my side,” i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

“i am blessed to wake up to you every morning and suck in a deep breath of your essence and your being,” i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

“i was broken when you found me but you pieced me back together, slowly and patiently,” you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

a tear slipped down your cheek, you were beginning to choke up the more and more you read. it was getting hard to make things up and say those instead of reading what you wrote down. a full page confessing your every feeling and thought to the right man … to Leon.

tears continued to fall.

‘i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.’

‘do you still love me?’

his words rang in your head like an alarm. you were looking down at your paper, vision blurry with tears. you could feel the weight of your tears falling onto the sheet as you sat there in silence. a small sob left your lips as audible whispers rang throughout the room.

you folded the paper in half, shaking your head as you looked up at your fiancee.

“i’m sorry,” was all you said as you took a step back. your body moved before you could process anything. you ran down the steps, lifting the skirt of your dress with one hand while the other held your love letter with a vice grip.

you ran down the aisle, towards the large doors. your throat was on fire and as you burst through the wooden doors, you finally let out a singular sob.

everyone in the church stood and watched you run out, looking between you and your fiancee abandoned at the altar. the whispers became louder, and gasped erupted through the room. your fiancee stood at the altar looking at his feet, completely still.

his mother ran up to him, placing a hand on his shoulder as she threw a million questions towards him. he stayed silent, eyes fixed on the ground below him. he couldn't believe it and neither could anyone else.

Leon looked back from you running out the door towards Chris standing behind him. his face was painted with worry, his eyes wide and eyebrows scrunched together. Chris nodding his head towards the door, signaling Leon to go after you.

“go, she needs you,” Claire said from behind Chris. Leon nodded silently, a heavy breath leaving his lips as he ran after you.

he was second to burst through those doors after you. he looked right and left, panicking. what happened? what was wrong? he knew he shouldn’t have come. this was his fault. if he didn’t come, you would be running out of this church with your husband on your arm. not like this.

those vows. they weren’t for your husband. he knew that for sure. your eyes were stuck on his, he watched with agony as tears slipped past your pretty eyes and down your cheeks. god, he hated seeing you cry more than anything. he just wished he could scoop you up in his arms and coax them out of you gently.

a sign against the wall that read ‘garden’ caught his attention. the sign pointed to the left and Leon was quick to take after you.

he knew you well. he knew you loved gardens and flowers, always plucking them from the ground or from their bush and sticking them into Leon’s hair. you once mentioned to him how when you’re troubled you tend to turn to nature or your bed. you’d take walks, sit outside in the sun in silence. you’d brush your fingers against the soft petals and leaves.

your bed was nowhere in sight so he ran in the direction of the garden.

he made way down the steps into the garden, loosening the tie around his neck. he shut his mouth, listening to your voice over his beating heart and his heaving breaths. he could faintly hear sobs coming from his right. his head snapped in the direction of your cries, his heart breaking as he spotted your heels on the ground.

they most likely slipped off as you ran away. he sucked in one last deep breath, trudging through the grass of the church garden to pick up your heels. the garden was beautiful, tall bushes acting as walls to a makehsift maze.

white roses were planted everywhere. the grass was healthy and warm, tickling at his ankles. bees buzzed around the bushes, hopping from flower to flower. birds chirped in the trees, singing melancholic tunes on this beautiful afternoon. or pretty drastic afternoon.

as he walked further into the maze, he caught eye of you. your back was turned to him, you had sat down on a bench in the middle of the maze and in front of a marble statue. he stopped in his tracks, gulping down the lump in his throat which somehow made his presence clear to you.

you turned around surprised, eyes wide and a small gasp leaving your lips.

when you caught eye of him standing there, holding your heels with one hand and the other tucked in his pocket. you felt tears welling up again, though you hid it away with a dry laugh.

“how cliche huh? runaway bride.”

he didn’t answer, making his way closer and closer to you. he rounded around the bench, getting down on one knee in front of you. he took your right ankle into his hands, rubbing at your soft skin.

Leon tried to ignore the damp paper in your hands — your vows. he was curious, what did they really say?

he slipped on your heel, continuing to draw circles onto your skin.

you watched him, inhaling deep, trembling breaths and gripping the edge of the bench with all your might. the tension was thick, so thick to the point neither of you could breathe.

“say something,” you sighed out.

“i don’t know what to say,” he croaked out, his voice stuffy and hoarse. he took a hold of your other ankle, slipping on the last heel.

“say that i don’t know, i’m stupid. i’m an idiot. i embarassed myself, i-“ you cut yourself off with a heavy sigh, dropping your head into your lap. there was a moment of silence, leaving you two stuck in an oasis of tweeting birds, rustling trees, and buzzing bees.

“look at me-“

“no,”

“please, baby look at me,” he practically begged. butterflies arose in your stomach and you shut your eyes, hoping you could shut him out. hoping the noise in your head would stop, just hoping everything will quiet. “i need you to look at me.”

that was all it took. you slowly looked up from your lap and at him. once you met his gaze, you felt like you were that young girl again. that young girl walking down the street after a dinner date, eating froyo in freezing weather and talking about your dream house.

“you’re not an idiot, you’re not stupid, you’re perfect. you’re so perfect,” he sighed out. “why’d you run?”

you shook your head, “i couldn’t do it, Leon, i-“ you stopped yourself to suck in a deep breath, but it felt so constricted. your head was pounding, everything felt heavy and you were so dizzy. every thing was falling down. you felt like you couldn’t breathe or think, your head was spinning and your knuckles white.

you gripped at your chest, nervously playing with the pendant of your necklace but at the same time trying to tug it off. you felt like you were choking, your vision began to cloud with tears but at the same time you felt like you were losing consciousness.

“hey, hey,” he came to sit next to you, instantly wrapping his heavy arms around your shoulders to bring you into his chest but still giving you room to breathe.

his fingers began to loosen the ribbons to your corset. his movements were stable and calm. “breathe with me ‘kay?" he soothed, "in and out, just how we always did,”

you nodded, gripping onto his suit, “in”

you shut your eyes and took a deep breath in. “good, what’s one thing you can taste?”

“um my lipstick,” you said, as you both exhaled.

“in,” he rubbed your back with one hand while the other held you firmly against him, “what are two things you can smell?”

his voice was getting deeper and quieter. slowly, your body began to relax. you could breathe again. you focused on your surroundings, naming off the first things you could. “the grass and…” you paused to let a deep breath out, “you.”

he wasn’t going to lie, your reply made his heart jump a little bit. he tightened his hold onto you, burying his nose into your hair. “in.”

as he took a deep breath in, he was bombarded with the smell of your shampoo and hairspray, “what are three things you can hear?”

“birds, wind and your heart beat,” you whispered to him as you let out another deep breath.

“in,” another deep breath in, “almost there, what are four things you can touch?” he could feel your body loosen up as you began to feel around him. your eyes were shut and your body began to go slack against him.

“your suit, the bench, and a button,” another deep breath out.

“good, almost there, in.” you were prepared for this one, pulling back from the hug just a bit so you could look around your surroundings. “what are five things you can see?”

you looked up at him, your breath hitching in your throat and your knees going weak. even if you were sitting down, you felt like jelly — as if you would melt right through this bench. you opened your mouth to speak but nothing came out but a weak croak.

he whispered out your name, concerned. his eyebrows curling upwards and his eyes searching yours. the longer you stayed like this, looking into his eyes and breathing with him, the quieter it got. there was no more pounding and noise in your head. your dress didn’t feel itchy. the pins in your hair no longer stabbed at your scalp. the soles of your feet didn’t hurt.

it was all so peaceful. everything.

“i do,” you managed to croak out.

“what?”

“to answer your question,”

‘do you still love me?’

“i do, Leon, i do. more than you’ll ever know,”

you couldn’t read the look on his face, all you saw was a flurry of emotions. he searched your face for any hesitation or lie, anything to keep him from taking you away from here for good. something to stop him from being selfish and keeping you all to himself.

“i love you, Leon Scott Kennedy.”

~

To my beloved, Leon,

i wish you were by my side, holding me and singing your cheesy songs in my ear.

i miss waking up to you every morning, staying in bed for a few more hours just so i can watch you breathe and stir in your sleep.

you broke me. we broke each other but every single piece of me will crawl back to you in the end. no matter how shattered i am.

i miss you. god, i miss you. i should’ve never left. i should’ve stayed. it was my fault. i broke us, i hurt us. i died when i left you but you brought me back to life when i saw you standing on that cliff.

when i saw you, the emotions running through me i couldn’t comprehend. i wanted to run, i wanted to turn away because i knew if i approached you it would be bad. but my body made its way towards you anyway.

i love you. i always have and i always will. i wish i could hold you again. i wish i could go back. they say to never open the closed doors of your past. fuck not opening closed doors, your door never closed.

when i turn back i can see you, standing there in the doorway watching me leave. just like the night i left. it hurts looking back, it hurts because i want to run back to you so bad.

you’re my everything and you’ll continue to be for the rest of my life. i cannot breathe without you, i cannot think, i cannot function. my head is foggy. but when i see you it all becomes so clear. when i go to sleep at night and the thought of you crosses my mind i can’t help but smile.

i wish i still had that picture of you by my bed because it’s never enough to see you smiling in my head as i lay in the dark. the sheets are cold, this house is cold, my heart is cold. i need you Leon.

it’s too late to go back now. i can’t keep doing this to you. i’m sorry. i love you.

~

a heavy hand was draped over your waist, strong firm muscle pooling you into a brick wall of a chest. you smiled, placing your hand over the one on your stomach. light kisses were pressed to your neck and down to your shoulder. rough stubble tickling your smooth skin only prompting you to smile wider.

“good morning,” a hoarse voice spoke in your ear. you looked up at the clock on your nightstand, it read 12:16. you grumbled, turning over and burying your face into chest and muscle, draping your arms around his frame and intertwining your legs with his.

“it’s so early,” you whined, hiding away from the sun peeking through your balcony doors.

“baby, it’s noon.” more kisses were pressed to your face, slowly waking you up with each one. gentle and wet kisses, you smiled at the feeling, nuzzling your nose between his pectorals with a low groan.

“it’s time to get up,”

the sound of you faking a snore earned you a small chuckle, the chest you lay on bouncing up and down — shaking you awake a bit more. the hand on your back traveled further south, rubbing over the bare skin of your ass.

“i tire you out last night, huh?” he taunted, kissing over the love bites forming on your neck and shoulders. you nodded shamelessly, every single one of your limbs was sore and you could barely move an inch without wincing in pain.

“that’s unfair, you folded me like origami and you expect me not to be tired, let me sleep,”

“i'm sorry baby, but i’m not done,”

a smirk grew on your lips and all of a sudden the pain in your body was gone. you were flipped over onto your back, making you squeal out in surprise. you were met with a pair of blue eyes and a messy head of brown hair.

warm lips met yours in a heated frenzy of a kiss — full of flame and passion. you tangled your fingers into the head of messy brown hair, moaning deeply into the kiss. you lifted your legs and brought them up and around his waist.

you could feel his hard cock press against your inner thigh, a small groan left his lips at the contact and a needy moan left yours. his hand reached between your nude bodies, two fingers slotting in between your folds and a slow and languid pace.

the tips of his fingers found your clit, rubbing small and slow circles around the sore nub. your walls fluttered around nothing, craving his cock that throbbed against your thigh.

you failed to kiss him back as a small whine left your lips.

“so wet already,” he kissed your chin, “were you dreaming about me, baby?”

you couldn’t help but give him a large smile, “maybe,”

you watched a smile grow on his lips as he placed another deep kiss to yours. his fingers left your aching cunt, leaving you pleading for more. his hand glided up your thigh, making sure your legs were securely wrapped around him.

he pulled away from the kiss, kissing your nose and then the corner of your mouth.

“i love you,” he breathed out.

“i love you too…ah,” your voice faded away into a moan as he slowly thrust into you. a weak moan left your lips and your nails dug into the skin of his back. you were never used to the sheer size of him, even if he was given to you just a few hours ago here you are, gasping for air as you clench around him.

“so beautiful, taking me so good,” he praised with a small groan. his tip nudged against your cervix, practically knocking the air left in your lungs straight out. he kept a hand on your leg, keeping you as close to him as possible.

with each deep thrust, he watched your every facial expression, watching as your mouth dropped open into a moan and as your eyes rolled into the back of your skull. he watched your lips try and form words, the only words you could moan out was his name:

“Leon,” you whined, dragging your nails down his back. he winced at the pain but he reveled in it, the way you’d claw at his back as he’d pound into you was better than any pain ever conflicted upon him. or when your teeth would sink into his shoulder, muffling your whines and moans.

the image only saturated his need.

you could feel his cock twitch inside of you and his hips began to roll against yours. still plagued by sleep, you buried your head into his shoulder, whimpering with each thrust. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your ankles around his waist to bring him closer.

you loved feeling his weight on top of you, keeping you pressed firmly into the mattress, that way you had nowhere to run. not like you’d ever want to, the pleasure he gives you when he’s on top of you like this is inexplicable.

his arms underneath you, pulling you to his chest as he brought you up with him. both of your jaws dropped open, this new position allowing the tip of his cock to press further into you. you cupped his cheek, breathing in his heavy gasps as you slowly began to roll your hips down into him.

your breasts were pushed up against his, sweaty bodies sticking together and the smell of sex filled the room. soft and gentle moans slipped past your lips, your hands grabbing at anything in reach; his shoulders, his face, his arms, just him.

“you’re so beautiful,” he groaned, gripping the back of your neck and forcing you to look down at him. your lips met him in a frenzy, your cunt squelching the base of his cock as you rocked your hips against his faster — desperately chasing that high.

your stomach was burning with need, and every part of your body from your toes to your neck was on fire. you’ve never burned for someone like you do for him. his hips jolted up to meet yours and you gasped into his mouth which allowed him to slide his tongue against yours.

he was meeting you halfway with his thrusts, a gasp of pleasure leaving your mouth with every single one.

“fuck, it’s too much,” you whined as his lips traveled down your neck, biting down on your shoulder and your collarbones — he wanted to leave a mark.

“you can take it,” he heaved, “can’t you, baby?” he urged, as his teeth scraped against the plump of your breast. a shiver rolled up your spine at both the pain and pleasure, either way you nodded ecstatically.

“yes! i can take it,”

he smirked wider, his hips thrusting up faster. he watched as your tits bounced against his chest, your head rolling back which let your frizzy hair fall over your shoulders. his eyes were glued to the love bites decorating your body. the bruises and the redness growing on his skin.

the image of your body was now forever painted in his mind. your thighs wrapped around him as your hips ground down into his thrusts. your puffy cunt taking him so well, his cock sheathing inside of you and out again. your juices soaking the tuft of hair surrounding the base of his cock. your breasts bouncing and your ribs poking out.

“oh Leon, i’m so close-“ you whined, wrapping your arms around him. one of your hands running up the back of his neck and into his brown hair, the other wrapped around his shoulders with nails digging into his skin.

“let go for me, baby.” he egged you on, teetering close to his high as well. he screwed his eyes shut, digging his fingers into the fat of your ass, helping you meet his thrusts.

you buried yourself into the crook of his neck, muffling your loud moans into his skin. the sound of wet slapping skin only got louder, along with the sound of needy moans and the headboard banging against the wall.

the fog in your mind only got heavier and stars danced in your vision. your legs clamped around his waist as you came undone around his cock. stars danced behind your vision as you called out his name in a chant.

he wasn’t too far behind, biting down on your shoulder as he shot his seed deep inside of you. hot and thick, coating your gummy walls and painting you as his.

he continued pulling your hips down into his, slowly and carefully to help you ride out both of your highs. you slumped against him, completely worn out. all the soreness came back in a flash and your eyes felt heavy. but you smiled, draping your arms around his shoulders and allowing his softening cock to stay inside of you.

you turned your right, met with the bright light of the sun and the most beautiful view ever. the sun high in the sky shining down on a field of green grass. birds flew around in the distance, gliding in the wind and twirling in the air. you watched as they flew up and up until they were out of sight.

you pulled back from leaning on his shoulder, cupping his cheek and guiding him to look at you. his eyes peeled open slowly, his pupils contracting against the bright light he was exposed to before dilating again as he caught sight of you hovering above him.

he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear, smiling up at you.

“hi,”

you chuckled, “hi,”

he placed a deep kiss on your lips, sealing in the steamy morning you both shared. as he pulled away, he let his eyes stay shut for a moment, he wanted to mesmerize the feeling of your lips alone. he wanted to remember the feeling of your sticky body pressed to his. he wanted to remember the sound of your voice. he wanted to remember this moment. that way if he died tomorrow, he would be able to lay back and remember you.

“my body hurts,” you groaned, leaning back and taking him with you. as you both hit the mattress with a loud ‘puff’, he couldn’t help but smile.

“let me guess, you’re going to spend the whole time in bed,” he chuckled.

“what? i can’t enjoy my honeymoon? and my new house,” you smiled widely up at him. he cupped your cheek, smiling happily as he brushed your cheek. your smile faded as you nuzzled yourself into his palm, with a small sigh.

“you know, the moment i got home after that date with the froyo,” he began, licking over his dry lips. “i went home and began mapping out how your dream house would look,”

"really?" you smiled as you turned towards him, bunching the duvet up to your chin. he nodded and you gave him a small playful scoff, "and here i thought it was just a question,"

"well, it wasn't,"

your heart ached at the image of a young and blonde Leon sitting at his crowded desk, sketching out a house with the tip of his tongue sticking out the corner of his lip. you smiled at his confession, letting him plop down beside you as his arm wrapped around your waist to bring you against him.

“i was determined to make it happen,” he chuckled to himself, “i bought the property, hired construction workers, and interior designers. now that i think about it, i was so mean to them.”

you laughed at that, his story playing out in your head like a movie. you wondered how long it took and how much it all cost. though, he refused to tell you. he refused to tell you anything about the making of this house. you didn’t know about it until just a few weeks ago.

when he carried you out of the car bridal style with a blindfold around your eyes. he placed you onto the ground for a moment and you could hear the jingling of keys and the squeak of a door. when you stepped into the house it smelt stale, like wood and dust.

but when he took that blindfold off you were faced with something much better. you were face to face with your future — your dream. he mapped it out perfectly, just to your desires and nothing could ever be better. it was better than your dreams. so much better.

“the day of your uh other wedding,” he paused stifling a small nervous laugh as you giggled, “i was about to sell it. i was about to throw your dream away,” you frowned, both feeling guilty and saddened at the thought. he reached down under the covers, finding your hand and intertwining his fingers with yours.

“our dream…i was going to throw our dream away,” he laid his head down against the pillow, looking down at your hands as he ran his thumb over your delicate knuckles. “it wasn’t your fault, i just couldn’t stomach the thought of living or owning a house that was meant for you,”

“oh Leon,” you sighed.

“you didn’t know about the house, i never got to tell you and well it was too late to.”

you brought your joined hands to your lips, placing a kiss on his knuckles as you scooched closer to him. you didn’t go back to him because of the house, even if you did know about the house, you knew that you would have gone back to him for the sole purpose of being with him.

you could still be in that dainty old apartment and you’d be happy. you could be living in a studio apartment with him and you’d be happy. you could be living in a cardboard box with him and you’d be happy. as long as you were with him. home was where he was. Leon was home.

“the realtor convinced me not to, he told me a story similar to ours,” his other hand reached up, cupping your cheek and stroking the puffiness underneath your eyes.

“his story didn’t have a happy ending like ours but he told me, ‘it is never too late to be what you wanted to be.’” Leon sighed heavily, looking deep into your eyes. you looked at him attentively, eyes wide and eyelashes fluttering up at him. he smiled at you, finding the look on your face adorable, like a kid listening to a bedtime story.

“and well i wanted to be with you,”

your heart swelled with love and your features softened. you gave him a look of pure adoration, and every waking moment and every waking day you found yourself falling more and more deeply in love with him. from the moment you woke, to the moment you slept and into the dreams you inhabit, you loved him dearly.

your heart called for him in your strongest and weakest moments. your soul was tied to him and your every thought revolved around him.

Leon. Leon. Leon. he was all you knew and all you wanted. he was your dream, your prince charming, your fairytale. he was your everything. he held you in the palm of his hands and he didn’t even know it. from the moment you met and to this very moment now, laying in bed with limbs entangled — stealing kisses and whispering sweet nothing, you were his.

you wanted it to be him.

you wanted him to be your partner in crime. you wanted him to be your husband, your partner in life and death, the father to your children, the man you introduced to your parents, the man to give you his last name, the person you woke up to in the morning and fell asleep next to in the night, the sole owner of your heart and soul.

and now he is that. he is your partner in life and death, your husband, to father of your future children, the man you woke up to and fell asleep next to. he is that man.

“i’m glad it was you.”

(divider creds to @saradika ,, photos off of pinterest)

tags : @xoxoloveless @luvrgreyy @ynsvnte @satinwithsilk @child-chomper1 @porcelain-sea-shore @stefoooo @spfoah @chesue00 @daervannafia @puppyina @prettyntxhee @leonkennedygvrl @altissia-09 @leqonsluv3r @yuiopiklmn @folksriddle @squazmine @its0214-am @xqlenkdy @belovedcloud @beafart (loved ur lil note btw! it made me laugh) @admirxation @neverg0nnagivey0uup @fancyyme @marymustdie @bloodstainedbandaid @jeonmochi99-blog

notes: if you wanna be on my tag list pls message me or fill out the form below (just to make it easier on me :D)

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author notes: MY GOD! pt. 2 is done and this shit is LONG! literally i did not need to write this much but i hope you guys enjoyed this one and tysm for filling out the taglist i was so surprised to see so many people wanted to be tagged in my work i thank each and every one of you ToT!!

also, summer is officially here for me so expect me to be active much more :D! - V!

[driaswrld]

i'm just — gojo satoru and geto suguru.

wc : 1.6k

summary : (fem!reader) satoru gets lost in his head way too early in the morning, you and suguru ease his worries with one simple question.

part of : the star paradox collection.

notes : honestly this is before megs and tsumiki, just when the trio is figuring out their futures and i wanna show rlly how complex satoru's feelings are but from the pov of the ppl who love him. bcus let's bfr suguru and reader would live in a cardboard box under a bridge with satoru if it meant the three of them would be happy.

other : mentions of hickeys/lovebites ig? poly satosugu x reader but labels haven't really been defined so do with that as you may. and yes this is totally reader n suguru telling satoru that hes kenough!

current casette : i'm just ken - barbie, the album

You wake to a weight pressed against your left arm, blood rushing to your fingertips. A soft gust of summer air blows the thin blue curtains to the side, just as the morning sun peeks out from beyond the railing of the balcony. It’s hot.

It’s not just hot. The apartment is quiet.

Not often is it this quiet.

Wiggling your legs beneath the covers, you roll onto your left side, and the first thing you see makes your heart do a somersault.

Suguru, with his head pressed against your arm, his chin snug in the inside of your elbow. You don’t want to wake him — really, when was the last time any of you got a full night’s sleep let alone the privilege of sleeping in during the day?

One of your legs hike over the thigh Suguru has slotted between your own thighs, and there’s a sliver of movement beneath his eyelids. You freeze.

There’s a shift in his breathing pattern, like he’s about to wake up, and instead of moving your leg more, the arm he’s laying on moves around him to the back of his neck, pulling him closer and into your chest.

In his sleep, he mumbles something inaudible.

You still talk in your sleep after so long, Suguru?You think, but you swallow it with a smile.

Strands of jet black swallow your chest like a blanket. Silently, you card Suguru’s hair between your fingertips. Halfway down, the length of your thumb hooks on a broken hair tie, and you pull it out, a few darkened knots coming with it.

Graciously, you discard it on the empty side of the bed next to you. Satoru's side.

The pillow is cold.

Back then, you would slide out of Suguru’s hold and saunter off to find Satoru, drag him back to bed maybe. But now, you’re old enough to know he can never stay away too long.

No sappy stuff! Satoru just gets major FOMO when you and Suguru cuddle without him, that’s all!

His words, not yours.

The sunlight beaming in from the open balcony door warms your skin, heating the curve of your jaw, the flesh of your cheeks buzzing with warmth. You look down at Suguru, wondering if you should close the curtains before the light bothers him—

He’s like a baby, just laying there on your chest.

From here you can see the edge of his shoulder, a soft red mark blooming on his bare skin. Was that you? No, you don’t remember doing that. Maybe it was Satoru.

Maybe it was the both of you. You can never tell.

Suguru shifts, nuzzling his head into you, tip of his nose in between your breasts, and you wonder if he can even breathe like that.

He babbles something mindlessly, and his arms snake around your waist, pressing his weight firmly on top of you. Curious, you move a tuft of hair out of his face.

His eyes form soft slits, moisture tickling the edge of his dark lashes from sleep, his lips parted slightly with soft breaths. He’s beautiful like this.

“...Did I wake you?” A whisper comes from across the room, and you turn your attention from Suguru to where Satoru is leaning against the doorframe, shirtless and eyes heavy with sleep.

Carefully, you check on Suguru before you glance back at Satoru. “No, you’re fine…” You whisper back, hyper aware of your volume. “I got warm, is all.” The last thing you want to do is wake Suguru, and Satoru gets the idea quick as he steps over to the end of the bed.

“Warm?” Satoru repeats, rubbing a fist over his eyes, before he glances over at the open balcony doors adjacent to the bed, the baby blue curtains swaying softly with the little wind. And it clicks in his brain. “Yeah, the thermostat is still busted — I tried fixing it,” he murmurs, taking a seat at the edge of the bed, back turned to you. “I’ll just call someone to get it fixed later.”

Suguru stirs atop your chest, and you pat the top of his head, coaxing him to sleep more.

“Do we even have the money to get it fixed anyway?” You ask, soft.

Sometimes, the three of you tend to forget you’re just kids. Fresh out of highschool and starting from scratch — desperately trying to make something of your own. “I can ask Nanami to look at it tomorrow—”

“I don’t want you to ask Nanami, though.” Satoru cuts you off, and you breathe a sigh.

“Don’t be prideful, ‘toru. It’s just a thermostat.”

Satoru feels a foreign feeling bubble in him. Rather, not foreign, but a variation of the same feeling he’s been feeling these past days.

Ever since he decided to put his inheritance from the Gojo clan on hold, so the three of you could do this on your own. Ever since Suguru started taking extra missions to help with rent. Ever since you started taking half of Nanami’s overtime shifts — is pride the name of the heat bubbling inside him? Or is it disappointment?

“It’s more than the thermostat, name.” He whispers, looking over his shoulder for all but a mere second, waiting for Suguru to stir again. But he doesn’t.

He can’t run to Suguru to stall this conversation. “It’s the bathroom sink—”

“Suguru tied a bandana around the bottom of the faucet, it’ll stop the dripping until we can—”

“No.” He shakes his head, shifting to fold one leg under him as he finally turns to look at you. “It’s the whole apartment, it’s the late shifts — it’s all the things I can’t do.” Satoru’s voice cracks an octave higher than it should.

You open your mouth to say something, but no words come out. Suguru’s body rolls to the side and you take advantage of this to slowly start sliding up against the headboard.

“All the things I can’t give you two.” Satoru whispers, mostly to himself than to you.

Suguru sleepily stretches his arm to you, his fist curling around the hem of your shirt just as your back leans against the wood of the headboard. “I never asked for anything though… I doubt Suguru has either.” You reply in a mumble.

You’re right. Satoru knows that. But why would you and Suguru ever need to ask him for anything?

It’s what he’s supposed to do. That’s what love is. He’s supposed to want to give you two the best. He’s supposed to do all the heavy lifting — he’s the strongest. He's supposed to take care of the both of you.

“You’re stupid if you think we care about all that.” Suguru’s voice cuts through the air, hoarse from sleep but thick with something other than sleep — conviction, pride.

Pride in Satoru. Pride in you. “Who cares about the thermostat? Who cares about the sink?” His head lifts only a few centimeters away from your chest, his eyes still closed but his voice showing no signs of slumber at all. “I could drown in the bathroom tonight for all I care.”

You smile a little. And Satoru looks over at you two, albeit a little incredulously.

Why are you looking at him and smiling like that?

Why is Suguru so unbothered?

Satoru tries to wrap his head around it but for the life of him he can’t.

“What the hell is wrong with you two…” Satoru mumbles beneath his breath, turning his body completely, both legs crossed as he sits on the bed. “This isn’t— this isn’t what we wanted…”

The three of you wanted peace. A life full of shenanigans and sporadic missions. A life where you’d worry about nothing, do nothing but feel everything.

Satoru can’t help but burn inside at the way you two don’t even realize you’ve gotten the short end of the stick with this life. This life with him—

“name.” Suguru mumbles into your chest, just as he raises his head to your eye level, the first time he’s opened his eyes since morning. And yet, there’s a softness in them you’ve never seen before. “Are you happy?” Suguru asks, simply, straightforward.

In your mind, you think of a million different ways to answer the question, a million different ways to break down and explain and talk and talk and talk about how you feel but ultimately it all leads back to—

“One word, yes or no.” Suguru tilts his head, looking up at you expectantly yet prepared. Like he already knows what you’ll say before you think it.

“Are you happy?” He asks again and Satoru strains his gaze to the bedsheets, waiting for an answer he thinks he doesn’t want to hear. Because how? How can you be happy?

“Yes.” The answer leaves your mouth with a fluidity, like it came out absentmindedly, without needing any thought. And Satoru is about to say something like about it not being so easy or Suguru’s question being dumb and vague, but—

“Now, Suguru, are you happy?” Suguru mimics Satoru’s voice, dramatically raising his pitch a few tones, even going as far to open his eyes wide — like he’s got six eyes to spare. “Oh, I’m the happiest I’ve ever been—!” Suguru raises his arms in an over the top gesture and you can’t help but laugh.

You look over to Satoru, and he’s looking at you and Suguru like he’s seeing something he’s never seen before.

And the knot twisting inside of him loosens. Just enough for him to have to force himself to bite back a chuckle. I don't even talk like that, he wants to say.

“Are you happy, Satoru?” You ask, and he stills for a moment. And now he thinks he understands Suguru’s dumb not so easy but extremely vague question.

He’s never not been happy when he’s with you two. It shouldn’t even be a question.

“I’m never… not happy…” He whispers, his shoulders slouching forwards. “But it’s not—”

You cut him off with a grin. “One word.”

Suguru laughs. “Yes or no?”

Satoru sits a little straighter, and he feels like he can breathe easier.

“Yes. It’s always yes with you two.”

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ trois ] | sylus

summary: he still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. she’s not you. the body type and stature don’t match. still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate in his journey to find you.

warnings: human trafficking, graphic depictions of violence, minor character deaths, reader has hair, reader implied to be femme, mild language, allusions to reader’s past as a kidnappee, sylus is still murderous

tagging: @world-of-hearts @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva @libriomancer, @queenofstresss, @aeanya @socutesotall @babyx91 @syyyy4ever @karolamurdock

notes: limerence | part 1 | part 2

now playing: o fortuna - carl orff

He recalls it like it was yesterday.

You, clad in black, bearing enough skin to tease. Your back was to him as you fiddled with something, none the wiser to his molten stare. 

He’d watched you from the rail of his club’s second-floor balcony. Thoughts consuming him as guests trickled out, drunk, merry, and sure to return. He waited until the last of them left—until his staff scuttled about, clearing off tables and reorganizing expensive bottles at the bar—to make his move.

You were a guest headliner—someone he occasionally invited to perform on stage. Lux was known for more than just its atmosphere. 

The entertainment was unmatched, and the women were attractive. Sylus couldn’t deny how the scene became more…interesting with you around. You even managed to draw out a few of his enemies for him to snuff out, the bastards greedy and wanton in the face of fresh meat.

With a smirk, Sylus descended the stairs. Stopped behind you, watching you struggle to unlatch your heels from your ankles. 

You glanced up when he poured himself onto the red leather ottoman across. So close, his knees bracketed either side of yours, and he’d caught a whiff of that warm scent you carried. 

Wordlessly, he drew your foot into his lap. Your expression warped into one of brief astonishment before it was replaced by something sultry. A mask you often donned when putting on a show, though he was curious to see what truly lay beneath it. 

You leaned back on your palms whilst he undid the buckle. He glanced up, a chuckle dredged from his chest as you dragged your toes down his quad in thanks. It was flattering. Felt nice, little tingles ricocheting up his spine. 

He hadn’t pursued the touch of a woman for some time, too busy solidifying his position in the underworld to entertain temptations of the flesh. 

He was here on business. His personal reservations could wait. 

Sylus patted his thigh, signaling you to give him your other foot. You had been dancing all night. Smiled pretty, made him money. The least he could do was reward you for your generous contributions. Show a little empathy. 

You obliged, an appreciative hum in your throat when he freed you of your shackle. Reluctantly, gently, he let your feet slide to the floor. Contemplated massaging them–they were soft and agitated. But he was here to preposition you, not seduce you. 

Not yet.

Sylus leaned forward in an easy slouch with his elbows resting on his quads. Tapped his fingers together, studying you. 

You were quite a sight beneath the red throb of the lights overhead. The imperfections lining your features made you all the more appealing, hiding beneath the glamor you posted up with your Evol. He could easily see through it, thanks to his Aether Core.

He knew about that, too. The power you housed. Part of why you were such a showstopper, your Evol allowing you to make these elaborate costume changes and transitions in the midst of performing. 

He didn’t know the full extent of your abilities just yet. Figured they were more than cheap parlor tricks. But having the power of illusion on his side was something he couldn’t get on without. 

Clearing his throat, Sylus spoke low and even, voice slightly above the dull pulse of the music turned down in the background. 

“How would you like to be a permanent employee here?” 

You quirked a brow. Pitched forward with a hand propped under your chin, your eyes glittering with mischief. “I’m surprised it took you this long to ask.” 

He couldn’t help but laugh. “That easy, huh?”

“What? You thought I just came here out of the goodness of my heart?” Your eyes flickered downward, and you leaned in, toying with the first button of his shirt.

He was surprised by how simple you’d made this for him. No coercion, no ultimatums. It’s as if you were waiting for him to preposition you, coiled like a spring itching to be released. He couldn’t help wondering if you knew the full extent of what he’d ask of you. The people he’d employed were more than just pretty faces. But that conversation would come later once he’d earned your trust, your loyalty. 

Nonetheless, he put back up the businessman front as he stood. Twirled the strap of your heel on a slender finger, and he peered down at you with a lazy smirk, offering you his hand to help you up and to seal the deal. 

“Then it’s settled. You work for me now,” he replied coolly. Matter of factly, no room for you to back out.

You stood with his help, your hand in his electrifying. You bore a look of amusement as you shook it, sensing there was more to this ‘job’ than what was shown at the surface. You were signing a contract with the Devil and didn’t even know it. 

“Cool. Do I get a welcome basket or something?”

Sylus snorted. Beautiful and cheeky. He could tell this would be the beginning of an interesting partnership. “I could arrange that.”

The mirth around you dwindled, and you studied him for a beat before you grew antsy. Held out your hand as the moment subsided, tapping your foot expectantly.

“Can I have my shoe back now? I should probably get goin’ before you try to coerce me into being your secretary, too.”

He canted his head, feigning ignorance. Woundedness. “I thought I’d hold onto it as a memento.”

You huffed out a laugh. “A memento for what?”

“For our new friendship.”

You snorted. “That’s real creepy, Mister.” Made a grab for your heel, yet Sylus held it just out of reach. You tried for the shoe again, your fragrance overhauling his senses as your warm chest brushed against him. 

He suddenly found himself wanting to smell you all the time, wanting to feel the heat wafting off your skin more often. And that pretty smile you wore—he had to have it for himself. 

You looked at him with a devastating curl to your lips, hands on hips. “Do you tease all your new recruits like this, or am I a special case?”

He chuckled, something tugging in his chest. “Consider it a part of the onboarding process.”

As you stood there, silently scrutinizing each other beneath the strobing lights, he found his interest in you sinking deeper than surface level. And he suddenly wanted to know about everything that made you tick. 

He felt a magnetic pull towards you, like the moon drawn to Earth. Something he couldn’t quite place. He’d be remiss to say he wasn’t curious to see where this partnership could lead. 

The deal was sealed that fateful night, even if it hadn’t been in black and white. He owned you. 

And over time, you would learn that you owned him, too.

—

The present comes sliding back in, banishing his memories to the furthest reaches of his mind. He’s caught reminiscing like you’re already dead. Catastrophizing, assuming the worst. 

He knows better. You’re tough. Stubborn. Still, he doesn’t err in his steps to find you. There’s always that just in case. Just in case your Evol failed you. Just in case they incapacitated you long enough to sell you off.

He’s panting. 

Not from the exertion of fighting and killing. Rending flesh from bone, turning men to ash as he saps their energy to use as his own. Not from painting the ship’s walls with the soot of burned bodies, leaving a statement for anyone who dares to steal from him again.

No.

He pants with an effort to restrain himself. 

He could sink this ship if he so chooses. But there are still innocents onboard, trickling out in onesies and twosies. Still goons charging at him from the exits with weapons poised at his chest as if they know who he is and what he’s after—laid out the red carpet, pulling out all the stops.

And he still has yet to locate your whereabouts. 

He ducked in and out of vacant rooms after reaching the cruise ship's lowest cabins. He funneled henchmen into the hallways one by one, snuffing them out like coals. Followed their source, gritting his teeth as the trail came up cold.

He eases into another area once the fray dies down. An inky darkness greets him. He crouches when he hears a lifeless, robotic voice speaking. Rattling off descriptions like it’s reading a menu. 

Sylus’ blood turns to icicles in his veins. Could this be the auction he’s been seeking all this time?

He peers over the partition, blocking him from sight. Spots a gentleman clad in a suit, his back facing Sylus as he sits in a leather armchair.

Two more men similarly sit on opposite sides of the room, forming a triangle. Various animal masks conceal their faces. 

Fixed in the center is a ceiling-high, glass display case with three figures clad in black standing in its center.

Two bodyguards flank the smaller being shrouded in an onyx cloak. One guard reaches up to peel back the robe’s hood, and Sylus’ breath catches. 

The figure is inherently feminine, clad in a lingerie set. Gaunt, like she’s been deprived of a proper meal for days. If not for the henchman with their hands manacling her forearms, Sylus is sure she would collapse. 

They’d dressed her up all pretty like a doll. Tried to make her look more appealing, though Sylus was sure these men would buy her regardless of how emaciated she looked. 

He still can’t make out any telling features, a doily-patterned veil draped over her head. She’s not you. The body type and stature don’t match. But still, she’s another girl he can spare a terrible fate.

The metallic voice chimes in overhead again. The bidding starts at one million. The gentleman before Sylus raises a white paddle, soundlessly placing his bid. Sylus’ stomach churns. He’ll kill everyone here, he swears it.

He observes passively for another moment. Bristles when the girl in the case weakly attempts to free herself from her captors. They shake her in warning, and the veil slips off.

Sylus swallows thickly, his power prickling on his fingertips. He waits until the bid reaches five million before he makes his move. Soundless as the tendrils of his Evol snake around five necks. Before they know what’s amiss, five sources of life are siphoned, sinking into Sylus’ body. 

The woman gasps. Throws herself against the glass, pounding on it with weakened fists. Begs Sylus with quivering, blood-crusted lips to save her. 

He’s detached as he snaps his wrist, the entry of the display case easing open. She studies him a moment longer in her quiet panic. Looks between him and the open door, unsure of what to do. 

Sure, he’s disappointed that she isn’t the woman he seeks. She isn’t you. But he wouldn’t hurt her. That would go against all the effort he put forth tonight to bring this human trafficking ring to its knees. 

He signals for the girl to leave with a cant of his head. She snatches up the cloak, hurriedly draping it about her shoulders before skittering out of sight.

Sylus’ mouth pulls into a rigid line. Nostrils flare. He burns with malice, breathing deep to quell the urge to burn this ship to the bowels of the ocean. Still, he has faith that you’re still on board somewhere. He just has to look harder.

Dipping out of the room, he enters another. Goons no longer pursue him, either thoroughly snuffed out or they fled in the wake of Sylus’ ire. 

He’s startled when he hears an enmeshment of grunts. One high and light, and the other gurgled and strained as if being choked. He darts from behind the partition in this new room, and the sight that welcomes him makes his body flood with something glacial.

He pants again, but this time for an entirely different reason. 

A wave of relief crashes into him. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. 

In the center of a case similar to the one he’d seen just moments before is you. And you’re in the midst of choking out a guard with the links of your cuffs. He’s red-faced and fighting for his life, clawing at the links until bloody, jagged lines marr his neck. It’s to no avail.

With one final jerk, bone snaps, and the sigh of a life fleeting signals his demise. Your breaths are labored as you sit amid your carnage—four guards taken out similarly, haloing you—fixing Sylus’ with a reposed look.

“Took you long enough,” you puff with an inkling of a smile. And he doesn’t think he’s ever found you more beautiful, even beneath the sweat and grime and blood—thankfully not yours—that you’d accumulated throughout your capture.

Sylus moves on autopilot when his wits return. With a waggle of his fingers, your cuffs fall free from your wrists, accompanied by the shackles around your ankles. You must’ve put up quite the fight. He swells with pride despite the moment, and if you knew the doubts he housed about your safety, you would surely fight him.

He pries the display’s door open with his Evol and conquers the space between you in three long strides. Kneeling on the floor beside you, Sylus ingests your features. Smooths your sweat-slicked hair away from your face. Turns your head this way and that, scrutinizing you for injuries.

“I’m fine,” you assure on an exhale. Wrap your lithe fingers around his wrist as if to soothe, and it’s like he’s been shocked by static. He studies you a moment longer, painting a frantic triangle between your eyes and mouth before taking your hand in his, trying to haul you up.

“Let’s get you out—”

“Ow!” you hiss, flinching back. Sylus’ eyes glaze over you before taking in your ankle's swollen, purpling state. His eyes narrow, and he resists an urge to growl. 

If he hadn’t already killed all of them, he’d make them pay for hurting you.

“Might’ve sprained it,” you laugh, wincing at the stickiness of your voice. 

He peers at you fondly before scooping you into his arms, mindful of your injury. You instinctively curl into him, your arms loosely winding about his neck, and you nuzzle into the hollow of his shoulder. 

With his adrenaline slowly draining, Sylus cautiously moves you back into the hallway. Steps over the viscera and carnage he had caused, severed hands and errant teeth littering the once clean, blue, carpeted floors.

He has you back. You’re safe. A little bruised, but you’re safe. And he doesn’t think he’s ever felt so grateful. 

Slowly, the pair of you are consumed by the shadows of his Evol before morphing out of existence.

—

“Where will they go?” you ask with a wistful, faraway look in your eyes as Sylus’ coat blankets you, flapping in the breeze.

Luke and Kieran were herding the girls from the semi from the docks into awaiting vehicles, accompanied by a slew of Sylus’ staff members from Lux. They were patient and understanding as they gave the girls blankets and water, ushering them into Jeeps and SUVs to be transported to safety.

You watch them from Sylus’ arms, and he catches a glimpse of the girl you were all those years back. Hopeful and optimistic despite being in captivity yourself, knowing that no one would come for you. 

With his eyes transfixed on you, he speaks low and even. “Back to their families.”

You gaze at him, your eyes glazing over with a swell of tears. A moment of rarity between you, where you drop your defenses and grace him with a peak of the woman that resides beneath that callused exterior you outwardly project to the world—a means of protecting yourself. 

“What if they don’t have families?”

He shifts you in his arms, a smirk touching his lips. “Then we’ll do everything we can to help them find their place in this world again.”

You look at him with a reverent gleam to your irises. Shyly nuzzle into his chest, your voice so small, he has to strain to hear it.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “Seriously.”

Something tugs at his heartstrings. He merely nods, walking you through the line of vehicles. The click of his loafers on the pavement echoes whilst he takes you towards the moonlight, nestled against the horizon. 

—

“You’re not supposed to sleep with a concussion, sweetie,” Sylus husks, and it surprises even him how soft he sounds. 

You must feel so smug, having the big, bad Boogeyman fretting over your well-being like this. He could crush you with his bare hands, yet he’s cautious as he strokes some of your baby hairs away from your forehead, your temple cool to the touch.

“Not sleeping,” you rasp, your lips pulling into a disarming smile. You don’t sound convincing, your voice heavy with sleep. But could he argue with you? “Just resting my eyes a bit.”

He snorts, your smile infectious. He lapses into silence when your smile fades and your breaths even out. Reluctantly withdraws his hand, watching you slumber atop his bed, and you just look so natural between silken, red sheets with the firelight waltzing over your visage. 

It’s been an eventful night. You deserve some rest. He feels better, having you safely tucked away in the penthouse, far from the arms of men with impure intentions, far from your memories. Should anything else come up, he knows you’ll be alright with the twins and his employees downstairs keeping tabs on you.

Regardless, his brows furrow with worry. Unlike him, you haven’t this miraculous ability to heal as quickly as he does. 

As if summoned from his thoughts, Mephisto appears through a flurry of inky smoke on his wrist. Sylus scratches the crow’s chin affectionately before fixing him with a serious, crimson stare. “Keep an eye on her,” he implores. 

Said crow hops from his wrist onto the side of the bed near your face, and in his way, he signals to Sylus that you’ll be left in good hands. Or wings.

With a final sigh, Sylus peels himself from the bedside chair. Stuffs his hands in his pockets, sparing one final look at your snoozing figure from over his shoulder. He can’t help how his lips twitch, something like affection warming his veins as he stands in the doorframe.

He exits the penthouse, down the elevator shaft, and through the stilled halls of Lux. Dumps himself into the balmy arms of the summery night. 

There’s still unfinished business to attend to, and now that he knows where Fate’s stronghold is, he figures he’ll pay an old friend a much-needed visit.

And maybe teach him a thing or two about stealing from The Devil.

[silkscream]

our boredom's bone-deep

ੈ✩ aki hayakawa x reader

ੈ✩ cw: smut (minors dni, ageless + blank blogs will be blocked), unprotected sex, drunk sex, angst, alcohol, smoking, hurt/comfort, depictions of blood and injury, mentions of s*icidal ideation

ੈ✩ wc: 3.8k

ੈ✩ a/n: theyre both so repressed. also sorry about the tswift reference guilty as sin is just on repeat this week

“Yo.”

Aki turns around to see you walking towards him. You join him on the balcony, reaching over to steal his cigarette back from the breast pocket of his windbreaker. 

He looked good in civilian clothes. You didn’t see him like this often – out of his dress shirt and tie with his hair down. Dressed casually like he was a normal boy and not a hunter who signed his soul over.

“You can ask first, you know,” Aki grumbles, watching as you light up the cigarette in your mouth. 

“You were going to say yes, anyway.”

He rolls his eyes, knowing that it’s true. He’d taken you to his apartment because it was closer to the location of the mission, offering aid to the wounds you’d gotten in the face of a devil. He didn’t have to. You could still walk and you certainly weren’t dying, but he felt the need to keep you close, anyway.

You chuckle when you see the irritated look on his face.

“Don’t pout.”

The cigarette in his mouth is burned down to the nub. You take it out, grazing the cherried end against the ceramic eightball ashtray you’d gotten him for Christmas the year before. The paint was chipping from how often he used it, speckles of white against the black paint. 

You take another cig out from the pack before placing it back into his pocket, holding the stick between your fingers up to his mouth and lighting it.

“Thanks,” he mumbles.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin.

You stay like that for a few minutes. Smoking and silent, staring at the sky post-golden hour, when everything is blanketed in cobalt blue bleeding into a light orange.

“How are your cuts?”

“I’m fine,” you chuckle. “Why do you worry so much? I’ve been around longer than you have, you know.”

Aki merely shrugs. He doesn’t look at you. Holds in his emotions like a geyser begging to stay dormant. 

“I just do,” he says plainly.

“How sweet,” you scoff, flicking your cigarette off the railing. “Thought you liked me the least, to be honest.”

“What do you mean?” he asks, irritated. “You’re the one who trained me. Obviously, I don’t hate you.”

You merely chuckle, discarding your blazer. Your uniform shirt is still slightly bloodied.

“What, you think I don’t like you?” Aki asks, a brow raised.

“I’d be surprised if you liked anyone,” you shrug. “But I can tell you have a soft spot for Denji and Power, even if you refuse to admit it.”

He grunts, looking away from you as he finishes his second cigarette. The late spring breeze blows his hair into his face. He doesn’t realize how close he is to you until he adjusts his arms on the balcony, his elbow grazing yours. You don’t react, your chin tucked into your arms as you lean forward. He looks at you with curiosity.

You look at him finally and grin. 

“You look better with your hair down, you know.”

“I was thinking about cutting it,” he mumbles. 

“Don’t. It’s cute. I always thought you looked kind of like a girl. The hair is working.”

He rolls his eyes again, grimacing. He tries to hide his flush. 

“Thanks,” he deadpans. “You know how to make a guy feel special.”

“So I’ve been told.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?” you grin. “You think I’m scary and mean? I’m very sweet to my lovers, you know.”

He could cringe. That wasn’t what he meant. He shivers at the word “lover” like it’s taboo, knowing very well that images of you are flooding his brain against his will. Your proximity makes it worse, how even despite both of you getting roughed up during your mission, you still smelled sweet to him. 

“Yeah, right.”

“Do you really think I’m so cruel?” you challenge him. He’s not going to take the bait. He won’t. 

“I’d assume you were a sadist.”

“You think I’m a sadist?” you laugh. 

“Probably,” Aki grumbles. He fidgets. 

He doesn’t want to take out another cigarette, but he’s convinced that it’s the only thing that would help him tolerate your presence right now. He’d felt unusual since he took you back to this apartment. His nose wrinkles at the memory of your body hours prior, your side saturated in blood. His rabbit heart thumping out of his chest at the thought you’d die in his arms — and yet here you are, next to him, teasing like you always do.

“Why?”

“Because you love pushing me to my limits,” he mutters. 

“Oh, come on,” you chuckle. “It’s not like I treat you like a toy. I’m not Makima.”

“What does Makima have to do with this—”

“Because you listen to everything she says. It’s like all of you fucking worship her.”

Your voice sounds bitter, but Aki doesn’t want to pry about it. For some reason, something in his chest riles him, makes his heartbeat faster at the prospect that you might be jealous of his devotion to Miss Makima. You’d always clashed in your beliefs but was never particularly candid about it – you were like him. You wanted to kill devils for the sake of avenging your family, but you also seemed apathetic about your life. With no family or a promising future, you often didn’t care if you died. It was the most frustrating thing about you.

Aki huffs. “You hate following rules yet you’re still controlling. It’s hypocritical.”

“I am not controlling.”

“You are. And you love to torment me because I’m the only one willing to put up with your shit,” he says, laughing humorlessly. You don’t know that he would do anything you told him, that he didn’t give a fuck about Makima. It had always been you, at the forefront of both his blissful dreams and worst nightmares.

“I like your resilience,” you say quietly.

“Resilience?”

You nod slowly. “You’re the strongest person I know, Aki.”

He hates how much dopamine fills his brain when you say this. The smallest praises from you would have him hung up, lately. Even a smile was motivating, though he’d rather die than admit that to anyone. He was never one to pine or yearn, keeping to himself since he was young. No girl could pry anything out of him that wasn’t surface-level until you. 

He hated it. It felt like a weakness.

“Yeah, right.”

“I mean it.”

“If I’m actually that strong, I probably would’ve broken down your walls by now.”

It could be a teasing statement, but he tucks his expression away into the fabric of his jacket, looking away from you. You’re so close to him, close enough to touch, but he still holds himself back.

“You should save your efforts,” you mumble. 

Aki looks at you with narrowed eyes and tries to scan your face for anything telling, but you’re as stoic as him. He’d always found it frustrating, how he could never get anything out of you. He didn’t know how to be selfish. He was apprehensive about provoking you despite how much he wanted to.

“Why?”

You finally look him in the eye. Your features are painted with stubborn contempt as you glare at him.

“Because I’m not worth it.”

Your words strike him through the heart. You weren’t one to be particularly insecure – he’d known this since he met you. But your words now are trying to downplay how much he feels for you, and he won’t have it. 

Aki moves close enough to you to smell your breath.

“You don’t get to decide whether or not I waste my time on you,” he protests.

You stare at him. You’re surprised he wants to know you at all. You’ve barely processed the meaning behind his words, the possibility of him wanting you beyond mission support and devil-hunting guidance. Both of you had walls up and that was fine. You never had any intention of breaking any of his, regardless of how often he showed up in your dreams. No matter how often you’d find yourself glancing at him, drinking up his features until you had snapped yourself out of it.

“You can’t want things as a devil hunter,” you say blankly, staring at the dark sky. “There’s no use. Desire is the root of all suffering and shit, right? Like in Buddhism?”

Aki feels his face warm up, his frown deepening as you say this without even looking at him.

“I’ll suffer for you if I want to,” he says firmly.

“Always a masochist,” you whisper, sighing. You smile weakly at him.

“Maybe I am a masochist.”

“I know. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be a devil hunter, huh?”

“Why are you a devil hunter?” he raises a brow. 

“Because it’s better than killing myself. If I die because of this job, at least I died being useful, you know?”

He swallows thickly at the thought of your death. He’d imagined it a thousand times since he met you and realized how sardonic you were, how little you cared about your own life. You were a mirror of him. 

“Don’t say shit like that,” he says, his tone cold. 

“It’s the truth.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not letting you die.”

You stare at him, the expression on your face unreadable. Your eyes look dim.

“Thanks,” you mutter. You slide the glass door open and go back inside. Aki feels his lungs ache.

Eventually, he follows you in and sees you on the couch, staring blankly at the television with a bottle of whiskey in your hand. He rolls his eyes. You were just as bad as Kishibe these days. 

He sits down next to you without a word, stealing the bottle to take a gulp, flinching. You watch with amusement. He grimaces at you.

“What?” he asks, irritated.

“You can do better than that.”

He wants to wipe the smirk off your face. Maybe with his mouth. He blinks at you a little too fast, then distracts himself with another gulp. A longer one that makes his throat burn, his head dizzy. You laugh.

“I fucking hate you,” he grumbles.

“I didn’t force you to do it,” you scoff. 

No, you didn’t. But it was always easy for Aki to do things for you. He often wanted to, didn’t ask any questions. You always wondered why.

“Would you roll around like a dog if I asked you to?” you grin.

“Fuck off.”

You lay down, perching your legs over his lap. He sets his hands on your thigh like it’s second nature to him. You scan his features. His midnight eyes glisten with the blue of the television reflecting in his irises, his mouth downturned into a default pout.

“You should keep your hair down more often.”

He looks at you with surprise, like he’d forgotten you were there.

“Pretty boy,” you mumble.

“You’re drunk.” He tries to keep his expression level. His face is hot from the whiskey, not you, he tells himself.

You shift your position and your foot grazes his crotch. It makes his breath hitch, the creature of want inside him gnawing at his heart. He thinks maybe you’re teasing him, so he takes your foot and rubs it. You raise a brow.

You’re sitting up now, grunting as you do. He pretends that you aren’t staring at him.

“Does it still hurt?” he murmurs.

“Nah. I’m good.”

There’s contempt on his face when he looks at you, his eyes tracing your collarbone just for a second before gazing at the blood on your shirt. Speckled shapes turning from red to brown.

“Let me see.”

“Aki. I’m fine.”

“Let me see,” he mumbles.

You sigh, unbuttoning your shirt until you’re only in a sports bra. He frowns at your wound, how the gauze is dark and nearly falling off. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it needed to be changed?”

“It’s fine—”

“No,” he scolds. “Stay still.”

He pins you down by your hips. Somehow, he’s in between your legs, his face frowning in concentration as he looks at your skin. He gets up to grab the first aid kit.

You take another sip of whiskey.

It numbs the pain when he fixes you up again. His fingers are delicate when they handle you — you can’t help but stare at the way they move when he blots your cut. A small press to the center and you feel it sting, making you hiss. He grips you by the waist to disarm you. 

Stay still.

“There,” he breathes, kneeling on the floor in front of you. “It’s more secure now.”

He looks at your stomach, watching the rise and fall of your skin as you breathe. You reach out and pat his head like he’s a pet.

Aki was a cute drunk. Still stoic, but malleable in your hands. There are moments during group outings when he opens up a little, places his head on your shoulder. Looks at you for a bit longer than he normally allows himself to. 

He presses his cheek to your thigh and sighs as you skim the nape of his neck with your fingers. You stroke his jaw. It’s the closest he’s ever been to you. 

Your thumb hooks on his mouth briefly and you feel his tongue on the pad of your fingertip. He looks up at you with half-lidded eyes. Glazed over in the dimness, dripped in syrup.

“You’re barely awake,” you breathe. “I should go.”

“No.” He grips your wrist when you pull your hand away, saliva from his mouth creating the string of fate. The sight made your heart sing. Disgusting. 

“Why?” you whisper.

He’s quiet. He could bite the bullet, let the heat of it soar straight through his chest so you can see all the gory bits of desire in him. The whiskey only exacerbated the feeling. He was usually good at keeping it down, despite clinging to you like an extra limb. You probably saw right through him. 

“Just stay,” he mutters. 

“Make me stay, then.”

He hides his face in your lap again. He feels like such a boy. When you run your fingers through his hair again, he pulls away and grabs both of your wrists, pulling you toward him until you fall onto his lap, his body on the floor. He grips your hips and stares at you from below.

“What are you doing? You wanna wrestle?” you joke half-heartedly.

“No,” he slurs quietly. “You’re hurt.”

Aki sits up and leans on the back of his elbows. He looks at you like he’s eager prey, offering himself on a platter, but he won’t say it. It’s killing you.

“C’mon,” you grin. “I can take it.”

“Stop.”

You pin him to the ground. You’re playing. It’s just that and nothing else, isn’t it?

“Aki,” you say. Your face is so close to his. Your breath smells like tobacco and cinnamon, your neck like petrichor.

“I’m not letting you provoke me,” he groans. 

You roll your eyes. “Stop trying to take care of me.”

“But I want to,” he mumbles, his voice barely audible. 

“Then I’ll take care of you. I’m your senpai, remember?”

His face is hot again, sweat sticking to his shoulder blades. Fuck, he needed to fix the fan since Power and Denji had broken it while wrestling. The memory reminds him of the position he’s in right now and a flush creeps up his neck.

“I–”

Your mouth interrupts him. It’s an experimental peck. Impulsive. It’s short, but Aki groans into it and touches his tongue with yours. You pull away with wide eyes.

There’s hunger in his gaze, something like desperation. You could work with this. You knew that you had Aki wrapped around your finger since he started at Public Safety, but you didn’t know he would be like this. 

He breathes deeply, dark lashes blinking at you from the mess of his bangs. His dick was infallibly hard since you’d straddled him. It was aching now underneath your cunt — there was no hiding it.

He narrows his eyes, trying to disguise how much he wants you.

“Thought you said desire is the root of all suffering.”

“I guess we’re both masochists, then,” you whisper.

He kisses you with more force this time, buries his mouth into your neck to exhale the scent of his shampoo in your hair. Drunk on you. He sucks a hickey into your flesh like it’s payback.

He groans when he feels your hands underneath his shirt, rubbing against the pale skin of his abdomen until he takes the liberty to pull the fabric off himself. Aki has always been pretty – like a girl, like you’d told him before. He was also remarkably boyish. The shy type. He’d seem to grow muscles over the past year, his lean figure always hidden by the uniform. 

“Stop staring at me like that,” he huffs.

“Get uglier, then,” you roll your eyes, pulling at the zipper of his jeans. 

He lets you handle him like a doll. 

“Thought you’d be rougher,” you whisper.

“You’ve… thought about this before?” he asks.

You blink at him, then look away.

“Once or twice.”

“I’m not gonna be rough with you,” he says, his voice lower than before. “Not when you got stabbed earlier today.”

“Told you I’m a masochist,” you chuckle dryly. You strip off your slacks, showing off your less-than-sexy cotton underwear. He grazes your core, the wet patch growing larger with your slick.

“You’re so wet,” he mumbles, mesmerized. He licks his lips, wanting to taste you, lust transparent on his face. It humiliated you, for some reason — you were always used to it rough and fast, your vision blurred while you took cock that you didn’t give a shit about. This was different. This was real.

You put your fingers in his mouth again, pinning him down. He moans when you spit on the head of his cock, palming him gently. Taming him.

You slide your panties off of your legs and do the same with his briefs. When you hover over him, your throat feels tight. He keeps looking at you like you created him. Like you were the world itself.

His tip catches on the slick of your cunt, circling your entrance. Your blood boils, every ventricle in your body sparking to life. You feel him buck his hips, desperate and rutting.

“Use me,” he groans, muffled from your fingers on his tongue.

You sink down on him and his eyes roll back. You remove your fingers from his mouth to toy with your clit, whimpering at the sensation of him filling you up. He was bigger than you expected.

Aki shudders from sensitivity. Alcohol usually numbs his senses, but he can feel all of you, how hot and tight you are. It’s driving him mad. He hiccups through moans, his throat raw. 

Your cunt pulses as you grind on him, trembling above him as you try to keep your hips from stuttering too much. Already, you were about to fall apart. 

“Fuck,” Aki mutters. 

Your hand grazes his face and jaw, and he leans into your palm to kiss it earnestly. Your face burns as you tangle your fingers in his raven hair. When he rises to kiss you, you pull his strands while your other hand holds him back by his shoulder. He groans and thrusts upward into you, holding your hips so that your thighs are flush against his.

Your pulse throbs against the cave of your chest. Aki is desperate to kiss you, to get his tongue in your mouth, so he uses your own trick on you – pulls you in with force and grabs a fistful of your hair. You moan into his mouth, tapering off into a whimper, and you feel him let out a breathy laugh in between kisses.

Aki lets himself be a little loud — no one else was home, and fucking you was cathartic. He squeezes the fat of your thigh, his lunacy suppressed into his tight fists. Entranced by the sight of your cunt swallowing up his dick. 

You whimper as your knees start to get rug burn, the skin as raw as the love bites on your neck. Your stomach stirs, ecstasy boiling in the pit. You could pretend it was love from the way he gripped you.

“You’re fucking tight,” he grunts.

“Do you like it?” you rasp. You almost sound like you’re begging.

He nods and holds your face, his other hand making an imprint on your waist. Aki was so much taller than you — his size didn’t register until now, the way he was forcing your chin up to look up into his eyes. 

He can barely speak, only letting out choked moans and heavy breaths. You look so vulnerable despite being on top of him. He could picture it now, your thighs shaking with arms outstretched to him in morning light. Bare-faced and illuminated, not a bruise on your body. Happy in another life.

“Fuck, Aki,” you moan.

“Again,” he breathes.

“What?”

“Say my name again. Like that.” Like you love me.

“A-Aki,” you whine, gasping for air. “Close.”

A rush of blood to the head. He almost wants to tell you he loves you, force you to say it back to him in between swapping spit. Even if it was just pretend.

You writhe as you cum. Heat-struck by the coil breaking in your stomach. It was like he was melting your insides. He feels your cunt twitch and spills into you with a groan, nose buried in your hair. 

He winces as he pulls out of you, his cum getting the carpet wet. He’ll have to clean it up later. He breathes heavily and looks anywhere but your face.

“Lie down with me,” you whisper.

So he does, face to face with you, his arm loose over your waist. He wants to kiss you, but he assumes you’ve had your fill. He wonders if you’ll ever toy with him like that again. He hates himself for how badly he wants it.

But then you look at him, your eyes searching his for meaning. Unspoken words. 

“You okay, baby?”

He’s shocked at the nickname, blushing like he didn’t just fuck you to the moon and back.

He nods, blinking rapidly when you stroke his jaw gently. Branding him with tenderness. Maybe he shouldn’t have slept with you. He didn’t want to be a sycophant, but he still felt attached to you, and it would only get worse from here. Stuck on his heart like chewed gum.

“Angel boy,” you sigh, hazed. You’re still a little drunk. “Pretty.”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a dog.”

“What are you, then?”

He says nothing. You smile. The warmth in his chest is immeasurable. It aches like a wound that never heals. He supposes that’s what you are for him. But what is he?

“Yours.”

[saerins]

PREV: #005 THE ICE SURRENDERS 𖧧 #006: COMFORT IN FAMILIARITY 𖧧 NEXT: #007 TWO STUBBORN ꒰ series masterlist ꒱

꒰ঌꨄ︎໒꒱ — there’s a lot going on in life. there’s a lot expected of you. both of you. sometimes love is all it takes. and sometimes, love is not enough.

content: itoshi sae x female reader. smut/fluff/angst. tw: making out, dry humping, oral (male receiving), profanity, they tiptoe around their awkwardness, lots of being needy, clingy, sae’s a little shameless & so are you. word count: 7.5k

༝༚༝༚ it’s finally here !! the next chapter haha to whoever’s still reading & waiting for this , thank you for still being here :’) i appreciate you more than you’ll ever know <3 also yay !! finally you’ll find out whether sae & bianca fucked :p (psa about taglist at the end of the chapter !!)

there’s something very foreign about waking up in peace. very foreign, but very welcome. 

sunlight filters nicely through the half-closed blinds of the guest room. the paint on the walls don’t chip, don’t leave anything for you to stare at, can’t wonder whether the paint job would come undone first before you.

the bed is soft. doesn’t have those annoying noises the springs make when you get up and stretch. the room is cold from the air conditioning, but the slight warmth of the sun that bounces on your skin is a nice contrast.

you feel light.

the events of last night leave much to your imagination. you have no idea if last night was too much, if asking for a kiss was too much.

but sae kissed you himself—it shouldn’t be, right?

you find you never quite know with him. you really should get out there and deal with it.

it’s 7am but something tells you sae should already be up. he’s a soccer player with a tendency to make the best of his days, there’s no way he’s not up and ready yet.

true to your guess, by the time you awkwardly peek into the living room, there’s a note waiting for you on the coffee table.

got a photoshoot till night, help yourself to anything in the house.

his penmanship leaves much to be desired, unlike the other parts of him. an indication of how little he actually writes.

sae could’ve just texted you this, but you guess even he’s feeling at a loss after last night.

which both of you think must be stupid; it’s just a kiss.

work is already settled for you. sumi offered to help you speak to mr tatsuji. the interview with sae early on really does work miracles. it’s so easy to curry favours now.

a three-day break from work because sumi thought you might need more time off so she conveniently told your boss that you’re nursing a fever.

where do you find friends like her at work nowadays?

you plop yourself down on sae’s leather couch, rife with the kind of comfort that’s alien to you. you definitely owe sumi one. sae, too. 

you’ll figure out ways to repay sumi soon. there has to be someone else on the team that you can convince for an interview under her name. you’re already calculating possibilities between oliver aiku and shuto sendou.

but as for sae, you find yourself drawing a blank.

what can you do for someone who already has everything? what kind of benefits can you extend?

you’re feeling even worse as the clock continues to tick, realising that you’d probably never be able to measure up to someone like him.

your feet carry you to the balcony before you know it, the chilly morning air hitting your face like the wake up call you need.

sae’s not really like anyone else you’ve known before. he’s a normal, sane-enough human—nearly the polar opposite of how eita is, though, so maybe that’s why your head’s devoid of ideas.

you groan, elbows perched on the wooden railing lining the edges of the balcony, palms pressed against your cheekbones as you desperately try to manifest an idea in your head.

he can lend you his shirt. he can extend a space in his house. he can give you that kiss he remembers you wanted.

but you can’t think of one measly idea of what to do for him in return.

you can think of one idea of how to get there, to get your answer, but you can’t shake the notion that it’s kind of stupid and kind of shameless. 

you juggle the degree to which each attribute bothers you and ultimately decide to just go ahead with it anyway.

“what is it, idiot?”

eita’s as friendly as always, on the other side of the line, voice a low rasp, obviously stirred from a deep sleep.

“can i ask you for your opinions?”

a sigh from the other line, as if he expects something completely stupid.

“yeah, sure.”

“and promise not to lecture me!”

eita pauses. you hear rustling on his end, probably getting up because he’s gotten curious and invested in the conversation now.

“depends, what the fuck did you do?”

he acts as if you’re the only one out of the two of you that does stupid, stupid things.

“nothing stupid, thank you very much.” (yet. possibly.) “but… do you have any idea what sae likes?”

it’s a long shot. a really long one. eita would probably have a better chance at guessing an AV star’s favourite dish. wouldn’t hurt to try, though.

eita makes a loud, confused noise. warranted.

you think.

“uh… i don’t know, bianca?”

a pause.

“i’m joking.”

it still hit your sore spot. the nagging reminder that there’s more to sae and bianca than meets the eye that just gets sprung back into the forefront of your temporal lobe.

“well, i’m serious!” you choose to ignore it.

another sigh from eita. you can practically envision him on his bed, duvet carelessly discarded to the side, scratching the back of his head.

“look, all i know is that he hates french fries and loves his routines, and oh, the only girl he’s ever admitted liking is momoko sakura.”

eita says it all in one breath and waits for your response like you’re supposed to appreciate it. the last one nearly made you vomit before you realise it’s a fucking tv show.

if you’re going to get help, you’re not going to get it from him.

“oh, he’s more of an ass guy than a boob guy, if you need to know.”

“what? eita!”

“i’m serious.”

you don’t really know whether you can trust him. even if you do, what the heck are you supposed to do with that information? jiggle your ass randomly in front of itoshi sae?

“thanks, eita.” you’re evidently bummed out. that doesn’t cancel out your actual gratitude that eita didn’t just hang up on you. you consider it a big enough surprise that he even tried.

“wait, why do you ask?”

his voice comes out all rushed, like he’s just now waking up and realising it’s not like you to ask him something like this out of the blue.

it’s probably not the greatest idea to tell him where you are and why you’re there, but you don’t actually like lying to your friends so you cough up the information without much persuasion.

“so what, are you guys a thing now?”

it’s fair of him to ask. you conveniently left out the kiss though, so maybe eita’s jumping the gun here.

“no, we’re just… getting to know each other.”

“uh huh.”

it sounds almost accusatory.

suddenly you don’t know what to say to the one you’re always talking around.

“well, if you need me, call me,” he says, more laconic than you’re used to. still, all things considered, you guess you can’t really blame him.

the discontent in his voice is apparent, the lack of intonation eating you up with guilt.

you retreat back into the living room, into the warm embrace of the single-seater, hoping that the softness of it would swallow the tornado in you up whole.

the rest of the morning is spent on your phone and laptop, between brainstorming ideas on what you can do for sae and replying to any of your colleagues who have no respect for the aspect of a time off.

after eventually deciding that nothing you think of can actually be good enough, you settle for just asking him straight.

yes, you’ll ask him later when he’s back and just be straight up with him about it. that way, you won’t waste your efforts on something vapid and sae would actually like it.

come afternoon, you dare yourself to fish out another shirt from his closet because you opened his fridge only to find absolutely nothing inside but a few bottles of salted kombucha. (which is absolutely not a qualifying substitute for lunch.)

it also won’t do for you to be wearing sae’s national jersey out to the supermarket and bringing more attention to yourself than necessary, so you tiptoe into his room even though he’s not there, in pursuit of a completely plain (or at least a more vague) t-shirt.

freely traversing his apartment like this makes you feel more than what you are, but you shake that thought away.

and there you were thinking eita was the one jumping the gun.

by the time the sun gives way to the moon and sae trudges his way back home—with a small spring in his steps that he can’t ignore—he walks into the apartment, reminding himself to say he’s home in the process.

it’s his first time coming back home to an apartment that’s not empty. it’s not something he thought he’d want to get used to. but knowing who’s on the other side of the door, he thinks it might be nice.

“hey, you’re back!”

there’s the usual uplifting lilt in your voice that he can’t ignore, can’t forget.

the sound of bounding footsteps that he can usually hear from the other apartments are infuriating but the ones that come from you makes his heart beat just a little bit quicker.

“hey,” he greets, the dull of his voice nearly being betrayed by the light in his eyes.

three seconds and you’re right in front of him, peering at him with inquisitive eyes. you do that cute head-tilt thing you always do when you have questions.

“what’s that?”

you point your finger in the direction of his neck, and he cranes his head toward the mirror hung on the corridor to see what you mean.

a big red lipstick stain on the side of his neck. or mauve, as the makeup artist calls it.

sae sighs to himself. so that’s what his assistant meant when she tried to call him back saying they’re not done with him yet.

“are you too eager to go home or something?”

that’s what she asked when he ignored them and left the set the moment everything was over.

“oh, uh, photoshoot.”

it’s always simple, his answers. what’s not simple are bianca’s natural reactions. he can just envision her face if she was in your position instead; the slight twitch in the corner of her lips, the pout that comes after to mask her disdain, the questioning to come.

that’s why it’s a built-in reaction for sae to elaborate.

“it was—”

“i see.”

you both speak at the same time. sae doesn’t know what to think.

the slight confusion on your face is represented by the raise of your brows, before it quickly gets replaced by a giggle, and then your fingers find the box of tissues and hand one to him.

“wanna wipe it off?” you ask. a simple question that makes him question a lot, actually.

only because he’s been conditioned to think all girls are a carbon copy of bianca behaviour-wise and you just happen to prove otherwise.

“oh! or did you want to wash up first?”

how long has he been standing there idly again?

sae just blinks as he stands in his doorway, stupid and dazed. he gets his bearings a few seconds later when you do that cute head-tilt thing in the other direction. he can’t stand seeing anymore of it or he’ll get an untimely reminder of how you tasted last night.

“yeah, i’ll go wash up, we can eat after.”

he still takes a piece of tissue without using it. he assumes you haven’t eaten dinner and only remembers he probably should ask first but he’s already closing his bedroom door behind him, his person of interest on the other side.

this idle state of confusion, of questioning his every move and every word; it’s not an experience he’s ever had before and he thinks it isn’t very pleasant.

on the field he never has doubts. always plan after plan, carefully crafted by the milliseconds. when something doesn’t work, he tries another. dribbles it past the troublesome one, pass it to one of his forwards. the one that can score.

it’s easy on the field.

easier than it is in front of you.

it still proves the same when he gets out of the showers, mind refreshed and vitality rejuvenated, only to come face to face with home-cooked dinner.

foreign, all alien, very welcome.

you’re rambling on about the three dishes you made and how you’re not sure if he’d like it. sae’s all in his head trying to think of excuses so that you can keep staying here.

for someone who’s spent most of his adulthood keeping people at arms’ length, your presence in his life now is half-exciting, half-concerning.

if he’s heard correctly from his assistant who nags him constantly about a possible budding love life at the height of his career, it’s how people get screwed over. how their plays get fucked up.

if she’s any reliable.

sae used to think he wouldn’t let anything come in the way of him and his career, because his career’s the only relationship he ever thought of having. until now. until you’re sitting on the side of the dining table that used to always be empty because he refuses to let anyone in.

until your smile paints the dull bland walls with colour for once and your food tastes unsettlingly like home. the kind of home he hasn’t visited in a while. the kind where it’s out of sight, out of mind that people don’t realise what they miss.

“how is it?”

you’re grimacing, like you’re expecting something bad. as if sae’s some sort of food critic. as if sae’s ever been anything but subjectively nicer to you.

“it’s not bad.”

really, he has nothing to compare it to. the last time he ever had home-cooked food was probably before he even started playing soccer. everything’s a blur when he tries to recall it, just the vague imagery of him and rin side by side with their legs dangling in the air of the high stools while their mother plates all the food he didn’t bother to memorise when he was, what, six?

he wonders if his brother remembers anything.

it’s enough strain on his mind that he’s finding this type of humdrum fascinating, when it’s with you. it doesn’t help that your hips brush when both of you wash the dishes together.

sae doesn’t really know what he’s doing and he only now realises that you went out earlier and got the groceries. he hasn’t thanked you yet, has he? should he?

everyday courtesy is lost on him.

it’s only after the dishes are washed and the countertops are wiped down that sae thinks maybe he should just express his gratitude.

“tha—”

“thank you, by the way.”

the both of you really need to stop saying shit at the same time.

you got it out first. sae’s such a loser. sae lets you continue.

“i know i’m imposing on you a lot, but…” your words get lost on you, and sae can sense the lack of explanation on your circumstances is a choice.

he wants to know you. there’s a stinging irritation in the back of his head knowing that otoya knows you better than he does.

it’s selfish. he knows. but sae’s always been selfish. in a sense.

“you can stay here as long as you need.”

it’s just sae’s pathetic attempt to ride on what you’re saying, to hopefully keep you here a little longer because somehow the walls don’t seem to suffocate when he comes back to you. the air seems clearer and the house becomes more like home, if he dares to say he knows anything of what that’s like.

he tries to gauge your reaction, trying not to crane his neck too far to the side to make it so obvious that he’s staring.

you’re comfortably perched on the couch, right next to him. there’s an annoyingly small gap in between you. he nearly misses the contact. your feet are on the cushion, hugged close to your chest, your eyes gazing at the little space of nothing between the air in front of you and his coffee table.

normally, he’d think that if someone extends an offer that they know you’d like, it’ll be taken without question. so he wonders why you still need to think.

his first guess is that you have a penchant need to not owe anyone anything.

his mind strays to how good you look in his other shirt. whenever you happened to take it. he’ll probably give you his entire closet if you ask for it.

half exciting, half concerning.

“thank you.” but you hesitate. you’re not looking at him yet. sae takes full advantage of that to look at you. at every smidge of movement in the muscles of your face. how your brows furrow half-heartedly, how your lips are pressed into a firm line.

he really wants to see your lips. want to taste them again. even if it means he has to go to bed and groan into the pillow instead of your mouth.

you give him what he wants when you start to speak again.

“is there anything i can do to repay you?”

there’s really no need.

sae shakes his head. “it’s fine, you don’t need to do anything.”

there’s a crease between your brow bones that beg to differ.

“no, really, i mean it. is there anything you need? anything you want me to do?”

there’s a really long, awkward pause as sae struggles to process your simple question. his adam’s apple bobs up and down. the walls and his glass windows start their suffocation game once more.

sae’s not sure you want him to tell you what he wants. he’s a visual thinker; and his mind isn’t anywhere but in the gutter.

between having a long day doing a photoshoot that doesn’t even interest him and having a female model as his partner when he keeps comparing her to you, sae can’t really keep it together after more than twenty years of keeping to himself.

he already has one of the couch pillows on his lap, just in case.

it’s already coming in handy thanks to what he’s thinking about.

sae shakes his head. “really, it’s fine.”

he’s half praying that you’ll just let it go so he can go back into the confines of his own room, feeling guilty that he’ll have to help himself to the thought of you but soothing his frustrations anyway.

the other half of him is praying for just you.

and that’s the part that’s alarming to him.

he nearly loses it when you shift, your elbow resting against the back of the couch, body turned to face him as if he hasn’t had a good enough look in his imagination that you have to bring it in real life.

yeah, he’s blaming you. because his brain’s short-circuiting and his synapses are failing him and he can’t seem to get his fucking eyes off of your lips.

he feels nearly shameless for staring at you point blank.

sae doesn’t know what expression you’re wearing now. he’s not sure he wants to know. are you offended or do you feel the same way you felt last night?

feelings can change like the season. or so he’s heard.

your voice is murmured; his thoughts are in the foreground. you say something along the lines of “what do you want, sae?” and he doesn’t have any of the carefully constructed self-control he’s had over the past few years.

so easily undone just by your mere presence.

“you.”

sae says that without thinking. it’s a chore, thinking. he keeps bouncing between shoulds and should-nots and it’s really fucking irritating.

“kiss me,” he tells you, more outright.

if you can tell him such a thing, you won’t punish him for saying the same, right?

here’s the spoiler: you don’t.

another spoiler: you feel like you’ve been waiting for him to tell you that all night.

barely a second into his request and you’re already fulfilling it. sae’s hand curves behind your neck, his calloused palm delicately placed on your skin. the other hand that’s free decides to pull you in, make it so you’re straddling him.

fuck, when did he get rid of the pillow?

your groan is enough indication that you feel him under you. the way he’s so stiff right now is nearly painful, only because the need it feels him with surpasses any sort of need he’s ever had.

both of you are half kisses and half pants. sae has no choice but to tip his head backwards as you roll your hips against his.

“shit,” he hisses, the hand on your neck crawling upwards to grab a fistful of your hair and tug it downwards. it doesn’t affect your hips in the least. why would it?

his other hand grips onto your waist, like he has to do that to make sure you stay there, make sure you keep moving against him. his eyes practically roll into his head, the sounds he’s so shamelessly making betraying any sort of stoic that he used to have in front of you.

a soft chuckle escapes you, and he pries his eyes open just to stare. the tilt of your face, the way your eyelashes brush against each other, that bite of your bottom lip—you’re a delicacy wrapped in his dreams.

“you’ve been thinking of this, huh?”

there’s a blush on his cheeks that he doesn’t let you see, releasing your hair and immediately letting his lips land on your neck. 

it feels nice to make you sound as undone, as needy as he is.

your chest pressed against him doesn’t do much to ease the tightening in his sweatpants. you still haven’t stopped rolling your hips.

right now it looks as if you’re the one with the better stamina.

his teeth latches onto your neck, head bowed, leaving a mark while you have to tell him to ease up a little on it. he’s learning.

he tries again.

better this time, from your lack of feedback.

“i hate what you do to me.” he sounds so stupid, so lost. it’s the vulnerability that’s annoying.

you try to catch your breath as he leans back against the backrest, both of you a bundle of nerves all out in the open. his hair’s mussed, but so is yours. sae’s still hard as fuck, a wet spot already formed on his regrettably light grey sweatpants.

maybe it’s your instinct that tells you to ask him your next question.

“have you ever done this before?”

you fail to clarify what this is, but if sae’s adept enough, you mean making out, and whatever else could happen after. humping. blowjobs. sex.

they’re all the same to sae either way.

“no, never.”

he’s still breathless.

you were halfway to catching your breath, but his admittal takes another pocket of air out of your lungs.

to sae, the silence that follows is painfully awkward. he’s good at guessing what players think on the field, but he’s an absolute goon at trying to guess what the girl he’s interested in is thinking when he just basically admitted he’s a virgin in all romantic aspects.

the only person that came close was bianca. and even then all they did was kiss.

this is the first time he’s ever wanted more.

“i don’t,” he pauses, his eyes momentarily fluttering shut as he thinks of ways to express this animal need to have you. “i don’t want you to repay me with anything.”

you settle your forehead on his, your fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. your breathing’s even. it helps him even his out too.

“but if you ask me what i want.” sae takes his time to shift his gaze towards you. your lips, your eyes. you’re so pretty it should be an insult to everyone else. “i want you to be my first.”

it sounds so fucking corny that a small part of him is shrivelling inside. it can’t believe he said something like that. he would’ve cringed if he heard it in movie theatres.

see how pathetic you make him feel?

“your first… what?”

he wants to chuckle. he knows you know. you’re probably being a little shit by asking him to admit it. but even so, he’ll give in to you.

because it feels right.

“everything.”

it could be that you don’t know what to say. it could be that you’re too eager. sae wouldn’t know.

but the way you kiss him next, the way you guide his hands under your shirt (it may as well be yours now), it knocks all wind out of his lungs, all the sense out of his brain.

for the first time, sae finds his hands on your bare chest. it makes a noise come out of him, one that’s equally greedy and needy. he gives it a squeeze, make sure you pay him one back.

your lips are on his lips but by now you’re barely kissing, more open panting and desperate hands pawing at each other.

he takes your nipple between his fingers, giving it a light pinch. your back arches, a sinful sight in front of him, one that he’ll probably have to use for a while if you’re not around.

how can one person have this much control over his desires? that’s a foul.

your hips resume their rolling just for a little bit only for them to stop when you pull back. your hand is on his chest, lips shiny from being subject to his mouth. sae already wants to touch you some more, both his hands relegated to his sides.

“i wanna suck you off.”

you say that so casually that sae’s doing the blushing for you.

if it’s even possible, he gets even harder, and you take the twitching you see as a yes.

you get on your knees in front of him, sat in the spot between his legs, knees folded against the cold floor. sae grabs your wrist before you can pull his pants down, committing himself entirely to the moment.

“take your shirt off first.”

yeah, that request—demand?—shouldn’t roll so easily off his tongue. yet here he is, letting it. the wet patch on his pants is shameful enough. what else does he have to lose?

he finds it near endearing that you don’t hesitate to pull his shirt off over your shoulder. sae’s eyes drag shamelessly over your breasts as he takes in the view. he nearly fails to stop himself from telling you to suck his dick already because it’s getting harder to ignore the wanton need it has for you.

nothing else has to be said.

you divest him of his sweatpants, his cock hitting his shirt as it springs free, near the spot around his bellybutton, the wet patch spreading on his old jersey. you’re looking at his cock, then looking at him, then back at his length—it makes him nervous.

the moment you wrap your fingers around the base of his shaft, he sucks in a sharp breath, head tilted towards the ceiling. it’s different than when he touches himself.

your fingers are smaller, more delicate than his. it feels good. feels even better when you give his tip a little kitten lick, and he’s almost sure you’re just experimenting now, just checking how he’s reacting to every single gesture.

sae’s doing everything in his goddamn power to keep it all together.

he can’t even look at you. that’s a sure fire way to end everything the moment he does.

a strained groan leaves the back of his throat as you pump his cock painfully slow. he doesn’t know if this is the norm. if it is, he hates it.

then comes what he’s been imagining: your tongue flat on his length, licking a stripe up his cock, your hand around it pumping a little bit quicker, still as gentle.

“shit, that feels good,” he finds himself admitting without much thought.

is he supposed to have any thoughts when you’re blowing him so impossibly good like this?

you don’t say much, and you can’t, not when your mouth slowly wraps around his cock and his tip starts hitting the back of your throat. your rhythm is steady at first, like it’s a tease, like it’s just a hell of an opening act.

sae’s hips start to buck upwards into your mouth, and you take it expertly. he dares himself to look at you when you start moaning around his cock, the sight of you so saccharine, so indulgent.

and then yep, there it is, the way his self control gets shredded into pieces, in the form of thick white ropes of cum in your mouth as he groans in resignation.

his eyes are still on you, this time he doesn’t want to look away anymore. he watches you as you swallow his cum, licking his tip just to watch him shudder in pleasure as he gets subjected to the slight over sensitivity.

your breasts still look beautiful. he still wants to play with them.

sae finds that maybe his courage got lost with his cum. it takes everything in him to pull you up onto the couch, this time back in your original position next to him. he kisses you, a blatant disregard for tasting himself on your tongue.

it catches you by surprise, he can tell. if the little squeal in your throat is any indication.

“i’m starting to feel like we’re in one of those landlord-tenant situations.” you’re probably joking. just like you always like to when there’s an awkward silence.

sae doesn’t really feel awkward though. so maybe this is something else.

“well, i mean, if that’s what you’re into.”

you playfully shove him away, rolling your eyes as you tug his shirt back on over yourself. a smirk finds its way onto your face.

“you’re still horny?” a rhetorical question. it’s only asked because sae’s still hard.

his walls are wider than it’s ever felt. than it’s ever been. than it’s ever allowed to be.

sae pulls his pants back on, eyes on you as you take mini steps towards his side of the apartment.

“what do you expect when that’s the best i’ve felt in my life?”

you stifle a laugh when even with his pants on, his tent is still so obvious.

you must be feeling a little bold, because you open up his bedroom door by yourself, giving him a look that he can only equate to come hither.

oddly, he doesn’t feel any sense of shame when his feet carry him to you. when his hands tug you into his room, when your feet tumble against one another’s and you end up on top of him on the bed.

he feels no shame letting you blow him again. he feels no shame letting you swallow all of him for the second time tonight.

there’s only a split second of bashfulness when he asks you to sleep with him. in the literal sense.

but you don’t see anything wrong with it. you don’t say anything. you don’t agree, you don’t reject. you only give a weak laugh as you lay beside him, his hair messed up to fuck and laying there questioning where all his stamina went.

you fall asleep within seconds, just laying there on your side of the bed.

sae takes one more chance at being shameless, wrapping his arm around your torso, letting himself fall asleep.

sae’s a winner.

he has a track record of all wins in all matches. he’s excellent at what he does. the calm and composed one. the one who has his shit together.

but right now he feels like a total loser.

sae brisks out of his bedroom, wondering if you treated him like a one night stand. even if he didn’t stick it inside you. even if he barely got a chance to help you.

jumping the gun, maybe, but he’s already thinking of ways to convince you that it doesn’t have to mean anything if you don’t want it to.

his brisk walk turns slow when he realises you’re just washing up in the guest toilet, an embarrassment hanging over his head at his slight overreaction.

when you waltz out of the bathroom, sae’s quick to act normal. can’t let you see any of his shortcomings just yet.

you spend yet another day at his apartment. this time, sae’s right there with you. doesn’t have to conform to any schedules, doesn’t have to wish the girl he’s spending time with is you.

because it is you.

turns out you also want to get to know him.

you open the windows and try meditating with him. the morning yoga comes right after.

“you really do this every morning?” you ask him while your body tries to adjust to the downward dog.

sae tries not to laugh.

“mhm.”

he runs slower than his usual speed later in the park. doesn’t want you to quit on him before you’ve even begun. you can only make it half his usual route and he acts like it’s normal, tells you you’re already very good.

sae squeezes in questions whenever he can.

slowly, at first. stuff pertaining to you and otoya’s friendship. stuff like university and middle school and how you slapped otoya he nearly quit being your friend.

you’re an open book when it comes to friendship.

you admit what you had with otoya was just physical, admit that you’ve never tried anything more, that it was a stupid phase and he’s really just a friend.

sometimes sae can’t help but wonder whether you’re trying to convince him or yourself.

he starts to ask about stuff you like when you’re preparing lunch together. he learns a little more about you the same time he’s learning how to chop vegetables right.

it’s harder than he thought.

both of it.

you used to like baking. you made some money with it. you love the smell of home cooked food and you’ve always wanted to try that bar you’ve heard about that serves killer sushi and is housed at the top of a skyscraper.

by the time sunset hits and the river that’s sold as part of his apartment’s view starts shimmering with the orange hue, he touches on the topic of your family.

that one, you’re not so keen about.

sae can tell from the drop of your smile and the light fading from your eyes. he tries to ignore it but he’s curious. aren’t they fundamentally who made you what you are?

he can’t help himself.

between the silences, all either of you can think about is what is this thing, between the two of you? but neither of you have the balls to ask.

the day is almost perfect.

sae doesn’t feel like he is who he always thought he was. he doesn’t feel like the revered soccer player that nearly everyone knows. he doesn’t feel like he has any larger-than-life obligations.

if this is what a normal day feels like between normal people, then he thinks maybe this is what he wants. the feel of you by his side, doing things together or even just existing.

there’s a calm you bring that he can’t find in anyone or anything else.

it’s different than the kind of serenity playing soccer gives him, but it makes him addicted all the same. his mind chants the same mantra the whole time—he wants you. just you. only you.

dinner’s ready and sae’s hungry. your stomach’s growling too, just as it was about half an hour ago. he’s placing the dishes on the dining table while you excuse yourself to check on your messages.

something about how your colleagues have no sense of personal space. something like that.

he expects to see you bounding out of the corridor as usual, a little hop in your footsteps. a hum to a tune he thinks you make up.

instead, what he gets is the heavy trudging of the heels of your feet, the same kind he gives oliver when he’s weary and groggy and just wants to go home instead of getting another drink.

sae’s a quick learner. he really is. he learned how to talk to you, learn more about you. he can learn how to tiptoe around subjects you don’t feel up for talking about.

but there’s this mulishly desperate part of him that aches to know more about you. especially when your expression shows a side of you he’s never seen.

he feels on edge. he feels out of the know. he feels like he has to know.

“hey, what’s wrong?”

your bag is looped around your shoulder, the frustration on your face eking into every part of your body. your movements are erratic, your arms swing by your side. it takes you too long to find your shoes in the genkan.

“nothing, i have to go.”

your voice quivers like you’re trying not to break. sae’s heart doesn’t know how to feel about that. his hand reaches out before he can consider alternatives. it wrestles to take hold of your wrist but you pull it away before he can get a firm grip.

“y/n, tell me.” he’s nearly pleading with you this time, his feet heavy in the entryway.

all he knows is that he doesn’t want you to go. doesn’t want you to feel however you’re feeling alone.

but he doesn’t know a thing about you when it comes to whatever this is. and where the walls expanded, they crash down all over him the same. you’re shutting him out, a punishment that he was pardoned off all along until this moment.

when you don’t say a word, just stand with your back facing him as you struggle to put your shoes on right, sae tries again.

his head doesn’t know when to tell him that enough’s enough. doesn’t know the little nooks and crannies of you that prefer to be left alone sometimes.

“oh my god, what do you want?”

this time, you turn around and face him, and he’s not quite sure how to process the fact that there are already tear streaks on the side of your face.

“tell me what’s going on, let me help you.” sae’s not sure either how he managed to say that without choking on his words. he’s a mix of fear and concern. like if he says a single thing wrong and you’ll slip away forever.

his words make your heart ache. they do. because you want to believe that. you want to believe he means it. but the excessively distrustful part of you, the one that remembers baring your heart out to your partner only to have it flipped around on you is the one that’s ruled your mind since the relationship ended.

protect yourself. even in the wrong ways. just leave them before they get to leave you. disappoint them before they get a chance to do that to you.

a scoff leaves your throat, more harsh than you intended it to be.

“help me? itoshi, you barely know me.”

your heart drops. you’re sure sae’s drops further. the words come out of you uncontrollably.

you’re sorry. very sorry.

“what can you help me with, huh?” the slight upturn on your lips is all sneer and vile and nothing nice.

sae only hears you out.

you wish he somehow hears the words you’re thinking instead of what you’re saying.

you’re sorry.

“listen, you’ve been very nice to me, thanks. i’m pretty sure there are lots of other girls out there more deserving than me, so really, i’m grateful that you wasted a couple of days on me.”

sae’s expression doesn’t change. a subtle mix of confusion and heartache and you want to kill yourself for being so stupid.

“but we’re nothing to each other, okay? we’re barely even friends! you don’t need to concern yourself about me.”

it’s like you can feel the effort that’s waiting to pour out of him. the kind that would threaten you to take a step back and pour your heart out instead of letting your sharp tongue loose.

you can’t risk that. you don’t think you can.

“the jig’s up. i tried making friends with you so i could get more scoop, okay? it’s easier for you to approve it if you like me. that’s all there is to it. so please, i’m begging you,” you pause, the words catching in your throat because you could never mean them. “please just leave me alone.”

that seems to do it.

the effort that was waiting to pour out feels like it stopped. sae doesn’t have any other words to say. he doesn’t waste his energy on stopping you as you leave the apartment, letting the heavy mahogany close behind you naturally.

you don’t look back.

sae doesn’t look away.

it’s foolish of you to think that an escape with sae could help. it puts things off. it doesn’t help. nothing does. you should’ve known better by now.

you rush out of his building, a haze of gormless mixed with desultory. you don’t notice anything or anyone else. not even the figure that stares at you in shock as you exit the lift.

these two days were the best days of your life.

now it’s time to wake up.

she’s both the reason and the bane of your existence. 

your mother desperately points towards you when you make your way towards your front door. she has absolutely no qualms about giving you up just so she can see another day.

there’s multiple men by your front door. big, burly men. a lean, muscular one stands in the middle, his hand holding a fistful of your mother’s hair.

it’s the first time you’ve seen them. you’ve lost track of how many loan sharks your mother knows.

it takes nearly half an hour and half a million yen to shut them up and get them on their way. not without the leader among them giving you a kiss on the cheek and a warning that you won’t get to save your mother so easily the next time.

pervertic. that’s what you think his thoughts are.

usually you’re magnanimous. you’d let your mother get a word or five in before you give up on listening. tonight, you’re not so.

she’s just ruined your perfectly constructed dream day with someone who seems so foolishly earnest you nearly feel bad for him having to associate with someone like you.

someone with problems like this.

you walk the same path. you lock your own door and slump onto your own bed. you can hear the annoying springs and the chip of the paint surrounds you. right now you’re coming undone faster than the paint.

it isn’t raining but you wish it is. maybe it’ll be easier to drown out the noise of you crying. right now you’ll have to settle for burying your head in your pillow, the only comfort of your earlier time spent with sae arrested in the confines of his shirt you wore home.

a call comes in and you forget to check who it is. you pick it up without much thought.

if it’s sae you’ll just hang up. he shouldn’t have to associate with someone like you. someone who’ll only bring him problems.

but it’s not sae.

“oi, idiot.”

you’d recognise the voice of your best friend anywhere, through any medium.

you don’t say anything. you can’t, really. not when both your nostrils are blocked and if you open your mouth you’d just make an insufferably pained noise.

eita doesn’t say anything for a while either. he only hears the slightly muffled sound of your sniffing. it takes him only a second to extend himself.

“spare key still under the vase?”

you let out a noise of acknowledgement. he’s your best friend. he knows how to tell apart your responses by noise. he should understand.

he does.

you hear the familiar sound of his kawasaki revving to life.

“wait for me, okay?”

you do. only because you can’t sleep and eita likes to speed. he’s good at riding his bike so you’re never worried. he makes it there faster than you think he ever did.

there’s no shrill nagging when he unlocks the door. your mother must either be asleep or she’s already off trying to make your life more of a living hell. either way, it’s good she’s not here.

fuck her.

when he comes through your door, his own set of keys for your room nestled safely in his keychain, he doesn’t say a word. he only takes his place behind you, wrapping his arms around your shoulder, resting his chin on your head as you involuntarily sob into his arms.

he doesn’t say a thing. doesn’t need to.

his arms are a comfort in itself.

it’s familiar. never foreign. never scary.

re: taglists — since it’s been a while, i’ll discontinue the old taglist & start a new one :) it’s cool if you don’t want to be tagged anymore ! if you still do, just let me know !! but please make sure you are 18+ and have your age somewhere obvious & visible on your blog <3

[bookyeom]

coming up for air - ksy

pairing: hoshi x reader word count: 1.2k warnings: a couple of swears i think, kissing, a little suggestive but not much summary: you can't stop thinking about kissing Soonyoung. That's the plot.

A/N: I saw that video again of Booseoksoon talking about their first kisses and I cannot unhear Hoshi saying that he just wouldn't stop kissing and this is the result. Wholly unedited. Goodbye

Soonyoung is mortified. You can tell by the way he’s shrunk further into the couch cushions behind him as the guys whoop and holler. They keep playing the video Seungkwan found online of a fifteen-year old Soonyoung talking about his first kiss, and you wish you could make them stop. For your own sake, and for Soonyoung's.

“How long was your first kiss?” A voice asks from the phone as they replay it once more.

“I don’t know. I just… kept kissing,” comes Soonyoung’s response.

The guys are thriving on this new information. You know they’ll never let him live this down; they’ll use it as a form of torment and humiliation to tease Soonyoung for years to come. You, on the other hand, can’t stop thinking about it for other reasons. 

You’ve had a crush on Soonyoung for ages, and the thought of just kissing and kissing and kissing him has you nearly in a puddle on the floor. Your cheeks are warm just from the thought of it. From the thought of his hand on your face as he’s got you pressed against a wall, his hand in your hair, pulling you in like he can’t get enough. From the thought of him pushing you back into your mattress as he kisses you senseless, his entire body pressed to yours as you make out for ages. From the thought of you, straddling him on the ugly couch in his apartment, his hands just under your shirt as you kiss and kiss and kiss.

“Hey, Y/N?” Your eyes snap to Jeonghan, who has a knowing, mischievous look on his face, and you immediately want to run. “What do you think? Do you think Soonyoung would be a good kisser?”

You’re too stunned to speak for a moment. You hate him. You hate that you ever thought it’d be a good idea to confide in Wonwoo, because Wonwoo is many things, but one thing he is not is a good secret keeper. You’d been grateful before to find out that he’d only told Jeonghan about your crush, but now you kind of want to strangle them both for betraying you like this. 

You can feel Soonyoung’s eyes on you, and now it’s your turn to be mortified. You ignore him as you shrug, trying to seem nonchalant when you manage, “I definitely think he’d be a better kisser than you, Hannie.”

The attention is swiftly taken off of you as your friends hone in and start to tease Jeonghan, and your shoulders relax just a little. You manage a glance at Soonyoung, but he’s looking away from you now and down at his hands. You stand up under the guise of going to the washroom, and then make your way to the balcony outside of Seungkwan’s apartment. 

Once you get into the fresh air, you let out a long breath. You let yourself relax for a minute, safe and hidden from the teasing smiles and Soonyoung’s gaze. You’re not safe from your thoughts, however, as you fall back down the rabbit hole of wondering just what Soonyoung’s lips might feel like. God, you think miserably, he’s probably an amazing kisser. 

You want to cry when you hear the back door slide open behind you. You turn, grateful for the dim lighting outside when Soonyoung gives you a little wave before joining you. If he could see how flushed you are just at the sight of him, you think you’d give everything away. He joins you at the railing, and you look back out over the city. You can feel the warmth from his arm even through his sweater, and he mumbles an apology when his elbow gently bumps into yours.

“Thanks for saying that in there,” he says softly after a moment, and you kind of want to be anywhere but here right now. 

“Of course. Jeonghan is a little shit.”

Soonyoung hums in agreement, moving to rest his arms on the railing. It’s quiet between the two of you for a moment, and you can barely breathe, even with the fresh air that surrounds you. You’re panicking, trying to think of a way to excuse yourself before you blurt out something stupid, when he speaks again.

“For what it’s worth, I know you’d be a better kisser than Jeonghan, too.”

Your eyes widen as your head snaps towards him. He’s not looking at you, but you know he’s seen your reaction because the corner of his mouth turns up the longer you gape at him. You’re turned to face him completely now, one arm resting on the railing.

“You’ve kissed Jeonghan?” Is what comes out next. 

Soonyoung looks at you now, eyebrows raised in surprise — and then he bursts into laughter. It’s a full-belly laugh, loud enough to jolt you slightly, and you’re so caught up in watching him that you don’t even really realize what you’ve just said.

“I’m here to report that I have not kissed Jeonghan,” he responds once he’s calmed down a little. 

“Oh,” you blink. “Okay.”

“I haven’t even thought about it, really. No matter how pretty he is.”

You nod, but you’re a little lost with the conversation. Because Soonyoung’s tongue darts out to wet his lips, and you can’t stop looking at his mouth. You feel absolutely insane. 

“Have you thought about it?”

You manage to pull your eyes back up to his, blinking as you try to understand what he’s just asked you. He’s smiling, and you think he’s moved closer, but you’re finding it terribly difficult to process any of it, honestly. “Thought about what?” you ask, your eyes falling to his mouth once more when he laughs. 

“About kissing Jeonghan.”

You snap back to reality, meeting his gaze as he raises his eyebrows in question. He’s definitely moved closer now, because there’s barely a footstep between you. You search his face, and your heart leaps into your throat when you realize he’s doing the exact same. And when his eyes fall to your mouth, you can’t help the sharp inhale that leaves you.

“Maybe once or twice,” you say, and you’re proud of the way you manage to tease him just a little despite how shaky your voice is. “He’s pretty, you know. Like you said.”

“So are you.”

There’s no hiding the blush on your cheeks from him now. Not when his hand moves to brush your fingers that still rest on the railing, when you’re so close that you’re both under the shitty lamplight. 

“You think so?”

Soonyoung smiles, and it’s so fond that you’re worried your knees will buckle. “I do.”

“Thanks,” you whisper, and he hums. 

“You’re welcome.” 

He’s closed the distance so that you’re toe-to-toe now, and he moves to gently back you against the railing. He leans forward, one hand coming to rest on the railing beside you. He looks for any sign of discomfort, but you give him none as you tilt your chin up, breath catching in your throat in anticipation. 

“So,” he starts, eyes flicking between your eyes and your mouth. “Want to see how long we can kiss without coming up for air? Prove to teenage Soonyoung that he’s not a complete dumbass?”

It’s your turn to let out an unbecoming snort. You can’t help it. Soonyoung laughs with you, and your hand finds the back of his neck as you say, “As long as you don’t kiss Jeonghan later to compare, then yes. Very much yes.”

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