#because it will be there. it will seep through every crack in a building and it will sandblast you the second you go outside

[rocket-candy-heart]

I love it when people visit here and they're like, "it's spring. Why is it so windy 😢" or "but why is it raining all the time? It's summer!" and it's like. Well. It does usually do those things!

[if-loves]

reverence

// Yandere Capitano

sum: when a man stands in front of an altar, is it a god he prays to?

wc: 822

warnings: probably OOC capitano

a/n: capitano + worship is everything to me / also i didn’t really go so hard on the yan i think?? maybe it’s been too long or maybe idk what im talking about

likes & reblogs are appreciated :)

Capitano has never been one to pray. He respects the Tsaritsa, he is thankful to her even, but he is merely not the kind of man to worship, to pray. He is a righteous man, yes, and he does not need to rely on a higher being to be that.

Capitano has seen war. He knows war, far better than most, but he has never found the need to make desperate pleas to a god, an archon that can do nothing. He’s far more content in placing those bets on himself.

Yet he finds himself in a dilapidated church, hidden deep in the woods, the cold Snezhnayan wind seeping through the cracks and holes of the building, the ends of his coat fluttering along with it. With calm steps, he walks towards the crumbling statue on the broken altar, noting the vague resemblance to the Tsaritsa.

With a gentleness unbefitting of him, he closes his eyes and kneels with his head lowered, a hand on his heart. He does not know how to pray, so he hopes this will suffice.

Capitano rarely kneels, for there are very few he deems worthy of his respect. But when he kneels in front of this altar, he does not kneel only to show respect; he kneels to worship, to adore, and most importantly, to love, and none of it is for the Tsaritsa or anyone else for that matter - because in his heart, there is only room for you.

In his mind, thoughts of you never cease, not even for a moment. They always exist, whether in the front or back of his mind, like a stream of water. He wishes, silently, that you would never have to part from him, that he could bring you along to all his expeditions. He wants so desperately for you to always be by his side, to always be able to hold you in his arms, but he of all people knows that there is no point. He is lovesick, yes, but he is not so mad as to place your life in danger when the safer, safest, option is right in front of him.

And so, when Capitano prays, he prays not to a god nor an archon, but to you. He has no need nor desire to pray to superficial beings who do not care for a human like him. You, you, on the other hand?

You need him, and he needs you. You are the blood that flows through his veins, the air he breathes, the heart that pumps in his chest and most of all, his soul. You are his savior, the singular person in this harsh world that deserves his utmost devotion; if it would please you, if it would satisfy you, he would single-handedly raze Teyvat into cinders, and bring you the ashes.

Capitano doesn’t know how long he’s stayed kneeling, a gloved hand on his heart, eyes shut. Perhaps it has been minutes, maybe even hours, but the wind outside has calmed. When he rises, the metal of his chains screech against the floor, and it reminds him of war. Taking a deep breath, he opens his eyes and turns his back against the altar and its statue.

Perhaps he should build a shrine for you at home. A glorious statue of you, sculpted by only the finest of sculptors, with every single detail no matter how big or small engraved into it. It will have only the things you enjoy, whether it be food or candles or flowers, no demand of yours unmet, lest it be leaving the estate; if there is one wish he cannot grant, it is that.

The wind softly blows his hair and the fur of his coat as he makes his way back to the estate. It is late, he muses. The sun has set.

He wonders if you’ve already fallen asleep, if you dream of him. He wanted to surprise you with his return, purposely telling you in his letter that the journey would take a week longer than expected. He wonders if you’ll be happy to see him, if you will leap with joy or hug him with longing. He imagines each potential reaction with fondness, until the mansion is in sight, guards stationed at every corner, bowing their heads at his arrival.

It is silent, eerily so, when he walks in. Without conscious effort, he finds himself on the way to your shared bedroom, his heart pounding in his chest. Gently, he opens the door, a small streak of moonlight his guide.

There you lay, ethereally so, asleep in the warmth of the covers. Upon reaching your sleeping self, he kneels once again, taking your hand in his. Once more, he prays.

“I love you.” He murmurs, the warmth of your palm against his cheek. Perhaps what he loves most about you is the humanity you make him feel. “I love you.”

[gallusrostromegalus]

A Miracle In The Night

Sometimes, you get an idea for a lightly fucked up short story. TW: Death, mild gore, Plot Twist :)

---

She travels through the night And listens

Some might call her home dark and cold and akin to the lowest levels of hell, But their heaven burns her eyes and skin and her very breath To her, The Endless Night is Paradise

The whole world was like this once, in the very beginning The Divine Darkness which contains the potential for every tragedy and miracle and everything in between, and she is blessed  to travel through the gardens of creation.

The Night created everything, even God, who lives in the burning world and blesses the sinless beings of the night with the very force of life.

But not even Paradise is free of suffering.

It should be this way, of course- nothing would ever happen otherwise. Everything that happens is a miracle. It’s just a question of who the Miracle is for.

There will be a Miracle tonight. She can feel it- the tension is electric across her skin, gut tightening, every sense on edge.

Starvation leads to such peculiar sensitivity.

She’s on the verge of death-  It should be this way, otherwise nothing could be alive. But she’s closer to the edge than usual.

It’s been so long since she felt the Burning Love of God within her. The delicious taste of good fortune in the night Chasing ecstasy with a racing heart and feeling her body fly The heat in her belly, seeping out through her until it filled her with the Divine Warmth of God’s Love.

It’s been so, so long since she’s eaten.

It’s been uneasy- the breathing of the world has been unsteady of late- too early and too late, out of time like it has become ill and all things suffer for it. There is nothing to partake of in her usual hunting grounds, so she has traveled far, far from home, into a brighter and hotter part of the night.

Here, the protective wall between her and the burning world exists only in scattered fragments, and strange and monstrous things traverse the thin veil between their worlds.

Here, the eternal night has been invaded by noxious, screaming beasts from the burning world above.  They race with their bodies straddling the barrier between their worlds, far faster than anything has the right to fly, howling with a deafening voice that can be heard for hundreds of miles.

It’s a problem because she cannot hear the songs of her prey.

Everything sings, if one will listen. The high, chiming pings of the smallest stars flashing with bioluminescence around her. The long, low songs of the fire-breathers, who hunt here in the abyss for one of her oldest brothers, but return to the barrier and briefly cross it to breathe before they return. Even the earth sings- the moan and crack of her body as she shifts her weight, the almost invisible inhale and exhale of her seasons. She even builds great musical instruments of ash and smoke and an even hotter burning than the world above, singing the tale of the first days of creation in honor of the endless night.

But the behemoths do not sing.

They scream and scream and scream and their piss reeks of vile poison and overexertion. Almost like the way an injured animal can put on a miraculous turn of speed to escape pursuit. What might be pursuing such behemoths is an awful but intriguing consideration. Perhaps the behemoths are the little darting beings of the burning world, and the thing they flee the equivalent of herself. She’s seen it before, when the moon is high and she travels up to the barrier, and the little dancing bodies leap across the barrier to avoid her.

To that end, she can only wish her counterpart good hunting- both in the sympathy between one apex predator and another, and the hope that maybe it will get better at catching the behemoths before they come into her world.

Still, Where there is disturbance, There is also opportunity.

There are rumors from those that live closer to the barrier that the behemoths piss poison but shit out bounties- the wastes of these things are food direct from the burning world, where God lives, and that waste is full of The Divine Warmth of Life. The direct waste is devoured by the smallest and fastest things first, but when they are clustered at their feast, they are easier for the larger beings to partake in, and so too larger things than they until even her most beautiful borderland sister with the belly pale as the moon is now as round as it, fat with the blessing of pups.

So she has ventured as close as she dares to the world of her sisters in hopes of finding the rumored prey so full of the Burning Love of God.

She needs it. She can’t live without it.

A Miracle will happen tonight.

Whether for her or the crawling lives of the deepest night remains to be seen.

She follows the terrible screaming song of the behemoth in silence and prays for a miracle. She does not sing praise when she prays. She preys when she prays.

The highest reverence to The Divine Night is to Listen. To travel in silence, and take in all the songs of The Night.

So she makes herself silent and listens and listens and listens to the screaming song, hoping that somewhere in the noise, she can hear the soft voice of God.

This time God answers with a voice like thunder.

It really is like being too close to a lightning strike, the way the noise viscerally passes through her and lights up every nerve, teeth gritting and body thrashing as she feels the voice of God the same way she feels the body of a lover against her own.

The scream of the behemoth changes. It sputters, then pitches wildly, low visceral injury and high keening pain, like the fire-breathers when they try to hunt the largest of her brothers and become prey themselves.

Oh, what a beautiful song to something like her.

She aches, weak and tired, but hope and joy surge through her and she forces herself to move at speed, even for all the energy it takes, because perhaps the miracle is for her tonight- 

She flies as fast as she can towards the dying behemoth, as does every brother and sister and ancestor and descendant, all as desperate to feast upon God’s Love as she- all of them race forward but then up, and up and up up to where the Behemoth is sinking into their world- It has run upon a fragment of the protective barrier hard enough to tear it's side and break it's back. There is the terrible acrid scent of it’s noxious  piss and if she were not on the verge of starvation it might be enough to put her off the feast.  

But she flies on and up- even weak with hunger she is one of the largest and fastest of her family when she needs to be, so she is the first to smell other strange things from the behemoth- burning flavors that sting her nose and mouth, as well as sweet things that confuse intrigue, and-

Oh. Oh, GOD!

It’s blood but nothing like any blood she’s tasted before- it’s actually HOT in the night, burning with the warmth of the other world even this far from it’s origin, rich and fatty and metallic like the flesh of a fallen fire-breather but even more so.  She spreads her wings and sways her hips and spine to fly as fast as she can, the way a lover pursues her- full of nothing but adoration and a desire to make their bodies as one.

Then in a beam of moonlight, she sees the first of the bodies from the burning world.

The frenzy at the behemoth is a feast for the ages, from the exultant chorus above, and the fact that even with every member of her family for a hundred miles around at the feast, there are so many bodies to feast upon that a body is falling past the festivities to her, uneaten and whole.

What a strange and beautiful body it is.

She pauses, circling it even as her mouth and gut ache for it, studying the being from the burning world.

It’s hot, hotter than any body she’s ever felt before, even though it is very definitely dead, as unsuited to breathe the night as she is to breathe fire. Its wings are long and twist strangely, like the tentacles of her brothers that are hunted by the fire-breathers. It’s awkwardly shaped, like the crawling five-winged creatures of the mud, but not quite.  There is an almost unsettling familiarity to its symmetry.

The fire-breathers say they used to live in the burning world, but returned to the night, and that all the beasts of the burning world had too once come from the night. It had sounded absurd, but looking upon the form of this being now, she wondered.

Well. Only the one thing to do, really.

Gently, she approaches the being, opens her mouth to embrace it, and welcomes it home to the night.

There is no love like the love the predator feels for its prey.  It is reverence made flesh- O holy being, oh virtue to pursue and make one’s own.It is the flesh made reverent- Please, little being of the burning world, let her love you as she loves her own children, the weight of your body deep within her own. 

There is no gratitude like the gratitude a predator feels for its prey. She owes you her life tonight, little being of the burning world. She lives from the mercy of your body alone. It is already a kindness she can never repay to live by your generosity, but oh, you made it so sweet-  Your blood intoxicates her senses, your body thrillingly warm- as agonizing as the fire of the burning world is to breathe in, it’s just as wonderful to swallow.

You are so sweet, so sweet, she will remember this favor forever.

There is no miracle like the divine connection between predator and prey. Oh child of the burning world, you who brings the Warmth of God into The Endless Night, You burning being of God’s Love. She is blessed by you, messenger of God.  Through you she receives the miracle of life.

Welcome, little burning being Welcome home to the night from whence you came Welcome inside her deepest self, and receive her hospitality.

She swallows the little burning being up with adoration, feeling it settle within her. Relief, ecstasy and satisfaction swirl but are interrupted by the appearance of another body. And another And another And another

The Behemoth itself falls, it’s body still curiously dynamic even torn in half- one end dives for the bottom of the night with somewhat alarming speed, where the other glides along to the depths on an angled path, the distant motion still visible with the bioluminescence it stirs up along it’s path. It is massive beyond anything she's seen before, more like a piece of geography than a living organism.

And all along its wake, hundreds of bodies spill forth from inside.

What a strange miracle this is. But she’s not one to refuse God’s Love. And if the beings of the burning world travel in huge schools with their behemoth, the peculiar notion that the little being within her might be lonely occurs to her. …Wow, she’s REALLY drunk.

Still, she eats three more of the burning beings before her guts are almost bursting with fullness, a bizarre sensation she’d only heard about from those who had been fortunate enough to feast on the fallen body of a fire-breather and had to leave the excess to the crawling beings of the bottom. So too, does she watch more bodies descend deep into the night as she returns to her world of darkness and song, the behemoth’s terrible screams now silent with rest, and the choir of the night rejoicing in this miracle.

---

Two miles above the revelry of God’s Favorite Greenland Shark, the survivors of the Titanic prayed into the endless night for a miracle, unaware it had already been granted.

[tacticaldiary]

Reader joining 141 for a mission and Simon is not having it and is pissed at price for calling them and all of the other guys are confused about why ghost is so upset till they find out reader is his wife after the mission

Maybe reader got hurt and ghost goes off on price

The Price Of A Secret

Pairing: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Reader

Genre: Hurt/Comfort

"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive-"

"This is different." He grits out.

"And why's that?"

"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the table. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.

A/N: It's 2:45am and I have no energy to proofread caution advised-

Masterlist

The moment the picture of the intelligence officer joining them flashes on the screen, Ghost puts his foot down.

"She's not coming."

Everyone in the room pauses, Price staring at Ghost mid sentence. It's the usual 141, and then it's her. Sitting there with a mildly frustrated look, refusing to look at him because she should have known he'd try to pull some shit like this.

"Why not?" Price folds his arm, narrowing his eyes. "Is there an issue, Lieutenant?"

She was supposed to work from the inside, drawing out data and cracking through defences that they then passed on to people like the 141. An integral part of the process of running the whole task force, but not once was she involved in hands-on field work.

It's not that she's incompetent. No, not at all. Ghost would have his head bit off if he even remotely implied that because it simply isn't true. She got the top scores in almost every part of her training exercises, and yet she chose the intelligence part of the military to serve in. His wife was as competent as they got.

His wife.

"This is a covert operation, the fewer people the better." That's what he goes with. Not because his heart picks up at the thought of her being anywhere near what they deal with every day.

"I won't have the range I need to retrieve the data from their servers if I'm not close to them." She speaks up, and their eyes meet from across the room.

His determined, hers resolute.

Sometimes he really hated that she was so fucking stubborn. It had been the same stubbornness that cracked down the iron grip he'd had on the walls in his mind and around his heart, but if that stubbornness was what got her killed Simon would give up this joy in a heartbeat.

He'd do it for her if it meant she kept on living.

"This isn't up for discussion, Ghost." Price states, "She's part of this operation on my authority."

"Price-"

"End of discussion. You settle whatever you have going on outside this room." And fuck, he can't refute a direct order like that, can he?

Ghost sees her release a long exhale, and he knows he won't share such a relief until this damn operation was over and done with.

                                  · · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Her body is so limp it scares the ever-loving shit out of him.

Ghost grips her so tight it's as if he himself is the only thing tethering her soul to her body, boots thumping hard against the muddy ground as they retreat back to their extraction point, data successfully retrieved.

Successfully, not smoothly.

The plan was simple. They'd flank the building while she camped out near the edge of the woods, retrieving the intel they needed. A couple of fuckers slipped out of the building and went straight for her.

Ghost's stomach turns when he remembers how he found the scene. She wasn't answering through her comms, but he knew he wasn't able to leave his position until the building was secure.

Waiting felt like an eternity, he could feel Soap send troubled glances in his direction at the way Ghost was unusually silent and more brutal than.

When the building was finally secure, they'd gone to reunite with her position and found three men dead, bloody seeping into the ground in a crimson mess. The last one standing hovered over her unconscious form, over his wife with a knife raised ready to slit her thought.

The only thought Ghost had as he ripped the man away with his hands was that he was going to take the one good thing in his life away, and he would not let that happen. Not her. Not like this.

"Bleeding wound to the head, unconscious but still breathing!" Gaz called out while Ghost shoved the man's own knife into his throat. Tossing the gurgling body aside like a ragdoll, he's immediately by her side, assessing before carefully lifting her up in his arms.

It's the most emotion Ghost has ever expressed in front of the others, but he couldn't give a fuck about the looks or the questions right now. Her heartbeat against him settled him the slightest bit with the reassurance that she was alive.

Angry does not begin to describe what itches under Ghost's skin as they scramble into their exfil airship.

"Medic!" He barks the second they lift off. Setting her down, he brushes the bloody strands of her hair away from her face.

Despite the urge to stay by her side, the medic gingerly requests for him to take a step back so he could work. Ghost obliges but his eyes never leave her face.

He's painfully aware of his wedding ring pressing against his chest, strung onto a chain long enough to be tucked under his uniform. A matching one to her own.

Nobody speaks.

Perhaps they recognise the anger washing off of Ghost in waves, because if they'd just bloody listened to him, she wouldn't be laying there with a head wound.

The atmosphere is heavy and sombre. Even Soap keeps his mouth shut, too confused by the outward, uncharacteristic way Ghost was acting to make fun of it.

It's only when the medic announces she's stable that the suffocating knot in Ghost's chest loosens. There's audible relief from everyone in the place.

"Bloody hell." Price breathes, and something in Ghost snaps.

"I told you to dismiss her from the op." He says coldly, turning to the man.

"We got what we needed, son." He sighs, deep and tired, and part of Ghost understands that this was their life. But he's too worked up to care.

"At a fucking cost."

"People get injured on the job, Ghost." Gaz tries to defuse the situation. "She's alive, that's all that matters. Nothing permanent, yeah?" He glances at the medic, who confirms with a nod before slipping away.

"This is different." Ghost grits out.

"Why's that?"

"Because that's my wife!" He hisses, slamming his fist onto the metallic walls. It strikes them harder than if he were to have yelled it at them.

How long had it taken for Ghost-...no, for Simon to let someone crack open his defences until he was coaxed out and allowed himself to love again? Four years they've been married, and four years he's kept it a secret.

It's not that he doesn't trust his team. He trusts them with his life, would lay his own down for Johnny, Gaz, and Price any day.

But this? This was bigger than him, she was the most precious thing that had ever happened to him, and the safest way to preserve that was the keep it on a need-to-know basis.

She'd agreed with him, of course. In that soft, patient way she always has with him. She'd seen the paranoia in him, recognised that he needed this one thing for himself, and she'd been more than happy to oblige.

What was outside validation about her relationship worth when she got to crawl into his arms at the end of the day? Be granted the pleasure that comes with being loved by someone as protective, intelligent, and sharp as Simon Riley? She adores all of him, even the jagged pieces that cut into her from time to time, because he's always there to take care of her afterwards.

"She's my wife." He repeats quieter, sitting back down. Exhaustion lines the slope of his shoulder's dark circles well present under his mask.

"You're married." Soap is the first to speak, incredulously. "You? Ghost? You're married?" His eyes flicker down to Ghost's left hand, and then to Gaz and Price who look equally as surprised. "I mean, congratulations?" He trails off, knowing it's not really the situation to celebrate.

"Thanks." A tired, small voice has everyone's attention back onto the figure on the bed. Ghost is on his feet in moments, by her bedside. "It'll be five years in...what, a month?" She cracks an eye open, giving Simon a tired, smile.

"Two months." He corrects with a mutter, and Johnny looks like he might just collapse. "Sitrep?"

"We're not on the field anymore." She groans, pushing herself to sit up. Ghost's hands fly to her immediately, helping her sit up. At his blank, insistent stare, she relents with a deep sigh. "My head's killing me but other than that just a few scrapes and bruises." Her hand travels down to grab his at her shoulder, squeezing briefly.

"I'm alright." Her voice turns into something soft and reassuring, and it's only then that a quiet, shuddering breath comes out of Simon's lungs. "I think I'll sit to working from the inside though." She jokes weakly. "Leave the dirtier work to you brutes."

It lightens the mood as intended, eliciting a snort from Gaz. "Yes, ma'am."

He'd make sure she got checked out properly when they landed, but for now he takes his place sitting beside her. The others fall into a hushed conversation after a while, but he makes no move to join them.

A warm hand intertwines with his, hidden beneath the bulk of their combined gear.

"I'm alright, Simon." She mumbles, just loud enough for him to hear.

Simon squeezes her hand in response. "Fucking hell, love." He breathes.

And it's enough to convey everything he's thinking. Humming, she tips her head against his shoulder and lets her eyes slip shut. The warmth of his body, even through the tang of copper is enough of a familiar comfort to drain the tension from her body.

She's fast asleep against his shoulder a minute later, and the devil himself couldn't make Simon move lest he wake her now.

He wasn't a publicly affectionate person by any means...but he trusted his team enough for this right now.

Letting his own head press against the metal wall behind them, his eyes shift to meet Price's. A softer, knowing look from the Captain is all he needs to hook his chin over her head and turn his attention outside the small window.

And if he counts her breathing while she sleeps for his own peace of mind? Well, that's no one's business but his.

Reblog, Like and Comment!

(10/09/2023)

[residenthughes]

persuasion - jack hughes

pairing: jack hughes x fem reader

word count: 5.7k

tags/warnings: college/university au, fluff, slight angst?, fratboy! jack (he's sweet in this, dw), mentions of alcohol/drinking, no mention of y/n

summary: you get a bit more than you bargained for when paired up with all-american hockey star, jack hughes.

notes: hi. it's been a (long) while since i've posted on here. not to mention, i'm back writing about someone a bit different 😭 but i've recently gotten into the nhl and this fic is the result of me drunkenly coming across this photo a few days ago. despite the changes on this blog, i hope this post finds you well and that you enjoy this (poor) attempt of me getting back into writing. much love <3

The end of the semester couldn’t have come sooner. Swapped with what was possibly the busiest you’ve ever been, the sweet relief after submitting your last assignment was unparalleled and lulled you to a much deserved slumber, only to be awoken by a barrage of messages pinging from your bedside table. Disgruntled, your arm extends in search of your phone, groaning into your damp pillow as you blink away the tired film coating your eyes and read the messages from your best friend.

frat house party tonight, presence is mandatory! 

all the girlies are onboard, your sexy ass better be ready by 9!

Another groan emits from you, exhaustion seeping through your bones at the mere mention of doing something else besides rotting in bed. You’re about to type some incoherent excuse, but your best friend beats you to it.

apparently, z and his guys are going. 

chances are jack’s there too.

There’s a messy stutter in your chest upon reading the message and suddenly, you’re more awake than before as you gingerly sit yourself up in your bed. Of course, she’d mention he was going just to convince you further. You weren’t even aware she knew of your crush. Considering you hadn’t mentioned him much besides when asked, his name being referenced feels more intrusive than it should be. Then again, as perceptive as she is, there was no denying the fact.

Jack and yourself had worked on a group project earlier in the semester, which is how the two of you had crossed paths. Upon hearing of the task at hand, you couldn’t help but let out a sigh because you were never a fan of working with others you didn’t know, but considering none of your friends took your class, it seemed like the perfect opportunity to get to know others and build your social circle. When your assigned group had got together towards the end of the lecture to discuss formalities and such, you hadn’t expected the whirlwind that was to come in the presence of a sandy brunette haired boy. 

Jack is as easy-going as he is charming. Cracks a couple jokes and suddenly, all the ice isolating your group dissolves to water and there are constant hums of conversation bouncing off every member of your group. He’s nice too, considerate of everyone’s schedule and what tasks they felt confident in completing, never uttering a word of complaint unless warranted. It’s interesting, he’s interesting, you think to yourself. Perhaps due to the fact that since he’d revealed himself to be in a frat, you had some preconceived notions as to what his personality would be like and maybe at times, he’d fit that stereotype to a tee, there were other times he’d stray away from it completely and leave you curious as ever.

Peculiar is what you’d describe those few weeks to be, your interest gravitating towards any relation to Jack. Heart beating as you walked past your university’s ice arena, knowing he practically lived on the ice beyond his time in class. Eyes lighting up when he texted in the group chat, mental fuzziness plaguing you every time you sat across from one another as you completed your portion of work in the university’s library. You’d be a fool to dismiss the budding attraction you felt towards him, spinning your world round but also leaving you feeling so unsure of everything, yourself included. There’s no scarcity of girls who like him, it proved to be difficult resisting the All-American hockey star with looks to match. However, taking into account the sheer volume of attention directed his way everyday, your lingering glances didn’t seem to be much more significant. So, one-sided this crush remains to you, storing away the quiet memories of shared laughs and time spent together in a place close to your heart. 

That was until he invited you to his game, shortly after your project had been submitted for assessment. You wanted to go, you wanted to go so badly that you agonised over the decision for longer than necessary, but ultimately, as you laid awake that night, eyes blazing red with fatigue, doom scrolling to further delay your dreams, the evidence for your answer surfaced. It was nothing but a silly Instagram post from one of his friends, Trevor Zegras, the boyfriend to one of your friends. A collection of typical photos: the boys, hockey and more of the antics they got to. It’s in the last slide where in the background of a recent football game is none other than Jack, in all his handsome glory, grinning ear to ear as a girl envelopes him in a hug that feels too intimate to be seen. Embarrassment runs your skin hot and jealousy leaves a bitter taste in your mouth, the thought of you entertaining anything more than platonic with Jack a pipedream at best. Naturally, there can be so many explanations for the photo, but what rings true is that you’ve made yourself vulnerable to heartbreak, which is nowhere to be found on your agenda. So, you call it a night, turning off your phone and hoping to put the crush behind you come tomorrow.

And, it works for a bit. Jack doesn’t text you further and you don’t run into him on campus. Summer soon approaches and the last few days before your break have you buzzing with excitement for all the plans you have lined up. Your world doesn’t hinge on every interaction you have with Jack and your mind is freed from the shackles of mulling over every detail in said interaction. It’s liberating and you’d like to keep it that way. A fleeting crush, you reason, all said and done with. A mantra you repeat to yourself as you respond back to your best friend, gleaming as you and your group chat discuss outfits options and pinterest inspired makeup looks. 

-

There’s nothing better than being with your girls, you’re reminded, as the buzzing excitement never fizzles as the night stretches on. Controlled chaos dominates the night as you pack into one friend’s rooms to get ready together, helping each other with eyelash extensions and annoying back zippers. Someone makes the suggestion to drop by the campus bar for a drink or two, just to ease the nerves, and it turns out to be a great idea because by the time you stumble out of the bar and towards the frat house, the party’s in full swing. 

Trashed lawn and red cup galore, the music somehow manages to reach outside the house with hoards of people dotted around and inside the house. With the merry buzz you’ve got from the bar, confidence details your movements as you lead your friends with clasped hands into the packed house, mumbling a thousand ‘sorry’s as you trample on through the crowded hallways to find yourselves in one (?) of the living rooms. 

Hands suddenly grasp at yours and you’re thrown into a fit of giggles as your friends tangle themselves up in a messy but fun dance. You follow suit, fully relishing in the euphoria of the night and the found family you have in these girls as you dance and chatter until you have no choice to venture into the kitchen for a refreshment. 

Surprisingly, the kitchen is vacant as you push through towards its door you were directed to, scanning the room amongst belongings to find some mixer for your helping of vodka stashed away in your purse. Despite your better judgement, you resort to apprehensively searching through cupboards on your tippy toes in search for mixer and as you’re about to open the last cupboard, the kitchen door opens. 

“Looking for something?”

Goosebumps arise and your heart stills. You know that voice like the back of your hand, the same voice that echoes in the back of your mind and whispers sweet nothings in your ear when you dream. The fact that he’s so ingrained in your memory makes you curse at yourself, teeth gnawing on the plumpiness of your bottom lip as you attempt to recollect your racing thoughts. With a quiet breath, you sink back from your elevated posture and turn towards the source of the voice, blinking like a deer caught in the headlights. 

It’s comical how such a simple sight renders you a loss for words. In the doorway of the large kitchen stands Jack, shoulder and head leaning against the doorframe as he looks at you with an expectant look and a cheeky grin to match. His legs are crossed at the ankles and he’s holding a beer, but he’s got this pearl white long sleeved polo on with washed out jeans and a black snapback to top it all off. The outfit in itself is so simple and yet, here you are, heart being sent into overdrive as the effortless combo drives you wild. Sets your skin alight and conjures up electricity that pulses through you like wildfire.

“Lemonade,” you gracefully croak out, gesturing towards your empty red cup. “I didn’t bring much to mix my drink with.”

“Here, I’ll help you with that,” he reassures you, bouncing off the door frame as he draws closer to you, your feet absently shifting a few steps backwards. “No need to back up. I don’t bite, you know?”

You huff at the comment, realising how foolish his mere presence makes you and will yourself to relax, shoulders easing down from your ears as you watch Jack search through the cupboards. It doesn’t take him long to find what he’s looking for, pulling out a large bottle of lemonade that coasts against the marble of the countertop. 

“Feel free to use as much as you like, I never usually have this myself anyways.” insists Jack, turning himself around with his back against the countertop, arms crossed his chest with a peering eye directed to you. 

“How thoughtful of you.” you jester as a brief chuckle is shared between the two of you, the loud thumps of heavy bass music sounding from beyond the kitchen door as silence settles between the two of you. 

“It’s been a while, how’ve you been?” he asks, undivided attention focused on you as you pour the last of the lemonade. If not for the embarrassment of spilling your drink in front of him, the unsolicited awareness he’s currently given you would have resulted in exactly that, so you stop yourself and give him a convincing smile.

“I’ve been good, thanks. It’s the end of the academic year, I have no more complaints,” you muse, bringing the cup to your lips as you peer over the rim to look at Jack, his long lashes fluttering as his focus remains you. Your heartbeat picks up its pace. “What about you? Frozen four’s a big deal, but winning the championship is even bigger.”

Jack gives a lighthearted laugh, smugness adjusting his posture as his shoulders move back and his chest puffs out. Meanwhile, he gives this half shrug and grin that has heat gravitating towards the apples of your cheeks. It’s one of the things you like about Jack, how confident and sure of himself he is without it being overbearing and unappealing. It feels assuring, not having to dim your own light for the sake of his own comfort. 

“Yeah, that was nuts, I can’t lie. We had a really good run and I think our efforts really showed for themselves in that case,” Jack responds, taking a swig of his beer. “Christ, I sound like I’m talking to the media or something.”

“Well, consider this practice for when you join Jersey in the future,” you simper, snickering as you take a sip of your own drink. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty of fun speaking to the media.”

He gives an eyeroll, amusement prominent in the way his eyes twinkle and you can't help but laugh more. “So you say. How did you even know about Jersey?”

Your laugh is cut short, ice cold realisation washing over you like a bad hangover as his words hang in the air like a gauntlet waiting for its descent. Of course, this was nothing to be caught off-guard by considering how much your university boasts about how Jack, amongst other talented players, were drafted before committing to your university. However, the painful memory of you awake one late night doesn’t escape you, said night spent hesitantly typing his name into Google to come across all the info you knew to confirm how great of a hockey player he was. You feel shameful even looking him in the eyes right now.

So, your eyes stray from him, the somewhat sticky floor being the source of all your interest. “Who doesn’t know? Our uni does a good job of reminding us of everyone that’s been drafted.” 

You decide to spare a glance at Jack, taking in how a pinkish hue decorates the surface of his cheeks as his lone hand goes to scratch the back of his neck. The timidity that clouds his movement evokes a simper out of you, one that you direct into your cup, its contents rapidly draining under the weight of your continued conversation.

“Oh, man. Maybe, I shouldn’t have asked that,” he jokes, smile all pearly white and heart fluttering. “Can’t blame a guy for being nervous, no?”

“Nerv-”

Suddenly, the kitchen door bursts open and a flood of drunken students come barrelling in, hollering as their drinks splash to the floor and chaos ensues. You’re just as confused at their unexpected appearance as you are at the comment Jack made, but before you have a chance to ponder further, a warm hand settles against the small of your back followed by the gentle waft of Jack’s aftershave, a mixture sea salt with a hint of lavender and spicy nutmeg. It takes everything in you for your knees not to buckle.

“Let’s head out back.” he whispers, breath fanning over your neck as his fingertips ignite fire against your skin. 

Abruptly, you clear your throat, mindlessly nodding along as you blindly follow him out back, Jack’s larger build serving as a shield of sorts as he seamlessly navigates his way through the hordes of students. He does so with your hand in his and as much as your internal monologue unleashes panicked squeals at the contact, you revel in his touch - calloused hands that hold yours like porcelain, warm hands that match together like the universe and all its stars. 

A cool breeze blankets your skin and your focus shifts from your inner thoughts, taking in the generous and lush green outdoor space with sparse camping chairs circling a bonfire and a large tree further up ahead draped in fairy lights. There’s some people here too, but the atmosphere is a 180 from the mayhem inside, hushed light-hearted conversations exchanged beside the lit bonfire with the faint smell of weed filtering through the crisp air. The dazzling fairy lights blind you into bumping into Jack’s back, apologising with a laugh before he collapses onto the daisy white hammock before you. 

You follow suit with the carefree attitude Jack gives you, but you miscalculate horrendously because you don’t fall into the place beside your crush, but into his lap. Shock runs through your veins like ice as your bewilderment freezes you in place, mouth gaping open as you turn to face Jack in absolute horror. He seems to fare better with the unexpected contact, enlarged azure eyes showing his awe and yet his hands are in all the right places - supporting your waist as your weightless body struggles to hold its own. 

“I’m-“ the hairs on your neck are standing and you’re close to crying, the heat of your mortification burning your body hot like a furnace. “-so sorry. I didn’t-I didn’t even-“

“Relax, you’re good,” the chill of his beer against your skin sends a shiver down your spine, the feeling intensifying by the thousands as Jack’s thumb gives your exposed skin the smallest caress. You’re sure you’re the personification of shock at how every inch of your features displays pure alarm. “Unless this was your plan?”

You’re shoving him before your brain is able to comprehend its commands, your flustered state leaping out of his lap and collapsing back alongside him this time, hands clasped over your eyes as you take the time to maybe calm down. “What frat house even has a hammock anyways?”

“Rachel - Z’s girl - thought it’d be a nice touch for the garden,” you hear Jack mumble, but you’re too busy nursing your ego to fully immerse in conversation. “You’re friends with her, right? You guys came in together.” 

“Keeping an eye out for me, Hughes?” 

Apparently, your ego isn’t as bruised to make such a comment, a smirk finding itself onto the surface of your face as you’ve yet to remove your hand from your vision.

“It’s hard to keep my eyes off you.” 

You freeze in place, the heaviness in your stomach incomparable with the hammering of your heart against your chest as your brain picks apart Jack’s comment at the speed of light. None of the comments Jack has made throughout your entire conversation have gone over your head, the flirty undertones as clear as day. He wasn’t as up front with his compliments when you two first started working together, the furthest compliment he’d given denoting how nice you looked despite rolling out of bed twenty minutes beforehand. His directness makes your eyebrows furrow, or rather his intentions have you looking around as if you could find some answers. Perhaps this is how Jack is at parties - all pleasant with a careful flirtation that gradually pulls you inwards. Or maybe, this simply is the case of him showing his interest in you. The concept is not lost on you, but there is still apprehension that manifests within you, for reasons you are yet to discover.

You’re about to say something, your parted lips issuing a single incoherent syllable that dissolves on your tongue when the faint murmur of country music from a group of guys up ahead takes your notice, Jack’s nose scrunching with delight as he exclaims, “Ah, what a banger.”

Your eyebrow quirks upwards, merriment spreading against your features. “I never pegged you as the country type.” 

“Well, I’m not a Drake guy, I’ll tell you that much.” Jack shifts in his seat, extending his arm out behind your back. 

“So, a belieber then?” you jester, taunting eyebrows raised as you can’t keep your snicker to yourself when you watch Jack roll his eyes with the same grin.

“If that makes you happy, then yeah,” Jack reasons nonchalantly, whereas you make a pathetic attempt at stopping the stammer in your chest. “But no, that’s pretty much all that plays when my brothers and I wakesurf in the summer, unless Z is on the aux. Then, he and Quinn have a go at each other for it.”

Chuckles emit from your lips as you picture the image of a sunny summer day out on a boat, Jack’s older brother, Quinn, and Trevor becoming enemies of silence as they bicker over music choices. A warm fuzziness embraces you, the image placing you right beside Jack as laughter bubbles between the two of you whilst Luke wakesurfs in the background. It’s a honeyed depiction, all rose-tinted and for you to hold close to your heart along with other fantasies you allow yourself to entertain.

“We’re planning on going back to our summer house upstate where we do loads of other stuff,” Jack trails off, his fingers tapping against the glass of his bottle as you two share a look between each other. His eyes flicker downwards almost immediately, the top of his ears crimsoning. “You should stop by sometime. It’d be good to see you over the summer.”

For someone as confident as Jack, these rare glimpses of timidity demonstrate themselves as a pure anomaly. So, you can imagine your surprise at not only his incredibly generous offer but also his sheepish demeanour; gaze never aligning with yours as you feel his fingers fiddle with the material of the hammock behind your back. The sight enamours you, a rush of endearment washing over you as you lean into the feeling, not bothering to hide the wide smile growing across the expanse of your face. 

If this is what awaits you at their summer house, you’re already packed and ready to go.

“I could be persuaded.” Jack’s already rolling his eyes and against his better judgement, he finds himself chuckling with you too. 

When your amusement blends into the night sky, Jack's eyelids fall halfway, gaze steady as he mirrors your prior smirk that’s all but gone with the quiet wind. “And, what would that involve?” 

A moment is shared between the two of you. Burning bright like a star and erupting fireworks in your fingertips as your eyes linger on one another longer than explanatory. The landscape of his dotted moles capture your attention first, your sight leading itself to the galaxy-like twinkle dazzling in the ocean blue of his eyes. It’s so precious, this point in time - so delicate and intimate that it feels like a secret, whispers of infatuation pulling you together by their invisible strings as Jack’s extended arm circles your shoulders. You lean in, the temptation of his lips calling your name. Earlier restlessness ceases to exist as your movements read as second nature, the bruising of your chest accompanying the fuzziness that dances in your stomach as Jack leans into too.

“Yo, Jack!”

The moment is all but gone, burst like a bubble as both your heads turn in the direction of the voice, spying one of Jack’s friends, Cole, standing on the porch with a hand clasped around his mouth.

“Get your ass in here, we’re playing Jenga!”

A string of unpleasantries filter through Jack’s mouth in the form of a murmur, remnants of your interrupted kiss lingering as Jack gives your shoulder a gentle squeeze and gives you the most apologetic look you’ve ever seen. Puppy eyes and pouty lips, an image you lock away in your heart forever. 

“Did you wanna head in?” He gives you the choice, head tilted to the side as he studies your expression whilst you ponder the inquiry.

The almost kiss is something to behold and if this has occurred weeks prior amidst the intensity of your crush, you would have begged and pleaded to stay, hinging on the hopes of whatever this is being fabricated once again to fulfil your fondness dreams. But, this feels different. It feels sold, as opposed to balancing upon shaky possibilities. This is undeniable, a point in time that is infinite and kissed upon by destiny. A junction you can return to time and time again.

“Yeah, I’m sure my friends are looking for me anyways,” you unravel yourself from Jack’s loose grip, hoisting yourself up before you turn to face him with a soft beam. His expression reads unsure, gaze scattered before he looks upwards before your sneakers knock against his impossibly white Air Forces. You nod towards the house, the giddiness building within you exceptional as your hand extends out to meet his. “Let’s head in together?”

It comes out more of a question than a statement, but you could care less when Jack gives you that soft smile that’s only reserved for you, grabbing a hold of your hand after he brings himself off the hammock before you proceed to return back to the party.

The bustling atmosphere appears to have maintained itself in your absence, hundreds of conversations mixing in with the booming sounds of some bass heavy hip hop song. You nod your head to the beat, grinning when you see familiar faces in the crowd as you trail behind Jack yet again, following him in promise of your friends who Cole had mentioned joined their group’s game of Jenga. You make do with getting down the stairs of the basement without tumbling due to their frigid nature, face instantly lighting up as you catch sight of your friends, collapsing into a fit of excited hugs and shared giggles as you all catch up on the events of the party.

Amidst all the dialogue, some of which you’re assuming Jack’s sorority brothers and friends make quick work of getting the bare room ready, arranging beers for everyone as the box of Jenga is brought out. The weight of concentrated eyes seers into your goosebump-riddled skin and by the time you volunteer to assemble the Jenga tower, you’re more than aware of Jack’s attention on you. Even with how overflowing the confidence you possessed was as you left the back garden, the heat of his gaze reduces you to a sheepish mess, antsy hands uncertain of their movements as you attempt to achieve some standard of normalcy, your eyes avoiding his. It’s when your hands accidentally touch that you cannot avoid it much longer, peering through clumpy eyelashes with a flush that feels as vivid as painted glass. 

A lone corner of his lips inclines, his look of allurement tangled with blatant attraction enough to make you knock over some of the Jenga pieces. A deep chorus of disapproving sounds holler at your actions, your sheepishness fended off by the laughter amongst you and Jack as you continue to assemble the tower again, this serving as the last of your communication before the Jenga game commences.

Every Jenga piece taken out of the tower involves a dare that has laughter erupting from the pits of your stomach or mouth gaping open at the gull others possess whilst intoxicated. With the muffled sounds of the music upstairs and endless talk in the room, merriment captures your heart in a gentle squeeze as the dares carry on, the harmless fun quickly becoming one of your favourite memories in recent times.

It’s your turn to go and the frat guys are already teasing you with endearing nicknames, putting a smile on your face as your hands steady to pull out a tricky Jenga piece with ease. Wooden block in hand, your line of vision skims the chicken scratch of a dare with an effortless glee that’s swiftly replaced with plentiful surprise.

“What does it say?!’ exclaims Trevor, the anticipation in his voice evident as he squeals his words.

You’re reducing to your meek self again, not daring to look upwards as you enunciate your words to aid your own comprehension. “Spend seven minutes in heaven with the player across from you.”

You’re unsure whether the universe has some really good jokes up their sleeve or this is just fate to begin with because when you lift your head up, already knowing, Jack’s amused facial expression speaks for itself.  

Hollers and cheers fill the room, enough pandemonium to make you crimson as you stumble to your feet, casting a peek at your best friend with a cross between disbelief and delight. Your best friend, the same one that texted you about Jack’s presence at the party tonight, bawls her hand into a tight fist, bringing it to her chest as a sign of victory with mischief painted all over her. The ridiculousness of this farce eliminates you from ruminating about what awaits you in the closet a mere metres away. The guy most pleased with the situation opens the closet door, a few brooms pushed back into the compact space that is surprisingly clean with no cobwebs or dust in sight.

“All clean and ready for you two lovebirds,” Trevor grins with the keenness of a kid in a candy store, pushing back his long locks of hair as he sends a wink your way. “Don’t get too carried away in there, you’ve only got seven minutes.”

Jack says something in reply to Trevor’s cheeky comment but you’re too preoccupied by your own thoughts, feet carrying you to the fate of your Jenga dare as the door closes and darkness shrouds you. 

It’s silent for a minute, nothing but soft breaths and dulled whispers from outside the closet door. The closet is dangerously compact, your back up against the wall not sparing you from establishing your own personal space, the slightest shift of your shoes inevitably going to knock against Jack’s. Outside in the back garden feels so far away now, slipping through your hands as if sand with the daunting weight of unsaid expectations folding your arms and clearing a stubborn croak in your throat.

As the seconds tick on and no communication is shared, the everlasting laps you round around your mind exhaust you for the last time and you decide to face whatever this is head on, a start being making eye contact with the man that makes it the hardest thing in the world. However, with the tiniest sliver of dimmed light peaking through underneath the closet door, you can see him. Jack, in all his glory - soft and boyish, all charming in nature. The round pool blue of his eyes and the moles that dot his skin like constellations. It’s a rush of emotions, all raw and bare, to overwhelm and comfort you, with the easiness of his smile that directs your way and warms your heart like no other.

“We don’t have to do anything in here, I’d never do anything to make you uncomfortable,” Jack explains, his hand reaching to drag down one side of his face as his eyes cast away. “I hope you know that.”

This - you feel resolute in - establishing some sense of security in this room as you smile up at Jack. “The thought didn’t even cross my mind.” 

There’s a double meaning in your words and you don’t bother to correct yourself, reading in between the lines cementing itself as your favourite pastime. But, Jack knows and so do you. Perhaps you knew all along that every nook and cranny in your heart was specially reserved for Jack and no other could do. Maybe, you spent so much time in your head because this unexplored territory felt like the birth of the universe, so big and beautiful that it had more questions than answers. A forbidden fruit of sorts - a sweet mirage that the more you pulled away, gravity pulled you right back. A place where you belonged - with him in this moment forever sealed between the two of you.

Jack offers a smile in the wake of your thoughts, timid yet teasing in nature and you can’t resist, in the almost dark of the closet, grin too because this was sealed from the very beginning. Alone with infamous fratboy Jack Hughes, under some sort of awkward pretence bringing you together because you let your fears get the best of you, a stark contrast to what they are now - engulfed in thoughts, feelings of your lips against his and how this charade will come to a close, the building tension boiling till it overflows

“Hey-” you both say at the same time, silencing as you chuckle at the unison you unite in.

“Ladies first.”

“I’m more interested in what you have to say.” 

Because there’s no doubt in your mind he’ll steal the words right out of your mouth, the mere thought of those words escaping his lips the centre of all your desires.

He pauses, eyes searching yours for confirmation which presents itself in the toothy grin he struggles not to reflect, canine sinking into the corner of his lips before he responds, “If you insist.”

Jack doesn’t miss a beat as he reaches for your hand, absently tracing patterns into the skin with a thoughtful hum that proceeds his words. 

“I think I’ve been a lot more straightforward with how I feel about you, but I’d like to chance to tell you right here that I’m interested in you, in being with you. To the point that the boys get sick of me yapping about it,” you chuckle at his comment, the humour of the joke distracting you from the flood of emotions that submerges you indefinitely. “I felt this way from the time we got assigned to work together. And, if maybe you had any reservations about us, I’d do whatever it takes so that they don’t exist because you’re what matters most and that will never change.”

No feeling can compare to this. It’s almost as if you’re experiencing the full spectrum of emotions for the first time, rejoicing in the sunshine Jack basks upon you in the wake of his confession. A mirage turned reality, the colours are bright and blinding and you’re so elated within yourself that you physically cannot do more than bring Jack’s hand to your cheek to kiss his palm. A confirmation that needs no words. 

The warmth of his hand against your cheek melts you into his skin, eyelids falling shut as you revel in the tender caresses of his thumb, of his love and the unspoken words between you. A graze against your throat has your eyes fluttering open, lips parted as Jack secures his hand gently against the nape of your neck. A soft inhale escapes you as his thumb traces the corner of your mouth, dilated pupils flickering between your own and your lips.

“Can I-”

“Yes, please.” 

A star is born at the centre of your lips as they fold over one another, blending seamlessly together as you move together in synchronised harmony. You taste the remnants of beer, inhale his musky cologne and send yourself flying into another universe as Jack holds you close for impact. All your brain knows to do is convey your sentiment tenfold, kissing him as if touch starved as your fingers thread through the curls of his hair. You commit this to memory - the slowness of the kiss, the scent of his apple shampoo and his curls around your fingers, the feathery feeling of your fluttering heart and the tenderness of your hearts beating as one. So sickeningly besotted with another that everything pales in comparison.

Reluctantly, you pull away from his soft lips when the shared oxygen between you two vanishes, eyes slow to open but ultimately capturing the part of Jack’s rouge lips that quiver in your wake, his gaze meeting yours moments later. 

You kiss him again for good measure.

“Alright, horny bastards. Time’s up!” Cole’s voice thunders from beyond the door.

Lips still pressed against Jack’s, you both smile into one last kiss, just as sweet as the last. Jack savours it for what it’s worth, forehead pressed against yours as you two stand together, bruised chests aching with all the yearning that can fit into your palms.

“Consider me persuaded.” 

[solbaby7]

Forbidden Fruit

cassian x rhysand’s sister!reader

[ part one ] you are currently reading part two

[ masterlist ]

warnings: smut babe, swearing, probs typos, underlying tones of some predator/prey kink but it’s super mild, fucking your brothers best friend, unprotected sex (lol don’t do that), minors DNI

summary: The General Commander of the Night Court finds himself falling for the High Lords precious little sister.

—

Cassian was a handsome male.

Not to be cocky or arrogant but he knew his face was appealing—knew that females lusted after him and his body in a way that had become utterly natural to him. Easy even.

This. You—were anything but easy.

You were complex. Intricate. Delicately woven by caring hands that added an abundance of brains and wit. You were enigmatic, drawing in even the most prickly of persons with your attentiveness. A balm that soothed over vicious wounds and angry scars. You were the sun and the moon and all the air between it; free and malleable, warm and waning. Cassian had never met a female so cunning—so effortlessly everything.

The awareness of such a rarity instills a certain pressure on the General’s shoulders. One that felt more stressful than war. Truly, he’d endured battles that hadn’t even begun to set his stomach in such a state of fluster.

It’s nerve-wracking, so much so that Cassian had already wrestled through half of his closet, changing shirt after shirt because one fit too tight which seemed a little too eager. But, the other shirt was too loose and make him look like he wasn’t putting in enough effort. Black shirts were too plain. Red was too out there. Blue didn’t feel like him and he’d be an idiot to arrive at a party wearing his leathers.

Wings ruffle in frustration, inky hair unbound and falling at his shoulders as he stares at the mess of cloth loitering his floors.

He nearly gives up, fully intent on marching over to wherever you were naked from the waist up before hazel eyes catch on the fluttering red ribbon in his peripheral.

A breath escapes him, the beginnings of a smile curling onto his face when taking in the outfit hanging from his door, perfectly tied with your taunting crimson beacon. Stress dissipates as if it never was there in the first place, the lingering notes of your scent stuck to the fabric and Cassian wastes no time putting in on, fingers still fastening buttons as he all but stumbles from his room.

He’s acutely aware of the house he lives in more than he’d ever been before, honeyed irises tracking every nook and cranny until he watches sight of fluttering red dangling from the chandelier. It’s too high to collect but once he notices it, the ribbon disappears in a puff of darkness before reappearing a few feet away.

Anticipation builds the further he follows, palms sweaty and heart hammering against his ribcage in excitement as he’s ushered to your wing of the mansion, led down a flight of stairs and nudged towards a hallway he doesn’t remember ever seeing before.

Your scent seeps through the cracks of thick set of double doors, ribbons righting the way closer and closer to you and Cassian’s heart echoes like a drum. Sweaty palms rub against his pants, tongue licking along the seam of dry lips as anticipation swells, throbs, aches its way to the surface until the handle of the door is all but ripped from the frame in his attempts to get to you.

It’s savage. Carnal. Animalistic in the way he trudges through the sea of bodies, the thick scent of mirthroot and tobacco, sweet perfumes and musky colognes, insence that burns strategically around the space—yet still through the thick of it all, he finds you.

Sweet almond. Warm vanilla and brown sugar. Pleasant in every way; captivating, luring him closer and closer with flashes of your face through the crowd. With sounds of your laughter cutting through the musics deep bass. With fluttering red ribbons that vanish before calloused hands can find comfort in the silky indulgences you offer.

Cassian knows he's nearly got you. Especially once you've figured out a way to slip from his view, the onyx curtain of your hair fading in and out; drifting between the fray, camouflaging in your surroundings--just as prey would once they realized they're being hunted. "Excuse me," He mutters, righting drunken bodies that stumble into him without so much as a glance. He's sturdy, stance firm and steps sure when following that tether; the gleaming line that thrums alive as if you've plucked it; strummed at it like those gifted muscians and their carefully tuned instruments.

Maybe its by chance but Cassian boyishly prays that its fate; a divine intervention that allows you to fall right in his arms, too occupied in checking your back to notice the male standing right in front of you until contact ensues. "Got you."

He's won.

He's finally got you in his grasp, eyes bright and lips soft. The slow blink you offer when you peer up at him is utterly feline and entirely too cozy; almost as if you'd purposefully wandered in his crosshairs.

Who cares? Cassian supposed the semantics off it all doesn't matter as long as your hands remain on his arms, the polished shine of your manicure the perfect contrast again the dark shades of his shirt. "Should do that part outside next time. Make it last a little longer." You muse, voice a little slower than usual and it takes little time for the Commander to acknowledge the tinge of liquor on your breath.

“Next time?” He barely notices the plethora of bodies around him, tunnel vision taking over until he’s too ensnared in your trap to acknowledge familiar faces if their features weren’t yours. Soft cheeks, sharp eyes. That inviting mouth and the pressure of the power that emits when you use it. Makes him want—makes him crave and yearn until he feels drunk on your touch and high on your aura.

“I said once you’ve found me you can have me.” It’s a dangerous game. Waving food at a starving animal. Making demands and delaying the inevitable just for the sake of having the desire to do so. His gaze is weighted; calculating, determining just the amount of time it’ll take to lure you away from wandering eyes long enough to get his paws on you. To sink his teeth in supple flesh and leave his mark; letting everyone know that you were his by right—after all, he’d earned it. “What are you waiting for?”

Desperation lives in the grip Cassian has on the back of your neck, leading you through the crowd and urging you towards the left—towards your personal quarters—neatly tucked away from others and yet the wards welcome Cassian without question. “You knew I’d find you.”

“I’d hoped,” You confess, shamelessly leaning into the possessive grip he has on you, the calloused bite of his fingertips applying just the right amount of pressure to the throbbing pulse below your ear. Your composure waivers; takes a second too long to refortify itself before facing the object of your desires. “Figured if you wanted to, you would.”

The door to your room closes behind him, lock twisting in place and he’s not subtle in the way he takes in the new space. Admires the way it’s filled with you. Lit with candles smell like you. The distant bass of the music just down the hall sounds just like your defiant soul. “Oh, I want to.”

“So does everybody else.” Goosebumps loiter Cassian’s skin from the soft drag of your lips against the curve of his ear. “But you, you can keep this a secret, can’t you?” Teeth tug at the lobe, a grin growing at the grip that tightens around your waist in retaliation. “Won’t go running your mouth to anyone who’ll listen after I’ve had my way with you?”

“No,” His knees all but buckle when you press a kiss to his neck, your pleased hum rumbling against his chest. “I won’t say anything.”

“Good boy,” A shiver rakes down his spine, nerves on overdrive by the gentle assault of your nails tickling along the expanse of Cassian’s bare arms, the thick of his muscles caging you in and knowingly or not, his hips press harder into yours at the crooned compliment. “And you found me so quickly,” Your cadence goes breathy, brows furrowing in pure delight when you feel the hard length of his cock straining through his pants. “Surely that deserves a reward?”

“Please.”

“Well, I did ask for you to hunt me.” He’s driven by the pure lust you emit, fueled by your hands tracing over every divot you could reach. “And predators usually eat the prey they catch.” His mouth salivates at the very suggestion, hundreds of memories of that same fantasy flashing behind the back of his kids with each blink.

Mischief burns to life in your eye, a beautifully cruel smirk plastering itself across your face as you use that nifty daemati ability of yours to skid past the crumbling barriers of Cassian’s mind; breaching the poorly guarded threshold.

And much to your delight, the only thing filling the General’s brain was you.

You, bent over the edge of the training ring with your tight training leathers shoved down to your ankles and Cassian’s face stuffed between your thighs. You, sitting on the kitchen counter in your nightgown, it’s silky material tucked between your teeth and a brick wall of an Illyrian absolutely feasting on your pussy. You, a million other ways, in a billion other places twisted into a trillion different positions.

“Eating seems to take up a lot of your thoughts.” A downright desperate groan rips free from Cassian’s throat when lean back on your elbows, knees dropping to the side and a glossy red manicure beams against your skin as a flimsy thong is exposed. “Lucky for you, a good host always provides for her guests and I’ve added something special to the menu tonight.” You don’t even have to ask—he just hoists your hips up to his face, hands cupping the fat of your thighs, fingers digging in the sensitive flesh and you swear you can feel his breath through the fabric.

“Fuck,” The swear drawls out, his honeyed stare fixated on the way you nudge your underthings to the side and present yourself to him with that fucking look in your eye and your teeth biting into your bottom lip. “You're pretty everywhere.”

Every carefully curated response melts into the puddle of arousal that the Night Courts General laps at like a godsdamned dog in heat. One massive arm rests at the soft part of your belly, large hands keeping a firm grip at your thigh to hold you open for him as his tongue eagerly explores the sodden mess of your sex. Each of your moans are rewarded with soft suckles to your clit, the flat of his tongue firmly tracing out the letters of him name over and over until your tugging at his hair—too push him away or shove him in closer, you can’t tell. “Cassian,” you whine, cupping at your breasts, tugging on pebbled nipples and fighting your soul to stay in your body when two thick fingers are eased into you.

So full. So full and thick and you're sure you've been scooped up by the tide and jostled about the sea when his fingers curl, blunt nails rubbing against the gooey spots inside you.

Pleased grunts vibrate against your bundle of nerves, sending sharp shocks of pleasure shooting up your spine; tugging and tugging and tugging at the coil buried in your gut. “That’s it,” Arousal drips from his chin, smearing at his cheeks and coating the soft hairs of his trim beard. “Say my name.”

“Cassian,” Hips buck up into his mouth, all but riding his tongue and fucking yourself on his fingers until the dam breaks and your release gushes on his hands, down his arms, dripping on the floor by his knees but he doesn’t stop for a second. “O-oh fuck!” Experimental scissoring of his fingers forces your eyes to squeeze shut, a blush burning across your cheeks and down your chest as he watches the way you clench around them, cunt sucking him back in for more. “Gods. Cass—Cassian.” You all but sob, brows furrowed and toes curling from the stretch; from the slight burn that bleeds into raw satisfaction.

“You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about you like this,” Thighs shake by his ears, sliding along the line of his shoulders and loosely hooking along the defined taper of his waist as he wastes little time in undoing the confines of dark breeches, separating the material just enough to show off the thick bulge straining against his boxers. “How long I’ve waited to finally get my hands on you.”

Except, you did.

Cassian was a loud thinker; projecting this perverted little fantasies like arrows cutting through the wind and they always hit their target. It was impossible to ignore, just like the leaky erection that’s revealed from thin fabric and tap, tap, tapped against the sloppy mess of your pussy.

“I’ve got an idea,” You barely get the syllables free, heart racing and blood pumping as the Illyrian slots between spread legs like he was made to fit there, melting into your warmth and exploring every inch you allow. “But, I tend not to believe things unless it’s showed to me.”

“I can do that.” He’s so gentle at first it makes you squirm, hips writhing for more already, cunt clenching on the fat tip of his prick as arousal leaks down your asscheeks. “Mother help me, you’re fucking soaked—this all for me?”

You’re already nodding along, muttering pleasant words wrapped in raw sugar and tied with rich satin bows in varying shades of crimson and ruby; deep vermillion and deep mahogany—fluttering symbols of the burly man before you and the victory he claims between supple thighs. “There’s more where it came from if you’d just stop teasing me.”

“My heiress is impatient,” Cassian teases, his voice deep and cock even deeper as inch after inch is fed to you. His gaze tracks your every response, marking the pout of your mouth and the furrow of your brow as he reaches places you hadn’t realized existed within you. Soft mewls accompany the bite of your nails in his biceps, the dark fan of your hair teasing down your shoulders as you watch where he begins and you end. “How rude of me to keep her waiting.”

Your stomach clenches with a burning need, pussy slick with fresh arousal when realizing Cass isn’t really addressing you but more so the mess between your legs.

Inch by inch is fed to you tortuously slow, whines and pleas shushed away by a deceptively comforting voice that promises to give you what you want if you just allow him his fun first. His cock splitting you open makes it easy to comply, lids lazy and arms flexing with the effort it takes to stay raised enough to watch. “Look at you,” Cassian mutters, thumbs spreading slick lips to watch the way your cunt gobbles him up. “Just made for me, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” It’s not nearly enough friction, the slow rock of his hips as he commits the sight of both of you together to memory. Every line and curve, every stretch mark and mole, scars and swirling tattoos of endless obsidian. The heave of your chest and the wrecked moan that escapes you when the pace picks up; when curious touches become confident caresses. “Cassian—please.”

He’s too far gone for words. Hips smacking against the back of your thighs as every ounce of his weight is put into making sure the shape of his cock carved its way into your womb. The firm way his lips slot over yours mid-thrust is everything; like finding water in the desert. Like sun on a cloudy day. Like being given food after enduring starvation.

His touch is claiming. The taste of him branded on your tongue, the shape of his teeth carved onto your shoulder. Warm palms drag along your curves, fingers leaving their mark on every inch; like those rabid dogs that piss on their territory. Throaty moans spur his possessive streak, fingers rubbing circles against a puffy clit just to chuckle at the involuntary jerk of your thighs and the slutty spit of your cunt.

Over and over and over again you’re brought to the precipice, that coil in your belly stretched taut until Cassian willed it to release. “That’s my girl,” He kisses into your neck, nosing at the slope of your shoulder and all but growls in pleasure at the smell of you and him combined. Together at last. A dream come true. A prophecy falling into place. Fate forged into fruition. “All mine,” He huffs into your hair, rhythm going sloppy and thrusts pressing just a touch deeper. “All of you belongs to me.”

It’s a horrible idea. Feeding this beast. Granting it exactly what it wants now and expecting it to wait patiently for its next meal. To go against its very nature to take and take and take until it had its fill.

Screw it. Consequences be damned when Cassian felt so good. When his want was so palpable with every orgasm he coaxed from you.

All yours; you agree in the way you allow him to suck marks along your collarbone. Every inch of me belongs to you; you comply with every demand he utters—with every rope of cum that paints your walls.

You almost think it’s over until your chin is gently pinched in his grasp, guiding you to face him, to look him in the eye while disheveled and sweaty; cheeks rosy and chest heaving as you caught your breath. “I could start fires with the way I feel for you.”

“I can handle the burn.”

[lowkeyremi]

Thank you for the meal! rengoku kyojuro x fem!reader

nsfw mdni!! not proofread sigh

Kyojuro Rengoku is always saying thank you before his meals. It's muscle memory for him to do so. He would never forget the kindness of someone who prepared him a savory mouth-watering meal. He also never knows if his next meal will end up being his last.

This translates to the bedroom when he's on his knees for you, admiring your pretty pussy. It's the first time you two are trying something like this. You were too scared to suggest it though, scared that he'd be disgusted by such a request. Even though you know he loves you to death and will protect you with his whole life.

----

He came to you about it actually. The way he talked about it so casually was beyond your understanding because you were a squirming mess the whole time.

"I was talking with Lady Shinobu. I wanted to know what would bring a woman the most pleasure. That's what she suggested." His honest eyes never leave yours, waiting for your input.

"Kyo, you're so thoughtful. I um... did want to try that... but I was scared you wouldn't want to." Embarrassment seeps through your body. This time it isn't because of his request to eat you out but embarrassment from the fact that you never asked him for such a silly reason.

-----

Now he's staring at your pussy in an animalistic way. "May I?" He asks so gently it makes you smile.

"Of course, Kyojuro." You grip the sheets bracing yourself for the sensation of his tongue exploring your pussy.

"Thank you for the food." He whispers his hands clasped together, his eyes closed tightly. Once he opens them his big hands find your thighs and pries them open.

"You're so wet and beautiful, honey." The slick on your thighs drips slowly down to your ass. Kyojuro leans in to meet your pussy. He explores your folds carefully and experimentally with his tongue. Your soft moans encourage him to continue.

Kyojuro is a professional at eating, so you expected nothing less when he said he'd eat you out. Somehow with a lack of experience, he still seems to know what he's doing.

His lips close around your clit and he sucks at it like there's no tomorrow. "Kyojuro- oh god that feels so good." You can feel him smile into your pussy.

He starts at a medium place flicking his tongue back and forth on your clit. The stimulation makes your lower half throb, heat pooling in your stomach already.

He switches to sucking your clit once more, making loud obnoxious smacking noises, along with "mmm's" and little moans. He's practically kissing your pussy at this point. His saliva drips down from your cunt to the crack of your ass.

He realizes you're enjoying this and he wants to make you cum using only his mouth. So, he applies more pressure with his tongue. "Oh!" Your mouth is open in an O shape, no other sound comes out. A certain sensation starts building up in the lower half of your body.

You attempt to close your legs, because this feeling is very new to you and it's overwhelming, but Kyojuro keeps you in place with his hands. They're sure to leave nice little marks on your thighs. He pushes his head even deeper as if he could become one with your body. He can feel the way your body responds to him, the heat of your body, your smooth skin, everything.

It becomes fairly obvious to your husband that you're close with the way you grip at his fiery strands of hair. Kyojuro slurps up your savory juices. His moans increase, the vibration of them sending you straight to your orgasm.

You drag out a long, "Oh- fuckkkkk." Your toes curl up and your back arches up like a cat. Without even missing a beat Kyojuro is lapping up all of your cum and other juices.

Your body goes limp. Every breath is rushed as you try to regain composure from the pleasure he has given you. Kyojuro detaches himself from your sweet cunt. A string of saliva keeps the two of you connected.  

"Thank you for the meal, my love." He looks so lewd sitting on his knees with your slick coating his chin.

"Of course, honey. Perhaps I can return the favor?" While giving you everything you need, your husband has forgotten about his own needs. He quickly looks down to see he has a raging boner in his pants. His cock throbs with need.

"If it's not too much trouble.." He mumbles quietly.

"It isn't. After everything you've done for me? This is just a small thank you."

A/N: idk if anyone really writes for this boy but I love him. If you want just imagine him as any of your favs that like to eat :)

[cr4yolaas]

blue spring — spaces inbetween

prev: wonder | masterlist | next: caving in

the scene is familiar to him, although it's a bit more crowded. he's already drifted apart from his group to avoid whatever antics they might pull off tonight, and he's beyond glad he did so early, because he doesn't want to imagine traversing through the museum without the peace he's obtained now.

each room is lined with different works, all of which from artists he doesn't quite recognize. there's an installation with different fruits, and he wonders if she's into that kind of artwork. eventually, he reaches the end of the building, and is met with an arrangement of all the canvases he carried twenty four hours ago.

she meets him at the entrance rather than the end of the hall this time with her hands clasped at her back, a sign of her anxiety. "i'm glad you came tonight," she murmurs, and it's barely audible over the hundreds of voices floating around them.

"i'm glad, too."

without question, she guides him throughout her exhibit. her explanation of each piece flows out naturally, and he's caught by surprise every time she explains the meaning of every image, the gruesome scenes and strong lines finally making sense. when they arrive at his favorite piece, she's silent, as if reminiscing over the memories she'd imbued within the paint. he doesn't pry for any explanation. all he can tell her is that he always preferred it over her other works. that, no matter how often he was exposed to her skill and talent, he always thought back to her two-headed lambs. when she cracks a smile at his remark, a sense of accomplishment washes over him. he can't fight the upturn of his own lips in response.

the moment is gentle, and as the seconds pass by slowly, he can't tear his eyes away from her, nor can she look away from him. he wonders if he would be here if she wasn't tutoring him, and as soon as the thought crosses his mind, he dispels it.

the call of her name from the other side of the room pulls her out of her trance. his eyes follow hers, and together, they see a man kageyama is unfamiliar with approaching them with an unsteady amount of haste. seemingly, his presence shakes her, given by the tension that seeps into her muscles and her twitching hand.

"you haven't been answering my calls," is the first thing the man says. she doesn't respond. "i don't see why you try so hard to leave me out of your life. there's no need for that attitude."

"please leave," she quips back sternly, her voice just barely wavering. her stare is harsh — harsher than he's ever seen — but it doesn't do much to mask the fear riddled in her bones. the guy inches closer to the pair, and on instinct, kageyama's fist meets his jaw, the impact smooth and clean. her head whips around to face him, her mouth agape in shock. it's an odd scene — her stepfather, who she had desperately tried not to see, hunched over in the middle of her exhibit, and the boy she'd grown a little too attached to standing beside her with red knuckles. there's a pause in the air before kageyama is the one keeling over, and while she doesn't quite see what happened, she can tell by the drops of crimson falling onto the concrete beneath him that it isn't good. before the staff can rush in, she finds herself dragging him away into whatever hallway she can find first, her grip on his wrist tight and her footsteps heavy.

she doesn't know what to say. she isn't sure if she's supposed to be upset at him, or glad he stuck up for her, but all she can focus on is the blood spilling out of his nostrils. endless apologies fall from his mouth while she struggles to find something to clog up his nose, and in a panicked haze, she slots her lips against his in an attempt to diminish his qualms. it's violent, and messy, and far from what she's used to doing. small, warm droplets fall onto her cheek, and she can't really find it in herself to be disgusted at the sensation.

"i'm sorry," she whispers when she pulls away. "i just needed you to calm down."

he doesn't know what to say, and neither does she. the ache in his chest rises again, and the dizziness returns to his head. when the bleeding finally stops (before she can find anything to seal it), he finds himself going in for another one, this time with his blistered palms holding onto her face and with more intent.

for the final time, she tells herself it isn't right for her to be attached. but when he kisses her again, all the rules she had constructed for herself dissolve, and maybe, she decides, she can be attached to him.

taglist: @mfcherry @eggyrocks @scxrcherr @yuminako @girlkissersco @diorzs @causenessus @kyo-kyo1 @k0z3me @shironagi @lovingvi @bunninio @hisfuture @lilchubbyyy @gsyche @ghostreader0307

[anniebeemine]

how stupid- s.r. x reader

warnings: cheating with each other, sexual content but nothing graphic

The room was bathed in the dim glow of a single lamp, casting soft shadows on the walls. Outside, the city was alive, the distant sounds of traffic and nightlife seeping through the cracks in the window. But inside the small hotel room, there was only silence—heavy, suffocating silence.

You lay on your side, the sheets twisted around your legs, your head resting on Spencer's chest. His arm was draped around you, his fingers absently tracing patterns on your skin. The room still smelled faintly of sex, the air thick with the remnants of your shared passion. But the warmth of your recent intimacy was quickly being replaced by a cold, creeping sense of reality.

This wasn’t the first time you’d found yourselves in this situation. It had been happening for months now, stolen moments in hotel rooms while on cases, late nights in his apartment or yours. It had started with a few innocent glances, a touch that lingered just a little too long, conversations that delved deeper than they should have. And then one night, after a particularly horrible case, you had both given in to the pull that had been building between you for far too long.

But now, as you lay there in the aftermath, the weight of what you were doing pressed down on you. It wasn’t just the fact that you were sleeping together. It was the fact that you were both involved with other people, that you were lying to them, to yourselves, every time you slipped into each other’s arms.

Spencer’s chest rose and fell steadily beneath you, but you could feel the tension in his body, the way his fingers trembled slightly as they traced your skin. You knew he was thinking the same thing you were—that this was wrong, that it couldn’t go on like this. But neither of you had the strength to say it out loud.

“It’s so fucked up, isn’t it?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness of the room. You didn’t need to elaborate; he knew exactly what you meant.

Spencer sighed, his hand stilling on your back. “Yeah,” he said quietly, his voice tinged with regret. “It is.”

You shifted slightly, propping yourself up on one elbow so you could look at him. His face was etched with worry, his brow furrowed in thought. You knew he was struggling, just as you were. You had both started seeing other people around the same time, trying to convince yourselves that you could be happy with someone else, that the connection you shared was just a fluke, a mistake that could be ignored.

But every time you were with your respective partners, all you could think about was Spencer. The way he made you laugh, the way he understood you in a way no one else did. And when you were with Spencer, the guilt of what you were doing gnawed at you, a constant reminder that you were living a lie.

“We should stop,” you said, the words catching in your throat. “We should end it with them. It’s not fair to them… to sneak around like this.”

Spencer nodded, his eyes meeting yours with a look of sorrow. “I know,” he agreed. “But… it’s not that simple, is it?”

You bit your lip, knowing he was right. It wasn’t just about breaking up with your partners. It was about facing the consequences of what you had done, of admitting that you had betrayed the people who trusted you. It was about the fallout that would inevitably come when the truth came out—because deep down, you both knew it would. That doesn't even begin to cover the work gossip.

“There’s so much to lose,” you said, your voice trembling with fear. “What if… what if we can’t make it work? What if we end up destroying everything?”

Spencer’s hand moved to your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you hadn’t realized had fallen. “I think we already have,” he said softly, his voice heavy with the weight of his own guilt.

You closed your eyes, leaning into his touch, trying to find some comfort in the warmth of his hand. But the truth was, there was no comfort to be found in this situation. You were trapped, caught between what you wanted and what you knew was right.

“We should have never let it get this far,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “We should have stopped before it got to this point.

Spencer’s hand tightened on your cheek, his voice filled with a quiet desperation. “But we didn’t,” he said, his words a painful reminder of the choices you had both made. “And now… now I don’t know how to fix it.”

You opened your eyes, looking into his, seeing the same fear and uncertainty that you felt reflected back at you. For a moment, you just stared at each other, the silence stretching between you, heavy with unspoken words.

Finally, Spencer spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you.”

The words hung in the air, the confession sending a shockwave through you. You had both danced around your feelings for so long, never fully admitting the depth of what you felt. But now, in the darkness of that hotel room, there was no more hiding.

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice trembling with the weight of the truth. “But… loving each other doesn’t change what we’ve done.

Spencer’s eyes closed, his expression pained. “I know,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. “But I don’t know how to let you go.”

You felt your heart breaking at his words, the tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “I don’t want to let you go,” you admitted, your voice choked with sobs. “But I don’t know how to keep doing this either.”

The silence that followed was suffocating, the air between you thick with the weight of your shared pain. You both knew that something had to change, that you couldn’t keep living this lie. But neither of you had the strength to take the first step.

After what felt like an eternity, Spencer finally spoke, his voice barely audible. “Maybe we just… take it one day at a time,” he said, his words laced with uncertainty. “Maybe we start by being honest with ourselves… and then figure out how to be honest with everyone else.”

You nodded, knowing that he was right. There was no easy fix, no magic solution that would make everything better. But maybe, just maybe, if you took it one day at a time, you could find a way to navigate through the mess you had created.

“Okay,” you whispered, your voice trembling.

Spencer’s hand moved to the back of your head, pulling you down to rest against his chest once more. You closed your eyes, listening to the steady beat of his heart, trying to find solace in the rhythm.

But as you lay there, wrapped in his arms, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were standing on the edge of a precipice, and that one wrong move could send everything crashing down around you.

The night stretched on, the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness. Neither of you spoke again, the silence between you filled with the weight of all the things left unsaid. You both knew that the road ahead would be difficult, that there would be no easy answers, no simple solutions.

But as the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains, you made a silent vow to yourself. No matter how hard it was, no matter how much it hurt, you would find a way to make things right. For yourself, for Spencer, and for the people whose lives you had turned upside down. And maybe, just maybe, when all the dust had settled, you would find a way to be together—without the lies, without the guilt, and without the fear.

[bullet-prooflove]

ATF!Series Part Three: Hell or Highwater

Tagging: @kmc1989 @hatersaremymotivators benny kkkelpies-shed

ATF Series:

Part One: A Rabbit You Don't Want To Chase - Stahl makes an unwelcome return to David's life.

Part Two: Fucked - Stahl fucks up you entire life in pursuit of Jax Teller.

You’ve been in a custody for five hours by the time David’s finally allowed to see you. Four hours of that has consisted of you sitting silently in an interrogation room listening to Stahl tell you how fucked you are.

And yea, she’s right, you are pretty fucked.

Your entire life it’s crumbling down around you and all you can feel is this crushing, desolate numbness because those hopes you had, those dreams they’re gone. Every single one of them.

You think about that as you lie on a musty mattress in a chilly cell. You think about what Jax Teller has done to you, what he continues to do to you. He has no direct involvement with you but the ripples of that time you spent together still resonate through your life.

This is what David means when he talks about Jax's blast radius.

Jax Teller is a nuclear bomb, his toxicity seeping into everything he touches. His poison, it salts the earth leaving no space for anything else to grow and you, you  just have to sit here and absorb the damage.

“The light giving you a headache?” David asks as he leans in the doorway of the cell block. It’s Tuesday evening and you’re the only one in attendance, your arm is draped over your eyes trying to ward off the glow from the fluorescent. You have that metallic taste on your tongue. The one that usually comes just as the migraine starts to set in.

You don’t answer him, you can’t because the moment you do David will know exactly how broken you are right now you can’t stand the idea of anyone seeing that.

The light clicks off and you swallow past the well of emotion that’s building in your chest because David, he always knows exactly what you need. You hear his footsteps, the squeak of his boots as he comes to linger outside your cell. You hear his sigh before he sits down on the floor, his back against the cinderblocks. His elbows come to rest on his knees as his head tips back and his eyes close.

You’re in for the night and so is he.

The distance it seems to stretch between you, he feels the weight of it in the air as he plays through the past couple of hours in his head. The phone calls he’s made to the San Franisco Art Institute trying to undo all the nasty shit that Stahl has done to you. He’d begged for them to change their minds but that placement is gone, they don’t want a criminal influencing the other students. He’d slammed down the phone so hard, the plastic had cracked on the receiver.

“She told me you fucked her today.” You say quietly and his blood runs cold because it isn’t enough that Stahl has taken away your prospects, she has to try and take him too. “That you came inside her, it seemed important to her that I know that.”

He understands the significance. For Stahl their relationship was about power, about proving she had it and he didn’t. It drove her absolutely crazy that he wouldn’t give her that, that everytime she begged or demanded, he would pull out. It was a sign to her that she couldn’t control him, not completely.

“You’re the only woman who gets to have that.” He tells you, his gaze meeting yours as you shift up into a sitting  position. “The only one that gets to have every part of me.”

You draw your knees up to your chest, tucking the blanket over your legs because it get a little cold in here at night. He makes note to get you an extra blanket because the temperature is only going to keep dropping.

“David, we should talk about what happens when I go to jail.” You say softly. “You need to get clear of this…”

“You won’t see jail time.” He tells you and there’s such surety in his voice that you can’t help but believe him. “You’ll be bailed tomorrow, made to pay a fine, they’re going to seek restitution for the property damage. We’ll be paying it off for the next couple of years.”

We…

Because the two of you, you’re in this together come hell or highwater.

“David…” You whisper because you know exactly what he’s done while you’ve been trapped with Stahl.

All the favours he’s collected over the years, all that good will. He’s used it all up on you, on managing this crisis. You know what this is going to do to him, his dreams of being Chief, they’re over. His affiliation with you has seen to that.

“You’ll be his downfall.” Jacob Hale had warned you when he’d heard about you and David. “You’ll ruin everything he’s worked for.”  

This is it right here, the moment he was talking about. Fuck it eats you up inside, knowing you’re dragging David down with you.

“You think this is a sacrifice for me but it isn’t.” He says as he raises to his feet, wincing at the stiffness in his bones as he comes to stand before the bars, his hands gripping them. “Unser was never going to step down and I don’t see the point of having all this power if I can’t use it to do the right thing.”

You mirror his movements, your fingers coming to rest in the indentations between his knuckles as you press your head against the cool bars.

“You didn’t ask for any of this,” He reminds you quietly, his blue eyes meeting yours. “We just fucked the wrong people and now we’re getting fucked but at least we’re in it together. They don’t get to have this, they don’t get to take you away from me.”

“No.” You whisper, a sad smile crossing your features because even though you’ve both lost so much, you’ll always have each other.  “They won’t ever have this.”

Love David? Don’t miss any of his stories by joining the taglist here.

Like My Work? - Why Not Buy Me A Coffee

[noicyleech]

Dean ignores his brother’s comment, spinning on his heel, ready to let himself sink back into the gorgeous blue of Castiel’s eyes. He hears a cry of pain. The frail illusion of victory falls apart in an instant at the sight in front of him. The angel’s wings are tense, arched into an unnatural position. Every feather quakes, shaking uncontrollably as Cas falls to his knees and brings his head down to rest on the floor. His hands shoot to his hair, fingers digging into his scalp. Another agonized sound rips out of him.

The dungeon’s door has slammed close once more. There’s a muffled shout coming from behind it. The worry coats every word Sam throws their way, but to Dean it all sounds like an incomprehensible slur. He’s rooted to the ground, his muscles strung so tight it hurts. He watches as two more sets of wings sprout from the angel’s back, seizing just as aggressively as the original pair. The dungeon lights up as the power Castiel can no longer contain builds up endlessly, slowly breaking free from its restraints. Cracks start to form on the exposed skin of his vessel, like he’s made of glass and someone is repeatedly beating him with a hammer in hopes of shattering him completely.

At first Dean thinks it’s blood that begins to seep through the fractures, but then it starts to glow. The grace - or the antichrist’s powers, its hard to tell - tears through his skin and casts a wine red light on every surface it can reach.

Feathers are falling, shaken loose by the restless movement of the appendages. They disintegrate as soon as they make contact with the floor. There is no way of telling where Castiel’s screams begin, nor where they end. The pain seems to go on for hours, seconds passing at a snail’s pace with no end in sight. Soon the light coming from Cas, the light that is breaking him to pieces, will be too blinding to look at. Still Dean can’t turn away, can’t close his eyes. So he prays.

He sends desperate prayers into the world in a last ditch attempt. ‘Please’

He’s not sure what or who he is praying to. He doesn’t care. He will take anything, welcome anyone who is willing to help him. He’d do anything. ‘I need him’

Tears are pestering the back of his eyes, so he lets them flow. They sting, burning the dry surface. He won’t close them. He’s lost Castiel’s figure to the light, but he knows exactly where the angel is. He can feel him. Cas is no longer screaming, probably because he can’t. There is a passing thought that maybe, maybe he can’t scream anymore because he’s already gone. ‘Please. This isn’t fair’

His vision turns spotty. Dean fights it for as long as he can but his body forces him to close his eyes on the instinct to survive. It’s barely a blink, but when he opens them the dungeon is cast in darkness. The previously blinding light is gone, and he is alone. Dean doesn’t feel it when his knees hit the floor, or when he shouts his throat raw. He doesn’t register when Sam rushes in and crouches in front of him. He can see Sam’s lips move but can’t make sense of what he’s saying, doesn’t fight it when he’s pulled to his feet and dragged out of the room. There’s only one thing he’s aware of; the constant string of ‘why’ torturing his mind. He isn’t ready- he will not accept Castiel is dead. Not again. He just got him back. But with Castiel’s body torn to pieces there isn’t much hope for a better ending. He might as well have exploded. Consumed completely by that cursed power, the burden he never asked to carry. It’s not fair.

[hey-august]

A Line from Me to You - Chapter 7

Description: Buggy finds a peculiar book on his ship. Enticed by the words contained on each page, the pirate opens up. Anonymity leads to vulnerability. What else will come from this? (Chapter 1 ... Chapter 6, check out the story tag for all the chapters)

Word count: 1.4k

Warnings: NSFW, mdni, buggy x afab!reader, just smut here. Masturbation - male and female. Descriptions of vaginal fingering, oral - m receiving, and a facial.

Tag list: @lostfirefly @rorywritesjunk @theladyofmanyfandomsfanfiction @ane5e

˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗ ✩ ˗ˏˋ ★ ˎˊ˗

What had been a relatively brief interaction became drawn out in your mind. Stretched and expanded until it covered every crevice and filled every gap. Ink seeped from the cracks and flooded the recent memories, collecting like puddles around certain moments.

The way Buggy’s eyes sparkled and creased. His touch on your shoulders and chin, which felt more familiar than it should. How he licked his painted lips while concentrating. The gentleness when he ran his fingers through your hair.

You laid in bed unable to fall asleep. The thoughts spinning through your head joined hands with lonely fantasies. They stepped in turn, building off one another and creating a dance that was hypnotic.

Would your captain’s eyes shine like that as he leaned in to kiss you? Falling deeper into the dark, you imagined your captain tilting your face up to meet his. To feel his lips against yours. Soft, maybe slick from his face paint. You might get some in your mouth, but it wouldn’t matter. You’d want to taste it if it meant you were tasting him. You wanted to be covered in Buggy’s painted marks.

Your romance-novel induced illness continued to manipulate the innocent conversation into a scene fit for a filthy chapter. A hand on your chin to keep you entranced. You’d cling to Buggy’s arm for stability because his other hand would have your knees shaking and toes curling. The taste of waxy cosmetics and burnt rum would fill your mouth, in exchange for your needy moans.

There was no way you’d fall asleep at this rate. Not with your heart pounding in your chest and between your legs. Reaching down, your fingertips comforted the second heartbeat. Drawing little shapes on your panties sent electricity through your body.

Would Buggy keep his gloves on? Or would he touch you with his bare hands? You gasped at the thought, at the burning curiosity of what his skin against yours would feel like.

Slipping your touch beneath the waistband of your underwear, you gently dragged your nails through the trimmed bush and down to where Buggy’s fingers should be. As he’d press against your bundle of nerves, you’d tighten your grasp on his arm. You’d feel him smile against your mouth. A smile full of such hunger and greed, which was matched by how his fingers massaged your clit. 

Just as he teased you earlier, Buggy would draw out your pleasure for both of your enjoyments. He’d bring you close to the edge before pulling back, just to drink in the intoxicated look on your face. A look that even Buggy could get drunk off of.

Fingers moved lower, sliding down until they slipped inside your heat. Two of your fingers would be no comparison to your captain’s touch. Your drooling cunt squeezed, desperately wishing your lustful imagination was reality. 

You’d move to meet his touch, spurred on by the filthy praise you could hear him say in between kisses. 

“I want you to come on my fingers.” “Show me what a good girl you are.” “Let your captain take care of you.” “Say my name, tell me who makes you feel like this.”

Buggy’s thick fingers would press against the sweet spot that whited out your vision. Digging into it with such tenderness and skill, leaving your body to struggle with it’s desire for more and an ache from the delirious stimulation. An infuriatingly slow swipe of his thumb against your clit would bring your whimpers and mindless repetition of Buggy’s name to peak with a silent, shaking scream.

He’d fingerfuck you through the orgasm better than you manage on your own, spurring delicious aftershocks that you could only pant and groan your way through. Your captain would take all that you would give him until you were dancing on your tiptoes and pulling at his arm, all but begging him to stop when it became too sensitive.

Fuck, you lost count of how many times you came but it felt like a new record. Your clit was buzzing with tenderness and your fingertips were pruned. The butterflies had gone to sleep, but in their absence was an odd emptiness inhabited by a small purple flower.

---

Buggy’s eyes were glassy and tired. He had been staring at the same page for too long, chasing blurry words that skated on anxiety and alcohol. Every sentence that wasn’t absorbed by his brain was followed by a glance up at his desk and the little field of flowers that littered it.

Scraps of colorful tissue paper made up the landscape, some creating thin pathways over the larger swaths of material. Any pieces that resembled a mixture of red and blue had jagged edges or creases, evidence of the flowers they blossomed.

It seemed like a good idea when the day was bright and his confidence was as high as the sun, but now Buggy wasn’t sure. He reached out and flicked one of the flowers - a lopsided reject.

Would you know that he spent nearly an hour trying to recreate your floral accessory? Cycling through shades of purple and violet, even fiddling with blues and indigos. Rolling and twisting the delicate papers. Crumpling the ones that ripped. Wearing his reading glasses so he could see better. Crafting big and small flowers, unsure what you’d like. What would look nice tucked behind your ear.

Buggy took a shuddering inhale at the thought and how it connected to the story book held between his thumb and middle finger, with his pointer sandwiched in the pages. There was something about you that enticed Buggy to overstep boundaries. You didn’t say the flower came from someone else, but what if it did?

The idea that you had a “Jasid” churned the pirate’s stomach. As captain with ears everywhere, he was usually privy to developing relationships among the crew. It was rare for him to miss gossip like that entirely, so maybe…

Giving up on reading for the night, Buggy took off his glasses, kicked back the rest of his nightcap, and flung himself into bed. Dramatics felt good on a night like this. He landed on his stomach and widespread arms corralled the slept-in bedsheets towards him. The pirate clown dropped his face into the sheets, not caring if the colors on his skin would stain the linens.

In the dark behind the sheets and his closed eyes, Buggy saw how you looked up at him, as if you were studying his face. Eyes so wide that he could imagine your pupils dilating. Head tilted up and lips parted slightly, just enough for his mind to run wild. Space for sweet little gasps to escape. Or for his tongue to slip in. Or to press against the head of his cock. Shit.

Buggy groaned and rolled his hips. The shift pressed his growing erection into the soft blanket under his body. Visions of his weeping tip rubbing against your mouth floated up. Beads of precum dribbled from his slit, translucent liquid that he wanted to smear all over your fucking smile. He wanted to paint your face like he painted his, to cover you in his desire.

Filled to the brim with how badly he wanted you, Buggy grinded and humped along to his imagination. Your greedy tongue lapping at his leaking head, teasing and worshiping. Your mouth wrapped around his cock, welcoming him inside. Your throat constricting around his length. You looking up at him, gagging and drooling. Tears and stars in your eyes.

Muffled grunts spilled into his sheets while Buggy spilled in his underwear. His body continued with slow thrusts past the end of his orgasm as he thought about covering your face in his cum. Eyes closed, mouth open, tongue out. You’d twitch when the first jet hit your face, a pleasant surprise. Milky drops clinging to your lashes, hot jizz running down your cheeks and nose, falling from your face and into the safety net of your waiting hands. He’d make sure to squeeze the remaining drops on your tongue for you to taste, and you’d reward him with a soft kiss that was still too much on his sensitive member.

Shuddering from overstimulation, Buggy finally stopped rubbing himself against the spent soaking into his clothes and rolled over. This was becoming a problem. He was running out of clean underwear.

The washroom should be empty at this time of night. It wouldn’t be the first time Buggy spent a few moonlit hours washing a handful of clothes, nursing a drink, and reading a book. That would also give him an excuse to see if a little paper flower was still sitting on a table.

[miumura]

( 🌨️ ) THIS IS HOW IT FEELS — PARK SUNGHOON FIC

[ DAY EIGHT ] of the advent calendar !

( 🌨️ ) SYNOPSIS . . Sunghoon hates the winter, but somehow you made it feel a bit more bearable.

( დ ) PAIRING . . friend!sunghoon x gn!reader

( 🌨️ ) GENRE . . fluff, friends 2 … ? 😊

( დ ) WARNINGS . . none that i know of ~~ WC 0.7K+ ( 721 )

( 🌨️ ) NOTE . . happy sunghoon day 🤭 this song somehow reminds me of sunghoon so you know i had to write a fic inspired by “this is how it feels” by d4vd , laufey 🤍

Winter? Sunghoon absolutely despises winter.

The coldness during this season is something he particularly dislikes. He loathes the biting chill that seeps through the layers of clothing, making each step feel like a battle against the frosty air. The winter season, with its harsh temperatures and biting winds, always manages to dampen his spirits.

The snow is another aspect of winter that Sunghoon absolutely detests. Its intrusive nature, clinging to his layers of clothing and making every step a challenge, frustrates him. In his opinion, snow only seemed to be visually appealing when viewed from the cozy warmth of indoors. For Sunghoon, winter has become a time he'd prefer to skip entirely.

So, it wasn't surprising for Sunghoon to grumble about having to exit the warm confines of the school building into the cold. He loathed leaving the heated rooms to brave the harsh winter chill, especially with the slight snow making the situation worse. Slowly dragging his feet towards his locker after the bell rang, he clearly did not want to go home at all, an unusual behavior for him.

It didn't take him long to reach his locker, given that his last class was nearby. As he punched in the code to open it, you appeared with a cheerful smile. "Hey Hoon," you exclaimed, hastily retrieving your coat from the locker. "Did you see the snow? It's so pretty!"

Sunghoon sighed, mustering a half-hearted smile. "Sure did."

"Come on, why aren't you slightly excited?" you nudged, attempting to elicit a more enthusiastic response from."It's the first snow day of the month—what's so bad about that?" you remarked, trying to lighten the mood.

"And it should remain the first and final day," Sunghoon deadpanned, closing his locker. You playfully rolled your eyes, well aware of Sunghoon's dramatic tendencies. "Seriously?"

"I'd much rather stay inside longer because it's snowing—you know me. I don't like snow," Sunghoon shrugged, sliding his arms into his coat.

"Well yeah—wait, I'll help you like the snow!" you declared, a determined spark in your eyes.

"Huh—" Sunghoon barely had his arm in the sleeve of his jacket when you started walking away from the lockers. With a confused expression, he followed after you, still adjusting to the abrupt situation.

"YN!" Sunghoon shouted, watching you instantly take off once you reached the exit of the school. Hesitant but determined, he put his hood over his head, attempting to catch up. The wind carried the snow into his way, getting blown all over the place. He shields his eyes with one of his hands, "Why are you running?"

You turned around, smiling and laughing as Sunghoon tried to catch up while trying to avoid the snow as much as possible. "Why am I running?" you echoed, the wind tousling your hair as you grinned at Sunghoon. "Because, Hoon, sometimes you just have to embrace the unexpected and let loose in the snow!"

Sunghoon rolled his eyes but couldn't help but crack a smile. As he finally caught up, you slowed down, and the two of you found yourselves standing in the gently falling snow.

"See? It's not that bad," you teased, twirling around to catch the snowflakes. Sunghoon gazed at you, bundled in your scarf with white earmuffs. Your rosy cheeks and bright smile created a warmth he hadn't experienced before, not from his own clothing. It marked the first time he felt a different kind of warmth—the kind that made his heart pound slightly faster. “Right?”

“I still don’t know how to feel about this,” he joked, smiling as he held eye contact with you.

“It will grow on you quickly,” As you laughed and turned around to continue walking, Sunghoon couldn't deny the flutter in his chest.

He quickened his pace, matching his footsteps with yours, walking alongside with you. The soft crunch of snow beneath your feet and the delicate fall of snowflakes created a serene backdrop. Sunghoon couldn't help but steal glances at you, realizing that this only made him notice his true feelings.

It was a feeling unfamiliar yet strangely comforting—the warmth of the season mirrored in the connection forming between you two, turning the chilly day into a heartwarming memory.

So this is how it feels to love the cold days.

This is how it feels to fall in love with you.

ENHA PERM TAGLIST (1) — @flwoie @ixomiyu @haruavrse @shinsou-rii @bearseulgs @ilovewonyo @yenqa @dimplewonie @bubblytaetae @wtfhyuck @ineedaherosavemeenow @ml8dy @starikizs @wonioml @chirokookie @xiaoderrrr @neozon3nha @en-chantedtomeetyou @millksea @enhaz1 @eundiarys @hyeosi @ja4hyvn @judeduartewannabe @j-wyoung @thia-aep @vampcharxter @softpia @officiallyjaehyuns @itsactuallylina @hsheart @sweetjaemss @ahnneyong @hanienie @jwnghyuns @kpoplover718 @jiawji @rikizm @haknom @yeokii @wvnkoi @whoschr @teddywonss @shinunoga-iie-wa @isoobie @skzenhalove @misokei @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick @miercerise @litttlestars @enhapocketz

[thefeastandthefast]

Hands down, favorite scene of this whole drama and one that made me feel something more than just different degrees of amusement:

Princess Wanning tossing her hair back to dance for the king of Dai, dressed in pristine white silk, helpless rage which cannot be vented cracking through the studied blankness on her face. Such a sharp and elegant recontextualization of all the aggressive swishing and twirling we see her do in the previous episodes.

Following closely in second place would be the scene of her wading shivering into the milky blue river surrounded by fiery autumn foliage and the red of her blood seeping out into the water all around her. The physician refers to her numerous miscarriages, but her grim, expectant, tearless face in that scene implies that they were abortions done with whatever means she could manage (likely the only assertion of agency possible in her position).

To be completely honest, Wanning's storyline is the only one in this drama that consistently triggers genuine emotion for me, even before we got the brief flashback of her years as a hostage to an enemy state. I am obviously extremely well-entertained by the production's commitment to the pulpiest of melodrama rendered with the lushest of visuals, but the lack of even the possibility of actual danger and failure for our protagonists takes much of the tension out. Yes, Xue Fangfei has trauma responses to her experiences, but we know that her commitment to vengeance carried out with morally clean and justifiable methods will still succeed in making every last villain in her path pay. We're assured of her eventual happiness and success before the story even begins because of genre conventions.

The protagonists live in the fantasy world of 爽剧- a genre meant for the purpose of the viewer's visceral, lizard brain satisfaction. The noose of the drama's world and its rules will always loosen for our female lead Xue Fangfei because this type of narrative demands it.

I went into the drama knowing this was the genre, so it's perfectly meeting my expectations... but I think if Xue Fangfei was forced to operate within the same social strictures as her female opponents instead of having her endeavors facilitated by the pulled punches of internally inconsistent world-building, this drama would have been elevated to something ultimately much more satisfying and enduring. The Story of Minglan is still the pinnacle of historical drama 爽剧 for this reason.

But Wanning doesn't live in a 爽剧; she's in a psychological horror, one where every single one of the inescapable rules of a ghoulish feudal, patriarchal world compounded to get her into the situation she ended up. For all her seemingly limitless power and privilege once Wanning returns to Yan, they are insufficient to undo the permanent damage to her status as a virtuous woman in her society and her own perception of her womanhood in such a paradigm.

I'm speculating that the king of Dai probably died painfully at her hands at some point (I'm still at episode 36, so I don't know if it's addressed later!) But in the end, Wanning's righteous fury has very few easily embodied targets for righteous vengeance, unlike the wrongs done to Xue Fangfei and those she takes under her wing- wrongs which neatly trace back to specific villains to be eliminated. And of course, XFF’s personal beef with these villains just so happen to align perfectly with the noble goals of king and country.

Even when Wanning playacts her sick little romance with Shen Yurong, a brutal emotional clarity always breaks her immersion. She has a complete lack of illusion about the world in which her story operates. She was sacrificed for the noble goals of king and country, for peacemaking, and so she knows she will get no satisfaction from those who permitted and benefited from that sacrifice. So, for me, watching her do whatever the fuck she wants in response to that unrightable wrong and indulge every selfish, horrifying, nihilistic whim is more 爽 (viscerally satisfying) than anything else in this show.

[choimari-achoochu]

Playing... "This Love" by Taylor Swift

"How good can that certain love make you feel so good to the point it's too/down bad?"

Non-idol!Lee Heeseung x F!Reader

Tags : Angst, Hurt, fluff, comfort, NOT PROOFREAD, Reader fell first but Heeseung fell harder<3

"You kissed my cheek, I watched you leave. When you're young you come back to... To what you need. This Love is good, this love is bad. This love is alive back from the dead (oh-oh). These hands had to let it go free, but, this love came back to me. This love, left a permanent mark. This love is glowing in the dark. These hands, had to let it go free, but, this love came back to me."

You never really know where it all went wrong when the time came you and Heeseung had to break up. He was the perfect man. Always soft and caring, patient, he was the epitome of perfection, good looking with a lot of green flags. Being someone who was more than what you asked for, you hardly thought that a time would come where you would be separated from each other. More so, after 4 years of relationship.

You met him during your second year of college, he was in his third year. You had the fattest crush on this basketball player who aced every single class he took. So of course, you approached him. He was reluctant to even respond to you at first, but warmed up to your cheery personality sooner or later. Or maybe, too soon. You experienced love at first sight, but he slowly fell for you as time went on with the both of you hanging out.

He found you pretty cute, very cheery and bubbly. Your aura always radiates a sense of warmth that infects the whole room, the whole building if not. He was attracted to how your cheeks flush everytime you see him, how a shy smile always creeps to your face when he winks at you during a game, how your smile and laughs absolutely make his day.

You were what he considered constant happiness in his day-to-day routine. Sometimes when he wakes up in your dorm room after a movie night sleepover, his heart always swells with gratefulness and love when there, laying beside him on the bed, was your body presses against the sheets in a deep but peaceful slumber. He loved you so much to even ever think about being separated with your absolutely pure soul.

Yet, there in his dread, he's standing before your figure on your doorstep. His hands trembling and anxiously tapping his thighs as he gulps, not knowing what to say. When all of his academic pressure was weighing on his shoulder to the point he pushed you away, does he really deserve a second chance? You're not sure yourself.

"What are you doing here, Hee?" You asked with spite but pain at the same time.

"I-..." He paused. He wasn't trying to find what words to say, no. He was trying find the words to associate right after "...sorry...". But what should he say? "I'm sorry, I hurt you because I was too occupied with my own problems" ? Or was it "I'm sorry, I had to prioritize myself over our relationship and your feelings because I had "unintentionally" hurt you due to the fact I had assignments and projects to pass that led to me irrationally blurting out the words 'Let's break up'... " ?

"I don't know, Y/N, fuck..." He ran a hand through his hair and slightly pulled on a few strands.

You both know what he wants to say but you both take for granted the silence between the two of you, no matter how uncomfortable it may seem due to the tension.

However, he broke the seconds of silence with a sharp inhale and spoke again. "I'm so fucking sorry and regretful of the things I've done that I just— I don't even know how to start saying that sort of shit without thinking about how stupid it is. How stupid my actions were, how stupid it is for me to even seek for you after what I've done... " He stalls as tears well up in his eyes as he, with all the courage he has, looks into your eyes. You don't know if the pain and love you still absolutely have for him and from him seeps through the cracks of your broken hearts with the way he's trembling.

"...But I'm so fucking sorry. " He breathes out, a feeling of relief washing over him as he finally let every thought and emotion out of his chest. The only thing that remained was the feeling of dread that was to come after you reject his apology. You would definitely do that after all those stunts he pulled during your relationship—

"I forgive you." You say as you take your eyes off him, letting him process what you said without the burden of thinking you don't mean it. But as you break eye contact, his eyes go wide in surprise, an ineffable feeling washing over him as he thinks his ears are betraying him. So he asks...

"What?" He mutters but loud enough for you to hear.

"I said, I forgive you." You fiddle with your fingers as you answer him. "Also, it's not stupid."

"Huh?" He tilts his head in confusion, he feels he's too broken to even be able to think properly.

"It's not stupid to apologize. And I absolutely understand how you prioritized your studies above our relationship—"

"No, Y/N. Baby, that wasn't okay." He cuts you off.

"Yes, sometimes those sort of things can get in the of our relationship because, as students who want good grades, we have to put it first rather than our relationship. But that doesn't mean outburts are reasonable just because of all the academic stress. I'm happy that you forgive me, but please never seek for something less than what you deserve from me, Love." He reaches to meet your hand with his trembling ones for him to hold, he slowly lifts it up to his mouth and kisses the back of your hand.

Tears stream down your face as the raw emotions you've felt from the past week comes rushing back to you. All the pain, the misunderstandings that made you confused, the loneliness... Everything was too much to bear all st the same time.

"I'm sorry, too, Heeseung." He said in between sobs and he pulls you to his chest, wrapping you in his warm and comforting embrace.

"Don't say sorry. There's nothing for you to apologize for. I was in the wrong..." He mumbles sweet comforting word, but are still coherent enough for you to understand, as he kisses the top of your head.

"No, no..." You protested and shook your head. "I'm sorry for not being understanding and still being clingy. I should have been more mature." You sniffle as the words almost seem like queit mumbles, but Heeseung understands. He always does. How much you doubt yourself. It breaks him to be one of the cause for the cacophony of your negative thoughts to be the only thing you hear because of his actions. He softly runs a hand through your back as he sighs.

"Shhh, baby... You did nothing wrong. I wish I could have done better for you, but I'm here to do right now. Will you please give me a chance to make things right between us?" He pulls away, but his hands are still firm on your waist. He stares at your face.

He kisses your cheek and asks again, "Hmm? Please, Love?"

The moment you give him a soft nod, he wraps you back into arms once again and heaves a sigh of relief. He is never gonna lose you again. No, never. The week where he had to be away from the warmth you brought into his light was enough for him to suffer in darkness, all alone... He doesn't want that again. For the both of you. He doesn't wanna hurt you anymore, don't want to leave you all alone again, and you want the same thing. To never be away from his calming and comforting presence that he brings due to his love for you.

"Please never push me away again."

"I won't. I never will. Not again, never in the lifetimes where I have your love with me."

@strxwbloody

[dynamic-power]

Time Travel AU, Back to the Past part 5

Part 1 | Part 4 | read it all on ao3 here

Steve wakes up to the feeling of someone shaking him. He is about to tell Eddie to fuck off and let him sleep a while longer when he realizes a few things at once. 

He’s lying on something cold and hard. His sides hurt and his head aches and all of his muscles are sore and his exhaustion is bone-deep and seeps into every corner of his existence. And the voice calling his name is distinctly female. 

“Steve! Steve, get up! Please. Please get up.”

He cracks his eyes open, waking fully into his worst nightmare. 

He struggles to sit up, wincing as he realizes scars that have been healed for years are open wounds again. He chokes on the thick air around him and blinks until Nancy Wheeler comes into focus. 

It’s not Nancy as he knows her. It’s Nancy as she was while they were dealing with the Upside Down. 

Fuck. 

He knew it was coming, but the reality of the situation comes crashing down on him as he takes in his surroundings. They are definitely in the Upside Down; the sky is a deep gray that’s never been touched by sunlight and the buildings around them are cracking and decaying, over taken by vines. He shivers. 

“Thank fuck,” Nancy says, sitting back on her heels. “What happened?”

“I-I don’t know,” he says, because he doesn’t. He may be in the past, but he doesn’t remember what happens over the next few days. Because he wasn’t here. He was in 2008. 

Fuck!

“Did you see anything? You were in there for a minute before it spat you back out.”

Nancy isn’t looking at him. He follows her gaze. 

There’s a gate to their left. Instead of leading to the right side of Hawkins, it leads to more Upside Down. There’s no reflection of the world they are supposed to be in, just more of the same dark, desolate landscape. 

He’s seen this before, but only once. 

“Stay away from it, Nance,” he says, pushing himself up to his feet. It takes some effort, but he works through the pain and manages to get himself upright. “Something happened when I went in.”

“What?” she asks. She sounds uncertain, but her eyes give away her eagerness and curiosity. 

“I dunno. But we have to get out of here. We need to find Dustin.”

-----

Robin is waiting for them on the front step of his parents house when Steve turns the Beemer into his driveway. 

She’s so young. Nancy is, too, but for some reason, seeing teenaged Robin makes it real. He gets out of the car and runs to her, ignoring the pain in his sides and the blood seeping into his shirt. 

“Holy shit,” Robin gasps as Steve crashes into her. He pulls her as close as he can, wrapping her up in his arms and tucking his face into her neck. “Jesus, Steve, what happened to you two?” She hugs him back briefly, but then her hands are flitting over his sides and pulling the fabric of his shirt away from his ruined bandages. 

He steps away from her, grinning so widely that his face hurts, too. She looks at him like he’s lost his mind, and maybe he has. It’s been a couple months since he’s seen her, though. And it’s been decades since he’s seen this version of her. 

He lets her pull his shirt off and she curses when she sees the damage. “Let’s get you inside,” she says, “and we can take care of this. And then you are telling me what the fuck happened. Dingus.”

Unable to help himself, he swoops in and presses a kiss to the corner of her mouth. “I’ve missed you,” he says, grabbing her hand and pulling her through the front door. “There’s a lot of shit I need to tell you.”

She splutters, wiping at her mouth with the hand he isn’t clutching. Nancy follows them, and the three of them make their way to the downstairs bathroom, where he remembers keeping a first aid kit. 

“What do you mean, you missed me?” Robin asks as he sits down on the toilet and finally looks down at his torso. And yeah, it’s pretty bad. Blood is seeping from the bandages and dripping down into the waistband of his jeans. “You just saw me two hours ago.”

“Two months ago,” he corrects. Because if he’s going to be able to get anything done, he’s going to need people who know. Fuck the rules of time travel, if there even are any. He’s not keeping any of this shit from Robin. “And even then, you were, uh, different.”

Nancy is fussing with the first aid kit and Robin kneels in front of Steve and takes his hands. “Steve. What are you talking about?”

“You know I’d never lie to you, right?”

“I know.”

“What I’m about to tell you is going to sound absolutely crazy,” he says, squeezing her hands. “But Robin, I need you to know that it is the truth.”

She frowns and the spot between her brows furrows in that way it does when she’s concentrating. “Okay,” she says after a moment. 

Nancy comes over and tries to fuss with his bandages. “We need to stop this bleeding, Steve,” she says when he tries to elbow his hands away. Robin lets go of his hands and he lifts his arms, wincing as Nancy begins to peel the ruined bandages away. The stitches in the biggest of his wounds has stayed intact, but one of the smaller ones, a bite mark on his other side, has split open again. She begins wiping at it and he winces. “Sorry,” she says, “but I need to get the dirt out.”

Robin pulls his attention again as Nancy continues cleaning the bite out. “What crazy thing were you going to tell me?”

“I think I’m a time traveler.”

Nancy stops her ministrations and they both stare at him. 

“You’re what?” Robin finally asks. 

“I know it sounds crazy. But hear me out. Yesterday I was in 2008. And then I went to sleep, and when I woke up, boom! Here I am in… 1986, I think?”

“Yes,” Nancy says hesitantly. She curses under her breath, jumping back into motion and applying pressure to his side. “Hold this. Pressure, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah.” He takes over for her, and she walks on her knees until she’s beside Robin. She sits with her back to the wall. “Right. 1986. Here’s the crazy thing. When I was 19, when I was actually in 1986, I time traveled. I went ahead in time, to 2008, the year that I’m from, and swapped places with another version of me. An older version of me. Who was from 2008.”

Nancy looks concerned; like maybe he’d hit his head too hard in the Upside Down. Robin, though, is clearly considering what he’s saying. 

“So you’re, what? Going in loops? Not you personally. But versions of you.”

“Yes!” he exclaims. “I don’t think I’m supposed to stop it. I think I’m just supposed to find a way to get me and my younger self switched back again. But there’s something else.”

“What’s that?” Nancy asks. Steve can tell she’s skeptical. She doesn’t not believe him, but she isn’t taking anything he’s saying at face value, either. Robin, though, is hanging on to his every word. And god, does he love her for it.

“I have to find Eddie Munson.”

“What?” Nancy and Robin say at the same time. 

Before he can explain, though, teenaged Argyle pokes his head into the bathroom. Steve wants to laugh. All of this is so surreal; this Argyle is so young. He probably doesn’t even remember Steve’s name. It’s really that early in their friendship. 

“Uh, sorry to interrupt, brochachos, but this little dude keeps calling out a code red?” he says, and in his hand is a walkie talkie the size of a brick. 

There’s the sound of static, and then a voice comes through, clear as mud. “Steve, are you there? Steve! Come in, Steve!"

It’s Dustin Henderson, and this time, Steve does laugh.

-----

Part 6

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