#before my face. DIRECTED at my conversation

[bunny-1111]

My Husband - Theo Nott x wife read

Description: The one thing that drives Theo literally crazy is when you call him "my husband"

Word count: 1.1k words

Warnings: violence - Theo getting into a fight, swearing, possessiveness, slight harassment

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated.

...

Call him self-centred. If there was one thing Theo loved hearing you say, most of all, it was two words, so simple that everyone else would hardly pay them any attention. "My husband" Yes, that's right, your husband, he would think.

Once you realised what it did to him it was basically a get out of jail free card.

He's mad? "my grumpy husband," you'd say, his frown relaxed, the smile that itched the corners of his lips tells you what it needs to.

You want money? "My darling husband, your wife needs to shop" you'd softly say with your palm out, while he practically falls over himself finding you his wallet.

It was about to exceed your expectations, indeed in public, and not directed towards him at all.

You and Theo navigated through the thick crowd of people, occasionally greeting old friends, at a gala, before Theodore left you to fetch you both a drink.

Patiently waiting for Theo's return, content, until you feel a tap on your shoulder, turning around to find Vincent Crabbe with a sly grin as his hand reached towards you to offer a drink.

"No, thank you, Theo's on his way with my drink" you politely decline

"Oh come on, take it" he insists, coming closer

You unintentionally breathed out an annoyed sigh. Crabbe was just like this in school too, so relentlessly determined to start something with you.

"Crabbe, please don't make me say no again, we both know it won't end well" You smile, your lips closing even tighter this time as you inch away from the unwanted company

"It's habit, you know, the things I'd would do if I- I-I've always wanted just, one, chance" he desperately, almost drunkenly admits, coming so close that you can smell his lunch on his breath

"Yes well, I suggest you kick the habit now, considering my husband’s leniency spreads thin after one blow" You quickly say before stepping back, Theodores hands catch your waist, moving you behind him, as he steps forward, now closer to Crabbe face than he tried to get to yours.

"See Crabbe, I heard that last sentence my wife spoke, and" Theo started, synchronised with his hands rolling up his white linen shirt to his elbows

"- I don't like the way she sounded. Her tone almost scared, Crabbe, wouldn't you agree?" He continued as he backed him into a corner, you followed close behind, watching your husband unfold.

"The sort of scared that you're showing in your face right now, that's the scared I hear in my wife's voice when you were exceedingly flirting with her. Would you agree with that too?" he says his anger rising, his jaw tensing.

"N-No, I mean yes, yes, or no, no! I-" Crabbe stumbled on his words as quickly as he was stumbling over his overworking feet, all ability to flee from Theodore was impossible

Theo had weighed up his opinions but every time he blinked he saw red, hearing your voice repeating 'my husband’s leniency'. It was a reminder of who he was to you, who you are to him, something to protect by any means, that's when he fist acted before his words, clashing into the side of Crabbe's face twice.

Crabbe now on the floor, Theo dropped one more blow directly to his mouth, his wedding ring marking his the skin below his nose "See how well your mouth works now with a busted lip, you piece of shit" He spatout as he left his wounded foe.

"Are you ok? Come on" Theo's brows upturned, frantically worried he missed the worst of your conversation with Crabbe.

"I'm fine, let's get out of here" you say, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

...

Now home and safe in bed, Theo stared straight ahead, taking his hands in yours, you gently place delicate kisses to his busted knuckles.

"Baby" he almost whispers out, if your weren't paying such cautious attention to him you might have missed it.

Clawing on top of him you move your hands to his face as his hands take a strong grip of each side of your hips.

"I know" you soothe

Before you can add to the comfort, Theodore's lips lock yours.

The kiss needy, greedy and possessive.

His mouth moving down to your neck, "you know how much I love when you do this shit" he says behind wet hot breathes "Do what?" you smile

"call me your husband" he growls

"You are my husband" you beam, as the words leave your mouth, his hands dig into your thigh like a deathgrip

"I fucking know" he whimpers.

You feel him shift beneath you, his body humming under your touch like a live wire, each kiss, each word, only spurring him on further. It was like a thread inside him snapped every time you repeated the words.

His grip tightened, enough to bruise if you stayed like that too long, but you only welcomed it, sinking against him as he buried his face into the crook of your neck, breathing you in like he needed you to survive.

"My girl," he muttered harshly against your skin, voice cracking, almost desperate. "My wife."

You thread your fingers into his hair, giving a gentle tug that earns a guttural sound from deep in his chest. Theo had always had this temper, but this part of him, raw and pleading, always followed his outbursts.

"All yours," you whisper back, lips brushing his ear, the words an oath. Theo pulls away enough for your eyes to meet his.

"You scared me," he says, voice hoarse. "When I saw you, when I heard you. I could've fucking killed him."

"I know," you murmur again, stroking the side of his face with your thumb, the bruised knuckles resting against your hip.

"I fucking should've" his eyes exploring your own as if he was searching for reassurance

"I'd do it again," he continues

You smile, leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth

"I know," you repeat

Theo’s hands roamed now, slower, more deliberate. His nose brushes yours before his lips dip to kiss your cheeks all over

"Say it again," he mumbles.

You knew entirely what he meant

"My husband." flashing his your wedding ring

And just like that, the air leaves his lungs in one, broken exhale, as if the words physically knocked the breath out of his body.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath, pulling you flush against him, "I’m done for."

...

AUTHOR NOTE:

HIIIIIII my lovelies. Getting back into writing, starting with something small-ish, my apologies if it's not up to scratch, first time writing in months LOLLL. Also, this is unread or unedited.

Reblogs, comments, and likes are extremely appreciated.

All my love,

B <3.

[cadelinhadaromanoff]

𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐞𝐥𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟒

Summary: You spent the day with Ana, her laughter filling the spaces where your nerves tried to creep in. Between playful moments and soft conversations, you kept thinking about the step you were ready to take — one that would change all your lives forever. For once, the future didn’t feel heavy or distant. It felt like home, and you were finally ready to claim it.

Paring: Natasha Romanoff x Reader, Tony Stark x Daughter!reader.

Word count: 7432

Warnings: huge amount of fluffiness, Tony being a good grampa, Natasha being slightly insecure. Reader and ana being the best duo ever.

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Author's notes: Hey everyone, I just want to apologize for taking so long to post. I’ve been going through a tough time in my personal life, but I’m back now. Also, I’m really sorry I couldn’t fit everything I wanted into one chapter—sometimes the story just takes its own direction! But please, feel free to send in any asks! I absolutely love talking with you all.

By the way, how do you think Reader’s contact is saved in Natasha’s phone? I’d love to hear your thoughts on that! 

　 ゛ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 𓈒 ◌ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ꒰ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ♡ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⊹　₊ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ͏͏✧

　　 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ˚　　 🍼 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ₊ㅤ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ୨୧ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ⁺

　　 　˳ 　 　 　 　 　　⁺　　༄　　　༝　 　 ₊

There were many moments in her life Natasha could label as memorable.

Some for their pain. Some for their absurdity. Some for the sheer adrenaline of surviving something she shouldn’t have survived.

But there weren’t many she could call peaceful.

And none, until now, that she could call happy.

She couldn’t remember ever feeling so at peace, so quietly and utterly content, as she did now — with you stretched lazily beside her, your hand absently tracing slow circles against her hip, your breathing slow and steady, filling the room with a comfort she never thought she’d have.

Your presence was soothing in a way nothing else had ever been.

Not a mission completed. Not a victory celebrated.

Just you.

The breeze after a long storm. The fresh air after years underground.

She let her eyes close again, allowing herself a rare indulgence: believing that maybe, this time, happiness wasn’t something temporary. Maybe this time, it was here to stay.

And it was all because of you.

A sudden clatter of a fork against a plate snapped her gently from her thoughts.

Natasha blinked, finding herself at the kitchen table, sunlight filtering through the windows, the scent of something simple and warm hanging in the air. You were across from her, lazily spinning your fork through your pasta, while Ana sat between the two of you, her face scrunched in concentration as she tried to stab a cherry tomato without it rolling away.

“You know,” you said, a teasing glint in your eyes as you watched Ana’s struggle, “I think she’s developing your stubbornness.”

Natasha quirked an eyebrow, resting her chin on her hand. “She’s smarter than that.”

Ana, seemingly proving the point, gave up on the fork altogether and grabbed the tomato with her fingers, stuffing it triumphantly into her mouth.

You snorted, pointing at Ana with your fork. “Pure Romanoff energy right there.”

Natasha gave a half-smile, letting herself soak in the easy atmosphere — but there was a subtle flicker in her chest, that lingering voice that always whispered caution. She’s not yours, it reminded her. Not completely. But she shoved it away, focusing instead on how natural this felt, how it was getting harder and harder to imagine a day without you here.

“You’re a bad influence,” Natasha muttered, nudging Ana’s foot under the table playfully.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” you grinned, twirling more pasta onto your fork before adding casually, “Besides, she needed a partner in crime.”

Ana babbled a few incoherent words, her hands waving enthusiastically, and both of you laughed — the kind of laugh that made Natasha’s shoulders finally, truly relax.

She leaned back slightly, watching the two of you with something dangerously close to awe.

Without even trying, you had stitched yourself into the fabric of her life.

And for once… she wasn’t terrified of it.

“You look proud of yourself,” she said dryly, raising an eyebrow at you.

“I am,” you said without shame. “Successfully corrupted two generations in one go.”

Natasha shook her head, a soft, reluctant smile tugging at her lips.

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah,” you said easily, meeting her gaze with a lazy warmth that made her chest tighten. “But I’m your idiot.”

Natasha felt the words hit harder than they should have, a strange ache blooming low in her ribs. She dropped her gaze to Ana, who was now sleepily pushing peas around her plate, her small body swaying with exhaustion.

She reached out, smoothing down Ana’s wild hair, using the small, automatic gesture to steady herself.

There was no need to rush anything, no need to put a name to what they had just yet. But deep down, Natasha couldn’t shake the feeling that it was consuming her—this burning, aching longing. It wasn’t just a desire; it was a yearning to belong, to be loved unconditionally. She knew, without a doubt, that you loved her, loved both of them. But that wasn’t enough. She craved more. She needed to claim it, to declare to the world, to the universe, that you were hers—and that Ana was hers too. That they were a part of you, and she needed that certainty, that assurance. She needed to hear it, to feel it, to be sure.

For now, she was trying to convince herself that it was enough to just sit here, to eat badly cooked pasta at a wobbly kitchen table, to listen to you make stupid jokes, and to feel — maybe for the first time in her entire life — safe. But, undeniably she needed more…

Natasha watched as Ana’s tiny hands clumsily tried to collect peas into a pile, her red hair catching the soft light filtering into the kitchen. The image — her daughter, your easy smile, the quiet bubble of home — was enough to make Natasha’s chest ache, in that fragile way she was still learning not to fear.

You leaned back in your chair, your fork abandoned, tapping your fingers lightly against the table with a mock-considering expression.

She caught the glint in your eyes a second before you spoke, and immediately narrowed hers in suspicion.

“So…” you dragged the word out, clearly up to no good. “May I take your daughter to spend the day with me?”

Natasha raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “That sounds suspicious as hell.”

You pressed a hand dramatically over your heart. “Come on, give me some credit.”

She didn’t even blink, still looking at you like she was waiting for a confession.

“I need her expert opinions,” you went on, leaning closer across the table as if you were sharing a world-class secret. “She’s a pro. Totally slays. I need her stamp of approval for some… very important choices.”

Ana, oblivious to the conspiracy brewing over her head, yawned noisily and dropped her fork onto her plate with a loud clatter.

Natasha folded her arms, pretending to be stern even as the corner of her mouth twitched with amusement. “And what, exactly, is my almost 2 year daughter a pro at?”

You shrugged innocently. “Taste. Style. World domination. You know, the basics.”

She rolled her eyes, but it was useless — the warmth in her chest was already spreading, making her feel lighter, safer than she had any right to be. She wasn’t stupid; she knew exactly what you were doing. You weren’t asking just to spend time with Ana — you were giving her another quiet reassurance. You weren’t going anywhere. You weren’t running. You were settling deeper into their life, into her life, stitch by stubborn, beautiful stitch.

Still, Natasha wasn’t about to make it easy for you.

“You break her, you bought her,” she said dryly, sipping from her mug, pretending like the flutter in her chest didn’t almost make her hand shake.

You gave her a wide, cheeky grin, one that made her feel far younger and far older all at once.

“Deal,” you said without hesitation. “But just for the record — if anything, she’s more likely to break me.”

Natasha huffed, hiding her smile behind her cup. Ana babbled something unintelligible and smacked her little hand onto your forearm, demanding attention, and you turned immediately to her with exaggerated seriousness, as if she had just issued a royal decree.

“See?” you said, throwing Natasha a look of mock helplessness. “Already got me wrapped around her finger.”

Natasha shook her head, but this time she didn’t even try to hide the smile that stretched across her lips.

Maybe happiness was here to stay after all. Maybe it was in the small, stupid moments — the peas scattered on the plate, the teasing between two people who never thought they could have this, the warmth of a child’s touch grounding them both.

And maybe, just maybe, she deserved it.

Even if the thought still scared her more than any battlefield ever could. The last thing Natasha saw was you cleaning Ana, carefully changing her into a fresh outfit with that proud smile of yours that always tugged at her heart. As you gently adjusted her clothes, Ana giggled, her small hands reaching up to touch your face, causing your smile to widen even more. You lifted Ana into your arms with ease, holding her gently but firmly against your hip, your eyes meeting Natasha’s as you gave her a playful wink.

Ana, sensing the attention, gave a small, clumsy wave toward her mom, her tiny fingers reaching out in a wobbly, enthusiastic greeting. Natasha’s heart swelled at the sight, and she couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped her lips. You, her daughter, and the life you two were building together—Natasha never knew how much she needed this until she had it.

You gave her a knowing nod, and as if sensing her thoughts, you turned toward the door, carrying Ana with a relaxed confidence. You wanted her to feel secure. She deserved to, and she trusted you

.As the elevator doors closed behind you, you shifted Ana in your arms, making sure she was comfortable as you hummed softly to her. She was still too young to fully understand the words, but she appreciated the sound of your voice, her little eyes following you as you spoke.

“Alright, kiddo, time for a little adventure,” you whispered, your lips brushing the top of her head. “You know how important your mom is to me, right?” You couldn’t help but smile to yourself. It was so easy to fall into this routine, to fall into this role as her protector, her companion.

Ana made a small sound in response—probably just babbling—but you took it as a form of agreement.

“Good,” you continued with a grin. “Because without her, well, I wouldn’t have anyone to bug. And speaking of… today, we’re going to see Grandpa Tony in his lab. He’s probably still complaining about something, but you know him… always making things ten times more complicated than they need to be.”

You shifted Ana slightly in your arms as the elevator dinged, reaching your floor. The doors slid open, and you stepped out into the hallway of the tower, the familiar hum of the building’s energy around you.

“Now,” you added playfully, “you’re gonna love my dad, as your grandfather. but don’t be fooled—he’s just as bad as me when it comes to getting distracted by work. He’ll probably try to show you his latest project and then talk my ear off about it for hours. Just wait. I swear, he could talk about a paperclip for a good hour if you let him.”

Ana let out a little squeal, clearly amused by your antics. Her little hands reached up and patted your face, her way of joining in on the fun. You couldn’t help but laugh softly at her, her enthusiasm so pure and infectious.

As you made your way toward the lab, you could already hear the familiar sound of Tony’s voice from the other side of the door. “I swear, if one more person asks me how to fix the stupid cooling system—”

The door to the lab opened before you could even knock. Tony stood in the doorway, his signature smirk already in place. His eyes flicked from you to Ana in your arms, and a knowing grin spread across his face.

“Well, well, look who’s all grown up,” Tony teased, his gaze lingering on Ana. “Can’t believe you got a kid at your hip. That’s a new one, kid. I expected you to be way more of a chaos machine by now. But no, you went and got all soft. What’s next? You two gonna move in here and start taking naps on my couch?”

You rolled your eyes, chuckling at his usual sarcastic tone. “You know I’m just here for the tech, Dad. I’m not trying to turn your lab into a daycare center, don’t worry.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, his smirk growing wider. “Uh-huh. Sure, sure. You don’t need to lie to me. I saw you with Ana out there. You’re whipped. I’ve never seen you so soft in all my life. Who knew Romanoff's kid would be the one to soften you up?”

“Okay, okay, I get it,” you said, holding Ana a little higher in your arms. “But let’s not act like you weren’t the same way when you had me. Don’t try to act all tough now. We both know you can’t resist a little snuggle session with the kid.”

Tony dramatically clutched his chest. “Oh, please. I don’t need to hear about my ‘soft side’ from you. I’m just here to be a good, responsible parent. I’m not whipped like someone I know.” He flashed you an exaggerated wink, clearly enjoying the teasing.

“Right,” you replied with a roll of your eyes. “Sure, Dad. Whatever you say.”

Tony smirked and gestured toward a table full of gadgets and blueprints. “Come on in, kiddo. Let’s see what kind of trouble we can get into today. I’m sure you’ve got a ton of questions about the latest project, don’t you?”

“Not exactly…”

You said as you stepped into the lab, still holding Ana, who was now distracted by the flashing lights and screens around her. She seemed genuinely fascinated by everything, which just made Tony all the more excited.

“Look at her. Already smarter than both of us combined,” Tony muttered, as he turned toward a workbench and started rummaging through some tools. “And here I thought she’d be the one to keep you in check. Looks like you’re gonna need more than a few lessons to keep up with her.”

You couldn’t help but smile at the playful jab. “At least I’m not the one who’s got an army of robots and a super suit to do all the heavy lifting for me,” you retorted with a grin, giving Tony a sideways glance. “At least I’m doing this the old-fashioned way.”

Tony gave you a mock gasp. “Oh, please. Don’t act like you’re not secretly jealous of the Iron Man suit. Come on, admit it. You want one. It’s practically calling your name.”

“Maybe one day,” you said, as you gently sat Ana down on a nearby cushioned chair. “But today is all about her, and her mama. Right, Ana?”

Ana cooed, and you gave her a smile, her face lighting up at the attention. You couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she looked up at you, her little hands reaching out toward Tony’s lab table in curiosity. It was moments like these that made you feel truly alive—connected, grounded, and exactly where you needed to be.

“Alright, kiddo, what do you think?” you asked her, motioning to the lab.

Tony raised an eyebrow, his grin widening as he leaned over the table. “I think you’ve got your hands full with her, kid. I never thought I’d see the day you’d become the responsible one. But you did good. She’s gonna keep you on your toes.”

You shot him a playful look, watching as Ana grabbed a small tool from the table with the curiosity of a true Stark.

“Yeah, well,” you said with a soft chuckle, “looks like I’m already a little whipped. But that’s okay, I’m used to it.”

Tony laughed, his voice ringing out with amusement. “Sure, sure. Just don’t let anyone hear that you’re ‘whipped.’ Trust me, that’ll get around faster than you think.”

The lab was quieter than usual, a rare moment of stillness. The usual hum of gadgets and screens seemed almost distant as you sat across from your father, Ana perched on your lap, completely absorbed by the shiny new toy Tony had given her. You’d been bouncing this thought around in your head for a while now, and you knew there was no one better to talk to about it than your dad. He might be a little insufferable at times, but he always had a knack for giving you the advice you needed—whether you liked it or not.

“Dad,” you began, looking down at Ana for a moment before meeting Tony’s gaze, “I’ve been thinking about something. I’m… I’m thinking about proposing to Natasha. Asking her to be my fiancée.”

Tony raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised but keeping his cool. “Wait, you’re thinking of proposing? To Natasha? Are you sure you’re not jumping the gun here?”

You exhaled a sharp breath, knowing that the question was coming but still unprepared for it. “Look, we’ve been through a lot together. We’ve been a family in everything but title for months now. We’re already doing the ‘partners in crime’ thing. We’re already there, but… we’ve never really labeled it, you know? We’ve never put a name on it. And I don’t know, I think it’s time for that. It feels right.”

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyeing you intently, his fingers steepled in thought. “I see. So, you want to make it official. Alright. But why the hesitation? Why bring it up now?”

You shifted Ana in your arms, your fingers absently playing with her hair as you chose your words carefully. “I’m scared of scaring her off. I mean, Natasha’s been through a lot, and she doesn’t really do the whole… emotional thing unless she’s sure. I’m worried that if I ask her, she’ll feel like I’m pushing her into something she’s not ready for. Even though I feel like she’s craving this reassurance too. She’s always been the one to hold back, to keep things close to her chest.”

Tony raised a hand, stopping you before you could go further. “Okay, hold up. First of all, I get it. Natasha’s not someone who opens up easily. She’s not a fan of the whole fairy tale thing. But here’s what you need to understand: if she’s with you, if she’s sticking around, it’s because she trusts you. She feels safe with you. And you don’t need to have some big, grand gesture to prove that.”

You shook your head, frustration creeping in. “It’s not just about proving it, though. I want to show her that I’m all in. That this isn’t just some… fleeting thing. I want to give her the reassurance she needs. She’s always been the protector, always been the one holding everything together. But I know she needs someone to hold her too. I just—I want to be that for her.”

Tony’s face softened just a fraction, the teasing glint in his eyes giving way to something more genuine. “I get it, kid. I really do. And listen, I’m not going to tell you how to do it, because that’s your thing. But you’ve gotta realize something: Natasha is probably more scared of losing you than you are of scaring her off. She’s been through hell, and she’s not just going to open up and let anyone in that easily. But she’s with you. You’ve got her trust.”

You let the weight of his words settle for a moment, feeling the truth in them. “You really think so?” you asked quietly, glancing down at Ana. She looked up at you with those big, innocent eyes, as if she could sense the shift in your thoughts.

Tony gave a small nod. “I know so. And the truth is, she’s probably more ready for this than you realize. Just don’t overthink it. Ask her, be honest, and take it from there. If she’s with you now, I think she’ll be with you for the long haul.”

You smiled, feeling a sense of relief washing over you. “Thanks, Dad. I think I needed to hear that.”

Tony stood up, stretching as he looked over at you. “No problem, kid. Just don’t screw it up.” He shot you a wink, and for the first time in a while, there was no sarcasm in his voice—just the simple truth. “And don’t keep me in the dark when you do it. I want the details. All the details.”

You laughed softly. “I’ll keep you posted. Thanks for the advice. And for not completely ruining my confidence.”

Tony smirked, leaning back in his chair, clearly enjoying the conversation far too much. “You’re welcome, kid. Now, go figure out how to propose without completely scaring her off. And hey, you better nail this because I’m already mentally preparing to be a grandpa.” He raised an eyebrow dramatically, as if the idea was more shocking to him than anyone else.

You blinked, not entirely sure if you heard him right. “A what?”

“Grandfather,” Tony grinned, his fingers tapping the table in mock contemplation. “That’s what you’re about to make me, you know. A grandfather. Romanoff’s kid. And here I thought I’d just be stuck dealing with you and your ridiculous tech experiments for the rest of my life, but no. Now I’m about to be the cool grandpa—can you even imagine that?”

Ana, who had been happily playing with one of Tony’s old gadgets on the table, made a noise that could only be described as half-babble, half-squeal. Tony, never one to miss an opportunity, leaned down and waved a finger in front of her face.

“Who’s the coolest grandpa, huh?” Tony cooed at Ana, his voice way too exaggerated for someone who had just turned into a grandparent in theory. “Is it me? You think I’m the coolest grandpa in the world? Or are you just excited about playing with my toys?”

Ana giggled, clearly entertained by the shiny object, and babbled something incoherent. Tony grinned, playing it up. “Ah, yeah, that’s what I thought. She’s totally on my side. Smart kid.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to ignore the fact that Tony was completely right. Ana, in her usual way, was already totally on his side. “You’re a mess,” you muttered, but couldn’t help but smile at the ridiculousness of the whole scene. Tony was making being a grandfather sound like a full-on comedy routine, and it was honestly kind of working.

“Hey, don’t knock it till you try it. You have no idea how great being a grandpa is,” Tony said, tapping his fingers against his chin. “I never thought I’d get here, but I’ve gotta say, Romanoff’s kid? I didn’t even see her as the ‘mom’ type, much less the ‘gonna-make-me-a-grandfather’ type. It’s like finding out your favorite action hero is secretly into knitting. Unexpected, but here we are.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m surprised you’re so okay with it. Natasha’s kid, huh? That’s… something.”

Tony chuckled, bouncing Ana on his knee as she babbled again, looking up at him with wide eyes. “Look, you’re both ridiculously lucky that she’s already a part of my life. You’ll be thankful when you’re bringing her over here for weekend visits, and I’m the one spoiling her rotten with whatever the hell I want.”

Ana babbled again, and this time Tony leaned in, making her giggle. “What’s that, kid? You think I’m awesome, right? I think you’re awesome too,” he cooed, making his best goofy face.

You watched, amused, as Tony continued to play up the role of doting grandparent. He picked up another gadget, handing it to Ana, making her laugh even harder. “You know, I’ve always been good with gadgets, but this? This is a whole new level. This kid’s gonna be a tech genius in no time, and I’m going to take all the credit. You know, because I’m basically the greatest uncle/grandpa of all time.”

“I’m not calling you Grandpa,” you said, laughing. “You’ll have to come up with a cooler nickname. And she is learning with me aka her moma, because i am better than you”

Tony smirked. “Oh, only in your dreams. I’m sure she’ll come up with something better. It’s gonna be great—she’ll probably end up calling me something way cooler than you ever would.” He gave you a side-eye and grinned. “You’re totally whipped. I’m already practicing my grandpa dance moves. Get ready.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. Tony had already fully embraced the idea of being a grandfather, even if he was just teasing about it. But the way he played with Ana, making her laugh, teasing you—there was something so natural and carefree about it all. You were glad she had Tony in her life. And maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t be so bad to have him around more often… even if he was totally insufferable about it.

“Yeah, yeah, we get it, Tony,” you said with a smirk. “You’re the best grandpa ever. But seriously, let’s focus. Do you think Natasha’s going to freak out when I do this?”

Tony waved a hand, his tone turning more serious. “Eh, you’ll figure it out. But remember, don’t make her run for the hills. We don’t need two of you doing the ‘are we really doing this’ dance, alright?”

“I’ll try,” you said, chuckling. “But you better not mess this up for me, old man.”

“Hey, I’m not the one getting whipped here,” Tony said with a wink, before turning back to Ana. “Alright, kid, give me a high five. I’m basically the coolest grandpa ever. You know it.”

Ana slapped her tiny hand against his with a giggle. Tony grinned, watching her as if she were the best thing in the world. Maybe, just maybe, he was looking forward to this whole ‘grandfather’ thing more than he’d let on

You gave Tony a final look as you prepared to leave, Ana still perched on your hip, her tiny hands clutching at your clothes. “Well, I’ve got a full day ahead of me,” you said, rolling your eyes dramatically. “Searching for the perfect engagement ring for Natasha and I. This is going to be a fun adventure.”

Tony’s grin stretched from ear to ear as he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “Ah, yes, the youngest sugar mommy in the world,” he quipped with a wink. “Gonna be a real great look for you. You know, when you’re still taking care of Natasha’s ring shopping. That’s how I imagine you’ll end up—spoiling her with diamonds and tech gadgets while I’ll just sit back and enjoy the show.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t help but laugh at his teasing. “Someone has to keep the romance alive, Tony. You should follow your daughter’s example, and Maybe do something nice for Pepper. She’s probably starting to forget you’re a romantic type.”

Tony blinked in mock horror, raising his eyebrows. “Whoa, whoa, slow down. You want me to—what? Romance Pepper?” He chuckled, shaking his head. “I’d have to start doing all kinds of work to undo all the ‘I’m too cool for romance’ stuff I’ve been saying for years. That’s a lot of work, kid.”

You smirked as you bounced Ana on your hip, “Well, you better start practicing, old man. Otherwise, Pepper might just find herself a new sugar daddy. Someone who doesn’t constantly crack jokes about being too cool for love.”

Tony shook his head, grinning like a mischievous child. “You know, you might be onto something there. But for now, I’m just going to sit here and laugh at you, while you actually go ring shopping. You, the ‘sugar mommy.’” He waggled his eyebrows playfully. “You’re making me proud.”

You shook your head, heading for the door with Ana still clinging to you. “Yeah, yeah. Keep laughing, Tony. You’ll see. I’m going to be the best fiancé ever, and I’m going to make it extra special for Natasha. I’ll make sure to rub it in your face when it works out.”

“Sure you will. Go on, then. Make sure that ring you’re buying is as shiny as your future,” Tony called after you, chuckling.

Ana gave a tiny, muffled giggle as she waved goodbye, and you couldn’t help but smile. At least you had a plan—and you weren’t about to let it slip away.

You carefully strapped Ana into the car seat, her tiny hands gripping at your jacket as you made sure she was comfortable. It had become second nature to you, taking care of her like this. As much as Natasha had a knack for being a fierce, independent woman, there was something about the way she let go when it came to you, trusting you with the things she didn’t always want to manage. Like letting you take control of the car, even though she had her own set of wheels parked in the garage. She simply didn’t care. It was as if she had declared herself a “passenger princess,” and you couldn’t help but adore that about her.

With Ana in the backseat, you started the engine, the sound of it a hum of quiet power beneath you. Your hand rested on the steering wheel, a comforting reminder of how much things had changed. You had come so far from when you barely knew what you were doing with your life. Now, you had a little girl to take care of something you never wanted, but now you can't imagine your life without, and a beautiful woman who trusted you with more than you ever thought you’d be capable of.

As you drove through the city, your mind wandered to the task ahead. Cartier. The place where you were going to pick out something so special, something that would show Natasha just how much you appreciated her. It was going to be perfect, or at least that was the plan. You weren’t nervous about the ring—it was more about what it meant. You weren’t just buying a piece of jewelry; you were solidifying your future. With Natasha. And Ana.

You looked in the rearview mirror, catching Ana’s wide eyes staring up at you, her face an open book of curiosity, though she could barely form words. “We’re going to get a special gift for Mommy, kiddo,” you said with a soft smile. “Something shiny, something beautiful. Your mom deserves it all, you know?”

She didn’t respond—of course, she didn’t. Ana wasn’t quite at the stage where she could articulate much yet, but you loved the way she looked at you, as if she understood every word you said, even though she was still finding her voice. Her small, round eyes followed your every move, and you could feel her focus on you, an innocence that was both heartwarming and, in its own way, a little overwhelming.

The drive to the shopping center was short. You parked and grabbed the diaper bag from the backseat, slinging it over your shoulder as you lifted Ana out of her seat, holding her close. She squirmed a little, reaching for the necklace you had on. You chuckled, adjusting her in your arms. She loves to play with your necklace, since she meet you in that meeting…

Ana gave a soft, gurgling sound that was almost like a laugh, and you found yourself smiling at how sweet and innocent she was, unaware of how much she meant to you, how much she meant to Natasha. You took her hand gently and led her inside the store.

Cartier was as elegant and pristine as always, with rows of sparkling diamonds and gold gleaming under the soft lighting. You had been here a few times before, picking out gifts for friends whenever you wanted to make them feel special, but today it felt different. It wasn’t just a matter of picking out something pretty. Today, you were making a statement.

You walked through the aisles, pointing to a few options as you spoke to Ana, even though you knew she wasn’t quite old enough to understand. “We’re going to find something perfect,” you murmured, trying to steady your nerves. “Something worthy of your mom. She deserves everything, sweetheart. You’ll see. When we give it to her, it’ll be like all our love wrapped up in a little shiny box.”

Ana babbled something, and you paused, letting out a small laugh. “I know, right? I’m a sucker for her too. But don’t worry, Ana. We’ll make sure to make her feel special. She's been taking care of us, so it’s our turn.”

The sales associate came over and led you to a display of rings, their beauty unmatched. You glanced at Ana as you moved, still holding her close to you, your thoughts drifting to Natasha. She had been through so much in her life, and yet she had managed to create this small, perfect world for the three of you. You could already see it—Natasha’s reaction when she saw the ring, the way her eyes would light up with surprise, a flicker of exasperation at the price, and maybe even a little bit of disbelief that you’d pulled it off.

You smiled at the thought, realizing how much you’d been anticipating this moment. The ring was only one part of it. The bigger picture was the commitment. You were giving her something she hadn’t had in a long time: stability. You were telling Natasha that you were in this for the long haul. And you would make sure to remind her of that every day.

You looked down at Ana again, who was now quietly observing the sparkling jewelry in the display case. “We’ll get something nice for your mom, don’t worry. I’m sure she’ll love whatever we choose.”

You held her a little tighter as the sales associate continued to show you options. It was easy to get lost in the idea of the future, of everything you wanted to build. With Natasha, with Ana. Your heart swelled with love, and it felt right. All of it.

You step closer to the glass display, Ana still cradled in your arms, her tiny hands gripping the fabric of your shirt as her little head tilts to the side, eyes wide with curiosity. You can feel her soft breath against your skin, the gentle weight of her little body grounding you in the moment. The rings before you are dazzling, but none of them seem quite right—not yet.

The attendant who had greeted you steps back for a moment, giving you space, but there’s a soft, almost disappointed air lingering between you. You ignore it, your focus shifting back to the delicate pieces laid out in front of you. But then, something catches your eye—a glimmer of two sapphires set beside a diamond in one of the smaller boxes to the side.

You shift Ana slightly, her tiny body nestled against your shoulder as she lets out a soft, inquisitive sound, her eyes following yours. “Look at that, sweetheart,” you whisper to her, smiling as you tap the glass gently. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

One of the sales associates, noticing your attention, steps closer, her voice soft and professional but with a hint of genuine interest now. “Ah, you’ve spotted one of our more unique pieces. That’s a ring with two sapphires, one on each side of the diamond.” She glances at Ana, then at you, her smile warm. “It’s a beautiful choice—sapphires are often associated with loyalty and wisdom, making them an excellent pairing with a diamond. Very meaningful.”

You nod, turning the box slightly to get a better look at the intricate design. The sapphires seem to almost glow beside the diamond, their deep blue hue contrasting beautifully against the sparkling clarity of the stone. You can almost picture Natasha wearing it, the ring reflecting the light just as she would reflect the love and trust between you.

“That’s exactly what I’m looking for,” you say quietly, almost to yourself. “Something that feels meaningful… something that’ll speak to us, not just look pretty.”

Ana reaches up, her tiny hand brushing against the glass, her fingers outstretched in fascination, the soft giggles escaping her as she tries to touch the rings. Her eyes are focused entirely on the sapphire-colored stones, and her voice rises in a playful babble, “Mama!” she calls, her small voice so pure and filled with love.

You laugh softly, lifting her slightly so her cheek rests against yours. “You like this one, huh?” you murmur, the sound of her giggle filling the space around you, light and free. “You think Mommy would love it?”

The associate watches this exchange, a soft smile curving her lips as she takes in the sight of mother and child, a warmth in her expression that wasn’t there before. “It’s a beautiful ring,” she agrees, her tone softening. “Definitely something special.”

You nod, still looking at the ring. It feels right—like something that would belong to Natasha. “I think this one’s the one,” you say, more to yourself than anyone else, but the words hold the weight of a promise.

Ana reaches for you again, her little fingers grabbing at your collar as she pulls herself closer, her voice a high-pitched, innocent call. “Mama!” she repeats, her excitement contagious. You smile, your heart swelling as you bring her in for a closer hug, feeling the warmth of her tiny body pressed against yours.

“I think she’d love it too, sweetheart,” you murmur, looking down at your daughter’s sparkling eyes. “This will be the perfect ring for Mommy.”

The attendant, sensing the moment, steps back to give you space, her smile genuine now, her previous distance replaced with a soft admiration. You glance up, giving a small nod as you make your decision, knowing in your heart that this ring is more than just a symbol of love. It’s a reflection of the beautiful life you’re about to continue building with Natasha—and the little one you’re holding close to your heart.

You finished selecting the grand diamond ring for Natasha, but then you found yourself drawn to another, for you this time. With a much simpler piece. It wasn’t large or flashy, but it had something about it that caught your eye—a small band with delicate peridots, the gemstones sparkling softly under the lights. As you traced the band with your finger, you couldn’t help but think of the eyes that would one day glance down at it. Natasha’s eyes. Ana’s eyes. The rich green of both of them, so full of life and love. The peridots reminded you of that warmth, of the connection you had with them, something so deeply rooted and irreplaceable.

You knew this ring wasn’t about wealth or grandeur; it was about something far more personal. It was about you, Natasha, and Ana. Your family. It was a symbol, simple but meaningful, something you could wear to remind yourself of everything you had, and everything you hoped for.

The attendant, who had been helping you, noticed the change in your demeanor and smiled. “This one, too?” she asked gently, noticing how your eyes lingered on the ring. “It’s a beautiful choice, very understated. Your fiancé is a lucky woman to have someone with such fine taste.”

You looked up at her, a soft smile pulling at your lips. “I’m the lucky one,” you replied quietly, your voice thick with emotion. “She’s giving me a family.”

You shifted Ana in your arms, her little face breaking into a wide grin as she giggled in your arms. You couldn’t help but laugh softly, too, the sound of her joy filling your heart. “You’re my lucky charm, kiddo,” you whispered, gently bouncing her, making her laugh even harder.

The attendant watched the moment with a knowing smile, and you felt a swell of gratitude for your little family. They might not be the most traditional, or the most perfect in the eyes of the world, but in that moment, with Ana’s laughter in your arms and Natasha waiting for you at home, you felt like the luckiest person in the world.

As you made your way through the store, your gaze kept drifting back to the jewelry display cases, and this time, something caught your eye that made your heart swell. It was a delicate bracelet, small and simple but undeniably beautiful. It wasn’t anything extravagant—just a tiny gold band with little charms, each one representing something small, something significant. You could already imagine Ana wearing it, her chubby little wrists looking even more precious with the bracelet adorning them.

You didn’t need a reason. You didn’t need to justify it to anyone. It was something you could do, and you were damn well going to do it. Ana might not understand it now, but one day, she would.

You turned to the attendant again, nodding towards the bracelet. “And that one too,” you said, a grin tugging at your lips. “Just because I can.”

The attendant smiled knowingly, clearly seeing the love you had for both Natasha and Ana. “Such a thoughtful gift,” she remarked as she carefully wrapped it up. “She’ll love it when she’s older.”

You couldn’t help but imagine Ana with it on, her little hands reaching out to hold Natasha’s as they walked together. You felt the excitement of giving her something so precious, something that would stay with her, a small piece of you, for years to come.

You glanced down at the bracelet in the attendant’s hands and then back to Ana in your arms, her giggles still filling the air. “Yeah,” you murmured under your breath, smiling softly, “she’s going to love it.”

As you made your way through the final steps of paying for everything, your phone buzzed in your pocket, pulling you momentarily away from the dazzling jewelry collection laid out in front of you. You took it out, seeing Natasha’s name flashing across the screen. You couldn’t help but smile, the thought of her—your woman—always managing to sneak her way into your thoughts.

The message was short, but the familiar warmth of her tone was undeniable. She knew you well enough by now, and this little exchange was just another part of the dance between the two of you.

| My woman ❤️‍🩹 > You are taking too long, should I worry?

You typed a quick response, already anticipating her playful tone in your mind. You loved how she could always make you feel at ease, even through a simple message.

| Me > Just here spoiling my favorite—and only liked—baby. Maybe a little bit of myself too. Don't worry, I got something for you too :) 

You quickly hit send before slipping the phone back into your pocket, taking a deep breath and grinning to yourself. Natasha’s little text brought that familiar warmth to your chest. It was as if she were right there with you, even though you were standing in a Cartier store with your daughter on your hip, the weight of the situation suddenly feeling a bit more real.

You looked over at Ana, who was still babbling happily in your arms, oblivious to the significance of what was happening around her. But one day, she would understand. You smiled again, feeling that quiet sense of certainty deep in your heart.

Your phone buzzed again just as you finished collecting everything from the counter.

| My woman ❤️‍🩹 >  Just making sure. But seriously, hurry back, or I might come check on you myself, and you know how dangerous that could be 😉

The playful challenge in her text made you chuckle softly, already imagining the smirk on her face. You could feel the pull to get back to her, to settle into that space of comfort and love that had become so effortless between you. You sent a quick reply before turning to head out the door.

| Me:  I’ll be back soon. Don’t worry darling <3 

You pulled out your phone again, holding Ana in your hip while rolling though your phone this time with a mischievous grin as you typed a message to Clint. You knew you’d need some help pulling this off without Natasha catching on.

| Me: I’m about to propose to your bestie, can you do me a solid? Like, distract her for the next few hours, maybe until midnight?

You hit send, already picturing Clint’s reaction. Within seconds, the reply came.

| Male Katniss 🏹 > Damn, finally. You got it, kid. Don’t worry, I’ll make her suffer with me watching the Rockies. That should keep her occupied.

You smirked, feeling a little lighter with Clint’s usual sarcastic response. You could practically hear the eye-roll in his voice. But it was exactly what you needed. You sent back a quick “Thanks, Clint. I owe you one” before slipping the phone back into your pocket and heading to meet Natasha, excitement bubbling up in your chest, Ana was looking at you as if she knew what is about to happen tonight.a

You were getting one step closer to making it all real.

[bosbas]

Chapter 9: in my defense, I have none

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem!daphne's best friend!reader WC: 2.3k

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love, we are getting somewhere!!, still a lot of pining ofc

Summary: At her wit's end after Anthony's multiple attempts to scare away her suitors, Daphne employs her best friend's help to keep her brother distracted while she tries to find a husband. It's a foolproof plan, except it ends up working a little too well. (or, a Bridgerton version of The Taming of the Shrew/10 things I hate about you)

December 18, 1812 - Tensions had been... high... in the Bridgerton household as of late, to say the least.

The holidays were looming, and with that loomed also the prospect of Anthony spending an entire week with you in his home in the countryside. So naturally, he'd been distracting himself by practically biting the head off of any family member who dared speak with him. A particular fury, though, was reserved for Daphne when she brought you up.

Such an argument happened to be taking place at this very moment. Anthony had made the grave mistake of revealing his plans to leave for Aubrey Hall a few days before the rest of his family in the hopes that it would provide a brief respite from the chaos.

"You're being ridiculous," yelled Daphne, grabbing a cushion off the couch and squeezing it in frustration. "You simply can't deal with your feelings like an adult and you're running away."

"I'm not running away," roared Anthony. "And I've dealt with my feelings plenty. I just can't be bothered to have this conversation for the hundredth time. You're boring, Daphne!"

"Don't you say that to me," the younger Bridgerton fumed, throwing the pillow in her hands at her brother.

Much to her chagrin, Anthony easily dodged it, and the condescending smile he gave her in response was enough for her to let out a strangled scream.

"I will as long as you keep bringing this up," Anthony snapped, nearing his sister and shaking her by the shoulders. "I've had enough of you meddling in my life once again. Let's not forget how it ended the first time."

"It only ended because you wanted it to end," growled Daphne, shoving her brother's arms off her shoulders. "You can't deny it, Anthony. It might have started as a ploy, but what happened after was entirely out of my hands. Is it really worth running away for?"

"For the last time, I'm not running away!" repeated Anthony, grabbing the pillow Daphne had thrown earlier and launching it in his sister's direction.

Unfortunately having been hit by the cushion, Daphne angrily fixed her hair as she looked at her brother. "Don't lie to yourself, Anthony. You only want to avoid Mama and me, who make you actually face your feelings. It's cowardly, just like you are."

But the venom in Daphne's voice didn't seem to penetrate her eldest brother. He'd made his decision, that much was clear, and hopefully, a couple of days of peace and quiet would help him prepare to see your eyes and hear your laugh once again without wanting to run straight into the Thames.

Ignoring his sister's insults, Anthony huffed and straightened out his coat, turning around to leave the room. "I certainly won't be speaking with her while she's at Kent if that's what you're trying to imply."

Daphne could've screamed out of frustration. She opted for something she knew would cut her brother to the bone. "Don't you think you've punished her enough?"

Anthony stopped in his tracks and blinked repeatedly, almost as if he'd been struck.

But Daphne continued. "She's miserable. She can't eat, she can't sleep, she's ridden with guilt and pales at even the slightest mention of you. I've never seen her like this. I haven't heard her laugh in weeks. Don't you think that's enough?"

Anthony turned around slowly to look at his sister, wanting to confirm what she was saying.

Daphne's eyes were clear, pleading.

"I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't. How could you? You leave the room if anyone even says her name."

"I-" tried Anthony, but no coherent sentence came out of his mouth.

"You've punished her enough," repeated Daphne, sighing deeply. "Not to mention how much you've punished yourself. You're allowed to have feelings for someone, Anthony. You're even allowed to pursue them after that. You'd be happier to realize that before you manage to completely ruin your chances with Y/N."

Once again, no words left Anthony's mouth. He was far too choked up to say anything that could have been deemed appropriate at that moment. So he stood there as Daphne pushed past him, standing in dumbfounded silence as he thought about just how much he wished he could go back to that May night when you first asked him to dance.

Perhaps he could have asked you to dance first. Perhaps it wouldn't have mattered. He supposed he'd never know.

---

Standing at the entrance to Aubrey Hall, the Bridgertons' country estate, you found yourself wringing your hands. You were anxious, though you'd never admit it aloud. You usually spent the winter at your own family's house, a tradition more rooted in habit than sentiment. But every Christmas, without fail, you took the short carriage ride to Aubrey Hall and stayed there for a week. It was your annual escape from the echoing silence of a holiday spent alone with your father, who, truthfully, preferred his ledgers to any kind of festivity. Holidays only seemed to remind him of your mother, and he coped in the only way he knew how: by pretending they didn't exist.

Daphne had repeatedly insisted that you were welcome this year. That nothing had changed. That you ought to come, just as you always had, and that everyone, including Anthony, would be happy to see you. You weren't entirely convinced, but you'd chosen to believe her. Or, at least, you were trying to.

The sky above was thick with snow-laden clouds, the air sharp with that particular stillness that came before a storm. It felt fitting, in a way– your thoughts were just as restless, your nerves just as unsettled. This was the first time you'd returned to a Bridgerton home since that night. Since everything. And while part of you thrilled at the familiar sight of Aubrey Hall, a quieter, more wounded part was dreading the possibility of seeing him.

Anthony.

And there it was again: that flutter in your chest you wished you could attribute to the cold.

Just as you were about to knock on the door, Anthony opened the door himself and you let out a startled gasp.

He, in turn, looked like he was seeing a ghost.

"Hello," you said awkwardly, not able to tear your gaze away from Anthony's wide eyes.

"I thought you weren't coming," breathed Anthony, completely ignoring your greeting.

"Excuse me? Daphne said-" you coughed, shocked that he wanted you out of his home that badly.

Anthony blinked, coming back to his senses. "I meant I thought you weren't coming today. The rest of the family decided to wait a couple of days for the storm to pass, I suppose I thought you'd do the same."

"They're not here yet?" you squeaked out, genuine dread filling you from head to toe as you realized you and Anthony would truly be alone in his family's country house.

He shook his head, looking at the sky as if to confirm the incoming storm.

You rushed to explain yourself. "It's such a short carriage ride that I thought the weather wouldn't matter so much. I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking. I can go back, I'll just tell the driver-" you sputtered.

Anthony screwed his eyes shut briefly and then looked straight into yours. "It's alright," he assured you, almost reaching out to put a comforting hand on your shoulder but retracting it before making any contact. "The storm is about to start anyway, it wouldn't be safe."

You nodded, not quite sure how to proceed. This was the longest conversation you'd had with Anthony since he found out about... well, everything.

He cleared his throat. "Please, come in. I wouldn't want you to catch a chill," he said, stepping aside and offering to take your coat while motioning for his butler to help carry your bags inside.

Once again the two of you were stood, alone, trying to look anywhere but at each other. A heavy silence filled with things left unsaid made it almost impossible to hear your own thoughts, and you ached with the desire to reach out to Anthony for reassurance, much like you had done for a greater part of the summer.

"Well, I'd better be on my way," he said, not providing an explanation for why he was going outside when a powerful storm was clearly about to hit. "I'm certain you know your way around by now, but do let me know if you need anything."

His voice sounded detached, far away, and not at all like the warm tone he used to use when you were whispering together at a ball or sharing a funny story during a promenade. You were torn between wanting to continue speaking with Anthony, if only because it reminded you of how much you did love him, or if you wanted to get away from how cold he was being as soon as possible.

In the end, he made the decision easy for you by leaving without waiting for your response.

A painful reminder of just how damaged your relationship was. Perhaps it was beyond fixing now. It certainly seemed like it.

You sighed and made your way to your bedroom, already dreading the rest of your stay at Aubrey Hall. It was like the life had been taken out of you entirely.

Quietly reaching your door, you decided to stay away from Anthony as much as possible before the rest of his family arrived. It was the least you could do. It was already a burden being here alone with him, and you didn't want to make it worse by actually attempting to speak with him.

---

In the end, your plan failed miserably. It was the middle of the night, and you found yourself shivering from the cold in your bedroom, looking out at the snow swirling around outside. It would have been a beautiful sight if you were not chilled to the bone.

With every passing minute, your resolve to avoid Anthony at all costs was waning. You desperately needed another blanket– or three– and there was no one else you could ask at this hour. It was entirely too late to bother any of the staff, and you were far too exhausted to go downstairs anyway.

As much as you tried to hold off, burying yourself in your sheets and curling into a ball, goosebumps covered your entire body and your teeth were chattering loudly.

Finally, as you felt your feet grow numb, you decided you could wait no longer. Standing up and wiggling your toes, you exited your room to try and find somewhere a blanket might be (or Anthony, whichever came first).

You wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes, not quite thinking clearly. Eventually, you passed Anthony's study and found the light under the door still shining, and you breathed a sigh of relief.

Knocking gingerly, you opened the door slowly to reveal Anthony writing down some notes on his desk before he looked up to see you.

You felt uncomfortable under his gaze, underdressed in your nightgown. He'd seen you naked before, you reminded yourself, and you almost smiled at the absurdity. But it didn't help your nervousness.

"Is something the matter? It's the middle of the night," he said, looking you up and down without restraint.

You shook your head and remembered where you were. "Oh, yes, sorry."

"I wish you'd stop apologizing," he responded darkly and promptly looked back down at what he had been writing.

Your throat went dry, but you'd come this far, you might as well actually tell him why you were here.

Trying to keep your voice level, you explained, "I was just wondering if you had a spare blanket I could use. It's quite cold in my room."

Anthony paused for a second, looking back up at you and seeing you slightly shaking from the cold still. Finally, he nodded, gesturing toward the couch at the other end of the study which had a very thick blanket laying atop it.

You scurried over, wanting to get out of his study as soon as possible, but Anthony's voice stopped you.

"I'm nearly done, if you'd like to wait for a few minutes, I can walk you back to your room."

You sent him a questioning look, but he just shrugged.

"It's quite late," he repeated, as if that would provide an explanation, and promptly returned to his work.

To be frank, you were too tired to care, and you knew that Anthony would put up a fight if you disagreed with him, so you sat down anyway. Draping the blanket across your shoulders, you sat down on the couch and stared at Anthony. It had been months since you had the opportunity to just look at him, and you had forgotten how much you truly desired him.

Even as your eyes grew heavy and you sank deeper into the cushions, you couldn't help the warm feeling that came over you every time you thought about that night with him on the floor of your library.

The next thing you knew, you were in Anthony's arms as he lowered you gently on your bed.

"I didn't realize I had fallen asleep," you whispered, rubbing your eyes sleepily.

"It's no bother," he whispered back, pulling the covers around you and tucking the blanket up to your chin.

As he turned to leave you grabbed his hand, and though he could have easily kept walking away, he sat down on the side of your bed, looking down at you expectantly.

You were half asleep and fighting to keep your eyes open, but you wanted him to know. "I wish things could be different," you spoke softly.

Anthony smiled sadly at you, saying nothing but leaning down to plant a tender kiss on your forehead before he stood to leave. You fell asleep before he even reached the door. 

—

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[babydoll372]

Pleasure

Pairings: older!natasha romanoff x younger!reader (nat is around her late thirties, early forties, r is early 20’s)

Word count: 2223

Warnings: age gap relationship, r is honestly cringe blame that on me alone, sexual insecurities, age gap insecurities, oral (r receiving), r is a virgin, mentions of scissoring, inexperienced!r

Natasha sighed in relief as she closed her laptop, clocking out of her shift and rushing to leave the office before her boss could dive into a long conversation with her. She got into her car and waited for it to warm up, shivering a bit at first and grabbing her phone to call you. She smiled as she saw your face appear on the screen as she started pulling out of the parking lot.

“Hello, my beautiful girl..how was your day?” She glanced over and saw you shrug a bit as you stirred a spoon, she was guessing you were cooking her dinner for when she’d be home.

“Y/N? Is everything okay?” She asked with more worry this time, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip as you stared upon her beautiful, chiseled jawline.

“I’m okay..uhm, how was work?”

“Eh, it was the same as usual. How was your doctor's appointment today? Everything go okay?” Today you had to see your primary care physician for a regular checkup, but it ended up going in a different direction. You nervously released the fact that you were not sexually active, even though you showed your doctor photos of you and Natasha earlier in the appointment. She didn’t question obviously, knowing many different reasons could be of cause, and wrote down what you told her. However, when you explained some worries to her was when she brought it up.

“So you can’t reach an orgasm with masturbation, why not try with your partner? I don’t know if you are waiting until marriage or what not-“

“Oh, no, no, definitely not planning to wait until marriage..I’m just, you know, a bit scared. It’ll obviously, uh..be the first so I’m just worried I’ll embarrass her and myself by feeling absolutely nothing.” The woman chuckled and placed a hand on your knee, patting it gently.

“I personally, and professionally, don’t think you have anything to be afraid of. It will be hard at first to adjust to, it’s definitely uncomfortable having another person see you so intimately and insight different physical reactions, but actually making love is so much different than masturbating, my dear. And I know it’s uncomfortable to hear or talk about, but you don’t need to fear it. I am sure that when the time comes you will be quite pleased, and so will your partner, and if not then I can refer you to a gynecologist and we can go from there, alright?” You nodded at her reassuring words, fiddling with your hands to ease your nerves as now the idea was imprinted into your mind for the rest of the physical. Maybe you really were just inexperienced and couldn’t bring yourself to experience an orgasm, but maybe she would? She had been with multiple women in her years, you zero, considering your age gap, but what if she didn’t enjoy it with you?

“It was fine..uhm, I- I was hoping to talk to you when you’re home about something.” You said, blurting it out before you would forcefully hold it in any longer. It had already felt like years keeping it in for ten hours.

“You don’t want to talk now? Is it serious?”

“I would just prefer talking at home, is that okay?” Once again, Natasha glanced at the camera with worry, trying to read your face in a quick few seconds before looking back at the road.

“Of course it’s okay..I’ll see you at home then?” Usually the call on her way home lasted the entire ride, but you both could feel the heavy tension and knew it needed to end there. You said your goodbyes and about fifteen minutes later, she came home and you greeted her at the door with a kiss. You walked her into the dining room where you had dim lighting and a candle lit on the table. The table was always up against the window looking out to the city, and now it looked even more romantic since it was dark out, and the only lights illuminating the sky were from the homes of other people living their own lives. Along with the candle were two plates of steak and potatoes, making Natasha’s eyebrows raise. Steaks weren’t something you two could afford often, clearly this was an important night.

“Wow, this must be something really important you need to discuss, huh?” She joked, sitting down across from you as you didn’t even laugh. You just bit your lip anxiously as you started to cut your own steak. Usually, Nat would cut your food for you, whether it was meat, pancakes, desserts, or anything else, she’d be the one doing it for you while you happily awaited.

“You sure you don’t want me to cut that for you, baby?”

“I’m okay, I’m not a baby, y’know.” You chuckled, only making her tick her head to the side in worry again.

“I know you’re not a baby, I just like doing things for you. I’m sorry if it came off that way..are you sure you’re okay?” She tried to calmly speak, not wanting to cause an argument of any kind but also getting a bit frustrated at your inability to communicate your problem with her.

“I-…I just don’t want you to think of me as some child, I’m a grown woman and I don’t need anybody to do things for me. And just because you’re older or have slept with loads of women doesn’t mean I’m some incompetent- thing!”

“Woah, woah, woah, what is going on? Why are you treating me like I’m some whore who’s slept with hundreds of women? And why are you suddenly so worried about this?”

“Because I want to have sex with you! And I- I want to be comparable to the, I don’t know, supermodels you’ve been with! And I don’t want you to think you can’t make a move just because I’m younger or because you cut my steak for me..” Natasha covered her lips to hide a chuckle at your obviously wrong guessing, and quickly put on a face of care when you were looking.

“Y/N, that is completely inaccurate! First off, the very few women I’ve slept with were nowhere near supermodels. Second off, you have no idea how badly I want to have sex with you! I have been holding back since we got together because I respect you, not because I don’t find you desirable or hot, it’s just because I’m not going to push you into anything. I do not think you are too young for me to have sex with…and I wish you would’ve come to me sooner about this, sweetheart..” She said as she kissed the back of your hands, smiling at you as you slowly cracked a grin, realizing how foolish you sounded.

“I’m sorry- gosh I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to be so rude, I don’t think you’re a whore at all! I think you’re awesome and the best girlfriend I could ever ask for..who I really hope will still accept my offer to have sex with me for the first time..tonight?” Natasha smiled wide, staring into your eyes as if they were never ending. She nodded as she verbally agreed, and you blew out a breath. You slowly pulled your hands back from her and went to finish your steak so that you two could start soon, however, Nat had different plans. She stood up abruptly and went to your side of the table, turning your chair around to face her and effortlessly lifting you so your legs wrapped around her waist, and her hands were placed on your butt as she teasingly squeezed it. She kissed you repeatedly along the way, having to stop back at the table after your insisting of blowing out the candle, and once you did, she just went for your neck. Any open area of skin she was following with her lips, sometimes leaving small purple marks in its wake. Once she got to the bedroom, she comfortably laid you on the bed and stared down at you, grinning from ear to ear.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, you know that?” You bit your lip as your cheeks tinted a deep shade of red, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away. “I am the luckiest woman on this very planet, my love..and I am never letting you go. I am going to make love to you today and every single day after that you let me, because I cannot get enough of you, my beloved..” She leaned down to kiss you passionately before her hands trailed down to your hips, teasing your waistband. She trailed her lips to your chest until you nodded, allowing her to remove your shirt. She grinned, teasing her tongue around the soft, supple plush that was your skin, and sucking softly on your nipples, one and then the other. Your fingers found her hair as your raked through it, humming softly. You felt an ounce of panic rise when you thought back to what you told your physician and how you truly had never felt much pleasure, and you were worried this would be the same. You felt a limited amount of lust from her actions, but you felt loving pleasure.

“Nat..?”

“Hm?” She kept her lips wrapped around her desired object, looking up at you from your chest.

“Do you think you could try, like..rubbing me a bit? Or something like that..please and thank you.” She slowly pulled away from your chest, planning to go back as she grabbed a hair tie from the bedside table and put her long red hair in a bun. She used two fingers to gently caress your clit through your shorts, her free hand on your thigh rubbing soft circles.

“Tell me how that feels, sweetheart. Do you want me to move your shorts aside?”

“May you please? I- it feels close to good but not quite there..“ She nodded, understanding the difficulty you might have for your first time and she pulled the shorts over a bit to reveal your well tailored cunt. You fiddled with your fingers as you watched her face for her reaction.

“You look gorgeous, my love. But you don’t ever need to change a thing for me, okay?” You nodded, biting your lip as you felt her wet fingers draw circles over your clit. She focused on how much pleasure she was bringing you, her free hand moving to your breasts as she fondled them softly, tweaking your nipples playfully. After the same movements and eventually a slightly quicker pace, she wanted to go further.

“Is it alright if I use my mouth now?” She could see your hesitancy and how your legs instinctively closed an inch at the thought of her so close. “It’s alright if you don’t want me to, I just want to make you feel good, this is about you tonight.”

“You-..you can use your mouth, yeah..” She didn’t waste much time and put her hands on your thighs to hold them in place, bringing her tongue to your clit as she followed similar patterns from her fingers. She hummed at the taste of you, making you moan quietly as you gripped onto her hair. You could feel your legs shaking a little bit as you tightened them around her, and she only quickened the pace of her tongue. She rode off of your whimpers, both the quiet and loud, and she watched as your upper body heaved up and down the quicker she went. Her jaw started to ache, but she wasn’t finding it in her to care as she drowned out the pain and focused on your confused pleasure. It didn’t come in a matter of seconds, nor only a few minutes, but she continued until she heard the words she had been desperate to hear.

“Nat-! I- fuck, I think I’m gonna-“ She pulled away for mere milliseconds to respond, not wanting to waste a single moment away from your delicious juices.

“Cum for me- do it for me, baby!” She moaned loudly into your desperate heat as your legs shook even quicker and tightened even further, your body unraveling as you let yourself slip. Your eyes shot wide open as you stared at the ceiling, your orgasmic state washing over you intensely as you clung tightly to the back of your older girlfriends head while you muttered ‘fuck’ over and over under your breath.

She eased you out of your high by delivering slow licks to the sensitive bud until you were whining for her to stop. She slowly got up and removed her underwear before settling in front of you.

“Take all the time you need, there’s no rush..but once you’re ready, I want to teach you something.” She took your hands in her own, kissing them softly as you looked up at her, still in a completely disheveled state.

“What do you want to try?”

“You might’ve heard of it before, it’s called scissoring.” She grinned at the thought alone and ran her hands up and down your thighs, humming at the feeling of your soft skin as she could only imagine what it’d feel like rubbing against hers.

[mixolya]

ᓚᘏᗢ — megumi fushiguro: distracted !

megumi fushiguro x reader ⭑ fluff / drabble likes & reblogs are appreciated <3

note: this was sitting in my drafts for forever!!

wc: 553

megumi fushiguro wasn’t one to get easily distracted, but you had a talent for bending his focus in your direction without even trying.

the two of you sat on the steps of a quiet park, the fading sunlight spilling golden rays over the grass. the breeze carried a hint of jasmine, and your laughter echoed softly in the stillness. you'd been recounting some funny story from earlier in the week, your hands moving animatedly as you spoke.

megumi, on the other hand, hadn’t heard a word.

he tried. he really did. but the way the light hit your face, highlighting the curve of your smile, was impossible to ignore. there was a brightness in your eyes that seemed to draw him in, and he felt like the world around him had blurred into irrelevance.

“megumi?” you called, tilting your head.

he blinked, realizing you’d stopped speaking. “hm?”

“are you even listening?” you teased, a knowing smile tugging at your lips.

he cleared his throat, looking away to hide the warmth creeping up his neck. “yeah, of course.”

“oh really?” you said, raising an eyebrow. “then what was i saying?”

megumi's silence was answer enough, and you laughed, leaning forward to lightly nudge his shoulder.

“you're hopeless,” you said, though there was no malice in your tone.

“sorry,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “i guess i got… distracted.”

“by what?” you asked, genuinely curious.

he hesitated, his eyes flickering to yours before darting away. “nothing. it's not important.”

your gaze softened, and you leaned a little closer, your voice dropping to a gentle murmur. “you can tell me, you know.”

megumi's breath caught. you always had this way of breaking through his defenses, of making him feel safe even when his own thoughts felt too heavy to share.

“it's just… you,” he admitted quietly, his words barely audible.

your eyes widened slightly. “me?”

he nodded, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground. “you're distracting. in a good way, i mean.”

a soft laugh escaped your lips, and you reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from his face. “i'll take that as a compliment.”

megumi looked up then, meeting your eyes. for a moment, the world seemed to pause, the only sound the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze.

“you should,” he said simply, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

as the evening wore on, the two of you stayed there on the steps, the conversation flowing easily between moments of quiet. megumi found himself relaxing in your presence, the usual tension in his shoulders easing with every passing minute.

at some point, you shifted closer, resting your head against his shoulder. he froze for a moment, his heart skipping a beat, but when he glanced down at you, your eyes were closed, a peaceful smile on your lips.

he let out a soft sigh, leaning his head slightly against yours.

the warmth of your presence, the gentle weight of your head on his shoulder; it was overwhelming in the best way. megumi wasn’t good with words, but he hoped you could feel everything he couldn’t quite say in the way he stayed by your side, in the quiet way he let himself melt into you.

because for once, he didn’t mind being distracted.

© mixolya 2025. do not copy, remake or edit any of my works.

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where the team realizes Batman is kinda emo

I just love the idea of season 1 yj robin being antsy an entire training session. He’s fidgety and keeps looking at the time and watching the door. It was weird, and none of them could figure out what the problem was.

Until Batman came in, and Robin darted at him.

“Are we going are we going are we going?”

Robin becomes an impatient toddler, bouncing in front of Batman and hanging off his cape. Batman just has his arms crossed over his chest, a tiny smirk pulling at his lips.

“Tickets secured.”

“YES! Yes yes yes yes yes!” Robin throws his hands up in the air and then does a victory lap around Batman before jumping up and hanging off Batman’s shoulders, shoving his face over Batman’s left shoulder to stare at him. “Which day?”

“Both.”

“HA!”

Robin throws his head back, and the team can’t figure out how Batman never seems to even stumble when Robin pulls him all sorts of directions with his antics.

But also they’re so confused about what their conversation is about. It’s not making any sense at all.

Until three months later, when Robin tells them he and Batman won’t be available the next Friday or Saturday.

“Can’t tell you why, it’s classified,” Robin says, a dumb grin on his face. “Has zero to do with a big concert in Gotham this weekend. Nothing to do with that at all.”

And suddenly their weird interaction from a few months ago pops into everyone’s heads, and the team huddles around Artemis after Robin leaves, her thumbs moving at lightning speed across her phone to try and figure out what concert they could be going to. This is the most personal information they’ve ever heard about Batman, they’re so curious. What kind of music could Batman even be into? They didn’t realize he had a personality.

And they find out it there’s a band in Gotham for two nights that weekend before they move onto the next tour stop in Metropolis. And Artemis even surprises herself with the way she laughs so hard.

Because it’s a totally emo/goth kinda band. Black face paint and everything. Dramatic music videos. A whole schtick. Their fans dress up in similar face paint and over the top costumes and get into heated debates about band lore on Twitter.

And Batman is going to their concert. Both nights.

“Well the guy does dress up like a giant bat,” Wally says, his voice faraway as he imagines what Batman and Robin might be wearing to this concert.

“Robin once said they both wear a black face paint kinda thing under their masks in case anything rips or something,” Conner mentions. “So I can see it.”

On Saturday morning, they’re all lounging around before training, and M’gann is the one who sees pictures online of Bruce Wayne and Dick Grayson at the same concert from the night before.

They’ve both got skull face paint on (not the whole face, just enough for the general vibe) and Bruce even has little fangs drawn on. They’re both wearing all black, with studded belts and VIP wristbands. And there’s older pictures of them seeing the same band years ago, with a tiny Dick Grayson sitting on Bruce Wayne’s shoulders.

“Oh my gosh,” M’gann gasps. “Do you think Robin met Bruce Wayne?”

[loneliness-of-spring]

WHAT AN HONOR FOR MY RAMBLES TO INSPIRE INSANITY IN YOUR BRAIN UWAHHAHHA

I need to explode about jamil more he’s a very specific kind of tired mom control freak during his slow death spiral into overblotting (the burnout. The constant habit of ensuring people don’t get involved in his business in the first place because he’s so tired of having to clean up after kalim when he unintentionally makes mistakes and inconveniences, hence this expanding into being hyper-independent, keeping others at a distance, and a tight lid on his own emotions and desires all while having an ego and looking down on others. It goes so strong with this guy. It’s such a specific brand of hatred for his own situation directed towards Kalim it’s insane I GET HIM.)

Speaking of Kalim being upset because he’s been left out of the plan, once again refer to above for Jamil’s reasons why. LMAOO. I imagine when they learn to start working together (clunkily and reluctantly on Jamil’s side), they’d be TERRIFYING. Manipulator with magic that overrides your autonomy and boy who’s fucking royalty and has a sizeable amount of influence in this world that you’re very unfamiliar with. You’re soooooo lucky Kalim is magnanimous, but with Jamil there, hmmm…

I think, there’s still a healthy (not) amount of competition going on between the two to compete for your affections before and even after they learn to work together. They’d compete so hard to be in your presence and for you to just look at them it’s crazy. Jamil steals a copy of your schedule and uses every dirty trick in the book he knows how to maximise the amount of free time you share with him. Definitely shows off on purpose when you’re watching at basketball practice or tournaments so you tell him how cool he is (compliment him more, he’s affection-starved). How did you even end up there? Multiple subconscious suggestions, from conversations talking about his basketball games and practices coming up, getting ACE of all people to talk continuously about basketball and to do the direct invitation to these basketball events for him. When Ace yells, “this one’s for you!” and misses horrendously, Jamil follows up (with some time having passed in between so he doesn’t look like he’s putting ace down) with a perfect shot that he made sure you’d see, and then looks in your direction to make eye contact and put on his most charming smirk. He has the face card and he KNOWS it. He can offer homework help for a small price of hekping him cook at scarabia, too, to further increase the amount of time you spend together, even allowing him the setting to execute some calculated intimacy, like pressing his shoulder to yours to look over your work or coming up behind you to help you cut the ingredients. You get a free meal AND amazing grades out of it! He can take care of you damn well and he’s so much cooler than the others, see? Choose him over Kalim, who can’t possibly do the same for you. He’s all about that psychological suggestion.

Kalim… money. Leona said it well; he’s got a powerful weapon called money. Gifts, be it an outrageously expensive piece of jewellery he thought would highlight your eyes well, or a surprisingly thoughtful small gift like a cute looking rock he found on the sidewalk, along with his boyish charm and positive energetic puppy vibes are one hell of a combo. Throwing parties and inviting you to join and get drunk off the party atmosphere with him so it allows for some sort of closeness and skinship, or inviting you to the pop music club to get to know your favourite songs and musical genres, maybe even playing a song that fits your tastes to a T so you can see how cool he is and get all excited over the song and the fact that he played it… paying people to keep an eye on you at all times, especially when he can’t see you for a while like during classes, and to send him photos or write a whole report about your day… amazing.

And if they combined their abilities together, you’d get an absolutely terrifying duo that slowly but surely swallows up al your time to keep your eyes on them and them only…

what if... yuu and yan! scarabia... ? book 4 but they just dont want to let you leave.... think emoji

‼️‼️‼️THIS IS A YANDERE POST IF YOU’RE NOT COMFORTABLE PLEASE SCROLL AWAY. YANDERE CONTENT BELOW THE CUT‼️‼️‼️

I DO NOT CONDONE ANYTHING MENTIONED IN THIS POST!!!

I don’t know if you meant just our two scarabia characters or the whole dorm but either way I think it’s delicious. My thoughts here are more jamil-focused because he’s like. The main instigator in the first place WHAHHAHA

Also I got so stuck on thinking of what to illustrate for my points I’m so sorry 😭😭😭😭⁉️⁉️⁉️ this is more me rambling about bullshit

ooooh jamil’s plot takes on an extra sinister motive here whehehehehhe. He’s the first one to invite yuu into scarabia originally, for us to witness Kalim “becoming a tyrant” and a recreation of the Riddle situation. In a yandere scenario, aside from his anger and hatred towards Kalim and wanting to dethrone him, he’d definitely have an added motive of wanting to scare yuu away from Kalim right into his “caring” arms.

Kalim… would be a more “magnanimous” yandere. The type to spoil you absolutely rotten, treat you to anything in the world, just not the actual proper freedom you’re asking for. Trapping a bird in a gilded cage! He’d be way more agreeable to letting yuu stay in scarabia than in canon, and way more willing to “share” and show off his darling. I’m sure jamil abuses that fact to his advantage.

Jamil would be sooo manipulative. Unlike canon, he’d be more active in personally taking care of you, aiding in your escape attempts only to be “caught”, pretending to be your one and only ally in scarabia, all to gain more favour in your eyes. He’s the good guy, trying to help you, but his hands are tied by Kalim the tyrant! He’s risking his head just for you, see?

While he hates to put you through the gruelling marches to the oasis, he’s doing it to drive home the fact that Kalim’s a tyrant. It’s okay, he’ll take good care of you afterwards in any way he’s able to! He’s soooo sorry for dragging you into the mood swings of his tyrant of a dorm head.

If Kalim weren’t being controlled, he would’ve so gotten you on the same carriage as him during the oasis march. Literally cuddling up to you while sitting comfortably on plush, high quality cushions in the cooling shade as the entire scarabia dorm worked their asses off to get to the oasis in the desert sun.

I don’t think Jamil actually expected you to escape on your own; he’s got issues with looking down on others in a “I could do better than them, I just wasn’t allowed to!” fashion (I dunno how this holds up with book 7 I’m so sorry). In this scenario, I imagine that he probably had another escape plan for you in mind that would get you straight to Crowley/ an authority figure so he’d have no choice but to shut the tyrant situation down (he wouldn’t want a repeat of the riddle overblot, would he?), but once you crashed in Octavinelle and met the trio it was over for him and his plan.

Jamil’s overblot would go a bit differently. You’d definitely be locked up or held prisoner rather than tossed out with octavinelle and Kalim (saddening). The fight would go as per usual, but the aftermath? Horrific for Jamil. He’s RUINED in yuu’s eyes and he knows it. I think Kalim would’ve cried and even begged on his knees for you to stay and give them a second chance; literally bribing you with luxuries you could never think of having while living in that dilapidated dorm of yours (tempting when in a horrific living situation), but they can’t really do much coercion with the most powerful trio from octavinelle as witnesses. Jamil’s most definitely also trying to stop Kalim because this gives octavinelle extremely valuable information; the ramshackle prefect is a large weakness for the Scarabia dorm heads.

Perhaps if jamil didn’t literally just overblot, he would’ve used snake whisper again on you for you to agree to Kalim’s begging… and maybe even to agree to doing a few more things when you’re locked away in scarabia… Whereas Kalim is the type to worship his darling, jamil’s the type to want to be worshipped. In captivity, you’d be treated so affectionately by the two; adorned in all sorts of high quality clothing and jewellery from the scalding sands by kalim, jamil taking control over every little thing in your life so you wouldn’t have to lift a finger and forcing you to praise him for all that he’s doing for you, even using snake whisper on you in private so he can get you to worship him with the sweetest, most ego-inflating words, flirtatious and touchy actions, all while putting down kalim with every compliment you give him. Things you’d never do willingly with him.

The dorm… Oughhh the whole scarabia dorm… they’re all scheming and competing for yuu’s affections. If the WHOLE dorm were yandere, the competition would go crazy.

Some would temporarily work together, agreeing with Kalim to keep you in the dorm. Some would be backstabbers and do the same as Jamil; pretend that they’re your only ally and that you can’t trust anyone, constantly “helping” you to gain your favour and drive you away from the others.

The constant backstabbing would go INSANE you can’t trust anyone for shit because the moment you do they betray you/ get found out and hurt to reinforce that if you try to escape, people will be hurt in your stead. (in reality your “allies” find out about the others and tattle on them to the others. “If I can’t have you, no one can” mentality.)

If twst were a psychological horror game this would be it on expert level difficulty

[eringobragh420]

── .✦ SICK LOVE SONG (2/3)

➔ Pairing — CM Punk ❤︎ f!Reader ❤︎ Seth Rollins ➔ Summary — On their one year anniversary, Punk and Seth have to take care of their girlfriend. 1 | 2 | 3 ➔ Word Count — 3.9k ➔ Warnings — NSFW. Mention of stalking/attempted kidnapping, panic attacks, threesome, dirty talk, oral (m receiving), unprotected p in v, cum. 18+ ➔ Taglist — If you’d like to be added, please click here!  ➔ Support — Buy me a coffee! ☕ ➔ MASTERLIST

A ringing cell phone jolted the three of them back to consciousness—different muscles moving for different people. Punk rubbed his face into his warm pillow, willing the caller to give up after one ring, but he wasn’t so lucky. As he reached toward the nightstand, he felt his girlfriend’s dainty arm sliding off him, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Seth tucked into her back. The two of them were in the middle of the bed, Punk forced to the edge of the mattress, and there was a time when it’d pissed him off, when he’d felt like they were trying to literally shove him out of bed. But he’d come to realize, as he’d gotten hotter and hotter in the night, he’d naturally rolled away to try and cool off. And his girlfriend, naturally, had followed him, wrapping herself around him whether he liked it or not. And Seth? Well, he chased her, and it was a never-ending cycle that Punk wouldn’t give up for anything.

Punk felt around on the nightstand for the ringing, vibrating phone, and once he realized it was hers, he held it over his shoulder for her to take, eyes closing, not bothering to read the caller ID. 

It would come to be one of his greatest regrets in life.

His girlfriend whined, shoving at his back, but Punk insisted, shaking the phone in what he thought was at least the vicinity of her face, until she eventually snatched it from him. She cleared her throat, but it did nothing to dispel the rasp before she answered.

“Hello? Oh, hi … ”

Punk closed his eyes, stretching, noticing but not really comprehending her change of tone while he tried to find a comfortable position so he could go back to sleep. His girlfriend babbling on the phone wouldn’t bother him in the least. He began to drift off when the woman behind him started shuffling, sitting up, scooting toward the foot of the bed instead of simply climbing over one of the men flanking her on either side, which was her usual escape route.

“No, but … what?” she asked. Punk’s eyebrow quirked. Seth shifted behind him, probably creating space between him and Punk, and then he was snoring again. “I just need you to explain it one more time,” his girlfriend went on, somewhere in the room, but now further away. Worried she might clam up in an effort to protect him from the subject matter, Punk didn’t move, didn’t say a word—just made sure his ear was pointed in her direction so he didn’t miss anything. “So you’re … So you’re saying my case isn’t as important … as the other one?” Her voice not only cracked, but the volume was rising.

Punk was awake now, sitting up, blankets and sheets bunching around the bottom half of his body. He carded his tattooed fingers through his unruly hair a couple of times, mostly out of nervous habit. The Revolutionary stirred but continued snoring.

“And there’s nothing you can do?” his girlfriend rambled. “Did you even try? I mean … this isn’t right, right? He can’t just get away with—”

Punk stood, pulling on the boxer briefs he’d tossed to the floor the night prior, and rounded the bed as he approached his hyperventilating girlfriend. He could guess at the substance of the conversation, but he could predict with one hundred percent accuracy what would happen once she hung up the phone with, Punk suspected, her lawyer. If only he’d looked at the caller ID—the lawyer would’ve had to deal with him instead. He reached for the phone, but he was a nanosecond too late—he watched with wide eyes as she threw the device with all the might she could muster, shattering the mirror above the dresser and next to the television. As the shards scattered on the dresser, pieces of cell phone mixed within, Seth Rollins finally came to. He launched himself out of bed, fists clenched, biceps flexed, looking for his girlfriend and ready to throw a punch if she was in danger. Punk loved that about him—she always came first for Seth, just as she did for Punk. 

“Oh, my god,” the woman wept, doubling over, and suddenly she was a million times smaller than she should have been. 

“What is it?” Seth demanded, still glancing around the room as if an assailant was somehow hiding somewhere in plain sight.

Punk had an idea, though he wasn’t about to voice his guess. Instead he slowly, carefully approached his girlfriend—he probably wouldn’t be able to stop it, but he’d be damned if he wasn’t going to try. 

“He’s getting out,” she sobbed. Punk and Seth’s eyes met. “He’s gonna testify in some other case that’s more important than mine, and then they’re gonna let him go!” 

“What?” Seth asked, brows furrowed, shaking his head, a little more than disoriented. He stood there, naked as the day he was born, naked as the weeping woman in the middle of the hotel room, but it seemed to bother no one. 

“He’s getting out!” she screamed on a level Punk had never heard before, but the wince on Seth’s face and the flinching of his eyes suggested maybe he had. “He’s getting out and …” She trailed off, widened eyes falling to the floor, and Punk could almost hear the wrench lodging itself in the wheels of her muddled mind. “… and he’s gonna find me.” 

“No, he’s not,” Seth replied, hands up, cautiously nearing her. 

“He’s gonna find me,” she whispered, her hands grabbing at one another, wringing, releasing, doing it all over again. Her rounded eyes were still glued to the floor. “He’s gonna find me and finish what he started because there’s someone more important.” The last sentence was hardly comprehensible—she began hiccuping between every word, inhaling and exhaling in short bursts.

Under any other circumstances, Punk would have been the first one with his arms around her, whispering into her ear that everything was going to be okay, that he and Seth wouldn’t let anything happen to her, and then hopefully she’d calm her breathing, eventually her mind. But her words replayed in his brain—someone more important, and he’s gonna find me. Vermillion bled into Punk’s vision. Who’d made the decision that this woman’s life was less important? And what exactly could Punk do to him to change his mind?

Instead of rushing to the love of his life, he rushed for his phone on the nightstand. Seth went into action at the same time, though he crossed the room to her and placed his hands on her shoulders. As Punk searched for the lawyer’s number in his list of contacts, he watched the display out of the corner of his eye and he was able to hear the high-pitched wheezing in his girlfriend’s lungs. There was no stopping it now—the only action would be management. Seth wrapped his arms around her, and she responded by screaming into his chest—the most agonizing, fucking heart-wrenching wail Punk had ever heard. He should have been over there with Seth trying to calm her down, but for reasons unknown, this call was more important. The two of them collapsed to the hard floor of the hotel room, on the other side of the bed where Punk could only see the back of their heads. 

“Yeah, put Max on the phone now,” Punk demanded of the receptionist once she answered. 

“I’m sorry, sir, he’s—” 

“I know, he’s scared of me. If you don’t put him on the phone, I’ll show up at his house, and I really don’t think he wants to see my pretty face anytime soon.” 

“Hold, please.”

Punk rolled his eyes, hand balling into a fist, willpower barely strong enough to keep him from punching the nearest wall. The familiar screams of panic were bubbling in his girlfriend’s chest, becoming louder and louder. Soon they were going to have a problem with the hotel staff, if they weren’t on their way already. 

“This is Max,” the lawyer suddenly came on the line. 

“Max. Punk here. You wanna tell me what the fuck is going on?”

As the attorney babbled legal jargon into Punk’s ear like Punk wasn’t smart enough to understand any of it, he watched Seth try to get up from the floor. The panicking woman refused to relent her grip, throwing her arms around his neck, and Seth sat right back on the floor, enveloping her in his arms once more. 

“Get her pills and her bag from my suitcase,” Seth said in one of Punk’s ears while the other was trying to focus on Max’s half-assed explanation as to why he wasn’t able to give Punk any pertinent information, considering they weren’t married. 

“I don’t give a fuck if we’re not married,” Punk hollered. “That’s our wife!” His heart stopped long enough for him to notice, and Seth’s mahogany eyes met Punk’s emerald ones. Punk swallowed. “That’s my wife,” he quietly corrected himself. “I want information, and you better fucking give it to me.” 

“Punk,” Seth interrupted, voice on the brink of breaking, “hang up the goddamn phone, and get her pills and the bag out of my suitcase.”

However reluctant, Punk knew he was beat. The lawyer wasn’t going to budge, and his girlfriend needed him more. Punk hung up his phone, tossing it on the bed, and he dug into Seth’s front suitcase pocket where he knew he kept her pills and the brown paper bag she hadn’t needed in months. He rolled his eyes at the bag, but handed both items to his enemy-turned-friend-turned-brother before flipping on a light. Punk felt like an outside observer, a passerby, as Seth held a blue pill between his thumb and forefinger, opening her mouth with his other hand, and shoving the pill down her throat until she swallowed. Much like one forced a dog to take a pill, but she was in no condition to follow commands, let alone focus enough to put a pill in her mouth and gulp it down with water. Next, Seth grabbed the bag, cradling the back of her head as he placed it over her mouth, his fingers creating a seal around her lips to keep oxygen from escaping. It wouldn’t stop the panic attack by any means, but sometimes it helped in slowing her breathing, thereby preventing her from passing out. 

“The bag doesn’t work,” Punk vomited words before even thinking about them, instantly regretting opening his mouth at all. 

Seth looked at him over his girlfriend’s head, eyes wide, cautionary. “Can you just shut the fuck up for two minutes and come over here and hold your wife?”

Punk sighed, knowing damn well he deserved the jab. He sat beside them on the unforgiving floor, pulling the now mildly hysterical woman into his lap, her bare back to his chest, and his hand replaced Seth’s as the seal around the bag and her mouth. Seth pulled the blanket from the bed, laying it out across the three of them—the woman they shared still stark naked—then he began his duty of rubbing his girlfriend’s legs—thighs, calves, feet, simply gliding his large, coarse hands along her unblemished, satiny skin, letting her feel him, reminding her he was there and he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“So he has information for some kind of high-profile case,” Seth theorized quietly. The woman with the puffy eyes and clammy skin was now in and out of consciousness as the pill promised to take effect. “And he asked for immunity in exchange for his testimony.”

The “justice” system would inevitably release a man back into society who had openly stalked, harassed, threatened, and tried to kidnap a defenseless woman. Why wouldn’t he do it again, Punk thought. Why wouldn’t he try to finish the job? He’d been stupid enough to try it once—Punk had no doubt he was stupid enough to try it twice, but this time, he’d have to deal with CM Punk. 

“That would be my guess,” Punk replied, vision still distorted by blots of crimson.

It started when the three of them had arrived at the couple’s hotel room. She’d entered first, sauntering purposely in front of both men, who shared lord help us looks as they followed. Standing in the middle of the room and at the foot of the king-size bed, she hooked her hands behind her back, shoulders swiveling as she’d waited for the men to decide how they wanted to handle this. 

It started because Punk had intertwined their fingers behind her back, their noses kissing as he said loud enough for Seth to hear, “If you guys don’t mind, I’m just gonna hang out over here for a while.” He nodded at the chair in the corner of the room. His girlfriend bit her lip, eyes falling, and Punk had gently taken her elbow in his hand, leading her a bit further away from Seth, who was removing his suit jacket and tossing it over the back of the computer chair tucked under the desk. “Listen,” Punk said, her gaze lifting to meet his, “I’ve always thought it’d be kinda hot … or really hot … to watch you with another guy.” Her eyes widened. “Seth Rollins wouldn’t have been my first choice, but—” He shrugged. “Are you sure?” she’d asked. 

It started because Punk had taken her hand and placed it on the growing bulge in his slacks, a sly smile forming on his girlfriend’s lips. “I’m sure.” He’d kissed her then, cupping her flushed face, and after a moment of enjoying her, Punk had turned her to face Seth, his hands on her shoulders. Seth’s eyes had exploded in black as the two of them stared at one another. Punk remembered the sudden blistering heat that had overwhelmed him, and the way his girlfriend’s breath had hitched under the microscope of Seth Rollins’ devilish gaze. “Think you can handle her?”Punk had asked. “I’m ready to find out,” Seth had replied, wiggling his fingers. “Come here.” 

It started because Punk had kissed the top of her head, holding her for a bit longer than anticipated, but he’d let her go, watching her put distance between them as she closed the space between her and Seth.

The pill finally had taken its full effect, sending the maniacal woman into a sound sleep, and because of the pill she’d be given, she probably wouldn’t remember a whole lot of what had happened. Punk and Seth might have to deliver the bad news all over again. She remained tucked into Punk’s chest, his strong, tattooed arms wrapped around her, while Seth had bent her legs and his, bringing her knees to his lips where he rubbed his beard along her skin, knowing how much she loved the sensation. 

“You remember the first attack?” Seth asked, lips rubbing along her knee. Punk inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly. He remembered, and while it had been Seth’s first panic attack, it hadn’t been Punk’s.

It started when she’d kissed Seth the first time. Stevie Wonder could have seen the passion between them, heard the desire, the longing—it wasn’t just pleasure in their moans, but also something like relief. Had they been wanting each other longer than any of them had realized? 

It started because Punk had sat in the chair in the corner of the room after removing his own jacket and unbuttoning the cuffs of his shirt before rolling them up his sinewy forearms. And he’d watched closely as his girlfriend and Seth freakin’ Rollins reverently removed one another’s clothing, Punk almost feeling as though he’d been watching some shitty Hallmark movie with the way their fingers glided along one another’s skin, as they moved perfectly in sync as if all along they’d been made for and led to this moment. Punk wanted to hate the way Seth touched her, all soft and careful, delicate, as if she were the most priceless piece of artwork—much different than the way Punk had handled her. Rough, a bit degrading—basically the only type of sex he’d ever known—the type of porn he watched. But how could he hate a man who treated his girlfriend with such respect, such adoration? How could he hate a man who’d saved his girlfriend’s life? Punk had worried about her sensitivity toward Rollins, however—worried she might want him more, or maybe she’d want only Seth. But then she’d asked for Punk, begged for him, as Seth had fucked into her at a pace Punk knew he wasn’t even capable of: agonizingly slowly.

It started because Punk had stood from the chair and taken his clothes off, watching as Seth rolled his girlfriend over, pulling her up onto her hands and knees. Stroking his leaking cock, Punk had stepped up to her face, her jaw already dropped, and inserted himself into her hot, wet mouth. She’d moaned, back arching, and sucked Punk as she bounced her ass back against Seth, her cunt drawing him in deeper and deeper. Punk had watched then, watched as Seth’s hands had swept across her bowed back, gently familiarizing himself with each and every one of her curves, reaching around to cradle a breast and tweak a nipple. “I’m gonna cum,” she’d moaned suddenly, Punk’s saliva-coated cock slipping out of her mouth. 

It started because Punk had grabbed her face, pressing his lips to hers, swallowing every moan and scream as Seth Rollins made her cum all over Seth Rollins’ cock, and it took a lot of strength on Punk’s part to ignore how goddamn hard she’d cum. Seth had draped himself over her back, hand under her breast, thumb between them, and he kissed, sucked, and bit at her shoulder. 

It started because she’d tucked her fingers under Seth’s over her ribcage, squeezing his hand, doing the same to Punk’s hand on her cheek, and suddenly Seth had to pull away and pull out, shooting rope after rope of pearly cum all over the valley of her spine, filling the tiny divots just above her ass. 

It started because Punk had lost all ability to think as he’d watched the scene unfold, jerking himself with abandon, his girlfriend covered in the cum of another man, and before long he’d shot his own load all over her face.

It started in the middle of the night. She’d been having a nightmare, as she had been prone to having since the incident. In his experience, Punk knew it best not to wake her up, much like the advice of not waking a sleepwalker, lest she believe she was waking up from one nightmare only to be thrust into another, but Seth hadn’t known that, and neither she nor Punk had prepared him. Seth had shaken her shoulder, demanded she wake up, and before Punk could stop him, his girlfriend had jolted awake and burst bolt upright, screaming and swinging. Her fist had connected squarely with Seth’s left eye, sending the Visionary stumbling backward, and while Punk’s immediate reaction was to cackle uncontrollably, he’d chosen to tighten his arms around the still-fighting woman, her much smaller frame no match for his. “It’s okay,” he’d whispered, stubble brushing her ear, and her body shivered. “It’s just us. It’s just Punk and Seth. No one else is here.” He’d then ordered Seth to turn the light on so she could actually see them, see that he was telling the truth, but neither of their faces sparked any peace inside of her.

It started because Seth had gaped, watching dumbly as the scene unfolded, hand covering his swelling eye, until he began to act. He’d pulled the elastic band from his wrist and pulled his hair back into an unruly, uneven bun at the base of his skull before asking, “What can I do? How do I help?” Punk himself had stared at the nervous, brown-eyed man for a moment or two, then told him to retrieve the pills and paper bag from the nightstand, which he’d kept stocked with everything his girlfriend needed in the event of a panic attack in every hotel they stayed in, as well as the apartment they’d shared.

It started because Punk had shoved an anxiety pill down her throat, the same way Seth had just done, and then he’d positioned the bag over her mouth. As she hyperventilated, the worn out bag collapsed and expanded, collapsed and expanded, and she weakly fought against Punk’s efforts to help. Her entire body vibrated with the quick breaths, eyes wide but unseeing. Until Seth had sat beside her and pulled her restless legs into his lap, hands slipping along her skin, over her knees, squeezing her thighs, cupping her seemingly tiny feet in both hands to warm them up.

It started because she’d made eye contact with Seth and held it, finally recognizing him, finally remembering who she was with, and she’d reached out for him. Their hands had clasped at her hip, and she’d raised her other hand to cradle Punk’s still firmly holding the bag against her mouth. The time it took for her to calm down and fall asleep had suddenly been nearly cut in half. “You can take off if you want,” Punk had told Seth, pulling the bag from his snoring girlfriend’s mouth. Gazing down at the woman between them, an indescribable look on his face, eye already changing colors, Seth had shaken his head. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” 

“We gotta do something for her,” Punk said, silently communicating and working with Seth to carefully lift their girlfriend—wife?—off the floor and back to the middle of the bed, agreeing to call housekeeping in the morning before anybody got out of bed to clean up the shards of broken mirror. “Take her somewhere.”

Seth helped to rearrange the blankets and pillows, touching the sleeping woman’s hair before kissing her forehead. “What about Tulum?” he quietly asked. “She likes it there.” 

Punk watched, eyes narrowing, as Seth crawled under the covers beside her, placing his hand on her chest, pressing his face into the side of hers. Punk loved his girlfriend like nothing and no one else, and he loved Seth Rollins as a brother and best friend, and, somewhere along the way, he’d fallen in love with the way Seth loved their girlfriend. Softly, wholeheartedly, proudly—the man had fallen hard and fast, much the same way Punk had, so Punk hadn’t really been surprised. But loving Seth Rollins—even in a platonic way—had not been on any of his life-related bingo cards. 

“It’ll take a while to get our schedules together,” Punk ultimately said. “Maybe a few months.” He climbed into bed on the opposite side of their girlfriend, but he stayed sat up against the headboard. 

“Whatever it takes,” Seth mumbled.

Soon, Seth’s breathing evened out, still cuddled as closely as possible to the sleeping woman. Looking at them, Punk knew Seth would take care of her if anything ever happened to him. And in that moment, he made a decision that would likely end in that very scenario.

TAGLIST: @southerngirl41 @femdisa @riverina69 @rollinssection @paramedicnerd004 @mandmilovehim @brianochka @yourmommyagone22 @sweetmoonlove0214 @partypoison00 @lils2795 @aureliacorvina @magicalbuttertarts @madimcg14 @thealliasylum @lov3rla03 @plaidpajamallama @princesstiti14 @the-whatever-22 @jeypunkk @madhatterbri @atomicskincareeyelinerkid @aceywaycy @riddleebabyy @pyro-romantic @livslunaticdamiansdisciple18 @beyondthebelle @deansimpala @there-goes-thefighter @themarvelousmaks @sarlaccussy @infamousvampcx @persephoneinbloom @rk-ho @hollydreamwood @xkittypunkerx @bangchansmami @thatgirljayy @princessesareforsuckers @happelu970 @nesiamenick @moonlightsinner

[wooyoungiewritings]

"A familiar Kind of New" - Mingi x Reader (PART 2)

Summary: You're still in the process of getting to know Mingi again after 10 years apart. He's grown into a successful, handsome man, but there's still parts of him that hasn't changed. And when you accidentally push him too far, just before the reunion, you're scared you've ruined it. At the reunion, things continues to escalate, because there's a certain person who made Mingi's life a living hell during High School, and he still hasn't changed. But maybe, that is what pushes you and Mingi in the direction you both longed for and maybe... you see a whole new side of Mingi you didn't expect him to have.

Word count: 11.6K

Genre: Fluff, nerdy boy x popular girl, slow burn, old friends to lovers, "the one that got away"-type love, smut (WOOOH you’re not ready for that, Mingi is wild...)

warnings: Nerdy Mingi with fem reader (fem pronouns). Mingi gets bullied and it gets really personal (bullying boooh), DOM MINGI, fingering, oral (fem receiving), dirty talk (Mingi goes all in.. eheheheh) unprotected sex, lmk if I missed anything!

This is all for fun and is not meant to represent Mingi in any way.

After wooyoung drove you home, your head was filled with a certain tall guy you saw earlier. The look on Mingi’s face was haunting you, making you feel bad in a way you didn’t know you couldn’t explain. It’s not like you and Mingi are dating or have even talked about being more than friends, but the thought of giving him the impression that you dated Wooyoung was making you twist and turn in your bed. 

You felt like you needed to come clean. Even if Mingi didn’t want an explanation. But before you could even begin to write a text, your phone buzzed.

Mingi: Hope your day went well. Sorry if I interrupted anything earlier.

You frown.

You: You didn’t interrupt anything. Just a friend.

A minute passes. Then-

Mingi: He seemed very nice. I didn’t want to get in the way.

You stare at the message, and your chest twists in a way that surprises you. The way he writes is giving you flashbacks to high school. The way he apologises for just being there. You recall talking to a classmate about some homework one day, and Mingi joining the conversation for a few seconds to ask if it was okay that you rescheduled your study-session that day. He was gone within seconds, apologizing later for being in the way. Your heart broke just thinking about that.

You: Mingi. You’re not in the way. Not even close.

There’s no reply for a while. But the read receipt lingers.

You wonder if he’s staring at your message the way you’re staring at his.

***

You were curled up on the couch, your dinner half-eaten and some random show playing in the background, when your phone buzzed.

Wooyoung drinks tonight. come out, hermit.

You sighed, thumb hovering over the screen.

You who’s going?

Wooyoung me, maybe san, some others if I can convince them. you’ll be the hottest one there. unless you invite that tall drink of water you’ve been seeing.

You blinked.

You what?

Wooyoung don’t “what” me. mingi. the guy with the soul-piercing eyes and the “i own several companies” energy.

Your face warmed instantly.

You we’ve barely talked since he saw us in front of the restaurant. just a few texts. 

Wooyoung cool cool so invite him. it’ll be fun. you get drinks. i get to see if he glares at me again. win-win.

You rolled your eyes, fingers hesitating above the keyboard.

You fine. i’ll ask. but if it’s weird, i’m blaming you.

Wooyoung that��s fair. but it won’t be. he’s into you. i have an eye for these things.

You took a breath, switched to your messages with Mingi, and typed.

You Hey… Wooyoung, my colleague, is dragging everyone out for drinks tonight. You should come too. If you’re free.

You hit send before you could overthink it, then stare at the screen, heart thumping like you’d just confessed something bigger. You don’t expect him to reply right away. Lately, your conversations with Mingi had slowed to brief texts here and there, little pings of warmth you clung to more than you’d admit. But tonight… maybe.

Your phone buzzed.

Mingi Where?

Your heart skipped.

You That was fast.

Mingi I was already holding my phone. Didn’t want to seem too eager. How’d I do?

You smile at the screen, tucking your hair behind your ear.

You You failed. You seem very eager.

Mingi Good. I was trying to.

There was still a trace of that tension lingering from the last time you saw him, from the way he looked at you outside the restaurant before walking away.

You We’re going to that bar near the station. 8:30. You coming?

There is a pause long enough to make your stomach flutter.

Mingi I’ll be there.

You stare at the screen for a second, blinking. Then you exhale, a smile spreading before you could stop it.

Wooyoung you’re welcome don’t say i never do anything for you

You didn’t even ask how he knew. You just grab your bag, suddenly too giddy to finish your cold noodles.

The bar is already buzzing when you walk in. Warm lights hang low over crowded tables, laughter rising and falling above the hum of music and clinking glasses. It’s cozy, familiar, just loud enough to feel alive, not so loud you can’t hear yourself think. You spot Wooyoung instantly. He’s posted up in a booth near the back, a half-empty margarita in one hand and a devilish grin on his face.

“Hey, trouble,” he calls out, waving you over. “Took you long enough.”

You slide into the seat beside him. “You only say that because I always pay for the first round.”

“Guilty,” he says, lifting his glass in a toast. “But also because your new boyfriend’s about to walk through that door and I want front row seats to the fireworks.”

“He’s not my-” You stop, exhaling sharply. “Shut up.”

He smirks, sipping his drink with obnoxious satisfaction. A few minutes pass. The booth fills with a couple more friends, the chatter turning louder, easier. You try to focus, but your eyes keep drifting to the entrance. It’s not nerves, not really. Just... curiosity. Wondering what he’ll wear, how he’ll look in this setting, if he’ll seem out of place or like he’s always belonged here.

Then the door opens.

And there he is.

Mingi steps inside, hands in his pockets, black sweater, sleeves pushed to his elbows, jeans perfectly fitted. His eyes move across the room, searching, and then land on you. Your lips curve into a smile, and his does too. He makes his way over, shoulders slightly tense until he reaches the booth. The others greet him casually, shifting to make space, but your focus stays locked on him.

“Hey,” he says, his voice warm, a little deeper in the ambient noise.

“Hey,” you reply, scooting to the side. He slides in next to you, close enough that your knees brush for a moment before you both adjust. You can feel the warmth of him, even with a bit of space between your arms.

Wooyoung stands abruptly. “Alright, I’m getting shots. You want tequila or chaos?” He points to Mingi.

“I don’t know what chaos tastes like,” Mingi says, glancing up.

Wooyoung grins. “Perfect. You’re getting both.” He heads to the bar, leaving you and Mingi with the rest of the group who’s deep in conversations. 

You glance at him. “Glad you made it.”

He nods once, lips twitching like he’s trying not to smile too much. “Yeah. Me too.”

Wooyoung slides back to the table with a tray of shots balanced in one hand, grinning like he’s just won something. “Alright, team,” he says, setting the tray down with theatrical flair. “Hydration, but make it irresponsible.”

You laugh, leaning forward as the little glasses clink against each other. “What even is this?”

“No questions,” Wooyoung replies, already handing one to you and one to Mingi. “Just trust the process.”

Mingi eyes his glass like it might be a trap. “It’s green.”

“It’s also delicious,” Wooyoung chirps, raising his own. “To questionable decisions and hot friends.”

You glance at Mingi just in time to catch the way he shifts in his seat, eyes flicking from Wooyoung to you. You raise your shot in response, lips tugging up in a smile. “To hot friends,” you echo.

You clink glasses. The shot burns, then warms, and soon Wooyoung’s dropping into the seat next to you with a sigh like he’s never been more comfortable. He stretches an arm over the back of the booth. “So,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows at Mingi, “you’re surprisingly good at showing up, you know that?”

Mingi blinks. “Thanks?”

“Thought you’d be too busy saving the world with spreadsheets.” Wooyoung says casually, sipping his water like he didn’t just toss a grenade. 

You nudge him with your shoulder. “Be nice.”

“I am,” he insists. Then to Mingi: “She loves when you surprise-visit her at work..”

“Wooyoung,” you hiss, but your cheeks are already heating up. Mingi’s ears flush a shade of red you recognize instantly.

“I’m kidding,” Wooyoung says, clearly not. “Kind of. But hey, glad you’re here.”

When you glance at Mingi, he’s smiling, not embarrassed, not shutting down, but smiling. That soft, slightly crooked kind that makes your stomach dip a little.

It’s after the second round that everything starts to feel lighter. The bar’s crowded now, the noise swirling around your booth like smoke. Mingi’s sitting a little closer now. Not obviously, he didn’t shift over or anything, but somehow, his shoulder brushes against yours more often. His knee rests against your thigh, like the space between you didn’t really matter anymore.

You glance at him mid-laugh, and catch him already looking at you. He doesn’t turn away.

“What?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Mingi shrugs, a small, almost shy smile playing at his lips. “Nothing. You just... seem different.”

You look at him, confused. “Different how?”

He taps his fingers against his glass, eyes flickering away for a moment before meeting yours again. “You just seem more... you. Happy.”

You tilt your head, intrigued. “Is that a bad thing?”

“No,” he says quickly, his voice firm, then pauses for a moment before adding, “I like it. You-.. I like it.”

For a moment, you’re quiet, warmth spreading through you at his words. Alcohol, maybe, but it still catches you off guard. You grin, teasing. “I think you just said something cheesy.”

Mingi looks away, clearly flustered, his cheeks tinged with pink. “I didn’t mean-”

“You totally meant it,” you tease, nudging his arm lightly. “And... I’m glad you said it.”

He shifts a little, trying to act nonchalant, but there's a hint of pride in his smile. “Yeah, well. I stand by it.”

And maybe he was right. You’re happy. Really, really happy, and being here, right now, made you feel like everything was okay. After more shots, the table is buzzing with energy.

"Alright, alright," Wooyoung says, lifting his glass. "Let's play something. A game, yeah? Something to get this party started for real."

He pulls out a small deck of cards, tossing them onto the table with exaggerated flair. The group eagerly gathers around, setting up for a round of Kings, and you notice Mingi is already looking at the game rules, trying to get the hang of it. You can tell he’s hesitant at first, unsure if he’ll fit in, but then he looks up at you, offering a small, almost shy smile.

"Do I... do I just draw a card?" he asks, still a little unsure.

You nod, laughing softly. "Yeah, just draw one. It's easy. Don’t worry."

Mingi nods, and when it’s his turn, he draws a card. "Alright, looks like I’m drinking," he says, his voice lighter than it was before, a grin tugging at his lips.

"Good job, rookie," Wooyoung teases, clapping him on the back.

Wooyoung catches your eye from across the table, his grin sly as he looks between you and Mingi. You raise an eyebrow, but Wooyoung simply winks and turns back to his drink. You’re not sure what he’s planning, but it doesn’t feel like he’s putting any pressure on Mingi.  Instead, he’s just there, making everyone feel at ease, throwing in jokes, and making sure no one’s left out. It’s clear that Wooyoung’s enjoying seeing Mingi loosen up, just as much as you are.

At one point, you catch Wooyoung and Mingi deep in conversation about something completely unrelated to anything in the game. It’s the kind of easy back-and-forth that feels natural, and for a moment, you simply watch them. Wooyoung’s teasing Mingi about something trivial, probably some stupid thing he overheard at the restaurant, but Mingi’s laughing along, shaking his head in disbelief. This is a new side to him, one that’s more confident, more willing to let go and have fun. And seeing him enjoy himself like this, in a group of people, makes you feel... happy. You didn’t know how badly you wanted this until now.

The night winds down, and the bar starts to empty out, the buzz of chatter and laughter fading as people begin to shuffle out into the cool night air. You stand, stretching slightly, and glance over at Mingi, who’s still looking much more relaxed than when you first arrived.

Wooyoung, with his usual mischievous grin, slaps Mingi on the back as the two of them laugh over some inside joke you’re not quite sure you want to know. 

"Hey, don’t forget to bring him next time!" Wooyoung calls out to you, his voice full of mischief. "He’s one of us now!"

You laugh, rolling your eyes, and wave back. Mingi, standing beside you, laughs too, a little awkwardly, like he’s still adjusting to being included in all this. The sidewalk feels empty after the warmth of the bar, but there's a kind of comfort in the silence between the two of you. The city hums around you, distant traffic, the occasional voice, everything seems soft, almost muted, like it’s just you and Mingi now.

“Tonight was fun,” you say, breaking the silence. “You fit in really well.”

Mingi shrugs, a small, genuine smile on his lips. “I didn’t think I’d have this much fun, honestly. I’m glad I came.”

“So, uh… Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” Mingi says, running a hand through his hair, his gaze flicking over to you briefly before looking away. “I can walk you to a cab, though. Just make sure you get home safe.”

You nod, the air around you both feeling warmer despite the cool breeze. “Thanks.”

You start walking down the street together, the tension between you palpable, but not something either of you acknowledges. It’s like the space between you is charged, but neither of you is quite ready to cross it yet. Eventually, you find a cab waiting by the corner, and you both stop in front of it. You stand there for a moment, the sound of the city fading into the background as the moment between you stretches out.

“Well,” you say, clearing your throat a little, not quite sure how to wrap things up, “I guess this is where we say goodbye.”

Mingi hesitates, his eyes locking with yours. For a second, everything feels still. His gaze is so warm, so steady, that you can’t help but feel your heart race a little. Without saying a word, he reaches up, gently brushing a strand of hair from your face, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. His thumb lightly caresses your cheek, the touch soft and tender, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

For that brief moment, you feel the undeniable urge to close the gap between you, to lean in and press your lips against his, but you don’t. Neither of you do.

Instead, Mingi gives you a warm smile, his eyes full of something unreadable, before he steps back slightly.

“Let me know when you’re home safe, alright?” His voice is low, but there’s something in it that sends a warmth spreading through you. He steps forwards, opening the door to a cab. 

You smile at him, stepping inside the cab. “Thank you, Mingi.” He closes the door behind you, waiting for it to drive off. You watch as the cab pulls out onto the road, and then, as it begins to turn the corner, you look back and catch Mingi’s gaze. There’s a moment between you, his eyes holding yours as he gives a small wave, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You lean back in the seat, heart still racing a little faster than it should. 

***

You hadn't meant for this to become a routine, but it had.

Another week, another quiet night at Mingi’s place. Dinner, laughter, a little music in the background. His apartment, while temporary, was starting to feel strangely warm to you. Maybe it was the way it always smelled faintly like coffee and laundry. Maybe it was the way he hummed softly while plating food. Or maybe it was just him.

You’d offered to cook this time, he countered with takeout from that Korean place you both love. In the end, you met in the middle: he prepped, you helped, and now you were both full and mildly tipsy on the wine you opened “just because.”

He is in the kitchen, rinsing plates and stacking leftovers while you sit curled up on the couch, your eyes drifting lazily over the living room. The soft sound of his movements in the kitchen had become familiar. Comforting.

Then you spot it.

That same worn yearbook, this time not quite hidden. You leaned forward slowly, fingers brushing the edge of it. You pull it out and glance toward the kitchen to see if he would stop you. He seemed busy putting away the leftovers. You knew you wanted to find this yearbook today, so you find a pen from your bag and a blank page. Quickly, you let the words from your head form onto the blank page. You look at it with a smile and close the book just as Mingi walks towards the couch.

Clutching the book, you look at him as his eyes notice what you’re holding. “Have you thought more about the reunion?”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw tightens. “Not really.”

“I still think you should come,” you say gently, sitting beside him. “Things are different now. You’re different.”

He glances over his shoulder to look at the yearbook still in your arms, expression unreadable. Like it physically hurts him to look at, he looks away again and keeps his eyes on the floor in front of him.

“I mean it,” you try again, trying to keep your tone light, coaxing. “It’s been, what, ten years? You’ve done so much, Mingi, time to show them the man you are.”

“I know,” he said. But there was something off in his voice. Tight. Strained.

“You could come with me,” you offered gently.

That got his attention. He turned, eyebrows lifting slightly, but his face was unreadable. “Why?”

“Because I want you there,” you say simply. “And because you should let them know who you've become. They should see who you are now.”

He was quiet again. Too quiet.

“Mingi-”

“I don’t care what they see,” he cut in, not harshly, but sharper than usual. “That’s the thing. I don’t want to walk into a room full of people who used to make my life hell just so I can pretend it didn’t affect me.”

You blink, surprised by the edge in his voice. Not angry. Just... cracked. 

He exhaled slowly. “Do you know what I remember most about high school?”

You shook your head.

“Lunch,” he said. “Every day. Sitting alone. Or eating behind the library so no one would throw shit at me. Walking into class and hoping no one said anything that day. Hoping I could just... blend in.”

You stayed quiet, heart sinking.

“Jae once put old food in my backpack during biology,” he continued, his tone flat. “And everyone laughed. Even the teacher looked the other way. Like I was just supposed to take it.”

Your breath caught.

“And I did,” he said, softer now. “I took it. Because fighting back made it worse.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t looking at you anymore.

“I don’t want to go back there,” he said finally. “Even if it’s different now. Even if I’ve changed. That place- it still lives in me. I still feel like that kid sometimes. The one no one saw. The one they made fun of. The one who was invisible until I got important enough to hurt.”

Silence fell between you like a weight. You opened your mouth, tried to find the right words, but all that came out was, “I didn’t know it stayed with you like that.”

“I don’t talk about it,” he said simply. “Not really.”

Your fingers curled around the yearbook in your lap.

“I didn’t mean to push,” you said quietly.

“I know,” he replied, meeting your eyes finally. His expression had softened. He wasn’t upset with you. He just looked tired. Like digging that deep into himself had cost him something. The moment sat heavy between you. Neither of you moved.

Eventually, you stood. “I should go.” You placed the yearbook on the coffee table in front of you.

He stood too. “You don’t have to-”

“I know,” you cut in, managing a faint smile. “But I think… I think we should call it a night.”

He walked you to the door. He didn’t reach for your hand, didn’t try to stop you. But his eyes lingered on yours for a second too long.

“Goodnight, Mingi.”

“Night,” he said softly.

You stepped into the hallway, the door closing behind you with a quiet click.

And for the first time in a while, the silence didn’t feel comforting. It felt like something had cracked open, and neither of you knew how to close it again.

Mingi stands in the silence. It wraps around him like a too-warm blanket, suffocating and itchy with regret. He just stands there staring at the empty space you were in. You were sitting on that couch five minutes ago. Smiling. Laughing. Flipping through pages like they were full of magic. He walks over slowly and picks up the yearbook you left on the table.

Dust still clings to the edges. His name, barely visible in gold lettering at the bottom. He flips it open.

Blank. Blank. Blank. Every page a reminder of what it felt like to be invisible.

He hadn’t meant to snap at you. God, he really hadn’t. You were just being you. Bright and curious. Too warm. Too good. And he-.. He just panicked. Because you don’t get it. You can’t. You had friends. You had inside jokes. You were the kind of girl people noticed.

The apartment feels too big now. Too cold. You were the first person to make it feel like a home since he moved back. He sinks onto the couch and stares into the air. He runs a hand through his hair, groaning quietly.

“You idiot,” he mutters to himself. His phone is on the armrest, screen lit up with no new messages. You probably hate him now. Or at least decided he’s not worth pushing anymore. And maybe you shouldn’t have to push at all. But gosh, he wishes you would.

Because when you were here, flipping through that yearbook like it wasn’t a graveyard of his teenage self-esteem, he almost believed it didn’t matter. He almost believed it could be rewritten. That he could be rewritten.

He stares at the yearbook again.

Then sets it down.

Then opens it. 

He runs through the blank pages until something catches his eyes. Something with black ink on a page that used to be blank. He tries desperately to find that page again, clearly remembering how nothing used to be written there and wants to prove to his mind that it wasn’t just his brain messing with him. 

Then he finds it. A text with black marker in between the pages of nothing.

"Hey Mingi. Sorry for taking so long to write something in here. I hope you know how much you meant to me! Wouldn’t have made it through senior year without you - literally. And just so you know… you mattered. You always did.- Y/N”

His heart sinks.

And then he smiles a little. It’s sad. But it’s real.

Maybe he can’t change the past. But maybe the future doesn’t have to be written in pencil anymore.

***

You stare at your phone screen for way too long before hitting send.

You: Hey… I know things ended a little weird the other day. But I wanted to invite you to my art school’s gallery night tomorrow. Everyone in the program is showing their stuff, and, well… I’m finally putting some of my paintings out there. Even the one I told you I’d never finish. So. Yeah. You’re invited.

You add a smiley face. Then delete it. Then put it back. Then delete it again.

And finally, you send it.

No response. Not after five minutes. Not after an hour. Not the next day either.

It’s fine. You didn’t really expect him to come anyway. You tell yourself that over and over again as you carefully set up your section of the gallery. Your painting is centered. Framed. Lit with soft lighting that brings out every aching brushstroke. It’s the one you swore you’d never finish, the one that sat under your bed for two years because every time you looked at it, you felt exposed.

Too raw. Too seen.

You tried to tell yourself he was just busy. That he wasn’t ignoring you. But after that night at his place, the yearbook, the reunion, everything you’d unintentionally dug up, you weren’t sure where things stood anymore. You didn’t blame him. You knew you’d pushed, and maybe it had been too much. 

You glanced around the studio. A few classmates had friends, partners, or parents hovering by their sides, offering compliments or taking photos. You smiled politely at the strangers who passed by your work, but none of them really saw it. Wooyoung had texted earlier to say he was slammed at the bar and couldn’t make it. He was sorry, so, so sorry, but his manager needed him. You understood. You always did.

You check your phone again. No new messages. No little grey bubble. Not even a delivered notification. You don’t know what answer you were hoping for. But silence hurts more than you thought it would. You look back at your paintings. It’s nothing extraordinary. But it’s yours. And it tells a story only you know how to tell.

Your fingers tighten around the plastic cup of shitty complimentary wine. You’ve never felt more invisible.

“...I thought you said you’d never finish it.”

You freeze.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Mingi.

He’s standing a few feet away, tall and steady and heartbreakingly familiar. Wearing a long wool coat over a dark button-up, his hair slightly messy like he’d rushed here. But his eyes, God, his eyes, they’re already on the paintings. And they’re soft. You open your mouth. Nothing comes out. Your throat clenches.

“I-” you try again, but it catches. “You… you came.”

“I’m sorry I didn’t text,” he says gently. “I wasn’t sure if you’d want me here.”

“I did,” you whisper. “I really did.” Something in your chest eased. Just a little. “I thought you were mad at me,” you admitted, voice small.

“I wasn’t,” he said gently. “It’s just- high school was hard. Seeing that yearbook again, talking about it, it pulled things up I didn’t expect. I was… embarrassed. That I let it get to me. That I snapped at you. You didn’t deserve that.”

You shook your head. “You didn’t snap. You told me how you felt. That’s not the same.”

Mingi looked down at his shoes, then back up at you. “Still. I wanted to be there for you. And I wasn’t. So… I’m here now.” His hands were still tucked in his coat pockets. He doesn’t look away from the painting. “It’s beautiful,” he says after a moment. “You finished it.”

“Barely,” you say, breath shaky. “I almost chickened out again. I was standing in front of it earlier thinking maybe I should just fake being sick and leave.”

“That would’ve been a shame,” he murmurs, finally looking at you. “It deserves to be seen.”

Your heart lurches at the way he says it. Like he means more than just the painting. You blink back sudden tears and laugh softly. “No one else seems to think so.”

“I do,” he says, voice firmer. “I see it.” Your breath catches at his words. And for a second, you can’t say anything. You just look at him, heart thudding. He clears his throat, glancing away like he didn’t mean to say that out loud. “Besides, I figured you’d throw paint at me if I bailed again.”

You laugh- relieved, emotional, overwhelmed all at once.

There’s a pause. A comfortable one. The kind you haven’t shared with anyone in a long time.

“You want to… walk around a bit?” you ask, feeling suddenly shy.

“I came to see your art,” he says. “So unless you’ve got another secret masterpiece hidden somewhere-” he gives you a small smile- “I’m good right here.”

You shake your head, fighting tears again.

You don’t say it. But this, him standing here, finally seeing something you made, something that means something, that’s worth more than anything tonight.

And even though your painting’s already dry, it feels like your heart is still wet on the canvas.

***

The gymnasium hasn’t changed much in ten years. Same faded banners from long-forgotten sports victories, same scuffed floorboards, same disco ball that had spun hopelessly over a hundred teenage heartbreaks. You step through the doors alone, scanning the crowd for any familiar faces, though most were now just older versions of the ones you vaguely remembered.

You adjust your skirt, more out of habit than insecurity, and make your way inside. Small groups have already formed, clusters of old friends, former cliques, high school couples who’d either made it or broken up five minutes after graduation. A few people wave when they see you, and you smile, nodding politely, though your thoughts are elsewhere.

It has been ten years, but you can’t stop thinking about the last time you were in this building. The prom. The night you waited for Mingi outside. The night he never showed. The night you ended up throwing a drink in Jae’s face when he brought up Mingi.

And speaking of Jae…

He made his entrance like he was still the quarterback of a team that hadn’t existed in a decade. Slacks too tight, grin too wide. You roll your eyes before he even reaches you.

“Hey,” he says, sauntering up. “Still looking good, I see.”

You give him a flat look. “Thanks.”

“Did you know my picture still hangs in the hallway by the gym?” he asks, smug. “Senior year MVP.”

“Good for you,” you respond, voice dry. You take a sip from your drink just to have an excuse not to talk.

He leans closer. “You know, if we’d dated back then, things would’ve been a lot different.” Before you could react, the crowd around the entrance stirred. Heads turned. Conversations quieted.

The whole gym seems to fall quiet when Mingi steps inside. It is like a slow ripple, someone glances up, their eyes widening, then they nudge the person next to them. A hush spread, and then came the whispers.

“Who is that?”

“Did he go here?”

“Oh my god, he’s hot.”

Mingi stands just inside, shoulders a little tense, scanning the crowd with that familiar cautiousness. But he looks like a dream, tall, composed, no glasses, black suit sharp against his frame, hair styled but not overdone. Every part of him radiates quiet confidence. Except you know better. You know how much it had taken for him to show up tonight. You set your drink down without a second thought and move through the crowd like a magnet is pulling you. When he spots you, his face lights up, every bit of awkwardness melting into the kind of smile you had gotten used to.

“You came,” you breathe against his shoulder, clutching him.

His arms wrap around you just as tightly. “Couldn’t miss out… again.”

You pull back and look up at him, eyes shining. “I’m so proud of you.”

He flushes, smiling sheepishly. But before either of you can say more, a group of people, especially women, swarms around him like moths to a flame. Compliments flying. Questions thrown at him. You watch as he tries to answer politely, his usual nerves clearly simmering beneath his smile.

You catch his eye and wink. “Go on,” you tease. “Your high school revenge arc is peaking. Enjoy it.”

He laughs, a little awkward, but nods.. And you are so damn proud of him.

Because even if he looks slightly overwhelmed, his fingers twitching at his side, that little nervous smile playing on his lips, he is here. He is being seen, really seen. And they didn’t know the boy he used to be, but you do. And that made you love this moment even more. Still, after a while, you drift towards the punch table. Watching. Waiting. You figured he’d be stuck over there all night.

Until you hear a voice behind you.

“Hey,” Mingi says quietly. “Sorry, I felt awkward over there.”

You turn and smile. “So you came to hide by me?”

He nods. “Yeah. I don’t know how to talk to that many people at once.”

“Don’t worry. You’ve got the important one covered,” you say playfully, nudging his arm. The two of you wander together through the gym, talking and pointing out old banners and faded class photos. He tells you the vending machine was still broken, and you laugh so hard you nearly cry. It feels like time has folded in on itself, like the two of you have slipped into some secret version of the past that only you share.

Until the air shift.

“Wait a second… no way.” The voice makes your stomach drop. You turn, and there he is.

Jae.

Mingi was still beside you.

Jae takes a slow, smug step forward. “Is that Song Mingi? Mingi the Mathlete?” He burst out laughing. “This guy?” Jae points, laughing louder. “Bro, you used to show up to class with anime keychains dangling off your backpack. You remember that? You had that one with the giant eyes and pink hair, what was her name?”

The words hit like cold water down your spine. It’s not just what he’s saying, it’s how. The way he still carries himself like he owns the room. Like high school never ended. Like he hasn’t aged a day, emotionally or otherwise.

“Jae,” you snap. “That’s enough.”

He waves you off. “No, come on. I’m just catching up with an old friend.” He looks Mingi up and down. “Remember when he cried in class because he got a B? Or when Coach made him run a lap and he tripped over his own shoelaces and broke his glasses? You remember that, Mingi?”

Mingi doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. But his ears are red.

You clench your fists. “Jae-”

Jae shrugs. “What? It’s a reunion. We’re reminiscing.”

It’s like no time has passed. You’re standing in that same school again, ten years younger, heat in your face, fists clenched at your sides, listening to the same bullshit from the same smirking mouth. You had hoped that age would’ve mellowed Jae out. Maybe the world would’ve humbled him, knocked the ego out of his chest a little. But no. He’s still that smug, arrogant asshole in a letterman jacket, except now the jacket’s gone and the smug is somehow worse.

“You can’t undo who you were,” Jae says, voice low and venomous. “You don’t get to walk in here with your hair done and your expensive coat and act like that scrawny little loser didn’t exist. Because that’s who you’ll always be.”

His eyes slid to you.

“I still don’t get it. You threw a drink in my face over him? Really? That fucking nerd? Thought you had better taste.”

You opened your mouth, but Jae raised a hand, mocking.

“No, no-, go ahead. Tell me he’s changed. Tell me he’s this big successful guy now. Maybe he’s rich, maybe he’s hot, whatever. Still doesn’t matter.” His gaze cut to Mingi again, crueler than ever. “Because underneath all that? You’re still that awkward, stuttering freak who didn’t know how to talk to people unless it was about dragons or comic books. Still too scared to eat in the cafeteria. Still not good enough to be in the real world.”

He let the words sink in.

“You didn’t belong then. And you don’t belong now.”

Mingi’s breath was shaky.

You look up at him, he’s trying so hard to keep his face neutral, but you can see it. The muscle twitch in his jaw. The flicker of something behind his eyes. The way his fingers curl ever so slightly. You held Mingi’s hand tightly. You don’t even think he realizes it, how his grip tightens, how he’s holding his breath.

And Jae? He knows. He can sense it like a predator catching a scent.

“Let’s go,” you said quietly, holding it together even though your chest was burning.

You don’t even have time to process anything before you’re already moving, yanking on Mingi's arm and pulling him a few steps away from Jae, when Jae muttered just loud enough to hear:

“Fucking whore. Only just wanted to fuck you anyways. You’re worth nothing more than that.”

The words hit hard. You feel your heart slam into your ribs, and you feel Mingi’s whole demeanor shift. You feel a tug in your hand, and look back to see Mingi stopping completely, back turned to Jae. His hand jerks from yours, his body going rigid as his eyes burn with rage.

Without thinking, he turns, the words barely leaving his lips as he faces Jae again.

“Say that again.”

Jae sneers, taking a few steps toward Mingi, his smirk widening. “What? Did I hit a nerve?”

Mingi stepped closer, eyes steady. “I don’t care what you say about me. But you don’t talk to her like that.”

Jae sees the anger in Mingi’s eyes and takes another step closer, fully leaning into his role of tormentor. He’s enjoying this. He’s relishing every moment of pushing Mingi’s buttons. “Oh? Or what? You gonna lecture me? Gonna write a sad blog post about how bullying hurts your feelings?”

The moment he says those words, you see the storm inside Mingi break. Without a second thought, his fist flies out, crashing into Jae’s jaw with a sickening crack. The sound rings through the room, loud and sharp. Jae stumbles back, eyes wide, one hand flying up to his face in shock. The laughter and chatter of the reunion fall into stunned silence, everyone frozen in disbelief.

You’re frozen too, staring in wide-eyed shock at Mingi as he stands tall, his chest heaving from the force of the punch, but his expression is stone-cold. He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t show any satisfaction. Just the quiet fury of someone who’s been holding back for too long.

“That was ten years overdue.” Then he turns to you, eyes softening the moment he looks at you. And without a word, he reached for your hand. And just like ten years ago, you left prom early. But this time, you weren’t leaving alone.

And you don’t look back. Not at Jae, not at the stunned crowd. Just at Mingi, whose grip on your hand is warm and trembling, and whose chest is still rising and falling like he’s holding in a storm. You finally make it outside, the cold night air wrapping around you like a slap of reality. You stop just past the doors, heart still racing, and turn to face him fully.

“Oh my god- are you okay?” The words rush out in a breath, tangled in shock, concern, and the lingering echo of rage.

Mingi looks at you like he’s just now realizing where he is. His eyes are wide, lips parted slightly, and for a second he just blinks. Then he flinches, lifting his hand up in front of his face like it doesn’t belong to him anymore.

“Ow,” he mutters, his voice a stunned rasp. “That fucking hurt.”

Your heart lurches as you take in his expression. “Are you alright? Let me see.”

He shakes his hand, then flexes his fingers with a grimace. “They never talk about this in movies, do they? Like, no one ever says how much it hurts to throw a punch. I thought it’d feel… I don’t know. Smoother?”

You hover beside him, unsure whether to be furious at him for risking injury or proud for what he did. “Did you break anything?” you ask, already scanning his knuckles, which are red and already starting to swell.

Instead of answering, he tilts his head and looks at you with a bizarrely serious expression. “Did it look cool, though?”

You blink. “What?”

He doesn’t even flinch. “The punch. Did it look cool?”

Your mouth falls open. The ridiculousness of the question hits you all at once, and you cover your face with both hands, stifling a laugh that bubbles up before you can stop it.

“You can’t just punch someone and then ask me if it looked cool!” you exclaim through your laughter.

“You can’t laugh at something and then try to scold me for it,” he fires back, eyes going wide with mock offense, even as he cradles his clearly throbbing hand. 

“I mean… Jae totally deserved it. I’ve wanted to slap him for years. But yes. It looked cool. Extremely cool. Hero-movie level.” you say, though you’re still smiling, still riding the tail end of that rollercoaster drop.

Mingi straightens a little, visibly pleased despite the pain. “Good. Worth it, then.” He nods once like he just completed a side quest. “Did you hear the line I said before we walked off?”

Your eyes light up, remembering. “Yes! ‘That was ten years overdue.’ You killed it.”

“Right?” He gives a proud little grin that quickly twists into a grimace. “Ugh-okay, ow. Excellent delivery, tragic consequences. I think I broke my hand.”

Your smile fades. “Wait, what?”

“I’m serious,” he groans, holding his hand up like it’s a rare and tragic artifact. “My fingers, my knuckles, they’re all shattered. I’m ninety percent sure I just punched straight through his skull and hit bone.”

You snort, and this time, you don’t stop the laughter. It pours out of you, shaking loose the tension from your spine. “Come on, let’s get you to the car before you end up fighting gravity next.”

You glance up at Mingi, at his swollen hand, his bruised pride, the quiet defiance still in his eyes, and you realize something in your gut:

He stood up for you. In front of everyone. Without hesitation. And even now, as he winces with every step and makes dramatic quips about broken fingers, he’s holding your hand like it's the only thing anchoring him to the moment.

You squeeze his hand gently, just once.

***

The car is silent on the way back to Mingi’s place, except for the quiet hum of the engine and the way his knuckles keep swelling. You keep stealing glances at his hand resting on the steering wheel, slightly curled, the skin around his knuckles already blooming red.

He pulls into the underground garage of his building, and you glance at him as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “Let me take a look at your hand upstairs. You’re not getting out of this with permanent knuckle damage.”

He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”

The elevator ride is quiet. So is the short walk through his apartment. When you step inside, you’re hit again with how massive it is. You tell him to sit down while you rummage through the kitchen for ice, and when you return with a small towel and an old first aid kit, he’s already rolled up his sleeve. You kneel in front of him, gently taking his hand in yours. He winces slightly but doesn’t pull away.

“It’s gonna swell more,” you say softly. “You really went for it, huh?”

He chuckles, the sound low and breathy. “I think I’ve been waiting to do that since I was sixteen.”

You look up at him. “You didn’t have to do that, violence is never the answer,” You took a gentle look at his knuckle as your smile grew. “But I’m really glad you did.” You try to stay focused, gently pressing the cold to his skin, but you can feel the weight of his eyes on you, he’s watching you, too closely, too quietly.

Then, finally, his voice cuts through the silence. Low. Careful.

“Is it true?”

You glance up, eyebrows furrowed. “Is what true?”

He hesitates, and his gaze drops to his injured hand like he’s trying to use it as an anchor. Then his eyes find yours again.

“What Jae said. About prom. That you… stood up for me? Threw a drink in his face?”

Your eyes fall away from his, back to the angry red swelling under your fingertips. You’re quiet for a moment. Then, softly, almost sheepishly, you say, “He was being mean about you.” You don’t know what to say. After tonight, him punching Jae in the face and all, everything just seems so overwhelming. 

The air shifts. The silence changes.

“I was gonna go to prom, you know,”

You freeze.

“I really was. I had the corsage. I’d picked it out days before. I was wearing this awful suit my dad found on sale, and I hated how I looked in it. But I kept telling myself it didn’t matter. You asked me to go. You wanted to go with me.”

You look up at him.

“I drove all the way to the school,” he says, voice quieter now. “And I saw you standing there outside. You looked so… God, you looked so beautiful. You kept looking around, but you were with your friends, and I thought- I can’t do this. I can’t be the reason she has a terrible night. I can’t ruin this for her. So I just… left.”

You feel the ache in your chest as he continues, more breathless now, like the words are finally spilling out after years of being dammed up.

“I wanted to get out of the car so bad. Just… run to you. Tell you you looked beautiful. Ask you to dance. I even practiced what I’d say. But then I thought about how the second I walked in, someone would trip me, or laugh, or call me names. And I’d ruin your night.” He breathes in hard. “So I drove off. I didn’t even look back... I got signed for a program in another city and left two days later.” he murmurs. “But I didn’t forget you,” he whispers. “Even when I left. Even when I started building this life, this apartment, this job, this version of myself. You were always in the back of my mind.”

You’re still silent. Heart pounding. Barely breathing.

“I remember the first time we studied together,” he says with a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You got a math problem right, and you turned to me and just, cheered. Like it was the greatest thing that had ever happened. And I sat there thinking, She’s cheering because of me. She’s smiling because of me. Do you know what that did to a guy like me?”

He looks at you now, eyes searching. But you don’t say anything. You just wait.

“You called it a ‘study date.’ You probably don’t even remember that, but I do. God, I do. I went home and stared at the ceiling all night. And when you called me cute that day in the library, I swear, I thought I was gonna pass out. I told my mom. That’s how ridiculous I was.”

That makes you laugh a little, and he smiles. But only for a second.

“You used to touch my arm when you laughed,” he continues, voice trembling. “You’d borrow my pens and never return them. You brought me snacks when I forgot to eat. And you defended me. Over and over, even when it made you unpopular with the people you called friends.”

He looks at you, really looks. “You were my favorite part of every day. And it terrified me.” He swallows hard. “And seeing you again… it messed me up. Because you’re still you. Still kind. Still funny. Still so beautiful it makes my chest hurt. And I’m still me. Just in better clothes.”

You laugh, just once. Disbelieving. Tears forming in your eyes.

“God, I was in love with you,” he says, finally, the words tumbling out like a breath he’s been holding for ten years. “Head over heels, stupidly in love with you.”

You stare at him, completely stunned. And he just looks back, like he’s waiting for gravity to either pull you toward him or drop him straight through the floor.

Silence. Long and heavy.

And then, slowly, you move your hand to his and take it gently in your own.

“Say it again,” you whisper.

He tilts his head, eyes soft. “Which part?”

“All of it.”

He grins, a little breathless, a little shy.

“I was in love with you. Every day. Then, and probably now. I just… never thought you’d see me the same way.”

You’re the one who moves first, leaning in, your hands finding his face, and kissing him like your lungs depend on it. Like the air you’ve both been breathing for the last ten years was never quite right.

It’s not slow. It’s not hesitant.

It’s an eruption.

You lift yourself on your knees to reach him better. You need him close and he needs you more than ever. He pulls you closer, one hand tangling into your hair, the other gripping your waist like you might disappear again if he lets go. And when he murmurs your name against your lips, voice cracked with years of yearning, it all comes clear.

He’s the one for you and you can’t let him go again. 

Your hands cup his face, and he gasps softly into the kiss like it shocks him every time you touch him. The way he reacts to you, the way his breath stutters, his body trembling slightly. 

“You have no idea how many times I imagined this. I used to lie awake thinking- what if I’d just taken your hand and told you everything back then?”

“You don’t have to imagine anymore,” you whisper, thumb brushing his cheekbone. “I’m right here.”

That’s when he kisses you again. Like a man who’s been starving.

This time it’s deeper. Hotter. Hungrier.

You’re still on the floor, knees pressing into the carpet, lips swollen from the kind of kisses that don’t feel real until they’ve already stolen your breath. Your hands rest on his thighs, steadying yourself. Mingi’s still on the couch, legs spread, chest rising and falling in deep, uneven breaths.

His knuckles are red, still angry-looking from the hit he threw earlier, but he hasn’t looked at it once. Not when you're this close. Not when your mouth’s just been on his.

"Fuck," he breathes, looking down at you like you’re the first thing that’s made sense in years. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You blink up at him, dazed, lips parted. “Then show me.”

Something shifts in his gaze. A sharp inhale. And then he’s leaning forward, his uninjured hand curling around the back of your neck as he drags you into another kiss, deeper now, more demanding. His bruised hand rests on your hip, thumb digging into the waistband of your skirt like he’s fighting restraint.

“You think I haven’t thought about this?” he murmurs against your mouth. “Ten years of imagining what you’d sound like… begging me.”

Your breath stutters. “Mingi-”

He kisses you harder, pulling your lower lip between his teeth before letting it go with a soft bite. “I kept my distance because I thought I wasn’t enough,” he says, voice lower now, like a secret pressed to your skin. “But now? You’re right here. You want this.” His thumb brushes under your jaw, tilting your head so he can watch your reaction. “So let me take my fucking time with you.”

Your body answers before your voice can. You crawl up, straddling his lap, your fingers threading into his hair as you kiss him again, desperate, open-mouthed. His hands move with purpose now, gripping your waist like he owns it, dragging you down harder against the growing tension between you.

And when he pulls away just long enough to whisper, “Tell me this is mine tonight,”

Your answer isn’t words. It’s the sound you make when he grinds up into you, lips crashing into his like you’ve waited ten years for this exact moment.

Your back hits the couch before you can catch your breath. One second you're straddling him, and the next, Mingi throws you down on the soft cushions while his hands are on your waist. Big, warm, claiming.

His bruised knuckle curls against your side, firm despite the injury. You glance down, worry catching in your throat, but he doesn't give you a chance to say a word. "Don’t look at my hand," he murmurs, voice gravel-thick. "I don’t give a fuck about it right now. I only care about you."

His lips crush against yours before you can reply, hungry, hot, so deep you swear he’s trying to taste the years between you.

You moan into his mouth, hands gripping his shirt, tugging him down. He follows your pull easily, bracing one arm on the back of the couch while the other drags up your thigh, slow and deliberate. Fingers pressing into skin like he needs to map every inch of you.

“I’ve waited too long to be gentle.”

His mouth trails down your neck, lips parted and hot. Teeth scrape your skin and your hips lift, involuntary. Needy. He groans. “You gonna let me have you? Let me make up for all the years I couldn’t?”

You nod, breathless.

“Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Yes, Mingi,” you whisper, needy. “Please.”

Mingi’s eyes darken at the sound of your voice. His hand slides beneath your shirt fully now, palm flat, fingers curling just under the edge of your bra. His touch is demanding, possessive. His mouth returns to yours, tongue sliding against yours with a filthy, practiced ease that makes your head spin. He moves fast, his body towering over yours as he yanks your shirt over your head. His eyes drag down your body like he’s starving.

“Fuck,” he groans, palming your breast through your bra. You moan when his hand slips down, loosening your skirt with practiced ease. “Lift your hips, baby,” he mutters, helping you out of your skirt and panties, tossing them somewhere behind him.

And then you’re bare beneath him. Vulnerable. Open. But not once do you feel anything except wanted. Mingi kneels between your legs, bruised hand curling around your thigh as he spreads you for himself. His eyes go dark, dangerous.

“Look at this,” he growls, running a finger through your slick. “Dripping already. You missed me, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” you whimper, back arching as he strokes you lazily. “I-, Mingi, please-”

“Oh, baby,” he grins, voice sinful. “You’re gonna be begging so much more than that.” he murmurs, kissing the inside of your thigh, dragging his lips up your skin. “Wanna hear every little sound you make. Wanna make you fall apart on my tongue.”

And then he does.

His mouth is on you, hot, wet, devastating. His tongue flicks out, tasting you, and you gasp, hands flying to his hair, tugging him closer. The feeling of his mouth on you, finally, is nothing short of intoxicating. His tongue slides over your clit, slow and deliberate, like he’s memorizing the taste of you. You gasp, hips bucking, but his hands are already locking your thighs down.

“None of that,” he growls against you, the vibration shooting up your spine. “You stay right here. You take it.”

You moan, your fingers tangling into his hair, gripping tight. He groans at that, diving deeper. His mouth is greedy, precise, teasing. And when you whimper, he chuckles darkly.

“That’s it,” he mutters, pulling back just enough to speak. “Make those pretty sounds. You’ve got no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this, make a mess of you.”

His hands grip your thighs harder, pulling you closer as he pushes his tongue deeper, moving faster now, the sounds of your pleasure filling the room. He’s relentless, driven, and you’re helpless to do anything but surrender to the overwhelming pleasure he’s giving you.

“You like this, don’t you?” he asks, voice thick with lust as he pauses to look up at you. “You like how I’m making you come apart for me.”

You’re already close and he knows it. You can feel the grin in the way his tongue flicks faster, his lips sucking your clit just right. You’re panting now, desperate, the pressure building sharp and hot.

“Go on,” he coaxes, fingers digging into your hips. “Come for me, sweetheart. Be a good girl and let me feel you.”

And god, you do.

It crashes over you hard, your moan breaking open and raw as your body jerks beneath him. He groans into you, not slowing down, licking you through it like a man obsessed. When you finally collapse back into the couch, boneless and gasping, he pulls away with lips wet and a wicked smirk.

“Fuck,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You taste even better than I dreamed.”

You blink up at him, still dazed, and he leans over you, his hand sliding up your stomach, between your breasts, resting at your throat with just the barest pressure.

“I’m not done.” And then he’s kissing you again, filthy, tongue sliding against yours so you can taste yourself on his mouth. He grinds his hips against you and you feel it, how hard he is, how badly he wants this. “Turn around,” he growls, lips brushing your ear. “Bend over the couch for me. I wanna fuck you from behind.”

Your breath catches.

You obey.

Within seconds, you’re on your knees, front against the back of the couch as you continue to be fully exposed. But it’s not occupying your mind for long, because behind you is a man who has dreamt of this. Who has been longing for you and your touch for years. So you feel the safest you’ve ever felt, knowing this is exactly what you want. 

You hear the rustle of his clothes, the sound of a zipper, his soft grunt as he strokes himself behind you. He doesn’t touch you right away. No, Mingi takes his time, and soon after the cushions dip. One of Mingi’s hands anchors at your waist, firm and steady, while the other traces down your spine, a slow drag of fingers over your skin that leaves a trail of goosebumps in its wake. A warm kiss is placed on your shoulder.

“Are you sure you can take it?” His breath is hot against your skin, but there’s something different about the way he touches you now, gentle, but demanding, like he’s holding onto something bigger between the two of you.

And when he looks at you, his eyes are full of fire, full of want.

“I can take it all.” You look back at him and his eyes sparkle in a way you’ve never seen before. Like this is truly the most important moment in his life. His corner of his lips tug and he places a soft kiss on your temple. 

"Look at you," he murmurs, voice thick with heat. "Bent over for me like you were made for it." You feel his hand gather your hair, collecting it all. He lets the head of his cock slide through your folds, smearing your wetness all over him, groaning at the slick heat. “God, you feel like heaven,” he says, almost reverently. 

And then, he’s inside.

One long, slow thrust.

Thick. Deep. Stretching you wide and full and making you gasp his name like a prayer. He bottoms out with a low, trembling breath against your neck, one hand gripping your hips again, knuckles white with restraint as he still holds your hair in the other. 

“So tight for me,” he groans, hips snapping into you. “Ten years, ten fucking years, I’ve dreamed about this.”

You whimper his name, and he gives a sharp, satisfied growl.

And then he moves.

The first few thrusts are slow, deliberate, letting you feel every inch, dragging out the friction. But it doesn’t take long before he starts to lose himself. His pace quickens, rougher, deeper, the sound of skin slapping skin echoing off the walls. One hand reaches around to toy with your clit again, fingers circling with purpose while he pounds into you from behind.

Your head drops forward with a moan, nails digging into the couch.

“That’s it,” he groans, voice low and filthy in your ear. “Take it. Take all of me. Look at you-, so fucking pretty.” he pants, thrusts getting harder. “My good girl, you’re doing so good.” 

The praising hits completely different from when he used to praise you for getting a math problem solved by yourself. Knowing this is the same boy who got nervous when you called him cute, is making your world shift. The confidence he’s showing despite his past is making you even hungrier for him, and you don’t think you can ever let him go.

Your arms are barely holding you up now. Every thrust hits deeper, harder, pushing you into the couch until you're trembling from head to toe. Mingi’s name slips from your lips over and over, broken, breathless, pleading. You don’t even realize how close you are until Mingi slows down, pulling out slowly and you whimper at the sudden emptiness. He’s breathing hard behind you, hands gripping your hips.

"Not yet," he mutters, voice thick with restraint. "I wanna see your face."

He grabs your wrist and gently tugs, guiding you off the back of the couch. You’re still catching your breath, dazed and wrecked, as he lifts you effortlessly and lays you down on your back. He kneels between your legs, hands trailing up your thighs, spreading you open for him.

His eyes are dark, completely black with lust, but there’s still that softness there too, hidden beneath the hunger.

“You look so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “Let me see you when you fall apart again.” He lines himself up, and when he pushes in this time, it’s slow, agonizing. He fills you inch by inch, and the way he watches you, like you’re the most important thing he’s ever touched, has you clenching around him already.

You reach for him, shoulders, biceps, anywhere you can hold on, and Mingi catches your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand. “You’re not going anywhere,” he growls, leaning over you, his mouth hot at your neck. “Gonna fuck you until all you can do is beg.”

He sets a punishing rhythm this time, deep, precise, dragging moans from your throat with every snap of his hips. His free hand roams your body, gripping, exploring, teasing, while his lips trace fire across your throat and jaw.

“You like this, huh?” he pants. “You like when I take what’s mine?”

You nod desperately, arching into him, and he chuckles darkly, loving every second.

“Say it.”

“Y-Yes,” you gasp. “I’m yours, Mingi- please…”

The pressure builds again, higher, hotter, unbearable. He’s rubbing against that spot inside you perfectly, your wrists still pinned, his hips relentless. He’s everywhere, above you, inside you, owning every breath you take. Your whole body is trembling, pinned beneath him, skin slick with sweat and mouth parted in desperate moans. Mingi’s pace is wild now, primal, every thrust harder than the last, driving you closer to the edge.

“I can feel you,” he grits out through clenched teeth, voice wrecked with need. “You’re so fucking close, baby. You’re squeezing me so tight-”

You nod frantically, tears pricking your eyes from the intensity, your whole body arching toward him. “I-I can’t-Mingi, I’m gonna-”

“Let go,” he growls, releasing your wrists just to cup your jaw, forcing your eyes to his. “Look at me when you come. I wanna see you.”

And that’s it.

The moment his thumb strokes over your clit and he slams in just right, your body shatters. The climax hits like a wave, ripping through you, your back arching, fingers clutching at his arms, a strangled moan ripped from your throat. Your whole body convulses beneath him, and Mingi swears, low, guttural, as your walls clamp around him so hard it nearly undoes him right there.

“Fuck-, fuck, baby-”

He loses it with a grunt, hips jerking as he buries himself deep inside you, holding you tight as he comes. You can feel the warmth of it, the way his body shakes, the way he moans your name like a prayer against your throat, almost reverent. For a long moment, the only sound is your panting breaths and the low, messy press of skin on skin as he slowly rocks you both through the aftershocks.

Then stillness. His weight resting against you. His breath in your ear. His lips soft on your shoulder.

He doesn’t pull out right away. Just stays there, forehead pressed to yours, eyes closed like he’s savoring it, savoring you, like he can’t believe it’s real.

“I’ve been dreaming about this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “For ten fucking years.”

You cup his cheek gently, heart pounding. “Me too.”

And for a moment, there’s nothing left to say.

Just you. And him. Finally together.

***

Morning creeps in slowly, golden and quiet. You’re not sure what time it is, only that the sunlight pouring in through the curtains is soft enough to let you stay in this bubble a little longer. Mingi’s still asleep when you shift in the sheets, one arm flung around your waist, the other tucked under his cheek. His face is peaceful in a way you’ve never seen before. Relaxed, gentle, boyish even. You resist the urge to trace the line of his jaw, but you don’t resist the smile pulling at your lips.

You eventually get up to pee, wash your face, steal one of his soft T-shirts. By the time you wander into the kitchen, Mingi is already there, messy-haired and shirtless, nursing a cup of coffee like he’s still not fully awake. He looks up when you enter, and the second he sees you, bare-legged in his shirt, he grins.

“Morning,” he says, voice low and rough with sleep.

You wrap your arms around his waist before you even say it back. His hand comes to your lower back automatically, warm and easy, like it belongs there.

“You look smug,” you murmur into his bare chest.

“I am,” he replies, unapologetic. “I woke up with you in my bed.”

You laugh, then tilt your head up for a kiss. He gives you one without hesitation, soft, slow, like he wants it to last all morning.

The coffee gets cold before either of you remember it.

You move around the kitchen together like you’ve done this a hundred times. Touching constantly, bumping hips, fingers brushing as you pass mugs and open cabinets. He sneaks kisses between bites of toast. You tug at the waistband of his sweats just because you can. It’s like the floodgates have opened and now neither of you can stop touching. You’re halfway through making another cup of coffee when you mumble it, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“You want sugar in yours, or are you going to make your girlfriend guess again?”

Mingi freezes.

You don’t even notice until you glance up.

His ears are bright red. “My… my what?”

You turn to him, fully facing him now, resting your hip against the counter. “Your girlfriend,” you say simply. “I am, aren’t I?”

He blinks. Opens his mouth. Closes it. Then:

“You-yeah. Yeah, I just-” He runs a hand through his hair, smile blooming slow and full. “I didn’t know I was allowed to call you that.”

“You’re cute,” you tease, stepping into his space. “You’ve always been cute.”

“Stop,” he groans, covering his face with one hand. But he’s grinning too wide to hide it. You lift up on your toes and kiss his cheek. Then another on his jaw. Then one right on the corner of his mouth. He finally grabs you by the hips and kisses you back like he can’t take it anymore, messy and sweet, both of you smiling into it.

He kisses you once. Then twice more. Then again, and again, and again.

You lose count after five. TAGLIST: I only have one main taglist, so if you wish to be added/removed, then let me know! xx @lveegsoi @vixensss @yizhou-time  @imgenieforyou-boy @life-is-a-game-of-thrones @ateezswonderland @cozypaint @blutiny @aerangi @arigakittyo @femaholicc @queenofdumbfuckery @mingiatz @vent-stink (I couldn't get to tag some of the people who requested to be on the tag list :((( )

THERE WILL BE AN EPILOGUE! just a little bonus episode where we do a little time jump and see where you and Mingi are a few months into the relationship🥰🥰 thank you for the love on this!! it really means the world to me <3

[nhl-stories]

Head Spinning – Miles Wood

Summary: Even after a gut-wrenching break up, you're finding difficult to extricate yourself from Miles life.

Author’s Note: Definite adult content further in so fair warning. Also sort-of a kidfic if that's not your thing.

Word Count: 2.1k

13 going on 30 is playing on the TV because you’re determined to teach Mikayla about the importance of an early aughts romcom. 

Neither of you are really paying attention, the focus on the puzzle on the coffee table. Though you’re realizing the fruit puzzle is looking a bit more vaginal when the image is blown up like this.

“Your big 13th is coming up, any party plans?” you slot in the last piece of an especially sexual-looking grapefruit.

“Dad says I might get to have a boy-girl party.”

You snort before you can stop yourself.

“And maybe dad will be on a road trip and you can chaperone,” she doesn’t even try to use her puppy eyes, because she knows it’s a pipe dream.

“That’s not gonna happen.”

You have no reason to, but you feel like doing Miles a bit of a solid. Or maybe it’s just you trying to preserve Mikayla’s youth a little longer.

“You have plenty of years to hang out with boys, and even then, it’s pretty overrated. I say have a slumber party with endless amounts of pizza and sugar.”

“Will you come over for cake and presents?”

“You’ll have to ask your dad.”

“But it’s my birthday.”

“I know, but I think your Dad and I need to set up new boundaries. And that means not being at so many family things.”

“You’re basically my mom.”

“Well, I’m not your mom,” you feel yourself snap a little without meaning to, it’s a bit of a sore subject.

You take a breath and calm down, “your dad made it clear I’m not and I need to respect that.”

Mikayla has a lot to say on that subject.

“But babysitting me or going to parent-teacher conferences is okay not-mom stuff?”

“I guess,” you shrug. “You sometimes need an adult when your dad is away.”

You don’t really know how to explain it yourself. But you don’t feel like breaking open that box, so you take the easy way out and find some levity.

 “I think it’s more like I can’t buy you bras anymore.”

“Gross, I’m never going bra shopping with dad.”

You giggle at the thought of Miles pacing the edge of the bra section of a Target, refusing to look in his daughter’s direction.

The conversation dies down and you both look up at the movie when “Ice Ice Baby” starts playing. And just like a dad, Miles walks in right when the man takes off his pants.

“What the hell are you watching?”

“13 going on 30,” you both say without looking towards him.

He stays standing behind the couch to watch, also a classic dad move.

“Why are you in your pajamas,” Miles finally moves to sit on the couch, ruffling Mikayla’s hair as he sits behind her.

“I didn’t think you were coming home tonight,” you shrug.

“What?”

“You’ve been seeing this woman for a bit, I just thought, you know…”

“We thought you’d be getting laid tonight,” Mikayla butts in, and Miles looks a bit scandalized.

“I didn’t tell her that,” you feel the need to defend yourself.

“I’m a middle schooler with the last name Wood, I know what sex is.”

You have to hold back a laugh, the tween has always lacked a filter. The older she gets the more the results shock Miles. 

You’re sure gray hairs will be popping up soon.

“Okay, I think it’s time for you to go to bed,” Miles says.

She makes a face and opens her mouth, something snarky surely on the tip of her tongue. 

You give her warning eyes and shake your head. She groans and gets up to go to bed.

“Wait,” you hold open your arms, “good night hug.”

She rolls her eyes but comes to hug you anyway, still sweet underneath the budding teenage angst.

Miles grabs her before she can pass, squeezing her tight and kissing her temple.

Then the awkward silence sets in. You wiggle your toes into the soft rug, the one you picked out after the cross-country move. 

“You don’t talk to her about that, right?”

“No,” you dig in your heels, notice the chip in your second toe’s nail polish.

You think someone should probably start talking to her about those kinds of things, and you know Miles won’t be the one to do it. But that’s not really your business anymore.

“But she’s not stupid and she’s the result of a teen pregnancy, she probably knows more than you’d like.”

Miles grimaces.

“But I do think I laid some groundwork for a slumber party over a boy-girl party so really you should be thanking me.”

Some tension leaks out of his shoulders, “I’m not ready for her to be going to parties with boys.”

“Boys are gross, I try to make that clear to her,” you smile and bump Miles shoulder.

“Thanks for looking after her,” he smiles, his teeth are in which is weirdly jarring, “We’ll see you around, I guess?”

“You trying to kick me out? No way, I’m already in my PJs, my night routine is done. I’m spending the night and you’re making breakfast in the morning.”

Miles stares you down.

“This wouldn’t have been a problem if you had gotten laid.”

“How do you know I didn’t get laid?”

“You like to cuddle too much to have left afterwards,” you hate that this all feels like picking up a well-loved book: familiar, comfortable.

You don’t mean to add on, you don’t want to know, “especially if you like this woman.”

Still, you dare to look at him. His face doesn’t give much away.

“She’s nice, still early days.” 

He’s acting nonchalant but you can tell he’s uncomfortable. Something stiff in place of his usual easy-going vibes. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t want to talk about this with you.

You’re not sure if you want to dig your claws in and find more answers, or too afraid they’ll be the ones you hate.

“How’s your dating life going?” He throws out casually.

And if there’s any avenue of conversation you definitely don’t want to get into, it’s your own non-existent dating life. 

Miles had ripped your heart out on a random October afternoon. And you’ve been too busy rebuilding a life on your own, you haven’t even thought about dating. Miles doesn’t seem to have the same problem bouncing back.

“Do you really want to know about that?” You arch a brow, so it sounds like a challenge, hoping he can’t see through the mask. 

He shrugs, “You seem pretty confident about the number of dates to sex ratio, maybe I want to know if that’s from personal experience.”

His mischievous grin feels like hot knife cutting through your guts. So, you do something impulsive and dumb. 

Swinging a leg over his lap and kissing him before you can think twice. He doesn’t kiss back right away and you’re worried you’ve miscalculated this. But then he starts to kiss back, you find a rhythm even if it’s weird with his teeth in. 

Miles grabs your hips and pushes you back a bit. 

You have to scramble to say something before he says this is a bad idea; lets you down easy and you have to slither away to smother yourself with his guest room pillows. 

“Let’s just agree we’re both a little hard up and this doesn’t have to mean anything.”

He certainly has no argument when he lifts you up and starts to carry you towards the stairs.

“No, guest room, Mik will probably hear us in your room,” you squeeze your thighs against him and he changes course.

He tosses you onto the guest bed, crawling on top of you and kissing you again. 

You push his shoulders back so you can look at him, “take the stupid teeth out.”

Miles laughs and pops out the bridge. It’s kind of gross seeing him set them on the bedside table, a long trail of spit pulling until it finally snaps. 

It doesn’t really faze you once your tongue traces that familiar gap. In fact, the thing that once was new and a bit disturbing is now putting your body into overdrive. 

You’d describe it like riding a bike, how easy it is to remove each others clothes, how Miles knows the exact spots to kiss to make you gasp, how you know the best moment to take control and flip Miles onto his back. 

Familiar intimacy that’s hard to forget.

You spit on your hand and reach behind you, stroking Miles from half to full hardness. When you rub your thumb over the head, he lets out a deep groan that you know means he’s starting to tilt towards his orgasm. 

When you look down at his blissed out face lying against the deep green sheets the ones that contrast so much from the light crisp blue ones in the main bedroom, you’re reminded how long it’s actually been. 

Maybe you should ask if you need to grab a condom, the thought makes you a little lightheaded.

Miles grip on your hips tightens, like you actually froze while stuck in thought, or maybe the lifting motion he’s making just means he wants you to get on with it. 

So you lift yourself higher and move him until you can slide down in one smooth motion. You let a high-pitched squeak slip out at the sudden pressure and fullness. 

But you quickly adjust and start working yourself up and down. Miles hands start to roam up your body, cupping your breast and thumbing at your nipples. 

Your thighs start to burn faster than they used to, but you try to keep up the pace. It’s a losing battle, even if the crest of your orgasm is so close you can taste it. 

Miles seems to read that your legs are losing steam, a few months isn’t long enough to stop innately knowing everything about a person. He flips you both over and thrusts hard enough to hit that deep spot just so. You have to clamp a hand over your mouth to stop yourself from moaning obnoxiously loud. 

He keeps up the pace and you edge closer and closer. He moves your hand and kisses you and it’s so all-consuming you just let go. Clamping down so tight, Miles topples over the edge too. You release into the floaty, loose-limbed bliss.

You don’t even care when Miles practically rag dolls on top of you; just let the afterglow settle until he softens enough to slip out and you become all too aware of the nauseating oozing feeling. 

After a quick clean up in the bathroom you’re not surprised to see Miles has made himself comfortable, probably in a near coma sleep. Typical.

You crawl into the bed, too aware that it’s on your usual side of the bed. You don’t have a side of the bed at your apartment now. Even in his deep sleep Miles is drawn to the new heat source, burrowing into your side. You’ll relish in it even if it makes your heart ache a little. 

Everything is so familiar, but it will never be the same again.

You wake up the next morning in the middle of the bed, alone. It’s what you should have expected. You feel like you should be over it, or at least on some trajectory to moving on, but it’s hard to stop loving someone cold turkey.

Making your way into the kitchen, Miles is already brewing coffee and stirring waffle batter. He gives you a toothless grin as you sit at the kitchen table. 

He pours you a cup of coffee, puts in just the right amount of almond milk. You can’t help but smile back over the lip of the mug. These are the moment you loved so much, that you imagined having for the rest of your life. 

You can give yourself the right to soak this in, enjoy it while you can.

Mikayla comes downstairs, looking mostly awake, “Ooh dad’s making waffles? Did he lose a bet?”

“I don’t have to lose a bet to make breakfast for my favorite girls,” he says it with some conviction, like it’s the truth, full stop.

Mikayla looks between the two of you, a scrutinizing kind of look that a teenage girl masters. Her gaze stays on you for a moment longer, like she definitely figured something out. 

“Whatever, keep your secrets. Do we have any of those Trader Joe’s hash browns?” 

Mikayla looks at you one more time before going to the freezer. Even if she knows something she doesn’t want to say it out loud. She’s gonna soak up this one morning, just in case it’s actually the last.

[filmtv2022]

Our Time Is Limited: Part V

Previous/Next

Pairing: Emperor Geta X Reader & Caracalla x Reader (Platonic - former lover)

Synopsis: Danger abounds as the games turn a new level of brutal. Caracalla's mental state continues to erode, bringing a new level of cruelty to the surface. Faced with his brother's rapid decline and his own tumultuous feelings, Geta falls back into the arms of the only person who makes him feel alive... you!

Warnings: smut, drinking, drug use, unwanted sexual touches, violence, and language.

A/N: I'm so sorry this took so long. My mental health game has been a bit rough lately, but I'm hopeful things are heading in a better direction. As always, any errors are my own! I'm not sure if this is as well proofed as other parts, but I did try my best.

The crowd's roar drowned out the steady lap of water against stone in the distance. In the sea of well-to-do citizens and senators, you stood within the flurry of motion, trying your best to observe while avoiding the prying eyes.  Full of wine and bread, the problems of Rome drifted from the minds of the “loyal” Romans who filled the arena. Their bodies were packed shoulder to shoulder, squeezing tightly into the space, completely focused on the awe-inspiring sight before them. Tucked away from the public, the emperors and their entourage waited for the proper moment to enter. It was here, safely behind the imaginary current of anonymity, that you found yourself eyeing the people whose names were becoming commonplace on the tongues of the lowly. 

General Acacius and Lucilla stood apart from the rest, their heads bowed together conspicuously, a sprig of lavender held to her nose to filter the incessant stink of the arena. The General’s normal stony expression was far more worrisome, his eyes flitting toward Caracalla, who stood deep in conversation with one of the many concubines that had come to warm his bed. Wandering hands caressed any sliver of skin that could be found. The lustful haze that consumed the fiery-headed man was far too lewd for the situation, and yet not a soul dared to interrupt. 

Acacius did not remain glued to Calla for long; soon, he eyed Geta, who found himself wrapped in discussion with Macrinus. Neither of the men seemed particularly happy, but that was not an uncommon sight from Geta. Often, the dull trudge of politics left him unable, or perhaps unwilling, to hide his distaste. The necessary and long separation from yourself only served to fray what remained of his patience. His nerves fired hot with every move you made through the room, wishing to keep you in his sight at all times. The emperor itched to hold you, to disappear into some darkened corner far from the others with time to enjoy your company, and free to touch you as he pleased. 

Planted beside the table overflowing with delicacies, you sipped delicately at your wine, alternating sips with smoke. The smoldering bundle wafted thin trails of Devil’s Breath and Opium. A cloudy film blanketed you, dulling your senses and slowing your thoughts to a crawl. The throb of pain that pulsed low beneath your injured skin was barely recognizable, but you were never freed from it entirely. Bare-faced and dressed in a fearsome gown of brilliant copper, you could feel the weight of the laurels upon your head and the gold upon your wrists and fingers.  Their symbol bestowed upon you an honor you would never deserve.

Having no one else to assess, Acacius and Lucilla’s attention fell to you, meeting the dead, cold stare of your tired eyes. A momentary flash of shock played upon their regal countenances before their masks snapped back into place. You understood the cause of their surprise, and yet you made no move to rip away from it. Instead, you leaned in, holding a deep breath of smoke in your lungs before letting it go slowly, trapping them in the embrace. Waiting… watching for them to make a move that would confirm everything you suspected about the pair. From the corner of your eye, a swift motion caught your attention. Unaware of what he interrupted, Geta stepped in front, holding your elbow tenderly as he spoke. 

“It is nearly time. How are you feeling?” His painted features twisted in concern, seeing the way you held tight to the Devil’s Breath. The embrace was far too intimate for the setting. A wave of anxiety simmered low in your gut before spilling out to the world.

“I am fine.” Your words slurred, the end of one jumbled into the beginning of the next. The slight sway of your frame only reinforced the lie. Geta stepped into you, leaving no space to flee. His free hand found the slope of your waist to keep you upright. 

“Are you sure? You have been… consuming for hours.” The emperor plucked the bundle sharply, dropping it into the metal tray beside you on the table. 

“And? I am perfectly well, Geta. There is nothing you should concern yourself with regarding my well-being”  You quipped, frustrated and barely lucid. “And this is not the place.” 

He understood what you were implying; his hand flew from you quickly and without question. A tiny stride put space between you.  “He’s… asked for you is all.” Geta cleared his throat, giving himself time to think. “Are you okay to go to him? You can say no.” 

“Can I? Really?” You shrugged, reaching for the bunch of still-smoking medicine beside you. “In private is one matter; I know what I have promised you, and I intend to keep that promise, for my heart is with you. But here… in public… that is entirely different. You know what my answer must be.” 

Geta nodded shallowly, knowing the harsh bite of your attitude had little to do with him and everything to do with the pain, emotional and physical, that had been laid upon you by his brother. Free to move away, you wove through the crowd, reaching Calla in a few unbalanced steps. Geta watched with rapt attention as you clung to Caracalla, your grip around his arm forcing the young man to look at you. Your cutting stare ripped through the concubine who had devoured the emperor’s attention before trailing over the rest of the group. Without speaking, the now unwanted and unnecessary people, whose names you had never bothered to learn, began to fade into the background, leaving you as the sole focus. 

Even at a distance, Geta could see how his brother’s illness affected the interaction. Calla floundered between the actions of a child and the desires of a vicious man. He had hoped that the youthful version of his sibling would shine in the light of day, giving you both reprieve, and yet it was clear from the way Caracalla’s hands found your already bruised frame that was not the truth of the matter. His palms raked over you, bunching the luxurious fabric as he brushed over the exposed swell of your breasts. Your spine straightened, your brows pinched together, and your lips pursed, keeping barbarous thoughts from spilling out. Fast as lightning, you snatched his wandering touch, stealing him from crossing a line he so delicately tread upon. 

Geta felt his resolve crumble, the pit in his stomach opened wide, devouring the last of his patience. There was nothing to be done, no fight to be had, for he knew without question that there was no choice. The facade of peace and cohesive leadership had to remain unbroken, not only for the sake of those he cared for most but for the entirety of Rome. Even with this knowledge, Geta could not stand the idea of you alone with Calla. His fists clenched by his sides as he moved back toward the pair of you. Caracalla noticed Geta’s approach first, calling to him boisterously, drawing far too much attention to the three of you. 

“Brother!” Caracalla shouted, a wide grin thinned his painted lips, and tugged the corners toward his ears. 

Geta forced a matching smile onto his face, hiding his true feelings, but it did not seem to matter. Calla was oblivious to the unfurling depth of what had bloomed between you and Geta. His rough hands traveled over your waist, teasing as he went. 

“It is time, brother, the public awaits.” Geta clapped him on the shoulder, drawing his eyes away from you, but not breaking Calla’s hold. “Let us not stall any longer. May the gods look upon us favorably this day.” 

“Yes, may their will be done.” Caracalla turned back to face you, a flicker of clarity reached his eyes as he caught the marks upon your skin as though he was seeing correctly for the first time that day. He lifted his grip, trailing the tips of his fingers over the jagged sea of bruises and cuts that colored your face and neck. “M’lady… are you…” 

Calla trailed off, clearly unsure of what to say, the thoughts in his addled mind whirring together in a chaotic jumble. An involuntary grimace twisted your face at the sting of him tracing your chin. The shallow hiss that ripped from you was nearly imperceptible in the noise that bounced all around, though he reacted as if he had been burned. His hands fell to his sides, flexing before curling into weak fists. The knot in your chest clenched, forcing you into action at his loss for words. 

“I am ready, my dear.” You cupped his pockmarked cheek, careful to avoid the worst of his wounds. “Let us enjoy this day.” You met him with a watery smile, hoping to ease the tension and keep him focused on the present. 

A radiant smile cracked the worry, lightening the weary look that had overtaken him. The woes of the moment before were swept away in an instant. Fly away, tufts of hair poked out around his crown, prompting you to tuck them into place. The gesture was one of normalcy, hiding the thump of your heart and the weight of Geta’s eyes upon you. He watched with unwavering attention, ready to act in an instant should this moment devolve into something darker. 

“There, now you are ready.” You spoke quietly, keeping the interaction between the three of you. 

Geta and Caracalla looked to each other for strength before moving toward the entrance of their box. Forced to part from you, the brothers stepped in front, leading the way toward their thrones. Free from  Calla’s steady hold, the room began to spin. The buckle of your knees forced you to slow lest you desire to slump upon the ground. Were it not for the anchoring weight of a foreign arm wrapping around your waist, you surely would have tumbled. 

“Careful, M’lady.” General Acacius stood pressed into your side. From this distance, you could see the lines beside his russet eyes, the horror of the years spent in battle crinkling the skin and leaving a brokenness behind. 

“Do not touch me.” You snarled, snatching yourself from his grasp as gracefully as you could manage. The older man stepped back, hands by his shoulders as if to apologize for the intrusion. Behind him, Lucilla looked on, curious and horrified at the way you sneered, your words vile and vicious. 

Seeing the emperors standing at the edge of their box, waving to the crowd, the rest of the room fell into line behind them, including you. Free from the general's hands, you corrected your posture, rolling your shoulders back and lifting your head high. Sunlight gleamed in broken fractals on the shallow waves that clipped against the walls. The roar of raised voices climbed to new heights. Geta sat first, finding you in his peripheral standing just behind Caracalla, who adjusted himself upon the unforgiving stone of his seat. Clutching the throne, you swayed, the drugs having stolen the minuscule amount of energy you begged to keep. Your interaction with the General had done nothing to help the situation. Geta watched in concern, yet again ready to fly to your aid if needed, but it was Caracalla who offered a rescue. 

“Sit,” Caracalla demanded. The genuine worry from before had faded, leaving in its place something fierce and savage.

“There is no place for me,” You reminded gingerly. 

“Sit… with me.” He reached for you, his palm up, and extended for you to take. “As we used to.” 

Your lungs hitched, knowing that the pair of you were barreling toward something that had long since been abandoned, but there was no avoiding it. Taking his offered hand, you walked around to face him. Standing between his legs, Caracalla’s eye flicked over you, obscenely admiring. He grazed over your hips before guiding you to sit upon his lap. His own were spread wide, allowing you to balance upon him, your knees knocking against his opposite thigh. Strong hands wrapped around your body, settling low upon your torso and thigh. 

“In the name of Poseidon, we celebrate the glory of naval war.” The shrill shout of the announcer echoed throughout the arena, drawing the attention of every patron from the lowliest man to the emperors clad in gold and jewels who sat beside and beneath you. Terrified to move for it could bring Caracalla’s explosive nature to the surface, where all eyes could view his loss of control, you stay firmly planted in your spot. What little padding of fat and muscle covered the thick bone of his thigh cut through, shooting thin lines of pain over your flesh, aching and sore. 

“Today, we relive the Battle of Salamis! The Trojans versus the Persians!” The hairless man continued his enthusiasm and elation in direct opposition to the dread that clawed its way up your spine.

Across the vast sea that now filled the Colosseum, gates opened wide, allowing two ships to emerge, their sails flying at full mast. Men clad in leather maneuvered through the waters, expertly running the oars in time with the commands of those who had been thrust into these meaningless positions of power. Flaming arrows soared through the air, finding their marks in not only sails but also in flesh. Moving quick on the wind, flame engulfed the main sail of the blue-hulled ship. Behind you, a sudden movement caught your attention. With what little freedom you had to twist around, you honed in on Lucilla. She clutched tightly to her husband's hand. Her face pinched with concern while General Acacius sat beside her, unreadable. Were it not for the nagging bite of Caracalla’s fingers sinking into the meat of your stomach, you would have most keenly continued to observe.

Soon, the strangled groans of the wounded and dying melded with the crack of oars as they snapped under the pressure of the gladiators’ boat. Blood colored the water with salacious hues of scarlet, leaving behind evidence of the terrifying creatures that floated just below the surface. The young man who’d drawn the attention of Lucilla called orders like a well-trained commander. A heavy black smoke filled the air, billowing thickly and coating your nose and tongue as you breathed. 

The unexpected and violent crash of the two ships snapped you back to the battle unfolding before you. Both Caracalla and Geta sat forward, their focus never wavering. Still seated firmly on his lap, you moved with Calla even as the hand upon your thigh parted the slit in your stola, exposing your bare skin for all to see. The silvery glint of the blade concealed there reflected in the sun. From this new position, you dropped into the space between his legs, your bottom planted on his throne as Caracalla’s strong thighs bracketed your own. Soft fingers traced patterns on your skin, traveling higher and higher. With every inch he rose, you felt the rush of blood in your ears quicken and dread fill your soul. 

"What is this, my love?" He traced the weapon that sat flush with your skin.

“Calla,” you sliced, threading your fingers over the top of his, trying to hold him in place, but failing. 

He continued to work you over. Ignoring your lack of answer, he slipped unchecked to the apex of your thighs as his other hand dug into your abdomen, trapping you against him. Caracalla imprisoned you, your back locked to his chest. The scent of the wine wafted over his tongue with a shrill peel of laughter at the violence erupting in front of him. The press of Calla’s cock growing hard against you sent waves of nausea rolling like high tide. 

“Calla… calla, stop… please,” you cried out at the sting of his grip, but it did nothing. He clawed at you, pinching your skin to the point of pain. You struggled to free yourself from his grasp, fighting for all you were worth to get loose without drawing too much attention. You managed to loosen his grip just as the ships, drifting on the water, slammed into the box, throwing everyone inside off balance. Tumbling back into his arms, you knew the advantage had been lost. The splintering crack of wood reverberated loudly, earning a startled gasp from you. 

From his place beside you, Geta looked sick. The clench of your jaw... the wide draw of your eyes tore at him, pushing him into action. With far to much vigor and no forethought, Geta stood from his throne when the speeding woosh of an arrow flew past, embedding itself into the head of the seat he had just vacated.

Commotion ensued, sending every person to their feet. At the top of his lungs, Geta called the praetorian into action. The heavily armored men clattered into formation, lining the perimeter to prevent the forward progress of the unhinged gladiators.  Shouts followed, bouncing off stone and metal, ringing in your ears. The words were inaudible, dissolving into nothing beyond an incessant garble. 

Caracalla stumbled from behind you, clambering to his feet. He practically vibrated with energy as he tried to haul you into his arms. The lost look in his eyes was too much to bear; his mental faculties had failed him, leaving the emperor unable to move without prompting.  In the flurry of motion, you teetered on the brink of reality. With nothing to keep you steady, your legs gave out, sending you crashing into the stone. The opium and alcohol that flowed through your system blurred the world, smoothing it all into nothingness and throwing you off balance. Weakly, you leaned into the side of the throne, unable to draw up to full height. The sound of your name and Caracalla’s barely registered over the cacophony of noise that filled the arena. 

“Calla, go! I’ve got her!” Geta shouted at his brother, praying he would listen, and by the gods, he did. With a silent nod, Caracalla stumbled, tripping over the steps as he looked back at the pair of you. Caught in the flurry of motion, he disappeared into the protective walls of the arena, leaving Geta to tend to you. Less gently than he intended, he lifted the bulk of your weight while fighting against the panicked flail of your limbs. 

“It’s me… It's me... It’s Geta.” His voice cracked, hands trembling as he guided you swiftly behind the line of guards that had formed to protect the exit.  

Senators and soldiers filled the room, leaving it nearly impossible to locate where Caracalla had ended up in the chaos, but that mattered little to Geta. Free from immediate danger, he held you close, damn any who judged the way he shielded you from view. Your back pressed against the cool marble, soothing your burning skin and dulling the erratic flow of energy in your chest. Geta lifted your face to meet his, eyes searching for any sign of fresh injury and finding none. The air shuddered from his lungs at the sight of the tears streaming down your cheeks. 

“Look at me… look-at-me.” Geta brushed over your hair, taming the tousled locks. “Do not fret, they cannot hurt us here.” 

Forgoing words, you leaned into him, your arms wrapped around his ribs, gripping tightly to his back. Geta responded in kind, holding you near and allowing you to hide. You could feel the way he practically quivered with adrenaline. The pair of you lost yourselves in each other. Unbeknownst to you, callous eyes fell upon your intimate embrace. The clever and devious stab of Macrinus’s dark focus narrowed at the familiarity of the embrace. 

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Time meant nothing as the pandemonium calmed throughout the palace. Both Geta and Caracalla had been swept away in frantic meetings, none of which provided anything of use when it came to the question of how the day’s events could have occurred. Drained and weary, the brothers withdrew their advisors, dismissing the Senators to question on their own what would come of it all. The pair had neither the patience nor the energy to continue the unending cycle of arguments. 

Sill seated upon their regal thrones, flashes of memory from the arena played through Geta’s mind. Trying to shake them away, he raked his hands over his painted face. The action did nothing to alleviate the worry; it only served to smear the tattered remains of the coal that rimmed his amber eyes. Anger, devastation, and fear flared in equal measure, leaving behind a crushing exhaustion. Beside him, Caracalla glanced around the cavernous throne room, the reality of the situation not truly settling into his disease-addled mind. His hands rested awkwardly in his lap where he wrung them together with anxious confusion. Geta itched to go to you, petrified of the state he had been forced to leave you in early.

The quiet whisper of Calla’s voice startled Geta, “Hurt.” 

“Of whom do you speak, brother?” Geta questioned, careful to tread the threadbare line of his patience. 

“She...” Caracalla ignored the query, his voice hazy and hoarse, “The marks… they were fresh.” 

Geta hummed in recognition, unsure of how to respond. Calla fell silent once more retreating within himself, his hands playing with the fabric of his robes, plucking at the thread. His head hung low staring at the broad expanse of the marble floor. 

“… I cannot-” A choking trill of emotion broke Caracalla’s thought.  As he always had before, Geta rushed to his side, kneeling to meet his eyes. Reaching for Calla’s trembling hands and holding them lightly in his own, it struck Geta just how much had changed, and yet, in meeting his brother’s distant gaze, it was as though he was sitting with a long-gone version of the boy he had grown side-by-side with. Caracalla rocked in his seat, his mind trapped in a far-away place, circling with visions of you.

“There is nothing to fear.” The sick twist of fate churned his stomach as he waited for some sign that his brother had understood. This was never how life was meant to be, and still, he was reassuring the man who’d been with him since the womb… the man who had become the reason for his worst nightmares unfolding in real time… the man who he’d give anything to save from the precipice of doom over which he dangled. A shallow nod of Caracalla’s head was enough, allowing Geta to stand, pulling his brother with him. 

“Come, let us put this day to rest. The gods have blessed us with the opportunity for another.” The pair drifted through the halls quietly, not needing to speak. An extra set of guards watched the entrance to Caracalla’s chambers, greeting the emperors with emotionless faces. The soldiers parted and allowed them to enter without question. Once inside, Dundus screeched, both elated at his master’s presence and annoyed by the lateness of the hour. Hearing the childlike call of his tiny companion, Calla made his way to the table upon which he was perched. The monkey gracefully hopped onto his shoulder, plucking at his copper locks as Calla stroked his fur. Geta remained near the door, waiting restlessly for the perfect opportunity to leave, his thoughts returning to you over and over again. 

“I must go to her… tend to her wounds,” Caracalla spoke, putting on a facade of surety even as the petite creature climbed over his shoulders, mussing his already disheveled hair.  His words were in stunning opposition to his rumpled appearance. 

Knowing that it would cause nothing but pain, Geta crossed the room in swift strides to speak with Calla, “You look weary, brother. Let me take care of her tonight so that you may rest and return to her side fresh and ready for a new day. Allow me to do that for you. I know how you feel for her.” 

Caracalla stood soundless for a moment, contemplating the offer he had just received, “You will treat her kindly? She is strong but there is a sadness within in her that never seems to fade.” 

“I will… and I know. I see it too.” Geta’s broad palm came to rest on his brother’s shoulder, encouraging him to acquiesce. This instance of clarity hit him straight in the chest, twisting like a blade.

“For tonight.” Caracalla nodded, giving Geta permission to go to you. 

“For tonight.” Geta’s parroted reply was tender and shattered. His hand slipped from his brother, allowing him to move further into the room and toward the bed. He watched as Calla approached the side, haphazardly tugging at his clothing. The garments fell from his lithe frame, pooling on the floor in a messy heap.

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

Minutes slipped into hours, painting the clouded sky in rich amber and golden yellow hues. Pandemonium had erupted through the palace upon the emperors’ return. The reverberation of raised voices and heavy footfalls had times perfectly with Geta’s rushed request to his guards that you were to return safely to his chambers. With Caracalla still lost in his own reality, Geta’s more than forward behavior toward you had gone unnoticed despite his bold demands. 

Left alone in Geta’s bed chamber, you found yourself buzzing with adrenaline, your nerves frayed not only from the blatant attack on the emperors’, but also Caracalla’s behavior. A small plate of food and a hefty portion of wine had been delivered for your benefit, but only the wine had been touched. Glass after glass had been consumed, leaving the crystal vessel empty upon the table, only the smallest dribble of red clung to its transparent sides. Satisfied and warmed to the core, your skin radiated heat, making the unending layers of your stola more grating by the minute. You chased relief, sliding the pins from your shoulders and letting the heavy fabric fall to the floor. You stepped out of the pile the moment it was free from your body. Only the sea of jewels you’d donned that morning remained to decorate your frame. 

A cool breeze drifted through the room, fluttering the delicate curtains that kept the innermost space of the emperor from prying eyes. Still thrumming, sweat slid down the length of your spine, punctuating just how over-warm you had become. There was part of you that knew it would be proper to search for a cover, though you could not be bothered to care. It was intimate, being like this, wholly bare to the world inside of a space that belonged to Geta. It was as if you could feel his eyes on you from afar, his presence having shaped everything that inhabited this room, including yourself. 

The many glasses of wine had worked their charm, dulling the pit that had developed in your stomach to something more manageable. With Geta’s return nowhere in sight, you found yourself continuing to part with the necessary pains of life in the public eye. Carefully, you pulled the pins from your hair, letting your locks fall loose from their intricate prison, the tension easing along your scalp with each one you were able to find. Next came the jewelry and your blade. The weight of the precious gems and solid metal felt ominous against your skin. Each ring that was slipped from your fingers and bracelet from your wrists freed you from the terror of the day just a bit more. But it was the necklace that held the most baggage. 

Your fingertips brushed along the gold chain, feeling the fragile nature of its beauty. The metal was warm to the touch, the heat of your body making it one with you. Were it not for the slight rush of pain that lanced upon the column of your neck, it would have been easy to forget entirely what had transpired in the previous days. Aware of that returning ache, you felt yourself begin to succumb to it all. The throb along your cheek and chin, the weary burn of your muscles from fighting against Caracalla’s imposing touch, the harsh pound in your temples from overconsumption… it was suffocating. 

The low sound of quick breathing filled the chamber, echoing quietly in your ears. Your instinct was to run, to flee from the impending doom that surrounded you as shadows filtered in through the swaying curtains. Dusk had crept in, replacing the comforting glow of the sun with the murky terror of the dark. Soon, the room would be shrouded in inky blackness, allowing the truth of everything to wrap like a noose around the neck of one condemned to an eternity of fire. 

The fever-like heat that had radiated off of you earlier no longer existed. A bone-deep chill had settled in his place, demanding to be noticed. Quickly, you searched for something other than your sweat-soaked stola to cover yourself. A discarded robe of Geta’s sat slung over the back of his chair in front of the vanity. With cautious steps, you approached your ears and eyes on swivel, waiting for some sign of unwelcome visitors. You found no hint of interruption. 

A few more strides, and you finally took the crumpled robe in your hands and brought it to your nose. A deep inhale flooded your senses with him. The soft scent of wine and lavender clung to the garment. Each breath slowed the pounding of your heart and quieted your brain. There was no logic or reason in it, but even the simple action of breathing, Geta was ubiquitous. His presence was in all things, and for that, you were grateful. 

The gentle breeze that moved through the chamber picked up, battering your skin and sending gooseflesh over every inch. Standing there, behind his dressing chair, you risked a glance in the mirror. The marks were no less shocking, and the utter exhaustion behind your eyes was painfully clear, but there was something else in your reflection. What it was eluded you, but there was no doubt that the woman looking back was nothing like you had imagined. Your future, a piece of you that had once seemed so certain, made you ill at the very thought. There had been life before Geta, a life before the aristocracy of Rome had become your playground, but you were certain there would be nothing after him. The pair of you were linked together not simply at the heart, but at the soul. Where he went, so would you. What fate befell him… so too would you follow. You knew it was dangerous to feel this way about the man whose life barely belonged to him, yet it was immutable. A truth so powerful even the gods could not deny the bond they had woven together so intricately. 

In a fluid motion, you donned the robe, protecting yourself from the elements and soothing your worry for him just enough to let you breathe. The chilled marble floor was cool against your bare feet, tempting you closer to the comfort of the bed. It took no effort to make your way to its side and slip beneath the covers. Your back screamed for relief, and you listened readily, lying deep into the pillows and burying yourself in the sheets. 

The heavy pull of exhaustion clouded your vision, blurring the room to nothing more than a memory behind your fluttering lids. Sleep fell upon you like a weight, holding you down onto the mattress as it curled around your limbs. Only the constant stream of harried thoughts that crash through your fatigued mind kept you from reaching the peaceful slumber your body so desperately craved. Fitful dreams overtook you, trapping you in their harrowing embrace. 

—-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Satisfied that Caracalla was secure in his chamber, Geta made his way back into the hall. The quiet echo of his sandaled feet accompanied him with every step. Wood creaked against the swing of his chamber door opening wide. The dark of night had settled into every nook and cranny, leaving only the grayish glow of the moon. Its radiance highlighted the outline of your delicate frame, shrouding most of it from plain view. Hidden under the plush expanse of covers atop the bed, he watched the rhythmic rise and fall of your chest. The furrowed tug of your brows gave away the restless nature of your sleep. A chilled breeze drifted through the open doors across the vast room, fluttering the curtains beautifully and sending gooseflesh running over his skin. 

With great care to be quiet, Geta crossed to the vanity where he eased his tired body into the plush chair. Slipping the rings from his fingers and the jewels from his neck, Geta laid them neatly on the counter. A fresh cloth sat beside the olive oil he used to remove the pale makeup he donned as a mask, shielding him from the ever-present eyes of the public. Each swipe of the oiled rag restored more of the true man, erasing the cruel and calculating facade he had been forced to wear without question for so many years. 

Free from those chains, he toyed with the edges of his clothing. Half of him was preoccupied with the chaos that had unfolded in the arena, and with his brother. The rest remained fixated upon you. Flashes of your body pressed against Calla’s as he made a scene of handling your body turned his stomach. Dignity and propriety had been thrown away for base desires. The mere memory of it froze him in place. Geta’s hand ran harshly over his countenance, leaving the skin red. Questions of tomorrow came at him rapidly, each one more pressing and complicated than the last. Lost in thought, his face buried in his hand, the emperor jolted at the mellow brush of your fingers along his shoulders. 

“It is only me, my love.” You whispered to comfort his racing heart. Your lips came to rest upon the back of his head, letting you inhale the fresh scent of him in the flesh. 

Geta reached for you, trapping one of your hands beneath his, as he soaked in the comfort of your reassuring touch. 

“How are you feeling?” He questioned, hoping for an honest answer as the look in your eyes told him all he needed to know. 

“I am better… now that you are here.” You smiled, your breath tickling his scalp with each word. 

Never letting go, you came around his side to stand between his wide-spread thighs. Your palms remained on his shoulders, but now you could meet his tempered gaze. Geta watched you, adjusting minutely to your movement, his concentration never wavered as he hauled you closer. Sturdy arms wrapped around the curve of your hips and waist, bringing you near enough that he could lay his brow upon your stomach. Held to him, your hands wandered over his body before tangling in the silken mass of copper locks that adorned his head. 

Geta, face buried in his robes that clung to your frame, felt wholly secure in the tender embrace. Your body was his anchor even as the rest of the world seemed to slip through his fingers without control. The longer he clung to you, the smoother his breathing became, lungs easy and full with each inhale. Bent low, you placed a kiss on his crown, not only to comfort yourself but to remind him of the truth… that you had no intention of leaving. 

“Geta…” You weren’t sure why you had spoken; words seemed insufficient, but his name was on your tongue before the thought had run its proper course. 

Silence remained, the stillness neither problematic nor uncomfortable. It was clear there was much that needed to be shared. Geta’s fingertips slowly traced over the fabric that covered your hips, toying with the thread until he reached the knot at your front. With skill, he managed to loosen the tie, letting it fall away from your body, but he was not yet satisfied. Free to continue his exploration, the emperor skated along,  flicking them back and exposing you to him. 

His hesitant eyes flicked up, begging for permission to keep going. A shallow nod from you urged him on, his chest filled to the brim with emotion. Geta’s rough lips pressed into your stomach, humming at the way you threaded your fingers through his hair. There was no rush. The world had slowed to a halt, his mouth hot against your skin, insistent and tender. Brush after brush of his bitten lips prickled your skin. Geta tipped his face to look at you, and the sight was glorious. Your eyes were shut, lips parted, allowing tiny gasps to escape. 

Tension melted from his shoulders the longer he sat in your presence, freeing him to pursue exactly what he wanted. Sure hands took you with him as he pushed forward and dropped to his knees, lifting your leg to rest your foot on the now-empty seat. In broad strokes, his palms drift over you from ankle to hip. Curiosity got the better of you. A quick glance down to the man knelt between your thighs was enough to make you shudder.

“What are you-” Your question was cut short by the slip of his tongue along your folds. Geta’s strong hands held the back of your legs, supporting your shaky limbs. A catching groan reverberated through his chest at the taste of you, but it wasn’t nearly enough. The tip of his tongue flicked at your sensitive bundle before sucking it between his lips. The exquisite intrusion of his fingers added to the dizzying spin of sensations.  

The placid mask of sleep that had once colored your features no longer existed, replaced by the raw tug of lust. You tried to breathe through the waves of pleasure that washed over you, but the air caught in your throat. Geta worked diligently to keep you from buckling, all the while never relinquishing his ministrations. Too soon for your liking, you felt yourself reaching the point of no return. With a harsh jerk, you pulled Geta from your body. Staring up at you, arousal coating his lips, he remained silent, terrified that he had crossed some unknown line. 

“Take me to bed, Emperor.” You crooned, your voice low and sultry. The sound of it sent him scrambling to his feet. 

Back at his full height, Geta nipped along the slope of your exposed shoulder, his robes having fallen from their intended place. Even with your senses dulled by exhaustion, he felt you relax into his embrace.  His name tumbled from your lips once more, thick with knowing and adoration. Hearing you call for him, feeling you reach for him, it was far too much for his weak and torn heart. Tears flowed unchecked, dampening your skin as he fought the silent sobs that wracked his body. Geta tucked his face into the crook of your neck, blocking out everything apart from you. The lingering scent of Devil’s Breath clung to you, mixed with the lavender oil that softened your skin. 

“I am here,” you croaked, encouraging him to look at you with gentle pressure under his chin. The feather-light brush of your fingertips grazed over the arch of his cheek, never losing contact as you traced along the column of his neck.  

“I-I could fe-feel it cut the air, an… and his ha-hands- on your b-body.” Geta groaned, his voice was watery and ragged as the memories flooded back, filling his throat and drowning out the last life-giving breath he managed to take. His eyes screwed shut matching the low shutter that zipped through his body at the press of your lips to his neck. There were no words to be spoken that would suffice to soothe the ache that consumed him body and soul. 

Seeking comfort only you could provide and unsure of how to ask for it, Geta clung to you, drawing you closer,  pawing at your hips and waist as he turned and walked you toward the bed. The back of your knees hit the side, forcing you to lie back. With one hand held firmly to the low of your back, he guided you down. The pair of you clumsily shifted further into the sea of jumbled blankets and sheets, your mouths hovering close together as you went. Geta settled his weight between your thighs, his cock heavy against your core. The emperor's brow rested on yours, the heavy pant of his breath fanning over your face. 

“I need- please…” Getra trailed off, choking on the overwhelming presence of you, his lips dropped to mouth at your neck and chest. 

“Take what you wish. It is already yours.” You blessed him with permission, freely giving him everything that you were, are, and could become, for there would never be another to whom you would trust your soul in this way. Swiftly, Geta undressed himself, parting from you just enough to shed his clothing. Grasping at the half curls along the nape of his neck, you gasped as the ghosting brush of his calloused hands drifted down your sides. He moved without hurry, capturing your lips, caressing your tongue, never ceasing his exploration. Tasting, touching… Geta shivered, stealing what he could without causing you harm. 

You chased the gooseflesh as it formed over his skin, running gently along his sides, warming him to the core and adding to the flurry of electricity racing over his nerves. He was aflame, burning with desire and unspoken truths that no words could express. He could think of nothing apart from the way you melded into him, your heel digging into the back of his thigh, fingertips clutching to the round of his ass and shoulder… your body pliable and soft under his desperate grasp. Geta’s whole being shuddered, muscles twitching in dull spasms that moved in time with stifled gasps. The muffled sounds of need were swallowed whole by the plush expanse of your throat, his lips exploring the supple expanse, ghosting over the deepest purple marks that adorned your skin, and wishing away the pain and the memory. 

Desperation and lust clouded your mind, letting only the sensation of him pressed to you fill your mind. The nightmares of past days seemed so distant, allowing you to be present with him, and you needed more. Your own desire etched over your every feature, the sensation of his lips on you, tongue dancing along your sensitive skin. The brush of his calloused fingertips on your core, coating him and you with your own slick as he trailed away from where you wanted him most caused your back to arch. A pitiful whine slipped, telling him exactly how you yearned for his touch. 

Geta could feel you squirm beneath him, searching for more as he took what he pleased as he pleased, and it brought a sly smile over his busy mouth. More than willing to go where you wanted, he began the slow descent, trailing kisses over your chest and stomach as he went. Settled between the plush weight of your thighs, he marked them with soft nips of adoration, leaving only the smallest of marks in his wake. A strong arm held you tightly to him as it wrapped around your leg, while the other continued to tease. 

Collecting your arousal, he couldn’t help but marvel at the way it glimmered on his skin in the dull light. The grayish hue of the night sky filled the chamber, shrouding your face in mystery, but he did not need to see the pull of your brows to know how you felt; your body told him everything. With each tender drag of his fingers through your folds, he taunted, pressing in only to retreat, earning him stirring whimpers. The arch of your back flowed perfectly with your breathy groans, each more sinful than the last. Your thighs quivered with anticipation, happy to accept whatever pleasure Geta was willing to give. 

Left with no space between you, he lapped at your sensitive bud, feeling the way you reacted to the sweep of his tongue and rumble of his throaty hums against your heat. The emperor glanced up at you through hooded eyes and fluttering lashes. He was determined to take more, his body ached with the need to feel you everywhere. Despite his need, Geta did not rush; he lazily worked back up your delicate frame to meet your mouth. He swallowed your restless moan at the taste of you on his tongue before pulling back to look at you. His face was still close, letting his wine-soaked breath drift over your senses as he spoke. 

“Are you sure?” His gaze darted across your features in search of even the minutest hint of regret or fear. The anxiety he had found there at the hands of his brother filled his chest with apprehension. 

“Irrefutably.” The gentle press of your hand to his cheek brought him closer, and he turned to kiss the center of your palm. Feeling you like this, plush thighs wrapped around his waist, pebbled nipples grazing the broad expanse of his bare chest, lungs hitching in time with his… Geta was utterly broken; he was bare and raw for the taking. 

“Let me feel you, Geta.” You pleaded, your voice thin with desperation as you reached for him. The shaky inhale he managed was stripped of his energy at the feel of your hand around his painfully hard member. You traced the vein from base to tip, whimpering at the way he trembled. Impatience finally won over. The emperor replaced your hand with his own as he guided himself into your heat. 

A heady groan slipped as the velvet plush enveloped him. All he could manage were shallow thrusts, the emotion of the day too heavy for more, but it did not matter. Having you here soothed a soul-deep ache that threatened to swallow him whole. The same could be said for you. You held fast, fingers digging sharply into flesh, unwilling to allow even a fraction of space to form between you. 

The roll of his hips was languid, barely leaving you before returning to the comfort of your body. Quiet hitches of ragged breaths were consumed, your lips ghosting over each other with the fluid rock of your bodies. You knew Geta was close to his release as the stutter of his movements became more pronounced with each passing minute. His arms held him weakly, trembling with the effort to continue on. 

“Let go, Geta… please.” You hummed across the shell of his ear. 

And with that plea, Geta gave into what he wanted most. Buried to the hilt, he filled you completely working through the high of his release. Your silken voice met him where he was, drawing him back to reality with each bit of praise.  Neither of you could fathom parting, your bodies were still connected in every way that was possible. 

Weak and boneless, he held you terrified that the cruel reality of the world would steal you in some sick and twisted turn of fate. Geta whispered a near-silent confession, hidden in the bend of your neck, one only meant for the gods. The thoughts jumbled into nothingness, never spoken to completion. There was nothing left to give in that moment, but he needed you to know… to feel the truth of his love. 

As gently as you could, you guided the pair of you onto your sides. The turn pressed his softening cock against the overly sensitive spot deep inside yourself. The hollow thrum of your nerves surged at the feeling, tugging a breathless mewl into existence. Geta responded in kind, hauling your hips flush, his fingertips digging into the flesh of your ass before sliding down to hold the back of your thigh, draping it across his body. Your lower halves tangled, limbs hot and slick with sweat that had started to chill in the drafty space. 

“Here.” You reached behind clumsily drawing the thin mess of sheets over you both. 

Geta’s lips found your shoulder, mouthing a line of fire over and over, even as his hips began to rock into you once more. Exhaustion seeped into every fiber of your being, and yet your need for him never diminished. Desire licked down your spine, settling low in your stomach. You went with him, meeting his motions in equal vigor. The edge of your climax sat just out of reach, and your body was begging to tumble into oblivion. 

A slick sound filled the space between you, your shared arousal, and his spend coating your thighs with every thrust. A low hum vibrated through your chest, morphing into something far less distinguished at the brush of his thumb against your folds. Geta teased, avoiding where you wanted him most. Tired of waiting, you reached between you, clutching his wrist and guiding him higher. 

“Quite impatient, m’lady.” He grinned into your lips, catching them in a messy embrace. At this, he ghosted over your clit, causing you to jerk.

“Hardly… I’ve waited long enough.” You murmured, gripping his wrist harder, earning you a dark chuckle. You pushed his hand away from your clit for just a moment, letting his fingertips drag along your core, feeling the way he stretched you so fully, his own calloused touch grazing along his erection. The lewd rush of feeling where your bodies met was more erotic than he had ever imagined, leaving him unable to comprehend life beyond that moment.

“I let you take what you needed, now where is my reward?” Your response was entirely selfish. In truth, you would have happily continued to give until there was nothing left of yourself. Though there was no judgment from Geta. The emperor was spurred into action, wrenching his hand from you to return to his previous task. The timing of his thrusts matched the swirling of his touch. The band of lust that had drawn tight snapped, sending you careening into oblivion. The world around you went hazy, your vision wobbly, and your voice broken. A desperate moan rebounded off every surface, loud enough to draw unwanted attention if there had been anyone near. Thankfully, only the guard remained outside Geta’s door, and they had heard sounds far more scandalous from his chambers. 

The high slowly faded, leaving you both breathless and weak. With great care, Geta eased himself from you before leaving the warmth of your arms to retrieve a pair of rags. You kept him in sight as he moved across the room and back. By your side once more, he reached between your still quivering thighs, wiping away the evidence of your time together. His gaze roved over your exposed frame, drinking in the sight of you in utter amazement. 

With your skin clean and dry, Geta tossed the used cloth aside but made no move to clean himself; it was as if he was caught in a trance. He sat beside you on the bed, letting the sturdy frame of the headboard hold his weight. The delicate heat of your palm ran the breadth of his chest as you sat up to meet him, tucking yourself into his side.

“Here, allow me.” You could sense the energy that continued to run rampant through him and desired to calm it. With very few tools at your disposal, you reached for the other rag, taking it in your hand before lifting it to his groin. You took your time, passing it gently over his thighs before turning your attention to his manhood. Geta inhaled sharply at your touch, his semi-hard length still an angry red. “I am sorry.” 

“Do not apologize.” He fell quiet, the lines between his brows indicative of deep contemplation. There was much in his eyes, the emotions swirling in a dangerous mix that hid his true feelings. 

“What is that look for?” You took more time than was needed, ensuring no drop of arousal remained on his fine milky skin. 

“It is nothing, my love.” Geta plucked the cloth from your grasp, tossing it into the depths of the shadows. “It is truly time for rest. The woes of the day will still be there when we rise, for now, we sleep.” 

There was nothing more to say. Geta took you in his arms, covering you in his protection as he buried the pair of you beneath a pile of blankets. Warmth radiated, heating the space to a comfortable temperature and lulling you both into a state somewhere between wake and sleep. A sense of peace surrounded you both, blocking out the horrors of the day. Though its shield was merely ornamentation, fragile and thin against the oncoming storm.

[ttsblogg]

I’m Drew Starkey.

drew starkey x f!actress

a/n: the film for this fic will be Burlesque. fight me I love this movie. it’s just so hot like miss christina did her thing for real. for context, y/n plays Alli of course, and Jacob Elordi will play Jack. also Drew is a shy baby in this fic, it’s a adorable. anyways, i hope you all enjoy! this is my first fic so heyyy ;) - tt 🫧

There she was, slowly stepping out of her limo. Greeting everyone with her bright smile, along with a small wave. “Y/n! Y/n!” Fans called out to her, photographers quickly turned their heads to face in the direction they heard her name being called and started yelling out for her trying to get her attention so they can snap a photo of her. Y/n chuckled at how demanding they were, even before she reached the red carpet. Her assistant helped adjust her dress before she headed toward the walking area. Her assistant helped her adjust her dress before she made her way towards the carpet. She soon was met by flashing lights blazing at her. To some, this could be very intimidating but not to Y/n. Not anymore. Not tonight.

Tonight marked the debut of Y/n’s new movie ‘Burlesque’, it was her biggest project so far. It pushed her out of her usual comfort zone, something she hasn’t done in her career. She revealed a part of herself she’s never shown before, a new talent no one’s heard or seen before. This film was something new, glamorous; brilliant. It was inspiring, courageous, filled with fierceness and sultriness. In just one week, it earned a perfect score of 100% on the Tomatometer. Critics described Y/n’s performance as “hot” and “enchanting”, they called it “the new and improved Y/n” with her “outstanding voice” and “stunning looks”.

“Y/n look here! Y/n over the shoulder!” The photographers yelled as their flashing lights shined on Y/n, capturing her form fitting; glittery dress, along with her perfectly contoured face. She did her best to look at as many camera lenses as she could. As she focused on the flashing cameras, she failed to realise someone was admiring her from afar.

Drew Starkey, he’d been a big fan of y/n for a long time now. He first discovered her when he watched ‘The Edge of Seventeen’, he was hooked on her ever since. She just had a way of carrying herself, it attracted him. He was in awe of how she gave her all into every role she had. He already had a favorite part about her without even meeting her.

Her eyes.

Her perfect hazel green eyes. The way they got brighter every time she was talking about something she loved or about something she was excited; happy about. And the way they’d turn a dark shade of green when she was upset, or mad. She thought she kept small things like this hidden, things no one seemed to notice. But Drew saw every one of them. He was completely fascinated by her. To finally see her in person, he wasn’t going to pass the opportunity to look her as much as he could. “Would you like to meet her?” Madelyn asked. Drew snapped out of his daze and looked over at Madelyn. He let out a nervous laugh, “I don’t think I’d be able to say a word if I did.” He answered honestly and looked back up at Y/n as she exited the red carpet. Making her way closer to Drew and other celebrities.

Talk to y/n? No. I can’t right? What if I talk to her and fuck it up. Drew thought to himself. “Well, this can be your only chance Drew.” Madelyn said, smiling at Y/n as she conversed with Jacob Elordi. He was her love interest in the movie. Drew would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tad bit jealous. He certainly was. Getting to kiss and hold her like that. Man was lucky to say the least. “Fuck, she’s getting closer.” Drew mumbled, looking down at his feet. “Oh you fucking pussy.” Madelyn snarled at him. “Y/n! Hi, my name is Madelyn. I’m such a big fan.” Madelyn spoke up to Y/n. “Madelyn! Yes I know you! Oh my god are you kidding? I loveee OBX!” She answered. Drew’s eyes widened, he looked up at Y/n. “You seriously watch OBX?” Madelyn asked in disbelief. Y/n scoffed, “Seriously? I watch it religiously, it’s so good!” Y/n beamed. She looked over to the person next to Madelyn, recognizing them right away, “And you must be Drew Starkey.” She said holding her hand out for him to shake. Drew opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. It wasn’t until Madelyn nudged him, knocking him out of his thoughts.

He cleared his throat, “I’m Drew Starkey.” He said taking a hold of Y/n’s hand. Y/n chuckled at his response. “Right, is that not what I said?” She furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Righ- Yes. I-I I’m sorry. Let me start over.” Drew stuttered. “Yes, I’m Drew. It is very nice to meet you, Y/n. I-I’m also a big fan of your work.” Drew finally greeted her. She smiled, “Like wise, Drew.” They let go of each others hands. “Well, I hope you guys enjoy the movie. Thank you for coming out tonight.” She looked between the two. “I’m sure we will. Nice meeting you again, Y/n.” Madelyn said, giving her a hug. Y/n waved goodbye to Drew, seemingly as he was still star struck by her presence. She chuckled again as Drew gave her a small wave.

He watched as she walked away towards the curtains that lead into the theater room. Once she was out of his sight, the moment of their interaction finally clicked, making him snap back to reality. He looked over at Madelyn as she stood next to him with her arms crossed over her chest in annoyance. “I fucked that up, didn’t I?” He asked. “Ya think?” She rolled her eyes. “Oh god. I just humiliated myself.” He said running his fingers through his hair. “Yeah well I wouldn’t be surprised if she thought you were a weirdo. Let’s go.” She said tugging his arm.

Walking into the theater, Madelyn and Drew had help from their assistants to locate their seats. Once they found them, they sat and started talking amongst themselves and the people sitting around them. As Drew conversed with some of his friends, he couldn’t help but let his eyes wonder around the room, looking for Y/n. Hoping to spot her. “Drew, you good man?” Jonathan asked. “Hmm? Oh yeah man, I’m alright.” He said looking back at his friend. Jonathan furrowed his eyebrows, “Alright then.” He said with a scoff.

A few minutes went by before it was time for everyone to take their seats. As they did, the lights dimmed except for the spotlights at the front of the theater. The director and producer stepped out from behind the curtains. The audience immediately rose up and started clapping. They began their speech by talking a little bit about the film and why they chose to make it the way they did. Gradually, they started calling out the names of the cast members. One by one, each actor and actress stepped forward and came out onto the stage.

“And last but certainly not least, everyone please give a warm welcome to our favorite, Miss Y/f/n!” They announced. Everyone including Drew stood up and clapped. Y/n heard whistling and cheering coming from every way of the theater. She came out with the biggest smile and waved at everyone as she walked alongside her co-stars. She walked towards her spot next to Jacob, who gently held her waist and kissed her cheek. Drew instantly felt his cheeks get warm. Alright buddy, relax. He thought to himself. Y/n patted Jacob’s back and removed herself from his embrace. Shortly after Y/n’s introduction, the producer started crediting everyone for helping make the film, along with everyone on it. “.. And Y/n man.. This woman right here, she is so so talented in every which way. Y/n thank you for bringing Alli to life the way you did. I can’t wait to hopefully work with you again and see what more you bring to this world.. that goes for everyone standing up here.. you’re awesome. Seriously, you brought our vision together. After a year of fighting trying to find the right people, I have no regrets casting any of you. You guys absolutely nailed every part of this movie to the ‘T’, and for that I love every single one of you. Muah.” They said. Y/n pouted her lips and fanned her eyes, not wanting her tears to ruin her makeup. Jacob saw and quickly wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “With that being said, I hope everyone enjoys the film, thank you.”

Drew cleared his throat, trying to calm his nerves. “Relax, dude.” Madelyn whispered. She’s known about Drew’s little crush he’s had on Y/n for a while now, so she knew how jealous he got. She often teased him about being too scared to slide into Y/n’s dm. Of course, he denied it each time.

“Are you sure you’re okay, man?” Jonathan whispered for his right side. “Yeah why wouldn’t I be?” Drew asked, glaring at Jacob. Jonathan chuckled, “Well you staring at Jacob like you want to murder him and you’ve been fidgeting.” He told him. Drew sighed and looked over at him. “I’m good.” he stated. “Look, if I were you, whenever you have chance alone with her, just be you, D. Your.. self.” Jonathan said before turning back around. We’ll see. Drew thought to himself.

time skip..

After the movie ended, Drew was even more captivated by Y/n. He didn’t even care for the love scenes she had with Jacob anymore. He was too memorized by her every move. And her voice. God her voice. Who knew she was full of that much talent. This woman was pure perfection. If she didn’t get casted for Barbie, he didn’t know who would. The way she danced, and the way she used her eyes. His favorite part. She can easily suck you in and send you into a trance with those eyes.

“Here man, you need this.” Jonathan said handing him a a drink. Drew chuckled and accepted it. He and his friends made it to the after party shortly after leaving the theater. So they decided to have some fun and have some drinks, to ease the nerves after being on camera most of their afternoon.

“Ugh you should’ve seen the way he acted! He was like in shock!” Madelyn exclaimed. She was updating their friends about Drew’s little fangirl moment he had earlier with Y/n. “Nah nah c’mon give my boy a chance, he was just amazed by her. I mean who wouldn’t be, right D?” Jonathan defended him. Drew laugh and sipped his drink. “Exactly, who wouldn’t be?” He nodded his head. His friends kept going back and forth about the whole situation. Eventually, Drew let his eyes wonder again. Until he spot a the same silhouette wrapped in the sparkling dress he saw earlier. Y/n. She didn’t have to turn around for him to know. The only difference was that she was alone.

Seeing that his friends were preoccupied by arguing he took it as great opportunity for him to sneak away. He made his way towards the bar where she was. He then leaned over the counter and called over the bartender to order his drink. Y/n noticed him right away. She smiled to herself before turning head to look at him. “So, was your name Drew Starkey? Or were you just mocking me?” She spoke up. Drew smiled before turning to look at her. “I have a feeling I’m never going to live that down, huh?” He said. Y/n laughed, fully turning her body to face him, Drew doing the same. “I guess time will tell.”

“Not to change the subject, but that movie.. just.. woah.” He said. “That good, huh?” She teased. Drew snickered, “Yeah, i mean Y/n you outdid yourself, seriously. I- have you ever considered starting a music career?” He cut himself off. Y/n laughed throwing her head back. Drew took his time observing her. He’d already seen her up close earlier but right now seemed different. She seemed more at ease, there were no cameras, no fans, no assistant, it was just her. “You’re funny, Drew Starkey.” She said coming down from her laugh. “What! I’m serious!” He laughed. “Okay, well, no I have not considered starting a music career.” She answered. “And why not? Your voice is amazing. You’d top every chart, no question about it.” Y/n took a second to process what he said.

In all honesty, she has thought about starting a music career in the past, but she felt like she wasn’t as passionate about it compared to acting. Acting was her true passion. She knew she’d never grow tired of playing different roles. Acting made her happy because she could become someone new each time. The variety kept her interested, and the work never felt boring. She loved the idea of stepping into someone else's shoes and telling their story. That devotion for acting is what drove her more than anything else.

“I-I mean i did think to start it once if I’m being completely honest but it’s just not for me.” She looked up at Drew. “But thank you for saying that though, that’s very sweet of you.” She smiled, he smiled back at her. “Trust me, I can go on.” He admitted. Y/n looked away as she felt her cheeks get warm.

“I don’t mean to be too forwa-“ Drew was cut off. “Hey babe, I’ve been looking all over for you, ready to head out to Eric’s? He just texted asking if we were on our way.” Jacob approached Y/n. Babe? “Yeah, for sure just give me a few minutes.” She said, Jacob nodded, shot Drew a quick smile, and then walked away. “I’m so sorry about that, you were saying?” Y/n asked turning back to Drew, giving him her attention again. “Y-yeah, umm I’m sorry I didn’t know you guys wer-“ Y/n gasped. “Oh J-Jacob and me! Oh no not at all, he literally calls everyone babe.” Y/n laughed. Drew let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in and rubbed his neck. “Oh okay, then would be safe for me to ask for your number?”

Drew couldn’t even believe the words coming out of his mouth. If his past self from a few hours ago knew he was now asking for her number, he’d lose it… Y/n smirked. “It is definitely very safe for you to ask for my number.” She said holding out her hand, Drew smiled at her and handed her his phone. After she put her number in it, she leaned in and gave a kiss on his cheek.

“Well, it was nice meeting you, Drew Starkey. Hope to hear from you soon.” She said. “Oh you will, Y/f/n.” Drew said then watched her walk away towards the exit doors.

[levitoni]

Take my soul, leave my body.

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x female reader. 

Warning: smut, NSFW 18+, minors dni.

Content: depictions of grief and guilt, solo masturbation, edging, choking, Levi cumming his brains out .

Author’s notes: Hi! This is my first one-shot ever. I hope I gave Levi’s character justice, as I absolutely adore him and he lives in my mind rent free. Keep in mind English is not my native language, so watch out for mistakes. Thank you for reading and enjoy!

Levi’s left alone in his office, but thoughts of you distract him from his paperwork.

The mess hall buzzes alive in the general uproar of the evening. The smell of wood wafts through the air, dishes being served left and right to greedy soldiers, who converse loudly and eat even more so. The sound of plates clanking together accompany the movement of dozens of people who walk past pushing each other, talking and grinning with the approach of the evening.

Flashes of green and brown pass by Lance Corporal Levi, seated on the veteran’s benches. Not bothered to entertain, the man remains firmly rooted to his spot, seemingly set in stone. A permanent scowl rests on his shapely lips, disturbing his otherwise polished appearance. A porcelain cup, fair like his complexion, rests between his elongated fingers, onyx bangs brushing against his eyelashes, uniform impeccably clean. Despite his still demeanour, nobody seems inclined to approach him tonight.

Not that he particularly cares for it, anyways. In fact, he’s glad he’s alone. Remnants of the day keep sneaking into his mind, confusing themselves with thoughts of his duties, the next expeditions, the upcoming training sessions. He’s annoyed, but most of all tired. His fingers tighten around the rim of the cup as soldiers bustle about next to him, shouting at a considerably high volume.

For him, it is one of those heavy nights: he feels a headache coming on this early into the dusk. He knows the tea won’t help; he’s too preoccupied by his own thoughts, granted to him in the form of discomfort, laced with a feeling whose definition he can’t quite place a finger upon. Typically it seethes deep in his being, reminding him of his past, prompting memories to arise deep in the nightfall; he thinks back to his youth, his companions in the Underground, his mother, alongside a recent addition: you. The emotion always renders him utterly useless, until the burning in his eyes subsides almost completely by the dawn of the following day and it stops washing over him in waves.

That’s why he doesn’t notice when you enter the hall.You’re with your comrades, your smile a bight contrast against the dark atmosphere, delighted at the prospect of finally relaxing in front of a plate of warm food. He doesn’t notice when you deliberately pick the table next to his, and when you sit on the furthest spot on the bench besides his, he feigns indifference until he lifts his gaze. 

Before he can react, you greet him over the sounds of the hall.

-Good evening, Captain- you say, velvety tone wrapping around him.

A couple of beats pass between the two of you. Then, there is a single indication of his acknowledgment: a mechanical nod, along with a look towards your direction.

His stormy irises glint under the dim lights of the room, like gray crystals shining in the moonlight. You don’t miss the gravity of the stare he shoots your way. You don’t think much of it: it seems a regular gesture, befitting of his intense character. 

But you don’t detect the slight tremble of his fingertips, nor the way his gaze runs over you, taking in how you look, your expressions, your every move. He observes the outline of your face and neck even after you turn your head away from him, his slated eyes raking over your jacket. In his imagination, he would like to lean over, so close you would almost be touching, gently grab your wrist and feel the weight of your skin beneath his fingertips.He would be close enough to perceive the heat of your breath, and maybe he’d ask you questions and listen to you intently, without ever missing a word spewing from your lips. Maybe he’d even take you away, if you would let him. 

But Levi is a rational man. He lives his life in the silent promise that one day, his heart's deepest desires will be fulfilled, and yet when anguish catches up to him, irrefutably and achingly, he’s terrified. He wholeheartedly wishes it would be the opposite, but every time he attempts to escape, it doubles down on him, suffocating him entirely. 

So he looks away when your head tilts towards him. He doesn’t want to deal with the idea of you tonight. He’s aware he’s scarred, and all he wants to do this evening is to bask in his loneliness. So he convinces himself it would be wrong of him to trouble you. 

He suddenly feels the urge to leave. The sound of laughter spreads trough the hall, the wood creaking as he lifts from his seat, swiftly and silently. A strange sensation simmers in his gut and engulfs him completely, and the next time you look towards his direction, he’s gone.

****************************************************************************************************************************

Levi walks away. The freezing corridor walls exude quietness, the only discernible sound his boots tapping against the cement floor, creating a rhythmic noise. He opens the door to his office, and he’s greeted by a familiar sight: bundles of paper on his elegant mahogany desk. The moonlight beams though the windows, ensuring a subdued and soft ambience, and the door closes behind him with a soft click. His shoulders drop as he walks over to his chair, exhaling softly through his nose. The rug mutes his boots, providing a muffled sound, disrupted by the squeaking of the chair as soon as he sits down. 

The moon is ever-present, with a warm milky glow in the sky. Levi believes the sight of it could become a song in the eyes of anyone willing to raise their head upward. He’s reminded of his childhood, the moon his exclusive and solitary companion during those restless nights, in the city whose inhabitants sleep, while sorrow doesn’t.

He pinches the area between his brows. The dull headache doesn’t seem to pass, and he opts to distract himself by opening the stack of paperwork and grabbing a report, in order to not sit up late and think about reasons why he shouldn’t try with you. He always feels as though when he moves and speaks it’s his shadow, but he’s convinced when you look at him, it’s him really.

Because of this, Levi sometimes cannot stand himself. He’s certain he despises himself when during the never-ending dusk hours his mind, branded with your image, reels in contemplation of you, like right now.

The pen wavers in his hand as a persistent impulse creeps at the forefront of his mind. 

He hates how much of an effect you have on him. He thinks of you these past few days, and the images his mind comes up with are proof of his longing: flashes of your pale, damp neck during training sessions, when you think he’s not looking. Your eyes, seductive and always welcoming. Rosy, pillowy lips in an almost perfect shape, never set in a straight line, inviting. He would be dishonest if he stated he’d never thought of them wrapping around his own, drawing out his breath, kissing him all over. 

He lifts his hand, rubbing his temples even harder now. Levi’s sure it’s sinful, but he’s been dreaming of giving you highs. Of pleasuring you until you’re stupid, making you thoughtless against his sheets, quivering with satisfaction. 

His mind fogs like the cold unfurling on a glass panel.

He would know how to treat you properly. At least, that’s what he always tells himself when twilight approaches. As the numbing coolness of nightfall imprints itself perpetually on the windowsills, rendering him scornful and estranged, he’s aware atonement is inconceivable.During these moments he’s reminded of everything and nothing at all simultaneously: your presence contained in fleeting fractions of time. Often, when he thinks of you, his heartbeat expands beneath his collar as darkness consumes him.

He’s aware he’s not allowed to have you, of course. Even more certain he’s not entitled to you; he thinks he would hate it if you so much as looked at him spitefully. And yet, he’s imagined your figure in impossible positions, his graceful fingers touching you, reaching spots bound to have you breathless, even better - gasping for air. The palms of his hands caressing the span of your entire frame, rousing goosebumps in their wake. His toned, lithe back spanning in between your thighs, his delicate tongue languidly tracing circles in places only he should see.

He knows you should be bent, but not ruined. Twisted, but not deformed. He has already seen the fire in your eyes, only he longs to feel it inflicted on him. He wouldn’t shun you for it, but most of all, he wouldn’t avoid it. He doesn’t believe he will ever steer clear of it when it burns through him, searing him alive.

He shifts in his seat. He feels hardness prodding at the fabric of his pants. The room is scorching hot, and he leans back in his chair in an attempt to calm himself, closing his eyes. 

His ebony hair appears tousled and soft, inky strands scraping against his bare neck. Heat becomes visible on his cheeks, vividly pink. He’s always loathed how effortlessly his skin reacts; in the Underground, kids would mock him and call him names for being so pale. But right now, he doesn’t care. He doesn’t care at all when the only thing on his mind is you. The air is stuffy, and everything on his body seems too tight, too confining.

He starts taking off his jacket, folding it on his desk, but the movement causes his pen to fall to the ground.

-Fuck- he curses, his voice cutting through the stuffy air, sounding foreign even to him. 

But he doesn’t bother lifting it, guilt eating him alive. Would it be so wrong to relieve himself just one time? Levi doesn’t think he will ever be able to answer such a question. His cock throbs in his pants. Levi curses again. As his body betrays him, he recalls how he’s used all his willpower these past few weeks, and one thing he’s certain of: there’s not a single strand left. 

So he values his options: slaving away on the paperwork until morning, or surrendering to his filthy desires. Before he can even follow his reasonings, he shifts in seat again, not realising his mistake.His train of thoughts is immediately interrupted when his bare hand brushes against his dick. He nearly moans from the contact, shivers running down the length of his back.

All rationality is gone out of the window in an instant when he grabs himself through the fabric of his uniform, and the sinful noise he spews will remain forever embedded in his brain. 

He wonders if you hate him now.

In his mind, he begs for your forgiveness. But the need for you grows too strong. Especially when he rids himself of his shirt and cravat, and especially when he unbuttons his pants and doesn’t even bother to take them off all the way. He stops where the ODM gear marks are engraved on the planes of his muscular thighs, and pants wildly as he frees his dick from all kinds of restrictions.

He doesn’t have time to rationalize any of it, and he doesn’t think he wants to.He reels forward as he presses his thumb to his bright red tip, groaning when he rolls it in slow, tormenting circles. He wraps his palm around the sensitive area, huffing through his mouth as he starts moving up and down in sensual motions.

He thinks of having his way with you. He throws his head back as he fantasizes of bending you over, taking you right there in his office against the lacquered mahogany. He dreams of wrapping your hair around his hand and tugging it, forcing you to arch your back and allowing him to pound into you even harder. He moans particularly loudly when he focuses on the vein on the underside of his dick, imagining it’s you between his legs, running your precious tongue all over him, drooling over his round balls and rhythmically taking him deeper into your throat. 

He feels his high approaching too fast. He’s gasping as he bunches up the fabric of his pants in his right hand. To give himself a reprieve, he spits into it, and squeezes his manhood as his saliva mixes with his precum. His abs stretch over miles of skin, and pearly beads of liquid fall languidly on the short, dark hairs of his pelvis.He looks gorgeous like this, deprived and wanton.

And so he whimpers when he thumbs his slit in an upwards motion, and falls apart slowly; he is so needy, but nothing is enough anymore. He wants to cum so bad- the stimulation is insufficient, and he grows desperate by the second.

He lifts his hand up and brushes against his nipples. He thinks of your cunt swaddling him in its wonderful heat, while you ride him on the exact chair he’s sitting on. His hand speeds up, and the only sounds heard in the room are his wheezing and the heavy squelching caused by his movements.A known sensation envelops him totally, and he doesn’t stop. He can’t stop, not anymore.

He’s certain you’ve bewitched him. As he pictures your pussy on his tongue, he experiments by closing his hand around his throat, cutting off his oxygen supply completely. The reaction is immediate: one of his knees comes up and he knocks something off his desk. He doesn’t bother looking. You have him right where he wants to be: weak with desire. He stifles a groan. 

He understands that if you asked him for anything, he would give it away. He would do it, for you, and you only.He’s hanging right there, and for a split second he thinks he might slip and ruin everything. But Levi is not a person prone to making errors. 

Right before his unravelling, he forcefully grasps the base of his dick and pushes down. His muscles tense up entirely, tears prickling his eyes. He heaves.

The sensation fizzles out around his tip, smouldering and taking over him. He cries out, his hips rising up. He knows that If it were you doing this, he would be begging. 

He holds out for another moment, lifting his hand from his throat and grabbing the handles of the chair.Then, he furiously brings his hand down and touches himself.

A single tear escapes his eyes, and he nearly wails.

He chokes as his raging high washes over him, igniting him from the inside out. His muscles tremble though his entire peak as sweat dribbles down his forehead, his face scrunched up in an agonisingly beautiful expression. 

Levi has never come this hard. Deep inside, he wishes you were here to witness it.

When he finally opens his eyes, they’re glazed over. Exhaustion seeps into his bones, milky white liquid sticking his fingers together. Cotton seems to have lodged itself into his ears, and while he would prefer to clean himself immediately, he’s too tired to. 

He runs his hand over his manhood once more, his hand limp, and he almost hisses from the overstimulation. Papers are strewn all over the floor, a picture of his mind, and he gulps as he sits up further on the chair. He hears voices down the corridor, and he lifts his gaze towards his window.

One thing he’s positive of: he knows he can’t be saved. Nobody knows how will end will unfold. None of your gods can redeem him; so, as moonlight whispers pale hues into the dreamy night, he hopes you absolve him.

[whisperofsong]

Summary: Rhett contemplates whether he’ll ever have lasting love.

Word Count: 1,017

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex, and mentions of religion

Note: This writing piece is inspired by Taylor Swift’s song, “The Prophecy.” I feel this song would resonate with Rhett as he is misunderstood and vulnerable despite his rough exterior. Thank you for reading and supporting my work🫶🏼

____________________________________________

Rhett gazed out his bedroom window, watching his parents assist each other with chores on their ranch. Celia and Royal were working beside one another and engaged in what appeared to be amicable conversation. Although Rhett was unable to read their lips, Celia said something and the stern look on her face was replaced by a wry smile. Royal, a man of few words, a man who scowled more than he smiled, stopped what he was doing. Rhett noted his father’s jerky shoulder movements, only to realize they were moving like that because he was laughing. His father’s head fell backwards and deep laughter filled the air, its sound faint through the glass of Rhett’s window.

Once Royal was finally able to regain his composure, he stood up and wiped the dirt clinging to his weathered jeans. He towered over his wife, saying something that made her shake her head and grin simultaneously, before Celia pulled herself off the ground. They shared a kiss and walked in the opposite direction from the house, their hands intertwined.

While his parents had their fair share of problems, their steadfast commitment to their marriage and supporting one another was a constant in Rhett’s life. He certainly had his own ideas of what he would do differently in his own marriage, if marriage was even in his future, but he admired Celia’s and Royal’s devotion to one another.

Rhett cast his eyes downward, that familiar ache he preferred to suppress stirring once again in the center of his chest. He placed his hand there, kneading the area, but the discomfort prevailed. He was classified as many things by the residents of Wabang, Wyoming: a cad, player, ladies’ man, manwhore, etc. It’s not as if those terms weren’t fitting. Rhett got around and he didn’t harbor any shame about his abilities to attract and charm women. He wasn’t embarrassed that those in town gossiped about his one-night stands, whispered about rumors they’d been told, and sometimes embellished when regaling others with his latest salacious escapades. No, he held his head with pride and appeared to be nonchalant because he truly wasn’t bothered by these things. He was bothered by one thing, though, and it was that the individuals in town believed flings and lust-filled evenings were enough for him. That couldn’t be further from the truth.

He desired a partner as much as anyone else. Someone to come home to at the end of the day, someone in whom he could confide. Someone to tell his fears and dreams to without judgment. Someone to make him laugh when the weight of his burdens became heavy. Someone who would love him just as he is.

Years ago, he thought he had found someone who could fulfill this role. Maria Olivares expressed an interest in him and he felt pulled towards her, too. Like him, she envisioned more for herself that extended beyond the confines of Wabang, and he mused that they might be able to do more together someday. Their conversations sowed seeds of hope and gave Rhett something to look forward to in the midst of challenges and daily drudgery. They also made his physical relationship with Maria more meaningful because it was the first time that sex wasn’t just a mechanism for releasing tension; it was a way to convey his intense love.

Their relationship continued when she began college, but as time progressed, their dynamic shifted. Maria was outgrowing Rhett and although she didn’t explicitly tell him this herself, he knew it anyway.

Eventually, their relationship devolved into an on again/off again one that reopened the former void in his life. For a while, Rhett settled for having part of her as opposed to none of her, but this arrangement grew stale in time, and he could no longer accept it. He planned to confront her about it when she returned after her first semester of graduate school because he wasn’t counting on Maria having news of her own: she met someone and it was rapidly becoming serious. Maria’s revelation tore his insides apart, but he had too much pride to display his true emotions. Instead, he swallowed the words he practiced in front of his mirror numerous times, mustered what he hoped resembled a genuine smile, and uttered the words, “I’m happy for you.”

Maria was the last and only woman that made him believe he was close to finally having a lifelong partner. Ever since the demise of their relationship, he sought women who would provide instant gratification, who would use him as they pleased and allow him to do the same. It certainly passed the time and temporarily filled his hollow heart, but as soon as dawn arrived and their indentations disappeared from his bed, that emptiness gnawed at him once again.

Rhett wondered whether he was doomed; perhaps his fate was to be alone. He didn’t want to accept that fate, though, so he turned to a higher power. Although he wouldn’t classify himself as religious, he occasionally offered up prayers when things in his life seemed dire and were causing him deep distress. He felt the lack of love in his life justified praying, so that’s what he did, but his desire had yet to be granted. He determined it must be punishment. After all, he wasn’t virtuous by any means, but there were times when he tried to be a good person, like doing additional chores on the ranch, even when the darkness of the night engulfed him, running errands for Celia, and putting some money in the collection box at the local church. But that must not have been enough.

He finally turned away from his bedroom window and laid down on his bed. He peered up at the ceiling, visions of someone made just for him flashing in his mind, but his eyes grew heavy and could no longer remain open. As he drifted off to sleep, he continued imagining a life with the promise of love, one in which a woman wouldn’t abandon him in the morning, but would stay forever.

@lewmagoo @luminousnotmatter @floydsmuse @rhettabbotts @sunblchdfly @sebsxphia

[heechwe]

Congrats Lexi on 3K!! You're such a sweet and talented person and I'm happy to know you. I want to make a request.

Prompt 9 (if open) + Jake, Jay, Yeonjun and Beomgyu please?

- 🪼

DONT MAKE ME CRY jellyfish anon, you're too sweet to me! oh my god, i've never written this before wow okay, this is gonna be interesting i hope you enjoy it!!

𐔌 𝐋𝐄𝐗𝐈'𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐒 𝐨𝐧 𝑬𝑵/𝑻𝑿𝑻 + 𝑮𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑩𝑨𝑵𝑮 𐦯 — i think beom and jake in this scenario are a lot more giving where jay and yeonjun are a lot more forward and demanding if that makes sense? where one night of drinking just leads to a handful of risque scenario-based questions—all facilitated by jay and yeonjun, of course. have you ever done it...sleep with more than one person at once? would you consider it? jake and beomgyu are completely beside themselves, surprised their older friends had the balls to say something to you directly. but you don't hide your amusement nor your intrigue behind your beer. you sip it back and shrug nonchalantly, unfazed but with interests incredibly peaked. what could go wrong?

𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐀 𝟑𝐊 𝐂𝐄𝐋𝐄𝐁𝐑𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇𝐓

𐔌 𝐁𝐄𝐘𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 𐦯 જ⁀➴ 𝒅𝒐𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒆 𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝒐𝒓𝒂𝒍 (𝒎 𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒆𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒏𝒈), 𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒅𝒋𝒐𝒃, 𝒈𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒃𝒂𝒏𝒈, 𝒅𝒊𝒓𝒕𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌, 𝒅𝒆𝒈𝒓𝒂𝒅𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒌

You never thought the feeling of two cocks inside of you, your mouth occupied with another, and your hand nestling a fourth in your palm could feel so euphoric.

It was innocent, at first. You invited a lot of your friends over for some beers and a show's awaited season premiere. By the end of the night, the rest of the crowd had slimmed until it was just Beomgyu, Jake, Jay, and Yeonjun in attendance. They all sipped their beers gingerly, ogling you every now and then as you commanded the conversation.

"I just can't believe he dies that quick you know? I was expecting it, but they really had me in the end." You laughed, holding the neck of your bottle to your chest.

Yeonjun took another swig and scooted closer to you. "You know what I can't believe?" You turned your head in your friend's direction with a raise of your eyebrows. He knew to continue with the answer once he saw you were intrigued. "That you're still single."

"I agree," Jay pipes up. "How long has it been?"

You roll your eyes, smiling. "You guys don't want to hear about that, really."

"We do," Jake interjects, tucking his bangs out of his face and turning to Beomgyu with a secret smirk. "You haven't brought anyone around in ages."

Did the boys mean to make it feel like an interrogation? Mostly likely not. At the same time, you feel insecure now with all of their eyes on you and poking you about your sex life.

Or lack therof.

"S-Six months," you stutter before nursing your drink again, feeling your confidence edging out of focus. "But it's not a big deal."

"You haven't gotten laid in six months?" Beomgyu asks with such a high-pitched tone Jay smacks him upside the head. "Sorry, I just—you're too beautiful to be without for that long."

You chuckle, your cheeks suddenly flaming. "Are you guys offering or something," you joke.

The pause between all of them says enough, says everything.

And here you are now, Jake's cock buried to the hilt inside of your ass and Jay taking you from the front as you ride the latter boy.

That would be enough of an experience itself, if not for Yeonjun assaulting your gag reflex with brutal thrusts down your throat. Beomgyu holds the same level of composure when encased inside of your fist, pumping without regard for the pain that rests in your wrist. Neither do you really.

You love all of it, each sensation and every touch.

Jake, dragging himself from you slowly with his hands on your hips, crescent moons embedded in your skin from his nails. He guides you like you've never done this before, wanting to make it as pleasurable as can be.

Jay, with his hands tugging at your breasts harshly so the skin blossoms red under his fingertips. He carries you through the slams of his dick inside of your cunt, walls fluttering as he calls you "a little cockslut" like it's the greatest compliment a man has ever given a woman. "You're taking all of us so well, sweetheart. Such a perfect whore, don't you think, Jun?"

Yeonjun, who lovingly strokes your cheek as he pushes his cock all the way into your mouth once again. He groans when he hits the back of your throat, causing you to gag around him. "Fuck, yes. She's beautiful. No question about it."

Beomgyu, whining in agreement as he remains lost in the throes of ecstasy with your warm hand stroking him. The two younger men are without verbiage to describe how good it feels; their pleasure is showcased through their sounds alone.

You feel euphoric, being used like this. You don't want the night to end when it's this good.

@gyubakeries @loserlvrss @frenchkisstheabyss @prkhaven @tinycatharsis @fangel @aaa-sia @yvnempire @addictedtohobi @innocygnet @filmnings @lovetaroandtaemin @xylatox @dawngyu @lovetaroandtaemin @xomakara @bbangbies @filmnings

[grapejuice32]

Move In?

Rafe x angel!reader

more angel!reader here main masterlist here

word count: 700+ a/n: angel asks Rafe to move in with her

It was midday and the two of you had been lounging around, just relaxing and watching a film together while snuggled up on the couch. You’d taken a break from the film, leaving it paused for Rafe who went to the bathroom, your eyes glued to one of the tapestries on your walls, taking in all the details. As he made his way back over to you, he passed by the room that you always kept locked, “Y’know, I know everything ‘bout you apart from what’s in that room.”

You just nodded before desperately trying to change the subject, “You have a lot of stuff here.” He smiled, taking his place besides you on your couch, immediately wrapping one of his arms around your shoulders to pull you into his side, only responding to you with a hum. “You’re also here a lot,” you continued, your gaze still fixed but no longer focused on the tapestry. He remained quiet, signalling you to continue speaking, “You also bought it off of my parents for me, so you technically own the house. So, if you think about it, this is really your house.”

“No, ‘s your house, angel. ‘s got all your stuff in it, and you’ve lived here f’years.” Amusement was clear in his tone.

“But it’s also got your stuff in it,” you countered, trying to make your point. 

He just shrugged, “Well I’ll just take my stuff if ‘s a problem, you only have t’ ask.” You shook your head quickly, that was the opposite of what you wanted.

“Or…you could just bring all your stuff here,” you spoke slowly, feeling slight shy about the conversation now that you’d actually said what you really wanted. 

He sighed, “I guess, but then it’d jus’ be in y’way and it wouldn’t help with the way you’re feeling.” You had to fight back from face palming, never having thought he was stupid until this moment. Rafe knew what you were asking, of course he did, but he just wanted to hear you say it. 

“But isn’t it easier if it’s all here if you’re always here?” you tried, hoping maybe that would help him realise what you were trying and failing to ask in the direct way you’d rehearsed in your head. 

“Oh,” he pondered, “I guess I’ll jus’ try and be here less. Don’t wanna get in the way, y’know.” 

Your eyebrows raised and you lips parted, this was the opposite of what you wanted. The panic caused you to speak faster, “Or you could just have all your stuff here and you could always be here and then we can just always be here together.”

“I don’t think I understand,” he said, playing clueless. 

You sighed and threw your head back for a moment before looking at him properly, “Like, we could live here. Both of us…together.”

“Oh,” he exhaled, “oh, like, have me move in?” He asked, as if he hadn’t figured you out at the start of this conversation. You nodded, biting your lower lip to hide your nervous smile. “And y’want that?” He had to check, just to be sure. You nodded again, your face begin to burn with a blush of embarrassment as you got ready for him to turn down your offer. “Then I’d love that.”

“Really?” You weren’t sure why you thought he’d say no, but you’d convinced yourself he would. 

“ ‘f course, then I get to be ‘round my girl every day, hm?”

“You’re already around me every day.” You mumbled beneath your grin. 

He chuckled and leant in closely to you, placing a kiss on your temple before murmuring in your ear. “Does this mean I get t’ see what’s in the secret room now?”

You paused, as if you were thinking before bluntly saying “No.” Turning your head back to the tv and switching the movie back on. The action causing Rafe to throw his head back and laugh at your antics. 

“I’ll get in there one day, just you see.” He teased loudly, causing you to ‘shh’ him, when your favourite character started to speak in the film, favourite of course meaning the one you had a crush on, causing him to mumble beneath his breath grumpily, trying to ignore the jealousy that flared up inside him at your attention fixed on a man other than him, even if it was a fictional one.

a/n: requests are open