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brandycranby · 2 years ago
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if you likespam, you might as well get blocked bc its not like you're contributing anything to my posts, now are you?
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eoinmcgonigal · 1 year ago
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Btw if you enjoyed reading anything I've written, I'm *always* happy to get comments. No expiry date on this.
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lollixp0p · 10 months ago
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The Video (18+)
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Pairing: Best friend!Hwang Hyunjin x afab!reader
Genre: Smut (MDNI), bit of feelings
Word count: just under 3k!
Warnings: Idol!au, subby!Hyunjin, slightly perv!reader, recording, (maybe a bit dub con because he doesn't mean to send it but reader watches it anyway), mommy kink, masturbation (both but separately), Hyunjin fantasizes about reader, reader fantasizes about Hyunjin, lmk if I missed anything!!
Summary: Hyunjin finally gets some alone time after weeks of hard work and decides to use his time to... relax. The next day he ends up sending you something on accident that sets off a big change in your lives, with or without either of you really realising.
Note: My first ever fic!! :3 Inspired by a video I saw on phub. (@cbini (Ems isn't on Tumblr rn she still wanted to be tagged so I hope it's ok), @comet-falls, @hyunsvngs, @mnwrld and @skz-hell lmao hello everyone, writing blog reveal!!😁 here's this fic I've mention to all of you as an anon<3 (depending on who you are I'm either ❄️anon, 🐾anon or sounding anon😳)). To anyone reading this please give me literally any feedback (comment, reblog, anything!), I want to know if this is good or not since it's my first fic🙏😣
Please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works!
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It's been exactly three weeks since Hyunjin's had any time for just himself, though it feels like months at this point.
Recently everyone's been running around like headless chickens and between vocal trainings, dance practices and the studio, there hasn't been much time to just relax and recharge. Preparing for a new album really is the busiest time of an idols life.
There hasn't even been time to see family or friends, which is common during busy spells like this, but always dissapointing to think about. Now even more so, with how much he's been wishing to spend time with you, one of his closest friends... who also happens to be his crush. Not that he'd ever let you know though, not in a very long time.
It feels almost like a blessing, getting back to the dorms from practice late in the evening and realising... he's got the place all for himself, at least until his roommates get back from the studio.
Changbin had messaged him earlier, telling him that they'd probably be there well past midnight, so there was no use waiting up for them. To him though, this was the very opposite of an issue. With that much free time, he'd definitely be able to... make himself comfortable, so to speak.
See, not having time to relax also means he'd basically had no time to get off. The best he'd been able to do had been quick little sessions barely once a week in the shower right before passing out on his bed from the exhaustion of working hard.
The realisation that he'd be able to do anything he wants during his time alone is enough to get his dick twitching in his jeans and he decides the shower can wait until later.
Hyunjin goes to his room and locks the door after himself even though he's alone, it's just become a habit after so many years living with his members. He sets his bag down next to his bed and thinks through his plan.
Hyunjin has a little secret, which is that he loves recording himself do dirty things that range from more vanilla to much less vanilla. Something about the thrill of being recorded even if no one will ever see it just... makes him so fucking horny.
He opens the camera of his phone, puts it to video mode and presses record. Moving his hand off the lense and setting it down where he normally sets it, on the carefully placed pile of books on his desk, he sits down on his bed.
"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", Hyunjin sighs with a pout and brushes his hair out of his eyes. He knows the camera won't see it though because he's made sure the stand, his pile of books, is at a level that cuts off his head perfectly.
Hyunjins hands run down his body slowly and he exhales deeply, just loud enough to get picked up by his phone. Once they reach his jeans he unbuttons them, unzips the zipper, then pulls the jeans down just enough to expose his underwear. Hyunjin pulls his shirt up over his stomach to be held in place under his chin, rubs his hand over his bulge and hums.
It's been so long since the last time he's been able to take his time making himself feel good. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he's getting hard.
He takes his dick out his boxers and then spits on the palm of his right hand. It's dirty and wet but it just turns him on even more. He grabs his dick with the hand and slowly moves his fist up and down, to spread the saliva and precum all over his dick to make the slide easier and wetter but to also get himself to full hardness.
"A-ah, ohh... that's so good... Feels-fuck, feels so good", Hyunjin sighs. It really won't take him too long to cum, he just knows it. He's been pent up for far too long.
He tries to think of something to help his issue and immediately thinks of you, no matter how embarrassed or dirty it makes him feel.
When you first started showing up in the dirtiest corners of his mind he felt so ashamed. Now it doesn't matter to him anymore. You'll never find out so why feel bad?
He continues to move his hand on his dick while thinking of you. The last time the two of you had time to hang out together you'd worn the lowest cut shirt he'd ever seen on you. He had tried so hard to act normal around you but whenever you bent down he'd been able to see into your shirt.
"Haah, fuck..." , he squeezes himself a little harder at the memory. Everytime you moved he could see your bra poking out from the top, black and lacy. The entire time he'd been doing his best to not bust in his pants. Oh, what he'd give to be able to see your tits. They always looked so soft and they'd probably fit perfectly into his palms.
Whenever the both of you would hang out at yours, watching movies and just hanging out, you never bothered to wear a bra. Why would you? It is your house where you want to be as comfortable as possible.
The feeling of laying down on your couch watching a movie with you on top of him, in just a t-shirt, will end up driving him mad one day. Everytime he'd felt your nipples poking into him he'd almost moaned out loud.
"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!", he lets out pathetically, moving his fist faster. God he just wants you to use him, to do anything you want to him. The thought makes him whine desperately.
One of the most common fantasies for him is you on top of him using him to get off, not caring about if he's close or not. You'd sit on his face and ride it until you cum. He could probably cum untouched like that. All he'd need was tasting you and seeing you cum, just for him.
All the sudden he remembers the phone recording him and he shudders. He imagines what your reaction would be to seeing him like this. Would you be disgusted or delighted? Would you tell him what to do and how to touch himself? Maybe you'd touch him... He hopes you would.
"Mommy... please touch me, aah- oh!", he runs his thumb over the head of his cock just right and his thighs twitch but he keeps them open, in perfect view to the camera.
Throwing his head back he imagines you riding him. You'd be so tight and wet around him. Maybe you'd tie his hands behind his back so he wouldn't be able to touch you... he'd really like that. You'd feel godly around him, Hyunjin thinks.
"Fuck, oh fuck! Mommy I'm-haah, I'm so close, please!", his dick twitches desperately. You're so gorgeous, to him you're the sexiest person he's ever seen. He feels himself getting so close that tears spring to his eyes.
"Ah- 'm gonna... mommy, gonna cum...!", he whines out long and loud. It takes Hyunjin two more strokes to let go and he cums the hardest he's cum in weeks. He doesn't even register whispering your name. Hyunjin leans back on his left hand and keeps stroking himself through it.
The feeling is overwhelming, so much so that his thighs start twitching pathetically and the tears in the corners of his eyes fall. He's getting incredibly overstimulated but he keeps going, wanting to keep enjoying the feeling, just a bit more.
He squeezes himself one last time and suddenly everything on him feels gross and dirty. He's just had the best orgasm in weeks so it's no surprise that he came a lot, everywhere. He even managed to get some on his chin.
"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone. It takes a while for him to come down from the high, the twitchiness and the feeling of euphoria lingering in his body. Once he's capable of standing up again he stops the video.
With his body feeling like jelly, he takes off all his clothes, drops them into his hamper and prepares to shower, at last.
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Hyunjin wakes up to his alarm the next day feeling more refreshed than he's felt in weeks. He shuts off the still ringing alarm and quickly gets up from his bed to get dressed and go eat breakfast.
Checking the calendar on his phone to make sure he knows his schedule for today, he makes a note of one thing; he'd have a lot of time alone at the dorms today too, since he's only got a dance practice and a recording session today, which obviously means 3racha will stay behind to stress about their songs while Hyunjin can return early. Maybe this time he should continue the latest piece of art he's been working on after he gets back?
Hyunjin gets through the day well enough.
After eating breakfast he messages you a "Good morning pretty <3 please remember to drink water!" like every morning when he has time for it. He gets to the practice room only five minutes late, which is a record this early in the morning, because usually he ends up sleeping in at least ten minutes (which makes Chan scold him for being such a heavy sleeper).
He does well at practice, even though he ends up a little exhausted. That's nothing new though, with how hard they always work to be the best they can be.
The rest of the members leave to take a break but Hyunjin decides to stay behind to film the solo choreography he's been working on for fun. Once he's happy with how it's turned out, it's time for him to go record his lines.
The recording session goes smoothly, without hundreds of retakes and everyone's satisfied with the result. Afterwards they decide to order some take-out, as a reward for a job well done... and also because they're all feeling too lazy to even think about going to the dorms to cook.
While eating Hyunjin finally realises to check his phone again. "Good morning, take care of yourself too!! :)" is your response to what he sent earlier. It's nothing more than a kind response but it makes him grin to himself like the fool in love he is.
"Yaaah!! Hyunjinnieee, what's making you smile so beautifully?", Changbin leans towards him with his signature flirting-with-Hyunjin grin, mouth half full of rice.
"It's nothing," Hyunjin responds back to him cheeks red, "and don't talk with your mouth full hyung... Do you not have any respect?"
Changbin decides to drop it in favor of eating more delicious food.
"Oh come on... we wanna know!!", Han pouts at him from his seat on the couch in the room. Hyunjin shoves another mouthful of food in his mouth to avoid the embarrassement of explaining how a single text messaged from you manages to make his heart beat out of his chest.
Once Hyunjin's done eating he's free to go back to the dorms and just like he suspected the rest of his dormmates stay behind to work some more, although they all whine at him to stay to explain the previous mystery. He declines and they all keep their sad puppydog eyes on him until he's out the door.
He keeps texting you during his ride, all the way to the dorms. Once he's in his room Hyunjin decides to just change into some clean clothes. He's too excited to talk to you and get to painting, he can wash up later.
He lays in his bed to keep texting you and at some point your conversation changes from how your day's been going to talking about dancing and he mentions how he just today filmed a new choreography bit he's made for fun.
❣️:
Can I see what you've been working on? :)
I'm sure it's really good, you always are!!
Jinnie:
Well... since you asked so nicely😉
[video sent]
Quickly sending the video Hyunjin exits out the messaging app, feeling so giddy he can't help but squirm around on his bed. He still can't believe someone like you could be interested in seeing him dance.
It might seem like a small thing for most but he feels himself turning red just thinking about the way you look at him while he talks about something so important to him. It makes the butterflies in his stomach every time you're near go crazy. It's so attentive, like you actually care and are interested in his interests... and maybe even...?
'No' , he thinks to himself. There's probably no way you could ever actually be interested in him, not in the same way he's interested in you at least.
He leaves his phone charging and finally gets out of bed to go to the kitchen for a cup of coffee. He'd need it if he wanted to stay up late to work on his newest art piece.
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Hearing the familiar 'ping' notification of receiving a message makes you open your phone again and just like you thought, Hyunjin had sent you the video of his latest masterpiece of a choreography. Not waiting a second you press the video just to see.... Hyunjin take his hand off the camera and set the phone down on the desk in his room he draws on. He sits down on the edge of his bed and says something, you aren't really sure what, because the volume's too low. In confusion you turn it up more.
Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair out his face, probably. You can't see it though, because the camera cuts his face perfectly off frame. Suddenly his hands run down his body to the button on his jeans. He opens it and starts undoing the zipper next. You just look at the video in shock. 'He isn't about to... to take them off is he?', you think to yourself, just as he pulls the jeans down enough to expose his white boxers and then palms his bulge.
Should you stop watching? Keep watching? How long has it even been playing? How long does it keep playing? While you wonder this you almost miss Hyunjin pull his hard dick out of his underwear and spit on his palm and... Oh God...
You've now done something you can never take back. The downright sinful view of his cock is something you don't think you're ever going to be able to forget. How do you even face him after this? After watching him grasp his dick in his hand and pump it a couple of times to spread the spit and precum around.
You exit the video, panting and absolutely soaking through your underwear. Your other hand rushes to your face to feel your cheeks. They're burning and feel like you've been standing out in the sun for hours, when in reality all you've done is accidentally watch your best friend play with himself.
You struggle to decide what to do with the video and in the end save the video without much thinking, then delete the message of it and decide to notify him of his mistake. As long as he doesn't know you saved it, it should be fine, right?
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It takes Hyunjin less than 10 minutes to make and get the coffee. He returns to his room humming the tune of a song he's had on repeat recently. Setting the coffee down on the desk and taking his phone off from the charger he notices new messages from you.
❣️:
Uhm...😕
Hyunjin, I don't think you meant to send that.
He looks at his screen confused. What did you mean by that? He...
Oh God.
Did he send the wrong video?
Frantically opening the video he sent earlier he sees himself, in video, move his hand off the phone camera and set it down the desk near his bed and sit down. Oh no...
"Hmm... I hope the angle's good... It's been so long since I've had time for this", video Hyunjin sighs and reaches up to move his hair from his eyes. His head may be out of frame but he clearly remembers pouting while saying this. He watches himself slowly unbutton and unzip his pants, adjusting them so that his boxers are clearly visible in frame. In the video his hand drifts towards his crotch slowly, teasingly.
He quickly exits the video and promptly shoves his head under his pillow and yells. He'd accidentally sent the wrong video while hurrying to get a cup of coffee. How could he have messed up this bad? In his panic, it takes him a moment to respond.
Jinnie:
Oh god
I'm so sorry!!
Please don't watch that!
❣️:
Don't worry!!!
I stopped watching the moment you started unzipping your pants😖
I saw nothing, promise!🙏 It's been deleted already!! 
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Little does he know though, you'd kept the video. You're not really sure why, but subconciously your brain keeps screaming' to finish it later, of course'.
...
Fuck it, you don't think you can wait until later.
Taking a deep breath, you open your gallery to find the video he sent you. You hesitate for a second but press play anyway. You can feel how you're already soaking through your underwear but pay no mind to it yet.
You watch him do the things you've seen already, all the way until he spits in his hand... and you pause the video. 'Is it right to watch this? I mean, he didn't mean to even send it...', you think to yourself.
But the thought of seeing him touch himself, to hear him make the sweetest noises you could ever in your wildest dreams imagine him making drives you on.
Pressing play again you dip your fingers into your pants. You rub yourself over your underwear and oh my god... you can't believe the wetness you feel after less than a minute of watching the video. You focus on the phone you're holding in your other hand and finally move your fingers into your underwear to directly touch your pussy.
On your screen you see Hyunjin start to stroke himself faster, the head of his dick a dark pink, you can feel his desperation through the screen. Without thinking you move your fingers to your clit and start rubbing it in circles, aided by the wetness of your leaking pussy.
He moans out loud and even though you can't hear it through the fog in your head, you know he's desperate. You move your fingers down to your hole and dip two of them in. You're so wet you barely need to even stretch yourself out and then he does it.
"Hngh... Oh my god, please... m-mommy!"
You push your fingers deeper and your pussy lets out he lewdest squelch which in turn makes you close your eyes desperately in pleasure. 'Mommy? When he masturbates he calls out for mommy??', the thought makes you lose your mind. You think about what it would be like if he called you mommy in the throes of pleasure.
You want to make him follow every command you give him. The way he'd look up at you on his knees with you standing above him. Maybe you could make him suck on a strap? He'd look so ridiculously delicious with his mouth full, drool dripping down his cheeks.
You add another finger and start rubbing at your clit with your thumb at the same time. The feeling makes you whimper and imagine his hands on you, teaching him how to touch you perfectly. You're getting so close and you remember to focus your screen again.
Hyunjin looks absolutely disheveled. His dick is red and throbbing, you can tell he's getting close. His voice is another thing that gives him away. He's whiny and his voice keeps cracking every time he opens his mouth. Hyunjin bucks into his hand and moans.
"... mommy, gonna cum...!", he strokes himself twice more and then finally cums. You're so close it's maddening. All the sudden you hear him... whisper your name?
It makes you go off the edge and your entire body clenches and seizes while you silently cry out from all the pleasure you're feeling. Your walls suck in your fingers with how you're clenching around them. On the screen Hyunjin twitches violently, working himself through the end of his orgasm.
You pull your fingers out of yourself and slump down on your bed exhausted, but the last 20 seconds of the video that's now over haunts you. Did you hear him right?
You gather strength to pick up your phone again and rewind the video to the part where he cums and turn the volume almost all the way up. Admittedly you end up fixating on the way his dick looks and face twists in pleasure when he cums and then he says, or more like whisper your name. Your brain blanks.
"Fuuck... Did you-haah... did you enjoy that?", he chuckles to the phone, sits in place for a bit to properly come down and then gets up to stop the video.
You're wet, confused and you can feel your heart beat out of your chest. What do you do now? How can you ever face him normally after that... Does he feel the same way you do? Is he sure he didn't mean to send it?
It's all too much to think about, so you decide that instead of thinking about it you'll clean yourself up and... crawl into a hole where no one will ever find you. Probably. The only thing you know for sure is you definitely won't be sleeping tonight.
© lollixp0p 2024 | please do not under any circumstance copy, translate, or repost my works
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wheresarizona · 4 months ago
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Columba 
summary: It isn’t until you’re in his home that you learn it’s General Marcus Acacius who’s summoned you for your services—you’re not sure why he did, when the other courtesans standing beside you, hoping to be chosen by him, have bodies that look nothing like yours.
pairing: Marcus Acacius/Plus Size f!reader (Courtesan)
rating: E (18+!! This is smut. No y/n, explicit smut, plus size reader, courtesan reader, age gap (reader is of legal age in today’s standards), takes place pre-Gladiator 2, dommy Marcus Acacius (loves giving orders), he’s a tiny bit possessive, unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie, rough sex, backshots, woman on top, oral sex (m receiving), vaginal fingering, breast worship, hair pulling (m receiving), slight breeding kink, (1) pussy slap, dirty talk, spanking, spit mention, some biting, with hair like that he wants it pulled, some sweetness at the end) 
word count: 4.8k+
a/n: I took one look at Marcus’ hair and immediately thought, that guy likes his hair pulled. I also decided that since he spends weeks to months with a bunch of men at a time, when he comes home, he really appreciates a curvy woman. Honestly, I didn’t think I’d be able to write anything for him until I saw the movie, but the trailer got me. This is unbeta’d, all mistakes are my own. I hope you enjoy!
Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs feed me. I’d love to know what you thought!
Masterlist
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It was the marble bust atop a pedestal that revealed whose home you were in. The opulence of the domus’ atrium, with its four tall marble columns surrounding the impluvium's shallow, sunken pool in the middle of the room and the compluvium’s opening in the ceiling above it, allowing the moon’s light to filter in, told you whoever lived here had notoriety—then you saw the face carved out of stone, recognizing the curls and strong nose you'd only ever seen as he was paraded past you down the street in honor of his latest victory, and you knew.
General Marcus Acacius is a man feared by many for his ferocity and skills in battle. It's been said Mars, the God of War, blessed his birth, while others believe his bloodline is descended from the God himself. What you know to be true is he's a gifted General that the Emperors and Gods have smiled upon, and in his presence, an intimidating figure you didn't dare look at unless you were addressed.
There are four women standing to your right, all of you younger than him, naked, and courtesans of the highest standard—well-educated and well-versed in politics along with the pleasures of the body—and highly sought out by society's elite. 
Marcus is at the opposite end, silently making his way down the line with what you can only assume is a scrutinizing eye, and you fear there's been a mistake that you're here—the other courtesans are all built similarly with small breasts, flattened stomachs and thinner waists than yours, whereas you’re curvier, and have more meat on your bones, with your bigger chest, soft noticeable belly, and grabbable hips. Clearly, he requested a particular type of woman, and it doesn't appear you're it. Staring down at the tiled floor seems better than seeing the disappointment on his face when he gets to you. 
His sandaled feet come into view as he stands before you, and you can feel his eyes roaming over your bare body—golden snake bracelets coil around each of your upper arms, and at the unexpected gentle touch of his fingertips to one, you flinch. 
"Do I frighten you?" His voice is a low, deep rasp that shivers down your spine. 
"No, Sir," you answer.
His thumb strokes over the snake's head and along its body. "Why do you flinch?" 
Raising your head, you see he’s wearing a white tunic with a gold pattern lining around his neck, down his arms, and along the hem, a belt securing it at his waist; golden cuffs covered his wrists. You’re met with dark eyes, a furrow crinkling between his eyebrows—his brown hair with a kiss of gray, curls like waves on his head, his facial hair dotted with a few silvery strands. It takes you a second to answer his question because the glimpses of him you caught during victory parades and the marble bust didn't prepare you for his beauty. 
Mars and Venus have bestowed their blessings upon him. 
“My apologies, Sir,” you finally reply. “It was simply surprise at being graced by your touch.” His expression is difficult to read, so you continue speaking, “I’ve heard of your prowess in battle that inspires songs and how your enemies tremble before you, but I do not believe I have reason to fear you—unless that is something you wish. Do you wish for me to be frightened of you?” 
Some men liked it if you acted afraid of them to feel powerful. Some men, usually the big, tough ones, liked to bury their faces in your bosom while you held them. The slight show of relief on Marcus’ face when you said you had no reason to fear him made you suspect he’d be in the latter category. 
“No.” His eyes are locked onto yours. “I do not need another to fear me. I wish for you to want my touch.” 
“I wish for more than your touch,” you reply. “I wish to feel your lips on mine and your weight on top of me, I wish to feel your cock inside me and to hear the sounds you make when you peak, and I do wish for your touch; I wish to feel your hands claim my body as yours.” 
His gaze turns to one of desire, and it makes you smile. 
"You," he says. "Stay. The rest of you,” he announces, keeping his eyes on yours, “leave us.”
The invitation the messenger brought to your home the day prior did not state who requested your services; it simply said the person was a public figure, and the woman picked would be paid handsomely.
The servants, who stood as still as statues against a wall, scurried to assist each of the other women with redressing.
"Come," he orders, offering you a hand you accept. He leads you to a room you realize is his personal quarters when you spot his armor in a corner, Medusa's golden head on the cuirass shining in the candlelight—she wards off evil and offers protection. There's a bed against the wall opposite the door, and he lets go of your hand, slipping off his sandals by the doorway before walking over to a thin table laden with a jug, cups, and a bowl of berries and grapes. 
"Care for some wine?" he asks without looking at you while pouring himself a cup. 
His body is tense, and you’re assuming you’re here to help him relax—he arrived home only days ago from war, and you got a chance to see him rolling down the street on a chariot as he waved to the cheering masses. It would make sense that he could use somebody with your expertise to get him to unwind. 
“No, thank you, Sir,” you answer, and he faces you again, taking a drink. “It’s a great honor that you chose me, and I do not wish to forget a single moment.” 
His cup lowers, and you're surprised to find he’s wearing a little smile. He twists to set his wine down next to the jug, and removes the cuffs from his wrists, setting them onto the table then his eyes are on yours. 
"Marcus," he says, and it only takes a few strides to have him in front of you again. 
"I'm sorry?" you ask.
His attention moves to your body, and he’s not looking upon you like an object or something he’s just purchased as most men do; his gaze is appreciative, the same kind of look you could imagine was on his face when he stared at art that pleased him. Your figure isn’t the ideal for most Roman women—your hips are too wide, your breasts are too large, your ass is too big, your thighs are too thick, and your stomach is too noticeable—yet, there are many men who sought you out and paid well for your time, and it seems the General is one of them. 
"My name." He walks around you, his fingers sliding along your upper back from shoulder to shoulder. “Call me Marcus. I want you to be familiar with how my name tastes on your tongue.” 
The touch and his words cause your nipples to harden and goosebumps to rise on your skin.
"Marcus,” you say. 
He’s in front of you again, his darkened eyes on yours. His big hands grip your waist, pulling you into him, and he shoves his face into the crook of your neck, feeling him inhale deeply. “Gods, you’re the best thing I’ve smelled in months.” The words are said against your flesh. “Like a meadow of flowers in Spring, and I fail to remember the last time I felt such softness.” He squeezes the fleshy handles at your hips and goes lower to grab handfuls of your ass, then runs his hands up your back. “Upon hearing your description,” he says, “I knew you’d be perfect, but what I imagined has no comparison to seeing your beauty with my own eyes.” His admission catches you off guard as it sounds as though he always intended to pick you from the line of women. It’s curious that he even invited the others if his mind had been set beforehand. He straightens, meeting your gaze. “Take off my clothes.” 
There's no need to reply; you just do as he ordered, getting his belt undone, the leather falling to the floor, then pulling his tunic over his head, it meeting the same fate as his belt. 
He’s completely nude, standing at his full height before you. 
You expected the scars etched all over his body, the evidence that he'd lay down his life for Rome without hesitation. There's a long, jagged one across his right pec, silvered with age, that has you forgetting yourself and softly pressing your fingertips to it.
He snatches your smaller hand, pulling it away from his marred skin. 
"My apologies," you quickly say, bowing your head in submission. "I shouldn't have touched you without permission." 
"You may touch me." Once again, he surprises you by putting the flat of your palm against the scar, his other hand grabbing your chin to lift your face. 
From his reaction to your fingers on him, you think he hasn’t been with a woman in quite some time, and you hope you can make up for all the nights he spent alone. 
It seems he's done with the pleasantries when his lips crush into yours. It's all of the encouragement you need, kissing him back while rubbing your palms up his broad chest, feeling his warmth. You snake a hand down his stomach through the trail of hair low on his belly to take his half-hard cock into your hand—he groans and twitches in your hold.
He truly has the Gods' favor—a talented General, handsome and well-endowed. 
With his hands on your waist, he walks you backward to the bed, laying you on the mattress. He's on top of you, deepening the kiss with his tongue pressing into your mouth, his hand palming your tit, making you wet with arousal and your body heat. 
It's fascinating how he's defying all of your expectations. The men who seek you out after spending months fighting are often rough and brutish, using you however they want to release their tension. There's never kissing or offers of drink; it's orders to suck their cocks, or to get on the bed in their desired position—and here's Marcus kissing down your body, along the skin of your neck to your chest. Most of his weight is on his knees between your legs while bending forward over you, and the only word you can think of to describe it is he's worshipping your breasts. He has them in his hands, moving from one to the other, licking, sucking, and nibbling on your nipples and soft skin, the sensations making your pussy weep with need. 
“Gods, Marcus,” you moan. He has you squirming with how good it feels, your fingers pushing into his curls. He takes a pebbled bud between his teeth and gently tugs. “Oh,” you gasp, your hands tightening in the tousled waves on his head.
He releases your nipple. “Harder,” he rasps, then flicks his tongue against your stiff peak, and you do as requested, pulling his hair harder. A loud groan rumbles from his chest as he continues laving at your tits, skimming his hand down your stomach, your skin tingling under his fingertips, until he’s sliding two fingers through your wet slit. You tighten your hold on his head, your toes curling when he starts rubbing your clit, and the realization hits that he intends for you to have just as much enjoyment as him. 
"Marcus," you whine.
He’s one of those men who has you praying that he’ll wish for your company again, and you wouldn’t even make him pay if you got another chance to warm his bed. 
The push of his thick digit into your pussy makes your breath hitch at the slight stretch, his thumb pressing to your sensitive bundle of nerves, moving side to side—you know he’s going to make you come, and you silently thank the Gods.
His finger is pushing in and out of you, his thumb continuing its movements, and he lifts his face to look you in the eyes, his own are so black there’s hardly a sliver of brown remaining. "Come for me," he commands, slipping a second digit inside you—you’re so wet you can hear the slick slide of his fingers pumping into you. The muscles in your belly are tightening, and the fire in your core is building. "Come for me, sweet girl." His head dips to lightly bite your nipple before soothing it with his tongue. "Once you come, I'll do as you wish and sheath my cock into this perfect cunt." 
The hot heat of his mouth envelops your pebbled bud, and he sucks—it's your undoing; your eyes close as you fall over the edge, coming with a moan of his name. His digits and mouth continue to extend your ecstasy while your chest heaves with labored breaths and your heart pounds. 
He lets go of your nipple with a wet pop, his hand sliding from your pussy, up your stomach, leaving a trail of your release on your skin. His voice deepens, “You’ve done well for me, and I keep my word—turn over.” 
He helps you to roll onto your front, and you get up onto your hands and knees—a familiar position. He takes a moment to admire you in front of him, his palms feeling the thickness of your thighs and hips. His fingers dig into your plump asscheeks as he spreads them and dips his head, hearing and feeling him spit between them, the hot saliva dripping from your asshole down to your opening. He shuffles up behind you, sliding his cock through the wetness of your come and his spit to lubricate himself, then notches it at your entrance—you both moan as he slowly starts feeding himself into you. 
Gods, he’s big. 
There’s a slight burn with how he’s stretching you, your inner walls having to accommodate his ample girth, and once he’s pressed all the way to the root inside you, a breath leaves you that you hadn't realized you'd been holding in. 
He has a tight grip on your waist and pulls out almost all the way, immediately pushing back into you hard enough there's a clap when his hips hit your ass. This was expected, Marcus setting up a rhythm that punches the air from your lungs each time he thrusts forward—he’s working out what he doesn’t wish to feel, and with how slippery it is between your legs, he's moving easily, and the brutal pace feels amazing. 
Many times, you’ve had to fake your enjoyment to make those employing you think they’re talented lovers—the majority are selfish in bed and care little about your comfort but want their egos stroked. Marcus, on the other hand, earned your favor when he took the time to ready you with his fingers and allowed you to climax. 
He's pounding into you, the collide of his body against yours making your asscheeks shake, and with how his cock is pressing into something truly divine, he’s also earned your screams of his name and whatever incoherent words are babbling from your mouth—he has you dizzy with pleasure, heat coiling in your belly, and there’s no doubting the Goddess of Beauty and Sex has given him her blessing. 
Sounds are spilling unbidden from your lips, Marcus loudly grunting with each stroke, the wet slap of skin hitting skin echoing in the room, and you look over your shoulder—the candlelight around the room shows the glisten of sweat on his golden skin. His head is thrown back, his eyes closed, and his jaw slack. Hair is sticking to his forehead, and a beautiful rosy flush has begun on his chest, rising up his neck to paint his cheeks. You can't think of another you've laid with who looked so breathtaking while taking their pleasure, and you could only imagine how glorious he’d look on the battlefield. You don't know what comes over you, reaching your hand back to touch his hip, and suddenly, he’s looking at you, his eyes glazed with lust. 
It’s as though he’s been in a trance, losing himself in your body, and now he’s come back to be in the moment with you. He falls forward, his hands sinking into the mattress on either side of you, blanketing your back and slowing his pace. His chin is on your shoulder, and he bites the shell of your ear; all of his weight goes onto one arm to free up the other that roughly grabs your breast and plucks at your nipple.
“You take me so well,” he says into your ear, his cock continuing to slide in and out of you. “Your sweet little cunt will milk me dry, and then I’ll have you again and again after that to keep you full of my seed.” 
His words steal a moan from your lips. 
“Does that please you, my sweet girl?” he asks. “You wish for more of me? Has another ever fucked you so good?” He gets his hand between your legs to circle the pearl of your pleasure, and your jaw drops, eyes closing—he’s going to make you come again. “Answer me,” he growls, lightly slapping your clit, and you clench around him. 
It’s challenging to think, but you say, “No,” and push your ass back against him as he thrusts forward, fucking yourself on him to get closer and closer to your end. “I’ve never had such fortune.” 
“You do now—by morning, I’ll have you ruined for any other man, and your cunt won’t soon forget the shape of my cock.” 
He means every word that slips from his tongue, and it sets the fire in your belly ablaze. You’re holding yourself up on shaky limbs, the muscles in your stomach knotting up—you’re close.
“Marcus,” you moan. 
His warm breath tickles your ear as he speaks into it: “I love how my name sounds from your lips. I know you’re close. Give in so I can feel you ascend to the heavens.” 
His words, the fullness of his thick shaft moving in and out of you, and his fingers swirling around your sensitive bundle at the apex of your thighs has you shattering—stars burst behind your eyelids as white-hot pleasure erupts in your center, your pussy clamping down on him hard enough he slows to a stop, and groans in your ear.
You exhale panted breaths, your heart beating rapidly, and the blissful euphoria ripples through your body, slowly ebbing away. 
Somehow, you find your voice, "Allow me to ride you." 
He kisses your shoulder, his beard scratching against your bare skin. "You want to mount me?" he asks. 
"Yes."
"Then you shall." 
He pulls out of you, an achy groan leaving him as he lies beside you on his back, and you get up onto your knees. He draws your attention with how he’s splayed out on the mattress, his long legs slightly spread and arms crossed over his head. His cock is still hard, it shiny with your juices, and resting against his lower belly, cushioned by the tantalizing path of hair that led directly to it—and he’s looking up at you, his eyes dark with want that keep lowering to your bosom, and back up to your eye line, the pink of his tongue wetting his bottom lip, that you suddenly wish to bite. 
There’s the common knowledge about Marcus all of Rome is aware of—the family he comes from and the military achievements that have led to him being the victorious General the Gods have blessed the city with, and now you’re versed in his more private attributes—he likes his women to be sturdy with sizeable breasts, he enjoys the pleasurable pain of his hair pulled, he’s a generous lover, he prefers to be in control unless you can tempt him enough to hand over the reins. It’s quite tempting for him to lie back and watch your tits bounce as you ride him. 
Shuffling in place to face him, taking his hard length in hand—he didn’t ask, and you didn’t offer, yet you want to take care of him like he took care of you, so you scoot back enough that you can bend down at the waist, wrapping your lips around the tip of his cock.
The sound of Marcus’ loud moan and the way his back arches as if it were the string of a bow shoots straight to your cunt—you can taste the mix of your essence and his arousal that’s steadily dribbling from the sensitive head that you lick and suckle; your hand easily stroking up and down the sheath of skin on his shaft. The muscles in his thighs and stomach have tensed like it’s taking everything in him to hold back and not fill your mouth with his come.
“Enough,” he grits the order through his teeth, and his palm lands on the side of your ass with a hard slap that echoes against the walls, the sharp sting getting a moan out of you—your head lifts off of him to see he’s scowling. “I’m not spilling down your throat,” he continues and smacks your ass again. “Ride me, or I’ll have you under me.” 
“Apologies, Marcus,” you reply demurely and sit up on your knees once more. Quickly, you move, throwing a leg over his waist to have your thick thighs hugging his hips. You rise, grabbing his cock, you press to your entrance, and you watch his face as you slowly start to impale yourself on him, relishing in how his mouth falls open and the tight grip he has on the meat of your thighs, his fingers digging into them hard enough it bordered on painful. 
The fullness is incredible when you sit flush against him, and you love how he fills you. Your palms find purchase on his broad chest, and you rise until only the tip of him remains inside of you, and you drop back down—the rhythm you set has you moving in his lap, up and down in quick succession, Marcus groaning, his eyes locked on the jiggle of your breasts. 
Sweat forms on your skin, feeling it on your forehead and a single drop sliding down your spine, your eyes closed as you focus, your moans stuttering each time you sink onto him. 
His hands are resting on your backside, rising and falling with you, his voice rough with pleasure, “That’s it, ride me, bounce on my cock.”
This isn’t about you, and though it feels good riding him, your goal is helping him achieve his own high, and you’re determined to do so—your hands leave him to press your tits together, and you gasp in surprise when he sits up and shoves his face into them. Your pace doesn’t waver, and you look at him to see he’s keeping himself up with an arm braced on the bed behind him, the other hand grabbing a handful of your ass, and you know he’s not going to last much longer. 
Your fingers slide into the unruly curls at the back of his head, and you yank them hard to make him look at you, Marcus hissing while his cock twitches inside you. In this position, you’re taller, and he gazes up to meet your eyes. 
“I want you to come,” you pant, continuing to fuck yourself on him. “I want to feel you flood my cunt with your seed.” The noise he makes sounds like a whine. “Then I want you to do it again, and again after that—I want you to fill me to the point I’m brimming with you, and you’re in me for days.” 
He squeezes his eyes shut as he groans out a long, drawn-out Fuck
With his beautiful neck on display, you duck your head and lick up the taut skin of his throat, wishing you could suck a mark into it to remind him of you for a while after you part ways. His free hand roughly grabs your chin to pull you close enough for him to slot his lips against yours, and you have to slow to a grind as he messily kisses you, shoving his tongue into your mouth. 
He breaks away to fall back onto the mattress, his fingers getting a tight grip on your ass, the muscles in his arms flexing as he lifts you enough to start thrusting up into your soaked pussy rapidly—he’s grunting while baring his teeth to chase his high, and all you can do is press your palms to his chest for balance while keeping yourself raised enough for him to pound into you. 
The slick push and pull of him, moving in and out of you, has you chanting his name, and it sounds wet between your legs, hearing the clap of skin on skin of him plowing into you. Perspiration makes his tan flesh glint under the candle's light, his hair is a mess atop his head, and his expression is wild; it’s no surprise when his strokes get uneven and his eyes close. Marcus tugs your ass down to bury himself as far as possible in you as he gives in, coming with a guttural groan—you feel his cock jerk and the wet pulse as he paints your insides with spurts and spurts of his spend, wringing himself out until his body goes completely lax.
He pulls you forward to lie on top of him, wrapping his arms around your middle, and turns you both onto your sides. There’s a hiss that slips from his lips when he removes his softening length from your cunt, and you smile at Marcus sliding down the bed far enough for his face to nuzzle in your bosom while hugging you tight. Your fingers stroke through his sweat-damp curls, his hums of appreciation sounding like the purr of a cat. 
Minutes pass in silence as your breaths even out and your hearts slow. After some time, he says something you can’t make out.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you,” you reply. 
His head lifts, and he kisses under your chin. “Stay,” he says again. 
“I have no intention of leaving. I’m here until you send me away.” 
“And if I don’t wish to send you away?” 
His lips trail along your jaw. 
Your eyebrows pull together. “As I said, I’m here until you request my leave.” 
“And if I never request your leave?” 
He’s kissing your neck now, the question making your eyes round. “You intend for me to be your mistress?” 
It’s not uncommon for a courtesan to become one’s mistress. Some of you are from families of wealth and do this line of work for the powerful connections, while others are freedwomen who’ve worked their way up to earn their notoriety—either case, courtesans are respected and thought to make great mistresses. 
“That is all I can offer since I have no plans to marry,” he answers. “You can stay here with or without me when I’m ordered away, and whatever is left of my salary and spoils of war after the household debts are paid, you may keep.”
He makes you frown. 
“Why me?”
Marcus gets his arm out from under you and scoots up the mattress to look you in the eyes. 
“You’re everything I desire in a woman with your beauty and intellect, and you can sate my needs in bed—you’re perfect, and I want you all to myself. I do not wish to share you with anyone else.”
It’s in this moment you realize you’re the one in control here—you don’t need him, you’re self-sufficient, and there are many who’d eagerly take his place, but your looks are rare in your profession, and he needs his deal to be enticing enough for you to take it. 
“What if I decline your offer?” 
“Then I pray you’ll allow me to keep your company until I receive my next orders.” 
He seems to be a good, honorable man who wants to please you, and he had you tempted to accept on the merit of his skills in bed alone—there’s just something that won’t leave your mind. 
“Before I make my decision, answer this question: if you believe me to be so perfect, why were the others here?” 
He presses his large palm to your cheek. “It was in your power to deny me your company, and though the other women weren’t of my tastes, they were better than nothing.” 
You see no flaws in his answer. 
“I accept your offer on one condition.”
“And that is?”
You no longer find him intimidating, and you’re now comfortable brushing errant hairs off his forehead and sliding your fingers through the curls above his ears. 
Your eyes lock onto his. “You return home to me,” you tell him. “You fight with the might of Mars, and you always return home to me.” 
That earns you a small smile, and he takes your hand into his, kissing the center of your palm. 
“I will, my Dove.” 
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cherriegyuu · 8 months ago
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calendar | csc
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pairing: seungcheol x f!reader genre: smut word count: 3.1k summary: the red mark on the calendar is one of seungcheol's favorites warnings: minors do not interact, kissing, stimulation, swearing, petnames, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (don't do this), oral (f. receiving), breeding kink, cock sleeve (kinda), dirty talking playlist: ➝ here a/n: still a little (a lot) insecure about smut, but wanted to try writing this one. not proof read
please remember that comments and reblogs are extremely important
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seungcheol stopped in front of the calendar in the closet, a smile tugging at his lips. the red circle around the date, signaling an important event he always waited a little more anxiously for. 
not that having sex with his wife was something he couldn't do as often as he liked, far from that. if anything both of you were always eager to be with each other, even after so many years together. it had never gotten boring or dull at any moment. both of you always wanted to try new things and keep it interesting, mostly you. for seungcheol being buried deep inside you while you moaned his name was to closest thing he'd ever to heaven, if such a place even existed. 
he gave up on the shirt, knowing fully well what the sight of him in nothing but sweats did to you. pair it with his wet hair and it was enough to drive you crazy. the good thing about being with someone for so long is knowing exactly what ticks the other person off, and what buttons to press. well, it could be both a blessing and a curse. in that moment seungcheol chose to believe that it was solely a blessing. 
a small groan left his lips at the sight of you lying on your stomach, scrolling through your phone, in his shirt and black pair of panties — the one he bought you after there was a small accident with a few pieces of underwear. 
the thing about ticks and buttons is that it works both ways and, obviously, seungcheol wasn't the only one who could play that game. 
he crawled on top of you slowly and pushed your hair to the side so he could kiss the nape of your head. you sighed in contentment when you felt his weight on top of yours. 
"look," you said, raising your phone slightly "hannie sent me pictures of his daughter today"
seungcheol looked at the smiling face of his friend with a little girl in his arms. it had been many years since he had seen jeonghan look quite that happy. of course that suddenly finding out about a child and suddenly needing to be a full-time dad wasn't the easiest thing in the world but he was playing it like a breeze. you swiped your finger and a picture of the little girl in a bright yellow dress greeted him. seungcheol smiled. yeah, she was cute and looked every bit like jeonghan, acted too. a little menace, she was.
"what does he want? if he's sending pictures he wants something" he chuckled knowing his friend well. everything jeonghan did had a purpose.
seungcheol sat back on his heels and slowly started to massage your shoulders over the fabric of the shirt. 
"he asked if we can have gia tomorrow night, he has a work thing to go" you moaned lowly when seungcheol pressed on the not in your shoulder blade, "i said yes"
he laughed again. of course you had been quick to agree, it didn't surprise him. you had always loved kids and were always happily willing to have them for any amount of time needed. after you had gotten married it had gotten a little more frequent since most of your friends had decided to have kids at the same, and since jeonghan found out about his daughter it had gotten weekly. seungcheol never complained, he too loved kids and liked having them around, he especially loved the glint in your eyes whenever you looked at them running around the living room, breaking a thing or two.
"cheol" you said one day at the darkest hour of the night after rolling around in bed for hours, voice barely a whisper as you played with his hair "i... should we start trying?"
it was too late, his mind was barely working, almost drowning in sleep for him to understand what you were saying but in hindsight, he should have seen it coming.
"trying what?" he asked turning around and wrapping you in his arms, his leg nesting between yours.
"for a baby"
that was how the calendar ended up hanging on the closet wall. your ovulation period was marked in a bright red marker. 
"do you think it's really work or, maybe, a date?" you asked.
slowly seungcheol moved his hand lower, to the small of your back, pressing a little more tenderly where he knew you struggled with pain. he moved your, his, shirt up,  adding a little more pressure as your body fully relaxed under him.
"jeonghan wouldn't date now," he said "gia is still getting used to him and us, he wouldn't add someone else to the mix"
you turned around under him, eyes narrowed. when you raised your arm to rest it under your head your shirt lifted a little, exposing the skin right over the elastic of your underwear. it was pretty, yes, with lace details on the sides but that mattered very little. seungcheol was far more interested in what was hidden under it. 
"you're telling me that jeonghan hasn't fucked anyone since we got gia? a whole seven months ago"
seungcheol placed his hands on your waist, your skin warm under his touch. the corner of your lips tugged up at the expression in your husband's eyes. he was struggling to keep focus on the conversation both of you were heaving. jeonghan and gia were the least of his worries. 
"i care very little about who jeonghan fucks" he said, voice hoarse as he leaned forward at the same time he pushed your shirt further up "all i care about is putting a baby in my beautiful wife"
he pressed a kiss to your naked skin. he had imagined it many times, you pregnant with his kid, your belly around. it had been one of the many reasons why he had woken you up in the middle of the night and fucked you dumb. he had never said anything, choosing to let you decide when it was time. when you were ready to have a baby. seungcheol knew that it was going to change things for you a lot more than it would for him, it was also your body. 
if it were up to him, you'd have a least two kids running around the house. 
"you have some work to do then," you said, laughing. 
almost like a reflex, you tangled your fingers in his hair. you sighed as seungcheol started his exploratory kisses. some were light, like the touch of a feather, loving, in a worship manner. others were the exact opposite, harsher as he pulled your skin in between his teeth just for a second, to later soothe the spot with the tip of his tongue. he loved to leave tiny marks in your body, where no one else would be able to see them but him. but you knew they were there, it was a constant reminder of the night before and a reminder of what was still to come.
you spread your legs to better accommodate seungcheol as he pushed your shirt to your neck.  you felt a little electric tension run over your skin when you noticed his eyes on you, taking in your every expression. you smiled when he pressed his thumb over your hard nipple, pinching it.
seungcheol took your boob into his mouth, biting your nipple at the same time he pinched the other one. involuntarily your back arched, your grip on his hair tightening.
he loved the sounds you made, how it usually started so low and small but he always managed to work you up enough to get you begging under him, on top of him. either way, you'd end the night pleading for him, for his cock.
"do you think today is the day?" he asked, trailing his kisses again down your stomach to your panties "do you think i can pump you full enough to get you pregnant?"
you expected seungcheol to tug at the sides of your panties and pull them down but instead, he kissed you over them. he grinned when he saw the small wet spot in your underwear. 
"i barely started and you're already wet, baby?" he teased.
he ran his finger over your cunt still covered by the thin panties. your hips twitched under his touch, needing more than just light touches. but you weren't ready to give in to him yet. he was going to have to work harder if he wanted to hear you begging for more.
"not a word? playing hard to get tonight, i see" he pushed your underwear to the side, lightly blowing your clit. he had to contain the laugh that erupted in his chest "let's see how long it lasts"
you raised your hips as seungcheol used his index fingers to pull your panties down. you laughed when you saw the small piece of cloth being thrown over his shoulder. your laughter died as soon as you felt his warm, wet, tongue on your clit. he sucked the small bundle of never into his mouth at the same time he pushed two fingers into you. he was relentless, his pace devastating, not giving you a second to breathe.
the sounds, of his mouth on you as well as the wetness of your pussy, were obscene but they turned you on even further. you wanted, needed, more.
and the thing is, seungcheol was the giving kind of partner. whatever you wanted was yours, but you had to say it, loud and clear. for him.
"come one baby, just ask" he blew your clit again, this time using the tip of his thumb to lightly brush it "use your pretty little mouth and beg for me"
a curse left your lips when his fingers stopped moving and he pulled away from you. your orgasm that was right there, around the corner, suddenly gone, leaving only your throbbing cunt and ragged breathing as a witness. 
you tried to grab his hand and push his fingers back but the was being a little shit, holding it behind his back.
"fuck, seungcheol," you said, partially annoyed, and desperately turned on "just eat me out, fuck me with your fingers. whatever you do just make me cum"
"your wish, wife, is always my command"
seungcheol wasted no second. his lips were around your clit and a third finger was added into to slit. it only took a few pumps for you to come undone under him. a mess of moans and curses. unsure of when exactly you had let go,  your hand gripped his hair again, forcing his head closer to you, grinding his face against you, desperate for everything he had.
seungcheol used the edge of the mattress to apply some pressure on his throbbing cock. he was so hard it was painful so whatever friction he could get was welcomed. 
every single one of your moans were met a stroke of his tongue and a pump of his fingers. it was torture, the most delicious and vicious kind of torture.
seungcheol only leaned back when he felt the shake in your legs subside, crawling back you. he pressed his thumb in your mouth, smiling when you opened and sucked him in. you were the most beautiful thing in the world, with your cheeks painted in a bright shade of pink, and two tear stains on the sides of your eyes. god, he loved you. 
you could taste your own release in his finger when you circled his finger with your tongue. you grazed his skin with your teeth looking into his eyes. seungcheol hissed, wishing that it was his cock in your mouth.
"i know you would love it if i sucked you," you said "but i really need you to fuck me, right now, please"
you were going to be the death of him.
you pulled your shirt over your head and turned around, sticking your ass up while your chest was pressed against the pillow.
for a second seungcheol felt like a teenager who just found out he was about to fuck the hottest girl he had ever laid eyes on. he was quick to push his sweats off. he hadn't bothered with boxers, knowing exactly where the night would lead the two of you.
"i'm going to fill you up so good baby" he squeezed your ass and second later slapped it "so so deep there's no way you won't get pregnant tonight"
he ran his tip over your pussy a few times, coating himself in you. he knew that he could slide in without doing it but he also liked torturing you. your moans got a little more desperate every time rubbed against your clit.
whenever he took you bare the sensation was entirely new and different. yes, there were a few instances when both of you were in too much of a hurry, or sometimes it just didn't matter enough, to care or remember to take a condom, but ultimately both of you had always been careful. you took your pills, he carried a condom and life moved on. but even after months of no condom, no barrier at all between the two of you, seungcheol still felt his head get a little dizzy. 
your walls adjusted perfectly to him, clinging around him, pulling him, demanding every single inch of him. he slowly pushed in until all he was deep into you, to the hilt.
you moaned against the soft fabric of the sheets, loving the burning sensation of the stretch. you pushed your ass high in the hair, wiggling it from side to side begging him to just move. the stretch of his dick deliciously painful still.
"cheol, move" you begged.
"this what you want?" he asked 
seungcheol pushed your head further into the mattress, his hand on the back of your head, thighing your hair around his fist. finally he started to move, he pulled his cock all the way out and pressed it back in, hitting that one spot that made your head spin and little stars shine behind your closed eyes, over and over again. you squirmed when seungcheol pressed his weight over your body, moaning as he somehow got even deeper.
you moved your hand down your body, slowly circling your with the tip of your nail.
"cheol, fuck" you bit the pillow "faster, please, just fuck me"
he loved the neediness in your voice, how you completely forfeit with your no-begging police. the smell of your sweet vanilla soap disappeared now that your skin was coated in a thin layer of sweat. 
seungcheol didn't change his rhythm, knowing that it was enough to drive you crazy and over the edge.
"are you touching yourself, baby?" he pulled on your hair, giving you a taste of your medicine. his dick throbbed when he saw the smile on your face "fuck"
he reached forward, slapping your hand away from your cunt. you cursed at him but the nasty words were quickly replaced with a moan when he pinched your clit, tugging and pressing, driving you fucking crazy on his dick. even so, his pace was slow.
"cum for me, baby" he whispered. 
"let me ride you" you begged "i want to look at you when you breed me"
your words had always been the ruin of him. he almost came right there. he turned you around and sat on the bed, grinning when you cried when his dick left your pussy.
"i know, baby, but you were the one that wanted to ride me"
a small fuck you left your lips as you crawled on top of him. seungcheol moaned when you gripped him, your hand sliding up and down his length while you grazed his tip with your nail lightly. you aligned him to you and sank down in one swift movement, making both of you moan.
seungcheol was wrong, being balls deep into you wasn't paradise. no. paradise was being balls deep in your cunt while you rode him, tits bouncing in in his face, while you moaned his name again and again like a prayer, taking what you wanted from him. he cupped your breasts in his hands. your hands covered his, forcing your nipples between his fingers and squeezing. 
"fuck. cheol" you said, eyes on his as you circled your hips before thrusting down on him again "i'm gonna cum. i need to"
your walls squeezed around him. seungcheol moaned as he held you by the hips holding you in place, while the pounded into you, finally, finally fucking you as fast and as hard as you wanted. he fucked you roughly, watching as his cock disappeared in your cunt, each thrust deeper than the previous one. seungcheol felt the muscles of his thighs and stomach squeeze at the same time you clenched around him, milking him.
he pressed his thumb to your clit and the scream you let out was enough to drive both of you to the edge. you let your body fall forward, and you bit that spot between his shoulder and neck. seungcheol continued to pound into you, fucking his cum as deep as he could, pushing it further into you making sure not even a drop was wasted. 
it took both of you a couple of minutes to settle down, evening out your breathing, and making sure your legs were no longer shaking.
"seungcheol" you cried, finally looking at his face, kissing him, letting him invade your mouth with his tongue "i'm so full. it's so deep"
he could never, ever, get enough of you.
“don’t move baby, let’s make sure this one sticks”
you kissed the side of his neck, feeling his hot cum inside you while his dick slowly got flaccid. you loved to have him in you, just there, with you, as close as humanly possible, with nothing between the two of you. his personal cock sleeve, he had called you a few times.
“you say it like fucking me is a terrible task someone assigned you”
you felt the vibrations of his laughter before you heard it. you just closed your eyes and pressed your head to his chest, the sound of his heartbeats calming like a lullaby.
“fucking you is the one task i’ll never ask someone else to do in my place”
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jessamine-rose · 11 months ago
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NSISNAKSBAJWI THIS WAS AMAZING (´༎ຶོρ༎ຶོ`)
To all Dottore stans, I highly recommend this fic. Srsly, you’re missing out if you don’t!!
𝗖𝗹𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗶𝗰𝗮𝗹 𝗖𝗼𝗻𝗱𝗶𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴 [Yandere!Dottore/Reader]
a/n: this fic is 100% dedicated to @leftdestiny-posts and they would know just how much they had inspired me in this fic once they finished reading it HAHAHAHAH. P.S.: the classical songs mentioned are actual songs. Yes, the title is half a joke. Here's the spotify playlist if you're curious.
Unreliable Synopsis: You cannot remember your past, but your doctor has been with you every step of the way— and he's more than willing to spend some time with you outside the hospital. Still... did you always have pure white hair?
CW: yandere themes, light body horror, manipulation, its dottore, c'mon LOL.
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Concert II "Tristezza Di Fine Anno", performed by the Morespoke Philharmonic with their conductor, Lady Columbina, began nearly an hour ago. And you had the fortune of hearing their songs for yourself.
The well-dressed crowd filled the seats, behaving in what was appropriate for their high station. It was fully booked. The music overwhelmingly masked anyone's breaths, if they had one to start with. Her program can be felt deep in the audience's bones. Rattling them in each sforzando before it lulls down through the sound of her handpicked musicians— with Lady Columbina as the lonesome soloist when the moment calls for it.
"This piece, Symphony No. 5 in C-Sharp Minor, is not Columbina's own making, she had failed to mention that," your company hummed. "This was by another composer who hid behind the name Safed. They were a self-fulling prophecy. Do you wish to know what they said about this piece?"
You said nothing as Zandik— Lord Dottore— stroked your unnaturally "white" hair.
"They said that nobody understood the piece and that they wish they could conduct the first performance five centuries after their death."
Zandik smiled.
"What say you? Do you think those words are true?"
Your company was a tall and thin man with artificially pale-ish skin and wavy blue hair. His eyes were reportedly bloodshot crimson, although you had not received proof of that in this lifetime. But, you were drawn to his deep ocean-like colors, and that was enough to keep you mildly complacent to his strange remarks.
Zandik is surprisingly a considerate man, but he must've brought you with him for a reason. He told you himself that the reason he brought you out of your prison-like hospital room was a mere experiment on his behalf. Paradigm-shifting consequences of his strange social experiments with you are likely to occur, and he cares not for its ethical debates. He won't ask for rhetorics; these to him are tangible outcomes and no questions will be entertained.
All except his.
"I think… "
The composition had a serene, slightly asymmetrical feel to it. You were certain this was Lady Columbina's creative liberties at play. Something about it did not capture its true authenticities. The show purported to narrate three stories: the first concerned a judge who had to find a loved one guilty; the second concerned a prince who drove their beloved into despair; and the final was a tale of a knight who disregarded his obligation to defend a loved one.
But it felt incomplete. As if there was a missing piece— a secret fourth act hiding between the notes and stage.
"A person can't completely mourn for something they would never experience," you told him. "But even so, if I were Safed, I'd feel like my effort would've been a waste."
His eyes remained trained on your hair as you spoke. Zandik seems to dislike it. Unlike his cells mixed with engineered nanomaterials, yours are uniquely… "natural". His hair has a color intensity, whereas yours was the presence of every color— as physics explained it.
"Something they would never experience…" Zandik repeated, tasting the words on his tongue— a smirk etched on his face as though it tasted like bitter irony.
You continued.
"I have a hunch that Safed put everything they worked hard on all their pieces because Lady Columbina wouldn't have performed it otherwise. Since all the songs on the concert's program are marketed as underappreciated compositions, I would… um… infer that they also questioned their works and ultimately themselves if it all had worth in the end. Hopeless for the lack of attention, they probably thought there's more hope if they lived in another generation."
You wanted to say, though you're not sure where this negativity came from, that they probably despised how their well-crafted works were ignored and their sloppy yet significantly more popular compositions angered them.
But you're not Safed. You don't want to put words in their mouth.
".... Hmm, an acceptable hypothesis— a decent one, even," whatever monotonous response Zandik wished to convey, his voice betrayed his grand satisfaction. "Yet I won't give you any confirmation."
"I know."
Zandik laughed.
"The next piece is Norn's Adagio for Strings Op. 11, before the closing Symphony No. 6, better known as Pathétique Symphony, in B Minor Op. 74."
You tilted your head innocently. "Pathetic?"
"Another piece by Safed. It's a Fontaine-translated title. It's originally named pateticheskaya, which meant passionate or emotional, not at all pitiable."
He crossed his arms, insulted as though he was the one who came up with the original title.
"Roughly half a millennium past, the masses attributed Safed's demise to the strains of their final composition, the so-called Pathétique, a mere nine days preceding their exit from this mortal coil. The prevailing narrative spouts a tale of a tragic surrender to the clutches of undiagnosed clinical depression. I find such simplicity in analysis rather pedestrian, wouldn't you agree?"
You took a while to process his inquiry before hesitantly nodding.
"I… I think so."
Zandik smiled.
It's hard to tell if it's genuine, especially when such a protruding mask hides his eyes. Should its existence vanish, you aren't certain you'd see a soul within his pupils either.
"Safed hated this piece, believing it should be cast aside and forgotten. They were living in the woodlands when they wrote it— and when they decided to live with their benefactor, it was suddenly difficult to tear them away from their work."
You nodded to cue that you were still listening.
"They have an incredibly deep connection with their works. One might say they see in tunes rather than color."
You nodded again.
"Your inclination towards a perpetual affirmation of propositions, presumably to veil any potential lacunae in your cognitive purview, does not escape me. It is, if I may be so bold, your agreement that conceals your specter of unfamiliarity, right?"
You rarely understand a word he says when he is in this passionate state. You just nod as if you knew.
"Adorable," Zandik chuckled.
His voice was chillingly low yet… comforting. 
"Your sincerity constitutes an enchanting facet of your comportment."
He had to be teasing you.
"Although…" Zandik grabbed a few locks of your hair as though it was slimy and unpleasant— quickly retracting them with a disapproving tilt. "You could stand to utilize more (h/c) hair dyes. How is it conceivable that it has returned to white yet again?"
You opened your mouth but Zandik raised a finger.
"No. I am the scholar here. Do not answer."
You giggled. "Understood, Doctor."
He grinned, inadvertently showing off his pointed canines.
"What a good test subject you are, my dear (Y/n)."
Whether good was a subjective or objective assessment or not was up to interpretation.
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The mid-concert intermission began, allowing Lady Columbina's pressured musicians a 20-minute sigh of relief. Zandik ushered you to the back where the Lady Harbinger reposed on a white sofa, her cheek brushing a visibly soft and cloud-like pillow. The bright backstage lighting made her seem ethereal.
She looked like heaven, but Zandik would argue that "(Y/n)" is the true epitome of the word.
"Greetings. As expected, you'd initiate conversation at the earliest convenience." She cooed. "You look younger today, Doctor."
"You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment, Columbina." Zandik scoffed. "How many times will we rehearse this canned script until it is a learned lesson?"
"Perhaps it shall end on the day you refrain yourself from recreating… perspectives."
"Since my encounter with the Dendro Archon, I have not revisited that notion."
Columbina's gentle smile dropped coldly. "You know that your segments are not what I am referring to."
You looked back and forth between the two. Each of them was a distinctively unique person and it's a challenge to take your eyes away from the other.
Hence, when you felt Lady Columbina's eyes on you, you shook and straightened yourself before bowing stiffly.
"G-Greetings, Lady Columbina!!!"
Her gentle smile resurfaced.
"Greetings to you as well, dear Safed."
You blinked.
Dottore clicked his tongue, and Columbina laughed softly.
"Apologies, I meant to say (Y/n)— that is the name you go by in this era of humanity, right?"
You'd rightfully claim that between the three of you, you were the most human. Zandik has his clones, Columbina's origins are of strict secrecy, and you are a mere amnesiac patient. But the way she addressed you was sounding awful like stripping you away with that sense of humane identity.
"Yes? I guess?"
Columbina delightedly buzzed in your reply. "(Y/n)— truly a lovely name. That must mean that you're very healthy! It warms my heart to hear that name again. The other ones had terribly dull names, but if the Doctor had given you this title, then it must mean his research is finally drawing to a close."
Her remarks made little sense. You know little about yourself and trust only the Doctor's judgment. Should you trust her words, then it must mean (Y/n) isn't your real name…
But… that doesn't seem right either. 
"Not quite, the name deserves no celebration," Dottore replied happily. "I merely ran out of translations. Bianco, Wit, Bái— what else is there? Ancient Natlan?"
"Scientists truly make for terrible poets— Why not try Inazuman?" Columbina offered.
Those words must have had a heavy weight to them because Zandik pondered for much longer than expected.
"Hmm. I'll keep that in mind," Zandik muttered. "Although it is preferable it does not have to reach that point."
"May I ask why did you bring them here?" Columbina asked.
"It's a bit of an unconventional experiment, but I've been exploring how to elicit positive associations with certain stimuli. Exposing them to music as I accompany them should cause them to associate the emotional response it elicits with being around me." Dottore hummed. "It would be asinine to put them in a chaotic yet controlled environment such as a theme park. While a racing heart may be effective, I shouldn't risk a (Y/n)'s well-being by subjecting them to roller coasters."
"Are you sure you're not the scared one?" You asked cheekily. Zandik rolled his eyes.
She shook her head.
"What a roundabout way of saying you're taking them out on a concert date…"
Columbina looked at you once more.
"Oh, but (Y/n), you appear unwell, my dear…" she pointed at stage left. "Why don't you fix yourself up in the nearest restroom?"
Dottore raised an eyebrow, which made you want to decline Columbina.
"I'm r-really okay, Lady Colum—"
"I insist."
Columbina smiled wider. Her laced mask cast a gloomy shade on her visage.
You had no other choice.
"O… Okay."
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The halls that led to the restroom were mostly empty. Perhaps it was due to Lady Columbina's performance that made them patiently await the next song.
But there was one young man you encountered along the way. He had blonde half-way braided hair and purple-ish eyes. You paid him no mind as he circled a small rectangular paper, likely the concert's ticket, between his fingers. However, within a second, that paper vanished.
You stopped in your tracks and looked at him curiously, wondering if your eyes played tricks. He laughed, noting your attention.
"Ah! Sorry," he cheerfully gestured a small wave. "Didn't mean to practice in public."
The blonde man approached you with a smile.
"You're #9805, right?"
Immediately, you both got on the wrong foot.
Your nose scrunched, "I prefer (Y/n)."
The man flinched. "Oh, yikes! I'm not making the best first impression— nice to meet you (Y/n)! I have something for you."
You thought he was handing you his concert ticket for a moment but when you took a good look, it was a grayscale brochure.
And a white tulip…
"Um…"
"Needless to say, I'm something of a—"
"Trickster?"
"Magician, but an astute guess nonetheless!" He laughed sheepishly. "I was waiting for you, I thought you wouldn't go to the restroom."
So, did Lady Columbina plan this?
You caressed the binding and skimmed through the pages. "What's this for?"
"Father said you might be interested in its contents," the young man said. "That's all."
You blinked.
"... Are you saying you missed out most of the concert just to hand me this?"
He laughed awkwardly again. "My dear sister says I have a habit of missing a hint of romanticism when it counts, so I guess today's just one of those moments."
"Did you not like the music?" You scoffed, temper rising.
"Did you hate the composition? Did you not understand the e-emotion behind the chords? Don't you understand just how d-disrespectful that was?!"
"Woah, woah, I didn't say any of that." His eyes widened.
He didn't expect your voice to crack.
"I'm so sorry if you're offended— are you one of the original composers?"
You took a deep breath.
… Why were you mad?
… Why did it feel like those songs mean more to you than meets the eye?
"Sorry, I just…" You shook your head. "I guess I'm not feeling well. Oh, no, I'm so SO sorry…"
An unknown part of you thrived to hear him praise the music. That same part pitied the composer who worked day and night to perfect their piece. It's an ugly voice, but it was sincere.
… What was wrong with you? Why did you suddenly lash out? What was going on?
"Oh, well there's no need to be sorry then." The blonde man took his hat off and bowed.
"Farewell, Mx. (Y/n)!" He grinned. "The greatest magician in all Teyvat will take his leave. Thank you for your time!"
With the sway of his dark cape, he disappeared.
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You entered the restroom to wash your face. It didn't do much to soothe your nerves. The lingering dread for your strange emotional mood swing remained.
To distract yourself, you read through the article.
The Enigmatic Legacy of Composer Safed
In the annals of musical history, few figures emerge as enigmatic and hauntingly captivating as the orchestral composer, Safed. Born five centuries ago amidst the ancient woodlands of Sumeru, this ethereal musician seemingly materialized from Vanarama with no familial relations.
Huh… So it's about the one who wrote the previous compositions earlier.
No wonder that blonde man asked if you were one of the composers. He was being a smartass.
A Fiery Finale: The Pathétique Symphony
Legend has it that in their final act of emotional expression, Safed penned the "Pathétique Symphony," a composition so emotionally charged that, overwhelmed with disdain for their creation, they purportedly set ablaze their woodland home. Seeking solace and escape, Safed accepted the benevolent offer of a city-dwelling benefactor.
Safed… burned down their house?
No…
No, that's not how you remembered that.
No.
No. No. No. No. No.
That's not what happened. "Safed" didn't burn their house down.
Suddenly, you stilled. Your thoughts ran wild, but your inner rationale tried to force them to a halt. This peak in anxiety did not make sense.
… Why would an amnesiac like you know what happened?
A Swansong: Il Dottore's Beneficence
Their benefactor, now celebrated as our Lord Harbinger, Il Dottore, welcomed Safed into the city's heart. It was here that the truth unfolded: Safed had been grappling with hearing loss for years, an affliction that fueled their artistic brilliance yet cloaked them in a muffled world. They were unaware of their disability, yet thrived in their field.
Wait…
Before you began to read the final paragraph in Safed's brochure, you hurriedly went back to Dottore and the composer's vintage photographed portraits.
After seeing their face, you dropped the brochure in the restroom's sink.
You saw their face.
You saw YOUR face and Zandik's.
But not quite. That was you, but at the same time, it wasn't. Zandik looked stiff in those photos with "you", likely a product of the time since Kamera photography was used only in rare formalities that required a bit of dress up. But the "you" you saw was sickly way beyond the formal costumes. They had (e/c) eyes and (h/c) hair, but yours were all white. 
White…
Safed… That's the Sumeru translation for white, isn't it?
Bianco, Wit, Bái— they're all translations for "white", aren't they? And if Dottore and Columbina's earlier conversations were to go by, the one after you would be named Shiro.
The one… after you?
"Tut tut."
You trembled at the familiar sound.
You slowly turned your head around and there he was, leaning against the restroom door.
"You were in the restroom for too long. It appears my suspicions were not unfounded."
Without waiting for a response, he approached with large strides. His gloved hands seized your stressed shoulders. The grip tightened harshly as he forced you to meet his intense gaze. Blood trailed from the corner of your mouth, and your anxiety heightened. He angrily bared his sharp teeth as he watched it stain his gloves.
And yet Zandik looks…
Sad.
And distressed.
He pressed his earpiece.
"Test Subject #9805 exhibits troubling symptoms. Hematemesis suggests a severe physiological response. Persistent manifestations of albinism in ocular and follicular pigmentation indicate underlying deformities. Immediate isolation is warranted for the researcher and subject's well-being."
His hand was cold. Skin imbued with silver nanomaterials after several operations, reminiscent of the age-old philosophical question: "Is it still the same ship if you gradually replace all of its parts?" 
Then Zandik did something unexpected.
He dropped his hold and you prepared yourself by shutting your eyes as he swung his arm.
To hug you.
"I'm sorry, I have failed you again, (Y/n)," Zandik muttered. "I should not have raised my expectations."
"W… What? Why are you putting me in isolation?" You asked, rattled. "What have I done?! I just— I didn't do anything wrong! What did I—"
He shifted, dragging your arm to hug him back as though you were a little girl's doll. Zandik rested his head on your shoulder, shaking slightly.
"In your innocence, no fault lies. I thought I had accomplished what I had set out to do, and met unfulfilled expectations" Zandik gritted his teeth, voice somber. "Despite centuries of refinement, it appears that I still have room for improvement in perfecting the process… I was right. This deserves no celebration."
The doctor laughed sadly.
"When will I ever be proven wrong?" He asked himself as he wiped the blood off the corner of your lips.
He pulled away, pecking your forehead.
"I'm sorry."
Those were not the words you expected from his mouth, and yet you heard it more than once. I'm sorry. It does not fit his character, nor does the tender yet cold hug he had given prior.
You're scared. You're terrified. You know what was bound to come. You know what awaits you. White walls. Silence. Separation.
Solitary.
Far from a choice. Far from negotiable.
There's no amnesty.
And yet, the words flowed from you naturally.
"... I forgive you."
You have no idea why you said what you said. There's no certainty that you believed your own words. Zandik's lip twitched downward.
"You should not," Zandik croaked. "Why? Why must you always forgive and accept my selfishness? Do you derive satisfaction in seeing me in this state?!"
You opened your mouth to answer but were stopped abruptly as he grabbed your hair.
Zandik had always favored you compared to other patients. You know this very well. He's an evil man and the list of actions he had done that had harmed you in the name of science is at least two pages long upon your awakening. Yet, you were sure he liked you enough for he told you of his new exciting experiments. He scolded you when you left his research institute for fresh air. And he would hold your hand whenever you dreaded those thick injections.
You just didn't know he had it in him to fold from his intimidating facade just to kiss you like a desperate man. 
Breathless under his control, he softly pressed his lips against yours. His lips were chapped and cold, and he took you in gently as though he'd break you. Zandik, as strange as it was, still seemed to prioritize your comfort over his needs. Normally, this tension would've made him so short-tempered. But this will be your last interaction. The doctor tasted your blood in his mouth, and he was nauseous at the thought of hurting you more. But he stopped. Even though he wishes to force all his pent-up desires onto you. Even though he wanted to love you thoroughly that you'd forget your name again.
Zandik whimpered quietly as he pulled away— sounding like a dog that would not sleep that night. What was left in between was a thin disappearing line of saliva and blood that quickly broke off.
The doctor should be happy he finally got to have a proper date with you after 9805 failed attempts. 
But he's not content.
He was about to lean in for the second time but stopped himself. Selfish. To think he nearly saw you two finally walking down the aisle. Why was he always so selfish when it came to you? But those rhetorics mattered not in your head.
You were silenced. You were held.
You were loved.
"No." Zandik breathed in, laughing humorlessly. "No— I am the scholar here. Don't answer."
And you will be disposed of.
"Take them away." He spoke to his men calmly. They had entered long enough to witness what he had done. The men did not hesitate to grab you, thinking Dottore thought you no more than a mere toy.
But calm was deceptive. It does not convey the distress that chokes him.
Maybe…
Maybe in the 9806's trial… he'll have you as he always wanted.
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The Fatuus that escorted you in was gentle. A silent guide. The expression on her face was clear that she wanted to extend her apologies as well but mustn't.
You already have a white tulip in hand.
Arlecchino already sended her regards in advance.
When she opened the door by tapping a card against the lock, she bowed her head. You let yourself enter without a fight. The room was pure white with the rest of the furniture matching the drapes. But Dottore didn't just provide the necessities. There were books, sketch pads, and other recreational materials.
As you were about to approach the center, something was off on both sides.
You looked to your left.
Two clear mirrors divided your room from the others. There's a sign on the left wall. Code #4135.
You stood, shocked, grieving at the sight of your predecessor. They were a mirror of you but with a different name— and an even worse state.
One had made a slight sound coming off their skin— rotting slightly. There's a tube connected to their mouth and you could see yourself— you could see them dripping. They had your face. Their hair and eyes were white. The nose was gone, leaving a gaping hole. Their neck was cricked back at an unnatural angle. You don't know if they're still breathing. They're still bleeding. They must've bitten off their tongue.
There's a lone white blanket that covers the rest of them.
You think they might be dead.
You think "you" might've died more than once.
THUD!
You jolted at the sound coming from the wall behind you. Upon seeing their body, you froze.
Code #032.
They were but a head. You wish you could only focus on that aspect, but you looked lower and your hair raised. They cannot feel the same, for they were almost only a spine left. The rest of them were their skeletal frame, guided by thin lines one can barely call flesh.
Their head banged against the mirror. The thought that the sound was what made you flinch earlier made you unwell.
They seem to be telling you something. Their breath fogged up the glass and their thinned white hair splayed across your view. Their mouth said something urgently you couldn't comprehend because their tongue was paper-like in size.
#032 was shaking. Their pain grew vivid in every movement that the room was starting to spin. You sensed their turmoil.
They looked like death.
You all looked like death itself, both the pretty and ugly ends of it.
"Don't." You whispered, begging as you knelt to their level. "You don't have to speak."
You laughed deprecatingly.
"We're not the scholar here. He is."
In every syllable, you saw the outline of their esophagus strain. The nerves were blueish purple. The little skin they have left on their cheeks is sunken. Their lips were gnawed, likely as a response to the pain they'd gone through previously. Fists of bone tapped against the glass, and you quivered, imagining their pain.
You were not afraid of them. You only mourned their anguish. In fact, you feel at ease to be in the presence of yourself from the past.
It reminded you of what "Safed" had allegedly spoken years ago.
Nobody understood the pieces you made and you wished you could conduct the first performance five centuries after your first death.
And now, here you are.
Seeing two "people" who do understand you.
And they share your face.
"Pathetically", the only one that can understand you is yourself.
You're all flies trapped in a web that the predator refuses to wrap and consume out of pity. Compared to the others, you looked fine.
But your lungs were blistering.
Despite their deathly ill and mutilated bodies, you were the one bound to die soon enough.
His experiments worked.
You love him.
You love Zandik.
And how tragic it was that the person who learned how to love him was doomed to perish.
In your last minutes, you recalled something vital:
As an outsider, your body was not meant for this world, but after encountering the woodland creatures and Zandik, it became tremendously difficult to part ways with it.
You coughed up yet again with a gentle smile on your face. Maybe you're not dying…
Maybe you're just returning home, for every atom in your multiple bodies was once part of the galaxy.
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You are (Y/n) (L/n).
And you were not from Teyvat.
Much like the rest of the descenders, you have a quirk about you that sets you apart from the norm. For the travelers the world reveres today, it was their distinct determination and questionable age that was remarkable. Yours slightly titters to an inhuman level.
You can "clone" yourself.
Zandik and the "original" you wouldn't phrase it in that manner, but it's the easiest way to describe your talents.
"So, it is cloning." Zandik paused. "Mind letting me in on the science behind the process?"
He was an ordinary student when you both met. Far from a doctor, but at least he was a registered scholar in the Akademiya. Zandik didn't have an eloquent tongue as he does in the present, yet his curiosity burned all the same.
Which is why, back then, you thought his questions were cute.
Not dangerous.
"It's not that I can make copies of myself without consequences," you humored with a grin. "I'm just making… fragments of myself. Segments, if you prefer to call it that. It's a common ability for the people back in my world. None of us do it excessively— especially since we're kind of an invasive species." 
Zandik raised an eyebrow, "is that a commendable trait?"
"My kind says so. Whether good is a subjective or objective assessment or not is up to interpretation." You answered noncommittedly. "I don't think that's right. Our soul splits apart until we're just… empty. We lose some memories in the process."
"But functioning?"
"In a sense, yeah, but we lose a part of ourselves like memories and well, hair color, I guess." You nodded. "Why are you so curious?"
"Since you have rejected my confession, I want to try my hand at seducing a copy of yours instead," Zandik said. You couldn't tell whether he was joking with his naturally piercing red eyes. "Until then, you are not allowed to asexually reproduce without my authorization. Understood?"
You laughed. Unaware of his arsonist crimes, you willingly indulged his words.
"I owe you my ears, so it's only right that I'll listen to your commands, Zandik."
"Good." Zandik grinned, shark-like.
"What a good test subject you are, (Y/n)."
Centuries later, that closing sentence will continue to remain true.
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Since then, his life has changed. Multiplied, even. Upon studying your genetic makeup, he found ways to duplicate himself as well. Despite his feats in science, Zandik remained unhappy.
Deep down, all the Harbingers pity the Doctor who cannot save his most loved one. That includes both Columbina and Arlecchino.
No one protests even when harmful orders are given; everything appears fine until the symptoms are felt. Because the organism— the astral descender— has no nerves or voice, he continues to assume that the patient is not in pain.
The patient needs peace but because they are not to speak, they remain silent, and the need persists.
The patient wants to eat and breathe fresh air, but because such desires might hurt the feelings of the doctor who thinks he has done everything needed, the patient remains quiet, contemplating desires out of fear of reprimand.
The original (Y/n) (L/n) suffers in silence. In a white room only accessible by a man who continues to nurse his unrequited love: Zandik.
No one else can enter this room.
He won't allow it. Only he can be obsessed with you.
The thought of you haunts him like a smiling reflection upon window panes— like a gift of a Trojan horse with nothing but your echoing laughter and hospital monitor beeps inside. Your thin limbs were marching clock hands with rusted gears that miraculously function till the end of time.
What is immortality for if every day was a death loop?
It is such a lonely concept…
You ought to be thankful that he's willing to be your eternal company.
"I endeavored to elicit a reciprocation of my sentiments from the latest subject. Regrettably, their discovery of my antecedent experiments transpired prematurely. Nevertheless, as asserted several times, it remains but a temporal inevitability until an iteration of yourself succumbs to having an interest towards me." Dottore hummed.
He held your feet.
He held Test Subject #01's feet.
If you spoke up, he would've bragged about how he was right. How people do love your songs. But no one knows if you can't or won't answer him. This one-sided conversation is the punishment for his hubris.
He took out a sharp knife and cut off one of your toes. You no longer feel any pain as you bleed into his hands. What a kind man the doctor is, for he blocked all your pain receptors years ago. It's a good thing you regenerate quickly.
That's what he loved and hated about you.
You only gave and gave.
But you never ran out of soul. You never ran your heart fully dry— and that left you ill. Zandik could never let you go.
You're already a part of him.
Hence, he must not make clones of exaggerated memories. He wanted your perfect yet healthy replica.
Praise be the white corpuscles extracted from your veins which had brought him new life. You were the reason for his research. You were the breath that gave his segments life. You were his muse, much like he was yours.
"Fear not, (Y/n)," he reassured with a measured tone. "Upon my mastery of the arts, I intend to reinstate your autonomy and awareness. Perhaps then, you shall find the organic inclination to reciprocate affection toward me by the 9806's trial. Until then…"
In other words, give him more time and he'll reinvent love.
He leaned his forehead against yours.
"I'm so, so sorry."
And ultimately, he'll reinvent YOU.
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"Can I have another piece of your scalp?"
"No."
"Do you not understand the weight of this research or must I expound on it further in another three-hour presentation?"
"Alternatively, you could start by saying that you're sorry," you raised an eyebrow. "I'm still not over the fact you randomly cut a piece of my ear when I was asleep, doctor. You know, I heard from the aranaras that white tulips are given to someone when they ask for forgiveness."
Zandik smirked.
"Regrettably, it seems that such an occurrence is unlikely to transpire. Do not expect such words and gifts from me."
You smiled.
"We'll see, we'll see."
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Taglist (pls notify if you wish to be on the taglist for the last two): @average-yandere-enjoyer @pix-stuff @sagekun @vennnnn-diagram @dilucragnidvr @tnsophiaonly @lsleepysimpl
#NOW ONTO MY COMMENTS#first of all. i loved the use of opera and a musically-inclined reader. very aesthetic not to mention interesting on a psychological level#once we learn the purpose of their date#i love dottore and 9805’s dynamic#you know you’ve made progress when dottore is performing social experiments on you xD#the three stories……a reference to ansy’s other fics mayhaps??!! >:0#i like the mention of color white as the presence of every color#and once again. i MUST commend your grasp on dottore’s dialogue!! i had to reread some parts and consult my dictionary app which is always a#good sign when it’s dottore lol#ansy pls share your wisdom!! i will eagerly reread this fic for tips the next time i re-familiarize myself with dottore’s speech patterns#srsly it’s so good#i also love columbina and arlecchino’s interference. not to mention lyney!’#as soon as i saw the number 9805#i was like ‘shet that many iterations??!!’ welp who is dottore if not a dedicated man#omg ​i already figured out that 9805 was connected to Safed but SHIRO??!! HOLD UP IS THIS ACTUALLY PART OF SHIRO’S LORE??!!#if it does sjdisnwksjsjs thank you for the lore crumbs#dottore’s distress is a treat to witness hahaha#i also love the reference to the ship of theseus!!#god the horror of 9805 meeting their previous iterations + Dottore’s conversation with safed…….i love it. so terrifying and heartbreaking#ANSY STOP MAKING ME CRY WITH THESE FLASHBACKS >:’3#i almost feel sorry for dottore#ohhh zandik quoted safed!!#i love how you connected safed’s lore to dottore’s segments. you know exactly when to sprinkle this info >:0#so many lines slap but what rlly got me was ‘In other words give him more time and he'll reinvent love.’#it’s truly interesting to see dottore experiment with both the physical body and the psyche#neisdnsksjsbsjssisj#this was truly a blessing to read#ANSY YOU’RE INCREDIBLE >:’0#reblog#dottore x reader
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ja3yun · 6 months ago
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To, Future You | S.JY
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sim jaeyun x fem!reader warnings: fluff, smut (mdni), unprotected sex, oral (f. rec), fingering, spitting, body worshipping, whimpering and whiney jake, mutual pining, confessions, mentions of alcohol, anti-men in some parts, not proof-read anything else lmk! wc: 16.1k synopsis: in your fourth year of secondary school, your home room teacher made you write a 'to future you' letter to someone in your class. while you had no idea who to write it to, sim jaeyun knew exactly who would receive his letter. he just never expected it to actually come through 10 years later. a/n: hi! so this was something that has been sitting in the back of my mind for a while. i saw a tiktok that was someone writing a confession letter and ten years later receiving it so that is the inspo (pls if anyone knows it please send me the link so i can tag it!) i hope you enjoy this, after i post this i am taking a little break and stepping back so i can focus on my heeseung series! there might be some random fics here and there but i wont be posting as much (sorry!) as always, feedback, likes, reblogs, and comments are all welcome <3 ilysm
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Your phone vibrates on your cluttered office desk, a blessed interruption from the mundane chore of sifting through emails. With a sigh, you pick it up, expecting yet another spam message or discount offer. However, as you enter your pin and swipe down the notification, your curiosity piques, and your posture straightens instinctively, uncrossing your legs and firmly planting both feet on the ground.
The screen displays the sender as 'To Future You'. Memories flood back from a decade ago when your teacher, Mr. Yang, initiated a unique project in your fourth year of secondary school. Instead of the typical 'what I think will happen in 10 years' pitch, Mr. Yang offered a more intriguing idea that got the students on board.
Your class was tasked with writing letters to someone else in the class, detailing how you perceived them then and what you believed they would become in the future. Mr. Yang's intention was to leave everyone with a lasting memory, knowing that some would stay for fifth and sixth years, while others would move on to college or the workforce.
He didn’t pair you all up, leaving you to your own devices; it could be a friend or someone random, the only stipulation being that it was someone from your home room.
Honestly, you hadn’t given it much thought at the time, sending one to the girl next to you with hopes that her dreams would come true. All your friends were in different classes, so you couldn’t even enthusiastically engage with the exercise.
However, you never expected to get one yourself. Your home room was filled with the popular girls and guys who were a world away from you and your quiet life. While they were out partying and having fun, you were studying to get into University, promising yourself a life of fun after you had graduated with friends you made along the way.
Of course, that’s not how it worked and you found yourself in a job you hated with bosses who make sly remarks about you and your competency even though you are much better at your job than any of these middle-aged losers. What’s that song from Bowling For Soup? High School Never ends, and by fuck were they right.
So as you stare at the unread email, you brace yourself for the torment from school to haunt you now as a 26-year-old. There was one girl from class who hated you, convinced that you ratted her out for smoking in the girls’ bathroom, which by the way, you had no part in; perhaps this letter is cursing you out wrongfully one final time.
Yet, the letter is not anything of the sort, leaving your palms sweaty at the unexpected turn.
Hi, Y/N.
How are you doing? From the looks of it, you’re struggling with what to write. Me too if I am being honest. This is a bit weird, isn’t it? I feel so strange writing these words when you're just a few seats away.
Anyway, hi again!
I don't know why I'm pouring my thoughts out to you of all people, but…I trust you. You’re genuinely nice and kind to everyone, even when others aren't :( sorry about that, by the way, for my friends. They can be real pissheads, and I personally hope they live unfulfilling lives. Once I leave next month, I pray I never have to see them ever again.
Is that too harsh? 
Sorry, I should get back on track. You look super pretty today! I noticed you got a new bracelet. Was it for your birthday? Come to think of it, your birthday must have just passed if you're receiving this 10 years later, so happy 26th birthday, I guess! It’s so strange to imagine you as a 26 year old, or me for that matter lol.
I’m supposed to predict what I see your life like in the future, right? I think you’re an amazing lawyer (that is what you’re going to study at University, isn’t it?) I peer-reviewed one of your English papers once and you made me totally change my mind on The Woman in Black, I mean, she shouldn’t have tormented him but she was also grieving. I knew then that you could see the good in everyone, exactly what a good lawyer should be. Umm…you’re probably happily living with your husband who you met in a lecture and bonded over some conversation about how to save the world or what near extinct animal you should fundraise for.
I’m jealous of him just thinking about it.
Can I make a confession? Since I don’t think we’ll miraculously become friends and you’ll somehow read this while I sit beside you. It’s actually the real reason I’m writing this to you (I lied earlier about not knowing, I just didn’t know if I would say this part lol.)
I like you, as in, like you - like you. I have since first year when you walked into homeroom with your hair tied up and your Hello Kitty backpack. I might even be in love with you, as much as a 16 year old boy can be. You’re so passionate and beautiful that I can’t keep my eyes off you. Even now in the computer room, I’m staring straight at you and you haven’t even looked my way once. It always goes like this but I don’t blame you for it, don’t worry! It’s my fault, I should stop being a coward and ask you out, or at least try and be friends with you.
I’m leaving at the end of fourth year, I hate this place, to be honest. I have no idea what I am going to do or who I am and I’m scared as fuck. I wish in another life I could have you by my side through adulthood. I think it’s the only way I can cope, it’s the only reason I survived this hellhole. One look at you, and I feel safe, like the world isn’t crashing down on me. That’s weird, isn’t it? To think that about someone you don’t speak to.
This is coming off as creepy, like I don’t stalk you or anything, don’t worry. I just can’t express my feelings well but I guess it’s as simple as:
I think I love you, I hope no matter what happens in the future you have the life you deserve, and if I do happen to build up the courage at the end of the year to confess and you fall in love with me and I am in fact that husband I spoke about earlier (although way cooler and less of a knob) then do not speak about this lol.
Take care of yourself, Y/N. The world is so much brighter with you in it.
~ Your secret admirer.
LOL imagine I left you hanging like that :P 
~ It’s Jaeyun (Sim, not Lee)
You stare blankly at your phone screen, the words swirling before your eyes like a whirlpool of emotions. A tidal wave crashes over you, leaving you paralysed in your seat, suspended in a moment of disbelief and regret. It's as if time itself has come to a standstill, and the world around you fades into insignificance as you grapple with the weight of Jaeyun's confession.
How could you not have noticed? How could you have been so blind to his feelings, so oblivious to the subtle signs of affection that now seem painfully obvious in hindsight? Jaeyun, of all people, someone who had offered you a smile while his friend group glared at you, or how he volunteered to be your dancing partner during PE, all that time you figured he was doing it to mock you when in fact, he was someone who had seen you for who you truly were when others merely glanced over you.
Jaeyun had been there all along, quietly observing, silently hoping for a chance to make his feelings known.
And you wish he did because out of all the popular students in your year, he was the one you would have been opened to. You had a crush on him like any girl does in their youth, but that's all you thought it was, an unrequited crush that could never be anything more than that. Yet, here he was telling you he liked you, so casually, in a letter he wrote at 16.
In his predictions, he was right about one thing - you are a lawyer, a damn good one at that. It’s amazing how he even knew that considering you don’t remember telling him nor did you share any inclination with even your friends that you were planning to go to Uni for it. It wasn’t for any reason other than usually when you tell someone you are going to do something, you end up never achieving it. 
However, he missed the mark on the marriage front. Between the demands of University and your intensive full-time job, which frequently spills over into overtime, your romantic life has mostly consisted of fleeting Tinder dates and occasional hookups. Yet, it's not a life steeped in sorrow, marriage and children have never ranked high on your list of priorities, so you harbour no discontentment with your current relationship status, not really...
Suppressing the lump in your throat, you resort to the timeless ritual that any single woman in her mid-twenties indulges in upon discovering that someone from high school had an interest in her, particularly when she once found him undeniably attractive and frequently mentioned him to her closest friends back in the day: you embark on an Instagram stalking expedition, naturally.
Abandoning your pile of emails and the documents of your current case, you cast aside all distractions in a quest for Jaeyun. Despite only sharing a couple of conversations with him that linger in your memory, you're compelled to uncover what he's been up to. Typing his name into the search bar, you hold your breath, hoping that finding him won't prove too difficult given his distinctive name.
Thankfully, user simjakeyun emerges with ease, and in no time, you find yourself perusing his profile.
There he is, just as you recall him - those beguiling puppy eyes you once avoided now ensnaring you with their warmth, and that infectious smile rendering him ageless. As you delve into his world, you're entranced by the adventures he shares and the moments he has captured. His life appears so rich and fulfilling that you can't help but feel a pang of contrast with the dreary confines of your current office.
As you scroll, you see how he is embracing life to its fullest, travelling the world and seeing countries you can’t even point out on a map, all while you find yourself tethered to the prison of your office walls for hours on end. It's not that you despise your own life, but in this moment of comparison, a sense of discontentment begins to gnaw at you.
There are a few girls on his page but none that are consistent, with no wedding ring and no kids, you wonder whether it’s worth dropping him a message. 
Are you really going to slide into Sim Jaeyun’s DMs? Yes. Yes, you are.
Creating a new private message, you hesitate, staring at his profile picture at the top of the screen. That beautiful smile makes you second-guess yourself. Why would he care about a silly little message from you? He’s out there striving and thriving, while your Instagram chronicles the life of a busy lawyer with only two close friends and an obvious wine addiction due to the countless glasses that makes frequent appearances.
You linger on the message screen, your fingers hovering over the keyboard. The doubts swirl in your mind, but something pushes you forward. Taking a deep breath, you begin to type.
"Hey Jaeyun, it's been ages! I just stumbled across your profile and couldn't resist saying hi. It looks like you've been on some incredible adventures. How have you been?"
You pause, re-reading the message. It feels both too casual and overly formal at the same time. With a sigh, you delete the last sentence and try again. Your mind is screaming at you not to bring up the letter, yet it might be the only way to get a response. At the end of the day, he was right - you weren’t friends in school, so why pretend you were just to start a conversation? Surely, that would make him think you were a weirdo.
But he told you he might be in love you, and you’ve gone ten years without knowing. Bringing it up could be the key to getting a genuine reaction from him, but it could also backfire spectacularly. He might recoil, feel uncomfortable, and even block you completely. You know you'd have that reaction if the roles were reversed.
Taking a deep breath, you decide to take the plunge. You start typing a new message, carefully choosing your words.
Hi Jaeyun! I don’t know if you remember me but the funniest thing just happened. Do you remember Mr. Yang made us write those letters to someone in the class that would be sent ten years later? I got one today…from you, actually! You probably won’t remember but  I thought I would let you know that I got it and thank you :) 
You hesitate before hitting send, re-reading it over and over again to avoid spelling mistakes and accidentally telling him that he told you he loved you. As the message goes through, your heart races and a mix of anxiety and anticipation swirls inside you. This is a leap of faith, and all you can do now is wait.
_____
Unfortunately, all you do is wait because it's been two days, and Jaeyun hasn't replied. The silence is deafening, amplifying your doubts and fears. You replay the message over and over in your mind, wondering if you said too much or too little.
It has to be because you mentioned the letter; he probably has a girlfriend. It wouldn't be uncommon for a guy as gorgeous as him to be snapped up quickly. He probably has one of those stunning girlfriends with long blonde hair and a figure straight out of Vogue.
You try to push the thoughts aside, but they persist, gnawing at you. Doubts mingle with vivid imaginations of his perfect life, further widening the gap between your reality and the fantasy you've constructed. Much like he passively fantasised about the prospect of being your husband all those years ago, you now find yourself lying on your couch, imagining what it would be like to be his wife.
The images in your mind are vivid and alluring: travelling the world together, exploring new places, sharing laughs and quiet moments. You picture the two of you living in a charming apartment, hosting dinner parties, and supporting each other through life's ups and downs. The fantasy is intoxicating, but it also leaves you feeling a bit hollow as you contrast it with your current life. 
Why are you thinking about all of that about a man you haven't seen or cared about in 10 years? Are you really that desperate, wallowing over what could have been when you had practically forgotten about him?
The more you dwell on it, the more you realise how much you've let his lack of response affect you. Deciding that it's time to regain control of your thoughts, you put your phone aside and focus on something productive. You dive into cleaning your house, finally discarding the takeaway boxes and clothes thrown around the room.
As you clean, the physical activity provides a welcome distraction and a sense of accomplishment. You clear the clutter, creating a more organised and inviting space. Each piece of trash you throw away and each item you put back in its place helps you feel more in control. The mess around you had mirrored the turmoil in your mind, and now, with each cleaned surface, you feel a bit more at peace.
You remind yourself of your strengths and the life you've built. Your career, your friends, your favourite plant that you bought on a whim - all these things are a testament to the vibrant and dynamic life you lead. You're not defined by a response from Jaeyun.
His life is not yours and yours is not his. You are an independent-
*ping*
Leaping over your couch, you unlock your phone and see the Instagram notification and smile brightly, like it was a job offer you’ve been patiently awaiting or an early release of your favourite manga.  The rush of anticipation and excitement courses through you as you eagerly open the app to read Jaeyun's message.
Hey there! Sorry about the delay in getting back to you. I've been on a marathon journey back from the UK over the past few days. Opted for the budget ticket, and obviously, it turned into a 36-hour saga with three stopovers 😅. But hey, I'm finally back home! 
It's genuinely awesome to hear from you! Can you believe that letter actually made its way to you? I half-suspected it was some scheme Mr. Yang cooked up to sneak a smoke break with Mr. Kim lol.
I remember writing that letter! I said a few things in there...didn’t I? 😳 So, are you still in town? We should totally catch up tomorrow if you're free. I'm all yours if you'll have me.
Your heart skips a beat as you read Jaeyun's message, a rush of excitement coursing through you. His casual tone and mention of the letter bring a smile to your face. It's a relief to see that he's not put off or weirded out by your message; instead, he seems genuinely happy to hear from you. 
His apparent recollection of what he said in the letter adds a layer of complexity to the situation. He may want to meet up to address it, perhaps to clarify that it was meant as a joke or to downplay its significance. You find yourself mentally preparing for the possibility of him saying something along the lines of, "Hey, sorry, that was just a joke, so please don't read into it."
While you tell yourself that you'll accept his explanation, deep down, you know that these past two days have shown that you may not take it as casually as you initially thought. If a simple message, or lack thereof, got you in such a tizzy, you can't imagine how you'd react to a rejection of a confession that you didn't even make.
Regardless, you type your response rapidly, not caring if it makes you look desperate and available.
You must be exhausted after travelling! But I'm glad you made it back home safe and sound. I'm free tomorrow. Can you do after 6pm? There's this cosy cafe downtown that's perfect for catching up, it’s called Daisies. I'll make sure to save you a seat. Looking forward to it! 
With a quick tap, you send the message, feeling a mix of anticipation and nervousness about tomorrow's meeting. However, you don’t get long to be alone with your thoughts as another ping of your phone comes through.
Do they do double Jack and Cokes? I think I might need it if I remember what I wrote lol…😅
In all honesty, you might need one as well.
_____
Straightening the napkins on the table for the seventh time in the space of an hour, you watch the door patiently, anticipation coursing through your veins, waiting for Jaeyun to walk through the glass door of the bar you had both settled on. Each of you knew that you wouldn’t be able to have this conversation without some form of alcohol.
It’s not that you’re nervous about seeing him again; after all, you used to see him every day. But it's the weight of the conversation that looms over you. The realisation that the first real conversation you are going to have with him throughout all these years is about a letter he confessed to you in - a letter never meant for you to read because he thought it was a hoax assignment. His actions, unintentional as they may have been, have consequences, and you can't shake the uncertainty of it all.
As the minutes tick by, each second feels heavier than the last. You find yourself lost in a whirlwind of thoughts, replaying scenarios and conversations in your mind, trying to predict how tonight's encounter might unfold. Will Jaeyun be as casual and friendly as his messages suggested, or will there be an underlying tension lingering beneath the surface?
The sound of the door opening snaps you out of your reverie, and you glance up, heart pounding, only to find it's just another punter entering the bar. You let out a sigh, the tension in your shoulders easing slightly, but the anticipation remains palpable.
You take a deep breath, reminding yourself to stay calm and composed. This is just Sim Jaeyun, not an ex, not a lost lover, not your dad’s work colleague—there is nothing to be nervous about.
“Y/N?”
Jaeyun’s melodious voice breaks through your thoughts, and you look up to meet his gaze with wide eyes, startled by his sudden appearance. How on earth did he manage to slip through that door without you noticing? The surprise registers on your face as you take in his presence, a mix of amusement and disbelief dancing in your eyes.
"Jaeyun, hey!" you exclaim, your voice betraying your surprise as it breaks, forcing you to clear the bubble in your throat and quickly regain your composure. “I mean, when did you get here?”
He laughs loudly, the rich sound filling the room as he takes the seat opposite to you. The genuine warmth of his smile is infectious, closing his eyes slightly as he enjoys the moment. “Just a minute ago, I went up to the bar first to order us a drink. You like white wine, yeah?”
Nodding, you tilt your head, intrigued. “Yeah, how did you know that?”
“I saw you started without me,” Jaeyun chuckles once again, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes as he points to your empty glass, “I made an educated guess.”
You can't help but marvel at Jaeyun's appearance. His features are striking, his smile infectious, and there's a certain magnetism about him that draws you in. It's as if he effortlessly commands attention without even trying. A face that gorgeous shouldn’t be allowed to roam so freely, you think to yourself. It should come with a warrant, or at the very least a warning label.
He’s also wearing a pretty cream jacket with a simple white Stussy t-shirt, and some cargo jeans. His hair is much longer than when he was younger, with whisps of his fringe covering his face. 
It’s parallel to your business-casual outfit, having just come from the office you decided to opt for a baby pink blouse - in honour of your hero Elle Woods, a cream thigh-length skirt, and a pair of kitten heels. It wasn’t exactly how you wished to dress while meeting Jaeyun again for the first time but due to having consultation with clients, you couldn’t exactly wear a little black dress.
Not that Jaeyun minds; as you’re lost in thought, his eyes are tracing over your body, how your clothes look tailor-made and your tits are sitting beautifully. He feels like a perv for staring at you, this is the first time he’s seen you in so long and here he is, eye fucking you. Though who could blame him? Even as he focuses on your face, forcing his eyes to leave the contours of your curves, all he can stare at is your lips and how they’ve been freshly glossed.
Clearing his throat, Jaeyun tries to shake off the inappropriate thoughts flooding his mind. "So, how have you been?" he asks, his smile innocent yet tinged with nervousness.
"Good. Yeah, good. You?" you respond, keeping your tone neutral, not revealing too much about your well-being. To you, your life is boring and lacks anything worth speaking about.
"Yeah...good," Jaeyun replies, the awkward tension between you palpable in the air.
The atmosphere strange, a tense undercurrent clouding the breezy air. Being alone with him, even being with him at all, feels unfamiliar and stirs a tinge of awkwardness in you. Luckily, he seems just as uneasy.
But when your eyes finally meet, you both burst out laughing, the tension melting away. The sound of your harmonious laughter fills the bar, louder than the soft hum of music or the chatter of others in the background.
His laugh is just as infectious as you remember it, filling the air with its higher-pitched squeals that seem to come in four successions. You watch with fondness as his body leans to the side, his eyes scrunching together in pure joy. It's a sight you hadn't realised you missed until now, a flood of memories rushing back to you in an instant. You hadn't known you knew that about him - the way he laughs, the way he tilts his head when he finds something amusing - but now, it's like a long-lost memory has suddenly resurfaced, and you're hateful to yourself for ever forgetting.
He straightens up, shaking his head to calm his amusement, yet the smile still beams from his face. Huffing out, he nods and looks at you, as though agreeing with his thoughts. “You know, I just realised that we haven’t ever spoken, so this is a bit awkward, isn’t it?”
Shaking your head, you lean forward, your fingers deftly smoothing out the tiniest wrinkle in your shirt as you relax, feeling your body shift with the new atmosphere. “That isn’t true, we had that conversation during country dancing classes.”
“Oh, you mean, ‘Can you not step on my foot, please?’ I would hardly count it as a conversation,” he dismisses it lightheartedly, offering you another chuckle as he remembers.
What he doesn’t know is that you do count it. It was your first proper encounter with him, and even though he kept squashing your toe under his tatty trainers, you let it go because it was also the first time you heard that melodic Australian accent say your name as he mumbled a quick, ‘sorry, Y/N’.
You both laugh again at the memory before the waiter brings over your drinks. “Cheers, mate. Thanks.” Jaeyun smiles politely at the man. It’s the bare minimum to thank your server, yet you can’t stop the butterflies in your stomach as he does so. It’s a testament to his kindness because most of the guys you have ever dated have been the type to snap their fingers or complain about the tiniest thing that could easily be fixed.
Not Jaeyun though, he is far too sweet to act like an arsehole. You haven’t even spent 10 minutes with him and you already know it.
As the waiter walks away, you reach for your wine before stopping for a beat, looking at it thoughtfully. There is a slice of lemon inside the glass, the sight peculiar not because you don’t like it, but rather because you do like it. It’s not conventional to have any garnishes on wine; most connoisseurs say that the wine is already perfect as made. But you like things extra bitter and everything citrus; it’s been this way since college.
You glance at Jaeyun as he sips his Jack and Coke, his attention solely on his drink, seemingly oblivious to your curiosity. Could he have known you liked wine this way? But how? It’s not like you brought a 125ml and a wedge to school. And you certainly don’t come here frequently enough for the bartender to remember you or your order.
The thought niggles at the back of your mind as you take another sip of your wine, mulling over the possibilities. Perhaps it's just a coincidence, you tell yourself, trying to rationalise the situation. But it also isn’t a big deal, you got what you wanted without asking for it which is a very rare occurrence, so you’ll take it and run.
Setting the thought aside, you indulge in a sip of the crisp wine, a contented hum escaping your lips as you enjoy the taste. With a playful shoulder dance, you set the glass down on the table. “So, how has life been since you left school?” you ask casually, even though as you glance up at him, you catch him licking the residue of his drink from his lips and it makes your body flush with heat. 
Your gaze lingers for a moment longer than intended, a fleeting moment of admiration as you catch the subtle details of his expression.
“Really…amazing actually,” he begins, his voice laced with a sense of joy as a broad smile lights up his face. “When I left, I didn’t know what I wanted to do, so I just got a part-time job, saved up enough to travel and see my brother back in Australia, and from there...just travelled. I did odd jobs to make money, enough to pay rent for a few months at each place.”
As Jaeyun speaks, you can't help but feel a twinge of jealousy creeping into your thoughts. His carefree lifestyle, filled with adventure and spontaneity, sounds like a dream compared to your own mundane existence of endless paperwork and court cases.
“Wow, that sounds incredible,” you respond, trying to mask the envy in your voice with genuine interest. “Must have been amazing to just pick up and go wherever you want.”
Jaeyun nods enthusiastically, his eyes alight with the memories of his adventures. “It is liberating, honestly. I’ve learned so much about myself and the world. It was good for me, it turned out to be exactly what I needed.”
He takes another sip of his JD, his expression shifting to one of apology as he notices the dejected look on your face. “But what about you? Aren’t you a fancy lawyer now? That’s way more impressive than a country-hopper.”
You know he's just trying to be polite, but his words only serve to magnify your own feelings of inadequacy. In no world is your tiresome job and lack of social life anywhere near as impressive as what he has managed to accomplish in 10 years.
Taking a big swig of your drink, you bob your head from side to side, downplaying the enormity of your profession. “Yeah, it’s okay. It pays well and I do love it some days. I work in corporate law, so it isn’t as exciting as I would have liked.”
“You wanted to do immigration law, right?” Jaeyun asks, his tone is casual but his question catches you off guard.
You pause, your eyes narrowing with scepticism as you look at him. It's one thing for him to recall your career aspirations, but for him to remember the specific field you were interested in seems almost uncanny. After all, you never spoke about it except in your university applications. So unless he had some insider knowledge, there's no reason for him to know such specific details.
Nodding slowly, you set your wine glass down and lean back. “Yeah… how did you know that? I never told anyone about it.”
“I guess I'm just quite the observer,” he jokes, though there's a hint of sheepishness in his tone as he scratches the back of his neck. He curses himself inwardly for being so casual about a minute detail that he knows he shouldn’t know. “I actually, uh, I saw you checking out an Immigration Law and Social Justice book one day. Figured that’s what you wanted to do.”
Jaeyun wasn’t lying; that really was how he knew. It was just before summer break, and he was returning his physics books when he noticed you in front of him, a pile of books in one arm, the first one being about immigration law.
You look up to the ceiling, a smile of understanding spreading across your face as you let out a contented 'oh', finally piecing together the mystery. "That makes sense now. I was so confused when you wrote about me going on to become a lawyer in that letter because I could have sworn I never uttered a word to anyone."
“That’s right! I predicted you would be a snooty lawyer,” he exclaims, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he lightly bangs his fist on the table. His chuffed grin widens, spreading across his face like he's just won the first question on a quiz show. 
Laughing, you nod in agreement. You don’t tell him that he never called you snooty because he also isn’t wrong as he adds the adjective. Although you’re easy going outside of the office, you hold yourself with high pride while at work, looking down on the men you work with. Perhaps you would be more kind if they weren’t gigantic arseholes with no morals.
So in that sense, yes, yes you are snooty.
“You also said I would be married with kids,” you point out, a chuckle escaping your lips as you recall the absurdity of the prediction.
“So? Did I get two for two?” Jaeyun retorts, a playful twinkle in his eyes as he wiggles his eyebrows. Beneath his casual demeanour, though, a subtle flutter stirs in his heart at the mention of a husband. He wants you to be happy, obviously - why wouldn’t he? But he can’t deny the pang of jealousy that tugs at him at the prospect of you being happy with another man.
You notice the subtle shift in Jaeyun's manner, the conflict between his words and the emotion flickering in his eyes, but you choose to let it pass without comment. Instead, you simply shake your head and lift your eyebrows, taking another sip of your white wine. If you don’t slow down, you’ll be finished five of these before Jaeyun has even made a dent in his first drink.
He audibly gasps at your silent confession, his surprise evident in the way his eyes widen and his jaw drops slightly. As much as he had hoped you wouldn’t have a man waiting for you at home, he can’t believe that you don’t. 
“Seriously? I would have thought someone would have snapped you up in a heartbeat,” he admits, still flabbergasted that the bright and beautiful woman sitting before him is, in fact, single.
“Nope. I guess it’s just like high school,” you say, shrugging nonchalantly as you downplay the situation. Despite trying to be casual about it all, a hint of vulnerability lingers beneath the surface. You know how it looks, being in your mid-twenties and never having been in a serious relationship. It has made you wonder countless times about what could possibly be so repulsive that men don’t want to pursue a relationship with you.
But then you remember the richness of your life - a nice cosy flat, paying all your own bills, having friends who love you unconditionally, and a supportive family who stands by every decision you make. In the grand scheme of things, your life is fulfilling in its own right, far beyond the confines of a romantic relationship.
It doesn’t mean you don’t sometimes feel like you’re missing out though, but you've come to appreciate the career-driven journey that is yours alone.
Jaeyun's laughter fills the air, warm and genuine, but there's a certain intensity in his gaze as he looks you dead in the eyes. His iris’, a shade of deep brown flecked with golden hues, seem to hold a wealth of unspoken words, as if there's something he's yearning to express beyond the surface banter.
“Like high school? As in you’re too busy to notice people looking your way?” he quips, his voice light but tinged with a hint of vulnerability. There's a subtle shift in the atmosphere, a silent recognition of the unspoken truths dancing between you due to one letter.
This damn letter.
“You did mention how you would always look at me. Although, you made it very clear you were not a stalker,” you remark with a snort of laughter, thinking back to the playful disclaimer he had included in his letter. The tension between you dissipates slightly as you both chuckle loudly with one another much like before.
Even when the air is awkward, you both still manage to find comfort in it. Perhaps it’s because you both share feelings that none of you are aware of. As far as you’re concerned, he left those feelings behind in secondary school, and he thinks you’ve never cared about him at all.
Jaeyun covers his face as the memories invade his mind of writing and re-writing the paragraph to make you abundantly aware that he did not sit outside your house at night and watch you through the window - a sentence which was in the first draft - or that he didn’t transfer classes to National 3 Maths to be close to you - even though he did and he should have graduated high school with National 5, sacrificing his academic standing just to have the seat close to yours.
“Can I read it? I need to know what I should specifically be apologising for,” Jaeyun titters, his voice muffled by the palms of his hands as he peeks through his fingers at you. The request hangs in the air, laced with a mix of curiosity and trepidation, as if he's both eager and apprehensive to revisit the words he had penned so long ago.
Reaching for your phone in your bag, you nod, trifling through the empty wrappers of gum and secret chocolate bars you sneakily eat in the office. The last time you ate your well-deserved Mars bar, your boss made a snide comment about how you must be starting your period soon. It’s men like him that make Jaeyun’s bare minimum of thanking the waiter a much-needed standard.
You retrieve your phone and open up the letter, passing it to him which he awkwardly accepts, smiling apologetically at you already for whatever 16-year-old him thought was appropriate to say. He begins to scroll, his face changing from amusement to disdain and then back to amusement. Yet one solid feature is etched on his face the entire time, hiding behind the other emotions he is portraying but you can’t figure it out.
You observe Jaeyun as he clicks the phone to lock it, a myriad of emotions flickering across his face before he passes it back to you. There's a hint of apprehension in his eyes, mingled with a quiet resignation, yet he does what Jaeyun does best; he smiles and washes his true feelings away.
“It was even more cringe-worthy than I remember, I seriously gotta apologise that you had to read all of that,” he says with a self-deprecating chuckle, his tone light but carrying a hint of genuine remorse. It's his way of deflecting, of downplaying his confession, but you can't help but sense the underlying sincerity beneath his words.
"I honestly thought it was a joke when I opened it and saw your name," you admit softly, wary of your words. You don't want him to think you found his feelings laughable, but rather that receiving a love letter at all was the punchline, particularly back then.
Contrary to his portrayal in the letter, you didn't consider yourself pretty or beautiful in high school. You felt average, plagued by acne, with scars that still dot your face as lingering reminders. Your hair was often a mess, your face untouched by makeup, and you never settled on a style, finding them all too mismatched with your personality.
Upon hearing your confession, Jaeyun's eyes widen in disbelief. "Seriously? Why?"
You shrug, picking up your glass and swirling it thoughtfully before responding. "You were with Chris and the others, and let's be honest, they weren't exactly my best friends," you scoff, recalling the snide comments his friends used to make in passing, or the 'accidental' bumps that would cause you to drop your phone or books.
There is a pregnant pause in the air as Jaeyun's expression softens with understanding, a hint of regret shadowing his features. "I'm sorry you had to deal with all that," he murmurs, genuine remorse colouring his tone.
You offer a small, dismissive wave of your hand, attempting to brush off the memories. "Water under the bridge now," you say, though the bitterness still lingers beneath the surface. It wasn’t his fault; he had no control over his friends' actions, and in hindsight, he was the one in the group who never laughed at your discomfort or instigated trouble for you. He was always there to offer you an apologetic smile when you needed it.
Back then, it was hard to see him as an individual from the others, considering he was always by their side. But in retrospect you realise that your crush on him had been rooted in an unspoken recognition of his genuine and kind nature, even if in high school you couldn’t fully see it. You never hated him, the opposite in fact, and there was a reason for that.
A chuckle escapes Jaeyun's lips, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "If it makes you feel better, I got my wish," he says, laughter lacing his words as he knocks back the rest of his drink. "Half of them peaked in school, and Chris is divorced and balding as we speak."
You can't help but laugh along with him, the irony not lost on you. "Well, karma works in mysterious ways," you quip, raising your glass in a mock toast to the twists of fate.
Jaeyun grins, clinking his glass against yours. "Cheers to that."
Settling comfortably back in your seat, you smile fondly at him. Despite the heaviness of the conversation, you feel at ease. There’s something about him that makes you feel safe, a sense that no matter what’s going on in your mind, he can calm you down. You recall his words in the letter, how he could look at you and instantly feel better.
Jaeyun's gaze holds a gentle intensity, his eyes sparkling with a glint of satisfaction as he observes your visibly relaxed state. "It's nice seeing you like this," he murmurs softly, a hint of warmth lacing his voice. "I always hoped we'd have a moment like this someday."
You hum softly, grinning sheepishly at the prospect that Sim Jaeyun could have thought about you even after your school years. It does beg the elephant in the room to be addressed, however, both of you sneaking around the main focus of his written word.
"In the letter," you begin, feeling a curious mix of apprehension and anticipation swirl in your chest. The question hovers on the tip of your tongue, laden with the weight of untold possibilities. "Why didn’t you ask me out?"
The inquiry catches Jaeyun off guard, momentarily stalling his easy demeanour. He blinks, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before he recovers with a thoughtful expression. It's evident that he hadn't anticipated such directness from you, despite knowing your inquisitive nature all too well.
Straightening out his jacket with a nervous flick, Jaeyun adjusts his posture to convey a sense of faux confidence. He clears his throat and licks his lips, gathering his thoughts before speaking. "I shouldn’t have been a coward," he admits, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability.
Jaeyun's candid admission bubbles shock into you, yet you find it refreshing coming from a man. You nod in understanding, silently acknowledging his confession.
"You were just…you," he says, meeting your eyes with candour. "Smart, attractive, career-oriented, and determined to change the world. And I was just a screwy little kid with no life aspirations and nothing to offer a girl like you."
His words resonate within you, with a genuine honesty that is both disarming and charming. Despite his self-deprecating tone, you can't help but be empathic to the vulnerability he's exhibiting.
"I didn't see you that way," you say, your voice soft but genuine, hoping to convey that you never considered him beneath you. In your view, you could never be on his level, not in a negative sense, but in the understanding that he exuded charisma and confidence that seemed out of reach. Your personalities were too contrasting, with him being cool and outgoing, while you felt you would have fallen short.
Jaeyun lets out a rueful laugh, a wry smile playing on his lips. "You didn't see me at all, did you?" he replies, his tone carrying a mix of self-awareness and resignation.
His words hit you like a blow to the chest, a painful realisation dawning upon you. You wince, feeling yourself crumble inward, the weight of missed opportunities and unspoken truths bearing down heavily on your shoulders. If you had stuck your head out of your own bubble, maybe you would be sitting and having a drink with him as something more than high school could haves.
"I'm sorry about that," you say, your voice laced with regret. "I was so focused on studying and staying away from your crowd that I just didn't see."
Jaeyun's expression softens, his features reflecting a mixture of empathy and knowing. "It's alright," he says gently, reaching out to place a comforting hand on yours. “The way you were back then, it was exactly the reason I lo-, I liked you so much,” he confesses sheepishly, stumbling over his words as he skirts around the most obviously avoided topic of his letter.
Shaking off the intensity of the moment, Jaeyun gestures for the waiter to return, his easy smile returning as he orders more drinks, figuring that if he’s sipping, he isn’t saying something he might regret. 
“So, tell me about being a lawyer.”
_____
For the next three hours, you both speak about everything and anything; from his adventurous travels to your disastrous dates, from your awful bosses to the state of the government, you discuss it all. Each topic seamlessly flows into another, and you find yourself conversing with ease, as if you're best friends on your weekly catch up.
As the evening progresses, you've shared stories, laughter, and even a few moments of vulnerability. The wine has flowed freely, the bottle emptying with each heartfelt story, while Jaeyun has indulged in his fair share of Jack and Coke, the familiar burn of the alcohol helping to dissolve any lingering feelings of apprehension.
Despite the passage of time and the years spent apart, it feels as though no time has passed at all. You find yourself effortlessly connecting with Jaeyun, discovering new facets of his personality with each shared anecdote and heartfelt confession. You wonder if you would have gotten along this well in secondary school.
"Is this you back for good then or?" you ask, the wine buzz kicking into your system enough to make you lean forward, resting your chin on your hand as you gaze at him with an undercurrent of longing.
Jaeyun's expression softens, his eyes never meeting yours but they shine with a hint of something you cannot put your finger on. "I'm actually going to Malta the day after tomorrow. This was just a flying visit," he replies, his tone tinged with a sense of wistfulness.
The news comes as bittersweet to you because just as you had Jaeyun within reach, he is also leaving you just as quickly. But you’re also envious that while you have to get up early and represent people in a boardroom who only see value in money and nothing else, he is galavanting to another dream destination.
"Ugh, I am so jealous!" you proclaim, unable to hide the playful pout that forms on your lips. Your declaration elicits a hearty laugh from Jaeyun, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he shakes his head, seemingly amused by the idea of someone successful like you being envious of him.
Because little do you know, that behind the facade of excitement of his adventures lies a loneliness he's kept hidden for years. He couch surfs, has little money to his name, and lacks solid friends to call in times of need. He hasn’t even seen his family in years, missing out on cherished moments like Christmas and birthdays. Despite the allure of adventure and freedom, his heart aches for companionship, for someone to share his experiences with.
As if a lightbulb goes off atop his head, he bites his lip and begins to speak. “You could co-”
“Sorry guys, we actually need this table for a last-minute reservation, could you sit at the bar until a free table is available?” The interruption from your waiter cuts off Jaeyun before he can finish his sentence, leaving him momentarily stunned.
You glance at your phone and smile, "It’s getting late anyway so we should go. Thank you though," you respond politely, masking any disappointment you might feel.
Jaeyun nods in agreement, thanking the waiter once again before standing up. He holds out his hand for you to take as you rise from your chair, an action that sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. It’s not the gesture itself but the way he extended his hand without thinking about it.
Taking Jaeyun’s hand, you stand up, careful not to bump into anything as you step out from behind the table. Together, you retreat outside, the cool night air hitting your alcohol-flushed faces, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of the crowded restaurant. The sensation brings a sense of relief, washing away the residual tension from the interrupted conversation.
Jaeyun notices the icy air, but instead of embracing it, his gaze falls on you, and he can't help but notice how your thin blouse must be providing little protection against the chill. Swiftly, he takes off his jacket and drapes it around your shoulders, adjusting it with care to ensure you're snug and warm.
You're taken aback by his offer, feeling a rush of gratitude and warmth flood through you at his thoughtful gesture. "Thank you," you say softly, a smile touching your lips as you pull the jacket tighter around you.
He returns your smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners with genuine affection. “Let me walk you home?” he offers, his tone gentle yet insistent.
You hesitate for a moment, trying to save him the inconvenience, but he's not fooled. Jaeyun knows the dangers of a woman walking alone at night, and while he trusts your ability to handle yourself, he wouldn't feel right if he left you and something did happen. Plus, deep down, he relishes the opportunity to spend as much time with you as possible.
Touched by his concern, you look up at him and offer a small smile. "I only live down the road, I'll be fine," you assure him, though the underlying appreciation in your voice is evident.
Jaeyun shakes his head with determination, a glint of resolve in his eyes. "I insist," he says firmly, reaching for your hand and giving it a reassuring squeeze. "I won't take no for an answer."
His sincerity and insistence warm your heart, and you find yourself relenting, knowing that his company will make the short walk home all the more enjoyable. With a grateful nod, you lead the way, feeling a sense of comfort and safety in his presence as you navigate the dimly lit streets together.
You really do only live about 10 minutes away, so the walk is quick by usual standards. Yet, tonight, you find yourself taking your time, savouring each step as if seeing the world through a new lens. Perhaps it's the lingering effects of the wine, or maybe it's the comforting presence of Jaeyun's hand in yours, but suddenly, the world feels lighter and fresher than it did just this morning.
As you stroll through the streets, you notice the ebb and flow of life around you. People are walking into bars, some are finishing up for the day, and others are simply enjoying a leisurely evening stroll. The streets hum with a busy yet serene energy, a unique blend of activity and tranquillity that can only be found when there's no rush to get from A to B.
Reaching your apartment building, you slow your pace, allowing yourself to take in the familiar surroundings with newfound appreciation. The soft glow of the streetlights casts a warm ambience over the building's facade, while the gentle hum of the city envelops you both.
You pause in front of the entrance, turning to Jaeyun with a smile. "This is me," you say, gesturing with the hand clasped in his, pulling him out of whatever thoughts have plagued him this whole journey.
While you were admiring your hometown, Jaeyun was overcome with thoughts that, once you reach your flat, this could be the last time he sees you again. He doesn’t want to come across as greedy for your time or clingy considering this is the first time you’ve both interacted in ten years, but he had so much fun that he doesn’t want it to end here.
Luckily for him, you have the same thoughts even if you aren’t projecting them in your manner the same way he is. “Would you like to come up?”
Your invitation hangs in the air, laden with the unspoken hope of spending just a little more time in each other’s company or maybe something else. Jaeyun's heart skips a beat as he meets your gaze, seeing a glimmer of anticipation reflected in your eyes. He hesitates for only a moment, the weight of his own desires battling against his fear of overstepping.
But in the end, the pull of your company proves too strong to resist. With a soft smile, Jaeyun nods, his voice barely above a whisper. "If that’s okay, I would love to."
The thing about you both is that you’re seeking companionship in one another while also oblivious that the other feels the same way. You aren’t noticing how Jaeyun subtly prolonged the walk, pulling you back a few times as if reluctant to let the evening end. And he certainly didn’t notice the hopeful glint in your eyes as you asked him for another bout of his time, knowing what this could lead to.
As you both step into the building and make your way up the stairs to your apartment, there's a quiet anticipation between you, a sense of possibility tinged with the thrill of the unknown. Each step brings you closer together, the space between you filled with unspoken thoughts and unvoiced desires.
As you unlock the door and step inside, the warmth of your home envelops you, a comforting embrace that welcomes Jaeyun into your world. 
You are also very glad that you had that anxiety-induced cleanathon.
Jaeyun wipes his feet on your doormat before heading inside, looking around at your quaint yet busy home. “Your flat is nice. Homely.”
“I’m either here or the office so…” you explain, taking your shoes and his jacket off, discarding them on their appropriate stands. 
Since you spend a lot of evenings in your office, which is sterile and minimalistic, you wanted the opposite tone for your house. You filled it with knick-knacks and plants, every available surface adorned with shelves or posters, while the warm orange paint added a cosy glow to the environment. This was your sanctuary and you couldn’t love it any more.
You wonder if you would love it so much if your office wasn’t your only other option of residence.
You open the refrigerator and peep at the beverages you have on hand. "Do you want a beer, wine, or I can make a coffee?” You offer, grinning and looking at Jaeyun.
“Beer sounds good, thank you,” Jaeyun replies, his attention drifting towards one of your paintings that hangs just beside a free-standing bookshelf filled with your favourite romance and fantasy books.
You don’t get the chance to read as often as you would like, but when you do, it has to be filled with a romance that is so out of reach that you can convince yourself that it would never happen to you anyway. If it’s too realistic, you start to feel a little burdened at the lack of love you receive from a partner.
Grabbing a beer for him and a glass of white for yourself, you make your way over to him, extending your hand as you offer him the ice-cold drink. He accepts it with an appreciative nod and suddenly, his eyes dart over to your University degrees, each one showcasing your incredible knowledge and talent. You always ended up top of your class with first honours, a testament to your hard work.
“You really made something of yourself, Y/N. It’s incredible.” Jaeyun says softly, clinking your glass with his bottle.
“Eh, it’s all amazing and then you’re suddenly working crazy hours with not so much as a thank you,” you shrug, voice bitter as you think about all the times your dedication to your clients goes by unnoticed. You don’t do it for the acknowledgment, however, when your colleagues are getting praise for doing the bare minimum, it starts to nag at you.
Turning to you, he tilts his head, “Do you hate it?”
Do you? That’s the big question. Maybe if you had stuck to immigration law like you wanted and weren’t swayed towards corporate all because your University advisor had told you ‘It’s what is best for someone of your calibre’ then maybe, just maybe, you would be content. You aren’t being fulfilled the way you hoped you would.
“I don’t think I hate the work as much as I hate the people. They are soulless, money-hungry, misogynistic pigs with no manners,” you say spitefully, the anger bubbling inside you evident in the fire that flashes in your eyes. As much as the job might not be totally fulfilling, you think you would enjoy it more if the men in your office or those you represent had even a shred of respect for you.
Your shoulders tense, the frustration threatening to overwhelm you, but as you hear Jaeyun’s subtle laughter, you whip your head around and knit your brows together. “What?” you demand, your tone sharp with irritation. There was nothing funny in your statement, so you're finding it rather difficult to understand the chuckle that is flooding your ear.
“No, no, I’m not laughing at your struggles,” he says softly, sensing your manner change to slightly standoffish. “It’s just…you haven’t changed. You’re still passionate and driven. Just like the girl I fell in--”
He stops himself abruptly, the words dying on his lips as he realises what he was about to say. Mentally kicking himself for almost letting slip, not once, but twice tonight, he trails off into an awkward silence, the unspoken words hanging heavily between you.
But you can’t let it slide a second time. If you’re going to talk about it, now is as good a time as any.
You inhale deeply, the air heavy as you gather your courage to broach the difficult conversation. It’s not one you particularly want to have, but you know it's necessary nonetheless. Steadying yourself, you meet Jaeyun's gaze with determination, steeling yourself for what's to come.
“Jaeyun, when you wrote that you thought you loved me in that letter, was it true?”
His initial shake of the head sends a pang of disappointment through you, but before you can fully process it, he continues, his voice carrying a weight of sincerity. He places his beer on the unit beside him and takes a step forward, his expression earnest.
“No,” he begins, and for a moment, you brace yourself for the finality of his words. But then he surprises you, his next words washing over you like a wave of relief and warmth. “I didn’t think I loved you, I knew it. I just didn’t want to come across as weird or pathetic.”
His honesty leaves you momentarily speechless, your heart racing as you take in the depth of his confession. And as he reaches out, gently taking the wine from your slightly trembling hands and setting it aside, your breath catches in your throat.
With both his hands cradling your face, you find yourself drawn into his gaze, the intensity of his eyes locking with yours. In that moment, time seems to stand still, the world around you fading into the background as you lose yourself in the connection between you.
“I’m sorry I didn’t say anything, I really am,” Jaeyun admits, his voice laced with regret as he pours out his heart to you. His eyes close for a moment, as if savouring the sensation of your face under his fingertips, the soft beating of your heart a comforting rhythm in the silence between you.
“Adult me hates teenage me for not jumping on the chance to tell you how beautiful and awe-inspiring I thought you were, that I still think you are,” he continues, his words filled with raw honesty. “I was scared because you were so out of my league that I felt ridiculous for even thinking you could love me back. I fucking regret it all because even though we never spoke, I knew I wanted to be with someone as brilliant and wonderful as you. I tried so hard to find someone like you over the years and yet not one person ever compared, because there is only one you, Y/N. And I hate that you weren’t mine for even a minute.”
You have no words to say and it agitates you because here was Jaeyun, telling you how he felt and you couldn’t even give him an ounce of assurance that you would have been his if he had just asked. Your feelings back then were not as intense as his but they were real all the same. No, you didn’t love him but you wonder if you could have.
Jaeyun leans in, resting his forehead against yours, nudging your nose with an affectionate, almost playful tenderness. His warm, alcohol-tinged breath washes over your face, causing you to close your eyes along with him, immersing yourself in the intimate moment passing between you both.
“I don’t want to make the same mistake, Y/N. I can’t.”
His words hang in the air, laden with meaning and urgency. Before you can fully process them, he kisses you. It's a kiss so tender, so full of reverence, it feels as if you were a delicate rose being presented to his most cherished person.
Despite the sincerity and fondness you feel through the gentle pressure of his lips, a wave of uncertainty washes over you. He is leaving for Malta in less than 48 hours, and the thought of the impending separation threatens to overshadow the moment of intimacy you share.
But in this moment, with Jaeyun's arms wrapped around you and his lips against yours, all thoughts of the future fade away. You're consumed by the warmth of his embrace, the sweetness of his kiss, and the undeniable chemistry that ignites between you.
You know there are risks involved, that giving yourself to him could lead to heartache when he inevitably leaves. But this might be the only chance to embrace him, to have him as your own, even for a moment, just as he had wanted all those years ago. Deep down, you know that you could live to regret not taking this chance, the same way he regrets not confessing to you in fourth year.
So you let your inhibitions go, allowing yourself to be swept away by the intensity of the moment. His tongue swipes over your lips, a soft purr escaping him as he seeks to taste more than just your cherry-tinted lip balm. You can't help but surrender to the intoxicating pull of desire.
He pushes you gently against the wall by your hips, his lips never leaving yours. His senses are overwhelmed by you in every way possible: the taste of you on his tongue, your perfume drifting into his nose, the feel of your body pressing against his, and the soft echoes of your moans filling his ears. He loves it all so much that he thinks he could get addicted to it.
As Jaeyun deepens the kiss, your hands instinctively find their way to the nape of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Each touch, each caress, feels electrifying, sparking a fervour that neither of you can ignore. The taste of him, mingled with the remnants of his drink, is intoxicating, making your heart race faster with every passing second.
Jaeyun’s hands wander from your hips, tracing the curves of your waist and back, committing the feel of you to memory. He pulls you closer, erasing any remaining space between you, the heat of his body seeping into yours. Your breaths come faster, mingling with his in the small, shared space between your mouths.
Breaking the kiss, he rests his forehead against yours once more, both of you breathing heavily. His eyes search yours, filled with an intensity that makes your knees weak. “Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion, “I’ve wanted you for so long, even when I thought I would never see you again, I thought about you.”
“Yeah?” you ask breathlessly, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck, your fingers tangling in the soft strands.
Nodding, Jaeyun’s features shift, his gaze darkening with a hunger that makes your pulse quicken. He kneels before you, his hands moving with deliberate slowness as he finds the zip at the back of your skirt. His fingers work the zipper down, the sound of it seeming loud in the charged silence of the room.
His eyes never leave yours as he sinks down, the skirt slipping down your legs to pool at your feet, leaving you in your white panties. The vulnerability of the moment sends a shiver down your spine, but Jaeyun's adoring gaze and gentle touch reassure you.
Jaeyun places his hands on your hips, his thumbs brushing over your skin in soothing circles. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, his voice filled with awe as he looks up at you from his kneeling position. His eyes trace the lines of your body, drinking in the sight of you.
The raw adoration in his gaze ignites a fire within you, and you feel a rush of emotions you can barely contain. “Jaeyun,” you breathe, your hands resting on his shoulders for balance as you steady yourself against the overwhelming surge of feelings.
His hands move from your hips to your thighs, his touch light but firm as he traces the contours of your legs. The anticipation builds with each gentle caress, your skin tingling under his fingertips. When he finally leans in, pressing a tender kiss just above the waistband of your panties, a soft gasp escapes your lips.
His touch is reverent, each movement deliberate and full of intent. He hooks his fingers into the sides of your panties, looking up at you for permission. You nod, your breath hitching as he slowly slides them down, his eyes locked on yours the entire time.
Jaeyun’s mind races as he sees you in this vulnerable state, yet he is the one who feels exposed. His feelings are pouring out of him like never before, and it’s all down to the fact that you bring that side out of him. No 16 year old should have had the emotional intelligence to decipher a crush from love, yet with you as his focus on the subject, he knew exactly what it was. While his friends were goofing off with people at parties and at the bike rack at school in a fleeting fling, he was wondering how he could make you his.
Looking at your exposed heat, he places a soft, lingering kiss just above your clit, making you jolt. You hadn’t expected him to find it so quickly, yet, it was as easy for him to find as a horse in a cow farm, like he had been doing this for years with you.
Once he feels your fingers threading through his hair, massaging his scalp, he takes it as the go-ahead to dive in deeper and explore you in ways he only imagined he could. Placing your left leg over his right shoulder and keeping his grip on your thigh for balance, he dips his tongue into your folds, moving in slow but strong strokes, lapping your taste up in his mouth. If your lips had him intoxicated, your pussy had him obsessed.
You throw your head against the wall and buck your hips up to open yourself up further to him, allowing him the privilege to get lost between your thighs and drink you up like a man deprived of cold water on a hot day. He’s so eager to please you that you can sense how much he is enjoying this, maybe even more than you are. 
Jaeyun’s tongue swirls at the entrance of your core before he pushes in, tracing the bumps of your wall as he explores your pretty pussy and its tightness; he can only imagine what his cock will feel like clamped inside you, if you grant him the honour to do so.
One thing you crushed on Jaeyun the most over in secondary school was his nose - the prominent feature stood out against everything else and you couldn’t help but marvel at it from time to time. Big noses have been your weakness since your hormones started to kick in and Jaeyun’s was perfect. You know this for a fact now as it brushes on your clit as he slurps and sucks up your cunt.
You revel in the sensation, how his enthusiastic and skilled mouth shivers down your spine. It's a testament to his attention to detail, his dedication to your pleasure evident in every movement, every touch.
His hands paw at your thighs as he loses himself in worshipping your mound. It’s tang on his taste buds only driving him further into madness - he can’t believe how lucky he is in this moment, so much so that he is grinning like a Cheshire cat as he continues to devour you.
“Jaeyun-” you breathe out sharply, the air in your chest leaving your body as he licks fast stipes up to your clit, focusing his attention where he knows you want it most. It is truly remarkable how well he knows you despite only knowing you from afar until now. 
“Tell me what you want, baby,” he mumbles into your cunt, burying his face into you as he laps up the juices that are leaking from your hole, “I’m here to please you, please let me.” Jaeyun doesn’t mean for it to come off as begging but he is so desperate for you he can't help it; and when your thighs tense slightly at his words, he thinks perhaps you want him to plead with you.
You’re so used to being around men who think that they own you, that are superior to you, that as Jaeyun asks you to let him pleasure you, it's a refreshing change. His words, muffled against your wetness, carry a genuine desire to fulfil your every desire. You can feel the sincerity in his actions, the earnestness in his plea.
“I want you to make me cum, please, Jaeyun. I need it so bad,” you whisper into the hot atmosphere that surrounds you both. You’re close and he can sense it too and right now, that is all you care about. You need to feel that satisfaction rush over you, your body is aching for it because it knows Jaeyun can bring you to that peak.
Whimpering below you, Jaeyun loses all sense of control and picks up his pace, his fingers now circling your entrance before slipping into you, scissoring you open in a mix of gentleness and roughness. He loves the idea of being able to touch you like this and make you release over his hand and tongue.
Nibbling at your clit is the final straw and you feel that tightness in your stomach and clench in your pussy as you cry out, cumming all over his face. The whites of your eyes come to the forefront as your entire body rolls and the wave of your climax consumes you like a tsunami. The grip you have on his hair tightens and you hold him in place, your body riding his face as his nose, tongue, and fingers work in tandem with you to help you ride out your high.
You don’t think you’ve cum so hard from just oral, these types of experiences being between you and your toys. Jaeyun is a man above the rest and you can’t wait to have more of him.
As he gently guides your leg back to the ground, his hands steady you as you tremble in the aftermath of pleasure. His thoughts wander, contemplating the possibility of lingering between your thighs for just a few more precious moments, coaxing yet another orgasm from your willing body.
For Jaeyun, the idea of bringing you to such heights of ecstasy is not just a source of pride but pure joy. The thought of surrendering himself completely to your pleasure fills him with a sense of fulfilment like nothing else. In a world where some might find embarrassment, he finds only bliss in the act of surrendering to his woman, to you.
Looking down at him, his eyes locking with yours past your heaving chest, you moan quietly at the sight of him; his hair dishevelled thanks to your hands, your juices over his face and lips which he wipes his fat tongue along to collect, and his eyes filled with pure adoration and lust.
You’re never going to be able to let him go.
Tracing a path of tender kisses along your body, his lips remain in constant contact with your skin, leaving a trail of warmth and sensation in their wake. With each gentle press of his lips, he conveys his adoration and reverence for every inch of you. It's a silent yet powerful declaration of his desire to explore and worship every part of your being.
Once he reaches your neck, he stops, nibbling softly at your nape. "God, you taste so good," he murmurs against your skin, his breath warm against your neck. "I could spend forever right here, just worshipping you."
His words send a shiver down your spine, a delicious anticipation building within you at the thought of what's to come. You tilt your head slightly, granting him better access, silently urging him to continue his actions. 
"I could lose myself in you," he continues, his voice husky with desire. "Every touch, every kiss, I want to claim every part of you for myself, even just for tonight.”
His honesty pangs in your chest because what if it is just for tonight? The probability of that is high and yet you don’t dare think about it, the revelation too upsetting for you to consider. So you push it down, committing yourself to enjoy this, regardless of the what-ifs. Having him now is all that matters and you’re going to relish in it.
Grabbing his t-shirt, you yank it off his body and kiss him desperately, your arms finding home around his neck as you waltz him to your bedroom, thankful for your familiarity with your apartment as you weave around coffee tables and decorative baskets.
As you reach the bedroom, a primal need surges between you, an urgency and determination unlike anything you've experienced before. With a sense of raw desire, you turn him around and push him onto the bed, your actions driven by an irresistible force that neither of you can deny.
Straddling him, you see his face light up in excitement and glee as you initiate the next move. Jaeyun loves it when his eagerness is reciprocated and by the way your thighs are squeezing each of his sides and your hands are cradling his face as you kiss him messily, he feels so wanted at this moment.
His hands eagerly grasp at your blouse, urgency guiding his movements as he tears it open and discards it aside. With unbridled desire, he buries his face into your chest, kissing and nibbling at the exposed flesh above your bra. Fingers knead and lift your tits, enhancing the sensation as he revels in the intimate contact between skin and skin.
The heat between you intensifies and Jaeyun's ardour only grows stronger. His lips trail from your chest to your neck, peppering kisses along the sensitive skin, igniting a flurry of sensations that ripple through your body.
With a skilful touch, his hands explore the curves of your body, tracing the contours with a fervent hunger. Fingers dance over the fabric of your bra, teasingly tracing the edges before deftly unhooking it, revealing your breasts in all their glory.
“You’re a fucking dream, Sweetheart,” he confesses, knowing that you have, in fact, clouded his dreams some nights. “You always have been.”
Grabbing his chin gently, you lift his eyes to meet yours and smile fondly, showcasing your affection through your sparkling pupils. “You’re so pretty, Jaeyun,” you utter quietly as each syllable matches the thumping in his chest.
Jaeyun flushes red and smiles brightly, like you’ve just called him a good boy and he’s your golden retriever. What you don’t expect is for him to open his mouth just wide enough to poke his tongue out, asking for something.
It takes a moment for you to grasp his silent request, but once you do, your hold on his chin transitions to his jaw, gently urging it wider as you oblige, softly spitting into his waiting mouth. A soft whimper escapes his throat as his eyes flutter closed, savouring the intimate exchange with an fervour.
Emboldened by the connection between you, you lean in closer, your lips brushing against his in a silent promise of more to come. His response is immediate, a soft moan escaping his lips as he eagerly presses himself against you, seeking to deepen the connection between your bodies.
You feel his clothed cock against your naked heat and suddenly the room is filled with explicit moans, both of you dry-humping one another like horny teens. It’s electric and you both want each other more than any destination or University degree, it feels like you’ve found your hearts true desires in the confines of this bedroom.
“Let me have you,” His plea resonates in the air, heavy with longing and urgency, as his fingertips caress every contour of your exposed skin, eliciting a cascade of goosebumps in their wake. "Please, Y/N," he groans, his voice thick with desire, the intensity of his gaze locking with yours in an unspoken plea for surrender.
“If you let me have you,” you whisper into his mouth, ghosting your lips above his,
“Baby, you’ve had me for a lifetime.”
His response is without a moment of silence, followed by a deep kiss that ignites a fire within you both, drawing you into a passionate embrace. With a gentle yet possessive grip, he pulls you closer, his hands trailing down to caress the curves of your ass. The sharp sound of his gentle slaps mingles with your moans, echoing off the walls as pleasure courses through your veins.
As the heat between you reaches its peak, you break the kiss with a soft gasp, a mischievous glint in your eyes. With a playful smirk, you slide your hands down to the waistband of his trousers, fingers deftly undoing the buttons as you tease him with each deliberate movement.
Jaeyun watches you with a mix of anticipation and desire, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he eagerly awaits your next move. You climb off him for a moment as you peel his trousers and boxers down his legs, revealing his hardened length, aching for your touch. His arousal is evident and his cock is thick and twitching with its need to be buried inside of you.
Discarding the trousers aside, you meet his gaze with a wicked grin, your desire mirroring his as you hover above him. Your eyes sparkle playfully as you slink forward, your lips caress his teasingly, then trail kisses down his chest, creating a path of fire in your wake. Jaeyun's breath hitches as he watches you with rapt attention; his anticipation grows with every second.
Your fingertips follow enticingly down his thighs as you approach his waist, sending shivers of expectation coursing through his body. You gently but firmly guide his legs apart so that you can lower yourself between them for better access.
Grinning slyly, you approach him closely, your breath ghosting over his skin as you torment him with every instant that passes. Then you take him quickly into your mouth and engulf him with a hunger that leaves him panting for air.
Jaeyun surrenders to the thrilling sensation as waves of pleasure rush over him; his hands tangling in your hair as he leads you, lost in the depths of bliss. In this moment, there is nothing but the two of you, bound together by a passion that knows no bounds.
However, as good as your mouth feels, and fuck does it feel good, Jaeyun needs to be enveloped by your warm walls, he craves it like an addiction, and he genuinely thinks that once he gets a taste of you wrapped around him, he might just have to check himself into pussy anonymous.
Using his grip on your hair, he yanks you up off of him, causing confusion to overcome your expression. “Baby, if I’m not fucking you in the next 3 seconds, I might just die,” he laughs but he is serious, you can tell he is by how he’s already grasping his cock with his freehand and holding it in position for you to sink onto it.
So that is exactly what you do. You straddle him one more, lining him up at your entrance before slowly easing your way onto him. With each inch, you take your time, allowing yourself to adjust to his size, the sensation of him filling you completely overwhelming your senses. Jaeyun's hands grip your hips tightly, guiding you as you slowly sink down onto him, his breath catching in his throat as you finally envelop him completely. 
Due to his thickness, you take your time to adjust to his size, grinding on him to open you up a bit more, not that any of you mind because as you do so, the tip of his dick is brushing inside you blissfully. 
"You're taking me so well, beautiful," Jaeyun says, his voice hoarse with need, his hands tracing patterns of heat over your skin. "I was made for you.”
You begin to ride him while moaning gently beneath your breath. At first, your motions are shallow as you slowly elevate your hips. Each motion causes a surge of pleasure to course through your body, sparking a fire that grows more intense with each passing second.
Jaeyun's hands are firmly grasping your hips, directing you as you find your rhythm. His own groans blend with yours to create a symphony of want. Your walls are squeezing his thick cock so tight that each time he lifts you higher, the bell of his cock snags on your entrance, trapping him inside.
“You’re bouncing on my cock so well, Y/N,” he compliments as he kisses you gently on your bouncing tit. His heavy breath mists over your heart and it clenches along with your core. He’s so beautiful and adoring that he has ruined every other man for you.
As the ecstasy consumes both of you, Jaeyun's control starts unravelling and his primitive impulses begin to take over as he loses himself in the intensity of the moment. He jackhammers himself further into you with each thrust and he lets out a howl, completely losing all control of his movements. His thrusts become more frantic and more desperate as he hears your cries of pleasure.
The rhythm of your fucking frenzy transforms into a symphony of desire, the sound of his hips meeting yours echoing off the walls as he pounds into you with unrestrained passion. Each thrust sends shockwaves of pleasure rippling through your body, pushing you closer and closer to the edge of oblivion.
You cling to him desperately, lost in the overwhelming intensity as you surrender yourself completely to the pleasure that consumes you. With each powerful buck of his hips, you feel yourself hurtling towards the brink, the sensation building to a fever pitch as you both race towards the climax that awaits.
"F-Fuck, Jaeyun!" you groan out, your voice a mixture of pleasure and desperation as you hug his head between your cleavage, unable to contain the overwhelming sensation coursing through your body.
Jaeyun is completely lost in the moment, his focus solely on the incredible feeling of being enveloped by you. He bites down harshly on one of your breasts, leaving a bruise as a mark of his passion, eliciting a cry of pleasure mixed with a hint of pain from you.
Taking control, Jaeyun’s only objective now is to feel you cumming on his cock, so he picks up the pace, bringing your body down to lie on top of him as he sinks into your mattress. Using his legs as anchors, he thrusts into you with an otherworldly speed, each movement driving you closer to the edge.
“Come on, Sweetheart, cum all over me,” he grits out, all of his focus on his hips.
The slapping of your skin and how his tip is puncturing your cervix is enough to tumble you over, a roar leaving your mouth as you come undone just as he wanted. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, Jaeyun!” You can’t form coherent sentences because to put it plainly, the dick is too good. It’s rendered you dumb and the only thoughts in your mind are; Jaeyun, cock, feels good, cumming.
Smiling brightly beneath you, Jaeyun marvels at your face as you let the pleasure take over. Your eyes are screwed shut and your mouth is open wide with short breaths escaping, your chest is panting against his and he can feel your heart race against his.
“That’s it, baby. God, you’re so fucking beautiful.” Jaeyun whispers earnestly.
As you start to relax into the aftermath of your second orgasm of the night, he picks up the pace again, now content to seek his own release. Clawing down your back, he holds your hips still and batters into your sensitive and spent pussy, knowing that the beating it just took must have left you sore, so he needs to cum quickly.
You aid him in his quest for release, showering him with kisses across his chest, neck, and face, your droopy eyes still gleaming with adoration despite the ache that lingers within you. "Jaeyun, you're fucking me so good," you whisper gently into his ear, nibbling at his lobe in a gesture of encouragement that sends a jolt of electricity coursing through him, his length throbbing inside of you in response.
Empowered by your words, Jaeyun's rhythm becomes even more intense, his movements propelled by an innate urge to reach his climax, which between your tight cunt and your seductive words, it doesn’t take him long.
"I'm cumming, fuck, I'm cumming, Baby," Jaeyun mewls, his voice strained with desperation as he tries to push you off of him, but you hold him firmly in place, unwilling to let him escape the imminent release.
With a whispered plea, you encourage him to let go completely, to surrender to the intoxicating pleasure that courses through both of you. "Cum inside me, Jaeyun. Let me feel you," you urge, your voice filled with lust and longing.
He shakes his head and tries to roll over to pull out, yet you remain headstrong and unyielding to his attempts of escape. “I have the implant, Jaeyun, you can cum in me as much as you want.”
The lawyer in you is furious that you’re letting him bust a nut inside of you due to your irresponsibility, but the happy and content you is relishing in the fact that any second, you’re going to be filled with Sim Jaeyun’s seed.
Looking deep into your eyes, he sees you’re serious and huffs out a laugh of joy. It's not that he didn't want to experience the ecstasy of releasing inside you - ask the stars, he did - but he also understands the importance of being responsible.
However, as you resume your rhythm, bouncing on his cock and firmly holding him down by his chest, any lingering hesitation evaporates. He becomes consumed by the overwhelming pleasure, his primal instincts driving him to chase his climax with an intensity that matches yours.
“Cum for me, Jaeyun, please,” you beg, wanting nothing more at this moment.
Coaxed by your words and the overwhelming pleasure coursing through him, Jaeyun succumbs to the irresistible urge to release deep inside you. With one final, powerful thrust, he empties himself into you, his hips stilling as he rides out the waves of his high.
"Fuck, Baby, fuck I'm cumming, don't stop."
The sounds that escape his lips are a symphony of pleasure, soft yet needy, low but whiney, a perfect embodiment of every fantasy you've ever entertained. As you massage his chest and shoulders, soothing him down from his orgasm, his features are painted with bliss and love, a smile mirroring your own as he gazes at you with adoration.
"You're amazing, truly out of this world, Y/N L/N," Jaeyun huffs out, his voice filled with reverence and admiration.
Gently moving you off him, he guides your head to the pillow before hovering over you, peppering your lips with affectionate kisses. Finally, he settles on top of you, his head resting against your chest, the steady rhythm of your heartbeat calming him instantly.
Resting his chin in the valley between your breasts, Jaeyun's touch is gentle as he reaches up, tenderly tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. There's a glimmer of something in his eyes, a silent contemplation that leaves you wondering what he's about to say next.
For a fleeting moment, you fear he might choose to end the encounter, bidding you farewell with a polite smile and a promise to call. But to your surprise, he does the opposite.
"Come with me, Y/N," he says, his voice soft yet filled with determination.
Stunned, you feel your chest tighten as you replay his words in your mind, each repetition only adding to the disbelief that swirls within you. There is no way he is asking you this when this is the first time you’ve really spoken to one another. He might as well be asking a blind date he’s just met to leave with him.
"What?" you manage to utter, blinking at him in shock.
For Jaeyun, however, there's no hesitation. In his heart, nothing has ever felt more right. He's harboured feelings for you for so long that now, with you in his arms, he's determined not to let you slip away so easily, even if that means proposing a notion that can be deemed outlandish.
"To Malta, to everywhere you want to go," he continues, his voice filled with sincerity and a touch of vulnerability. "Come with me."
You stay silent, nervously biting your lip, there isn’t much you can say, your inner battle between your head and your heart make it difficult to hear anything clearly. 
Noticing your silence, he offers you a gentle smile and grabs one of your hands, kissing your palm gently. “Y/N, you’re miserable here, I can feel it. You’ve practically said it yourself,” he argues with you even if he cannot hear your turmoil, “Think about it; you come with me, experience everything you’ve ever wanted, study Immigration Law at one of those Open Universities if you want, or do literally anything else that makes you happy.”
You shake your head. "I'm not miserable, Jaeyun."
“Then tell me you’re happy.”
Silence ensues. A profound quietness fills the space because...you can't. You can't fabricate happiness. Are you content with your life? Undoubtedly. But true happiness eludes you. Until he posed that question, until you stood eye to eye with him, you had mistaken contentment for fulfilment, believing that your family and friends held the key to your happiness, that working hard to get to the top of your law firm was all you could want. But you aren't truly happy.
“Y/N, I came here for you,” he admits, his voice just above a whisper.
“What do you mean?” you ask, confusion palpable in your manner.
“I was supposed to be leaving the UK straight to Malta. I had my bags packed and ready to go and then I got your message on Instagram. Before I could even reply, I was changing my flight to come home to see you. I just…I couldn’t let the chance of seeing you pass me by,” his voice quivers with raw emotion as he speaks, his grasp on your hand tightening,  “Do you know how many times I’ve hovered over that stupid send button, desperate to reach out but was too scared to? When you got that letter and messaged me about it, I knew this was my only shot and I couldn’t waste it.”
Jaeyun, deep down, is still the scared teenage boy who wrote you that letter. You can see him fighting himself, terrified that as he pours his heart out to you that it’ll be a disaster, but he has spent so long contemplating what life could have been had he just plucked up the courage that right now, he’s powering through his insecurities to try and reach your heart.
You sit up, intertwining his fingers in yours as a form of reassurance. “Did you come here to see if I would come with you?” you query, the tone of your voice light despite the heaviness of the subject.
"No, I came here because I wanted to see you and...to see if I could find some closure for teenage me," Jaeyun begins, his thumb tracing gentle circles on your hand. The nakedness of both of you both being and soul amplifies the vulnerability that envelops you. "But I can't bear the thought of losing you again."
"You don't really know me, Jaeyun," you counter, not with hostility but with a sense of realism. 
How could he be so sure he wants you by his side when he knows you as far as he could throw you? Sure, you have both connected in a way you didn’t know was possible in the past 7 hours, and you have in some way known one another for years, but you don’t know each other. Not enough to leave the country with him…right?
With a sigh, Jaeyun gently strokes your hair, his gaze softening with affection. "I do know you, Y/N. I see you for everything you are, I always have," he insists, his voice now infused with unwavering determination. “I don’t know if I love you the same way I did ten years ago, we’re both different people. But I want the chance to find out, I want the chance to fall in love with you as you are right now.”
You stare into his eyes, contemplating your future. You could stay here and go about your life as is, sitting in a swimming pool of ‘what could have been’, forced to see bosses who could never give you the time of day, or you could follow Jaeyun, explore the world and let your hair down, meet new people and enjoy everything that life is supposed to be. Pragmatically, you have enough savings to get you by and worst case, you work shitty jobs in beautiful cities.
There is nothing holding you back except yourself.
With a beaming smile, you nod a silent promise to him. “Can we go to Venice?”
Jaeyun's eyes widen in surprise at your request, a flicker of disbelief dancing in their depths. But as he takes in the earnestness in your gaze, the longing for adventure and new beginnings, his heart swells with a profound sense of gratitude.
"Venice, huh?" he echoes, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Let's do it.”
The words hang between you, laden with the promise of excitement and possibility. You leap forward and kiss him, pushing his back onto the mattress once again, enjoying the moment with him, knowing it’s not the end but the beginning of future you.
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astarriscus · 2 years ago
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i am. look ive always loved music but lately ive been really fixated on music as a whole and literature as well for a while now! i really want to write inspired off that <3
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hildergard · 4 months ago
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Could you do something where Aemond is already married/betrothed to a highborn lady that’s been approved by Alicent and Otto but he has a relationship with a low born woman (a brothel worker or any lowborn really) and once he becomes Prince Regent he starts bringing her around the castle, giving her a room to herself, treating her better than how a lowborn should be treated in Alicent and Ottos eyes and they don’t like it but Aemond doesn’t care.
MINE TO PROTECT ★ AEMOND TARGARYEN
PAIRING | Aemond Targaryen x Lowborn!Reader
TAGS | Suggestive content, swearing, possessive behaviour, classism
WORDCOUNT | 4k
NOTE | I have seen a lot of fanfictions where the Reader is a brothel worker so I made her a baker instead. I hope that's alright with you! Thank you so much for this great request! I had so much fun writing it <333
likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated!
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In the seedy streets of Flea Bottom, rumours travelled in a precise order, memorised by all.
A Lord, drunk with lust, would disclose the Crown’s secrets to a simpering whore, who would be quick⏤once the gold dragons were in her purse⏤to repeat what she had just heard, noble semen still running down her thighs. The other, much less wealthy, customers would then talk about it loudly in bars, attracting the attention of patrons who, once sober, had only to spread the news.
Today, the rumour burst into your little shop when Old Gerald came through the door, looking for his daily loaf of bread. 
 “Prince Aemond’s been made Regent," he said. 
For a second, you did not move. The dough fell on wood. Your floured hands remained stuck in the sticky, flabby mixture. It would have to be kneaded again. The sight of your dirty fingers woke you from your torpor. You gripped the towel from your apron and wiped your palms roughly before turning your back on your customer⏤less to get the fresh loaves of bread out of the oven than to regain your composure.
He had done it. 
Your shovel rasped against the burning slab of clay and peeled off the loaves. 
A few days earlier, when night had enveloped the citizens of King's Landing in its thick cloak, he had told you of his plans and dreams⏤the two were always intertwined, for Aemond Targaryen provoked fate rather than waited for it. His touch had done nothing to soften the brutality of his words. Sordid tales of fire and blood, the kind that filled the tomes of the Citadel. 
Even the Targaryens could not play with fire indefinitely. Aemond rose in the flames. For how much longer? You had protested, your voice hoarse from the moans he had managed to draw from your throat, but he would have none of it and simply told you to trust him, as if all this were far too complicated for you. 
And perhaps that was the case, for what did you know of war and power?
“What about his Majesty?" you asked.
Old Gerald tossed you three coppers, which you pocketed, before handing you a thick piece of cloth. 
“They say he perished in dragonfire. Seems Targaryens are closer to men, after all. With all this quarrel for t'throne, it were inevitable. And, let me tell you, it'll happen again. Today, a brother sits on t'throne. Tomorrow, it'll be an uncle or a sister. Things like that never end.”
You carefully wrapped the golden loaf in the cloth. 
“Wi' Rhaenyra in Dragonstone and his brother's heir dead, he’ll no doubt be crowned King. And the Lady Baratheon, Queen.”
You winced at the name but immediately hid your reaction with a tight smile. Gerald, bless him, took no notice of your torment. You handed the loaf of bread to the old cobbler, who nodded at you and returned to his shoes. 
The rumour ran on and kept you thinking all day. You burnt a dozen loaves of bread, spilt two sacks of flour and forgot to deliver her apple pies to Dorthy Porter, making you lose a silver stag and a customer.
When the key finally turned in the lock of the shop and cut you off from the rest of the world, your shoulders slumped. The sun and all its problems gave way to the moon. Under its silvery eyes, other rumours would no doubt spread but you did not wish to hear them. You longed for your straw mattress and the comfort of your dreams⏤perhaps your love would visit you there, also freed from the pressure the Gods were piling on his shoulders. 
Tiredness weakened your knees⏤you dragged your body more than you climbed the stairs to your modest bedroom. In the middle of the room, the bed and its pillow stretched out its arms to you. You let yourself fall into the feathery embrace and closed your eyes for a moment, praying to the Gods that you would find sleep easily. 
They ignored you. 
The doorbell rang. 
Your eyelids struggled to open. Sleep paralysed them⏤it clutched at your eyelashes and tried to keep them closed but you fought the temptation and, at last, gazed into the dim light of the room. Another series of blows, more hurried, struck against the wood. The whole  shop seemed to shake. 
“I’m coming, I'm coming…” you mumbled. 
You gasped as two members of the Kingsguard appeared on your doorstep, their cloaks far too white to be dragged through the muddy streets of Flea Bottom. 
“The Prince Regent, His Highness Aemond Targaryen, summons you.”
They did not care for your reply and seized you. You protested, demanded to be told the reason for this summon, but nothing would do. The guards dragged you like a rag doll through the streets of King's Landing, indifferent to your screams and struggle. Above and around you, the candlelight in the windows intensified. Some people poked their heads out to watch the racket. You lowered your chin and remained silent, but the damage had been done. 
Already, rumours were spreading. The baker had been arrested. What had she done? Who would make their bread from now on?  
The dizzy shadow of the Red Keep loomed larger and larger. Just the outline of it made your skin crawl. For the first time, you would be treading on the floor of Kings and Queens. You were being plunged headfirst into this unknown, powerful and dangerous place, populated by men and women who despised people like you. One of the guards tightened his grip around your arm. You yelped. Why were they taking you there? Aemond always came to you, not the other way round. 
Did someone know? You blanched. Impossible, you thought immediately. You had been cautious. 
But what if... What if someone had seen you, despite all your precautions? 
 Were they taking you to the Keep to put you to the sword?  
 A flash of fear stabbed you in the guts.  
You finally passed through the large gates of the castle. They were still open, yet, no one was in the courtyard. The swords were resting on the workbenches and the horses were asleep. Only a few guards patrolled the ramparts, their heads turned skywards in search of a dragon. 
“Hurry up, girl. The Prince is waiting.”
A solitary, proud figure emerged at the top of the stairs, in front of the entrance. His long white hair fluttered in the wind and the bluish moonlight accentuated his strict features and pale complexion. The mere sight of his face reassured you. You defied the guards and walked towards him. 
His rough hand⏤hardened by duty and war⏤gripped yours before thin lips kissed it. The Prince pulled you towards him. Your heart slowed as his familiar scent enveloped you and your shoulders relaxed. For a second, you surrendered to the comfort of his warmth and love. The smell of musk and leather soothed your body, but your head kept its wits about it.
“What's happening, Aemond?”
He closed his eye as his name fell from your lips and smiled. His hand came down and grasped your waist in a possessive embrace. You leaned into the touch. 
“There are rumours that Aegon–”
You squeaked. His fingers had dug painfully into your flesh at his brother's name. 
The mere mention of him brought back painful and humiliating memories, which your lover had confided to you, his head on your pillow. Even today, the wounds had not healed. They continued to transpire in every aspect of his life. You are the only thing he has not stolen from me, he had told you one night. Saying that name was like throwing his past back in his face and breaking your promise. He'll never succeed, you had replied, but today, Aegon was on your mind. What did his wound mean for the Crown, for you?
“Is it true?" you managed to articulate. 
“The Council has made me Regent," he nodded. “We will not need to hide any longer, my love.”
“What do you mean?”
But Aemond did not answer you. He smiled, tucked a lock of hair behind your ear and let his fingers brush your neck. With a nod, the kingsguards left. The clink of their armour echoed for long seconds, but the din faded with the tenderness of his gestures. His finger traced the veins in your chest. They led him to your breasts, hidden by your dress. Aemond grunted⏤terribly offended by this affront⏤and pulled at the fabric but it held on. 
Claere Linstar's work was reknown throughout Flea Bottom. You could not find a better weaver⏤today, you were thankful for the two silver stags you had spent. The garment would become the guarantor of your dignity, the bulwark against your desire. 
When you realised that your Prince was not going to answer your question, you took a step back. His hand fell limply between the two of you as a brief look of pain clouded his face. 
“Aemond?”
He straightened up and held out his hand to you. 
“Follow me.”
The labyrinthine corridors made your head spin. You lost count of the turns you took, the staircases you climbed and the alcoves you passed. The beauty of the mouldings and frescoes drew admiring sighs from you several times, but Aemond did not care. He walked past them without giving them a second glance. He's used to all this, you reminded yourself. People of his rank bathed in this luxury and grandeur since birth. ��
On the way, maids dressed in red and white stopped at your sight. Their gaze fell on your face, on your body, on your hand locked in the Prince's... Your cheeks heated and you tried to pull away, but Aemond tightened his grip. Out of habit, his thumb caressed your skin. This time, his touch only made you tense. You bowed your head, ashamed. 
They knew. 
The thought stayed with you. 
You only lifted your head when Aemond stopped in front of an ornate door. The mouldings curved into flowers and birds⏤an ode to spring and renewal. Your eyes swept the decor, stopped on a bush of camellias and, finally, met the Prince's satisfied gaze. 
“We've arrived," he announced. 
Aemond opened the door with a confident gesture. Inside, an immense room stretched out and seemed to never end. Wealth oozed out of every corner, from the four-poster bed to the dressing table adorned with sapphires. On the wall, frescoes of flowers had been painted to match the powder pink drapes⏤an explosion of colour that turned drab the corridors you had been raving about just a few minutes before. 
“Is it to your taste?”
You turned back to Aemond. Although his chin was up and his back was straight⏤proud as ever⏤red bloomed on his cheeks. Your lover seemed embarrassed, a far cry from his usual composure. Almost timidly, his hand sought yours. He couldn't help it, you realised. His fingers always found yours⏤skin against skin to find what he had been deprived of all his childhood. 
“I don't know anyone who wouldn't like it," you replied.
“Hmm. Good.”
He pulled you to him. His hands went down to your buttocks and pressed you against his chest. Your pelvises collided. Suddenly, the room made sense. You let yourself drown in these familiar gestures. Your hand caressed his muscular shoulders, moved up to his jaw and brushed against his lips. Aemond kissed the pad of your thumb before replacing it with your lips. Soon, the wet sound of saliva echoed through the room. The sweet melody ignited a fire in your lower abdomen and moved down between your thighs. 
Your hand resumed tracing arabesques on your lover's smooth skin. It stopped at the buttons on his doublet and hastily undid them before wandering lower and lower…
Aemond stopped you before you could take him in your hand. His hand grabbed yours. He kissed your palm and pressed it against his cheek. 
“These will be your quarters.”
The fire went out, leaving you frozen with shock. Your heart skipped a beat. 
“What do you mean?" you asked breathlessly.
“Now that I am Regent, we will not have to hide any more.” 
A new glare lit up his eye. Purple turned black and made you shiver. Flames seemed to dance in his pupil, crushing all remains of the second son he had once been. That Aemond was dead. In his place was a Regent who thought himself above laws and men.  
“It's not proper, Aemond," you tried to protest. “If it gets out that I'm here... If the Dowager Queen or the Hand–”
“They have no say in the matter. My word is law now.”
 “If you want me here… Perhaps I could serve the Crown, join the kitchens. Anything but that, Aemond," you said, gesturing to those quarters, far too luxurious for someone of your breeding. 
“You do not belong in the fucking kitchens," he scoffed. “No. You will be by my side, as my equal.”
“You're engaged," you retorted. “The Lady Baratheon won't take kindly to my presence here. You nobles can make Small Folk disappear in a blink of an eye and no one would notice or care.”
Alira Merchin's story was remembered as a cautionary tale for young girls naive enough to think love could conquer blood. The fable was classic⏤hundreds of similar romances filled libraries, and perhaps it was these very ones that had encouraged the girl to seduce the heir of House Harte. The man fell in love and made the pretty merchant his lover. 
This did not please his wife, the daughter of Lord Chelsted. 
She got rid of the merchant with disconcerting ease. The poor girl was found trampled by horses in white and green bards. That day, Lord Harte lost his true love and spent the rest of his life suffering the consequences of his betrayal. 
Your heart dropped. What would happen to you if you tickled the stag? Ours if the Fury. Their motto was an ode to their rage, to their thirst for violence. If Floris Baratheon found out that Prince Aemond was bedding you... and in the Keep nonetheless…
The storm would come for you and you would perish in its eye. 
“It's not a good idea, Aemond," you finally said. 
“Do not fret, my love. Nothing will happen to you as long as I am here to protect you.”
The Prince pulled you into bed. 
Your protests died on your lips, muffled by moans and the exquisite feel of his skin against yours. 
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Your fingers tightened around your thighs. The soap made your skin slippery but did nothing to wash away the shame that had been clinging to it for days. It colonised your flesh and left it tainted, eating away at your muscles and weighing down your heart. 
On the first day, after a passionate night, maids had arrived to prepare you, but you refused their care. You were no Lady. You had bathed alone all your life and would continue to do so. More than anything, you wanted to escape their watchful eyes, which would no doubt have noticed the hickeys on your chest and thighs. 
You did not know how rumours got around in the Keep, but you were sure that they first burgeoned on the maids’ lips. They blossomed as quickly as in Flea Bottom⏤the inquisitive nature of man was innate⏤, but it would not be Old Gerald getting wind of it. No. The stakes were much higher in these parts, and the consequences even more dire. 
The door to your quarters stood in the way of the horror surely awaiting you, but for how much longer? 
Your hands massaged your calf, hoping to rediscover a cherished routine. You longed for the feel of dough beneath your fingers. What would become of your shop? Would you have to sell it? Maybe someone had already moved in⏤abandoned houses never stayed so for long in Flea Bottom, the cradle of the poor and the homeless. 
You could not cherish the roof above your head, yet, you supposed you had to learn to appreciate it. Aemond did not seem eager to let you go.  
Aemond. 
Every day, the sun tore him away from you. His hours were devoted to the Small Council and military strategies, only half of which you understood when he explained them to you. Your Prince needed to talk, to get rid of the weight that was arching his back. You became the shoulder on which he rested, the ear into which he poured his doubts, the flesh in which he forgot himself. 
“I wish to be with you every hour of the day, to attach myself to your side, but the Gods will only grant me this pleasure when I win this war. I am fighting for you⏤for us,” he had told you. 
The moon brought him back into your arms. Every night, without exception, he would cross the threshold of the door and wrap you in a reassuring embrace. His arms would block out your gloomy thoughts and chase away shame and regret⏤all seemed worth it if it kept him close to you. The stars looked down on your love. When the bells rang the hour of the owl, you indulged in the pleasures of the flesh, whispered sweet nothings or simply enjoyed the peaceful silence that the other's presence guaranteed. Sometimes, Aemond, lying on the bed with your head on his stomach, would read you stories with his hand buried in your hair. 
And then, the hour of the Nightingale would sound, its tranquillity burning away in the first rays of sunlight. The enchanted interlude would close and you would spend the day dreaming of a life where sun and duty did not separate you. 
Shame would reappear, its weight with it, and fear⏤tangible and vibrant⏤would turn your stomach. 
The spectre of Floris Baratheon never left you. It haunted you. In the frescoes of camellias on the wall. In the bouquets of flowers dotting your quarters. In the venison served for dinner. The tales of her beauty reached you and left you bitter, but what they said about her quiet authority made your blood run cold. 
She would come for you. 
The Lady Baratheon occupied all your thoughts, so much so that you forgot about another much more dangerous threat. 
One day, Alicent Hightower stalked into your room. 
You dropped your embroidery in your lap and hastily sat up. The needle fell to the floor with a disturbing chime. The bell was tolling⏤this farce had gone on far too long and it would now end. 
The Dowager Queen dropped a small leather bag on the table. Its contents clinked and masked your gasping breath for a second. Your heart was pounding against your temples. Soon, the air would run out. Already your throat was closing up and you were struggling to swallow. 
“What is it?" you asked weakly. 
“Five thousand gold dragons. Enough to buy you a new life, far from the Keep, far from Westeros.”
Away from my son, she meant. 
“I won't leave Aemond.”
He needs me, you thought. 
“The Prince Regent does not need you," the Queen scoffed as if she could heard your mind. “He is engaged. Or have you forgotten that? Whoring yourself in the way you do… It would appear so. Have you thought about the repercussions of your actions when people find out about you? The risks it means for Aemond? Your very presence here jeopardises this entire war.”
“I have tried to–”
“He does not love you, you fool. He just wants a cunt to fuck without having to spend a single penny.”
You recoiled, surprised to hear the famously pious queen speak so vulgarly. 
War transformed souls. It made them ugly. Alicent Hightower’s wide eyes and pursed lips twisted her face into a terrifying expression. 
She sighed and, for a moment, her features became those of a compassionate woman. 
“I don't know what… hold my son has over you," she continued in a calmer voice, “but you seem smart enough to understand this will end badly. You must leave. Take the gold and let us be done with this farce.”
The door slammed against the wall before you could even consider the proposal. 
Aemond reached your side with a confident stride. 
“What's going on here? Mother?”
When the latter did not answer, he looked to you for answers. You lowered your head, unable to bear the look of concern in his purple eye any longer. 
It fell lower, onto the table and the leather purse.  
“What is the meaning of this?” he raised his voice. 
Silence stretched before Alicent Hightower relented. 
“You cannot… support a lowborn in such manners, Aemond. The girl must go.”
The Prince ignored his mother and took you in his arms. His nose nestled under your ear as his hands buried themselves in your hair. He guided your head into his neck and whispered comforting words, which you could not hear. You did not care. His familiar scent embraced you and brought tears to the corners of your eyes. They wet your cheeks and his collar. 
You should never have come here. 
“Out.”
His mother protested. 
“Imagine the shame for your future wife, the Lady Baratheon! For her house! If we lose Storm's End because of... because of this w–” 
“Hold your tongue and leave.”
“Aemond, if you do this, we are lost!”
“Get out!”
Footsteps retreated. A door slammed. Aemond sighed. His hand drew abstract symbols on the back of your head for a moment before encouraging you to look at him. 
“Oh, my love," he said, seeing your misty eyes. “All is well now. She will not hurt you any more.”
The danger you had put yourself in was greater than you had thought. Fear dried your mouth and exhausted your words. You stammered a few excuses before taking a deep breath. Your Prince's fingers did not weaken. They continued to comfort you and, at last, gave you the courage you needed to finally speak. 
“Maybe I should return to Flea Bottom. I–” 
“No," Aemond’s voice cracked. 
His hands framed your face and pulled you closer until your noses were touching. 
“You are not leaving me.”
His lips were harsh, covering every inch of your skin. He kissed the bridge of your nose, your warm cheekbones, your wet eyelids. Tears ran aground in the cracks of his lips and dried up under his exquisite tenderness. No beauty spot, no eyelash, was spared. His lips erased his mother's words and the doubts in your heart. 
“You belong here, with me. I do not care for blood or war. I only wish for your love.”
Aemond filled the space between your mouths. His hands reached down and grasped your breast. He feasted on your lips and the taste of them like a hungry man. Tingles caressed your spine and tickled your lower abdomen. You rolled your hips, searching for his, but your lover pulled away.
You didn't want him to stop. 
The Prince shushed your complaints and pushed you to the bed. Your back bounced on the goose feather mattress. Eager to feel his skin against yours, you sat up and tried to pull him to you, but Aemond took a step back. A petty smile stretched his lips as he heard you whimper. He ignored you and stood silent, admiring you. His eyes, now black, gazed down at your body, contemplating its shape and softness.
“Aemond, please…”
Your lover grabbed an ankle and kissed it. You moaned. He moved up your calf, caressing your knee and digging his fingers into your thighs before spreading them apart. His teeth nipped at the flesh, which his tongue immediately soothed. Your breathing quickened and breathy moans fell from your swollen lips, intoxicated by his touch. He skipped over your dripping cunt, his hands grazing your hips and sides.  
Suddenly, Aemond stopped touching you, placed a farewell kiss on your belly and sat up on his elbows. 
“I will take care of everything, my love. You will never have to fear for your life. It is mine to cherish, mine to love, mine to protect," he said before reaching up to capture your lips with his. “Mine.”
“I love you," you sighed. 
Aemond smiled, as he did every time the words fell from your lips. One could not get used to the sweetness of love. It forever stirred the heart and soothed the soul. Your Prince placed a chaste kiss on your lips before moving down and disappearing between your thighs. 
His words vanished in desire and pleasure. You forgot them the next day, when the hour of the Nightingale struck.  
You should have known that Aemond Targaryen would keep his promise.
Three days later, the Lady Baratheon was found dead in the Kingswood, impaled on a stag's antlers. 
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gghostwriter · 8 days ago
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Time is a Fickle Thing
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Girl Dad!Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader
Summary: Spencer realizes how important it is to occupy the present and be active in the little things Trope: Fluff & Comfort w.c: 1.48k a/n: this was inspired by an essay I read over the week titled ‘Learning to Measure time in Love & Loss’ by Chris Huntington. It’s very profound so I would suggest you go read it—Andrew Garfield also read it on the podcast called ‘Modern Love’ so go listen to that too. Not proofread. Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated! 💗 masterlist
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There was still an array of paperwork to be done in his desk at Quantico. Case files that needed to be written down and reviewed by his unit chief, Emily.
The past Dr. Spencer Reid—the one who was still wet behind the ears and green in the eyes of his team members, would have found the droll of filling out forms therapeutic. But now at his age of 40, everything else—typing out information and grading essays, were chores that demanded his every waking attention. He had found himself agitated with the looming workload that seemed never ending.
“Daddy,” a sweet voice murmured beside him. The source—a small body nestling closer to his side.
He hummed in reply, absentmindedly as his brain was preoccupied with estimating how many hours he needed to finish checking submissions in lieu of sleep.
Tiny hands patted his cheeks. “Daddy,” the sweet voice now coated with a hint of urgency.
Spencer’s hazel eyes locked with a pair of replicas. “Yes, Aurora?”
“What happens next?”
Shaking his head, he glanced down at her choice for a bedtime story, The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe, and realized it was the end of a chapter. Reading together was a sacred ritual he formed ever since he had found out you were pregnant.
It made you giggle when you pointed out that she, still a fetus cocooned safely in your body, would not understand the works of The Giving Tree or The Rainbow Fish. He rattled of statistics that although she couldn’t understand the meaning, she could still hear quite well.
In truth, he wanted her to know him—his voice, his presence. Her father who was quite scared to bring in an innocent into the world.
Still, scared even.
Her pink bottom lip jutting out into a frown, reminiscent of the ‘look’ his wife gives to him that renders him speechless and pliable to demands.
It was fascinating how you and him created such a perfect combination—a seven year old daughter who was into reading, as he was, and confident, as you were.
“Daddy, what happens next?”
The corners of his mouth lifted into a smile. The look of exasperation on her tiny face was adorable.
Everything about her was captivating.
“Well, sweet pea,” he began to close the book. “That would be a story for another night.”
“But—”
“Remember what we promised?”
She sighed, gripping her white bunny—a gift from Aunt Penelope, closer. “One chapter only.”
“That’s right,” tucking the stray tendrils away from her angelic face.
As he started to stand up from his precarious lying position on her gingham patterned bed, Aurora’s tiny warm hands gave his sleeves a double tug.
“You’re forgetting something, Daddy.”
He leaned in to give her forehead a kiss.
“Is that it?” He teased.
She giggled, her feet kicking under the covers. “No!”
Brushing his fingers behind her neck—her tickle spot that matched yours. “What about this one?”
Aurora squealed, her infectious happy energy warming his heart. She was a treasure and he felt blessed to be considered her father.
“Stop Daddy, stop!” She sat up, hands crossing over her chest to state she meant business.
Spencer conceded, showing his hands in front of him—a sign of surrender. If she was standing, he could just imagine her little foot stomping on the ground and taking in a wide stance she learned from observing Uncle Morgan.
“Mommy always said you never forget anything,” she argued. “She said you have an ei-eid—perfect memory.”
“Eidetic memory, Aurora, and yes, mommy is right.”
She tilted her head then, her wavy hazel hair swaying behind her. “Then how come you don’t remember?”
“How about giving me a clue then?”
She huffed. “Best part, worst part, Daddy! You forgot to ask me!”
Oh.
That was another ritual he added when Aurora started to learn how to string words along. Although there were nights away from a case that he could not read to her, he always made it a point to ask her via call the best and worst part of her day. It made him feel connected with her even though he was miles away.
“Oh how could I forget, sweet pea,” Spencer sat back on the bed, tucking her back as he went. “Now, can I know what your worst part is?”
She went silent for a moment. Deep in thought, brows scrunching together.
“When Mommy didn’t allow me to wear my new rain boots to school. She said it’s because it wasn’t raining but I really wanted to wear them.”
He laughed, having heard of the small disagreement you had which made you late for work. “We only wear rain boots when the weather is sad, remember?”
Aurora nodded.
“And what about the best part?”
She smiled, the answer quickly spilling out of her. “This is, Daddy.”
Spencer could feel the effect her simple words had to his system. It warmed his heart that expanded for two when she came into the world. It put a halt to any train of thought in his brain.
“Want to know a secret?” He whispered. “This is mine too.”
Tiny hands rubbed her drooping eyes before further nestling in her bed. “Good night, Daddy. I love you.”
He slowly crept out of the room.
“I love you too,” he flicked the light off and closed the door behind him.
Spencer found himself repeating those words and slowly lamenting over missed milestones in her burgeoning life.
Her first steps.
Her first tooth falling out.
Her latest family presentation in school in which you recorded her explaining where he was and what he does for a living—catching bad guys.
In his focused dedication in trying to make the country a better place for her future, Spencer had forgotten to appreciate the present, her growth, and the very notion that time could not be reversed to live the mundane things that make everyday worth living.
Aristotle once said ‘time crumbles things; everything grows old under the power of time and is forgotten through the lapse of time.’
It was a concept he was familiar with by the ripe age of nine, having spent his early youth in isolation and soaking up every thinking thought from the great minds that had roamed this planet before him.
He never forgot the words—not that his memory would allow him to.
And yet, as he found himself sitting on his desk, a cup of fresh tea in front of him, the phrase came to surface like a forgotten pair of lucky socks hidden within the depths of a cabinet.
Perhaps it was his heart that kept it hidden or better yet forgotten, a feat on its own. Perhaps during his tender age, he had yet sculpted the capacity to digest what it meant to his very soul.
Or perhaps, it was a sign from the unknown to focus and live in the present.
She was growing and becoming her very own person right before his unfocused eyes.
Spencer sighed, feeling a pair of arms glide to wrap around his shoulders.
“What’s got you so down, handsome?” You left a kiss on his cheek.
He intertwined your hands together. “It’s just—I missed out on so many milestones. Does that make me an absentee father?”
You walked around him before propping yourself on his lap. “I don’t think so, Spence. Why? What brought this on?”
“I found myself thinking about work when I should be focused on spending time—reading to Aurora. It made me feel sad that she was looking forward to our nightly routine and there I was, thinking about paperwork.”
There was a flash of sadness in your eyes as you caressed his cheek. “That’s alright. We all have our moments, Spence. You just got caught up with life and the responsibilities it has given you,” a lithe finger twisted a loose tendril blocking hos vision. “I know—we know, Aurora and I, that you being busy doesn’t mean you love us any less.”
“I just wish I wouldn’t miss anymore, love.”
You trailed kisses all over his cheeks, the corners of his mouth, before landing perfectly on his awaiting lips. “And I know you’d try your best moving forward.”
“Have I told you I love you?” He teased, arms securely on your waist. “Because I do and I feel lucky to have an understanding partner as you.”
“I love you too, Spence, and Aurora loves you too,” you giggled. “And between you and me, I think you’re still her favorite parent.”
Head thrown back, he laughed, thighs shaking from your admission. “It’s because I cave more to her whims more than you do.”
“Well, there’s that too.”
You gave him another kiss.
“We can try to be more present next time—together. I won’t let you doubt yourself. Okay?”
“Okay.”
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Comments and reblogs are highly appreciated!
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bunnys-kisses · 2 months ago
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can I pretty please get nanaimo bars,english muffin with the side of milkshake, frozen latte with Charles Leclerc 🥹🫶
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bakery menu
the bakery is open and accepting orders! we're cooking up smiles every day! submit your own order! reblogs & comments are appreciated! thank you lovely anon for submitting this, it was something very different to write that i loved. size kink with charles is super interesting given how many people see him. but sometimes i forget he is close to six feet tall and built like someone who does f1. he may look sweet as honey, but there's probably something more sinister (sexually) going on in that brain of his, haha.
nanaimo bars ("who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it.") + english muffins ("aw, is someone crying?") + milkshake (size kink) + frozen latte (dumbification) served by charles leclerc (formula one)!!
cw: smut/pwp, size difference/kink, dumbification, teasing/dirty talk, crying kink, cry baby!reader, oral sex (charles receives), deepthroating, facials & cock slapping, safe words/signals, hair pulling
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"mon cœur"
"la douleur dans ma poitrine."
"mon amor..."
"ma salope."
charles liked to make you cry. he loved when his mean words would curl up into your brain and make that waterworks come out. he was the prince of ferrari and of his home country. it's pride and joy. he was seen as effortlessly cool and could entice anyone. that smile, those green eyes. but even with all he had been afforded, nothing turned him on more than seeing his precious girlfriend's bottom lip wobble her eyes grow cloudy with tears.
he was running on high after monza, it was like everything was barking in the back of his head. even out of his driving suit and away from the track for the night, he could still feel the adrenaline. and while many would go for a run or spend the night with a drink in hand. he yearned for something different.
and when he saw you in his lavish hotel room, in one of his shirts and what appeared nothing else underneath. he knew that he was in for a treat tonight. with his bag down and his shoes off, he entered further into the room. he ended up by you on the couch and took you by the chin.
he smiled, "most take off the make up before they get comfortable." his thumb trailed under your left eye.
you replied, "i took everything off earlier and put on the mascara that runs easily." it was from a cheap brand at the pharmacy. perfect for what charles liked.
he chuckled, "you are just full of surprises, my love. you're going to be good for me tonight, right?" it was moments like these that you realized just how much bigger charles was. most painted him as short and frail.
he was just under six foot but built in a way to withstand the strain of racing. with large hands and thighs that could kill. his hand could easily fit around your neck as easily as his cock did to the back of your throat. there was a flicker in the greens of his eyes, the noble prince had stripped away into a hungry animal that yearned for you.
you swallowed, "i always am. always for you."
he tapped your cheek six times and you tapped his wrist once in response. even if these sick games where you cried and grew stupid on his cock, there were limits everyone had. charles didn't want to break your little world apart because he took it too far. he got on the couch next to you and undid his belt. your delicate hands helped him and dropped the leather to the floor.
charles held you face to look at him. he remarked, "you really are pathetic, so eager. i'm surprised you didn't stalk the halls looking for something to fuck your throat while i was out."
you frowned a little bit, "i'd never, honey."
he pinched your cheek a little harder than normal and leaned in, "right, right. because you're a good girl, my pretty girl. who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." his words were enticing and it made your stomach flip.
"i am."
"you are pretty, my love." he said, "god blessed you with good looks because he knew you'd be stupid. add a dash of being a cock hungry whore and sometimes i get worried. i've never wanted to kill a man, but if another sank his teeth into you." his words were low and they made you curl in your gut.
if you wanted out, as a last resort. tap once then six times in rapid succession. charles liked to make your bottom lip wobble, but he wasn't a monster. he pulled you in for another searing kiss, his hand in between your legs. he felt panties as he rubbed his hand up.
he knew it was going to be a long night tonight. but first, he had his eyes on your pretty throat. after all his marks had faded over the week. while there would be press photos soon, they didn't mean he couldn't mess up the inside of your throat. even if you couldn't talk for the week, he was more than happy to do all the talking for both of you.
"stupid thing." he said, "you know that? i feel sorry for whatever school gave you your diploma." he acted like he wasn't at your graduation, "i bet you paid them off. or worse, sucked them off. little whore on campus, too stupid to actually learn anything except be on her knees and breath through her nose." he made a small noise of disappointment.
and charles got excited at the sight of you. that bottom lip was going, he could see the shudder in your shoulders. that struck a nerve, post-secondary was hard for you. you felt like people called you dumb without actually saying it. and charles' toxic words only added the fuel to the fire of doubt.
"aw, is someone crying? don't cry." he said, faking sympathy, "if you start crying then you won't suck my cock properly." he rubbed the back of your head as he watched the tears come down your cheek. he sighed once more, "silly thing."
soon your head was between his legs. he could feel your hot tears against the base of his cock as they streamed down your face. they weren't a rush of tears, but a slow trickle as charles' words clouded your head.
you started to work his cock and he felt the excitement in his body. it took a good while but eventually you learned how to deep throat him. he hissed and held onto the back of your head. you were both still clothed (or at least partially for you).
charles had a habit of running his mouth when your mouth was on him. and he rocked the blunt end of his cock up against the back of your throat, occasionally making you choke, he started talking. "i should throw you to the rest of ferrari. let them ruin you. then maybe you'll stop being so greedy for cock when you've had enough for a lifetime. i see how they look at you, my logo across your pretty breasts as you look so cute down at the paddock. if i waved my hand and told them to have their way with you, you wouldn't be getting far." he tugged on your hair a little and forced you up and down his cock faster.
you choked a little bit and sputtered, trying to catch your breath through your nose. it all was a deep throb in your head as you tried to cram as much of his cock into your throat.
"i'd say they'd make your ass ferrari red. but i think it would be closer to mercedes black. you wouldn't be able to sit right for months. maybe i'd be generous and let the other drivers have a chance too. crying on their cocks."
you sniffled, tears welled up in your eyes some more. while most despised having 'raccoon eyes', charles found it endearing. the poor little thing can't help but cry because she knows that he's right. you knew in your gut that you were at least a little cock hungry at all times. he watched you squirm in your seat at times while you let your imagination run wild.
he continued to use you to his liking. you were perfect. trained you from the ground up to be perfect on his cock. he caught glimpses of your face and your red eyes. poor thing, crying to much making a big mess.
so dumb, so small, so stupid.
he took his cock out of your mouth and rubbed it up against your cheek roughly. spit and pre-cum caught across your right eyelashes. his cock pushed your top lip up and he groaned at the sight. your tongue licked a bit of pre-cum that was dangerously close to your face.
"so small, i'm surprised you could take all this. i remember when i couldn't put it in without prepping you. then you spent all season training your cunt for when i got home. now you take me in every way perfectly." he licked his lips, "you know where you belong."
his words excited you as you put your mouth back on his cock. you whimpered as you felt it hit the back of your throat once more. he was big in a way that it made you squirm.
you continued up and down his cock, putting all your brain power (what little you had left) into taking him well. you coughed and panted, air felt in short supply as you got him to the base. your nose in his groomed pubic hair.
a picture perfect beauty, all for charles to devour.
he knew he was close. he could feel it in his bones and in the tension of his muscles. he then tensed up further with his hand in your hair and pulled your mouth off his cock (as much as it pained him to do that). with his other hand he stroked himself off quickly to the sight of your quivering, overheated body. you panted heavily and he finished all over your face. he streaked your skin white with cum up to your forehead. it dripped down your face as you coughed a little.
the debauched sight made him get a few more ropes up cum on your face before he settled down. he pulled your head back to look at you, you could barely have your eyes open. he wished he could take a picture. the white of cum and the mascara mixed tears created a sight that made charles run hot.
"now you look like a slut." he said as he got his jeans off. he rubbed his cock up against your soft lips before he slapped his still hard cock against your face, only making the mess on your cheeks more intense.
"charles." your throat felt raw from it. you looked at him and panted heavily, your tongue stuck out a little bit. and charles knew the night was far over. he fucked you stupid without stimulating your poor pussy. he wanted to see how stupid he could make you.
"we're not done yet." he said.
you tilted your head to the side, almost innocently as if your face wasn't a mess. you asked, "what?" your brain not capturing all the words properly.
he held onto you for a moment and said, "ten seconds to clean up your face. then i want you naked on the bed, or i'll fuck you on the bathroom floor." then let go of you and watched you scramble to clean yourself up. those words stuck in your blissed out brain even though you almost tripped over yourself.
charles chuckled and leaned further back onto the couch, his cock at full attention. even though the mascara was going to be gone, it was okay. you still looked just as pretty with just those tears streaming down your face. <3
650 notes · View notes
tojiscumdumpster · 9 months ago
Text
⠀ ⠀⠀ "unwanted" MATRIMONY
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⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀byakuya kuchiki.
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✧ summary to preserve the existence of y/n's clan, she is forced to wed the twenty-eighth head of the kuchiki clan—byakuya kuchiki.
✧ content warnings reader is described as a black woman who uses she/her pronouns. clanhead!reader x captain!byakuya. bleach verse au (no manga spoilers) byakuya is a noble, so they'll both be speaking as such. lowkey giving royalty au vibes. told in first POV — reader's. tropes included: arranged marriage, childhood rivals to lovers. usage of c*nt, missionary position, fingering, nipple play, praise and breeding kink, primal play, terms of endearment — blossom, my love, etc. plot with smut, fluff, and a touch of angst if you squint hard enough. lengthy, but the build up is worth it and necessary!
✧ author's note i don't have much to say, but here's to adding more bleach men to my roster. i knew i wanted to write for byakuya because that's my baby daddy, and now i finally have this idea i hope you guys enjoy. support me by reblogging, liking, and commenting your thoughts. i would greatly appreciate it. ♡ MINORS AND BLANK/AGELESS BLOGS - DO NOT INTERACT.
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 I must make my days do, lazing around in my private chambers as I am bound to a marriage I wanted no parts of. Especially not with Byakuya Kuchiki. 
 Lord Byakuya, as he prefers me to call him.
 Because I am the current and possibly the final head of the L /N Clan, I am forced to complete my duties as such. Those duties entailed me following through with my grandparents final wish: get married and keep our family name alive. 
 Which I have no issue with fulfilling. 
 My dreams are filled with having children with a man that loves me. To extend our family and grow old together where our souls will find each other in another life. 
 However, I hadn’t planned my marriage to be an arrangement that I wasn’t aware of because of an agreement our grandfathers had prior to me being born. 
 It’s shocking, honestly. More so, ludicrous for them to think this was okay. But I just couldn’t deny my grandfather. Not when his palm was in mine, lacking its warmth that’s usually there due to his near passing. 
 I remember tears staining my cheeks and a smile gracing his when he made his final request for me. 
 That was two years ago. Now, I am married. Have been for almost a year and every day I dread my decision. 
 How could I possibly wed a man as cold as Byakuya Kuchiki? We barely speak. We sleep in separate chambers. The most we see each other is during dinner because it would be ridiculous to have the servants prepare us food at different times. But even so, the silence and tension always remains deafening.
 And to make matters worse, we have yet to consummate our marriage. 
 This is something I cannot possibly do on my own. He may or may not be attracted to me, and I am convinced to assume the latter because he never utters a look in my direction. 
 It’s shameful how he treats me. The words he spoke to me the night of our ceremony is a constant memory I do my best to forget but cannot. 
 I’m officially married. Not the way I expected to be, but what other choice do I have? Grandfather has died and I made a promise to him to marry and bear children to keep the L /N Clan everlasting. Even if that meant being forced into marriage with my childhood rival. 
 As we sit side-by-side next to each other, bowing and thanking all of our guests for their blessings, I feel the coldness radiating off Byakuya. Of course, one of us has to be graceful and fake smiles while greeting everyone, so I am left to the task. 
 Byakuya? He doesn’t hide how dissatisfied he is with how this night is going. 
 To an extent, I understand. Forcing to wed after the loss of his wife, Hisana, is not ideal. Despite it being centuries since her soul has passed, I’m almost positive the heartbreak is still present. 
 Maybe tonight reminds him of her? 
 “Byakuya—what is the matter? Is everything alright?” I inquired. I turn to face him and await a response. 
 The squareness of his jawline catches my attention and I think how it was carved by the gods themselves. I’ve known Byakuya since we were both children, and seeing the fine man he has grown into today never ceases to amaze me. 
 His profile is… beautiful. I’m mesmerized by the softness of his pale complexion and how it contrasts with the darkness of his raven colored locks. 
 The further I stare at him, the more heat floods underneath my cheeks and my mouth watering at the sight of his beauty. 
 But when he finally speaks, all of the emotions I’ve felt have completely diminished. 
 “Do you feel no shame being forced into a marriage where your partner feels nothing for you?”
 Since then, I’ve kept my distance from him. I remember the pain that pinged my chest when processing the words that left his mouth. I remember rushing to my chambers after the ceremony and crying until it felt like a million shards of glass were piercing them. 
 Yes, I feel ashamed. But I never expected Byakuya to be so direct with me. He’s certainly not the young boy I remember growing up with. Where we would make everything into a competition. 
 Our swordsmanship. Our knowledge. Our abilities. Whatever can be turned into a challenge for us, Byakuya and I competed. 
 That led him to be a captain of the Gotei Thirteen and twenty-eighth head of the Kuchiki Clan. And me, the twenty-third head of my family. I initially wanted to enter the Shin’ō Academy along with Byakuya, but I chose to stay with my family and oversee our medicine and agriculture. 
 However, even when he entered the academy, he always made time to see me because we were friends before any juvenile competition we made. 
 So why can he not see his wrongdoings in our marriage? Could he at least try for the sake of me fulfilling my duties? 
 All that keeps me company are movements of the servants coming in and out of my chambers, along with the river that flows past my view. 
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 As always, dinner is silent. 
 Byakuya has returned to the manor after attending his captain duties, and this is the only time of day where I see him. He is stripped from his formal wear and has been dressed in a simple dark blue yukata that has specks of cherry blossoms scattered across the garment. 
 If I didn’t loathe him so much, I could take my time appreciating how handsome he looks while being in the comfort of his manor. His locks are released from the kenseikan he wears that symbolizes his nobility as the head of the Kuchiki Clan. 
 I occasionally steal glances at him while he eats, and yes, while I do despise being in this forced marriage just as he does, I can’t help but be captivated by him.
 My lady parts wouldn’t allow me to deny the attraction. 
 As I watch my beloved husband, I think of all the sexual acts I would like for him to do to me. Please me in ways I could only imagine he can do. Make love to me and whisper in my ear how breathtaking I am.
 When I look at Byakuya, I think of all the times I’ve spent time with Lady Kyōraku and she tells me how madly in love she is with Captain Kyōraku. How well he treats her, and even with his demands in his new position, they spend much quality time together. 
 She even graced my ears with a few details about a picnic session they recently had where it led to activities that typically aren't done out in public.
 I wonder if my husband will ever be reckless enough to do an act as obscene as that. 
 Not likely. 
 I hate quiet, especially while we eat together. What is the purpose if no words will be spoken amongst each other? No eye contact. No going to bed together after we have finished. Why? 
 Why am I not able to be served dinner in my private chambers? Surely, I can make a request for this going forward. 
 Or… perhaps there is a different way for me to get him to speak. 
 I take a sip of my cremè sake before clearing my throat. “How did your day treat you, my lord?”
 “It was fine,” he responds, flatly. Should I be shocked that he didn’t lift his chin when speaking to me? 
 “There is something I would like to discuss with you.”
 “It can wait. I’m not up for discussion at the moment.” His dismissive tone has annoyance leaching onto my flesh, and I feel like I am on the verge of exploding.
 “Perhaps it cannot. I would like to discuss something with you, my husband.” The authority in my voice grabs his attention and finally, he looks up at me and catches my hardened gaze. 
 He deeply sighs, sitting down his bowl of rice and chopsticks. “What is it?”
 “Maybe we should… begin the process of annulment.”
 His face remains calm. Expressionless, like I always remembered. Does he care enough to show a reaction to me asking for a cancellation of our marriage? 
 This shouldn’t be a difficult decision for him, so why is he taking his time to respond? 
 The longer I wait, the more his lack of response bothers me. It’s not similar to before, where the quiet was filled by the sounds of us eating and the servants coming in to check on us.
 No, it’s the silence where if he does not speak, I will make the decision for him and walk out and permanently leave the manor.
 I think of all the conversations I’ve had with Lady Rukia, his younger sister. And Renji, his lieutenant, about how I should be patient with Byaykuya. That, eventually, he will come around and warm up to me being his wife. 
 But how long?
 How long would it take for us to share a chamber? For us to act like we’re in this agreement together? For him to look at me with the same attraction I have for him?
 How long? 
 It possibly couldn’t be more than a year. 
 This is not the Byakuya Kuchiki I grew up with. No, I wasn’t in his life those five years he was wedded to Hisana due to my own family issues. Maybe I could’ve been there for him and witnessed his change that caused him to be so apathetic. 
 However, this cold man that sits before me… I don’t know who he is.
 “Is there someone else you’re interested in?” He finally speaks, breaking me from my musings. 
 I draw my brows together, confused at his accusation. “Are you… insinuating that I am having an affair?”
 “We’ve been wedded for a year. No acts of intimacy have been done between us. Now suddenly you—”
 “Because of you!” My voice roars, interrupting whatever nonsense that he was about to spew. 
 I refuse to allow him to put the blame on me for the stillness in our marriage. I have tried, time after time, and all I am met with is a man that constantly rejects any type of advances I attempt to provide him.
 So, I continue. 
 “I have given you a year, Byakuya,” I begin, standing over him. He looks up at me and again, his expression remains undetectable. “The day of our ceremony, I have accepted that I will be your lady, and on that night, I was prepared for consummation. But what did you do instead? Humiliate me in front of all our guests with your trivial question!”
 My chest heaves an adrenaline I haven’t felt in a while. Maybe even never, however, leave it to Byakuya to rile me up this way. 
 “If you or anyone thinks I will bear children with a man that looks at me with utter disgust, then you all are sadly mistaken.” Are my last words to him before I rush out the supper room, tears threatening to fall, reminding me of the night we wedded. 
 I feel like such a fool. Disgrace descends upon me and my mind quickly goes to my grandfather and the words he spoke to me on his deathbed. Be strong, child, and fulfill your duties as the current head of the L /N Clan. Bear beautiful children with Young Byakuya and fall effortlessly in love. 
 Oh, grandfather. What am I to do? I can no longer stand to be in this marriage. Not like this. 
 Not with Byakuya. 
 By this time already, I had returned to my chambers and began preparing for bed. I allowed my emotions to get the best of me tonight, so some sleep will do me good. 
 But my suggestion of annulment will continue in the morning. 
 Just as I was moisturizing my body, a knock at the door interrupts my nightly routine and I immediately grow annoyed. 
 I know it isn’t one of the servants checking on me. They know when I don’t want to be bothered with. So that leaves the man that’s responsible for my current state of mind. 
 Ignore him, I say to myself. He’ll think I’m asleep and eventually leave. But no. He barges into my chambers, unannounced, and shuts the door behind him. 
 “Excuse me. I don’t recall giving you permission to en—”
 “Do you think this is easy for me?” He asks, paying no mind to my protests. “Being… married to you.”
 I turned my back to him and continued with the task I was doing before he interrupted. “Save me the boredom and keep it to yourself. No need to further remind—”
 “For a year… I have been… fighting these emotions. These… feelings that have been forming in my chest at the thought of you being my lady.” His admission shocks me… but I remain quiet and stare at him intently through my mirror and allow him to finish. “Do you wish to know how I feel about you, Lady Y/N?”
 My chest slowly heaves up and down and I hold eye contact with him. “How?” I breathed. 
 “You interfere with my routine. Daily… weekly… monthly. Just the thought of you has my mind spiraling.” He moves closer to me with every word he speaks. “A noble. A clan head such as myself, loses all sense of control with just a whiff of your scent. Your jasmine scent that drives me utterly insane. I simply cannot act with honor when I’m around you, so I purposely choose to ignore you.”
 “But… why?” I questioned. 
 “Because you are you, my lady. You may think I don’t keep my eyes on you, but I do. All day… every day. I… watch you sit by the river and simply smile at the sight of nature. From a distance, I hear how kind you are when you speak to others. It’s… enchanting.”
 I slowly release a breath and swallow a thick gulp. “So why is that you don’t speak to me? If I’m, as you stated, enchanting?”
 “Speaking is not what I wish to do with you when we are alone,” he admits. Arousal rushed between my legs at the true meaning of his statement. 
 “It is hard for me to believe that you have an attraction toward me, Lord Byakuya.” As if my words triggered him, he takes long strides to close the distance between us. 
 “Perhaps it’s because you do not look at me the way you look at others. I, too, should be questioning your attraction toward me.”
 I stand to meet with him, but fail miserably due his tall frame towering me. Still, I stand firm with my gaze. “Others such as who?”
 “Shūhei Hisagi,” he deadpans. 
 “You’re being ridicu—”
 “That smile… Your eyes… The look you give him… you have never looked at me that way before. He personally delivers the newsletter to our manor, which he doesn’t have to, but he does for you.”
 “Are you… jealous? Of the small interactions I have with Hisagi a few times throughout the week?”
 It is hard for me to believe that the honorable Byakuya Kuchiki himself is getting flared up over a platonic friendship between Hisagi and I. 
 Sure, there may be a chance he feels more for me than I know, judging by how his cheeks stain a light pink color when he delivers the newsletter. 
 But in no shape or form do I feel the same way, and I would never stoop as low as stepping out in my marriage. Even if my husband treats me like I am a fly on the wall. 
 Though, now, as he stands before me, slightly flustered, nostrils flaring, and a pinched expression—Byakuya is in fact—jealous. 
 I do not know how to feel about this, but I do know it is better than the distance I was getting before. 
 “Does this,” he grabs my hand to slip between us so I can feel his hardened erection, causing me to suck in a breath, “feel like I hold no attraction to you?”
 “Byakuya,” I barely said above a hushed tone. 
 He presses his forward against mine, whispering, “Everyday… I curse myself for these feelings I have for you, to the point where I attempt to avoid you yet fail horribly because I can’t help but watch you from afar.” His hand gently runs up and down my arm, and this bit of contact burns warmth to my flesh. 
 “I feel wrong. Felt, wrong for having such feelings for you, knowing my late Hisana has passed away. I thought my heart went along with her illness, however, you returned to my life unexpectedly.”
 I lick my lips before asking, “Are you saying you… love me, my lord?”
 “I desire you, my lady. Crave you in ways that make me want to act animalistic.” His lips ghost over mine before he falls to my neck and inhales heavily. “I’ve always wanted to know what it is like to have you on my tongue. To hear you beg for me to give you more than what I am giving.”
 “My lord… please.” 
 He shushes me. “Your beauty is beyond words. I have… never seen a rich, deep, golden brown complexion such as yours. You hold yourself with grace, but I know you’re a minx underneath these silk garments.”
 He begins trailing faint kisses along my flesh until meeting with my face once more. I stare at him and take advantage of his ash-colored hues that resemble the sky on a cloudy day. 
 I don’t recall ever being this close in proximity to Byakuya. I’m enthralled by the smoothness of his skin and the color of his lips that reminds me of a thousand cherry blossoms. 
 I want to kiss him. I, too, also want to know what it feels like to have the taste of him on my tongue. Just—
 “May I kiss you, Y/N?” The octave of his voice, slightly lower than usual, breathy with a touch of desperation… it does something to my core. 
 His cheeks flush red and my eyes widen at the sight of him. It feels like this is a fantasy, a moment I thought I would only see in my dreams. He is completely vulnerable, stipped down to where he forgets the formalities and calls my name. He is like this for me because of me. 
 When he is like this–I do not loathe him.
 “You may.”
 Byakuya gently presses his mouth against mine, our lips merely touching as if he is skeptical about what he is doing. He pulls back to look at me and I know desperation is shown on my face. And I know he feels the same.
 How he engulfs my arm with his hand, applying immense pressure to show his desire for me tells me so. 
 My breaths are staggered. I’m thinking, what will he do next? Will he turn around and return to his chambers, regretting this moment ever happened? No. He does not. 
 He caresses my nose with his, breathing me in before meeting with my lips once more. 
 This time, he cuffs my face and deepens our kiss. My hands latched  onto his wrist to hold him in place because I will not allow him to show any skepticism once again. 
 Byakuya takes his time exploring my mouth, but a touch of eagerness is shown when his tongue slips inside of me to get more. Heat hums throughout my body and I feel wetness pooling between my thighs due to the lack of under garments I am not wearing. 
 Is this what it feels like to kiss him? Is it normal for my limbs to grow weak? As if he read my thoughts, he sweeps me off the ground and wraps my legs around his waist. Our heads move side-to-side in unison while we devour each other’s grunts and moans. 
 We head in the direction to my futon and ever so lightly, he lays me down and pulls away from me. 
 “Strip for me.” His order is soft but filled with dominance I can’t be anything but submissive to. 
 I untie my silk robe, slowly until it falls off my shoulders and bares my body. His eyes… where I know Byakuya to be calm and collective during battle, right now a beast rages through him, and I am his prey that he is ready to feast on. 
 My legs spread, revealing my sex that is moist beyond measure. A growl forms in the pit of Byakuya’s stomach and it spreads chills down my spine.
 He palms my breasts while gazing at me and I shudder from his touch. I could believe that this is in fact a dream, but it is not. 
 No longer than a second later, and he pinches my nipple between his fingers. 
 “My lord,” I softly cried, arching my back. 
 “You are art, Y/N.”
 “Address me as your lady,” I demanded. 
 “Apologies, Lady Y/N.” He leans forward to press a quick kiss to my lips. “Is there anything else you would like for me to do?”
 “Strip for me as well,” I instructed, teasingly. 
 His yukata drapes low on his hips and I am met with his slender build. Squared shoulders. A trimmed waist. And an abdomen where I would enjoy rubbing my wetness along that leads to what will bring me pleasure tonight. 
 He stands to completely remove his garments and my mouth floods at the sight of him. His groin, hard and veiny, drips liquid that I’m yearning to taste. 
 Byakuya, as expected, is well trimmed, but leaves just enough hair, perfect to my liking. 
 He’s much larger than I imagined. A size I need time adjusting to, that’s for certain. 
 “Am I up to your liking?” He quips. 
 I hum, tugging my bottom lip between my teeth. “Perhaps.”
 The smallest chuckle, almost faint, escapes his mouth. “Perhaps…” He mocks, catching onto the lie that I uttered. 
  He kneels down before me and sucks my lower lip into his mouth while he widens my legs even further to bring pleasure to my cunt. Those slender fingers, so long and delicate, slip inside of me and I mewl at the slight intrusion. He massages my walls as if he is exploring, attempting to familiarize himself with how I pulsate around his fingers. 
 I break our kiss to moan his name, and my lord takes advantage of the opening to plunge his tongue in the back of my throat and sink deeper into my cunt. 
 I never expected Byakuya to be well equipped with his fingers this way. Those same fingers that are used for battle are currently being used to bring me to my release. 
 Soon, his lips find the valley of my breasts where he leaves bruises on my flesh with teeth. I whimper so pathetically, shocking myself at the sound that leaks from me. 
 He sucks on my nipples greedily, like a starved man that’s hungry for his lover, and this time, I let out a moan of his name. 
 “Byakuya…”
 He looks at me through his lashes and firmly grips my breast. “Remember, my lady. Address me as your lord.”
 “I am sorry, my lord. Please… I can no longer wait. I want to come.”
 “Where is that fire that was present earlier? Begging?” I clench around his fingers at the sound of him taunting me. 
 He flickers his digits quicker inside of me, pulling such obscene noises from my cunt that mingles with my moans and his praises in my chambers. 
 Byakuya, this time, does not kiss me. No, instead, he ogles me and gently holds my chin in place where I am forced to watch him deliver me a release I’ve been waiting a year for. 
 There was a time where I thought he didn’t have an ounce of attraction to me, and now here he is, pleasing me in a way I haven’t been before. 
 “Oh, Lord Byakuya… I… I’m about to come. I feel a release coming,” I purred. 
  “But I have barely touched you, blossom.”
 I latched onto his wrist and rolled my hips to meet his fingers thrusting inside of my cunt. “I—I know. I’ve been waiting for this… for so long.”
 “You’ve fantasized about me bringing you pleasure?” I nod, causing a small smirk to form on his lips. “Tell me more, Lady Y/N. What else do you want? Would you like my shaft inside your tight cunt?”
 “Yes.”
 “Tell you how breathtaking you look while being filled with me?”
 “Oh, yes. Yes, Lord Byakuya.”  
 The faintest, most gentle kiss is placed on the side of my mouth and I feel the tension at the bottom of my stomach unraveling.
 “Are you prepared to bear my children? To have my come flooding your cunt until it drips out?” He ghosts over my ear. “Will you take me?”
 “Bya… kuya…” My orgasm suddenly crept onto me and I’ve created a mess on his hand. 
 I throw my head back and moan to the gods above. I can’t stop shaking and he continues to pump his fingers inside of me. 
 For a year I thought this man loathed me, but tonight I am proved otherwise. 
 Lord Byakuya has described himself as a madman when he is around me, and it is shown when he doesn’t permit me the time to come down from my release before guiding his cock to my entrance. 
 I look between us, anticipating the moment he enters my body and wondering how I will take him. 
 He attempts to push himself inside, but is met with interference and clicks his tongue. Frustrated at the constriction of my cunt because his cock is aching to feel my walls. 
 “I see she is as stubborn as you are,” he taunts. 
 I slyly smirk at him. “Giving up—Ohh…”
 Byakuya does not allow me to finish my retort before giving me one long thrust between my folds to completely stuff me. My brows knits together at the slight intrusion and hint of pain that’s mended by my wetness. 
 I’m… stretched. How could he fit? He’s so… big. Large. I feel his veins pleasurably grazing me when he slowly begins to pull in and out. My cunt molds around his cock like he’s all she knows and I gasp with every movement. 
 My thighs are pushed back so he could see all of me, to see how I’m swallowing him whole. He swears underneath his breath and seeing Byakuya so vulnerable like this has me pulsating. 
 “You… are amazing, my lady. This cunt of yours… It's perfect,” he declares. “For a year you have been keeping this from me?”
 “More, my lord. Give me a bit more.”
 “So desperate for my come, are you?”
 I eagerly nod and grip his forearms to take his pounding. He wastes no time acquiescing to my request, increasing his thrusts to pull such lewd noises from me.
  I’m almost embarrassed by the loudness of my dripping sex. I’m practically making a mess on my futon and I’m mortified that the servants will need to replace my sheets. 
 Again, his mouth and hands are back on my breast, sucking and circling my nipples until they ache. Byakuya alternates between the two to show equal amounts of love and I have never felt so overwhelmed.
 He drives into me with so much passion while marking me with his teeth and alleviating the pain with his tongue. 
 “When I breed you, you will be completely mine, my love. You will be full of me, carrying my child,” he rasps, rutting into me with more force. “How many will you give me?”
 I gasped. “As many as you want, Lord Byakuya. Just please… make me come again. I feel it approaching.”
 “So come for me, blossom.”
 His thrusts are harsher than before. The head of his cock repeatedly presses my sweet spot and I feel the spark of electricity tingling in my lower back. My breasts are still occupied by his mouth, but they move obnoxiously with the rhythm of his poundings. 
 I cry his name, scream to my lord how wonderful this feels and tears prick the corner of my eyes. His free hand that was on my breast moves to thumb my clit to aid with my near release. 
 Byakuya moans soon joins mine to tell me how my cunt squeezes his cock, nearly strangling. And if it were to lose circulation, I would be the cause. But does he not feel how he throbs inside of me? 
 How he hopes to breed me so we will be bound for life? 
 “You asked me earlier… if I love you. Would you still like to know?”
 “Yes, Byakuya. Tell me… do you?”
 “I do,” he simply answers. “Since the day I saw you staring at the river and smiling at the water flowing. How could I not love you?” He brushes his lips across mine and lowers his voice. “How could I not love you after having you like this? Having your beautiful body, every dip and curve bare underneath me?”
 “Lord Byakuya… I’m coming.”
 “And you sound beautiful when my name drips from your lips. Continue calling me your lord until I have filled you with my come.”
 Over and over, he rocks into me at a frenzied pace, causing my orgasm to burst out of me. Tears stain my cheeks and arousal prickles my flesh from my overwhelming release. However, Byakuya does not let up until his thrusts are uncoordinated, indicating his own climax.
 Coming together as lovers for the first time after our ceremony has me seeing stars in my chambers. His load… it’s heavy. Hot and sticky. It mingles with my own come and creates a mess between us.
 Lord Byakuya, too, is a vocal lover. He comes down from his own release and whispers how ethereal I am. How he would never grow tired of pleasing me and filling my cunt. 
 But it’s the delicacy of him brushing my coils away from my face and placing soft kisses on my cheeks that causes my heart to skip a beat. 
 An hour has already passed, and we have been basking in each other’s presence. His embrace is comforting. It provides me with a warmth that was well needed to fill the coldness beside me when I slept alone at night for the past year. 
 “I’m sorry,” he says, breaking the silence. 
 I know the reason for his apology, but ask anyway. “For what, my lord?”
 “For the discomfort I have provided you since our engagement. You didn’t deserve that… Before anything, you were a dear childhood companion of mine and I treated you horribly.”
 His kind words move me. I place my palm against his cheek and look up at him. “We can discuss it some more later on. For now, I would like to enjoy your company. Is that okay?”
 He kisses the top of my head and pulls me further into his arms. “Of course, my lady… Of course.”
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thank you for reading. reblogs, comments, and likes are well appreciated. if you enjoy my work, please be sure to check our my masterlist for more. ෆ
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wordbinge · 2 months ago
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Can I just take moment to thank every creator on here who blesses us with free content straight from their very souls and they ask for nothing in return. Can we show our appreciation to those that keep us fed each day. I'm talking about the poets, writers,artists and just all of the content creation categories. Goddamn like or reblog or even just a comment on the posts you encounter and appreciate, they need sustainence as well.
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mxltifxnd0m · 12 days ago
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crimson waves ☽ s. winchester
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summary: you're on your period and sam is the best boyfriend ever
pairings: established sam winchester x reader, sam winchester x fem! reader
word count: 3.4K
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warnings: MINORS DNI, mentions of blood and periods, fluff, fingering, implied smut (there's a little), sam being a sweetheart, no use of 'y/n', kinda edited
a/n: so this was meant to be posted when i was on my period but then i got stuck while writing it and then i went on a hiatus from tumblr for a month... but now im back! so, here it is :P
but enjoy the fic! please like, comment, and reblog!! your feedback fuels me!
[here's my taglist; read rules before sending in an ask]
𝘴𝘢𝘮 𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘮𝘢𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘵
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Being a light sleeper was a blessing and a curse. It was a blessing because you were able to wake up at any sign of danger or disturbance, and you needed to have heightened senses in your line of work. It was also a curse because your body tended to wake you up when the situation didn’t call for it, like right now. 
You felt yourself being pulled from your dreamscape as your lower abdomen started to twist and cramp. You opened your eyes slowly and let out a small groan as a sharp pain shot through you. You wanted to curl into yourself, but a heavy arm was wrapped around your waist, reminding you of the person who was sleeping soundly behind you. 
You blinked the sleep out of your eyes and looked at the nightstand to check the time on the alarm clock. “8:21 AM,” it read, and your eyes closed involuntarily as you let out a small sigh. You were exhausted from the hunt that you and the boys had come back from the night before. You were looking forward to sleeping in for the next couple of days before, but of course, life wasn’t going to be kind to you. Another cramp seized your body, and that was your signal to get up and check if you had started to bleed through your underwear or not. 
You gently peeled off Sam’s arm, and it went willingly as he rolled onto his stomach, facing away from you, sleeping peacefully. 
Lucky bastard. You thought to yourself as a scowl wormed its way onto your face as you watched Sam sleep for a moment. You got up from the bed and padded around your shared room with Sam, grabbing a new pair of underwear, a pad, and a new set of pajamas that included some soft flannel pants and Sam’s old Stanford hoodie. You went into the ensuite bathroom, and when you went to relieve yourself, you felt the unpleasant feeling of a blood clot leaving your body. You pressed your lips together, trying to tamp down the brewing irritation in your chest. 
After finishing your business on the toilet, you quickly stripped, threw up your hair to avoid it getting wet, and turned the shower on. You let it warm up before hopping it, letting the hot water hit your back, and a sigh of relief left your lips as you felt the tense muscles in your stomach melt away. You didn’t know how long you stood in the shower as the water hit your chest and flowed down the rest of your body, stewing in your thoughts before you felt a pair of hands land on your hips. You went willingly as they pulled you into their bare chest and let out a contented hum as they pressed soft kisses along the side of your neck and shoulder. 
“Good morning.” The rasp of Sam’s voice was deep and low in your ear as his hands moved from their spot on your hips and wrapped around your waist. 
Your mouth pulled up into a smile, your mood lifting slightly. “Morning.” You let your head fall back against Sam’s shoulder, and his lips trailed up from their spot on your neck, planting a soft kiss on your cheek. 
“You’re up early.” He mumbled against your cheek, his grip around you getting tighter. 
“Cramps.” You said in a low voice, not wanting to disturb the peaceful atmosphere of the bathroom before wincing as your lower stomach began to ache again. 
Sam pressed another soft kiss to your cheek before resting his chin on your shoulder. “You know, I can help with that.” One of his hands started to slide down from your waist and down to your stomach. 
You grabbed his wrist before his hand could make its way to its destination. “As much as I’d like you to do that, I- oh fuck.” You almost doubled over if Sam’s arm didn’t wrap around your midsection, catching you as a more intense cramp shot through your abdomen. It felt like a boa constrictor was wrapped around your organs and suffocating them. 
“You okay honey?” Sam’s concerned voice filtered through your ears as you gritted your teeth in pain. 
“Not really.” You said through gritted teeth as you leaned against him when the pain had lessened. You almost snapped at him for the stupid question he asked because it was obvious that you weren’t, but you swallowed the retort you had on the tip of your tongue. 
“Babe, let me help you. I heard that orgasms help with cramps.” 
You would have laughed at Sam’s words if you weren’t in pain. You turned your head to look up at Sam’s pleading expression. “But the blood.” You tried weakly, not wanting him to be disgusted by it. 
Sam raised an eyebrow at you. “I can handle a little blood. But if you don’t want me to, we can get out right now and I’ll get you some painkillers.” 
You bit your bottom lip in thought, and you didn’t miss Sam’s eyes flickering down to your lip and back to meet your gaze. “Just use your hands for now.” 
Sam smiled at you, nodding before he dipped his head down and gave you a soft kiss while one of his hands wandered down your body. 
You let out a soft moan against Sam’s lips as you felt his fingertips start to rub soft circles on your already sensitive clit. Warmth spread throughout your body as desire filled your veins. Low moans and whines escaped your mouth as Sam’s fingers quickly worked over your swollen clit. Sam’s mouth swallowed your sounds as his tongue swiped against yours fervently. 
You could feel your orgasm beginning to rise as Sam’s hand left your clit and two fingers started to pump into you. A cry left your lips as his thick fingers filled your cunt. Sam managed to hit your g-spot each time his fingers thrust in and out of your sopping hole. Sam’s lips left yours as he began to nip at your jaw and neck. You could vaguely feel his hard cock pressed against your ass through your lust-filled trance, and you couldn’t help but jerk your hips backward, grinding against Sam. 
A low groan left Sam’s lips as you felt him grind against you in response. “You gonna cum? I can feel you clenching tight around my fingers.” 
“Ye-yeah.” Your response came out as a broken moan. 
Sam’s tactic changed from hitting your g-spot every time his fingers thrust in your cunt, to stilling inside of you and making a come-hither-motion with his middle and ring finger. You could feel the heat that was brewing in your core boil over. 
Sam could feel how close you were and doubled down on his ministrations. “Come for me baby.” He ordered in a low voice before nipping at your pulse point. 
You did just that, and you came with a shout. Stars danced behind your closed eyes as you leaned against Sam’s muscular body as you rode out your orgasm. 
You whimpered once Sam’s fingers retreated from you, and you pouted at the feeling of being empty, your cunt clenching around nothing. Sam reached over and turned off the water. He turned you around in his arms and rested his hands on your hips as he pressed a chaste kiss on your slightly swollen lips before his forehead met yours. 
“Feel better?” Sam asked with a loving smile on his face. 
You couldn’t help but smile back at him. “Yeah, I do.” The ache in your abdomen was dull, but it wasn’t excruciating as it was when you woke up. 
Sam’s smile widened, and he went to leave the shower, but you caught his wrist in your hand. He looked back at you with a furrow in his brow. 
“Do you not want me to…” You trailed off, gesturing to his still-hard cock. 
Sam shook his head, his slightly damp hair moving as he did. “Later. You need to eat something before you take some painkillers.” 
You raised an eyebrow at him, your eyes slowly looking over his naked body before they landed on his amused face, his hazel eyes filled with mirth.
“Down girl,” Sam said jokingly when he saw your heated gaze. He grabbed the navy blue towels that weren’t there before you came into the bathroom, dried himself off quickly, and wrapped it around himself. It was slung low on his hips, revealing the deep v-line and happy trail. 
If you weren’t on your period right now, you would have had Sam fucked you into next week against the tiled wall. You made your way out of the shower, where Sam met you with the other towel and dried you off. He wrapped the towel around you and kissed you when it was snug around you. You couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. Sam was being so sweet; it could have made your teeth ache. 
When you broke away from the kiss, you shooed him out of the bathroom, wanting to put your pad on your underwear in peace. Sam pouted but left without any complaints. You took the time to change into your loungewear for the day and do your morning routine before heading back into the room. 
When you left the bathroom, Sam was sitting on the edge of the bed, scrolling through his phone, all dressed in his classic flannel and jeans. He looked up from his phone and started to smile as soon as Sam saw what you were wearing. He rose from the bed and met you halfway as you walked towards you. 
He kissed your forehead and tugged the sleeve of your (his) sweater that you were wearing. “I was wondering where this went.” Sam said as he looked down at you with a knowing smile on his face. 
You shrugged. “It must have gotten mixed in with my laundry.” 
Sam nodded and let out a small chuckle, acting like he believed you, but he knew that you stole it from him. He leaned forward and planted another kiss on your forehead. 
“You’re lucky that you’re cute.” Sam muttered against your forehead before pulling away and placing his hands on your shoulders. He turned you around and began to lead (push) you out of the bedroom and down the halls of the bunker. 
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Sam made the two of you breakfast. Then, you took some painkillers to try and curb the pain that your cramps made you suffer every month. You decided to go back to your room to relax in bed and just watch some TV that you’d been meaning to catch up on. You had asked Sam to join you, but he said that he had to go out and run some errands, which made you pout since you wanted to spend time with your boyfriend. You had offered to come with him, but he insisted that you stay in bed and rest. 
You were lying in bed with your laptop on your lap and a heating pad on your stomach when you heard a knock at the door. You paused the show you were watching before telling the person at the door to come in. 
Sam peered his head into the room. “Hey, honey.” He greeted you with a smile. “How are you feeling?” 
“Feeling as good as I can be while being on my period.” You said as you heard the crinkling of plastic from the doorway, and your eyebrows furrowed slightly. 
“Soo, not good?” Sam asked as he entered the room with a plastic bag in one hand while his other hand was hidden behind his back. 
“Not really.” You sighed a little before raising an eyebrow at him as you closed your laptop and placed it on your nightstand. 
“Well,” He began to say with a wide smile. “I have some things that might make you feel better.” Sam finally entered the room, a plastic bag in one hand and the other hidden behind his back. Once he reached the edge of the bed, Sam placed the bag in your lap before sitting by your feet.
You immediately dived into the bag and saw Sam bought all of your favorite snacks and candy that you had been craving every time you were on your period. You look up from the bag and find Sam holding out a bouquet that he had hidden behind his back. 
Your eyes flickered from Sam’s sheepish smile to the beautiful arrangement of tulips, lilies, and baby’s breath. You grabbed the bouquet from Sam’s outstretched hand as you continued to admire them. Your breath caught in your throat, and you could feel your eyes start to well up. 
Sam caught onto your teary eyes. “You okay honey?” A slight frown marred his face as the line in between his eyebrows became more prominent. 
You managed to let out a choked laugh and nodded before setting the flowers beside you. You looked at Sam with a broad smile before launching yourself into Sam’s arms. 
Sam let out a surprised grunt as you wrapped your arms around his neck, and his arms instinctively wrapped around your waist. He managed to get your legs out of the blanket that covered them, but you ended up straddling his lap as you hugged Sam tightly. You could feel a stray tear or two fall from your eyes as you breathed in Sam’s comforting scent and felt one of his hands rub your back soothingly. 
You eventually calmed down and pulled back to meet Sam’s eyes. “Thank you.” 
Sam’s lips pulled up into a smile. “What for?” His head tilted slightly as he looked at you with his signature puppy dog look. 
“Just for being you. No one has gone out of their way to get me my favorite snacks or flowers when I’m on my period.” 
Your lifestyle didn’t really allow for serious relationships, so you were never granted the luxury of your partners showering you with love and care while you were on your period. Besides, your last real relationship didn’t end very well. So when you met Winchesters, the last thing on your mind was falling in love with one of them, but life had other plans for you and Sam. 
Sam tucked a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “Whoever didn’t is an idiot.” He flashed you his cute half-smile that never failed to make you feel warm inside as he rested his hand on your cheek. You couldn’t help but nuzzle into his touch as you leaned forward and rested your forehead against his. 
“When we die and we’re in Heaven, and if Jess is there, I’m giving her a big fat kiss on the lips for training you so well.” You joked with a broad smile on your lips. 
Sam couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m sure she’ll enjoy it.” There was a pause before he spoke again. “The two of you would have been good friends.” Sam said with fondness coating his words. 
“But you’re okay with sharing me in Heaven?” Sam’s tone was teasing. You pulled back from him slightly as you let your eyes trail over his figure before meeting his hazel gaze and biting your bottom lip. 
“Oh, I have no problem with sharing. The question is if you’re able to handle the both of us?” You said with a sultry smirk on your face. 
Sam’s upper lip twitched before you saw a glint of amusement pass through his eyes. “Well, we’ll find out when we cross that bridge.” 
“I suppose we will.”  
A silence had settled between the two of you, just staring at each other while Sam’s hands were resting on your thighs and your hands were scratching at the back of his neck, which he had lost the staring contest as his eyes closed in bliss. You had to smile as he let out satisfied hums from his mouth. You had eventually climbed off of your boyfriend, and he whined as you stopped scratching his head and neck. He let you go and sit back in your previous spot on your bed. 
You huffed amusedly at Sam’s slight pout. “Go change.” You told him. 
“Why?”
You rolled your eyes at him. “Because, I want to cuddle my boyfriend in comfortable clothing while we pig out on the snacks he bought me.” 
“Oh, that’s a good idea.” 
“I know, and hurry your cute ass up and change.” 
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After Sam had changed, you guys cuddled in bed as you finished up the episode you were watching on your laptop. You ate the snacks Sam bought but saved most of it for later. Before you knew it, Dean was knocking at the door and letting the two of you know that dinner was ready. You were still hungry, so the two of you left your room and had dinner with Dean in the kitchen. 
Once you were done with dinner, the three of you had an impromptu movie night in the “Dean Cave” (you hated the name, but it unfortunately stuck). Dean picked out an old western, and as much as you love Dean, he could have a better taste in movies. Nonetheless, you sat and watched it until about halfway through the movie. Your cramps started to rear their ugly head again. 
You let out a quiet groan before silently excusing yourself from the room and making your way to your bedroom to take some painkillers. Unbeknownst to you, Sam had heard you and followed shortly after you left the room. 
You quickly downed the painkillers and used the spare water bottle that was on your nightstand to wash them down. You knew that it would take a while for them to kick in, so you went to get into bed, but before you could, a pair of arms wrapped around you pulled you into their chest for the second time today. 
Sam’s hands went underneath the sweater you were wearing and rested his warm palms on your lower stomach. “Cramps again?” He asked as he rested his chin on your shoulder. 
You nodded as you let out a sigh. You leaned back into Sam’s embrace and closed your eyes. You could feel Sam’s thumbs swirling random shapes into your skin before he murmured your name quietly, getting your attention. 
“Yeah?” You asked slowly. 
“Can I take care of you like I did this morning?” 
Your eyes shot open as you turned around in his embrace. “You sure?” You cleared your throat. “It’ won’t be as-,” You gestured to your nether regions. “-clean.” You winced at your words. 
Sam looked at you unamused. “Like I said before, blood doesn’t bother me.” He said before he smirked. “Besides, the sheets needed to be washed anyway.” 
“Sam!” You slapped his shoulder, but you couldn’t help the laugh that escaped your lips as he smiled cheekily at you. 
“Is that a yes?”
You huffed and rolled your eyes. You were a little hesitant, but this was Sam you were talking about. You had explored any and all avenues of your sex lives with each other, and this was one of the boxes on his checklist. 
“It’s a yes. But-” 
You weren’t able to finish your sentence because Sam had pulled your lips to his and drew you into a passionate kiss. And before you knew it, your whines and moans, combined with Sam’s groans, had filled the air as you writhed against the bed in pleasure as Sam ground against you, only pulling back slightly and thrusting as deep as he could, drawing out your third orgasm on his cock before he spilled into you. 
Your bodies were coated in sweat, and you could only imagine the mess that was in between yours and Sam’s legs. After Sam had recovered, he went into the bathroom to grab some damp washcloths to clean the both of you up and quickly ran a hot bath for you to relax in while he threw the sheets in the wash. 
When you were done with the bath, you gained the ability to walk again. You stumbled into the bedroom with the discarded pajamas that were once scattered on the floor back on your body. Sam was done changing the sheets of your bed. You all but collapsed into his arms, and the both of you shared a sleepy, soft kiss before you succumbed to sleep. 
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spider-stark · 3 months ago
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A CONVERSATION BETWEEN OLD FRIENDS
Gwayne Hightower x Septa!Reader
Summary - Devotion will never be enough to make the Gods forgive you for the sin of your existence. They will keep finding new ways to punish you.
Warnings - fem!reader, bastard!reader, septa!reader, mostly edited, heavy religious themes & guilt, angst, yearning, *slightly* ooc gwayne but mostly cause he's drunk and bitter lmao
Word Count - 1.3k
!MINORS DNI!
// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //
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Dark obsidian walls glisten like the night sky as you enter the Starry Sept from the motherhouse. Towering statues stand sentinel around the round-altar, carved in the likeness of the Seven. Forever repenting for the sin of your existence, you often acknowledge them as you draw close—with a nod, a prayer, an offering. 
But not tonight. 
Even with his forehead pressed to the altar, you recognize Gwayne by his tawny hair, shimmering like bronze in the candlelight. His tunic is wrinkled, half-untucked from his trousers. The sharp scent of alcohol burns your nose, strong enough to smell it from across the Sept.
For a moment, a smile touches your lips. You think of lost nights spent by the Honeywine river. Skipping rocks on the water and drinking from a bottle of arbor gold, snagged from his uncle's cellar.
But nostalgia is all too fleeting, soon replaced by deep worry for an old friend. 
Cavernous and austere, the Sept echoes your every footfall. Consumed by a drunken haze, Gwayne remains oblivious to your presence, even as you sink to your knees beside him. 
It’s only when you speak that he looks up. 
“I’m reminded of a verse from The Warrior’s Edicts.” Armed with sword and helm, the God's stony eyes seem to peer down as you recite His wisdom: “Drink muddles the sensible mind. ‘Tis the duty of knights to remain sober-minded, to pave a path of rectitude so that all men might follow.” 
Gwayne’s voice is unusually hoarse, wavering slightly as he tells you, “You won’t find a sober knight in all of the Seven Kingdoms.” 
“Perhaps that’s why there are so many indecent men,” you turn your head to him with a soft smile, “because none are willing to pave a better way.” 
Altar candles flicker, bathing his features in dim warmth. You note the faint stubble along his jaw, the dull shine of sapphire eyes. When was the last time you sat this close? It feels like a lifetime ago, now. 
He swallows, looks down at his lap. “How did you know I was here?” 
“Septon Halleck saw you come in,” you tell him. “Thought you looked in need of a friend.” 
In the years since swearing your vows to the Faith, the aging Septon was your only blessing. Between services, he spins tales about his life before coming to Oldtown—of a youth spent north of the Neck, about a pale castle surrounded by frigid waters. 
You tell Halleck stories about your life, too. He pretends not to notice that Gwayne Hightower is at the center of them all. 
Softly, you tease, “Though if he had known you were drunk, he might’ve sooner tossed you onto the streets.” 
Gwayne scoffs. Starts fiddling with his fingers, picking at them. “If the Septon’s life was half as grueling,” he grumbles, “then he would understand my need for a drink.” 
“And what’s so grueling about the life of a trueborn son?” 
It’s not meant as a slight, though a certain bitterness seeps through. 
Raised in the shadow of trueborn siblings, you know well of the luxuries they’re afforded. Watched as your sisters were swathed in silk and coddled with gold, freely given all which you were made to claw for. 
You recall a quote on envy that Halleck recited during your novice years, when your blood still ran thick with resentment: He who sits at the head of the table will still covet crumbs off a beggar’s plate.
But what if you’re the beggar? If the Gods gave you nothing but crumbs. Would envy still be a sin? Or a sign of injustice. 
Gwayne shakes his head. Mutters under his breath, “You’ve never understood.” 
“Understood what?” 
“What it’s like to be shackled by your father’s name,” he answers, frustrated. 
His thoughtlessness is a fist around your heart, squeezed tight. 
If he was sober, he would apologize. If he was sober, he wouldn’t be here at all. 
You suck in a calming breath, interlacing your fingers and resting your elbows upon the altar. Heat from the flames caresses your forearms as you utter a wordless prayer to the Warrior, asking Him to keep your voice from wavering. 
“You’re right. I don’t understand.” Images flash in your mind. The hazy face of a father who didn’t want you. You clear your throat, say, “But I know it is to be nameless, and I can’t imagine the shackles of a noble-name hurt any worse.” 
“Better to be nameless and free,” he says, “than noble and in chains.” 
You fight the urge to laugh, instead citing a relevant phrase from The Book of Reflections. “Those bound in chains oft discover they were forged by thine own hands.” Gwayne’s head tips back, groaning. Your lips briefly twitch. “It’s not your fate to be nameless,” you tell him. “But, even if it were, the shackles are of your own making—you would bear them all the same.” 
Drunkenness exaggerates his expression. Pulls his brows together, tugs his wine-stained bottom lip into a deep frown. “If I had known you were just going to quote scripture at me,” his words slur slightly, “then I wouldn’t have come.” 
You don’t let yourself wonder at the implication there. That maybe he had come to see you. 
“Why come to a Sept if not to receive wisdom from the Gods?” You ask. 
Gwayne’s stare shifts upwards, settles on the scales of justice clutch in the Father’s stone fist. Sapphire eyes begin to blaze like searing flames. “For forgiveness,” he answers slowly, without inflection. 
Hesitant, you ask, “So that’s why you’re here tonight? To ask the Gods for their forgiveness?” 
His head shakes. His fingers never still, never stop tearing at his cuticles. 
He holds the Father’s stare and, with a voice like death, says, “I’m here so they can beg for mine.” 
The pressure in your chest grows tighter, his words resonating with a part of yourself long since buried by the Faith. The angry, bitter part of you—the nameless, the beggar, the bastard. 
Instinct tightens your fingers, still interlocked. You look to those stone Gods. Feel an old weight settle on your shoulders as they look back. 
Strained, you ask, “For what reason?” 
Gwayne doesn’t answer. Asks his own question, instead. “Why did you join the Faith?” 
You think of the Honeywine. Of the last time you sat this close. 
Of a boy born with such honor, cherished by his Gods. 
Of a girl born with such shame, scorned by them. 
You think of the Faith. Of the passage that led you away from his side. 
A Bastard's life is a testament to the reach of sin. 
Tainted and tarnished, all they touch will come to rot. 
Tears sting the back of your throat. Unsure of a better answer, you tell him, “Because we all bear our own shackles.” 
As if comparing wounds, Gwayne offers up his own answer, too. “There was a feast tonight,” he tells you. “My father announced that I am to be wed.” 
There’s such hollow silence. Obsidian walls wrap around you. Starlight burns your skin. 
“To who?” 
Something tells you that you won’t like his answer. A soundless voice, a whisper on a phantom wind. 
Quietly, voice wavering, he tells you, “One of Lord Mullendore’s daughters.” 
A stone drops in your stomach. 
“Lord Mullendore…” Your mind begins to reel. Images flash. A hazy face. Silk and gold and clawing clawing clawing. “One of his daughters…” 
All at once, the air is sucked from the room. As if oxygen is yet another thing denied to you in the name of repentance. As if all your devotion still isn’t enough to purge the rot from your existence. 
Both soft and resentful, he murmurs, “She has your eyes…” 
You keep your fingers interlocked. Gwayne picks his bloody. The Gods watch. 
The path of devotion is fraught with pain. But fear not! Trials endured in Faith shall always be rewarded with Light. The Seven are just. The Seven are wise. The Seven are merciful.
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a/n - Honestly, I just wanted to explore the internal conflict that might come from a bastard going the Faith of the Seven considering that, while they're welcome to become Septons/Septas, they're still viewed as being sinful and treacherous by nature. Additionally, the idea of a bastard being so in love with a pious, honorable man that she turns to his religion just feeds something inside of me?? like, her turning to scripture to communicate with him?? him beginning to resent the gods that 'cherish' him?? neither of them ever getting what they want??
anyways--all thoughts/opinions/feedback are welcome and very very appreciated!
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vaaaaaiolet · 4 months ago
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Alarm clocks are a little pointless in the Kennedy household, no thanks to your husband's perplexing sleep schedule. What's the rhyme to his reason? Or rather, who?
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gn / m, just domestic fluff w/ older married leon of your choice (di leon is personally so husband), pretend i'm funny, animals?? for some reason LMFAO, leon hates sleep
word count: 474 // read on ao3
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a/n: tiny drabble for @l1terallylaroxy w/ love <3 yes i was listening to snooze by sza what gave it away. the entire fic? oh okay.
find all my drabbles in my collection: sketches for my sweetheart the drunk!
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The dip your mattress developed overnight makes for a better alarm clock than the one sitting on your nightstand. You still check to not hurt its tiny mechanical feelings.
5:30 AM. Leon’s come home.
A roll of your shoulder puts you face to face with your sleeping hill of a husband. You can’t help stifling a laugh at the haphazard way he’d fallen into bed, practically breathing in his pillow as he snoozes away with his stomach pressed to the sheets and an arm slung heavy over your waist. Leon is a staunch back sleeper – you catch earfuls about sleeping on your stomach from him all the time, but here he is, Mr. You-Need-to-Reduce-Pressure-on-Your-Spine, in all his morning glory. He’s lucky he happens to be married to the pinnacle of benevolence.
You simply file away the blackmail for later.
A groan eventually sounds from the mess of blankets Leon’s entangled himself in, something akin to, “Gmmff...mmff, bah.”
Definitely talking in his sleep. You’re half-asleep yourself. Anacondas wrap you closer – no, Leon wraps you closer when he finally blinks awake.
“What’d you say?” you chuckle.
“...said g’morning, baby,” your husband yawns.
Dawn blushes the ivory sheets pink, blooms roses in your cheeks when he presses a kiss to your shoulder mumbling something sweet: “G’back to sleep. Don’t wanna wake you up.”
And then he does something crazy. Leon starts rubbing the sleep out of his eyes and sitting up like he’s getting ready for the day, fully at five in the morning like he didn’t just crash into bed after a graveyard shift at the DSO.
It’s insanity. “You’re waking up already?” you squawk, sitting up with a full eight hours in contrast to his abysmal five. “The sun’s barely up, Leon, you just got home.”
“The alarm’s going to ring in a second anyway. Early bird gets the worm, right?”
Worms be damned, you grouch. You cling to his back, tucking your chin into the side of his neck while he ruffles your hair.
“C’mon, ya koala. I gotta shave,” Leon gripes, too sugary to have any effect.
You pout. “So eager to leave me already?”
“Baby. You’re breaking my heart.” He clutches his chest with a theatrical gasp. “What a thing to say!”
He huffs long and loud, and the anacondas return to snake over your back this time as you try and keep from laughing at the stupidity of it all. You’re in the air before you know it; carried piggyback style to the bathroom as Leon lifts the one burden in his life that isn’t really one in the slightest. You can kick your legs all you want, but he’s not letting go.
Every waking second with you is a blessing he’s not willing to give up. So why would Leon want to hit snooze and miss the moment?
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click for my full drabble collection, and find more of my work here!
comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3
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