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gluion · 3 months ago

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almost, but not quite — leehan

pairing — leehan x reader genre — friends to lovers, fluff, crack, university au wc — 8.5k misc/warnings — loser!leehan with avoidant tendencies, slight mutual pining, bonedo group dynamics, also architecture student!leehan... heh, a lot of aquatic and ponyo references, a pov switch happens between leehan and myungjae, getting froyo to avoid confessing, alcohol consumption, kissing playlist — heavy by the marías // nervous by the neighbourhood // halley’s comet by billie eilish // patutunguhan by cup of joe // intro (end of the world) by ariana grande // i know you by faye webster // tsunami by niki // ikot by over october // take a chance with me by niki note — please know i have dropped this and pick it up in multiple instances because i'm not built to write fluff. still, i hope you enjoy because i see myself in leehan :]]

synopsis — if there’s one thing leehan didn’t understand, it’s the gross, sticky emotions he feels with you. yet, there’s an undeniable warmth that lingers—and that’s when he knows he’s screwed.

(in other words, the five times leehan found himself at a crossroads and the one time he decided on what he wanted with you.)

if the world were to end, leehan believes it would start with a meteor shower. before they crash against the soil, their trail of flames would catch on tree branches, the fire spreading through forests. their craters would swallow civilizations, and the floor would crack beneath his feet. the world will go up in flames within the blink of an eye; how dinosaurs met their demise would be the same fate he would face.

jaehyun finds it stupid, arguing it would be through an alien invasion. (“there’s too much proof! i mean, have we forgotten about area 51?” is the same point he never fails to make.) it didn’t help that he believed leehan could be an alien in disguise, regardless of how many times leehan showed him his birth certificate.

but how the world ends for leehan happens without him even knowing, waking up in the middle of his fall into the never-ending void. the harsh light morphs into amber tones with every descent as heat prickles his nape. leehan imagines the sting of lava hitting against his skin, burning him alive to a slow death, but it’s his descent into the ocean.

how leehan’s world ends is not from a meteor shower or an alien invasion, but with his plummet past the ocean floor all the way to the core.

yet, the center of his earth doesn’t happen to be molten lava.

it’s you.

“who’s jaehyun talking to?” sungho frowns in confusion before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth.

leehan looks up from his phone and attempts to find his friend among the students who fill up the cafeteria. as he cranes his head past unacquainted faces, he spots the familiar boy talking to a stranger. “no clue.” before he can go back to doom-scrolling, jaehyun bursts into laughter.

it shouldn’t be a big deal; the sight of his best friend doubling over is an everyday occurrence for him, but not anyone can achieve it unless they knew the spectrum of jaehyun’s humor.

jaehyun catches leehan’s puzzled look and shoots him a smile. his hand lingers on the mystery person’s shoulder. before leehan can look back at his phone, you turn around.

leehan freezes.

if there’s a view that could beat the great barrier reef, it would be you. (even if leehan has never seen it. he just knows.)

“oh, they’re coming our way,” sungho points out.

like a human meeting a siren, leehan couldn’t rip his eyes off of you. your graceful strides resemble the movement of sea creatures. a coral forms on your nose with every laugh. yet, it’s a sea of jellyfish in your eyes that could make him crumble.

before he knows it, you stand in front of him with your eyes on jaehyun. if his friend was saying something, he never catches on—except for your name. “this is y/n.”

he repeats your name to himself; a song to be sung.

“hi! it’s nice to meet you.” your smile is made of the sun and sea. the expanse of blue glimmers as it crashes against him—out of enchantment and back into reality.

“how do you know jaehyun?” sungho asks.

you glance at your friend. “we’re in the broadcast club together. you know, he’s basically made to host.” from your compliment, jaehyun rolls his eyes and nudges your shoulder.

leehan rips his gaze from you, his hand finding a spot by the back of his ear as he fiddles with the last strands of his composure. he’s out of his mind. what’s he even thinking about you? for all he knows, you could be dating jaehyun.

oh god, are you dating his friend? what if you two have been going out for years and he never knew—wait, it shouldn’t even matter.

leehan doesn’t know anything about you so he feels indifferent towards you, right? right?

sungho tilts his head in curiosity. “oh! what do you do?”

in the process of glancing at you, leehan briefly locks eyes with his best friend. jaehyun’s eyes glance dart between you and leehan as a smirk makes its way to his face.

whatever his friend is thinking of, leehan only assumes the worst. is jaehyun going to misunderstand the situation? how does leehan explain to him that he’s just nervous around you? would his friend take it against him for looking at you?

leehan thinks it’s over for him.

“tech. you know the people who manage the mixing board?” as you imitate yourself moving the sliders, leehan lets out a giggle without a second thought. once you smile at him, leehan feels the heat rise to his cheeks. he looks back down to his phone, hoping you can’t notice the pink tint all over his face.

“that’s cool! even cooler than what jaehyun does.”

sungho’s joke only brings jaehyun to smack his arm. “hey!” he frowns before glancing at you. “he’s kinda right.”

“not even kinda, he is right,” leehan remarks as he ignores the sea in his stomach.

jaehyun groans as his two friends fist bump each other. before they can ruin his reputation any more, he looks at you and says, “i’ll see you after class?”

you nod. “bye! it was nice meeting you.” you glimpse at his friends before locking eyes with leehan.

your eyes are seas that leehan wishes he could swim in. he would hold his breath just to stay in them, undergo the sting of his lungs just to admire them.

but it’s your smile that snaps him out of your possession. when he realizes he’s staring at you, his elbow slips off the table.

“are you okay?” sungho’s question is accompanied with a frown of confusion. while concern paints your features, the same, all-knowing smirk rests on jaehyun’s face.

leehan clears his throat as he fixes his posture. “yeah, i’m good.” he can’t bear to meet your gaze, not after his slip-up and certainly not after jaehyun’s reaction.

“okay, well i’m going. nice meeting you both!” with your farewell, you leave the group of three.

once jaehyun finds his spot next to leehan, the worst possible scenarios flood leehan’s mind. the last thing he wants to do is ruin his friendship with him.

yet, he’s dumbfounded when jaehyun chuckles. “dude, if you’re going to have a crush, at least make it discreet.”

leehan’s eyes grow wide over jaehyun’s accusation. “i do not like y/n.” he snickers. “what are talking about?”

his friend clearly misread his actions. how could he even like you when he barely knew you? over one interaction, too? jaehyun needs to have more faith in him.

the disbelief in jaehyun’s features tell leehan otherwise. “are you seriously going to play that card? sungho, back me up.” he looks at the boy across from him who’s too busy eating away to even help him out. “didn’t you notice his eyes? they were practically hearts!”

he shrugs as he finishes his food. “beats me. leehan’s always been an oddball.”

“no, but he’s not like his usual silly self!”

leehan grumbles, nudging his shoulder against his troublesome friend. “quit it. stop making this weird.”

“whatever.” jaehyun rolls his eyes before jabbing his finger against leehan’s chest. “just know that i know your little secret.”

leehan grows annoyed at jaehyun’s accusations. he’s already said he doesn’t like you that way. how could jaehyun even think that? leehan swats away jaehyun’s hand before getting off his seat. “i’m leaving.”

“what? why?!” his friend clings onto his arm. the pout on his lips attempts to hold him back from his departure. “did i tease you too much?”

leehan shakes his head as he shrugs off jaehyun’s grip. “no, i’ve got a plate to cram.” he slings his backpack and drawing tube on his shoulders. “i’ll see you guys later?”

sungho only musters a hum before shoving another spoonful of rice into his mouth. as leehan takes his leave, jaehyun rests his chin on his crossed arms. despite the sigh that leaves the dejected boy, sungho pays no attention to him. “you’re not even going to ask why i’m sad?”

“just let him be. i’m sure he doesn’t like them.”

jaehyun groans in response.

if there’s one thing he’s certain about, it’s leehan’s crush on you. sure, his friends don’t see it, but one thing he knows for sure is leehan’s interest in you—he’ll do anything to make sure it comes into fruition.

and if there’s one thing leehan hates to admit to, it’s jaehyun being right in his suspicions, so he’ll keep going—deny, deny, deny, whatever he’s feeling because it doesn’t mean anything.

it shouldn’t.

but to leehan’s dismay, his mind would always drift back to you.

leehan swears he hasn’t thought about you. unfortunately for him, he never crossed paths with you since that one fateful encounter.

it shouldn’t be unfortunate. after all, he knows nothing about you.

(except for your name. and your course. and that you’re in the broadcasting club with his best friend. and that you’re a big fan of ghibli movies. and that every spotify playlist is perfectly curated to fit every mood, from the “slow mornings” to the “rageful evenings” as you’d like to put it on their descriptions.)

absolutely nothing, really.

as he found himself in the middle of midterms, the idea of you started to slip away in between papers and unfinished plates.

leehan likes the library during exams season; place filled with students who are struggling like him. as night has dawned upon them, bulbs of yellow light up at every table. he’s always been able to work better at the library. after all, it doesn’t help that jaehyun is lounging in their dorm, enjoying his freedom from academic obligations.

still, leehan cannot deny his exhaustion as he attempts to finish one of his many essays. it works in his favor that his hoodie does its job in concealing his fatigue from others, allowing him to isolate and make sense of the words on his screen.

perhaps it’s for the best for you two. if he found himself entangled with you, maybe he wouldn’t get any work done. he already begged his professors for an extension, and he’s starting to think that might be the last time they’d understand. the last thing he wants on his mind is you—

“leehan?”

the source of his sleepless nights stands right before him. it seems like you’re unscathed from what this season brings but your laptop and bag filled to the brim with readings suggest otherwise.

still, it’s the same jellyfish-like glow in your eyes.

“o-oh, hi!” at his voice crack, his eyebrows shoot up. “sorry, hi again.”

“no, it’s fine! i understand.” you smile in a poor attempt to suppress your laugh. “i just… wasn’t expecting to see you here. wait—you do remember me, right?”

he’s surprised that thought comes across your mind. “of course i do, y/n. how could i ever forget jaehyun’s cool friend?”

you roll your eyes at his flattery, trying to ignore his comment, but the smile on your face says otherwise. “at least. it would’ve been embarrassing to approach you and find out you don’t remember me, which i understand but i think i would’ve ran away.”

your shy demeanor causes waves to crash against his heart, the sound of your voice enchants him, and—snap out of it!

he shakes his head in an attempt to regain his composure. “what brings you here?”

“i’m here to work as well, but i’ve been walking around trying to find a table and i can’t find a vacant spot.” as your eyes flicker to the empty chair across him, he’s quick to move away his scattered things, some pens falling off the table.

“you can sit with me!”

“are you sure? i’d understand if you need your own space, really.”

leehan can try all he wants to shake off the thought of you, insist that he doesn’t have a crush on you (because he really doesn’t), but he isn’t going to have you leave this library in defeat. you two are in the same boat, trying to meet deadlines while running on a few hours of sleep and caffeine. he isn’t going to leave you stranded.

“yeah, i’d be happy to have someone join me. i can’t be the only one going crazy here,” he reassures you. you take that as your sign to sit with him.

(and this isn’t his attempt to spend time with you. really, it isn’t.)

he tries to continue where he left off on his work. if he continues to put off this essay, he wouldn’t only lose another hour of sleep but risk receiving a failing mark.

yet, his eyes are drawn to you. regardless of all the risks, of all the threats that loom in the deep ocean, he can only look at you.

which is why it comes to his surprise when you meet his gaze.

leehan is quick to break eye contact and act like he’s working. heat rises to his cheeks. in the sea of typing, your giggle reaches his ear.

now, he isn’t sure how red he’s become.

“i didn’t know you like ponyo.”

a hum of confusion leaves him. as you stare at the stickers plastered over his laptop, your finger darts at a jellyfish one. “that’s from ponyo.”

his face flushes. “oh! yeah.” the last word trails into a whisper.

“is that your favorite ghibli movie?”

leehan melts into his seat. not from the nerves but pure embarrassment—because he has no clue what ponyo is. from what he’s gathered, it’s a ghibli movie, has jellyfish in it, and… that’s all he got. after all, he bought that sticker at a convention a few months back.

(it’s starting to make sense to leehan why the artist showed him a collection of anime characters back then, and it didn’t help that he asked to see more fish stickers instead.)

he should be honest with you; if he doesn’t know what the movie is about, then maybe you’d indulge him with everything you like.

yet, another lie is said. “yeah!” it leaves leehan in shock, in embarrassment, in a situation he could’ve avoided. he should’ve tried to save himself from the unfolding mess, but the beam in your eyes outshine all sea creatures he’s studied up on. “what about you?”

your smile grows bigger. “i love that movie! you know, there’s supposed to be a symphonic concert happening in a couple of months.” leehan only musters out a hum, trying to cover up his anxiety with interest. as you learn on the table, you ask, “who do you think you are between ponyo and sosuke?”

leehan’s absolutely fucked, but he knows how to keep his act up; avoid answering and throw the question back. “who do you think i’m more like?”

you take a moment to think. as your fingers tap against the table, a small hum leaves you. “based on vibes, i think you’d be ponyo.” leehan can only nod.

once silence settles between you two, leehan thinks he’s in the clear. he’s ready to put this interaction behind him, even kick himself for lying to you—

“now, what about me?”

“uh,” he mumbles as he discreetly searches up the movie.

with your wide-eyed gaze, the pressure to answer is multiplied by ten-fold. leehan thinks this is even worse than answering an exam worth 40% of his final grade. he wish he could be swallowed up; it pains him to keep the act going.

by some miracle, you read his thoughts. “you don’t know anything about ponyo, do you?”

he sighs in relief. “oh, thank god, i couldn’t keep this up any longer. i only got that jellyfish sticker because i like fish, and no one told me it’s a reference to a movie until you pointed it out.” the frown painted across your face makes him feel like he’s been stung by a jellyfish. “i’m sorry. i should’ve just told you that i had no clue what you were talking about, but i panicked and i didn’t want to ruin the conversation with my ignorance and—”

you burst into laughter, causing neighboring tables to glare at you. as you throw an apologetic smile to those you disturbed, you try to hold yourself back from laughing any more. leehan wishes you didn’t stop then; those few seconds turned into a song stuck in his head.

“i’ve never met anyone who’s into sea creatures.”

leehan’s breath hitches. is he weird for liking fish? would you be freaked out by his tank filled with corydoras? is it over for you and him—

“but i think that’s cool.” your words snap him from his thoughts. “do you have some as pets?”

the question brings him to grin. “corydoras and snakeheads.”

“you wanna tell me more about them?”

leehan thinks you might be it—the one, as riwoo likes to rave on about when imagining his unfolding future—for him.

but he’s gone through weeks filled with stress and the exhaustion gets in the way of his work; it’s probably the same case for his feelings towards you. before he can spiral into a never-ending hole filled with delusions, he shakes off the idea. “maybe another time.”

“you’re right. sorry about that. we both came here to work and i’m clearly distracting you.”

his eyes grow wide, scared to send you the wrong message. “no! you’re okay. i like talking to you.” as your expression shifts from apologetic to shock, he quickly adds, “about my fish! yeah, about them.”

while a nervous chuckle leaves him, you smile. “i like talking to you, too.”

leehan’s skin heats up.

“about ponyo, even if you didn’t know what i was talking about,” you tease. “maybe we can watch it together when we’ve got time. i don’t know what it’s like as an architecture student, but i can spare a few hours.”

leehan’s senses elevate—not from your suggestion but over the mention of his course. “how do you know my course?”

he didn’t want to get ahead of himself, really, but he can’t control his mind from jumping into conclusions. did you search him up right after the first meeting? were you curious about him?

were you interested in him the same way he is with you?

“myungjae mentioned it.”

his hope dissipates. “oh, that makes sense.” disappointment is evident in his tone.

still, your smile remains. “myungjae talks about you quite a lot.”

leehan’s groans as his mind jumps to the embarrassing stories that his friend could possibly say. “i would hope it’d be good things.” after all, jaehyun knows too much about leehan, and he didn’t want him to influence your perceptions surrounding him for the worst.

a quiet moment stretches between you and him.

“yeah, all good things.”

it’s a silent agreement for the two of you to get back to work; crunch out sentences filled with grammar mistakes and words derived from google searches of synonyms.

still, leehan’s eyes drift back to you every once in a while.

if there’s one thing jaehyun is set on proving, it’s leehan’s crush on you.

it’s been weeks since he first saw his friend freeze at the sight of you. the first time leehan’s eyes held a certain glow that resembled the jellyfish sticker on his laptop.

on the other hand, sungho’s grown tired of jaehyun’s supposed baseless accusations; all jaehyun needs to do is show the signs to prove it all.

he stands in sungchan’s kitchen, swishing around a mix of alcohol and mixers in his cup. the bartop is filled with bottles of liquor and drinks, a variety for him to choose. while everyone is off to enjoy the party, he stands with riwoo and sungho. as sungho shares about the gossip he’s heard, his fingers playing with the hem of his crop top, riwoo’s pink antennas bounce with every laugh. while they’re caught up in their own conversation, jaehyun’s gaze shifts between leehan, who stood by the corner of the living room with taesan, and the front door that swings open every five minutes.

“dude,” riwoo’s voice snaps jaehyun back into their conversation, “what’s gotten into you?”

sungho frowns at jaehyun who only takes a sip from his drink. jaehyun’s odd but never to a point that he’d stop himself from enjoying a party.

“are you waiting for someone?”

from riwoo’s question, sungho manages to connect the dots, and a frown settles on his face. “are you kidding me? even at this party? is that the only reason you begged us to come?”

jaehyun believes that he’s a mastermind. it was easy to convince his friends to show up to sungchan’s halloween party; the mention of alcohol and familiar names seemed did the trick. after all, they all saw the opportunity to de-stress from finals and end the semester on a high note.

the icing on top of his plan was your agreement to show up.

“is this about leehan’s supposed crush?”

sungho’s hip rests against the counter as he looks over at his friend from a distance. “we don’t even know if he likes them, but jaehyun’s so insistent on saying he does which, by the way, isn’t cool. don’t make it weird between them.”

in all other instances, jaehyun would agree with his best friend, but he shakes his head before saying, “just watch and see. by tonight, i will change your minds.”

“if only y/n shows up,” riwoo snickers.

regardless of his friends’ comments, jaehyun stands tall. “trust me. i know they will.”

sungho rolls his eyes at his friend’s confidence. “what makes you say that?”

“jaehyun!”

the familiar voice rings in jaehyun’s ears. “speak of the devil.” with a smile on his face, he looks over to see you approaching his group of three, all dressed in a mustard-yellow shirt, grey shorts, and a green pail bucket hanging on your arm.

“sorry! i was finishing up my last requirement a few hours ago.”

jaehyun slings his arm around your shoulders. “i’m just glad you made it.”

“yeah, mainly because you begged me to do so.”

“he did the same to us,” sungho snickers.

jaehyun rolls his eyes. “we all know that’s not true. you just won’t admit that you wanted to party, too.”

“i’ll have you know that sungchan invited me before you did,” you remark before you grab yourself a clean cup. with jaehyun’s arm still wrapped around you, you drag him along in staring at the selection of drinks on the counter. “what’re you drinking?”

“oh, the perfect mix!” you don’t think twice about jaehyun’s words until you watch him grab on different bottles of liqueurs and mixers. “like juice, i tell you.”

“that’s dangerous.” a nervous chuckle leaves you before he shakes his head.

“you’ll be fine, tipsy after one drink at most.” you roll your eyes at your friend being the cause for your impending doom. “by the way, this is sungho, as you’ve met before, and riwoo.” jaehyun’s introduction has you turning around to greet the two.

“you’re dressed as saiki k! i love that anime.” riwoo chuckles at your exclaim. as you look at sungho, you spot the neck of an electric guitar peeking from behind him. “you play?”

he snaps out of his trance and hums in confirmation. “sorry, i was trying to figure out what you’re dressed up as and i still have no clue.”

“oh!” you reach out into your bucket before pulling out a small keychain of a gingered-folk dressed in red. “i’m sosuke, from ponyo.”

riwoo’s hands come together. “i see that now!”

once jaehyun hands you your drink, you take in his costume; a purple sweater that drowns his figure with rock n’ roll girl plastered at the front. “who the fuck are you?” you sip on jaehyun’s concoction. the sweetness of the drink masks the taste of alcohol. it’s a mistake to drink this, not because this will lead you to an incurable hangover but because of jaehyun’s answer.

“i’m darla from finding nemo.”

you choke on your drink. jaehyun’s quick to rub his hand against your back. in the middle of your coughing fit, laughter slips in between. “what the fuck?! i wouldn’t have guessed that.”

jaehyun clicks his tongue before holding your arm. “which is why i have a partner to complete my outfit! come.”

before you know it, he drags you through the crowd of people. whenever your bucket crashes against someone, you’d quickly apologize before jaehyun hauls you five steps forward. you don’t understand the rush, but jaehyun’s smirk makes you believe otherwise.

jaehyun believes he’s a mastermind; he isn’t going to miss the perfect opportunity to push his plan forward.

“leehan!” his friend, dressed in a fish outfit with yellow and white stripes, rips his gaze away from taesan and settles on the two of you. his relaxed smile morphs into a thin line as his droopy eyes turn wide. it’s moments like these that make jaehyun question how his other friends fail to see the signs.

taesan’s eyes follow. “jaehyun! you came at the perfect time. i just needed a refill of your mix.” the moment he spots you, he straightens his back. “i don’t think we’ve met before. i’m taesan.”

“y/n.” the makeshift cat ears formed by his hair bring a smile to your face. “didn’t know i’d meet a catboy today.”

“yeah, well—”

“taesan, come with me.” jaehyun grabs his arm.

taesan and leehan frown at him. “huh? can’t you just make it and bring it here?” as taesan swings his empty cup, jaehyun rolls his eyes before dragging him to his side.

with your confused expression, he forces a smile. “no. i need to introduce you to someone, anyway,” he lies behind his teeth. while you accept his words at face value, leehan’s eyes grow wide at his friends’ escape.

before his lovesick friend can protest, jaehyun and taesan take their leave.

“what the fuck was that?” taesan shouts the question as they make their way back to the kitchen.

jaehyun shakes his head until they reach riwoo and sungho. “that’s the person i was telling you about! the one leehan likes.”

taesan glances at the two before bursting into laughter. “nah, i think they’re just friends.”

“i’ve been saying that for the past weeks,” sungho complains before he sips his drink. “every time jaehyun teases leehan, it almost looks like he’s going to kill himself.”

riwoo hums as he observes his friend. “what even makes you so sure that he likes them?”

“oh, i’ll show you.” jaehyun pulls out his phone before going through his contacts.

as sungho peers over, he frowns at the contact name. “what’s he going to know?”

“hey, can you at least make my drink—”

the call is picked up by their friend, whose eyes are shut and hair ridden into a mess. “hello?” he groans.

“woonhak, do you think leehan likes y/n?”

a pause ensues.

“who?”

sungho smacks jaehyun’s arm, causing him to hiss at the contact. “why’re you bothering the kid? can’t you see he was sleeping?!”

“at 10:34 p.m.? the night’s still young!” taesan jokes as he sings out the last sentence. “anyway, about my drink—”

“this is about the person i was telling you about! the one in the broadcast club.” despite jaehyun’s attempt to jog his friend’s memory, he’s met with a confused and sleepy groan. “the one who likes ponyo.”

for some reason, that piece of information clicks in his drowsy friend’s brain. “oh, yeah! what about them?”

sungho shakes his head. “this is pointless. he’s clearly too sleepy to have this conversation. bye—”

“no! woonhak, you are going to help me prove that i am right about leehan and y/n.”

riwoo laughs in disbelief. jaehyun’s persistence is not new, but it’s the first time they’ve seen it involving their friend. “and how are you going to do that?”

“like this.” jaehyun flips the camera, showing woonhak the view of leehan. woonhak’s face moves closer to the camera in an attempt to focus on his friend, who rocks back and forth in place as he talks to you.

like clockwork, leehan leans forward. “see! don’t you think they’re so close to each other?” jaehyun points at the view.

sungho chuckles before resting his hand on his shoulder. “it’s a party. i’m sure they can’t hear each other that well, especially since they’re near the speakers.”

“he’s right. i mean, they are close, sure, but it doesn’t really mean anything.” although woonhak shares the same sentiments as sungho, jaehyun doesn’t admit defeat. he’s secured in his suspicions; the last thing he’ll allow is for him to be swayed until he shows them all signs affirming it.

“okay, but look at his thumbs.” his friends dart towards leehan’s hands that are wrapped around his cup. “he’s twiddling them! don’t you think he’d fidget around someone he likes?”

riwoo sighs. “i’m sure he’s just nervous because he doesn’t know y/n that well.”

yet, jaehyun shakes his head at riwoo’s assumption. “but that’s the type of anxiety you expect from someone with a crush.”

“that is true.” taesan’s comment brings all eyes on him. i’m kind of just agreeing at this point so that jaehyun can make my drink.” everyone groans and scolds the alcoholic.

“okay, but he could still be warming up to them. i mean, they’ve only known each other for a few weeks now,” woonhak adds on. it’s clear that calling him isn’t helping jaehyun’s case. woonhak’s two more comments away before the call is dropped on him.

at this point, jaehyun’s desperate. he couldn’t have his plan fall through or he would never live this down. if anything, he might end up getting scolded by sungho. (“this is what you get for being so hard-headed!” jaehyun can imagine sungho’s harsh tone that would be accompanied with flared nostrils.)

yet, it’s like the universe heard jaehyun’s plea. leehan does the unimaginable—a gummy grin takes over his features.

“holy shit,” taesan whispers.

riwoo looks back at his friends. “there’s no way, right?”

leehan’s never the type to grin easily, always sticking to tight-lipped ones and smirks. such smiles are different from whenever he'd laugh; a beam in the middle of a conversation comes like bioluminescent waves.

“wait, the quality is so bad. i can’t see why you guys are shocked,” woonhak complains from the other end of the line.

“it’s just that leehan is smiling, like really smiling,” sungho briefs the confused fellow. his head tilts as he continues to watch you two interact. “i mean, y/n could’ve told a joke. like, that possibility is still there.”

jaehyun’s patience runs thin the more sungho remains dismissive. “why don’t you want to admit that i’m right? is it that hard to just say, hey, jaehyun, you might be right about leehan crushing on y/n. sorry about that! like, is it that hard?”

despite jaehyun’s frustration, sungho sighs. “it’s not that, really. i just don’t want to assume anything about his feelings.”

jaehyun’s frown falters. when sungho puts it that way, he recalls all the times he might’ve made leehan uncomfortable, going lengths to ignore what his friend says; he must’ve been a terrible friend to leehan. and for once, jaehyun admits defeat. “yeah. you know what, you’re right. i shouldn’t assume whatever he feels.”

“what makes you so certain about those two, anyway?” woonhak asks.

jaehyun looks over at you two, backs against the wall and shoulders pressed to each other. from leehan’s grin to the crinkle by your eyes, jaehyun smiles to himself. “because i’ve never seen them that happy unless they’re together.”

because to him, you two are a match made by the seven seas—handcrafted by the gods that rule the oceans with the intention of having you to stick together like corals and fish. while his friends can’t see that, he hopes with enough high and low tides that they’d start to see the same vision as him.

yet, the waters hear his final plea; one final sign that might affirm jaehyun’s suspicions.

as you walk away from leehan, making your way to the washroom, his eyes never leave you. his grin resembles the softness of sponges he’d ramble about, and the jellyfish-like glow in his eyes didn’t leave.

“oh my god, leehan likes y/n,” sungho gives in to jaehyun’s conviction.

“wait, what? how’d we get here? what happened?”

jaehyun doesn’t think twice about dropping the call. (only to pick up and earn an earful of complaints about leaving woonhak in the dark, especially after waking him up.)

leehan thinks he’s dreaming.

he’ll wake up in a classroom to his professor’s lecture on parametric design or urban revitalization. before he’ll know it, he’ll watch the clock tick away until the bell rings. if not to a lecture, leehan might wake up to jaehyun’s knocks, only to groan and doze off once again.

he should be dreaming, really, because in no universe would he be seated on the couch of the living room and watching ponyo with you—except for this one.

leehan can’t find the words to explain how he got here. since his last class was canceled for the day, he was going to rush home and take a long needed nap. yet, the waves managed to bring you to him at the right time.

the thing about leehan is that could never say no to you. whether it be for a small favor or rearranging all his plans for the day, he thinks it’s only right to accept anything you throw at his way. you’re his friend, after all, which is why he didn’t think twice about having you over for the long-awaited ponyo watch party.

now, he finds himself seated on a sofa with you, speakers blasting your favorite film. the space is littered with all forms of knickknacks, sea-like or music related. it’s filled with leehan’s and jaehyun’s personalities, showing an apartment filled with love. when leehan’s free time lined up with jaehyun’s, they’d make it a habit to lounge and watch all sorts of films.

while he’s never had issues getting invested in what he watches, it’s only now that he faces that issue.

he swears from the bottom of the ocean that he wanted to focus on the movie, but it all seems impossible with you. the smell of your laundry detergent. your skin against his arm. the quiet, steady breathing of yours that syncs with his.

“leehan.” as you tilt your head in curiosity, he holds his breath. “are you watching?”

and the thing about you is that you always saw right through him. over the course of a few weeks, past the seafoam and algae, you always read him.

he clears his throat before scooting away from you. “of course.” as he stares right at the television screen, a chuckle leaves you.

silence hangs between you two.

leehan glances at you. you’re eyes are already on him.

“gotcha.” heat rises to his cheeks.

you sink into the couch with a pout. “if you didn’t wanna watch, i would understand.”

“no, it’s not that at all!” as your eyes snap to him, he sighs. “i really want to watch this with you. my mind’s just over the place.”

you face him, concern painting your features. “what’s going on then? why don’t you tell me what’s up?”

what you don’t know is that you’re his distraction. even at this moment, leehan can’t form an answer to your question. he can never think straight with you; the jellyfish you spoke of in your favorite movie could never compare to the ones in your eyes.

he takes one glance at your lips before breathing out. “nothing.” as he shifts his attention back to the movie, he tries to shut down the conversation. “it’s fine.”

leehan expects for the subject to drop, go back to watching your favorite movie in silence, until your hand rests on his thigh.

“leehan.”

when he looks at you, the distance between you two is enough for the seafloor to crack. the waves in his stomach roar. his breathing halts, almost scared that one exhale will cause you to crumble like a coral reef. when you lean towards him, hot water rushes out of the splits.

yet, you stay still.

the waves won’t carry him to you; all he needs to do is pull his feet from the wet sand to close the distance.

“hey, do you want to get some—oh!”

you pull away from him. as you attempt to resume watching the movie, leehan looks back at the intruder. there stands a shocked jaehyun whose eyes dart between you two.

“uh, i should probably go.” you get off your seat. “i still have some papers to work on, you know.”

leehan shakes his head in reassurance before standing. “of course. i can go with you back to campus—”

“no need!” you interject before shooting an awkward smile. “it was nice seeing you two!”

without any second to spare, you exit out of leehan and jaehyun’s shared apartment.

“were you guys about to…”

leehan’s eyebrows shoot up. “no! that would never happen,” he says as he shuts the television.

a moment ticks by.

before leehan knows it, jaehyun drops to his knees. “no!” his head finds its spot behind his hands. “why did i walk in? i should’ve just kept my damn mouth shut!”

leehan rolls his eyes before walking to his distressed friend. his distraught state should bring concern but it’s an everyday behavior that leehan expects. “nothing was going to happen.”

yet, jaehyun continues to wail.

leehan grabs hold of jaehyun’s arm and helps him stand up. “c’mon, what did you want to get?”

jaehyun groans before fixing his posture. “i literally saw you two about to ki—”

“we weren’t!” leehan bites the inside of his cheek as he thinks back to today’s events. “nothing is going on between us.”

and there shouldn’t be anything because you two are just friends.

despite his defense, jaehyun frowns. “well, something is definitely going on!” he crosses his arms. “i saw it with my own eyes, so you better start saying something if you like them.”

but leehan shouldn’t like you. to him, you’re still jaehyun’s friend before anything—even before his friend—and he should respect that.

his silence speaks volumes, bring jaehyun to sigh. “i mean it when i say there’s nothing wrong with liking y/n. why are you scared?”

leehan has always admired his friend’s sensibility. jaehyun welcomes emotions, allowing himself to run on its highs and lows, walking around with his heart on his sleeve. admittedly, it’s something leehan wishes he could say the same about himself.

all his life, he’s learned to run away from vulnerability. he believes that emotions are inherently disgusting, almost sticky, and should be avoided at all cost. after all, what comes after vulnerability is a moment of inevitable embarrassment.

yet, it’s from jaehyun’s confrontation that leehan realizes he can’t run away from the waves anymore. soon enough, he’ll have to run to the ocean, allow himself to be consumed by the water, and let himself bathe in whatever he feels towards you.

but it’ll take steps for him to get to the sea. “let’s go get some froyo.”

so for now, he’ll continue to run until he grows tired.

leehan remembers the last time he felt this nervous; stomach churning and heartbeat racing with every second. it was for his final defense for his research study. he spent days locked up in his room, piles of clothes found left and right with a corner stacked with empty coffee cups. jaehyun likes to describe it as the great pacific garbage patch that leehan rants about.

who could blame him? with the panel of nitpicky professors, he only had his index cards filled with chicken scratch and his trusty fish keychain to rely on.

when he came out of the defense victorious, the keychain became a lucky charm. for difficult assessments. for life-changing decisions.

for you.

it shouldn’t be a big deal to leehan, but he holds on to the charm as he waits for you to pick up his call.

ever since he opened up to jaehyun about his confusing feelings, the situation is impossible to avoid. jaehyun claims that the tides leehan rides on are from his crush on you. although leehan still denies it, his friend takes it upon himself to push him across the shore—so long as he’s closer to sea.

“hello?”

“y/n!” his voice cracks, a cough following to cover it up. “hi.”

“oh! how’d you get my number?”

he drums his fingers against his desk. “i, uh, got it from jaehyun.”

“oh, okay. what’s up?”

leehan takes a moment to breathe as he grabs hold of the tickets. maybe he shouldn’t ask you. it would be better for taesan and sungho to go to this event like they originally planned. yet, he would only receive an earful of complaints should he back out now.

“leehan?”

“sorry, i just…” he shuts his eyes. “are you free this weekend?”

“yeah.”

his friends have pushed him across the shore. now, the water is close to his feet. all he needs to do is ask.

“do you, i don’t know, wanna watch the ponyo symphonic concert with me?”

a beat passes.

leehan’s heart races.

a moment of embarrassment.

he should’ve known better. how could he allow himself to be talked into doing this? he should run farm away from the sea—

“you got tickets?! how?” your squeal breaks him from his trance.

leehan chuckles, breathing unsteady, and says, “it’s a secret.”

“keeping secrets from me now? thought we were friends.” somehow, your playful nature and curiosity never fails to lighten up the mood—even if you never fail to make him nervous.

leehan could never think properly with you; he loses all common sense or composure, catching him off guard with every impulsive decision. “which is why i’m asking you out.” his eyebrows shoot up at the implications of that phrase.

“asking me out?” you giggle on the other end of the line. “like a date?”

“sorry, i mean—”

“i’m just messing with you,” you cut him off from his tangent. as he sighs in relief, you say, “but i’d love to go with you. send me the details.”

he smiles to himself. “i’ll see you, then.”

“okay, bye.”

once the call drops, leehan flops down onto his seat. as he stares up at the ceiling, he plays the phone call back in his head, and his cheeks start to hurt.

for once, vulnerability awarded him with something.

the sea has grazed his feet.

leehan thinks he sticks out like a sore thumb in the theater. considering that he’s never been here before, he’s grown conscious of his attendance to the symphonic concert. in these moments, he would’ve run away, ditched the event and locked himself in his room, but he made it through the night—all thanks to you.

in the unfamiliar, he’s able to find comfort through you.

“that was amazing!” there’s a skip to your feet as you exit the theater with leehan. “i think my ears were blessed.”

leehan chuckles at your joy. “i’m happy you think that.” as much as he would like to share the same enjoyment, his happiness stems from you.

people continue to make their way out, knocking shoulders against you two. “you don’t think the same?” you throw the question over the loud chatter.

“i’m sure you appreciated it more than i did.”

your nose scrunches at his accuracy.

the bustling crowd doesn’t die down, swarming the lobby even further with every second that passes. while you attempt to stand tall within the busy crowd, your faltering smile gives leehan enough reason to protect you.

he loops his arm with yours. “hold tight.” before you know it, he dashes out of the theater with you.

the breeze of the night hits his cheeks. a sigh of relief leaves you as you find yourselves in the open space. “thanks. i was scared that i was gonna trip,” you mention.

“i could tell.”

you laugh as you nudge your elbow against him. “oh, shut up!”

in these moments, leehan’s feelings towards you were pushed to the back of his mind. in these moments, you two are friends; nothing more, nothing less.

still, you latch on his arm, like tentacles, like sea anemones, almost like you can’t imagine letting him go.

leehan walks on the edge of the pier; between embracing or ignoring intimacy.

you both get in the backseat of your uber. with how late the concert ended, you and leehan fall into silence as the car drives off to your complex.

streams of fluorescent lights fill the window. the radio plays a soft melody that reminds leehan of the sea. he’ll look at everything, so long as your arm around his remains off his mind.

yet, all it takes is your head on his shoulder for him to freeze up.

a shaky exhale leaves him. his heartbeat fills his ears. when he looks over at you, he notices your eyes are shut. as a series of quiet snores escape you, leehan thinks back to jaehyun’s words.

why is he afraid of you?

in all the time you spent with him, you learned everything about him; his quirks, his habits, his unconventional interests. he swore that you would walk out on him, drift away like plywood in the sea, as you got to know him.

yet, you stayed through it all.

he should know better than to disengage with you the moment his fears come into play. without even thinking, he was villainizing you—every moment that teetered the edge of intimacy had only made him pull back like how seaweed rips through ship ruins.

in his eyes, the worst thing that comes out after intimacy isn’t the embarrassment—it’s the uncertainty that follows. there’s comfortability in familiarity; nothing ever goes wrong if he plays it safe. yet, his mindset may have upheld barriers that restrain your relationship.

leehan only understood that the moment jaehyun pointed it out. in all the time he’s spent with you, he’s never fully given you credit, assuming the worst about you the moment you do anything that encourages vulnerability from him.

and still, you welcome him with open arms.

what if you’re good? what if this is good?

all he needs to do is fall into the sea, plummet through the ocean floor, until he arrives at your embrace.

“we’re here,” the driver says as he pulls into the driveway.

to leehan’s surprise, your eyes open in an instant, catching him red-handed. in a split second, he looks away from you, a cough following afterwards.

when a soft giggle leaves you, he knows he’s only dug himself a deeper hole.

you both exit the car as you walk to the entrance of the builidng. for a moment, you stand beside each other, no word being said, and leehan wishes it could stay that way. he doesn’t want to say goodbye to this night just yet.

yet, you look at him with a smile, and say, “i really had fun tonight. thank you for thinking of me.”

“no, thank you for sharing your favorite movie with me.” leehan looks down to the ground as his foot kicks against the concrete. “i think it’ll be my favorite movie.”

“think you’ll end up loving it more than me?”

he smirks. “no one’s love for ponyo will ever compare to yours.” you laugh at his remark.

leehan notices how your hands fiddle with each other. he’s never seen you uneasy; you always carry yourself with confidence everywhere you go. yet, it’s in this moment that it hits him—were you just as nervous as him?

in all the times his fears got the best of him, did your doubts do the same to you? were your nights plagued with ideas of him in the same way he fell asleep to the thought of you? did you second guess every action, every instance, like he did?

but most of all, did you want him, too?

“okay,” you breathe out, “i’ll see you soon.”

once you turn your back on him, he’s left to watch your figure walk away.

there’s security in the familiarity. avoiding intimacy saves him from embarrassment and uncertainty. if he were to shift the tides at this moment, who knows what could happen between you two?

the sea grazes his sand-covered feet.

despite the unknown future, is diving into the ocean worth it for you?

before leehan can spiral into his thoughts, he grabs your arm and spins you around. your wide eyes meet his. as he pulls you closer to him, his arm finds their spot around your waist.

the distance between you two allows him to take in your features; your trembling lips, the jellyfish glow in wavering eyes.

at the same time, what could happen between you two?

as his hand reaches for your face, you melt into his touch.

the possibilities are endless; you’re the risk he’s willing to take.

with eyes closed, he dives to meet your lips; soft like how he imagined. it’s a slow kiss, one spent trying to learn you in ways he only thought he could in a distant dream. yet, leehan’s hesitance shows with every second spent exploring you.

when your hands rest on the back of his neck, leehan’s fears dissipate, a small sigh leaving him in between. at his relaxed state, you take the lead. your nose grazes his cheek as your fingers play with his hair. leehan grows dizzy, hand gripping your waist as he tries to keep up with you.

somehow, your lips felt familiar; he’s secured in you.

as you pull away, your erratic breathing matches with his. the sight of your lips that once interlocked with his only makes him want more.

he goes for one more, causing you to giggle, and he smiles in between kisses. your fingers dig against his shoulder as he savors the taste of you. how could he have denied himself of this? if this is what it meant to kiss you, he wouldn’t have second guessed diving into the sea.

you break the kiss, a grin on your lips that can’t match his. “took you long enough.”

leehan’s world doesn’t end in a meteor shower, or an alien invasion, or even through his descent past the ocean floor. past the sand, the dirt, the minerals, the core of his world is not molten lava.

instead, it’s a pair of arms that embrace him. wholly. flaws and all.

and leehan’s world doesn’t end, after all—it’s only begun with you.

networks tag list: @kflixnet @k-labels @onedoornet @kstrucknet

boynextdoor permanent tag list: @bonedors @0310s @whyilovewhales-pdf

story tag list: @bananielle @yunextdoor @heechwe @taesanrot

@loserlvrss @blooqz @mari3s @saintriots @koodaes

@seokkiez @candycane-lemonade @chewnotchoke

#works of moni #onedoornet #kflixnet #bjnet #k-labels #kstrucknet #leehan #boynextdoor #kim donghyun #boynextdoor imagines #boynextdoor x reader #leehan x reader #leehan fluff #leehan boynextdoor #boynextdoor fluff

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ynbabe · 10 months ago

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Cute situations w/ f1 drivers- ep2.

Asking the drivers if they 'wanna nap?'

Charles:

"Wanna nap?" You asked the man as soon as he stepped into his hotel room, tired and eyes red. You knew Ferrari wasn't some winter wonderland but you didn't know why Charles put up with it.

You had been close friends with the man, since before he'd started f3 too, you knew he bled Ferrari red but this wasn't bleeding this was suicide.

Nonetheless, you were there for him, every weekend, only today there wasn't much to do, he had just come back from some meetings. He looked at you and hummed, taking off team-issued merch and throwing himself on the bed beside you.

You turned on some sad Adele song and faded into sleep, holding the boy close to you, his head resting on the curve of your neck.

Carlos:

"Wanna nap?" You asked Carlos as you both walked into his drivers' room, it was early in the morning at the Las Vegas GP and just as the year before they had messed up the timings and the drivers had to wait till four-thirty in the morning to get on with the programme.

Knowing the both of you, you were sure if you hadn't extended the offer the both of you would have ended up doom-scrolling through Netflix looking for some show to watch fighting off sleep.

"What?" He asked, shocked at the offer for a second before raising his browns and winking at you, "You finally feel my charm didn't you?" he laughed as he climbed onto the small and rickety bed next to you. "Smooth operator strikes again," he praised himself, pulling you close to him, enveloping you in his arms as the big spoon.

You groaned and kicked his shin, making him complain, "Dude you're so fucking lame!" You made fun of the older man who only replied with terrorism (tickling you,) "S-top, stop, I'm sorry," you laughed, trying to escape the death grip he had on you, eventually getting him to stop.

He let you catch your breath as he set an alarm, before trapping you in his warm arms again, both drifting into a comfortable sleep.

Lando:

It was way past midnight but you couldn't sleep, unable to get yourself out of the party high, too drunk to rest your brain. Thankfully you weren't the only one.

There was a barrage of knocks on your hotel room, a slurred voice with a British accent begging to be let in. "Y/n/nnnnn, I can't sleep," he cried once in the room, stumbling over nothing as you both made your way to your bed.

You giggled as he fell, brushing his hands over the cold blanket. You joined him, crawling onto the bed slowly as the room around you spun. You laid on your back, clinging onto the bed for dear life.

Lando noticed and piled on top of you, making you raise a question brow. "So you don't fall off," he muttered, his face buried in your chest.

"Ohhhh, that makes sense," you said, understanding his thought process as the spinning slowed down. "We should nap," you said out loud, eyes shutting due to the comforting warm weight on top of you.

Lando hummed in return, wrapping his hands around your waist, as you pulled one hand up to his and another grabbing his curls for extra support.

Oscar:

There were two things everyone knew about Oscar, he hated waking up early and he loved sleeping. So when his trainer woke him up on a perfectly cosy yet cool Monday morning to exercise, he nearly wanted to kill the man, only stopping because that would take much more effort than simply going through with the workout.

Your apartment was closer to the gym than his, so he happily invited himself in to bitch and moan about his trainer and how that man must have hated him.

Rolling at your friend's antics, you pushed away your laptop, walking from the dining table to where he was sitting on your sofa.

"Wanna nap?" You had barely finished your question when you were pulled onto the Australian.

"I thought you'd never ask," he whispered, as he shuffled on the narrow sofa to get comfortable, you still on top of him, his arms wrapped around your waist and your face buried in his neck.

"Are you using me as a teddy bear?" You asked incredulously, trying to get up to no avail as the man's grip on you was far too strong.

"Yes, now let me sleep," he murmured, already half gone.

George:

George had a habit of pushing himself too far, ever since he was a child. When you guys had just newly become friends, the boy had spent hours trying to find out what exactly you liked and didn't, stalking your Instagram and your family's Facebook.

You had found it endearing but also concerning how he always wanted to be perfect. So when you walked into his house at midnight (you got a key made- there's a reason the both of you got along so well,) and found him staring unblinkingly at his laptop and a large mess of papers spread across the wooden coffee table.

"Dude, what is wrong with you," You whisper-yelled at the man making him jump, pressing a hand to his chest.

"Me? What is wrong with you?" He yelled, panting as you jumped over the back of the couch, sitting right next to him, ruffling through the papers much to his chagrin.

"Shut it, Georgie boy," you smirked at him using the nick name he hated. “What are you even doing, it’s so late?” You asked looking at the taller man who started off in a rant about the car and everything he was doing wrong, making you slide down on the sofa till you head was resting on the backrest. You lifted your feet up to rest them on the coffee table, making George rush to move a stack of papers so they wouldn’t be under your feet.

Perfect. You grabbed the man’s shoulders and made his head rest on your lap.

“What on earth are you doing!” He yelled more than asked, trying to get up but you doubled down.

“George you need to sleep,” you deadpanned as he tried to make you let him go, knowing his pleas fell on deaf ears he gave up.

You raised your brow, “wanna nap?” You asked teasing the boy.

“Only for a few minutes,” he pressed, making himself comfortable, while you tangled your fingers in his hair, “maybe more then,” he sighed and let his eyes shut, slightly watering and finally fell asleep.

Lewis

Lewis had never been a friend to you, he was more like an annoying yet caring older brother or like a fun uncle of sorts. The man was fiercely protective of his friends, even those whom he saw in animosity.

But you were different, Lewis would steal your coffee, eat your food, and push you around but he'd also sneak you Red Bull (much to his disgust,) into his driver's room during late races, walk you to your hotel room after parties and get you souvenirs from races you couldn't be at. Similarly, you loved to annoy the man, stealing his expensive jackets, which looked hilarious due to the size difference, stealing his headphones and running away with them and most importantly coming to him with your problems day or night.

So no, Lewis wasn't surprised when you showed up to his driver's room in the middle of the day, even though Toto had revoked your pass for the day (for bullying George, but it was worth it,). He was ready to tease you but then he saw your eyes, red and tears flowing down your face.

"Oh my god, are you okay?" He immediately came up to you, giving you a once-over to see if you were injured. "Did someone say something, are you hurt?" He asked panicking at your silence. You simply wrapped your arms around the older man, hiding your face in his chest, quietly sobbing and sniffling.

He walked you both to the sofa in his room, seating you down, trying to wipe your tears, "Do you wanna talk about it?" He asked as you finally calmed down, using his arm as support to sit up.

You cleared your throat, "No, I just wanna nap," you hiccuped slightly.

"Okay," he leaned back so you could rest your head on his shoulder, giving you one of his airpods to relax, which you gladly accepted.

Lance & Fernando (they aren't always gonna be together but the situations... THE SITUATIONS WRITE THEMSELVES)

"Oh honey that’s not," Lance said pointing to your coloured hair (matching with Alex) and thats how the conversation had started and had ended in a cat fight.

“At least I’m not a nepo baby,” you yelled as you threw a basket of oranges at him, which he dodged, darn those f1 reflexes. The basket itself smacked him square in the face, leaving a red indent across his nose. He glared for a second before jumping over the table you were fighting across and pulled your hair. “Owww, you bitch”

You bit his hands in defence, to which he kicked your shin, screaming you launched yourself at him, crashing the both of you to the ground, “oh my god, okay, truce, truce,” he panted, pushing you off him.

“Just so you can catch your breath,” you retorted making him mock you. In reality, you were definitely much more tired than he was. You were struggling to catch your breath, your head killing you where he grabbed a large chunk of your hair.

You turned to look at him, resting your head on his stretched arm, he was massaging his nose, the bruise turning purple now, “well that was fun,” he turned to face you.

“Sooooo fun,” you rolled your eyes, “wanna nap? My heads killing me,” you are far him in accusation but he glared right back pointing to his swollen nose.

“Sure,” he shrugged, shifting closer to you and closing his eyes. You opened your mouth to make a joke but were interrupted, “there are like a million oranges on the floor right now, I’ll throw one at you,” you accepted defeat and fell into a comfortable sleep.

That’s how Fernando found the both of you, slightly scowling but fast asleep, he took a picture for blackmail’s sake and placed a blanket over the two of you.

PT-2 w/ Max, Logan, Alex, Daniel, Yuki, Pierre, Esteban, Zhou.

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cutiecusp · 7 months ago

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Viral.

What happens when a simple scroll on TikTok leads you to something unexpected?

a/n i wrote this at 3 a.m. today, and after a little adjusting, I'm happy with it. I love the idea of a confident Simon Riley, using his Ghost persona to satisfy a little fantasy or two. Especially if he got to know you, the newest recruit a little better.

TW/ Kissing, smut so MDNI!

Lying on your bunk after a long day, you find yourself doom scrolling on TikTok, navigating your way through recipes, cat videos and pranks, when a biker in a black leather jacket and dark helmet catches your eye.

As usual, the comments are full of thirst posts, proclamations of marriage, one night stands and more. You raise an eyebrow at some of them, incredulous at some others.

He was simply putting his gloves on, while straddling his bike, his visor flipped down, adding to the mystery. The Sleep Token song that played over it fully caught your attention.

The filter over the video made the skeleton print of his gloves stand out against the dark of the leather... very similar to the gloves your lieutenant wears.

Your breath hitches in your throat as you zoom in on his body, looking for something that could identify him more, and you spot it, a small Soap charm on his laces, one you all collected after London.

Your eyes widen.

This man doing thirst traps on BikeTok was your boss.

You refresh the page, and hide your face in your sleeve. How could you act normal around him now?

A live notification pops up at the top of your screen, and shakily you click on it.

There he is, Simon Riley.

All black leather and mystery as he leans into the shot. He has a mic tagged in his collar, and you would know that voice anywhere.

He's outside on the airstrip of the base, you knew he liked to ride out there between deployments, normally kept himself to himself, but now you knew better.

His voice rang out clear, and you almost dropped your phone.

"Welcome in Nya, hello again gorgeous Dolly, Hey Cosplay Queen.."

He pauses, his head tilted.

"We have a new member, hello you." His voice rich, like honey, travelled down your spine.

"Glad to have you here, first times are awkward, I'll be gentle." he teases, watching the hearts collect in the corner of the screen.

By this point you have a death grip on your phone, too stunned to speak. Did he know it was you, you?

You throw out a heart emoji, hoping to blend in a little. You eyes glued to the screen. He was so different to his work version. He was relaxed, cocky, funny... Not the cold and distant lieutenant.

The live goes on for a few minutes, before he logs off for the night. Blowing a kiss, the screen goes black, and you blink again. What on earth was happening?

You put your phone down and begin to get ready for the night, shaking off the imaginary lust dust that flittered over you. Urging yourself to breathe, and not think about the fact your boss was turning you on.

You heart bobbed in the back of your throat when you heard Simons bike return to the barracks, the headlight shining bright in the darkness.

You hold your breath as you hear his footsteps along the corridor, the squeak of the leather and metallic zip undoing are the loudest noises on base. You squeeze your eyes shut as the heavy footsteps stall outside of your door.

Three knocks ring out, forcing your eyes open. He knows. You think to yourself.

You force yourself on jelly legs to answer the door, a smile that doesn't quite meet your eyes.

"Ghost, you okay?" You stammer out, mentally kicking yourself for sounding so obvious.

"You tell me, love." He says gruffly, forcing his way into the room, placing his helmet on your desk.

You squeak at the same time he spots your phone, your screen still open on his page.

"Naughty little thing, aren't you. Thirsting over your boss on TikTok what does it for you, love? The bike, the helmet, the appeal?"

your cheeks redden, and he steps closer to you, closing the gap between you both. Gripping your chin with his fingers, he forces you to look at him.

"Not a word to anyone else, love."

Eyes wide, you nod.

And he presses his lips to yours softly, sealing your secret.

........................................................................................

@xoxunhinged @muneca-lemon-steppa @livingoutsidethetardis @gardenof-venus @misshugs @soraya-daydreams @frudoo @azxulaa @yesornowaitidontknow @enjisbf @thevoiceinyourheadx @shadowdark00 @rynbeerose @lunamoonbby @incredible-walker @identity2212 @pukbadger @urbimom @corvid007 @wordsfromshona @shadows-empress @m00xy @canyonmooncreations @evie-119 @cmbghost @midwesternwitchery

#call of duty #call of duty mw2 #fanfiction #simon ghost riley #fanfic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #simon riley #ghost #biketok #ghost simon riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #simon ghost x reader

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angelofacidx · 1 year ago

Text

Pet

Dark Ghoap x Fem! Reader

CW: Kidnapping, drug mention, violence, death mention.

Johnny had an incredibly easy time keeping himself busy during retirement. There was always something to be done around the house, a new local sport team to join, or an outing he’d convince Simon to humor him on with a bat of his lashes. However, years of military service were not kind to his body. Cleaning the gutters would leave a strain in his shoulder. Bopping around at a shitty punk gig he’d dragged Simon to would wind his muscles tight for days. The nail in the coffin was at his last rugby game, an over compensated move completely throwing his back out.

That was enough for Simon, being the judge and the jury for Johnny’s sentence of doctor ordered bed rest. In the first days Johnny had still tried to keep up around the house, following Simon around and chittering on that he was fine before getting promptly carried back to bed like a sack of potatoes over broad shoulders. He’d fully given up after that point, his little spirit crushed as he laid in bed absently doom scrolling on his phone for hours. That was, before one of your videos came across his screen. Written in the stars by the algorithm.

The video was innocent enough, a ‘Get ready with me’ style set to some cute music which unknowingly doomed you. Thumbs flew across the screen as Johnny tapped on your profile, greedily drinking in your entire post history over the course of a couple hours. His favorites he’d bookmarked and watched over and over again, already memorizing whatever little song you’d picked to go over your video. His heart hammered in his chest and he swallowed a lump in his throat, hovering over the direct message option.

Hello :) Big fan! Do ye think ye could wear that black dress from 20/11 in yer next video? Loved it.

Johnny waits anxiously for your reply and decides to send another message apologizing for coming on strong, only to realize he’d been blocked by his newest little project. With a pout and a sigh he resigns himself to making another account, rinsing and repeating his actions of following you, going through your videos, and bookmarking his favorites. His head is too far in the clouds to even register that Simon had been standing over his shoulder for a minute, watching him.

“Whatcha got there, pup?” Simon’s voice sounds from above, causing Johnny to almost jump out of his skin.

“Jesus! Ye scared me,” Johnny said, placing a hand over his heart for dramatic effect.

When he saw that Simon was still awaiting an answer, he shook his head to rid the jitters.

“A real pretty lass. Somethin’ about her. She’d fit right in.” Johnny said with a dreamy sigh, looking to Simon and trying to gauge his reaction.

Simon’s hand is held out expectantly before Johnny places his phone in his calloused palm. His eyes fixate on the screen as he goes through the videos. He’s right, you’re pretty. His pup’s eyes look as if he’s a child pleading for a new toy at the store and he’s nothing if not a sucker for it. With a resigned sigh, Simon pockets the phone and ruffles Johnny’s hair.

“Bed time,” Simon says with a soft canter to his voice.

Johnny obliges, mumbling good nights and kisses before he’s out cold and Simon makes the trek downstairs to haul himself up on the couch, the room illuminated with Johnny’s phone screen.

You have piss poor internet safety. Simon gathers information quickly, half military training and half having brain cells to rub together. You make it too easy, like you are begging to be whisked away.

A video in your likes about being non contact with parents.

They wouldn’t ask where you were.

A ‘‘jokey” audio about your pet being your only friend

No one would come looking for you.

A video was taken in your work uniform with a name tag and a clock in the background during the shift.

Location and time you’d be on the premises.

Once he was satisfied with his findings Simon trudged back up the stairs, slotting in bed next to Johnny and lazily throwing an arm around him. His pup deserved a playmate while he was down for the count. Someone soft and docile like you to play with. Even if this was a big task, Simon would get what his precious boy wanted.

…

You’re a lot more bite than bark, and Simon had not been anticipating that. Muscling you into his truck and binding your limbs was easy even with the thrashing, but the deep bite mark blossoming purple and red hurt and he was not patient with disobedient mutts. Your screaming was silenced by a metal cage being strapped to the back of your head, the clasps tugging at your hair and a leather bit in the middle that made drool pool in your mouth and any noises come out hushed and gurgled.

“Really don’t wanna drug ya, love. The side effects are nasty and I’ve already got a pet on bed rest.” The masked man driving the car says, his voice deep and gravely like he’s smoked since he exited the womb.

You resign from fighting pretty early on, not missing the 9mm tucked into his waistband; a silent threat and promise. Instead, you focus on your surroundings out of the window which is mostly trees and fields as he drives out of the city limits and to, well, wherever he’s taking you. You catalog this information and commit it to memory and hold onto the delusion that when you escape you’ll be able to tell the police exactly where he took you and which way you went.

The road he’s driving on takes a sharp left and turns into more gravel and dirt than sleek tar pavement. Down the beaten path you pull up to a house, very unassuming and nice on the outside but you can only imagine the state of the inside. Every horror movie and true crime video you’ve ever seen plays in your mind. The filth, the squalor, chains and sex toys and rotting corpses in refrigerators.

The masked man gets out of the truck first, shutting the door with a surprising amount of care and then opening your side. He grabs the middle of the rope, where your hands are bound, and shuffles you out of the vehicle. When your feet meet the ground you’re tempted to run, but his gun remains front and center in your mind. Dumb idea. He crouches down on one knee then, like a parent getting on their child’s level to reason with them as he speaks to you; his grip still strong on the rope.

“Now, I need you to be good f’me and listen. If you make any fucking noise until I tell you to I’ll break your little jaw right off your pretty face and you’ll be eatin’ baby food the rest of your life. Got it?” He says in a soft tone but with no room for thinking he’s joking.

You nod your hand in understanding, too high on adrenaline and fear to cry even though your throat feels closed off and your eyes and nose sting with that familiarity. He rises to his feet then, unlocking you through the door and pulling you through the threshold. You prepare yourself for the worst but you’re met with the most mundane setting you could imagine. The walls are beige and gray, an accent wall in dark blue. A nice leather sectional couch, flat screen TV a few feet away from it. The place looks…underwhelming.

“M’ home. Just puttin’ the shopping away, hold tight up there in bed.” The man calls up the stairs to god knows who before turning his attention back to you.

He leads you by the wrists into a spare room right off of the living room which at first glance looks just as underwhelming as the rest of the house. A desk with a large dog bed under it, a few paintings on the wall, a book shelf, and a board for darts. When you’re being drug further into the room though, you notice it; a sturdy chain mounted to the wall and attached to a collar with a thick padlock. The leather is engraved with a name: Johnny.

The collar is placed around your neck and locked, gapping awkwardly in the back and ill fitting. The man tries to tug it over your head a few times but is satisfied when it won’t go past your jaw. The numb tingling in your hands draws your attention down to them as you try to wiggle your fingers and get some blood flow back. Survival is not guaranteed but you’re relieved that you’re not on the set of Texas Chainsaw Massacre at least.

You’re guided slowly onto your knees with two strong hands onto your shoulders, until you meet the plush carpet. You look up at him finally, a proper look. His eyes are dark and devoid of emotion, like some sort of a living breathing shell. He’s tall and filled out everywhere, even without the gun you now believe his promise of breaking your jaw more. You’ll have to use wit and gain trust to get out of here; you’ll have to fawn.

“M’ gonna go get my boy and you’re gonna act like you’re over the moon to be here.” He says, taking a step back from where you’re kneeling.

“I don’t like to take in strays and I sure as fuck don’t put up with rowdy mutts. Give me a reason to show you, and you’ll learn real quick darling.” He says, before opening the door and shutting it behind him.

You’re left to your own devices then, chest heaving and eyes darting around the room. With him gone you can finally let your defenses down a little so the tears start to cascade down your cheeks silently. The gag, well, muzzle makes it hard for you to catch your breath as you heave and sputter as quietly as you can. You wonder who Johnny is, the poor soul before you in this position. By the way the collar fit, were much larger than you and still fell at the hands of this man. The thought made bile rise to your throat.

Far away voices and footsteps get closer and closer to the door then as you’re frozen in place kneeling. Your chest rises and falls quickly with each breath before it hitches all together as the doorknob is turned. The door opens, and another man has joined your captor. He’s smaller, a dark mohawk and striking blue eyes. He is absolutely elated to see you, apparently. He’s a blur of moment, on his knees by you in a blink and gathering your tired body into a spine crushing hug.

He turns his head behind him to the mask man with an ear to ear grin, beaming and nauseatingly giggling to himself.

“You didn’t!” He says excitedly, like someone reviving a way too expensive present in a secret Santa exchange.

“Just for you puppy. You’ve been down since your injury an’ I figured I could get you a playmate.” The man says, a hint of a smile in his voice.

He seems to care a great deal about this man with a death grip on you, happy just to see him happy.

The man affectionately referred to as “puppy” buries his nose in your hair, sniffing deeply and letting out a deep shuddering breath. You feel his cock twitch against the outside of your thigh where he’s got himself pressed against you. You’re beginning to think this was the Johnny you were feeling sorry for a second ago.

His hands move up towards your muzzle to undo it but the other man stops him, warning that you’re not properly trained yet and might bite. He whines, but gives a nod in understanding, giving you another rib bruising squeeze.

“Don’t worry lass. We’ll take care of ya’.” Johnny says, planting a kiss on top of your head.

The larger man steps out of the room then, shutting it behind him and leaving you to get accompanied with your new playmate and acclimated to your new home. Hope slowly starts to leave as Johnny whispers promises of giving you pups and never letting you out of his sight.

#cod x reader #john soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #soap x reader #cod #cod mw2 #soapghost #ghoap #ghoap x reader #this is a rough sleep deprived drabble

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babygirlmurdock · 7 months ago

Text

Devil’s Work

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: 18+!!!! my god this is so NSFW please don’t read if you’re under age my god. oral (f!recieving) this is literally only matt taking care of his lady so dom!matt (i guess?) THAT FUCKING SLUTTY CHAIN OF HIS MY GODDDD !!!!!!! also some religious stuff (not really a kink but just to be safe!)

Taglist: @bellaxgiornata @abucketofweird @sleepysleepymom

Author’s note: Like literally all of us, I could not get this .01 second clip of darling Matthew doing to TOWN on that neck with his slutty little gold chain. I have also never ever written smut before so you all have to be nice to me (kidding, but please be kind I’m sensitive LMAO) Enjoy my sweets!!!!

˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖˖⁺‧₊˚ ˚₊‧⁺˖

Matthew Murdock, where do you even begin with him? For starters, the man is like an angel sent from heaven above. Never in your life have you dated somebody more understanding, caring and passionate in your life. Somebody that checks all your boxes. There was a side of Matt that he has only told you about but he has never shown you.

Daredevil.

When Matt told you that he was the masked vigilante running around on roofs all hours of the night, you were rightfully upset. All the countless lies about where he has been. You thought he had been cheating for the longest time. You finally confronted him after being so frustrated with the lies.

“So are you cheating on me?! Is that why you have scrapes on your chest and a bruise? Who is it, Matt?” Tears welled up in your eyes as your voice cracked.

“No—I, I would never think for a second to give another woman what I give you. I love you and only you.”

“That doesn’t sound convincing! Matt, all the clues are there. You’re out late at night, I have no idea where you are. I am up like a nervous fucking wreck.. I—I can’t handle this anymore,” you held your head in your hands as you tried to steady your breath.

“Do you really want to know?” Matt stepped towards the closet.

“Yes, my God with all my fucking chest. Please Matty, I love you too much. I don’t want it to be true that you found better.”

“Fine,” Matt opened the closet doors and pulled out his father’s old boxing trunk. Your head cautiously turned to the side as your heart rate sped up. Matt’s breath was shaky unbuckling the clasps of the trunk. Moving the two top shelves off revealing something red. His fingers brushed the crimson red horned helmet, he grabbed it and turned around with it in his hands. “I’m Daredevil.”

It’s been six months now since you had the conversation with Matt about his other side. You have your moments with it, like aiding him to health after being beaten half to death and making sure he’s somewhat presentable for court in the morning. It gives you anxiety, but you know Matt, you know his skills. You see him on the news, and feel secure that he’s doing the right thing.

Tonight was different. He’s usually back at the apartment by 2AM the absolute latest. It’s almost 2:30AM and he hasn’t made a single peep about being home late. You start frantically Googling if the police found Daredevil dead in a river, or hung up in front of the church.

Doom scrolling on your phone, you heard the roof door unlatch. Letting out a relieved breath, you got up in front of the couch and hurried over to the stairs.

“Thank God. I was getting worried, Matty. I was afraid I was going to have to call Foggy or Karen and ask if they’d seen you.”

Matt made his way down the steps removing his gloves and helmet as he made his way down. He stalked his way over to you, placed a callused palm on the back of your neck and kissed you like you’ve never been kissed before. This has a purpose to it, hunger. Desperate for more. Your hand landed on his leather covered bicep as you moaned into his mouth practically begging for him to kiss you more.

“Shower,” Matt demanded. You thought Matt came home. No, this was still the Devil out to play. You kind of liked it though.

Walking to the bathroom, you stripped off all your clothing, turned the shower on, got in and waited for Matt. Letting the hot water run down your naked body, your eyes fell shut as your hands started roaming your body. Hearing the bathroom door open and shut again, Matt shortly joined you.

“I couldn’t stop thinking about how badly I needed to touch you tonight,” Matt’s hands traced your sides and landed on your ass, causing your head to fall back in pleasure.

“Then why did it take you so long to get home?” Your hands fiddled with the gold cross dangling from his neck.

“Cops were taking too long to show up. I eventually just tied them to a pipe on a roof and hoped somebody could find them,” Matt said as his lips kissed up your neck. Your breath hitched as Matt’s teeth grazed the spot where your neck meets your clavicle.

Grabbing his face to pull him closer to that sweet spot on your neck and letting out a breathless moan.

“Matt,” you breathed out as he began to kiss down your body, getting on his knees before you.

Matt put one of your legs on his shoulder to get a better angle of you. Matt hungrily kissing your inner thighs, making sure to antagonize you with each one. Gazing down at him making his way to your center, pushing his hair back so you can get a better look at his face reaching dangerously close to your heat.

“Fuck, Matt, I can’t wait any longer, please,” you pleaded him. You felt his smirk against his thigh and he looked up to you.

“Good girls have patience, sweetheart.”

Matt has never called you good girl in that tone before. And boy, did it do something to you. Matt caught the skip in your heartbeat which caused him to run his fingers along your folds. Your knees nearly buckled at his light touch as you let out a whiney moan.

“You really are letting the Devil out, huh?” you said, sucking your teeth.

“Oh, we’re just getting started,” Matt’s voice was a deep growl. Unlocking something feral in him, his mouth dove to your pussy, getting a surprised high pitched moan out of you.

Your hand immediately went to grab the slippery tile wall for some leverage as Matt devoured you below.

“God, fuck,” you breathlessly let out. Your hand grabbing onto his shoulder leaving nail marks on it. Matt was eating you out like you were his last meal on earth. Trying to grab whatever you can so you don’t fall to your knees as he sucked on your clit and entered two fingers inside you.

“Talk to me, sweetie. Do you like that?” Matt said.

“God, yes, I need you to fuck me, Matthew,” you said trying to catch your breath as Matt hooked his fingers up inside you. Matt took his fingers out of you and stood up. Pressing your back against the cold tile, causing your skin to prick up as the hot water wasn’t touching you anymore.

Matt took hold of your face and fiercely kissed you, getting a mix of his saliva and yourself. Both of you moaning against each other’s lips, your arms draped over his broad shoulders, as he scooped you up against the wall.

Your tongues intertwined with one another as you felt his hardness against you, just aching to enter.

“I’ve got you,” he said against your mouth as he slowly entered you.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head, adjusting to his girth. “Mm, fuck, Matt.”

Your hands gripped his shoulders as he pumped in and out of you. Your moans got louder as his pace quickened. His biceps flexing to hold you up as he was fucking you, deeper and deeper with each thrust.

“You take me so good. That’s my girl,” Matt set you down and turned you around against the glass of the shower door. Your nipples puckered against the glass and Matt thrusted himself into you. His one hand on the front of your throat and one on your stomach. His pace quickened and his cross gently tapping between your shoulder blades with each thrust.

“Matty, I’m about to cum,” you whined out.

“Not yet, I’m not done with you,” Matt snarled. His lips met the back of your neck, starting to nip at it. The room filled with your moans and Matt’s grunts. “You feel so good, my girl.”

Your body was practically begging to orgasm all over Matt. His cock hitting the right mark every thrust, you didn’t want it to end, but exhaustion was quickly taking over you.

“Please, please, I’m almost there,” you become more breathless. Matt’s hand lowered to your clit and started to go in circles.

“Fuck, oh my god, I’m so close,” you cried out as Matt was edging you towards your orgasm.

“Cum for me, sweetheart,” Matt’s hands on your hips now, thrusting deeper and rougher each time. “You’re doing so good for me.”

Your own hand reached towards your clit, rubbing in circles for only a few seconds before Matt’s hand grabbed your wrist and pinned your hands against the glass.

“That’s my job to make you cum.” Matt growled in your ear, sending you over the edge.

“Oh, God,” you said through your gritted teeth.

“God has nothing to do with this, sweetheart. He sent the Devil for you,” Matt bit your neck and sucked on it, definitely leaving a mark for you to deal with.

Letting your orgasm overtake you, letting all of Hell’s Kitchen know who is fucking you into oblivion. Matt’s orgasm shortly following yours, he pulled out of you.

Turning yourself around to face him, your legs nearly giving out underneath you, Matt let out a chuckle, holding you up. Trying to catch your breath, Matt gently kissed your lips. You looked at Matt’s scratch marks you so graciously gave him, letting your hand run over them, meeting with the chain of his cross, taking it in your left hand and kissing it.

Matt and yourself finished up the shower. Stepping out, you looked in the mirror, examining your neck. Matt came up behind you and started sweetly kissing your shoulders.

“How will I explain to my job why I’m wearing a scarf in 86 degrees?”

“Raccoon attack. You took that little beast on with your own hands and it put up a fight,” Matt devilishly smiled at you in the mirror.

“Yeah sure, because I’m the raccoon wrangling type,” you rolled your eyes.

“I expect nothing less actually,” Matt matter-of-factly said.

You laughed at him, turning around kissing his lips and he deepened it.

“Something tells me that was only round one out of whenever the sun comes up.” You slyly said.

“Like I said, we’re just getting started,” Matt picked you up and brought you to your shared bedroom.

“Let the Devil out,” You kissed him passionately, mentally coming up with reasons to call out of work tomorrow.

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock smut #daredevil smut #matt murdock fanfic #matt murdock x fem!reader #matt murdock x you #daredevil fanfiction

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theartofcollapse · 27 days ago

Text

a/n: I'm back guys, exams all done! thanks for being patient with me. feel free to send as many requests as you would like. summary: y/n gets extremely bored while Alex is working from home and she desperately needs attention. pairing: Alex Cabot x female reader warnings: none word count: 2.5K

masterlist

Bored - Alex Cabot

It was a quiet Saturday afternoon, and Alex was - unsurprisingly - working. Y/N had long since given up trying to convince her girlfriend that weekends were meant for relaxation. If anything, Alex seemed to take weekends as a personal challenge to be even more productive.

Currently, she was perched at the dining table, glasses low on her nose, typing furiously on her laptop. A neat stack of legal briefs sat beside her, color-coded sticky notes peeking out from the pages like tiny flags of impending doom.

Y/N, on the other hand, was bored to death.

At first, she tried to entertain herself. She scrolled through her phone, watched a few episodes of a show she didn’t really care about, played fetch with their dog (who promptly lost interest after five throws), and even considered cleaning—considered. But it had been hours, and she was dying.

Finally, she decided she’d had enough. With a dramatic sigh, she stood up, walked over to where Alex was working, and leaned down until her chin rested on Alex’s shoulder.

“You wanna get your ass beaten in Uno?” Y/N asked, her voice dripping with challenge.

Alex didn’t even look up. “Mmm. No.”

“Wow. You didn’t even think about it.”

“I did. And I decided no,” Alex replied, typing something that sounded very official and very boring.

Y/N straightened up and narrowed her eyes. “So you’re just gonna work all day while I wither away from lack of attention?”

“You could read a book,” Alex suggested.

“I could also eat glass, but you don’t see me doing that either.”

Alex sighed, finally sparing her a glance. “Give me another hour.”

“Another hour?!” Y/N threw her hands up. “Alexandra, I am a woman on the edge. Either you play Uno with me, or I start acting feral.”

That made Alex smirk. “Feral, huh?”

“Yes. Full chaos mode. No rules. No laws. Do you really want that?”

Alex gave her a look, the kind that said ‘I deal with hardened criminals daily. You do not scare me.’

Y/N huffed. “Fine. You leave me no choice.”

She stalked away, leaving Alex to shake her head and go back to work.

Y/N started small. She “accidentally” dropped things near Alex. A pen here. A book there. At one point, she spilled an entire bag of Skittles onto the floor, each one making an unnecessarily loud plinking noise.

Alex exhaled sharply through her nose. “Are you five?”

“I’m bored,” Y/N groaned, dramatically flopping onto the couch.

“You should’ve thought about that before dating a lawyer.”

“Okay, then I have no choice but to escalate.”

Alex shook her head, already resigning herself to whatever nonsense Y/N was about to pull.

She tried snuggling up to Alex, draping herself over her shoulders like a human scarf.

Alex gently pushed her off.

Then tried poking her arm repeatedly.

Alex ignored it.

Y/N started dramatically sighing at random intervals.

Alex turned to her with the patience of a saint. “Is there a reason you’re being extra annoying today?”

“Yes,” Y/N pouted. “You’re not paying attention to me. If I wanted to be neglected, I’d text my landlord about fixing the leak in our sink.”

Alex finally closed her laptop. “Okay. One game. Then I go back to work.”

“One game?” Y/N scoffed. “You’re adorable. It’s never one game.”

Alex rolled her eyes but indulged her anyway, setting her laptop aside as Y/N ran to grab the Uno deck.

They sat across from each other, the cards dealt, the battlefield set. Y/N cracked her knuckles like she was preparing for war.

Alex raised an unimpressed brow. “You’re very dramatic.”

“And you’re about to lose.”

The game started off simple, both of them playing civilly. But then, Y/N played a Draw Four on Alex.

Alex narrowed her eyes. “I see how it is.”

Y/N grinned innocently. “I don’t make the rules.”

Alex drew her four cards, her lawyer brain already calculating revenge.

And then, chaos.

Reverse cards were thrown like daggers. Draw Twos stacked higher than Alex’s legal briefs. Y/N cackled when she skipped Alex for the third time in a row.

“You’re evil,” Alex muttered.

“And you’re losing,” Y/N sing-songed.

But then, Alex played a Draw Four right when Y/N had one card left.

Her smug grin vanished. “No. No, no, no. You don’t have to do this.”

“Oh, but I do,” Alex said, smirking as she slid the extra cards toward Y/N.

Y/N scowled, snatching them up. “This is a betrayal of the highest order.”

“Should’ve thought about that before bullying me into playing.”

The game stretched on, both refusing to back down. At one point, Y/N attempted to subtly throw a card under the table, but Alex caught her mid-act.

“Did you just cheat?”

“It’s called creative strategy.”

Alex stared at her, deadpan.

Y/N sighed. “Fine. I may have bent the rules slightly.”

Alex shook her head, laughing. “You are ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

“That is debatable right now.”

Eventually, after an unfair amount of Draw Twos, Alex won.

Y/N gaped at her. “You cheated.”

“I played legally,” Alex corrected, smirking as she stretched. “And now, I return to work.”

“WHAT?!” Y/N gasped. “You can’t just win and leave!”

“That was the deal.”

“You monster.”

Alex chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to Y/N’s forehead before heading back to her laptop. “You’ll survive.”

Y/N crossed her arms, stewing.

And then—

“I challenge you to a rematch.”

Alex didn’t even look up. “Not happening.”

“Best two out of three!”

“Still no.”

Y/N groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the couch. “I hate dating a lawyer.”

Alex just smirked. “No, you don’t.”

Y/N wasn’t one to accept defeat gracefully. No, she thrived on revenge. And if Alex thought she was going to just sit there quietly while she went back to her boring lawyer things, she had severely underestimated the level of chaos Y/N was willing to unleash.

For a moment, Y/N considered flipping the Uno table. Full, dramatic rebellion. But then she realized it wasn’t a table - it was the dining table. Their dining table. The very expensive, very heavy dining table that Alex would absolutely murder her for damaging.

So, she had to be smarter.

Quietly, Y/N slipped away into the kitchen.

Alex was back to typing, her fingers moving fast over the keyboard. Completely immersed.

Y/N peeked around the corner, watching. Waiting. Calculating.

Then, she snatched a bag of chips from the cabinet, opened it as loudly as humanly possible, and started munching with the crunchiest bites ever.

Alex froze. Slowly, she turned her head.

“Are you doing that on purpose?”

Y/N, mouth full of chips, gave her the most innocent look she could muster. “Huh?” Crunch.

Alex exhaled through her nose, the way she did when opposing counsel said something particularly stupid in court.

Y/N shoved another handful of chips into her mouth. Crunch, crunch, crunch.

Alex took a deep breath, visibly practicing restraint. “Y/N...”

“Oh, don’t mind me,” Y/N said, plopping down dramatically in a chair. “Just eating my feelings after being brutally betrayed by the love of my life.”

Alex pinched the bridge of her nose. “It’s Uno. You lose in Uno.”

“You cheated.”

“I played by the rules.”

“Your rules are evil.”

Alex shook her head, turning back to her laptop. “Go find another hobby.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes. Alright. Desperate times, desperate measures.

She stood, stretched, and then she flopped onto Alex’s lap. Fully. Bonelessly. Limply.

Alex made a very undignified oof sound. “Jesus, Y/N!”

“You left me no choice,” Y/N said, flopping her arms dramatically over Alex’s shoulders. “You work too much. I am merely redistributing your priorities.”

“By crushing me?”

“It’s called love.”

Alex sighed. “You are the neediest human being alive.”

“And yet, you chose me. So who’s the real fool?”

Alex pursed her lips, trying - and failing - to hide a smirk. “Move.”

“No.”

“I have important things to do.”

“Is it more important than me?” Y/N asked, batting her lashes.

Alex sighed, long-suffering. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me.”

Alex glanced down at her, eyes softening just slightly. “Unfortunately, yes.”

Y/N grinned. “Then play another round of Uno with me.”

“No.”

“Best three out of five.”

“Absolutely not.”

Y/N gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her heart. “So you don’t love me?”

Alex rubbed her temples. “That is not what I said.”

“You implied it.”

Alex stared at her, clearly debating whether or not this battle was even worth fighting.

Y/N turned up the puppy eyes—full-force, desperate, devastating.

Alex sighed, defeated. “One. More. Game.”

Y/N beamed, leaping up. “You just sealed your fate.”

Alex chuckled, shaking her head. “If it means I get some peace after, then fine.”

Y/N cackled as she shuffled the deck.

Alex should have known.

She should have expected Y/N to pull some unholy nonsense.

Because five minutes in, Y/N was grinning like a villain.

“Why do you look so smug?” Alex asked warily.

Y/N laid down a Draw Four.

Alex narrowed her eyes. “You’re a menace.”

“Pick. Up. Your. Cards.”

Alex begrudgingly picked up four more cards. But as soon as she got rid of a few, Y/N hit her with a stacked Draw Two.

Alex’s jaw clenched.

Y/N smirked. “You mad?”

Alex gave her a flat look. “No.”

“Because it seems like you’re mad.”

Alex took a slow, deep breath. “Play your next card.”

Y/N played another Reverse.

Alex’s nostrils flared. “You just want to see me suffer.”

“Would you not do the same to me?”

Alex didn’t answer. Because she absolutely would have.

And then, the worst betrayal of all—

Alex had one card left.

Y/N played a Draw Four.

Alex stared at her, jaw tightening, fingers tapping against the table.

Y/N grinned. “You were saying?”

Alex inhaled sharply, picked up her four cards, and exhaled. “I’m dating an actual gremlin.”

“And winning,” Y/N added.

Alex shook her head. “You’re lucky I love you.”

“Extremely,” Y/N agreed.

Alex sighed, dropping her cards. “Fine. You win. Happy?”

Y/N beamed, throwing her arms around Alex. “I knew you’d see reason!”

Alex shook her head, kissing the top of Y/N’s head before pulling away. “Okay, now can I get back to work?”

Alex had gone back to her laptop, once again convinced that she had won the battle and secured her productivity for the rest of the day.

Y/N, however, was nothing if not determined.

She had tried being annoying. She had tried cheating in Uno. She had tried physically attaching herself to Alex like an overgrown koala. But clearly, all of these tactics had only resulted in temporary victories.

So, she had to be smarter.

More strategic.

And thus, the most diabolical plan formed in her mind.

She decided to go for a run.

But not just any run.

A very intentional run.

She changed into the tightest pair of leggings she owned, leggings that had once made Alex walk into a wall when she first saw Y/N wearing them. Paired it with a sports bra that left very little to the imagination. And, because she was committed to the cause, she even pulled her hair into a high ponytail, knowing full well that Alex had a very specific weakness for that.

Then, without saying a word, she grabbed her headphones, shot Alex a quick innocent smile, and left the apartment.

Alex didn’t even look up.

Perfect.

Now, all she had to do was get really sweaty.

About forty minutes later, Y/N returned, successfully looking like she had just finished competing in the Olympics.

Her skin glistened with sweat. Her leggings clung to her like they were painted on. Her sports bra was damp. She was slightly out of breath, strands of hair stuck to her forehead. She looked like one of those insanely attractive people in workout commercials, except this was all very real.

And she knew it.

She strolled inside, tossing her keys onto the counter, stretching her arms up with an exaggerated groan.

Alex still didn’t look up.

Fine.

Time to turn up the heat.

“God,” Y/N sighed dramatically, walking toward the fridge. “That was a good run. I’m so hot.”

Alex hummed absentmindedly, still typing.

Oh, we’re gonna fix that.

Y/N grabbed a water bottle, twisted the cap off, and tipped her head back, drinking in a way that was entirely unnecessary. A few drops dribbled down her throat, over her collarbone, disappearing beneath her sports bra.

Still, Alex. Did. Not. Look.

Fine. She wanted to play it cool? Y/N would break her resolve.

She grabbed a towel, walking right past Alex’s chair as she started patting down her sweaty chest.

And then – finally - Alex’s typing paused.

Y/N had to fight every instinct not to smirk.

“Good run?” Alex asked, voice suspiciously even.

“Mmm,” Y/N hummed, stretching again. “So good. I feel amazing. But, ugh, I got so sweaty.”

Another pause.

Y/N casually leaned against the table, stretching one leg behind her, subtly accentuating things. “Gotta cool down. Maybe take a long shower.”

Alex exhaled through her nose.

Y/N smirked. Gotcha.

She walked around the table, standing directly behind Alex, hands landing on her shoulders.

“Wow,” Y/N murmured, kneading gently. “You’re so tense. All that work stressing you out?”

Alex stiffened slightly but didn’t react.

Y/N leaned in closer, her lips dangerously near Alex’s ear. “You know, exercise is great for stress. You should join me next time. We could work up a sweat together.”

Alex’s hands paused on the keyboard.

Y/N smirked. “Or, you know, I could just shower alone.”

Alex slammed her laptop shut.

“You’re insufferable,” she muttered, turning in her chair to finally look at Y/N.

And oh, the way her eyes darkened as they swept over her? Y/N felt victorious.

“Something wrong, Counselor?” Y/N asked, all fake innocence.

Alex exhaled sharply. “You planned this.”

“Planned what?”

Alex leaned back, arms crossed, a tiny smirk playing at her lips. “This. The whole running, sweating, stretching, looking like that.” She gestured vaguely at Y/N’s entire existence.

Y/N shrugged. “Can’t a girl just get a workout in without being accused of crimes?”

“You do nothing without an agenda.”

Y/N beamed. “Exactly. So, what’s it gonna be? You back to work? Or are you gonna let me kick your ass in Monopoly?”

Alex sighed, running a hand through her hair, gaze lingering on Y/N’s abs for a fraction too long.

Alex let out a long, long breath.

Then - without a word - she stood up, grabbed Y/N’s wrist, and started pulling her toward the bedroom.

Y/N blinked. “Wait. Where are we going? Monopoly’s in the living room-”

Alex shot her a look.

A very dangerous look.

Y/N gulped. “Oh.”

Alex smirked. “You wanted my attention? You’ve got it now.”

Y/N grinned.

Game. Set. Match.

124 notes · View notes

novaursa · 1 month ago

Text

Legacy (across the dream)

- Summary: Tywin was the man who saved you from Robert's wrath. He was also the man who doomed you.

- Pairing: targ!reader/Tywin Lannister

- Note: Be aware of unspecified time jumps.

- Rating: Explicit 18+ (short adult scene)

- Previous part: tomorrow

- Next part: the silence

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @oxymakestheworldgoround @luniaxi @alkadri-layal @butterflygxril @urdxrling

The war room of Casterly Rock was heavy with the scent of wax and parchment, the weight of war pressing down upon those who stood within it. The torches burned low, casting specters across the grand table where maps of Westeros were spread, marked with ink and sigils.

Tywin Lannister stood at the head of the table, his expression as steady as a drawn blade. The air in the chamber was thick with unease, the lords and officers gathered around waiting in silence as the scout before them took a steadying breath.

"My lord," the scout began, bowing his head. "We found them three leagues east of here, scattered across the rocks and frozen ground. Dead ravens. At least a dozen."

Tywin’s gaze darkened. "And the messages?"

"Untouched," the scout replied, handing over a bundle of scrolls wrapped in black ribbon. "Still sealed. As if they fell from the sky all at once."

A murmur spread through the gathered men, a fear flickering in their eyes.

Tywin untied the ribbon and unrolled one of the messages, his sharp eyes scanning the contents. His fingers tightened around the parchment as he read.

"The last message sent from the capital," he said, voice level but heavy with meaning. "Dated weeks ago."

Another scroll was unfurled, this one bearing the sigil of House Stark.

"Winterfell," he muttered, recognizing the seal. The message was faded but legible. A warning.

Tywin turned to Kevan, who stood beside him, his expression grim. "If these ravens were never delivered, then our communications have been severed for longer than we anticipated."

Kevan nodded. "A troubling sign, brother. The ravens should not have fallen mid-flight unless something unnatural caused it."

The silence in the room deepened. It was Beric Dondarrion who finally spoke, his voice edged with the wisdom of too many deaths and resurrections.

"Magic," he said simply. "Something is at work here, something old. This is no natural occurrence."

Tywin’s jaw tightened, his mind already racing through possibilities.

"You mean to tell me," he said coldly, "that the enemy is interfering with our very means of communication?"

Beric met his gaze with an unwavering expression. "Would it surprise you?"

Tywin did not answer.

You, who had been standing at his side, finally stepped forward. Your gaze lingered on the black-feathered bundle in the scout’s hands before shifting back to Tywin.

"This has only just begun," you said softly. "They are cutting us off, isolating us."

Tywin exhaled sharply, the muscle in his jaw flexing. He looked at you, the unreadable expression in his green eyes betraying nothing of the storm raging in his mind.

"Then we must be prepared," he said at last, handing the scrolls to a waiting scribe. "Every settlement, every outpost under our protection must be warned—send word through trusted riders, not ravens. If our messages cannot fly, then they will ride."

Kevan nodded in agreement. "A sound plan. But if the dead are already moving, we must be ready for an attack."

Tywin turned to his assembled officers, his voice steel. "Fortify the defenses. Increase patrols along every border, especially along the eastern front. If they seek to weaken us, we will show them that Casterly Rock is not so easily shaken."

The men nodded, murmuring their assent, but you could see the unease that lingered in their eyes.

"Burn the bodies of the ravens," Beric added. "And salt the ground where they fell."

A ripple of discomfort passed through the room.

Tywin arched a brow but gave a curt nod. "See it done."

The scout bowed deeply before stepping back, the doors swinging open as he exited.

The chamber remained still for a long moment, the weight of the news pressing down upon those present.

You felt Tywin’s gaze settle on you once more, his voice quieter when he spoke.

"If they are trying to silence us," he murmured, "then we must ensure we are not caught unaware."

You met his eyes, nodding solemnly. "We must be ready for what comes."

Tywin exhaled again, his mind already working through the next steps, but you could see it—the slight crease in his brow, the glint of calculation in his gaze. He knew, as well as you did, that this was only the beginning.

And the silence left in the wake of dead wings was a warning neither of you would ignore.

The icy wind howled through the battlements of Casterly Rock, sending a bitter chill through the stone fortress. The realm had been trapped in endless night for years, and yet the lions of the West still stood, defiant against the coming darkness.

Tywin Lannister walked the ramparts, his fur-lined cloak billowing behind him as he observed the defenses with keen, calculating eyes. The walls had been reinforced, the battlements lined with seasoned archers. Below, soldiers drilled relentlessly, their swords ringing through the cold air as they practiced for battles yet to come.

His mind was a storm of calculations, weighing provisions, manpower, and strategy. The dead were on the move—Beric’s reports had confirmed it. And now the very skies seemed against them. The realm was growing silent, cut off by unseen forces.

A sound of boots on stone made him turn slightly, though his hands remained clasped behind his back. Thoros of Myr approached, his red priest’s robes looking almost black in the dim torchlight. His eyes, usually filled with a flickering mirth, were grave.

"My lord," Thoros greeted, dipping his head slightly.

Tywin’s gaze returned to the men below. "What is it?"

Thoros hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "I have heard whispers among your men," he said, his voice steady. "About what lies beneath us."

Tywin’s expression did not change. "You will have to be more specific, Myrman."

Thoros let out a quiet breath, his fingers brushing the pommel of his sword. "The mines," he said at last. "The place where the dragons have nested. They say there is Dragonglass down there."

Tywin’s eyes flickered briefly toward the Red Priest before looking back to the training soldiers below. "There is," he admitted, voice calm and measured. "Rich veins of it, deeper than even the gold we once extracted from these hills."

Thoros nodded slowly, as if confirming a long-held suspicion. "Then I must ask, my lord… why has it not been put to use?"

Tywin turned fully now, his green eyes cold. "We are not smiths of Valyria, nor do I have the luxury of wasting resources on superstition."

Thoros’s lips curled slightly in amusement, despite the grimness of their conversation. "And yet," he mused, "you have two dragons sleeping beneath your feet. You married a woman of dragon’s blood. Your own son, half a lion and half a dragon, was burned by fire and yet still lives."

Tywin’s jaw tightened. "Get to the point."

Thoros’s expression sobered. "The Night is here, Lord Tywin. This is no longer war as you have known it. Swords of steel and shields of gold will not hold against the dead. You need weapons of Dragonglass. You need men who know how to forge them. And you need them now."

Tywin remained silent for a long moment. The torchlight cast deep shadows on his face, making the angles of his features look carved from ice and stone.

"Have you ever worked Dragonglass before, priest?"

Thoros shifted, shaking his head. "No. But I have seen it wielded against the dead. I have seen it work. And there are blacksmiths among your men who could learn, if given the right materials."

Tywin tapped his fingers against the edge of the stone wall, thinking.

"You propose that I divert resources to mining Dragonglass instead of food and steel?"

"I propose that you do both," Thoros countered. "If the dead come for us, and our blades do nothing… then it will not matter how many soldiers you have. They will be butchered in the dark."

Silence hung between them. The weight of the decision was clear.

Finally, Tywin turned away from the wall, his mind made up.

"You will take a dozen men," he ordered. "Go into the mines, gather what you can. Find a blacksmith with enough sense to shape it into something useful."

Thoros dipped his head. "A wise choice, my lord."

Tywin narrowed his eyes. "It is a necessary one. We do not indulge in superstition here, but we will use every resource at our disposal to ensure the survival of this house and this kingdom."

Thoros smirked. "A man who does not believe in the Lord of Light… yet wages war like one blessed by fire."

Tywin’s lip curled in distaste. "I do not need the favor of your god to win wars, Myrman. I need strategy and steel."

"And Dragonglass," Thoros reminded him.

Tywin said nothing, merely turning on his heel and walking away, leaving Thoros standing alone beneath the flickering torchlight.

The priest sighed, looking up at the darkened sky.

"May your fire burn bright, Lord Tywin," he murmured to the night. "You’re going to need it."

The winds still howled against the stone walls of Casterly Rock one moon later, carrying whispers of death and ice from the North. The sky remained black, swallowed by the endless night, and the air carried a stillness that felt unnatural. Yet inside the fortress, preparations did not cease.

Damon Lannister stood beneath the great archway of the castle courtyard, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. The boy no longer wore bandages, though the fresh scars across his left side were still red and raw, the skin stretched taut. A deep burn ran along his jaw, tugging his lips into an almost permanent sneer, and part of his left cheek bore the mark of dragonfire. His silver-gold hair had darkened near the scorched flesh, giving him an uneven appearance—half lion, half something else.

His gaze was fixed on the courtyard, where Lord Tywin Lannister stood overseeing his men. The old lion was draped in his crimson-and-gold cloak, his breastplate gleaming in the torchlight. He moved between his commanders with the effortless precision of a man who had spent a lifetime preparing for war.

Beside Damon, Ser Barristan Selmy stood, his expression unreadable as he too watched the Lord of Casterly Rock. The old knight had his arms crossed, his weathered face cast in thought.

"They say my father never loses," Damon murmured, his voice quiet but steady.

Barristan glanced at him. "Your father is one of the finest commanders the realm has ever seen."

Damon’s scarred lips pressed together. "Then why does he look worried?"

Barristan hesitated before answering. "Because war is not won by reputation alone, my lord. It is won by men. By steel and fire. And even the greatest of men can bleed."

Damon frowned, watching as Tywin turned to one of his bannermen, his expression hard and severe. His father rarely showed emotion—everything he did was deliberate, calculated. And yet there was something in the way he moved today that unsettled Damon.

"Do you think we'll win?" Damon asked.

Barristan exhaled through his nose. "I think your father will do whatever it takes to ensure his house survives."

That wasn’t an answer. Damon turned to the knight, his young face serious. "And what do you think?"

Barristan studied him for a long moment. "I think war changes men. Even the ones we believe unshakable."

Damon’s small hands clenched tighter. He did not like the sound of that.

His eyes returned to Tywin. His father was speaking with Kevan, the two brothers standing close in quiet discussion. Nearby, a group of Lannister knights fastened armor, their expressions grim. The war horns had not sounded, but everyone felt it.

"Can I fight?" Damon suddenly asked.

Barristan sighed. "You are too young for battle, my lord."

Damon scowled, fingers twitching. "I could ride Arraxes—"

"No." Barristan’s voice was firm, and for the first time, Damon turned to see the full weight of the old knight’s gaze upon him. "You nearly died trying to claim him."

Damon’s face burned, but not from the scars.

"I failed," he whispered.

"You are alive," Barristan corrected. "And that means you have another chance."

Damon swallowed. His throat felt tight. "Another chance for what?"

Barristan knelt before him, placing a steady hand on the boy’s unscarred shoulder.

"To grow. To learn. To be better than those who came before you."

Damon didn’t answer. He only looked past Barristan, watching his father command the army with unwavering certainty.

For the first time, he wondered if that certainty could break.

The castle halls of Casterly Rock were eerily quiet, the stone cold beneath your fingers as you traced the intricate carvings along the wall. The flames of the torches flickered in the stagnant air.

Varys stood at the window, his robes pooling around him like liquid silk, his ever-watchful gaze set upon the dark horizon beyond the sea. It had been a week since Tyrion had departed with the Unsullied. A week of silence.

"Do you think he'll make it back to Dragonstone in time?" you asked, breaking the hush between you. "Or will he return at all?"

Varys turned his head slightly, offering you a knowing smile, though it did little to comfort you.

"If there is one thing I have learned, my lady," he mused, "it is that your husband is not the only Lannister who does not simply roll over and die."

You exhaled through your nose, your arms crossing over your chest. "Tyrion is clever, but Daenerys… she is not patient."

"That is an understatement," Varys said dryly. "And yet, she waits. Because she has no other choice."

Your fingers tightened around the fabric of your sleeves.

"I feel helpless, Varys." The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them. You turned toward him fully, frustration clear in your voice. "Tywin keeps me caged within these walls, refusing to let me act. He will not let me fly north. Not even to Winterfell."

Varys did not speak, only listening as you continued.

"Jon could be hurt—again," you murmured, voice softer now. "And I cannot even see him. I raised him, Varys. He was mine in all the ways that mattered. And yet, I am to sit here, warm and safe, while he fights for his life in the cold."

You pressed your lips together, swallowing the lump forming in your throat.

Varys sighed, tilting his head as he regarded you.

"You are a queen in all but name," he said gently. "And queens are often prisoners of their own power."

You let out a hollow laugh. "That is something Tywin would say."

Varys hummed. "Yes, well, your husband is not entirely wrong. He keeps you here because he fears losing you. The same way he fears losing Damon and Maelor. He is not a man who gives himself freely, and yet you…" He gestured to you with a tilt of his head. "You are an exception."

You looked away, your heart twisting.

"He knows as well as I do that there is only so much time before the winter swallows us whole," you whispered. "And still, he waits."

Varys stepped closer, his voice low.

"He waits because he is not ready to surrender his belief that he can control what is coming," he said. "And because, despite everything, he still does not fully believe."

You turned back to him, meeting his unreadable gaze.

"But you do, don't you?" you asked.

Varys did not answer immediately.

"I have seen enough to know," he finally said, "that we have already waited too long."

A chill ran down your spine, despite the warmth of the castle.

Beyond the windows, the night stretched on, endless and unyielding.

Tywin stood near the hearth, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed into the crackling fire. The flames danced over his stern features, accentuating the hard lines of his face, his golden hair kissed with streaks of silver. You watched him from where you stood, near the edge of the large bed, your fingers ghosting over the embroidered patterns of the Lannister sigil on the bedding.

He finally spoke, his voice calm but weighted.

"All of the Westerlands will gather here," he stated. "We will make our stand at Casterly Rock." He turned toward you, his gaze steady. "I suspect the rest of the realm is preparing to do the same, holding to their strongholds and fortresses, waiting for what comes."

You exhaled slowly, nodding. "There is no safety anywhere else," you murmured. "Not in the open. Not anymore."

He took a measured step toward you, his expression unreadable. "The strength of the Rock will hold," he said, though there was an edge to his voice—one that you recognized as restrained concern.

You searched his face, your heart heavy. "And if it does not?"

He did not answer immediately. Instead, he reached out, cupping your jaw in his hand, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek. "Then we make sure they pay the highest price for it."

A small, humorless chuckle escaped your lips. "That sounds like you."

He smirked, just barely. "It is me."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling the warmth of his palm against your skin. When you opened them again, he was watching you, his green eyes searching.

"Stay close to me," he murmured.

You reached up, placing your hand over his. "Always."

He studied you for a long moment before his fingers slid into your hair, and then his lips were on yours—firm, assured, but not demanding. You melted into him, the tension of the world outside momentarily forgotten as his hand moved to the small of your back, pulling you closer.

The kiss deepened, slow yet unyielding, as his other hand skimmed down your spine, fingers tracing the silken fabric of your gown. Your hands found the front of his tunic, slipping beneath the thick fabric to touch the warmth of his skin.

A low sound escaped him as he lifted you slightly, walking you back toward the bed. His lips never left yours, even as his fingers worked at the ties of your dress, loosening the laces with practiced ease. The heavy material slipped from your shoulders, pooling at your feet, leaving you bared to the cool air of the chamber.

Tywin’s eyes darkened as he took in the sight of you, his hands firm against your waist as he guided you onto the bed. He followed after you, shedding his tunic with slow deliberation, the firelight casting shadows over the defined lines of his body.

"You are mine," he murmured, voice low and certain, as he leaned over you, his lips tracing a slow path down the column of your throat.

You arched into him, your fingers tangling in his hair. "And you are mine."

His answer was a deep, lingering kiss as he settled between your thighs, and the night stretched on, wrapped in warmth and fire—while the endless dark loomed beyond the walls.

Damon lay on his back, staring at the ceiling of their shared chamber. The warmth of the castle, kept by the dragons beneath, was ever-present, but the cold outside seeped into the very bones of the Rock.

Beside him, Maelor was curled up under thick furs, his small frame barely making a dent in the massive bed. But he was not asleep. Damon could feel his little brother's eyes on him, even through the dark.

A moment passed before Maelor’s quiet voice broke the silence. "Damon?"

Damon blinked, his gaze still fixed on the ceiling. "Hmm?"

There was a pause, hesitant, before Maelor whispered, "Do you think we’ll see the sun again?"

The words made something tighten in Damon's chest. He turned his head slightly, looking at his younger brother. Maelor’s wide eyes reflected the candlelight, his face a mixture of curiosity and quiet fear.

Damon exhaled slowly, shifting onto his side. "I don’t know," he admitted. "Maybe."

Maelor frowned. "But the maester said it’s been more then three years since it went away." His small fingers clutched the edge of his blanket. "And if the sun doesn’t come back… will the world stay like this forever?"

Damon hesitated. He wanted to tell Maelor that everything would be fine, that one day they would wake up, and the sun would be there, bright and golden in the sky. That things would go back to how they were in the stories their mother told them.

But he had learned enough to know that promises made in blind hope meant nothing.

Instead, he sighed and reached over, ruffling Maelor’s pale hair. "I don’t know, Maelor. But if the sun doesn’t come back, we’ll make do. We always do."

Maelor wrinkled his nose. "That’s what Father always says."

Damon smirked slightly. "Because it’s true."

Maelor was quiet for a moment, then mumbled, "I miss the sun."

Damon shifted closer, draping an arm protectively over his little brother. "Me too," he admitted.

The candle flickered, casting another wave of shadows against the walls. Outside, the wind howled through the cliffs of the Rock, a sound like distant wailing.

Maelor yawned and nuzzled closer into the warmth of his brother’s embrace. "Do you think Mother will make the sun come back?"

Damon stared at the ceiling again, his voice softer this time. "If anyone can, it’s her."

Maelor sighed, his breath warm against Damon’s shoulder. Slowly, his small body relaxed, his breathing evening out as sleep began to claim him.

Damon remained awake, however, listening to the wind and watching the dying light of the candle.

Damon allowed himself to wonder—what if the sun never returns?

Damon lay still in his bed, furs drawn high against the chill that seeped even into the warmest chambers of Casterly Rock. Maelor, curled up beside him, had long since drifted into peaceful slumber, his soft breathing barely audible beneath the constant howling of the wind outside.

But for Damon, sleep was not so kind.

It started with whispers.

At first, they were distant, like voices carried by the wind. He couldn't make out the words, only the hushed urgency behind them. Then, they grew closer, forming echoes in the dark—a conversation happening just beyond his reach.

Then he recognized them.

His mother’s voice.

“We should have had more time.”

A shadow of pain, an ache woven into her words.

Then his father’s voice, rough and unfamiliar with weakness, as though every word was a struggle.

“We did.” A pause. A breath that sounded almost like a swallowed cry. “We deserved more.”

The air around Damon thickened. He felt his heart pound against his ribs, a rising panic he couldn’t explain. The voices blurred, and suddenly the warmth of his furs was gone. The stone walls of his chamber faded, dissolving into a cold vastness that stretched beyond sight.

Snow fell, thick and heavy, swallowing sound and light alike. He stood in a frozen wasteland, his boots sinking into ice that cracked beneath his weight. The sky was black, the stars veiled by swirling frost.

Then he felt it.

The weight of a presence.

Damon turned, and his breath hitched.

The Other stood before him.

It was taller than any man he had ever seen, clad in armor made of something more ancient than steel, its surface shimmering with the cold glow of the frozen night. Its skin was a corpse’s pale blue, its features sharp and inhuman. And its eyes…

Blazing. Piercing. Blue as death itself.

They watched him.

Not with anger. Not with hunger.

With something worse.

With recognition.

Damon could not move. Could not breathe. His entire body had turned to ice.

The Other raised a hand. Long, pale fingers extended toward him, a slow, deliberate motion. Its mouth did not move, but Damon heard it speak.

A voice that was not a voice.

A whisper that scraped like a dagger of ice against bone.

“You know us.”

Damon’s breath came in shudders, his mind screaming at him to run, to move, to do something.

The Other took a step forward.

Damon felt the cold sink into his skin, past his flesh, into his bones.

The whispers rose in a deafening crescendo.

His father’s voice—"We deserved more."

His mother’s voice—"We should have had more time."

The Other's voice—"We will have time."

Damon screamed.

The world shattered.

He bolted upright in bed, his chest heaving, his throat raw.

The chamber was no longer silent. The wind roared outside, and somewhere deep beneath the castle, Viserion shrieked.

Maelor stirred beside him, startled awake.

"Damon?" his little brother mumbled, voice thick with sleep. "What's wrong?"

Damon gasped for breath, his body drenched in sweat despite the cold. He turned toward Maelor, his hands trembling.

For a moment, he thought he still saw them—those eyes. Watching. Waiting.

"Damon?" Maelor repeated, sitting up now, concern in his young face.

Damon clenched his fists, forcing himself to breathe.

“It’s nothing,” he lied.

But the cold had followed him from the dream.

And he knew—it was not nothing.

92 notes · View notes

aayakashii · 1 month ago

Text

It started out stupid, like most things do, when Ren was involved.

"You need to stop spending so much time on your phone." You said, hands on your hips, eyeing him sternly as he was lying down on his bed (back bent almost in the shape of an S, neck strained and eyes squinting at the bright blue light coming from the screen).

"Where did this come from? I don't have mommy issues, you know. You don't need to pretend to be my mom." He glared at you from the corner of his eyes before continuing his doom scroll.

You sighed, plopping down on the bed beside him, making him bounce on purpose.

"Hey, watch it!" He yelled, body unintentionally rolling towards your lap.

"You are always glued to the screen!" You poked his forehead. "Come do something with me!"

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk almost quirking his lips upwards.

"Not THAT, Ren." You hit his face with a pillow, and he yelped. "Oh my god! You're not beating the incel allegations."

"How can I be an incel if we're dating?" He said, voice muffled under the pillow, and dropped his phone to the side.

"I don't know, you tell me."

Ren pulled the pillow out of his face and sighed, defeated.

"Fine, what do you want to do then?"

You sat up straight, eyes looking down at him wide in surprise.

"Really??"

"Yeah, I guess. Say it before I change my mind" he rolled his eyes, suppressing a smile.

You wiggled on your seat, excited. Ren had half a mind to keep himself from squeezing you to death whenever you acted cute like that.

"So, I was thinking we could maybe read together-"

"READING?" Ren sat up immediately and grimaced. You blinked.

"Yes?"

He groaned dramatically.

"But that's SO BORING."

You pinched the bridge of your nose and sighed.

"But the point of doing this kind of thing together is exactly to make them less 'boring'" you made air quotations with your fingers.

Ren scowled.

"What book were you even thinking about?"

"I don't know, we could go for a classic like Romeo and Juliet or–"

"ROMEO AND JULIET? Why?!"

You stared at him, an eyebrow raised.

"What do you mean 'why'?"

"Why Romeo and Juliet of all books in the world?! Are you trying to say something?" Ren leaned forward, squinting his eyes as if he could read in between the lines.

"It's just an example, Ren..."

"Do you think we're doomed lovers or something?"

You slapped your forehead.

"Ren. What the fuck are you talking about. It's just a book."

He hummed, unconvinced, and straightened his hunched back.

"As I was saying, we could try that or–"

"Are you worried about dying or maybe you're thinking I'm gonna die?"

You groaned loudly.

"Ren! It was just an example!"

"If you find out I'm dead, are you going to kill yourself too then?"

"You're not dead! It was an example!" You grabbed his shoulders and shook him lightly.

"Maybe you're trying to say that we have too many moments of miscommunication then? I can try to use my earphones less, but I really like my game's soundtrack, you know."

You deadpanned and squeezed his shoulders with a bit more force.

"I'm gonna tell Haru you're being crazy."

Ren pursed his lips and looked away. You narrowed your eyes, staring at him until you were sure he wasn't going to interrupt you again.

"It was an example. I was going to say we can read Lord of the Rings too, if you don't want a classic."

He gasped, and you rolled your eyes as soon as you heard it.

"You think I'm in a homoerotic relationship with my best friend? I don't even have a best friend!"

"Oh my god, Ren!" You threw a pillow at him again, but he grabbed it before you could hit him and laughed loudly at your exasperation.

"Okay, okay, sorry, now it was a joke." He put the pillow beside him, and pat your hands, trying to calm you down.

"Now?! What do you mean now?! Your whole Romeo and Juliet meltdown wasn't a joke then?"

He looked away, pursing his lips again.

You sighed and got up.

"You know what. Go back to your phone. We'll try this again later."

#tokyo debunker #ren shiranami #tokyo debunker x reader

139 notes · View notes

angel-purger · 1 year ago

Text

⁰¹ As Lovers Do - Yandere! Geto Suguru x Gn! Reader

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Cross-posted on Quotev (@.oc34n1d) and Wattpad (@.heart-stricken)

9,100+ Words.

— Request by the very pleasant Nana ! It took me quite some time to be able to finish this but I really liked how this turned out and I hope you all did too. Again, if you want more detailed one-shots or headcanons, don't be afraid to explain to me in detail about what you want! Writing Geto's shift to obsession was really enjoyable and he's a really complex character. Alongside that, but accurate characterization for both the reader and Geto is so hard to write, so apologies if this took some time to be published. Scroll down for more notes.

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⠀ ⠀Protect human lives, sacrifice your own if you will; devour what is evil. Protect humans, do everything in your power to do so, but never expect to be appreciated by the public eye, shun away from society's admiration— instead being a topic if scorn for being different.

⠀ ⠀Geto abides by his ideology, engraving it in his mind without thought.

⠀ ⠀Protect humans, you are a jujutsu sorcerer for that sole reason.

⠀ ⠀Are human lives worth saving?

⠀ ⠀He can never eviscerate the bitter taste of curses. An unwashed, soiled, and iniquitous taste of death. Like a rag used to repeatedly wipe vomit, feces, and every vile chemical mixed into one. He can taste death, he can feel it lump at his throat at every second; ascending gradually with its acuate, protruding claws. He wants to cry, but every time tears well in his eyes, he is faced with the constant reminder of her death.

⠀ ⠀Riko Amanai, a failed mission, a dead vessel, subsequently leading to the stillbirth of immortality's mortal body to be renewed with Riko's body. Subsequently leading to a doomed future for the lives of people within Japan— a haunting reflection of his failures, failures he could've avoided if he was fast enough, strong enough to predict that fucking bullet.

⠀ ⠀Why wasn't he fast enough?

⠀ ⠀The very morals he so pridefully upheld, all crushed with one single mission. He is a disgrace.

⠀ ⠀Gojo was wrong. Geto and Gojo will never be the "two strongest" sorcerers. There can only be room for number one, and Geto will always be second. Second strongest, second best— so much so to the point that his presence doesn't shine as bright as it ever will be once Gojo is in the room. But that's alright, right? After all, he believes that working under the shadows to mitigate human deaths, without the feel to need gratitude from the very lives he saves, is what is right. And what is right is what is just, right?

⠀ ⠀He discovered that the water inside the shower is frigid when you are alone with only your thoughts accompanying you; like ice shards expending down on his back, like the stab of that human monkey (who defeated him so easily, he can't bring himself to admit). It stabs and it stabs and it stabs. And then he spirals, eyes diluting at the images of defeat. Then suddenly the world around him becomes an audience to his silent suffering. He can hear the cult members smiles, feel every bit of bile rise up his throat, taste the sin of death once more.

⠀ ⠀Geto is done showering.

⠀ ⠀Every day is a loop. Rinse and repeat. Wake up, eat, bathe, missions, more missions, explore some uncharted areas of the city, guarantee that it is safe from curses, go home, rest, dinner, sleep. There are moments where they interchange, but they never change.

⠀ ⠀Very few mention Riko Amanai. After all, she is a topic taboo now, especially since it heavily affected both Gojo and Geto's mentality. In more than different ways in fact.

⠀ ⠀He wants to stop thinking about her. Distractions are not needed in an era full of brimming human life— life that Geto has to, again, protect.

⠀ ⠀Just as he is about to leave his dorm after putting on his everyday school attire (making a mental note to skip breakfast and eat lunch alone), he is notified of a mission. A mission where he has to accompany a rookie sorcerer, a student like him admittedly, and it was a concept he wasn't accustomed to. After all, he was surrounded by talented people, and in a sea of talents, he felt more like a drop of dew— so maybe, despite the strange request from his Sensei, Masamichi Yaga, this would provide him a new opportunity.

⠀ ⠀He hopes it does. Your profile exhibits your meek countenance, like any normal civilian, but you seem strong enough to be scouted. There's not much of a significant presence you display when he read through your documents. Or so he thought.

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⠀ ⠀You became his new, temporary partner (he insists on that status on you, donning a pretty fake smile through his growing eyebags). It was surprising, really, to see you up close after reading through your files. The moment he met you eye-to-eye did he realize you share the same height as him, a few centimeters taller, he could estimate.

⠀ ⠀Geto's preliminary view of you was taken aback when you, albeit awkwardly, mingled with him after both greeting each other. You treated him warmly- like any normal person would- despite being strangers in the eyes of passerby's. Walking on the sidewalk, pretending that the mission you both (more-so you, than him, as he was simply there to accompany you in case of a problematic event) were to undergo didn't involve harrowing exorcism and countless condolences from any deaths involved.

⠀ ⠀Before he could mutter anything further, to proceed on the site of your mission, you'd drag him into, as you state, your favorite chain of street foods. Did you want to distract yourself from furthering your shared mission, or were you idiotic enough to forget to eat breakfast that you'd have to drag his bleary body elsewhere to satisfy your needs? He was pleasantly (or was it hesitatingly?) surprised when you beckon him closer to buy any street food that catches his attention, as long as it is within your school allowance.

⠀ ⠀As he was about to differ from your offer (he didn't want to seem rude to you), your lips thin to a line and your eyebrows furrow (though your entire expression does not scream of angered. Perhaps you are befuddled with yourself?), and you beat him to it, insisting that he was going all his way to entertain you and all; that despite being acquainted only for a short while did you notice how his stomach grumbled loudly and how he didn't even notice the noise his own body made. He realized he was the idiot here, that he ignored his human need to consume actual food rather than curses.

⠀ ⠀Prior to his knowledge of you, you're more caring than what he envisaged. Soft. The qualities very unlike a jujutsu sorcerer should possess unless one wishes for death. Yet, that momentary lapse of emotion in your face tells him you are more than experienced in the field work of jujutsu than what he expected— you are soft, but you are dominating. Caring, but challenging.

⠀ ⠀His mind blanks.

⠀ ⠀Then he finds himself licking off the residue of the bits of fish flakes on the side of his mouth after you both decide on takoyaki. You're both on the sidewalk again, with him stealing (prolonged) glances at you— you acting like nothing has happened, matching his pace as- as equals would.

⠀ ⠀It was strange, for him, to experience this type of casual kindness after a period of solitary confinement from his peers. You were merely treating him, as one co-worker does when wanting to pay a favor to a higher up after given assistance. But why, compared to his other classmates, who in more cases than one pay for their occasional food excursion, does he like it when you domineeringly persisted that you should pay for him. Was he becoming soft? Or was it you that tamed a part of him that he swore was nothing?

⠀ ⠀There were cases your body draws nearer to his whilst you try to make small talk - could you even sense how much he could sense you? - where he could feel the visceral heat off the barrier of the pitch-black fabric you wear. Geto swears he didn't mean to, but he could smell the faint perfume you're donning— it was way different to the smell of crimson he's perpetually exposed to.

⠀ ⠀Your smile. The indistinct crinkle of your eyes, eyes that bounce bashfully from his eyes to the surrounding nature. It's as if, despite your mouth moving automatically, attempting to forgo the small-talk that he started, those sneaky eyes of yours always find it way back to meet his.

⠀ ⠀Were you perhaps admiring him after he regained some energy? It wouldn't be the first time. After all, compared to his white-haired best friend, he was always the more charming one of the two, often attracting ladies he seemingly never bat an eye on. And maybe you were just like them; he would forget you after this mission, and you would simply see him as an unreachable force, a special grade sorcerer whose talents would be a force to reckon with—

⠀ ⠀But maybe he wanted you to idolize him, in a way where you couldn't stand as an equal in power, but you could stand beside him with the power to overcome him more intimately, just like how you, a few moments ago, stood your ground; softly glaring at him like how a lover would to their naturally self-neglectful partner.

⠀ ⠀What was he thinking?

⠀ ⠀If- if maybe he could have known you longer then he would've loved to share his ideologies with you more, share a deeper questioning of society. With how understanding you are, you would empathize with him in a heartbeat. With how quick you slip into the grasp of blunt truth, how easily your eyes would flitter about once faced with a ridiculous statement ("I think it's funny how oblivious humans are, no? They could be killed at any opportunity by curses. How unfortunate is it to be born with nearly no cursed energy... Shouldn't- shouldn't sorcerers just let them be? To rot? After all, saving them means attaining nothing on our part.") he would docilely express— you'd rebut him, but at the same time you would do so with the thought of his ideas in mind.

⠀ ⠀How invigorating must you be?

⠀ ⠀If you share the same sentiment with him then—

⠀ ⠀Then he'll finally have someone to rely on. In a world full of corrupt notions, you could be the only one who would comfort him

⠀ ⠀And God, your presence was really relaxing compared to the odd bunch he surrounds himself with— like a breath of fresh air amidst the fetid scent of curses he devours.

⠀ ⠀The most tantalizing part of you? You haven't even demonstrated your cursed technique, nor your fighting style to him— you've both just arrived at the scene of the crime too. Yet he's convinced that you seem to hold a lot of power over him.

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⠀ ⠀Protect human lives, sacrifice your own if you will.

⠀ ⠀The more that oh-so inspiring phrase repeats itself in his head like a broken record, the more he's stuck in a predicament of wanting and unwanting the want. He should protect them, the people, no?— God, humans are filthy, they're weak. And sorcerers; they don't deserve to be hidden, treated less...

⠀ ⠀You don't deserve to be undermined, especially by that loathsome family of yours.

⠀ ⠀A few days pass and he finds himself seeking your presence out, alas he couldn't. You were a lower rank than him, stuck with lower-ranking missions— and he's a special grade, dragged into countless complex commissions that would surely tire anyone. Anytime he tries to seek you out, he would find himself in another mission assigned by those abhorrent superiors; and that is merely another day without you.

⠀ ⠀Another day where he drowns in melancholic thoughts in the shower; drowns in what-ifs and the motifs of his supposed success of saving Riko. Yet the more time he spends in the showers without seeing that demulcent, yet potent expression of yours; Geto's imaginations drift from the need to finding any meaning of being a jujutsu sorcerer to yearning for the normalcy you unveiled.

⠀ ⠀When was the last time he was able to inhale so freely without feeling the sharp claws sinking its ways to his hard? When was the last time he exhaled without bile climbing up his throat? It's you he's thinking of again. You he associates with peace.

⠀ ⠀The erratic sprinkle of water from the showers doesn't sound like the cult members' laughs anymore... When he turns it off, the accustomed silence accompanied by pitch-sharp wringing was replaced by whispered voices; all the same sounding, yet they make his tense muscles relax. They all sound like you.

⠀ ⠀And...

⠀ ⠀The urge to strike another conversation with you struck itself into his nerves once more.

⠀ ⠀But he couldn't, even if he wanted to- definitely would.

⠀ ⠀So he- he simply has to find another way to know more about you; to check if you always wear that expression of yours, the one he wishes to engrave in his brain. Not only that but, he needs to evaluate your strengths so he could - in his mind - protect you, right? All throughout the mission you were efficient with utilizing your cursed technique, but in the end you had still ended up with minor injuries; some bruises, others scratches. They could turn major if he wasn't there to watch over you once you're faced with stronger, more complex opponents, no?

⠀ ⠀The idea terrorized itself into the core of his amygdala. He feels fear. He has to know more about you.

⠀ ⠀Because he couldn't find you in the period you both are working, with minimum time for breaks, Geto convicted himself to obtrusive methods of locating you.

⠀ ⠀By locating, that means he simply resorted to stalking you, hence how he discovered your not-as-kind family.

⠀ ⠀Your parents, monkeys, with no ounce of cursed energy whatsoever. Whose talents don't even do jackshit for society— who has the audacity to ridicule you like you're nothing but dirt. Rummaging through files he shouldn't have access to, Geto was revealed with information that you were scouted by the school after they found you coping furiously with your cursed technique after an argument which led you to being kicked out of the house you used to live in.

⠀ ⠀You were unaware of your skill, yet you managed to achieve what other sorcerers take time to master. He finds you not only endearing, but enough to be revered by others. But his prior admiration turned into aggravation soon enough after scanning through your files again.

⠀ ⠀You have nowhere to live other than the highschool you both reside in, no one else for a support system, nothing at all. Hell, you're even financially dependent on the allowance of the high school, yet you even went as far as to treat him like it won't cut your budget. Again, you have nothing.

⠀ ⠀But he could change that.

⠀ ⠀He will give you everything you want.

⠀ ⠀If he finds a way to at least convince the higher ups to be given missions that require your presence - he could convince them that he shall be your temporary, no, longterm mentor - then he could be everything for you, and you could care for him too. You both could depend on each other, and he won't be so lonely, no? Won't feel so utterly useless, with no meaning to live life. You could be the very reason he still maintains his cool, the reason why he hasn't killed off those monkeys yet.

⠀ ⠀He will find a way.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru always finds a way. He is, after all, a jujutsu sorcerer.

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⠀ ⠀And so you were suddenly wormed beside Geto once more, though you were convinced that this wouldn't be the last time you will be paired with the mysterious man who keeps a composed smile, opposite to when you first met him. His eyebags, too, were smaller, like he has been regaining sleep once more. You couldn't deny that it made him even more handsome than your first impression of him.

⠀ ⠀His curt smile broke into a beam once he noticed you eyeing him up and down.

⠀ ⠀Compared to last time, he seemed healthier. Was there something that induced a sudden change in him? Of course, you can't really assume anything since you have met him only once, but there's something about him that you couldn't pin-point. Despite shining brighter than before - you could describe him akin to the serene atmosphere of winter - there was a hidden undertone to him that scorches you, and you don't know why but you chose to ignore it in favor of prioritizing the newly assigned mission.

⠀ ⠀Looking back, the superiors' evaluation of you suddenly increased; and now you were paired with the special grade again, with no arbitrary explanation as to why him specifically. But it didn't really affect you personally, so there's no need to worry about anything.

⠀ ⠀In the blink of an eye, he was meticulously closer to you, right hand finding its way to your chin as his index finger beckons you to stare into his eyes. He mutters something under his breath, words you couldn't catch on. Then his smile grew wider than ever, you couldn't deny that it charmed even you.

⠀ ⠀"You sure do love staring at me, huh?" Despite the back of his fingers tenderly rubbing the sides of your chin, you couldn't bring it in yourself to pull back, a magnetic force compelling you to linger in your compromising position. Noticing barely any signs of discomfort, Geto's left hand finds itself holding your right and he brings it up near your chest and squeezes it affectionately.

⠀ ⠀Is he flirting with you?

⠀ ⠀"You must be undressing me with your eyes." He purrs, taking it further and kissing your knuckles whilst maintaining eye-contact with you. To that, you unhurriedly take your hand away from his grip (you swear that you nearly feel his clasp on you tightening for a slight second), and chuckled lightly.

⠀ ⠀Your response was curt, "Well, it feels like you are doing the same thing, no?" It's as if you were pretending the abrupt, sensual action he did didn't affect you one bit. He is, you couldn't deny one bit, incredibly attractive and you'd love to reciprocate the flirting but a reminder that he was a year above you and that you barely even know him clashes its way to your mind. And, for the most part, you only met him once. In that one singular meeting did he not display such provocative insinuations. It was just now that there was a sudden fondness that was triggered.

⠀ ⠀Can you really stand your ground against such a courteous man? Although he was a tad raunchy, maybe it wasn't only towards you? Does it really matter?

⠀ ⠀You're overthinking it, you figured as you snap out of your trance. Looking back at Geto once more, you gaze at him, leisurely, with not a negative thought but instead with goals aligning to your mission once more.

⠀ ⠀It was back again, your tender visage salted with rationale mentality. You've no knowledge about Suguru's increasing fondness of you, but you do know you would, by all odds, reciprocate his adoration of you soon enough.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru is a man who works between the line of preservation and consumption. To preserve the preciousness of human lives is a goal he doubts, and to consume curses is an everyday activity he comes to dread— but he was willing to preserve only your life whilst ultimately letting the image of you consume him.

⠀ ⠀Instead of you treating him to a snack before your mission, you find yourself entangled with Geto-kun - he insists on you calling him informally albeit the short time spent together - in your favorite restaurant, ordering your favorite foods and beverages, and chattering with him casually as "friends" do— after the mission. You were about to refuse his invitation but you halted as you were well aware that you did the same for him and it would be hypocritical of you.

⠀ ⠀Geto snickered lightly at your modest display, but was most definitely pleased as he reiterated what you said at your first meeting.

⠀ ⠀"Your stomach grumbled on our way out. You should eat, my treat. After all, a way to a man's heart is through food, yes?"

⠀ ⠀At that statement, you smacked him lightly in the arms and glared, amused, at him with thin lips— your expression then broke out into a laugh as you walked alongside him.

⠀ ⠀At least you could confidently say that by the end of the night that you had thoroughly enjoyed conversing with him. He was not only intellectual with words, but he was persuasive all throughout your debates with him in the restaurant. There were moments you disagreed with his sentiments, especially about humans born with no cursed energy, as you did. Though if you were to weigh it all out, you have made more agreements with him than disagreements and you weren't afraid to voice out your reasonings without invalidating him; he seemed to really like that about you, as you note his pleasant smile all throughout. He never broke his eye-contact with you too, eyes following your mouth forming the counterarguments whilst also acknowledging his assertions.

⠀ ⠀This was the first time in a while that actually liked the concept of debates, since Geto was so pleasing, so receptive of the things you say; like every word matters.

⠀ ⠀You really, really like this man.

⠀ ⠀Since you're aware of the new position assigned to you as his colleague despite not being in the same grade— you find yourself wishing for these "dates" to occur more often by the near future. And by future, you mean at least every week.

⠀ ⠀Perhaps it was a shared sentiment, but you really do feel a spark between you two, a linked closeness that transcends more than just acquaintances despite it being a second meeting. Or... you are perhaps consumed by fatigue from the mission as it is trickier by default when you find yourself working with a special grade.

⠀ ⠀And... Maybe your brain was too preoccupied, but you have never once had the thought of Geto knowing all your favorites cross your mind.

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⠀ ⠀Hours turn into days, days into weeks, and finally weeks turn months— and within that time frame did Geto Suguru experience a blizzard of emotions. All these burst inside of him like fireworks blazing through the midnight sky.

⠀ ⠀Everything was going well with you, of course. Every single day was a period of time where he was able to keep track of you; the time you wake up, eat, shower, even sleep. He knew your hobbies, too, after visiting your dorm whensoever. He even memorized the smell of your room, the various trinkets plastered around your walls, he could locate your bed without hesitation even with a blindfold— Geto could even recall the spots where the early sunlight hits your bed.

⠀ ⠀Every moment spent with you was an opportunity to know you better, on more personal levels. He was the first to know about your habits, those that you typically hide at face value, the ones you were embarrassed to show to your friends— ones only he (not even you were aware) notices and treasures.

⠀ ⠀It was only fair that he lets you know about him in an equal amount. After all, every known boundary he has ever set were practically nonexistent when it comes to you.

⠀ ⠀So he lets you in on his deepest darkest secrets. He whispers to you, nightly, about his interests, about his passions, about his greatest fears— the one thing he fears the most, one he has never told anyone; not his family, not his friends, nobody but you— is the alienation he feels from everyone. He has been through everything, he tasted death, and no one could relate to the taste of rot, not even his closest friends. Only you would know, you'll be the only one who holds his heart in your hand, even if he knows that you could betray him at any given moment.

⠀ ⠀But you won't.

⠀ ⠀He tells you all about all the vulnerable parts of him in hopes of garnering your attention on him. And yes you did, every part of you felt pity for him, and he loves the way you react. Geto loves your expressions. Loves the way your face twists to disgust one time, when he described what a mouthful of curses taste like. Or when you'd press your body behind him (he loves just how much you trust him enough to be intimately close to him), arms wrapped around his back, eyes tightly closed, and mouth slightly agape as the cool breeze of the air hits your face violently, as he flew both of you to take an arial view of the city at night, using a curse, of course.

⠀ ⠀Every face you make, obscure or not, triggers intense reactions from the man. So much so he feels like he could die from perspiration the first time you reciprocated his flirting, by kissing his cheeks, taking him aback. Goodness, he won't ever let anything get in between you two, and he most definitely would never forget the instance you smiled lopsidedly at him right after, a slight flush on your face.

⠀ ⠀Menial conversations became in depth discussions when it came to you, even if your responses would sometimes have frivolous undertones in them; Geto would still want to crawl deeper into your brain, have a need to disect every single information you know. Every course of action you make, the black-haired man would always find examples to love about you. Sometimes, it feels like you're a specimen living under his care, but God does he worship you like you are divine in every way.

⠀ ⠀And Geto wasn't merely a special grade sorcerer for nothing (and they are known for using eccentric methods to get what they want). He was right to assume that the more he initiated on displaying his liking for you, through actions especially, the more you grow increasingly fond of him, but not to his levels of... obsession.

⠀ ⠀But you bask in the attention of your sensual sorcerer, so it wasn't a surpise that, well—

⠀ ⠀It only took a little bit of time to pass - though it felt a very long period of Geto; he had to remind himself that patience and perseverance is key - and then suddenly you two were finally official.

⠀ ⠀And like lovebirds, everywhere you went, you were accompanied by Geto. Hand holding, hands on your waist, eyes finding its way to look at only you, even if there is another person in the room trying to talk to him— it's like he wants to connect himself to you in every way possible. You don't mind it at all, though, already aware enough of his circumstances when it comes to attachment issues.

⠀ ⠀You have been so close before, but even more intimate now, to the point his colleagues and teachers alike were aware of your tight-knit relationship. Even Gojo Satoru, resident tormentor of Jujutsu Tech, teased Geto about his increasing PDA with you, often guffawing in the background whenever he spots you two inseperably cuddling and pressing kisses into each other's cheeks like immature, hormonal teens.

⠀ ⠀You had even slept in the same bed as him.

⠀ ⠀When he woke up the next day, with your head nuzzled into the crevice of his neck, his arms squeezing your body against his, warm sheets entangling both of you together like a cocoon... When you utter random noises in your sleep, snuggling closer to him whenever your dreams become unpleasant... He watches over your slumbering form, sometimes even shifts to make sure you're in a better position, to make sure that the duvet covers you entirely.

⠀ ⠀Geto has never thanked any being above, never intended to, believing that sorcerers are the truly divine beings that humankind should worship— but he laudes whoever is out there, his ancestors perhaps, that for once he was endowed with someone beyond anything he would ever want. You are everything Geto needs in his life.

⠀ ⠀So why is it that..?

⠀ ⠀With everything going so well, so perfect...

⠀ ⠀It was all so perfect until...

⠀ ⠀The notion of prosperity came tumbling down, like a world-ending meteor, when one of his close juniors died from a curse, with his fellow partner in the mission suffering gravely after him. Haibara Yu, a bubbly underclassman who you was also your classmate, so it was no doubt that you, too, grieved.

⠀ ⠀He never wants to see that solemn expression in your face again...

⠀ ⠀The lump of flesh that was presented to Shoko Ieri and the other students, all shoved inside a cadaver bag, reeked of flesh— a scent all jujutsu sorcerers were accustomed to, but never coped with if they bare the knowledge that that someone is familiar with them. He shouldn't have been so affected; in ways where despite caring for his junior... He feels a mixture of animosity brimming inside him.

⠀ ⠀He shouldn't have been so jealous of a corpse gaining the slightest bit of your spotlight, shouldn't be so envious of the way you spill tears over someone else... But most importantly, he hates it when you'd be stuck in a dissociative trance afterwards, just like the one he was in when Riko died.

⠀ ⠀Everything snaps the moment he remembers his discussion with that fellow blonde-haired special grade, the dead-beat who never did her job. Geto didn't enjoy conversing with her, finding her reasonings meaningless, her words of persuasion only reserved for her interests. He didn't indulge in her as he did you. But that particular conversation cemented itself in his brain, and now he's stuck with questions swirling his mind, questions he knew would be answered with vehement solutions.

⠀ ⠀Then he was back at it again, after rediscovering his memories, in a spiral of neverending speculation. Why do sorcerers need to protect those foul monkeys? Why is it that it is the sorcerers who have to adjust to the norm? Why are they regarded as the odd bunch? Why do they have to die for useless beings lower than them?

⠀ ⠀Amidst all the questioning he does, there were relevant ones that struck a particular nerve in him.

⠀ ⠀It all circles back to you. You, you, you.

⠀ ⠀Why would it not be you?

⠀ ⠀And what if...

⠀ ⠀What if you had died instead of Haibara?

⠀ ⠀Tears, salty and brimming with bitter feelings, for the first time in ages, trickled out his eyes, sliding uncomfortable against shivering skin. Uncontrollable and inevitable. What came with despair was also hysteria.

⠀ ⠀He couldn't cope with that idea. No, not at all— he wants to extinguish the very possibility that you, of all people, could die very early just because— because you would forfeit your life for worthless ones. You're way more than just a sacrificial lamb; you're Geto's everything. He couldn't afford to lose you, couldn't even grasp the prospect of your death.

⠀ ⠀The shower water plummeled down his head like a hailstorm, to his torso, until it nipped on his feet with its unforgiving frost.

⠀ ⠀But he knows you. He's aware that despite the rocky relationship you have with your family, or the demeaning comments from your supposed friends, that you would die for those untalented monsters. You're too considerate. He wants that consideration all for himself.

⠀ ⠀ He hates it, he hates everything whenever you consider everyone but yourself. He will take care of it, of you. But how could he? Not when you insist on sitting quietly and receiving all those harsh treatments forced on you.

⠀ ⠀ He has never felt so helpless before. It devours him, inside and out, like insects crawling on his skin, nipping and biting flesh— like he himself was merely a corpse for maggots to pig through.

⠀ ⠀ It's almost class time, and even if he dreads coming to the class of three (minus one, as Gojo is now consistently busy with missions), burden running down his spine at the notion that you would be in a separate class.

⠀ ⠀Geto overlooked the fact that, despite suffering from the solitude of the bathroom showers, he isn't as alone as he thought, not anymore. For in his misery, you share the sentiment.

⠀ ⠀ You await him, in his room, eyes sore from incessant tears, body especially nearly letting you down after countless bouts of harming yourself over being unable to comfort your boyfriend over his turmoil. Yet you're unwavering from your seated position, ready to confront your boyfriend shall he ever lead into a path of self destruction.

⠀ ⠀Geto stumbled out of the showers, somber mind neglecting the very schedule he has plastered all over his head, a display of utter patheticness. At this time of the day, you were always loitering around his dorm.

⠀ ⠀ How could he have forgotten? As he rubs fatigue off his eyes, he ceased in his tracks, ears picking up a slight wringing. His wet hair drenched the t-shirt he threw on, but the sharp, frore water isn't the cause of his shivering— it's you, who he saw in the corner of his eyes, sat on his bed.

⠀ ⠀He should've expected it, it was already part of your daily routine to visit him, yet it still shook him when he found a blob of your hair color in his peripheral vision— so much so to the point that even breathing betrayed him.

⠀ ⠀Why was he crying again?

⠀ ⠀ There's no other way to describe Geto's situation, other than that of a trapped dear, with no way to outrun a speeding car in the middle of the road— but you're not the type to harm him - maybe in bed you would, pleasurably - but you wouldn't hurt him because you wanted to. Yet he still fears showcasing vulnerability, afraid of betrayal, especially from you. So all he could do was stand, feet losing sensation, unable to move an inch; to even breath was to move, and he couldn't.

⠀ ⠀ But it was you who cut into the thick atmosphere, standing up, footsteps unheard, towards Geto who was rooted on the floor, body tense.

⠀ ⠀ The first thing he saw when he glanced up with ruddy eyes was your gentle gaze.

⠀ ⠀ He visibly relaxed, albeit unmoving. It doesn't matter, though, not to you at least— because you see his tear-stained cheeks and puffy, tired eyes and uptight body that tells you he won't be emotionally recovering soon. You want do to nothing more other than to spoon him wholly and tell him you'll deal with everything. But you can't. You can't because you're not of the same status as him, not strong enough you stress. And you can't because you're tired, too, just like him and all the others, but especially him. And although you tell yourself that you're an intrepid Jujutu sorcerer who should bare no weaknesses; you can break as easily as the others.

⠀ ⠀ But you have to be strong for him.

⠀ ⠀ Holding his hands in yours, you give it a gentle squeeze, looking down on him with loving eyes. You beat him to it, beat him at his game and questioned him if he's alright, if he needed space to think. To which his answer was to strongly grip your palm a second after the question, gaze hardened on you, as a confirmation that he did not, in fact, want you out his room, for others to look at you and comfort you.

⠀ ⠀ You ask him what's wrong, only for you to sputter back and tell him that he's not obligated to answer any of your questions should he not be stable enough.

⠀ ⠀ Not a single response... You ask again, eyes now harboring a demand for answers, but there's nothing.

⠀ ⠀ Slight irritation follows your countenance when all you were met with was silence...

⠀ ⠀Then your stark personality displays itself once more, your voice a deeper octave as you palm his face and stare deeply into his eyes; he falls in love all over again That's when you began mumbling to him, like you're sharing secrets nobody else could access. When you tell him that he has every right to grieve and be frustrated at the same time, that he shouldn't hold back tears; he felt bare naked in front of you. But you weren't scrutinizing him, even if all that comes out your mouth is the truth, ones that should've hurt him for making him feel defenseless in the arms of danger, but didn't. Because those words were from you.

⠀ ⠀Your word is God, and he calms down just enough to stare back at you, shaky figure and everything, and brings his hands to cup your palm, rubbing lovingly.

⠀ ⠀ You peck his cheeks, giggling when you felt the sheer wetness it was drowned in. But before you could pull back as quickly, Geto's head moved faster to kiss your mouth, passionate and seering, hands resting on your waist. It took a few seconds of nuzzling into each other, but it felt like eternity before he withdrawed, palms tenderly rubbing your cheeks.

⠀ ⠀Geto Suguru didn't just love you— he loves you, every part of you. And he decides, from now on, whether you'd consent or not, that you'll never leave him. Familial bonds are nothing to you, now that your parents have finally passed away (and you've no idea on their cause of death, nor the fact that they were brutally mauled by an amalgation of curses), your friends are nothing compared to him— you are the- the only one that matters to him, and he wishes you would reciprocate that notion.

⠀ ⠀So a choice (one where you, perhaps, will never have a say in) was set in Geto's persistent mind; now or never.

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⠀ ⠀Geto hopes you would forgive him after everything. He hopes that you wouldn't mind it if you were to be permanently separated from the entire civilization, only to be admired by his greedy eyes.

⠀ ⠀ 'Protect human lives?' No, he will not even spare a glance at to those monkeys. He'd prioritizes on a new goal— to protect your life, firstly. From any harm, any danger; from something as small like a prick of a needle to even death itself.

⠀ ⠀ He loves it when you look at him, eyes shining with adoration every time he saves you from momentary danger. So he'll do it again. Though, only now will you be permanently safe, where no filthy nothings may lay hands on you.

⠀ ⠀He hopes that you wouldn't notice how he has an apartment set up just for both of you, that you wouldn't wonder why all your belongings - that were left in your bygone, desolate house - were now moved into the multisectioned rooms designed just for your taste.

⠀ ⠀ He sets a date on his calendar for the day you would be relocated in a new space far more homely and spacious than the dorms in Jujutsu Tech.

⠀ ⠀ By the time the moon engulfs the sky with its dim light, he'd drug your favorite dinner whilst you're comfortably oblivious to his ministrations. He'll be conversing with you while sometimes feeding you portions of his food, as couples always do (except for the part his tongue would linger a bit long on his chopstick after he fed you with it), laughing tenderly with each others' jokes and simply enjoying the solitude of being together... Then after a while you would be too hazy to comprehend anything, and Geto, being your ever-so loving boyfriend, will guide you to your now shared dormitory, and he'll tuck you in, not after you briefly snuggle with him in bed— and, well, he didn't want to get up from your tight embrace. But he has to, for the sake of your safety and his sanity.

⠀ ⠀ The travel would be made as smooth as possible, with silent promises that you won't even feel a wee bit of discomfort despite your heavily drugged state; he'll guarantee you won't awake from your slumber— he would curse himself if he wasn't gentle with your while you were in your most vulnerable state. The look he has on his face as he stares at your closed eyes and stable breathing is so soothing, just like all the times you've treated him nicely. He'll be so... so good to you. He'll secure himself with the position as the only one you'll ever need in your life. If he can't abide by his promises, then he doesn't deserve to be called your lover.

⠀ ⠀ You'll- you'll give him another chance, wouldn't you? Even if the chances see your friends (they're unworthy of your presence, never appreciating you for all the things you've done for them) or family (as if you have any to come back to; he eliminated those worthless beings) would be zero— you'll understand, no?

⠀ ⠀ You don't have to do any arduous chores inside the apartment. Everything would be given to you as long as you stay with him. Everything. You'll be granted limited access to internet, with all your history rooted into his tracking devices— though you'd have every means of entertainment you want. Food isn't a problem, your device would only have access to Geto's phone, so you could call him any time your stomach buzzes with hunger, and the fridge is always stocked with your favorite snacks. Every hobby you would garner would be indulged in— you had once briefly mentioned your interests in crocheting, but never having the opportunity to due to clashing schedules between school and personal life. Now is the perfect opportunity to do anything, as long as it stays within his radar.

⠀ ⠀ All you have to do is, as hard as it may be, is to accept your new living environment. Nothing else would change, even if you choose to fight him back at first— because Geto loves you, and he'll deny his heart the turmoil of ever losing you.

⠀ ⠀ So once you'd arise from the bed with an unfamiliar, yet cozy blanket, (that he bought specifically catering to your tastes), he would be at your beck and call before you could even properly sit up (still sober from the heavy dosage of sedatives your boyfriend forced on you without your knowledge).

⠀ ⠀ Any concerns you would ask, it would be entertained with Geto plastering a silvery smile, even if your tone harbored unease. If tears ever came running down your eyes, Geto wouldn't shut you up, but he definitely wouldn't leave you be, to your thoughts alone - like he was back then - not at all. He'd approach you so steadily, careful if you'd flinch the slightest bit once his legs hit the mattress, and he'll hold you so tightly (worst part is, you've no chains or ropes tied on your limbs, no evident scars that was whilst Geto was on the process of kidnapping you. You have nothing to be mad about. He is just so gentle), apologizing profusely as if he wasn't the reason why you're even weeping in the first place once he thoroughly explained the reason for your abduction.

⠀ ⠀ He hates it when you cry, but God does he love it when, despite susceptible state of anguish, you'd reciprocate his hold; as if even your mind, body, and heart couldn't deny that it ultimately belonged to Geto.

⠀ ⠀ So you have to bargain your way through this, not out of it— you're logical enough to know your strengths and weaknesses and you know that in terms of strength, your lover would win. You know him better than everything, and you don't accept easy defeat, you want to fight your way out of this but... The look of adulation in Geto's eyes is way too familiar, that you're the one falling in love again, albeit the strange circumstances.

⠀ ⠀ Then you weigh everything that has been happening for the past for months, and all the signs hits you in the damn face. Geto didn't flirt with you with the intentions of playing with your heart as you have thought so in your second meeting— because if he did, he wouldn't have known all your favorites, didn't say all the words you wanted to hear. He planned everything from the start. Yet you don't feel an ounce of malice from him, you didn't do anything wrong— you weren't abducted because he wanted to torture you; you were abducted because he wants you. For himself, away from the world that wants to tear you to shreds. You brought this onto yourself, so willing to give your heart and soul to the man you thought you love, the man you still do love.

⠀ ⠀ Fuck. A new batch of tears painted your already tear-stained face. You stare at him, his furrowed brows, his handsomely sculpted countenance - the one you held so fondly, kissed a thousand times, worshipped eternally - yours so incredulous, so filled with utter disarray. Why do you forgive him after everything? Why, nothing more or less, do you want him to tell you everything is alright, since he's there for you?

⠀ ⠀ Perhaps it's the emotions building inside you that bursts like a dam. The resentment you built upon your childhood, or the tears you've wasted on past crushes, or the whole entire world pressuring you to endure through its own faults. Maybe you were similar to him in more ways than one.

And maybe that's why instead of convincing him to let you go, you tell him you won't be going anywhere. His appalled reaction motioned you to continue, to tell him that you're tired, of life, of everything that's been going on so far. You never wanted to be a sorcerer, but you've no choice lest you wish to sleep on the cold sidewalk of the streets. Every single day was constant pressure, dread that one day you may be disposed of by the high school you reside in shall you ever display a single flaw.

All the built up secrets that you confided in him shattered his heart to pieces. And it breaks him even more knowing he shares the same sentiment with you. No more. The abrupt kiss to your mouth promptly shut you up, before you could even continue, and you let it be. You willingly open your mouth when he softly nibbled on the bottom of your lips, wet tongue already attacked by another the moment his entered your mouth. The bitter ache in your heart receded. You let him be.

There was nothing inherently sexual with his and your actions, it was nothing but romantic in your eyes. Tongues entwining, saliva mixing, choaked moans, and all doubts and burdens ceasing in one heated moment— your kisses never lasted long, nor did it ever lead into a make-out so intense like you're both fusing; but it's exactly what you need right now: To get drunk off the passion of Geto's heavy lips and the lack of oxygen that comes after...

It's enough to make you sleepy, as you gently push your boyfriends slightly ruddy face off of you, at a distance where he was close enough that your noses could still touch. Your face flushes even more at the string of saliva interconnecting both your mouths, but your eyes find itself back into his already piercing eyes, clouded with dizzying passion. Every part of you feels like it would burst into flames the more you relish under his intense gaze, so you opted to move quickly and bury your head into the side of neck, hands lazily plastered on his waist, mouth readily nearing his ears. He reciprocated your actions, chuckling fondly at your affectionate gestures as his knees adjusted to pin both your thighs together, whilst his arms act as a cage to trap you against his chest.

Before you could utter a word, Geto beats you to it, telling you that you should both sleep already. Despite you having been knocked out for an entire day, with a buzzing headache and numb limbs, it's no doubt you were still tired, and he was too... You move your head from the comfortable position nested on his shoulders and look back at him, at the small eyebags that once again found itself on his face— it takes you back to when you first met him. Burnt out, mellow, but undeniably handsome. You kissed him again, shorter and sweeter this time, nodding as you shifted to lay on the bed, leaving space for Geto, who is still seated, watching you with an indiscernible expression.

Beckoning for him him drowsily, to join you, you've promptly felt the confines of sleep taking you further into the world of dreams. Dreams where you'd wake up with your loving and compassionate Geto, rather than that of escaping the cage he set up for you. It took a few seconds for your boyfriend to finally move, laying down beside you with arms creeping to your waist. Not a single word was said, only the ruffling of the blanket was heard. You're the one who spoons him when it comes to sleeping in a shared bed together, but his hands found itself moving your head to his chest - the thumping of his heart entrapped in his ribcage tells you he's calm enough, trusting that you won't escape from his ministrations - as though to tell you that only you can have his heart in your hands, nobody else. It didn't take long for you to slowly shut your eyes once more, admitting that his heartbeats was a comforting source for slumber.

⠀ ⠀'You're just so adorable,' he thinks to himself, drifting into the same land of dreams as you, holding you tightly and never letting go.

⠀ ⠀ ...

⠀ ⠀ Geto Suguru is a man of a few words, who dons a plethora of promises, shall you ever be wanting. When he first saw you whilst looking through your files, he at first thought you were average, unmemorable by standards. But even in first impressions would there always be a magnetic draw, strong enough to make it last eternally. (Un)fortunately for you, Geto has always loved you without even knowing it, and the way your first night together - you being away from the tainted hands of civilization - was beyond tranquil, unnatural traits from a prey who was taken unwillingly.

⠀ ⠀ But nothing else matters. Not the concept of healthy relationships, nor the opinions of family or friends, and most certainly not the ridiculing of society's norms.

⠀ ⠀ Nothing matters other than the two bodies entangling themselves on a bed for two, settling in for the night, as lovers do.

Fin.

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— PLEASE ! Leave comments, follow me and share this to anybody if you enjoyed this one-shot. It would be appreciated greatly. I've been through writer's block for nearly a year or two now, and writing this helped me combat it. I thoroughly enjoyed making this, and I hope that it's good enough for the readers too! It took me very long to write all these out, as I am rusty wirh writing (and I struggle with English), but really, I would appreciate interaction and likes over anything else! I might publish this as a stand-alone one-shot in a separate book. As always, don't hesitate to request! Thank you for reading this!

26.1 Pages

Published: 02/25/2024

Word Count: 9100+ words

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#.devilwrites #. jujutsu kaisen #.geto suguru #yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere jjk #Yandere jujutsu kaisen x reader #yandere geto #yandere geto suguru #geto suguru #jujutsu kaisen #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere male x reader #yandere x gn reader #yandere x you #yandere suguru geto #dark yandere #sub yandere

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welcometothejianghu · 4 months ago

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Welcome to another round of W2 Tells You What You Should See, where W2 (me) tries to sell you (you) on something you should be watching. Today's choice: 致命游戏 / The Spirealm.

The Spirealm is a 2024 drama about two young men who fall in love while basically playing a whole bunch of horror-themed escape rooms that can for-real kill you.

This show/book combo has gripped my entire ass. The second I knew I wanted to watch this, almost immediately after it started airing, I muted the tag. I was so right to do this, because this is worth not spoiling yourself about. If you are a Guardian fan in particular, you owe it to yourself to watch this for reasons I think will become clear as you go about watching it.

So! If all you need to know is that I think you need this show in your life, great! You don't even need to scroll down to the end of the post for the links; go to Viki and press play. In case you need more convincing than that, though, I'm going to give you here five reasons to watch it that are as spoilerless as I can make them.

Before we start, though, I'm going to take a moment to note that I had to torrent the video files so I could make screenshots of my own, and if I hadn't, this would have been a much uglier rec post than the others I've done. Not only were there not many promotional materials or official stills released, the show itself barely stayed up two hours on iQiyi, and that's because this drama is a...

1. (Barely) Censored Adaptation Of Same-sex Original Work

Ah, you know that MyDramaList tag well, don't you? Yeah, the original novel, Kaleidoscope of Death (which has a rec post of its own!), is supernatural story about grief and loss built on the love story between the two male leads. Now of course you know already that a mainstream Chinese television adaptation of something like that is going to straighten up everything and turn the horror romance into the sci-fi platonic love of besties.

...But damn, folks, it's still real gay.

Ling Jiushi, the sweet-faced newbie, is a canonical virgin and loving cat dad who plays the mysterious video game once, then finds himself suddenly able to enter the game worlds bodily -- and of course, if you die in the game, you die in real life. He's pretty much doomed, until he meets...

Ruan Lanzhu, the cool-as-a-cucumber veteran of the door worlds, who falls pretty much immediately for the completely oblivious Ling Jiushi, then has to spend the rest of the series consumed with lust while trying to keep him and a couple other dipshits alive.

The show preserves so many overtly gay beats and declarations of affection from the novel, to the point where it's just this side of suggesting that the romance is actually, textually happening just offscreen, every time the camera cuts away. I am forever grateful that working with Zhu Yilong on Reunion seems to have perfected sweet baby Junjie's ability to look at a man with nothing but love in his eyes.

I adore so much the dynamic they have, one where a man who has never told the truth a day in his life encounters a man so sincere and naive that you cannot seduce him with anything but absolute honesty or he's never going to get it.

There are three (3) separate door worlds where they share a bed, and in every one of them, they both sleep with their shoes on. Like the absolute freaks they both are.

2. It's puzzle solvin' time!

So if you've read some of my rec posts before, you know that I am critical of stories that center around cases that are unfollowable, uninteresting, or both (e.g., Mysterious Lotus Casebook and White Cat Legend). I am therefore thrilled to tell you that the door worlds are actually (largely) thoughtful mysteries with reasonable solutions, where you care about what's happening and why.

The way each door world is set up is that you have to solve the puzzle to find a key and unlock the door that will let you leave. One of the challenges is each world's door ghost, who has the key and does not want to give it up. The other challenge is the world-specific set of taboo conditions, where violating them means the door ghost can kill you -- and you are not always told what those taboo conditions are. That means that solving a door involves 1) figuring out what will insta-kill you, 2) not doing that, 3) finding where the hell the exit door is, 4) placating and/or scamming the door ghost long enough to snatch the key from them, and 5) running like hell to the exit door with that key before the door ghost fucks you up about it.

As the show goes on, you get introduced to the concept of door-passing shepherds, which are experienced door-finishers who take through lower-level players, building them up in the process. A lot of these shepherds work for organizations, such as the one Ruan Lanzhu runs. And a lot of them are ready to reach the exit by climbing over everyone else's corpses.

That's part of the fun of the setup: You're not just thrown in alone. You show up with a random number of other players, some with very different levels of experience. At least one of you will make it out; not everyone will. So you can add a step 6) to the list above, which is: surviving all the other players who will gleefully stab you in the back in order to be the first player out the door.

The door worlds are also lovely. They all feel like sets -- and I know that's a weird thing to say about places that are literal sets, but they manage it feel it even on film. In fact, even the show's uses of clunky-ass greenscreen feel appropriate, because of how unreal everything is supposed to be. Everything looks like a dream, which is only amplified by how beautifully everything's shot.

(What's that you say? You say the guy who directed this was the editor on Infernal Affairs? No kidding.)

From a fandom perspective, what's great here is that even though there are technically just twelve doors, there are canonically way more than twelve door worlds out there. That means that whatever worlds you want to create are valid. The best pieces of fanfic I've read are the ones that dream up their own door worlds, complete with taboo conditions, key puzzles, and world-specific perks that lead to gay sex, because come on.

3. A good middle ground of horror

So at this point you are perhaps wondering: How scary is it?

And the answer is, kind of as scary as you're willing to let your mind go with it. Everything has been science-fictioned real hard, including the video game premise that "explains" what's happening with these doors. It relies on dread way more than jumpscares. The blood/gore/gross content is extremely low, again on account of Chinese content censorship. Most icky things are done with offscreen sounds and shadows. I'm pretty squeamish about pain and injury, and I can't recall a time I had to look too long away from the screen.

However, that means the show works some real conceptual horror. That picture up there is of a man forcing three young girls to hold raw eggs unbroken in their mouths. There's nothing about that image that's not technically G-rated, and it's awful in context.

The best bits are when the monsters don't need a lick of CG to become horrors. They cast a contortionist in the Waverly Hills door world, and she absolutely earned her keep.

I have a lot of critiques about how the show handles things, especially in terms of defanging the horror elements (which it does), but one thing I think it absolutely gets right is that it understands that ghost stories are first and foremost tragedies. That's a thing I've always liked about Asian horror in particular, how often you wind up siding with the ghost. Yes, sure, she tried to strangle you with her hair, but have you ever considered she's the real victim here? There's always a bit of a calculus: Can you negotiate with the door ghost, or do you just need to stab them and run? The Spirealm prefers negotiation, and frankly, so do I.

So yeah, it's about as scary as you let it be. If your horror tolerance is low, watch it in a well-lit room and focus on the unreality of it, and you'll be okay. If you're looking for something genuinely spooky, spend some time thinking about the existential dread of the entire situation, and that'll be good for a couple good spine tingles.

4. The Obsidian Family (& Friends!)

In a show where death is always an option, you have to have characters where you actually care if they live or die. Fortunately, all your allies are charming and loveable enough that you are going to be real upset every time they get put in danger!

Obsidian is one of the organizations I mentioned earlier. It's run by Ruan Lanzhu, and it includes a cool and collected doctor, a mom friend who cooks for everybody, a guy who's maybe not having the best mental health day of his life, and two identical twins who could not be more different if they tried. They all live in the same amazing big fancy house, which is where Ling Jiushi too goes to live when he joins the group. They have big family meals, they look after one another, they hang out together -- I mean, if this is the kind of setup you love, then you will love this setup.

There are also plenty of allies who aren't technically part of Obsidian, but who are our friends nonetheless, and who come over to hang out in the Obsidian house from time to time. Some of them are rivals turned friends, some of them are clients turned friends, and some of them were just friends all along! Surely nothing bad will happen to any of them, and they'll all live happily ever after, right? ...Right?

5. Toast and Chestnut!

Of course, the true heroes of the show are Toast the Corgi and Chestnut the Kitty.

Animals are so good.

Truly, I love that one of Ling Jiushi's defining characteristics is that he is a Cat Dad. He is a simple man with simple needs, and one of those needs is to pet his kitty or he'll explode.

caveat: Some thoroughly bad adaptation choices

Yeah, so I keep talking about the novel (and talk even more about the novel in its own rec post), but I assure you, you don't need to have read the novel to feel the degree to which this is an adaptation -- and one that's had its rough, nasty, spooky, gay edges all sanded off in the desperate hope of ever seeing daylight.

Now, sometimes I consider batshit nonsense janky creative decisions to be a selling point for a show (see: Mysterious Lotus Casebook, Legend of Fei, Sand Sea)! In this case, however, I'm going to have to take points off for how incoherently bad they are here. We're talking Psych-Hunter levels of Why Would You Do That-- and the answer, as always, comes down to how you write around what censorship won't allow on television.

The novel says the doors are supernatural. The show says they're a virtual-reality computer game. Now, on the surface, this move sort of makes sense -- you can't have ghosts, but you can have computer games that make digital ghosts, which, sure, okay. But then the problem quickly becomes that the plot of the novel is not remotely built to support a sci-fi premise, so a lot of things have to be grafted awkwardly on. Like, say, a bad guy who stole his corporate logo from Even Worse Twitter. Or a game-designing bestie whose face is never seen. Or [late-stage spoilers about a major character].

The eventual explanation is that this whole setup is a righteous and good game that has somehow been corrupted by evil game-designing capitalists from the West, and that's why it can abduct you in broad daylight and kill you if you fail it. There are good people who want to purify (???) the game, and evil people who want to make money off the game. And I don't mind spoiling you for that part, because it's garbage nonsense. You will be deeply unsatisfied with the show's half-assed attempt at resolving it all. (You may, however, have that disappointment tempered with the amazing concurrent display of heterosexuality that is apologizing to your best bro by coding his perfect man for him. The Spirealm is a land of contrasts.)

Look, I consider myself a mild to moderate socialist, and even I was yawning and making jerk-off motions every time someone started to wax halfheartedly poetic about how evil American capitalism is. Like, yeah, but not because some college student made a vile and wretched video game that eats people! This show is a critique of capitalism like a five-year-old crying because he doesn't get ice cream before bed is a critique of authoritarianism.

And even this, I can't be too mad at it about, you know? I just assume that this was some absolute Hail Mary attempt at getting past censorship -- you know, maybe if we make all the right "grr, USA bad!" noises, they'll let our gay ghost story slip by? And it worked! I mean, just barely, but it did.

So yeah, fair warning that the Spirealm is a show that, if you love it (and I do), you will have to love despite some glaring flaws that haunt it all the way through and hit especially hard during what should otherwise have been an amazing endgame. But hey, we're c-drama fans! We're good at loving janky things, right?

Want to enter the World of Doors?

As I said at the start of the post, Viki's got it -- and only Viki. I'm not sure what circumstances got it up on Viki after iQiyi pulled it, but I'm glad. Watch it quick, before Viki changes its mind!

Hug him! Hug that boy!

#the spirealm #致命游戏 #kaleidoscope of death #rec post #i made this

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cambion-companion · 1 year ago

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could I request for you to write an scenario in which Raphael does not die to Tav nor their party, but in an other similarly humiliating circumstances, and Tav when learning about this desperately goes to save Raphael from his father by bargaining with Mephistopheles? (hilariously in a very sad way, I assume this, is the only moment that Mephistopheles would ever "value" Raphael's life, but then again that is devils for you) and Raphael's confusion at the whole thing, someone taking a terrible bargain to save him, just… because they… like him…??? (bonus points, if Tav still has a crown to willingly give Raphael XD)

It's beat up Raphael hours huh? (also Korilla will be fine)

Hi there love. This turned from a drabble into a oneshot haha

Have fun running to Cania to pick up your wayfaring devil!

Raphael x reader (gn)

Korilla had come to you.

Broker and bruised, battered and bloody. Her long curly hair matted with mud and dried viscous.

“Help him.” Her first words, rasped from a throat raw from screams.

“Korilla!” You caught her weight as her knees buckled, lowering her gently to the ground. The Dwarven woman wasn’t your friend by any means, but she had been your ally. “Who needs my help?” You couldn’t fathom who she might be referring to.

Surely it wasn’t Raphael. It couldn’t possibly be the enigmatic, self-assured cambion.

Korilla’s answering rasp dispelled any doubt. “My master.”

A fog of shock settled over your mind, your hands loosening around Korilla’s shaking form. She whispered the truth into your ear, her bruised lips trailing her blood onto your clammy skin. With fading voice Korilla told of the attack, Raphael’s demise and his imminent doom.

“Portal. Diabolist. Cania.” Korilla’s breaths grew short as she fought valiantly once more against the oncoming black.

“Hold on, Korilla. You’re going to be okay.”

“Save him.” She said again, her eyes slowly glossing over as the life left her broken body.

You cursed. The warlock’s last actions had been to find you in a desperate hope you’d help Raphael before he was consumed by his father. His father who just so happened to be an archdevil. Mephistopheles.

“Little shit could’ve mentioned that.” You grimaced, lowering Korilla’s body to rest upon the cold earth.

You stood, pinching the bridge of your nose as your thoughts whirled and clashed. Not only had the attackers killed Raphael, but they had also looted his house, stealing the Orphic hammer and the only hope you’d had of defeating the Elder Brain.

“Damn it.” You returned to your companions with the news. “Looks like we’re taking a rescue party to hell.”

“Who’s the damsel in distress?” Astarion asked, tilting his head as his red eyes flickered over your blood-flecked form.

“Raphael.”

The plan was to use as much stealth as possible. The vaults of Mephisto had been broken into not long ago, according to Raphael, so it was possible. A direct confrontation with the archdevil himself was out of the question.

The diabolist in Baldur’s Gate took some convincing, but in the end you were able to push enough gold across the counter to seal the deal.

“Very well. Though I warn you, you’ll not return alive or with your souls intact.”

“Yes, yes.” You waved the woman off, her visage reminding you of Korilla. “Believe me, I’ve heard it all before.” Your eyes scanned the musky shop. Do you have anything that will locate a specific fiend?”

With a Locate Creature spell scroll ready in your bag you watched as the diabolist created for you a portal. Ice crystals immediately crusted on the edge of the black abyss, the wind coming from the portal nearly freezing your shoes to the floor.

“Quickly, and remember the disguises!” She ushered you and your party through, the frigid darkness enveloping you with a grim finality.

Through cold halls you’d snuck, invisible fingers cold as death scraping along your back and through your hair as you passed beneath torches of blue flame.

Time lost all meaning here. Your eyes began to play tricks on you. The only thing keeping your mind focused was the spell lighting the edge of your vision with a warm glow, growing brighter as you hurried to where Raphael was being held.

An age, or an hour had passed.

The wrought iron door, so cold to the touch it burned, swung noiselessly inward, admitting you to an octagonal shaped room. On the far wall you saw him, his form dark, chained by one wrist to the wall.

“Raphael.” You hissed, unexplainable relief flooding your frozen veins when his head moved in response.

Your companions waited by the open doorway, keeping watch from the shadows. You snuck as quickly as you could to where Raphael was restrained. His glowing eyes looking down upon you with consternation before recognition slowly dawned across his sharp features.

You held up a hand, silencing him as he opened his mouth. Movement could be heard from outside the prison room. You were running out of time.

“Can you get us out of here if I free you?” You hissed, still keenly aware of the nature of the devil.

Raphael nodded, his tail moving to and fro in agitation. Something about his vitality seemed to be missing, you had never imagined seeing him in such a state. It was unsettling.

The matter of removing the singular shackle proved to be more challenging than you’d thought. Astarion’s lockpicking skills proved futile.

“It’s a magical seal.” Raphael breathed, his voice low yet sharp with anger born of desperation. “Now’s not the time to play the fool.”

You gave him a severe look which he matched right back at you, his eyes sparking flame.

You raised a hand to the ice-covered metal, about to dispel the magic surrounding the lock. “You owe me a favor. A big one. I don’t know yet what I will ask of you, but you will deliver. Understood?”

Raphael’s gaze scorched you for a moment, it was clear he was furious with his current predicament. But he had no choice, and both of you knew it.

He nodded curtly.

You cast your spell.

Raphael’s wrist broke free with the sharp sound of metal splintering. His hand closed tight around your arm, the dungeons of Mephisto melted away as you and your companions were yanked unceremoniously back to the material plane.

At least, your companions were. Deposited non-gently upon the hard ground of your camp.

Raphael kept hold of you. Taking you back to the foyer of his house. The house which still lay in semi ruin from its previous sacking.

He was angry. Each step he took crackled fire and promise of swift vengeance.

“Raphael…” You said hesitantly, following him down into the dining hall. “Raphael, Korilla-”

“Is dead.” Under the glow of firelight, you could properly see the state he was in. You winced when he turned to face you. ��I know. Though not as dead as those who dared pillage my home, the fools.”

“Do you know who?” You remained wary as you watched him conjure an armchair and sink down into it.

Raphael ignored your question, he issued orders in the abrasive Infernal tongue, seemingly into thin air. His fingers clicked and a spark of flame licked around them. Unseen servants began bustling around, clearing the debris and wreckage. Setting the House of Hope back in order.

Raphael leveled his gaze upon you. His expression was not unkind, it was calculating. He had underestimated you and overestimated himself. Not a mistake he’d make again.

“Why?” No flowery words, no ado.

“I still need the hammer.” You had the response prepared, having known the question was coming.

“You could have hunted down the thieves without my help.” Raphael narrowed his hellfire eyes. “Why come to my aid?”

“Korilla asked me to. It was her dying wish.” You fidgeted under his piercing presence. “Besides, you’re a useful ally. I still need your help to save the world.”

Raphael arched a brow, unconvinced. “Half-truths are still considered lies, dear. But there are matters I must attend to.” He stood, restless.

“Will your father come for you again once he realizes you’re gone.” The question came before you could stop yourself.

“Concerned for me?” Raphael appraised you, a knowing tilt to his head. “No. He will not.”

You didn’t argue, Raphael was clearly on edge, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides.

You rubbed circles against your aching temple. “Well, seems we have some thieves to track down. A hammer to retrieve.”

Raphael looked as though he was biting back a sharp retort. He chewed on his words, looking you over. “Yes.” He growled, infernal fire flickering off his form. “You may watch as I peel their souls from the writhing mortal flesh.”

In an unexpected move, Raphael strode to you and took your hand, placing a kiss to your knuckles. His breath hot on your still chilled skin. “You may even assist me, if you so desire.” He straightened.

That was as close to a “thank you” as you were going to get.

You set your jaw grimly. “When do we start?”

#raphael bg3 #raphael baldur's gate 3 #raphael x tav #raphael x reader #fanfic #oneshot #bg3 one shot #house of hope #au

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animereaderinsertwriter · 2 years ago

Text

to fuck a god

tags/warnings: smut, ares x nymph!reader, erwin smith x reader, ancient greece au for a hot minute

a/n: this fic is a gift for the lovely, wonderful @bluebellhairpin whom i adore (and is responsible for my schmexy icon!!!!)

There is shouting in the distance.

Your nose wrinkles, your eyes tighten. Darkness, warm and weighted, presses against you, smothering wakefulness. Peace lulls you back to slumber.

Moments later, there is a scream— you hear it past the darkness, past the weight. It is the lonely, abandoned cry of a wounded soldier. Your heart lurches, your eyes flutter.

Still you sleep. It has been too long since last you had rest.

It is a crash that finally wakes you. Pain blossoms in your abdomen as a bridge collapses, a crushing pressure that forces air from your lungs. You rise, hot, raging, vengeful; your waters churn, boiling wine-dark with the blood of mortal men. Battle has come to your riverbank, unbidden and unwanted.

The men do not— cannot— see your body as you emerge from foaming rapids, but that does not lessen the doom they face by the outstretching of your hand. This is your river. The silt and sand beneath their feet, the water in their noses and lungs belong to you; they will not savage it without price

They pay with their lives by the dozen. You extract it from them mercilessly, plunging them beneath the water's surface. As your rapids rage, one man reaches, lunging to gouge another with his spear; even in your wrath, you mark the act as strange. What manner of beast is man that even in the throes of his own death, he seeks to cause another's? You find it too foolish to fathom.

“For Athens!” cries one man just before you fill his lungs with water. “For the noble House of—”

He does not finish. You smother his battle cry with watery death. Athens could burn for all you cared, along with every noble house and home along the way. You cared little for irreverent man; would that the gods would send you power enough to flood them all.

“Such fury from one so small. Would that I could inspire like rage in even fifty men.”

The voice, though gruff and deep, was quiet, bemused. In your distraction, you allow a man to escape your clutches and crawl back to shore, gagging and sputtering as he went. Furious, you turn and find the true object of your ire lounging beneath the shade of a fig tree, a scroll in hand. Once, it might have amused you to find the god of war reading, of all things— but you were accustomed now to his all-too-frequent visits, and the oddity had worn off its charm.

“Restless vagabond,” you spit, feet slapping as you walked from your place in the water to the shore next to his tree. “Go back to Sparta, Ares—you're not wanted here.”

So saying, you fold your arms, waiting for a response. When the god doesn’t deign to reply, you flick water from the tips of your fingers in his direction. Shiny droplets land in his dark hair, glistening like dew; a single shimmer of water races down the thick bridge of his nose, then dives off the blunt tip of it to land on his scroll.

“Woman.”

The word is spoken lowly— a warning— but has no real bite. Your words, however, are far from toothless, heedless of how great and terrible is the power that he wields.

“I am no mere woman— no more than you are mere man.”

Dark-bright eyes look up at you, their russet brown edging on red as they sparkle with mischief. As his gaze follows the curves and plains of your body, Ares smiles— the very definition of crude and lascivious.

“You are a woman in all the ways that count.”

That, you supposed, was true enough.

“Why have you come?”

He nods towards the chaos of your river.

“The men brought me.”

“As if mortal man makes his own war.” Your face contorts into a scowl. “I ask again: Why have you come? Why come you to savage my banks, pollute my waters with foul man-blood and stinking mortal shit?”

“I told you the truth, pretty one.” Ares rolled his scroll gently. It crackled under his huge hands, but did not bend. “The men wage war, and whithersoever they wage, there I must be also.”

“Pretty one,” you grumble, angry at how well the compliment pleased you. “Better wrathful one, or vengeful one.”

“Those too, if it pleases you.”

He stands, brushing grass from his toga. The clothing in question, made of crimson fabric, falls just shy of halfway down his bulging, golden thigh, revealing softly curving muscle. The hulking mass of him throws a shadow long enough to cast doubt and fear into your very bones, even more so as he approaches you— but then he is close, so very close, and murmuring sweetly just for you to hear.

“Come, my Lady Wrath, my Darling Vengeance— does my presence really disturb you so greatly?”

You can smell the battle on him. His scent is metallic, like blood, and salty like sweat— and yet there is also the clean scent of the field, the spice of victory wine, and the smoke of burning bodies. Ares is and always has been a study in opposites, both animal magnetism and soft, reasonable attraction.

"Yes," you admit, striving for exasperation and hitting nearer to tremulous want. "You do disturb me."

A large, warm hand grips your hip. You suddenly become aware of the bareness of your skin, the cool damp of you against the warm heat of him. The contact brings a flush to your cheeks. Your body responds as his hand flexes, squeezing; you can't help but search his gaze, wondering, as ever, what he's thinking.

"I love that you're naked," he says, at once soft and sharp. "Your form pleases me, lady nymph. Your kind are never shy, but you are the only river-sprite I know that dares brave land baring all."

He touches you further, that large, rough hand sliding up the curve of your waist. He spreads his warmth from your hip to your ribcage to your neck, gently exploring. The touch is electric, yet strangely innocent. He is a god admiring Creation. Admiring you.

As before, you allow it— and how could you not?

Who were you to say no to the attention and affection of a god?

"The men are dying in my waters," you say as his fingertips trace your jaw. "I'll fall ill, Ares."

"You shall not. I shall send another of my kin to cleanse you, as I did before."

You have nothing to say in return. As if sensing this, he kisses you, busying your mouth with the more pressing business of his want. Both of his hands are on you now, one on your neck, one at the swell of your ass; as he pulls you close, you can feel the hot, hard length of him against you, protected only by the thin fabric of his toga. The sensation is heady, and you pride yourself on keeping your feet through the ordeal.

"Will you let me have you once more?" he asks against your lips. "What say you, my nymph of rage?"

You consider for a moment. Always, he gives you the choice. You know he needn't— he is stronger, more powerful, and could and had easily taken what he wanted before. It makes you wonder if giving you the choice, allowing you to choose him, is a way for him to conquer you. In the end, it doesn't matter. There was only ever one answer.

"Yes." Your breath comes quick as a calloused thumb brushes over your nipple. "Yes, Lord Ares. I will have you."

In the end, there is no shame. Even Aphrodite herself had been unable to say no to the wiles of the war god. As conqueror, it was not in his nature to be refused.

Having gained your assent, Ares does not waste precious time. Instead, he kisses up your neck, to your ear, taking the lobe of it between his teeth and scraping gently. The act sends goosebumps racing down your flesh, and you shiver. Ares kisses lower, down to the hollow of your throat and the plain of your chest, his hands wandering to hardened, sensitive nipple and gently curving breast. He touches you, explores you, holds you like you are precious, and your body opens to him.

"Spread your legs," he says against your neck. "I want to taste you."

So saying, he lowers himself to his knees, bringing himself of a height with your sex. Filthy and impossible, he noses at the apex of your thighs, nudges your legs apart with his hands; it is everything you can do to remain standing as he begins a great and terrible onslaught against your dignity. It is so much. It is not enough. Your hands move to his hair, pulling the soft strands as a long, thick finger finds your entrance, and he groans as he finds that his finger slips easily inside. Still, he does not budge from his task until you're trembling, quaking above him as your orgasm nears— and even then, it is only to look up at you with glistening mouth and fuck-me eyes and say,

"Kneel."

You can do nothing but obey. You kneel before Ares, and he kisses you, letting you taste your own pleasure from his mouth. It's filthy and perverse and everything you've ever wanted as he lowers you gently to the earth, wrapping your legs around his wide hips. You look up at him, awestruck. In this moment, he is soft, beautiful. He is nothing like you would have imagined War to be.

Ares takes a moment to toss aside his clothing. His sex is even larger than you remember it— or, perhaps his form alters according to his godly will, and he is striving to impress. In any case, your sexes are now aligned— his tip to the very opening of your body— and all that remains is one push before he is fully seated.

Despite all, you find yourself anxious for that push.

"Do it," you urge, smothering that feeling. "Fuck me, Ares."

You can tell it pleases him to hear his name from your mouth. Even so, he does not acquiesce immediately, which both frustrates and endears him to you.

"I'll go slowly," he says. "It is no small thing to fuck a god. I thought you'd have learned that by now."

You have no reply— not when his cockhead is pushing slowly into you, making way for the rest of his large, heavy cock. It is nearly a religious experience, being filled by him. You cry out as he's finally seated deeply within you, and all at once you can no longer tell where you end and he begins.

"Yes," you tell him as he withdraws to begin another slow thrust. "Yes, yes, yes."

The word becomes a song as he picks up the pace. It is a song of moans and cries and deepest feeling— he kisses you as you keen, and the hot, hard length of him slows to an agonizing pace.

"Are you alright?" he asks, as though you are breakable. "Should I slow down?"

It infuriates you.

With all your power, you shove at his chest. At first, be doesn't seem to understand, taken aback by your newfound aggression— but eventually, when you use the force of your hips to indicate your desire, he goes easily backwards, landing with a gentle thump on his back so that you can straddle his hips, impaling yourself on his length. Hands braced on the warm softness of his chest, you begin to grind, pushing him ever deeper into you until both of your breaths come heavy and your time is near.

"You were made to be abed with War," Ares tells you, smiling madly up as you move above him. "Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You barely hear him.

"Lovely creature. I would make you my queen, if I could." His voice pitches upward in a moan of pleasure as you use his body. "I would make you heir to my kingdom of ash and broken bone, would burn worlds for you."

Cogent thought is lost to pleasure, but you feel the meaning of his words. It pushes you closer, so close, so close—

"Come, pretty one," he says, "Awake, destroyer of man. I will catch you if you fall, in this life or the next."

You jerk awake.

A warm hand rests on your shoulder. You turn, groggy with sleep, and find a pair of shining blue eyes peering into your own. Erwin Smith—your husband and commander— has never looked more handsome than now, with chest bare above pajama pants that fall a little too short at his ankle.

"Are you alright, love?" he asks you, tender, gentle. "A nightmare?"

The wetness between your legs indicates otherwise. You guide his large, calloused hand there, wordlessly allowing him to feel your answer, and he smiles.

"In that case, I'm sorry for waking you." He presses a kiss to your temple, a finger pressing into your folds. "You don't get enough downtime as it is."

You hum in agreement and run your hands along the solid, curving lines of his biceps.

"You could always order me on bed rest, commander," you tease as he shifts, placing himself exactly as Ares had in your dream— between your thighs, your legs wrapped around his hips.

"If I did that, nothing would ever get done."

"No? Am I that big of a help, then, that the Scouts couldn't function without me?"

"No," Erwin grinned, mischievous, "It's because if I put you on bed rest, I'd never leave your bed."

You smile, then gasp as he presses against you, cock straining against the thin fabric of his pajamas. The feeling is startlingly familiar, and all at once, Ares' words come back to you.

"You were made to be abed with War. Indomitable, you are, and ruthless— I have no doubt that a thousand lives could not separate us."

You wonder if the dream was entirely that. It felt so raw, so real— and, though Erwin and the Ares of your dream shared little physical similarity, you suspected that they were made of the same parts. Only the paint was different. Ares was bronze and dark where Erwin was pale and blond, but in their hearts— in their dark, violent hearts, capable of more and deeper love than a mortal could imagine— they were the same. They were men made of war, bathed in the blood of innocents.

And they both wanted you.

"Lay back," you tell your husband, pushing at the soft muscle of his chest. "I want to ride you."

Erwin grins.

"I thought you'd never ask."

#ares x reader #ares #erwin smith x reader #ancient greek au #erwin smith #nemo my beloved

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