#had to repost bc it wasn't showing in tags :( ! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

neouture · 1 year ago

Text

Senses

Pairing: Haechan x Reader

Words: 4,146

Genre: Smut (18+), angst if you squint

Includes: Fem!Reader, established relationship. Haechan is jealous and somewhat possesive bc of a silly little hug drunk Renjun gave you. Arguing, silent treatment, make up sex. Smut warnings under the cut !

Author's note: Possesive Haechan lives in my mind rent free. This story might not be for everyone because it includes very specific kinks that not everyone is into, but I had a lot of fun with this. If you like it, please leave a comment/ask. I also now have a ko-fi account, the link it's in my pinned post, in case anyone is interested in leaving a tip ! That's totally up to you tho, my stories are free for everyone. It's just another way to support (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶) I'm reposting this bc I posted it yesterday but it wasn't showing up in the tags so hopefully they work now!

Smut warnings: I feel like this is the time to reveal I have an impregnation kink so bear with it. Dirty talk, teasing, you're somewhat turned on by Haechan's possesiveness in all honesty. Oral sex (f. receiving), mentions and fantasies of impregnation, impregnation kink, unprotected sex (stay safe ! ), creampie.

If looks could kill, Renjun would've had a fatal ending.

Way more fatal than the fate you are transiting right now, sitting in the passenger seat while Haechan's gaze shoots darts into the road as if it’s a target, surrounded by an overwhelming silence that not even the street sounds and the city’s bustling can ease.

If looks could kill, Renjun would’ve collapsed next to you the second he decided to wrap one of his arms around you in a warm, brotherly hug. One that, seemingly so innocent, was misinterpreted by your boyfriend from afar.

“Haechan,” you sigh, but it’s useless yet again. No matter how many times you’ve said his name on the way back home, it seems as though you're speaking to a wall. A stubborn wall that doesn't listen, in which your words bounce back and are interiorized with shame and embarrassment when you realize that all you’re left with is the palpable tension inside his car.

You can see said tension in the prominent veins of his arms, his clenched jaw and the way he is just staring at the horizon, not daring to look at you. You can feel it every time you call out his name and his body stiffens a little. You can hear it in his heavy heartbeats and rapid breathing. You can smell it on your clothes, impregnated with alcohol and cigarette smoke.

But you can’t taste it. You can’t taste the tension when your mouth is dry, and your throat is aching with words gathered at the lump in your throat, threatening to spill out at any moment in an attempt to know what's going on in his mind.

“Look he didn’t mean it that way,” you murmur, trying to ignore the stinging tears pricking in the corners of your eyes. “He just- he just put his arm around me. It wasn’t- it didn’t mean anything”.

“Of course it didn’t,” it’s the only response you get, right when his car takes the street of the complex you two live in.

Whether it's because of the sound of his voice, or the fact that you're really close to knowing your true fate tonight, you feel somewhat relieved.

“He was tipsy,” you continue, resting your head against the cold, glass window.

“You weren’t,” Haechan cuts you short right when he enters the underground parking lot. The car becomes illuminated by a dim, warm light, just enough to catch a better glimpse of your boyfriend, but he still doesn’t look at you. “And you still let him put his hands on you”.

“Come on, Haechan!” you groan, frustrated.

His jealousy always gets the best out of you, but somehow it also manages for the worst of you to show through. It's a complicated situation you always find yourself in, when something like such happens. You don't really like that side of him, the jealous and possessive one, the one that feels entitled to you as a person. But at the same time, you really can't begin to hate it either.

It’s enticing.

“Get out,” he says while unbuckling his seat belt. He does so with a swift movement, only to turn around the car just to open the door for you.

He is upset, and pissed, and really angry, but he can’t get himself to stop being a gentleman to you. What happened tonight it's not your fault, anyways, but he secretly wishes you'd pushed Renjun away.

In a way, Haechan thinks it’s your fault. Even when it isn’t.

But you still follow his orders to a t, getting out of the vehicle while he holds the door for you, closing it right behind you with a loud sound that makes you feel startled for a bit.

You know Haechan would never hurt you, but this side of him it's such a scary contrast to his usual personality. It’s somewhat unsettling, to say the least, but it is never frightening.

“You’re going to give me the silent treatment?”

After a minute or two, the lack of response gives you a one. You follow him defeated through the elevator doors that take you to the lobby complex, and lose all hope in getting him to talk.

Plus, it’s getting late, and you’re tired, so if Haechan doesn’t want to talk now, you’re not going to push him further anymore —it’s probably best to deal with all this tomorrow morning, after a good night of sleep.

You stop trying to get his attention when the doors of the lobby's elevator close, and just opt to stand right beside him in silence —you've said so much already, from the minute he dragged you out of the bar you and your friends were attending to celebrate Jaemin's birthday, to the final moments in his car; if he didn’t say anything then, he is probably not going to say anything now.

So you accept the silent treatment, walking alongside with him to your apartment door. He pulls out his keys, opens it for you and gets inside without even sending a look your way. You close the door behind you and watch as he throws his jacket to the living room couch, standing awkwardly while he figures out exactly what to say.

“Why did you-”.

“I’m tired,” you cut him short, passing by him through the living room and into your bedroom. “I’m going to bed”.

Like him, you pass by without sparing him a glance. Without even acknowledging his presence there, like you’re just announcing another part of your routine to no one in particular.

“You’re not,” it’s when you feel his hand wrapping around your wrist, and stopping you from leaving the scene, that you turn around to face him —you can still see the tension, in his knitted eyebrows and that gaze of regret he holds. “Let’s talk”.

“I wanted to talk,” you murmur, getting yourself out of his grip. “I spent all the ride back home trying to talk, but you weren’t even looking at me”.

“I was just trying to find the right ti-”.

“What even is the right time?” there’s annoyance in your voice, and a part of you wishes your emotions hadn't escalated too quickly. But if there's one thing that pisses you off, is how things are always done the way he wants them, when he wants them. “When you feel like talking?”

“Listen to me-”.

“No, Haechan, you listen to me,” you sigh, leaving your purse on the couch, right next to his jacket. “Renjun just put his arm around me, he wasn’t- it wasn’t even an actual hug. And yeah- he was tipsy, but he just- he wasn’t hitting on me or anything, God!”

The more you speak, the more stressed you become. Now that the words are falling from your lips, and you’re revisiting the facts, you realize how unprovoked Haechan’s anger truly is.

“You say he's one of your best friends, but you can't even trust him,” your hands travel all the way to your hair, pushing it back and away from your face. The despair is making your body feel warm, and you can even feel a thin layer of sweat gathering on your forehead and nape. “You say you love me, but you can’t even trust me”.

“I trust him,” Haechan murmurs, “and I trust you”.

“Then what is your problem?”

“I am the fucking problem,” the black-haired groans, imitating your previous actions by pushing his hair away from his face. It’s not usual for him to raise his voice, let alone sound this frustrated —the unexpected loud tone makes you swallow thickly. “I know it’s not your fault but I can’t help it”.

“It is not my fault,” you repeat in a whisper, trying to give some echo to his own words. “If it’s not my fault, then why are you acting like it is?”

Haechan goes quiet. Not because he wants to give you the silent treatment again, but because he doesn't know what to say.

Is there anything to say, anyway? You're right, and he feels like an asshole.

“Because,” he begins, all worked up because he believes the answer is rather obvious. Isn’t it? He’s acting like this because you’re his. Because no other man has the right to touch you, or even look your way. You’re his, and he doesn’t like to share. “Because you’re only mine”.

The sudden response makes your heart skip a beat or two. Is it wrong to feel something just by seeing him this angry? Is it wrong to feel proud of hearing him say something so possessive like that?

You feel conflicted —you’re enjoying this when you’re not supposed to.

“Yours?” you ask, with an eyebrow slightly cocked.

“Yes, mine,” you're not quite sure when it happened, but your bodies are now facing each other. You can smell the tension in his cologne, along with the remains of cigarette smoke and the alcoholic beverage Renjun threw Haechan’s way at the club.

“You’re so entitled,” you let out a soft scoff, one that does nothing to ease Haechan's sharp gestures. “Yes, you’re my boyfriend, but that doesn’t mean I belong to you”.

It's, perhaps, the frustration talking. You know what he means, but it's your anger the one to make the first move.

However, you're not expecting him to laugh.

You expected him to counter attack, to get even angrier.

You expected him to raise his voice, or be silent at all.

But you weren't expecting to see the corners of his lips rising in a half smile, one as mischievous at the comment you just made.

“What?”

“Do I need to remind you how mouthy you get when I'm fucking you?”

You stare at him for what feels like ages, not daring to blink or break eye contact. He is also staring at you, but far from looking angry or frustrated, he looks amused. It's like the roles have been reversed, and it's you now who doesn't know what to say.

“What- does that have to do with this?”

“You say you don’t belong to me,” Haechan sighs, the tip of his tongue poking just slightly through his cheek. “But you never seemed reluctant about me owning you when we're in our bed”.

You can feel your cheeks getting warmer, and a weird tension in your lower abdomen you’ve grown to be familiar with over the past years. It’s probably not the greatest time to get aroused, but you can’t control yourself when it comes to him.

Just like he can’t control himself when it’s about you.

“That’s- it’s different,” you weakly attack.

“Is it?”

Haechan can tell you're getting nervous. By the way your shoulders are moving at a faster rate, and you seem to be struggling to look at him, he knows he has hit a nail. Perhaps this is a way to make a point —the one he has been wanting to make all night long.

“How so?”

The words get caught up in your throat again, and the fact that you don't have an actual response makes you feel uneasy.

“If it's any different, then that means you're a liar,” he says, guiding one of his hands to your chin whilst lifting it up. You can hear the tension in the nuances of his voice, those who seem mocking and provocative. Those looking to make you lose a game you didn't even know you were playing, “so when are you lying?”.

His hand strokes the sides of your face, and then places a strand of hair behind your ear. The touch is enough to make you gulp, but it’s a nice contrast to his harsh and filthy words.

“Are you lying to me when you say you belong to me, and that you’re mine?” Haechan asks, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. “Or are you lying to me right now, just to rile me up and get what you want?”.

That wasn't precisely a conscious plan, but now that he says so it seems that all your efforts to get him all worked up were to end up just like this.

“I just- Haechan”.

“What?” he asks you. The hand that was caressing your cheek is now placed at your waist, pulling him closer to his body.

You can feel the tension when his bulge brushes against your abdomen, hard and throbbing, pressing against you. It’s too tempting to stop, too inviting to know what he has to say without using no words.

So you allow him to touch you, to press his body against yours to make you feel how much he needs you. There is really no point in resisting, because you’ve wanted this all night long.

“Pervert,” you whisper, panting when you feel his rough grip on your ass. “I bet you were thinking about this on the way back home”.

“And you weren’t?” Haechan scoffs, quietly. “I could see your thighs squeezing together every time you looked at me”.

Embarrassingly enough, he is not that far from the truth.

“I can’t help it,” you wrap your arms around his neck in an attempt to be closer to him. “I’m sorry”.

“Save your apologies for later,” his lips are dangerously close to yours, and you squirm between his arms when you feel his breath caressing your chin and jaw. “You’re going to need them for being such a liar”.

And, finally, you can taste the tension —it tastes like alcohol, cherries, and rage. Like mint and something else.

“Fuck,” you whisper in between kisses when you feel his teeth sinking on your lower lip, “Haechan”.

It doesn’t take him long to guide you to the bedroom, managing to walk the small, dark hallway with his hands all over your body and his eyes closed.

“Haechan,” you voice once again when he lays you down in the mattress, his skillful hands looking for the hems of your jeans and underwear to pull them off in one go. Truth be told, you’ve never seen him this desperate; his lips are all over your thighs and legs, kissing them sloppy while he caresses the sides of them. He’s sucking and nibbling at the sensitive flesh, marking you every now and then in places he knows he’s the only one entitled to see.

Everything is happening too fast, but you don’t want him to slow down —you’re just as desperate as he is.

“You’re fucking dripping,” Haechan groans when he catches a glimpse of your sticky folds, all glistening with your arousal, “shit”.

He doesn’t hesitate before hooking both of his arms under and around your thighs, keeping you still in place while his lips approach your throbbing cunt.

“You think Renjun could get you this wet?” Haechan hums against your thigh, his intimidating gaze looking up at you while you struggle to support your upper body weight with your arms. For an unknown reason, you feel your body melting and going numb at such comments.

“N-no,” you shake your head.

“Do you think your body would react to him like it does with me?” The soft and teasing kisses are killing you; his lips are licking and sucking everywhere but where you want them.

“No, Haechan!” The cries in your voice makes him grind his hips against the mattress, hoping to get even the slightest friction.

He wishes he could keep on teasing you, drive you insane just like you did to him back there at the club. But, truth be told, he can't spend another minute without feeling you, in all the sense of the word.

“Apologize, then,” Haechan says, brushing the tip of his nose against your throbbing clit. That single touch is enough to earn a whimper from you, and it is also enough to make you lose all logic and rationality within you —not that you have any whenever you're underneath him in your bed to begin with.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, clenching around thin air every time the word falls from your lips. “Fuck, I’m sorry Haechan. I’m sorry”.

“Sorry for what?” the dark-haired asks again, acting oblivious to the situation. “What are you apologizing for?”

Whether it's mercy or pure neediness, his tongue unexpectedly laps at your wetness. He licks your slit and toys with your clit, just enough to provide you with some pleasure but without distracting you from your task.

“For- shit, for letting him touch me,” you sigh, kicking your head back. You’re not quite sure what exactly you’re sorry for, but you’re willing to say anything just to feel him. “For letting him- put his arm around me, fuck”.

Haechan smiles against your pussy. A genuine smile, one that can only indicate he’s feeling proud.

“See how easy it is?” he coos, continuing his ministrations on your clit, “you tell me what I want to hear, and I give you anything you want”.

Despite Haechan’s early accusations of you being a liar, you mean everything you say when you’re in bed. In fact, you're only brutally honest when he's deep inside you. When you've lost all your senses and sanity, and when all you are left with is pure bliss.

“I’m sorry,” you keep on chanting, latching your fingers against his dark locks in an attempt to bring him closer to you.

You know you're seconds away from coming, and he knows this too, so he allows you to manhandle him against you as much as you want. He hisses when you grip his hair particularly harsher, but he doesn’t stop; instead, he licks you ardently, looking forward to your orgasm.

“Show me how sorry you are, then,” he murmurs against you, his nose and chin shining with your own wetness. “Come”.

It’s the sight of him between your legs, along with his crude words and pretty eyes that pushes you to the edge. Your hands clasp the bed sheets beneath you, and your thighs threaten to close around him but he is quick to keep them apart with his hands.

“You’re getting shy now?” he teases you while you overcome your high, writhing underneath his hold. “Keep them open for me pretty, I want to lick you clean”.

Much against your body’s will, Haechan manages to keep you in place while he helps you through your orgasm, causing waves of overstimulation to wreak havoc inside you from your head to the tip of your toes.

“Haechan!,” you gasp when you feel him pulling away from your body, the sudden loss of contact making you feel somewhat relieved after the pinches of pain caused by the overstimulation.

His lips are bright peachy and swollen, all covered in your own orgasm.

“Too much?” Haechan asks, unbuckling his belt while getting rid of his clothes. You imitate him and do the same, discarding your blouse and bra somewhere along the room.

“No,” you shake your head, inviting him between your legs.

He positions himself in the middle, and the sight makes you clench around thin air yet again. His cock is hard and reddened, throbbing almost visibly in front of your eyes.

“You still think you can take me?” he asks yet again, trying to make sure you’re not sore from how aggressive his early ministrations were.

“I’ve been wanting you all night long, Haechan,” you murmur, wrapping your legs around his hips and your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. “Don’t care about anything, I just want you to fuck me”.

He kisses your forehead, and then your chin. The tip of his cock is pressing against your clit and, at times, against your entrance, but he is still nowhere near being inside you.

“See,” Haechan whispers with his lips against your jaw. “I know you’ve apologized, but I still need to make sure everyone knows you’re mine”.

His words make you let out a quiet scoff.

“How come, exactly?”

“What if I came inside you?” Even the idea makes you gasp —half a gasp, that ends up sounding more like a moan, “hm?”

For this, he needs to feel you. So he loses no time pushing himself inside you until he bottoms out. You dig your fingernails into his biceps when you feel the tip of his cock brushing against a sensitive spot inside you, and it’s only then when he continues to tell you, perhaps, his filthiest fantasy.

“What if I got you pregnant?” It’s crazy, the rational part of you acknowledges. But the aroused one, the one that lacks logic, only gets even more turned on at his words. “That way, everyone will know what we do when we’re alone”.

“Shit,” you cry, clenching around his cock.

He smiles when he feels it.

“You’d like that, don’t you?” After a couple of slow, delicate thrusts, he begins to acquire a faster pace when you get used to having him inside you. “You're squeezing my cock so hard”.

“You want to- get me pregnant?”

Even the words falling from your lips make you clench around him yet again, and it takes him a lot of effort not to come just by those gestures alone.

“That way everyone would know you’re mine,” Haechan sighs, pistoning deeper inside you. “Everyone would know that I’m the one who fucks you good, the one you allow to come inside that pretty pussy of yours”.

You whimper at his words, nibbling on your lower lip while trying to contain every lewd sound that threatens to escape your lips.

“I bet you’d- look so pretty like that,” the more aroused he gets, the less he cares about what he says —it seems as though he’s not having any inhibitions, and you love it. “Fuck”.

It's a wild fantasy, but you two seem to share it. You’d be lying if you say that the mere thought of carrying his child is not appealing to you, because it is.

“Yeah?” you ask, feeling him losing all pace and rhythm of his hips. “Why don’t you get me pregnant, then?”

The dirty talk does wonders to him, because the minute you start voicing his thoughts it’s the minute his movements become sloppier, rushed, and faster. He wants to come, he desperately needs it.

But he wants you to come first.

“I will,” he groans through gritted teeth. “If that’s what you want, then I will”.

Your heart feels fuzzy, and the tension on your lower abdomen starts increasing with each thrust. It’s not going to be long before you come around him, for the second time in a row, and as much as you’d like to savor this moment, you’re too desperate to take your time.

“Fuck,” Haechan curses under his breath, feeling his arms going numb —the pleasure is too overwhelming for him to maintain a steady pace, but he makes an effort. “Make me come, baby. Squeeze my cock until I come inside you”.

The dirty talk, combined with his gaze and the future promise of offering you that something only he can give it to you, makes you reach your orgasm again.

“Coming,” you cry quietly, wrapping your legs even tighter around his hips. You arch your back against him, and he hugs you tightly in place while he continues fucking your pussy, just as much as your grip allows him too.

“That’s it,” he praises, leaving wet kisses on your forehead and cheeks while you overcome your high. “Are you going to let me come inside you tonight? Fill you up with my cum?”

“Yes!” it’s all you manage to say in the midst of such a devastating arousal. “Yes, yes, Haechan”.

He buries his face on the crook of your neck, and keeps on fucking your swollen pussy until he achieves his orgasm too.

A hot, sticky feeling is quick to flood your tummy, as well as your inner thighs. He continues fucking you slowly and gently, even after coming, to prevent his arousal to leak out of you.

“Shit,” you cry, wrapping your arms around his neck so that he plops down on top of your body, “I can feel you”.

He hugs you into his embrace, while still inside you, and attempts to stabilize himself before leaving the bed to provide you with some wet towels and water. Truth be told, he wishes to stay like this forever, with your naked body underneath him, and his leaking cock inside you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, leaving a quick kiss on your lips. “I know it’s-”

“Hey,” you cut him short, cooing softly. “We can talk about it tomorrow morning”.

He gets the sense that you're comfortable right now, despite the early fight, so he follows your plea compliantly.

“I’m an asshole,” Haechan jokes.

“Sometimes,” you scoff softly, finding his hazy gaze in the midst of the dim lights. “I’m glad you can acknowledge it”.

“And I’m glad you still keep up with it”.

#nct dream smut #nct 127 smut #haechan smut #kpop smut #donghyuck smut #nct127 smut #nct smut

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gyuswhore · 11 months ago

Text

Remembrance of Ice

"Fear does anything but land with precision."

PAIRING: ice king!xu minghao x fem spy!reader

SYNOPSIS: Xu Minghao rules over a land where the sun never rises and crops never grow, shunned by the world for their nature so ruthless it has them caged within their borders.

That is, until you land straight into the dragon's den to find the story untold.

CONTAINS: angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, kinda lore heavy, reader and minghao are in a perpetual spat, talks of military and political power, manipulation (not by minghao), ft. chan

WORD COUNT: 5.3k

masterlist

[AN]: MIKA DAY MIKA DAY MIKA DAY except im a day late bc I don't know how to time manage ANYWAY mika my love I hope you enjoy this you mentioned villain hao that one time and I stuck to it praying this is good ksjgnvrkjgn @toruro

id love to turn this into a longer, more detailed fic in the future, I really like this concept and theres loads more I could do with it. lmk if you'd like to see it hehe

edit: had to repost a couple times cuz it wasn't showing in the tags. it still isn't but idc anymore if this only reaches mika then so be it sgnkrtjg

The cold was the worst.

Your iced pride had been swallowed down to accept the flimsy cloth the guards that pushed you into this stone dungeon had given you. Not that it was doing much to help you, the thin fabric acting as more of a permeable layer than your gear.

Huddling into yourself, you breathe out warm exhales in the hopes that it’d do something about the face you couldn’t feel anymore. With the sight of your discolouring fingernails, you hope the people in this wretched place would decide what they wanted to do with you before you succumbed to the cold. There’s a bad taste in your mouth at the thought of dying a death like this – that the cold would become your ultimate demise.

The croning of the metal doors of your prison wrench open in what feels like a deafening sound, the screech having you throw the flimsy blanket off your body in haste. You would not be seen taking advantage of their supposed kindness.

The two guards that trudge in are quick to tell you to stand. You nearly laugh at the prospect of doing anything they ask.

“What do you want?” your voice has eroded to a brassy sound.

“Stand up,” the guard repeats, his face covered in the black balaclava that wraps around everything but spares his eyes. Cold, dark, soulless.

Your pride screamed to refute. But you were at a dead end, and perhaps it was time to accept it. Eyeing the weapons strapped to both their waists, moreso the lack thereof of your own, you make the first attempt to pull yourself up. It’s difficult, you find, needing a moment to regain your senses before pushing up completely. You tried not to show it, not wanting to look weak in front of the very people you need to show strength.

“Hands,” the other guard gruffs out.

You hesitate before bringing your shivering wrists forward, cursing yourself for not being able to control your own body. The cuffs they bind to your wrists are somehow even colder, and you have to consciously bite back a cursed wince.

Your resolve begins to truly thin when you struggle to simply take a few steps forward, the muscles in your legs frozen like everything else in the room. You manage to not fall. A commendable feat when your goals went from overtaking a couple of (very armed) guards to simply not falling over like a newborn fawn.

You feel them lightly shove you out the gates, something you should not have struggled to recover from from, but alas, you can only grit your already ground teeth as you try to not tip over entirely. The halls of the dungeons are made of the same gray concrete as your cell, the tight corridor leading you out into an only slightly larger hall with a single door at the seemingly dead end.

The large brass handle with the distinct reptile circling its expanse stares at you. You are forced to consider the idea that these may be your final breaths.

One of the guards squeezes out into the hall and approaches the door, three sharp knocks to the wood before you hear a muffled “come in.”

Your feet remain planted to the floor as you feel another push of the guard that remains behind you, urging you forward as the other one stands at the door, expecting you to walk inside. Perhaps some would classify this as a moment of weakness, especially when all you’ve been taught is to face death with anything but fear. But it seeps into your bones regardless.

You wonder if all those stories you were told of fearless soldiers and sheilds of humans were as lionhearted in their final moments as the storytellers claimed, as brave as the legends that followed.

You considered yourself one of the best in your field, most of your peers agreed. And yet, that moment of hesitancy in the face of potential death caged you in an unimaginable retaliance. What on Earth was wrong with you?

And so you moved forward, one foot in front of the other with resilience fueled by pure outrage at your own feeble mind. You would do as you were taught, you would march into the mouth of the dragon because you were not allowed to fear death. You refused to meet your end as a coward.

The cuffs that encase your wrists burn at the skin as you walk into the room. It’s small, small enough to force you and the two guards to shift closer to keep from the man that stands across the room.

You almost don’t notice him, which alarms you immensely. Regardless of the stark black attire that matches the dark, gloomy atmosphere of the tiny room, the man seems to blend into the shadows, becoming part of the walls. His back faces you as he looks out the window, like he’s invigorated with the snow that drifts to the earth.

It’s nighttime. It’s always night time here.

“The prisoner, sire,” the one in your left gruffs out.

The man at the window turns to face you, the sight of his face causing you to bite back a gasp.

His skin is the same colour as the snowflakes that fall behind him, near glistening white. It seems to make every other feature of his face stand out in earnest; the black of his eyes, the crimson of his lips, the dark of his hair.

He’s gorgeous, you decide, but you also decide that you may be about to die at his hands.

There’s also the matter of how he was addressed by the goons that flank you. Unless sire means something else in this godforsaken land, you should have realized who this is by now.

Xu Minghao’s expression remains unchanged, the mild disinterest evident as he barely glances at you before taking a seat at the makeshift office area in the middle of the room. He leans back against the plush, finally regarding the other people in the room with words.

“You can leave.”

You hear the guards begin to file out the room.

“Ah—take off the restraints before you go. And shut the door.”

You want to describe what his voice sounds like, and while indifferent to another, it’s like a million icicles plunging into your eardrums. It isn’t until the guard blocks your view to unlock you that you realize how strained your eyes were, like it was draining to simply look at him.

When both guards have left the vicinity, doors closed with a deep thud, you set yourself in steel. Just because he was about to kill you didn't mean you were about to make it easy for him.

You wonder why a king was meddling to discard a mere enemy officer, but if you knew anything of their bloodthirst, this was a form of amusement.

“Well?” you say, your voice still bare-there.

“Take a seat.” He means the lone chair that stands on your side of the table.

“No,”

His eyebrows shoot up, “No?”

You stare at him, and it's the first time he’s looked at you for more than three seconds.

“No,” you reiterate. “If you’d like to eliminate me, I’d suggest we cut to the chase. I don’t want your bleak hospitality.”

“Are you offering your head?”

“I’m asking you to quit the niceties. We know what you are.”

He studies you for a moment before continuing quietly, “Who is we?”

Your jaw is set as you calm yourself down, “The people who keep coming into your barren lands, only to never return. My people.”

“Your people that keep invading this barren land, only to find out that actions have consequences?”

“The mere thought of us is a consequence for you vermin,” you spit.

“Your people, you had said?” There’s a strange hint of jest in his voice, and it only infuriates you even more.

“Yes,” you breathe out.

“Your people who have not once attempted to negotiate your release from us vermin, I thought your people were known for your camaraderie. Especially for such an important soldier, do they truly consider you that disposable? ”

The low fester of embers had now ignited into a full flame, the rage becoming near indescribable. Aside from how heinous, you had underestimated how infuriating his kind could be.

“You know nothing of me!” your voice is loud, your own shade of venom that laces your tongue.

And then he says your name.

You falter.

He shouldn’t know that. You don’t have a nametag, nothing to identify you on any record, anywhere. And yet, you know what you’ve heard is your name that fell from his lips, undeniably so.

He continues with the faintest sneer, “Captain of the SUN team, first in line from your peers for a promotion, and of course, right hand of your idiotic General of the Army.”

You can't be sure if you’re shivering from the cold or the rage that courses through every vein in your body. Perhaps it was the latter as you feel your mind shortcircuit at the sight of his smug face.

And, of course, with the way you lunge.

It takes barely a second for your numb fingers to reach his pristine throat, curling with the need to rupture his airways beyond measure. It also takes him barely a second to step out of the way, causing you to thud into the table, fingers faltering as they grasp onto nothing.

The air is knocked out of your chest, and you don’t realize what’s happened. He’s quick, and you’re out of shape. He’s on the other side of the table, hands in his pockets as he stares at your weak attempts at regaining your bearings.

“This is the problem with your people. Why must your first response to any confrontation be to fight to the death?”

Leaping over the table, you attempt to corner him against the wall, only to find him leap over to the other side of the table when you advance, switching your initial spots. It might have even been laughable if you weren’t so heated, like children running around in circles in a lethal game of tag.

He takes advantage of yet another moment of weakness you’ve shown, pushing the separating table directly into you, forcing you back as you stumble to hit the window. The opening is just enough to fit your waist, with no room for your legs to leap back over, locked in at the sides of the table that effectively cages your body between wood and glass.

Your first instinct is to push the wretched thing back, but you realize very quickly that you can’t. It shouldn’t explain how he was able to cage you in a place like this, especially with his scrawny build. Unless he’s locked it in place somehow, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“What the fuck?” you gasp out to mostly yourself.

“You’ve weakened, little soldier. I heard you were better than this.”

“Let me go so I can prove it to you then,” you spit, still fruitlessly struggling against your prison.

“Had your chance,” he states, hands in his pockets, an eyebrow cocked. “Of course, fear does anything but land with precision. I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

“What makes you think I’m scared of you?”

“Oh, you are such a simpleton,” he narrows his eyes.

“You haven’t been talking about anything of substance for someone who doesn’t claim to be scared. What’s holding you?” you gruff.

He stares for a moment like he’s studying you. For some reason, your struggling falters, his piercing gaze leaving you wondering what he had up his sleeve.

“You know you are weak. Your strength isn’t nearly where it had been when you arrived. I’ve also been told you’ve been starving yourself.”

“I said I don’t want your hospitality!”

“You were supposedly indifferent to everyone in the room, including the guards, but you kept your eyes on me like a hawk. The first mention out your mouth was of death.”

“Was I supposed to expect compassion?” you mock, but the desperation lingers in your voice.

“Can’t be helping knowing nobody is looking for you,” he finishes.

“Because you would’ve sent me on my way home if they were? Don’t make me laugh.”

“Quite right, yes.”

“Like you did with the other soldiers that seemingly disappear in your lands?”

“Nobody asked, so we did not deliver.”

“Lies!” It comes out as a near scream.

You think of all the stretched months that turned into inevitable years trying to retrieve your lost manpower. Of course, your higher-ups asked for hostage negotiations, did everything in their power to bring them home.

Fitting for the man in front of you to deny it, but infuriating nonetheless.

“And you’re wildly defensive,” he sighs. “You’re scared. Of being in enemy territory, of dying, of being alone. One or the other, that’s for you to decide.”

You want to scream again.

“They lied to you, soldier. And I may be a villain in your self-written history books, but you will come to know of the harsh truth, from me or anybody else. You should know what exactly it is that you’re fighting for.”

“What are you yapping about?”

He turns back around, moving to the door before rapping a knock. The guards re-enter the room.

“Take her to base.”

“Chan?”

He stands at the entrance of the tent, speaking to somebody in armor with a solemn expression. He turns around at the sound of his name, catching sight of you walking up.

He breaks out into a smile at the sight of you, eyes going wide as he excuses himself to sprint over. You’re not quite sure if the fatigue is causing you to hallucinate, but with the way his face becomes clearer with every step he takes, you have to convince yourself that you’re not.

As appropriate as it is to slam into him in a hug, considering you thought he was dead mere seconds ago, you can’t see yourself caring.

“They told me it was you that arrived,” he says.

“Oh my god, I thought you were dead. Everybody thought you were dead. How are you here?” you breathe into his ear.

He pulls away slowly, and you note how he doesn’t meet your eyes.

“Chan?”

“There’s a lot to unpack here. Let’s get you cleaned up first.”

A lot to unpack there was, you realize, as the guards leave you with Chan when said to. The questions doubled when you entered the significantly warmer tent to find it swarming with familiar faces, busy working on tables littered with charts and papers, military symbols drifting overhead.

Chan is quick to let you know that none of the ‘fallen’ soldiers were missing at all. In fact, were stationed here at this military base.

Your gaping mouth renders no response as he fishes you both through the hustle and bustle of the industrial canopies, destination unknown. As much as you’d kick yourself for your lack of vigilance, you find yourself trusting him to take you wherever, your mind preoccupied with trying to absorb every detail of your environment.

If this was what sensory overload was, you’re not sure you like it blocking your thinking capabilities this much.

He lets you into another tent, littered with trunks and equipment, lit with a couple hardworking oil lamps. He goes to rummaging in random trunks as you watch.

“What is this place?”

“Inventory. Clothes and a bunch of other stuff,” he says as he throws you a pile of fabric. “Here, change into this, it’s warmer.”

He leaves you alone in the tent to change, which you do quickly to meet him again outside. Moving the flap of the tent away, you find him out in the snow waiting.

It isn’t until you’ve adequately cornered him that you can ask. “Chan, are being held here against your will? Is everybody here—”

“Wait, hold,” he holds a hand up to silence you. “Just—let me explain.”

You’re rendered silent in a corner of this base camp, albeit a little warmer than when you came in with the effective coat you’re now shrouded in. Other than being lost in a mine of confusion, you notice the calculated expression on Chan’s face when you bring it up. Like he didn’t know how you’d react.

“There’s been a lot of lies our entire life. One’s that we didn’t realize till we landed here,” he starts, facing the endless plane of snow to the East.

“What on Earth are you talking about?” you ask, keeping your eyes steady on him.

“These people aren’t cruel, nor are they the animals we’ve been told they are,”

“Chan, what is wrong with you?” you take a step back in mild exasperation.

“Listen, this sounds insane, but it’s only because we’ve been brought up to believe anything the government told us, anything our superiors drilled into our heads. I’d started having doubts while we were still home—”

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Nobody wanted to tell you anything. You were more loyal to the General than you were to yourself!”

“I—because…” you falter. He was right.

“They’ve taken advantage of the way this land refuses to retaliate. We’ve been in the wrong this whole time.”

“I don’t know what it is that they’ve been feeding you for so long, but this isn’t the Chan that left home all those months ago.”

“You’re right,” you hear, but it’s not Chan.

Whipping your head around, you find the overlord himself walking to where you were.

“Apologies for interrupting, but I think you’re needed back there, Chan,” Minghao informs him as he regards him.

You whip back around to Chan, “Wait, you can’t just—”

“Listen, it’s going to take you a little bit, but I promise you’ll see what I mean,” he reiterates.

“This is absurd—” you start again but are cut off by him again. He lurches forward, grasping both your wrists in his, forcing you to pay attention to him.

“Do you trust me?”

“W-what?”

“Answer the question. Do you trust me?”

You stare at him, stumped for a moment. Did you trust him? Five months ago, before he left, you would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. Yet, now you find yourself hesitating.

“Yes. I trust you,” you decide out loud.

“Then give it time. You’re shaken, you’re exhausted, you’re confused. You’ll make your decision yourself when you see for yourself.”

He watches your shoulders droop ever so slightly, a clear sign of your surrender. “Fine.”

“Good.”

You turn back to find the other man long gone, the vast expanse of snow and darkness engulfing the plane that leads to the congregation of tents. Chan begins to lead you back, mumbling about how he needs to get back inside.

It’s during your trudge that you realize there’s something that still bugs you, supposing you’d get your answer if you asked him.

“What’s the king doing meddling in military bases and war prisoners?” you begrudgingly ask.

“He’s very… hands-on, I guess. He cares about what happens around here, his land, his people.”

“Like a normal ruler?” you mumble in annoyance.

“When was the last time you saw the General leave his office?”

You haven’t.

A month. That’s how long you’ve been at this base camp.

Enlightenment may be an understatement to what this place is giving you, absurdities that they call the truth. Absurdities, as you may have called them a moon ago.

This barren country did not have a military, you were told. These makeshift headquarters were made to keep up with the endless external aggressions from the other side.

“They’re all people given the choice to stay. We needed the manpower. Military precision was never our forte,” Minghao explains.

You hate how he has an answer to every critical question of yours, how you’ve gone past thinking this was some elaborate, well-thought-out story to put your guard down, to put everyone’s guard down.

Sitting at this wooden table with maps and charts littering the surface, he looks you down from the other end. Chan remains silent next to you, knowing that if you asked, he would’ve given you the same response.

“So you’re trying to build an army? To what, retaliate?” Your arms remain crossed over your middle.

“We cannot retaliate,” Chan says.

“The difference in military power is too much, anyway. We can’t fight something that fights us in different ways,” Minghao finishes. He looks stressed, pinching the bridge of his nose. You watch him drag a chair to sit down.

The majority of camp was resting for the day, leaving the base relatively empty save for the three of you.

“Different ways?” you question.

You watch him close his eyes, running a hand over his face. “Chan, you told me she was smart.”

“She’s having a harder time adjusting than I thought she would,” he chuckles humourlessly in response.

“Are you gonna tell me, or do I have to take another month to figure it out on my own?” you snap.

“What have you been told about our borders? Why is this land the way that it is,” Minghao starts.

You don’t have an answer because you’ve never been told. The general was forever adamant that a land and its people were interconnected, that Minghao’s nation was as ruthless as the land itself was.

“What about what you thought?” he tries again.

“Nature’s weird, I don’t know,” you huff.

“You were so loyal to a man that had no rhyme to his reason. How blind did you have to be—”

“Keep to the question,” you monotone.

He exhales before continuing. “This land is the incarnation of balance. It might not look like it, but we play the most important role in making sure your nations remain stable.”

“Regular communities cannot survive in this weather, the livestock perishes, and crops cannot grow. Everything that makes humanity thrive remains absent here.” Minghao places his elbows on the table, hands clasped together. “But it remains like this here so the rest of the world can foster humanity; that’s the purpose of this land.”

“A sacrifice of sorts,” Chan adds quietly.

“My land remains lifeless so others may thrive,” Minghao finishes.

“Why…why this land?” you question after a few beats.

He leans back against his chair, “I don’t know. Perhaps my ancestors were cursed. Perhaps this is just what this land was made to do. All I know is that my mother and father left me the job of ensuring this place is protected, as their mother and father taught them. All for the sake of keeping balance.”

It was wildly ironic that a place that was the definition of extreme was seemingly also harboring the balance to this world, but you found no jest in his words. You had also learned that it was the more unbelievable things here that would turn out to be most true, so you let yourself believe in whatever lore you had just unlocked.

“So you can’t retaliate,” you echo.

“Not if we wish to keep the peace, no.”

Chan chimes in this time, “This is all really just a misunderstanding that’s fallen into the wrong hands. The General’s a bloodthirsty fuck; this is just an excuse for him to retain power and satisfy all his sick fantasies.”

“How do we fix this then?” you dare to ask.

“We can’t,” Minghao says. “Not right now, at least. If we want to make a move, we have to grow as an entity. What your General doesn’t understand is how he’s feeding his own enemy whenever he sends some poor soldier our way.”

“That’s what everyone’s been working on. The SUN team is nearly complete with you here. We need to equip everyone here with skills more than anything,” Chan says.

“And then?”

“And then we let the General know who’s side we’re really on.”

Xu Minghao had a very peculiar way as King.

Other than remaining in the same bunkers as the rest of the population, you don’t think you’ve ever seen anyone besides the guards address him as sovereign. He sat with everyone during mealtimes, spoke to everyone like a friend, yet remained the one in charge.

Over the months, you remained the last newcomer of the bunch, learning slowly but surely of your new truth. That was, until your sixth month.

It happened during breakfast, walking out into the dark sky to greet the person Minghao had told you was the newest aggravated prisoner. You knew her from headquarters, having seen her multiple times as she trained, but never learned her name. Her brows unfurrow slightly at the sight of you, recognizing you immediately.

You try to stay as others who remain familiar to the newcomer speak to her, adding where your credibility was due. You underestimated how difficult it would be, not because she was being frustrating, but because she was frustrated.

With every surge of exasperation she showed, every snarky remark to words of reason, you saw yourself. A strange, heavy feeling sets itself in your chest, making it difficult to speak, difficult to simply stand there as you watch her ideologies rendered as lies.

So you excuse yourself, moving out of the way into the snow you’d learned to make a confidant instead of an irritation. It wasn’t strange to find somebody contemplating alone in the snow, the constant darkness ready to keep everyone company.

You aren’t sure what it is that you want to contemplate, but simply sitting in the snow helps, allowing you to remain unstimulated. The weird feeling remained, but what also remained was your brain's inability to distinguish one from the other.

You don’t know how long you had been sitting there, but are aware of the lighter sheen of blue that the sky has turned into when you hear trudging behind you. You turn to find Minghao approaching, halting a foot away.

“Did you see the newcomer?” he asks.

“Yeah. They’re handling it, she’ll be fine.”

It falls silent once more. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t warmed up to the man in the past months, perhaps even enough to call yourself friends. Chan had quite the role to play in that.

He invites himself to sit next to you in the snow, letting out a deep exhale that fogs the air. “I wanted to ask if you were okay.”

You’re stumped. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Well…” he chortles. “You’ve been sitting here for a good three hours, so I only thought it was natural to assume.”

“It’s not good to assume.”

“And that you can’t be doing too well seeing the newcomer.”

“...Got me,” you whisper, still gazing into the far-off mountains.

“You can talk about it if you want,” he offers.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you sigh.

“Or is there too much to talk about?” he raises a brow.

You’ve turned to look at him at this point, making out his facial features with the low light of the lamps that burn in the distance.

“How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Know what I’m thinking about.”

“You’re easier to read than you think,” he chuckles. “Why? D’you think I’m reading your mind?”

“Seems like it sometimes.”

“Do you miss home?” he asks, albeit a little cautiously.

“I do. I miss what it meant to me. I don’t think I could go back and feel the same way, though,” you answer. If he was trying to get you to open up, he was succeeding.

“Why’s that?”

You snort, “Obvious, isn’t it? Can’t call a place full of lies home. I can’t believe I let them manipulate me to that extent.”

You think of the mental turmoil on the girl's face.

“It wasn’t your fault. You were doing what you taught.”

“Other people found holes in the story, though. They saw the beginnings of what was really happening. I was so blind, they couldn’t even try to talk me out of it.”

“You can’t keep blaming yourself. It was the General’s job to be conniving. What use if his right hand could see through it. With how long it took you to come around, it only shows how dangerous he is.”

You remain silent as you absorb his words. There was truth to them, but you find it hard to dissolve it into your mindset.

“What matters is you're here now, that you chose the truth despite what you’d grown to learn.” He’s staring right at you when he says it, something you find as you look up to do the same.

There’s a lurch in your stomach, one that has your cheeks burning despite the temperature.

“How do you not hate any of these people? How do you not hate me? We’re the reason your people are so detested,” your voice comes out shaky, yet thick with a weird mix of emotions.

“I hate the ones that choose to be like this despite knowing what the truth is.”

“Like the General?”

“Like the General.”

It’s silent as you watch him gaze into your soul, an uncomfortable feeling yet one that stops you from looking away.

You want to kiss him.

The thought alone has you jumping in place, shaking off the way your body seems to have seized up. You move your knees away in blatant ignorance, looking at anything but his face.

“What?” he asks at your sudden change in behavior.

“Nothing!” you say, a little too loud to be considered casual.

“Why’d you move away?”

“I didn’t!” Of course, you realize how stupid you sound. You huff as you continue, “Just—I don’t know!”

“You don’t know what?”

“Goodness, you need to learn to drop things.”

“Not when it involves me,” he says.

“Who says it involves you?”

“Do we need to go over this again?”

You look at him in question, only to realize he could read you just as well as he could at any other instance.

“You’re not gonna like it,” you finally say.

“Try me.”

“Would you hate me if I said I wanted to kiss you?”

He pauses for an agonizing few moments, ones that make you feel like erupting into a ball of fire that could melt all the snow in the land. Your numb fingers fidget with each other, hating yourself as soon as the words come out of your mouth.

Minghao uses his mouth in ways other than words when you feel it against your lips. It takes you a moment to realize what’s happening and another to let your body take control.

He’s kissing you so painfully slow it has you wondering if you’re imagining it, the feeling of his surprisingly warm lips on your frozen ones. You pull away for a moment, a question ringing in your mind.

“I’m not making a mistake, am I?” you breathe into his mouth.

“Absolutely not,” he says, diving back in with a force not present before.

You throw your arms around him in instinct to keep yourself from falling back onto the snow in his newfound enthusiasm. Not that you can find yourself complaining, especially not when his tongue prods against your bottom lip, urging you to open up for him.

You let him pull you closer, let him explore your mouth, let him hold you as you give yourself up to the feelings that now, after so long, have finally boiled over.

You’re both breathless when you pull away, remaining in each other’s arms as you gain your bearings.

“Figured it out, did you?” he asks with the slightest smirk.

Of course, with every passing instance that he’s reminded you of the mental walls you don’t seem to have with him, this was perhaps his end goal. You want to ask when he figured out you liked him before, wondering if he had known before you had in the first place.

He doesn’t let you, though, as his smiling lips meet yours again, chasing the feeling that's come forth after months of waiting.

You’ll find out the run down soon enough. For now, you give into him, believing in your ice-cold heart that Xu Minghao would never lie to you.

Taglist: @weird-bookworm @rubyreduji @vampirexlotita @simqly-yunjin @tomodachiii

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen angst #seventeen x reader #seventeen imagines #minghao #minghao fluff #minghao angst #minghao imagines #minghao x reader #the8 #em.writes

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seelestia · 6 months ago

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⟡ to set one's self aflame. (do it all for love.)

⎯ how protective are they of you? how do they protect you and how do they like being protected in return? { s for security ノordered by @phantovia! }

RESERVED FOR! ꒰ character ꒱. lyney ft. gn!reader. { 1.5k words wc }

FLAVOR! ꒰ genre ꒱. fluff & sprinkles of lore angst, established relationship.

TOPPINGS! ꒰ tags ꒱. lowkey a character study made poetic (???). mentions of self-destructive habits, also pls don't smile at lyney bcs he's weak in the knees for u.

BAKER’S NOTE! ꒰ thoughts ꒱. thanks for the req, yona! i got to appreciate this silly guy all over again thanks to u ‹3 ik ur acc is already archived so i hope this made for a nice tribute. pls take care of urself & have a good life ahead 🫂

lyney is protective to a concerning extent. the instinct of an older brother, maybe?

there is some sort of irony to be found in it all since the reason he protects to a 'concerning' extent is out of concern in the first place.

behind his show of brilliance, you consider yourself lucky enough to have witnessed a side to lyney that his audience wouldn't have guessed; that he is a worrier in every aspect of the word. whether for his family, for you, for his friends or for others he comes across that are plagued by misfortune - if all that worry were to come in the shape of dimes, he'd already have an abundance of them to share with the entire nation of fontaine.

but he has no choice, does he?

his background is not a clean slate nor is it a display of sunshine and rainbows resembling his magic shows. lyney's hands are tainted, covered by his gloves as a measly means of self-solace. he has to worry. associating himself deeply and intimately with another is a risk on its own - comparable to dragging someone else down into the murkier depths with him. he can never do that, never has the courage nor the heart to.

(but fortunately for him, you've always been braver than most.)

. . .isn't that why you offered your hand, your trust to him first? he swore to never let you down from that day on.

easier said than done, however.

the house of the hearth operates within the shadows but as for its foes? some also prefer to dwell in the dark and some move in broad daylight. no matter what it is, they all require the same precaution: for him to keep his guard up at all times. every child has been trained by “father” to know that but you're an innocent, tied to this precarious matter merely due to your connection with him.

(“i don't regret anything,” you told him but he didn't look into your eyes, conflicted. you couldn't tell if he believed you or not.)

how was your day? have you eaten? you look sad, did something happen? — all these little questions are a way for him to show that he cares, that you're important, that you're his responsibility and he'll be there for you.

bound by both guilt and love, lyney promises to keep you safe. from whatever kinds of threats there are; whether it be fools with nefarious schemes or even an insect you're too scared to touch, he'll keep you safe all the same. so please, don't hide from him if you're dealing with something. it's better to let him handle it. . . right, correction: the two of you can handle it together.

(truly, his desire to protect can both be his greatest strength and most formidable foe.)

the way lyney protects is through self-sacrifice, granting peace in exchange for destruction of the self.

since the very beginning, lyney has grown used to seeing the world through the lens of a protector.

he recalls the old times where he and lynette loitered the streets in ragged clothes and the only refuge he could provide her with was his hand. it mattered not if he was freezing cold from the rain. . . as long as his little sister was protected, comforted by whatever warmth he had left - it's alright. to do that wasn't an option then, it was a necessity.

to sacrifice himself is a habit. it's easy to adopt but not at all easy to discard.

in lyney's eyes, burdens often seem as if they would be lighter upon his shoulders than they are on another's - but this is only wishful thinking. only meant to convince himself that pain shall eventually lose its harsh bite the more he bears it. “well, has it?” if asked, he cannot give an answer. regardless, that alone is enough of a justification for him because he can't bear the thought of doing anything else; to stand idly by, to be utterly useless.

if he has the means to protect others, why wouldn't he do so? even if he wears himself down to the bone, he’d do it again. akin to a bright flame lit in a hearth, lyney envelopes those near him in a blanket of warmth - and if the blaze threatens to flicker, he'd simply ignite a piece of himself to prevent it from diminishing into futile cinders. he won't let it happen.

(but little does he know that even cinders still serve a purpose. they exist as proof, a sign that his sacrifice has never been in vain.)

in return, lyney feels protected by simply knowing that you're happy (and your acknowledgement of his efforts).

let's call it an innate principle that belongs to a magician; he wants to see smiles on the faces of others. “a smile weighs much lighter for your face to carry compared to a frown, no?” he joked to you once, tapping gently on the corner of his lips with a grin. it was said with a light heart, but you knew he meant it deep down.

(he always does so much, only to ask for so little in return.)

you were not so cruel that you couldn't even grant him that, so you smiled. genuine and grateful. “. . .thank you, lyney,” you said. he fell quiet then. had the wind been knocked out of his lungs or had the world stopped spinning? he thought he saw stars in your eyes, but that couldn't possibly be true. the sun glaring down at him from behind the clouds above remained unmoved.

not like it mattered, anyway. his poor heart was far too occupied with you to care about the answer. “o-oh? you're welcome. . .” lyney blinked, multiple times, dazedly.

gratitude is not a foreign concept to him; he often receives it from an audience member, a lonely elder he briefly chatted with, a fellow member from the house of the hearth — so, just what makes it different now? perhaps, it's because he knows that you've beared witness to his heart that lies deeper within.

that you see right through him, that you're thanking him for who he truly is, although he no longer has a definite image of “self” from the countless white lies piling at his feet like a tower. yet he finds comfort in it, in the way you hold his sullied hands so kindly. he isn't wearing gloves this time. strange, lyney had never imagined transparency to be a feeling so benevolent and cathartic.

no matter what thoughts are buzzing in his head or what ache tugs on his body, they can pester him as much as they'd like - with one swift recall of your smile, lyney feels as if he can banish them even if momentarily. they'll come back sooner or later, he knows, but is it cowardly of him to find solace in that brief respite?

when lynette taps on his cheek to wake him up in the morning, when freminet knocks on his door to deliver something, when other siblings flock around him to welcome him home, or when you come to visit him after a long day — those worries disappear — but even if he already knows that they will make their inevitable return. . . perhaps, everything will be okay.

(it has to be, he tells himself.)

“did something happen yesterday?”

your lunch with a certain feline girl in front of hotel bouffes d'ete kickstarts with a simple question. but the abruptness of it all wipes away the content look on your face and replaces it with a frown.

the tea in your cup reflects your reflection as much as it does your perplexity. lynette lifts her own teacup to her lips, composed while you're lost in thought, confused.

“lyney went home with a wide smile on his face yesterday,” she elaborates, humming either at the tea or at the current matter she's recalling. perhaps, even both but you aren't sure yet. “while this wouldn't be an odd occurrence, i thought there must've been a special occasion to warrant a smile that wide.”

ah. the realization dawns on you in gentle waves. he said something that prompted a smile out of you yesterday — the exchange of a kind “thank you” from your side and a flustered “you're welcome” from his — not that smiling is a rarity around him, hardly, the one thing magicians do best is attract smiles.

your gaze drifts down to stare at nothing in particular. fond memories filled with the face of a familiar magician swims before your eyes. “hm. . . it must've meant a lot more to him than i expected,” you mumble to yourself. in your eyes, you'd think the look on your face represents the paradigm of nostalgia but in lynette's eyes, you look like a madman smiling to yourself so intensely.

“not you too,” she lets out a resigned sigh, placing down her teacup. “smiling to yourself like that. . .” she shakes her head in a disappointed manner, “you and lyney must've been rubbing off on each other these days.”

“maybe a bit too much,” lynette adds, but there is a ghost of a smile on her face this time around.

you can only smile sheepishly.

— thank you for reading! reblogs with comments are most appreciated.

#genshin x reader #lyney x reader #—stellaronhvnters.#genshin impact x reader #genshin fluff #genshin hcs #genshin impact hcs #genshin x you #seelestial.inks #reveriesincups

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uceyliyahh · 2 months ago

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Summary; After her difficult breakup, Tiana wanted to start anew with her life. That's when she realized her life would be better when she met him.

This fanfic is 18+! NO MINORS ALLOWED

word count: 3783

Smut warning; it’ll come in the story randomly so PLEASE PLEASE look out for it I’m not really good at writing ✍🏽 smuts but I’m improving at the moment.

Jey Uso X Tiana

AWFUL GRAMMAR IM GETTING BETTER I SWEAR LOL.

comments, likes, repost are appreciated I would love the constructive feedback in what area I need to approve in. 🤍

ALSO! I don’t not want nobody stealing my fanfics or take it as theirs that will be an issue fasho so keep it cute respectfully.

I only own my OC along with the make up scenarios

But I’ll be writing along the way since this story is in my drafts on Wattpad right now so yuh 💁🏽‍♀️

TAGS⬇️ lmk if you wanna be tagged 🏷️

@paigereeder @pinkwithhearts @jstarr86

Have you ever thought about running away? And starting somewhere new? Having a fresh start with things, especially having a promising career?

Tiana was doing that, starting somewhere fresh, living with her best friend Bianca in Cali after her messy breakup with Malakai when she saw him cheat on her with someone she knew.

But she wasn't worried about that man. She stood her ground while focusing on her career as a Nail Tech, getting her money's worth so she could have a place of her own.

She did the dumbest thing ever: She got this man tatted on the side of her right ear. Bianca convinced her to cover it with something pretty.

But she didn't know any tattoos around here; only Bianca did. She contacted a tattoo shop near them and scheduled an appointment.

OMNISCIENT

Tiana was finishing up with her last client of the day before shutting down the shop. She had a tattoo appointment afterward, so she wanted to get this done before she was late.

She focused on her clients' nails as she applied the last few bits of gems to their nails while turning on the curing light and placing their hands under the light.

Her phone beeped as she saw Bianca texting her, probably about her appointment at the tattoo shop.

Breezy💁🏽‍♀️: Tianaaaaa wyd girrrl?

Tiana: I'm finishing up my last client before heading to my appointment today.

Tiana: are you sure they're like legit? Bc if I get a fucked up cover-up, I'm going to kill you. 😀

Breezy: yesssss lele they're legit like this man owns the business chile. 😐

Tiana: oh fr?

Breezy: yes T

Tiana: do they have an Instagram page showing their artwork?

Breezy: yeah, I'll send it to you on Instagram.

Tiana: okay, girly, I'll text you later.

Breezy: bye, girl.

She turned off the curing light as her client looked at her nails with a smile on her face; she was satisfied with her results. Her client knew that Tiana was the shit when It came to doing nails.

Tiana instructed her to take a pose with her hands to show off her nails so she could post it on her IG story. She started doing nails when she was sixteen years old. Her mom and stepdad helped her with everything, and she was very grateful for that because look at her now.

biancabelairwwe replied to your story: ouuuuu girl them are honestly cute asf.

sheloveemma replied to your story: BOOK ME NEXT NOW!

ughitsstacy replied to your story: girl, I LOVE THEM! PERIOD!

shelovekai replied to your story: damn, mama, you snapped.

She looked at Malakai's reply to her story as she just rolled her eyes; she could've sworn she had blocked that man she didn't want nun' to do with his toxic ass; her client paid her with an extra tip due to how much she loved the nails as she told her goodbye.

Tiana smiled at the woman as she went to lock the door, getting ready to sanitize everything before her appointment. She was wiping down her equipment and the table with a warm rag, making sure that everything was cleaned and that she wasn't missing any spots.

She checked the time on her Apple Watch, seeing that she had to leave for her appointment to get this nigga name covered up due to the simple fact that she got tired of seeing it every single time she took pictures.

Tiana did one last check around the place, making sure that everything was back to where it was, before grabbing her purse and turning off the lights as she headed back towards her 2017 BMW.

She entered her car by shutting the door behind her, grabbing her keys as she put them in the ignition, and pressing the button to start it up.

She applied lip gloss on her lips and began pulling out the driveway towards the tattoo shop.

✧.*

Tiana pulled up towards the tattoo shop, turning off her car while grabbing her purse. As she entered the place, she looked around the area. She saw the shop's very cultured aesthetic, and the smell of the place seemed so refreshing to her.

She noticed that two other people were sitting at the reception table on their phones. Since it wasn't that busy today, she walked up to them, and they both looked at her.

"Hello, ma'am. I'm Kiara. What can I help you with?" Kiara asked.

"Hi, I'm here for an appointment at 3:50," Tiana said as she pulled out her phone to show them her appointment.

"Ah, you're Miss Tiana?"

She nodded her head yes as she patiently waited while clinging onto her purse.

"And you're here for a cover-up?" She asked.

"Yes, I am." She saw the woman nod her head as she looked up at her.

"Okay, you're set, ma'am. Please have a seat. He will be right with you."

"Thank you," Tiana said as she sat down in the chair.

She was scrolling through her IG, seeing people had liked her story that she had posted an hour ago. Replying to people who responded to her story, she saw a text pop up, so she scrolled down to see who it was. It was Malakai from an unknown number since Tiana blocked him.

Weirdo: mamas, can you unblock me, please? I promise I've changed.

Tiana: Kai you finna get blocked again leave me aloneeee

Weirdo: you know that you're mines forever.

Tiana: tuh in your dreams nigga bye.

Tiana rolled her eyes while proceeding to block his new number. She was thinking, 'nigga probably using WhatsApp or TextNow to get new numbers.' While she was doing that, her eye caught something as she saw a man getting his equipment out.

She tried to make out his features but couldn't due to the door being closed. She would have to wait until she got in that chair, but she went back to scrolling through her Instagram.

Breezy: bestieee are you at your appointment?

Tiana: yeah, I'm here.

Breezy: good cuz Ik your ass would've forgot I'm so glad you're getting that shit covered.

Tiana: yeah, me too tired of seeing that shit.

Breezy: do you like the shop?

Tiana: yeah, I love the aesthetic of it, and it smells good.

Breezy: seee I told you I got'chu girl.

As she was texting away, she pulled her head up and saw the same man standing at the door, waiting patiently for her until Kiara said something to her.

"Excuse me, miss, but you can come in now," Kiara said.

Tiana nodded her head yes, grabbed her purse, and walked past the specimen while sitting on the chair. She placed her bag on the table next to her.

She looked up at the fine specimen, finally making out his features, and boy, was he fine as hell. He was wearing some sweats with a black graphic shirt, and his shoe game was on point. Of course, he had a mullet and ear piercings on both sides of his ears.

His toned muscular body, along with his Tanned skin and salt/pepper beard, it wouldn't be rude to her if she kept eye fucking him while he was getting ready.

"You getting a cover-up?" Josh spoke, breaking the silence.

'Damn, his voice was deep as hell.'

"U-um, yeah, I am around my ear, " she said, noticing that she was stumbling on her words.

It caused him to chuckled a little bit while looking at her face, "You ain't gotta be nervous around me, Princess Ion' bite." She was taken aback for a second. 'Princess?' Well, she hadn't heard that nickname before. Is he always like this with his clients?

Tiana shook off the feeling as he pulled out some designs to show her, to see which one she liked better. She looked at his designs and was amazed at his artwork; it was perfect.

But one design caught her eye. It just looked so beautiful: two butterflies with a cross between them.

"I like this one; it caught my eye," Tiana said as she smiled.

He nodded his head as he took the design that she wanted behind her cover-up.

He pulled the chair towards her and reclined it back a bit so that she could be comfortable. He put on some black gloves while grabbing the tattoo pen.

"Can you turn your head for me, mama? " he asked. She nodded yes and turned her head to the side.

He started working on the cover-up behind her ear. He noticed that a male's name was tatted behind her ear. He had a smug expression on his face.

"So you got a name tattooed on you?"

Not trying to be in her business, but was trying to be in her business.

"Yeah, I got this lame ass nigga tatted on me that I was with for a while until he did some messed up shit, so my bestie decided to hook me up." She said while being still.

"Hm, how long was yall together?" He asked while focusing on the tattoo.

"We were together for like two, almost three years, maybe?"

He smacked his teeth and shook his head in disappointment. " That's a horrible mistake to get someone's name tatted on you. I heard it was bad luck." She wanted to smack him upside the head but couldn't.

"Don't put that on me, sir. I want no back luck," Tiana said as Josh snickered at her.

"It's not funny, you bozo." He rolled his eyes at her while continuing to do his work behind her ear.

They were back into complete silence again, and she kept hearing the needle buzzing in her ear like some type of fly buzzing around her.

She kept thinking about her relationship with Malakai. It became so toxic for her that she couldn't even deal with his ass anymore after she found out he cheated on her.

Tiana felt like she wasn't going to find love again because she was afraid of the outcome, so she kept her guard up around men, especially the ones who tried to holla at her.

"Who's your best friend?" Josh asked her.

"Her name is Bianca. She told me she comes here often, " she replied while continuing to talk on her phone.

"Ohhhh yeah I know her, I did some designs on her not too long ago."

Tiana nodded her head, listening to him talk. His voice seemed to soothe her because it was so deep and raspy, almost making her sleepy, as she yawned a bit while rubbing her eyes.

He took notice of that, "Long day, I'm assuming?"

"Yeah, I'm just hella tired. I'm not going to lie to you." She said.

He just hummed in agreement as he was finishing up her tattoo while turning off his tattoo pen; Jey had sprayed some alcohol on wet paper towel as he wiped behind her ear, causing her to hiss in pain.

Jey snickered at her reaction as she glared at him, throwing his hands up in defense.

"Aye, you wanted this, not me." He said.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever. How much do I owe you?" Tiana responded as she pulled her wallet out of her purse.

"It's on me, ma; don't worry about it." She looked up at him with a confused expression, which had her thinking to herself, 'What does he mean about that?' Tiana put her wallet back inside her purse as Jey gave her a mirror to check out her new tattoo.

She turned her head a bit to see it, moving her ear to the side to see its design.

"Omg, this is really bomb as fuck." Tiana said.

"Thank you. I mean, they say I'm the best, better than my cousin, no shade or nun." She snickered at his comment as he reclined her chair upwards while she stood up to fix herself.

"Lemme get a quick pic so I can post it on my story." He said.

Tiana knew she was good with poses, so she turned her head to the side, showing off her cover-up tattoo. Jey took a quick picture of it before putting his phone down.

"Thank you; I appreciate it. I never got your name; my fault," Tiana said while monitoring his face.

"My name is Joshua, but people close to me call me Jey or Josh for short—whatever floats your boat, mama." Jey replied.

"I'm Tiana, by the way."

Jey thought to himself for a second while looking at her features deeply. she was a pretty girl that's fahso, and her personality seemed bubbly almost?'Whoever fumbled her cute ass is so unlucky now I'm finna be all up in that.'

"Tiana, huh? That's a cute name for a pretty girl like you; lemme me get your number, lil' mama," He said bluntly as she rolled her eyes at him while he gave her his phone.

He watched her type her phone number in while she gave him back his phone. They stood there in silence as they looked at each other until her gaze shifted towards her buzzing phone.

He watched her walk out his suite as he kept stealing glances at her ass; he knew that thang was thang in that one piece that she had on.

It was almost like he was fascinated with her in some way when they literally just met each other today; maybe it was her features that got him feeling like this with her.

But he had shaken them thoughts outta his head cleaning his equipment up.

✧.*

TIANA

I finally made it home. I parked my car in the driveway right next to Bianca's, turned off the ignition, grabbed my purse, and closed the car door behind me.

As I was walking in the house, I heard moaning and groaning upstairs, which made me realize that Montez was taking Bianca to Pound Town, which I personally did not want to hear.

I went upstairs towards my bedroom while shutting the door behind me as I took off my shoes throwing them on my shoe rack sighing in relief I really did hate being on my feet especially sitting on my ass too.

I fumbled onto my nice, comfortable bed and hugged the pillows until I felt my phone buzz. I thought it was Kai texting me again from a different number, so I went to see who was texting me.

'An unknown number ofc.'

Unknown number: did you make it home safe, princess?

Tiana: who dis?

Unknown number: Did you forget already? You were just here a couple of hours ago, girl.

I had to think about it for a minute since I tend to forget sometimes. The caller ID wanted to FaceTime me, of course. I hung up quickly because I didn't know who this person was until that person called again.

I rolled my eyes. While answering the FaceTime call, she saw a familiar face. That's when it clicked to her: It was Joshua from the tattoo shop.

FACETIME

Jey: now, do you remember?

Tiana: yeah, yeah boy now what'chu want?

Jey: I just wanted to make sure you drove home safe. That's all, princess.

Him and these damn puppy names was going to be the death of me; never had I experienced being called princess like I'm some princess from England or sum.

I placed my phone down on top of my dresser while unzipping my one-piece. This shit was killing me today felt like I couldn't breathe. As I was doing that, I proceeded to wobble my ass outta the one piece hearing Josh snickering.

Tiana: The fuck is funny nigga?

Jey: you, you is funny as hell wobbling like that shawty.

Tiana: Man fuck you, it was really tight.

Jey: mhm

I just rolled my eyes at him and gave him the middle finger. Finally, I got out of one piece and threw it in the dirt bin next to my bookshelf. 'Yes, I read, yes, I'm a nerd.' I was in my underwear while digging through my drawer for some comfortable clothing.

I felt his gaze through the phone, but I didn't speak on it, not understanding why I was getting comfortable with being half-naked on FaceTime with this man I barely knew.

Jey: damn, mama, you got a dump trunk back there.

Tiana: are you flirting with me right now sir?

Jey: maybe, maybe not. I'm just calling it what it is, princess.

Tiana: call me that again imma

Jey: or what?

I ignored him while getting fully naked in front of him and grabbing my towel that was nearby so that I could cover my body until I headed to the bathroom.

Tiana: I'm going to go shower, so I'm going to hang up now.

Jey: nooo, take me with'chu

Tiana: why so? Can you look at my ass or what?

Jey: nah I just wanted to stay on the phone with'chu.

Tiana: sigh ight then whatever you want dawg.

I took my phone with me to the bathroom. As I sat down on the counter table, making it look up at the ceiling, I heard him smack his teeth.

Jey: aye, yo ass betta get me up from looking at this ceiling.

Tiana: my fault, dawg. Lemme fix that for ya.

He seemed pretty annoyed when I did that, but I found it amusingly funny seeing him annoyed at my actions. Meanwhile, I unraveled my towel from my body as I headed inside the shower.

Jey: what do you do?

Tiana: I own my nail tech shop, so I do people's nails and get good tips.

Jey: Fr shawty? shi imma have to pull up to get a manicure from you.

Tiana: I can definitely send you the address to the place.

Jey: Bet that up fasho

✧.*

After taking a nice long shower, I was downstairs cooking me something to eat for dinner while still being on Facetime with Joshua. He was playing the game with his brothers, hollering and screaming at each other like some dogs. I noticed that Bianca came downstairs and came towards me to see what I was cooking.

"Ouuu girl what'chu cooking?" She asked.

"I'm cooking me some chicken in the air fryer along with some rice. I made extra for you and Montez, so y'all can eat after that session y'all had." I said while letting the rice sit.

"Omg, I love you so much, bestie, but who's that on the phone?"

"Oh, that's Joshua."

Her face looked perplexed for a minute, then it clicked, so she put a smirk on her face as I gave her a stern expression, thinking, 'I know this girl isn't going to try to hook me up with this man.'

"B, no, I'm not doing this with'chu tonight, chile." I said.

"C'monn, lele Joshua is a really cool ass person, bro, and then he'll be the first Samoan man you dated." She commented.

Jey: I know that's right, what's up Bianca!

Tiana: Shut the hell up sir

Jey: No need to be rude lil' mama

Bianca covered her mouth after he called me that. This girl is so dramatic. I swear. After finishing cooking the food, I sat down at the table while setting up my phone, and I began eating while watching Joshua play the game.

It looked like he was playing Call Of Duty. He seemed pretty good at the game, but his attention was now on me as his eyebrows furrowed a bit.

Jey: What'chu eating, pretty girl?

Tiana: I made some chicken and rice.

Jey: you ain't gon' share it?

'tf he mean was I going to share it?'

Tiana: Um, no, I wasn't planning on it. Also, how the hell am I supposed to share this with' chu, sir?

Jey: never heard of pretending?

'ight he don't gotta be smart about it.'

Tiana: I guess I can share with'chu then you look like you've been starving sir so here boy.

He smiled like a cute puppy as I pretended to give him some of my food while he pretended to eat it. It was kind of cute and funny, and we both chuckled at each other while gazing into each other's eyes. For a second, I could read his facial expression well until Bianca said something.

"Aww, y'all two look cute, girl. Honestly, y'all would be the cutest couple." Bianca said as I rolled my eyes at her.

"Girl, please don't start" I said while continuing to eat.

"Don't be denying it now, lele; you two will end up fucking each other sooner or later and then be a happy couple." I almost choked on my food when she said that, especially while I was on the phone with this man.

I could sense him smirking through the phone as he continued to play the game, and I knew he had just heard what she had said. I'm not going to lie. He was fine as hell, but I don't know where his energy is at right now.

After eating dinner, I made sure I washed my plate and put it in the dishwasher before going upstairs to my bedroom, closing the door behind me and yawning.

Jey: you finna go to sleep?

Tiana: yeah, I'm tired

Jey: What'chu doing tomorrow?

Tiana: I have like four clients tomorrow, then after that, I should be free. Why?

Jey: You wanna go out for lunch or sum

'I don't know where he's getting at with this but I like it.'

Tiana: yeah, sure, that sounds good.

Jey: Ight bet I'll see you tomorrow then.

Tiana: Goodnight Josh.

Jey: Night, mamas.

Under Your Touch.

biancabelairwwe, shelovesemma, shelovekai and 58,999 people liked your post.

tianasworld: he fixed me up quick i love it so much. 😍

biancabelairwwe: that's so cuteee I didn't even notice it I'm so happy you got it covered.

shelovesemma: 🫢 you got his name covered?

tianasworld: @ shelovesemma yeah girl I did got tired of seeing it.

shelovekai: wtf tiana 😠

tianasworld: @ shelovekai don't wtf to me nigga you might as well do the same thing. 🙎🏽‍♀️

A/N: welcome to a new storyyyy I honestly wanted to try something different and I got some inspiration from a story I read on tumblr so I hope yall enjoy this one.

Lmk in the comments below ⬇️ love yall.

Stay Ucey.

#jey uso #jey uso fanfiction #jey uso smut #jey x oc black #black writers #black fanfic writer #black oc #black reader #wwe fanfiction #wwelove

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thejacketscloset · 10 months ago

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Reposting bc I posted this at like 11 at night as a reblog to an old post which was a mistake LMDOAHD

@myriadblvck @forestshadow-wolf U GUYS SAID U WERE INTRESTED SO HERE!!! I hope u don't mind being tagged GAHDHD

A little settup story for my GOW au where Simon is Kratos and Joseph is Atreus!

Joseph's mother had spent many nights telling him stories about the gods of their world. He would look up at her with wonder in his eyes after each tale, amazed by the wonders she spoke of. He would ask if he could be as strong as the gods one day, "just like dad". He had no knowledge of his father being a god, he simply saw his father as being that strong. She would chuckle, kiss his forehead, and tell him "only if you get lots of rest tonight."

Joseph had never imagined gods would be the ones to take them both away from him.

When it happened they hid Joseph away. A section underneath the floor had been created perfectly for only him to fit. He heard a battle above, a house being destroyed and his parents screams, but he didn't dare move. He had promised his mother he wouldn't come out until he was told it was safe. He stayed there below the floorboards for hours, too petrified to check if it was safe.

Joseph wasn't sure how much later it took before the floors above him were torn away, all he remembered was shaking as he stared up to the figure above him. Slowly, he began to recognize the scarred face that bored down at him. His uncle Simon, who had gone missing a few years prior.

"Joseph?"

The gruff voice startled him, and he blinked up at his uncle with unshed tears.

"What happened here?" Simon continued to ask. He sounded unsure, looked even more so lost while he looked at Joseph.

Joseph wasn't sure how to respond. He had a million questions. Where was his mom and dad? Why was uncle Simon there? Was he safe to come out yet? The tears felt like they were welling up more. A panicked look crossed Simon's face.

"Do not cry." The words sounded harsh out of Simon's mouth, though he didn't mean them to be. He was out of his depth, with no idea how to comfort his nephew, and freshly grieving the death of his brother and sister-in-law.

"Come, we cannot stay here." Simon spoke again when he was met with no response, and he lifted Joseph up and out of the floor.

Joseph looked over the tatters of what was left of his home distantly. He wondered to him self what would happen next.

"Your parents.. We will collect their ashes, and spread them atop the highest peak of the realms." Simon explained, hesitance clear in his tone. "It was your father's last wishes."

More tears welt up in Joseph's eyes. That time, Simon let him cry it out.

When Joseph had properly calmed down enough they began preparing. Simon instructed him to collect plants and other prayer materials to bless the bodies while he prepared lumber for the funeral pyre.

Neither of them spoke throughout the process, both trying to process their own grief quietly.

A few hours later, everything was ready and they stood side by side as the flames from the pyre rose.

Joseph cried again, and Simon wondered if it was typical for children his age to cry so much.

When the pyre burnt out, Simon collected the ashes and took stock of his supplies. The journey they would need to travel would be harsh, and was not one suited for a boy. He needed to be able to gage how well Joseph was prepared for it.

"Did your parents teach you to hunt?" He asked suddenly, breaking the long streak of silence. Joseph nodded to him.

"Show me."

Joseph made a confused face.

"Right now?" He asked, his voice was jarringly small.

"I need to see your skill. How else will I know if you're ready for this journey?"

Joseph nodded in understanding. After a few minutes of preparing, the child was armed with a bow and quiver. He was already rushing ahead of Simon, reminding him of just how much energy a child really can contain.

He silently prayed to his brother that he could protect that for Joseph. He knew better than to believe that he would.

The world they were to venture was no place for a boy. Only warriors.

#gow au #cod au #cod fic #simon ghost riley #simon riley #joseph riley #tommy riley #the riley family #cod #mw2 #gow #fanfic

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halsinsheart · 11 months ago

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a/n: i got carried away. probably ooc, definitely not logical, absolutely kinky. Act 2 but no spoilers. reposting bc tumblr refused to show it in the tags, cowards.

summary: Dammon tests just how deep reader's devotion is.

tags: NSFW MDNI; DARK CONTENT, gn!reader, branding/physical scarring, light CNC, pain/wounds, exhibitionism, light d/s, petnames (love, sweet little lamb)

wc: 2.2k

kinkmas masterlist || reblogs > likes

The sight of the silver-haired blacksmith slaving away in his shop never failed to captivate you. Dammon was a hard worker and you admired him for that; he worked tirelessly for those seeking refuge at Last Light Inn, knowing he'd receive little in return. Apart from the respect you had for his work ethic, you also harbored deeper feelings that fell somewhere between the categories of love and lust.

You couldn't pinpoint exactly when you started to fall for him, you just knew that those feelings were present now and they wouldn’t go away how much you willed them to. It didn't matter anyways, you had much more pressing matters to deal with given the creature in your head, and you took solace in the fact that Dammon wouldn't return the feelings. Besides, you had several camp members express interest in you, and with them, you would at least be traveling together.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to take advantage of the opportunity to chat with Dammon while you still had the chance…

“What can I do for you?” His smile greeted you as he put his hammer down and turned to face where you stood.

“Oh, uhm, I wanted to see what you had for trade today. I'm… looking for a gift for someone,” it wasn't the first time you bullshit your way through a conversation, though at least this time it was for the innocent reason of talking with him longer.

“A gift, yeah? Does the chosen one have a special love?” He teased lightly and his smile shifted into a smirk.

“You might say that. Do you have anything that might impress someone?” you rocked back and forth on your feet as you inquired further, “What's something you would want to receive? Uh, just to give me some ideas, of course!”

Dammon leaned away from his workbench and raised an eyebrow at the way you fidgeted nervously in front of him. “The things I'd like to receive are much more binding than any material item. But perhaps I have similar things to what you're looking for in the cellar.”

Without giving you a chance to ask any more questions about what he meant, Dammon turned and started towards an inconspicuous hatch. You weren't aware there was a cellar beneath the stables area, but it's not as if you could snoop around everywhere. The entrance was rather obscured, but Dammon opened it with ease, gesturing for you to descend the staircase. The trust you put in him was tested at the moment, yet you were unable to refuse, out of both curiosity and adoration for the man ushering you into the dim light.

The hatch slammed heavily behind him and you didn't think anything more of it as you walked down into the room. Looking around, confusion filled you and heat scorched your cheeks as your heart quickened. This wasn't a storage shelter for his trade items. These items were of a much more scandalous nature, shocked was an understatement, but it wasn’t an unwelcome revelation that he had some sort of sex dungeon at his disposal.

“Pray tell, how dedicated are you to this special love?”

You gasped when he spoke right behind you, causing you to spin around and face him. He was closer than you expected and you stepped back before his hands wrapped around your forearms. The pressure was gentle but prevented you from going far and avoiding his question. Swallowing the lump that was in your throat, the intense eye contact he was giving made you aware he wasn't asking about the faux love interest you were shopping for.

“Wholly,” the word was spoken breathlessly before you steeled your nerves and returned his gaze, “I'm wholly dedicated to them.”

“And would you do anything for them?”

“Anything.”

His pupils dilated at your answer, the sight taking your breath away as his hands slid up your arms before cupping each cheek. “Would you do anything for me?”

“Anything,” you answered him again and put your hands over his, turning your head to one side to kiss his palm, “I would do anything for you. Just ask it of me.”

“Pick one. Then rejoin me upstairs,” he nodded towards the back wall and his hands fell to find yours, kissing the knuckles on each hand.

After you shook your head in acknowledgment, he returned to the surface and left you alone with whatever exactly the items on the back wall were. You mulled over the events of the past five minutes, scoffing at the thought that so much emotional development happened so quickly when you had been agonizing over such a thing for… well since you arrived. Not that you were complaining, for you told the truth when you said you would do anything for him and let him do anything to you.

This was a good mindset to have because, as you examined the items on the back wall all fashioned into different shapes or letters, you realized you were looking at branding irons. Your blood ran cold as his request fully took hold of you. Perhaps because it was unexpected from the sweet blacksmith. Or perhaps more because you were appalled at how okay you were with the idea, how the thought of Dammon marking you made your thighs press tighter together.

The shapes sat in front of you and you took each one of them in, feeling for one that called to you like the man awaiting above called to you with each waking moment of your existence. Your fingers traced over the cool metal of a few of them until you paused on one and picked it from the shelf. Making your way back up to the workshop, your heart tightened when Dammon’s expression brightened at the sight of you with an iron in your hands.

“This one. I want you to mark me with this one,” you stated plainly as you took the branding iron with the letter “D” fashioned on the end and held it out for him to take.

Callused hands gently plucked the metal from your hands and twirled it around as you watched him do plenty of times before. Though this time, you would be the victim. His oh-so-willing victim, who nearly begged him for it with their sweet doe eyes. A final twirl and then the shaped end was nested into the ember red coals, allowing Dammon to turn his attention to you.

“A fine choice,” he barely contained his pleasure at your pick of brand shape, and the simple praise inflated your confidence, “now everyone will properly know you belong to me.”

Guiding you into a simple chair, he sat you in front of where the iron was heating up, allowing you to watch as your fate was being prepared for you. It was a simple test in his eyes. Not to give him satisfaction, but to allow you the time to contemplate what was to come, and to bow out if needed.

“It’s going to hurt,” he stated plainly, not sugarcoating the obvious.

Your eyes met his over your shoulder, “I know.”

“You don’t have-”

“I want you to mark me,” you repeated from earlier, this time more forceful in tone, “I want it.”

His eyebrows raised ever so slightly in mild surprise before he looked off to the side and coughed to try and steel his resolve. The last thing he needed before doing this was to be distracted by the sweet temptation you offered him, at least, that’s what he kept telling himself. He stood up and moved to instead squat in front of you.

“I just wanted to be sure. I’m more than happy to follow through,” his hands slowly rubbed up and down your thighs as he looked up at you, “I want you to touch yourself while I do it until you can’t anymore. Would you do that for me? And, where do you want me on you?”

Briefly, your eyes scanned over the members of the Inn who bustled about just outside of the blacksmith’s shop, yet you nodded eagerly and echoed your promise from before, “Anything,” peeling your shirt off, you tossed it to the workbench and bared your chest to the sweltering heat of the smithery, “I want it here.”

“Consider it done, my sweet lamb,” he smiled and leaned up to kiss the area of your chest you pointed to while his hands roamed up to play with the newly exposed flesh, reveling in the way you moaned softly when his rough fingers pulled at your nipples.

A pleasured sigh left your lips as you rolled your head back and closed your eyes, allowing yourself to feel the sensual gratification he offered you: the proverbial calm before the storm. Kisses adorned over your chest and up your neck as your hand slipped to your crotch and you slowly began to play with yourself through your pants. The anticipation of the pain soon to come only made the satisfaction heightened now. One of his hands replaced yours and his kisses finally reached your lips, the sensation better than what you had daydreamed it would be.

“Are you ready to become mine, love?”

Slowly, your eyes opened to meet his, pupils wide with lust as you nodded, “Please, take me.”

His jaw clenched at your reply and his plans shifted all at once, morals becoming skewed as he tugged you down the chair ever so slightly. He rid you of your pants, exposing you further to anyone who wished to pay attention to the innocent-looking blacksmith. Tugging his own down, he dripped his shop oil onto your entrance and over his cock before he slowly stroked it. So responsive to his touch, you shuddered feeling him stretch you delightfully.

The first thrusts were slow and testing as he cleaned the area where you wished to have his brand. His touch was full of reverence for the mere existence of you and the movement of his hips was equally praising as he was driven solely by the sweet sound of your noises. Your mind fogged with sweet bliss as you touched yourself like he asked, nearly forgetting what was to come when Dammon leaned over you. His body was surprisingly heavy, his line of work was something that required strength and bulk.

One arm braced over your upper chest, pressing into the bottom of your neck slightly while his hips never faltered and earning a sultry string of curses from you, “Oh fuck, please.”

They were the last words you uttered before the brand was pressed into your skin for the longest four seconds of your life. The action didn’t register until it was nearly done with and only when the brand was discarded to the ground did you finally let out the first garbled cry of pain. Your burnt flesh smelled revolting, stinging your nostrils as the pain radiated through your nerves and you thrashed and wailed within Dammon’s arms.

He put more force into restraining your body until you were left immobile and mentally grappling with the pain. Still, he barely slowed his thrusts down during the ordeal, if anything he ached harder watching your skin scorch. Your nerves were going into overdrive as he fucked into you rougher and admired your new mark- his mark.

“By the gods, look at you, absolutely perfect,” his tone was darker than any you’d heard him speak with before and it made you throb around him pathetically.

Noises from the common area of the camp made you acutely aware once again that you were far from hidden from anyone, but the man fucking you made it hard for you to care. And Dammon himself didn’t seem to care a shred, if anything he wanted others to see how primally and wholly he claimed you. The sight of your raised, angry skin beginning to blister over spurred him on with the promise that you would indeed scar with the mark he bestowed upon you.

“I’m-” your words broke off, voice weak from expressing your pain, but the rest of your sentence was inferred.

“Go ahead, cum for me now that you’re branded as my sweet little lamb,” he kissed you once before continuing his movements and offering one of his hands to get you off faster, nearing his own high as well, “People will see you and know you belong to me.”

His fingers ghosted around the broken and angry flesh, making your back arch and you gasped as his other hand still aided you until your pleasure finally peaked. Dammon groaned as he watched you cover him in your juices, returning the favor as he did the same to you. Your body ached, with most of the pain rightfully centered around the pulsating wound on your chest. Still, the chair did nothing to help as you tried to right yourself, leaning into the help the blacksmith offered you.

Although it throbbed with pain, the newest addition to your bodily scars also twinged with pleasure as you thought about everyone knowing the depraved things you had been up to. Let alone the thought of those who stuck around to watch…

#🍄{my creations}🐻#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #baldur's gate iii #bg3 dammon #dammon smut #dammon #smut #bg3 smut #kinkmas 2023 #mdni #🥀kiss me once queue me twice

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rafecameronsslxt · 2 years ago

Text

HOOKED

Warnings: Implied smut, angst, toxicity

Synopsis: All travesties must reach an end, before a new one starts.

Rafe Cameron x OC

MINORS DNI

Part SEVEN of series. (Can be read as stand alone)

Masterlist

Part ONE- Part TWO- Part THREE- Part FOUR- Part FIVE- Part SIX

I think we've all seen this ending before just a different destiny. (My account is going through an actual drought right now) I want to make a Sarah fan fiction so badly but have no ideas!

Had to repost bc this wasn't showing up in tags!!!!

Words: 5,014

HERE I stood with my best friend's honouring my dead friends Sarah and John B. The gravestone was only for John B as we kept Sarah in our hearts while craving a heart out on the giant tree. 2003 to 2020. John B Routledge, P4L.

��All we could do was stare at it, nothing more, as we grieved the loss of our friends. “I have to go.” I clear my throat, and my voice comes out in a whisper, holding back tears. They all nod and walk with me. I wave to my friends who have heartache. They wave back, tears silently descending our red puffy faces.

I had to make it in time for Peterkin's funeral to be there for Rafe. It’s not like he’d be crying or sad, but to keep him somewhat sane. While driving, I tried wiping my tears, but they wouldn’t stop sinking into my lap. John B, I hope you’re alive, not dead like we think you are.

My stomach had gotten more prominent over the past months. Over time with this child destroying my insides, I’d become displeased with having a baby. I was throwing my life away. No more adventures with the pogues, and I couldn’t help them when I could barely get up the dramatically long stairs, but I am trying.

Three deaths in a year and a human inside me had gotten me depressed. An inconsolable feeling that no one will be able to fix.

I pull into the cemetery, seeing everyone in horizontal lines. I quickly run to the Cameron's in plain black heels, making me feel wobbly. Wheezie lets me cut in between her and Rafe.

I grab Rafe’s hand tightly, but he doesn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he stares ahead, expressionless at the burial of Sheriff Peterkin. They carefully place the American flag on her polished wood casket, and guys in uniform shoot their rifles into the air. I can’t help but feel multiple people stare past me. I turn my head to see Ward staring at the side of Rafe’s face. I quickly avert my eyes to the entombment, anxiety taking me over like a tide dragging me in.

The trajectory of Rafe’s life had been getting worse. He was leading a path of the worst boyfriend that ceased to exist and drugs. Had he been unhinged before the death of Peterkin, he was undoubtedly deranged now, yet here I was.

Rafe’s face was well-maintained clean shaven, and perfectly slicked back hair besides a strand falling to his forehead. His black and white suit was freshly dry-cleaned, and his hands were positioned by his sides as one of my hands held his; they were clammy.

If I hadn’t known that he killed Susan Peterkin, I would’ve kissed his cheek, laid my head on his shoulder, and maybe had pathetic sex, but it didn’t turn out like that.

“Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. We shall remember to uphold the ideas which she stood for.” The minister spoke aloud to the humid air, and Susan then put in the depths of the ground dying at the hands of a kid—a kid I still, unfortunately, loved.

The burial had finally ended as we paid our respects. Rafe and I walked hand in hand to my car. “I’ll meet you at your house?” I asked quietly, looking into his eyes. “Can I, um, come with you?” Rafe stuttered, and I nodded my head reluctantly.

I could see him sniffing and wiping his nose out of the corner of my eye. “Four more months.” I remind Rafe. I’d started to push myself instead of staying home all day. I wanted to do things, not sleep. So I looked up if running while in the second trimester was okay, and Google said it was safe, so I took it up.

Rafe had been distant, but I have too. Our relationship consisted of arguing and hurt, maybe some enjoyable moments. “Rafe!” I raised my voice. He seemed to dissociate more each day. I wish he would tell me what's wrong because we could work it out together instead of what we’re doing now. “I heard you, baby.” He stared aimlessly ahead. Rafe’s hand finds a place on my thigh and grips the flesh. Rafe not asking me about John B and how I feel made me want to cry. He could’ve at least had that much decency.

“You have that look. What do you want me to say?” Rafe’s voice is hoarse as he speaks. “I shouldn’t have to tell you, Rafe. My best friends are supposedly dead, and you couldn’t even fucking ask me how I’m doing, boyfriend reward goes to you, babe.” I say sarcastically and throw his hand off of my upper thigh.

The atmosphere in the jeep turned tense, and the vehicle's heat enervated both of us. Rafe loosens his tie. “Do you want me to fuck you until you stop hating me? Because you obviously want that if you’re trying to start shit.” He spits out as boundless irritation radiates from the both of us. Rafe turns to me, but I don’t look at him. I grip the black steering wheel. I roll my eyes and scoff. “You know I don’t hate you, Rafe, so don’t try that, and it’s always sex with you. I want to talk like a normal fucking couple.”

Inhale and exhale.

For him to have any thoughts about me hating him is so angering, yet heartbreaking. “I think instead of the birth being a surprise; we should just ask her. It makes me too anxious. The next appointment is in two weeks.” Rafe and I had decided it be a surprise, but I just wanted to know the gender of our baby as the days passed.

Rafe doesn’t say anything for a minute. Then he gradually nods while his fingers rub his neck, and his gold ring shines. Rafe’s leg is going up and down quickly. He appears nervous and on edge and probably should be. I didn’t want to blame Rafe for everything, but our relationship wouldn’t be in this predicament if he didn’t pull the trigger. Neither would JB nor Sarah be out there in the calm waters.

I allowed the silence to seep in as we pulled into the driveway, already seeing the Ward's Range Rover sitting dead. Our buckles let go simultaneously as the arid conditions hit my make-up-covered skin.

My black heels click loudly against the black and white tiles, echoing throughout the estate. Rafe trails closely behind me as we walk up the glossy wooden steps, and I feel his hands pull up my dress and grab my ass, his hands and eyes enthralled by my fat. I pause, and Rafe’s body bumps into mine. “Your sister or parents could see you, and I’m not in the mood.” I smile sweetly at him as I make myself unambiguous. Rafe throws his hands up, surrendering as my flowy black dress drops.

“I’m going to take a shower.” His voice was husky and trying to hint me to come. However, Rafe’s arms snake around my stomach and lock together as he lays his head in the crook of my neck. His red lips painted invisible marks and featherweight kisses to my skin. “I might need to come in there to get my make-up off and, um… unzip my dress.” Somehow Rafe never fails to make me nervous, even after knowing him for nine years.

He moved his lips to my jaw, kissing the outline whilst unhurried hands drew down my zipper. The black dress finally pools to the ground. I wasn’t caving into his touch, not this time. Whenever I tried to talk, he gave me light touches, soft kisses, and a heart-melting smile like he is now. Rafe’s airy smile could make any girl fall to their knees as his shiny white teeth started nipping at my jaw. “Go take a shower.” I let out a throaty laugh, pushing him away lightly. Rafe throws his shirt off. “You’re missing all of this, baby.” He opens the bathroom door with a seductive smile, and the door closes, leaving me alone in his bedroom.

I smile to myself at his actions and miss the feeling of his body close to mine. I’d felt secure briefly—his warmth coasts along my body, his kisses still holding their place on my neck and jaw.

I looked through Rafe’s closet, which consisted of my clothes too, and all I could find was a white button-up that I’m using as a jacket of sorts and white stretchy shorts that can go over my stomach, but I couldn’t see a solid top to wear. So that means I have to walk myself into Sarah’s room. Unfortunately, the room she hadn’t been in for a while, and I never got to say goodbye.

I cleared my throat and wrapped my hand around the knob; my fingers turned stiff to open the door. “I got this. Just a room.” I encouraged myself quietly. I push the door open and walk to her closet. My eyes fell to her bed, which contained many sleepovers this past summer, but then I left her. Don’t cry. I can do this.

So many of her shirts hung up on satin-padded hangers waiting to be worn by Sarah, collecting dust as we speak. I quickly pick a tan ribbed crop tank top and jog out of her room after shutting the door. I throw my clothes on and start to open the bathroom door.

Rafe’s muffled moans came from the other side, along the lines of my name following a curse. I slid my body quietly past the door, and the steam covered the glass door to the shower, but I could see Rafe’s body outline. I’m guessing he didn’t notice me, either.

His dick wrapped around his hand as he laid his body against the tiled wall. I could faintly see his hair covering his pretty face. I lay my knuckles on the glass and tap three times. “What’re you doing, baby.” My voice sounds cracked because I want to start laughing, and I cover my mouth. Rafe quickly pushes his body off the white tiles and returns under the shower head, and his long fingers drag through his wet hair. “Just getting out.” The water turns off, and the glass opens.

I hand him his towel as a deep shade of red crosses his cheeks. Rafe notices my grin that I failed to hide. “If you would’ve just come in, it wouldn’t be this embarrassing.” Rafe’s voice is raspy as he mumbles. His body is on full display while he dries his messy hair. My eyes can’t help but course over his body while water trickles from his abs to his still-hard dick, red, and veins protruding; it looks distressing. Rafe wraps his towel around his hips, flawlessly showing his profound v-line.

Rafe’s fingers find their way under my chin, forcing me to look into his alluring sea eyes. “Up here, baby.” His husky voice goes through my body, and chills reach my spine. Rafe kisses me lightly and walks into his bedroom, leaving me stranded, wishing for more, but I’m not succumbing to his temptation, which takes all self-control.

I could faintly hear Kiara’s voice screaming since the balcony door was open and Rafe was out there. I was lying comfortably on the silk sheets until Rafe came in, scaring me. He’s pacing back and forth, rapidly becoming angry by the second. I can tell he wants to start throwing things.

“You know I’m not a murderer, right Adriana!” His voice was exasperated, and his fist balled to his sides, waiting for me to say something wrong to have an excuse. “Rafe, baby, stop. Just calm down. I love you. Come on.” I say softly, and grab his wrist, trying to bring him down on the silky sheets with me. But, instead, he jerks his hand away. “I have to talk to my dad.” I raise an eyebrow at the sudden change of mood, walking out with him, guessing this was my time to leave.

Finally, Rafe’s boyfriend alert rings to kiss me before I go, but it wasn’t what I expected. His rough lips press against my delicate ones, quick and short. I take this as he wants me out of his way for whatever he’s telling his dad. A frown forms on my face, looking up at him. Rafe’s face is determined and ready to criticize me for wanting to cry. He was never good with sadness or emotions in general.

He gives me the look of ‘Don’t start or it’ll be worse for the both of us’ expression. Rafe speed walks outside, with me following behind, giving Ward a small smile before pulling out of the driveway. The outside wall is vandalized with the saying ‘murderer.’

Kiara, definitely Kie.

Speaking of the provocateur pogue, I get a text from her to come to the docks.

At the docks, we discussed a plan to get John B cleared from the charges. “We kidnap Rafe. We kidnap Rafe and stick the gun in his mouth,” He pauses and looks at my face. “No offense, Ad, and just wait till he starts squawking.” He shrugs his shoulder with a questioning expression. We all give JJ then we’ll end up in jail look. “That’s a felony,” Pope states matter-of-factly, and we all share our opinions of JJ’s grandest plan of kidnapping my boyfriend. “We fly espionage,” Pope says to end our conversation. We all laugh and smile as Pope and JJ do a weird handshake.

We all hop into Kie’s car, and JJ pulls out his gun cocking it back way too playfully. “JJ, why do you have a gun!?” My eyes widen at JJ waving the gun around. We fight with JJ, as per usual, about his gun and keeping it hidden from everyone. Finally, the brain of our group Pope comes up with a plan to wiretap the guys' car. Pope runs off, leaving me with JJ and Kie. JJ decides this is the time to ask questions about Kie’s relationship with Pope. I sat with my head down, getting secondhand embarrassment. JJ had been painfully obvious he likes Kie, and I don’t think she was picking it up.

“Do you hear him,” Kie says, her face completely covered with confusion over this topic, and her lip arched. “Yep, Kie, just leave me out of this.” I shake my head, covering my face to look outside. Kie throws her hand up in the air. I can’t help but laugh. Kiara needs to start picking up on things, but I haven’t exactly had girl talk time with her, but these circumstances mean I HAVE to.

“We could sit in silence,” Kie says, looking out the window, her smile tight-lipped.

Since the sun had started setting as a group settled, we should wait until night fell. I was nervous. It’s been a while since going out the pogues on a risky venture.

Kiara calls Gavin, and though her voice wasn’t scary, we had leverage to scare him out, hopefully. “JJ, move over,” I whisper-yell quietly and push him with my hip, finally moving over. He propels his shoulder with mine, and I sigh, bothered. “He’s talking about negotiating something,” Pope says vaguely. “Gavin has the gun Rafe used,” Pope says quickly, and I’m palpitating as anxiety floods my body. Of course, my friends wanted Rafe to be locked away, and Rafe should be, not John B and Sarah out on the forefront (I have faith they’re alive) to make up for Rafe's mistakes. But, as Rafe’s girlfriend and best friend, I didn’t want him to exist behind a cell, and I’d have to talk to him through the glass while holding a grimy black phone to my ear.

I’ll always feel guilty for playing both sides, but it wasn’t like I was telling Rafe anything. I don’t think I’ve ever revealed any plans the pogues made, and I could efficiently get information out of Rafe, but then he’ll stop trusting me. The arm was consistently tugging me to pick a team. The brevity of not having Rafe in my life would feel drawn out.

Gavin pulls his car off to the side, and we go past and start getting anxious. “Guys, we can’t wait here,” I say impatiently, and Pope is already running off to the grass. I’m the second to jump over the fence into Sean's backyard with three other kooks. “Hey, Adriana.” Sean waves to me, smiling as if this was an everyday occurrence. I wave back weirdly and start playing catch-up with Pope.

“He’s meeting ward right now. We gotta go.” We all start dashing back quickly.

This was elusive and had lots of running, but this was what I wanted. I wanted my old life back—the chaotic pogue-kook life of contumacious and vigilante.

We all overlooked the fence at the construction site, which was creepy as alone, but rain straining on us and thunder exhaling to the water falling hard on us didn’t make it any better. “Lord of the dorks,” Kie said, shaking her head at the 90s-looking camera Pope chose to bring, which was way too big. Pope loses Ward and Gavin on the camera, and JJ whistles to us, finding a ladder to climb up. This. Is. Not. Safe. I want to say but bite it back, ascending up the slippery red and peeling ladder.

Pope finally gets the perfect view of the two, and we get to be an audience of whatever will happen. Pope narrates to us what is happening.

Ward hands Gavin a duffle bag, concluding that this was a payoff of the gun, his silence, or both. “Guy, I think this is a payoff,” JJ states, looking at Pope and then at me. I nod, turning my head back. Pope says Gavin looks mad at Ward, yelling about something. “Why?” Kie asks, confused. “I don’t know.” Pope looks back to the scene unfolding. “Shit,” Pope said, moving around uncomfortably. “What?” All three of us say in unison at his reaction to what is happening. “I don’t- don’t know they’re fighting over something.” Pope looked at all of us and swivelled his head back. I started to become frightened.

I look at JJ, and he grabs my hand reassuringly. I have a gut feeling this won’t be such a poise exchange of goods. “Holy shit, Wards got a gun.” His eyes stay focused on videotaping what's unravelling. “I bet that’s the murder weapon!” Kie says with conviction in her tone.

A shot rings throughout the air as it did on the tarmac. We all put our backs to the wall, gasping at the murder committed.

All I think of is Susan and how I stood there, doing nothing. Sarah’s eyes fall to mine, the hurt and betrayed blank stare gazing into mine. Rafe’s hand is slightly shaking. The blood was coming from her shoulder quickly, flowing like a river in the Bahamas.

JJ’s hand tugs on mine, bringing me to the rainy twilight once again to leave the flashback for later. “Oh my god, please tell me that didn’t happen.” Kiara’s worried voice rang as I covered my mouth to stop any sound. Ward will always be nefarious; anything he touches breaks and dies.

Ward looks out from the construction building, and Pope yells for us to get down, and we listen. Our hearts are racing with fear. “I think we should go right now,” JJ suggests quickly, all of us agreeing to circumvent this god-forsaken situation. Ward comes running, looking on the paved road for the weapon, but it falls into the broken drain.

Kie gets up, pushing herself over the little wall. “What is wrong with you? Murderer!” We all cover her mouth, pulling her down. We all start pacing down the ladder. Kie steps on my hand, leading to JJ and Pope falling to the grass, and I land on JJ. “Sorry.” Kie jumps onto the grass. We get up, leaping over the large wooden fence. We return to her car, panting and out of breath from the horrific incident. Kie calls the cops, and JJ starts to yell, but she’s already dialled them.

We pleaded with Shoupe to believe us, even me, but he gave me the ‘later I’ll talk to you’ look and said that this whole argument was stupid. The boy who cried wolf was not us.

Kiara starts blaming JJ for it all. “You stepped on my hand.” I threw my hands up into the air. “You guys kept telling me to go faster.” She sighs angrily at JJ and me.

By the time we head home, the sun barely rises, but orange still peaks, and the light blue sky is coming through. I’m drenched and cold and tired. This chase for independence isn’t good for the baby, and at the moment, it felt good to forget despite the trauma we all endured.

After going home for an hour, I had to travel back to the construction site and the ocean so Kie, Pope, JJ, and I could find the gun Rafe used, and we’d turn him in, but I didn’t want to be with them. I couldn’t handle the shame of helping the pogues lock my boyfriend up.

Rafe and I are star-crossed lovers. The little balls of fire shone luminously in the deep blue sky full of love and hurt, and it felt like they were against us, calculating every move for us to make every wrong turn, but I didn’t believe in fate. That someone in the sky or universe had been planning for me to love him. Fate was always an excuse to blame your problems on something other than you. You are supposed to make it happen, not the idyllic stars or sky that are a romanticization of our life. You make your experience, which will fall on your pristine or impure hands.

“We can all agree I’m not going in there.” I point to the disgusting sewer filled with rats, mud, and maybe rabies floating around somehow. Our eyes land on Kie after JJ tells some story about a worm that can get in– never mind, Kiara just proceeds into the drain. Pope looks into her brown eyes, telling her to be careful, but Kie being Kie, gives him the cold shoulder. “Kiara, did you find anything yet?” Pope asks, and the drain echos loudly. Kie says a simple nothing. I get on my hands and knees, pushing my body halfway in, calling Kie’s name sporadically to confirm she’s safe. Then JJ and Pope start talking about Pope and Kie’s relationship, which makes me feel bad. Pope sounds almost lovesick to the fact Kiara just doesn’t desire him like Pope wants Kie.

Kiara starts shouting, causing us to call out until she says it was rats. “What if Ward put Gavin sewers? That would make so much sense!” JJ says as if that statement makes sense. “She would've seen the body.” I look back at him in bewilderment at JJ’s thought process and roll my eyes. Then, Kie starts screaming that the water is rising. “Kie! Kiara!” We all yell, and it bounces off the cement. My eyes widen.

The water bursts out, and I fall into JJ’s body, which grabs my wrist and holds me by my waist. The three of us get to the grass running to the lid of the sewers.

We start trying to lift the heavy metal, and the water becomes deathly close. Kiara is underwater when we throw the grate off, and she gasps for air. I wipe the hair out of my face with slippery fingers. We watch as Kiara gets up from the pavement, battered and coughing water, pulling the gun out from her back.

The gun. The gun, the gun, full of bad memories and Rafe’s fingers press down on the trigger and then boom.

Kie smiles at us, and we laugh while JJ wraps the gun in a bandana. I have to force a smile and laugh. Finally, I tell them I ought to leave, and they all grin at me, feeling relief.

My house is quiet. My parents aren’t home again for the past week. They’ve been on a trip, but they told me they’d be back yesterday, yet here we are, the house settles as the wind whistles loud from the outside. I walk through the house, leaving wet footprints and water dripping from my body to the floor. I open my bedroom door with a sigh.

“Hey, baby.” Rafe waves carefully at me, his tone too sweet, almost bitter. I don’t get scared this time. “Where were you?” Instead, Rafe’s voice wants to initiate an argument accusing me while his eyes wander over my body. I throw my white ribbed tank top to the white hardwood floor, leaving me in a bikini top. “At the pool. Topper threw me in.” I lied through my teeth dryly, Rafe knew, and I knew it. Rafe stands up from my bed, and his body becomes too close, seizing up my oxygen. He leans his head down to my ear. “I don’t think our child would like a liar, right?” Rafe’s trying to get in my head, his breathing fanning my ear, and his manipulative tactics make my eyes reach red.

A smile dares to make an appearance on his face. “Just tell me, baby. You usually can’t handle a day without me. What changed?” Rafe positioned his hand on my cheek, but I moved away, trying to back up, he grabbed my lower back, restricting any movement, and his fingers trailed over my breasts and stomach. “I was at the sewers- playing around.” God, I sounded stupid. “Playing- Adriana fucking tell me, or I start breaking shit.” Rafe finally gives out on his act, and anger covers his face. Red splotches blanketed his pale skin. I stir under his intense stare.

Kook academy had been fun for most of us. By ninth grade, we couldn’t keep our eyes off each other. Glances while walking to class. Rafe’s pretty smile worked like a charm, never failing for me to smile back or pout as we trekked the halls past each other, and I’d bump into someone. A chuckle would fall from his red lips, turning his head. Then it became walking me to class, stealing kisses before anyone would pour from the classrooms, the happiness of our relationship, not this.

The elegiacs to mourn every time something shatters to pieces, the threats, to learn not to push him, or me crying every single time. It was a cycle of precipitation raining down on us that we had to stop.

Rafe’s right-hand stops at my neck, squeezing it tight, but let’s go quickly—a sadistic smile forms. Everything is being thrown to the ground, pens, pictures of friends or family, our photographs, notebooks, the fuzzy white blankets covering my bed fall to the ground, clothes of mine and his pulled from the hangers. I yell at him many times, but he doesn’t stop until his breathing is wretched and beads of sweat form on his forehead. My room is in shambles, the hardwood floor coated with my items.

Uncontrollable salty tears tumble down my cheeks as I look around. My parents would’ve been furious if they had seen it like this. “I’m sorry, baby. I- I didn’t mean to. I promise I didn’t mean for it to turn out like this.” Rafe is crying along with me, his voice shaky as he mumbles into the flesh of my neck. “Rafe- why would you do this to me? Why!?” I want to push him off me, but my fingers can’t help and follow through his hair, wet and strands effortlessly out of place.

Rafe pushes our bodies to the blanketless bed. We lay down, his hands placed on my stomach. “Please don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, baby. You know I love you. I didn’t mean to put you through all this stress, especially with the baby.” His voice is genuine, and he leans over the bed to grab the fuzzy blankets to cover us. “I’m not. I’m not leaving you.” I turn my body his, tears sapping to the pillows and Rafe’s hand under my cheek; my nose is clogged, meaning I have to breathe through my mouth. “But, do you see what you did? Ra- Rafe, I need a break from this. No from us. I don’t want to break up; I just need to be alone for a while without you-” Before I turn into a broken record, he cuts me off, begging me. “Adriana, I have to be here for the baby. For you.” His cracked voice, rain falling on my face while he kisses me. Soft and light kisses, I accept. “Rafe, I ask for a week’s break, ok, baby. I love you but cannot deal with this right now.” I wipe my eyes and kiss him deeply with my heart until I feel heart sick. My hands held his slippery face.

His body moves on top of mine. Rafe’s too cherry-red lips press to my dry pink ones.

I couldn’t explain the heartbreak and the darkness that has fallen over us as individuals and as a duo, an affinity. Our relationship has disintegrated into tattered glass, sharp and pointy pieces, ready to stab as Rafe and I’s bodies move against each other, savoring one another.

Sometimes love was rough, too rough for two broken people.

When love became an overbearing harshness like the wood to a pier, it had to be revised, looked over to make sure no one could get cut, but at moments it’d slash people, let the crimson spill because someone hadn’t mended it correctly.

That was us.

We would never be mended correctly until we determined to step back from the pier. I just didn’t have faith he would.

@rafecameronzwhore