#i cry over my family near every day because i just want us to be fucking happy for once

[mononijikayu]

ni yao de ai — ryomen sukuna.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?” And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?” Then it became bigger and bigger. One after the other, he could not shut up. He was, after all, too damn in love. “Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?” And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

Genre: Alternate Universe — Volleyball! AU;

Warning/s: General Rating, AFAB! Reader, Use of She/Her, Use of Female Centered Identification, Pet Names (Babe, My Love, Baby, Etc), Romance, Fluff, Humour, Love, Comfort/No Hurt, Established Relationship, Lovers, Dating, Feeling, Light-Hearted, Slice of Life, Idiots In Love, Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Teasing, Healthy Relationship, Friendships, Profanity, Volleyball Pro! Sukuna, Astrophysicist! Reader, Boyfriend! Sukuna, Girlfriend! Reader;

Words: 6k words.

Note: i'm working on the actor nanami fic, so here is something for you to enjoy while you wait for that. also, i keep thinking about how sukuna would have been like pro-hero bakugo had he not been dating reader. like, he would be so good at volleyball, but he would be so eager to be blunt about absolutely everything and just be so crass, you know??? anyway, our sukuna managed to not be like that, cause he's #1 lover boy first. enjoy this!!! see you in a couple days!! i love you!!! <3

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THIS WAS NOT OUT OF THE ORDINARY NOWADAYS, FOR YOU TO SIT HERE. Your long-time boyfriend, professional volleyball player Ryomen Sukuna, has always been a bit of a big deal. Well, you try to not make it to be but you both know that it is.

He was undeniably talented, incredibly confident, and dangerously charismatic. But it wasn’t until this past year, when he officially made Japan’s national team and became their standout player, that his star practically exploded.

And with that… came you.

You didn’t ask for it at all. The attention, the headlines, the fan-cams. However, by virtue of loving Sukuna, you had become a fair bit of a participant in his stardom. And it wasn’t like Sukuna did it on purpose. 

Well, actually he kind of did. Because if there was one thing about your boyfriend, it was that he never shied away from publicly loving you. In fact, he leaned in. Hard.

And you?

You could never say no to him when he asked. Ever. Because you loved him as he is, and that includes loving you. And if supporting him meant occasionally being pulled into the spotlight alongside him. Well… you’d do it a million times over. That’s how much you loved him. 

It started small at first.

Little moments here and there.

Well, he tried to ease you into it.

Like when Sukuna played his first international match for Japan, and you sat quietly in the front row with his family. You thought you were being lowkey, just there to support your love. But the cameras caught you. Multiple times. Your face blown up on the jumbotron — smiling, proud, hands clasped in silent prayer every time he served.

Sukuna noticed you on the screen mid-game, and instead of ignoring it like any normal athlete would. And then he would go on and smirk. Then almost like he can’t help it, he winked at you. On live television. You damn near sank into the earth.

The clip instantly blew up on Twitter. 

Everyone on the internet lost its mind. 

Suddenly there were viral captions like:

“When the national team’s ace makes eye contact with his girl mid-game and winks?????”

“The way he’s SO unapologetically in love I’m crying.”

“The girlfriend has MAIN CHARACTER ENERGY I’m obsessed.”

And you? You just wanted to disappear.

Ryomen Sukuna, on the other hand, ate it up.

“You see how they love us, babe?” he grinned later that night, scrolling through TikTok edits of you two.

“My love, I was literally just sitting there.”

“Nahhh, you were the cutest girlfriend alive.”

“Stop watching the videos, I look like I was going to hurl because of nervousness.”

“Nope. I’m obsessed with us. Sorry, babe.”

But then it started escalating. Almost too quickly. The more Ryomen Sukuna won on the national stage. And the more the media realized he could not shut up about you. The more you started to become a topic. At first, it was small questions during post-game conferences.

“We saw you look up at your girlfriend after that game-winning spike. What was running through your head?”

And Sukuna, grinning like a fool. “Ahhh, just hoping she’s proud of me, you know?”

Then it became bigger and bigger.

One after the other, he could not shut up.

He was, after all, too damn in love.

“Your girlfriend’s reaction went viral after your match. Do you watch those clips together?”

And Sukuna, without missing a beat. “Hell yeah, we do. I send her all my favorite edits. Couple goals, you know?”

And suddenly you were trending on Twitter at every single match. 

People started calling you “Japan’s National Team Girlfriend”. 

There were TikToks like “POV: You’re dating an Olympic-level volleyball player and he’s obsessed with you”. Someone even made a fan account dedicated to you. Some people are making fan accounts about the two of you. It was just insane.

You were horrified about it.

You never expected this.

Sukuna, however, was thriving.

“Babe, you’re famous now.”

“I am just—this is crazy, my love. I didn’t think this for myself.”

“Too bad. You’re dating a national treasure. That makes you one too.”

“You're the only national treasure here, not me—”

“Wrong. We’re a package deal. We always have been, babe.”

“Well, fuck. Looks like I gotta know how to deal with this.” You sighed, leaning into the couch. “You’re lucky I love you so much.”

“I love you so much.” He says, looking at you with those warm loving eyes. “Very much.”

You sighed, moving close to lean into him. “I love you too. Very much.”

And then, of course, came the Vogue interview soon after that.

Sukuna got asked to do a pre-Olympic feature for Vogue Japan. It was going to be a full-blown video interview and magazine spread to highlight him as the country’s volleyball superstar heading to his first Olympic Games. 

You didn’t think much of it at first—until Sukuna casually mentioned. “They wanna do a segment with you, too.”

You froze. “Wait. What?”

“Yeah, you know….like those….interviews we watch.” Sukuna said it, like it was the most casual thing. “Like a couples segment. You know. Cute shit.”

“Okay, but this is insane. I don’t think I’m good enough to be interviewed for a magazine like Vogue.”

“Yes, you are. You’re the most beautiful and smartest person in the world, like the coolest. How could you not be in the magazines?”

“You’re just saying this cause you’re biased.”

“So?” He snickered, leaning closer to you like a cat to his owner. “Isn’t my opinion the only thing that matters?”

“My love, please—”

“Babe, come on. It’ll be fun. Just some quick questions. I’ll be right there with you.”

“Are you sure you want me there?”

“I always want you with me.” He whispers to you, eyes adoringly looking at you. Almost begging. “Please come with me.…I’ll make it worth your while later.”

You can’t say no to him. Not like this. Not ever. You sighed. “Fine. I’ll go with you.”

And so, here you are now, right beside your boyfriend, in this studio.

The massive studio hummed with quiet energy. You could feel the subtle buzz of camera equipment, the low chatter of the production crew, and the muffled thuds of footsteps as people flitted around making last-minute adjustments.

Despite the growing tension in the room, there was one person who looked like he couldn’t be less bothered and that was Ryomen Sukuna himself. Your beloved Sukuna is now Japan’s top star volleyball player right now.

The man who was about to debut in his very first Olympic Games. And yet he sat there like he was in his living room, entirely unruffled by the cameras or the fact that the world was about to have their eyes glued on him.

To him, this was just like any other day. It was nothing special, nothing worth that much of a fuzz. It’s media day. Well, of course he was with you. That was always something that made him happy.

But the occasion in itself just as it was, like on all work days.

It truly did make sense for him to be like that.

After all, Sukuna had been through enough media circus for the past few years. With all the pre-game conferences, after-game interviews, constant media coverage during training camps.

By now, cameras had become like background noise to him. Even though he wasn’t the most camera-savvy person, he had long accepted that it came with the job. As much as you have.

Though, you know it was just still so insane. This level of fame was not something you expected to see. But well, what can you do? Your boyfriend is an ace at anything he does, and he always will be.

So here he was now, gold chain glinting under the bright studio lights, his long arm draped casually behind your chair as if he had all the time in the world. His thumb, rough, calloused from years of playing was tenderly brushed the curve of your shoulder absentmindedly, warm and familiar. His long legs were spread obnoxiously wide, his knee brushing against yours like it belonged there.

You, however, were fighting down a giggle like you did when you were both younger. It wasn’t fair how good he looked in front of the camera. Your Sukuna was in his official team Japan tracksuit, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, exposing his tattooed forearms.

His messy pink hair was styled back, just enough for his sharp jawline to be obnoxiously prominent and his signature smug grin made it look like he had already won gold before even stepping onto the court.

And then like he could feel you staring, Sukuna leaned toward you. 

You raised a brow as you finally noticed his ruby eyes tender on you.

“What? There something on my face?”

“Bet I can answer faster than you, babe.” His voice dropped low, just for you to hear, the gravel in his tone sending a pleasant shiver down your spine.

You snorted, glancing at him. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t embarrass me, my love.”

His grin sharpened, canines flashing. “No promises, babe.”

You groaned to yourself.

You were so screwed.

He’s competitive even on this.

The interviewer settles in her seat across from you both, a friendly smile on her face. “Alright, we’re rolling!” she calls out. “Let’s give them a warm welcome!”

The crew claps behind the camera and you and Sukuna stand up, quickly bowing your heads lowly to everyone in the room, greeting them politely one by one. The crew did the same, with eyes full of awe as they both looked at you two as you sat down.

“Alright, hello everyone!” the interviewer finally smiled, straightening in her seat. “We’re here today with Ryomen Sukuna, Japan’s powerhouse volleyball player heading to his very first Olympic Games — and we’ve got his longtime girlfriend, [Your Name], who is also a Astrophysics researcher joining us today!”

Sukuna perked up a little at that introduction, his grin widening. “Renowned, huh?” He turned to you, his voice dropping low, teasing. “Damn, babe. Are you that famous now, my baby?”

You rolled your eyes, fighting down a smile. “Says the Olympic athlete. Let’s not do this, please.”

The interviewer laughed. “We are so excited to have you both here. Thank you for making time despite your hectic schedules — especially you, [Your Name]. I imagine taking a break from Astrophysics research work isn’t easy?”

“Oh—” you started, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, I really shouldn’t have gotten a break. I was actually supposed to have a research advisory today…”

Sukuna turned to you sharply, his brows raising. “Wait—what?”

You blinked. “…Huh, what?”

“You never told me that. I thought you just got permission.” Sukuna scoffed, his head tilting. “Babe, you really have a major advisory today? How the hell did you get off work?”

“Ohhh, yeah…” you cringed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah… funny thing about that.”

The interviewer’s interest piqued. “Oh?”

You hesitated and then bit back a smile. “So… My head researcher’s daughter is actually a huge fan of Sukuna. Like, borderline obsessed.”

Sukuna’s brows shot higher. “Wait, what?”

“Yeah.” you chuckled sheepishly. “And when they found out I was doing this interview with him, my boss was like, ‘Yeah, just get me his autograph and I’ll look the other way on you missing the advisory.’”

Sukuna immediately cackled. “Really? That’s damn hilarious.”

“Swear to god, it's crazy in there when it comes to you.” you laughed, sinking a little in your seat. “He told me, ‘If you get me a video of him saying hi to my daughter, I’ll even let you off the hook for the paperwork you forgot to pass last week.’”

“Babe.” Sukuna turned his entire body toward you, his grin practically ear-to-ear. “Why didn’t you tell me that earlier? That’s easy. Just give me a pen later—hell, I’ll record her a whole-ass personalized video.”

You scoffed, blushing. “Oh my god, no—you don’t have to do that much—”

“Nahhh, I gotchu, babe, don’t worry.” Sukuna grinned mischievously, already plotting. “I’ll make her dad look like a hero. Gonna be like: ‘Hey princess, your dad is the real MVP for letting your fave’s girlfriend skip work today to give you content.’”

You smacked his arm, mortified. “Oh my god, you are so insane.”

The production crew lost it almost immediately.

The interviewer covered her mouth, laughing.

“I’m serious!” Sukuna laughed, scarlet eyes crinkling. “You know how many brownie points that’ll get you at work? You could literally ghost them for a week and they’ll still cover for you.”

“Oh my god, stop—”

“And the paperwork you forgot?” Sukuna shot you a playful smirk. “I’ll just sign it with ‘Ryomen Sukuna’s girlfriend is a genius, give her a raise.’ Boom. Problem solved.”

“RYOMEN SUKUNA.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll stop.” Sukuna raised his hands in surrender. “Just don’t call me that, okay? You know what my name is.”

The interviewer was crying. “I am so sorry, I can’t breathe—you guys are adorable.”

You slumped in your seat, burying your face in your hands. “I’m never living this down.”

Sukuna just laughed harder, his hand finding your thigh and giving it a warm squeeze. “Nah, you’re good, babe. I’ll make sure you’re employee of the month after this.”

The interviewer, trying to recover. “W-well! We really appreciate you being here, [Your Name]. Seriously. It's not every day we get a literal astrophysicist and an Olympic athlete in the same room.”

“Oh no, I should be the one thankful!” you stammered, still flustered from Sukuna’s antics. “Thank you for having me here with my love. Honestly, it’s such a privilege.”

Sukuna practically preened. “Her love. You guys heard that, right?”

You smacked his arm. “Oh god, don’t even start.”

“Too late, babe.” Sukuna grinned smugly, leaning back in his chair. “I’m riding that high all day. Like, that’s from the one I love right there. I’m riding this forever.”

“You can’t just—” You lower your face to your hands, feeling yourself warm. “Oh my god.”

“Don’t get embarrassed so fast!”

“I’m trying hard not to!”

The interviewer was now fully crying from laughing.

And you? You were about two seconds away from melting into the floor from sheer secondhand embarrassment.

You just can’t believe he’s like this today.

“So, uh, are you guys ready for some quickfire ten-second questions?” She asks as you finally recover, lifting your head.

Sukuna cracks his knuckles dramatically. “Easy. We’ve been together more than a decade or so. I can ace this.”

You scoff. “You’re gonna overthink everything.”

Sukuna feigns offense. “Excuse you? I’m very decisive.”

The interviewer laughs. “Alright, let’s put that to the test. First question: Sukuna, what’s your favorite pre-game meal?”

“Ramen.” he says instantly. Then, a beat later, “Wait. No. Her curry. Yeah, yeah. That one….the spicy one. Final answer.”

Your mouth drops open. “Are you serious? I thought you hated it.”

He grins smugly. “It’s true. I loved it all. Took another plate after you left. Your food hits different, you know?"

You roll your eyes but can’t help the blush creeping up your neck. “O–okay, I guess.”

The interviewer beams. “Cute. Okay, [Your Name], what’s his go-to post-game routine?”

“Oh, easy.” you say, straight-faced. “Complaining about his back. Then how he doesn’t like how Gojo Satoru took that line shot at him at a game. Take a ridiculously long, hot shower. He has a beer before we eat dinner. Then aggressively demands my cuddles.”

Sukuna sputters at you. “Aggressively?!”

You arch a brow. “You corner me in the kitchen. Every time.”

He throws his head back in a laugh, his large hand sliding to your knee. “Okay, fine. Fair point.”

The interviewer chuckles. “Alright, Sukuna — who’s the first person you call after a big win?”

He doesn’t hesitate. “Her. Always her. And she picks up, even mid-experiment.”

Your chest tightens, caught off guard by the sincerity in his tone. “You’re too much.”

“Hey, I really do call you the most after every match.”

“And after a loss?” she presses.

Sukuna leans slightly toward you, his arm shifting so his hand now rests protectively on your thigh. “Also her. But I’m significantly more annoying.”

You snort. “So much pouting. He becomes, like, unbearable.”

Sukuna gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. “Unbearable?! I’m mourning, babe!”

“You’re sulking. Just like right now.”

“Same thing!”

The interviewer is practically doubled over laughing. “I love this dynamic. Okay, favorite thing about each other — go.”

Sukuna’s answer is immediate. “Her laugh. Hands down. Best sound in the world.”

Your heart lurches, face instantly heating. “Oh my god, shut up—”

“No, like dead serious, babe.” he interrupts, his smile softening. “Could be having the worst day ever, and if she laughs? I’m good.”

You smack his arm, your face now an embarrassing shade of red. “You’re being gross on camera!”

Sukuna shrugs, unbothered. “Truth is truth, babe.”

The interviewer melts. “Okay, your turn, [Your Name].”

You stammer, still flustered. “Uhh—” you scramble to think of something non-cheesy, but instead, your mouth betrays you. “The way he always warms his hands before touching my face.”

Sukuna freezes. “…Huh?”

You blink. “…What?”

“That’s your favorite thing?” he asks, blinking at you like you’d just dropped a bombshell.

You squirm. “I mean, yeah. You do it all the time. Like, even if we’re just watching a movie or something — you always warm your hands first. It’s cute.”

The grin that spreads across Sukuna’s face is devastating. “You’re so obsessed with me.”

You physically groan. “Oh my god, shut up.”

The interviewer is practically swooning. “This is the cutest thing ever—okay, okay, next one. Sukuna, if you could steal any skill from your girlfriend, what would it be?”

“Her patience.” he deadpans.

You burst out laughing. “What?”

“No, like actually, I really think you mastered it so much.” he insists, leaning forward. “You have no idea how insane she is at staying calm. Like, I’ll be losing my mind over a game or a bad practice, and she’ll just—” he waves his hand, mimicking your nonchalant demeanor, “‘Okay, babe, it’s fine. You’ll win next time.’ Like. What the hell? Where do you get that?”

You’re dying of laughter. “It’s called balance, my love.”

“It’s witchcraft.”

You roll your eyes playfully. “Then learn it.”

He laughs at your words. “No, but I’m genuine about this. My girl can sit there and deal with a long day where her research yields bad results and do it again even though it takes long. And come home to me sulking and just know how to be just as patient.”

You looked at him, eyes full of love. “You’re so….I love you. Just a lot.”

He smiles back at you. “Love you too, babe.”

The interviewer sighed, whimsically. “I love you two so much. Okay, final question—and you both have to answer this.” She leans in dramatically. “What’s the very first thing you’ll do if you win gold at the Olympics?”

Sukuna’s cocky grin is instant. “Kiss her. On live TV.”

Your jaw drops “‘kuna, my love! Don’t just say that!”

“What?” he laughs, utterly shameless. “Manifesting, babe.”

“You’re disgusting.”

Your boyfriend snickers. “Yeah, you say that now but you’re gonna make out with me after this—”

“Oh my god, not here!”

The interviewer howls with laughter. “And what about you, [Your Name]?”

You glare at Sukuna but ultimately sigh in defeat. “I guess… I’ll let him.”

Sukuna beams, victorious. “See? Obsessed with me. You were lying earlier, hm? Saying you won’t and now here you are, you admit the truth. I am so vindicated.”

You slap his arm, but you’re grinning so wide your cheeks hurt. “You’re so annoying.”

“Yeah, but I am your annoyance. That's my happy life right there, being loved by you like that.”

The interviewer shakes her head, still giggling. “I swear, if you actually win gold and kiss her on live TV, I’ll play this clip everywhere.”

Sukuna’s arm curls around your shoulder, pulling you in. “You better be ready, babe. I’m serious.”

And the terrifying part? You can already picture it. Because you know that he can do it. He can win it all just like that. You could see the gold medal around his neck, the camera zooming in, and Ryomen Sukuna turning straight to you with that same smug grin before sweeping you off your feet.

You purse your lips into a flat line, blushing. “Yeah, yeah…..I’m prepared.”

The interview finally wraps up there.

You’re still a little dazed. The cameras, the lights, the overly intimate questions about your relationship—but Ryomen Sukuna? He still looks happy, still completely unbothered. Like he lives for this. Which, you suppose, he does.

His arm never leaves your shoulder as you stand to shake hands with the Vogue team, his thumb still brushing absentminded circles against your skin. And just as you think you can finally slink away into the background, done with all the attention, Ryomen Sukuna pulls you right back in.

“Babe, c’mon.” he murmurs, his mouth brushing your temple. “Stay for the photoshoot.”

You blink. “What?”

“The shoot. They’re doing my Olympic feature photoshoot now.” He grins like he already knows how this will go. “Hang around for a bit.”

Your eyes narrow. “I thought this part was just you?”

“It is.”

“Then why do you need me here?”

“Moral support.” he says with a teasing smirk. “Also, you look really cute today, and I need you to stand there and be hot while I take photos.”

You gawk. “My love…..”

“What?” He shrugs, pulling you even closer as he starts walking toward the set. “I’m serious. Just stand off to the side, babe. I’ll behave.”

You have exactly zero trust in that promise. But you sigh and let him tug you along anyway. Because at the end of the day, you can’t say no to him. You never could. Not then and certainly not now. That’s just how much you loved the man.

So you do stay. But you try your hardest to stay out of the way. This is just for him, and only for him. You shouldn’t meddle. This isn’t for you. You do not want to get involved. So you make sure he sees you but sees you preoccupied, as you take food from the snack pile and coffee from the coffee machine.  

The photoshoot setup is expansive. There were grand lighting rigs, enormous backdrops, a team of stylists fussing over Sukuna’s hair and clothes. He’s already swapped his casual attire for his Japan national team uniform, crisp and iconic in its red and white.

And good god, you were stunned.

He looks obscenely good, even better than normal.

You were just hypnotized.

Like, you can definitely say that it's an actual deity-tier sort of beauty. Tall and lean, the muscles in his arms and thighs practically sculpted. His sharp features and dark tattoos look even more striking against the stark white backdrop. And the way he carries himself. It was that dangerous, unbothered confidence that had the photographers practically swooning as much as you were already.

You stand quietly off to the side, as you stuff yourself with snacks. You were doing your best to stay unnoticed and so far so good. But the moment Sukuna locks eyes with you from across the room, in the middle of his solo shoot, you already know you’re already fucked.

Because he grins. That stupid, sharp, predatory grin.

And you just know something is going to happen.

Because, you know that look on his face.

He’s about to pull some bullshit.

“Alright, Sukuna — tilt your chin up a bit. Perfect, perfect — can we get some more intensity in those scarlet eyes?”

He obliges easily, shifting his stance. For a few moments, you think you’re in the clear. Maybe he’ll actually behave. Maybe he’ll just get through his shoot without doing anything that would just throw you off your horses.

“Hey.” Sukuna suddenly calls out — loud enough for the entire set to hear. His gaze zeroes in on you. “Can she come here real quick?”

Your stomach drops.

The entire team turns to look at you.

Your soul leaves your body.

“I swear to god…..” you hiss, mortified. “No—”

“C’mon, babe.” he grins. “Just real quick. Just one picture.”

The photographer, looking intrigued, asks, “Wait — are you talking about her?”

“Yeah. Of course I’m talking about her.” Sukuna says smoothly. “That’s my girl.”

Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

You try to melt into the floor. “My love, no—”

“Babe, come on.” he says, mockingly sweet, “I thought you were here for moral support? Come on, just one picture. I won’t even ask them to include it in the spread.”

The team just absolutely loves what’s happening right now. They’re already whispering to each other, eyes lighting up with interest. One of the assistants, who was clearly a hopeless romantic, suddenly gasps, “Oh my god, can we get her in a couple of shots?”

“No, no, no you don’t have to.” you stammer, mortified. “I-I’m not part of the shoot—”

“You are now, babe.” Sukuna smirks, already striding over to grab your hand.

“My love, I’m not even— I didn’t sign anything—”

“Babe, relax.” he murmurs, tugging you right into the center of the set like it’s nothing. “You’re not doing a solo shoot. Just stand next to me. That’s it.”

The photographer, gleeful, immediately jumps in: “Oh my god! Yes, yes, yes. Let’s do a few couple shots. Just casual. We can get a few ‘power couple’ frames, I love this.”

“No, please, it’s not fair to you all or him.” you say, panicked. “It’s his shoot, I’m not supposed to—”

Sukuna grins down at you. “C’mon, babe. What’s one photo?”

You glare. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” He tugs you even closer. “C’mon, let me show off my pretty girlfriend a little. Please?”

“…I hate you so much.”

The next twenty minutes are the most unhinged photoshoot of your life.

It starts simple. Ryomen Sukuna standing tall in his Olympic uniform, with you just casually next to him. He’s still smug and composed, while you try your best to look like you belong there. But then it escalates, as it always does with him.

“Can you put your arm around her waist?” the photographer asks.

Sukuna immediately complies, almost too gleefully, you might add, as he was pulling you flush against his side, his arm curling snug around your lower back.

“Actually, can you lean down and nuzzle into her neck a bit? Just natural intimacy.”

You really could feel your soul just saying a hail mary and saying goodbye for good. Your Sukuna doesn’t even hesitate. His mouth brushes your temple, his nose drags against your skin, and he actually whispers in your ear: “Told you you’d be in this shoot, babe.”

“I hate you so much, like a lot. Right now.” you grit, cheeks burning.

“You love me, a lot. I can tell.” he grins. “Like look at that bright eyed love!”

“Can we get one with her in front of him? Like, you know, back to his chest?” The director suddenly says.

You barely have time to react before Sukuna’s already wrapping his arms around you from behind, his chin resting atop your head. His long fingers splay warmly across your stomach, deliberately making the pose look far too intimate.

The camera shutter goes crazy.

And then—the final blow from the director:

“Okay, for the last shot—Sukuna, can you kiss her?”

Your brain explodes. “WHAT—”

“Ohhh, I think I can.” Sukuna drawls, thrilled. “Hang on.”

“I swear to god, you can’t just—my love!”

Too late for any arguments, he’s made up his mind. His hand slides up to your jaw, his thumb tilting your chin just slightly. And then, without a hint of shame, he leans down and kisses you. Right there. On the set. With the cameras flashing like crazy.

It’s not even a small kiss. It’s full and lingering. It’s passionate and hot and burning. It was the type of kiss that only belongs to you two. Yet you don’t push him away or pull away. Instead, you let his hand cup the edge of your face, his mouth molds against yours, and you feel his stupid grin against your lips.

The photographer practically screams. “Oh my god, that was too good! That was just perfect!”

You finally part from him. But it took you a bit before you were back down to earth from the spellbound trip to love. “You are so annoying, I swear!”

“Babe.” he says, smug as hell. “I think we just sold out this magazine issue.”

“I’m going to kill you, that was too passionate! That’s just for us—"

“Please. You’re gonna frame these photos later.”

“Ugh, no I won’t!”

“You so will.”

And when the photos do come out, everything just shifts in the world. The entire internet loses its mind over Japan’s national volleyball ace and his head-over-heels-in-love girlfriend like he always is, you realize, miserably, that Ryomen Sukuna was absolutely right.

Because you do, in fact, frame one of the photos.

Well, almost all the photos you got.

And what does Ryomen Sukuna do?

He never shuts up about it.

══════════════════

epilogue

The group chat video call came in less than five minutes after the interview aired. You barely had time to process the fact that the clip of you and Sukuna had already exploded on social media — like a firestorm-level viral. 

Your phone was pinging nonstop with texts, notifications, and Twitter mentions of people collectively losing their minds over “Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF” like it was the rom-com of the century. Like it was the most important trope out there.

And just when you thought you could quietly crawl into a hole and die from embarrassment…

Incoming Video Call: “Menaces + Nanami (we tolerate him)”

“Oh my god no—”

“Babe, answer it!” Sukuna grinned, already stretching his long arm to grab your laptop. “I need to see what they’re about to say.”

“Sukuna, I’m literally not ready for this shit—”

“You’re literally adorable, babe. Don’t worry!” Sukuna smirked, already clicking Accept. “Let me enjoy my W.”

The call connected. Chaos immediately erupted.

Gojo Satoru (Camera OFF): “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Geto Suguru (Camera ON):

“AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH—”

Nanami Kento (Camera ON):

“…Are you all seriously screaming?”

Itadori Yuuji (Camera ON):

“BROOOOOO THEY WENT SO HARD IN THAT INTERVIEW OH MY GODDDD!”

Fushiguro Megumi (Camera ON, Visibly Unamused):

“…I’m logging off.”

Gojo Satoru (Camera ON, Appearing Out of Nowhere):

“NO YOU’RE NOT, MEGUMI— OH MY GOD YOU TWO WERE INSANE.”

You immediately face planted onto the table, groaning. “Kill me. Just kill me now.”

“Babe, why? You were really cool!” Sukuna laughed, wrapping an arm around you. “This is literally my proudest moment.”

“Oh my god, this is just so—” You groaned.

“Bro. Bro, oh my god.” Itadori was crying. “Sukuna. The way you said ‘Her love. You guys heard that, right?’ I— I fell off my couch cheesing, bro. You haven’t changed!”

“RIGHT?!” Gojo practically screeched. “And then he was going like ‘I’ll get you employee of the month, babe.’ I almost died! This was so—I can’t even explain it!”

Sukuna was thriving. His grin stretched wide, his canines flashing. “Ayyyeeee, you finally got it Gojo! You got someone, so you understand right? You see how I held her down? Boyfriend of the year.”

“You really are, bro!”

“My love, stoppppp!” you wailed dramatically.

“Nah, babe. Let me cook from boyfriend to husband!”

“Okay but REAL TALK. [Your Name]. Explain to me why your head researcher just casually let you off work because his daughter’s a fan of Sukuna.Also, how the hell are there fans of Sukuna?” Geto Suguru says as he munches on his popcorn.

“Taking offense to that last part, Geto.”

“Hahaha, I don’t care!”

You groaned harder. “I really don’t know. But it worked. I mean, people are asking me for Sukuna’s autographs for their kids at the research facility.”

“No, cause that’s wild, actually.” Suguru laughed. “Your literal superior was like, ‘Get me his autograph and you can skip work.’ That’s insane. I wish I could do that.”

“Well you could had you gone to the same research dept as me.”

“Nah, I don’t wanna work there. Your deadlines are crazy.”

“Hey, my influence is really good for her right now!” Sukuna grinned, leaning into you smugly. “I’m basically her office’s MVP. They should name a telescope after me, if I’m being honest.”

“That’s not what I'm working on right now! That’s the other team!”

“Eh, same thing.”

“The Ryomen Sukuna Space Observatory, nice ring to it.” Gojo said dreamily. “Iconic.”

“Guys, really.”

“I would like to formally request to be excluded from this narrative.” Nanami Kento deadpans as he puts away his paperwork.

“Oh shut up, Kento. Are you still acting tsundere after all this time?” Gojo cackled. “You enjoyed it.”

“No. I did not.”

“Then why’d you text me ‘how did Sukuna–san improve in comedy? he’s hilarious.’ right after it aired?”

Nanami froze. “I did not do that—”

“YOU DID TOO!” Itadori gasped loudly. “I saw the receipts, senpai. You can’t just lie about that!”

“Lies.”

“Don’t deny it!”

“I will deny it, there’s no proof.”

“…Sukuna–senpai, I have to say, you being in love still after all this time really made me cringe.”

Gojo Satoru lost it. He almost fell off his chair, laughing. “That’s so—what the, that’s so—”

“See? People do cringe when you go lovey-dovey!” You tease him, and then laugh as you lean against him. 

“Wow, didn’t know that’s your true feelings about me, babe.” Sukuna scoffed, faking offense as he playfully rolled his eyes. “No love for the Olympic boyfriend, huh?”

“You sounded like a sickeningly in love golden retriever, and it was disturbing.”

Sukuna snorted. “If I still had the privilege to order you one hundred laps, I would.”

“Hm, but you don’t.”

“All because you’re jealous. How’s your date yesterday? Bad like last time?”

Megumi recoiled like he’d been shot. “Senpai, that’s so—”

“Nahhh, I get it, Megs. Cause I’d be mad too if I was third-wheeling greatness like this, while I’m waiting on Cupid to give me luck.” Sukuna gestured grandly to you and himself. “It’s hard out here.”

“I hate you.”

“Don’t be mad, bro. Just manifest your own [Your Name].”

“I swear to god, senpai.”

“Again, manifest. Hell, I’ll even help you. My sister’s into you—”

“No, thanks.”

“Okay but can we talk about how senpai just easily offers the autograph AND the video like it's nothing?” Yuuji enthusiastically says, smiling from ear to ear.

“REAL! Like, this is so crazy. ” Gojo gasped. “He just casually said ‘I’ll make your boss look like a hero, babe.’”

“Bro is so down bad, man.” Geto snickers, drinking his beer. “Everyone’s losing their shit everywhere.”

“And then he was like, ‘yeah don’t worry, I’ll help sign your paperwork.’’” Yuuji grows louder, more enthusiastic than before. “I can’t believe people are seeing it more closely like this. You’re a lucky lady, senpai!”

“Yeah, who can say they have such a long loving thriving relationship, no?” Gojo teases, as he leans on the screen. “LIke, people are jealous!”

“Guys, please!” you howled, your head hitting the table as your face turned scarlet. “PLEASE STOP—”

“SU-KU-NAAAAA–SENPAIIIIII!” Yuuji screamed, clapping. “You’re built differently, man. This is why you’re not bitchless!”

“This is why you follow in my footsteps, Itadori.” Sukuna laughs proudly. “You will only end your suffering if you follow me. That goes for you, Nanami, Fushiguro.”

“No thanks.” Nanami and Fushiguro say, almost at the same time.

“Nah, cause now that I think about it….my girl’s gonna expect me to do well too, Sukuna.” Gojo says, rubbing his chin. “That’s such a cruel move, Sukuna!”

“Hey, I love my girl as easily as breathing.” Sukuna raises his beer can, like cheers. He grins. “Good luck. I’m here if you need tips.”

“…The fact that this interview is already at 4 million views is baffling.” Nanami whispers as he looks at his phone. “It was just released an hour ago.”

Your head snapped up. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Oh yeah, it’s viral now.” Megumi deadpanned. “It’s already trending. Twitter’s obsessed with you two.”

“Yup, yup.” Itadori confirmed. “Hashtag ‘Astrophysicist GF x Olympic Athlete BF’ is number one right now.”

“YOU’RE LYING.”

“Dead serious.”

“My love.” you whirled on him, horrified. “What did you do?”

Sukuna, entirely unbothered: “Won.”

“Bro, people are literally shipping you two like it’s a Netflix rom-com.” Gojo snickers, sighing. “I want mine to be like that.”

“Right?” Suguru agreed. “And they’re already calling you ‘The only loverboy to ever loverboy’ which is kinda crazy to say about Ryomen Sukuna.”

Yuuji sighed. “But it fits, don’t you think? He loves his girl.”

Sukuna beamed. “As they should.”

You were spiraling. “I can’t go back to work like this. They’re gonna tease me—”

“No, babe, you’re good.” Sukuna said smugly. “You literally got immunity. They’re too obsessed with me now.”

“OH MY GODDDD.”

“…So when exactly did you two sign up for a publicized rom-com?” Nanami asks.

“Bro, right?” Gojo laughed. “Next thing you know Sukuna’s proposing on live TV after winning gold.”

Sukuna gasped dramatically. “Wait. That’s fire, actually.”

“Hey, don’t you dare!” you screamed.

“Imagine it, though!” Gojo egged on. “He wins gold. Camera zooms in. Sukuna pulls you onto the court. Boom. Proposal.”

“Don’t give him ideas, Gojo Satoru!”

Geto cackles. “Nah, once you give Sukuna ideas and he likes it, he’s not gonna change his mind.”

“Write that down, bro!” Itadori gasped.

“Oh, I will!” Sukuna grinned.

“Ryomen Sukuna, I swear to god—”

“Hey, hey, slow down. That’s not my name.”

“I’m not stopping until you say you won’t do that.”

“Here me out, let me cook on this idea, like this is a really good idea. Come on!”

“No!”

[totalswag]

hi i love your writings!!!

may i request something angst with y/n and drew pls? like maybe they broke up but still love each other and they haven't told their families about it. so one day they have to meet again at Liliana's birthday party and they have to pretends? but it's getting angst when the party ended and they have to separate again

i still love you ⎯ DREW STARKEY

authors note firstly, thank you lovie! you don’t know how much that means to me. i’ve written angst before but not a lot. this one is gonna hurt so grab tissues if needed.

taglist ⤕ if you would like to be notified every time i post you will type in your username then be all set.

summary attending a birthday party with your ex as a couple after you broken up without telling anyone in your circle.

warning(s) breakups, angst, crying, and feelings for each other.

Drew and you ended your relationship four weeks ago. Never thought your relationship with him would end so suddenly. You have been an absolute reck since. Both of you still love each other deeply.

Family and friends don’t know about the break up—they’d be devastated hearing the news. Just thinking about it gets you overwhelmed with emotion. Drew and you have had small conversations about it but can't pull through yet.

Tonight is Liliana’s second birthday, everyone in Drew’s family will be there celebrating at his younger sisters home. Drew and you were invited prior to the breakup—you’ll be attending as a "couple."

This is gonna hurt you both.

“Okay we act like a couple then we part our separate ways, yeah?” Drew says with a hint of sadness in his voice, enough for only you to hear.

Pulling the front string of your hair behind your ear, looking up at his tall frame, “ye-eah that’s fine.” Your voice started cracking.

The two of you walk up the driveway of the house walking hand in hand like you typically would when you were together. Suddenly, Drew’s hand gently placed itself on your lower back—thumb rubbing gentle circles.

The sensation of his touch on your skin sends millions of goosebumps down your spine; you feel comfortable in his embrace—you are home. When you enter through the back gate, your face lights up as you see his family.

"Oh my gosh, it's so glad to see you both here" Brooke, Drew's younger sister, smiles running over in your direction with a drink in her hand.

After your brief reunion, you moved to see Drew's other family members. Seeing them made you joyful and sad at the same time because you knew you wouldn't see them as much after this. 

Liliana raced over to Drew, arms raised, hoping to be hoisted up. She giggled as he kissed her face. "Stop it, Uncle Drewy," she says, tilting her head back.

Watching the two interact is the cutest thing ever. Liliana looks over her shoulder, gasping, and reaching out to you—taking her in your arms, hugging her, and spinning her around.

"You look so beautiful today," you tell the two-year-old in your arms. She glances up at you, reaching for your necklace before wrapping her arms around your neck.

"You too auntie!"

Drew and you stood near to each other during the party—kissing your cheeks, hugging you close, resting his hand on your thigh—all the things you used to do. You could feel each other's distress.

Your entire body was screaming. You and Drew were dating for over four years. This split is still fresh for both of you. You just wanted to stay close to him the entire time, and he felt the same way.

People asked you how your relationship was going and when Drew was gonna get down on one knee. Just typical questions that've been asked before. No one suspected anything off between you two.

The drive back to your house didn't take long. Drew and you were making small talk about the party and seeing Liliana's face when she opened her gifts.

Drew parked the car and switched off the engine, but neither of you made a move to exit. The streetlights provided a soothing light inside the car, highlighting the stress on his face. He finally ended the silence.

"I hate this, you know," he continued, his voice tight. "Pretending like everything's fine when it's not."

You gulped hard, tears forming in the corners of your eyes. "Me, too. But what options do we have?"

He turned to face you, looking into your eyes. "We can try again. Maybe we just needed some time apart to think things through."

"I still love you," he said softly, his voice breaking.

Your heart tightened at his words, and you clutched his palm tightly. "I still love you, too. But love isn't always sufficient."

By this point, your voice had begun to crack. You just wanted to jump into his arms one final time and have him tell you everything would be fine.

The hush that ensued was deafening. You both understood the reality, even if it was difficult to accept. You slowly and reluctantly drew your hand away and sought for the door handle.

"Goodbye, Drew," you replied softly, exiting the car.

You headed towards your apartment, your vision hazy with tears. Just as you approached the door, you heard him yell your name. Turning around, you noticed the pain imprinted on his face, which mirrored your own.

"Goodbye," he murmured quietly.

He stared at you as you walked to your front door. He wanted he could walk in the house with you, but you never asked. Turning around and waved your final goodbye as he slowly drove away. 

Tears stream down your cheeks as you close the door. You couldn't hold back the tears. You hoped everything had never happened in the first place and that everything would have been okay. However, not everything goes as planned.

All those memories you made together are flooding through your mind as you walk yourself to your bedroom.

One day you'll find your way back. One day.

⎯⎯ my taglist!

✰ if you would like to be added to my taglist and be notified whenever i post please let me know in the comments or in my ask box. if there's a line across your name that means i couldn't find your account

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[writersmess]

DEATH WISH LOVE | EVAN BUCKLEY

gif credit

Pairing: Evan Buckley x fem!reader

Summary: Buck never thought he could love someone like that. Especially not someone with the same death wish love as him.

Warning: Anxiety crisis, near-death experience, hospital, crying, ansgt.

Word count: 2.5K

a/n: My God, I can't believe it's taken me over a year to get back. I missed this place so much. It's been an intense, crazy year. I finally got my dream job at the best hospital in Latin America. I'm so happy, but at the same time it's demanded everything of me, working long shifts almost every day, but its the price I have to pay. I hope you like this one, it was based on the song Death Wish Love by Benson Boone, which as soon as I heard it I immediately imagined something with our dear Buck. I confess I thought I'd do something angsty, but I don't think I have that capacity, he already suffers so much that I just wanted him to have a happy ending this time.

Masterlist

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

You were the new firefighter in 118, and also new to the city. In order to follow your dreams, you left your hometown with everyone and everything you knew. You craved for bigger things, you wanted the big city, you wanted Los Angeles.

The team welcomed you with open arms, which was unusual to you. You weren’t used to this or neither known by your affectionate gestures, but apparently everything was an excuse for a hug at the station. It was a bit hard to get used to all this affection, especially when you came from a place where you were always by yourself.

That was one of the main reasons you became a firefighter, you have walked through fire every single day of your life, why not make it your profession?

You were a source of curiosity between the team, always so quiet and so resistant to everyone's affection. It was hard to win you over. Especially because you had a rather difficult personality, you were fearless at work, you weren't afraid to go into the fire to save lives, you did it without thinking twice.

To Bobby you were a cause of concern, and sometimes the reason why he was having trouble sleeping. He knew this personality very well. It was the same one he had struggled for years to learn to deal with, the one he had to fight with so many times, he was very familiar with this death wish love, it was the same as Buck’s.

The blue-eyed man on the other side, couldn't understand why he couldn't take his eyes off you. Ever since you arrived a few months ago, your image has been running through Buck’s mind. You've become a challenge for him. But not in a bad way, he wanted to get to know you, he wanted to understand you. But you didn't make things any easier for him, especially when today was the first time he'd seen you laugh.

"You're drooling" he snapped back to reality when he heard Eddie mocking next to him.

"Shut up" Buck said, turning his gaze back to you playing with his niece.

You had a beauty he couldn't explain, an angelic one. You had this steely gaze and looking at you felt like suicide. He would fall to his knees if you asked him to. How could someone so delicate also be so dangerous?

The way you were reluctant to follow Bobby's orders, you'd walk into the fire without a second thought. You would take risks without thinking about your own safety, just thinking about everyone else. He saw how hard you worked, he saw how mad Bobby got when he ordered the building to be evacuated and you were always the last one to leave. You were intriguing and he was fascinated.

It was so strange for you. Being in Maddie's living room, with everyone gathered together like a big family, laughing and telling funny stories. The team met once a week, with all the families together, the children running around the living room, the smell of food in the air, the voices, the laughter.

You accepted the invitation after a few months of refusing, and now you spent the week looking forward to the moment when you would be together again.

Sometimes when you got home from a meeting, you cried. You cried because you never had that, you never had anyone who cared about you. You were an unexpected pregnancy, your parents didn't planned you, they didn't want you and that was never a secret to anyone.

And that's why you were surprised when one day you arrived early at the station and Hen had a cake for you that you had once said reminded of what your grandmother used to bake.

Or when another one Eddie handed you a drawing that Chris made specifically for you. Of the two of you playing together.

Or when Maddie sent you, through Chim, the cookies you said you loved one day while you were having coffee together.

Or when Bobby invited you to have lunch with him and Athena on a Sunday ‘cause he knew you were going to do it alone.

Or when Buck gave you a book he'd heard you say was your favorite during a conversation.

*

It was mid-afternoon on a Sunday. Your hands were shaking, your heart pounding. The words your father had once spoken echoed in your mind. "You will never be loved". But you were at a table with 118's entire family, and you felt loved. Maddie told you about the gossip from her work. Karen hugged you from the side every time you passed by her. Hen included you in every conversation. Athena calmly answered all the questions you were curious about her work. So why did you feel like an imposter? Why was your father's voice echoing inside your head? Why were you on the verge of an anxiety attack?

"I'll be right back" you muttered to the girls, but you realized how shaky your voice sounded. You were pathetic.

You barely made it to the bathroom, your legs buckled and you sat down in the corner of the room. You could hardly breathe, it was hard to pull in the air. Tears streamed down your face. Your heart was racing. Your hands were shaking.

You heard your voice being called from outside. Damn. You couldn't calm down, your hand was on your chest as if it could make the pain go away.

"Hey, hey. I'm here. Calm down, I’ve got you" it was Buck.

His voice was just a whisper in your ear. You let a sob escape your lips. Pathetic. You felt his arms around you, until you were all wrapped up in his arms. Why was he doing that? Why did he care?

He stayed there until you stopped crying. You were still in his arms, and it was so warm, so safe. Sighs came from your lips, and you couldn't imagine what a mess Buck's head and heart were in. He wanted you in his arms, not just now.

"I'm sorry," you whispered and tried to pull away, but he wouldn't let you, so you stayed.

"You don't have to talk about what's going on in there, but the day you feel like you need a hug to cry into, you've got mine" your eyes filled with tears again. "And don't ever apologize for it"

*

The smiles on your lips were becoming constant. And it was Buck's favorite image. You were letting people through your armor, you were letting your guard down, and it felt good. You now baked pies and cakes for the station on your days off, recipes learned from the girls after a few long afternoons of chatting and coffee.

Your laughter was contagious, and the boys would always crack little jokes to get them out of you.

Your eyes were now looking out for a pair of blue ones, all the time, everywhere. Eyes that were always looking back at you. Your hands were always looking for an excuse to bump into Buck's, just to feel that shiver run down your spine every time. And he would find any reason to text you, until the excuses became routine. You woke up every day with a good morning message and went to bed with a good night one. The little touches now became big gestures, Buck loved to brush your hair out of your face and tuck them behind your ear. And you loved to run your hand over the birthmark above his eye. You loved when his warm lips traveled up your neck to your lips. You loved when his hands ran over your body always so slowly and so gently, bringing goosebumps wherever they went. You loved making love with him. How he worshiped your body, how much he worshiped you. The way he made you feel loved.

You had a hold on Buck, and you didn't even know it. He had become attached to you, attached to the idea of having you by his side. The nights with you were the ones he could truly rest in, the mornings where he woke up to your soft kisses on his face, were the ones he would keep forever in his mind.

But he could feel that you were still resisting his feelings, and he was terrified of losing you. Buck was in love with you. It took months for him to realize that, but he did it. He loved you.

But one thing has never changed. And as Buck followed the loud murmurs coming from Bobby’s office, where he knew you were at, he kept in mind the danger you were in at every call. He couldn't lose you.

"Hey, what happe-" he couldn't finish the sentence when he saw you walking out the door, since you brushed past him, bumping into his shoulder, without even looking him in the face.

Buck made his way to the room, where he saw his captain wiping his hands across his face, letting out an exhausted sigh.

"She'll end up dead if she keep acting like this, Buck"

"I know"

"After the last call, if she doesn't change her behavior, I'll be forced to suspend her."

"I know."

Buck couldn't lose you.

You couldn't talk to Buck yet, you were so nervous after your conversation with Bobby. You were trying your best, how could he tell you that you had a death wish love? You were saving lives, and it didn't matter if it cost you your own. You didn't care.

A new call ecoed through the station. It was something big. A fire in a shed. People were working at the time, so there were many likely victims. You were anxious, just as you were before any call, but you were ready for it. You were born ready.

"Be careful," Buck told you before you got off the truck and you nodded. You were always careful "I love you"

You turned surprised to Buck, you'd never said that to each other before. It disconcerted you.

"Buck, I-"

Before you could say anything, you heard Bobby calling you to give instructions and you had to run.

I love you.

The words echoed in your head as you entered the burning building. No one had ever said that to you. You didn't even know the weight those words carried.

"Sir, follow this path and the fireman will take you to the exit."

It was so hot. You'd already lost count of how many people you'd pulled out of the line of fire. Your head was heavy. It was getting hard to breathe.

"Evacuate the building now," you could hear Cap saying over the radio. Everyone agreed and gave their location. You were about to respond when you heard something.

It was a call for help.

You could have sworn it was a call for help.

"Captain, I'm in the east side, I hear someone screaming for help. I'm close, I can get them out"

"Negative, the building will collapse at any moment. Get out immediately"

Your vision was blurred.

I love you.

You couldn't go out and leave those people to die, so you went ahead. The way to the door was difficult, there was a lot of rubble, and when you opened it, you froze in place.

It was empty. The fire danced in front of you, mocking you. But the cries for help... you've never been so wrong before.

I love you.

“It’s empty” you murmured at the radio.

Bobby was shouting your name from the other end of the radio. You turned around, but it was so hard to breathe. You tried to find your way back, but everything was spinning. Buck was now calling your name.

I love you.

His words were running through your head. Your steps were now slow. The way out, you couldn't find the way out. You could hear the fire laughing at you. Stupid. Pathetic. You heard an explosion behind you, and it threw you off balance, bringing you to the ground. You'd been walking through fire all your life, and now it would finally take its place back. Your siren buzzed in your ears. That would be the end of you.

I love you too, Buck.

The moment Buck came out of the building and didn't see you outside, he tried to go back. But hands held him in place.

This couldn't be happening. No, no.

Bobby called your name on the radio and you didn't answer. It's empty. That was the last answer they got. You weren't answering. An explosion. On the east side, where you were.

Buck's knees gave way, and he went down. All eyes were on the exit of the building waiting for you, waiting for a miracle. But it never came.

Buck screamed, and he would scream until his lungs gave up.

Time seemed to stop. Buck's screams were the only noise to be heard. And another explosion. Tears rolled down trough some faces. No one could believe it. This couldn't be happening.

Buck couldn't lose you like this.

"We found her" some voice echoed over the radio.

Buck's heart could stop any second now.

But the building was collapsing.

He broke free from his friends and ran into the building, dodging all the fallen and burnt obstacles, and he saw you. You were in the arms of a fireman. He ran up to you and carried you out of the building. As soon as you stepped onto the sidewalk, the building collapsed. Buck held you in his arms with all his strength and ran, feeling the debris fly past you.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry" was the first thing that came out of your lips when he put you on the stretcher and he shut you up, pressing his lips to yours.

Buck analyzed each of your wounds alongside Hen and Chim and you could see the tears streaming down Buck's face, the ones that were also streaming down your own.

You were still struggling to breathe, every inch of your body ached, and you felt on the verge of losing consciousness. Until you succumbed to the darkness that was calling your name.

*

You woke up a few hours later in hospital. Your hands were being squeezed and you could feel something wet running down over them. Tears.

Buck had his face in your hands, he had never felt so afraid before. And when he heard your voice calling him, it was as if he could finally breathe.

"I'm sorry, Buck, I-I don't know what happened-"

"I almost lost you today"

Your heart broke into a million pieces. You did this to him, your recklessness, your impulsive behavior. It was your fault.

"I'm sorry"

Tears were now streaming down your face and he moved closer, running his hands gently down your cheeks.

"I was terrified of losing you. I'd die if I do."

"I would never leave you"

"Promise?"

"I love you, Buck. And I'll love you to death"

"Please don't let it be soon"

You smiled. No one had ever loved you like that.

"It won't."

[aeralux]

"I Know The End" - Jacaerys Velaryon

Jacaerys Velaryon x Reader

Summary: The end is near, you know the end. The war looms heavy over the both of you. Duty pulling you and your childhood sweetheart, Jacaerys slowly apart. "I'll be back," he promises you...

Warnings: angst; death of characters; hurt and no comfort; but a calm ending; brief Cregan x Reader

Words: 3.3k

Notes: This made me cry three times while writing it. But I did kiss the brick before chucking it at you. There is no use of (y/n) and no description of the reader.

𐔌 . ⋮ aera .ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

Since moving back to King's Landing with your father, Daemon, and your siblings, Rhaena and Baela, you and Jacaerys had formed an unbreakable bond. Your laughter rang through the castle halls like music, a sweet sound that chased away the shadows of the past. You spent countless hours whispering secrets in the sun-dappled gardens, your voices mingling with the rustling leaves or curled up in cosy corners with books, the soft glow of candlelight illuminating your shared adventures as the world outside drifted into slumber.

"When I'm King, I'll take you as my Queen," Jace would often promise, his youthful face adorned with an infectious grin that made your heart flutter. In those moments, you could see the earnestness in his big brown eyes, sparkling with the warmth of sincerity. And deep down, you knew he meant it.

Daemon and Rhaenyra were well aware that any attempts to betroth you to someone else would be futile. Anyone with eyes could see how Jace looked at you, his gaze filled with adoration, as though you were the sun in his sky—radiant and irreplaceable.

As the years passed, that affection only deepened. Your stolen kisses behind the towering bookcases of the Red Keep became cherished memories. You could still picture the look on his face the first time your lips met, a mixture of surprise and delight. His eyes widened, and his lips were slightly slick with the remnants of your shared moment as if he had tasted the sweetness of something sacred.

"I love you," he whispered in that hushed, reverent tone, the world around you fading away. It felt like a vow—a promise of forever. In that heartbeat, you knew he meant it with every fibre of his being.

This was well before war threatened your family and duty felt heavy on your shoulders. The stolen moments of sweetness became rare and the distance between you grew. Not because either of you wanted it. No.

It deeply pained Jacaerys to watch you become weary from the weight of duty and sacrifice. The girl he had fallen in love with was slowly turning into just another soldier in a war that wasn’t truly yours to fight.

You recalled the promise you made to meet him by the sea, and a soft smile crept onto your lips. After all, he was a Velaryon, with a calling to the sea that was hard to resist. So, you stood there by the water's edge, the gentle sound of the waves crashing around you, waiting for the prince with the tousled brown curls and warm brown eyes that seemed to hold a world of emotion.

"When the war is over, we'll come back here...": a whispered vow.

You turned to look at him: "You promise?"

He simply took your hand and placed it on his heart. His skin was warm, his pulse steady. “You feel that?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“That's yours. Always has been.”

You memorized the rhythm of it. Just in case.

As the threat of war grew darker, those golden days became rarer but never less precious. Before he departed for the Vale—securing allies, earning loyalty—you stood with him in the courtyard where dragonfire once scorched the stone. Vermax waited in the distance, wings rustling in anticipation.

Before he left, Jace pulled you close, your foreheads touching, breath mingling in the cold morning air.

“I’ll return to you,” he promised. His voice was quiet but sure, like something carved in stone. “No matter how long it takes, no matter where I have to fly. I’ll find my way back to you.”

You clutched a ring he had given you, simple Valyrian steel etched with the smallest of sapphires — a quiet token, hidden beneath your sleeve.

“When I wear this, I’ll be yours.”

“You already are,” he said and kissed you a goodbye he couldn’t bear to say.

Upon his return from Winterfell, he brought news of Lucerys' death. That was when you both realized there was no true winner in this war. In the end, you would both be broken remnants of the children you once were, desperately holding onto each other and what little you had left.

"You would like Cregan Stark... he's quiet, calm," Jacaerys said, his voice barely above a whisper one evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon of Blackwater Bay. The golden light spilt through the tall windows of the Tower of the Hand, bathing the room in warmth, an ironic contrast to the chill that hung in the air.

"I think I would do well in Winterfell then," you replied, the image of the distant Stark stronghold forming in your mind.

He almost chuckled, the corners of his lips twitching upward. You—a girl forged from fire and blood—going to the land of ice and snow? It seemed comical to him.

"When this is all over," he promised, his gaze intense, "I'll take you there. I’ll take you anywhere you want." The weight of those words lingered between you, a fragile hope amidst the despair.

And you knew he meant it.

Jacaerys fell into a restless sleep. He knew a battle was waiting for him. There was a chance he wouldn't return to his brothers and his beloved. He didn't want to think about it.

He sees you waiting for him in the distance.

He knows it's a dream. He can feel it in the quiet.

You wear no armour, no crown. Just you, barefoot in the dark, like you stepped out of some long-lost summer. Your hair is loose, tangled by the wind. Your eyes find his like they always did—without needing to search.

You don't speak. You don't need to. You just walk to him, holding his hand like it's still yours to hold.

“I missed you,” he says, though it doesn’t feel like enough.

You smile, but it’s tinged with sorrow. “I know.”

You sit, side by side, like children again. He leans his head against your shoulder. There’s nothing urgent here. No war. No ravens. Just the stars above them and the sound of the waves below, rising and falling like a lullaby.

He closes his eyes.

For a moment, he imagines a life that never was—children with your eyes and his wild curls, a quiet holdfast somewhere far from thrones and fire.

He sees you beside the Dornish sea, hair shimmering in the sunlight, smiling as their son chases a wooden dragon across the sand.

And for a breath—a single, perfect breath—he lets himself believe it could’ve been real.

But the wind changes. The dream starts to fade. Your warmth begins to slip from him, like light from a dying flame.

“Jace,” you whisper, and there’s weight in it.

He knows what comes next.

“I’ll look for you,” you say, as the dream starts to unravel.

He tries to hold onto your hand, but you're already slipping—not falling, not vanishing, just slipping.

“I’ll find you in the next life,” he says.

And then he wakes.

The cold is sharp. The hour is early. His armour waits beside the bed, his sword already strapped for flight. Vermax stirs outside, ready.

Jace sits for a moment longer, eyes still wet with the dream.

Then, like always, he gets up—and walks into the dawn.

You watched from the shadows of the battlements as Jace mounted Vermax, his silhouette sharp against the pale sky.

He didn’t know you were there. Or maybe he did. Maybe that’s why he looked back, just once, toward the tower where you'd last kissed. His eyes scanned the horizon as if searching for something—or someone.

You didn’t call out to him.

You couldn’t.

You knew if you did, he’d never leave.

And he had to.

So you simply pressed your fingers to your wrist, right where his pulse had once beat beneath your palm, and whispered the words he had given you once:

That’s yours. Always has been.

Then he was gone—just a blur of wings and fire and fading warmth.

It happened all so fast for him.

The sting, the pull—one, then another.

Pain, sharp and sudden, blooms through him like a crack in dragon glass.

He doesn’t cry out.

He doesn’t have time to.

His breath catches—a rattle, a release.

The end is here.

The sky around him blurs. The wind is no longer at his back, it’s everywhere, screaming in his ears. Vermax roars—he feels the dragon’s pain as if it were his own, a thread of fire between them snapping, fraying.

But what he thinks of—isn’t war.

Isn’t duty.

Isn’t the crown or the throne or the histories that will call this courage.

He thinks of you.

Not as you were when you last parted, him armoured and drawn. No—his mind conjures something softer: your hair damp from the sea, laughter on your lips, the sun casting light through your eyelashes as you turned to smile at him on the cliffs of Dragonstone.

I’m sorry, he thinks, though his lips never move.

Not for dying—but for not keeping the promise.

The one where he said he’d come back.

The one where he swore they’d have time.

He wonders if you'll know the moment it happens.

If the wind will shift.

If a fire goes out in your heart, and you won’t know why.

And as the sky tilts, as Vermax’s wings falter and the sea surges up to meet them—Jace’s last breath is not fear, not rage, not even pain.

It’s your name.

Whispered like a prayer.

Like a goodbye.

Like a vow, he’ll carry into the dark.

You waited and waited. After all, he had made a promise to you—he would be back.

News of his death came days later on a cold morning. A raven sent. The ink smudged from the water from its wings.

Your hands shook when you opened it.

You didn’t need to read past the first line.

You’d thought you’d know. That there’d be thunder. Light splitting the sky.

But it wasn’t like that. It was quiet. A raven at the sill, and then—The end is here.

Your heart had dropped into the sea with him. The ring on your finger, cool and worn from the nervous way you twisted it when thinking of him, suddenly felt heavier. Like it knew.

You didn't cry, you didn't scream. Physically, you couldn't. As if someone is squeezing you, choking you.

You just stood there, still, as though you were carved from the same stone that now buried your future.

That night, you ride your dragon to the same clifftop where you made your childhood vow. The sea below is vicious. You wait for hours, watching the horizon like you're expecting to see Vermax in the clouds.

But he doesn't come. And you know he never will. He was swallowed by the sea... like a true Velaryon.

They buried him in silence. No body to burn. No sword to place in his hands. Only the sea to cradle him and your love to remember him by.

"Wait for me, I'll look for you," you whispered. And in your silence, you could almost hear him: I'll find my way back to you.

You finally let the tears fall, each one a testament to the pain you had hidden away for too long. His absence weighed heavily on your heart, a hollow ache that refused to fade. Memories swirled around you—his laughter, the warmth of his smile—reminders of the boy you fell in love with and the man who stole your heart completely. 

Now, those moments felt tainted, haunted by the knowledge that he was truly gone. You pressed a hand to your chest, the echo of your grief resonating with every heartbeat. He will always be here, in your heart and mind, a bittersweet reminder of the love you shared. You yearned for just one more moment, one more chance to tell him how deeply he mattered to you. Instead, you were left with memories that were both beautiful and painfully out of reach.

Years passed.

The war did not end, not truly. Kings and dragons fell, and the realm bled. But somewhere between the final fire and the fading of ambition, the dust began to settle. You emerged from it not as a princess or a warrior, but as a woman remade by loss.

Winterfell came not as an idea by your beloved sister as a place to retreat—a promise kept. Jace had spoken of it once, his voice quiet over the crackle of a hearth:

"You would do well in the North... too much fire in your veins, perhaps. But you’d like it there."

Baela had suggested it, gently, when she came to you.

“You’re drowning here,” she had said, eyes rimmed red from her own mourning. “Go somewhere with air. With quiet. Somewhere, where he isn’t in every stone.”

"You’ll be safe there. You’ll be... seen.”

You knew that Rhaenyra would have given her blessing if she were still here. She had always regarded Lord Cregan as an honourable man.

The suffocating walls of the Red Keep felt like a tomb now, each stone a reminder of her absence. Her suffering had finally ended, yet yours lingered like a shadow, an unrelenting ache that suffused your days with despair.

So, you went.

Cregan Stark was not like the lords of the South. He did not court you with poetry or flattery. Instead, he offered silence when you needed it, and presence when the silence became too heavy. He was a steady kind of man—rooted, like the old trees in his godswood, unmoved by storm or flame.

He didn’t speak of Jace at first, but you saw the flicker in his eyes when your gaze drifted too long to the sky. He understood. He knew what it meant to love someone you couldn’t keep.

What surprised you most was how easy the quiet became. How your grief wasn’t something you had to hide. In Winterfell, the pain was allowed to live beside you, like a ghost at the table, like snow that never fully melted.

One evening, in the weirwood grove, Cregan stood beside you, his breath misting the air.

“I won’t ask you to forget him,” he said. “But if there’s space... I’d like to be someone who makes the remembering easier.”

The red leaves, along with the sunset, painted the surroundings.

It was like he had given his blessing.

And for the first time in a long while, your heart didn’t twist in sorrow.

It simply beat.

You smiled at him, only this time it wasn't forced or sad. It was a genuine smile. It felt weird at first. Your cheeks hurt from how long it had been.

The wedding was small. No dragons. No fanfare. Just snow falling softly as vows were whispered in the heart of the old gods. You wore a ring of northern silver, simple and elegant—nothing like the one still tucked in the hollow of a carved box, beneath layers of velvet and memory.

You kept Jace’s ring. Always.

And Cregan never asked you to part with it.

In time, you bore children. Boys with Cregan’s eyes and your stubborn fire, daughters who laughed like summer still lived in their bones.

The snow has fallen steadily all night. The world outside is white and hushed, the kind of silence that swallows everything—even memory, even grief. But inside the nursery, warmth pools around the hearth, and your youngest is curled up against you, half-asleep, clutching a carved wooden dragon you'd meant to burn months ago.

You brush the boy’s dark curls from his forehead and pause.

There. Just for a breath—the angle of his cheek, the stubborn curl of his lip, the way he furrows his brow even in sleep—he looks exactly like Jace.

Your chest aches. Not the way it used to, not sharp and unbearable. It’s a dull, familiar heaviness now. Like an old wound that flares with the cold.

You don't cry. You haven't in years. But you do let yourself sit there longer than you need to, fingertips ghosting across your child’s hair, caught between now and then.

Cregan finds you like that when he returns from the yard, snow in his hair, a quiet question in his eyes.

You smile at him—small, soft, tired... at peace, content.

“Just thinking,” you say.

And he doesn’t ask. He just crosses the room, stoops to kiss your forehead, and settles beside you.

“A handsome little lad, ain't he?” Cregan chuckles, his fingers gently tickling the boy's soft belly. He knows what you'rethinking. He can see it in your eyes.

He pulls you closer, the boy nestled comfortably in your lap, his laughter mingling with the faint echoes of joy that fill the room. Cregan’s presence is a comforting weight beside you; it’s a silent promise that you’re not alone. You feel his cold nose brush against your cheek, and it sends a shiver down your spine, a reminder of the intimacy you share.

You can’t help but smile, a genuine smile that lights up your face, causing your eyes to crinkle with affection. You turn toward him, the world around you fading away, and press a soft kiss to his lips. It’s a tender declaration of love, a quiet thank you for all the unspoken support he offers.

You never say his name aloud anymore. But he lives here, in the curve of your son’s smile. In the warmth you feel, even in the coldest part of the realm.

So, at times, when your eldest smiled just so or tilted his head in thought—you saw him. Jace.

Not a replacement.

Just... a thread that had never truly broken.

The fire burned low. Outside, snow falls in soft, unbroken sheets, blanketing the world in a hush. You lie in your bed, older now— hair dulled with time, hands lined with stories and wrinkles. The room is quiet. Your children are grown, your husband long gone, the halls slower now, more still.

In the box with Jace’s ring rests that little wooden dragon—weathered now, edges softened by time and play. You never did burn it. You never could.

You feel the weight of sleep tugging at you, soft and steady.

And then—you dream.

Not of Winterfell, not of war, not of duty.

You're back on Dragonstone. The air is warm with salt and sun, and the cliff is bathed in gold. The sea below is calm for once. A breeze catches your hair—you're young again. Light again. Not weighed down by crowns or grief.

You turn.

And he’s there.

Jace.

Exactly as he was—proud, eyes alight with something wild and kind. He looks like he always did in your dreams, but this time feels different. Not fleeting. Not fading. Present.

He smiles, and it isn’t sad this time. It’s real. “You took your time,” he teases.

You laugh—a real laugh, one you haven't made in decades. “You always were impatient.”

You stand there, not touching at first, just looking. All the years fall away in that gaze—the war, the children, the choices, the silence. All of it dissolves into this one impossible moment.

“I saw you,” you say softly. “In all of them. Every time our son laughed like you. Every time the sky turned red at dusk.”

“I know,” he says. “I was there.”

He reaches out, and you don’t hesitate. Your hand slides into his. Still warm.

You lean into him like you did once, long ago, under the stars. He wraps his arms around you, and this time, they don’t let go.

The dream doesn’t fade.

The wind doesn’t change.

This time, you stay.

You close your eyes.

The sea smells like home.

His arms are warm.

The end is here.

You don't wake. The snow falls quietly outside your window. Your children will find you in the morning—peaceful, smiling, one hand curled gently over your heart.

And somewhere, far beyond the wall of the realm, a boy and a girl fly together again, two dragons in love, at last unbound by time or fate.

——

tags: @bey0nd-1he-stars I forgot that people make tag lists, so if you wish to be tagged, please let me know

[yungistiny]

GAMEBOY ═ chapter seven

[ J. Yunho ]

chapter seven: jealousy?

╚═════════

summary: yunho has no idea that his neighbor across the hall, the same one he’s had a crush on, was his arch nemesis behind a headset

warning: dom yunho, bratty/sub reader, slight orgothumophilia, masturbation, unprotected sex, spanking, choking, degradation, overstimulation, oral, sexting, more will be added

pairing: gamer yunho x gamer afab reader

genre: smut, romance, drama

word count: 3.6k

chapter six

chapter eight

masterlist

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Y/N stared at her screen, heart pounding far too hard for someone who hadn’t moved in ten minutes. The last message from Yunho still glowed in the chat box, sizzling like a brand across her chest.

Yunho: [ maybe i like the sound you make when i pin you down mid match wonder what kind of noises i could get out of you if you let me try it in person ]

Her breath caught. It should’ve thrilled her. It should’ve made her squirm with heat and anticipation.

Instead, her stomach twisted, tight and cold.

Not because it wasn’t hot. God, it was, the image alone had her squeezing her thighs together.

But because she couldn’t shake the feeling slithering through her chest, low and bitter.

Jealousy.

Actual, pathetic, self cannibalizing jealousy.

And the worst part? She wasn’t even jealous of another girl.

She was jealous of herself.

Juniper.

The persona she built. The voice she used. The version of her that flirted with Yunho over glowing screens, that played coy during co op matches, that teased and tormented and made him groan in real time.

The version of her that he was obviously hooked on.

But after everything that had happened, them sleeping together, laser tag, the teasing, the tension. They were finally starting to peel back the layers. To say what they actually wanted.

And then, bam, his parents.

Cockblocked by family and circumstance.

They hadn’t kissed since. Barely touched. Every look across the hall was loaded, every brush of his shoulder near hers had sparked. But the moment hadn’t come back around.

And now this, this flirty, low voiced message in dms felt like a slap to the face.

Her fingers hovered over the keyboard, pulse pounding.

And then, worse than all of it… a thought she hadn’t been able to shake for days.

What if he knew?

What if Yunho had figured it out, what if he knew she was Juniper and just hadn’t said anything? What if this was all a game to him now, something twisted and mean and slow, letting her dig herself deeper, waiting to see how far she’d go?

What if that message wasn’t about Juniper at all?

What if it was?

She couldn’t breathe.

Maybe he was testing her. Maybe he was already laughing.

Or maybe, worst of all, he had no idea. And she’d been the idiot pretending none of this was real.

She typed, slower this time. Angrier. Maybe a little desperate.

Juniper: you talk like that to all the girls you stream with? Or just the ones you haven’t gotten out of your system yet?

The second she hit send, her heart dropped into her stomach.

Three dots appeared. Paused. Disappeared. Came back.

She clenched her fists, hating the way her entire body tensed.

Because if he answered flippantly, she might cry. If he answered seriously, she might unravel.

And if he said nothing?

Then maybe she had her answer already.

And maybe…

Juniper was winning.

And Y/N was losing.

To herself.

Yunho: just the ones who still keep me up at night you know, the ones who leave me hard and frustrated on a loop for three hours after and then go radio silent like nothing happened

Her breath caught.

Her stomach twisted.

Juniper: maybe I needed to blow off some steam maybe I got laid

She didn’t know why she sent it. Maybe to mess with him. Maybe to test him. Maybe to see if he’d crack.

The dots blinked faster this time.

Yunho: oh yeah? who’s the lucky guy?

Her breath stuttered. Oh, was he was messing with her?

Juniper: someone who knows what he’s doing someone who makes me forget my name for a few hours

A beat passed. Two.

Yunho: hmm wasn’t me then I’d make it last days

Y/N cheeks burned.

Okay. He was evil.

Her heart was a hurricane in her chest. He was definitely fishing. And the worst part was… she was starting to think he knew exactly who he was talking to.

And he was letting her sweat.

She chewed her lip, suddenly anxious. What if he really did know? What if he’d figured it out that night? He wasn’t dumb.

Juniper: maybe I’m not done with him yet maybe I want another round

He didn’t respond back.

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The next day, Y/N couldn’t focus on anything for more than five seconds.

She kept rereading the messages from last night, every word spinning around her head like it had its own gravitational pull. Yunho hadn’t messaged again after that last one, not even a reaction. No follow up. Nothing.

Which, somehow, was worse.

Because now she had to live in the quiet. Wondering if he knew. If he was just waiting for her to break. If he was going to knock on her door and say her name, Juniper, with that sharp, knowing look in his eyes.

She was still mentally spiraling when someone did knock on her door.

She jumped.

For a second, she thought it might be San, back early from the gym. Or maybe her package from that late night online spiral she did a few nights ago.

But when she opened the door and saw Yunho standing there, black t shirt, dark jeans, a stupidly charming grin, her heart stopped for half a beat.

“Hey,” he said casually, as if he hadn’t completely fried her brain the night before. “I was in the neighborhood.” He joked like he hadn’t just stepped across the hall.

“Right,” she managed, stepping aside to let him in. “You live… across the hall.”

He smiled like he knew she was stalling. Like he liked that she was thrown.

He walked inside slowly, gaze trailing over her space like he was cataloging it. Comfortable. Cozy. Lived in. She suddenly felt very aware of the throw pillows she always meant to rearrange and the half empty mug on the counter.

She wanted to slap herself. Yunho has seen the inside of her and San’s apartment dozens of times.

“I just realized,” he said after a beat, “I’ve never seen your bedroom.”

Y/N breath caught.

“What?” she said a little too quickly.

Yunho’s eyes glittered.

“Your bedroom,” he repeated. “We’ve hung out in here, your kitchen, even on your balcony… but never in your room.” He looked at her, head tilted. “Keeping secrets?”

Her pulse spiked. Was he asking about her bedroom, or Juniper’s?

“Just messy,” she lied, turning toward the couch. “I didn’t realize you had a bucket list of rooms to visit.”

“Oh, I definitely do,” he said smoothly, following her. “Your bedroom’s just high on it.” He sat on the couch like he belonged there.

Before she could respond, he caught her by the wrist and tugged her gently down to straddle his lap, her knees sinking into the couch cushions on either side of his hips.

“You seem nervous,” he murmured, brushing her hair behind her ear. “Something on your mind?”

She tried to shake her head, but her body betrayed her, pressing closer, her breath catching as his hands slid under her shirt, palms hot against her skin.

What was he doing?

“N… no,” she breathed, watching him like he might explode into accusations at any second. “Just…. caught off guard.”

He leaned in, slow, deliberate, lips brushing the curve of her jaw.

“I like you like this,” he whispered. “Caught off guard. Just mine.”

His words melted her. So did the heat of his mouth trailing down her neck. Her fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging him closer as her hips rolled instinctively over his. This was nothing like her nerdy gamer friend, this side of Yunho was making her weak in his hold.

“Yunho,” she murmured, almost moaned it when she felt his growing bulge press into her, the growing hardness making her want to grind against it through her shorts.

So she did.

He groaned like her name like it was the only thing holding him together. “Tell me if you want to stop,” he said, voice thick with restraint.

“I don’t,” she whispered. “God, I don’t.”

He pulled her shirt over her head and tossed it to the floor without breaking eye contact. She was still in her bra, barely. And he had that look again, like he wanted to taste every inch of her. Hands running up her thighs, hips lifting to thrust up to her.

His lips were just brushing over hers….

“Oh, what the fuck?”

Y/N froze.

So did Yunho.

They turned in unison to see San standing in the open doorway, eyes wide, gym bag still slung over his shoulder and one earbud dangling from his neck.

San blinked.

Yunho blinked back.

Y/N let out a noise that could only be described as a dying kettle.

San slowly raised a hand and pointed. “You could’ve texted me. Just saying.”

Y/N buried her face in Yunho’s shoulder and screamed into the fabric of his shirt.

Yunho leaned back on the couch, arms draped over the cushions like a king on his throne, and looked between Y/N and San with a slow, lazy smirk. “So,” he drawled, “maybe we should move this into your room.”

Dead. Silence.

Y/N stomach dropped like a stone.

San’s eyes snapped wide open, and he made a sharp choking sound, stepping in front of the couch like he could physically block the path to her room with sheer willpower.

“Nope,” San said, voice high and panicked. “Bad idea. Terrible. That room is off limits for your own good. Y/N is a slob.”

Y/N voice cracked, too fast, too defensive. “Y… yeah! It’s, uh… it’s a mess. Total disaster. Like, biohazard level. I’ve been meaning to deep clean for weeks, so…. nope! Can’t go in there.”

Yunho just blinked up at them, entirely too calm, looking like a cat that had just tipped over the fishbowl and was watching the flopping aftermath with interest.

“Really?” he said, brow quirking. “Because I’ve seen your kitchen sink. I don’t think mess is something that bothers you.”

“You take that back.” Y/N hissed, crawling off his lap and folding her arms across her chest.

San stepped in again, waving his hands like an air traffic controller trying to land a malfunctioning plane. “Okay, no need to start a fight. Yunho, seriously, man, just… just chill here. I’ll order food. You like ramen, right?”

Yunho tilted his head, still lounging, still far too pleased.

“You two act like you’re hiding some big secret in there or something…” he teased, eyes locking onto Y/N with laser focus.

San paled.

Y/N stiffened.

Her voice came out strangled. “There’s no secret.”

Yunho’s smile widened, slow and sharp. “You sure about that?”

San made a sound that could only be described as a wheeze and muttered, “I need a drink,” before disappearing into the kitchen like his life depended on it.

Y/N scrambled to pull her shirt back on, still flustered and flushed and trying not to combust.

“I told you, it’s messy,” she said, avoiding Yunho’s eyes as she adjusted the hem. “And San’s dramatic.”

Yunho rose from the couch with the kind of slow, deliberate movement that made her insides twist. He didn’t reach for her. Didn’t press. Just walked closer, invading her space, gaze flicking over her like he was reading every line she wasn’t saying.

He leaned in, just enough that she could feel his breath against her ear.

“I bet it’s not messy at all,” he whispered, voice low and smug. “I bet it’s perfect. And you just don’t want me to see what’s in there.”

Y/N breath hitched. Her stomach was a warzone of guilt and tension and a spark of arousal that made her knees weak.

Because he was right.

And he knew it.

San came back from the kitchen with two bottles of sparkling water and the kind of look that screamed, Please, God, let this nightmare end.

He handed one to Y/N without making eye contact and cracked his own open with a loud hiss, chugging half of it like it might wash the awkward out of the room.

“So…” he said, dragging the word out like it physically hurt. “Are you guys… dating now? Or…. like…. what’s the situation?”

Y/N froze mid sip, water sloshing dangerously near the rim of her bottle.

Yunho, of course, didn’t even blink. He leaned back against the edge of the counter, casual as ever, and smirked. “Good question.”

Then he turned to her, dark eyes locking with hers like a challenge.

“Well?” he asked. “Are we?”

Y/N nearly choked.

San immediately backpedaled. “You don’t have to answer that. I was just… you know… making conversation. Normal best friend stuff. Soooo, weather’s been weird lately, huh?”

Neither of them responded.

Because Yunho hadn’t looked away.

And Y/N… didn’t know how to answer.

She swallowed hard and gave a wobbly smile. “I mean… it’s not like we’ve labeled anything.”

“Right,” Yunho said, slow and amused, like he was savoring her squirming. “No labels.”

He stepped a little closer, his shoulder brushing hers. “But if someone asked me if I you were mine… I wouldn’t hesitate.”

Y/N felt her heart trip over itself, stumbling wildly in her chest.

San made a small noise and muttered something about needing to go check if he left his car windows down, which made zero sense because his car was in an underground garage. But he fled anyway, leaving the two of them alone again in the thick, humming silence.

Yunho leaned his hip against the counter beside her, gaze still fixed like he was trying to read her mind.

“Seriously,” he said, quieter now, softer. “Do you want this?”

She hesitated, biting her lip, trying to ignore how loud her pulse had gotten.

“Yeah,” she said finally, voice barely above a whisper. “I do.”

Yunho smiled, slow, real, and just for her. The same smile she had been falling for since she met him.

“Good,” he murmured. “Then let me see the rest of you.”

Her stomach flipped.

She looked at him, eyes wide.

“The room, Y/N,” he added, voice low with knowing. “Let me in.”

Yunho’s eyes were dark with something warm and hungry as he reached out, brushing his fingers over the hem of Y/N’s shirt.

“Let me in,” he murmured again, low and velvet soft.

Her heart nearly leapt out of her chest.

Not just because she wanted to, God, she wanted to, but because she couldn’t. Not without unraveling everything.

Her bedroom wasn’t just a mess of clothes or unmade sheets. It was Juniper’s domain. Her entire second life, exposed and glowing behind her bedroom door like a neon trap. The soft pink and purple LED lights she never turned off. The dual monitors, always left open to chat tabs and editing software. Her streaming mic, her headset, the mini whiteboard with her weekly content schedule still pinned with sticky notes.

If Yunho walked in there, he’d see everything.

And he was so close.

Her brain scrambled, mouth opening to stall, deflect, lie, but the universe threw her a rope.

Yunho groaned, forehead dropping to her shoulder as the vibrating sound cut through the heat.

“I swear to God…” he muttered.

He pulled out his phone, glanced at the caller ID, then sighed.

He answered. “Gunho?”

There was a beat of silence, then the unmistakable sound of someone trying to talk while their face was half buried in a slice of street pizza.

Y/N couldn’t hear much, just a loud, slurred mess of syllables and Yunho’s jaw clenching tighter with each one.

“Wait… what? You’re where?”

The tone in Yunho’s voice changed. Big Brother Mode activated.

He stood up straighter, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright, alright, Jesus. Stay put, don’t talk to anyone, and for the love of God, don’t try to walk anywhere.”

He ended the call and looked over at Y/N with a groan, already reaching for his keys in his pocket.

“My idiot brother,” he said. “He got drunk, like, really drunk, and now he’s stranded downtown with no ID, no wallet, and absolutely no shame.”

Y/N blinked. “Wait… your baby brother? The one with the straight A GPA and the wholesome Instagram?”

“Yeah, well,” Yunho said, dragging a hand through his hair. “Apparently even the golden child gets messy sometimes.”

She watched him gather his things with familiar ease, and that edge of frustration only older siblings got, the one layered with worry beneath the sarcasm.

“Where are you taking him?”

“I’m bringing him back to mine,” he said. “Wooyoung’s at work tonight, so he can crash in his room. Better than him getting caught sneaking in by my mom, she’d kill him.”

Y/N nodded, a little breathless.

Partly because Yunho was moving so fast. Partly because, thank God! The tension coiled in her chest like wire finally snapped loose.

She wouldn’t have to stall. Wouldn’t have to invent some excuse or fake a sudden headache. Wouldn’t have to let him walk into her room and straight into the secret she’d been hiding for months.

This chaos was saving her. Again.

Yunho paused on his way to the door, eyes flicking back to her, and that slow grin curved up again.

“I really was looking forward to that tour.”

“Raincheck?” she said, just barely holding her voice steady.

He leaned in, kissed her gently, and whispered against her lips, “I’ll be holding you to that.”

She didn’t dare look, too relieved. Just smiled and pushed him toward the door.

“Go be a good big brother.”

He winked. “Tell San he owes me for the cockblock.”

Y/N watched him disappear, out the door, down the hall, his footsteps fading as he muttered something about not letting his brother puke in the backseat of his car.

As soon as the door shut, she let her head fall back against it, exhaling in one long, quiet breath.

The secret was safe.

Juniper lived to stream another day.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

Yunho pulled up outside a run down convenience store just past midnight, headlights illuminating a few dazed looking kids loitering outside like they were waiting for their lives to make sense again. And right there on the curb, slouched against the wall like he was posing for a PSA on underage drinking, was Gunho, shirt sliding off one shoulder, cheeks flushed, one unlaced sneaker barely hanging on.

Yunho put the car in park, leaned his forehead against the steering wheel for a second, then sighed and got out.

“Seriously?” he muttered, walking up. “This is how you wanna die?”

Gunho grinned up at him, eyes glazed but cheerful. “Hyung! I was just resting my eyes.”

“In a gutter?”

Gunho opened his arms like he expected a hug. Yunho grabbed him under the armpits and hauled him to his feet instead.

“You reek.”

“Vodka and poor decisions,” Gunho said proudly.

“You’re nineteen.”

“Nineteen and thriving.”

Yunho half dragged, half guided him toward the passenger seat. “You’re lucky I don’t throw you in the trunk.”

Once he got him into the car and slammed the door, Yunho rounded the front and got in behind the wheel, shooting him a glare. Gunho gave him a dopey smile.

“You’re the best brother.”

“I’m rethinking it.”

They drove a few blocks in silence, the city buzzing quietly around them. Gunho had his head tipped back, mumbling something under his breath.

“Oh! Yo, wait, speaking of thriving,” he said suddenly, perking up. “I’ve been watching your streams.”

Yunho glanced over. “…..What?”

“Yeah, like the gaming ones. You and that girl. Juniper.”

Yunho’s grip on the wheel didn’t loosen, but something sharp flickered in his chest.

Gunho sighed like he was recounting a spiritual experience. “She’s so hot. I mean, yeah, she’s cracked at shooters, but like, it’s the attitude, bro. The way she talks to you? Kinda degrading? But, like, the fun kind.”

Yunho smirked, trying not to laugh. “You’re talking like she stepped on you or something.”

“I wish she would.”

Yunho shook his head, amused despite himself.

“And the way she makes you all flustered?” Gunho went on. “The back and forth is so good. Real enemies to lovers vibes.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah. You guys have chemistry.”

Yunho hummed. “Glad my little brother’s shipping me with my stream partner.”

Gunho turned to him with the seriousness only a very drunk younger sibling could muster.

“Okay but…. be honest. Have you ever met her in real life?”

Yunho raised a brow, eyes flicking between the road and his brother’s curious expression.

“What makes you ask?”

“Dunno,” Gunho said with a shrug. “You act different with her. Like… not like a regular collab. You sound like you know her. Like, ****know her.”

Yunho smiled faintly, staring out at the road. “Maybe I do.”

Gunho let out a loud gasp. “No way. You have?”

Yunho stayed quiet, lips twitching.

“Wait. Wait, wait, wait,” Gunho said, sitting up straighter. “You’re not just gaming with her, are you? Are you… oh my god. Are you hitting that?”

Yunho snorted, low and amused. “I think that’s enough for the night.”

Gunho groaned dramatically. “So that’s a yes.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t deny it.”

Yunho just smirked, letting the silence do the work.

Gunho shook his head, flopping back in his seat. “Man… you’re living the dream.”

Yunho’s smile lingered as he pulled into his and Wooyoung’s apartment lot. He parked, turned off the ignition, and glanced at Gunho slumped against the door.

“Come on, idiot,” he said, opening his door.

As they stepped out of the car and made their way toward the elevator, Yunho’s mind wasn’t on his brother anymore.

It was on Y/N.

Have you ever met her in real life?

He was so close to finding out just how long he could keep pretending.

And maybe even closer to calling her out.

═════════ ═════════ ═════════

tag list: @straycat420 @autieofthevalley @dejatiny @hannahlilibet411 @xh01bri @jintastic-yuyu @maddycline @ultrapinkvoidbouquet @wooyoungsbrat @lucid-galaxys-world @ateezswonderland @therealcuppicake @aerangi @delulu4yuyu @hyuninslutbbgirl @fireseo @insanityz @kyeos4ng @fvxyxnh0 @jintastic-yuyu @beccaskz @roxhanah @heartsforyeoo @prchiquita8 @keyiswatching @noonelikeu @napipope-ta

[rkivefae]

(DIE)TS ── AARON HOTCHNER

Pairing ── Plus Size/Chubby Fem!Reader x Aaron Hotchner

Summary ── Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets. (Or: You were mocked by a woman and her words stuck to you like glue. You internalized it so much that you began restricting and over-exercising but Aaron comes back and talks to you.)

Rating ── Mature

Content Warnings ── Disordered Eating & behaviors, fatphobia, let me know if I need to say something else.

Word Count ── 3.8k+

Note ── I wrote this in like 2 and a half hours and didn't edit it. I pulled this from some dark corner of my brain that's struggling with wanting to relapse and need this comfort. I suggest anyone struggling with an ED or disordered eating to not read if easily triggered. It goes in detail and should not be consumed by just anyone but I'm sure there's someone out there who needs this just as much as me. AND IF ANYONE IS WONDERING ABOUT HIS KID, just assume he's staying the night at family houses and other peoples and at school thx.

Hotchner hates nothing more than when you go on unhealthy diets.

But you can’t help how it’s drilled in your head. You’ve always been a chunky kid and as you got older, your size never really changed. You were always bigger and people had their things to say about it.

You’ve been called many names in the book, there wasn’t anything you haven’t heard of. They used to make you cry, you wouldn’t go out with your friends, you wouldn’t eat out, you wouldn’t wear sexy or tight clothing. You trained yourself to cover yourself, to not show yourself in front of people - including the basic need of eating.

It felt wrong, forbidden of sorts and although you dropped many of those habits now in your early 30s, it still lingered. You’d occasionally forget meals, pull at your clothes when you thought your stomach was showing and on your worst days, you didn’t dare go out.

But then you met Aaron, the sweetest man you’ve ever met. You were out clubbing with your friends, in a tight green dress with a back cut out. And you never felt prettier, dancing under the lights in the club with your friends. You felt the cold air on your heated skin and it was a thrill as your body mingled with your girlfriends. They grabbed on your hips occasionally, your bodies in sync.

You could feel eyes on you, and you knew it was you because your friends giggled it in your ear. Their hands left your body, though they still were near like a precaution, you opened your eyes and your breath was caught in your throat. His jet black hair was pulled back, save a few strands in front of his face but god did it work. He was sculpted by a god who took pride in their work, you were sure of it. 

You smiled, the plump of your lips covered in the gloss you put on, eyes lined with your favorite black eyeliner and thick mascara. It all made your eyes more piercing when the light shined just right - or so you’ve been told. Then before you knew it, you were in his hands that night. And it felt more than right. His hands never left your body that whole night it felt like. He said your name on his tongue like a prayer, chanting over and over again with a rasp, a moan and a raw need that ignited a fire within you.

You both met that night by chance, his friends finally breaking his hard cover and pressuring him to give in and you, god you were looking for a break and boy did you get one. The best night of your life.

You haven’t left each other's side since that night, he worshipped you and you did the same, in your own ways.

And you knew he found you attractive, he told you that every night. And not just in sexual moments. He’d come behind you, wrap his arms around you, lean over to kiss your neck to your ear as you cooked his favorite meal (considering he cooked yours the night before) and he’d tell you how beautiful you are. To which you’d giggle and thank him. Sometimes giving him sass, “compliments will not give you sneaky bites of dinner before it’s done.”

But something got beneath your hard exterior. He was gone for the week on a case (as he is a lot, but you didn’t mind. You’d rather him out there saving lives like he does best) and you were at home. Your girlfriends asked if you wanted to go out, you pondered it for a bit but it’s been a minute since you’ve all gone out, let alone get a drink together.

So you agreed, dressing up in the green dress you met Aaron in. You decided you’d tease him with pictures, especially considering you wanted to wear your green lace set beneath it. It wasn’t to make him jealous, no one could touch him besides you, but to rile him up a little. You weren’t going to send it while he was in the middle of a case but when he was on his way home, just a little treat to show him what he’s coming home to.

You were all having fun, dancing on the floor like the time before but you got achy sooner than you thought you would, you pardoned yourself with a giggle as your friends hands chased after you but didn’t pull you back, respecting your decision to rest for a minute.

But on your way back, you weren’t watching where you were going and before you knew it, you were completely cold. A drink was spilled from your exposed chest down the silk of your dress.

“Fucking fat bitch,” you heard a girl growl out before you were pushed backwards. You went with the motion, too shocked to fight against it. You didn’t register it all at first until your eyes came to hers, the blue pierced your skull as her face twisted into what could only be described as disgust by the scrunch of her nose and snarl of her lips. “Watch where you’re fucking going. That was like fifty bucks of drinks, you lard.”

And just like that, apologies rushed out your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry” you say as you bend to pick the glass that dropped. You muttered more apologies and you didn’t even notice when your fingers were pricked by the glass, you fumbled as you tried to put it on the tray. “I’ll pay for a new one, I’m sorry-“

The girl scoffed, “I don’t need your money. Just stay out of the way or better yet, lose some fucking weight.” And you backed into yourself. You’ve been clumsy before but you’ve never had a reaction like this. And it didn’t help that you found out you gained a few more pounds while having been with Aaron.

“Yo, watch who the fuck you’re talking to.” One of your friends came up behind you, her eyes squinting at the girl before you and this time, the girl stepped back, scoffing again, muttering a whatever and walking off.

Sasha was your best friend and always has been, but when her comforting hands made their way to your body, you shrugged them off and turned to her with the best smile you had, it was small and you knew she could see past it.

“It’s okay, I think- I think I’ll just go home.” You muttered before taking off, pushing through the crowd until you made it out.

You wanted nothing more than the world to swallow you up. You hadn’t given it much thought to lose weight, not in a while. But she could barely fit the green dress she was wearing and it was perfect a few months ago.

But you didn’t know how to lose weight. You already ate healthy (with a few occasions of not) and you worked out occasionally but maybe you needed to eat less, way less and work out more.

Your walk home was cold and you were non-stop sniffling. You’ve done this to yourself, you said. You should fix it.

Aaron said they made a break in the case and might be home in a few days. Maybe you could surprise him by losing a few pounds. Maybe he’d like you more. 

These thoughts snowballed. Every thought you’ve had since you were 7 was rushing back and ten times worse.

Over the course of the next few days, you rejected your friends' invitations to eat out and tried to eat only one meal a day and spend the rest of the time working out and being busy.

You tried to eat just a salad most nights and others you were too tired, so you ordered takeout. Work was an absolute pain, you moved on your feet like a zombie. God you looked like one, there were bags under your eyes. You couldn't sleep well, you stayed up most nights because you just couldn't sleep. You had to take melatonin most nights and you tried not to do it every night considering their health concerns but sleep was becoming something that was a treat. You were rarely getting it.

Aaron called you sometimes, he said that the case is taking longer than expected and that he'd be gone for even longer. You tried not to let it get to you but maybe it was your lack of sleep (and probably proper nutrition) but you were getting more emotional. Your period had already passed so you knew it wasn't that, but you were eating yourself up from the inside out. You were getting messages from your friends, you responded as positively as you could but you could tell they were getting concerned for your health and safety as days went by and you didn't accept any of their brunch plans nor hang outs. 

It was unusual of you, it's been 2 weeks since that night and this never ending routine you've been doing was catching up to you. But you needed to continue it. You had to. You don't even understand why anymore, you loved yourself - you thought you did at least and now you weren't so sure. That night destroyed all that you built and you couldn't explain why.

You thought you were pretty before going out, maybe a little upset that you probably wouldn't be able to wear the dress again soon because you gained a few pounds and you didn't want to rip it. It was your favorite dress for multiple reasons and it being the dress that you met Aaron in was definitely the number one reason. It was the dress you were in, shamelessly flaunting yourself and he picked you. Out of everyone there. It was already not his scene, he didn't want to be there and he was dreading the whole night.

Sometimes you think late at night, what is the point of doing this? He loves you, doesn't he? Why would you have to lose weight for that love to be more? But then your other side fights that maybe he wants what every other man in his life has, a skinny girlfriend. It wasn't fair to him. What if he got mocked for dating someone like you just like you received for being yourself?

Being alone consumed you, all you had was yourself (and everything anyone has ever told you in your life). 

Aaron said it was extended another week probably due to new findings of a group. You didn't understand, you weren't allowed to consider that it was confidential business and you weren't upset about not knowing. Just that you missed him, more than anything else right now.

Around week three or four, the days began to blur more. You didn't feel like yourself anymore and you were forgetting things more. Your brain was fogging up compared to the first week, you still had pizazz in your movement. But maybe this is what beauty costs?

"Hey baby," 

Your heart ached at his voice, rough and tired through the phone.

"Hey handsome," You gave out, with a light giggle. In bed yourself. You hoped he was too. He had the tendency to stay up and overwork himself when a case was getting to him. "I miss you." you whispered into the phone after a few beats of silence.

You heard his sigh, like the world was weighing on him - and to him, it probably did feel like this. "I miss you most, angel." he muttered into the phone.

"You're not staying up working, are you?" you chided, a softness to your phone. But there was only silence to your question. You shook your head, he couldn't see it but you knew he could feel your disapproval. "Oh you totally are! You need to go to bed." You reprimanded him through the phone. 

"But I feel so close, I just need to focus on it."

"No, what you need is sleep." You countered. And you heard his groan. You knew it wasn't of annoyance towards you, just everything that's on him.

"But I'm leading this case and I just, I feel like I need to do more."

"Mhm, you may be the leader boss man of the FBI but listen here, mister, I'm the boss now. You need to get your butt into bed and rest. Anything you're missing won't be found through a tired mind and overworked body. It'll still be there when you wake up and you'll be better than right now to be able to find it. I know you will, but you need to nourish your mind." You spoke softly to him. Maybe a few words of yours was childish but this was the one place and way where he didn't have to act so cold. When you're running the FBI and hunting down criminals, you can't act like the true warm teddy bear you are.

"I know baby, I know." He sighed softly. "Sleep on Skype with me?" He asked and you smiled into the phone. You granted him the request, both of you opening your computers (he now carried one regularly for you) and your smile brightened at him but you knew he couldn't see you, you were in a dark room with no light - and thank god for that but he could hear you and maybe that's what he needed, to hear you in the night. 

It definitely helped you, hearing him next to you even though he wasn't truly there. His breathing was all you needed, you recognized it like no other and a big part of you was soothed by it. You slept a little better that night- just a little.

Your days were still rough, you ached in places you never ached before. But when you woke in the morning, you were startled by loud banging on your door. You peeked through the hole and saw the only face those loud knocks could belong to. Sasha.

You purse your lips, knowing if you opened the door, it would be a world of butt whooping and you weren't ready for it. You knew better than to get away with - not ignoring, just not talking to her as much. 

But as soon as you undid the locks, the door swung open as you had the handle in your hand and you were met with a face of fury. Her eyes set on you and they narrowed. 

"Y/n-"

And before you could finish, you took off as her body lurched forward to get you. But she was always faster, her hands catching you and she pulled you along with her to the couch before she threw you down on it. "Now, I'm giving you five seconds to explain why in the world you're ignoring your most amazing and best friend," she paused for only a second before pointing back at herself, "me before I open a can of whoop-ass on you."

You stared for a second and you couldn't think of anything, mind wiped clean.

"One."

And you squeaked.

"Two."

"Idon'tknowI'vejustbeensadwithoutAaron-" You rushed out before she could say 'three' and that was enough for her, she registered it and she lifted a brow to you.

"That's all it is? You're not lying to me, right?"

"I'm not lying to you." You told her, not confirming the first part but it seemed like she took it as an answer to the first question.

And her solution to this very dire problem was a movie marathon. 

A part of you was more than grateful for this break of thinking, just binge watching movies with your best friends was a cleansing you never knew you needed before. It was the best thing to ever have happened to you. You had an excuse for why you didn't sleep last night, having stayed up most of it with her. But she had to leave somewhere around 2 a.m. 

And the following day, Aaron messaged you that he was finally coming home. And small parts of your world was crashing because you only lost so much weight with his absence, you didn't know how you'd be able to hide what you've been doing-

Hide?

Yes, you needed to hide it.

But not all plans follow through, you learned.

As soon as he made it home, you were in his arms, he wrapped around you as tight as he could and breathed you in like you were a drug he was addicted to and truthfully, you probably were. You swore you saw him going through withdrawals - or perhaps that was the delusion of it all. Maybe you were the one addicted. It didn't matter in the end, you both were obsessed and in love with each other.

You both pulled back on for him to press his lips against yours, his hands on your hips - keeping you as close as possible. "I never want to be away that long from you, ever again." He mumbled against your lips and to that you let out a soft giggle.

"I'll just have to keep you all to myself, handsome."

He pulled back and you saw it - for the split second it appeared - his confused gaze, eyebrows pinched. His hand went to your face - and his hand was the perfect size, cupping your face like you were a doll and truly, to him, you were. His thumb lightly traced the bags beneath your eyes and you felt your stomach drop.

"Have you been sleeping?"

And you were never much of a liar, not like you could get away with it while dating a behavioral analysis.

"Uhm, not too well." You muttered. You felt bad, his return should be about him, not you. It was stupid. He looked tired, he should be resting.

"What's been keeping you up?" He asked, eyes now on yours and not the bag beneath them. You sucked in a breath and shrugged because you knew speaking would only make you give it away and you were scared of what he'd say or think.

Would he be happy? Would he think that you were finally doing something about your body? Would he say he was proud because he wanted you thin like other girls?

Or would he cradle you? Would he tell you to eat more, that it was stupid to base your worth off of something like that? That you're more than a plate of pasta that you forbid yourself from and ate only a plate of salad?

You hoped for that but it would probably be the former. Aaron was a fit man, he could already pick you up now and maybe he would want a smaller girl.

"Have you been eating well?"

Your heart sunk deeper into your stomach and you shrugged again. 

"It's okay-" You began but his firm look on you told you otherwise.

"Baby, be honest with me because I can tell by one look the answer to my question already. I just want you to be honest with me."

A part of you was happy and another - was destroyed? You felt like it was blown up and chopped up and put through a shredder. You couldn't explain why, not really.

"I just- I wanted to lose some weight."

"Why?"

And it made you scoff a little, not an exaggerated one, just a small one. He should know this answer, shouldn't he?

"Come on, Aaron, take one look at me. I'm fat and not just phat, the big F. Capital even. And I just want to look better for you, I know what people think when they see us together and I guess I just realized how much better you deserve- which is just so shitty of me- and I'm just trying to give you that. I could look so much better if I was skinny, you can't tell me I wouldn't." You huffed out, your words were to distance him but your grip on his suit kept him close because even with this tough act, you were falling apart. Tears were in your eyes and you sniffed at him.

"You wouldn't."

"Don't lie to me, Aaron."

"You wouldn't." 

You huffed out a laugh, hands letting go of his suit and you moved to turn but his hands stopped you, cradling you by your waist and bringing you closer.

"You wouldn't look "so much better" if you were skinny, you look beautiful to me now. You'll look just as beautiful to me if you gained fifty pounds or lost fifty pounds. Your weight is a number that is out of my mind because I love you, Y/n. And that's not something conditioned by your weight." He began, taking in a breath while his eyes searched yours. Tears that formed before, were finally falling. "You're beautiful to me, Y/n. Your body is beautiful, your personality is beautiful, you are beautiful. If you want to lose weight, that's fine by me but I won't watch you wither away before me. Losing weight shouldn't be about being 'skinny'. It's about loving yourself and changing for health. You're healthy as you are now and if you want to change something to be better, then so be it but it will be in a healthy way. There's nothing about you I want to change, but I'll support any change you want to have. And if you don't want to change, then don't. Because I'm in love with the beautiful woman in front of me. Not an idea of how others may want her to be."

You sniffled by the time he was finished, face completely soaked by tears and you couldn't help a laugh that came from your mouth. "Do you know it's rude to make a girl cry?" And he smiled at that. And you caught your breath a second later, sniffling again. "I love you, I love you- God, I love you, Aaron. I'm sorry for what I said and acted like." You took a long breath. "It's just, something happened when I was out with my friends and it just, it affected me. Those few words she said affected me and I couldn't let it go."

And ever the understanding and loving boyfriend he was, he took the apology and ordered take out (both too tired to cook) and cuddled up to watch a show.

And as the movie began, you peered up at him from your position against his chest and said, in the most quiet voice. "I don't want to lose weight, maybe build muscle a bit but I don't want to be like that, not right now at least." You confided.

And to that he smiled, "Then that's how it'll be. I love you no less." He pressed a kiss against your lips and it truly felt like he didn't love you any less.

Things will get better, you'll get better. And with him by your side, that's more than possible.

please leave thoughts and comments <3 requests are open if you'd like to see more of him or anyone else (esp with plus size reader or buff)

[jibitzlesscrocs]

Can you do part 3 of Kid for a day where matt and your family meet riley? if you dont want to thats totally okay

AHH of course!!! you’re a gem for suggesting this

matt sturniolo x reader

warnings: none

the whole series and more

kid for a day pt.3

in which, the stages of little riley

Newborn Riley is tiny. Like, impossibly tiny.

When the nurse first hands her to you, she looks more like a delicate doll than a real person. Her fingers are barely as long as your pinky nail, her cheeks soft and flushed from the world’s grandest welcome. Matt hovers near you, eyes wet and unbelieving, like he still thinks someone’s going to come in and say, Just kidding, not yours.

But she is. Every blink. Every breath. Every sleepy squeak she makes from that bundle of pink blankets.

Matt holds her against his chest, and you swear the whole room shifts around them. Like the world’s never seen anything so right.

⸻

The Early Days

Marylou comes over the next day with two casseroles, a batch of fresh cookies, and eyes that instantly well with tears when she sees Riley asleep on your chest.

“She has your nose,” she whispers to Matt, cupping his face with one hand and Riley’s tiny foot with the other.

She doesn’t leave for hours. She folds laundry, rocks Riley while humming something soft and sweet, and tells you stories about baby Matt that make you laugh until it hurts.

Chris and Nick show up a few days later. Chris wears a fake “World’s Best Uncle” badge. Nick brings a baby-sized beanie that says “Mini Sturniolo” and insists it’s stylish.

Riley, naturally, throws up on both of them within minutes.

“She’s one of us,” Chris declares proudly, dabbing spit-up off his shirt with a dish towel.

***

Your own family visits with bags of food, toys, books, and more advice than you could possibly need — but the love behind every comment softens it all. Your mom cries when she holds Riley for the first time, murmuring your name like a prayer.

“She’s so much like you,” she says, and you don’t ask what she means, because it doesn’t matter. You already feel it.

Riley is a little bit of everyone — Matt’s sleepy smile, your round cheeks, Nick’s expressive eyebrows (somehow). But she’s also entirely herself.

Growing Up, Slowly

She learns to sit up while Chris sings off-key beside her on the floor. Claps for the first time when Nick lets her slap his cheeks gently and dramatically fakes a fall. Her first word? “No,” of course — Matt had her repeat it like a game one too many times.

Marylou knits her tiny sweaters and leaves little notes inside the sleeves. “Stay warm, lovebug,” one says in early spring. You keep them all in a box in the closet, already imagining Riley reading them when she’s older.

Matt teaches her how to blow raspberries. You teach her how to dance badly to ‘80s music in the kitchen. Every night ends the same: her tucked between you both, half-asleep, Matt’s hand resting over her tummy like a shield.

“She’s growing too fast,” you whisper.

“I know,” Matt murmurs. “But she’s got us. Every step.”

Riley Turns One

You don’t sleep the night before Riley’s birthday.

Not because she’s crying — she actually sleeps like a rock, drooling on Matt’s shoulder in the early morning hours — but because you’re sitting on the floor of the living room, surrounded by pink streamers and little paper hats that say ONE-derful, wondering how the hell time moved this fast.

Matt’s asleep on the couch, one arm behind his head, the other wrapped protectively around Riley, who’s curled into his chest like she was molded to fit there. Her hair’s getting longer now — still soft and wispy, curling around her ears — and her cheeks are so round you could cry looking at them.

You crawl over, press a kiss to Riley’s forehead, then one to Matt’s. He stirs and mumbles, eyes still closed, “S’her birthday, huh?”

“Yeah,” you whisper. “She’s one.”

He opens one eye, reaches up and pulls you down gently until your cheek rests against his. “Best year of my life,” he says, voice rough with sleep but warm.

Riley snuffles and shifts, her tiny hand patting at his shirt, and Matt grins like the sun’s rising inside him.

⸻

The party is small — just close friends and family, cupcakes with too much frosting, and a playlist that accidentally loops the Bluey theme song five times. Riley wears a ruffled dress she immediately tries to eat, and Matt keeps lifting her up like Simba, declaring, “One year old! One! A whole year!” to anyone who will listen (including the mailman).

And then Mila arrives.

She steps in, sparkly headband on, holding a gift bag bigger than her. Immediately, she scans the room like a celebrity stepping onto a red carpet — and when her eyes land on Riley, something flickers behind them.

She marches up to Matt first. “Hi. I made you a card. It’s pink but not too pink.”

Matt kneels down, visibly delighted. “Pink-but-not-too-pink is my favorite. Thank you, Mila Bean.”

You can see her swell up at that. She even does the little shrug-smirk she’s famous for — the one that says I know I’m amazing, but I’ll accept your praise.

And then she looks at Riley.

“Oh,” she says, simply.

Riley is busy trying to remove her sock with her teeth.

Mila leans a bit closer. “That’s her?”

Matt nods. “That’s our Riley.”

“She’s kinda… bald.”

Matt tries to suppress a laugh. “She’s working on it.”

“She doesn’t even know how to read.”

“She just learned how to clap.”

You’re watching this exchange from the couch, biting your lip, unsure where it’s going. You love Mila like your own — you always have — but this is new territory. For so long, she was the baby. She had Matt wrapped around her little finger. And now there’s someone new in the picture.

Mila crosses her arms. “You and Matt used to make such a big deal out of me.”

You stand and walk over, crouching beside her. “We still do. You’re our Mila. That never changed.”

“But now she’s here,” Mila says, frowning slightly at Riley, who is now gumming the corner of a party napkin.

Matt scoops Mila up gently, settling her on his hip. “Hey. You wanna know a secret?”

She raises an eyebrow. “What.”

“You’re the reason we even knew how to love a little girl like this. You taught us. You were the first.”

Mila blinks, lips twitching into a reluctant smile. “Really?”

Matt kisses her temple. “Really. But you wanna know what’s cooler?”

“…What.”

“She needs you now. Like, big time. You get to be her hero. Her ‘big sister’ ”

There’s a pause. You swear you can see Mila’s brain running a full montage of what that means: tea parties, matching outfits, teaching Riley the lyrics to theme songs, showing her how to properly sass adults.

“…Okay,” she says, sliding down. “I’ll take care of her. But only if I can come over, like, all the time.”

Matt grins. “It’s a deal.”

And just like that, Mila is on the floor, gently trying to hand Riley a squishy purple octopus toy.

“Don’t eat it,” she warns. “It’s just pretend.”

Riley, of course, tries to eat it.

Mila sighs like she’s aged twenty years. “It’s okay. She’ll learn.”

⸻

Later that evening, after everyone’s gone and Riley’s passed out in her birthday pajamas, Matt’s lying in bed with her nestled on his chest. You walk in with a warm washcloth and find him there — his thumb gently stroking her back, her tiny fingers curled around the collar of his shirt.

“She’s perfect,” he whispers, like he still can’t believe it.

You kiss the top of his head. “She loves you so much.”

“She smiled in her sleep just now. Swear she did.”

You smile, crawling in beside them and kissing Riley’s soft cheek, then Matt’s jaw, then his lips.

“Happy first birthday to our baby girl,” you whisper.

Matt looks at both of you, his eyes full.

“Best day of my life,” he says. “Again.”

taglist : @courta13 , @sunkissedsturniolos

MAI’S STORE

requested by @mattspillowprincess , when i read this request i absolutely HAD to write it instantly! also i HAD to tie mila back to thisssss

i hope this is what you had in mind !!

also please tell me if this sucked 😭 and request moreee i love doing them

[its-avalon-08]

📣 𝕞𝕒𝕜𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦 𝕞𝕚𝕟𝕖 📣

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10

🏁 pairing : Lando Norris x Piastri!Sister!Reader

🏎️ summary: she’s oscar piastri’s little sister — sarcastic, sharp, and completely uninterested in drivers. he’s lando norris — charming, persistent, and suddenly very interested in her. she came for oscar. she didn’t plan on falling for the one person she should’ve stayed away from.

🏎️ author's note: so this is the end of this series!! I hope you loved it because I enjoyed writing it :)) thank you to everyone who read and supported this series! do comment, like and/or reblog if possible :)) stay tuned for more updates

themes : fluff, flirting, angst, over protective brother, anxiety, abusive relationship

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼𓇼 ⋆.˚ 𓆉 𓆝 𓆡⋆.˚ 𓇼

chapter ten: bush spies & butter hearts

“Lando,” Y/N hissed, crouched low behind a bush. “Stop breathing so loud you moron. He’ll hear us!”

“I NEED TO BREATHE, WOMAN—”

“SHHH!”

They were stuffed awkwardly behind a row of shrubs, hidden in the shadows of the candlelit garden. Fairy lights twinkled above, music playing faintly in the background. Just a few feet away, Oscar Piastri stood in front of Lily, holding her hands—his fingers trembling.

Lando leaned close, twigs in his hoodie, grass in his curls. “We could’ve picked literally any better hiding spot than the bushes. There are ANTS on me, Y/N—ANTS.”

“Shut UP,” Y/N whispered. “He’s starting.” Y/N adjusted her phone to record it well.

They both went silent as Oscar dropped to one knee. A quiet gasp echoed from Lily. The world went still.

“Lily,” Oscar began, voice softer than either of them had ever heard it. “You’ve loved me through every version of myself—even the ones that didn’t deserve it.”

Lando blinked. “Oh damn. He’s pulling out the big guns.”

Y/N smiled, teary-eyed.

Oscar continued, “You stayed. Even when I was cold. When I got mad at you for small things. When I tried to be strong instead of honest. You stayed.”

He took a deep breath.

“You’ve been the light in the hardest days, the laugh in my quietest ones. You’ve been my home.”

Y/N’s throat tightened.

“And I know I have faults, I'm not good at saying everything I feel, I shut down when I'm upset, I get overprotective—”

Y/N SNORTED.

“—But seeing you calm me down, see right from wrong. I finally understood. You’re my person.” Oscar has tears in his eyes

Lando turned to Y/N, grinning. “Is Oscar crying because if he is I am so making a sticker out of his crying face. ”

“SHUT UP,” she whispered.

“Lily Zneimer,” Oscar said, eyes glistening, “Will you marry me?”

Lily burst into tears. “Yes! Yes, yes—of course, yes!”

The small group of friends and family cheered, erupting in applause. Y/N and Lando bolted out from behind the bushes like two excited squirrels.

Lily gawked. “Were you two… in the bush? Lando you hate bugs!"

“Yes,” Y/N said proudly. “We were emotionally invested bush spies.”

-

Later that night, the garden glowed under soft lanterns and champagne bubbles. Music played as couples swayed across the dance floor. Y/N stood near the edge, sipping a drink, when Lando found her.

He held out a hand. “May I have this dance, milady?”

She rolled her eyes but smiled, sliding her hand into his. “You’re such a dork.”

“And yet, somehow, you love me.”

“More than anyone ever has.”

They swayed together, forehead to forehead, the world falling away.

“You’re still the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” she murmured.

“You still talk in your sleep.”

“You still leave your shoes everywhere.”

“You still steal my hoodies.”

“You love it,” she said.

“I do,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair. “I love you.”

She looked up, glowing under the lights. “I remember that day in the garage. When you kissed my forehead and I almost passed out.”

“I wanted to kiss more than your forehead that day,” he smirked.

“Lando!”

“KIDDING—kind of.”

She rolled her eyes again but smiled, leaning into him. “This has been the best year of my life.”

“And you’ve been the best part of mine,” Lando said softly. “Even more than winning.”

“Wow. That’s big.”

“It’s true.”

He kissed her cheek. “I think we’re forever now.”

“We always were.”

-

At the engagement dinner the next week, Oscar raised a glass.

“To love,” he said. “The real kind. The kind that forgives. That protects. That grows. The kind that hides in bushes to support your proposal and then makes fun of you for crying.”

Laughter rippled around the room.

He looked at Y/N and Lando, his voice turning soft. “And to the people who prove me wrong—in the best way possible.”

Y/N smiled, heart full.

Lando winked at Oscar.

-

Months later. Y/N sat in the McLaren garage, watching her boyfriend win another Grand Prix. She was running a research department now. She had her dream job, her dream man, her family intact.

And beside her, Lando pulled her into his lap, whispering, “Race win kisses, please.”

“Only because you’re cute.”

He kissed her nose. “You love me.”

“I do, you moron.”

"I made you mine baby" Lando whispered.

Forever.

And ever.

taglist: @landofotographyy@doofenshmirtzevil-inc@rd14@stylesmoonlight12 @azuramicah @il0vereadingstuff @star73807-blog @sltwins@dustie-faerie @stylesmoonlight12 @lauralarsen @ayatotiddies @carey86 @hescrush @xnatqq @downsideup1989 @lilorose25@henna006@dustie-faerie@lewishamiltonismybf@ayatotiddies@carey86@hescrush@xnatqq@downsideup1989@lilorose25@henna006@formulaho@freya2005@honethatty12 @outofthegreatest @chaostudee @formula1fordisaster

[miyaz6ki]

Not a req, just wanted to brainrot Kinich rn because I'm very very deep into his entire aesthetic and backstory

Do you ever think Kinich would stop to think for a moment how he might leave his s/o before them, especially after the recent Abyss happenings in the AQ? If he dies, Ajaw gets his body and he'll wonder if Ajaw would even try tk fool you that it's him or would straight up tell you bluntly that he's gone...

And he'd think how you could take it.

Ajaw would be running around with his face all over Natlan, and you would have a constant reminder that he's gone and that's not Kinich and he worries about that constantly. Maybe at some point he even thinks it's much more beneficial for both of you (mostly you) to break thinks off and push you away from him, from the long term heartbreak by breaking your heart this early on.

He's already fallen a few times during various Night Warden Wars, and he knows how dangerous his job is as a Saurian Hunter who takes on long term commissions all over Natlan.

There may be a time he won't come back as himself.

cw death mentions, but no one dies cuz I cry when I make my own angst :fire:

he'd always remind you that he won't be there, and it may be that one day it's not even him you're talking to.

but I'm sure he'd do something to ensure you'd know it's him, a secret safe and away from his jaw. Just ask the magical question of love: Why did he fall in love in the first place?

and i'm sure before the more serious months (I believe in the three-month rule lol), he'd be a bit distant. not because he fell out of love, or because you did anything wrong, but he doesn't want you to feel bad on the day that he won't be there anymore.

but it's not like he'll recklessly fight as is, or like how he always has during night warden wars, he has someone to come home to now, he never had that before. there's someone home, expecting him to come back into that small hut he shares with them, and it's you.

he used to fight because it was his job, he fought because it was the only thing he could do before he could do. so why is he imagining a family with you? settling down wasn't something that crossed his mind too often, but he considers it a frequent guest now that he knows you're willing to stay.

he takes more precautions than normal, not to say that he didn't before, but more just to ensure you won't spot any of his injuries. he doesn't want to worry you so much.

the thought of breaking up with you now is a harsh topic, but he doesn't fully push it away. just to make sure you were safe, he was willing to just keep this relationship between the two of you- yet... he felt himself only reeling in closer to you every day that he kept you near.

he couldn't shake off the sad sentiment of what he may be soon, but he knows that his new priority is no longer to just fight. it's to live life fully with you.

[marshmallowdarling]

Retired Knight! Simon is the last person to come around to the thought of you (surprise surprise). Because like these are his boys, who are you to come in and try and steal them away? 

Very much jealous and possessive and the other men eat that shit up! Wrapping his arm around his captains waist when you come into the room, throwing an arm around Johnny’s shoulder while he makes you all breakfast (because everyone needs to eat including you and even though he doesn’t like the idea of you he doesn’t hate you), pressing himself into Kyle’s back while Kyle washes the dishes. Just little things that silently say ‘he’s mine’. 

But again, he doesn’t hate you as much as he loathes the king throwing you into their home and in a way he pity’s you. Having to be a ‘spouse’ for their general who already has three boys at his side, a loveless marriage and having to be the ‘other person’. 

He watches you, at first he didn’t mean to. Habits from the army were hard to break and patrolling their home was a way to soothe his nerves and drain his energy so he wasn’t itching to do something, and he sees you trying to tend to the few animals John got as a present. Key word is ‘trying’ because bless your heart you have never really taken care of barn animals, seen then yes and touched one once or twice but actually tended to one? You thought you had an idea on how to take care of them but that gets thrown out of the window when you try but you don’t want to ask the boys because how hard is it? And you really want to prove you can be useful… 

So, he watches and watches. Watches as you try to haul some hay over to the horse and almost throw out your back. He watches as you try to carry a bucket that seems manageable, but you can barely even lift it an inch from the ground, waddling with it swinging everywhere and needing to set it on the ground for a few seconds after a few feet before trying again and then stopping and then trying again and then stopping and then trying-

And he watched with a raised brow from under his mask when he sees you happily feed the cows some melon, patting their short fur… until another cow’s big wet tongue laves over your hands, and another cows large tongue curls around your shirt- and by the end you’re a wet, sticky mess. 

After watching you for a while he decides he should try to help, not because he likes you but because everyone needs to start somewhere right? And watching you every day failing was painful but you did surprise him when each time you would get back up and dust yourself off…. Even when sometimes you had a little cry or swear before you got up, but you still got up and every time a hint of respect flashed in him. 

He gets to the small barn before you do, knowing your routine from watching you almost every day for a month. When you get there and are rightfully confused he doesn’t say anything for a bit before picking up one of the two buckets on the floor next to your feet, the one with most amount of stuff, before wordlessly showing you how to hold it properly and feed the cows. He doesn’t even ask you to do anything, just letting you stay near the second bucket and after a few minutes when you do get the hint he just gives you a little nod. 

Each day after starts like that, until Kyle realises what’s happening and comes around with a nice cuppa for the both of you while you work in the early mornings. 

But Simon still doesn’t like you, he just tolerates your presents. It’s what he says anyways when Kyle teases him about it while under him, but Simon just grunts and buries his feeling while putting the brat under him in his place. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ HOW DO WE LIKE?!?! I'm sorry for dropping but my family is going THROUGH it right now but here's a little peaky peak into my brain lmao

Tag List (omg mom look I made it); @sheep-from-rad , @aldis-nuts , @reap3erslov3 , @pasanau4

[nyxhiems]

emotional reassurance

Everyone know lieutenant Riley is a scary lad. Hes a ghost, a train killer and an intimidating man. Everyone scared of him and its include you, you are scared not because of his vibe but you scared he will recognized you like you recognize that man the first time your and his eyes meet. He was Simon Riley from your neighborhood, your first childhood crush but also first crush of (almost) every girls your age in neighborhood or some boys gay awakening in the same neighborhood (especially after dark-romance book genre become popular in your area).

It's widely known that Simon Riley has a fucked up family but it's also widely know that he's hot as fuck.

So, when one of your medic friend said Lt. Ghost have a fansclub (all 141 member have one) you not surprise.

"I know it seems weird but he has a fansclub."

"Hmm..."

"Hes just so mysterious and charming."

"Like a male lead of dark romance novel."

"Exactly."

"I know its weird."

"Its not, i cant see it. He always like that after all. "

"Right. What do you mean he always like that?"

"Since the first time i meet him here, like 5 years ago, he already dark and brooding."

"Ah"

Nice save.

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

Riley family house wasnt that far from your family house. Its was 3 house over from your house, but you still can heard the screaming and crying from their house. His house always quite and gloomy at day but also lound and menacing at night. You pity them really and you arnt lying about it when the first time you came and bother Simon at school playground.

"I dont need your pity."

"Im pitying you, yes. But, im here for my own benefit and interest."

"Why?"

"Emotional reassurance."

He just snort and let you sit by his side for the rest of the day.

You bother Simon everyday after that and always give him something like school supplies, food and sometimes clothing. Your parents knew about it but never comment and Simon... at first hes screaming at you.

"Im not charity."

"You aren't. Its for my own interest. Emotional reassurance."

But since then, he never leave your side and hes fight who ever boys that trying to bully you.

"Its not for you. Its for my emotional reassurance," Simon said while you clean his wounds after he fight your bully.

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

First time you know about Simon "fansclub" was when both of you were in middle school. Its just a rumor you accidentally heard, some girls who gushed over Simon when he played volleyball during PE.

"Hes so cool," she said while looked at him with dreemy eyes. "He also know how to fight. I heard he beat up 3 people yesterday," said the other and when you heard a loud smash from school gym, you heard the same girls screamed, calling his name.

Simon just stare at them like they are crazy but that enough to make them went wild.

You just wish you dont get dragged down by Simon's new fame.

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

You got dragged down. Hard. A bunch of middle school "mean" girls came to you to gave you some "warning". The boys dont bother you much since they dont want to meet Simon fist twice that week (once a week is enough apparently).

You got lock up in school bathroom after heard their speech about how you dont deserve Simon attention and you need to back of because Simon is hers. Funny to said something like that when Simon him self didnt know that girl exsis. Yes, you asked him.

But, well you will comply anyway. So, you try to avoid him. At first you go to school earlier so you can avoided him, than you start to take a sit in class away from him, than you stop sit with him in canteen (its not like you can sit anywhere near him since bunch of girls always surrounded him) and you stop go to playground you used to hangout.

Maybe this is the time to end your friendship with Simon Riley.

But Simon dont like it and it show. He frown got deepened each day, he huffing and scoffing, his temper got worst and he start to beat up every boy in school who he thought the reason why you avoided him to the point that the boys start to talk you out to stop avoided Simon.

You dont stop tho until he start to force him self to your personal space. You want to sit alone in class? Nope, he will sit there beside you and stay quite. You eat alone at canteen? Simon will get up from his usual place and sit right in front of you. You want to read alone at park? Nice try, he will read with you.

You cant just avoided him and cut him off like that. You are stuck with him... for his emotional reassurance.

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

After realize how impossible to separate Simon and you, the girl stop trying, while you try to push him to making some friends. Its not working until both of you in high school. Simon actually join clubs. Two clubs actually. First one is Journalism (you know hes joined just because of you) and the second one is Rugby (after you said your type was NRL players).

Your rugby team got famous after he jointed and he become much morr famous after that.

He go to party and drink and have fun. Now, its his turn to make you socialize. He start to go to party with you, stuck by your side, talk about you all the time and take care of you in front of everyone; hes do that so often to the point people think hes sick if he didnt talk about you for an hour.

So, in highschool, people know you as Riley's girl.

But not after the second year, you officially become Riley's girl.

But its not for so long because he enlisted right after high school. He told you about it after your graduation and that night you send him away with 50 pounds because you knew his parents wont give him money and he just payed his own graduation fee.

"For you, i dont know if its enough for transportation but i dont want you to walk to the nearest military base."

"I cant take your money."

"I lend it to you."

"Ill pay you back."

But, a week after his departure, you go to London to attend med school and never come back to Manchester.

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

If you play 2 truth, 1 lie with your coworkers, you sure you will win (if you dont lie about which one a lie). Why? You always inserted something about Lt. Ghost and people always thinking its a lie.

"Lt. Riley's family home is 3 house over from my childhood home."

"Lt. Riley own me 50 pounds."

"Lt. Riley is my ex."

Of course they think you just joking and you tell a lie and you lie about it being a lie. You just want to tell someone your secret without telling someone your secret. Its fun untill Lt. Riley him self came to you.

"You bet money on this?"

"Yes, sir," your coworker said, a little taken back with his sudden appearance.

"How much?"

"150 pounds so far."

"This one win. First and second round. Lost the third," he said while point at you.

"Third one a lie?"

"You still my girlfriend. We never break up."

"We lost contact for almost 10 years."

"Still never break up. It never happen and will never happen. You stuck with me."

"Why?"

"emotional reassurance"

ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ

I still clueless about how English work but i really want to make story about ghost 😭.

[letsgobarbs]

The Wedding (Acacius Marries His Priestess)

Summary: This is part of the His Priestess universe but can be read as a stand-alone. Acacius marries his Anaticula.

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x Former Vestal!Reader (No use of y/n, terms of endearment are used.)

A/N: Anaticula means little duckie/duckling. Vestals were initiated at ages 5~7ish and served the temple for 30 years before they were permitted to marry, and Acacius is described to be a decade older than the Reader in the original story. I had meant for this to be a nice, fluffy wedding. But then I got my period in the middle of writing this and this grew progressively hornier... so it's a wedding and the wedding night.

Warnings: PDA, loss of virginity, oral sex (both receiving), eating ass (f!receiving), cum eating, unprotected p in v sex, discussions of having children, food play.

“You must cry.” The Vestal begged.

“Why must I cry? I happen to be very happy today, the tears are not forthcoming.” His anaticula sounded almost petulant, this was not the first time they were having this discussion. Acacius gently stroked his thumb over the side of her finger; their right hands were bound together by wool ribbons, fingers interlocked. 

“The bride has to cry during the wedding procession, show some reluctance and modesty—”

“I am so joyous, I would skip to my husband’s home if I could.” Acacius snorted into his cup of wine, spilling some of the liquid over its edges. He made no effort to suppress his chuckle as he placed the wine down to wipe at his mouth. His lips were still curled into a grin, he found he hadn’t been able to restrain it since he awoke this morning. He cannot decide which sound is sweeter, his name on her lips or her address of him as husband. 

“—it is Roman tradition.” Her friend insisted. 

“I don’t believe I would like to invoke the Roman tradition of kidnapping women for marriage.” Oh, but Acacius had wanted to invoke it several times a day leading up to their wedding. They had been reduced to chaste kisses and clasped hands, always chaperoned by a hawk-eyed matron who would squint at the most gentle caress he dared to share with his betrothed. Now his wife. Her father and brother had insisted it was for his own safety, so their anaticula didn’t attack him again as she had in her office— forcing an honourable man to wed her, they had teased. 

Acacius felt they were having far too much fun at his expense. Because all this honourable man wanted to do was haul her over his shoulders and carry her off to the nearest cave. He wanted to hide her somewhere, not even share her shadow with the world; keep her trapped underneath him until all she could see was him. Alas, he had to settle for buying a domus near her father’s home. He has ensured nobody would interrupt them for the next few days so he could take her over every surface, wall and square foot of the floor before letting her up. Let their pleasure and love strengthen the pillars of their home.   

He had spent over a decade with only his hand for company, but now the few meagre weeks of abstinence riddled his brain with insistent need. His skin buzzed with excitement, a current working its way up his limbs, as it would before a battle, at the very thought of having his Priestess to himself tonight. He had thought up so many ways to unleash that tigress he had encountered in her office.

“You know it is not just about that… The lares will be upset. Your household deities have guarded you for so long, they will be upset to see you spurn their protection for the gods of your husband’s home. You must cry to let them know you do not leave them willingly.” Acacius paused at the words, he had no lares; there were no spirits of ancestors or deceased family to call upon. 

He had been orphaned young, his whole family was lost to illness and he hardly remembered them. He had long lost faith in the deities and gods. But perhaps marriage was making him sentimental, even if ineffective and symbolic, he did not want his Priestess to go without protection. The shrine in his new home was fashioned with a single wooden statue of Vesta he had carved, it bore a distinct likeness to his Priestess, along with rose-scented incense— reminiscent of her scent. However, he couldn’t invoke her own spirit to protect her now could he— that was for his protection.          

Acacius had given up his previous tools of protection. All his equipment had been military commissioned; as a General, he did not believe in using a weapon that his soldiers could not afford; sometimes well-made weaponry was the difference between life and death, and his life was not more valuable than any of theirs. His gladius was the only weapon he had owned— the very one he had used to defend himself in the Colosseum.

Acacius had melted the sword to make two identical daggers— one of which he had gifted to his Priestess as a betrothal gift, the other he had kept for himself. An engagement ring had also been made from the same metal, which she now wore on the third finger of her left hand where it would connect to her heart. It had felt right to slide that ring onto her finger; it was only fitting that the woman who had rescued and protected him had a piece of the blade that had guarded him. He had vowed to never fight another war. After all the victories and bloodshed across the world, he had returned home to submit at her merciful feet. And there had never been a defeat sweeter than losing himself in her, especially not when he had won her too.   

There had been enough metal left over to form a thin betrothal medallion, engraved with their visages sharing a kiss along with two clasped hands on its back. He knew his Priestess wore the medallion around her neck, a gold chain could be seen disappearing into her tunic, the disk surely nestled between her bosom. Acacius wondered if he should convince her to place the token in their shrine. After all, their love had protected and sustained them both through difficult times. He knew it would guide and watch over any children or descendants they might have.

“Did you want me to cry, Acacius?” She asks him as she draws closer, resting their bound hands on his thigh, easing the stretch of the muscles of his arms and shoulders. He really should unbind their hands, they were sitting beside each other, so he had to stretch his arm across his torso to grasp her hand. But judging by how tightly she held him, she did not want to let go either.

He shook his head no, he did not believe he could stomach seeing her reluctance to marry him even if it was feigned. He had even offered for them to stay with her family if she was unwilling to part with them since she had lived apart from them for the last three decades. 

“Are you sure? I could shed some false ones… maybe get closer to the smoke so it would make my eyes water”—Acacius kissed the irresistible little moue off her lips—“If I don’t cry then everyone will say you have married a disobedient wife who will tyrannically dominate your home.” She continued her exaggerated words anyway. She didn’t know that he planned to acquiesce to all her commands and requests, he could swim across oceans blazing with fire just to see her smile— he had done worse for much less. 

Acacius watched the sway of her earrings, the metal catching the light from the setting sun behind her. He hadn’t been able to look away from her since he had lifted her flammeum for their wedding ceremony. The flame-coloured veil glittered around her, casting a warm golden glow upon her skin. His priestess was not one for dull colours, but she looked radiant in her white tunic and stola. 

He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, then trailed gentle pecks all the way to her ear where he nibbled on the soft, petal-like skin of her ear lobe before he widened his jaw, tongue reaching out to capture her earring into his mouth. Acacius savoured the coolness of it in the warmth of his mouth as he gently suckled on the jewellery, relishing the shiver that went down her spine. He nuzzled the loose coil of hair behind her ear, knowing she enjoyed the scrape of his beard on her skin— he heard the hitch in her breath. He released the earring in his mouth, letting its wetness streak across her neck.       

“You can cry for me… later when it is just the two of us.” He whispered to her. But his words did not have the intended effect on her. He watched her eyes waver before skittishly looking over his shoulder, her own shoulders tensed and curled away from him. Acacius retreated and saw the nervousness painting her face, her lips pursed and brows slightly furrowed. 

He playfully nudged her nose with his, “What is it, anaticula?” 

He heard the harsh gulp of her throat, her eyes frantically looking around for the right words. When she looked at him again, her gaze was hesitant and embarrassed. His Priestess cupped his jaw with her free hand, her fingers pinched his earlobe in retaliation before her thumb softly stroked under his eyes. Acacius melted into her loving touch, his eyes drooping shut. 

“You woke so early today…” She smelled of her gardens— flowers, herbs and fresh earth. 

He had awakened well before dawn, but he felt rested and replenished. Usually, the bride and her mother would collect flowers from their garden to weave a wreath on the day of the wedding. But his anaticula’s mother had already passed away. He knew the other matrons of her family would gladly help her, but Acacius had wanted to weave her wedding crown himself. He had decided so when he saw her wear a wreath the day she was to be unjustly punished for unchastity.  

He had sneaked into her room, woken her up with cakes collected from the kitchen before stealing her away to the gardens so they could make her wreath. He had chosen marjoram for honour, love and joy; rosemary for fidelity and loyalty; lavender for devotion; sage for long life; verbena, basil and mint along with roses, lilies and violets. The crown had ended up a bit too heavy but she wore it with grace. 

“And you also went hunting with my father and brother.” An animal had to be sacrificed for the wedding. Acacius had decided to hunt a wild boar himself. The entrails of the animal were read by the auspex for omens and the approval of the Gods. It would not have mattered what the auspices prophesied, he would have hunted every animal in the city until the omens were read in his favour. But the first boar had been enough, the omens had signified a joyous and lasting marriage. After the offerings had been made to the gods, the animal was cooked for their wedding feast. 

“Then you cooked in the kitchens as well.” He hadn’t cooked, he had made the bread needed for their wedding ceremony. It was not supposed to be made by the groom. But in the absence of his Priestess, during the months he had believed her to be dead, Acacius had perfected making bread in the kitchens she used to feed the poor. He had wanted that bread to be offered to the gods, he had wanted that bread to be fed to his bride. It was another token of his devotion. 

“The ceremonies were so long.” She was right, Acacius thought the Pontifex Maximus would never stop talking and praying and chanting. He suspected the man dragged out the wedding ceremony solely out of spite that his Priestess had lied about her death. But he had not heard a single word of the chief high priest, his Priestess had stood before him and he was lost in her adoring, twinkling eyes.

He had always believed her eyes to be wondrous, always bright with mirth and mischief, they found joy in the smallest pleasures of life. A single gaze from her could fall on him like a soothing salve as well as disturb his constitution— make him restless with need and desire. His heart always trembled when she looked up at him through those full lashes. But today her eyes had looked so captivating with the kohl lining them that Acacius had almost stumbled in an effort to get to her. He had blindly signed their marriage contract, unwilling to take his eyes off her for too long.

The only time he had lost sight of her today was when he had cried during her consent of their marriage, his own tears blurring his vision. Theirs was a union of equals, he would never make demands on her wealth and personhood, and she was free to keep the name her parents had graced her; all Acacius had wanted was a chance to spend his remaining life by her side, and the privilege of belonging to her. So he had been dumbfounded and overwhelmed when she had forgone the blessed and auspicious name Gaius to lovingly and proudly take his name during her vows. 

Ubi tu Acacius, ego Acacia. Where you are Acacius, there I am Acacia.

He had not deserved the honour, the name meant very little. It was not what his parents had called him; neither was it a name that held any high esteem in terms of legacy and social standing, nor was it the name bestowed upon him by the people. Acacius was always preceded by General and it was a name tainted with the blood of the innocent. But she had taken that piece of himself he was most ashamed of for herself. And in doing so, she had breathed a new life into it— she was what gave his name honour and worth.

And he was proud to be her Acacius. Ubi tu Acacia, ego Acacius. Where you are Acacia, there I am Acacius.

He had broken the bread he had made over her head, careful not to drop crumbs in her hair, before handing over half as an offering to the Gods. Acacius had fed her that bread, her teeth gently grazing his fingertips, affectionately nipping at them, before she had taken the same piece to feed him. And the bread was sweeter where she had bitten into it. But far sweeter was her mouth when he had sealed their marriage with a kiss. 

There was a rightness, a sense of tranquillity, that had settled about him at the conclusion of the ceremony as their hands were being tied. For the first time, Acacius had been content and at peace. His mind was serene, devoid of the usual demons that haunted him; his heart could taste the rising joy within him, and he could pluck the excitement from the air.  

“So you must be very tired tonight…” Her words had tapered into mumbling, which was so unlike the woman he knew. Acacius figured she was hoping to avoid their wedding night which was a surprise since she was so receptive to his advances. 

“One of the women gifted me this… salve. Some ointment they got from a trader.” He knew he wouldn’t need to pry for answers, she would work her way to telling him her concerns eventually. 

“And all the other matrons have been looking at me with these faintly pitying looks. At first, I just thought it was because I did not have a mother… but they sat me down last night for the most interesting conversation.” Her hand left his face to pick a grape before offering it at his lips. Acacius obediently accepted the fruit in his mouth. 

“They said my wifely duties would be very difficult.” She looked at him, as if awaiting a reaction.

“Why? I plan to be the most amenable of husbands, dulcissima.” He dropped an affectionate kiss on her palm. 

“Because of your size, Acacius. They said you would be very big, like a bull”— Acacius choked on the second grape she had shoved into his mouth, a strange sound between a strangled laugh and a cough escaped his mouth—“And it would hurt me very much but I should just lay back and endure. I do not want to endure…” 

Acacius took a moment to appreciate her aggrieved face, “Anaticula, did you not enjoy our play in your office—”

“Yes, about that. It is most uncommon I am told. But that bodes well for our marriage—” he huffed a laugh at the sagely nod she gave, he would have loved to hear her explain to an elderly matron how he had kissed her between her legs. Was that why he had been receiving odd and appreciative glances all day? He felt a flush climb up his neck, how many women had she told?

“I did enjoy it… but do men do it to compensate for the pain after they have taken their pleasure?” He blinked at her, it wasn’t an unreasonable conclusion based on what she knew.

“I assume… it should not be too difficult, right?” She said, almost as if convincing herself, “I’m told it is quite nice sometimes…”

“I swear to not do anything that doesn’t please you tonight, dulcissima.” 

“Everything you do pleases me.” She gifted him a soft smile. 

“Even when you believe it will hurt you?” He couldn’t help but tease her. 

“I know you won’t mean to.” And she sounded so certain that he felt a tender spot in his heart give away. He could still taste her essence on his lips. If all she allowed him tonight was to drink from her nectar, he would happily pass away on his knees with his head still buried between her thighs.

“Carissima, I will enjoy our nights together, and I expect you will find your pleasure as well. I will ensure it, because it brings me more joy and gratification than you can imagine—” 

“Can the newlyweds please be mindful that the guests are trying to eat their meals?”

His wife reared back with a soft gasp before turning to face her brother. Acacius was pleased to know he held the same effect on her as she had on him. Because he had been heedless of their wedding party all day. Their guests had been raucous, tittering and chatter filled the air; the wine flowed freely and the food was plentiful. Many people had come up to speak to them, but the conversations never extended beyond pleasantries and congratulations. 

After all, he was no longer an important political force and the highest echelons of society still didn’t know of his Priestess’ influence amongst the people. It was baffling how disconnected the aristocrats could be from those they considered lowly. Moreover, their guests were too busy ingratiating themselves with their young Emperor who was in attendance with his mother.

His wife had pointed out no less than three women who had thrown themselves at Lucius, quietly snickering to him when they were rejected. According to her, a prospective paramour had tough competition in both Fortuna and Ravi— who shared a very interesting history. His anaticula loved gossip, it was the most endearing thing about her. And she had informed him with great relish how both Macrinus and Ravi had been lovers once who chose to lead very different lives after earning their freedom. Macrinus had been different then, but he had slowly rotted and corroded just as his owners had. Ravi would go out of his way to help those Macrinus owned, Lucius and Fortuna included— grieving for the man he used to be. She believed the Emperor would be sharing his lovers. Acacius didn’t care as long as none of them came to disturb him and his wife. 

Acacius pulled his wife to stand, urging the wedding to its final ritual. He unbound their hands, so she could pray to the lares of her father’s home and bid them goodbye. He wordlessly assured their household gods that he would take care of her and keep her happy while leaving an offering of food and coins at their shrine. He watched as his wife’s eyes glazed over with tears, helplessly his hand found her arm offering her warmth and comfort. 

“If the lares are unwilling to part with you, tell them they can find you in my home.” He whispered to her. The words pulled a teary huff of laughter from her. 

“I miss my mother.” She quietly confessed. And Acacius felt his heart break for her. He gently wiped at the tears on her cheek, his nose stinging with his own tears as she leaned into his touch.

“She would have been the happiest at this match”—Her father told her, as he handed his wife a clay mask resembling her mother’s face—“take her with you to your new home. Let her guide and protect your family.” Acacius was grateful for another addition to their shrine.

He could think of no better protector than her mother. Acacius had been young and barely literate when he had arrived in Rome and the woman had shown him enough grace and favour to educate him along with her children. It was at her behest that her husband had trained him as a soldier. As a General, he had learned that diplomacy and negotiation prevented unnecessary bloodshed. While he was no politician, these were skills he had learned as a youth when he had watched the woman run her household and business. He remembered anaticula’s mother to be remarkable, shrewd and protective— qualities that he was grateful ran to her daughter as well.        

She lit a torch from their hearth and passed it to the matron of honour before her father and brother tearfully embraced her to say their goodbyes. As he had no family of his own, this man— his mentor— had served the role of his father in all the wedding rituals while his wife’s brother had served as her guardian. There was an uncertainty in the air, even as the guests had begun the wedding chants and songs. As a groom, he was supposed to put on a show of forcefully ripping his bride from the arms of her family. But he knew his wife did not agree with this particular tradition so he waited for her lead. 

She reached out for him and he pulled her closer by the hand, kissing her knuckles as she stood by his side. But instead of walking together, Acacius stooped to carry her, his arm coming under her hips to offer her a perch, another arm supporting her knees. He shouldered past the curtains and flower garlands on the archway of their door to walk out onto the street.

The entire city seemed to have shown up to see her married; in addition to the passers-by, those who used the charitable services she offered had shown to throw honeyed almonds and walnuts at the newlyweds— shouting their blessings and good wishes for her. Her arms found purchase on his shoulders as she looked over them to wave at someone in the crowd. His wife, overwhelmed and astounded at the love people had for her, buried her face in the crook of his neck, and his skin burned with the tears she shed there. Acacius soothingly rubbed her hip and placed a chaste kiss on her arm. He couldn’t help but feel so proud of the woman he loved. 

She sniffled and collected herself as they neared the neighbourhood crossroads, “Acacius put me down, we have to worship the shrine at the crossroads.” He heaved her higher in his arms to readjust his hold on her and bring her closer to the shrine at the crossroads. She placed a ceremonial coin to the protective gods of the shrine along with some food a boy had carried for her. 

Her friend Aquilia, another former vestal, served as the matron of honour and led their group to his home. While her marriage was not as long as was required for the role, her husband’s love for her had persevered through the three decades of her duties in the Temple. Acacius liked the man, he had vowed to take no other woman in his life and had kept his word. Although, he was still upset that all of the Vestals had suspected his anaticula was alive when he had believed her to be dead, but they had not thought to inform him. 

“Surely you don’t intend to carry me all the way home.” She spoke into the curve of his shoulder. He most certainly will carry her to their home.

“I’m too heavy, you’ll tire yourself.” He didn’t grace that with a response. He had carried men heavier than her; in the heat of the battle he had lifted drawbridges and ship towers. She should know better than to question her husband’s strength, he hadn’t earned his physique without the heavy labour. 

She gave a resigned sigh, he felt her warm breath down the back of his neck. She nuzzled behind his ear, and took a deep breath before her tongue lapped at the sensitive skin. Acacius shivered and his knees weakened, his grip instinctually tightened on her so she would not fall. 

“Carissima, wait… we are on the street.” He hissed through his teeth while she quietly laughed. She could not have tasted anything other than the light sheen of sweat he had worked up in the warm evening. His anaticula picked a honeyed almond stuck in the folds of his toga and apologetically offered it to his mouth, Acacius did not forget to kiss her fingertips for the gift. She took another sweet treat for herself that had been trapped in a crevice between them. 

Acacius finally set her down when they approached the new domus, allowing the Pontifex Maximus to utter some more prayers while his wife smeared the fat of the boar to honour Ceres, and the fat of a wolf to honour Rome on their doorposts. She tied the wool strings that had bound their hands to the handle of the door. He felt the first stirrings of impatience, to be so close to their home and not have her to himself was making his hands twitch. 

The guests clamoured to warn her to not step on the threshold as she entered her new home— doing so would insult Vesta and bring bad omen. But Acacius simply lifted her again, with an arm under her waist and knees so that her feet were as far from the threshold as they could be and carried her into their home. 

Only their family followed them inside and watched her light the hearth of her new home with the fire from her father’s home. Acacius extinguished the torch and threw the wood at the audience gathered at their door who rushed to catch it. 

It seems his wife was becoming impatient as well because she had begun the prayer and offerings at their shrine without him. Acacius bent to unlace her sandals, removing the single coin she had stashed in her footwear and placing it at the feet of the wooden Vesta in the shrine.

“Does that statue… look a bit like me?” She murmured. She had yet to discover the depths of his devotion. 

Acacius offered her a lamp and a bowl full of water, “I give you fire and water”—she touched both items—“You are the Domina of this household and master over everything that resides within its walls, including your husband, Carissima.” 

He kissed his wife before turning to his guests, resolutely ushering them out of his home and unceremoniously closing the doors on their teasing and obscene jeers.

You stared at the nuptial bed. It was small— too small. It would barely fit just Acacius, and that too only in width, because one end of the bed lifted into a curve they would have to rest their back against so their feet didn’t hang off the other end. Or perhaps this wasn’t the nuptial bed because it was here, out in the open courtyard, rather than in your husband’s sleeping quarters. But the bed was finely made, with sturdy wood and soft cushions decorated with roses and crocus petals— a current tingled in your belly at the sight of the aphrodisiac flower. That won’t be needed.

Acacius returned in a huff after seeing off your guests, plopping down on the chaise— because really this can’t be called a bed. You looked down at him, resplendent under the glittering moonlight; it made the grey hairs in his curls glimmer silvery. The torches around the atrium cast playful gold shadows across his face. Instead of a white toga as was the custom, he had chosen to drape the red cloak you had made for him all those years ago, its gold embroidery gleamed against his tanned skin. 

But it was his eyes, that made your heart flutter with the verses of love you didn’t have words to express. Acacius managed to make even the cold, luminous moon burn bright and hot in his eyes. Sometimes the way he looked at you still made your heart feel raw and vulnerable. You had waited thirty very long years for him to simply look at you— to recognise you. While you had loved him for as long as you could remember, never once had you hoped for his love too. Your younger self would be in disbelief had you told them one day he would be your husband.     

“Are you hungry?” He asked while stretching out his hand for you. 

You hurriedly shook your head, your insides were suffused with enough love and awe to sustain you for a lifetime. He pulled you to sit on his lap, his thigh felt strong and firm under your bottom. 

Acacius stroked your back, his hand was large and warm as it reached up to cradle your neck; his fingers calloused and firm as they massaged away any tension. Your head lulled back over his hand, a soft sigh escaping your mouth. He leaned forward, another hand coming over your waist pulling you closer into the heat of his chest. You gasped as Acacius kissed along your exposed neck, his beard deliciously scraping against your sensitive skin as his lips lingered over your beating pulse before reaching your upturned chin. He playfully bit your chin. 

You turned in his arms until both your legs framed his waist and you had straddled his lap. You pulled at the wool of his toga, removing it from his shoulders so it lay spread beneath him before your hand slid into his hair; the curls wrapping around your fingers as you claimed his lips with yours. The force of the kiss pushed him down until his head was leaning over the backrest of the chaise.

What you lacked in experience you made up for with need and desperation. There was a groan from his chest and his arms wrapped around your waist to haul you closer to him— something hard was prodding at your thigh. You reverently traced the shape of his lips, feather-soft kisses to the plump cushion of them, light licks over the swooping edges. But you craved more, more, more. You needed to feel his tongue against yours, you needed to be closer somehow. 

Your hand wrapped around his throat, fingers barely reaching the sides of the thick muscles. His heartbeat thundered on your fingers and then onto your palms as you slid your hand up to cup his wide, square jaw. You dug your fingers into his jaw to pry his mouth open. Acacius parted his lips to allow you to explore his mouth, you stroked and delved deeper in the chase for his tongue. He closed his lips around your tongue and suckled. His tongue met yours now, teasing and confident before he released you, placing a gentle kiss to the tip of your tongue and then on your closed lips.

“How do you want me, dulcissima?” He purred against your lips. 

You did not know what he asked of you, “Desperate.” You answered honestly. 

Acacius laughed. A loud, free sound that made your heart race. 

“For you? Always.” He promised as he guided your hips to sit directly on that hard, throbbing part of him. He did feel large.

“I will not do anything you do not wish me to, anaticula. Tell me, what do you want from me tonight?” His tone was breathy as if words were difficult for him. 

“Everything.” You didn’t want to waste another second. It didn’t matter how much it would hurt, but you needed a part of Acacius within you, physically and in every other way you could possibly consume him. 

“Are you sure?” He confirmed even as his hands had already unpinned your veil allowing it to fall behind you. But he waited, for permission, for something as small as a nod while he fingered the Hercules knot tied at your waist— a sign of your chastity.  

“Yes.” Your voice barely about a whisper. Acacius pulls the wool at your waist, both hands fisting your girdle around the knot, and breaks it with apparent ease instead of untying it. He then pushed your stola down over your shoulders until it pooled at your waist. Anticipation curled in your belly as he slowly pulled at the tiny bows that ran down your shoulders and along the sleeve of your tunic. Each tug of string was a sensual display of possessiveness and desire— his eyes were raptured on the swathe of skin as more of you was exposed to him. The tunic too fell at your waist, pooling over his lap and yours; only a plain binding lay between him and your breasts. And instead of unwrapping you, slowly as all his other actions had been. Acacius swiftly and impatiently tugged the fabric down. 

You both gasped at the movement, the cloth dragged across your sensitive nipples causing them to stiffen and bloom towards Acacius. The winds were blowing colder in the night than they were during the day. A shiver ran down your spine as you sat bare on his lap, he made no moves. Acacius just stared with intoxicating eyes; they roved over your body, studying your face, the slope of your neck, the expanse of your chest, the curve of your shoulder, the length of your arms and the swell of your belly until finally, they settled on the betrothal medallion that hung in the valley of your breasts. 

Even as you held still for him, allowing him to look his fill, the experience of being displayed thus was new and uncomfortable— no man had seen you this way. But it was not unwelcome. He looked breathless and awed, his hand faintly trembling as he brushed your nipples with the back of his fingers. The touch was so light, lighter than a feather, but it incinerated you, it sent a fiery current down to your womb which contracted; there was an insistent throb between your legs. 

But whatever sensation you felt seemed dwarfed by his reaction. Acacius shuddered. His eyes were wide and glassy. You placed a hand over his heart, its pace wild and erratic. Abruptly, he dug his fingers into your waist, lifting you off his lap and stood with you. Your clothes fell to your feet, and you fisted his tunic to guide it over his head. You regretted that he chose to wear the tunic that fell to his calf, the longer fabric took a few scant moments longer to be pulled over his head but the wait was torturous. His underwear swiftly followed yours on the floor. 

Acacius was better than anything you could have ever imagined. Better than those marble statues of gods and heroes, better than art and most certainly better than those erotic drawings you bought on the streets. He looked unworldly, bathed in both the cool of the moon and the warmth of the hearth. He had been stripped to his basest form now both hardened warrior and wild beast with the eyes of a man in love. Your husband. 

You laughed then, wide and happy, “You are divine, Acacius.” 

He answered with a chuckle, light flickering over the dimple on his cheek, “You do not see yourself, carissima.”

He held nothing of himself back as he allowed you to touch him; he sighed as you caressed his scars as if you relieved him of the pain, his breath hitched as your fingernails raked over the hair on his chest, he gasped as you scraped over his nipples. The planes and hills of his body leaned into your palm as you explored all the ways he was different from you.   

He did not stay still under your ministrations for too long and his lips fell on yours without reserve, his hands cupped your ass using it to pull you closer towards him. Your arms wrapped around his neck like a garland of love, a hand buried in his hair in a silent command for him to never stop kissing you, another hand exploring his broad shoulders, the stretch of his back and the bulk of his arms. You decided Acacius had to be naked until the sun rose tomorrow so you could study every freckle and spot on his body.

His kiss was raw, elemental— there were no gentle explorations and tentative touches. Acacius claimed and conquered, his lips on yours were hard and insistent while his hands on your body were rough and restless. He touched where no decent man would linger, using your delighted and shocked gasp to enter deeper into your mouth; you clung to his shoulders to keep up with his pace and only his hands held you upright. 

A calloused thumb grazed your nipple before he pinched and pulled at the sensitive flesh. You bit into his lip, giving it a sharp nip in response and Acacius groaned into your mouth. He kneaded the flesh of your hips, but his fingers slipped as they moved to the inside of your thighs. You were dewy and wet for him, the hairs and skin surrounding your sex were covered in slick moisture. 

He lazily explored your folds, his fingers parting and squeezing as they pleased until he bought his tips right against the bundle of nerves at the apex of your slit. You ground your hips against his curled fingers when he stilled his motions, desperate for the friction as your pleasure built, steadily climbing up your spine while he nipped under your jaw before receding to watch the sway of your hips to and fro, to and fro over his hand, smearing it with more of your sticky fluid. 

“Please…” You begged him. And Acacius moved his fingers then, in dizzyingly tight circles on your nub, his calloused finers offering just the right roughness needed for your muscles to seize. Warm currents coursed through your veins as you trembled and shuddered through your release in his arms— your skin overheated against the cold air. The hair on his chest dragged against your erect nipples causing more of your limbs to twitch; he held you close through your pleasure, his fingers unrelenting until the little bud was oversensitive to touch.

You rested your weight against him, your legs feeling too soft under you and took his flat nipple in your mouth wanting to give him the same pleasure he gave you. You gazed up through your lashes as he brought the hand that had been between your legs close to his mouth and groaned as he licked a wide strip from the side of his wrist to the centre of his palm. Your tongue lapped over his nipple to mimic the movement before encircling the little peak, you toyed it between your teeth and Acacius greedily shoved three fingers into his mouth to taste you— a soft breathy moan escaped him. 

He pulled you off his nipple, your lips making a soft pop sound as they left his flesh slightly red. His hand curled into your braids as he pulled you by the head, “Taste yourself on my tongue, anaticula. Sweeter than honey…” 

Your tongues met again in a dance of their own before you suckled his tongue as he had yours, drinking him in. You weren’t particularly sweet, but something about your taste mixed with the spit of his mouth sent a heady thrill through your body which made your toes curl. His hands roamed your body again, finding the spots and places that were sensitive, he lingered there with light touches and tender caresses— surprising you entirely when he sharply pinched your waist. You pushed deeper into the strength and heat of his body as your waist rolled with his unruly touch. Acacius swallowed the surprised moan from your mouth. 

He had always been so… staid, controlled and solemn that you had expected Acacius to be such in his intimate moments as well— respectful and gentlemanly. There had been a wild, unpredictable demon that had come out to play in your office all those weeks ago but you had attributed his actions then to the high tensions and unresolved conflicts. But he was here now, lurking in the dark gaze of his desire, the tremble of his lips and the urgent grasp of your body. He could barely contain himself. 

And it made you realise just how much of him you had yet to learn. Like the rest of the world, you had seen the dignified General. You knew the reluctant conqueror and the grieving soldier. You had met the loyal friend, the protective family, the kind elder in him. But you were unacquainted with this man before you— unrefined and almost savage under the influence and vulnerability of his own wants and impulses.   

It filled you with a childish, stupid sort of rage to know that others had seen him as such. He had lovers before you, while you were trapped in a temple. He was so familiar with the female body, while you had to flounder for answers. It made you all the more resolved to erase all those previous embraces and lovers from his mind. You clutched him closer still, his cock insistently pressing into your belly, the tip leaking and smearing a wet patch across your skin. 

From this day forward, there will be no other for either of you. It had been an entirely new discovery to know you were a jealous, shrewish sort of wife who could not even bear that her husband thought about another lover even in passing. Should your husband ever tire of this marriage, he will have to squeeze the life out of you himself to be free of you. And this realisation was entirely unsurprising, that you would be content with such a death. You only had one life and one heart but if you had more, those too you would gift to Acacius.   

You guided him to sit on the chaise again, and despite his forceful and desperate advances, he went obligingly— never once pulling his mouth away from yours, pulling you to sit on his lap. But you evaded his embrace and knelt between his feet the only way you knew how; like a devout priestess kneeling at the altar of her deity— like a lover submitting at the pulpit of her beloved. 

Your eyes trained on his phallus, you had seen the male form before on statues, art and even in ceremonial rites to ward off evil; but you had never seen one quite as wide or large as his— your fingers barely touched as you wrapped your hand around him. He hissed as you gripped him and stroked to its base, pulling some of the skin and exposing the angry bulbous head that was leaking clear beads of liquid. You moved to taste him as he had tasted you, but his hands framed your face, halting it in its descent. 

“What are you doing, anaticula? That is not for wives to do.” Of course, it wasn’t. It hadn’t been the old matrons who taught you how to suck a man’s cock. No husband from a respectable household would expect this from his wife. But you wanted this. And before shame could eat away at your courage you confessed to your husband. 

“But… I want to.” Ever since you had felt his tongue between your legs, there was very little you had thought of. You couldn’t bear the idea of never sharing this intimacy with him.

“You can explore all you like later. I can’t— I won’t last if you toy with me now…” His thumb caressed the apple of your cheek, his torso hulking and leaning over your knelt form.

“But we have all the time in the world, Acacius.” You struggled against the hold he had on your face, and stretched your tongue out of the confines of your mouth when he wouldn’t allow you closer to him. You barely tasted that small drop on the weeping slit of his cock on the tip of your tongue with a short cat-like lick. Acacius shivered.

He spread his legs wider and gave you a chaste kiss on your lips before lowering your mouth to his cock. The tip of it nestled against the curved roof of your mouth, the flared head pressing against the wrinkled ridges behind your teeth and it already felt so full. It was ticklish if not altogether strange sensation and you took him deeper until he was touching the more sensitive and softer part in the back of your mouth, your hand coming up to stroke the rest of his length that was left outside. 

You realised you could do this forever as your eyes closed shut. Your tongue was pressed to the vein that ran along the underside of his cock which thrummed with his heartbeat. It was like you were holding his beating pulse, his very heart, in your mouth. You felt his thigh quiver under your hand, and you chanced a curious glance up at your husband to behold the sight of him trembling, his teeth clenched and jaw twitching with the effort to remain perfectly still. And yes, you realised, you could do this forever— just hold him in your mouth until he lost his composure and grew desperate enough to fuck into your mouth. 

Acacius frowned at you, he looked dark and forbidding, “I know that look in your eyes, put away whatever idea you just came up with, wife.” He spoke through gritted teeth and his chest racked with the effort to breathe. 

You started moving your head, slowly at first as Acacius guided your hand to stroke over his length as he liked— tightening your grip and twisting your wrist. You hollowed your cheeks to envelop his cock tighter and suck him deeper inside your mouth, relaxing your throat to adjust to the fullness in your mouth. Perhaps, your husband was to be cursed with the most selfish sort of wife because you stopped looking for his reactions, his cock was in your mouth for your pleasure alone and whatever he might glean from it was secondary in your mind. 

He smelled of musk, sweat, the floral powder used to scent his clothes and something so addictingly Acacius. You rubbed your thighs together, the arousal had pooled from between your thighs to coat your ankles and feet under your folded legs. You hated to feel him receding from your mouth, sucking him as your head moved up, swirling your tongue around him to taste him before coaxing him deeper into your mouth again. Experimentally, you brought a hand to the sac hanging heavily under his cock, testing its weight and the hairy texture of the skin, gingerly massaging it until it drew tight in your palm. 

His cock jumped in your mouth as his hands entangled in your braids to pull you off him. But you suckled him with a petulant whine, refusing to be wrested off him. A warm, salty and slightly bitter taste filled your mouth while he wrenched your head off him, the rest of his spend falling in spurts across your face and neck. What a waste…

Acacius glowered down at you, mouth agape and panting, “You are going to be the death of me… One of these days you will kill me.” His eyes were focused on your tongue as you licked the side of your lips to taste more of him. And he watched as some of his cum glittered on your skin as it trickled down until it was halted in its path by the gold chain hanging from your neck. He lapped at your skin, collecting his cum from the chain and depositing it into your mouth with what could barely be considered a kiss, his tongue surged into your mouth until you had cleaned his thick release off it.

You felt a smug satisfaction as you noticed that he was still shaking, a bit unsteady on his feet as he stood and lifted you onto the chaise. You thought you could consummate your marriage now, but to your confusion he knelt before you— his cock looking much flatter, softer. You felt your lower lip wobble as Acacius guided you to lean back. Was it supposed to do that?

“What did you think was going to happen?” He chastised you. 

“I had no reason to believe he would just go soft like that… can’t you make him go up again?” You whispered, a bit uncertain of the male anatomy. Would you not be able to consummate your marriage tonight?

Acacius leaned over to kiss your pouting lips, “It comes back faster when you’re younger.” 

You adoringly caress his bearded cheek as he smiles down at you, an uncertain vulnerability curved about that smile. You struggled to think of what to say to him, he could be old and decrepit and you would still be glad to have him as your husband. You had still wanted him a few short hours ago when you had been expecting pain and shame on your marriage bed, and you wanted him more now that he had shown you pleasure and wonder instead. You loved him not because of his prowess in bed but because of the simple fact that he was Acacius— steadfast, loyal, protective, kind, and loving, oh so loving.

But complex sentences evaded your mind as his lips closed around your nipple, he lingered there with his teeth and tongue before moving just a bit below to bite under your areola. He insistently sucked the flesh of your bosom into his mouth until it came away with a small bruise. His lips traversed down your body in a sensual dance of kisses, nips and almost painful bites. He spread your legs and groaned at the sight of your arousal smearing large patches of your limbs. 

“So wet for me, anaticula.” His voice was breathless.

“You’re perfect.” You settled for simpler words that were just as true. He was perfect. Acacius huffed a warm burst of laughter. 

“I’m glad you think so, wife.” He chimed even as his gaze seemingly searched for the sincerity in your eyes.

“I love you.” You offered him another nugget of truth. 

You watched as the colour rose from his chest to his neck, Acacius shyly smiled before obscenely licking at your arousal and suckling another bruise on the inside of your thigh. He was marking you.   

You squirmed with anticipation, feeling his hot breath on your cunt as he spoke, “Don’t worry, he’ll be back just as we have prepared you some more.” 

“Here, hold these for me.” He spread your thighs and pushed them towards you, your hands came under your knees to hold yourself open for him as he had commanded. 

His mouth on your cunt was a reunion like no other. Acacius remembered every sensitive spot and fold of your sex. But the swooping in your womb had more to do with the sight of him rather than the pleasurable feeling of his tongue on your slit— his mouth attached to your cunt, eyes glazed over with a half-awake and half-asleep look in his eyes, lashes gracefully fluttering as he tasted you, a patch of his cheekbone shimmering under the lamp light where the slick from your thighs had smeared across his face.                

Gone was the urgency with which he had devoured you previously in your office, he was instead languid and slow. But there was a fervour in his grip and his fingers painfully dug into the flesh of your hips. He toyed with one of the lips covering your opening, sucking it into his mouth and nipping it with his teeth before doing the same with the over. His tongue roved over your sex sometimes just the tip, lightly and ticklishly grazing over a sensitive spot, and other times he was insistent, tongue flat against your folds as he roughly lapped up your essence. 

You grew desperate as he purposely avoided that crest right at the apex of your sex that would ensure you would see stars behind your eyes again. And you grind your hips against his face, hoping to catch the needy spot against his nose, or his lips or even his chin— the lightest of touch there could set you off, you were so close, the tension curled so tightly inside you. There was a resounding smack in the air, it didn’t occur to you that Acacius would hit you until there was a tingling on the side of your ass, the impact making you gush into his mouth.

“Of course, you would enjoy something like this,” He murmured. And he laughed. He had the audacity to laugh as his lips closed around the exposed little bud, the vibrations of his amusement travelling straight into your nerves. You came undone with a shout, your eyes unseeing while your veins felt alit with delicious flames coursing through them followed by warm currents that doused your body in a dreamy languor. You lost your grip under your knees, letting your legs fall apart in the most inelegant fashion but still spread so wide for your husband. Acacius moved away with a teasingly tutting at you, and you whimpered at the loss.

“Hold them for me again,” He said. And you obediently took your position, hands under your knees, lifting your trembling legs so you were entirely exposed for him. 

Acacius took your clitoris in his mouth again, his tongue encircling the oversensitive bud. You felt his thumb gather some of your slick before going down to the ring of muscles far below your cunt. You gasped his name in surprise as his digit followed the same dizzying circles around the ridged fig-like skin surrounding that opening. 

“Is this alright? Do you trust me?” You gave a hasty wordless nod for both questions. 

Acacius pressed two fingers into your cunt and suddenly it was all a bit too much. His tongue flicked the bundle of nerves, the intrusion of his fingers felt foreign and the thumb circling your other hole was sending waves of pleasure to muscles you hadn’t realised could be used for such a purpose. He watched you restlessly whimper and whine with half-lidded eyes as you squirmed at his touch. He released the nub of flesh from his mouth, making soothing sounds as he comforted you. 

“Relax for me, let it happen, my love, do not fight it.” He said as he curled his fingers inside you catching some dormant set of nerves which threw you into another release. You came with a gasp, still shaking and quivering as he pressed soft kisses to the inside of your thigh. You hadn’t yet descended from the heights of your pleasure, your muscles feeling fuzzy and boneless when he flipped you over. Your head rested sideways over the backrest of the chaise as Acacius guided your own hands to your ass. 

“Spread yourself for me, wife.” His tone clipped and terse. You had thought yourself past surprise and shame but were still so unprepared for the feel of his tongue against your anus. His tongue burned hot against the ring of muscle as he held it in place while his fingers found their way inside your cunt again, three this time instead of the two before. And this time he lets you grind yourself on his face. You are mindless and hazy with pleasure, there is no real pace or rhythm to your hips.

His hand curved around your waist so he could curl his fingers into your clit, providing delicious friction as you swayed your hips. His fingers lazily dragged in and out of you, his beard scraped against your sensitive skin, and his tongue pressing hot and wet against the opening of your ass, burrowing inside despite your haphazard movements. Acacius gives you a deep hum of approval the more desperate and determined you grow in pursuit of another release. 

It crept up on you, steadily climbed your spine, long and drawn out rendering you utterly silent as your body gripped and convulsed barely being able to hold itself up. For several moments you were lost to the world, Acacius circled and patted the erect bud of nerves until you stopped twitching while another had soothingly stroked and petted over your shivering skin. He turned to lay you on the chaise, pressing an affectionate kiss to your parted lips and covered you with his own body, whispering soft praise and encouraging words as his legs entangled with yours— you gasped at the feel of his weight, another throb coursing down your sated sex, you clenched around the tip of his cock as he bullied his way inside.

As he had promised, it did not hurt. But you felt full, and far too relaxed and pliant to be overwhelmed even with the slight burn of the stretch. Dazed, you noticed the wet patch on the backrest where his hand gripped— you had drooled. It was worse, your release had coated his cloak underneath you, it glistened against his face and it dripped down his chin, his neck, his chest. 

“Dulcissima, you have to let me in, please— you’re strangling me. Breathe—” Acacius was tense, speaking through gritted teeth, his words breaking from his effort to breathe. And your body complied with his request, you could never deny him. And you felt complete once he had nestled inside you, filling not only your cunt but your heart and your soul. Your gaze was wondrous and awed as you held him inside you, you clenched around him trying to pull him impossibly closer still. 

He gasped before kissing you again, trying to hold most of his weight off you. You stay that way, connected in more ways than just the physical, locked together in both love and ecstasy— your hands exploring his warm skin and the strong contours of his body. A surprising laugh bubbled up your throat when you realised Acacius had broken into goosebumps, his hair raised alert and small bumps ran along his arms. 

His forehead pressed against yours and you nudged his nose with yours gazing into the eyes of your beloved seeing the love and adoration reflected there. He softly caressed your cheek and your temple, “I haven’t done this in years,” he confesses. Years?

“Good.” 

He chuckles at your response, “Good? It means I won’t last long…”

“You don’t have to. It is done, is it not? The consummation.” 

He pecks your nose, “We aren’t done until you come all over my cock, anaticula.” 

And then he moves, in sufficiently long and deep strokes that have your eyes rolling back, grinding his hips so the hair above his cock rubs against the erect nub above your opening. Your nails dig into his back, the coil of pleasure winding tighter at your core. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the skin of your neck. 

“It doesn’t hurt.” You told him as your hips rolled to meet his thrusts.

“I’ve done you a disservice—” Why was he talking? Did he expect you to hold a conversation? All you could manage was a broken keen when he rubbed the most perfect spot on the inside. 

“You’ve been trapped in a temple for thirty years, you deserved to see the world, take a few lovers, but I have trapped you instead.” 

“No—” He couldn’t possibly be saying these things while his arm wrapped under you to massage your anus. 

“You can roam the world, freely conduct your business— take over Rome if you want to— I’ll follow you… anywhere. I’ll go.” He wiped the tears that slipped out of your eyes before continuing, “But this is what you will do at the end of every day, anaticula.”

“You will go about your dreams and ambitions and then you’ll come home every night into my arms, my bed, with my cock buried deep in your cunt. Do you understand?” He brutally snapped his hips into you while you responded with some sound between a sob and a laugh. 

“Say it, say it to me. Tell me you’re mine.” He commanded, his eyes overcome with a zealous light. His fingers dipped into the tight ring of your ass. You could feel his cock all the way in your throat.

“We’ll have to train this hole of yours open if you do not want children, carissima. This is where I will fuck you next. But you’ll take me, like a perfectly biddable wife— into your heart, into your body. It is my home, and you will not cast me out—”

“I want them— I want children, everything you give me— please please please— Acacius.” You begged. 

“I’m yours. Your wife, your lover, your whore— please, Acacius—” You weren’t sure what you were asking of him. But your husband, ever the provider, brushed his fingers against your clit and you shattered under him with a distorted scream. You convulsed and shook underneath him with no effect as his weight pressed down on you. And your husband followed soon after, shivering and groaning as he painted the inside of your cunt with his warm seed; your walls fluttered around him to milk every last drop of it. 

“Daughters… wife. Give me daughters, ones who take after their mother in both looks and heart.” He prayed to you. Acacius stayed that way for several long moments, reverently kissing your warm and sweaty skin while you felt him softening inside you. You clenched around him in distress, hating the inevitable loss as he slipped out of you.

You had watched with great interest as he had stumbled away from you, admiring the sight of his ass, wishing you can sink your teeth into it. And with even more interest, you stared at his cock as he returned with a wet cloth to clean you both along with a tray of food he had prepared. The both of you had ravenously polished off the feast of olives, cheese, fruits, stuffed dates, spiced cookies, bread and sausages. Your husband had plied you with more wine before dipping his strawberries in your cunt to eat them; they tasted sweeter that way he had claimed and you hadn’t believed him until you had cleaned up honey from his cock which had tasted impossibly sweeter to you.

You lay on him, sleep still evading you because you knew you had to address his words when he had been inside you. Your back leaned against his chest, and Acacius had parted his legs to make room for your bottom between them. Another reason sleep was not possible, this chaise was too small for both of you— you told your husband as much. 

“You should have seen the one they brought before, it was much smaller… So I built this one.” He chuckled.

“You built this bed yourself?” You whispered, appreciating the work and polish under new light. You thought he only worked on smaller projects.

He hummed in response, “And the bed in our chambers. Don’t worry, I made that one palatial.”

“So why aren’t we there?” You laughingly demanded. 

“Because I wanted the heavens to witness our consummation, dulcissima.” And your heart fluttered again. 

“I still quite like this one, despite how small it is… It’s our marriage bed and I’ll be fucking you on it as often as I can.” Despite, how sated and spent you felt, heat still curled in your belly at his promise. 

“You know, Acacius”—you turned in his arms to face him, chin resting against the swell of his stomach, you gazed up at him with imploring eyes—“You have done me no disservice. I wanted to marry you.”

You couldn’t hold in the words any longer, “You can never imagine yourself as some chain around my feet… you make me brave. You bolster me, make me feel safe— like I will always have someone on my side.” 

He sweetly caressed your spine, “I’ll never give you cause to be disappointed in our marriage, anaticula.” 

“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried, Acacius.” You struggled against the insecurities in his mind, before realising that only time will reassure him. 

“I love you,” Acacius said, not as a confession or a desperate sigh, but in the same steady way he would voice a fact. 

“I love you, too,” You whispered against his chest. 

“Are you sore?” He gently asked. 

You were, not just between your legs but also in your heart— you shook your head in denial. Just a little white lie because you knew that having him close, having him inside you could cure all ails. 

Acacius watched the sun rise, as he would on most days of his marriage— casting his wife in an ethereal glow, the rays shining down on all the marks he had left on her body while she languorously rode his cock to their shared bliss. 

[smoooothoperator]

What Was I Made For?

05: The Loneliest

Charles Leclerc x driver!OC (Dafne Morelli)

childhood enemies, forced proximity, accidental pregnancy, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Charles POV, jaeloussy, Melanie (you'll see), maybehelovesherbutheissoidiottoadmititsohepreferstoactlikehehatesher.

a/n: Hiiii!!! I hope everyone is okay and excited because today is race day!! And Lando is onpole yayyyy. Also, I hope everyone has a great start of summer :3

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The first time the Morelli family met my family was during a trip we made to Greece during summer. Our families sat close to each other during the meals in the restaurant and our parents talked with each other, making us, the kids, hang out together.

The first time I saw Dafne Morelli, she was wearing a pink summer dress with little flowers in it, with her long chocolate hair tied in two pigtails, and her tiny hand wrapped around a plushie of a cat.

At first, we were friends, as friends as you can be with someone you just met. Her sisters and my brothers were the same age, the two of us were middle kids, and somehow we understood each other. 

The first time she said she hated me was a day I was feeling completely sick, wasted. That day I woke up with a stomach ache and I tried to hide it, not wanting to worry my parents, and somehow not wanting to miss the fun of the day.

Our families went together to a beach near the hotel, planning on spending the entire day there, having lunch in a restaurant that is on the first row in front of the beach. I tried my best to seat something, but that made it worse and the nausea kept growing, making me feel anxious.

“Charlie, are you okay?” Dafne was the first one to notice that something bad was happening to me, looking at me worried.

“Yeah, don't worry” 

I barely went to the water that day, staying in the towel, sitting there alone. Until Dafne came to sit next to me.

“Are you sure you are okay?” 

I nodded, looking away and making her sigh. But she stayed there with me. For a moment I thought I was feeling better, so I got up and looked at her, reaching for her hand.

“Let's walk to those rocks, I saw a cat over there” 

She got up with a jump and grabbed my hand, walking with me and searching with her blue eyes for a cat.  And when we found it, she smiled wide. She clapped her tiny hands softly, looking at the calico cat.

“It's so cute!” she gasped, pointing her finger to the animal. “Did you know that in Japan they think that a calico cat means luck?”

“Oh really?” I smiled looking at her. 

“Yes! They think that they scare the ghosts, that's why the men that work on the ships brought them with them. To scare the ghosts” she nodded.

“How do you know that?”

“I'm a cat lover”

I laughed and she looked at me, then at the cat. 

But what happened next was what started it all.

She held my cheeks with her hands and pressed her lips on mine quickly, making me flinch and keep my eyes closed. That was my first kiss.

Maybe it was the nerves because of it, or the fact that I ate when my stomach refused to be nice, or maybe it was the smell of the sea. 

But the moment she took a step back, looking at me with a wide smile, I threw up right in front of her, coughing and gasping.

I heard her gasp and fall back, making her hurt her hands and cry. I gasped once I felt my stomach empty, looking at her, watching how her hands had blood and tiny rocks in it and her eyes full of tears.

“I hate you, Charles Leclerc!” she cried, trying to get up and running away from me. She never called me by my full name.

Dafne Morelli. My first kiss. And the one that hates me the most.

When I started karting, my family invited her family to join us. 

Dafne never talked to me again, and somehow I felt bad because of it. It was like I didn't exist after that incident on the Greek beach. Even if I tried to explain myself, she always walked away, hugging her cat plushie.

I got confused because of that. At first I thought it was because she felt embarrassed, because I threw up just the moment after she kissed me. During all that week when our families were together for the first time, Dafne and I were stuck to each other, playing together and taking naps in the same bed.

At first I thought it was because she discovered the boys were disgusting. But then I saw her with Jules, smiling and talking with him, blushing. 

And somehow, that feeling I never knew I could feel, grew wild. Jealousy. I was jealous. But of what? Of who?

I saw her talking with other boys, smiling and laughing. And when she was near me, everything I received was a glacial gaze, with her blue eyes freezing me even on the hottest day of July.

But what I hated the most is that she started karting too. That Jules was helping her too. That sometimes she was better than me. That, no matter what, she always had her chin up and a proud smile, even if she lost a race or her engine stopped working. 

I started to hate her confidence. How people helped her. How, after she took me out of a race and I was practically sent to the mud, everyone ran to her to check if she was alright.

“Why do you hate her?” Jules asked me after I recognized, for the first time, that I hated her. “She's not bad”

“She is” I groaned. “She makes mistakes and people still congratulate her. It's because she's a girl? I'm doing better than her and no one comes to celebrate my podium like how they go to celebrate her points”

“You are jealous” he sighed. “You have to understand that girls do not always succeed in this sport. People cheer for her because she's brave and she tries. Why do you keep making it harder for her?”

Jules always knew that my career was going to be brilliant. He helped me be on the teams I liked, talked about me to the team principals. And he did the same with Dafne.

And I should feel proud that a woman I know was becoming famous, getting the credits for everything she did. 

But why couldn't I? Why did I always have to keep fighting her, teasing her? Why did I have that need of challenging her to see where her limit was? 

At some point, I forgot why I hated her. Was it because I was jealous? Or maybe because I

was afraid of who she would become if no one stops her? Maybe because people like her more. 

The morning I woke up next to her I felt somehow familiar.

That scent, one that never changed, was next to me again, making me dream with my childhood and those beaches with crystal clear water. It was warm and soft, making me remember that little girl that always asked me to take naps with her.

But when I noticed it was her, I immediately knew that it was a mistake.

Her loud voice made my ears ring, starting a headache I would have for the rest of the day.

When she made me look around the room I understood it. I slept with her.  And our naked bodies and the clothes spread over the floor said that it wasn't only that.

The anger she held in her eyes was something I never saw and it made my heart squeeze tightly, making me swallow thickly and take a step back.

But then, again, words started to blurb without control out of my mouth, making me dissociate from my own body and not understand what was happening. Why am I insulting her? Why is she screaming? Why am I provoking her? Why… Why did she say she slept with Mick? Why, why, why?

The moment her heel hit my chest and threatened me I knew I had to leave before things started to get worse.

This time I fucked up. Big time. 

Jules would be so disappointed with me. So, so, so disappointed. And disgusted.

When I closed the door behind me I gasped, turning around and just facing the door of my own room. 

I thought it was my room. I had sex with Dafne thinking it was Melanie. 

I clench my jaw and search for the key to my room, opening it carefully. But then I found something that, somehow, I knew it could happen.

Melanie with a random guy on my bed. Of course.

“Get out” I said, standing in front of the bed and looking at them. “The two of you. Now!”

They woke up and gasped, hiding their bodies with the blanket. I scoffed, shaking my head and grabbing clean clothes, searching for my phone.

Fuck, where did I leave it? I couldn't find it last night. Where is it? Maybe in the club of the hotel.

“You better be out of this room once I come back” I told Melanie and the other guy. “And whatever that you thought that was going on between us, is done”

I groan and get dressed in the bathroom, not looking at them before walking out of the room.

My mind was spiraling, getting flashbacks from last night. The words I said about Dafne. How angry she was. How did I get to this point? Why? Why can't I stop?

When I went to the club and asked if they found a phone, I knew someone stole it when the guard said there wasn't a phone on lost objects. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” I groaned, walking away and going back to the room. Thankfully, Melanie and that guy were no longer there.

I sat on the bed and sighed, looking around. Where is my phone, God damn it. 

After searching all over the room, and not finding it, I gave up and packed all my stuff to leave the room and go home. I'll have to give up the private jet and go home by car, using the GPS of the car and probably listening to the radio.

I walked out of the room with my backpack and suitcase, going to the hall and looking around to see if I could find my family. But they probably left already. Great.

I sighed, going to my car and placing my things there, starting the engine and driving out of the city, driving through the road on my way home.

Nearly four hours of silence, only with the occasional voice of the GPS. I hated it, but I started to think about everything that happened.

Did I really say that Dafne sucked dicks to get on her seat? That she doesn't deserve to be in Formula 1? Who was saying that? Me? 

Twenty years of knowing each other and I still can't understand why I hate her and why she hates me. And it feels that the only thing we know to do when we are around each other is to fight. Why can't we stop? It's so exhausting fighting with her. Why can't I go back in time and tell that little girl that I was feeling sick, that I needed to throw up and stay in bed? 

The moment I opened the door of my apartment I felt my body heavier than ever. I was exhausted, my head was going to explode and the only thing I wanted to do was sleep until tomorrow. 

But I knew I had to do things. I had to go to the bank to cancel my account, just in case whoever stole my phone decided to give themselves a feast and use the card of the phone to buy things. I had to go to the phone company to cancel my card and ask them to give me a new one. I had to use my laptop to close all the social media on my phone.

It felt like I was isolated. Things were happening without me knowing it. People were saying things without me knowing it.

I spent most of the day out, taking care of things and even buying a new phone, assuming I wasn't going to see my old phone anymore.

At first I didn't notice it, but everyone I found in the street or people from the stores were staring at me. Not in a good way, that's what I noticed after the fourth store I walked in. The smiles and welcomes were inexistent. No one walked towards me to take pictures with me. 

When I went back to my apartment, there was another pair of shoes at the front door.

Melanie.

“What are you doing here” I frowned, leaving the bags on the table. “I think I left it clear that I was done with you”

“You actually don't hate her, do you?”

I frown looking at her, clenching my jaw. What is she talking about?

“It’s only a facade” she said. “Come on, it makes sense! And it's perfect for marketing. What was the fandom calling it… Oh, right! Enemies to lovers”

“What are you talking about, Melanie” I frowned.

“You know, at first I was curious when I found out about you” she nodded. “When we matched on Raya I searched for you on Instagram. And there was something that caught my attention. You like brunettes. But not only that. Brunettes with blue eyes”

I clench my jaw, listening to her. There's no way she's saying what I think she will say.

“And then I saw her” she laughed. “Your so-called enemy, Dafne Morelli. How curious, huh? Brunette and blue eyes. You clearly have a type. And that made me think… You dated girls that look like her because you can't have her? That's so ridiculous, you know?”

“Who I date is none of your business” I frowned, trying to defend myself.

“Don't worry” she laughed. “In fact, I helped you to make it more obvious that you hate her. Just so no one will suspect about you being in love with your teammate”

“You are crazy” I groaned. “Me in love with her? Don't make me laugh”

“It wasn't me who went to her room last night to fuck her” she said. “And here's your phone”

I frown and look at her, grabbing her bag and placing my phone on the table. She had it? All this time?

“You should thank me” she smiled. “I probably saved you from telling a lie in public”

“A lie?” I frown.

“Oh, yeah” she chuckled. “Your boss sent you a text asking you to apologize for the words you said last night. I mean, you know what they say about drunk people, that they always tell the truth. And yesterday you were wasted”

I clench my jaw and grab my phone. She knew my code, I told her. What the fuck did she do?

“What have you done” I frown while reading the messages. 

“What you deserve” she laughed, getting up and walking past me. “You wanted to win? I helped you. You're welcome”

Before I could say anything to her, the door of the apartment closed behind her. I grabbed my phone and read everything. The messages I didn't write, the punishment I'll receive. Then the posts on Twitter and Instagram about what happened last night. The hate towards Dafne. 

What have I done?

~

Days went by. My family stopped talking to me disappointed by my actions. I don't blame them, I deserve it.

I tried to talk with Dafne's sisters, but none of them texted back. 

The days I went to Maranello she wasn't there, somehow she found a way of avoiding me just by looking a t the schedule. 

Everyone in the factory was mad with me, disappointed. And it's all my fault. I reached the limit of what was acceptable. And even if I thought about going to talk with Fred and explain that I didn't write those texts, I knew he wouldn't believe me. Why would he? He knew about my rivalry with Dafne.

So I had to accept the blame. I felt ashamed of myself.

“I just don't get it, mate” Pierre sighed, sitting next to me after we went to the golf course. “I knew you and Dafne were rivals since forever, even during karting. But what you said the other Sunday… I'm sorry, but I never imagined you would say something like that”

“I guess… I guess I'm jealous” I sighed. “And I know it sounds childish, that's the worst. But somehow, whenever I see her near me I dissociate and let my body work, watching how it acts alone without me knowing what's going on”

“And why can't you try and talk with her, to explain?” he sighed.

“Believe me, I tried to do that twenty years ago” I sighed, shaking my head. “And she just ignored me, running away. And I probably made her family hate me. So… Hurray…”

I sigh and hold my head with my hands, taking a deep breath. 

“You know she's receiving hate, right?” he sighed. 

“I know… and it's my fault” I groaned. “And I can't apologize because Melanie just did the stupidest thing ever and no one will believe me”

“I told you that girl was suspicious and you never heard…” Pierre laughed weakly, patting my back. “But maybe you should find another way to apologize. I don't know… Use your imagination”

“Yeah, sure” I sighed. “Can you… Can you ask Kika to keep an eye on her? I know they are friends”

“Of course” he nodded.

When I went back to my apartment I frowned when the receptionist called me to give me a letter.

“Seems important, sir” he said. “The mailman came asking for you to give it in hand, but I told him you were out. He asked me to give it to you personally”

“Thank you” I nodded, grabbing the letter and going to my apartment.

I sighed, sitting on the couch and looking at the envelope, opening it. 

And then my breath hitched when I read what it said.

She reported me. She really reported me for defamation.

Fuck.

taglist

@racinggirl @elisysd @alltoomaples @ssprayberrythings @rach3164 @yvonne-dump @deliciousfestsalad @janeh22 @hc-dutch @ninifee1802 @kakorrhaphiphobia @ssararuffoni @itsjustkhaos @scaramou @tapedeck-hearts @apollosfavkiddo @sltwins @glitterquadricorn @ladystardust05 @theseerbetweenus @vizzzashley @auawdo @leah-also-known-as-creatoronwp @leptitlu

[moscnios]

Straw Hats x Fem reader platonic! This just popped into my head after watching ATLA! What if S/O, who’s mute, owned a pet messenger bird? No, scratch that, a pet messenger hawk? Sharp-looking, intelligent, and fast, he’s her pet companion that she takes care of sweetly and kindly. He can deliver messages to anyone around the world! I’m surprised that One Piece didn’t have a pet parrot, besides Karoo. HCs?

★ WITH A MUTE CREWMATE WHO HAS A PET MESSENGER HAWK! headcanons ★

── featuring. the strawhats.

── cw. gn!reader. no pronouns used. platonic. mentions of your hawk fighting zoro and sanji lol. not proofread.

── notepad. this has been sitting in my inbox SO LONG. IM SO SORRY. i really hope this reaches the og anon.

accidentally crossing paths with the new rag-tag group of hotshot pirates that were becoming a thorn in the side of the marines was unexpected. becoming a trusted member almost overnight was even more so

you are welcomed with open arms by your new family. well, you and your vigilant and protective hawk that was always perched on your shoulder, ready to snap at the hands of your new and still unfamiliar crewmates if they got to get too close to you

luffy, friendly and touchy as he can be, seems to be your hawk's main victim of the pecking. he never learns

outside of steering clear away from your violent friend with wings, the straw hats do everything in their power to ensure you are comfortable. never will you ever feel left out with them

they make sure to always include you in conversations, even if you don't want to contribute to them

they learn other ways to communicate with you, whether it is handing you a pen and a pad to write on, or starting to learn sign language. whatever makes you the most comfortable

your crewmates have an unintentional habit of checking for you the moment you are no longer in their line of sight

nami is the worst about it. she can't even count the number of times she almost had a heart attack thinking you were gone because she didn't see you for more than five seconds, before smothering you in big sister hugs and scolding you to never do it again

franky is the second worst about it. the one time the two of you went on a mission to find supplies in a village, he got distracted and kept walking, not noticing that you stopped a while ago. when he turned around and you were nowhere to be found, he was losing it. he called for you all over the village before falling to his knees in despair and crying a river before you returned having already found the supplies. he swore if he wasn't already crying he would have cried tears of joy when he saw you again

the straw hats find your pet hawk and the bond that the two of you share is very cool. to demonstrate their intelligence, you write a letter to your family back home and send your hawk on its way. when the bird returns a day later with another letter when its journey should have taken them weeks, the straw hats are in amazement

every now and then they ask your permission to send letters to their loved ones, even though you've told them several times that they don't need permission

it was just getting your hawk to like them is a whole other thing

your hawk absolutely loves chopper and robin. when they are not near you, they are perched on the top of chopper's hat, watching the reindeer do his tasks, while feeding them snacks in between.

while with robin, your hawk is comfortable enough to snuggle into her lap and fall asleep as they do with you while she reads on the deck of the sunny. you're starting to think they love her more than they love you

but you need more than two hands to count the number of times your hawk has left a few of your crewmates full of scratches due to being irritated by them, mostly zoro and sanji because of their "stupid bird" comments

well what can you do, the bird has a mind of its own

MANGEKYOU 2024 ── do not copy, repost, or translate my works onto this platform or any other !

[kenah-sturniolo]

GROW OLD WITH YOU

PART 3 > you fucked up and I said sorry <

A/N: sorry for taking so long, I’ve been busy with school. Part 3! Enjoy. It’s also a shorter chapter but hopefully it’s still good. Like and reblog. But I take credit 💋

WARNINGS: use of y/n. Swearing. Mention of abuse. Abuse.

Y/n POV:

Deep inside a wounded heart, Lies the memory of a childhood start. Aching pain that won't subside, Ghosts of memories that never died. Every day feels like a fight, Darkness lurking in the light. Haunted by what was done, Haunted by what is gone.

Echoes of voices that once were near, Whispers of sadness that refuse to clear. Every step feels like a struggle, Every day seems like a juggle. But hope shall not be dead, Healing is just ahead. Courage to move through the pain, Happy childhood memories to regain. The past may have left its mark, But it won't define a life that's stark.

A bright future can still form, A new chapter can be born.

My father was my first heartbreak, My mother was my first bully. The house never felt like home, Walking on eggshells day in and day out. We were a perfect family from outside, But inside everyone was living a slow death.

You never apologized to me for hurting me, but I apologized to you 12 times for being angry about it. You fucked up — yet I said sorry.

Children don't get traumatised because they get hurt. They get traumatised because they're alone with the hurt. The abuse wasn’t new. It was old. It seemed normal — deep down I knew it wasn’t. But I was so use to it I didn’t know what normal was.

I convinced myself that panic attack, anxiety and fear of my parents was just a part of my daily life.

My brain working like clockwork, messing things around and confusing the difference between normal and what my brain thought was normal.

Sure I’ve had and have fears. Heights, spiders. yeah. Certain people. Definitely. But the fears that linger with the most pain are the ones that I could never bring myself to say out loud — not being good enough, getting attached, and that the only person i have ever been genuinely afraid of was my father.

The way he’d yelled. The way he broke things when he’d have enough. The way he’d abuse, physically, verbally, emotionally, like it was just second nature and habit to do so. He scares me shitless. The way my father says to my mother— your daughter never does what I expect her to, your daughter lets me down, your daughter does that, your daughter does this, your daughter does— your daughter— your —

like I'm not his, never his.

I don’t get why he does though. It always just starts a fight “she’s not my daughter!” My mom would yell back. The bickering would continue for hours. “Shes not mine” “she’s a disappointment” “I wish we got that stupid abortion” it just kept going. Yeah I get it- you don’t want me.

No matter how many times I’ve heard those same insults, I still feel my heart break each time. Sometimes I wish I did kill myself when I was 14. When the weight of the pain and stress got too much. I stand in front of the mirror picking at myself bit by bit until I feel like I could snap at any moment. Wishing I’d just break. That I’d confront them. Maybe even tell them how I feel.. but of course that’d never happen. I’m too scared for that.

————

This morning had been rough. Yelling, swearing — abuse. I didn’t do anything. “Bullshit” his voice rung through my mind “don’t change thee fuckin’ topic y/n!” “how are you such a failure?!”

How am I supposed to respond. He was spilling insults at me from left, right and centre.

One statement really stabbed me in the back the hardest “you’re such a time waster. Always complaining. Always being rude-“ his tone sharp, always is. He’s careless- heartless. When the tears slowly blurred my vision it just pissed him off even more.

“Pathetic.” He spat out causing more tears to stain my cheeks. He hates it when people cry, says it makes them weak. Or that it shows just how much power people have over them if they can make them cry. The hard slap to my face deepened the fear I felt towards him. He’d abused me before. Whenever he didn’t get his way — he’d take it out on me as if it were some stupid ‘coping mechanism’.

As if my life wasn’t depressing enough I found myself in the school library — again — alone. Reading, thinking, holding back emotions that’s threatened to spill out Everytime the librarian would check on me. I can’t do this anymore.

It’s all just too much. The yelling. the abuse. My family in general.

The library door creaks open. I think nothing of it. It’s probably just another kid from the robotics club coming to get or return another book. To my surprise Matt sits next to me. By instinct I look down. I don’t want him to see me. It would ruin me if he saw the red swell on my cheek.

“Hey..” his calm voice brings comfort, I keep refusing to look up at him. What will he think? That I’m some psycho loner from a crazy family. That I spend all my time reading trying to escape from the world.

“Hi…”

I keep my head down, voice gentle and my body on the verge of shaking — intensely.

He wrapped his arm around me. I’ve never been hugged before, other than by Grammy. But to be hugged by someone so sweet and caring who wasn’t family.. that’s new. Yet it’s nice- really nice.

My body gently leans into his touch. He notices the swell on my cheek and luckily doesn’t say anything. It’s like he understood I’d break down at any moment in stead all he said was a sweet “breath..it’s just a bad day- not a bad life..” it comforted me.. but he doesn’t know the truth. God it is a bad life. A really bad one.

I tried to focus on him but my mind kept circling back to this morning. The way my now dad hurt me. The way he fucked up. And the way I said sorry.

Nearly had me in tears.

A/N: sorry again for not posting when I said I would. Let me know if you wanna be tagged and thanks for reading.

Mini tag list: @nicks-bubbles @ed1tssturnn @mattspillowprincess @sturns-mermaid @emely9274 @viviansturns @humpster35 @chrepsi @slvt4subchratt @secretaccountx5 @starrii-sturns

[colourstreakgryffin]

Moxie and millie + genderfluidy/n who is their adopted imp child platonic headcanons

Haha! Awwww! Let’s gooo~! M&M deserve their own baby! I’ll try my best to handle a Genderfluid coming out and Genderfluids as a whole, please forgive me if I’m handling you wrong. I’m not perfect! As usual… a bit short but I really like this one!

Moxxie and Millie- Appling

Moxxie is that loving doting father who is so clingy and sobs over his child being so precious. Like Blitzø, he wants to be a better parent than his own so he gives you unconditional love and support, he’ll always listen to you and he’d die to protect you. He never pushes you into anything you don’t want. He takes up a parenting style similar to his late mother

Millie, on the other hand, kinda sticks more to the way she was raised as a country gal but she doesn’t try to parent you like some callous tough southerner or to be like that, she only wants you to be tough enough to handle yourself and protect yourself! She is affectionate and kissy like Moxxie and especially loves giving you piggyback rides!

You are always holding one of their hands; either one, it doesn’t matter. One of your parent is always nearby if the other isn’t. Some days, Millie is with you all day and other days, Moxxie is with you all day! They trade looking after you singlehandedly and guarding you but don’t blame them for being cuddly and snuggly. They LOVE you deeply

Moxxie and Millie are the type of parents to always buy you presents, small or big. Rather you worked for them or not! They love you and they’ll pick up whatever thing they find they think you’ll like. Their spoiling mannerisms grow during your birthday

Moxxie and Millie bring you to get together with your maternal family once a month so you can grow familiar with Millie’s family. You’re always welcomed in with open arms and Sallie Mae adores playing with you, she’ll ask to babysit you at times

However. Never ever suspect you’ll meet your paternal grandfather, both of your parents refuse to let you meet Crimson… just. Nothing more, just that you’ll never know who Crimson is and your parents will actively avoid you being anywhere near that mafia boss

Moxxie doesn’t want you using weapons like guns and knives but Millie wants you to know self-defence so you’re split inbetween both… both knowing self-defence and not knowing self-defence

Moxxie and Millie love to bring you to cafés. Like those cute homely cafés with coffee and pastries. It’s kinda a ritual now, they’ll take you to your favourite and they remember your regular. It’s a great time since it’s a peaceful bonding time of you and your parents

Honestly… people are always surprised when Moxxie or Millie explain that you’re adopted… you look JUST like them. Not even just because you’re a Imp but because you just look like their lovechild

Moxxie and Millie are very accepting parents so when you finally get the courage to come out, the older you get, that you’re genderfluid. They both support you without any problem, and ask your pronouns every day so they can correctly identify you

Millie is more violent with her protectiveness over you than Moxxie is, so if you’re being bullied, both will try to resolve your problem differently and both are equally stubborn. Moxxie will give a big harsh lecture to your harassers whilst Millie will beat them with a inch of their life

Moxxie and Millie have those cute solo parent days with you as well. A mother-child day and a father-child day where both arrange fun events with you. Either way, you’ll come back covered in presents and with your father or mother having the time of his or her life! It’s precious

Moxxie and Millie prefer to leave you at home so you don’t have to see their job, mainly because you’re quite safe when you’re back at home and you don’t spend time around I.M.P, especially around Blitzø and his daughter, Loona since they consider those two bad influences on you

Yeah… Moxxie is also the type of father to cry hysterically when you do anything ‘adult’ since he is watching his precious baby grow up right in front of him. Millie‘s that type of mother to comfort then encourage you to try ‘adult’ things as you grow up, even if both would prefer you to stay as their little appling of their eye

Moxxie and Millie are a mixture of strict and loose. They’ll enforce rules of the house to protect you and ensure you know right from wrong as suspected but as soon as the punishment is over, both Knotlastnames are tackling you to pepper your cute squishy face with all the love their hearts carry for you

Moxxie and Millie are also the type of parents to always invite your friends over, rather you know or not. They like knowing who your friends with and they’ll happy cook for your friends, they’ll happily pick up your friends, they’ll happily chat with your friends. Both of your parents encourage your friends, if you’re happy, they are happy

This beautiful couple really is the best parents in Hell. You’ll grow up loved and cared for in all manners, happy with your gender identity and capable of being a perfectly functional adult!

“Oh, sweetie… you’re not wrong for feeling like this. I understand that you don’t feel like a girl today, but feel like a boy. That’s called being Genderfluid, cakepop. Listen to me, Mama and I will always love you across all the Rings, no matter who you love or what gender you say you are”

“Pumpkin-spice… no, no, no. Do’n ya’ cry now. Papa is so proud of’ou, I’m so proud of’ou, for final’y tellin’ me your feelin’s. I know it’s scary but we’re here for you. You do’nt want to be call’d a boy but a they/them? You’re our precious cinnamon-roll with whatever gender, never forget that”