#i feel like it’d be so bittersweet..

[deerfellow]

fic where phil learns that jaiden doesn’t know how to fly and decides to teach her pls

[thetorturedlovergirl]

Au where in “The Woman Who Fell To Earth” instead of falling in Sheffield, 13 accidentally lands in front of an Echo of Clara.

[designernishiki]

you ever think about how by yakuza 8 haruto will be 8 years old and won’t remember kiryu at all, and if/when he shows back up kiryu will be a total stranger to him. haha

[akkivee]

that unpopular hypmic opinion post that’s been floating around for a minute has been has been fun in places, not so much in others lol but today it had me crying because i also wanted bat to beat mtr, and i long for what sort of character direction hitoya would have gotten if he had beat jakurai then 😭😭😭

[fruitydiaz]

just remembered buck’s going to (possibly) have a biological child

[incognit0slut]

hii, i love you’re writing and i have a song request idea. the song too sweet by hozier would be so cute it could be angst to smut and it could happen late morning or late at night since the lyrics. idk if it makes sense i just thought it’d be cute 😭. again i love your work sm okay, ty, bye 🫶🏾💖🫶🏾💖🫶🏾

Spencer thinks you’re too sweet for a damaged man like him.

Warnings: (18+) Professor Reid x Student Fem Reader. Age gap (he’s in his 40s or post-prison era, Reader is in her 20s). Angst and smut. 2.8k words A/n: anon I took your request but I changed it a little to how I interpret this song… which means a lot of ANGST💔 I hope you don’t mind

He knew you were here. He always knew. The usual chaotic sprawl of books scattered throughout his apartment seemed to be in order, and there was a comforting scent lingering in the air that unmistakably belonged to you.

Although Spencer could never really put his finger on your scent. Sometimes you exuded a sweet fragrance, like the delicate petals of a flower, while at other times, a crisp, fresh aroma lingered around you, reminiscent of a morning breeze, or perhaps the soft scent of rain. 

But it didn't matter whether you smelled like a garden in full bloom or the crisp air after a rainstorm, the mere proximity to you brought him the peace he was all too familiar with, and that calmness enveloped him as he made his way toward his bedroom.

You looked like an angel. Sweet, calm, serene. His eyes drifted towards your sleeping form, and he couldn't help but wonder how you could sleep so well after the conversation you both shared this morning. The weight of your mutual decision to end things for good hung heavy in the air, yet here you lay, seemingly unaffected.

He watched the gentle rise and fall of your chest, each rhythmic pattern of your breathing seemed to draw him closer. One step, then another, until he found himself standing at the edge of the bed, looking down at you, vulnerable in your sleep. And then, as if pulled by an unseen force, he sank into the space beside you.

The bed dipped beneath his weight, and so did his heart. Spencer knew this wasn't the wisest thing to do. He was supposed to be the responsible one, after all, he was older than you. With age came experience, or so he believed, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he should be the voice of reason.

But as he lay beside you, he couldn't help but question his judgment. Was it truly wisdom that guided him, or was it simply the fear of facing the unknown? Age and maturity seemed like a flimsy construct now, overshadowed by the raw intensity of his emotions. With a heavy sigh, he placed a hand on your waist.

One touch, he told himself, one touch was all he would allow himself.

You felt the warmth of his touch seeping into your skin, grounding you in the present moment. Spencer watched intently, well aware he should have pulled back, yet, despite his better judgment, he found himself unable to let go, his grip on you tightening almost instinctively.

His gaze traced your face in the soft glow of moonlight filtering through the window. Despite the early hour, your features seemed to radiate with a warmth that defied the darkness of the dawn. The lines of worry on your brow softened, your lips curved into a gentle smile, and for a fleeting moment, you appeared to embody the very essence of sunshine itself.

It was a peculiar sight, Spencer thought, considering how the world beyond the window remained shrouded in darkness.

"You're home," you muttered as if the word home was a concept you both shared. Perhaps it had once been true, or perhaps it was a dream that had never quite materialized. He felt a pang in his chest, a bittersweet reminder of what once was, or what could have been.

"You're not supposed to be here," he mumbled softly.

"I was going to give you back your keys, but you weren't here," you confessed. "And I wanted to wait for you."

A small smile tugged at his lips. "So you decided to wait on my bed?"

"It seemed like the most comfortable spot."

"You've always liked my bed."

You shook your head. "It's not the bed, per se. It's the feeling of being close to you..." Your gaze softened as you met his eyes. "Even when you're not here."

Time seemed to stand still as he met your gaze, a rush of emotions swirling beneath the surface. "I'm not here most of the time," he said after a pause.

"I know."

"That's not fair to you."

A heavy silence fell into place.

"I know," you replied quietly.

"And the next time we do see each other," he continued, his tone tinged with resignation, "Is when I'm standing in front of class with you sitting between the seats."

"Spencer, I know," you pressed, your voice barely concealing the ache in your heart. "We went through this conversation this morning."

"Then why are you still here?"

You held his gaze, your eyes reflecting countless emotions—sadness, longing, and perhaps a hint of defiance. "Because," you began softly, "I still can't bring myself to leave."

His heart clenched at your words, the weight of them settling heavily upon him. He had expected defiance, anger, perhaps even resentment, but your quiet admission caught him off guard.

"Why?" he asked.

You looked away. "You know why."

He knew the reasons, of course, he knew them all too well. But hearing them spoken aloud, seeing the pain reflected in your eyes, brought the harsh reality of the situation. He reached out, gently grasping your chin and guiding your gaze back to meet his.

"This is for the best," he replied quietly, though his voice wavered with uncertainty. He knew the words sounded hollow, even to his own ears, but he couldn't bring himself to admit the truth—that perhaps, deep down, he was trying to protect himself as much as he was trying to protect you.

"For me or for you?"

He hesitated, the lump in his throat growing heavier with each passing moment.

"For both of us," he admitted softly.

It was the truth, undeniable and painful. He couldn't deny the impact of your relationship if it continued down its current path. Not only was he much older than you, but he was also supposed to be your mentor, your teacher, your professor.

His role was meant to guide you. He was supposed to impart knowledge, not to engage in illicit affairs behind closed doors. He had allowed himself to become too invested in you, to give you more attention than was appropriate, more than was fair to his other students.

But it wasn't just about him anymore—it was about you. He couldn't bear the thought of tainting your pure, sweet soul with the darkness that came with him. He had done things he wasn't proud of, and made choices that he wished he could undo, and now, as he looked at you, he couldn't help but feel a sense of shame.

You deserved better than to be with someone who carried the weight of his past like a heavy burden.

"So this it?" You asked.

All he could do was nod. A lump formed in your throat as you struggled to hold back the tears threatening to spill over. "Fine. Just..." You paused, taking a shaky breath to steady yourself. "I'll leave as soon as you tell me the truth."

He felt a knot tighten in his chest as he waited for you to continue.

"Tell me you don't love me and I'll leave."

Your words hit him like a punch to the gut, the pain evident in his eyes as he struggled to find the right response. He knew that he had to be honest with you, no matter how difficult it might be.

But as he opened his mouth to speak, the words caught in his throat. How could he deny the truth when every fiber of his being longed for you? How could he let you go when you were the one thing he couldn't bear to lose?

"I..." he began, his voice faltering as he searched for the courage to speak the words you so desperately needed to hear. But no matter how hard he tried, the words refused to come.

"Say it," you urged. "Say you don't love me and I'll leave you for good."

Taking a deep breath, he met your gaze and braced himself for the pain his words would inflict on you.

"I don't love you," he whispered, the words feeling like a betrayal even as they left his lips. It was a lie, and he knew it. And yet, he couldn't find the courage to admit his feelings for you.

The air around you seemed to thicken with tension. He had braced himself for the pain his lie would bring, but nothing could prepare him for the look of hurt and disbelief that crossed your face at his words. You were the one who asked for this, yet hearing him admit to it so easily shattered your heart into pieces.

"You're... you're lying."

Spencer felt a pang of guilt shoot through him at the sight of your pain. He knew that he would regret what he was about to do, but he couldn't stand the thought of you walking away without knowing the truth, without knowing how much he truly cared for you.

So he closed the distance between you, his hand gently cradling the back of your neck. And then, without hesitation, he leaned in and captured your lips in a slow, deliberate kiss. For a moment, you were lost in the sensation, the warmth of his touch, the tenderness of his kiss.

But as quickly as it had begun, it came to an end, leaving you breathless and uncertain. You pulled back and searched his eyes for answers. "You're lying," you repeated.

He sighed heavily, his forehead resting against yours. "I-I don't love you."

Your chest tightened again. How could he say that when his touch was so tender, when his gaze held so much depth? Frustration and hurt boiled over as your nails dug into his skin, gripping his wrist firmly as you held his face close to yours.

"Stop lying to me," you pleaded almost desperately. "Stop fucking lying to yourself."

He closed his eyes. He knew that he couldn't keep lying to you, and yet, the words refused to leave his lips, trapped by the fear of what might happen if he dared to speak them aloud.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of his heart as he pulled you closer, not knowing what else to do to ease the pain away.

So he kissed you again.

He kissed you as if he was apologizing, each gentle press of his lips against yours a silent plea for forgiveness. He kissed you as if he needed to convey his feelings that he couldn't express with words, his touch speaking volumes where his voice fell short.

He kissed you as if you were everything to him, as if the taste of you was sweeter than any other, as if he couldn't bear the thought of a life without you in it. He kissed you desperately and unapologetically, it was sweet yet painful, tender yet desperate, as if every moment shared between you was both a blessing and a curse.

You could taste the bitterness of goodbye on his lips, yet you couldn't bring yourself to let go, not when his touch still felt like home. So you pushed your tongue into his mouth, savoring the taste of him even as you knew it would only make saying goodbye that much harder.

Your breathing became heavy as you felt his hand glide down from your cheek to your neck. He then pulled away, his lips still tingling from the taste of you as he licked them unconsciously. His gaze followed the movement of his hand as it settled on your breast.

You could feel the tension between you crackling in the air, the desire that pulsed between you almost tangible, as he brushed your nipple over your shirt. A gasp escaped your lips as he continued to tease you, each touch sending jolts of pleasure coursing through your body.

You knew that this wasn't the wisest thing to do. You were both playing with fire and giving in to the temptation could only lead to more heartache. But you couldn't help yourself, not when your body was coming alive with the familiarity of his touch, not when you knew that this might be the last time you could feel him as close.

So when his hand slipped further down, tracing a path over your stomach, past your legs, you let him. The anticipation built within you as his touch hiked up your skirt, your breath catching in your throat. And when the rough pad of his fingers ghosted over the material of your panties, you found yourself instinctively spreading your legs apart, inviting him closer.

As the first electric surge rushes through you, the smallest of breaths escapes your lips, signaling the release of the tension you had been holding in your lungs. Your hands found purchase against his shoulders, nails digging into his t-shirt tightly as you felt him pressing onto your folds.

You both stared at each other, a silent exchange of emotions passing between you. There were so many emotions in his—sadness, frustration, and a burning desire that mirrored your own. And yet, despite the turmoil that raged within him, you found yourself unable to look away, drawn in by the intensity of his gaze.

As his hand worked its magic between your thighs, you felt yourself growing wetter by the minute, desire pooling low in your belly. And then, with a sense of purpose, he pulled his hand away, his fingers deftly finding the band of your panties as he coaxed the thin material down your legs. 

How did he manage to bring himself into this situation again? It was a familiar pattern, one that he had promised himself he would break, and yet, here he was, like a moth to a flame, irresistibly drawn to you.

Or perhaps it was more like you were a precious flower, delicate and beautiful, and he was drawn to you like a bee to nectar, unable to resist the sweet temptation that you offered.

Whatever the reason, he knew that he couldn't stay away from you. With trembling hands, he buried his fingers between your thighs once more, finally touching your bare, slick skin. The slickness of your arousal coated his fingers as he explored every inch of your delicate folds, each movement sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

And then, unable to resist any longer, he pressed a single finger inside your entrance, the sensation causing you to gasp in pleasure. He moved slowly at first, savoring the feeling of your tightness enveloping him, before picking up the pace, his movements becoming more urgent and desperate with each passing moment.

"Please," you muttered, gulping and concentrating on the feeling of him slowly pumping his single digit in and out of your tightening, dripping walls. 

But what were you begging for? For him not to stop? Or for him not to let you go? Maybe both, and for now, the only thing he could do was give you the pleasure you so desperately craved.

He could feel the tension building within you, the way your body arched and trembled. And as he continued to pleasure you, he made a silent vow to himself—to give you everything he could at this moment, to make you feel alive and wanted, even if it was just for a fleeting moment.

So he continued to move his finger inside you, and as he felt you drawing closer to the edge, he knew that he couldn't stop now. His thumb found your clit, eliciting a gasp of pleasure from your lips as he applied gentle pressure. Then with a sense of urgency, he plunged another finger deep inside you, stretching you in the most delicious way possible.

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your nails digging into the fabric as you clung to him desperately. "Pl-Please," you begged, heavy eyes searching for his own. "Please don't leave me."

His heart clenched at the raw vulnerability in your voice, the depth of emotion written plainly across your face. He couldn't bear to look at you any further, so he buried his face in the crook of your neck, pressing tender kisses against your skin as his fingers continued their fast-paced rhythm.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice filled with anguish. "I'm so sorry."

His words were barely audible over the sound of your ragged breaths, but you heard him clearly, and a loud moan ripped out of you. This was the cruelest form of rejection; to find pleasure in his touch only to be denied the warmth of his affection. You wanted to push him away, to scream at him for playing with your emotions, for making you believe there was something more. But as his fingers continued their relentless assault on your senses, driving you ever closer to the edge of ecstasy, you found yourself unable to resist.

So you surrendered to him completely, because all that mattered was here and now—the ache between your legs, his lips worshiping your body, and the undeniable connection that bound you together, even as the world threatened to tear you apart.

[jhdyuiee]

blossom

wildflower - part 1 .

❁ blossom : a new beginning & growth .

❁ pairing: ex!jaehyun x fem!reader

❁ tags/warnings: angst, fluff, smut!, pregnancy, unprotected sex (flashback scene), multiple positions (doggy&missionary), oral (f), squirting, kissing/making out, nipple/breast play, hair-pulling, spanking, fingering, mentions of masturbation (m), pet-names (baby&darling), down-bad and groveling jaehyun (:0), cursing, mentions of drinking, time-skips, bittersweet ending

❁ w.c: 7.9k

❁ a.n: hi! you ask and i shall deliver, part 2 of wildflower! writing this one was so challenging because i was having major writers block, which ended up delaying it's release, aghh. anyways i tried pulling through, so stick until the bittersweet end <3 ! JOLO OUT IN 2 WEEKS (obsessed with roses, like jaehyun babe who hurt yuh?!) 🥃 . anyways love you all, stay safe & jiji out 🤍

“i'll never forget how stupid in love i felt. i'll always regret how i couldn't ever tell, that you walked a little faster, left me behind.”

“kissed me with somebody else in mind. i loved you so much that i settled for less.“

“oh, you were my everything… i was your second best.”

- laufey | “second best”

jaehyun’s pov.

“fuck, fuck, fuck,” i shouted as the door closed. i contemplated chasing after her, but something told me not to. how could’ve i been so fucking stupid? why did i think she would understand– no, this whole shit was impossible to understand.

i cheated and lied to her. there wasn’t going to be anything i could’ve done now to undo what i did. i did the worst thing a man could’ve done, and broke her, played with her innocent self. i could love for infinitely, but that still wouldn't have been enough to repair the damage. 

i looked down, remembering the gift she gave me right before leaving. this small gift bag held a massive weight. with trembling hands, i started unboxing it and pulled out a small velvet box.

no, this couldn’t be… now hurriedly i opened it. a silver colored ring, in the middle of the box. you fucking bastard, i thought. i really fucked up, really beyond repair.

i took the ring out. i noted the small stones around the band of the ring, my birthstone, amethyst.

my cheeks felt wet, only then did i realize i started crying. now i regret not chasing after her, spending the rest of my day apologizing to her, pleading with her. she took my happiness when she walked out that door, a part of me with her.

and for all i knew matters would only continue to get worse from here on out…

two lines.

there are two fucking lines on the stick…

“i’m pr-pregnant…” i muttered.

this couldn’t be happening, oh how i wished this was a dream— a nightmare i could wake up to right about now. but no, this is fucking reality.

well i guess that would explain why i was late and the nauseating feelings i kept having. however so i still hoped it would come out negative. it wasn’t that i didn’t want this child, it was just about whether or not i’d be up to live as a single mother.

i caressed my stomach, though still unnoticeable, how would this child be able to live? made without mutual love, and there was no denying this was a result of that night. the very same night before disaster struck.

did the birth control not work? i thought. no, impossible it’d always worked, but perhaps luck was truly never in my favor that day. it’d been about or over a month since that day and a lot has happened, my newly discovered pregnancy being one of those things.

as i walk outside my bathroom and into my bedroom, i gently sit on the edge of my bed as flashbacks of the past month flood my mind. first things first, that same week i began moving out with my shared apartment with yuna. we had a pretty heated argument, both sides equally hurt and betrayed. yet one thing i’d say we both saw eye-to-eye was how much of a scum he was. who knew a simple man would cause our friendship to fall apart.

anyhow, with that out the way i started making preparations to move out of not only that apartment but the city. luckily the move went smoothly thanks to a special someone.

mr.jeong.

it happened a day after my talk with yuna when i decided to talk to his father. i felt the need to come clean, confess to everything that went on. to my surprise, mr.jeong hadn’t yet heard of our breakup nor from his son. i expected mr.jeong to feel upset, or at least angry towards me but he didn’t. in fact he cursed at his idiotic son, sympathizing with me. the woman who entered a fake relationship and lied to him, nonetheless there was no denying mr.jeong’s genuine care and love towards me. he treated me as his family, the thought made my heart ache. i mean it was a silly thought as i’d never will become his family.

our talk lasted well around an hour before i decided to depart. i made the decision to tell mr.jeong that i’d be moving, in which he offered two things. one, to never tell that idiotic son of his where i’d gone to in case he asks. two, money.

i refused to take the money, but he insisted i take it since i’d just quit my cafe job. also adding how expensive getting a singular apartment would be for me. after much dispute… i ended up taking the money. he also added there was no need to repay him back, and that if i wanted to look at it as a i’m-sorry-for-my-idiotic-sons-foolishness recompense.

nonetheless i’m eternally grateful to mr.jeong. i mean without his help i probably wouldn't have been able to move into this apartment in a fairly quicker time as if i didn’t have the amount they asked for. once i settled in, i began job hunting.

just the other day i went in for an interview. i still awaited the call from the company, it was a publishing firm.

i plopped down onto my bed, absentmindedly staring at the ceiling. who knew the year would turn out so catastrophic for me. a whirlwind of thoughts flooded my mind which eventually led me to a deep slumber. the pregnancy sure to be the cause of my tiredness.

ring. ring. ring.

my eyes slowly fluttered open, trying to find the noise of the abrupt ringing. my phone's screen lights up, vibrating against the mattress. i reached a hand towards the device, not even bothering to look at who was calling me.

“hello? is this y/n?” a woman’s voice spoke.

slightly unconscious i answer, “y-yes, may i ask who’s this.”

“ah- nice to speak to you y/n, this i’m mrs.kang and i work for the publishing firm you applied for.”

oh, now i was fully awake. “woa- hello! nice to mee-speak to you ms.kang,” i stumbled on my words.

a slight chuckle arose from the other line, “yes, well i just wanted to tell you that… you’re in! congratulations, the company has decided to hire you!”

what! no way… it has to be a dream. i pinch myself, ow. okay not a dream. “wo-wow, thank you so much! w-when can i start!”

“next monday, if that’s alright with you,” she explained. “yes! that’s fine with me,” i almost immediately replied. “that’s great, see you on monday ms.l/n!”

i bid her farewell before hanging up. wow. my life is really seemingly picking up after all the bad luck. oh but now there was the baby to think about, i still haven’t called my clinic. “it’d be best to call them now,” i muttered. and so i did, my appointment was set for thursday.

i reach back for my stomach, a faint smile appeared on my face. “my little light,” i whisper into the empty bedroom.

i was keeping my baby, it didn’t matter whether i would be a good mother or not because this child was a little gift to me sent from the heavens above. my baby, not his. “you may not have a father, but that’s okay, my little light. i’ll make sure to give you both so you’ll never feel lonely. mommy loves you so much already.”

my little light. finding my way out the deepest depths of hell, you became my light who guided me to my new beginning. and for that you’re my little light. my savior.

jaehyun’s pov.

i drove into the driveway of my father’s residence, parking before finding myself knocking at his front door. he’d called me yesterday night, urging me to see him today. i wonder what he could’ve wanted. i wasn’t in the mood to see him today or come to my childhood home where memories of her existed.

it’s been over a month since we broke up and my life has been nothing but a shit show. i stare at my left hand, the sun's light reflecting on the piece of medal around my finger. her final gift, her parting gift; the ring found it’s home on my left ring finger. i’ve never taken it off once since that day that i put it on.

i can’t even count how many nights i spent crying, drinking, and cursing myself. y/n… her name hurt to say, verbally or not. sometimes it felt as though she was still there, waiting for me at my apartment, in my car, everywhere. she haunted me everyday, even when i slept.

she never answered or responded to any of my calls or texts, assuming she blocked my number.

the door swings open, and instead of being met with ms.kim i was met with an angered man, my father. “nice to you see you too,” i said when he didn’t offer to greet me first. strange, i thought. normally he’d be chatty but today he just walked, guiding me to his office. we took a seat across from each other on the leather couches he had in there.

silence filled the office before i decided to speak up. i cleared my throat, “so what’s wrong father.”

he huffed, “you’re no son of mine jaehyun.” i furrowed my brows, no son of mine?

he must’ve noticed my confusion because he then continued. “i know what you did, what you did to her. how could you!” he spoke, his words getting louder the more he continued.

shit.

”you think i wouldn’t find out? the poor girl came to me just the other day, a mess, yet nonetheless confessed to everything that was going on between the two of you,” he continued, my eyes widening more. she came over… she was here��

i clenched my fists. “i-is she alright? did she look okay?” i trashed question after question. my mind only thinking of her. he stayed quiet, not answering any of my questions. a beat or two passed before he continued speaking, “i mean really jaehyun… lying to her just to get back with that other woman?!”

fuck, looks like he knew everything. i sucked a breath in, “i-i didn’t mean to-” he cut me off, “mean to what!?” he shouts. “to fall in love with her. to break her. for any of this to happen,” i answered. my vision was beginning to blur. i faintly hear my father, tsk, before speaking.

“get ready jaehyun.”

i looked into his eyes for the first time since we entered his office. “f-for?” i asked, a gut feeling telling me it wasn’t for anything good. “i’m passing the company to you. i’ve been meaning to for a while now, and after all this mess you got yourself in you don’t exactly deserve it but i’m not getting any younger.”

my mouth fell open, then closed. no way he was asking me to take over the company… i wasn’t in any way, shape, or form prepared. heck i was still a mess from the break up.

“and i don’t care if you’re not prepared, a mess, or whatever excuse you have to offer me, you’re gonna take over and that’s final.”

there was no point arguing, when my father made a decision it was final. “alright,” i said, throwing my head back against the couch.

i hear as he gets up, resting my head back up. he pauses for a moment when he grabs the doorknob, turning to face me.

“and to answer your questions from earlier, she’s gone. y/n left jaehyun, she’s not coming back so you should give up. i mean it’s not like she’s going to take you back after everything you put her through.”

my heart dropped, my eyes blurring again. she-she’s gone? y/n, my y/n? no, no… this wasn’t supposed to happen. and so before i could further inquiry my father any further, he opened the door and walked out.

he left me all alone in his office space, me and my thoughts. my gaze drops down to the ring, where a single tear drop landed.

7 months later.

“ow,” you muttered. you bring a hand to your stomach, feeling the tiny kicks of the little human inside you. “i might as well sign you up for soccer,” i say, feeling another kick that causes me to chuckle. perhaps that was my sign that my little light was up for playing the sport.

for the past 7 months since i found out i was pregnant it’s been… a lot. it was hard being alone, but as time quickly passed i started getting the hang of it. i wished i had someone to go to, but my parents were long gone. i never really had a family to call my own, except now for this little human.

ever since my stomach started showing i’ve been working at home, the company was surprisingly pretty insistent about taking a maternity leave, but i still needed a way to make money. the workload wasn’t a lot, in fact i was only assigned with editing reports. nonetheless the pay was still great.

in fact, next month was going to be my last month working as the date for my birth approached, i needed to take the time off. in the 7 months too, my memory and thoughts of him dissipated. i was doing better, i could feel it. it wasn’t just for me, but for my baby too. i didn’t want my child to be upset with me.

as i got up to go use the restroom i heard the faint ringtone of my phone. i sighed as i looked at the caller id. “and what do i owe you the pleasure of, jungwoo?”

kim jungwoo. my co-worker and newly found best friend. he was the only one by my side and the only one i’ve spoken to about everything that’s happened. shock would be an understatement of his reaction, but nevertheless he still stuck by my side… annoyingly so.

“is that really a way to greet your bestest friend!? i’m very offended y/l/n, after all that trouble of going to get you those midnight cravings,” he says, falsely sobbing into the phone. though he couldn’t see, i rolled my eyes. this guy, i swear.

“oh my, i’m sorry your majesty. please forgive my behavior just now,” i replied. “you are forgiven,” he says back. “but… really jungwoo, why’d you call?”

“nothing much, just… open the door and you’ll find out,” he says. i do as he instructed, slowly walking to my door.

you open it, revealing jungwoo with a carry-out bag in hand. was it unusual to say you developed a keen sense of smell since your pregnancy? well because it smelled like he brought over fried chicken.

“uhm… can you maybe drool later, and let me in now so we could dig in,” he says, standing frozen. i snap out of my hungry state, moving aside to let him in.

we walk to my dining table, sitting across from one another. jungwoo does all the unpacking whilst i watch with prying eyes as he takes the food out and opens it. “dig in,” he announces. i wasted no time, grabbing the chicken and stuffing it into my mouth. i let out a satisfied groan, the chicken tasting so damn good.

you being too engulfed with that damn delicious fried chicken, failed to notice as jungwoo turns on the television. “come back before i finish everything,” you warn him. he lets go of the remote, stopping at some random channel. well the television was the least of your worries right now.

“how’s she doing,” jungwoo speaks up, eyeing my stomach. “i’m thinking of signing her up for soccer when she’s straight out of the womb, little girl can kick,” i replied, earning me a laugh from jungwoo.

a couple months back, my doctor told me the gender of my little light. a girl, my baby girl. i didn’t partially care what the gender was going to be, but nonetheless i was still ecstatic about the revelation. having a baby girl meant i would be able to dress her up, so cute like a little doll.

“jeong jaehyun.”

i whip my head to the television at the mention of that name. my eyes widened, dropping the food from my hand.

“n corps newest ceo is the first to accomplish acquiring various kinds of subsidiaries in such a short amount of time– ranging from luxury brands to flower shops,” the female reporter says as they display a picture of the man.

i squint my eyes, focusing them solely on his left hand. i hoped my eyes weren’t deceiving me because… is that the ring i gave him. no… no, my mind and eyes had to have been playing tricks on me because why on earth would he wear, better yet still have the ring.

“is that him,” jungwoo speaks up, interrupting my thoughts. i turn back around, my mood suddenly plummeting. i don't say anything, just nodding my head to indicate that the man who just appeared was the same man i spoke of.

and so for the rest of dinner we ate in silence, minor talk appearing but jungwoo would always be the one initiating it. i was too lost, going down a rabbit hole about him.

when we finished eating, jungwoo insisted on cleaning up– he even took the garbage with him as he left. i walked him to my door, bidding him goodbye. when he was gone, i headed to the bathroom, a shower was very much needed.

plopping onto my bed, i stare at the ceiling. my thoughts on, jaehyun. a familiar ache appeared in my heart, i thought i was over him but it seems i might be far from it. “i guess mommy isn’t all that strong, huh little one,” i whisper as i reach my hands over my stomach.

you’re not sure what came over you that night, that news report igniting your lost feelings. and so in the midst of your thoughts, you somehow drifted off into a deep slumber.

an interesting one, per say. not only for you but for the other party involved as well…

✧˖°ʚ ❁ ɞ♡

jaehyun crashes his lips to mine, eloping me into a deep and passionate kiss. his tongue slides along my bottom lip, begging for entry in which i grant him.

our tongues fighting one another, and teeth occasionally clashing. my mind began to fog, but i refused to stop. i could feel his love with every kiss.

“strip,” he says in a sultry tone. i felt the air getting hot.

grabbing the hem of my top, i pulled it over my head, and then followed my shorts. i left myself in my lace panties and bra, jaehyun licking his lips in delight.

reaching his hand over, he gropes my tits which earned him a breathy moan of his name.

reaching his hands to the back, he swiftly unhooks my bra, letting it fall beneath me. he groans, admiring the way my tits were on full display. “so fucking beautiful,” he says, taking his mouth over one of my nipples.

he sucks on it, and eventually bites down on the bud. i bite my bottom lip, not wanting to yell out loud.

i look down at him, his eyes staring back at mine as he practically makes out with one of my tits. i could feel one of his hands slides down my back at a slow pace, leaving a burning trail behind.

“you want me to touch you, baby?” he asks as he fondles your ass, sending a small slap across the flesh of skin. “y-yes,” you moan.

“tell me baby, where.” his voice so deep, his head coming up to peck my lips. i nearly melted, “yo-you know.” i take an unoccupied hand of his to my sex, making him palm it. “my pussy needs you,” i whisper as i leaned into his ear.

jaehyun’s lips twitch up, kissing you hard one last time before he begins to go down on his knees. he places his hands to the waistband of your panties, dragging them down your legs. “open up for me,” he says, and i begin opening my legs up. he drags his fingers to collect the slick that began dripping down my thigh.

kiss after kiss, bite after bite along my thighs. reaching a hand to his hair, i grip it. and when he finally reaches my cunt, i become a whimpering mess. his hands gripped my thighs, holding me in place as his tongue darted out.

a slow tantalizing lick, and then another. i jerk my hips forward, wanting more friction. i feel as jaehyun stops his licks. “don’t move, or else i won’t let you cum darling.” his warning was clear, i stayed still.

and so he continues, but instead of licks he sucks on my clit. along with using the tip of his tongue to tease the poor bud, before finishing off with a bite. “j-jaehyun!” i yelled when i felt his teeth on my clit.

letting go with a pop, i watch as he licks his lips before diving back in. his licks faster than when he first started, and before i knew it he brought his fingers into the mix. one of his fingers entering you, then two, both knuckle deep inside you. it wasn’t until after he pecked your clit that he began thrusting them inside you.

in and out, out and in. your gummy walls clenching around his digits as they quickly thrusted into you. you feel the stretch of your walls as he opens them, like scissors. the constant chant of his name was such a melody to his ears, urging him to do more.

you felt yourself getting closer to your release as he continued his ministrations on your pussy. he must’ve felt the way you clenched around his fingers, “close?” he asks. “y-yes, m-my cl-clit!”

jaehyun got the message as he attached his mouth onto your clit. with both his mouth and hands working themselves on you at the same time, it felt like you could cum at any moment. with one suck to your clit and his fingers plummeting in you, you gushed out. a stream of liquid coming out of you, splattering all over his arm. it wasn’t the first time you’ve squirted but nonetheless you still felt shy, hot all over.

jaehyun gets back up, watching you as you watched him lick your essence off his arm and hand. “so delicious, a delicacy that you are baby.”

you could almost cum again from those simple words. as you try regaining your breath jaehyun brings his lips to your ear. “on the bed, all fours,” he whispers. a shiver runs down your spine, his sex-dazed voice was one of your favorite things in the whole world.

without wasting another second you head towards his bedroom, onto his bed with hands and knees on the mattress. your ass up, on full display. slap. you jerk forward from the sudden movement.

and another one on the other cheek. you turn your head around, a naked jaehyun behind you in all his glory. his hard, thick cock reaching his stomach. you could see the glisten of his pre-cum. you feel his hardened member rub against your slit, both your essences blending with one another.

then he places a hand on your hips, while the other holds his cock so he could slide it into your aching hole. his cock slowly stretches you out, walls wrapping snuggly around it. you could hear jaehyun’s groans the deeper he goes in. when he’s all in, he kisses your exposed nape before going absolutely mad.

jaehyun was an absolute madman when it came to having sex. when he was balls deep inside you, he felt like he’d gone into another dimension; another world. you are quite literally the most perfect thing in this world, you were made for him.

your mouth falls into an ‘o’ shape when you feel his tip kissing your womb, tongue hanging out when he grabs some of your hair to pull you against his chest. you didn’t know if it was even possible for his dick to reach you even deeper, but it must’ve because this angle allowed for him to reach places that have never been touched before.

it wasn’t long before you ended up cumming on his cock, jaehyun following suit after a couple more thrusts. feeding your womb his seeds, which eventually dripped out of you as slides his cock out. you slump onto the mattress, too tired, body giving up.

on the other hand, there was something so hot about watching his cum drip out of your pussy. it turned him on, his cock beginning to harden again. his hands reached your body, turning you the other way so your back was against the mattress. you looked so fucked, he loved it.

“ready for round two?” he says, not even waiting for your answer before he intrudes back into your hole. fucking his cum back into your pussy. his hands, finding yours as he interlocks his fingers with yours. your watery eyes, low chants of his name, the clenching of your walls and fingers, the way your mouth falls open, and your tongue lolling out. fuck. it was the perfect sight.

“god, i love you,” jaehyun groans as he thrusted into you.

there was no stopping him now, he was going at an insane pace. the sounds of skin slapping, his balls on your ass, and the squelching sounds of you both echoed in the room.

letting go of one of the interlaced fingers, he brings his hand to your clit. the poor swollen bud victim to his ministrations again. he used his thumb to rub the bundle of nerves, you clench tighter around him. your own orgasm not too far away.

“k-kiss me!” you yelled. jaehyun wasted no time bringing his lips onto yours. it was sloppy but you didn’t care, you loved the way it felt.

you moaned into the kiss, as you finally came for the third time tonight. taking his lips from your mouth, he puts them on an exposed section of your neck, sucking on it as he came.

filling you up for a second time tonight, you felt the warmth inside your womb. you wondered whether you could get pregnant after tonight. having his babies, becoming parents, getting married— a dream.

both of you crash onto his bed, not bothering to clean up for now. both too tied, and unable to get up. he kisses your hair, whispering sweet nothings and lulls you to sleep. you and jaehyun peacefully sleeping in each other’s arms for the night.

jaehyun’s pov.

fuck. what the fuck.

jaehyun jumps up from his bed. too shocked, unable to comprehend what just happened. he doesn’t mutter anything, he just goes into his bathroom and turns on the shower.

stepping into the cold water, he faces the tile walls. his throbbing erection the least of his worries right now.

“wh-why… why did i have a dream about that night, the night before we-we-“ he mutters, the water dripping down his body.

jaehyun didn’t know why he dreamt about you, the steamy night that unfolded a week prior to the break-up.

yeah, he’d get off to past memories of you but never a full on dream. he didn’t know what to do, to think, to say, to anything.

and he couldn’t even being himself to sleep again, so he showered in the cold. it’s been 7 months, the pain still not gone. he misses you tremendously every single day.

he stares at the ring that still stayed on his finger, clenching his hand as he wants to punch the wall in front of him.

“y/n…”

2 months later.

december 14. the day my little star was born.

she was born healthy, no complications. and luckily i was fine as well. it was excruciating pain but knowing she was close to being brought into this world made such pain disappear.

in fact, today we were scheduled to leave and i couldn’t wait to just go home. my home wouldn’t feel so empty anymore, the thought made me smile.

d/n (daughter name) was currently being breastfed, her eyes shut and wrapped like a burrito. she was the most beautiful baby, though she does look quite a lot like her daddy.

i sigh, throwing my head against the pillow. and before i could fully relax after various sleepless nights, there was a knock to my hospital door. the knock causing me to jerk my head towards the door.

“come in,” i said loud enough so the person on the other side could hear, and low enough so it wouldn’t frighten my baby as she was fast asleep.

i thought it was just some nurse coming in to check in before i left but it wasn’t, far from it. my eyes widened. the person also stopping in their trace when they noticed me.

“y/n…” the feminine voice speaks.

my mouth falls open, “m-ms.kim?!”

what was she doing here? why- wait… kim jungwoo, kim… oh my god. the pieces clicked together, she was the person jungwoo promised to call.

just last night jungwoo called me, apologizing over and over again for being unable to take me back home. i do remember him telling me that he’d find someone else, but… who knew it’d be his mother, ms.kim!

we both stayed frozen. neither speaking, you could probably even hear our breaths. however, the cries of a baby erupted into the room. the cries bringing us back to reality.

i look at d/n, swaying her gently in my arms. her wails didn’t stop though. “c-can i?” ms.kim asks. i look up, nodding my head, handing her my daughter. it was almost intriguing how fast d/n calmed down, falling back asleep in ms.kim’s arms. she takes a closer look at the baby in her arms, “she’s adorable, such chubby cheeks.”

i admire the scene in front of me, when was the last time i saw her? i thought. does she still work for them? countless questions wondered in my head until she spoke again. “she looks just like him,” she says softly. i almost froze, eyes widening. i never told her who the father was, but then again my baby does look a lot like her dad. then considering ms.kim had been with the jeong’s since he was born, she must’ve seen how he looked as a baby.

“d-does she,” i say at a loss. she nods, “i’ve been with them since he was still in the womb, and watched him grow, so i can guarantee you they’re daughter and father.” when i didn’t speak she spoke again, “i probably shouldn’t be bringing him up… i- mr.jeong told me. he explained to me what happened when i asked why you weren’t coming over anymore, and well… i’m sorry.”

wait… why- why is she apologizing. i stopped her immediately, “n-no, you-you have nothing to do with what happened, why are you apologizing?!”

“i raised him after,” she answered. i shook my head, “no, please don’t apologize. you and mr.jeong played no part in what unraveled between me and him, nor do or will i blame either of you.”

she faintly smiles, “you’re too kind, y/n. in all honesty, i thought i would never see you again but yet here you are, you even befriended my son.” i giggled a little at the thought of jungwoo, “he sure is something else, but i’ll be eternally grateful to him.”

we continued our conversation for a while longer before a nurse came in to give me the okay to leave today. i did and completed the necessary things so i could go home, ms.kim helped me. and after a couple hours we were finally out of the hospital with d/n in the car seat ms.kim brought along. she said jungwoo got it for me, as a congrats-on-giving-birth gift.

ms.kim drove, while i stayed in the back with d/n, arriving at my home a while later. we spent the rest of the evening there, ms.kim preparing dinner. whilst she was doing that, jungwoo got off work and came over. he was overly excited to see d/n, shunning me and his own mother out.

when the food was ready, i put a sleeping d/n in the crib i placed in the living room. then i headed back to the dining table, sitting down and for the first time enjoying a homely meal. it was so good, i started crying. when was the last time i felt at peace? when i felt complete? jungwoo nor ms.kim said anything, letting me have a moment.

my home was finally warm and cozy, my new life begun today. my little light radiating throughout my- our home.

4 months later.

i sighed, pushing the stroller of my 4 month-old child along the park. the cold winter weather was gone, and the flowers were in full bloom again. we came for a stroll at our local park, i was in need of a refresher.

it’s been a month since i began working again, and things were going great until a couple days ago when i was informed of a new task. the ol’ mighty task being… interviewing… jeong jaehyun. with the rise of n corps, my company was in desperation to get an interview with him. and if matters couldn’t get any worse, our main interviewer broke their leg a couple days ago, so they decided to assign me with the job. well, they gave me until the end of the week to decide whether i was up for it but… come on, me?!

no way, there was no way i was going to-

“y/n?” a voice shouts. the voice sounding familiar, i turn around without any second thoughts. though now i wished i hadn’t turned around at all, that i had simply ignored the call of my name.

i froze. “j-jaehyun,” i said in a voice that was only loud enough for him to hear. what was he doing here… he shouldn’t be here… no… no wh- “it really is you…” he says, interrupting my thoughts. he walks closer, my eyes beginning to blur. “baby,” he says gently. my stomach churns, in a bad way at the use of the word.

“d-don’t ca-call me t-that!” i say, my voice distorted. i was probably trembling as he walked closer. he stopped in his tracks when the cries of a baby erupted.

shit.

he stops, his eyes focusing from me to the strolling behind me. i instinctively blocked her, hiding her from his view even though it was too late now.

it seems it didn't take long for jaehyun to connect two-and-two together. “i-is that my- our child,” he says in an astonished tone. at least he wasn’t such an idiot, i’ll give him that.

i shook my head, “no, you’re wrong. she’s mine, she doesn’t need you.” i wasn’t going to deny that he was the dad but that didn’t mean i’d consider him as her father.

jaehyun drops to his knees in front of me. his sobs getting louder as he cried. my heart ached at the sight, but then remembered why we were even here in the first place. i turn back, my grip tightening around the stroller’s handles.

i begin walking away, stopping briefly. “you should’ve moved on the day i left the hotel. we are strangers jaehyun, remember that.” he looks up, tears staining his face. i noticed a shine from his finger, it came from the ring around his left hand. i immediately identified it as the ring i had gotten him for his birthday. 

“w-will i truly never see you again, see her again,” he says, trying to regain his composure. i don’t reply back, leaving him in that park.

on the walk home i made up my mind… i was going through with the interview.

✧˖°ʚ ❁ ɞ♡

i was sat, waiting for jaehyun to arrive. our meeting location was chosen to be at a restaurant, where we were designated with our own room for privacy reasons. honestly, i could care less about the interview. 3 days had passed since our reunion, and i felt that there was still much left to be discussed, so what better way than to talk about it here.

the door slid open, jaehyun stiffened. his mouth falling open, “w-what-” i interrupted him before he could continue. “surprise,” i sarcastically said. he looked out to check if he was in the right room, only to be reassured he was. jaehyun sits down, his head down, not daring to look up. i could tell he was keeping his guard up around me.

i softly sighed, “the person who was set to interview you, broke their leg so they put me as their replacement.” i felt it was only right to explain the situation since i’m sure he was wondering what i was doing here.

when he stayed quiet i continued, “and for the record i accepted it only because i felt that we needed to have a deep talk about everything. let’s put aside the interview for now jaehyun.”

he finally looked up, his eyes meeting mine. “w-where is she?” he asks, stumbling on his words. “she? oh! d/n is with ms.kim. you probably don’t know but ms.kim offered to look after her while i worked,” i explained. it was the truth, ms.kim, since the time i began working again took care of d/n. she argued she’d find a way around working with mr.jeong and babysitting.

however it seems jaehyun was oblivious to this. “m-ms.kim,” he whispers, in which i respond with a nod. “that’s where she’d gone,” he continued. “what do you mean?” i asked.

“well, my father briefly explained that she’d gotten a job somewhere else so she wouldn’t be able to work from certain hours,” he answered. so that’s what she told them, i thought. “mmm, speaking of your father… how is he?”

“i guess he’s alright. the old man and me aren’t doing so well, so it’s hard to say…” he says, stopping briefly to take a sip of his water that was placed there by the waiter before he even arrived. “ever since you left, he got pretty upset with me. he forced me into the family company, didn’t even wanna consider me his son. i mean it didn’t matter to me, i deserved it after all.”

i stayed quiet, not knowing what to say at his revelation. “s-so, tell me about her. please, y/n,” jaehyun pleads. i give it some thought before sighing.

“her name is d/l/n. she was born on december 14th. i found out i was pregnant around a month after that day. she was all i had left so i decided to keep her. and god was that the best decision i’ve ever made. yeah, those 9 months were sometimes hell, but i managed. i was scared of being a single mother, but hey look at where i am today,” i explained. his features softened as i continued explaining my past year.

and when i finished he asked, “won’t you let me see her?” i ponder, “i wish, i want to… but, i-i’m not sure if i can trust you yet jaehyun.” “and why is that?” he asks. “b-because of what you did. you broke me completely, crushed up all faith and trust i had for you.”

“t-then give me a second chance,” jaehyun declares. you look at him astonished at his declaration. “w-what do you mean?”

“give me a second chance to prove to you and d/n i can be trusted. i’ll make up for lost time, i’ll love her triple, no infinitely more. please, just please… we don’t even have to go into it thinking we might get together, i-i just want to see my baby girl.”

his voice was getting weaker, practically pleading with me. a second chance, huh. i took my time to think about it, would letting him into out lives be the right choice? i was gambling here, but nonetheless i made my decision.

“f-fine. you better prove yourself worth forgiving, jeong jaehyun.” his face almost lit up, “th-thank you! i most definitely will, i’ll prove to you both. i won’t make the same foolish mistakes. i’ll love d/n, i’ll love you,” he says. i’ll love you. the phrase brought something out of me, touched my heart per say. 

and so after an overdue talk, we cleared up our misunderstandings. we agreed on co-parenting, among other things. the interview then proceeded as planned, and once that was out the way he drove me home. i offered to invite him in, in which he gladly accepted.

ms.kim was shocked to see him show up, confused even but i briefly told her i’d explain it later. d/n was awake, and when i introduced her to jaehyun it was like the most sentimental scene. he cried, heck i probably did too. even more shockingly, d/n warmed up to jaehyun faster than i expected.

it felt like we’d finally become a family, like we could finally live happily ever after. and although i knew the journey was far from being over, i was willing to test the waters. if in the near future jaehyun and i ever get together then we get together, and if we don’t then we don’t.

whatever the future had in store for us, we’d face it once it came. but until then this new life that has bloomed for us like the flowers, will be lived with one another by each other's side.

“you’re my dandelion.”

© jhdyuiee

2024. 08. 18

final a.n: woohoo, we're at the end! writing part 2 like i mentioned was a hassle since i was having writers block, worst feeling ever! on top of that i started school again :(( . not the best couple of weeks but i managed to get this done in a week, nevertheless i really hope you all can enjoy it. thank you for your continued love and support, i truly cannot thank you enough for everything! that being said, i will be taking this upcoming week off, and will hopefully be back to uploading for the last week of august. i love you all berry much! please look forward to jaehyun's solo, JOLO, on august 26! thank you&i love you, jiji signing off 🤍

[chilschuck]

AAAA i love your blog!! could i pls request a post-canon scenario where chilchuck finally admits his feelings for reader now that they’re not co-workers anymore >_< (assuming reader joined the laios party during the story)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAAAAH ANON i’m so happy you love my stuff!! i LOVEDDD writing this for you, and i have another request in my askbox that’s similar that i’m going to do as well! this was super fun, and i found myself enjoying this idea and coming up with things i could do with it!!! i hope you enjoy!!! <333

— SHELTER: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ none, sfw fluff!! takes place post-canon.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 1745 (got carried away again…)

✦ i’m scared to reread this, but right now I’m actually happy with it!! i hope you are too!! <333 i tried my best to keep spoilers to a minimum, and to make this fun to read!! also, the title comes from the song shelter by ray lamontagne, which i listened to while writing it. i hope you enjoy!!!

With your party’s adventure finally over, you had decided to try and finally settle down as much as you could. With everyone finding their own new place in life, you did your best to find one too.

You couldn’t deny it had been rather lonely lately. Your own home was empty, a small place you had tried your best to make feel cozy. With your old party members living their own lives, you hoped you could live yours. But evidently, no matter how hard you tried, your mind always went back to him.

It was a bittersweet feeling; imagining him finally living healthily, working on helping others, and even maybe starting up that shop he talked about wanting. It wasn’t like you never saw him, but going on with every day life without him felt… mundane.

Chilchuck was working on himself, reconnecting with his family, and building the future he had hoped for. That alone helped you feel as much at peace as possible. Your feelings, to you, were not nearly as important as his own happiness. So here you waited, counting down the days you’d get to see him again. Maybe he’d be happy to see you too.

Little did you know, Chilchuck was devastatingly nervous. Buttoning up his shirt with shaky fingers, he tried his best to look as decent as he possibly could. It was the final thing he felt he needed to move on, and he wasn’t going to let himself ruin it. Not this, he told himself. There were some things he refused to let slip through his fingers, and one of them were his feelings he had developed for you.

Through it all, you had been by his side. An integral part of the party, you had built him up when he needed it most. Looking past all the mistakes, all the cynicism he liked to cloud himself with, you proved how much you simply cared. Not only for him, but for everyone. Chilchuck had fallen in love with you, and for once, he didn’t want to push those feelings down.

He had bought the flowers he knew you liked, tied with a sweet ribbon that he felt maybe was a bit too much. In fact, maybe all of this was a bit too much, but he hoped it’d work. Chilchuck even went to talk to Marcille about it all, a sign in his own mind that he was more smitten than he had been in years. Not to mention that he had, in fact, reconnected with his ex-wife, and had gained the closure he needed to take this big of a step. There was nothing holding him back now, and he could only hope the words of encouragement he was given would hold true.

Chilchuck had visited your home before, always noting just how comfortable he felt there. You were always happy to have guests lately, and he felt himself praying that this would be the case this time, too. Fist raised in front of your door, he took a deep breath before rapping it against the wood.

The knock came as a surprise, but not as surprising as the person who was behind it. Your eyes widened, his name leaving your lips in delight. “Chilchuck, hello!” It was slightly out of breath from the sheer excitement you had to try and suppress at seeing him here in front of you. Moving to the side, you motioned him in. “Do you… Want to come in?”

One hand behind his back still, trying his best to not snap the stems of the delicate flowers between his fingers, he nodded. “Yeah, sorry for the sudden visit.”

Shaking your head, you walked inside to prepare him something to drink. “Not at all! You know me… I could never say no to seeing you.”

It felt like another of Cupid’s arrows shot him through the chest. Maybe he shouldn’t look too deeply into your words, at least not yet. Following you inside, Chilchuck found himself trying his best to find anything to look at of interest. The plants on your shelves, the well loved books on the table, the occasional trinket you had decided you couldn’t live without… Everything that made it feel so much like you.

While you fiddled around in your small kitchen, Chilchuck cleared his throat. His mouth felt dry, and to try and slow down the thoughts rushing through his head, he spoke up again. “You know… You’ve done a great job with this place. I remember when you bought it.”

You couldn’t help but smile, thinking back fondly of how proud you were. Preparing you both glasses of wine, you turned your attention to him for a moment. “That means a lot, thank you. How have things been with the guild?”

Chilchuck hummed, eyes studying a particular painting on your wall. “Good… Pretty much the usual. Things are going pretty well. What about you, anything interesting since we last saw each other?”

Other than your constant war on your feelings for the half-foot, you’ve been trying new hobbies in order to distract yourself. As you turned to hand him the glass, you racked your brain for something to say. Giving him a sheepish smile, you shook your head. “Not particularly. Here, it’s one you like. Let’s go sit, yeah?”

He held your gaze for a moment, the flowers in his hand a constant reminder of what he was here for. Swallowing hard, he opened his mouth to speak. “Yeah. But first, I have something to give you…”

Finally taking the hand from behind his back, he steeled himself as much as he could before holding them out to you. Quickly setting the glasses down, you let out a sound of surprise. Your hands reached out for them, as delicate as possible.

Chilchuck felt like his face was a bit too hot for something as simple as this, but it’s been such a long time since he’s had to really woo anyone. How the hell did he manage to do this all those years ago? Scratching the back of his head, he broke the silence between the two of you.

“They’re your favorites, right? I happened to see ‘em and thought you’d be happy.”

Although Chilchuck felt like he was doing a piss poor job at this, you felt like you were swooning all over again. You know how much he used actions as a love language, yet could you even call it that in this situation? Friends did nice things for each other, yet…

His brows were furrowed in determination, the tips of his ears rosy and suddenly you felt like maybe there was something there. Your gaze fell to the buds in your hands, freshly picked and done so with care. The smile that made its way on your features was unabashed.

“Yes, yes they’re my favorites… I can’t believe you remembered that. Let me go get something to put them in. Thank you so much, Chil.”

It was worth it just to see you smile like that. Even if he felt a little ridiculous at the action, it paid off when you held the vase proudly in your hands. “I’m going to put them on my desk. I love them…” You spoke softly, your own cheeks turning that shade of pink he loved so much. For a few moments, it became silent again, his brain scrambling for what to say next.

“You asked me about my plans after our adventure was over. There… was something I wasn’t honest about. And I want to be honest about it now.”

Chilchuck made sure to correctly word everything he needed to say. Taking time in between his sentences, his gaze returned to yours. There was something there that you had only hoped you’d seen in the past; a taste of desire.

“I want to be there for you. I know we’re no longer coworkers, so…” The words fell silent, you remaining patient through his pauses. Softly, you gave a gentle phrase of reassurance. “You’re already there for me, I know that, Chil—”

Raising a hand, he silenced you. Contemplation took over his features, that worry line between his brows that you always found endearing still making an appearance. You waited for him to elaborate.

“…As more than friends.”

Your heart stopped. Did you hear him correctly? Certainly you did, your voice having gotten stuck in your throat as you tried to wrap your head around the weight those words carried. Was he saying that, this whole time, you’ve been a goal all along? Hearing your name, you snapped your attention back to him.

“I want to be more honest with how I feel. I know how I used to be, and I’m working towards fixing it.” His deep brown eyes held a small glimmer of hope, of vulnerability. Chilchuck was trying, and he was trying for you.

Feeling as if the wind was knocked out of your lungs, you asked shakily, “You want…?”

He smiled, a small etch in his features. Huffing, Chilchuck fiddled with the collar of his shirt. “You’re really gonna make me spell it out for you? I… Have feelings for you. If you don’t feel the same I get it, don’t—“

Before he could finish his sentence, you hurriedly set the flowers down before just about tackling him. The shock of hearing him say exactly what you’d been wishing for so long melted into a need to relay exactly how you felt. Chilchuck grunted at the impact, nearly toppling over.

“Of course I feel the same! You think I’d put up with your grumpy ass for this long if I didn’t?” You couldn’t help the teasing words that followed, pulling away from him to grin widely at him. “Can I kiss you?”

Your excitement caught him even more off guard, eyes widening at your question. “Sorry, that was probably a bit too much—“

Instead of giving you a verbal answer, Chilchuck tugged you to his lips in a desperate attempt to get you to just shut up and do it. You happily obliged, only pulling away to ask one more question. “How long?”

Chilchuck panted, confusion evident on his features. “What?”

“How long have you felt this way?” Your curiosity was getting the better of you, wondering just how long you two had managed to dance around each other like this. Chilchuck sighed, giving the only answer he could think to say:

“Too long.”

— dividers by @/cafekitsune! <3

[hoshifighting]

hi there!!! can u pls make svt’s reaction seeing their ex with someone new? (they havent moved on yet)

seungcheol’d try to play it cool, but inside it burns it really does. his jaw would clench as he watches you laugh with someone else, and he’d force a smile when you catch his eye, but the second you turn away, his expression hardens. “so that’s who you’re with now, hm?” he’d mutter under his breath, feeling the sting of jealousy in his chest.

jeonghan is another one who would try to smile, but you know it’s just a front. he’d raise an eyebrow when he sees you with someone new, giving you a lazy wave like it doesn’t matter to him. “hope they treat you better than I did,” he’d say as soon as you’re out of sight.

joshua's soft smile would falter the moment he sees you with someone else. he’d look away quickly, pretending not to care, but inside, it’s like a punch to the gut. “so you’ve moved on…” he’d whisper to himself, forcing a polite nod in your direction. but you’d catch the hurt in his eyes before he looks away again.

junhui’d try to be all casual about it, like drink water on a hot day, flashing a grin when he sees you, you can tell he’s dying inside. the second you leave, he’s replaying every moment in his head, wondering if he could’ve done something different to keep you.

hoshi’d stare for a second too long, his face will look ass as he watches you with someone new. “oh… you’ve moved on,” he’d say softly, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips—he honestly thought that you would never move on from him. he’d try to act like it doesn’t bother him, but you can see the sadness/jealousy in his eyes, even as he forces a laugh.

wonwoo would try to be stoic as ever, but inside, he’s a big big mess. he’d keep his expression neutral, barely glancing at you and your new partner, but his mind is racing. “guess it’s really over,” he’d think, his realization heaving. he wouldn’t say anything, just shove his hands in his pockets and walk away, pretending it didn’t bother him, even though it does. and a lot.

woozi is another one who would act like he doesn’t care, but the second he sees you with someone else, his stomach drops, his ego, broken. “so that’s how it is now,” he’d mutter, trying to focus on anything but the tightness in his chest. he’d avoid eye contact, his lips pressed into a thin line, and he’d go quiet, retreating into his thoughts, replaying what went wrong.

minghao’d put on his most indifferent face, pretending not to care, but there’s a storm brewing behind his eyes. heart is aching. he’d watch you from a distance, trying to convince himself that he’s moved on, but the jealousy gnaws at him, making him second-guess everything.

mingyu dont even try to hide it, hes visibly upset. the moment he sees you with someone new, his face falls, and he’s struggling to hide the hurt. he’d probably give a little wave or a tight-lipped smile, but would look away even faster before he ball his eyes in front of you and your partner.

seokmin wouldd try to smile when he sees you, but it’d be shaky, he would have trembling hands hid inside his hoodie pockets. he’s trying to convince himself that is better this ways, that he's way better when he's single. but he’d quickly excuse himself after that, not wanting you to see how much it’s really hurting him.

seungkwan would try to laugh it off. “wow, you didn’t waste any time, huh?” he’d joke, but the bitterness in his voice would be so obvious. he’d glance away, trying to keep his cool, but he’s absolutely fucked, and the second he’s alone, he’s spiraling, replaying the breakup all over again, I think he wouldn't even answer your friendly messages after, because he cant stand the idea of talking with you, when you're not his anymore.

vernon would go quiet so fucking fast, he’d just give you a curt nod when he sees you with someone new, trying to swallow down the jealousy, but the truth is that he's gagging with it. “guess that’s it, then,” he’d think to himself, walking away without saying a word. but inside, he’s feeling more than he’d ever admit. would probably cry alone right after, isolated from the world.

chan would be hurt hurt, real affected but trying not to show it. he’d see you with someone new, and his heart would sink, but he’d force a smile, because he needs to show that he's oh so strong, and that he moved on too, as soon as you’re gone, he’s beating himself up inside, wondering if he could’ve done something to stop this from happening. would pray that it was just a nightmare.

[romanoffsdarling]

Later Never Comes

Pairing: CEO!Silver-Fox!Wanda Maximoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Your love for her knew no bounds, but there’s only so long you can hold on— only so many empty promises you can stand— before you finally have to let go. Before you finally realize that later may never become real.

Word Count: 4,779

Warnings: G!P Wanda, legal age gap, brief oral (R receiving), dirty (and slightly possessive) talk, mommy kink, slightly rough sex, neglect, and angst (with a bittersweet ending). 18+, Minors DNI.

Author’s Note: I know I promised a second part to Summertime Sadness and Time To Say (Goodbye), but I couldn’t get this idea out of my head. I hope you can forgive me!

Great love always ends in tragedy.

That’s the saying, right? A stupid one if you had anything to say about it. What’s so great about love if it only ends in heartbreak? If you don’t end up with the person that makes your entire being thrum? If everything that had once been so colorful is suddenly black-and-white due to their absence?

Is the love great due to the story? To the emotions, the events, that occur throughout its long winded saga? Or is it great because it was doomed from the start? Because, even though it’d end one way, two people were still willing to fight the odds, to fight fate, even if they’d never end up winning.

You’re not sure, nor do you care, because there’s no way a love of that kind could be anything except terrible— except bone-chillingly agonizing in the way you’d have to figure out how to move on without it. Figure out how to be without the person that made everything make sense, that made you feel like the person you were always meant to be.

Even if it’s been years since you’ve seen her, years since you’ve felt her lips against yours, an elegantly lithe body pressed to your own, and the sweet scent of sandalwood and lavender mixed perfectly in your nose, you haven’t been able to figure that out. Haven’t been able to get her out of your system, no matter how much you may try.

How could you? When you’ve loved, and been loved by, Wanda Maximoff?

[Past]

“I’m just saying she’s been interested to meet you since she saw our group picture from Fiji.” Your best friend, Agatha, relayed, jovially leading you towards the small, yet upscale, café that Wanda Maximoff— CEO of Scarlet Entertainment— agreed to meet you. “Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth, sweetie. Especially one that came about due to my own propensity to lose bets with that witch.”

Your brow furrows. “I’m just not sure what exactly this meeting is supposed to be about. I just graduated college, I barely have any experience under my belt.”

“But you have me as a mentor,” she rebukes, a small smirk on her lips. “And that’s all that you need to get into Wanda’s head.”

“Ah, yes.” You roll your eyes, amusement welling within your chest. “How could I forget about your age-old rivalry?”

“Don’t phrase it like that. Makes me sound old.” Agatha bumps her shoulder against yours, eyes narrowed.

“And mentor doesn’t?”

“Nope.” She pops the ‘p’. “That makes me sound wise.”

“And what does wisdom come from again?”

You’re just able to dodge the swat directed at your arm, a bright smile tugging your lips upward, as you finally enter the quaint café— the aromatic smell of coffee, a hint of cinnamon, and something slightly citrusy, hits you all at once. A combination that shouldn’t have worked as well it did.

Once you placed your order— a simple coffee with your usual additions— you turned back to Agatha with an expectant expression. “Anything I should know about this meetings, Ags?”

She shakes her head, tendrils of brown hair escaping the haphazard bun she had thrown them in. “You’re here.” Agatha hands you the drink the barista had just put beside you, a wane smile on her lips. “That’s the important part to achieve for any date.”

Your steps stutter, nearly causing you to trip into a nearby table. “W-What?” Widened eyes meet Agatha’s unaffected one, a certain level of calmness that you found irritating. “What do you mean date? I thought this was a meeting?”

Agatha waves her hand. “Lunch meeting, lunch date. Means the same thing in the end.” She shoulders her purse, clearly not planning on staying any longer than she has to. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. You’re a catch. Maximoff would have to be a bigger idiot than I think she already is if she lets you go.”

Before you’re able to respond, Agatha places a chaste kiss to your cheek, offers one last cheeky wink, and saunters her way out of the café, leaving you completely alone. You’re honestly tempted to just abandon ship and get out of dodge— you weren’t good on dates, let alone blind dates. Something your best friend is well aware of, and would definitely be getting in an earful about this later.

However, before you’re able to make a concrete decision on your exit strategy, a husky voice speaks up from behind you.

“Are you Y/N?”

The most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen stood in front of you when you turned around: long auburn hair, speckled with the beginning signs of gray, paired perfectly with the sharp emerald green of her gaze. An elegantly lithe body, encased in a form-fitting suit, tailored made to enhance every perfect curve, relaxed in a way that almost seemed arrogant— if it was for the confidence that exudes from her very being.

“Yes.” Your brain finally catches up with you, remembering the question she had asked. “Y/N.” You hold out your hand for her to shake. “Y/N L/N, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

A small smile catches full lips, a slender hand grasping your own in a firm shake. “Wanda Maximoff.” Green eyes trail down your body. “And, trust me, the pleasure is all mine.”

The months that followed the blind date went by in a blur. You could honestly say that you’ve never met anyone else like Wanda Maximoff— a woman that personified ice and fire. Watching her work— whether it be as you’re lounged on her large leather sectional, laptop balanced on her lap as slender fingers gently stroke your back, or she’s pacing back and forth with her phone pressed to her ear; voice dripping with barely concealed annoyance, underlined by a calm collectiveness that never failed to make you swoon— was an art form in itself, but being able to see the woman that appeared at the end of the day?

Where an icy facade of professionalism melts into warm smile and gentle eyes. Sharp words being replaced by sweet nothings and gentle humming.

In Wanda’s arms you’ve found a place you never even knew you were missing— home. You had a couple relationships in the past, but none of them made you feel the way Wanda does; all paling in comparison to the beautiful Sokovian.

The one thing you hadn’t expected upon beginning to date the older woman was how insatiable she was— not that you were complaining— but Wanda needed to have you as often as she could. Taking you the bedroom of your apartment, the various rooms in her penthouse, in her office within Scarlet Entertainment, hell even in the back of a limo on the way to an event. Wanda needed to have you and you needed to have her right back.

Another little thing you’ve learned about her? Or, you should say, not so little? The Sokovian sported an extra appendage that had quickly become your new best friend— not that you were going to tell Agatha that— who seemed to want you as much as Wanda did.

Which is how you found yourself where you are now— on your back, thighs clamped around Wanda’s head, as she thoroughly ate you out on the couch of her office.

“Yes.” You arch sharply, a sob being torn from your throat as Wanda’s tongue plunges even deeper into you. Your girlfriend hums happily at the sound, the vibrations sending a shockwave across your clit, and another wave of wetness gushes out of you— something that Wanda is all too happy to lap up. She had told you on more than one occasion, after she spent hours upon hours between your thighs, that you beat out even the finest of wines to her. “Please. I need you.”

With clear reluctance to leave, Wanda pulls back and easily settles on top of you. Lips and chin shining lewdly in the dim lighting of her office, darkened emerald eyes sparkling even brighter.

“You taste great, detka.” She lowers her head, offering her tongue for you to suck on. Giving you a taste of yourself, mixed intoxicatingly with her own natural one. “Could spend hours eating up your perfect pussy, but that’s not what you want, huh?” She jerks her hips, rubbing her cock against your wetness. “You want mommy to be inside you, right? Want her to stretch you out and make you scream?” Another roll of her hips causes you to arch, a breathless gasp leaving you, but Wanda doesn’t relent. “Answer me, detka. Be my good girl and I’ll give you what you crave. What do you want mommy to do?”

“Fuck me.” The cry is practically wrenched from your chest, a deep felt plea for her to just plunge into you and ruin you for anyone else. Not that she hasn’t been able to accomplish that already. “I want you to slam your cock into my pussy and make me yours, mommy. I want your cock to make my pussy its own, to shape me in its image.”

A deep, almost rumbling, snarl erupts from Wanda in response, her hips snapping forward and you’re finally filled; stretched out so fucking perfectly, an obscene slurp echoed across the room the moment Wanda’s hips met your own. She hadn’t made you cum with her mouth, but you had been so close, she had given you a mini orgasm just by entering— a feat that brings a smug smile to Wanda’s lips.

“You feel that, detka.” She takes your hand and brings it down to the slight bulge in your lower abdomen. “That’s my cock ruining you for anyone else. No one will ever be able to fill you the way I do, make you scream yourself hoarse.” Wanda snaps her hips forward after a shallow pull-back, giving out a satisfied hum at the feeling of your slick walls pressed around her. “Your pussy belongs to me, your pleasure belongs to me, and you belong to me.”

Wanda lowers her head, lips pressed firmly to your own, giving you even more of a taste of yourself than before, as her tongue practically fucks your mouth while her cock fucks your pussy. When she detaches her lips from yours, only a thin trail of saliva is left, before she’s far enough away for it to snap.

The sound of flesh slapping against flesh permeates the air, an occasional grunt or moan intercepting it, and you’d be concerned about the noise level if Wanda hadn’t sent Peter, her assistant, home early— having planned to have you like this from the very moment she had invited you over.

“Just like that, mommy. Keep fucking me like that,” you babble, drunk on pleasure as Wanda kept driving her hips forward, one slender finger roughly rubbing your clit in time with each thrust. It’s of no surprise that you find your release quickly after, gushing over Wanda’s cock.

The tight contractions around her cock— as your second orgasm was much more powerful than your first— causes Wanda to groan, hips stuttering in their brutal pace. It’s clear that she was close, sweat slicked brow, causing strands of silver hair to cling to fair skin, but she obviously wanted you to come one last time— to be tossed over the edge with her.

With a shake breath, Wanda roughly brings you to the brink of your third orgasm, not even giving you time to fully get through the second. “One more, detka. You’ve got one more in you for mommy.” She dips her head, lips tenderly brushing across your forehead. “And when you come around mommy’s cock, I’m gonna fill you up like the good girl you are. Would you like that?”

You nod, practically whining. “Yes. Please.”

The older woman snarls once more, clearly affected by the look on your face, and, before you’re even aware of it, you’re crashing over the edge again— a cry of Wanda’s name passing over your lips as you spasm around her. Barely being able to catch Wanda’s own groan in response: “Yes.”

Jets of her cum paint your inner walls white, warming you up. It’s a feeling you don’t think you’ll ever get used to— or want to get used to, if you’re being honest.

Once she’s spent, Wanda gently lowers herself onto your still slightly spasming body, lips pressed softly against your cheek. “You did so good. So perfect for me. My beautiful girl.”

You happily nuzzle into Wanda’s neck, eyes drooping out of contented exhaustion. “I love you.”

You’re too out of it to feel Wanda stiffen in surprise, or to really understand what you had just whispered, but you are aware of Wanda’s arms tightening around you, her lips pressing more firmly against your skin, as she cuddles you closer to her.

And, as you begin to drift off completely, happy in Wanda’s arms, you faintly feel Wanda exhale across the shell of your ear, a shaky breath, uncharacteristic for the older woman, before her soft voice breaks through the silence: “I love you too. More than I ever thought I’d love anyone.”

[A Few Months Later…]

“How many do you want?”

It’s asked softly, one of Wanda’s hand gently running up-and-down your back in a soothing motion. Her lips pressed against the crown of your head, your face nuzzled against the crook of her neck, a place you don’t feel like leaving anytime soon.

“How many what?” You snuggle closer, delighted in the way her arms tighten instinctively. “I want a lot of things, Wands.”

Wanda huffs out a light chuckle. “Children, Y/N. How many children do you want?”

You stiffen in surprise at the question— Wanda hadn’t made it a secret that she didn’t plan on having kids. That she didn’t think she’d make a good mother due to her childhood and her busy lifestyle, but you also know that your girlfriend wouldn’t ask something unless she’s serious about the answer. Something you’ve figured out after all these months together. Regrettably, you pull your face away from the warm nest it had made so you’re able to look at her, and Wanda met your eyes calmly, sharp green softened in a way that’s only ever meant for you.

“What’s this about, Wanda?” You roll your lips, trying to process your next words carefully. “I thought you didn’t want kids?”

Emerald eyes flash warmly. “I didn’t want a lot of things, Y/N.” She easily tugs you back into her arms, lips pressed to your forehead. “But that was all before I met you.”

Touched by her words— and the clear sincerity within them— you decide to just bite the bullet, there wasn’t a point in delaying your answer. Especially if Wanda expected it.

“Two.” A gentle kiss is placed to her collarbone. “I want two boys. Twins.”

She breathes out another chuckle. “Twins, huh?” Maneuvering you both, you’re suddenly pressed against the mattress, Wanda hovering over you, smile still in place, with a familiar hardness nestled between your thighs. “That seems like something we’d have to get just right, correct?”

Even though it’s posed as question, you can tell that Wanda meant it rhetorically. That she already knew the answered you’d both settle on— an answer you always agreed upon.

Wiggling your hips, grinning mischievously at the sharp gasp that leaves Wanda’s lips at the added pressure, you throw your arms loosely around her neck.

“Yes.” You pull her closer, lips millimeters from her own. “I think it’s something we’re going to have practice quite a bit.”

Not needing any more prompting Wanda descends onto you with a ravenous hunger. One that you’re all too happy to match.

You can’t wait to experience your future if this is what’ll be waiting for you there.

The phone is cold against your overheated flesh— a concoction of anger and disappointment courses through you like lava.

“Wanda—” You pinch the bridge of your nose to stem the tide of anger. “This is the eighth time this week alone. What the hell am I supposed to tell the caterers? Again.”

A soft sigh resounds through the speaker. “Just tell them that I won’t be able to make it, Y/N.” The response, in a clearly distracted tone, does little to ease your growing ire. “I know you’ll be able to handle it.”

“I don’t want to handle it, Wanda. This is our wedding, I’d like for you to also have a say in it.” From the time on the clock, you didn’t have much time left to leave the penthouse. Not if you wanted to get to the appointment on time. “I’ve been planning this entire thing by myself, I want your help. I want to hear your opinions. I want you.”

To care goes without words, but you’re certain it rings out just the same. You had been so happy when Wanda had suddenly proposed, seemingly out of the blue. Though wasn’t that the point? Taking you to a rooftop restaurant, which she had rented out, and offered you the rare chance of getting to taste her impeccable cooking; all dishes she had learned from her mother back in Sokovia. It had been a night you’d forever cherish, memories forever ingrained in your heart: the way the stars made the green in Wanda’s eyes sparkle more, the subtle wind allowing you to be surrounded by her comforting scent, the bright smile she had given you when she dropped down to one knee, and the happy laugh that had escaped her when you said yes. It had been a fairytale, everything you had ever wanted.

Until you realized your Disney fairytale was beginning to turn into Brothers Grimm.

“You have me, Y/N.” Wanda lets out another sigh. “Look, I can’t keep talking the investors for the meeting just arrived and I need to get prepared. I promise that I’ll go over everything you discuss later, okay? I love you.”

“Wanda—”

You’re only met with the sound of the dial tone, barely getting the chance to reply before being hung up on, and the familiar aching sense of silence that follows— a hollow sound that distantly reminded you of what your heart has become.

It hadn’t always been like this. The penthouse, upon your first visit, had been cold, lifeless in a way that seemed almost inhuman, but slowly it had livened up— been filled with a sense of warmth and peace. Of love. It had been a place you could go to when you just needed an escape from the rest of the world, when you needed to be surrounded by things that remind you of the woman you love.

Now it’s suffocating in a way that you never wished for it to be.

You’re aware that Wanda is a busy woman— had been aware of it before your first date occurred— but she had always at least tried to be there. Always left you feeling like you were at least on the list of things that mattered, you didn’t necessarily need to be at the direct top; not when she had so many things to content with already. But, you’ve felt like nothing more than an afterthought lately.

Gentle kisses in the morning turned to brief parting words as she made her way quickly out the door.

Soft smiles, and inside jokes, turned to barely there quirks of full lips, and stretched out silences.

The warmth of her hold, the safety you felt from her touch, turned to an icy chill as she left you to the cold air— you don’t even remember when the last time was that you had been together properly. Since you had woken up in her arms.

You didn’t need a lot, you didn’t need all of her time, but you wanted to feel like you still mattered— that everything you have isn’t just another thing Wanda had marked off on her checklist of things to do before she turns 55.

Checking the time, a small curse leaves your lips once you realize that you’re going to be late, and, with one final glance towards the empty penthouse, you make your way out the door— hoping that the growing chill you feel isn’t indicative of a love grown cold.

Silence had become your greatest friend in the weeks that followed. The one thing that you’ve grown to count on as Wanda’s schedule only seemed to get busier and busier— hell, your relationship with her personal assistant had grown to the point that he’s been calling you by your first name now. Instead of the usually nervous ma’am or Ms. L/N.

Wedding appointments had come and gone, all of them spent alone, with Wanda barely perusing the choices that had been made before crashing out of sheer exhaustion. Conversation had grown stilted due to her own growing ire at you consistent worry— although she labeled it as nagging. That she’s been running her business for over thirty years, and she’s been doing fine.

Even now, on New Years Eve, as the clock moved ever closer to midnight, you were completely alone— expansive shadows, that seemed darker somehow, stretched out towards you like ghastly fingers, trying to tear whatever semblance of comfort you’ve found away. You’re not sure what you had been expecting, not even sure if you’d truly believed that Wanda would show herself, but you can’t lie and say that you hadn’t hoped.

Hoped that today, of all days, would be different. That you wouldn’t feel like a stranger, an intruder, within your own life, within your own home.

Fanciful musings and hopes of a lovestruck fool.

The small chirp of an incoming message pulls you from your reverie, a bright smile appearing instantly at the sight of who it’s from, before withering away once you read it: Sorry, I won’t be able to make it home tonight. Going to the Hamptons to meet some new business partners. I promise I’ll make it up to you later. I love you.

You don’t bother to send a message back— what could you possibly say? Yet another promise had been thrown to the wayside by the older woman. Even if it was just a cursory, and unspoken, one being as simple as not leaving your fiancé alone on New Years. Or waiting until the last minute to actually say anything about it.

A soft sigh escapes your lips, an acidic twang settling over your tongue, as bitterness seeps into your bloodstream, poisoning your heart and soul. You knew what you needed to do, have known since this had become your new normal, but hadn’t had the strength, or the courage, to make it a reality. Until now.

Until the heartbreak, the suffering, has become as close of a friend to you as the oppressive silence.

And, as the door to the penthouse gently closed behind you, never to be opened by your hand again, you feel a sense of bone-deep sorrow settle over you. For everything that could have been, for what you had hoped for, and all that you now had to live without. You could just step back inside, hide or destroy the letter, and Wanda would never know. She’d never find out how close you had been to giving up, but you couldn’t find the strength to do so. Could no longer gather up the power to keep fighting for something that’s been lost long ago— no matter how much your heart screams at it not being true.

Tears gather in your eyes as you take another step away from the door, away from the place you’ve lived in for the last two years, and your heart breaks with every step. But, it breaks even more at the knowledge that you were leaving your true home behind too— that doing this would destroy everything you have with Wanda, never to be salvaged. The penthouse may be expensive, and it may be beautiful, but it’d never be home to you like Wanda; it’d never offer you the same feeling of protection like her arms did.

You’ve been shut out of your home for months now, and being left out in the cold has finally frozen your heart enough for you to be able to do this. No matter how much more it was going to hurt once it thaws once more.

Shouldering your duffel bag, the only thing you’ve allowed yourself to bring, you step into the private elevator and press the button for the lobby. Hands tightening around the strap of the bag, trying to ignore the way your ring finger no longer felt the familiar press of metal against it as you do so.

It was time to look forward, to finally make your own laters, the things you had been pushing off, become an actuality.

Even if you wanted nothing more than to have never needed to say goodbye to Wanda Maximoff in the first place.

Losing the ring was one thing, but losing the love of your life?

It’s a wound you’re not sure if you’ll ever be able to recover from.

[Present]

“Mom?” The small voice catches your attention, your eyes focused back in to see bright eyes, twin grins being sported between the pair. “Can we still get hot chocolate?”

Billy and Tommy had come into your life when you needed them to most— a blessing that you’d definitely been searching for after everything imploded with Wanda. And, even if how they were conceived didn’t lend itself to a happy tale, you’d never change a thing. They were your twin miracles. Your beautiful baby boys— even if they were eight years old now.

“I thought you decided to get caramel popcorn instead?” You poke Billy’s side gently, delighted in the giggle the actions caused. “That’s what you both told me at the theater.”

Tommy’s eyes widened dramatically, in full puppy-dog mode. “But that was before you took us past our favorite store.” He points to the small café only a few feet away— one that you frequented with the twins when you could find the time. A place that you hadn’t even realized you’d be leading them towards. “Can we please get hot chocolate.”

The twins chime in unison: “Please.”

You chance a glance towards the café— deliberating your options— but you know that you’re going to cave. After all, the reason you had gone to the movies was to celebrate their stellar report cards. What harm could some extra hot chocolate do?

So, with a faux long-suffering sigh, you relent. “I suppose.”

“Yes!” Twin cheers are your immediate response, brightening the smile on your lips, and you soon find yourself in the quaint café— one that held so many memories for you. Phantoms of your past the whispered in your ear as you placed your order and directed your boys to their usual spot.

Only half-listening to their chatter about the movie you had just seen— some superhero film— you simply bask in the simplicity their joy brought you. Observing their small faces light up, little hands waving around as they discussed various points, and your heart swells with more love than you ever thought you could feel.

“—What did you think, mom?”

Billy’s sudden question tears you from your musings, his widened eyes, alight with excitement, giving you the impression that he really wanted to hear what you thought.

“About the movie?” They both nod. “I thought it was good, bug.”

Tommy pouts. “Yeah, but what did you like most about it? Did you have a favorite scene?”

“I—”

“Order for Y/N.”

Saved by the bell, you think. A wave of relief crashing over you. “You two stay put.” Standing, you ruffle their hair. “I’ll be right back with our drinks.”

At the prospect of their hot chocolate they don’t seem to mind that you didn’t answer their question— though you’d certain Tommy would ask you again. Though you’d have more than enough time to google some things about the movie before then. Small miracles.

Stopping at the counter, you take the tray with the drinks with a smile and a nod in greeting to the server you’ve grown quite fond of.

“Y/N?”

Breath catching in your throat at the husky voice sounding out behind you, the cadence and tone so familiar that your heart still burns from it. Hesitating only slightly, you turn and meet the shimmering emerald eyes you haven’t seen in a little over eight years. Her face still as beautiful as you’d last seen it, if a bit older now.

“Wanda.”

[gallierhouse]

I keep thinking about the painting of Armand, Adoration of the Shepherds with a Donor, and how he says it was painted when he was younger, when he was “meatier in the forearms,” before his illness, seven years before he was turned. Painted when he was still desirable to Marius and his contemporaries, I suppose, when he was valuable enough to be used as currency. Armand was sold as a child, bought by Marius when he was 15, painted and donated when he was 20, and turned at 27. While looking at the painting he suggests that he looks a lot different now than he did then. He sounds bitter, honestly. Maybe he got too old to hold Marius’ attention or the sickness wasted him away. It gives him this really interesting relationship with age and his body. He spent most of his human life being fetishized and trafficked and enslaved for it, in the end it’s really his beauty (or youth, or conflation of the two) that gave him value to Marius. His self-worth is really deeply connected to his desirability, or, well, fuckability, but it’s also the very thing that marks him as merchandise, and an object to be sold and owned and traded and donated and used. Now he’s older. He’s 5 centuries old and he doesn’t look like a child anymore. Turned after his prime, to Marius, at least. Must be bittersweet, really. He stopped aging, but it didn’t really mean anything. He’s never going to be young again. The thing about people like Marius is that it’s never really only about looks. Sure, that’s a big part of it, and it’s sick and it’s twisted, but there’s also the fact that children have no material power whatsoever. They’re always expected to defer to adults, no one believes them, no one listens to them, and they don’t have the knowledge or resources to know when something terrible is happening to them. They’re barely people. If no one tells you something is bad there’s really no way for you to know it is, especially if you’ve been raised in an insular environment ruled by a man who “saved” you from abuse so horrific it made you forget your own name and all your memories. It’s much easier to manipulate a child than it is to manipulate an adult because an adult’s spent more time learning about this world. Armand’s 500 years old. He’s outlived empires. If there was anyone left in this world older than him it’d be a number in the single digits. There’s no going back, there’s no staying the same, there’s very little of what made him valuable to Marius left in the first place. I wonder how that feels. To know you’ve been bought and sold and trafficked and abuse for this thing you don’t even have anymore, and it was the only thing that gave you value to the person you loved most in the world. Must feel like shit. I wonder how the person in the mirror looks to him.

[elizabethsnuts]

Hey! Can i have a request with aaron hotchner where Jack sleep at a friend house and his little sister just miss him so much, and hotch do anything to make her happy

Big Brother

Aaron Hotchner x Daughter!Reader

Summary: Jack is away at a sleepover and his absence is hitting you hard, your daddy is there to cheer you up though.

———

To say you were upset was probably an understatement. Jack had gone away to a friend's house for a sleepover, leaving just you and Aaron for the night. As much as you loved your dad which was very much, you missed your big brother.

You sat at the front door like you did when Aaron took too long on a case and you wanted him to come back sooner. You were hoping that if you stared long enough, he’d just come through the door.

Aaron walked over to you, crouching down to your level and stroking your damp hair. He had just finished bath time and getting you into your PJs before he noticed you were gone from your room.

“Sweetheart, Jack won’t be back till the morning,” Aaron said gently, moving his hand to rub your back.

“Want Jack. Jack gone.” You mumbled, snuggling your pink blankie tight to your chest for comfort.

Aaron shook his head and turned you to face him. He had an idea to help you take your mind off about not being able to see Jack. “He’s not gone forever, Y/N. Don’t worry, he’ll be back tomorrow I promise. How about we play tea party? Just like you and Jack do?”

You thought for a moment and nodded your head. You loved playing tea party, you made everyone play tea party, it was your favourite. “Okay, we play tea party.”

Aaron smiled and picked you up, kissing your head. He walked up the stairs into your room, setting you down on your two feet. You immediately ran over to your sparkly dress-up box and put on a tiara, you also grabbed your favourite stuffed animals.

Aaron looked at you and smiled again. “I see we have lots of friends here for the tea party.”

You nodded enthusiastically and giggled as you set your stuffed animals around the plastic table. “Yes! Everyone needs some tea.”

Aaron noticed that you had left two chairs empty, he raised an eyebrow in curiosity. “Why are you leaving two chairs?”

You smiled again, your little, white, baby teeth showing. “That Jack’s chair, we need to keep him a spot while he gone.” You looked at the second empty chair and set up a cup on a plate in front of it. “This Mamas chair! She always here for tea parties.”

Aaron nodded slowly, he found it bittersweet that you still kept a chair for Haley. “Oh, I see. That’s very nice of you to save them their chairs.”

The tea party carried on as it should, you dressing up like a princess and pouring everyone their tea and biscuits. You loved playing with your daddy.

When it came to bedtime, you weren’t exactly the most cooperative. “No Daddy! Need to give Jack bedtime hug!” You cried.

Aaron hugged you tight and gently rocked you in his arms. “Shh, Shh, Shh, I know you do honey but he’s not here right now. Maybe if we gave each other a big enough hug, he’d feel it too?” He was trying everything to get you to calm down.

You hugged Aaron tightly, hoping that Jack missed you just as much as you missed him. “Do you think he miss us too?”

Aaron nodded and smiled. “Yep, I know he misses us. He told me on the way there about how much he’s going to miss us.”

You smiled and settled down in your crib, snuggling into your blankie. “He come back tomorrow?”

Aaron turned on your music box and nodded. “Tomorrow morning.” He smiled and kissed your head, turning out the lights. “Good night, Y/N.”

You blew Aaron a kiss and giggled. “Night night Daddy!”

Aaron left the room with a small smile, he was glad you got along with Jack so much. The two of you were best buds and he hoped it’d stay that way as the two of you grew older.

[jokingmisfit]

Science Experiment

Yandere Villain Rise!Donatello x Human!Reader

Prompt- “I was going to kill you, but I found a much better use for you instead.”

Warnings-Kidnapping, Implied Human Experiments, Implied Human Torture, Human being kept as a pet, Implied Murder

It had been so long. You were so fucking tired. You knew it’d been a few months, you just don’t know the exact number. You’ve been in this hell hole for too long. He didn’t let you keep count of the days and whenever you asked he’d give you a loose answer. 

He’d stopped his experiments a few days ago. You remember when Donatello first kidnapped you, he told you the only way you’d ever experience peace again was when he’d lost interest and killed you. A part of you felt hopeful. Finally a minute of rest. Another part of you knew that you’ll be resting forever soon. You were equally terrified.

The past few days were peaceful in your isolated cell. A little cage in the corner of his massive lab. You can still see him just like he can still see you. The thing is, he's just been staring these past few days. Glares and no words. Donatello would normally experiment on you several times a day. You noticed it’d lessened over time, but the new schedule worried you as much as it calmed you. 

He fed you more too than he originally did. Patched you up after his tests. Spoke less and yet did more. It confused you. At least you could rest. The time you’ve been given has helped rid your body of some of its pain. Though you were aware you wouldn’t leave this lab alive, it was nice to feel some sort of healing; even though you’ll never be the same as you were before.

You knew Donatello had no problem with killing you. You’d seen him bring in other “subjects” , quite a few on the brink of death or already dead. Everytime he did you’d watch with morbid curiosity. Unable to look away from his gross administrations. In the beginning you’d silently cry at what you saw now however you only let the pity last a few seconds. One of the few things he did successfully was desensitize you to the gore.

The lab was currently silent aside from the buzz of the multitude of machines. Your eyes were closed as you enjoyed the moment of solitude. A moment that wouldn’t last.

The doors opened and Donatello came in smoothly. A body carried by his mechanical arms. Not a glance spared to you as he sets up a table. Tools spread on a separate one.

He turns and walks towards your cell. You avoid meeting his eyes, something you’d started towards the beginning to keep him from lashing out at you. Donatello opens the door and grabs your chains.

Crawling out of the cage and onto the floor you stand in front of him with your head turned down head down.

“Sigh,” He says rather than actually sighing. “Look at me.” He demands.

Simply you obey, learning a while back that it did nothing but make things worse to argue or disobey. His eyes matched his pleased smirk. He always liked when you listened. You made it so easy for him.

“Such a fragile creature.” He says raising his hand and stroking your cheek. “You remember our conversation when you first came here, yes?” He asks with a prideful smirk.

You nod your head silently.

“Ah good!” Donatello says clasping his hands together. “Remind me,” He starts. “What did I say I’d do to you once you were no longer useful?” He asked this time with a sadistic smile.

Your heart skipped for a second, but you knew this was coming. It was time for him to rid you of your life. There’s a sort of bittersweet feeling to it. You were no longer useful. A deep breath in and you look away for a moment.

“Once I’m no longer needed you’ll dispose of me.” You say flatly.

Your eyes meet his again. Donatello's eyes bore into your own, seemingly satisfied with your answer, but there was something gathering in his eyes that you’d only seen a few times.

“Yes,” He smiles almost in anger. “That was the original plan.”

You look up at him with confusion. What does he mean “the original plan”?

“However,” He says, holding his hands together pointed at you. “Things have changed. Don’t get me wrong, I was going to kill you, but I found a much better use for you instead.”

Your brows furrowed at the turtle's words. What better use? Hasn’t he done all he can? All the experiments, wasn’t he done with you?

He pulls your chain causing your head to look up at him. “Would you like to know what I’ve decided?” He asks. “I’ve decided to keep you as a pet instead. You see,” He says walking you towards the center of the lab. “I noticed something different about you. The odd little human you are.” He says, shaking his head with a deranged smile. “Captured my affections somehow. Fascinating, how something so weak and pathetic could capture MY attention.”

Your head reeled at this revelation. He developed some deranged likeness for you. How would something like that even happen?

You’d paused all movement in your confusion causing him to pull on the chain sending you to the floor. It knocks the wind out of your lungs for only a split second.

Donatello turns around in shock. He stops his talking as he shakes his head. He comes back over to you and pulls you back to your feet.

“Sorry.” You say looking down. Although you didn’t talk much anymore you knew better than to not apologize.

“Were you even listening to me?” He asks, annoyed.

You nod. “Mostly…”

“I was listing your new rules.” He says adjusting the chain around your neck. “I recommend you listen carefully. Understood?”

You nod, again.

“Good, now. You’ll be moved into another room to sleep, although you’ll still spend most of your time here in the lab. You haven’t been stimulated or fed properly since you’ve been brought here therefore you will be put on a proper schedule. You still are not allowed any communication with any of the others in the lair…” He drones on and on.

You listen intensely to everything he has to say. Following him blindly as he leads you around the extra spaces you’re allowed to tread through. Still, as you listen, you can’t help but wonder what he was thinking. Why is he really letting you live? Where did this destructive heart come from?

Why you?

[neetily]

Kinktober 2024 — Angel Sam

— ✧ pairing: Sam / F!Reader — ✧ genre: smut 18+ — ✧ word count: 9,145 — ✧ warnings: religious contexts, Christianity references, blasphemy, angst, major character death, daddy issues, praise kink, worship, cunnilingus, love bite/hickey, creampie — ✧ synopsis: just one more night with you is all he needs, really. he thinks he could die happy if you smile one more time, y'know? he's still so sorry, by the way.

— ✧ A/N: i have been wanting to write something like this for a very long time, so im happy to finally have finished it! it's not as angsty as i'd originally planned it to be because im a hopeless romantic, but it is pretty bittersweet! please enjoy my ramblings!!

oh, and happy kinktober !!!!!! — ✧ kinktober masterlist

He comes to you in the middle of the night, as all misdeeds tend to.

It's quiet, of course. Naught but the light passing of wind against your window, a few stray moo's hidden from the barn. And for a few breathless moments, he opts simply to stare upon you. Watching you with tenderness in his heart, the kind borne out of the word almost. In that, the tenderness cannot even hope to band-aid his heart back together. Almost, but not quite. Though, looking at you is a treat in its own right, surely. God given, he’d imagine, for father was ever kind in his hatred. Something that, to this day, he’s thankful to remain deaf to for the most part.

And yet still, the burning bile that lines his stomach turns into lava as he listens out for that low thrum of disapproval, the very same one that he’s not entirely certain if it originates from within himself or not—the faux voice of father hidden away in his melting mind, or his own inner monologue? They sound the same at this point—so he can’t help but to look upon you with salvation. Home. A small smile tugs at his lips at the sight of you so peaceful; his appreciation is barely there from how feather light his love for you is, but it’s there. It always has been. And, it’ll always be there, too. More than anything, you help relax his mind— purely by existing. And for that, he's thankful.

Blessed, he feels, to view you in your most vulnerable state. It’s funny, he suddenly thinks, how you feel safer with the sheets covering your fleshy frame as opposed to laying bare and naked— it’d do nothing to save you from his pointed claws, or his God, for that matter. And it’s funny, he reiterates, that the moment he hovers a hand over your sleeping body, you take the opportunity to toss and turn some sheets from your legs anyway, catching his attention immediately as he pores over every detail of you.

For he must.

His very own private God; far kinder and softer than the one deemed naturally as father. Sometimes, he thinks he can hear God in the morning showers you take. Trickling down your body as water droplets, drip, drop, a ritual of love in its own right. Thank you, he slowly mouths down at you. For showing me so many mornings. They never had to be particularly good mornings, because every morning with you was good. And now, more than ever, he wishes to hear the familiar stream of water wash over you, just so that he can put his hands to use again in prayer.

There are, of course, other uses for his hands besides washing your troubles away. So he looks at them, regrettably tearing his vision away from you and into his tired palms instead for a moment or two. It's curious, how they look nothing like how they used to; mud stained and hard worn by now thanks to the Earth’s gifts— and your farming orders. But he smiles once more, because they are at least his. And with his hands, he decides to smooth them over your exposed leg. Gently, with practiced restraint, he ghosts over your trembling skin. A routine worship, his gaze softening at the way you shift and stir in your sleep. How pretty you are right now, forever and always. He takes in the sight of your eyelashes, fluttering with good dreams, he hopes. And of your hair, how it lays perfectly against your pillows, and how he wishes to reach out to stroke your head, but he needn’t disturb your rest further, he thinks. So he gazes some more at how cute you look when grasping the sheets in your sleep, a picture perfect little doll for him to adore. Dropping his vision down to where his worn out hand steals heat from your thigh, and how soft you are under his touch.

Truth be told, he could map out every intricate detail of your being all night long, and on some nights, he does just that. But he can already feel the world dimming in response to his gawking, and he knows that he hasn’t much time left at all. Least of all to be staring, instead of doing.

He wonders how much it’d hurt to see the look on your face later tonight. All twisted and unpleasant, an assumed mimicked wince flashing across his face before he fixes it right up for his sleeping audience. Will you be able to notice the crumble of his mind? Threads picked one by one to undo his wings, pinching at your knee just a little to try and remain soft, stern in his affection for you. Would you, if given the chance, watch in horror as lions teeth are shoved down his throat one by one, just to tear up his insides into something new? Something less tangible— for his own benefit, supposedly. Would you stay by his side to witness the ecstasy overtake his entire being, knowing that despite it all, he’s happy to just be by your side. Even for a single day… He thinks that would have been worth it all the same, too.

But, alas, he plans on depriving you the right to such sights. He couldn’t bear the thought of casing you any harm, least of all from his own faults.

Instead, gentle hands press palms of golden sunlight against the slight sliver of inner thigh your slumbering body offers him. And it’s like a meal to him, bleeding gold against that soft, dangerously so, skin. Enough that he’s convinced he could feast his eyes on you for eternity and still not go hungry. Full of love, desperate to express, communicate, and exclaim it until his lungs give out.

But etched into him is his very own undoing. God’s fingerprints still yet wrap around his bones, coiling up and around his throat to leave the most human lump lying in His wake. He remembers pointing at himself in the mirror one day— before an outing you had suggested. To the local saloon, dressing him up in a manner he’s yet to grow accustomed to; but he can still feel the warmness of his cheeks even now as he idly strokes up and down your leg, how he felt this sense of pride swell in his beating chest upon catching your lovesick smile staring back at him in the mirror and… Oh, so that was the beginning of it all…

Regardless, he remembers pointing at himself. Right in the middle of his new throat, swallowing thickly as a means to steel his frayed nerves, and catching sight of… Well, you had called it an ‘Adam’s Apple’, right? And he’s not so stupid, he knew exactly what those words meant in the moment. But he refrained, bit his tongue in a rare moment of strength around you, and begged the further question of: why?

He liked to hear you talk more than anything this God given world ever dared to offer him. More than the sky, and the birdsong among the clouds, and the smell of grass after it had just been cut, and the softness of your bed sheets right after washing, and the smell of freshly baked bread, and the taste of that terrible Joja Cola, and his newfound friends laughter, and the hot sand between his toes, and the waves that kissed his skin, and the sound of rain against glass, and the sticky floor of the saloon, and the purity seen within the children's smiles, and the way you scrunch your nose up in confusion at him so often, and the way the wind brushes past him on his skateboard, and the countless jokes shared amongst strangers, friends, and lovers— your voice is better than it all and more.

Even when you’re yapping about his not-Adam’s-Apple.

For he’s anything but, to be honest with you. A mere spark in the greater cosmos, but one flicker of light on the verge of turning off forever. And all it takes is that flick, much like how you’d done so earlier tonight before heading to bed; did you ever figure out how he never went with you? It pained him every time to lie by omission, crawling into bed just before your usual wake up time to keep up the tired facade. The occasions that you had caught him up and about were so easily explained behind restlessness. Not entirely a lie, this time. But he’s just like that light switch, and he can feel the ever present threat of a finger looming behind his weary wings.

A stray feather falls by your side in the midst of his musings. Neat and tidy, spinning in circles before softly caressing your sheets. The first of many, he assumes, and he can’t help but to widen his smile at the sight. Good, he thinks to himself. I tire of this hiding. Of this waiting. Of this wretched thing you call existence, father. Please. Please. Take it all away, for I fear that even a slice of this paradise will prove too much to bear.

Another pinch, this time against the softest section of your thigh, and he’s not surprised to see you wake up in response. Gently, lazily, because you have all the time in the world. He’s made sure of that.

“Sorry…” he whispers down at you, as light as the second feather that falls with a pulse. His beating heart laid bare and white before you, so stark in its contrast against the dark, moonlit room that he’s afraid he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t have been; which would never be the case. Not concerning you. He was made to love you, he thinks.

He knows that to be the case.

He wishes to say so much more than mere sorries, but there is no human way to explain: I love you so much that I want to rip your throat out with my own teeth. I want to clean you dry of blood and swallow you whole, so that we may forever be one. Or, at least, he hasn’t thought of a way yet. And he’s running out of time, so he instead settles on something a bit more understandable to your human ears, like… “Didn’t mean t’wake ya. Jus’ couldn’t sleep again.”

He sees God, again, in your yawn. Strained and teary eyed, and the resulting groan you exhale fills him with such joy that it’s almost unbearable to look upon you with tender eyes. He wants to listen to it forever, on repeat, burning it into his dwindling memory in some vain hope of holding on.

Another feather falls from his wings when you smile back at him, and his hand stills on your thigh in response. Mother Earth whispers promises of give and take, of an intertwining, eventually. These things take time, she reassures in your closed fist, rubbing sleep from your eyes with a slow blink. And he’d much rather listen to the worms and the soil beneath his very human feet as opposed to the unfair God he was unlucky enough to originate from. But then he realises that you, too, originated from Him. And he figures, well… He can forgive him for that, at least.

Your voice is hoarse and riddled with heaviness when you speak, and he can’t help but to sympathise with you, feeling the very same ache in his brittle breaking bones.

“It’s okay, Sammy,” you smile, genuine and fucking pretty, so much so that it aches his bleeding heart. “Restless? Wanna cuddle instead?”

Like moth to the sun that is you, he could never, and would never, deny your invitations. To do so would be akin to blasphemy, he fears. And so with an intentional nod, slow and thick, oozing with the amount of utter adoration he harbours for your every little move, he lifts his hand from your thigh and huddles under the sheets with you. Soft and silky, he thinks to himself. But he’s not quite sure if he means your body, or the sheets. Just that he’s comfortable, happy to accept the terms of his existence so long as he can spend whatever he has left of eternity in your bed, by your side.

Besides, it’s easier this way. Where you’re left unaware, right?

He falls so easily into his usual spot too, his shape carved out of the mattress under his body through sheer use alone; but he likes to think that it was perhaps made for him instead. It helps the inevitability soon approaching, anyway. And just as effortlessly, he assumes the position with you. One arm under your neck, letting your sleepy body curl into his own, a wing outstretched under you to help comfort you. To add to the feathers hidden under pillowcases, too, from the rate they fall for you.

And for the first time tonight since feeling the edges of his end, unfurling into the chaos of the universe within the very same four walls he had hoped would be his coffin, he feels like he can finally rest. A welcomed break from the tiring thoughts, and from the oppressive atmosphere the threatens to pick his wings from his very back; bone and all.

It almost convinces him that he was, and certainly is, good.

But he will never be a good man. He tried— God did he fucking try for you. Did his absolute best to be human, learning through doing; you were ever helpful in his endeavours to denounce his divinity. But alas, here he lays, with the love of his life half asleep in his arms, and all he can feel is home between his teeth. Pick at it all he wants, he never did find out a way to rid the sticky aftertaste of holiness. Like a disease, burning bile in the back of his throat, prompting him to unfortunately cough to clear God from his windpipes and further disrupt your sleep.

“Sorry,” he once again whispers at you, tightening his arm under your neck, another apology resting in his demanding hug. “Caught a cold, I think.”

“It’s okay, Sammy.” You stress, and he feels the urge to apologise again. And again, and again, and again. He doesn’t think he could repeat the prayer of sorry enough times, for he is simply one of His least qualified angels, fluent only in loving the wrong god. He knows only the language of almosts, turning his body in towards you, shuffling along that edge he so precariously sits on even now just so that he can smile at you some more. He’d do anything for you— even die.

“I love you, y’know?” he says as if on instinct, coming naturally to him upon seeing your closed eyed lazy smile. “I will love you for as long as this life will have me, and even after that, too.”

You merely hum back at him, clearly exhausted from the hard days farm work, and he suddenly thinks that he wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s nice, actually. For mother Earth to treat him no differently than you, as if recognising him as a fellow mortal, finally. Laid here beside you so late at night; or is it early morning? He lost track of time a while ago now. But it’s exciting to be recognised as one of the same, and he wears his final moments like a badge of honour.

Though no one will remember you, the moon casts against your cheek, drawing him closer to your angelic face, and they will not make note of you, except of your disappearance, she scolds him, and he takes her harshness with grace, because she’s speaking across your lips, wasn’t it at least fun?

He can’t argue with that, bursting into light laughter at the plain thought. Loving you was fun. It is fun, the humour in his chest continuing at the way your lashes flutter open to the commotion, and adoration floods his lungs.

“What’s funny?” you yawn, his mind growing sluggish with his very own undoing, so he takes a second longer than usual to respond to you.

“Nothin’, jus’ happy, s’all.”

He’s not saying very much, he’s aware. It’s difficult to sort through his thoughts in the face of your cuteness, is all. Too many words swirl in his mind, screaming pick me, pick me! But what’s the best way to appropriately explain the amount of love he holds for you? How can he, ever, accurately formulate the correct string of words to precisely and utterly convey just how blessed he feels to know you, to have known you, and to forever know you? Burning the feeling of your dead leg digging into his hip bone into his hot flesh, so that it exists forevermore— “Can I show you, please?” he settles on, because you’ve taught him that sometimes, actions are far better than words. And though it was not part of his original will, he can’t help but to continue to dote upon you even in his final hours. A hopeless romantic deep down, he supposes. Caring more for you than himself, even if he can afford to act a little more selfish now of all times.

“If you’re not too tired, I mean…” he’s quick to follow up with, not wanting to pressure you into following his eager pursuit of the ultimate death; he’d be just as happy if you simply fell asleep by his side during the whole ordeal, too.

But graciously, you yawn up at him once more, nonetheless turning onto your back. An invitation, he’s learnt. One that he swiftly follows up with by kneeling before you, shuffling his way under the sheets and between your legs. This is his favourite place to worship, and you’re doing him a great unknown honour by allowing him his final supper.

“Will it help you sleep?” you ask, darting your eyes to the barely curtained window, drawn back and wide open to allow moonlight to dance across the floorboards— he wanted to gaze upon your hard work one last time. He’s so incredibly proud of you, y’know?

“It will,” he promises, genuinely. “You too, I bet.”

“You make a good point…”

Giggles. He’s gonna miss giggles, especially yours as you warm his chest up with the sound of joy following your cheeky comment. Shared over natural chemistry, pure instinct borne out of each others company. He’s gonna miss the way your nose wrinkles when you laugh, and how your eyes squeeze shut with promise, beaming up at him like the sun itself; only far warmer, his own personal little sun. Even if you beg to differ, he can’t help but to squint his eyes back down at you when you so easily allow him passage forwards. Like the warm morning sun he’s unsure if he’ll last to kiss, you beckon him closer with that gentle sleepy smile he’s fallen in love with over and over again. Who cares about greeting the morning anew when he’s got you radiating back at him?

His actions remain light, rubbing whispered promises against your knees with his mild thumbs, smoothing them over ever crease and crevice of your legs in a silent act of worship. He knows that heaven exists— not because he’s an angel, but because he met you; ironically, the far better angel than he’ll ever be.

“Aren’t I always?” he teases you back, half-hearted at best— he knows who the real boss of this relationship is deep down. It was never him to begin with, not with the way he follows around after you like a little lost puppy at every God given opportunity. Prophet girl, the suns chosen; he never stood a fucking chance when put against you.

Still, he appreciates it when you play along with him. Offering him the kindest of scoffs before reprimanding him with “You have your moments.”

It’s as he’s helping part your thighs wider, inching closer to to his favourite place on Earth, and hooking a finger under your panties—thank God you tend to sleep in only them during the night, for he fears he could not wait a single second longer due to his wound—that he realises something. What kind of a cruel God creates for the sake of loving, and then subsequently snuffs out that creation for fulfilling its purpose? What kind of a joke was his existence in the first place? Were his siblings, too, cast out of the heavens on some cruel holy mission only to slowly realise that this is but a mere suicide?

It’s silly, how he tries to grapple with the subject of his life. And yet still, it’s but another reminder of his dwindling humanity. A small comfort in such a tender moment with you, that no matter how many questions go unanswered by his so called father, he has you. Sighing so sweetly that it burns his ears red, bunching the sheets up in your barely awake fists, twisting and turning to help him remove those sacred garments— plain and cute, and the feeling of the soft fabric between his nimble fingers serves as a catalyst. Smoothed against the palm of his hand as he slowly tugs the fabric down, noting the slight damp patch adorning it.

He misses you already.

But he keeps a brave face, making a show of his enjoyment by dragging your underwear up to his lips, bunching it up like you do with the sheets just to give it a good long sniff.

“Freak.” You lovingly scold him.

“Only for you. Your freak.” He corrects you.

He’s joking, clearly. Playing along with the facade that having him sniff your scent down his hungry lungs isn’t one of the hottest things you’ve ever seen—he’s already noticed the way you shuffle sheepishly with arousal at the perverted display—but he’s also reciting prayer for you. It’s not just hot, it’s also an assurance.  Look, his tongue darts out against the fabric to beg of you, how I love every part of you, he reassures by licking a fat stripe up the meagre wet spot, being sure to suckle on it to swallow every last drop of you. Let none go to waste.

And he’d love to sit here and worship you forever and ever, like a loyal dog. Tilting his head curiously at the thought, he really is just a loyal little dog for you. A creature made for loving, without really being good for anything else. He’s supposed to love you, that’s his God given job. But the ticking time bomb in his chest made of glass shards and peeping eyes claw at his heart, not anymore, the rusted nails dig into his lungs harsher. Now, your job is to be dead. Like an overflowing cup, too much of him spills from the rim and onto you, placing your panties to the side while he assumes an unholy position between your legs.

Not yet, he whispers kisses along your inner thigh on his way down, hooking his arms around your underside to rest on your waist; you can’t escape his devotion, not tonight.

“Let me know if you wanna stop.” He peers up at you, face mere inches away from your bare cunt now as he snakes his body down the bed, not missing the way he must really resemble Adam, salivating over your apple. At the end of the day, you were right as always, he internally grins. And he just wants to make this experience a pleasant one for you, too. As much as he can anyway, in spite of the fact that he’s signing his very own death warrant under your sheets.

And your voice is so soft and gentle when you respond with “Always, Sammy.” that he can’t stop himself from voicing his appreciation, groaning unashamedly when your hand comes up to reassuringly stroke through his messy bedhead hair. You never tell him to stop, but he likes to remind you that he will, absolutely, whenever you ask, stop. Because he is a simple servant to you, his God. Nothing in this world is his, except for you. He’d follow you to the ends of the Earth and further if you so much as asked him to. So stopping is the least he can offer, even if his cock twitches to life at the mere thought of pleasing you tonight— he couldn’t imagine a better send of, honestly.

But before he can dive into his last meal, you call his attention once more. And like the stupid mutt he is deep down, his ears perk up immediately to the sound of your breathy tone.

“You’re pretty like this,” you hum, a teasing lilt to your words that just begs for his attention, cracking a smile on his weary face. “Thank you.”

Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. And I know, deep down, that I would undoubtedly do it again and again, as many times as you'd unfortunately allow. For there is so sweeter taste than my lover under sheets.

You like to remind him on dark, oppressive night like these, that the stars shine brightest in their last moments. And he can see the twinkle in your eyes even now, half lidded and hazy, but bright before him. Peering down in that sultry manner he’s fallen victim to on so many occasions before, his tummy filling with butterflies to counteract the razor blades in response. It’s like you can tell, somehow, that his light is bursting forth for one last time before dwindling infinitely, exploding in on himself in only the most romantic of ways. Are you aware of what you’re thanking him for? Can you tell how much he truly appreciates those simple words, rolling his eyes back briefly in enjoyment before hiding his honesty between your legs, cock twitching against the soft sheets under his hips at the first and last full inhale of your pretty pussy.

Angel cunt, divinity between your legs, ripe for his taking. His tongue automatically darts out upon drawing closer to your cunt, and his cock dribbles some more onto your sheets in wanting. Beads of his love for you dripping, spilling around his fat erection the moment your slick hits his taste buds, and he takes a mental note to savour you. You taste like heaven, but fuck if you weren’t built for sin. Because nothing gets him harder than worshipping you, making you feel good under his pointed flicks and greedy sucks, letting his tongue lay flat along your slit to soak up most of your slick before rolling it upwards, circling around your clit for a few seconds— he can’t help but to slurp around it, his lashes fluttering shut with a roll of his eyes. And then he’s sucking on it for you, making sure to swallow around you just as much as he collects spit, dripping saliva down your pretty pussy to make her all messy and sloppy; just the way you like it, right?

This, between your legs, is his true home. More than the clouds above and the warmth of his wings, the sound of your heavenly sighs and shuffling sheets is more homely than anything before. His fingers, deft and nimble from all the guitar playing he’s partook in on his time on Earth—a pleasure in it’s own right, he’ll miss that too—lifts to your twitching hole, one pad rimming the outside; there’s time yet to tease you, he bargains. For you alone, he is weak.

You just taste so good, always, but especially tonight. Sweeter than usual, like your body knows this to be his last. More than anything, he wants to eat you out until the end of time. Drink you up and swallow down every last drop of juice your sacred hole has to offer him, make you writhe and tremble on your soft sheets for more for all eternity, because fuck his broken existence. Only you matter to him, and the way your muted moans make his cock dribble some more, forming a little puddle under him to match your own leak under your hole, has him acting out. Like an unruly teenager, struck by his first love, hormones going haywire with how rock hard his cock is from just a little petting of your cunt. How much of the holy water staining your sheets sheer is your slick versus his saliva, he wonders?

The finger rimming your hole dips into your cunt and dives as deep as possible, fucking in and out of you in tandem with his circling tongue; near violent with how much he desires you. He’s done this so many times before that it’s almost become routine by now, a repeated prayer of please, let me taste you some more. You deserve it, most of all, for putting up with him tonight. It only makes sense that he thanks you with a curl of his finger, helping stretch that tight little hole out with sacrilegious intent, paying special attention to your puffy little clit with loud slurps and a droning hum to send vibrations through your system.

“Sam, God—!” you gasp, all pretty and hushed, hidden under the bed sheets with him as if doing so would somehow prolong his lifespan. And he shakes the misuse of God from his mind, risking a particularly deep knuckle fuck to bring your attention back to him, where it rightfully belongs. It’s okay, his finger strokes your insides. I’m happy, his lips suck around your clit. “There, right there,” your nails rise to dig into his scalp, a desperate plea for more, and he’d be a fool not to oblige his God. “Do that again, please—”

He’s happy to hear that his angel is a little more awake now, more alert to his divine touch that threatens to ruin you, his wings flapping eagerly behind his heavy back at how urgently you encourage him to continue with tiny tugs and muted gasps. He needn’t be told twice, flicking his tongue over your clit a little faster and pumping his fingers in and out to match the speed, curling against your sweet spot right… There…

“Sammy—!” Bingo.

He doesn’t come up for air; he won’t need it where he’s going anyway, so he wants to get used to the sensation of choking. And there’s no better way to test his limits than to gag on your sweet nectar, dropping his lips down to your hole as soon as his fingers leave in an effort to swallow all your slick, fucking his tongue and in out of you devoutly to help you milk that orgasm out fully. The sound of his name repeatedly falling from your lips is enough thanks for him, but he won’t deny that feeling your thighs muffle around his ears is even better, got his hips acting up when they rut against your sheets once or twice in lewd response.

He only stops kitten licking and swallowing around you when you tenderly pull his head upwards, an exasperated sigh falling from your pretty bitten lips; so swollen and wet, God— he wants to eat your face, too.

“Fuck—” you sigh after a few moments, all smiles and shivers, and his falling feathers ruffle in response. Trailing under you, leaving you trembling in a bed of white roses. He wonders if you’ve noticed them yet. “I don’t think this’ll help me sleep after all.”

“Sorry,” he hums genuinely, but he can’t even hope to hide the boyish smirk that tugs on his lips, an act of defiance against you… Or is it God? What is the difference now, really? Is it really that important to decipher when he can feel the lions jaw close in around his soul? “I’m not done with you yet, though.” He wards the feeling of an approaching roar off.

“I’d hope not.”

Irony is endless. He may now understand his lifes purpose, borne out of the lines on your face when you smile up at him, hidden under your pillows, where an indent of his arm sleeps soundly— will that, too, disappear with him? But with understanding comes nonexistence, and the fault lies with him, apparently. Falling for you is in his blood, and it is with the same blade that his throat is slit, dripping down onto your front and in your hair and on your sheets and on your tongue and God… He can only hope that the stains of his existence are easily washed out. You will, won’t you? Wash him out?

Because sometimes suffering is just that. It won’t make you any stronger, and it won’t offer any deeper meaning to his life. Sometimes, suffering just hurts. Like when he peers down at you from above, sitting more upright now to allow his wings to cast the prettiest shadow over the moonlit back light of your face, and he feels as though his lungs are failing. For all he knows, they very well might be at this point. But he persists, for you. For his selfish desires that put him in this position in the first place— for the rock hard erection that still yet throbs with life, all for you.

“You’re so pretty.” He blurts out, lost in his train of thought while idly stroking himself. He’s kneeling before you again, chin stained shiny and cock throbbing in his loose grip; he’s too idle with his stroking, so much so that he almost forgets what must happen tonight. Too busy admiring you from above, hoping that you can see the way his gaze sparkles for you. “You deserve the world.”

You assume position too, leaning into the long built unspoken language of lovers by way of opening your legs wider, prompting him to bite down on his bottom lip at the sight of your sopping wet little cunt. Pretty, too, just like your face. And your body. And your voice, and your hair, and your— “Thank you. I think you’re pretty too.” You interrupt his self indulgence, but he’s hardly mad. His cheeks flushing warm at your honest praise, he can’t take his eyes off the way you lay there so perfectly pliant. It’s insufferable, just how much he loves you. How it has him leaning down to press a sticky with slick kiss against your wanting lips, his heart stuttering at the way he can feel you smile into the shared saliva.

He’ll never forget about you. Not even for a fucking second. You were, and still are, worth it.

The tiny halo atop his head cracks with his thoughts. Just a little, barely noticeable, even. But he can feel the weight of his musings bearing down on him as he guides his cock to your cunt. Tired fist wrapped so tight around the base of it, tapping the tip against your sensitive clit once or twice just to hear you squeak in pleasure. One last time, just like that.

“Are y’ready?” He asks, because he’s genuinely not sure if he is.

“Of course.” You respond so easily, because you’ve always given him courage he so sorely lacks at times.

“All right, jus’ lemme know if—”

“Sammy,” you reach out for him, touch as tender as your voice is. “It’s okay, I’m not going anywhere.” you kiss the words against his arms, and he can do nothing but give in to you.

Of course. You were here before him, and you’ll exist after him. But rather than acknowledging so, he simply nods instead. Confident and reassured thanks to your affirmations, he prepares to give you what he always strives for.

“Promise t’make y’feel real good.” He huffs, letting his leaking tip rest between your soft folds before automatically rolling his hips a little to feel your warm heat try to envelop him whole. And normally, he’d have you waiting a little while longer for this. Make you writhe and squeal and beg him for this; his cock heavy and beading precum against your red little clit. Normally, he’d have all the time in the world and more to dote upon you in privacy, down on his hands and knees by your feet just pleading for another chance, just one more, c’mon baby, I know y’can do it.

But it’s the end of the world, so he figures that giving in to his natural selfish desires just this once is okay, right? Especially considering the way your brows furrow from the meagre amount of contact he’s provided you thus far, and the way your chest heaves so persistently, body begging for him when your words get lost on you… He’s sure it should be fine.

So he gives in. Just like that, without second thought. He angles his cock down with the pad of his thumb, letting his other hand rest gently by the side of your head— careful. He’s always so careful with you, treating you like glass, afraid that if he were to not be so gentle with you, that you’d disappear from beneath his very fingertips. And he absolutely can't have that happening, not right now.

His wings ruffle some more to spend plenty feathers, a shiver of pleasure rolling down his spine at the feeling of your hole twitching eagerly against his leaking tip. You are sin incarnate, coaxing him to fall further for you, and he’s never felt so good to be so impure. He takes in a single breath, steeling himself for what’s to come, before dipping his tip inside of your wanting hole with a further crack of his halo. Catching perfectly into you to force a gasp from your pretty lips, and fuck, it feels so good to die.

“God—” he gasps, with the amount of heavy reverence your cunt demands of him. “Can’t get enough of ya— shit—” he pushes in some more, well aware of the fact that he’s barely filled you up and he’s already dying for more. “Mine. All mine.”

He punctuates his act of ownership with a quick and mortal thrust forward, unable to hold himself back the second he enters your cunt; you are his very own undoing. And he’s powerless to stop his hips from stuttering in, coating his cock in that sweet slick he fell for in the very beginning, and he knows for sure that the Gods must be envious of him in this moment. To feel your walls squirm around him as he eventually bottoms out, soft and squishy and fucking perfect, divinity coursing through your veins to wrap around him so tightly; to be so human is a blessing, he thinks. And yet still, somehow, you are his cosmos. Sooooo fucking pretty under him, gasping for air as his balls rest flat against your ass and your hips are turned slightly upwards to help ease him into your angel cunt, and fuck— he can’t fucking stand it anymore. When he dies, which he must do, he’d like to go out with a bang. Physically and metaphorically.

You’re ruining him, and you’ve done nothing but lay there for him. “Taking me so well, fuck, I needed this—” he praises you regardless, a breathless chuckle escaping his failing lungs. “So beautiful like that, y’were made for me, werent’cha?”

And he’s not certain you understand the gravity of his words, or how true they really are, but he appreciates your meek approval regardless. A soft spoken, fucked out little “Mhm—!” Crawled up your throat for his heavenly pleasure. He does his best to relish in how wrecked you sound, knowing deep down in his bones that it’s not what you do, or what you say that he’ll remember. But it’s how you make him feel that’ll stick with him, all dizzy and light-headed, heat coursing through his system to leave him breathless above you.

As far as coffins go, this house is the perfect burial. Comfortable and familiar, balls deep in your cunt, he offers you mere seconds to grow accustomed to his final searing stretch. Because to be human is to accept the inevitability of it all, a shudder running through him at the way you look picture perfect under him. Like an old classical painting, caught in a moment of utter passion— he does everything in his power to burn the image in his mind.

“I’m gonna get movin’ now, ‘kay?” He warns you, because it is a warning. With how heated his temper is right now, he can’t be blamed for fucking you within an inch of your life, surely, as he intends to do. Drawing his hips back until only his tip remains inside of you, just to selfishly hear that little whimper drip from your pretty pouty lips like usual. Comforting in its predictability, he loves you beyond words. “Good girl.” Escapes him, an automatic worship, before he’s slowly pushing his cock back inside of you. Making you endure every throbbing inch of his heavy cock, carving his shape out in your hole, and then again. And again, and again, settling into a tedious pace of in and out— torturous even for him. Teasing both parties to try and draw the inescapable end out for just a little longer. He misses you with every thrust in, and he loves you with every draw back out.

���Feels good—” you struggle on the words for him, and he chokes with you. Voice caught in his throat from the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him. Enough to rival the dwindling divinity within him, specks of gold dust your bed sheets with his lazy fucks. And you’re right, it does feel good. Unfairly so, as if the universe was playing some kind of sick joke on him. Here, your lover lies, forever pretty under the spilling moonlight. Here, she feels better than ever, squirming on the end of your cock, gasping into the night air as a form of thanks. And here, you must lay on the bed of your own making.

Ouch, he thinks. But the pain of knowing that he’ll soon leave you—there’s nothing you could have done to help him, y’know that, right?—is easily pushed aside when your cunt wraps ever tighter around him, squelching slick around the base of it for his viewing pleasure. The feathers that fall to signify his status of death compliment you well too, he thinks. Surrounding your shivering frame in a manner most befitting a God. Ruffled out of him with eager thrusts, his pace quickening under the tight squeeze of your cunt just begging for more. And he can’t hope to stop fucking into you from how good you feel now, choking him so nice and tight like you know this to be the end, causing him to fall further into you. One hand locked around your waist to keep you pinned in place, the other supporting his broad shoulders by your head. His nails dig into you, just a little, as if to communicate the gravity of his decision. “Love you—” he whispers fervently, cut off by a telling moan barely bitten back by his terse lips. “I love you, love you so much—” he whispers, not out of shame, but out of a want for you to be the only one to hear his prayers. “Love you so much it hurts—” he fucks into your harder now, harsher, communicating the significance of his existence, and the impact your life has had on his own tapering one, with how heavy his thrusts turn out to be. How with every fuck his halo shatters that little bit more, the tips of his wings turning to ash before his very eyes.

But he’s being honest, y’know, about how much it hurts to be so in love with you. His sacred lover, taking his cock so well, letting his limbs entangle with your own so that he can’t find where you start and he ends. It’s nice that way, right? A shared mix of fluids, your cunt leaking all over his cock— so much so that some of it spills down to his balls, causing a loud slap! to reverberate against your four small walls when his thrusts increase in speed, a desperate bid for more, more, more. He could never get enough of you, never in a million lifetimes. And he, too, spills precum against your walls. Drowning your cunt in his slick, an ever outpouring of his love for you through such seedy means; though God may not approve of his affections, you do, don’t you? Clawing at his tense arms, muscles taut under your loving scratches. He will not relent, not for a fucking second will he give you anything but his best. Because you’re his just as much as he is yours, and you deserve his loyal, unending thrusts. Fast enough to prompt him into adding more weight to your hips, just to keep you from being fucked up the bed. Deep enough to leave him breathless, heaving for those last few gulps of air he’s allowed under the heavy squeaks and squeals of the bed below him.

And oh, how lovely you sound when matching the bed. All high pitched and airy, the sight of your eyes rolling to the back of your head in pure bliss is almost too much for him to endure. His jaw snapping shut to grind his teeth, exhaling through his nose back down at you. He’s sure that he must looked so pained right now, fucking you so full of his fallen angel cock that he can barely keep up with himself, a mess of the man you fell in love with. Especially with the way his wings appear broken by now, crooked and mismatched, tainted by his profane reason for living, but he continues. Relentless in his loving assault, moving the hand on your hip down to your puffy clit once more in a final bid of defilement.

“C’mon—” he rasps, voice lost on him due to the oil that tars his system all clogged up, “I got you, jus’ one more, y’can do that fr’me, right?” he ends up pleading from you, humping into your tight hole with newfound carelessness in an effort to have you cream his cock— it’s all he wants, now, selfishly. To feel you reciprocate his dying wish in kind, his thumb slipping and sliding between your folds for a moment or two due to how hard and fast he fucks, leaving him a little off balance. But he finds you soon enough, cooing down at the way you whine and shiver from under him when he rubs sloppy circles against your sensitive clit. He knows you’re close— a lifetime with you offers him entrance to your secrets. The quiver of your thighs around him, as well as the repeated pulsing of your insides, squirming around his fast fucks, is all he needs to know that you’re close. So he doubles his efforts, pressing messily against your clit with half thrusts, focused more on your pleasure than his own, as per usual.

And he can hear just how much you appreciate it due to the small and forgiving sounding “Sammy—!” you whine, a knee-jerk reaction causing his hips to falter some more inside of you.

Instinct commands him to fall down, his body completely encasing your own in one fell swoop, frantic wings doing their best to cover your enjoyment from prying Godly eyes as his lips naturally find home on your neck for a heated kiss. He can’t breathe, suffocated by your tight heat, warm little hole soon creaming around his cock just like he wanted it to— but still he finds the strength to mutter a weak “Fuck— don’t— y’can’t sound that good, or I’m gonna—”

It’s prophetic, almost, how soon he follows suit. Coaxed into painting your insides white with fat ropes of cum the second your cunt starts to squeeze rhythmically around his cock, milking him for all he’s worth; which at this point is very little, but he does his best for you. It’s a surprise that he’s lasted this long, truth be told. Nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck, he urgently pants hot air against your damp skin in between open mouthed kisses, downright desperate to keep your scent in his lungs, his own hair sticky with sweat too when he pushes ever closer towards you, driving his cock deeper against your womb in some vain attempt to leave a lasting memory of himself.

But here, he can do something, at least. A final hurrah, urged into action from how madly in love with you he is to the point of delirium. Feathers twitch behind him as he latches onto your neck with different purpose, grazing his teeth against that sweet spot of yours—the resulting soft sigh you exhale only has his cock throbbing some more, a few more drops of cum dripping to make your cunt extra sticky—before he sucks. Long and hard, using the last of his strength to leave a temporary mark, because God cannot even hope to take this part of him away from you. It’s outside of his jurisdiction, he hopes.

He heaves once he’s satisfied that he’s sucked on your neck sufficiently, pulling back to marvel at the wet bruise soon to bloom on your pliant skin. And, because he’s completely spent, he lets his cock drag out of you with a pop! A shared wince hissed amongst satisfied lovers, it’s so easy for him to fall by your side with a light oof.

“Gosh...” You gasp after a few moments of silence, embracing the mutual huffs and puffs for air with kindness and grace. He’s struggling, now, but his arm automatically snakes under your neck once again, and he instinctively pulls you closer like some home safety routine.

“Yeah,” he agrees with your wordless thanks, coughing to clear his throat— or is it to remove the barbed wire? He can’t distinguish clearly now, which must mean only one thing. “C’mon, I love you, but hurry an’ get back t’sleep. It’s late.”

He does his best to sound as caring and considerate as possible, releasing a sigh of relief when you smile a whispered yes boss before snuggling in closer, and a quick peek down at you as he offers you a last forehead kiss shows that your eyes are closed, and finally, he can fully relax by your side.

He doesn’t mean to rush you, but he’s been selfishly using borrowed time till now, and he doesn’t want to have you endure his ending whilst awake. So he, too, closes his eyes with you. Though he needn’t have to; angels don’t sleep. But it just feels natural to, humanities last gift. Rest, now, the moon implores him. Promise it’ll be like a dream.

And it’s not that he doubts Mother Earth, but rather, his brows furrow in confusion. But mom, he resembles that of a child. There is no better dream than her.

Nothing replies back to him, which he takes as mutual understanding. He’s correct in knowing that nothing could ever beat resting by your side, watching you fall back asleep peacefully, soundless in your blissful ignorance. He hopes that he’s warm enough for you to cuddle into, and that he’s left you feeling satisfied enough. He doesn’t think he could take not serving his God properly, as you deserve. That'd be a fate worse than death, no doubt.

Once more, he glances down at you. At the way your chest rises and falls wordlessly, such a simple detail to notice, but one that he hopes sticks with him through his nearby transition. You’re really pretty in the moonlight, y’know? And you suit his limited parting gift as well, all red and blotchy, but his mark. You're beautiful in your unknowing.

And his voice comes out before he has a chance to check himself, an unavoidable aspect to death, he supposes. Letting it all loose for you.

“When you wake up to a world absent of me, just know that you made me the happiest.”

He can’t stop himself, now. Quiet in his affections, pushing through the ache in his chest to say his final goodbyes.

“And I’ll miss you, like a lonely little dog.” He forces out cheap laughter, cheeks tinted warm from the sheer state of himself. “And I’ll wait for you, too.” He reassures you, flinching at the way his wings now stab into his back like iron daggers, their usual softness is nowhere to be found, besides amongst your bed sheets. Though he hopes, fucking prays that you’ll never find your way back to him. You deserve heaven, he thinks, as opposed to the exile he’ll soon be greeting for going against His word.

“Good dogs wait, right?” He coughs again, squinting at the specks of blood that spatter against his panting chest. “Was I good enough?” he questions you, not his God, the Earth, or anybody else. But you, who dozes so serenely beside him, unaware of his current predicament. He’s made quite sure of that. “Didn’t you say that all dogs go to heaven, even if they did some bad things?” Then why not him? Why not him? Was his sin far too egregious to be allowed in heaven? His crime of loving you?

It’s pointless, he realises, to ruminate. Taking to throwing his head back to stare up at the ceiling absentmindedly instead, and warmth spreads throughout his entire being in the action. He briefly wonders about who will look after you when he's gone, and how much he grieves for you already. The dim light from his broken halo is swollen with: love was here, as a defiance. And in between the cracks in smaller writing is: it still is. He thinks he will always wonder if he could have saved you from the pain, if only love could have saved you, then he'd still be here after you.

He will ask God why for the rest of time itself. And he knows, intimately now in the mundanity of it all, that he will never come to an understanding. Even if God himself came down for a personal chat to tell him the exact reason as to why he has been branded with sweet sin, he would never accept it. Could never accept it. With great love comes great pain, and my God, you were the greatest.

Thank you escapes his lips again, mouthed to the rickety old lampshade staring back down at him. Maybe he should have fixed that before tonight, too.

Maybe he should have—

taglist !! (i know this one is late im sorry i FORGOT i will add it to future writing tho !!)

@wrongdodo @loverboykirstein @buniieboo @bnvlntce @lovethethief @sashiavi @deepestnightcolor @kyrothehornypuppy @catboyjesus @mollybun @scrunkle-writings @girlconsume @quoththe-ravenn @anonymousren @nervous-obsolete @pastelhedgehog @kyrasmoon @cherryminxx

(praying that these work)

[soap-ify]

GLADIOLUS | simon 'ghost' riley x reader

cw — angst, heavy suicidal tendencies, simon is NOT okay, he is depressed, mentions of death, hurt/no comfort but there's comfort too if that makes sense, bittersweet ending. [1.4k]

italic paragraphs mean flashback!

Cold and stale, the tea in Simon’s hand had long lost its heat. Almost like a cruel mockery of his own life, slowly losing the warmth that made him a human, reducing him to nothing but a breathing corpse.

A waste.

“I think my life’s too short for our love.”

His words caused you to look at him with confusion, trying to mask the inner turmoil brewing in your head at his sickeningly vague words.

“Sorry?” Though you had heard him well, you still wanted him to repeat it, to hear his voice once more.

Simon sighed and put the tea cup aside, having no energy left within him to drink anything, or even do anything. Trapped by the chains he couldn’t see, maybe just simply forged by his own brain. Brown irises soon looked over at you, still holding the same fondness as all the other times.

“I…” He paused momentarily, the thoughts in his head too loud yet distant. “My life. S’too short to love you properly in the way you deserve.”

“Don’t say that, Si. It’s more than enough.” You smiled and placed a gentle, comforting hand on his shoulder. Your words were like a sweet lullaby, calming him a bit. A bit.

So he stayed quiet and nodded, pretending that he was fine now, letting you stay in this false bubble he had made up for you both — tranquil and domestic. A paradox to his actual life.

Simon had been overly fascinated by knives lately. Even guns. Not by their beauty, but by the damage they could inflict. He’d let his gloved thumb caress the sharp edge of his knife sometimes, wondering what it’d be like to just stab it into his neck at this very moment.

Some poor unfortunate soldier would find him lying in his own blood, completely oblivious to how contentful he’d be.

Other times, Simon would fiddle with one of his guns, awful intrusive thoughts invading his head, making him feel overly sick. What if he just presses the barrel against his forehead, his finger on the trigger. One click and he’d be gone for good.

Was it selfish to want to die? Simon couldn’t even point out why he feels this way, or since when. All he knows is that nothing helps anymore. Well, you do, sometimes. Though he’d rather have you not see this damaged man rotting himself away more and more. He loves you too much for that.

Was it really selfish to want to die? All he wanted was to leave behind everything, leave behind the blood on his hands and the deaths he had seen, leave behind the memories and just fly away, finally free from the chains suffocating him.

He wanted to become the air, and you’d be his sunlight then — both of you dancing around each other everyday, together once again.

Maybe he could be better for you that way.

“Si.” You poked Simon’s arm, momentarily interrupting his quiet reading. Not that he minded though.

“Yeah?”

“I want to ask you something.” The mild shyness adorning your face sparked his curiousity, causing him to put his book aside and turn all of his attention onto you.

“Go on.” He urged softly.

“Um… Do you think we’d be together in every universe?” You felt silly for asking a question like that, blood rushing to your cheeks while your eyes looked away.

Simon paused for a second, brown eyes softening up as he studied your expression. Together in every universe? God, he’d do anything for that. Anything to love you in every life of his.

“Yeah.” He grumbled softly after a while, a poor attempt to appear nonchalant, though it failed as soon as you hugged his arm happily, making him chuckle under his breath.

“I’ll find you in every universe.”

Gladiolus. It’s a pretty flower, though Simon doesn’t like it just for its beauty. He feels oddly connected to it, uncomfortably exposed — even though he didn’t know why. Could flowers even speak to you?

Which is why he decided not to pick them, turning away to look at some other options. It was his little routine to bring you flowers whenever he could. Though this time, it was different.

A mission — a suicide mission. He was dreading the moment he would have to announce it to you, knowing that he couldn’t back out from it anymore. That was his job. All the dirty stuff.

It was hard, too hard. Watching you collapse in his arms while sobbing in pure devastation absolutely tore his heart, his arms holding you tightly while your fingers hardly dug into his arms, trying to touch him whole.

“M’sorry, love. It was just… supposed to happen one day.”

He couldn’t really recognise the words coming out of his mouth anymore, not really knowing what to say. He couldn’t give you false promises, especially when you both knew the severity of this situation.

Laying on the ground, drenched in blood, wasn’t that bad. He felt a sickening relief that made him feel nauseous yet happy at the same time. His hand was pressed against the severe bleeding wound on his stomach, fatal coughs leaving his mouth while he weakly stared at the sky, the sounds of shouts and gunshots too distant and blurry. It was as if he was slowly slipping away into a bubble that carried him away from this battleground and into somewhere calmer.

At least I didn’t kill myself with that damn gun, he thought to himself, smiling weakly. At least there wouldn’t be any nightmare anymore, no more sleepless nights and random outbursts. Peace. The beauty of death slowly engulfed him, wrapping her arms around him and slowly taking him away from this damned life.

You. He lost consciousness thinking about you — about how he left you back at home, about how he wasn’t strong enough to just retire from the military once you moved into his place.

I’m sorry, words he could desperately say, I’m sorry for not being strong for you.

Though right before dying, he made an oath to himself that if there was even a tiny chance of him living another life after this, he’d find you.

It was another one of those sunny days where you wished you had enough funds to fix the damn air conditioner. Your fingers silently put the last gladiolus into the bouquet one of the old ladies around the town had requested, the sweet scent of flowers soothing your senses.

The soft jingle of the door opening averted your gaze from the bouquet, your eyes falling onto your new customer walking into the flower shop. The sheer size of this mine caught you off guard, though you were quick to scold yourself for being so invested into someone’s height.

“Welcome. How can I help you?” You smiled politely and put the bouquet aside. Once those brown eyes of his met yours, both of you went dead silent for a split second, a strange spark igniting somewhere in between you.

He seemed… familiar. You were sure that you haven't seen him ever in your life, but something about him made you feel as if you knew him. Your fingers twitch involuntarily, feeling as if they had run through those dirty blonde hair off his.

He stared at you with, internally equally bewildered. His lips were slightly agape behind the black surgical mask he wore, for which he was glad for since you couldn’t see the soft shade of red slowly spreading on his cheeks. Why were you so familiar? He felt an odd pang in his chest, making him momentarily forget about why he was even here.

Oh yes, flowers.

“Can I have some roses?” He grumbled under his breath, quickly looking away as he reached for his wallet. “S’my mom’s birthday today.”

“That’s sweet. Happy birthday to her.” You looked away alongside him, a soft bashful smile creeping up on your lips as you began grabbing some newly fresh roses.

It was silent for a while between you both before he eventually broke the thickening silence, clearing his throat, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.

“Thanks. Um… My name’s Simon, by the way.” God, he was awkward at this.

You stared at him for a second before letting out a soft giggle, introducing yourself. “Here are your flowers, Simon.”

He felt as if he had been searching for you his whole life.

[ashtxrie]

all in the name of love (riki)

PAIR. non-idol!riki x gn!reader GENRE. angst, hurt/comfort WORD COUNT. 0.5k WARNINGS. being cheated on by a male manipulator... NOTES. a very drastic juxtaposition to my first work (that was very giggly sunoo content)-- i held back on this idea for too long bc i was debating on which enha member it suited more, but decided on riki because i really wanted to portray this side of him

“i’m so lost,” you whisper in riki’s arms, holding the fabric of his shirt as you cry. “why’d he do it?” you bite back a sob. “i thought he loved me.”

riki's hand rubs circles into your back. he wipes tears away from your eyes with his thumb, face falling. “don’t cry,” he whispers. “please don’t cry.”

you bury your face into his chest. “he didn’t even tell me.”

“well, he’s an ass.”

you look up at this, eyes red, but still surprised. you haven’t heard riki curse at someone, ever. and you’ve never thought it’d be for your sake. “language,” you whisper.

riki laughs, and a shadow of his signature smile flits across his face. “shush.”  he sombers quickly, eyes indistinguishable. and he looks at you sadly.

you simply let your head rest in the crook of his neck, your grip against his shirt tightening. “he said he loved me. and he was, he was--”

“i know,” riki whispers. “i know.”

“he was out, kissing some other girl. telling her every line he said to me while he came back and told me he, he loved me.”

riki holds you tighter.

“i feel like shit,” you sniff. “i’m so stupid.”

“no,” riki says quietly. “you're not stupid. you were in love.” he looks at you softly. “you’re not stupid.”

“i should’ve seen it.”

and riki’s voice is still so soft, so careful. “didn’t you? are you sure you didn’t?”

you say nothing.

“maybe you did.” he rubs circles into your back. “but you loved him, so maybe you made excuses. because you’re kind, and caring, and you're human.”

“yeah,” you say shakily. “how do you know all this?”

riki chuckles softly, breathing in slowly. “because i’m in love, too.”

“are you being stupid, too?”

riki smiles, although it’s bittersweet. “yeah. definitely stupid.” he shrugs again. “well, i’m always stupid, so. although it’s definitely made me more clumsy. weirder. but strangely a little wise, i think.”

“why’s that?”

riki hums. “heartbreak and all makes you wiser. dunno. maybe i’ve just always been smart, huh?”

you snort.

“hey,” riki smacks your shoulder lightly. “don’t make fun of me.”

“didn’t,” you sniffle, smiling. “you’re the best, riki.”

riki smiles. “so are you.”

“pssh. don’t deflect compliments, weirdo.”

“i’m not! i just said you’re the best, too, because you are. you’re also incredibly--” he shuts his mouth. “um. thank you.”

you wrap your arms around his shoulders. “no, thank you. i was a mess earlier.”

“i’m always here.”

“wow,” you smile, “whoever you decide to date next is going to be so lucky. i’m almost jealous.”

riki blushes, looking down. “you don’t have to be. jealous, i mean.”

“hm?”

riki is still looking down, and you can’t determine his expression. “you’ve got nothing to worry about. so don’t be jealous.”

“okay,” you pull away, wiping at your eyes. “thanks again.”

riki looks up, finally meeting your gaze. “i mean it. i’m always here.”