#i left out so many because i didn’t want to make this really long + i wanted provide explanation as to why they were worth the watch

[girlgenius1111]

luckier than grapes

clearly into one another, neither you nor alexia do anything about it. alexia is convinced to make a move on new years. you're clueless. fluff :)

—

Playing with a team that performed at the caliber that Barcelona did should have been the most intimidating part of the whole moving to a different country thing for you. Somehow, it wasn’t. There were many intimidating things about it; a new language, a new style of play, a tight knit team, high expectations. All of that paled in comparison to the fear the Barcelona captain caused in you. 

You’d played against Alexia before, and she brought an intensity to the pitch that left you breathless. She was an otherworldly presence when she played. All furrowed brows and sharp words thrown at the ref. She was Alexia Putellas, one of the best in the world. She carried herself in a way that made you feel smaller, somehow. Like you were an amateur and she was an expert. Better yet, like you were playing for a high school team and she was… Alexia. Mononymous. 

When you’d joined the team, though, you didn’t meet the overwhelmingly perfect version. You met Alexia, your captain, who was running late because she spilled coffee in the hallway outside her apartment door, and didn’t want to leave it for somehow else to have to clean. She was still striking, still sent butterflies fluttering around your stomach. This time, it wasn’t because she intimated you. It was because when she smiled, one side of her mouth raising slightly higher than the other, you were a goner. 

Alexia was beautiful, anyone could see that. But as you spent the next few months getting to know her, you saw more. Alexia was gentle when she’d help you up after a rough tackle or wake you up on the plane to tell you it was time to get off. She was kind and caring, and fiercely passionate about her friends. You were drawn to her in a way you couldn’t really explain, and miraculously, it seemed she was drawn to you in the same way. 

Chats in the locker room turned into grabbing lunch with her after training. Rides home from matches turned into movie nights where you both passed out on the couch. 

You told yourself it was platonic. What else could it be? The chances that Alexia felt something for you outside of friendship… that just wasn’t possible. In the few months you’d gotten to know her, she’d become your best friend. You weren’t naive to your true feelings, but you were firm that there was no way they were returned. As quickly as you’d fallen for Alexia, you’d convinced yourself you could never have her. That she’d never feel the same way. You were addicted, or maybe you were just hopelessly in love. Either way. You valued your friendship with her too much to put it in jeopardy by confessing your feelings. And if you couldn’t have her as your girlfriend, you’d settle for having her as your best friend. Because any Alexia was better than no Alexia. 

You could pretend her touch didn’t send chills up your spine, or that her laugh didn’t instantly bring a smile to your face. You could pretend that making her smile didn’t feel better than winning all the titles in the world, or that you liked to take her sweatshirts not because they smelled like her but because they were just oversized and comfy. You could pretend. You just didn’t know how long you could pretend for. 

You didn’t know a lot of things, it turned out. 

—

“Alexia, if you don’t invite her, I will and I’ll bother you about it anyway, so you might as well just–”

“Fine! Fine, María. You are so pushy sometimes.” Alexia snapped, her eyes flickering over to where you were chatting with Kika, her frustration with her friend almost evaporating as she watched you laugh. 

“And you are hopelessly in love and I can’t take it anymore. So if I have to be pushy, I’ll be pushy.” 

Alexia didn’t even bother contradicting Mapi. That ship had sailed weeks ago when she’d had too much wine at dinner with her sister and she’d called Mapi half sobbing about how much she liked you. Drunk Alexia was an evil Alexia, she’d decided. Because now Mapi knew and the defender was making her do something about it instead of pining after you from afar. 

She began to walk in your direction, trying to hype herself up and failing miserably. You didn’t like her like that. She was sure, absolutely convinced. There was just… no way. No way on earth or in heaven. But here she was, like an idiot, about to stumble her way through an invite to a New Year’s Eve party because for some reason, her words tended to become all jumbled when she talked to you. 

As soon as you spotted her walking in your direction, whatever conversation you’d been having with Kika promptly fell out of your head. Kika, oddly, seemed to disappear the next second, as if knowing to give you and Alexia a moment to yourselves. Strange. 

“Hola.” Alexia said softly, her hands twitching at her sides as if she wanted to give you a hug or something. 

“Hi.” 

“Um… I have a question.” Alexia said, switching to English so she was sure you’d understand. Her accent made your heart beat faster, as it always did. 

“Shoot.” You replied.

Alexia’s eyebrows knit together, a look of confusion washing over her face. “Shoot? Like a ball?” 

Biting your lip to keep from chuckling you shook your head. “Kind of? It’s a saying. It means ask your question. Go for it.” 

“Oh. Okay.” Alexia nodded, trying to regain her composure. Her hair was falling out of the ponytail it was in, you could see a sheen of sweat across her forehead, and you were completely bewildered at how someone could look so beautiful after several hours of intense exercise. “Vale, you said you would be home for New Years Eve? There is a party, Patri is throwing a party. And I wanted to invite you. So… I am. Inviting you.” 

There were no errors in Alexia’s words, and you couldn’t help but feel that she had rehearsed what she’d just said before. It was a bit awkward, too, but Alexia was always a bit awkward. At least around you. 

“I’d love to come.” You smiled back, pretending you weren’t analyzing every single part of what she’d just said. 

“Good! I.. want you there.” Alexia said quickly, hoping you’d attribute the flush of her cheeks to the heat and the workout. You didn’t even notice it though, too busy staring at her eyes, and how one of them was a bit lighter than the other. 

“I’ll be there then.” 

The two of you smiled at each other, more oblivious than any two people had potentially ever been before. With a few more words exchanged, you headed in for the locker room and Alexia bounded back over to Mapi like an overexcited dog. There was something… different about this. You and Alexia hung out all the time, but the way she’d asked about New Years…as if it meant something. It was several weeks away, though, so you had plenty of time to think about it and figure out what specifically Alexia’s game was here. 

—

And think about it, you did. All through the break. Christmas may not have even occurred and you wouldn’t have noticed. All you could think about was her on New Years. What would she wear? Why had she invited you so… formally? What would she wear? Was this… could it possibly be what you secretly hoped it was? What would you wear?

By the time the 31st came around, you were still just as confused as you’d been before the break. You and Alexia had talked, often, but it didn’t feel different the way her question about the party had. Even when you fell asleep on facetime together on Christmas Eve, it didn’t feel��� weighted, like her invitation had. It felt normal, comfortable. Safe. Alexia always felt very safe. 

That was what you focused on, as you got dressed for the party. You forced your brain to stop overthinking, and just reminded yourself of several things. You always felt safe with Alexia. You always had fun with Alexia. There was no way your feelings were requited so there was nothing to be nervous about. You were alarmingly calm, as you walked into Patri’s apartment, a nice bottle of champagne and a bag of grapes in your hand. 

That calmness lasted all of 10 seconds, after which you spotted Alexia in a lace crop top and black jeans and you forgot how to breathe.

—

Alexia was nervous. She didn’t really get nervous, but here she was, watching you walk in through the front door and feeling her pulse quicken rapidly. You were greeted by Patri, hugging her tightly and handing over the things you’d brought, unaware of your captain’s eyes on you. 

“Be cool.” Mapi instructed. “Casual, but confident. Be yourself but don’t–”

“Get away from me before I pour your drink on you.” Alexia mumbled, fixing a smile on her face as she watched you look in her direction, raising your hand in an adorable little wave. She’d thought about how this would go for weeks, since you’d agreed to come to the party. She thought and thought and thought, and somehow, as you walked towards her, she was completely blank on what to say. 

“Hey, you.” You greeted, smiling that soft smile Alexia never really saw you give anyone else. She swallowed hard, forcing her brain to start functioning again. 

“Hi… um. How are you? How was your flight?” 

“God, awful. Delayed and I got moved to a middle seat and I barely slept at all. I’m so exhausted, I almost didn’t come, but I knew you were looking forward to it so I drank some coffee and threw an outfit on and here I am.” 

It was a long winded answer not at all justified by the question, yet you felt that familiar comfort take over as you looked at Alexia, at her soft hair falling to her shoulders and the hazel of her eyes. All she had to do was look at you, and you were talking, telling her every detail of your day. 

“Well, I am glad you came, but I am sorry you are tired. And it does not look like you threw that outfit on. You look… good. Really good.” Alexia blushed, gripping her champagne flute tightly in her hands. 

You blinked, a shy smile spreading across your face. Maybe… maybe you hadn’t misunderstood the undertone of her invitation to this party. The thought barely took hold in your head before it was pushed away. 

“I have to go find Mapi for something. I’ll see you later.” Alexia said suddenly, turning and walking away from you so fast, she was out of sight before you could even process what had happened. 

Honestly, you weren’t sure what was going on now. It had seemed like, for a minute.. maybe. But no. She’d rushed away like she couldn’t get away from you fast enough, and you cursed yourself for getting your hopes up, even if it was just for a minute. You had to resign yourself to the fact that Alexia was your friend and nothing more. 

With a deep breath, you turned away from the spot Alexia had vacated, looking around for Pina. You needed a shot. And she’d give you one, surely. 

—

“Ale, breathe.” Mapi insisted, eyes flickering back and forth as Alexia paced the length of Patri’s bedroom, her panic taking over completely at this point. The defender had very aggressively pulled away from the conversation she was in with Ingrid, finding herself in Patri’s bedroom with Alexia before she had a chance to yank her arm back. Alexia, it seemed, was panicking. 

“I told her she looked really good! What was I thinking letting you talk me into this. She doesn’t like me, María, she doesn’t. This is insane, and I’m not doing it.” 

Mapi rolled her eyes. “You better or I’m locking the two of you in this bedroom until you do it.” 

“I can’t kiss her!” Alexia half shouted, throwing her hands up in the air and flopping down onto Patri’s bed. 

Mapi sat on the edge of the bed next to her, an amused smirk pulling at her mouth. “Do you not know how to–”

Alexia removed her hands from her face, her glare intimidating enough that Mapi trailed off without Alexia having to say anything. 

“Look, Ale, it’s a good plan. You kiss her. It’s midnight on New Years, it's what people do.”

“It’s cliche.” 

“But that is what's perfect. You kiss her. She likes it, you’re good. She asks you what the hell you’re doing, you say… Everyone needs a New Year's kiss. It’s tradition.” 

“That’s insane, she isn’t going to buy that!” 

Mapi sighed, frustration bubbling over. “It won’t come to that! She likes you, Ale, she wants you. Just trust me.” 

Alexia inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nervous system down. This wasn’t her. She was Alexia. She was confident and sure of herself, even if you had a magical ability to see right through all that. Alexia had learned a long time ago that if you carried yourself with confidence, you’d become confident.  

She stood with a renewed purpose, taking a few more calming breaths. “Okay.” 

Without another word, she left the room, leaving her best friend sitting on the bed, utterly confused as to what had just happened. Mapi checked her watch. 11:55. She’d find out soon enough what Alexia had decided, she thought. 

— 

When Alexia reappeared, she seemed much calmer. Maybe it was the two shots you’d taken in a row at Pina’s insistence, but she seemed like herself as she wrapped an arm around your shoulders and casually steered you to the corner of the room. 

“This is the best spot for the countdown.” She declared, hoping you wouldn’t ask why because she didn’t have a reason other than… everyone would be facing forward, watching the TV, and not looking at the two of you. Luckily, you just nodded your head, looking around the room. It was quite full of people, and you wondered if maybe Patri could set you up with one of her friends. You had to get over this crush, you decided, because it was going to ruin your friendship with Alexia if you didn’t. It was a minute or two to midnight, surely you could find some random girl to kiss. This was Patri’s party after all. 

But Alexia was staring at you, you noticed out of the corner of your eye. You turned to her, seeing that the nervous energy had returned and she was fiddling with the hem of her shirt, one of her feet tapping on the wood floor. 

“I–”

“Are you–?”

Both of you spoke at the same time, laughing slightly as you both gestured for the other to continue. 

“You first.” Alexia insisted with a smile. She was wearing some kind of lip gloss and it was… distracting, to say the least. 

“I… uh.” You shook your head, trying to clear it of thoughts of Alexia’s lips. “Are you okay? You seem nervous?” 

Alexia looked like a deer caught in headlights, frozen for a moment before she bobbed her head up and down. “I am fine! Just excited.” 

“If you’re sure.” You looked at her skeptically, briefly reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Anyway, what were you going to say?” 

“Sí, vale.” Alexia nodded, trying to ignore the stares of Mapi and Ingrid and Patri and Pina and Kika and the entire team who were more focused on her than the countdown on the TV. She knew Mapi would open her big mouth and now she had an audience. 

She took another calming breath, letting the attentive look on your face relax her. Just as she opened her mouth to say something, something about liking you or maybe about kissing you, she wasn’t sure, you spoke. 

“Where are your grapes?” You asked, realizing with a jolt that it was a minute to midnight and Alexia was grapeless. 

Alexia froze. “My… what?” 

“Your grapes! The twelve grapes at midnight, under the table in under a minute. Did you forget to bring some? I brought extra, in case anyone forgot theirs, let me go get them–” 

Of course you’d brought grapes for a tradition you didn’t even participate in. It was one of those things that was so thoughtful and so you, Alexia was almost overcome with adoration. She couldn’t wait any longer. She couldn’t pretend any longer. As you turned to rush to the kitchen, knowing you didn’t have much time, Alexia grabbed your hand and spun you back around to face her. 

Your question died in your throat as she cupped your face in her hands and leaned in and kissed you. Kissed you. Alexia kissed you. You were stunned for a moment before your instincts took over and you wrapped your arms around her neck, pulling her body flush into yours. It was the most natural thing in the world, kissing Alexia. Feeling her soft lips on yours, her thumbs brushing across your cheekbones. Feeling her. It was… right. She pulled away, her eyes fluttering open and finding yours, just a few inches away. 

You looked awestruck, and she couldn’t decide if that was a good thing or not, though she was absolutely sure you’d been kissing her back. Arms still linked together around her neck, you shook your head slightly, as if waking yourself from a daze. 

“You… kissed me.” You murmured. 

“It is New Year's.” Alexia said, biting her lip as she stared at you, waiting for any kind of decisive reaction. 

“It’s not midnight yet.” 

“I could not wait any longer.” 

The voices of the crowd echoed around you, counting down as the clock struck midnight, but all you could do was stare at Alexia in astonishment. You couldn’t really formulate any thought other than… oh my god. 

Words were failing you, so you surged forward, kissing Alexia again. It was even better the second time, if possible. Her arms held you securely against her, and you felt the smile on her face just before she pulled away again. 

“I really like you.” You mumbled, voice barely audible as the countdown ended and everyone cheered, wishing each other a happy new year. 

“I really like you, too.” Alexia replied, pressing her forehead to yours. “I have been wanting to do that for a while.” 

You smiled, too, allowing her to pull you closer. You hugged her tight, pressing your face into her shoulder. You still couldn’t quite believe it. But over Ale’s shoulder, you could see your teammates high-fiving and cheering, and you knew it had nothing to do with the New Year. 

This wasn’t some fever dream. It was real. 

“Your grapes.” You said again, pulling back from the warm hug to look at Alexia. 

She just laughed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I think kissing you is luckier than grapes.” 

You melted at that, pushing a strand of fading blonde hair away from her face. “Kissing on New Year's… kind of cliche, no?” 

Alexia rolled her eyes. “Shut up.” 

Before you could decide whether to shut up or not, she was doing it for you. Alexia kissed you again, ignoring the wolf whistles from your teammates. She’d found her new favorite thing. And if she had to make a resolution, it would be to kiss you every second of every day.

You felt the same; if anything could bring you luck in the New Year… it was Alexia. 

—

i wrote this in like two hours i hope it isn't terrible!!!!

[bunni-v1]

Aventurine NSFW Headcannons

🍓This took me so long to get done, and I'm not 100% satisfied, but I wanted to get these out. There's so much I left unsaid, and I feel like if I kept going it would never stop. So enjoy the very basics of what I feel Aventurine is like in bed. Smaller posts are coming in the future so I can take time to work on the genshin stuff I have coming, alongside requests I plan on doing a full fic for <3

Tagging: @the-original-skipps (mwah mwah, just for you pookie)

Tw: Mentions of past sexual assault; Aventurine has unhealthy views of sex; Aventurine's past; NSFW; Pretty vanilla ngl; grammar errors

Info: Aventurine x Reader; Angst; Fluff

Word Count: 2.5k

MDNI

-Aventurine and sex do not mix well – at least, not at the start. 

-Much like love, he has a very jaded view of sexual intimacy. He was (heavily implied to have been) sexually assaulted by many different unsavory types when he was younger. His body wasn’t his own then, and the sex was brutal and unkind – something he hated.

-As he grew, both in stature and into his title of Aventurine of Strategems, his hatred of sex turned into something different. It was still hatred, he hated the act more than anything in the world most times, but he realized his body was good for something.

-Aventurine was an attractive man, despite his eyes being a less than savory feature to most people. His body was lean and lithe, his clothes and hair perfectly styled and trendy, not to mention the air of mystery he had drew people in like moths to flame. 

-All of it was crafted by his own two hands, of course. He was attractive because he wanted – no, needed to be. So, he made sure he was, of course, no one would do business with him otherwise.

-Pretty as a peacock, you could hardly tell he was once a slave or a dirty Avgin boy.

-He’s pleasantly surprised to find that the body he so hated being born into was a good business tool when he needed it to be.

-People really will do anything to get off, and as much as it disgusted him to do such depraved things, he would do whatever he had to to get what he wanted.

-He’d scrub his skin raw in the shower afterward, trying desperately to get the smell of sex off him. Hoping that if he scratches hard enough the ugly purple bruises will wash away with soap and water. They never do, and they leave him feeling vile until they fade.

-Regardless men, women, monsters – he really didn’t care what he was fucking so long as it got him what he was looking for.

-That’s what sex is to Aventurine, a transaction. He scoffs at the idea of it being anything more than that. Sex was rough and sweaty and all kinds of disgusting, how could anyone derive pleasure from that? You fuck, you cum, you say goodbye. Simple. As. That.

-Ah, but, then again you come along and you just love challenging his worldview don’t you? With your pretty little eyes and your sweet, comforting words. You always make him question himself. It would be annoying if he didn’t love you so damn much.

-Your first time with him is… incredibly unpleasant. It’s not as though he doesn’t account for you or your wants, but there’s a disconnect. He’s too… pliant and yet all too controlling. First times are rarely good, but this felt alien. Like the person you were with was not your beloved Kakavasha, but some strange man taking his place for the night.

-He’s doing things he thinks you want, he’s saying sweet words he’d whispered to hundreds of other partners, it’s all that he thinks you need, what he’s decided in his head that you’d like, rather than something that comes from knowing you.

-He doesn’t ask, he just gives and takes and then it’s over. It’s unfulfilling and empty, leaving you with a dull ache in your chest.

-He doesn’t even offer you or himself aftercare, and you find him scrubbing his skin red in the shower afterward like he was trying to rid himself of any trace of you.

-It makes you feel terrible. Like you’re some whore he’s picked up off the streets and not his long-term partner with whom he’s shared some of the darkest parts of himself.

-You cry into those expensive satin sheets, ruining them with your sniffling. It’s quite the sight for Aventurine to walk back into.

-He expected you to be asleep, or at least resting in some capacity, but crying? His heart sinks as he rushes to your side, then somehow falls further when you tug yourself away from him.

-He’s perceptive enough to realize that he had been the one to put you in such a state, but he didn’t really understand why.

-When he’s able to calm you enough to get you to talk to him, you’re able to explain that you felt so disregarded. There was no connection or love or care from him, did he not feel you were worthy of sharing that in moments of intimacy?

-That makes him sick. Never in a million years would he want to make you feel as though he does not love you, despite previous behaviors. You were his whole world, part of the reason he continued to exist. How could he ever make you feel unworthy of him?

-He nearly spirals there, but your tears are enough to remind him that he is not the one who needs love and reassurance. So, always eager to learn and grow with you, he asks you what you believe sex should be like… and it’s quite different from what he understands.

-You describe it like an extension of yourself. A means of intimacy and trust a level deeper than words and affection can get you. You are vulnerable during sex, you are at your weakest and you are sharing that with the person you love. It’s the most intimate thing you could do with a person, and while it can be fun and it can simply be because it feels good, it can also be because you love the other person so deeply you have no other way to express it.

-Aventurine finds the definition to be rather naive, but you had always been a bleeding heart. (Which he, regardless of if Kakavasha or Aventurine was leading charge, would give anything to protect). Yet… Kakavasha likes it. Kakavasha wants to do that with you, he wants to show you how much he loves you, he wants to hold you even closer and share such sweet nothings with you.

-He tries to toss it out initially because if he thought about it like that he would have to confront himself. Look that trauma in the eyes and acknowledge that, once again, you’d proven him wrong in a way he was annoyingly not expecting.

-But as the days go by and you slowly begin to become physical with him again, he wonders fondly how it would feel. Taking his time with you, he means.

-He couldn’t help but wonder how nice it would be to really feel your skin under his fingers. To kiss every inch of you, to hear you sigh his name like he crafted the heavens with his own two hands. Ah, Kakavasha won again, it seems.

-So he goes to you, like an apologetic puppy, and he apologizes for how terrible he was. How he reflected and regrets it, and he wants to try again and let you take the lead this time. 

-Despite everything, you say yes, and you allow him this second chance to redefine his worldview yet again.

-Aeons it’s life-changing sex. 

-Slow, careful, and all kinds of intimate. He’s still on top because he could not trust even you to be on top. He needed that control. But he listens to what you need, and he finds he’s very good at servicing you. Just as good as he is at spoiling you with his riches.

-You guide him to kiss you deeply, tongues tangling in a tango to a tempo only the two of you could enjoy. You show him how to leave love bites that make his spine tingle. How different parts of your body make you feel different kinds of pleasure. He gets to feel your skin beneath his fingertips, taste your very being on his tongue, and swallow the angelic cries of his name.

-It’s a kind of intimacy and affection he’d never been afforded in his life. A vulnerability he hadn’t expected himself to enjoy, and yet as he sobs into your shoulder at his release, he finds himself wanting more.

-It becomes a problem, really. One taste of it and you have both your sweet Kakavasha and the hardened businessman Aventurine absolutely addicted. In the privacy of his condo, he can lust after you all he wants. You would never deny him the pleasure of freedom, though you would tell him no after the third night in a row for your aching hips. (He will draw you a bath and book you an appointment at the finest spa he can get you into for the next day.)

-In his office, or during a meeting, or talking to the Doctor, however… that’s a problem. He wasn’t supposed to like it that much, but that intimacy had him aching through his expensive slacks. 

-He thinks about it all the time, and he’s taken to locking his office doors and keeping the blinds shut airtight for more than half the day. He hopes no one notices how many bathroom breaks he takes during meetings. He tries his best to forget the boner he popped in front of the esteemed doctor talking about finances.

-You literally have him addicted to being in love with you, it’s quite the conundrum you’ve found yourselves in… but, would you really ever want to change that? He’s very good in bed after all, so it can’t be that bad.

-Aventurine is a switch-leaning top (so sorry Aventio shippers), and I say this only because he does not like relinquishing control. Especially when he’s in such a vulnerable state, especially with his past traumas, he would rather be in charge than trust you and have you hurt him.

-He softens up significantly as time goes on, and he is more willing to allow you to service him how you please, but he never really gives up his control. There’s always a reminder that he has the say-so in what does or does not go.

-That being said he is very giving, without having to be asked he will happily do whatever you need of him. It’s just in his nature to service, those pretty little moans are all the payment he needs.

-I won’t lie and say he isn’t a tease, though. He’s incorrigible, actually. He loves to tease you, be it with his words or his actions, he loves getting you squirming beneath him.

-He’ll mumble against your throat how needy you are for him, how you’re already so worked up and he hasn’t even gotten past your clothes, how cute you are when you’re so needy for him. His fingers will graze you with such feather-light touch you’ll whine at him, and he always coos at you like a needy little thing – as if he isn’t the one tormenting you.

-He’s a fan of edging, which just comes with the territory too. He spends hours of his time building you up to your orgasm, crooking his fingers and swirling his tongue so you’re right there, and then he’ll pull away leaving you crying for more.

-It’s all worth it when he does let you cum, though. The orgasm shaking the very foundation of you, sticky fluids staining yet another pair of satin sheets. 

-That’s not even mentioning his dick, which he is just as talented with. It’s slim, the same shade as the rest of him, with an upward curve that rubs against your g-spot so very well without him having to try.

-It fits so snugly inside, and if you watch closely you can see the effect you have on him as his perfect poker face cracks just a little. He loves to feel you from the inside, it may be one of his favorite things in the world.

-You are warm and squishy and so very accepting of him, conforming to the size and shape of his member like you were made to do so. Like you were made for him and him alone, it’s a deeply romantic thought that he would scoff at if he were in a less hazy mindset.

-He’s rarely rough with you, preferring to show you how much he loves you more softly, though he can be rough upon request.

-Sometimes if you get him jealous enough he’ll be rough on his own accord, but never uncaring or unloving. Even when he has you face down, ass up he makes you feel like the most precious gemstone in the entire world.

-He likes sex slow and long, preferring if it is dragged out across multiple sessions with sweet nothings and gentle care between the breaks. 

-However, he rarely has the free time for such things, and as such he gets very good at making the most of the time that he does have.

-Because of his high sex drive, quickies are common, but they are no less fulfilling than the long sessions he enjoys having. 

-He’s adept at getting you to cum in under five minutes with his fingers, he can do it in two with his tongue thrown in, and that’s usually fast enough for him to quickly get off and get back to what he needs to do.

-Unfortunately, he isn’t the kinkiest guy. He doesn’t like tying up or being tied up, he’s not a fan of power play, roleplaying seems to turn him off (again, not a fan of power play, which a lot of scenarios include this), no hitting or degrading, and pretty much anything that could remotely involve hurting either of you is a no from him.

-He thinks for a while he’s fine with it, and he is willing to try anything once, but it only takes him one time to realize he does not like physical or mental pain. It’s not sexy, it’s traumatizing and he won’t be convinced to try it.

-He does, however, really enjoy you wearing lingerie. Lacy ones dotted with expensive stones are his favorites. Frequently you’ll find a set sent to you in pretty packaging with a little note telling you to ‘enjoy your present.’ Meaning, he wants a picture of you in it ASAP.

-Also a fan of seeing you in his clothes. If he spots you lounging about in his shirt after a long day of work, he’ll be all over you like a helpless puppy.

-Cockwarming you when he works from home is a favorite of his, liking the way you wiggle and squirm as he combs over documents. His poker face really is something impressive, you have no clue how he’s re-read the same sentence ten times as you clench around him again.

-Office sex is unlikely, purely because he doesn’t like you being anywhere near IPC headquarters if he can help it. But if you do stop by for some reason, the likelihood of him bending you over the desk and fucking you raw is about 99%. He does miss you a lot during the day, after all, you can’t shame him for indulging in his favorite treat after so long without it.

-He just truly, deeply loves you. Once he begins to have a healthy relationship with sex and associate it with you rather than the horrors of his past, it’s nothing but loving and delightful. He takes the whole idea that it is an extension of his admiration for you very literally, and showers you in his affections through sex.

[nayedoll]

Hold me down

joost klein x fem!reader

rpf below, don’t read if you’re uncomfortable

description: following a christmas party at his house, joost and reader meet again after months of no contact, despite their failed attempts to overcome a complicated relationship.

warnings: 18+, nsfw, angst/smut, rpf

a/n: sort of based on the song ‘hold me down’ by daniel caesar, i #love this song so much ⋆⁺₊❅⋆ ⁺₊❆⋆

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Your trembling hands rush to light the cigarette between your glossed lips, eager to feel the rush of the nicotine fill your lungs, to try and ease the gnawing anxiety in you. You inhale slowly, watching as the smoke drifts upward, becoming one with the snow that blankets the empty Amsterdam streets.

You hear laughter from inside the apartment, unmistakably your friends’ voices breaking the silence of the night; it’s a cheerful sound, but right now it only makes you feel like you want to leave, if you didn’t already.

You scold yourself for coming here, for thinking things would be different. Joost hadn’t reached out since your last argument, and you had moved on, or at least you thought you had. Realizing all these months of self-love, of pretending to heal, were nothing but a waste of time, a distraction before you once again found your way back to him; it makes you angry with yourself. Why is it so hard to get over someone you didn’t even date?

Things with Joost had been complicated since the beginning; neither of you ever quite knew what you wanted —or maybe you did and refused to see it— but you just couldn’t seem to let go, somehow always ending up in each other’s arms. Even after all the harsh words you’d exchanged, all the fights, all the jealous outbursts, all the blaming— it was hard to leave, for the both of you, because underneath everything, there was love; it had never been acknowledged, never been voiced, but you knew it was there, at least on your side.

But even with all the highs, you couldn’t ignore the lows. Sometime early in the year, after your last fight, you’d decided that you wouldn’t go back, that you needed time to yourself, seeing how toxic you were for each other. So you cut him off, avoiding him as much as possible, afraid that sooner or later, he’d pull you back to him, back to your old destructive ways.

And in the beginning, you were hopeful, that finally you’d manage to erase Joost from your life, forget about him and move on. But, of course, such strong feelings don’t go away that easily. And so, when your friends had told you about this gathering Joost was hosting, insisting that you should come along for once, you really couldn’t say no.

So here you were, having drunk too much for your own comfort, hiding away in the balcony, feeling a mixture of emotions.

You take another long drag of your cigarette, focusing your drunken gaze to the snowflakes falling down the sky. Your fingers, numb from the cold, press on your phone screen that lights up immediately. The time reads 2:03 A.M, and you almost gasp, realizing how badly you’ve lost track of time.

You throw your cigarette to the floor, pressing your shoe on it, before rushing inside.

Just as you’re at the door, someone else opens it first— Joost, of course. You slightly take a step back, half-lidded eyes shifting to look up at him.

“Oh,” Joost says, obviously not expecting to see you here, “Hey,”

“Hi,” You say back, your voice small.

“I thought you’d already left,”

“No- no, I was just smoking,” You explain as Joost takes a step closer, shutting the door behind him.

“Since when do you smoke so often?” He smiles, crossing his arms.

You let out a dry chuckle, “Since today, I guess,” Thinking about how many smoke breaks you’d taken, just to avoid being in the same room with Joost.

You stare at him wordlessly, not really knowing what to say. The way he eyes you, makes you become increasingly aware of yourself and the amount of alcohol in your system, your head spinning uncontrollably.

“Uh- Anyways, I should probably go.” You try to walk past him, but he stops you, getting in the way of the door.

“Wait,” He says softly, “How are you getting home?”

You glance up at him, confused. “I have a car,”

“You’re kidding right? Y/n, you reek of vodka,” Joost says firmly, taking a stern expression.

“I’ll be fine,” You sigh, hardly convincing yourself.

“No you won’t,”

“Yes, I will,” Once again, you attempt to leave but Joost puts his hand on your shoulder, making you look back at him.

“Y/n c’mon, don’t be like that,” He sounds more concerned than angry, like he truly cares for you and it catches you off guard. “I’m not letting you drive in the snow, while you’re drunk,”

“Well, what do you want me to do?” You ask in frustration.

He stays quiet for a moment, and it looks like he’s thinking about something. “Stay the night,”

You shake your head, hearing exactly what you feared he’d say. “Joost, I don’t think that’s a good id-,

“Please,” Joost cuts you off, his brows softening, “It just wouldn’t be right for me to leave you like this,”

You can’t help the smile that forms on your lips, seeing him be so caring, for what feels like the first time in forever. You look behind you, towards the snow-covered streets, realizing that driving in this state is a no-go.

“Fine,” You reply, your voice barely above a whisper.

You follow him inside to the living room; your friends are long gone by this hour, only having left behind a pile of empty beer cans.

“I can just sleep here,” You tell Joost, not wanting to burden him any further.

“No, it’s fine. You can sleep in my room,” Joost says, already making his way inside.

You stay still thinking about it for a second; not like you haven’t been in there before, you tell yourself.

The floor creaks as you walk inside the room, and you immediately get hit with all the memories in here— all the late nights, the kissing, the laughing, as well as the fighting, the yelling, the crying. It’s bittersweet, looking back on it now.

You sit down on the bed, lazily made as always, as Joost hands you a blanket.

“Thanks,” You smile at him, “And sorry for burdening you,”

Joost’s brows knit together, as if he can’t understand what you’re saying. “Don’t say that. You’re never a burden,” He sits down on the bed beside you, lightly placing his hand on your thigh; it’s more of a reassuring gesture than it is sexual, but you still feel something jolt in you.

You purse your lips, a weird feeling coming through you; you wish he’d said that more during your relationship—if you can even call it that— when you needed to hear it, when you felt insecure, unable to fully trust him.

You look away, suddenly not sure what to do with the space between you. “I didn’t ask you earlier,” You start speaking, not really sure if you should, just longing for him to stay a little longer. “How have you been?”

“Good, I guess,” His voice is charged with uncertainty, like there’s more he wishes he could say— because really, Joost loves you, maybe even more than you love him. And yet, he’s never told you, he’s never dared to acknowledge it.

And maybe that was the problem. He didn’t mean to hurt you; he just didn’t know how to be better. He wishes he could be the kind of guy to offer you the things you deserve—stability, trust, a healthy fucking relationship—but then doubts creep in; his past, his fears, the pieces of himself he’s never quite put together, always seem to get in the way.

“And you?” He asks.

“Good,” You look away, your fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your shirt. “Just… different,”

Joost’s lips form into a tight line, as he nods understandingly. “Yeah,”

“By the way,” He adds, causing you to glance at him again. “I’m sorry for how we ended things and all… I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that,”

You almost wince at the remembrance of that night, your last fight. “It’s fine. I’m sure I’ve said worse,”

You both laugh, trying to make light of the situation; it helps to soothe the tension, as you stare him, his smile with the dimples you love so much. The silence lingers, heavy with unspoken feelings.

You don’t know who moves first, but suddenly, you’re leaning in. Your lips meet his in a soft touch, kissing him slowly at first, as if to test the waters.

You pull away briefly, looking at him wordlessly, searching for a reaction.

Instead of speaking, Joost pulls you in again, this time kissing you harder, as his hand gently holds your cheek. It’s desperate and tender all at once, a mixture of regret, longing, and something deeper, something that never quite left, even in the worst moments.

Your body moves forward, overtaken by desire, as Joost’s hands on your waist guide you to sit on him. Right as you do that, you feel the rough denim of his jeans brush against your clit, the small wave of pleasure enough for you to moan into his mouth.

“Do that again,” Joost says softly in your ear, his kisses spreading to your jaw and neck; you do as you’re told, your body grinding against his thigh in small circles as Joost attempts to undo your bra, his big hands reaching over to your back, under your top.

“Let me do it,” You laugh, noticing the way he struggles, “So I guess you haven’t seen anyone else if you’re struggling this much,” You tease him, as you take off your bra and shirt altogether.

Joost grins, his eyes momentarily sweeping across your half-naked body. He firmly holds your waist, “No one’s as good as you,”

You smile at the praise, before Joost pulls you closer, pressing a wet kiss to your neck. You start to move against his leg again, this time only more upwards, until you’re full on sitting on top of him. You breathe sharply, trying to get whatever bit of pleasure you can from his clothed cock.

“Want me to take my pants off?” He asks, and you nod, desperate to feel more of him.

He gets up— visibly stimulated, considering how deep his breaths are— hands rushing to his belt. You bite your lip, impatient eyes shifting between his face and the metal clasp of his belt.

Finally, Joost unclasps the belt, his pants falling to the floor with a metal sound. He looks back at you, his gaze soft as he steps forward.

Again, he lowers his head, his lips catching yours in a hungry kiss; with his knee on the bed, stabilizing himself, he slowly pushes you backwards onto the cold covers, one of his hands wrapping itself around your tits in the meantime. You sigh in pleasure, allowing Joost to lean more forward as you instinctively open your legs. His lips move to your jaw, before he sparsely places open-mouthed kisses across your upper body.

You catch a glimpse of him as he presses a soft kiss on your stomach, his hands sliding down to your hips, over the satin fabric of your skirt.

“Please,” Is pretty much the only word you can muster, your voice laced with need.

Joost briefly looks up at you, pouting playfully— “Aw my baby’s desperate,”

“Shut up,” You lightly push your leg to hit him, quietly giggling to yourself.

Joost feigns pain, smiling widely “It’s okay. How can I ever say no to you anyways?” Reaching up to kiss you sloppily in the cheek.

As his lips once again wander off to your neck, you allow yourself to relax, stretching your neck to give him the access he needs.

You feel his hand go lower, his fingers toying with the waistband of your lace panties, before he lowers them down to your calves; if you weren’t so out of it, you’d be embarrassed at how quickly you’d grown wet, given all Joost has managed to do so far is just kiss you— But as his fingers start to rub your sensitive clit, that’s the last thing on your mind; you moan softly at each gentle use of his fingers, small waves of pleasure washing over you.

His teeth bite gently at your pulse point, as he picks up the pace of his fingers on your clit. Your breaths become shallow, pure bliss spreading throughout your body, signaling that your climax is near.

But Joost abruptly stops, now rubbing your clit in excruciatingly slow circles— once again, he’s playing with you, teasing you like he always fucking does in bed. He smirks against your neck, hearing you sigh in frustration.

“All good?” He asks, still maintaining the same slow speed.

“Are you serious?” You breathe out, attempting to, at the very least, sound a bit mad but you can’t take him seriously with the stupid grin he’s got on his face.

“What?” He knits his brows, feigning confusion.

You scoff, “Seriously Joost, you’re so mea-” Your words are cut off by a sharp moan as Joost picks up speed again, even going as far as to slide one finger in. “Mean.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about lief,” Again, he slows down.

“Joost!” You say in frustration, though you still giggle at his unserious tactics.

Joost’s free hand cups your face, caressing it with his thumb. “Alright, alright— het spijt me,”

This time he doesn’t tease you, instead now fully focusing on making you feel good; he pops two digits inside of you, the wet sound of your pussy and small moans being the only sounds in the quiet room. Your climax is unmistakably close, having you full-on whimpering now. As your legs start to tremble, you’re overcome with pleasure, Joost’s fingers insisting until the very last second before he stops.

“That’s it,” Joost affirms, getting your hair out of the way for you as you try to catch your breath.

He sits beside you, looking down at your face before he squishes it.

You chuckle, “What was that for,”

“You look pretty like that. Did you change your hair?” He asks softly, and you find his genuine curiosity cute.

“No, I don’t think so,”

He nods, “You good to keep going?”

“Yeah, yeah, of course,” You’re quick to reply, eager to give back to him, make him feel as good as he did you.

You reach out your hand to touch his face, as Joost leans down to kiss you. You hand slides down his chest, until you palm his cock him over his boxers, getting an idea of just how hard he is.

“Can you-” You say, cutting the kiss, “Can you sit on the bed,”

Joost nods, leaning backwards, against the headboard; you crawl over to his side before positioning yourself on top of him, his hands immediately coming to rest on your hips.

“There we go,” He smiles up at you as you trace your fingers along his face, just admiring how pretty he looks from this angle. “You drive me fucking crazy,”

“Do you say this to every girl?” You joke, narrowing your eyes— or at least, you think you’re joking, using humor as a shield to hide your buried insecurities. Constantly doubting the possibility that he could have actual feelings towards you, that you’re not just another girl to him,

“What?” He looks at you in genuine confusion, not following the joke. He’s always hinted the insecurity in your words, and really, it frustrates him. Countless times has Joost tried to convince you otherwise, to make you trust him but in the end, it always ends in a fight. “Y/n, there’s not another girl,”

Yeah right. “Yeah I know. Anyways”

You raise yourself up slightly, moving forward until you’re directly over his cock; you take the base in your hands, aligning it with your entrance— and just like that, Joost drops the topic, like he’s done a million times before, not wanting to kill the mood.

You glance at him, making sure he’s ready, before sliding onto his cock; you gasp, the pads of Joost’s fingers pressing harder into your skin, the feeling of shared pleasure overtaking the hurt and guilt in both of you.

You move slowly at first, trying to feel every inch of him, get used to his size after so long. Joost pulls you closer by your waist, placing pecks all over your collarbones, where the necklace he once got you, jingles the more you pick up the pace.

“Fu-ck,” You whisper, “It feels sso good,”

His hand glides over your hair, comforting you. “I know,” He says quietly, breathing hot against your neck.

You let soft moans fall from your lips, grabbing his shoulder for support, your nails biting into his skin. He sucks in a breath, groping your tits as you feel his wet kisses litter your neck. You try to bounce faster on him, desperate to relieve the pressure between your hips, while still holding onto him, not wanting the moment to end. You gently pull him away from where he is, buried in your neck, just craving to see his face. His blue eyes gaze back at you, soft and brimming with vulnerability, something you’ve never seen before in him, not at a moment like this, at least.

You don’t speak, overwhelmed by all the emotions you’re experiencing. You wish you could scream at him for how he treated you, blaming him for the situation you’re in, even though you’re just as bad; but then again, looking at him now, staring into his eyes, you can’t shake the inescapable feeling that you’ll always love him, that one way or another, he’ll always hold a special place in your heart.

Instead, you lean forward, wrapping him in some sort of a hug, maybe because you’re growing tired, maybe because hugging him is all you need right now, hot tears brimming in the corners of your eyes.

Joost holds you tight, taking it upon himself to continue as he senses how increasingly tired you’re getting. His first thrust into you, coaxes you to outright gasp, placing both hands on the headboard now. You can hear Joost mutter a few incoherent words under his breath, pushing his cock into you at a speed that makes your brain go numb.

Your whimpers are like music to his ears, urging him to keep going as he wants nothing more than to make you feel good. It’s moments like this when he feels like you’re meant to be with each other, like this could really work, like he can finally tell you he loves you. But later in the night, the guilt always settles back in, reminding him of who he is, of who he can never be for you.

Joost groans, holding you so firmly that his hands are sure to leave marks on your skin.

“Are you close, baby,” He says through gritted teeth, briefly glancing at you, nestled into his neck.

“Yeah,” You say sharply, at the edge of crying with the amount of pleasure you’re feeling.

Joost nods, thrusting into you sloppily yet relentlessly. You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the pleasure consume you as you feel his cock repeatedly on your sweet spot, the sensation mixed with everything else you’ve been feeling, causing tears to flow down your cheeks.

Almost simultaneously, Joost comes undone inside of you, his muttered curses and loud grunts sounding muffled against your ears.

He gives you one last kiss, just under your ear, as his movements come to a halt, his grasp on you loosening.

Exhausted, you barely even move with him still inside of you, as Joost fixes the hair that sticks to your skin. You close your eyes, breathing heavily, trying to cherish as little time as you have left before another argument begins—because the truth is, you both know what’s coming; the unresolved anger, the denial, the hurt, the disappointment; it won’t stay buried for long.

“Can I ask you something,” You ask, head rested on his chest, facing away from him.

You hear him hum, taking it as an answer to keep going,

“Did you… did you miss me at all?” Is all you can ask him, in need of some closure, to at least try and see if he feels any other emotion towards you except for lust.

Joost feels his chest hurt, hearing the pure vulnerability and doubt in your voice; “Of course I did,”

I love you, that’s what he wants to say; but he just can’t get the words out.

Your lips curve into a faint smile. You allow yourself to trust him for just a moment, believe that his words are true for once and feel the comfort that comes with that thought. His fingers gently run through your hair, and you let the silence between you linger.

For now, you can almost convince yourself that nothing is wrong, that everything is as it should be.

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a/n: if this ain’t me 😂😂😂

anyways THANK YOU if you read this far!!!!!! this is honestly one of my fav things i’ve written and i hope u enjoyed it as much as i did <3 happy new years xx

[multiwreckedmess]

[12:39AM]

Remember when i said i'd write some mean yunho? for @yunlazia​

Pairing: cheater!yunho x cheater!fem!reader WC: ~3k Summary: A lowkey continuation of my Kinktober - Intercrural fic. You and Yunho have too many friends in common to avoid each other. So what if you don't? Standard disclaimer, this is meant for 18+ and my blog is 18+ please do not interact if you are not 18+ because I AM OLD. You don't WANT to interact with me just as much as I don't want to interact with YOU.

This fanfic is, as the genre defines it, FICTIONAL. It is in no way a representation of Yunho or any Ateez member.

TW/CW: Cheating. If you aren't down with a fictional cheating fic, just back out now. Also it is consented but not really? Extended below the cut.

TW/CW: Unrealistic, time-jumpy, not proofread. PIV sex, unprotected sex, cumming inside. Big cock Yunho. Minor hand kink. Fingering (fem receiving). Rough. Reader doesn't say yes but also is given very clear direction that if she says no, Yunho will stop. Reader called Princess a fair amount.

 It would’ve been more understandable if you were blackout drunk. Or even just more than half a watered down drink into the night. This, this you couldn’t blame on anything but your own weak will.  “I need some air,” Yunho tugged at your elbow, more lightly than you’d care to admit for how easily you followed him. A bad idea. “Be back soon,” he volleys a wink at the pretty thing he’s been chatting up for the last fifteen minutes. Dickhead.

 Yunho’s strides are long, his legs extending much farther than you remembered, as you practically trot alongside him to keep up. “Where the fuck are you taking me in such a fucking hurry?”  He stops and blinks. “I’m getting a pack of smokes.”  “Why the fuck do you need me?”  “I don’t.” He resumes his strides as you follow, indignantly half stomping when you’re able to catch him.  “Then why did you pull me along?!”  Yunho shrugs, “I tapped your elbow. I didn’t expect you to follow me. You could always turn around and head back to the party.”  You groan. Mostly upset with yourself for falling so easily back into his stupid games. “You’d leave a lady alone in the middle of the dark?”  “No, I wouldn’t leave a lady alone,” his gate slows as he eyes you up and down meaningfully. A smirk tickles his cheeks. “Yeah, I wouldn’t leave a lady, would I?” He resumes his brisk pace with you in tow.  “What the fuck are you implying?”  Yunho turns quickly on his toes, letting you smack full velocity into his chest. One hand holding you by the base of your spine to him. “A lady,” he sneers, “wouldn’t let a man cum in her panties while her boyfriend waits for her in the adjoining room, would she? If I can remember correctly your tight little cunt was practically begging for it. So no, I wouldn’t leave a lady in the dark, but you, I’d do a lot of things to you I wouldn’t do to a lady.”

 His hand burns in its place miraculously through your layers of coat and sweater. His leg slotted between yours just subtly enough to make it feel unintentional, natural, like he’d never left. As if the flames of hell themselves had come from the ground to lick the side of your face you can feel arousal creeping up from your core and catching in your gut. It’s not until he releases you to start briskly walking towards the light of the gas station that you realize you hadn’t breathed since he caught you. You follow after him, jaw tense and tongue tied. If you could prove him wrong you would, but you can’t, so you stew.

 Yunho stays exactly one pace ahead of you. Just fast enough that to keep up with him you’d need to swap to a slow jog instead of a quick walk. The bright lights burn cold overhead. Nasty lighting. It turns the white propane tanks dingy and grey below it.  “I hate it when you smoke.” The words hit him as his hand presses into the metal push bar of the door.  “So why did you keep following me?”  “I don’t feel right about that-- what we--you--no, we. What we did.”  Yunho smirks over his shoulder, “first time?” The door swings open as he continues through, leaving you staring aghast at his sheer audacity momentarily before following after him. “It was fun though, right? Exciting?” His eyes scan the shelves of snacks, not seeming to really look for anything.  “Immoral.”  “But that doesn’t preclude being a good time. In fact-” he turns suddenly to you, arm reaching just over your shoulder, as if you weren’t even there “-it can make it even more erotic. Found them.” Yunho winks down at you, pulling a bag of chips off the shelf as if the position hadn’t stopped your heart.  A thin stream of air escapes as you deflate. “We shouldn’t have, regardless. Regardless it was wrong and- Yunho- can you listen to me? What about that…her…that girl I keep seeing you with?”  Passing the chips over the counter and asking for a fresh pack, Yunho shrugs at you. “As replaceable as what’s his nuts- your beau.”  “I thought you were friends!

 Yunho lights his little half-sober ill-advised treat. Even though he’d told everyone who cared that he’d quit, even though he didn’t take breaks at work anymore, even though he knew each consumed cancer stick took from his life, he couldn’t help himself when his judgement was loosened. His nose is red with the cold. Ears too. “Did you want anything?” He mumbles, cigarette tucked between his lips.  You sulk, leaning into the cold cement slab wall. “No.”  He cranes his neck up and to the side, blowing smoke away from you. There’s something alluring about his neck. His jawline is perfect, especially in this strange harsh light.  “I’m cold,” you complain to get him to hurry up. There’s no sign of movement as he takes another slow, steady drag. Yunho unbuttons his peacoat with one hand, tapping inside slightly with one brow raised.  “Cuddle up, buttercup. Or freeze. I’m not moving.” He smirks as you begrudgingly shuffle in front of him, leaning in to fold yourself into his embrace. Cold face pressing to his cozy sweater, a warm sigh reveals your true feelings.  “You’re such a shit.”  “You doth protest too much, methinks.”  Yunho smells like sweet smoke and cedar, cozy and inviting. He’s easy to get sucked into, easy to let yourself relax against. It feels like a home that you’d never left. The world spins when you close your eyes. Maybe you’re more drunk than you give yourself credit for. Maybe you’re just more tired than you realized. Maintaining appearances, spinning the plates just so, making excuses where needed. Slowly without you completely realizing it, your arms snake around his waist. Blame it on muscle memory or maybe you just wanted to warm your hands. All excuses. His back feels strong as ever, long lean muscle from top to bottom. Good for wrapping your legs around.  Yunho crushes his half finished cigarette against the wall. A better treat easily in his grasp. His newly freed hand roams south of your waist, testing to see if you retaliate. Instead he feels your face press harder into him, trying to hide your guilty expression. Suddenly he fully gropes your ass, fingers digging into the flesh through your skirt and stockings, peeling your cheeks apart slightly.  “Yunho!” Your head jerks away to blink up at him.  “Princess,” he responds with a purr.  “Your…whatever she is!”  He leans over and kisses your indignant mouth, half expecting a slap. Instead you seem to yield into it, still holding onto his waist, your hips bumping up against him. “I’m not too worried,” he barely breathes, eyes fluttered shut. He kisses you again just to make sure. Just to test his fate. To be positive you weren’t just stunned.  Yunho’s mouth tastes like the ashes of a burnt marshmallow. Kissing him leaves you thirsty, mouth dry, getting high off the nicotine remnants that cling to his lips. A disappointed moan pulls from your lungs as his lips leave yours. Your weight falling into his chest fully, he takes the opportunity to turn your back into the wall, caging you with his body. Still as hard as he presses to you you pull him in. Breathless and stunned your eyes study his face, both of your mouths panting, sharing clouds of condensation between you.  “I have to pee,” you manage to squeak out as a lame excuse.  “I have the code on my receipt.”  “Code. Right.” You make no move to escape despite your brain practically screaming at you to do something. Anything to make some plausible deniability. You cannot be complicit in this as fully as your heart is. Instinctively you reach into his front pants pocket, fishing for the slip of paper.  Yunho chuckles, loosing a tense exhale into the air. “Careful there princess, a man might get the wrong idea.”  “Shut up and give me the code.”  “Paying customers only,” he winks, hand dipping under your skirt. Your eyes roll back as his fingerings worm their way between your thighs, sliding along your slicked tights. He presses more instantly as you shudder. “Only one of us has paid babe. How bad do you want it?”  Your hips betray you, canting up towards him. “Yunho-,” your voice warbles as you try to sound stern and commanding.  “How badly? Do you? Want? It?”  “Please.”  Yunho smirks, suddenly pushing himself off the wall, pulling his hand from between your legs swiftly. Popping his damp fingers between his lips he tilts his head towards the building. Looking at the ground you scuttle behind him. The kid at the counter barely looks up from his phone as the two of you make your way to the back, down the service hallway lined with overstock, and to the unisex bathroom door. A few swift presses and the door chimes an alert that its successfully unlocked, Yunho ushering you under his arm inside. It’s all so fast you barely notice him slipping in behind you and shutting the door. Every move is so slick, you know he’s done it before.  “Yunho! I really-” your gasp breaks your sentence early, Yunho pulling you to him, pressing his fingers to your pussy once more.  “We both know how dumb of an excuse that was,” he hisses. “I can feel how much you want this, or are you going to lie again?”  “Yunho, we can’t-” “You keep saying we can’t. So tell me no. Tell me stop. Lie and tell me you don’t want to fuck your propper little pussy in this nasty bathroom. Do it and I’ll leave.”  You whimper and grind back against him. You can’t do any of it. You were never good at denying yourself of what you really wanted, even if you knew it was bad for you. Chocolate ice cream during a cold, caffeine past 6pm, stalking his profile on social media, all things you couldn’t help but indulge in. His fingers grip either side of the seam of your tights, ripping them down the middle with such force you topple forward through his arms, bracing yourself on the sink. You can just see your eyes in the lower portion of the dingy mirror, Yunho's full face in view until he leans over you. His long fingers push your panties aside, slicking himself up with your release before sliding two digits between your warm walls. Your breath hitches, leg kicking up as your knees tremble.  “Can’t ever say what you really want can you,” Yunho muses. His lips rest between the shell of your ear and your hairline, speaking with an intense hushed whisper. “Can’t even admit how wet you are for me. Feels good being bad, right?”  “Yunho,” his name is a wet shaky word drizzling out like water from a leaky pipe.  “You can’t even say yes, can you?” His fingers beckon inside you, rubbing along that front wall, stroking that small gummy spot that most hadn’t taken the time to find but he knew so well. “Can you tell me, do his fingers feel as good as mine do? Does he push your buttons like I do?”  “No,” you sob an honest response as Yunho abuses the spot faster, making the knot in your core twist and tighten into a ball of ecstasy. His cock pokes the meat of your ass, a promise of what’s in store for the two of you.  “Does he know how hard you cry when you cum?” You gulp back another heaved half sob half reply. Of course your boyfriend didn’t. Only Yunho could take you apart like this. The sweat slicked porcelain sink slips beneath your grasp. He catches you just barely with his other arm wrapping up over your chest, his fingers resting at the base of your throat.  “You going to cum for me princess?” He taunts you.  You nod, biting your lips shut between your teeth. “Yunho-” his name leaks out of the corners of your mouth.  “Let go, I’ve gotchu,” his hand fully eclipses your mouth, clamping firmly to muffle your wail. Your entire body tenses as you peak, coating his fingers in your essence. His arms hold your stiffened body before you collapse into boneless bliss. “Hold onto the sink, princess. It’ll only be a second.”  You whine as his fingers leave you empty, wobbling like a newborn giraffe. The telltale zip and shuffle is all you need to know of what's going on behind you. The blunt tip of his heavy cock prods your greedy cunt.  “I’d love to savor this moment but if we take too long that kid will get suspicious and come looking.” Your hips rock against him subconsciously.  “You know how much I love taking what isn’t mine.” He barely buries the tip inside of you, relishing in the way your walls attempt to draw him deeper, the way your body trembles on the edge of anticipation. “Just the tip right? If it’s just the tip it doesn’t count. That’s what I’ve heard.”  “Fucking jackass,” you seethe.  “You don’t want to be a cheater, right? You’re a good girl.”  You stomp your heels, you can’t be the one to break. It has to be him. It’s your last vestige of deniability. Your last claim to him being the tempter, the actor, the one in charge and at fault for all of this.  Yunho fucks his tip in and out maddeningly slowly, chuckling as he watches your hole flutter and clench. Teasing as he stretches you around his thick length. “Oh you poor thing, big mean Yuyu dragged you away to get smokes and wouldn’t let you go so you just had to fuck. Right? That’s how this happened, right? You never said yes so really…it was all him. Mean ol’ Yunho. You didn’t want it at all.”  Except you did. You did want it. You wanted him to fuck you so badly the anger was seeping out of your pores. You needed him to push himself as deep as you knew he could go, deeper than your boyfriend ever had. Mold your walls to him again. “Yunho- please-”  “Please what?”  “Yunho! You know I can’t say it! Please!”  His fingers tighten at your hips.  “Please what?” He asks again, cruelly thrusting just a bit deeper, angling just enough to skim your spot.  “Just do it already, just do it. Please, god, fuck, Yunho. Please. I can’t- I can’t-” you repeat until your breath runs out, arm reaching behind for something to pull him closer, fingers waggling as they search for fabric to grab.

 He pulls your hips flush to his suddenly, the glide easy but the stretch sinfully tight. Both of you groan deeply as the wind leaves your lungs by force. Yunho doesn’t waste time, setting a grueling pace as his hips snap against your ass. Rough and claiming as he curls over you. His pants and subvocalizations clear in your ear as you fight to stay standing. Your skirt is more a belt around your waist as he uses the band as leverage to maneuver your hips back against him. His lips settle concerningly close to the juncture between your neck and shoulder, his favorite place to nuzzle, and to bite.  “No marks,” you plead. “Yuyu, no marks. I just can’t have any marks.”  “Yeah, got it,” he growls, tilting his head down between your shoulderblades. “Cock’s going to leave an imprint.”  “Fuck, I hope.”  “Going to go home and have him fuck my cum deeper into you? Going to pretend you’re just that wet for him? Bet he wouldn’t know the difference.” His pace slows and stutters, close to his climax. The thought excites him too much, gets him just too close to the edge. Stilling completely his hand finds your clit, tracing quick circles around it, attempting to pull another orgasm from you.  “Shit, Yunho, I can’t- I can’t- I really have to pee- Yunho-” your voice shakes as fear grips your chest.  “It’s fine- you won’t- just let go-” he bounces your hips just slightly, jostling against that spot inside you with his length. Your gut flips and turns, eyes rolling back.  “Yunho-” you whine pitifully once more, trying to warn him.  “Cum for me princess, you know you can, cum on my cock.”  His fingers press against your clit harder as your eyelids flutter, vision going dark as you gush over him. Your walls work him, clamping hard down, trying to pull him deeper. His hips snap, a couple resounding hits before you feel him paint your walls in return. His cock pulses as your cunt milks him. Traitor.

 “Now go fuck that clumsy bastard with your eyes closed and try to pretend he’s me,” Yunho doesn’t mince words as he pulls from you, yanking your skirt over your rear. “Go put together your perfect pollyanna life. I’ll be here. Waiting.”

hopefully that fits the mean yuyu bill!

[venomwrites]

Follow up to The Room because SOMEONE said the first part was as fluffy as I get. On a completely unrelated note happy new years to everyone and in particular to @qvert you should go admire her art.

“I think you shouldn’t be here tonight,” Caitlyn says and Vi’s guilt roars up. 

She knows she’s fucked up in a lot of ways. It’s only been a few days of sleeping in Caitlyn’s bedroom but she thought maybe things were getting better. Or heading in the right direction. Caitlyn’s letting her sort through the boring paperwork shit and starting to get her hands around how much fucking work running this house is. Vi’s known it takes a lot to run a house, she’s known since she was a kid helping her mom and definitely when her parents died. Vander was their rock but rocks didn’t make soup. One of her favorite stories in the book was of a woman who said she made stone soup. But her mother explained that it wasn’t the stone. It was the things people brought to add to the stone soup. For a long time there were no other people so Vi had brought everything she could find for her own soup. She kept them fed for years until it just sort of became her job. But there’s a serious difference between keeping people from starving and running what seems like a small village. 

It’s intimidating but it doesn’t stop her. 

Not when she looks over and sees her stuff on the empty shelves. Not when Caitlyn nuzzles into her chest and her warm weight reminds Vi how to sleep. Except once again she’s behind on something because Caitlyn is politely rejecting her. It’s not a gun to the gut or a yell or a quiet apology about why they can’t fight together. But it still stings. Even if Vi gets it. She’s a fuck up. Caitlyn gave her a chance and she blew it. She doesn’t expect Caitlyn to kick her out, but she wonders if maybe Ekko would let her crash while she figures out her next move. Even if she doesn’t belong in this place, she doesn’t want to go back to that shoebox shithole and drink herself to death. Not anymore. Not when she’s the only one left who remembers so many. She doesn’t trust her voice so she just nods and gets over to the nightstand to pick up her book. She really hopes Caitlyn will let her keep it. Then she immediately chastises herself because of course she will. Caitlyn has done so much for her. She can answer her in a steady voice at least.

“Yeah, okay,” she says, “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“No, Vi,” Caitlyn makes a noise of frustration and Vi wonders how she even managed to fuck this up. But then Caitlyn is in front of her. Her hands only hesitate a moment before settling on Vi’s shoulders, “it’s New Years eve,” she says and Vi turns with the pressure of her hands towards the spectacular balcony.

Everything clicks.

The city is spread out dazzlingly before them. Piltover sloping down to Zaun. Vi loves it because it’s the same view she used to take in on the rooftops, just from a different angle. Before she looked up at Piltover and dared it to judge her. But even back then, if she didn’t fight it she could wonder at the high buildings and endless food. And if she was really in a mood, she could let the longing wash over her. Now she doesn’t fight it. Not the longing, not the wonder. She lets them both wash over her as she sits on the balcony while Caitlyn brushes her teeth. But even she knows the Zaun she longs for doesn’t exist down there. Not really. Not anymore. She can barely step foot in it without tearing up at the memories. She has to run all the way down there to be exhausted enough to make it more than a few blocks. And she needs the entire walk back to keep herself from shaking. Sometimes she can barely meet Caitlyn’s eye when she comes back. 

But she used to spend every New Years on the rooftops watching the fireworks. 

It was the great equalizer, in a way. They were loud for her, they were loud for Piltover. Anyone that looked up could marvel at the starbursts of color that lit up the sky. She knew the Pilties weren’t sharing the beauty of them, but that didn’t matter. The starbursts of color were for everyone. She used to wrap a scarf around Powder’s ears to help muffle the noise but a few years in she took it off to marvel at them. To promise one day she would make the sky starburst like that. Vi would think of the promise when she could hear the dull echo in Stillwater. One year she convinced herself that maybe Powder was out there making fireworks and living an honest life. She was so fucking stupid. Now when she thinks of hearing an explosion it’s chased by another one of her promises. And now it ends in screaming. The thought makes her want to be sick. 

“Shit,” she says quietly as Caitlyn fits herself behind her and rests their temples together, “how bad?”

“Very,” Caitlyn says, an apologetic note in her voice like this is somehow her fault, “I thought the bunker might be best,” she says, “just to be safe.”

Vi hesitates because it sounds wonderful and like a lot of trouble. But Caitlyn seems to understand her hesitation and gives her arms a squeeze. 

“It should be set up.”

“Okay,” Vi says, “thanks,” she swallows against the embarrassment and gratitude that churns in her gut, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Vi,” Caitlyn sighs and suddenly her chin is on Vi’s shoulder. Usually when they touch like this, one of them is asleep. It feels strange to do it in the middle of the bedroom that isn’t exactly theirs. Strange and kind of amazing, if Vi’s being honest, “I’m coming with you,” Caitlyn says. 

Everything in her relaxes against Caitlyn. The arms on her shoulders hesitate only a moment before sliding down to wrap around hers. Caitlyn holds her warmly and firmly and it feels so impossibly nice it makes Vi’s head spin. Until Caitlyn makes a soft sound that might be a laugh and suddenly Vi is desperately alert to hear it again. She’s utterly unwilling to move from the embrace but manages to get her head tilted enough to give Caitlyn a questioning look. Caitlyn smiles. Vi can feel her smile against her neck. She feels her heart begin to pick up tempo and desperately fights against it. She doesn’t want to give Caitlyn any reason to change her mind about locking herself in a bunker to hide from fireworks with her. 

“I meant to make that a question,” Caitlyn says. 

“Answer’s yes,” Vi replies and wishes her voice didn’t sound quite like that. 

Caitlyn nods and almost turns her head towards Vi’s neck. Everything in Vi waits for it, yearns for it, but then Caitlyn turns her head away and just adjusts her chin against her shoulder. Her fingers give Vi’s forearms a squeeze and then she steps back quickly with a tight smile Vi doesn’t like at all. She likes the warmth in Caitlyn’s cheeks and the way she presses her lips together before her features go back to the calm mask Vi is beginning to properly recognize. It’s been breaking more in the past few days. Vi hates that it usually means tears, but she’ll wipe all of them away if it helps Caitlyn. And it does seem to help. There’s tears but there’s also faint, honest smiles. There’s tears but there’s soft snores. There’s tears but Caitlyn also haltingly explains how her parents used the room and how she went for years refusing to sit on the bed after she learned what sex was. How even though she has changed the sheets and turned the mattress, the bed still feels like theirs. 

Vi almost carried her back to her old room right then and there. 

But she knows that’s not an option. Not really. The Kiramman’s have a bunch of stupid rules. Vi thought some of Vander’s were insane but these were on a whole different level. Sure she wants to tell Caitlyn they’re stupid and if the whole house is hers, why does it matter which room she sleeps in? But she can see people watching her to see how she’s going to handle the stupid rules. She’s come to learn most of the staff is actually on her side pretty ardently. Especially the ones from Zaun. They help her figure out shit that makes no sense like the array of silverware at every meal and the difference in glassware. When she tries she sees the staff who is against her softening. That’s how she gets access to the kitchen and then, even the ones who are blatantly against her start to relax. Because Vi could make a good soup when she had nothing, now she makes a great one. Now she gets invited to break time card games and learns about the inner workings of Piltover’s elite families. 

So she knows Caitlyn cannot go back to the heir’s room because she is not the heir anymore. 

Vi didn’t know what to make of the implication of it being her room. 

Not at first. 

At first it was just the room Caitlyn had put her in after getting sliced. And sure Vi had felt something at it being Caitlyn’s room. But then she had begun to see signs that Caitlyn hadn’t been anywhere near the room for a good while. Before she chalked it up to them being busy, sometimes Caitlyn even wound up sleeping at the Enforcer barracks. But at some point Vi realized Caitlyn avoided the room to a large extent. Then she realized you couldn’t pay Caitlyn to go into the bathroom. She sliced her finger on something and Vi had tried to get her in there so she wouldn’t bleed on her priceless rug and Caitlyn had—to put it mildly—freaked the fuck out. So Vi had figured it was an empty room. Then when the battle happened, it had been easy to crawl back to the empty room she could navigate to. Between her busted shoulder, broken arm and gaping hole where her heart used to be, she would have gone anywhere. It didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was the room’s proximity to the main suite where Caitlyn was. 

It was fucking hard to be in that room. 

It was hard because it was grand and Vi could barely bring herself to brush her hair some days. It was hard because it was empty and if they never met, maybe it wouldn’t be. But most of all it was hard because Caitlyn was in so much pain. Her eye was the most jarring at first glance, but somehow it was the easiest one to deal with. Nothing could be done. But the bones. Gods. Cheekbone, jaw, ribs, hipbone--each was more painful than the last. The one time Caitlyn cried was when she caught a glimpse of herself in a water glass and the distorted, alien reflection tipped her over the edge. To the point where the doctors had to sedate her. Even Tobias who was more ghost than man most days took pity on Vi and showed her the rows of endless portraits. Teal eyes stared back at her. Teal eyes set above sharp cheekbones and expressive, full lips. Caitlyn’s old portrait fit in perfectly in the next row over from her mothers and Vi realized the gut wrenching reaction. It was because Caitlyn no longer looked like her mom. 

She avoided the room after that. 

Until Caitlyn invited her to sneak people in to her window and Vi realized Caitlyn thought she was avoiding her.

“Should we?” Vi jerks her head to the door, “unless you’ve got something to finish.”

Caitlyn smiles and picks up the papers she’s sorting through. 

“I can do this downstairs,” she says. 

It’s strange to be in the elevator again. They’ve had access to the bunker the entire time, but it’s not like there’s been a reason to go down here. There’s no war to plan. No battle to prepare for. No sister to feed. The doors open onto the familiar array of cells. Vi’s gaze draws to the one that she’s pretty sure she’ll think of with her dying breath. That moment where everything shifted. When something in Vi finally realized that she had spent her life making sure everyone was fed but forgot to feed herself. As Jinx had gotten older she had started to try to change that, tried to always make sure Vi had something. But Vi would always make sure it went to her instead. She had been hungry for so long, she forgot what hunger felt like. Until Caitlyn stood in font of her, until she smiled and offered to sit with her and suddenly Vi was ravenous. But now when she glances at Caitlyn her eyes are trained ahead. Resolutely avoiding the cell and Vi has to remind herself that Caitlyn wanted to be down here with her. And that was worth everything, including swallowing down the question pressed to her tongue. 

What are we?

That was the thing. She was tucked in that room designated for someone about to step into a role in the family. She was learning about numbers so long they made her head spin. Caitlyn sometimes left her books about Kiramman family history. Tobias had moved the family portrait to a designated spot near the wall of Cassandra’s life and a final one was being commissioned. But the hook in the parlor never came down. It glinted annoyingly in the light during every single one of the times Vi trudged through it every day. Again, her eyes lingered and Caitlyn refused to look at the wall. But the hook still glinted. It still taunted that it was waiting for a painting of a family. Vi flipped it off once a day. It wasn’t easy to not be a part of a family and be living with them. To hear the gossip of what was Caitlyn going to do now that she was the only Kiramman. It took everything for VI not to tell Agnes to pass along the message Caitlyn wasn’t alone and anyone who said as much could choke on whatever seasonal produce they were hunting for. 

Vi smacks into Caitlyn’s back. 

“Sorry,” she says and frowns at Caitlyn’s ramrod straight back, “what’s wrong?”

Caitlyn spins around, her face red and lips pursed. Vi’s frown deepens when she tries to move past her and Caitlyn all but throws herself in front of her. Vi raises her eyebrows and Caitlyn squeezes her eye shut so tightly even the empty lid puckers. She balls her hands into fists and takes a deep breath. Even though curiosity is burning at her, Vi tries to focus on what she is doing. She wants Vi to not see what’s on the other side of the doorway. Vi hasn’t exactly been great at listening so she tries to focus on that as Caitlyn collects herself. Finally Caitlyn opens her eye and tugs her shirt like it isn’t perfect. Now Vi is really intrigued because Caitlyn only does that when she’s truly embarrassed and nervous. But Vi has no idea what could be making her feel that way. 

“Did they forget something?” She says, “we still have time before the fireworks.”

“No,” Caitlyn says through gritted teeth. Vi feels the start of concern and it must show because Caitlyn’s face softens, “it was supposed to be us and Ekko,” she says. 

Vi’s heart jumps in excitement. 

“Ekko’s here?” She asks and forgets to listen as she sidesteps Caitlyn. 

There’s a frustrated noise behind her as Vi takes in the room. 

If Ekko’s supposed to be here, she has no idea where he’s going to sit. There’s a table lit by the fancy candles, but it’s only set for two. The record player is in the corner along with a longer table with a few dishes on it. There’s a little blue flame beneath that Vi knows they use to keep things warm. In the other corner is a bed made with fresh linens and one of the best throw blankets. Someone has put a tapestry on the wall and tacked a sheet up so the bed is cocooned in fabric. When she looks down, Vi realizes there’s throw rugs everywhere. And when she looks farther up, she realizes the room has been strung with flowers and the occasional leaf from Ekko’s tree. It looks really nice. She looks around again and expects Ekko to jump out from somewhere, but he knows she hates surprises like that. Especially with the prospect of fireworks. 

“He’s not here,” she says, thinking of how he might handle this night. Then she sees his handwriting on an envelope on one of the plates, “shit is this a scavenger hunt?” She wonders. Ekko has all kinds of techniques for helping people, but the idea of that tonight makes her skin crawl. 

She’d rather be down here with Caitlyn. 

Thumbing open the thick envelope, she’s surprised when she opens it to find a flower tacked to the inside and no additional papers. 

Vi, 

Got my own plans tonight, didn’t tell your girl. 

Ask her to join you.

Good luck. 

E

The flower is for Caitlyn. 

This is all for Caitlyn. Her throat works as she looks up at Caitlyn. Caitlyn has turned away and has her hand covering her face. Vi can hear her quietly muttering to herself. That’s a new thing she’s taken to doing, one that makes Vi’s skin crawl because she knows it’s her fault. If she was here, Caitlyn wouldn’t have to mutter to herself. She could talk to her. Vi shoves the guilt away. It’s easier down here, somehow. Maybe because of what happened one impossibly thick wall to her side. That was a leap of faith and the world—well the world did fall apart. But she has Caitlyn so it didn’t fall apart as much as it could have. She takes the flower off it’s pinning and adds another thing she’s going to yell at Ekko for. It may be shades of white, purple and periwinkle but Vi knows it’s a violet. She walks over as Caitlyn shakes her head and stiffens at the sound of her footsteps. 

“I’m so sorry,” she says, “I did not tell anyone to do this,” she continues and smooths out her face, lowering her hand but keeping her eyes closed for a moment longer, “I didn’t mean to make this uncomfortable for you—“

“It’s not,” Vi says and Caitlyn’s eye flies open. It widens as she stares at the flower Vi has in front of her face. There’s a whole lot of shit Vi wants to say but Ekko’s given her solid advice, “want to join me?”

Caitlyn stares at her, her eye going from the flower to VI and back again. The color drains from her face and a then spectacularly comes back as her fingers reach for the flower with a shyness Vi can’t remember ever seeing. Emboldened by her reaction, Vi slips the flower behind her ear. Caitlyn’s fingers hover in the air before they fall back to her side. Then one of her hands comes up. In a quick, elegant motion she sweeps her midnight hair behind her ear and secures it with the flower. They both stare at each other for an impossibly long moment as Vi tries to get her mouth to be less dry. When Caitlyn lowers her hand, Vi’s moves and catches it. Caitlyn swallows tightly and then her fingers curl over Vi’s palm. Caitlyn’s good at navigating the world with her new vision, but Vi puts herself on that side as they make their way to the table. If nothing else, it gives them an excuse to hold hands for a bit longer. Though Vi finds she’s less inclined for excuses at the moment. She kind of just wants to hold Caitlyn’s hand. 

“Here,” she says handing Caitlyn the card so she can grab their plates, “Ekko played you.”

“What?” Caitlyn looks at the card as Vi flips open the serving trays. 

There’s a jumble of Caitlyn’s favorite foods and, much to her shock, her own favorites. Ekko must have gone to a dozen of their favorite street vendors so she can have something she likes. Something she likes and something she can share. Because there’s two portions of everything, right down to the two paper cups of sauces. Vi fights against the grateful burning in her eyes. She hasn’t walked with Ekko in days but she went over her plan for breakfast in detail. Her hopes for it so Caitlyn would maybe not hate Vander’s pancake recipe. She hadn’t had a chance to tell him it was a success. But his faith in it is laid out in front of her in paper cones and her usual from Jericho. She loads the plates and includes the stuff Caitlyn likes as well, though it makes them look comically full. Caitlyn watches as she brings them back and sets one in front of her. 

The blushing embarrassed Caitlyn falls away as she recoils at the sight of Jericho’s fish and before she can stop herself, Vi erupts into laughter. 

“Sorry,” she says quickly, “the other stuff is good, but I promise it’s not as bad as you think.”

“What is it?” Caitlyn questions slowly. 

“Good,” Vi says, “come on, it can’t be worse than a snail.” 

Caitlyn purses her lips. 

“Escargot is a delicacy. One day—“

Vi realizes she hasn’t seen the other side of the plate and rotates her own, picking up one of the snails. Caitlyn’s eye widens. Vi makes an educated guess the weird tiny fork is for this and gets it free. It smells like butter so it can’t be that bad. She pops it into her mouth. It’s definitely got enough butter in it not to be bad. But it could taste like crap and it would still be worth it for the surprise painted on Caitlyn’s face. 

“Not bad,” she says. 

Caitlyn swallows and shifts her weight. She looks down at the blue. Vi is just about to absolve her when she lifts it between her fingers and bites in. She keeps their eyes locked together and Vi tries not to be distracted by the sauce that catches in the corner of Caitlyn’s lips. Her features draw together before she actually looks surprised and not completely disgusted. Not disgusted enough to glance down and take another bite. It sends something warm and stupid through Vis chest. 

“It’s surprisingly not awful,” Caitlyn says, so surprised she forgets her manners. Which makes the biggest grin stretch across Vi’s face. 

“Yeah it’s okay,” she says, “but you’ll like these better.”

The fried balls actually make Caitlyn eat quicker. Quick enough that Vi scoots her own portion to the side for later. It feels like breakfast but better as they try each other’s favorite foods and swap stories that go with them. It delights Vi to no end how Caitlyn’s pallet echoes her own. Fish and citrus and spices. How they get to the flavor is different, but they arrive at a similar place all the same. Vi feels almost shy as she hands over the paper cup but Caitlyn’s delight makes it worth it. 

“No, I couldn’t,” Caitlyn protests. 

“Take ‘em,” Vi says, “because I’m gonna ask for something in return.”

“What?” Caitlyn asks, her eyes narrowing. 

The cup betrays her with the slightest tremble that makes Caitlyn look a little concerned. Concerned enough that she takes it from Vi’s hand before she can completely humiliate herself. But she’s been brave in this place before and this dinner’s been really nice so Vi squares her shoulders. 

“A dance,” she says and Caitlyn’s eyes widen, “dance with me—shit—“ Vi stops herself before she can shove her foot even more in her mouth, “I’ll trade you those for a dance.”

Caitlyn looks at her and Vi wonders if she’s going to run. But then she picks one up between her fingers and places it between her lips. They’ve had sex, Vi reminds herself. She’s literally had Caitlyn’s other lips inside her mouth. But the sight of her accepting the offer is short circuiting her brain. Even more when Caitlyn tilts her head towards the record player. Vi scrambles to her feet so fast it’s a miracle she doesn’t upend the chair. Sure she wants to dance with Caitlyn, she’s down for anything that gets her to have her arms around her. But she’s also got a head full of half hazed liquored up memories where she danced with some ghost of Caitlyn. And sometimes they haunt her dreams. It’s selfish but Vi wants to know what it feels like to dance with this Caitlyn. Not the nightmare who chases her every time she tries to work up the courage to clear out her shithole apartment by the pits. 

Her fingers are actually shaking as she finds the record she half recognizes and puts it on. But then Caitlyn slides a hand across her shoulder and turns her around and suddenly they are swaying to the music. If Caitlyn can see the nerves on her face, she doesn’t comment. She just loops her wrists behind Vi’s neck. The softness doesn’t fade past the first few heartbeats. It doesn’t turn. It’s just Caitlyn smiling and swaying with her. Some part of her that has been clenched tight since, well, probably since she stopped drinking herself to death, finally sighs open. Relaxes. Lets her move her hands so they are fully around Caitlyn’s waist. She means to pull her closer but Caitlyn has already stepped closer so they are practically on top of each other’s toes. 

“This has been lovely,” Caitlyn says. 

“Yeah?” Vi tries to give some kind of confidence but finds it impossible, “you seemed kind of embarrassed earlier.”

“Only at myself,” Caitlyn admits. Vi gives her a questioning look at Caitlyn blushes again, “I’ve moved you into this house without asking and now I moved you into my bedroom,” she says, looking down. Her eye meets Vi’s and her voice is a near whisper, “I never want you to feel pressured into something again,” she says, “not by me.”

Another something relaxes. Caitlyn looks down and Vi pulls her closer before she can step away. She touches her chin and it still takes a moment for Caitlyn to meet her gaze. 

“Hey,” Vi says, “you aren’t pressuring me,” she swallows against the embarrassing tightness in her throat, “but it means a lot—“ she swallows, “hearing that from you.”

Caitlyn nods and the slight pressure on Vi’s hands relaxes as she leans against her. Vi doesn’t understand how she was fooled for a second by the sneering ghost. She scoots one hand up Caitlyn’s back, surprised when there’s a stuttered breath against her neck. Caitlyn leans into her embrace and Vi feels wet against her throat as Caitlyn’s fingers tighten in her shirt. But the own burning in her eyes is what catches her the most off guard. It’s just a few words and Caitlyn has done so much to prove herself. So much more than Vi ever thought was necessary. Vi knows she played her own part in what happened. But Caitlyn doesn’t make her acknowledge that. She doesn’t apologize and make Vi tell her not to. She just hits the root of the pain like she’s taking the perfect shot. And because it’s her Caitlyn shooting, of course it hits. Of course it blows apart the festering knot before it can spread. 

“You ever think we’d be here when you saved my life?” Vi asks. 

“You mean with the Shimmer?” Caitlyn asks. Vi smiles and curls her fingers in Caitlyn’s shirt. Caitlyn misinterprets her silence, “or with Stillwater?“

“Or at the commune,” Vi says, “or any of the other dozens of times you saved my life?” Caitlyn pulls back just enough to give her a puzzled look, “Cait, you’re not pressuring me into anything,” Vi says firmly, “I kissed you down here because I wanted to,” Caitlyn nods but the look on her face isn’t what Vi wants to see, “I’m here because I want to be with you.”

“I know,” Caitlyn says and winces, “I mean—“

“Do you want to be with me too?” Vi asks, figuring if one of them can just come out and say shit they both should be able to. Caitlyn swallows, “shit,” Vi breathes, “now I’m the one pressuring—“

Caitlyn shoves their mouths together before she can finish the sentence and every thought in Vi’s head is wiped blissfully blank. All she can do is sigh into the kiss as Caitlyn answers in an unnervingly efficient way. Vi loves her taste, but for the first time there’s familiarity on he tongue. This time Vi’s heart doesn’t jump, Caitlyn’s doesn’t either. She can feel it from where they are pressed together so tightly. There’s new scars on both of them, but to Vi it just brings a new level of familiarity to Caitlyn. But even without it, the kiss would feel familiar. And now it feels even better with the knowledge they both want this. Not out of desperation, not out of pain, just the simple want Vi thought she lost during that fall. The familiarity of Caitlyn’s taste tangles with the flavors of what they hav just eaten. 

For the first time, Caitlyn truly tastes like home. 

She pulls back and rests their foreheads together. For the first time since that battlefield, she truly seems calm. Even with tears drying on her cheek and kiss swollen lips. Her eye opens and looks at Vi before she closes it and presses her forehead tighter to hers. 

“Can we please get rid of my parents bed?” She says, frustration and pleading heavy in her voice. 

Vi can’t remember the last time she asked for something so clearly and nods as emphatically as she dares with their foreheads pressed together. 

“Bed’s gotta go,” she says roughly and Caitlyn nods again, “I’ll get us a new one.”

“Please,” Caitlyn says though it doesn’t sound like a request. It makes Vi smile. 

“We’ll move your old one in there in the meantime,” she says. 

Caitlyn’s throat bobs but she nods. Vi knows what she’s declaring. But Caitlyn is warm in her arms and she doesn’t give a shit about having her own space. And if she does, Gods know that room is big enough. 

“If you’re certain—“

“I am,” Vi says. 

Caitlyn moves her head to Vi’s shoulder and this time, her lips brush purposefully against Vi’s pulse. A shiver works down Vi’s spine as the question of whether Caitlyn is certain as well gets answered. Vi wonders if she can convince Caitlyn to answer all her questions by kissing her neck. Figuring that’s a question for another time, she opens her eyes enough to find the fabric cocooned bed and steer them towards it. Caitlyn pushes her back and seats herself in her lap and Vi discovers she has a new memory to think of when she dies one day. The light is pink through the fabric and makes Caitlyn’s hair a deep shade of violet than the flower behind her ear. Her fingers skirt up Vi’s jaw and frame her face, thumb brushing her freckles and cheekbones as she smiles at her. She reaches up and takes the flower behind her ear and slips it behind Vi’s own. Vi’s throat works as she brushes feather light kisses to her tattoo and freckles and then the corner of her mouth. 

“Beautiful, my Violet,” she whispers and the words undo something as Vi turns her face to capture her lips. 

They came down here to hide from explosions but Vi thinks that might be a moot point as Caitlyn rocks their hips together and Vi feels something building inside her. 

But going into the year as Caitlyn’s Violet sounds like a pretty great way to start.

[bumblebeehug]

Writer's Blues

Summary: A small dive into Lucy's mind after a less flattering book-review. Ao3 - FF.net

***

Lucy swallowed the lump of tears that had gathered in her throat. She liked herself, she really did, but sometimes she found herself wishing she’d never published her book. Today was one of those days – another review from a big newspaper had appeared in her mailbox, and there it was: “As a mage she’s perfectly delightful to look at. As a writer, she’s perfectly boring.”

It stung. In fact, it made her heart feel so heavy that she felt like she could throw up. She never cared about criticism when she worked as a reporter: any journalist knew that there would be push-back if an article pointed out a flaw too many in an establishment or corporate business. As an author, however? It wasn’t as easy to read the many ways the reviewer wished to give themselves a concussion, in hopes to forget what she’d written. After all, she had given a piece of her soul to her book. Countless hours had gone to research, including physical, adventure-like research, meaning she also spilled plenty of her actual blood in the making, and this was where it left her? She had sat down with both Levy and Freed to check her work for spelling mistakes, grammar mistakes, or anything that simply wouldn’t appeal to the public, and that was a humiliation on its own.

She realised soon in her life that she didn’t take rejection well. No one else knew, for it was her burden to carry, to hide. Who could possibly spend this many years on something, still never getting any better? To this day she erased sentences and paragraphs until the paper wore so thin it tore, and she still spent hours looking over the same passage, trying to find the right descriptor of a scene. Plenty of times she found herself wanting to rip her hair out, or gnaw on her nail beds until they would bleed – anything to soothe herself from the stress she was under.

For a long time, she never wanted to admit to the real reason she wrote. She hid it under childish reasons: “My mother thought I was talented when I was young” and “I just enjoy the process”. She didn’t actually enjoy the process, though, and she certainly didn’t believe that the words from a mother to her 7 year old daughter were the complete and honest truth. What was the truth, was that she craved confirmation. She needed to know that her rumour as “the brainy one” in Team Natsu carried some truth, because if it didn’t, who was she? What did she give to her team?

Natsu, Erza and Gray were fighters, always reliable in their strength to attack, as well as defend. Wendy was irreplaceable, and had been ever since she first joined the team: her magic was beyond useful, as it saved them all from injuries that would take months to recover from otherwise. Happy and Carla covered airborne attacks, swift and quick to react and bring a fellow fighter in the air. Lucy? Oh, she was helpful once or twice, decoding a puzzle that would malfunction either way, leaving the rest of her teammates to fight off the consequences. Not even her skills as a celestial mage felt like enough to assure her of her place. Back in her mind it haunted her that it didn’t have to be her. Any celestial wizard would do: she wasn’t unique in her way of viewing her spirits as friends and equal, nor was she the sole being who could learn how to wield these keys. Anyone could replace her, and the dynamic wouldn’t change.

The one thing she could cling to was her academics. She was smart, educated and had her own set of skills – this her teammates liked to tell her. It would be more convincing if she ever got to use these skills, but she couldn’t complain: the alternative would be to be completely useless in their eyes, and she would never be able to cope.

Lucy wiped the sole tear that had escaped her tear ducts before she carefully cut out the review and put it in between the pages of the only copy she still owned. With shaky hands she glanced over the other reviews she’d collected over the years. Some kind, some neutral. Very few were actually as blunt and harsh as this: yet Lucy could point them out as easily as she could her enemies in a crowd. They shone like bright flashlights in her eyes, hurting her physically every time she was reminded of them. They were etched into her retinas, haunting her each time she closed her eyes.

She looked up at her clock. In thirty minutes Natsu would come by with a new board game to try out. In the meantime, she had to hide all evidence of her crying, cheer up and forget about it for a while. He didn’t know: he was never allowed to know. He didn’t read the paper, so there was no risk that he would figure it out himself. Only if he one day decided to snoop in her bookshelf, would he come across these cutouts. Because for as long as he was around, she had vouched to hide her sorrows from him.

When he asks about the publication date for her new book, she’ll smile, a white lie coating her teeth, tell him it got postponed. When he wonders why she cries, she’ll bend the truth as she bends her gaze, telling him she’s thinking about her mother. When he uncovers the truth, she’ll laugh it off: it’s merely a writer’s humble blues.

[mastermindmiko]

Third times' the charm

pairing: Sirius Black + reader

Summary: The two times you and Sirius didn't kiss on new years and the one time you did

For the sake of this story please imagine that Hogwarts classes continue in the new year, so they can have parties in the common room.

Warnings: none, I believe, but let me know

HAPPY NEW YEAR EVERYONE! I hope everyone's new year is joyful and prosperous, enjoy 2025

Gryffindor parties always are booming to the point where we need several silencing enchantments in order to keep it quiet, merlin knows what minnie would do if she found out her house were sneaking in alcohol and the loudest muggle speaks any muggleborn could find (simply because a spell wouldn’t have the same effect as speakers).

Despite all that, my boys and I are always divided the same way we always are. James on the dance floor trying to woo Lily, Sirius trying to woo the third girl of the night, Remus playing poker, winning of course, how else would Gryffindor house be able to pay for the barrels of booze and the bottles of Firewhiskey. Peter watches Remus win, counting the money and telling them how much they need to pay the shady dealer that they got the alcohol from.

I am doing arguably the most important job of the whole party, playing the music. I’ve created many many many playlists and all of which are featured in Gryffindor parties. I play some ABBA (Lily’s request), Bowie (Remus’ request) and Queen (Sirius’ request). From the corner of my eye, I see James walk up to the desk where I have everything set up, the different CDs, the record players and of course the speakers.

“Hello!” James shouts, voice low to me from being so close to the speakers. He’s sweating a bunch from all the dancing and his cheeks flushed. If he wasn’t an athlete, I’d think he’d pass out, so many people with so little air with that much effort? I would’ve been long gone a while ago. I reply, “Hey, James, any reason you left your mission to come speak to me?”

“My mission was not abandoned, I just changed tactics.” He declared, and turned to give me some puppy eyes, that I thought only Sirius had mastered. I sighed, “Oh no.”

“Please, please, please, please, please-” James started to beg, holding his hands together, and I was sure that he was a second away from getting down on his knees. I unwound his hands, and looked at him in disdain, anticipating that he’ll tell me something that will make me jump off of the astronomy tower. I groaned, “No amount of begging will make me do anything you want James, if I don’t already want to do it.”

“That’s not true, last month, you didn’t want to turn all the Slytherin’s dinner back alive again, but you helped us-”

“No, I never said I didn’t want to do that, I simply said that I didn’t have the time.” I reply, and the record ends, so I quickly pull out another and place it on the record player. The music filled the room again, and Sirius came to join the discussion. He asks, “How’s it going with the Queen’s best hits album-”

“Not now, Padfoot, I’m in the process of making all my dreams come true.” James interrupts, and turns to look at me once more, he continues, “It’s a simple request really, very very small, very insignificant, you’ll barely even notice that you’re doing it-”

“Cut to the chase, James.” I huff, and he once again activates his puppy eyes. He pleads, “You would really be the best, the absolute best if you could play a slow song for me and Lily.”

“What?! James, a slow song? This is a party, no one wants a slow song.” I moan, and he juts his bottom lip out, pouting. Sirius gives him a little thumbs up from the corner of my eye, so they have been teaching each other. I smack Sirius’ hand down. James says, “I’ll dance with Lily and she’ll be my new year’s kiss and we will have a lovely year together, spending it in each other’s arms and-”

“I really do not want to know where that sentence was heading.” I cut him off, and Sirius throws an arm around my shoulder, I straighten up a bit. Sirius supports, “A slow sound would actually do wonders in helping me seal the deal too, love.”

“Ohh, speaking of which, who is the poor unfortunate victim that will have to spend the first second of the new year locking lips with you?” James asks, and I feel myself getting disgusted from the boys around me. Sirius starts to toy with a strand of my hair, and he replies, “Molly Prewett.”

“Molly Prewett!” I scream, and Sirius shushes me almost just as loudly as I scream the poor girl’s name. I protest, “Fabian and Gideon will kill you if you come near her, plus she’s a sixth year, and you’re two years younger than her, she wouldn’t even look at you, and she’s head over heels for Arthur Weasley who will also kill you if you come near her.”

“I can handle a few punches, Arthur's not here, and what the twins don’t know won’t hurt them.” Sirius refutes, and I roll my eyes at him. I huff, “And how exactly do you expect to get those two away from their sister.”

I look to where Fabian and Gideon are sitting on either side of their sister on the couch who is talking to her friend on the opposite couch. They’re always attached to the hip and they are always ready to defend their sister when it comes to anyone who is not a female. Sirius shrugs his shoulders, “Simple, we distract them by something they both want.”

“And what exactly is that?”

“Gideon’s easy, you know how he’s been wanting Remus to help him with his poker game for years now, and Remus agreed to help. Fabian on the other hand wants something a little bit more difficult for me to achieve.” Sirius looks at me, eyebrows raised, suggestively and I furrow mine. James hums, “Ohh yeah I heard about those rumors too.”

“But alas my brother, they are not rumors, it is in fact true.” Sirius says, and looks back at me again. He tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear, and I question, “What rumors?”

“Our dear, dear, fellow prankster and fifth year, Fabian Prewett, twin of Gideon Prewett, and more importantly, brother of Molly Prewett, likes you.” Sirius announces, smirking as my face flushes and I let out a squeal of surprise. I shove Sirius’ arm off my shoulder and it only makes his grin widen. I say, “But I’ve barely even talked to him, how can he like me?”

“Maybe that’s what he likes, you know the mystery.” James teases, wiggling his fingers in a spooky manner. I ignore the boy, and look back at Sirius. I ask, “I am not going to be a part of your game.”

“You’ll be helping your dearest friend.” Sirius tries, I shake my head and say, “Remus is my dearest friend.”

“Second dearest?”

“Nope. That would be James.” James punches the air in victory.

“Third?”

“Peter actually cause he doesn’t pester me with annoying requests.” I say, and Sirius huffs. He relaxes his shoulders and gives me a smile before grabbing one of my hands in both of his. He says, “For your very dear and close friend.”

“I am not going to kiss someone I don’t want to kiss and lead them on just for you to get a new year’s kiss from a girl that probably doesn’t like you and whom you’ll dump a few days later.” I stated, and his shoulders sagged. He opened his mouth to protest, but I gave him a firm glare.

“Well, at least help out my poor boy James, you wouldn’t want to break both our hearts tonight.” Sirius says, moving towards James, slinging an arm around his shoulder and both of them give me the cute puppy dog eyes that make me so very weak. I groan, “Ugh, fine. But only if the moment is right.”

“Yes, thank you, thank you, thank you!” James exclaims, and gives me a quick hug from over the table and I smile at his enthusiasm. He whispers, “Make sure it’s after an ABBA song so that Lily is already standing.”

I nod my head and he drifts off back to where he was, centre of the common room, shaking his body to the beat and lip syncing all the lyrics to Lily who looked around trying to avoid making eye contact with him but with a slight flush on her face. Sirius goes back to trying to get Molly’s approval as her new year’s kiss while I shuffle through the boxes of CDs trying to find any of them suitable for a slow song.

Sooner than I realised, the countdown starts. We are only two seconds in before Sirius comes sitting next to me rubbing his jaw in pain. I ask, “What happened?”

“Arthur punched me when I tried to get close to Molly, apparently he floo-ed in just so he could kiss her.” He groans and continues to rub his jaw.

7

6

Sirius looks at me quickly, and he perks up.

5

4

I look at him all confused, until I realise that he is starting to lean towards me with his eyes fluttering shut, hand reaching out to grab onto my waist.

3

I laugh at how absurd it is that he thinks I might actually kiss him. I raise my palm to cover his mouth, and he pouts underneath my palm.

2

“Don’t even think about it, Sirius.”

1

***

But the funny thing is, while Sirius didn’t think about it, I did.

Sirius always was my friend, just a friend, never in my life have I ever thought that padfoot, my friend since we were eleven and that is five years now could be anything more to me than just a friend, a comrade. Never in my life have the thought of something more even entered my head to even just cross it, until it did.

It simply just wasn’t my fault. There were three factors at fault here; Marlene, the suit and Sirius. It all started when we were sitting in the common room, as we always are. Lily, Marlene, Alice, Mary and I. The talk led to the conversation of boys. Somehow in a way unknown to me it led to Sirius. Mary chimed, “He is quite fit, you know.”

“No, I’d never thought about it really.” I shrugged my shoulders, indifferently. Marlene looked at me in an absurd way and she giggled, “Come on, you have to know that he is quite gorgeous, think about it.”

And I did. I thought about his long perfect shiny smooth black hair that always seems to fall in the most perfect way. His nose arched just right, and his cupid’s bow was very pretty. How his eyes are the perfect mix between a cold grey and a stormy ocean that could just make anyone fall to their knees. The next thing I knew, I blushed whenever he hugged me or came to sit flushed next to me.

To make matters even worse, there was a Slughorn dinner party, and while of course, I got invited because of my excellent potion skills, Sirius only got invited due to name recognition. He might not be good at potions, but any member of the Black family didn’t have to be. Sirius invited me along as his date, his reasons being: Everyone already understands that he and I are just friends so he can go with me, talk to any girl he’d like, rather than if he had gone with a date which then he would’ve only been able to talk to her alone.

It seemingly made sense in the realm of the boy world, a place where I would never like to be and didn’t put much thought into. It also took the burden of finding a date off of me, so really the invite was a blessing. The problem arised when Sirius had come down the stairs before the dinner. So, there he was standing, hair looking perfect, shiny black oxfords and most importantly a tailored suit that made him look so incredibly elegant, and, there is no other way to describe it, expensive.

Having Marlene already opened my eyes to the Sirius Black appeal, not drooling over him when wearing a suit was almost impossible. The night went on without a hitch, except for one. Sirius’ did not abide by his reason for him asking me to be his date. He didn’t talk to another girl the whole night, even when Slughorn talked about yet again one of his achievements. I might not have been super focused but I didn’t so much see him glance at another girl. I might be blindsighted to these kinds of things, but not only was that happening, but he also seemed closer to me than usual.

The usual being what I was used to with the boys. The arm around the shoulder, the occasional for a small moment hug, sometimes even a mocking kiss on the forehead. What was not the usual was holding my hand (albeit for a few minutes), and the kiss on my check that he left at the end of the night before I headed to my dorm.

That is why Sirius is the third fault because why would someone who is clearly such a womanizer and anti-attachment supporter choose his friend to be attached to for a whole night, ignoring the complete existence of the previously mentioned reason for the date in the first place.

It would be completely and utterly foolish of me to say that I have no regard for Sirius’ that would be a lie, we are friends, close friends, and I sometimes look at him and want more. I blame that on his looks, it’s a wonder how generations of inbreeding the ancient and noble house of Black did not lead to deformities but rather elegance and beauty. I also blame it on his carefree attitude and the way he can make almost anyone laugh at any given moment despite what was going on in their heads.

Not to mention the fact that he is much deeper than what most of Hogwarts perceived him as, what I perceived him until lately. See, the invite to Slughorn’s dinner was only the beginning of a myriad of ‘adventures’ that I began to have with Sirius. Talks in the astronomy tower, late night snacks into the kitchens, and such. I want to ask him what caused the sudden change, but I was much too afraid to ask him, frightening him, and no longer seeing his gorgeous, beautiful face-

Maybe I liked him more than I led myself to believe, and all of these thoughts and memories entered my head because once again, just like twelve months ago, I am standing in the exact same spot, and I say, “We are not doing this again this year.”

The two boys both begged me for the same things as last year, but this time a little different. I start with James, “Remember what happened last year during the slow dance that you requested? Lily danced with some innocent boy that she might’ve actually liked and what did you do? Hex him! You hexed him! Lily didn’t talk for a while didn’t she? (not like she usually talks to you anyways…) Why do you think that repeating the same actions another time will lead to a different outcome?”

I huff and turn to Sirius, “What is up with you and this need you have for a new years kiss? You didn’t get one last year didn’t you? And didn’t this year turn out fine? Stop trying to get that kiss of yours from girls who you don’t want anyways. Doesn’t a new year’s kiss only matter if you’re getting it from someone you like?”

“Well, I-” James starts, but Sirius presses his index to James’ lips, hushing him. He clears his throat then says, “I’ll go first, prongs. The new year’s kiss isn’t simply about locking lips with some random girl. It’s about giving out goodluck into the new year, setting the tone for all the upcoming relationships, ensuring that I don’t spend a year filled with loneliness!”

He huffed and walked away towards the common room exit. My eyebrows shoot up, stunned at Sirius’ outburst on something so pathetic, or at least it seems that way to me. As I’ve come to learn, the things that Sirius’ cares about are cared about for a reason that he doesn’t usually share. I need to go check up on him. James starts, “I think you should-”

“On it, James.” I move around my setup and table and head towards the exit of the common room. James scoffs from behind me, “Why is no one letting me finish my sentences today?”

I close the portrait of the fat lady behind me and I see him leaning against a wall cigarette in hand. He sees me walk up to him and he puts the cigarette out, he knows how I hate those things. He turns to look the other way and I sigh, “Do you wanna talk about it?”

He doesn’t reply and I see him twitching to reach for another cigarette, he folds his arms instead. I ask, “Can I tell you what I think at least?”

“Always, you know I love hearing you talk even if you’re psychologically analyzing me.” He chuckles at the end, I find myself smiling a bit myself. I clear my throat before starting, “I wouldn’t know much about superstitions and all of that, but I’m sure none of what you said is that important to you except for one thing. The part about loneliness?”

“Sirius, I want you to know that the love- the relationship we all have together, it’s unbreakable, and nothing as small and insignificant as a kiss at a specific time during the year is going to change that.” I reassure him, and reach out to place a hand on his shoulder.

He sighs, “Never in my- I’ve never had um this feeling of security in all of this, and when I was younger, I had no one, but well, Reggie-Regulus be we all know how that turned out, and I just want some sort of guarantee, some sort of reassurance, I guess that I won’t be lonely, just to calm me down a bit. If a stupid kiss can help with that, then why not?”

“I get what you mean, Sirius.” I say, and give me a smile while rubbing my hand over his shoulder. He reaches out to grab my hand, and softly grabs it in his delicate and long fingers. He presses a soft kiss to the palm of my hands. Lips hovering over my skin and his hot breath warming up my cold hand. He whispers, “Thank you, darling”

His thumb brushes over my skin, and he looks at me with those beautiful eyes. My whole soul feels like it’s humming and vibrating from the contact. I swear that he inches a little bit closer and that for a split second, I feel his eyes lower from mine to my lips. It’s enough for my breath to get caught. The moment, too delicate to break so I whisper back, “You should probably try and find that kiss now, midnight is in less than a minute.”

His movements pause, I think this is it, until he pulls away completely, taking two large steps back. The cold engulfs my body once more, and he nods his head before walking right past me and into the common room. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, I’m almost completely sure that I hadn’t read the moment wrong.

10

9

I hear them start the countdown.

8

7

I take my two steps towards the common room

6

5

I wave to the fat lady and I say the password

4

3

The door swings open and-

2

1

Sirius is kissing Marlene McKinnon

***

That relationship didn’t last long, two weeks to be precise, and just after it ended within only four days, Marlene got together with Dorcas Meadows. The ‘fallout’ if you could call it that, was entirely my fault. I had previously thought that my feelings for Sirius were purely infatuation, but after spending the first half an hour of the new year, crying while Remus held me because Remus always knows about things like these, I realised they may be deeper than I had known.

Nothing changed, it just went back to how it was before. We all hangout together as a group, Sirius and I alone? Not so much anymore, so the same as to how it was. Sirius tried, many times, to get me to engage with him, but I couldn’t. I should’ve pushed my feelings aside so as to not hurt him, but I felt as though I was the one doing all the hurting.

This new year, there was no party, you would think that the last new years’ Gryffindor Hogwarts party for the marauders would be the biggest and the loudest and the craziest, but this new year was spent differently. There was a party going on, it just didn’t involve us.

I’ve only ever visited Dumbledore’s office a handful of times during my time here at Hogwarts, I wasn't as much of a trouble maker as my friends who knew the office layout by heart, and became close friends with our headmaster’s phoenix. It was some sort of initiation to some secret organisation, he called it ‘the order of the phoenix’.

Dark times were upon us, and everyday the dark lord gets stronger while we don’t do anything about it. People are dying, muggles are dying and muggle borns even. Soon the target will be on our backs, those who support those muggles. It would be crazy if we didn’t help, if we didn’t take a stand. When Dumbledore asks us to put our names down on an enchanted paper, I was the last one to write my name down. I couldn’t even grab the quill before-

“No.”

“No?” I turn to look at the source of the protest and there he is, standing, arms folded, looking very angry for some reason. He states, as if it were obvious, “You’re not joining.”

I look at him incredulously, and turn my whole body towards him to ask, “Why the hell not?”

“Oopp- um Sirius’ I think you outta take this somewhere else, if you’re going to quarrel.” Mary suggests from next to Lily. Sirius puts her suggestion deep into his head, and he grabs me by my hand. I stop him dead in his tracks and oppose, “We’re not going to quarrel, cause he doesn’t have a say in what I do or don’t do.”

Sirius rolls his eyes and before I could even try to process what was happening, he hauls me by my waist over his shoulder, and he takes me outside the office. I scream, “Hey! Put me down!”

He slams the door behind us, and he starts walking down a spiral staircase. My body jumps up and down and each movement has its own impact on Sirius’ shoulder. I groan everytime and I groan and shout, “Fine, fine, just get me off your damn shoulders.”

He does not listen to me and we reach the opening of Dumbledore’s office at the base of the spiral staircase. He lifts me up and sets me down in front of him. I scream, “What the hell was that? You can't just manhandle me like that, and you can't tell me what I can and can't do!”

“You can’t join the order! It's dangerous.” he says, and I roll my eyes, the fury building up more and more inside me. I shout, “And what it’s dangerous foe me, but not for anyone else? Everyone in there signed up! Lily, Marlene, Dorcas, Mary, Alice, Frank, James, Peter-”

“I don’t need the list, I was there.” he says, and I can’t hear what he’s saying at this point, I continue, “Am I not as good a witch as everyone else there?”

“Merlin- of course not, you could beat any of our asses easy-”

“Then why the hell not?”

“You could get hurt.” Sirius says and his eyes narrow down at the floor at the tips of his shoes as if he just confessed something. I scoff, “And no one else is going to get hurt? The death eaters are going to try to harm me anyways-”

“Being in the order is a bigger target on your back, and-”

“Supporting muggle borns is reason enough for them to try to kill me, being in the order at least allows me to fight back.” I reason and Sirius isn’t having it. His arms folded and face red, “You can't die.”

"I can not keep losing you like this." He admits, and his voice cracks. It's enough to bring my anger down to a simmer. I sigh, "You're not losing me."

"Really?" He snaps, and he looks me directly in the eye for the first time in this conversation. He bursts, "You told me all that sweet bullshit about how our relationship is unbreakable and then you go and ignore me, sometimes you wouldn't even look at me, without so much as a reason why."

Shame seeps into my skin, I didn't think that it would impact him this much, I didn't think he cared about our friendship this much. He continues, "And you did this for nearly a year, a whole year! Do you know how terrible that was?"

It's my turn to look at the floor, and I stutter, "I-I I'm sorry, I didn't know -"

"I want a reason." He states firmly. Looking at me with a steady gaze. I take a moment and think, is this when I actually tell him?

"And, please...make it the truth." He says, and I sigh, "I would never lie to you."

I take a deep breath and admit, "You kissed Marlene Mckinnon."

"What?"

"Last year, your New years kiss was Marlene." I say, hoping I don't have to say more, that he will understand, drop it, and we can go on as is. He questions, "What does that have to do with us?"

"I didn't want you to kiss Marlene, I wanted you to kiss me." I finish, and I bite my lip anxiously. I look back at the floor, and I hear him say, "Oh."

I feel my eyes begin to sting with tears as the silence stretches. He takes a step closer to me, and he says, "Ten seconds left till midnight."

Great, I'm going to start another year off in tears. The thought makes me sniffle, a tear fails to escape as Sirius places his index under my chin. He tilts my head up, and I gasp.

His gaze is hyperfocused on one thing only, my lips. I feel time tick inside my head, second by second.

9

He leans into me, and I pull back

8

"I don't want you to kiss me just because of a New years kiss."

7

6

5

"I'm going to kiss you because I want you. I want you as all my New Year's kisses for the rest of my life."

4

He counts this time, each time more and closer to my lips. He whispers, "Three... Two...one."

His lips crash into mine, and all I can say is, finally.

[madamspellmans-met-tet]

Watching the fireworks and all I can think about is:

“But upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky” — LDR, Ride Monologue

A year ago, I was still in medschool. Already ill, but still studying 12 hours a day for my board exam while I was at my fiancée’s. It was the first NYE in years that I didn’t feel alone. I was with the woman I loved and her beautiful children and lovely family. It was the happiest winter I’ve had in a long, long time, despite all that was going on.

I wanted to be a doctor. A better one than those that had taken a year to diagnose what I already knew I had only to then tell me “there’s nothing more we can do for you.”

Now I stand before the debris of everything that I was. I barely recognise myself. I barely believe that I still exist.

A couple of years ago, I had started medschool, and I was doing well there, I was passionate and it was where I belonged. Spent days in the biochem lab or the dissecting hall and came home late to write my silly fanfiction. I’d even sometimes write them at medschool between lectures or on the train. I did my art, played instruments, sang, edited, filmed silly thirst traps and so on. Then I met my girlfriend and I was happy. It was the peak of my life, I’d thought.

And then, thanks to the negligence of my former doctor and genetics, the illnesses that I’d unknowingly had all my life, got so much worse and ultimately left me bedridden and with barely any quality of life. I had to quit medschool/request a break due to illness, which was approved.

I can’t stand for more than 5 minutes without threatening to pass out. Can’t sit for more than an hour and stay focused, lose my train of thought when I stand up. Need an hour in the morning before I can halfway safely get up, three before I can function. I need help washing my hair, doing chores and cooking and can’t really leave my house. My joints subluxate multiple times a day and I get awful nerve pain when in a flare. I can’t take a bath or shower without ending up on the floor as soon as I get out with a pulse of 150 bpm. It all makes me feel incredibly unattractive. I’m pale, my skin is dry and flaky, my eyes have dark circles, my lips are chapped, and I’m using a can.

I feel ugly.

My writing has slowed down dramatically but it’s the only thing I can still do somewhat decently and I’m being evaluated for disability. My brain, that has been the only thing I could rely on all my life, is forsaking me. It’s demanding to be fed like it used to when it was still a sponge, but when I feed it, it gets too much. And so I’m perpetually bored and overwhelmed at the same time.

I wanted to be a doctor and a writer.

And even though I’m still aiming to try publishing, I’m not sure I have enough energy to do it. I was supposed to get married in 2025. Now I have to attend my best friend’s wedding on my own. And I know it’s my fault, because I got bitter and most of all, because I lost hope. And at the same time, it’s not my fault.

The truth is, I don’t know how many more years I can live on 10% of what I used to be and I don’t want anyone to have to go through this with me. I’m not going to do anything stupid anytime soon. But I can’t do this forever if there is no treatment or hope for improvement on the horizon.

And as always when my life goes to shit, I got attached to another actress more than twice my age. And Patti is keeping me afloat right now. She’s so full of life that I can’t help but feel a little alive as well.

“But upon an unfortunate series of events saw those dreams dashed and divided like a million stars in the night sky” — LDR, Ride Monologue

Happy New Year.

[seilon]

well I finished it. you know someone in one of my classes the other day was talking about how the final edit of this show cut out a fair amount of content for the sake of sticking to netflix’s time limit and how you can kind of just Feel that void when you watch it. and i understand now

[nezuscribe]

𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐛𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐬

pairing: gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: you find yourself in a marriage that you never wanted in the first place. your husband seems to hate you and you begin to wonder if anything you used to think of him was even true. who would have though a marriage to gojo satoru would be so difficult?

warnings: 18+ mdni, arranged marriage, misunderstandings and just not talking shit out, mentions of cheating, slight angst (with comfort), eating out (fem! receiving), fingering, gojo doesn't really know how to husband for some of it

word count: 10.9K (whoops)

note: part two is up! i really had a lot of fun writing this so reblogs and comments are always appreciated! as always, thank you to @jadeisthirsting for beta reading <3

jjk masterlist

never did you think that you’d be stuck in a marriage to a man who didn’t love you, but there’s a first for everything. 

you should count yourself lucky that he’s not old and bald. he’s pretty. in fact, he’s the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. his eyes are the bluest, bluer than the sky. his hair mirrors the winter snows, and his back ripples with muscles whenever he fights. 

his agility is unlike any other man. he fights swiftly and cleanly, never taking more than a couple minutes to get rid of whatever it was that stood in his way. he’s charming with his words (or so you’ve heard), and he knows how to make somebody swoon if he really wants them to. 

and he seems to despise you.

you had known gojo since you were a child, the two of you running around each other's fields as you chased him with your wooden sword. you remembered watching him in training, wishing him good luck whenever he went on a hunt. you could even remember how he would stutter whenever he tried to talk, something he must have worked on because he never seemed to stutter anymore. 

he was always nice to you, his cheeks rosy whenever you kissed him goodbye. he was kind back then, grinning brightly whenever he saw you. 

but as time grew and you with it, and it was only a matter of years before the two of you went your separate ways. it didn’t help that once he turned thirteen he had to leave for training and fighting in whatever it was that was needed of him, but you had hoped that he would be able to write back. 

you would send him letters whenever you could, it was tradition whenever the two of you were separated for too long to do so. each letter telling him about new experiences and embarrassing things that happened in your life, but he never responded. you liked to send one every week, sometimes including little tokens you thought he might enjoy. but you stopped sending them after the first two years and stopped asking about his whereabouts after three. 

but you were hopeful that when you saw him that night so many months ago, he’d be civil with you. you were nervous, sure, but who could blame you? you had recently gotten news that his time to serve his clan was over and that he was finally back home. it wasn’t as though the two of you had left on bad graces, so you were hopeful that he would at least remember you. but he could barely meet your eyes whenever you tried to catch him from across the room, acting as if you had never existed. 

he looked so different since the last time you had seen him. he was taller than most of the people in the room, his white hair just as bright as it used to be. he had gained muscle mass almost everywhere, and you felt yourself wondering just how much training he had to go through to look this way. you could see him talking to a girl, a smile on his face as he tilted his head to look at her better. you gave him some time to socialize, not wanting to intrude on anything. 

after an hour you decided that it was long enough, and tried to weave your way through the crowd to get to him. you had tried to call out to him, waving to him despite your mother quickly shoving your hand down, saying how improper it was. he heard you and you knew that he was purposely ignoring you, so you began to feel heavy-hearted after a couple of attempts at trying to catch his attention, eventually giving up. 

and now, despite you wanting to, you can’t even blame him for hating you. 

ever since your mother caught you, alone with him, a man you hadn’t seen in so long, she had swiftly and promptly proposed the idea of marriage only a few days later. it was really to save face for the two families, but it helped that this marriage would unify the two clans. 

you were sure he had ladies lined up to marry him, and you weren’t somebody he was actively trying to pursue. you didn’t even know if he was in love with somebody else if he shared a connection with a girl who was surely not you and cursed you for taking that away from him. 

not that it mattered now. 

all you wanted was to reconcile, to catch up on all the things happening in your lives. you wanted to hear all the stories he must have racked up over the years, not for this to happen. all the things he wanted for himself were ripped away because of one night from one simple act of kindness, and so you couldn’t find it in yourself to hate him for the way he acted.

you rarely come down for dinner whenever he’s there, but when you do, you feel those eyes turn icy, tracking your every movement till you sit down opposite of him. he doesn’t say much, just mutters a quiet “good evening” and you’re sure he’s only doing it so the maids don’t start to gossip. 

whenever your hand brushes his you feel him snap back, flexing his hand as though your touch burned him. he rarely came by to ask you about how you felt, and so you stopped trying to act kindly towards him if he didn’t want anything to do with it.

any semblance of romance you had dreamed of as a young girl quickly dissipated when you realized your husband wanted nothing to do with you, so you didn’t try to pursue any sort of love, deciding it’d be easier if he just did his part and you did yours so the two clans wouldn’t worry. 

he was always gone, which might be the best for the two of you. when he’s not training new men then he’s gone in a hunt. if he’s not in a hunt then he’s somewhere in his endless home, hiding away. 

you don’t know if he does this for him, for your sake, or for everybody else. 

“did you see your husband this morning?” one of your maids said excitedly as she tugged the undergarments over your raised arm, a gleeful smile on her face as she rambled about something gojo had done. you couldn’t help but return a smile of your own, although it didn’t quite meet your eyes. 

“yes, briefly. he’s busy with having to worry about the feast,” which wasn’t a total lie. you’d seen him hurriedly brush past you, quickly glancing at you as if he had forgotten you were his wife. you felt your chest tighten up with the way he glanced at your hand, and then quickly left. 

it was only a few nights away and you knew that it was the only buzz of news anybody seemed to talk about. unfortunately, for you, it meant having to socialize with other clans. you were fine with that aspect, you’d been doing it since you were young, but this time they had a right to be nosey. you knew there would be endless questions asked about the honeymoon stage of your marriage, to which you had no answer. 

sure, you’d been making up answers to hypothetical questions, but you didn’t know what gojo would be answering with, so you were only praying some of your responses would line up. 

for a night the two of you would have to pretend to be husband and wife, and while the people around you knew you were anything, you knew you had to commit to the role for the sake of you and your family’s dignity. 

but all this worrying isn’t good for your head, you could already feel the pang as you squeezed your eyes to try and get rid of it. you tried to move on from your worries, going to comment on her necklace, it seemed new, but a knock interrupted you. the two of your heads popped up, looking at where the sound came from. 

“come in!” you called out, buttoning up the last bits of your top as you thanked myra. she nodded, bowing as she went to open the door. you could hear her faint footsteps, not bothering to look up as she greeted the person behind. you guessed it was franchesca coming with the fabric samples. 

“sir,” you heard myra say, and your head swirled around, only to see the topic of your conversation make his way into your room, excusing your maid with a swift motion of his hand. she glanced once at you and then to him, ducking her head as she left, closing the door behind her as she left you two alone. 

you felt heat prickle at the back of your neck as he looked at you and then to your room. the two of you slept separately, as per your request the first night. you couldn’t bear the agonizing silence between the two of you, and he obliged. 

he was dressed for sparring. he had a loose-fitting tunic on, and pants that would allow him to move freely and without constraint. it was in moments like these that you were reminded of the fact that gojo was the strongest warrior that any of the clans had seen, that the child who once splurged on sugar in his tea was capable (and has done so before) of taking down entire armies. 

he had matured so much since what you last remembered from him. he no longer acted rashly nor spoke without thinking about what it was he wanted to say. but you still saw him eating sweets with the same fervor he did as a kid, and it never failed to make you smile, hiding it behind your hand so nobody could hear your quiet giggle. 

it had been a while since it was just the two of you, alone, and all you could think about was that night. your cheeks heated up just thinking about it, and it seemed that gojo could tell your discomfort with the way he cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair as he began to speak. 

“good morning,” he started, his eyes darting around, never setting on yours. it was funny if it didn’t cause your heart to hurt irrevocably, at how the strongest warrior in all the land could barely look at his wife. 

if only you knew.

“good morning.” you offered him a quick, disingenuous smile, moving around until you found your vanity, rummaging through your laid-out earrings as you kept your back to him, not trusting your face to give you away if you were to look at him for too long. 

you heard him take in an audible breath, but he continued whatever it was he wanted to say. 

“with the feast coming up, i want to clear some things with you,” you turned around, looping the earrings in as you nodded for him to continue. it was such a shame he was so stunning, effortlessly attractive as the sun caught off his cheekbones, bouncing off of his chest. he rested his hand on the hilt of his sword, and you wondered if being here was just as painfully awkward for him as it was for you. 

“we should act like we’re…” he trailed off and you felt yourself itching to leave, knowing what he meant without having to say it. 

“in love?” you finished and he slowly nodded, gnawing on his lip as you brushed past him, going to find the mirror so you could adjust your jewelry. you could see him fidgeting in the corner, and for once you could see a hint of nervousness and unease on his features. 

and a part of you hurt. you would never admit out loud that you harbored a crush on him for as long as you could remember. it hurt knowing that you acting like you were in love was perhaps the lost genuine form of love you could show. 

“what if they ask about the night we met?” you ask after a couple of seconds, looking up from what you were doing. deep down, you knew somebody was bound to ask. even if it was just your mother who had caught the two of you alone in that garden, the news of it somehow spread (she was always one to talk). 

he scratches his head, shrugging as he eventually settles on an idea.

“just tell them the truth.” 

the truth. 

tell them how he followed you after you had run outside, sick to your stomach after a man, who was as old as your father, had introduced himself as a possible suitor. how gojo, the most ruthless warrior in all the land, had carefully put his hands on your back as you retched, offering you a towel he had fetched from inside to clean yourself up. 

tell them how you hadn’t seen him in years but the first thing you had done was to hug him tightly. how his hands wrapped around your back as though they were the only things keeping you afloat. perhaps they were. 

tell them how he murmured words in your hair to bring you back to reality, his thumb running up and down your arms to calm you down. how it seemed like even though it had been years since you two last saw each other, it felt so right, so normal, to be back in his arms. 

tell them how he had looked at you with such worry, such care, unlike anybody else had looked at you, and you for once felt safe in somebody’s arms. 

tell them how your mother found you two in such a compromising position, with your head nestled in his chest as he tried his very best to soothe your cries. it was humiliating and embarrassing to be caught with a man you had only seen back in your teenage years, and especially so in such a vulnerable position. 

you shake your head, scoffing at the idea, “i’ll just come up with something,” was your answer and he nods along, realizing how the story would be too private to share with people you barely knew.

“and we need a reason for why,” he cleared his throat once again, pink dusting on his cheeks as his eyes dropped to your stomach. your eyes met his in the mirror, and one of your eyebrows raised, “well, you’re not exactly looking like you’re carrying a child at the moment.” 

you quickly looked away, the tension in the room increasing as you moved away from the mirror, doing anything you could to keep your hands occupied. you flushed at the comment, your throat drying up as you glanced at your stomach.

the two of you have barely touched, much less been intimate with each other. you were glad he hadn’t forced the idea onto you, instead, leaving it to you to bring up the topic. you only talked about it, once, the night of the marriage, and then never again. you knew that it would have to happen eventually, but you couldn’t do it right now, not with your state of mind. 

you scrambled to say something. in all honesty, you had been dreading this question. you hadn’t been answering any of the letters your mother sent, and you knew people were expecting to hear the news of a pregnancy. 

“we’ll just say we’ve been so busy and preoccupied with the politics of marriage that we couldn’t… consummate.” you offered and he just shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose as if this was the biggest inconvenience to him. 

you knew that this marriage was brought upon quickly and before either of you could object to it, but at least you tried to hide it away. if only he hadn’t acted so rashly that night, his hands on your shoulders, eyes bewildered as they racked over your figure. if only he had been more careful, or you were smarter in picking some place to be more concealed, you wouldn’t be put in this position. 

but neither of you was thinking ahead, and here you were. but he was certainly making sure that you knew of his contempt for this arrangement far more than you were. it was irritating, it scratched at your skin and ate away at your mind the more you saw each other.

“look,” he couldn’t take his eyes off of you, off of the way you were fiddling with the ring he had delicately placed on your hand so many weeks ago, “i can come up with whatever they ask, so just try your best to do the same.” you say, your voice tinged with anger, the ring on your finger acting as an anchor to the depths of the sea with the way it weighed down your movements, feeling your chest swell as he stayed silent, watching you as you opened the door. 

“i don’t-”

“um, i won’t be joining you for dinner, so don’t wait on me…i apologize, i need to work on some things for the feast…have a good day.” you swiftly murmured, shutting him in your own room as you left, your heart thumping erratically in your chest as you almost ran down the hallway. 

you had no idea how you were going to persuade the masses that this marriage was working if you couldn’t even persuade yourself. 

---

the feast of clans came earlier than you expected. 

you found yourself perched at the end of the table, gojo next to you, your stiff bodies mirroring each other as the people around you joyously helped themselves to the vast variety of food offered. 

you could barely touch the meal in front of you, your stomach churning uncomfortably with the sheer number of people that surrounded you. back home, you hated these feasts, opting to leave after a couple of bites and finish the rest of what you could pocket in your room, but here, as the clan leader's wife, you had no such luxury. 

“are you not hungry?” you looked to your side, gojo staring at your plate and then to you, his eyes squinting as he tried to decipher what you were feeling.

“i can’t eat,” you murmured, playing with your utensils as you swallowed thickly, “i don’t do well in large crowds.” 

he nodded once, looking out into the sea of bodies as he inched a little bit closer to you. he was donned in expensive fabrics, although his hair still messily fell all over. the candle that was lit in front of you had different hues of oranges and reds bouncing off of his pale skin, and if you didn’t know any better, the blush on his nose and cheeks could have been from the frigid winds from outside. 

“i’ll have myra save you a plate,” he said, giving you a curt smile as he went back to eating. 

you were momentarily taken aback by his comment, but tried not to show it, going back to fidgeting with your ring as you looked at the sea of people. nobody had thankfully come up to you and bombarded you with questions, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t going to eventually happen. 

“thank you,” you say, glancing at him and then back to your plate. 

“anything for my wife,” he replies. it’s only for show, you remind yourself, after all, when was the last time he referred to you as such? 

“gojo,” an old man had walked up to your table, his face lined with wrinkles and a beard, dressed in orange as he offered gojo his hand to shake, “i’m glad to see that you finally settled down.”

gojo blushed deeply, trying to offer him a smile as he motioned to you. 

“it’s hard to resist marriage when such a woman offers it.” he says, and you feel your eyes widen as you try to laugh off his statement. 

“yes,” the old man chuckles, eyeing the two of you. he looked familiar, and you were sure you had seen him around these sorts of gatherings before, “it was only a matter of time before it happened. we all knew just how much you liked her back when you were children.”

the two of you sputtered on your coughs, and you felt a little smile grow on your face as gojo did what he could to usher the man away. 

you could tell with the way he shifted uncomfortably in his seat that gojo wasn’t expecting that, and before you could realize what you were doing you found yourself talking. 

“i’m not a fan of feasts.” you quickly said, the words tumbling out of your mouth before you could stop them. it’s not like you felt you owed him an explanation, but you said it regardless. 

gojo looked up from his plate, grabbing his cup so he could wash down his bite. 

“any feast?” he asked, and you could feel the way the air shifted. he was glad you brought up a different topic. 

“one’s as big as this,” you twisted your ring back and forth on your finger subconsciously, “i get nervous in big crowds.”

“i remember,” a small smile grew on his face as he thought back to when the two of you were children, “you would hide under the tables and force me to come with you.” 

you chuckled, blood rushing to your ears at the fact that he remembered this about you. it was the bare minimum of what you remembered from him, but you had convinced yourself that he had washed every memory of your last selves from his mind. 

a rush of distant memories came to your head; nights spent under the tables, laughing as you two tried to keep your voices down as you tried to dodge the feet. you could still hear his whispers of staying quiet, trying to sneak out so he could smuggle in some pastries for you to eat.

“the adults scared me; they were always loud and insistent on asking personal questions.”

“like they are now?” he replied back, a tilt in his voice as you nodded feverishly. 

“yes!” you covered your mouth with your hand as you let out a laugh, a genuine one as you tried to look as put together as you could, “i swear, it’s even worse than when we were young. just the other day a wet nurse came to me and told me the best positions to get into when giving birth!” it really was a mortifying moment, your eyes darting all around as the old lady even took it upon herself to demonstrate the movements, but gojo didn’t seem to mind, laughing along with you. his eyes twinkled as they took in your giggly state, years since he had last seen you like this. 

“i feel like i should apologize,” he starts, having to cover his own infectious smile as he ducks down his head in shame, “i had her sent up to your chambers.”

your mouth dropped open in shock, lightly smacking his arm as he grinned at the look on your face.

“to mortify me so that i would never leave?” your thumb moves your ring back and forth and gojo watches you as you do it. 

“you seemed sick at breakfast, but i guess she thought it was a different sort of sickness.” gojo tells you as he cuts off some of his meat, not knowing just how much his words affected you. 

you had forgotten how simple and easy conversations were with gojo. although this was under a guise to fool people, you felt at ease with him, as if you didn’t have to be on guard with your emotions when he was around. 

“do you still want to hide under the table now?” he asked a couple of seconds later, chewing on a potato as you shrugged, looking around before your lips grew into an apologetic smile. 

“…yes,” you admitted bashfully and he smiled at your honest response. 

“if you want to hide, i’ll-”

“satoru!” a booming voice interrupted your endless spiral of thoughts as the two of you glanced upwards at the sound, “it’s been too long!” 

a man with hair as dark as night and a smile wider than any ocean had come up to your table. he was the first one to do so all night, but gojo didn’t seem bothered by it. he seemed to smile, crescents forming around his eyes as he took his friend's hand.

“too long,” he emphasized with a charming grin, motioning to you and then back to the man in front of you as if he suddenly remembered the two of you and never met, “suguru, this is my wife, y/n. y/n, this is one of my oldest friends.” 

you extended your hand outwards and the man, suguru, took it, placing a soft kiss on the back of it as he shot you a playful smile. he wasn’t at the wedding, but then yet again, it was a rather quick one. the only people who had attended were your families. 

“it’s a pleasure to meet you.” he greeted, and you nodded in agreement, sitting back down next to gojo. you felt his long fingers reach for yours, enveloping your hand in his as your heart sputtered at the touch. 

“likewise,” you answered and the man grinned politely before he slightly tilted his head, looking at the two of you sitting next to each other. 

“he’s not bothering you, is he? i know satoru can be fiendish when he wants to be, so call for me and i’ll take care of him.” he teased and you could only smile tightly and laugh along, gojo’s fingers slightly tightening around yours as he moved your hand to rest on his thigh. 

“i can take care of him when he’s fiendish. i just have to take the sugar away, right?” suguru snorted and gojo glared, but it was playful the way he looked at you. 

his hands were warmer than you would have expected. you could feel the indents of calluses on his fingertips, could feel his thumb moving back and forth on your skin in a calming sort of manner. he didn’t look over at you as he did it, playing it off as second nature. 

“i apologize for not having much time to get to know you, but i have something i need to talk to gojo about. would you mind? it will only take a minute?” he asked, and gojo let go of your hand at the time of his friend's voice. you had to control your urge to roll your eyes, shifting in your seat as you motioned for suguru to talk to your husband, watching as he stood from his seat, leaving with the man as they went somewhere a little more secluded. 

you watched as gojo leaned down to hear whatever it was that suguru was whispering in his ear, pulling back with a frown on his face. he snapped something that only caused suguru to reel back, cast a quick glance at you, and then shake his head in clear annoyance. 

you saw gojo look up, his eyes landing on somebody from across the room, and you followed his stare, only to land on a girl. 

she wore a dark yellow tunic and skirt, colors from a neighboring clan. you hadn’t seen her before, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t known. just one look at the men surrounding her and you could pick up on their lovesick expressions. 

she motioned for gojo to come to her with a bend of her finger, slyly brushing her hair out of her face to make it look as though it was nothing, exiting from the dining area and vanishing into one of the halls. 

you looked down in case either of the men glanced over to see if you were staring. your eyes pierced through the meat on your plate, bile rising up your throat. 

you gave yourself some time, counting up to a minute before you looked back to where suguru and gojo were, finding suguru standing alone. you looked at where the girl was and saw a flash of white hair before it disappeared, your heart sinking as you glanced back at suguru, only to find him looking at you. 

you looked back at your plate, picking up a knife and fork as you stabbed the meat. you couldn’t keep anything down but it’s best to pretend.

---

gojo didn’t return until half an hour later, and you refused to talk to him. 

“did anybody bombast you with questions?” he teased, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. he didn’t seem to pick up on your darkened mood as your fingers dug into your dress. 

“i had a woman ask me if you had disappeared with your mistress, but that was it.” you remarked, silence filling the void between the two of you and you realized that all you had thought of him was crumbling down. 

you didn’t care for your image anymore, giving curt answers to any questions somebody had asked. you could feel his stare on the side of your face but you didn’t humor him in looking over, focusing on your plate instead. 

so what if he was seeing somebody else? you would have been naive to think that he wouldn’t wander. the two of you barely touched each other. 

once all the guests had left over the course of the following days, you did everything you could to steer away from gojo. 

you no longer came down for breakfast or dinner, choosing to eat in your own quarters. if he wanted to have his own secrets, he could do whatever he pleased. 

though you rarely saw suguru after the feast, he did try to talk to you the morning after it took place. he cornered you after you had left from breakfast, his once playful demeanor turned serious as you tried your best to end the conversation. 

“what you saw last night-”

“is none of my business,” you finished, raising your hand as you cut him off, “if gojo has his own private matters to deal with, i’m indifferent to them all.” 

“you know that’s not what it was.” his hand hovered over your arm, careful not to touch you but not wanting you to leave either. 

“i ruined his life, didn’t i?” you tilted your head a bit in questioning. after all, that’s all you could hear from the women who gossiped as they folded the laundry, or behind the hands of the girls who watched you and gojo interact and the mothers who wanted their daughters to be set up with him only sneered at you from across the tables. 

“you…where’d you get that from?” his brows scrunched together in confusion as you scoffed, hoping he couldn’t see the tears welling in the corner of your eyes at the sting of your own words. 

“i can see it on his face. if gojo wants to have his own affairs, he can have them. it’s not like we’re in love. hopefully, i find my own way out so that the two of us look happier and this marriage looks somewhat presentable to the public.” 

you didn’t want to see the look on his face, but you’re sure he reported this all back to gojo because he didn’t look at you once after it. 

you heard from a maid a week later that he was gone for another meeting with a clan, a southern one from what you picked up, and that you should probably go and wish him some luck. 

leading up to the night of his departure you anxiously paced around your room, your feet padding on the floor as your nightgown swished behind you. 

you hadn’t talked to gojo at all that day, and purposefully so. 

it was petty, you know it was, to not want to see him, but a part of you still aches when you look back on that night. at how he didn’t explain where he was even after you asked, at how it was suguru he had sent to fix his dirty work for him. 

“y/n?” a muffled voice came from outside your door. 

your head shot up at the familiar sound, quietly dragging yourself out from your bed as you grabbed the candle, hovering on the other side as you waited for him to say something else. 

“are you awake?” you heard a soft thud from his side, almost as if his head or arm had hit the door. 

you didn’t answer, still, waiting. 

“i’m leaving tomorrow and i wanted to see you before i left.” your heart skipped at his words, careful not to make a sound as you near the door. 

“if you’re sleeping i won’t bother you anymore but if you’re not,” you could hear the old stutter he had coming back, his words meshing together as he tried to regain control, “and you’re choosing to stay quiet, i…” he sighed, his forehead thumping down as he rested it on the door, “i wanted to apologize for the feast. i shouldn’t have left you alone, and if you’d open the door, i would explain why…” he could see the flicker of the candle from underneath the crack, and saw the way it blew away, darkness following suit. 

you walked back to your bed, turning your back to the door as you set the candle down on your table. 

“goodnight,” his voice was quieter than before, and you felt guilty, but pushed the bitter feeling down.

a couple of seconds later you heard him let out a sigh of defeat, his footsteps leading away from your bedroom as you curled into yourself, hoping you would let your heart stop taking control of what your head should be doing. 

---

gojo didn’t return for a while, and you grew more impatient by the day. 

it normally took him and his men a week at maximum, and once two had passed, you felt yourself growing uneasy. 

you tried to act as passive as you could, but even myra could pick up on your growing apprehension. you have never voiced your worries over your husband before, but she knew this wasn’t like any other time. 

when you went to bed, the only thing you could dream about was that night, your brain re-running the images as you tossed and turned. 

“are you alright?” he asked, his hands on your elbows as you could barely speak, your blurry vision impairing your sight. you could only see a mop of white in the darkness, your stomach betraying you as you tried to keep the sick down. 

“i don’t feel too good,” you mumbled, trying to put some distance between the two of you as you pushed him away, only to feel him coming closer as he placed a hand on your forehead and then to your cheeks. 

“you’re burning up,” he muttered under his breath, guiding you gently so that you wouldn’t trip over your feet. 

“i’m sorry, you can go back inside, i don’t want to keep you out here.” you were slurring your words as you tried not to throw up on him. you wiped at your eyes so that you could see him better, only to reel back in utter shock to see the face of your childhood friend frowning down at you. 

your mouth formed in the shape of his name, going to say something else, before you hunched over, feeling his strong hands pat your back and keep the hair out of your face as you felt your world tilt on its axis. 

you ate your dinner at the table, eyeing his empty seat as you tried to shove his last night out of your mind. you shouldn’t feel this way, especially about a man who feels nothing towards you, but your little heart was churning in its confines the more you let yourself think about it.

sitting in the same spot where the feast took place only brought back the venomous taste in your mouth, and so you pretended that you were back home, eating somewhere without the worry of your life weighing you down like a thousand weights on your shoulders. 

myra tried her best to distract you, but she could see the distant look in your eyes, how your voice never seemed too genuine. she began to worry for you, but it seemed like your mind was fixed on one thing. 

until you found yourself pacing around your room, just like you were the night you last heard of him, playing with the ring on your finger as the moon carded through your window. 

“my lady,” you heard myra through the door, her voice shaky and a bit more on edge than usual, “there’s-” but before she could finish it slammed open, revealing the man you’d been biting your nails over, standing in the flesh.

his eyes were a dark blue, squinted as they looked right through you. his chest heaved as he looked like he was trying to catch his breath. you could see the streaks of blood that lined his usually clean clothes, the red that stained his cheeks and jaw. 

he looked feral, and it was throwing you off balance. 

“out.” he snapped at myra, and before you could scold him for his tone she fled, the door shutting roughly behind her. 

the two of you could only stare at each other. you didn’t know what to think after weeks of uselessly worrying over him, not knowing about his well-being, to see him here, in front of you, but looking different than he ever had. 

“are you alright?” 

you could barely get it out, the works sticking on your tongue as you took a tentative step forward, not knowing what to do with his state of being. 

he eyed the blood on his shirt, wiping at his cheeks as if he had forgotten it was there. he didn’t look too dirty, less dirty than one would expect from a five week endeavor through the woods, but he didn’t look too good either. 

“you were awake.” is all he says, his chest still moving up and down as though he couldn’t breathe properly. 

“that night i came by, you were awake. i saw your candle, i heard your footsteps.” he says this as though it’s fighting its way out of his mouth as if it’s all he could think about to tell you. 

“i,” you pretend that you don’t care, shrugging, “i wasn’t up to talk.” 

“you were with suguru.” he snaps, his tone shocking you, and he steps back as if he had shocked himself. he jammed his palms into his eyes, tilting his head upwards before he looked back at you. 

“for five weeks you were all i could think about. i wanted to come back, i wanted to tell you what i felt but we kept running into issues with other tribes and clans.” 

“what could you possibly think about that occupied your mind for five weeks?” you so desperately wanted your voice to come out strong but it sounded weak, as though you were hanging off of his every syllable. 

“you had told suguru that you were going to find your…own way out,” he took a step forward, and here you could see the scratches on his chest, the cuts on his arms, “i was praying to every god there was that you hadn’t found somebody in these past weeks, that you hadn’t…”

you could barely believe his words, not knowing if you should feel offended, shocked, worried, or a mix of all those three. 

“what business would it be to you if i did?” you hate that this was the response you settled on. hurt flashed across his face but he tried to regain his composure. 

“you are my wife-”

“and you are my husband!” you snapped and watched as he was momentarily taken aback by your outburst, but you continued your nose flaring, “you cannot argue with me on this when you left with some girl in the middle of our feast!” you felt all your emotions finally pouring out and you had no control over them, “everybody was talking about it, everybody was looking at me in pity!” your voice cracked, tears poking at your eyes as you pointed an accusatory finger at him. 

gojo looked down, running a hand through his hair as he pointed a finger back. 

“if you had let me explain myself, you would have known that she was trying to do what you thought she was. i left as quickly as i could but you would barely look at me!” you wanted to rip your hair out, cursing yourself for ever feeling any sort of worry for this man. 

“i know that this marriage was the last thing you wanted but at least you could play the part of a husband! you didn’t send a single note, anything to tell us that you were okay, that you were alive!” you heaved, fidgeting with your ring as you wiped at your cheeks, “and you come back here accusing me of adultery? all everybody could talk about was the fact that you were warming somebody else’s bed! they said a meeting never takes this long unless something…somebody else comes up.” your voice wobbles at the end, and you find yourself furiously rubbing your tears away, hiding your sniffing as though that would do anything.  

he paused upon seeing you cry, his face falling as he tried to step forward but you angled yourself away from him, hoping he’d get the hint. 

he wanted to hold you, to tell you that all the rumors you were hearing were false and that the only room he had left in his heart was for you. but he couldn’t blame you for feeling or thinking this way. hell, he was so sure that he’d open the door to find another man comforting you that he didn’t even stop to consider what must have been going through your head all these weeks. 

“one of the clans tried to attack us, and we weren’t ready for it. that is why we took so long.” 

you sniffle again, not caring for his explanation although it did soothe a part of your past self. 

“you could have at least sent a letter telling me what happened,” you fidget with your ring, your thumb running over the diamond, “everybody asked me questions that i should have had answers to, but i had no idea where you were or what you were doing…” he nods, his lips pressed into a thin line as he agreed with you. 

“you're right,” his voice was thick with emotion, the words slurring in his mouth as he found himself anchored in place, not knowing what to do. but you were rambling, your thoughts going on and on and you couldn’t stop yourself. 

“…but i know you don’t like letters, so the least you could have done was send a parchment saying i’m alive or something like that.” you rub at your nose again, feeling like all the weeks of worry we’re coming to a standpoint. 

he looked confused now, if anything, and scratched at his jaw. 

“what do you mean?” 

you scoff at the audacity, rolling your eyes as you feel anger prickle at your skin. 

“you never once responded to any of my letters. in my eyes, that must mean you have some sort-”

“letters? what letters?” 

you glance at him, taking in his shaking form. 

“come on gojo,” you feel embarrassed as he urges you to speak, having to spell it out for him, his eyes pleading with you to continue, “the ones from when you left for training.”

his mouth opens and then closes, looks at the ground and then back up to you as he shakes his head. you could hear your fireplace crackling in the background. the only sounds circling the room were the pops of ember and your breathing. 

“i…” he feels like there’s cotton in his mouth, hoping that you’re lying, “i never got any letters.” 

the fire crackled once again and you could almost hear a pin drop as you shook your head vehemently at his statement. 

“n-no, no you did. i wrote to you every week, i sent one every week for two years and you never responded and my mother said that you must have forgotten about me…” and you trail off, the tears in your eyes stoning as he furiously wipes at his own eyes, and for the first time since you had seen him fall down when he was a kid, you saw his own tears staining his cheeks. 

“nobody gave me your letters. i thought that you,” he takes a deep breath, tongue poking inside his cheek as he tried to control himself, “i thought that you didn’t care for me anymore.” 

you hug your midsection, your emotions running wild at his words. 

“i was under the impression that you hated me.” you admit, and he looks as though you stabbed him through the heart. if only others could see the powerful warrior now, stripped bare to his conscience and all he could think about was you. 

“why…why would you think such a thing?” you two inch closer without knowing it, longing to touch each other, wanting to know that the other was really there and that this wasn’t a figment of your imaginations. 

“gojo, you could barely looked at me that night at the gala and now it seems as though you, well, look at you - you’re flushed!” you’re grasping at straws, motioning towards his face,  twinged with pink as you rub at your nose, “you seem angry whenever i am near-” 

“the only person i am angry at is myself.” gojo whispers, but his voice echoed around the expanse of your skull. 

“yes, i’m aware,” you feel cold despite the fire in the corner, your tone carrying an air of know as you scorn, “i know the last thing you expected by comforting me was a marriage but-” 

“you think i am angry because i married you?” he was moving closer, his hands shaking, his eyes wet. you could see the ring on his finger glow in the dim light of the fireplace, how it shined brighter than any of the night skies, “the only good thing that has happened to me these last few months was being able to introduce myself as your husband. i know that i stripped you bare of any love you may have had for any other man, but call me selfish for feeling glad that i did.” 

you could barely focus on what was happening, his words sinking deep into your skin, going to your bones. 

“i told myself that you had forgotten about me those years i left. when i saw you that night i was so sure you had come with the intention of finding a suitor that i didn’t want to distract you, but then i saw that man come up to you…” and he couldn’t finish, choking on his words as he stuttered, and you saw a glimpse of the boy you had fallen in love with so long ago. 

“and i followed you out. if i knew that simply being alone with you would have gotten me married to you then i would have cornered you in a closet the moment i saw you enter the dining hall.” 

a tear rolls down your chin, splattering on the ground beneath you as you struggle to make sense of what he was saying. it felt as though the months of being married to him were weeks spent pacing around your own rooms, thinking the same worried thoughts, and not having the strength to confront each other about it. 

“you…you don’t hate me?” your voice is timid, almost not believing yourself as the statement tumbled out. gojo had the audacity to laugh a bit, shaking his head as strands of his hair fell into his face. 

“my every waking moment is spent thinking of you. when i was in training, you were all i could dream about, hoping that when i’d come home i could finally have you to myself. 

“you have control over my emotions, my mind, my soul, and i cursed myself for taking away your options for a husband, but the only thing i’ve wanted to do these past few weeks was to hold you in my arms. to tell you just how deeply i yearn for your love back.” 

he wiped at his cheeks, glistening in the faint light. he looked angelic, despite the grime and blood that decorated his clothing. you didn’t want to think about the men he had killed just to come back, to come back to you, and the thought of ever losing him hurt you more than when you spent nights wondering why he never responded to any of your letters. 

you couldn’t stop your feet from leading you toward him, and you could only watch as he met you in the middle, catching you with all his strength, holding you as if you weighed nothing, and it only took a few seconds before your lips collided. 

it was rushed, and messy as you felt his hands holding you as if you carried the weight of the universe. your teeth clashed, your tears staining each other's skin as your hands gripped at his hair, using it for leverage as he slipped his tongue into your mouth, enjoying the whimper that escaped your lips when he nipped at yours. 

it was what years of longing and desperation felt like. how it felt like you two just molded into each other as if your bodies were cut out with the other in mind. you felt like your heart was about to stop beating, and you knew gojo felt the same with the way he’d whine against your lips, wanting you more than you could have ever imagined. 

“we’ve been stupid people, haven’t we?” you whispered as you pulled away, trying to catch your breath as he smiled against you. if only you knew just how much he’d been wanting to kiss you like this, to see your swollen lips as you looked at him from beneath your eyelashes. you were his venus, his only saving grace, and he could only vex himself for ever making you feel anything but love. 

“very, “ he pressed a kiss to the corner of your eyes, “very,” to your nose, “stupid,” his lips were on your cheeks, feeling like he was breathing in new air at the sound of your laughter, “people.” he pressed his lips to yours again, cherishing in the way you whined at the harshness. 

he had spent months convincing himself that you no longer cared for him. weeks of perilous training to only come back to a bed and dream of a girl who didn’t share his emotions when in reality you did. he wants to track down the letters you had sent him, to read every word carefully, as if each sentence carried its own riddle inside of it. he wanted to apologize for never having the honor of experiencing your skilled penmanship, for leading you to believe that he had simply forgotten about you. 

“gojo,” your fingers curl in his tunic, your heat transferring, trying to be rational in such an irrational state of being, “you’re bleeding, i should call for the doctor.” he didn’t stop kissing your face, moving to your jaw as he smiled hearing you shudder. 

“it’s not my blood,” he murmured and you wanted to smack him for how cocky he sounded, “and don’t call me gojo.” he nipped at your lips again. 

“husband?” you found yourself smiling at the title, but he shook his head. you saw how he was trying to hide his own grin. 

“sire?” you tested it out teasingly, hating how it sounded. he seemed to agree with the way he grimaced at the name. 

“my lord?” he wanted to bottle up your laughter forever, knowing he could get drunk off of the sound. his nose nudged up at your jaw, pressing wet kisses wherever he could. 

“hmm, what about my liege?” you're curling a strand of his hair around your fingers letting him settle you down on your vanity as you spread your legs so he could slot between them. 

“my men call me that.” he says, cringing as it falls off your mouth. you pretend to think, not knowing how you were able to live without this banter for as long as you did. 

“satoru?” you felt breathless saying it after so long. but he still didn’t seem to find it satisfactory enough, a pout on his lips as he wanted you to find a better one. 

“close, but only when you’re angry with me.” you tuck that information in the back of your mind for if you ever need to scold him, your cheeks flushed as he interlocks his fingers through yours. 

“‘toru…?” his lips broke into a giddy smile, and you had to control yourself as he swooped back in for a kiss. his eyes were so much softer when he laughed, the kind ones you fell in love with so many nights ago. 

“there it is,” his voice was husky, raw as your fingers gripped at the baby hairs at his nape. he was taking your air away with him and you couldn’t find it in yourself to fight back for it. 

“i forgot how cheeky you can be,” you bite your lip to keep the moans inside, feeling feverish as his tongue ran over his love marks, not knowing what to do yourself as you scrambled to grab onto something to keep you afloat.

“you have no idea how much self-control it’s taken not to ravage you,” his breath is hot on your skin, and he’s tugging at your shirt, fingers slightly brushing upon your breasts, “every night you’d come down for dinner i wanted something different to eat.”

“stoppp,” you mewled, not used to this. he chuckles as his slender fingers work to untie the knot keeping you together, tugging at the string until it falls, revealing your naked chest, heaving as the fabric pooled at your hips. 

you wanted to cover yourself up under his heavy gaze, to take the fabric and hide, but you felt pierced by his stare. his eyes darted to yours as if checking to see if you were okay. when you gave him a timid nod, it seemed as though it prompted him to finally move. 

his fingers were gentle as they ran across your waist, large as they covered the soft of your stomach, eager as they went upwards. he looked like he was crazed and starved, as if you were his last meal and he couldn’t wait for the sweetness death would give. 

your breath stuttered as his fingers found your mounds, rubbing a soothing thumb over your nipples as his pupils grew. he was eager as he flicked them over and over, a cheshire grin growing as they hardened under his touch. 

“you’re perfect,” he murmured, dropping down so he could suckle at your tits, his spit shining in the light of the fire, and you tilted your head back, soft moans escaping as his tongue drew circles around your buds. 

“f-fuck, ‘toru, that’s,” you couldn’t even finish your sentence, his second hand coming to cup your other tit, not wanting to leave her unattended as he sucked and bruised, wanting to forever leave his mark on your untainted skin. 

“good?” he’s so cocky, and you want to smack the smug smirk off his devilishly handsome face. 

his knee is purposefully rubbing against your clothed clit, and you feel yourself subconsciously rubbing yourself against it. you hope that he can’t feel how drenched you are from him just sucking your tits, but he pinches you, pressing his tongue flat against your skin as he looks up through his lashes.

“horny from just me touching you?” he’s teasing you, it’s so painful the way you want, need him like oxygen. you tug on his hair roughly, bringing his spit-soaked lips back to yours as you bite down on his lower one, enjoying the groan you draw out from him. 

“don’t be mean ‘toru,” you taunt, and you feel him melt in your fingers, nodding to your request as he lowers himself down. 

he presses wet kisses down your torso, stopping just above your hips, his fingers hooking along the rim of your underwear, being careful and slow in his movements as he waits for any objections, making sure you’re okay with this. 

but you were in your own world, hitching your leg over his shoulders, drawing him in closer to you, sweat dotting your forehead as he licks a stripe over the cotton on your pussy, smiling to himself at the taste of you. 

you were so sweet, sweeter than any desert he’d indulge himself on. he was sure that once he had a taste of you he’d be able to repent, to go before any god, and to tell them that you were his religion.

he had spent countless nights, tossing and turning in his bed, the only thing putting him to sleep being the idea of coming home to you. running after you that night was him running home to you, regardless of where you were. he was glad he got your hand in marriage, but if he had to, he’d wait another ten years just to hold you in his arms again.

he peels your underwear off, a string of your arousal connecting to it, and he tucks it in his pants, for safekeeping. 

“you’re going to be the death of me.” he says against your heat, his nose rubbing against your clit as your eyes wring shut in pleasure. his hands grip your thighs, making sure you stay in place as he kitten licks around where you need him the most. 

“don’t let…don’t let any of your enemies hear,” your voice comes out in bits, your hand resting on the back of his head as your leg tightens around him, “don’t want them to come after me or something.” 

he snorts, pinching your thighs as if anybody could come within a ten feet radius of you without losing an eye. 

his lips come closer to where you desperately want him, a finger prodding at your tight entrance, his tongue finding your clit as he begins to suck. 

it’s all too much, the sensations far better than your own fingers have ever proved to be. 

his fingers are skilled, long enough that they reach deep within you. he sinks one fully in, your walls clamping around him as he continues sucking your clit, his teeth grazing it every so often, making your head thump against the wall. 

“talk to me, how do you feel?” his mouth discontented from your bud and you whine at the loss. he sinks in another finger to make up for it, but he doesn’t move them, waiting for your response. 

“‘s good,” one of your hands is fisting your discarded robe, trying to hold onto your senses as you desperately nod, “don’t stop ‘toru, please,” and he obliges, loving the sounds of your begging, but loving the sound of your pleasures more. 

his fingers stretch you open and you welcome the sting, your nails digging into him as you long for more. 

he switches his mouth with his hand every now and then, his tongue taking the place of his fingers as it licks at you, groaning at your taste as he eats you out with his entire being, his chin shining with your essence and his spit as his thumb rubs furiously at your clit. 

“mmhhh, just like that, fuck!” you’ve never heard your voice at this pitch, never knew it was possible to feel this way. his other hand reaches up to flick at your nipple, the extra sensation making white dot around your vision. 

you feel yourself getting closer to the sweet release, feel your wall clamp around him even tighter as that knot in your stomach builds to a crescendo. 

“come on, let go f’me, know you want to, know you can.” he spurs you on, his fingers unrelenting as they piston in and out of you, reaching that gummy spot that makes you go dumb.

“fuck, ‘toru, m’gonna, m’gonna come!” you cry out and you’re sure anybody walking past you could hear the debauchery. your thighs were starting to shake and you felt it all go black as you reached your high, your orgasm washing over you unlike anything you’ve ever felt. 

you creamed around his fingers, gushing around him as you wailed out, tears dotting your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure you were feeling. you squeezed around him, wanting to never lose what this felt like, trying to catch your breath as his mouth never stopped sucking at your nub before he was sure your climax was over. 

when he finally pulled away the only thing that could be heard was the two of you, trying to come back down as stupid smiles made their way onto each of your faces. 

he was boyishly charming as he stood in front of you, licking yourself off of his fingers as he grinned at the taste. you couldn’t be bothered to be embarrassed after having him just between your legs, but you still felt a heat blossom in your chest. 

“so…” you awkwardly start, sweat dripping down your face from just how hot the room had suddenly gotten as you avert your gaze, “what now?” 

he shrugged nonchalantly, despite the fact that his heart was about to beat it’s way out of his chest. you let him pick you off of the vanity and tucked you safely away into his chest as he led you to your bed, gently setting you down in your mountain of pillows and blankets as you felt sleep etch away at you. 

“i’m going to clean you up,” he pressed a kiss to your hair, smiling at the way you giddy smiled at whatever he did, a dopey grin on your face as your hand searched for his, interlocking you fingers with his as if you didn’t want to watch him go, “if you let me.” 

you yawn, your head tilting as he sat down at the edge of your bed, still not letting go of your hand as your fingers run through the soft pelts beneath you. 

“and what about you?” your chin points the obvious hard-on growing in his pants. he looks down as if suddenly realizing, and he plays it off by looking back up to you with a wink. you felt your mouth going dry at the size of it, not knowing if you could even be able to take something as big as that. 

“for another day,” he promises, and you’re sure he’s not going to forget it. not like you want him to.

“and then?” 

your question lingers in the air. you don’t want to wake up to him acting like this never happened, as if your feelings were only a figment of your wildest dreams. but his eyes hold onto yours, never letting go as he brushes some strays away from your face. 

“and then i get a bigger bed for my room because there’s no way i’m letting you sleep here alone after this.” his thumb runs along the palm of your hand, his fingers tracing patterns into the soft of your legs. 

“and then?” 

“and then you tell me all the things i missed out on when i was gone. i’ll tell you about the time suguru shaved my head, and you’ll tell me about anything on your mind.” 

“what if i run out of things to say?” sleep is overtaking your voice, and you’re already nodding off, not even truly knowing what you were asking. 

“then i’ll make up stories so that you’re not bored.” he finds a clean towel, soaking it in water from a nearby pitcher as he drags it slowly across your body, as if your fragile and made of porcelain. 

“how do i know you’re not a dream? you might just be,” you yawn, rubbing at your eyes as your finger traces his ring, “you might just be my own mind tricking me.” your eyes are shutting, but the teasing smile on your face never leaves. 

“because a dream wouldn’t hide under a table with you if you asked.” he whispers, kissing your lips with a soft peck as he pulls the blanket over you, letting you sleep into a slumber as he crawls in next to you, holding you to his chest just as he did that night, just as he will every night from now on, and just as he longed for those nights he wished you next to him.

[luveline]

Just re-watched the prison Reid arc and whew! Can I request post prison Reid getting to meet his new baby for the first time with a civilian reader? Like he was arrested while reader was still pregnant and she gave birth right before he got out? Maybe have a Diana cameo cause I just love her🤭

ty for requesting! fem, 1.6k

“Do you want me to take him?” 

You give Diane a grateful smile. “Is that okay?” 

Diane is reedy like Spencer, tall and skinny, but strong, too. She treads the carpet in her moccasins and holds out her arms for the baby, shushing him softly as you pass him over. You’ve had to look after her these last few weeks in a way you weren’t prepared for, but she’s looked after you in turn.

She’s almost completely lucid today. The good news has its hooks in her. 

You look out of the window again. The baby coughs in Diane’s arms, a clearing sound after feeding. If she’s gentle with him he’ll fall asleep before Spencer gets home. You aren’t sure what to do, let him sleep or wake him. What would Spencer want? 

I want to come home, he’d said, choked up over the phone, so badly. I’m so sorry. 

“Are you sure you won’t call him Walter?” Diane asks. “Spencer likes that one.” 

“I’m sure, Diane. He liked Jasper, so…” You bite the tip of your tongue until it aches, refusing to cry again. “So I went with Jasper. I hope he doesn’t mind.” 

That morning when Emily told you he was coming home, you cried like you’ve never, ever cried. So hard that Jasper woke up in his cot across the room and cried with you. 

You’d cried a lot after Spencer was arrested, and worse when he was imprisoned. You cried like a baby the day you went into labour because you knew you’d have to do it alone, when Spencer promised he’d be there with you, that you wouldn’t have to do any of the scary parts alone. 

It didn’t take long to stop. You’d grabbed Jasper with your cheeks soaked in tears and rubbed his back, that small stretch of warmth under your hand like a lifeline. In a way, Jasper being Spencer’s has made this easier. You’ve had a part of him. It just wasn’t enough to get over missing him. Every bit of joy —you have a baby now, your beautiful boy— has been swiftly followed with an aching sort of grief. Spencer missed his first cry, first bath, the very first time he opened his eyes. You can’t go back. 

“They said three.” 

Diane doesn’t seem concerned. She’s missed Spencer as much as you have, and you know her worry for him has made her more poorly than she’d otherwise be most days, but the baby helps. “I’m gonna find his bear,” she says. 

You bend down, trying to see the corner of the street through the window. Then you remember the last time you left Diane alone in the kitchen and flinch. “Hey, Diane?” you call. 

She’s checking the drawers for the bear. You’re not sure why she thinks the bear would be there, but perhaps that’s where she put it. “Can I make you a cup of tea or something?” you ask her. 

“You’re spying on me.” 

“Spying implies you don’t know what I’m doing.” 

She pats the baby’s back. “I can see why you and Spencer get along.” 

It’s a little more than getting along. 

Diane finds Jasper’s bear atop the bread bin, sitting at the kitchen table with him, the bear sat across from him, though Jasper’s already sleeping again. 

You put the stovetop kettle on to boil and realise with a start that you can make Spencer a cup of tea at the same time. Your smile is unfailing, then. He really is coming home. The kettle begins whining while you recover his favourite mug from the cabinet, untouched the entire time he was gone. 

“How many sugars today, Diane?” you ask. 

“Was that the door?” 

“What?” You’re putting the mug down before you can compute. 

“Angel?” 

You feel a rush of emotion all over at the sound of his voice. You try to call back to him, but you don’t manage anything more than a catching gasp as you push out of the kitchen and find him at the door. Right there at the end of the hall. 

Pale, tall. Arms already opening, half a step as you run at him. He doesn’t complain when your chest knocks against his. He doesn’t say anything at all. 

“Hi,” you breathe, pressing your nose to his shoulder. Your eyes stay open —it’s like panic without the fear. He’s really here in your arms. 

He squeezes you tightly. So tight you can’t breathe for a second. Then he gentles, his hands rubbing up and down your back out of sync, face falling into yours. 

In the kitchen, Jasper makes a croaky crying sound, a stirring Diane calms immediately. 

You attempt to pull away. Spencer will want to see Jasper, of course. He hadn’t met his own son. It was all he could talk about for weeks before he went away, and yet—

Spencer just rubs your back. After another half a minute like that, he asks, “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah.” You clear your throat.

“Yeah? No one would tell me anything specific, I was worried you might not be alright.” 

“Everything went fine.” He holds you to his chest. He smells like cheap soap. “I didn’t– it was really okay. He was easy, like he knew I couldn’t handle any complications.” 

“And he–?”

You recognise the undercurrent in his voice. It’s the same thing you felt when they put Jasper on your chest for the first time. “He’s perfect.”

“All ten fingers?” 

You pull away. Immediately, Spencer’s taking your face into two hands, his eyes pouring into yours with an intensity that worries you. “He has all his fingers and toes,” you say quietly, “how about you? How’s your leg?” 

He doesn’t seem to be able to answer. Jasper makes another noise and Diane’s chair creaks. You turn with Spencer’s hand on your side, watching as Diane brings Jasper to the door. 

“Spencer,” Diane says, like she just saw him yesterday, “you’re late.” 

“Sorry, mom.” 

He always sounds younger when he talks to her. 

“Will you take the baby? I was just making some tea,” she says. 

Spencer nods but doesn’t move. 

“I’ll take him.” You kiss Spencer on the cheek. Remember you haven’t for weeks and kiss him again. “It’s okay.” 

You hold your arms out and take Jasper against your chest. Spencer takes a hesitant step forward, stops, hesitating, but when you turn to him with a comforting smile the band holding him back snaps. He crosses the room, breath pulled like he’d stopped as he cranes his head to see his baby. 

“Three weeks old today,” you say softly, tipping Jasper back so Spencer can see his face. “He missed his daddy, you know.” 

“You can’t know that.” 

“Of course I can. I’m his mom, Spencer… And who wouldn’t miss you?”

Spencer shakes his head gently, reaching out to caress Jasper’s full cheek. 

“Jasper,” Spencer says. 

“He’s been a great baby so far. Doesn’t give me much trouble. He cries all night, of course… but all babies do. He goes down after a while. I’ve–” You swallow the heat of missing Spencer like a barb dragging against the inside of your throat. “Told him you’re coming home. I told him every day, I promise.” 

“M’sorry,” he says, pained. 

“I know, Spence.” You nudge him. “Time to hold him, honey.” 

He’s more eager than you thought. It’s almost like he’s worried you won’t let him have the baby, but it’s like you told him on the phone: Spencer made a stupid mistake, and you still love him. He never should’ve been going back and forth like that, but you get why he did. Wouldn’t you want Jasper, one day, to care about you in the same way Spencer loves his mother? You forgave him the moment he apologised. 

“It’s alright,” you say, slotting Jasper from your arms to his, guiding his hand behind Jasper’s delicate neck. “Just hold him. He missed you.” 

Spencer sniffles. “I missed him too,” he says. 

“I know.” 

Diane realises eventually that Spencer being home is a big deal. It’s not her fault, not understanding, but the new baby, her relocation again, her nurse barely gone, and Spencer’s sudden homecoming, it’s probably too much to deal with. She finds you, Spencer, and Jasper on the couch in the living room and frowns at him heartily. “You won’t hug your own mother?” she asks.

“You’ll have to hug me around the baby,” he says, sorry. 

Diane agrees to this without fuss. She caresses his cheek as he’d done for Jasper as she pulls away. 

“Thank you for helping out, mom,” he says. 

“It was all Y/N, Spencer. You know mothers. We’re strong.” 

Spencer looks at Jasper, still sleeping, and then to you, a shade of adoring in his eyes you’ve never seen before. “I know,” he says. 

You curl into his side and take a breath. For the first time in weeks, you let your body relax, finding it sorer and angrier than you’d left it the last time you had the chance to check in. 

Spencer brings the side of your face to his lips to kiss your weary cheek. 

[writingangst]

Russian Roulette

Summary: Simon Riley takes notice that the reader has a specific way of reloading her gun, which results in him being paranoid to the point he misreads the situation.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: violence, angst, cursing, torture, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 2.3K

This was a prompt from Character.AI by user @/kstzii and I had to make this account to post because it really hit the angst spot for me. Hopefully, it does the same for you.

The echo from your sniper rifle was stifled by its silencer as you scored another bullseye. You felt someone's gaze burn into the back of your head. But once you turned, you couldn't see anyone. Must've been my imagination. You reassured yourself as you went back to attempt another shot. No bullets. You quickly reload and reposition yourself to fire off another round.

“What the hell was that?” Your lieutenant's voice called out. You swiftly turned to him. “Reload again.”

“What?” You were caught off guard, the slight hint of a Russian accent slipping out. Shit. You instantly clear your throat to switch back to your usual British accent.

“Are you deaf? I said reload again!” He repeats, his voice booming.

You rearange yourself from your position lying on your stomach, onto your knees, the head of your riffle touching the dirt beneath you. You look at him through slightly narrowed eyes. “Now, why would I reload when I just switched to a perfectly good mag?”

His jaw clenched. You noticied how he was trying to hold himself back. He did this often. You were sharp with your tongue and tended to use it on him often. In more ways than one. Though this time, he didn’t quite seem like he was enjoying it.

“You know exactly what I mean. That was a Russian reload,” he crossed his arms over his chest, the veins in his arms were prominent. It brought you back… No. This was serious.

You laughed it off, seeming unbothered. You were cool. Calm. Collected. Everyone knew you weren’t one to be thrown off your game easily. But this certainley was doing just that. You weren’t about to let him see that though.

With a scoff, you turn your back to him to get a better hold of your gun. “I reckon you haven’t slept, Lieutenant. Could be playing tricks on your sight.”

“I know exactly what I saw,” his tone was cold, but with his clenched fists you knew this was a ticking time bomb. “Do. It. Again.” He ordered in a firm tone. It left no room for any arguments.

You’re stagnant only slightly. There was uneasiness in your stomach at what this could mean. You knew Simon, and you knew Ghost. This was the latter, but you weren’t going to let this play out the way he wanted it to.

“And if not?” You challenge as you turned towards him, eyes sincere as you looked deep into his conflicted ones. “This gonna end in friendly fire?”

In long strides he stepped forward, coming to a halt right in front of you. He pulled you up by your elbow, but you never lost your grip on your weapon. With him being 6’4, you had to crane your neck to look him in the eye. His towering frame was imposing, making you feel small.

He leaned closer, just like he had so many times before. His body only a few inches from yours, but instead of it having the burning effect it usually did, now you were just feeling uncomfortable with the interaction. He was doing this on purpose. He was trying to intimidate you.

“What do you have to lose?” He countered, his voice low, a rumble to his chest.

You took it as a challenge.

With a clenched jaw, you took a step back from him as he severed his grip on your skin. You rid of the magazine wedged within your sniper and your eyes never leave his as you do so. Taking another mag from your tactical gear, you shift to do a simple tactical reload.

He watched you intently, his eyes glued to your every move. You didn’t break a single swet. And even though it seemed like something inherently intimate, you knew it was everything but. Once you finished and kept your straight face on him, he stepped towards you again.

He looked pissed as his eyes flickered to the mag that you just placed into your gun.

“That…” he stated through gritted teeth, gripping your chin with force between his thumb and his forefinger. You were forced to look at him head on. “…isn’t a British reload. Now tell me, who are you really?”

“I’m a simple sniper, sir,” you reply without skipping so much as a beat. “I was chosen for this task because of my outstanding sniper skills.”

Silence ensued.

Then you continued. “But you knew that already. You read my file,” you hissed back at him. “And you’ve trained with me for months, been in my bed, so what exactly are we implying here, Lieutenant?”

He kept his grip on your chin, his fingers digging into your skin. You noticed how he continued to get frustrated that nothing was out in the open like he previously thought it was. He expected you to be defiant, not secretive. A piece was missing and he was paranoid. Something wasn’t right.

Suddently, you’re smashed against the closest tree and your rifle was hitting the ground. You wince as a gruff pained noise falls from your lips once the air is knocked out of you. His vast hand squeezed your neck. Not enough to cut your air supply. Yet. But enough for it to be uncomfortable to breath. There was a sense of betrayal in his eyes and you knew he had assumed the worst.

“You’re a lying Russian spy,” he murmured into your ear with such force you thought you’d faint.

You struggled against him. “I am not Russian, nor am I a spy,” you rasp out as best you can, but you feel him crushing your windpipe. You wouldn’t lie to yourself. You feel hurt. He was one of the closest people you had since joining the 141 task force. Which made you angry. That’s when hurt vacated to make room for the feeling of deception. “But I will not explain myself to you when I have a job to do.”

You attempted to push him off but he was stronger and bulkier than you, making it almost impossible. You understood there that there would be no reasoning with him. Sleep deprivation and high stress levels were obvious indicators of this. You both had been on the field for days, and he had been the one doing most of the lookouts in order for you to get a bit of shuteye. You won’t be a good shot with heavy lids, sweetheart. He once said to you.

“What were you sent to do, huh?” He asked, his voice had lost its edge and now he just sounded distant. “Spy? Assassinate me?”

“Paranoid motherfucker,” you hissed, holding onto his forearm to steady yourself against his grip. “Screw you.”

His eyes narrowed, his grip loosening only slightly. “You sound surprised. You can’t honestly tell me that you expected me to not investigate the mysterious sniper with a Russian reload and accent?”

“And I’m almost certain you couldn’t find a Goddamn thing about anything and that’s why you got me cornered,” you stated as a matter of fact. “I’m not whoever the hell you think I am, and this paranoia is serving to have this mission go south if you don’t let me get to my gun.”

He laughed this time. Honestly, laughed.

You scrunched up your nose. Fuck you, Ghost.

“You don’t think I have dirt on you, sweetheart? I have files on you, more than you can count. I know you, better than you think,” he paused for a second. “I know your weaknesses, likes, dislikes. Everything.”

You laugh bitterly. “I don’t doubt that. Hey, I even had a hand in the shit you know because I trusted you. That still doesn’t mean you know jack shit about what happened in Russia. You’re so inclined? Ask Price!”

“I asked Price!” His hand gave your neck a quick squeeze and you saw how his body trembled. “He didn’t know a damn thing. Said your file was locked and he was denied access. Now why the hell would that be, huh?”

You snorted. “He said that to protect me. I had the whole record wiped. None of this concerns you, Lieutenant. We all went through shit, and you think you’re the only one that’s allowed to be a ghost? Fuck you!”

His eyes narrowed at your words. “Why would he protect you if you have nothing to hide? That makes no sense and you know it.”

“Because my trauma is my trauma! And you have no business budding into it!” 

“And if it’s something that could jeopardize the entire task force?” He muttered, his patience wearing thin. “If it could get everyone killed?”

“You’re an idiot if you think Price would let me anywhere near this damn task force if he considered me a risk,” your voice was cool, but your heart was thumping in your chest. You attempting one last shove that surprisingly caused him to let go. You wheezed when the pressure was off your trachea and you coughed to catch your breath. 

He watched you silently.

Once you composed yourself, you looked back at him as you held your neck. “I thought we were fucking friends, Ghost.”

“Friends?!” He spat exasperatedly. “You really think I would consider you my friend when I know you’re lying? You think I make friends with people I don’t trust?” His eyes were cold, his tone cruel and bitter. “Tell me why I shouldn’t put a bullet between your eyes for the simple deceit.”

Aside from the pain emitting from your neck, there was a hollow ache in your chest that was capturing your attention as well. You would relive the trauma if that would mean getting the job done. But when it came to Simon Riley, he was as good as dead to you.

“I was held hostage by Russian forces for 18 months.”

His stance faltered at that. You don’t think you had ever seen him lose his footing like he had in that instance. And his eyes… Christ, he had never changed his expression so fast. What the hell was that? Pity? He could go screw himself.

You continued. “Anything you can think of in torture, triple that. What kept me alive for so long was the fact they wanted to use me. The only way I got out of the constant abuse was the training. So excuse me if I picked up on a thing or two. Even the Godawful accent that creeps into the British one,” you cleared your throat. “I’m not your enemy, Ghost. But you’re right. I’m not your damn friend either.”

As you explained your past, his eyes never left yours as he listened carefully. He expected many things, but he hadn’t taken into consideration you being a literal prisoner to Russian forces. For once in his life, he was speechless. The thought that you had lived through a year and a half of torture at the hands of the Russians was something he could barely imagine.

His gaze had softened, but he hardened again when something wasn’t clicking for him. “Doesn’t explain why your file is locked.”

You snorted humorlessly. “Ever heard of Price’s little sister?”

His eyes widened at the mention of her. The captain was hush hush about the matter, but it was a well known fact he had family within the military. And that she was KIA some time ago. “What about her?”

“You’re looking at her.”

Those were the last words he expected to come out of your mouth. Shock and surprise flashed behind his mask as he finally realized what this meant.

“You’re…” He paused, trying to process the bomb that just exploded in his face. “You’re Price’s sister?”

“In the flesh,” you replied with the same cold tone he had been using earlier with you. “You’re not the only one trying to be ghost. You’ve just never been questioned by the task force on it like you just did to me.” 

What could he say to that?

“I took a bullet for you, Lieutenant,” you reminded him. “What fucking spy does that for the opposite team?”

His jaw clenched and you saw how his mask flexed due to it. His eyes showed how he replayed that memory in his head. It was something he thought about constantly. You had saved him, and he hadn’t seen it coming. He had been so focused on you being a spy that he hadn’t stopped to consider that you were actually on his side.

“I never should have questioned you,” he admitted, his voice quiet as he met your gaze again.

Your hand shot up to stop him from saying anything else on the matter. “It’s done. We’re done here.”

He watched as you walked away to pick up your gun, his mind racing with thoughts but they were too fast for his tongue. He knew he had messed up. He had completely misjudged the situation with the accusations thrown at you when in reality your connection to the task force was stronger than even his.

The irony in the situation wasn’t lost on him, but he didn’t find it funny.

“Wait,” He sighed, taking strides to catch up to you.

“This is unprofessional, Lieutenant,” you stated, dusting off your weapon as you checked for any malfunctions. “We’re in the middle of an active operation. I’m done talking.”

He exhaled a frustrated sigh as you dismissed his attempt at talking to you. He knew you were right, that the mission was what mattered now. But he couldn’t help the feeling that he needed to apologize. It was clawing at his chest, the emotion raw in his throat, asking to be let out in word vomit.

“You can’t honestly expect us to just ignore what happened and continue on like normal?”

Silence followed.

You didn’t even look at him.

“Go back to being Ghost, because Simon Riley is fucking dead to me.”

[tsuutarr]

Yandere!Hero (Chosen One) x Saint!Reader

Being the Hero – the Chosen One – means that the world’s fate is on Elias’ shoulders. He’s long since forgotten how to live for himself, his life belonging to everyone but him. He’s merely a puppet that’s being strung along by the world for the sole purpose of saving it.

At first, he was honored to be chosen as the Hero – it’s a privilege most don’t get. But everyone expects too much – everything – from him. His life is carefully shaped into what others want of him, people only looking at his role and not him as a person.

Now, he fights and saves people due to duty, not desire. There is no sparkle of pride when he helps villagers. Instead, all that is left is another thing checked off of his mental checklist. Now, he just wants to rest. He just wants things to be over.

So that’s why he despised the idea that some Saint from the Church would be his “helper.” Traveling with someone else is only going to slow him down. Not to mention the fact that he doubts the Saint has ever seen bloodshed and disease like he has.

But when he actually meets and travels with you, the Saint, he realizes that you’re actually not that bad. You’re actually kind of nice. He’d expected you to turn your nose at the commoner population, refusing to heal them, but you actively seek them out to help. You’re kind and gentle, but headstrong. Even when you’re visibly exhausted, you do your best to keep going. 

It’s… kind of impressive, actually. He had misjudged you, perhaps.

Even now, you’re helping the knights that were attacked by bandits (which Elias had vanquished), healing not only their bodies but their souls, too. He can’t help but look at you, a raw beacon of kindness that he hasn’t seen before in his travels. 

Once you’re done healing the knights, you look up at him, before a gasp escapes your lips. “Elias!”

He blinks at you, curiously.

“You’re bleeding!”

“Ah.” Elias looks down at his hand, blood dripping down his fingers. He had instinctively grabbed a knife by the blade earlier because he wouldn’t have been able to dodge it in time. “This is nothing.”

“Oh, shush!” you say, approaching him. You push him towards a tree stump, forcing him to sit, which he allows. Carefully, you take his hand in yours, frown deep set on your mouth. Your hand is so warm that it makes his heart burn.

“You’re tired,” he states, bluntly. He doesn’t tug his hand out of yours. “You’ve healed too many people.”

“I can–”

“No.” He shakes his head. “Rest for now, Saint. I am fine.” And he’s right – he’s the Hero, after all. His wounds heal much faster and better than a normal human being. He doesn’t necessarily need your healing.

“Still,” you murmur, looking up at him. “Can I at least clean and bandage it?”

It’s pointless, really, but Elias says, “Do what you want.”

So you do. You disinfect and clean his wound, before carefully wrapping his hand with bandages. For some reason, his heart squeezes painfully as he watches you tend to him so gently. He doesn’t remember if anyone’s ever treated him this kindly.

“There.” You look proud of yourself. It’s kind of cute.

“You didn’t have to,” he mutters without really thinking about it.

You give him a smile that makes his brain stop. “I wanted to. I want to support you.”

For some reason, your words almost make him want to cry. He’s not sure why – he’s seen so much death and destruction to the point that his emotions have become numb. Yet, you bring flickers of his feelings back to him – happiness, sadness, anger, love. 

You make him feel like he has an existence beyond just being the Hero. You make him feel human.

So, how can he let you go? He can’t – and he’ll do everything he can to make you his. Even if it means he has to destroy the world.

[yamujiburo]

Why I Love Hanamusa

I get this question very frequently but have never given a really in depth, definitive answer. All just kinda implied through my comics and spread out asks. So here's this I guess! Long post ahead:

First, as a Pokémon fan in her mid 20s, I love seeing a ship where the characters are both in their mid/late 20s. Already, they’re much more relatable to me and my current experiences. Most Pokémon ships are between preteens, which can be cute but ultimately don’t interest me as much as they used to when I was a kid myself. Not enough to get super invested in and draw a lot of fanart for anyways haha.

I’ll also start by saying that canon doesn’t always influence whether or not I’ll ship something. I’m much more drawn to potential. Could the characters work together? Do their personalities work together in a nice way? I feel like this so much of fanon is anyways. Especially with queer relationships because they’re rarely depicted in the first place. A lot of the context for these ships is usually up to the fans to piece together or make up in general. And that’s the fun part to me!

Jessie and Delia have only met in the anime a handful of times. Any interaction they’ve had has either been pleasant, or just a typical Team Rocket interaction, with Delia dismissing them/not seeing them as a threat. Already a great jumping off point for me since, truly, they don’t have any actual beef or true, ill feelings towards each other. It’s not TOO out of the realm of possibility for them to potentially fall for each other. “But Jessie chased Delia’s son around trying to steal his Pokémon!” That’s where that dismissive and aloof attitude that Delia has comes into play. I’ll go more into Delia’s whole deal a bit later but I do think this aspect of her personality is a large reason why this ship can work. It’s not that she doesn’t care that Jessie has a bad past, but she can tell that, on the inside, Jessie’s a good person. And, in a scenario where Jessie is trying to become a better person, is forgiving enough to give her a shot. I feel like this is such a solid foundation for a ship. A character who has done wrong but is trying to be better and another character who is willing to help them be better. A classic dynamic!

It’s not just one-sided though; where Jessie is the only one benefitting and learning from the relationship. I believe Delia could get a lot out of being with someone like Jessie. To understand why, I think it’s important to know these characters’ respective backstories.

Jessie is an orphan/foster child who grew up in poverty. Her mother Miyamoto (from The Birth of Mewtwo) was a Team Rocket operative herself, who went on a mission to find Mew. In order to do this, she had to leave Jessie when she was just a toddler. Unfortunately, Miyamoto went MIA on her mission leaving Jessie to more or less fend for herself. Jessie went through life with zero stability, evident by her MANY different careers and constant moving around. It’s implied in the show that she went from foster home to foster home, and later in life tried being an idol, weather girl, florist, wine connoisseur, actress, most notably a nurse and finally a Team Rocket field agent. And even while in Team Rocket, she, James and Meowth were always doing odd jobs to get by. We see that Jessie used to be a sweet kid, and even adult, but the world and her circumstances repeatedly did her dirty, leading her to become the character we know today. Hot tempered, mean, selfish, etc. But despite this, her soft side does still shine through for the people and Pokémon she cares about. She is incredibly loyal.

Delia, unbeknownst to a lot of fans, also had a rough past (see Pocket Monsters: The Animation). Like Jessie, she had a lot of dreams and aspirations like wanting to be a model and even a trainer. But when she was 10, her mother didn’t let her, telling her that she had to stay home and learn to run the family restaurant (she’s an only child). Delia’s father left her and her mother to be a trainer, and never returned. When she was 18, she married Ash’s father and became pregnant shortly after. But right after Ash was born, he also set off to be a Pokémon trainer. And soon after that, her mother passed away, leaving Delia with just the restaurant and baby Ash. This gives so much context to Delia’s attitude in the show. We see that Delia is pained whenever Ash leaves on a journey, but she never shows that pain to anyone. ESPECIALLY Ash. She’s very quick to shoo him off when he shows any sign of wanting to go on another journey and even when he returns home, she acts more excited to see Pikachu than him almost every time. Without all this backstory, it’s easy to just read this as a funny gag, BUT with context, I think it really shows how quickly Delia shuts down and detaches in order to not confront her own feelings. She’s afraid of losing people and getting hurt again.

All that said, I think Jessie and Delia provide each other with EXACTLY what the other needs. 

Aside from becoming rich and famous, Jessie’s biggest aspiration is to get married. In my opinion, this is more so an underlying want for love and stability. There is no one more stable in the show than Delia. Delia’s lived in Pallet her whole life, she’s worked at the same restaurant since she was young and she is always there when Ash comes back home. She has all the love, patience and stability Jessie needs and craves. While forgiving, Delia’s not stupid and can keep Jessie in check. Delia’s also just an angel, which I feel, would make Jessie want to be better. And on top of all this, on more of a surface level, Delia’s a chef and excellent cook. She shows love through cooking and Jessie, who grew up poor, regularly starving and eating snow, happily receives that love. Jessie’s able to live a happy and healthy life with someone like Delia.

Delia, as stated, is very stable. Likely pretty monotonous and solitary, especially living in such a small town like Pallet. This isn’t a bad thing but it’s a little sad when you consider that Delia also had dreams of traveling, being a model and a trainer. She had to give up so many dreams in order to fulfill her duties as a restaurant owner and mother. And even now, when Ash is off on his journey, she feels the need to always be home and be that stable pillar, leaving behind any ambitions she had, thinking it’s too late for her (she’s only 29 btw). But then along comes Jessie, dangerous, passionate, an absolute firecracker. Someone who’s whole life has been about chasing dreams and either, never giving up on them or finding a new dream to chase. Upon learning about Delia’s past aspirations, I could see Jessie pushing her towards them, letting her know that life’s too short and she has nothing to lose from trying. On top of this, Jessie’s also loyal. She, James and Meowth are depicted as doing anything for anyone who gives them food or shows them kindness. Delia does both so there’s no way Jessie would leave her. This fulfills an essential need for Delia, who is afraid of the people in her life leaving her.

There’s so much potential for mutual growth and learning between these two and I adore that. They compliment each other, they help each other and they bring out the best qualities in one another.

I’m not really sure how to end this and I could truly talk about them even more but I don’t want this to be tooooo long haha. OH I could end it with maybe the most funny aspect of this ship that I've brushed over and also what drew me to it in the first place. Jessie. As Ash’s stepmom. THE END.

[yanderenightmare]

♡ TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, yandere, captive reader, dehumanization, dollification, patronization, condescension

♡ FEM reader

This is his playroom. It’s got puzzle-piece foam flooring and is filled to the brim with all sorts of different toys—including you. He’s got stuffed animals, pretty dolls, toy soldiers, Lego builds, and a gaming station with all types of fun—and parental safety restrictions, of course, no talking to strangers for you. Your controller is a pretty baby pink, and his a cool camo-green. But today, they’re left on the floor, untouched.

Because today, he only wants to play with you.

“You’re gonna be so pretty…” His voice is as grating as always—synthetically childish, making you grit your teeth. Sitting with you between his legs before the mirror, working diligently.

You look at the floor to avoid your reflection.

He’d gotten you a brand new baby-blue dress and painted you himself—done your eyelids up in matching clear skies, black lashes moth-like and fluttery, cheeks a rosy pink, and lips a sheer gloss extra plump and pretty—no need for tint—you bite them so cutely, they’re already his favorite color. Your hair’s done up in curls and ringlets, so bouncy and soft, beribboned with plentiful white bows.

“This color suits you so well. Makes you look like a cake-topper. Bite-sized. I could eat you right up.” He hums behind you, fiddling with the many intricacies, doing them up perfectly—no rush.

Looking up, the person staring back at you looks no different from a life-sized porcelain doll. Pristine, mint condition, fit to be put behind glass. In your frilly dress, petticoat and stockings. Just like Alice down the rabbit hole.

The only thing that betrays the illusion is the leather collar on your throat and the chain running from it to the middle of the floor. But no matter.

He’s got a giddy smile on his face— chest swelled with pride at his work. You’re his most prized possession. You really are! There isn’t a single toy in this room that can compete with you.

He’s not wearing anything special to match. Bedhead, undressed, still in his pajama pants. Why wouldn’t he be? This is his playroom, after all—his downtime—where he can be a boy with his toy. Though, calling him a boy isn’t exactly right—what with him being nearly in his thirties. Not to mention that he’s about two heads taller than you, with abs like an athlete, toned and chiseled and hard to the touch, hard enough to strain your wrists when he bears down on you. Oh, and that thing in his pants.

You bite your tongue and steal yourself. It would be easy to cry, but he only gets weirder about it then. So you stifle it, even though you look so stupid you want to act like an animal. Tear the dress to shreds and rub your makeup into a mess—scream, bite, spit on him. You’d done all that once before to no avail other than punishments that still keep you up at night. Once was enough. He didn’t play nice with you.

But then again, when does he ever?

“Hmm, think I’m done…” he announces after having dallied with the lace of your corset for a quarter-hour—it’s so tight you have to appreciate every breath. “Time to have some fun.”

He treats you no different from a doll either. Scooping you up into his arms like an inanimate object and carrying off to the princess bed—the one that looks like a girl’s birthday cake with a veil on top, and mountains of pillows all too soft.

He places you down on top of the duvet and it seems to swallow you like an ocean. He dives after, covering you like a fishnet. You take a final breath before he can drown, your hand on his chest, holding him at a distance.

“I was thinking, uhm…” you start, the words coming out odd, barely recognizable as your voice—only noticing now how long it had been since you’d spoken last. “I was…” you restart, but it’s still no easier. His eyes are large and unblinking, staring down at you as though he’s just as surprised as you are to found out you speak. “Hoping we could play… a little differently this time?”

He blinks at the request, having fallen completely still above you.

“Really? How?” The suddenness of his words make you flinch. You don’t know what you had expected—maybe a smile and something dismissive. It had been a while since he’d spoken directly to you like that—and not to himself in absentminded comments about you.

You recover some time, seeing him stare down at you all expectantly in wait. He follows when you guide him into sitting instead of looming over you, putting yourself in his lap—straddling him. “Mh, like this. Maybe?”

It’s a gamble. He’d never had you on top before, nor ever shown an interest in it. Setting aside the time you’d been sprawled on your belly over his thighs, his hand riddled in your hair and his other hand branding your ass with his very own toy company logo.

His expression is unreadable—perhaps a little confused if you were to take a guess.

“Oh!” he erupts with a smile you hope is the good sort. “You mean I play the toy and you the master?” He laughs brightly, falling on his back with a hand over his face, cackling through his fingers as though it were the most absurd proposal he’d ever heard.

But despite his obvious amusement, you still feel it—his toy poking into you from beneath.

He settles after a moment. “Alright then, why not?” Looking up at you—his hair a tousled mess splayed upon the bed, eyes as gleeful as the quirk on his lips. “Who knows… it could be fun.”

He props his arms behind his head, lounging comfortably.

“I did call you a cake-topper, after all,” he snickers. “I’ll lie perfectly still, like a good toy, while you play with me. Sound good?”

You can’t believe how open he was to it. Still a little apprehensive, you nod your head.

And then the game begins…

He doesn’t exactly stay true to his word. But you suppose that would be too much to ask. His head still rests pretty on the pillow with his eyes closed, smiling in satisfaction—for now, sated with your performance. Groaning in absentminded bliss, “You’re right. This is fun~”

But he hadn’t stayed perfectly still like he’d said. He’d reached out when you’d finally begun riding and now his arms keep you snug against his chest, fine-pressed sweaty skin against your frilly bust, more in a lock than a hug. It makes it kind of difficult to do what he wants, but you try your best—knees and toes planted in the mattress for stability as you jerk your hips on his lap. It’s awkward, but riding him like this is still better than the alternative, after all.

You keep your arms around the back of his neck, resting your face in the cradle it creates beneath his chin, panting lowly—eyes closed in focus away from the pain, brows tight with your tongue between your teeth, trying to maintain the rhythm despite the blossoming ache that’s started to spread from your hips down your thighs—another ill sting in the small of your back crawling up your spine. It’s hard staying bent over like this, and your movements are turning sluggish…

There’s a sigh from above you, pitchy and just awful. “Aww, is it really time already?” he whines—previous satisfaction dwindling—bordering on something else entirely now, the opposite and so much worse—boredom with a hint of disappointment—a spoiled child with a toy that’s run out of battery.

You shake your head, burying your face in his neck and tightening your grip, stealing yourself with newfound strength to maintain the tempo you had before while muffling out a desperate, “No, I can keep going—”

He lets out another sound, this time in thought. “Hmm...” It doesn’t give you much confidence—how lax a sound it is—as if he isn’t even close to being spent yet. “I don’t know… You’re so slow. I’m gonna get soft if this is all you got, y’know?”

He starts moving—sitting up. He takes his own hold on your hips, and you know what that means. And you can’t handle being played with, not when he damn near breaks you each and evert time.

“No, wait! I can keep going, please, just a little longer?” you insist, both palms pushed flat on his chest with your round eyes looking at him hopelessly in plead for a second chance—even though you know he isn’t one with the patience to give you one.

He stares blankly back, big-eyed in surprise at your outburst. Though still not convinced it would be worth humoring you. If he was being honest, he’d enjoyed it more than he thought he would but had now had his fill and wanted to take charge as usual and finish the job. However…

Oh, you’re being so uncharacteristically cute today—and that pathetic look of desperation on your face is truly something else…

He smiles deceptively softly, so brightly it reaches his eyes. He very nearly looks innocent like that, but you know him too well—so well that the sight of his lips curling gives you nothing but a churning stomach.

“Okay then, doll. You convinced me.”

Suppose it doesn’t hurt letting you have your way sometimes. You have been on very good behavior lately, after all. He ought to reward you.

“I’ll be your toy a little longer.” He murmurs with a lazy smirk, nose-kissing you—patronizing, as though he’s doing you a big favor.

It doesn’t grant you any peace, and neither does the way he keeps his hold on your hips, rubbing smooth circles into the fat leisurely, letting you know he wouldn't be removing them—it serves as some type of encouragement as you start moving again.

It’s easier now when you’re upright. Holding his shoulders, you can jump rather than buck—up and down, up and down, up and down—it’s simple enough. Or it was for a moment, at least, before he planted your hips down.

“Not like that,” he shakes his head softly. “Like this.” He moves you after his will, wanting you to grind instead—putting you back in square one.

Your movement staggers, and you mask a wince with a moan—fuck, your muscles are so sore, maintaining this movement is enough to make your loins scream, feeling all but set on fire.

With one hand keeping you seated, the other takes hold of your leash and pulls you in close, his lips on the dew of your rouge-dusted cheek—you feel the grin, and like prey threatened by a hunter’s teeth, you shiver in respect of it. “Come on, dolly, ride or die, faster,” he simpers, voice laced with mockery and amusement.

Your thighs are shaking now, tightened up in anguish, begging for a break—soon to take it without your permission. How much you can take reaches a point, and everything goes slack not a second too soon.

“And now you’re done,” he snickers hotly under his breath, planting a kiss on the side of your glossy lips while you exhaustedly and gingerly take your break with a feeling of defeat. He speaks low, and you dread every eerie lick of his words, “My turn to play.”

You want to protest, but you know it’s no use. He’d made up his mind now, and challenging it any further would only turn you into a nuisance—toys are supposed to enjoy being played with, after all—best take it with grace and shut up before he reminds you.

He flips the both of you around with ease, reclaiming his spot—on top. He loves you like this, splayed out beneath him like a puppet—just waiting to have all your strings pulled.

It was good while it lasted, you think—maybe if you get better, you can make him finish and not have to endure what comes next.

“Don’t pout, dolly—that was fun,” he kisses you lips as they start to tremble. “But you suit being my toy so much better.”

♡ BNHA – Deku, Denki, Mirio ♡ JJK – Mahito, Gojo ♡ HQ – Oikawa, Miya twins, Tendou ♡ BLLK – Nagi, Bachira

♡ FEM x M INSERT masterlist ♡ GN x M INSERT masterlist

[hees-mine]

First time - L. Heeseung

Pairing: heeseung & fem reader

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, loss of virginity, blowjob, handjob, ear licking, cum eating, multiple orgasms, cursing, dirty talk.

Synopsis: wherein your mutual friend decides to approach you in the halls on a random school day, begging you to take his virginity because his friends wouldn’t stop making fun of him for being a virgin at 22. Well, after you’re done with him, he’s going to be the furthest thing from a virgin.

WC: 4,437k

-

“Y/n, please? I thought we were friends. Don’t friends help each other out?” Walking down the school hall, heeseung follows you along like a puppy would, his master hounding you with the same old question he’s been asking you for at least a month.

You scoff and cut your eyes at him.

The audacity of him to try and make it seem like you were friends to what he wanted was laughable to you. You guys were not friends. You knew him through mutual friend groups and occasionally talked with him, but friends was definitely a reach. “Friends?”

“Yes!” He answers so quickly, and it’s shameless how desperate he sounds to you right now.

“Hmm okay for the sake of argument let’s say we are friends how many friends do you know that do what you’re asking me to do?” You humor him pushing open the exit door to your school with him still hot on your tail.

“All of them!” He lied immediately, saying anything at this point just to get you to say yes.

“So not only are you shameless, you’re also a liar,” you tsked. “And here I was actually thinking about doing it,” you say with a tone of disapproval.

“What? Wait, y/n, no, I’m sorry, I lied. It’s just I’m desperate and saying anything to convince you” he takes long strides to keep up with your fast pace. “None of my friends do that but I’m just sick of being the laughing stock of the group” lowering his head he clutches the straps on his backpack and kicks a pebble on the ground sighing loudly.

“Hmm, so let me get this straight: you want me, barely even an acquaintance, let alone a friend, to take your virginity?” You ask just to make sure you’re getting this right.

He nodded his head, and if the silent confirmation wasn’t enough, he gave you a verbal one, too. “Y-you’re the only girl I know, and I trust you,” he mumbles, embarrassed to even admit out loud that he absolutely has no contact with women other than you.

He really has no reason to trust you, but he just does.

Now that you heard him out a little, you kinda felt bad for him, but it was still so out of left field for him to be asking you this. Although you weren’t exactly opposed to having sex with him, you still didn’t want him to regret anything. “So you want me to be your first? Are you sure? Don’t you want it to be special?”

“I’m sure as long as you’re patient with me it will be special” he turns to you you’re already looking at him with a small smile and he gets embarrassed quickly looking away and clearing his throat awkwardly as he pushes up the middle of his eyeglasses.

All you had to do was be patient with him. That in itself could be really challenging for you because, despite his shy demeanor, he was literally the hottest man you’ve ever seen. That coupled with the fact that it had been a while since you had sex, and just the idea of doing it with him was turning you on right now.

The silence drew on while you were in your own head contemplating this, and at this point, he could only surmise your answer would be a no, so he took a preemptive strike and rejected himself. “It's fine if you don’t want to do it. As you can see, no one else wants to, so I’m not surprised you don’t either. I’ll just get out of your hai-“

“Take me to your place,” you said, looking straight ahead as the both of you walked side by side.

“W-what?” He stutters, nearly losing his balance.

Stopping in your tracks, he stops with you, and you turn to him, gripping the collar of his shirt and pulling him in as he nervously eyes your face up close. “Take. Me. To. Your. Place.”

He gulps nodding his head frantically. “It’s that way” he points in the direction and you loosen the grip on his shirt you gesture him to lead the way and every step he takes from then on is one step closer to him losing his innocence.

He’s never been this nervous before.

-

When you both arrive to his house the parking lot is empty meaning his parents are luckily still at work and he eagerly lets you inside leading you upstairs to his bedroom straight away.

“Minimal, I like it,” you note. Once you enter his room, it is very spacious but simple and cozy at the same time.

“Thank you,” he whispers, wiping his sweaty hands on his slacks as he shuts the door and locks it.

You took a seat on the corner of his bed, your eyes scanning the room while you waited for him to join you.

But he doesn’t. He’s stood still by his door. He hadn’t moved a step since you entered his room.

“You wanna fuck standing up?” You tease him for just standing there.

Your voice snaps him out of his nervous thoughts. “W-what I- no unless you want to but I-i don’t really know how” his face is a mixture of confusion and worry as he stands by his door feeling a bit unsure about all this or maybe he was just anxious it’s hard for him to tell right now cause he’s too focused on trying to stop himself from shaking like a leaf.

“I’m joking,” you giggle, and you pat the bed next to where you’re sitting so he can join you. “Come sit.”

“Okay,” he says with a small nod and sits next to you.

No wonder he asked you to be patient with him at this rate it’d be half hour before you even got him to take his shirt off but you didn’t mind easing him into it. “Baby loosen up” if anything his posture got stiffer and he wasn’t even attempting to make eye contact with you anymore. “Would you feel more comfortable if I took my clothes off?” You offer.

Finally, he looks at you, eyes wide and pleading. “Please?”

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